A/N: It is disappointing that House is judged as less than savory by the community. There is much potential to expand upon his character, and I'm excited to capitalize on it. The relationship between these two will begin as purely a business partnership, though eventually it will develop into something a bit different. Not exactly the romance you might be familiar with, but something I don't expect to be able to explain. I found a lot of enjoyment writing Eris, this fic's OC, and House. If you were unaware, Eris is named after a Greek mythological deity whose sphere is treachery, cunning, and deceit. Needless to say, I have a lot of fun writing her chaotic thought process. As an FYI, this story is going to be told by third person limited, which means the narrator is not always going to be reliable, and periodically, I will switch between perspectives, though the majority of it will be written from my protagonist's telling.

Furthermore, this story will be split into different parts. I'm unsure where I will split the parts regarding chapter organization, but it will remain a single story nonetheless.

I was somewhat inspired to write this due to some of House's cut content. Supposedly, there was a plan to be able to use the Black Widow perk on him, which means he's not as secure with his loneliness as he makes it out to be. Also, I think the connection between Courier Six and Mr. House is pretty intimate in-game - he had a hand in how you nearly died, he likely knows some about your past, and you are the only human whom he trusts enough to allow into the Lucky 38. There's a lot of potential there. The questionable relationship between these two will not be the main focus in the beginning, though I believed it was fitting to start this story with their meeting. Plus, no one wants a play-by-play retelling of waking up in Goodsprings and going through all that for the millionth time. I surely don't. There will be a mix between canonical dialogue and original dialogue throughout this fic.

I chose Steely Dan's "Do it Again" due to the themes found in the lyrics. It fits the mood of this story pretty well - a cycle of tragedy, violence, crime, and addiction, and everyone knows these things are debilitating, yet they continue to partake in the cycle. Invariably, we see the effects that these tragedies have on our lives, and we do them again and again.

Without further ado, let's get on with it.

Now you swear and kick and beg us that you're not a gambling man

Then you find you're back in Vegas with a handle in your hand

Your black cards can make you money so you hide them when you're able

But in the land of milk and honey, you must put them on the table

You go back, Jack, do it again

Wheel turning 'round and 'round

-"Do It Again", by Steely Dan

Some said man was motivated by lust, some "wise" men said greed. Others still said that man was motivated by his primitive need to prove himself to that inescapable, primitive figure of God and his counterpart - Satan, figures that remained to haunt man's psyche even if all idols of the old world were washed away to become nothing but a collection of ruins. That primitive need to satisfy these enigmatic figures lingered.

Or, so said Eris, who wanted most of all for her wisdom to be novel and unique to her. But in reality, she'd read Freud, and knowing how controversial his logic would be in urban life, she liked to use it. Really, she just liked telling a woman that their angst came from a desire to fuck their father, the reactions were always priceless. Eris couldn't remember where she read Freud, but she didn't exactly have any participatory memories left over from her previous life. She had nothing, she had no one. It was absurd, absurd because this is just the thing she could laugh off. Anytime one of these locals would tell her their cuisine was the best she'd ever remember, for once, her reply was the truth.

Benny had robbed her of her delivery, and her memories, which she held no attachment to, oddly enough. She wasn't the clingy sort. Every night since she'd woken up in that dingy house in Goodsprings, she'd fallen asleep to the image of Benny and those Great Khans with fucked up hairstyles, and unfailingly, she'd laughed at the image nearly every time. Often, she wondered if she had always been such an absurdist. Would've been perfect for the courier line of work, especially considering all the fucked up things she'd probably seen on her travels. She likely got desensitized to gore and manipulation somewhere down the line. Getting shot and shoved into a hole in the ground wasn't that surprising to her, even when she was laying in the dirt, she was probably used to this.

And that was how she'd found herself in Freeside. She'd left Goodsprings in the dust, though a tiny, "normal", part of her would always be indebted to the doctor. But that place was just too quiet, too peaceful. Eris needed chaos in order to truly thrive, she'd understood that when her blood began pumping with adrenaline as soon as that fight with the Powder Gangers commenced. But even that wasn't enough. Fighting wasn't exactly her first go-to. She preferred talking, and she was good at talking. When she couldn't find a verbal sparring partner in Goodsprings, that was the end of that. Maybe her new (or was it former?) employer, Mr. House, would be stimulating. Maybe she could tell him his angst was due to his overwhelming desire to fuck his likely dead mother, and he wouldn't bat an eye.

Now, from what she'd heard of House since waking, he was a "complicated" man. But Eris knew what that really meant. That meant he maintained an enigmatic facade in order to either attract the ladies, or because he had nothing else going for him except mystique. Whatever. She'd find the answer to her question soon.

"What do you mean, I need 2,000 caps, you bucket of bolts. Stop pretending to be a cop, and do your job as a machine. That is, submit to your master, the human. Oh, speaking of master, tell your master that his courier is here. Uh, expanding on that, the sixth courier. He should know what that means, I've heard he's a clever man." She flashed what she hoped was a charming smile, even though the receiving end of it was a literal machine who she imagined had two lines - acceptance of identification or violence. "Here here. Get going! Are you in need of an engraved invitation or something? 'You are cordially invited to tell House to let Eris in, because he is interested in it and none-too subtle with how he spies on his courier using Victor.'"

The image on its screen flickered for a moment. Finally, an answer. She remembered Victor's screen doing that right before his speech changed to a more eloquent vernacular. This ghost of Vegas, whom she'd overheard the locals call 'Not-At-Home', wasn't fooling her. He'd spied on her for the entirety of the past month through that sad, robotic excuse of a cowboy. Victor. How she'd began to loathe the sight of it. Eris reasoned that there was nothing truly strange in this universe considering no human had any other point of reference except this reality, but she supposed that robots belonged to the 'peculiar' category. She didn't question the why of her thinking they were peculiar, case in point that nothing was exactly strange.

"Go on in. Your entrance has been cleared." Its low, metallic voice sounded. She rolled her eyes, and looked behind her at Freeside. A crowd had gathered to watch the show, and she waved at them.

Now everyone knew she was the famed sixth courier. That was fine with her. She had no secrets, and she liked being underneath the show lights. But her real passion was philosophy. And also cigarettes. She'd thought about naming herself Nico, because she loved nicotine. But that would be really grimy, and while she liked to live the free, low life, she also liked to walk the line between complete degenerate and intellectual. So naturally, she'd chosen a figure from the Greek myths, myths that belonged to a people she could sympathize with - complete degenerates whose men fucked other men and liked to wax intellectual. Maybe she'd be mistaken for a Legion sympathizer, but really, she didn't have much of a problem with them. Further, there were so many people who disagreed with Legion ideals, which could open up new opportunities for her to attack them with principles she didn't even believe in.

She laughed at her musings, and walked between the opening in the large, tacky, orange gate. She wasn't unimpressed with what she found. A sprawling urban network of people, neon lights, music, and festivities. So much novelty, so much opportunity. She wasn't all too surprised Benny came from a place like this - this kind of life could make a man feel utterly disconnected from the woes of the world, like he owned all ethics.

Frank Sinatra's Blue Moon played loudly on the speakers from a place whose title was Gomorrah. She knew that, because it was engraved in massive, tacky, flashing letters. And were those hookers in their street, flashing their bodies to NCR troopers? Oh yeah. This is just the place. A nest of moral decay, this would work just fine. Eris lit a cigarette, and waltzed up to the doors of the Lucky 38. There stood, and of course it could be no one else: Victor. Rolling her eyes, her mood already just slightly soured, she crossed her arms, her cigarette hanging from the tips of her thin fingers.

"Well, well. If it isn't my least favorite bot in the Mojave. And that's saying a lot, Victor. Congratulations! You're the Minnesota Fats of being annoying. Because the lot of you are beginning to blow my fuse. No pun intended, of course. Hope that didn't strike a chord you'll need to use in the future." Smugly, she waited for its no-doubt automated response. It couldn't argue against her, which meant she could call him any name in the book and he would be powerless to do anything about it.

"Howdy there, darlin'! I'll admit, I reckoned ya might've gotten lost out there, with the pace you were keepin'! Mr. House is waitin' upstairs for ya in his office. It's best not to keep him waitin'!" The statement was cleverly disguised as a joke, but she took it the way she was sure House meant it. It was a demand, not a request.

"I'd hate to keep House waiting. I mean, who knows all the discord I could start sowing in the few minutes it'd take to get up to his 'office'. It's not like I have anything better to do.."

So like the good courier she prided herself to be, she followed Victor into the casino. She didn't have much of an expectation for it, but she had thought there would at least be a few shifty characters lounging around, if the streets outside were any indication. There was none of that. It was silent, like the grave she'd been pulled out of before she quickly began annoying the shit out of Goodsprings locals. It would've presented a somber scene, if she were more poetic and less of an action woman. The cash registers were unattended, the tables were empty save for the decks of cards left neatly stacked and abandoned, as if when the bombs hit, the inhabitants simply dropped whatever they were doing, politely shuffled and stacked the cards, and high-tailed it out of there to go back home. Maybe it was regret for all that materialism they engaged in, maybe that was their last thoughts. Their minds were so focused on gain that they'd forgot more domestic obligations.

All these things shifted through her mind as she boarded the elevator with the 'Lucky 38' sigil on the doors. Her chaotic thought process was nothing new to her anymore. It was her constant companion throughout her travels - the only thing that prevented her from going fully insane, instead of the half-insane state she currently teetered on. That and Benny. She just had to meet the fella. The elevator ceased its movement, curing her of her now-nauseous stomach. Half because of high nicotine intake, half because of the movement. The bell dinged, signaling it was time for her to get off.

The penthouse was eerily silent, unlike its cousin, the casino, which was only solemnly quiet. The distinction was important to her. Her head whipped around, looking for any indication of an office desk, or something reminiscent of a corporate overlord. But there was none to be found. She smoothed down her blonde hair, hoping her presentation, ergo performance, would be a marvel. She'd cleaned up nice for the Strip. She felt like a doll playing dress up considering she cared very little for her physical appearance, but others seemed to have a preoccupation with vanity. Vanity was a useful tool in her otherwise cramped toolbox.

Her heels made light tapping sounds on the spotless tiles. Clank, clank, clank. The noise was irritating, to be sure. Why is it that men have such a fixation with women who wore heels? That leads her right back to the hypothesis that they want to fuck their mothers. Brilliant. Bingo, Freud.

She assumed something mysterious would be hidden behind the thin, red curtains. Everything mysterious was hidden behind curtains. There was a securitron with what looked like a starlet's face programmed onto the screen. She grimaced at its suspected purpose, but offered nothing in the way of conversation to it. She'd already cringed ten times on the walk and elevator ride here. She didn't need one more cringe.

The largest computer monitor she thinks (because she doesn't rightly know) she's ever seen is what meets her. It is blank, devoid of life, with nothing but a message about a lost connection. Instantaneously, it flickered to life, and soon was there a digital, black and green image of a pre-war gentleman, whom she assumed was Mr. House. He was handsome, perhaps on the older side, but he appeared charming enough. The corner of one of his lips was pulled up in what looked to be a smirk, and she half-snorted at that. That took a calculated measure of snark, to forever plant a smirking image of yourself on a giant monitor. Maybe, just maybe, she'd like House. But there was no way she was referring to him as 'sir', she'd had enough of those titles after leaving Goodsprings, the town where she was obligated to call the doctor 'doc'.

Slowly, what she hoped was additionally irritatingly, she walked up to the monitor, and took a drag from her cigarette. Playfully, she blew the exhale over the face of House. Imagine that, a digital ghost dying of smoke inhalation. Eris wondered briefly if she should be blaming her tragedy on House and not Benny, seeing as he seemed to be the lord of this land. But she knew better than to blame all her woes on authority figures. It was the people's choice, after all, to follow a leader. She would admit to some anticipation in meeting House, for after she'd heard which master Benny slaved under, she knew this was the real objective. Meeting Benny and possibly giving him a taste of his own medicine was small-time, void of any real substance. Vengeance wasn't a novel motive, it wasn't too exciting either. If Eris could say anything about herself, it was that she was more interested in the big players.

"This meeting has been a long time coming, hasn't it? You've come a long ways literally and, I suspect figuratively, as well." The booming voice echoed off the stark, empty floor. It was cold, practiced speech, though not lacking in purpose or even humanity. Every syllable was pronounced with this quasi-aristocratic edge that somehow also sounded like its owner's nose was high in the air. Before she could formulate a snide comment on that, he continued his speech, which she was convinced he'd planned since she was dug out of that lonely hole in Goodsprings. She imagined a tall, aristocratic man pacing back and forth in his 'office' practicing and honing his first words to her over and over until he found the right inflections, vocabulary, and delivery. "I am compelled to ask - now what you've reached your destination, what do you make of what you see?"

Oh, so he liked using big words. Well, she knew a lot of big words too, only she couldn't answer how she knew. And there were so many answers to his question, she wasn't entirely sure how to answer him. She could appeal to his ego and tell him truthfully that she liked his city, but she made a living making assumptions based on her readings of people, and it would be boring to stroke his no-doubt huge ego. That would be too boring. In truth, from what she'd seen thus far, Vegas was indeed impressive. And no, she hadn't seen anything like it, or else, she didn't remember seeing anything like it. Little details of the city could be improved, that much rang true. Gomorrah's flashing sign looked atrocious, and all the inhabitants she'd seen since coming here looked like their souls were being sapped out by some ancient Canaanite deity of human sacrifice. She hoped no one ever asked her how she knew the word Canaanite, because she'd have to come up with some half-assed explanation.

"So, do you want me to answer you as a subordinate to a crony capitalist, or as the liberator of Goodsprings, the conqueror of brain damage, and the remover of lost souls nailed to crosses?" She asked. The audible sigh that could be heard on the other end turned one corner of her mouth up, her expression now matching the face in front of her.

"I will ignore your very 'subtle' insult, Miss, and your grievous attempt at humor. I have always taken business seriously, and I expect you to do the same. Deflecting the question only makes you seem like you're playing the fool, and your play doesn't fool me. It's obvious to me that materialism and ravenous consumption, both of which thrive in excess in my city, has done nothing to impress you. So, come now, don't play the fool. Vegas has fools enough, a superfluity of them. They're what makes it so profitable." She blinked, a small part of her was surprised at his dismissal of her performance. "They come to Vegas chasing penny-ante dreams of high-living, to feel like they're winners. You see that you and I are of a different stripe, don't you? We don't have to dream that we're important. We are."

We don't have to dream that we're important. We are. The confidence he seemed to have in himself would've been inspiring if she had any ego underneath her persona. Unfortunately for him, she had no need to make herself seem more important than she was. He was buttering her up in the most detached way possible - making her feel like she was part of something, like they were a collective, when he said 'we'. It immediately caused her to narrow her eyes, trying to find the malicious undertones in the words, but she couldn't. Surely, he didn't think they were a team, for this couldn't be blatantly more one-sided. He'd planned for her to come here, he'd practiced every word so far, it was obvious. So why did he want to butter her up? She could think of a few different reasons, mostly pertaining to Benny. There was a lot of questions she wanted to ask House, but he seemed so rigidly no-nonsense and direct that she'd likely have to butter him up too, before she could ask. If he was trying to be subtle about him wanting something done, he was doing a poor job. But his performance thus far was sound. She could steal a thing or two, maybe.

Actually, strike that. He did say not to play the coy fool, and that's exactly what she would do. He probably thought he could discourage the act by calling her out, but he was dealing with a different variety of mailman.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, House, but I don't think you're giving me the elite treatment purely out of a desire to be wholesome. Now, I'm not saying you can't be a wholesome guy, but I fail to see how you gain from treating me like Vegas royalty. If my curiosity is correct, and I'm pretty sure it is - since I asked everyone and their mother about you, I'm the first person who's ever stepped in here in centuries."

"Oh, don't be coy.." The cunning in his tone masked the underlying irritation he surely felt. She wasn't giving the House enough credit - he did make a charming first impression, but she had a feeling she was likely one of the only people who'd ever refer to this corporate executive/centuries-old cyborg as something so base and human as 'charming'. "You've been playing a high stakes game ever since Victor dug you out of the grave. Don't be afraid to admit it, Miss Eris. I think you're afraid to admit that you like gambling with fate, especially when the risk is as high as the gain. The vast majority of the people, or customers, you see outside of the window like to play at gambling. A 99.7% chance to lose every single cap in their pockets, for a low chance to win something material. Trading material for material, it's a low stakes game. But you and I, we are willing to risk our lives for success. To us, the vision is all that matters."

Eris wouldn't admit it aloud, but she didn't exactly have a vision. She was good at pretending she did, though. There were too many things to do to focus her brainpower on only one thing. But if it helped her gain House's trust, she could play along.

"So all these humans are only 'customers' to you? Charming." She snorted, looking for an ashtray she could drop her cigarette butt in.

In truth, she didn't exactly care for them either. They formed the setting for her, and nothing more. She could pretend to weep about their tragedies until the moon came out tonight, and while a small, empathetic part of her could sympathize with those people out in Freeside, she knew the truth. If they could cease their moping about, they could probably be someone, instead of hollow shells which only served to decorate the sad, sorry scene that was outer Vegas.

"We'll have plenty of time to wax philosophical about the woes of the small folk at a later time. Besides, don't try to fool me into believing you actually care for them as more than just a useful collective for profit and gain. It is below you. I watched your entrance into my city, and you made for my casino as though you knew that this was the most significant place in the city that mattered." One of her brows arched up at that, but she said nothing for once. "Now, down to business. The business is this. One of my employees has stolen an item of extraordinary value from me, and I want it recovered. Simple enough?"

No. There wasn't anything about this universe that was simple. Everything was interconnected in a complicated web, its intricacy unfathomable to anyone who receives even an inkling of it. Maybe House was good at simplifying things, but Eris only saw room for complicating them.

"Actually, I have some questions for you. I know, I know, you're in a rush.. but entertain me, will you?" Her smile was lop-sided, hopefully it was enough to fool him into thinking she wasn't too interested in his scheme of things. In all actuality, she was dying of curiosity inside.

"Very well. What did you wish to know?" Came the stone-cold response she was beginning to expect from this machine.. man, it was difficult to keep up with all the modifications people made these days.

"What is this Platinum Chip? Now, I get that it's important to you, but I did nearly die trying to deliver it. It's safe to say I have a right to know."

"It's a very special item." His tone switched from business-like to passionate in one split second. "There's nothing else like it in the entire world. It was lost for a long time, and difficult to find." And just like that, it was back to business. She was beginning to think he possessed a very one-track mind. "That's all you need to know about it, for this stage of our enterprise. Fulfill your contract, deliver the chip, and good things will come your way."

She didn't like the way he talked down to her as if she were a child, but she didn't let something petty like hurt feelings get in the way of profit. Those things were for the idiots outside wasting their life's earning on hookers and booze, disappointing their metaphorical godhead that was the NCR. Maybe there was some brain damage in there. Actually, there was confirmed temporal lobe damage, but that was besides the point. She didn't have much love for NCR, and she didn't know if that was a lingering dislike from her past life or not. But she got a itching hunch that House felt similarly to her, though maybe for differing reasons. From what she'd seen of the NCR, they were a nest of degeneracy and corrupt bureaucracy, a reemergence of the old world incarnate. Wise men said history was the same events happening over and over in a chain, with the only difference between chain links being that they were covered in a different coat of paint.

There was one tiny problem in House's explanation of the chip. If it was so important, why send someone obviously young and apparently physically diminutive to deliver it? She didn't know her real age exactly, but it was obvious she wasn't even in her early twenties, if even twenty at all. The doctor in Goodsprings had confirmed it as much.

"If what you say is true and it is indeed valuable, why use only one, single courier, weak and female as I am?" She asked, slyly crossing her arms.

"You do realize you were only one of many couriers, the rest of them dummies, so to speak? In addition to that, many thousands of caps spent hiring mercenaries and protection to screen your avenue of approach. Had I used an armed caravan to transport the chip, I might as well have been announcing to the world 'this is important. Attack this!'" Alright, he did do a good impression of a caravan guard announcing the importance of his goods, she could admit that easily. "I didn't want to attract the attention of groups like the Great Khans or the Brotherhood of Steel. Alas.. the real threat was closer to home." There was a hint of disappointment in his voice, either at himself or Benny. Though considering his obvious confidence in himself, it was unlikely that it was the former.

Still, there was the same impulse remaining in her mind. That impulse that drove her to pick apart people's ideas, plans, and convictions until they were driven to reinforce their defenses. She searched and searched for some kind of opening she could prod at, and it took her a few moments before she spoke up again.

"Why don't you send your robots into the Tops to arrest our boy?" A laugh beamed from the back of her throat as she finished her question. Not likely, but worth mentioning nonetheless. If there was anything, anything, she could cling onto as a beacon of her pride, it was her ability to read people and find their weaknesses and the kind of defenses they used to reinforce them. House was perpetually annoyed it seemed, he could be a good partner for prodding and irritating.

"Frontal assaults on casinos? Not good for business." Ha! She knew he'd say something like that. "In any case, Benny would see it coming. And all he'd have to do is hold up the chip and point a pistol at it. Our foremost advantage is that Benny doesn't know that I know he has the chip - let's not squander it."

"With all due respect, your majesty, I think both of us place too much importance on Benny here. He's just a victim of circumstance, an opportunist who took the wrong opportunity. He isn't a goddamn mastermind, just a gangster. Plenty of those where I come from." Actually, there was none of those where she came from as far as she knew, but it sounded like the right thing to say for the moment.

"While that may be true, that he is worthless on the cosmological scale of things, he is our highest priority for as long as he carries the chip on his person." He offered little else after that dismissal. His drive would've been admirable if she wasn't such a curious mind. A Pandora, as it were.

"And so, what terms do you offer?" She asked, keeping her tone light and disinterested, even though she was already becoming quickly invested in this drama.

"My sole concern is with the Platinum Chip. What happens to Benny, I leave to your discretion. When you bring the Chip to me, I will pay you four times the delivery bonus stipulated in your contract. How's that?" His tone was falsely indulgent. If he thought she was interested in material gain, he was dead wrong. He'd have to drive a better bargain.

"Hmm.. I suppose that will do.." She looked down at her nails, playing the act of the pampered urban princess. "I don't have anywhere to stay. I'm a vagrant, pitiful and born of neglect.. I need a place to stay, and this place isn't exactly spilling with customers. Think you can sweeten the deal by giving me a suite? Out of the goodness and purity of your mechanical heart, of course. Based on the absolute state of Freeside, it's painfully clear you care a lot for the sick and needy. Be a good corporate overlord and at least pretend to donate to the less fortunate?"

A sharp sigh sounded through the speakers, and she knew she'd hit the nail on the head. Now, if she could walk out of here still breathing, that'd be a figurative cha-ching.

"As an employee of mine, you are overstepping your boundaries. I expect you to maintain at least some pretense of civility when we have these discussions, for future reference. Though seeing as I believe you will prove useful in these endeavors, I will allow you to see just a slice of what I can offer you. The Presidential Suite is at your disposal, you may use it however you see fit while you work for me. It has gone unused long enough, and it is no longer useful to me. Do with it as you please - use it for yourself, use it as a base of operations for you and whoever accompanies you. However, if the latter is its use, there is one condition. You may not allow others to roam freely throughout my casino." The deal was fair.

"Offer accepted. You ever thought about entering the real estate industry?" She quipped. "Don't answer that. I know it's going to be a dismissal either way. I have one other question, House. Who are you? Before I go risking my life for you again, I want to know just who I'm working for. I'm sure you understand."

"I am Robert Edwin House. President, CEO, and sole proprietor of the New Vegas Strip. It was I who oversaw the city's renovations starting from 2274 onward. The Three Families are my employees. Before the Great War of 2077, I was the founder, President and CEO of RobCo Industries, a vast computer and robotics corporation." He answered, a less than subtle hint of pride in his voice.

On impulse, she looked down at the Pip-Boy strapped tightly onto her right arm. So this was the mastermind behind the contraption on her wrist? She had complaints for him, then. This piece of tech was, at times, clunky, and other times it wasn't heavy enough. Plus, she didn't fancy its color. It reminded her of the puddles of radioactive waste outside of Goodsprings. Later, she'd have to point that out to him.

There was the other problem, too. He spoke about how he was that mythical figure of Robert House, the same Robert House who founded RobCo Industries, but how? Yeah, she'd heard of even odder things happening out in the wastes, but this sounded pretty far out even to her.

"Are you the real Robert House, or.." She paused in suspense, "An imposter? Because if so, I'll have to file a complaint with his offices."

It was possible that one day, this facade of playfulness and frivolity of hers would be handed to her on a silver platter. If it was by the Legion, the platter would be covered in Brahmin blood, and if it were by the NCR, it'd be covered in cash. But it was so hard for her to take any of this seriously. She'd get the job done, but the smile just couldn't be wiped off her face. These stories belong in a book of tall tales, or did they? Briefly, she wondered if everyone thought their lives were unique like the myths of Aesop. Probably.

"Don't let the video screens and computer terminals fool you. I'm flesh and blood, not silicon." He said, his tone suggesting he was through with this conversation ages ago. Unfortunately for him, she was completely invested, but since he was obviously immortal, she had all the time in the world to come back and annoy him. She'd take mercy on him just this once.

"Okay, I have more questions that you should feel obligated to answer at a later time. But I think both of us can agree Benny has to be dealt with.. unfortunately.." She sighed dramatically. While she didn't really care about Benny, she was a dramatist, and he contributed to her tragedy. It would be a damn shame if she didn't capitalize on it. "How can I find him and get to him?"

"It won't be easy. Benny is always surrounded by at least four bodyguards - except when he's in his private suite on the 13th floor of the Tops.. Look for a man named Swank, Benny's second-in-command. He's always been a reliable, if unimaginative, employee. Do your best to convince him that you're working under my auspices. Or, if you have evidence of Benny's crimes, show it to him."

She would take the diplomatic approach to this, she reasoned. The biggest advantage that stood out from all the blatant disadvantages of believing in nothing was that it was easy to adapt and pretend to believe in anything. She'd play this by ear, that's how almost all scenarios requiring diplomacy worked best.

"One last question, before I get to work." She held up one finger in emphasis, laying it on her chin, reminiscent of 'The Thinker'.

"Very well. What did you want to know?"

"Why exactly did Benny betray you? I'm asking so that in the event of any betrayal I hatch, you won't see it coming." She half-joked. This is something she liked doing, planting an honest seed and masking it with humor. You never knew when you'd have to turn your back on someone.

"Your humor leaves much to be desired. Concerning Benny's betrayal, I have to think that he found out about the Platinum Chip and mistakenly convinced himself that he could use it to his own ends. But one of only several problems of a tribal work force, I'm afraid. No intuitive understanding of how complex technologies can be."

"I see. I guess I'll see you when I have the chip then." She turned around, facing the area she came from. "Good to meet you, sir." She laughed all the way to the elevator, the sound blocking his irritated reply. This would be rewarding. If it ended poorly, then at least it could still be a good story.