ArchivedLogs:Holodeck Ethics

Holodeck Ethics
Dramatis Personae Kurt, Shane, Sebastian, Peter
In Absentia	2013-06-06 '
Location <XS> Danger Room - B2
The room is large and circular, a geodesic hemisphere of hexagonal ceramic panels. It is the Danger Room, and is thus often full of danger, but is presently not in use and is thus remarkably danger-free. Safest room in the school, probably. Xavier's foyer provides a suitable introduction to the opulent mansion. Teak-paneled, wood floors immaculately polished, vaulted ceiling ribbed with dark wood boning, there is no doubt this school was built with no expense spared. The hallways branch off to the separate wings, with the grand staircase spiraling upwards to the residential dorms above. The simulation begins with the sound of windows being smashed open. Four flash grenades are lobbed into the main Xavier foyer and its surrounding hallways; when they go off, the concussive bang ricochets down through the walls -- a brilliant, eye-scorching blast of light searing anyone who happens to be looking in their general direction at that precise moment. An instant later, and the doors are being smashed down by the business end of a carbon-steel battering ram -- rupturing them in an explosion of timber and metal. Six uniformed, armored -- helmeted -- members of SWAT pour in -- each armed with a shotgun, each rushing to a defensive position. Two flanking the door; two moving to the corners that lead down to the hallways; two moving to step toward the stairs, shotguns pointed upward at anyone who might decide to emerge. In this simulation, they are not here to take prisoners. Shane is fidgeting with the straps on his clunky wristband-webshooters when the SWAT team rolls in. He doesn't seem in any hurry to do any charging, staying where he is just around the corner to the boys' hallway as the people start towards the stairs. "-- SWAT, seriously?" he mutters, beneath his breath in the wake of that first bang (which makes him cringe, and makes Bastian cover his ears with a wince.) "Yeah, mmm, you know," Bastian isn't eying the oncoming officers at all; he's eying the hallway. Starting down it, to open dorm room doors. Peek inside. "-- you get raided by a bunch of /police/ and I'm thinking running's kind of better than fighting, can we get everyone /out/?" "Not in the mood for bacon today?" Shane is risking a peek around the corner now, while his brother investigates Evacuating People. A deep breath and he is flinging one hand around the corner, THWIP-aiming for one of the shotguns of one of the SWAT members coming up the stairs. At least, trying to aim for it. It's a moving target around a corner he miiight not be really on /point/ with this. "Tsk, tsk." This voice comes from nowhere in particular, and is recognizable immediately to the boys in the scenario as the voice of one Kurt Wagner, aka Nightcrawler. "Guns? Gentlemen, /really/, such cheating, I might almost be insulted. And /armor/ too, /come/ now." As he speaks, his voice riccohets around the room, echoed with the disorienting echo of his BAMF. Maybe the SWAT team will freak out and fire at the cloud he leaves behind, maybe they're too well-trained... ...but either way there isn't much they can do when Kurt manifests behind one of the trailing SWAT members and grabs him with both legs and both arms, tail holding a sword to the small, small amount of exposed flesh between the man's helmet and armored gorget. "Let us even the odds, mein Herren." There's a terrible, wet sound, and the two men vanish in a cloud of sulfur. It would seem the German acrobat is /not/ part of the evacuation team today. The students for this simulation are all generic, randomly generated 'school children'; at the sight of a SWAT team exploding into the halls, they proceed to all freak the /fuck/ out. They'll obey any orders they're given by Shane, Sebastian, Peter, or Kurt -- except orders that involve attacking the SWAT team or putting themselves directly in harm's way. Otherwise, they are just running for any exits they can find -- or hiding. When Bastian peeks into that room, he finds -- hello! Generic wide-eyed boy #1, wide-eyed boy #2. Both very scared and looking around in desperation, their eyes immediately snapping down on the blue-skinned shark-boy. "OhGod," #1 squeaks; "What the hell--" #2 yelps. Both tense, panicked, and obviously with no clue as to what to do. Shane's THWP doesn't catch the shotgun -- it does, however, catch the man's arm. He spasms and jerks back in surprise, sweeping the shotgun across for the direction the web-strand came from -- despite having, /literally/, a string to follow back to the source, he's not on-target when he first opens fire -- a tongue of flame belching from the barrel, 'projected' ammo flung in a broad, lashing stroke toward the wall opposite Shane -- timber erupting in a flash of splinters and dust. "Upstairs!" When Kurt Wagner turns to smoke, one member of the team -- the one closest to the door -- /does/ open fire. Another flash of the barrel, a rumbling BOOM as part of the banister explodes, the swirling cloud of smoke punctured by the spread -- languid whirlpools of it whipping lazily around the holes the shot left. But then, as the very same man who opened fire steps toward the stairs -- he is suddenly plus one Kurt. And plus one /blade/ at his throat. He manages a wet, helpless *GURKT* -- right before they /both/ disappear in that smokey cloud. "FUCK! TELEPORTER!" one of the team members -- the other one by the door -- shouts. He's dropped his shotgun, pulled his handgun, and is now sweeping the room for /any/ signs of /anything/ that ain't a member of the team. The other two men on the ground floor are still sweeping the halls -- the men upstairs (including the one Shane shoulder-webbed) will soon be sweeping the /upper/ halls with their shotguns. On the lower floor, one of the SWAT steps forward -- only for, THWP THWP -- web-strands lashing out to catch his shotgun, YOINK it out of his hands, up toward the ceiling -- where it's caught in one hand, just as the other extends and -- THWP THWP THWP THWP -- eyes, hands, and the handgun holstered at his hip, all splatted with glue-balls. Peter's on the ceiling, crouched; the boy is clad in his red hoodie, red ski mask (with buggy yellow goggles), blue jeans, and two-toed socks. He's also unusually quiet during the proceedings. Now, holding one shotgun, he descends for the blind, hand-glued officer -- shoulder /slamming/ into his chest, sending him whumping to the ground with Peter on top. Shotgun tossed aside, and -- THWP THWP THWP THWP. Glued to the ground. Then, just as the other SWAT on the groundfloor turns to face him, he's jumping atop of the ceiling, scurrying away. "Fff," Shane ducks back around the corner at that shotgun blast -- /yanking/ at the strand attached to the man's arm as he does so. His other hand jerks out to just SPLAT -- not a strand but a goopy wad of glue towards the other upstairs-officer's feet. Sebastian is, for the most part, ignoring the officers altogether. He's making his way down the hall instead, collecting terrified Generic Students as he goes. "C'mon," he is as encouraging as a sharp-toothed shark-boy can be, "come with me, let's go." Leading them -- farther back! Towards a /window/ at the end of the hall, to peer out of it and see what is outside. Thwipthwip! Shane is trying for better aim this time, though he has to scurry out further into the hall to do it. The guns of the officers upstairs. He mightmaybe spare a quick glance down (it's not worried, honest! Just. Frowning. Littleconcern.) towards Peter. Kurt's laughter floats disembodied from around the room; in the darkness he is effectively invisible, even the low glow of his eyes doesn't give him away. The cloud reappears, but all that comes /out/ of it is /half/ of a SWAT member's shotgun and a helmet. The elf has BAMF'd away before the first bullet can traverse his path. "Ene mene miste." Kurt chants, as before each word peppered with the unpredictable sound of his teleportation. "Es rappelt in der Kiste. Ene mene meck..." Nightcrawler drops down from above on the SWAT member still on the first floor, probably while the poor man is trying to reload, sword-first at an angle meant to grieviously cripple the man's gun hand. "Und du bist weg." Another BAMF, and that's two men Kurt has abducted off to God Knows Where. As Sebastian takes up the time-honored responsibility of ESCORT MISSION, he's soon followed by the two terrified young students, who huddle low and follow him out into the hall -- even as Shane YANKS on that silver cord, managing to send the SWAT rolling in surprise, his shotgun going off again -- this time, aimed low, at the floor. BOOM! More splinters tear up; more shouts, more screams. Students are starting to pop their heads out of the rooms -- more students on the lower levels are rushing out of their dorms, charging for -- exits, /any/ exits. Regrettably, the most obvious exit is the doorway where at least one SWAT member (with a pistol) is still stationed. Outside that window, Sebastian sees nothing amiss; no flashing lights, no signs of men with shotguns waiting to attack. It /is/ two stories up, but it's not like that's /unmanageable/. The students huddle at his back, throwing terrified glances this way and that -- meanwhile, Shane's goop-ball /hits/ the SWAT member's feet, gluing him -- his shotgun swings up, now, shotgun taking aim on Shane -- /just/ as a strand splats across its barrel, and -- WTF WHERE DID HIS SHOTGUN GO?! He blinks, confused -- for just an instant -- before immediately darting his hand down for his pistol, unholstering it and swinging up to take aim at Shane -- who gets about, half a second, maybe a full second of warning before -- BLAM, BLAM, BLAM! The other SWAT member's shotgun is similarly hit, and -- YOINK! -- he's minus one, too. Less quick on the uptake than his companion, he immediately moves around the corner and drops down for cover -- shoving a screaming kid out of his way roughly -- as he reaches for his pistol, unholstering it. No sooner has Kurt appeared in that cloud of swirling smoke then is the pistol-wielding SWAT member on the ground foyer opening fire -- BLAM, BLAM, BLAM -- bullets striking wood and plaster, digging deep as each cuts a harmless path through the swirling cloud of fumes. When Kurt descends -- he produces a strangled scream of surprise -- the knife slipping down through the crook of his armor to slice deep in, cutting blood -- and then -- BAMF. Gone. The SWAT member still on the ground floor is charging to where he saw Peter scuttle across the ceiling-- opening fire as a screaming teenager gets in the way -- there's no blood; just a faint flashing and -- then the teenager is gone. Like it was a video game. And then, just as he rounds the corner -- THWWwwwp. Peter /flips/ round that corner first, arms extending outward to slip across the man's torso -- projecting a spray from his webshooters that instantly hardens into a stretchable /coccoon/, a sheet that he's already twisting around the man's front, snapping his shotgun up against his torso as Peter runs sideways along the wall -- circling him, jumping off the wall to spin and land on his opposite side -- bundling the SWAT member up inside of a tightly binding coccoon. The shotgun pokes up from the top. Peter scampers off along the side of the wall, now -- on all fours, back toward the foyer. Sebastian isn't opening the window, just yet. He's ushering the children into the dorm nearest it: "Stay right here!" -- and turning to /bolt/ back down the hall. Because there is an entire girls' wing not yet evacuated and it is probably the one with a handgun'd SWAT officer standing right in it. In that half-second-maybe-full-second Shane is dropping to all fours, barreling his way straight towards the man glued towards the floor. It is not /far/ and he is /fast/; by the time those shots are getting off he is launching himself up /towards/ the arm holding the gun. Very TOOTHILY, chomp! Maybe aiming for the disarming strategy of if they are bleeding too much from the wrist it will be that much harder to hold or aim a gun. Unfortunately not fast enough to avoid the /first/ of those blasts; it hits him right in the shoulder, prompting a harsh snarl and probably a rather more /savage/ bite than he otherwise would have administered. Also unfortunately, means he is not really particularly paying attention to the /other/ man on this floor. His brother /is/, though. That is what twins are /for/. Sebastian's own webshooters are rougher, once-gloves now torn apart and cannibalized to suit webbed hands. He darts after that man who disappeared around the corner, and his rapid THWIP THWIP THWIP is not aimed to disarm or grab or anything but angrily SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT. It's less neat than Peter downstairs but eventually /enough/ gluesplatting will serve a cocoony purpose /anyway/. "Shh--Ang--FUCK!" Shane's target goes down screaming; teeth snap into his wrist -- flesh and bone parting beneath those teeth as the officer struggles hard not to release the gun. Shane's weight on the man's arm is enough to send him reeling to the ground /anyway/; another shot goes off, but this one is wild and chaotic, taking a chunk out of the ceiling. His other arm descends -- trying to /beat/ Shane off with his bare fist, WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP -- but it's only a matter of time before the sheer pain of teeth drives him to release the gun. "FUCK--" The other SWAT is down in a crouch, using cover. Sebastian's charging -- /way/ faster than any normal person should -- and those incoming THWPs take their toll. He manages to get off one maybe-good shot, early, when Sebastian's still far away; the next two come only as the web-balls are hitting his arms, shoulders, torso, face -- sending the gunshots careening upward and harmlessly to the side as he tumbles down into a sloppy, messy tangle of web-glue. "Ffffnn--" And in comes Peter, /swooping/ around that corner -- a hand extending up toward the ceiling past Shane, leaping upward with a THWP, launching himself in a swing toward him -- descending, in a rolling dive, to try and seize hold of the man's other arm and /slam/ it down to the ground. Sebastian does not /stop/ at that gunshot. Much like his brother, it elicits a snarl, harsh and pained; for a moment it drops him against the floor, arm refusing to bear his weight with a bullet hole torn through bicep. But after this he keeps charging. He doesn't bite. He wrests the gun away from the splat-glue-pile of man, gluing it to the wall with another THWIP. But then he is still on a /mission/. Kind of a bloodier painier mission, but there are dorms to search and frightened children to herd towards the ones he's already collected. Shane's snarl has turned sharper, hungrier, with that sinking of teeth into flesh. He laps at blood probably more than is necessary for just disarming the man; it's only Peter's descent that makes him stumble back a step, teeth bared and eyes narrowed. "Fffngh," he hisses, and his arm is kiiind of trembly where his shoulder's been /shot/. "C'mon, let's -- kids. Out." THWP, THWP, THWP, THWP -- Peter silently glues the fallen SWAT's arms to the floor, followd by his ankles, followed by his waist; there's something near surgical about the work -- he doesn't say anything, just quickly working to secure the man firmly to the ground. And then -- as Shane hisses, Peter reaches -- his hand moving to catch Shane's opposite shoulder. And -- thwwwwwp, he fires the spray, a sheet of webbing emerging as he coats it around Shane's injured shoulder, patching the injury. Then -- On after Shane, following Sebastian. Herding the children out of their dorms, two by two. Pausing for just a moment, to firmly grab Sebastian by his shoulder and bind the bloody hole in his bicep, just like Shane. Then it's right back to ushering the kids out -- nudging them toward the windows, where -- well, with both sharktwins down one arm, it's probably going to be left to Peter and Kurt to help scoop them out and to the ground below. There's sounds, near the front doors, too -- the first team was taken down in less than a minute. But in a few more minutes -- it's hard to imagine there's not going to be more. Sebastian is quick, working with Peter to herd children towards the windows. He shoves one open, sticking his head out to do a quick sweep of the visible grounds. But after this he drops back, nudging his brother with a shoulder, flexing his fingers in their remade webshooters and dropping to -- three limbs, admittedly, rather than four -- to lope back to the end of the hallway. "Get them all down," Shane translates this for Peter, joining his brother at the end of the hall. "We'll cover you." Bastian glares down at the front door, head tipping slightly as he listens for noises. "... yeah," he agrees, "but if you're quick we won't have to." Some of the sounds have been...less than standard, as SWAT teams go. Kurt's BAMF-effect has been sounding non-stop since he disappeared with the last man standing from the lower part of the SWAT team. There's been shouting, and gunfire, and screaming, and then, just about the time that the boys have the kids ready to go, trying to get them out to the window, that the sounds, even the sound of Kurt /teleporting/, ominously...stop. Then the front door opens again, or maybe it's opened further, and there's Nightcrawler. He looks exhausted, he's holding one shoulder--its matching hand still holding its sword--a little oddly, as if he's been injured there. He's covered in...something. Best not to think about that. But what he says, however, in a rough, oddly-deep-for-him voice, is "The way is clear. For now." Moving 20 to 30 kids from the second floor to the ground floor isn't an easy task, even /with/ webshooters. Peter's quick to move to it, though -- in an instant, he's out the window, firing a webline to connect him to the wall -- feet propped up against it, leaning out -- using his free hand to web kids, one by one, by their sternum and shoulders -- helping them out and /swinging/ them to the ground. He starts with one, then two -- and then, after that, he's doing them two, three at a time -- just as many as he can sling down, as /fast/ as he can do it. He's done in about under a minute and a half. Just as the last kid's feet are hitting the ground, Peter's /rushing/ back in -- webshooters out, charging straight at the twins -- "/OUT/," he shouts -- the first thing he's said since starting! -- as he moves toward them -- but it's only then that he's skidding to a halt, low and twisting, and -- oh, there's a Kurt. Uh. Hi. "...ohcrap." There's a beep somewhere overhead as the simulation ends. The room remains -- but the bodies of the SWAT suddenly vanish. Gun-inflicted injuries, too, fade; no where near as fast or sudden, but slowly easing back until they're just a memory. Peter reaches up to grab the top of his mask, /yanking/ it off. Exposing his face -- flustered and violet. Eyebrows crumpled into a deep, tense crevice; mouth thin and tightly drawn. He's moving, now -- back toward the twins -- the shooters rising up, firing -- a brief shot of vinegar mist. On top of the wrappings on their arms. Tsssss. Tsssss. Even when the simulation ends it takes the twins a moment to -- well. Return to normal would be an exaggeration. Sebastian is still tense, narrowed eyes focusing now on Kurt; Shane still favours his shoulder even after the not-really-injury vanishes and the glue is being misted away. Shane looks over Peter, his own brows furrowed and his jaw tense. His hand moves to Peter's elbow, just a brief brush of fingers. "You're not OK." Bastian is saying that to Kurt, not his fellow teenagers. His words come out a little /hitchy/, stuttering breathlessly as his gills flutter quickly. Shane's gills are doing the same, but he is not even trying to talk around this. Just studying Peter. Studying Kurt. Frowning. When the simulation ends, the darkness that was covering Kurt--blood, it was definitely blood--vanishes, and he straightens a little, rolling his shoulder once or twice as if to test it. There's a strange, detached look to his eyes as he looks to his swords first, determining that none of the mess that was covering them remains. It fades as he flips them around to slide them silently into the sheathes on his back, and by the time he focuses on Bastian, the usual warmth is back in his gaze, head tipped to the side. "Did I misunderstand the terms of the scenario?" He asks, quietly, before he looks back to his shoulder. "Oh, that. Well, no, it was only biometric feedback from the Danger Room, I am not actually injured. The memory of the soreness will be gone in an hour or so." When Shane touches Peter's elbow, he draws in a sharp, tiny breath. When Bastian mentions to Kurt that he's not okay, Peter holds that breath; when Kurt mentions the soreness will be gone in an hour or so -- Peter just steps forward, and -- FLUMP. Both arms /snag/ a shark by the waist. He drags them both closer, arms /squeeeeezing/, hands moving to stroke at their flank-gills -- pushing them down. His face is still tense, mouth still drawn in a sharp little line, but he's breathing a bit better now. "...I like the zombie pirate sims better. Zompirates." Then: "This is. I don't know. I don't like this. I guess. Should we keep doing these? I, don't know." "You should do zombiepirates," Shane advises, tipping his head upward, lifing up onto his toes, to kiss Peter on the temple. "Did you kill them?" Bastian is asking Kurt this. He doesn't sound -- much of anything past thoughtful. He leans in against Peter's side, grimacing as if in pain -- very possibly still in pain! -- as he curls his arm around Peter's waist. "He didn't mean your arm," Shane supplies this quietly, shifting his eyes back to Kurt. "... at least, it's not easy for /us/ when we --" But he stops this, glancing to Peter and then to the floor. His cheek presses against Peter's arm. "Don't do them." Sebastian still just sounds thoughtful, but there's an added tension in the arm that holds Peter. "Not if you don't -- not yet. Practice with pirates." "They were not real, they were never alive, so how could I have killed them?" Kurt asks, almost beatifically, his tail twitching back and forth behind him. It betrays him; as serene as he might look on the surface, his tail shows he is unhappy. "The objective was to take no prisoners, and to save the children, ja? Already I failed a bit, I think, we lost one, did we not? I cannot afford to take things easy on myself and risk innocent lives. I told you--I promised myself two years ago, no more cages. For anyone." A long silence, and then the elf offers, "...I prefer pirates also." Bastian studies Kurt for a moment, still leaning against Peter's side. "... I don't think," he says eventually, slowly, "that taking things easy on yourself is a problem you have." Shane's eyes are closing, his cheek still pressed up against Peter's arm. The restless flutter of his gills is slowly calming, if not stopping. He cracks an eye open again. "It's okay," he tells Kurt, "I mean, that's what this room is for, right? You don't have to always be perfect." He wriggles out of Peter's arm, darting closer to Kurt to offer his advisor a quick tight hug instead. It takes a little while before Sebastian's eyes leave Kurt, turning up to the blank metallic ceiling. "Next time," he says, with a squeeze of Peter's waist, "pirates for everyone." Bastian's comment causes Kurt to glances at him, with a lopsided little smirk. He doesn't seem very surprised at Shane's desire to hug him, instead just lifting his 'uninjured' arm to return the hug. His voice is still quiet as he speaks. "Ja, this is where I make the mistakes, so in the real world, I know how /not/ to make them. I would be much more upset with myself I had actually lost one of you due to a lack of conviction." That's all he says about that. Instead, he grins, all teeth--granted less pointy ones than the twins do. "Next time I will show you boys my personal pirate simulation. We can test your mettle against Aloke's ship. I think a pair of clever sharks and a rigging man would be a fine addition to the Dread Pirate Bluetail's crew."