ArchivedLogs:Peer Review

Peer Review
Dramatis Personae Doom, Malthus
In Absentia	2013-07-28 Doctor Doom and Malthus Rogers review the Morlock raid footage.
Location <LATV> Latverian Embassy - Midtown
The conference room on the second floor appears to be no less secure than the room the monarch can usually be found in. Indeed, this particular room looks more like an elaborate panic room. Overall, it is anything but welcoming, considering its cool and steel appearance. It's not just the colour scheme that's cool; the room is /literally/ cool, be it the coldest winter night or the hottest summer midday. Dominating the room is an aptly large elongated table with curved corners. Monitors are installed into it, a number large enough to accommodate every seat. Although there is a throne at the head of the table, Doctor Doom is standing opposite of where Malthus was offered a seat. Both the monitor in front of the captain and the monarch are transmitting edited footage of military action - orders yelled, shots fired and mutants flaunting their prowess. Since the only furniture that could hold the powerful steel frame is the throne, Doctor Doom trades his ability to sit for what he likely perceives as equality. As the footage comes to an end, the screens flicker off, as if that were their default state. The king remains standing as he is, and the posture is positively ponderous. One hand is cupping the elbow of an arm that has lifted the other hand up to the level of his chin. The latter hand is crumpled into a musing fist. His disapproving scowl is still there, and it takes many a while to dismiss it as something that /isn't/ actual feedback on the current situation. Those sharply judging eyes do not help with that. Without a single word, he flicks his now expectant gaze up from the monitor and to Malthus Rogers. Malthus Rogers is -- well, Malthus Rogers. The man seems, at all times, a sea of implacable calm; he is tranquil as Doom reviews the footage -- watching, himself, for what is likely no doubt the hundredth time as his men struggle and toil against mutants amidst the sewers. When the footage is complete -- Malthus, legs crossed, fingers steepled into his laps -- offers Doom a polite smile. Before offering: "Your device /did/, in fact, save lives, Doctor. Its performance was exemplary; indeed, it would be my hope that in the future, such machines will see regular service alongside soldiers. It is regrettable," he soon adds, "that my superiors did not see fit to allow your full contingent to descend. Nevertheless, the presence of merely /one/ was sufficient to drastically alter the dynamic of the conflict." Silence on the monarch's part continues for a short while longer, until finally that powerful voice floods the room, offering a response to the captain. "I am satisfied by the outcome of our cooperation. You are free to inform your superiors I am willing to have seconds." The hand that fidgets at the bottom of his chin lowers, and the dictator crosses his armoured arms. His gaze predictably remains fixated on Malthus. "I am also content with the performance of your own assets. Of course, I have questions. First of all, /Malthus/, you have told me that mission priority was to engage any additional mutants encountered with non-lethal weaponry in order to capture them. Reviewing this footage, I have witnessed contradicting events." The request to elaborate is not even spoken aloud; Victor's eyes commit the query, instead. "Mmn," Malthus responds. He /leans/ back in his chair; there is a steady creak as he regards Doctor Doom with -- almost an apologetic? -- air. "--yes. I apologize for what must seem like an attempt to deceive. My orders were to engage with non-lethal force, only applying lethal force in cases wherein the threat was deigned too great to to be subdued by other means. In at least one case, I made this determination. Additionally," Malthus continues, his eyes drifting back to the monitor, "I have multiple objectives outside the parameters of this particular mission -- objectives I did not expect to /intersect/. When they did, I attempted to seize the opportunity. Regrettably, I failed." Behind the metallic sheen of the eye-sockets, those weary eyes momentarily widen in what may as well be read as surprise. "Failed?" The word echoes in a blanket of a robotic roar. The eyes narrow, accumulating searing focus on Malthus anew. A different matter is momentarily addressed. "Deception was not my first thought. Incompetence was." A single hand raises to leisurely - almost lazily - gesture towards the comfortably seated captain. "But, even if I have limited knowledge of your years that drown in secrecy, it stands to reason even the US government would not hire a completely incompetent man to lead such a sensitive operation and still expect success. I marched my soldier alongside yours. I reviewed the footage. You were /ready/." A pause. "You encountered something or someone that fit another objective. It dwarfed the importance of the mission you were on, and you panicked." An even shorter pause is granted before the monarch adds: "Is my conclusion incorrect?" Malthus does not respond for some time. He is, apparently, /thinking/. When he finally does speak -- it is with great care: "--panic implies I acted incorrectly. Given what I knew at the time, I believe my order was the correct one. The error was not in my response," he continues, only /now/ bringing his gaze down to Doom's eternal, iron-clad scowl. "The error was in my failure to ascertain the full scope of my primary target's power." There is a faint uptick on the unscarred side of Malthus' face. "--in fact, I do believe I -- quite accidentally, I assure you -- saved his life. But otherwise, yes; your conclusion is indeed an accurate depiction of what occurred." "/Someone/, then." The overwhelming emphasis on the word has all the power of a pawn hitting the chessboard, wood ticking against wood. The phenomenon repeats when another word arrives shortly after: "/Male/." As the gathered information was of no consequence, Victor casually carries on to address something vastly different. "Do not discard panic as a fully erroneous response, Malthus. Panic is an overbearing sensation of fear that overrides reason and logic. The most efficient method of disrupting order is introducing chaos, and the most surefire method of containing chaos is through order. Panic is just as likely to disarm you as empower your enemies." Beat. "Note that what I said is not judgement of your past actions, but rather advice for your future ones." His next questions are quite bold, ignorant of the fact that the answer may as well be out of his reach: "What of your next step? What of the captives?" Then again, they're awfully straightforward and... easy? Malthus smiles. It is a sincere gesture; one that even manages to extend up his face and register upon those eyes -- both of them. Even the scarred one. The lip, of course, exposes more teeth -- an incidental snarl. It comes in response to Doom's rapid determinations regarding the identity of this person. "--would you like me to tell you who...?" Malthus asks, before adding: "To be honest, I don't consider it much of a secret; it's actually more of a personal objective than one my superiors have officially placed upon me. I do know," he is soon to add, "the objective aligns critically with my superiors' interests; however, they would prefer not to put the objective in 'writing', as it were, and rely upon me to carry it out with a certain degree of -- discretion. An 'unspoken agreement', I suppose?" The description of panic's advantages prompts Malthus' eyebrows to lift; in response, he only nods his head once. The question merits another response, however -- much more quickly than before: "The prisoners are to be transported to a classified facility. My next step is -- mmn. To oversee the transport. I also wish to stay in the city for a while; I have an inkling that trouble is brewing. Regrettably, I suspect my specialties will soon be required." A single hand departs once again from the crossed position of his arms, but this time the gesture is slower and softer, attaining its zenith by offering an open steel palm towards Malthus. A symbol of expecting something. "Share your ambition with me. Tell me the man's name. Even if it serves little purpose, I want to know the name of the man who has made you fail." As the hand slowly retracts, crow's feet gather at the angles of Victor's aged eyes. Anger? Amusement? It's hard to tell. Either way, Malthus' decision to continue his presence in New York City warrants further investigation. "Define trouble. Are you worried about the abuse the mutant community faces in recent times?" Pretext is hard to detect when the voice is monotonous and dead. "Jackson Holland," Malthus replies with effortless calm. "Mmn. I'm concerned," Malthus agrees tentatively, "that the escalation in this conflict will reach a point of no return -- particularly with such galvanizing figures as Mr. Holland -- the mutant responsible for halting the train -- and others -- rising to prominence in the media. One of the great advantages we enjoy is the -- shall we say, 'disorder'? -- of the mutant community. In many respects, there /is/ no such community; not in the broadest sense. I believe, however, that advantage is on the brink of vanishing." Fortunately for the scowl beneath which Victor van Doom hides, the reaction to hearing the name is nigh impossible to read. Even his eyes seem to show little reaction beyond a well-timed blinked, perhaps suggesting he consciously refrains from offering any visual or vocal response. The lingering silence confirms one thing - Doctor Doom is aware of Jackson Holland. "For every man who wants to kill Jackson Holland, five will stand to defend him. He lives because his armour is eternal and impenetrable. He is not just a well-loved man with a close circle of friends who will wholeheartedly support him. He is a torch many want to see continue burning, because the shadows cast by people like you are thick and tall. For every stone cast at his armour, it grows in resilience." Those arms unwrap with deliberate caution, as if he readies them for some pristine task. "Do not approach the torch, for you will burn yourself like an insignificant moth. Nor will your darkness intimidate him, for the most beautiful flowers bloom in adversity. Had I wanted to eliminate him, I would deprive him of every precious drop of oxygen he holds dear." Moving his hands behind him to clasp them, he finally removes his gaze from Malthus to look ahead, towards the cold steel wall. "You fear complete and total segregation of man and mutant. Tell me, Malthus, not captain to monarch, but man to man. Would that not be a grand turn of events? Would that not create the commotion necessary to dispose of the undesirables?" "It would have been very nice," Malthus responds to Doom's description of Holland after an extended moment of thought, his eyes drifting once again above the monarch's head, "if he had simply disappeared in the sewers. But, mmn. I doubt an opportunity /that/ perfect will ever present itself again. My superiors," he soon adds, with just a tiny -- perhaps humored? twitch of the mouth, "regretfully inform me that leveling his apartment complex with a drone-strike is /not/ an option." Is that a joke? Maybe. Something about Malthus' tone may carry the implication that this is something he's actually /requested/, however. "--grand? Mmn, I suppose it would be /interesting/," Malthus allows. "Refreshing, perhaps, for things to be made so clear-cut. But I do not think we are ready as a people to do what needs to be done. In confidence, Doctor -- not as a soldier, but as a man -- I believe that, ultimately, the only viable solution is to kill our enemies. Every man, every woman, every child. But I suspect many mutants understand this much more clearly than us. Were it to come down to the situation you describe," Malthus says, "I believe we would hesitate. And they would not." "First things first." The heavy gaze falls upon the other man with the weight of steel. "Jackson Holland must not die. Your failure to comprehend the fallout his death would cause stems from your failure to acknowledge the recent and ongoing consequences of Kyle Whelan's demise. That renamed a bill and promoted hooliganism. Imagine what damage the brutish removal of Jackson Holland would achieve." A slow shake of the head that Doctor Doom exhibits can be compared to that of a disapproving parent. "/No/. If you value success, you will begin by stripping him of his armour. Villify him. If you fail to make his friends question him, make it so that everyone else does. Strip him of his immortality, but let him live." Sealing his regal poise into stability and stillness, Doctor Doom moves on: "You possess a regrettably offensive attitude, Malthus. You would sooner destroy than explore. However, I do not believe either side would hesitate if the scenario of segregation would occur. It all lies in the power of presentation. If one side were to be led to believe that the absence of the other is their only key to survival, every invalid will rise from his wheelchair to fight tooth and claw for his life." "Oh," Malthus responds -- and for an instant, his steepled hands untangle, a hand lifting upward -- as if to ward off Doom's wrath! Or perhaps merely to apologize. "I beg your pardon, Doctor; I spoke in jest concerning the airstrike. Vilifying him would, I suspect, be all but impossible; a simpler solution -- my preference -- would be a trivial death, unrelated to the issue of mutant persecution. But if it is possible, yes -- I believe it would be in our greatest interest to destroy the /image/ before the man." On the matter of presentation, Malthus smiles -- delicately. "You are a man familiar with personal misery, are you not, Doctor? As are your people. As are, indeed, many mutants. This is a strength many of us in America lack, however: Our lives are spent far from the fields of war. Comfort is a powerful sedative; many of us would balk at the notion of murdering children ourselves. This war," he adds, "will be fought not on some distant battlefield by drones; it will be fought on our homes, in our streets, in our alleys. That is a type of conflict we are /deeply/ unfamiliar with. It is not, however," and here, Malthus' expression darkens, "a type of conflict /mutants/ are unfamiliar with." Doctor Doom glares - and there are few instances in which this word is as apt as it is now - at Malthus. The monarch does so in complete silence for a while, until finally he decides to swerve away from Malthus. Steel clashes against steel as Victor van Doom slowly makes his way towards the end of the table that's closer to the exit. "Impossible," he echoes. "It is a word I often hear from all over the world. You have been chosen at random to be granted the knowledge that the continued misuse of this word in my presence insults my intelligence. I have conquered the human mind, reclaimed a land for its people and restored it within months." When his back fully faces Malthus, he slowly pivots to face the captain again. "Never mind my numerous contributions to science." The silence that bridges the topics lasts the equivalent of a blink of an eye. Curiously, however, the next issue addresses is far removed from the previous one. "There is one final question. Audrey Garrett is reported as deceased. Am I privileged to know the truth?" "--mmn. Thank you for informing me of this, Doctor," Malthus replies, and now he rises to his feet -- brisk, professional, /swift/. "I believe I understand your position in this regard -- it is my own preference to never insult. I will change my behavior accordingly." There is an almost mechanical ease with which Malthus informs him of this; as if he were a machine that had merely been -- reprogrammed. Malthus' hands are clasped behind his back; he turns to the door. On the issue of Audrey Garrett, Malthus pauses -- before adding: "I am only allowed to tell you that this information is classified. But," and here, Malthus' face twitches into a barely-formed smile, "I'm sure that fact alone is enough for you to ascertain the answer. Thank you, Doctor, for your countless indulgences." "My position is the pursuit of achievement beyond perceived capacity," the monarch announces. On Malthus' way to the door, the dictator would silently intercept the captain, so as to offer a handshake. A handshake that would be in no way suggestively strong; it would be firm, but not imposing. "Perhaps we will cooperate a second time," he suggests, eyeing Malthus closely. "You will easily find me should you have need of aid." Malthus accepts the hand; his own grip is firm -- resolute -- unafraid within the grip of that metal sheathe, though certainly not capable of the same ferocious strength. ...Perhaps. To the latter statement, Malthus only bows his head respectfully: "Thank you." And then... he leaves. Doom. To his /plotting/.