ArchivedLogs:Meeting Doom

Meeting Doom
Dramatis Personae Kisha, Doug, Doom
In Absentia	2013-04-20 The expo moves on to robotics. Doug nearly gets a heart attack, Kisha gets what sounds like a job proposal.
Location Doom Science Expo
The warehouse in which the exhibition can be found is unsurprisingly spacious. A great number of companies have decided to show up, and there's nary a square inch left unused. The largest eye-catching trait of the entrance to the show is a massive poster of the fair's logo - Earth is shown with latitudes and longitudes being revealed to be nothing more than fake tiles, which robotic workers are applying to the southern hemisphere; the lower half of the world is grid-like and mechanical on the inside. Ticket booths are empty. Instructions slapped on the windows tell visitors to order tickets as they would normally. Afterwards, the purchased tickets are printed and presented through a thin slit. Once inside, the very first thing visitors see, of course, is what Doom has for show - a reasonably sized elevated floor for a merry band of faceless robots. They are for the most part humanoid, playing a piano, a bass and a violin. They are surprisingly precise and fluent in their efforts. As visitors venture deeper into the innards of the expo, they will see a stupidly wide assortment of displays, from amputees stressing themselves physically with intricate prosthetics, to non-humanoid machines lifting heavy objects, to multiple mechanical hovering over a fake patient and performing surgery on it. There are no patrols and no security, just a poster that states that people are expected to behave, that every step of theirs is monitored and an intelligent artificial intelligence will pick out troublemakers and alert the appropriate authorities. Of all the people to have visited the science fair few have made as frequent or as thorough a viewing as Kisha. The petite teen has been from each and every stall taking copious amounts of notes in audio, video and even written form. Currently she has a little laser measuring device out, the kind you get from an upmarket DIY store, which she's using to calculate the exact dimensions of one of the robot musicians. You would expect a big crowd to trample a poor stationary girl doing measurements, but somehow there is a little bubble of calm around her that is apparently maintained through sheer force of will alone (although the 'get in my way and I'll hurt you glare' might be helping!). Doug is in /heaven/. Nerdvana. Whatever you want to call it. The blonde is definitely in his element as he moves past the ticket kiosk and into the expo proper. He pauses for a moment to read the information placard near the entrance, fingers skimming over his phone's screen as he gets the suggested app before moving on to study the robotic band. His gaze is intent as he examines the group, leaning over to search for an input or control device. Surely someone wouldn't create a robot band that couldn't take requests. "That'd just be a giant music box," he mutters, ignoring the startled look from the woman and her young son standing near him. "And I really don't see Doctor Doom as the villain in Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang." He whistles a bit of 'Doll On a Music Box' as he keeps looking, occasionally up at the ensemble, but mostly at the base. It's a process that inevitably pulls him into the bubble of calm. It is intuition, perhaps, that keeps Doug from colliding with the studious girl, but he stops just short of collision, and FROWNS at the laser mark that's suddenly appeared. Tracing it, he turns his head to the side and narrows his eyes at the girl before offering a small grin. "Pretty impressive, huh?" Doug, Master of Small Talk. The band that's responsible for the tranquil music dominating the entrance to the exposition is composed of robots that appear to be incredibly complex. The amount of power that courses through them is constantly regulated that seems to help with their precision. Their insides are cleverly shielded by gleaming white plates. Despite their seemingly advanced locomotion, there is no way to input requests. The band stops playing. This particular musical piece is done. Just like real artists, their hands move away from their instruments, and they exchange... well, the closest thing they might have to looks. After this brief but much needed robo-pause, the band begins to play again. "This is stupid." This is invoked by a fairly young kid, maybe fourteen year old. He stares at the robots like they weren't all that impressive. The boy stands some distance away from Kisha and Doug, glaring at the machines with contempt more so than anything else. Kisha pauses long enough to give the urchin a disapproving glare. "It would, except those are store bought musical instruments," she notes resuming her laser scanning. "It takes a Human roughly a decade to learn to play say a violin at this level. To build a machine which recreates the precise variations in force needed to play at this level of musical quality is beyond just about every multinational electronics company out there. In short it makes everyone else in the field look like a drunken hack." Doug opens his mouth to instruct the kid on why the robots are, in fact, /not/ stupid. He opens it. Then the girl is speaking up, and he closes it again, giving her an impressed look as she says pretty much exactly what he was going to. Then he's offering the kid a wry grin, and waving a hand in Kisha's direction. "What she said," he offers with a crinkle of his eyes. "That's just the mechanics, too. There's probably a million lines of code for each song for each musician, not to mention the master program telling them which song to play and what motions to make between." He studies the robots for a moment longer, and closes one eye at it thoughtfully. "I wonder what the coding for something like that looks like," he says wistfully, turning that statement to address Kisha. "I'd kill to see it for two minutes." The kid looks weirdly at Kisha. What comes next is derisive laughter. A shame that most of what has been said flies right over his head. "Nerds!" With that ageless insult thrown both in Kisha's direction and Doug's - he did seem to agree with the girl, after all - the dark-haired kid runs off. Kisha has been recognised. In fact, the stalwart youngster has been visiting this expo every single day. The cameras had registered as coming here with the rest of the field trip on Wednesday, too. She was seen with others from one school, the school that had been identified on day one as Xavier's. Things are set in motion. Kisha pauses, trying to decide if she should shine the laser in the urchins eye, then shrugs. "I wish him the best in life," she decides. "After all someone will have to grow up to clean the bathrooms. May as well be idiots like him... The code is probably quite complex, although I have to say I'm more interested on what the code is actually running on. Are you in the trade yourself? Or just here to visit?" She glances sideways at Doug. "I'd bet there is maybe an twenty to eighty split between scientists and slack minded gawkers." "I'm sure his will be the cleanest johns in New York," Doug says with a wide grin, offering a two-fingered salute at the kid's back as he runs off. "He seems keen of wit; it should serve him well." He offers a nod/shrug at the question, rubbing a finger alongside his nose. "Not the robotics business, no," he admits. "I'm just a college student, at the moment, and I'm looking at going into game development." His smile pulls sideways, tipping a bit. "I couldn't pass this up, though. What about you? You look a little young to be 'in the business.'" One step after another slams against the concrete ground. The rhythmic tremors kick up dust and make insignificantly small specks of trash tremble atop the harsh surface. Large metallic feet abuse the ground as they roughly land onto the ground. The first two days, people were made ecstatic by these signals. Now, however, crowds clear and make way for the oncoming source of these unsettling steps. After all, on the first day, the host of the show incapacitated a visitor by mere touch and proceeded to drag his twitching form outside. It is hard to guess exactly how much Doom weighs, what with that intimidating shell of his, but if one absolutely had to guess, it's likely their estimate would match a car. On his way towards the entrance, he has his gaze set forward. No interruptions distract him from his march. Victor van Doom will not allow it. Mechanical arms sway at either side of his torso, the disks on his elbows spinning with each mild motion. In the meantime, his cape flicks both due to the light breeze that is present in the warehouse and due to his quick steps. The armoured monarch moves so humanlike, and yet... As the crowd shifts, it's likely Doug and Kisha would see him approach long before he would be within talking distance. Heading towards the entrance. Or the robot band. Or them? "I'm in the business of science," Kisha proclaims. "At least all the useful ones. Everyone knows the social sciences are largely hokum." She pauses to scribble down the results of her laser scanning. "I don't let little concerns like what people think I should be doing at my age get in the way of what I want to do. Two hundred years back someone my age would have usually been married with kids." Doug chuckles, and his mouth pulls down in an amused frown. "I don't know that they're /hokum/," he says. "Just not very practical. Math and programming are much easier to relate to, I'll grant you." He watches the scribbling with an interested look, although he doesn't ask; preferring instead to respond to her remark. "I didn't say you /were/ too young," he protests. "I just said you /look/ too young. There's a big difference." He wrinkles his nose as he notices the crowd's reactions, and his gaze drifts to the armored figure moving in their direction. And yes, frankly, he stares. "Holy crap. Is he coming over here?" The tremor that courses through the ground eventually reaches the feet of both Kisha and Doug. The rumbling steps - combined with the clang of his awe-inspiring armour - slow down when he arrives to a sufficient proximity to Kisha and Doug. There have been others around the pair, of course. Not any more. Doctor Doom circles both the pair and the musical band that he himself has designed, if not crafted. His forged chin lift, raising the gaze originating from his bloodshot eyes to his creation. There are no sounds of hydraulics as the massive metal man moves. No discernible sounds of energy. He just /is/, and he moves in that shell as if it was an extension of him. "An embarrassing application of amazing technology", he admits, speaking to no-one in particular. His voice is not easy to get used to; it rumbles and booms. His next few words imply Doctor Doom was privy to the conversation that occured before. "There is no code commanding them like slaves. Each and every single one is an independent locomotive unit of synthetic conscience." And that, he demonstrates. "Unit-01, rise." The violin becomes absent from the music. The robot playing the violin stands to its feet and becomes still. Well, one thing for sure, Victor van Doom likes to show off. "From the vibrations in the floor I would presume yes," Kisha replies to Doug as the stomping gets closer. She doesn't actually finish writing until a good few moments after the man himself has arrived. Apparently she's one of the few people brave, foolish or just plain crazy (hint the answer is crazy) enough to make the man himself wait. "If there is no code then I would imagine some degree of hardwired preference for making music?" she asks, tilting her head and smiling. "You must be the esteemed Doctor Doom? Perhaps you would care to answer a few questions for my schools newspaper?" Doug nods silently when Kisha affirms his suspicions and Doom makes it official. He watches carefully as the man circles them, and if he shivers a bit when Doom speaks, it's probably /not/ related to the goose-flesh that rises on his arm, briefly. "Your Excellency," he says smoothly, offering a nod. "Your technology is truly impressive. How do they communicate the musical choice to each other? Is there a network they share for that sort of communication?" Kisha's question gets a mildly alarmed look that flicks from the girl to Doom and back again before his smile fixes in place, and he looks away, murmuring through his teeth. "You've got some brass ones, kid." A hand rises up, palm facing upwards. There is no need for gesture, but it appears Doctor Doom has a flair for the theatrical. "Unit-01, eliminate target B", he demands. Sure enough, the android actually moves from its spot, still clutching the violin and bow in its hands as it seems to move towards Kisha. But just as it takes two steps forward, Doom's booming voice starts anew. "Unit-01, resume designation two." And so the violin player returns to its seat to join the rest of the band. At least Victor manages to kill time while Kisha makes him wait. Either as revenge or because it is simply a trait of the monarch, Doctor Doom turns his attention around the same time Kisha asks if he could answer some of her questions. Instead, his attention rests on Doug. The scowl is never shifting, constantly disapproving. Those blue eyes just fail to convey any emotion, at least one that would be legible. "They are all connected through a wireless connection. They are each independent, but together they are one. They communicate at the speed of thought." That metallic head swivels as Doctor Doom directs his gaze towards Kisha. "Your school? Xavier's School?" The monotonous voice always manage to come off as spiteful and condescending. "You can ask. But so will I." Kisha manages not to flinch at the briefly oncoming potentially killer robot. "Yes. That seems like a fair trade," she agrees, turning to a fresh piece of paper. "Which field is your doctorate in? Or do you have several in different fields? What is your countries stance on the big issues? Mutant rights, nuclear weapons and the environment. Also as you've just demonstrated the sophistication of your band I wonder if you given any thought to giving synthetic intelligences equal rights?" She spares a very brief moment for a conspiratorial wink at Doug. Doug's eyebrows shoot up as Doom casually orders the elimination of...one of them, apparently, and he takes a slow step backwards. But, the danger passes quickly, and he tilts his head curiously at the newly-minted monarch, as if trying to determine if the man was actually /amusing/ himself. The explanation gets a nod. "Most impressive," he says, with another deep nod. "Latveria must house some of the best computer programmers in the world, to produce such exquisite precision in function." When Doom mentions Xavier's, Doug looks at Kisha sharply. "You go to Xavier's?" he asks, and chuffs a noise that sounds amused. "Small world. I've got friends at that school." There might be more, but Kisha's questioning reduces him to startled sputtering. The wink does him in completely, and he slaps a hand over his mouth, folding his other arm across his chest in stunned observation. "Programmer. Singular." The glare Doug receives almost implies the compliment offended the monarch, rather than appealed to his ego. "My mind is isolated in the vast space of mediocrity and incompetence", he complains. Thunderously stepping forward, he eyes his band once more. The mountainous monarch now stands in front of Kisha and Doug. "My doctorates touch neuroscience and physics. I have dedicated my entire life to the study of the most superior form of life, beyond humans, beyond mutants - /machines/." Marvelling at his own creations, he continues answering Kisha's questions. "I banned nuclear weaponry and energy. Stockpiling nuclear material in Latveria is punishable by death." Three questions remain unanswered. Either Doom forgot about them, or he insists on his own question. "Are either of you mutants?" Kisha scribbles notes down, not only on the questions which do receive answers but quite extensive notes on those which don't. "No more than a large majority of the population," she replies cheerfully. "Speaking of mediocrity there have been reports that Norman Osborn will be visiting, what were your thoughts on the recent Oscorp technology showcase? Do you expect your military only portion of the show to upstage him?" "My apologies, Your Excellency," Doug says, dropping his hand and offering an apologetic nod. The fact that he backs up a step when Doom approaches to face them is probably coincidence. "I didn't realize that these were your creation." He smiles. "The articles I read on your brilliance were clearly understated." Kisha's flippance in the face of Doom is beginning to cause a pained look on Doug's face, and he winces a bit, shifting away from the girl just a bit. "That's an odd question, Your Excellency," he says apologetically, looking to make sure the crowd is not close to them. "May I ask why it's of interest to you?" Another small smile. "Sir." Turning away from the artificial music band, Doctor Doom once again faces Kisha and Doug. "Synthetic sentience requires no rights and no laws. They are not beholden to the same ideals and thought. The human species devised their fragile systems to control their base urges that they are unable to restrain otherwise. Machines do not rebel. Machines do not want. Machines do not search for the meaning of life. Machines simply /are/." "You will hear of what I think of mutant registration in the coming days." That almost sounded like a threat, given his voice. Then again, just about anything does. "The environment of Latveria has been ravaged. It has been diseased and polluted. I will rebuild the land anew." A short pause interrupts his speech for but a fleeting moment. "I do not intend to upstage individuals. I intend to upstage the world. Latveria will offer that which no one else has." With a slight turn of the neck, Doom's attention is on Doug once again. "Look at you. Why? /Why/ must you tell me who you are, /what/ you are? If I ask any of the units behind me for their specifications, they will recite it with no reluctance. They do not question. They have nothing to hide. Each unit thinks in harmonious balance. Remove a single bit of data and the trust is removed." Kisha frowns, scribbles a few more notes down. Chief of which is 'Dr D. does not appear to have read Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep' "Do you intend on having Latverian universities accepting international students? And do you hope for your educational institutions to exceed places such as MIT?" "With great respect, Your Excellency," Doug says, dipping his head. "Human beings create. They use their experience to craft music and art. I don't think machines have that sort of capability. They might create, but it would lack..." he flutters fingers in front of his chest, "...heart." Then he tilts his head, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. "I didn't ask why I had to tell you, sir. I asked why it was of interest to you." He smiles in a tight line. "If you will answer my question, I'll answer yours." The first of the two questions Kisha asks is followed up with a resounding, "Yes." The second, however, gets a different answer. "I do not /hope/ it. I /know/ it." "You have been coming here each and every single day, lurking at each and every single display of technology. Tell me why." Instead of turning his steel-clad neck, instead Doom seems to shift his attention between the two purely via his gaze, now, rendering him completely unmoving. The crowds continue to split, either taking a left or a right, but otherwise giving the trio a wide berth. "The human heart is an organ. On average, it beats a hundred thousand times a day. While resting, the heart muscles work twice as hard as the leg muscles of a person who is sprinting. It causes your blood to course through your body three times per minute. The human heart is capable of many inspiring feats. Creativity is not among them." "Creativity lies in the right side of the human brain. The brain can be mimicked; its function can be recreated with technology." Whether or not Doom has achieved such a feat, however, is omitted. Instead, he moves on to the next matter at hand. "Ah, semantics", he exhales, the breath as digitised as his incredibly low voice. "The strength of the human mind - to argue the inconsequential. You have asked me why it was of interest to me. You have posed a question - a question that slowed the flow of conversation. I have inquired. It is your role to answer." Persistent. Kisha shrugs. "Lurking is the wrong term. It implies I have tried to be discreet," she points out. "I've been here every day because this is currently the best place to learn. In theory it should have also been a good place to meet like-minded individuals.... But I'm afraid a lot of the people attending are idiots. I'd suspect there are also a lot of spies, reporters and undercover law enforcement staff here too." There is a pause, before she adds "And unfortunately at least two of the days aren't open to the general public. Which means I am likely to miss out on some of the more interesting exhibits, while a bunch of marketing douches who think they're going to sell you second hand military hardware get to schmooze." Doug considers Doom's words carefully, studying the immobile lines of the mask as he thinks. "It would be a feat for a machine to create art and music that evokes the same emotions as the works of man," he says slowly. "But that is something I would very much like to see, one day. Even if it does herald the eventual obsolescence of the human animal." His eyes narrow further at the insistence, and he tilts his head. "I am a mutant," he confirms. "Although, I'm not as flashy as some." Then he's smiling. "Why is it of interest to you, sir?" Kisha's remarks drain the color from his skin, and his smile becomes a bit fixed. The step sideways is glacial, but deliberate. Kisha's assumption is duly expanded. "Two spies, seven reporters, five undercover police officers." Her further complaints, particularly in regards to the two privately held days. "Interesting", he booms. "You have a choice. Arrive here on Tuesday. You will show me what makes you so special. If you fail to impress me, you will not leave this place." His body shifts. Since he stood still for a while, he almost cast the illusion that that's how he belongs - still as a statue. Now, however, he turns ever so slightly so as to face Doug. A hand is raised, spinning that elbow disk hastily. "It is my interest--" The open palm is dramatically crushed into a fist with a clang. "--to know /everything/. The greatest accomplishments of humankind have been sparked by questions that challenged their environment, not their actions." Slowly lowering his hand, Doctor Doom lifts a foot. It heftily slams against the ground again. He begins his slow departure, which seems to be as sudden as his arrival. "Enjoy the exhibition, mutants." It is highly likely Doom will never be able to well-wish anyone, with that voice. Kisha blinks, then glances at Doug and blinks some more. "Well, that was interesting," she finally says once Doom has retreated a little. "Which he can probably hear.. You have to admire him for bugging the /entire science fair/. But then if you have the processing power for synthetic intelligences then I guess filtering audio for terms of interest is trivial." Kisha very slowly turns to face Doug. "The trick is to imagine something entirely unthreatening," she explains forcing a smile. "And keep telling yourself that it would be a PR disaster for him to attack a teenage girl with all the media watching. As for my names... given we're being watched I think maybe I'll keep that quiet for now. At least until I decide if I'll be coming back on Tuesday! Nice meeting you, think I might call it a day and head home."