ArchivedLogs:Future Plans

Future Plans
Dramatis Personae Malthus, Rasheed
In Absentia	2013-12-24 (Part of Prometheus TP.)
Location <NYC> 806 {Rasheed} - One Sixty-Seven - Upper West Side
Spacious and elegant and impeccably kept, this apartment is pristine enough that it looks barely lived-in. The living room is just a short hallway down from the entrance, set down a couple stairs in a wide sweep of pale hardwood floors. Dark leather couches and armchairs and pale wooden furniture sits on a plush rug of soft grey. A large balcony runs along the side of the living room, accessible through wide French doors and shaded by an overhang; below, there is a clear view of Central Park. The kitchen adjacent sits a little bit higher, a few stairs leading up to its dark tiled floor. It is roomy as well, granite countertops and sleek new appliances and a wealth of elegant dinnerware. There are two bedrooms, here, both set opposite each other down a short hallway and both with their own bathroom. The end of the hallway holds a large study, with book-lined walls. Another half-bath sits off the living room, underneath a carpeted lofted area accessible by ladder and big enough to be a room itself, though it lacks walls; instead, a short balcony looks down on the living room beneath. The doorbell ring comes late in the afternoon; Malthus lingers at the doorway like some sinister spectre of death -- dressed in black, his skull and face wreathed with unshaved stubble. In one hand, he holds a small, nondescript briefcase. Malthus has worn the previous few weeks... relatively well. He is alive, though there is a certain sunken exhaustion in his eyes -- a fresh bandage close to his throat, peeking out from beneath his coat's popped collars. He also walks with a pronounced limp, deeper than usual. "Doctor Toure. Thank you for making time for me -- I know you have been..." He purses his lips tensely. "...busy." "Just a bit." Rasheed's condo is not festive with Christmas spirit, per/haps/ on account of the fact he is Muslim. He is at the moment apparently celebrating the holidays with a pile of work and a hot cider, still steaming in its mug beside a pile of folders and a laptop on his coffee table. "Can I get you a drink? I have cider, spiced." He is dressed ashe generally is, a crisp neat suit though he's discarded jacket and tie here at home. He gesures with one spindly-long hand towards his living room, dark eyes flicking briefly towards Malthus's limping leg. "Please, sit." "No. I think not. Although I appreciate the offer." Malthus accepts the chair, at least; the coat remains on -- presuming Rasheed is perceptive enough, he may make out the shape of the firearm contained underneath it -- and the faint hints of bulkiness that indicate Malthus is wearing kevlar beneath. The briefcase is sat aside as Malthus makes himself comfortable; his serene expression only seems to deepen as he regards Rasheed. "This whole -- situation -- seems to have made quite the hero out of you," Malthus mentions, a faint quirk to his smile. "With the PR you're acruing -- along with Mr. Holland -- mmn, well. I'm sure you've got your hands full with that already; I'm here to discuss something else." He reaches for the briefcase -- opening it. Inside is a sheathe of papers, along with a small USB flashdrive. Rasheed locks the door behind them, heading back over to the living room to take a seat in an armchair. He starts to reach for his cider, but then leaves it be, instead holding a hand out towards the papers and thumbdrive. "Mmm. That." His lips press thinly together. "The media circus was not my preference. The press has done an excellent job of /beatifying/ Holland, though, hasn't it? They do love a hero." He looks towards the papers, brows raising. Curiously. Expectant. "People fall easily into digestible narratives. He presents an ever-clear one." Malthus sets the flash-drive to the side, for now; the sheathe of papers is what he offers Rasheed. It is... largely technical documents; a series of x-ray images -- they look as if they were taken of... a Terminator droid. From the movies. Some of them are blurry; others are poorly angled -- it does not look as if this was done within the sterile atmosphere of a /hospital/. "Tell me, Doctor Toure -- have you ever heard of 'Project Sentinel'?" Rasheed takes the papers, pulling the sheaf into his lap to leaf through it slowly. His expression is largely impassive, eyes drifting over the pictures thoughtfully. He stops on one shot, eyes lifting slowly from it to Malthus. "We've had some prototype drones of theirs through our labs. Improved on them a fair bit form their original designs. These, though, these are -- different. Reminiscent of that Latverian dictator." "During our raid on the sewers, we employed one of his machines. Its performance was remarkable. I took the opportunity to have several images made of it while it was within one of my vehicles. A very dangerous risk, but the result is what you see here -- an interior view of its inner workings. My research team tells me that the technology employed is not something they could easily simulate -- however, I've been informed /you/ might have... someone who could do something similar." Malthus reaches, then -- for the flashdrive -- holding it out to Rasheed. "My original plan was to look into working with Oscorp to restart the Sentinel project," Malthus admits. "However, Oscorp involvement comes with several key disadvantages -- foremost among them being that its CEO is insane. I would much prefer /your/ help in initiating it, Dr. Toure." Malthus pauses, before adding: "I want to design a drone capable of suppressing dangerous mutants -- not one of these Osbot toys. A fully functioning autonomous /soldier/, Dr. Toure. The advantages are beyond countless -- just for starters, imagine how much more difficult it would be for their telepaths to break into your labs when they're guarded by /these/." Rasheed's fingers press subtly harder down against the pages. His eyes lower, and for a moment he almost seems like he might refuse to take the flash drive. He does lean forward, though, plucking it from Malthus's hand to plug it into his laptop and examine its contents with jaw slightly tightened. "The advantages would be many," he allows, neutrally, "though largely mitigated by the disadvantages that would stem from placing their technopath back into their hands. I am not sure you fully understand this man's capabilities. If he makes contact with the outside world again." His head shakes slightly. "Under the guidance of someone --" His hand lifts, tipping palm-upwards. "Suitably motivated, he could bring down the entire operation. From his bedroom." "Troubling. Particularly considering the disaster we've /already/ faced with one misapplied mutant," Malthus allows, a frown flickering across his face. "Do you not have means to mitigate his abilities? Dampen his powers when necessary; control him, direct him -- even, if necessary, eliminate him?" Rasheed exhales a sharp huff of breath. "Mitigate his abilities, certainly. By keeping him well out of reach of all but the most primitive technology." His forefinger traces slowly against his mousepad, eyes fixed on the screen. "And I recommended /eliminating/ him long ago. Others seem to share your optimism that he can be turned to some good. But the risks --" There's quiet, then, as he scans through the files. Stops for a good while, to watch a video on the drive. "There is another mutant in my custody with the ability to -- in some limited capacity control other mutant abilities. Negate them, amplify them. Fine tune them. Studying him has let us take the steps we need in developing our own means of --" There's a small upward tug at one side of his mouth. "-- well, that has yet to hit public awareness. But, ah. This man is more than capable of allowing certain expressions of ability while suppressing others. But /he/ is -- less than cooperative, some days." A very small twitch tugs at the corner of his mouth, this time not really a smile. "Maybe not coincidentally, he was also a friend to Holland. A connection which brought him to our attention to begin with." "Less than cooperative," Malthus repeats, as if pondering the full ramifications of these words. "Holland. Mmf." His hands lift, fingers rubbing at his temple -- as if dealing with the onset of a sudden migraine. "Keep the data, Dr. Toure. Perhaps you will find a means to continue the work -- either through finding a means to control this mutant or... another avenue of technological inquiry. I remain convinced that highly sophisticated drones will prove to be an ideal response to mutant threats." Malthus pauses, then; his head lifts. "A 'friend' of Holland...? May I inquire as to who? I've made it my business to become familiar with those around him." "I will do what I can. It /would/ most certainly be a great boon." Rasheed is still browsing through the files on the thumbdrive; /he/ lifts his hand to rub at his forehead with much the same affect. "Mmm. A young man by the name of Matt -- Matthieu. Tessier. He has been in our custody since June. His mutation has proved invaluable -- we've had quite a bit of success with replicating its negation effects." "Tessier." Malthus' eye darkens -- something flickers over his expression. Dark. Difficult to read. But in the next moment, his face returns to one of calm indifference; of distant serenity. "I see. Fascinating. A means to negate mutant powers would certainly be... highly beneficial. Particularly to HAMMER. But to your own research, as well." Rasheed's brows raise, eyes studying Malthus's expression. "Yes. Former prostitute. Was dying of cancer when we acquired him. /Has/ died of cancer, if you check the records. Does the name mean something to you?" His hands have stopped moving at the computer, fingers steepling together in front of him. "/Highly/ beneficial. And very nearly ready for use -- though much like Oscorp's psionic blockers, we have yet to scale it down into an easily /portable/ form. We can suppress mutations in a location, not yet -- in the field, so to speak." "I met another Tessier. Lucien," Malthus responds, his eyes distant. "Very interesting man. Had a fascinating conversation with him." At the mention of mutation suppression in certain locations, Malthus' eyebrows lift. A smile lingers. "...could the device -- as it stands now -- fit inside, say, a large powered vehicle...?" "Brothers," Rasheed responds tone offhand but response too /prompt/ to be all that indifferent. "/Very/. Very -- interesting man." His forefingers tap together, slowly. "A large one, yes. It would take quite a bit of expense and wrangling to make work, but I imagine it could. There is a serum in development with similar effects but right now --" His lips press together thinly. "... right now it only suppresses mutation insofar as /all/ body processes are suppressed at death. It needs," he says wryly, "a little work still." "Perhaps, then, we should have our people communicate. It would be highly beneficial to have a mobile power suppressor -- mmhh." Malthus laughs at the mention of the serum's life-suppressing capabilities. "I've already taken much of your time. Thank you, Dr. Toure," Malthus says, rising to his feet. "You have been a gracious host. I will keep in touch. ...also, please -- keep me informed as to the status of that serum." "Indeed. I will be in touch." Probably Rasheed should get up, here, should say a proper goodbye, should let Malthus /out/. But the door is not far away and he has /science/ to study, the computer recapturing his attention swiftly.