ArchivedLogs:Papers, Please

Papers, Please
Dramatis Personae Bruce, Tony
In Absentia	2017-02-26 "What do they say I've done, to be hunted down like a dog?"
Location <NYC> Stark Tower - Midtown East
A gleaming beacon of modern architecture shining bright amidst the industry of Midtown, Stark Tower serves as headquarters to one of the largest tech corporations in the world. The offices and boardrooms of Stark Industries and any number of satellite companies, subsidiaries, and nonprofits are homed here. To the public what draws most visitors is not the business but the science -- the first two floors of the building hold an extensive museum dedicated to technological innovation. As well, guided tours three days a week are open to the public, to be shown through both the museum and, more notably, through (select parts of) the dozen floors dedicated solely to R&D.The building itself is as eye-catching inside as outside. The soaring lobby atrium extends upwards, bright and glass-walled with perpetually bustling balconies ringing each floor. All visitors must pass through the lobby security checkpoints to be signed in. The technology integrated into the building, from the interactive holographic displays that help guide visitors to their destination to the quiet AI that remembers visitors' preferences upon repeat visits to the basement arc reactor that powers the entire building, are quiet reminders of the company's dedication to innovation. Even with the renewed chill in the air, it is quite mild for February in New York. Outside, Midtown bustles with weekend tourists, but Stark Tower is fairly quiet on a Sunday afternoon. In addition to the ever-present essential building staff--security guards, janitors, and the engineers who tend the arc reactor--there are always some Stark researchers there trying to meet deadlines on overtime...or just attending to side projects on their /own/ time. Stark attracts, and selects for, eccentric geniuses. As such it does not reaise any eyebrows when one Doctor Elias Azar rides his bike directly into the lobby and up to the security checkpoint. He looks haggard and out of breath, his black hair wild and his light brown skin flushed from cold and exertion. The guards greet him cheerfully but without much ceremony, and he returns their platitudes as he taps his employee badge and hurries on toward the bank of elevators. He has just made it to the elevator when half a dozen people storm in, all armed with pistols and wearing black windbreakers with 'POLICE' and 'ICE' printed in big white block letters. The Stark guards scramble to their feet, but before either one of them has pressed a panic button, several of their fellows emerge from the nearby security office, all while JARVIS's voice appraises Tony Stark of the situation in calm, perfect received pronunciation. It's a short time -- though quicker than might be expected, before an elevator dings open and disgorges a pair of men from it. Tony is still buttoning up the cuff on his shirt as the elevator door slides open, though by the time he emerges from it he looks more or less put together and none too pleased to see the lobby full of officers. Heedless of guns or imposing black windbreakers, he strides over to the team of agents, jaw set and one hand lifted. "I do hope you all have your papers in order?" Bruce follows close behind Tony, wearing a white lab coat over a purpe button-down and charcoal slacks. His wavy black hair is slightly tousled, and he still wears safety goggles over his black-framed glasses--at least until he snatches them off and stuffs them into a pocket of his lab coat. He eyes the deportation officers' sidearms nervously, his jaws set, and says nothing. With the guards holding the line for the moment, Azar hesitates and does not immediatedly board the elevator that he calls. When Tony and Bruce emerge from another elevator, though, his eyes widen and he starts to follow after them tentatively. Then stops, evidently unwilling to get too near the standoff. The leader of the immigration officers is a tall, solidly-built, square-jawed white man with his brown hair in a neat high-n-tight. "Mister Stark," he says, giving the barest nod. "We are in pursuit of a man who has violated the terms of his work visa, and have documentation authorizing his detention." He tips his head at a black man standing nearby, who blinks at him before rooting around in a cheap zipped plastic folder full of paperwork. Meanwhile, the leader continues, "The person in question, who I believe is under your employ, is named Elias Azar. You may not know this, Mister Stark, but he is a highly dangerous wanted criminal in his home country, Syria." His second finally produces a sheaf of papers, holding it out for Tony. Tony's frown deepens -- moreso at the papers held out to him than the overall conversation. He leans veeery slightly away from them, the slight brush-wave of his hand seeming to shoo the sheaf off toward Bruce. "Are we in Syria? In /this/ country he's a highly respected molecular engineer. And I need him. Paid good money for that visa." Bruce doesn't need much prompting. He takes the papers and scans them quickly, brows knitting. "There's no warrant for them coming in /here/," he tells Tony. "Which means they need your permission. Technically they're after him for failure to register under the MRA." He glances over his shoulder at the frightened molecular engineer, still hovering near the elevator banks. "We regret any inconvenience to you of course, Mister Stark," the immigration officer says, his voice all gentle appeasement. "But as your employee there says, Elias Azar has violated the terms of his visa, and we're under the President's orders to prioritize the detention and deportation of criminals. This man is a danger to you, your company, and the American public!" "What's my crime?" Azar asks, quite abruptly, raising his voice. "What do they say I've done, to be hunted down like a dog? Why am I dangerous?" "As far as I know, being a workaholic isn't a crime. Or a whole lot more people in here would be in trouble." Tony glances back over his shoulder to Azar, then to the ICE agents. "The only danger to my company -- or the country -- I see is you depriving us of one of my brightest minds. I commend your commitment to your job but the work we're doing here is -- getting far more results than the President. And since you're on private property," he tells the officer, evidently unappeased. "/My/. Private property. You can get out, or you can be escorted out." "It doesn't say," Bruce might well be answering Azar's question, but his keen brown eyes are fixed on the two immigration officers in front of him. "As far as any of those documents can tell, he has not been charged or convicted of any crime in the U.S." He hands the papers back to the officer who had produced them. The officer in charge of the raid glares at Tony. Then tries to stop glaring, finally compromising at looking vaguely constipated. "The Mutant Registration Act is the law of the land, and that man knowingly violated it." There's a hint of real indignity in his voice. Just a hint. "I regret that you are unwilling to assist us in protecting the public, Mister Stark, but we will apprehend him some other way. Have a good day." So saying he waves his team toward the front doors, his second scrambling to stuff the papers back into their folder as he goes. Meanwhile, Azar has subsided again, the adrenaline which had sustained him so far flagging. He leans heavily on the handlebars of his bike. "I--I apologize, Mister Stark. I never meant to bring trouble here, I just panicked and this is the first place I thought to come..." He shakes his head, eyes haunted. "But I can't go back. I can't." Tony drops his hands to his sides as the immigration officers leave. "Back? From everything I've seen there's --" His lips press together. "Not a lot to go back to." His hands clap together once. "Besides, we still need you here. Your team has a big deadline coming up. You'd better go talk to legal. They'll help you get sorted out."