Logs:Persons of Interest

Persons of Interest
cn: mentions of violence & murder
Dramatis Personae Charles, Halim, Joshua
In Absentia Leo, Erik	2024-08-05 "Do you keep an eye on certain sorts of occurrences? Proactively."
Location <XAV> Conservatory - Xs First Floor
Tall panes of glass and a many-gabled glass ceiling protect this large indoor garden from the elements, while welcoming in sunlight to keep it warm year-round. Adjoined to the southern face of the venerable mansion and surrounded by more conventional gardens beyond, the conservatory is all Old World elegance from the outside. Within, however, it is lush and green and in certain corners--whether despite its careful tending by the groundskeeper or because of it--seems practically wild. Footpaths and a burbling artificial steam wind through the space, connecting its disparate parts. Benches are scattered throughout, thorough soft grasses or mosses under certain trees also invite rest. The outside wall is lined with tropical and subtropical plants. The ferns and cycads and epiphytes are kept moist by artfully hidden misters that also give the place a sort of magical ambiance, dense foliage wreathed at times with drifting patches of mist. Nearest the building is a desert in miniature, with a few impressively sized cacti as well as palo verde and other trees adapted to arid climes. Between these, and by far the largest section, is dedicated temperate zone plantlife from around the world, the beds growing more carefully manicured and the pads less winding as one approaches the center, where a clearing with a small ring of seats is a popular spot for some teachers to hold court. Under the carefully manicured canopy of the banyan tree in the conservatory's far corner, Charles is reading Moby-Dick (Chapter 42: The Whiteness of the Whale) somewhat idly from the tablet in his lap. He's wearing a slate blue linen suit and a white knit dress shirt, a tie embossed with Escher-esque birds in pale and dark blues, and black brogues. He's riding a prototype smart hybrid wheelchair in slick carbon fiber and titanium that he's hopefully testing for the developer, considering its onboard computer is throwing errors left and right. The safety protocols are quite extensive, however, and so without checking the app Charles is probably blissfully unaware that his mobility device has taken issue with the uneven roots under its wheels and really thinks that bucking him off is the reasonable solution. He gives an amused snort and turns the page. Joshua can be felt before he can be seen, for once, though possibly even the habitually noisy clutter of his mind is nothing compared to his current companion. As ever he's ricocheting between too many fully unconnected streams of thought. Over here an assessment of progress with one of the newest kids come up early from Some Carolina (which one he can Not remember) in hopes of being able to share a room by fall without risking exsanguinating their roommate in their sleep (there are several non-serious wounds still raw and itchy-healing on his arms that he's kind of ignoring, Par For The Course in this kind of duty). Over there some irritated dwelling on some leftist drama or other (<< -- fuck good does copjacketing every new-radicalized liberal do for us, >>), there is some fervent young anarchist who is probably getting a tired Talking To later. Over there just snorting at some meme while trying, with very serious contemplation, to decide where exactly he fits on a Matzah Ball Alignment Chart (and coming up disgruntled and slightly cranky that after searching his heart, he cannot be Full Anarchist about this.) Over here (and over here, and over here, and over here) a churning anxious worry that he hasn't quite put into words but feels like starry nights at sea and steady calm while the room shakes from bombs dropping nearby and arroz caldo after a weary day and the (sick) (crushing) heartache of doggedly willing himself not to Just Heal This. "... you ever watch Person of Interest," is what he's asking as he pushes the door open and comes in from the heat outside, in quick-dry cargo pants and boots, his FDNY tee clinging to him in the heat, red and black-flag kippah pinned neat on his hair. When he spies Charles this spools off another line of thought, in screenshot form -- some twitter post reading I said "dominant and submissive genes" instead of "dominant and recessive genes" in my bio lab... please fucking kill me only "@ProfessorX" has been substituted for the handle and "Noted Human Philanthropist" for the display name. His chin tips up to Charles in absent greeting. Beside Joshua, Halim has a lot more psionic noise and a lot less psionic signal, just a crackling static whose constant if low-grade droning is both unintelligible and (deceptively) quiet. He's in jeans and a plain grey tee, sneakers, hands tucked into his pockets. "... have now," he answers, as he trails Joshua in. He doesn't offer any greeting to Charles but he does stop abruptly, on the path just outside the banyan tree's sheltering canopy. Charles's wheelchair bucks at -- somewhat fishily, just about the same time as Halim stops, a quick jerky instability that is not at dangerously-tipping levels but is probably jarringly uncomfortable. Somewhere inside and unseen, the chair is recalibrating itself. Halim is just stopped in place, eyes fixed ahead. Charles looks up from his tablet, the warm halo of his psionic presence rippling with amusement. The tweet in Joshuas's mind gets a self-quote-reply: Finally, an explanation for "Homo superior". "Good day, gentlemen." He blinks when his chair lurches, arching the tip of one eyebrow lightly at Halim. "It's not quite as intelligent as its developers would like." He appends the context of the wheelchair's dynamic equilibrium, and how cleverly it's meant to tap into the balance and posture of the user, even as he shifts his own weight. The chair's controller activates and jolts Charles again, but then resettles itself in an easy fluid way that is probably what it was meant to be doing before, to judge by the reduction in errors. "It is very nice when it's working as intended, though. Michael Emerson is brilliant in that programme," he adds, with a mental lean back toward Person of Interest. "Dude." With Joshua's deeper frown this seems slightly critical; he is doing some quick mental calculations about the timing of that lurch. He hasn't come to any conclusion before he's distracted into amusement (<< knew that shit had to be an innuendo >>) overlapping with some puzzleblock attempt to figure out if he could bootstrap his way into piggybacking on Halim's instant-media-download trick without having to actually deal with Having Halim's Power. "... man's got range." He's thinking of Michael Emerson chilling and laughable at once in Evil. This reflection is maybe a vague mental distraction from the (anxious) (guilty) question he wants to ask, turning over the Sentinels and The Machine and how much exactly Halim singlehandedly bridges the sci-fi gap here. This circles back to the chair -- "can you fix it?" Halim's eyes tick over to Joshua. He doesn't bother dignifying that question with an answer, just looking back ahead at the path. His mouth has compressed critically, though brief. "They're learning from this." The pause that follows is brief, by normal human standards. "Should I break it again. Does it matter if they learn." He isn't breaking it again, just finishing his tweaks to leave the chair considerably more stable on the uneven ground and, possibly, a bit more intelligent than its developers had intended. "2011. It was farfetched. At the time." Charles pushes his chair forward by the handrims, then back, letting it settle again -- smartly. "I think it matters if they learn, but only cumulatively. Thank you." He raises his eyes to search the air outside the conservatory for the patrolling security drones, looking the entirely wrong direction to spot the nearest flight. "The telemetry saturation isn't new, I would guess, but the ability to analyze it and pull out meaningful data without knowing what you are looking for..." His brows furrow, and his ambient warmth cools fractionally, and though he does not look directly at Halim he tags the question telepathically for him. "I suppose your access is not what it once was?" << matters >>, Joshua is echoing dubiously, and with equal parts fatalism at the state of funding for accessibility innovation and curiosity at how much Halim could improve on something like a wheelchair, << -- not like any real people are gonna get their hands on one. >> This almost gets appended with a reflexive "sorry" but, it never quite comes out; instead Joshua is pondering (not for the first time) whether billionaires do, in fact, count as people. "Anarchists been sure that shit's real for decades." Grimly self-deprecating, but heavy on the grim as he wonders how close the government is to that feat. How close they were with Halim. How close they are without him. "Officially all my clearance was revoked when I quit." Halim is answering Charles, to be sure, but it's Joshua his eyes have tracked to. "Are you looking for something?" Charles is still, for a moment, his brows still furrowed in thought.. "It's been a popular belief in a number of communities," he agrees levelly. After a brief, searching glance at Halim he echoes "Officially" with just a touch more emphasis. "Do you keep an eye on certain sorts of occurrences? Proactively." Joshua closes his eyes, briefly, which only makes the mental imagery that much clearer. Crowded makeshift hospital spaces in tents and half-collapsed buildings and Leo's tireless warmth through the long months of war. His friend's ruined face and the barely-there weight of him against Joshua's side. The rattling howls of the undead filling a bland office-building corridor. "Leo." This time it is Charles who just gets a small tick of glance, a slight twitch of his mouth. He doesn't answer past that. At Joshua's reply, his nostrils flare, though his huff is quiet. "You said all cops should quit their jobs." This is dispassionate, but his small peek over at Joshua again is not, really. "You're close." Maybe this wouldn't be remarkable from a less experienced telepath, but Charles actually turns to look at Joshua when he remembers the reanimated victims of the outbreak, his eyes slightly wide. He supplements the visual reaction with a hesitant wordless mental request for confirmation on whether that is a literal memory. "I gather that the contagion in DC -- the bioweapon -- was Leo's..." His lips compress. "They used him to create it. At Jenner." He glances at Joshua again, quick, then back to Halim. "You've not hung onto your access to be a cop, I don't suppose, but the more that I hear about that outbreak the more I think we only narrowly dodged an extinction-level event." "We're close." Joshua is, for once, attempting to wrestle the noise of his scattered and hyperactive mind into some semblance of quiet. Though his skill at this mental discipline is both clumsy and tiring there is a distinct feeling that he is making the effort for Leo's sake, not because his memories will in any way incriminate the man but because the terrors and pains in them are so much more private than what his friend usually displays. "Took him back to Jenner. Once." The wails of the dead in his mind, at least, help obscure some of the more intimate thoughts of Leo's own grief. Normally far too cluttered with thoughts, with words, for once Joshua's laconicism is internal as well, a fierce and protective sense that there are no words for what Prometheus did to Leo so he isn't going to try. What he is appending is a clear mental confirmation << literal zombies >> tinged with his own sick horror that had been, while there was still cleanup to do in DC, firmly set aside so he could help make Leo's task less grueling. "Real near apocalypse." He is finally shuffling himself off the path, slouching into the shelter of the banyan. "Not planning on fucking jailing him, I just --" Here again his words are faltering, some tangled mix of their intertwined lives and intertwined dangers, relying on each other through warzones and blossoming epidemics, and this comes out ultimately in a helpless, raw, << (love him) >>. He drops down onto the bench, and shrugs. Halim shifts, almost as if he is going to follow Joshua, but instead he looks up at the banyan roots and stops just outside of its shelter. Both Joshua and Charles's phones are pinging, and there's a mix of documentation popping up. A news article about a microbiologist at Fort Detrick who died last month after his car had some sudden mechanical failure. A second about a different researcher at Walter Reed, reported murdered in a local paper. Internal military documents going into more detail about the second, who was found strung up from his roof in razor wire, a bullet in his skull that showed no signs of actually being fired from any gun. Prometheus personnel files from Jenner with the same two men, some years ago. More internal documents whose clipped official tone can't hide the clear panic of several top brass at some missing specimens from their "biodefense" program. "Access is highly digitally meditated," is the technopath's bland answer. Charles goes a little pale, and a wave of indefinable chill that has nothing to do with the climate control sweeps over them all. He's slow to check his phone, but doing so does not improve his pallor, and he goes entirely still for a moment, even his breath seizing at something in Halim's news blast. His movements are very spare and mechanical as he returns the phone to his jacket's inner pocket. "I had feared as much. Government would have been loath to pass up an opportunity to place the blame on Leo, if it would hold any water. But this is much, much worse." There is a sincere sense of apology toward Joshua beneath this. "And that weapon is still out there, in the hands of a man with a proven record for disastrous recklessness and, now, no accountability whatsoever." He clasps his hands together in his lap. "I realize this is likely too much to ask of you, Halim, but do you know Magneto's whereabouts?" His lips press together thin. "I have no intention of involving the feds, if that makes a difference to you." As Joshua checks his phone, there's a quiet but immediate relief, and a guilt at that relief that swiftly follows it. The horror comes later, but at kind of a remove -- some part of his mind not-too-far below the surface always passively braced for the (next) apocalypse and prepared to weather it if it comes, as people have weathered so many before. He sets his phone down on his lap, and the choked-up feel in his throat doesn't resolve into tears, doesn't ruffle his gruff flat voice. "Thanks." He has a lingering concern, under there, but it's for Charles more than the world, turning that chill over and vaguely contemplating if they have the kind of relationship where he can offer any comfort. Less vaguely contemplating where Thinking About Offering around a telepath falls. He's looking to Halim, then, and trying (unsuccessfully) not to think of Ascension Island, of Leo's expression watching the slaughter hit the news, of the desperate bloodied aftermath and Erik nowhere to be found. His brows quirk up. The documents are, quietly, erasing themselves from the other men's devices, together with any trace they had ever been there. Halim's eyes pull away from the banyan roots to lock on Charles. There's several breaths of silence before he decides: "Not this moment." The chill has passed and Charles's presence is steadily soothing once more -- if anything, it's steadier than usual. Though he hasn't moved physically, something about his bearing gives the impression he has pulled nearer to the tree like someone sheltering from a storm. << The whole concept of allowing people to comfort me is slightly novel. >> These unspoken words come to Joshua alone -- a little distant, a little embarrassed, underlaid with a reflexive assurance that he is fine. << But I do appreciate the thought, unironically. >> If he is troubled by the delay from Halim, he does not say so or exhibit any sign of impatience. He just nods once at the reply. "I suppose this may be a 'no news is good news' situation, in any event. Thank you, all the same, for sharing your knowledge." << didn't say no news. >> Joshua, meanwhile, is cutting a sharp look to Halim. << what about (5 minutes ago) (this morning) (yesterday) (last week) >> rises at once suspicious and vaguely amused in his mind. Though he's very tempted to ask if Halim has a (guess)/(extrapolation), he decides against it. He's bounced along to pondering why people shouldn't be allowed to comfort Charles, cycling through << too rich? >> << too white? >> to land (with a severe internal twinge of discomfort) on << too powerful? >>. Alas that when he gets past this one his brain volunteers (with a feeling of decisiveness) the unbidden: << too bald >> << humans lose 50% of their warmth through the head. >> Ultimately, what he actually says aloud is a deadpan: "Shit. With you here we could start a vigilante crime-fighting team." Halim's head turns slowly, and he stares unblinking at Joshua for a stretch after this suggestion. "Improbable," he finally replies. "Where would you find a billionaire to fund it."