ArchivedLogs:Mutant Detected!

Mutant Detected!
Dramatis Personae Rasa	2017-06-28 Part of Future Past.
Location Osborn Institute
The room's sparse furnishings are stainless steel -- and the walls are a shade of brilliant white -- much like all the rooms in Osborn Institute's medical facilities. The staff, at least, seem friendly enough -- though at this point Rasa has likely noticed that not a single person among them is a mutant. Or, at least, appears to be one. Doctor Renfield is polite enough; a balding, middle-aged man -- lean and academic, with a pair of thick glasses and an easy smile -- he seems to appear precisely how Hollywood would expect a doctor to appear. Academic, a little stiff, but with a deep, calming voice that's well-suited for informing people about whatever current medical situation they're facing. He's with Rasa, in the testing room; clad in a white labcoat, blue collared shirt, and black tie. He's holding a clipboard in one hand -- aren't all researchers required, by law, to have clipboards? -- as he checks away on a list with his pen, humming gently. Rasa is walking besides him, into the room -- as part of hir schooling, here, ze is required to come in for periodic, monthly medical checkups. Part of those checkups include a battery of tests surrounding a mutant's particular mutation. Students with more 'interesting' powers are encouraged to show up for more tests regularly; while these additional tests are optional, there's considerable pressure from the faculty for students to attend. Rasa's been asked, specifically, to help with testing a new type of monitor -- a machine which Dr. Renfield promises will 'revolutionize' mutant-human relations. That is probably not a reassuring point. The room he's bringing hir to is simple; filled with monitoring equipment -- EKGs, a moveable bed, some desks filled with medical supplies -- and a very large, box-ish-looking device on the side, with an extendable arm nearly six feet in length -- hinged at three joints, with what appears to be a satellite dish mounted on the tip. The 'dish' -- along with an extended 'pole' emerging from its center -- is pointed at a yellow square (1 yard wide) painted on the floor. All in all, it looks a little bit like something out of a science fiction movie. "All we need you to do," Doctor Renfield told hir cheerfully as he entered the room, "is to stand in that square and remain perfectly still." Rasa gives the doctor a side-eyed glance as ze slips the backpack from hir shoulder and leaves it by the door. "Really? Not going to try to get my clothes off this time in the name of attaching electrodes and catheters?" Ze inhales deeply and steps further into the room, scanning the room with a controlled expression, silver colored eyes shifting from here to there from a metallic blue face. Hir hair is variegated silver and navy. The whole look is something ze has chosen to keep for daily use, lately, giving everyone a more consistent form to refer to hir by. Ze is wearing a pair of fitted slacks and a white button down blouse over the top, hir hands sheathed in black gloves. Hir feet, on the other hand, are bare. Ze inhales deeply and shakes hir head. "Doctor, really, I'm beginning to think you've stopped caring." Ze steps into the square. He laughs! See? He's not soul-less after all. "No, no, nothing like that -- this is actually -- well, we're not allowed to disclose too much information about it, it's actually a bit 'top-secret'? But very exciting," the doctor adds, and there's actually something akin to tangible excitement in his very voice! This must be an exciting job for him; he gets to do science -- to mutants! And no one wants to kill him for it. As far as he knows, anyway. As he sets the clipboard aside, he's already moving toward the device, operating the controls -- a laptop plugged into it via USB cord, sitting on top of the squarish box, just behind the extended arm. "--it's also completely harmless, I should add. Actually, I've already used it on myself, several times--" he quickly adds, as if he wants to reassure hir that he's not exposing poor, helpless mutant students to terrible science experiments. "Ready? You should... well, actually, you won't feel anything at all," Dr. Renfield adds. "If you do feel something, er... that would actually be quite bizarre, and prompt us to stop immediately -- alright?" "You used it on yourself? That's... ahem. Did you clean it after?" Bad jokes have been coming up more and more often over the past two years they have been interacting. They take the stiffness out of hir shoulders and allow hir to walk in and out of these monthly tests with hir head held high, rather than the cringing slump ze did at first. Ze gives a little shrug and stands in hir square, straight and talk, hir attention fixed in front of hir. "I understand. I will remain still, but very carefully throw my voice across the room to let you know if I feel anything. Vocal chord movement don't count as moving, right?" "Heh. Just... anything weird, and send up a red flag," Dr. Renfield suggests, right before -- on to SCIENCE! He hits a few keys into the laptop, and then...! ...nothing happens. Nothing continues to happen for about ten seconds, in fact; Rasa might feel a little itchy, but that's probably just hir clothes, not the device. Dr. Renfield's eyes are locked on the laptop's read-out, his eyebrows clenched together -- biting down into his bottom lip. And then, after about fifteen seconds of nothing-happening... there's a soft *beep*, and Doctor Renfield's eyes brighten -- as wide and happy as a child in a candy-store. Instantly, his head snaps up to look at Rasa, grinning -- as he exclaims: "Congratulations! You're a mutant." Rasa remains still, very carefully still. Even hir lung motion is minimal. It's a talent that people whose minds control the state and shape of the body have. Hir nose does wrinkle up a little as ze feels the itch, but is able to ignore it. Ze is quietly letting time tick away as ze waits -- for not all that long. "Really? Wow. Who would have thought. I should probably go into town and register, right?" Ze turns hir head and watches, then starts moving toward the laptop to see for hirself. "So, a mutant detector." Dr. Renfield's bright, cheerful grin promptly goes down like a plane crash. At once, his expression is one of shock, surprise, and a little panic -- but that quickly flickers into one of mild disapproval as his hand descends to *SNAP* the laptop shut. "I didn't say that," he quickly snaps back to Rasa, maybe just a little more acerbic than he intended -- he quickly follows it up with a more apologetic tone: "That is, uh... hn. I don't suppose -- I wasn't really supposed to... mention that bit to you, I don't think." A slow, slightly apprehensive smile emerges on his face as he fingers the closed laptop nervously. "Don't suppose you could... ah, forget that bit?" "I apologize, Dr. Renfield," Rasa rests hir hands on the surface that the lap top is sitting on. "I probably should have kept my mouth shut about the assumption about the test." Ze looks genuinely contrite as ze half leans on the counter. "I will keep it to myself. It's just fascinating. You know I'm studying electrical systems. I think Mr. Osborn hopes that I'd be a genius like my high school roommate and build him better robots. I... a disappointment on that front, but no one is as good as my old roommate. Well, aside from Tony Stark." Ze takes a deep breath and wets hir lips. "Old roommate?" Dr. Renfield asks, head tilting -- as he reaches for his clipboard once again, lips stretching into a thin line. "Mr. Osborn thinks very highly of you," he comments, almost distantly -- though something about his expression reveals a certain discomfort in revealing this fact. His gaze shifts to the left, before back to Rasa: "No one is as good as Tony Stark," Doctor Renfield comments, an apprehensive laugh following this, before... almost hushed, as if worried about being overhead -- leaning forward. "It's not perfect, you know. We've actually been asked to test it on an array of different... well, you get the picture." "Yeah, I knew this kid that made the most elegant robots. Ze's off at MIT or something now, so smart ze's been accepted despite hir mutation." Rasa exhales and shakes hir head. "We lost touch. No one I used to know really approved of me attending here, but -- Well, Mr. Osborn can be pretty convincing when he wants to be." Ze moves over to a stool and settles on to it, graceful and controlled, like a cat coiling bonelessly onto a surface. Ze is perched when ze is done. "And of course you have to test it on may different types of mutant. I mean, sure, the X-gene is the X-gene, but not every mutant power allows ... electron waves, laser sensors, pheromone detectors - whatever you're using to register on or through a body in the same way - if at all. And if the mutation is exactly the same as what you are using, then, well, that mutant can control it, right? Suppose it'd be a race then." Doctor Renfield's head tilts a little further at the mention of MIT; at the mention of Osborn's ability to convince, he quickly smiles -- something a little distant about the expression. "Oh, yes," he agrees, "Mr. Osborn can be *exceptionally* convincing. I'm still shocked he's managed to -- well, I'm sure you're well aware that people aren't exactly... entirely accepting of mutants," he comments, with just a smidge of cheekiness. "Just convincing the nearby neighborhoods to let him zone for this school was quite an exceptional feat. I hear he's got one of the best PR teams in the business. He must, to pull off something like this." When Rasa starts getting into the gritty nitty of how the device works, his mouth clamps shut -- as if to prevent himself from exposing any more trade secrets. Secrets that could, no doubt, get him in just a smidge of trouble...! "Something like that," he finally settles on, with a slight, low-key smile. "Either way, this technology is -- going to revolutionize everything." "Oh, don't worry, I'm not digging. I'm just... well, you know, I just come in here every so often and I'm kind of the subject. Sometimes, I think that if I say things that makes it seem like I could understand, even if you're not allowed to talk about what the truth of the matter is, then maybe I can take a stab at feeling like an equal. That's all." Rasa gives a sheepish little shrug and turns away from the man and his laptop, leaning back on hir perch. "Mr. Osborn can... convince most people to give up their objections... eventually. He's fascinating and absolutely terrifying sometimes. But pleasantly so... I think." Ze looks a little concerned by that. Ze inhales deeply then gets back to the point. "Anyway, congratulations on getting it to work." "...well, you know, we are--" Renfield pauses, here; as if there was something else he wanted to say in response to Rasa's comment about feeling like an equal. His lips purse together; his brows crease against one another, as if in frustration -- a frown twitching over his features. "--grateful," he decides on, after that extensive pause. "For your help. All of you. We wouldn't have accomplished half of what we've done here without the help of..." Finally, Renfield just shakes his head, abolishing the thoughts. "Thank you," he says, unplugging the laptop and lifting it up into his hands -- moving toward the door. "I've got some data to process. In the meanwhile--" His lips purse yet again, as he reaches to open the door -- glancing back at Rasa. Once more, that frown returns, brows rumpled. "...be careful," he tells her. Rasa raises an eyebrow. There's no blush in the acceptance of the 'gratitude.' Ze just watches him quietly, but as he gets ready to leave, ze crosses the room and extends a hand as part of the farewell. "Ah. Thank you. I will." Doctor Renfield steps forward to take Rasa's hand, his palm extending out to grip it -- blissfully unaware of the fact that the gloves ze appears to be wearing are nothing more than a facsimile; cleverly crafted metamorph skin. As soon as that contact was made... ...a surplus of thoughts swelled up into Rasa's mind. Renfield's brain was a little familiar; a bit of a goofy professor -- nervous, science-obsessed, prone to thoughtless excitement. A bit *Peter* like, maybe -- but without as much warmth. Osborn was there, in his thoughts -- a distant specter who Renfield genuinely feared. A man who had given him -- and the rest of the Osborn Institute's faculty -- very explicit instructions regarding one Rasa Djalili: Ze is to not be harmed. Indeed, support hir in every way possible. But there, in a bundled, tight little package, was another thought -- regarding the mutant detecting device. Something he wasn't supposed to reveal -- that this machine operated by examining the brain for very specific types of electromagnetic signals... signals unique to mutants. And that the device, once finished, was to be kept completely top secret -- and shipped to a very particular, very *secret* facility. One which Renfield was oblivious to; one which he didn't *want* to know about. Rasa absorbs the flood of information with a cool and relaxed expression. Ze doesn't shift in the least with the new information, hir head tilting a little as ze smiles and nods. Ze releases his hand a moment later, the surface of the gloves sticking to his palm the way that real leather might in this situation before it pulls away. "You be careful too, okay?" "Oh, I will be," Doctor Renfield responds, with just a hint of laughter -- swinging the door open to escort Rasa out. "Don't worry about me, Rasa." And once ze is gone, he turns around -- locks the door -- and plops open the laptop. To review the data -- and engage in some lovely, lovely SCIENCE. Rasa reaches over and grabs hir bag as ze heads toward the door, slipping it back on hir shoulder. Once ze is dumped into the hallway, ze continues on hir way. Ze knows the building well enough by now that ze knows exactly how many steps away from the research rooms until ze is in a place where no cameras are recording hir actions. It's only then that ze slips hir hand into hir bag, pulls out hir real gloves and slides them onto hir hands.