ArchivedLogs:Business As Usual

Business As Usual
Dramatis Personae Brent, Norman
In Absentia	2013-06-19 Lucrative proposals are made!
Location <NYC> Osborn's Office - Oscorp Tower - Midtown East
Once you get past Norman's secretary - and the set of large wooden doors - you'll find yourself in Norman Osborn's inner sanctum - located at the very top of Oscorp Tower. The corner office's floor-to-ceiling windows grant a breathtaking view of Midtown East Manhattan. It is otherwise extraordinarily sparse - a bookshelf with various volumes on war, history, technology, and biology - an organic looking desk with laptop - and a shelf of masks, all from various cultures, all notably grotesque and monstrous. Outside of Norman Osborn's office, there is a handsome young secretary named Rick; he smiles at Brent the moment he steps in -- probably along with his bodyguard! -- and presses a finger down on the intercom. There's a delicate buzz, and -- "Mr. MacNeil is here to see you, Mr. Osborn." Without another word, the double doors that lead into Norman Osborn's offices buzz -- and unlock. Allowing both Brent and, if he desires, his bodyguard, to step inside. Norman Osborn is rising to his feet the moment Brent steps in, a hand descending to close the laptop with a click -- a smile rising up to his face. It's a handsome, easy smile; it touches his eyes effortlessly, pinching the crow's feet crowded around their corners. "Mr. MacNeil. A pleasure," he says, holding his hand out to the gentleman. "Quite a buzz in the city, today. I'm sure you're very busy. I appreciate you taking the time to see me." Brent heads in, along with his bodyguard. The latter stays close to the door and puts in earphones, clearly used to being expected to be present without being expected to listen. Mister MacNeil has no such issues, and his smile is as easy as Norman's. He takes the hand that's offered him and gives it a firm shake. "I'm glad you were able to make time for me so rapidly, mister Osborn." He is perhaps a bit rude when he sits down without being offered a seat, and he doesn't seem particularly inclined to explain this breach of etiquette, "I've heard word that you are in need of money, mister Osborn. Money for a project that I think is an opportunity that cannot be wasted, the Osborn Institute for Freaks, wasn't it?" The corporatocrat studies Norman's face on his intentional phrase of disrespect, although he says it with a tone that implies it is a good natured joke. If Norman Osborn is offended, he hides it /remarkably/ well; there's nary so much as a flicker of resentment across that smile. If anything, the smile seems to /extend/ at the word 'Freaks', threatening to spill into a grin. "I prefer 'The Land of Oz'. But, yes. The Osborn Institute," he explains, and then -- he is gesturing, to the far wall, upon which -- a projection of light fires from the ceiling as the lights slowly dim (even the windows themselves suddenly, inexplicably tinting!), painting the wall with the image of a bird's eye view of a large, sprawling estate on the edge of the woods. It looks like an old Victorian manorhouse -- over a dozen buildings spread across a massive parcel of land. "Understanding mutants," Norman tells Brent, "is its purpose. Working with them -- creating an environment where we can study them -- and they can study /themselves/ -- is the right move. The Osborn Institute, upon opening, will offer full scholarships to any mutant who wishes to attend. Students will have access to food, shelter, education, healthcare -- whatever they require. And at the completion of their education, we intend to work with them to find places where their particular -- aptitudes -- would best suit them." "Imagine," Norman adds, "construction projects carried out by mutants capable of molding stone with their hands. Agricultural projects overseen by mutants who can control the weather. Imagine the benefits of studying their powers in such an environment -- reproducing their powers as technological innovations. This is the future, Mr. MacNeil. Regrettably, not everyone agrees. I've hit -- extraordinary resistance. People who let fear get in the way of opportunity. I'm /hoping/ you aren't so short-sighted," Norman adds, with a good natured smile -- this one includes teeth. White, small, all arranged in a perfect row. Yep. This is a sales pitch. "Soldiers who can fling lighting, terrorists who can cause the very earth itself to split open. Telepaths who can tell what you are hiding without even having to ask a question. Many risks to such people, I'm sure you recognize this yourself. I recall hearing about an explosion related to the other half of your research." Brent adds without too much worry, merely filing away the pitch and noting a single objection. "But I already heard that pitch, mister Osborn. I am willing to invest a fitting sum into the production of proper facilities, such a building must necessarily hold up to higher standards than the building codes provide. I'm also willing to foot half the bill of all insurance policies taken out to assist the endured proper functioning of the institute as long as I provide the insurance, and I'm also willing to pay for some of the students scholarships." Brent lays out his offer, it's quite the generous one. It is also, clearly, his own sales pitch. "Of course, I do expect my generosity to be rewarded." /That/ comment -- the one about an explosion related to Oscorp Tower -- manages to scurry through Norman Osborn's formidable emotional armor. There is a flicker, however brief, of that smile -- a /tightening/ of his lips -- but it's gone in an instant. "Mmn. The weaponization of mutant powers -- is something," Norman replies, moving to sit back in his chair as the light show turns off -- the windows once again turning clear, "Oscorp is not investigating at this time." The /diplomat's/ answer. Oh, but how Norman grins at Brent's offer. "We can let our lawyers pound out the agreement," he says, waving his hand -- as if to shoo away all those pesky details. "This /is/ a long-term investment, of course. You shouldn't expect returns quickly. But when we begin studying mutants -- building technology based on them? Your company will reap the rewards. And," Norman adds, a tentative dropping of his eyelids -- something lazy and dark settling over his face. "When our most -- /interesting/ graduates go out to find jobs in a cold, indifferent world -- your company will be among those we'll point them to /first/." The corner of his mouth twists higher. His fingers steeple. "I am not a greedy man," Norman Osborn lies without effort or shame. "There will be ample spoils for us all." "Sounds good so far, but I do want something beyond just the first pick for hiring and other potential rewards from research, mister Osborn." If Brent at all noticed Norman's reaction, he's not showing it, beyond perhaps the barest hint of smugness in his facial expression that is likewise gone in an instant. "And of course it is a long-term investment, a risky one at that. There are many things that could go wrong, but there is no reward without risk, is there?" Brent places his fingertips together, "I want you to explore the limits of telepathy, the idea of mind-readers walking around are worrying. You'd likely have a few potential students who are telepaths, it's worth trying to find out a way to shield against it." It seems like Brent is done for a moment, but then he adds another condition, "I want, without limits, access to the institute at large and to those students I'm directly funding. And because telepathy research fascinates me, of the six scholarships I'll hand out every year, at least two should be telepaths and a third should be either a telepath or empath. These scholarships will last as long as they maintain under the institute's care, so the number will grow over time. If there aren't enough candidates to fill that quota, then I want all telepaths and empaths to be given priority for my scholarship and the remaining number to hand out as you desire." "Access /without limits/ may be tricky," Norman responds, a little more -- /careful/, here, as his hands unsteeple, spreading outward. "It depends on what you mean by that. /I/ won't have limitless access to these students -- their medical records, for example. But I do intend to have a sponsorship program for the school itself -- and I am /more/ than happy to grant you a chance to sponsor the telepathically inclined. Telepaths interest /me/, too, Mr. MacNeil." Now, Norman's hands are clasping, just underneath his chin -- his head leaning forward. There's almost something /coy/ about the way he's smiling, now. "Actually," he informs him, "it's interesting you should bring up research into telepathy, as that was going to be -- the second discussion I wanted to have with you. Oscorp is in the mutant countermeasures business. Anti-telepathy technology is -- priority one, actually. Recently, we've hit -- a funding problem. We have several prototypes we're working on producing, but without adequate funding -- mmn. I'd be happy to discuss a partnership in /that/ regard, too. Access to the prototypes, once they're up and functional." Norman reaches, then, under his desk. For a tiny, portable button. When depressed, the room darkens again -- and lights flicker over the wall once more! A small, black device is displayed; it resembles an MP3 player. "This is one of the devices we've had our R&D working on. The idea is to send out a powerful, painful signal -- one which only telepaths can perceive. The equivalent to a psychic 'nails on chalkboard'. Telepathic readers would respond with pain -- creating an instant, effective way to identify their presence." "I'm more interested in blocking telepathy than a weapon that will target and identify them, mister Orman. While I understand the desire to identify them can be important at larger gatherings, I'm sure there would result a degree of 'unpleasantness' if we used such a tool without serious consideration." Brent states without too much worry about it, "Ideally something that won't draw too much attention, but there's likely a market for a passive tool to block telepaths from accessing your mind" The man goes back to the access aspect, "I don't mean to pry into their medical records, of course. Things that I won't legally be allowed to access without proper consent are of course off limits, but I want there to be no limits in areas of the building I can visit, outside of the medical staff's domain while in use, and free access to the educational records of those whose studies I directly fund, as well as the ability to request some of their time when I see the need, which hopefully shouldn't turn out to be too often. These would of course be rights the use of which I can delegate to some of my employees, especially ones with expertise in the field." And back to antitelepathy measures, "That said, I could likely allow you to get some funds earmarked for research into the equivalent tinfoil hats that actually do protect from mind reading and manipulation. I'm sure they would come of use. Of course, I'd expect updated on the things I invest in. If nothing else, it'll help convince me you're not wasting my money if you run into problems." "Of course," Norman responds, apparently -- both to the more clarified access of legal access /and/ the mention of more telepath-/blocking/ technologies. "We actually have three prototypes we're working on; the 'screecher' is the most -- immediately possible. According to our tech department, anyway," Norman adds. "We're working with experts in the field of electronic surveillance and tempest protocols to construct a type of material -- a shielding -- that could block psychic readings. A room made of the substance could, in theory, be impossible to 'look inside'; a helmet could -- again, in theory -- block any attempt to read or attack the mind." He pauses, before adding: "Funding is a very large obstacle right now. If you were to -- help on that front -- we could draw something up. Updates, of course. Along with -- once they're /functional/ -- working prototypes of the devices themselves. In case," Norman adds, with a dry smile, "you're worried about being infiltrated by sinister telepaths." He throws this out there as if it were a joke! "Just between you and me, I employ too many telepaths and empaths to be entirely comfortable with the potential damage that could be done if one were to be covertly bribed by someone who wishes to seek me harm, mister Osborn." Brent answers that last comment with a smile and a shrug, it's definitely part of the reason and he sees no reason to hide that. "Besides, anyone who has secrets to keep should wish for a way to keep them secret." He shrugs, "What man of wealth and influence doesn't have secrets that would be quite valuable to the enterprising blackmailer?" An eyebrow shoots up when Brent admits that he employs telepaths and empaths. But. Well. "Mmm. At the very least," Norman agrees, "we both see how anti-telepathy technology is of /extraordinary/ importance. Your funding in that regard -- we might be able to get working, functional prototypes up. The personal benefits for us would be extraordinary -- and the government would /kill/ for such technology." A tight grin. "And with the patents in hand, well. I don't need to tell you just how /lucrative/ that would be."