ArchivedLogs:Doom at the Expo
| Doom at the Expo | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-04-17 Seriously every log with Doom in it should probably have Doom in the title. |
| Location
Doom Science Expo | |
The warehouse in which the exhibition can be found is unsurprisingly spacious. A great number of companies have decided to show up, and there's nary a square inch left unused. The largest eye-catching trait of the entrance to the show is a massive poster of the fair's logo - Earth is shown with latitudes and longitudes being revealed to be nothing more than fake tiles, which robotic workers are applying to the southern hemisphere; the lower half of the world is grid-like and mechanical on the inside. Ticket booths are empty. Instructions slapped on the windows tell visitors to order tickets as they would normally. Afterwards, the purchased tickets are printed and presented through a thin slit. Once inside, the very first thing visitors see, of course, is what Doom has for show - a circular pedestal with various open booths that have robotic bust statues with various uniforms, from policemen to firemen. Further into the expo, there's a stupendously large array of displays, from little wonders to near-groundbreaking marvels, from automated kitchens to fully automated car systems. There are no patrols and no security, just a poster that states that people are expected to behave, that every step of theirs is monitored and an intelligent artificial intelligence will pick out troublemakers and alert the appropriate authorities. "Fuh..." Peter is currently /peering/ at one of the robot-busts, eyebrows knitted together /so/ hard, attempting to have a conversation with it. Not /just/ a conversation; he is, apparently, attempting to /break/ it. With words. And paradoxes. Such as: "What's twenty eight divided by zero?" Pause. "What's the square root of negative nine?" Pause. "If I have a set that contains all sets, does it also contain itself?" Pause. Peter is currently clad in his red hoodie, blue jeans, sneakers, and nylon black backpack. Also, ridiculous hipster glasses. He's swaying as he speaks to the robot, apparently /fascinated/ by its machinations - along with whatever might be its response. Right now? Peter is in his /element/. The police officer 'bot bust Peter is predictably trying to break has apparently been designed with such visitors in mind. "I am a police. man. not a mathematician." The voice is rather similar to what you might expect of Microsoft Sam, although marginally more fluid and humanlike. The phrase is repeated after each of the paradox questions. Three, as it turns out, is strike. "Please. phrase. relevant questions." A short pause later, the bust adds: "If you are. without sight. please refer to. nearest panic button. to summon aid." Some people's experiments were up on display, out for the world to see. But for poor Faelan, his experiment was dealing with a large group of strangers without freaking out. The fact that he was out with teachers and other students was bound to help a little, so long as he kept around the other students with more forceful personalities. Still, watching Peter try and break the robots was verging fairly close to breaking the rules. "Peter. Peter! The posters say they're looking for trouble makers. I think it'll call on the authorities soon." "No dude I'm not making any trouble I'm just trying to --" Peter /peers/ at the police officer bot, thinking now. Eyebrows begin to tremble with the force of his thought. "I'm trying to figure this thing out. It's gotta be scripted answers or something, there is /no/ way they've got /actual/ AI --" It's time for the big guns. Peter's face gets an intense look. A finger sweeps out to point at the police bot. "Okay, Robocop. Pop Quiz: If Batman's fighting the Joker on top of a train that's about to hit a dozen civilians, but Batman can throw a batarang to switch the rails and redirect it to a track with only /one/ civilian on it - what should Batman do?!" "You have mentioned. unidentified. variables." Still, the machine does not trip over that. It may not be familiar with pop culture, but it does recognise enough words to create the described scenarion within its circuitry. "Actor one. throws. object one. at actor two." Well, that's slightly disconcerting. "Statistics. show. neutralising actor two. prevents. near infinite. casualty. scenarios." About to protest Peter saying he wasn't trying to break it, Faelan paused hearing the thing's answer. "Wow, I think it really is an AI. You can't script that." Faelan leaned looking at it, then looked around. "Maybe it just connects to Clever Bot or something? Or, maybe someone's microphoning it?" Scratching his head, his concerns seem forgotten in his confusion. Meanwhile - a very pindividual is attending this Expo, lurking around. He is exactly the sort of person Faelan was thinking of when he mentioned the poster. Roger Waller, wanted terrorist, with a head sock, shades, and a big jacket, is poking around the expo. His purposes there, whatever they are, can't mean anything good. He certainly isn't there for love of science and higher learning, that's for sure. He is /frowning/ as he struggles to ascertain the purpose of some of the larger and perhaps slightly more dangerous items on display. "You could /totally/ script that," Peter says, and now he looks angry, like the robot has just spoken some sort of blasphemy. "You are not allowed to kill the Joker," he informs the robot, ever so furiously. "That is not how Batman works--" He looks at Faelan, then, eyebrows grinding together once again. "Yeah, maybe it has - like, there could be microphones, maybe, with some dudes off in a room listening to what we're saying and typing in precached responses - that was how the chess-playing Turk worked--" Peter is a complete /nerd/ when it comes to this sort of thing. "No way this is legit," he adds, turning back to the officer bot. And then: "Hey! Is there someone hearing this and just selecting precached responses?!" Yeah, like whatever police bot could say in response to this would somehow prove Peter otherwise. Peter apparently does not see Roger walking about being /suspicious/, which is probably a good thing because if Peter recognized him - well. The supposedly AI-driven bust statue accepts Peter's frustration, which might be the greatest flaw in the way this artificial intelligence tries to mimic a police officer. "Please direct. your attention. to support." Blue lights begin to blink at Peter's feet. The steel colum holding the booth up begins to shed its metallic skin, revealing a transparent tube. It is completely empty, barring those blinking blue lights. One has to not only wonder how it would be connected to a room, but also how it is powered. The bust repeats itself, then. "Please phrase. a. relevant. question." In the meantime, no one but a handful of individuals in the crowd really pay mind to Roger. Typical reactions apply all around - some distance themselves from him, others pay him no end. A single teen tries to film him with a smartphone once he passes. The wanted man will find few dangerous inventions; the most dangerous one is perhaps an automated kitchen with an automated knife cutting vegetables. Hey, you never know, maybe it cuts itself or goes berserk. You can only repeat a menial task so often before you become self-aware and hostile. "Well, maybe its got batteries and wifi." Faelan wasn't as concerned with it as Peter was, so he looked around. "Come on, lets go, the other students went that way." Gesturing, he hoped that movement would start shortly, and he could possibly be around where less trouble would occur. Roger lives in a blissfully ignorant world, unconcerned or rather too stupid to care about the fact that he is attracting attention by being as conspicuously non-conspicuous as possible. In fact, if anything, he is much more frustrated with the fact that he can't find anything worth STEALING. His lip curls in annoyance, his face a little pinched, now. Yes, he has a terrible temper. He shakes his head and squints at yon robots, glossing over them as one might a frequented ride at Disneyland. To him, Faelan and Peter are just More People. Defeated, he starts to trudge back around the warehouse towards the exit, scratching his neck super-classily. "Whoa... huh. Hff," Peter says, watching the metallic tubing descend to expose that clear pedastol; his eyebrows scrunch together /again/, scowling: "Wifi. Maybe. Or maybe - like, there are all sorts of ways to send a signal, even send /energy/," and now Peter is glancing around, looking for something that might appear to be a transmitter. ...and that's when he catches sight of Roger. Eyebrows /shooting/ up. Something here Does Not Belong. Suddenly - quite inappropriately, perhaps! - he snaps a hand out to grab Faelan's shoulder. And shake. Much more /gently/ than before, but still insistently. SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE. "Faelan I /know/ that dude he is a /criminal/ he /murders/ people." Peter says, voice hushed, pointing at the retreating Roger. It doesn't take very long for an individual to change from a suit to trashy clothing. The only trouble Nikolai encounters is making sure he gets to the exit first. The gruff, middle-aged Latverian man looked like someone smashed multiple bricks against his face. While it retains its human features, they are crooked and borderline misshapen. Dressed in tracksuit pants, a T-shirt and a leather jacket, he casually strolls /from/ the exit, brushing up against Roger. "Te to-ees cawm he' Toosday." Having imparted that weird bit of knowledge with a terrible accent, the stranger rushes off elsewhere, although he could potentially be followed. As for Peter's adventures, the tubing is once again concealed; the transparent material is seemingly made out of rubber, so the steel layer provides the much needed protection. Besides, it looks cooler. Peter's warning seems to be registered by the bot. "I would. not. raise alarm. Track. target. Ready. pacification. If passive, subdue. If aggressive. issue a. warning shot. If. aggression. continues. shoot to. incapacitate." Faelan's eyebrows shot up as first Peter grabbed, then shaked, then said murder in the same sentence. "I knew I should have stayed back on campus." He whimpered abit at that, looking about everywhere. "Call the police, and, and, I'll go find one of the teachers and everyone can get out of here before horrible things happen." Step one, not use powers to run and hide, check. Step two..."Oh where are all the teachers!" Pulling out his phone, he started to dial the designated authority figure of chaperoning. He didn't care about the robocop saying stuff right then, it didn't even have arms. Toru is ... also at the expo. Also sort of near the exit. This whole thing is fairly boring and odds are he has gotten the entirely wrong idea about what, exactly, this whole thing was supposed to be. Maybe he mistook it for PAX, even though he isn't even in Boston. THAT SAID: yon lad is carting a messenger bag and a skateboard, looking at a display of GPS What Don't Look Like Standard GPSes, when he catches sight of Roger and brickface off to one side. Turns a bit, raises an eyebrow at the latter, and looks Roger up and down. "Dude, could you be any more of a stereotype?" Roger turns his head a little bit once he's bumped into a little, eyes following the Latverian stooge's back thoughtfully. His jaw jutted out a little, and he swallowed in his throat. He has not yet noticed the commotion he has caused in Peter, Faelan and the Expo staff. So he legitimately thinks he has remained undetected with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets when Toru stops him. He huffs out of his nose. His voice has a slight bit of gravel to it, but it's mostly Texas twang. "Do you want to find out?" he asks edgily. "No one knows he's a murderer though I mean, well maybe they do," Peter says, thinking aloud as he (finally) releases Faelan. "I mean the guy is kinda /crazy/ I can't imagine he hasn't done other crazy things /anyway/ he is pretty much invincible /so/," and now Peter is slinging his backpack in front of himself, scrounging around in it with one hand. Pulling out... two primitive looking wrist-watches attached to straps of leather. Peter proceeds to strap them on. "Anyway, call the police, um," and now Peter looks at the police-bot. "Hey," Peter says, pointing at the machine. "Robocop. I don't know if someone's in there or if you can legitimately understand what I am saying, /but/ - there is an actual criminal at this expo. He's, maybe dangerous. So if you can, like, call the police, that would be awesome." Peter looks to Faelan: "Um, be right back." And then he /darts/ into the crowd, fumbling toward Roger. OhGod, what is Peter /doing/--?! Those three strikes earlier carried meaning, indeed. Perhaps Faelan's words should have been heeded, after all. As Peter searches his bacpack, heavy metallic thumps and thuds can be heard in the background, easily mistaken for the rest of the mechanical sounds the show is full of. Even the escalating excitable gasps could be mistaken for awe. But when as Pete turns away from his friend and the robots to dart into the crowd, before him stands a six feet, three inches tall steel man clad in green clothes out of this time. The positioning of the lighting casts thick shadows on the iron scowl, thanks to the hood. A thunderously low voice erupts. "Is there a problem?", so asks the unmoving mountain of steel. Faelan was finding somewhere to hide as he got on the phone with one of the chaperones. "Theres a murderer here and Peter went off chasing it and we all need to get out of here now." It was most likely that the rapid fire statement of problem was going to have to be repeated, but with the phone to is ear, he stayed in his little corner of protection, since if he couldn't see the problem, it couldn't see him. "Is that some kinda threat?" Is it? Who knows! Toru's sure taking it that way. Because almost instantly after Roger asks that, Toru's got his arms outstretched, skateboard dangling from one hand, to reveal a dark blue shirt identifying him as a participant of Taco Night '98, or at least as a conoisseur of thrift stores specializing in Taco Night merchandise. "You want some of this? You wanna come at me, bro?" He may have failed to notice signs warning against causing trouble. He may also be completely unaware of X-Teenz fighting crime in the present time. But then he drops his arms and rolls his eyes a little. "Seriously, though, what are you like testing the robocops or something?" Roger's mouth opens as he looks flabbergastedly at Toru, his patience quickly wearing thin. His fist is balled strictly at his side, clenched tight. He starts to raise it to reach forward and....well, whatever he was about to do, the arrival of Doom puts him on edge. No, he's not looking at him, but a tall guy in god damned metallic armor is finally a sign that things are getting a little tetchy to stick around. He turns quickly, almost animalistically, to give Toru another look, his face a little pinched. He moves to step around Toru forcefully, leading with his shoulder. "Move it, kid," he mutters, mostly ignoring his questioning. "...!!!" You can almost /see/ the exclamation points as they spear up above Peter's head. They are accompanied by an appropriate video-game sound-effect. He regards all the grim steel-clad majesty that is DOOM with eyes as wide as saucers; he takes several - /rapid/ - steps back. And shifts, tugging at his sleeves to hide those crudely-designed webshooters. "I, yuuuuuuh," Peter begins, throwing a hesitant glance back at Faelan - then back at DOCTOR DOOM. A finger lifts up, meekly, pointing past the metal-clad dictator - toward Roger. "...the guy in the, uh, sock hat. He's... he's dangerous," Peter amends Faelan's explanation. "I think. He, um. Might be. A criminal. Violent. Thug. Type person." Another step back, /further/ away. "...also he might be invincible. Um. ...are you a super-villain?" That last question might be asked /very/ quietly. So quiet Doom may not hear it at all. And THEN. Quite suddenly - though not quite out of /no/ where - a pleasant, polite voice speaks up from behind Faelan: "Mr. Carter? I'm here. Please, remain calm." The voice is immediately followed by a reassuring shoulder-pat. Delivered by a /very/ large, /very/ blue, and somewhat furry hand. Dr. McCoy is dressed in a light-blue collared shirt, tie, and suit - dress slacks - and his usual glasses. He's also smiling ever-so-pleasantly down to Faelan - then Peter - then, perhaps a little /less/ pleasantly (but still a smile) to the metal-encased Doom. "Peter - relax. Doctor, ah, 'Viktor van Doom', yes?" Adjust-glasses, eyeing Dr. Doom with a guarded expression. Suddenly arranging himself between /Peter/ and the iron-clad dictator. "My apologies for the disruption; this is a class field-trip." Eeping slightly at the voice and touch, Faelan relaxed a moment when he realized it was the help he had called for. "Thank you." He murmered quietly as he came out of the corner slightly, but was still mostly hiding behind Dr. McCoy. It was far safer there at least, especially considering the armored man in front, and the murderer vaguely nearby. It moves. /It/ is perhaps the best pronoun to describe Doctor Doom. His movement is fluid and humanlike, more so than anything else on display in the entire exhibition, despite the heavy shell he carries. His torso shifts first, then he leads one powerful leg backwards. Ultimately, Doom stands with one side facing Peter, while the other facing Roger and Toru. Like the head on a statue that stood still for centuries, Doom cranes his neck to look to the supposed trouble-maker, as pointed out by Peter. "No ballistic weapons detected on person." Verdict handed out. And then the head moves again, this time the scowl directed at Peter. One would assume it did not hear the question whether this metallic monstrosity is a villain, but that empty gaze sent from within the shadows of the cowl is absolutely unsettling. There are eyes in there somewhere, and they are eyeing Peter. Even McCoy's presence is not immediately responded to. Steel clinks and clangs again as the monarch turns to face the mutant chaperone. "Tell me the name of your school." Toru staggers back with some exaggeration when Roger shoves by him, and there is a flash of /righteous Japanese fury/ across his face... But ultimately he laughs it off. "What the /fuck/ ever, man." Anyone familiar with his usual attitude might assume he's high. He may be high. "Dumbass fucking robot." And in a smooth movement continuing from his backwards stagger, he swings one leg back and -- kicks Roger's ass. Literally. He may be expecting a clang. Roger stumbles forward a couple of steps after getting kicked in the butt. He can feel their eyes on him now, even as he turns to give Toru a livid look. He is mad. He straightens up and swallows, channeling his anger as constructively as possible to his own ends. He takes a few steps and CLASPS Toru by the shoulder, as if he was directing his own child, and directs him out of the exit, his neckline taught and stiff as he marches Toru, who will likely be protesting, out of the door meanly. Peter opens and closes his mouth several times in rapid succession - still just /gawking/ at Dr. Doom, even as Dr. McCoy emerges and places himself in-between the teenager and the dictator. When he's safely tucked behind the Beast - next to Faelan - he pokes his head out briefly to squeak: "I think he's pushing that guy around." POINT. Peter Peter /tattle-tail/. But actually, he's a little worried for Toru. Dr. Henry McCoy responds without thought to Doom's question: "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. A boarding school out in Westchester. And, hm," McCoy adds, reaching to adjust his spectacles, "there /does/ seem to be a bit of a 'tussle' over there. Nothing grave, I hope." He is already reaching back to clasp Faelan /and/ Peter's shoulders, urging both of the children to give Dr. Doom considerably more space. Also, to make sure /neither/ of them dart off in what might be the ensuing chaos. As the answer is given, Doctor Doom stands perfectly still. Usually, one could say naught but the heaving chest could be seen, but the armour obfuscates even that. It is as if it has frozen in time purely to digest what Hank has just said, almost as though writing it to inhuman memory. "Enjoy the field trip." The words boom into existence with a tone that, despite the good-natured words, sound like the monarch just wished them to choke to death. And then Doom turns away from Xavier's trio. A man of few words, he is. His attention now rests on Roger and Toru, and the small crowd that has gathered to observe this are segregating like the Red Sea, creating a path for Doctor Doom to walk towards the pair. Toru is sort of just ... running on autopilot. Ha ha, he kicked that guy in the butt. Ha ha -- that guy is grabbing him and pulling him outside. Wait, what? He struggles a liiiittle bit, but mostly just seems -- pretty much kind of high. Or at least recently high. "Dude, what the hell, man?" Even despite the struggling, though, he goes along with it because this place was starting to be kind of a drag anyway. "There's some robot coming over here, did you break one of the three robot laws? A robot may not wear dumbass ski masks or somethin'.." Roger looks over his shoulder as Toru yammers at Doctor Doom. Even for somebody like him, it is intimidating to watch a giant man clad in power armor bearing down him. He quickly muscles Toru out of the door, and now they are gone. Yes, gone. Without any further fuss or any such thing. As the troublesome pair departs, Doctor Doom stops his menacing advance. For a heavy-lookin' machine-like man, his accelerating pace is nothing if not surprising. But he stops. The chaos is averted before it escalates. And a particularly foolish man decides to approach the monarch, assuming the situation is safe. "Man, are you a mutant, or--" It's hard to tell whether he is being hostile or not; maybe he is amazed by Doctor Doom. Or maybe he is offended. Whichever one it might be, Doom snaps his attention to the approaching individual, lifts a hand and lands it on his shoulder with just enough force to imply a bruise. What happens next can only be guessed - the young man falls limp and collapses to the ground, twitching. Electric shock. Doom crouches down, nastily grabs the scruff of the incapacitated visitor's shirt and starts marching outdoors, dragging the supposed offender out. Dr. McCoy proceeds to /reel/ Peter and Faelan back, outside of the immediate reach of Doom or /anyone/ else. A stern lecture shall soon follow concerning Peter and those devices that are currently on his wrist. By Peter's look, you can tell that said lecture is about to commence. Also: Peter is about to get grilled on what the /hell/ he was talking about. The crowd gathered is, for the most part, frozen. When Doom returns from outside, many around him are not quite sure how to act. The host of the show, however, is not phased by what has just occured. In fact, he walks past everyone as if nothing had happened, walking further into the exhibition grounds. The crisis seems to have been wholly averted, although a sense of unease lingers in the air. | |
