ArchivedLogs:Making News

Making News
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Mirror, Alec
In Absentia	2013-12-06 (Part of Infected TP.)
Location <NYC> The Mendel Clinic - Lower East Side
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building. Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction. Decontaminating the clinic took about as long as scraping the dried blood off of the facade and windows of the building, but the Mendel Clinic has once more opened to the public for patients. Perhaps in recognition of the clinic's efforts in the crisis, the number of protesters have been minimal; the less optimistic among the clinic staff point out that it probably has more to do with the mortality rate in the city over the last few weeks than any change of spirit. Still, as the rain drizzles down onto the streets of the City, there is no sign of protesters out front, nor the guards that calmly escort people from the edge of the blocks into the doors of the clinic. Inside the doors, a tall, regal looking man watches a concert on one of the panel of security monitors, the soft strains of classical music filling the little pre-lobby. Long fingers splay out over the countertop, moving back and forth as if sitting in front of a baby grand, pressing in and moving side to side with the drifting rhythms of the strings. The woman who approaches the doors of the clinic is neatly-dressed, long sweeping black coat against the rain, an oddly-shaped black umbrella, grey-blue slacks, heeled black boots. Dark skinned, dark eyed, dark haired, with strong symmetrical features that hover towards androgynous. There's a Daily Bugle press pass clipped to a lapel of her burgundy tweed jacket, visible once she gets in from the rain, shakes her umbrella closed, and sheds her jacket. Naseemah Chaudhry, reads her pass. She takes a moment to fold the umbrella neatly, fold her damp coat over an arm, before she examines the guard thoughtfully. As the door of the clinic swings open, the guard looks up from his not-playing and studies the woman walking into the clinic for a moment. He runs a finger along the scroll wheel of the mouse, and the sound of strings fades to a soft background level. "Good afternoon, and welcome to the Mendel Clinic. Please remove anything metal and place it in the container for the scanner." The guard's voice is smooth, accent lilting as if off of the radio tuned to BBC 2. "Then step through the metal detector." Even as she examines him, Alec is returning the favor, eyes flicking up and down consideringly. "Who is your appointment with?" "Doctor Saavedro." The woman speaks in a smooth contralto, low and quiet. She sets her bag and coat down for the scanner, stepping through the metal detector herself with no fuss. "I'm slightly early." The guard turns to study the X-ray for a moment as the conveyer belt tugs the bin through the machine, and he nods, once. "I will call up to him and see if he is ready for you. Go on through to the lobby, and someone will be with you in a few moments." Alec makes no effort to reach for the phone, however, nor outwardly do anything else to indicate that he is contacting anyone in any form. Quite the contrary - he turns back to the concert with a press of a button, the heavy first door of the man trap opening with a soft buzz. Naseemah offers Alec a small smile, a small tip of her head. She collects her belongings, sligning her purse back over her shoulder and heading through the lobby to arrange herself neatly on a couch. She pulls a tablet out of her purse, a stylus as well to start tapping on it as she waits. It is not a long wait before the doors to the elevators slide open and Iolaus himself steps out of the lift. He is dressed in a dark blue dress shirt and slim black tie, secured to his chest with a silver tie clip, not quite matching the more casual black jeans and sneakers on the bottom half of his body. "Ms. Chaudhry?" he asks, taking a step towards the woman on the couch with one hand extended. "Iolaus Saavedro. Thank you for coming here to meet me. Please, follow me. Can I get you anything to eat or drink while we talk? We have a cafeteria for the staff that I could take you to if you'd like. Not quite haute cuisine, I'm afraid, but it's good food nonetheless." The doctor gestures her towards the bank of elevators, flashing a warm smile at the reporter. Naseemah gets to her feet when Iolaus approaches, taking his hand in her own to squeeze it warmly. "Doctor Saavedro. Thank /you/. After the remarkable part this clinic played in the past month's events --" Her head shakes quickly. "I'm glad for the chance to get to meet with you. And some coffee would be wonderful, if we could." "I don't think it was quite what we were thinking of when we opened the clinic, but I'm glad that we were able to help. I'm just glad I was able to remember my work from grad school," Iolaus says, lightly. "Coffee sounds wonderful, I will admit. Please, this way." Once in the elevator, the doctor pulls out his ID and inserts it into a slot above the row of floors. He presses the button for one that the sign marks as "Administration" and withdraws his ID. "How has the Bugle been recovering?" "Recovering?" There's a very light note of laughter in Naseemah's voice. "Goodness, Doctor, our website was giving around the clock live coverage of the zombie conflict. Our circulation in the city may have been down, but we soldiered through alright." She follows after Iolaus, hands folded behind her back as she steps into the elevator and watches its lights count up the floors. "How has the Clinic been faring? Not quite the opening expected, and yet." "Indeed, I got to know your website very well over the last few weeks," Iolaus says, returning a smile. "Still." The doctor turns to briefly watch the lights, before he continues, "There are less protesters than we were fearing, certainly, and the mortality rate among the mutant population was fairly brutal, especially with the discrimination in the shelters. Some of our staff, too, were injured and are out on leave, and we lost a handful as well. This epidemic affected all of us, and we were no different." Iolaus says, his voice quiet. "But that just means that we need te redouble our efforts to help those in need. Our appointments are filling up, rapidly, though, so that is a good sign." The door to the elevators open, and Iolaus sets off down the hallway. It is not far to the cafe, and when he holds the door open, a scattered few people sitting in little clumps at the handful of tables glance up. "Help yourself," Iolaus says, gesturing to the coffee. "I'm going to grab a plate of dessert." A mischevious smile, before the doctor slips off towards the food bar. "That's unfortunate to hear. Though I suppose there's not any place in New York that doesn't tell a similar story. It's encouraging, really -- certainly not the losses. But the regrouping after." Naseemah continues in towards the coffee, preparing herself a large cup, minimally creamed and minimally sugared, and takes it to a table to sit. She pulls out her tablet, too, as well as setting a small digital recorder on the table. Her legs cross, tablet turned up towards herself as she taps at it and waits for Iolaus to return. Iolaus returns to the table with a lightly steaming slice of apple pie and a steaming mug of coffee. Black, if the color is anything to go by. He glances down at the digital recorder, then looks back up to Mirror. "What questions do you have for me, Ms. Chaudhry?" "One major one, Doctor." Naseemah only switches the recorder on after Iolaus has had a chance to see it, setting it down on the table once more. "New York just went through the worst crisis in its history. A crisis that would have been far worse if not for the work done here. I'd like to hear, in your own words, the story of what happened here. The treatment, the cure. The people behind it." "You certainly don't beat about the bush, Ms. Chaudhry," Iolaus says, a slightly amused look on his face. "Straight to the hard questions." A pause, and the doctor picks up his mug of coffee and takes a slow sip from it before replacing it down on the table. "Alright. The beginning of the story, you might very well know better than I; caught up in the preparations for opening the clinic, I'm not sure I even picked up a newspaper or turned on the television in the first few days of the pandemic. Of course, I knew that some kind of disease was beginning to spread, and that it had killed a few people, but that's not that unusual even for the flu." Iolaus turns and looks slowly around the room, eyes scanning from table to table, a slow pace. "Opening day, though. We finally got through all the paperwork, all the construction, the hiring. And when we finally opened the doors and got a chance to catch our breath... by then, the disease had become an epidemic. I think I went straight from the ribbon cutting to a crisis meeting. The clinic was open for... a few hours, I think. Four, five?" Iolaus shakes his head, turning to look at the figure sitting across from him and study their expression for a moment. "That was a painful decision to make for us. We had no idea, still, the real symptoms of the disease, and closing down shop meant that our patients wouldn't be able to get help. But a disease with no real treatment, spreading rapidly through the population, with a high lethality? As much as we wanted to, there was no way we could stay open." "Mmm." Naseemah continues to write on her tablet as Iolaus speaks. "Not an easy position to be in," she agrees mildly. "But after you chose to close. How did you go from not even operating to creating the cure." "I started reading on the disease that day, in detail. We still had no idea what it was, or the damage that it could cause. I got a few samples from some infected people and started analyzing them in the lab. I think one of the highlights of the epidemic was watching how people came together, and how people stood up. People's true characters shown through when crisis hit. Some more than others, actually. I think the entire city would have been in much worse straits if it was not for the work of one person. He's the real hero of this terrible trial that the city has gone through. And, I can't confess to being surprised, after he saved the mayor's life. And mine." Iolaus says, with a slight smile. Naseemah looks up, first puzzled but then her eyebrows raise. Her hand stops for a moment, her head tipping slightly to the side. "Saved the Mayor?" There's a quizzical tone to her voice. "Do you mean that mutant? I didn't realize he was involved in medicine." "The mutant - Jackson Holland. And, neither did I. At first, it was just helping out with critically needed things - things that I would call him a hero for regardless." Iolaus says, shaking his head once with a smile on his face. "Getting a team of people together at great risk to himself. Doctor Toure, who worked on the cure with me, was personally escorted here by him. Getting supplies in and out of the building - guarding it against the hordes trying to break in. But - and, it embarrasses me to say it, but... he is the one who identified the infection vector." The doctor shakes his head and chuckles. "Speech. Who could have even imagined? Nothing even close to that has even ever been theorized, nevertheless seen in the wild." A wry laugh, and Iolaus shakes his head. "I specialized in infectious diseases, have written papers in some of the most prestigeous medical journals in the world. Between Doctor Toure and I, the two of us have more experience in medicine than he's even been alive. And yet, he was the one to identify the vector. And on that, everything follows. I never would have been able to hypothesize on the action of the disease without that, and Doctor Toure would never have been able to identify some of the neurological pathways. It is as much his discovery as it is ours." "Really?" There's quiet fascination in the reporter's tone, a very small smile curling upward at her lips. "Well that is something, isn't it. Perhaps," she suggests lightly, "fresh eyes were exactly what this problem needed. You said yourself -- you and Doctor Toure have vast experience in medicine. And this was something unlike anything else medicine had ever seen. Perhaps it /needed/ someone coming at it with -- really, no idea what they /should/ have been looking for." Naseemah glances down at her tablet, and then back up at Iolaus. "You mention that he assembled your team. You and Doctor Toure -- did you have others to help?" "Perhaps. I never, no matter how many times I beat my head into the problem, would have thought that we found the first case of linguistic transmission. It just was not on even the menu of possibilities - even novel ones!" Iolaus chuckles and nods. "Yes. Many people helped, of course - members of the clinic guards who laid their lives on the line getting people and supplies in and out, and making sure that we stayed safe. The people who volunteered as test subjects and extensive monitoring, letting us watch them as they slowly got sicker and sicker, or who volunteered to try completely untested medication as we tried to compress years of research and testing into days." The doctor's fingers drum along the table as he slices a section of pie off of the plate and slips it into his mouth. A few moments later, he continues. "Miss Wyngarde was of great assistance as well. She joined us after we had some general ideas on what was going on, and was deeply instrumental in ensuring that we actually were able to turn theory into results. There were many others who helped as well - clinic staff and friends that Jax was able to gather. People to cook, to clean, to defend the clinic and help keep everything in order. All people who did so even before we knew how the disease was transmitted, and people who did so at great risk to themselves. Mutants and not mutants, working together. We couldn't have done it without the mutants involved, there is no question in my mind." "Wyngarde. Regan Wyngarde?" Naseemah murmurs in confirmation. "I've been trying to track her down for a word as well." She looks back up, dark eyes focusing on Iolaus. "It sounds like a remarkable story. New York -- and the world, really -- has a lot of thanks to offer you all. It's strange, you know, having a disease that has a cure put out before the actual pathogen has even been isolated and identified. What can you tell me, Doctor, about the /origin/ of this sickness?" "I honestly don't know. It hasn't even been on my road map. A disease this novel and without isolation, I can't even give you an educated guess. But you can probably look the places you always look - areas of high population density and low income." Iolaus gives a little shrug of his shoulders, and takes another bite of pie. "I admit, I slept through most of my epidemeology class." "Mmm." Naseemah nods at this, thoughtfully. "There have been sources pointing to a mutant as the origin point. That would seem to explain the frankly bizarre pattern this disease took, wouldn't it?" Iolaus pauses for a second, and he gives the reporter a searching look. "I don't know anything about what sources you are referring to, but it is possible. I have heard equal information that it was an escaped biological weapon from somewhere. I can't lend any credence to that rumor either, but it seems equally likely." Naseemah's stylus twirls betwen her fingers. "A mutant or an escaped biological weapon," she echoes. "Doctor, what makes you suppose those two theories are mutually exclusive?" "Hope, Ms. Chaudhry. If someone is turning mutants into biological weapons, then I should hope they are brought to the full punishment of the law. I believe war crimes are still punishable by death, and it seems only a fitting punishment for a researcher who has so utterly lost sight of their own ethical boundaries." Iolaus' voice is firm, and there is no smile on his face to cut the seriousness of his statement. "Hope." Naseemah echoes this word with a small smile. "Well, Doctor, /I/ hope that yours is well founded. Now that the worst of the crisis has passed, how are things faring for the clinic? So much controversy /before/ its opening but then -- that's been largely overshadowed with bigger issues to focus on, hasn't it?" "Indeed, it has. And, in all honesty, a controversy was never what was intended when this clinic was opened. The goal, from the beginning, has been very simple: bring healthcare to an underserved segment of the population with complex health needs." Iolaus says, taking another sip of his coffee. "That's it. Plain, simple." "Simple. If only the world ever were." Naseemah's smile grows, and she extends a hand to Iolaus. "This has been very informative. I appreciate your time, Doctor. Good luck, with all that you're doing here." "Thank you, Ms. Chaudhry. Please feel free to contact my office if you have any follow-up questions," Iolaus says, a warm smile flitting on his face as he reaches out to shake the reporter's hand, firmly. "I look forward to reading your article. I hope that you do not forget all the heroes of this story," he says, still grasping the woman's hand as his eyes search her face. He lets go a moment later, standing up to pick up his plate and mug. "I'll walk you back to the lobby." "It's my job to remember them, Doctor." Naseemah's smile is pleasant. She picks up her mug, too, to follow Iolaus to -- wherever it goes. "Oh, no need. I remember the way. Thank you again." Her head tips politely in a farewell nod.