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Vignette - Back at Home
Dramatis Personae Doom, Nikolai
In Absentia	2013-06-22 The terrorist who tried to derail a train visits Doctor Doom.
Location <LATV> Latverian Embassy - Midtown
The calibration station looks like someone took the dentist's chair and endeavoured to make it as comfortable as possible. Granted, it also looks far less welcoming than a dentist's chair, and that's an achievement. Although it conforms to the humanoid shape to make sure that every inch of the human frame has support, it is also lined with curious spirals and mechanical attachments. Overall, this chair-like station looks more like a surgical table crossbred with a Swiss army knife. Occupying the seat is an entirely nude man. His proportions do not make him look inhuman, but he is powerfully built. The skin is hairless, pale and damaged by some unknown disease, dry enough to have a rubbery appearance. It's been punctured in multiple places in the abdomen, and there's plenty of dried blood staining the skin. The eyes are two twin pools of black. It's hard to determine the man's age, but he's clearly not an old crotchety guy and neither is he a teen. One curious and unfortunately necessary detail is that the man is completely crotchless. Two men are interacting with consoles on either side of the station, although tapping away at a touch screen is not all they are doing. Occasionally, one of them actually moves the scanning device to a different part of the body. Facing the seated and examined individual is Doctor Doom, who stands merely a few feet away. He seems rather dismissive of the whole examination procedure, instead gripping a tablet with both hands. "{The world has heroes, after all.}" The artificial intensity of the voice is less invading and ubiquitous than usual. "{Naïve children.}" A hand rises from the right side of the tablet and sweeps a steel digit across the screen. "{I have queued upgrades to the marked units, as requested. The application will take a few days.}" Further Hungarian words spoken do not belong to the monarch, at least not this round. These words belong to the sinfully ugly Nikolai. As usual, he is immaculately dressed in a black suit with a black tie. "{A woman had to have her arm amputated,}" the monarch speaks again, silently filing Nikolai's message. "{Amanda Wilkins divorced her husband last year, and lost child custody earlier this year. Having suffered from unemployment for a few months, she finally found a job.}" A finger drags across the screen vertically as Doctor Doom continues, "{A desk job, toiling away for hours every day at a computer in a measly cubicle. Her boss loathes her. The loss of an arm will cost her her position. History of alcoholism will catch up with her again. Barring external influence, she will commit suicide before snowfall.}"Gripping the table with both hands now, the monarch lowers it a bit, while his gaze is raised to acknowledge Nikolai, who stands still and listens to his superior. "{That is why heroism is inherently flawed. The lives they save today are not safe tomorrow.}" Nikolai inhales deeply, inclining his chin. "{That is a lot of information you uncovered. Even for you, that's impressive,}" he notes. The monarch seems undaunted by this rude observation. In fact, he seems humoured. The tablet is turned around and slowly raised for Nikolai's observation. "{Her Facebook profile was set to public.}" Never let it be said magicians don't reveal their secrets. But the tablet does not show Amanda's Facebook page, but rather a news article. The photo shows the damaged City Hall. The monarch's right hand is not easily impressed. Nikolai lifts up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck as he skims the extract of the article he is presented with. When he is finished, he looks up at that metallic scowl curiously. "{Good timing. One attack supports the other. Do you think it will be enough to plunge the city back into chaos?}" "{Perhaps. If not, then something larger than a train must be derailed. As I recall, the city remains sensitive about their concrete constructs ever since the event after the turn of the century.}" Nikolai nods with pursed chapped lips. A few thoughtful nods are given, before he decides to address something else entirely, offhandedly dismissing the weighty comment about collapsed buildings. "{Stopping the train before it reached the station is fortuitous - the crime scene is easily navigated. Authorities will find the blood and confirm it belonged to a mutant. Sure, they'll find some traces of coagulants in it, but it would be one of the more normal kind of blood you can find in a mutant.}" The tie-wearing, suit-clad man steps closer to the seated terrorist. "{This still looks fucking ridiculous.}" The tablet is lowered onto the nearby metal table. "{So did his hat, but I did not argue your sense of fashion. Now go, calibrate the auxiliary locomotive functions, before I cease to humour you. I have other tasks ahead of me.}" As Doctor Doom moves to depart from the laboratory room, Nikolai walks away from the calibration station. His end destination, as it turns out, is a device that looks strikingly similar to the aforementioned station, except this one has far less ominous tools towering over it. Once seated, Nikolai exhales a rugged sigh. A man in a lab coat approaches him, readying a syringe as he does. Nikolai, however, swiftly lifts up a hand to halt that process. "{/Stop/. Are you new here?}" The scientist looks to him, confused, the syringe stuck in the tiny medicinal bottle. "{Transferred}," he answers with abundant irritation. Nikolai reclines in the station, eyeing the other man with apparent contempt. "{I connect raw.}" This gets a nervous chuckle out of the doctor. "{/No/, you don't. The amount of pain you will experience will scramble the connection before it even begins. Did Doctor Doom even warn you--}" "{--that he hates when lesser men waste their time?}" The interruption is as sharp and swift as a serpent's bite. There is an uneasy silence that separates the two. By now, even the doctor looks spiteful. Another silent moment passes before the doctor brings the syringe and the medicine to a nearby rubbish bin, disposing of both. A Hungarian command is exclaimed to a colleague that's not too far away. The hum of power brings life to a number of machines. Other workers increase their pace as they move from one console to the next in preparation for the test. At the far end of the spacious lab, the Supreme Monarch lingers in the lift, looking on to the beauty of his work. Beneath that permanent scowl, a grin begins to shape. With the press of a button, the lift doors slowly close, obscuring the sights and sounds of the basement laboratory of the embassy.