Logs:Operation: S.N.A.K.E.S. I.N. A. R.I.F.T.
| Operation: S.N.A.K.E.S. I.N. A. R.I.F.T. | |
|---|---|
Studying New Areas Kinda Earns Snark. Ignore Nation, Acquire Relaxing Interdimensional Field Trip | |
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
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2020-11-11 "Well ah...that's not exactly what I had in mind." (Part of Rift TP.) |
| Location
<NYC> NYPD 121st Precinct - Staten Island | |
The 121st Precinct station house is one of the newest in the borough, its unique top-heavy outline eyecatching where it perches at the top of its hill. There are no police officers in sight now, though, nor any cruisers out front, though some remain in the actual parking lot in back. There are instead quite a number of commercial vans (Strategic Pest Control and Mold Remediation, they read, beside an incredibly generic geometric logo) parked in the circular driveway, and workers in coveralls coming and going at regular intervals. Steve hasn't been here for most of the day, but he's here now, in full Captain America regalia. This isn't his dull, practical wartime uniform, but something clearly inspired by his USO show costume, all primary colors and little white wings at the sides of his head. The shield slung across his back is shows a silver star in a blue field ringed with bands of red and white, recently polished to a glossy shine. His thoughts are frazzled mess of jittery flickering images of his day of what for him passes as patriotic grandstanding. He's relieved to be here, really, but very lost in his briefing. "Excuse me, Doctor," he says, holding up a forestalling hand. "Could you try running that by me again in plain English?" Bruce is perched on a stool that was definitely brought in and not a part of the office's standard complement of furniture. He's in a blue and white striped dress shirt, charcoal trousers, and black oxford shoes, his thick-framed glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose. "Well, it's hard to to say for sure since this is absolutely unprecedented," he hedges, "but based on our readings and calculations, we think it is possible for us to set up an electromagnetic field that resonates with the rift in such a way as to make it collapse. Though..." He pushes his glasses up his nose. "...we have to build all of the equipment custom." Nat is all in black right now, sturdy boots and jeans and a short-sleeved blouse. She's leaning up against a bar of an empty holding cell, staring across the way into the holding cell that -- well. Looks empty. Evidently contains an entire world. "Custom. How long is that going to take?" "I understand this is a new situation, but I'd sure prefer if we weren't playing total trial and error with -- a hole through space-time." << I really wish I had more than half a clue what that even means... >> Steve's eyebrows raise up. "So you need to build some machinery to shut this rift down." He nods, a short, jerky gesture, at Nat's question. "Are S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resource enough? I'm not exactly sure who they requisition from if it's not." Bruce grinds his teeth, slow. "It's not total trial and error," he says, just a touch defensively. "But I'm afraid there's bound to be an element of that here." "The problem isn't resources, it's manpower. Right now it's mostly me and Tony working on it, and I'm not an engineer by any means. The technicians assigned to assist us don't have our scientific background. They're helpful in a lot of things, but some tasks it takes longer to tell them what to do than to just do it ourselves." He blows out a long breath. "I'd say give us around--a week?" Natasha spreads her arms in front of herself. Glances from the jail cell to Steve, brows lifting. "What, no sense of adventure? Hole through space-time? Could be options there." Her tone is deadpan, the look she gives to Bruce very serious. "What if instead of closing it you tried changing the channel first? Gotta be a better world out there than that one." Steve nods, slow. "Well, I'll talk to Coulson, see if they can't solicit more assistance. If you've got a short list of folks you could use, I'll pass it along, though no guarantee they'll pass S.H.I.E.L.D. muster." << Of course, Tony Stark passed muster, so there's that... >> His pale blue eyes flick to Natasha, his expression steady behind his half-mask. "I'm all about adventure when everyone involved is onboard. Rather not drag the whole world unwittingly on this voyage of scientific discovery." Shakes his head. "Those multiverse theory articles read a lot like science fiction, but I'm sure hoping the similarities end there. In the stories the parallel universe is often -- inimical to ours." Bruce scrubs his knuckles over his five o'clock shadow. "We have no reason to believe it's possible for the rift to lead anywhere except--where it leads." He glances at the apparently empty cell where the rift in question lies waiting. "But for what it's worth, the tuning we'll need to do before we can close it might well cause aspects of the rift to fluctuate. It's a risk we have to take, and it's not impossible you may get your wish, Agent Romanov." He licks his lips, glancing nervously between Natasha and Steve. "As a physicist it's genuinely painful to put closing this small, stable, seemingly harmless rift before further opportunities to study it. This could revolutionize quantum mechanics!" "In science fiction," Natasha's pulling away from the bars, meandering over towards the other cell to peer closer at its very drab nothingness, "they've always got some paradise planet out there. Gorgeous beaches, lush forests. You could try to aim your fluctuating in a --" She mimes a dial turning in midair. "Positive direction. Study string theory on a beach where zero coups are happening." In the brief mental picture that drifts up in her mind, Steve's swimsuit is little more than some veeeery scaled-down versions of his shield held together with string. Bruce's is very purple. Steve blinks at Natasha. << This woman is practically Luci caliber in her dryness. >> "In science fiction," he counters, still, "there's usually a serpent in paradise, whether it be a draconian legal system, deadly super viruses, or actual honest-to-God --" He breaks off, blushing suddenly. << Well, no salvaging that one. >> "-- monsters. But whether it's Eden on the other side or tantalizing scientific advances, I agree with Director Fury -- we have a responsibility to see this thing safely contained and closed." But then he adds, in a conciliatory tone, "I'm sure you'll gather plenty of data along the way, Doctor Banner." Bruce is also blinking at Natasha. "Well ah...that's not exactly what I had in mind." He deftly peels away her mental picture before it becomes seared into his mind, spinning it off into the sparsely populated stream he'd reserved for her admittedly few errant thoughts. "Though," he admits calmly, "I can see the appeal. Alas, I don't think it's very likely we'll find any beach resort dimensions, serpent or no serpent." He also drifts toward the cell containing the rift, though he does not stray as close as Natasha does. "But...I suppose you never know." "We have plenty of snakes right here." Natasha's head rolls slow, shoulders stretching. "Guess we'll have to keep working on the paradise." | |
