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maskormenacelogs2016-03-27 11:08 am
liverletdie) wrote in maskormenacelogs2016-03-27 11:08 am
[OPEN] Listen as the crowd would sing
WHO: Tony Stark and YOU
WHERE: Everywhere
WHEN: Throughout the pullpoint plot
WHAT: Actual piece of shit Tony Stark
WARNINGS: Likely. Will add as they come up.
❮ DAY 1 | ALL LOCATIONS ❯
He'd always thought he was immune to power fluctuations. He'd certainly protected himself against things like EMP blasts. He'd certainly safeguarded his sensitive nanites -- the part of him that made him more than the average human -- he'd made sure that he wouldn't fall victim to something that would hurt him ever again. Ever since the EMP blast back in the City, it was a concern. But that didn't mean the after-effects were so easily wiped away. Or ignored. Slaked off like rain on a tin -- or in this case iron -- roof. Instead, the after-effects were what he had to worry about, but it was so minor, so small, it felt like no change at all. Like a shift in awareness more than anything else.
The suit he was working on -- just another one of his multiples for use -- the shift was enough for him to decide painting it wouldn't be necessary. Bright was better, right? Maybe an adjustment here or there. It wasn't the same -- not the same at all -- without the symbiote attached, but with old and new memories coming into a sharp clarity -- he understood that the porter wouldn't be such a kind benefactor. He was fortunate he had even this low-grade, backwards, old version of the extremis virus. He could have gone with none, couldn't he? No symbiote, but that wasn't really a concern. He wouldn't have the same worry, would he? Nobody knew here -- he didn't have to worry about Murdock investigating, he didn't have to worry about Potts and her interference, or -- himself -- he took a quick mental scan. Something to sift through file after file, looking for backup after backup, but there was nothing. Absolutely clean and clear.
The finishing touches were revealed in the morning -- he'd worked through the night to finish, but it was easy when your lab was built to respond to every thought, every touch, every idle direction -- it was beautiful, how his brain could predict his needs even now. It was how he spent Sunday -- Easter Sunday -- soaring over a good portion of the import cities. All of them. He didn't need one suit -- he had multiples. Three -- in Nonah, Heropa, and Maurtia falls, he unfortunately had to use relics from a past. Red and gold frame that soared over the sky, watching with renewed eyes, transmitting directly into his visual cortex. De Chima, he was in personally, white chrome that reflected the concrete and steel beneath him. In each one, there was little trouble, but that didn't keep him from stopping occasionally, looking around -- each suit would stop periodically -- it was like he was there personally, in each one. He'd look around, before he took off again, eventually finding trouble only later at night, a random mugger or two -- surprisingly quiet, all things considered.
Then again, he wasn't there to stop crimes. He was observing the lay of the land with renewed eyes.
❮ DAY 2 | DE CHIMA [CLOSED TO FREDERICK CHILTON] ❯
The restaurant he'd invited the psychiatrist was on the expensive side. Exceptionally expensive side. With a full bar and some of the priciest food that small plates could hold. The kind of place that screamed "status" in a way Chilton would likely appreciate more than going just anywhere. Inside, the conversation was low, the kind of place where business deals happened, and the upper-crust looked down on the waiters, even if they never said a word.
Stark leaned back in his chair, casual and relaxed, evaluating. He'd read his book -- the one about Walter White -- a quick skim, and then a second and third skim just to be sure. It took him all of 3 minutes. Sometimes he wondered why he'd been pretending at all. There was no point, it held him back. He watched Chilton with sharp eyes, the confident curl of his lips was probably too self-satisfied, too all-knowing, but he couldn't wipe it off his face. He didn't suffer embarrassment easily, for certain.
"Have you decided what you'd like? They have a surprisingly large selection -- normally places like this are restricted, don't you think?"
He knew what he was getting. A thumb brushed against the liquor selection on the menu.
❮ DAY 3 | DE CHIMA TECH CONFERENCE ❯
The plan originally had been to talk about the projected StarkPhone and its peripherals, but... that was so petty, wasn't it? Another consumer electronics when there was capital here to be worked with. Why not do something big? Why not do something outlandish? Different. Something to shock and awe -- to make the world stand up and listen to not just him but the imports as a whole. He'd been twiddling his thumbs, he'd been sitting on his laurels, and doing nothing that would actually achieve. Doing nothing that would make an impact or a difference. Nothing that would change the damn future he so strongly protected.
That had to change, didn't it?
"I'd like to thank you all for coming out here today," he opened, before launching into a long speech about StarkTech's direction. It was a nice one, too. All about improving and changing the future. The direction they could take in that -- pharmaceuticals, human improvement, using technology to make humanity better. To improve and empower -- that was the key. He grinned, when he said that. The logo was only an "E" -- he'd deal with it later. This was a stump speech, a preliminary proposal. Full of hope, teases, and no solid details. He'd have to refine the formula first.
" -- And if you have questions, feel free to ask them. Now, or... one on one during the little soirée I've arranged. No need to have one of these things if we can't enjoy ourselves, am I right?"
Of course he was. He already knew he was right. He always was.
❮ DAY 4-6 | VARIOUS ❯
The rest of the week was almost a blur. Alternated between time spent in StarkTech -- inventing or dealing with investors, storming the hallways and looking like a man on a mission -- or going through meetings, a glass of champagne or a martini in hand like it was normal. Few had dared to even point that out, but one look normally quieted them. If he wasn't at StarkTech, he was out. Either at bars or nightclubs, a gathering readily, he threw his money out like it was water, amassing crowds to dance and drink with -- and follow him home.
Or, during the day, he might be found soaring over the Cities, in white-chrome armor, never painted and polished so it reflected the world back from him, stopping everything from petty crime to just standing around, speaking with the media, citizens, anyone who'd listen -- always magnanimous and pleasant -- the smile on his face was, perhaps, only slightly friendly.
[ Please feel free to tag in with whatever! If you'd like to work something out, you can always find me on plurk @![[plurk.com profile]](http://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
hundreds! ]
WHERE: Everywhere
WHEN: Throughout the pullpoint plot
WHAT: Actual piece of shit Tony Stark
WARNINGS: Likely. Will add as they come up.
❮ DAY 1 | ALL LOCATIONS ❯
He'd always thought he was immune to power fluctuations. He'd certainly protected himself against things like EMP blasts. He'd certainly safeguarded his sensitive nanites -- the part of him that made him more than the average human -- he'd made sure that he wouldn't fall victim to something that would hurt him ever again. Ever since the EMP blast back in the City, it was a concern. But that didn't mean the after-effects were so easily wiped away. Or ignored. Slaked off like rain on a tin -- or in this case iron -- roof. Instead, the after-effects were what he had to worry about, but it was so minor, so small, it felt like no change at all. Like a shift in awareness more than anything else.
The suit he was working on -- just another one of his multiples for use -- the shift was enough for him to decide painting it wouldn't be necessary. Bright was better, right? Maybe an adjustment here or there. It wasn't the same -- not the same at all -- without the symbiote attached, but with old and new memories coming into a sharp clarity -- he understood that the porter wouldn't be such a kind benefactor. He was fortunate he had even this low-grade, backwards, old version of the extremis virus. He could have gone with none, couldn't he? No symbiote, but that wasn't really a concern. He wouldn't have the same worry, would he? Nobody knew here -- he didn't have to worry about Murdock investigating, he didn't have to worry about Potts and her interference, or -- himself -- he took a quick mental scan. Something to sift through file after file, looking for backup after backup, but there was nothing. Absolutely clean and clear.
The finishing touches were revealed in the morning -- he'd worked through the night to finish, but it was easy when your lab was built to respond to every thought, every touch, every idle direction -- it was beautiful, how his brain could predict his needs even now. It was how he spent Sunday -- Easter Sunday -- soaring over a good portion of the import cities. All of them. He didn't need one suit -- he had multiples. Three -- in Nonah, Heropa, and Maurtia falls, he unfortunately had to use relics from a past. Red and gold frame that soared over the sky, watching with renewed eyes, transmitting directly into his visual cortex. De Chima, he was in personally, white chrome that reflected the concrete and steel beneath him. In each one, there was little trouble, but that didn't keep him from stopping occasionally, looking around -- each suit would stop periodically -- it was like he was there personally, in each one. He'd look around, before he took off again, eventually finding trouble only later at night, a random mugger or two -- surprisingly quiet, all things considered.
Then again, he wasn't there to stop crimes. He was observing the lay of the land with renewed eyes.
❮ DAY 2 | DE CHIMA [CLOSED TO FREDERICK CHILTON] ❯
The restaurant he'd invited the psychiatrist was on the expensive side. Exceptionally expensive side. With a full bar and some of the priciest food that small plates could hold. The kind of place that screamed "status" in a way Chilton would likely appreciate more than going just anywhere. Inside, the conversation was low, the kind of place where business deals happened, and the upper-crust looked down on the waiters, even if they never said a word.
Stark leaned back in his chair, casual and relaxed, evaluating. He'd read his book -- the one about Walter White -- a quick skim, and then a second and third skim just to be sure. It took him all of 3 minutes. Sometimes he wondered why he'd been pretending at all. There was no point, it held him back. He watched Chilton with sharp eyes, the confident curl of his lips was probably too self-satisfied, too all-knowing, but he couldn't wipe it off his face. He didn't suffer embarrassment easily, for certain.
"Have you decided what you'd like? They have a surprisingly large selection -- normally places like this are restricted, don't you think?"
He knew what he was getting. A thumb brushed against the liquor selection on the menu.
❮ DAY 3 | DE CHIMA TECH CONFERENCE ❯
The plan originally had been to talk about the projected StarkPhone and its peripherals, but... that was so petty, wasn't it? Another consumer electronics when there was capital here to be worked with. Why not do something big? Why not do something outlandish? Different. Something to shock and awe -- to make the world stand up and listen to not just him but the imports as a whole. He'd been twiddling his thumbs, he'd been sitting on his laurels, and doing nothing that would actually achieve. Doing nothing that would make an impact or a difference. Nothing that would change the damn future he so strongly protected.
That had to change, didn't it?
"I'd like to thank you all for coming out here today," he opened, before launching into a long speech about StarkTech's direction. It was a nice one, too. All about improving and changing the future. The direction they could take in that -- pharmaceuticals, human improvement, using technology to make humanity better. To improve and empower -- that was the key. He grinned, when he said that. The logo was only an "E" -- he'd deal with it later. This was a stump speech, a preliminary proposal. Full of hope, teases, and no solid details. He'd have to refine the formula first.
" -- And if you have questions, feel free to ask them. Now, or... one on one during the little soirée I've arranged. No need to have one of these things if we can't enjoy ourselves, am I right?"
Of course he was. He already knew he was right. He always was.
❮ DAY 4-6 | VARIOUS ❯
The rest of the week was almost a blur. Alternated between time spent in StarkTech -- inventing or dealing with investors, storming the hallways and looking like a man on a mission -- or going through meetings, a glass of champagne or a martini in hand like it was normal. Few had dared to even point that out, but one look normally quieted them. If he wasn't at StarkTech, he was out. Either at bars or nightclubs, a gathering readily, he threw his money out like it was water, amassing crowds to dance and drink with -- and follow him home.
Or, during the day, he might be found soaring over the Cities, in white-chrome armor, never painted and polished so it reflected the world back from him, stopping everything from petty crime to just standing around, speaking with the media, citizens, anyone who'd listen -- always magnanimous and pleasant -- the smile on his face was, perhaps, only slightly friendly.
[ Please feel free to tag in with whatever! If you'd like to work something out, you can always find me on plurk @
4/02
And so it was that an employee of Starrware came to snoop around a competitor's headquarters, on a Saturday, scanning the area with a handheld device not unlike a tricorder, without making any real effort to hide it. Evidently, he forgot to consider how bad that might look in context.
no subject
Mind, Tony Stark didn't think that Qubit had been changed -- he'd seen no indication of difference between the data he had previously and the data he had now. Which made it interesting that the man was engaging in industrial espionage. Considering how... good he seemed. Uncompromising. Stark knew, from what little data he had, that Qubit would be a problem. No matter how he acted.
The direct approach was best.
So he strode from his office -- the top floor of the building -- and took the elevator down, rolling up his sleeves as the elevator door opened, and he stepped out.
Like this, he didn't bother pretending that he was barely paying attention, his eyes moved like eyes locked on a computer screen -- moving faster than most humans could see. He only got within earshot, before he spoke up. At least he was still in the lobby.
"I hope that this isn't as bad as it looks, because this looks like I should have you arrested."
Or really, that he should deal with it himself.
no subject
And then the threat of arrest flew in out of left field. For a second, Qubit was visibly stunned. "What?" He wasn't doing anything wrong. The building was open, they were still within normal business hours, so he wasn't trespassing. Was it - oh, crap, it was the scanner, wasn't it? Did Stark think he was spying? His brow furrowed, indignant. As if he needed to steal Stark's technology, honestly... Maybe he should have called ahead, in hindsight, but it's just a bad habit of his. Easier to ask forgiveness than permission.
Stark was a reasonable man, though, wasn't he? Just a week ago they'd been starting to hash out a collaboration on a charity project. Reasonably, Qubit could easily have been here to discuss that. Something felt off about this, but he couldn't put his finger on what. Still, Stark was bound to understand if he just explained honestly what he was up to, right?
"No no no, it's nothing like that," he said quickly. "This is - I'm just scanning for spacetime distortions. It's that issue with imPorts getting displaced in their timelines. I've narrowed down the source of the incident to the De Chima area - not too surprising, given the sort of research we get up to here - so I thought perhaps -"
He was starting to ramble and gesticulate, as usual when he tried to explain anything, but it's about here that the gesturing happened to line his scanner up with Tony, and the device let out a high-pitched squeal as it passed him, like a metal detector on the beach. That grabbed Qubit's attention, and he stopped and pointed the scanner directly at Stark, the whine resuming steadily as he did so. Yeah, no doubt about it.
"Wait, you're affected, too," he observed, perplexed. Why hadn't he said anything-?
no subject
Too honest for his own good. Qubit had said the words he should have kept to himself. Certainly, he suspected that others would guess, but... with no direct confirmation, few would actually realize it. Even Chilton, despite the...trouble they'd had, hadn't picked up on it. Leave it to technology to find the answer that others couldn't find. And of course Qubit was smart enough to put together something that would land both of them in hot water.
Or rather, him, actually.
He narrowed his eyes, and he his mouth formed into a slight frown. "It's nothing," he said, and waved a hand. "I took detailed notes during my time here, and seven years is enough time to get a feel for what I'm doing," he pointed out.
Both of these points were actually true. He had taken -- recorded digital notes throughout his entire time here. Even losing his fortune to the end of the world hadn't stopped him from learning everything, from recording every moment and then uploading it back from his memory banks when he got here. So now he had all of his detailed memories of being here, with the perspective that time, and being home had brought. And the lack of restraint, and restrictions.
It was freeing, in a way, caught away from everything and everyone. In this new world, full of people whop didn't know what the signs meant.
"I'm more concerned with you thinking you can just come into my office and start scanning. Did you not think about what that would mean? To my company? My sensitive research? Isn't this an invasion of privacy?"
That was rich, coming from him, and he knew it.
no subject
For that matter, why was Stark upset about it? He was trying to disguise his irritation, but Qubit hadn't missed that darkening of his expression. For some reason, he hadn't wanted anyone to find out. But the fact he could wave it off like it wasn't a problem meant it wasn't the real problem. Qubit was well acquainted with the practice of hiding big secrets behind little secrets - he'd been doing it himself for years.
Tony Stark was hiding a big secret.
Wary now, he held his head up and chose his words carefully. This was a power play, and it was important to establish he wasn't intimidated. "Privacy isn't the issue here," he said. "I'm only interested in your research insofar as I want to rule it out as the cause. As bad as an incident like this would look for your company, you must realize a cover-up would only look worse. I'm not accusing you, naturally - but if it turns out you did have something to do with this, I'd be glad to help you fix it. Quietly, no harm done."
All truth. No formal accusation, framing himself as an ally, offering him an out - but not leaving out the tacit implication that if he wasn't allowed to help, he could easily go to someone else with his speculations.
no subject
Smart people were problems. Particularly intelligent people who could probably think just as quickly as he could. Valeria Richards was another threat, but thankfully she wasn't here anymore. He's always found threats in the shadows, though, no matter where he was. It was a fact of life, a threat when one was as brilliant as he was. Everyone wanted a piece of the pie.
"If you are really concerned that StarkTech would have caused the problem, you don't need to be. I didn't notice anything unusual from any of my systems at the time of the change. It was likely elsewhere that caused it, unfortunately."
He paused, and put a hand in his pocket. Condescendingly casual. "But, if you insist on looking, a guided tour could be arranged."
He wouldn't trust him as far as he could throw him, in his company, and he'd rather he left, but he doubted the man would take him at his word. Not after the way he'd pushed back. Her wasn't intimidated, so he'd need to be cautious. Murdock had been the same way.
no subject
"Must have slipped my mind," he replied, feigning nonchalance. "To be fair, though, if you're worried about someone finding sensitive information from the lobby, you might want to reconsider leaving the doors open."
Of course, Stark just saying his company wasn't involved didn't guarantee anything. But before he could pursue that line of questioning, Stark beat him to the punch. It wasn't exactly what he wanted - a guided tour wasn't the same as an accompanied look around - but it was close. Logic said it was worth a try.
His gut said it was a trap. It occurred to him, peripherally, that he hadn't told anyone where he was going today. The shriveled husk of optimism that remained to him weakly told him he was being paranoid, that probably it would just be a calm look around, they'd find nothing and it would be fine. His optimism was a shriveled husk for a reason, though. Better paranoid than dead.
Realistically, though, he might not be at that much of a disadvantage here. He didn't know what Stark was capable of, but Stark was unlikely to know the full extent of Qubit's abilities, either. If worse came to worst, he still had his teleportals, and he'd be surrounded by electrical systems the whole time. If you're going to ambush Qubit, a high-tech laboratory is about the worst possible place to do it.
He weighed his options only for a moment before smiling, tight-lipped, and nodding curtly. "Yes, that'll work. Thank you, I appreciate it."
no subject
He'd been too afraid to chance the porter again. Dying once had been enough, really, and while there was certainly a fear of dying here -- he wouldn't ever be truly free of his will to live, he knew -- it wasn't the same. It held him back, before. His fear of pissing off the porter and being stuck here for ages.
Oh, that wouldn't be a worry, anymore.
"Why don't you follow me, and if you have questions, or want to see an area, say something, instead of wandering off on your own."
The statement was delivered with a tip of his head, a flash of teeth in a grin that was too-cocky, and the elevator door opened, and he gestured. "This way, if you'll please."
And when they entered, the elevator ride was long, they went deep underground, and it opened into a hallway. Doors lined the side, each one had a place for a keycard, but at least it was well-lit.
no subject
As the doors closed and the cab began to descend, something else seemed off. It was only a second later that he realized they'd skipped a step - nowhere had Stark pressed a button, or flashed a badge, or entered his authorization. To all appearances, he'd never verified to the machine who he was or where he was going. It didn't give him anything conclusive - there were a number of ways you could pull that off, with varying degrees of effectiveness - but he filed it away nonetheless.
The long ride down was silent and tense. Qubit spent it watching Stark and thinking about exit strategies. Did he really believe Stark was behind the incident? Not particularly, even now. But there was definitely something here he wasn't supposed to see. He hoped he was wrong, but... he was seldom wrong.
Qubit stepped out into the hallway, but paused there under the pretext of starting up his detector again. In reality, he mostly wanted to let Stark pass him. At this point, he wasn't crazy about the idea of turning his back on the guy. "These are the main labs?" he asked.
no subject
"Yes, they are," he gestured back and forth, listing off employee names. The Hamada brothers labs, Newton and Hermann's labs, et cetera. All down the line, giving each name, and pausing, to allow him to pause in front of each one. The doors were closed, the sections for the keycards each had a dully glowing red light, indicating no access. There were obvious panel-windows running the line of each wall, broken only by the doors. They reflected back, so Qubit could see his own face -- very obviously one-way windows. The chrome of the mirror reflected the lights, giving the entire hallway a sharp, clean glow. Clean metal floors, clean white ceiling, and the three feet below the windows, and the three feet above the mirrors were brushed, dark titanium, two yards of mirrors to reflect back almost eerie, considering how lonely it was in the hallway on a Saturday.
"We, unfortunately, have a lot of sensitive materials down here in the R&D floor, but if anywhere would have caused it... it would have been something here. Again, though, I didn't notice anything on the sensors, so I don't know what it could be."
The last door, at the end of the hall already had his name on it. His lab was obvious, but there certainly weren't any windows, just a door with no keycard or FOB so nobody else could get in, other than him.
no subject
He couldn't see inside the labs, unfortunately, although the familiar buzz of electronics grew and receded in the back of his mind as they passed by each door. The only things visible were himself and Stark, reflected endlessly back and forth between the dark windows. They were standing in a literal hall of mirrors. Well, that wasn't ominous or anything. Qubit didn't linger too long at any given window, nor say much beyond one-word acknowledgements of the litany of names.
Before long, they were left with just one door, labeled Tony Stark. His personal lab. No windows, no visible locks. The belly of the beast, as it were.
He didn't expect Stark to just open it up and let him in, of course, any more than he'd done for the other labs. He'd need an excuse. Maybe if he cranked up the sensitivity on his detector...?
no subject
The door opened with barely a thought, and he gestured. "Please," he said, the annoyance clear. "I know you're going to ask, so you may as well get it over with."
He even walked in first, noticing that Qubit never pulled ahead. Fine, if he were worried about being backstabbed... well. It was a valid concern, but one that Tony Stark was going to belay in his own way. He didn't need to stab him in the back. Either way. Inside, the ceiling was high. Four times the height of the hallway, and huge. The floor was concrete, tables interspersed either against the walls, or in places around the middle of the lab. Tool boxes, tool shelves, innumerable surfaces where items were. It looked more like a car-lover's dream, the boxes upon boxes of ratchets, bits, screws, metal plating, wires, a few random, glowing power sources still plugged in, achieving full charge.
A wall of iron man suits. Each one disassembled and flat against the walls, as if they were on display, instead of waiting to be activated. Only one wasn't -- different in color, chrome instead of red and gold, polished to a shine instead of brushed. Sleek and smooth, instead of hard lines. Where there weren't suits and tables and tools on the walls, there were panels -- all monitors of some sort, even if there weren't computers they were plugged into -- obvious to someone who could sense the electronics. And in piles were projects -- some half-completed, some looking more than finished. Most of them looked to be phones, or displays of some sort Trying to recreate devices familiar to other worlds.
"Well? I'm sure your little machine will tell you all you need to know."
no subject
And inside... oh. Oh, wow.
Aesthetically, Stark's lab was... well, it wasn't that unlike his own. Not the one he had now, obviously, which wasn't much bigger than a high school classroom, but the one he'd had back home. (Before another Tony tore it to shreds, anyway.) Huge, spacious, grand, sleek... And there was actually room for everything. He didn't have machinery crammed into corners or metal cabinets overflowing with junk components. And the tech!
Qubit finally pulled ahead of Stark to begin a slow walk into the room, his fascination momentarily overwhelming his caution. His eyes lit up, but with what, he couldn't say. Admiration mingled with jealousy and nostalgia and an unexpected, acute pang of homesickness... It was probably obvious he was paying no attention at all to the detector.
Idiot, don't get distracted!
Right. Right. Logic pulled him back to himself. He glanced back at Stark briefly, just to make sure he was still there (and that he had a little distance on him), then turned his attention back to the matter at hand. Detector. Right. Naturally, there were no distortions in here apart from Tony and his wake, which effectively answered that suspicion beyond reasonable doubt.
But Qubit wasn't satisfied with that. Stark had only let him in here because he didn't think he'd be able to find anything incriminating. Or, alternatively, because he wanted home-field advantage. But either way, Qubit was sure he was being underestimated here. Plenty of people made that mistake once; few made it twice.
"I like what you've done with the place," he said.
It didn't take long for his attention to be drawn to the suit. It was hard not to take note of it, given that it was the shiniest thing in the room. "What's this? New armor?" he said, pointing to the chrome monstrosity as he headed toward it and its brothers on the wall. One of these things was not like the others.
no subject
But no.
No, Qubit had to pick out the suit, which stood out from the others. He tipped his head, arrogantly. "I thought I'd change it up. Back home, I've been going through colors, lately. For a while there, I did a black and gold one, but it just didn't fit. I'm trying this one on for size now."
He loved that suit. It suited everything he was trying to do -- but he loved the one back home better. Bonded with the symbiote, it was perfect, and often surprised people, with how easily it came together. He wondered if there was a symbiote here, he could deal with. He noted that away, to think about it. To mull it over later, when he wasn't dealing with someone in his personal space.
"Like it?"
no subject
Not to say it wasn't intriguing technically as well, however. He could feel the gist of the hardware, if not all the details, even with it powered down. Repulsors, sensors, actuators... all of it seriously advanced stuff. He could respect Stark's skill, at least, if not his attitude. But... the weapons systems were awfully heavy for a rig that size. Definitely heavier than the ones in the disassembled suits on the wall. What did he need with that kind of firepower...?
After a moment's examination, he turned back to Stark and shrugged. "Not bad," he said, noncommittally. Feigning disinterest, he began moseying away from the suit and toward the lab tables. "A bit overkill, maybe, but not bad."
The detector was nearly silent, so he only took cursory glances at it as he walked. It was patently obvious by now that Stark wasn't involved in the incident, but if not that, then what was he trying to hide? Most of what he saw out here wasn't terribly noteworthy - mobile phones, machine tools, a paper blueprint... Wait a second, paper was definitely out of place in a lab like this. He steered his path gently past it, not directly next to it but close enough to get an idea what it was about, if brief and upside-down. Another weapons design, this one even bigger and uglier. What could he possibly need that kind of firepower for?
He was still missing a crucial piece of the puzzle, but the image was starting to come together.
Finally Qubit stopped, turned off the detector and pocketed it. "Well," he said. "You're right. Nothing but residuals. But that does beg another question." He straightened to his full height and grasped his lapels. "I'd clearly worn out my welcome before I walked in the front door. What about all this don't you want me to see? I don't suppose it's related to those weapon systems even an army wouldn't need?
"Mr Stark... just what are you planning?"
no subject
"You like to push, don't you?" he asked.
Watching him go through his things had been somewhat humiliating, and had put him on edge. But really, there was nothing to talk about, after all, he had plan after plan stored away in the information that his former self had left. Weapons. Items. Things that nobody who actually said they were done with designing superweapons would ever actually need. But then again, the man he'd been... he never actually gave it all up. He just pretended that he did. He did it for his own moral code, to make himself feel better, even if it did no good, he couldn't stop people from killing others. He couldn't stop war, he just guaranteed they continued for longer than necessary.
Go figure. He should have scared them all into behaving, like he did at home.
He stepped forward, then. The doors to the entrance closed on their own, and locked. The systems reacted to the lightest mental command from him and the suit -- now behind Qubit, moved, fast enough to shadow him.
"I think you've outworn your welcome. I've been more than open with you, so now that you've achieved your goal, why don't we go talk elsewhere?"
Like on top of his building. Where he could drop him off.
no subject
Instinct took hold. Qubit's hand flew to his watch. The controls were only partly psionic, but it was more than enough to make targeting and activation happen faster than a speeding bullet, especially within line of sight. A shining portal appeared next to him and he slipped through, but its twin was only a few yards away, still within the lab, roughly equidistant from both Stark and his chrome-plated buddy. This didn't put him outside the suit's range of motion, obviously, but he was far enough that catching him was a matter of who was quicker on the draw.
And Qubit was damned quick on the draw. He had to be, to have survived this long.
"I can see myself out, thank you," he snapped, starting to raise his voice. His mind raced, in the meantime. Elsewhere - that might not be a bad idea. But where? If Qubit took them someplace public, where Tony couldn't attack him without hurting his precious image... he ran the risk of Tony abandoning the image and eliminating witnesses. No. But someplace remote, and it could be years before anybody found his body - or whatever was left of it. (Would he revive? Maybe. But that armor probably had enough firepower to incinerate him, nanites and all, and he wasn't sure how fast he could take it apart.)
There really was no good place to have this discussion. Which meant there was no better place. At least in here, he was effectively armed.
"I don't know whether you're going for supervillainy here, or just trying to make a tidy profit off World War Three," he went on, with undisguised contempt. "But either way, you're a disgrace." To the imPort community, to the field of engineering, and not least, to himself.
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He'd need to deal with him, and quick.
"No, you know what?" he asked, his voice sharp, jaw tight. "I'm the person I should have been for years," and he gestured, slightly, the suit started to pace, but didn't approach. He walked to a table, seemingly unconcerned, and pulled a bottle of liquor from one of the drawers. He'd stocked it rather well, considering how long it had been since he was ported in. Then again, he'd made a few runs to the liquor store. More than a few.
He opened the cap, and took a long drink from the bottle. "All this time, pretending that I was like the rest of them, surely you're smart enough, you can at least understand that," another drink. "Always dumbing yourself down, always pretending that you couldn't see six steps ahead, that you didn't know exactly how the future was going to end up, based on probability. How every 'new invention' was just another thing that you had in your back pocket, waiting until the right time."
He moved again, this time walking away from the table, taking long swigs from the vodka bottle, halfway empty now. "I got so damned tired of it all. The restraint, the holding back. It was going to hold me back, but not anymore. I know exactly how to get Russia and the US to behave from now on, and it doesn't involve either letting that weapon linger, or it being used." 3/4ths. He was drinking like a fish, circling, but not closing in.
"I'm going to ensure the future -- and it's going to be the best damned future it could be. Whether you ungrateful idiots like it or not."
The bottle -- now empty -- smashed against a table, showing shards of sharp glass.
In the same moment the suit reached to grab him in a bear hug from behind, the aim to lock his arms to his sides.
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Of course Qubit knew what it was like. He'd known that feeling all his life. Even among friends, he usually felt like he was surrounded by idiots. In fact, Earth-β was the first place he'd really found people who could keep up with him intellectually (and weren't Modeus or aliens with minds beyond four-dimensional comprehension).
The rest of the speech was all too familiar, though. Being tired of self-restraint. Tired of using his powers for the good of people who, from the heights you can reach, look like ants. Insignificant, fragile, ordinary people. People who should be grateful for your help, who should adore you. Yeah, he'd heard this before. But at least this time, it wasn't from the mouth of a friend.
Qubit remained where he was, watching him through narrow eyes. Is this what it might have looked like, if the tables were turned? If he were the one who'd gone rogue? He couldn't say he'd never imagined such a scenario. How he'd do it. Or rather, how he'd do it if he lost all regard for human life. He didn't doubt he'd be nearly as terrifying as the Plutonian. He could be anywhere on Earth instantly. He could put every nuclear plant in the world into meltdown within an hour, probably. He could black out the power grid in half the country with a snap of his fingers, and he knew where to target to do it. He'd be able to plunge the world into chaos without firing a shot.
It was a dangerous road, all too easy to start down, but impossible to turn back from. It was the entire reason he held himself to such a high moral standard. There was so little to separate men from monsters.
Never again.
Tony was chugging hard liquor straight from the bottle now, with genuinely astounding speed. A normal person would have been unconscious and/or vomiting their guts out after half that much, but here he was, apparently unaffected. What was he, anyway?
Maybe because his attention was mostly on Stark, as the bottle broke, the armor managed to get the jump on him. Qubit found his arms painfully pinned, and it sent a momentary shock of alarm through him. He'd pushed far enough, come close enough to the truth, that Tony was actually going to try and kill him over it.
Try being the operative word.
"So that's how it is?" he shouted. Logic might still have his actions, but he let his anger out in his words. "You're going to take over the world, remake it in your own image? I can tell you right now, that's not going to work. You can be the smartest man in the world, and there'll still be variables you won't have accounted for."
Like, for instance, the fact that he was using a robot to restrain a guy whose power included making robots fall apart by looking at them funny. Someone hadn't done his homework. Qubit didn't make his move yet, though. Not until he could see the whites of Tony's eyes.
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So you watch them. See how they react. You keep watch until they're so afraid of acting out. People were funny, when they thought they could get caught. They'd behave, and then year after year, they'd learn. Slowly, but surely, you could prune those impulses free, and then you had nothing left but actual people. The kinds that could build a future to be proud of. Technocratic? Maybe. Certainly not harmful. Hell, he hadn't even killed the man who'd protested him on TV. Qubit had...interesting views, on what he suspected was a pretty stark picture of black and white.
"I don't know, being a god's not so hard. I know Thor, I'm sure by now, I'm an expert," he chided, that arrogance that lilted in his tone was overconfident, and airy. Like it really was nothing. He knew better than to just tell someone his plans. Or get them to understand -- even if he suspected that if he covered the truth, if he really thought about it, he'd see that Tony Stark was completely right. And he really did love being right. Every time.
"I don't know why people like you think you know better than me," he chided, another step forward. The suit's arms gripped tighter. "But for some reason, you all think that way. Do you know how hard it is to get anything done around peers? Good thing there are memory wipes," he said simply.
Ah yes, memory wipes. He leaned in close, fingers tight around the neck of the broken bottle. "Maybe I'll just skim a little bit off the top, when I wipe yours."
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He acted fast. Building machines was his expertise, honed over years of study and practice, but breaking them, that was as easy as breathing. A slight metallic crunch, not loud, was the only warning before the suit's arms fell off at the shoulders, freeing him (and his lungs).
One arm dropped to the floor, but the other Qubit caught with his elbow, grabbed by the wrist, and swung, using his body as counterweight. A pro baseballer he was not, so this wasn't an aimed shot - all he needed it to do was knock Tony off-balance long enough to slip away. As he moved, though, he kept hold of the arm, the shoulder end dragging on the floor. It was bloody heavy, true, but it was parts.
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People never realized that until it was too late. After taking on Mallen, and after injecting himself with the extremis nanovirus, he was more than human. Not that he told people, or let them know. That was the key to it all. Nobody knew. He dumbed himself down and played pretend so people would be comfortable with him. Before he'd finally gotten sice of it, he'd always kept himself casual, simple. It helped, and people loved it about him. He was "down to earth", which made him more money.
And it also meant nobody expected it when he really moved. Creeping over his skin was the golden underarmor that he'd stored in the hollows of his bones -- an odd feeling, different than the organic symbiote of the suite he'd had now, but not...dissimilar. Close enough that the grin on his face said enough, when the metal of his suit hit hard metal on his ribs. "Careful," he said, his grin said enough.
Qubit made it easy, if he fought back. He reached out, and swiped with the bottle, aiming for his head, to get a good hit in with that at least.
And up over the rest of the lab, one of the suits stirred.
They were all operational, after all.