maskormenacelogs | you're just like poison

Entry tags:

you're just like poison

WHO: YOU.
WHERE: De Chima, VA
WHEN: 2/25 - however long it takes.
WHAT: Curing what ails you.
WARNINGS: None anticipated; let us know if this should be edited.

You might say that the atmosphere in De Chima is electrical. The sprawling city claims industries devoted to scientific endeavor: medical, technological, and even particle physics. De Chima, the city located between Richmond and Newport News along the coast, gently kisses the Chesapeake Bay (and has thus been a leading source in natural energy, utilizing wind and water). It's right next door to a university town (that is, the town inherent to the De Chima Technical Institute), which is a place complete with scenic, Gothic-styled architecture and laboratories so plentiful that some have been relegated underground. De Chima itself is bright and clean, and its buildings favor shining steel and large glass windows. It houses its own labs, though these tend to run with corporate strings attached.

Captain Holiday has sent memos out to the imPort residents of Heropa: he and his team have, though data surveillance of the Network, determined that something a bit awry has let loose within the populace. It's imperative that the erratic behaviors of certain imPorts be acknowledged and reported, so that those individuals may be examined in De Chima. Captain Holiday appreciates the sensitivity of any invasive procedures -- so he has called for all scientifically inclined imPorts to gather in De Chima. Their mission is to figure out what is going on with the imPort populace. They are, by decree of the government, allowed any access to any laboratory. Hotels will be booked for them (free of charge), and meals will be paid for.

This nation needs your help, heroes.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

In the bright, shining City of De Chima resides the pharmaceutical corporation Providence Labs. Here you will have access to their medical equipment and free mobility of their two floor main unit. Their resources are high-tech and (in some cases) otherworldly; to make accessibility easier, some of the technical tools are clustered with voice-commanded anti-gravity pads. The usual staff had been instructed to leave imPorts be, but you can engage NPC lab assistants if you'd like. Both floors are brightly lit and equal in equipment.

If you are investigating samples or if you are imPorts providing the samples, you are certainly welcomed to grace the cold, pale linoleum floor in these parts.

Connors had done some work for a pharmaceutical corporation back home, as one of his many varied science related jobs (because the writers haven't given him a solid career since the 1970s.) But really...this was something different. Something different and something confusing. As he accidentally turned on the anti-gravity pads multiple times, Connors was slowly starting to regret his choice in lab. These tools were honestly wonderful: thanks to his only one good arm, the anti-gravity pads were immensely helpful in getting things and holding things still while he worked.

Unfortunately, he had a tendency to accidentally underestimate or overestimate the length of the gravity pad. As such, he accidentally pushed a beaker out of the field, which clattered to the floor with a crash.

"Sorry!" Connors piped up, wincing, as he scurried over to where the broom was.

Hope had absolutely no idea what he was doing here, really. He went to school for mechanical engineering (among others), not for biology. He had a good head for chemistry, sure, but creating structures and their energy systems was his forte. So he was out of his depth.

... At least until he discovered that these people used anti-gravity technology as well, even if it was limited compared to what he knew. It was still impressive, nonetheless. For the first time in a long time, he was enjoying himself. And with his familiarity with this kind of technology, he could probably help out, even if it was just dealing with the equipment.

Like now, when someone who actually looks like he can do something about this situation, unlike Hope. He always cringed at seeing lab equipment get broken, but he couldn't judge, since he'd broken things larger and more expensive than beakers before. Besides, if the man had any time-sensitive experiments going on, he shouldn't be wasting time on what someone else can clean up. Like himself.

"It's fine, I'll get it." He was already heading there after all, another broom and the dustpan in head. "I'd hate for you to interrupt your work just to fix something up, sir."

"Thanks," Connors responded, a bit surprised, though obviously thankful for Hope's help. "And really...what would help my work best is if we talk while I work. I don't really like silence."

One of the problems of continually working with animals was that you got used to their sounds. So, Connors didn't really feel that comfortable working in pure silence. He had to have something in the background, be it ambient noise, talking with someone, animals making animal noises, things like that. He gave Hope a little smile as he walked back to his work station.

"A conversation, then?" he asked as he swept up the glass and dumped them in the disposal bin for someone else to take. Not that Hope was surprised about the request-- he had a lot of colleagues in the much quieter labs who wanted some background noise when they worked. Though considering Hope worked in louder environments, since he worked with tools, he personally didn't mind some background noise.

"I'm not quite up to speed on biology-- my experience is focused mostly on technology-- so I'm probably not going to contribute much if we talk about the work being done here."

And he made sure to sound apologetic for that.

"Well, we can talk about other things," Connors said, as he continued to work. He placed a few drops of a serum he was tinkering with on a microscope slide, carefully placed the slide under the microscope and started to adjust the dials.

"You're new here as well, I take it?"

"Mm, yes, I am. I'd been only around for about a day before they began sending out requests for help." Hope tried not to peer at what the man was doing, so instead he busied himself with getting familiar with the tools around.

The anti-gravity pads were limited, he'd in fact seen the beaker get pushed out of its range, and something needed to be done about that. So what could be done about that particular problem? He couldn't very well tinker with them when someone was using them, and without the lab's permission at that.

"It was about three days or so for me," Connors responded, as he moved away from the microscope, frowning slightly. He continued fiddling with the serum, adjusting bunson burners and fiddling with things.

"It's certainly a different experience."

Sadly, Hope had some experience with going to sleep in one place and waking up elsewhere, or even waking up unfamiliar places in general. He was surprised and shocked when he woke up, but not downright terrified or lost. He knew what to do in situations like this.

"I don't disagree with that. But what's your opinion on this hero business?"

Hope personally wished they used another term-- 'hero' was a term he reserved for a specific friend to use, and not himself.

Connors had to smile a bit of a wistful smile at that. Hero. He was a one-armed scientist with an estranged son who turned into a giant lizard monster when stressed out. He had attacked multiple people and driven away the two people in the world he cared about. Who on earth looked at that and thought 'hero?'

Obviously, Connors's self-esteem problems were having a field day.

"I'm no superhero," he said, with a shake of his head. "That much is obvious. I can understand why they'd bring some people here, but not a one-armed scientist with rotten luck."

Hope gave the man a small smile-- he thought he got the meaning behind those words, and he could understand the sentiment behind them. He felt the same way at times too.

What use was someone like him when actual heroes were better at this than himself? Lightning, of course, was the best choice, and she was already here. Snow was second-best, because he fancied himself a hero already, but he wasn't here.

"I'm no hero either, sir. But I thought to myself there's something else that they probably want from me, when I got here. So I might as well make myself useful by helping in any way I can."

He couldn't help but smile a bit at Hope's words. The other man had a point. And really, wasn't that why he was here, in the lab at the moment? To help, the best way he can.

"Surely there have got to be better ways to help than by picking up after me," he joked.

"Well, there's also making conversation-- I'd say that's one way."

The joking he understood too. That's one thing he managed to pick up from the Academy, working alongside so many colorful people. In their line of work, it was better for morale and productivity to be lighthearted rather than constantly somber. And besides, Hope never minded a little bit of humor.

"I could work on our anti-gravity tools-- but I doubt you'd appreciate me turning things off just to be able to do that." He waved a hand at the pads, just for emphasis. "And I'm not familiar with this technology anyway."

"I wish we could come back to this place later, just to tinker around with things a bit more," Connors mused, as he continued to do sciencey work.

"I mean, I'd love to use this technology and I imagine you'd like to work on the anti-gravity tools."

"I'm sure the military will have similar things for me to work on when this is all over. If not... I'll simply try and build one so everyone can work with it."

But first, of course, he needed to see if there was something he could do about their weak output and reach. Hope ducked behind another table that had the same pads, and began looking for something. A circuit board, or something similar.

"So you're used to this sort of technology?" Connors asked, looking over at Hope for a moment. From the fact that Connors was sticking with microscopes, bunson burners and centrifuges showed that he absolutely was not.

"Yes, actually." Hope looked up from the table he was crouching behind.

"I use items that cheat gravity often. My world has been using this kind of technology since before I was born."

It was a throwaway line, and one Hope didn't mind giving away, since no one knew his real circumstances-- or his chronological age. To people in the know though, that would be something significant, considering he was from a time four hundred years after his birth.

"I'm kind of jealous," Connors admitted, with a little smile at Hope. "My world doesn't have anything remotely like this in the public sphere." He was certain that Stark or someone like that had made anti-gravity items. But where he worked, in his office? Not really an option.

Hope straightened up, work momentarily forgotten due to his surprise. The revelation that other worlds not having the same kind of technology should not be surprising... but then again, before arriving here, Hope hadn't even entertained the thought of worlds other than Cocoon, Gran Pulse and the one Lightning had been in.

"Not even something as small as this?" He tapped the pad on the table for emphasis. "So what did you use in the laboratory?"

"Beakers, computers, centrifuges..." Connors paused for a second, adjusting the temperature on the bunson burner as he carefully placed his test tube over the heat source. "Things like this, for the most part," he said, with a gesture towards the bunson burner.

"Granted, some of the better facilities had better technology, but nothing like the anti-gravity pads."

For those looking to demystify the Type B strain, welcome to BabelMedPlus. They're a research corporation that specializes in concocting cures for widespread diseases and viruses, so you're at an advantage with the equipment handy. The lab you're invited to work in is the usual scale with the usual necessities -- except for the illX-Vision telemonitors mounted along the back wall. These are a BabelMedPlus creation: they're designed to scan for specific diseases. And that's what they're doing right now, to the people who walk by outside of the corporation's doors.

Like the other labs, this floor is cleared for imPorts to work, with the exception of NPC lab assistants.

Choosing which lab to go too wasn't something Molly had been very concerned with--the only thing that mattered was finding a cure. She remembers the virus released in Venezuela a year and a half ago, and wonders if this is similar. She hopes they aren't related. Some of the things that virus had done had been absolutely horrifying.

She can't worry right now, though. She needs to work. The huge monitors that they said were for disease scanning make her a little uneasy--she can't imagine how something like that works. But Molly has to trust these people with their slightly-too-high-tech equipment because if she doesn't nothing will be solved. Molly has an endless mug of coffee and some crisps to munch on as she works.

( A; volunteers )
For the first time since he arrived here, Hank is feeling a bit more at home. So he dabs in a little bit from particle physics, and a bit from robotics and hardware, but this is his world and he is allowed to be more excited than he should be at the prospect of being back in that environment.

Of course, that might come off a little weird to the volunteers that have been pulled in to gain further knowledge about whatever's going on with the population. The volunteers in question are in a separate glass room to reduce the risk of infection, it's just the standard procedure. Hank is hovering outside of it and in good spirits as he begins taking observational data from the various volunteers in BabelMedPlus.

"So, let's start with your name, age and occupation."

( B; lab break )
It's been nearly 12 hours and there still a large set of data to go through and Hank has only been able to connect a few viable, potential dots. Deciding to take a break isn't what made him got out of his lab station though. It's his empty cup of coffee.

BabelMedPlus is a top notch facility, it comes with a long counter lined with coffee pots and Hank can't be more thankful. He sneaks in line and makes a grab for a pot.

Later in the day, Connors switches labs, wanting to find which one was a best fit for him before he settled in with cups of coffee to keep him up until they found a cure for this. So, as he examines a strain of virus he can't help notice that Hank's making a break for a coffee pot.

"Hey, pour me a cup of that would you?"

After topping off his own mug, Hank didn't really acknowledged Connors. He was too deep in his own thoughts, even though he had come here with the intention of breaking it because his thoughts are just going in circles at this point. He needed... He needed something fresh. A jolt to the system.

While a part of his mind struggled to figure out what exactly he needed, the other part did acknowledged Connors' request and poured him a cup of coffee. And it took a moment for Hank to realize why he was doing it but he frowned at the new mug he was filling up for a moment. Then handed it to Connors anyway.

"Huh. You're a new face."

Taking the cup of coffee, Connors smiles at Hank as he takes a sip. Sweet, sweet caffeine, boosting up his energy a bit. He hadn't reached the point of thoughts going in circles yet, but he knew that he was getting a bit drowsy. Coffee it is.

"I've only been here for a few days now," Connors simply responded, with a little shrug. "Curt Connors, by the way."

"Uh--" Now that everything isn't go, go, go the negative weight of the viral infection is beginning to take its toll on Nelson, leaving him slumped tiredly forward and trying very hard to stay awake. He's gotten a bit of sleep and a bit of food since the initial crash, but nothing that's staved off the worst of the symptoms. He's too tired at the moment to even be in much of a panic about the situation, which is probably a relief to everyone.

"Nelson Gardner," he says, clearing his throat and forcing himself to sit up straight. He pinches his arm as well to help his mind stay alert enough to cooperate. "Fifty-five, and I've been working as a Correctional Boot Camp instructor. D-do you know-- it isn't-- it's nothing fatal, right?"

It's probably been answered before, but it's hard to keep everything straight at the moment.

"Very good, Mr. Gardner."

Hank took notes. Not physically but he noted the way that Nelson here was tired, after an initial speed boost that seem to resemble an intensified sugar rush. But memory seems to be in tact and coherency is still there, so he can assume that there's no inflammation in the brain. But given the high white blood cell count from the blood work, there has to be something viral going on.

"Well. I can't say for sure. But you're still here, and you're breathing and talking. That's good news, isn't it?"

Keeping to his good spirits, he follows up cheerfully. "Did you notice when you first started feeling ...off?"

Leaning his elbows on his knees, Nelson rubs his temples, pinches the bridge of his nose -- it isn't easy, feeling like his brain isn't going to just shut off at any moment, but he understands the importance of staying awake.

"... Good enough," he says, and though it's not of any real assurance, he's too tired to worry about the future so he nods slowly and carefully.

"I-- well, I didn't, really, I only thought it was a symptom of... the environment, all that energy. Florida's much warmer than New York this time of year," he mutters as clearly as he can, stumbling slowly over his words as he tries not to lose track of the sentence. "Some acquaintances of mine noticed before I did, but then I thought maybe there was something to it."

You're in the De Chima Technical Institute for this one! It's a welcoming place, full of savvy minds and young ambition. The resources available may not be up to par with the corporate labs, but you'll find a willing and able nest of research assistants and PhD candidates ready to help you along. And if things get too stressful, then you're welcome to work off some tension at the university gym -- cardio, weights, and a swimming pool, complete with a sauna!

Speaking of savvy minds and young ambition, Valeria had gravitated immediately to the university. The for-profit institutions might have had better facilities, but corporate help always came with strings attached. The academy was much more flexible...and much more likely to be grateful for the upgrades to their equipment she was making as she found the need. Give her a rapid prototyping system and a place to stand, and she'll move the world.

Biochemistry was far from Val's favorite field, but she'd had plenty of experience while the Future Foundation had worked on a cure for the Thing, and she learned quickly enough that only another expert could tell she hadn't been one a day ago. Still, there were gaps in her knowledge, and she'd arranged her work to leave her occasional 10 or 15-minute windows where she could sit down with a textbook or a journal on her tablet and read, rapidly absorbing what this world knew about virology.

That was what she was doing now, perched on a stool at a lab bench, leaning on her elbows and kicking her feet in the air as she read.

Edited (subject) 2014-02-26 04:00 (UTC)

On the campus of De Chima Technical Institute (about a fifteen minute drive from both BabelMedPlus and Providence Labs) lays the quarantine section for infected imPorts. It's an old dormitory, four stories tall, that is scheduled for remodeling in the summer -- so it's empty of students! If you're an infected imPort and you accept the terms of quarantine (meaning, don't leave the building! Food and necessities will come to you), then you basically have free reign within the dorm. This is a good place to mingle and let viral tension fly, since all three types of virus will be quarantined in the same vicinity.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

you're just like poison

LAB ONE - TYPE A

open!

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LAB TWO - TYPE B

open

open!

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super late sorry ;;

no worries. c:

a; eep I meant to send this yesterday sorry

adding more lateness..

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LAB THREE - TYPE C

OPEN yes that's important to note good job me

QUARANTINE