maskormenacelogs

[His footsteps echoed down the cleanly hallway, the finely heeled leather shoes he wore nearly squeaking against those pristine tiles underfoot. He had lured Teddy back to him with the name Wyatt on his lips, and now he led the man who once claimed that same name right back to the captive Mr. Flood; he found the symmetry to be pretty. Almost fated. It was as if some magnetic hold quivered between these two men, and Chilton wanted to know why.

Well, of course, he did intend "men" loosely. Theodore Flood was unique.]

Our very first inpatient. I had high hopes it would be an imPort.

[Chilton spoke to William over his shoulder, his stride undeterred by manners. The bold lights above shone brightly, with not a flicker of hesitation. A hospital in its prime.]

He wasn't without his fits, of course... But that is to be expected.

[A quick wave of his key fob, and the steel gated doors whined opened. Teddy's was the first room of many lined down a bright hall, the two reinforced glass walls utterly transparent in their paneling.

He couldn't hide.]

[ The man at Chilton’s heel is a subtler force to contend with -- sleek lines and sooty blacks tailored to appeal to what passes for modern fashion in this world. The cross of his vest is textured under his jacket, trim at the waist, tie cinched clean at his throat.

It’s the sidelong sliver of his stare and the leisurely swagger to his step that are more likely to hook at Teddy’s periphery.

He’s older, rangier, balder -- stripped raw in the face, posture ill-befitting a wealthy investor, with his hands at gunslinger ready and his expression inscrutable. He takes his initial stock in silence. The bed, the impressive glass walls, the handsome pajamas. ]

What do you mean, ‘fits’?

[ is his first question. The second takes the form of a rap at his knuckles against the glass, just like the sign would say not to do, if it had occurred to anyone that such a sign might be necessary to post. Does he know we’re here? ]

[ The slow look up and across is odd, in affect; still blank faced, sedate, until life leaks back in. A tension through his shoulders, locking his jaw, a fixed way of looking that is more than just passive. Chilton is included with a flicked glance over, sizing them up as a unit. A conspiracy.

The lights of the room distribute illumination too evenly for sharp shadows, a hazy brightness that's starkly different to the harsh light of a Westworld day or its soft blue night times. Squint, and maybe Teddy looks a little closer to synthetic than usual in his box of glass.

But he moves, then. No stiffness or hesitation, but still human -- a hand on the knee, a clench of a fist, balance settling as he wanders away from his bed.

Quiet animosity has just the subtlest pinch of confusion, tight at his brow. ]

Stop that.

[And Chilton dared to press his fingertips against the back of William's percussionist hand, seeking to still its tapping with a light touch -- and a silent reminder. He might have yet to successfully sedate the man in black, but that didn't mean that he was incapable of a second attempt.

This was his kingdom, no matter how invisible Chilton's crown was.]

Mr. Flood routinely attempted to escape. You could almost set a watch to it.

[A significant glance, and Chilton withdrew his hand.]

And then he returns to this state. I have disrupted his pattern, he is... Lost for it. [Chilton's gaze slid between Teddy and William.] Would you like to go inside? Would you like to get close?

[And like a ringmaster prodding his lion tamer, Chilton didn't allow for hesitation after invitation. He smiled at Teddy.]

Stand back, Mr. Flood. Back up to the far wall.

[Deft fingers hummed over the keypad lock, its six-digit code unlocking the glass panel entry.]

[ William opens his hand away from the glass under Chilton’s touch, easy as if under the point of a gun. Such ready contact has caught him by surprise -- he’s still looking at Chilton, rather than Teddy, when the lock releases. More the lion than the tamer, bewildered by the sheer level of audacity at work, here.

With the cell primed and ready to grant them entry, he stays right where he is.

There are tell-tale ridges under the tailoring of his suit, for an eye that knows what to look for. ]

Touch me again and next time you’ll be pressing your luck with a stump, [ he warns, flat to the point. Teddy awaits, dashing in all black. Isolated. ‘Disrupted.’ ]

After you.

Edited (hi) 2017-03-03 05:25 (UTC)

[ In a square of negative space, no weapon, no options, there isn't much for Theodore to do but to follow direction.

This time, it doesn't seem entirely out of passive obedience that Teddy does as asked. After only one speculative beat, he starts moving backwards, less of a shuffling wander or reluctant trudge and more like a predatory approach in reverse. He stops just shy of his shoulders touching the wall, an easy enough calculation. He knows the dimensions of this room well enough.

And his gaze fixed on the man in black. Or man in expensive suit, as the case may be.

Then his eyeline dips, a tic of tension hollowing beneath chiselled cheekbones. Waiting out whatever queer power struggle is transpiring between doctor and businessman. ]

There's a good man.

[Praise for Teddy, not William. The latter only earned a scathing glare after he had delivered his most recent threat. He stepped into the room, hands in his pockets, his vibrant paisley tie on display. But for as much attention Chilton demanded, his focus strayed from himself -- Teddy was the one to watch.]

I brought you your man. [Added for good measure:] Just as I said I would.

[He was in a habit of reiterating prior facts, to reestablish his relationship with Theodore Flood. A mechanical technique. Teddy, he had discovered, worked precisely -- as long as the commands were precise.

Chilton still sought a "control-alt-delete" option. But luckily, he had Teddy for an indefinite amount of time -- better to explore the programming.]

He really took an interest in you.

[Said Chilton, now looking at William.]

[ The man in black watches Chilton go on in ahead before he steps to trail after him, his one hand still slightly raised out, as if in concern for some lingering contamination. ]

I’m happy the pair of you were able to find some common ground, [ he says, upon passing through the threshold. The walls are thick, the invasive sterility of the light familiar. More aquarium exhibit than padded cell.

He’s been in rooms like this before.

But rarely have the hosts on the inside been so keenly aware of his presence. ]

You see what happens, Theodore? [ He settles in slowly, arms akimbo as he shifts his attention from Chilton to Flood. Patient. Maybe a little resigned. ] Save a man’s life and he puts you in a glass box.

Edited 2017-03-05 21:58 (UTC)

[ It's not that Teddy isn't listening. Maybe he's hearing more than he should, a look turned to Chilton, then back on to William. Maybe the latter has spent enough time to recognise that slightly far away glaze in blue eyes; the former by now has enough security footage of it. It might have words attached to it. Disassociation, and associated coping mechanisms.

Not catatonia, this time, but he's fairly still even when he speaks. ]

Maybe so, if that man's colludin' with his enemy, [ he says. ] But seems we're all in that glass box now.

[ His hands shift, back, touching the cold wall behind him with gentle fingertips. ]

He thinks you're Wyatt. Guess that's true, to some extent.

You boys and your little games.

[Chilton waved a hand, fingers splayed apart, as if wafting away the very name of Wyatt. He had to invoke it to lure Teddy back to him, there was no other way to bring the imPort in peaceably again -- this time with his legal aid bearing their pistols in a rhetoric cavalry.]

I do not collude. [Spoken pointedly to Teddy; Chilton considered himself to be a free agent acting strictly from his own agency. The fact that a sum of William's money could be connected to his name was only incidental.] This is my glass box, and mine alone.

[A new sheriff in town.]

You two could stand for a little conversation. It seems there remains some pertinent catching up to do -- I thought I would act the chaperone.

[An invitation for them to talk. Chilton hadn't any notepad on him, but he didn't need one. The room was equipped with its own camouflaged security camera in the corner and a very expensive mic in an opposing pocket.]

Not that I expect much bad behavior -- remember, I can always call for a muzzle. If necessary.

[Chilton looked at William as he spoke. The more bellicose party was warned.]

He knows who I am. [ Thirty seconds of bullshit distilled into a single line, William stands like a mesquite post in the clinical sprawl of Chilton’s kingdom, hard-hewn bone and blue eyes against the matte of his suit. He’s watching Teddy, rather than the doctor whose glass box they’re in, impatience narrowed into a wary squint. Reading close for evidence of abuse.

Tampering.

It’s hard to tell, in a setting like this. ]

You can come on up off of that wall. [ He says, once he’s had his look, finally with a glance aside Frederick-ways. ] So long as you keep your hands to yourself. [ His nanites are busy enough without knitting together another concussion. ]

You made any kind of diagnosis? [ he adds. ] Doctor?

Edited (editing every tag now i guess) 2017-03-06 08:05 (UTC)

[ Teddy doesn't much look like he wants to come up off the wall, or like staying put is an act of submission. Dogs stand on the ends of their chains like this, but when he does eventually ease forward a step, it's with his customary subtle swagger, shortlived though it is, still keeping some generous distance within these four walls.

Chilton says he does not collude and Teddy's expression says otherwise, a bleak flicker of a glance the doctor's way while he keeps the man in black mostly in his sights.

He looks about as whole and healthy as a host can be. ]

Well, you never did tell me your name, [ he says, ] that whole journey. He know you're a god?

[ His sass is dry, brittle, understated. ]

Edited 2017-03-06 08:37 (UTC)

[Teddy's last question sparks Chilton's green eyes widely before they narrow into skeptical slits. His jaunty body language shifts; no longer lording over his glass box, Chilton's shoulders pinch back, his chin raised pointedly. He had known men who parade themselves as gods (or devils), and that broiling query from Theodore Flood provoked a lightning flash of empathy within Chilton.

He looked from William to Teddy.]

Him? I would have thought you were the god between the two. Undying, unaging. Unchanging, for all I can determine.

[A sharp look now at William:]

Diagnosis or diagnostics? Is it ethical to impose human psychological definitions upon artificial intelligence? Is it realistic, when someone can just program it out of him?

[He intended to be the one to find out.

Chilton already had Tony Stark in mind, unaware that Teddy had swifter friends -- he had been the one who recommended Stark to Maeve, actually. But that was before.]

What world do you all come from?

Edited 2017-03-06 15:07 (UTC)

[ William watches Teddy in silence bleached smooth as desert stone while Chilton tears down the veil around them, focused through, as much as at. His attention’s been caught by a glimmer of something unexpected in the dust, intrigue a steely flicker beneath the distraction of the reveal. ]

He will.

[ Dry right back, if on a delay, Billy turns to cross the cell for his friend Frederick.

Hands dropped from his sides, thumbs turned out in the laziest of you-got-mes, he still has shades of his own swagger intact on the approach. ]

Same one you do, [ is the answer, of course. Earth, or something close enough not to be worth the distinction. ] Frankly I’m impressed you figured it out as quickly as you did.

Gods don't walk this land, doctor.

[ Only devils.

Regardless as to the appearance of freshly revived memory, Teddy's mental defenses appear as thick as ever as Chilton speaks of diagnostics, artificial intelligence, programming. There's no flicker in his expression, no crinkle-brow confusion, just a watchful gaze kept square on the object of what Chilton reckons to be his obsession as William turns to face the doctor.

Mostly square. There's a flick of a look for the exit of his room, of course, as he lapses into quiet as the conversation runs into terrain he can't altogether traverse. ]

[Chilton frowned, disliking the unceremonious saunter that William so easily slipped into. Same one you do -- the doctor was ready for a disagreement. His world had medical technology more advanced than this one, but he hadn't any proper artificial intelligence, he hadn't any synthetic coding that could approximate consciousness. He hadn't anything like Teddy Flood.]

That is whimsical, Teddy, truly, but I have met a handful of them already. You may too -- eventually. [He inclined his head, his eyebrows raised.] After treatment. Because --

[Now Chilton rounded on William once more, the other adult in the transparent room.]

-- I do not know how you store your trauma, but I know you can't access it. And I wonder who we have to blame for that.

[His chin raised slightly at William, the implication sizzled the air between them. While it wasn't an accusation, it was an acknowledgement that Mr. Walker continued to know more than what he revealed.]

Man named Robert Ford, [ is the answer, given over freely at a more conversational distance. Teddy’s become as much a part of the background as the glass of his cell, like a puppy he’s decided not to adopt.

William’s changed over into looking in on Chilton instead. ] Another god.

[ There’s a natural derision to the way the word digs on the back of his tongue. Dark and heavy as lead under the hook of humor in his regard, all silver and pearl. Bright, barbed edges fishing at the front Chilton’s put up -- and the snake pit he may not realize he’s straddled over. ]

You sure you’re qualified for this?

[ Not unaccustomed to being talked past, through, over -- whether in sterile places like this, of glass and metal, or out front of guests bantering about target practice mere feet away, or sitting slouched in the middle between the man in black and Robert Ford himself -- Teddy is quiet this round.

More watchful, though, meeting Chilton's eye when he has it before settling that stare on William's back once more. Neither pretending not to listen nor as deaf as he sometimes seems. ]

[He saw William's stare like a razor blade glinting in the sun, and Chilton had to blink. There wasn't any warmth to this solar eclipse made flesh.]

I wouldn't have him here if I thought otherwise.

[A lie. But one believable enough, at least to a degree that even Chilton hadn't any trouble swallowing it. But more to the point:]

You were brought here to talk with him.

[A cue to glance at Teddy, their patient tin man in repose. However cursory the look, it wasn't without endearment; Theodore Flood had a way of inspiring paternal inclinations. He was lost, alone, unable. A straitjacket could provide security, if nothing else.]

Isn't that what you wanted, William? Isn't he what you wanted?

Seems a little farcical, don’t you think? [ William asks, and further clarifies: ] Conversation.

[ He tilts his head in the fluorescent light, pale brow puckered in mock concern. One more step closer sinks in like a boot toe on the lever on a bear trap, testing to see if it’ll take the weight. ]

Now that you know he’s not real. [ Limited to ones and zeroes. Beeps and boops that become all the more obvious under conditions like these, devoid of distractions to blend queer behaviors into. ]

Teddy, [ he barks, all the same, and turns -- ] you ever seen a room like this before?

[ He spins a finger at the walls, the lights, the pristine hallway beyond. ]

[ By the time William is calling back Teddy's attention, the younger of the three (inasmuch as age can connote length of existence) has his stare settled on the doctor, as if he too might consider this farcical, if for profoundly different reasons. He is slow to look back, even after he is prompted with his name.

A heavier breath in and out. Human in the details. ]

Can't say that I have, [ he says, a rote enough answer. Bare feet are quiet as he paces around, a wide semi-circle beneath the glare. ] But then, seems like I don't always recall everything I seen.

I wonder, Teddy. [A proposal whispered softly, his vowels pastel. A tiptoe towards the issue.] If we could fix your memory shortcoming. Would you like that?

[A sentence strategically broken into parts.]

Would my guest like that?

[A veiled reference to William, the gauze entirely unnecessary. A slow, steady breath followed. Chilton trusted Teddy to remain where he was, he doubted the AI would dare escape now -- it had become quiet evident that Flood was deeply obedient.

Something flickered back to the doctor's immediate recall, an echo of what William had just said.]

Oh no, he is real. As real as you or I am. He just isn't human, and he isn't fully capable yet.

[It was too much, Chilton had said too much. In one moment he had revealed his sympathies -- newly stapled targets on a shooting range. Chilton saw Flood as pure nature, pure programming, without the benefit of nurture to persuade his adaptability. That was the humanity missing, beyond the ones and zeros.

It wasn't his fault, he had been coded that way.]

You... [A beat. Chilton swiveled his head back to William, his neck already getting a workout between Teddy and this man.] You do accept that we are real, yes? That this is all real.

[ Again, some rough edge or draw seems to catch at William’s attention -- subdued enough that it might be more easily caught upon video review. With his back to Chilton, he watches Theodore’s face for a little longer than the average dumb answer should call for. ]

Anything about it strike you as unusual?

[ He presses. Casually.

Whatever the answers to Chilton’s questions, he’s more intent on hearing the answer to his own before he turns coolly back to the doctor, serious as the revolver he prefers to have holstered heavy at his hip. ]

Define ‘real.’

[ And in return, Teddy's intent focus flickers at that question. He's inclined to speak when spoken to, to give answer and insight when called upon, and for a moment, he only struggles with reticence.

Grudgingly; ]

It's like I been here before. But it don't look like anything.

[ It's an odd turn of phrase. Pieces of script, broken, stitched together.

But that way lies madness, looking at things too closely, questioning them, and Teddy draws his mind back from it, manifested in a subtle straightening of his posture. ]

I remember just about all I need, Doctor Chilton. But I reckon you might be forgetting a thing or two, yourself.

You might argue that nothing is real. [He responded in a murmur, his eyes downcast. His mouth a frown, twisted with a pondering.] That we are only electrical impulses between neurons, and what we perceive is as immaterial to reality as it could possibly be. The patterns of our perceived life are but synapses sparking the same delusion, nothing more. You might argue that vein of Gnosticism, or you might argue solipsism -- that no one else is as real as you are.

[A significant glance at William again. It was clear what Chilton accused him of.]

But if you meet another solipsistic mind, William, you will not like what he thinks of you.

[The lights hummed above. Chilton picked up the scent of expense from Mr. Walker, and not distinctly much from Mr. Flood.]

What, Teddy? What might I be forgetting?

[ William listens at a distance that betrays derision, cocksure in the slant of his hip, and in the silence he gives freely for Frederick to fill. ]

You worried I think you’re a -- figment of my imagination?

[ His take leaves something to be desired. ]

No doubt that novel’d win you a veritable mountain of awards, [ he says. ] Doctor.

[ The emphasis in the break feels like a reminder, in the same way the end of a gun poked up into the kidneys is a reminder. Bars of light have bleached all the blue out of his eyes, leaving ‘em cold and clean as the needles Chilton’s so partial to.

But he’s still having a good time, betrayed by a pull at the corner of his mouth just before the room’s focus shifts to Teddy.

He watches Chilton while he waits to see what’s been forgotten. Front row. ]

[ Sensitive to the shift in the room in ways he can't articulate, the three men standing in a room become an easy loop; the Man in Black to Chilton, the doctor's attention to Theodore, and his focus in turn settling on the Man in Black like something clicking into place.

His mouth twinges, a frown, not quite a sneer, as he answers; ]

I ain't here for me.

[ And then he moves.

It's not the cowboy movie rush-tackle that might be hardwired into his behaviours. It has a different fluidity, not attempting to seem human as he goes from 0 to 100 in pace and momentum. Long, racing strides launch him from his end of the room to William's. Hands reaching, finding nice suit to grasp, the body within it hefted to ragdoll against the opposite glass wall with Teddy's own weight and violence thrown behind it.

Because maybe it's been his glass box this whole time, or just for the moment it matters. A hand -- weathered, callused, with blunt fingernails that do not grow -- reaches for the older gentleman's head to strike it against the wall. ]

[Strategic lightning. Controlled, precise -- godlike. Chilton watched, mouth agape, as Teddy surged forward. Surged effortlessly. And once it was clear that he was surging for William's throat, Chilton took a step back, out of the way.

And watched. Thumb and forefinger pinching at his chin, eyes bright and observant, Chilton watched.

There was no need to make inquiries. It was fairly obvious how this made Teddy Flood feel.]

[ Too slow to evade Teddy’s mechanical hand, William doesn’t have the time or the inclination to feign surprise. He’s caught up mid-turn (it is a nice suit, sewn tough, stitching held fast against the force of launch), such that there’s a glimpse of leather and steel at his hip in the instant before he’s rocked shoulder first against the far wall.

TONKH.

He drops, a swear in his teeth, and not enough breath to grind it out before Theodore’s coming back in for him.

A flash of hateful quicksilver, the hook of a nasty grimace, and those blunt nails pass through smoke flushed black across the glass. It plunges through the air around Flood like something alive (perhaps an cuttlefish), jet propulsion seething for the open air at his back, reclaiming human form while it’s still in motion.

The smoke roils inward, and upward into the vicious stake of a bowie knife in for Teddy’s flank, the man in black behind it churned out of the nether in a vortex of sparks. ]

[ His open palm meets glass wall instead of skull, and fixes there, steadying himself, as he tracks with a twitch the roll of black smoke around him. It's not his first encounter with this particular phenomenon, but it's the first he's seen it this close, like it's real, like it's not just a trick.

No time to dwell, of course. There's a knife coming at him.

The pajamas suffer for his technique; an arm blocking that swing inwards with knife tip snagging on sleeve and tearing. As soon as Teddy is not fatally stabbed, he latches on to knife-wielding arm as if a grip might prevent any smokey disappearances. Shoulder low, a launch inwards and intimate is aimed at upsetting William's balance, knocking him backwards, off his feet. Going down with. They been there before.

And this time, he intends it to go differently.

Dr Chilton is only on the periphery of his awareness, all senses and actions keyed towards his target. His movements have an efficient, smooth clip, although never advance to a place of martial arts and technique beyond grappling, shows of strength and economy. ]

[Luckily this was all being recorded by the two security cameras fitted to Teddy's room; Chilton hadn't a notepad on him. An oversight to be sure, but William had him somewhat flustered earlier. Nearly an hour ago. And by now his fluster had melted away into glee, the squeak of his new heel against the newer linoleum, the sharp tilt of his head to better watch this irascible sideshow.]

Oh, ouch.

[Said Chilton, in mock sympathy. He hoped William had heard him amidst the scuffling. It was clear that the doctor would not be intervening this brawling session.]

[ In the push of resistance it takes William to feel that he’s not gonna outmuscle Teddy this time, he twists and claws his knife to split in deeper than pajama instead. The steel still burns hot, blackening thread, searing synthetic meat. He may not have leverage to get into the ligaments, but manhandling him is like manhandling a bobcat, hooked claws determined to take pieces with him as they go down backwards together.

Again, William takes the brunt of the impact, air forced out, old bones slack for a beat to rebuild strength. Frederick’s voice buzzes hollow through the shrill ringing in his ears. Smarmy son of a bitch.

This time he tries to belt Teddy in the face, bare-knuckled, bitter determination rankled up hard behind his nose. Hitting him just to hit him. He’s been in this fight before.

He already knows he can’t win. ]

[ It's a successful hit, enough to turn Teddy's pretty face, off-balance him a little. Not enough. Not as much as it would have done if they were back in Sweetwater, for example. Of the hosts, Teddy is among those that qualify as hardmode, but even those are built to lose.

But his expression doesn't change much under that blow, snapping back too quick, although he'd shown his teeth in a pained snarl when superhot metal dragged a stripe over his arm.

His hands close both on the offended wrist, and slam it down against the hard floor. A knee wedged into William's solar plexus, bearing down. Somewhere, he registers Dr Chilton's words, and he'd take it as encouragement if he needed any. In the moment, it registers as being complicit. Like he's doing something right, in exacting lethal revenge. He could stop thinking about him. Start thinking about Dolores in terms that aren't just pain.

Teddy's hand closes around William's throat, hard under his chin, and squeeze. The other keeps knife-bearing hand pinned. Stronger than he should be. ]

[Frederick Chilton was something of a nerd -- a diehard fan of Isaac Asimov, to be sure. He knew the colloquially termed Three Laws that Asimov had written, his own world's robotics (simplistic as they were comparatively) had already begun to institute such ethos. Humanity had a gift for self-preservation, even its creations carried the impulse. He recalled explicitly:

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

Chilton exhaled, arms crossed. Leaning against the wall. Wondering.]

Can you kill?

[Should he?]

Teddy. Stand down. Walk back to the wall.

[2. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.]

Now.

Edited 2017-03-19 06:45 (UTC)

[ There’s a crack in there somewhere, in the arm Teddy staples to the floor, pain barked out, bit off and stifled in a froth of spittle. His fingers numb open, the blunt end of his knife balanced loose over his palm.

All the breath gusts out of him a second time under the dagger sink of Teddy’s knee, but the second punch he’s loading back doesn’t fizzle out until he feels a vice close on his throat.

Realization seems to dawn, then, eye contact picked in like an ax while he flushes red to the scalp under pressure. Loose skin bunched in between Teddy’s finger is clammy and hot with rising animal panic -- panic he has to work to hold at bay. And William can still hear Chilton, helpful as an overhead announcement during a fire. Please proceed to the nearest exit…

The ringing intensifies.

A twist, buck and kick signal the loss of manual control.

He holds on for a few seconds past that.

This time, both Teddy and the man in black are thrown away into pitch black smoke. And this time, when they’re vomited back into existence, it’s to hurl Teddy directly onto the doctor on duty.

William tucks away alone before he can succumb to gravity, in and back out in a snarl of smoke, unsubtle in a serpentine stab of soot and ash for the door.

When he dumps himself back onto his boots outside of it, it’s to fumble a firearm left-handed from a right-handed holster up under his jacket. Still seething crimson, a vein knotted out thick across his brow. His knife falls through his fingers. ]

[ It should become clear to Dr Chilton some time between delivering his commands, and the sudden churn of smoke, that whatever rules Teddy is governed by are either of a different nature, or have been fundamentally altered.

Because he doesn't stop. He matches the sink of eye contact straight down with open pain in all the murder.

And then it's all gone.

While not an especially tall individual, Teddy is densely built, and thrown in a freefall for Dr Chilton without power to brace himself. He'll crash into Frederick if the doctor does not avoid swiftly enough, and crash to the ground all the same, wide eyed and (maybe thankfully for him) dazed. His hands claw and scrabble on the ground, ashy smears coming off on smooth tile, like he took a half second detour through hell and come out the other side still smoking. His pajamas are a touch worse for wear. ]

No, [ he growls. Still dazed, still calibrating, clumsy in his attempts to get to his feet-- hell, all fours. ] Son of a bitch.

Interesting.

[Murmured Chilton, when Teddy ignored his commands. He re-calibrated his analysis of Teddy's mechanical placement on the consciousness spectrum, his suspicion now dangerously accurate within a degree. Insubordination now, to contrast with Teddy's earlier demeanor.

Interesting.

The catalyst was obvious. William had triggered memory, emotional response, defiance. The key to Teddy's humanity. Or if not humanity, then --

The train of thought was interrupted by a hurled robot coming his way. His build short a few organs and his mind exceptionally talented at surviving, Chilton deftly sprang to his right -- clean out of the way. He didn't even flinch as Teddy clattered to the floor.]

Hm. [Teddy wasn't a viable option to subdue. Chilton's gaze turned to William, and he dared a step towards the man, hands folded behind his back like a hidden dagger.

A sedative dagger.]

[ Drawn, cocked and disheveled as only a man who’s just nearly been choked to death by a robot cowboy in pajamas can be, William’s smoky exeunt through the panel is punctuated by the stab of a revolver back in towards the floor of the cell. It’s shorter and more compact than anything Chilton’s seen him use before, matte black and all business. Steady in his left hand as it would be in the right, even as his back leg threatens to give.

His eyes burn cold in his head. ]

Get out here and close the fuckin’ door.

[ He has to force his voice out through the wet cement in his throat, graveled and hoarse. An or else feels like overkill. It’s written in clear enough behind the set of his teeth. ]

Edited (im hungry) 2017-03-19 20:45 (UTC)

[ The moment is largely been and gone, mechanical grace swapped back out for human weakness as Teddy struggles to shrug off the last of his disorientation or whatever constitutes for the same in synthetic synapses, bones rattled from hard impact. The shifting of his target constitutes a recalculation, but so to does the shape of a gun in William's hand, which stalls out Teddy's impulse to launch himself for the open door.

He might be willing to die, if it meant anything. God knows he's done it before.

He starts to his feet all the same, slower on the uptake, sleeve split open to unbleeding burn mark. His eyeline doesn't raise above the gun pointed for the floor. ]

No. [Another few steps closer towards William. Chilton's looked was one of cut flint, polished and aimed. This was his kingdom, his rule of word, this was his damned hospital.

He would not obey.]

You stand down. He is my patient. [Steel in his throat, glinting between his teeth. Chilton had sacrificed too much, too quickly, to loosen his grip around this crown -- even if his darling patron disagreed, even if conflict sparked to burn between them.

Chilton looked over his shoulder to glance at Teddy, only briefly, before turning back to William to say:] You and I need to leave now.

[ Chilton takes a few steps closer; William stiffens like an old wolf bristled up over a kill, knuckles choked hard around the grip of his gun. Pushback now catches him off guard, and anger’s scorched through him too hot and too fast to hide, stripped black to the bone.

If he shoots Chilton now, he loses.

But somehow, in prickling micromovement and silence, it’s clear at a glance the gun is no longer for Teddy.

He follows Frederick’s look to Flood, brief as it is, and then back. Calculation seeps into pitch, his trigger finger eases painfully back from the guard, and he picks one heel up to set it down over his dropped knife.

Then he vanishes, fwoomf, in a petty puff of smoke. ]

[ And he only looks up again when the suited shape of the man in black dissolves into smoke. Disappears.

Teddy's disappointment manifests strangely; mute and neutral, but conveyed in the sag of his shoulders, the air of helpless stillness as he continues watching that vanishing point. When he looks away, it's towards the bench, where he'd been seated when they found him. He follows impulse and makes to return it, ghosting past Chilton's shoulder.

Moving a little stiffly. Not in a robotic way, but in a thrown across the room kind of way. ]

See, Teddy, one can invite a lion into his one's den and shoo him away all the same.

[Chilton's eyes were a little too bright, his smile a little too sharp. Flood was not the only experiment walking within Chilton's fingertips. A few confident strides, his heel cut into the shining floor.

Away from Teddy on the bench. Away from the static that captures his patient.]

William still has a bigger picture in mind, and he doesn't want that threatened. He won't even threaten it. You must understand, he sure thinks he has free choice in the matter, but very little will persuade him away from the prologue of his ambition. His part is already written, so to speak. [Now beyond the threshold, now outside the room, Chilton waved his key fob, and the mechanical door sailed to closure.]

We are not that different, really. You and William, and myself. Human brains analyze in patterns, we often decide what to do before we are even presented with a choice. But I am not condemned like you are -- I'm aware of this, my neurons, my synaptic pulses. I can stop the familiar loop.

[He smiled, stepped away from the closed door, his eyes on Teddy a moment longer before he turned heel to walk away with a final breath:]

And soon, I hope, so will you.

closed.

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