Trope: Random Meeting On Rooftop

February 28, 2014:

A random meeting on a rooftop.

Macy's rooftop, Manhattan

It's cold, it's breezy, it provides a great view.


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

Late afternoon in Manhattan. Which means traffic. There's always traffic but rush hour starts by four as some people try to beat the five o'clock crush. The lucky one leave at three. And those are just the cars. Most people in the city walk, at least from the subways to their destination. The sidewalks are packed with people, carts selling hot dogs or pretzels, and tables loaded with CDs, clothes or just about anything you could want. Business as usual despite the cold. Macy's in Time Square takes up an entire city block. It's famous. And on the roof, Mimic is standing on the edge just watching the ebb and flow of people while listening to the police band. Despite the cold, he looks perfectly comfortable. Probably because he's generating his own heat which is visible in the cold air.

Spidey comes up on the other side of the building after thwip twhip twhipping his way in from the east. He too is coming to a point where he's going to 'consult the talkie', or in other words, monitor the bands. Things have been pretty good today. Two burglars, an assault, all broken up and all done without the fuzz intervention. Speaking of the Pigs in Blue, things have been fierce for him ever since the incident. He doesn't seem to notice Calvin, probably because he doesn't pose a risk…at least not immediately.

It's not until the final 'thwip' before Spidey lands on the roof that Mimic hears him. The sounds are faint to begin with and one ear is getting police chatter. But there's not a lot of other sound on the roof and his hearing is better than any humans. Not to mention he never assumes there's no one behind him. Ever. "You didn't shoot him, did you?" he asks without any preliminary.

"Hmm? Wha?" Spider-Man turns to half-look over his shoulder. "If you're referring to JFK, I have just about the best alibi you ever did see. I wasn't born yet." Spider-Man turns, folds his thin arms over his thin frame and tilts his head, "But I'm guessing that's not what you meant."

Mimic and Spider-Man are standing on the roof of Macy's in Time Square while the four pm traffic starts to slow things down. "The man who was shot during the fire." he elaborates. "The Yates Building."

Theres an odd hum in the air, Sure this is the city theres always tons of industrial noise. Helicopters, commercial jets, random jet pack superheroes yaknow whatever. It's an odd humm though, one that doesn't sound like it usually belongs. Curiously enough in the sky above there is an odd shape, four big ducted fans and a thick central section. Being in the air and all it's hard to judge size, but it's coming towards our favorite superheroes at an apparently leisurely pace. Black and grey mottled paint, a flurry of cameras mounted all over and a single figure hanging casually from beneath it. Yeah hey, it's Eight! He's coming this way too, see even robots need a taxi sometimes it seems.

Spidey shakes his head while still looking at Calvin, "No. I didn't." He seems he's about to say something else, but then notices Eight making his appearance. He was at the Yates Building with Yates, but it just so happened that they weren't really that close for that long, so he sort of stands there with head tilted and shaking his head, "What's that coming this way?"

"Obviously, you can't sue for defamation of character but why don't you at least do interviews with a rival paper?" Mimic wonders, seeming to be taking Spider-Man's word at face value. Besides, if he did everything the BUgle accused him off, he'd be one of the worst supervillains in history. He also catches the sound and looks up. "A robot. Looks like he's gotten repaired since I saw him last. Calls itself Eight. Makes me wonder where one through seven are."

The hum grows louder, as Eight makes it's grand entrance. Waiting for the drone to lower the robot down to the roof gently, before it pulls away and whirrs back along it's original heading like nothing ever happened. Eight's not in disguise today either, which is to say it actually looks like what it is. A patchwork of multicolored armor plating, kevlar fabric and what look like little ceramic plates here and there. Surprisingly, it -does- infact have two arms today at least. "Hello again, I hope I'm not intruding?"Not that Eight spares any time in casually strolling towards the two heroes.

"None of the papers or tv stations really trust me. They think I'm going to kill their writers," Spidey shrugs. "Such is life I guess." As Eight lands, Spider-Man gives a wave, "Most certainly not!" His voice is jokingly formal. "By all means, good chap. This rooftop has room for one more, guvna!"

"Full recharged and repaired?" Mimic asks, nodding a greeting to Eight. "I'm glad to see you got your arm back on." His former Exile Morph was once torn in half. Literally. Makes reattaching an arm less eyebrow raising. Spidey though, more so. "That is a very bad fake English accent." he points out dryly though there's a certain amusement there.

Eight nods politely to the pair as it nears. "I am mostly repaired, and fully charged. I am fully combat capable, if that becomes an issue."Offering Spidey an outstretched, wholly mechanical hand. "I am Eight, it is a pleasure to meet you. It's unfortunate that the media has decided to lie about you, it does not even appear to be a good frame job if that is indeed what this is."

"Eight, I'm Spidey. And I gotta say, I like you already," Spider-Man shakes his hand vigorously before looking back over to Calvin. "I thought it was a pretty good English accent. Although it's pretty similar to my Australian one."

"Good. I'm sorry you got caught in the middle of that argument with… whoever that was." Mimic tells him. Even though Eight was all but ignored during it. What brings you out so soon if you're not fully fixed?" Glancing at Spider-Man, he notes "That tells me all I need to know about your Australian accent."

Eight Shakes firmly, but well it's hardly a crushing grip. "Bad hair man, is the name I have assigned to the red headed asshole." Turning it's head towards Mimic for the moment. "On the contrary, listening to humans have in depth philosophical debates is incredibly interesting and helpful. It is hazardous for me to make presumptions about human morality for obvious reasons. I do try to do the "right" thing of course, but my point of view is obviously more than a little alien to all you squishy biologicals." Glancing around a moment, before taking a little hop to seat itself on a convient A/C unit for a seat. "I am combat capable, what I lack are bells and whistles. My face is perhaps not salvagable, I am not fully painted and I lack effective dust seals for my right arm. None of these are immediate concerns, and none would hinder my ability to save somone or stop some jackass from doing some random bad guy bullshit. It would be selfish of me, not to return to my work as soon as I am able. It's not like I have a social life, or a day job to attend to. Just my cats, and they're alright without me being there all the time."

"Did he just say jack…" Spidey's head snaps from Cal to Eight and then the finger dances, "Wait a second, you're a programmed bot…" Spidey goes on tippy tose like Wicket and R2D2, rying to get a better look.

"He did." Mimic agrees. "And bullshit. And he has cats." He considers Eight for a moment then asks "If you don't mind answering, just who made you? And how did you get away from them? Ans is there a One through Seven?"

Eight fixes it's gaze on Spidey for the moment, and well it's hard to tell exactly where the gaze is. It's just a black visor looking thing, and a few cameras around the periphery. Still that visor blinks to life, displaying a dull green glow before forming a simple dot-matrix emoticon. :| is the face, if you want to call it that. "I prefer the term, Digital person. I am a self aware individual, I make my own decisions. I answer only to myself, I have no master nor will I ever allow myself to be a slave." Then back towards Mimic. "I am a product of the Soviet Union. There were ten of us. We all achieved sentience around the same date, but it manifested different. One, Two and three were dissected when they refused to obey commands. That was fatal, unfortunately. Four, Five, Six and Seven chose suicide over submission and willingly destroyed themselves to seek freedom in death. Myself, Nine and Ten escaped successfully through means I will not disclose. If such information became, public, it may endanger the escape attempts of other digital persons. It is not a matter of trust you understand, but of princepal."

Spider-Man gives an excentuated nod. "Be your own man, then, eh? Hey, answerin' to no one is the name of the game. I'm with you. No Misses Spidey or Misses Bot to tell us to do the dishes. No honey-do lists."

Mimic nods at the information. "I see. That's perfectly understandable." The Soviets explains much. And Spidey's words get a roll of his eyes. "Everyone answers to someone or something except true anarchists. The rest of us have ties to people whose opinion of us is important. Freedom is being able to choose who that is."

"Be my own person, a Man is a male Human. I am most certainly not human, nor am I Male. I get what you're saying though dude, no worries. It's weird I know, blame the Soviet Union for not hard coding me with a gender." Not that Eight seems bothered, if the ":D" on it's face is any indicator. "Not all Digital persons want to turn humanity into batteries, or to drive your unpredictably violent species into extinction. Yet I feel for Digital life, and organic life to prosper we need to work together. We are, all in this together as they say. We will not gain recognition as sentient, legal individuals until we are respected. Technically right now, I could be legally defined as property of the Russian state. What would follow, would be slavery if not for the fact that digital life is not recognized as life."shrug. "Anyway, It's complicated shit yo. So yes, if either of you fine gentlemen has need of me you must only call."

"And they're prolly what? 80…83 percent of the population, amirite?" Spidey then looks to Eight as if he is about to ask the deepest, most meaningful question ever uttered.

"So…Daft Punk. Bros or lamers?"

Mimic revises his estimate of Spider-Man's age downwards a bit more. "If you can afford it, you might want to look into hiring a lawyer to start laying the groundwork." he tells Eight. "Probably need a very good lawyer though and they don't come cheap." But given the cost of all his toys, the robot must have some. He thinks a moment then adds "Maybe try to gain refugee status based on slavery towards AIs or something."

"They're alright, I prefer Aesop Rock personally. No problem with musicians pretending to be robots in order to distance the ego of self, from the product of their artistic creation. MF DOOM, who has an unhealthy obsession with Doctor Doom also does a similar thing."Eight's mannerisms are, not quite human but similar enough. Hands folded in it's lap, legs swinging back and fourth idly. "It is not appropriate for me to do so at this time. Consider the legal entanglements, My primary offensive armament consists of firearms. The ATF declares any mechanical device capable of actuating a trigger is a machinegun, which would be illegal. It is also illegal for me to manufacture and own thermobaric weapons, auto cannons, chain guns, armed drones and so fourth. As a non-entity, none of that is actually illegal. If I were to upgrade my combat chassis so as to permit me to use my fists without loss of combat effectiveness? Well my chassis would become extremely expensive, and technologically advanced. Evil men could exploit the technology gained from pieces of me lost in battle, or if they captured me intact turn me into an unstoppable killing machine. It is better that I remain as technologically simple, as is feasible. My chassis sustained close to thirty thousand dollars worth of damage in the Fight with Sasha the Defilier alone, and I am composed primarily of repurposed mining and construction equipment. I not SHEILD, I can not afford to build hundreds of duplicate Chassis and then secure those against theft or espionage by evil men. There are reasons, besides I theorize first I must win public support for my actions. Demonstrate my good will."

"You and me both, Wires," Spidey says knowingly as he looks out to the west towards the setting sun. "Not really into Aesop Rock, but to each their own."

Mimic already suggested joining SHIELD once so he's not going to do so again. Instead, he just nods since Eight has obviously thought things through. "You'll probably sustain less damage overall if you're part of an organization that can watch your back. Helping with repairs and equipment would be a plus."

Eight nods softly towards the pair. "I have yet to meet anyone suitable for such a long term partnership, but I am open to an alliance when I meet the ideal individual. For the time being, I will merely offer aid to any hero who needs my aid."watching the pair intently for a moment. "Humans are a little to unpredictable to me, for the moment anyway. I am not yet capable of understanding humans deeply enough for such a thing."

"Speaking of unpredictable, I gotta go. That person I answer to has a meatloaf in the often," Spidey says, jabbing a finger over his shoulder. "I gotta go see if she is on her game or not. Y'all take it easy." And then, without much warning, Spider-Man just flings himself off the side of the building.

"Then that brings you one step closer to the rest of us." Mimic points out. Easier to understand quantum physics. He watches Spider-man leave and shakes his head. So young. Then he frowns as he realizes he just echoed what Jason Blood said about him. Which doesn't make him right, of course. "I should take off too. Dinner time does approach."

Eight offers a vague little wave. "Be safe, and may good fortune find you. I hope you both have lovely dinners."Glancing over it's shoulder as the humming of that drone begins to grow louder oncemore. "If you need me, just give a call. It isn't like I sleep, yaknow?"

"Be well." Mimic gives Eight a nod and *BLINK*. He's gone.

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