Kenya

January 23, 2016:

Deathstroke calls a meeting with The Authority; the latest marching orders? Kenya.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

It takes longer to get to the Warroom then is used to, as it's possition has changed in the Resolve, and with everyone's quarters now split into two hallways on opposite sides of the ship, it's also difficult to make plans without nigh constant use of the comms, at least for those of the team that are on the ship most of the time. Still, work has to be done. With it being at the center of the ship now, more or less, and down a level from the quarters, it takes some getting to the room most commonly used for team functions. Slade waits inside, leaning back against the holotable at the center of the ring of rising seats that surround him. He seems to be staring into space and his fingertips stroke lightly at his goatee in thoguht.

Lunair is uncertain. Goatees mean evil. Usually. But Deathstroke wears it well, so she just rolls with it. She has her comm with her, since pretty much a good chunk of the planet wants her dead, vivisected, exsanguinated or kidnapped and working for not so awesome dudes. Still, work has to be done and Lunair has arrived somewhat along with the others. She looks to Slade, thoughtfully.

Rant usually would have taken her time to arrive. But she didn't at least. She was on the tail end of Lunair with a book in her hand, something fictional that talks about heroes and other folks that do things daring. Imaginations of a mad man, most suppose. But as she enters the war room, she moves to her usual perch in the corner, feet pressed upon the chair as she crouches, then finally leans back against the back to draw her book open. If he wanted them there, it must have been important, but she'll read until the rest fully arrive and when he's ready to speak.

Audrey has been spending more time away from the Resolve than before, presumably to gather intel and keep an eye on the rest of the world. The sudden change in the nature of their home might have something to do with it, though. She's here, though, as silent as ever as she find a bit of wall to lean against, watching Deathstroke in the carefully speculative way she always does.

Deathstroke is quiet for a long moment before a flick of a finger signals the beginning of the briefing, "SHIELD and it's many pet allies are chasing their tails." he says into the silence, "They believe they have one of the aliens on lock down inside the Baxter Building in New York, I doubt they have as much as they claim, but presuming for the moment that they do I don't see how it affords us any new options." he begins to slowly walk around the holotable, the only legitimate sort of pacing that can be done in the round room. "They are new to this species, to the problem, I," a sigh, "am not." he turns around and waves a hand at the table, bringing it to life. There are very vivid images of mutilated corpses, human beings that clearly should not function as they are missing sizeable chunks of their person, and yet they also clearly seem to be in motion in the still shots, large blade like weapons and technological protrusions growing out from them in random and odd ways. Kinda like a Star Trek Borg if it was both real, scary, and made from the inanimate flesh of people that only moments before were normal worker types. A few are in lab coats, one, in a jumpsuit, seems to have what appears to be a mop molded into his arm somehow.

"These are some images I could find from the black site lab we investigated years ago." there's one image of Slade wearing maskless armor of a more militaristic nature without any of his stylized flare to it. He's screaming in what looks like rage and his arm is a blur as it punches through one of the construct monsters hard enough that something with wires and sparks is flying out the back. Might be what used to be lungs. Hard to tell. "They're only starting to scratch the surface of our alien problem, and they're starting with a live subject. I think we start with first contact," he waves a hand and an image cuts to a new photo, this one of a lab, little test bunnys with cyber implants growing from them and rats in scary wee combat armor that seems to have exploded from out of their spines, "we start with the tech."

Lunair is quiet, as she listens. And watches. Tails. She furrows her eyebrows a moment. "This species? May I ask what it's called?" Lunair asks, then blinks and frowns at the images of people being mutilated. There's a brief flinch of terror at the lab coats. Phobias are hard to dislodge. She mmns. "I see…." Huh. Wait, test bunnies? How bizarre. She settles silent, to think.

Once he starts talking, the book goes down, and Rant moves from her spot to sit quietly in the chair in the middle. And she watches. Both elbows upon the table, her chin resting within her palms as her eyes dart back and forth, pausing to look towards him as he sighs, then back towards the mutilated corpses again. It was easy for her to look at, because it wasn't right there in front of her. It was all just some sort of movie on the screen with horrible graphics and bad looking makeup.

"Now we're talkin.." Rant murmurs, leaning back within the chair now as she doesn't want to outright ask for the orders but.. "Are we going into SHIELD for said tech?"

Audrey frowns slightly, watching the footage. "You're saying these people aren't the species," she says slowly. "That…tech is the species. It's parasitic? Symbiotic?" And she can't help but glance at Melody when she asks it. She may not entirely understand how her powers work, but it's definitely tech related. Hopefully it's not catching.

Deathstroke walks around the last image for a moment then turns his back on it, "The alien Richards has in lock down is calling itself a Daemonite according to our source." Jemma Simmons' SHIELD ID photo appear floating, along with a basic run down of her SHIELD file, mostly her accomplishments and comendations. "SHIELD is clueless. If we were going to break in anywhere it would be the Baxter Building to get a look at this alien of theirs, which is still on the table but not required yet, or the old Stormwatch archives, though I'm not sure that would help either. The stuff we dealt with didn't get recorded generally speaking so…" he makes a face.

He points an approving finger Lux's direction at her question, "When we arrived we found most of a scientist left willing and able to still converse with us, talk consciously. The tech didn't seem to be parasitic or symbiotic so much as incomplete. He theorized it was trying to build something, follow through with a program, the first step of which was to understand things better. How do we learn to understand things?" he asks the room, then answers before they can, "We take them apart and put them back together again." some of the people in the images have multiple limbs, fleshy kinds, as if they'd been disassembled and put back together wrong, like a kid with legos and no instruction booklets. "We burnt this place to the ground but now I'm not so sure…" he stares up at the images, "So we're going back."

"I see," Lunair nods. She considers that. Daemonite. Why is that familiar? She's racking her brains. "That name feels familiar somehow." It all does. Has she run into them yet? Hmm. She looks to them and listens. "What was in the lab before the alien tech? Should I look out for biohazards or chemical problems?" She asks. Because they are totally going back. She looks to the others. "I imagine Doctor up there would have had a field day with any tech if SHIELD got it," She muses. "It is possible for technology to be sentient, life could start from code as far as I know."

Melody winces just a touch. "Um.. I don't think it's necessary for us to break into the Baxter Building." She offers up. "I do kinda have a standing offer to have a check up from Mr. Richards as well as Bruce. We can go in and get the things you.. need or at least a closer look." Or, she could just ask. Right? Would that work? "I mean, it's kind of a kick in the pants if we do that, break into that guys building when he's already going broke.." That movie -sucked-. So hard. So… so hard.

But she was quiet. Probably not the best option to the solution but Daemonites? She's never heard of them before. Not even on television. Her world was more closed off than she realized in that instance. But since they were going back, there was no time to really wonder or question. Only do.

Audrey isn't going to argue the ideology of breaking into the Baxter Building. She's pretty sure that argument doesn't hold any weight with Deathstroke. Instead, she takes another look at the footage, piecing things together. "So…a consciousness trying to build a body, or something like that?"

Deathstroke's mouth pulls at the corner, "Necessary… perhaps not." but it would be a challenge and Deathstroke does so enjoy a good challenge. He finds few enough of them. "But you are likely correct, now may not be the time for indulgence, we'll talk later and plan out your insertion." he would like to at least get a look at the enemy if nothing else. Call him old fashioned. "I don't think it's a consciousness, not really. I suspect it is a program, a computer. Perhaps it was sent here to study life, perhaps as a scientific tool, and to understand things, to study them, you take apart and put back together, gather data. I've no idea what it's end goal was, we never let it get that far." he waves a hand, "And that's just a theory."

Lunair tilts her head. She nods. "It makes sense. It might also be put here to see how we react." Sort of like human scientists like to drop things in on their subjects to see how they react or how it affects them. She seems less bothered by the idea of breaking in to the Baxter building, but she also had an unfortunate run in with friendly fire.

"I'm not sure if a program is better or worse than a consciousness," Audrey says slowly, frowning to herself. "I mean. On the one hand, if it's a program, cracking the code could be the end of it. On the other hand, if it's a program, cracking the code is pretty much the only answer."

Deathstroke shakes his head, "No. A program has an end." he points out, "And you can always blow up the computer." because you know… that's what they did. "I'm not even sure anything is still active, I'd be shocked if it was after…" after what they did to it all. "Still, I suspect our next step is there," he points over his head to a map of Africa that appears suddenly floating in the air over him, a single crimson dot appearing on the map, "suit up appropriately. Kenya is hot this time of year." and he grins with an almost fond smile, something less predatory then before.

Speaking of Africa, Lunair grows quiet and distant, her gaze a thousand miles away. "I see. Yes. Bring light colored clothes. And protect yourself against mosquitoes," She half-whispers. She's shaking something off. "And sunscreen." Because most of them on are on this side of light. But past that? Lunair is strangely still and quiet. Uneasy.

Africa. Man, at least this horrible life has been afforded with opportunities to see the world. See the world folks! Nearly shit your pants doing it! Melody was so in..

"Peabody's coming right? Pretty sure he's going to rally around seeing the Motherland for a while." Appropriate clothes? Yup. Melody's got 'em. Neutral tones, nothing that makes her look like a thot in the slightest. Cargo and tanks baby, all the way.

"Kenya it is," Audrey nods once, stepping back toward the door. She pauses just on the other side, looking back in. "Are we going to need containment procedures? I do not want techno-herpes that grow me a third arm. One active mutation is enough, thanks."

Deathstroke shoots Lunair a glance, "Agreed." he says before dismissing her weirdness as basic Lunairness and brushing it aside, "Peabody will do as he likes, though the motherland for him is a small village outside of Wessex, he's been there before and wasn't impressed. As for Africa," he shrugs, "it's where Peabody lives." so it's not like it'll be special or anything. "I doubt it. None of us were infected when we arrived without containment, it was theorized at the time that there was only a limited window of time where in it was working on it's program, after which it had the data it needed and no longer toyed about with us fleshy types. Also, again, we didn't leave much behind." he considers, "Potasium Iodide pills might not be amiss though. Check the med labs, I know we packed some. It'll make sure there's no massive radiation damage, bring testing tags as well." you know, for people who aren't all healing factored up.

Lunair doesn't give anyone any reason to think otherwise - except maybe the person or two who heard her tale about landmines and such. But she doesn't push it. Nevertheless, she settles quiet. "Sure thing. Thank you. I have a geiger counter." Why Lunair has that is anyone's guess. But she does.

"Wessex?" That was odd. She doesn't say much else about it, though something hits her as an after thought. "Uh.. do you all really think it's wise that I'm there? I mean.. I don't want to end up like some weird.. odd.. rendition of Pumpkinhead or something with a dick coming out of my nose or whatever.." Ugh.. Her book was snagged from the table as she slowly stands, she wasn't about to reduce herself to complaining but she was quietly concerned. Testing bags.. yeah.. that doesn't sound good.

"Minimal additional mutation," Audrey murmurs as she steps back out into the hall to prepare. That might actually be a little bit of humor from the usually taciturn mutant.

Deathstroke nods, "His father was English." he says as if that were somehow all he needed to say on the matter, "Because of your condition you're the one member of the team I'd like there the most. The rest of us may be unlikely to notice technology outside the usual perimeters, but you I imagine would not. If you wish we can have a containment suit for you when you arrive." which is his way of telling Rant she's coming, like it or not. "Oh, and I would suggest all of you pack a blade, something heavy. Bullets are clearly everyone's favorite, but punching a hole in a machine is sometimes less useful then just lopping a big peice of it off." the image doesn't return but one might recall him punching the mecha-lungs out of a zombie-borg image from only moments before. "Suit up. We move in 2 hours."

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