Participants:
| Scene Title | Intelligence |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | After the first few nights of robotic patrols ending in more broken parts than bloodshed, Mayes assesses what must come next. |
| Date | January 13, 2011 |
26 Federal Plaza: Basement
Highheels click, echoing from a grey concrete floor to the white illumination of an underground ceiling, casting no shadows and bringing everything into bleach pale focus. Two long tables of steel at slightly imperfect angles run along either side of Georgia Mayes as she prowls down the centre of both, observing the items of display, all tagged and placed like prize cuts of meat. These things, however, certainly are not flesh. This being rather the point.
Robotic debris, pieces that Mayes would not be able to identify, and others she could, such as a long hind leg, or the impossibly heavy torso of the sentry bot that nearly sags the metal table it rests upon. The air smells of melted plastic and cooling iron and slick oils, the reek of a garage and workshop both.
"And has everything been accounted for?" she asks of the technician that trails after her, a young man with a clipboard and a slightly nervous disposition.
"Everything except— " There's a doublechecking rustle of paper. "The head, of the SMK-002."
"It's a directional sensory recording device, Phillip. These aren't animals."
At this correction, Phillip glances doubtfully towards where the feline skull of the HMK-002 rests, tagged, upon the table to its left, its eyes dull discs of glass, martially damaged needle protruding between silver fang, metal detailed into bone-like angles. But he doesn't speak up, Mayes already moving on.
"No, not animals," she says, more to herself, coming to a halt to observe the bisected lower half of the HMK, before sweeping blue eyes down the length of the table, at the several million dollars worth of equipment. "Too stupid to be animals. My, who knew mutants could be such dangerous little shits after all." Her tone of voice suggests that she did, actually. "How much of this can be salvaged? I'm not looking forward to reporting to our Hector that not only did two of his devices get torn to pieces, but our latest shipment has disa-fucking-ppeared. They aren't allowing any more parts to be shipped into the city without insurance that we haven't been completely compromised. As if that isn't what well paid reporters are for."
Phillip shrugs ruefully, coming to a halt upon reviewing his clipboard once more. "The sentry's body is scrap metal, but we've managed to extract some of the internal hardware. The— " He hesitates over this phrasing. Clears his throat. "The hunter might survive — despite massive structural damage, most of its parts are untouched. But we'll have to wait on von Stahl's assessment. We're shipping this out to Staten Island tonight, if you want me to get him on the phone.
"Are we cancelling patrols until we can get these replaced?"
"No, oh goodness me no. These can't hardly be called failures, after all. Expensive, but not failures — rather, it's progress. Never mind von Stahl, for now, he'll be keeping busy with this mess." Mayes taps a French painted nail against the screen of her smartphone. "No, I think I need to have a chat with Verse regarding the software upgrades he's promised me."
Phillip hesitates. Unsure if he's allowed to ask the things he wants to ask. But by the time Mayes is bringing cellphone up to her ear, he can't really help himself: "Alia Chavez? Already?"
Twisting at the waist, Mayes presses a thin smile. "How many taxpayer dollars will have to be wasted by rampant Evolved gone wild before we can really begin, now honestly? This isn't the Argentinean jungle, you know — it's a dangerous city out there." She presses her fingers near the speaker as she adds, "On the topic, can you run along and get me in contact with Broome's office? The Commonwealth Institute owes us some favours."
Taking a breath, Phillip turns his back on Mayes as Verse on the other end picks up. One last look towards the blank eyed, empty stare of the silver, needle-wielding skull to his left, before he departs.
