Setting Up The Board


f_edward_icon.gif mortimer_icon.gif

Scene Title Setting Up The Board
Synopsis Edward Ray pays a calculated visit to Mortimer in order to set up the coup de gras of the Bright Future.
Date June 15, 2009

Staten Island, Mortimer's Hideout

Radio reception is normally a problem when you're thirty feet below ground level. That deep, picking up broadcast transmissions without an external antenna is nearly impossible. So the scene of a small AM/FM radio blaring out an old Rolling Stones song againstrr ther backdrop of a pneumatic wrench pulling out bolts from an engine block would be impossible, given that this particular garage is buried under three tones of concrete and thirty feet of earth.

Impossible, were it not for the mechanical inclination of the owner of this establishment — Mortimer Alex Jack.

The twanging guitar is accompanied by the pop and crackle of static every time the wrench unwinds one of the bolds, and beneath the chassis of an old Mustang raised on a lift, the sound reverberates against the metal, all thanks to a signal amplifier that extends from the back of the plastic radio like Frankenstein's monster meets Radio Shack. Wires and cables spill out from the back of the radio like spaghetti, wound together into a braid that plug together into a box outlet on the wall. Somewhere on ground level, an odd arrangement of antennas and small dishes gets Mortimer radio broadcasts from halfway across the country.

Sure, it would have been easier to work with a newer radio, or a satellite radio system, but when inspiration strikes, there's little Mortimer can do to stop it until he's created something that may or may not be a mechanicam abomination. It is this latest fit of inspiration that has him disassembling a perfectly fine vintage '67 Mustang, half of the engine on the ground at his feet, the other half still wound up in the frame with modifications being put in place.

For hours now, he's been like this, hypnotized by his own creation, until the presence of someone else in his garage stirs his lucid mind from mechanical components to flesh and blood with — mixed results. It may not be the first time Mortimer has looked on the member of the Locos nicknamed "24" while under the influence of his mechanical aptitude, but it never makes it any easier.

"Uhh, boss?" 24 Jerks a thumb over his shoulder, grimacing awkwardly as he motions to the exit of the garage, "there's some guy outside of the bunker door, he's just— I don't know standing there staring up at the camera. He's been there for like a half an hour. Should we— I dunno— do something?"

"Damnit, is it another one of those hobos again? I guess I could use him for more cybernetic experiments, but we don't want a dominant hobo running the streets, so, I'll have to make sure it malfunctions by the time he gets into a fight." Mortimer decides with a prompt nod, his eyes going from silver to their natural blue as he exits the work area and walks across the bar to open the door himself, an SMG held in his good hand.

On the way out of his garage and through the bar, Mortimer catches sight of 21 and 33 seated on one of the sofas, feet kicked up with beer in hand, watching reruns of Andy Griffith on one of the televisions, the flickering black and white sceen juxtaposed against the aesthetics of a sports bar style interior seems as surreal as their physical appearances do, even as they begin to warp and fade back to their original exteriors as Mortimer leaves his hallucination-prone state of mind.

Screens of a different kind flank the wall near the steel security door Mortimer approaches, CCT cameras monitors displaying a flickering monochromatic display of a short-statured man in a dark, zippered jacket standing in the tunnel leading to the bunker, hands tucked into the pockets of the coat. A flip of a lever brings the doors grinding open, one portion receeding down into the floor with a screech of metal on metal, the other two portions withdrawing into the walls as metallic teeth unbind the locking mechanism.

Standing there on the other side of the door, the unassuming form of Edward Ray looks particularly out of place amidst the water-damaged backdrop of a concrete tunnel. Head tilting to the side, he watches Mortimer's silhouette become visible as the elaborate door slides apart and open. "I'm… terribly sorry for intruding," his eyes wander past Mortimer and into the compound, then back again, "I was wondering if you and I might be able to talk… business?" Both of Edward's brows raise as he stands there at the doorway, glancing to the sub-machine gun in Mortimer's hand, "preferably not at gunpoint?"

"Sure, why not." Mortimer casually throws the SMG behind him, which causes a few of the men to jump and grab it before it has a chance to hit the ground and randomly fire into the room or something. "But since you're here to talk, and you knew where to find me, and you took the time to bother me, I can only assume that you know what kind of risk you're taking by compromising my space, so, that leads me to the conclusion that… this must be really good."

Managing a measure of an honest smile, Edward dips his head into a nod and makes his way casually into the structure, glancing around unfamiliarly at the layout. "It wasn't too hard to find, if you know where to look…" That is, perhaps, an over-simplification of Edward's ability. "As for the quality of what I came here to discuss," his eyes divert to the Locos scattered around the room. "Would you prefer to talk business in front of them? Or…" The open ended dithering at the tail of Edward's words leaves plenty of room for interpretation, and while he seems focused enough on the conversation, there's no end to his curious inspection of the facility's accomodations.

"Into my room! It sounds like it might be too sensitive for little ears." Mortimer decides, despite half the guys in there being older than him. He walks to a small metal door off to the side, which leads to his rather modestly sized room. A simple king sized bed with a lamp table holding a picture of a smiling Cassidy, shelves upon shelves of gadgets, some things one would wish you could buy in a store, and others one could swear are right out of an infomercial. And of course there's the weapons, and plenty of them, though one would wonder why he never uses the more advanced looking things on the field. Microwave gun, anyone? He also has a little metal table, his smaller work area for these types of gadgets, though this is definitely not where he'd work on any vehicles. "We'll talk in here, just close the door, it auto locks. And this place is soundproof, for my girlfriend's modesty."

For his girlfriend's modesty. Edward's thin brows rise high at that statement, just giving a very slow nod of his head as he takes in the young woman in the photograph, then settles his pale eyes on Mortimer again, nodding once more before pushing the door closed until he hears that mechanical click of it locking.

"I apologize for all of the presumptuous cloak and dagger of all of this," Edward says as he begins to unzip his jacket, revealing a folder tucked away in his breast pocket. "This," he hefts the folder up with one hand, "is a compilation of information pertaining to the security systems and floor layouts of the Bronx facility of Primatech Paper." The folder is tossed down onto the bed, and Edward then reaches into his jacket's front pocket, retreiving a thin black memory stick. "This contains a rough estimate of the Company Agents currently employed by the Bronx facility, a few of their abilities, and an estimate on response times for threat neutralization." The memory stick is added atop the folder, and finally Edward's hands steady, tucking back into the jacket pockets again after he zips the front of the coat closed again.

"That," he notes with a nod of his head, "should be everything you need in order to get to the power substation in the facility where you can do the most structural damage to the building." All of this is delivered so matter-of-factly, and without anything resembling an explanation.

Mortimer's eyes suddenly flood with a silvery liquid, completely coating them until they appear almost solid like ball bearings. "Hmm, I'm not sure what you are yet, but I needed this information. I have my bomb built, and plenty of other explosives. But I also have the task of releasing as many prisoners as possible." He casually nods to the folder and memory stick. "Those gonna help me with that too?"

"The vast majority of the prisoners are already gone," Edward notes in a level tone of voice, meandering away from where he was standing, quietly inspection portions of the room's asthetics. "They were shipped off to— well, I'm working on figuring that part out." A crooked smile creeps up on Edward's lips before he turns to look back at Mortimer from the photograph of Cassidy.

"You and I have similar desires, Mortimer. We both want the Company to fall for our own…" one hand waves absently in the air, "unique reasons." Both of Edward's brows lower, furrowing into a look of considerable inspection as his eyes drift up and down Mortimer slowly.

"What I've supplied you with there will help you circumvent security — pass codes, camera positions, guard schedules. Information you'd need to get past the lobby. What you do with it— " his words halt uncertainly before picking up again, a noticable trip, "— well, that's all up to you, isn't it?"

"I have some pretty good ideas already. I'll put my best strategic and tactical men on it. But I'm a former chess club member, so, don't you worry about me!" Mortimer says enthusiastically, quickly grabbing the memory stick and walking over to his computer. "I'll just make a copy, then I'll let my tech guys look things over. Normally I wouldn't let you out with your hands, tongue, ears, or eyes, probably not your teeth and hair either, but I'm gonna let it slide just this once. Thanks for all the help, I'll blow that place up in no time."

There's a faint grimace that Edward gives at the explanation of freestyle dentistry that Mortimer describes; though it's a short lived one. "You're too kind," he notes with a raise of one brow, glancing at the door, and then hesitating as he looks back to Mortimer. "I have to wonder, because— this all went a bit smoother than I'd anticipated," one finger brushes along the side of Edward's jaw. "You aren't the least but curious, or suspicious about the accuracy of the information I've given to you?"

"If it's not accurate, I'll still blow the place up, the only difference is that I'll kill you after I'm done, girlfriend or not." Mortimer states quite plainly, letting the files copy on to his computer as he walks to the bed so he can look over the folder. "You found my hideout, took the time to give me detailed information while knowingly risking your life, because the only way you'd have known specifically to find me here is if you know enough about me to also know the risks. There's far less risky ways to feed me falsified information. And in addition to that, even if this information was falsified, if you know anything about my personality, even the smallest fraction of a chance of me surviving would mean that I will find you again, and I will make sure it takes at least a year for you to actually die."

Then, he just tilts his head up from the folder. "Of course, you could just be dumb and suicidal, which ever."

The laugh Edward gives is one of awkward amusement, the situation itself isn't as funny as the simply marvelous people he finds himself surrounded with on a day to day basis. Let nothing ill be said of having sociopaths as your primary circle of aquaintences. "Well, your… honesty is, ah," Edward glances around the room, "refreshing."

Motioning to the door, and feeling now with a full awareness of just how unhinged the man he's come to see truly is, Edward's intentions have shifted from feeling out the situation, to awkwardly scrambling as socially acceptable as possible towards the nearest exit. "I'll— just show myself out then."

"One of my men will show you out, I'll have to work over time to make devices to counter the abilities on the file." Mortimer stands up, still rather casual, then snaps his finger in a seemingly random tune which promptly unlocks the door. "And don't forget, if the information is inaccurate, well, I'll leave that up to your imagination." He leaves the man with a loud maniacal laugh, sitting in his computer chair as two men come to escort Mister Ray.

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