Steel's Legacy


harper_icon.gif warren_icon.gif

Scene Title Steel's Legacy
Synopsis Harper comes baring gifts, Warren has a proposal, Harper is a dick, and Warren still gets his gifts. In short, Harper dun fucked up.
Date September 16 2010

Shalegate Machine Factory

The sky is blanketed by slate gray clouds expelling torrential rain down on New York City. In the coastal neighborhood of Red Hook, the muted browns, grays and reds of the buildings all blend together in this dreary landscape of rainy skies and wet roads. Only the progression of equally muted looking green military transport vehicles seem to break up the monotony, even if subtly. The illumination their headlights create on the asphalt is the most noticeable impact the vehicles have on the environment, and when they turn off of a main artery through Red Hook towards a derelict industrial district, they are carving a bold path through dangerous territory.

Graffiti mars all but one building in this block of Red Hook, just a short distance away from the harbor. When the National Guard transport trucks turn onto the street, the flat-bed trucks jostle and rumble over the poorly tended road with all its pot-holes and fissures in the pavement. Olive-drab canvas tarps snap in the breeze on the trucks' flatbeds, bound down by bungee cords and covering large, oddly-shaped masses concealed on the backs.

When the lead truck slows, its right directional turns on, casting a blinking orange light onto the wet pavement as it turns into the delivery yard of the only building on the block not stained with graffiti. Few people come to the Shalegate Machine Factory, even during daylight hours, so when the headlights of not one but two trucks cut through the windows of the factory as they come to a rolling stop, it is a sure sign to whomever is inside that guests have arrives. Guests who, apparently, have brought something with them.

When each truck parks side-by-side in the paved delivery yard, the passenger's side door of the first truck opens, expelling a darkly-dressed man in a gray boiled-wool greatcoat, his patent leather shoes splashing in a puddle as he drops from the high-set vehicle's door. Agent Desmond Harper squints against the rain, water already beading on the fabric of his jacket. One wave of his hand motions for the drivers to get out and secure the cargo, while he heads towards the front doors of the factory.

"Warren!" is called out to the inside, "special delivery!"

It's Christmas in September.

While Warren Ray may be unable to get many official workers in the factory, he certainly has a few of his more intellectually inclined men helping. For the time being, his gang has abandoned their biker motif, mostly, in favor of wearing black suits with red shirts under the jackets, and their numbered biker helmets. There's only two at the moment, 5 and 9, both of which open the doors to reveal Warren Ray standing on the other side.

He's not wearing a suit today, he's working. He's wearing a black dirty tanktop with what looks like a black sword sheathe on the back, large black rubber gloves that almost reach up to his elbows, and mostly cover that mechanical left arm. Wet wind blows against his pretty worn and dirty blue jeans, and his black boots are incredibly scuffed, having seen him through… well… everything. "Welcome to my humble… workplace! I've been needing to speak with you about a few business related things."

He heads to the doors to take a peek outside, curious about what this delivery may be. "I saw the business at that hospital, I can keep it from happening again, for a very minor price, completely unrelated to money."

Both of Harper's brows go up, slowly, and a tilt of his head angles a hawkish look to Warren that wordlessly implores: what? Clearing his throat and looking back to the trucks behind him, Harper lifts up a hand to scrub at the damp back of his neck, then flips up the collar of his jacket as he steps towards the factory, getting under the cover of the roof in those wide open bay doors.

"Alright, I'll bite, Warren…" There's a cautious expression on Harper's face as the National Guardsmen behind him begin unhooking the bungee cords on the tarps, revealing something metallic and segmented beneath, when one soldier steps aside, a brushed steel leg comes swinging out limply, severed hydraulic hoses flapping like cut tendons, splayed toes broken and mangled.

"What, exactly, is it you're offering?" One of Harper's brows slowly rises at the question. This ought to be good.

"Complete control, ultimate security. If you give me the right team, programmers and engineers, do you know what kind of robots I could have monitoring your facilities? And since this team would be largely working for you, they could make sure I'm not doing anything unpleasant to the devices." Warren raises an eyebrow, and in that same moment his eyes flush with that pure silvery color, watching whatever that large heap may be under the tarp.

He doesn't comment on it yet, and instead continues on with his proposal. "Oh, it's true, you have what you like to think is security, I was in that hospital, you had security holes a mile long, mostly in the form of your staff." He reaches into his pocket, then pulls out what seems to be a silvery ring with very subtle cracks in the structure, about the size of a bracelet, and he starts to slowly toss it up and down in his hand. "I could offer you surveillance on an entirely different level, employees having no idea you're watching them, everywhere. There would be nothing they can do, at any point in their entire lives, without your people knowing.

He continues to ominously toss that ring up and down, just watching the truck, contemplating. "And the facilities themselves, they could be remodelled in such interesting ways. Your doors could be weaponized, and register the DNA of anyone going in and out. But, that's just the surface of my proposal."

"And that thing." he says as he aims the ring at the tarped trucks. "Is that a robot? I think it's a robot." He pauses for a brief moment, then turns his head to eye Harper with another raised brow. "Is it mine?"

"It's actually ten robots." Harper dodges the question about a team, stepping aside and motioning for the soldiers to pull away the covering on each truck. Heaped up there, slagged and in pieces and scraps, are metallic skeletons, for lack of a better word. Some of them look like long-legged horse-like creatures, others sleeker and more predatory monsters. Some have exposed weaponry on them like knives and gun turrets, most are barely recognizable as anything even remotely mechanical, rather looking like molten slag.

"These are all that remains of the works of one Hector Steel. A man with your level of mechanical brilliance," Harper notes as he has the second covering pulled away, revealing an mostly intact mechanical horse-shoe crab shaped tank, riddled with bullet dents and with some internal components looking to have been torn out and mangled beyond repair. "We need you to reverse engineer them," Harper explains with a shrug, turning to angle a look at Warren.

"We're, actually on the same page. These were security robots working with the Vanguard in Argentina. We can't expect you to reverse engineer the programming on them, but we have people that will handle that off-site. What we need you to do is understand the mechanical designs and, if possible, streamline them into better surveillance and attack machines. We need blueprints that our scientists can follow so that they can be put into mass production."

One brow raising, Harper offers a fond smile. "Knowing what little we know about the machines, we know you won't be able to physically reproduce them here, except possibly on miniature scale, but they'd still be devoid of their necessary computer programming. All we want is blueprints and designs… and you get to tear these apart to figure out how Hector made them work."

There's something of a grimace as Harper adds, "The ah, brightest minds at the Institute couldn't make heads or tails of them." Reaching inside of his jacket as he says that, Harper takes out a rectangular piece of paper and holds it out to Warren. "Half of your payment up front." There's several zeroes in the number.

"That's possible, of course it'd be better if you gave me my own programmers, but…" Warren offers one of those slasher smiles, continuing to carry the silvery ring in his hand as he heads out to the mechanical tank, kicking one of the legs hanging from under the tarp. "I could reproduce a few blueprints. Do I get to keep these?" he asks as he tosses the ring over in Harper's direction finally.

"But you still haven't heard what I want." he speaks up as he starts poking around the robot now. "I want Liette, and I want to be officially inducted into the Institute. No more of this independent contractor crap. I want to be one of you, and I want to know who my father is. If I wanted to kill you, I could have placed that bomb around your neck at any moment." He stops fiddling with the robot for a moment, holding up a finger. "Oh, right, that ring is a bomb, but it's only active if you wear it. I just want you to know, you can trust me, because I could so easily destroy you and everything you've built. The fact that I haven't is more than enough proof that I can be one of you. These aren't threats, they're just facts.
Laughing and shaking his head, Harper exhales a slow and steady sigh. "You need a negotiator, Warren. Because, honestly, you're terrible at it." Looking back to the tarp-covered machins, Harper closes his eyes and lifts one hand up, pinching at the bridge of his nose before slowly sliding the hand down his face.

"No, you're not getting your own programmers. No, we're not making you a full agent of the Institute because it isn't necessary. No, you're not getting Liette because we don't know where she is, and even if we did she'd be going back to her guardian and— " Harper grins, "No, I don't think you understand how to negotiate at all." Turning the ring over in his hand, Harper furrows his brows, then tosses it back towards Warren.

"You can keep the robots, consider it a consolation prize."

"You're kind of an ass, and I think you should consider that a hard fact, coming from a spree killer with MPD." Warren raises a hand and catches the ring, then starts walking back over to Harper, rain soaking his tanktop. "I just want you to know something, even if you refuse to give me what I want. I know how you are with your little coffins. If I disappear, things won't be pretty in this city. I've had months to plan since the first time you captured me. And if Elle suddenly disappears… well then it's just personal."

He tosses the ring carelessly into the air, and it suddenly causes a minor explosion, essentially a firecracker. "Tell them to bring in the trucks. And I'll ask, one more time, to reconsider that full agent position. I think it would be in your best interests, I know things that I'm not currently at liberty to tell you, because I'm only an independent contractor."

"I don't think having a spree killer with disassociative identity disorder," Harper corrects, "as an agent would be wise. But consider it reconsidered, the answer is still no." Turning around to the soldiers, Harper waves them to move the trucks in, then steps aside and gets out the way of where they'll be driving inside. "Consider yourself before you worry about what the Institute will be planning for you, Warren."

There's a look askance to the machinist, "If Elle disappears it would only be because you scared her away. She's already come to me with complaints about your behavior. Furthermore," and Harper turns to face Warren at that, "we won't be putting you in a coffin. Don't worry."

At least not a white plastic one.

"Your choice. Thanks for the robots though, I'll use these to improve my arm after I'm done with the blueprints. And speaking of my arm, if I were to give you blueprints of a new and improved arm, is there a chance that could be my payment? For it to do everything I need, programmers would probably be ideal, but I'll settle for my work simply being built." Warren at least has to look like he's cooperating now. He can't show how pissed he is at the moment, that he hasn't made an attempt at decapitation is proof of that. "If we're all agreed, you can leave now."
One of Harper's brows rise slowly, head tilting to the side. "Mechanical arm…" there's a look down to Mortimer's current replacement limb, then back up again. "I think we might be able to work something out with that. Get us the designs and we'll see what can be done."

The rumble of engines as the trucks pull in to the srvice bay has Harper,s head tilting up to assess the vehicles and the girth of the machinery coming through, horribly damaged as it is. "Estimates are that it will probably take eight to ten months to fully reverse engineer all of the different types of machinery evidenced here. But I think our experts are underestimating you, which could have it as short as three to six months…"

"Keep me appraised?" Harper asks as he looks back to Warren, flashing him a smile.

"Don't worry your pretty little manipulative head." Warren suddenly draws his sword, pointing it at Harper with a very wide grin. The sword crackles with electricity, similar to Elle's hands when she's showing off. "I can do anything. And I haven't given up on becoming a full agent, but I'll let it go… for now."

"Charitable of you," Harper explains with a flick of a look to the electrified blade of the sword, one corner of his mouth creeping up into a faint smile before he takes one slow step back, then turns to tap the light on his bluetooth headset. "This is Harper, send the Jeep in…" He strides out with the soldiers, leaving the mangled remnants of Hector Steel's legacy in the care of Warren Ray.

"We're done here."

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