Negotiations [Da Guard]

[Lucian Verdus]

It seemed that the Inquisitor's diplomatic function was being used more and more as time had gone on. And, so recently after the usage of this function had gone up, was he given an incredibly vital mission. Lucian had focused all his processing power on the transmissions sent to him by the inquisitor, and had reminded him that the price of failure would likely be elimination by the hands of their potential clients. That, and a great hindrance to the operations of the mechanical coalition that had just recently been forced into hiding. But, that could change, and soon. It was up to the receptivity of the guards to the points that were to be offered. It was, indeed, fortuitous for Lucian to have gotten his mechanical tendrils into a number of important places prior to this, as they would become important in due time.

The Inquisitor moved around the field with intent, though there was a touch of aimlessness to the pattern of motion. Lucian hoped that the guard they came across would see the artificiality in the voice before presuming it a mutant and beating it. He had made it somewhat metallic just in case the inquisitor was ever mistaken for some sort of mutant, something that could severely harm negotiations in a situation such as this. Though, Lucian had never suspected he would be dealing with his own jailers, simply mutant-biased forces that make take the inquisitor's somewhat disturbing appearance as evidence of a mutation. The metallic hands, however, Lucian predicted could possibly throw such bias off.

The transmissions still coming up blank, Lucian transmitted an order to increase patrol route. The inquisitor obeyed unquestioning, moving about in wide arcs across the field as though following marks made by a geometer's compass. At last, the inquisitor thought it saw a figure in the distance that it did not recognize. A black shape, possibly, that was distinctly non-mutant. Slowly, head raised to a certain angle and hands clasped together, the inquisitor walked forward with the air of a true diplomat. Save for the skeletal head, of course.

[The Guard]

"You can't be serious." The guard laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I haven't gotten my hands on any of them. And here you are giving me numbers in the double digits." He paused a moment, struggling, and then laughed again.

The second guard inclined his head, silently thanking the helmet which masked his emotions. He preferred to remain seemingly indifferent. No one would know if he enjoyed what he did or if he loathed it. Especially not this new sucker of a recruit. The new guard had taken off his helmet and opened a secret compartment to take a dump in the field. He crouched low, his stance strangely graceful and lethal for what he was actually doing. The guard who still had his helmet on looked away in disgust.

"Hey, how come you don't talk much?" The first guard said as he finished his business and stood, shifting his gear to make it comfortable again. He didn't care for an answer. That was made clear as he began to walk away.

The second, we'll call him Second, watched as his current partner walked in the direction the approaching mutant came. There was no reason to not think it was a mutant. In Freakopolis you were either a guard or a mutant, which also translated to alive or dead.

The other guard, who we'll call Other, lifted his gun at the freak.

"Halt." The voice that was immature and dinky only seconds ago suddenly radiated with authority. Second moved forward slowly, lifting his gun in assistance.

[Lucian Verdus]

Obediently, the Inquisitor stopped in his tracks, analyzing the guards with external coldness, but internal mechanical fascination which raced through his behavior core. The Inquisitor ensured that his hands were clearly insight and made no sudden movements. To be safe, the machine made absolutely no movements at all. As was characteristic of servitors who were more focused on conversation than action, the mechanized ambassador stood stock-still. "Greeting: Greetings, mutant containment compound guards. I am not here to attempt any manner of attack or rebellion against you. Qualification: I am aware that I am not only outgunned and outmatched, but I was sent for a different reason.

"Explanation: I am not a mutant. I was constructed through the mutation of one, and you may be aware that his other constructions attempted to keep your prisoners in line prior to your active role in doing so," the inquisitor paused, again scanning the guards carefully, "Statement: It is not our wish to defy you. In fact, we have made conditions proper in order to assist you. It is our wish that we can ensure an environment to your liking." Again, the inquisitor briefly paused. "Correction: 'we' signifies the agency of the mutant in question: The Progenitor. It is likely you have him on file as Lucian.

"Qualification: One important thing to note is that the leader of the rebellion, known as Sullivan, no longer possesses internal organs. These were replaced under the pretenses of a dire illness that did not exist. He is now at our mercy, in a sense, and close enough to certain transmitters, such as myself or the Progenitor, great pain can be caused. This, along with our modest contingent of both close and ranged combat servitors designed for human and mutant suppression, can be made of use to you, if you are willing to negotiate with myself and, by extension, the Progenitor. I assure you, we are not unreasonable."

Everything was going as per the desired outcome. So long as the itch in the guards' trigger fingers were not acted on, his status would improve. It was, after all, logically better to be on the winning side than to lose and claim integrity. "Statement: We can begin negotiations immediately. Any queries, tests of good faith, or other input can be put forward to me prior, and they shall be immediately discussed."

[The Guard]

Both guards stood motionlessly as the mutant rambled. An observer might think the two were humoring it. And perhaps they were. Nothing could really be read of the guards when they were masked from head to toe in black gear that made it quite obvious who was and was not a mutant.

Surprisingly enough, they allowed him to say all he had, which meant standing there for a good five minutes as it prattled on. Other had never liked long-winded people, more or less mutants. If he wasn't in gear he would have shown his impatience by kicking at the dirt, crossing his arms, and looking at something more interesting. As it was, the necessity to remain professional outweighed his desire to convey his feeling, and so he stood there along with Second and waited for it to come to a resting place. Other had a new definition for the term verbosity.

"Damn, mutants are getting smarter." He hissed to Second, who didn't take his eyes off his prey. Second knew better. He'd been on the job longer. He would allow his ignorant partner to work under the false pretext that all mutants were more idiotic than himself.

"Don't act as if you know more than us, mutant." Second said in a surprisingly civilized tone. "You have no information, battle tactics, abilities, or advancements that we don't have and exceed. You're indispensable." And to prove his point, he pulled his trigger.

[Lucian Verdus]

The bullet was identified and recorded in a split second as it flew through the air and embedded itself partially into the inquisitor's reinforced skull. There was a moment of pain. It was not pain as humans thought of it, the sharp sensation which indicated something harmful or potentially harmful, transmitting its location and severity to the brain. It was simpler, and yet far more advanced. Instead of a feeling, sensors picked up the location of the injury, recorded its severity, and sent it as data along with possible solutions to the main core. It was pain as it should be, as far as Lucian was concerned, and as it was intended to be.

A metallic hand rose, slowly, to take the bullet in its index, middle finger, and thumb. And, with force uncharacteristic of the priestly-looking build of the machine, pull it out, leaving a cracked hole in the skull through which a metallic dent could just barely be seen. "Correction: I am not a mutant," the synthesized voice with which the servitor spoke was intended to sound human and improve human relations. In spite of the faint metallic echo and just barely technological edge to the voice, it was convincingly that of a human male. It was at this time, having just removed a bullet from its cranium without the slightest change in vocal inflection, that the true inhumanity of the servitor's voice was shown bare.

"Statement: I am not a combat model. Combat is not my expertise. Information is, but information is a minor aspect of my offer. The combat models are not supposed to outclass you any more than the creator wishes to war against you. They are not only in possession of eight large, metallic, spider-like appendages, but these appendages are able to administer a six-hundred volt maximum electric shock, though they are also able to do this from nearly anywhere upon them. They are not mutants either. If you require proof of this, proof of this can be offered."

[The Guard]

In Freakopolis, regardless of whether you passed as human, if you weren't wearing a black suit then you were a mutant. Any and all mutants were potentially lethal, and if addressed by one, the guards were commanded to respond as if threatened.

Other shifted, glancing back at Second uneasily. Newer recruits always cracked before they got used to this place. The only thing Second could do to help was not comfort the man, not that he had even a whiff of a desire to.

"Shut the hell up." Second barked. "You may not be a mutant but you are a mutant's creation and therefore classified as one with your creator. You have no business with us. Move along." His finger slid down his gun to flip a switch, activating an engine within the weapon which caused it to hum to life. This was a new aspect of their technology. Anyone impressed by six-hundred volts of electricity would be blown away by this baby. Literally.

Other shifted on his feet.

"Why would your boss not want to fight us?" He asked, his voice uneasy. Second cursed under his breath. "We persecute his kind."

"Boon; shut up." Second snapped. Other, also known as Boon, continued,

"It don't make sense." He shook his head and lifted his hands. "It just don't make sense."

Second vowed to kill the bloke right then and there.

[Lucian Verdus]

The weapon was a threat, undeniably, but the inquisitor couldn't show fear. There was a survival mechanism that could be turned on and off at Lucian's discretion, but it was kept off for this scenario. The humming firearm was classified in the CPU as a threat, and nothing more. "Qualification: Your hostility is understandable. To our experience, there are no mutants dwelling within here that are not troublesome, or potentially so. Explanation: The Progenitor desires to purify them, and make them as he is, and as I am. To have the resources necessary to do so, and the firepower, would keep them very much in line. Rhetorical query: Why kill that which is dangerous when you can put it to work?"

The brief conflict sparked a new possible doorway in the inquisitor's mind, and a possible opportunity to preach further. "Explanation: The Progenitor sympathizes with you. As previously stated, he sees them as violent, chaotic, and dangerous beings. Any effort to keep them as non-threats, as he attempted to do prior to your arrival, is welcomed and, if possible, supported. Qualification: The Progenitor constructed and operated the small police force to attempt to bring them to order." The humming of the gun was joined by another loud humming from the inquisitor. Lucian could recognize the increasingly shorter fuse of one of the guards, and wanted to be sure that precautions could be taken if violence occurred.

[The Guard]

Second frowned briefly as the robot asked a rhetorical question. Computers were never rhetoric. They didn't need to be. If that wasn't sign enough that this was a mutant--at least, mutant controlled--then his doubts were confirmed when a threatening whir began from the robot. Second was quick to act.

"Verdict:," he said mockingly, "You should have left when I gave you the chance." And without further hesitation he pulled the trigger. A beam at the end of the gun swelled within milliseconds, and with a roar charged at the robotic figure. Its bite wasn't in a bullet; this weapon sent a wave of energy at it's target with a ten foot diameter that would effortlessly enter anything and pass through it, disrupting the natural cell and particle flow, therefore causing the object to erupt. A guard could mow down ten or more mutants with one pull of the trigger. This time however, he was only exterminating one.