2013.07.23 - Into the Trenches

Magneto is not in his formal apartments- the towering Spire, the symbol of the power and might of the newly crowned Imperator of Bastion. He is in the streets, among what has turned into a massive turnout of support and accolade for the king.

What passes for a main boulevard in Bastion is literally lined with supporters and flowers as Magneto passes in review. Hundreds wave and cheer, while docile humans in scarlet uniforms stand aside, eyes downcast and escaping the notice of most who walk past them.

The long tour leads to a public forum, where Magneto frequently takes audience with members of the state great and small. He dismounts the motorized vehicle outside the forum and upon entering, promptly starts shaking hands. Omega Red is ever at his flank, a constant and menacing presence even among the open-minded mutant community.

One by one, mutants approach to voice their concerns and questions- one or two at a time- and Magneto sets them at ease as best he can. The Imperator, it seems, has not lost his common touch. A mutant business owner bows his thanks to the Lord of Bastion- sitting on a throne cast from steel, with iron laurel leaves over his head- and Magneto spreads his hands, looking at the crowd. "Are there any others who wish audience?" he inquires, his mild tone approachable and even from his slight elevation over the assemblage. "Speak, please, if you have question or concern. This is a safe and open place to speak."

There was one major miscalculation on the directive that had sent Agent Ortel and his partner here. At least, for himself Aaron had not exactly known that there would be actual humans here. Some of them had attracted his attention like the age old saying of moths to a flame, with that docile behavior and likely no small amount of fear to be found in them. He had not approached anyone, himself, not yet, mingling within the crowd. Even here, perhaps especially here, Aaron has kept his eyes concealed behind those two-way lenses firmly seated on his face. Besides, it's not like he can't supply his X-Gene Card on request, so to speak.

Already, he's seen quite a bit just in this forum that will doubtless make for good reading elsewhere: the public venue, the scarlet-clad homo sapiens and their behavior, faces, powers, numbers, and most of all: the Imperator's audience and the individual next to him.

Needless to say, it's the latter two individuals that has his attention the most. The first step in getting to know anyone, for him, has always been to get an idea of just what is going through their mind, even if it's limited to just how they feel at a given instant in time. There's a great that can be learned by tossing out keywords and seeing how a person's emotional state changes. Now's not the time for that, though. He's here to watch, not draw attention to himself as of yet, even if he /is/ a newcomer to the block.

Omega Red doesn't typically have what could be called an 'emotional state'. Sociopaths aren't gifted with a particularly wide range of moods, and Arkady's generally tends somewhere between murderous and cheerfully murderous. And then sometimes, he's in a bad mood. Today, he feels relatively placid, going about the simple task of checking the crowd for threats and making an intimidating display by the Imperator's side. The latter is a simple matter: between his appearance, the carbonadium tentacles lashing around his feet and the reputation for cruelty that he's already begun to build here on the Island, there are already few locals who don't know better than to cross Omega Red with anything other than lowered eyes and a shuffled step past. Arkady, for his part, enjoys the fear, especially from the humans. It is, after all, their natural state. He keeps his posture neutral, however, hands clasped in front of him as he stands next to the throne, watching as Magneto once again dirties his hands with the common people. This is why the Soviets had bureaucrats.

"Very well," Magneto says, as no furthur individuals come forth. "A few reminders then- ones that will be on widecast, but I shall share them with you here as well." He glances at a notepad in his palm, composing his thoughts. "Expansion of the northern habitation complexes has been delayed by shipping concerns. However, we have taken measures to counteract the delay. They will be open on schedule," he says, to some applause. He sweeps his eyes over the crowd. "A warning- the military compound near Spire remains off-limits. Regretfully, a mutant attempted to circumvent the security fence and was shot by the guards. If you require access to The Spire, please pursue the appropriate channels." A subvocal murmur follows that, but no one objects. "Finally, a reminder that the human peons are off-limits. They are prisoners of war serving their sentence under Bastion law, and this government will not tolerate violations of Geneva conventions, of which this government is an adherent." His eyes flicker- very briefly- towards Omega. "If you or your friends discover un-registered humans, report them immediately to your local praefacture, but do not apprehend them yourselves. We must comport ourselves in accordance with international law if we wish to be taken seriously as a member nation of the UN." A hard edge colors his voice, and the merry twinkle in his eyes goes flat for a moment. Such is the force of his personality that the front row of mutants avert their eyes, on the edge of taking a step back.

"That is all for now. If there are no more questions-?" he asks, half-rising from his seat.

Standing in the crowd, listening to this, Aaron says nothing. He does, however, take a respite from watching while the 'reminders' are given, averting his eyes to watch the crowd to see how /they/ respond to all of these comments. That bit about The Spire /does/ catch his attention, enough that he glances back over. "Someone was shot down?" The question comes out loud, an audible projection of his thoughts and most certainly /not/ meant to be heard, though sharp or enhanced hearing might well catch that.

Beyond that, he keeps to himself, but any mind readers in the region doubtless picked up a strong sense of unease erupting from him. He keeps his face composed, but his attention is once again fixed on the Imperator... and giving a certain wary consideration for his psychopathic guard. "Yes," Magneto says, his voice clear and calm. Apparently, his hearing is rather exceptional. His eyes zero onto Aaron, and the crowd around him /immediately/ takes a small step back to clear a space around him. "This rule has been in force from the first day we re-occupied Bastion. It is a small security measure," he says, eyebrows rising slightly as if in askance. "And not an unreasonable one. Access to Spire must be strictly regulated, or we risk security leaks that could put our nation at risk." He peers at Aaron. "And the signs are clearly marked," he adds, almost as an afterthought. His eyes narrow minutely in thought. "You must be rather new to Bastion, if this is news to you," he remarks as an afterthought, his train of thought catching up with him. "Regrettable though it is, this is not the first incident we've had. When did you arrive?"

"I am." It's an easily found out fact, and as sure as the sun shines, lying to this man over something so simply discovered would be tantamount to suicide. "This week." Direct answers, those. For some reason, there's a faint twitch upwards at Aaron's mouth, as those near him /back away/, but exactly what he thinks when he sees how they react, he keeps close. "I mean, it makes sense to have security. I just didn't think it was /that/ high, that's all," he concludes a bit sheepishly, even spreading his hands faintly. It was certainly /not/ his intention to get attention in this way.

"Well. Welcome to Bastion," Magneto says, making it something of a proclamation. A patter of applause follows the statement, and he smiles at the crowd. "I shall have to do something about the orientation packet. We are a small nation, but we have some rules." He considers things for a moment, then beckons Aaron to approach. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to spend a few minutes orienting our new brother. The next forum will be in several weeks. Thank you for attending this one."

As the crowd filters out, Magneto rises and steps down the dais, gesturing for Aaron to walk along with him as he departs along a different route. "We are a highly security conscious state," he explains to the mutant psychic.

"It's a necessity, if a regrettable one. And there are certain rules that are obeyed by all citizens and visitors to Bastion, and certain rights the former have that are not available to the latter." He walks with his hands behind his back, not looking back to see if Arkady follows along. "We have few laws, fortunately. Essential liberties are of course provided- the right to security, safety, life, and so on. Freedom of speech is allowed, of course, but with limits on criticism of policy and governance. This forum," he says, gesturing behind him, "is the sole outlet where complaints from the street may be aired. Once beyond the forum, it becomes... inappropriate to speak out in criticism. So." He smiles and stopping, turns to face Aaron. "What do you think of our little utopia, thus far?"

Omega Red follows along in the wake of Magneto and the newcomer, keeping a wary eye on the man in question. He has little fear of an assassination attempt on Magneto, although a suicide mission is never entirely to be discounted among the particularly rabid humans. But the man never would've gotten this far armed and, if he was a mutant with powers that might be a threat, well...then he and Magneto would deal with him. Hopefully, Omega, largely because he hadn't been down to the pens in a while and the tentacles were lashing around his feet because he was feeling a bit underfed, craving the life force that was his sustenance. Not that he wished for anything to go wrong, he'd just rather that he had someone to kill if he was going to have to burn calories walking all day.

There's a hint of sheepishness about Aaron's face upon mention of the orientation packet. It doesn't require much effort for him to work his features and body language into that; he hadn't read the details on purpose. More believable to plead ignorance that way about minor things, at least.

And then baby swan dives out the window after the bathwater over what he was planning on doing next, when the offer of a personal orientation is made. It doesn't require any fakery whatsoever, walking nearby in a state of partial apprehension, frequently directing his attention towards Arkady as though expecting those tentacles to lash out for strangulating Aaron's own throat. Psychic he might be, but there are most certainly limits to what he /can/ do, and to whom.

"I haven't made up my mind yet," he answers in response to the direct question, stopping as well and turning to deliver it eye-to-eye, as much he can with his own so obviously concealed. "It's ... nice... not being looked at weird though." Not that he introduced that aspect of himself to anyone yet; he was perfectly fine with people assuming he was what he was.

"A fair answer," Magneto nods at Aaron. "Our society is not ideal from an ethical perspective, but it is ideal from a functional perspective. We are a small nation- we have at best an uneasy peace with our neighbors to the east, and our neighbors to the south are barely diffident to our presence." He considers the wall behind Aaron thoughtfully. "Enemies abound on all sides, within and without. We've had to take somewhat severe measures to ensure that our society can survive, given the threats that we face on a daily basis." He smiles at Aaron. "But, it is 'nice' being able to manifest your powers freely. I am constantly reassured of our mission by seeing young children using their gifts in the most picayune of ways on a daily basis, and being reassured instead of codemned. If there is a home for mutants, I like to think it is here," he says, spreading his hands and gesturing at the room- and by extension, Bastion.

Omega Red still gets stared at. He prefers to get stared at. IF someone's not staring at him (or isn't looking down at their shoes cowering in fear), then they're probably hiding something or about to sneak attack. Arkady's spent his whole life being a freak. He has no family anymore, and the little that he had died at his own hands for little reason other than that he felt like it at the time. While he appreciates the mission and the opportunity to kill people with impunity, he does get tired of the 'rah rah, we're all in this together" stuff, so he's largely tuning out portions of the conversation, just idly considering different angles he could drive his tentacles into Aaron's body to cause the maximum amount of pain. Just to the right of the spine, he thinks, through the kidney, could create diabolical agony and paralysis, but death would be fairly slow and painful, life oozing out with the slow drip of ruined guts and blood. But, on the other hand, there's always breaking the legs...

"Yeah, well, even here I can't take these off," Ortel replies, placing a finger on his eyewear. "I might end up scarring someone for life, to the point they run screaming in terror at a butterfly, for all I know. I didn't get to /manifest/, as you call it, freely. Society thought I --" And then a little bit of /someone/ feeling murderous gets his attention. "GOD, what is /with/ him?" That last blurts out before he can stop the question, to the point Aaron looks away, if only so that he won't be picking up on the repeated REDRUM behavior that is the tentacled lifedrainer Omega Red. "If I puke, it's nothing personal, but psychopaths tend to make my stomach want to hurl." Yeah, he just threw the p word out there for everyone to hear, from as much reaction as anything else. And yes, Ortel really is getting a little green, to the point his own breathing is clearly agitated, a touch ragged even and something he is working very hard to control right now. Either way, he is not looking at either of you, but a completely different direction, one where Arkady isn't even in the corner of his eye. It's always worse when someone he can see is up close.

"Ah. Arkady, would you mind exercising some mental discipline?" Magneto asks, as cool as iron. "Perhaps the meditative mantras we have discussed." He turns back to Aaron. "I apologize. And to be more specific, Arkady is a sociopath. Psychopaths have diminshed self control and poor social skills. Arkady's social skills are excellent, as long as one isn't a sensitive psychic. He acknowledges the rules and law of society- he simply doesn't abide by the ones that inconvenience him." He smiles ruefully at Arkady. "I keep him around to remind me of the excesses we are capable of when we do not keep constant self vigil. He is, of course, an extremely competent and dangerous warrior. I tend to overlook his less constructive qualities in lieu of the gestalt whole," he explains to Aaron. He makes a gesture near Aaron's face, drawing the man's gaze towards him. "Focus here, please. I have been assured that I have a 'reassuring' mien, from a psychic perspective. It may help calm your stomach."

Omega Red doesn't particularly like having his thoughts impeded on from the outside. Private space and, frankly, most psychics give him...well, not the willies. He just distrustst them, immensely, and, to be frank, would probably just have them extinguished unless they could be put on very tight and well controlled leashes. But, as Magneto points out, Arkady isn't in charge and for good reason. He gives a very measured and completely artificial smile to Aaron, really more of a baring of teeth than anything, his crimson eyes gleaming, "I was not...aware that I was affecting you, comrade. Truly, I am to be apologizing most profusely. Is not something to be taking personal, da? It was simple...mental exercise and not a measurement of personal animus. And Imperator is very much right. I have very, very good control. When I do not have control, things are very, very much messier." He thinks, for a moment, of a certain brothel in Hammer Bay that he frequents when he wants to lose control. Oh yes, he's not supposed to think such things. A pity. He does his best to empty his mind.

"I'm not ... your typical psychic," is what Aaron has to say, pausing if only so he can swallow. Looking at the Master of Magnetism does not seem to have much calming effect on him, however. Arkady is still somewhat visible. "I can definitely see why you keep him around." Which is to say: PSYCHO KILLER. Getting sent to Genosha is already turning into a eye-opening experience on a number of levels.

"Don't worry about it," Aaron says in response to the Russian's comment, speaking from behind slightly gritted teeth and still fighting down nausea while /also/ fighting to keep his attention focused on Magneto. Saying more seems potentially unwise, so he halts there, again swallowing faintly.

"Assassins and killers are a tool of statecraft, as are politics and diplomacy," Magneto says, as if he were discussing an interesting historical observation. "Arkady's uses are... highly specialized, but he is rather indispensible, in his own way. Leadership requires many skills- wisdom and deception, strength and discretion, power and negotiation. I cannot rule by executive fiat alone. Nor can I allow the masses to rule me." He smiles at Arkady. "Arkady does not approve of my philosophical lectures. This is why he is eternally the soldier, never the leader. He is very good at killing, but he rather poorly understands restraint."

Magneto turns back to Aaron. "This is why he stays near me. Unleashed, he is a pitiless killing machine, without remorse or social consideration. Here, well... he's still that same machine," Magneto admits, "but I can at least ameliorate the worst of his excesses and channel his energies into a generally positive direction."

Omega Red smiles and shrugs, not minding in the least Magneto's assessment of his capabilities. It is accurate and honest, and Omega, while he feels no guilt at deception, values and prefers honesty. He can pretend to be something he's not - is actually quite good at it, if properly motivated - but wearing his own face instead of the smiling, friendly mask of comradeship and jocularity pleases him much more. And, if it means a few things lower on the food chain piss their pants occasionaly in his presence, well...that's just a bonus. "Magneto is a very wise man. He knows there are only enemies and allies. I am a terrible, terrible enemy but a very good ally. And I appreciate him for taking on the burdens of talking to people like you who need to be coddled and...ah, am overstepping my bounds again. Apologies, again, Imperator. I will keep my peace," he says, silencing himself and drawing his tentacles in, so as not to fray Aaron's nerves.

"I'm not questioning the logic of it, sir. Imperator," he adds, taking the cue. "Or what he can do." It did kind of help, drawing in the offensive weaponry, but so does the talk, oddly enough. Focusing on sensory input other than that of his eyes has the effect of slowly working his stomach towards a more normal mode of operation.

The line about being coddled does not get any reaction from the psychic. One thing about these custom-made shades that keep his untamed vision in check: he can roll his eyes without /anyone knowing he did so/. Guess what Aaron is doing right now? "I've taken care of myself since I was fifteen, I'm good there, thanks."

"Excellent. I'm glad we're all on the same page," Magneto says, clapping his hands together softly. "You seem a capable enough sort, if a bit sensitive. Honestly, perhaps I should talk to someone about mandatory psychic shield courses," he frowns, muttering half to himself. "I cannot have a tenth of the city going into shock every time there is some sort of cataclysmic event."

Magneto shakes his head briskly, leaving that train of thought at the station. "Well, you are looking a bit less peaked," he says, examining Aaron. "Do you have any other questions of me?" he inquires of the younger man, looking every inch the benevolent and grandfatherly figure.

Omega Red is thinking of sunshine and rainbows and puppies. Well, probably not puppies. You don't want Omega Red to think about puppies. Sunshine and rainbows. Well, and maybe that Sylvester Stallone marathon on TV tonight. Or that very smooth, plain wall there. Anything but the mutant with the sunglasses, because that guy was, at current, off-limits and, thus, a non-entity. Woe betide him if Magneto instructed Arkady to turn his thoughts to that particular individual again.

"It's the first time I've come across someone like... him. I'll get over being sensitive eventually, I'm sure." Hopefully. One of the first things he ever had to learn after manifesting: adapt. "I'm not required to register what I can do, am I?" It's a slow question, that, and probably a subject covered in the aforementioned 'orientation packet'. "It's not like I can go around demonstrating what I do freely, after all. Or take these off." A pause. "I was expecting someone to want me to prove it, though."

"Basic genetic scanners at the major entrances accomodate that," Magneto explains to the man. "We do not require your registration, per se- a baseline genetic reading will authorize you a visitor's visa, coded to your face and baseline biometric scans. We try to respect the individual privacy of some of our visitors who are seeking to start a new life."

"The 24th chromosome is extremely difficult to fabricate synthetically, and it makes for a simple enough standard of measure." Magneto gestures at one of the peons standing subserviently to the side, quiet and demure. "Humans are of course prisoners of war, and serving a life sentence as members of our labor class. Quite voluntarily, I might add," Magneto says with an approving smile. "They were given the choice between foraging for life outside Bastion- rather pitiless, the jungle- a swift death, or to serve their legal term. The overwhelming majority- Arkady, remind me if I am wrong- something to the effect of ninety percent petitioned service over exile." Magneto spreads his hands, turning in a half-circle. "I confess a dislike for the notion of 'papers', so I simply expedited the process to the logical level and created a universal electronic passport system. Once you are inside the city limits of Bastion, you're welcome to travel freely with limitations to the public areas designated by signage. And, should you wish to apply for a permanent visa, you are welcome to do so under a registered name of your choice."

Omega Red doesn't try to dispute Magneto's statistics. For one, he does not keep track of statistics. For two, he's not so dumb as to contradict Magneto in front of a stranger (or, really, generally, at all). He keeps up his steady, measured pace, keeping enough distance from Aaron so as to try and mitigate the effects of his presence and trying to keep his thoughts as benign and bland as they can be for a being whose professional and recreational concerns are both largely centered on the extinguishing of human life.

Closing his mouth - Aaron had been about to say something, but changed his mind - Ortel's lips draw into a faint frown. "Was that what the registration business earlier about humans was about, then? What happens when you find someone who isn't, or is turned in to be such?" He can probably guess the answer to that, but curiosity is in his voice all the same. And yes, Ortel tries very hard to avoid even a corner-of-the-eye glimpse of the obviously inhuman man towering above, even if his shaded-eyes face forward for the most part.

"And did I just hear you right that you scanned my genetics when I arrived? At least it wasn't a retinal one. /That/ would've gone well."

"The borders of Bastion are well marked, and it's known across Genosha that this is a human-free zone. The Free Mutants to the south have had a similar policy in place for years, except theirs was 'shoot first'," Magneto says, accenting the words slightly. "I have attempted to adopt a more humane alternative."

"Our biometric scanners would be useless among many mutants," Magneto explains, his fingers interlaced and held at midriff level. "Arkady for instance registers rather poorly with facial recognition. We do a rough digital scan as a photographic reference point, but we have many factors we measure for in order to create a biometric dataprint." He smiles at Aaron. "The precise methodology is classified, but extremely effective. Suffice it to say that we don't rely on faces alone."

Nodding along with Magneto's words, Aaron says nothing during. No questions, just obvious signs he's paying attention, until the words run their course. "It makes sense." There's a shrug, to pass it off towards common sense.

"So one thing I am curious about: how the hell do you keep everyone from blowing the place up? I'm talking the pyros that can't control themselves, and so on. Ever since I heard about here, I've been trying to figure out how those of us who can't control what they do don't just undermine the whole idea because of that."

"It's a daily challenge," Magneto admits. "There are several Alpha level mutants here- a larger number yet of Epsilon and Gamma level mutants. When I took the throne, I set up a few safeguards to protect against major cataclysms, but it took a few months to reach a functional equilibrium." He laughs softly. "They say God does not give us more than we can bear; if He has sent me pyrokinetics, He has sent me aquarians in equal measure. I've set up a number of programs to help direct individuals to where their skills are most needed. Psychics are especially useful in instructional capacities as well as a police force. Those with exceptional strength are assigned manual labor jobs, and those with pyrokinetic skills work at our furnaces." He chuckles ruefully. "And every once in a while, someone has an accident and tries to level a building. We rebuild, we forgive, and we move on. It is a condition of life among our brothers and sisters, and we forgive the occassional lapse. The Epsilons especially require some measure of forgiveness. Arkady here was under escort for nearly a week before I found him a suitable position," he says with a whimsical and self-approving smile. "There's an adjustment period. But, passport registration with a full list of powers and abilities helps us put potential citizens into a role they are best suited for. A necrophage with an astonishing capacity for accelerating decomposition is now our chief waste sanitation expert," he says with a chuckle. "She enjoys the solitude and doesn't mind the smell, and we appreciate the remarkably effective fertilizer. A 'win-win' situation."

In his mind, there doesn't seem much to say. It's all information, and certainly more than he had before he arrived. "I see," is what Aaron says, looking somewhat thoughtful, obviously processing the words that came out of Magneto's lips.

"You said you use psychics for instruction and police? I can see why, but I wouldn't be useful for either. I told you, I'm not... typical. If anything, I'd be closer to a therapist of all things, and to that I say 'oh God' at the idea of everyone wanting to Jerry Springer their problems my way."

"We use /some/ psychics for those roles," Magneto says, clarifying his words. "There's no point in press-ganging a highly sensitive psychic into a mentally traumatizing role. We ask that, at a minimum, an individual simply works to 'pull their weight'," he explains to Aaron. "A young woman who's name escapes me has a terrible sensitivity to solar radiation, even that reflected by the moon. She works inside The Spire in my archival center, performing basic data analysis. Putting her on one of the agrarian projects would be a death sentence, despite her strength. She is content; she contributes to society; society prospers and thrives. If you found yourself unable to use your powers to aid us, then we can find you work doing anything from supervising the peons to, oh, I don't know- teaching the young ones their basic arthimetic and spelling," he says with a fleeting smile. "As I said, we make accomodations whenever and wherever possible. It has generally worked out for the best."

Magneto glances at a wall clock. "I'm afraid this concludes my appointed time in the forum," he informs Aaron regretfully. "I do hope you enjoy your visit to Bastion. I like to think we're an improvement over the anarchy in Hammer Bay. Be safe, and be well in your travels," he says. He inclines his head politely to Aaron, then turns and strides out of the forum with purposeful steps.

And Ortel is /perfectly/ fine with things concluding there. On a sociable note, no less. He has absolutely no idea what to think about this at all, but there is one thing that is for certain: it's an extreme effort not to be shaking right now.

"I am so fucked," he'll mutter to himself, once it's a /much/ safer distance than compared to his initial outburst earlier, the one that got him into this conversation in the first place. Looking over his shoulder to make sure he isn't followed, he'll take himself to a reasonably quiet location, so he can huddle down and gain just a /weeee/ bit more composure than he currently possesses. First real assignment, and everything goes to hell. Go figure.