xp_logs | Forge & Cyclops, Wednesday afternoon (Reply)

Wednesday afternoon, Forge is working a tactical scenario when Scott comes to him with an unexpected offer.

The 3-D contour map on the Situation Room table was shifting at an alarming rate, simultaneously providing operational data and report analysis in an overlapping pattern. To a normal observer, it would have looked like the display was malfunctioning to the point of self-destruction, but to Forge's brain, the information was as clear as if it was being displayed in large text on a movie screen.

"Nightcrawler and Dominion, move to Alpha Four and engage Toad. Blink, move to Nimrod's position, relocate Nimrod to Beta Four elevation seven meters. Sunfire and Storm, perform maneuver sequence gamma on my mark... mark," Forge rattled off instructions to the computer, watching the simulation play out before him. While not as graphically advanced as the Danger Room, the simulations available through the Situation Room's link to the computers were able to react faster, and in some cases, more unpredictably. It had been only a few weeks into Forge's training with the X-Men that the team leaders had realized his unique insight into technology meant that normal Danger Room simulations were ineffective training tools. Thusly, the constant faster-than-realtime strategy evaluations had become the primary exercise for the young inventor.

Nevertheless, he found his forehead beading with sweat as he took a breath to analyze the rapidly-developing situation. The simulated team of X-Men obeyed his commands to the limits of their recorded ability, while the predicted responses of the Brotherhood members provided a counter to nearly every strategy Forge came up with. This time, the two groups were battling over control of a rogue nuclear device on the streets of Paris. And the X-Men were losing.

In frustration, Forge slammed his palms against the edge of the table. "Rogue, engage Magneto, primary absorption priority. Polaris, generate twelve megagauss pulse on my mark, mark!"

The display froze in a series of spikes, halting the exercise. Forge knew that the exercise technically ended in a stalemate - the simulated electromagnetic pulse would have completely disarmed the bomb, but also would have rendered the X-Men unable to receive any further commands. A Pyrrhic victory at best, he mused to himself, hearing the door open behind him.

"Forge." There was a slight drawl in Scott's voice. "How goes it?" he went on, even though, as he came up beside where Forge was sitting, he could see easily how it went himself. "Ah, this one. I think I was having a semi-sadistic day when I programmed this..."

"Well, so far I'm one and six against the Brotherhood simulations, the Alpha-level ones," Forge complained, pulling up a console and performing a hard reset on the system. "Not counting the last twelve stalemates in a row. I get the primary mission objective - but the system doesn't account for anything past that."

"There's an interesting observation," Scott said, sinking into another chair. "I may or may not have a blind spot, in that regard... Ororo's sims don't usually have that flaw."

Forge shook his head. "Limitation of the system," he explained, "we've got one of the most powerful predictive analysis systems around-" aside from wiring Doug's brain into the mainframe, he thought to himself and filed that concept away for later, "- but it's still following the rules set out by the scenario. Realistically, things don't always operate under logic, you can't properly simulate chaos with a computer-" aside from wiring Jennie's brain into the mainframe...

"I still think there's more that can be done. But that may just be me being stubborn on the subject - it wouldn't be the first time." Scott eyed the display for a moment. "So, apart from the statistics you've mentally compiled, how do you feel about the progress you're making with tactical thinking?"

Forge shrugged one shoulder, still half-absorbed in the data scrolling across the screen. "Like I said, it isn't like a machine. If I play on the machine's terms, I win ten times out of ten. But if I treat it like real-world, and go by what I've learned... there are things the computer can't predict."

He called up a recording of one of the recent Danger Room scenarios, pausing it and pointing to the hologram above the table. "Right here, Kyle versus Toad. Seventy percent of the time, Kyle leads with his right, Toad does that little handspring dodge to the left. If I were designing tactics versus the computer, I'd put someone like Garrison or Juggernaut there to compensate." He typed in a set of commands and watched as the computer generated an image of Garrison, Kane, and Kyle knocking Toad to the ground and doing an exaggerated "Camptown-Ladies" style stomp on the Brotherhood's acrobat.

"But out of the computer," he said with a sigh, "you can't predict it. You can only expect and react. Running things on that level," he shrugged again. "One and six."

"That's not bad at all, you realize. Tactics is as much experience as anything else. You can train and train, but it's like you said -there's no substitute for the real world's element of unpredictability." Scott smiled crookedly. "A good rule of thumb is to be unpredictable yourself. Means your opponent has just as much problem adjusting his expectations."

"Then the only way to learn that is trial and error in the real world," Forge countered. "It's like flying the Blackbird. No amount of simulation time's going to let you know what it's really like up in the sky, is it?"

Oh, and he walked right into it, too... "Funny you should say that," Scott said with a perfectly straight face. Almost gravely. "The reason I came looking for you was to find out whether or not you might be up for some more hands-on, real-world experience."

"Only way I'm going to learn, right?" Forge answered rhetorically. "What did you have in mind this time? No more friggin' zombies, I hope."

"I may not have been clear. I'm not trying to recruit you for a mission - I'm trying to recruit you for the ranks of people who wear black leathers."

The display above the situation table fuzzed and jumped out of proportion as Forge's hand scratched over the projection surface when he whirled to face Scott. "Wait. Whoa. Did I just hear that right?" he asked, cocking his head incredulously. "You're asking me to be an X-Man?"

"I know what you had in mind when you asked to train," Scott said, "and I'm perfectly willing to respect that if you decide you really would prefer that role. But, Forge," he went on more intently, leaning forward in his chair, "you do well in the crunch. I just got finished reading the mission report on the... uh, zombies. I know first-hand that you're okay with taking initiative, and fast on your feet, thinking-wise - the Prime Minister of Hungary wouldn't be alive right now, otherwise. I think you could do a lot of good as an X-Man, and I'd like you to at least think about that possibility."

Forge sat in silence for a moment, tapping the tips of his fingers together in sequence before speaking. "I told you that Magneto offered me the same thing, a place in the Brotherhood?" he asked rhetorically. "He said the same thing - a place where I could do a lot of good. To serve a cause, help my fellow mutants. I... hell, I was seventeen years old. I was tempted. That's where my head was then, you know? Any ends to the means, to do the right thing?"

He let out a slow sigh, looking around the room, anywhere but directly at Scott. "Here, I've saved lives. In the lab, in the infirmary, in the field, in space," he practically squeaked the last one out. "I'm doing the right thing. But am I using the right ends? This is what I'm asking myself. How far can I go? How far should I go?"

Scott thought about it for a moment. "Well," he said, almost conversationally, "you know that with the X-Men, there's always at least one limit. We don't kill. I won't say that no X-Man has killed -obviously, my nose would grow across the room if I did - but it's an ethical constraint within which we all work. It makes the means harder, I won't lie to you. I can't count the number of times it would have resolved a situation far more quickly and cleanly to take more definitive action."

"Ethical constraint," Forge repeated, almost sounding amused. "I won't say I've never wanted to. I'd be a hypocrite, given... well, given why I first came here. And it's almost like all the good I've done here was making up for all the wrong I almost did. Trying to balance scales, you know?"

He stood up from the chair, linking his hands behind his back and studying one of the monitors on the wall. "I thought the X-Men weren't any different than the Brotherhood. The code names, the training, the missions. I've seen you all come back beaten, broken, half-dead - but I've seen you return kids to their families. Save lives. Give hope. Half the time, people out there will never know what we do..."

Stopping there, Forge turned around and smiled. "We," he repeated. "I suppose that's it, then."

Scott's answering grin had nothing wry about it. "And yet, for all the really great moments, this is still one of the best parts of the job," he said, pulling a small box out of his pocket and sliding it across to Forge. "I can't help it. I suppose it gives me hope to see other people taking on this particular responsibility."

Forge caught the box, holding it in his hand without opening it. He looked down at it for a moment, then up at Scott. "You know I'm not..." he started to say, then caught himself. "This isn't going to be... if I do this, you know I believe in what we do. But you know there's times we're going to butt heads. Smichov. Iran. I want to do the right thing... but I'm going to want to be heard."

"And I'll always hear you out," Scott said. "This isn't the military. It's also not quite a democracy, although I like to think that in the majority of cases, I lead where you all choose to follow." Scott gave a soft laugh. "Just give me credit for having put a lot of thought into any course of action, all right? That's all I ask."

Forge nodded. "I trust you. All of you," he clarified. "And there's one other thing... I asked Ororo once, why the code names, and she told me that it was to keep things professional. That Storm the X-Man could do things that Ororo the gardener can't, because she can put the personal aside and do the job. This, for me..." He clenched the box in his hand and looked up at Scott. "I was wrong when I talked to Angelo. The job is personal. For me, it has to be. You understand that."

"Ororo and I don't always see eye to eye on that point," Scott said after a moment. "When you ask me who Scott Summers is... sometimes, I think he's the mask. Not always. But if nothing else, I never feel like I'm putting on another persona, as Cyclops. It's who I am."

"Then that's who you get," Forge agreed, palming the small box and extending his hand to his new team leader. "You want me, boss, you've got me."

Scott smiled again and shook his hand. "You've come a long way. And you can thank me for doing this do - imagine how long it would have taken you to live it down if your first official mission as an X-Man had involved zombies."