xp_logs | Forge and Fred - Tuesday evening

Fred comes to Forge with a question about managing the pain caused by his powers - and manages to ask for exactly the wrong kind of help.

As he moved down the hallway, Fred thought about what he was about to do. Doctor Voght had told him to talk to Doctor Grey, and she'd e-mailed him recently to set up an appointment. He could've talked to her and straightened it out that way.

But last night, Fred could hardly sleep because of the pain. In the span of a month the pain had gotten steadily worse. He'd taken about eight of the pain pills he'd be given by Voght just to get to sleep, and he'd woken up this morning knowing he had to do something about it.

Hey, maybe he could get this taken care of and not even have to bother Doctor Grey. He knew the staff around here was constantly busy with things, and he'd heard that the recent bombing was not an uncommon occurence. Maybe his initiative, his impatience, was a good thing.

He arrived at the door to the office of the man called Forge. Angelo had mentioned that he was the go-to guy when it came to tech, and maybe he could help Fred.

Fred sighed. There it was again: that feeling like their was a fire under his skin, a fire that ran through his entire body. He quickly threw another two pills down the back of his throat, and sighed. Not much longer. He knocked on the door, mindful to make sure he didn't hit the door too hard; the pain would often mess with how much force he exerted.

"Mister Forge? Are you in, sir?"

A small whirring noise sounded, and a panel opened above the door, dropping a small metal sphere about the size of a golf ball - but instead of falling to the floor, the sphere stopped at Fred's eye level and hovered, a thin line of blue light glowing around its center. A faint grid of blue lines appeared in the air above the floating ball, glowing brighter, then wrapping around themselves to form a wireframe image of a face that slowly filled in - a pale blue hologram of a young man with eyes hidden behind oversized goggles that held back an unruly mop of hair.

"Sir? I think I like that," the hologram 'spoke' in a tinny voice emanating from the sphere. "You're Fred, aren't you?"

Fred took a moment to recover from his sudden immersion in a science fiction movie, and shook his head a little, "Uhm, yessir. Fred Dukes. I just wanted to see you about a personal...matter. Are you, uh, in...there?" He didn't know whether to ask if the _orb_ was Forge, or if he was just to lazy to answer the door. Either way, he didn't want to be rude to the mutant who may or may not be just a floating head.

The image tilted, then scattered into the gridlines and faded as the sphere ascended with a zipping noise, vanishing into a concealed panel above the otherwise normal-looking door. A few seconds of silence, and then the door swung open with the faint whirr of machinery.

"Well, come on in, Fred Dukes. Unless you're planning on just shouting from the hall. I recommend against it in personal matters, mind you."

The voice came from the vicinity of a heavy oak desk, behind which sat the individual whose image Fred had seen seconds before. Forge had pushed the goggles up on his forehead, and was holding what appeared to be a piece of translucent paper in front of him, reading lines of text that scrolled rapidly across it. Absently, the inventor pointed at a chair - one of the few in the office not stacked high with piles of paper, blueprints, and technical manuals.

"Talk to me, Fred, for I am genius. What can I do for you?" Forge asked, still without looking at the young man.

Fred took in the sight of the room in muted amazement. It reminded him of something out of Doctor Who. He sat in the chair, and looked down at his fingers and hands. He took a breath, and looked back up, "I, uh, I'm really big," he said, and took a moment to realize that this alone was not a full thought. "I'm big, and strong, and really tough to move or hurt. That's, uh, my 'power'..." Fred said the last word with a little trailing absurdity. It was still a weird concept, to him, to think of his mutation as a power...

"But, uh, it's not just that. I'm...in pain. All the time. I've talked to Doctor Voght, and she'd pretty sure my mutation is causing the pain. I'm supposed to set up an appointment with Doctor Grey, but I..." Fred realized he was rambling. It was one of the drawback of being a less than social creature. He sighed, and looked at Forge, trying to catch the man's eye. He said, in a voice more resolute than normal, "Angelo told me you were good with machines."

Forge glanced over at Fred, then did a visible double take. "Big is an understatement," he exclaimed, then smirked. "As is 'good with machines'. Strong, big guy... yes, yes, right." Forge tapped the paper in front of him, as it went opaque, then rolled itself up into a small tube that he tucked into a pocket on his sleeve. Folding his hands, metal over flesh, he rested his chin on them as he perused Fred for a few moments.

"What're you, about three-forty, three-fifty? Lot of mass there, Fred. How're we talking pain, on a scale of one to ten?" He waggled one hand back and forth. "Constant ache, sharp spikes, joints, muscles, all over? Give me some data to work with here."

Fred tried to keep from getting confused as the older man talked quickly, and answered each question as he could, "Uh, about three seventy sir. My Pain? Uh five..." and then he sighed. No point in lying to the person he was looking for help from, "...or six. Seven sometimes. Constant ache, all over I'd say...and I feel it, under the skin, I guess? You know. In the muscles. Doctor Voght says it's the mutated tissue that gives me...well, makes me a mutant. Says it's contracted and it's causing the pain..." Fred scratched the back of his head, hoping his latest cause of word vomit made sense...

"Interesting," Forge said, reaching up to pull his goggles off his head and lay them on his desk. He walked out from behind the large desk to sit on the edge, rolling up one sleeve of his shirt to reveal the fibers and pistons of his prosthetic left arm. "Compressed myomer," he explained. "Metal fiber that responds to electric input the same way human muscle tissue does. I'll wager it's that kind of compression that makes you stronger than a human of comparable size."

He tapped one metal finger against his chin, thinking for a moment, then he shrugged. "It's fascinating - for biology. But what can I do for you, Fred? You don't seem to have any coordination or mobility issues, and pain management - well, that's something the docs deal with. I handle mechanical technology, not so much with the biologicals."

"I, uh...I heard that there's some kind of...inhibitor." Fred didn't really know what to call it, or what 'it' even was. He looked back down, then back to Forge, "Some kind of mechanical way to turn off my powers, sir. I was just wondering if it was actually possible,"

Forge's curious expression went cold and blank as his appraisal of Fred turned into a piercing glare. After a few long, uncomfortable seconds, he spoke in a slow and carefully measured monotone. "Who told you about inhibitors?"

Fred wasn't really the best when it came to body language, but he was aware he'd struck a nerve. He resolved not to be nervous; this was to important. "Angelo. We'd were talking about what my power did, and he said that there were ways of turning a mutation off with some kind of machine or something..."

Forge swore under his breath, pushing off the desk and pacing across the office. "Yeah," he hissed between clenched teeth. "Stimulated energy along specific low-range wavelengths can cause acatalysis in the specific RNA enzymes that trigger mutation. Inhibiting active powers - energy generation, psionics, metamorphs? Easy. Passive mutations? You're talking about hammering deep into DNA sequences, which is bad enough with regular inhibitors. They're about as smart as wearing jewelry made of enriched plutonium."

He gestured angrily, ranting not directly to Fred, but seemingly to empty air. "And that's just the biological concerns. What you're considering is something that makes you... not what you are. We're mutants, Fred. The x-factor, the twist in our genes that makes us different, special - it's not always an easy process. Evolution isn't always rainbows and butterflies. But to stand in its way? That, Fred, is the definition of an abomination. And it's something I can't stand for."

If you listened closely, you could actually here Fred's heart slow in disappointment as Forge went on his rant. Fred sat silent for a moment. He'd only really caught the gist of the first part of the speech, but he listened carefully as Forge spoke of what it 'was' to be a mutant and how it was an abomination. Fred looked down, hiding the look on his face. He inhaled, he exhaled, and continued to do so for a moment. When he looked up, he still looked less than happy.

"Sir," he said. Even in this state, Fred was raised to know where respect was due, "can I ask you what it is your 'power' is?" There was a lot more venom behind that word this instance than the time before.

"Intuitive mechanical hypercognition," Forge responded instinctively. "Angelo told you right, I'm not just 'good' with machines, I can create things most humans can't even comprehend. And yeah, that includes inhibitor technology. Fred, I can understand why you want this. But I hope you can understand why I won't do it."

Fred stood up, but didn't move closer to Forge. He just wanted to speak to him as a man to another man, not a child to an adult, "Not my point sir, what I'm trying to say is..." Fred inhaled, and measured his words carefully. He didn't want to be rude, but he did have a point to make, "Understanding machines has never made you cough so hard you spit blood. It's never made you punch a wall to try just to ignore the pain in your head. We have an expression in Texas, sir: You can't hear people when they're yelling from the cheap seats."

Forge blinked in mild astonishment at Fred, then narrowed his eyes. "Don't ever presume to understand what I've gone through because of what I can do. Because of what I am. You've no goddamn idea, Mister Dukes. I understand that you're in pain, and I sympathize. I know pain." He gave a quick glance down at his metal limbs, then back at Fred. "Can you see that door behind me?"

Fred narrowed his eyes right back at Forge. Fred was slow to anger, but stubborn as you'd imagine a Texan to be. For the moment though, he kept quiet. He merely looked at the door, looked back to Forge, and nodded.

"Make use of it," Forge said firmly.

Fred exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath the entire time. He moved to the door, and opened it. He said, without turning around, "You say not to presume to understand you for what you are, sir. I'd advise you to take your own advice."

He turned back to Forge, his eyes still hard with frustration and anger. He accent had gotten thicker since he'd come into the room. He pointed at Forge's arm, "Mighty fancy arm you've gotten. What if you were supposed to live without it? What if that's who you were supposed to be? What if that was supposed to be what made you?"

"I made myself what I am today," Forge responded, all too aware of the multiple layers of meaning in the statement. "Don't think I don't know that. And I can tell you this, Fred. If there's a way I can help you, I will. That's what I do. But if you ever come in here asking me about an inhibitor again? Three hundred and seventy pounds of compressed muscle won't stop me from knocking some sense into your head. Good evening, Mister Dukes."

Fred turned and left. There was nothing else left to say.