Kyle Gibney (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
xp_wildchild) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
xp_logs2021-04-07 09:24 pm
xp_wildchild) wrote in xp_logs2021-04-07 09:24 pm
Entry tags:
A Fistful of Nanites - System Cleanup
Kyle, Logan and Matt M go on a nanite hunt, cleaning up any swarms that are still lingering. They're conducted by the Cuckoos, who've taken the smarter path and are renting a hotel room in Westchester.
Kyle still had the welding goggles over his eyes, even though one lens was cracked and he had blood smeared on his forehead and cheek. He bounced the little device in his hands and turned it over. "So. If thingy beeps, shoot spot with hose?" He shifted his shoulders to take on the oversized camelbak. "And report anything I smell, hear or taste to Posh Spice. Got it."
He winced at the vivid hallucination of what had to be an umeboshi plum donut that was deftly sewn into his mind. "Okay, I deserved that, I guess." He thought back.
After fighting robot roombazilla with its whirling death blades borrowed from the kitchen mixer and various knife blocks, tracking and exterminating nanites was a walk in the park. The thing strapped to Logan's back was a weird mish mash contraption scrapped together from Blackbird spare parts, lab parts, and whatever technological mumbo jumbo magic the engineers of the mansion had managed to cobble together. He wasn't sure how it worked and he wasn't going to ask. He just knew he was to press the button when indicated. As for the nanites, they sounded like a loud skittering mechanical waterfall that hummed at different resonances due to the material they were traveling over. "I hear 'em. Sounds like they're gatherin' together as they retreat and actin' like they have a hive mind survival mechanism."
"Sound like termites," Matt agreed, they were moving in the same general area to flush the nanites out as they could, but the benefits of enhanced senses meant they didn't have to be too close by. The downside of enhanced senses for Matt though, was that 14 only got static if she tried to connect to his mind. To get around that, he held a plastic children's walkie-talkie owned by a previous resident and dug up especially for this. He'd been told it was Hello Kitty pink. That seemed about par with everything, so he would make it work. And he was man enough for a pink Hello Kitty walkie-talkie. "Sounds like they're gathering in the wall to my left...and heading up?"
Just under a mile away was 14, who'd been elected this branch of the mission's coordinator and switchboard operator until further notice. Which meant that she got to get the hell out of dodge, and so she'd gone and checked herself into the most expensive hotel within telepathic range of the mansion, because she wasn't an idiot. Penthouse suite, lovely view, very helpful concierge... it would be a shame when she had to go back, but for now she could at least mix her business with pleasure.
"I hear them," Celeste spoke into Logan and Kyle's minds and Esme said into Matt's walkie-talkie in stereo. She was currently piggy-backing off Kyle's sensory input feed, which wasn't quite as good as being there listening herself but it was good enough. Up in the penthouse, Esme and Irma were looking over documentation and keeping in touch with the other groups of mansion residents via email and instant chat. Well, Irma was, anyway, given how she was pouring over maps and various bits of paper that she'd spread out over the table once they'd arrived. Esme, when she wasn't using the walkie-talkie at least, had broken out a bottle of black nail-polish and was making some... 'creative adjustments' to the device.
14 had, of course, taken Celeste, Phoebe, and Sophie down to the ground floor and were currently lounging around the pool in their bikinis. Celeste tipped her sun hat down as she lay back, looking to the world as relaxed as could be, her 'sisters' next to her doing the same. And as they were well aware, the world (or at least what part of it existed in the rather large pool area), had noticed.
"I'm triangulating based on Logan and Kyle's senses," 14 said, as per standard. A part of her dared anyone to call out that 'triangulating' and 'two people' didn't quite gel. "There's enough stragglers left over that you'll still need to sweep every inch of the grounds along the way, unfortunately." She didn't sound like it was super unfortunate as she got Sophie up to flag down one of the staff. It was a heated indoor pool and all the warmth was making herselves thirsty. "Who knows how long it could take."
"Fucking yay." Kyle muttered. "Yo, guys, you get the burned dust and metal smell too, right?" His face twisted up for a moment. "Is that dead nanites or not dead nanites? We vacuum up the dead ones, right?"
He cocked his head, swept his scanning device at a light fixture, and then groaned. "Fucking seriously? In the smart lights?" He complained, already turning the high-pressure water on the device. "Man repairs are gonna be a bitch and a half for months."
"Yeah, I got it," Matt replied, resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose. It was not actually that bad. It wasn't great, but he'd lived in New York his entire life. There was always worse. "And those are dead ones. At least over here. I'm thinking low-tech might be the way to go in the future," which was certainly going to be a short-lived opinion as someone who relied fairly heavily on technology in many facets of his life. "Or at least, lower-tech. We don't need to be ADA compliant and accessible right? At least, not until I have to sue myself for it...."
"Got it here too," Logan said as he eyed the various light fixtures and light emitting devices scattered down his hallway. "Forget about the electronics, the amount of wood we're havin' to soak with water is gonna give the electronics and wiring bill a run for its money." It was a shame. The mansion was built with such an elegant style and repairing it all in the aftermath was going to take some finagling. He doubted they'd be letting in normal carpenters and woodworkers to do the repairs. There was too much that needed to be kept hidden.
"Nah, but ya got enough people who like the fancy stuff that we'll likely just replace it back. Best bet is we start developing our own nanites as protection 'gainst future attacks."|
"If we had a week, the five of us couldn't list all the reasons why 'self-defense nanites' would be a terrible idea," 14 shot back. Honestly, they'd just dealt with a nanite attack and now people were already advocating for more nanites. No wonder she'd been picked to babysit, if this was what their brains did without adult supervision.
"Kyle, check the wall on your left five feet down. The mansion plans show some sort of old passageway to a hidden storage room." Irma suggested, flipping over an old blueprint to check the back. Sophie came back, holding a trio of tall and icy chilled glasses full of some incredibly bright orange and red sunset mix with the tiny umbrellas she'd asked for. "Perfect, she said, both in reference to the drink and the ongoing progress across town.
“Aw, fuck.” Kyle tapped the wall with his boot and then gestured at Logan “Bet it got sealed up when the Prof put the basement in. Who the fuck knows what’s gonna be in there. You mind opening that up?”
Logan shrugged at Celeste's words in his head. Fighting fire with fire was usually the way to go wasn't it? But what did he know about nanites anyway. Science put him together and he'd leave the rest of the stuff to the science folks. Their track record was slightly better when it came to managing any potential fallout. He eyed the wall Kyle indicated. The damage this cleanout was going to cost them when it was all said and done made him glad that Charles was the kind of wealthy he was. He stowed the sprayer hose then gestured for everyone to move back just in case.
He sunk his claws into the wall, grunting as he met some slight resistance. He wondered what all Charles had done to reinforce the walls of the mansion. Slowly but surely Logan carved out an appropriately sized doorway for them to enter through, reaching out and kicking the section of wall inward to allow them access.
"I got....huh. Wooden chests," Matt said before they entered. "And nanites, but mostly wooden chests. Maybe there's pirate booty," that would explain where the professor got his wealth. Or at least, the professor's ancestors. He didn't think they were anywhere close to being on the Underground Railroad. The entire place smelled of stale wood, which wasn't surprising, but also wasn't the best thing in the world. "Foggy's family owns a hardware store. Might be able to source material from there, if we need a mutant-friendly vendor," of course, it was the workers that needed to be mutant friendly more than the suppliers.
Celeste gagged on her drink and very abruptly cut the sensory feed from Kyle down to the most bare minimum because the smell of stale wood and tarnished metals was disgusting. She rubbed at her eyes. "Let me know when you three are done in there," she said. She sounded vaguely put out.
Honestly, she thought as both Sophie and Phoebe got up to track down one of the management staff, who installs a swim-up bar and then ruins it with a bartender who can't mix a damn drink?
"It's gonna be weird old clothes and creepy toys." Kyle muttered. "And nanites eating old radios."
He was partially right, there was a swarm of nanites, but the technology was newer. The room had boxed up old computers, older than Kyle'd seen before, and a cloud of dull grey nanites dissolving a huge tan box that still had half an Apple logo visible. He grunted, pulled the hose off the pack on his back and blasted them with a stream of water. "I literally hate everything right now." He muttered, getting a whiff of ozone and burned metal.
Logan grunted as he turned his own sprayer on the visible nanite destruction. The acrid smell of sizzling wires and electrical sparks was washed out with water but didn't do anything to wash the funky taste out of the air. The mansion wouldn't be the same. There'd be construction and repairs for weeks if not months on end. If pissing off the whole mansion had been the plan, well it was accomplished. No one was going to feel like it was home for a while.
Sneezing abruptly from the dust, Matt didn't think anything would stop the funky smells. It was just something to get used to and tolerate when you had an enhanced sense of smell. That and he could go to Foggy's or his uncle's if it was truly that bad. "Let's just finish hosing these things down so we can clear this shit out so things will smell....at least not as gross," he muttered.
Well after, Fixer returns to Zemo with the bad news.
Zemo was in a good mood. Birds were singing, grass was growing, someone was lamenting in the screams of his enemies...
Of course, that was all happening someplace not here, because the underwater base didn't have birds, grass, or lamenting screams, but those were details he was happy to overlook. Actually, no he wasn't, he was glad those things didn't exist on his base. They'd be a pain to deal with on the regular.
What his base did have, however, was one moderately intelligent brain in a jar in a robot body in the form of Fixer. He was a nice little project, coming along very well. And judging by the sweet tones of Danse Macabre floating through his lab, it seemed as though he was back from dealing with the X-Men. Phenomenal, he was awake ahead of schedule. Time to go see what information his pet robot had for him this time.
Awakening as a cyborg was a far different thing from awakening as a human. No slow blinking, no stretching, no trying to orientate oneself... Just a hum as his servers rebooted and the sudden glow of light from his optical sensors. Fixer stepped down from the docking unit he'd been suspended in, turning his head at the approach of footsteps.
Zemo smacked a panel on the wall to shut off the music, then threw his arms out open wide. "Fantastic, the recovery dock was a success." He was just... not going to mention the fact that that wasn't always a guarantee. "Tell me, what news do you have?"
There was a whir of machinery as Fixer turned to face his 'maker'. There were still human parts to him, but mostly internal, yet somehow his metal face was still expressive. "I reached New York successfully..." he began, and then stopped.
Despite his seeming good mood, Zemo felt as if he would not enjoy the next few minutes, and began to mentally prepare himself.
"I can't," Fixer replied, sounding completely nonplussed. "There's no information there at all. It's... blank."
Zemo felt his hand involuntarily flinch into a fist. Huh. So that's why people broke drinking glasses when they got bad news. Fascinating and absolutely not the thing he should be focused on at the moment. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forced himself into composure.
"Explain," he said after a long beat. It wasn't nearly as pleasant-sounding as it had been when he first walked into the room.
If Fixer could have flinched, he would have. He knew that tone and it boded no good for the one on the wrong end of it. "I reached New York successfully," he began again. "But something must have happened before I was able to back up the data from my remote unit. And the only thing that would prevent that would be destruction of the remote."
Zemo took a very, very deep breath, and then slowly let it out. "I gave you one instruction. One simple, tiny instruction that even you should have been capable of handling. It wasn't too much to ask. In fact, I thought I was being quite reasonable with my expectations."
It was like Zemo was talking to a monkey. A big, stupid, robotic monkey.
"And after all of that, and every tool and advantage I was able to give you, you still failed. Is that what I should be understanding from all of this?"
"Yes, it is." Fixer's voice was flat. "The other thing you should understand, however... is that there is something protecting what you were after. Something stronger than you anticipated."
It took actual work for Zemo to unclench his jaw enough that it wouldn't be obvious when he spoke. "I suppose you would have nothing more on that particular bit of information either, would you?"
Fixer blinked. Or would have, had he had eyelids to blink with. Instead, the light of his optical sensors faded and then brightened again "You suppose correctly" he replied. "This problem requires more data."
And that was the last of it. Zemo could feel the exact moment when his temper shattered like glass. In a single smooth motion he stood, grabbed the chair he'd been sitting on, and sent it flying into the wall, yelling and swearing all the way. It clipped a table mid-flight, knocking various glass vials to the ground where they shattered and spilled their contents all over the place. The chair promptly broke into a dozen pieces on impact, the noise echoing off the metal walls.
For almost a minute, there was nothing left but the sound of Zemo's heavy breathing and the occasional glass vial rolling off the table and breaking on the floor. Nobody spoke. Finally, with one extremely deep breath, Zemo closed his eyes, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a remote with a big, red button on it.
Click
Fixer fell over, unconscious. Above him, the computer's status screen flashed a bright red 'Deleting memories... Please wait' over and over.
Zemo stalked from the room, fuming. Behind him, robots began the well-practiced routine of placing Fixer back into position in his machine, cleaning up the broken glass and spilled fluids, and pulling another chair out of storage that the base had especially for this circumstance. Zemo himself didn't stop fuming until he was back in his lab, where he could relax with some mad science. Once the machines were done and the computer had decided that he'd had enough time to calm down, the dulcet tones of the Danse Macabre would fill the halls and it'd be time to try again.
Eighth time was the charm, after all.
Kyle still had the welding goggles over his eyes, even though one lens was cracked and he had blood smeared on his forehead and cheek. He bounced the little device in his hands and turned it over. "So. If thingy beeps, shoot spot with hose?" He shifted his shoulders to take on the oversized camelbak. "And report anything I smell, hear or taste to Posh Spice. Got it."
He winced at the vivid hallucination of what had to be an umeboshi plum donut that was deftly sewn into his mind. "Okay, I deserved that, I guess." He thought back.
After fighting robot roombazilla with its whirling death blades borrowed from the kitchen mixer and various knife blocks, tracking and exterminating nanites was a walk in the park. The thing strapped to Logan's back was a weird mish mash contraption scrapped together from Blackbird spare parts, lab parts, and whatever technological mumbo jumbo magic the engineers of the mansion had managed to cobble together. He wasn't sure how it worked and he wasn't going to ask. He just knew he was to press the button when indicated. As for the nanites, they sounded like a loud skittering mechanical waterfall that hummed at different resonances due to the material they were traveling over. "I hear 'em. Sounds like they're gatherin' together as they retreat and actin' like they have a hive mind survival mechanism."
"Sound like termites," Matt agreed, they were moving in the same general area to flush the nanites out as they could, but the benefits of enhanced senses meant they didn't have to be too close by. The downside of enhanced senses for Matt though, was that 14 only got static if she tried to connect to his mind. To get around that, he held a plastic children's walkie-talkie owned by a previous resident and dug up especially for this. He'd been told it was Hello Kitty pink. That seemed about par with everything, so he would make it work. And he was man enough for a pink Hello Kitty walkie-talkie. "Sounds like they're gathering in the wall to my left...and heading up?"
Just under a mile away was 14, who'd been elected this branch of the mission's coordinator and switchboard operator until further notice. Which meant that she got to get the hell out of dodge, and so she'd gone and checked herself into the most expensive hotel within telepathic range of the mansion, because she wasn't an idiot. Penthouse suite, lovely view, very helpful concierge... it would be a shame when she had to go back, but for now she could at least mix her business with pleasure.
"I hear them," Celeste spoke into Logan and Kyle's minds and Esme said into Matt's walkie-talkie in stereo. She was currently piggy-backing off Kyle's sensory input feed, which wasn't quite as good as being there listening herself but it was good enough. Up in the penthouse, Esme and Irma were looking over documentation and keeping in touch with the other groups of mansion residents via email and instant chat. Well, Irma was, anyway, given how she was pouring over maps and various bits of paper that she'd spread out over the table once they'd arrived. Esme, when she wasn't using the walkie-talkie at least, had broken out a bottle of black nail-polish and was making some... 'creative adjustments' to the device.
14 had, of course, taken Celeste, Phoebe, and Sophie down to the ground floor and were currently lounging around the pool in their bikinis. Celeste tipped her sun hat down as she lay back, looking to the world as relaxed as could be, her 'sisters' next to her doing the same. And as they were well aware, the world (or at least what part of it existed in the rather large pool area), had noticed.
"I'm triangulating based on Logan and Kyle's senses," 14 said, as per standard. A part of her dared anyone to call out that 'triangulating' and 'two people' didn't quite gel. "There's enough stragglers left over that you'll still need to sweep every inch of the grounds along the way, unfortunately." She didn't sound like it was super unfortunate as she got Sophie up to flag down one of the staff. It was a heated indoor pool and all the warmth was making herselves thirsty. "Who knows how long it could take."
"Fucking yay." Kyle muttered. "Yo, guys, you get the burned dust and metal smell too, right?" His face twisted up for a moment. "Is that dead nanites or not dead nanites? We vacuum up the dead ones, right?"
He cocked his head, swept his scanning device at a light fixture, and then groaned. "Fucking seriously? In the smart lights?" He complained, already turning the high-pressure water on the device. "Man repairs are gonna be a bitch and a half for months."
"Yeah, I got it," Matt replied, resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose. It was not actually that bad. It wasn't great, but he'd lived in New York his entire life. There was always worse. "And those are dead ones. At least over here. I'm thinking low-tech might be the way to go in the future," which was certainly going to be a short-lived opinion as someone who relied fairly heavily on technology in many facets of his life. "Or at least, lower-tech. We don't need to be ADA compliant and accessible right? At least, not until I have to sue myself for it...."
"Got it here too," Logan said as he eyed the various light fixtures and light emitting devices scattered down his hallway. "Forget about the electronics, the amount of wood we're havin' to soak with water is gonna give the electronics and wiring bill a run for its money." It was a shame. The mansion was built with such an elegant style and repairing it all in the aftermath was going to take some finagling. He doubted they'd be letting in normal carpenters and woodworkers to do the repairs. There was too much that needed to be kept hidden.
"Nah, but ya got enough people who like the fancy stuff that we'll likely just replace it back. Best bet is we start developing our own nanites as protection 'gainst future attacks."|
"If we had a week, the five of us couldn't list all the reasons why 'self-defense nanites' would be a terrible idea," 14 shot back. Honestly, they'd just dealt with a nanite attack and now people were already advocating for more nanites. No wonder she'd been picked to babysit, if this was what their brains did without adult supervision.
"Kyle, check the wall on your left five feet down. The mansion plans show some sort of old passageway to a hidden storage room." Irma suggested, flipping over an old blueprint to check the back. Sophie came back, holding a trio of tall and icy chilled glasses full of some incredibly bright orange and red sunset mix with the tiny umbrellas she'd asked for. "Perfect, she said, both in reference to the drink and the ongoing progress across town.
“Aw, fuck.” Kyle tapped the wall with his boot and then gestured at Logan “Bet it got sealed up when the Prof put the basement in. Who the fuck knows what’s gonna be in there. You mind opening that up?”
Logan shrugged at Celeste's words in his head. Fighting fire with fire was usually the way to go wasn't it? But what did he know about nanites anyway. Science put him together and he'd leave the rest of the stuff to the science folks. Their track record was slightly better when it came to managing any potential fallout. He eyed the wall Kyle indicated. The damage this cleanout was going to cost them when it was all said and done made him glad that Charles was the kind of wealthy he was. He stowed the sprayer hose then gestured for everyone to move back just in case.
He sunk his claws into the wall, grunting as he met some slight resistance. He wondered what all Charles had done to reinforce the walls of the mansion. Slowly but surely Logan carved out an appropriately sized doorway for them to enter through, reaching out and kicking the section of wall inward to allow them access.
"I got....huh. Wooden chests," Matt said before they entered. "And nanites, but mostly wooden chests. Maybe there's pirate booty," that would explain where the professor got his wealth. Or at least, the professor's ancestors. He didn't think they were anywhere close to being on the Underground Railroad. The entire place smelled of stale wood, which wasn't surprising, but also wasn't the best thing in the world. "Foggy's family owns a hardware store. Might be able to source material from there, if we need a mutant-friendly vendor," of course, it was the workers that needed to be mutant friendly more than the suppliers.
Celeste gagged on her drink and very abruptly cut the sensory feed from Kyle down to the most bare minimum because the smell of stale wood and tarnished metals was disgusting. She rubbed at her eyes. "Let me know when you three are done in there," she said. She sounded vaguely put out.
Honestly, she thought as both Sophie and Phoebe got up to track down one of the management staff, who installs a swim-up bar and then ruins it with a bartender who can't mix a damn drink?
"It's gonna be weird old clothes and creepy toys." Kyle muttered. "And nanites eating old radios."
He was partially right, there was a swarm of nanites, but the technology was newer. The room had boxed up old computers, older than Kyle'd seen before, and a cloud of dull grey nanites dissolving a huge tan box that still had half an Apple logo visible. He grunted, pulled the hose off the pack on his back and blasted them with a stream of water. "I literally hate everything right now." He muttered, getting a whiff of ozone and burned metal.
Logan grunted as he turned his own sprayer on the visible nanite destruction. The acrid smell of sizzling wires and electrical sparks was washed out with water but didn't do anything to wash the funky taste out of the air. The mansion wouldn't be the same. There'd be construction and repairs for weeks if not months on end. If pissing off the whole mansion had been the plan, well it was accomplished. No one was going to feel like it was home for a while.
Sneezing abruptly from the dust, Matt didn't think anything would stop the funky smells. It was just something to get used to and tolerate when you had an enhanced sense of smell. That and he could go to Foggy's or his uncle's if it was truly that bad. "Let's just finish hosing these things down so we can clear this shit out so things will smell....at least not as gross," he muttered.
Well after, Fixer returns to Zemo with the bad news.
Zemo was in a good mood. Birds were singing, grass was growing, someone was lamenting in the screams of his enemies...
Of course, that was all happening someplace not here, because the underwater base didn't have birds, grass, or lamenting screams, but those were details he was happy to overlook. Actually, no he wasn't, he was glad those things didn't exist on his base. They'd be a pain to deal with on the regular.
What his base did have, however, was one moderately intelligent brain in a jar in a robot body in the form of Fixer. He was a nice little project, coming along very well. And judging by the sweet tones of Danse Macabre floating through his lab, it seemed as though he was back from dealing with the X-Men. Phenomenal, he was awake ahead of schedule. Time to go see what information his pet robot had for him this time.
Awakening as a cyborg was a far different thing from awakening as a human. No slow blinking, no stretching, no trying to orientate oneself... Just a hum as his servers rebooted and the sudden glow of light from his optical sensors. Fixer stepped down from the docking unit he'd been suspended in, turning his head at the approach of footsteps.
Zemo smacked a panel on the wall to shut off the music, then threw his arms out open wide. "Fantastic, the recovery dock was a success." He was just... not going to mention the fact that that wasn't always a guarantee. "Tell me, what news do you have?"
There was a whir of machinery as Fixer turned to face his 'maker'. There were still human parts to him, but mostly internal, yet somehow his metal face was still expressive. "I reached New York successfully..." he began, and then stopped.
Despite his seeming good mood, Zemo felt as if he would not enjoy the next few minutes, and began to mentally prepare himself.
"I can't," Fixer replied, sounding completely nonplussed. "There's no information there at all. It's... blank."
Zemo felt his hand involuntarily flinch into a fist. Huh. So that's why people broke drinking glasses when they got bad news. Fascinating and absolutely not the thing he should be focused on at the moment. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forced himself into composure.
"Explain," he said after a long beat. It wasn't nearly as pleasant-sounding as it had been when he first walked into the room.
If Fixer could have flinched, he would have. He knew that tone and it boded no good for the one on the wrong end of it. "I reached New York successfully," he began again. "But something must have happened before I was able to back up the data from my remote unit. And the only thing that would prevent that would be destruction of the remote."
Zemo took a very, very deep breath, and then slowly let it out. "I gave you one instruction. One simple, tiny instruction that even you should have been capable of handling. It wasn't too much to ask. In fact, I thought I was being quite reasonable with my expectations."
It was like Zemo was talking to a monkey. A big, stupid, robotic monkey.
"And after all of that, and every tool and advantage I was able to give you, you still failed. Is that what I should be understanding from all of this?"
"Yes, it is." Fixer's voice was flat. "The other thing you should understand, however... is that there is something protecting what you were after. Something stronger than you anticipated."
It took actual work for Zemo to unclench his jaw enough that it wouldn't be obvious when he spoke. "I suppose you would have nothing more on that particular bit of information either, would you?"
Fixer blinked. Or would have, had he had eyelids to blink with. Instead, the light of his optical sensors faded and then brightened again "You suppose correctly" he replied. "This problem requires more data."
And that was the last of it. Zemo could feel the exact moment when his temper shattered like glass. In a single smooth motion he stood, grabbed the chair he'd been sitting on, and sent it flying into the wall, yelling and swearing all the way. It clipped a table mid-flight, knocking various glass vials to the ground where they shattered and spilled their contents all over the place. The chair promptly broke into a dozen pieces on impact, the noise echoing off the metal walls.
For almost a minute, there was nothing left but the sound of Zemo's heavy breathing and the occasional glass vial rolling off the table and breaking on the floor. Nobody spoke. Finally, with one extremely deep breath, Zemo closed his eyes, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a remote with a big, red button on it.
Click
Fixer fell over, unconscious. Above him, the computer's status screen flashed a bright red 'Deleting memories... Please wait' over and over.
Zemo stalked from the room, fuming. Behind him, robots began the well-practiced routine of placing Fixer back into position in his machine, cleaning up the broken glass and spilled fluids, and pulling another chair out of storage that the base had especially for this circumstance. Zemo himself didn't stop fuming until he was back in his lab, where he could relax with some mad science. Once the machines were done and the computer had decided that he'd had enough time to calm down, the dulcet tones of the Danse Macabre would fill the halls and it'd be time to try again.
Eighth time was the charm, after all.