Dr. S. Klim (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
futilecycle) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2016-04-20 03:23 pm
futilecycle) wrote in thecapitol2016-04-20 03:23 pm
Entry tags:
[OPEN] For it has all been made to plan
WHO | Sigma and Altair, Sigma and Stephen, Sigma and anyone in the Capitol.
WHAT | Depressed old man goes pod hunting, meets a man who wants him dead, and begins a career in sabotage.
WHEN | Immediately after the District 4 Battle.
WHERE | Various places about the Capitol
WARNINGS/NOTES | Whiny preamble, mention of death, drones, assassination - other warnings to be added. This is meant to be a catch-all log for meeting Sigma after D4, PM me if you want your own prompt!
It was clear, since Phi's sloppy death, that the Gamemakers could not afford to leave Sigma to his own devices.
This wasn't to say he'd been blamed for the accident in District 4. It was the Gamemaker's assistant who had tripped the weapon, the clumsy, stupid thing - but the death of his bastard apparently sent the Gamemaker over the edge.
It could be said that Sigma lost his mind, spending the remainder of the battle wide-eyed and unresponsive in his quarters, nonverbal, unthinking. Morale could not afford to keep him stationed at the front and Sigma was quietly dismissed to the Capitol. But not even his own console could restore Sigma's ambition, and he put in his time in a fruitless daze. A moment spent unaccompanied was wasted in grief; thus, his superiors kept him in good company. Clearly, there were sacrifices too great for the noble and martyrous Zero.
FOR STEPHEN
What the Capitol had mistaken for grief was anger. Phi had died as a casualty of war, a war that dragged on because Sigma Klim had been too careful. The Doctor seethed with thoughts of sabotage as he chipped away at the Capitol from the inside.
If the Rebellion could not break through, he would make the Capitol paperthin. The opportunity presented itself in a weapon he'd begun to fashion before Phi's death: a terrible, intelligent drone capable of discriminating between friend and foe with gruesome results. It wouldn't take much effort to sabotage the thing, to insert a fatal flaw he hoped would go unnoticed until it was deployed. He would show them that Phi had been no fool at all, but without the need to pay in blood...
Lounging deep in his high-backed chair, Sigma places a finger on his chin pensively - no, that wasn't quite true. When the Capitol saw their works stutter and fail, the axe would fall on the most convenient guilty party. It so happened that Sigma had been assigned a babysitter... and he would make that the Capitol's last mistake.
Sigma prepares the blueprint for his partner, laying the finished plans out for his perusal, anticipating that the error will go overlooked. But when it is Stephanus Reagan who enters his office, Sigma remembers he owes him a debt. He looks the man over, searching for some sign of malice, some reason this man could deserve to be demoted at best... and can think of nothing. His stomach twists. It was much more difficult to frame a person he liked.
The Gamemaker smiles a manufactured, Capitolite smile, and rises to meet him. The hem of his sleeve is wrinkled and spotted with ink when he extends his arm. The grip of his cybernetic hand is limp and noncommittal.
"Mr. Reagan. It has been a very long time. I wonder if you would recall, but you once paid an old Tribute a not insignificant favor..."
FOR ALTAIR
Sigma is disturbed to find himself growing used to visiting prisoners. He had tried not to make a habit of wandering the dungeon, for there were tools of his design that had been smuggled below deck, tested on people no one would ask after... but orders were orders. For his first reconnaissance mission, Sigma could not be trusted to go it alone. He was to search for traps - pods - hidden beneath the Capitol since the dark days, lost to record, that could be coaxed come to life at Gamemaker command. It would be considerably problematic if they triggered a bomb beneath their own feet.
The Capitol has assigned him an unusual guard, tonight - a man they very much wanted to make a spectacle of keeping on a chain. The Doctor is not surprised when he is asked to wear a bracelet that will monitor his vital signs, an insurance against assassination. The corner of Sigma's lips curl into a tight grimace as he clamps the device over his wrist, not for the second, nor even third time. He knows whose design is at the heart of the machine.
The noose strung, Sigma is lead to Altair's cell quietly and waits as the man is released. He prepares a short speech in his head, an explanation about how Altair had been chosen to accompany him on an important mission and would be granted further privileges for good behavior - when he notices that his injuries have yet to heal. Sigma silences himself, organic eye alight with recognition. He thought he could remember what it was like to suffer so, somewhere in the haze of his thousand lives.
OPEN
Pod hunting is not the only affair Sigma has smeared his fingerprints across. He finds the guise of searching for traps has opened an unimaginable amount of doors, gained him access to places he had no excuse to be inside before: the Detainment Center, the courts of rich Capitolites, bars a Gamemaker would be hissed out of. Even with Phi’s return and Albert’s help, he’s always searching for a blind spot, for an empathetic ear with the good sense to speak in code. With a holo of the city in his hands, there is a wealth of information to be gleaned.
WHAT | Depressed old man goes pod hunting, meets a man who wants him dead, and begins a career in sabotage.
WHEN | Immediately after the District 4 Battle.
WHERE | Various places about the Capitol
WARNINGS/NOTES | Whiny preamble, mention of death, drones, assassination - other warnings to be added. This is meant to be a catch-all log for meeting Sigma after D4, PM me if you want your own prompt!
It was clear, since Phi's sloppy death, that the Gamemakers could not afford to leave Sigma to his own devices.
This wasn't to say he'd been blamed for the accident in District 4. It was the Gamemaker's assistant who had tripped the weapon, the clumsy, stupid thing - but the death of his bastard apparently sent the Gamemaker over the edge.
It could be said that Sigma lost his mind, spending the remainder of the battle wide-eyed and unresponsive in his quarters, nonverbal, unthinking. Morale could not afford to keep him stationed at the front and Sigma was quietly dismissed to the Capitol. But not even his own console could restore Sigma's ambition, and he put in his time in a fruitless daze. A moment spent unaccompanied was wasted in grief; thus, his superiors kept him in good company. Clearly, there were sacrifices too great for the noble and martyrous Zero.
FOR STEPHEN
What the Capitol had mistaken for grief was anger. Phi had died as a casualty of war, a war that dragged on because Sigma Klim had been too careful. The Doctor seethed with thoughts of sabotage as he chipped away at the Capitol from the inside.
If the Rebellion could not break through, he would make the Capitol paperthin. The opportunity presented itself in a weapon he'd begun to fashion before Phi's death: a terrible, intelligent drone capable of discriminating between friend and foe with gruesome results. It wouldn't take much effort to sabotage the thing, to insert a fatal flaw he hoped would go unnoticed until it was deployed. He would show them that Phi had been no fool at all, but without the need to pay in blood...
Lounging deep in his high-backed chair, Sigma places a finger on his chin pensively - no, that wasn't quite true. When the Capitol saw their works stutter and fail, the axe would fall on the most convenient guilty party. It so happened that Sigma had been assigned a babysitter... and he would make that the Capitol's last mistake.
Sigma prepares the blueprint for his partner, laying the finished plans out for his perusal, anticipating that the error will go overlooked. But when it is Stephanus Reagan who enters his office, Sigma remembers he owes him a debt. He looks the man over, searching for some sign of malice, some reason this man could deserve to be demoted at best... and can think of nothing. His stomach twists. It was much more difficult to frame a person he liked.
The Gamemaker smiles a manufactured, Capitolite smile, and rises to meet him. The hem of his sleeve is wrinkled and spotted with ink when he extends his arm. The grip of his cybernetic hand is limp and noncommittal.
"Mr. Reagan. It has been a very long time. I wonder if you would recall, but you once paid an old Tribute a not insignificant favor..."
FOR ALTAIR
Sigma is disturbed to find himself growing used to visiting prisoners. He had tried not to make a habit of wandering the dungeon, for there were tools of his design that had been smuggled below deck, tested on people no one would ask after... but orders were orders. For his first reconnaissance mission, Sigma could not be trusted to go it alone. He was to search for traps - pods - hidden beneath the Capitol since the dark days, lost to record, that could be coaxed come to life at Gamemaker command. It would be considerably problematic if they triggered a bomb beneath their own feet.
The Capitol has assigned him an unusual guard, tonight - a man they very much wanted to make a spectacle of keeping on a chain. The Doctor is not surprised when he is asked to wear a bracelet that will monitor his vital signs, an insurance against assassination. The corner of Sigma's lips curl into a tight grimace as he clamps the device over his wrist, not for the second, nor even third time. He knows whose design is at the heart of the machine.
The noose strung, Sigma is lead to Altair's cell quietly and waits as the man is released. He prepares a short speech in his head, an explanation about how Altair had been chosen to accompany him on an important mission and would be granted further privileges for good behavior - when he notices that his injuries have yet to heal. Sigma silences himself, organic eye alight with recognition. He thought he could remember what it was like to suffer so, somewhere in the haze of his thousand lives.
OPEN
Pod hunting is not the only affair Sigma has smeared his fingerprints across. He finds the guise of searching for traps has opened an unimaginable amount of doors, gained him access to places he had no excuse to be inside before: the Detainment Center, the courts of rich Capitolites, bars a Gamemaker would be hissed out of. Even with Phi’s return and Albert’s help, he’s always searching for a blind spot, for an empathetic ear with the good sense to speak in code. With a holo of the city in his hands, there is a wealth of information to be gleaned.
no subject
Sigma himself, though, might be a problem. Stephen remembers how large and how public Sigma's declaration of loyalty to the Capitol was. It wasn't dissimilar to Stephen's, at least where publicity was concerned, and from what Stephen has seen and heard, it seems absolute. Just being an Offworlder isn't enough to determine someone's true loyalties, so unless Stephen sees a sign otherwise, he's going to assume the worst: that Sigma is exactly what he seems.
It's with a professional smile that Stephen returns the handshake. He's different from the last time Sigma has seen him: more subdued in dress, more serious in manner, more like his brother in nearly every way. There's unmistakable class in how Stephen walks and talks and dresses, but there's no ruthlessness in it. He's serious; he's not icy.
"What, do you mean the quarantine? That was nothing," he says dismissively. "It was a perfectly logical precaution I had the resources to take. Don't mention it."
no subject
"One should not trivialize even the smallest of kindnesses. What was nothing to you meant my life. There were many with your means who did not act so generously." This is not insincere. There would have been no son to betray had Sigma died before their pledge. "I suspect such magnanimity must run in the family. I wonder if you knew that I was naturalized and promoted at your brother's endorsement. I make an effort not to forget my dues..." He tilts his head to break the formality, cybernetic eye dilated and peaceful. "...It is a pleasure to be working with you at last, Mr. Reagan."
He steps back from their handshake, waiting for Stephen's next move, translating exhaustion into serenity. The family resemblance is not lost on him. Cyrus Reagan had never been as unpleasant as Quintus Falxvale, but, in spite of their alliance, was every bit as dangerous. If Sigma wanted Stephanus to follow in Cyrus' wake, it would do him well to play nice.
no subject
The tenseness is fleeting, though; Stephen chases it away with the thought that he'll never get used to being called Mr. Reagan.
"Then let's get to work," he says, stepping forward toward the blueprints. "All right, brief me. What've we got here?"
no subject
"What you see here are the blueprints to an artificially intelligent drone. These highly automated machines are designed to differentiate easily between friend and foe and dispense their cargo accordingly, be it medical supplies, intelligence, or missiles." Surely, the Capitol would desire a field test, and Sigma could deliver drones that worked properly for awhile. It was just a matter of making that code obsolete after a certain criteria had been met, be it time or a shift in location. "As an artificial intelligence programmer, I believe my skills have been grossly underused. Their ability to act independently eliminates the need for a pilot - we could send as many as we can reasonably produce into the air and have them seek out rebels like wasps. All the benefits of traps, without the need to cloister them below ground..." The Capitol was certainly not adverse to one thousand extra eyes and ears, but it would be a costly project. For the Rebellion’s benefit, he needed to pitch this well, and he needed the Reagan charisma to do that. "You needn't worry. I have implemented several failsafes to keep them out of the Rebellion's hands. Of course, I am always open to suggestions of any kind..." He looks expectantly at Stephen. It was a very general explanation for a very complicated project, so if Stephen had anything he'd like to add... well, Sigma thought it might make things easier on him, later.
no subject
There's a brief pause, and a touch of the carefree quality leaves Stephen's manner. "I'd also want a thorough report on the failsafes," he says, and it's mostly casual. The effort to seem nonchalant through a suddenly racing heartbeat is commendable. "If these machines are half as useful as you say they are, the Districts would do just about anything to get their hands on them. I'd hate for us to put that much capital into these drones only to have them used against us."
If I understand the failsafes, that's one more valuable piece of information I can keep for the rebellion.
no subject
Sigma was indeed a target, and he still had enough wits to remember that. However, Altaïr was neither hidden from sight nor free to get away, and Sigma was not in a proper place for assassination to begin with. The preference had always been for the kill to be seen by many people in broad daylight. There was no point if the death could be explained away as sickness or old age. And, though Al Mualim had been harsh, he had always preferred his men return alive to fight another day. But most of all, Altaïr did not feel the temptation, as he might once have, to kill such a close target. He had undergone a little light conditioning after his very first arrest for trying to beat information out of Stephen Reagan, but that was nothing compared to the dehumanization of full torture. His stubbornness had probably not helped matters.
He didn't move with the confident swagger of youth or a stalker-killer's silent step like he used to. The pain was a bit much for anything other than a shuffle, and there was also no use dissembling at this point. By far his most noticeable injury was the ugly brand on his face, slow to heal from stress, malnutrition, and lack of sleep. Not so long ago, his eyes would have burned with murder and cold steel. Now they were quiet and tired. Even so, they glanced over Sigma and the guards out of habit, watching for warning signs of sudden movement and taking note of their weapons.
Once, he might have demanded to know what was going on. Now, he simply listened as one of the guards told him that his vitals were being monitored along with Sigma's, with the added bonus that he would be killed instantly if he tried anything—something to do with his traitor's cuff and his brain, yet more of this land's unknowable technology. Altaïr gathered that he was going somewhere other than his cell under Sigma's supervision. Probably an arena test, knowing the Gamemakers.
no subject
"Altair Ibn-La'Ahad." He tries to be discreet in his respect, using his full name in lieu of a honorific, though he suspects it may become tedious to hear. It follows that he isn't half as condescending as his masters want, addressing Altair as kindly as he can get away with. "I am certain I require no introduction, but I am called Gamemaker Klim. Based on your recent behavior, you have been chosen to accompany me on a vital mission. You are to keep guard as I carry out my duties about the Capitol. Should you act nobly and dutifully, you will be rewarded. Are we understood?" Neither of them should expect the reward to be more than additional privileges, but it was in Sigma's best interest to make Altair's incentive for not murdering him as inciting as possible. He knew there were those who did not value their own lives when it came to doing the 'right thing.'
no subject
"Where are we going, and who am I guarding against?"
He half expected the guards to hit him for speaking out of turn, but he also half expected Sigma Klim to be invested enough in his own safety to properly inform his new bodyguard of mission details—unless, of course, they all just wanted to see how quickly he could think on his feet.
no subject
"I do not doubt that there are many more who might take a Gamemaker's life, and neither do my superiors." He narrows his eyes sadly - not accusingly, but with sympathy. He would certainly have conspired to kill him, too, were he in a Rebel's shoes. "Hence, it seems we now share a destiny."
no subject
It was clear Sigma didn't want to give any more information, and Altaïr didn't pry. He dearly wished he'd had the chance to be one of those rebel assassins, instead of a guard against them. There were still a myriad of reasons why he couldn't attempt to kill this man today, but he still wondered what possessed the Capitol to assign him of all people as Sigma's bodyguard. They didn't even give him weapons. He supposed that if they ran into trouble, he'd steal the ones their enemies carried; and if not, there was less risk that he'd kill Sigma. Using his bare hands was messier and would take slightly longer.
He followed Sigma through the reinforced doors, gates, and checkpoints into the city proper. Were he in charge of a team, he'd have scouts on the roofs, but he'd have to make do with sticking close to Sigma for now.
no subject
"I apologize for the secrecy. I imagine there are those who would prefer I keep my business to myself, but I am not strictly forbidden to tell you. I imagine it would be better for our morale if I did..." He retrieves a holo projector from his cloak and holds it out, for Altair to take, but simply to look at it. Displayed in an orange light was a map of the Capitol. "In the days before our government, there was a war, and during these so-called Dark Days traps were placed about the city with the purpose of wiping out as many innocent people as possible." By whom? The radicals? The people who would go on to form the Capitol? Did it matter? "Were you aware that this is what our Games were meant to warn against? At any rate, though they lay dormant, now, there are concerns that they might be activated once the war begins. I would like to find them, and I need your help to do it. Please believe me when I tell you that it is in the interest of preventing a similar tragedy." Somehow, he believed that would be a hard sell, but at the same time he hoped Altair realized he had no obligation to tell him any of this. Conversely, it was Sigma's job to sell the Capitol as the humane players in this game.
no subject
"Putting on the Games is a strange way to send a warning. No one makes mention of these traps or saving innocent lives, only the victory of the Capitol over the rebels."
He would say that this was fear mongering, but he felt he shouldn't push his luck. He wanted to actually see these traps before being packed off to his cell again.
no subject
He's been meaning to talk to Sigma, to touch base, and to let him know he's sent Luna away safely. It wasn't difficult to put two and two together after some thought, that Sigma had to have been the one to make her considering he's the only one she trusts to fix her, and the numerous times she's almost said the man's name. In hindsight, it was hard to miss.
no subject
"Albert... I assume we are completely alone?" Was this location secure? It went without saying, but he won't discuss a word until he knows he can speak freely. Working in the department of defense gave him some sense of when the Capitol wasn't listening, but since his interrogation, he no longer has the confidence to believe himself. "I am thankful you found me..." The statement hangs in the air, unfinished. Was it too hopeful to wonder if he could ever address Albert as his friend?
no subject
For all intents and purposes they are friends in this situation, whether by choice or by necessity. He won't be forward with the information to most other people, of course; Jet would likely blow a gasket considering his history with Sigma, but desperate times make for strange bedfellows and no one ever said you had to agree with every choice someone makes to count them a friend.
no subject
Without a moment to savor his good mood, it's back to business. Nervously, Sigma licks the smile from his lips and replaces it with sarcasm. "Our great leaders have me recording pod locations on this holo." As a rebel of good talent, Sigma thinks he can be reasonably sure Albert is aware of pods, but the paranoia in him doesn't give him the time to ask. It's far too easy to forget that they'd spoken about them already, in another life. "Weapons not unlike Gamemaker traps buried beneath the streets. You may be surprised to learn that many of them date back to the Dark Days and have become obscure - once the Capitol activates the lot, they cannot be certain they have control of the city until all of them are accounted for. Hence, I am to find as many as I can before the rebels make their entrance." He smiles, tilting his head almost playfully, not quite the way his mentor used to do when she had a sinister thought. There's barely any guilt associated with this decision. After all, he is, for the most part, neither the one who planted nor activated them. "But if I were to conceal a few, who would know? Your appearance is most opportune."
no subject
The discussion of the pods sends Albert's eyebrows into his hair. They can use that. The rebels could use that if they're ever to take the Capitol. He doesn't sound eager but certainly interested when he speaks again. "How many have you mapped?"
no subject
"I'd be happy to allow you to look at them, but perhaps it would be more efficient to meet with a completed map?" He smiles wryly. "If you had to, you could arrange have someone attack me, again. At this point, I'm getting used to it." He wasn't exactly pleased with his solution, but if it was for the sake of the Rebellion, he could take a little pain. He was prepared to do much more than that, in fact.
no subject
He looks at Sigma to see how the other man is taking the mere suggestion. If Sigma looks unsure, Albert might just back off right now. Casually, he puts the cigarette to his mouth and lights it, simply waiting.