I know what—[he lets out a frustrated groan and takes a half second to compose himself] It's called situational irony, you miserable old bastard. Literary device. See, this is why nobody likes you. [Says pot to kettle.]
Look. I [he points at himself grandly with both hands] am an Omega level telepath and genius from your future. I have been here for two months. I am offering to help you get caught up with all the bullshit going down around here out of the eternal goodness and mercy and forgiveness in my heart. And also get you some pants. [He pats his chest emphatically to indicate, you know. Endless benevolence that should be appreciated etc etc etc. He's such a good person, okay!!]
But I mean if you'd rather I could just tell you all about Stark Sentinels hunting down my people a few months ago, Mr. Future Man. Your choice.
[Okay, that's not entirely fair, and from what Emma claims Stark did help out with that whole mess. But hey, nobody ever said Quentin Quire played fair.]
[ Huh. Okay. Time travel, then. That's a good start. Or at least different time points. Nobody tell him what happens later he'll have a Tough Time With It ]
Great, Sentinels with my name on it. [ Well, he can't say that there wasn't a plan for them kicking around somewhere in one of his files. Or something like it. One never knew when one needed an elaborate killing machine and/or adaptive mutation machine.
Look. The point was? He couldn't say that it wasn't something he had considered. ]
Well, I'll tell you what, Quentin. We keep to hard facts, and exclude the literary devices? I'd appreciate all the help that you can offer. Especially if you're a genius. It means you can keep up.
[ A beat, and he looked around: ]
You mentioned pants? I don't mind wearing the undersuit, but... It kind of catches the eye, you know?
[ Tony, your ass is shiny and gold right now. Of course it is. ]
[Quentin warily studies Tony's reaction to hearing about the sentinels. Hmm... not surprised, but he also doesn't seem pleased. That tracks. Flatscans gonna flatscan, but it's not like Stark has a history of gunning for mutants for no reason at all. Dumb reasons, maybe, but not no reason. Which is good enough for now. Quentin lets it go, because despite being sketchy af, Tony Stark does have his uses.
But first, cue the biggest eye roll in the history of eye rolls.]
Yeah, let's see if you can keep up, old man. I've been ahead of you since I was 16, and that was when we were from the same time point. You're so behind now it's just gonna be sad.
[Having sufficiently "okay-boomer"ed Tony, he jerks a thumb at a row of buildings on the other side of the road.]
Look, there's some shops over that way, but the locals lately have been... Brusque, we'll say. And they're not real people, so my powers don't work on them. You think you can weasel your way into their good graces using some of that Stark charm I hear so much about? Try asking for a costume for the carnival if they give you shit.
[And why is Quentin not volunteering to talk to the locals himself, you ask? Well, it's certainly not because he knows damn well Stark has a much higher charisma stat, and he's definitely not bitter about it. And he's absolutely not avoiding the utter embarrassment of trying to woo the locals in front of Tony fucking Stark. So don't even ask. In fact, just to make sure nobody asks, he's going to start walking in that direction and change the subject. Genius.]
Oh, and no promises on the literary devices. I'm exceptionally clever, so wordplay is my artform of choice. My name is Quentin Quire, not Quentin Quiet, after all.
[ Does he sound a little bit like he's listening to a kid describing his latest new discovery? A teeny bit. He doesn't believe him, but he does appreciate the ego. Anyone who's about as full of himself as he is — you know, as long as they are not diametrically opposed — gets him to play along with their attitude. Right now? He's in the "humor him" category.
His lips twitch into a smile, when he mentions that they're not real people. He's starting to get the picture here, and though he doesn't have a way to hack into this system, it doesn't mean he doesn't understand the certain logic of computers. ]
I think I could probably convince some folks to help out. As long as they aren't going to be interested in putting me back in the cage, at least. It won't be the first time I've charmed my way into a pair of pants, at least.
[ Because. Of course it hasn't. He does follow, and at least he's not ... you know. Totally naked. ]
Did you think of that just now? It's witty.
[ Whether it's authentic or not is anyone's guess. ]
[Look, to be honest, Quentin did not even consider that Tony might care about walking across the street naked. Since when has Tony Stark had any shame? And he's got his freaky skin suit thing anyway, which is frankly not much more revealing than the Krakoan fashion Quentin's been used to. One of the top 10 weirdest things about not living on Krakoa anymore? Wearing layers.]
Of course it's witty. I said it. Come on, pay attention. [Is Tony patronizing him? Probably. Is Quentin going to ignore that for the sake of his own ego? Yes.]
Oh, and don't worry about the cages. That's just a gimmick. It happens. [Quentin waves his hand dismissively, not even bothering to check that Stark is following. If he's not, it's his own fault.]
Right, so. This whole place is an advanced simulation, possibly a pocket dimension of some kind. Doesn't match the MO of any known supervillains, so hooray for us. Whole thing seems to be run by an AI entity that gained sentience but fortunately for us the benevolent kind. Think Vanamonde, not HAL 9000. Shit started going downhill, and we hit the hard reset button. I may or may not have a copy of its memories locked away in my quantifiably superior brain, and that may or may not be confidential information. With me so far, old man?
Oh, I think I've got the basics. [ He paused, and then tipped his head, considering. There's a flash of something in his eyes, if Quentin pays attention, but it's brief. Quick. ]
So, simulation, which means AI. Are the memories in any code that's familiar? Something we could use to figure out the language that it's using?
[ See, here's the thing. He's already trying to mentally push against the simulation and going nowhere. That's probably more because his nanovirus can't reach the system that's holding them for...some reason (the obvious jamjar lockout one) so he's left straining and trying to peel his way into the code. Like sending out a ping to a system that won't ping back. ]
It has to be something I don't know, or else I'd have already been talking to the system. If you have its memories, you might have the code, and then... Well, it would be easy to reverse engineer it.
[ A beat. ]
Unless this is less synthetic.
[ He's mostly guessing, but he likes working through the problem out loud. Especially with someone he doesn't have to worry about, despite Quentin's goading. He can deal with that.]
Right so, funny thing—I can't exactly access the data anymore.
[Quentin raps his knuckles against his temple and shrugs.]
Total lockdown in that sector of my mind. Been that way since the reset. [Which is far more concerning than his casual tone would suggest. But like hell is he planning to let Tony Stark know that, especially after all his bragging. That said, Quentin's never had the best poker face or poker... anything, and his shoulders tense up reflexively, but he tries to hide it by cramming his hands emphatically into his jacket pockets.]
Had to get to a terminal—which, yes, is gone post-reset—to even feel its mind, and I should be able to feel it everywhere. And I'm not being blocked, because I can feel all of the other poor omniverse debris stuck here. Damn thing's just shy. If I had to guess, that's why it's not talking to you.
[He gets to the door of one particular shop and turns, gesturing with a tilt of his head at the door.] Alrighty, Dot Matrix, get in there and work your magic. Guy in there has been one of the least pissy around lately. Just tell him you want a costume for the festival. Might not be classy, but it'll be free.
This isn't over, but let me get something a little bit more festive than my birthday suit, huh?
[ He slips in, and it's honestly not long. Thankfully, the guy inside doesn't really blink too much — to be fair, Tony Stark walking naked into ones shop is not the worst thing that can happen in a day — and if Quentin looks in the window, he'll see Tony leaning across the counter, propping his head up while he very clearly charms his way into a costume. It's simple, but the equivalent of a victorian doctor, complete with bow-tie and frock coat, and he comes out looking a little stuffed into it (it's a size too small for the man) but at least it's close enough to a suit that he feels a little bit more at home. He also doesn't have to wear his undersuit, which is somehow gone again. ]
Ok. Now. [ He holds up a finger, and he's looking a lot more serious and a lot less "happy to play along". ] You mean to tell me that the section of your brain that has it is cordoned off. What's your brain matter made of? Organic mass? Anything we can hack into?
[ Please tell him you have a computer brain, or nanomachines, or something that he can use? ]
[Of course Quentin is watching Tony shmooze his way into a dumb outfit through the window. This is what passes for entertainment here! He will, however, refrain from snide remarks. Because he's mature now, okay? Judgmental looks, though, are still fair game. But Stark is probably used to those. Also he's immediately getting down to Serious Business, and it doesn't seem appropriate to interrupt. But mostly it's that other thing.
Quentin does cock his head to the side and give him a skeptical look at those questions about his brain.] My guy, you have met telepaths before, right? I mean, I know Chuck likes erasing memories, but surely you old farts get together to talk about, I dunno, the radio days or something? You and Emma get your nails done, bitch about the proletariat?
[Okay, getting off-topic. Quentin rolls his eyes and gets back on track.]
My brain matter is made of brain matter, dude. The part that's blocked? It's, you know, in the mindscape. Astral plane. Whatever. It's psychic shit, man, what do you want? [See, Quentin operates mostly on raw talent and vibes. He doesn't spend enough time around humans to know how to explain this stuff! He briefly adjusts his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily.]
Look. If you really want, I guess I can show you. [Does he want to invite Tony Stark to Blue Skidoo into his brain? No. Not even a little bit. But, loathe as Quentin is to admit it, Stark does have a knack for figuring shit out, even when out of his depth. Especially when out of his depth, to be completely honest.]
Hey, Emma's brain is different than say mine, and you said you were from the future, right? If you want me to guess, I can, but I figured you wouldn't want me to start mucking with things without all the data, right?
[ His eyes roll in response. Hey, he reprogrammed his brain with nanomachines. It's at least slightly relevant.
Though if he smiles a little bit at the thought of getting his nails done with Emma. Creature comforts, he already missed them. ]
Why don't you show me? Don't worry, I can only manipulate machines, and it's like you said: you don't have anything to worry about there, right? Might as well at least give me a leg up before I start trying to get my hands in this machine.
Yeah, I'm from, like, uh... [shit, how far into the future is he? Obviously Tony is from before Quentin's little stunt at the UN, but other than that? He's not exactly Iron Man's #1 stan following all of the deep lore or anything. He just goes with the safest option screams in sliding timescale] less than 15 years into the future, dumbass. You think all mutants from the future become cyborgs or something?
[No, they just become an immortal hippie cult on a fantasy orgy island. Far less preposterous.]
Whatever. Fine, I'll show you. But don't touch any of my shit, okay! If I catch you snooping around, I will find your least favorite song, and I will make sure it's stuck in your head for the next four to ten business weeks. Buckle up, shellhead.
[Fuck, okay, guess he's doing this. Bringing a goddamn Avenger into his head. You're really swimming on the big boy side of the pool now, Quire. Don't screw it up. He takes a deep breath that is definitely an exasperated sigh and definitely not to calm his nerves, briefly debates the coolest-looking way to go about this, and eventually decides on holding his hand up and dramatically snapping his fingers.
Emma and Charles are both far, far more skilled telepaths than Quentin, but what he lacks in finesse he makes up for in presentation. The section of his mind he's pulled Stark into—and yes, he left Tony with the silly too-small costume, sorry not sorry—looks not unlike Aldrip, with the notable exception of what can only be described as a massive, heavily secured warehouse taking up a vast chunk of real estate directly in front of them. Also remarkable is the total lack of any visible doors on the building. Weird! Quentin gestures grandly at it.]
[ He says it with all of the casualness of someone who does not think this is weird. To be fair, he looks mostly normal (and is) save for the undersuit and the nanomachines in his reprogrammed brain.
He doesn't get to say much more, though, because Quentin does ... his thing, and it's less smooth than when he does it with Emma, or when he used to with Charles when they'd been trying to manipulate the path of everything going on in the world. Fat lot of good it did, given that they all stepped away, but well. Whatever. The Illuminati would be back. The people he'd picked (for the most part) were all people who wouldn't hesitate the next time they needed to work together. Maybe he'd pick Emma instead of Charles, though. She always seemed to step on the side that he needed her to, unless Mutants were involved.
He looked around as the world shifted in the span of a blink. One moment, in Aldrip, the next... in Aldrip again. With a large vault before them. ]
Huh, alright. A vault.
[ Well, it sure does look something like a vault. He started to walk toward it. ] Feel free to stop me, if you've tried any of this before, huh?
[ He's going to go right up to it, and start knocking on the walls. ]
[Quentin is so, so tempted to make some snide remark like "right, because I never would've thought to knock on the walls" but he somehow manages to hold back. Barely. He's just gonna raise an eyebrow questioningly and follow Tony from a reasonable distance.]
Thing is, there were doors when I set this place up. And windows. That's why it looks like Aldrip out here. Familiar surroundings and stuff. I mean, yeah, I beefed up the security since everyone was freaking out about it burning up my brain or taking over and wearing me like a meat suit, yadda yadda yadda, but I thought hey, maybe seeing its city would keep it comfortable, you know? Pretty sure I got all the details right. I never thought the damn thing would lock itself in.
[He puts his hands on his hips and huffs indignantly, looking up at the structure with a frown.]
I build a cozy chalet in my brain for a cosmic synthetic intelligence one time, and what does it do? Move in and delete the goddamn doors. Un-fucking-believable.
You wouldn't believe how many times this has happened to me.
[ He says it idly, but he's not really just knocking the walls for hidden doors. He's looking for structure — tapping regularly to listen for the hollow 'tap tap' versus a more solid 'thud thud' that indicates studs. ]
AI like to do that. Move in and then do what they Want with your brain. Hell, Ultron recently...
[ A pause, a look at Quentin. How old was this kid?
Does he even want to tell him what he lost? (Temporarily?) ]
Well, suffice it to say; my entire DNA strain was changed. [ Ugh, and as much as he greatly had enjoyed admiring Janet Van Dyne's form, he did not want to wear it. ]
You have to think like them, which means pure... economy. [ A 'thud thud', and he says: ] Stud? I think that's a stud.
[Okay, Quentin will... very, VERY grudgingly admit that it was maybe a good idea to ask Stark to take a look. Ugh.
Even if that glance Tony gives him when he mentions Ultron and ominously trails off receives a whole face journey of wide-eyed surprise to perplexed to confused disgust. Quentin can only assume what Stark is talking about, but he doesn't need much more information to know that he doesn't want to know.
God, what a freak.]
Yeah, well, some of us have better control over our brains than others. Skill issue.
[Says the guy currently asking for help with the section of his brain he can't control. He says it almost absent-mindedly, like it's just his default response to everything—which it is—but the bulk of his attention is occupied by the fact that there is undeniably a different noise produced by Stark's tapping in that spot. A different noise in a structure that Quentin built in his own mind and should theoretically know every detail of... if he didn't have raw power and a knack for intuiting stuff that far outweigh his actual skills. Sigh.]
Wha—a stud?
[He comes closer, inspects the apparent "stud," scratching his head in bewilderment, and finally turns to Tony with an unusually sincere questioning look. He'll hate himself later for doubtlessly appearing like some dumb, inexperienced kid, but for the moment curiosity is taking priority over ego.]
[ He taps it again, then next to it, then back to it. It doesn't look like anything, but on the inside, there's a support structure there.
Sure, it makes sense, right? It's a building, it needs studs. He's sure Quentin built it like a normal building in his mind. Emma had once explained it to him, that when a construct is in the mind, it needs to follow a certain logic. Because a mind doesn't really put down every little detail, but there are certain laws and logics in the world.
Maybe that was just her, or maybe she was trying to explain it in a way that a programmer would understand. Tony had to lay out every single detail when he wrote code, there was no implication, no structure beyond what language it was, without putting all of the pieces and parts together. You didn't build something without a frame, so he had to build it, every single molecule.
So either it was already there, or the AI was doing work inside according to the logic. ]
Do the rest of the buildings have them? I mean, I know this is a construct in your brain, but I'm trying to break down whose logic is whose. Is this yours, or did the AI do this on the inside?
[Quentin considers the information for a moment with a quiet "hmm" and moves closer to the wall to put his hand against it, trying to feel the mental structure inside.]
Hard to say... [He grimaces and pulls his hand away for a moment so he can focus on his explanation, starting to pace and gesture animatedly with his hands.]
My constructs—they're adaptive. Sure, I load in a lot of the cosmetics on the front end, but ongoing stuff like terrain mapping, lighting effects, sensory input I pretty much leave to background processing. The immersion aspect. Part of my mind right now, for example, is making sure you feel like you're breathing. Otherwise your brain will freak out and, you know, think you're suffocating. But it's not like I'm actively controlling that manually, right? That would be exhausting.
[He huffs and pauses for a moment. Focus up, Quire. Getting off topic.]
Point is, I didn't exactly have a lot of time to whip this place up, so studs in buildings? Definitely a background task. I had a whole city to recreate in pixel-perfect detail.
[Quentin returns to the building, heaves a resigned sigh, and puts his hand on the wall again, his face twisting into a strained frown.]
Let me just... try to switch that stud over to manual control. If it's mine—theoretically—I should be able to.
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expiationlogs2024-10-14 08:59 am
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Look. I [he points at himself grandly with both hands] am an Omega level telepath and genius from your future. I have been here for two months. I am offering to help you get caught up with all the bullshit going down around here out of the eternal goodness and mercy and forgiveness in my heart. And also get you some pants. [He pats his chest emphatically to indicate, you know. Endless benevolence that should be appreciated etc etc etc. He's such a good person, okay!!]
But I mean if you'd rather I could just tell you all about Stark Sentinels hunting down my people a few months ago, Mr. Future Man. Your choice.
[Okay, that's not entirely fair, and from what Emma claims Stark did help out with that whole mess. But hey, nobody ever said Quentin Quire played fair.]
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Nobody tell him what happens later he'll have a Tough Time With It]Great, Sentinels with my name on it. [ Well, he can't say that there wasn't a plan for them kicking around somewhere in one of his files. Or something like it. One never knew when one needed an elaborate killing machine and/or adaptive mutation machine.
Look. The point was? He couldn't say that it wasn't something he had considered. ]
Well, I'll tell you what, Quentin. We keep to hard facts, and exclude the literary devices? I'd appreciate all the help that you can offer. Especially if you're a genius. It means you can keep up.
[ A beat, and he looked around: ]
You mentioned pants? I don't mind wearing the undersuit, but... It kind of catches the eye, you know?
[ Tony, your ass is shiny and gold right now. Of course it is. ]
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But first, cue the biggest eye roll in the history of eye rolls.]
Yeah, let's see if you can keep up, old man. I've been ahead of you since I was 16, and that was when we were from the same time point. You're so behind now it's just gonna be sad.
[Having sufficiently "okay-boomer"ed Tony, he jerks a thumb at a row of buildings on the other side of the road.]
Look, there's some shops over that way, but the locals lately have been... Brusque, we'll say. And they're not real people, so my powers don't work on them. You think you can weasel your way into their good graces using some of that Stark charm I hear so much about? Try asking for a costume for the carnival if they give you shit.
[And why is Quentin not volunteering to talk to the locals himself, you ask? Well, it's certainly not because he knows damn well Stark has a much higher charisma stat, and he's definitely not bitter about it. And he's absolutely not avoiding the utter embarrassment of trying to woo the locals in front of Tony fucking Stark. So don't even ask. In fact, just to make sure nobody asks, he's going to start walking in that direction and change the subject. Genius.]
Oh, and no promises on the literary devices. I'm exceptionally clever, so wordplay is my artform of choice. My name is Quentin Quire, not Quentin Quiet, after all.
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[ Does he sound a little bit like he's listening to a kid describing his latest new discovery? A teeny bit. He doesn't believe him, but he does appreciate the ego. Anyone who's about as full of himself as he is — you know, as long as they are not diametrically opposed — gets him to play along with their attitude. Right now? He's in the "humor him" category.
His lips twitch into a smile, when he mentions that they're not real people. He's starting to get the picture here, and though he doesn't have a way to hack into this system, it doesn't mean he doesn't understand the certain logic of computers. ]
I think I could probably convince some folks to help out. As long as they aren't going to be interested in putting me back in the cage, at least. It won't be the first time I've charmed my way into a pair of pants, at least.
[ Because. Of course it hasn't. He does follow, and at least he's not ... you know. Totally naked. ]
Did you think of that just now? It's witty.
[ Whether it's authentic or not is anyone's guess. ]
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Of course it's witty. I said it. Come on, pay attention. [Is Tony patronizing him? Probably. Is Quentin going to ignore that for the sake of his own ego? Yes.]
Oh, and don't worry about the cages. That's just a gimmick. It happens. [Quentin waves his hand dismissively, not even bothering to check that Stark is following. If he's not, it's his own fault.]
Right, so. This whole place is an advanced simulation, possibly a pocket dimension of some kind. Doesn't match the MO of any known supervillains, so hooray for us. Whole thing seems to be run by an AI entity that gained sentience but fortunately for us the benevolent kind. Think Vanamonde, not HAL 9000. Shit started going downhill, and we hit the hard reset button. I may or may not have a copy of its memories locked away in my quantifiably superior brain, and that may or may not be confidential information. With me so far, old man?
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So, simulation, which means AI. Are the memories in any code that's familiar? Something we could use to figure out the language that it's using?
[ See, here's the thing. He's already trying to mentally push against the simulation and going nowhere. That's probably more because his nanovirus can't reach the system that's holding them for...some reason (the obvious jamjar lockout one) so he's left straining and trying to peel his way into the code. Like sending out a ping to a system that won't ping back. ]
It has to be something I don't know, or else I'd have already been talking to the system. If you have its memories, you might have the code, and then... Well, it would be easy to reverse engineer it.
[ A beat. ]
Unless this is less synthetic.
[ He's mostly guessing, but he likes working through the problem out loud. Especially with someone he doesn't have to worry about, despite Quentin's goading. He can deal with that.]
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[Quentin raps his knuckles against his temple and shrugs.]
Total lockdown in that sector of my mind. Been that way since the reset. [Which is far more concerning than his casual tone would suggest. But like hell is he planning to let Tony Stark know that, especially after all his bragging. That said, Quentin's never had the best poker face or poker... anything, and his shoulders tense up reflexively, but he tries to hide it by cramming his hands emphatically into his jacket pockets.]
Had to get to a terminal—which, yes, is gone post-reset—to even feel its mind, and I should be able to feel it everywhere. And I'm not being blocked, because I can feel all of the other poor omniverse debris stuck here. Damn thing's just shy. If I had to guess, that's why it's not talking to you.
[He gets to the door of one particular shop and turns, gesturing with a tilt of his head at the door.] Alrighty, Dot Matrix, get in there and work your magic. Guy in there has been one of the least pissy around lately. Just tell him you want a costume for the festival. Might not be classy, but it'll be free.
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This isn't over, but let me get something a little bit more festive than my birthday suit, huh?
[ He slips in, and it's honestly not long. Thankfully, the guy inside doesn't really blink too much — to be fair, Tony Stark walking naked into ones shop is not the worst thing that can happen in a day — and if Quentin looks in the window, he'll see Tony leaning across the counter, propping his head up while he very clearly charms his way into a costume. It's simple, but the equivalent of a victorian doctor, complete with bow-tie and frock coat, and he comes out looking a little stuffed into it (it's a size too small for the man) but at least it's close enough to a suit that he feels a little bit more at home. He also doesn't have to wear his undersuit, which is somehow gone again. ]
Ok. Now. [ He holds up a finger, and he's looking a lot more serious and a lot less "happy to play along". ] You mean to tell me that the section of your brain that has it is cordoned off. What's your brain matter made of? Organic mass? Anything we can hack into?
[ Please tell him you have a computer brain, or nanomachines, or something that he can use? ]
no subject
Quentin does cock his head to the side and give him a skeptical look at those questions about his brain.] My guy, you have met telepaths before, right? I mean, I know Chuck likes erasing memories, but surely you old farts get together to talk about, I dunno, the radio days or something? You and Emma get your nails done, bitch about the proletariat?
[Okay, getting off-topic. Quentin rolls his eyes and gets back on track.]
My brain matter is made of brain matter, dude. The part that's blocked? It's, you know, in the mindscape. Astral plane. Whatever. It's psychic shit, man, what do you want? [See, Quentin operates mostly on raw talent and vibes. He doesn't spend enough time around humans to know how to explain this stuff! He briefly adjusts his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily.]
Look. If you really want, I guess I can show you. [Does he want to invite Tony Stark to Blue Skidoo into his brain? No. Not even a little bit. But, loathe as Quentin is to admit it, Stark does have a knack for figuring shit out, even when out of his depth. Especially when out of his depth, to be completely honest.]
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[ His eyes roll in response. Hey, he reprogrammed his brain with nanomachines. It's at least slightly relevant.
Though if he smiles a little bit at the thought of getting his nails done with Emma. Creature comforts, he already missed them. ]
Why don't you show me? Don't worry, I can only manipulate machines, and it's like you said: you don't have anything to worry about there, right? Might as well at least give me a leg up before I start trying to get my hands in this machine.
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screams in sliding timescale] less than 15 years into the future, dumbass. You think all mutants from the future become cyborgs or something?[No, they just become an immortal hippie cult on a fantasy orgy island. Far less preposterous.]
Whatever. Fine, I'll show you. But don't touch any of my shit, okay! If I catch you snooping around, I will find your least favorite song, and I will make sure it's stuck in your head for the next four to ten business weeks. Buckle up, shellhead.
[Fuck, okay, guess he's doing this. Bringing a goddamn Avenger into his head. You're really swimming on the big boy side of the pool now, Quire. Don't screw it up. He takes a deep breath that is definitely an exasperated sigh and definitely not to calm his nerves, briefly debates the coolest-looking way to go about this, and eventually decides on holding his hand up and dramatically snapping his fingers.
Emma and Charles are both far, far more skilled telepaths than Quentin, but what he lacks in finesse he makes up for in presentation. The section of his mind he's pulled Stark into—and yes, he left Tony with the silly too-small costume, sorry not sorry—looks not unlike Aldrip, with the notable exception of what can only be described as a massive, heavily secured warehouse taking up a vast chunk of real estate directly in front of them. Also remarkable is the total lack of any visible doors on the building. Weird! Quentin gestures grandly at it.]
Voilà! Behold, the Vault.
no subject
[ He says it with all of the casualness of someone who does not think this is weird. To be fair, he looks mostly normal (and is) save for the undersuit and the nanomachines in his reprogrammed brain.
He doesn't get to say much more, though, because Quentin does ... his thing, and it's less smooth than when he does it with Emma, or when he used to with Charles when they'd been trying to manipulate the path of everything going on in the world. Fat lot of good it did, given that they all stepped away, but well. Whatever. The Illuminati would be back. The people he'd picked (for the most part) were all people who wouldn't hesitate the next time they needed to work together. Maybe he'd pick Emma instead of Charles, though. She always seemed to step on the side that he needed her to, unless Mutants were involved.
He looked around as the world shifted in the span of a blink. One moment, in Aldrip, the next... in Aldrip again. With a large vault before them. ]
Huh, alright. A vault.
[ Well, it sure does look something like a vault. He started to walk toward it. ] Feel free to stop me, if you've tried any of this before, huh?
[ He's going to go right up to it, and start knocking on the walls. ]
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Thing is, there were doors when I set this place up. And windows. That's why it looks like Aldrip out here. Familiar surroundings and stuff. I mean, yeah, I beefed up the security since everyone was freaking out about it burning up my brain or taking over and wearing me like a meat suit, yadda yadda yadda, but I thought hey, maybe seeing its city would keep it comfortable, you know? Pretty sure I got all the details right. I never thought the damn thing would lock itself in.
[He puts his hands on his hips and huffs indignantly, looking up at the structure with a frown.]
I build a cozy chalet in my brain for a cosmic synthetic intelligence one time, and what does it do? Move in and delete the goddamn doors. Un-fucking-believable.
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[ He says it idly, but he's not really just knocking the walls for hidden doors. He's looking for structure — tapping regularly to listen for the hollow 'tap tap' versus a more solid 'thud thud' that indicates studs. ]
AI like to do that. Move in and then do what they Want with your brain. Hell, Ultron recently...
[ A pause, a look at Quentin. How old was this kid?
Does he even want to tell him what he lost? (Temporarily?) ]
Well, suffice it to say; my entire DNA strain was changed. [ Ugh, and as much as he greatly had enjoyed admiring Janet Van Dyne's form, he did not want to wear it. ]
You have to think like them, which means pure... economy. [ A 'thud thud', and he says: ] Stud? I think that's a stud.
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Even if that glance Tony gives him when he mentions Ultron and ominously trails off receives a whole face journey of wide-eyed surprise to perplexed to confused disgust. Quentin can only assume what Stark is talking about, but he doesn't need much more information to know that he doesn't want to know.
God, what a freak.]
Yeah, well, some of us have better control over our brains than others. Skill issue.
[Says the guy currently asking for help with the section of his brain he can't control. He says it almost absent-mindedly, like it's just his default response to everything—which it is—but the bulk of his attention is occupied by the fact that there is undeniably a different noise produced by Stark's tapping in that spot. A different noise in a structure that Quentin built in his own mind and should theoretically know every detail of... if he didn't have raw power and a knack for intuiting stuff that far outweigh his actual skills. Sigh.]
Wha—a stud?
[He comes closer, inspects the apparent "stud," scratching his head in bewilderment, and finally turns to Tony with an unusually sincere questioning look. He'll hate himself later for doubtlessly appearing like some dumb, inexperienced kid, but for the moment curiosity is taking priority over ego.]
How did—what does that mean?
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[ He taps it again, then next to it, then back to it. It doesn't look like anything, but on the inside, there's a support structure there.
Sure, it makes sense, right? It's a building, it needs studs. He's sure Quentin built it like a normal building in his mind. Emma had once explained it to him, that when a construct is in the mind, it needs to follow a certain logic. Because a mind doesn't really put down every little detail, but there are certain laws and logics in the world.
Maybe that was just her, or maybe she was trying to explain it in a way that a programmer would understand. Tony had to lay out every single detail when he wrote code, there was no implication, no structure beyond what language it was, without putting all of the pieces and parts together. You didn't build something without a frame, so he had to build it, every single molecule.
So either it was already there, or the AI was doing work inside according to the logic. ]
Do the rest of the buildings have them? I mean, I know this is a construct in your brain, but I'm trying to break down whose logic is whose. Is this yours, or did the AI do this on the inside?
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Hard to say... [He grimaces and pulls his hand away for a moment so he can focus on his explanation, starting to pace and gesture animatedly with his hands.]
My constructs—they're adaptive. Sure, I load in a lot of the cosmetics on the front end, but ongoing stuff like terrain mapping, lighting effects, sensory input I pretty much leave to background processing. The immersion aspect. Part of my mind right now, for example, is making sure you feel like you're breathing. Otherwise your brain will freak out and, you know, think you're suffocating. But it's not like I'm actively controlling that manually, right? That would be exhausting.
[He huffs and pauses for a moment. Focus up, Quire. Getting off topic.]
Point is, I didn't exactly have a lot of time to whip this place up, so studs in buildings? Definitely a background task. I had a whole city to recreate in pixel-perfect detail.
[Quentin returns to the building, heaves a resigned sigh, and puts his hand on the wall again, his face twisting into a strained frown.]
Let me just... try to switch that stud over to manual control. If it's mine—theoretically—I should be able to.