2010-07-15 - Muzio Scevola

There are certain upsides to being part of shadowy conspiracies built around the reaping of continuous war profits.

One of them is the scenic locations.

There isn't a name for the island off the coast of Greece; if there is, it's been lost a long time ago. Now, it just goes by the estimated value it'd go by on the market -- if it were open for purchase. Privately owned, the island is small but possessed of its own, natural beauty. Dense forests and plantlife center around a simple ('simple') mansion settled at the epicentre of the island. The estate is grand but straightforward, positioned on the high ground of the island. For the view; though it certainly can't compare to the view one can get off the luxurious beach coast. It looks peaceful, quiet.

Which is something easy to establish when your sentries cannot be seen by the naked eye.

DAYS AGO, BUT NOT MANY

The peaceful illusion set across the island is shattered in the blink of an eye.

The object is spotted perhaps a handful of minutes before it hit. It wasn't precisely unexpected at that point; anyone with the proper scientific background and intellect could calculate it's trajectory and figure out where it would strike. The island was something private, though, and nobody wanted to bother the owner (whoever it was) with looking at what was probably just debris.

It wasn't. Not quite. A fireball descends from space, cutting a burning line across the night sky. It struck at the edge of the beach, dragging across the sands and digging a trench into the ocean's shallows, a cloud of smoke and steam billowing upward and concealing it from sight for many moments. Blackened and burned, the thing seemed to just be a lump of material... but nobody could figure out what /kind/ of material just yet.

The mass lay in the sea, and by the time it cooled, it began to grow.

NOW

The mass is a cocoon.

Minutes after it touched down, webbing appeared to be growing all over it. The blackened coat flaked off and scattered to the winds, and the gleaming silver-white coating beneath it seemed to be expanding of it's own accord. It stopped once it had regenerated to what might be it's normal shape; it could be humanoid, but a weird mass points upward at an angle from the left side, like something was trying to push out of it.

It's wasn't long before it was determined to be some kind of metal. With the resources of this particular shadow-conspiracy, sensory equipment or mysterious voices may reveal it to be strands of nano-fibers made of anything it could leech out of the environment and small amounts of eltreum, a nearly indestructable and far beyond the technology of almost anyone in the Earth Sphere. The nanotechnology involved resembled DG Cells, but it wasn't spreading like an infected wound on the land.

Half an hour ago, the irregular lump to the right of the high extension began to show signs of movement. There is no indication of what it is, but it shakes and bends now and then, ever so slightly. What has fallen on the idyllic island?

What has fallen on the idyllic island?

Opportunity.

DAYS AGO

"" A man with medium-length black hair and a vaguely Asian appearance speeks with a fluent Grecian accent as he stands at the balcony of the island's estate. Cellphone cradled against his ear, his other hand is slipped into his pocket as he looks dispassionately out toward the natural expanse beyond -- and the horrid blackened scar that has carved through the beach shore like a blight.

"" Seconds pass. The man hangs up, and looks behind him.

"My apologies. They were a little stubborn, but I seem to have gotten the point across. Will that do?"

Leonard Testarossa looks up from reading a simple tabloid newspaper, the cover reading 'ALIEN BUTTERFLY FROM BEYOND DEVOURS ISLAND.' He smiles.

"Yes, that's perfect. Now..." He folds his paper, coming to a stand. "Shall we give our new guest a proper greeting?"

ONE DAY AGO

"What sort of material is this?"

"A special kind of silk would seem the most poetic answer, don't you think?" Leonard Testarossa leans in as the massive cocoon in front of him continues to cool. The process is assisted by the rain that fills the night skies, pitter pattering off the young man's broad umbrella as he leans in to rub his index finger across the strange material. The black-haired man behind him begins to reach out, as if to caution him--

"Unfortunately, it's not anything as romantic as that," Leonard replies with an unfortunate smile. "Nanofibers. Our caterpillar is rebuilding itself into a butterfly again."

"...?"

"Make contact with the security teams at the estate. Tell them to bring three Zy-98s to this location tomorrow -- we'll be bringing this into underground storage for now." Leonard looks behind him towards the seemingly living mass of blackened material, silver brows lifting.

"I'd like our sleeping beauty to be in a peaceful place when it awakens from its slumber."

NOW

The cocoon has changed.

Silver-white material has replaced charred black. Something seems to be growing out of it as Leonard approaches from the north; trailed behind him by two large, gray-coated figures, the silver-haired youth furrows his brows together. By this point, its been long enough for a perimeter to be established; three Zy-98 Shadows have decloaked around the cocoon, men - soldiers - strapped with heavy arms organizing themselves around the mass of nanofiber and bizarre material.

"It's recovering faster than I thought it would," Leonard murmurs to himself, stepping forward. His black-haired subordinate tilts his head to the side.

"What... /is/ it, exactly?"

"You haven't realized yet, Fowler?" Leonard asks, his voice honestly surprised. Men start attempting to attach hooks to the sides of the cocoon even as Leonard tilts his head up, turning his gaze towards the moving lump seeming to struggle against the encasing material.

"Well... then I'm sure you'll be in for quite the surprise. Over there - use the Zy-98's monomolecular cutter to open up a hole around that lump. Be careful, though - we wouldn't want to startle whoever's inside."

Lee Fowler just gives a questioning glance as the southmost Shadow moves forward; a large blade is unlatched from its back as it leans forward, taking the impossibly sharp blade forged from Black Technology to the thick hide of that cocoon, intent to start attempting to cut open a slit near that strange lump with a surgeon's precision.

The monomolecular cutter is a wonderful weapon, and does an excellent job cutting through just about everything. The blade throws off a few brief sparks as it slices against the fibers, the stuff trying to regrow behind it and thicken in it's path. The precise cut opens the moving hole around the lump, and when it pulls away from it, it's already started to seal itself with a quickly-grown patch of tiny, glinting strands building across the gap.

Within the hole, something glows. A dim, yellow light brightens momentarily, from the edge of one side of the hole. It casts shadows across a gap in some sort of construct beneath the cocoon, and movement within. The light gleams off a honed edge for just an instant, the sound of steel rasping as a weapon is drawn nearly covered by the sounds of the ARM Slave.

Strands split when another blade, much smaller than the monomolecular cutter, lashes out at the hole. The delicately-curved edge of an emerging katana is followed by a strong hand that grasps the hilt, and the arm that guides the hand. Someone was inside.

A large man in black and white with a veritable mane of hair pulls himself out of the regrowing cocoon, one hand grasping the outside and the other clutching his sword. His odd eyes, with small, duller irises, flick between the Arm Slaves, and he scowls at them, assessing them and then the distance to the ground, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. He looks like he's been working at that for some time.

"They couldn't... lock away... /me/," he says, making his declaration to the empty air rather than anyone present.

<"Mister Silver, I've made the requested incision, but - man, what the hell is this gunk?? It keeps regrowin'--">

"That's fine," Leonard Testarossa interjects smoothly on his radio, looking upward on the giant mass of nanofiber growing ever larger as it consumes the very environment around it. The flash of light is noticed, as a small smile crosses the silver-haired youth's lips.

"I think we've provided more than ample an opportunity for our new guest to carve his own path."

The light brightens. The Zy-98 Shadow that had carved the hole lurches backwards in an almost worried way, as if fearful of whatever might lie within the alien shell. Fowler's brows furrow; instinctively he reaches towards the inside of his jacket.

"Isn't it remarkable, Fowler?" Leonard's voice, his expression -- his very stature stand in stark contrast to his subordinates (except, perhaps oddly, those two large figures behind him). He sounds amused -- no.

Excited.

"This, too, is a great and terrible artifact that should not exist. The only question is... does it represent an end, or a beginning?"

An answer of sorts comes in the form of a katana piercing desperately through the rapidly closing hole. It harshly carves through and pries open that incision, and Leonard looks on with marked amusement as a man literally pries himself free from the nanomachine cocoon. Large. Larger hair. And the look of a warrior. There's no question who this man is.

'They couldn't... lock away... /me/.'

"So it'd seem," Leonard answers despite the non-specified question. Stepping forward, the young man looks up, head tilting to the side.

"And you are...?" Fowler begins, hands still in his coat. Leonard looks back, and offers a reassuring smile.

"Please, Fowler. That's no way to treat an honored guest," he chides, his gaze lifting back towards Gym. "I've heard a lot about you before. And your machine. Gym Ghingnham, correct?" Leonard places a hand to his chest, smiling. "Mister Silver.

"I'm quite the fan."

The Arm Slaves don't try and gun him down, and seemed to have aided in his escape. Gym untenses slightly, but doesn't let himself get taken off-guard. If this is one of those groups working with Katharon, the only reason they haven't attacked yet would be because he is on good terms with one of their leaders... or they're being fools. He looks around, and then down at the young man speaking to him.

"Correct," he replies. "A fan? Heh. Good enough." He turns the sword, sliding it back into the scabbard at his side and freeing up his other hand. Using both hands, he climbs down the side of the cocoon rather than standing near the top, easily lowering himself to the ground. Even though the strands are metallic, it's like climbing a particularly stiff net. He doesn't appear to have any trouble.

"Well then, Mister Silver," he says, turning to face him, the other man, and his stoic guards, "you have my thanks. It would have taken a great deal longer to cut my way out from the inside." Gym looks back up at the cocoon, frowning at the thing. He exhales through his nostrils, an agitated sound accompanying it. If something like /this/ has happened...

"Where am I? Somewhere on Earth, I assume?" He looks up and around, and then back at the silver-haired individual. The name is appropriate.

"Off the coast of Greece," 'Mister Silver' explains, his voice soft and carrying pleasantly. He turns his steel-gray eyes towards that mass of nanomachines sprawling across his beach, half-sunk into the salty seas. His lips pull into a thoughtful smile.

"This land is privately owned, so you don't have to concern yourself with Federation involvement. Though we might find ourselves a bit compromised after that flashy entrance of yours." Leonard walks forward calmly, his gloved hands sliding into his pockets as he approaches the source of the 'flashy entrance' in question. As if like a second thought, he adds: "We're also not a part of Mithril, if you're concerned; even though I hear they stole one of the Soviets' prototype Shadow models, these particular Arm Slaves are very much out of their particular circulation."

When he is close enough, Leonard's hand lifts. He places it on the web-like exterior of the cocoon with a thoughtful touch, even as he turns his gaze back towards Gym and Fowler's location.

"It seems that you've gotten into quite the difficult situation here. I read a report. It seems that your comrades are concerned for your safety." Leonard's voice seems almost conversational as he imparts this bit of knowledge, his hand drawing down the thick, mesh-like exterior. He pauses, considerate.

"A defensive measure?" he asks, though whether it's to Gym or himself is entirely up to debate. "You really have quite the spectacular machine. What is it called...? The Turn X...?" As he asks, Leonard's control team proceed to drill holes into the side of the cocoon with specialized monomolecular drills. Before they can close up, the Shadows will attempt to slam massive latches into the hide of the magnificent structure.

"I hope it doesn't seem too forward, but we're preparing to have it moved into underground facilities here." A pause. "Where it won't quite be on such open display. I wonder if you've experienced a phenomenon like this before...?"

Greece. Gym remembers the geography of the world pretty well overall, having seen Dark History-era maps and some of the modern ones of this world. The general lines of political boundaries don't concern him until he needs to cross one or erase one from the map. The overall regions, though, are useful to know.

"Hmmm. I must have drifted some way to have ended up here." The battle was in space, some ways outside Earth orbit. He isn't sure why here, though; did the Turn X want to lead him here? It seems more likely that it needed materials, and the Lunar surface wasn't closer, or it's own inertia aided by whatever thrust it could somehow cause sent it that way. Gym will have to check it's flight logs... when he can get to them.

"Good. Mithril or Katharon would be a problem." He watches 'Mister Silver' check the cocoon. It's interesting, sure, but Gym has had his chance to inspect it from the other side. He's glad to be rid of it. "So it would appear. The Turn X was heavily damaged in a battle with the Argama and her crew. They're talented, even though their skills are unhoned, and their mobile suits have a few tricks up their sleeves." He looks up at the hole--or where it was. It's hard to tell, now.

"It's never been in this condition before," he remarks as the Shadows prep it for moving. His lip twitches with the start of a frown. He disapproves of the treatment, but it won't get any worse. "It will regenerate, but I don't know how long it will take. If your facilities are secure, it would be better than leaving it here."

"I'm not usually one to indulge in such whimsical things," Leonard begins as Gym contemplates his situation.

"... but perhaps what drew your Turn X here was 'fate'."

Leonard's hand withdraws from the cocoon at a measured pace, returning back toward Fowler and the two hulking 'guards' that remain as still and lifeless as statues. There's not even a sign that the pair are /breathing/, let alone moving. "Lee, would you go get ahold of Sabine and tell her to prepare a room for our guest?" Fowler pauses, looking back at Gym. Eventually, he offers a calm smile and a stiff bow.

"Of course, sir."

Gradually, Fowler begins to make his way back to the estate. Even as he does, the Shadows hook cables to the makeshift latches drilled into the cocoon. Attaching them to their own bodies, the Shadows begin to move - literally taking all three of them just to move the tremendous nanaoshell.

"I'd like to tell you 'I'm sorry for the rough treatment,' but I have to admit I was a bit interested to test some of your machine's properties." The Shadows start to drag, even as Leonard smiles apologetically. "Such as durability."

His attention turning back to the machine, 'Mister Silver' lifts his brows. The Argama. Home of the Zeta Gundam. Another peculiar machine-- "It really is an unusual machine. The nanomachines seem to be automated to absorb the outside environment to repair itself. We'll bring in some materials for it to incorporate to help the process along but..." His shoulders lift in a slow shrug, "... my apologies, we still don't have much of a timetable to work with."

Leonard turns his head gradually back to Gym. "From the footage, it is a powerful machine. You know how to use it well." A pause. "But it's not complete yet, is it? Something is locked away, deep inside it. Something keeping it restrained from its full potential. Am I wrong?"

The damage is extensive, inside. The Turn X couldn't even properly reintegrate all it's components after that. Sensors shut down, and life support was only working because it couldn't /not/ while a pilot was inside. He wasn't sure how much time had passed between the battle and them, but it was largely a period of quiet contemplation... and boredom. If he only knew what else it could do--

'I'm not usually one to indulge in such whimsical things... but perhaps what drew your Turn X here was fate.'

Gym turns to regard 'Mister Silver' a little more closely. He seems young for the things he's talking about; no older than some of the newer pilots he's seen. Barely beyond a child, maybe, though he carries himself well. He's confident, and he has the resources to have such personnel and machines at his disposal. He's formidable, regardless of what he might seem to be on the outside.

"I thought it was something like that." Gym watches them drag it away for a moment. He doesn't think they could possibly damage it like that, so he isn't worried in the least. "Hm. Interesting. Usually they just correct the misshapen parts of the body instead. I've never seen a piece broken off, only... twisted." Which may mean it needs the material to make the shell, if it isn't missing anything. Though... he can't be sure.

Gym meets Leonard's eyes. He nods slightly, perhaps in thanks, perhaps confirmation of his suspicions, but... "You're a warrior yourself, aren't you, Mister Silver," Gym half asks, half states. He doesn't wait more than a few beats for a response. "The Turn X is a magnificent weapon, but it's damaged. Incomplete. My technical team does good work, but even they cannot unlock it's full power..."

"...or repair 'it.'"

Appearances are deceiving, and Leonard Testarossa would seem to be the living embodiment of that. Young and effette - they're hardly the typical attributes of a soldier or someone who would have this much resources at his disposal. But then, the Turn X is living proof--

Anything in this world is possible.

Hands slide back into Leonard's pockets. He moves back into a comfortable position beside his two 'companions,' the two be-coated figures looming high over him -- over pretty much anyone in the immediate area. "It seems to be able to respond independantly to the need for self-preservation. Maybe both for it and its pilot? I imagine for an artifact like this, it isn't a system that you'd have an opportunity to discover often. What a rare opportunity."

Gradually, Leonard's musings come to an end. His eyes drift up and to the side, meeting Gym's gaze evenly.

'You're a warrior yourself, aren't you, Mister Silver.' Leonard simply smiles.

"From the famous Gym Ghingnham, I guess I could consider that a compliment, couldn't I?"

Slowly, Leonard turns. A gloved hand lifts, as if inviting Gym to follow him as he begins to walk the path the cocoon carves as it drags across the earth. Or -- it could be a signal for his 'companions' to follow as they walk soon after, the ground seeming to sink drastically beneath the weight of their every footstep as they trudge.

"It's always tragic to see something that can't reach the full height of its capabilities. Don't you think?" The question seems rhetorical, as if Leonard already knows the answer as he continues to converse. "It's why I like to take a personal investment in making sure that particularly impressive things should be able to spread their wings as far as they're able." A pause, as Leonard looks towards the Shadows and the nanococoon off in the distance.

"What if I were to tell you I'd like to offer my assistance with the Turn X's recovery?

"It may not be much, but I do dabble in mechanics from time to time."

The footsteps of 'Mister Silver's' companions almost conveniently ring a little too loud to be normal the second they reach solid ground.

Gym knows how deceiving appearances can be. He's met children who could fight him to a standstill on the practice field. Seen men who speak of a bright future and brilliant hopes, but seek only power for themselves. Spoken to leaders who seem to be heroes, and lead their men to their deaths for the sake of a lost cause.

And known a boy who rejects war, and pilots one of the most powerful weapons ever imagined by man.

"Heh. I've got an eye for that sort of thing. True warriors have a certain... spark. Still, not all of them manage to catch, and burn." Gym speaks with slightly cryptic intent sometimes. He indulges himself in his philosophies, and has a few rather interesting ones that he's shared with some of the promising fighters of this world. Some share it, and others reject it. 'Mister Silver' could go either way. He seems calm, collected, easy-going.

Appearances, again, can be very deceiving.

Gym walks. He falls into step with Leonard, the two hulking forms, unmoving except when called to, staying close. They're strange, but Gym is hardly intimidated. He wouldn't be, if he is the same man everyone talks about. That doesn't seem to be the point, though. If they /are/ guards... he finds himself curious as to what they could do.

'... I do dabble in mechanics from time to time.'

Footsteps ring when the two men(?) reach solid ground. Gym raises his eyebrow and regards them again. Are they machines? The sound, the weight, the stillness seems to indicate that they are. He looks back at Leonard, seeing him in a different light, now. If he is their creator, he may be able to aid him where the Shadow-Mirrors could not.

"You seem to be an impressive 'dabbler,'" Gym remarks dryly. He thinks a moment, watching the cocoon being dragged off into the distance. "I think your help may be what I need for the Turn X to show it's full potential to this world... and for it to finally spread it's Wings again."

Fate. Maybe it is.

"I wonder what seperates a warrior from a murderer?" Leonard wonders aloud, perhaps to himself. It's something he's been wondering to himself. The difference between a man who murders hundreds and the man who murders five.

"Maybe the spark required to catch is 'purpose.'"

Gym Ghingnham is a warrior. His purpose is battle. Challenge. The striving desire that represents all human beings. To grow. To seek more and more.

And that makes him perfect for a weapon like the Turn X.

As the Shadows pull the cocoon forward, the loud groan of metal hinges can be heard. Dirt, rock and earth pour down like a solid waterfall as a large, concealed hatch opens towards the outskirts of the forest just beyond the Arm Slaves and their precious haul. Automated hydraulic lifts pry the entrance open as the Shadows begin to descend, and Leonard looks back toward Gym with the faintest of smiles.

"We all have our passions, I suppose."

Shoulders lift in a non-committal shrug. "It isn't too much, but feel free to make full use of the estate here while you wait. In the meantime - with your permission of course - I'll begin an initial analysis of the Turn X while it is still in a state of self-repair. Seeing it in a new state will give us quite a bit of insight, I think." He pauses here, smiling as he lifts his gaze up toward the sky.

"Believe me when I say I am very eager to see the Turn X truly fly."

Fate indeed.

"Hmmm?" The musing is enough to catch Gym's attention, and surprise him at the suddenness of it. He doesn't take long to come up with an answer that is satisfactory to him, at least.

"A warrior's instincts allow him to advance beyond simple killing. He fights for his cause, or his philosophy, or his master, and /believes/. A murderer kills, and thinks that is purpose enough."

Gym's purpose is set. He knows what he wants, and knows what humanity needs to succeed, advance, thrive, survive. He won't let anyone stop him. He'll start moving forward, dragging an inexorable tide of change with him. People will be swept under and battered aside, but it is the price of humanity's uplifting.

But not while they think they can escape war. Not while they think they can destroy Turn X.

The underground lift is about what Gym expected. He thought it might be a little more elegant, but it serves it's purpose. Gym notes where it is, though he doubts he'll need to remember. There is, of course, another way beneath the island, and Leonard will show him where it is. Until then, he will have time to... what? Rest? He doesn't need /rest/. But he can't fight with the Turn X like that, either.

"Of course. Analyze what you will. I don't have to tell you to be careful; there may be systems we don't know about that won't like being tampered with. I doubt you'll run into many... problems, though." Gym looks towards the estate itself for a moment, thinking, but not about recouperation.

"The Turn X /will/ fly," Gym declares confidently. "It must, if humanity is to grow as it should."