Robert Callaghan // ʏ๏кคเ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pushtheboundaries) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
san_fransokyo2014-11-21 02:40 pm
pushtheboundaries) wrote in san_fransokyo2014-11-21 02:40 pm
@bigdamnhiro
[The potential here was impressive; had things gone differently, he would have enjoyed watching what Hiro developed over time. Perhaps he'd have had the opportunity to be here legitimately, as opposed to breaking and entering.
To be fair, he was trying his best to not make a mess. To be fair, the moment there was even a slight lapse in concentration, the microbots tried to swarm over everything and explore; it was a constant battle between investigation and restraint, but at least he'd a little bit of practice in controlling them at this point.
Still, as Callaghan flipped up some of the notes, he wondered just Hiro would have done with these, given a longer window to research and develop their usage. He'd no doubt have found and took steps to prevent a problem like this, before it had even become one; clearly, this was Robert's own mistake, one of many perhaps less-than-wise decisions he'd made.
They can't be taken back now. And he's at a complete loss as to how to deal with them, now, when there's no longer a band or mask involved in controlling the microbots, where they seem to respond to thought alone and things that he's relatively certain he didn't even think of in the first place.
He hopes he can convince Hiro to at least hear him out, but he also hopes he won't have to see Hiro at all, and that the answer is somewhere in his notes.]
To be fair, he was trying his best to not make a mess. To be fair, the moment there was even a slight lapse in concentration, the microbots tried to swarm over everything and explore; it was a constant battle between investigation and restraint, but at least he'd a little bit of practice in controlling them at this point.
Still, as Callaghan flipped up some of the notes, he wondered just Hiro would have done with these, given a longer window to research and develop their usage. He'd no doubt have found and took steps to prevent a problem like this, before it had even become one; clearly, this was Robert's own mistake, one of many perhaps less-than-wise decisions he'd made.
They can't be taken back now. And he's at a complete loss as to how to deal with them, now, when there's no longer a band or mask involved in controlling the microbots, where they seem to respond to thought alone and things that he's relatively certain he didn't even think of in the first place.
He hopes he can convince Hiro to at least hear him out, but he also hopes he won't have to see Hiro at all, and that the answer is somewhere in his notes.]
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Instead, when he rounds the corner, there's a totally different figure - too tall for Aunt Cass, too broad-shouldered for Tadashi - leaning over his desk, going through his sketches and papers. The microbots skittering endlessly over one another, pouring out from the shadows of the figure's trench coat, are a dead giveaway.
Hiro yelps and stumbles backward in shock, colliding noisily with the trash cans by the garage door.
Callaghan. Callaghan is in his garage, he knows where he lives.]
What are you doing here? [He levers himself back to his feet, eyes narrowed, staying on the sidewalk out of caution. As he gathers his courage, he demands, angrier now:] What do you want?
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but the moment he hears sound?
coils of the microbots react, some shifting directly around him, a pair of spike-like protrusions forming over his shoulders. he has to will them to drop back down to the floor, but even he can't deny his want for some kind of protection; microbots swarm over his face, forming a mask as he wishes Hiro would just shut up and sit down
and then the mass shifts out to grab the boy. some move to lock his arms at his sides, some to press over his mouth to silence any noise. all of it makes to drag him in to the garage as Robert gives in to the inertia and casts a single look back out at the street before turning his attention back to Hiro.
Yokai's mask is shrouded in shadow, so it's hard to tell the exact features. he raises a hand with a single finger, pressing it to his mouth in warning before consciously willing back the ones at Hiro's own.
his voice, when he speaks, is quiet- and partially distorted by the microbots]
I need your notes on the microbots. All of them.
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Even with the extra distance between them, he moves a fraction of a second too slow to get out of the way of the oncoming microbots. A fraction of a second is all it takes. He fights, he kicks, he thrashes, but he may as well be struggling against concrete and he knows it; the microbots are smart enough to figure out just the right way to bind together, so that it'd take a couple of tons of force he doesn't have to break out. Hiro should know. He made them.
He sucks in shallow breaths through his nose, his heart pounding out a rabbit-quick beat inside his chest. Even shadowed, there's something off about the mask - maybe it's because he's scared, but it almost seems to move.
The second he's free to speak, Hiro snaps back uncooperatively:]
And if I say I don't feel like giving them to you?
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-they loosen abruptly, Yokai drawing back. they don't quite extract themselves from Hiro - lingering around his feet - but their controller turns his back on the boy, returning his attention to the mess of paperwork he's sorting through.]
I find them myself.
[it sounds simple enough. and by all appearances, he's not going to hurt Hiro for them, though Hiro may find just a bit of resistance at his feet if he tries to move. nothing too restrictive unless he moves too quickly, in which case the microbots will be more than ready to lock him in place]
I can't speak for the microbots, though. They've developed a mind of their own.
[his flat voice is utterly without humor. and while that may not be quite the truth, it's close enough that if anything will get Hiro's attention...]
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[Free from the microbots (mostly), he sucks in a few deep breaths to make sure he can breathe now. Hiro's not a slow and measured person by default, and the first thing he does is try and move forward too quickly. The microbots seize him around the ankles and he trips, catching himself on his hands. He stands back up just as quickly, confused, noting that Callaghan doesn't seem to be exercising the concentration needed to order the microbots to stop him that abruptly.]
What do you mean, they've developed a mind of their own? What are you talking about?
[Even while he's talking, he glances around, looking for something he could maybe use to get free or at least protect himself. His eyes settle on a soldering iron just within reach, still plugged into the wall.
Tiny, but sharp and capable of reaching temperatures in excess of 400 Celsius. He leans over and snatches it, switching it on behind his back. Keep talking. Stall for time.]
That's not all my notes. I'm not telling you where the rest are if you won't tell me why you need them.
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If you have a better theory, I'll listen.
[but to hammer the point home, he reaches up with a hand to pull back his hood; the microbots pull it down fully for him, and (somewhat reluctantly) pull entirely away from his head.
there's a few streaks in his hair, white patches that weren't there the night they met...and a distinct lack of neurocranialtransmitter. he only half-turns his head, letting Hiro see his profile, and already he looks just a bit more gaunt and thin]
All I did was copy your design. So the answer as to why the design has gone wrong is somewhere here.
[a handful of 'bots skitter 'round his head, as though to illustrate the point that there's nothing controlling them
or, at least, broadcasting to them. and yet there is, and they're responding, and the little ripples in the mass may betray Callaghan's suppressed unease. he's doing a damn good job of hiding it in terms of body language, but the microbots, so linked, understand that something is wrong even if the base programming has no idea how to complete the thought.]
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[For a second, he's shocked enough that he stops paying attention to the microbots creeping over him. He nearly drops the soldering iron. He keeps looking for a trick or some hidden transmitter or something, but there isn't one. The microbots are just...responding, moving on their own without one. And Callaghan himself looks...awful. He almost wants to sympathize, a little, because whatever's going on is clearly taking its toll on the man, but he's still too bitter and shoves that thread of sympathy down.
His brows furrow together, and he frowns.]
No, that's not - you think this is my fault? I didn't design them to do that! How am I supposed to know what you might've done to, to, I dunno, screw them up?
[He flings a hand out, palm up, questioning - really? And it's a little desperate and scared, because he doesn't want to believe that he might have created something that's gone this horribly wrong.]
They're just supposed to respond to what you want them to create, and only through the transmitter. That's it. This shouldn't even be happening.
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[my, there are abruptly a lot of points within the mass, spikes and sharp bits and whether or not they happen to scratch Hiro is only so much in Callaghan's control.
to his credit, he does make efforts to /regain/ control, clenching his fists as he turns to face Hiro, forcing the microbots to draw back to him, around him, keep away from the boy. hold that thought in the head, for now, and everything should be fine. this- this he can do, as much as part of him wants to grab him and shake him and he just told them to stay away
the microbots that had started to creep back towards Hiro snap back as though chastened]
There is clearly a flaw in the design, if this is what they've become. Now, are you just going to pretend this isn't a problem, or are you going to give me the notes so I can fix this?!
[are you another Krei in the making, Hiro? because that is an /ugly/ look starting to form on the once-professor's face, tight as it is]
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He sucks in a couple of breaths to steady himself and nods toward the desk.]
Fine, okay? Bottom left drawer, there's some notes and a data drive with all the programming work. And the blue notebook on the top shelf over there. It's...not all that organized, some stuff is missing and a lot of it I just pieced together in my head -
[He's a goddamn fourteen year old and a messy one at that, okay. Which means Callaghan can take a crack at it, but Hiro may very well be the only one with all the information needed to really fix this.
Another second, and he ventures with a frown:]
Maybe if you hadn't stolen them in the prototype phase and I'd had time to work on them more, this wouldn't be a problem.
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note to self; avoid extreme heat, or look in to making these things heat-resistant. perhaps a coating...
as Hiro speaks, there's another reaction from his creation, the machines quickly building structures towards the indicated locations without even a gesture from Callaghan. rather; his gesture of reaching up and rubbing his temple as though in pain has nothing to do with it. that, and the brief wince, is related only to how hard it can be to /think/ lately.]
I've made mistakes.
[his voice is tight, but at least it's an admission. he won't specify on what those mistakes are, though he will continue-]
I'm trying to fix them.
[lowering his hand, it's promptly 'handed' the notebook. and even with a glance down at it, he's realizing that Hiro would have been...challenging...as a student. the microbots even opened it to the first page, and the scribbling there is haphazard at best. Tadashi ever kept cleaner work, but he has the presence of mind to realize touching on that would just end up in this escalating rather quickly.
still. this and the other papers and the data drive are more than he had. it's a place for him to start, short of going for Hiro's mind itself and that was not an order.
if it wasn't /him/, he might find the constant ripple-motions of the microbots fascinating, especially with the aborted motions and reaches they make. they move almost organically, as much as they conform to mathematically precise angles and structures. but here and now they're wearisome at best, and disturbing most of the other time. at worst...]
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Tadashi doesn't think much of the garage door already being open when he gets home, immediately swapping out his helmet for his baseball cap and moving to put his scooter away. Hiro must be inside, hopefully getting some homework done.
And he's half right about that.
Tadashi's helmet hits the ground first and the scooter follows soon after, the handlebars slipping unheeded from his hands as he takes a few quick steps into the garage. He'll fuss over any scratches he's managed to inflict later, but the scene before him takes precedence. Callaghan inside their garage, microbots everywhere, and the way Hiro's standing... He doesn't have to be in front of his brother to recognize fear when he sees it, and why is he holding his hand like that?]
What is going on here?
[Hear that? That's the sound of an older brother just shy of turning into a mama bear. That optimistic smile he wore the last time he and Callaghan spoke spoke? It's nowhere to be found, replaced with a cautious intensity as he surveys the scene and pieces together just what's happening.]
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He doesn't think for a minute that Callaghan wouldn't hurt his brother if it came down to a fight, even if the microbots were in his total control.]
Tadashi. Don't move. Please. [It comes off a little more shaky and nervous than he'd intended, and his voice cracks embarrassingly, but he ignores that. Never mind if he is bleeding, never mind that until a second ago the microbots had been pointing daggers at his skull. He flashes a look at Callaghan.] He doesn't have anything to do with this. Leave him alone. You got what you came for.
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it's one he'd only ever wanted from one person - and that person was not a teenager, terrified for his brother.
he blinks once, twice, a vaguely sort of disgusted-confused look on his face before there's a shift from the microbots and they draw closer towards him, over him, shrouding him in their mass as though to cloak him against it all. and while there's a thousand sneering things that are coming to mind to bark at Hiro, what kind of person do you think I am? the least of them all, there are precious few if any responses coming to mind for Tadashi.
he swallows once, another ripple coming from the microbots, and then finally manages to say something;]
I apologize for the mess.
[
NOW ADDING TO THE SCORE OF WRONG THINGS TO SAY AT THE WRONG TIME?]no subject
Hiro, are you hurt?
[His eyes flick back and forth between the other two people in the room while he waits for an answer. Nothing to do with what? What did Callaghan come here for? The last time Tadashi saw the man, he was headed back into the dark on the bad side of town...]
Why are you here?
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I'm fine, I'm okay, just...don't make any sudden movements, okay? The microbots are acting up. He came to get my notes. That's it. So now he's going to leave quietly.
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he doesn't want to be seen like this.
he doesn't want to be here.
Tadashi is between him and the exit.
gathering himself in full, he holds up some of the aforementioned notes - the microbots have pulled the rest back in - in affirmation of Hiro's claim, and begins sending the machines out- the ones not gathered upon him directly begin making their path out of the garage, sticking to the sides of the exit to stay as far away from Tadashi as possible.
unfortunately, he can't do the same; when he turns around to leave, though, the mask and the mantle do an exceedingly well job of hiding any sort of expression or feeling that could give him away.]
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Tadashi can forgive a lot of things. Messing with his little brother is not one of them.]
What do you mean by "acting up"?
[Frowning over at Callaghan now. He's far enough from the door now that the older man could pass by without touching him, but it'll still be close, and now Tadashi's attention is on him. On the even more organic movement of the tiny robots and they way they've almost made themselves into a second skin. How-]
... How are they doing that?
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which really just means that it's a somewhat looser structure upon him, but still as though he's wearing a suit of mail.
but where to begin, without giving more information than need be...?]
It started a few days ago. I woke up, and they were covering me like a blanket- they moved back as soon as I realized it, but the fact remains that they're responding without the neurotransmitter, and to...noncommands.
[his voice remains steady, but as before, the microbots 'speak' for him- tiny agitated ripples that are only so much in his control.]
no subject
Without the transmitter... Are they responding to your emotions?
[Because that would explain a lot of their strange behavior, the ripples and spikes and all that. It's also the worst sort of thing that could occur to a tool like the microbots. They're small, but so powerful in large numbers, already so dangerous in the wrong hands. To have them responding to emotions or subconscious thoughts...]
Did something happen to the neurotransmitter while you were wearing it? A short or any other kind of damage?
no subject
as for the question? he /does/ give a brief glance towards Hiro, tilting his head as though asking his input, even as he responds with what little he can offer-]
It's...possible.
[to everything, really. all told, it's...more than possible that they're responding to /something/ from him, because his temper had risen and he hadn't /told/ them to hurt Hiro like that, but even so he cannot help but feel childishly satisfied with the results.
that doesn't really help with the sinking feeling regarding the whole fear thing, but if this is what it takes, this is what it takes.
...right?
even he knows that isn't the best thought he's ever had. Hiro's a /kid/, for godssake. the scowl on the 'mask' seems to deepen, and irritable flicker running through the microbots at the base of his form. there has to be a first aid kit in here somewhere, isn't-
it's impossible to miss the microbots creating an exploratory tendril upon the floor, as though searching for /something/ - and equally impossible to miss him looking down at it before it aborts the construct. heel.]
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[He runs a hand, the one that's less scratched up, through his hair, trying to think - which is when he notices the microbots reaching out. Until a moment ago they'd been clustered around Callaghan like armor, a motion that Hiro would describe as defensive if he had to pick one.
Even while he's watching the microbots, Hiro creeps up behind Tadashi and pulls him by the collar of his blazer, backing him up so they're both out of the microbots' path.
Until Callaghan glances and they stop. Hiro studies the microbots, and then Callaghan. Maybe he could pry an answer out of the professor.]
...What were you thinking, right then?
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Other than 'heel'?
[his tone is dry, but he at least doesn't wait long before continuing]
I was trying to remember if I saw a first aid kit. As I said - I'm sorry for the mess.
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Tadashi doesn't fight the pull, taking those few steps back while crowding Hiro a little to try and keep himself positioned in front of his brother (deal with it, bro). He knows exactly where the first aid kit is (he should, being the one who stocks it and all) and he'd very much like to go get it, but hell if he's leaving Hiro's side just yet. Not that he's expecting much of anything to happen now that things seem relatively calm, but he's not taking any chances.]
... You said it started a few days ago. Has their level of responsiveness changed at all since then?
no subject
though he doesn't for a few moments, the microbots slowing.
tk. tk. tk. someone's in thought.
finally, quietly;]
Exponentially.
[and with that word of admission, there's another rustle, as those feelings of not wanting to be here surge- and are acted upon.
he doesn't fight them any further. in a few short moments, he's gone]
no subject
Oh god.
[And then he takes a few more breaths, looks around the room, and it occurs to him that this is maybe, a little, his fault. That he needs to do something about it right now, before somebody gets seriously hurt. He pushes his way out from behind Tadashi and scrambles for a pen, forgetting about Tadashi and the white hot soldering iron lying on the floor and all the little myriad scratches on his hands and every other bit of exposed skin the microbots had been able to reach.
He grabs the nearest rumpled piece of notebook paper he can find and starts frantically scribbling notes onto it, while fumbling for the power button to the computer.]
That's not right. They weren't designed to - ow - to do that, to, to do stuff by themselves. What did I do wrong, where'd the bug come from, why'd they end up like this -
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