2013.09.05 - Choosing Targets

The X-Men team has established themselves in Hammer Bay. Their headquarters isn't much to speak of, but that is intentional. A small apartment has been rented amongst the dense favela, just another roof over the heads of pilgrims to the island. It's a three room apartment, consisting of a living space with four cots, a small kitchen, and a washroom. To say that it's close quartered is an understatement, but to rent a more lavish space would simply draw too many unwanted eyes.
It's almost as hot inside as it is outside on this sunny afternoon. Though the window air conditioning unit is pumping at full blast, it does little to stave off the oppressive heat that permeates these small, slum apartments. As such, Kwabena is seated upon a small couch in the living space, with a laptop on the table before him. He's garbed in a lightweight shirt of colorful, traditional African garb, a pair of brown shorts, and lightweight sandals. A Damask hat of bright orange and purple sits upon his head, serving to keep the sweat from dripping down into his eyes.
Rachel, Jocelyn and Hope are nowhere to be found, most likely observing the city and collecting information and demographics. However, as for Kwabena, he's hard at work struggling with their limited internet service to research two names in particular.
Nate came on his own, and has been doing his own stuff, which at some point involved returning to New York at Domino's request. Now, that is something Rachel would need to know, but probably not the others. This is his first visit to the provisional headquarters and he has little to comment. As long as it blends with the locals, it should be alright. They should also move every few days, anyway. "Hey, good afternoon," he greets, sliding into the room. As a concession to the heat, he has removed the sleeves from his jacket, but he is rarely caught without his armoured outfit even in New York. "I am told Hope joined us too, uh? What did she said? And... what are you doing?"
Kwabena's mis-matched eyes look up from the laptop when the door is unlatched, vigilance cast upon them with the backwash glow from the laptop's screen. When he sees that it is Nate, he looks back down to the laptop, finishing a few keystrokes before sitting back against the couch, stifling a sigh. "Hello Nate," he answers quietly, and for a few moments he simply studies the screen in a thoughtful manner, before breaking away from his work.
"She did," he answers, looking up again. "She wants to be a part of de action." A somewhat rueful tone is audible, as if he wasn't too pleased with having someone along who hadn't yet become a legal adult by American standards. "So, she's here, out conducting obsahvations with Rachel." Reaching out, he turns the laptop around, so that Nate can see what he's been researching. "James Barklen, Hammah Bay minority leader and potential candidate for de Presidency. Dere's not much out dere on him, not nearly as much as de oddah candidate. A mutant named Prelude. Social commentator, quite opinionated."
Nate grunts, "weird, she is so obsessed with this quest of hers..." and now he has fond her father, fun times! He shakes his head and flops down on a chair, "right, those guys. We need to check out they are legit, right? Internet is not going to be of much help, anyone can put there anything they want."
"Exactly," answers Kwabena. "From what I can read, Barklen's been an advocate for a more democratic, well, a more structured form of govahnment here. Seems to have a lot of political clout, but, like dey say back in America, I get de feeling he's de one pahcent. Whereas Prelude? Has some few struggles, but de anarchist concept is much more popular in a place like Hammah Bay."
Reaching over with his foot, Kwabena pops open a cooler sitting on the floor. Then he bends over, grasps two bottles of water, and tosses one across the room toward Nate.
"You say she's obsessed?" he asks, tilting his head. "What is dis quest?" Seems he isn't much for valuing people's privacy... but then again, he has his reasons.
"We will have to check them in person, I guess," Nate pulls a cellphone, it is one of those fancy Halo models with 'endless' batteries. Not as popular as the Starkphones but supposedly very similar in capabilities. "I wonder what Halo has on those guys... nah, I'll check only if everything else fails." He looks up. "Hope? Apparently during the next few centuries a lunatic time traveller is going to raze all continents but North America and render them unsuitable for human life. She wants to prevent it, she is always talking about it and trying to come up with a plan to stop him." Really obsessed, but then again, it seems a reasonable matter to obsess about.
"We certainly have de means to do it," quips Kwabena. Telepaths who can conceal their identities and read the minds of others, a young girl who can mimic the powers of those in her proximity, a girl who can see the flow of energy and manipulate it, and a man who can listen in from the veiled secrecy of thinly stretched smoke.
Kwabena distances himself from the musing, only to look at the phone in Nate's hand. "Halo?" he asks, curiously. "I am not familiah with dat tech."
Surely there is much more to be told regarding Hope, but Nate's small story does a lot to fill in the gaps. Kwabena frowns while popping the cap off his bottle of water, and the frown remains while he takes a long, healthy drink from its contents. "Have to admit. I hate talking about time travel. Gives me de heebie jeebies. But, I've met some few and I can't avoid acknowledging it." Settling his eyes upon Nate, there is a brief silence before he poses a question that has been at the back of his mind for a few days now. "You from de future, too?" he asks.
"Actually, I am from the past," replies Nate with a grin. "Last I knew, it was nineteen ninety-two or three back home. In my world things went wrong, real wrong at some point during the late fifties or sixties. A powerful mutant with launched a global anti-human crusade and thousands other mutants joined, including some very crazy genius types that developed weapons of mass destruction as if there was no tomorrow." He sighs, "it didn't end well, as you can imagine. And isn't Magneto doing the same? Magneto, of all people."
He sighs, then waves his cell. "Halo has access to alien tech, they are adapting some for human use. I sort of work for the CEO, Jack Marlowe as 'security consultant'. Look, I have full cover and fast Internet even here. Pretty fancy, but there might be AIs listening. Lets not involve them for now."
"The past?" Kwabena starts to say, before shutting himself up. This business of alternate timelines, it's really starting to get to him. However, in spite of wanting nothing more than to dismiss the entire idea, he has a job to do, a mission to accomplish, and part of that means being open-minded.
"I think each of us has de opportunity to be two different people," he acknowledges. "It's all about de choices we make, isn't it?" And he's certainly made some poor choices, even recently. But, he's still here, trying to fight the good fight, in spite of his troubled past.
Eyes moving once again to the Halo device, a smirk forms on the African's face. "Good call," he agrees. "We don't know what kind of surveillance is in place here, dough I undahstand Jocelyn is hard at work sorting that out. She and Doug are going to try to establish some form of secure communication with de states, but I won't be putting all my chips on dat."
Nate meant Halo AIs, but Magneto could be monitoring all Internet communications too. That is a good point. He nods, "we can use telepathy, I suppose. I am not sure what useful information could be gained from the nets, unless they are planning to hack some secured network. Hmm, I wonder if Magneto would keep useful information there. What do you know about his Brotherhood?"
"It's possible," answers Kwabena. "It depends on how far he needs to go to get de information he wants. With Mystique in his company, he may not need to go dat far. She can take any form, of anyone. She can even mimic dere voices. Imagine how many secret places you could get into with dat type of X-Gene?" When asked of his time spent in the Brotherhood, however, Kwabena shakes his head. "Not much, unfortunately. When I made an attempt to infiltrate dere numbahs, he kept me at arms length. Dose he trusts are held very close. I felt as if I was being treated more like a pawn, given only so much rope with which to move. I can tell you dat dose loyal to him will be fiercely so, and I'm not sure to what end he might go to see his agenda through."
"Well, Mystique can't be everywhere. But if Magneto's core group is very small and the rest of his followers are in the dark, he might not need any kind of computer network. Or at least he won't keep anything important there," which means they will have to use telepathy, surveillance and mundane spying means. Nate is fine with that, although it takes a time they might not have. "When are the elections? How long do we have?"
"They haven't announced dat yet," answers Kwabena. "De Alliance isn't known for being particularly organized. I imagine de U.N. presence here will do some things to slow down de process, which may work in our favor." He leans forward then, resting his forearms on his knees. "I think, howevah, I've gone as far as I can with dis research." He gestures toward the laptop indicatively. "It might be time we pick one of those targets, and try to get close. Perhaps very close." He cocks an eyebrow, curious as to what Nate might think.
"Sure," he stands up. He has been sitting down for several minutes, that probably mean he was tired. "Want to pick one? I will check out with the other. I can also find out what people really think about them and what they remember doing. Those things are not things that can be falsified easily." And if they are, he believes he can notice the manipulations.
After taking another drink of water, Kwabena rises. "Tell me dis, Nate. Who would you feel most comfortable working with?" He suspects that he might know the answer, but part of doing this right was to make the right call. The right assignments, with the right people. That requires asking, rather than guessing.
Nate finally opens the bottle and drinks half of it before answers. Or not answering. He just shrugs, "I'll tell you when I get to know them." To him, politicians seem a necessary evil, and he has yet to meet one he really likes. "Hey, do you know where those slave camps are?"
With a slight chuckle, Kwabena shakes his head. "Oh, no, I meant, who on de team would you feel most comfahtable working with." English was his second language, after all, and there were so many times even to this day where his meaning simply got lost in the translation. "I'd prafah if we not go out solo, when we can avoid it. I, for one, know dat Magneto is gunning for me, and I could use all de telepathic protection I can get."
Finishing the bottle of water, he turns and tosses it into an empty waste bin across the room, before closing the lid on that laptop computer. "If I undahstand correctly, we won't find dose slave camps anywhere near here. Dey're all across de island, in Bastion."
Nate hehs. He usually catches the meaning of words quickly, but he is tired and distracted. "I have no preferences," he thinks a couple seconds, "but I guess Rachel would be redundant, our powers are too similar. I work better alone, too," besides, that way he can sneak out town and fly to the other side of the island to see those camps himself.
Considering the way things are shaking down, Kwabena goes silent for a few moments before nodding his head in decision. "See what you can find out about dis minority leadah, James Barklen. I think it's going to be much easiah for one to get close to him, dan for a group. De rest of us will try to peg down Prelude." Beat. "And if you do get close to dose camps, see if you can't snap any photographs. Take any videos. Get whatevah evidence you can."
Because not only will that help in building a rapport against Bastion, it can also be handed directly to Kwabena's contacts in SHIELD.
"If he won't back down, we can take his ass down," notes Kwabena, regarding Magneto. "I'd rathah not do it by force."
Because that would get ugly.
"Do you have a camera or do I finally have to learn the pictures option of the cell?" Nate smirks, because his reluctance to use smartphones and similar gadgets common among young people is a running gag in certain circles. "Although if those places are as bad as I think, I am not going to just..." he loses his smirk and looks at Kwabema. "Nevermind, I better go."
Not going to just take pictures? A warning look flashes through Kwabena's mis-matched eyes, the silver one seeming to almost glow a bit. "You know," he remarks, the tone not quite matching his expression. "Dere's a cornah store about two blocks dat way." He gestures westward. "I believe dey sell dose cheap, disposable, recycled cameras. You know... de ones made of plastic?"
Not metal.
"Can't go wrong with a good roll of film," he adds. Of course, film contained silver, but perhaps it would be just small enough a dose not to be noticed.
Walking over toward Nate, he reaches out and puts a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Dere will come a day for freeing slaves." So much is carried in the tone of his voice, however. Kwabena would be the first one to take a gun and blow a slave-master's head off, and surely he's not alone. However, he's trying instead to be the last one to do it.
"It is never too soon for the prisoner," replies Nate, looking rather tense. "I won't risk their lives. But if I can save them, I will." It looks as something personal for him, yes. "I have seen slave camps and extermination camps before, y'know? I escaped from one of them when I was about fourteen." He shrugs and heads out. Cheap camera? Probably not. He needs something good for taking pictures in low light conditions. But Halo pays him for doing what he would do for free, so money is not much of a problem lately.
Kwabena's eyes narrow, but there is a look of understanding within them. "Surveillance. Information. And then?" He nods his head slowly. "Perhaps. But an army of many can be bettah dan an army of one. We do dis smart, we can save all of dem, and minimize death. Remembah dat. If you need help..." He reaches up to tap his temple. "Call us."
With that, Kwabena turns about, letting Nate take his leave. Down onto the couch he goes, removing a zippo lighter that he begins to flick open and shut, contemplation taking his face.
Category:Log