2012-12-09 Somewhere Safe

One blindfolding and motorcycle ride later, Logan is leading his Ghanian companion through a sterile, metallic labyrinth that eventually brings them to a large, hydraulic door where they finally come to a halt.
Only when that door has securely closed itself behind them does he reach up to remove the blindfold, revealing a sprawling space outfitted with beds, state of the art lab equipment, and medical monitors. Logan himself is wearing beaten up blue jeans and a grease-smudged wifebeater to go with his unkempt hair.
"Welcome," he grunts, tucking the blindfold into a hip pocket. "You breathe a word'a what you're seein' down here t' anyone, and we're gonna have problems." The threat - or promise, whichever - is delivered almost like a greeting, but the narrow-eyed glance accompanying it leaves no question as to how serious he is.
Just because the nanites occupying Shift's body aren't broadcasting his every move to Latveria doesn't mean that Logan can't be careful.
Fortunately for Kwabena, his last bout of intoxication served by the nanites in his blood had taken place hours ago, leaving him lucid and, for lack of a better term, sober. He hadn't given any resistance when Logan came to collect him, for what little trust he had left was enough to go along with Domino's plan willingly and without hesitation.
He couldn't have possibly expected what he saw once the blindfold was removed. After blinking to clear his eyes from the sudden brightness, he looks around and is awestruck in short order. Logan's words aren't missed, but for a moment, it would almost appear that he hadn't heard them. Only when he remembers his manners does he blink rapidly, then turn around to face his companion.
"Of, of course," he stammers. "Not a word."
As for Kwabena, he wears a simple pair of black jeans and a maroon ribbed t-shirt to cover his gunmetal gray costume, which remains concealed beneath his clothes in every way. The surprise starts to fade when he recognizes the look in Logan's eyes, and he gives the man a very slow and serious nod of acknowledgement, before turning away to look around again.
"Where am I?" he asks quietly. "Dis is... I have nevah seen anything like -dis- before."
"Somewhere safe," is what Logan leaves it at.
A holographic screen hovering over a currently unoccupied work station is still displaying scans from a previous patient - one with a third arm sprouting from their back, apparently. Another work station is abuzz with activity--after a fashion: a pair of mechanical arms that seem to be attached to the lab table itself carefully cycle through a set of labelled vials, placing samples from some into petri dishes and others under a waiting microscope; all the while, 'their' findings race across another of those holographic screens as it's logged into a database for later perusal.
"You come outta this thing you started intact," he lowly continues after giving Kwabena a little while to look around, "you might get the chance t' get better acquainted with it, at that."
"I am just happy dat de nanites were not bugged. I hope you undastand what I mean." Seems the Ghanaian is still taking effort to make sure his heavily accented English is understood.
He was a smart man, self educated during his years in America by what amounts to weeks, perhaps even months worth of time spent at various libraries across the country. As such, his eyes are drawn to the read-outs, and he's able to piece together a few things very quickly. Logan had mentioned this place to him before... and he knew others like it existed.
After a few moments, Kwabena turns back to face Logan. He takes a moment to study the man, his appearance, while eyes remain slightly narrowed in speculation. Seems like the kind of guy he could come to get along with, if he were able to break through Kwabena's disposition of withholding trust. This favor, of course, goes a long way there. He eventually gives forth a quick nod of his head. "Kwabena. Kwabena Odame."
The automated station is apparently prepping and cataloguing a series of plant and animal samples from... somewhere; one of the vials is full of something that looks like glowing sap, and the arms have such a hard time with getting the stuff to pour that one has to fetch a little wooden stirrer to scrape it out. Another has a few tiny flower petals that could easily be mistaken for crystalware; when the station eventually gets to /that/ one, the arm that handles it takes great care in spreading its contents around a petri dish for examination beneath the 'scope. It seems to be a game of cutting down on repetitive data-collection for the benefit of whomever has the pleasure of working here.
"Logan," the shorter man says. The technology on display is old hat for Logan--and dull besides; his eyes don't leave Kwabena, even if his expression has shifted to something more neutral now that the ground rules are understood. "I know exactly what you mean; don't know how we lucked out on that, but I ain't gonna question it."
After a few more moments, he makes a little circular gesture, then folds his arms over his chest and mutters, "Guy who runs the place is off findin' himself in the Congo; you have any luck gettin' in touch with Reed Richards?"
"De Congo!" It would seem mention of a neighboring African country to his home in Ghana has done something to stir the mutant's spirits. "He chose a good place to start." There's a bit of a grin, for while Kwabena held a lot of bad blood to those villagers who cast him out of his home years ago, he still longed to one day return to his home country and try to make amends.
"Nice to have made your acquaintance," answers Kwabena, before turning away and hesitantly walking toward the automated station. He keeps his distance, not wanting to alarm Logan into thinking that he'd dare try to touch anything, but he seems immensely curious. "I don't know," he answers. "Domino did not tell me anything. I only know de answah because she sent you to bring me here. Perhaps it was Richards who helped her?" He turns a curious look over his shoulder toward Logan, before looking back at the samples and petri dishes. "Dis place. Dis technology. It is -fascinating-." He turns away finally, setting a resolute gaze upon Logan. "Dere are ohdah's like us here, aren't dere? Ohdah mutants."
Hopefully, Henry 'Beast' McCoy never happens across Kwabena's old home; if a fellow villager turning to smoke is enough to warrant shunning, there's no telling what they might do with a talking blue ape man.
"Wouldn't know," Logan says of Reed. "Wouldn't surprise me; Eliza's a smart girl, but she ain't /that/ kinda smart." Drug-delivery and surveillance nanites aren't covered in any medical textbooks, after all.
Both arms initially draw back when Kwabena approaches, seemingly set on getting out of his way to let him work; when he doesn't, they eventually drop back into position and resume their work as if nothing happened. Logan himself doesn't actually seem bothered at all by the Ghanian's curiosity, thanks to his distance and demeanor; he merely keeps a watchful eye on the other man.
"Some other mutants," he quietly confirms, once Kwabena looks back at him. "Some of 'em without anywhere else t' be, on account'a who they are. Rough world out there--not that I gotta tell /you/ that."
"Unbelievable," murmurs Kwabena at the way the arms seem to have a mind of their own. "Artificial Intelligence?" His hazarded guess isn't really designed to be answered, more just some quiet musing to himself before having turned back to Logan.
There's a flash of agreement in the Ghanaian's eyes at the other's last remark. He'd had his own trials and tribulations, to be sure. He knew that Rogue had hers as well, and while they'd never discussed it in detail, there had been enough of an understanding between Ororo and himself in that department.
The one he knew best, however, the one he'd come to trust the most, was Betsy. Would he ever have the chance to tell her about all of this? Only if his mistakes at Latveria were, indeed, an illusion.
"Dey don't trust us because we're different," he replies. "I undastand da secrecy now. De govahnment would nevah let dis place stand if dey knew it was here."
A curious look is spared at the one way out of the lab, through that large closed door. How much larger -is- this place... he had walked quite a distance to get here.
The complex is a large one: several levels of labs, residential areas, maintenence bays, and other vital resources, all underground. And all hidden beneath a mansion/school, at that. Logan elected for a more direct route than dragging Kwabena through the upper levels of the Institute, though: a motorcycle ride down a hidden throughfare that brought him to a tunnel, which eventually snaked its way to the hangar.
"Probably," Logan offers with a shrug when Kwabena asks about the arms. He doesn't spend a whole lot of time here: it's rarely ever actually necessary, and being surrounded by monitors, strange lab equipment and antiseptic smells is not his idea of a great time otherwise.
"That distrust's the reason for all this, though," he continues, making another broad sweep around the lab as he walks closer to Kwabena. "Gives some of us the motivation to try and make the world a little /less/ rough for the rest." That he and his allies' mission of goodwill is cloaked in so many layers of secrecy doesn't /seem/ to strike him as particularly unnatural.
The conversation keeps bringing up so many questions, but Kwabena had to remain patient. He had his role to play, and was content to let that ride out, as long as he was able. There's a slow nod of his head in understanding. It was a lot to take in, and there's a lingering silence for a moment as his brain does just that.
"So, what's next?" he finally asks, setting his gaze back upon Logan and ignoring the lab for the time being. "Will dey be keeping me holed up in here, or is dere somewhere I might get some fresh air?" He pauses, before explaining. "I could really use a smoke."
"We find you a place to sleep, if you want it."
And with that, Logan heads for that big, X-embossed door; it hisses and whirrs open when he's a few steps away from actually bumping into the thing, offering a glimpse at the pristine hallway beyond. Another door - smaller and rectangular - is situated across from the medical facility. Every few feet, one of the ceiling panels casts bright white light down to illuminate the metallic corridors.
"If our labcoat ever makes it back from the Motherland, we can get a hold of Richards, we can see about gettin' that crap outta you; if you ain't stickin' around, we're gonna wanna let the lab do a couple'a scans on you, just t' make sure we got all the information we can get." The old man lingers in the round doorway as he turns back towards Kwabena. "Far as smokin' goes... there's plenty'a wilderness nearby." A beat passes as he glances at the hanging tail of the blindfold.
"Gonna be a little bit of a walk, but you knew that." he adds a little quieter as he tucks the thing fully into his pocket. Leading Shift back the way they came is - at this point - not such a big deal; taking him through the Institute where they might bump into curious students is a different story, though.
Taking up a casual pursuit, Kwabena follows Logan toward the door. There was much to think about, so much that he isn't even able to formulate a response. He's just letting it all in, and not just the dialogue and little pieces of direction. Sleep is good, letting the lab take more blood samples is harmless, and as for getting the nanites out of his bloodstream, there is little more that Kwabena could hope for right now.
He wanted to forget that he'd ever messed around with narcotics in the first place.
The pristine hallway, the lights, and the sheer size of the facility in which he's found himself also serves to remind him that he's stumbled into something much larger than he could have ever imagined.
"I could use a good, long walk," he admits, before tucking hands into his black leather jacket and trying to stave off the odd mixture of discomfort and safety that the imposing hallways impress upon him.
He sure wasn't in Ghana anymore.
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