Original character has a few things to say.

[thehawke]

[The man has a suit, a tie, and a desk chair. He also has a pair of glasses, thick ones. The stereotypical image of the federal agent. Leaning back in his chair, careful observers will note he keeps his hands together, his socks are thick and despite the heat - and it is hot, he's wearing gloves.

When he speaks, his tone has a slight Texas twang.]

George W. Bush with Rogue the X-man's abilities.

Yes. I can see it now. After a brief laugh every hollywood nutjob will flock to your door, fall to their knees and kiss your ass begging for the right to bring me and my happy little misadventures to the screen. How original they'll say.

[He smiles.] I like the look. I like the face. Be nice if, you know. My emotions had more then just those little ticky-tacky numbers next to them.

[To anyone with psychic abilities however, there is a sense of a second consciousness within him. Something positively feral. Something dangerous. And this man who screams "Federal Agent" tucks a strand of hair behind his ear to reveal an earring...and a dangerous look.]

Be nicer if you actually finished the damn thing.

Comments

[degeneratives]

So you're not the only one whose story is unfinished.

[thehawke]

[This is the part where he'd smile. Except he's really bitter.] No. It's done. I mean I know where it goes.

It's just not written.

You too?

[degeneratives]

Partially written. I know where mine goes. Kind of.

She's just worried the world is a bit boring.

[thehawke]

[His lips pucker for a moment, thoughtfully.]

What is it the kids say. Deets? I mean, if you feel comfortable.

[Literally cannot be any worse then "Hey, let's terraform mankind and give everybody superpowers because THAT IS AN AWESOME IDEA." spoilers. it's not.]

[degeneratives]

[Wow she's only read 'deets' in one of her history books on past pop culture.]

After a twenty-four hour nuclear war between the United States and Russia, nuclear weapons and proliferation of any kind were banned for years. An energy crisis where oil wells dried up and electricity only worked for smaller countries, nuclear energy was brought back to harvest for energy only.

Except only a few countries control the manufacturing of nuclear energy and scientists are under strict rules and surveillance. Enriching uranium into the seventy-five percentile range - the range where it can be used as a core in weapons - is illegal and punishable by execution. I'm from one of those countries.

And my story ends with me enriching said uranium.

[YEP.]

[thehawke]

[He is suddenly reminded of his father - Burt "Hawke" would have been all for it. Drunken rants across the family dinner table about commies when he felt his needs were being ignored by his wife.

The thought makes Ben grit his teeth.]

I feel like I ought to say something as a federal agent about how that's bad for you. Is it at least...moderately for a good reason? Take out some unassuming dictator? Save an enslaved American people?

[degeneratives]

[Hazel frowns slightly.]

Curiosity got the best of me. You sit in on lectures and film from so many years past about the sheer power you have in your hands nearly every day. I wanted to see if it could be done again.

If there's anything people can fault us scientists for, it's lapses in judgment when it comes to our fields.

[thehawke]

Did it mutate you?

[Like this is an every day thing. He presses a finger to his temple as the creature in his brain stirs, creating a mild headache.]

I mean give you some kind of super power?

[degeneratives]

[She furrows her brow briefly.]

No. I was wearing my protective gear and I was behind the lead wall.

[thehawke]

Oh.

[He folds his hands again] So it's about the struggle of man versus machine? Embracing technology and what's right and wrong?

[He doesn't sound very interested, but he's trying.] Be grateful there's no mutants.

[degeneratives]

You mean like in the comics?

Exposure to radiation causes cancer, radiation sickness, and burns on the skin. Yes, it can mutate DNA, but if not given a bone marrow transfusion, a person can die from that amount of exposure.

[PEOPLE COME FROM DIFFERENT PLACES, HAZEL geez]

[thehawke]

...Sure. comic books. [he snorts]

There's no cure for that in a highly nuclear society?

[degeneratives]

Not at the levels we're producing it. Their strict rules when it comes to proliferation makes sure we don't have alot of waste water, the half-life of our used cores is lower, and all that other stuff.

It may be 2041, but we still haven't cured cancer. Cancer's a multi-billion pound business.

[thehawke]

...Wow.

[He looks interested at that. It's hard to tell however, under those glasses] Maybe once we have, we'll send it to you. [surely someone will mutate out a cure somehow.

New Dawn will keep it that way. He studies his hands then. Intent.]

[degeneratives]

Well if you do, make sure it's sent somewhere around 2036. Mum could have really used it.

[thehawke]

I'd give it some time. [He sighs] Besides it could - believe it or not.

[he stops and that arrogant mocking look is gone for a moment] Not about cancer. I lost my mother to cancer too. I'm sorry to hear about that.

Your OC, meet my OC!

[controledfreak]

[Hello Psychic McAgent. Have a terror that stepped out of a Lovecraftian horror targeted at teens. Who is slightly psychic. And who is staring at you curiously.]

[Headtilt. Headtilt. Headtilt.]

Re: Your OC, meet my OC!

[thehawke]

[That thing in his head could almost be lovecraftian. He doesn't know it's there of course. However his headache has increased.

Rubbing his temples he glares.]

...You..

[That's a mutation] The hell are you looking at?

[controledfreak]

[Move your cursor over the little bouncing icon for a quick translation!]

You, though I think that was obvious. Why fill the air with inane questions when you already knew the answer ahead of time?

Or at least I hope you would. Perhaps you are dense? That is the word that humans use to describe a person with inferior mental processing, if I recall correctly.

[thehawke]

[the creature hurts. For his part he presses his fingers directly above his nose.]

I'm not some kind of idiot. I was just asking. What are you?

[controledfreak]

No. You were asking what I was looking at.

[Her petulance is practically childish. As is her smug grin.]

[thehawke]

[He for his part looks nauseated. The pain is intense] What Are you.

[His glasses slip off and there is a brief flash of something - white milky eyes, before he begins to scramble for them. The moment his hands hit the ground however he lets out an angry cry]

[controledfreak]

[Actually she's not used to watching humans suffer. In fact, she had never seen it. She saw people psychologically beat themselves up, but this is new.]

You are in pain.

[thehawke]

No shit sherlock! [He's still getting used to this. Looking up and glaring - his eyes are white.

And he can see right through her. Whatever that might entail. He looks away.]

[controledfreak]

[There are bones and blood and everything, but the construction is... wrong. What her bones are made out of and what is coursing through her veins is... chaos and madness.]

I am sure a shitting sherlock is a morphism for something meaningful in this situation, but in this case perhaps you should tend to your pain before you describe this creature and its propensity to defaecate.

[She pauses as she reflects what to do. First aid... isn't really a thing that exists in her world.]

Tell me at a speed at pace with your current level of suffering necessitates. What do you do to prevent your demise?

[thehawke]

[He can't look at her. It hurts] It's an expression. [he sounds like he wants to cry.]

Prevent my demise? The fuck are you talking about?

...What Are you?

[controledfreak]

[She resigns. Hoping that this knowledge would provide some relief in a way that doesn't make sense to her.]

I am...

...[No, wait. That would take too long.]

[So instead she creates a transluscent orb in her hands, which moves of the girl's own volition and lands on Hawke's head. It's safe. He can breathe, but then in the next second Hawke's thoughts begins to be reflected on the inner edge of the orb. Before too much information can be seen, though, a clawed finger enters the orb and the image changes. It's the Earth, clearly visible like the Apollo astronauts would have seen only decades ago. But don't get used to view, Hawke, because where we're going your planet will be a small glimmer. The view zooms out... out... out... beyond the galaxy. Beyond the Milky Way. To the place where universes are nothing but stars. Beyond the veil that no telescope could see. Where nothing should live... but does.]

[thehawke]

[He'd scream. He should. Oh, okay. The creature in his head is frozen - but then he stares. OH.]

Ah.

[controledfreak]

[The finger is removed and the bubble disperses in a glimmer of light. Only three eyes and a round, tentacley face to greet Hawke.]

There are no words to accurately describe what I am. The truth is that we do not have such names for ourselves.

[thehawke]

[He'd talk, he'd say something more about it but his head is on fire. Burning. He's breathing hard and heavy]

Can't call you a freak.

[controledfreak]

[She worries. Not for his sake, but she can't understand more about why Hawke feels strange if he were to suddenly die. This is a dilemma. If only she knew more about what would suddenly cause excruciating pain to these creatures of order that she would be able to know what she is supposed to do.]

Oh no. In your language I am beyond a freak.

I am a monster.

[Curiously, her tone is rather matter of fact and completely without self-contempt. As though the word is true and not deprecating at all.]

[thehawke]

...No you're just...different. We've stopped believing in monsters and freaks.

[People would call him that. They'd call Lori that. He swallows. All of mankind is rapidly becoming that. A new era. A new dawn.

Sweat runs down his back] Be proud of your differences.

[There is no force behind that word. At all]

[controledfreak]

[Oh... now that made her tilt her head.]

No, I mean it. By your understanding of things...

[Damnit, specimen to keep alive. Focus Yggy.]

Your suffering continues.

[can_it_meatbags]

Statement: Oh, I agree. The universe would be a much better place if meatbags could finish anything. [Like their lives. But that's what he's for. To end them. How he loves being an assassin droid!]

[thehawke]

[Ho. le. shit.] You're a robot.

[can_it_meatbags]

[Take a holovid, it'll last longer.] And you are a meat sack filled with water. Query: Are we done stating the obvious?

[thehawke]

I'm sorry I'm not used to robots that talk. My Roomba just plays pleasant music while it cleans.

hk-47 is not familiar with this "roomba" model you speak of but he is offended

[can_it_meatbags]

Shocked inquisition: You don't allow your protocol droid to speak? You monster.

[thehawke]

...It...doesn't...talk. It just plays Jimi Hendrix.

[takeoutthetrash]

[Oh hey here's an immense, rotting trash heap sitting there looking very uncomfortable. Y'know, as long as we're dredging up the weirdos. No biggie.]

Well, uh, y'know how it is with these mun-types. Or maybe you don't, 'cause you're still a little new at this, I don't wanna make any assumptions. Point is, there's a lotta, a lotta flip-flopping that goes on.

So maybe just, y'know, give 'em some time, some space, maybe they'll work it all out?

[Sorry he's still kind of getting used to talking to humans and wow you are actually kind of terrifying.]

[thehawke]

[Wow. Wow. That...Ben can't hold back on that.] What the hell are you?

[polite or not, rotting trash heap.]

[takeoutthetrash]

Oh! Well, uh...

[He clears his throat, provoking a series of unwholesome rumbling and squelching noises from somewhere inside his torso.]

You'd think they'd quit freakin' out after the last couple times. Well, I guess you could say I'm sorta what happens when people don't, y'know, clean up after themselves.

[thehawke]

[If we don't clean up after ourselves we ...become bags of trash? Or otherwise? These are things he want to say, but unlike the purple creature who gave him the worst sort of headache this guy just...smells. And sounds a little sad.

Ben looks pained. Jaw clenched for a moment.]

I recycle. Cans, garbage. All of it. no matter what anyone [his dad] says.

[takeoutthetrash]

Right, right. Gotta, gotta stay green and all that. Could always use more folks like you, y'know.

But hey, if that was the case I'd be a little, uh, out of a job.

[He gives a small, awkward chuckle. It's a joke, Ben, laugh with him.]

[brains_before_bullets]

You'd better like the damn face.

[thehawke]

[Well. Isn't that interesting.

He runs a hand over his jaw and grins. The cocky grin of someone young, someone confident in his abilities]

It's a lot better then what she was originally going for. And it's liked by the ...people who matter most. If you know what I mean.

[brains_before_bullets]

[Seeing his face on a fed is kinda strange, and slightly annoying.]

As long as you mean women and not guys. If it's guys, I don't wanna know.

[He's not too homophobic... just not with his face, man.]

[thehawke]

Fish. It's the only way to go man. Gotta love your omega-3's.

[The worst joke. Right there. Especially since with the glasses and that deadpan face ...well. Gullible people might think he's not kidding.

He is kidding though. After a moment he offers a quick, almost child - like grin.]

I'm currently dating the sexiest super heroine to ever cross the west coast. [there's a real note of pride in his voice] Besides. If I ever did...do that. [He shifts, uncomfortable] My dad would have a heart attack.

[Stop. Pause. Well. There's a possible angle to get rid of the old bastard...no. no not going to think about that.]