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The Doktor is In(sane!) [IC]


Dr Archeville

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June 24th, 2011 (Friday)

A week after ArchEvil: Aftermath (and before he upgrades himself w/ nanotech)

Situated on the seaside bluffs overlooking Great Bay in Port Regal, Providence Asylum -- once the private estate of the wealthy Phillips family -- has been treating the mentally ill since 1908. Some years ago, it also began treating mentally ill metahumans, including Blackbird, Conundrum, both Fear Masters, Luna Moth, the Maestro, Megalodon, Toy Boy, and the Warden. Now it housed a new resident, one who had been regarded as a respected hero working to redeem his family's name through both charitable donations to numerous schools and hospitals (including Providence itself) and work as a science-hero: Doktor Viktor Archeville.

As far as the public knew, Archeville had gone on sabbatical following the recent global attacks, working to repair the damage to his company's systems following their usurpation by some mad genius who had threatened the world. Others worked to spin PR for the company, making promises to pay restitution to those harmed by the terrible events, but Archeville himself was busy at work on the company's structure and security systems to make sure something like this never happened again. Most of the staff of Providence knew a bit more, that the one who had taken over the company and all its resources had used mind control on Archeville, over many months, and he was in for therapy to deal with this severe violation. Dr. Ashely Ellis, the asylum's Director, and Dr. Karen Black, the facility's "clinical occultist," knew the real story (as related by Phantom and Scarab): that it was a supernatural entity that had lain semi-dormant in his mind almost all his life, feeding on/shaped by all his negative thoughts and feelings that finally took over, which finally broke free and threatened to send the world into chaos and madness.

Most of Archeville's time had been spent in long therapy sessions with the two, and sleepless nights filled with regret and sorrow. No one had come to visit him -- all his blood relatives were dead, consumed by the thing within him to craft a body for itself, and his fiance Fulcrum was lost to the Terminus (or so he fervently believed) -- but that was about to change.

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The click of high heels on tile echoed like gunshots in the long corridor outside Archeville's secure room as someone walked briskly down the hallway. A visitor, obviously, since the doctors and nurses wore rubber-soled sneakers that made no noise. As the steps came closer, a heaver, duller tread was audible as well, just before they stopped right outside his room. There was a low-voiced conversation, then the door opened to reveal one of his usual nurses. "You have visitors, VIktor," she told him cheerfully, before escorting her companions inside.

Miss Americana stepped in first, striking and out of place against the white dullness in her tailored maroon and navy suit, her golden hair pinned back in an intricate bun. She carried a slim softsided briefcase and wore a grim expression. Behind her came Murdock, looking rather like rented muscle in a secondhand suit a size too small for comfort. "Doktor," she said courteously. "You're looking well, under the circumstances. How do you feel?"

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Doctor Archeville had never worked with the former Omegadrone, but of course as a League member he'd been briefed on Harrier and what he was doing in Freedom City. The scarred man didn't speak, instead letting Miss Americana do all the talking, but he scanned the room with his eyes and ears, keeping an eye out for condition in the clinic even as he focused in on Viktor Archeville. The architect of so much misfortune looked all too human, a feeling Murdock understood far too well. Perhaps combining his visit with Miss Americana's had been a mistake, but it wasn't easy to get in to see the German doctor. As they talked, he absently checked the buttons on his shirtsleeves, rolling them back slightly from his big, thick-fingered hands.

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"Ah. I was wondering who would be the first to come and beat me," he said softly. Gone was the spark from his eyes, the sure and steady quality to his voice. Miss Americana had seen him somewhat like this, back when she & Dragonfly had run those scans of him. When had had switched his brain from 'Charismatic Talker' to 'Tinkerer,' the cool and confident face of Doktor Archeville, the one with which the world was most familiar, had fallen away to make room for more scientific & technical 'processing power.' But now all of that was gone, and even without everything else that had happened, the loss would have left him far emptier than he had been.

"Do you know if there are others coming today?," he murmured, barely moving from his chair. "Is there some... organization to the beatings I am to receive? I would imagine the line of people with grievances against me must stretch all the way back to my homeland."

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"Beatings, Doctor?" Miss A's voice was cool and detached as she sat down in the single visitor's chair. "Don't you think the grinding self-pity is rather unflattering to a man in your position? I'm hoping I don't need to recount for you the litany of deaths, injuries and damage caused by your unwillingness to face the potential stigma of mental illness."

She folded that mile of legs, crossing them primly at the knee and smoothing her skirt. "I do take a share of the blame upon myself for not realizing you were unfit, as I know several others do as well. But that's not what I'm here to talk with you about." She picked up the briefcase. "ArcheTech is a company in its death throes. With you at the head and unable to lead, it's a matter of weeks, perhaps days, before the end. On behalf of the shareholders and employees, I'm here to ask for your resignation and succession plan."

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Murdock folded his arms and stood in the rear of the room, staying behind Miss Americana and letting her do the talking. He knew nothing of matters of finance, and trusted his brilliant, beautiful friend would handle that situation to the best of her considerable abilities. He was here to get the measure of the man who had been the architect of so much misfortune for Freedom City, one way or another; though he'd used all his tiny pull (it helped that the very knowledgeable Miss Americana trusted him enough to talk to him) to learn all he could about what had happened, there was no way to understand it without getting a good feel for the Doktor himself. And it was a way to stop thinking about the smell of fishblood in the air.

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"No, you need not remind me," he murmured. "My mind, diminished as it is, still recalls everything I... we... it did."

A part of him thought to object to something she had said: he did face his mental illness, that's why he had gone beyond self-medicating, gone to Scarab for telepathic help, and to Miss Americana & Dragonfly for the scans. But those objections were quickly quashed.

"Yes... yes, I suppose that is for the best," he replied softly. "I do have a plan written up, in a sealed envelope in the safe in my office. I do not suppose you brought that with you, did you?"

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The beautiful paragon reached into her briefcase and pulled out the envelope in question, passing it over to the fallen supergenius. It was still sealed, for all she'd passed it through a number of scanners to make sure there was nothing volatile or that could be used as a weapon concealed within. She made no mention of how or when she'd opened the safe, either. It probably wouldn't be good for Archeville's fragile mental health, she reasoned, if he were to know the full extent of the shambles his company's physical properties were in, to say nothing of the company's local and international reputation.

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Archeville took the envelope and held it in both hands for a long moment, then mechanically worked the tape off one end. Once opened, he turned the envelope over and a small flash drive wrapped in plastic bubble wrap fell out. "They do not allow me access to a computer..." he said softly, holding the drive up. "And I know you would not access it here on your own, for fear of some lingering trap of which neither of us are aware."

"Basically..." he turned his head up and looked her in the eyes for the first time, "it is yours, Miss Americana. Well, yours, and the Rhodes Foundation, with which I have worked for some years. They have the resources and networks necessary to keep my dream alive, and you are the only one mentally and morally capable of directing it all."

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As the others talked, Harrier's mind drifted back to the terrible scene in the submarine that had passed by several days earlier. He'd heard other heroes talk about how the Deep Ones were innately corrupt and wicked, how their destruction had been a blessing for all concerned. Otherwise good, respectable people had talked with delight about the number of corrupted Atlantean lives they had taken. Am I a hypocrite, to pull away from those memories? He had certainly not hesitated to kill when forced to do so in that submarine, in confined spaces and against enemies who were even then murdering innocents. And he was hardly one to shy away from blood on his hands. Not with the memories in his mind. But I had hoped to never take life again. Finding Archeville repentent, even regretful, had left him with no one to blame but himself for the carnage in his mind.

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Surprise briefly flickered across Miss A's lovely face, but her mind worked nearly as quickly as the Doctor's when he was in top form, and it was not hard to follow the logic. ArcheTech was a complicated enough entity that it would take a super-intellect to keep all the various balls in the air with any degree of success. In the current situation, having an immensely photogenic, quite popular public superheroine at the helm would also be an asset in battling the public relations nightmare. Just the thought of it was enough to give her enhanced intellect a hell of a headache. "I assume," she said quietly, "that the necessary documents are already on file with your attorneys. You've effected the transfer of authority to me in my legal capacity as the costumed superheroine Miss Americana?" Anything else would be a red tape nightmare likely to unravel her secret identity if she got anywhere close to it.

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Archeville nodded slowly, "yes, since that is the only identity I ever really knew you by... even before Phantom and Scarab..." he trailed off with a slumping of his shoulders.

"Before they erased that knowledge," he would've said. "Before they took from my mind the knowledge of all superhero secret identities I knew, and before they told you to delete any electronic records of same from all my personal servers." The decision had not been his -- it was Scarab's -- but in hindsight he did not disagree with it. The act had put some heroes at ease, fearful the Doktor may suffer a relapse (despite Phantom's assurances that the pseudonatural corruption was completely gone) and go after their loved ones; it would also serve as a gauge to how much trust he had re-earned if and when anyone ever revealed to him their secrets.

He turned his head slowly, towards the (barred and alarmed) window looking out to the peaceful courtyard below, and away from (what he was sure were) the judgmental gaze of the gynoid and her thick-armed goon. "I am sorry... so... so sorry..."

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"Good, good," Miss Americana murmured in response to his answer, tucking away the USB drive to take with her. "That will make things easier. As for the apologies, they are due less to me and more to others who were far more affected by your actions. I've compiled a list," she continued inexorably, "of individuals or survivors of individuals who were hurt or killed in the incident, as well as property lost and damaged. The insurance is already beginning to process claims, but I am assuming you will want restitution to be made on your behalf, perhaps a survivor's fund set up. Are there any other immediate or long term goals you want the company to be pursuing, besides attempting to remain solvent?"

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Archeville was silent for some time, lost in bad thoughts. "Yes," he said at last, "all the important projects and plans are summarized in documents on that drive. Full details are in the servers at ArcheTech. Restitution..." Another pause, then, "contingencies for restitution and survivor's funds to be paid, from both ArcheTech's holdings and my own, personal accounts, are also in place. I had hoped... I had hoped to never need those plans... but... better that have them than not."

This had, in fact, been one of the driving forces behind Archeville's acquisition of wealth. Funding his own research, and being able to fund scholarships and grants for needy would-be science students, was a big part, yes, but he did also set aside some to make sure any damages his Other self inflicted (should it ever get out, despite all precautions) could be recompensed.

Of course, he thought, if he had been more open and honest about his problems, he might never have needed those funds. Or find himself in this room, where the only electronics were the lights recessed into the ceiling, and the most complex moving parts were the faucets in the small personal bathroom.

"What... how are the rest of the staff handling things?"

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She pursed her lips. "There have been substantial losses," she told him, "though I have hopes that a few key people can be lured back under new leadership. I was able to hang onto most of the metahuman researchers and their teams with promises of the moon and a couple of stars. That youngster from Claremont you just hired, Wander, she's gone. I did her exit interview, and you may want to speak with her yourself at some point, since you don't really need anymore superhero enemies. The entire staff in Germany have been furloughed or folded into other branches for the time being." She shrugged elegantly. "It's very bad. But it could have been worse. That's the theme of the day, really."

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Archeville nodded slowly, "yes, I had heard what... what Edge did to the schloss... Schloss Wissenschaft." He sighed again, eyes scanning the floor as he remembered the history of the castle, the state it was in when he inherited it -- little more than a small tower then -- the work he'd done in renovating and expanding it, first to a sprawling estate and then into the European HQ for ArcheTech, and the brief reports he'd read of the destruction Edge had called down upon it. He did not know the full details; he had been brought to Providence shortly after the events, and had not been allowed access to much outside communication since (less distractions from his therapy), but from what he knew of Edge's abilities, he had no doubt the castle was now a crater.

He was not surprised Wander had left -- even if he hadn't 'broken out' right in front of her, he doubted she'd want anything more to do with him or his company once she (inevitably) found out about his role in everything. "Wander... please... please see she gets a nice severance package... and references for... for wherever she goes..." he trailed off.

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"I'll see that it's taken care of," Miss A said neutrally, not needing to make any notes when her perfect recall was more than enough. "Is there anything you'd like done with your personal effects while you're in Providence?" she asked him. "I know you aren't allowed to have much here, but if there's anything that needs tending, I can arrange to have it done." She spared one glance for Murdock, still so silent in his corner. She supposed this wasn't his area of expertise.

"Aside from Schloss Wissenschaft, the orbital facility sustained the most damage in the incident. Repairs are already underway, but will take some time. The Freedom City facility and several of the others escaped major damage." That lucky circumstance was mostly because she herself had infiltrated the computer systems and shut down the portals that were producing drones before other heroes had taken more brute force approaches, but there was no need to toot her own horn.

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"No... no everything should..." he trailed off again, but soon snapped back. "Everything should have shut itself down... gone to sleep mode where possible... but... it would not hurt to verify." Any investigations would show that the small army of robots had indeed powered down and stowed many things, and were keeping the place tidy for the return of their master.

Archeville's eyes suddenly widened. "Archimedes!," he exclaimed, shaking free some of the malaise for a brief moment, before slumping back down. "Archimedes... Mona's cat... will need..." His voice trailed off again, and a single tear rolled down his right cheek as the sight of Fulcrum engulfed in the Terminus explosion played over and over and over in his mind.

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For the first time, the former Omegadrone spoke. "I am tending to Mona Teymourian's pet." he said, his flat voice tinged with what might have been empathy. "Her address was in the public record. When I became aware she had been caught in the dimensional rift, I gathered the animal and his supplies." It hadn't been easy taking care of the cat in his small apartment, but luckily Archimedes had suffered no particular trauma from his master's disappearance. Really, Archimedes liked John much better than he did Murdock, probably the best for everyone "I suspect her colleagues were occupied with their own affairs first. If any come calling, I will inform them."

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Miss A's face softened with the first hint of sympathy for the doctor she'd shown since coming into the room. "Thank you, Murdock," she murmured. "He'll be well taken care of as long as necessary," she told Doktor Archeville. "I'll see to it that the funds are made available for his care." Murdock had the best of intentions, but she suspected his personal wealth wasn't going to allow for a lot of premium food or vet checkups. Privately, she was rather impressed at the former Omegadrone's show of initiative. "He'll be fine." She couldn't make the same assurance for Mona herself, not after the debriefings she'd read detailing Fulcrum's disappearance.

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"Thank you...," he murmured towards the thick-armed goon he did not recognize. If he was with Miss Americana, though, he must be someone trustworthy. For a femtosecond he began wondering who he might be, what his relationship with the gynoid was, but his trains of thought quickly lost steam; what did it matter? "Yes, I am sure her col... her colleagues are... are..."

"What happened to her?! What did Mona just do to save your sorry skin?"

"Get him to a hospital or turn him over the League, whatever you think. I can't get past wanting to kick his ass right now."

"If I see you near my people again, I will, too. You find a way to bring Mona back or don't come back at all."

Another tear rolled down his cheek. He turned in his chair slightly, just enough to now stare at a spot on the northern wall. Were it not for that wall, and any other intervening structures, he'd be staring at the spot in North Bay where his Other had made its horrible manifestation, and Fulcrum sacrificed herself to stop it.

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Miss Americana gave the doctor a few moments with his thoughts, but eventually pressed on. Better to say everything that needed to be said in one go, rather than dragging things out. "I don't know how long you'll be here and incommunicado. That depends heavily on Scarab and the other psychics and empaths working on your case. When you do get out, I must ask you not to release any statements to the public or the press, or to attempt to come onto ArcheTech property without being cleared through proper channels and escorted. It's for everyone's safety, and for the well-being of the company. The sooner ArcheTech is dissociated from this event, the sooner it will begin to recover."

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He nodded slowly, "yes, my... my lawyers have... have already advised me... much the same..."

So this was it, then. He already knew it, but hearing it coming from... well, Miss Americana was not a friend, per se, but she was definitely closer to him than the lawyers and doctors ever could be due to shared ability (superhuman intellect) and proclivities (using that intellect to fight crime and otherwise better the world), so even with her cool demeanor (even cooler now than usual), she was still more of an ally than anyone else he'd talked to since the break. And hearing this all from her added a certain realness, and a certain finality, to all of it.

"I," he choked out, "I think I should like to bealone foramoment."

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"Of course," Miss Americana murmured, closing her briefcase and rising. "I know this is a difficult time for you. Take whatever time you need. We'll wait out in the hallway." She nodded to Murdock, then knocked on the reinforced door. An orderly opened it a moment later, allowing the beautiful paragon and the tattooed man to step out into the hallway.

Once the door was closed again, Miss A let out a long breath and rubbed the back of her neck. "I hated to do it," she admitted, "but it had to be done. After everything he put us through, I didn't expect him to look so... broken." Her face was troubled as she looked back towards the door.

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"I was not aware that his memory had been altered," said Murdock, sounding faintly disapproving. He had hoped that his secret would remain in the minds of as many people as possible, fallen hero or not, to ensure his own safety: but he supposed Scarab and Phantom couldn't be blamed for protecting him alongside all the others in the city. "But you are correct. What you said to him had to be said. Comfort will be...difficult, for him." He hmmed for a moment, staring at that door, and said, "I will catch up with you later, Miss Americana. We can discuss the welfare of the animal, among other things." He leaned close to the door, so he could heard what was being said and done inside, and said, "When he is finished, I will speak with him."

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