Log Title: A Chat in Medical
Date: September 18, 2008
Summary: A few Cobra characters discuss life, aging, and puffins in Cobra's medical center.
Cobra Base - Medical Services
- First and foremost, this large building serves as Cobra's infirmary. Many examination rooms line the hallways, while several other rooms have been devoted to surgery. Large open rooms with cots are set aside to treat large numbers of wounded if necessary. However, treating the troops is not the only purpose of this facility. The upper floors are dedicated to research laboratories, explaining the presence of a great many Techno-Vipers.
Metal-Head is hanging out in medbay, talking to some of the medtechs and waiting for one of his many prescriptions to be refilled. "Yeah, so I'm tryin' that Guitar Hero 3 thing an' I'm seriously kickin' ass on it, y'know? "
Over Kill is in his cubicle, minding his own business today. An occasional chirp can be heard from the cubicle. "Stewie, you're an aquatic bird. I don't know why you hate baths so mu.. MY OPTIC OW!"
"So," Metal-Head continues with his saga of GH3. "I'm like halfway through the last boss, right? And I'm wailing, I mean, I'm kicking ass and taking names and then? Friggin' power outage. Hadn't even saved. I was that pissed, y'know?"
Major Bludd comes down the hallway toward the dispensary and pauses just outside the doorway, noting Metal-Head's presence. He presses his back to the doorjamb and waits his turn, smirking at Metal-Head's tale.
Over Kill comes out of his cubicle with an angry puffin hanging off his left optic. "Hello Metal Head. Medics." He turns to see Major Bludd. "Sir." He then looks back to the medics. "Does anyone know what sort of pliers you use to safely remove a puffin?"
Metal-Head winces. Damage to the eyetological region tends to squick him like whoa. "Sardines maybe?" he says. "How come you're givin' a bird a bath, anyway?"
Major Bludd's expression performs a series of slow transformations as he takes in the sight of the android with a bird of some kind inexplicably attached to his eye socket. His mouth works for a moment, but no sound comes out. "What the hell is that?" he manages to blurt, finally.
Metal-Head is having a good day -- so he doesn't answer 'Over Kill'. "S'his puffin," he says.
Over Kill murmurs "That's exactly why I need to bathe him. He smells like sardines." he pauses. "You know me sir. I'm Over Kill."
Major Bludd turns to Metal-Head. "A puffin," he states, incredulously. "Why --" The android's response makes him stop in his verbal tracks and glare at him instead. "Since when do you have a pet puffin?" He shakes his head at the sight.
Metal-Head blinks. "Since like... forever," he says. "'Least...what? Since '05, Over Kill?"
Over Kill pauses. "It was my creators before it was mine." He reaches up for the puffin and rubs its stomach. The puffin finally lets go with a squawk and he tucks it under his arm. "I watch him now. He's a lot harder to train then the BATs."
Major Bludd nods slowly in a kind of reluctant understanding. "Angela," he murmurs. "What do you do with it?"
Over Kill nods. "Yes. Angela's." He states. "I train it as best I can. I've been thinking of giving it cybernetics."
Metal-Head grunts. "Why'd you wanna do that to some poor li'l bird?" he asks. "I mean... other'n that it's gonna die someday." He pauses, looking stricken. "...never mind, forget I said that..."
"Train it to do ... what, exactly?" Bludd leans against the doorjamb and folds his arms over his chest.
Over Kill pauses. "Watch.. this." He sits the bird down. "Stewie." The bird looks at him inquisitively. Over Kill pulls a can of tuna from his pack and puts it on the ground. "Get the fish." The bird picks up the can in its beak and smashes it on the ground repeatedly. Eventually it gets the can open. "Now how many poeple can do that with their mouths? Birds are just.. fascinating."
Metal-Head grunts. "Stryker can do that with beer bottles... well, he did it a couple times but they made him quit when he lost his front teeth..."
Major Bludd wrinkles his nose at the smell of tuna. "Birds lack hands," he states, crossing one ankle over the other, smirking at the puffin dining room the dispensary floor has suddenly become. He struggles briefly with the urge to tell Over Kill off for letting his pet eat off the floor in here, but overcomes it. A waste of energy.
Metal-Head grunts. "Stryker's just an idiot." And considering the source, that's probably saying something. "Stewie's cool though; s'named after me." Is that pride? Yes, that is.
Over Kill watches the bird get at its reward. He crouches on all fours, just observing for a while. He coos in binary. "Yes but they make up for it. They are so good at improvising."
Major Bludd moves away from the door, moving around Finlay and Over Kill and, of course, the puffin. "My point," he says, handing a slip of paper to a Medi-Viper, "is that because they lack hands, they need to have other ways to manipulate objects."
Over Kill nods. "Imagine if it did have hands. It'd be powerful."
Metal-Head snerks. "Yeah, no tuna can'd be safe."
The Medi-Viper looks at the paper and motions Bludd into a chair. "Need you to take off your overshirt, sir," the young man says quietly.
Bludd glares at the technician. "To give me a handfull of pills?"
"You need a steroid injection, sir," the tech explains apologetically, holding up the paper. "Doc's orders."
Bludd grunts and unbuttons his grey BDU shirt. "What do you want it to do, Over Kill," he asks, "learn how to fire a rifle so it can join the BATs out in the field?"
Over Kill pauses. "Maybe lasers from its eyes, yes.." He watches. "Steroid injection eh? Have you been ill?"
Metal-Head grunts. "'Roids? Man, you gotta watch out for that stuff. It'll make you nuts."
Major Bludd laughs at Over Kill's remark, laying his shirt across his lap and rolling the sleeve of his black t-shirt. "Lasers out of their eyes," he repeats, chuckling. "I'm not ill, Over Kill. I had an injury last year that's acting up, is all." He glances over his shoulder to the tech, who's preparing a needle. "Apparently I've progressed beyond the realm of painkillers."
Metal-Head grunts, nodding in sympathy. "Yeah, those suck," he says, fiddling with the bottle in his hands. "Every one you get, you know you're just gonna get that much slower an' slower until, y'know..." He drags a thumb across his throat with a shkrrrt noise.
Over Kill tilts his head at Metal-Head. "Well! Aren't you just a ray of happy sunshine?" he says. "With all of the drugs you take who are you to talk? But seriously. You two should consider cybernetics."
The tech swabs the injection site and administers the shot to Bludd's shoulder. Bludd levels his gaze at Metal-Head and attempts to burn through his forehead with an irritated glare. "I'll make it a point to outlive you, Finlay," he growls, replacing his shirt sleeve and shrugging back into his BDU shirt. He half-listens to the tech's warnings about possible side-effects as he continues to stare at Metal-Head.
Metal-Head grunts. "You probably will, sir," he says, sounding rather Zen about it. "Y'know what I do for a living; you really think I'm gonna get my gold watch at the end of th' day?"
Over Kill pauses. "I'll make sure its passed on to Metal-Head 2.0. I'm getting up there in the years myself. I'll be two in november. Two.'
Major Bludd gets up from the chair, resisting the urge to rub at the injection site. "True," he nods, his glare easing. "And I've heard the cybernetics argument from you before, Over Kill, though I've lost track of which 'you' it was. And two is only old for ..." He pauses, searching for a suitable word. "...machines like you. We organics live a lot longer." He frowns down at his shoulder. "Is it supposed to burn like this?" he asks the tech.
Metal-Head grunts. "Don't wanna be a machine," he mutters. "Bad enough I'm practically ordinance as it is; they make me a machine...." He trails off, not imaginative enough to really think of what might happen, but smart enough to know that's probably for the best.
Over Kill murmurs, "What's wrong with being a superior lifeform? We could live indefinately if we were free."
"I told you, sir," replies the technician, making an obvious attempt to keep from sounding too testy, "you may experience some pain at the site. Just ice it and take..." He reaches across to a side table and plucks up a prescription bottle. "...Take one of these. Make sure you take it with food; this is strong stuff." He hands the bottle over to Bludd. "It won't last more than a day or so."
Bludd takes the bottle and peers at its label. "Great," he murmurs. "A drug to combat the effects of the other drug." He nods his head toward Metal-Head. "Pretty soon I'll be like him." The bottle in his hand rattles as he lifts that hand to point at Over Kill. "Don't start."
Metal-Head snerks. "S'why I put Smitty in charge of 'em," he says. "He reminds me to take 'em, that way? Don't gotta worry about it. S'a lot easier, y'know?"
Major Bludd frowns at Metal-Head. "That's not exactly what I meant."
Metal-Head shrugs. "Figured, but s'either make a joke about it or get pissed, y'know? Rather not get pissed."
Major Bludd smiles slowly, his mind working around another meaning of the word 'pissed'. "Ah," he frowns, looking at the bottle in his hand. "Won't mix with this, anyway."
Over Kill nods "Yes, sir. Still. Aging looks uncomfortable. I hope I never hit my teens."
Metal-Head gets wistful, as one does in their late 30s. "I remember my teens... sorta..."
"'Looks uncomfortable'?" Bludd splutters, gazing incredulously at the android. "What the hell d'you mean by that?"
Over Kill pauses. "One day you work fine the next day you're in here. Aging looks very very painful." He pauses at Metal-Head. "Just how old are you?"
Metal-Head shrugs. "Thirty-eight; be thirty-nine in about six months or so. Wait.." He pauses, counting months. "October, November, December, January, February, March, April...yeah, seven months."
Over Kill pauses. "Months?"
Major Bludd just shakes his head. "Just because I'm in the infirmary doesn't mean my body doesn't work anymore."
Metal-Head blinks. "Years."
Over Kill pauses. "And you still process data?"
Major Bludd is forced to smile just a bit at the exchange between Finlay and the android. "Yes, Over Kill, he's a bunch of /years/ old. And I'm older than he is." He straightens, deliberately puffing out his chest a bit. "And /I/ process data just fine. I can't speak for Finlay." He shrugs, regretting it as he aggrivates his shoulder. "I'm not him."
Metal-Head shrugs, wincing a bit as something in his back makes its displeasure known. "Dunno, guess so. Still hittin' targets like a friggin' machine so yeah... guess I'm okay."
Over Kill pauses. "Sir, I beg to differ. Both of your bodies are breaking down. I am glad that I will never live to be old."
Metal-Head growls. "Thirty-eight isn't old!"
Major Bludd sighs. "Over Kill, that's what aging /is/. From the day you're born you start dying. Nobody thinks of it that way, 'cos it's morbid, but that's the truth. The day you buy a new car, its value depreciates. Why? Because it ages. It breaks down, little by little. It's the way of things." He pauses, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't know you were so afraid of death."
Over Kill pauses. "Afraid? Not of death. Of being unable to do my function. Of living through things decaying. I do not need to fear. It will not happen with me. I will die on the field before then." He says as if its a proven fact.
Metal-Head mutters. "Him an' me both," he says, though he doesn't look all that happy about it.
Major Bludd pockets the medicine bottle and waves a hand in the air as if to clear it. "Enough o' this depressing chat." He looks around. "Where's yer little friend, Over Kill?"
Over Kill looks down at the puffin that's still eating its tuna. "Fat and happy and cleaning the mess. It's very good at that."
"Good at cleaning up messes?" Bludd chuckles. "Maybe Cobra should hire him to look after you." He makes his way toward the door.
Metal-Head blinks, coming back to himself. "Just be careful, he could end up th' lunch special, y'know?"
Over Kill pauses. "Who would eat Stewie? Look at that face. Who would hurt it?"
Major Bludd glances over his shoulder at the puffin. /My android has a puffin,/ he thinks. /This is a damn cockamamie outfit, for sure./ "Have fun, lads," he calls as he heads out. "But not /too/ much fun."
Over Kill thinks a moment. Then scoops up the puffin. "Back to the cubicle with you!"
Major Bludd stands in the doorway to the dispensary, smiling over his shoulder at Metal-Head and Over Kill and ... Over Kill's puffin.
Over Kill has a small, old puffin under one arm. The puffin squawks a bit and hes missing one optic.
Crimson Guard 1930 comes striding in, whistling as she listens to painfully loud headphones as she walked right by Bludd... odd bruises all over her form (she was wearing a lab coat today), scratches and odd marks on the insides of her elbows as she seems to not even notice the Major, eyes focused on papers in front of her as she mutters, Shania Twain blasting into her ears.
Major Bludd turns his body to the side to avoid being plowed into by the Siegie. He frowns after her. "Girl's gonna go deaf like that," he mutters.
Metal-Head grunts. "Yeah, that country crap'll blow out your eardrums." Unlike 100+ decibel heavy metal which is like unto a gentle caress along your ear canal and not part of the reason for the upswing in cochlear implant surgeries among Baby Boomers. Nooooo...
Crimson Guard 1930 finally reaches a console, and brushes a few chips off the seat before dropping the papers down... putting them rather out of sorts and she clicks the music off, pulling the headphones off as she looks at the others. Smiling rather sluggishly, the red-eyed Siegie states "Major... Metal Head... Apologies, I was a bit distracted and I didn't want to lose my chain of thought." she notes, straightening to attention despite her sordid look.
Major Bludd tilts his head and frowns at the Siegie, taking in her bruises and the redness of her eyes. "What happened to you?"
Metal-Head shrugs. "S'cool, your ears, you wanna blast 'em out with that stuff, s'none of my business," he says. "Yeah, y'look like you tried to give a puffin a bath." He smirks at Over Kill. "S'dangerous that is."
Over Kill pauses. "Which reminds me. I should get back to bathing.." He looks at the puffin in his arms, who has curled his head under his wings to sleep. "Awww."
"I was testing one of my pet projects. Nothing to worry about. I dont even need light duties." The siegie responds. "If it is a concern I will wear my uniform however..." She glances over to Over Kill and her lips twitch in a smile. "I wouldn't try to give a CAT a bath, much less a Puffin," She remarks simply to Metal Head.
"Tell me about this 'pet project' of yours," says Bludd. "It looks like it's taking a toll on you."
The Siegie taps the papers into a neat pile, then looks at Bludd once more as she smiles a little "Its par for the course for this project... I only test it once a month because of this." She admits, gesturing to the bruises. "As for my pet project... I prefer not to speak of it yet. When It's ready to be known, I hope to give it to Cobra Commander." A pause. "I hope you would understand."
Major Bludd raises an eyebrow. "Just how dangerous is this thing?" he asks. "You're supposed to get clearance for dangerous projects. Keeps the whole joint from goin' up in smoke."
"I promise you it will not explode, corrode, sublime or escape from my control to wreak havoc by crawling through the bases' air ducts horrifically killing random Vipers before being sucked out into deep space through an airlock." The woman states with perfect seriousness. "It does have the necessary clearance under my own clearance for work in the public laboratories."
Major Bludd lets his mouth hang open for a moment as he listens to the Siegie's disclaimer. "Er, alright," he responds finally. "'Long as it's cleared," he adds.
Crimson Guard 1930 bites her lip, then states, "It also cannot DO any of the above things either, even if I did mess it up somehow." in reassuring tones and a warm smile as her red eyes blink. Then she looks to Metal-Head, and back, with a cough. "And how are you gentlemen?"
Metal-Head's eyebrows go up at the explanation of what the thingy won't do. "...uhh...okay," he says. "...whatever the thingy is, I ain't gonna be the one carrying it, am I?"
Major Bludd rubs the back of his neck. "I suggest," he says wearily, "that you /don't/ mess it up somehow."
"I have no intentions of messing it up, you can be sure of that." Then she looks to Metal-Head, and laughs a little. "If I pull this off, it will be actually very harmless... it's not a weapon.... more of an enhancement to current weapons." She notes, eyes glittering. "Still have some bugs to work out. But nothing contagious or anything. Dont worry about it." She shifts topics. "Has there been anything planned lately Major? I admit to feeling a little cabin feverish."
"I wonder about a 'weapon enhancement' that makes you look like you were tossed down the stairs," Bludd mutters, frowning at the word 'contagious'. He shakes his head. "It's not nano-technology, is it?" he asks suddenly, his brow creasing.
Metal-Head blinks. "Oh no, nobody comin' near me with that nano shit..."
"Oh, heavens no!" She looked just as shocked as Metal-Head. "It's not contagious. Its not a disease or any little 'critter' of any sort. It can't mutate or do any special stuff at all on its own. It's as harmless as coffee or water. You could even DRINK it and it won't do a thing to you... as for my condition ahh, that's one of the bugs," she explains, shifting now as she grows further uncomfortable with this. "It's hard to explain, but I'd rather change the subject. It will be clear in time."
Over Kill tilts his head. He's oddly quiet. Maybe he's in some sort of network conversation. "Ah. Yes. Hanging with the puffin."
Metal-Head blinks, looking over at Over Kill. "Hey! OK! Back to earth, huh? We're talkin' a bout that nano stuff you love..." He looks to 1930. "Yeah, no offense? I don't drink anything that's weaponizeable, y'know? Not good for my continued health."
Over Kill jumps a bit. "Oh? Oh sorry. Yes. Nano technology is a brilliant thing. You have white blood cells don't you? Those are kind of like organic BATs."
"Don't worry. It's not designed to be drunk anyways." The woman reassures Metal-Head as she pulls out a first aid kit, beginning to tape, sterilize and bandage her wounds up.
Major Bludd nods to the Siegie, his expression still a bit skeptical. "As for plans, I will be calling a briefing within the next few days for an operation." He squints, rubbing at his good eye with a knuckle. "I'll announce it."
Crimson Guard 1930 grins wickedly. "Wonderful. I can't WAIT to take part in it," She notes gleefully. She did like a good fight when given the chance. Finally taped all up, she holds a mirror up and peers at her eyes. "Ugh. No wonder you were so reactive."
"Well, try not to burn the place down, will you?" Bludd rolls his shoulders, wincing. He shakes his head. "I'm headin' in f'r th' night."
Crimson Guard 1930 chuckles. "I don't work with the explosives. I think that's Metal-Head's job," she notes playfully, winking at MH.
Metal-Head grunts and nods. "Yeah, pretty much. You want it made into a crater, I'm your man." He grins, rather proud of himself. "Blow stuff up good, real good."
Major Bludd nods distractedly as he heads out the door. "Only the enemy stuff, Finlay."
Crimson Guard 1930 thumbs up "That's the spirit." She waves to Bludd. "Take care Major!"