Narrative: Mad Science Characters: Victor von Doom NPCs: Lucia von Bardas Location: Latverian Embassy, NYC Timeline: 12/26 and 12/31, respectively Description: Lucia makes a misstep, and Victor makes her pay for it. Rating: R for violence (serious violence)
Lucia von Bardas waved a friendly hello to the desk guard at the embassy, swiping herself in with her credentials. He had raised a hand in greeting but seemed preoccupied with some matter at his computer. She slid her backpack off of her shoulder, shrugging off her winter coat as she made her way inside. The weather in the city was finally getting colder, but the embassy was well heated. She stashed her bag and coat at her desk space before delving into her to do list for the day. The aide supervisor had asked her if she could work a little extra at the end of December. A mention had been made in passing that Victor seemed agitated about something and that they needed to make sure that a number of filings were submitted on time. As she understood it, there were things he wanted to accomplish while still in the UN's good graces. It was curious—curious enough that she only saw her family on Christmas day and had been reporting to work regularly otherwise.
The strange thing was that none of the other aides had also shown up. Perhaps, they had been unwilling to part with their holiday time. Or perhaps it was because Victor trusted her more than the others. He had become estranged from his social connections of late as she had not seen or heard about his girlfriend after his trip to be with her on Thanksgiving. Instead, he labored intensively and in secret, and she had done what she could to be useful to him—making sure he had creature comforts and the occasional word to bolster his spirits. She could readily see his obvious, formidable intellect and also the way in which he let that same intellect alienate him from others. Being a lifeline wasn't even hard. She just had to be willing to reach out.
Thinking on the ambassador, she made a cross by his office. He was not inside, which meant he was likely in his mysterious downstairs workspace. She made her way to the kitchen to fetch him coffee. She would coax him out with it, and if she happened to linger in his office awhile, well, nobody could really blame her. She was just trying to do a good thing. Cup and saucer in hand, she pushed past the heavy oak door. She crossed to his desk, always so meticulously organized, and saw some things out of place. Perhaps her supervisor was right. Perhaps he was starting to unravel. She set the cup down, carefully grabbing some of the haphazardly strewn documents as though to make sure none of the coffee got onto them. The papers caught her eye. They were plans for a robot. They were complex, but even to her uninitiated eyes, she could tell it looked dangerous. She grinned excitedly, reaching into her pocket for her phone.
The door opened with a slow creak, and she froze for a moment before looking over her shoulder. He was wearing that mask, and his face was unreadable. Did he suspect she was snooping? She forced a smile onto her face, chirping her words out to him in her best Latverian. "You really have to be tidier. I almost spilled your co—"
"I know."
"What?"
The sound he made was likely a sigh of exasperation, but from behind his mask it seemed like a puff of hot steam from the mouth of a dragon. He started towards her. She took a half step back, but he was surprisingly fast, snatching her phone from her hand. "I am truly amazed at your lack of faith in my methods. If I were you. If I were trying to give away the secrets of Victor von Doom to the CIA, then I would never send a single message from Latverian soil. I could have caught you a hundred times over, but well, the one thing you did well was the emotional deception. A smart girl. Smart enough to try and get under my skin."
She swallowed hard, stammering to find the right words to save her skin. "I-I-I only—"
"You thought you could continue this deception unchecked?" He gave a dark laugh, booming and full of menace. "When you arrived here, you claimed respect for your heritage and yet you clearly share the American perspective that Latveria is some ignorant territory stuck in the dark ages. You are such a foolish girl to let them lead you like the sacrificial lamb onto enemy soil unprotected."
"But Victor, this—you're not my enemy. They said that they just needed verification. That you might not even be dangerous but that if you were that I'd be doing a...but you're not. I know you. You aren't dangerous." She didn't sound confident in her words anymore. She sounded like someone pleading for mercy. She looked past him as members of the guard joined Victor in the room.
"This is an unfortunate position, Lucia. Especially unfortunate that you took the bait so obviously laid out for you. You now know things that I absolutely cannot have you sharing with the CIA, and yet..." He reached out, his hand sliding down the side of her face until it was ghosting across her neck. "Conventional methods of silencing you seem inadequate. I'm sure they expect you to report in regularly. I'm sure there are those who would miss you after some time. And what would they think? For now all they know is that you are working extra hard over the long winter break...there's only so many days for you to be gone."
She stared up at him in fear, her hopeful question coming out as a whisper. "...so that means you won't hurt me?"
Victor stared back at her, his eyes like blades cutting into the heart of her. "No. It means I will have to work quickly." The guards descended upon her, and she screamed, her wails filling the halls and getting softer as they carried her down to his private workplace. He stooped to collect the design specifications she had dropped. These would be useful to have on hand as he started his great work.
---
This was where having a social circle of scientists came in handy. He was not a bioengineer, but there were certainly enough biologists and bioengineers at the Stark School who had been all too eager to talk his ear off about how the body and mind were just like a machine in many ways. The science was there, waiting to be perfected. Modern medicine already had made a number of ways to use technology to regulate parts of the brain. At the time of the Latverian invasion, he had already been testing a suit meant to simulate the multiple chemical processes that made a person calm, compliant and focused. His work now was an extension of all of that.
If he could have had his way, he would have spent all his focus and energy on refining the Doombots—his perfect machines, never fatiguing, never faltering in loyalty. But necessity being the mother of invention, those plans were evolving. He had barely slept in the past few days. There had been much to do with Lucia. The mental and chemical conditioning alone was a tricky endeavor. He could have undone her completely, but he needed the secrets she was keeping in that head of hers. He also needed her to at least seem like herself when everything was said and done. The CIA still needed their contact, after all, though her loyalties would be realigned a bit.
He shook his head, willing away the cobwebs as he checked all the monitoring machines. His small workspace reeked of blood. The surgical parts of the process had gone well insomuch as she had survived them, and now he just needed to do some final checks before...well before he pushed the go button. He walked over to the white sheet covering Lucia's body, peeling it back to reveal her face. It was relaxed as though she were asleep, and in a way, he supposed she was at rest. He took a breath, wondering for a moment what his options would be if this plan had not worked. He quickly dispelled the thought. When had he been wrong? He reached out, pressing the enter key. Lucia opened her eyes, turning her face to look at him. She gave him a beautiful smile. "Hello Victor."
He nodded in her direction, reaching out to touch her face. She twitched a bit, reflexes still working fine. Her skin was warm. He peeled back the sheet to check her surgical scars to along her torso where a number of carefully placed mechanical boxes could be seen. It was the casing for the motherboard of his most beautiful creation. A Doombot made of organic life. A woman loyal to him down to her very programming.
He relaxed, peeling off his examination gloves as he crossed to a chair and sank into it. The hard work was done. "If you're feeling quite alright, I'll need you to tell me about your relationship with the CIA."
She sat up on the table, wrapping the sheet around her body. "Should I begin with when they first contacted me?"