Who: Drake, Eli, and the Engineer What: First Meetings and Inspecting the Dream Machine Where: A storage facility in Seattle When: Last Sunday Warnings: Politeness covering distrust, and a little sneak preview
Drake arrived at the location given by the Engineer two minutes early, enough to utilize his ability in order to scope out the surrounding area unseen before approaching the storage facility and attempting to find the correct unit. Eli was waiting a block away until notified otherwise, and he hoped that if anything did go wrong or if this was some kind of trap the man could react in a timely, appropriate manner.
He had no idea how they were supposed to hunt down Night Terror, but he decided to take this one step at a time. First he needed to ensure that this Dream Machine was legit, and then they could move on to more complicated endeavors. Pausing outside a unit that was lit from the inside, Drake cast a glance around and determined this was the one. There seemed to be no other signs of activity, so he did the only rational thing and raised a hand to knock. Once he determined everything was clear he’d signal Eli to join him. Walter Frost was no hero. He had known that since he was eight years old. He had no particular desire to aid the human race, no great love for all man, woman, and child. But he liked to solve problems, and he loved himself. When scientific research seemed to offer the opportunity to fulfil both of those passions, he took it by the throat and turned while labcoat nerdery into a massive company. It was knowledge and power, two things he held in high esteem, and it was delicious.
Bishop had been a failed associate - stupid, shortsighted, and pathetically obsessed with his weird pet - but that didn’t mean that Walter had to curl up in a ball and die. He had his Dream Machine, a veritable masterpiece. The Dreamer hadn’t been cooperative, but that just betrayed how simple-minded he was. He didn’t see where his ability could take him, what it could mean. The Dream Machine gave Walter the ability to control dream-related abilities, and in turn gave him power over a realm that most people thought to be mere figment. It was everything a kid with a chemistry set could ask for.
He washed his hands of the Cleaners, relocating and using false names for everything. Joseph Foster owned the storage unit that he had turned into a laboratory, a makeshift temporary sort of thing. But it was good in a pinch, and a pinch was all he’d had. Once he realized Bishop was dead, it was a mad scramble to protect himself and his Dream Machine, to ensure both were safeguarded. This wasn’t optimal, but it was better than nothing.
For days, he had debated the use of masks. Seattle seemed to love them - despite the odd letter to the editor complaining about them - and they were quite stylish. But he couldn’t justify them. The EIT seemed to prefer identities, names and faces. So he would give them both, for now. And if he ever needed to rescind, there were options. Like the pistol weighing heavily on his hip, just in case. He didn’t mean to be paranoid, but the fact that Wallace’s associate had wanted to form a small army made him cautious. It didn’t hurt to look out for yourself, after all.
He was bringing up a few of his own brain scans when the knock on the small door to the unit caught his attention. Glancing towards it, he paused. He was dressed in a white labcoat that swamped his slim build, every bit the part of the lab rat. He turned away from his computer display, running a hand absently through his wiry brown hair. After a moment to collect himself, he strode towards the door, pushing it open and looking out cautiously. “Wallace?” he asked, brown eyes finding a bead on the young man standing just outside his makeshift laboratory’s door. Drake had done his best to appear as nonthreatening as possible, though there was really only so much he could do and past experiences worked against him. Still, he offered an uncharacteristically polite smile when the door opened. “That’s me. D. Wallace, to be specific. You’re the Engineer?” He had no reason to trust this man yet, and while he waited to be allowed entrance he managed to size him up quickly. The labcoat suggested some sort of scientist which made sense considering his claims, but he couldn’t detect any kind of weapon on him. None that was visible, at least.
“My associate is on his way,” he added after a pause, inserting an eyeroll for good measure, as if not being on time was nothing new for him. From what he could see there was no one else inside the unit, but he wanted to be sure. Stepping away from the door as the other man identified himself, Walter allowed him passage into the makeshift lab, closing the door behind him though it remained unlocked. “I am,” he replied to the other man’s question, relieved that he hadn’t seemed to have recognized him. Had they been on the east coast, this likely would have gone differently. But Frost Corp wasn’t as well-known on the west coast of the country, and with it Walter Frost was barely a whisper in the western imagination.
The mention of Wallace’s associate brought a thin half-smile to his face, a hint of amusement. “He’s lucky this is a private presentation. Any other time, and he’d have missed the introduction.” He started to move towards the center of the space, which had clearly been rearranged for the benefit of this private viewing. It could never be said that Walter Frost didn’t know how to give a good presentation. Decades of giving and watching research proposals had left him feeling comfortable with the whole thing.
The space was lined with benches, sturdy despite the fact that they were clearly portable. Despite a bit of ordered clutter on the benches and surrounding the room, the center was clean, making way for the star attraction. The Dream Machine looked almost like a tanning bed - it was a rectangular case sitting atop a stand, reaching his waist in height. Wires streamed out of the case, running to a nearby console that supported two impressive computer screens hooked up to one keyboard. Though the screens were dark, the power was clearly on - they were sleeping, waiting to be brought back to life. Drake hadn’t expected to recognize the man who called himself Engineer, and even after getting a good look at him he still wasn’t any more familiar. If he was supposed to recognize him, well, he remained oblivious to it. He considered getting inside as step one of this entire process, and didn’t bother trying to pretend he wasn’t looking around and getting a feel for the place.
He almost smiled at the way the space was set up, like some kind of viewing center, but he caught himself at the last moment. As he circled around the machine he assumed was the famed Dream Machine, he used the side angle to slip a hand into his jacket pocket and send off a quick text to Eli; the all-clear that it wasn’t a trap. “So this is it?” Drake asked, gesturing to the tanning bed-like creation. He kept a respectful distance, assuming that the scientist would be a little protective of his machine. Eli, as good as his word, had waited a block away as Drake approached the coordinates given to him by this said Engineer. He didn’t like all this subterfuge, but the potential payoff was worth the risk. One of the most challenging things about what they did was finding a way to house criminals who could not be captured and held under normal means. He’d heard of organizations claiming to use magic to handle such things, but he preferred something more tangible.
When the text from Drake jerked him from his thoughts, he started his car and drove the remainder of the way to the location. Unarmed, he cut the motor and approached the facility, only making himself known once he was close enough to do so without raising his voice. “Good evening, gentleman,” he said, calm and polite. He was willing to consider this man an ally, unless he presented himself as otherwise. And he was fairly certain Drake would have trussed him up by now, had that been the case. As Wallace circled the machine, Walter stood quietly halfway between said machine and the door. With his hands in his pockets, he stayed silent, the slightest bit tense. This piece of equipment was much more than a mere machine. It was living art, an innovation that many had tried and failed to create. Power in its rawest form: he had what no one else did, could do what everyone else tried. “Yes,” he replied quietly to Wallace’s question, his voice packed with pride.
He was about to speak again when the door to the unit opened, causing him to turn towards the newcomer. Expecting Wallace’s associate, his expression remained calm and free of surprise. “Good evening,” he replied with an incline of his head. “Mister...?” He trailed off quizzically, glancing between him and Wallace. Though they weren’t on a first-name basis, it wouldn’t be polite to avoid addressing him. “Pride,” Eli said, extending a hand, even as he glanced over at the machine that Drake was circling. “You’ll forgive me for my late arrival,” he added, as if not arriving punctually had been merely a result of heavy traffic, rather than a safety concern. “I am certain you’ve already explained the machine to Drake, but if you wouldn’t mind repeating the basics,” he posited, taking in small details as he stood there - the cost it must have taken to build it, specifically. “Do you have partners in this endeavor?” he asked casually. “A pleasure to meet you,” Walter replied cordially, shaking the other man’s hand. At his apology, the scientist merely inclined his head, an unspoken gesture of understanding. “I haven’t, actually. I was waiting for you.” He spoke matter-of-factly, in no way accusing or upset. “A private presentation can only start when the entire audience is present.” Leaving Pride’s side, he moved to the console with the computer screens, waking them both from “sleep.” He paused at the question, glancing over at the newcomer with a slight shake of his head. “No. That’s why I contacted Mr. Wallace. I’m a scientist by trade. Catching the bad guys isn’t quite my style. I’d get my lab coat dirty.” He gestured down at himself with a wry half-smile. “Laboratory humor.” Drake had a whole host of questions to ask Mr. Engineer about his Dream Machine, but Eli made his entrance before he had a chance. He turned towards the door with an ‘it’s about time’ expression but allowed Eli to make the introductions himself. This kind of technology was admittedly a little out of his league, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that building something this couldn’t have been cheap. Either this scientist was loaded or had received funding at one point or another. No partners now, but something had to pay for all this.
The man’s attempt at humor wasn’t really the laugh-out-loud sort, but Drake flashed a quick smile regardless. “The most underrated of all humors.” Aware that Eli probably wouldn’t appreciate any more of his dry remarks, he moved forward onto the topic at hand. “Now that we’re both here, I think you can go ahead and start the presentation.” He was actually looking forward to seeing how this thing worked. The prompt to begin was like giving candy to a small child - Walter grabbed it and ran with it. “Okay,” he said with an almost childish grin as he stepped back from the computer console, gesturing to the screens. “Here’s a refresher in neuroanatomy. The brain is never fully inactive. When we sleep, it’s still working. Technically, there are five “stages” of sleep: stages one through four, then REM sleep. REM stands for “Rapid Eye Movement,” and it’s the level of sleep we’re going to look at today.”
He tapped a few keys, bringing up the scan of a brain with several regions “lit up” almost as if little light bulbs had been buried in the tissue. “This is my brain during REM sleep,” he explained with a nod of his head. While it might have been more accurate-to-use to use the Dreamer’s scans, Walter was no fool. The fewer lies he told these people, the easier it would be to conceal the biggest lie of all. “As you can see, there’s activity here, here, and here. This first spot here is called the pons. This starts the show. The pons shuts off the nerves in your body, keeping you from moving around while you’re asleep. The signal for REM sleep is then relayed to the thalamus, which relays the signal to your cerebral cortex. The cerebral cortex is associated with learning, and this is what seems to produce dreams.”
He paused, glancing between the two men. “Okay? Now, let’s see what happens when we use the Dream Machine.” He tapped a key, advancing the scans to scans of the same brain. The central regions - those he identified as the pons and thalamus - were still lit up, but the cerebral cortex was much dimmer. “As you can see here, the electrical impulses emitted by the Dream Machine have sort of...scattered the signal, if you will. The cerebral cortex isn’t active, and thus REM sleep isn’t properly achieved. Thus, dreaming doesn’t occur. In theory, at least. Anecdotal evidence doesn’t mean a great deal, but unfortunately it’s all we have at this point.”
Lacing his fingers together, he looked between the two again. “Any questions?” Eli, of course, had questions. “We would be required to ensure that the Night Terror was in this apparatus whenever he slept?” he asked. “Or are we marketing these to Seattle residents?” There might have been a touch of suspicion in the question, there, just beneath the surface, but Eli’s smile was mild enough to not make it entirely clear. The question momentarily caught Walter off-guard. Hadn’t Wallace told Pride that this machine was for containing the Night Terror? He wasn’t China - mass production wasn’t exactly his thing. His expression wavered for a moment, almost borderline irritated. Why couldn’t people keep up with him? But he relaxed instantly. The Dream Machine was almost a part of him. He knew it inside and out, perfectly. These people didn’t - couldn’t. They couldn’t be blamed for not knowing.
“It only works when someone is inside. The effects on blocking dreaming ability seem to only last while someone is in the machine. Which is why I made this to contain the Night Terror as an alternative to prison. You can put the man in jail, but he’ll continue killing children in their sleep. This way, he’s contained and kept from harming anyone - the way a normal prison contains a normal criminal.” Under any other circumstances Drake would have been bored out of his mind and immediately stopped paying attention, but because it was for a job - and an important one at that - he forced himself to follow along. He’d never been a fan of sciencey things but luckily this stuff wasn’t rocket science. Hell, it actually made sense. The questions that came to mind after the presentation had more to do with the machine itself than Eli’s did, but he was aware of the buried suspicion and didn’t blame the other man for questioning the Engineer’s motivations. Drake hadn’t met a lot of people who were willing to help simply for the sake of helping.
He waited until Walter was finished answering before speaking. “So we make sure he’s in that machine whenever he sleeps. Are there any side effects you’ve found while using it?” Personally he didn’t give a damn whether there was or wasn’t, but it was useful to know nonetheless. There was also the issue of where they were going to keep Night Terror while he was awake, but that could come later. The question made him pause, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “I’ve used it for several nights and haven’t noticed any, though I have done research on the matter. Deprivation of REM sleep can lead to a compromised ability to learn. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were others, because the brain does use sleep as a form of replenishment. As far as whether or not this could kill someone over time the way normal sleep deprivation could...I’m not sure.” He shrugged, leaning back against the desk slightly. “But I believe that in these extreme circumstances, the alternative is more alarming.” Eli didn’t like it. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t think of a better solution, either. “It will do - for now. Why are you offering it to us?” he asked the scientist. “Is it for a price? Or are you merely altruistic and interested in our cause?” he asked, because that was the true question, wasn’t it? “And have you considered anything beyond this?” he asked, motioning toward the machine. “This does a fine job of handling one man and one problem, but have you thought about the larger picture?” Why was everything black and white with people? You were either a sinner or a saint, a user or a giver. There was no middle ground, no third option. Walter shook his head slightly, patting the desk with one hand. “I’m a scientist, Mr. Pride. I see the world’s problems and try to conceive of ways to fix them. I wouldn’t be so self-righteous as to call it altruism, but I’m not asking for your left arm in return. I have these ideas, these machines that I can create. But I couldn’t obtain the Night Terror on my own. I want a partnership. I want the ability to create more prisons like this for people that should be in them. And I thought that your team would be most receptive to what I have to offer.” Drake barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. There was no reason for them to trust this Engineer beyond a fairly basic level, which meant that they had no way of knowing whether any answer he gave as to his reasoning was the truth or a lie. “He’s got a point,” he interjected. “We’re capable of capturing Night Terror but have no way to contain him, which is where this Engineer comes in. The only other alternative is depriving him of sleep but that’s practically murder anyway.” He exhaled heavily. “There’s gonna be more people like Night Terror, ones who refuse to stop using their abilities to cause harm and can’t be contained by normal means. Machines like this are the only alternative right now.”
Obviously he and Eli needed to discuss this in more detail, but they couldn’t while Walter was around. The glance Drake gave him conveyed that no, he didn’t particularly like it either and he too had his suspicions, but they didn’t have any other option. In terms of why he’d chosen EIT, well, the masks were fickle and the cops might not go for something like this. Their organization specifically targeted Creations who abused their powers. Eli knew what that look from Drake meant, and he circled the machine once, moving around it for the first time since he’d come into the vicinity of it. It wasn’t a perfect solution, and it wasn’t an elegant solution, but it was better than the list of children they suspected had been harmed by the Night Terror. “You’ll understand if my associate and I need a few moments to discuss your offer?” Eli asked, and it wasn’t a question, not really. “Do you intend to tackle other abilities in the same way?” he asked. “On a per-ability basis? Or do you think there is a way to nullify everything with one machine, if you would?” He smiled harmlessly, as if he really wasn’t any sort of threat, not physically, not intellectually. “Oh, and do you have any concerns about your creations being misused? About them being used against all of us, in the end?”
Then, lastly and with a sense of utter casualness. “How did you develop this?” Wallace’s interjections earned a few nods of agreement from Walter. At the moment, there was no alternative. Until they were able to mass-produce a way of nullifying these abilities, targeting specific weaknesses was all that could be done.
As Pride spoke up again, Walter nodded again in agreement. “Of course,” he replied to the other man’s not-question. He knew all about statements in disguise, and he wasn’t about to deny these men theirs. But then the real questions started, and Walter was momentarily reminded of his son. It didn’t leave him with a warm, fuzzy, paternal feeling.
“Eventually, there may be a blanket way to nullify these abilities. But that would require some understanding of where they originate, and that assumes they all have a common source. Perhaps some day, that will be in the realm of possibility. Tackling these criminals on an individual basis is a more primitive method, but I believe it would be the most effective for now. I could certainly begin thinking about a prototype machine that would be one-size fits all, but I think my efforts would be best put towards something more tangible.”
The question of his machines being used against them almost made him blanch. He didn’t enjoy feeling as if his time were being wasted. “I think that concern comes with any technological advance,” he said carefully. “But fear shouldn’t stop us. It should make us cautious.”
The final question was expected, and he drummed his fingers on the desk idly. “When I first learned of the Night Terror, I began to wonder if there would ever be a way to imprison a man of his...unique skill set. That lead me to think about what his ability entailed - the ability to dream. If he couldn’t dream, then perhaps he couldn’t harm his victims. So I researched neuroanatomy and built a prototype.” The last statement was said as if he were saying “so I made coffee.” It came easily and naturally to him, an obvious byproduct of his familiarity with his craft. This was a natural, normal thing to him. Eli had the questions part of this meeting handled pretty well, and Drake found that he didn’t need to interject much at all. He listened to Walter’s responses as he studied the machine from where he stood, taking in as many details about it and the unit itself; sometimes it was the little things that proved important later. “One machine for all abilities sounds tricky,” he commented offhandedly. “For now I agree it’s best to go for a case-by-case basis.” He didn’t voice his suspicions of how exactly it would be determined where the source of said abilities were.
Maybe something along these lines could work for the Kappa too. He’d have to mention that to Eli. “No one else knows about this machine except the three of us, right?” Eli nodded his agreement to Drake’s statement. Very well. He gave the other man a look that said he agreed this was their only course of action for the present. It wasn’t what he would have wanted, and he might fight with his own morality over it in the dark of the night, but it was something that had to be done. EIT had never been afraid to make the truly hard choices, and Eli wasn’t going to break with that tradition now.
“Assuming the response to Drake’s question is that, no, no one else is aware of the apparatus’ existence, I believe we can work together.” He looked around the warehouse, and then at the other two men. “I am not certain this is the best location, however. It’s hardly secure, hardly defensible.” Well this was an exclusive little club, wasn’t it? Walter spared a smile for Pride, nodding. “It is,” he remarked, glancing back to Wallace briefly. “This has been my pet project. Scientists are very protective of their pets.” The mention of the location made him shrug. “You would know more about that than I. I just needed a space where I could work.” The main concerns Drake had with this particular course of action had more to do with Walter’s trustworthiness rather than the morality of keeping a man inside a machine. His morals were vastly different from Eli’s, and he’d never been afraid to make the hard choices. Half his life had been spent doing just that. “Good,” he said in response to Walter’s confirmation. Whatever else he might think this guy struck him as the type of scientist who would prefer to keep his inventions to himself. “We’ll work on a location and tracking down Night Terror.” He glanced at Eli as if to ask whether he had any more questions for the man, since he was as satisfied as he was ever going to be - right now, at least. Eli nodded, the movement an assent to this plan, to this man, to the fact that they were going to, it seemed, seriously hunt down this Night Terror, once and for all. With the vigilantes as sidetracked as they were with their identities, and the police as inept as they always seemed to be, it did not surprise him that it would fall to them to fix this problem. It was a problem he was more than willing to see corrected. “Yes, we will,” he agreed, and he held out a hand for Walter to shake. “It seems we’re to be partners, then.” “Very good, then,” Walter said with a nod. Location meant very little to him, as long as he had access to the resources necessary to continue his work. And if these two were willing to give him a more secure location, even further distancing him from the clusterfuck that was the Cleaners, then he wasn’t about to complain. It was a win-win situation: they benefited from his technology, and he benefited from their security. Though to be fair, there was a third win in there as well: the children of Seattle would be safe from the Night Terror.
“I look forward to working with you both,” he said with a smile, taking hold of Pride’s hand and shaking it firmly. “I have a good feeling about this.” Eli stepped away after a moment, and he gave Drake a nod. “I’ll begin searching for a secure location immediately. Gentlemen,” he added with a respectful incline of his head. He shot Drake one more look, one that said they would need to speak privately, and then he turned and returned to his car. Drake waited until Eli had left before he turned to Walter, still maintaining the professional front he’d had to adapt once he joined EIT officially. “I’ll be in touch,” he said with a small nod. Following Eli’s example he extended a hand for their own handshake before turning towards the door. “It was good meeting you, Mr. Engineer,” he threw over his shoulder as he left the unit. Once the two men had left, Walter stilled, waiting a few seconds before considering them truly gone. With a sigh, he moved to the door, locking it. It was a mild paranoia mixed with habit, despite the fact that this location was, in the words of Pride, “not secure.” If they were willing to amend that, he was grateful. Though Walter had been around long enough to know they didn’t trust him, he didn’t mind. As long as they didn’t try anything foolish, it would be fine. Walter Frost didn’t need people to trust him to be happy. He just needed people to stay out of his way.
The inquisitive Pride would likely be an annoyance, but he liked Wallace. Wallace didn’t beat around the bush, and he didn’t mince words. Thankfully, Wallace seemed to be the one he would deal with more often. That would be best for everyone. Distrusting his morality was one thing, but distrusting his skill was dangerous territory. But they would soon see that he wasn’t just another wanna-be. He was the real deal. And now, with his hands washed of Seymour Shawn and all his indiscretions, he could get back to what he did best - work.
He crossed the space to a corner that the two men hadn’t noticed, a corner that was - to the naked eye - just full of storage boxes. He’d yet to unpack the boxes, but they were far from simple storage. They were wooden crates, stored aside a crowbar. Fitting one end of the bar under a lid, he threw his weight into it, popping the box open. With a grin, he pushed the lid aside, standing over the box. Packed in a sea of packing peanuts was his pet project, his precious side affair that no one else - not even the great mind, Seymour Shawn - knew of. He reached down, tenderly pulling the piece of equipment out as packing peanuts fell to the floor. It was still in the very rough stages, its wings not even finished yet. But the footholds were in great shape, fit exactly to his feet, and the engine was almost complete. It just needed a few more adjustments, and the night was still so very young.