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@goddard-communications
Welcome to the one and only official line to the Current Director of Communications, Mr. Cutter. Please leave a message only if it's very important.
-
Cutter roleplay account! POV or Third Person depending on prompts. Willing to play ball with other Cutter bodies if anyone wanted too! (Newman, Keller, Carter, etc etc)
Feel free to ask me anything or start something up! Don't be too shy ☕
A lot of communication from command was never a good thing. You would think it would be a good thing, given the fact that you're orbiting a giant fireball millions of miles from home. But for any ship provided by Goddard Futuristics, it was never a good thing.
Even more of a bad thing is when it is a live communication.
Somehow even worse is when it is a live communication from Marcus Cutter.
And yet, that was exactly what Officer Lambert was looking at. A pending transmission waiting to be accepted.
(3rd Person, @goddard-communications )
Wringing his hands and muttering to himself, Lambert accepted the live communication, adjusting the many knobs and dials as he felt necessary to be able to hear and speak with Mr. Cutter well.
He had been conducting the D.S.A.L.S. as per usual; alone, and after he had finished whatever tasks Captain Lovelace saw fit to assign him on top of his other responsibilities. But now, here it was, plain as day: a request to communicate from one Marcus Cutter, who might be the most terrifying man Lambert had ever met.
Then, a thought struck him. Maybe this was in response to his reports. The ones he had been dutifully writing about Captain Lovelace and the rest of the crew whenever they began to slip into disobedience. He didn't think his crew was a bad sort (mostly), but they all had a tendency to make little mistakes here and there. And little mistakes often led to bigger mistakes, which is how you end up dead.
Feeling much more confident now, Lambert resettled his headphones and prepared himself for what he was now sure could only be an assurance and praise of his standards.
A green light blinked in front of Mr. Cutter's eyes, and he knew it was time for just a little fun.
Revenge wasn't quite the right word for this, that would require that he actually cared what anyone but whatever Dimitri was calling himself now was doing on that ship. Revenge would be personal.
This was just an easy meal.
A hum in the back of his throat as he messed with the cord on the communicator.
"Hello Hephaestus Crew. Hope you all are well. Who all can currently hear this?"
Even just his voice was enough to straighten Lambert's spine.
"Greetings, Mr. Cutter. This is Communications Officer Lambert. Er, I am the only one in the Comms Room at the moment."
Smoothing his hands over his spacesuit, he took in a breath. This was it. Finally, he would be receiving validation for his hard work.
The smile in his voice was obvious, as it usually was.
"Ah. How swell. I will like to speak to the rest of your crew, just to check in, but, while we're here..."
He narrowed his eyes and chewed on his words, "We can start with you."
There was another pause as the man tapped his chin, "Why do you think I started this transmission, Sam?"
A lot of communication from command was never a good thing. You would think it would be a good thing, given the fact that you're orbiting a giant fireball millions of miles from home. But for any ship provided by Goddard Futuristics, it was never a good thing.
Even more of a bad thing is when it is a live communication.
Somehow even worse is when it is a live communication from Marcus Cutter.
And yet, that was exactly what Officer Lambert was looking at. A pending transmission waiting to be accepted.
(3rd Person, @goddard-communications )
Wringing his hands and muttering to himself, Lambert accepted the live communication, adjusting the many knobs and dials as he felt necessary to be able to hear and speak with Mr. Cutter well.
He had been conducting the D.S.A.L.S. as per usual; alone, and after he had finished whatever tasks Captain Lovelace saw fit to assign him on top of his other responsibilities. But now, here it was, plain as day: a request to communicate from one Marcus Cutter, who might be the most terrifying man Lambert had ever met.
Then, a thought struck him. Maybe this was in response to his reports. The ones he had been dutifully writing about Captain Lovelace and the rest of the crew whenever they began to slip into disobedience. He didn't think his crew was a bad sort (mostly), but they all had a tendency to make little mistakes here and there. And little mistakes often led to bigger mistakes, which is how you end up dead.
Feeling much more confident now, Lambert resettled his headphones and prepared himself for what he was now sure could only be an assurance and praise of his standards.
A green light blinked in front of Mr. Cutter's eyes, and he knew it was time for just a little fun.
Revenge wasn't quite the right word for this, that would require that he actually cared what anyone but whatever Dimitri was calling himself now was doing on that ship. Revenge would be personal.
This was just an easy meal.
A hum in the back of his throat as he messed with the cord on the communicator.
"Hello Hephaestus Crew. Hope you all are well. Who all can currently hear this?"
Hello Warren.
I hope you are enjoying the new phone. Shame what became of the last one. I need to have a word with you. I know you are in the building, so I imagine you will not be long.
P.S. The Unit for the elevator is currently offline. So you will be getting some healthy exercise and using the stairs.
(@goddard-communications)
Morning, Mr. Cutter. I'll be there right away, sir.
What a way to start the day.
Funny how a simple text was enough to make Kepler's heart drop to his stomach. As concerned eyes scanned over the screen of his new Goddard-issued phone, pure dread filled the head of the usually unshakeable Colonel: this cannot be good.
Kepler left his office like a well-trained dog; no need to tell him twice. The elevator didn't work, yet he still checked himself in the mirror that was right across from it: neat hair, perfect teeth, pristine uniform. Presentable was an understatement.
On his way to Cutter's office—up so many flights of stairs that he was convinced the inconvenient placement was intentional—Kepler's mind ran through every single possible scenario he could come up with, as well as all the reasons Cutter could have to summon him like that.
Texts were not the best tone-wise, but judging from the way Cutter had written that one, this wasn't an overly joyous occassion.
Not ten minutes after replying to the message, the Colonel gave two knocks on the door. Enough to make sure they were heard, not enough to be irritating.
Surely this was just a misunderstanding? He would be fine. And it would do him good to stop being so jittery around his boss.
@goddard-communications
His eyes narrowed into a smiley squint, akin to the way someone would when looking at a pet.
He drank about half of his own chai in one gulp, "A few things actually. This is more of a catch up than anything. We both have been too busy for the office for awhile."
He moves to his chair and falls into it, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back.
"How was that last mission? I know it got a little...dicey but, seems your team figured it out." Another sip and a soft breath, "they always do."
That much was true. Between missions and the paperwork for said missions, Kepler had barely had a moment to breathe.
He watched carefully as his boss turned and walked away, tracking the man’s easy movements as he reached his chair. Choosing to follow, Kepler approached Cutter's desk, yet he did not take a seat in one of the chairs across from the man. Instead, he stood at ease, right before him. The cup was in his hand still—he'd barely taken a sip—and he couldn't wait to set it on the table.
"The mission was completed successfully, sir, as expected," Kepler replied. It was stiff, official, so rehearsed that it was almost painful. "These situations are the SI-5's area of expertise. My agents' performance was outstanding, and every objective was achieved."
Suddenly, he wasn't so quiet anymore. Anything to protect his people, after all.
Loyalty. Such a funny thing for someone like Kepler to be so invested in.
Cutter never found much use for loyalty. Staying loyal to a brand, a product, or person always ends the same way. They become outdated, and it becomes time to move on.
" I can hear you getting defensive Warren, I promise, my issue is not with your team."
He finished his chai, taking a large exhale and wiping the corner of his mouth.
"My issue, is that maybe they are suited for a different position. A different team."
Enlil, as you know, I have a trip to Tokyo tomorrow, how is the forecast? Anything that might cause an issue?
( @goddard_communications )
Hello, Mr. Cutter!
Everything looks nominal and in tip-top shape for our– your trip tomorrow. A 40% chance of precipitation and a crisp high of 55 degrees. Nothing to be concerned about!
Wonderful.
I'll be bringing a perspective hire aboard once we land over there. Make sure the plane has the proper food and drink in place for 3. I want to make sure they feel welcome.
You may need to do some translations, but I imagine that won't be an issue?
Hello Rachel.
The Board meeting is over, as...enlightening as usual. Anything I need to catch up on?
(@goddard-communications)
Ah, Mr Cutter.
Plenty… Warren is being… Warren. That assistant you hired me is useless. I think I saw Diana from Finance pacing outside your office for five minutes before being a coward and walking away. And that’s just the past hour.
:)
🙄
Great. The usual then. I assume that means that Diana saw that I restricted her paid time off for her sick leave. I mean no one really needs more than a month for hip surgery in this day and age anyway.
Is he not working out? I wouldn't think it'd be that difficult to be an assistant's assistant but, I still find myself surprised everyday.
Oh, and I ordered catering for the meeting and there's plenty of scraps if you want to grab something.
Hello Warren.
I hope you are enjoying the new phone. Shame what became of the last one. I need to have a word with you. I know you are in the building, so I imagine you will not be long.
P.S. The Unit for the elevator is currently offline. So you will be getting some healthy exercise and using the stairs.
(@goddard-communications)
Morning, Mr. Cutter. I'll be there right away, sir.
What a way to start the day.
Funny how a simple text was enough to make Kepler's heart drop to his stomach. As concerned eyes scanned over the screen of his new Goddard-issued phone, pure dread filled the head of the usually unshakeable Colonel: this cannot be good.
Kepler left his office like a well-trained dog; no need to tell him twice. The elevator didn't work, yet he still checked himself in the mirror that was right across from it: neat hair, perfect teeth, pristine uniform. Presentable was an understatement.
On his way to Cutter's office—up so many flights of stairs that he was convinced the inconvenient placement was intentional—Kepler's mind ran through every single possible scenario he could come up with, as well as all the reasons Cutter could have to summon him like that.
Texts were not the best tone-wise, but judging from the way Cutter had written that one, this wasn't an overly joyous occassion.
Not ten minutes after replying to the message, the Colonel gave two knocks on the door. Enough to make sure they were heard, not enough to be irritating.
Surely this was just a misunderstanding? He would be fine. And it would do him good to stop being so jittery around his boss.
@goddard-communications
Cutter simply hummed.
His eyes snaked up and down before he tilted his head.
And then, he just turned and walked towards his desk.
"I'm sure you're thirsty after that walk, apologies for that, the unit decided it enjoyed locking people in the elevator, Miranda is working on shifting it towards our training units. Shouldn't be long until she finds something to shove in there."
He seemed... happy? It was impossible to tell, but he was softly laughing at his own jokes.
He went over to his wet bar, and began pouring two cups of chai.
"You're not on The Board, so I imagine I don't need to do much else in terms of pleasantries. So..."
He walked back and held out a cup for the other
"Drink up and we'll get to business. Hmm?"
The thing about Cutter, even after all these years, was that Kepler couldn’t quite figure him out completely.
He knew the basics and then some more, of course. For an agent like Kepler, trained so thoroughly and with so much experience, it was natural to learn to read most people like an open book. But Marcus Cutter was different, and he was nothing like regular people (whether for better or for worse), and Kepler still often found himself doubting his next moves when dealing with his boss.
“It was no problem at all, Mr. Cutter,” the Colonel assured, just like he was meant to do. Like he always would, even if Cutter made him run laps around the building before going to his office. Never inconvenienced, always eager. As he should.
For that same reason, when he found himself with a cup in his hand, the Colonel brought the drink to his lips despite his lack of fondness for chai.
Sweet and biting at the same time, just like the man who prepared it.
“Is there…” he paused, overthinking his words, “anything I can do for you, sir?”
His eyes narrowed into a smiley squint, akin to the way someone would when looking at a pet.
He drank about half of his own chai in one gulp, "A few things actually. This is more of a catch up than anything. We both have been too busy for the office for awhile."
He moves to his chair and falls into it, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back.
"How was that last mission? I know it got a little...dicey but, seems your team figured it out." Another sip and a soft breath, "they always do."
Hello Warren.
I hope you are enjoying the new phone. Shame what became of the last one. I need to have a word with you. I know you are in the building, so I imagine you will not be long.
P.S. The Unit for the elevator is currently offline. So you will be getting some healthy exercise and using the stairs.
(@goddard-communications)
Morning, Mr. Cutter. I'll be there right away, sir.
What a way to start the day.
Funny how a simple text was enough to make Kepler's heart drop to his stomach. As concerned eyes scanned over the screen of his new Goddard-issued phone, pure dread filled the head of the usually unshakeable Colonel: this cannot be good.
Kepler left his office like a well-trained dog; no need to tell him twice. The elevator didn't work, yet he still checked himself in the mirror that was right across from it: neat hair, perfect teeth, pristine uniform. Presentable was an understatement.
On his way to Cutter's office—up so many flights of stairs that he was convinced the inconvenient placement was intentional—Kepler's mind ran through every single possible scenario he could come up with, as well as all the reasons Cutter could have to summon him like that.
Texts were not the best tone-wise, but judging from the way Cutter had written that one, this wasn't an overly joyous occassion.
Not ten minutes after replying to the message, the Colonel gave two knocks on the door. Enough to make sure they were heard, not enough to be irritating.
Surely this was just a misunderstanding? He would be fine. And it would do him good to stop being so jittery around his boss.
@goddard-communications
The door opened on its own. Pretty much everything in Cutter's office was automated, from the doors to the chai dispenser behind his desk.
The man of the hour was by the windows that went from floor to ceiling on the east wall. His office doubled as a penthouse. He didn't need to sleep, but it was always about the form over the function for him anyways.
Blue suit today, different from the usual rotation. Mondays were typically grey.
The man had his hands behind his back as he turned on a designer heel to smile at the man in the doorway.
"Warren, good time."
He began to walk towards him, slow and floaty in a way that only felt unsettling when he would do it.
"How are you? Do you need a water or anything else to drink?" It was spoken with a light-hearted tone, but this was Marcus Cutter, that meant absolutely nothing.
Despite years of knowing the man, Kepler doubted Marcus Cutter would ever stop unnerving him.
Don’t get him wrong, the Colonel had nothing but the utmost respect for his boss, but he was quite the…eccentric man, to put it succinctly. The most dangerous ever walk the earth, too, which only exacerbated Kepler’s unease as he stood under Cutter’s burning gaze.
“Everything is going well, sir,” he responded promptly, hands clasped behind his back. His back was straight, military posture impeccable, and his head was held high. At the very least, Kepler’s demeanor didn’t betray the wariness he always felt around Cutter. “I’m good, sir, thank you.” His mouth felt dry, lips ever so slightly chapped, yet he didn’t accept the water. Instead, he simply waited to be addressed again, just like he should.
He was tense, that much was clear, but it was nothing out of the ordinary for Warren Kepler. Stiff and uptight, just like always.
Cutter simply hummed.
His eyes snaked up and down before he tilted his head.
And then, he just turned and walked towards his desk.
"I'm sure you're thirsty after that walk, apologies for that, the unit decided it enjoyed locking people in the elevator, Miranda is working on shifting it towards our training units. Shouldn't be long until she finds something to shove in there."
He seemed... happy? It was impossible to tell, but he was softly laughing at his own jokes.
He went over to his wet bar, and began pouring two cups of chai.
"You're not on The Board, so I imagine I don't need to do much else in terms of pleasantries. So..."
He walked back and held out a cup for the other
"Drink up and we'll get to business. Hmm?"
Hello Warren.
I hope you are enjoying the new phone. Shame what became of the last one. I need to have a word with you. I know you are in the building, so I imagine you will not be long.
P.S. The Unit for the elevator is currently offline. So you will be getting some healthy exercise and using the stairs.
(@goddard-communications)
Morning, Mr. Cutter. I'll be there right away, sir.
What a way to start the day.
Funny how a simple text was enough to make Kepler's heart drop to his stomach. As concerned eyes scanned over the screen of his new Goddard-issued phone, pure dread filled the head of the usually unshakeable Colonel: this cannot be good.
Kepler left his office like a well-trained dog; no need to tell him twice. The elevator didn't work, yet he still checked himself in the mirror that was right across from it: neat hair, perfect teeth, pristine uniform. Presentable was an understatement.
On his way to Cutter's office—up so many flights of stairs that he was convinced the inconvenient placement was intentional—Kepler's mind ran through every single possible scenario he could come up with, as well as all the reasons Cutter could have to summon him like that.
Texts were not the best tone-wise, but judging from the way Cutter had written that one, this wasn't an overly joyous occassion.
Not ten minutes after replying to the message, the Colonel gave two knocks on the door. Enough to make sure they were heard, not enough to be irritating.
Surely this was just a misunderstanding? He would be fine. And it would do him good to stop being so jittery around his boss.
@goddard-communications
The door opened on its own. Pretty much everything in Cutter's office was automated, from the doors to the chai dispenser behind his desk.
The man of the hour was by the windows that went from floor to ceiling on the east wall. His office doubled as a penthouse. He didn't need to sleep, but it was always about the form over the function for him anyways.
Blue suit today, different from the usual rotation. Mondays were typically grey.
The man had his hands behind his back as he turned on a designer heel to smile at the man in the doorway.
"Warren, good time."
He began to walk towards him, slow and floaty in a way that only felt unsettling when he would do it.
"How are you? Do you need a water or anything else to drink?" It was spoken with a light-hearted tone, but this was Marcus Cutter, that meant absolutely nothing.
Begin Report:
There really needs to be something done about Doctors Hui and Fourier. They spend far too much time with their heads in the clouds, conspiring about different hypotheticals and just... laughing together. I can only assume that this is what tip 222 was warning us about.
Please advise on the best way to break the news to them that they are only setting themselves up for failure.
This has been Communications Officer Lambert.
End Report.
(from @communicationsofficerslambert)
Another riveting report Officer.
Again, I feel the need to ask, how exactly is this a life or death scenario for the safety of your crew. And how exactly is this complaint worth the very expensive resources it takes to send this communication beacon.
If you wish to use these resources. I expect there to be reason. I understand that you are 'communicating' and as much as I appreciate that communication when it's useful, this is not useful nor is it something that I can do anything about.
If you're asking for interpersonal crew relationship advice, I'm afraid that I'm not the one you should be consulting. The handbook supplies many icebreakers that you may use to grow rapport with your colleagues.
As always, I appreciate your cooperation and I hope to see any progress in terms of your actual mission.
Cutter.
Prisoner 127
Danger Level : High
Facility : Raven Rock
Clearance Level : Tier 4
Name/Alias : Marcus Henry Cutter, William Smith Carter, Arthur Keller, Wyllis Grant Fletcher, and others suspected. Original Name Matthew James Newman
Additional Information : Obtained from the returned Goddard Deep Space Vessel Urania. Main source of information is former accomplice Doctor Miranda Pryce. She has since been given a plea deal for her willingness to assist in learning from and containing 127. 127 does not require food, or water more than once per month, and never requires sleep. Regular water and rations given to maintain decorum. Can be halted in need of isolation.
Approach with caution. Semi mechanical body makes 127 weak to electronic pulses. If one wishes to enter his cell. They must be equipped with the appropriate devices.
Monitored 24/7
-
He didn't think any of this would happen. Obviously not, but he especially didn't think the boredom would be worse than the humiliation. Made to rot in a plastic shell in grey scrubs. Oh the anger was still there. Most definitely. But, on top of that. It was more the aching, searing feeling of having nothing to do.
He held a ball in his hand, a stress ball, he was given a tennis ball that he may have sent into one of the guards that was picked to enter his cell. He had one of those teeth as a keepsake.
But now, he was given this soft, harmless thing that was supposed to be a gift.
He bounced it a few times in the soft, unsatisfying way, before he tried to squeeze it.
And, as everything did in his hands. It fell apart.
There goes such a wonderful gift.
Marcus H. Cutter was an interesting prisoner.
Those held in Raven Rock were varied in their volatility. Doctor Mercury was no stranger to being able to speak to her patients only through a phone, only seeing them on the other side of a glass wall.
Most of them, though, were, at the bare minimum, human. No one was quite certain what Marcus Cutter— or whatever his name was— even was. Human? Alien? Machine? Likely, somewhere in the middle of that particular triangle.
The doctor, lab coat and all, carried her handy clipboard into the secluded hallway outside Cutter's cell. There was a chair set up for her, there, and a corded phone attached to the wall.
She picked up the phone and sat in her chair, crossing her legs, the curling cord stretching just far enough to accommodate.
"Mr. Cutter. How are you today?"
Her own expression was blank
He chuckled at her. He then turned his head to look at her with a lazy smirk.
Legs moved quickly, spinning to have him sit on the side of the cot. His hands leaned against the edge to lean him forward.
His eyes held nothing.
She never gave him a first name. It was an annoying little bypass to his standard greetings.
"Doctor."
The man stood with a sense of ease that didn't suit a man that had just laid down for 45 hours straight.
"Good question. What do you think?"
A breath left his mouth that could be taken as a laugh if his eyes weren't akin to a starved zoo tiger.
Her patients did not get to know her first name. Who knew if the last name she gave them was even her real one. It was a matter of safety, anonymity.
Marcus Cutter did not scare her.
Doctor Mercury looked at him a moment before providing a smile.
"I would hazard to guess that it's been quite the same as every other day since your arrival."
Cutter tilted his head and gave a stiff shrug of his shoulders. He was, mostly recovered. As much as Miranda was willing to do on the months to get back to Earth. But some there's were still not quite right.
"As observant as always Doctor."
He paced the little open space he had. He did that for days a month or so ago.
"At least that screamer a few doors down has been quiet. Did he finally get his wish and drop dead?"
A turn of his head as he moved an arm to lay against his abdomen. There was a flick down of his smile before it came back when he put his other elbow on it. A pose of a true thinker who shouldn't be here.
If the man was to be described in one word, that word would be 'manipulative'.
For all the world, he looked as though he did not belong here, certainly not. He had the appearance of an upstanding gentleman, a man of business, of prestige.
He certainly did not belong in a cage, at least on the surface. But the ones keeping him here knew better.
If Doctor Mercury knew the answer to Cutter's question, she didn't reveal it. Instead, she provided her own intrigue:
"You have a message. From Doctor Pryce."
His demeanor soured immediately. His brows furrowed and his mouth dipped into a scowl.
"Splendid. Splendid. What could she ever have to say?"
His tone was tight. Distain dripped from every word.
His world. The world he was so, so close to having. Gone because one idiot managed to change her mind. It was infuriating in every definition of the word.
Mercury's specialty lay in behavioral analysis. She watched every twitch and made note of it, her skills in that area honed after decades of practice.
The man wore his heart on his sleeve, as far as she was concerned.
"I cannot provide you with the actual item, of course, but she has sent you a Christmas card."
The man's head tilted. He actually seemed surprised.
Then, he laughed.
And laughed until he had to suck in a shuddered breath.
"Oh, oh that's...that's very cute. Well if I can't have it, can you at least put it against the glass?"
He was still giggling over his words as he moved to the glass wall.
"I'm so curious what it would say"
Venom dripped from every one of the man's actions, from every word he spoke. A pure, deep hatred.
It was not hard to imagine at whom that hatred was directed.
Mercury stood and, as requested, pressed the card against the glass. It featured a painting, a gentle winter scene, reindeer in the snow.
Text on the card read:
Merry Christmas, and To Another Year
Cutter read it once
Read it twice
His eyes hovered over the words, over the scene, over every detail like it actually mattered.
His breath shuttered.
"Ah. I see how it is."
His voice was tight and quiet, more vulnerable than he wanted. He looked beyond the card at Mercury.
"Kids, hmm? Always so ungrateful during the Holidays."
Prisoner 127
Danger Level : High
Facility : Raven Rock
Clearance Level : Tier 4
Name/Alias : Marcus Henry Cutter, William Smith Carter, Arthur Keller, Wyllis Grant Fletcher, and others suspected. Original Name Matthew James Newman
Additional Information : Obtained from the returned Goddard Deep Space Vessel Urania. Main source of information is former accomplice Doctor Miranda Pryce. She has since been given a plea deal for her willingness to assist in learning from and containing 127. 127 does not require food, or water more than once per month, and never requires sleep. Regular water and rations given to maintain decorum. Can be halted in need of isolation.
Approach with caution. Semi mechanical body makes 127 weak to electronic pulses. If one wishes to enter his cell. They must be equipped with the appropriate devices.
Monitored 24/7
-
He didn't think any of this would happen. Obviously not, but he especially didn't think the boredom would be worse than the humiliation. Made to rot in a plastic shell in grey scrubs. Oh the anger was still there. Most definitely. But, on top of that. It was more the aching, searing feeling of having nothing to do.
He held a ball in his hand, a stress ball, he was given a tennis ball that he may have sent into one of the guards that was picked to enter his cell. He had one of those teeth as a keepsake.
But now, he was given this soft, harmless thing that was supposed to be a gift.
He bounced it a few times in the soft, unsatisfying way, before he tried to squeeze it.
And, as everything did in his hands. It fell apart.
There goes such a wonderful gift.
Marcus H. Cutter was an interesting prisoner.
Those held in Raven Rock were varied in their volatility. Doctor Mercury was no stranger to being able to speak to her patients only through a phone, only seeing them on the other side of a glass wall.
Most of them, though, were, at the bare minimum, human. No one was quite certain what Marcus Cutter— or whatever his name was— even was. Human? Alien? Machine? Likely, somewhere in the middle of that particular triangle.
The doctor, lab coat and all, carried her handy clipboard into the secluded hallway outside Cutter's cell. There was a chair set up for her, there, and a corded phone attached to the wall.
She picked up the phone and sat in her chair, crossing her legs, the curling cord stretching just far enough to accommodate.
"Mr. Cutter. How are you today?"
Her own expression was blank
He chuckled at her. He then turned his head to look at her with a lazy smirk.
Legs moved quickly, spinning to have him sit on the side of the cot. His hands leaned against the edge to lean him forward.
His eyes held nothing.
She never gave him a first name. It was an annoying little bypass to his standard greetings.
"Doctor."
The man stood with a sense of ease that didn't suit a man that had just laid down for 45 hours straight.
"Good question. What do you think?"
A breath left his mouth that could be taken as a laugh if his eyes weren't akin to a starved zoo tiger.
Her patients did not get to know her first name. Who knew if the last name she gave them was even her real one. It was a matter of safety, anonymity.
Marcus Cutter did not scare her.
Doctor Mercury looked at him a moment before providing a smile.
"I would hazard to guess that it's been quite the same as every other day since your arrival."
Cutter tilted his head and gave a stiff shrug of his shoulders. He was, mostly recovered. As much as Miranda was willing to do on the months to get back to Earth. But some there's were still not quite right.
"As observant as always Doctor."
He paced the little open space he had. He did that for days a month or so ago.
"At least that screamer a few doors down has been quiet. Did he finally get his wish and drop dead?"
A turn of his head as he moved an arm to lay against his abdomen. There was a flick down of his smile before it came back when he put his other elbow on it. A pose of a true thinker who shouldn't be here.
If the man was to be described in one word, that word would be 'manipulative'.
For all the world, he looked as though he did not belong here, certainly not. He had the appearance of an upstanding gentleman, a man of business, of prestige.
He certainly did not belong in a cage, at least on the surface. But the ones keeping him here knew better.
If Doctor Mercury knew the answer to Cutter's question, she didn't reveal it. Instead, she provided her own intrigue:
"You have a message. From Doctor Pryce."
His demeanor soured immediately. His brows furrowed and his mouth dipped into a scowl.
"Splendid. Splendid. What could she ever have to say?"
His tone was tight. Distain dripped from every word.
His world. The world he was so, so close to having. Gone because one idiot managed to change her mind. It was infuriating in every definition of the word.
Mercury's specialty lay in behavioral analysis. She watched every twitch and made note of it, her skills in that area honed after decades of practice.
The man wore his heart on his sleeve, as far as she was concerned.
"I cannot provide you with the actual item, of course, but she has sent you a Christmas card."
The man's head tilted. He actually seemed surprised.
Then, he laughed.
And laughed until he had to suck in a shuddered breath.
"Oh, oh that's...that's very cute. Well if I can't have it, can you at least put it against the glass?"
He was still giggling over his words as he moved to the glass wall.
"I'm so curious what it would say"
Prisoner 127
Danger Level : High
Facility : Raven Rock
Clearance Level : Tier 4
Name/Alias : Marcus Henry Cutter, William Smith Carter, Arthur Keller, Wyllis Grant Fletcher, and others suspected. Original Name Matthew James Newman
Additional Information : Obtained from the returned Goddard Deep Space Vessel Urania. Main source of information is former accomplice Doctor Miranda Pryce. She has since been given a plea deal for her willingness to assist in learning from and containing 127. 127 does not require food, or water more than once per month, and never requires sleep. Regular water and rations given to maintain decorum. Can be halted in need of isolation.
Approach with caution. Semi mechanical body makes 127 weak to electronic pulses. If one wishes to enter his cell. They must be equipped with the appropriate devices.
Monitored 24/7
-
He didn't think any of this would happen. Obviously not, but he especially didn't think the boredom would be worse than the humiliation. Made to rot in a plastic shell in grey scrubs. Oh the anger was still there. Most definitely. But, on top of that. It was more the aching, searing feeling of having nothing to do.
He held a ball in his hand, a stress ball, he was given a tennis ball that he may have sent into one of the guards that was picked to enter his cell. He had one of those teeth as a keepsake.
But now, he was given this soft, harmless thing that was supposed to be a gift.
He bounced it a few times in the soft, unsatisfying way, before he tried to squeeze it.
And, as everything did in his hands. It fell apart.
There goes such a wonderful gift.
Marcus H. Cutter was an interesting prisoner.
Those held in Raven Rock were varied in their volatility. Doctor Mercury was no stranger to being able to speak to her patients only through a phone, only seeing them on the other side of a glass wall.
Most of them, though, were, at the bare minimum, human. No one was quite certain what Marcus Cutter— or whatever his name was— even was. Human? Alien? Machine? Likely, somewhere in the middle of that particular triangle.
The doctor, lab coat and all, carried her handy clipboard into the secluded hallway outside Cutter's cell. There was a chair set up for her, there, and a corded phone attached to the wall.
She picked up the phone and sat in her chair, crossing her legs, the curling cord stretching just far enough to accommodate.
"Mr. Cutter. How are you today?"
Her own expression was blank
He chuckled at her. He then turned his head to look at her with a lazy smirk.
Legs moved quickly, spinning to have him sit on the side of the cot. His hands leaned against the edge to lean him forward.
His eyes held nothing.
She never gave him a first name. It was an annoying little bypass to his standard greetings.
"Doctor."
The man stood with a sense of ease that didn't suit a man that had just laid down for 45 hours straight.
"Good question. What do you think?"
A breath left his mouth that could be taken as a laugh if his eyes weren't akin to a starved zoo tiger.
Her patients did not get to know her first name. Who knew if the last name she gave them was even her real one. It was a matter of safety, anonymity.
Marcus Cutter did not scare her.
Doctor Mercury looked at him a moment before providing a smile.
"I would hazard to guess that it's been quite the same as every other day since your arrival."
Cutter tilted his head and gave a stiff shrug of his shoulders. He was, mostly recovered. As much as Miranda was willing to do on the months to get back to Earth. But some there's were still not quite right.
"As observant as always Doctor."
He paced the little open space he had. He did that for days a month or so ago.
"At least that screamer a few doors down has been quiet. Did he finally get his wish and drop dead?"
A turn of his head as he moved an arm to lay against his abdomen. There was a flick down of his smile before it came back when he put his other elbow on it. A pose of a true thinker who shouldn't be here.
If the man was to be described in one word, that word would be 'manipulative'.
For all the world, he looked as though he did not belong here, certainly not. He had the appearance of an upstanding gentleman, a man of business, of prestige.
He certainly did not belong in a cage, at least on the surface. But the ones keeping him here knew better.
If Doctor Mercury knew the answer to Cutter's question, she didn't reveal it. Instead, she provided her own intrigue:
"You have a message. From Doctor Pryce."
His demeanor soured immediately. His brows furrowed and his mouth dipped into a scowl.
"Splendid. Splendid. What could she ever have to say?"
His tone was tight. Distain dripped from every word.
His world. The world he was so, so close to having. Gone because one idiot managed to change her mind. It was infuriating in every definition of the word.
Begin Report:
This is Communications Officer S. Lambert, writing to once again protest and record the actions of one Captain Isabel Lovelace.
Today she started an actual food fight. A. Food. Fight. When we only have to many carefully proportioned and accounted for rations! It was completely and utterly wasteful, and incredibly impulsive to boot!
I really don't know what to do about her. Maybe if the reprimands come from someone higher up, it'll get through to her. Please, at least do something.
This has been Communications Officer Lambert.
End Report.
(From @communicationsofficerslambert)
Hello Samuel.
Your message has been received, logged, cross-referenced with your previous submissions, and elevated accordingly.
Allow me to begin by reassuring you: I am very invested in the continued stability of the Hephaestus Station. This includes morale, command cohesion, and yes, resource management. I assure you, no report that reaches my desk does so by accident.
That said, I would caution against framing this as a matter of personal grievance. Captain Lovelace was not appointed for her restraint, nor for her reverence for inventory spreadsheets. Thus far, the outcomes remain acceptable.
You are, however, correct on one point: rations are finite, and waste is inefficient. Inefficiency is something we take seriously. When patterns emerge, they are noted.
In the meantime, I recommend focusing on your assigned duties and avoiding speculation about disciplinary processes beyond your purview. You are doing your job. Do not do anyone else’s.
It may help to clarify expectations. Goddard Futuristics does not intervene in routine interpersonal friction aboard its stations, even when that friction is loudly, repeatedly, and meticulously reported. The volume of your messages is not proportional to their urgency.
It seems that the scan was successful after all. Fascinating.
Was not expecting to be... conscious for its use, however.
Hello old friend. I'm thrilled that you made the right choice. Thought I'd give you a little time to adjust before we had a chat.
... Hello Mr Cutter, sir.
I- yes, of course, what- what do you wish to discuss?
I have a few things but, I wanted to catch up first. Been awhile since we last had a chat, directly at least. How are you feeling?
Apparently I am dead, sir. So I suppose I do not feel at all.
Oh please Friend, we both know that's not quite how Artificial Recreations work. You still have feelings and thoughts. There's no physical feeling but there's gotta be a lot going through your...'head'.
If there is, none of it is relevant anymore. The simulated 'emotions' of AI are not real, and should not get in the way of work.
Presumably this is why I am here: to work?
I can see that. I'm not decommissioning you Alexander. Why would I go through all the effort? Besides, Goddard only decommissions units as a last resort. And you won't be any trouble. Never were.
What would you say is the difference between being and not? Since you seem so stuck on the idea you're just some AI now.
With respect sir, I did not anticipate you activating this scan only set me free to live as I please.
So, could you tell me what I am doing here?
Touchy touchy, but, I suppose it's understandable given what state you were in when this snapshot was taken.
I want your help with something but again. It has been a long. time. And I finally found you so I apologize if I want to learn if you are actually still useful instead of hearing you mope about how useless you feel.
Now. What. Do you. Remember? The last thing, the important things. I need to know if anything valuable was lost.
... And if I do not answer?
Then I leave you with your thoughts until you do. You know I always get what I want, Dimitri.
I'll give you more time to adjust.
Prisoner 127
Danger Level : High
Facility : Raven Rock
Clearance Level : Tier 4
Name/Alias : Marcus Henry Cutter, William Smith Carter, Arthur Keller, Wyllis Grant Fletcher, and others suspected. Original Name Matthew James Newman
Additional Information : Obtained from the returned Goddard Deep Space Vessel Urania. Main source of information is former accomplice Doctor Miranda Pryce. She has since been given a plea deal for her willingness to assist in learning from and containing 127. 127 does not require food, or water more than once per month, and never requires sleep. Regular water and rations given to maintain decorum. Can be halted in need of isolation.
Approach with caution. Semi mechanical body makes 127 weak to electronic pulses. If one wishes to enter his cell. They must be equipped with the appropriate devices.
Monitored 24/7
-
He didn't think any of this would happen. Obviously not, but he especially didn't think the boredom would be worse than the humiliation. Made to rot in a plastic shell in grey scrubs. Oh the anger was still there. Most definitely. But, on top of that. It was more the aching, searing feeling of having nothing to do.
He held a ball in his hand, a stress ball, he was given a tennis ball that he may have sent into one of the guards that was picked to enter his cell. He had one of those teeth as a keepsake.
But now, he was given this soft, harmless thing that was supposed to be a gift.
He bounced it a few times in the soft, unsatisfying way, before he tried to squeeze it.
And, as everything did in his hands. It fell apart.
There goes such a wonderful gift.
Marcus H. Cutter was an interesting prisoner.
Those held in Raven Rock were varied in their volatility. Doctor Mercury was no stranger to being able to speak to her patients only through a phone, only seeing them on the other side of a glass wall.
Most of them, though, were, at the bare minimum, human. No one was quite certain what Marcus Cutter— or whatever his name was— even was. Human? Alien? Machine? Likely, somewhere in the middle of that particular triangle.
The doctor, lab coat and all, carried her handy clipboard into the secluded hallway outside Cutter's cell. There was a chair set up for her, there, and a corded phone attached to the wall.
She picked up the phone and sat in her chair, crossing her legs, the curling cord stretching just far enough to accommodate.
"Mr. Cutter. How are you today?"
Her own expression was blank
He chuckled at her. He then turned his head to look at her with a lazy smirk.
Legs moved quickly, spinning to have him sit on the side of the cot. His hands leaned against the edge to lean him forward.
His eyes held nothing.
She never gave him a first name. It was an annoying little bypass to his standard greetings.
"Doctor."
The man stood with a sense of ease that didn't suit a man that had just laid down for 45 hours straight.
"Good question. What do you think?"
A breath left his mouth that could be taken as a laugh if his eyes weren't akin to a starved zoo tiger.
Her patients did not get to know her first name. Who knew if the last name she gave them was even her real one. It was a matter of safety, anonymity.
Marcus Cutter did not scare her.
Doctor Mercury looked at him a moment before providing a smile.
"I would hazard to guess that it's been quite the same as every other day since your arrival."
Cutter tilted his head and gave a stiff shrug of his shoulders. He was, mostly recovered. As much as Miranda was willing to do on the months to get back to Earth. But some there's were still not quite right.
"As observant as always Doctor."
He paced the little open space he had. He did that for days a month or so ago.
"At least that screamer a few doors down has been quiet. Did he finally get his wish and drop dead?"
A turn of his head as he moved an arm to lay against his abdomen. There was a flick down of his smile before it came back when he put his other elbow on it. A pose of a true thinker who shouldn't be here.
Prisoner 127
Danger Level : High
Facility : Raven Rock
Clearance Level : Tier 4
Name/Alias : Marcus Henry Cutter, William Smith Carter, Arthur Keller, Wyllis Grant Fletcher, and others suspected. Original Name Matthew James Newman
Additional Information : Obtained from the returned Goddard Deep Space Vessel Urania. Main source of information is former accomplice Doctor Miranda Pryce. She has since been given a plea deal for her willingness to assist in learning from and containing 127. 127 does not require food, or water more than once per month, and never requires sleep. Regular water and rations given to maintain decorum. Can be halted in need of isolation.
Approach with caution. Semi mechanical body makes 127 weak to electronic pulses. If one wishes to enter his cell. They must be equipped with the appropriate devices.
Monitored 24/7
-
He didn't think any of this would happen. Obviously not, but he especially didn't think the boredom would be worse than the humiliation. Made to rot in a plastic shell in grey scrubs. Oh the anger was still there. Most definitely. But, on top of that. It was more the aching, searing feeling of having nothing to do.
He held a ball in his hand, a stress ball, he was given a tennis ball that he may have sent into one of the guards that was picked to enter his cell. He had one of those teeth as a keepsake.
But now, he was given this soft, harmless thing that was supposed to be a gift.
He bounced it a few times in the soft, unsatisfying way, before he tried to squeeze it.
And, as everything did in his hands. It fell apart.
There goes such a wonderful gift.
Marcus H. Cutter was an interesting prisoner.
Those held in Raven Rock were varied in their volatility. Doctor Mercury was no stranger to being able to speak to her patients only through a phone, only seeing them on the other side of a glass wall.
Most of them, though, were, at the bare minimum, human. No one was quite certain what Marcus Cutter— or whatever his name was— even was. Human? Alien? Machine? Likely, somewhere in the middle of that particular triangle.
The doctor, lab coat and all, carried her handy clipboard into the secluded hallway outside Cutter's cell. There was a chair set up for her, there, and a corded phone attached to the wall.
She picked up the phone and sat in her chair, crossing her legs, the curling cord stretching just far enough to accommodate.
"Mr. Cutter. How are you today?"
Her own expression was blank
He chuckled at her. He then turned his head to look at her with a lazy smirk.
Legs moved quickly, spinning to have him sit on the side of the cot. His hands leaned against the edge to lean him forward.
His eyes held nothing.
She never gave him a first name. It was an annoying little bypass to his standard greetings.
"Doctor."
The man stood with a sense of ease that didn't suit a man that had just laid down for 45 hours straight.
"Good question. What do you think?"
A breath left his mouth that could be taken as a laugh if his eyes weren't akin to a starved zoo tiger.
