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Snippet #2595949

located in Marvel Universe, a part of No Mutant Left Behind, one of the many universes on RPG.

Marvel Universe

None

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosetta Juarez Character Portrait: Martin Bruntz Character Portrait: Rebecca Howlett Character Portrait: Tennessee Brannon Character Portrait: Klaus Wagner
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Rebecca did not look so well. In fact, as the scientist stared down at the screen that held scattered files upon files of data, her world spun. Ironic it was that in all her life - with the restless nights, the self experimentation, and the the reckless work - she would be taken down by a common cold. Whether the causal factor was the two weeks of exhaustion or the fact that she has made the cold atmosphere of the labs her home, the woman was running a fever. While a cold had a drastically shorter time span and weaker effects on her, the struggle her genetic healing factor held against the constant battle forced more strain on her already-exhausted body. The bags under her eyes were signs of insomnia, though intentional. The fever brought a bit of color to her usually pale skin. Everything about her appearance was indicative that she needed rest. As if that was possible.

The lab she stood in was crammed but organized, the equipment held a variety of objects from technologically-advanced machines to basic chemistry equipment. The room had a faint bitter smell of tea leaves though no tea was in sight - nor any liquid at all for that matter except for the sealed tubes with liquids of all different colors. That tiny space with the stuffy atmosphere Rebecca called her home, having spent far more time in it than her actual room. Especially in the past two weeks, where the scientist was often found passed out against the white tables. It was there that others would find her, subconsciously biting her nails with the usual look of focus plastered on her expressions. The world went on perfectly without her on the outside.

Though the reality was far worse than the genius would accept. It had been two weeks since M-Day, and two weeks since she had received far more company than usual. The files that the woman intently stared at were moving on their own upon the screen, the data manipulating and morphing itself to create patterns sensical to her eyes. These files held the carefully mapped-out mutations, in fact every known ones up to date. Though something was different. The thousands of files were now divided into three sections - deceased, erased, and resistant. Her file was amongst those of the third category, along with the chief candidates of the study; their files were scattered before the others - Creeper, Lady Cavaliar, Vervain, and so on. The patterns were obscure, but all those that held healing mutations, whether it be conspicuous as the Howlett genes or merely imbedded into their DNA, it nonetheless gave a scientific basis in a situation that was far more than merely science.

The pinch of the needle against her arm was hardly detected - the woman removes pieces of her organs and tests weapons on herself for research. The red liquid that rose in the syringe appeared just like any otherā€™s, and yet how vastly different it was. Within almost an instant, the small mark made upon her arm disappeared. Slowly, the vile was placed next to others labeled with codes that she could clearly discern, lowered next to one of her brotherā€™s and another of her fatherā€™s (the process of collecting it was hardly pleasant, for both him and Rebecca). In the background, the screen above her flickered on to reveal the headmistressā€™ voice.

The scientist had not bothered to leave the labs to be present for the press conference. It was no secret that she desired no crowds or attentions and the excuse of the overwhelming work and research covered her absence quite nicely. As the voices continued, the volume was increased without so much as a blink of her eyes. On the screen underneath her, the files and data continued the analysis process as if it had a life of its own.

The headmistressā€™ amiable nature was something to be respected. Her words held power, and while Rebecca had refused to be present, each word broadcasted was heeded by the scientist. Should the smallest mistake be made, she was determined to deactivate every single one of their devices, but that would not be needed. Not when it was Rosetta. With all the chaos and pain, the headmistress now seemed to become the beacon of hope for those left. That did not mean they did not have their fair share of problems. When the voice in the screen spoke of the 0.05% guarantee, the scientist raised her gaze with the crease between her brows indicative of frustration. It would be pretty to think that. With all her credentials, she could no longer guarantee that with complete confidence. Not when the predictability of mutations was growing weaker and weaker by the second.

And then there was her reputation. I'm sure you've heard of her. Indeed they have, but that was years ago. She had not shown reluctance in letting the headmistress announce her presence, but then again, Rebecca hardly shows reluctance or thoughts in any matters. The last heard of her was during the making of the anti-mutagenic cure, of which the day unannounced to the public when all the files within the database was wiped clean. Since then, all search for the scientist was kept out of the publicā€™s eyes. Until now. Her identity as a mutant would be out in the open, but who would she try to impress? No one. Let it be. There were far greater problems at stake. In the moment of frustration, the sudden sneeze shook the womanā€™s frame just as the bright lab instantly went dark, its lights and machines going out like a candle flame blown from a breath. You have got to be joking. With her demeanor regained, the lights and machines began to reactivate one by one, but the sign was heeded. Rebecca was not well enough to continue the same die-hard schedule until she too can guarantee herself an accident rate less than point oā€™five percent. As quickly as the files rose onto the screen, it was wiped off as the research data locked itself down into the databases. She was always cautious in that matter. The research in there can raise havoc should it fall into the wrong hands.

Upon the screen, Rosetta was just finishing up the press conference. Wanda Maximoff was indeed one of the biggest pains in mutation history. One of the more obscure mutations, while mapped, has never been truly studied by Rebecca. Though there was another. His file had been high on her research, and she probably high up on his list of people to avoid. Never once did her mind stop its analysis of the different elements that came into play during M-Day. Quickly, she had placed the laptop into her messenger bag as well as a few other toys - that of which included a holographic tablet, a metallic looking tube, two syringes, and the usual mutation detector. Even inside the bag, the tablet almost had a life of its own, holding its control over the academyā€™s defense system that was temporarily put on hold in the presence of the media. Soon, it would once again hold a near impregnable barrier from the outside.

It was then that Rebecca finally stepped outside her labs, though her appearance making it seem as if she did not wish to be out. Beside the elevator she had poured herself a cup of tea from the kettle that rests outside of the laboratoryā€™s proximity. In her presence, the changing number atop the elevator accelerated faster than normal, until it hit the sub-basement level one. In the rare instances near the scientistā€™s presence, the elevator travelled upwards.