2276/Trouble with the Signal

Trouble with the Signal
Date of Scene:	01 September 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Black Bolt, Datalink

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Black Bolt has posed:
     Humid weather by day, surprisingly cool by morning. Bryant Park is cloaked in a low-lying mist that conceals the surrounding skyscrapers and reduces the sun to a watery silver dollar hanging fairly low in the sky. Shadows run long even at the fairly early hour, and that cool bite to the air foretells the onset of autumn. In short, it's perfect weather for joggers and muggers. It's exquisite for those who enjoy watching the turn of the seasons and appreciating books in relative quiet.
     There's one man seated on the steps to the library behind the famous lions. That he is directly responsible for the construction and improvements at this branch of the venerable system isn't immediately apparent unless someone tries to read newspapers too often. But he's busy calibrating details and ultraviolet dials of an interface displayed to him, something that would have Tony Stark noisily salivating. The residual streams of data pass through various ciphers and encryption levels as he gleans it from multiple sources. All for a singular purpose.
     How does a man categorically without a voice /sound?/ Memory implants only go so far since any of those able to remember what he might have sounded like are dead. Or they have to guess from an infant. He's plundering about five hundred years of family data, archival recordings and other multispectral analyses, to fine-tune what to him is a minor irritant and so important.
     To everyone else, he's looking at that band around his wrist and probably meditating.

Datalink has posed:
The first signal of anything being off is the wristband's security systems going off, some kind of intruding software, maybe a virus that's actively trying to pierce its way in. The second signal of something being off is a holographic static forming, over the course of a few seconds gradually solidifying into a teenage girl. She takes a good look around, and winces as she quickly moves back from the person she appeared right next to. "Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to intrude." With her appearance the security system calms down.

Black Bolt has posed:
The band projects for a man able to perceive its nuances. The interface involves streams of data not displayed in English; it's most definitely not his native language. Blackagar's fingers move in brief increments, shifting and catching the changes in micro vibrational pitch. Hmm; not quite what he was looking for. Or hearing, for that matter. His jaw sets slightly as he listens. Static rolling over the interface stops him, since he leans back on the steps, far more appropriate posture for a man in a fine coat than slouching. Something becomes out of that, and his eyebrows tick up higher as the flickering shape assumes personhood. His hand covers the band after Jennifer is present, shutting down the app responsible for speaking. He signs a quick gesture: <<Hello. And you are?>> On the presumption, too, she doesn't speak ASL, a mild shake of his head and wave of his hand is pretty much universal for "It's cool."

Datalink has posed:
The girl doesn't, but at least she seems to understand that it's some kind of sign language. "I got lost, and if that was your device I accidentally went into then I'm really sorry, but that was waaay different from anything I've seen before." She kind of seems excited, though in her excitement she also winces. "Sorry, I realize you were trying to sign something at me but I don't understand that. Is there some other way?"

Black Bolt has posed:
The dark-haired man projects a calmness that lingers deeper than the surface. He might have some work to do to shut down the stream of data projected into the band, but he's focused instead on her. His fingers tap in a sequence that severs other app activity. No need for anyone to know his music preferences. Her apologies earn a nod, and he allows her all the time in the world to explain herself. He pauses for a moment when she asks about another way, and pats his pocket. Out comes no gun; just a pad of paper with a pen. Old-fashioned handwriting works well. <It's fine,> he writes out in neat, precise cursive. <You were lost? I cannot speak. Not trying to be rude, Miss. Blackagar.> An arrow points in his direction.

Datalink has posed:
At least Jennifer can read, so that works out fine. She is a quick reader too, and follows along. "Yeah, uhh. On the Internet. I took a wrong turn from wikipedia and ended up somewhere I didn't know, then noticed something curious." She explains, then adds quickly, "Uhh, call me Datalink." She suggests, and is slowly calming down to a more measured state. "And I got that, but I don't have much experience talking to people who can't. Sorry."

Black Bolt has posed:
Wikipedia. Blackagar can't help but stifle the slightest smile at that. He taps the pen against the page and nods, the sort of endless patience required from his position certainly easing the surprise. At least he doesn't appear angry and lacks the tells of someone about to call down the police. <Are you in the system now?> Simple question, really, scribbled out in black ink. Black ink for Black Bolt; there's probably a joke there. <I can try to explain. You're okay. Not angry. Surprised, more. Datalink; hello.>

Datalink has posed:
"No, it looked really weird though. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. I had to get out quickly though, security system was rough." And it's at this point that the trickly of blood coming out of her arm is starting to colour her shirt's sleeve. It's not much, but it's definitely actual blood signalling that's actually hurt. She's ignoring it. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Black Bolt has posed:
The security system probably is more than a little aware than anyone else wants to think about, if they're at all familiar with security protocol. It's not so much AI as immensely reactive to matters of psychic presence. Blackagar has an actual handkerchief, surprisingly, and he offers that in a folded triangle to Jenny with a nod to the teen's injured arm. First the important parts; then the rest of the concerns. He'll eventually tap the band in a specific sequence and another app flares up. It chimes once and then he's audible, if only for text-to-speech functionality. "Yes, it might be. Are you going to be all right?"

Datalink has posed:
"I got out fairly quickly, so it's just some cuts and bruises. I'll be fine." The girl shoves up her shirtsleeve and uses the handkerchief to catch the blood, it's plenty. She doesn't really seem surprised there's some kind of text to speech functionality in there, not after the tech she's just witnessed. "So, uh... where exactly are we, mr. Blackagar?"

Black Bolt has posed:
The voice picked is comfortably Mid-Atlantic, tenor, and probably not at all what Blackagar himself would sound like if anyone could withstand the powers of his voice. Alas. "Still, it would be unreasonable for me to sit here while you're hurt. I can apply a plaster as well as anyone." Thank you, British app, for providing that word. He frowns at the band and shakes his head, eyes rolled upwards in a universal 'What can you do?' expression. It's probably more dramatic than he normally allows. Still, he rises from the stair and stands, dusting himself off slightly. "This is the New York Public Library main branch in Manhattan. You are not far from Central Park." The mist makes it hard to see at a distance, silvery wisps flowing around them. "It's quite close to a subway station and other important buildings I've chose not to recall the names of right now."

Datalink has posed:
"Oh, I know how to get back from the library system. Thank you." 'Datalink' answers with sincere gratitude, "I probably should get going back soon, or I'll be late for class. I was just surfing during the lunch break." She seems genuinely relieved to have some kind of navigational anchor, and hands the handkerchief back. "I'll be going now, but thanks for your help and for not being mad."

Black Bolt has posed:
"I don't want to keep you," Blackagar says, or rather the app says after some helpful prodding and typing. He's quick about it since he seems to be doing naught but a bit of tapping now and then. Impressive, really. "I would hate to think of anyone being caught in the system, any system, for perpetuity. Best of luck on your way."