Owner	Pose
Donald Pierce	It took some doing to reach Pierce. He had disappeared from public view recently and many of his usual contacts had no luck contacting him. Still, anyone who understood Pierce knew there were some ties he would never cut completely. The man of the hour was named Chet Batterfield, a prominent Friends of Humanity member and lawyer who was rumoured to handle some of Pierce's most delicate work. Ultimatley a meeting was arranged. A black BMW 750 was sent to pick up Zola. The driver is a large, muscular man in his thirties, dark-haired and dour. He drives through New York out onto the 495 heading east into Long Island. They pass by communities until they reach Farmingville, then they head north into the Mount Sinai and Port Jefferson area. Just outside Rocky Point Pine Barrens State Forest, they turn off the road and onto a long driveway. The car approaches a tall chain-link fence with barb wire. Guards check the driver and their schedules before waving them through. The car continues toward a set of long, low corrugated metal buildings. More guards are wandering the area, which is almost completely dark. The guards themselves use no lights. The driver produces a flashlight, turns it on and wordlessly leads Zola into the the largest of the buildings. It is very obviously an old decommissioned missile silo, probably an Atlas E. They approach the main elevator, a large metal cage affair, and are lowered down several stories. When they arrive at their floor, the driver is checked again and Zola is asked to turn over electronics, weapons or anything else he might be carrying. Not doing so or submitting the subsequent search will end the visit quickly. The walls and hallways are concrete and rounded. Exposed piping runs overhead and there is again no lighting except for the flash light used by the driver. Zola is led into a low ceilinged conference room where in fact there are some dim lights, but the cast long shadows. One of these falls over the face and most of the body of a man sitting at the head of the table. Only one red eye can be seen glowing out of the dark. Another figure, probably a guard by his bearing, stands behind and to the left of the man at the table. "Thank you for coming, I trust the ride was comfortable," says the man at the head of the table. "Forgive me if I don't get up. I'm not... at my best right now." The voice is unmistakably Pierce if Zola has ever heard it.
Arnim Zola	Zola chose his LMD "Hans" for the meeting with Pierce. Styled after an SS member of his aquaintance, Zola had despised the man in life, but his handsome teutonic features and sturdy frame presented the right image of strength and refinement to meet with the industrialist. So, clothing the robot body in a tailored suit by Hugo Boss, Zola and a quartet of his security men, who are left at the curb when the car comes to pick him up. He only brings a laptop in a smart leather case and allows anyone who asks to inspect it. He is quiet for the ride, and still, inhumanly so, as if he's simply forgotten how to shift or fidget and when they arrive at the far flung facility, he gets out smoothly and follows the guard down to where Pierce, or his voice at least, awaits. Zola tilt's his body's head at the darkened surroundings and glowing red eye awaiting him. He rights it, then, clearing his throat needlessly, he says, "Thank you, most comfortable, and by all means, remain at your ease. My name is Hans and I come from the Benefactor, with an offer of assistance if you would like to hear it." The Benefactor name, if Pierce has heard it, has a reputation of being something of a ghost, providing resources and technology for various criminal and extremist groups the world over. Most recently linked with the Rising Tide attacks of earlier this year.
Donald Pierce	"The Benefactor... That is how you were able to get in touch with me," Pierce says, intrigued but wary. "Please, have a seat. I would offer you something but I think it is not necessary." Pierce rests an arm on the table in front of him, part of it falling into the light. He is wearing a black military style shirt with no insignia or markings. His hand is silvery metal and his fingers drum on the table. "So, Hans. What does the Benefactor wish to offer?"
Arnim Zola	"No, no refreshments are requires," Hans says as he moves to the offered seat and holds up his laptop bag, a wordless request to be allowed to open it. Hans does take a moment to study the hand for a moment before he gets back to business. "The Benefactor is currently collecting information, and in collecting it has discovered a list of people who might be of interest to you, mutants, ones who haven't come out to the world yet, some of them very prominent." Zola lets that sink in for a moment before continuing. "We'd like to offer you this list, in exchange for access to your cybernetic technology, which-" he nods at the hand. "Is obviously very impressive."
Donald Pierce	When Zola holds up the laptop bag, the driver, standing near the door, nods to Pierce. Pierce gestures with one hand for Zola to go ahead. There is a pause while Pierce considers what Zola has said. He finally breaks the silence. "Mutants are always appearing and being discovered. They're like cockroaches. What makes your list so precious that it is worth such a trade?" he probes, testing. He returns to drumming the fingers of one hand slowly on the table.
Arnim Zola	Zola opens the laptop bag and produces the device, opening it up and powering it on. "Fear," Zola answers. "Yes, mutants appear all the time, but they do so on their terms, like the musician, Miss Jackson. What this information gives you, Mr. Pierce is a chance to strike them on your terms, and put the fear in every mutant, public or otherwise, none of them will know if they're safe or if you will be knocking on their door." Zola has Hans smile, faintly, then continues. "Additionally you are purchasing unpredictability, without this information, your enemies will have no more idea of where you plan to strike than your victims will."
Donald Pierce	The slow beat of Pierce's fingers ends with a staccato tap-tap-TAP when Zola mentions Andrea Jackson. "Hmm, I wonder. Where does this list come from? How do I know your information is genuine? You could be claiming anyone was a secret mutant. I have no desire to harm innocent humans."
Arnim Zola	Zola notes the reaction to Miss Jackson's name but there is no remark to it, just a slight shift of his eyes to those fast moving fingers. "The list comes from the Benefactor's tireless efforts to be the world's formost information broker, that said, his methods are a closely held secret, however," he taps on the computer. "If you have a flashdrive as we requested, we can provide a sample of the list, you may verify the information how you wish, and if it meets your standards, then we can discuss a full exchange."
Donald Pierce	"That is reasonable," Pierce says, a touch too eagerly. Pierce waves the figure behind him forward. The man emerges into the light, and is a muscular 30-something year old with a square jaw and dark hair. Fully half his face and both his arms are cybernetic replacements, giving him a sinister, metallic, ghoulish cast. He is dressed also dressed in unmarked black military clothing. The man brings Zola a flashdrive and lays it on the table for him. "If your product is what the Benefactor claims," Pierce continues, "then I am certain we can come to an arrangement. I am curious, however. Why approach me? There are others who would pay for this."
Arnim Zola	Zola studies the man that steps into the light, focusing more on the technology than the man it serves. He takes the offere drive and loads it into the computer, he presses a key to start the transfer of data. "The Benefactor thinks you'll make the best use of it," Zola explains. "You and he both share a similar purpose, to make a better world. This will help move those goals towards their completion." The transfer finishes and Zola removes the drive from his computer putting it back on the table. "Five subjects, all mutants, all of whom as of this morning have not stepped into the light of their own accord. The data will show you where to find them and the details of their lives. It should be enough to verify the value of what the Benefactor is offering."
Donald Pierce	The man that brought the flashdrive to Zola retrieves it and moves back to stand with his master. "Good, very good," Pierce says, pleased. "Tell the Benefactor I am looking forward to validating this and discussing the rest of his list. I think he will find he chose well in coming to me."
Arnim Zola	Zola turns off the laptop and puts it away. A nod is given at Pierce's words. "I am sure he will not be disappointed. Your efforts have been impressive so far." Laptop away, Zola looks towards Pierce's voice for permission to stand. "Unless you have more questions, I won't take up any more of your time and when you are satisfied of our list's value, we contact me through the same channels and we can discuss making the full exchange."
Donald Pierce	Donald Pierce says, "Of course, thank you for your visit, Hans." Pierce rises from his seat and walks around the table. Skin and hair are gone from his entire face head. Instead Zola can see his gleaming metallic skull. He was one real eye set in it, grotesque against the smooth metal, and the other is a glowing red orb. A thick neck of artifical muscle fibres tapers into his shirt where no doubt there is nothing organic to be found. Total encasement. His movements are smooth, even graceful. Precise. He extends a hand to Hans. "We will see each other again soon.""
Arnim Zola	"You are most welcome," Mr. Pierce. The Hans body doesn't react except for the eyes flicking over the cybernetics, the mind within burning curiously at what might be behind the shiny exterior of those cybernetic parts. Still the hand is taken and shook. "I certainly hope so, Mr. Pierce, this promises to be a most beneficial arragement for the both of us."