To Lyger 0: "When the cat's away, the mice will play…"
To yellow 14: All the more reason to secure a foothold while they can. Considering that Mind-Wipe operates best from the shadows, behind the scenes, if he could take control of the key officials during the confusion, the HOP would (potentially) be none the wiser on their return.
Turing cautiously stepped out of the darkened alley into the light of the setting sun, scanning the streets in either direction as he slung the duffel over his shoulder. The day's patrol had proven fruitless, as the escaped criminals continued to elude capture. He had seen and stopped small groups of looters in the northern arrondissements, but for every group he stopped, another dozen groups appeared. Now it was long past time to return to Headquarters and recharge before his next foray into the city's ruins. He stepped out of the alley and onto the pavement, turning in the direction of the Mansion.
"Turing?"
He froze mid-step on hearing the familiar voice, slowly turning to face the speaker. "Hello Dr. Ouazani," Turing greeted him. "Good afternoon, Leïla."
Dr. Ouazani chuckled. "I would ask you what you're doing out and about in the midst of all this destruction, but I suppose the answer to that question is the same for both of us: just doing what we can to help the people of the city."
"That is correct," Turing confirmed, nodding. "How have your clinics fared?"
Dr. Ouazani shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I suppose," he admitted. "I can handle a lot, but not everything. There's only so much I can do when someone needs chemo or transplant drugs… or even transplant medication!" He shook his head ruefully. "I wish I could do more, but this is all I have."
"What services you provide are important," Turing reminded him. "For both of you," he added, glancing over at Leïla.
Leïla nodded, her face falling. "I know," she agreed. "But it sucks to see the need and not have any way to meet it."
Dr. Ouazani put a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay," he assured her quietly. "We will do what we can – that is all we can do."
Turing nodded firmly. "That is correct," he told Leïla.
She sighed heavily and looked away from Turing. With a sigh, Dr. Ouazani cleared his throat. "We should be getting off the streets," he decided, raising an eye at Turing before giving Leïla a gentle nudge. "It was good seeing you, Turing," he called to him.
"You, as well," Turing responded, before lifting off into the air as his jets kicked in for the short flight back to the Agreste Mansion.
The sun was just starting to set as Turing scanned the deserted streets around the Agreste Mansion for movement before dropped down behind the mansion's tall walls. Half of the arrondissement surrounding the Mansion still remained deserted, without anything to indicate that people were staying near there. Debris still littered the streets from a pair of collapsed apartment buildings down the street from the Mansion. Although the rest of the arrondissement had electricity, they had intentionally cut the power to the Mansion, as well as all the buildings within a two-block radius of the Mansion, to discourage people from returning. While the Mansion itself remained dark, the Headquarters itself was powered by an emergency generator, along with a series of concealed solar panels on the roof. And while the panels had not functioned for the first two weeks due to the Tarasque's poison breath, the air had finally begun to clear. During the first week, looters had attempted to force their way into the Mansion, helped in part by the state of disrepair in which the outer walls now stood, crumbled and cracked as they were from the seismic activity which had accompanied the Tarasque's movement. The Mansion's built-in security features, however, had dissuaded any further attempts.
Cautiously Turing made his way up the long driveway to the front door before and let himself inside, shutting the door quietly after him. The duffel containing his makeshift disguise he tossed into the corner to wait until his next patrol outing. With how distinctive his metal body – and especially head – were, he had realized early on that he could not be seen as a hero patrolling the city while simultaneously visiting sensitive locations like the Mansion. That, along with the deserted neighborhood surrounding the Mansion, were the greatest tools in their arsenal for protecting anonymity of the Heroes of Paris' Headquarters.
Quietly, his metal feet loud on the tiled floor, he crossed the entryway to the office, the only visible light coming from the tall windows lining every wall. Pressing the correct sequence on the painting of Mme Agreste, he stepped onto the elevator plate as it lit up, and rode it down to the ground. As he emerged into the cavern, the sound of machine work met his audio receptors from the far side of the space, hidden though that particular alcove was by one of the new support pillars they had installed after cataloguing the damage from the Tarasque's transit. While the Beast had not come near the Mansion, the same seismic tremors which had damaged the Mansion's outer walls had also shaken loose several stalactites, sending them crashing to the ground throughout the butterfly garden. Fortunately the lab had survived intact, beyond minor damage to one of the monitor screens, though the two Shunjar escape pods against the wall next to the lab had both suffered multiple rents through their weakened hulls. All of the usable components had already been removed, however; all that remained were the frames. Turing had always considered Max's insistence on keeping them to be illogical. Perhaps now they would dispose of them.
Crossing the butterfly garden, Turing paused only briefly by the grotto, where a long, sharp stalactite had fallen on and crushed the cryogenic pod in which Mme Agreste had spent four years. Several butterflies had landed on it, while many more fluttered around it. Of course, Mme Agreste had not been in it at the time; she was safe at the bakery, along with the Dupain-Chengs. And in the absence of the Heroes of Paris, one of his primary missions was to ensure their safety – their safety and the Mansion's secrecy.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done under the circumstances.
Rounding the support pillar, Turing paused beside an enormous fallen stalactite which had landed less than a meter from the nearly-completed flying car and embedded itself several meters into the soil. As the sounds of welding grew louder from the opposite side of the car, he ran his undamaged hand along the back of the hand which had been damaged during his fight with Monte-en-l'Air. The repair itself had been simple, but under these less-than-ideal circumstances it had not been accomplished without incident. Inspecting the hand carefully, he could feel the slight imperfections left behind by the repair process, the slight indentations from where the melted material had not bonded together properly. It would have been far improved had they possessed the materials to replace the part entirely, but materials were at a premium under the circumstances.
Particularly since those particular components had also been necessary to complete Officer Luron's new prosthetic. And while for Turing a new hand was a luxury, for Officer Luron it was a necessity.
The flying car hovered less than a half-meter off the ground, sitting atop a large length of canvas that Turing had scavenged from an industrial factory on the far side of Paris. When he had found it, there had been numerous rips in the fabric, enough to render the canvas unusable; recognizing the utility of the fabric, however, Turing had repaired all the rips by hand. Turing leaned against the pillar for a long moment, listening to the hiss of the welding torch. Finally, however, he stepped away from the stalactite and rounded the corner, picking up a dozen bolts before going to find the welder in question.
Markov hovered next to the driver's door of the flying car, level with the running board. He held up part of the long canvas Turing had scavenged from an industrial factory with one manipulating arm while bolting it in place with the other. Once the bolt was secure, he gave it a quick weld to seal it in place before moving down the car to the next bolt hole. "According to my calculations, this will improve efficiency and mobility by 150%!" he chirped.
Turing nodded slowly. "I agree. Although a specially-designed skirt would offer 43% greater efficiency," he pointed out. "As well, I calculate a 23% increase in survivability for the vehicle under the conditions provided by the skirt."
Markov whirred. "It is unfortunate that we lack the resources to produce such a skirt." Turing hummed. "But at least we were able to produce this one. And I calculate this material to be 40% sturdier than the alternative – thus improving the vehicle's ability to traverse Paris under the current circumstances."
"Good. Improved mobility will prove helpful." Turing's body froze in place as he accessed the car's operating system, running through the systems for the seventeenth time since that morning. Placing the car into a virtual simulation disconnected from its hardware, he activated its engine, commanded it to shift from drive to hover, accelerated through that simulation, and shifted it to flight mode. Freezing the simulation, Turing opened the programming code and changed three factors before replaying the simulation. "The operating system is now running at approximately 98% of optimal," he finally reported.
Markov finished attaching the hover skirt to the left side of the car and turned to face Turing. "I still fail to comprehend the logic of completing this project," he admitted. "Why do we require a flying car when we can navigate Paris adequately via our jets? Logically, this appears to me to be a significant resource drain in the face of other, far greater needs."
Turing looked down at the hover car, deep in thought, running calculations in his minds. Why was this so important to him? Was it just because this had been Max's project for so long? Finally he asked Markov, "Have you accounted for the Tarasque as a factor in your calculations?"
Markov whirred quietly. "No," he admitted. "However, we have no data regarding its present location."
"But once we find such data, it will likely be some distance from Paris, correct?"
"Based on available data, that is affirmative. But what can we do with that information?"
"On our own, I calculate that we can do very little," admitted Turing. "Logically, it cannot be defeated by us. But the Heroes of Paris are not constrained by our logical processes, correct?" Markov bobbed up and down in a nod. "Therefore, they will attempt to fight the Tarasque again. And when that happens, we must be ready to respond – however we can. To do so, we will require speed."
Markov nodded slowly. "Yet if we are incapable of confronting these super-criminals in Paris, I calculate that any attempt we make to confront the Tarasque elsewhere will have less than 3% chance of success," he pointed out. "Even with assistance from the available allies as well as the Superhero Liaison Department, and with all other factors remaining constant."
"We must operate under the assumption that other factors will be at play in this scenario." Turing hummed. "Unfortunately, until those factors are known, we can only consider them as unknown variables."
"Nevertheless, I will begin running simulations," Markov promised, chirping. "However, I calculate that the situation in Paris requires more immediate attention. How are we to stop these super-criminals?"
Turing deactivated his optical sensors, running calculations in his head. Not only were the numbers not in their favor to fight Mind-Wipe's group on their own, but according to Lieutenant Ramus they had in fact recovered at least one miraculous. And while his android body had been designed with multiple contingencies in mind, the lack of built-in chi-putty launchers now appeared to be a clear design oversight. "With a miraculous in their hands," he responded slowly, "there are only two logical possibilities. The first is that we must implement the same anti-miraculous weaponry employed by the Dark Acolytes."
"We do have chi-putty-armed drones!" Markov interjected, bobbing up and down. He dropped lower. "But 85% of them were destroyed in battle against the Tarasque, and I have focused on this project instead of replenishing our drone supply."
"What drone options are available?"
"Currently, 90% of the available drones are capable of monitoring only," reported Markov. "The remaining 10% are armed with a mix of energy weapons and chi-putty launchers."
"Available launchers disconnected from drones?"
"Very few."
Turing hummed. "That only leaves option two: we must convince the Guardian to appoint another miraculous holder to assist us in this endeavor."