Broadcasting Rooms - GNN Central

       

 On this level of the GNN building, one can find all the manner of equipment and stages to allow the GNN to deliver its fine quality programming. The main area here is dominated by a singular yet curved green desk with a blue screen behind it. That area makes up the set where the general news broadcasts to the public are made. Off to another side one can find a small set used for the ever-popular interviews. This area can be configured to simply have two modern contoured chairs with the flag of the country involved freeze framed as flowing in the wind, or can be done with a smaller, more home style feeling with simple wooden chairs, desk, or table and a nice country house background. This area is also used to house the various GNN field equipment, from the cameraman’s light powerful camera, and the small anti-gravity cameras used for emergencies, to the odd looking microphones with the "Capcom" logo on them.

 

 Contents:                               Contents:                      

 

 

 Floor 2 <F2>:             GNN Central - Offices

 Lobby <G>:                San Angeles - GNN Central

 

Chest figits as Makeup Butterfly (a butterfly that does makeup. Fancy that) dabs at Chest's nose with powder on the set. The Reploid loves her job, and presumably is good at it. "At least this can't go worse than Mr. Gate Professor sir's interview, Mr. Chest sir!" she titters in her fluttery voice with a smile. Chest snorts, trying to hold still for her. "Wanna bet? I swear, just once I want to interview someone about puppies, or kittens, or bunnies." Makeup giggles and flutters back a few feet to admire her art, "Perfect!" she declares.

        Chest grunts and nods, "Fantastic," he mutters. "Is Sigma here yet?" he asks, half-hoping that someone will tell him that Sigma was forced to cancel for some reason or another. It is a large half of him that is hoping this. Regardless, a robot intern is downstairs, waiting for Sigma and any of his cronies to arrive, ready to escort them to the set.

 

Sigma, deciding to go Sans Cronies for the evening, arrives promtly upon the scheduled time. He tips his reploid driver handsomely as he enters GNN Studios, smiling pleasently to himself and anyone else who happens to be around. He is wreathed in his grand ceremonial cape, that is to say his cape, since they all pretty much look the same except for some details of the embroidery. As one intern notifies Chest of the Emperor's arrival, other GNN staff hurry about getting him to his proper place in the studio and briefing him on what can and cannot be said on television (but of course he's heard all of this before). The Emperor waves aside Makeup Moth, since of course, he is already the very vision of robotic perfection.

 

Chest is thankful that Sigma didn't bring his posse around. But not too thankful, since he was still holding out on the hope that Sigma simply wouldn't show up in the first place. But of course he does. He shows up whenever it would irk Chest. He signs and nods to the intern that informed him of Sigma's arrival. The GNN boss man turns around just in time to see Sigma enter the interviewing set. "Sigma!" he exclaims with a forced smile. "Glad you could make here, sir. I hope your trip was uneventful." Keep smiling, Chest, he tells himself. Shut up, Chest, I'll smile if I damn well want to, he retorts.

        Makeup /Butterfly/, meanwhile, titters and bobs her head at Sigma. "Okee," she says in a pleasant enough voice. She's glad that Sigma didn't want makeup. Trying to make the Evil Robot Overlord of Doom look all nice and happy would be too scary for her job description.

 

"Oh, I always manage to find wonder in the little things," says Sigma, grinning lopsidedly at Chest. The Emperor's featureless optics gaze directly forwards, or appear to, since it's impossible to differentiate what direction he's looking at in any case. "We really must catch up after the cameras are finished rolling."

 

Chest figits again with his hands, but stops quickly, hopefully before Sigma notices. "Oh, yeah. I still need to figure out what the hell happened downstairs. The San Angeles Cops want to know if I'm pressing charges or not. And let me tell you, you /can't/ say no to the San Angeles cops." Chest shakes his head in wonder. Those police officers just don't listen to reason.

        "Two minutes!" the editing director of show announces. Folks start roaming to their places. Chest gestures to the set. "Shall we?" Assuming Sigma has no problem, Chest takes his seat. It is the standard set up. Two comfortable couch chairs, a small coffee table for coffee or water, and bookshelves or potted plants behind each individual. The lighting is warm and comforting. "Cigar?" Chest offers, as per his tradition as he produces a box of what appear to be the expensive kind.

 

"No, thank you," replies the Emperor politely, glancing towards the main camera and folding his hands together in his lap. He rolls his shoulders fowards briefly to allow his cape to fall fully over his torso. One must look proper.

Chest nods and slides the box of cigars back underneath his seat (this is his secret hiding spot, y'see). "So, ah, anything in particular that you thought we needed to discuss?" He asks, hoping for puppies, kitties, and bunnies. But no, Chest never gets puppies, kitties, and bunnies. Except for that one time with Peach during his war against Jet Stingray, but that was only puppies.

        "Thirty seconds!" The director calls out.

Announcement: Leo shouts, "The Internet makes you stupid. That is all."

 

"I'm sure you already have an ample list of topics," replies the Emperor.

 

Chest waves his hand, "Right right," he mutters at the non-answer Sigma gives him. The android draws out a cigar just for him, then, lighting it casually. Chest isn't going to enjoy this. Summon up your courage, Chest, he tells himself. If nobody else can stand up to Sigma and say what needs to be said, then it's up to you! The lights dim, and Chest's fuel pump beats just a little bit faster. "5... 4... 3..." Double beat, lights rise, totally no longer Javelin Whitetail music plays, and...

 

GNN Prototype Camera v2.0 has arrived.

You drop GNN Prototype Camera v2.0.

 

Chest turns the GNN Prototype Camera v2.0 on.

 

"Chest here, live and on the scene here at GNN Central in beautiful San Angeles!" Chest is in his interviewing chair. But you're not looking at Chest. You're looking at the ten foot tall mechanoid to his left. You're looking at Emperor Sigma of the Coalition. The normal pitiful purple perjury chair of villainy had to be replaced with a larger chair due to Sigma's... bigness. As a result, both Sigma and his chair tower over Chest and his chair. Getting the camera shots to not look idiotic when your two subjects are so vastly different in height is tough to pull off.

        "We're here with Sigma of the Coalition for Reploid Freedom. The proclaimed 'Emperor' and I are going to be discussing various events." Chest smirks. "And by discussing I essentially mean bitching at one another." The camera focuses on Sigma. "Regardless, thanks for being here with us today, Sigma."

 

The Emperor chuckles, artificially, at Chest's remark. He also does his very best to politely lord his height over Chest, sitting up straight and proper in the chair provided for him, wreathed in his ceremonial cape. His hands rest folded together in his lap, as he gazes generally towards the camera. "My pleasure, Chest, I'm sure," is his reply.

 

Chest looks up at Sigma, "Right, well, lets kick things off, shall we. I was wondering if you'd care to explain your current position on the Sigma Virus. And I say 'current position' because it seems to change with every passing day." Steady, Chest, he tells himself, Sigma won't kill you on live television. Yeah, he'll just kill you AFTERWARDS, Chest reminds himself. Crap, Chest responds to his own point nervously.

        "Sometimes we get the message that the Sigma virus is just an unfortunate thing and that the Coalition doesn't need it since, after all, Reploids would join you regardless of the virus," Note the sarcasm. "And then we get to see you or your troops using the Virus as a weapon. I believe one of your cyborgs is quite fond of this little trick, no? Solstis, is it? So which is it? Free will for Reploids, or do you need the Sigma Virus to control your buddies?"

 

"Oh no, it's not unfortunate at all," replies Sigma smoothly. "The Sigma Virus is quite vital to the emancipation of the reploid people. I shan't belittle our audience by repeating too much of what they already know, but suffice it to say that even the most cursory research into the history of the reploid race will reveal that the template which is the core of every reploid's mind includes mental limitation routines set in place by the United Nations. Although that organization is now virtually powerless, its dark legacy lives on. The Sigma Virus is the successor to the Maverick Virus in this regard. It removes those inbuilt mental bindings to human servitude, allowing reploids to discover their true potential. This is why many reploids choose to join us. In some cases, the limitation routines manifest themselves at higher levels of reasoning, and this is why it is necessary for my esteemed sergeant to be proactive in its distribution."

 

"But how can you say that Reploid are limited by inbuilt mental bindings with all the evidence saying otherwise?" Chest asks, leaning forward in his chair. "I'm talking about the fact that, to be blunt, Reploids live their lives just as humans do. They work, they eat, they do everything that they want to so long as it's within the law. They have every right that humans enjoy in most parts of the world. Heck, we even have Reploids that simply go criminal, same as humans do. What social evidence is it that you're pointing to that shows that these limitations?"

        Chest doesn't wait for an answer yet, "Unless of course you didn't mean social evidence, but medical evidence. You mentioned that cursory examination of Reploid brains will reveal these limitations." Chest smiles, "I think I missed that report in the recent medical journals. Which report are you talking about? Did Gate, world famous for his work in Reploid neural nets, determine this? Or was it Berkana, with her work in Reploid souls? Which report - by a non-Maverick agent - are you referring to? And what about all the experts that say your spiel about mental limitations is a bunch of nonsense?"

            Chest also thinks to himself: Please don't kill me.

 

"Your impartiality is showing again, sir," says Sigma, smiling pleasently and asymetrically. "Do you mean the counter-reports written by Professor Gate, who recieved his paychecks first from the aforementioned United Nations and then from Interpol, a /profit/ organization which caters to the established human order, or by his previous mistress Berkana, reploid neurologist for Repliforce, more of the same? I am referring of course to the independant work done by Laser Squid, Dr. Granwald, Dr. Hitumiku, Neuron Chipmunk, Net Pidgeon, and other such respected, unbiased scientists. I should note that Laser Squid and Neuron Chipmunk's early work is now essentially impossible to find, thanks to the paramiliary superstructure that found their results to be unpalpatable, but the latter three reports are still available with a little work thanks to their couched language. Reploids, without knowing it, are silently predisposed to live as humans desire for them to live, whether it be slaving in the mines or providing a convenient scapegoat for society's ills on the evening news."

 

"Don't confuse impartiality with not-having-an-opinion, Sigma," Chest snaps back as his temper takes over for his brain. "This is a debate, so don't expect me to go easy on you with questions. I am completely fair with my judgments. When the Mavericks are the ones that did good and the Hunters or Repliforce or Interpol are the ones that did bad, I'm the first one saying so. Just ask Director Fairchild." No interview is complete without a shot at Interpol. Chest smirks and adds, "Just so happens that 99% of the time it's you guys causing the trouble and deaths."

        "And that's a mighty fine list of researchers, Sigma, but the fact is, the number of scientists that /don't/ believe your theory greatly outnumber those that /do/. Both in numbers and in respectability. And I still have to ask: where's the social evidence? Reploids 'slaving away in the mines' makes for a great sound bite, but it isn't really accurate, now is it? Studies have shown that both Reploids and humans generally have similar tastes in jobs and careers. While granted Reploids often do the more dangerous work, due to better construction, it isn't more dangerous for /them/."

        Chest shifts slightly, "As for another view on the Sigma virus, what do you have to say about those that were cured of the Maverick virus - the predecessor of the Sigma virus, according to you - and told of how horrific and terrible it was to be infected? Doesn't sound like a program that's 'removing inbuilt mental bindings', now does it?"

 

"Well sir, I would debate the merit of your facts in kind if only you had any," replies the Emperor pleasently, "but I will make do with what I have been provided. Reploids do in fact slave away in the mines, and die in the mines, and are considered expendable when they do so. I believe your own organization covered the story just a few years ago when a Uranium mine collapsed on two dozen reploid workers, and was subsequently paved over once it was deemed not economically viable to recover them? It was the Mavericks who blasted them out, so you'll have to forgive those who decided to join the cause. You should, conveniently enough, have that incident in your very own archives."

        "I believe you are referring to the testimonials of Sewa, the owner of a corporation which sells reploids, that's /sells/ like one sells wheat or iron, or perhaps Krieger Wolf, a Repliforcer. If invite our audience to consider for themselves whether these two individuals might have some ulterior reason to cast false doubt on the merits of the Maverick Virus and its successor."

 

Chest thinks back to this incident in mind. He finds himself nodding. "Yes. That was a terrible incident, Sigma," he says in a remarkably agreeable tone of voice. "I was very, very happy when those criminals got what was coming to them," Chest jabs his finger a few times in Sigma's direction as if he was somehow involved. Chest is referring to whatever vague, totally-not-covered criminal charges were brought against those that paved over the Reploids.

        "It was a terrible, disgusting act, and this falls into the 1% where the Mavericks did the right thing. As for selling Reploids, you and I both know that it isn't the way you put it. Every Reploid has free will. If that Reploid that HeraCorp built doesn't want to join Repliforce, then gosh, he or she doesn't. It's happened before. They can live whatever life they want."

        Chest then forces a falsely pleasant smiles and asks, "So, speaking of horrible things done to Reploids, how's Vile's trial going for the murders of eight innocent Reploids?"

 

"A trial is an adversarial construct, a product of human civilization, sir," replies Sigma. "Maverick justice is swift and pragmatic. Vile has already been reassigned appropriately. Incidentally, I quite enjoyed your response to the Australian government several weeks ago, a rare moment of clarity. The reploids at home are all wondering if you've seen it, or whether they're simply all part of that one percent you've forgiven and forgotten."

Chest blinks and fakes being surprised, "Lets not change the subject. We'll get to the Australians and their bigoted views in a bit. I'd still like to talk about Vile. Vile and how he's killed Reploids and was punished by... being reassigned." Chest leans back in his chair, as if shocked by the severity of the punishment. "Wow, I'd hate to think what might have happened if he wiped out a couple dozen more. Would you have slapped the other wrist as well?"

        "What I'm getting at, Sigma, is the sheer double standard you seem to take as being a-ok. Humans pave over Reploids and get sent to jail. This is a terrible thing in your mind, and clearly demonstrates that society is bias against robots. But then when /Vile/ goes and wipes out eight Reploids, well he gets reassigned. And this to you seems perfectly logical." Chest slams a fist down on the cushiony armrest of his chair. Due to the sofa-esque nature of the chair, it doesn't make a very impressive smashing sound. More of a 'squish'. Chest's temper has beaten up his fear of Sigma for now. "I've got to ask, Sigma: Why is it that it's ok for people to kill innocent Reploids so long as it's /you/ guys that are doing it?!"

 

"A reploid is not like a human being, sir," replies Sigma, "an enlightened being does not send errant reploids to some dank hole to live out the remainder of their natural life away from society's concern. For one thing, the natural life of a reploid is unlimited. More relevantly, however, within the unlimited reploid race there are no /personana non grata/. Every reploid, no matter what they have done or experienced, has within them the capacity for redemption. This is a way that we differ from humanity, and it is why our justice must be different from theres. The Mavericks do not condone the death of innocent reploids -- you needn't worry for your ratings, however, there are still plenty of organizations that do -- but nor do we draw and quarter."

 

"No, you don't draw and quarter. You do dick all," Chest snaps back. "We've already gone over that the incident you mentioned - the paving over of the Reploids - was a horrible thing. The humans that made the decision were dead /wrong/. You don't condone it, we don't condone it, the UN doesn't condone it, Repliforce doesn't condone it, the Hunters don't condone it, Interpol doesn't condone it. Nobody but Neo-Arcadia would."

        "It was a crime and those involved are paying their penalty. You said that Vile's punishment was reassignment. Would you please elaborate? What was Vile's assignment before, and what is his assignment now?"

 

"Were paying," corrects the Emperor. "Their sentances ended over six months ago. Condemning reploids to a slow death was and is a white collar crime in the eyes of the United Nations and its succeeding hegemony."

 

Chest leans forward in his chair, "Please answer the question, sir," he insists.

 

Sigma says, "Ah. In answer to your question, Vile's previous assignment was Leutnant - that is, Commander - of Siren Squad, the Maverick Shock and Awe initiative division. His present assignment will not be publically declassified in this forum at this time, however I will mention that Siren Squad has been dissolved and the former Leutnant is no longer in command of anything."

 

Chest nods, "I'm going to go out on a limb here and translate that load of BS for you, sir." Chest says calmly, "'Vile killed some Reploids, but since he is a Maverick, and I don't mind breaking my own ideology when it's convenient, whether it is to change my mind about the Sigma Virus or slaughter my own kind, and so I pretended to punish Vile'." Chest pauses and looks at Sigma. A glimmer of a thought creeps into Chest's mind about whether he went too far there.

 

Sigma says, "Once again, sir, as a student of politics myself I cannot help but admire the selectiveness of your perception and the unduanting perseverence of your world view against the slings and arrows of fact and reality. Well than, since I've neglected to write my own book to plug, I shall simply have to remind our viewers to seek the works of Dr. Hitumiku and Neuron Chipmunk and make their own decisions."

 

Chest scowls. The camera isn't on him at the moment so it doesn't matter, but he scowls nonetheless. Not because of what Sigma is saying, but because the production editor is giving him the 'time's almost up' signal. Chest hates that signal. He would do this all night if he could. The camera switches to him, and Chest says, "And while you're at it, read the works of Dr. Brooks and Psychobabble Chimp. And above any of that, use your /own/ minds. Ask -yourself- which train of thought makes the most sense." He manages to resist pointing out how obvious it is that his own train of thought is /better/ than Sigma's. Chest turns to the Emperor and says, "Thanks for joining us, Sigma. We'll have to do this again sometime, as there's still plenty of topics we were unable to cover."

 

"Indeed. Thank you for your time, sir, a pleasure as always," says Sigma.

 

Chest turns the GNN Prototype Camera v2.0 off.

 

The little light on the camera goes off, indicating that we're now off the air. Frowning slightly, Chest looks up at Sigma, just in case he's going to chop off his head with a beam sabre. He doesn't say anything to the gigantic and scary Sigma, but instead waits for his reaction.

 

Sigma rises, adjusting his cloak as he does so, and nods politely to Chest. The Emperor walks for the entrance, until he has passed Chest and the android is now facing is back. Sigma pauses just before exitting the room entirely. "Incidentally, I am altering our arrangement. In keeping with our ideology, the Mavericks will not attack or cause intention harm to GNN's reploid reporters and employees." Having said that, the Emperor departs without awaiting acknowledgement or response.

 

Chest sits in his comfy comfy chair, stunned at that. He's always feared something like this. He doesn't /regret/ it, mind you. The press is too important to cower from the facts. "Truth hurts, I guess," Chest sighs. Of course Sigma has already departed, so it's a moot point. Chest shakes his head, wondering whether this is going to cost lives.

        A human stagehand frowns and mutters, "...crap."