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The Door

Doctor Devious stands before the infamous door.

He strokes his chin in a faux gesture of thought, playing up the act for the audience which an uncertain glance around the room tells him that he does not have.

He leaves . . . but the door remains.

The various inhabitants of this fated deck of Freeport 10 go about their varied tasks, unaware of the potent force soon to be unleashed nearby.
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The good Doctor returns with a few days, datapad in hand, taking measurements and pictures of all kinds of the sinister door.

Massive in sheer bulk in metal, it gleams with green corrosion from ages of lacking of maintenance, speckled by patches of some coppery alloy. Impermeable to radiation, so detection of what methusulaic monstrosities might lie on the other side is impossible. While there was clearly writing on the door at one point, age, wear, and corrosion have made it impossible to actually read. A brisk knock on the door indicates that it is indeed as solid as can be.

Grumbling, he leaves once more the ominous presence of the orange and green monolith.

He returns within moments, a handheld grinder of some kind in his and a wielders mask. He sets upon the task of grinding off a segment of corrosion, about a meter wide and two meters tall.

After an hour or more of diligent work, there is a nice and shiny patch of obviously ground clean surface more or less ready to be converted into a doorway.
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Another day passes, Doctor Devious has apparently holed himself up in his quarters. There were no explosions. He only leaves to check intermittently with the fabrication facilities.
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Today, the Doctor arrives before the gate, prepared to vanquish his foe. With a certain confidence he strides forward, leading a group of four men he procured to lift the ‘key’ to this door. It appears, without much imagination needed, to be a particle cannon of some strange design, of a size that would make one think it was intended to be mounted on a ship.

He unfolds a tripod he carried with him, placing it on the ground in front of the door, giving it a good four meters of space between the area the muzzle of the device and the surface of the door.

The other men place it into the tripod with a loud positive snap as it locks in place. One of them drops a length of thick cable on the floor next to it. Looking back with a grin.

“Thank you, just grab me the last part and you are free to go.”

DD then goes up to his cleaned section of door and applies some kind of black spray coating to this section. He lets this dry for a few moments, then takes out some white chalk, chalking crosses, or what he can of crosses, on each corner of what is soon to be an opening.

The men come back with the last object, a blast shield, that they place behind the device, facing the door. The Doctor gives them the ‘okay’ sign, and they leave. He then takes the cable, connecting one end to the device and the other to a power outlet nearby. Walking back, patting the cannon like a child, he takes up the remote control from the back of it. There is a minor hum going as the device charges up. He sets a small camera on top of the blast shield for data collection purposes.

He moves to an intercom panel, contacting Robert

“Hey, that door ‘thing’ you wanted. Yeah, I think I got it in the bag. Do you want to press the button?”

By the time his office's terminal rang, signaling the audacious call transmitted by DD, Robert found himself lounging on his arm chair, in an apparent state of rest meant only to mask his deep cogitations under an aura of inconspicuousness.

Buzzing stridently through the confines of his large room, clearly notifying him of the new message with a sudden startle, the terminal made sure to wake Robert from his meditative state and coerce him into answering the call.

" Button? What button are you talking about? " he inquired, finding himself in a state of obliviousness.

That state however was diminished as he recalled the favour he asked DD to do.

" Are you implying.... ? " but before he could finish his query, he boasted a sudden change of tone and ideas:

" Hold it, I want to be there and indulge myself " he then ordered, making sure to close the terminal in a rapid manner, so that he could cruise through his door and rush his way to the main event

"Hey! Ahh, nonono."

DD tries to ward his hands away from the controls, but no sooner did he make the effort, Achille was putting a PDA into his now outstretched hands. Looking over the writing as he begins to explain about the supposed dangers and how he had already corrected for a number of them.

"Well, you just had a draft copy, this one-"

He is cut off by Achille and his seeming lack of need for oxygen to continue talking.

"No!" He yells a bit louder than might be needed, seeing as he now finally has the opportunity to speak without Achille speaking at the exact same moment.

". . . .I mean 'no.' We are waiting on Robert. He is on his way right now, so just wait."

The Doctor walks up to the device, hoping Achille will yield position, allowing him to make sure all calibrations are correct for the upcoming task.

After a few minutes of discourse and discord shriveled and transmitted between each other as Achille and Doctor Devious were deliberating on the precarious details, Robert finally exerted his presence inside the quite limited boundaries of this metaphorically excruciated podium they all chose to display their presence on.

In an attempt to abide to the laws of typicality, Robert was planning to acknowledge his presence through a very contortioned choice of words, still, laying witness upon the current exchange of discord and trivialities between the two members of his fraternity, he thought it would be better to indulge on this entertainment for a few moments before he'd get on with the needed tasks.

And so, he sat behind, like a raven prowling for an oblivious farmer to leave his crops unprotected so that he could indulge himself by ruining the work he struggled to put.

Doctor Devious hoists the button high above his head, to prevent Achille from taking it.

"Fool! You say 'I' will kill us all?" he says in an excited, hurried tone.

He gives an incredulous look to Achille, like one might give a kid running with scissors.

"Seriously now. We wait. Can I lower my arms?"

He looks Achille over like he is expecting to get jumped as soon as he shows a position of weakness.

Ignoring the trivialities going between the two heads in the research branch and noticing Robert dart for the location they were at, it was quite an impossible chance to ignore now.

Heading towards the abrupt situation that presented itself, simply leaning to the wall without having any indication of her own presence, a bit behind Robert himself. And the two virile and clamorous heads that were, to her, looking as if children playing around with toys.

"Oh I could watch this all day.. But I wonder do I even have that amount of time because of these two arguing..."
Letting out a faint chuckle, that would be only audible by Robert. If even him.

"We wait? And for what…" Two gallic eyes twinkled predatorily. "..For Robert to descend from his beryllium altar and start goose-stepping all over our triumph like Pliny over Caesar? Honour our department at least a mite of autonomy, ami".

The Burgundian's left had, ambling freely from his side, had

rediscovered the control panel as they roamed emphatically around the space, alighting there and caressing the firing button so gingerly, you could have mistaken it for a sexual implement.

"I say it will kill us all, hmm?" Achille rolled, jocularly. "Well, most of us, perhaps. However most of us do not possess the luxury of being sealed within an airtight, radiation-tight, mostly energy tight active shield bubble. But that is a matter of pedantry purely".

Without further warning or ado, Achille Augustain Nadeau, Chief science advisor of the Commonwealth independent fraternity, depressed the button firmly, then held it there as the cannon roared like an amnesic, psychotic cave bear forcibly awoken before spring.

"…So let's engage in the most scientific of pursuits, eh, and spoil ourselves with that odd ambrosia of 'blue sky research'? After all, nobody knew the moon was solid definitively until some ancient plonked a foot on it…" He rabbited further, retracting his digits as the panel sparked, the cannon flaming, roaring, and screeching at its struts.

"Oh, ah, ami, you may lower hands now…"

"…You may need them in front of your face."

"Why!?"

He grabs his head with both hands.

"You!-"

Realizing that he has just about no time to act to prevent their imminent death, he makes a few very quick steps over to the device and yanks out the cable giving it the much needed electricity. The humming dies back down slowly, although there is now a significant amount of heat in the area near the cannon.

"Are you insane? It was not calibrated yet! We would all have burned! You!-"

He stands pointing at Achille, before leaping on top of him, seemingly intent on throttling the life out of him.