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Post by Roger Stone on Jun 4, 2013 12:15:33 GMT -6
Touch
Chapter One: Normal
Gwen runs his hand across the dirtied, yellowed sheets with a shudder. He has come to hate innerspring mattresses. Something about the shape of a coil makes it into an incredibly good vessel. Whenever he visits a motel, he always asks for a room with anything else- foam, latex, gel- hell, even a cot would be better. The, well... “less luxurious” would be a nice way to put it. The less luxurious motels never do, and when whatever terrible bed he gets put in is particularly unbearable, he often ends up sleeping on the floor. He gets the sensation that tonight is going to be one of those nights.
Unluckily for him, Gwen's job lands him in a wide variety of “less luxurious” motels. The foundation never coughs up the money for anywhere nice. The locks don't even work in the room they got- Jack had to shove the decrepit dresser up against the door, and resolved to take the bed nearest to the door.
Looking over to the other bed, the feeling of jealously overtakes Gwen as it always does that Jack is able to sleep so soundly on these things, unaware of what else the bed had absorbed other than his drool. The giant of a man tosses his single bag at the foot of the bed and looks over to Gwen, uncharacteristically sensing what was going through his head.
“Bad one?” he asks in his typical scratchy voice, one that could almost be said to sound like static.
“Yeah,” Gwen responds with a grimace, “But I'm going to try it out anyways. But I'm sure when I wake up either crying or screaming- can't tell which yet- that you'll sleep right through it,” he ribs his partner.
“Sorry, G. But unlike you, what I've got flips its switch when I'm asleep. I'm just shut down till it's time to boot back up again.” Gwen rolls his eyes at the usual series of puns. He'd tried to dissuade Jackson of their cleverness many times, each more fruitless than the last. “So no wet dreams for you tonight?”
“I've told you, they're not really dreams,” he says half heartedly, knowing Gwen's just poking fun at him. Usually in a place like this, it's just sex. Gwen never really cared for pornography in the first place, so all-night viewings of reliving the same scene play out again and again while he slept had quickly become annoying. But at least they're tolerable. The strongest one in this bed seems to be far more unpleasant. He concentrates and places his hand back on the mattress again, more firmly this time.
“And no,” Gwen finally states, answering Jackson's question. “It's going to be crying, not screaming. A woman and her kids got kicked out by an abusive husband. She was up all night bawling her eyes out as quietly as she could.”
“Oh. Well, want to swap then?” says Jackson, trying his best to help his friend.
“No, the kids were scared and confused. I think I'd prefer to try my hand at being depressed than be a scared kid again.”
“Oh yeah, I know what you mean, man. My mom used to have this really creepy vacuum cover that looked like a bunny. It sat right outside my door, and it scared the hell out of me when I was little. Those nights were the worst.” Gwen simply nods, vaguely remembering seeing the old dusty thing one time at Thanksgiving at Jackson's parents house. That was back before the storm. Back when things were normal.
“Turn on the TV, would ya?” Gwen asks in an offhand manner, hoping to momentarily forget about the unpleasant night ahead of him. Jack nods and moves towards the tiny, no-doubt-standard-definition television. He simply palms the side of it and the screen jumps to life.
“You know, most people use the power button.”
“Yeah, well most people don't know how good it feels to not have to,” Jack quips back with a grin. He grabs the remote and tosses it over to Gwen. As it flies, a barely visible arc of electricity shoots between the end of the remote and Jack's fingertips.
“Just topping off the tank,” he explains, still wearing that cocky grin of his.
“You wouldn't have needed to if you just acted like someone normal for once. You better not have drained the batteries.” Gwen tries the remote, and thankfully the TV flips channels. The batteries must be the only new thing in the room.
“See? It was just a little.” Gwen ignores him and starts surfing, looking for whatever channel the local news is on in this part of the country. “So who or what are we looking for, anyways?”
“You know I'm not supposed to tell you.”
“Yeah, but you're going to anyways.”
“Of course I am. It'd be stupid not to. It's someone actually useful for once. Well, more useful than usual at least-”
“I don't care about how 'useful' they are- that's the Foundation's business. The important question is if it's going to be any fun.”
“Unlikely. They can manipulate sound. Should be easy enough to bring them in- one way or another. Hopefully it'll be the easy way for once.”
“Alright, but who is it?”
“Alex Dench. I think he was that kid who worked at the Baskin Robin in the summers, if I'm placing the face correctly from the picture they gave me. Here, take a look.” Gwen reaches into his bag and pulls out a file folder after shuffling around a bit. He tosses it on the bed towards Jack, who eyes it eagerly. Standing from his seat on the end of the kids' bed, the burdened mattress gives a creek of relief.
“Hey,” calls Gwen just as Jackson reaches for the folder, suddenly very serious as he looks to his partner. “Remember though, if they find out that you saw this, it's on your head. I don't want Samuel on my case again for this.”
“Relax, G, I wouldn't rat you out again. And hey, the first time was an accident.” Jackson retrieves the folder and pours over it, clearly taking joy in getting into something he shouldn't be. “Oh geez, the kid's still a virgin at 23? The Oracle really got a good read off this poor guy to know that,” he says, laughing. Gwen tenses up as the name is mentioned, but this goes past Jack unaware. Finally, Gwen finds the news.
“-running rampant throughout the slums of Detroit. It's name? Gaze, on the street, but scientists are calling it Prythxoocl Egropretrex. Not exactly a name that rolls off the tongue, is it, Dan?” states the ever-cheery spokeswoman, a smile plastered across her all-too-fake face even as she reports on this new narcotic.
“Right you are, Carol. Next up, we'll talk to a homeless man that's started up his own pet shelter. How did he manage? Stay tuned to find out!” Gwen begins to zone out as the commercials come on. He has little interest in how some bum saved animals. Besides, it's doubtful a sound manipulator is going to make headlines. For now, Gwen concentrates on centering himself, and trying not to accidentally get a reading from the bed beneath his back. He flicks the TV off before laying back down and closing his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, if I calm myself enough, tonight will be a quiet one, and I won't have to sleep on the floor.
The naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling flickers once before going out. Gwen can tell through his eyelids that things have gone dark, and without hesitation, they shoot open. He scrambles out of bed still half-asleep and runs over to the light switch, flicking it helplessly with no results.
“Jack?” he calls, his voice edging on panic, “...Jack? Can you fix it?” The only response he gets is a loud snore. Pushing himself back into the corner, Gwen's eyes strain against the darkness, shooting every direction- trying to cover every approach at once. “It's okay. It's okay. Just a motel room...” Gwen pants, trying to calm himself down. But his imagination quickly turns the sounds of Jack's slumber into something much, much worse. “Bathroom!” he exclaims, suddenly landing on- as Jack would say- a bright idea. Clambering his way across the room, his foot catches one of their bags, and he goes sprawling. He hears something solid hit the ground and roll, but he pays it no mind as he jumps to his feet and races to where he remembers the bathroom being. His sense of direction is good, and he's soon fumbling around for a light switch. It takes an eternity, but finally light shines down from the bug-filled fixture above his head.
Breathing heavily, he manages to let out a sigh of relief. The light partially spills out into the main part of the room, but not nearly enough so that he'd still consider sleeping in there. Looking out, he spots what must have made that thud and tumble when he fell: His Jericho 941 handgun must have fallen out of the concealed holster as he fell. Nowadays, he makes it a habit not to fasten the catch- the quicker draw might save him one day. Venturing out into the dim bedroom, he scoops up the gun and slides it in the holster as quickly as he can before moving to the bed and gathering the sheets and pillow.
Looks like he'll be sleeping on the floor after all.
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Post by Roger Stone on Jun 4, 2013 14:27:48 GMT -6
Chapter Two: A Car Ride to Back and Beyond
Gwen awakens on cold linoleum with several kinks in his neck, his head having been shoved up against the base of the toilet for some god awful reason. Oh, right. Because the other part of the floor is covered in dried piss. It was either this or sleep head first in the doorway. An obvious choice. With a groan, he picks himself up off the floor and gathers the blanket and pillow. Upon retreating into the main room, he finds Jack still fast asleep face down in his pillow. Sighing, he deposits his load on the now bare bed and begins shuffling through his bag. Pulling out a small black hand held taser, he presses the dual prongs into Jack's foot and pulls the trigger. His partner jerks in his sleep and mumbles. Gwen shocks him again, and this time the man-mountain finally pushes himself up and awake.
“Morning,” he says, clearly unfazed by having just received a hundred thousand volts. The stun gun isn't necessary to get Jack out of bed- he'll wake up on his own eventually. Gwen just wanted to get an early start on finding this kid, and the regular ways of getting someone up just don't work. Honestly, Gwen's surprised the cheap little taser even gets through Jack's newly thickened skin- he's seen bullets bounce off this guy. Granted, they were low-caliber and Jack got the wind thoroughly knocked out of him, but still, the point stands.
“Morning, you lump. Hurry up and get dressed- I want to bag this kid before he leaves his apartment. For once we got an actual address rather than having to go look for him.” Gwen begins cleaning by picking up the manilla folder from Jack's bed- it hadn't moved from where he left it last night. Just goes to show how Jack really does sleep like a rock.
“Already am dressed. Fell asleep in my clothes,” Jack says, crawling out of bed. Sure enough, he's still wearing his black wife beater and slacks. An odd combination, but Jack likes it, so Gwen doesn't question the outfit. Speaking of which, Gwen realized he'd done the same thing- tan duster and all. The only thing he was missing is his pair of black leather gloves, which he quickly slips back on now that the night's over. The two quickly gather their meager belongings and head out the door, making sure to put the dresser back where it arguably belonged.
“Try not to blow the battery with your shenanigans this time,” says Gwen as they walked down the stairs. Thankfully, this wasn't the kind of motel where you had to check out- they can head straight to their car. The manager gave him the creeps, and knowing how attuned Gwen is, likely with good reason.
“Hey, that was one occasion, and you say it every time we get into a car,” retorts Jack as he climbs into the driver's seat. “Besides, I've got this.” He reaches under the steering wheel to the mess of exposed wires beneath. The little Kia Optima revs to life, and Jack cheers. “There we go! I wish the Foundation would give us our own car for once. It's such a hassle having to steal one every time they fly us somewhere.”
“Agreed. We're heading to 1150 Zellmer Street. Should be just off I-95. Oh, and right next to the airport,” Gwen says, checking his phone. “Good, we can take him in and then board the next flight back to Houston.”
The trip over to the apartment complex is uneventful, but far less than quiet. In contrast to his usual demeanor, Jack has a habit of talking when he's driving, whether Gwen's listening or not. It's far more often that he's not. He, likewise, has a habit of tuning Jack out when he's jabbering. This time it's something about Detroit- relevant topic. Good pick, Jack, but still not interested. Gwen spends his time gazing out the window without really seeing. Out of curiosity, he's pulling a further reading from the car itself. Its owner is a bank manager, having left it in the air port parking lot while he went away on vacation with his fiance. Bahamas- good choice. Gwen plays the voyeur as he watches this man's life through the window that is his car. Road rage at traffic on an important workday.. The excited drive home from a promotion a few weeks later, and, oh- great. Sex in the backseat with said fiance. Just what Gwen wanted to see. With that, he pulls back, returning to the world around him.
“How much further?” Gwen asks, finally noticing that they're off the highway.
“-and the Tigers!- Wait, huh?... Oh! We're nearly there. Should be another few turns if this guy's GPS is right. But the Tigers! The season they're having, man, I...” Gwen tunes him out again, reaching for the folder. He checks it over one more time, refreshing his mind on the strategy for convincing this kid to go with them. Brown hair, blue eyes, bad acne... Interests included gambling and weed before all this.. Loving family. Mother's location unknown. Father in custody, Class 5 Priority, able to perfectly mimic animal sounds, discontented with current situation. Expendable.
Gwen frowns at this last word, so neatly typed and plainly stated. Not at all underlined, or bolded, or in red, as one would think such a word deserves with the weight it carried. Not that he is all that surprised with this revelation- it's simply how the Foundation ran things.
“This is my life now,” he mutters without realizing. It had become a sort of mantra throughout the drastic change his life had taken- somehow growing comforting despite the defeatist attitude.
“Huh?”
“Oh, nothing,” responds Gwen, waving it off as he snaps the folder closed and stows it away.
“Well, we're here, G. Ready to light things up?”
“No, but I'm ready to get this done and over with, if that's what you mean.”
“No, it's a jok- Oh. You're teasing me.” Gwen simply rolls his eyes with a smile and gets out of the car. The apartment building looks nice enough. Not great, but at least he doesn't have the expectation going in that he's going to find strung-out crackheads in the hallways. Regardless, Gwen makes certain Jericho is where she should be before heading up the steps and into the building.
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Post by Roger Stone on Jun 4, 2013 15:16:01 GMT -6
Chapter Three: Stefani Gets a Nosebleed
Gwen's expectations fell short. At least it wasn't a crack head, but that can't be anything else but a homeless man passed out at the bottom of the stairs. He looks behind him to Jack, gesturing to the unconscious drunk.
“I got it,” he says in return, moving over to the hobo and grabbing him by the ankle, “Come on now big boy, time to get out of our way.” And with that, Jack drags the man off to the side without even really having to try. A bottle of booze comes loose from the drunk's hand as he slides, rolling down the hall before coming to a stop at Gwen's feet. It lands label up, letting him see that it was once filled with wine, and wine that was actually a couple decades old at that. Gwen picks it up out of curiosity and takes off one of his gloves, deciding on a whim to see what he can pull from the old bottle.
Begging for hours upon end to make enough for it. Stealing a little when he came up short. Buying the bottle, getting weird looks from other people in the process. Being accustomed to such. Following her home from the soup kitchen. Going up the steps, eager to see her shining face. A knock. Two. She opens the door, confusion on her face. Brought you this, thought we could share it. Rejection. Door slammed. Depression, once again. Bottle is the only comfort.
And with that, the reading ends, forcing him back to reality. An unusual one, for two reasons. First, Gwen usually can't see things that don't physically concern the object. He must have liked that woman quite a bit to have left such an imprint. Second, readings don't just end. Gwen chooses when he backs out of them- not the object. That can only mean the imprinter is soon to be done with his imprinting days. Shoving the glove into his pocket and dropping the bottle, he moves over to the hobo and kneels down, hesitating.
“What's up? That's not Alex, is it? He looks awful.”
“Shut up for a second, Jack. I need to concentrate,” Gwen responds softly, not meaning to offend, but trying to show that he means it. He's only done this a few times before, and only in practice, with people who have training to make it as easy as possible for him to get the hang of. But this is important- Gwen gets the feeling that this man will end his own life once he wakes up, and Gwen has the power to try and stop that. Reaching carefully through the mess of his greasy hair, Gwen places two fingertips on the man's temple.
James Garrison. His name is James Garrison. And he wants nothing more than for Helen Lane to smile at him again.
He's pulled back, quite literally judging from Jack's firm grip on his shoulders, from the rush of emotions, memories, and thoughts he came to experience in an instant. It was so much. So very much that he couldn't look away. Didn't want to even. The transaction left him shaking- badly. In this moment, Gwen doubts his ability to stand on his own two feet.
“G! G!” Jack calls, shaking his partner slightly. “Come on, G, answer me.”
“I'm- I'm fine,” Gwen stammers, eyes coming into focus on Jack's face. “Dude, you started seizuring in place with your mouth open and your eyes rolled back as soon as you touched that guy. And now your nose is starting to bleed! What the hell did you do?” Gwen wipes his nose on the sleeve of his duster and unsteadily gets to his feet.
“I think I got what I needed. Come on. And whatever happens next, don't pull me away. I've got to do this,” Gwen states, heading up the stairs whether or not his partner follows.
“Yeah, well you'd better not explode your brain or something. Otherwise this is turning into a solo snatch and grab.” Gwen ignores him, though the sounds of Jack following him up the steps is quite comforting. He heads up to apartment 202 and knocks on the door, once again wiping his nose to be sure there's no blood to be seen. A rather plain looking woman whose only notable feature is her bright red hair opens the door a crack against the chain.
“Yes ma'am. I'm Agent um- Stefani. And I've got a few questions I'd like to ask you a few questions. Would you mind opening the door, please?” As he speaks, he removes his other glove, using his now unlimbered hand to retrieve the fake FBI badge he'd been given from inside his duster. He shoves his fake badge up against the opening in the doorway for her to see.
“Oh, um, sure,” she replies timidly, closing the door and beginning the unlocking process. Meanwhile, 'Agent Stefani' puts back the grade-A felony evidence and prepares himself for what he's about to do. Jack merely stands back and watches, confused as to what his partner is even doing. The woman finally gets the door opened, and Gwen sees that she's barely over five feet tall. Should make it easier, at least.
“Hello. Helen Lane, I take it?” Gwen asks, extending an ungloved hand.
“Um, yes, that's me,” she squeaks, naturally reaching out to shake his hand. “So what is this about, Offi- OOF!” she yells as Gwen yanks her off her feet, catching her against his chest. Before she can react, he clasps his hand on the back of her head and digs his fingers past her hair. Jack can only watch as both of them begin to spasm upright, mouths open and eyes rolled back. Uncomfortable second by uncomfortable second ticks by. Jack begins to fidget, tossing a spark from fingertip to fingertip as he waits. Just as he was about to interfere, the two violently separate as Helen shoves herself away from Gwen, the former giving the latter a look of confusion and horror.
“What... What are you?” she questions incredulously, before glancing over towards the stairs, for a moment looking like she's forgotten to do something. Dropplets of crimson fly from her face as she looks back to Gwen. She starts edging her way towards the stairway, and Gwen makes no move to stop her.
“That man down there is going to kill himself unless he gets a friend. That friend should be you,” Gwen says coldly, looking at the ground as his nose bleeds freely. Helen, meanwhile, doesn't take her eyes off him until she makes it to the stairs, as though Gwen were a viper that could strike at any time. Upon making it to the top of the stairs, she races down them, away from the pair.
“And what was that all about?” asks Jack, his normal cocky smile gone in confusion.
“She's got a point,” says Gwen in a monotone, “What are we, Jack?”
“Woah now, G. If this is the part where you ask to take our relationship to the next level, I've gotta tell you I don't swing that way.” “I'm serious.”
Jack sighs. It seems Gwen has fallen into one of his moods again.
“I don't know, Gwen. But I've got you, and you've got me, so we'll be alright. Just like always.” Gwen doesn't respond. Not even to tell him not to call him that. Jack shakes his head, not really knowing what to do.
“Come on, buddy. Let's go bag us a sound manipulator or whatever and go home,” Jack says, taking his friend by the shoulder and leading him up the stairs.
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Post by Roger Stone on Jun 6, 2013 16:27:09 GMT -6
Chapter 4: Age of Consent
Turns out that Dench was an easy sell. He had been just about to go on the run from some drug dealers. He couldn't pay them and was just about to skip town when Jack and Gwen intervened. A place to disappear to that had others like him- and his father to boot- seemed ideal for him, and he jumped at the chance to go with the two.
The three of them were on a plane and out of Detroit before Gwen even came out of his funk. Now, back at the base, he's in a much better mood, especially after having things run so smoothly. He currently sits in a small waiting room, doing as the name implies in order to have a health screening- which is mandatory after every mission. Not that Gwen really minded. It meant getting worked over by Amy, which is never a bad thing.
Soon enough it's Gwen's turn. He stands up on wobbly legs, having accidentally let them fall asleep while he was sitting. Amy pretends to frown at him over her clipboard, holding the door open for him as he wobbles his way to the examination room.
“Paresthesia?” she asks as he moves past her, heading down the hallway with her close behind, “How long did I have you out there for?”
“Oh, only a couple minutes,” Gwen jokes despite clear evidence otherwise.
“Well that's no good. Could be a sign of something more serious- you shouldn't be having pins and needles after only a couple minutes. I'd better check it out,” she says as it sails over her head.
“No, no, I'm fine,” he says, waving her off as the two come to the door. “It was a couple of hour, actually. How many patients do you even have? I thought you could do most of your work with a wave of your hands.”
“Sure, for check-ups,” she unlocks the door, and gestures for him to go on ahead. “Ladies first, Gwen. Oh- sorry. G.” She adjusts her glasses and looks at him, grinning. Gwen sighs and looks off and away. It seems that last bit of teasing didn't go quite so far up. Her usual business like manner always makes him forget just how young she is- fifteen or sixteen, he can never remember.
“Funnier every time I hear it, Doc,” he replies, complying with her barbed request. She follows in close behind, and Gwen moves to take his place lying down on the waist high table. Well, waist high for him- it came midway up her abdomen for Amy. The two of them would make a walking joke- she, not even five feet and him, a lanky six-foot-three.
“You know, Doc, I never really gave much credit to all that psychic healing malarkey,” Gwen quipped as Amy began her work. She moved her hands slowly over the length of his body, hovering them over his clothing a scant few inches.
“Yeah, well I'd bet you never had much faith in clairvoyance either- or rather Psychometry as the case would have it. There. You're as healthy as ever. Your legs just lost a little blood circulation while you were seated is all. Sorry for the wait, again- Jackson had another set of tumors I had to take out. Small ones this time, so I take it the mission was uneventful?”
“Yeah. All he did was hot wire a car and play around with them like he always does,” Gwen responds, getting up from the table. “Say, what happened to doctor patient confidentiality?”
“Well, to be fair, I'm not really a doctor, so that can go out the window for all I care. Besides, you and he spend so much time together that you're practically the same person. And before you argue it, I've got a favor I could call in with Gregori, so I could make that a reality. Don't tempt me,” she says with a smile. Gwen shudders- Gregori never managed to get a good handle on his abilities. Hearsay from around the compound was that the experiments the Foundation put him all ended with the experimentees dying pretty horribly despite Amy's best efforts.
Even from behind her joke and smile, Gwen could tell that that episode still bothered her. Gwen hated his “employer” for putting such pressures on such a young girl, but he was just a priority three, so what could he do, really? He had no weight to throw around, so the best he could do is keep his head down and keep what few freedoms he'd come to acquire. He also got the sense that Jack harbored even more resentment for the Foundation than he did, but they had him by the throat with the whole tumor thing. He wouldn't be able to get treatment for that anywhere else. Not affordably, at least. To be honest though, Jack was just lucky that the Foundation had picked both him and Amy up so early on- otherwise his abilities would've killed him years ago.
“Well, thanks anyways, Doc. Any chance you could remove that tracking chip for me while you're at it?”
“It's the same answer as always, Mr. G: I would if I could, but I can't. A priority four like me would never get away with such a serious infraction.”
“Yeah, I know.” And he did know. But asking at the end of their interactions anyway had become almost a ritual by this point. Without the chip implanted in him, he'd be able to get a few months of true freedom before they tracked him down again. He'd heard of other priority threes that had done it and gotten little more than a slap on the wrist when they inevitably got dragged back in.
Of course, that hat trick apparently only works so many times: Rodrick had gotten pretty good at extracting the chip without it's damned sensitive sensors alerting someone to what he was doing. That and his invisibility made it relatively easy for him to escape, taking into account the freedoms Chasers are given. But they tracked him down faster and faster every time, up to the point that The Oracle herself was calling him out before he even made a break for it. They still kept him on as a Chaser even, simply because he excelled at it. He didn't even need a partner: he simply shadowed the target until they were alone and hit them with chloroform.
“Well, I'll see you in a month or two then, Amy. Take care of yourself.”
“Ha. I think I'll be too busy taking care of everyone else in this bloody compound.” Gwen laughs a hallow laugh. It wasn't funny because it was true. Amy is always a mess when he sees her. But, again, there was really nothing he could do about that. So he simply excuses himself and decides to head to the gym.
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Post by Roger Stone on Jun 10, 2013 8:32:40 GMT -6
Chapter Five: Hot Under the Collar
The showers at the back of the gym were out of hot water again. Figures, considering it's nearly four in the afternoon. Just another example of the Foundation sparing no expense on their prisoners for you.
“Just get back from a mission?” calls an effeminate falsetto voice from the doorway as Gwen begins to dry off. With a sigh, he quickly wraps the towel around his waist before turning to face his aggressor. He knows the voice, and only wishes for the inevitable conversation to follow to end quickly.
“Hello, Iris,” Gwen says flatly, “Yes, I just got back, so all I want to do at this point is get my debriefing over with and
“Aw, now why'd you go and do that? It was such a pleasant view. And besides, call me Casey- everyone does nowadays, and it's a bit more fitting, being unisex and all.”
“Casey the Changeling? No, I don't think so. You're Iris.”
“Boo. You're no fun,” says the well-dressed pencil-mustached man, drawing his thin lips into a pout. Something about the way Iris behaves always gets Gwen's blood up- be it the way she always seems so determined to antagonize him, or the simple artificiality of everything she says or does.
“You know, I've been wondering: why do you always appear to me as some creole plantation owner stereotype? You of all people should know that I'm not interested in that.”
“Oh? Well with how gender-queer you were when we were little, I never would have guessed.” Gwen usually makes it a habit not to hit women unless he has to, but if there was ever going to be an exception to the rule, it'd be Iris. Besides, in this case it wouldn't even really count. But getting into a fight just before a debriefing would do him no favors, so he forces himself to unclench his fists.
“Well maybe this would be more your speed.” And just like that, Iris morphs. Her entire body changes in what is only a matter of seconds- clothes and all. One moment she appears to be a dapper-dressed, effeminate Cajun man, and the next she's a full foot shorter, having taken on the look of an older woman with greying hair dressed in a medical gown. “I mean, with all the time she spent helpless in bed, I'm sure you took a swing at it at some point.”
And just like that, all thoughts of restraint flee Gwen's mind.
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Post by Roger Stone on Jun 10, 2013 10:06:05 GMT -6
Chapter Six: Assets
The aging black man sitting across from him sits leans forward on his desk with his hand covering his eyes. It's a look of exasperation that Gwen knows all too well. He merely waits for Samuel to arrange his thoughts and speak- saying something now will only hurt his case.
“So... I guess we'll deal with internal affairs first. You floored Ms. Barret in the gym locker room and had to be pulled off her by security like some child in a schoolyard fight. What do you have to say for yourself, Barker?”
“I was antagonized, sir.”
“So your defense comes down to the classical 'She started it'. Charming, Barker- running with the schoolyard metaphor. But that's not going to earn you brownie points. Anything else?”
“It's more of a simile,” Gwen mutters, not thinking. Correcting his handler's literary terms now will only get him into more trouble than he already is.
“What?”
“Um.. It wasn't much of a din, really. I mean to say, it was just one punch.”
“Yes. One punch. Followed immediately by kneeling on her chest and trying to strangle the life out of her. If Mr. Vomacka's report is to be believed. And considering he's part of security, I think I'll take his version of what happened.” Gwen simply looks down and away, eyes narrowed and unashamed.
“But, to be fair, Vomacka also reported on just how she antagonized you. I'm well aware of the past and current standing you have with your mother, and I'd wager my degree that you weren't really trying to strangle Barret. You're usually rather cool-headed, so I believe that a punch would have been the end of if she hadn't teased you the way she did. So that's the way we're going to handle this. Giving Barret what would normally be a black eye will be considered the matter in full, and you will be punished accordingly. Your penance will consist solely of a month's loss of facility roaming privileges.” Gwen looks up at his boss, surprised. He'd walked (Or rather, been escorted) here expecting to lose his Chaser status for attempted murder. Being confined to his room for a month was a long shot better than the alternative.
“This will start, of course, upon your return.”
“What? But I just got back. I thought Ops weren't meant to take place withing a month of each other.”
“They aren't, and for all intents and purposes, don't. Alex Dench came to us of his own free will, guided by a vision from the Oracle.”
“But she can't do that,” Gwen points out, somewhat jaded from being denied credit for bringing the kid in.
“Yes, but the boys up in strategics don't know that- and they're the only ones that care about the month rule. Dench brought to light new insight that let the Oracle see another mark- also in Detroit. But we'll handle that after dealing with your other indiscretion. A woman named Helen Lane came forward to police about a man in a duster posing as an FBI agent. However, she also reported the man forcing someone else's memories on her, so we're free and clear in the federal sense. But this does represent a clear misuse of both our resources and your abilities, I'd imagine. So tell me, what the hell did Helen Lane have to do with retrieving Dench?”
“I thought Dench came in of his own free will.”
“Don't play games with me, Barker. I'm in no mood.”
“Well, the simple answer is that she didn't have anything to do with the mission. I picked up a reading from a man that indicated he was going to off himself without her help. So I pulled memories showing this from him, and then gave them to her so she would understand.”
“First of all, you know full damn well that you're not supposed to use that ability in the field- we haven't tested it fully yet. However, as I'm sure this is a mistake to tell you, whatever you did seemed to work- apparently she had taken in some hobo from the street. While this further discredited her as some crazy person, the idea that you're taking time off the mission to play some homeless man's matchmaker is just unacceptable.”
“It was the right thing to do, sir. The man would've died without my help.”
“Barker, here's a small truth about the work we do here, so listen carefully: We're not concerned about things like the hardships of the working man or the indomitably of the human spirit. We're here for the greater good: to get you people off the streets before you can do damage.” Gwen looked down, trying his best to look chastised, but actually focused on suppressing the anger he felt at Samuel's words. “But I'm going to let this one ride, against my better judgment. It rides on the sole condition, however, that you keep in mind that you could've killed yourself when thinking about doing something like this in the future. Uncontrolled powers are dangerous, and as much as you seem to treat matters as otherwise, you're a valuable asset to the Foundation.” Gwen looked up now. Here was where he was supposed to take the compliment with a smile, so he tries to do so. His blood, meanwhile, tries to boil at being called an 'asset'. Time to change topics.
“I'll keep that in mind. But Sam, what about Dench? Have you uncovered exactly what it is that he can do?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. He's a Com, as far as we can tell. His father was apparently the more dominant, so he clearly got his base from him. Unsurprising considering how perfectly and quickly his father mastered his power. But seeing as he can mimic voices from so much as a grunt, we imagine his mother's powers to be something dealing with specifically human vocals in some sense.”
There are two general types of users: Com and Dual, and both deal with genetic heritage. Com is short for combination- the singular power of the child is in some way a melding of the two parents. Coms only happen when one parent is clearly genitally dominant over the other- usually as much can be clear when you compare the mastery and strength of their respective powers. The more dominant parent serves as a base- making the child's power more similar to theirs than their partner's. For example, Amy is a Com- she can detect and deal with most physical maladies. Her mother had faith healing, and her father suddenly became a brilliant engineer and psychiatrist when the storm hit. She got the base of healing from her mother, and the precision of psychic surgery from her father's engineering ability. Duals, as the name suggest, have two separate powers. Duals are born from parents where both are roughly equal in the genetic sense. In this case, each parent contributes to the child a power that is identical or at least similar to their own. In every user, one power is more dominant than the other, and in nine cases out of ten, this is the one that gets passed on if the parent is also a Dual. For example, both Jack and Gwen are Duals- Jack with his thickened skin and electrical ability, and Gwen with his psychometry and memory movement. Gwen's psychometry is an offshoot from his mother's ability, and his father is believed to have some kind of memory manipulation of his own.
“I see- sounds like he'll be an asset himself, Sam,” says Gwen flatly.
“That he will,” agrees Samuel. “Now, on to the matter at hand. As I mentioned, Dench's debriefing triggered a stroke of sight from the Oracle. Specifically to do with the drug he's hooked on: that new Gaze crap that's running around Detroit.”
“What exactly are the effects of Gaze?”
“Wouldn't be able to tell you- the sample is still on its way. But the Oracle tells us that the head of its distribution is another user. No word on identity, ability, or location, however, and that's why we need you. You're the best we have on tracking people down, and for obvious reasons. We need you to go back to Detroit and hunt this guy down. Priority unknown, so use the utmost caution in his apprehension. We've assigned Jack to you as per usual, and you're free to request the services of whoever or whatever else you need. You'll be dealing with drug runners, and they'll no doubt have protection, so you're allowed to use lethal force on anyone but the target. The only lead we have is Dench's connection in: his dealer. Advised course of action is to return to Dench's apartment and await contact from the dealer when he tries to collect. Any questions?”
“No sir, none come to mind.”
“Great. Your flight leaves in two hours. Get to it, and good luck.” Gwen stands to leave, eager to go collect his supplies and his partner before heading off. Just as his hand reaches the doorknob, though, Samuel calls out to him.
“And Barker... Gwen. No more hobo matchmaker, you hear me?” he says with a faint grin. Gwen chuckles in return before nodding and heading out the door.
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Post by Roger Stone on Jun 10, 2013 11:26:38 GMT -6
Part Three “I cannot trust a man to control others who cannot control himself.” -Robert E. Lee
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Post by Roger Stone on Jun 10, 2013 11:28:50 GMT -6
Chapter Seven: A question of Sexuality and Drug Dealing
“So we just... wait?” asks Jack incredulously as he seats himself on Alex's old hole-ridden couch. As usual when he's bored, he arcs a small spark from one hand to the other. “That'd be the plan, yes.” Gwen is picking through loose papers and objects on the bar, idly pulling readings on anything that seems interesting. Most of it isn't. The kid had a pretty shit life here though.
“Well that hardly seems our usual style.”
“It's also not our usual style to bring people in willingly. Are you complaining?” This gives Jack pause for thought, and with that he misses the catch on the spark. It hits the couch and quickly lights the old, cheap fabric on fire. Jack takes a moment to frantically pat it out before continuing.
“I mean, well, a little bit. You have to admit it was a little boring. Not like the time we brought in Iris back in. Er- well, Casey now.”
“It's Iris. You're just saying that because she turned into Judy Leverett and seduced you to try and get away. 'Let me handle this one', you said. 'Wait in the car and keep watch', you said.”
“Oh come on, it couldn't been that bad for you. At least you weren't getting shot at.”
“Yeah, just sitting in a hot car for four hours unable to leave for risk of losing her.”
“But can you really blame me? Judy was the cheer captain from back when we were still in school. The cheer captain. You can't tell me you didn't fantasize once or twice about her.”
“No, I didn't. I was too busy keeping my head down. Unlike you, I didn't have it easy in high school. Are you and Iris still dating since then or whatever it is you two do?”
“Casey. And kind of. She's poly-somethingoranother. Apparently I'm not man enough for her.”
“Jack, you're taller than I am and built like a brick wall. If anything, you'd be too much man.”
“Ha. Not the way she sees it, but I try not to let it bother me.” Jack chuckles again. “Too much of a man... You know, sometimes I wonder about you, with what your mom put you through and all.”
“Jack, it was just a compliment. Sort of. Take it and let it go.”
“You didn't answer the question, G.”
“Yeah, well you didn't ask one.”
“Okay fine: Are you attracted to me?”
“No, Jack. I'm straight. Why are we doing this now of all times?” “Because now's the time I was curious about my best friend. Not that kind of curious, of course- the normal kind. But you should know that I wouldn't care if you weren't, G. And besides, from what Casey says...”
“Cas-... Iris is just a bitch. I think she still holds it against me for bringing her in while you were in a sex coma. The bringing her in part, I mean. I was just pointing out your lack of helpfulness in the matter.”
“Oh she's not that bad. She's just-” A sudden pounding comes from the front door, causing Jack to set the worn couch ablaze again.
“Well that was fast,” says Gwen, moving to the door and trusting Jack to be behind him to back him up. He checks the peephole and sure enough it's their man. Or rather, men. The one in front is a shorter, balding man with beady little eyes. The one behind him is much younger and far more in shape, carrying a baseball bat over his shoulder. Gwen looks back to Jack and uses a few hand signals to tell him he should go for the latter- nonlethal, with no chance to retaliate. Jack nods as the message is seemingly received, and it seems some of their training paid off. Gwen nods in return and flings the door open, stepping back with it as Jack surges forward. He latches onto the man in front and jolts him before he sees that there's been a miscommunication. This realization comes in the form of a baseball bat flying at his head. Jack twists out of the way, and the bat lands on his shoulder with a smack, causing him to howl out in pain. The older thug, presumably the dealer, spasms on the floor as the younger one pulls back for another swing.
“Drop it,” Gwen orders from the doorway, Jericho out and at the ready, trained on the dealer's muscleman. The gangster does as requested with a scowl. Meanwhile, the dealer yells out in pain. He'd drawn a gun, but Jack had seen it coming, pinning his wrist down with the heel of his boot.
“Inside, now.” Again, the gangster complies, putting his hands up and entering the room. Jack, meanwhile, kicks the snub nose further into the hallway and drags the injured dealer in, shutting the door behind him from prying eyes across the hall. Gwen leads him into the apartment and has him sit down on the couch, before gesturing to Jack. The big man tosses his capture onto the couch beside the thug and moves over to him.
“You should really consider switching careers,” he says smile that says he'd done something clever before landing a left hook on the thug's jawline, knocking him out.
“That was pretty bad, Jack. Might've wanted to go with 'Lights out' or something along those lines instead,” comments Gwen, moving his sights over onto the dealer.
“Yeah, probably, but those seem so played out,” says Jack, popping his knuckles. “Decided I'd try something new.”
“How about you stop trying to do quips? That'd certainly be easier on me.”
“What the fuck is you two talkin' about? And what the hell dids you do to me in the hallway? Where the fuck is Dench?” questions the dealer, clearly very confused about the whole ordeal.
“He likes puns,” Gwen explains.
“Yeah, and don't worry about what I did. Just worry about what I'm going to do if you don't tell us what we need to know.”
“Like hell. What are you twos, cops or something?”
“Kind of,” says Gwen, deciding to put Jericho away since Jack's standing right next to the dealer. “We're just looking for someone. Just answer our questions and you get away scott free. No jail time.”
“How'd did you know my name? And if you're cops youse gotta tell me- it's the law or something,” clearly a little scared as Jack begins playing with his spark again. Gwen meanwhile pauses over the dealer's first statement before it clicks into place.
“We know quite a bit about you, Scott. Enough to put you away for the rest of your life if we wanted to. And no, we're not cops. But we do have a jail, though it isn't nearly as friendly.”
“I'm just the guy they send to get you,” says Jack, catching on, “You should see the guys they have guarding pigs like you.”
“Listen, youse said we can works something out, right? Well let's do that. That sounds like a plan,” quibbles the dealer, very off put by the creepy grin Jack is giving him. Say what you will about the man, Jack can play a good bad cop when he needs to.
“Yes, we can. We're looking for your boss- the person in charge of the operation.”
“Black Eye? You're goin' after Black Eye? Oh ho you twos is goin' to be in a whole mess of trouble!” the dealer laughs, suddenly more confident. “Listen, I was 'sposed to meet him at a deal downtown tonight. I'll tell ya where he is and let him sort you out. And then I walk, right?”
“Or crawl,” Jack says, pulling one of his bullets from his pocket and placing the point against the dealer's kneecap. Gwen gets his attention and motions for him to cut it out. It seems sometimes, he's too good of a bad cop. He legitimately seemed to enjoy the prospect of shooting the guy in the kneecap. Gwen just tries not to think about it too much.
“Yes, you'll be free to go,” Gwen assures.
“Well shit, heres: it's going down behind the big Erie Coast shipping warehouse. 'Round eight tonight. So is that it? Gonna go get yourselves offed by Black Eye and let me off the hook?” Jack looks over to Gwen, who gestures for him to hold on.
“One more thing. What is it that makes Black Eye so formidable?”
“Ha! Now that you ain't getting out of me. He finds that I told you, and I die in the worst way possible.” Jack's hands begin to crackle with electricity, and he goes to get the information one way or the other.
“Hold up. Just case him- torture would be too loud here. Attract the wrong kinds of attention. As for you, Scott, you've been very helpful. But as my partner said to yours, I'd advise a career change.” And with that, Jack knocks him out as well.
“To the meeting?” Jack asks, checking his phone for the time. “It's already almost six.”
“Unless you've got a better idea.”
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Post by Roger Stone on Aug 13, 2013 20:18:23 GMT -6
Chapter Eight: The Ferret and the Fluke
The parking lot behind the Erie Coast warehouse is mostly empty, save for a few vehicles that must surely belong to whatever security is on duty at this time of night. Jack and Gwen sit in the Royal Crown LX they'd taken from the airport parking lot. As they wait, Gwen realizes that he had forgotten to report to the Foundation about the car they'd nicked the last time they were in town. He searches the glove box for a moment to retrieve the auto insurance card. He glances at the paperwork to assure it would have all the information- Name, address, year, make and model... Yeah, should be plenty for the Foundation to track down Ms. Heinz here and anonymously reimburse her. Hell, they could probably do so with the plate number alone without a problem, but Gwen might as well make it easy on them. Plus it'll serve as a physical reminder to actually turn it in.
Gwen goes back to watching the two entrances to the parking lot. He successfully manages to keep watch for all of four seconds before once again being distracted. A characteristically loud snore comes from the driver's seat, causing Gwen to give a sigh to accompany it. Just as he starts to lean down to retrieve the taser out of his ankle holster, a glimmer of light catches his eye from the side window. Glancing up, he confirms that which he already knew: a car- white, a Cadillac, straight from the turn of the millennium- has entered the parking lot. Gwen scrambles to unbutton the taser's holster- he needs to wake Jack up and get them both down before the car spots them. He fumbles for a moment but finally manages to relieve the weapon from his ankle. He quickly yanks Jack sideways over the parking break to hide him behind the dashboard before ducking down himself. Pressing the prongs of the taser into the big man's chest, he pulls the trigger. Jack's eyes slowly open up, and he goes to rub them and sit up.
“Don't move,” Gwen whispers from his place crouched on the floorboards, but it does no good. Headlights wash over the dashboard, illuminating the rest of the car before coming to a stop. Gwen silently prays that they'll move on, but his hopes are shattered with the slam of a car door. He tries to squelch his nerves before they start to get to him, but anxiety quickly begins to creep in as he realizes that a confrontation is going to be inevitable. At least he can keep his hands from shaking.
“Palm your ammo, but don't go out blazing. Follow my lead,” Gwen whispers quickly before sitting up into the seat. He can see that three men have departed from the Caddy, two of them in jacket and jeans, and the third in a white suit. One of the men in jackets- the one that had been sitting in the passenger seat- reaches back into the car and pulls out a brown leather briefcase. The Hispanic man in the suit has a ferret laying across his shoulders and a smirk that says he should be chewing on a toothpick and flipping a nickle. His angular features, dark black hair and smooth, nearly-flawless skin give him the look of someone young- early twenties, no more than that. Gwen gets the feeling he should be able to place the man from somewhere back in the town, but he just can't quite do it.
“Well come on now,” says the man in the white suit, his grin growing further. “Moonlight's burning.” Seeing no other real choice, Gwen steps out of the Crown and motions for Jack to do the same. He stands with the car door still open and faces the man in white. The first thing he notices are his eyes: The irises are completely black- like the pupil. It seems they've found their man.
“Ah, lovely, there we go. Much more pleasant to speak face to face, wouldn't you agree?” states Black Eye with a snake's smile.
“I would, actually,” responds Gwen, taking the glove from his right hand and stepping forward slightly, thinking quickly, “May as well start business the usual way then, no?” Gwen extends his exposed hand towards Black Eye, hoping he'll take it. If Gwen can disable him, Jack would take the other two. Jack will have eight shots total, but only four of them will be reliable. Still, two for each of them should be enough. But Black Eye bows his head forward slightly, shaking it in a negative.
“Sorry, but it'd be a bad idea on my part. We need to know if we can trust each other first.” He looks up, and the grin disappears in a moment. “Now, where's the payment.”
That wasn't a question. Gwen freezes- they don't have nearly enough money to fake this.
“It's in the trunk,” Jack recovers, picking up the slack. He rolls his head back towards the rear of the Crown, his hands wisely concealed within his pockets. Gwen thinks he hears an edge to Jack's voice, but quickly dismisses it as nerves and tries to focus. It doesn't occur to him that Jack doesn't get nervous in these situations- he gets excited.
“Well go and get it,” Black Eye says, leaning his head forward and slightly shaking it side to side. It was as though he were trying to explain the simplest of tasks and they still weren't getting it. The ferret had mimicked the motion as he did it, causing Gwen to notice that it had been following Black's head motions the entire time. It's beady, pitch-black eyes meet Gwen's, just as Black's are. Either the animal is very well trained, or something else entirely is going on. Either way, it's unsettling- probably the exact intended effect. Gwen breaks his gaze away from the ferret and realizes that Black's waiting on him to respond. Jack's moment of brilliance seems to have come and gone, as they are wont to do.
“Let's see the goods first,” he replies, quoting every movie drug deal in history. Black frowns slightly, but soon simply shrugs. He gestures behind him to the man with the case, who obediently begins to open it. Gwen barely gets a glimpse at the rows upon rows of vials held within before Black Eye speaks.
“Aw hell, what's this now?” Both he and the ferret are looking off in the direction of the entrance of the parking lot. Sure enough, a dark blue truck is pulling into the lot, its headlights turned off. The unencumbered guard goes to draw his gun, and the other starts closing the case- no doubt in order to copy his compatriot.
Neither of them ever get a chance.
Jack's fists are up and out of his pockets before either of them know what's going on. Held between each of his fingers is a .308 bullet. By coursing electricity between two of his fingers, he heats up the cartridge, quickly igniting the gunpowder within and firing off the round. The cartridge mildly bonds with the melted skin, but with Jack that's not really a problem. His skin is a lot more hardy than normal, so it doesn't even really hurt. Or so he says. Gwen has tried to get him to overcome his phobia of actually handling guns themselves, but has met no success. Basic logic that “firing bullets from your fist is so much more dangerous than just using a gun” met with no avail. Apparently Jack's happier this way, so Gwen's stopped arguing it.
The first two bullets slam into the goon that was going for his gun, taking him squarely in the chest and knocking him off his feet. The third hits the caseman in the arm, sending the briefcase and it's precious contents to the ground with a shattering sound. The fourth and final bullet from his good hand catches him in the neck, and he dies bleeding out on the blacktop as he struggles to breathe. Black turns tail and flees towards the car at the first sound of gunfire. Gwen glances over at the new truck before chasing after, noting that they seem to be in the process of quickly turning around. The pause costs him, but that's balanced out as the caseman reaches out for Black as he passes by, catching his ankle. Apparently that shot to the neck wasn't immediately lethal. Black curses and kicks his guard off, the ferret hissing as he does so. This allows Gwen to almost catch up to him- almost. Black quickly regains distance towards the driver's door, and as he does, bullets pockmark the concrete around his feet. He's fast- much faster than Gwen. The Foundation Chaser reaches the car door just as Black hits the locks.
Black looks at Gwen through the window and grins as the latter goes for his gun. Black pulls the parking break and floors it, causing the back tires to spin. Gwen's eyes go wide with realization and starts to back up and turn, trying to get out of the way as Black promptly fishtails the car in Gwen's direction. Gwen almost got away clean, but not quite. The back bumper clips his hip, sending him spinning to the ground. Gwen groans in radiating pain as Black quickly speeds away, overtaking the blue truck in the race to the gate. Gwen looks back to their car to see Jack prying casings from between his fingers and trying to replace them with fresh rounds with as much speed as he can muster. Gwen's stomach drops as he sees bits off flesh on the discarded casings- Jack is really ripping them off. Looking back up to his friend, Gwen finds him going about his task with absolute rage.
“Jack,” Gwen calls, hoping to get his attention and have him help him up. He gingerly moves his left leg. It hurts, but his hip doesn't seem to be broken. Jack doesn't seem to hear him, and, having finished reloading, he pulls his arms up towards the gateway only to find that his target is long gone.
“DAMN IT!” Jack screams, flinging his hands to both sides and sending .308s flying to the pavement and skittering across the ground. He starts to march over towards the Crown's driver side door, his mind on one thing.
“Jack! Where the hell are you going!” Gwen yells. This seems to snap his partner out of it. Jack pauses with his hand on the door release for a moment before letting it go and stalking over towards his fallen ally. Jack puts a hand under each of his arms and simply lifts him to his feet- with his bulk and Gwen's scrawniness, it isn't hard.
“Let's go,” he states simply before turning and heading back to the car. Gwen forces his way through the pain and puts some weight on his leg. Yeah. Definitely not broken.
“Go where, Jack? We have no idea where he went.”
“So find out!” he roars, turning around with nostrils flared. Gwen recoils and takes an involuntary step back. Jack's an intimidating guy when he wants to be, and sometimes even when he doesn't.
“Jack... Relax man.. What's gotten into you?” Gwen says, slightly scared. He's never seen Jack get like this. Jack takes a few deep breaths and seems to calm down significantly- he must have heard the fear in Gwen's voice.
“Gwen... That man was Bishop Hershal. He killed my sister.”
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