Log:Interrogating Spies
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| "Interrogating Spies" (Spies, Lies, and Family Ties, Pt. 15) | |
|---|---|
| Emitter | Odin |
| Players | Reckless, Jennifer, Thermite |
| NPCs | Crosshairs |
| Place | A Shack Someplace |
| Time (IC) | September 13, 2012 |
| Time (OOC) | September 13, 2007 |
Someplace where the sound of cars is distant at best, where the silence is penetrating, distant birds sing, geese honk, locust clack their legs, the wind causes a low moan to filter and echo through the walls of what appears to be an abandoned building. At least the roof is still intact, and the light has been blocked so that only shadows dare to tread. A single incandecent light swings back and forth from a dangling wire feet above the head of the former military man Raphael Spahr, who is currently constrained to a chair.
Within the room with the man is a table that has seen better days, behind which is a chair. There is a locked door where light almost dares to try and slip it's fingers beneath, but only enough to hint that there is some, somewhere else. Water drips in the background, a slow, periodic *plock* steady enough to keep time to. This is where the man awakens.
Reckless has spent several hours preparing this site for their guest. He only explained his knowledge of the site as "I know a guy who knows a guy," and it is probably better not to ask beyond that. He's outside the room where Spahr is imprisoned, making subtle adjustments to a jury-rigged computer console of some sort.
"Good morning, Sergeant Spahr," greets the calm, quiet voice of a blur of red and blue that's learning against the wall to the left of the man's chair; the rippling distortion of heat-mirage surrounding him, "Specialist Flexon passes on her regards... or, well, I suppose she would, if she'd thought of it. She has other things on her mind at the moment."
Teeth gritted at the dull ache in his head, Sergeant Spahr awakes and blue eyes narrow to slits shortly after their initial opening. Raven hair would be a mess if it weren't so short cropped, and there is the small bit of dried blood at the corner of his mouth. He gives a slight jerk to test the restraints holding him and then draws in a breath, focussing on (or attempting to) the red and blue blur that is Thermite. "Screw you."
A click is heard then the door to the outside opens, flooding the chamber with brilliant light. Almost as if a spotlight was shining directly in from behind the figure that walks in now. The door closes, casting shadows about again, but the clack-clack-clack of heels on harden floors is heard, and finally Jennifer Wright, dressed in 'professional' attire is seen as she slides the chair behind the table to sit in it.
"Now now, Seargent Spahr. Let's at least be a little civil," she says, placing a carton of cigarettes on the table, just out of the man's possible reach should he get free. Jennifer inhales deeply, sounding almost resigned as she does so, crossing one leg over the other as she settles comfortably in the chair to look at the men. "Shall we talk?"
Hiss-Clank, Hiss-Clank, etc. Reckless, too, makes his way into the room, though he just stands near the door. "All locked down," he announces, his electronically-distorted voice a little steadier than usual. "We won't be disturbed, I think, and if we are, it won't be a surprise."
"Tsk. Tsk, tsk... tsk, Sergeant Spahr, you're displacing, now," Thermite comments deadpan, "I think you'll find that I'm not quite as interested in that aspect of you as our dear Amanda..." A faint, mirthless chuckle rattles past his lips, and he drops silent to let Jennifer do the questioning for the moment.
"She's going to kill you, you smug little asshole. Make your brains leak out of your ears, but maybe she'll let you watch that rich little tart die first," Spahr says in a low growl at Thermite. Blue eyes flick to Jennifer, taking in her attire equating it with his present surroundings and resorting to years of training. "I've got nothing to say to you." Spahr licks his lips at the pack of Marlborros the woman just set on the table, just out of his reach and grinds his teeth.
Jennifer sets a folder, notepad and pen down on the table as well, before looking back at the man, smiling ... sweetly? "Oh, you have plenty to say to Us," offers Jennifer before she starts to reach for the cigarette pack and slowly starts to open it. "Now, your son. He's cute. And quite powerful. He'll make a nice asset, I think. I am curious though, was it just a fling to you? I like to know the various emotional outcomes of our meta-human breeding programs."
Reckless just stays near the door. In the game of Good Cop and Bad Cop, he's Scary-Looking-But-Silent Robot Cop, at the moment.
The room's temperature rises a few degrees, rather swiftly reaching the level at which humans begin to sweat. Before Spahr has a chance to answer Jennifer, Thermite says in cold, quiet tones, "Do you know what temperature human tissue boils at, Rafael? Most people don't-- it burns long before then. I, however, can skip the intermediate stage of this process. And I've been curious as to the extent of certain a cryokinetic's resilience to temperature extremes. Really, you should keep a civil tongue-- whatever happened to 'Name, rank, serial number', Sergeant?"
Sweat breaks out on Spahr's forehead and he struggles a touch more against his bonds. He swallows hard, looks at that pack of cigs again, and then growls. "You might as well kill me. I'm not telling you jack shit. I don't think you've got the balls to kill me," he says, calling their bluff.
"Of course I don't have balls," says Jennifer calmly, slowly sliding out one of the cigs from it's case, twirling it in her fingers absently. "I am trying to be civil here. I had hoped you would cooperate. And with appropriate apologies for overstepping your bounds, I was even going to negotiate incorperating you and your associates into Our fold."
Jennifer rises, pulling a lighter from her jacket pocket as she still plays with the cigarette. Her booted heels clacking on the floor as she walks around the table, leaning her hip against it as she leans forward, looking Spahr directly in the eye as her voice runs so very cold. "Do not push me, Raphael," is the unnatural purr. "Or I will give you your wish, and squeeze the life from you with my very own hands."
The threat lingers in the air as Jennifer straightens with a curious hmmm slipping from her throat. "Oh my, Sergeant Spahr looks hot. Make it cold. VERY cold."
"I could take out his brain, chuck it in a jar, hook it up to some electrodes," says Reckless, who has seen a lot of B-movies. "I don't know if it'd work, but it might be fun."
"Oh, I don't think any of that'll be necessary," Thermite observes calmly, pushing slowly off from the wall and walking to where the man's seated; a smile audible in his voice as he notes, "You're a very brave man, Sergeant... you believe that by withholding any knowledge, even if we kill you this 'Game' will go on, yes, Rafael?"
Rafael clenches his jaw shut, lifting his chin slightly. Sweat drips down his forehead, lingering on his brow. He refuses to speak, but his eyes flick nervously across Jennifer's face as the woman leans close. Blue orbs find the cigarette she is toying with a more appealing place to settle than the intimidating woman's features.
An eyebrow arches upwards and Jennifer's toying of the cigarette stops, just in front of Rafael. "Ahhh, do you want this?" she asks curiously, pushing it a little closer to the man. "Amusing, isn't it, that our vices are often our greatest weaknesses and breaking points?" she asks, wrinkling her nose as she smiles brightly in contradiction. "But Rafael, do you TRUST me not to have poisoned this?" she asks.
"Now, why don't you be a good man, and just answer our questions. Or I'll let Reckless go to prepare his brain canister, and let my dear friend here practice his finite manipulation of temperature. I wonder if he can boil your flesh and right next freeze it to absolute zero."
"Didn't say necessary," Reckless says. While looming. "Said fun."
"No, no..." Thermite's hand slides over the other man's shoulder, as he drops down to a slight crouch beside the chair; his voice very near to his ear as he observes mildly, "...you see, he's only being stubborn because he's hoping to sacrifice himself. He doesn't understand. Tell me, Sergeant, haven't you wondered how we both knew you were there - and brought in quite a bit of force - and how we knew your reinforcements were lingering outside early enough to send an interceptor? Haven't you wondered just how we knew exactly where you were?" A dark humor in his voice, "Isn't there any way we might be able to pinpoint your location, Rafael? Haven't you thought about it? All you're going to do is make it harder on the others when we take them. Of course, it could be that you don't care what we do to them for information..."
Rafael is actually hoping that Jennifer DID poison the cigarette. But he keeps his mouth shut. Worried blue eyes flick to Reckless again and then slide to Travis. Realization ignites like a spark and the ex-military man sucks in a sharp breath. "The chips... the chips you planted. Mallory was supposed to fry them. He didn't do it. He fucking left of to die out there!" he blurts out, and immediately regrets his outburst. He does shut his mouth again before he says more.
Jennifer turns to grab the folder behind her on the desk, and opens it, turning a few pages. "Ah, yes. He always one to follow orders like a good boy," she muses, chuckling, before reaching out and trying to stuff the cigarette in Spahr's lips. "Well, We did have your son. Why would We need you any more? But then, Crucible came." A wave of her hand, and the folder snaps. "Not even We can predict all of the intricacies of the future. Though, it was fortuitous for Us. We had just ramped up another breeding program initiative. Still, Thermite, leave some genetic samples from the boy before you torture him. Very fortuitous," she offers, now playing with the lighter.
Reckless seems to have nothing more to say for the moment, though he does tap the side of his head when Thermite alludes to their ability to track them down.
"Do continue, Rafael," Thermite says calmly, his fingers squeezing lightly to the man's shoulder-- a touch as cold as ice, cold-steam swirling about his hand briefly, "Really. You care about your comrades and family, don't you? We won't need to question them if you cooperate."
Spahr holds the cigarette between his lips, already anticipating the nicotine buzz. He speaks around the cigarette, his personal vice. He flinches at the chill contrast Thermite's fridgid hand causes, squeezing his eyes shut. "They won't talk either," he says around the cancer stick, "If you know so much and are such an omnipresent organization you don't really need anything we have to say anyway. Do you?"
Jennifer leans forward again, her light blue eyes dancing with a nefarious light in the shadows of the lamp above them. "I like learning how my toys react emotionally and mentally," she whispers. Then the woman reaches up, pulling the cigarette from Spahr's lips as that glint in her eyes turns to a seductive gaze and she leans even closer, ever closer, her whisper a brush against the man's face and lips. "Oh, your son will talk, don't worry," she offers huskily. "If I can make Hayden Mallory fall in love with a woman, of all things, do you really think your son has a chance against me?"
"They won't?" Thermite pushes himself up, walking past the table towards the door, "Well, then, I'll go see how dear Amanda is doing... I really should've lowered the voltage a few minutes ago in any case, after all, killing her would be counterproductive. I'll be right back."
Reckless still stands there. It's easy to loom when you're an impassive metal suit, and Thermite and Jennifer seem to be doing well enough without his verbal contributions.
"You know that Banshee can teleport. Do you really think that Henry was safe where you sent her? What about your girlfriend? I swear I'll kill her in front of you. Slowly!" Spahr shouts after Travis, "An eye for an eye!" The restrained man bares his teeth like an animal and snaps at Jennifer. Spahr yanks at the ties, rocking the chair he's sitting in. As Travis leaves the room on those cryptic notes he actually /snarls/. He jerks his head forward trying to head butt the woman leaning over him. The sound of skulls striking one another rings in the small room, but Jennifer's head doesn't even budge. It's Spahr that winces at the contact, his face screwing up as that headache of his gets worse. He growls venomously, "I hope the old man suffered," he spits out at her.
"I. Have. Been. Civil," hisses Jennifer as Spahr headbutts her only to his own pain. Then blue eyes flash with a frozen fire and the woman's right hand sweeps up like a quickly striking snake, grasping the man's neck. With a strain of muscles both Spahr and the chair are lifted off the ground momentarily, before Jennifer thrusts the former sergeant onto his back with a crunch. "You don't -GET- to make the old bastard suffer. You don't have the RIGHT to do so. That is -MY- job," she hisses, her fingers squeezing more against the man's neck. "I guess Thermite gets to have his way with Flexon now. And O'Shay. And your precious little boy. You aren't WORTHY of joining us. You're nothing but screw-ups, the LOT of you, which is why you were left for dead in the first place. YOU ARE WORTHLESS!"
Moving deceptively fast, given his bulk and size, Reckless steps forward and reaches out a gauntleted hand to just lift Jennifer into the air and away from Spahr. His featureless faceplate gazes down at the fallen man. "You might want to start thinking real carefully about reasons why I should keep holding on to her. Because right now, I ain't got a whole lot of 'em."
The man has snapped, he's actually laughing now, hoarse sounding laughter mingled with coughs. "Let her go! Let her kill me!" Spahr shouts, his voice strained from the brief choking he received, "Hell, kill us all! Do it! Because I swear if we get out of here we'll hunt down your nameless organization down! You know what we're going to do to Mallory's kid? After we send Jasmine's head to her grandfather?" A pause as Spahr coughs, "We're going to carve him up. We're gonna do to him what was done to us. We're gonna film it when we cut out his heart while it's still beating and post this video on Mallory's goddamned Internet!"
With a surge of adreneline and pure fury, Jennifer breaks free of the armored restraint of Reckless. One heel clacks on the floor as she leans down and literally lifts Spahr off the floor into the air. "He is mine! MINE!" she growls ferally! "I will make sure you are the last to die! I will put you away, so that you see, you hear, but you do not age, you do not move, so that you WATCH the world go on around you and can DO NOTHING about it!" she yells in his face.
+++TARGET ACQUIRED+++ can be heard vaguely over Reckless's suit mikes, as he raises one arm, aiming toward Spahr. "Y'all are starting to annoy me a mite," he says. "You losers are done already, you just ain't figured it out yet." He doesn't fire, but one could imagine that he is tempted.
Spahr grunts out as he's lifted up, unable to really do anything about it. He grins sadistically at Jennifer. "I hope so," is all the man has to offer to either of his two interrogators. He laughs again, an almost croaking sound.
Jennifer falters, then throws the chair on the ground, making certain Spahr is on his side. Turning around, she moves to the table and picks up the pack of cigarettes and walks over the Spahr, kneeling before him. She puts them down on the ground, just in front of his vision, so that he can focus on them easily and see them right there, out of his grasp. Fingers reach into the pack, pulling several free of most of the carton, tempting the man. Then she holds out the lighter to Spahr, an eyebrow arching upwards. Before she rises and puts it in her pocket. "Let's go see how Thermite is doing with Flexon," she says coldly, despite the fact her blood is BOILING.
There's a subtle humming noise, noticeable only by its absence, that dies down as Reckless lowers his arm. "Good notion. And I'll see if we have any good jars."
