2007-08-14: DF: Operation: Bathroom Break


DFUnknown_icon.gif DFLogan_icon.gif DFJack_icon.gif

Summary: Noah Gray-Cabey, age 12, makes his directorial debut in this episode of Heroes.

Dark Future Date: August 14th, 2009

Operation: Bathroom Break

Miscellaneous Lavish Entertainment Center

"Charles Carmichael plus one. This is Frangelico, my plus one."

Jack waves imperiously to indicate Prime, who is standing at his side. Of all things for him to have on the Irishman is wearing an impeccably tailored tuxedo. He hands his counterfeit identification to one of the many door guards. Sure enough, it reads 'Carmichael, Charles.' Carefully, Jack re-arranges and compresses his facial muscles until he's got on a dopey, unthreatening simper similar to the one on the ID.

After a brief inspection, the guard waves Jack and Prime through the gate and into the foyer.

Four minutes later…

"Jesus, 'Frangelico.'" Jack's hoarse, grating voice is pitched at a bare whisper. "Did you fart?"

Having managed to avoid getting killed, captured, or publicly embarassed while sneaking around in tuxedos, Jack and Prime are now both crammed into a single stall in the men's room. This is an upscale building. The accomodations are suitably luxurious. All the same… Two guys, one stall.

"Now I know what girls mean when they say they got cramps."

That would be the sound of Prime complaining. Well, maybe he did. But he's not going to respond to this whole question of fartdom until, well, he has to just try and block the smell out. GAH. He cannot. It's right in his nostrils.

"… he who smelt it, dealt it."

"Shit, man. It's makin' my eyes water. An' I think my mouth was open." Grimacing, Jack leans down to gum at the shoulder of his four thousand dollar tux.

Violins playing, champagne served on silver trays, and a lot of familiar faces. For a man with moods like New Zealand weather (as in, erratic as all hell and often inconvenient), Logan does well in these situations, dressed in an impeccable black suit and a royal blue tie to compliment. Callousness is veiled by an air of authority and politeness, giving no one any room to think twice. After a short speech and a few dances with random, appropriate women, it is, however, beginning to grate. Charity benefits can only be so entertaining.

Moving out of the ballroom and downstairs, it's impossible to catch any kind of alone time. Guards, as always, flank him - even when he heads to the men's bathroom. The life of a President. The only warning two certain terrorists get to SHUSH NOW is the sound of the door opening, an Agent striding in first to take up a polite position by the far end, Logan following and moving towards the urinals, and one more at the other end.

Jack freezes when the door creaks open. He raises one finger to his lips and pantomimes an exaggerated 'SHUSH'. With a flick of his wrist, he produces a tiny fiber-optic camera and peeks it up just over the edge of the stall. The positions and facings of the guards are carefully noted on the camera's display before the gadget is tucked away again. Jack points to himself, then points again to indicate the guard standing by the door. With a casual toss of his head, he indicates the presence of the guard closer to the stall. It's an unspoken request. YOU THERE. ME OVER THERE.

Prime actually knows what's going on. But he's not sure if he should let it happen that easily. He's Prime, after all. Going into his pocket, he comes out with his cell phone and gets to typing on it. He blinks at Jack and finishes his message before flipping the phone around to show it off: 'WHAT'S THE PLAN, AGAIN?' Though, it's only held up there for a moment longer before he breaks into a smile and tucks the phone away with a thumbs up. Just kidding.


Logan pees.

Jack rolls his eyes at Prime, but he can't blame the younger man for his excitement. His own face is flushing, his heart is racing, and his breathing is shallow and rapid. The game is afoot. He silently opens the stall door and slips out, half-crouched to make himself less visible as he scurries toward the door guard with a coil of thin, strong wire in his hands. With practiced ease, he stands and loops the improvised garrote around the guard's throat. A twist and a wrench later, he cuts off the guard's airflow and his ability to scream or protest. Death is not instantaneous, but it is very quiet. Rather than lower the body to the ground, Jack ties off the garrote wire around one of those preposterous air-powered hand driers and lets it dangle, finally giving the bulky, useless contraption a purpose. He glances over at Prime.

Prime is… where is he? He's still in the Stall. He actually waits for Jack to take out his guard, staying hidden within the stall so Jack doesn't see the pained look on his face when the Agent bites it. It still stings, even though it happens on a regular basis now. Wincing for a moment, he just pushes open the door and walks right out of the bathroom. He tiptoes right up to the Agent on his side and smiles at him. On his shirt is a name tag that reads:

HI! You Will Be Assimilated.

And as he does this, he slams his hand into the Agent's chest, which causes a crazy rippling effect of awesomeness. The rippling effect grows and grows until it overtakes the Agent's entire body! Then, just like that, he's gone! Poof!

Logan? He hears the door. He even glances in a reflection to see what's wrong, and he even sees a flash of Prime walking by, barely a second. For all intents and purposes, an Agent, checking the stalls because they got paranoid, but until they shout "DUCK MISTER PRESIDENT", Logan is content in finishing what he was doing, even whistling a line of a tune that was playing from upstairs. The assimilation is silent, and doesn't earn a glance.

Grinning, Jack raises a finger to his lips and mimes another 'shhh' at Prime. Then he winks and smoothes the smile from his face. His expression now held carefully neutral, even bored, he sidles up to the urinal next to Logan's


"Man. This is a fuckin' boring party, innit? Those lil' crabcake sammiches are dynamite, though. Even if they did give me gas." Guiltily, he glances over his shoulder at Prime.

Prime doesn't make a move. In fact, he leans up against the wall to take the place of the guard that just got assimilated. In fact, he even raises his hands and plops a pair of sunglasses on his face that makes him look the spitting image of the missing Agent. Which, well, isn't that hard considering all things. He just keeps himself very still and looking over in the direction of Jack and the President, as if making sure this crazy talking zipping man isn't going to try anything.

Logan freezes as soon as someone moves into his periphery, because that's just not protocol. Then a voice, one he doesn't recognise anymore from years of a lack of hearing it as well as the damage it's been through, so he sneaks a glance - as one might do at a urinal situation anyway, or so Jack's player says. The weathered face of Jack Derex is not exactly what he was expecting, familiarity hitting him like a sledgehammer. His eyes widen in surprise, and his body jerks away, startled— which results in a leg strike for Jack. Sorry, was that tux expensive? It's what you get for sneaking up on Logan mid-stream. Either way, he does manage to zip up before making a mad dash for the door, leaving nothing to chance, and wondering why the fuck his Agent isn't shooting Jack to death.

There is a fraction of a second where Jack is frozen in shock. He just. What. What? "YOU JUST PISSED ON ME! GET BACK HERE, YOU FUCKER!"

Unlike Nathan, Jack doesn't bother to zip up. He just cuts stream and runs pell-mell toward the door with his dork still hanging askew. "HEY! DON'T YOU RUN AWAY FROM ME, LEG-PISSER!"

This is part of the plan. Really.

So. This was the plan. To get Logan Pissed-Off. Get it?

Anyway, Prime isn't quite sure what to do now. Especially, well, with Jack chasing after the Nathan and all of that craziness. Not that, well, he would even do anything considering that JACK'S DORK IS HANGING OUT. "Okay. Ew." This is Prime's reaction as he gets to pushing off the wall and giving a little bit of chase. But letting Jack stay ahead. Swinging dork does not a good weapon make.

It's a good thing that Logan isn't taking the time to look over his shoulder. That— that would just be incredibly scarring. No, he's focused on the door, preparing to take flight once he's out in the open, which has always been the best contingency plan when his security fails - just fly the hell away. With several feet to go, he's not above legging it - especially when it seems like his Agent isn't aiming to take down the terrorist, dork askew or not.

Must go faster.

Sadly, the President doesn't have a bad leg slowing him down. He's going to make it to the door first, but barely. Unless…

Grinning, Jack bends slightly at the knees, then launches himself forward using his good leg. You're better off not looking back, Petrelli. It's bad enough getting tackled by a scarred, grinning, dork-askew Irishman without having to /look/ at him while he's doing it.

This is not happening.This cannot be happening. Not at all. Prime actually skids himself to a halt when DORK ASKEW goes leaping at Logan and there's the small sound of facepalming that happens in the next moment. Mostly because of the fact that Prime cannot believe this is happening.

"I can't believe this is happening."


Prime's back on the move, though, to back Jack up (above the waist) in case the whole issue with Logan escaping out of the door becomes something of a more dire situation.

One moment he is running, and the next moment, the rather clean bathroom floor comes up to hit him as something heavy lands on his back. Wind knocked out of him, Logan gives a sharp cry as his shoulder injury sends jolts of pain down his spine, and he tries to lever himself up with his left arm—


What the hell is touching him?

Oh god.

Still breathless and stunned, Logan nevertheless attempts to execute an elbow to the face of his attacker, struggling to get out from underneath. "HELP," also, is yelled out, hoping that non-traitorous secret service agents come rushing in to deal with this.


The elbow catches Jack just below his left temple, partially stunning him. His eyes unfocus and cross slightly, but he clings doggedly to Logan and groans. "Uuggh. SHIT! PRIME! SHOOT HIM! HIT HIM! DO SOMETHING, FOR CHRISSAKES!" As all five of his limbs are currently busy keeping the President pinned to the deck, he lashes out with the only weapon he still has available. His already-bonked head. Jack grabs Logan by the collar, pulls him in close, and slams him with a headbutt. "TAKE THAT, LEG-PISSER!"

In the end, it's a bad move. He groans again, and now his grip does begin to loosen.

And so. Prime is called upon to do something great. "Alright, alright. Just… you have to promise to put that thing away. ASAP." Shuddering for a moment, he reaches into his jacket and comes out with a cigarette pack. He pops one out and holds it away from him, lighting it with a Fruity Pebbles Zippo Lighter. "Jack. Don't breathe." is said before he holds his own breath and leans over to let the crazy smoke looking scent of doom head for the Presidential Nostrils! Sleeping gas? No. This is actually a distraction so that Logan doesn't pay attention to the fact that PRIME'S FIST IS COMING AROUND WITH TREMENDOUS FORCE.

And. Uh. Did the room just flood with light, or is that just Logan? Though the head smack does Jack some damage, it temporarily stuns the President, eyes unfocusing and the fight leaving him for a precious few moments as Prime swoops in to… to… Logan shakes his head at the sudden scent of nicotine, then— bruising pain as a fist OUT OF NO WHERE snaps his head to one side. With a groan, tasting blood, Logan reaches with his left hand to grip at the tiled ground, trying to pull himself away from the scuffle, towards the door, as if this would help by now.

"What's wrong? Never seen an Irish Whitesnake before?" Smirking, Jack unskews himself and zips up, pleased with results of Prime's rope-a-dope. Once he's climbed back to his feet he immediately lashes out toward Logan's head with a wing-tipped shoe. "Fucker. Stop squirmin' or I'll give you a concussion to cry about." Even as he groans and grumbles, he waves one hand and produces a squarish, olive green object that's about the size of his fist. He flips it over, revealing a digitial panel with a ten second pre-set timer. "Time to jog on. All that shoutin' an' screamin' is sure to bring company."

"That was so many kinds of gross." Prime also holds up his jPhone and smiles, "But Trina's so getting these pictures to make herself a new wallpaper." Of course, the jPhone is stashed away in that same moment, as the big things are brought out (EW! PERVERTS!) and the time for getting the hell out of dodge is upon us. Closing his eyes for a second, Prime seems to be focused on something. "Bought us about a minute. Let's move."

Head blow number three. Logan's body rolls a fraction when Jack lands a kick to the head, onto his back, and his eyes slide shut. A touch of blood is visible at the corner of his mouth from where Prime likely made him bite his tongue somewhat. He's not quite out, as an quiet but audible groan can be heard, but he's not moving.

"Shit. If you took pictures of my whitesnake, your ass is in for it. Court-martial and shit." As he idly threatens and postures, Jack slaps the sticky side of his explosive against the wall of the bathroom that's farthest from the door. He kisses the tip of one gloved finger, then presses the round red button. "Ten seconds! Take cover!"

Then, against all odds, Jack throws his body over Logan's to shield it from the blast.

Prime isn't really sure about all this explosive stuff that's going on, so he drops low into a crouch as a wall of Primes surround him, Jack and the Prez as something of a protective shield of bodies. This should help keep debris and other stuff from hurting the people within as the countdown to the explosion continues on. Prime, for all of his own thoughts and craziness, is focused on counting along with the timer, but to himself.

Out of it as he is, the explosion is unignorable. Logan twitches at the near defeaning sound, replacing his hearing with a kind of whine for a few seconds. Weakly, he shoves at Jack, though his right arm doesn't move. "Get… get off me," he snarls - it's quiet, and a little incoherent, but there's a definite growl there.
GAME: Save complete.

BOOM! When the brick of C4 goes off, it tears a slightly larger than man-sized hole in both the interior wall of the bathroom and the exterior wall of the building, revealing a six-foot square of night sky and tidy alleyway. This is the reason why Jack picked the head as an ambush site.

Dust, bits of plaster, and splinters of wood rain down on the cluster of men and Dittos, but the explosives go a generally good job of pulverizing everything into bits too small to be harmful. When the pitter patter of bits and pieces hitting the floor ceases, Jack glares down at Logan. "You always did talk to much," he mutters. He cocks his fist and unloads another thunderous punch at his old friend/worst enemy's melon.

"Half a minute, Jack." Prime utters, looking back at the door while the Wall of Dittos disappears. "Please tell me I don't have to get us a ride." As in, he's hoping Jack already set one of these ride things up. He really doesn't feel like having to hijack a vehicle right now. After seeing Dork Askew, well, he's kind of all jacked out… Get it?

And… that does it. After Jack's fist makes an audible crack against Logan's face, the President simply slumps back against the floor, eyes fluttering once before becoming motionless, quiet, slipping down into unconsciousness. G'night.

"That's what I'm talkin' about!" Jack shakes his aching knuckles, then grabs Logan by the front of his suit and hauls him up over a shoulder like a sack of flour. The Irishman keeps the President propped up with one arm and digs his keys out his pocket with the other. He thumbs a button on the alarm/remote start combo that sparks Julia IV's engine to life and flips on her headlights. The car is parked less then ten feet away. Far enough to still be intact, but close enough that she'll need a new paint job.

Jack tosses the keys to Prime. "You drive. I'll keep our friend company."

Prime smiles and makes his way over to the car, swinging the keys around his finger. He smiles and looks at the Fourth Wall That Doesn't Exist.

"Roads? Where we're goin', we don't need…" Prime drops his sunglasses over his eyes again. "Roads."

Cackling like a man who doesn't have a care in the world, Jack unslings his Logan-burden and tosses it into the backseat, then climbs in after. As soon as he's seated he starts clapping and tying an impressive array of cuffs, manacles, and miscellaneous restraints onto the prisoner. All the while his wary grey eyes survey both ends of the alley. "C'mon! Gotta go, gotta go!"

Starting her up, Prime just smiles as he gets comfortable in the driver's seat. "Man, can I just like… borrow her? Cuz… mmmm." Prime just sits there and listens for a long moment, feeling the power beneath him and revving the engine a little bit too. He finally, though, decides it's time to make a break for it, slamming on the gas, Julia IV's tires get to squealing and it zooms down towards… … … Homeland Security. How can anyone tell? Probably has something to do with the bullets ricocheting off the car's hull.

"Buckle up."

The words are said as he shifts the car into reverse and starts speeding backwards down the alley to try and get away…

"NONONO! COMIN' UP FROM BEHIND!" Swearing, Jack pops the rear passenger's side door open and leans out low, almost level with the rolling tires. He keeps his legs locket around the unconscious Logan as an anchor as he waves both arms and relocates Bernice into his grip. Bernice is an Object Individual Combat Weapon. That's French for she fires both bullets and grenades. Jack makes good use of both functions, but it's obvious that there's no way he'll be able to clear a path. There's just too many. He's barely slowing them down as it is. "Shit! Shit!"

Not good. Not good. Not good. "GET IN THE CAR!" Prime yells, before slamming on the brakes and… leaning back in the seat. In fact, he even works on putting his hands behind his head. Seems like good ol' Prime is about to max and relax for a little bit. While HS comes bearing in from both sides. There's nowhere for them to go. They can't get away like this. Especially with Prime NOT DRIVING.

Something clink-clanks onto the roof of the Julia IV. The sounds of blades whipping through the air can also be heard and the fact of the matter is that a large black chopper is LIFTING the car off the ground. These blades belong to Airwolf, Prime's personal combat chopper of jawsome.

"Like I said…"

"Where we're goin', we don't need roads." Smirking, Jack slides back in and slams the door closed. "Jesus, that was close. Let's get this fucker under lock an' key so I can go take a shower. I smell like pee."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License