Starring:
Date: February 11, 2010
Summary:
Without proper care, even the toughest rocks will crack and crumble.
"Crumbling Rock"
Building 27 - Governor's Island
Days have passed since Jo was in the cell. That was when Alexandra told Jo she'd have to kill her if she wanted the names of the others involved in the train rescue. Maybe that's what they're doing. Maybe not. The tiny sliver of light through the cell is hardly companionship to spend the time alone. Alexandra has had little to think about over the last few days but what Jo showed her: the pictures of the men she killed; the faces of the orphans she's responsible for creating.
Aside from the obligated AP interverention to keep their prisoner alive, there's been no more interrogations, no more questions. The weight of the door, solid steel like most everything keeping her in captivity, has likely shielded anyone on the outside from hearing her sobs…and her screams. Some are venmous and filled with hate and spite; some are bloodcurdling screams of terror and fear. Not like these are the folks who seem to care, though. The woman seems to have found some rhythm, though. Light, unsatisfying sleep separates periods of sobbing and the periods of animal screams and writhing in her bindings to exhaustion.
When the door finally opens, it's not one of the women who visited before, but a tall man garbed in military attire, with a side arm visibly displayed. Justin looks as if he belongs in the field, fighting enemy soldiers, and in a cell among prisoners who have been restrained as much as this one has. He also doesn't look at all like the ones who've brought her food and water, and taken her to relieve herself, or clean up after her. Maybe he's her executioner.
From the way his nose wrinkles, that could very well be the case. He is armed, after all.
When his hand moves, it's not to unholster his gun, but to pull out a small needle with a liquid tube attached to it, a dart of some kind, as he steps forward. "I'm not here to hurt you. You're Dr. Lambert." Respect for a prisoner? Well, he doesn't seem to be being respectful, really, as he keeps moving closer.
As soon as the door opens, whatever she had been doing in the cell ceased immediately. She's silent as he first enters and approaches. No sense in giving up anything without provocation or inquisition. Despite the hair falling over her eyes, she manages to sneak a peek at the sidearm. He's definitely the first one to come in armed. Maybe he IS the executioner. If he is though, she's not scared. Not anymore. There's just numbness.
At his statement, she merely giggles. "The others said that too…" she says in barely a whisper. "Then they showed me the faces of the people I killed," she continues, turning her head to the side a little. "I can't get their faces out of my head. I see them when I sleep. I see them when I'm awake. How do you think that feels?" she asks him, finally looking up. Her eyes are bloodshot beyond recognition, the bags under her eyes big and dark. She's looked better.
"Probably the same way it feels for the people who work here, when they go home at night," the man says with a shrug of his shoulders, as he kneels down. "Do you want to stay in this room, or do you want to be allowed to walk around and meet people, get to use a bathroom, take a shower. Cause right now it seems more like you belong here than what I was planning on offering you." He sounds a little disappointed, but doesn't get back up, at least. He's rather close, for someone with a gun. But he doesn't seem to be worried about the fact he's armed and with a dangerous person, either.
This time, his words are met with a more instinctive response. Her heart does manage to skip a little beat, and she looks at him, right in the eyes. Well, as best she can given that hair situation. "Are you…are you saying I can get out of here?" she asks, her voice taking on a somewhat hopeful twinge that hasn't been there in quite some time. Her breath comes in ragged little gasps; she seems unwilling to take her eyes off of him at the thought of his offer. "Because if you are, I want that. I want out of this room. I want out of this chair."
In answer to her words, his hand moves, until a sharp sting can be felt on her thigh. The liquid in the dart empties into her muscle. Immediately, anything left of her ability seems to vanish completely. It feels different from the sedation of before, though, because of how quick it is, how thorough— "Now you'll be allowed out of this place— though I'm afraid not out of custody completely. You'll be given quarters, and access to showers and other things, allowed to meet people, but you can't leave yet."
The dart is pulled out, as he straightens and steps back, disposing of it into another pouch in his clothes.
The days with light, unsettled sleep have, of course, reduced what reaction time she might've had. She doesn't even see the dart coming in toward her thigh. Even when the needle punctures the skin and the fluid drains in, she can only turn to stare…and by that time, he's already pulling the needle back out, and tucking it away. Indeed, it does feel different than the drugs the oh-so-convenient nose tube has provided; she can feel the stuff working its way through her. It's almost cool on the insides of her veins and arteries, which makes her groan out a little. Somehow, someway, that feels a little better than whatever they'd been doing to her before. "You…that stuff…" she says, with her eyes darting from him to her thigh, and back to him. "What was that?"
"Delta Solution," Justin explains quietly, unhooking another pouch in his clothes— it seems he has dozens) and pulling out what looks like a collar, of all things. He walks over and begins to pull the bindings off of her arm. "We've been perfecting it since we got our hands on similar things, getting it ready for use as we intended. I've spent the week testing it to make sure it works as intended. You won't be able to use your abilities while you're on it, but it won't have the same side effects— the worst you should have is headaches and drowseyness."
Alexandra gives a single nod in understanding, instead more focused on the fact that those cuffs are finally coming off. Her efforts of straining and struggling against them in her outbursts have left the wrists red and raw, cut up a little by the steel bindings. When they're released, she takes a moment to relish the sensation of them coming off, by lifting one arm, and rubbing the wrist, then repeating with the other arm. Temporary power removal though…a trade off for slightly less-constraining captivity? At the moment, she's too broken to care…and maybe that was their plan all along. For someone who had let her ability define her, she's sure willing to give it up just to get out of this chair and this little room.
"Raise your head up," Justin says, pulling the collar open and sticking it around her neck. It's the last thing that's needed for this. "There's a tracking device in this. It will go off if you find a way to deactivate or break it, or if you leave a certain area. Right now you're confined to the barracks. As long as you don't try to leave, or remove the collar, you'll be fine. It can be submerged, so you can bathe without worrying about it. It will be removed once every couple of days to make sure that it doesn't cause any permenant damage to your neck."
Gee, how nice of them right? To think about their health so closely. Even so, she's not in any particular position to resist or struggle. The promise of freedom, no matter how much of an illusion it may be. That's why she lifts her chin up without protest, allowing him free access to put that thing about her neck. And joy of joys, she can finally move her hair! She quickly bushes the hair out of her eyes, then lifts her hair up in the back; it's not quite a necklace, but no sense in getting her hair caught in it just the same. Other than that, she remains silent.
There are reasons that they care about her well-being, but… Once it clicks into place, there's a little light that comes on. She can only see it cause it's in the dark. "I can't imagine it will be comfortable to sleep with— but it's better than your current conditions." He stands, backing away a bit, before he walks over to the door and motions someone inside. These look more like what she's seen the last few days, the people who brought food, and helped her with other things. "They'll be taking you to the Barracks. Show you where you're allowed to go."
After what she's just been through, it seems they may be going with the carrot, rather than the stick.