2007-11-02: Desperate Times


Jack_icon.gif Mohinder_icon.gif

Summary: Lab, check. Mysterious medical issue, check. Now all that's left on the shopping list is one geneticist.

Date It Happened: November 2nd, 2007

Desperate Times

Brooklyn - Suresh's Apartment

"Busted son of a whore," Jack swears under his breath. He spits into the damaged lock on the door to Suresh's apartment to lubricate it and goes back to work with his picks, prodding at the wards one at a time and easing them open. There's a moment where his tension wrench bends precariously against the broken mechanism, but eventually it gives with a quiet click.

The Irishman takes a deep, steadying breath as he stows his tools away. With businesslike precision, he draws a pistol from the small of his back and a silencer from one pocket. When the weapon is properly assembled, he silently rolls the knob and nudges the door open with one toe.

He's come prepared for a night visit. Though he's wearing a suit, it's black on black and blends seamlessly with the shadows. His dress shoes are muffled by sterile coverings, he's got latex gloves on, and his features are obscured by a cotton surgeon's mask.

The geneticist in residency is not prepared for a nighttime visitor. Suresh is standing over his desk, poring over paperwork as well as a map of New York City. If he weren't preoccupied with the map and the phone that's against his ear, he might have noticed something isn't quite right here, what with the door being sneakily forced open. "Cass, it's Mohinder. I apologize for confronting you as I did. I haven't been quite myself with this research. You've found a way to slow things down, and that's great. I don't need to know the identity of this person. I got overly exuberant at the prospect. Again, you have my apologies. I'll come by your lab later if I find anything else on my end." After closing out the message he leaves on Cass's voice mail, he closes up his phone and sets it on the desk.

One by one, Jack checks and clears each area of the apartment, moving on the balls of his feet, pausing in doorways, and leading with his weapon every step of the way. When he reaches the office area he circles around Mohinder and pads up behind him. There's an instant's hesitation, then he presses the barrel of his pistol against the back of the doctor's head. The ominous sound of the hammer being pulled back is oppressively loud in the small space. "Hi," he rumbles. "If I were you, I'd hold very, very still."

"If I were you, I would think twice about what you are doing," Mohinder says in return, even as he stands perfectly still at feeling the barrel pressed against the back of his head. Exhaustion lends to paranoia easily, and he may have a mean elephant with the gun wielder's name on it. Or a syringe. If he has either of those things in reach, he doesn't make a move. Yet. There's a sleeping Molly to consider as his mind kicks into overdrive on just what is happening here, beyond the obvious. "There is little to steal from us, unless you want the toys of a little girl, or books on genetics and medicine."

"You underestimate your own value," Jack replies evenly. "Here's what's going to happen. You and I are going downstairs. We're going to get in the back of a van. If you speak or move your hands after we leave the apartment…" The tip of the pistol trails a line down the bumps of Mohinder's spine and presses hard into the small of his back. "Well, I really won't have anything left to lose at that point, will I?" The muscles around Jack's left eye twitch visibly, and his finger trembles against the trigger guard of his firearm. "Start walking."

"Ah. I see," Mohinder says coolly. For once, someone who is not Sylar has broken into his home and kidnapped him. His eyes flicker towards Molly's door as he debates. In front of him, there are things to use as a makeshift weapon, but the gun at his back is doing much to discourage any rash actions. "What is it you want from me?," he asks, in an attempt to stall as he thinks. "Obviously, something to do with my field of expertise.. do you have an ability that you are losing control of? Ill with an odd virus perhaps?"

Jack grimaces behind his mask and jabs the pistol roughly against Mohinder's kidney. "Right now, my only problem is a doctor who talks too goddamn much. And stop glancing at the kid's room. I'm not a monster, I'm just an ordinary guy who's got nothing to lose." He moves closer and grips the doctor by the back of his shirt, holding him in place and concealing the firearm from casual view. "Step into the hall."

"Surely you have something to lose, otherwise you wouldn't be behaving in this manner," Mohinder states, trying to remain calm. "Kidnapping a man at gunpoint. Lower your weapon, and we can discuss this like rational adults. If you have a problem, I will do my best to help you." The grabbing of his shirt comes right as he dives forward for his letter opener. Adrenaline, lack of sleep, desperation, he's not thinking too intelligently at the moment. The geneticist has important work to do that needs him, yet, when is a kidnapping done at a convenient time?

This is exactly what Jack was afraid of. He levels his weapon and bears down on the trigger. A fraction of an inch before the weapon goes off, he sighs heavily. "Shit," he mutters. Rather than firing he swings it like an extension of his arm, bringing the barrel down toward Mohinder's head.

Hand on the letter opener, Mohinder's about ready to fight back, but no sooner than fingers touch the handle.. the barrel cracks down on the back of his head and he slumps faceforward onto his desk, sliding unceremoniously to the floor.

"Stupid sonofabitch. Should've shot you," Jack mutters under his breath. Still wary, he kneels down beside the fallen doctor and checks his pulse. "You're going to feel that when you wake up," he chides as he tucks his pistol away and picks the other man up. With few options available to him at this point, he slings Mohinder over his shoulder like a sack of flour and heads down the stairs, praying to God he doesn't bump into anyone coming home later after stepping out on the missus.

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