Starring: Tracy and a Rebel
and Rebel
Date: October 16, 2009
Summary:
Tracy gets some advice about Wynn from a Rebel.
"Mystery Texter"
Tracy Strauss' Apartment
Tracy literally landed back in D.C. less than an hour ago, and she hasn't let go of her jet-setting. She's barely touched down at her apartment before she's leaving again, making her way into the small, one-level parking garage allotted to residents of her building. The woman is on a mission, and she looks like it: her brisk strides, long and sharp in her high-heeled pumps, mean business. A slate grey designer business jacket and pencil skirt cut her tall figure into sharp, tailored angles. Long hair is pulled back into a low ponytail.
Her phone, a crucial accessory, is at her ear. She's talking to no one live, however. As she makes her way to the sleek, grey car that belongs to her, Tracy is leaving someone voicemail. "It is absolutely important that I speak with you. I'm serious. I'm either coming to you, or we have this conversation at the Senate building, it's up you," she says, her professional tone, insistent and certainly demanding, carrying through the space. "I have questions that need answering. We can't beat around the bush anymore."
Despite her current call, the phone interrupts the conversation with its usual beeping noise, indicating that Tracy has just received a text message. The missed alerts symbol on her phone lights up as a message comes through. The written in all caps as clear as possible: BEWARE IVORY WYNN.
"…And… I m— " Surprised by the sudden text, Tracy pulls the phone away from her ear to eye the alert. She reads the message. BEWARE IVORY WYNN. "What?" she says under her breath, giving the screen a bewildered (and disapproving, frankly) look. Slightly thrown off, she nevertheless finishes giving her message— to the very person she's supposed to beware, as it so happens. "Caaall me." Disconnecting, she makes it to her car and types a message back to the mystery texter as she stands by the door.
'Who is this?'
There is a pause for several moments, but then the mystery texter responds in those same capital letters with the beeping of the phone: THERE IS A REBELLION. A TRAIN FULL OF PEOPLE LIKE YOU. PEOPLE WHO NEED YOU, TRACY. WE CANNOT STAND DOWN.
Another strange look is given at the message. Tracy's eyes runover the words over and over again. Instinctively glancing around her — something about suspicious text messages from a mystery rebellion has that effect — she fishes her keys out of her purse and unlocks the doors with an electronic chirp that echoes in the quiet parking garage. It's only once she gets in the roadster — its top up — that she replies:
'Who is WE?'
A moment later she quickly adds a guess at the texter's identity:
'Kitty?'
The responds appears freakishly quickly like the texter is particularly dextrous: CALL ME REBEL. Several seconds pass before more text appears on the screen: THERE IS A TRAIN FULL OF PEOPLE WITH ABILITIES. THE GOVERNMENT HAS LABELLED THEM TERRORISTS, BUT MOST ARE JUST LIVING NORMAL LIVES WHILE TRYING TO FIT INTO SOCIETY. LIKE YOU.
Tracy has too many questions to ask; she doesn't want to believe what she's reading, what she's been told twice now from different sources. Even still, she shakes her head. She stares down at the phone for a few moments, much slower than the lightning speed of "REBEL". In the relative dimness of the car, the phone glows white.
'What train? How do you know me, "Rebel"?' she texts back.
Once again the text comes in quickly: I AM A FRIEND. I WOULD TELL YOU MORE, BUT I CAN'T FOR MANY PEOPLE'S SAFETY. Another line comes through: YOU CAN'T TRUST WYNN. DON'T SPEAK TO HIM OF THIS. IT'S FOR YOUR SAFETY. JUST KNOW YOU CAN'T TRUST HIM. A moment passes before another line appears: THEY SUSPECT YOU TO HAVE AN ABILITY. YOU'RE ON A LIST. YOU NEED TO BE VERY CAREFUL.
Oh, there are a multitude of reasons why Tracy doesn't like these messages. Eyeing the phone, her brows knit together before she determinedly hurries to type out her own responses, very nearly angry at this mysterious Rebel — but more for this whole situation. The trip to New York proved insightful in more ways than one, providing nothing bad news. The bad news seems to have followed her.
'I trust him.'
'He wouldn't hurt me.'
There's a pause, hesitation on her part, before she adds:
'He already knows.'
There is a rather long pause now. A pause of hesitation. A pause of near-speechlessness. BRACE YOURSELF. The two words aren't reassuring. YOU NEED TO GET OUT AWAY FROM WYNN. THE DANGER IS VERY REAL. THEY HAVE CAPTURED MANY WITH ABILITIES ALREADY. INCLUDING SOME NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE TO CATCH. There is a pause and then one more line of text comes through: I'VE SEEN THE LIST. I'VE READ THE FILES. THE THREAT TO US IS REAL.
I can't, she should say — can't get away from Wynn — but Tracy just leans back in her seat, placing a hand at her neck as she deciphers the messages. Ultimately, she doesn't answer. She presses the red disconnect button until the entire phone shuts off. She drops it her purse, which she sets on the seat next to her, and starts the engine to get out of here.
But the phone turns back on. It seems this Rebel is determined. The text scrolls across the screen with a very annoying beep: I CAN READ SECRET GOVERNMENT FILES, TURNING ON YOUR PHONE CLEARLY IS EASY IN COMPARISON. There is a pause before more text appears. YOU NEED TO RUN AWAY OR HELP US. OTHERWISE YOU'LL END UP ON THE TRAIN. IMPRISONED INDEFINITELY. HE ISN'T WHAT YOU THINK. HE'S THE VILLAIN. At least to Rebel, he is. HIS PROJECT, THE ALPHA PROTOCOL, HAS ALREADY KIDNAPPED CHILDREN.
Tracy is seconds away from peeling out of her parking space at high speed, craning her neck behind her and seeing that the way is all clear. The phone's annoying beep, however, draws her attention back to her purse. Setting her jaw and suppressing a frustrated roll of her eyes, she keeps one hand at the wheel and snatches the BlackBerry again. She watches the text scroll determinedly past before manicured thumbs race to reply one more time.
'I'll find out the truth for myself.' No point in turning it off, obviously, but she pulls her car out of the spot and tears out of the parking garage toward the street.
One last ditch effort is made to persuade Tracy to listen to him. TRACY - - NO ONE WITH ABILITIES IS SAFE. NOT THE YOUNG. NOT THE OLD. THE LIST IS EXTENSIVE. WE NEED YOUR HELP. And then apparently giving up on his crusade, he signs off (for now). I CAN GET YOU OUT IF/WHEN YOU DECIDE TO DO SO. STAY IN TOUCH. —REBEL