2007-08-19: Oops! Dart in your Neck!

Starring:

Meryl_icon.gif Namir_icon.gif Haitian_icon.gif

Summary: Namir is freed, but not without some parting gifts.

Date It Happened: 19 August 2007

Oops! Dart in your Neck!


Hartsdale Company Facility

She leans against the door, looking in; today is a sad day, indeed… They're letting him go, which is some sort of terrible shame, since he does have such a nice backside and all. There are things to do first, of course, like, oh, dart his neck with tracking icons. Ions? Isotopes. Meryl can never remember the word, or maybe she does, it's just fun to pretend she doesn't, mostly 'cuz it drives the higher-ups mad. "So, you're sure we gotta do this? she asks quietly."

Then she raises her hand, on which is a sock, which looks suspiciously like Mr. Bob Bishop. "WHY YES WE DO, MERYL," the sock says. "BESIDES, IT'S FUN, AND WE'RE GIVING YOU SHARP OBJECTS."

"Yeah, but I already have a gun."

"BUT THIS IS SHINY. SEE?" And the sock pulls a little miniature isotope-icon-needley thing out of one of its folds. Said tracking gun is made out of tinfoil.

"You know, Namir," Meryl calls through the door. "I'm not all about cute bums and shiney objects. I have feelings, too. Like, happiness, and also that tingly feeling you get when you do something nice for someone. Like, I 'unno, letting them out of prison. Hey, hey— " Pausing, she knocks on the door, then turns the key and opens it. "You ready to come home? They tell me I have to let you go. I don't think it's fair, but… That's the Company for you. I brought you pie, though, hang on." She retreats into the hall, returning with a whole pie. It's just the crust, because she couldn't be arsed to actually bake anything inside of it. But it comes with a fork! "Here. Going away present."

—-

Oh no. She's back.

Namir is laid out on his bed reading a book, but when he hears that person out there, he drops the book over his face and lets out a low groan, followed shortly by a prayer murmured in Arabic. Allah give him strength. He sits up when he hears the key in the lock, then raises an eyebrow when he's faced with a pie and talk of going home. The latter interests him far more than the former. "I'm being released?" Thank you, Mohinder.

—-

Meryl is not alone — and the sock puppet is not included in the population of those in the corridor and in the cell. A figure whisks past the doorway, no more than a shadow by the window that looks in on Namir, and stops, out of sight. There and gone — or there and waiting?

—-

"No, you're being let out of prison." Same thing, really, but 'released' isn't the word that Meryl would use, mostly because she didn't think of it. "Here's… Pie. Going away present," she goes on to say, holding it out with her still sock-puppeted hand. It's one of those huge pies that needs to be held with two hands so it doesn't fall all over the floor. "Before it gets cold." …Notably, it already IS cold, because it hasn't been baked. At all. Which Namir will probably discover when he takes it. "I'm gonna miss you, you know." But she'll find him again! He just… You know. Won't remember her, or… the Company, or anything. But she's sure she'll make a good second first impression.

—-

Namir eyes the pie warily. It could explode. It could be full of something poisonous. Eyeballs. Anything. He doesn't know. After some hesitance, he takes the offered pie (mainly because he figures she'll stand there forever holding it if he doesn't. "Er. Thank you." It's cold and basically inedible anyway, but thanks. He supposes. "When am I leaving?"

—-

Well, there's actually nothing inside it but more pie crust. The crust is the best part anyway. Also, there's that fork that's kinda stuck in the top of it and everything, which is cool, and is kinda like a little flag-type beacon which is the crowning grace of the whole culinary masterpiece. The pie is important, though, and not just because it tastes heavenly. While Namir's hands are occupied, Meryl pulls that little tracker out from her belt and aims to stick it into Namir's shoulder and pull the trigger before he can react. Well, that's the idea, anyway. She's yet to have this tactic actually work, usually because no one really wants a pie crust pie. "Soon. Promise," is added to this gesture, because, well. It's the truth.

—-

No, Namir doesn't particularly feel like eating a pie-crust pie, but he continues to hold it, for lack of anything better to do with it. He'd been expecting something to burst out of the pie and attack him, so when Meryl herself does it, he's not exactly prepared. The stab of the needle causes him to grimace and leap to his feet with a cry. What follows is a string of rather nasty-sounding curses in two different languages.

—-

OOPS. DART IN YOUR NECK. Or, shoulder, as the case may be. "Oh, sorry," she states, tucking the Isotope Blaster - or perhaps Noisy Cricket, she hasn't decided yet, as the device itself isn't noisy, but people tend to make loud noises when they're stabbed by it. Like— exactly like what Namir is doing now. "That's actually a tracking device, which we'll use to keep tabs on you for the rest of your life until you die. And since I think these isotopes have a half-life of like a bazillion years, I guess we'll be able to find you after you die, too, which is bleedin' creepy, if you ask me. But it's not like we can cut it out of you or whatever. I mean, I guess we could right now if you — Well, I might have to take off your whole head, maybe your arm, just to make sure, and you can't live without a head last time I checked. Except chickens. Chickens can live without heads for quite awhile, actually. I remember there was this one who lived for a year without a head 'cuz there was this nerve— bundle— thing in its neck acting as a brain? Yeah, it was creepy, they fed it through a straw. It died when it choked. Can you believe that? I mean, how can you live without a — "

Enter the Haitian.

"Hay, this guy's name is… Dwayne. He'll be taking care of you and signing your release papers. He's a nice guy. Doesn't talk much. …Or at all, really. Him and I are B-F-F. Also, he's got the best poker face. Also, he's going to wash your brain out with lye, but it's cool." At this point, Meryl will reach out to clap a hand to Namir's shoulder - the one she just darted - before she turns toward the door. "I'll miss you, Namir. But I'll see you again. You still owe me a coffee. And donuts. Maybe a car." Really, she could have him sign anything right now — any number of purchase agreements — and he'd be totally bound to honor them! Except she was too lazy, sorry. "Take care."

—-

That kinda stings, that there tracking device. The more Meryl tells him about it, the more horrified Namir grows. A tracking device? Why would they want to find him? This is a blatant Constitutional violation. How the hell do they expect to get away with it? And then the tall dark man shows up, and the Israeli's expression grows steely. This doesn't feel right. There's nothing benign about this. Tracking devices and — what's that about washing his brain out?

Namir's been a peaceful prisoner since his arrival, but now that's changed. Whatever they're doing, it's not going to be kind. He doesn't feel he should extend the same courtesy. So he makes a break for the door, aiming to shoulder past Meryl and … "Dwayne", and he's more than prepared to defend himself physically if it comes to such

—-

For all his usual stoicism, the Haitian man actually looks at Meryl sidelong as if she's insane — just for an instant, before his face returns to an imposing mask of neutrality. His hands unclasp and swing to his sides as he steps to cross the distance to Namir's cot, but he doesn't get a step before the other man is on his feet and barrelling toward him. They're both imposing figures. The Haitian has several things on his side, not the least of which is the pistol-like device — long, silver, with a silencer; it looks more similar to the other agent's isotope gun than a normal weapon — that he now slides out from its hiding place in one swift movement.

—-

She's actually thinking this would be easy. Of course, explaining to a guy that he's going to have his brain washed out with lye, then turning around to leave isn't really the best way to leave one of your captives. Meryl's not sure how she'd react if she knew she was about to have her memory erased, but… She's not thinking. She made a dumb mistake, and this very well could get her into serious trouble in some future that may or may not happen! In involves a blonde woman and also death. Who knows.

Really, she's not insane, just extremely closed off from anything resembling normalcy. She lived with the Company for a good chunk of her early life, after all. As Namir tries to shoulder past her, she tries to catch him by the shirt collar and yank him back into the cell. If he gets out without the full Company treatment… Hoo-boy. She'll be in trouble. And Sock-Bob is not going to be happy.

—-

It's reflex for Namir. As soon as he feels himself grabbed, he whips around, bringing his arm up and around Meryl's to grab it in a lock. His other arm swings around to bring a fist into the soft part of her now unprotected side: a kidney-punch. It's going to hurt. He's not at all gentle about it, and he tries to keep the woman between himself and the Haitian. How successful he'll be is questionable, but one thing is for certain: he's not going down without a fight.

—-

For all Meryl's training, she certainly can't win 'em all. Case in point, now, as she disoriented by that quick seizure of her arm and proceeds to see a whole lot of stars after that. Yeah, pain. It takes her a little while to actually figure out that she's still standing - somehow - even though she would really like to be doubled over all over the floor. She's just regaining her composure, just formulating some plan of action which involves Miss Congeniality's SING method, when she's hit in the arm with a dart.

The look she gives the Haitian— Well. She knows she's more of a possession of the Company than her own person. Even so, there aren't a whole lot of people who like being darted. Just desserts, though, since this is exactly what she did to Namir. BUT. BUT. She's going to do her best to try to fall over on top of the man, aiming a good elbow at his ribs while she's still conscious. Sleepyness is quick, however, and Meryl wobbles on her feet before becoming sack-of-bricks-like in her descent to the floor.

—-

Namir's quick to dodge the instant he realizes that Meryl has gone down. He is, in fact, not keen on staying in the same place once he realizes that "Dwayne" has a tranq gun. He's on the move again, this time heading for the cot and the pie-crust pie that Meryl was so kind to bring him. If he reaches it in time before he, too, gets a dart, he aims to fling the non-pie at the dark-skinned man. Hopefully in the confusion, he'll be able to make another break for the door.

—-

The throwing of dessert is not something that will deter a presence such as the Haitian. While the plate it is in becomes a slight problem, he lifts and arm to hit it aside in stride, sans confusion. Undeterred, he re-aims the tranquilizer gun on Namir and fires; and again in quick succession, after a miss.

—-

After flopping over on her side, Meryl reaches a rather heavy hand for the dart in her shoulder. Her legs aren't working all that well, so she does have to scramble a little to face Namir as he throws that pie at the Haitian— Hey, that was a gift! - but she's going to heroically throw that dart right between Namir's eyes hard enough to knock him out. It's the wind-up! And the pitch! Oh, damn, that hurt a whole hell of a lot more than it was supposed to. The dart falls about a foot away from the downed agent, as she grabs for her side. There's got to be some internal bleeding, or a cracked rib, or possibly Namir implanted aliens into her abdomen through his fist, and they're attempting to break out now, since these aliens are from Kzyykkz 3 and only need moments to mature. Meryl says something rashly inappropriate about Namir's mother.

"You dumbass." Directed at the Haitian as she drools all over the cell floor. 'You dumbass' comes out sounding a lot like 'hooooooooooosssssaaah,' because it's hard to speak when — When? wh—

Aaand she's asleep.

—-

Namir should have kept the fork. He could've used it as a makeshift weapon in order to fight "Dwayne". As it stands, the first miss prompts him to bolt for the door, and though he attempts to time himself according to what he believes is the proper rapid-fire speed of the tranq gun, he doesn't quite judge properly. He starts to leap to the side, but he's too slow. A dart sticks him in the shoulder and he immediately brings up his hand to pull it out, but it's too late. He's got the dosage. His legs start to go weak even as he fights to remain upright. Even when he hits the floor, he continues trying to crawl until finally his drugged body can no longer hold it off and he lays quietly on his stomach, eyelids flickering. He's trying to remain conscious. Through sheer force of will, he's minorly succeeding.

—-

The tall, dark man kneels on one knee in front of Namir. The fact that the Israeli man is still slightly conscious shouldn't matter; soon his mind will be filled with blackness and this moment will seem to cease to exist. The Haitian extends a spread hand toward Namir's forehead. "In another time, my friend."

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