Starring:Joel
And Rebel
Date: October 28, 2009
Summary:
Rebel plays the invisible partner in taking down a baddie.
"Over My Head"
A Cheap Motel
Word was sent, a message in text. It was little more than a mail from one of Joel's fake accounts. It just gave a date, a time, and a few words stating, 'Will leave the link open. Come along for the ride if you want.' And that was it. If he tried to check early he'd find it dead, no connection possible. But when the clock ticked past three in the morning, eastern standard time, another glimmer of light and activity flickered into being upon the internet.
The computer itself is familiar to Micah. It's that same datapc that Agent Nelson carries at times. It's running barebones, though there's an application flaring with activity. When it's examined he'll see that it's a direct feed, some form of camera that's giving a hazy image as well as a heads up display with some data.
"Heya, you there?"
It's the first audio information picked up, and the hazy image comes fully into focus. It might take a few moments for Micah to realize what he's looking at, and as the image clarifies he'll see that the camera moves and is showing what Joel's seeing, which right now… is the trunk of a car.
Despite everything going on, Rebel has chosen to come along for this ride to help in any way that he can. The image is clear. It takes a moment before he responds to the question though. Just adjusting some things. A digitized voice comes through Joel's connection, "I'm here. What's the plan?"
The trunk of that car opens, a gloved hand reaching out to pull upon the lever of that sedan and spring the lid. Inside it are the ubiquitous items, spare tire, jack, can of oil, multiple firearms, a black satchel. The gloved hands reach in and flip open the satchel, pulling out a small leather bag. He flips it open and inside are a set of hypodermic needles, each one casually checked as he responds.
"Well," Joel's voice has a faint humming hiss to it from the connection, but otherwise is coming through clear. "Options are limited. Don't want to deal with a body right now so gonna try something. If that doesn't work might see if the Alpha Protocol people want to pick him up. But I'm not too keen on that." Of course he doesn't list the third alternative, at least for now.
Also from within the trunk a pair of pistols are slid from their small cases. The slides of each are checked with a low ka-chak of the mechanism and spring working, then they disappear as he places them on his person. The trunk thumps shut.
"Why are you in a trunk?" Rebel's filter goes away in speech. This isn't something that happens over text. "And what are these options?" The teen's curiosity is getting the best of him. And then the Rebel agrees, "As much as the Alpha Protocol sucks… they have holding facilities… could incapacitate him," and then he adds for good measure with a long sigh "…and maybe some people shouldn't be rescued from them." There's another loud sigh.
A low 'heh' is heard and then Joel turns his head left, and then right… and the image changes just enough so that he can see the street lights of a motel parking lot. The image changes a bit as something is adjusted, the screen brightening, "Sorry about that, had the thing too dark." And indeed, Joel's point of view is now much more clear, standing beside a sedan and looking across the way at the four story tall building with its bank of numbered doors leading to its myriad rooms.
The image shifts as the agent starts walking across the street, moving with an easy step and heading towards the distant stairwell. "So he's in three eleven, if the intel's solid. Will go in to a neighboring room and then breach through the bathroom. Of course if this is a trap I'll be kinda annoyed."
"Oh, that's better," Rebel responds as the screen brightens. He watches intently as Joel explains his basic plan. "A trap? What? You mean me trapping you?" Yes, he's confused. Of course, he hasn't wholly proven himself yet as Joel has yet to catch the green-eyed man. "I'm not trapping you," the voice is as sincere as a digital one can be.
"Yah I got the vibe yer legit," Joel replies calmly enough, even as the motel sign jumps into view for a moment, then swivels back to the outdoor stairway that draws near. The camera jostles a bit as the steps are taken, his shoes making no sound for the moment and his voice is quiet. "But I've been wrong before." Hopefully it won't offend Micah too much.
On the other side of the computer, Joel can't see Rebel wrinkle his nose. Regardless, he lets it go. "I am legit," the voice responds earnestly. And then there's silence. "I hope you believe me soon."
As Joel reaches the third flight of steps and starts to walk down the hallway, Rebel might catch the reflection of the young man's features in one of the windows that passes by. There's a small smirk there, a little amused, but good-natured. His voice lifts as he offers, "I do think you are. I mean if I didn't I wouldn't be doing any of this. I just try to keep an eye out for worst case scenarios. Just how I am." With this confession given the image turns to the side and the door panel appears. The number 310 is clear upon the green door, no lights are on within, and then the electronic keycard reader is in frame.
From one of his pockets Joel draws a sliver of plastic and starts to fiddle with the reader, and it takes him a bit of time. "Trust is a two way street though. I mean for all I know you could be a space alien bent on world domination."
There's a stifled chuckle from Rebel. "I'm not really a space alien kind of guy. I prefer zombies. Though they probably couldn't get themselves organized for any kind of world domination." And another pause. "Do my fake name and attempts at secrecy really instil such distrust?"
"Nah," Joel finally gets the lock undone with a soft 'click'. It opens near silently and the image of the camera goes dark. It only takes a bare moment before everything becomes visible again, this time with a green overlay as night vision kicks in. There's a glance back, the door closes behind him.
Inside the motel room everything is as one would expect. There are two beds against the left wall, on the right is a table, a chest of drawers, and a television stand. Against the back is another door that leads into the bathroom area. "I actually kinda respect it. Most folks bop around through life with no idea the impact of their actions." He starts to walk towards the bathroom and pulls open the door. A quick once over is given, everything seeming ship shape.
"Yeah! Especially now! Like I can make myself virtually untraceable, but that doesn't mean I want people to know it's me. Besides people freak out when you tell them things," Rebel observes and then notes, "According to the building plan I've pulled up, if you go in through the bathroom you're in now, you'll end up… in his bathroom." Awesome.
Again there's that 'heh' that comes from him. Inside the bathroom, Joel steps around to the service panel that lies beneath the sink. It's just a vent where the two rooms share a mutual fan system, good enough for keeping costs down, but not exactly great for the security concious. The image on the camera becomes terribly dull as the screws of the vent are undone with a universal tool, this taking a few minutes to be done silently. "I'm going to say this not to be a jerk. But to help you down the line if you want to keep yourself safe. You give away some information with your manner. Though the voice modulation kinda helps. But even in text it came across a bit."
"Really? What do I give away?" Rebel asks. He's tried so hard to keep himself concealed and it seems to have worked. People that know him haven't caught on that it's him. But then, he's now talking on a phone rather than in text. That's never a good idea.
"Maybe I'm just a cynical bastard," The panel is pulled down and then he starts to work on the opposite one, leaning into the small opening and manipulating it quietly. Joel's words are very quiet, vocallized low and barely heard, luckily the microphone has a strong pickup, "But you sound a bit young. Idealistic. High hopes, apple pie in the sky hopes and all that." The universal tool slips and a low curse is uttered across the transmission. For a time Joel holds off doing anything else, his hands frozen in the frame, waiting to see if there's any sound on the other side of the panel.
Huh. Maybe this spreading the hope thing isn't a good idea? "Hope is what will get us through all of this," Rebel maintains as he too lowers his voice not entirely sure if he should be quiet. "Besides… you're young." His mom always used to insist that 35 was still young. "And you're cynical. I can be old. And hopeful." But he's not.
There's nothing for a time save the low sound of Joel's occasional breath. He counts in his mind to sixty Mississippi, then begins to work on the panel again. Slowly the interlocking pieces are undone and Joel finally replies, "True. Mankind is myriad in its diversity and all that."
And then it's done. The panel is removed, slid slowly to the side and the camera jostles. As easily as that he's in the other room, rising to his feet. The image jerks abruptly, something causing it to shift and then suddenly there's the greenish picture of… the bathtub.
"Nearly slipped on…" He doesn't finish the sentence. Joel stares at the bathtub and within it is their target. Or… it looks kind of like their target. The image is shaded green, but what comes through is clear. There's a man floating in a nearly full bathtub, face up, eyes closed… and the tub seems to be filled with… not water. Some sort of goo that has chunks and floating fleshy bits seemingly disparate from the man… yet a part.
The mic goes relatively silent for several seconds before the unmistakeable sound of someone on the other side tossing their cookies. After several moments, Rebel returns to mic. "What is that?!"
There's no response for a time, no words. The camera shifts and Joel moves towards the bathtub. He focuses on the face for a time, just looking at the man. Stringy slicked back dark hair is haloed around his half-submerged head. Then the camera pans and he looks down, unable to see the man's body, it's hidden underneath the muck. Finally, Joel finds his voice again, just enough to say. "Ugh. Ok it's hsowtime."
There's a shift of placement as the camera is moved closer, then Joel's hand comes into view holding a pistol. The weapon is placed square in the middle of the man's forehead and then there's that ka-chink sound of the safety being flipped off. The muzzle of the weapon taps /firmly/ upon the man's forehead. Joel's voice lifts, louder now and clearly audible to the room. "Wakey wakey."
The man awakens with a start, his green eyes snapping open wide, his mouth parting as he gulps for breath. Somewhere out there his duplicates flicker and abruptly snap out of existence. As quickly as he comes to, his thrashing is abuptly ceased by the shock of realization that a gun is pointing at his head.
Still disgusted by the image, Rebel watches silently as the man wakens. The green eyed man has now officially been caught. "Yes!" he whispers rather emphatically into the microphone.
The man's voice is rough, phlegmy, he coughs several times before he says, "What are you doing! This is…" Of course then he recognizes the man with the gun and his words trail off.
"Shhh," One can almost imagine Joel lifting a finger to his lips. He stands up, keeping the weapon levelled on the man's head. "I know it takes you a fair bit of time and effort to whip up a copy. So best you do what I say. Get up."
Might be best for Rebel to look away again, as when the man does stand up he's mostly nude save for the mass of protoplasm that clings to his body. Keeping the firearm at the ready, Joel gestures with his free hand towards the door leading into the main part of the room. "Go into the other room, lay down on the bed face down."
And as if on cue, as the man starts stirring, Rebel certainly looks away, still queasy from the original image. "That was nasty," he whispers to himself more than Joel. His attention, for now, is momentarily not on the screen.
The man is herded through the door, trailing ooze along the way. It's probably whatever remains whenever he creates a duplicate, something unnatural in the way it sloughs off. Luckily it is mostly gone when he gets into that other room.
When the camera pans the view isn't pretty. It's clear the guy's been here a while, been holed up. There's a lot of detritus, old take out boxes, garbage, and against the wall blocking off the window are stacks of boxes. Old boxes, marked for the salvation army and the few that are open showing bunches of old donated clothing that must have been appropriated by the man.
Luckily there's enough room on the bed still for him to lie down, indeed face down. He seems fairly cowed, unwilling to say or do anything for the moment when his own actual life is at stake.
"Hands behind your head." The man complies. The image shifts again as Joel moves to the man's side. There's a few moments of a pause, then the syringe comes into view. It's jabbed into the side of the gooey man's neck and the plunger is pressed.
The boy glances at the screen off and on through the course of these actions, but the syringe gets his attention. "What is that?" Rebel quirks as the man is drugged. Not that there's anything he can do about it anyways.
Slowly, very sloooowly, the man's arms droop down until it's clear that he's passed out. Joel straightens up and pockets the syringe out of view of the camera. He then steps around the bed to one of the end tables. With one hand he sweeps the trash off of it clearing a space. "Sedative," He answers, "Ever see Mission Impossible?" He asks casually as he starts to set a few things out on the table. Rebel can probably see them, though he might not be able to identify them all. A small bottle of alcohol, a thin scalpel in a protective sheath, a few sheets of paper, and what looks like a sheet of printed circuits, or small pieces of plastic with metallic bits.
The question is considered and then Rebel responds, "The movie? Yes. I saw it years ago…' Not years-years, but a year or two. That counts as years. "I don't remember sedative in Mission Impossible?"
Quietly, and low enough so that only Rebel can hear him, Joel answers. "Was thinking the show. They usually had this schtick," He tells the other evolved on the other end of the internet. He continues to set out the pieces of the puzzle. Joel takes his time as he does this, clearly at ease for the moment with the man out of it. "They'd catch a guy, mess with him some, then trick him into doing what they want. Usually there's a plastic mask and makeup in there too, but I'm lazy." Or maybe it wouldn't have helped, whatever the case he finally removes the sheath from the scalpel.
And there's a moment of tension as Rebel peers at the scalpel. "What is that for?" his voice is still a whisper. He knows what it's likely for, but he doesn't want to think about that.
"This, is to lend credence to the story." The image of the camera shifts again as Joel stands. A few steps take him back towards the prone man. The scalpel gleams faintly as it comes back into view. It hovers for a moment over the back of the man's neck, then with an easy and precise motion a cut is made. It's fairly deep, though not dangerously so, perhaps an inch in length. Blood wells up and is dabbed with a small bit of cotton that was in the cap of the bottle of alcohol. Joel cleans the wound, staunches the bleeding, then reaches for something to the side. A pair of small butterfly bandages are taken and then applied in place almost professionally. It's a decent job, field medic work, but decent.
"Ugh," is the only response Joel gets from Rebel as the boy looks away from the screen again. Despite the hours of violent video games Rebel plays, this is making him squeamish; there's something about this all being real that makes it that much more disturbing. "Try not to hurt him too bad," he adds for good measure while still looking away from the screen.
"If this doesn't work…" Joel says calmly, even as he stands up and steps to the side of the bed, back to the end table. The chair at the small table is tilted, letting the trash fall off the seat. He draws it around to set it at the foot of the bed. A few more steps are taken and a few more moments are spared to consider the unconcious man. After the space of a few minutes passes, Joel leans in and another syringe is pressed to the other side of the man's neck. The plunger is pressed, the needle withdrawn.
Once that's done, Joel moves to the chair and the scene promptly shifts to him having taken a seat. All the pieces are in place. The items are out in their proper locations, he folds his arms… and waits.
Still disgusted, Rebel continues to wait as Joel does. Waiting. Watching. Hoping that everything goes well.
Time passes, no conversation between them for now. Best to focus. Eventually, however, the man stirs.
At first it's little more than a groan, a low sound of pain. The man known as Grayson Berg starts to sit up, then winces abruptly as he reaches back blearily towards the back of his neck. It's in that moment that Joel's voice lifts, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Rebel continues to look on in horror. Unsure of what to say or do. If his innocence wasn't lost before the train wreck, it's certainly gone now.
The man freezes, then slowly he sits up in the bed. There's still small bits of pinkish goo clinging to his chest, though it's dried up mostly now. Those piercing green eyes look across the way towards Joel. What he sees is indiscernable though one can imagine the agent's silhouette with the light faintly at his back, a pistol in his lap and clearly visible, with the surgical paraphenalia upon the table.
Joel's voice is heard again, but something different. His voice is cold, without human warmth, and there's an utter contempt in his tone. "That's right. Starting to remember now. Remember who I am. I enjoyed killing your other yous." The camera shifts faintly as if the young man were leaning forwards. "I would like to put a bullet in you right now. It would be easier."
'
There's something entirely unsettling in the tone. It leaves Rebel feeling almost as queasy as the body in the bathtub of goo, but he remains silent, and for some reason, can't take his eyes off of the screen.
Grayson coughs again, an almost pathetic sound. He looks across the room towards Joel, and for once there's something in those green eyes. There's fear. Life for him is so different since he's discovered his gift. He was able to do anything, go anywhere, no repercussions. He is a man who wore the shield of other bodies to live his dreams without remorse. But it left him with a feeling of fear… fear for his mortal self, fear for what could happen if someone found him. It's that fear that Joel exploits right now.
"Your head hurts right now. You've been what we call 'bagged and tagged'." The pistol comes into view now, Joel's looking down. The black metal of the weapon catches the light behind him for an instant, then the camera looks back up. "What that means is that you're ours now."
The man tries to lift his voice, another cough comes, but finally he's able to speaks. "Don't do this. I didn't mean any of it. I don't have any control over it. It just happens!"
Eyebrows are furrowed at the screen as Rebel continues his silence. He's fascinated and secretly terrified how Joel is using the assailant's own weaknesses against him. He presses his lips together. Still silent.
There's a sneer evident in Joel's words, though in the shadow it might not be seen by Grayson. "I don't _care_ if you can control it or not. I've done my job. We can track you now, anywhere you go."
The duplicator's eyes widen. He again reaches to touch the wound on the back of his neck, gently at first. He looks straight into the camera, almost as if he was looking right at Micah, "Why did you do this? I… I never meant…"
"You don't get to ask questions." Each word is pronounced precisely. He waits for the other man to fall silent utterly, then he continues. "There are limited courses of action for you now. You will choose one." Joel's tone broaches no possibility of negotiation, it's as if there was an utter rage in him begging to get out but has become something cold and icy instead of blazing. "The first option is that you will turn yourself in. You will confess to the murder of Angela Williams."
There's a look of shock on the man's face, his mouth opens, he stammers. "I did… I didn't… how did you?"
Who is Angela Williams? Rebel does some quick checking in another window on his computer. How didn't he know this? Probably because Joel keeps his files so vague…
The data comes up easily enough. A small entry in the Dayton, Ohio police database and the local newspaper's website. A young woman, twenty years of age, found murdered outside of a restaurant. Her body was… the details are dark, horrible. An unsolved crime, no suspects, no data, no DNA, but something terrible happened to her.
Joel's voice lashes the air between the two men, each word offered like a thrown dagger, meant to stab at the other man's psyche. "You will be taken into custody and serve out your life sentence never using your ability again. That gives you the benefit of time, Mr. Berg."
The camera shifts slightly, Joel's head tilting to the side. "The second option is that you tell me you truly cannot control it. That you cannot live with the remorse. That you wish for me to shoot you right here. Right now."
Blinking several times, Rebel can feel his own heart rate increasing. What did he get himself into? He swallows hard, and manages to close his eyes. Eyes closed was better, right? All of this will be less scary with closed eyes.
Grayson seems to pale, his features falling as his eyes stare straight at the screen. He looks around frantically, almost like a caged animal. Finally Joel speaks again, "Finally you could lie to me. Tell me you will turn yourself in, but then flee. You could try to find a surgeon to remove the implant only to find that it cannot be removed without turning you into a cripple, Mr. Berg." The pistol's hammer is thumbed back, an ominous click sounding in the room. "Which just means that you will be unable to run when I find you, and it'll be all the easier to kill you. But what is more, if I _ever_ have to see you again, then it will not go easy."
There's a pause as Grayson licks his lips. He looks around slowly, then looks back at Joel. The gunman's voice lifts again as he says, "Also, by the bye, I wouldn't recommend getting an MRI. The implant is lodged just beneath your first cervical vertebra. It'd tear through your spine and skin and be generally disgusting."
The camera rises as Joel stands. He walks over to the end table and begins to pack away the items there all within view of Grayson Berg. He places everything away, not looing away from the other man. Finally he says, "Have you made your decision, Mr. Berg?"
Huh. A well concocted, thought-out lie. Lies can be useful. Eyes are opened as Joel finishes reiterating all of the options to Berg and Rebel bites his bottom lip in wait. There's nothing to say.
"I… I want to live." Grayson's voice quavers. He looks up earnestly at the camera, then looks away as he presses both of his hands to his head, almost as if he were in pain.
Joel gives a small nod that is mirrored in the motion of the camera. He says firmly, almost viciously. "Then you only have the one chance, Mr. Berg." And with that the camera swings towards the door. It opens, giving Rebel a view of the motel parking lot, of the cement walkway, of the stairwell that leads down. For a time there's no sound from Joel, save for his breath. There's the street noise now, the occasional distant honk of a horn, but that's it.
Peering at the view, Rebel is impressed. It's worked. Hopefully. At least the guy's thoroughly afraid for now.
It's off down the sidewalk that the camera shows now, jostling with each footstep. Towards a dark brown sedan, Joel walks up to it and pulls the door open. The view shifts to the interior of the conservative car, his hands on the steering wheel. He doesn't do anything else for now, just kind of sits there. But after a few minutes… his voice can be heard. "You know what I used to do for a living before this?"
"Um… no?" Although he could if he wanted. Rebel feels his heart rate slow down and his breathing is completely normal now. "Something equally exciting?" he ventures. He can't imagine this vigour came from nowhere.
"I worked retail, at a freaking electronics store." Joel lets that hang there, his tone thoughtful… distant. He elaborates, "I hated it. It was banal, stupid, pointless. I hated every moment. But this…" His hand lifts, fingers uncurling as if not knowing what else to say. "It's soul-deadening."
"How so?" Rebel asks although it's obvious. And then before Joel can answer he nods at the screen, "I can… empathize." He presses his lips together. "I bet no one you care about knows what you do for their safety and yours. You can't be honest. Live in lies constantly. Something bad happens and you make an excuse that you didn't sleep well. Or changed time zones." He pauses and adds, "And if they really knew they'd more than just want you to stop. They'd do their best to make it happen." Of course, Rebel's thirteen. People in his world have a lot more power over him than people in Joel's.
"Ehn, just…" The fingers of his left hand drum on the steering wheel for a bit. He seems on the edge of saying something, but then he cuts it off by replying. "Nevermind." The camera shifts a bit as he slouches, then he says quietly. "Your intel was good. You need something down the line, let me know." It's his way of giving Rebel the thumbs up. A beat, then he adds, "I have to stay here, keep an eye out. S'gonna be dull as hell. You probably have other things to do." He gives that opening for Rebel to depart.
"Actually… there is something…" a frown plays on Rebel's lips. "Charlotte Corday, an acquaintance" aka pseudo-mom "got possessed yesterday by one Emily Caulfield." There's a moment of silence. "I'm triangulating their location, but haven't managed to find it yet. I've pulled up everything I can find on Caulfield, and judging from the video footage, police reports, and pscyh assessments…" he cuts himself off and just sniffs. "…one evaluator deemed her sociopathic… another Wacko - although these weren't her official notes…" There's a pause, "When I find her, if she's in New York, can you help?" Of course, she could be anywhere in the world.
There's a hesitance, but not from reluctance, more from Joel considering what Rebel just said. He listens, digests, then replies. "Put me in the place you need me, and I'll do what I do." He says this levelly, a little sleepily, and weirdly non-commitally. Yet it's just how he talks, being loathe to make promises he can't keep.
"Alright…" Rebel replies unsurely. "I have to go. Rebel out." That said, the feed is killed altogether and Rebel is gone back to his reality.