Date: April 28, 2010
Devon pays Jo a visit.
"Payback's a Bitch"
Jo's Apartment — NYC
It's late afternoon and Jo has just finished scrubbing down her now-empty apartment. She'd managed to arrange a ticket to Manaus after much haggling with multiple ticket agents. The once strange apartment is even emptier than normal, in fact, it's entirely empty. Not even the ex-marine's cot remains. Instead, only her blue 60 L pack sits near the door. Various clean supplies in a large cardboard box occupy the centre of the room.
With yellow rubber gloves, Jo appears from her small kitchen area — a number of very dirty looking clothes in two. With a wrinkle of her nose and cluck of her tongue, she picks up the oven cleaner from the box before padding back into the kitchen and opening her oven. She leans inside and, utilizing a large sponge, begins to scrub at the old white machine.
Someone must be smoking in the next room. That has to be the first thing that someone would think, as the wrinkling nose catches something that's not cleaning fluids. That, or the oven got burnt one too many times. It could easily be that, considering the timing. At least until a billowing pillar of smoke suddenly floods the room. Darkness surrounds, as the smoke seems to twist and turn, collected together in an unnatural way, like it's a living creature, a flying snake or chinese dragon made of smoke. Only it's neither.
The smell of smoke burns Jo's eyes. At first she ignores it, discounting it to be a result of the oven she carries on a little longer, but then the smoke smell strengthens, not lessens as she cleans. Coughing, she hits her head on the oven as she attempts to essentially crawl out of it. Her coughing continues as she tries to wave the smoke out of her face until her eyes widen as the smoke twists and turns. "Holy shit!" is the only exclamation she can make. And it's not as if she has a gun on her to hold up to the monster — not that it would help, a person can't exactly shoot smoke.
Not holy. Though it could be worse. The smoke could be coiling up her nose and into her lungs, probably the lone offensive thing that he can do. It doesn't even saturate the air as much as it could, though it does feel warm against skin, somehow, like breath. Just as fast as it rushed in out of nowhere, it pulls back in a strange manner not usually attributed to smoke, and then seems to solidify and change, until a man stands there. Not much taller than Jo herself, with hair cut short and face clean shaven. He looks very familiar. Same jaw, same nose, same blue eyes—
He looks just like the man that she shot in the face. Before shooting him in the face, at least. Biggest difference would be the clothes. Dark jacket and jeans seem to make up this one, as opposed to the many pocketed uniform he'd been wearing when he died.
Jo's eyes widen further as she gapes at the 'dead' man in front of her. Her mouth is agape as she stares blankly at him. "What the hell?!" Is she sick again? Did McCarty do this when she was here last? But hadn't she fixed Jo before that? It wouldn't make sense that she'd make Jo ill again when things are virtually resolved. The marine slides out of the kitchen towards the box of cleaning supplies. In an even motion she plucks her gun from the box. She levels it at the Justin-look-alike. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" her eyes narrow now.
"Did you have any part in Alpha Protocol's fall? Or are you just one of those enjoying the fact that it did, but not being… punished?" Devon asks in similar but somehow deeper tones, raspier, but the same basic sounds to it. A hint of an accent that his brother had left behind. Though really, with how much they look like each other, it's hard to tell— Unless she looked deeper into his file, and saw that Justin happened to be a twin…
Looking into files would just make too much sense. Jo ignores the questions for now, "Who are you?" Her voice remains strangely steady as she clicks the safety off her gun. With her jaw tightening her gaze gives Devon a once-over. Lips purse while she shuffles forward. "And as far as the Protocol is concerned, I stopped following orders. And covered an agent's death." Her eyebrows furrow. "I didn't know." Beat. "Who are you?"
"Soldiers like you never seem to until it's too late," Devon says with a shrug, the sound of distain in his voice something that didn't seem to fit at all with the man she briefly knew. Justin had been respectful and rather quiet, with regret, but no hatred for his line of work. Even if he'd been working against them for as much, if not more, time than he was actually with them. "Devon," he finally says, keeping his eyes on the gun, especially as the safety is clicked off. "You shot my brother."
And with him being one of them, maybe this is why Justin had been working against them most of the time, to protect family.
Jo's hazel eyes narrow further while she watches him intently, gun still held out. She lowers it slightly before sighing heavily, "Law. You're Law's brother." Her lips purse again. Devon is one of them, that much is clear. After another moment she clicks the safety on her gun again and shoves it into the back of her pants. "What are you doing here?" she glances around. "Almost missed m altogether."
"Justin always used to say I had unfortunate timing," Devon says quietly, keeping his eye on the gun that disappeared into the woman's pants. It means he can actually look around the apartment, now that it's not pointed at the same face she shot up once before. "Usually it was unfortunate for him." Or others, in this case. "But yes, I'm Law's brother. Younger. His twin. Don't worry about me being here to kill you, though." If he really wanted to, he could have killed her in her sleep.
An eyebrow is arched at Devon. "I'm sure i have enough people coming to kill me, anyways," Jo says with a sigh. Not that she wouldn't have tried to fight him. She'd become resigned with Erin, mostly because Erin could make her sick easily. "So why are you here then?" She tilts her head and looks him over carefully, eyes narrowing once again.
This time, Devon smiles a bit, mouth lopsided as he does, one side higher than the other, followed by a shrug. A one-shoulder shrug, even. "Guess I just wanted to scare the hell out of you. See if you shot up your own apartment trying to hit me." It was a funny idea, in a way. Would have cost her a cleaning deposit, but it wouldn't have been much a trouble for him. Might leave him naked if he miss-timed a transformation, but he has a girlfriend, of sorts, he could go home to. Naked or otherwise.
"I'm not as big on justice as my brother was." He was the deviant.
"Well you scared the hell out of me, that's for sure," although her tone now doesn't reflect it now, it certainly did earlier. Jo smirks slightly before shaking her head. "I'm bigger on justice than the rest of my family." Believe it or not. Finally, in an odd almost-human way she adds, "I'm sorry about your brother." Her illness guaranteed that much. "They lied to us. To all of us. And I bought it." Plain and simple. With another sigh she tosses the dirty sponge into the box. Absently she raises a hand to her head, over the bump forming on top of it.
There's a pause, before Devon reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, which he passes over. "If you feel like it, you can get your own brand of justice." Once she takes it, he fades out, poofing into that pillar of smelly smoke, and creeping out the building through the ventilation.
The note? Contains an address for Thaddeus Jensen. One that ether no one else has found, or that he's been able to keep to himself. Keep to everyone except a ball of smoke that likes to spy on people, at least.
As Devon disappears, Jo can feel shivers down her spine. A smoke monster in her vents is eerie enough to make her thankful she's not sleeping here tonight. Quickly she opens the envelope and glances at the paper. With a sly smile, she kicks the cleaning supplies against the wall, removes the gun from her pants and checks the rounds. After putting it in the back of her pants again, she leaves the apartment, destined to find one Thaddeus Jensen.
Payback's a bitch.