Date: December 19th, 2009
Did you really think they'd go quietly?
Alpha Protocol Facility, NYC
It wasn't a very long drive, perhaps only twenty minutes, as traffic was forced out of the way by their police escorts. Roads are cleared, and a route is secured to the Alpha Protocol New York branch offices. But if you're restrained in the back of an armored SWAT van, with nothing but hostile, unfriendly stares, and boots to the ribs if you talk too much, it's likely a drug-out, torturous nightmare ride. Especially if you happened to be trussed up like a pig with a hood over your face, unable to even see what was around you.
But eventually, tires squeal to a halt as they pull up to the front of the building, and booted feet hit concrete as the officers lug the newly-captured prisoners out, handing them off to waiting security personnel with identification badges at the supervising agent's directions. Tammy exits the company SUV, typically black, as they pull up not far behind the vans, thanking the Lieutenant before he and his men began piling back into their vehicles to return to duty, or visit their companions in the hospital. She follows as both Tiago and Lena are lugged forward, Lena still blind, but Tiago able to see what was happening to his partner.
Pushing her way to the front in the lobby, Tammy pulls out her wallet, flashing her credentials to the men manning the front desk. "Special Agent Lansing with two high-risk prisoners. I want them processed, printed, and put in separate cells. Now."
It has been a most uncomfortable ride indeed. Lena's shoulders, ribs and knees are singing hallelujah by the time the van comes to its destination. The majority of transit time was spent motionless, with the girl silent save for the occasional moan of pain. There are no words, no calls for her companion, due to a lack of full consciousness. By the time two personnel pull her out of the van on her stomach and double-carry her, face down, into the lobby, she's grown more lively. But really it's to ease the uncomfortable pressure on her joints from the position she's trussed in.
Her head begins to lift occasionally, the bag fluttering and pressing to her mouth with each ragged breath. Now the moaning begins to merge into semi-coherant speech. "…oh, you bitch…Chi? God…Chi? Nnnn…"
Talk too much? Who's talking? Certainly not Tiago, silent and stoic as can be in light of the happenings. His expression has adopted an entirely emotionless disposition, dragged out of the van and set into motion without putting up any sort of fight. Only twice does Tiago break his veil of resigned indifference - when he catches sight of Tammy for the first time, during which the hate bubbles up so violently that he entertains delerious fantasies of hurting her in horribly unimaginable ways (ways that would, without a doubt, keep him from ever being seen as a 'Good guy', ever again), and then once again when he sees Lena.
If possible, he feels his own heart stop, then drop. "Lena," he murmurs softly in light of her calls. "Lena, I'm here. I'm al-…I'm here. I'll be there, baby, I'll get to you somehow, I promise…" Just, not right now, he can't.
"Oh yeah, she's a spitter. Watch out, I think she has some kind of mind-altering affect with her saliva." At the 'you serious?' looks she gets from the other assembled agents, Tammy fixes them with a flat, icy stare, brooking no arguement. "She's been neutralized, so take the hood off. But any more spitting, and I want her gagged. That's just disgusting. And uncuff her feet before her muscles go numb. I'd rather not have to submit them for medical treatment unless absolutely necessary."
Two of the agents that had been there at the duo's arrest depart, after some words to the effect of going to report their success to the higher-ups. Tammy, meanwhile, unconcerned with either insults half-coherently hurled at her, nor glares of death from large Brazilian males, waits patiently while Lena's hood is ripped off, standing pointedly out of 'disgusting' spitting range and her feet were undone from her wrists, though they remain manacled to each other, allowing for a hobbling gait. Then she's leading the procession down the hall, to two large, steel-reinforced doors that they have to be buzzed through, requiring Tammy to once again present her ID to the viewing window, and then scan it in a small slide.
The first door unlocks, whereupon they move through them. Once it's locked behind them, the second opens, and the parade maneuvers deeper into the bowls of the building.
Well, walking is certainly preferable to being carried. Even better is the hood coming off, revealing Lena's dazed and disoriented expression, the split lip, the swelling eye. A trickle of blood is working its way down from her hairline, across her forehead. But she appears to have been cured of spitting, at least for the moment. The pace she's urged to by the hands gripping her arms is fast enough that it's difficult to look around, to spot Tiago, but she knows she heard his voice nearby. Thus, she begins babbling.
"Chi? Chi…jesus shit fuck let him go…please, he's not like me…he's not like me, you goddamn bitch. He's n-normal, he's human…"
But Tammy's back continues to recede, ramrod straight and frustratingly distant. So Lena's head dips forward again, chin connecting with her chest and steps slurring until finally the officers are forced to drag her along.
It's bittersweet, watching Lena get unhooded and them forcing her onto her own to feet. But Tiago forces himself to watch. Just like he soon enough forces himself to cast his glance away from the brunette in favor of taking in their environment clinically, coolly. He fixes his attention over towards the girl once again, pursing his lips as she begins to babble. "Lena! Stop. Don't talk," he barks out, hardening his voice slightly. "Don't talk, okay? Jus'…jus' rest up." Door after door, he is forced through. And whenever he manages to catch sight of Tammy's back, his anger threatens to break his surface calm.
For a moment, it seems as if there isn't going to be an answer to Lena's plea, as Tammy certainly seems to take her time before her voice can be heard, calling over her shoulder. "We're all human, ma'am. Even you. But it turns out he's wanted for possible murder. It was just our luck that you happened to be with him." Was she giving out information freely, believing now that she had them there was no point in holding back? Unlikely. Those who knew her position within the agency, knew her every word towards prisoners was calculated.
They'll catch good sight of Tammy soon enough, as they're all forced into a large room together, Tammy standing next to a table, along with three other people, a pad of ink and several pages sectioned off by squares. For two people who'd been through the system, they'd recognize fingerprint processing forms. Both of the detainees are shoved up next to the table, forced to stand upright in front of a pale, thin man with a balding head and a monotonous voice, while Tiago's escorting officers pick up the inkpad and begin pressing it against the tips of his fingers. Should he resist and clench his fists, a few rabbit-punches to the kidneys may change his mind.
"Please state your full, legal names."
Lena rouses herself just enough to shoot a glare that rivals Tiago's at Tammy before the officers haul her up and force her to stand, swaying, on her own two feet. Then her gaze sweeps the table, scrutinizes the man behind it. Do they have clones of that gentleman at every processing centre in the United States? Even the tone of voice is identical, as if he were a robot, or just really, really bored.
The request for their names promps a small breath, the blood bubbling on her lips. "Kiss my ass," she slurs. A brief uncomfortable roll of the shoulders follows, her arms still complaining about the angle forced on them by the handcuffs. And, most worrisome, a small furrow appears on her forehead, a mark of concentration that comes after she glances to the side and spies how the personnel are handling inking Tiago's fingers.
How…lax, on their parts. This has possibilities.
Tiago doesn't protest to the fact that he's being currently inked for identification for the first legitimate time in New York, and the second time in his life. But he takes advantage of his compliance, trying to smear and blur the lines of the ink if only a little bit with every finger. It's a small, almost imperceptible act of rebellion, yes. Plus, if they take the cards that way, there's less of a possibility of him being recognized during later imprisonments. Once he's done, his fingers are a brilliant black, and he shoots his eyes in the direction of Lena. Brows furrow slightly, though his lips quirk into some facsimile of a smile, as though waring between being proud of her insolence and concerned for the abuse she will most likely take as a result of it.
"I'd bet this month's salary they're both delinquents. They'll be in system. Don't bother with their personal info, we'll get what we need from the prints." Agent Lansing's voice cuts in to curtail any response to Lena's comment on what her name was, which was likely going to simply be a repeat of his question. She simply nods her head towards the two agents who had Lena by the elbows, who, with a shrug, reach to take the inkpad from their fellows.
Eyes narrowing suspciously, as the officers begin obtaining Tiago's fingerprints one at a time, behind his back, which was an awkward enough task, Tammy doesn't miss the tiny smirk that passes from the male to his partner. But she, like the men, believed themselves now safe from any powers either might have. After all, there was no record of their drugs ever failing before. She was ready for physical resistance, but what came next took them all by surprise. No sooner does the man take hold of Lena's fingers to begin inking them than his eyes roll back into his head, and he slips to the floor with a wet, slithering thump.
For a moment, everyone simply watches him fall, alarmed expressions on their faces as they assume a heart-attack or some such has occured. Both of Tiago's restrainers abandon him in order to rush to their fallen comrade, as would Lena's, if not for Lansing's quick shout. "IT'S HER! STOP HER! Her powers aren't subdued!"
The lone man standing behind her takes the teenager's shoulders in a firm grip, knees her in a pressure point in the side of her thighs to weaken her legs, then proceeds to slam her face into the table. Brutality seemed to be his middle name.
That moment of inactivity is just enough for Lena to pull in a deep breath and use it to lob a broad spray of blood and saliva at the people in her line of vision: man behind the table, guards stepping in close, and Tammy (who is wisely standing outside of range). What she hopes to accomplish with the gesture is impossible to describe; they are behind too many locked doors to escape, they are handcuffed, and there's no way she can send everyone into a coma. Perhaps it's simply another gesture of defiance.
One that ends painfully as she is seized and slammed forward. There's a loud thud, the sound of her forehead connecting with table, and Lena slides bonelessly to the floor. Knocked out cold.
It is chaos, and it is in this environment that Tiago thrives. The moment he is released he is put into action - though, realistically, what the pair expected to accomplish is up to grabs. Clearly, they have been watching one too many action movies. The large Brazilian grabs one of the government agents that had climbed to their feet to charge at Lena, and then proceeds to knee the individual in the gut, causing the man to fall to the floor before he proceeds. With murder in his eyes, he glances around the room in that split second - catching sight of his newest target: Tammy.
It's a sprint - Tiago is sprinting towards her, face snarled in an expression of pure malice on his features. What he's planning on doing when he gets to her is up for grabs. Perhaps he'll get a good hit in or two. Perhaps he'll strangle her to death. Or, more likely, he'll try to capture her, in turn, and use her as a hostaged person in order to barter for freedom.
The poor desk-agent, who barely even qualified as an agent and was a mere six months from full retirement benefits, takes the glob of nasty spit on his chest and neck. Not long after it impacts his skin, he too begins to faint, falling to the floor where he receives a nice concussion to go with his unconsciousness.
"Where's the hood!? Put the goddamned hood back on!" While the other agents are scrambling to deal with their fallen comrades, pointedly not touching the gross, 'mind-control' spit, Tammy hits a button on the wall behind her, near the intercom, which causes an irritating, grating siren to go off, a matching one in the security office, along with an indication of their location. She's going for her gun just as the Brazilian male slams into her, pinning her between his body and the wall, driving the air from her lungs. She was no scared woman, having both self-defense training and a body that was in shape due to being a former athelete. The male was stronger, however, and had caught her off-guard. But he was at a serious disadvantage: that of having his hands quite literally tied behind his back. The gun finishes it's outward trip, whereupon the agent tries to ignore the burning pain in her chest and begin slamming the grip of the weapon against the Brazilian's temple. She doesn't get to lash out more than twice, though, before two men yank him off of her from behind, at which point Tammy doubles over with a wheeze, coughing several times with a pained expression as Tiago once again receives a thorough roughing-up.
The security force arrives in short order, assault rifles drawn and ready. A hood is placed over Lena, and her limp body is drug from the room by men in full tactical gear at agent Lansing's orders.
"I want… want…" She's still having trouble catching her breath, hoping all of her ribs were still intact. "Want her in a… cell. And him in another… one. In… a different wing! *Coughcough* Neutralize her again, and… twenty-four hour guard!"