2008-06-11: Shelter Shakedown (Dark Future)

Starring:

FutureCam_icon.gif FutureSophie_icon.gif FutureElisabetha_icon.gif FutureCass_icon.gif FutureLachlan_icon.gif

Summary: A desperate man comes into the shelter and shakes things up.

Date It Happened: 2012

Shelter Shakedown


Shelter

Brooklyn, NYC

Sirens sound several blocks away, the commonplace sound merging with the bangs, rumbles and shouts of the street. Well into evening on a grey night, the Brooklyn shelter is as it always is: a place for those who are desperate, and those who have hope. From the front steps to the battered, graffiti-splashed front room to the area further in its heart with beds and food for the needy, homeless and addicted, it's never empty. Inside at the desk near the entrance, beside open double doors that lead into the shelter proper, a teenaged girl, a volunteer, works on a stack of flyers.
The walls don't stop the sounds of the city, but it's quiet in comparison. A tremor runs through the building, shaking up pots and pans in the kitchen, mismatched pens at the front desk, the volunteer's glass of water, and the folding chairs in the meeting room. The shelter is close to a hot zone and no one seems to pay it any mind, just like the sirens are part and parcel. Nothing to worry about unless they're coming here.

Seventeen-year-old Cam is working, moving about and doing his best to help those staying at the shelter. Getting glasses of water for some, talking to others, whatever he thinks the person in question needs, especially those he helped bring to this place. Finally, he makes his way over by the teen girl working on flyers, asking, "Need some help?"

Sophie is one of the senior staff, actually having worked on starting this shelter. She has an office, more like a glorified broom closet, where she tends to paperwork, when she isn't working with the tenants. But she does need a break now and again, and she opens the door to enter the shelter proper, to see what's going on. She gives Cam a smile, recognizing a regular volunteer, giving a wave with, as usual, a carefully gloved hand.

that she feels she's better than such people… She just has become accustomed to having her own space to live in. She lives one place, and the poor, and the druggies, and so forth live somewhere else. She would have been content to leave it that way.

But then she was kidnapped by Peter Petrelli, and taken someplace dirty and unpleasant to be questioned on Pinehearst, where her father works. She did not particularly care for that. She did not care for that in the slightest. The inconvenience was not necessarily the problem, but he had attempted to hurt her, and further had spoke with much conviction on the fact that pain had value, that pain was important.

This was not acceptable. People with power had a responsibility. A responsibility to cure the sickness in the world, and to ease suffering… And eventually erase it from being. Peter Petrelli had power, and he wanted to use it to maintain the status quo. To keep pain as a permanent fixture in this world. Someone that sick, with that much power… He could not be allowed to live. His suffering would come to an end.

Money had a way of loosening lips, and after tossing some around to various people she had discovered that there had been sightings of someone resembling Peter Petrelli at this shelter. Or so had said those she'd paid. They could have just been talking to get more money. Regardless, Elisabetha is here now. The blonde woman is dressed far too nicely for the area she's visiting. She has come without Emily. No point in risking her getting caught in the cross-fire. No, this is a solo job. Not Elisabetha's first, and probably not her last. Approaching the shelter, she scans the building, feeling the pain of those within, inside of her. 'Maybe I will end more suffering tonight than I thought,' she muses silently.

Then she steps inside, and takes a look around. Grungy homeless people, and drug-heads scattered about. Two teenagers at the front desk. A woman just emerging from another room. She doesn't see any other obvious exits, but it's best to make sure there's not a back door. She walks towards the desk, and offers, "Good evening," in a polite tone. It's been quite some time since she spoke in monotone constantly. "This is the… Shelter, is it not?"

Apparently a young woman who believes she can end suffering isn't the only person seeking the shelter tonight. The small tremors seem to get stronger, shaking the walls as the door closes behind her. The sirens are getting closer. Moments after the question is asked, something slams into the door, a pushes it open with his shoulder. If she'd thought the grungy people looked bad, this one looks worse. Greasy hair hangs in his face, dirt smeared on his skin and clothes. Clothes are torn in multiple places, as if he got snagged on things while moving, and never bothered to repair them. At least he smells of dirt instead of garbage.

The red in his eyes, the sweat glistening on his skin, the way his body tremors… all of these are signs of withdrawl, something that people in this day and age know a little too well. Arms clasped around a black case, he holds it against his front, clings to it, practically. "Can— can you help me?" He sounds younger than he looks.

Cam glances up to Elisabetha, and nods, "That's right." Then the man comes in and he says to her, "Just a second." He steps around the table, nodding to the man and says, "Sure, we can help you. Come on inside." He moves to gently lead the man towards an empty bed.

Sophie turns, quickly. She's worked too long with people with new or amped up powers to be shocked at much at this point. Her voice is automatically soothing, calming as she says, "That's what we're here for. Come on, sit down. Let me get you some water. Can you hold down food, hon?"

The teenager at the desk smiles at Cam and shakes her head despite looking bored with her flyer-making. She's glad to let Cam take over in answering the first of the newcomers, though she does nod at Elisabetha; but the second visitor is more imminent. The girl clamps a hand down on her stack of flyers to prevent them from sliding off the desk, and rushes up to stand and call out politely to the shaky man, "Could we get your name, sir? I mean— if you plan on spending the night." To Elisabetha, she adds, "Can— can we help you?"

Elisabetha watches idly, without much interest, as everyone rushes to take care of the man who just came in. She then turns her own red eyes (though red in the pupils and irises rather than the whites surrounding such) on the girl at the desk, and says, "Seems a bit busy here. I had heard about all the work that you and the others had been doing here… Trying to take care of people, and ease their suffering. It was recommended to me by someone I met named Peter Petrelli that I look into helping out as well. So that is what I am here to do. Assuming this is the right place. You DO know Peter, do you not? Tallish, grumpy, has a scar across his face…?" She withdraws a wallet from an inner pocket of her petty coat. "I wanted to make a donation to his favorite shelter, you see. And perhaps assist in relieving the people here of their pain."

Toward the back of the shelter, a woman sits against a dark corner and watches what is unfolding. While she doesn't seem to be dressed poorly or look malnourished, she doesn't look like she wants to talk to anyone. With her head resting on her knees, long brown hair falls over her legs. Her arms wrap around her legs, almost like she's hugging her knees close to herself. It's impossible to see her face, but her hands are shaking slightly.

"Please," the man rasps, clinging the suitcase he's carrying to his chest even more tightly as people get near to him. "Please," he rasps out again, taking a step forward towards the young teenager who was working on flyers only moments before. "I need It," he says. There's no question as to what It is. There's no doubt that they get these types in the shelter all of the time. "I need some… I can't… it's too much." The man trembles from head to toe, a hand slapping his neck as he grips it, leaving deep red marks on his pale skin, the outline of his fingers around what looks like a faded tattoo. Eyes rove from side to side, only focusing on the teenager for never more than a few seconds as he takes a step closer, clinging the case to his chest tightly once again.

Cam pulls up short as the man backs away, and says, "You feel like you need it, but you don't. You can get through this." Still, he doesn't move any closer, letting Sophie take over. She's a lot more capable of helping than he is after all.

Sophie's eyes shine, as they always do with the new arrivals, with tears and she says, softly, "We can help. Come with me." softly. She finds a clean, fresh bed, to help the man sit down.

"Yeah, he's … he's around here all the time," the girl tells Elisabetha distractedly, unnerved by the woman (could be her eyes) and worried about the unstable new guest. "Sorry— " she apologizes while moving around the desk toward the shaky man, Cam, and Sophie. "They're right. But— we can help you. This shelter helped me!" She doesn't look older than sixteen. Trying to stay on top of things while Cam and Sophie do their jobs, the volunteer gestures to Elisabetha, "Uhm— if you want to help out, you're gonna have to talk to Niki…" She flips a flyer over, grabs a pen. "What's your name?"

Elisabetha would rather not give her name, let alone have it written down here after what she has planned. On the other hand, if Peter isn't here right now, no point in destroying her only link to his whereabouts. She'll have to wait before she helps these people directly, it seems. How unfortunate. Their pain is like a buzzing of wasps inside her head, stinging and biting her senses. It would be so easy to end it all.

Turning as the girl heads over to help out the man, she says, "Elisabetha." She then casually opens her wallet, and pulls out a thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills, one slip of paper at a time, as though making a point. These she then folds and places on the desk (or whatever the nearest surface to the girl is). "That should cover groceries, I think."

Then, as the man with the case continues to be agitated, the agony of withdrawal he is going through rolling off of him in waves, Elisabetha sighs, closes her red eyes for a moment, and then when she opens them she smiles slightly and walks slowly towards the new arrival. ">I< can help you. >I< can give you something BETTER than 'It'. Something stronger. It will take away your pain completely, and you won't need to take 'It' if you don't want to." She continues advancing, heeled boots clicking somewhat on the floor. "Would you like that?" she asks. Having already tucked away her wallet, she raises her left hand — her ONLY hand — and extends it in a welcoming gesture to the addict. "I won't force you. These people have a way of helping too. They too can let you live independent of 'It'… But my way will work >right now<." She stops a distance away, hand held out, and doesn't try to violate the man's personal space. Dimly, wisps of black vapor surrounding Elisabetha's hand seem to make her pale skin practically glow in contrast.

The appearance of the newcomer doesn't rouse the woman in the corner. She's not a regular, nor anyone who anyone else might know just by looking at her. Turning her head a little to the side, she watches the events unfolding with only a bit of curiosity. Her hair still covers most of her face, but bright blue eyes are visible through the strands. The drifting sound of Peter's name, though, causes her to raise her head slightly, tilting it in the direction of the front desk. What's this about Peter?

"You don't understand!" the man cries out to Sophie, taking a step back. He trembles again, and in turn, the shelter itself trembles, if only slightly. He may be in the throes of withdrawal, but his power hasn't quite left him yet. It's at that stage where his body feels like it is literally dying for just one more injection. The bad stage. "I have money!" he says, shaking the case in front of him, "and I don't want the help you normally give out here! I want the drugs! The Boost! I need it!" Tears are streaking down his face now, his body trembling even more violently as he takes a step back from Elisabetha. "You stay away from me! Unless you have what I need, then you don't have anything!" he continues to shout, voice become more shrill by the second.

Cam gives Elisabetha a curious look, and comments, "Quick fixes usually don't help in the long run." He looks back to the man then and shakes his head a bit, "We don't have any here. We help people stop using. If you stay here, we can help you get through this."

Sophie shakes her head, "That's not what we do here." she says, "You have the money now, but you won't always. This feeling, its going to come back again and again until you fix the problem. The pain is there to tell you that the worst thing you can do is the Boost. Its what /causes/ the pain. The pain is there to teach you what not to do." softly, gently. "We can help you stop the pain, and help you get off the stuff."

The volunteer grabs the cash left by Elisabetha and mouses her way back behind the desk, wide-eyed. This isn't exactly uncommon for the shelter to face, but she knows as well as any how fast things can turn, especially by looking at the familiar look in the addict's eye — so, she inches for the phone.

Elisabetha lowers her hand slowly, the vapor around it vanishing, along with the smile on her lips. "I see. Well, good luck with that," she says calmly and coldly. Not sarcastic in tone, though the words certainly are regardless. She glances at Cam briefly, and considers offering him some philosophy, but he seems to be fairly occupied with helping Jitters over there, so she decides not to waste her opinion on him. Instead she turns her attention on the paper with her name, and scribbles out her phone-number in flowery, fancy hand-writing, and then says, "Oh, and please do not tell Peter I was here. I want to surprise him." She smiles sweetly.

Elisabetha's main reason for being here was to find Peter. He's not here. And with the way the building is shaking, she has decided that prudence is the better part of valor, and 'she who turns and runs away lives to fight another day'. Thus she begins making for the exit. If the front door is still occupied by the addict, she begins looking for another way out. And if she can't find one, she will MAKE one. Even walls can crumble.

From her vantage point in the corner, Cass' hands stop shaking and she quickly tucks the piece of hair that was in her face behind her ear. In just a few gestures, she's transformed herself from a junkie or homeless woman to someone here of her own will. Not someone who's in dire need of a fix. The sound of Peter's name has jarred something from her and the air suddenly seems a little crisper and drier. Tempers may become a tad bit shorter and a bad mood that much easier to feel. Still, however, the woman doesn't speak.

The young, dirty looking man currently going through withdrawals stares at Sophie for a long moment, his mouth falling open in a rather comical way. "You don't understand… you don't…" he says, forehead shining slightly with sweat. He ignores Elisabetha's final words. If she doesn't have Boost, like Sophie, than it doesn't matter. It looks like he's not going to find any here, but that doesn't matter. He stuffs his hand into the suitcase, whipping it out suddenly. Cash falls to the floor, quite a bit, actually, and it's more than likely he managed to steal the briefcase of money from someone. The money isn't anyone's concern, however— it's the shiny, sleek gun he's now holding in his hand, and he points it directly at the young woman working behind the counter. "Then tell me where," he says, voice a bit stronger, but still raspy, weak, and scared. "Tell where I can find it," he repeats, eyes moving around the shelter, "or you'll have more to worry about than me!"

Perhaps it's the Cass-enhanced tension in the air, perhaps it's seeing the gun pointed at the girl, but Cam reacts almost immediately without thinking. He places his hand down on the desk, quickly growing a wall of ice between the man and the volunteer. Of course, ice (without something inside to strengthen it like newspaper or wood pulp) isn't bulletproof, but he isn't thinking that far ahead.

Sophie raises her hands, removing her gloves as she does so, but trying to make it look natural as she does. "Hey, you don't have to do that. We don't /know/ where the Boost is sold."

The girl drops the phone receiver she'd picked up and it falls with a clatter as her hands fly up. She instantly looks to the other teenager, Cam — and then she's hidden behind a wall of ice.

Clickclickclickclick.

Toenails on concrete and then on floor announce the arrival of … a dog. A Doberman pinscher, to be precise, wearing a thick leather collar. His nose is to the ground, but he pauses once he's within the shelter, eyes roaming. Without ado, he sits just near the door and remains there, watching.

The ice, for lack of a better phrase, causes the man to freak out. Whether it's the fact Cam is showing off an ability, which the man is so desperately trying to get back, or the fact he thinks he's under attack, either way, he begins firing. Wildly. Bullets shatter through the ice, embedding in the wall behind the teenage girl. One manages to strike home, slamming into her shoulder and taking her to the ground.

Deciding that it would be best to get out of the dodge, he fires off the remaining two shots he has in the gun over the heads of people, not even realizing that he's shot the poor teenager. He turns away, throwing the gun on the ground, and clings to his case as he makes his way for the door in a run, keeping one eye on the dog that's appeared out of nowhere, having missed its entrance in the chaos immediately after.

Cam ducks at the shooting, pulling back. For a moment, it looks like he might chase after the man, but then he notices the girl's hit and runs quickly to her, crouching down beside her. "I'm sorry, I thought… it'll be ok."

Sophie rushes toward the desk. With all the ruckus, she hasn't even really noticed the dog. She grabs the first aid kit. You can't trust what'll happen to one of them in a hospital, after all. "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry." she whispers.
Like most people who are shot, the girl falls down with a scream. Her feet scramble at the floor, behind the desk, but she stays down. "Is he gone— ? I know where he can find it a-around here, I didn't want to tell him…"

But the dog moves to block the exit, ears back and teeth bared in an ugly, ferocious snarl. Nothing's getting past that door if he can help it.

Emitting a manic swear under his breath, the man with the spent gun comes to an abrupt stop, cut off by the Doberman. Facing sharp bared teeth that way, and something of a crowd the other, he shakes harder, grimacing in an unintentional mimic of the snarling dog. "I can't stay here, I can't do this!"

A tremor sends a strong vibration throughout the shelter. Every muscle in the junkie's body tightening, his face screwed into a sweat-drenched twist of concentration, he stares up at the ceiling. But he's not pleading to God. Dust falls at first from cracks in the ceiling already present; then whole pieces start to tear loose by an invisible force. Especially near the entrance. Especially near that damn dog.

It's all the addict seems to have in him. He makes another run for it.

Throughout most of the fighting and the mayhem, Cass has kept hidden in her corner. No one has noticed her, really, and she likes it that way. That's way she's wanted it to be. Once the shelter starts to come apart, though, she can't do that any more. Scrambling into a standing position, she swerves out of the way of a piece of the ceiling that falls to the ground with a loud smack. As the addict moves close to her however, she does something unexpected, she shoots out an arm in an attempt to place it on him. It's not done in a threatening manner or even with a tight grasp. It may only reward her with a light brush. But, even if she doesn't even manage to land any sort of touch upon him, she takes a deep breath and pours out an emotion that she's felt very little of lately - euphoria, happiness, calm - and attempts to throw it at him. It's a wave, really, as she can't focus on just one person very well. And those by him may feel it, too. All she really wants him to do is stop.

Cam glances up to the man as he makes the ceiling cave in. That makes Cam stand up again, "Hey!" He doesn't immediately give chase, though. He's looking up to the ceiling, looking to see if it looks like the whole thing may cave in.
Sophie looks up, then she winces as she mutters, "Just got the walls fixed.." probably from the last episode. She turns, having heard the sound of the dog, toward the door, staring at the doberman there. "What on earth…>"

The dog back out the door when the ceiling starts to cave, but he's not backing down. Once things stop crumbling, he lurches forward again with a snap of his jaws. No, you stay.

Outside the shelter, there's another Doberman, but this one is accompanied by Lachlan, who is accompanied by body armor and his typical weaponry. The second Doberman rushes to join the first, while Lachlan pulls a pistol and advances more slowly. The dogs back off immediately when he calls out, "C'mon out, hands up!"

The ceiling is in need of repairs, but it should hold.

The man who made it that way, however… The sudden euphoria is overwhelming. He doesn't even notice the light touch that brought it — he's stumbling out onto the street, gun dropped in rubble. He turns with a bewildered expression. He rubs at his neck, over the faded ace tattoo, disoriented but … smiling? Backpedalling onto the sidewalk, he holds his hands up. "I don't have nothin'."

Seeing the effect that she's had on the addict, Cass lets the emotion slip away from her, feeling exhausted and spent. The ceiling stops shaking and she doesn't look backward when she makes her way toward the exit where she hears her husband's voice. Waiting until it seems safe, she steps out onto the street, not acknowledging Lachlan for the moment.

Cam steps around, making sure the roof is holding and everybody's ok, but then moves back over to the girl who was shot, crouching to watch Sophie help her again, ready to help if it's needed. "Hope they let him go, people might be hurt if they try to stop him here." Which would explain why he didn't chase after himself.

Sophie nods with a sigh, as she tries her best, with better first aid skills than she'd rather have had, given how she's gained them. She nods as she sighs, "That's a particularly dangerous power."

"Yeah, 'course ye dunna have nothin'," Lachlan mutters, keeping the pistol trained on the man. "Get down on yer stomach, yer under arrest." The guy's surely done something wrong. Cass is given a glance, but he says nothing to her.

The man may have calmed down, but the turn in his emotions also gives him a less desperate, panic-driven viewpoint. "You let me go— " he tries to barter, dropping to his knees, at least, hands still in the air. " I'll I'll check myself inna' the shelter!" One hand, still shaky, trembling, lowers carefully to criss-cross his heart. "Promise!"

Hearing the man's pleading, Cass replies softly, "You just tried to destroy the shelter." Her voice has surprisingly little sympathy in it, considering how she should probably feel for the man. But, she doesn't at the moment. Finally, her eyes flicker over toward where Lachlan is giving orders.

Cam nods in agreement with Sophie, and says, "Yeah." He asks then, "She gonna be ok?" He looks up towards the door again, at the sound of the confrontation outside, obviously curious but stays where he is still in case Sophie needs help.

Sophie says, walking toward the man. She looks into his eyes, as if assessing, "I want to help you, to help you get clean, and stay that way. But you would have to really want to, more than me, because you're the one who'd have to do the work. And I can't endanger the people already here, who do want to be here, if you are just trying to stay free."

"Bullshit." Yeah, Lachlan's not buying it. The pistol remains pointed at the man and he reaches for the cuffs on his belt. "Hands behind yer head." To Sophie, he adds, "Stay back."

"Well I can't live like this," the man says. He seems unsure, glinting eyes shooting this way and that. Is he only saying this because he's backed in a corner or did he come here because he really did need help? Unsolved mystery. His hands go behind his head.

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