2009-12-28: The Iron Fist



Date: December 28, 2009


After not cooperating with Dr. Lansing, Lena is treated less than humanely.

"The Iron Fist"

Lena's Cell

Privacy is not something that Lena has enjoyed for awhile now. Her cell has three slate grey walls and a large window through which a video camera is pointed, 24-7. Whether she's sleeping on the slab of metal that passes as a bed, or using the stainless steel toilet, or brushing her teeth in the stainless steel sink, someone is always watching. If she were a delicate feminine flower who wasn't sunk in an all-encompassing depression, this might bother the girl. But she hasn't been putting much of a show on for her captors.

Since her last session with Tammy, which ended on the oh so positive note of learning Tiago's date of execution, Lena has retreated to the corner of her bunk and curled up there. The meals that are shoved in through the slot go mostly untouched, and only the forced daily shower and convict orange jumpsuit change has kept the brunette from growing stinky.

At present, Lena has her back braced into the corner and her knees drawn up to her chest, serving as a resting place for her chin. Unfocused blue eyes are fixed without seeing on the plexiglass window that separates her from the hallway. She has the look of someone who is willing themselves far, far away. Only the occasional wiggle of her toes, or the flex of fingers against the thin government-issue blanket hints that she's in there. Somewhere.

The door to the cell creaks open with the sound of metal against slate as a pair of loud heels clap against the slate floor. Enter Jo, dressed in a black pant suit a white dress shirt, and tall black heels. Her gun holster can be seen underneath her blazer and a walkie-talkie rests on her hip. A glance is given to the security camera, elucidating a smirk.

"Miss Grey," the tone is oddly gentle for someone in this realm, particularly considering Lena's interrogation should be escalating by all accounts. "I've been told you haven't cooperated with Dr. Lansing. Not the extent expected." She glances at the camera again and offers it a warm smile. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Scott." Beat. "You will cooperate with me." She reaches into her pocket and extracts a pair of blue surgical gloves which she pulls onto her hands with a loud snap.

Lena hadn't expected this, not the invasion of her cell. A squad of guards for the shackling ritual, and the escort to another room, perhaps. But not someone in heels with a gun. The girl's head lifts and her eyes widen as she regards the intruder in silence, one foot easing towards the ground and the other bracing against the bunk. She may or may not be anticipating the need to move, quickly.

"What the fuck? The government's saving money by hiring models instead of soldiers?" The remark is crudely casual to test the waters but those big blue eyes remain wary. Her lips press together firmly enough to whiten before she forces them into a lopsided smile. "What do you want, lady? I'm kinda busy here, you maybe noticed."

Lena's comment is met with a broad smile, but Jo's eyes lack warmth or genuine feeling. "Well done, Miss Grey. Clearly your sense of humour hasn't suffered." Pause." You've managed to irritate us enough to send in the big guns." She continues to smile that broad, cold, distant smile. An almost-angry smile. Sardonic in its inception from years of emotion focused into her training. "I want names. Dates. Locations." She nods at the camera and takes off her blazer. "So. Are you going to tell me?" She tilts her head as she continues to smile, but it borders on threatening.

Now it's both feet that are on the ground, with Lena scootched to the edge of the bunk and her hands braced against its surface. She tenses but the smile remains fixed firmly in place, even though it's looking a little sickly. "You're kinda skinny for it. I've got bigger tits than you do, you know?" she points out, striving for a reasonable tone of voice. "And I don't swing that way anyway." She too pauses for a beat. "I told the other lady everything I know, okay? The guys at the convenience store, the pool hall dude…I dunno anyone else."

"You know someone else," Jo says simply as two large men enter the room along with a chair, some cuffs, and a watering can in hand. The bulkier of the two military men pushes Lena into the seat, promptly cuffing her hands behind her back. "You are all connected," Jo hisses pseudo-angrily as she paces the room. "I'm an ex-Navy SEAL. Believe me, I'm capable of taking down either of my colleagues here." At this, she unbuttons her blazer and shrugs it off her shoulders before handing it to one of her colleagues. "Are you familiar with something called water boarding?" Reaching to her belt, she clicks a button on her walkie-talkie, "Cut the camera."

Oh yes, Lena's familiar with the concept. And she isn't about to simply submit to the treatment, either. She may not have the brawn to resist being cuffed by the bruiser there but the brunette has other avenues of retaliation open. Especially when said bruisers have neglected the precaution of wearing faceshields.

"Hey asshole!" she yelps to draw the guard's attention. It makes it easier when they glance at her, considering she's prepped to spit in their faces. The mucous membranes of the mouth and eyes will speed the ingestion of the concentrated hallucinogenics Lena is concentrating on producing.

There's nothing like a sudden psychadelic trip full of wild colors and angry cartoon animals to distract from the prospect of waterboarding a hundred and ten pound girl.

Sure enough one of the large men gets the spit in his eyes. Awesome. His vision isn't of the happy kind. In fact, it's of the post-war trauma sort, and inexplicably he dives for his male counterpart, taking his colleague down at the knees. Immediately, Jo's hand goes to the button again, "Mountaineer to Base Camp. We need backup. Face shields. Stat."

The two large army brutes scrap on the floor like two rather oversized wrestlers doing their part: the drugged one beating on the other; his eyes crazy with rage. Fists fly as the two pummel on one another. Promptly three new agents enter the room, all with face shields and one with a face shield for Jo (which she immediately put on). One agent extracts a needle from his belt that he promptly shoves into the skin of the drugged agent who then turns limp. Two of the new agents drag him out of the room, leaving the one with several newly acquired bruises (who looks very pissed off) and a new one with Jo.

Clucking her tongue, Jo tilts her head at Lena. "I will cut a bitch," the words are hissed through a still smiling face as the SEAL kicks the chair down. "Names. Now." She reaches for the watering can.

Lena's satisfaction and semi-hysterical laughter at the ensuing chaos is short-lived. The breath is forced out of her, and her head connects with the floor when the chair goes back, leaving the girl dazed and uncomprehending. Only her thick skull saves her from unconsciousness, though it's no blessing. Her hands have been cuffed behind the back of the chair, and the pain of having them crushed between metal and concrete is excruciating.

What little breath she has left is spent in screaming, blood dribbling over her bitten lips. Even if she wanted to answer Jo's questions, it would be impossible at the moment. There's no understanding in the wild eyes that roll towards the other woman and her water can.

The silence is mistaken for complete disdain towards the question as the Lt Commander's smile broadens further as she pours a little bit of the water onto Lena's face. "I want names!" she demands as she lifts the can allowing Lena to breathe again. She's not going to kill Lena. Just scare her into talking.

Insult to injury. The brunette's body bucks against the chair, whatever conscious thought she'd been capable of lost as the unconscious mind insists she's drowning. It's a frenzy of movement, powerful enough that after Lena gags and coughs and sputters, she's finally able to tilt the chair onto its side. The impact jars her again, but there's no air left to scream. Instead, she dry-heaves before croaking, "Please…please stop."

"Give me a name," Jo spits impatiently back at Lena as she pulls the chair to its upright position, allowing all of Lena's passage to drain on their own. She stares at Lena incredulously. Expectantly. Eagerly, perhaps.

"R-rebel!" The name is little more than a moan, delivered towards the floor as Lena tries to ease the pain of her mangled hands by leaning forward. Water mixed with spit and blood drools to the concrete. "Rebel…" She sniffs, then sneezes and coughs again, eyes crunched tight against an overwhelming sense of physical and psychic misery. "Rebel. The…the kid on the…computer. I never saw him! I never saw him, I swear to god. He wants to stop you guys, please don't do that again. Please."

"Give me more," Jo states with a smile once again. Rebel. They knew about Rebel. Everyone knows about Rebel: one of the kids Ivory released. Sloppy. "You give me more, I don't do that again. You don't…" she shrugs a little. "Dr. Lansing played nice compared to me. You should've talked to her." She continues to smile that cold detached smile.

Lena moans as if it's her heart rather than her hands that have been battered, the sound nasal as she tries to force water from her sinuses. The girl is a gunky, sodden mess and the cell's going to have to be declared a biohazard after this. "I don't…I swear to god. He wanted me to…he wanted me to join their group. I didn't. I didn't," she mumbles. "Little shit…always yelled. Can't take that. We were going to Canada. Away."

Jo hmmms as she stares at the other woman. Given that Lena's been so tight-lipped and is only now mentioning Rebel she purses her lips. "I want more names. More and I don't do that again. More and you're in the clear and I won't do that to you again today." And there it is. "And I won't do it tomorrow if you keep cooperating." She reaches into her pocket and extracts Lena's cellphone, being sure to show it to Lena. "Do you recognize this? I know you've been without it for some time. It's your phone. I can trace your contacts. It seems some people have missed you." She continues to smile.

It's a struggle to get her head up but finally Lena accomplishes the feat, peering blearily at the small object in Jo's hand. There's no surprise, to see it there. She knew it had been taken with the other items she'd had on her, at the abduction (it wasn't an arrest!). But rather than answer the woman right away, she coughs again and spits, quite deliberately, at Jo's feet.

"Fucking righ' they missed me," she slurs. "Lemme guess, my shrink? She was trying to save me from the streets. Didn't think I should be dealing, that I'd end up a whore or something."

"Your shrink," Jo repeats with a growing smile. The spit is eyed, but then ignored. This isn't out of the ordinary for terrorists. "And what perchance is your shrink's name in the phone? We can track all of the numbers, particularly those that called us. One called you twenty times or more within the first couple of days of your capture." She crosses her arms as she continues to pace the room, her heels clapping against the echoey floor.

Lena's laugh is harsh, rough-edged from a sore throat. "She's the White Knight. Probably thinks I'm dead in a gutter somewhere, killed by a john." Then she sniffs loudly, and lifts red-rimmed eyes to the ex-SEAL. Somehow, through the pain, the teenager manages to summon a weak but decidedly crooked smile for the woman. "Maybe you can remember that story when it's time to dump my body. Folks'd buy it. No questions."

"I don't dump bodies, Miss Grey." Jo replies blandly. "Although I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty." Clearly. "I'll make sure our therapist gets in touch with yours then." She watches Lena carefully at saying the words. "I'm sure your records could be subpoenaed. Any therapist worth their weight takes explicably good notes." Smile.

Any shift in the girl's expression is hidden when she winds up to snort another wad of watery snot at Jo's feet. Blame the water boarding; her sinuses are going to slosh for days. Then Lena is wincing, courtesy of an experimental flexing of her fingers. Several are bent at odd angles and the thrill of pain is enough to make her bite her already split lip. "Nngh…whatever. She's not a fucking mutant, if that's what you're wondering. Bitch, I think you broke my hands."

Jo hmmms at Lena. "I'll have a medic look at your hands then." She continues to smile. Either she really likes her job or the smile is an unnerving kind of ruse. "Send in the doctor," she presses a button on her walkie-talkie. "Until we meet again, Miss Grey. You've been moderately helpful today." That said, she retrieves her blazer from the floor and pads towards the door. "Next time I suggest you cooperate with Dr. Lansing. I won't be as kind should we meet again." She waits as one of her comrades uncuffs Lena.

Lena is in no mood to offer up further resistance. She remains slumped in the chair as her wrists are released, arms curling with some difficulty to her chest when the cuffs are removed. The glare sent after Jo's retreating back is tempered with a dull sort of despair. Ahh, guilt.

Once in the hallway, Jo and her comrades exchange smirks. "Someone needs to contact Dr. Lansing. You sound-recorded it right?" The question is met with a nod from the one man. "I told you I get results," she quips to the men.

The bruised one shoots her a broad grin, "Go Army."

And despite the inaccuracy in the military regime, she offers a single word, "Hoo-rah!"

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License