2007-07-30: The Smart Ones Are Forthcoming


DFAileen_icon.gif DFNamir_icon.gif


A few hours after being snatched off the street, Aileen is interrogated about a project she has been working on.

Dark Future Date: July 30th, 2009

The Smart Ones Are Forthcoming


It's been a few hours since she was nabbed. When Aileen wakes up, she'll find herself not in the Bronx or even anywhere recognizable. It's just a dark, dank, and ugly room, the size of which is only determinable by the echoes in the emptiness. The only light is a single tiny desk lamp set up on the floor, its beam directed into the woman's face. She'll find herself in a chair that feels like a typical metal dining chair — there are no arms, however her arms are bound by rope and handcuffed behind the back. Her legs are also bound by rope, ankles handcuffed to the chair's legs.

There's a slight bit of a groan. As Aileen stirs, she blinks open her eyes, promptly blinking faster at the light. She struggle as soon as she feels the bonds against the chair, squinting her eyes against the light. "Is anyone there? Hello?"

"Doctor Aileen Kincade." Something moves just within the shadows, and the voice comes directly from the left of Aileen — even though nobody is there. "Isn't that right?" Now it's directly behind her, but again, there is no one there. The voice is male and bears the hints of an accent: a strange mixture of native New Yorker and something else. Israeli, perhaps, if she's good with accents. Something certainly from the Middle-East. "You work with the President, don't you?"

Having enough of an accent herself, Aileen can pick up on some of it. Interesting. She squints her eyes, trying to turn her head to face the sound of the voice. "Not directly." She murmurs. "If this is about the President, you've chosen the wrong person to mess with. I'm just a doctor.."

The something in the shadows moves again. It's tall and humanoid in shape, and as it approaches from directly in front of Aileen, the vague outline becomes clearer. It's a man dressed head to toe in combat gear with his face obscured by a black headscarf. His eyes are dark, and in his hands, he bears an opened file folder. "This isn't about the President," the voice continues to say, moving to the left of Aileen again and circling around. The man's mask moves as though he is speaking. "This is about your work for the President. You are working on something that you don't want anyone to know about— " the file snaps closed and he stares at Aileen intently "— but I want to know, and you are going to tell me."

"Working on something I don't want.." Aileen trails off, looking confused. "I'm a /doctor/. A doctor. That's what I do. I patch people up, I make sure people live. That's what I do." Whatever it is, she's not saying anything.

"You are a neurologist," states the voice, which is now just above Aileen. The man walks around the lamp and around the doctor, dropping the file into her lap as he comes up behind her. It remains closed, and on the tab is her name printed legibly in plain black ink. "You used to work at Mount Sinai." Voice and man meet up now as he bends down, keeping his head just out of reach of any attempt to headbutt him in the face, but close enough to be an invasion of personal space. "I know a few doctors. It amazes me how protective they are of their hands, especially surgeons." As he speaks, one of his own hands grasp hold of of one of her wrists where they're bound behind the chair. "I will ask again, Doctor Kincade, but if you continue to lie, you will find me a very unpleasant person." His free hand wraps around her index finger.

There's a soft gasp, and Aileen stares back over. "What do you want from me? I'm nothing special. I'm not Evolved. I took the job that I did because it kept me from being outright /attacked/. I worked at Mount Sinai as a neurologist. That's what I do. All I am doing is my job. So what do you want to know?"

"I didn't ask about your motives for taking the job," continues the man in that same calm, almost neutral voice, "I asked what it was you were working on. There is a project that you are doing." He starts bending back her index finger, slowly, putting increasing pressure on the digit. "I want to know what it is, and I hope you have the foresight to tell me before you find out what it feels like to have a broken finger. I can assure you, it is excruciating."

Turning her head away, Aileen bites down on her lip. "It's only a research project and it's not even close to being anything useful." She lets out a breath. "I'm doing research on the differences between humans and Evolved." She glances back.

The pressure stops increasing, but it doesn't stop altogether. It remains instead at a stable yet uncomfortable, perhaps painful level. "Anyone could do research on the differences between humans and Evolved. It's been going on for years. Why the secrecy now? What is different about your particular research?"

There's a yelp from Aileen. She's not particularly fond of pain. "Maybe because I'm trying to find a practical application of it." She struggles to try and pull back away.

The man's grip is firm and grows even firmer still at the struggling. He bends Aileen's finger a little more, not enough to break, but certainly enough to cause even more pain. "Stay still," he orders without so much as a hint of emotion. He could very well be coaxing a dog out from under the porch for all he raises his voice. "What sort of practical application?"

Another cry of pain as Aileen feels that, taking a moment to let out a breath as she hangs her head. "I'm trying to see if there's a way for normal humans to become Evolved. Something to force genetic evolution. It's based off of Chandra Suresh's work."

There is a moment's pause before the pressure eases off and the man straightens. He releases Aileen's wrist and her finger, then picks up the file from off her lap and moves to stand directly beside her. "Why would the President be interested in that sort of work?"

"He doesn't know I'm working on it yet." Aileen lets out a breath, wiggling her finger and trying to settle it more comfortably. "I've only been doing some work on my own because of the suggestion of a.. friend of mine who knew I'd read Suresh's work. I haven't talked to the President himself."

"Who is this friend?" The file remains tucked under one of the man's arms and his gaze stays fixed on Aileen, unwavering and stony.

It seems Aileen isn't very comfortable talking about this. "His name's George. He's not involved in it personally, he just came up with the suggestion."

"George." He says it like the name is somehow familiar, and it's not hard to figure out why when he withdraws the file and opens it again. He tips it slightly so that it's visible in the light. Aileen might catch a glimpse of a few things: photographs of her, papers clipped together and written on, some things circled in different colors of ink. The man studies the file for a moment before he pipes up again: "This would be the man you are seeing, correct?"

The doctor takes the opportunity to glance at the file. Aileen doesn't like this, not one bit. In fact, she's pretty sure she's going to have to have a long conversation with George after this. "Right. That would be George."

Specifics within the file are fairly extensive. There are a few bits of information on her work in Mount Sinai, where she went to school, got her doctorate, the names of her parents and birthplace. Richard Kincade's name has been crossed out and a question mark placed beside Victoria's. Immediately after she answers the question, the file is closed once again and slipped beneath the man's arm. "Thank you, doctor. You have been smart. Would you like something to eat or drink?"

As the file is shut, Aileen shifts in her chair again. "Water would be appreciated." She glances towards the figure. "Are you planning on holding me here for a while?"

"I'll have someone bring you a glass of water." The man pointedly does not answer that question as he bends down to turn the lamp's beam toward the floor, no longer directly in Aileen's face. It makes seeing the rest of the room a little easier, but there's really nothing much to see. Across the room from the doctor is a door, towards which the man heads, obviously on his way out.

"Thank you." Aileen murmurs, glancing around as she looks towards the door. He notably didn't answer her question, which leads her to believe it could be a while.

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