2010-05-12: WiP



Date: May 12, 2010


Black Suits Comin'.


Wheeler's Apartment

"Nnng," Porter grunts, narrowing his eyes skeptically.

Presently, he's reading a back issue of Nick Fury: Agent Of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Not a difficult item to find in Wheeler's fourth floor apartment. There are comic books everywhere. This one, however, seems to offend him on a personal level. When he flips the page, he does so far more briskly than is necessary.

The comic isn't the only liberty he's taken. He's also dragged a chair next to Wheeler's bed. Quietly. Every so often, Porter glances up from his reading to check on his sleeping charge.

Yoda Sheets.

X-Wing Pillow.

Slave Leia Poster on the Ceiling.

That, friends, is how Archibald Wheeler sleeps. Currently, he's decked out in his Food Court uniform, as always. His visor is clasped in his hand, as he snores lightly. He probably had to work a double or some oddness. But the sleep doesn't really last too long because something happens that sends his body into a reactionary jolt.

His ear twitches, followed by his eyes jerking open and fluttering slightly, before his body jolts and he sits up quickly, head already turned to towards Porter's direction. At the same time, his hand flings the visor at the comic in Porter's hands, pretty much instinctively. Wheeler's face is already in too much shock for this to be making sense. "DUDE! COLLECTOR'S ISSUE!"

As his body stops reacting on its own, Wheeler actually realizes that something has happened. Something cruel and unusual. Something akin to the fact that he really, really should be looking into some better security measures. LIKE LOCKS THAT ACTUALLY WORK. But, for now, there are more important things to do like… freaking out.

Annnnnd. Go.

"What the hell! Why-when-how-what are you doing here?! Dude, I used to sleep naked! That would've been totally awkward. And gross. You're watching me sleep?! Who watches someone slee— wait a minute! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY APARTMENT?!"

Porter glances up, smirks, and snatches the visor out of the air. It and the comic book are tossed aside none-too-gently. "Good morning, kid," he greets Wheeler. "Don't mind me. I let myself in. I'll be doing that from now on."

He stands briskly, crosses the room, and jerks the curtains open to admit an unforgivingly large amount of sunlight. "So. I've decided that you're harmless. No self-respecting operative would go this deep in cover. That means you're my problem now."

Wheeler is not a happy camper. Not with the light burning the hell out of his skin and his retina. Which causes him to duck underneath the Yoda sheets, "Away put your weapon! I mean you no harm!" Yes, he just straight up did the Yoda voice. Don't ask why, but he's just that much into Star Wars.

It takes him a moment, but Wheeler finally comes out of the sheets, realizing what's going on. "Hold on. What're you talking about? What operative?" Glancing around, Wheeler spots his PS3 and the Splinter Cell game on top of it. Hrm. "Wait. Is this some kinda' sweet cool epic new promotion for the new Splinter Cell game?! Oh man, this is freakin' awesome! Are you gonna' like 'take me in' to meet the game developers?"

Wheeler's rolling off his bed and deftly not stepping on anything but the little pieces of floor that can be seen. Sometimes. "Just let me grab my portfolio. I've got all these mad ideas for video games. This could be my total shot!" Apparently, he's forgotten that this guy has said he'll be letting himself into his apartment whenever he wants. There's possible gaming hook ups in the works!


"You have a splinter where?" Porter raises an eyebrow curiously, peers at Wheeler for a moment, and then shakes his head. Moving far slower than the younger man, he pads back over and finds a flat spot to stand. Slowly, he looks his newest charge over. Skinny. Underdeveloped. Untrained.

"Christ. I have my work cut out for me, don't I?. Get dressed, kid. You have two minutes. Then you're going to answer the call of duty."

Blinking, Wheeler stops in the middle of trying to get past all of his clothes in his closet so that he can get to his secret game ideas folder… and ends up freezing in mid-search. "Call of Duty? Dude, I beat that game already." He slides back out of the closet and turns to stare at Porter. "All of 'em." There's another pause. "Twice."

One more pause.

"On the hardest setting."

He's good. Maybe a little too good.

At the order to get dressed, Wheeler does that thing where he reaches for his visor, pausing only to check on the comic issue and make sure its not TOO damaged, before flipping it up and pulling it onto his head. It gets twisted to the side, just slightly, as if giving himself some cool flavor. "Two minutes. Please. I wake up dressed." That was supposed to be some epic line but… well, it's Wheeler.

Porter lets out a quiet groan and pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. No amount of massaging is going to stop this headache, though. From his hip pocket, he produces a small handheld radio unit, which he keys on. "Raptor One-One, this is Patriot. Requesting a confined area approach on my current position, over."

"Copy that. Raptor One-One is bringin' the noise, over."

Now Porter smiles and tucks his radio away. "For reasons that aren't clear to me, important people seem to think you have potential. Normally, I'd play this soft. Buddy up with you. Get you laid. Frankly, I don't want to be in New York long enough to do that. People keep trying to kill me. So here's what we're going to do. You're going to come with me. Now. And no, there are no video games at the end of this tunnel."

"Uh, let's back this thing up like Juvenile for a second here." Wheeler has his hands up, just in case he needs to do something like pretend like he can fight or something close to that. "You're serious? Well, I mean, I can tell you're serious. You don't look like you've ever laughed at a Joke. Like ever. You need some Bill Cosby in your life. I can grab the DVD if you wanna' borrow it…" He thumbs over to his DVD shelves. "So, I'm just supposed to come with you, on a Raptor One One to wherever the hell it is you're taking me and there's no video games involved? I find that a little hard to swallow, bucko."

Wheeler sits himself back down on his bed and leans back, getting comfortable. "I ain't goin' nowhere…" Stretching backwards, his hands go down the side and underneath the bed's mattress. When he comes back up, he's twirling his PSP in his hand. "…without my baby." Wink. "Lead the way, MacGuyver." Oh lord.

A humming noise slowly starts to permeate the air. Porter smiles.

"I don't think you're grasping the gravity of your situation," he says, crossing back over to the window. "Let me help you see things more clearly."

Porter whirls, draws a small, slim Beretta from inside his suit jacket, and fires three shots at the window. The glass breaks into several large fragments and slides out for a long fall to the pavement below. Then, to make things more interesting, the nose of an MH-6 Little Bird helicopter scoots into view, blasting the room with rotor draft and deafening noise.

Porter tucks away his pistol. He's smiling again. "Get on the helicopter," he says, shouting to be heard over the noise. Around him, loose papers flutter and snap around the room. "Now."

Behind him, the heli's miniguns spin up. They hold in the firing position for several seconds, then, obligingly, the helicopter turns sideways and scoots closer to the apartment building.

Wheeler just kind of stands still for a moment, his PSP in hand and continues to just kind of stare at everything that just happens. He opens his mouth to respond to the window being shot out and then there's wind and noise and… holy crap. A helicopter. Apparently, if this was a prank, Ashton Kutcher would've come out by now. Not even Russ and the Captain can put this kind of epic prank together. So maybe he better just go along with the flow. But not before a brief Keanu moment:


With that done, he plants a kiss on the PSP for luck and then heads over to the window to climb from something solid to something MOVING and HIGH IN THE AIR with BLADES OF DEATH.

This is going to be very, very interesting. Or he's going to die.

A man in black fatigues, black helmet, and a mirrored visor reaches out to clasp Wheeler's arm and swing him into the chopper. Close behind, Porter springs across with practiced nimbleness. As soon as they're seated, the pilot banks away.

Grinning, Porter picks up a set of earmuffs with a mic and plops them on Wheeler's head. It takes a moment longer for him to find a second set for himself. When he has, he twists the mic a little closer to his mouth. "Sorry about all the theatrics, kid. Just a little hazing." He snaps off a quick, lazy salute. "My name's Porter."

Wheeler is not at all too happy about this action. He doesn't want some weird contraption on his head, but it is what it is. "If you're taking me to Jurassic Park, I'm gonna' be so pissed. It'll be totally cool, but I'll be soooooo pissed!" Apparently, Wheeler believes you still have to yell even when you have some kind of headset combo such as the one he's adjusting on his skull right now. "I'm gonna' bet you already know my name! But I'm Archie! You can call me that or Wheeler! Or whatever!" Oh Wheeler. Yelling.com "You gonna' tell me what all this is about or do I gotta' start thinkin' up excuses to tell my landlord about his window!" Pause. "… You're paying for that, by the way!"

"Cool it, man. You don't have to shout." Porter taps his headset. He stares at Wheeler for an uncomfortably long and silent moment, searching the young man's face. Studying it intently. He draws in a deep breath. "You can do things, Archie. Incredible things. Behind the wheel of a car. With a video game controller in your hand. Just now, in your bedroom, you knew right where I was sitting before your eyes opened. You managed to avoid all the trash and other landmines on your floor without looking. Okay. Maybe that last one isn't so impressive, but you get the point."

He pauses, leans closer, and makes unwavering eye contact. "The CIA wants to make use of your potential. How'd you like to be a spy?"

Whoa. This is getting heavier and heavier. Way too heavy to be held up in a court of law. Focusing on everything that this guy is saying, it kind of seems like he's preaching to the choir. Because, well, everything he's saying is pretty true. He doesn't even know how he's doing whatever he's doing even though he's doing it right now. It's weird, awkward and completely out of his own mental jurisdiction. But still… he just kind of stares at Porter as he practically lays it out there for him. Then the question is asked and his jaw drops just a bit more

"What." Yeah, he's confused as holy mchell's. "A spy? Me?" He looks down at his uniform, which he's practically always wearing and then back up at Porter. "Dude. I work at the Food Court. I mean, yes, I do love me some James Bond. Who doesn't? That dude is epic. But I'm not that dude. I'm not even George Lazenby material!" This is a sad truth. A sad panda truth. "I don't have anything it takes to be a spy! Well, okay, except maybe that thing you mentioned but… other than that!"

One corner of Porter's mouth curls up into a sly smile. "Relax, kid. Relax. Anyone can learn to fire a gun or seduce some oil billionare's mistress. It's easy. And consider what you can already do. With training, you could be the real deal." He reaches out and gives Wheeler a playful punch to the shoulder. "Think about it, man. Fast cars. Beautiful women. Cool toys. You get to travel. Save the world. It's a nice gig."

Wheeler just kind of listens to the words that come from Porter's mouth. He listens and he listens good. Which, for the record, he's hearing some very good things. Some very fun things. Some things that he's always wanted to try out. He's always wanted to be like James Bond. Or Han Solo. Or Indiana Jones. Or, if his parents are around, Captain James Tiberius Kirk. But for the moment, he's going to have to settle for James Bond. "That sounds awesome. Really, really awesome. But you know what I'm about to ask, right?"

Wheeler saw Men in Black. He knows the drill. But he might as well ask. "I know The Catch is Ultimate Secrecy. I watch enough TV to know that. But…"

Dramatic Pause.

"… Are you really going to take my fingerprints away?"

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