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alien_snipeLevel 4. Unclassified Hazards.
“Where am I?”
90s Kid squinted against the harsh light in his eyes. The small figure seated across from him did not move. In a harsh voice, cracking with age, he spoke. “You are in federal custody, John.”
90s Kid tried to squirm away, but his wrists were manacled to the arms of his chair, which was tightly bolted to the floor. “D-dude, you've got the wrong guy. My name isn't John.”
“That's the only name we have for you. John Doe.” The man flipped through a thick manila folder on the table in front of him. “You should give your official name if you don't want people to assign one to you.”
“Dude, I GAVE you my official name! I'm 90s Kid!” He tried to glare into the light, through watering eyes, and found himself sorely missing his sunglasses. “Like, what else do you need to know?”
The man's chair creaked a bit as he leaned forward. “Your reasons for temporarily making most of the human race vanish, for one.”
90s Kid gasped. His palms started to feel damp and sweaty. “That wasn't me, man!” His voice cracked with nervousness. “I don't even remember how that went down! It was the Entity who did that! Ask Linkara!”
“Don't worry, son. We'll get to him in good time.” The shadowy man sighed and grunted, and laboriously rose to his feet. “But you can't expect us to take it on faith that you aren't dangerous. Not after what you did.”
“It wasn't ME!” 90s Kid pleaded.
“We've got footage and full documentation that says otherwise. And besides. This “Entity” went off into space somewhere.” The man chuckled darkly. “That's your friend's official explanation, anyway. And YOU are still here. Doesn't it seem like somebody ought to pay the price for all those millions of people, up and torn out of their lives for weeks?”
“But I DIDN'T-!”
“My lad, I was born at night. But it wasn't last night.” He laughed again, at some private joke. “Far from it. And you need to start taking responsibility for your sins.”
90s Kid's head was spinning. All those people. But it wasn't him. He would never. Even if sometimes he remembered screams and crying faces. Those were just leftover nightmares, they were nothing he wanted to do, it wasn't his fault, it wasn't his fault...
He lowered his head, shuddering, as the first tears started to sting his eyes. “I wanna go home.” He sounded like a baby, but he didn't care. “Let me go home.”
“My boy, you are home.” The man gathered up his folder. “Best get used to it.”
Level 1. Intake and Processing.
Allen stepped quickly through the security station. He flashed his ID badge at the camera without pausing, not even stopping to acknowledge its response beep before hurrying through the automated doors. Bare cells, walls painted in clinical white, rushed past in a blur of bars.
He only slowed down when he came to the occupied cell in the block. It was at the end of the hall. No wards on the door, nothing special for security. The prisoner was no different from a normal human, after all, when he was unarmed. Allen still kept his distance when he finally moved into the prisoner's line of sight.
Linkara stared at Allen from the other side of the bars, and Allen met his gaze dead on. His face was rigidly, carefully emotionless. If the anger and betrayal in Linkara's eyes got to him at all, it didn't show.
A florescent light buzzed overhead, flickering brightly, and then went quiet.
Allen was the first one to talk. “I imagine you have a lot of questions.” Linkara didn't answer. “Some of our executive agents will be in shortly. My superiors. They'll be able to give any nonclassified information you might-”
“Really, Allen?” Linkara's voice was thick with disgust. Now it was Allen's turn to be silent.
Linkara took a deep breath and shut his eyes. “Where are my friends?” He opened his eyes, locking a gaze of raw hatred on the man standing on the other side of the bars. “Unless that's classified information.”
Allen's voice was smooth and courteous. “It is.”
Linkara lunged to his feet. His voice cracked with outrage. “Well, if you can't tell me THAT, then CRAM YOUR GODDAMNED FAKE POLITENESS STRAIGHT UP YOUR ASS! I trusted you! I really believed we could work together, and then you don't just do THIS to me-” Linkara swept his arms in a wide arc at the steel and concrete walls all around. “-you don't just betray my best friends, but you STAND there doing your Man In Black routine and tell me THAT THE LOCATION OF THOSE BEST FRIENDS IS NOW CLASSIFIED!”
Linkara let his hands fall to his sides again and stood, breathing loudly and raggedly through his nose. Allen was utterly silent.
“... when … we get out.” Linkara's eyes sparked with cold fury. “And we WILL. ALL of us. And once we get MY ship back. Then you and I are done. No more.” Linkara's voice started to rise again, shaking and cracking with outrage. “Because I no longer trust you, or your bosses, or your fellow agents. I barely even trust whoever it is who tailors your suit. You are DAMNED lucky that I still feel like extending trust to the government you claim to defend, and that's ONLY because I know that if EVERY politician were a back-stabbing WEASEL LIKE YOU, this entire world would be A HELL OF A LOT WORSE!”
“It would be a hell of a lot worse without this agency, I can tell you that-”
“OH, RAM IT! Don't try and play cheerleader to the guy you just screwed over! What the hell do your people even DO that's so important?” Before Allen could answer, Linkara snorted derisively. “Please tell me you steal other peoples' spaceships. The thought of you guys manning an impound lot around Mars is very amusing.”
“... Stellar Object Collection is around the orbit of Venus, actually.”
Linkara glared at Allen, unamused. “And that isn't classified?”
“We have a policy. We can freely divulge information that the average citizen is unlikely to believe.”
Linkara made a disgusted sound and turned away. “If you were trying to lighten the mood with humor, you failed. Hard.”
Allen shrugged slightly. “We all fail sometimes. You have to deal with those times as they come.” He took a step towards the bars, ever so gingerly. “My superiors have a lot to deal with. They have a long-term plan. There isn't a single thing on Earth that can stop them. No one person is privy to all the details. Not even me.”
“So you're telling me that capturing us wasn't your idea?” Linkara simply glowered. “Nice try.”
Allen dropped his gaze. “I have my share of responsibility.” He turned to go. “You should think of your responsibility. To your team. And you can start by thinking about what you want to say to the interrogators.”
Linkara bolted to the bars. His hands clutched at them hard, fingers shaking on cold steel. “Wait. WAIT. They'd threaten them?”
Allen began to walk away.
Linkara called after him as he left, but the anger was gone from his voice, and he sounded sullen and tired. “So your co-workers torture people. You're really on the side of the angels there, Allen. Nice job.”
Allen never even slowed down. As soon as he was away from the holding cells, and the pneumatic door squeezed shut behind him, he exhaled, long and slow.
Level 5. Permanent Detention.
The cell door opened with a squeal. Harvey sat up, startled from a restless sleep, blinking to focus his eyes.
Someone was standing in the cell door. A man, small, wizened with age, with a shock of bone white hair and slim, wire-framed glasses. His cane tapped on the ground as he stepped forward stiffly. “Shut the door behind me, if you would.” The man's voice was coarse with age, but still loud and clear.
Harvey's eyes narrowed as the door clicked shut behind the old man. They regarded each other in tense silence before the visitor finally spoke. “Your leader has decided to join us.”
“Linkara?”
“Himself.”
Harvey broke into a sharp grin. “Old-timer, I almost feel bad for ya. The kid don't like bein' locked up any more than I do.”
“Few people do enjoy being detained.” The old man tucked his cane under one arm, removed his glasses and began rubbing them with a small cloth. “And yet there are criminals and malcontents of every stripe in this world. It's the great irony of society.”
Harvey got to his feet. “Listen, Pops. The kid kicks back way harder than I do. You wanna rethink this, and do it now.”
“Oh no, I don't, you see. You've broken the law, Mr. Finevoice. You and all your compatriots. You must be punished, regardless of my feelings on the matter.”
“Oh, I must be punished.” Harvey snidely mimicked the man's formal, clipped tone. “Cryin' shame I'm not, say, under arrest. I didn't hear no Miranda rights when your goons popped me over the head outside the apartment.”
“Miranda rights. You are terribly funny, Mr. Finevoice.” The man put his glasses back on. “This agency is above such concerns.”
“Above-?! Look, Mac, who died and made you God?!”
“God died.” The man smiled patiently at the horrified look in Harvey's eyes. “I was first notified of the vacancy when I studied Nietzsche, and took it upon myself to fill it.”
“OK. Aaaaalright.” Harvey forced himself to smile. “With this new information revealing that you set up shop in Cuckooville long ago, I have to repeat: you oughta let us go. Now.”
“That isn't going to happen.”
Harvey grimaced. “Mama raised me to respect my elders, but I'm pretty sure she didn't mean you.” He stepped forward, rolling up the sleeve of his orange jumpsuit. “Comin' in here without a piece wasn't smart.”
“Well, I've read your file, Mr. Finevoice. Bad things happen to people who get hold of guns around you. I didn't think you needed to be reminded of Charles.”
Harvey froze. The shock and horror in his eyes turned quickly to rage. “What. Did you just say?”
“You needn't look so shocked. It's not a new story. There have been other fathers who left their guns unattended while they drank themselves into oblivion. I daresay he was lucky: the bullet went right between his eyes, so he wouldn't have felt-”
He hadn't stopped talking when Harvey lunged. He didn't even stop right away as he twisted to the side with an inhuman contortion, and Harvey hit the door with a resounding crash. He smoothly stepped back, keenly watching the prone man.
“-a thing, My my, such a temper. Were you really the best role model for the child? I wonder what on earth he would have learned if he'd survived-”
“SHUT UP!” Harvey roared like a wounded bull, scrambling to his feet, lurching against the unyielding concrete wall as his world swayed and tilted under him.
“I'm merely trying to drive home two points, Mr. Finevoice. First-”
The man easily sidestepped Harvey's next charge. Before Harvey had time to change course or even blink, the cane was swinging up, catching him right under his jaw and knocking him back on his heels. Another hard blow to his back brought him to his knees, then splayed on his belly on the cell floor.
“...first, there is no crime that can be hidden from a dedicated man. We know what you've done. We know what Linkara has done, and that he's not the angel he makes himself out to be. Second...” With a grunt, he crouched down over Harvey's prone body. “...now that you are here, there is not one thing you can do that will jeopardize my goals. Your force is useless. So is your dear leader's. Be sure of that.”
With that, then man straightened, and knocked three times on the cell door.
“Professor Tithonus?” The agent who greeted him sounded concerned. “I wanted to go in when I heard the crash, but-”
“You did fine, my lad, just fine.” Tithonus proceeded down the hall, cane tapping as he went. “Let's get to Psychiatric. We aren't done for the day.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door to Harvey's cell swung shut and locked with a click. Harvey stayed crumpled on the floor, letting his tears fall.
Level 1. Intake and Processing.
Linkara's hands trembled and clenched into fists. Okay. Time to breathe. Do what you can to relax. He shut his eyes and focused on filling his lungs, waiting five long seconds, breathing out slowly. I've got to come up with a plan before I can help the others.
He opened his eyes and looked at the walls around him. Concrete on three sides. Metal bars on the door facing the corridor. Didn't seem like there were any guards around. It was dead silent before Allen arrived. But he had to assume they were watching him, or at least that security had a checkpoint on the entrance to the cells.
The slight squeal of a door down the hallway made the hair on Linkara's arms stand up. There were footsteps. More than one person this time. Allen probably wouldn't be back this fast, so this was probably...
Four men in dark suits crossed into Linkara's line of sight. He took a step back from the bars and glared silently. But his anger turned to shock almost immediately.
One of the man was holding up his coat.
Linkara smirked with as much cockiness as he could muster. “Oh, hey. I was wondering where that got to.” He approached the bars and held out his hand expectantly. His eyes were trained on the dark glasses of the agent holding his coat, and his smile didn't reach his eyes.
Another agent, a man with a deep tan and close-cropped black hair, was the first to speak. “What's the key for your trenchcoat's dimensional storage system?”
Linkara scoffed audibly. “That garment your friend is holding is a duster, sir.”
“We don't really care what you call it. Give us access to it.”
“Awww.” Linkara leaned slightly into the bars and turned up the mocking note in his voice, ever so slightly. “Magic pockets giving you fellas a hard time?”
The agent – Linkara had mentally classified him as 'the talky one', given that the others around him hadn't said a word yet – pursed his lips. He gestured to the man holding the coat. “Show him.”
Linkara was absolutely motionless as the agent removed a lighter from his pocket. He held it up so that Linkara could see, and after a long pause, flicked it open. The light from the flame flickered against the duster's dark brown fabric.
Threatening his stuff. A year or two ago, this would have been enough to send Linkara flying off the handle. But he couldn't lose control of himself now. He made himself remember what Allen had said. You should think of your responsibility to your team.
His voice was firm, quiet, and very cold when he spoke. “You guys really have no idea what you're dealing with. Do you have any magic-users on staff? Or is it just part of your protocol to smash everything you don't understand? Unboxing new electronics has to be so much fun for you.”
“We aren't bluffing.” Agent Talky sounded almost smug. “If you won't help us extract your possessed weapon from the coat, we have to treat it as a potentially dangerous artifact.”
“Oh, go ahead. I'd love to see that.” Linkara shrugged. “Granted, I won't have much of a chance to, since the magical backlash will instantly vaporize me, but hey, you'll be in the same boat.”
He watched the agent holding his coat. The lighter was steady in his hand, and his face remained emotionless.
“That's a problem, then. This building's in the middle of Chicago. An uncontrolled magical backlash downtown would hurt a lot of people. I'm sure you're aware of that.”
Linkara set his jaw. “Your agency put them in this situation by having an insecure headquarters.”
“How sad. That's not going to make anybody any less dead if you don't tell us what we want to know.”
Linkara's eyes flashed. “So 'protecting the public good' really isn't a priority for you guys.”
The talky one took a step back. “We protect a lot more than you know. And I know that you're bluffing.” He gestured to the man holding the coat. “Don, light it.”
Linkara thrust one hand out through the bars. “Wait.”
Don froze. The hand with the lighter stayed perilously close to the coat.
Linkara lowered his head, covering the clear shame in his eyes. “The … the storage enchantment can be undone by touch. You have to open the coat, then press your palm to the lining. Then you use the command word.”
The leader's voice was brazen with triumph. “There, that wasn't that hard. So what's the command word?”
“It's … it's …”
Linkara took a long, shuddering breath.
“... it's, 'I'm a bullying dickweed with a badge who deserves everything he's about to get.'”
He lifted his head. It probably wasn't wise – there was no way he could disguise his grin – but it was worth it to watch Talky smoldering.
“Oh, you don't like that one?” Linkara quickly stepped away from the bars and held his arms out to either side. “Here's one for you.” His shout was sudden and piercing. “ARMOR ME!”
The instant the coat vanished from Don's hand, the lighter clattered to the floor. He was reaching for his gun. They all were. Ice and adrenaline surged through Linkara's fingertips as he reached into the familiar thick cloth around his frame, felt his hand seize the smooth wooden grip...
Agent Talky didn't even get a chance to order his team to fire. Bolts of magical energy sent them sprawling, unconscious, and in seconds they lay slumped and senseless in the hall.
Level 3. Surveillance.
The Ninja Style Dancer listened to the shouts running the other way down the hall. His breathing was even, slow and still, just as his masters had taught him.
The men he had escaped were not his enemy. Neither were the men searching for him now. His enemy was fear, the beast that would snap at his heels and make him strike at shadows until he was caught again. He would wait; he was nothing if not patient. The proper time to rescue his allies would come.
A loud electronic alarm blared twice and fell silent. Ninja Style Dancer winced in his hiding place.
… that seemed like a fortuitous signal.
Level 1. Intake and Processing.
Just outside the detention cells, Agent Jackson fumed silently and looked at his watch.
“Five minutes. That's it.” He turned to the men behind him and pointed forward with two fingers. “Agent Rodriguez has had enough time. We move.” And pull that hot-dogging idiot's fat out of the fryer, again, he thought to himself.
But before the team could move in, the door to the detention area opened with a hiss. Jackson's eyes widened as Agent Markov – the twitchy rookie on Rodriguez's team – staggered out, clutching at his thigh, limping.
“Markov! What-”
Markov winced as he looked up. “Sorry, sir. He had a trigger word on the garment. He attacked the team. Then he vanished.”
“Shit.” Jackson punched the communicator on his wrist with one finger. “Central, this is Jackson. .Unknown Variant on Level One. We are Code Blue, repeat, Code Blue.”
An ominous electronic tone echoed twice from speakers on the wall. “Partner up, spread out. Comb those cells. If he gets off Level One and finds the Ninja, we are in deep shit.”
Recognition flashed in Markov's eyes. “The Ninja-”
Jackson wheeled around. Markov shut his mouth. “Get to Central, rookie. They need to know everything you saw the mage do.”
“Y-yes, sir.” Markov hurried to the elevators near the end of the hall.
By the time the extraction team arrived and found Agent Markov slumped in the detention cells with the rest of his friends, Linkara was already several floors below them. Markov's security badge was still locked tightly in his Gosei morpher. It wasn't a permanent disguise. But in a building full of people on the alert for unseen magical attacks, all it had to do was allow him to move freely long enough to find his friends.
And now he knew he wasn't the only one who was loose.
Level 4. Unclassified Hazards.
Rows of heavy metal doors extended down the hall in either direction. Small windows set into each door provided a vantage point into tiny, spartan cells with one bunk apiece. Linkara stepped down the hall quickly, looking in each window as he passed.
Please don't be in a corner where I can't see you. And please don't look away from the window at the wrong moment. I don't have a lot of time to go back and recheck these cells...
...there! Sitting on his bunk, head down. He looked different in an orange prisoner's jumpsuit instead of his customary flannel shirt and sunglasses … considerably different … but that was 90s Kid, no doubt! Linkara reached into his belt for his sonic screwdriver.
“Hey!”
Linkara jolted, then hurriedly forced himself to turn around and smile at the guard running towards him. “Oh, hey! Perfect timing!” He gestured at the door. “Can you unlock this door? The prisoner here's wanted in Central. They have questions for him.”
The guard frowned as he approached. “This soon? Feels like they just brought him back from Psych.”
Psych? That sounds really ominous. 90s Kid... no, no. Back in character. Come on.
“I don't question orders. C'mon, get a move on,” Linkara snapped.
The guard's suspicious look didn't waver, but he reached for his keys, and started to open the door. Then he froze. “...your badge. Where is it?”
Linkara's eyes widened briefly. He looked down at the empty clip dangling from the edge of his jacket, and remembered the badge tucked away in his morpher, powering his current illusion.
Why the HELL did I design Disguise Mode to be this friggin' accurate?!
But the guard already had his wrist communicator up. “U.H. Detention to Central, we ha-”
Linkara's first punch left the guard doubled over and gasping for breath. A solid double-handed strike to the base of the guard's skull left him out cold on the floor. The old reliable Kirk chop; William Shatner would have been proud.
Linkara fumbled with the guard's keys before the door finally clicked and swung open. 90s Kid looked up, but he didn't move from his spot on the bed, or even speak.
“90s Kid, come on!” Linkara grunted as he dragged the guard in after him. “Help me with this guy, will you?”
The kid didn't respond. His expression seemed hollow.
“What … oh, right!” Linkara plucked his morpher out of his pocket and slid it open, flicking out Agent Markov's badge and deactivating Disguise Mode. With faint crackle of static, the illusion faded. “It's me! We're getting out of here, hurry!”
Nothing.
Linkara's brow slowly furrowed. Something in 90s Kid's empty gaze was making his palms feel sweaty. “90s Kid, come on. We don't have a lot of time, ok?” He stepped forward. “What the hell's the matter with you?”
90s Kid cowered back, squeezing himself into the corner. His frightened eyes seemed to look straight through Linkara, almost as though he were a ghost.
“90s Kid ...” Linkara approached slowly, hands out. “I'm not going to hurt you, man, I swear.”
“Are you real?”
Linkara stopped breathing. “What?”
“I don't, I … are you?” There was no trace of 90s Kid's usual bravado and cheer in his voice. He was trembling hard now, and his face was drawn and sheet-white.
Linkara could see long scratches along his temples, the imprint of something running across his forehead. Feels like they just brought him back from Psych. They just brought him back from Psych. Brought him back from Psych. Stop. Wait. Count to three. It does not help ANYBODY if you go out in the hall and start shooting people randomly.
“90s Kid, listen to me.” Linkara didn't dare step any closer. 90s Kid was already hugging the wall. He couldn't risk making him bolt out the door and attract more guards. “I'm real. I'm here to help you.”
“'cause, they said... they put me in the thing, and you were there but you were yelling...” Tears were streaming down the kid's face now. “...you were calling me an idiot and then … I felt it again and I saw the things it did and the people it ate and I couldn't stop! I couldn't get away!”
“Oh my God. 90s Kid. I'm so sorry.” 90s Kid's head was bowed now, and he was sobbing freely, but the tension is his body was starting to release. Linkara risked another step. “I'm sorry they hurt you. I promise that I'm going to get you out of here. But we're still in trouble now and I need your help, OK?”
“No.” 90s Kid wiped his sleeve roughly across his eyes. “You don't need my help. You don't need me for anything. They showed me. I am an idiot. I'm evil.”
“You are NOT.” Linkara leaned into the edge of the bunk. 90s Kid flinched, but didn't try to run. “Listen. You got … used by the Entity. That doesn't make you evil at all. And even after all of that, you still came out a fighter! Really think about that!” Linkara sat tentatively, and slid his hand on to the kid's knee. “Your mind touched an alien god of corruption, and when it was defeated, you were the same goofball you've ever been, and you NEVER stopped working to help the team!”
90s Kid looked up. For all the fear in his eyes, he was at least looking at Linkara as though he didn't expect a fist to come flying at his face.
“And I do need your help, 90s Kid. Because I'm damn sure not getting out of here without you. OK?”
90s Kid dried his eyes and gave Linkara a thin, wavering smile. “'kay.”
“Good.” Linkara smiled back, and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Let's move.”
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no subject
Date: 2014-09-13 06:12 pm (UTC)I love 90s Kid being called a John Doe in the beginning, and I loved the tension between Allen and Linkara when he goes to see him.
“Please tell me you steal other peoples' spaceships. The thought of you guys manning an impound lot around Mars is very amusing.”
“... Stellar Object Collection is around the orbit of Venus, actually.”
Of course it is. I love this bit. Actually, I love every snarky, enraged comment Linkara makes in this fic. Reading about him being in super pissed off protective mode is fantastic.
“I have my share of responsibility.” He turned to go. “You should think of your responsibility. To your team. And you can start by thinking about what you want to say to the interrogators.”
I really enjoyed this line too.
And gah! Harvey being taunted about Charlie! D:
“Awww.” Linkara leaned slightly into the bars and turned up the mocking note in his voice, ever so slightly. “Magic pockets giving you fellas a hard time?”
I HAD HONESTLY FORGOTTEN ABOUT THE MAGIC POCKETS. THIS WAS AWESOME! :DDD
“You guys really have no idea what you're dealing with. Do you have any magic-users on staff? Or is it just part of your protocol to smash everything you don't understand? Unboxing new electronics has to be so much fun for you.”
Have I mentioned that I love pissed off snarky Linkara? XD
By the time the extraction team arrived and found Agent Markov slumped in the detention cells with the rest of his friends, Linkara was already several floors below them. Markov's security badge was still locked tightly in his Gosei morpher.
Another really clever detail to use! I love how Linkara is using everything he has at his disposal.
“I don't, I … are you?” There was no trace of 90s Kid's usual bravado and cheer in his voice. He was trembling hard now, and his face was drawn and sheet-white.
Linkara could see long scratches along his temples, the imprint of something running across his forehead. Feels like they just brought him back from Psych. They just brought him back from Psych. Brought him back from Psych. Stop. Wait. Count to three. It does not help ANYBODY if you go out in the hall and start shooting people randomly.
*right in the feels* Poor 90s Kid. T_T
But at least it follows up with protective Linkara. Who’s about ready to go on a shooting rampage but has to keep himself calm for 90s Kid’s sake. And 90s Kid is terrified and cowering and sobbing but Linkara manages to pull him back and 90s Kid giving him that tiny smile at the end!
no subject
Date: 2014-09-25 09:58 pm (UTC)I loved how clever Linkara was throughout this as well. It must really hurt to be betrayed by Allen like that, but he still managed to get out of there and disguise himself, which was all very impressive. I hope he manages to find Ninja and Harvey soon, and that Harvey manages to punch that old jackass in the face several times for throwing his loss of Charlie in his face!
Really amazing job so far and I can't wait to see how it ends!