The man that we recovered from inside the containment unit?
Not one of my Operatives. He disappeared, but before he did, he got caught on one of the base security cameras... probably on purpose.
He strolls into view in one of the side entrances, looks right at the camera, and then? Poof, where a man in an IMPCOM uniform once stood, there's a man in a long coat, green eyes staring right into the lense, smart-ass smirk on his face.
#772 isn't working alone, and he's got friends that are Focuses.
We never had #772 to begin with. Or, well, maybe we did, and he and his friend (We're designating the Focus that can assume the form of others Focus #800) switched places before we could contain him. Hard to tell what happened. What is worse, though, is that Focus #800 had an active code word to use when questioned.
This is bad.
The base is on high alert, right now, and all the staff are submitting to DNA tests to confirm identity. #800 is gone, though, and #772 with him, along with god-knows how many other Focuses he may have gathered to his side.
This is a big development, for more reasons than one. The Focuses are working together, and they're aware of each other, something we hoped to keep from happening. The top brass are going to have a field day.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
- Fool Me Once -
Damn it.
We get the containment unit here, and open it up to transfer him, and what do we find?
One of my Operatives, unconscious.
#772?
Gone.
I'm not sure how he did it, but he got out. The power never failed on the containment unit, and nobody saw him leave, but we open it up, and it's one of our men in there.
We checked him out, of course, and he passed a code-word test. It wasn't #772 in a nice costume or something. He doesn't remember how he ended up in there, but he remembers #772 punching him in the face during the escort back to the base. He was in a vehicle by himself, which was a breach in transport protocol. His counterpart was injured while they were capturing #772, though, and was being taken to a hospital, so he drove the vehicle alone.
I'm furious, of course, but only because I got a few good men hurt for no goddamn reason. I told the top brass that we needed more time to assess #772, and he proved me right. Again.
Maybe, this time, they will listen to me.
I've sent out units to search for #772, but I doubt we'll find him.
We get the containment unit here, and open it up to transfer him, and what do we find?
One of my Operatives, unconscious.
#772?
Gone.
I'm not sure how he did it, but he got out. The power never failed on the containment unit, and nobody saw him leave, but we open it up, and it's one of our men in there.
We checked him out, of course, and he passed a code-word test. It wasn't #772 in a nice costume or something. He doesn't remember how he ended up in there, but he remembers #772 punching him in the face during the escort back to the base. He was in a vehicle by himself, which was a breach in transport protocol. His counterpart was injured while they were capturing #772, though, and was being taken to a hospital, so he drove the vehicle alone.
I'm furious, of course, but only because I got a few good men hurt for no goddamn reason. I told the top brass that we needed more time to assess #772, and he proved me right. Again.
Maybe, this time, they will listen to me.
I've sent out units to search for #772, but I doubt we'll find him.
- Bingo -
Got him.
Operatives in the field are confirming that they've corralled #772 using our little 'surprise', a device that disrupts harmonic vibration, which our R&D boys hypothesized was a possible way he was achieving the ability to phase. One of them cited The Flash, an old pre-war superhero, as what gave them the idea. Apparently The Flash could vibrate the molecules in his body to match the 'harmonic resonance' of a solid objects molecules, allowing him to pass through the object.
Nerds.
Anyway, it worked. They're moving him into a containment unit that is shielded with the same harmonic vibration disruption thingy (note to self: Get R&D to give the 'thingy' a good acronym), and transporting him to the IMPCOM field office that we've taken up residence in. He'll be here inside of thirty minutes, and then... well, he'll have to stay contained. We might have a way to keep him in one spot, but we don't have a way to administer the anti-improbability serum. Maybe R&D could build an aerosol dispenser, and we could flood the containment unit with the serum. We've never tried something like this before, but the brass have been very... very adament about removing #772 as a 'viable threat to national security'.
They don't really understand. But orders are orders. Sorry, pal, but your improbable days are numbered. Hopefully, though, your regular days will be long indeed, once you've been 'neuturalized'.
That is, if this doesn't kill you.
Operatives in the field are confirming that they've corralled #772 using our little 'surprise', a device that disrupts harmonic vibration, which our R&D boys hypothesized was a possible way he was achieving the ability to phase. One of them cited The Flash, an old pre-war superhero, as what gave them the idea. Apparently The Flash could vibrate the molecules in his body to match the 'harmonic resonance' of a solid objects molecules, allowing him to pass through the object.
Nerds.
Anyway, it worked. They're moving him into a containment unit that is shielded with the same harmonic vibration disruption thingy (note to self: Get R&D to give the 'thingy' a good acronym), and transporting him to the IMPCOM field office that we've taken up residence in. He'll be here inside of thirty minutes, and then... well, he'll have to stay contained. We might have a way to keep him in one spot, but we don't have a way to administer the anti-improbability serum. Maybe R&D could build an aerosol dispenser, and we could flood the containment unit with the serum. We've never tried something like this before, but the brass have been very... very adament about removing #772 as a 'viable threat to national security'.
They don't really understand. But orders are orders. Sorry, pal, but your improbable days are numbered. Hopefully, though, your regular days will be long indeed, once you've been 'neuturalized'.
That is, if this doesn't kill you.
- Devon and an Update -
I met with Devon. I'll try to keep the detals vague, but she is in a bit of trouble. Not that I'm really surprised. When is she not in trouble? It seems to be a rare occurance.
I've passed along some information to her regarding some business. Hopefully, she'll get what she needs. And, perhaps, I might get some information regarding a few other things I've been dealing with. An old score to settle, so to speak.
I've deployed a second team into the field today. A few new recruits that have finished their IMPCOM training course. Dependable men, and they've got one job and one job alone - keep tabs on Devon. They won't let me down. They've got orders to stay out of her way, but if she gets in trouble, she's got a handy way of calling for help, and they should be in a prime position to assist her.
Hopefully they'll have a very boring first deployment.
Somehow, though, I doubt it will be so easy.
On to other business.
I'm sending in a second team, equipped with a little surprise, to pay a visit to our dearest friend, #772. The top brass got wind that I was leaving him be, and they told me to bring him in. By force.
Tally-ho.
I've passed along some information to her regarding some business. Hopefully, she'll get what she needs. And, perhaps, I might get some information regarding a few other things I've been dealing with. An old score to settle, so to speak.
I've deployed a second team into the field today. A few new recruits that have finished their IMPCOM training course. Dependable men, and they've got one job and one job alone - keep tabs on Devon. They won't let me down. They've got orders to stay out of her way, but if she gets in trouble, she's got a handy way of calling for help, and they should be in a prime position to assist her.
Hopefully they'll have a very boring first deployment.
Somehow, though, I doubt it will be so easy.
On to other business.
I'm sending in a second team, equipped with a little surprise, to pay a visit to our dearest friend, #772. The top brass got wind that I was leaving him be, and they told me to bring him in. By force.
Tally-ho.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
- Encounter, Part 2 -
Props gave his sister a careful look, frowning slightly at her answer, but then nodded. “Okay, then. I won’t push it.”
Props looked out over the multitude of photos, and pointed to a section where the mug-shot like pictures dominated the walls, “Not all of these are islanders. I don’t like to say I bring my work home with me... but I think it’s a good idea to remind myself what I’m doing, sometimes. Those photos are of... ex-islanders. People like you, that escaped, or people that the network pulled off the island because they couldn’t bring in ratings.”
Devon gazed over the gestured photos, thinking to herself. ...Could that have been what happened to Nate? Or to Devin? Given, they could have been fooling around in the jungle somewhere, wouldn’t have been the first time, but... still. It made her wonder. All that shit she went through... just for ratings. She’s glad she left when she did.
Props gestured to the last section, which included mostly ‘official’ pictures of people in uniforms. “And that’s my team.”
Devon looked at the photos, eyebrows raising faintly. Pictures of his team, as well...? “Why d’ya have those? Don’t you see most of ‘em often enough already?” she inquired good-naturedly.
Props chuckled, “A lot of them are out in the field. I only speak to them over the radio, mostly. They’re deployed around the world. I’m not just in charge of the teams in the US. It’s Europe, Africa, and Asia as well. My expertise trained thirty five-man teams. They learned how to fight like an islander, think like and islander, and most importantly, they learned that, no matter how good they may be, there’s always somebody stronger.”
Props slight smile grew serious, “And... a few of them are dead. But I keep their photos, so I can remember the price of failure. So I remember what I’m potentially doing every time I give an order. It’s important to remember that lives are at stake. Not just my men, but the lives of the people we’re looking for, too.”
Devon nodded faintly, looking thoughtful as she looks over the various photos. How many of them are dead? How many times has her brother had to go through the loss of a subordinate, a teammate, or a friend since he got this job? Sure, she was in charge of the ducks back ho-- ...erm. Back at the island. But there... weren’t really many losses. They’re rubber ducks, for chrissake. But these... these were real men and women, made of flesh, blood, and bone. Strong, of course, but so, so delicate... “...Hermano?”
She finally decides to pop the question. “What... what, exactly, does IMPCOM do?”
Props smiled. “Save the world.”
Devon deadpanned.
Props snickered at Devon’s expression. “... I guess I’ve been beating around the bush long enough. And it’s not like you aren’t going to find out yourself.”
Jack turned away from the wall and to the window, looking out into the night sky. “... Since the island began, there have always been contestants that have simply not been able to bring in ratings. The Network pulled those contestants and returned them to the mainland after about 6 months of ratings failure. They’d... rehabilitate them, and then send them on their merry way. Out into a society that they might not remember, with people they’d probably forgotten. That’s scary enough in it’s own right. People that had to become hunting, killing machines let loose into the world. And there was the occasional psychological break, sure, but local law enforcement could usually handle it. Recently, though, starting with the latest season of the Island, things changed.”
Jack turned around to face Devon, face serious. “What I’m telling you doesn’t leave this room.”
Still listening intently, she nodded, reclining against the wall. This is gonna be a long one, she can tell.
Jack took a deep breath and then continued, “Ex-Contestants began to... exhibit Improbable abilities while off the Island. Most of the time, it was something small, maybe something they couldn’t control. Stuff that people heading for... for their thirteenth drive kill... would start showing. Little probability hiccups. Rolling a six sided dice and coming up with a seven. Pouring a coffee and it ends up tea in your cup. We call it Probability Breakdown Manifestation. And, if left unchecked, it can cause somebody to become what we call a Focus. On the Island, though, they’d be called a Joker.”
Jack sighs and takes a seat in the chair. “We’re not sure how it happens. We were told that removing contestants from the Improbability Bubble would be enough, but that’s not the case. Those that don’t die of improbability breakdown, which is... surprisingly few, when it comes to most of the Ex-Contestants that are pulled by the network... usually recover after a few weeks and get on with their lives... and then almost all of them start exhibiting Probability Breakdown Manifestations. Almost eighty-five percent of them. And, if that’s left unchecked, they become Focuses. As for the island Contestants that escape on their own... well... we have no way of knowing how many survive, but all the ones that we catch up with later down the line have become focuses. Probably because of their extended exposure to Improbability.”
Devon doesn’t interrupt him or say anything, stone-faced as usual.
Jack continues, “So, Focuses. They range in power from high-DK Jokers to weak Pseudo-Jokers. And their powers vary wildly, just like on the island, as does their control over their power. The escaped contestants have the highest rates of power and ability to control said power.”
Devon seemed to choose this moment to finally speak up. “...So what IMPCOM does...” Seemed like she’s putting things together rather quickly. “...is try ‘n take care of these... ‘focuses’ before they can cause too much trouble outside th’bubble. Before they hurt someone...” That faint hint of a frown crossed her lips again. “...Or before th’public find out. If somethin’ like this were t’get out to th’masses...” She could imagine it right then. Riots. Protests. Reforms. Maybe a “green scare”. It could very well change the show-- and the world-- forever. If they don’t get destroyed in the process, anyway.
In a way, it almost seemed like fun. She doubted that Jack would agree on that point, though. Besides, re-thinking it, she... supposed that after living in a world like that for a while, things might get a little stressful. But thinking about things like this, though... It got her thinking. Thinking about someone that she’d been trying her damndest to keep her mind off of.
“So, then. Th’ones that escape on their own. Th’ones you’ve... ‘caught up with’. ‘sides me... are there very many others that you’ve found?”
She paused, giving her hermano an odd, intense sort of look.
“...Any tha’ I might know?”
Jack frowned, thinking for a moment, his eyes traveling over the wall of photos as he wracked his mind. “... No. I don’t think so, anyway. If you’re wondering, I take care of anybody that I remember from the Island, personally. Make sure they get the care they need, after the... well. I guess there’s another point to explain...”
Jack cleared his throat and spoke again, slowly, “We’ve developed an anti-improbability serum. It neutralizes the improbability levels in anybody that gets injected. It works very well, really, except... there’s always the danger, when you’ve got somebody that has high levels of improbability in them, even the off-island Focuses, that draining their improbability so rapidly could potentially... kill them. It’s happened a few times. It’s rare, but... it’s all we have, really. If somebody shows up that has an extremely dangerous or uncontrolled power, we have to think of the safety of the public first.”
Devon nodded faintly as she listened. Sounds a bit like the serum that she made, really. Except... well. More tested. And probably less dangerous. “Right, right.”
Jack gave Devon a small smile, “So far, I haven’t seen anybody that I knew well from the Island. A few rookies, though, that I remembered from New Home and Kittania. They were always surprised to see me.”
Jack gestured at the wall of photos, “So, that’s what I do with my life. I hunt Focuses, and if they’ve got a dangerous or uncontrollable ability, I inoculate them and drain their improbability. If they have more control, well... most everyone gets innoculated. There’s only a few exceptions, with a few extraordinary cases. Mostly, we fix people that don’t WANT their crazy powers. People that are happy to be off the island, and just want a normal life. But... there’s a few... well, they run. Rogues, keeping ahead of us, usually with good powers and a need to keep said power, for whatever reason. We’re tracking a few right now, actually. They’re hard to catch, but we get them eventually...”
Jack was obviously holding something back when he said that, but he went no further, simply staring at the photos on the wall, his eyes running down the rows of faces.
Devon just let the silence sink in for a few moments, thinking though all this new information that she’s learned. This... explains a lot, really. Things she’s been wondering. Confirms things she’s suspected. But there’s still a few more things she has yet to confirm yet. And if she’s going to try and confirm them, then now is the time to do it.
“Have you been trackin’ One?” Or trying to, at least?
Jack laughs, “God knows, I’ve hunted that crazy bastard. Pulled every file I could find. He’s got a home town, residences, everything, but he’s not there. Not that I’ve seen, anyway. Trail’s gone cold, not that that surprises me. Knowing him, he’s found a corner of the world somewhere and he’s enjoying his victory of escaping the island. I hope he stays there. Good riddance.”
Jack heaves a troubled sigh, though, after this statement. “Knowing what I know now, though, if he’s out there, he probably became a Focus. And that scares the hell out of me. But... there’s nothing that I can do. He’s off the radar, under the wire, whatever you want to call it. If he ever peeks his beard out of his hiding place, though, I’ll be on his ass like white on rice.”
Devon cracked a brief smirk. ...Like white on rice. That’s a new one. But speaking of people that are “off the radar”... “So’s D. But that ain’ stoppin’ me from lookin’.” She considered the situation for a moment. If Props went and helped her with this, provided info for her search... that would leave her in debt, whether either of them liked it or not. “I doubt I’ll find anythin’. I expect not to, actually. But...” she looks up, right into Jack’s eyes. “...I’ll try an’ find you a lead or two.”
She knows that she can’t avoid this for any longer. She has to settle things with him once and for all.
Jack shrugs, but gives his sister a smile. “Don’t worry about it. If something does come up, though, you get some information on One, well... I’d appreciate it if you passed it along. I doubt that’ll happen, though. He’s kept quiet and very hidden, wherever he is.”
Jack sighs, leaning back into a chair. “So, how can I contact you? Do you have access to a workstation or anything? Radio, even?”
Devon pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “Nothin’ I can use t’contact th’head of USA IMPCOM with, no.”
Jack chuckles, “Fair enough. Let me think, then...”
Jack ponders quietly for a moment, before snapping his fingers and standing up, walking into the kitchen. He returns a moment later with the little black box with the button in it. He offers it to Devon. “Here. This is my panic button. You press that, and you’ve got between ten and thirty minutes before a strike team pops out of the sky and blows anything unfriendly to hell. I suggest lying down on the ground with your hands on your head when they show up, since you’re obviously not... well, obviously not me.”
Devon took the box and turned it over in her hand, her eyes narrowing onto it for a second. “Mhm. Right, right.” She might have gotten that. ...Possibly. She seemed to be a tad preoccupied, though. “Yeah, this’ll do,” she appeared to decide. For a moment, her hand reached behind her, as if to strap the box onto her back and set out for adventure... but then she remembered. Right. With a small grimace, she just awkwardly stuffs the box into her pocket. “Not sure how this’s gonna help me t’contact you, but. ‘anks.” Panic buttons are fun to have.
Jack shrugs, “Better than nothing, right?”
Turning, he frowns, considering the pictures once more, and then the clock on the wall. He turns his attention on Devon again after a moment. “If you find One, then use the panic button. I’d like to settle that mystery, once and for all. And... as for your father, I’ll leave that up to you. I trust that you can take care of yourself, but if things get out of hand, use the button. Other than that... come back in two days. I’ll have that information for you. I’ll print out any records I find on Daniel and One, so you can have a hard copy. Other than that, best way to get messages or information to me is to find a computer workstation. There’s usually one or two in every major city, though getting to them could be hard in some cases.”
Jack pulled his wallet out of his pocket and pulled a business card from inside it. It had information for contacting him, including a network number to connect to from a computer.
Devon took the business card, flipping it over and glancing over it. “Christ, can’t even remember th’last time I used a proper one...” she muttered with a faint smirk. She put it carefully in her pants pocket, not wanting it to get too crumbled up too soon. “Aight. Dunno where I’m gonna be goin’ these next few days, but I’ll make sure t’be in th’area when you got th’files.”
Jack gave his sister a small grin, and said, sounding pleased, “Sounds like we’re in business.”
Jack offered Devon his hand for a handshake, to seal the proverbial deal.
Devon took his hand in a firm grip with her own and shook it. Her hand felt oddly warm, and there was a certain odd glint to her eye that most people wouldn’t quite be able to place. “That we are, hermano.”
Props looked out over the multitude of photos, and pointed to a section where the mug-shot like pictures dominated the walls, “Not all of these are islanders. I don’t like to say I bring my work home with me... but I think it’s a good idea to remind myself what I’m doing, sometimes. Those photos are of... ex-islanders. People like you, that escaped, or people that the network pulled off the island because they couldn’t bring in ratings.”
Devon gazed over the gestured photos, thinking to herself. ...Could that have been what happened to Nate? Or to Devin? Given, they could have been fooling around in the jungle somewhere, wouldn’t have been the first time, but... still. It made her wonder. All that shit she went through... just for ratings. She’s glad she left when she did.
Props gestured to the last section, which included mostly ‘official’ pictures of people in uniforms. “And that’s my team.”
Devon looked at the photos, eyebrows raising faintly. Pictures of his team, as well...? “Why d’ya have those? Don’t you see most of ‘em often enough already?” she inquired good-naturedly.
Props chuckled, “A lot of them are out in the field. I only speak to them over the radio, mostly. They’re deployed around the world. I’m not just in charge of the teams in the US. It’s Europe, Africa, and Asia as well. My expertise trained thirty five-man teams. They learned how to fight like an islander, think like and islander, and most importantly, they learned that, no matter how good they may be, there’s always somebody stronger.”
Props slight smile grew serious, “And... a few of them are dead. But I keep their photos, so I can remember the price of failure. So I remember what I’m potentially doing every time I give an order. It’s important to remember that lives are at stake. Not just my men, but the lives of the people we’re looking for, too.”
Devon nodded faintly, looking thoughtful as she looks over the various photos. How many of them are dead? How many times has her brother had to go through the loss of a subordinate, a teammate, or a friend since he got this job? Sure, she was in charge of the ducks back ho-- ...erm. Back at the island. But there... weren’t really many losses. They’re rubber ducks, for chrissake. But these... these were real men and women, made of flesh, blood, and bone. Strong, of course, but so, so delicate... “...Hermano?”
She finally decides to pop the question. “What... what, exactly, does IMPCOM do?”
Props smiled. “Save the world.”
Devon deadpanned.
Props snickered at Devon’s expression. “... I guess I’ve been beating around the bush long enough. And it’s not like you aren’t going to find out yourself.”
Jack turned away from the wall and to the window, looking out into the night sky. “... Since the island began, there have always been contestants that have simply not been able to bring in ratings. The Network pulled those contestants and returned them to the mainland after about 6 months of ratings failure. They’d... rehabilitate them, and then send them on their merry way. Out into a society that they might not remember, with people they’d probably forgotten. That’s scary enough in it’s own right. People that had to become hunting, killing machines let loose into the world. And there was the occasional psychological break, sure, but local law enforcement could usually handle it. Recently, though, starting with the latest season of the Island, things changed.”
Jack turned around to face Devon, face serious. “What I’m telling you doesn’t leave this room.”
Still listening intently, she nodded, reclining against the wall. This is gonna be a long one, she can tell.
Jack took a deep breath and then continued, “Ex-Contestants began to... exhibit Improbable abilities while off the Island. Most of the time, it was something small, maybe something they couldn’t control. Stuff that people heading for... for their thirteenth drive kill... would start showing. Little probability hiccups. Rolling a six sided dice and coming up with a seven. Pouring a coffee and it ends up tea in your cup. We call it Probability Breakdown Manifestation. And, if left unchecked, it can cause somebody to become what we call a Focus. On the Island, though, they’d be called a Joker.”
Jack sighs and takes a seat in the chair. “We’re not sure how it happens. We were told that removing contestants from the Improbability Bubble would be enough, but that’s not the case. Those that don’t die of improbability breakdown, which is... surprisingly few, when it comes to most of the Ex-Contestants that are pulled by the network... usually recover after a few weeks and get on with their lives... and then almost all of them start exhibiting Probability Breakdown Manifestations. Almost eighty-five percent of them. And, if that’s left unchecked, they become Focuses. As for the island Contestants that escape on their own... well... we have no way of knowing how many survive, but all the ones that we catch up with later down the line have become focuses. Probably because of their extended exposure to Improbability.”
Devon doesn’t interrupt him or say anything, stone-faced as usual.
Jack continues, “So, Focuses. They range in power from high-DK Jokers to weak Pseudo-Jokers. And their powers vary wildly, just like on the island, as does their control over their power. The escaped contestants have the highest rates of power and ability to control said power.”
Devon seemed to choose this moment to finally speak up. “...So what IMPCOM does...” Seemed like she’s putting things together rather quickly. “...is try ‘n take care of these... ‘focuses’ before they can cause too much trouble outside th’bubble. Before they hurt someone...” That faint hint of a frown crossed her lips again. “...Or before th’public find out. If somethin’ like this were t’get out to th’masses...” She could imagine it right then. Riots. Protests. Reforms. Maybe a “green scare”. It could very well change the show-- and the world-- forever. If they don’t get destroyed in the process, anyway.
In a way, it almost seemed like fun. She doubted that Jack would agree on that point, though. Besides, re-thinking it, she... supposed that after living in a world like that for a while, things might get a little stressful. But thinking about things like this, though... It got her thinking. Thinking about someone that she’d been trying her damndest to keep her mind off of.
“So, then. Th’ones that escape on their own. Th’ones you’ve... ‘caught up with’. ‘sides me... are there very many others that you’ve found?”
She paused, giving her hermano an odd, intense sort of look.
“...Any tha’ I might know?”
Jack frowned, thinking for a moment, his eyes traveling over the wall of photos as he wracked his mind. “... No. I don’t think so, anyway. If you’re wondering, I take care of anybody that I remember from the Island, personally. Make sure they get the care they need, after the... well. I guess there’s another point to explain...”
Jack cleared his throat and spoke again, slowly, “We’ve developed an anti-improbability serum. It neutralizes the improbability levels in anybody that gets injected. It works very well, really, except... there’s always the danger, when you’ve got somebody that has high levels of improbability in them, even the off-island Focuses, that draining their improbability so rapidly could potentially... kill them. It’s happened a few times. It’s rare, but... it’s all we have, really. If somebody shows up that has an extremely dangerous or uncontrolled power, we have to think of the safety of the public first.”
Devon nodded faintly as she listened. Sounds a bit like the serum that she made, really. Except... well. More tested. And probably less dangerous. “Right, right.”
Jack gave Devon a small smile, “So far, I haven’t seen anybody that I knew well from the Island. A few rookies, though, that I remembered from New Home and Kittania. They were always surprised to see me.”
Jack gestured at the wall of photos, “So, that’s what I do with my life. I hunt Focuses, and if they’ve got a dangerous or uncontrollable ability, I inoculate them and drain their improbability. If they have more control, well... most everyone gets innoculated. There’s only a few exceptions, with a few extraordinary cases. Mostly, we fix people that don’t WANT their crazy powers. People that are happy to be off the island, and just want a normal life. But... there’s a few... well, they run. Rogues, keeping ahead of us, usually with good powers and a need to keep said power, for whatever reason. We’re tracking a few right now, actually. They’re hard to catch, but we get them eventually...”
Jack was obviously holding something back when he said that, but he went no further, simply staring at the photos on the wall, his eyes running down the rows of faces.
Devon just let the silence sink in for a few moments, thinking though all this new information that she’s learned. This... explains a lot, really. Things she’s been wondering. Confirms things she’s suspected. But there’s still a few more things she has yet to confirm yet. And if she’s going to try and confirm them, then now is the time to do it.
“Have you been trackin’ One?” Or trying to, at least?
Jack laughs, “God knows, I’ve hunted that crazy bastard. Pulled every file I could find. He’s got a home town, residences, everything, but he’s not there. Not that I’ve seen, anyway. Trail’s gone cold, not that that surprises me. Knowing him, he’s found a corner of the world somewhere and he’s enjoying his victory of escaping the island. I hope he stays there. Good riddance.”
Jack heaves a troubled sigh, though, after this statement. “Knowing what I know now, though, if he’s out there, he probably became a Focus. And that scares the hell out of me. But... there’s nothing that I can do. He’s off the radar, under the wire, whatever you want to call it. If he ever peeks his beard out of his hiding place, though, I’ll be on his ass like white on rice.”
Devon cracked a brief smirk. ...Like white on rice. That’s a new one. But speaking of people that are “off the radar”... “So’s D. But that ain’ stoppin’ me from lookin’.” She considered the situation for a moment. If Props went and helped her with this, provided info for her search... that would leave her in debt, whether either of them liked it or not. “I doubt I’ll find anythin’. I expect not to, actually. But...” she looks up, right into Jack’s eyes. “...I’ll try an’ find you a lead or two.”
She knows that she can’t avoid this for any longer. She has to settle things with him once and for all.
Jack shrugs, but gives his sister a smile. “Don’t worry about it. If something does come up, though, you get some information on One, well... I’d appreciate it if you passed it along. I doubt that’ll happen, though. He’s kept quiet and very hidden, wherever he is.”
Jack sighs, leaning back into a chair. “So, how can I contact you? Do you have access to a workstation or anything? Radio, even?”
Devon pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “Nothin’ I can use t’contact th’head of USA IMPCOM with, no.”
Jack chuckles, “Fair enough. Let me think, then...”
Jack ponders quietly for a moment, before snapping his fingers and standing up, walking into the kitchen. He returns a moment later with the little black box with the button in it. He offers it to Devon. “Here. This is my panic button. You press that, and you’ve got between ten and thirty minutes before a strike team pops out of the sky and blows anything unfriendly to hell. I suggest lying down on the ground with your hands on your head when they show up, since you’re obviously not... well, obviously not me.”
Devon took the box and turned it over in her hand, her eyes narrowing onto it for a second. “Mhm. Right, right.” She might have gotten that. ...Possibly. She seemed to be a tad preoccupied, though. “Yeah, this’ll do,” she appeared to decide. For a moment, her hand reached behind her, as if to strap the box onto her back and set out for adventure... but then she remembered. Right. With a small grimace, she just awkwardly stuffs the box into her pocket. “Not sure how this’s gonna help me t’contact you, but. ‘anks.” Panic buttons are fun to have.
Jack shrugs, “Better than nothing, right?”
Turning, he frowns, considering the pictures once more, and then the clock on the wall. He turns his attention on Devon again after a moment. “If you find One, then use the panic button. I’d like to settle that mystery, once and for all. And... as for your father, I’ll leave that up to you. I trust that you can take care of yourself, but if things get out of hand, use the button. Other than that... come back in two days. I’ll have that information for you. I’ll print out any records I find on Daniel and One, so you can have a hard copy. Other than that, best way to get messages or information to me is to find a computer workstation. There’s usually one or two in every major city, though getting to them could be hard in some cases.”
Jack pulled his wallet out of his pocket and pulled a business card from inside it. It had information for contacting him, including a network number to connect to from a computer.
Devon took the business card, flipping it over and glancing over it. “Christ, can’t even remember th’last time I used a proper one...” she muttered with a faint smirk. She put it carefully in her pants pocket, not wanting it to get too crumbled up too soon. “Aight. Dunno where I’m gonna be goin’ these next few days, but I’ll make sure t’be in th’area when you got th’files.”
Jack gave his sister a small grin, and said, sounding pleased, “Sounds like we’re in business.”
Jack offered Devon his hand for a handshake, to seal the proverbial deal.
Devon took his hand in a firm grip with her own and shook it. Her hand felt oddly warm, and there was a certain odd glint to her eye that most people wouldn’t quite be able to place. “That we are, hermano.”
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
- Encounter 1, Part 1 -
Jack froze outside his front door, staring at the letter there. Without looking, he pressed a finger across the keyboard of his mobile workstation tablet, posting his latest blog entry onto the network before setting down the tablet, slowly, on the ground. His eyes watched the windows and half-open door, narrowing slowly, suspicion and a twinge of fear running through him. He reached out with one hand to the letter, taped to the door, while his other hand unslung the pistol he carried in a shoulder holster underneath his jacket. He opened the letter with his teeth, spitting out the edge of the envelope and pulling out the enclosed photo. It was a picture, half-developed, of Devon, inside his house, standing with his refrigerator door open, holding a beer and grinning at the camera. Jack suppressed a smirk, and dropped the picture and envelope, putting both hands on his gun and shouldering open his front door. Jack swept through the entryway and living room, and froze outside the hallway connecting the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. A quiet sound emanated from the kitchen.
Munch munch munch
The unmistakable sound of tortilla chips. Probably being dipped in the salsa he’d made a few days ago. Damn it, he’d been saving that. Jack grit his teeth and swung around the corner, his pistol sweeping the kitchen and stopping, aimed squarely at the back of somebody that, honestly, he never thought he’d see again. Alone, too. That made things... easier. Jack lowered his gun. “Nice of you to drop by, hermana.”
Devon tilted her head around, bits of chopped vegetables and spices adorning the edges of her mouth, and looked back at her gracious host. Calm and casual as always. She was actually looking a bit more her age, though. A few gray hairs here and there. It had grown out, too, about to her shoulders. A bit tired, too, but obviously well fed. She scooped the last little bit of salsa with a tortilla chip and popped it into her mouth.
CRUNCH munch munch munch
“You might wanna make s’more salsa. We’re all out.”
Jack holstered his gun after giving Devon a long look. He shook his head, looking her up and down slowly. “You’re looking healthy, Devon. Healthier than I’ve ever seen you, really. What’s your secret?”
Jack slid into the chair next to Devon and leaned over, grabbing a chip himself after a second and biting down on it, chewing slowly and trying to take in everything about Devon. Her clothes, her face. Anything could give him a clue to where she’d been and what she’d been up to.
She took another chip and pushed the bag closer to her hermano, figuring that the man of the house might as well have some of his own chips. She answered simply, “Breathin’.”
At first, that sort of response would seem sarcastic, coming from Devon. The way that she said it, though, with that sort of blank-faced, deadpan look, it can be hard to tell how much she’s joking.
She turned to look at him, that same calm, thoughtful look on her face. “Looks like you’ve got it made, hermano. Nice house, plenty of cash, doin’ that whole do-gooder thing you like t’do...”
She looked... remarkably well, actually, considering that she left the island with nothing but the skin on her back. Perhaps an old, healing cut or two on her legs, but otherwise, good. The insides of her palms look a little odd, though. Like new, healing burn scars. Light, but still there. Her clothes were a tiny bit dirty, but knowing her, it’s probably more out of laziness than anything else. Light cargo shorts, gray t-shirt. Light, easy to travel in. And considering the letters, she’d done a lot of travelling.
“Kinda interestin’, though. Every time I sent you a pic t’let you know I was doin’ aight, you went and sent some of th’pack after me. Weird way t’show y’care, but hey, I got th’message.”
Jack leaned back in his chair, taking Devon’s appearance in quietly, his face impassive and calm. He frowned, though, when Devon called him a ‘do-gooder’. He shifted in his chair, slightly, and sighed. “I’m not quite the good guy I’d like to think I am. Not anymore. Things were more black-and-white on the Island. Out here, it’s not so cut-and-dry.”
Jack stood up out of the chair and walked to the fridge, opening it and grabbing a stoppered jug full of amber liquid and setting it out on the counter. Closing the fridge, he walked to a cupboard and grabbed two tall glasses, and set them out between his seat and Devon. He placed the jug there as well, and sat again, unstoppering the jug and pouring two glasses of the liquid. He picked up his glass with a quiet sigh, looking at it, and then back to Devon. “Local brew. It’s all right. About as good as anything you could find on the Island, anyway.”
He took a small sip of the beer, and looked at Devon, speaking again. “I’ll be straight with you, Devon. I was worried about you being off the island. When I left that place, I was... well. I still am stronger, faster, tougher than I ever was out here, even at my prime in the Army. I kept all that strength, even off the Island. And I know you did, too.”
Jack smirked, looking Devon in the eye, “And, well, seeing you here makes me feel a little better, but... let’s face it, you’ve never been a do-gooder like me. You’re not a pussy. You get what you want, and out here, off the Island, there are very, very few people that could stop you.”
Jack leaned forward slightly in his chair as he spoke, “On top of that, you’ve been sending letters to a high-security military installation without passing through the front gate or going through the post, you’ve evaded my operatives at every turn... which didn’t surprise me. But what did surprise me was how fast you moved. So, cards on the table, sister. I’d love to think you came here for a visit, but you’ve been up to something, and you either want to get me in on it, or you need my help for something. So, what’s the game?”
Devon looked up at Jack, listening carefully and patiently as she crossed her legs and leaned back in her... seat. She seemed to prefer the floor for the moment. “Well, you know as well as I do how dangerous it’d be t’put all th’cards on th’table, so I’m jus’ gonna show a few at a time.”
Jack nodded. “Fair enough.”
She paused for a moment, considering what to say, and how to say it. Finally, she speaks, looking not quite at him, and not quite away from him. Sort of... a few inches to his right. “Daniel Ross Gilman. ‘s that name ring a bell anywhere?”
Jack considered a moment, before shaking his head. “Nothing, no. What, you owe this guy money? Do I need to break his kneecaps before he breaks yours?”
Jack gave Devon a small wink. “Pardon the invasion of privacy, but I pulled your ‘official’ file. In the interest of national security, of course.”
Devon’s brow twitched slightly, and the faintest of frowns formed on her face. “No, actually, I don’ think I will pardon it.”
She sighs, shaking her head a little bit. “...But not much I can do ‘bout it now ‘sides beat your head in, and that pro’lly won’ help me any.”
She paused for a moment again. It seemed that she’s having a bit of difficulty trying to say something. Finally, she came out with it. “Legally, he’s... my parent. Listed as dead for fourteen years. I don’ buy it. ‘s not his real name. Dunno his real one, never told me. Never asked. Never thought I’d need to.”
She picked up another chip, eating a little more slowly now. She took a moment to just look it over, at all the old, cooked spots, at the little changes in texture, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world right now. “He’s in hidin’. He’s always been in hidin’. Thing is, he’s really fuckin’ good at it. I might be stronger than most people on th’planet, but that doesn’t seem t’help as much as I’d like sometimes.”
Jack looked surprised. It was plain on his face. He took a long drag on his glass of beer before putting it aside. “Well, now, don’t I look like an asshole.”
He slid off his chair and joined Devon on the floor, grumbling to himself quietly as he did so, before continuing. “I’m not sure how much I can help, Dev, but... well, for you, and for something like that... I’ll do whatever I can. You’ve got my word on that. But... I need you to level with me, if possible. How’ve you been getting around? And how do you have money? That’ll at least set my mind at rest. I’ve been wondering, y’ know?”
Jack held up a hand, before Devon could continue. “But, before you explain, give me a moment.”
Jack stood up and checked his watch, and then moved to the front door of his house. To most people, as the door opened, it would sound silent, quiet as the evening outside was. But Devon and Props weren’t ‘some people’. The night was loud with the sound of rubber soles and suppressed steps, silent movement and the brush of clothes on skin, and the ever-so-slight sound of metal triggers being tensed by nervous fingers.
Jack called out into the night, “Olly-olly ox-en-free, boys. False alarm. Lieutenant, report.”
A voice called out from the darkness of the front yard. “Major Hemmings, what is your situation?”
Jack responded with a chuckle. “My situation is that I’ve become a nervous nancy in my old age, gentleman. Many apologies, but after the slew of base security issues, I thought it’d be better safe than sorry. I left my door unlocked and the cat must have gotten out.”
Somewhere in that conversation must have been a code phrase, because the Lieutenant’s voice sounded far more relaxed when he replied. “Affirmative, sir. And, all clear out here, anyway. No signs of an intruder.”
Jack allowed a little Major-Jack-Hemmings to creep into his voice as he said, “You were twenty seconds late, Lieutenant. If this had been a real emergency...”
Jack let that sentence end itself, and the Lientenant replied, “Loud and clear, sir. We’ll run a few drills, harder and faster.”
Jack smiled out into the dark. He knew they all could see him. They were equipped with night vision gear, of course. “Attaboy, Lieutenant Jameson. Return to base and report in to the duty officer.”
Jack turned and closed the door, not bothering to wait for a reply, and walked back into the Kitchen, a pained expression on his face. “Sorry about that, Devon. I’ve gotten a bit jumpy. We’ve had a few security issues at the base... stuff I can’t really talk about. We’re lucky I remembered I’d pressed my panic button, though.”
For some reason, Devon seems to find the bit about security issues to be a tad amusing, though she hides her smirk fairly well.
Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a small remote-like device with a smooth surface. He switched open the front of the device, revealing a small button recessed into the device. He tossed it on the counter and sighed.
Devon leaned forward, folding her hands in her lap as she considered for a second. Oddly enough, this pause was considerably less than when she had to talk about her “parent”. ...Or not oddly enough, considering how awkward she could be with the subject of family. “Well... truthfully, I started out basically on my own for a few days. Figured I wouldn’t be quite this lucky, but... turns out, someone found me. They were lookin’ for me. Expectin’ me. And... turns out, I’m not th’only one lookin’ for... ‘Daniel’.”
It’s an odd way that she says the name, like she’s not used to it. She probably gave him some other nicknames, or something like that.
“Apparently,” she states with just the slightest bit of distain, “he’d gotten himself an honest-t’god ladyfriend while I was gone. Thing is, he disappeared on her, too. …’s not like it was with me, though. From th’way she talked ‘bout it...”
She takes a deep breath for a moment. “...Well. Let’s just say tha’ he could be in really deep shit.”
Jack frowned, thinking carefully. “Who else is looking for... Daniel? And how did they find you? I mean, you could have come ashore after you left the island... anywhere, really. And so few people have access to island feeds, unless the Network aired your daring cannon-assisted escape... that’s worrying.”
Jack exhaled slowly, looking up at the counter and grabbing Devon’s glass of beer and offering it to her before speaking again. “So, you’ve been searching around for your... father, with these people that have been helping you.”
Jack frowned. “Are you sure you’re safe, Devon? I don’t mean to say you can’t take care of yourself, but I worry. You know me. Mother hen.”
Devon took the glass and... oh. Wow. Huh. Guess that QQQ spirit stayed with her. She placed the now-empty glass on the ground beside her and told him straight-up, “Pro’lly in serious danger. But hey, that’s how I roll, y’know?”
She tilted the empty glass back and forth idly. “‘sides. I’ll be fine. I said I’d come back. So I’m gonna. ...But I gotta take care o’business out here, first. Make sure I don’ leave with any regrets this time.”
Jack scowled at Devon openly. Well, that’s more like what he expected, anyway. “So, what can I do to help you be... safer? And, what do you need from me to help you find your father? I have access to basically every post-EMP record archived, including civilian records. I can include Daniel Gilman in your current ‘open’ file, requisition them for records and cross-referencing, and get you any information I find.”
Jack allowed his scowl to drop. “Of course, if anyone found out where you got that information from, I’d be screwed, so let’s keep this between us. If you have to, tell your father’s... friends... that you broke in somewhere and got onto an unsecured govement workstation. If you need it, I can be an... ace in the hole for you. If you get into some real shit... I have the resources to pick you up anywhere in the world. And I mean anywhere, within a few hours for worldwide, or as little as thirty minutes in the States.”
Devon winced slightly at the word father. It’s hard enough for her to call anyone a parent, let alone get any more specific than that, but... she’d let it go. Not worth arguing over. “...Yeah. I’m gonna need all post-EMP documents on Daniel Ross Gilman... and also, Robert Matthew Weaver. …’parently, it was his name about a year ago, before he disappeared again.”
There’s a pause for a few moments. “...’n... for th’record... try t’keep this really down-low. He... didn’t always do the right thing. But he’s a good man. Y’have my word on that. An’ I’d rather he not get into any more trouble if I can help it.”
Jack nodded, “I’ll take it very seriously. Not that anyone would question me. I am the boss, after all. I can do pretty much whatever I want when it comes to people from the Island.”
Jack’s eyes widened slightly for a moment, and he looked to Devon slowly, from her scarred hands to her eyes. “... Okay, this is going to sound strange, but... since you left... have you... tried using Improbability?”
For a moment, Devon seemed... a little bit tense. “...You’re right,” she responded in a low voice. “That does sound strange.”
She doesn’t even bother hiding her hands. “Have you?” she countered.
Jack nodded, smiling to himself, “A hundred thousand times. Every day, I used to try. It’s... stupid, though. I take injections of an anti-improbability serum we developed every three months.”
Jack swallows hard. Devon won’t have heard this. “... I’m... well, I’m allergic to Improbability.”
He paused, trying to organize how to say everything. “When they took me off the island, they injected me with a prototype anti-improbability serum. It... probably should have killed me, or shouldn’t have worked. But it worked... too well. If I’m exposed to improbability for a long period, my body... starts trying to fight the improbability. Like a virus, only it’s attacking itself. I have an exposure cap of about three days to low-level improbability, like... well, like some of the things I work around. But that’d be constant exposure, and the base is well shielded. But if I went back to the island... I’d have about six hours before my body started trying to kill itself. And that time decreases around Jokers and other highly-improbable things.”
Devon had been listening this entire time, a hint of surprise on her face, and... perhaps a hint of nervousness...? “...Well, then. ‘s a good thing I’m human, then. Otherwise, you’d pro’lly be in deep shit here, wouldn’t ya?”
There’s a ghost of a smile on her face. It seemed real, but... less certain, somehow.
Jack kept a poker face. “Funny thing, because... well, with... some of the things I work with... the improbability level is very different than, say, an on-island joker. Something about being away from the Drive, the techs tell me. So, if, for some reason, I was... unintentionally exposed to something, say, a joker of your ability levels, on the island? Pretty much deadly after about four or five hours. Off the island, though? I could stand next to you for about three days before things started going wrong. And I mean you’d have to stand next to me for three days. Luckily, the doses of anti-improbability nullify most of any sort of chance-encounter stuff that I might run into. Understand?”
Jack gave Devon a knowing look. “And, if you were considering trying to use Improbability off the island, which we know is impossible, then you should try to keep that on the down-low as well. No need to be starting any panics or anything, hm?”
Devon just kept looking at Jack, that slightly disturbed expression still on her face. “...You... you sayin’ you don’ think it worked.”
A pause. “...You’re sayin’ you don’ think I coulda made somethin’ in ten years by myself that th’military’s been tryin’ t’do right for longer. ‘s that right?” She’s... starting to look a little aggravated.
Jack frowned. “... No. I mean that, if, say, for some absurd reason, you started manifesting improbable abilities while off the Island, despite the fact that you drained all your improbability before leaving the Island and the fact that you are off the Island, where Improbability doesn’t happen, you don’t have to worry about accidentally killing me by standing too close or something. That’s all.”
Jack turned, pouring himself some more beer from the jug, and offered Devon some more as well. “You need anything else, sister? Or can we put the business aside and visit for a bit?“
She just looked at Jack. You know the kind. The kind of look where it feels like they’re trying to turn you inside-out so that they can see all your little organs. Eventually, though, she decides to just let it go for now. She’s travelled a long way, and it was hard enough sneaking into this place undetected. Devon just shook her head and closed her eyes, frowning. “...Yeah, I’m kinda sick of business right now. Let’s jus’ get to th’visitin’ part.”
Jack grinned. That’s what he’d been wanting to hear. He stood up and stretched. “You eaten yet, hermana? I still can make a mean meal. Don’t have quite the selection of the ‘ol Improbable Fridge back home, but I make do.”
Devon arched her back a bit, stretching before starting to stand up as well. “‘sides th’salsa, chips, an’ a cheap fast-food salad this mornin’, not much. Whatever y’feel like makin’. ‘s long as it’s food an’ not improbable, I’m good.”
Jack snickered, “I don’t think we have to worry about Improbable food here.”
Jack returned to the fridge and peeked inside, taking stock quietly for a moment before reaching in and pulling out some leftover chicken in a bag. Reaching up onto the stove, he turned a knob, and lit the gas range after a moment of fumbling with the matches. He set a pan on the stove and dropped in a blob of butter from a tureen on the counter, and then dropped in the chicken.
Jack looked serene as he cooked, just like he always did. He added some spices, a bit of chili powder and garlic, and began sautéing the diced chicken, adding a little flare to the otherwise boring fowl. After it was heated to his satisfaction, he took the pan off the stove and reached into cupboard, retrieving tortillas. Another trip to the fridge for some leftover shredded cheese, and a lime, and within minutes Props set some chicken tacos before Devon with a grin. “Enjoy.”
After a while of watching her hermano cook with a faintly focused expression on her face, she began to dig into her meal with gusto. She’d been smelling it as it cooked, practically drooling as she finally put the first bite into her mouth. “Oh gauh,” she exclaimed with her mouth full, the biggest grin forming on her face. “Phahgeh amahagh!” She’d been eating well, yes, but not this well. Worth the trip.
Props grinned at his sister, “I still got it, huh?”
Devon just closed her eyes and nodded, taking a moment to chew up a little more and swallow before answering, “Hell, pro’lly worth gettin’ off th’island jus’ for this,” she told him, before adding off-handedly, “Just. Y’know. Don’ let it get to your head or anythin’.”
Props snorted, “Nah, no way. Not like you can make my ego any worse anyway. On the island I was regular ‘ol Props, the medic. Here? I outrun all my men, out bench the strongest, and I can outfight most of the kids on the assault teams. My ego’s about as bad as it’s ever been, sister. I could use a little criticism, honestly.”
Props finished his own tacos, sitting down next to his sister and taking a bite. He chewed slowly, enjoying his cooking, and glanced at Devon, “So, how’s the home front? You and Devin doin’ all right? I don’t catch you very much on-camera.”
Devon’s cheerful mood seemed to dampen quite a bit at the query, and her bright smile disappeared as she chewed on her current bite. After swallowing (with a hint of difficulty), she responded evenly, “Haven’ seen ‘im.” She fills her mouth with another bite of delicious chicken taco to try and get rid of the sour taste forming in her mouth.
Props grimaced to himself and took another bite of the tacos. Smooth one. “You gettin’ along with Ko okay? And I see Rose sometimes, too. I thought she was dead, but... well, maybe I was mistaken. She doing okay?”
She shrugged faintly, doing that sort-of-looking-at-him-but-really-looking-a-few-inches-to-the-right thing again. “Ko’s... Ko. Roz or... Monkey, or... whatever. She’s still dead. You pro’lly saw the alternate-dimension her.” ...Which reminded her of her own alternate-dimension self... “Look, could we... y’know. Not talk ‘bout th’island? I sorta left that place for a reason, y’know.”
Props nodded once. “Yeah... yeah, sorry. Just... I don’t get to be one-on-one with people from the Island very often. It’s... yeah. I missed you, Devon. I’m glad you stopped by, business or not.”
He smiled at his sister, “If you’re gonna be off the island for a while, drop by again sometime... maybe bring your... Daniel. Being him along, when you find him. We’ll have a little family reunion.”
She gave him a little one-sided shrug with a “Maybe.” Might as well be a “yes” to her.
Props glanced out towards the living room, and gestured to her. “C’mere. I want to show you something.”
Standing, Props walked down the hall to the living room. It was a cozy affair, a couch and a small coffee table, with a heating stove on one wall, and a television set on a stand. One wall was dominated by pictures, though. All sorts of snap-shots of different people, some in groups, some just single shots. A whole section appeared to be sort of mug-shots, and another one appeared to be more ‘official’ photos, color, face-on, usually people in uniforms. Props stood in front of the wall, looking at it carefully, before pointing to the whole affair. “I’ve been using my spare time to track down people that have family on the island. I’ve done my best. Some people are tough to track down. The island changes people, you know? But... well. I was hoping, maybe, you might be able to clear up something. A little mystery.”
Props pointed to a picture in the middle. It was a shot of Devon, from the Island, all wings and fire and fury. In a word, an epic picture. Beneath it was a empty spot, large enough to fit two photos. “... I was hoping you could help me find... your friends. The two from the story. You only used nicknames... but I was hoping, since you’re here... you could tell me a little more.”
Devon just gazed at the picture of herself for a few moments, barely seeming to be listening to what Jack was saying. After a few moments, the last part of it seemed to register, and briefly, her face twisted in confusion. “...Story? What story’re you-- oh.” Her expression went completely blank. “...You mean... th’one I told Fel.” There was a brief pause before she answered.
“...Forget about it.”
She turned towards the other photos, idly looking through them as she continued. “Your job is hard enough as it is. There’s no need to make it harder by over-analyzing fairytales.”
- Continued in Part 2 -
Munch munch munch
The unmistakable sound of tortilla chips. Probably being dipped in the salsa he’d made a few days ago. Damn it, he’d been saving that. Jack grit his teeth and swung around the corner, his pistol sweeping the kitchen and stopping, aimed squarely at the back of somebody that, honestly, he never thought he’d see again. Alone, too. That made things... easier. Jack lowered his gun. “Nice of you to drop by, hermana.”
Devon tilted her head around, bits of chopped vegetables and spices adorning the edges of her mouth, and looked back at her gracious host. Calm and casual as always. She was actually looking a bit more her age, though. A few gray hairs here and there. It had grown out, too, about to her shoulders. A bit tired, too, but obviously well fed. She scooped the last little bit of salsa with a tortilla chip and popped it into her mouth.
CRUNCH munch munch munch
“You might wanna make s’more salsa. We’re all out.”
Jack holstered his gun after giving Devon a long look. He shook his head, looking her up and down slowly. “You’re looking healthy, Devon. Healthier than I’ve ever seen you, really. What’s your secret?”
Jack slid into the chair next to Devon and leaned over, grabbing a chip himself after a second and biting down on it, chewing slowly and trying to take in everything about Devon. Her clothes, her face. Anything could give him a clue to where she’d been and what she’d been up to.
She took another chip and pushed the bag closer to her hermano, figuring that the man of the house might as well have some of his own chips. She answered simply, “Breathin’.”
At first, that sort of response would seem sarcastic, coming from Devon. The way that she said it, though, with that sort of blank-faced, deadpan look, it can be hard to tell how much she’s joking.
She turned to look at him, that same calm, thoughtful look on her face. “Looks like you’ve got it made, hermano. Nice house, plenty of cash, doin’ that whole do-gooder thing you like t’do...”
She looked... remarkably well, actually, considering that she left the island with nothing but the skin on her back. Perhaps an old, healing cut or two on her legs, but otherwise, good. The insides of her palms look a little odd, though. Like new, healing burn scars. Light, but still there. Her clothes were a tiny bit dirty, but knowing her, it’s probably more out of laziness than anything else. Light cargo shorts, gray t-shirt. Light, easy to travel in. And considering the letters, she’d done a lot of travelling.
“Kinda interestin’, though. Every time I sent you a pic t’let you know I was doin’ aight, you went and sent some of th’pack after me. Weird way t’show y’care, but hey, I got th’message.”
Jack leaned back in his chair, taking Devon’s appearance in quietly, his face impassive and calm. He frowned, though, when Devon called him a ‘do-gooder’. He shifted in his chair, slightly, and sighed. “I’m not quite the good guy I’d like to think I am. Not anymore. Things were more black-and-white on the Island. Out here, it’s not so cut-and-dry.”
Jack stood up out of the chair and walked to the fridge, opening it and grabbing a stoppered jug full of amber liquid and setting it out on the counter. Closing the fridge, he walked to a cupboard and grabbed two tall glasses, and set them out between his seat and Devon. He placed the jug there as well, and sat again, unstoppering the jug and pouring two glasses of the liquid. He picked up his glass with a quiet sigh, looking at it, and then back to Devon. “Local brew. It’s all right. About as good as anything you could find on the Island, anyway.”
He took a small sip of the beer, and looked at Devon, speaking again. “I’ll be straight with you, Devon. I was worried about you being off the island. When I left that place, I was... well. I still am stronger, faster, tougher than I ever was out here, even at my prime in the Army. I kept all that strength, even off the Island. And I know you did, too.”
Jack smirked, looking Devon in the eye, “And, well, seeing you here makes me feel a little better, but... let’s face it, you’ve never been a do-gooder like me. You’re not a pussy. You get what you want, and out here, off the Island, there are very, very few people that could stop you.”
Jack leaned forward slightly in his chair as he spoke, “On top of that, you’ve been sending letters to a high-security military installation without passing through the front gate or going through the post, you’ve evaded my operatives at every turn... which didn’t surprise me. But what did surprise me was how fast you moved. So, cards on the table, sister. I’d love to think you came here for a visit, but you’ve been up to something, and you either want to get me in on it, or you need my help for something. So, what’s the game?”
Devon looked up at Jack, listening carefully and patiently as she crossed her legs and leaned back in her... seat. She seemed to prefer the floor for the moment. “Well, you know as well as I do how dangerous it’d be t’put all th’cards on th’table, so I’m jus’ gonna show a few at a time.”
Jack nodded. “Fair enough.”
She paused for a moment, considering what to say, and how to say it. Finally, she speaks, looking not quite at him, and not quite away from him. Sort of... a few inches to his right. “Daniel Ross Gilman. ‘s that name ring a bell anywhere?”
Jack considered a moment, before shaking his head. “Nothing, no. What, you owe this guy money? Do I need to break his kneecaps before he breaks yours?”
Jack gave Devon a small wink. “Pardon the invasion of privacy, but I pulled your ‘official’ file. In the interest of national security, of course.”
Devon’s brow twitched slightly, and the faintest of frowns formed on her face. “No, actually, I don’ think I will pardon it.”
She sighs, shaking her head a little bit. “...But not much I can do ‘bout it now ‘sides beat your head in, and that pro’lly won’ help me any.”
She paused for a moment again. It seemed that she’s having a bit of difficulty trying to say something. Finally, she came out with it. “Legally, he’s... my parent. Listed as dead for fourteen years. I don’ buy it. ‘s not his real name. Dunno his real one, never told me. Never asked. Never thought I’d need to.”
She picked up another chip, eating a little more slowly now. She took a moment to just look it over, at all the old, cooked spots, at the little changes in texture, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world right now. “He’s in hidin’. He’s always been in hidin’. Thing is, he’s really fuckin’ good at it. I might be stronger than most people on th’planet, but that doesn’t seem t’help as much as I’d like sometimes.”
Jack looked surprised. It was plain on his face. He took a long drag on his glass of beer before putting it aside. “Well, now, don’t I look like an asshole.”
He slid off his chair and joined Devon on the floor, grumbling to himself quietly as he did so, before continuing. “I’m not sure how much I can help, Dev, but... well, for you, and for something like that... I’ll do whatever I can. You’ve got my word on that. But... I need you to level with me, if possible. How’ve you been getting around? And how do you have money? That’ll at least set my mind at rest. I’ve been wondering, y’ know?”
Jack held up a hand, before Devon could continue. “But, before you explain, give me a moment.”
Jack stood up and checked his watch, and then moved to the front door of his house. To most people, as the door opened, it would sound silent, quiet as the evening outside was. But Devon and Props weren’t ‘some people’. The night was loud with the sound of rubber soles and suppressed steps, silent movement and the brush of clothes on skin, and the ever-so-slight sound of metal triggers being tensed by nervous fingers.
Jack called out into the night, “Olly-olly ox-en-free, boys. False alarm. Lieutenant, report.”
A voice called out from the darkness of the front yard. “Major Hemmings, what is your situation?”
Jack responded with a chuckle. “My situation is that I’ve become a nervous nancy in my old age, gentleman. Many apologies, but after the slew of base security issues, I thought it’d be better safe than sorry. I left my door unlocked and the cat must have gotten out.”
Somewhere in that conversation must have been a code phrase, because the Lieutenant’s voice sounded far more relaxed when he replied. “Affirmative, sir. And, all clear out here, anyway. No signs of an intruder.”
Jack allowed a little Major-Jack-Hemmings to creep into his voice as he said, “You were twenty seconds late, Lieutenant. If this had been a real emergency...”
Jack let that sentence end itself, and the Lientenant replied, “Loud and clear, sir. We’ll run a few drills, harder and faster.”
Jack smiled out into the dark. He knew they all could see him. They were equipped with night vision gear, of course. “Attaboy, Lieutenant Jameson. Return to base and report in to the duty officer.”
Jack turned and closed the door, not bothering to wait for a reply, and walked back into the Kitchen, a pained expression on his face. “Sorry about that, Devon. I’ve gotten a bit jumpy. We’ve had a few security issues at the base... stuff I can’t really talk about. We’re lucky I remembered I’d pressed my panic button, though.”
For some reason, Devon seems to find the bit about security issues to be a tad amusing, though she hides her smirk fairly well.
Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a small remote-like device with a smooth surface. He switched open the front of the device, revealing a small button recessed into the device. He tossed it on the counter and sighed.
Devon leaned forward, folding her hands in her lap as she considered for a second. Oddly enough, this pause was considerably less than when she had to talk about her “parent”. ...Or not oddly enough, considering how awkward she could be with the subject of family. “Well... truthfully, I started out basically on my own for a few days. Figured I wouldn’t be quite this lucky, but... turns out, someone found me. They were lookin’ for me. Expectin’ me. And... turns out, I’m not th’only one lookin’ for... ‘Daniel’.”
It’s an odd way that she says the name, like she’s not used to it. She probably gave him some other nicknames, or something like that.
“Apparently,” she states with just the slightest bit of distain, “he’d gotten himself an honest-t’god ladyfriend while I was gone. Thing is, he disappeared on her, too. …’s not like it was with me, though. From th’way she talked ‘bout it...”
She takes a deep breath for a moment. “...Well. Let’s just say tha’ he could be in really deep shit.”
Jack frowned, thinking carefully. “Who else is looking for... Daniel? And how did they find you? I mean, you could have come ashore after you left the island... anywhere, really. And so few people have access to island feeds, unless the Network aired your daring cannon-assisted escape... that’s worrying.”
Jack exhaled slowly, looking up at the counter and grabbing Devon’s glass of beer and offering it to her before speaking again. “So, you’ve been searching around for your... father, with these people that have been helping you.”
Jack frowned. “Are you sure you’re safe, Devon? I don’t mean to say you can’t take care of yourself, but I worry. You know me. Mother hen.”
Devon took the glass and... oh. Wow. Huh. Guess that QQQ spirit stayed with her. She placed the now-empty glass on the ground beside her and told him straight-up, “Pro’lly in serious danger. But hey, that’s how I roll, y’know?”
She tilted the empty glass back and forth idly. “‘sides. I’ll be fine. I said I’d come back. So I’m gonna. ...But I gotta take care o’business out here, first. Make sure I don’ leave with any regrets this time.”
Jack scowled at Devon openly. Well, that’s more like what he expected, anyway. “So, what can I do to help you be... safer? And, what do you need from me to help you find your father? I have access to basically every post-EMP record archived, including civilian records. I can include Daniel Gilman in your current ‘open’ file, requisition them for records and cross-referencing, and get you any information I find.”
Jack allowed his scowl to drop. “Of course, if anyone found out where you got that information from, I’d be screwed, so let’s keep this between us. If you have to, tell your father’s... friends... that you broke in somewhere and got onto an unsecured govement workstation. If you need it, I can be an... ace in the hole for you. If you get into some real shit... I have the resources to pick you up anywhere in the world. And I mean anywhere, within a few hours for worldwide, or as little as thirty minutes in the States.”
Devon winced slightly at the word father. It’s hard enough for her to call anyone a parent, let alone get any more specific than that, but... she’d let it go. Not worth arguing over. “...Yeah. I’m gonna need all post-EMP documents on Daniel Ross Gilman... and also, Robert Matthew Weaver. …’parently, it was his name about a year ago, before he disappeared again.”
There’s a pause for a few moments. “...’n... for th’record... try t’keep this really down-low. He... didn’t always do the right thing. But he’s a good man. Y’have my word on that. An’ I’d rather he not get into any more trouble if I can help it.”
Jack nodded, “I’ll take it very seriously. Not that anyone would question me. I am the boss, after all. I can do pretty much whatever I want when it comes to people from the Island.”
Jack’s eyes widened slightly for a moment, and he looked to Devon slowly, from her scarred hands to her eyes. “... Okay, this is going to sound strange, but... since you left... have you... tried using Improbability?”
For a moment, Devon seemed... a little bit tense. “...You’re right,” she responded in a low voice. “That does sound strange.”
She doesn’t even bother hiding her hands. “Have you?” she countered.
Jack nodded, smiling to himself, “A hundred thousand times. Every day, I used to try. It’s... stupid, though. I take injections of an anti-improbability serum we developed every three months.”
Jack swallows hard. Devon won’t have heard this. “... I’m... well, I’m allergic to Improbability.”
He paused, trying to organize how to say everything. “When they took me off the island, they injected me with a prototype anti-improbability serum. It... probably should have killed me, or shouldn’t have worked. But it worked... too well. If I’m exposed to improbability for a long period, my body... starts trying to fight the improbability. Like a virus, only it’s attacking itself. I have an exposure cap of about three days to low-level improbability, like... well, like some of the things I work around. But that’d be constant exposure, and the base is well shielded. But if I went back to the island... I’d have about six hours before my body started trying to kill itself. And that time decreases around Jokers and other highly-improbable things.”
Devon had been listening this entire time, a hint of surprise on her face, and... perhaps a hint of nervousness...? “...Well, then. ‘s a good thing I’m human, then. Otherwise, you’d pro’lly be in deep shit here, wouldn’t ya?”
There’s a ghost of a smile on her face. It seemed real, but... less certain, somehow.
Jack kept a poker face. “Funny thing, because... well, with... some of the things I work with... the improbability level is very different than, say, an on-island joker. Something about being away from the Drive, the techs tell me. So, if, for some reason, I was... unintentionally exposed to something, say, a joker of your ability levels, on the island? Pretty much deadly after about four or five hours. Off the island, though? I could stand next to you for about three days before things started going wrong. And I mean you’d have to stand next to me for three days. Luckily, the doses of anti-improbability nullify most of any sort of chance-encounter stuff that I might run into. Understand?”
Jack gave Devon a knowing look. “And, if you were considering trying to use Improbability off the island, which we know is impossible, then you should try to keep that on the down-low as well. No need to be starting any panics or anything, hm?”
Devon just kept looking at Jack, that slightly disturbed expression still on her face. “...You... you sayin’ you don’ think it worked.”
A pause. “...You’re sayin’ you don’ think I coulda made somethin’ in ten years by myself that th’military’s been tryin’ t’do right for longer. ‘s that right?” She’s... starting to look a little aggravated.
Jack frowned. “... No. I mean that, if, say, for some absurd reason, you started manifesting improbable abilities while off the Island, despite the fact that you drained all your improbability before leaving the Island and the fact that you are off the Island, where Improbability doesn’t happen, you don’t have to worry about accidentally killing me by standing too close or something. That’s all.”
Jack turned, pouring himself some more beer from the jug, and offered Devon some more as well. “You need anything else, sister? Or can we put the business aside and visit for a bit?“
She just looked at Jack. You know the kind. The kind of look where it feels like they’re trying to turn you inside-out so that they can see all your little organs. Eventually, though, she decides to just let it go for now. She’s travelled a long way, and it was hard enough sneaking into this place undetected. Devon just shook her head and closed her eyes, frowning. “...Yeah, I’m kinda sick of business right now. Let’s jus’ get to th’visitin’ part.”
Jack grinned. That’s what he’d been wanting to hear. He stood up and stretched. “You eaten yet, hermana? I still can make a mean meal. Don’t have quite the selection of the ‘ol Improbable Fridge back home, but I make do.”
Devon arched her back a bit, stretching before starting to stand up as well. “‘sides th’salsa, chips, an’ a cheap fast-food salad this mornin’, not much. Whatever y’feel like makin’. ‘s long as it’s food an’ not improbable, I’m good.”
Jack snickered, “I don’t think we have to worry about Improbable food here.”
Jack returned to the fridge and peeked inside, taking stock quietly for a moment before reaching in and pulling out some leftover chicken in a bag. Reaching up onto the stove, he turned a knob, and lit the gas range after a moment of fumbling with the matches. He set a pan on the stove and dropped in a blob of butter from a tureen on the counter, and then dropped in the chicken.
Jack looked serene as he cooked, just like he always did. He added some spices, a bit of chili powder and garlic, and began sautéing the diced chicken, adding a little flare to the otherwise boring fowl. After it was heated to his satisfaction, he took the pan off the stove and reached into cupboard, retrieving tortillas. Another trip to the fridge for some leftover shredded cheese, and a lime, and within minutes Props set some chicken tacos before Devon with a grin. “Enjoy.”
After a while of watching her hermano cook with a faintly focused expression on her face, she began to dig into her meal with gusto. She’d been smelling it as it cooked, practically drooling as she finally put the first bite into her mouth. “Oh gauh,” she exclaimed with her mouth full, the biggest grin forming on her face. “Phahgeh amahagh!” She’d been eating well, yes, but not this well. Worth the trip.
Props grinned at his sister, “I still got it, huh?”
Devon just closed her eyes and nodded, taking a moment to chew up a little more and swallow before answering, “Hell, pro’lly worth gettin’ off th’island jus’ for this,” she told him, before adding off-handedly, “Just. Y’know. Don’ let it get to your head or anythin’.”
Props snorted, “Nah, no way. Not like you can make my ego any worse anyway. On the island I was regular ‘ol Props, the medic. Here? I outrun all my men, out bench the strongest, and I can outfight most of the kids on the assault teams. My ego’s about as bad as it’s ever been, sister. I could use a little criticism, honestly.”
Props finished his own tacos, sitting down next to his sister and taking a bite. He chewed slowly, enjoying his cooking, and glanced at Devon, “So, how’s the home front? You and Devin doin’ all right? I don’t catch you very much on-camera.”
Devon’s cheerful mood seemed to dampen quite a bit at the query, and her bright smile disappeared as she chewed on her current bite. After swallowing (with a hint of difficulty), she responded evenly, “Haven’ seen ‘im.” She fills her mouth with another bite of delicious chicken taco to try and get rid of the sour taste forming in her mouth.
Props grimaced to himself and took another bite of the tacos. Smooth one. “You gettin’ along with Ko okay? And I see Rose sometimes, too. I thought she was dead, but... well, maybe I was mistaken. She doing okay?”
She shrugged faintly, doing that sort-of-looking-at-him-but-really-looking-a-few-inches-to-the-right thing again. “Ko’s... Ko. Roz or... Monkey, or... whatever. She’s still dead. You pro’lly saw the alternate-dimension her.” ...Which reminded her of her own alternate-dimension self... “Look, could we... y’know. Not talk ‘bout th’island? I sorta left that place for a reason, y’know.”
Props nodded once. “Yeah... yeah, sorry. Just... I don’t get to be one-on-one with people from the Island very often. It’s... yeah. I missed you, Devon. I’m glad you stopped by, business or not.”
He smiled at his sister, “If you’re gonna be off the island for a while, drop by again sometime... maybe bring your... Daniel. Being him along, when you find him. We’ll have a little family reunion.”
She gave him a little one-sided shrug with a “Maybe.” Might as well be a “yes” to her.
Props glanced out towards the living room, and gestured to her. “C’mere. I want to show you something.”
Standing, Props walked down the hall to the living room. It was a cozy affair, a couch and a small coffee table, with a heating stove on one wall, and a television set on a stand. One wall was dominated by pictures, though. All sorts of snap-shots of different people, some in groups, some just single shots. A whole section appeared to be sort of mug-shots, and another one appeared to be more ‘official’ photos, color, face-on, usually people in uniforms. Props stood in front of the wall, looking at it carefully, before pointing to the whole affair. “I’ve been using my spare time to track down people that have family on the island. I’ve done my best. Some people are tough to track down. The island changes people, you know? But... well. I was hoping, maybe, you might be able to clear up something. A little mystery.”
Props pointed to a picture in the middle. It was a shot of Devon, from the Island, all wings and fire and fury. In a word, an epic picture. Beneath it was a empty spot, large enough to fit two photos. “... I was hoping you could help me find... your friends. The two from the story. You only used nicknames... but I was hoping, since you’re here... you could tell me a little more.”
Devon just gazed at the picture of herself for a few moments, barely seeming to be listening to what Jack was saying. After a few moments, the last part of it seemed to register, and briefly, her face twisted in confusion. “...Story? What story’re you-- oh.” Her expression went completely blank. “...You mean... th’one I told Fel.” There was a brief pause before she answered.
“...Forget about it.”
She turned towards the other photos, idly looking through them as she continued. “Your job is hard enough as it is. There’s no need to make it harder by over-analyzing fairytales.”
- Continued in Part 2 -
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
- Day Off 2 -
Not feeling too great today. I've got a bit of a headache. I haven't been sleeping well...
Today was a quiet day off. The days at work have been crazy and hectic, and it's been wearing on me. Jetting across the world and chasing a gentlemanly focus and dealing with his insane security breach (772, if you're reading this, I don't want to hear it.)
See? I can't even rely on my own blog anymore. It's... distressing, but there's also nothing that I can do.
We caught another focus, also. #681 He'd been running from us for a while. He was... wrong in the head. Something had happened to skew his perception. He was losing his mind, and I think he knew it. His focus ability didn't help that, much. He had the ability of ten-second precognition. It was constantly 'active', too. He couldn't control it. So he spent his days talking to people that hadn't asked him questions yet, or trying to pick up things that hadn't fallen over, yet. He was running from us right as we were coming from him. It made him hard to catch, of course, and he's been eluding us for a while. It's hard to imagine how he was surviving. Probably by waiting to make sure food didn't move for ten seconds before reaching for it? When we caught him, he was crying, smiling as we injected him, and once the injection had run it's course, he broke down. He'd been miserable, he said. His life had been hellish. He was so happy just to be caught and "fixed".
It's moments like that that reminds me why I'm doing this. So many times, I focus on the bad, the mistakes. But there's good that we do, too. A lot of good. There's a lot of people that are happy to go back to their normal life after their focus powers manifest. So many look back on their brief (or in some cases, not) stays on the Island with terror and fear. Many of them lost their memories. Many of them were hurt in the jungles. Getting taken away was the best thing that ever happened to them.
It's funny, isn't it? It's hard to separate from my life on the island, especially when some days, with the insanity and the things I have to deal with and see, it's like I never left.
I miss my family, and my friends... but I have a life here, and a purpose, and looking back solves nothing. I can't change who I am, and Kolojang had it right. I'm a dog of the military, a slave to my duty. When I went to the Island, I felt purposeless, at first. I was sort of lost. But I found a job that was rooted in my past, in who I was - a military man. I did what I could to help people, provided a service that nobody else seemed able to do. I fixed people, and that was something, anyway. It was a Duty to rise to, and objective to complete. Just like, before, the Army was my Duty, and then my teaching and students.
I was stop-lossed on the Island, when the military realized that I was there. I was reinstated as a Captain - same rank that I had when I left the military - and given a further Duty - passing information to the US Army. So I did that. I kept them informed, and in the meantime I did my Duty to my fellow islanders. And then, one day, I was promoted to an Officer in TYPES, and so my duties grew. I kept my clan in line, and helped the island, and did my Duty as an officer in the army, as well. My mission was successful, they tell me. They know more about the island than they ever have, which is important, because they also know that they can't interfere with the island.
They've talked about attacking the Drive, but my intel, on some level, made the case against it. A highly-trained US Military soldier is nothing compared to the godlike ability of a Joker, and even the most powerful Jokers on the island can not kill the Drive. It gives me peace of mind, knowing that the Island will continue on as it always had, separate from the rest of the world... safe from the things that would destroy the way of life there. Not everyone would agree with me, but I know the island better than most. It's the closest I've felt to a community, ever. The only thing that comes close to that feeling of community is my place, here.
I can't go back to the island, not really. That's lost to me. Six hours, maximum, is how long I could spend with Matthew or Waverly or Felidae or Jara, my adopted daughters and son-in-law, before it starts to kill my body. Probably that time is even less with Silcatra or Sessine, two of the most powerful jokers on the island. And that time decreases as they grow stronger and absorb more Improbability. So that's it, for me. I've mourned that loss, but I've also accepted it. I can see them from afar, deliver some care packages, keep their memory strong, but that's all. I've had to accept that they are beyond my reach.
... Dwelling on this isn't a good idea. I'm going to take my tablet inside, make some dinner.
The front door is open.
Today was a quiet day off. The days at work have been crazy and hectic, and it's been wearing on me. Jetting across the world and chasing a gentlemanly focus and dealing with his insane security breach (772, if you're reading this, I don't want to hear it.)
See? I can't even rely on my own blog anymore. It's... distressing, but there's also nothing that I can do.
We caught another focus, also. #681 He'd been running from us for a while. He was... wrong in the head. Something had happened to skew his perception. He was losing his mind, and I think he knew it. His focus ability didn't help that, much. He had the ability of ten-second precognition. It was constantly 'active', too. He couldn't control it. So he spent his days talking to people that hadn't asked him questions yet, or trying to pick up things that hadn't fallen over, yet. He was running from us right as we were coming from him. It made him hard to catch, of course, and he's been eluding us for a while. It's hard to imagine how he was surviving. Probably by waiting to make sure food didn't move for ten seconds before reaching for it? When we caught him, he was crying, smiling as we injected him, and once the injection had run it's course, he broke down. He'd been miserable, he said. His life had been hellish. He was so happy just to be caught and "fixed".
It's moments like that that reminds me why I'm doing this. So many times, I focus on the bad, the mistakes. But there's good that we do, too. A lot of good. There's a lot of people that are happy to go back to their normal life after their focus powers manifest. So many look back on their brief (or in some cases, not) stays on the Island with terror and fear. Many of them lost their memories. Many of them were hurt in the jungles. Getting taken away was the best thing that ever happened to them.
It's funny, isn't it? It's hard to separate from my life on the island, especially when some days, with the insanity and the things I have to deal with and see, it's like I never left.
I miss my family, and my friends... but I have a life here, and a purpose, and looking back solves nothing. I can't change who I am, and Kolojang had it right. I'm a dog of the military, a slave to my duty. When I went to the Island, I felt purposeless, at first. I was sort of lost. But I found a job that was rooted in my past, in who I was - a military man. I did what I could to help people, provided a service that nobody else seemed able to do. I fixed people, and that was something, anyway. It was a Duty to rise to, and objective to complete. Just like, before, the Army was my Duty, and then my teaching and students.
I was stop-lossed on the Island, when the military realized that I was there. I was reinstated as a Captain - same rank that I had when I left the military - and given a further Duty - passing information to the US Army. So I did that. I kept them informed, and in the meantime I did my Duty to my fellow islanders. And then, one day, I was promoted to an Officer in TYPES, and so my duties grew. I kept my clan in line, and helped the island, and did my Duty as an officer in the army, as well. My mission was successful, they tell me. They know more about the island than they ever have, which is important, because they also know that they can't interfere with the island.
They've talked about attacking the Drive, but my intel, on some level, made the case against it. A highly-trained US Military soldier is nothing compared to the godlike ability of a Joker, and even the most powerful Jokers on the island can not kill the Drive. It gives me peace of mind, knowing that the Island will continue on as it always had, separate from the rest of the world... safe from the things that would destroy the way of life there. Not everyone would agree with me, but I know the island better than most. It's the closest I've felt to a community, ever. The only thing that comes close to that feeling of community is my place, here.
I can't go back to the island, not really. That's lost to me. Six hours, maximum, is how long I could spend with Matthew or Waverly or Felidae or Jara, my adopted daughters and son-in-law, before it starts to kill my body. Probably that time is even less with Silcatra or Sessine, two of the most powerful jokers on the island. And that time decreases as they grow stronger and absorb more Improbability. So that's it, for me. I've mourned that loss, but I've also accepted it. I can see them from afar, deliver some care packages, keep their memory strong, but that's all. I've had to accept that they are beyond my reach.
... Dwelling on this isn't a good idea. I'm going to take my tablet inside, make some dinner.
The front door is open.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
- Letters Again -
Another letter was delivered. This time it was found right outside the IMPCOM compound main gate. That's very... unnerving, especially after all the security issues we had the other day.
This time, the picture is of Devon, standing in front of a large stone staircase, dressed in a slightly ripped orange yukata. She's got a paper fan with the japanese flag on it, and she's yawning. She looks bored.
Analysis figured it out pretty quick, though. She's in the Caribbean Islands, somewhere, which is... frusturating. We have no official agreements with any of the governments there. The region is still unstable, even after all this time and a lot of work. Sending people down there wouldn't be worth it.
At least we know one thing - she's getting closer, heading for the states, possibly. And we'll be waiting for her.
At least we know one thing - she's getting closer, heading for the states, possibly. And we'll be waiting for her.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
- Focus #772 Update -
#772 was spotted in [REDACTED], and a team is quietly observing him. I've put out orders not to engage him under any circumstances, and to retreat if spotted. So far, nothing interesting, other than the obvious - he's hard to keep track of. Seems he enjoys using his ability to phase through solid objects to shake off observation. He's discreet about how he uses it, which shows some thought or concern about the general public and their reaction to manifested Improbability. It also makes me think that he's toying with my team... like he knows he's being watched. The team leader is a bit unnerved by that idea, but he's a dogged man. He's kept me informed as best he can, and I can't fault the man for things beyond his control.
#772 is a bit on the unique side of things - he's a powerful Focus, with a lot of control over his ability, but seems determined to lead as much of a 'normal' life as possible. He doesn't misuse his power, and he's not afraid of it either, unlike so many of the focuses we've seen. So many are unstable, or simply horrified of their power. He is... collected, calm, very aware. He's the opposite of what we've seen in most Focuses, with a scant few exceptions.
Our orders are strict - contain and cure - but we've made exceptions in the past for similar Focuses. I mentioned the Focus, #168, that caused vegetation to spontaneously grow in the area around him. He's one such case of a focus who, after the initial shock, was cooperative and interested in using his ability for the betterment of the world. He's been successful in assisting in growth projects around the world.
Maybe #772 could be put to similar use, if he's interested. Something to consider.
The Top Brass will not like that, though. They're a bit upset about the initial encounter. He put several operatives out of commission, albeit temporarily, while they were waiting the surgery needed to remove the wall material from their skin. Not pleasant, certainly, but nothing life threatening. I'll start building a case for him...
#772 is a bit on the unique side of things - he's a powerful Focus, with a lot of control over his ability, but seems determined to lead as much of a 'normal' life as possible. He doesn't misuse his power, and he's not afraid of it either, unlike so many of the focuses we've seen. So many are unstable, or simply horrified of their power. He is... collected, calm, very aware. He's the opposite of what we've seen in most Focuses, with a scant few exceptions.
Our orders are strict - contain and cure - but we've made exceptions in the past for similar Focuses. I mentioned the Focus, #168, that caused vegetation to spontaneously grow in the area around him. He's one such case of a focus who, after the initial shock, was cooperative and interested in using his ability for the betterment of the world. He's been successful in assisting in growth projects around the world.
Maybe #772 could be put to similar use, if he's interested. Something to consider.
The Top Brass will not like that, though. They're a bit upset about the initial encounter. He put several operatives out of commission, albeit temporarily, while they were waiting the surgery needed to remove the wall material from their skin. Not pleasant, certainly, but nothing life threatening. I'll start building a case for him...
- From Europe, With Love -
I'm in Europe, currently. Guess who isn't?
If you guessed Devon, you'd be correct.
I decided to request all the government files that existed on Devon, or, rather, the only name I ever got out of her: Gabriella Moreno.
I learned a lot, the first part being that her last name isn't Moreno, at least, not anymore. Devon legally changed her last name to 'Gilman'. Her records, criminal and otherwise, are... suspiciously clean, other than a few charges of loitering and trespassing. Enough to make me order a deeper search for any records. Nothing has turned up so far.
The first thing that I noticed of some interest is that she owes a lot of money to some shady sources - loan shark types - to the tune of over one hundred thousand dollars. I can't find what this money was used for, but I'll see about getting some information from her lenders. If they find out that Devon is off the island, she could be in a lot of trouble. All the more reason to bring her in.
The other files brought in contained an old case file - kidnapping - handled by the FBI. Gabriella 'Devon' Moreno, age ten, was suspected as being kidnapped by an 'unidentified suspect, assumed male, height of over six feet, no further information'. This same kidnapper is also accused of the murder of one Eva Moreno and a second male, a Vittore Trevisano. Eva Moreno is Devon's mother.
A second section of the file contains a few reports of potential domestic violence, and a social worker case file of a member of CPS looking into Eva Moreno, under suspicion of child abuse. The case was closed when Eva was killed and her daughter disappeared.
Devon's records pick up again three years later, when she simply seems to pop back up on the radar at age thirteen. A year later, she has her last name legally changed, and from there the record is generally mundane, excepting the loitering, trespassing, and the loans.
I can put the pieces together from here, knowing Devon. Her mother was a... well. She was a whore. And she physically abused Devon, went through a lot of 'boyfriends', and was generally unstable. This explains Devon's hatred of "ho's", and... well, a lot, really. The kidnapping is... strange. Very, very strange. Whomever the man was, he's suspected of murdering Devon's mother and kidnapping her as well... but despite how these sort of cases turn out, Devon appears again, three years later, as if nothing had happened. No police reports, nothing, just a trail that goes suspiciously cold. Devon talked a bit about her past, and it seemed to be a less than straight-laced one, to say in the least... but there's nothing here to indicate that it ever happened. I'm not calling my sister a liar, no. I'm saying that something is up, and in more ways than one.
Devon has escaped the island, and in that time frame has found her way from Africa to Europe, evaded capture, left NO paper trail, and has caused me to empty at least two bottles of whiskey trying to drown out the headache this whole thing has been. This leads me to assume that Devon has access to transportation, FAST transportation, and possibly private transportation, as well as money. She's acquiring... things. Each picture I've recieved, she's been wearing different clothes, and she 'acquired' a watch, and something tells me that she didn't just steal it.
Devon has connections, at best, and at worst, she has friends in very high places. Connections I can deal with, but friends with power make things very hard. It also makes things much more dangerous for my operatives that are looking for her.
So, I'm taking this little goose chase underground. No more active, high-visibility hunting. We're gonna work quiet-like, probe around, try to piece together more of Devon's history, and hopefully we can find who is helping her. Devon thinks she can play hide and seek, and I'll admit, she's better at it than I am, but I have the resources of my position to back me up, now. I'll get some experts out into the world to hunt around her hometown of [REDACTED], look for those less-obvious connections... and maybe I'll find the characters known as 'D' and 'T', the two that Devon herself said had a large influence on her life.
--
One other update, the prototype has been delivered to the island, and received as well. It's out of my hands, now. I'll have to hope that Jara and whomever she can round up can do what needs to be done to catch Sil... then, well, hopefully I can bring Silcatra the closure she needs.
--
More to come. I'm heading back to the States tonight.
If you guessed Devon, you'd be correct.
I decided to request all the government files that existed on Devon, or, rather, the only name I ever got out of her: Gabriella Moreno.
I learned a lot, the first part being that her last name isn't Moreno, at least, not anymore. Devon legally changed her last name to 'Gilman'. Her records, criminal and otherwise, are... suspiciously clean, other than a few charges of loitering and trespassing. Enough to make me order a deeper search for any records. Nothing has turned up so far.
The first thing that I noticed of some interest is that she owes a lot of money to some shady sources - loan shark types - to the tune of over one hundred thousand dollars. I can't find what this money was used for, but I'll see about getting some information from her lenders. If they find out that Devon is off the island, she could be in a lot of trouble. All the more reason to bring her in.
The other files brought in contained an old case file - kidnapping - handled by the FBI. Gabriella 'Devon' Moreno, age ten, was suspected as being kidnapped by an 'unidentified suspect, assumed male, height of over six feet, no further information'. This same kidnapper is also accused of the murder of one Eva Moreno and a second male, a Vittore Trevisano. Eva Moreno is Devon's mother.
A second section of the file contains a few reports of potential domestic violence, and a social worker case file of a member of CPS looking into Eva Moreno, under suspicion of child abuse. The case was closed when Eva was killed and her daughter disappeared.
Devon's records pick up again three years later, when she simply seems to pop back up on the radar at age thirteen. A year later, she has her last name legally changed, and from there the record is generally mundane, excepting the loitering, trespassing, and the loans.
I can put the pieces together from here, knowing Devon. Her mother was a... well. She was a whore. And she physically abused Devon, went through a lot of 'boyfriends', and was generally unstable. This explains Devon's hatred of "ho's", and... well, a lot, really. The kidnapping is... strange. Very, very strange. Whomever the man was, he's suspected of murdering Devon's mother and kidnapping her as well... but despite how these sort of cases turn out, Devon appears again, three years later, as if nothing had happened. No police reports, nothing, just a trail that goes suspiciously cold. Devon talked a bit about her past, and it seemed to be a less than straight-laced one, to say in the least... but there's nothing here to indicate that it ever happened. I'm not calling my sister a liar, no. I'm saying that something is up, and in more ways than one.
Devon has escaped the island, and in that time frame has found her way from Africa to Europe, evaded capture, left NO paper trail, and has caused me to empty at least two bottles of whiskey trying to drown out the headache this whole thing has been. This leads me to assume that Devon has access to transportation, FAST transportation, and possibly private transportation, as well as money. She's acquiring... things. Each picture I've recieved, she's been wearing different clothes, and she 'acquired' a watch, and something tells me that she didn't just steal it.
Devon has connections, at best, and at worst, she has friends in very high places. Connections I can deal with, but friends with power make things very hard. It also makes things much more dangerous for my operatives that are looking for her.
So, I'm taking this little goose chase underground. No more active, high-visibility hunting. We're gonna work quiet-like, probe around, try to piece together more of Devon's history, and hopefully we can find who is helping her. Devon thinks she can play hide and seek, and I'll admit, she's better at it than I am, but I have the resources of my position to back me up, now. I'll get some experts out into the world to hunt around her hometown of [REDACTED], look for those less-obvious connections... and maybe I'll find the characters known as 'D' and 'T', the two that Devon herself said had a large influence on her life.
--
One other update, the prototype has been delivered to the island, and received as well. It's out of my hands, now. I'll have to hope that Jara and whomever she can round up can do what needs to be done to catch Sil... then, well, hopefully I can bring Silcatra the closure she needs.
--
More to come. I'm heading back to the States tonight.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
- Tally Ho -
IMPCOM-China got back to us. This is moderately embarassing...
Devon isn't standing on the great wall. She's standing in front of a famous painting of the great wall, which is on display in an art gallery in europe.
We know the gallery. My boys are on the line with IMPCOM-Europe. We're mobilizing a unit right now to track her down. When we've got her, I'll bring her in and find out what's the deal with the pictures and figure out what she's planning on doing off the island. She's up to something, and the taunting confirms it, in my mind.
The operatives that are on-mission have been given a strict non-engagement orders. Contain her, talk with her, and ask her to cooperate. If she refuses, back off, wait for me. If I have to, I'll come to her. I'm going to get to the bottom of this. I'm off right now to catch a flight off the tarmac. More after.
Devon isn't standing on the great wall. She's standing in front of a famous painting of the great wall, which is on display in an art gallery in europe.
We know the gallery. My boys are on the line with IMPCOM-Europe. We're mobilizing a unit right now to track her down. When we've got her, I'll bring her in and find out what's the deal with the pictures and figure out what she's planning on doing off the island. She's up to something, and the taunting confirms it, in my mind.
The operatives that are on-mission have been given a strict non-engagement orders. Contain her, talk with her, and ask her to cooperate. If she refuses, back off, wait for me. If I have to, I'll come to her. I'm going to get to the bottom of this. I'm off right now to catch a flight off the tarmac. More after.
- Fox Hunt -
Our team arrived too late to the location we determined Devon was in. She was long gone. The little african port town was small, a few people saw her, but she left the town on foot, which limited how we could track her. The trail was a few days old, and she knows how to reduce her 'footprint'.
We just got another picture, though. No return address, unmarked. We're not sure how these are being delivered, because it's not by normal post.
Again, a picture of Devon, this time at... the great wall. She's looking at a newly acquired wristwatch, and obviously appears impatient. She's taunting me.
We're liasing with our IMPCOM-China representatives right now, and they're mobilizing teams. There's military units on station at the great wall, and there's not as much tourism. They'll find her fast, and our reaction time is much faster this time than the last time.
We're coming for you, hermana.
We just got another picture, though. No return address, unmarked. We're not sure how these are being delivered, because it's not by normal post.
Again, a picture of Devon, this time at... the great wall. She's looking at a newly acquired wristwatch, and obviously appears impatient. She's taunting me.
We're liasing with our IMPCOM-China representatives right now, and they're mobilizing teams. There's military units on station at the great wall, and there's not as much tourism. They'll find her fast, and our reaction time is much faster this time than the last time.
We're coming for you, hermana.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
- Surprise -
I received a letter today. No return address. I'm really not sure how the letter even found me, but... well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised.
Inside was a single photograph, recently taken. It was a picture of Devon, grinning her big Devon grin and staring into the camera with a look that said 'Come get me, pussy'.
Challenge Accepted.
R&D is analyzing the photograph. They're working on determining the location Devon sent the picture from, using the buildings in the background of the shot. I won't give it away here, just in case, but we're close to nailing down her location. I've already mobilized a team to go find her.
I have a feeling that my boys are off on a wild goose chase (or duck chase, as the case may be. QQQ and all that.) and when they get there, Devon will be long gone. But... we can start to track her, maybe determine where she's going next.
Big mistake, hermana. I'll find you soon enough. And hell, if you're just on vacation, I might join you.
Please, please, don't be up to anything stupid or illegal.
-
In other news, our hunt for #772 isn't going well. He's long gone, which isn't surprising. A focus like that can go ANYWHERE. A part of me is relieved, to be honest. He didn't hurt any of my men, and for that alone I owe him. But, it's my job to contain focuses. If he's cooperative and understanding, we can probably find a place for him to do some good, but... well, top brass is pretty firm on how we handle high-powered focuses. I'll put in a good word for our gentleman Focus, though.
Maybe it'll be enough.
Back to work.
Inside was a single photograph, recently taken. It was a picture of Devon, grinning her big Devon grin and staring into the camera with a look that said 'Come get me, pussy'.
Challenge Accepted.
R&D is analyzing the photograph. They're working on determining the location Devon sent the picture from, using the buildings in the background of the shot. I won't give it away here, just in case, but we're close to nailing down her location. I've already mobilized a team to go find her.
I have a feeling that my boys are off on a wild goose chase (or duck chase, as the case may be. QQQ and all that.) and when they get there, Devon will be long gone. But... we can start to track her, maybe determine where she's going next.
Big mistake, hermana. I'll find you soon enough. And hell, if you're just on vacation, I might join you.
Please, please, don't be up to anything stupid or illegal.
-
In other news, our hunt for #772 isn't going well. He's long gone, which isn't surprising. A focus like that can go ANYWHERE. A part of me is relieved, to be honest. He didn't hurt any of my men, and for that alone I owe him. But, it's my job to contain focuses. If he's cooperative and understanding, we can probably find a place for him to do some good, but... well, top brass is pretty firm on how we handle high-powered focuses. I'll put in a good word for our gentleman Focus, though.
Maybe it'll be enough.
Back to work.
Friday, November 4, 2011
- The Hardest Kind of Talk -
My daughter hasn't seen me, physically present, in real time, since she was nine years old, and she'll be turning nineteen soon.
I've made mistakes that I can't ever truly make up for, but I'll do my best.
That was hard.
R&D deserve a day off, after the PSU prototype is shipped, the whirlybird and holographic projection work perfectly. Gives me some hope.
EDIT:
To clarify, I used the newly installed Holographic Projection System to speak with Jara face-to-face, in a sense. The talk... well. It wasn't a happy reunion. Bittersweet, yes. It was so good to see her, to speak with her, but the situation is so bad, it was... hard.
I've got work to do.
EDIT:
To clarify, I used the newly installed Holographic Projection System to speak with Jara face-to-face, in a sense. The talk... well. It wasn't a happy reunion. Bittersweet, yes. It was so good to see her, to speak with her, but the situation is so bad, it was... hard.
I've got work to do.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
- Mission Report 2 -
USAIMPCOM MISSION REPORT #A8443/#C772
OPERATION OBJECTIVE: Target Observation/Focus Containment
DATE: [REDACTED]
OPERATION STATUS: Pending
A group of IMPCOM Operatives who were on a mission were attacked by the target they were observing. The target in question had been suspected of being a Focus, and those suspicions were confirmed upon contact. IMPCOM Operatives attempted to subdue the Focus (Designated #772) with no success. #772 was strong, fast, and showed the ability to pass through solid objects. The Focus also appeared to be able to transfer this ability to others. Almost all of the Operatives were half-phased into walls or other objects by their arms, and then left. #772 walked out of the combat zone unharmed after incapacatating all the operatives. None of the Operatives were seriously injured, beyond minor bruises.
Heavy equipment was required to remove all the operatives from the walls of the building they engaged #772 in. IMPCOM medical personel on scene were able to discern that the clothing and dermis layer of skin that was phased into the wall was incorporated into the wall's structure as well, which explains why the Operatives were unable to simply pull their arms out of the wall. Minor surgery will be needed to completely remove fragments of the wall material from their skin. The medical personel note that while this situation was bad, the alternative - that the phased operatives's limbs could have been wholly incorporated into the wall's structure, which would require surgical amputation of their limbs - would be worse.
The CO in charge of the operation commented on #772's mental state as 'chatty and jovial'. He apparently became aware of the Operatives as they were conducting surveilance through unknown means, and approached the CO and his team, saying, quote, "Not quite as sneaky as you think. I've seen lions hide better than you lot."
The CO ordered his team to detain #772 for questioning, at which point, when an Operative attempted to detain #772, #772 manifested the aforementioned insubstantial ability, which R&D has dubbed 'Phasing'. Operatives were unable to make physical contact with #772, who appeared amused by their attempts to subdue him. Only after the Operatives surrounded him did he begin "sticking my men into walls like they weren't even there". One Operative opened fire in self defense, but the bulletts passed through #772. While engaging the Operatives, #772 apparently continued to chat "as if nothing was amiss", and "commented mainly on the weather and how the local sport team was doing poorly". After subduing the Operatives and CO, #772 admonished them, saying, quote, "You'll have to be more careful next time, boys. You're lucky I'm not crazy!"
IMPCOM Strike Teams and Negotiators are currently searching the surrounding area for #772, who is being considered a 'non-hostile Class-8 Focus' at this time.
END REPORT
RECOMMENDATIONS: Review CO and Operative's actions, determine if there was a breakdown in their surveilance training or stealth procedure that alerted #772. Have R&D further research the 'Phasing' ability, if possible, and determine countermeasures, if any exist.
OPERATION OBJECTIVE: Target Observation/Focus Containment
DATE: [REDACTED]
OPERATION STATUS: Pending
A group of IMPCOM Operatives who were on a mission were attacked by the target they were observing. The target in question had been suspected of being a Focus, and those suspicions were confirmed upon contact. IMPCOM Operatives attempted to subdue the Focus (Designated #772) with no success. #772 was strong, fast, and showed the ability to pass through solid objects. The Focus also appeared to be able to transfer this ability to others. Almost all of the Operatives were half-phased into walls or other objects by their arms, and then left. #772 walked out of the combat zone unharmed after incapacatating all the operatives. None of the Operatives were seriously injured, beyond minor bruises.
Heavy equipment was required to remove all the operatives from the walls of the building they engaged #772 in. IMPCOM medical personel on scene were able to discern that the clothing and dermis layer of skin that was phased into the wall was incorporated into the wall's structure as well, which explains why the Operatives were unable to simply pull their arms out of the wall. Minor surgery will be needed to completely remove fragments of the wall material from their skin. The medical personel note that while this situation was bad, the alternative - that the phased operatives's limbs could have been wholly incorporated into the wall's structure, which would require surgical amputation of their limbs - would be worse.
The CO in charge of the operation commented on #772's mental state as 'chatty and jovial'. He apparently became aware of the Operatives as they were conducting surveilance through unknown means, and approached the CO and his team, saying, quote, "Not quite as sneaky as you think. I've seen lions hide better than you lot."
The CO ordered his team to detain #772 for questioning, at which point, when an Operative attempted to detain #772, #772 manifested the aforementioned insubstantial ability, which R&D has dubbed 'Phasing'. Operatives were unable to make physical contact with #772, who appeared amused by their attempts to subdue him. Only after the Operatives surrounded him did he begin "sticking my men into walls like they weren't even there". One Operative opened fire in self defense, but the bulletts passed through #772. While engaging the Operatives, #772 apparently continued to chat "as if nothing was amiss", and "commented mainly on the weather and how the local sport team was doing poorly". After subduing the Operatives and CO, #772 admonished them, saying, quote, "You'll have to be more careful next time, boys. You're lucky I'm not crazy!"
IMPCOM Strike Teams and Negotiators are currently searching the surrounding area for #772, who is being considered a 'non-hostile Class-8 Focus' at this time.
END REPORT
RECOMMENDATIONS: Review CO and Operative's actions, determine if there was a breakdown in their surveilance training or stealth procedure that alerted #772. Have R&D further research the 'Phasing' ability, if possible, and determine countermeasures, if any exist.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
- Jokerdom -
A quick note, here. Nothing new on the PSU, the second prototype is still being made. Just wanted to note that today, my daughter became a Joker.
I'm not sure if the island is ready. Hell, I'm not sure if SHE is ready. But here we are.
I've got to trust her, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried and scared. Not only is she a Joker, but she's now able to face down her mother...
I'll go light a fire under the guys and gals from R&D. We need that prototype ASAP.
I'm not sure if the island is ready. Hell, I'm not sure if SHE is ready. But here we are.
I've got to trust her, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried and scared. Not only is she a Joker, but she's now able to face down her mother...
I'll go light a fire under the guys and gals from R&D. We need that prototype ASAP.
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