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.”
No comments:
Post a Comment