[Per+Awareness]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
Agent Weston[A roll. For things. (going to extend once)]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 9) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Agent Weston[and again]
Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (5, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )
Agent Weston[Oh right. Awareness too. Wee.]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 4 )
Agent WestonIt's a fairly typical day in the downtown precinct. District 6's central location ensures that there is usually a steady influx of work to be handled, between booking and reports. The time is around 4:00pm on a Thursday. All day the station has been a chaotic bustle of activity, but just now a welcome reprieve seems to be setting in. All around the station, officers and employees are sitting down to their desks to relax and finish up their paper work. If the lull continues, they may actually get to leave on time tonight.
There's a man standing back by the desk of one of the detectives. Tall, dark hair, a light beard. He's dressed in a generic-looking dark suit and holding a cup of Starbucks coffee in one hand. The detective - a heavy-set man in his fifties - laughs loudly at something the stranger says. Casual workplace humor, no doubt. Alex has never seen this man (the one in the suit) before, but that fact alone is hardly unusual. People come and go in police stations. Often those people are on some variety of official business.
Wherever he is - either returning from patrol or seated at his desk with a stack of reports - there's a moment where Alexander seems to attract the man's attention. Just this brief lift of sharp blue eyes that find him across the room and hold for a moment on his face. The gaze lasts a bit longer than is perhaps comfortable, then the man excuses himself from the detective's desk and begins to head in Alexander's direction.
AlexanderWhen people picture the police, the image that comes to mind is usually similar to whichever procedural TV show is doing the rounds. Unsurprisingly, the reality is somewhat different. Certain liberties are taken with how officers spend their time. Where people expect days to be filled with high speed chases and facing down armed criminals and generally being awesome. What they don’t see – and what a lot of recruits don’t realise until they land in a precinct – is just how much the department runs on paperwork. There are reports for everything. Want to get something or do something? Well, they have just the form for that.
It’s a small mountain of reports currently tying Alexander to his desk. Statements for what he’d seen and done on several arrests over the past few days – trying to clear the backlog before his Sergeant decided to have a quiet word – along with requisitioning a replacement shirt, and responding to a complaint regarding excessive force. (There hadn’t been excessive force when the guy had been arrested, it was just one of the frequent games people played to try to gum up the works of the legal proceedings with yet more paperwork.)
The laughter catches Alex’s attention for a moment and he turns to look. He sees the man laughing, but there’s nothing else there of any particular notice. The man obviously has some reason to be there, but it’s really nothing to do with him.
Next up in the stack of will-sapping tedium, refresher training on taser use. Alexander slips some headphones in, plugging them into the front of the PC, and starts the video. He rests his chin on his left hand, elbow on the desk, while hunting absent-mindedly for the coffee cup elsewhere on the desk with his right.
Agent Weston"Officer Brandt, I presume?"
The greeting carries over the sound of Alexander's training video, muffled somewhat by his headphones. When Alex looks up (assuming he does,) he'll see the suited man standing slightly behind and to the right of his shoulder. Maybe he even felt the man coming - not in the sense of tingling nerves and extra-sensory awareness, but in the displacement of air at his back. The man smiles at him, looking official but relaxed. He takes a sip of his coffee.
One has to imagine that anyone drinking coffee at 4pm is either sleep-deprived, a caffeine addict, or ill-used to the Colorado winter. The man does not look especially tired, which leaves options two and three.
"I'm Agent Paul Weston with the FBI. It's good to meet you." He holds out his hand in greeting. "I'd like to ask you a few questions about a fugitive I think you may have encountered. Think I could steal you away for an interview?"
AlexanderAlexander’s right hand had found the coffee cup and was part way through lifting it to his mouth, when…
Officer Brandt, I presume?
He looks away from the screen, round and up at the man standing at his back. The coffee is set back on the desk and the headphones pulled away, spilling out a tinny, monotone voice talking about some equally monotone procedure.
There’s an introduction and a hand is offered. “Oh, hi.” Alexander extends his own hand, taking a firm grip of the Agent’s hand for the few moments it takes to shake. “I wasn’t expect anyone to drop by, but if I can help you out then sure. If anything, I should thank you for the break from the paperwork.” There's a brief smile, an assumption that this Agent would be equally burdened by the tedium of bureaucracy. He turns back to the PC for a moment, closing down the video and locking the workstation. He takes a moment to grab his own coffee mug and stands, turning to Agent Weston.
“There should be an interview room free downstairs.” Alex gestures with his free hand at the door to the office space, towards the stairwell.
Agent WestonAgent Weston's hand is dry and warm, his greeting professional without being overly formal. There's nothing in his appearance or his demeanor to suggest anything suspicious. Likely it isn't the first time that Alex has had to answer questions from the FBI. They show up now and then, whenever a local case intersects with a federal investigation.
He cracks a wry grin when Alex mentions the paperwork. "In that case, I'm always happy to help."
Alex suggests one of the interview rooms downstairs. Agent Weston takes a sip of his own coffee and nods. He starts to gesture toward the stairwell, as though to indicate that Alex lead the way, but there's a pause - a hesitation as he glances around his immediate vicinity. "Of course I left my briefcase in the car. I'll just be a minute." He sets his coffee down and starts to head for the front desk. There's a rack on the wall behind it where his coat is hanging. "Oh, while we're walking, can you recommend a good hotel around here that isn't too pricey? The place I'm staying at has terrible mattresses. I've had a crick in my back all day."
There's an assumption embedded in the man's behavior, see? That Alex will follow him outside. That the two will continue to chat - to get to know each other in that superficial workplace way that people do. Nothing about it seems especially abnormal or suspicious, though certainly Alex can say no if he chooses. Can laugh and shake his head and say you're braving the cold on your own, buddy.
Either way, the man slides on his coat and steps up to the front door.
AlexanderThere had been one question niggling at the back of Alex’s mind: Which fugitive? There hadn’t exactly been a mundane resolution to whatever had happened to Kozlowski and he knew, via his friend in the ME’s office, that the FBI had taken an interest in that one. But he’d only encountered the victim. Nobody else exactly springs to mind, at least recently. No big deal, though – the question will be answered soon enough.
“I’ve heard good things about the Warwick, but it depends how pricey is too pricey.” There are other suggestions, as they walk talk about places to stay in the city. The Super8? The Ramada? Hell, even the Four Seasons if it’s the bureau picking up the tab. Agent Weston picks up his coat, but Alex doesn’t make any similar move. Alex doesn’t have any intention of going out in his shirtsleeves, but then Alex doesn’t really have any intention of stepping outside. There’s nothing going on causing him any concern, or even really pinging against the paranoia that he had been cultivating when he thought that there was a Union operative trying to stalk him. It’s simply that it doesn’t take long to fetch something from the trunk of a car, so he’s quite happy to wait just inside while the Agent retrieves his belongings.
So Alex stops a little way back from the front doors, far enough that the blasts of intensely cold air that sweep in whenever someone arrives or leaves doesn’t hit him too much. “I’ll wait for you here.” He picks a patch of wall to lean against, bending one knee and resting it on the wall, as he waits for Agent Weston to retrieve his briefcase.
Agent WestonHe doesn't push, Agent Weston. He listens to Alex's suggestions with casual consideration, nodding his head a few times as he files away the names to memory, and when Alex says he's going to wait, Weston gives a little wave and pushes his way out into the cold.
He isn't gone long. Maybe five minutes. When he returns, there's a light dusting of snow in his hair and on the shoulders of his long coat. A thin leather briefcase rests in his left hand. He blinks as he steps inside, giving this subtle full-body shiver. "Denver winters, man. I don't know how you guys put up with it. I'm from the West coast, myself."
He leaves his coat on this time, huddling into it as he snags his coffee off the desk. "Alright, this shouldn't take too long. I just need you to identify a photo and answer a few questions. Then I'll be on my way."
He walks with Alex to the stairwell, this time leading the way himself as they descend down the staircase. No one seems to pay them much mind as they go. Presumably Weston has already spoken to the Sergeant, because the man doesn't so much as glance up as they pass by his office.
They make their way down to a vacant room, and Weston closes the door as Alex grabs a seat. He shrugs out of his coat and rests it on the back of a chair, setting his briefcase on the table.
The room is stark and white, with simple furniture and no windows. There's a camera in one corner, but the record light isn't on.
Weston pulls a file out of his briefcase and sits down. He opens it up and passes a photo across to Alex.
"Have you seen this girl before?"
The photo is taken from a high school year book, grade 10. One of the girls is circled in red ink. She's younger than Alex will remember her. Gaunt and unsmiling. Lines of tension seem set into her jaw and around her eyes, like she'd rather be anywhere but having her picture taken. But the hair (long and dark) and the eyes (pale ash-grey) are the same. It is unmistakably Leah, the girl living with Annie and Sasha at the chantry.
[stealth]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 5, 6, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
Alexander[Per+Alert for fun and profit]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
Alexander“Ahh, you get used to them eventually. And hey, at least you can put more layers on. I wouldn't be able to stand your summers. You can only take so many layers off before it becomes indecent.” So far, so companionable. The Agent seems friendly enough, and there’s at least a little light humour between them. There’s no second thought as they pass back through the station, recovering cups of coffee on the way. There is a question, though, once they get to the room. “I’ve been trying to work out what case this is to do with. The recent murders?”
Alex slips into a vacant seat, setting his coffee cup down and waiting patiently as the Agent strips off his coat and retrieves the file. Weston passes a photo to Alex and he sets it down on the table, taking a closer look.
The room is warm, away from the external doors and windows that would let cold air in. But there’s a suddenly stab of something icy in his chest. Fear. At least the man wasn’t Awake, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t working with others who were. But Leah… nobody had said anything about her being wanted by the authorities. But, then, would they? It wouldn’t be the first time people have held stuff back because of what the uniform. Although Sasha had a badge too, and…
And if he spent too much time staring at the picture, this Agent would start getting suspicious. He doesn’t answer immediately, when he does speak. Rather, he deflects it with a question of his own. “You’re looking for a 15 year old? What did she do to get the attention of the FBI?”
Agent WestonWeston doesn't answer right away when Alexander asks which case he's looking into. There's a certain enigmatic quiet to him in that moment that Alex, as an officer, may well recognize. The FBI aren't always known for being especially forthright with local police. That fact in itself isn't really that unusual. But then they take their seats, and Weston passes over that photograph, and the friendly air between them evaporates.
There are questions Alex may well be asking himself right now. Pieces of this scenario that don't quite fit.
"She'd be nineteen now. This is the most recent picture we have of her. Three years ago, she murdered twelve people in Denver. Then she disappeared."
The names in the photograph have been blacked out (not that Alex needs them.) As he looks at the photo, Weston regards him with a steady, calm expression. He seems to be watching Alex very closely now, gauging his reaction the way an interrogator might.
"You'd be surprised what teenagers are capable of."
AlexanderOh, there are indeed questions. Some, potentially, very dangerous questions. And the question of how the hell do I get out of this in one piece? A question that becomes incredibly relevant as Weston’s attitude changes, the friendly mask dropping away.
Alex looks down at the photo again, running a finger along the edge of the paper. “That’s before my time here, but I don’t remember seeing her on the wanted lists around the precincts.” He flips the photo over, checking the back for writing or marks. “It seems odd that the Bureau would be after her without asking us to at least keep an eye out for her. An oversight, I’m sure.”
He offers the photo back to Weston. “Can’t say I remember her in relation to any case that I’ve worked on.” It’s a technicality but, essentially, the truth.
Agent Weston"The case went cold a while back. I've only been recently assigned to it. At one point it was falsely determined that she was dead. It's been a bit of a mess, if you want my honest opinion." Weston rolls his tongue over his canine and sucks a bit of air through his teeth. "Unprofessional and incompetent."
Whether or not this whole thing is an act, something about Weston's icy condescension in that moment feels wholly genuine. One has to wonder what happened to his predecessors. Whoever they are.
The clever wording of Alex's response doesn't escape him though. It takes a moment for Weston to react, but when Alex tries to hand him back the photo he shakes his head. "That isn't what I asked. Look again, Alex. Have you seen her?"
[Mind 2 / Entropy 1 - You lying to me, bro? (personal instrument - eye contact) diff 5 -1]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (5, 6, 7) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
Agent Weston[Oh oh, I forgot! Base diff is the subject's WP now. So that should be diff 6 -1. Which... does not change the result. And thus renders this edit somewhat meaningless. But nonetheless, if I acknowledge it I will be less likely to forget in the future.]
AlexanderThat sharp blade of fear has spread, and Alex can feel the beat of his heart along with its thumping in his ears. Had he really been so stupid to think that he could keep his head down and avoid the Union? Suddenly Sera’s idea of leaning to fix cards and disappearing to Hawaii didn’t seem so bad after all.
“Well. It’s good to hear that the infallible FBI screws things up just as much as us mere mortals.” Alex tosses the photo back onto the table without looking at it again. “But I don’t appreciate the attitude or the whole interrogation thing you have going on here.” He stands, pushing the chair back with his legs. “You’ve had my answer. I believe we’re done here.”
Agent Weston[Weston won his stealth roll, so he gets one free action. Dex+Firearms (under the table!)]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
Agent Weston[Wow, Weston, you barely made that one]
Agent WestonIt still isn't a real answer. Weston stares at Alex with a cool, piercingly focused gaze and there's a moment, just before Alex starts to push back the chair, when he might swear he can feel the man boring into his head. There are snippets to be found there. Clues and insinuations. But the thing Weston is looking for - unimpeachable certainty - isn't there. Not like this, anyway. Not with a quick surface check. Because technically speaking, Alex isn't lying. It irritates him enough that a little flicker of anger shows in his icy gaze.
Alex doesn't even get a warning. One moment he's getting to his feet and the next...
There's a tiny noise, like a pop of air. And then something sharp hits him hard in the calf. It isn't enough to do any real damage but...
What the hell was that? A needle? If he looks down, he'll see that it's some kind of dart. In about thirty seconds, he's going to be unconscious.
"Wrong answer, Alex."
AlexanderThis Agent had seemed so nice, and now? Well, now he’s a threat that Alex has no real way of facing by himself. What had he been told? Try to get away? Good plan. Let’s go with that plan.
“What the..?” The question goes unfinished as Alex feels something sharp in his leg. He looks down and sees the dart but it seems to take an age for him to realise what has just happened. He looks up at Weston, the question written on his face. But not for long. He needs to get away. He needs to get somewhere more public. He needs to run.
Agent Weston[Init! +7]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
Alexander[Init +6]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
Agent Weston[Agent Weston splits action 1: close distance to Alex, 2: clinch]
Alexander[Declare: Run, screaming and shouting! (Would have done that anyway)]
Alexander[Dex+Ath - Ruuuuun! And don't go falling flat on your face like an idiot ]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
Agent Weston[Alright, Weston catches up to Alex but Alex is running (and shouting for help.) Weston tries to grab him and almost certainly fails. Str+Brawl -2 dice from the split]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 7, 9) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Agent Weston[Indeed, Weston fails. Alex gets to the door and it is closed but not locked.]
Agent WestonIt's part of their lives, this danger. The way seemingly boring, mundane encounters can turn on a dime to something much more terrifying. If Alex was not completely certain of Weston's dubious character before, he absolutely is now. So he does pretty much the only thing he has left available to him - he runs. It isn't a totally stupid plan. They are, after all, inside his own precinct. If he yells loud enough, someone will hear him. There are other cops nearby. People are using other interrogation rooms. This is not going to go completely under the radar, even if the camera's been turned off.
He runs, and he shouts, but Weston is on his feet and coming after him. The two of them close quickly, but Alex manages to escape the man's reach and make it to the door.
Already he can feel the effects of whatever drug he was dosed with seeping into his system. There's a liquid film over his vision and his limbs are growing heavy. Distant. Difficult to control.
He's going to pass out soon.
AlexanderIt did seem like the only option at the time but, fuck… Thinking just seems to be getting so hard to do. He isn’t going to be able to get much further before he passes out, that much is obvious. So he screams and shouts as much as he can, and even doing that is getting harder to do as every part of his body seems to be getting more distant from his mind.
Alex gives up trying to get away, but just wants people to come. Or, at the very least, not disappear without a trace.
[Split the first: safety off
Split the second: pull the trigger, who cares if they shoot themselves in the foot right now]
[Weston: Oh no you don't. Disarm - Dex + Martial Arts, diff 7, -1 die for being bare-handed]
Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (4, 5, 5, 7, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Agent Weston[Weston does not succeed at the disarm, but does bashing damage to Alex's hand. Str+2]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
Alexander[Soak?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
Agent Weston[And Alex's hand is totes okay.]
Alexander[Bang?]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (5, 6) ( success x 1 )
Agent Weston[Does Alex shoot himself in the foot? Let's let the dice decide! Odds = himself, Evens = the floor]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (4) ( fail )
Agent Weston[And he somehow manages not to injure himself. But he definitely makes a very loud noise.]
Agent WestonSuffice to say, at that moment, Alexander Brandt is not quite processing the situation in a fully rational way. He's aware enough to realize, however, that Weston isn't going to be able to cover up a gun blast (at least - hopefully not.) He manages to get the safety off, but Weston very nearly rips the weapon out of its holster.
There's a struggle. Alex's head is swimming. It feels as though he's looking at himself from a distance.
The gun is still in the holster when he fires it off. There's a sound like a whiplash crack that echoes around the room and somehow - somehow he doesn't feel any accompanying pain from the blast (aside from his eardrums) but he can feel a shower of tile chips strike his ankle and then...
He falls over, limbs twisting at odd angles. He doesn't really feel the ground when he drops. The last thing he sees before he passes out is the fuzzy image of Weston kneeling down to yank the tranquilizer dart out of his leg.
----
This is what happens after Alex goes unconscious:
Officers come running into the room. Weston explains to them what happened: that he was asking after a case when Alex started acting strange. That Alex started talking to someone who wasn't there and shouting for help. Weston saw him reach for his weapon and tried to stop him from hurting himself but he managed to fire it. Then he passed out.
It is not, of course, the true story. But Weston is very, very believable. And he is a federal agent. Nobody questions his version of events.
They call an ambulance for Alex. Weston waits with them until it shows up. The paramedics load Alex into the back of the vehicle and drive off.
But he never makes it to the hospital.
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