A Request for Infiltration


hana_icon.gif peter_icon.gif

Scene Title A Request for Infiltration
Synopsis Peter comes looking for the technopath's help. He gets some concessions, at least.
Date September 5, 2008

Staten Island Boat Graveyard

Exactly where land gives way to water at this point of the island's edge is uncertain - first because of the saltgrass growing everywhere, both on dry earth and in the shallows, giving the illusion of solidarity; second for the structures visible in the distance, drawing the eye away from the deceptive ground, suggesting its reach extends beyond its grasp. Even if the structures are still recognizable as ships, and nothing that ever belonged on land.

There are a multitude of them, abandoned hulls of salt-stained wood and rust-pitted steel, dying slow and ungraceful deaths as wind and water claim their dues. Some still appear to rest upright, braced upon the debris of older, lost relics below; others list to one side, canted at an odd angle like someone who just struggled to the surface in search of a desperate breath. There are no hands to pull these hulks from the water, no ropes to save them from drowning; each has been surrendered to the sea, left to the ravages of unmerciful time.

At low tide, some of the closer ships can be reached - not without getting soaked, but such is the price of daring. Never mind that the rotting metal and splintered wood are the stuff of nightmares for any germophobe, definite hazards to the unwary. The more distant ships are distant indeed, beyond the reach of all but the most bold - and are all but submerged besides.

The sun has set, the last of dusk's colors slowly bleeding from the nighttime sky, leaving only darkness behind. The lights of the vast city nearby prevent the darkness from being absolute, despite the clouds which hide stars and moon from view. In this gloom, the boat graveyard is nothing but a collection of darker silhouettes on a dark background, eerie hulks in all the wrong shapes jutting up from a featureless plain.

Dressed in black leather, with her back to the mainland, Hana is but another dark shape in this landscape. Easily missed by the unobservant; by those who don't expect to see another person here and shouldn't be present themselves. Those who are not here. She stands amidst the saltgrass, a light wind tugging vainly at the brown hair that has been twisted into a firm knot, gaze turned outwards towards the rusting relics.

The sudden gust of wind that accompaniues the sound of boots firmly hitting the dirt announces Peter's arrival. Landing from the skies, some twenty feet behind Hana, the black-clad man has a different demeanor around this woman. Normally casual, he presents himself in a more upright and rigid manner, keeping his hands down at his side instead of tucked into his pockets. "Heck of a location…" His eyes wander the derelict ships sinking into the high tide. "I'm sorry for asking you to come out like this, but I didn't feel comfortable talking to you about this around Bennett." There was a mutual sense of distrust about the former Company employee, unbeknownst to Peter, "I've got something I wanted to ask you about."

The gust of wind is met by Hana twisting her torso around, gun in hand aimed directly at Peter. Only one of the two she carries, and it doesn't stay pointed his way for long. Just long enough that she can confirm his identity. Dark eyes sweep the shadows behind Peter in an equally automatic reflex before the gun is restored to its holster. Hana offers no excuse and no apology for her (lack of) greeting.

"Don't be. I don't trust him either," is Hana's blunt response. Silence, then, as she takes stock of Peter's appearance. But neither does the woman bother with small talk. Dark eyes level on her companion, intent. "Shoot." What are you here for, Petrelli? What do you want from me?

"I need your help." He's straight and to the point, "I joined the group PARIAH as of yesterday," As he talks, Peter works to slowly clear the distance between he and Hana, "On the terms that they change their act; No more striking out at civilian targets, no more bombings. Less terrorism, and more liberation." He stops about ten feet from her, shifting his weight to one foot, the other tapping the toe of his boot against the dirt. "I want to make a strike at a containment facility, but we don't have the details on where to find them or their security." His eyes drift from Hana to the wrecked ships beyond her. "You were the first person that came to mind when I started thinking the plan up. I'd want your help to infiltrate their security systems; pull up rosters of who is imprisoned where and what powers they have. Then we can prioritize targets and make a strike." Peter tilts his head to the side, "Ideally I'd want you in on the infiltration, disabling security and counteracting communications in and out of the facility. Anyone we rescue could be shipped to safety by your people, or at their option bolster PARIAH's ranks." He rolls one leather-covered shoulder. "That's what I want. How much are you willing to give?"

Dark eyes narrow at the mention of PARIAH, cooling even more than they already are. But she holds her tongue, ceding Peter the floor; doing him the courtesy of letting the explanation reach its end. By that end, Hana remains still as a statue, as any of the monoliths which dot this landscape — but her expression has become more thoughtful than resistant. "I've got some hints — security's only as good as the people behind it — but it'll take some time to get at the full files." Her focus shifts to one side, the analyst's mind calculating. "We'll deal with the op when we get to it. I'll get you the information you need," she concludes.

The shift in expression Peter witnesses in Hana's face causes him to relax some, and while the thought is tempting him to see what thoughts go through her mind, knowing what her power is keeps Peter from contemplating that, and from getting too close to the technosavant. That was an area of consciousness Peter was nervous to even consider, let alone partake in. He nods to her agreement, searching for the proper words to express his gratitude, "Good," ends up being the best way to express himself in her presence. "We don't have any secure means of digital communication at the HQ, not yet anyway. I used a track phone to text you, but that won't help with the delivery of your intel…" His brow tenses, it's clear that electronics and computers weren't his area of expertise. "I'll see what can be done in the meantime, if you have any recommendations I'm listening. I don't know exactly how your gift works, so I want to make sure whatever we set up you can work with."

"Tracfones work well for that," Hana affirms with a slight nod. The woman moves from her spot for the first time since before Peter arrived, a few idle paces to one side, the steps bringing her no closer to Peter — and never entirely turning her away from him, either. Not turning my back on you. "Set up a computer. Doesn't have to be anything special — harddrive, wireless card, monitor. Keyboard if you feel like using it to talk back." Or use a phone. It's all the same to her. "Call me again when it's up and running."

Peter nods and watches Hana's movements as she paces across the dry ground. For a few moments, the sound of water lapping at the shore and the inconsistant groan of flexing steel are the only sounds. Peter considers everything he's working towards, and her responses to what he's asked. There was no room for error when negotiating with her, that was the impression Hana gave; a strong sense of confidence and ability that was at times oppressive. "I will…" He considers something, then looks back at Hana, "If you need anything from me, in the meantime — You or Bennett — Let me know. He knows how to get in touch with me." Peter waits, making sure Hana's given him permission to leave before departing. It was how you deal with her. She's in charge.

Hana pauses as Peter speaks again, turning to face him directly. A curt nod is the core of the woman's reply. "Look after your kids, Petrelli. The minute they rejoin the ranks of terrorists, the deal's blown." She turns away, steps away — and looks back over one shoulder, gaze cold and steady. "And I will know." That said, Hana is content to let herself fade into the darkness, walking back towards where she left her motorcycle. This meeting has been adjourned.

September 5th: Discussion Over Duck
Previously in this storyline…
A New Hope

Next in this storyline…

September 5th: Invitation
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