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Scene Title Confirmation
Synopsis Lynette is seized under orders from the Project Icarus directors.
Date May 28, 2010

Gun Hill

The exterior.

With the storm broken and the weather warming up, the Bronx is slowly getting back to some semblance of normalcy. And Gun Hill with it. The Ferrymen seem to be kicking it into into high gear to get the place ready and none more than the safehouse's operator.

Lynette seems to be intent on proving that 'warmer' is a relative term, as she steps out of the building, still bundled up against the cold in layers, and gloves and a leather jacket and a scarf and a hat and boots… twenty degrees is better that the numbers that have been ravaging New York, but it's still cold to this woman. She steps down the small flight of stairs to the sidewalk, slinging a purse over her shoulder as she starts off down the street, off on some errand or another. And it seems none of the others are around to come with her.

The chill makes vision in the infrared a fine thing for stalking warm blooded prey. To the goggled observer, Lynette appears, bright as a flare against the dark backdrop of cold stone and brick.

The chill makes vision in the infrared a fine thing for stalking warm blooded prey. To the goggled observer, Lynette appears, bright as a flare against the dark backdrop of cold stone and brick.

«Individual leaving premises. Female, height approximate matching that of target. Over.»

«Relay description for confirmation. Over.»

The switch to simple magnification brings Lynette's bundled form into clearer focus. No longer a searing beacon of personal warmth, she becomes recognizably a person. A person with features, an identity.

«Adult white female. Blonde. This is her. The electrokinetic. Permission to proceed with confirmation? Over.»

«If you're sure. Use tranquilizers and kinetic suppressants only. Proceed with caution. Over.»

«Over and out.»

Blissfully unaware, Lynette takes a moment to look both ways down the street out of long ingrained habit, giving her observer a pretty clear view of her face before she heads across the street. Things are still pretty empty around, especially for New York, the crush of cars and pedestrians missing for the time being.

Unheard, invisible lines of communication reach out from building to building. Abandoned and buried as so many of these tenements are, they serve as perfect hiding places for the men in masks. As Lynette makes her way down the streets, still heavy with the accumulated snowfall, boots rush down from watchful upper floors, the sound echoing throughout the stairwells but not quite leaking onto the streets. The unseen eye that first caught onto Lynette changes its lens once more - night vision. A thriller in greens and blacks, Lynette's progress is described step by step until, finally, only feet away from Lynette but hidden from view by darkened windows and a closed door, three men with biohazard masks and military fatigues stand. Armed men. One at the window, two at the door. The quiet of the night is cut by the sound of glass breaking, just off to Lynette's left. Sharp, quick distinct.

That sound does get Lynette's attention diverted from the path ahead. She pauses and turns toward the sound. She looks about ready to call out, but then seems to decide against it. Instead, she takes cautious steps toward the sound, coming to check it out.

The glass is hard to see on the snow. No break in. A break out. Lynette has the chance to see a figure, dark and crouching in darkness, intersticed by panes of glass, one broken. From out of the broken pane protrudes a dark cylinder. The cylinder angles up, just a little, and then there is a sharp 'pop!' sound. A hypodermic dart leaps from the tranquilizer gun's muzzle, striking Lynette in the neck. Its payload, borne by the strong beat of the woman's heart, begins to spread through her system.
You paged Aaron with ‘Let's hope they can take on extra responsibility!’

Lynette frowns at that broken window pane, and she is just about to step back when she catches sight of that figure and jumps with a gasp. A ready fighter she isn't. She has presence of mine to step back from the gun, but not far enough to dodge the dart. Her hand comes up, and she's surprised to find a dart there instead of blood, but it's a passing thought before she stumbles, trying to get back to the street without much luck as that tranq takes effect and she falls unceremoniously against the snow. Thud.

There's a beat, in which Lynette simply lies there in the snow, the chill biting into her skin, granulous and grimy. The eyes of her shooter, invisible behind his goggles, stare down at the prostrate woman.

«Target down. No sign of electrokenetic discharge. Are we sure this is her? Over.»

«We had confirmation. Take her in before someone sees her. Over.»

«Roger. Over and out.»

The door swings open, and two men, for all purposes identical to the shooter, move out, their own weapons slung at their sides. One quickly scans the area while the other moves over to Lynette, kneeling at her side and pulling out the dart and depositing it in a pouch on his heavy jacket. A dark bead of blood wells up as he lifts her up over his shoulder, taking her into a fireman carry. He turns to his companion, who nods and motions towards the open door. In moments, both men and their captive have disappeared behind that door. The street is clear. Just a little smashed glass, and an indistinct mark where Lynette fell.

«Unit two, requesting extraction. Over.»

«The pickup is on its way. Keep ahold of her 'til then, unit two. If she's the right one, it's your funeral if she wakes up. Over.»

«Thanks for the reminder. Over and out.»

The van will be here soon.

Unfortunately, Lynette has no idea there even is a van, at present. Poor floppy thing.

When consciousness revisits Lynette, it is not as a light-feathered bird with keen eyes coming to rest on her shoulder. Lynette's bird is a sickly thing, with sharp claws that shoot lines of pain through her body, and waves of nausea into her viscera, perching heavy upon her chest. When her vision returns, it hazy and swimming, and her whole world seems to be jittering and lurching.

Not without good reason. She is lying on her back, tied by restraints to a gurney, within a van that has been retrofitted with snow tires.

The pickup was late, which should have been expected considering the condition of the roads. And the two attendants who loom over her have not dosed her properly. They are not cut from the same cloth as the men who attacked her. Their faces are visible, their uniforms looking more appropriate for a hospital setting than a paramilitary complex. One is a man, with ginger hair and pale blue eyes. The woman has dark hair and parchment colored skin. The man, who has been watching Lynette for want of anything else to do, sees her blink into wakefulness.

"Carla, shit!" he says, his voice a high and reedy - this kid probably got beat up in school, "She's waking up. Uh… where's the suppressant?" Carla quickly stoops out of view and the man leans further into Lynette's range of vision, smiling nervously. "Hey. Please, stay still, you've had an accident. We're getting you to help soon, okay?" Saying exactly what he was trained to say.

"I'll say… I did." Lynette does seem like she's going to be nice and compliant, nothing but a sweet girl in a situation that's beyond her. But, as his words really start to sink in, she furrows her brow up at him. "Suppressants? Why do I need suppressants?" As if to answer her own question, bright white electricity jumps between her fingers. "Where am I? Who are you?!" And, as she gets more upset, that electricity arcs from her hand toward the man speaking to her as Lynette tries to pull at her restraints.

"Jake!" Carla cries out, as the ginger haired man is struck by lightning, so to speak. He cries out in pain as his muscles convulse and he falls over, forward, onto Lynette. Still breathing, still alive, but temporarily incapacitated and all to easy to finish off. Carla pulls a hypodermic needle out of a kit attached to the gurney and, visibly trembling, presses her hand against Lynette's head, trying to hold her still as the needle goes for Lynette's throat.

Lynette seems to be in a bit of a panic, really, her mind not really stopping to process, but rather, lashing out from the basest of instincts. The oh god oh god they've got me instincts. And Jake seems to be the recipient of those instincts, as Lynette lets go all she's got at him, even when he slumps over. She even seems to be having a difficult time /not/ pushing out that electricity as adrenalin courses through her. She notices Carla a moment too late to stop that needle from hitting her, but she foes manage to give the other woman a bit of a zap through that touch to her forehead. Only, it's not even half as bad as what she gave to her partner. Possibly because she can only hold on a few moments before she passes out. Again.

The mission log will report a success - the new subject arriving unharmed, and mostly on schedule. And, what's better, is that the subject is definitively the electrokinetic the project leaders requested. That this confirmation came at a certain cost is the only black mark on the operation. But some sacrifices must be made.

Important work is being done.

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