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| Scene Title | Crazy Nuts |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | When Elle Bishop runs into Mortimer Jack in the ruins of Midtown, he finds the blonde Company agent no where near as friendly as he might have expected. In her desire to curry favor with her father, Elle unexpectedly earns favor with the Institute… |
| Date | July 27 2010 |
It's STILL boring here in NYC. After an action-packed three months of investigating The Institute in Chicago with Bryan, the hustle and bustle of New York City seems almost slow to the electrokinetic. After her trip to the comic shop to mess with her ex, Elle has decided to visit the mid-city ruins, just for the hell of it. She remembers when it wasn't like this, when this was just another busy part of an enormous city.
Certainly, it's fascinating to wander through the abandoned streets, quietly witnessing the little pieces of civilization that remains buried beneath the rubble and debris. Still boring, but at least Elle has something to think about, to keep her mind off of her father's sudden strange behavior.
Meanwhile, Alex is bored too, waiting for Bella to finish her plans, he has nothing to do but build things with his limited resources. He's not inclined to bleed his men dry, so he's trying to save them for needed resources like food, and bomb materials. He's sitting on top of a rusted abandoned car, watching Elle from about a block away on the small screen on his remote control. Then she sees a clockwork cat, very silvery and mechanical with little gears moving under the shell. It looks up at her, then lets out a mechanical hissing sound, and leaps over with claws extended, teeth out. Let's see how the combat capabilities of this thing are, and how the girl reacts!
The girl stops in her tracks as the cat suddenly hisses and leaps toward her with claws. And teeth. And little mechanical parts and gears. What? Seriously? A cat, of all things. A little robot cat with a murderous streak. Elle can only stop and stare in slight disbelief.
At least it's a little less boring, now. At least, for as long as it will take her to dispatch this ugly little thing
"Heeeeere, kitty kitty kitty…want some shocking advice?" Haha, she's punning at the cat. "You picked the wrong girl to mess with, kitty…" Raising a hand, the electricity can be heard crackling as a little ball appears in her hand. Then, the electricity arcs out toward the clockwork kitty. Even if she can't short it out, she can melt its gears…
The cat shorts out quite easily actually, it was mostly a little patchwork thing thrown together out of boredom, it wasn't built with high electrical charges in mind. Alex's eyes widen when the feed cuts and he looks up to see the sparks a block away. He immediately starts running over, then stops about fifty feet from her, wearing a black suit with the jacket unbuttoned, and black tie flowing down over his white buttoned up shirt. "That's interesting. I've been studying Tesla a lot lately. You can do what I've been trying to reproduce for a few weeks." The remote control might be a dead giveaway for who controlled the mechanical cat, but he immediately just tosses it, as if it were nothing to him.
Blue eyes turn up toward Alex as he approaches, squinting as she attempts to make out his face. It's not until he gets closer that she can tell, but…he looks familiar. Very familiar, actually. As he speaks to her, her mind is elsewhere, scanning through mental files to place this familiar face, though she still studies him quietly.
"Why on earth did you send a little metal cat to attack me?" Those are the first words out of her mouth as she quietly tries to place him.
"Boredom? Most women run away instead of shooting electricity. I'm testing inventions, there isn't a lot to do around here but build things and give weaponized prosthetics to the homeless." Alex shrugs, saying it all as if it's nothing, then walks closer so he can lean down and take a good look at her. "I think a girl like you would be interested in my Tesla music box."
It's Mortimer's undoing, stepping closer to the girl. She gets a better look at that familiar face, and immediately connects it to a file. He's the one who blew up Primatech. He's the one who took away her precious Level 5, which she adored so very very much. He's that crazy guy with Mechanical Intuition.
And he's hers.
Suddenly, a murderous look has replaced the look of confusion on her face, and as she snaps her hands out to her sides, little balls of lightning appear within, crackling with that ominous sound. "You."
She doesn't give him much of a chance to react. With a loud crackle, two bolts of electricity arc out toward Mortimer.
"Me?" Alex asks, but then he has electricity to worry about. He extends his left leather gloved hand, grabbing the one arc of lightning as it melts through the glove and reveals his mechanical hand. This is how the arm charges to begin with, but absorbing that level of electricity borders on dangerous. But then there's the other arc, which burns right through his jacket and shirt, sending quite a shock to his ribs that only arrowly avoids full on heavy burn wounds due to his earlier movement, and it causes him to fall down on one knee. "S-shit… I have no idea who you are, but this is my kind of foreplay…" He reaches into his pants pocket with his right hand, pulls out a complicated looking remote, smaller than the one from earlier, then presses a button. "Now, beautiful, we can talk like adults, or things are gonna get very bad in a few seconds if I don't type the combination into this remote."
Elle is a bit beyond words for a very long moment, that electricity still crackling in her hands. But she's not attacking again. At least there's that. That remote of his has her attention now, and she's glaring at it. And at Alex.
"Yes, you, you crazy FUCK!" She snarls, barely keeping herself from attacking again. She can wait. She can be patient, as much as she desires; he's certainly not going to be going anywhere without her sayso. "You're the one who blew up Primatech! You're the asshole who destroyed my home. It's my job to put you where you belong, and I intend to do just that." That electricity snaps within her palms, but doesn't head for Alex. For now.
Alex looks down at the hole in his shirt, and at the shallow burn wound on his ribs. It should be fine in a week or so, at least. A direct hit might have meant death. "The old me blew up Primatech, you can call me Alex, I keep those other two suppressed. I'm not stupid enough to blow up a facility full of agents for free… well, depending on the circumstances."
He slowly stands, then types the code into his remote and watches her, taking in her reactions. "Electrokinesis, that was in the papers for the list of powers. I had a weapon made in case I ran into you. But I assure you, Adam Monroe is the one you want to kill, I was very far gone as far as how crazy I used to be, he exploited it, lots of people used to exploit it, and I do plan to kill him for it, if not for the sheer principle." He holds a hand out, the mechanical hand, clockwork and bronzed with tiny gears under the shell. "I'll help you if you like, I do have a lot of torture devices."
With narrowed eyes and hands , Elle /listens/ to Alex. Listening doesn't always means that she's going to take his words at face value, however.
The moment the code is typed into the remote, a tiny jolt of lightning arcs out from Elle's hands to knock the remote from that non-metal hand of his, and away from his grasp. She doesn't trust this guy with remotes as far as she can throw a bolt of electricity, so it's probably best to just get them out of his hands as soon as she can from here on out.
"I can handle Adam Monroe. That's none of your concern. My concern is that people still want you. And when people still want you, I want you too." That lightning in her hands crackles dangerously, morbid promises of what's to come.
Alex' head moves back to watch the remote fly off, then he turns to keep an eye on her, both eyes turning a silvery mercurial color as he stares at her. "People want me? The Company already knows about me, in fact, I tried to get a job with them, but they don't seem very concerned. The government gave me my ability back, so…" He holds his hands out, wrists turned up. "Cuff me, but I can assure you this would be a lot more fun with you on the other end of the cuffs. I know you probably care a lot about the friends of yours I killed in a previous life, but there's not a lot I can do except offer the most painful tools possible to exact your revenge on the one who really wronged you. I can probably make your electricity far more deadly as well, and possibly play music with it…"
Elle isn't stupid. And she certainly doesn't like those eyes changing color like they are. It doesn't even matter to her that Adam Monroe was the mastermind behind that plot, Alex was still the one who did it. Even if he's bearing a different personality these days. It certainly doesn't make any difference to her; she just wants to bag him.
As his hands lift and he finishes off his speech, Elle smiles. "Sorry, Mortimer. I'm not that dumb, and you REALLY shouldn't make your eyes change colors when I'm pissed off." Without another word, two jolts of electricity fly from her hands, intent on stunning the man into unconciousness. She has the upper hand. She has the control. And she's certainly not going to let this man wrench it away from her.
Alex raises his metallic arm again to take one of the jolts, which starts to overload it and cause the arm to spark a bit, but the other sends a shock right up his arm and through his chest, only saved from complete death but the hidden metallic gadgets on his body, some getting shorted out when some of the electricity gets drawn to them.
He falls to his knees, right arm numb from the shock, but he's still conscious, looking up at her as he holds himself up with his metallic hand pressing against the ground. "We're going to have a lot of fun in the future, I can tell. I've never been taken down so easily, and by a completely unarmed person with no plan at all. You'd think I had nothing left up my sleeve or something…"
A smirk forms across the girl's face. "Maybe if the Institute lets you go, we can have a lot of fun in the future. You and me, and your lovely little tools to make my electricity far more deadly. It's really nothing personal…I'm just doing my job. What I was raised to do. Some of us don't really have much of a choice." Without another word, another two joltes are sent his way; she's adapted. The one that he is most likely to catch is the same as before. The one that he is not so likely to catch is a bit more powerful, hopefully enough to knock him out. Just go unconcious, dammit!
"No hard feelings, beautiful." Alex spreads his arms, offering her a casual grin, then the arcs of electricity slam into his ribs, causing his fists to clench tightly, trying to take it like a man until he finally just falls to his fists, then thuds.
Well, maybe it is a /little bit/ personal. She is just a bit on the angry side that she lost her beloved Level 5 to this man. But that's old news. As he finally gets knocked out, Elle can't help but offer that little sadistic smile of hers. Drawing her ever-present cuffs from her purse, she steps over to the man, quickly cuffing his hands behind his back. Then, she's got her phone out, dialing a number as she stares at the downed man.
Daddy's going to be so proud of her.
Once she called for an 'extraction' and given the person on the other line her location and exactly who it is she has, Elle has pushed Alex up until, at the very least, he's sitting up, leaning heavily against a bent light pole with his hands bound behind himself. She's standing over him, pacing back and forth as she waits for a special van to pull up and take her precious bounty from her. She can't help but have a smug smile on her face, occasionally pausing to peer at the man who was way too easy to take down.
"I know you can't hear me, but this really is for the best, you know. They might be able to help you with that little problem of Crazy that you have." She doesn't expect an answer, but it's still easier to pass the time when she can talk, even if it's to an unconcious man with a burnt, tattered shirt and a few burns on his bodyfrom being jolted into unconciousness.
Wishful thinking is one thing, but at the end of the day Elle Bishop still called in a very specific calvary. Gone are the days of Company lockdowns, gone are the days of the Level-5's or the Moab Federal Penitentiaries. Gone are the glory days of hope for redemption and a system that — while flawed — was designed with noble intentions at heart. She's seen them in action and she knows what comes next.
That Elle has subdued Mortimer Jack in the ruins of Midtown is reason why no armored van arrives, and why instead the noisy chop of helicopter blades slicing through the air precedes the arrival of the Institute's retrievers. But this particular individual has warranted more than just masked and armed thugs to exctract him. This man is a high value target.
The downdraft is the first thing Elle feels when the unmarked black helicopter crests the rooftop of a crumbling, eviscerated skyscraper some twenty minutes after her phone call. Its glass facade is shattered and floors sagging, serving like a skeletal silhouette blocking the chopper. Dust and light debris from the ground is kicked up in its arrival, swirling concrete sand and loose pages of newspapers caught on the downward forced wind beneath the helicopter.
As it moves into a four way intersection about a hundred feet away, landing wheels unfold from the bottom of the helicopter, and the side door slides open even before it touches down on crumbling asphalt. From the doorway, the first man out is dressed in a familiar uniform; a white plastic biohazard suit with a black visored gas mask, assault rifle slung over one shoulder. He's quick to scan the area of the ruins, then waves out two more men, each jumping out of the helicopter and turning around to drag a large, coffin-sized white plastic container with external hoses, clamps and ports from the interior. A folding framework of aluminum legs with wheels on the bottom like an emergency gurney unfold from the underside, and these two men wheel the container towards Elle's position.
Last out of the helicopter is a man who's face isn't covered. Dark shoes touch down on the broken concrete and Elle Bishop recognizes the DHS liaison to the Company immediately. Desmond Harper looks younger than he is, charming, all smiles. There's a bluetooth headset hooked into one ear, short, dark hair and a charcoal gray suit all at the mercy of the downdraft created by the helicopter.
Bright blue eyes lazily crawl up to the sky as the Helicopter makes its noisy way into view, that charming smile upon her face. Though he probably won't feel it after the jolt she gave him, she gently pats the side of Mortimer's face as if to rouse the helpless man. "Here they are, honey. They'll take good care of you, I'm sure. Sorry I had to be the one to bring you down. You're so cute, I would've loved to keep you."
She would almost feel bad for poor Alex, upon seeing that coffin. Then again, Elle has always been one to hold grudges.
As the chopper touches down and the men with the coffin-thing step out, Elle straightens, that smug smile on her face as she gestures toward the man. Then, the last one to step out prompt an even brighter smile upon her face, the little blonde girl stepping away from her bounty as the group nears. A small giggle escapes Elle's throat as she raises a hand in a wave. "Hiiii, Dessy-poo!" Cue bright smile.
Dessy-what.
Both of the masked retreivers pause in mid-stride, look back towards Harper and the expression on the agent's face is a stern don't you dare to them. The coffin-carrying retrievers move ahead, rumbling that wheeled coffin towards where Elle has Mortimer detained. One of them finishes wheeling it the rest of the way, while the second unclips a white plastic case from his belt and moves to crouch beside Mortimer. The case is attached with a velcro strap across Mortimer's chest, and two plastic hoses are spooled out from a spindle inside, then slid into the unconscious man's nostrils.
"Agent Bishop," is the smiling greeting Harper gives on his way over, distracting Elle from the sight of the retreivers putting Mortimer into a medicated coma. "I'm relieved to see that some Company agents still do their job, you know you're likely to get a promotion for bagging this one?" A dark brow goes up, and Harper pauses a few steps away from Elle, looking down to Mortimer's unconscious form slouched up against the pole.
"Mortimer Alex Jack," Harper explains, then looks back to Elle, "escaped detainee of the Institute, psychotic, dangerous to society. I'm surprised you took him in alive after what he and his gang did to the Primatech building last year."
The what?
"You— did know right?" One of Harper's brows lift slowly. "Mr.Jack here was the one responsible for the attack on Primatech Bronx, the explosion that killed some twenty-five Company agents? He's the reason you're hunkering down in Fort Hero these days." As Harper give that revelatory bit of information, there's a pressurized hiss of the coffin lid opening on hydraulic hinges, revealing a tangle of wires and tubes on the inside of the lid, along with what are clearly IV hookups. The bottom of the coffin is padded vinyl cushions.
Yeah…Elle really would feel bad right now, if she had a concience. But then, she's done this her entire life, and that man took away Primatech. Level 5 was a fun place for her. She got to /play/ with people, and it was fun.
After watching the men tend to Mortimer for a moment, Elle turns to Harper with that smug look on her face. His first remark prompts the smug smile to get a bit bigger, and it's easy to tell that she is dancing and singing in the back of her head.
Seriously, Daddy is going to be so proud of her. She did something right for once! That will just make this weekend even better! Elle can't help but be a little hopeful with this.
The Institute Agent's explanation of the man's past prompts a slow nod. "I knew. I go through the files…I've heard the talk." She glances toward Mortimer as the coffin hisses, her head tilted to the side. "I figured he'd be worth a bit more alive than dead…"
"You were quite right, we've actually put a lot of investment into this one," is Harper's confirmation as he glances down to where the retrievers are lifting up Mortimer by the shoulders and legs, carrying him tot he coffin and laying him down inside. "He won't be a danger to anyone again, thats' for certain, and he'll still be able to make a contribution to society too." Harper's eyes drift back to Elle, turning his back on the retrievers as they hook up a finger-mounted EKG plug to monitor his heartrate and attach IV cables to his right arm.
"You know, Bishop," there's a look back from Harper, "you were always someone I pegged that wouldn't stick with the Company thorugh thick and thin. I mean, overall you have the most reason to resent your co-workers after everything they did to you." That much is said quietly, in mock confidence as he takes one step closer. "You do good work though, it's just a shame they don't treat you better for it."
One of Harper's brows lift, and behind him the casket lid is closing with a whine of the hydraulics, casting Mortimer into a lightless, drug-laced tomb. "You've been with the Company all your life, and they still haven't promoted you to senior agent. If that were me I'd take it as a slap in the face, you know?" He smirks, lifting both hands up in feigned defensiveness. "Don't shoot the messenger of course, not trying to start anything, I'm just… saying, you know?"
Elle watches the men as they handle Mortimer, her jaw working thoughtfully as Harper speaks of the man's fate, as the men hook him up. Then, she glances back to Harper, nodding slowly.
The girl remains wordless through Harper's praise and hyping up, that thoughtful look on her face. The bright, bubbly smiles are gone, replaced with a pensive expression. Harper might just be getting whatever his desired reaction may be, as it looks like he's at least got the petite blonde's attention, if not interest. Part of her wants to make excuses. Daddy just doesn't think she's ready for that. They'll promote her…some day. She could never leave!
Mutinous thoughts make their way through, however. Yeah…The Company has taken everything from her. Her childhood, her entire /life/. And her own father oversaw it. He may be trying to make amends, but when all is said and done, it'll probably be too little, too late, if it even happens at all.
Outwardly, the pensive look is replaced by a small smile that doesn't touch her eyes. "Yeah…I think I can see where you're coming from with that."
"I think I might have something you'd be interested in seeing," is quietly offered from Harper as he tucks his hands into his slacks, looking back to the white-clad retrievers as they wheel the casket back towards the waiting helicopter. "I have an office in the Federal Building, 33rd floor. You can just ask for me by name at the reception desk. I'm not saying today, I'm not saying tomorrow… but sometime, when you're ready you should come talk to me."
Harper takes one step back, weight on his heels as he does, suggesting an eventual retreat to the helicopter. "Ithink there's some things that a person deserves to know, no matter how upsetting it might be. Think it over, Bishop, my door's always open to you."
Elle makes no move to follow Harper, her own hands sinking into her pockets as she watches him. The tiny smile fades again, and the Institute Agent likely gets yet another desired reaction: curiousity. She leans forward a bit, her brows raising as she mentally files away that location and promise of something she might want to see…and that enigmatic suggestion at the end.
Slowly, Elle Bishops nods, turning to watch the men wheel the casket toward the helicopter. "I'll think about it, Dessy-poo." Her voice contains none of the false cheer it held earlier. She's not even trying to put up a mask now, turning her eyes toward the ground as she offers Harper a small wave, turning to walk away.
That's really all it takes, in the end; thinking. A thought planeted, a seed sown, an idea germinating in fertile soil fed by the one thing that Elle Bishop has in abundance, doubt. As Desmond Harper takes steps back and away from her, the smile on his lips seems far more genuine than it did earlier, maybe in smug satisfaction, maybe something else all together.
As he turns his back on Elle, the retreivers finish wheeling the coffin over to the side door of the helicopter, aluminum wheel frames folding up as its slid into the bay. The retreiver watching the ruins stays on the ground as Harper heads inside the helicopter, and only once the Institute agent has gotten himself secured inside does he reach out for a helping hand up, pulled into the chopper while another white-clad and masked retreiver slides the side door shut.
The rotors spin, debris and dust is kicked up from the rubble-strewn streets of Midtown's desolated ruins. As the noise grows and that black helicopter lifts up off of the ground, Elle's eyes reflexively squint against the dust and the wind, watching the Institute disappear with the man she'd apprehended, the man they had every intention of taking on their own.
But in this monumentally convenient moment, Desmond Harper has been allowed to plant that seed of doubt in the fertile soil of Elle's mind. Now, he has to do what every gardener learns is the hardest part of tending a garden, the hardest part about getting results.
All he has to do is wait.