Daylight, Part II


colette_icon.gif trent_icon.gif


Scene Title Daylight, Part II
Synopsis In the hands of the Company, Colette meets a face she won't remember.
Date November 8, 2006

Concrete walls do little to offer warmth, they are stark and battleship gray, making the fluorescent lights overhead seem even more bleak than they normally look. The rhythmic beep of a heart-rate monitor softly resounds in the concrete cell, fluids and sedatives from an IV drip connect to a pale arm, one belonging to a teenage girl laying on her back, restrained to a metal table.

Standing outside of the cell, a young and fair-haired man with a stern expression stares quietly through the reinforced glass window. His head tilts to the side, looking towards the sound of approaching footsteps, and the crisp black suit of Agent Woods as he carries himself down the corridor, hands hidden behind his back as he walks. One blonde brow kicks up and he stops by the window, looking in on Colette bound to the table.

"She's got some spunk in her, that one." There's a crooked smile, and Woods looks away from the window and over to the young agent. "This your first time handling the processing of a bag an' tag, Agent Daselles?" Closing his eyes and offering a nod to Woods, agent Trent Daselles takes a moment to consider himself before looking at the girl beyond the glass window.

"Who is she?" The question comes a bit loaded, though he doesn't quite realize it. Woods' expression turns to something of a glower, then a frustrated sigh as he rolls his shoulders and rubs at his forehead with one hand.

Woods response is delayed, reluctant to admit. "She's— the sister of one of Daniel Linderman's subordinates." The significance of it is lost on Trent, though, his expression distant and eyes not quite making the connection in the vacant way he watches Woods' expression. "Daniel's got… connections with the Company. We were supposed t'take her in, an' bring her to 'er big sister, but— " Woods waves a hand in the air flippantly, "she decided to razzle-dazzle my bloody eyes, so it turned inta' a bag n' tag."

Swallowing tensely, Trent looks back to the window. "She's… really young. Why didn't we just — " Woods holds up a hand in front of Trent's mouth, both of his blonde brows raised as he wags one finger back and forth in front of the young man's face. Trent bites down on his words, one brow angled up in inspection of the protesting finger.

"Nobody's goin' to watch her till she's marked," Woods notes flatly, "an' her lovable big sis ain't gonna have t'know about this little indiscretion either. Haitian's already gon' and gotten ready t'wipe her nice'n clean when we go an' drop her off, an' then you," Woods inclines his head towards Trent, "get to do babysitting duty."

"What?" Jerking his eyes away from the girl in the other room, Trent stares at Woods with narrowed eyes, "wait why do I have to keep taps on one marked— " Once more, Woods just throws up his hand and makes a clicking sound with his tongue, brows raised and head canted to the side.

Moving the hand down, a broad smile is revealed to Woods. "Because that's what Director Bishop said you get to do, yeah?" Moving his other hand out from behind his back, holding out a large black gun with a double-pronged nozzle at the tip. "Now," he manages a grinning smile, "take this, go in there, an' make sure it's not where she's goin' t'see it easy."

Taking the isotope tracking gun in hand, Trent swallows anxiously and looks back to the girl on the table. His focus shifts now settled on his own muted reflection in the glass before looking silently to Woods. All the British agent can do is nod his head towards the door, clearing his throat. There's a reluctant bow of Trent's head, and he moves towards the open metal door into the cell.

The sound of his footsteps are offensively loud over the subtle beep of the sedatives and fluid drip. Trent circles the table, looking down at the wiry girl laid out before him, blue eyes drifting up to hers, noticing the crust of blood at the edges of one eyelid. His hand moves out, ready to touch the eye, but then hesitates. He moves his hand to her shoulder, rolling the limp girl onto her side, and brings the gun down to the back of her neck, pressing to the two prings against her skin as his fingers rake up through her hair to pull the tapered back of her short haircut away from her skin.

Colette makes a faint noise of protest, roused from medicated slumber, eyes partially opening in tired disorientation. Her heart rate begins to hasten, and one of Trent's hands moves to the dial on her IV, upping the drip of sedatives to her before pressing the gun back to her spine at the base of her neck. "This…" he swallows awkwardly, "this is going to sting."

Why he warns her, he's not sure, but if he's going to be responsible for her once she's tagged he may as well start now. When the trigger is pulled, the two prongs sharply extend out, injecting the radioactive isotope beneath her skin, leaving two greenish-black marks on her as they pull back. She flinches, a weak grunt of pain coming from her, followed by an incoherent whimper.

"It'll be okay…" Trent whispers to her, pulling the tracking gun away before, letting her hair fall back down against her neck, "you won't remember a thing come morning."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License