Participants:
| Scene Title | Dealing with Thugs |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | …has it's advantages. After being kidnapped and locked in what appears to be a mental institution, Tracy freezes her way out of a tight situation … only to be told it's a trick, a fabrication, and oh by the way. Here's a super-sweet deal. |
| Date | June 07, 2009 |
A cell with bullet-proof(?) glass and padded walls.
When Tracy wakes up, she's sitting in what's apparently a padded room, wearing a straight jacket. A man wearing a hospital mask and scrubs, who Tracy's never seen before, writing things down on a notepad, walks into the room and begins speaking. "I hope you're feeling alright today, Miss Strauss. At the rate you're progressing, no longer saying things about 'Evolved' people with 'Super Powers', you may be out of here in just a few months." he says, very officially. as the door closes behind her. Occasionally other people in scrubs walk by the window, so it appears to be a real hospital, appears.
"The hell….?" Tracy asks as she sits up, wriggling against the straight jacket. "What? Hey! Unhook this thing! Where am I, how did I get here?" She knows she's not crazy, most people do. She must just be dreaming, or something. Because she knows she's sane. "If you don't let me out of here this instant, I can promise you that I will ahve the entire Department of Homeland Security so far up your ass you'll be tasting beaurocracies for the next six months!" And Beauocracies do not have a pleassant taste at all.
"Oh Miss Strauss, you're slipping into your delusion again, and we were really going to try and go a day without medication." The 'Doctor' sounds disappointed, shaking his head as he makes a few notes. "You've created a world in your head where Manhattan was blown up by some sort of 'exploding man' named Sylar, and there are people with 'abilities'. In this world, you've chosen a rather important world for yourself, where you're the promiscuous assistant to the President. We're trying to fix this problem, so you can see your husband and children again."
What? Tracy is still blurry-eyed and foggy-headed, having just woken up from what she is unaware of is a drug-induced sleep. "I'm not promiscuous," she counters, seeing that as the biggest thing in there to be tackled. Because she certainly won't believe the rest. "I'm absolutely not married, and I'm quite sure I've never had children. Tell me who you are!" She struggles again against the straight jacket, her hands, alas, burried in there.
"Ma'am, you're going to need to calm down if you intend for us to ween you of the drugs. Nurse! Please bring me the paper." The Doctor waits, then a young looking male hand reaches into the door to hand the doctor a paper, before closing the door shut again. "We usually show you today's paper, in order to convince you that everything is fine." He holds up a New York Times, and the front page has a picture of Midtown, with the headline: First female President Stacy Winters visits Kirby Plaza for public children's book reading. And the date is June 6th 2009. "Do you see now, Miss Strauss?"
"Who the hell would ever elect someone named Stacy Winters? That's the worst possible name for a president, her PR people are idiots…." Tracy's eyes narrow as she reads the headline, reading over it once. Twice. Three times. What is it that feels wrong in that headline? Ah, yes. Of course. Turning, she looks at the doctor with a roll of her eyes. "Kirby Plaza, huh?"
"Yes, Kirby Plaza. As you can see, it is indeed not blown up." The Doctor answers, folding the paper up when they're done with it. Then, he starts to walk over to her, moving to touch her face. "Clearly you're not yet convinced, so, we'll have to put you back on the medication."
"You touch me with anything and I will see to it that you're hung in broad daylight." She says, struggling ferociously against her bonds. "I don't know who you are or what you think you're doing, but this is insanity. I am not schitzophrenic, and I certainly did not imagine reality!" Her voice is getting a bit more scratchy, as it does when she's upset.
"Ma'am, you're going to have to calm down, you're delusional." The Doctor reaches into his pocket, pulling out a large needle of clear liquid, hand still on her cheek, then he starts drawing it closer and closer to her neck. "It's a shame, such a beautiful woman, so much potential. But I'll cure you, one day."
Tracy's eyes are wide, as though they were about to pop out of her head. She's terrified, completely petrified of what is happening right now. And then? Something strange happens - her breath becomes cold, a few puffs of it can be seen as though it were a winter's day. But Tracy doesn't notice that. What she does notice is the feel of very, very cold on her skin, and the crackling of fabric and…glass? Ice? The sound is very strange to her. The widening eyes of fear and anger turn to horro as Tracy begins to struggle again, away from the needle.
There is a shattering and a crisp rubbing noise, and suddenly Tracy is free of the straight jacket - frozen buckles tumbling down along with shards of what was once fabric. There is Tracy, laying on her side, looking down at herself and then up to the so-called Doctor.
"What the hell did you do?!"
There are some moments one simply has to capitalize on, and one such person is Mortimer Alex Jack, swinging the door open, no doctor scrubs or anything, just a hook for an arm as he pulls the doctor by the collar and tosses him out, slamming the door behind him. "You'd love to know what I did, wouldn't you?" he asks, eyes completely silver, no pupils to truly see what direction he's looking in. "But you have to do things for me first."
Tracy pushes to her feet as the form that comes through those doors is recognizable. "You" She seethes, it's really a good thing no one is touching her hands now, or Tracy Strauss might just be going homocidal. "I should have known it was you, you crazy bastard!" She roars the last words, glaring at him with her icy eyes. Oh man, is she ever pissed.
Mortimer has to test the waters to truly know what his next move is, casually looking down at the shattered jacket as if he knows something. "So, not used to doing things like that?" he asks, just watching her in utter amusement.
"You did that." She points to the jacket, or what's left of it, on the floor. "And to what, to scare me? You've already admitted you're not going to kill me. I don't have your fucking list, so leave me alone," She demands, standing rather up on her toes a bit, as if she's ready to run. "Do your own damned legwork."
"I didn't do it, that's not my ability." Mortimer points out, raising his prosthetic and pulling his jacket off to show her the complex mechanical work. It's well within the realm of science, but with a needlessly complicated design. "My ability is building things. I built you an ability, you freeze things now, Ice Queen." Oh, he is having fun.
"You are not playing mind games with me anymore," Tracy decides, making use of the fact taht she's on her toes. She storms toward the door he so recntly threw the 'doctor' out of. "Within the next hour I'm going to have DHS crawling all over his place." She informs him, reaching for the doorknob.
"You're in the Rookery, by the time DHS get here, you'll be someone's prostitute. And this place is crawling with my men." Mortimer points out, strangely lucid today as he slides his jacket back on and reaches behind him to draw an SMG, pointing it at her. "How about you stay there? We have a very long day ahead of us, mostly involving me convincing you to use your power for me, or we're going to have a lot of days like this."
"What do you want, do you want me to beg? Screw you!" She tells him, standing by teh door. Although she doesn't open it now that there's a gun pointed at her. Her hand isn't quite on the knob now either. "I don't have an ability, I've told you this. Now, I'm going to turn this knob, and open the door, and walk out. And that is going to be the end of this little game."
"You silly woman, I'm not talking about abilities, I mean your Presidential power. Though that freezing would be nice too, Ice Queen. I'll give you a legit deal, which will involve me not bothering you, unless of course you break the deal." Mortimer offers, strangely lucid at the moment. as he backs up to sit against the padded wall. "I want you to remember that I've got nothing holding me back from shooting those sexy little kneecaps of yours, so why don't you take a seat, and we'll talk?"
Mortimer may never know that his talking might be saving his life right now. Turning, Tracy leans against the opposite wall, arms crossed in front of her, just beneath her bust. "I think I'll stand," she says, acid in her tone. "So, instead of this list now, what is it you want and think you can get from me?" From her voice, it's clear she doesn't much believe this deal is going to be worth much to her. But she listens. Because he has the gun.
"Soon, very soon, I'm going to blow something up. I won't say what, or where, all you need to know is that I'm going to blow something up. I love that voice of yours, by the way." Mortimer randomly compliments, keeping the gun lazily aimed in the general direction of her legs. "The first part of the deal is that I give you one hour to prepare, I don't know how you'll use the information, but I know you can. Make the President look amazing somehow, I don't know. Next, there's a man named John Logan, he has an ability that makes women addicted to it, and he turns them into prostitutes. Soon, I'm going after him, and once I'm done, you can say the president personally ordered a raid of the facility, striking a blow to Staten Island." His eyes linger on her legs a bit more. Sure, he's taken, but he can look, or oggle, whatever word one prefers. "Now, there is one thing I can't give you much information about right now, but there's a very large crime boss, someone who practically runs the city. I work for him, and me and you together, we'll take him and his organization down. And do you know what I want from you in return?" With the way he's eyeing her legs, she might get the wrong idea about what he wants, but he'll correct her soon enough.
Tracy raises a finger to pause him there. "Let me…get this straight. You're going to blow something up, and give me one hour before you blow that something up to find a way to use the impeeding explosion to my advantage. Then, you're going to kill a pimp, which I may also use to my advantage. Then you're going to use me to help take down a crimminal organization. Am I following all of this so far?" She asks, clearly very skeptical. Indeed, skeptical seems much too light a word.
"I'm not gonna kill the pimp, I'm gonna teach him a very valuable lesson about his life, then you'll have him arrested, and his facility closed down. Don't worry, I get something very good out of helping you." Mortimer says with a wide grin, waiting for any other potential questions.
Where along the move from DC to New York did Tracy Strauss become a cop? She's going to have to make the lettering on her business card a little bit bigger - people really don't seem to be reading it as close as they should. "I'm rather curious about what you're getting out of all of this."
"The police have my golden Desert Eagles, it's a matching pair, heavily modified, they're the only ones like them in the world." Mortimer explains, not mentioning that they're guns, he just forgets that not everyone knows something like that. "You get them back, and you have an entire force of men behind you, I can make anyone you want disappear, and, well, let's just say I have a lot of resources that'll be at your disaposal. I just want what I asked for."
A bemused look crosses Tracy's features. "So…you want government help in setting off an explosion that might hurt people? In exchange for a pair of guns? That's…that's really where you're going with this?" She asks, motioning easily with her hands. Because he can't seriously think that any government or police force would go with this. Well, govenrment maybe. Police force, no way.
"Oh, I don't need help with an explosion, I have that covered. Your only job, meaning, the only finger you'll ever have to lift, is to get my guns back. All the information and the aid in making the President look better? That's all my payment for you getting my guns." Mortimer snickers in amusement, randomly twirling his gun on one finger, then stops it and aims it at her legs again. "Consider yourself lucky that I've got a girlfriend right now, 'cause I'd normally ask for a lot more from a bombshell like you."
"Well I can promise you that you wouldn't get it. Now, I've heard your proposal. Can I go?" To be perfeclty honest, it does sound like a good deal - anything to get Nathan Petrelli in a better light with the public is always a good deal. "That is to say, can I leave here without your eyes and your gun pointed at my legs?"
"You'll find my card hidden somewhere in your clothes, contact me when you have my guns. Oh, and you'll wake up nice and safe back in your bed." Mortimer says as one of his men, dressed in all black biker gear, with a large red 11 on his helmet walks in, holding a tranq gun. "Don't forget our deal, there's worse ways you could wake up. Like, say, missing a few limbs, or other valuable parts."
"Don't you-" and that is, in essence, all she wrote. "11" puts the tranq gun to Tracy's neck and pulls the trigger, there is a quiet little hiss and the woman collapses against 11, who in this case is at least kind enough to catch her before she hits the floor. Then again, maybe she just wants to grope her. There's really no telling what Tracy's dreaming about, but it's fairly certain that she'll be extremely pissed when she wakes up.