Dig Deep



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Scene Title Dig Deep
Synopsis Brian's training is tested.
Date February 12, 2009

Primatech Research


Even with his sketchy memory, the majority of his life was still accessible, and in that life he remembers plenty of horror movies that start just this way. Pitch black room, turning behind to go to the door, which just happens to lock oh so loudly as he does. His lips pull back into a thin line. Another test. Turning, he reaches out with his arms testing the darkness…

And then He said, let there be light…

Throwing up an arm at the sudden change in his surroundings, it's at least evidence that he has quick reflexes if not entirely accurate ones. Gray eyes quickly take in the long ominous room and eventually settle in on the red-headed woman. Everyone at this god-damn Company was hot—

And the Lord looked at what He had done and saw that it was good…

Throwing a hand out at the ground below him, the young agent catches himself as he nearly falls at the sudden world-tilting, trying to focus his breathing, control his body, control his mind. Scrambling, Brian desperately attempts to push himself to his feet, his eyes vainly searching in a desperate attempt to find the elusive purple elephant.

Darkness, that's all Brian is greeted with as eyes dart frantically to see anything, anything at all. Only her voice, a shimmering, feminine bodiless entity that fits snugly into his mind as if this were his own subconscious talking back to him. What do you want to tell me, Agent Winters?

A prickling sensation down Brian's neck, more real to him than even the concrete beneath his feet or the chill in the air pressing against his skin, as invisible intangible fingers begin to pry, begin to draw thought like pages from a book, searching… Why don't we start with everything?

A door shuts, but no where Brian can see it. Thompson wanders into the observation room and gives a nod of greeting to an agent already stationed at the window, a clipboard in hand. "Mr. Thompson," the agent greets, handing him the headset that Thompson takes without a word, slips around his ear as his eyes go towards the room. Brian and the woman, Miranda Moretti, stand several feet away from each other, backs stiff as boards, and their eyes a blank, blank white. "Remember, Ms. Moretti," Thompson says into the comms device, picking up the coffee that had been set out for him. "Don't go conjuring up anything Goodman wants you to stay away from, understand."

"Yes, Mr. Thompson." The words are faint, distracted, her lips barely moving and the words going unheard by Brian, trapped underneath her telepathic hold. "He is being elusive."

"Good," Thompson says, with approval. "Dig deep."

Slapping at the back of his neck as if to stop the sensation, kill the bug that is invading his mind. But it doesn't work. He clences his eyes shut, the polygraph only reads what you let it—

Pain. Raw, untapped, pain. It flows through him like his own bloodstream, though not even he knows where it comes from. Pain from his childhood, pain from realizing his childhood was a lie. The kind of pain that cripples a person, it is all laid bare before her. The memories that circulate over and over in his head, with no outlet. His own personal hell, that he just can't understand.

It only reads what you let it read, breathe, Brian. His fists relax, he narrows his brows. The purple elephant, the control where is—

The secret looks he gives over to the female agents, the fantasies, not all something to be shuddered at. Some of them quite childish, like a child's storybook. Him becoming the white knight, whisking the women away, becoming a hero, the top agent—

Brian lets out a muffled cry of pure frustration, his hands coming to his temples, he just can't seem to shake her.

Moretti's breathing becomes shallow, chin tilting upwards a fraction, at the onslaught of pain. For a moment, it's all she can come to grips with, reporting something faintly, brokenly into her comms device as as she tries to reach beyond it, the pain enough to blind, and she tries not to show the shimmer of approval she feels of such a tactic.

And it's the fairytale fantasies, the one where the light catches eyes in the right way and smiles of gratitude and approval are sent Brian's way, slim arms around his shoulders, that make her calm down, smile. We have a sweet one, she murmurs. Metaphorical claws dig into this fantasies, as if trying to tear them down, to see past them. All anyone wants is approval, to be a hero. But can you run with pack? Do you think you can really amount to anything?

She reaches, back, back towards those hateful memories of childhood, to summon them up, to break his defenses…

How can you keep yourself from thinking? How can you keep a shovel from going into soft dirt? How can he keep a telepath from ripping him to shreds? The buddhists believe filling yourself with nothing, complete silence, a void. Inner-peace. Unfortunately, Brian has never been a big fan of inner peace. So, he does the oppositte. He lies…

The polygraph will read what you let it read, and this woman will dig up what he lets her dig up. She wants his pain, wants his old memories. The man stays on his knees, taking steadying breaths. They are his painful memories, they are his burdens to bear. And he won't be sharing them with her.

She will dig up, what he lets her dig up. And right now, it's a whole bunch of horse shit. It's not just outer deception it's self deception. It's a web of lies and falsehoods that even he himself temporarily buys into. Memories that never happened surface, relationships that were never made surface, the replicator weaves a story of lies into his brain. A childhood that never happened. A fantastical tale that mixes the truth into the myriad of lies, a cesspool of deception. The images dart about his fake lives, bring up abilities that he has never posessed, pyrokinetics, telekinesis… And finally the deception focuses on one crystal clear image.

Brian stands just behind Moretti, pulling back the hammer of his gun as the cold barrel presses against her neck. Nothing is said, though a very distinct look is given to her mind's eye. It's a warning.

A wisp of a sharp breath is drawn through the woman's painted lips, her posture changing, tension palpable. Thompson waits for the verbal report, and when it doesn't come, he says into the microphone, "Ms. Moretti? Keep us with you, we can't see what you see.

"He's fighting," comes her words after a moment. Slowly, her blank, white eyes gain back their bottle-green colour, blinking rapidly as her vision clears, and her mouth lifts in a smile. Being forcibly ejected from his mind with a telepathic bullet to the neck is not something she will risk. She's pretty confident a real interrogator would avoid such too, and so, she tags out. Perhaps Brian will catch the tail end of her final assessment, "He won," as he also comes to.

Louder, now, directed to Brian, she says, "Well played, Agent Winters," and heels click against concrete as she strides on over, all the confidence in the world. She offers a him a hand up, nails painted red. "Mental warfare is dangerous territory." For her, or for him? Perhaps both.

Letting out a long breath as if he had been holding it, Brian doubles forward his hands flying out to catch him. On his hands and knees he takes a minute to just breathe, bringing up a hand to wave a little dismissively. Then he brings his hand down to wipe the perspiration from his brow. Looking up, the man offers a brief and weak smile. Pushing up on his hands he goes to rock back into a seated position.

His gray gaze studies the mirror for a moment before weakly moving up to Moretti, and her hand. "If it's alright, I'd like to just sit here for a minute." He practically pants, putting one hand out behind him as a support to lean back. Another breath is taken,

"Next time you try to penetrate my mind, you should at least buy me dinner first."

February 12th: Purple Elephant

Previously in this storyline…
Purple Elephant

Next in this storyline…
The Hollow Men

February 13th: Four Lights
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