Hardly A Blip In The Radar


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Scene Title Hardly A Blip In The Radar
Synopsis Someone tests positive and is sent to Nash for registration.
Date September 13, 2010

NYPD Headquarters

It's the middle of the day on a Monday afternoon and Detective Christopher Nash has been doing a few registrations today, though he's about to wrap that up and head out to do a little investigations when someone taps him on the shoulder and points to the kid waiting to register. Nash eyes the kid for a moment, then stands up and walks over, eyeing Brand for a moment before asking. "They say you want to register. How old are you, kid?" The detective is dressed nicely in his suit and he motions Brand back towards his desk where he'll do the paperwork.

The young man is escorted by a flustered looking Evolved Enforcement Liaison Officer, one of those poor bastards that have the privilege of overseeing the school-based screenings designed to bring everyone into compliance. Nothing like juggling dozens of snot-nosed brats as they get poked and tested and invariably end up crying to ruin your day, right? Then of course out of every few thousand one of those little punks comes up positive and everything has to be put on hold to drag his ass down to a station for a full run-through.

The young kid isn't much of a kid anymore - he's getting big and beefy under a letterman jacket, though he's sulking like a young man. He walks forward, talking a seat with the Liaison office 'helping' him. The big hand doesn't let go of his shoulder before the youth is sitting down and his left wrist cuffed to the bolted down chair. "Actually, I *don't* want to Register." He says, voice thick with defiance. "But you'll put me in prison if I don't." He scowls, darkly, as his folder is passed to Nash. His age, name, school, and other vital info is all in there, including the time the test tagged him- 9:14 in the morning. Almost five hours ago.

The Liaison officer signs on the folder, and shrugs. "He's yours now. Enjoy dealing with him." The officer, who looks like he's too old for this shit, tucks his pen away and sets to lumber off elsewhere, back to the breakroom for coffee or something of the sort. Leaving Brand with Nash, cop and surly teen.

There's a smirk on the lips of the cop as he nods his head to the other officer and motions towards his cubicle to the kid and then waits for the kid to comply. He pulls out the paperwork that was given to him and then boots up the application that will assist him in registering the unfortunate student. "Yeah, well. The law is the law is the law, or so they say. Don't give me any shit and we'll get this overwith and get you out of here." Unfortunately, this law is making its way into the schools, so kids like Brand here are being drug in for registration. Hopefully someone was a little discrete with it.

He types up all the information and then leads the kid over to get his photo taken and then back. He waits for the photo to develop and turns to the kid, "So, what's your deal?" To be fair, Nash doesn't deal with kids much, but this one is old enough he's almost not a kid. "Sports, music, nerd stuff?"

The teen's lips curl up a bit, and his voice is suddenly bitter far beyond his years. "In 1934 it was the law to torture and kill Jews. I guess that made Auschwitz okay?" Cynic or not, he's not stupid, and allows himself to get led in for a photo without fighting, resisting passively by dragging his feet. He does not smile.

Back in the cubicle, he answers him with a stony silence. His lips are a tight line, and his jaw is clenched, watching the cop like a wary dog. He lets the question hang in the air for a long, long minute. "Just fill out your paperwork." He says at last, doing his teenage best to keep his voice level and adult sounding. Doing what he can to put forward the bravest face with his pride on the line.

Arching his brow in amusement, Nash finishes up all the paperwork and signs off on it, tucking that into the folder that was handed to him and he reaches for a larger envelope and puts everything into it and sealing it, then pulls the label off the printer and slaps it on there. The printer spits out a second page as Nash turns to the kid, "Well, I guess if you want to look at it like that, go right ahead. To be honest, if the worse that happens to you is your name gets put into a database, then you're probably better off."

He reaches for the paper and tugs at it, pulling it along the seams and handing over the card. "Look, take this home, shove it into a safe or a drawer. You're not eighteen so this registration will be sealed unless you get busted for something. Once you turn eighteen it'll go into the general population database. So keep your nose clean." Advice for the ages.

The teenager takes his yellow star, or red card as it were, and looks at warily. Like it might be a snake. "So is that it? Are you done with me?" He holds it one hand, not willing yet to push it into his pocket.

Waving off the kid, Nash has had his fill. "Get lost, kid. Stay out of trouble." Honestly, Nash doesn't have much to do with teens, so the sooner he gets rid of this guy the better. He's suddenly feeling like hitting the bar, so he stands up after turning off his computer, nods. "That's it. You're all set. Go away." He walks past the kid, that packet under his arm where he drops it off at the desk for processing.

The youth frowns slightly. He's still feeling wary, and his Ability is riled. Just enough. He won't be a blip in the cop's memory. As he shuffles out of the station, he walks unnoticed, to melt back into the street and the milling crowds that make him invisible. Forgotten.

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