Hidden Ace


ethan_icon.gif sonny_icon.gif yancey_icon.gif

Scene Title Hidden Ace
Synopsis It's called a blindside, kids. Sonny with the assist.
Date January 2, 2009

The Room

"It's time, Doctor." Comes the gravelly voice over the phone.

Instructions are delivered. Directions are passed on. And after quite the long walk on a very dark night Sonny will find himself making his way down abandoned underground tunnels. An empty subway tunnel, looping into another passageway. Eventually, it becomes clear that someone has been in this area recently. Rubble has been cleared manually, junk doesn't fall this way on its own. Someone has cleared a path.

It's three hours past midnight, and there's no sound but Sonny's own breath and heartbeat. Turning the final corner he will find a cleared path and a steel door. 'Caution: Keep Out' It reads.

There it is. The call that Sonny's been dreading for weeks. The doc is haggard and feeling miserable in general. This? This did not help. He feels both relieved that he chose black and disturbed by how invisible it makes him as he walks down the appointed path to the steel door. It's at that moment, steps from the door, breath turning white as he exhales, that he wonders if cooperating really was the smartest thing. The alternative is not pleasant either. So, very slowly, carefully, he pushes open the steel door. "There better be a fucking surprise party behind this door with a cake a woman pops out of," he mutters, entirely to himself.

A cramped room with different equipment and supplies making it look even more cramped. It might have used to be a room used for electrical maintenance, but it has been completely refurbished. The soft blue glow that is the tell tale sign of a television would be the first thing that fills in the good doctor's senses.

"Welcome Dr.Bianco." Comes the rough voice that has spoken to Sonny before, but this time it is not distorted. A few monitors are stacked on top of each other on a table closest to the door. White and black. Security cameras. They are linked up to different locations, one possibly familiar to Sonny is the layout of an apartment in Dorchester Towers.

Crates stacked on other crates, weapons, explosives, rations. Though at the far end of the room is a high steel table, beside it a small desk, containing gauze, tools, any item Bianco might need.

"Meet your patient." The first man growls, dipping his head to the man seated on the table behind him. "Close the door would you?" He asks kindly. He's dressed in a long black coat but does not appear to be holding any weapon. The Wolf watches the man.. and waits.

Yancey only lifts his eyebrows and gives a crooked smile to Dr. Bianco when he enters. Betraying nothing of his own anxiety, if he even has any. Hard to say, really, he seems rather happy to be here, long legs hanging over the edge of the table, cowboy boots swinging just a half an inch up from the ground. "Howdy, doctor," he offers. But that's all. This is Ethan's show to run.

Sonny is not stupid enough to ask questions like, 'who are you people?' He knows he wouldn't get an answer, and from the looks of things, he wouldn't really want to know anyway. It would be the kind of knowledge which would be hazardous to his ability to continue breathing.

Though the doc is trying his best to remain confident, the paleness of his face and the amount of swallowing he's doing betrays his nerves. "What…precisely would you like me to do?" he asks, hoarsely.

"He." Ethan turns slightly to gesture to the other man. "Needs to look like me." That's most likely the only reason Sonny is allowed to see Ethan's face. "Just like me." The man specifies, taking a few steps forward. "You can do that, can't you doctor?" The Wolf asks breathily, his face an emotionless mask that remains focused on Sonny's figure.

Not a surprise to Yancey. He at least knows what's going on. He angles a look across at Sonny, tilting to peer across at him passed Ethan.

"Uh…well…" Sonny steps forward and sheds his coat. A challenge. Interesting. One under threat of violent death, but still, a challenge. "Your builds are similar enough that it's…certainly possible. Especially with you right here. I can tweak until it's right. It…will take quite awhile, and is likely to be rather uncomfortable. But I'm fairly certain I can, yes." He smiles, but it's the flittery smile of the nervous.

"That's very good news for you, Doctor Bianco." Ethan says plainly, bringing one hand up to grasp the other man by the shoulder. He goes to shepherd the man to the table and seat him down on a stool next to it. "Do you need anything to 'elp you concentrate? A glass of water? Food? Music?" The man asks. You can be a mass murderer and still be polite.

Like a gunshot, the sound of Yancey's palms coming together in a singular, enthusiastic clap whips through the tension and quiet of the room. "Let's get this show on the road," he enthuses, as soon as Sonny vocalises his affirmation. It's easier to be enthusiastic when plunging into unknown territory, like shapeshifting. Bravado is everything. Working with the Vanguard has killed off some of Yancey's disgust of the Evolved and what they can do, enough that he can do what's necessary. And he trusts Ethan enough that he found someone who won't— melt him or some shit. At least not permanently. "What do I gotta do, doc?"

"No, no. No water yet, but I might down the road. It's going to be fairly…picky to get the details right. I'm assuming you want him to pass for you on more than just a cursory glance." Sonny doesn't offer any resistance as he's pushed across to the stool and seated. He flinches as if it were a gunshot when Yancey claps. It takes a second for him to get his composure back and to force the vomit back down into his stomach.

"Uh. Ideally I'd want a chair. That reclines. Metal tables are awkward and I stoop a lot. It mutzes up my concentration. But…I'll do my best with the facilities I have." His voice quivers, but given the circumstances, he's doing fairly well. No panic. Yet.

"You will get the job done." Ethan informs quietly. "Whether that is your best or it exceeds your best, you will get the job done." He insists, giving a 'soothing' pat on the man's shoulder with one hand. "Well let's get to work. Yes Doctor. He needs to look like me, down to the fucking freckle. I don't suppose you can change vocal chords or some shit?" The man asks, tilting his head at the other man.

Vocal chords? Shiiit. Didn't think've that one - it makes logical sense but it sounds creepy. Yancey drums his fingertips against the table he's on, and barely suppresses the urge to ask if they don't have at least a chair stashed somewhere just like the doctor asks. Instead, he keeps his mouth clamped shut and awaits instructions from either man.

"I do," says Sonny of the vocal cords. "The…one request I make is not to make any threats on my life through the course of this. I'm aware of the danger I'm in and I have every intention of cooperating. If I…have a panic attack, then I won't be able to concentrate. Then all I'll be able to do is turn this man into Quasimodo." He motions towards Yancey.

"If you'd please come here," to Ethan. "…so that I can have a look at your face."

"Excellent." Ethan gives a nod as he comes forward for Sonny to examine. He won't draw any attention to the knife held slightly up his sleeve and very ready to draw and place in the good doctor's throat should he do something to peeve Ethan. He goes to sit on the edge of the table and lower his face for Sonny.

"Who's Quasimodo?" Yancey asks, before he can think, and given the context, he wrinkles his nose and waves his hand. "Probably some ugly fucker, I get it. I don't wanna know." A chuckle, and then he goes quiet to allow examination to occur, not really paying attention himself.

Even though there's not been any outward show of power, Sonny's definitely got the vibe that these people are for real. He doesn't need to see the glint of that knife to know that at any second, he's only a breath away from death. Tenatively, to ensure Ethan that his movement is not a threat, he reaches up and sets his hands on the man's cheeks. It's a very doctorly type of touch, like an ear, nose and throat type checking for swollen glands. Necessity causes him to look directly into Ethan's eyes to judge colour and shape.

"You mentioned two patients. I warn you that this will take a lot out of me and I may need a break of a few hours in between. If you need this change to be as accurate as I think you do. If I overtax myself, my accuracey will only go down and it will take me longer and longer to recover." A beat, "No one is expecting me home anytime soon." Foresight. He had a feeling this job would take awhile.

"The other will be done on a later day." The Wolf informs crisply. "And yes doctor. My own mum would need to believe it's me. Go' it?" He asks, he makes no movement as the Doctor starts to feel up his face. No tightening up, no stiffening. He is completely calm and in control. His gaze remaining solidly on the younger man

"I hope you're a good actor," Sonny murmurs to Yancey. "I hope you don't hold me responsible if people don't believe he's you. I can make him a perfect copy, but body language reveals more than we realize." He studies Ethan a moment longer, then goes towards Yancey. "If you'd lie down on the table, please. I need as much light as I can. If you…" this to Ethan, "…could sit on a chair nearby for reference?"

Ethan stands and goes to fetch another steel chair. With it in one hand he flips a few switches, some industrial lights attatched to the ceiling flickering on. Bringing it over he goes to seat squarely next to Yancey. His black coat is slowly taken off and draped over the back of the chair.

"You leave that part to me," Yancey says with a wink and smile, swinging his legs up onto the table so he can lie down. "You just do what you do and I just gotta lie here, right?" He finds himself clasping the edges of the table with his hands, a little tighter than necessary.

"Yes. This is going to feel very strange. But I ask that you remain as still as possible. If you move too much, the loose muscle might constrict your airways or cause injury to your eyes." Very doctorly. Sonny's falling back on his bedside manner. But every now and then, there's a quiver to his voice. He pulls his own chair up to the head of the table and sits with his legs under it, so that Yancey views him upside down, like a dentist cleaning.
"I hope you have some good photographs so I can restore him at some point. And…" a glance to Ethan. "…as much notice as you can give me for future changes would be ideal. That way I will be as fresh as I can be and less likely to need to stop."

Then, Sonny sets his hands on Yancey. He pulls his head back slightly, positioning him in a certain way. Then his fingers splay out across his neck. To Ethan, he murmurs. "Can you move just into my line of sight, please?"

No he doesn't have photographs. That's because he has no intention of having Yancey restored. "Yes, I do." He lies calmly, scooting his chair over so that he is in Sonny's view. He says nothing to the next meeting, it will be handled the same way. Whether Sonny like it or not.

Yancey is still. As still as can be. Restricted airways, messed up eyes, that don't sound too good now does it cowboy. No. No it does not. And he's gonna kill the doctor freak if he fucks it up but really doesn't want him to fuck it up in the first place so he rivals statues with the stillness and swallows dryly when Sonny touches him.

Sonny looks away from Ethan, then down at Yancey. "Now, this is the uncomfortable part. I'm going to do some basic re-shaping and slacken your muscles. Please don't try to speak and take even, deep breaths. You shouldn't feel any pain worse than pins and needles. If you do, let me know. All right? Knock twice on the table."
And then Sonny's eyes drift to half-mast. The doc draws in deep breaths of his own as he concentrates, focuses his power on Yancey's face. At first there's no sensation save a faint tingling, then his face does go entirely slack. Then, it goes beyond slack, like the skin is just barely hanging off the bone and there's no control over the muscles at all. From Ethan's perspective, it looks like the man's face has melted. Slowly, the muscle starts to tighten in different areas of Yancey's face. Every now and again, he'll open his eyes a bit more and glance to Ethan, then it's back to his patient. Even after only a few minutes, the change is rather dramatic. He already looks like he could be a brother, if, with a rather nebulous face lacking in detail.

Deep, even breaths. Yancey takes these readily as Sonny begins to work, and the only protest he makes at the truly bizarre sensation of his face painlessly melting is the slightest of gruff sounds from the back of his throat. He doesn't knock, though, even as his fists go white at the knuckles as he holds onto the table edge.

Once the initial shaping is done, what follows is a good hour of painstaking details and tweaks. At one point, he has to break away, to examine Ethan closely, then it's back to Yancey. By the time he's finished, every freckle, every pattern of stubble, every variation in shade of hair is identical. When he walked in, he was met by two different men - now there are twins. Even more accurate than twins - duplicates.

As soon as it's finished, Sonny smiles a bit with relief, weaves, then promptly bolts to whatever qualifies as a bathroom to vomit violently.

Going to stand, Ethan peers deeply at the other man who looks much like himself. "Fuck me.." He says quietly, almost as if in awe. "This just might work." He comments, allowing Sonny to bolt out of the room into the abandoned hallway. Ethan moves one hand up slowly to touch the other's hand, experimentally.

Sitting up, Yancey breathes out a long, shaky breath, as if perhaps he hadn't been doing so at all for the last however long. "Y'reckon?" he asks, in his own voice still his own, for now, and gives a quirky smile to Ethan that is very much his own, just— yeah. He spreads his hand, and while he may not be experiencing the trippiness of a living reflection, his eyes do widen a little bit when he compares his identical hand to Ethan's. "Shit. I'm bald too, ain't I?"

"Not if you fucking talk like that I don't reckon." Ethan says Though his brows knit when Yancey asks about his hair. "Close cropped." He says a little touchily. "Shaved close." Bald. Hmph. Though his eyes go to study the other man's face again. "I wish you would 'ave done acting classes or some shit when you were a kid."

"Yeah, yeah," Yancey says, sitting up completely and bringing a hand up to his head to indeed feel whether or not it's close cropped or not. "'ow does tha' sound?" Actually, it's not too bad. Not perfect, but it's an okay mimicry of Ethan's Cockney. Passable for a few words here and there, maybe. A jaunty smile accompanies, and he lets his accent return once more as he does, "I reckon we can get away with it, I won't let y'down. Once the Evolved fixes my voice up an' all."

The 'Evolved' is looking a bit worse for wear when he comes back in. If he was pale before, Sonny's white as a sheet now. "I need to rest," he says, hoarsely. "Voices are tricky. They require a lot of concentration, especially mimicing." When he tries to stand up straight, he starts to go green, so settles for a kind of hunched-over posture.

A frown tugs at Ethan's lips— The real Ethan. He looks coldly at Sonny, surveying the man. A gun in the face might help the man overcome his limits, thought it might also make him pass out. So Ethan decides on a, "Take all the time you need."

Yancey also looks less than impressed, but chalk that up to bigotry, really. He shrugs a little as Ethan responds to the doctor, pushing himself off the metal table— only to turn around and observe himself in the reflection. "Shiiit. You did a real good job." Because real good jobs can be commended, no matter who they're done by. "You just get some shut eye, then. Don't go messin' up a good thing." He turns to clap an Ethany hand on Sonny's shoulder.

Sonny can only bob his head a bit dumbly to Yancey's praise. It's…strange to have that scary man acting jovial, though, even if he created that second man. Then he looks to the real Ethan, nods once, looks around, spots the cot and then drops down. He curls tightly on himself. It's a testament to just how exhausted he is that he's asleep within seconds - even in the den of a wolf.

"Sleep well Doctor." Ethan says softly, turning to his copy. "After 'e's finished with your voice.." The man trails off, grabbing a metal briefcase, he opens it and pulls out a syringe. "Stick 'im wit' this. It'll 'ave 'im out of commission and loopy as fuck for a day or so. Then this 'ole night will be just like a bad dream. I'll delete all instructions from the phone. If 'e can find 'is way back 'ere after all that. 'E deserves to." The man explains casually, taking another look at the other Ethan. Weird…

A few hours later, the good Doctor is woken up to do the voice of Yancey. Once finished, the Doctor in his already foggy state is made a bit more foggy with a quite potent combination of drugs and sedatives. The good Doctor will wake up at home. But he'll have one hell of a hangover.

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