High Value Target Part II


allison_icon.gif darryl_icon.gif lashirah_icon.gif rebel_icon.gif ryans2_icon.gif

Scene Title High Value Target Part II
Synopsis Allison collects Darryl from the mental hospital, but the Institute intervenes, and Ryans and Lashirah come to the rescue.
Date July 23, 2010

New Jersey

It's release day.

It only figures that its raining for it, just like the last time agent Allison Richards was out here. Having come alone this time, without agent Gracie Lee at her side, the arrival at the Greystone Park Psychiatric Hospital is a less troubling arrival than last time. Drizzling rain rolls down the windshield of Allison's car, and the shadow of Greystone rises up in silent, reproachful presence from the landscaped grounds.

Stepping out of her car, rain cascades off of an open umbrella clutched in Allison's hands, and the blonde psychiatrist makes the short walk up from the street-side parking towards the old, dark facility. Up concrete steps to the front doors, Allison can hear a peal of thunder in the distance behind her, and can't hear the cell phone she left in the center console of her car ringing, the LCD screen reading Incoming Call… B.Ryans.

This is supposed to be a simple trip, pick up Darryl Lincoln and bring him to a Company safe-holding while determining what to do with him. But there hasn't been anything simple about this case, and today is no exception.

"Doctor Richards," is the greeting offered by Darryl's chief psychiatrist on her entry to Greystone's lobby. There, hands folded behind his back, Doctor Kurzweil offers a weary smile to the blonde agent. "You're fifteen minutes early, Darryl is just picking up his personal possessions upstairs and he'll be down here in a moment."

Walking from the front reception desk towards Allison, Kurzweil dips his head down in a nod of greeting. "I'm not sure what sort of facility it is your agency will be taking him to, but I'd like to hear from you personally that Darryl will be well taken care of. He's a very special-needs patient as I'm sure you're now very aware of."

The arrival may have been less troubling, but the drive was worse, since being alone meant she drove herself. Add in the rain, and it was not happy fun time for Allison Richards. But nonetheless, she smiles at Kurzweil. "That's alright, I don't mind waiting for a little bit. It's for a good reason." Her head tilts slightly. "I promise you too, that I will do everything I can to help Darryl. I'm well aware of what his needs are, probably better than you are. I understand his particular issue a bit more than most psychiatrists."

Glancing down the hall, Allison asks, "How has his mood been since I was here last? The same? I'm hoping that it's been improved since our talk, but with cases like his…it's hard to tell for certain."

"Actually," Kurzweil notes with a crease of his brows, "Darryl has become increasingly more paranoid since your arrival. But that could have resulted from either the content of your meeting, or agent Lee's request to take him off of the medications we had him on and utilize less powerful anti-psychotics. Darryl is complaining about being able to hear things again," and that seems to cause Kurzweil no end of frustration, "and his sleep patterns have become erratic again."

Taking a few steps closer to Allison, Kurzweil tucks his hands into the pockets of his white jacket, brows furrowed together. "He's… maintaining a certain equilibrium, but I fear that transporting him is going to be extremely difficult. His agoraphobia and paranoid schizophrenia is…" Kurzweil looks down to the floor between them, "I sincerely hope you understand what this is going to do to him."

There's a soft sigh of relief. Good. No meds. Allison nods. "Yes, I'm sure he is hearing things again. Without the medication, I expected nothing else. But trust me, if there is anyone who can transport him safely without knocking him out, it's me," she says with a reassuring smile. "He trusts me. And I need you to trust that I'm doing what's best for him. I know you care, but you truly don't have the capabilities here to deal with someone like Darryl. It's nothing against you personally, doctor. I have no doubt you're a very good doctor."

"I'd like to know what your bureau needs Darryl f— " Kurzweil is cut off by the sound of double doors opening from an adjacent hall, followed by a gray-dressed orderly emerging from the hall, walking slowly with a clean-shaved and weary looking Darryl Lincoln in tow. Shuffling footsteps of road-worn sneakers carry Darryl towards Allison, his overly-wide brown eyes staring up at her before averting to the floor. A single tan backpack is held in one hand, flannel shirt draped over a shoulder and his gray t-shirt having a faded logo of an old television repair company across the front.

"H-Hello Doctor… Doctor Richards." There's a crease of Darryl's brows at that, a faint smile and a shrug of his shoulders as he steps away from the orderly, walking in a wide arc around Doctor Kurzweil, exchanging no words with the older man as he offers Darryl a suspicious look.

"I'd like to go now," is whispered from Darryl to Allison, though he makes no move to head out the front doors of the hospital, only trains his eyes down to his feet.

Allison turns towards Darryl as though she hadn't heard Kurzweil's words or figured out what the rest of that statement was going to be. Instead she gives Darryl a warm smile, touching him gently on the shoulder. "Of course, Darryl. And please, call me Allison." She looks back to Kurzweil. "I assume all the red tape has been taken care of? And if you have any questions or concerns, you are more than welcome to call," she says, this time giving him a more professional smile than the one she gave Darryl.

Sighing thorugh his nose, Kurzweil offers a nod of silent agreement as he takes a step away from the two, headed over to the reception desk. Darryl furrows his brows and looks up to Kurzweil then over to Allison with a hesitant and perhaps not entirely honest expression. "It's still quiet…" he admits worriedly, "sometimes I can hear them whispering, s— sometimes I can't…" apologetic in tone, Darryl offers a thankful smile to Allison, then looks to the hospital doors.

"Thank you for believing me…" he mumbles, cradling that flannel shirt to his chest with one arm and keeping his eyes averted to his own muted shadow on the black and white tile floor. When a flash of lightning and a peal of thunder illuminates the lobby, Darryl winces and hunches his shoulders forward, then looks back to Allison.

"The storm's louder," he admits with a grimace.

Nodding to Kurzweil, Allison turns away to lead Darryl towards the doors then out towards the car, opening the umbrella to shield them both from the rain. "It'll be okay, Darryl. It's just noise. There's no reason to be afraid of thunder," she murmurs soothingly. And perhaps to make it easier for him, perhaps to make it easier for herself, she flips that internal switch that changes her eyes and makes her voice more than just a voice. "You can relax Darryl. Be calm. Be at ease. The storm won't hurt you. I won't hurt you. You trust me, remember?"

"The storm isn't going to hurt me…" Darryl offers in quiet quality, "it's just noisy…" Looking up to Allison as he follows her out the front doors, Darryl's back tenses up straight and one of his hands goes to her arm, squeezing her bicep firmly as he anchors his heels on the stoop of the hospital. There's a tight swallow, a look of fear in his eyes, and a nod towards the one car he can see out in the rain. "Slow," he insists, taking a few scuffing footsteps towards the edge of the first step, and then down.

"I— I don't like…" Darryl swallows as he walks, head ducked beneath Allison's umbrella. "I don't— have an easy time being outside, don't— don't loke being around all of the wh-whispers out here, it's louder outside…" she can feel his hand trembling as they walk to the car.

"Can— can you hear them?" Darryl asks with an askance look to Allison, trying to smile. "They're singing."

Allison smiles as Darryl accepts her suggestions, and she nods. She does do as he insists though, moving slowly. "Do you want to not hear the whispers for right now, Darryl? Or do you want to listen to the singing?" she asks gently, saying nothing about his grip on her arm. "And you don't need to fear open spaces either. They can't hurt you. I promise."

"It's not about the spaces," Darryl comments on their way to the car, his shoes splashing in a puddle on the sidewalk as Allison opens the passenger door for him and he eases down inside. "It— " Darryl's eyes immediately dart around to the interior of the car, and he just looks back up to Allison with a nervous smile as she closes the door, viewing her as a blur through rain-streaked glass.

Darryl leans forward as she's circling the car, turning down the volume on the car's radio until it clicks into the off position, then looks down to her cell phone as she's stepping to the door, powering the phone down with shaky hands. The rear driver's side door is opened, folded umbrella thrown in and then clicked shut. When Allison finally slides inside the driver's seat, Darryl has his backpack squarely between his feet, flannel shirt folded in his lap and t-shirt spattered with rain.

"Can— Can we keep the radio off?" Is a question that comes with a hushed tone as Darryl looks towards the ignition, then up to Allison's keys, then finally up to her.

Allison smiles and nods as she puts the key in the ignition. "Of course we can. We can talk if you like, or we can be quiet. It's your choice, Darryl. I want you to be comfortable," she says, starting the engine. Quiet would probably be easier for her, but she's willing to talk if it helps him. The car is put into gear, and off they go! Carefully.

"Just— just speak up," is all Darryl notes as he looks to Allison and then back to the car, wincing as if bracing for something when the engine turns over and the lights come on inside. Relaxing, Darryl keeps his hands folded in his lap and head down. "It— it's… the noise is…" there's a slow shake of his head, and Darryl looks down to the shifter as Allison puts the car in reverse, then drive, pulling out of the parking spot and making a U-Turn on the street, rain battering down on the windshield, wipers streaking back and forth in a steady rhythm.

Darryl too, seems to have found something of a rhythm of his own. His fingers have begun to tap on his knee, a rapid three-tap beat that repeats over and over again while he watches the tree-lined street going by.

"The noise is louder out here?" Allison asks, keeping her eyes on the road rather than glancing over to him. "I told you that I could make the car ride quiet for you. No voices but mine. Physical voices, anyway," she reminds him. There is one very quick glance to Darryl's knee. "Is the singing in a three beat pattern?" she asks.

"No," Darryl offers as he shakes his head, "it's— the beat. Three loud bursts, o— over and over again… a steady… I— I don't know, it's under everything," he admits in a hushed tone of voice, "I can hear it under the s-singing and it doesn't match," which makes Darryl's brows furrow and his head shake slowly.

Traffic out here at the hospital is minimal, especially given that much of New Jersey has been diminished in population rates since the 2006 explosion and the arrival of the fallout cloud that — for a long time — irradiated much of the eastern portion of the state. "The singing stopped anyway, n-now it's about tires…." comes a furrow of Darryl's brows and a look to the passenger side window, absently watching beads of rain roll down the glass.

As a drives past in the opposite lane as they're heading towards the interstate, Darryl sits up straight in his seat, nearly choking on his words as they bubble out from his lips. "— heading east on West Hanover Avenue, silver sedan, unknown passengers. Engaging." There's a look of brown eyes over towards Allison, confused.

"They're whispering again," Darryl notes in a pleading tone.

"The beat? You hear this all the time then? Whether it's singing or whispering?" Allison asks, brows lifting. She may understand being evolved, but this? Slightly out of the scope of her knowledge. She takes one hand off the steering wheel, laying it lightly on Darryl's hand. "It's just whispering, Darryl. Truth, but nothing you should fear. We can teach you how to control it. And you can help people with it, if you want."

"No— no Allison you don't understand," Darryl's brown eyes go wide as he looks up at her, "they're c— " a sudden smash sends Allison's car spinning as it is crashed into from behind. The rear wheels spin out and the entire car begins swerving across the road as the rain becomes torrential. Briefly visible out the passenger's side window, Allison can see that white van that drove past barreling towards the car, slamming into Darryl's side so hard that the passenger's side window explodes inwards in tiny shards of safety glass.

The van pushes the car sideways then swerves away as the sedan Allison and Darryl are in crashes into the corner of a guard-rail then flips when its tires hit the soft grass and dirt on the shoulder. The vehicle is airborne, and for a few harrowing seconds Allison and Darryl can see the landscape barrel-roll around them before the car comes crashing down on the driver's side with a shower of glass. the world blurs, spins, distorts as the car crashes and bounces around, Darryl's backback flung out one of the windows by the sideways tumbling.

Through the windshield, Allison can see a row of trees down off the embankment approaching as the car continues to flip and roll and—

Morristown, New Jersey

Route 202, 1 Mile Away

It's been twenty minutes since Ryans sent out that warning to Agent Richard's phone, twenty minutes since he and agent Lee left Brooklyn and hit the highway, headed through manhattan and towards New Jersey. The rain is pouring now, a torrential downpour of heavy rain. The black SUV that has become agent Benjamin Ryans' new vehicle was specifically assigned by Martin Crowley during his last stint as assistant director. The brush-bar on the front of the rugged vehicle, off-road tires and bullet-proof design may make it a heavy, gas-guzzling behemoth on the road, but it is also going to cost less to the Company in the long run than replacing every single sedan that he trashes in the line of duty.

Greystone isn't far from here, and once the agents turn onto West Hanover Ave, they'll be nearly there. These forested streets and rural regions of New Jersey seems haunting in their emptiness, and the fog that has risen during this summer storm isn't improving that atmosphere at all.

Lashirah shakes her head. "Phone's going straight to voice mail. Screw the gas bill, does this thing GO any faster?" She asks as she slaps a freshly checked magazine back into her main pistol, another in her jacket holster, two clips sitting in her belt. There's a shotgun, normally kept in the trunk, sitting over the center console. The safeties are all on, though she racks one into the pistol in hand, kept well below dash level.

The fedora pulled low on his head, Assistant-Director Benjamin Ryans wanted a car to go so fast. Blue eyes peer from under it's brim, intent on the road, unfortunately the traffic keeps him from going too fast. Both hands at two and ten, so that he has full control, a light whirring on the top of the slick black hood, curtsey of the Agent next to him.

"I'm going as fast I can, so that we get there in one piece." The words are surprisingly calm for the situation, but it's part of what makes Ryans who he is.

His phone is snatched from the center console, pushing the on button, it'll look odd but he asks it. "Can you get a lock on where Agent Richards is?" He glances over at Lash only briefly, before setting the phone on a cradle made for hands free. Getting his hands on the wheel in time to dodge around a car that seems uninterested in pulling over.

"Lets hope I'm wrong… or that we get there in time."

Agent Richards vehicle has halted point-7 miles from your current position on West Hanover Avenue. I am picking up encoded messages over a secure Institute broadcast channel in the vicinity. No agents of mine are within response distance due to weather considerations.

The voice Lashirah hears coming from the speakerphone doesn't sound human. It's three digitally synthesized voices speaking at once; one a middle-aged man with a difficult to discern accent, another an adolescent male, and a third speaking Mandarin. All three voices are in perfect unison, having a hollow and echoing tone.

You will need to act quickly. Both signals are stationary. The storm is blocking satellite observation of the site.

Lashirah digs into the back seat, pulling out her bag that she loaded in, of investigative gear. she rolls down the window, and digs out a light and siren machine, the magnetic type, and sticks it to the roof over her head, before plugging it in. The next sound anyone in a block radius hears is likely the lone cry of a police siren. She digs out her FBI badge, clipping it on to her vest. "Let's even the odds a little then." Even in New York, traffic tries to get out of the way of emergency vehicles. "You can explain that later." She notes about the voice from the phone. "If they are stationary, we don't have TIME. Ram them if you have to." She keeps her window rolled down, scanning the side streets for anything moving to intercept them.

"Thank you… That's all I needed to know." Ryans says, the words said in a soft low growl, as he watches ahead through the sheets of rain being swept aside by the wipers. As he continues to dodge the traffic, His eyes continue to look for the familiar lines of Richard's car. "Come on… come on…" Hands tighten on the fake leather of the wheel, knuckles whitening.

He has every intention of testing out the vehicle assigned to him. Time to see if the Company invested it's money wisely, or they need to demand a refund. "Don't worry… I'm a trained driver. " A small smile curls up at the corner of his mouth. "Hold on tight, Lee."

Okay, it's time to worry.

Roading down route 202, Ryans blurs past another car in the further right lane, then cuts in front of them to take the exit for West Hanover, swerving onto the offramp, coming out onto the westbound lane of West Hanover. The rain is pouring in sheets now down the windshield, flashes of blue streaking across the hood and the street. The two-lane road is forested on both sides, no houses, no side-streets, just a long and slightly winding stretch of rural New Jersey road.

They should be within visual range now.

Rebel's commentary is puzzling, due to the fact that Ryans can only see an empty stretch of rainy road up ahead. As the SUV continues to approach, there's a beep from Ryans' cell phone as a GPS map pops up on the screen, showing his location as a red arrow and Allison's location as a green arrow, flashing. They're nearly on top of the signal.

You are nearly on top of them, agent Ryans.

Then it all comes into focus, strangely.

One moment there's an empty stretch of rural, country road ahead of them. The next minute it is like walking through a curtain as a haze of illusion is penetrated by Ryans' vehicle and a wide, heavily constructed armored van is parked off of the shoulder of the road. Concealed from most motorists passing in the other lane the Institute van has its back hatch open, a large metal contained situated on rails sliding out — a coffin.

Two men in white biohazard suits are sliding the coffin out when they see the SUV approaching, turning in startled fashion. What becomes visible next is the upturned grass, broken glass and smashed bumper of Allison Richard's car from being pushed off of the road. The car is down the embankment off the side of the road, smashed up against trees and on its side.

The moment that the three men at the back of the van see the SUV, one of them is climbing back inside as he turns invisible, a second is withdrawing a machine pistol from his belt holster and another is heading back for the front of the van.

Gunfire is their greeting.

Bullets ricochet off of the hood of the car, impact on the windshield with spiderweb cracks but don't penetrate through to the drivers. The MP5 machine pistols may spray a mean number of bullets, but they're nothing against an armored vehicle and it seems these Institute retrievers know that.

Down the embankment, Allison Richards awakens from unconsciousness with a throbbing headache. Blood runs down the side of her face, an uninflated airbag hangs limply from the steering wheel, and she's still buckled into her seat at what is now the bottom of the car. She can hear screaming too, over the sounds of gunfire, and as her vision begins to clear more, rainwater falling down in from the blown out passenger-side window above her, Allison can see Darryl's sneakered feet kicking as he's dragged out of the passenger side of the car by someone dressed in white.

After such an incident, it takes Allison a moment to put the position of the car, the airbag, and the scream together into anything that her mind can make sense of. As she fumbles with her seatbelt, she struggles against her headache to activate her ability, screaming one word, and one word only. "Stop!" Unfortunately, trying to persuade them without a clear target is chancy at best, but without knowing that help is on the way, she's doing what she can.

As soon as the illusion beak, Ryans lets out a few colorful words. "Can you block their signal?" Now he's speaking sharply, as the inevitable is coming. The senior agent doesn't even flinch as the bullets spray across the hood, his jaw setting. Then he glances over at Lashirah, "Oops… loosing control." The words are said in a flat tone, before pushing the petal down a little further, the engine revs up a little higher. He grips the wheel and braces for impact.

On the outside, that rugged SUV is barreling straight for the van. If it's down, they have time.

Lashirah braces as well, preparing for the sound of two armored large motor carriages about to collide. Physics being what they are, well… she's glad she remembered to buckle up. The illusion being driven through was a surprise. The bullet spray, not so much. She keeps a calm grip on her pistol and waits for the ride to come to a complete stop…. But not silently.

"WHEEEEEEEEEE!" The sound might be mistaken, if you could hear it over the siren and the storm, for someone on a rollercoaster ride.

Darryl's feet disappear out of the window with one of his sneakers kicked clear off, tunbling down to whip past Allison's face and land in the grass bristling up through the smashed window beside her. When her seatbelt finally unclips, she falls sideways down to the window of the car, crashing into the wet grass, staring up towards the gray skies visible out the passenger side window. Though directly ahead of her, the windshield is nearly torn out from the frame, agent Richards will probably have to go forward to get out of this mess.

But the sound of two cars colliding impresses on her the earlier sound of gunfire. The black SUV Ryans drives careens intot he back of the insitute van, smashing the coffin down the metal guide rails with an explosion of the hydraulics systems, amber fluid spraying around from the ruptured hoses, coating and outlining the invisible man in the back.

The van is driven forwards even as the tires spin and the van itself tries to peel off onto the road, only to find its traction failing and the rear end spinnign around as its back tires dig trenches in the wet soil and grass.

The two Institute retrievers hauling Darryl up the hill stop when they hear the impact, one of the men dropping Darryl as he reaches for his sidearm, opening fire on Ryans' SUV. Bullets explode against the passenger's side window, spiderwebbing impacts at the side of Lashirah's head but not breaking through, tiny chisp of glass showering down around her.

The gunman on the street runs and leaps into the back of the van, firing again at the windshield.

Scrambling their communication, complete. Interrupting radio transmissions, complete. White noise generation, in progress.

Suddenly all of the Institute men stop what they're doing and clutch their heads. While it can't be heard in Ryans' SUV, the high-pitched squeal of Rebel's counter-signal is a deafening distraction until the Institute men can disable their comms. The man holding Darryl falls to his knees, struggling to rip his headset off under his elastic hood, though Darryl— is rolling around on the ground too.

Clutching his head.

Talk about a clusterfuck.

Allison scrambles to get out of the car, her face visibly strained from the pain of the crash. "Darryl! Get away from them! Run!" she cries even as she's still climbing out of the car. She doesn't yet know that the crash is help arriving, and she promised to help Darryl. Getting him kidnapped isn't much help. She half falls out of the car, cursing when she realizes that she didn't go into the hospital armed, and her gun is in the goddamned car.


Lashirah doesn't spray wildly. She doesn't waste shots at the Van's armored plating as she kicks her door open, and instead takes calm aim at the gunman who was firing on her door. Her gun fires once, twice at the biohazard suit's chest. A third shot rings out as she takes aim at his head. No emotion, no more thought then a paper target at the range. She'll worry about the ethics of it later as she shouts, loudly. "FREEZE, FBI!" The words likely weren't going to cause these goons much pause… but you never know. Evenn as she shouts she's ripping off the seat belt. She never takes the barrel of her gun off her target until she is sure it has stopped moving.

"Have to secure the target." Benjamin Ryans growls from where he is secure in his seat. He's going to feel that in the morning. Listening to Rebel's voice, he reaches for the door handle while pulling out his gun. "Excellent." Once the door unlatches, Ryans takes full advantage of the distraction and kicks his door open. "Richards… get Darryl and run for cover." The mans deep voice bellowing.

He uses the door as cover, leaning out around it to get a bead on the two men with Darryl. This is a moment that they, probably can't leave survivors, they fired first after all. He feels totally justified.

Lashirah's call of the FBI does not give the men of the Institute pause, though gunfire gives the gunman on the hill something to write home about. Handgun fire blasts down the hill towards Allison's direction, the first shot going a shy bit wide, but the second shot nails the embankment gunman's center masss, knocking him off of his feet, though without a very obvious red mark on his white uniform. When he struggles to get up, a third shot goes straight into his visor, shattering the plastic and spraying a brief puff of red out of the back of his head before he goes down. Once the others have stripped their communications gear off the mission is back on.

That last retreiver on the embankment grabs Darryl by the scruff of his shirt, lifts him up and then swings an arm around his shoulders as he tries to bring him up the slippery slope of the hill. Only on Allison's shout does he turn around, holding out one hand away from Darryl before a wave of bluish fire erupts from the palm of his hand, turning into a sizzling cone that roars towards her. The blonde is narrowly able to throw herself out of the way as the cone of flame lashes past and that Institute agent is pulling himself and a screaming Darryl up the hill.

In the back of the van, the illusionist keeping this from being seen from the street crouches down, trying to focus on his veil while the tires continue to spin, kicking up mud, rocks and grass at the front of Ryans' SUV. Only after a few attempts to bounce the vehicle from the inside by one of the men who was shooting a moment ago from the back does the van get traction again and get up onto the road.

As Allison lays on the ground after her dive from fire, she glances up, eyes narrowed on the man holding Darryl. Silver eyes narrowed. "Release him! Surrender to the FBI agent!" she yells at him, before she gets up and starts running in his direction, apparently just trusting that her ability is working at its full potential after she's been hit on the head.

Lashirah jumps out of the SUV, keeping the door as cover between her and the van as she switches targets to the man trying to haul Darryl up the hill. "Ryans, do some tires!" Is all she has time to shout as she takes a deep breath. This is one of those shots she does NOT look forward to taking as she focuses the barrel on the white suit's forehead. Not worth wasting shots on armored chests now that she knows. "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!" The words have all the force of command Lashirah can put into them. Which, given her 'other' job, is actually quite damn impressive for not having any evolved ability. She'll give the idiot the chance to count to three or to face her and try to pull his hand her direction. If he doesn't listen… well, that's what bullets are for.

Teeth gritted tight, Ryans eyes are on the man going up the embankment with Darryl. "We're losing him, Lee!" He calls through the vehicle to the woman on the other side. Unable to get a clear shot on the retriever, Ryans turns his attention to the men in the van. Eyes narrow as he opens fire on them. Aiming higher for a point not covered with Kevlar.

Lashirah's shout it heard, but he's already attempting to put bullets in the men in the van. However, she's got a point, so his aim drops to let loose on the tires.

Popping gunfire explodes into the Institute van as one of the retreivers loading his MP5 is caught in the visor by rounds from a Company issue .45, the helmet explodes as he flies backwards over the smashed coffin, and the illusionist finds himself hammered by one round in the shoulder, slammed up to the wall before another round hits his body armor beneath his suit at the chest, and then another shot to the heat at what equates to point blank range with a marksman as skilled as Ryans sends a spray of red against the interior wall.

The pyrokinetis comes to a staggering halt, his arm around Darryl relaxing and letting Darryl collapse to his knees, clutching his head and screaming as rain streams down his face and further soaks his clothing. The pyrokinetic reaches up with one gloved hand, holds his faceplate and shakes his head from side to side. With his communicator off, he can now hear Allison normally, and her hypnotic power has him stunned.

There's not even time for Allison to breathe a sigh of relief when the pyrokinetic stops trying to drag Darryl away. She doesn't pause, doesn't stop, and just continues to make her aching body run until she reaches Darryl. She grabs him, trying to pull him up to her knees. And this time she focuses her ability on him. "There are no whispers! Get up and run with me!"

Lashirah doesn't take chances. The movement of the pyrokenetic are those of resistance. Her aim follows his drop smoothly. The next sound that is heard is a .45, FBI issued, barking through the storm, aimed for the head of the remaining standing institue man. She jumps clear of the door after the shot, in case Ryans decies he needs the SUV for something more… intensive.

It's nice to have an agent around that understands when a man needs to four wheel it. Shoving the handgun back into it's holster, Ryans moves to jump into the car, slamming his door shut behind him. The engine revs and he puts it into gear so that he can whip the SUV around.

"Damn, I love this car."

He murmurs it to nothing… well… unless Rebel is listening. As the vehicle comes around, he aims for the van again. Benjamin Ryans is in it deep, but he knows that man is too important to lose. This time he aims it hit it head on, hoping to crumple something on the van.

The pyrokinetic goes down with a single shot, the helmets on these suits designed to contain chemical hazards, not deflect bullets. There's a shower of black plastic and blood as the pyrokinetic jerks to the side and falls down to the wet grass on the embankment, dead.

"The noise! Make the noise stop! Make it stop!" Darryl's eyes are reddened, tears are welling up in them and his hands are cupped over his ears, "Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop!" Actually crying, he's hoisted up like a wet noodle by Allison, dragged back on wobbly legs as he bobs up and down, choking out sobs of agony over something only he can apparently hear.

As she's leading Darryl away, Allison can hear something, a shrieking noise coming from a white headset on the ground, blaring out the digital noise signal that Rebel is using to scramble the Institute's communications. In fact, Darryl went down clutching his head the same moment that he Institute retrievers did from the white-noise bursts.

Tires are squealing and then van is moving, the driver clearly looking to want to get out before anything gets worse; the mission has been aborted. But when Ryans' SUV comes roaring across the road, fish-tailing through the torrential rain, the van's driver slams on the brakes, only to have Ryans drive forward and smash into the van head on with the brush bar. The van skids backwards, tires spinning until it is pushed off the road entirely.

The van rolls backwards down the hill, whipping past where Darryl and Allison are, then comes crashing back doors first into the trees, sending leaves falling down fromt he branches.

"I'm trying!" Allison tells Darryl as she drags him as far away from the Institute men as she can. Preferably before the adrenaline wears off and she collapses into a useless heap. "There is no noise! None! You cannot hear anything but me until I say otherwise," she half yells to the man, hoping to get something through to him to make it easier on the both of them.

Lashirah does the only logical thing about the shouting… she walks over, picks up the headset, and calmly finds the off switch. She looks at the body count even as she reaches up for her own blue-tooth earpeice and whispers. "Whoever you are, I hope you didn't jam me too…" She activates the Microphone, and issues a short order. "Call Hero." The command, if all is working right, should have her phone dialing Fort Hero, with all due haste.

She looks to Allison. "You alright?" She finally asks. Shots fired, blood everywhere… she hopes to hell Allison wasn't hit in the barriage… or that Darryl wasn't.

The impact rocks Ryans forward in his seat, he looks through the cracked window of his SUV to the figure in the van, smiling just a little bit as he continues pushing… at least til the Van is rolling on it's own down the hill.

He puts the car into park, and pulls out his fire arm. There is still one in the vehicle. Sliding out of SUV, he points the gun down the hill at it, making sure to keep the door as cover. "Lee! Check the driver. Richards, get Lincoln up here and into the SUV."

Even Lashirah's transmissions are jammed right now, the signal bars on her phone showing nothing but an antenna with a circle and a line through it. Darryl and Allison seem fine, though Darryl is still freaking out and clutching his head, whining in the back of his throat in a way that no amount of Allison's hypnotism seems to be able to reach.

You need to leave, agent Ryans. We have picked up a burst transmission from a suspected Institute communications hub. They have not heard back from their team, more will be on the way.

Echoing from the phone sitting in the center console, Rebel's voice is clear and concise.

You cannot risk bringing him back to your base of operations. While we do not believe that the Institute will risk revealing that they were involved here, Darryl would be safer at a location they are not aware of. I am afraid I cannot offer a secure location to you at this time.

There's a clap of thunder that fills the sky with lightning and the rain continues to soak the agents standing out on the embankment. Allison's hair is slicked down across her face, a paler mirror of Lashirah's own dark and waterlogged bangs.

If Lincoln has been somehow predicting Institute extractions, they cannot admit to this or it would be an admission of guilt, therefore they cannot press you for your actions here today openly. This must be played close to the chest, Ryans. While both you and the heads of the Institute will likely know what is going on, neither side should reveal their hand. Darryl is too valuable, and there is a target still to be protected.

Lashirah starts towards the van, bosses orders… even as she catches the nearly empty clip, siding a full one in from her belt almost automatically. She puts the one in her pocket. Forensics abound around here enough to link her to scene if anyone really did push and she knows it.

"I'll live," is Allison's answer to Lashirah. She continues onward, leading the freaked out Darryl to the SUV. The rear door is opened, and she helps him inside before climbing in after him. Once in, and in relative safety, she lets herself slump down in the seat, eyes closing, a comforting arm around Darryl's shoulders. "I don't know about Darryl yet, but I'm going to need a medic."

"Tell me what I don't know." Ryans says softly, glancing at the phone in the car, the words sound almost growled. "We take him to our base and Harper will sweep in and take him." Looking back at Allison and Darryl, Ryans sighs softly. "I'll figure something out." He reaches into the car and yanks the phone off the cradle, so he can tuck it to his ear. Bad enough one agent heard him, he doesn't need to explain to a second.

"Will your lot be able to get to Theresa Parmenter?" The senior agent asks into the phone now. He pulls it away from his mouth. "Lee! Got to go. More incoming." He waves her towards him with his gun before, covering her retreat.

Lashirah growls. Then does the only sensible thing she an do under the time limit. Since making SURE the driver is not breathing isn't going to happen… she emptys her clip into the driver front tire as she backs away. She then holsters the firearm as she hops into the passanger seat, slamming the door shut, and buckles back up. "Ryans, I hope you know a truck stop that has a bottomless cup of coffee. Let's get the hell out of here."

Unlikely. We are currently engaged elsewheres and she is a potentially high-risk and high-visibility target that we cannot assure minimal collateral damage on. You will have to handle Parmenter.

Not exactly what Ryans wanted to hear from Rebel, but he's already done as much as he can. In the rear seats of the SUV, Darryl is clutching his head still, whimpering and whining right up until—

I am disengaging the noise bursts. You may communicate freely. I suggest you make your escape now.

— the expression on Darryl's face abruptly changes. His eyes open, blinking vacantly at the ceiling, brows furrowed and tongue sweeping across his lips. Sucking in a shuddering breath, he looks over to Allison with a hesitant smile, one corner of his mouth twitching. "Q-Quiet again…" he admits with a stutter, "j-just the singing, and— and the drums."

Allison returns the smile with a faint one of her own. "Good. Now relax. We're going to go someplace safe. Are you alright, now that the noise is gone? Were you hurt in the wreck?" she asks, looking him over, though it's harder for her to concentrate now that the immediate danger has passed.

"Thank you, we'll do what we can." The phone is snapped shut and he climbs back in quickly, shutting the door Ryans, tucks the phone against his shoulder and yanks the car into gear. "Coffee might have to wait. We need to stash him anywhere but the base. Otherwise, Harper is going to waltz in and yank him from under our noses." He puts the SUV into drive once he's back up, before glancing at Lashirah. "As long as Darryl is in our hands and with the photos, we're safe for now."

Glancing into the rear view mirror, Ryans looks first at Allison and then Darryl. He studies the frightened man for just a moment, with a furrow of concerned brows. "He's somehow… he's not a precog, he's… tuned into their radios." There is a curious tone to his voice.

His attention goes to the road, his thoughts turning inward. "Congratulation, Ladies. We just locked horns with the Institute. Not done yet, either." He doesn't make this sound like a good thing either. His phone is retrieved again, but this time it isn't to talk to Rebel. He needs to inform Sabra of what just happened.

He really hope she doesn't get too upset.

Lashirah looks at Ryans. "… Technopath." She says simply. "As for somewhere to stash him…" She hits her phone's call button, but says something she hasn't said in years. "Call DCHQ." The number dialed is a direct line to opperations for the FBI. As it rings. "I'll try to pull some strings to get us somewhere for short term while we come up with better."

"No.." Ryans says firmly to Lashirah. "Just hold off, we're in a sticky situation. We take this to the FBI we have to explain what happened and the Institute is a government funded project." He takes his eyes off the road long enough to look at the punk girl woman next to him. "Right now, silence is our best bet. Especially since we know their next target.

"We can't afford to screw this up… I imagine the Company has a place." He holds up his phone. "I'm calling Sabra now. Trust me when I say she's our best option."Tucking the phone to his ear he sighs.

"We need to keep this on the down low for now… like the old days, before the bomb."

Lashirah silences the call before it finishes, then winces and nods.

As Ryans gets the now battered and bullet riddled SUV back up and into gear, it turns out onto the road and quickly makes an escape away from the bloodied bodies of the retreivers who were gunned down. With one survivor left, word will likely get to the Institute's heirarchy about what happened here and who is involved. But what Darryl Lincoln represents is sso much more than a man who can see the future, he's a man who is — somehow — hardwired into the Institute's encrypted communications and can instinctively hear them.

But a great ability like his seems to come with a certain curse, in that he seems to be wholly unable to tune out the digital and analogue singla shtta he can interpret. Singing from the radio, whispering from communications chatter… everything is starting to add up, the lines in his house that looked like television commercials, the lack of electronics, the codes. Darryl Lincoln is a massive radio receptor that has no off-switch, and only while medicated at a hospital with the right chance combinations of drugs could he find peace.

Peace he was willing to sacrifice, to protect someone.

These are the kinds of people the Company was meant to protect.

This is their true calling.

And now it's their secret.

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