Participants:
| Scene Title | Maybe In Another Life |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | While evacuating men, women and children held captive in the Ark, Lynette runs across someone who seems to know her somehow. |
| Date | November 8, 2011 |
It hasn't been long since the Ferry broke into the Ark. Lights flicker, the defenses down for the moment, but there's electricity within the walls, a hint of a hum trying to come back to life. They came in knowing they would have defenses. It's only a matter of time…
The long hallways seem endless, with rooms no longer requiring keycards or codes to open, with the power on the fritz and the systems hacked. A few doors already stand open, the occupants helped out by fellow Ferrymen who came along on the raid. And some outsiders. Like the blonde haired Lorraine Fournier, who looks into each room quickly before helping the occupants out. One of her, her duplicate, is somewhere else, also helping.
She hopes to find her daughter, as she has been very vocal.
The doors often need help, a jolt, a burn, something to get them to open. Like the one that stands before Lynette. Every so often a gunshot rings through the air as people defend themselves against the minimal defenses— or perhaps— something less nice.
Electricity just so happens to be Lynette's entire wheelhouse. She has a proverbial eye on the main power, gauging their time limit, and her actual eyes on the number of doors they haven't gotten to. So she's been on call for those more difficult doors, pinging back and forth through the hall while others help the inhabitants out.
She finally comes to a pause in front of one such door, reaching a finger out to loose some of her power into the locks. Encouraging them open. It's clear she hears the gunshots, as they all do, trying to make sure they aren't getting too close. But the captives have most of her attention, splintered though it is.
The door opens with a hiss, revealing, like many rooms before, a cell of sorts. Some commodities, a bed, a few books, a bowl for finished food that hadn't been taken yet, along with a glass, it likely included pills. Some of the rooms seemed more comfortable but most— pretty generic. The person inside must have heard the commotion, cause he stands near the door, holding probably the only thing he could manage to pick up in the room, cause the chairs are nailed down. An empty tray which one held that bowl and glass. His hair is closely cropped, buzzed, same as his beard, shadowing already dusky skin. Likely he did not shave himself— most prisoners don't get razors. Dark eyes meet the young woman in flashing lights. Older than many of the young inhabitants they'd been moving down the hall toward hopeful safety, perhaps even a little older than her.
But she wouldn't recognize him.
Which might become odd when he seems to recognize her, the tray lowering and surprise registering in the lines of his forehead. "Lynette?"
Out in the hallway, the Ferry continues to move, getting a door across the hall open and pulling out a young person who looks disoriented, but able to move.
When she sees the tray held up, Lynette lifts her hands. She's not here to hurt anyone. Or, well. Not him. Hopefully, the view into the hallway and the chaos there helps prove her point. She is only slowly reaching a hand out toward him when he speaks. Speaks her name. Her hand pauses half held out.
Her expression turns strange. Unsettled. But it's only a hitch before she finishes reaching out for him. "I see my reputation precedes me," she says, her tone wry. "Come now, we're getting out of here. What's your name?" She's asked that same question a number of times, an attempt to calm the children, get them focused on something easy to answer. But this time, it's a dig for information.
The tray drops to the floor with a clatter, and without hesitation he takes her hand. A hint of a smile wanting to appear on his lips, but being held back at the same time. He can likely see that she doesn't recognize him, even before she asks for his name. It doesn't seem completely unexpected, though, from the way he nods his head. "Ruiz," he responds, no hint of a foreign accent despite the fact he looks like he could be, as well as the name. His voice is smooth and quiet.
They're getting out of here.
There's tension in his forehead, but he nods. "Think I'll stick with you," he adds as he steps out, the movement in the hallway hurried, young people bundled away— along with the occasional adult. Another gunshot rings in the distance— one, two, three.
The power flickers and hums within the walls, before dying again. Someone must be resetting things— they won't be free of automated defenses much longer.
When he takes her hand, Lynette gives him a reassuring squeeze and helps him out into the hall. "Ruiz," she repeats with a smile. "A pleasure," she says as if they aren't in the middle of a very dangerous escape attempt. "Do that, we might need you." She gestures to the children, the doors, the whole mess.
Her attention is taken from him when the power flickers and she turns to the rest of the group. "Alright, people, double time! This place is going back online any moment." Her tone is different there, firmer. And she strides forward to the next unopened door. They can only do so many at a time, but she seems determined to make it through as many as possible.
"They can flood the hall with negation gas," the man speaks almost as soon as he steps out, perhaps not knowing exactly how much they know and speaking from experience. Dark eyes shift down the hallway. "There, that vent." he extracts his hand from hers to point at it, also because he might know she needs her hands free now— with everything that will likely happen in the next few minutes. "Maybe you destroy it before the power comes back on?"
Her reputation preceded her, or maybe she's missing a few memories. Either way, he speaks with confidence that she could do it.
Lorraine continues to hurry people down the hallway, doors being pushed open and more people rescued by various members. They're taking the Councilwoman's warnings seriously.
The power surges again, the emergency lights flickering again.
The tip has Lynette looking back his way and she follows his hand up to the vent. "That would be very bad," she says, mildly. Her gaze flicks to him when he seems to know a lot more about her than she knows about him. But, she looks back to the vent. "How many of them are there? The vents?" She takes a step away from him, mostly because her power is a little flashy and jumpy, and holds a hand out toward it. A little focus and then she blasts it, arcs of electricity jumping from every finger.
When her hand drops, she looks back over to him. "Who are you?" She tried to wait, she really did.
The emergency lights come on and she looks toward her fellow Ferrymen. "Get ready," she calls after them. They know what to do, she just hopes they can actually pull it off. "Come on," she says to Ruiz, "Show me these vents."
"They're spread out through the halls," Ruiz responds, knowing that even if they destroy a few here and there, they will likely come across them. "I may have tried to escape once," he responds with an ironic tilt of his forehead. He moves his hand as if trying to get whatever his Evolved ability might be to work, but alas, whatever they've been slipping into his food must keep that under control now.
The vent explodes, the electrical system it's connected to frying with a spurt of feedback. That vent won't be coming online— and perhaps the feedback knocked out a few more.
Her question is met with a smile, one that seems genuine and oddly relaxed despite the tense situation. "We make it out of this, I'll be sure to tell you."
Almost as soon as the sentence is finished, the power buzzes to life. The lights keep flickering, but power surges to doors in the ceiling, opening up as an automated turret starts to descend.
Another set of gunshots ring through the air, much closer, and the blonde woman, the duplicate, the mother intent on finding her child, falls backward, blood pouring from her neck, one place that even some rudimentary body armor could not protect. Down the hall there's two armored guards, both slumped against the wall from gunshots. A few screams start to fill the air from the children.
"Alright, lets see if we can get ahead of the group, knock out what we can." Lynette looks over at him at his confession, a smile coming to her face. "Initiative, I like that." She had done similarly, when she was in his place, after all. She starts toward the group, checking out the vents, seeing if there's any she can skip before she blows another one.
When the turret comes down, Lynette stops and tries to take a breath. "You know," she says to his answer, if belatedly "that is so typical." The complaint doesn't seem serious, though, almost like she feels better doing that than thinking about what they're actually doing. Of course, gunshots ring out and a mother's death undoes all her work. She takes a shot at the turret and looks over at him, "Time to make a run for it!"
"Turrets. Didn't know they had those," Ruiz responds with a grunt, looking at the blonde woman whose choking on her own blood. Even if they both ran over there and tried to stop the bleeding, they wouldn't be able to do anything— it's just going to kill her. At least she took down the group that shot her.
As she instructs them to run, he quickly hurries over to Lorraine's body and picks up her gun, immediately checking it for rounds. He looks disappointed, but a few rounds is better than nothing.
"Keep an eye out for the gas," he says as he prepares to follow her, wherever they may go. The children are already being pulled along by the Ferry. There's still doors opening in the hallways, but people are definitely moving much faster now.
Lynette looks as he picks up the gun, but turns back to the stragglers, hurrying them along before she follows along. She helps with the doors, as needed, but really she follows Ruiz's advice and keeps watch for the vents. They would be truly hobbled with the gas. Or, at least, she would be.
"You're all doing beautifully," she says, to her people, because they are. They're working their butts off. She's proud, and she wants them to know. Perhaps to help bolster them before what's coming, but still. Spotting a vent, she aims a bolt at that one, too.
The electricity fries more systems, a sputtering of gas coming out for an instant, but not enough pumped through to cause much damage. Unless someone decided to stand right in it. There's a sudden burst of gunfire down the hall, followed by screams and more gunshots. More turrets. Ruiz takes up a position just behind her, half keeping his back to her to look down the hall as she leads people to safety. Some of the Ferry shoot at the turrets, but a few more— along with those they'd just rescued, lay dying in the halls.
"Hope your people found maps, cause I don't even I don't know most the halls."
But they did have intelligence. That tells Lynette where to go toward extraction. It's hard to know from the sounds of boots running down the hall if they're Ferry or Institute. The prisoners have softer footfalls, bare footfalls, but there are heavier ones coming down halls.
"We have more than maps," Lynette tells him, "We had a mole." A fact that Lynette was very pleased about when she learned since their mole happened to be an old friend of hers. "Just stick close, we'll get you out."
She turns her head to the sound of boots — real boots — coming their way. "Okay, that's time! Head to the exit!" There is regret for the leftover doors and Lynette lingers longer to open just a few more. Just a few.
There's a grin at the mention of a mole, the man seeming to take it in stride, and pleased that someone who might have worked with these people had actually been working against them. "I bet it was Bob," Ruiz jokes, referencing someone that didn't even really exist. Though there probably was a Bob, he didn't know anyone by that name. As she opens some more doors along the way, with panicked children, and men and women more than willing to hurry out the doors and along the way. They heard the gunfire, see the flashing lights. Most people are more than willing to follow the flow, though some are hiding under the beds.
Sadly, they would be too much trouble to extract, with the turrets dropping down and firing. With boots hitting the ground.
"Could get us out of here much faster if — " he doesn't finish whatever it was he was saying as suddenly he stops mid-word. And then pushes against her, a bullet burying itself in the wall next to her. He raises his newly acquired weapon, moving in front of her as he fires it a few times until the man that shot at her drops — The soldier. Who fired more than that one shot.
A thin shirt and drawstring pants don't offer much protection. Blood starts to blossom on his chest, stomach, upper arm, thigh.
It is difficult for Lynette, walking away from people — children — hiding under beds. And it takes Ruiz pushing her to get her to do so. She looks at the wall next to her, eyes wide. Her head was just right there. But then she whips around to say something to her companion only to see blood staining his clothes. "No no no," she says, the tone of a person used to being listened to. A slightly panicked person. She shoots a bolt at the turret before she turns to him to press a hand against his chest. It isn't enough to stop the bleeding. "You have to keep moving. Come on," she says, looking over her shoulder to watch for more soldiers.
When he laughs, it comes off as forced, but at least there's no blood on his lips as he does. The bullet didn't puncture a lung. But it also didn't exit his body. Who knows what damage it did. Likely he has internal bleeding going on.
"Go," Ruiz says, looking down at the weapon in his hand. He ejects the clip, counts the bullets, then slams it back into place. "Better you getting out than me, 'Nette," he says, putting a far too familiar twist to the way he says her name. He grunts— coughs— there's the blood on his lips as he slumps back against the wall, even as she pushes against his chest.
"They're counting on you." There's a hint of yellow mist creeping down the hall from the direction they were fleeing. His knees start to give out. "I'll cover your back as long as I can. Go."
"Shit," Lynette says quietly, but emphatically. Her hand touches his face while she tries to get her feet to move. It takes time. She sees the mist, she feels him slump under her hand and she makes the decision. A terrible decision she knows she'll regret later. But then, it'll have good company. She looks back at him, her expression saying the thank you that she can't voice and she turns away. To run.
"See ya in another life," Ruiz mutters with that same smile, as he settles with a grunt against the floor, holding the gun in front of him and resting his arm against his knee. He'll shoot whoever comes around the corner. It isn't long before she hears more gunfire as she runs away.
Gunshots behind, gunshots ahead.