The Future of Coyote Sands


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Scene Title The Future of Coyote Sands
Synopsis On a question for answers, the cast and crew of 'The Advocate' get in over their heads.
Date March 19, 2011

Somewhere in New Mexico Arizona

There was a time when people generally did not seek to take long drives through the desert in search of what may well be considered 'buried treasure.' That time is, of course, not now: If it were, then this gaggle of television types would not be navigating through one. Probably.

It's been uneventful, as desert outings go. The two rented SUVs have been handling the terrain well, as they are generally designed to do. Even the pink Prius, while looking wholly out of place in the landscape, has been holding up alright, even if it lacks the cargo space needed for tools and equipment. Again, the SUVs have stepped up to the plate. The perfect vehicles, except for their fuel economy. At least they all have working air conditioning.

The only discrepancy between what should be and what is, is apparently the actual location of Coyote Sands. It should be coming up soon. It should maybe even be visible in the distance. What is visible in the distance is not perhaps what someone might expect to see in the middle of the desert, unless construction cranes have become common fixtures for sage and shrubs in the past few minutes. The much more serious discrepancy is what waits for the at a distance markedly closed than whatever those cranes- or crane-like structures- are at: A chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Most likely, none of them were expecting this.

It's been months since Bradley Russo drove last. The last had been his unfortunate crash of the aptly named K-car (that wasn't actually a K-car aside from it belonging to K). His fingers grip the steering wheel lightly as he allows the tread of the tires to slow. Behind his aviator sunglasses, his eyebrows tweak together when the crane-like-structures had come into view, only to have his entire face crease into a tightened scowl.

The SUV is put into park as he steps on the brake, giving it an odd jerk, and perhaps giving credence to the idea that may he really shouldn't be replacing his now-toast beloved SUV Stella (may she rest in pieces) any time soon. "What the hell— " he murmurs quietly under his breath to himself rather than his passenger as he tugs on the handle of the door to slide out.

His feet slip along the dust as he takes a few wandering steps from the vehicle towards the chain-link fence. His lips part slightly as he turns to face his comrades— the question writ well across his features as his arms cross over his chest. "Well that's random," a single eyebrow quirks high above the sunglasses. His tongue clucks, "What are the chances someone just wanted to cage some dirt, do you think?" the odd lilt to his voice implies his question is more loaded than simple nuanced language.

"Leave it to Cannon Hands to get us lost…" Dirk mutters as he pulls the Prius up behind the two SUVs. The dirt road as provided a thin film of dust to the car, muting the hot pink hue and giving it a little more of a manly cred, dusty rose is always better than hot pink. Hot pink is for girls. The choice of vehicle was great though. Dirk's gas guage still reads almost three quarters full, even after a few hours driving.

The only stops he had to make were to let the pee sized bladder he was riding with relieve itself.

Kristen's head is behind the map that she flips it down to look at what should be a barren landscape. Then it's flipped back up so that she can peruse the squiggly lines of road, then back down again to squint at the cranes. "Bradley…" she starts, her tone calm and level, "did you take a wrong turn at Albuquerque? I'm pretty sure we were supposed to take a left."

It's the first time she's been able to use the Looney Tunes joke, she's rather proud of herself.

Hopping out of the large vehicle, she waves toward Dirk. The dust that they stirred up on the drive sticks to her faded jeans and cowboy boots, much to her dismay. It's the first time she's been able to pull them out of their box since the line dancing fiasco. Of course, she's decked out to the Western nines. Her plaid shirt even has a fringe at the back. All the best western shirts do.

When Dirk opens his door, he allows the three legged princess to hop out ahead of him. "He took a wrong turn at Albuquerque, didn't he?!" Dirk yells, following the same pattern of thought as his boss.

Unlike Russo, Kincaid's spent a lot more time behind cars lately than he may have before he began working for K Studios. The second SUV comes to a stop behind the first, and it doesn't take long for him to glance over at his passanger with a raised eyebrow, before unlocking the doors and stepping out.

"I don't think he did," he says toward Dirk, with a glance at the fence, biting down on his scarred, but no longer ruined lower lip. At least not ruined again yet. Who knows what today could bring.

"Bet your 'charge' trying to mark half of the US alerted them to our presense," he jokes with a grin, looking more comfortable with the situation than one might suspect.

As the second SUV comes to a stop, Devon pulls his feet from the dash to look out the windshield. He leans forward slightly, eyes squinting against the glare, then shares a look with Kincaid. As he opens his door, a second look is spared over his shoulder to Tahir, then his own sneakered feet land upon the dusty ground. After pushing the door closed, he moves to join the others from the studio.

"New casino going up," Devon says with a shrug. His hands tuck into his pockets, eyes staring across the expanse of dirt and desert to the fenced in construction equipment. "You sure we're in the right place?"


Those belong to none other than the host of Up All Night: Tahir Avery Dunham. He is in the back of the second SUV (So Utterly Vawesome), knocked the hell out and beyond sleeping. That's right, he's sprawled out on the backseat, snoring up a storm… with his iPad on his lap and some random movie with T&A bouncing around on the screen.

At some point when the vehicle stops and doors are slammed, Tahir is jarred awake and sitting up as fast as hell. Reflexes catch the iPad before it falls and in a groggy haze, Tahir climbs out of the SUV, rocking a strangely desert themed suit… some weird combination of tans and browns. It works though. It totally works.

"Damn." Tahir pops on his tinted glasses and peers around, stretching and yawning, even with the iPad still in hand and having no idea what is going on. At all. "Guess we ain't in Kansas anymore…" Somebody missed the Looney Tunes References Only Memo.

Odds of someone wanting to cage dirt are low, unless they had an interesting library of neuroses that were the direct cause of that desire. It's very possible that they are in the right place. A fence topped with razor wire isn't the only thing out to get their attention this far into the desert. A glance around reveals the presence of a sign, not terribly large but not so tiny as to be useless, affixed to a steel rod pounded into the ground (and probably a block of concrete, too) a short distance from where their vehicles have stopped. Anyone that stops to actually investigate it will have no trouble reading the words written on it, but it's likely, also, that the only words on it that actually interest them are 'Deadly Force,' and 'Authorized,' with 'Restricted Area' being a close second for the rank of Most Immediate Concern. A somewhat smaller sign attached beneath the first simply reads, 'United States Government Property.'

Unless their 'wrong turn at Albuquerque' took them to Los Alamos, somehow, that leaves a mystery as to where the fence came from. Maybe. It's hard to tell since everything inside of it is still some distance away. Binoculars will be needed to discern more information.

A long whine is given at Dirk from the three-legged-wonder-dog. She whines a little louder to the get the attention of her owner, but her attention remains on the man tasked with walking her. Trippy is, however, pleased to be out of the car. Her nose lifts into the air and twitches back and forth to find her bearings in the very air. She takes a few hops from Dirk, tugging against her leash, and aiming to tug him where she wants to go: closer to the fence.

"I can read a map," is Russo's flat response to general ribbing about the crew's location. "Besides, all I know are generalities." With a hard swallow, he considers, "Anyone bring wire cutters?" He whistles sharply and twists around, pivoting on a single foot as he reopens his door and leans over to the glove box of the passenger side of the SUV. He tugs at the binoculars. Nothing like trying to hone in to what's beyond. They're brought up to his eyes and he scans the horizon.

"Shouldn't we check to see if the fence is electric before we cut it?" Is Kristen's response to the request. Calmly folding the map, she carries it with her as she meanders toward the back of the SUV that he was driving. Popping open the hatch, she begins rummaging through its contents as she listens to the dog's incessant whining. "Dirk, give Trippy a treat or whatever it'll take to shut her up.. then go touch the fence." A pause. "Make sure you give the dog to someone else before you go touch it."

Dirk stares agape at the producer's back (not her backside) when she gives him the order. Slowly shaking his head, he glances toward Kincaid with a pleading expression, then Russo. "I— " His blue eyes drift over all of his compatriots before settling on Devon. "K, I think the intern would be the best choice… He's here as a volunteer." The sleazy suggestion actually puts a smile on the executive assistant's face. "No workman's comp if he gets fried."

"I brought some," Kincaid admits, with a glance back at his car and the tools that he brought along, in case of emergency. "However— they might have us on camera already, and you didn't exactly try to hide the plates on the renters," he glances towards the SUVs, having a ting of paranoia in his voice.

But it's not paranoia when it really does happen.

"I'll do it," he adds, looking briefly at Devon, before beginning to undo the cuff of his sleeve and also begining to remove some items from his person, mostly— anything that's metal, which he drops into the backseat of the SUV while he gets out the wire cutters. "You sure you want to tresspass before we do this?"

A retort is like to follow on being voluntold to check the fence, a smirk in place and not a very kind one, but Devon's words stall when Kincaid speaks up. He watches the assistant producer for a moment, then glances toward Brad. "I'm going down there with him. Someone'll have to drag the body back if it's electrified." Bit of dark humor there, he doesn't fully believe bad things would happen to Kincaid.

"Besides," the teenager continues with a glance toward Dirk, "it takes a real man to do this sort of work." He moves around the side of the second SUV, helping to find tools necessary to cut through fencing. And a shovel or two, as well.

"Haha. Nice." Tahir is holding up his cell phone and attempting to film as much of this as possible. It's what people who are more interested in things like Ratings would do… as opposed to actually doing anything constructive. Tahir is moving off in the direction of Russo and K, wanting to make sure that he's close enough to get some good shots on his phone. "Alright. Now somebody start an epic speech to lead us towards victory…"

The fence lacks the horizontal wires that typically indicate electrification, and the lack of any warning of electric shock also would support the stance that this is an ordinary nonelectric fence, meaning the cutters should make short work of it with a little muscle. But you never know. The signs bearing threats of lethal force likewise look nonelectric, because that would just be silly.

Through the binoculars, the equipment seems markedly closer to Russo than it does otherwise. Cranes for sure, along with a couple small earth-movers here and there. On those, what may well be the most interesting feature is the fact that all the equipment apparently belongs to the Maxwell Development Corporation. Definitely a name worth noting, since it offers a clue to identity, if not to purpose. Certainly, it might be something to follow up on later, at least.

"Too bad we're not in Roswell," Brad murmurs as he raises the binoculars and scans the area a little closer, "everyone likes alien hunters. Plus how fun would that be to film. You know who I always thought was an alien?" The question isn't ever answered, particularly as he scans the horizon again, but there is a momentary turn of his head towards Dirk. The binoculars are lowered momentarily while his tongue rolls over his lips as his head lolls to the side to catch Devon's gaze, for a moment before grey-blue eyes tick over to Dirk, "Workman's comp, no. But I hear his— " roommate? Random guy who lives across the hall? What on earth is he? "— he has resources that could afford a damned good lawyer." And in that loll, his eyes catch the sign. Deadly Force. Hmmm. This has him drawing the binoculars back to his eyes again. "Hold up for a few, just going in might no— "

The binoculars are lowered again. "Anyone know the Maxwell Development Corporation?" he asks as his eyes narrow. "We've come this far.. " he swallows hard as he shuffles towards the fence.

Kristen closes the hatch of the SUV and turns toward Tahir. "Dunham, turn off the video on your phone and make yourself useful with that iPad will you? Look up Maxwell Development Coorporation. Dirk, stop trying to kill the intern, he's a minor, the lawsuits alone will bury the studio. Kincaid, stop trying to be a hero and get back here with the shovels." As she saunters back toward the Advocate host, she holds a hand out for the binoculars and squints toward the cranes. "Does it look like there's anyone around? Do you think they'd wwaste military resources on camouflaged snipers or just put out a patrol?" K didn't come all the way out here just to be stopped by some silly signs.

The petite blonde man's lips turn downward at the notion that his meager suggestion of using an intern for what interns are supposed to be used for could cost him his job. Dirk likes his job. A lot. Joining the rest of the group around Mister Cannon Hands and his binocular vision, the executive assistant trails his finger along the dusty SUV before stopping and drawing a penis on the driver's side door and writing wash me beside it.

Technically, Kincaid hadn't moved away from the SUV yet when Kristen orders him back. And there's a sudden look of relief across his face. Not because of fence could have fried him, but for other reasons. The bag he pulled out of the SUV is dropped on the ground near the face of the show, and he glances toward the boss.

"If this thing is half of what we suspect it could be, I wouldn't be surprised if they're watching from orbit as well as from sniper positions." And he seems to mean that, even squinting up at the sky, before looking back at K. "And I wasn't trying to be a hero, I just didn't want anyone else to do it." It's not the first time he's tested a fence for people on foolhardy missions, after all— he even could have faked it, if needed to keep them out…

"Chances are if you want to talk to someone all we gotta do is sit here for a while and they'll come out."

"Oh look, Dirk's drawing a self portrait," Devon muses quietly. A couple of shovels are hauled from the back of the second SUV and carried over to the leaders of the group. Both are lifted onto a shoulder, a previously uninjured shoulder, as he turns his attention to the cranes and whathaveyou again. "And… just what is it we're expecting this to be, anyway?" All he'd heard was that he'd be digging.

Searching for information on Maxwell Development seems to have some importance, because Tahir briefly steps away in an effort to find a better data connection. Or any data connection. That's the desert for you.

There is no real sign of anyone else around, although Kincaid might be on the right track. In the distance, a small column of sandy dust has begun rising and is rapidly getting larger, following apparently the perimeter of the fence. And when it's close enough, it does in fact turn out to be a military-style Humvee. The good news may be that it has no manned or seemingly computerized machine gun or other weapon on the roof. The bad news is that the driver doesn't seem terribly interested in approaching gradually, only slowing down so the vehicle can make the turn around the edge of the fence. Another few seconds, and there may have someone to talk to, just like everyone was hoping for. There's even a chance they won't be carrying a gun.

"I think patrol or snipers depends on how much attention the place gets," Russo admits to Kristen before shooting Devon a mischievous lopsided grin, exasperated by his own Lenten promise. "So we just stand with our shovels and wait then?" his eyebrows arch high on his forehead at Kincaid. Clearing his throat loudly, he takes a pace towards the fence and squints in the general direction of the vehicle. "A story as to why we're here might be a good idea— unless we actually want to go with the lost idea and claim we misturned on route to Albuquerque and pray to God the military doesn't watch cartoons— "

A few stilted paces bring him a little closer to the fence and he waves his arms. The entourage could merely be lost on their way somewhere else. Maybe.

Without having to be told by Kristen, Dirk quickly grabs every shovel visible along with any duffels that might have been taken out of the SUVs and throws them into the Prius. Then he reaches into his glove box and grabs a map and lays it out on the hood of the car. "If this is a military base with a sign saying DEADLY FORCE, it might be a bad idea to have shovels out… Captain America. I don't know about you but I like freedom, life, all that good stuff." The dog, for the moment, has been forgotten and let loose to drag its leash around on the ground as it does its three legged pee pee dance.

"Dirk's got a point, Brad. We're on a togetherness retreat and got lost. The dog had to go to the bathroom and this place looked interesting." Kristen is quick to come up with some sort of cover story, even if it is feeble. Odds are, Russo can make it believeable, after all, he's a world class liar. "Trippy, come here girl, come on~" It's the first time all trip she's actually spoke in a high baby voice to the dog. Funnily enough, that high baby voice comes in Tennessee twang.

Or a bag full of wire cutters and other various supplies. Kincaid spots the trail of dust and immediately bends down, grabs the bag, and tosses it into the back of the SUV, holding a hand out to help with the shovels as well. Probably won't save them from a vehicle search, but at least they won't have them out when the humvee pulls up.

"Or we could go with the 'looking for Area-51, everyone else just thinks it's in Nevada.'"

"Good idea," Devon says as he loads in his shovels behind wire cutters and other tools. "Unless they've already seen us." He frowns slightly, and turns his attention toward the oncoming cloud of dust. No telling what sort of trouble that is, but it makes him nervous. His hands clench slightly before he pushes them back into his pants pockets.

Giving a shake of his head, the teenager moves to the front of an SUV and leans against it. No sense in wasting a perfectly troubled look. His gaze shifts from the oncoming cars and toward Brad and K. In case it doesn't go horribly wrong, Devon'll play the bored adolescent role for now.

Putting the tools away is probably for the best. When the Humvee rolls to a stop- the fact that all present are not trying to escape and are obviously waiting for them is probably helping to keep things calm- the four occupants almost immediately clamber out, and although armed with rifles, at least aren't pointing them at anyone yet.

The desert camo, including body armor and helmets? That's to be expected, sure. But that they are seemingly military is all the identification immediately visible on any of them. No names are printed on their uniforms, none of them are wearing a rank or an insignia or stitching to indicate what branch of what military they belong to. There aren't even any symbols or patches to indicate the country or organization they owe their allegiance to. It's the classic conspiracy scenario, completely with shadowy, possibly government figures. But at least they aren't pointing their guns at anyone yet.

"Little lost, folks?" one of the armed men asks, although it's not clear who he's addressing. "You realize this is a restricted area, right?"

There’s a tick of a smile, boyish in its own right as Brad considers the armed men, only to turn his gaze back to Kristen— who gets a nearly mischievous end of the grin as his arms raise into the air in a pseudo-Italian way, even though he hasn’t a lick of the ethnicity within him. It’s a posture she’ll recognize, he’s pulled it before when he was little more than a journalism student poking around places he shouldn’t be, and generally dragging anyone that would listen along. “Great!” his tone is laced with sarcasm. “You called the Inquisition?! How did you even find someone to ask out here?” there’s an anxious sweep to his movements as he runs his hands through his hair. “I told you, we don’t stop and ask for directions! This is a perfectly good map,” which he’s, quite strategically, holding upside down, “and tracking the movements of— “ his head turns to face the rifled men, only to have his eyes widen.

His lips move into a small circle as he stares at the men quite openly while Kincaid’s suggestion is acted out post-haste, “We found it didn’t we?” The sunglasses are slowly removed from the bridge of his nose as he glances from one armed man to the next, “Is this…” He swallows. “is this area 51?” His head turns quickly to face Kristen, “Maybe that anonymous tip was real…” His lips part a little further, “I didn’t think— is the crash site actually here?! Seriously.”

Kristen's hand comes up to a slap on her forehead when Russo starts asking questions of the armed men and slowly slides down her face, stretching the skin like she is the model for the painting 'The Scream'. Turning to Dirk, she gives him a subtle upward lift of the chin and stretches out her arm to take Trippy's leash.

"You really mean it?!" Dirk says almost instantly, his blue eyes widening and giving him a rather crazed appearance. Rushing to Russo, he grabs the map from his hands and crushes it in one fist while falling to his knees in the dust. "Mommy! I'm home!!" The yell echoes over the plains while the petite blond man raises his hands to the heavens. "You can just leave me here guys… I'm going to wait for the mother ship to take me back. Right here." Dirk ignores the men with the guns.

For a brief instant, Kincaid's smiling faintly at the mention of Area 51, as if pleased that the man took his offhand suggestion to heart. It doesn't last long, mostly because of Dirk, who causes him to run a hand across his face, shrug sheepishly and then look embarassedly toward the men with the guns. He's just along for the ride, with the other crazies— the last thing he wants to do is get seen as something important or exceedingly out of place.

There's much more at stake than a possible government conspiracy.

"I should go find Tahir before he wanders into someplace he shouldn't be," he says outloud, beginning to move away a bit. "He's probably trying to find reception and there's no towers anywhere near here." He starts to move away, glancing toward the group and not planning to stop them if one breaks off to follow. No protesting from him.

Vehicles stopping isn't a huge surprise, nor truly is the appearance of uniformed and armed men. Yet far from being a surly youth, Devon's attention is on those men with rifles more than Kristen or Russo. His gaze slides toward the host and producer as explanations are offered, even Dirk gaining a raised brow for his actions. A look is also spared for Kincaid, considering before resigning to shrug and return his attention to men and his companions.

Kincaid is allowed to wander off in the general direction Tahir wandered off in unmolested. Largely because Dirk's actions have elicited such large amounts of confusion from the armed men that, for all their visible efforts to look unconfused, they still look confused. A few seconds pass before any of them finally get enough of a handle on things to reply intelligently to the lost group of clearly deranged people.

"Nothing has crashed here," is the reply given by the man that had addressed the group initially, "And, you did hear me when I said 'restricted area,' right? Means you all can't be here. Also means you need to start leaving. Especially Starman, there." He means Dirk. Probably.

Dirk's theatrical display sells the point. For once, it seems, Bradley Russo and Dirk (does-he-even-have-a-last-name?) may be on the same side. Namely the side of not getting everyone shot. The words from the armed men are given a faint nod as Brad's gaze turns towards Kristen, "Honestly, the Trippy needed to take a breather so when we saw semblance of something we came to a stop." His eyebrows quirk upwards, "You sure this isn't Area 51?"

He clears his throat once over while his eyes narrow slightly, "Where exactly are we anyways? I can't.." he motions towards Dirk and the now-crumpled map. "While my lady friend," no reason to use her name or nickname for that matter, "may have thought I needed directions when I had the map, without it— " he cringes slightly. "There's just little I can do to get us away from here." He pauses, "And while I'd like to think my sense of direction is refined, without a map, I'm up a creek. Or.. a desert as the case may be."

His throat clears around the growing lump while his hands retreat into his pant pockets. "I can't imagine you get much traffic around here…"

"I'm sure the man with the gun knows if it's Area 51 or not," Kristen snaps at the television host. Still, she walks the three legged little dog over toward the fence and gives the armed men a withering look while she flips her sunglasses down on her face. "Do you mind? There's a lady princess trying to pee here." She's not talking about herself but Kristen is doing her best to put on her Hollytude. Parading the dog down the line of the fence, she pauses for a moment to allow Trippy to squat (though she doesn't).

In the middle of the lovers quarrel, Starman, is sitting on the ground Indian style. His eyes are closed and he's got his face pointed up at the sky as he chants a mantra of "comegetmeNaaaaaoooooowwww…. comgetmeNaaaaaaoooowwww…" The crumpled map is still in his fist as he blocks out the rest of the rabble and calls home, like ET without the Rudolph finger. At least for a while, then he opens his eyes and turns a frown toward the men with guns and shows the same attitude as his boss. "I think your aggression is driving away my peaceful people, you need to put those away so they can beam me home."

Straightening out of his lean, Devon takes a couple of steps forward. Not exactly to take Kristen's place. Though that is where he stops. He gives Dirk a look, maybe even the shadow of a smirk evident. So, the executive assistant does have some uses, and it's enough to quell any witty remark to the little man's actions. His hands come free of his pockets and fold over his chest as the teenager glances to Russo, then back to the men.

Dirk's remark is met with the reply of one of the men cycling the action of his rifle with a 'ch-chak!' If they weren't serious before, they absolutely are now. "You're not going to space today," is simple enough of a statement, "I'll say this one more time. This is a restricted area. The use of deadly force is authorized, and that authorized will be used if you are not in your vehicles, driving back the way you came, in the next two minutes." It could have been much less than that. It probably should be, but everyone knows it takes a dog longer than thirty seconds to get its mess in motion.

The changing situation peaks Brad’s adrenaline. Firearms pointed at them more aggressively has Russo raising his hands rather defensively. "Hey, hey, hey," he soothes. "We don't want any trouble, we just want— " With his hands facing outwards, and his already warm palms, there’s little he can do to anticipate the impending doom from his own inability to control his ability. Until it’s too late. His expression falls as the heat radiates from the centre of each hand, a hot dryness that he’s come to fear in a matter of months. The blue hued beams that emit from his hands towards their assailants forcefully beat against the Humvee itself, causing his eyes to widen considerably.

"HOLY SHIT!!" Dirk squeals like a little girl and scrambles for the pink Prius as the cannon hands of doom go off. He doesn't stick around to see the mess that Bradley Russo makes of the soldiers and their ride, he's too busy trying to get under cover before the host turns on him. After all, Dirk is the original victim of the offensive body parts.

When the chain links of the fence blow backwards in front of Kristen, she also screams like a girl, it's just more acceptable for her to do so since she's actually got the body parts. Scooping up the dog who was actually sniffing out a spot to take a sojourn, she races toward the SUVs, leaving a little trail of dog piddle in her wake. "Please!! Don't!! Stop!!" Kristen yells at the television host. Separately, the words could be construed as a plea for him to cease and dessist, together, the words are encouraging. It's possible she's encouraging. She's never been a fan of the law.

The first sound of rounds cycling has Devon reaching behind him, hand wrapping tightly around a familiar, cold object. His eyes staying on the first man with the rifle, the pistol is drawn. But before he can right the weapon on any of the armed not-soldiers, his mentor goes all blasty hands on everyone. Between the chaos beside him, and the screams from the other two members of the team, the teenager is unable to fully react with any sense of force.

Devon flinches slightly at the blasts coming from Russo, more from the actual beams than the intended targets. He keeps the pistol held near his thigh and takes a half step back, partially crouching, yet not fully intending to duck out.

It is anything but a good day for the armed men. One of them is lucky, merely being flung downrange thirty feet and hitting the ground hard. The other three are not so lucky and had the Humvee behind them. They don't move as far, but this is only because their rearward movement is interrupted by them bouncing off of and rolling over the vehicle's body, accompanied by the crackling of bone. They all end up prone on the ground in three distance heaps, intact, now unarmed (their rifles having been flung away and lost in the event), and not moving. This last fact may be the worst development of all.

Shock and horror.

Lips part as Russo outright stares at the mess he's created. That continues. In shock. Longer than it should. It's almost as if he's in the middle of a battle and can only hear the squeal of fighting behind him. Finally his hands drop. And he stands. Staring. Openly staring.

He can't look away. Mouth continues to gape open as he staggers backwards once. And again. And again. His hands ball into fists, and then his fingers extend. He takes another step backwards while his face pales. This was not what he set out to do today.

The door of the pink Prius slams and Dirk is beating one hand against the steering wheel while cranking the key. "Comeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeon…" It's quite possible that he's wet himself but since he doesn't have a passenger sniffing his crotch to worry about, he doesn't care. Besides, it's a rental. Once the little thing starts its meek vroom vroom he peels out, leaving nothing but a trail of dust behind him.

K, on the other hand, is a little more level headed about things. Once Trippy is safely stowed in the SUV, she runs toward Brad and grabs his arm, attempting to yank him back. "No witnesses," she mutters as an aside to the gun toting teenager. "Use it or hand it over." Her palm is out, waiting for the gun to be slapped into it.

There's a few things that could have brought Kincaid running back to the group, and the sound of Cannon Hands certainly was the one he least wanted to hear. In the aftermath, most people wouldn't have noticed him running back until he's suddenly in front of the stunned Russo with his cannon hands.

There's only a moment's pause and then suddenly his fist is flying at the man's face. Yeah, make up artists are going to be unhappy with the Assistant Producer.

"Are you trying to get us all killed?" he yells, before he grabs the slightly taller man by the collar and proceeds to try and drag him towards the SUV that Kristen is not in. "If anyone else gets hurt because of this I'll… god damnit."

Quick feet keep Devon out of the way of the wrangling of Russo. He stays slightly crouched until he's sure he won't be stepped on. Though he does take a moment to send a cold look at Kristen. The gun isn't relinquished, his hand tightening around the grip as he goes to return it to his own person. Or at least make it more difficult to take.

"Use it on who," the teenager asks quietly and without much emotion. He pays little mind to pink car speeding off, or the assault on his employer. His chin thrusts toward uniformed guys tossed around like a child's unwanted Green Army men. "Them? Tell me why, first."

With the sheer amount of shock writ across Russo's face, he's easily hit by Kincaid's fist. His body balks backwards against the sheer amount of force, but the facepunch has its effect, drawing him out of his stunned silence and pulling one of his hands to press against his now bruising eye. "I'm not— I— FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" So much for one of his Lenten promises. And then he's dragged by both producers to the SUV and yelled at by the younger of the two. His hand presses against the eye that will likely be rendered black.

"I didn't— I wasn't— " his hand easily trails to his forehead, and his words turn to unintelligent mutters as he tries to formulate some thoughts about what just happened and his obvious role within it.

"Why? Because if we don't, they're going to line us up against a wall and shoot us in the head. Just like the ones in the parking garage. You think the military cares about keeping anyone safe?" Kristen's answer is a little more calm and collected than Devon's. Without waiting for the gun, she stalks back to the SUV and whips it open to grab a tire iron. It's brandished like a weapon and tapped against her free hand as though to test its weight. "Grow up kid, the faster you learn how futile it is to obey the law, the better off you'll be."

Instead of walking over to the last soldier, she slams the back of the SUV closed and makes for the driver's side. While Kincaid takes care of the television host, Kristen is starting her vehicle and revving the engine. The gas is pressed and it's thrown into gear, allowing the back tires to spin and fishtail before it actually catches the dirt to throw the vehicle forward. Her vehicle is veered toward the fence and run alongside as she makes sure the last man isn't moving. Then she's back on the road and gunning for Tahir.

"They're already going to do that, K," Kincaid growls as he pushes Russo into the passanger seat. Shotgun hands gets to ride shotgun. "If you seriously believe for one second they don't have the plates and our identities, then you are stupider than Ginger and Springsteen combined." Whoever they happen to be.

"If you survive the year it will take a fucking miracle," he adds under his breath, as he slams the door on Russo and leaves him there, moving around and holding his hand out for Devon's weapon. "Get in the back seat. Now."

There's a moment's pause, as if he's considering adding to the stupidity of the moment, before he starts toward the driver's seat.

Still lacking in emotion, Devon stands only long enough to listen to Kristen's reasoning. Good enough for him, facing down the barrel of a gun isn't really something he'd care to experience again any time soon. He turns to finalize the lives of the other three men, nearly setting off in a jog over the dusty ground, when Kincaid speaks up. For a long moment, the younger man looks over the older, considering with a detachment to the emotions normally involved.

"I'm not giving it up," the teenager states. Though he does put it away, back into holster and hidden under his shirt. Showing the assistant producer he's got empty hands again, Devon moves to get into the back seat as instructed.

At least getting everything in order to leave is easy enough, although leaving promptly is almost certainly the best idea. It's unlikely that Coyote Sands, or whatever is on the other side of that fence, only has four armed men and a single Humvee around. More will almost certainly be arriving soon, and the best course of action is to not be around when they do.

Heart racing, Brad is easily ushered into the front seat, staring at his hands once again, in a simultaneous fear and awe at his own display of power. "H-h-h— " words won't come. His hands shake causing him to press them firmly to the tops of his thighs. His eyes clamp shut. "That was not— " he clears his throat and just shakes his head. This wasn't the day he'd had in mind to say the least.

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