Participants:
NPC's by Raith
| Scene Title | The Odds Of This |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Devon and Brennan attempt to stop what seems to be another case of trying to steal food, but soon find out that quite possibly, looks can be deceiving. |
| Date | February 17, 2011 |
Roosevelt Island - Outside the Westview Apartments
A day out is a day out, even if it is trapped inside the dome. Worse yet, trapped inside the monotony of a spherical and impenetrable object, literally there is little to do and less to see. This must be what a hamster feels like when its ball becomes trapped under the couch.
Supplies of every kind are running low, yet some still go out hunting. Searching for basic needs offers a sense of hope and purpose. With the sun hanging in the west, casting its eerie red-tinted light down on the streets that cut through the neighborhood, yet another day has gone with precious little found. Troubled, wondering how much longer the dome will last, Devon heads up the walkway that leads to Westview and home. He hadn't found much, a couple packages of instant ramen and two sports drinks. The food items are carried under an arm, the other hand holding the strap of the rifle slung across his back.
While Devon is heading in, Brennan's heading out. A blue bag with a white medical cross on it, big backpack stocked with who knows what, he's opening the front door of the apartment complex with his hip. "-ne, gave her some tins of formula and encouraged her to come to the center. I'm just leaving now so I should be back within the half hour. Tell the front desk to keep an eye out for her and her child" Brennan pauses, glancing up at the sight of teenager, brows rising. "Listen I'm going to talk more when I'm back at the center. Yup. Yup. Bye" A thumb silences the call on his end, flagging down the teenager. "Hey, what floor do you live on?" He assumes the kid lives there.
Devon's head lifts and eyes fall on Brennan, giving him a general nod. "Second," he answers with a small shrug. His approach slows as he gets near the doctor, eyes flicking to the bag then back again. Must be one of those from the Center. "Staying with a neighbor a couple floors up, but… home's on the second floor. —Y'need something?"
"Good, great even, listen. There's a young mother on the first floor and she won't come to the center. I don't blame her, after what happened. Thing is, she's got a baby, seven months old and the baby is sick. If you'll be around, Do you think you could check in every few hours or so, see how the mother is doing?"
Brennan digs into a pocket of the center jacket that he's wearing, Suresh across the back and produces a card, followed by a pen. One click forces the nib out and he jots down the number of his cellphone. "If she needs help, any help at all, I want you to call this number. It's mine, to the cellphone, but someone else might have it. Ask for Doctor Brennan. You do this, and I will leave the supplies in this pack for you and the neighbour you're staying with. Sorta a thank you for doing it. Think you can do it?"
The card is held out and the dark haired man with the silver at the temples looks expectantly. Please let there still be people who give a damn in this dome. "You don't need to bring her, stay with her or even babysitt, just pop down every few hours and check, let her know that she's not alone"
The card is taken, Devon offering a nod though uncertainty reaches through his features. Babies he can handle, but sick ones tend to leak and ooze things. "Yeah, I can do that," he agrees. He'll just have to be careful not to spread it to his neighbor. The card is peeked at then slid into his pants pocket.
"Doctor Brennan," the teenager repeats, eyes turning back to the fellow. He gives another nod, then offers one of the sports drinks. "Long walk back," he explains. "And I'm Devon. Don't worry about the lady or her kid. I'll keep an eye on them."
"I drove" A gesture to the black vehicle parked legally, complete with MD plates. The sports drink is considered, but a hand held up to ward it off. "Keep it. Kind of you Devon, but there's food and drink back at the Center. But, speaking of that" He's sliding the straps of the pack off, one arm then the other and careful to not let it touch the ground. "Non-perishable stuff, most you'll need is water to cook it. There's matches and should be enough to keep you and your friend for a week if you're smart." It's held over to the teenager.
"Do you need anything, is your neighbour hurt? Do you know of anyone around here that needs any medical attention while I'm out here?"
Taking the straps of the pack, Devon nods. "No, we're okay. Little bruised and scraped up, some of us got caught up in some trouble a few days ago, but…" He shrugs. They're still alive and nothing worse than you'd get falling off your bike. "Thanks, for this," he says lifting the bag a little. "It helps a lot."
"I wish it could be more and I don't think that anyone can really avoid getting caught up in any of the trouble that's happening here. If you end up needing more, come to the center and we'll see what we can do or call, and I can see what I can do about making another housecall" Brennan offers him a lopsided grin, digging into his pockets for his car key's now, a beep when the button is pressed announcing that it is unlocked and another button means that it's soon turned on. He'd walk if this place was closer, but it isn't and so he'll contribute to the pollution that layers itself across the roof of their newly enclosed world. "Your family here or out there?"
Devon hesitates, then shakes his head. He keeps a rather plain expression, casual, as one would normally treat a stranger. But a tightening around his eyes and a twitch in his cheek shows that it's just a front. "Parents died a few years ago. My aunt… died when the dome came up." Still not the easiest thing to talk about, the teenager drops his gaze to the newly acquired supplies and clears his throat. "Got friends waiting for me outside though. You?"
'Wife, four kids. Waiting" He hesitates, the air around Devon one that he's seen before. "You need anything… you call. Anything Devon. I'll see what can be done if you need it" So many people lost so much. He offers his hand, man to man, handshake. Part of a the same club.
"Yeah, thanks." Devon juggles the supplies around, fitting ramen into a coat pocket so the pack can be shuffled over. He extends his hand, returning the handshake. "The neighbor I'm staying with works over at the Center. She'll probably drag me over if she decides I need it." He certainly wouldn't put it past Melissa. "I'll call if anyone here needs anything."
"What's her name? I might kn-" He cuts himself off, lifting the hand once they're done exchanging handshakes. "Sorry, professional habit. Probe with questions because you never know what might be a clue to what's wrong with someone. I should get going before they send out a hunting party for me, thinking I got lost or kidnapped somewhere along the way. It was nice to meet you Devon, get inside and get warm" Another congenial smile, he's turning then, presumably to make for the car.
Maybe it's fate- or, just as likely, coincidence- that Brennan's turn towards falls in time with an outbreak of commotion from across the street. It doesn't start outside, and in fact, the building across the street doesn't have anyone in front of it. Not to begin with, at the very least.
It spills out onto the street quickly enough when someone is forcibly removed from inside the build and out through the front door by two other someones. All three are middle-aged men wearing street clothes, which would not be unusual in itself if not for the fact that no one is, in fact, being forcibly ejected from the premises. The two-on-one struggle ends with the man detained being wrestled to the ground by the other two, who are very plainly not any sort of law enforcement or security officers, and his struggling being quieted somewhat suddenly by two sharp punches to the face.
Looks like you really can't avoid being caught up in any trouble that's happening here.
A grin of understanding quirks, Devon shrugging slightly. "Nice meeting you, Doct—" He cuts off at the sound of commotion, a 'now what' look crossing his features. That is, until the three appear spilling into the street. The teenager watches, baited, while the two subdue the one. Abandoning his supplies on the walkway, he glances toward Brennan then begins striding toward the place of conflict, all cold seriousness coming over him.
Not good, not at all. Blue bag deposited with the supplies, Brennan's striding forward as well beside the teenager, hands our and key's on his ring fanned out to one between each knuckle. "Hey!" He calls out to the pair who are instituting a beat down on the third. Negation is on, just in case, gaze sweeping back and forth.
"What's the problem here. Knock it off, hold up and tell us what's the issue, maybe we can help"
"Hey!" is the reply shouted back by one of them. While he picks himself off the ground and makes himself appear as large as he can (which, given his stature, is still not very large) while his partner in crime pulls a ziptie around the third man's wrists. If that was not a strong enough indication that something is wrong, the addition sounds of a struggle, or even multiple struggles- shouting and objects being pushed around and knocked over- might drive this home.
"You can help out by minding your own damn business." That's as far as his counter gets, however. Maybe he knows he's outmatched- two-on-one not in his favor- and figures its the better bet to reach down and help his partner beginning dragging their prisoner down the street.
"I am minding my damn business," Devon counters, eyes lifting from the trio on the streets to the building they came from. His rifle is pulled from his shoulders, the butt tucked under his arm. He's never fired it before, never shot a gun before. Unless you care to count stage weaponry, and those are little more than cap guns on steroids. "Let him go, we aren't doing this here. You can't just go hogtying someone and beating them senseless.
Brennan's fingers touch Devon's shoulder - not the dominant one holding that weapon, holy crap, he thought it was just for show - "Why are you doing that to him, did he try and steal some food, because if you need food, you just have to go to the Suresh Center. They'll give you some food, and anything else, you can bring him to the PMC's as well, if he tried to take something"
Because Brennan's trying not to let his brain jump to the whole, evolved racism theme that this dome their under seems to have brought out. In truth, the dome's brought out the worst in a great deal of people. "Listen, I'm Doctor Brennan, from the Suresh Center, just let him go would you?"
It may be somewhat disheartening to Brennan that both these men show a marked disinterest in listening to his voice of reason. Or maybe that doesn't matter, because even though they don't seem interested in listening to him, Devon's rifle is more than enough to catch their attention and get them to stop moving. They even look like their considering dropping the guy they're dragging, although the results of that might be less than beneficial for someone who is in no condition to even stand. But they haven't quite reached that point. Not yet.
"Let him go," Devon says again, voice cold, even. He may not have ever fired a live gun before, but he she as hell will if it comes to it. The weapon is lifted slightly, a motion indicating they'd better listen. "Nice and slow. Cut him free and back off. Doc Brennan'll have a look at him and you two'll tell me what the fuck you think you're doing." He glances toward Brennan for confirmation.
He's seen younger wielding weapons, but not so close to home in so urban a setting. "I think it's best that you do as he says, he's got a bigger gun and doesn't seem to be afraid to use it" And Devon's right, his concern is for the man who's down, and not so much the two who are upright. He's going for his phone, letting his thumb punch in some numbers so that he can call up the center, get someone over there ready for a possible trauma. Maybe more.
The two men, when faced with the barrel of a gun, have different approaches to dealing with the situation. The one who had earlier tried to pass himself off as a tough guy is significantly deflated now, when faced with the imminent prospect of his death. The other, slightly taller one, instead diverts his attention briefly back towards the building they had just seconds earlier come out of. "We could use some help out here!" is called out, but he doesn't wait for a reply. Like his partner, Devon's firearm is making him nervous. Neither wants to take their eyes off of the youth.
The decision for how to approach the situation, however, may well be made for everyone. It takes a few seconds, but eventually someone does come out to help them: A woman that's not quite tall and not quite petite of indeterminate ethnicity. Like the men, she's dressed in street clothes. However, her arrival from inside the building is what changes the game. Like Devon, she is cradling a rifle in her arms. The key difference between the two weapons, perhaps, is that hers almost certainly has a position on its fire selector that reads 'AUTO.' The odds of this being a simple case of disagreement of theft have decreased dramatically.
The two men, when faced with the barrel of a gun, have different approaches to dealing with the situation. The one who had earlier tried to pass himself off as a tough guy is significantly deflated now, when faced with the imminent prospect of his death. The other, slightly taller one, instead diverts his attention briefly back towards the building they had just seconds earlier come out of. "We could use some help out here!" is called out, but he doesn't wait for a reply. Like his partner, Devon's firearm is making him nervous. Neither wants to take their eyes off of the youth.
The decision for how to approach the situation, however, may well be made for everyone. It takes a few seconds, but eventually someone does come out to help them: A third male that's not quite tall and not quite short of indeterminate ethnicity. Like the other, he's dressed in street clothes. However, his arrival from inside the building is what changes the game. Like Devon, he is cradling a rifle in his arms. The key difference between the two weapons, perhaps, is that his almost certainly has a position on its fire selector that reads 'AUTO.' The odds of this being a simple case of disagreement of theft have decreased dramatically.
Devon's attention returns to the two men and he very nearly rolls his eyes at their calls for help. True, it sounds as though there's something going on inside the building, but who would be freed enough to come help these two? The boy really doesn't expect someone to answer and is more than a little taken aback by the third arrival from within the building.
"Put it down," Devon orders quietly, half lifting his own rifle toward the other gun-wielder. The teenager is outmatched in firepower, likely he knows this on some level, but he holds his ground anyway. He takes a step forward, not overly aggressive, but one that would place him between ballistics and doctor. "Put it down and call your dogs off. We're not doing this here. We'll have order on my street."
Not that Brennan will ever really appreciate that there is a 16 year old - One's who's quite frankly got an inch or two on him to boot - who is trying to play meat shield between him and that weapon that's got that extra feature that Devon's doesn't. "Ki-" He cuts off calling Devon a kid. "Devon, this may be, an instance in which, we need to be the ones to back off, and call the PMC's" His phone, clicked to speaker so that they can be heard on the other end if the call manages to connect through. "I like you better without any extra holes in you and who's going to look in on the woman and her kid for me?"
This might be the moment at which Devon and Brennan argue for a bit about what is the proper course of action to take before ultimately saving the day and becoming heroes. Nothing is ever that ideal, of course. When it seems that Devon is sufficiently distracted, the taller of the two men on the street finally does decide to release his grip on their prisoner. Unfortunately, he does this so that he can, perhaps in a fit of insanity, charge forward and try to to tackle the gun-toting youth to the ground. It probably isn't the smartest thing to do. The sheer audacity of it catches his compatriots off-guard. Maybe that's the point, of course: Do the one thing nobody was expecting a sane man to do. It might say more about him than dragging away a helpless individual does.
"I like me better without holes, too," Devon replies in an offhanded manner. He directs a glance over his shoulder to eye the doctor briefly, but long enough that only the man's rushing footfalls give warning. "There aren't enough of them to go around," he explains, or begins to, turning to face the oncoming charge and once again caught off guard. He manages to get the rifle up before being run down, finger finding the trigger. The trigger is squeezed on impact, the momentum and size of the man taking both himself and the teenager to the ground with an explosive crack.
Desperate people do desperate and often stupid things. Like throw yourself at a teenager who's likely got PTSD and is wielding an actually likely loaded weapon. The thing is, one gun going off is a chain reaction, boound to get the trigger going of the facing weapon in the newcomers hand and when stupid is moving, Brennan is moving too. A hand and arm slipping across Devon's chest, tackling him to the side and down - yes, likely while still shooting - in the hopes that hitting the dirt means that he and the teenager are still alive, even if it means on the ground.
Hopefully with no holes. hopefully
The crack of gunfire is, in this case, not the start of a chain reaction. Luckily. It is followed by a cry of pain as all three of them fall to the ground in a heap. Two of them three of them with no holes, lucky for both Brennan and Devon.
Not so lucky, however, because landing on the ground in a heap, with or without holes, is the perfect opening for a second attack. With a thud, the man with his hands in zipties hits the ground with a grunt when the shorter of the men that accosted him- the only one remaining to hold him up- lets him free and runs. He doesn't run away from the action. Rather, he runs toward it, spurred on either by the need to help his friend, or the baser need to inflict pain on someone else.
He sends his a kick flying towards the Brennan/Devon merger, not particularly mindful of which of the two he actually hits. The fight is still two-on-one, not in his favor, but that probably won't remain true much longer. The third man to come out has started rushing in as well, although he has something of a longer distance to cover, and if they could hear it, the sounds of struggling from inside suddenly quiet: Whoever else was in there must be coming out to see what the gunshot was about.
Devon grunts as he hits the ground, the shot fired from his rifle now a heavy weight in the form of the man who'd tackled him. Not the doctor, but the fellow with the extra hole. He chokes off the welling of panic and grips for rationalizing, focusing on uprighting himself and pulling his rifle free of the tangle. It's distraction enough that the kick has free reign, glancing off the teenager's shoulder and catching his jaw. With a yell, he pulls the firearm out from under the unknown man and cycles a round as it's pointed at the new combatant.
Brennan can't take the kick for the kid in time, he's a doctor damnit, not a boxing bag. That and there's really only so much too that anyone can do in this situation as it's turning out to be. It's highly unlikely that Calvary will come anytime soon before all the shooting can be done, holes in people made. Brennan rolls away from Devon so that he can do his own thing, be it shooting one of the others or trying to upright himself like the negator is doing so that he can join into the fray. If only to maybe give them a taste of a fist or two as they come at the pair.
However, by the time that anyone from the center will come, Devon and Brennan won't be there. Despite both likely having the tenacity that the opposing people did and both dishing out more than their fair share of bruises and perhaps broken bones. They're somewhere else under the control of the ones they tried to stop. With a few more kicks to jaws and zip ties to their wrists and as helpless as the man that was on the ground, both are gone from sight.
Just a cellphone in the slush, a physicians car in the parking lot and two more victims of the dome.