The Valkyries Agenda, Part VII


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Scene Title The Valkyries Agenda, Part VII
Synopsis Sarisa Kershner finds the last necessary bit for FRONTLINE, Squad-02 in the most unlikely of places…
Date February 5, 2010

Thomas Jefferson Trailer Farm

These buildings were never meant to last more than a year in the location they're in. They were never designed to weather a winter as cold as this one has been, the people inside were never meant to have to deal with each other in as cramped confines or prolonged situation as they have been. This place is called the Thomas Jefferson Trailer Park, established after the bomb for thousands of displaced residents of Midtown who lost everything in the collapse. Trailers sit all but side-by-side, with room only for a car and perhaps a few chairs to be parked in between. Younger children run around underfoot, seemingly undeterred from their games; older ones might slink behind the trailers with hungry eyes, resentful of those who have more, while the adults seem more heart-weary and worn-down than not. These are the people who have nowhere else to go; some have jobs, but many do not, surviving on as little as possible. Alcohol and drugs are common; so is suicide, for those who have passed from desperation into surrender.

It's between these tightly packed FEMA trailers that a single blonde woman walks amidst the bitter cold, stinging wind and driving snow of the New York City winter. Her heeled boots leave deep tracks in the snow as she walks, leather-gloved hands tucked deeply into the woolen pockets of her pea-coat, and a scarf as black as her jacket and pinstripe slacks covers her face just beneath the nose.

As she passes by trailer to trailer, the blonde isn't checking for something as rudimentary as numbers or names on the doors, she knows exactly where she is going, knows her destination; she's watching to see if her target is already on the move. By the time she finds the long, white trailer she'd been looking for, her shoulders and hair are dusted with large flakes of snow, one leather-gloved hand coming up to rap soundly on the aluminum door. "Jeremy Prince?" She calls out to the interior, her voice having the faintest hint of a repressed foreign accent, maybe something European? It's hard to tell.

But no one comes knocking here at Thomas Jefferson, not since the riots. Not since the police stopped caring.

It's been a long winter indeed, and when a sharp knock on his door snaps Jeremy from the slumber he'd finally managed to find, he wakes with jolt underneath several worn, haphazard and dirty blankets. He recognizes the type of knock, somewhere in his subconscious he knows the type to knock in such a way. So it is with hesitance that he extricates himself from the rare warmth underneath his pile of blankets to approach the door.

He hesitates again at the door, hand on the shakey doorknob. A minute passes before he finally opens it, revealing a very tired looking man with a thick beard and dirty, matted hair that's grown longer than it's ever been in his life. But under the grime lies very brigh, vibrant blue eyes. He looks the person on his step - no, not a step, the worn snow covered ground in front of his trailer door - up and down before clearing a dry throat to speak. "My check in with Homeland Security to keep up with my registration isn't for a few days."

There's something of an amused smile on the blonde's lips as se reaches inside of her coat, removing a leather folio from inside then she casually opens and offers it up to the narrow opening of the door. "I'm Agent Sarisa Kershner with the CIA's Special Activities Division…" there's something of a continued entertainment in her smile and in the squint of those blue eyes. But what he can see behind Sarisa's eyes is a staggering display of something so very closely guarded. Her smile indicates that she's having a wonderful day at least.

"I'm actually not here on behalf of the agency, however. I'm not sure if you've kept up with the news, Mister Prince, but I'm the operations director of the FRONTLINE peacekeeping organization in New York City." She leans to the side, folding her identification closed and angles a look inside the trailer, then back up to Jeremy.

"I'm here on behalf of USAF General Sebastian Autumn and President Nathan Petrelli, we'd like to extend to you an offer to serve your country in FRONTLINE, and if you're willing to hear me out, I could perhaps come in and give you a further explanation?" One of Sarisa's brows flicks up, and her gloved hands go back into the pockets of her jacket.

With a hesitant hand, Jeremy grabs the folio, almost snatching it through the small opening he made to look out his door. He listens to Sarisa unflinchingly before allowing his vibrant eyes to peer back at her for several long moments. Finally he speaks, not looking away. "I'm not too keen on allowing people who know how to torture others as well as you do into my home, Agent Kershner. You can also quit smiling, I don't really feel like you've earned the right to do so with the undoubtedly checkered past you've lead to get a skill set like that." Another long pause as he tries to read her response, but he speaks up again before she can respond. "But considering I can match it if I want, well… mi casa, right?" He opens the door all the way to reveal a very run down trailer. All one room except for where a small counter separates a kitchen area and a door leading to a bedroom. The door to the bathroom is missing. There are empty paper coffee cups everywhere, and the only furniture in the place is a decrepit couch with springs coming out. There are many books strewn about the trailer, mostly medical texts.

He steps to the side, turning his back to enter the kitchen where he begins making a pot of coffee. He pulls out the filter, sniffs it, then slides the same one back in adding only a small scoop of what could barely be called coffee. A half empty, probably week old bottle of water is poured in and he turns it on. "Why would I want to agree to work for a government that screwed me?" He talks, back still turned to Sarisa as he makes the coffee.

Narrowing her eyes as she steps up into the trailer, Sarisa lets the smile pass as she pulls her scarf down below her nose and tucks it under her chin, watching the door behind herself before allowing it to close slowly with a gentle touch of gloved fingertips. "You'd be surprised how many members of the CIA are trained in information extraction and methods to resist torture, mister Prince. It's a common skill set among the SAD, but that's really not what's on the table here— my past employment— it's what you can offer to this city, and what the government can offer you, isn't it?"

A look is afforded to the coffee pot, and Sarisa motions with a hand towards it. "I don't drink coffee, but I appreciate the gesture." Ducking her head down from the low height of the trailer's ceiling, Sarisa squints at the interior, deciding to stay by the door, hands folded behind her back. "The government didn't— to use your terminology— screw you, mister Prince. Some bad decisions were made, but you of all people must be aware that the government isn't a single entity; it's branches and departments and agencies all much like the heads of the mythic Greek Hydra. Not all of them get along, either. Your particular history isn't on the table for discussion— as far as I'm concerned it's a non issue. You're a valuably trained asset, and we're willing to offer you something in return for it."

Clearing her throat quietly, Sarisa looks to either side of the cramped trailer, then back to the blonde man at the coffee pot again. "FRONTLINE is a civillian peace-keeping organization consisting of ex-military specialists such as yourself. You'd be doing a service not to the government, but the people of New York City by joining. I'm sure you've seen Squad One in the papers, pushing the Chinese Mafia out of Staten Island? We want you to join for your medical prowess and join a second squad that's being trained right now in Annapolis Maryland…" Then, with a raise of one brow, the seemingly unflappable woman adds; "It also comes with residence and a sizable pay check."

Jeremy turns around, leaning against the peeling wallpaper lining the interior of the kitchen area. "It wasn't for you, Agent Kershner." He stifles a yawn in a balled fist before folding his arms across his chest. "And don't think for one second that just because you know a bunch of other people who can squeeze intel out of human beings like squeezing oranges for fresh juice doesn't make me more comfortable with it." He watches the agent a bit uncomfortably in the door area, looking over his trailer.

"Yeah. I read the papers. I read them when they said we'd be pulled out of Iraq by now. I read them when they say a lot of bullshit. Don't trust everything you see on the news, I believe that's how the saying goes." The coffee pot beeps, and he bends down to pick up a paper cup from the ground, pouring the 'fresh' brew into it before drinking it. He grimaces as he chokes the probably fourth-hand coffee down, but he does it. "I want the option to bow out if I don't like it."

"The door's always there…" Sarisa opines with eyes closed, one brow raised and a smile creeping up on her lips that she tries to hide. "I'm on your side, Jeremy. With all the candidates for FRONTLINE that I saw, when I noticed your residence and your skill sets— it's like seeing a beautiful knife laying out exposed to the elements and forgotten. Someone just needs to pick it up and give it a good sharpening again." When Sarisa's blue eyes open, she's eyeing the coffee pot again, then looking back to Prince.

"If that's a roundabout way of reluctantly agreeing to things…" the blonde reaches inside of her jacket again, this time removing a white, unsealed envelope from inside and offering it out across the distance between the two. "Included in here is a plane ticket down to Annapolis Maryland and directions to the Annapolis Naval Academy. The remaining four members of Squad two are down there acclimating themselves with one another and learning to use some of the unique…" she purses her lips in thought, "unique hardware the team has at its disposal. Take the offer, Jeremy, it's a good one, and it's a sight better than this situation. If ever there could've been something like… a second chance, or an apology from the government? This is it." She urges the envelope forward.

"You'll be stationed down in Annapolis with the team, running some training exercises with them and getting the rust off. Go down, meet the team, see what it's all about. You'll be free to come and go from Annapolis to New York as you like on the government's dime with a private jet availabe to Squad-2 members. It's only an hour one way, so anything you need or want to do here shouldn't conflict with your training. I want to impress upon you, Jeremy, this is a great opportunity to do some real good with the remarkable gift you have…" Sarisa's brows furrow. "Don't let this slip by."

Jeremy nearly flinches as Sarisa reach inside her coat, tensing up and denting the paper cup he holds in one hand. He relaxes when he realizes its only an envelope. As she proffers it to him, he eyes it for several long moments, letting it almost hover in the space between Sarisa and himself. Eventually he reaches out for it, grabbing it between his fingers and pulling it to him. He tosses it on the dirty kitchenette counter before taking another swig of disgusting coffee swill. "Don't even think for a damn second that I'm doing this for the money and the better roof over my head, Agent Kershner."

He grows silent after that proclamation, letting it sift properly into your brainpan until the trailer grows quiet except for what might be the skittering sounds of mice. Knowing New York, probably rats. After the moment passes he speaks back up. "I know you could be playing on my personality. You're probably real good at it, too." A third taste of horrid coffee. "That's fine, I wouldn't expect more from you. But if my ticket to helping people again is coming from your hand.. I'm not above taking it."

Smiling softly to Jeremy, Sarisa quirks one brow as if to leave the question of whether she's playing him or not up in the air. "That is exactly the answer I wanted to hear, mister Prince." Sarisa looks down to the envelope, then back up to Jeremy and bears her smile somewhat more toothily now. "I look forward to seeing you in Annapolis, and I look forward to working with you in the future as well. I think you have just the talents to help the right people get ahead."

Turning to the door, Sarisa hesitates for a moment, then looks back over her shoulder at Jeremy. "Oh and, you're welcome."

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