What You Give It


bryan_icon.gif elle_icon.gif fritz_icon.gif veronica3_icon.gif

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Scene Title What You Give It
Synopsis Three Company agents descend on dog-fights to question a suspect in the death of Senator Portman and discover far more than they expected.
Date August 20, 2010

Port Ivory

Port Ivory was already a neighborhood in deline before the bomb tore through Midtown and the fallout cloud drove residents out of Staten Island. Situated on the northwestern corner of Staten Island's most criminally active northern shore, Port Ivory is a sprawling region composed of red-brick duplexes that have since become the home of squatters and vagrants looking to find shelter outside of the chaos of the Rookery to the east on the other side of the Martin Luther King Expressway that divides the two northern regions.

As one travels further west into Port Ivory the region becomes more and more industrial, sporting dozens of abandoned warehouses, factories and wharves. The streets here have not been tended since 2006, leaving many of them cracked and split from frost in the winters that have passed, grass growing up between the splits in the concrete and entire parking lots having become overgrown with weeds sprouting up from fissures in the concrete.

The absolute northwestern end of Port Ivory contains the Goethals Bridge on interstate 278 which connects into Newark New Jersey. It is only on the Jersey side of this bridge that a police checkpoint keeps vehicle traffic out of Staten Island and affords a distant police presence that watches nervously into the wilds of Staten Island.

The noise of barking dogs fills the air, howling and yelping, squeals of pain and cheers from an agitated crowd. Even from outside of the warehouse, the sounds of the dog fights carry across the ruined industrial parklands of Port Ivory. It may not be the Rookery out here, but most of the northern half of Staten Island is in the same sorry state of disrepair and criminal refuge that the Rookery exemplifies. Just because Port Ivory isn't as famous a hive of scum and villainy doesn't make it any less dangerous.

Inside of the warehouse, under the glow of fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling, a makeshift fighting pit has been arranged with plywood walls, chain link fencing and barbed wire on rails. Bleacher seating around the cage allows spectators in the warehouse to view the fights taking place, currently between a Rottweiler with snout caked in blood and a German shephard with one ear bleeding and torn from its heat.

Money exchanges hands in the crowd packed tight in the small warehouse floor in shadow of looming crates and boxes. Residents of the Rookery, some as young as twelve and thirteen handling money and taking bets.

Within the crowd and down near the cages, a wiry man with curly brown hair and a thick bears hides behind overly large tinted sunglasses, smoking a cigarette pinched between his lips, sitting cross-legged on one bleacher with a backpack at his side. Gregory Fritz is unassuming looking in his faded green t-shirt and tattered jeans, the smug smile on his lips looking remarkably self-satisfied as he watches the fight.

Not too far from where Gregory is seated, a scowling man with darkly tanned skin and coal black hair slicked back atop his head sits with a cell phone in one hand and a cigar in the other. His wrinkled countenance is that of a man in his late forties or early fifties, black tanktop revealing arms well-muscled for a man his age and a visible handgun holstered under one arm. Around him, hispanic men ranging from teenagers to thirty-somethings sit and watch the fights, most of them carrying visible firearms as well.

Dan Espenosa is a regular here, and that some of his young thugs are showing off a medical kit filled with syringes to a prospective client isn't surprising, but that some of thoe vials are glowing blue is unnerving. Refrain — especially cheaply made Refrain — is still a common sight in the city, and this dangerous Evo-targeted drug should never have been allowed to escape Pinehearst's bowels.

But the drug dealer isn't what three Company agents have come here for today. They're here for answers.

Already working the room is an auburn-headed, green-eyed woman dressed in high leather boots, a denim skirt that could be mistaken for a postage stamp, and a black, zippered corset. The little hooker's been seen often enough in the Rookery that she gets a couple of nods and "Hey, Kiki!" calls from the pre-adolescent boys taking bets. Veronica Sawyer's eyes fall upon the man she recognizes as likely being Fritz, according to the description she'd gained from her interview with Riveria.

Her eyes fall upon Elle Bishop, a wig helping to obscure the sparkbug's identity, since it's likely some of the Staten residents might recognize her as the one who caused the electric parade at the riot the other week. A moment later, she finds Bryan, dressed as a pimp. She flicks her eyes to the man who matches the photo in their file as Espenosa, drug dealer, who they were told to stay away from, not to question. Of course, that just makes the alarms go off all the louder in Sawyer's head, and she's not about to leave him alone just because a fed said pretty please.

The plan's in place. Veronica will go chat up Fritz, while Elle poses as an affluent brat (not a big stretch) looking for a fix and looking to buy from Espenosa. Bryan will follow up as a pimp trying to buy some Refrain, having Elle's back. They can separate the two marks that way, hopefully keep Espenosa away from Fritz, find some answers, and either make the arrest or go on their merry ways.

Of course, the best laid plans of hookers and agents often gang agley.

Vee angles away from the men she was giving a free leg show and heads toward the man called Gregory Fritz, leaving Espenosa to her teammates. Her outfit doesn't allow a lot of room for weapons, but her thigh high boots harbor in secret a small gun in the left and a taser in the right.

"Good night for business, huh, cutie?" she coos when she's near Fritz, peering over his shoulder.

She wasn't told to go undercover, but Elle got shot recently, and someone might notice her. Her typically blonde hair has been tucked up into a bald cap, which in turn has been covered by a black wig; she's done her makeup up a bit more elaborate than normal. She's definitely showing a bit more skin than normal today, wearing a pair of skinny jeans, killer high heels, and a top that should be more considered a bra than anything else. The only thing that offers any modicum of decency is a black shirt, probably what once belonged to a man (which conveniently covers that healing bullet wound in her shoulder). Jewelry glitters on her fingers and rings, and she looks every part the rebellious, rich little brat who is about to give mommy and daddy's hard earned money to criminals.

It really isn't such a bit stretch.

She walks into the room with a jaunty little step, a smooth smile on her features as she gives the entire room a look like she owns the place. Her eyes immediately land upon those glowing blue vials, and that smile only grows. She begins to slowly make her way in Espenosa, making sure to maximize the swing of her hips.

Buckley sits in the bleachers three rows above Espenosa and Fritz, his attention presumably on the fight raging in the pit below. He's put some money on the rottie as part of his cover, but he's far more interested in what is going on with the two dogs sitting below him than the ones trying to tear out each other's throats. His eyes slide from the fight to the vials, then to the crowd, then back to the fight again.

As a pimp, he isn't dressed in a purple and leopard print suit with a pheasant-feathered hat. Instead, he wears a suit jacket over a large hooded sweatshirt, dark jeans, and pristine sneakers. There's even an earring in one of his ears, and it's as shiny as the chain around his neck. That's right, bitches. Bryan's got bling.

Too far away to hear Espenosa's conversation, Bryan watches the pantomime of a drug deal going down. Flash, the low-quality cut of Refrain being sold by the cartel Espenosa works for typically sells for half the price of high-quality Refrain on the street, about fifteen dollars a syringe. The ten syringes in the case being showed off is clearly like a sampler being offered around outside of a Chinese restaurant in a shopping mall. Espenosa is looking for interested bulk buyers on the island.

Further away from Espenosa, Fritz finds himself approached by Veronica, adjusting the frames of his sunglasses down his nose so that he can more appropriately leer at her. There's a crook of a smile, but as he hears the whine of the Rottweiler taking a bite from the Shepherd, Fritz's attention briefly snaps to the dogs. A moment later, when the Rottweiler is about to attack the gray-furrwed Shepherd, that dog recoils from the Rottweiler, letting out a whimpering yelp as its tail tucks between its legs and it skitters away to smash into one chain-link fence. The crowd suddenly lets out a howl of surprise as the Rottweiler seems to suddenly have the advantage as it charges in and knocks the German Shepherd onto its side.

"If you're lookin' t'place a bet on the next fight," Fritz says indirectly, belatedly turning his attention back to Veronica, "you can probably talk to Chuck. Or ah, you know, I could see about getting you in on some action myself." Slyly grinning, Fritz folds his hands in his lap and tilts his head to the side, one brow raised.

Not far away, Elle's approach to where Espenosa and his men are at the bleachers hasn't gone unnoticed. One of Espenosa's twenty-something aged bodyguards rises up from his seat, a visible Glock tucked into the back of his loose jeans, blue and black headband tied around his head. He moves to intercept, steping down the bleachers between spectators. "Sup, girlie?"

Taking the corner of the bleacher bench that Fritz sits on, Veronica's eyes widen a bit at the whimpers and growls of the dogs fighting, her brows rising as if fascinated by the cruel display. She runs her lower lip through her teeth thoughtfully, then gives a shake of her auburn locks. "Can I just watch a round maybe until I get an idea for it? It's not like horse races, right? I mean, with the horses, I just kinda pick the coolest name of the bunch. Things like, Hollywood's Hay Day or Picasso's Wet Dream, right?" she says in a bubbly rush of breath as she tips her head. "But you know. Action… action's always a good thing. If you're looking for some, that is," she murmurs, playing out her role a little before she'll start asking the questions.

As she is intercepted by the bodyguard, Elle Bishop offers her most charming smile, coming to a halt and peering up at him with a coy smile. At first, she doesn't say much, only reaching to her purse, popping it open so the man can see a rather enormous wad of cash resting within its small confines. Then, she zips it closed, leaning closer to the bodyguard with a coy smile.

"I'm here for some of that stuff you guys seem to be passing around. And honestly," She gestures toward Espenosa. "I'm feeling pretty…rebellious, these days." Not a stretch from the truth, that. "I wanted to see if I could mosey my way into the heart of that handsome fella up there, if he'll see me once I've completed the…transaction." She giggles softly, batting her eyelashes up at the young man. "See, I have this thing, where men in power are the only ones who can really get me off, and he is just driving me wild over there, sitting all by himself. Please, won't you ask him if I can keep him company?"

It's not out of character for Buckley to eye either of the scantily clad females working their feminine wiles on the men below. In Veronica's case, it's because in this role, she belongs to him. And as far as Elle is concerned…what member of the male persuasion with enough blood to spare isn't looking at her? Still, even with the excuse, he keeps an equal eye on the men they're engaging with as well as those they plan to.

He cheers with the rest of the crowd when the rottie gains the advantage, and a smile curls onto his lips. If all else fails, he might make some scratch tonight to buy flowers for either of the girls' graves.

Immediately falling for the wiles of one leggy Veronica Sawyer in disguise, Fritz offers her a lopsided smile and pulls his backpack aside, a plastic crinkling coming with it as he moves it, but also a heavy and metallic clunk when its set down on the bench seat in front of himself. Having made room for the brunette, Fritz pats the spot at his side. "It's pretty easy, I can give you a few pointers you know? You picked a good day to be here, Angel isn't around to sass you about chatting me up. Guy's a Grade-A fuck-basket, but he runs a tight ship."

Shifting his weight to the side, Fritz coughs into one hand and shoots a look to the fighting dogs, and when he does the German Shepherd lets out another yelp and whine without even being hit, allowing the Rottweiler to attack his exposed belly. The fight goes from cruel to gruesome as flesh splits and blood sprays between white teeth and the Rottweiler establishes victory in the form of a disembowlment to a howling crowd.

Three rows up, Elle's encounter with one of Espenosa's boys has scrutiny being leveled on her. "Ain't nobody talkin' to Danny, so you can just buy your shit elsewheres. You wanna pick up some Flash, you talk to Trey," there's a nod of this thug's head to the kid with the case of Refrain showing off the merchandice. "Otherwise? You can go swing that ass somewheres else."

"Lucky me then!" Veronica says with a toothy grin and cock of her head that shows off her dimples and probably too-even and too-white teeth — but times are hard, and in times like these, angels fall from grace. She wriggles a little closer, one boot accidentally stepping down on one of the arm straps of the backpack, so that if it gets grabbed all of a sudden, there won't be a gun at her head without some effort on Fritz's part.

"I been meanin' to stop by sometime," she says, wincing and reaching up to cover her eyes when the dogs' fight gets suddenly much bloodier. She doesn't miss the cough and glance just in time for that dog to whine for no reason, but that's not the case she's working on today. Maybe after she gets her information, she can look into Fritz. Or have Bryan bite him and see how he likes it.

"So, hey, what brought me around tonight, this guy? I guess he's into these fights. He talked about them the last time… you know. But dude owes me money. He slipped something in my drink or whatever, and I woke up the next day. No cash on the dresser, no nothin'. Big guy, shaved head. You know anyone like that? And if I wanna get in on the next fight, who do you think I should bet on, Dixie Blows Cotton or the chihuahua?" she says playfully. "And which guy's Chuck?" Lots of questions, but spoken in a ditzy way as Veronica scans the room. "I'm Kiki by the by."

The little blonde's lower lip pokes out a bit as she's denied access to Espenosa's boys. "Aww…you can't even ask him?" She doesn't press the issue, however, intead turning and making her way toward the boy selling the Flash, fussing at the wig that thankfully stays on quite nicely. It feels so weird. She hates wigs!

Upon reaching the boy, she levels one of those charming smiles on him. "Hey there!" She calls out the greeting in her best obnoxious rich girl voice, eying the cases. She's really not so fond of the stuff, and she would certainly rather burn it than do anything else, but…well, this is her job. For now. But that would probably get her killed, or at least injured again. So instead, she just smiles pleasantly and plays the part of the spoiled rich girl.

Looking away from his current prospects, the young dealer offers a look over to Elle, then lingers as he considers what she's wearing. The seemingly disinterested buyers have Trey folding the case closed and moving down one bleacher row to close the distance to Elle. "Hey there sweetie, you name whatever it is you want from me and you've got it." There's a flash of a smile from the seventeen year old boy and a glance up to Espenosa, who seems more focused on his cell-phone call than anything else.

Meanwhile, Veronica has squarely obtained Fritz's attention. "There's a pitt bull named Sawtooth coming out against a wolf-dog named Munich. I'm willing to bet 3 to 1 on the wolf-hound, but you should put your money on the pit-bull. I've… got an inside line on these things." Flashing Veronica — Kiki — a smile, Fritz offers out a hand to her with a broad smile.

"Names Greg, but you can call me Fritz. Everybody else does here." Pushing up his sunglasses with his free hand, Fritz turn shis attention out to the cage where the Rottweiler is being corralled by his owner and the body of the German Shephard is being dragged bloodily across the sandy floor, its owner standing by the chain-link gate screaming in anger.

"Guy you're talkin' about is probably Renton. Grade-A fucker that bitch was," past-tense gives away certain implications, "he doesn't come around here much," and present-tense tries to cover it up, "not anymore anyway. He used to big big on girls like you — no offense — and Flash."

That answers Veronica's question that "Chuck" is not Charles Renton, so she nods, moving as if to reach into the back pocket (as if it could hold much) and coming up empty. "Ah, damn, all dry," she says with a pout. After all, it's not like girls like her go out with money — getting someone to buy for them is part of the protocol. "But thanks for the tip anyway," she says, reaching to pull a bit of fur off his shirt, fake-nails bedazzled with pink rhinestones flicking it away.

"Yeah? So Renton's not around? Fuck, man, that was a lot of money, too. We did some Flash that night — I think that's why I crashed so hard, the Flash plus whatever he slipped me? Not a good mix. Bad trips and out for a day. You know where I might be able to find him? My guy'll take him down, maybe get a cut in it for you if you can give me a tip on 'em. Otherwise, you know, I'm gonna get the shit beat out of me if I don't come up with it soon." She pouts, reaching up to rub her cheekbones, as if she can already feel the bruise and cuts likely to appear there.

Bingo! Trey is offered a cheerful smile from Elle. "Well…I came looking for two things." She holds up two fingers, complete with that charming smile. "The first is some real Refrain. None of this Flash bullshit. I have cash, and I'm not afraid to use it. I buy bulk." She leans closer to the teenager, even being so kind as to offer him a nice glimpse of cleavage. Then, her eyes trail up to Espenosa, twinkling.

"Your older friend with the gun was pretty mean to me…and I'm honestly just plain hot for that guy up there. Do you think you could just ask him if he'd like the company of yours truly?" Elle turns her most charming smile possible to the boy.

This is starting to just get humiliating. Seriously, that guy is old.'

"What? Him?" Trey offers an askance look up to Espenosa, then looks back to Elle with a shake of his head. "Sorry, girl, I ain't looking to get my throat cut. Nobody talks to him without being invited, and as hot as you are, you ain't. I can totally help you out though, uh…" Trey lifts up a hand and waves down another young man from the bleachers, this one looking to be in his early twenties, more muscular and stoic looking. That has Espenosa looking away from the vacant space he'd been staring into while on his phone and looks down to Elle, brown eyes narrowed.

"This is CJ, he handles all the big sales." Trey explains, motioning to the broad-shouldered young man who offers nothing in return as a greeting. "You want pure shit, you've gotta talk to ol' CJ here, but it ain't gonna be cheap." Of course, while Trey is making his pitch, CJ is looking Elle up and down, brows furrowed and one hand smoothing over his goatee.

"Trey, the fuck're you calling me down here for this bitch ain't worth my time." Brown eyes flick back to Elle. "Just take your shit from Trey and like it, his shits good. I ain't got time for this, aw'right?"

Down with Fritz, Veronica gets a crooked smile at her apparent lack of money, though pressing the issue of Renton's disappearance has Fritz getting nervous. "I dunno," is hastily murmured, and Fritz reaches down to grab his backpack and pull it up, only to find Veronica's heel holding it down to the bleacher in front of them. Fritz looks up, brows creased together.

"I— need a smoke, I'm just gonna— smoke," he's growing terribly awkward, "just for a little, a'right? You can wait here, i'll only be a sec'." Veronica's been around this type enough to know when a man is going to run.

But she also knows it's isolated outside, easier to pin someone down and ask them the harder questions. It comes down to what's more important, being in a well-lit public environment and safer, or being out in the open with Fritz where prying eyes and nosy ears can't tell what's going on.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," Veronica murmurs hastily, standing up as well to extricate her heel from his backpack and also to get out of the way, presumably to let him pass. She glances over her shoulder at Elle near the refrain dealers, then up to Bryan and quckly back to Elle — keep an eye on her is clearly the message there — before trotting after Fritz. Kiki, after all, might think smoke is a euphemism for something else that could be done outside in the alleyways in the dark.

"I'll come with you, I could use a little nicotine," she offers, trying to keep her hands from reaching into her thigh-high boots for one of the two weapons she carries until she's out of doors at least. She has a few minutes to decide if she'll play this straight and pull out her badge, or to play it undercover. Fritz's response to her playing at his shorter, curvier shadow will dictate her choice.

"Well, damn." The girl laughs softly, shrugging. "Too bad. I'd love to rock his world tonight, but I guess that won't be happening."

The woman turns to peer at CJ, her brows raising high above her head. Then, that pleasant smile forms on her face, and the girl waves a hand. "Hi there, CJ! Oh, I wish you wouldn't put me off so soon. I have a lot of money, and I'm desperate right now. My fuckhead of an ex dealer went and robbed his neighbor's house like a fucking moron, and I've only been able to find the crappy stuff."

She leans toward CJ a bit, popping open that purse filled with cash. "I'm buying in bulk. Name your price." As Espenosa turns his gaze toward her, she returns it with the most coy, sultry smile she can manage. Might as well try.

CJ offers Elle a speculative expression, then gances up to Espenosa, before he looks back to Elle. "C'mon and meet the big man," seems very easy all of the sudden, and CJ gets moving up the bleachers to where Espenosa is seated, while the old hispanic man flips his cell phone shut and tucks it into his jacket pocket. Trey looks visibly worried and just backs down, going back to his former clients. From his vantage point up above Espenosa, Bryan has his brows furrowed, a worried expression crossing his face briefly as dark eyes flick from Elle to Veronica's departure then back to the electric blonde.

It's not that Bryan thinks Elle can't handle herself, but that he thinks she might handle herself too well for what this assignment calls for.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulders halfway down to the floor, Fritz turns to look back over his shoulder to Veronica. "Hey uh, no just— just piss off for a bit okay? I'll be right back in, it— it'll only take a second." alking backwards, Fritz nearly misses one of the bleacher steps as he weaves thorugh the crowd, wobbling until he reclaims his balance and comes down the last few steps to the sand-laden concrete floor.

"Seriously, just… sit down or something," Fritz is looking agitated, a little tense, and when he turns his focus back to Veronica his brows tense and he suddenly jerks away from Veronice as if she were scalding hot metal with a yelp of fright. Visible horror surges through Fritz's expression as he turns, dropping the backpack with a heavy clang of metal before sprinting for the door.

The moment that happens, Espenosa is up out of his seat, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, watching Fritz take off towards the warehouse door. "Salga esta perra de aquĆ­," Espenosa murmurs as he waves a hand to Elle, and CJ suddenly changes his tone and takes one of her arms tightly to guide her away from Espenosa.

"Boss ain't seein' nobody. He's gotta' go." CJ flatly growls at Elle at his boss' sudden change of demeanor. "You best go too."

Well, shit. Whatever he just tried to do just tipped her hand, and Veronica doesn't even know what it was. Veronica grabs the backpack, hefting the heavy thing over her shoulder as she gets up to move to the door. Running is a sign of guilt, right? "Wait! You left your bag! Hey Fritzie! Wait up!" she calls. Her eyes find Bryan and she flicks them toward the other door for him to possibly go out and catch the fleeing bookie on the other side of the warehouse.

She doesn't run as fast as she can, because that would certainly bring her down by the bouncers and thugs, but wobbles a little on high heels, giving a little show that hopefully will amuse them rather than intimidate them as she makes for the nearest exit.

Once there, if she gets that far, her plan is to pull the gun and give full chase.

The electric blonde has a small smile on her face as she starts making her way toward Espenosa, fussing at the hair of her wig for a moment. Then, suddenly, Espenosa is up, and she's being told to go. She frowns, wheeling around to see just what has the crime lord so upset. She frowns as she spots Fritz fleeing, with Veronica on his trail.

Well, shit.

For once, it's not Elle who is screwing things up. She turns a frown to CJ, snapping her bag shut. "I don't need this stop and go shit. I'll bring my business somewhere else that doesn't jerk me around." She turns, making her way away from the group with a scowl on her face, doing a pretty good rendition of an angry little spoiled brat stomping away to pout, speed-walking her way after Veronica and Fritz.

Bryan is up and moving the moment he sees Elle making a break for the door on Veronica's heels. Climbing down a few seats, Bryan hunches his shoulders forward and hustles down the steps, looking down to the side entrance of the warehouse as he jumps down over the side of the bleachers and starts hustling for the door.

Outside, Veronica can see Fritz scrambling to get away, pawing at his face and exhaling a huffing breath. He looks disoriented as he runs shoulder-first into the brick wall of an adjacent building, turning around to see Veronica closing the distance on him. "Get away!" Fritz screams as he backs up from the woman, green eyes wide and shoes scuffing on the asphalt.

From around the back side of the building, a darkly dressed streak comes bolting in Veronica's direction as Bryan moves into a sprint to try and move into a flanking position with Veronica, while Elle — just now exiting the warehouse — sees Veronica's back and Fritz cornered up against a wall, sweat rolling down his forehead.

"Get away from me— I swear to God! Get away!" Panic is evident in Fritz' eyes as he presses his shoulders against the wall, sucking in a sharp breath and clutching one hand over his mouth, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. Bryan comes to a stop in the shadows of the warehouse, the whites of his eyes and sharpened incisors the only thing that can be seen other than his dark silhouette, within springing distance on Fritz should he need to.

"What's good for the goose isn't good for the gander, huh? Didn't like the taste of your own medicine, whatever it was you were trying to do?" Veronica says coolly, all the ditzy hooker tone gone from her voice as she catches up, a gun in her hand as she eyes the man backed up against the wall. "Check the backpack," she says, not taking her eyes off of Fritz as she pulls the pack off her shoulder, handing it to Elle. "And set on stun, Bishop. No fireworks."

Her fake-green gaze stares Fritz down. "Tell me what you know about Renton, and while you're at it, anything you know about that senator who got murdered here last week. You know of any connection between the two?"

Once she's free of the warehouse, Elle breaks into a run, surprisingly good at doing so in such insane heels. It's all about acting like you're running on your tip-toes! Her eyes narrowed, Elle takes up the rear of the three cornering Fritz; she's keeping an eye on the man, certainly, but she's also glancing back to check the warehouse every once in a while, just to be sure nobody got curious.

Veronica's command gets a nod, and the little blonde raises her hand, electricity crackling in her fingertips. The intimidation factor is always fun.

Unless you're intimidating someone who has an unfortunate natural fear reaction.

It comes like a punch to the head for Elle, a sudden wave of vertigo and anxiety that sends her adrenaline levels spiking and electricity crackling louder and brighter. Then comes the horrifying realization of what comes next. The peal of thunder Elle can hear sounds perfectly real, and her mind never recalls that it was a clear sky a moment ago when a torrential downpour of rain comes crashing down on her. The water and her amplified electrical condition creates a surge of pain in Elle and a weakness in her legs, dropping the electrokinetic down onto her knees and then onto her side into a puddle. Pain continues to wrack her body as she feels her own electricity course thorugh her as she's grounded out by the water. Every single raindrop like a needle stabbing into her body.

To Veronica and Bryan all they see is Elle scream and start sparking with electricity, falling over and flailing on the ground abruptly. Buckly is quick to act on then, stepping out of the shadows to get into spitting range, but the moment that Fritz can see him, Bryan halts and takes a step back. "What t— no. No!" Backing up, Bryan bares his fangs and hisses at the air, "Stay away from me! Put it down! I'm not going in there!"

Veronica alone is the only one unaffected by whatever is happening, and Fritz is trying to edge away with his back to the wall.

Her first instinct is to yell at Elle for not checking the fucking weather report, but there's no time for that. When Bryan balks due to something that Veronica can't see as well, she knows it's Fritz's power in effect. The auburn-haired pretend hooker's free hand grabs the taser out of that other thigh holster hidden by the wide "cuff" of her boots above the knee, and she aims quick for the man as he tries to skulk away, a second pulse of her finger on the trigger coming a moment after, adjusting her aim for his motions if the first doesn't hit.

When Elle goes down, writhing in pain for no apparent reason, sparking and spitting with electricity, followed by Bryan, suddenly balking and backing away due to something that Veronica can't see, the agent knows it's Fritz's power in effect. The auburn-haired pretend hooker's free hand grabs the taser out of that other thigh holster hidden by the wide "cuff" of her boots above the knee, and she aims quick for the man as he tries to skulk away, a second pulse of her finger on the trigger coming a moment after, adjusting her aim for his motions if the first doesn't hit.

As the clouds roll in and the thunder sounds, the girl gasps. "What the FUCK!" Then, the rain falls on her, and she drops to the ground, screaming and writhing in pain from the imaginary electrical shocks, the sparks flying off of her as she struggles against whatever it is she sees.

The first taser round hits Fritz in the leg, eliciting a scream of pain from the crackling pop of the gun sending ten-thousand volts thorugh his body. He hits the ground, twitching and screaming before Veronica finds herself on the receiving end of a taser as well. This one, notably, is bigger.

Unable to control herself in her writhing, Elle sends a crackling bolt of electricity square into Veronica's back. The snapping pop of electricity hitting the ability reflector isn't bounced back, due to the nature of how Elle generates electricity and the specific manner in which Veronica's ability works. The pain shoots up her body and causes her muscles to tense up, sending Vee collapsing to the ground, arms and legs kicking from the electricity coursing through her.

Fritz pulls himself to his feet before Veronica can, yanking the darts out of his leg and scrambling away down the alley as fast as he can, limping while he does. Bryan has backed himself int a corner, a knife having been withdrawn from inside of his suit jacket at some point while he brandishes it in front of himself, spraying saliva on the street in reaction to whatever personal nightmare that Fritz has trapped him in.

By the time Veronica can move her arms and get her heartrate from skipping, by the time the rain has cleared from Elle's vision and the pain has oddly subsided, by the time Bryan has realized those fears that seemed so real most assuredly are not, Fritz is long gone and people are hanging outside of the warehouse, attracted by the screams and sounds of lightning.

"I'm … never… coming … to Staten… with you… ever… again…" Veronica manages to gasp out, getting her feet beneath her after just about rolling into a puddle of Bryan drool before she notices in the knick of time. She stands, staggering, then bends to grab the backpack, glancing over at the crowd starting to gather. "We're okay, thanks for checking!" she calls, a friendly wave to the onlookers. "Shit, we gotta get out of here," she mutters in a lower voice, meant just for her two fellow agents.

"Come on. Let's make sure we're not getting tailed and we'll head back to the hotel room," she mutters. "Elle, head in front of us, we'll follow and cover you. Buckley, act like you're irritated with me, hit me if you have to, keep the cover. I'm gonna have to go after that shit alone or maybe with Rene, if he's our man. Let's find out what's in this bag."

Well, damn. She fucked it up anyhow. Once the effects of Fritz's ability are gone, Elle lays on her back, staring up at the sky for a long moment with a heavy scowl. "…Motherfuck." She rolls onto her feet now that she's not hurting, scowling at the people outside of the warehouse. "Don't blame me, every time we've come here, something has happened to make me lose it." She scowls.

Then, the little blonde takes off at an angry pace, wrapping the man's shirt around her and looking generally disgruntled.

Buckley looks absolutely mortified for a moment when he allows emotion to show through, wiping at his eyes and scowling back at the people by the doors. He turns to Veronica, takes a few steps and — crack — his hand smacks across the side of her cheek. Grabbing her by the arm after she's taken the backpack, Bryan draggs her ahead and shouts, "Go after her!" with a point of his hand towards Elle, then shoves Veronica ahead, following after her.

That still doesn't take away the sting of having succumbed to somethign as base as fear.

As the three agents take off away from the warehouse, Espenosa's dark silhouette watches from one doorway, a cigar pinched between his fingers and brows furrowed together in scrutiny. "Vueltos adentro, nos estamos yendo," Espenods grouses to one of the men at his side, then steps back inside of the warehouse, trailing smoke behind himself as he walks.

Gregory Fritz may have gotten away, but the contents of the backpack he left behind tell a tale that his own words may not even have been able to. The cryogenic container held inside of the backpack and wrapped in plastic that the agents will later discover at the Motel is a startling revelation. A serial number stenciled on one side, and the name Thermodyne on the other. Perhaps most unsettling of all though, is the contents they discover when it does finally get opened, well after they have settled in and recovered from the harrowing encounter with Fritz.

Why he has this cryonics container, and why it contains a frozen human brain are all questions added to his growing mystery.

Questions the Company needs answered.

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