Explanations
~PSIPHON~
*He blinks as he gets the message to go to debriefing... he was
actually being /used/? His heart leaps... /finally/! Ever since
the new complex reopened and the new software came out, he was
all but obsolete, or so he thought. The Cyhunters barely needed
his particular abilities anymore, able to gauge and judge so
accurately on their own and with their own perceptions now. Who
needed a winnowing psionic to check anything anymore? Maybe
admin. was coming to their senses and realized there's no
substitute for good, old-fashioned manpower. He doesn't have a
problem with it. Tossing his GameBoy over his shoulder, Damien
pulls himself from his deep, soft papa-san chair and hauls his
rear to the debriefing chamber. Outside the door, he pauses,
slows down, straightens his Psi-department issued casual clothing
which still managed to look sharp, commanding, its purple GUARD
emblem stitched to his left shoulder sleeve... straightening his
hair, checking his breath, then looking at the papers the guard
hands him... he pops a few tic-tacs when he sees the one on
question is a young woman not much younger than himself... about
3 years, if they guess correctly and that means she's legal, and
so he squares his shoulders, tugs his collar again. Okay... brief
description of powers... Pole had brought her in, yeah yeah
yeah... he absorbs the information quickly, takes the papers and
clipboard with him, and enters the room, smiling brightly* Good
evening! *He chirps in a very pleasant tenor* How are you
feeling? *He seeks her out after he speaks, sees her in the
chair... gawd, she wasn't asleep was she??*
~SMOKE~
*At the voice, she jumps, almost falling out of the chair, her
head snapping up so quickly that her hair obscures her face. She
takes a few deep breaths, trying to loose some of her
disorientation. She frowns slightly at you, trying to place you
into the patchwork of the last few days. Well, you didn't look
like a policeman.* You must be FBI or something. *Her voice is
soft as she watches you more like a mouse watching a cat than
anything else. She sighs softly, resigned. Obviously, she wasn't
getting out of this one. She still wondered who in the world that
was that caught her and what was going on. What exactly had
happened? She didn't have a clue, just that it had hurt very
badly. Almost as badly as the wreck… She cut off that train
of thought, not wanting to think of her parents' deaths. At her
waking her body restated its position on getting food, and
quickly. She was still tired too, but the nap had helped some. A
thin hand raises to brush her hair back, revealing her eyes.* I'm
not going to testify. You can forget it. I want to live for a
while longer. And no matter what you tell me about being able to
protect me, I know that is just nonsense. You can't keep me safe
from that kind of people. No one can.
*Damien balks, just stands there, almost dumbly, as she goes
through her recital. His eyes widen somewhat, then he looks to
the side even as he starts forward* ..OoooOOookaaayyyy... Um...
*There's a table in the middle of the room, a few padded, nice
chairs about, hidden video equipment, recorders, standard junk...
but that she was here, in this room, meant Warpole had judged her
a relative non-threat. Damien sits himself at the table, adjusts
his clothes, and looks down at his clipboard. Blending into a
crowd.. He smiles at the addendum that read: recorded visuals
available on request. She could turn to smoke, which apparently
left her very ill, weak, and pain-ridden. Lovely when unnatural
powers do that. It happened often... many were not user-friendly.
Damien whets his lips... the deciphering abilities were not
listed, Pole never picked it up, that was something Damien was
for... a psi-gauge. Any other powers hidden and unknown? Maybe.
She actually could be a very serious threat. Joy. And just one of
the things the young man had to deal with in his position. Like
searching for a bomb in a babydoll, and once found, defusing it
before it went off. He looks back up, dark eyes bright and
friendly enough, smile charming* One moment please. *He glances
back down to check some information attached to the file.. She
already had a filename, Smoke. Marcy had done some digging, and
as he reads the information pulled from Police files, her words
are completely understandable. A minute later and he pushes the
clipboard aside, folds his hand, watching her closely* My name is
Damien. I'm not a cop. Nor am I a drug thug. It's nice to meet
you Miss Wells. *Ugh. Not his best introduction, but she was
being very distracting... not for the looks, or her eyes, but
those images she cuts off... death and ashes, and... He wrenches
his mind out of those. Private things, memories...*
*Katherine blinks, looking you over again, confused.* If you
aren't a cop and you aren't in with those murderers, then why in
the world am I here and what is going on? *She rubs at one temple
slightly as she watches you closely. The memory of the murder
runs through her mind, then she shakes her head slightly, almost
irritated with herself. Her mind not obeying her was a common
occurrence when she was tired.* Look, if you aren't planning on
making me testify, why not let me go back where I came from? I
don't bother anyone and I'm not worth much. Just another street
girl. *Secretly, she hoped this would work. After all, she was
just another girl from the streets, a faceless entity that
struggled to get by. A million died a day and no one cared. Why
should anyone break their necks over her? True, she had that
smoke…but surely it was different people. With a sinking
feeling, she realizes the man who captured her must have seen the
smoke and… What in the world was she in for now? You had to
be some government agent or something.*
*Memories rumble over the table at him, push at the extremities
of his mind... murder. Running. Fear. Hunger. Tiredness. San
Francisco... cops and drugs and cartels, and... Damien frowns
slightly, strengthens his shields, and smiles gently, folding his
arms on the table in a casual gesture* Could you, maybe, do me a
favor? Could you.. oh, I don't know... not think so loudly?
Please? *He grins then and rests his chin in his hand, an almost
child-like gesture which has the effect of pushing his cheek
upward, narrowing one eye* We're above the cops. We're above the
murderers, above manipulation and government, above the little
people. *He rolls his eyes and straightens, shifting in his chair
so he can cross his legs* Sounds corny, I know, but basically its
true. What are we... what are we. Well! We're the Genetically
Unnatural Apprehensions and Research Department. GUARD for
short... we find and train unnaturals such as yourself, and such
as myself, and then do our own policing. You must have noticed
you're not exactly the norm... not /just a street girl/. Just any
ol` street girl couldn't turn into smoke. That's an unnatural
talent. Yes, your captor saw your smoke shifting... he's seen it
before and a lot more than that, I assure you. But it wasn't that
which alerted him to the fact you're unnatural. *He pauses, tips
his head, and peers at her through his long bangs, which hang
coyly over his gaze* Granted, from reading the files, I'd say he
was a bit overzealous, but one thing you learn in this biz... you
can never be too cautious. We've lost people for using too little
of their resources. The one who caught you is one of our best and
oldest. He knows what he's doing... and would you really have
listened to him if he'd just approached you and said "excuse
me miss, did you know you were unnatural?" *Damien chuckles,
eyes shining as he waits for the response*
*She arches an eyebrow.* Not think so loudly? What do you mean?
*She listens to your statements with skepticism. She opens her
mouth to ask you what you're on, then closes it as she thinks
better of the idea. Still, you had to be on something. Angeldust,
acid, rock, snow… something, you had to be. This was just
too odd. She didn't notice your good looks. On the streets, she
had learned not to think of men in that way, unless you wanted to
wind up in an alley somewhere.* I would have told him he was
nuts, or 'dusted. Then I would have done my best to get the hell
away from him. *She looks at you levelly.* So, you say I'm one of
you, a…unnatural, you said. Well, okay. So what? Why should
I want anything to do with you? All I want is to live. I make a
living on the streets. I don't attract attention, I don't mess
with anybody, so why not just leave me be where I was? You said
something about policing. Well, what have I done wrong, to be
drug in this way?
*he ignores her answer to his question of the thinking too
loudly, brushes it aside as he decides that, though he abhors it,
it could be better for now that he has access to such things...
to better understand her. He leans back, still with legs crossed,
and wraps one arm around the back of his chair, regarding her
directly. He formulates his response carefully before opening his
mouth and offering some kind of answer* Exactly. And if he had
persued it, you would have run and it would have ended up the
same way anyway, with you caught. *Damien nods shortly* Yes, I
say you're unnatural, because you /are/. So what? *He sighs...
this was always the hardest, most tedious part...* So you don't
know what else you can do. So you're not trained. Before I say
anything else, answer me this, Katherine... *he leans forward,
eyes direct, steely* Do you care about the innocent bystander? Do
you give a damn at /all/ about any one besides yourself?
*Katherine shrugs slightly, wrapping her arms around herself.
Hunger kept trying to distract her, though she made a valiant
effort to ignore it.* Perhaps. But at least then I would have
known something was going on. *She doesn't even blink at the
"what else you can do".* I can turn into smoke. That's
the only unnatural thing I do. Other than that, I make a living
translating for people. I turn a few bucks here and there. I had
a real nice place in New York, before all of this started. Well,
nice for the streets. *Brief flashes of a cobbled together shack,
with blankets and a few changes of clothing. She looks you
straight in the eyes without flinching.* Yes, I do. But I'm not
going to stick my neck out for them. No one does that for me and
I can't afford to do that for anyone else. *First law of the
streets, one she learned reeeaaalll early. Watch out for yourself
and stay out of anyone else's business, if you want to stay
alive.* But that's life. You live, then you die. Sometimes sooner
than others. *Flashes of the accident, of her crying for help, of
the pain then and the heat, the stench, the screams, of her
parents, and then of the dead body of the murder victim. Hard
lessons brought to life. She couldn't help anyone else. Not if
she wanted to stay alive.*
(*Damien takes in the images... and its only because he's
well-trained, because he's had loooong practice, that he keeps
his face from displaying what's slamming him full in the astral
face. The images and memories... stench, screams, parents,
flames, victim. He blinks over it all only once and his voice is
just the tiniest bit strained when he responds* I didn't ask
that, I asked... *he pauses, clears his throat with a small cough
that covers his fight for composure, and when next he talks, he's
totally back to normal, no strain, no tension. He continues* I
asked if you knew /all/ you powers. *His brows raise* You
translate? *He looks back at the clipboard* That's not stated
here... but you're wrong anyway. You do have more than just
turning to smoke, its what alerted our operative to you to begin
with. After all, he was following you long before he saw you turn
to smoke. See? You don't even know what you can do, of what
you're capable. What if its a lot more? What if you can blow
things up? Steal life force? Read minds? What then? What if you
wake up one day, stub your toe, end up in a really bad mood,
someone on the bus ticks you off, you lose your temper and..
WHAMMO!.. you just destroyed an entire city block? It's happened
before you know. It happens more often than you might think. I'm
not asking you to stick your neck out for anyone, just to be
responsible. You have no idea what you can do, Katherine. Your
file proves it. Yes, you live and you die, but its what you do in
between that makes the difference. Look, you asked what you did
to be pulled in here. You were born. You have power. You need to
be trained in it so /you're/ not the one killing people.
Understand?
*Katherine gives you a look like you must be some sort
of…well, unintelligent lifeform.* Yes, I translate. I've
learned Chinese, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Japanese, and
Korean. After all, I had to learn some trade, and I was too young
to learn how to take guys out into alleyways and
"play." *She snorts slightly.* I was only five
when I wound up on the streets. There isn't a whole lot you can
do at that age. *She listens for a moment, then shakes her head.*
If I was able to do that, I would most likely have already found
out about it. How do you think I learned how to turn into smoke?
*She rolls her eyes, then sighs, looking down.* Look, I let you
guys poke and prod me and then I get to go, right? Or can I work
out that kind of deal. I can't do much, just that smoke thing.
And that makes me so sick, I don't do it unless I absolutely have
to. You say that your operative was following me before that.
Why? *She shakes her head abruptly.* No, don't answer that, I
don't really want to know. More than anything I just want to go
home. Which I couldn't, even if your guy hadn't nabbed me, but
that's what I want. *She looks up.* I couldn't kill someone if my
life depended on it. Believe me. I know from experience. *She
looks away, an air of defeat settling over her. With what had
happened, it didn't look like she had any leverage anyway, which
meant she was powerless and unable to do anything to help herself
in this situation. She could still remember what that…that
light had felt like when it hit. Both times.*
*Yes, always the most tedious part, but he understood why. He
shakes his head slowly, eyes never leaving her, black hair
shielding his gaze. When he speaks, its in a very muted, soft,
calm tenor... gentle* No. You wouldn't necessarily know that you
had another power which could be so... destructive. I never said
you /did/ have one, just that you /could/. You have no idea what
I know, you haven't seen what I've seen, and the last thing I
expected from /you/, Katherine, was to speak to me in such a
condescending manner. Do you think I'm an idiot? That I'm just
flapping my gums here? *He sighs, glances off to the side, and
lets his gaze float the spot on the table before him, not yet
regaining eye contact for a reason* No, that's not the deal. You
don't listen very well. You seem to think that somewhere along
the way, I said you had a choice. You're with us now, and all the
smoke shifting in the world isn't going to get you out of this
complex. *Now he looks back up, eyes hard* You'd be surprised
what you're actually capable of, Katherine. Never make an
absolute of it. *He whets his lips* Look, Ms Wells. You have the
cops after you, and a drug cartel. You really are safer here...
safer, you'd have resources, you'd have clothes and food and
money. You'd get training, make friends. You'd have a home... its
better than being on the streets. *Light... he doesn't understand
its significance*
*She snapped her eyes up at you, a fire deep inside. She had no
way to express it, no impressive fireballs or anything, but the
anger burned deep within her.* And you haven't seen what I've
seen, Damien. *She remembered the name from when you first woke
her up.* You haven't lived as I have. *She left it at that, her
voice hard. When you say that she has no escape, that there is no
alternative, she stands slowly, turning away from you, fear and
anger welling up inside her.* So I'm a captive here? No matter
what I want, I have to stay here. That's worse than what the cops
were going to put me through, you know. At least with them I was
going to be able to go places, to get out once in a while. I'm
safer here, hmm? Perhaps. But what is safety without freedom?
*She shakes her head, sighing deeply. It didn't matter. Later she
would -find- a way to get free. But she had patience. She could
wait. Then she would just…go somewhere. New York, DC, Los
Angelos, Detroit, all of the large cities were the same. She
would be free, to be as she would, where she would. She throttled
down the feeling of claustrophobia as she stood, facing away from
you.* Very well, Damien. *Those are the only words she speaks in
a tone as devoid of emotion as ice. Her emotions are still there,
but not in her voice. She knows how to hide them there. The light
was the energy net that Warpole had used, though she doesn't know
what it was.*
Actually.. *He raises his brows over his dark eyes, eyes wide* I
have, Katherine. It's why I asked you to think more quietly. I'm
a telepath and you've been throwing events in my face all night.
I'd tell you what they are, but I doubt it matters any. I could
go in and see everything, if I wanted to, live every moment and
memory. You want someone to know what you've been through, what
you feel, understand you? I could do that. But I won't. I didn't
mean to see anything, you just think too loudly. And I know what
you're thinking now. You won't find a way out of here, not one
street girl. Better have tried, better have failed. This is the
/new/ complex, it has none of the weaknesses. *He sighs.. It was
always this way. No one ever just /thought/ about what was said,
they only emoted. /So I'm a captive here?/ And they freak and
they fight and the figure things aren't what they /are/. Damien
isn't about to expend the energy to correct Katherine, he has no
urge to. Maybe its best the GUARD uses their programs now, he'd
forgotten how frustrating it could all be. He sighs very heavily*
I won't answer the rest, Ms Wells. When you've calmed down and
thought this through.. /really/ thought it through, I'll get back
to you. For now, though... an armed escort will show you to your
room.
*She shrugged slightly, shaking her head.* So you may be able to
go into my mind and look, but that isn't really living it. You
don't go through the hardships. You don't learn how to live with
hunger. It's just like reading a book. You can say you know, but
that's different than truly knowing. *She shrugs again. It didn't
matter, truly.* You can say I won't, but there is always a way.
Where there is a will, there is a way, you just have to find it.
Patience is a virtue, best practiced at all times. *With that,
she turns around and looks at you, her eyes dark and serious.* I
didn't ask you any other questions, Damien. When I have thought
more about it, I will still feel the same. I will still wish to
be free. And I am perfectly calm. But what I am and what I want
doesn't matter any more, does it? *A slight, ironic, sardonic,
hurt smile on her face, illustrating more than her emotions how
she feels about all of this.* At least in the military you get a
choice on joining. Have a good eve, Damien. Sleep you well. *She
doesn't bother hiding how she feels this time, letting her voice
carry her despair, unease, fear, hurt, tiredness, and heartache
even more than her eyes do, as they lock to yours.*
*Damien stands, a fairly tall man, he towers over her, but few
wouldn't. He stares at her for a long time, face expressionless.
So much he could say to her... so much he could correct, so many
of her assumptions wrong, false. She simply has /no clue/, he
realizes. Well, what did he expect? Intelligence, he guesses.
Just once, it'd be nice. She says she's thinking, and yes, she
was, but not in the right
ways...
or she'd /see/ she could be free. She doesn't though, like all
the others she latches onto one aspect, thinking too linear, too
narrow. She might be a street kid, but she certainly didn't
analyze every option. Oh well. Maybe in time she'd recognize what
the hell he was really saying. For now, he says nothing. Finally,
after a very long moment where he holds the eye contact she
offers, his eyebrows arch, he shakes his head, finding it hard to
accept her inability to search the situation out better. He turns
even as he shakes his head, unwilling to engage further* Yeah,
night. *He walks for the door, and the armed guard is
there, two people in the old body armor, the riot gear and
helmets, very ready for trouble. A male and a female.
Damien pauses and mutters to them* Take her to a holding room for
minimal security threats and for God's sake, get her some food.
*Then he's gone, down the hall to write his report...* (*HUGS*
Night all!!! *smooches and hassa fly*)
*If she was wrong, show her. If she needed correcting, tell her.
Show her the truth, if she believed a lie. That was how ignorance
was banished. That was how those lost to the dark of untruth and
deception were found and freed. She believed this to be just
another form of containment. Like the shelter, like the police
station, like where the cartel would have held her before they
killed her. Well, perhaps not as cruel a place as the last, but
it was possible. How was she to know any differently unless she
was shown? Talking was nothing, it solved nothing, it made
nothing true or false. Only through experience could such a gap
in understanding be overcome. She sighed softly as you left. She
wouldn't fight, at least not in the common manner. But there was
another form of fighting. Oh, she would be docile. She wouldn't
do anything out of line. But there is a point of passivity that
hinders more than the most frenzied struggling, and this she knew
very, very well. As the armed guard came to escort her, she fell
silently into step with them. Upon arriving on their destination,
she partook of the food quietly, and then went and laid down and
fell asleep. There wasn't much of anything else she could do. For
now, she would wait and watch, sleep and gather her strength. If
you were right, if there was more that she could do, then she
would find out what it was, just so she could get free. No matter
how long it took, she would be free.*