Taking The Scientist

January 08, 2016:

Deathstroke and the Authority goes after information as to the redecorating of The Resolve and takes Jemma from the ship

New York


NPCs: None.

Mentions: The Holograms (emits by May)


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

<Authority,> Deathstrokes metalic voice cuts through the comms of all those on his team still wearing the devices, <I have a lead on a source of intel capable of shedding light on sudden rearrainging of our homes furniture, which of you children feels up to a fieldtrip?> in the background one can hear the soft growl of an engine beginning to wake to life. <This will be an extraction and interogation, possibly enhanced if required.> it's as close to a warning as they'll get.

<I like field trips,> Lunair likes most things, though. She doesn't even seem bothered by how Deathstroke addresses them. He simply is, as she simply is. Though, she frowns at the enhanced interrogation part. Something about it sets her to unease. Deep breath. But she already said yes, so there it is. And she does seem to keep her device with her. She fears the people who try to dart her on a near weekly business far more than she fears Deathstroke. At least he won't vivisect her. Standards: Still alarmingly low. <Oh. Well. I will help.> She seems less than thrilled about it though.

<Whatever.> Melody wasn't much for words these days. She's probably still pissed about the turkey. But she was there, dressed to whatever the hell she put on that consisted of all black with many pockets and protective kevlar. And a tablet, ready to candy crush her way until they arrive at the spot. SOMEONE was being emo.

<Reporting for duty.> Lux joins the others, wearing the tactical gear she always wears. One of the benefits of always being in uniform is that when your room moves, you still have your uniform. "I might be able to help with some of the mental elements of interrogation," she adds once she's there in person.

"Gear for stealth intrusion, masks, voice modulators, and codenames only when we're in the field, any failure to comply with SOP will result in so many miles run in a single day you'll set new world records no one will ever know about. Marathon runners are pussies." Deathstroke sends teleport coordinates and the chopper lifts into the air, spinning off of it's landing pad is flying out over the skyline of New York and towards Central Park where his team ought to be awaiting his arival. He lands the helo in the clearing and hops out, leaving the blades whirrling overhead. A quick glance over his team and he nods his approval, pausing once to yank one of Rant's knives a couple inches to the side so that it's pull is clear of her gun's shoulder rig and then jerks his head at the chopper without saying a word. He steps back into the pilots seat and takes off before the door is even closed. The side of the chopper proudly proclaims TRUMP in golden swirling letters…

"Our target is a SHIELD science officer that the DEO suspects has intel conserning our non-terrestrial threat. We're going to snag her up before they can. She has potential enhanced spec-ops allies on her side, if so leave them to me and Lux. Armory and Rant, you two are on extraction. Once you have the target you get the hell out, take her to an empty warehouse on the docks, the coordinates for which should be in your briefing materials." each seat had a hand envelope on it. "There is a photo of the target as well as a break down of her suspected capabilities. Intel suggestes she's no meta but may be handy with seemingly mundane items, in short, don't make the rookie mistake of locking the nerd up in the janitors closet, they always find a way to make something explode or set on fire. It's annoying. Once we have the target in hand, restrain her and await mine and Lux's arival. Questions?" the packets are full of all sorts of fun facts about one Simmons, Jemma. Though why her opinions on chocolate are of interest to anyone is hard to figure… but there they are. In short, she likes it.

At that point in time, one Jemma Simmons is just leaving The Triskelion, enroute for her, temporary, apartment in Stark Tower. She's taken to varying her route, given then scrutiny that she's fallen under of late … today she picks one of three that she favours.

Her Holograms, the protection detail put together by Sam Wilson are never far from her - although she never sees or hears them, until she's attacked - and then, they're just sometimes too late. Like the night the SIGMA agent shot up her apartment.

For now, she's on foot, traversing her way through the concrete jungle that's known as New York. The Trump helicopter in the sky doesn't warrant her notice, why would it? Trump… seems to do that a lot.

Lunair is puzzled by Rant's down mood. But she seems to care. Even if Lunair's social skills are somewhere between that of a drunken badger and a really friendly drop bear. But she tries. Still, she seems to be business at the moment. She is perhaps, making a note to cloak her voice and change her armor design. She tries not to giggle at the trump helicopter. And fails her saving throw. Pfftcchch. Okay, she got that out of her system. She has a sort of armor that resembles normal tactical gear, not unlike Rant's. The tech is just hidden, her voice and face hidden in darkness.

She listens. Nods. Notes. "Yeah… I bet she'd be a MacGyver fan." She doesn't say how she knows Jemma, and her stomach sinks a little. She really dislikes kidnappings, but that is life. Deep breath. "I am going to check for allergies, in case we have to tranquilize her." It seems Lunair prefers NOT to beat the stuffing out of Jemma. Darts and quiet are her preferred method of getting someone out. She looks to Rant, perhaps considering her input. "How much time will we have to grab her?"

Rant has her mask, tugged beneath her chin for now. All gear in all the right places, or so she thought. She was man-handled and fixed appropriately, and with a glance over her shoulder to check the space of where the blade currently rests, she makes a mental note to put it there in the future. With a quiet mutter she pulls her mask over her face, ducking in and settling into the chopper, the folder taken and dossier read.. front to back, and front to back again. And again.

Rant has a question?

"Are we going to kill her afterwards?"

Deathstroke lets Armory run her check because honestly, it's a good one and he approves of the forethought, he'll have to make note of that later, encourage that kind of thinking ahead, "She's SHIELD so not long. It's likely she's tagged, Fury does that sort of thing, but there's a Faraday cage set up in the warehouse, secure her inside it as soon as you can, it'll keep her off grid." he turns to glance back over his shoulder at Rant, "That depends." he admits flatly, "Though," back to facing forward, "it's unlikely. She is a scientist and unless she was directly linked to what happened I bare her no ill will. I try not to kill," pause, "unless there's something in it for me." like a paycheck. It sounds like a creepy icky thing to say, assuming you don't think about it.

The helo swoops, coming into line with the road the target is taking.

"Can I assume there's a reason SHIELD doesn't want to just share the information with us?" Audrey asks, sticking the voice modulator over her throat. Disguise she can do on her own, using a touch of illusion to blur her features. Eye color, face shape, nose. They're all small changes, but enough that she doesn't look like the same person.

The files on Jemma will show no allergies but if Deathstrokes source is good, they'll show the woman is armed. With a live weapon, not just an ICER - a little unusual for a science type. She's also had some training in hand to hand combat - though no where near that of those who are seeking her.

Moving briskly along the street, reading some results on her tablet, Jemma's blissfully unaware of what is about to befall her and the visitors she's about to get.

Lunair will check. She seems to hold an alarmingly deep knowledge of pharmaceuticals, hallucinogens, poisons, explosives and chemistry in general. She has no qualms about drugging someone if she must. A paralytic can really turn the tide, after all. But she doesn't reveal EVERYTHING she can do, if she can help it. "Got it," She nods. "I will do my best. We have zip ties and some handcuffs?" She checks with Rant. "I'd honestly prefer not to kill her. She's a good, hardworking person. Plus, people with her talents are not exactly a dime a dozen. And if you want to play good cop, she also likes tea." Lunair seems somewhat familiar. She do care.

"For what it's worth, I'd rather do this quickly - a quick punch or some tranq darts. I can provide you a fast acting anesthetic for your weapons. No syringes. Those are too easy to grab, shatter or turn on you in a fight and anyone can use one." She takes a deep breath, thinking. "I will be using chain weapons and a tranq dart rifle. Will you be able to tie her up quickly or use handcuffs?" She will activate her voice modulator, so Lunair does not sound much like Lunair. And she is definitely keeping her face more hidden than the one flavor of a candy you've been seeking for weeks but the box runs low. "Otherwise, I am ready."

Though, Lunair does add: "You may wanna disable her electronics. When I got grabbed once, I stuck gum on my cell phone so it stayed on and calling so they could track me."

Rant just shrugs her shoulders. Does she? She didn't really pack anything save for the necessities, the necessities meant for killin! "I think you'd probably have to find some but.." She sighs. "Well, it's SHIELD, they can get another scientist on board. Besides, I made a promise to someone to stay far away from SHIELD and I really think killing her is our best bet." Though, they may or may not have to do it. Works for her.

She reads the dossier again, glancing towards Lunair with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "I'll just punch her in the back of the head if she gets close and hope I don't give her an anuerysm, you can do what you like." There was a quiet moment as she reaches over to poke Lunair. "Can you make my modulator sound like a dude?" Why not have fun with it.

"We're The Authority." he says plainly, "We were built specifically to handle problems despite what political ramifications may arise from them. SHEILD exsists at the behest of certain interested parties, or have you not noticed that they're incapable of handling anything that doesn't take place in a G20 nation? We are /not/ sancationed. We do not exsist. Once we are out of the closet we will be hunted as enemies of every powerful person int eh world that fears what a well trained squad of powerful metahumans without loyalty to them might do. SHIELD is not our ally." okay, so there's that. "That's why they will not 'share' this with us. They are an organization of secrets, handing that sort of intel over isn't in their DNA."

He takes a moment to breath as all the questions are asked and he feels like rolling up the tactical classes homework papers he's handed out to them in the past into a nice roll and smacking people in the foreheads with them while staring sternly. "It's an extraction. We go in loud and full of surprise, you two grab the target, exfil her to the holding point as quickly as possible. You strip her to her skivvies, you tie her to the steel chair that's sunk into the concrete floor, the restraints are prepared already. You close the Faraday cage door. You wait for Lux and me. Lux, you and me see to it no one follows. Try not to kill the agents she likely has on guard, but if you do," he shrugs once, "they put on the uniform, they knew the risks. Whatever happens, you come home. Period." then Rant speaks and his head droops in dispair, "Armory. Will you please make Rant's voice modulator sound like a Japanese cartoon teen girl?" because Rant is his favorite person to pick on. That's why.

Then he nods once, "Buckle up kids." and the helo dives.

If Jemma had known that today she'd be that type of target, she might have worn diffent underwear …

As the Helo dives, the sound does get her attention. Even in New York, it's unusual for that to occur. Fingers close over her communicator, a reflex action - she might be forgiven given she's had SIGMA agents and Psyborgs jump her - but she doesn't operate it, not just yet. Instead she moves out into the crowd, trying to blend in and get lost …

"They might trade, though," Lux can't help but point out as she pulls a balaclava over her altered features. No sense in taking chances. She's dealt with SHIELD before, and no doubt they have her file anyhow. Somewhere. Between her past with the army and her stint with X-Red, there are more files on the mutant than she'd like.

As the chopper dives, she checks her weapons one last time, keeping a hand on her harness and ready to release.

"…" Lunair tries not to wince too much. "Just don't punch the knowledge out of her brain," She sighs softly. She makes sure they have restraints, and checks the distance: "So it looks like - will we need a vehicle to get her into?" She's making sure she knows the route. And with a nudity ray, stripping is no problem. Lunair is the stripper fairy, really. She doesn't need a bandolier, she can reload in a heartbeat, the firing of a synapse. She does have chains wrapped about her, prepared and a tranq dart rifle. Zip ties and such at the ready, in case Rant runs out or tranqs don't work. Lunair is a normal human in terms of strength. She can't just Deathsnuggle someone into submission, after all. "Here we go."

And Lunair won't judge anyone's undies. She really likes the lacey kind. Either way, she is prepared and ready. And yes, Rant's voice modulator will be duly modified. She has some files with SHIELD, due to the whole Zyklon and HYDRA business. So she is going to do her best not to get noticed. Weapons are brought and prepared, to avoid showing off her powers.

"Sooooo.. we're killing her right?" All of Deathstroke's spiel amounts to that. Rant is persistent. Rant is unkind. Especially unkind to SHIELD. "I think Captain America would shed a lonely tear if we kill her. Right?" Cause, that guy sucks.

She tugs her mask up a little bit higher as she fits the voice modulator, her lips pursing ever so slightly. "Why trade when you can kill her." Yeah, Rant's not giving it a rest. "Acid bath her or feed her to some pigs. Hear they got a shit ton of them in Gotham."

Ok ok. It was go time, Rant reaching up to check her mask again until she hears that.. she's getting a high pitched anime squeal.. "Lunair.. I swear to god if you ch-watashi wa anata ni futatabi hanasu koto wa kesshite naidarou anime-goe ni sore o kaemasu! Sore o inakamono no hakujin yaro! Omaera daikiraida." She finally intones, settling back with a pout.

Deathstroke's lips thin into a line, "We only kill what we must. Self control Rant, if you learn nothing else from me you /will/ learn dicipline and self control." someone's getting to run in the morning. Bad Rant. Bad. No cookies. How lucky for all of them that Slade speaks fluent Japanese… in a deep rumbling manly tone. Manly even. Capital M.

The helo swoops down, diving at an alarming angle untilt he crowd begins to realize somethings wrong and starts to scatter. It pulls out of the dive suddenly, the downdraft from the rotors hurling anything not tied down to the four corners of the wind, it's skids landing hard on the sidewalk. Slade is out the door before the Helo's completes it's sparking skid, and there is a rifle to his shoulder, "Secure the target!" he bellows, a full ten feet from the chopper and moving before the vehicle finally comes to a rest, blades whirrling.

Yeah… Now Jemma operates her communicator. She doesn't know who the target may be, yet. But May would never forgive the biochem for not acting preemptively. It's a preprogrammed signal to SHIELD and her holograms, she's in danger and is requesting assistance and extraction.

Trying to stay within the largest group of the crowd, Jemmas hair is whipped by the air from the rotors … watching the man shoulder the rifle … she turns to run.

Lunair frowns faintly at Rant. She understands that sometimes Rant gets more into violence because she hasn't had to live with it as long as some others - and Lunair certainly remembers being an overeager, violent child soldier in Africa. So there is SOME sympathy. "Easy there. I see that you have a beef with her slash them, but killing her only brings heat down on us needlessly and cause unecessary suffering. We can do this quickly, quietly and without having to off a bunch of SHIELD," She remarks. "Just please, help me and make sure she doesn't keep her electronics going." With that, she goes quiet, keeping her tranq dart rifle at hand, ready to fire. She bolts easily, powerfully and quickly. Even without power armor, she is a formidable opponent. Firstly, a strand of chain lashes out at Jemma's legs, in an attempt to wrap around her lower legs.

"You can't kill her, and if you make Captain America cry, you and I are going to have words you're not going to enjoy." Usually Lux leaves the threatening to Deathstroke and just does her job. She hardly ever says anything not directly related to the mission at hand, for that matter. But apparently Captain America is a line. Who knew?

When the skids hit the ground, she's out just behind Deathstroke, rifle at her shoulder as she watches his blind side. She trusts Lunair and Rant to retrieve Jemma - she's watching for people who run toward the chaos rather than away. The first will get a solid tranq shot.

Ayep, all of them, every single one of them get the deep roll of her eyes and a toss of the dossier to the floor. There was no sense in talking if only one person could understand, so with a lift of fingers to brush underneath her chin and jut out, she was done with that conversation. Sure, she was going to run, even members of the crew were going to hate her, but it was going to be her sole mission to brick Captain America upside his head with a dislodged piece of a building.

Once the command was given, Rant was on the move. It was a slow start, a careful walk away from the crowd which soon has her turning to break out into a run, and soon a high leap after she clears the blades of the helo with the intent to cut Jemma off at the pass if nothing else worked.

Deathstroke scans the crowd quickly, his mind parsing out potential threats and cutting others out of the equation entirely. He's trained his team relentlessly and so trusts them to act with at least a modicum of professionalism and skill… Modicum. When Jemma looks his way his eye spots her and their gazes meet for just a second. "Target aquired." he raises his hand and makes a flicking motion with two extended fingers in the direction Jemma went before turning to scan the crowd and then the sky once more. Fury doesn't leave high end assets unprotected and he's one of the /few/ people Slade considers an equal when it comes to tactical planning and awareness. There's going to be a trick in this somewhere, he just has to find it…

Jemma's hurrying, away from the helo, back to Lunair … probably heading right towards Rant. As Lunair's chain snakes out, it snags at her ankle, not quite wrapping around but causing the scientist to stumble… Now she knows that they're after her and all she think is Psyborgs or Aliens.

"This is Simmons, extraction requested, immediately." Oh god, please … where's Sam, May or Jericho when she needs them? Glancing around at the crowd, she draws her weapon and holds it in a two handed grip - yes, she remembers to take the safety off - prepared to fire at the first unfriendly she spots …

And there's Rant … the pistol is aimed, the trigger gently squeezed and then released as a group of civilians swarm in front of her … can she use that as cover perhaps?

Sure enough, there are three 'Holograms' shadowing Jemma. One is a generic businessman of the Coulson school of camoflauge, and he kind of abruptly starts taking his supposed phone conversation on the move. Another is a young man dressed like a hipster (but not nearly gangly enough to pull it off properly) sitting at a cafe who leaves money on his table and seemingly gets up to hurry away when that helecopter gets too close. The third is a college age-looking young woman, who's, like, totally taking a selfie and just happening to get that helicopter in the background.

Lunair is going to yank hard back on the chain, taking a pot shot with a tranq dart. It is a fast acting tranquilizer, with a muscle relaxer added. She made sure not to add anything Jemma might be allergic. Even as she shoots, she moves easily, to keep a bead on Jemma. She is silent, ignoring the world around her in favor of her target. Her face is hidden, her voice changed. No power armor. Lunair is a nameless, faceless instrument. Whomever she is, she is a hound, bent on chase and mindful of her surroundings.

Hipsters are beneath her notice for now.

Maybe it was all of that running, or maybe punching bags until her fingers managed to break. Or it was just good dang 'ol training that keeps Melody at an even keel with the distractions. She keeps her eyes upon Jemma at all times, even as she lands and skids a bit, her hands lifting into the air briefly as Jemma takes aim, those soon flooding the way gets shoved aside with hard pushes until she clears the way and quickly reaches forward for the grab.

Since she was already being punished with runs later on, Rant -wisely- does not make it worse! She actually gives Jemma a tight squeeze of her arms against her own ribs and directs her into the flow of the tranq gun. Cause teamwork is what makes the dream work! Well.. okay this current situation to work. Like, work totally one hundred percent if Lunair actually shoots Jemma in the back. (15pts)

Poor selfie girl. Isn't it strange how there's so much glare around the helicopter and the people with the guns? Or it would be, if it weren't for the fact that it's Lux's specialty. With a youth in the military and a year of living on the streets behind her, she has a natural mistrust of hipsters, so that agent gets a tranq to the shoulder. Maybe he's not even an agent, but the beard and the flannel and the man bun deserve it. Dirty hipster.

Deathstroke is a giant mass of RUN AWAY in a crowd. A handspan over six feet of armor and weapons and shiney metal spikey bits every inch of him screams 'super villain' and in this day and age that's a better deterant then bad body odor. He watches two random civilians go down and doesn't bother to check on them, most of his people are kitted with Armory's fake weapons, buncha girlie girls, and he's still. Ah. There we are. He slide steps in front of the 'businessman' agent and lets his rifle swing down on it's strap to rest against his chest, "You should run." he tells the man before nodding towards his feet, "Those aren't dress shoes." they /look/ like dress shoes, except the laces are combat threaded. To his credit the agent thumbs his briefcase, the sides dropping away to show the dorsal grip of an SMG instead. Slade offers an imperceptible nod. Good man. Then he's a blur, his hand smacking the gun wide, an elbow brushing the agents counter hook to the side so the fist impacts harmlessly with an Nth metal shoulder plate, and then a series of armored chain punches thud into the man's ribs like a drum roll. Before the breath can leave the outclassed agent armored knuckles wrap across his temple in a swift backfist, turning the lights out. He steps past the man, taking a moment to kick the SMG away down a storm drain, and reshouldering his rifle, "Do we ahve the package yet?" he asks into coms, eye scanning once more.

Depending on if Rant succeeds and her dart lands, Lunair may have to take another pot shot with the dart. She certainly does take a swing with the chains, to try to wrap poor Jemma up in her grasp. She will let Rant carry the woman, though Lunair assist and will dart the shit out of anyone who gets in her way - the dreaded sleep porcupine - with enough tranqs to put Roseanne and Charlie Sheen down.

She is moving far more powerfully than before. The nice thing about her weapons is they simply vanish when done, practically untracable beyond type perhaps. Even the shells. Funny, that. For now, she does not answer.

The businessman is SO outclassed it's not even funny. Hipster Manbun takes a tranq and faceplants. His face is safe though, cushioned on that nasty beard. Selfie-girl plays it smart even if her photos are ruined. She screams and pretends to run away, but is actually putting herself between Jemma and the people after the biochemist. So hopefully anything aimed at the woman's back will hit her instead.

As Rant grabs her, Jemma struggles trying to punch the woman in the face and get away. However, she's pushed into the path of the tranqs, Jemma drops, becoming a dead weight in the womans arms…

Oh, Selfie Girl. You were only passively obnoxious before you started screaming. As the girl flees, Lux fires again, as much to clear the path for Lunair and Rant to return the target to the helicopter as anything else. While Deathstrokes takes care of Business Agent, she's watching his back, keeping an eye out for any trouble.

"Rant!" he calls into the coms, "Armory! Get hte package to the helo. Lux, clear a path. I've got the six… and someone, please get my door for me." he begins to back his way towards the still running chopper, letting his team collapse in behind him back towards their way out. This went… shockingly well. He's suspicious of that.

Well, they have an unconscious Jemma and Lunair got her 15 points for darting her. And the selfie girl. #unconscious #owch #dartin2016

Lunair will help Rant, "We have her." They just need to evade the agents. Her rifle has likely emptied, but is soon refilled in a heartbeat. She is just being more subtle about her powers, her hand sliding to the barrel as if reloading when she has to. Sneaky.

For her part, Lunair will cover Rant as Jemma is carried back (since Rant has metahuman strength and Lunair does not). Anyone getting to close? Dart.

You get a dart!

And you get a dart!

And you get a dart and you get a dart!


Selfie-girl is already down with a dart in the back from Lux, otherwise, she just might end up part of Lunair's rather demented Oprah impression.

"Yes sir," Audrey nods to Deathstroke, starting back toward the helicopter. She fires a few shots, but with the agents down, chaos is more of an issue than anyone getting in the way on purpose. Quick pushes, a shot here, a trip there, and the path to the helicopter is clear.

Deathstroke lets his team mount up before he does, last one in the chopper. Once inside he's flicking switches and pushing pedals and soon the helo lifts up. With the skids barely clearing the concrete the whole thing tips forward and begins to streak it's way down the street, rising slowly to avoid the roofs of cars and the various low hanging bits of urban life. Like power lines. Still, once he's above them he doesn't bother rising much higher, and instead keeps low between the buildings, hurteling at unsafe speeds through the 'skies' of New York, flashing Trumps golden name all over the mirrored glass surfaces around them, "We'll dump this bird in the park and pick up a ride there, something less conspicuous." he says, the entire helo turning up on it's side as it rounds a corner and rights itself once more on the other side. "We need to hurry…"

Lunair is quiet, business mode on. She nods at Deathstroke's words. Lunair is ensuring Jemma is asleep and duly bound. Clothes on for now, at least. Rant is busy being sullen nearby, and the two watch over the sleeping scientist. Lunair is also an ace driver, but she helps load Jemma into their next, far more subtle ride than the Blingcopter Trumpmobile.

It is a quick, quiet and easy transition. This is going too well and it has Lunair uneasy. But she will clamber into whatever seat they direct her to, be it driver or passenger. Likely passenger.

Audrey runs interference as they swap vehicles, playing her usual illusion shell game to change the appearance of both vehicles until they're safely away. When the reach the warehouse, she's first out, checking the area for any unexpected visitors or possible tails, turning on the cage…And waiting for the next round of instructions.

Deathstroke's only parting to the chopper was the backward toss of a thermal grenade before he climbed into the drivers seat of the new ride. "Asshole still owes me 1 and a half mil." he explains as the helo goes WHOMP in sudden flames. He approves of Lux's playing with the car's appearence, catching her eye in the rearview once and offering the smallest of nods, his idea of a compliment. Once they're at the warehouse he's quick about his work, "Wake her." he says to Armory, "Then get to the roof, I need eyes up top, make sure we're not followed, at least not to quickly. Rant, join her, see if you two can't rig up some kind of counter to any drones or satelite surveilence they may attempt. Lux, stay if you like, patrol if that's more your speed, either way I don't want to hear you." shes a big girl, she can make her own decisions.

Lunair ohs. She just goes with it. Lunair nods at Deathstroke, and once Deathstroke cues her to, she will dismiss the tranquilizer, letting Jemma wake up. She will then go to the roof, as told - likely with the sullen Rant. She is at least a good minion.

Stripped to her underwear, tied to a chair, Jemma slowly comes awake … bleerily looking around the warehouse, testing the restraints.

She's silent for the moment, not saying a word, letting her eyes focus and her head clear … someone will come to get her, won't they?

Deathstroke stands across from her, mask in place, armored up. His guns are outside the cage, hanging by their many straps on an exposed nail, but the knives are all still there on his person. Go ahead. Try to take one. He dares you. "Jemma Simmons." his voice is metalic, hollowish, behind the mask, and the one eye thing is kinda creepy in an icey blue sorta Nick Fury like way. Maybe its the half with no eye hole that's creepy. "Do you know who I am?" he asks flatly.

She's a Scientist, damn it. Not an operative. How on earth did she end up in this bind? Finally, her head clears enough and her gaze lights on the masked mans face. It might be telling that she doesn't answer immediately - clearing her head or thinking about it?

"I" she croaks and then clears her throat "mmmight." Jemma's responsible for maintaining The Index, it's likely she's seen his entry. Does she remember it, or is she playing coy?

"Wha What do you want with mmeee?"

Deathstroke moves to lean against the table that Lux so kindly brought him and croses his arms over his chest almost lazily, "You file says you were one of the smart ones." he says flatly, "I'm not so convinced." he shakes his head, "What else would someone rendition a SHIELD science officer? We want your reputedly stellar recipe for top notch," he pauses, unfolds his arms and checks a line in the folder (as if he needed to), "olong tea." he says before closing the folder once more. "You're going to tell me about the aliens." this isn't a question so much as a statement of fact, "And then I'm going to give you oodles of money, some pants, a gun, and a phone to call whomever you like." he sets the file down on the table top with an armored fingertip's light thunk sound, "What happens between this moment and that is entirely up to you."

It's a well known fact amongst Jemma's compatriots that she can't lie. Well, she can … but you'll know it … that's probably in that damn folder that Deathstroke has.

Eyes widening at the the term 'aliens', Jemma tries to look confused "Aaaliens?" she questions him "I don't know anything about them."

Why would she tell this complete stranger, who's just abducted her, anything?

Deathstroke lets out a slow breath, "Ms. Simmons," he says plainly, lifting the fingertip from the pinned file and crossing his arms over his chest again, "let's assume for a moment that you are indeed one of the smart ones and your current lack of cooperation is caused almost entirely by some unknown sideeffect of the tranquilizing dart we shot you with. Perhaps your faculties are damaged. Allow me to play out the senerio for you more simply, let you work through it." he begins ticking points off in the air with lazy swipes of his finger, "You have been abducted from the street by persons unknown, however they were persons skilled and well enough equipped to do so in broad daylight from under the noses of your SHIELD handlers. You are currently mostly naked and tied to a metal chair in an abandoned warehouse in New York in January. It hasn't set in yet but I imagine the cold is the sort of thing that will help cut through the muddle of your psuedo mind fog. You're locked," he motions around her, "inside a Faraday cage, which renders any tracking devices you may have, or hopes of locating you, utterly obsolete. The man across from you hides his face behind clearly well worn combat armor in garish colors and is bedecked in a large number of knives and pointy metal things that between just you an me, he uses with extraordinary skill and precision. Said man, that's me, wants information that said you, that's you, is currently holding." he lowers himself into a squating possition, elbows on knees, putting him nearly eye level with her, "I'm a big fan of the simple approach to this sort of work. Carrot and stick. Carrot in this case being pants, gun, phone, freedom, none the worse for wear with a fun story to tell people who actually know who I am and who will happily inform you of how lucky you were to leave here. Stick being the pointy metal things. I know, the analogy isn't perfect but I'm sure someone of your intelligence can put the bits together accurately." he pulls a knife from it's place on his tac vest, the long metalic hiss of it's leaving the sheath filling the air, "So. Aliens. Crazy, huh?" he says nonchalantly.

"Iiit's Dr Simmons, if you're going to be formal." Jemma stutters but responds rather primly. Clearly she's afraid and she's pulling on whatever courage she has left, total bravado.

As he crouches at her eye level, the brunette scientist leans back as much as she can. She knows how much trouble she's in but the information she has is sensitive. "Wwhat about Aaaaliens?"

Deathstroke sighs at her, "Dr. Simmons," he says flatly, "your not knowing who I am is making this more difficult then it has to be. I suppose I could hurt you until you speak, it was my original plan honestly, we both know you don't have the will power to stomach the loss of a few bits cut off of you. It's just not in your make up." he taps the blank side of his mask, "You're just a scientist playing at soldier. You reminded me of something though, something simple. You're a doctor." he glances over his shoulder to talk to the masked tactically garbbed female soldier lurking in the darkness behind him, "Go outside and fetch me a homeless person, I don't care who, bring them in here and then shoot them in the head." he turns back to Jemma, "Lookie there. I'm not even going to use the stick on you. It's your lucky day." the knife slides home into it's place on his tac vest. The woman salutes and disappears outside.

WWMD - What Would May Do? That's what's going through Jemma's mind … May wouldn't just spill the information, she'd hold out wouldn't she? What is clear to Jemma is that there isn't any help coming and this man in front of her is going to kill someone, just to make it clear that he holds all the power.

WWMD? Try to limit the information the man got, surely?

"Don't!" Jemma pleads with Deathstroke "Iiii dddon't kkknow much… what is it you wanted to know?"

Deathstroke eyes her flatly, "You are /awful/ at this aren't you?" he asks flatly, his tone seemingly somewhat incredulous, "What is going on in SHIELD these days that /this/ is the level of tradecraft they're teaching you people. I can almost /see/ you trying to figure out how much you can tell me without telling me to much." he pushes himself to his feet, "Okay then, the rampant killing of innocent people who had nothing to do with this it is. I really don't like doing this sort of thing, it's unprofessional, sloppy, but I'm short on time and big on trying to save the species. I don't really have time for your moral compass." he raises his hand to his ear, "Do you have my sacrificial lamb yet?" he asks, talking to the side as if into a coms unit of some kind.

Point of interest, he's not actually asked her anything yet. Because a smart spy could use the questions he asked to accertain his intent. He's not going to ask her questions. She's going to talk. And talk. And talk. And keep talking until he's certain she's spilled every single bite of useable intelligence data she possesses. Because /thats/ good tradecraft.

Jemma knows he hasn't asked her anything and her mind is working a million miles an hour. She /is/ a scientist, not a secret agent … would May expect that she could hold out? Jemma simply doesn't know.

Its his insistence on the 'sacrificial lamb' that final breaks her. Torture of herself, even her death? It's scary but she could weather that. An innocent, who has no stake in this game? No, Jemma simply can't do it. "Daemonites. Shapeshifting beings. They're supposedly Aliens. But that's all I know…" she speaks quickly trying forestall Deathstrokes next actions.

Deathstroke turns back to face her, his eye is cold and searching, "Daemonites. Quaint." he says flatly, "You had your friend with the laser light show try his hand at sloppily hacking governmental databases Dr. Your attempts at holding out are…" he shrugs. In the background behind him the woman returns, dragging the shuffling stumbling form wearing layers of winter rags, snow still caked into bits and falling off to melt on the floor. From the slight frame it's either a woman or an elderly man, it's impossible to tell in the dark and at this distance. Deathstroke waves the pair forward.

"My friend with the laser light show?" Now Jemma sounds confused … at least for the moment. Then it clicks. Aspect. "Strong, really strong. We think from another dimension." the scientists eyes cut to the figures in the gloom "I really don't know much about them. Truly. They can shape shift and control hosts … but I don't know how."

If it's any indication, Jemma's becoming frantic … there might be a little more that she knows but she's truly concerned for the 'victim'.

Deathstroke continues to stare at her, saying nothing. The soldier drags the homeless person closer and closer, once having to stop and smash a weapon across their face to subdue the struggling a bit before continueing with the dragging. They're twenty feet away and the pile of rags forms clearly now into a woman, older but not yet old, time hasn't been kind to her though, leathery skin with dirt caked wrinkles. She's shoved to her knees and a pistol presses against the back of her head. This isn't a movie or a tv show, there's no dramatic cocking of the weapon, no drawing the hammer back, it's already cocked, there is a round already in the pipe. This is the real world where soldiers don't wait until such a situation as this to prep their weapons.

Jemma's nearly in tears as the older woman is dragged foward. May … will be so disappointed, she's sure, but what else can the Scientist do. "Please …" she sobs, hands moving against the restraints, starting to shiver as the cold finally sets in. "… don't do this." It all comes flooding out then "We've a subject until observation in the Baxter Building. I'm still working out how the possession works but I've reason to believe they're impersonating Government Officials … and in a secret war. But we don't know with who."

She slumps in the chair, mortyfied that she's given all that information … but she couldn't allow an innocent to be harmed on account of her.

Secret war. Of course there is. He holds up a hand lazily and the homeless woman in front of the soldier shimmers and then fades away into nothing, vanishing from exsistence. Jem isn't the only one with holograms. He squats back down and stares at her, head tilting to the side slightly as if contemplating her more deeply, "Dr. Simmons, you seem like a decent sort of woman. Get out of this business. Take up a research grant somewhere, invent the next great human advancement, cure cancer, make an AIDS vaccine, bioengineer a drought proof form of wheat. Decent people, in this line of work, don't last long. Either they end up no longer being decent or no longer being people and I suspect that if you were to fall you'd fall all the way. Not much in the way of half measures in you." he pushes himself to his feet and walks around behind her, the hiss of the knife coming free sounding loud in the room. A moment later her bonds are cut away and her hands and feet are freed. He walks over to the corner of the cage, a corner in shadow, and picks up a duffel bag and tosses it at her feet. "Winter gear, warming pads included. Get something on your feet first, toss one of the pads into each of the boots before you slide them on, no real danger of you catching hypothermia but first degree frost bite could happen at this tempature and time of exposure. Phones and gun are over there," he points outside the cage and into another pool of shadows gathered under a pile of old rotting pallets, "I'm sure your people are worried about you." he turns to leave as if that was all there was to say.

If it's possible, Jemmas' eyes widen even further as the homeless woman fades … WWMD? Likely kick her ass for being taken in by the ruse!

She makes no response to his advice … Deathstroke probably knows, she's not going to take that … no way, no how … and if she falls. Then so be it.

Stiffening slightly as the knife hisses from its covering, the biochem waits for the worst … but the restraints are sliced and she's freed.

The advice about her feet? She'll take that… and dressing as quickly as possible, she crawls towards the pallets… by the time SHIELD finds her? She'll be curled in a ball … silently crying.

Deathstroke pauses at the doorway, his people having exited before him, his head turns to the side, oddly enough it's the blank half of his mask that is exposed to her, as if he could see through the black expressionless field of it, "Dr. Simmons, when they debrief you and you explain to them what I looked like, my mask, you should watch their reactions closely. If you pay close enough attention, very close, you'll see that some think you have never been closer to death then you were in this room, but others, the ones that scare you, the real opperators, they'll relax after a fashion. They'll know me for what I am. A man of my word. Take care Dr. Simmons, I'm sure we'll meet again. Enjoy the money." and he's gone, walking out into the bright light of day.

The phone will tell her she's only been missing for slightly under an hour, most of which was travel time and it's sitting on a pile of roughly a quarter million dollars in pristine sequential $100. Easily traceable assuming he got them in the US, the masked man isn't trying to hard to hide. When SHIELD arrives to find Jemma they'll do the usual sweep for evidence, finding what they expect of course, save the phone Jemma has. There's a single text message on it, not sent just sitting in the drafts folder. -You know how to reach me if you feel the need. Usual fees apply but at discount. We may share an enemy.-

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