The Last Days of Wonder, Part 3

January 16, 2015:

Members from various groups interrogate Ulysses Hayes.

Triskelion Interrogation Room

The name kind of says it all.


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

05:45 hours

When Steve and Sara pull into the long driveway of the Triskelion, they're forced to wade through the throng of reporters who are, almost literally, banging on the gates. Since Ulysses Hayes has been brought in, alleged mastermind of the second worst terrorist plot on American soil, there has been absolutely no information coming out of SHIELD, the Federal Government, or anywhere else for that matter.

These things are delicate, and the higher ups have been thinking about a strategy of how to ensure that this is, in fact over, that there isn't a cell out there ready to spring, and that whatever charges they bring this guy up on stick like a kid's tongue on a metal pole in January.

Fury had his team together. Hill was running the show. Pezzini had a lot of experience in interrogation. Lawful interrogation. Cap is there to make sure things don't get out of hand. And Fitz is there, for, well, to run the equipment that is supposed to tell whether this dude is lying. Facial recognition and analysis. That sort of thing.

The players are brought into a room to plan it out before bringing in the terrorist.

Hill has the floor.

Lawful interrogation was one thing. Of course, sometimes lawful isn't always enough. WHich is partially why John Walker is here. For a couple of years, Walker ran enhanced interrogation in a variety of sites in Eastern Europe, forgotten castles and hidden camps in the mountains where nobody could hear you scream.

He made a lot of screams.

Now, of course, he's the U.S. Agent, newly minted hero, as testified by the superhuman might in his barely coiled muscles. But he's not here in his costume today. He's even taken off his suit jacket, his white sleeves rolled up, his Stars and Stripes tie loosened as he leans back against the wall. This man's going to give answers, one way or another. At the moment, he'll observe. But if things have to get messy to get the job done, John Walker's the man who won't mind having to wash his hands.

And then there's Darcy. In her SHIELD black power suit and heels, hair pinned up into a bun on the top of her head, glasses on her nose, and a clip board in her hands. Because SOMEONE has to take notes. Or soemthing.

Facial recognition and analysis. Heart rate monitor, dermal temperature gauges, hypertensile breathing analyzer built around a vintage ribbon microphone.

"But this." Leopold Fitz sets down a reinforced shock case and withdraws a small item. Its all black, with curved edges, a rectangular shape, chrome grills and the SHIELD logo emblazoned in gunmetal gray. "Is a brain wave analyzer. I'm telling you, this lil' bastige could catch Director Fury himself in a lie."

A pause, and Fitz reaches up to scratch at his head.

"Well. That was a wee bit bold. I'm sure there are, you know, certain individuals who might, er, be able to, um…"

Fitz promptly replaces the device, closes the briefcase, and smiles innocently toward Director Hill. "So, where shall I set up?"

Sara Pezzini is NYPD from top to bottom. In deference to what's going on here, she's traded in her usual slacks and leather jacket for a slightly more formal suit and button down shirt. Of course, the way she keeps pushing up the sleeves of her jacket doesn't exactly help. Her badge is clipped neatly to her belt, a gold shield with her numbers on it.

If people are wanting to follow the Geneva Convention with this interrogation then recalling Hill from the furthest end of the country for a meeting taking place before six in the morning is not a great start. It took a Quin interceptor -hours- just to get back to the eastern shore, pulled right out of another op in order to deal with the unpleasantness that is domestic terrorism.
She's already got a coffee in hand as she comes into the viewing room. Judging by the look on her face and the way she's already rubbing at the bridge of her nose, it's going to take a lot more than what one cup can supply.

"Alright, who's this joker and who's getting this century's biggest gold star for dragging him in?" she says without yet looking to see who else is assembled.

The Marine standing there gets a look and a nod in greeting, and a softly-spoken "Ooh-rah." She's done her time with those boys before getting wound up in the Division.

The question leveled her way from Fitz, responding with a question of her own. "How much of that gear needs to be installed directly? Because you aren't going in there alone."

Steve straightens a bit as Hill comes in. He's been briefed that she's been out of town and he's not sure how much she knows.

"His name is Ulysses Hayes, Deputy Director," Steve explains. "He's accused of the deaths of over 2,000 Americans between Gotham and New York, and cost Metropolis billions. He taunted via youtube before the act and our facial and voice recognition has shown that it was, in fact, him who made the recording." That should about do it.

Steve's eyes dart towards Sara and then he looks to Walker for a long moment before settling back on Hill.

John Walker grins at the "Ooh-rah", his own Corps tattoo showing at the edge of his sleeve where it's rolled up. He listens to Hill and Rogers - it was still a little odd to be in a room with Captain America. He was glad he hadn't worn the Agent suit. He'd likely have to deal with enough friction as it was. Inter-agency shit was always like that.
"I think what the Director there is askin' is, what's his background? What's the dossier on this fuck? Who does he work for, where's he been hiding, and who do we have to bomb back to the stone age to remind them who they're fucking with?"

Green eyes behind bright red hipster glasses scan the papers on her clipboard as Director Hill asks her questions. They flick up at Walker's 'translation', and the tip of her tongue slips out to moisten her lips before she speaks up.

"He was brought in by Wonder Woman. As for his background and allifilates, that's part of the reason for the interrogation, Director. We don't really know," says the once intern.

"The, uh, well, the brain wave scanner, facial recognition and breathing analysers will all work from here, inside the viewing room. But, I should note, with the exception of the brain wave scanner, it's imperative that the subject not be moved more than eighteen inches from a stationary position. Oh, and of course, there will be interference if anyone walks between him and the two way wall. Oh, but, I can account for that by placing the devices at opposing ends of the viewing area."

Does Fitz even drink coffee? Does he wake up in the morning and pop an adderol for breakfast? No, the poor little guy is a wound up ball of excitement and anxiety, which means he's blabbering. All good, relevant and important information, but still, blabbering.

"Now, Simmons showed me how to attach the heart rate monitor and dermal temperature patches, but, I, uh…" Here he pauses, and points toward Hayes. "I guess… I'll have to… attach them myself, since Simmons isn't here." He turns away from the others and, for a moment, stares balefully at the prisoner. "Bloody Christ," he murmurs. "How do we know he won't stab my eyes out with his fingers? I like my eyes. He doesn't… quite look like Hannibal Lecter, but, he's got that sort of, crazy look in his eye…"

Okay, perhaps it's not all relevant information.

"At least I'm not going in there alone," he finally surmises, before moving off to begin installing the gear that can be run from the safety of the viewing room.

"Not to be a stick in the mud," Sara says, grimacing, "But just because we've got the guy on tape saying something doesn't mean it was him. Did your voice recognition people run some linguistics, too? Syntax, that sort of thing? There are a lot of things out there that really like a patsy." Walker gets a dry look. "Things that we can't generally reach with a bomb."

Fitz's rambling gets a long look as she watches the engineer before taking a deep breath. "No one is getting their eyes stabbed out with fingers today," she promises.

With the explanation of the man who is currently in SHIELD custody Hill very nearly spits out her next bit of coffee, turning to -stare- at Rogers with her mug held at half-mast. "That explains the red-eye back into town." Wait..wait. "He made public threats on the internet and -this- is the soonest that we got our hands on him? I'm going to be very unhappy with someone before this is resolved."

When Walker adds his own thoughts she points his way over the top of her mug before setting it on a nearby table, "Though I'd figure all of the fun, juicy details have yet to be properly squeezed out, there's usually some manner of dirt stuck to a name."

Now is when she looks around the rest of the room, getting a proper idea of who's all signed up for this party. Between Pezzini and Walker she's getting the 'good cop/bad cop' vibe. The Captain's an obvious one, and probably the only person in the country that gives half a damn about Hayes' rights anymore. Darcy's update is met with another brief nod, though her expression remains rather sour. Sara is next, "One more thing we have to find. If he -isn't- responsible then we need to know who -is- yesterday. If he has any intel, we need to find it."
Deep breath. "Alright kids, this is interrupting time which could be spent perfecting my tan and you all must be itching to get into the ring. Patience is at a premium so let's hit this bastard from all fronts. Give Fitz a moment to get his gear situated. Do whatever you have to to make sure Hayes doesn't so much as wiggle a little toe out of line. If things get ugly, a little 'incentive' might happen to miss the record," she adds in a slightly lower tone.

"Well, in fairness, he made it about an hour before the attack happened, Hill. It wasn't as if there was a lot of lead time, either." Cap himself was out of town, and that's something he feels rather guilty about.

When they finally go into the room, Hayes' eyes look red and bloodshot and he's slumped over to the side against the wheelchair he rides in. He's obviously been crying tears for quite some time. In front of him is a cup of coffee that hasn't been touched. No steam rises.

He just sits there like a pile of mud. Sobbing. Looking pitiful. A far cry from the man who was on the video.

John Walker looks over at Pezzini with a bland look, "You don't know all what kinda bombs we got, sugar. Might just surprise ya - we got things that'd make a Martian's ass clench," he says, before returning his attention to Hill, completely tuning out Fitz. All he hears from that guy is a long NEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRDDDDDD like the Emergency Broadcast System with a face.

He follows along into the room, but doesn't say anything. He isn't here to take point, that's going to be Cap's gig. Probably the best idea, too. If this guy's got a hard-on for America-hating, then Cap's gonna be like Viagra for his crazy. Interrogating most terrorists is actually easy - they love to talk, mostly to tell you how you're going to roast in hell and how they're going to fuck your women, although your women are pigs, which would make them pigfuckers. Terrorist logic ain't exactly rocket science.

He nods for Fitz to go ahead and hook up his stuff, standing nearby so that he can intervene if Ulysses tries to make a move.

Darcy walks in with everyone else, pen in hand. Her eyes settle upon Hayes and her head cants. This guy was behind those bombs? This crying, pitiful looking man? Darcy purses her lips lightly as she regards the prisoner.

To Sara, Fitz offers an appreciative smile. "Thank goodness for small miracles," he quips, before going back to his work. Setting up the equipment doesn't take long, though when he passes near to Darcy, he mock scowls at her. "Don't think I don't know where those things have been all this time."

Soon enough, Fitz is standing at the door that leads into the interrogation room, monitoring equipment draped over his arm. His skin has lost some color, and knuckles are red because they're gripping themselves just a bit too tightly. Once he's been permitted access, he approaches the prisoner with a grimace. "Hullo there. I'm… just going to attach a few things to you. Painless, I promise, but it's, uh, for your protection." Which, in part, is true. If this guy is a scapegoat, then Leo's data will provide hard evidence in Hayes' defense should it come to that. It could also prove quite beneficial in his prosecution.

C'est la vie.

With yet another grimace, the SHIELD engineer reaches out to lift the prisoner's cuff, attaching the first diode. His movements suggest that he may fear Hayes to be infected with Ebola or something. The slow motions quicken, as he soon realizes that he wants this part to be over with as badly as everyone else wants to get on with the questioning.

Thank goodness for Marine Corps incentive, it's putting some heat back into the Scottsman's skin.

"Detective." Sara levels a steady look on Walker. There's an odd glint of something at her wrist, though it's the sort of thing that escapes the eye. Maybe just the bracelet. She leaves it at that, though, following the others in and taking up a position next to Hayes as Fitz gets started attaching the machinery. She did promise he wouldn't get his eyes gouged out. Besides, it gives her a chance to get a look at the tech.

"Fair enough," Hill accepts Steve's response. It's clear that she's still none too happy about it, but..too little, too late. Done deal.

Here's where things start to get a little weird for her. Actually getting a solid, proper look at Hayes has her pausing for a second, her brows knit in thought.
"Something isn't right," she mutters.

Now, Walker's commentary is something she can appreciate. It's all she can do not to square her shoulders and thump a fist against her sternum when he starts getting into it. ..However. It hadn't been all that long ago that there was another issue which hit a little close to home, involving a senior field agent and honest-to-God mind control.

Hayes doesn't look like the sort of person that had just done so many horrible acts because he had -wanted- to.

She'll let the others start in as they will, though when their attention goes to the sobbing man she holds back, reaching out to lightly brush Steve's shoulder with the tip of two fingers. "Was he always like this?" she quietly asks the resident super-soldier.

This man may well end up breaking sooner than any of them are planning on, and not in a useful way. Hopefully someone can get to the bottom of it.

"This is the first I've seen him, but it doesn't seem like the type," Steve says quietly away from Hayes. He folds his arms and watches as Sara begins to prepare to ask the questions; but what Hill said is right. Something doesn't sit well with Cap about this either.

Hayes, meanwhile is whispering things over and over to himself as he weeps. He begins rocking a bit in his chair like an autistic person might to sooth themselves; or like someone utterly traumatized might.

What he's saying, no one is close enough to really make it out, even if they could be made out.

John Walker cocks his head, putting himself a bit closer so he's between Hayes and the nerd. He doesn't feel an ounce of compassion for Ulysses - patsy, mastermind, flunky, tool - he was an enemy of America and enemies got the heel of the boot ground into their face. Period. Has to admit, though, this weeping pussrag doesn't exactly seem like a threat. "Remember, Bin Laden was a scrawny, hash-smoking old man on a dialysis machine. Even a ball-less wonder like weepy britches here can send an order for other people to do his dirty work. Just cause he ain't got the stomach to face the consequences don't make him innocent.,"

Darcy doesn't like this one bit and standing nearish to Hill as she needs to to act as record keeper has her overhearing part of the exchange between Director and Super Soldier. It makes Darcy feel a little bit better about things. Marginally. Her gaze returns to Hayes as he starts to rock and Darcy fights to keep from — aw, screw it! She steps forward, brows pulling together in worry and concern, shifting the pen to the clipboard hand so she can reach out with the other hand. And then Walker happens, and she glares up at the guy as his move to keep himself between Hayes and Fitz also puts him in her way as well. She rocks back a halfstep, heels clicking on the floor. Darcy inhales, shoulders squaring.

"Bin Laden was a crazy son of a bitch and you could see it in every picture. Murderous crazies don't break down and cry for hours or rock like frightened children trying to comfort themselves, asshole," she sasses, hand closing into a fist at her side in indignation.

Fitz steps away from the prisoner once he's done. "Steady on," he says to the man, before passing a nod of his head toward Sara and Walker. Green light, ready to roll. That being suggested, the Engineer promptly beats feet out of the interrogation room and adopts his post at a laptop in the viewing room. He's quite happy to be out of the brewing tensions.

From the viewing room, he performs a quick systems check, and once all of the various monitoring equipment checks out, he looks toward Rogers and Hill. "Systems nominal. If there are any hiccups, you'll see the blue lights change. Yellow means a minor tick. Basic English? He may be lying. Red means he is lying. There won't be any need for control questions, either. My equipment is far more sophisticated than that."

Smug little bastard, that Leopold Fitz.

"Okay, you get to wait over there for a minute," Sara informs Walker, pointing toward the opposite side of the room. "If he knows anything, I'd like to know what it is. By which I mean, what he knows. Not what you want him to say." Good cop isn't usually her thing. Usually she's bad cop. But today…Crossing her arms loosely over her chest, she half-sits against the edge of the table, next to Hayes. She's quiet for a moment, watching the man with a pensive frown.

"Mister Hayes, I'm Detective Pezzini, of the NYPD. Extranormal Investigations Unit. Do you know what that means?" Her voice is even, not a threat, but not too sympathetic, either. "It means I deal with the weird things. It also means I don't decide what I will or won't believe before I hear it. I've dealt with a whole lot of strange."

One more nod from Hill is offered to Rogers, her attention remaining riveted to Hayes.

The whispering is the next area of curiosity, this guy's acting like he had just been possessed. Or still -is- possessed. Which is really weird, incredibly creepy, and something which happens to make the Deputy Director all sorts of uneasy. Her next question is for Fitz, possibly for his ears only.

"Can you get a mic to pick up what he's saying there?" If they can get some samples recorded then they can dissect 'em and clean them up later. No such thing as useless intel in a situation like this.

"It isn't lost to me," she cooly replies to Walker while folding her arms together beneath her chest. "Still, this doesn't feel like a bad case of 'buyer's remorse' to me." As much as she would just -love- to rush into this with the feeling that he's really to blame for every little thing, having reached the position of second in command she has to at least consider the situation when her gut instinct is telling her something is wrong.

When Darcy steps in (and Maria's not so sure that she's upset by the fact,) she does make a point to be heard over the others currently assembled. "Let's keep this professional, people." (Not in front of the emotionally compromised prisoner, please!)

Then with Fitz explaining the setup, she glances his way and offers a little food for thought. "So glad to see that your confidence in your tech is sound enough for him to base the rest of his life off of it."

There is no room for error, here. She doesn't say as much but she's glad to see Pezzini taking the floor first. Rogers may not be the only one here ready to settle things down if they get too out of hand.

As Hayes begins getting berrated by Walker, he grabs his wrist tighter and tighter, wincing badly and withdrawing more and more. He remains like this, straight on through Darcy and Fitz' comments, only relaxing a bit as Sara regards him.

"I didn't do it. I didn't do any of this. I don't even know how I got here. I'm not even /him/. I didn't do any of this," he whispers without looking up at the detective.

Steve nods towards Sara as she begins. She's good; and that's why he asked her to come.

John Walker nods to Maria, "Just sayin', he wouldn't be the first to go fetal when the heat comes down. But yeah, he seems a little soft-boiled even fer that, I ain't gonna argue," he says.

Darcy and Pezzini alike both get snorts, the big man not moving an inch. To Darcy, "Sit down and write, secretary." As for Pezzini, "Well, -Detective-, if you look carefully, you'll find that little badge o' yours don't give you the brass to tell me diddly squat. You got a problem with me, you go ahead and call the President of these United States and tell him so. Till then, I'm gonna stay right here." he says.

He rolls his eyes at Hayes' dialogue. If this pussy shit lasted much longer, he was just going to go sit out there and take a goddamn nap. Between the old man, the secretary and the cop, they'd be givin' this fucker a sponge bath and tellin' him a bedtime story in about fifteen minutes.

Shaking nearly as badly as she had when she worked to get as many puppies crated and into the back of a pick up truck during that craziness in New Mexico, Darcy glares at Walker until Hill's comment about professionalism has her drawing a steady breath and turning away from Agent Asshat as if dismissing him completely. The barb has her lips pressing together in a thin aggitated little line, and she steadies herself on her feet in open and mute definace of being told to sit down. Pen returns to hand and she starts taking notes, as she was supposed to, on the proceedings. Cross-referening the report and filling in details to type it up later.

This time, when Walker mouths off at Sara, Darce physically bites the tip of her tongue in her effort to keep it professional, as Hill requested. She might be full of sass, but she knows the pecking order, is comfortable with the pecking order. This pecking order keeps her up to date on her student loan payments, the lights turned on at her small-ass apartment, and just enough fun money to keep her skating gear in good repair. Oh, Darcy's going to catch mass trans do the Liberty Belle's practice later tonight and hip check a bitch into a wall in order to relieve some stress.

Curiosity has Fitz cocking an eyebrow. "The breath rate analyzer can do that," he answers, and promptly begins punching commands into his laptop. "In fact, I can have the buffers roll back and grab what's already been recorded, but a few tweaks ought to make it even clearer going forward."

The gain is adjusted, and the gate reduced, while the spectral analyzer (don't be fooled, people, it's an audio term) automatically adjusts itself to zero in upon the suspect's voice. Meanwhile, a separate program begins to read buffer data, passing it through a series of multi-channel compressors, hyper-band filters, and AGC sequences to separate the breathing from the muttering. In a few short moments, the computer should begin printing text on a separate screen, once the audio filters have passed the adjusted recordings into a voice-to-text algorythm.

Hill's last remark draws a far more serious look from Fitz. He very well may be one of those few left who still cares about the prisoner's rights, and it's with a sober tone that he answers, "Why do you think I lose sleep perfecting these things?"

The moment Hayes begins to speak up, Fitz' eyes dart back toward the monitoring equipment, watching for changes from blue.

Sara doesn't actually reply to Walker, except to lift a hand and flip him off. See? Not really the good cop.

Hayes, though, gets a slow nod. "You're not the first person I've heard that from, Mister Hayes," she says quietly. "More things in heaven and earth, right?" She considers his words for a moment before she asks her next question. "Who aren't you, Mister Hayes?"

And so it begins. Hill retrieves her coffee and quickly takes another sip while moving around to get a clear look at the equipment Fitz has set up for them. Let's hope the lie detector does its trick, to start. Even before seeing the initial results she's hiding a growing feeling of guilt that her irritated mood had just made the situation worse for Hayes.

Even without the loss of sleep it's difficult to be patient and reasonable with these kinds of allegations being thrown about. The country as a whole doesn't want patience and emotional sit-downs, they want -blood.- Civil unrest is a very likely possibility until everyone feels revenge has been dealt, even if the target for it hadn't been responsible.

Somehow she feels better hearing that Walker's noticing it, himself. He gets another nod, though her attention remains riveted between the scanner results and those in The Booth. At least until Walker starts getting hostile toward the other women. -That- gets her attention.

Barely a sound is made as she gets up and walks over to John and Darcy, pitching her voice low between the two. Point to Darcy, she's not continuing to escalate the situation. This means that only Walker gets The Stare. "Either keep it civil or get the hell out," she warns. She'll have Rogers escort him out personally if she must!
Fitz's tech wizardry, and his words in defense of his work, earns him a lingering look of his own before she dips her head in acknowledgement. He seems serious, she'll give him the benefit of doubt here. For the moment. Besides, he may well have just managed to get her the sliver of data she had requested within seconds. Efficiency, it's important!

"That's enough, Walker," Captain America says calmly. His blue eyes, underneath the blue helm, turn towards the man from Homeland Security to regard him, but his hands never leave either side of his belt buckle.

Fitz' equipment can detect no lying in Hayes. None at all. Not even a blip into yellow or red. "Whoever that man was. I don't know his name. I don't even know how I got here. He was balding and had a scruffy face. He was always smoking cigarettes." The description is a lot like Hayes himself, including the stains of yellow on the teeth.

"I just want to go home," he says, almost sounding feminine.

If a man had flipped Walker off like that, he'd probably already be picking his teeth up off the floor, regardless of the situation. There's a moment where it looks like he might anyway, the veins bulging in his neck for a moment, as the mutation that gives him his strength also intensifies his rage. But he swallows it at Cap's word, almost literally, his throat working as he looks away. The old man might be going soft, but he's still Captain America and deserves his respect. Still, it was pretty clear they weren't going to make the best use of his talents at the moment. He walks over to the door and steps out into the observation area with Hill and Fitz. He knew he was about an inch from breaking the prisoner's arm just to let out some tension, so he needs to get some distance. Discipline, Marine. He gets a cup of water from the water bottle, one of those stupid little paper cups, and sips it slowly, carefully. God and Country, John, God and Country. "If he is just a puppet, this whole thing's a waste of time. You got any doodads that can see if he's been tinkered with, squint? Like, wires in his brain, Manchurian candidate shit or remote control space rays or whatever bullshit. Hell, we even sure this is really the guy and not just some sucker with his face sewn on 'im.

Darcy flips through the report she had been reading since she got here. She didn't know what she was loking for then, but like a college student skimming a chapter right before a test, she had hoped that in the actual Interview (because she damn well is going to make her opinion known if people start trying to beat information out of this poor guy since information gathered that way is poor at best, so says psych-class and that advanced polisci course where Guantanamo was a hotly debated topic in class) something would trigger familiarity so she ould flip right through it.

Hot and angry, Darcy glances at Hill and inclines her chin lightly before giving her Boss a nod. Darce knows the pecking order. She'll keep it professional, and she'll even work to keep her calm. Just a matter of enhancing her calm, Darcy Lewis. This guy is no Simon Pheonix. Hell! Hayes isn't even a Dr. Cocteau or his gay-bird PA Bob. Associate Bob. God, what a tool!

After a moment, Darcy makes her way toward the data screen, glancing at the indicators so that she can note them on her notes before looking at Sara to see if the Detective noticed or if it needs pointing out.

"He's not lying," Fitz surmises. Frowning, he goes back to work on the keyboard, working to get the analysis back from those mutterings that had been recorded earlier. Oddly enough, and much to his surprise, Walker suggests something that might be entirely plausible. "That…" He points into the air for a moment, brain wheels spinning, then snaps his fingers. "Wires or Face Off stuff we can determine later. As for space rays…" He spins about and rushes over to his satchel, unzipping it and rummaging about. It gets a bit noisy for a moment, before he withdraws a device that looks surprisingly similar to the PKE Meter from Ghostbusters. It's little arms snap to life, and he begins walking about the room, scanning. Just like Mr. Spock.
"I'm not picking up any interference in here, but if there is something like that, it's bound to be focused. The beam could be microscopic. I'll have to go back in there." He glances toward Deputy Director Hill, seeking approval.

Something starts to nag at the back of Sara's mind. Something that picks at the scabs of old horrors. Something she carefully, stubbornly tries to squash as she keeps her voice even and moves to crouch next to Hayes, trying to get a look into the man's eyes. "Let's start with a simple question, okay?" she asks. "Who am I speaking to?" Please be Ulysses Hayes, please be Ulysses Hayes, please be Ulysses Hayes.

Hill doesn't want to be too hard on Darcy at this moment. Divisionites looking out for other Divisionites and all. But, she really wants to ask the other woman if she realizes they have moved past the pen and paper from a technological standpoint. Just talk to Fitz, no doubt he could get her set up.

Maybe she's not allowed to handle the pricier equipment. Who the hell knows around here.

Thinking of Fitz, something's got the spastic little hamster jumping back into high gear over there. Then he's got some other techno-doothingy in hand, as well as 'that look' in his eyes. One more nod is given from Hill. That new device doesn't look -too- disruptive…

Famous last consideration.

Oh right, coffee!

"My name is Delores Winters," Hays says between sniffles. "I'm an actress. I was running out by my family's home and they kidnapped me. Oh God!"

She begins sobbing heavily now.

"And that man. That man who looks like this. He took me and he switched me somehow. I fell asleep. When I woke up I wasn't in LA anymore. I was here." By here, he means the Delaware shack he was picked up in.

"I didn't do this! I just want to go home and see my parents. To let them know I'm okay."

"That actress girl who was kidnapped," Cap says quietly. He'd read about it on the news during his latest mission.

John Walker sighs, "Ahhhhhhhhhh, fucking great. Just fucking great. Does that mean we've got some psycho bastard running around in that rich little c***'s body? Ah goddammit, bodysnatching, I hate this fuckin' sci fi bullshit, what do we gotta do to find just one motherfucker, just one, who pulls shit like this that doesn't turn out to have some freaky magic supercrap that makes us have to run halfway around the world chasin' 'em down? Jesus Christ on a fucking crutch, tell me you have some fucking whiskey around here, Hill…"

Darcy's writing stops at the name. Gosh, but how some good makeup can alter someone's perceptions! That is good make up, right? Her teeth click together as she jots the name and Cap's intel so she can make with the phone calls and the flight arrangments. She can do that. Well, call logistics and ask for them to… unless Hill doesn't want… Darcy glances at the Director and regards Hill for a heartbeat before Walker cuts in and Darcy just quirks a brow, inhales, and goes back to writing.

'Don't make promises for SHIELD,' Darcy repeats silently to herself like a mantra. 'May'll kick your ass,' is added. Because a Mad May is a scary thing!

The latest confession from Hayes has Fitz halting in his tracks. The scanner is lowered slowly, and he positively stares at the prisoner for a few moments, mouth ajar. "Bloody hell," he nearly whispers. "Face Off." He glances toward Walker, then to Rogers, before finally settling his eyes upon Hill. "I think we should call for Agent Simmons, now."


Sara looks down at the floor, releasing the smallest breath. Always with the damned possessions. Once she's braced, she looks back up, nodding once. "Okay, Delores," she says quietly. "Here's what I'm going to need you to do, okay? I want you to tell me about something you did with your family. It doesn't matter what it is. Tell me about your favorite Christmas, or what you did for your last birthday. You can take your time if you need to, that's okay. But I want you to keep talking for me. Can you do that?"
The actress girl. Who wants to go back to her family. Which means there are bound to be plenty of home videos. Plenty of saved school projects. Maybe even a blog or a diary if they're lucky. Plenty of people can play pretend. Most of them can't maintain things like dialect and syntax. So at least if they can get a large enough language sample, they might be able to determine if Delores is really here in this body.

One more nightmare for the catalogue. It's going to be a long day.


Point to Hill, she doesn't spray coffee across the viewing room for the second time this morning. Instead she has to force it down with a swallow, and a grimace, as her eyes leap back to the scanner readouts.

"-Pissall,-" she hisses under her breath while blindly setting the mug aside. going to get a lot more frustrating before it starts to get any better. Then loud enough for the others in the viewing room to overhear, "So now we've got a missing woman in some other guy's funkified body and one of the single biggest threats to National security still running amok God only knows where. I love my job, really I do."

Once more she reaches up to rub the bridge of her nose while answering John's question, "There's a lovely bar within spitting distance of here. Think I'll be heading that way shortly, myself."

As for the situation, "We can't well release Miss Winters in her current state, she'd get lynched within the hour. Then to Fitz, she flatly replies "Assemble your team." Which may well just be Simmons at this point, but if the science team needs more people working on this case? They can damn well have more people.

Rock and a hard place. Island and a Big Apple. "Pretty sure this is why we made Life Model Decoys," she grumbles to herself. Can't be in to places at once, regardless of how much she needs to be.

"You mean only one thing I would know?" Ulysses nods a few times to himself, trying to think about things. "After I found out I was nominated for the Oscar in that film I did as a child, my mom took me out for ice cream like she used to after every play and every gymnastics meet I ever did."

Finally, Ulysses sits up. There's a glimmer of hope that someone actually might believe her.

Cap leans towards Hill, "We'll probably want to go to the top with this to see how to proceed. He looks to Walker, "You wanted us to take it up with the President. I'm not sure that's a terrible idea given the circumstances."

Later, when Pezzini will follow up, she'll find that yes, that is precisely what happened after Delores Winter was nominated for an Oscar. Her mother is overjoyed, despite what little information the policewoman from New York can give.

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