by P. S. Power
Apparently the meeting room hadn't been finished yet, at least not in decorations, since the whole thing had been done in plain white, a stark color that didn't fit the warm and friendly image the IPB tried to project normally. The chairs weren't even padded, just metal and plastic green chairs that looked cheap and scarred and a bit like they'd been gotten used. The table had to have been gotten that way, unless they'd had the white Formica thing hidden in the basement since the mid-eighties. It even had punch or Kool-Aid stains in the middle. It gave the space a very “inner city school” vibe.
Nothing happened for a while and Denis half wanted to just leave. Whatever the military dicks wanted, it wouldn't be good. No one tackled you as you walked in the door for something pleasant. Not like this at least. If it was good they'd at least have been wearing lingerie.
On top of that he needed food, a shower and bed. The order would be negotiable. There didn't seem to even be a phone in the place, so they couldn't call to have food brought in. No water either. Just as he got up to go see about arranging something, the Director and one of the military men came back. This guy was younger than the others, early twenties and seemed like a Lieutenant. He had that smart-but-brainwashed look about him still that junior officers all seemed to have at first until they finally realized that the people above them were just that, other folks no better than they were and sometimes dumber.
“I know that everyone is tired, but these gentlemen came from Washington D.C. to ask some questions. We don't know how long it will take at all. For now, Mr. Clarkson, would you come with us?”
The tall stork looking man got up and moved cautiously, a bit of stiffness to his movements that normally wasn't there. Denis couldn't tell what that would be about. Looking around he realized that Clark had been cruelly named “Clark Clarkson” probably by a parent with a sub-normal IQ that still held the belief they were clever and funny. Denis could use that later to needle the man.
If, of course, that had been something he did anymore, teasing and humiliating others.
Such a good bit of fodder too. Oh well.
Half an hour later they came for Karen, then Tobin. Looking at Jay he tapped on the table top firmly. The other man jumped slightly, then sighed.
“One by one they left the room, but none returned...” Denis tried for an ominous tone, which got a smile from the hero.
“No doubt. I'd really like something to eat. I'd also like to know what the deal is here. I... It's probably a bit wimpy... I just expected to be treated a little better on this new squad than we have been. It's not team one, sure, but I thought we'd get food and water and possibly at least an Econo-Lodge room. Maybe a car for every four people, that kind of thing? So far this whole thing has been like one punishment after another. It kind of bites. Then when we get back we can't even have anything to eat or drink? I don't get it, do you?”
Denis didn't. Not really.
Oh, he had suspicions and ideas, possibly even a few educated guesses. No proof yet at all.
Jay got called next, the young military man with a clipboard stalked in to order him out, the tone a little gruff for a simple debriefing. What the hell? Jay wasn't him or even Tobin. The guy was a nationally known superhero. A popular one. You didn't treat team one like that. You treated them... Kind of like movie stars. Especially someone as nice as Jay. You begged an autograph or tried to get him to come to your parties or something. You didn't bark at the man. In general it was a bad idea to growl at anyone that could put a hand through your chest. Especially if that was literal.
After nearly three hours of waiting they came for him, this time Director Moore as well. The man tried to convey something with his eyes, some warning, maybe a message. Nothing got through. Denis shrugged and kept his mouth shut tight. All of this had been too much for him. If the man wanted Denis to play nice, well, it probably wouldn't be happening now, would it? What he could do, or try to do, would be to moderate his anger and take the men down a peg without causing a massive incident. Maybe. So starting out with the sensation of a burning poker going up their butts would be out.
When they got into the other meeting room it looked like a bad spy movie had been being filmed in there. The whole thing was dark, except for lights pointed at a single chair, bright things meant to blind and disorient. Torture. A soft torture, but one nonetheless. Intimidation tactics at the very least. He was a free man now, not a prisoner anymore, so they could take that and shove it...
“Mr. Tompkins.” The voice came from behind the lights and sounded familiar. Not that the person was themselves, it was the tone of what the man said. It had that cadence that abusive fucks everywhere used to try and cow the weak. Only Denis wasn't their victim. In the arena they'd put him, Denis ruled. They just didn't realize it yet. A bit of an error on their part.
Let the jerkwad competition begin.
“Take a seat.”
Denis did, grabbing the chair quickly and walking behind the lights without pause, even as the man ordered him to stop.
“Fuck that.” Denis made his voice genial. “I don't know the plan, but I'm not here for some dumb fucks to play with. You want me to sit and talk? Fine, but I don't need to be blind or in front of hot lights for that. Got a problem with common sense? I've been sitting in a room with no food or water fresh out of the field for hours.” This came out sounding far cheerier than he felt, the Director, still near the door, had to smother a laugh.
“I will not be treated like this!” The man in front of him pounded the table with a meaty fist. He wore green, a dress uniform of some military. There were enough fake looking ribbons and badges to sell the whole thing, Denis just didn't care. Someone didn't like the way he was acting? Boo-fucking-hoo. Maybe the man should have tried for polite first?
“Wait,” Denis said, sitting down suddenly. “Are you kicking me out already? We haven't even talked yet and after keeping me waiting for three hours without food or water, well, don't you think you should at least try? I kind of expected something special in here, clowns at least, maybe balloons... Are you really going to let yourself be thrown off because I don't want to be treated like a prisoner of war? A little pansyish don't you think? I thought from the uniforms you were supposed to be military tough guys, but I guess the clothes really don't make the man. Say, do you have ID actually proving who you are? Hey, Director Moore, did you check their credentials? What do we know about these guys? You know the front gate, they'll let almost anyone just walk in...” Again he managed to sound nearly playful and almost polite. In all Denis felt a bit proud of himself over it.
The man sputtered again and the fellow next to him put a hand on his side arm, which meant this was different than a mere meeting. You didn't go to a regular... almost anything, armed, and you especially didn't touch your side arm in front of non-hostile people as a rule. Denis stayed ready and smiled at the guy on the other side of the fat military man. He looked military too, but hard, special forces hard. Like Lancaster without the sparkly personality. Or common sense. Lancaster wouldn't try to intimidate a class four. He would have already shot.
“You might also want to tell your friend over there that going for his gun right now will be considered a threat against my life. I'm unarmed and we've had terrorist attacks in the last few days and you two still haven't produced any real identification. Was it you guys behind that?” He asked suddenly, leaning forward. Asking a question like that wasn't fair or nice, but it did get a reaction. “I think that needs to be answered first, don't you?”
The Director went wide eyed and slapped a hand over his lower face. In front of Denis the military man flew into a rage, or at least stood and loomed over him, pointing a finger in his face threateningly. As if by some prearranged signal, or just because the guy was “smart”, the harder looking fellow tried to pull his weapon then. That got both him and the fatter military man paralyzed.
Without turning to look Denis spoke to the Director.
“Moore... What's the deal here? I'm really w
orking hard to not be a douche, overall I mean, not here in the moment specifically, I'll grant, but pulling in a special squad of professional agitators to get me going seems a bit low, don't you think? That one over there is halfway to shooting me... Why? Moving my chair? Asking a few questions? I thought we were here for questions, why else set up the lights like that? Seems a bit much.” Denis shifted a little, not breaking his visual line and rubbed his short dark brown hair as if to get rid of a headache.
The Director made a disgruntled noise.
“I'm afraid they're here to question everyone about the events in Chicago. They seem to feel that somehow we're to blame for the escape of several Infected prisoners from the police. It's been well explained thus far and I believe satisfactorily, but congress, meaning Senator Hooper, is demanding a full investigation.”
“Ah... with guns? That doesn't seem right to me. Are they going to accuse me of being a communist if I don't rat out my friends or ruin my movie career? What do I do now? I can't kill them, being such a nice guy and all, and I'm pretty sure that letting chief trigger happy over there go right now would just have me shot. Take the guns?” Denis only saw one, but the older man nodded. A guy like that military one wouldn't be caught dead without a backup or six. Not if he were savvy in any way.
The older man had to do it, patting each down for weapons and then standing back calmly. The man really did have only the one firearm, which made Denis think less of him. If you were going to go around threatening people you needed at least two, especially if the people being threatened had super-powers. Didn't this guy watch television at all? The “Evil Infected” always took the hero's first gun. It was the second or sometimes third that saved the day.
It was a damned cliché for a reason.
“General Harvesh, Agent Tompkins here is going to release you and your man. If either of you attack, I fear we may have to take stronger actions. It's illegal to shoot people without just cause, after all, which so far you've not established a need for. This isn't a war zone, it's a Federal institution, where, I might add, we hold precedence not you or the military.”
The instant the men were released the fat general freaked, his voice going so loud it had to be easily heard two or three levels down. They had sound proofing too. Really fucking over the top. Denis thought so at least. He yawned at the man, actually feeling that tired not just trying to bait him. It didn't matter, the rant had already started.
“I'll have your organization shut down Moore! This was an attack on a general of the United States Army, that's an act of treason! I'll have this place shut down so fast-”
Denis put his hand up, the right one, palm out. It was so sudden the man stopped and the other man took a half step back, probably expecting pain or torture next. They did if they'd looked up his file at least. Of course if that was the case then they wouldn't have acted like they had. No, they would have offered him total freedom in exchange for “proof” that the IPB had screwed up. That and maybe some money.
“All of that's bullshit and you know it. Tell me what you want to know and I'll answer. Keep screaming and I'm going to go and get something to eat. Congressional investigator or not, you don't trump the Bill of Rights. Now, do you want to play nice, or do you want to play with yourself?”
Either worked for Denis as long as the guy didn't actually whip it out right in front of him. That would be terrifying to say the least. The man fumed for another five minutes but finally calmed enough to ask his questions. Angrily, but Denis could work with that.
No one had said the guy had to like him after all. Most people didn't. It probably would have been off-putting if the man had come in being all buddy-buddy with him anyway. Hopefully being a prick to this guy and his little killer soldier buddy or whatever the hell the hard man turned out to be, wouldn't get him thrown back in lock-up. That would suck, because these a-holes had actually asked for it. A lot more than just that even. Normally he was the only one that fit that bill in a given room. It...
Kind of showed him why being polite worked better, didn't it? Was this the way everyone thought he was all the time? Blustering and bullying people like that?
The questions were simple and he just said what he'd heard over the phone. Marcia and Lancaster hadn't wanted to turn the Infected attackers over, but also didn't want to have to fight the police force for them while they still had a crowd to control, since that was a Federal mandate. So to keep the peace, they made the guy agree to sign something to the effect that he'd been warned it might be a bad plan. Denis hadn't seen the sheet of paper, but that didn't really matter. The words had all been said, and Argos and Marcia had been surrounded by about fifty cops at the time.
“I was keeping the crowd calm just then and about half a mile back, so I only heard what came over the phone.”
The man smiled suddenly, a wicked thing. Like he'd found a nugget of information to exploit.
“A half mile you say? Marcia Turner said it was closer to a quarter mile and Daryl Lancaster agreed. Are you saying that they're lying or you are?”
Denis laughed then.
“That's the best you got? Obviously I'm not a military pro at range finding. Never even a Boyscout. I only even know to call it that because Lancaster and Turner used the phrase several times. Me being poor at judging distances doesn't make it a lie and you know it. Obviously if they say a quarter mile they're right and I'm wrong, they're experts at that kind of shit, I'm just me... Tell me general, have you stopped beating your wife yet? Still locking the kids in the closet?”
The man didn't fall for the bait, but the point was made solidly enough. Leading questions wouldn't fluster him into making mistakes. They wouldn't of even if he'd been lying. Telling the truth like he had been the story practically flowed out.
Then the man tried to ask everything again. Denis held out his hand as his stomach growled.
“New questions only please. The eighty-three iterations of the same thing only works with morons and on television cop shows. I told you the truth already, so we can move on. Got anything new for me?”
The man promptly tried to rehash the half mile, quarter mile thing.
Denis had to smother a laugh. It wasn't funny, but he couldn't help it.
“OK, I think we're done here then. Director Moore, I need to get some food and water. If either of these gentlemen has a real question to ask, a new one, please have them submit the question to me in writing. I don't promise to answer, but I will if I get the time, schedule permitting.” That was about as nice as he could get for people that wanted to intimidate him from the get go.
General Harvesh stood, fists clenched.
“Ha, well if you refuse to cooperate with this investigation we'll have to place you under arrest!” A chubby finger stuck off a hand that looked like a piece of ham. After a second Denis realized he might be a bit more hungry than he'd realized. He smiled menacingly himself.
“I don't think so.” He said back quietly. “You don't have that power here. Besides, I have cooperated and for my trouble had a gun pulled on me, and had first my life threatened, then my freedom. Illegally I might add. No, what you're going to do is admit that some stupid cop overstepped his abilities because he didn't want to trust the “Dirty Infected” and now your own bigotry is trying to get you to do the same thing. I'm offering to answer any new and real questions you have. Yes, I stole your march and took away your little plan to run over me. I did it on purpose. I can keep doing it and there's very little you can do about it unless you pull back and start acting like a real person.” He managed to stop there and keep from adding that the guy was a fucking prick and probably closet homo besides.
The first part was just true, of course. The homosexual bit didn't have bearing on the situation at all and would just be name calling, true or not.
The general, enraged, stormed out, his military buddy behind him, when the hard looking man got to the Director he punched a finger into the older man's chest, aimed right for the sternum. The Direc
tor just smiled.
“We deal with civilian law here, not military. That's assault. Come to think of it, it's assault under military law as well. I don't think you want to see what happens if you assault the Director of the IPB twice captain.” The man stepped back.
“Where's my fucking side arm.” It came out very close to an angry growl.
The Director handed it back carefully, it having been tucked gracelessly into his jacket pocket. Then the man swung the weapon around so fast that Denis couldn't react in time to do anything. The move was fluid. Fast. Planned and deadly in intent. It should have been lethal.
But the hand was empty.
The gun just wasn't there anymore, it had been and now... nothing. Denis didn't even see it happen, but did know to not let the man try another attack. If the guy was as hard as it seemed, he could probably kick Denis' ass without sweating. He dropped him fast and hard, using the first thing that came to mind, pure pain. After a few seconds Den remembered that torturing a military member might be taken as a little harsh, even if the attack had looked like attempted murder of the IPB head. Denis switched to a deep sleep, since he had the time and it didn't fade on its own as fast as paralysis did. Make a person feel like they were asleep and oddly, it happened. That would buy him a few seconds to switch people if it came to that.
The fat general wasn't quick.
Not armed either. Still his bulk made a solid impact against the smaller man as he hit Den anyway, taking him to the floor. Not waiting he clung to the man and used paralysis on both of them, then deep sleep again. The captain never stirred at all, which was good, considering his line of sight had broken at least twice in the whole trip to the floor.
“What – the fucking hell – was that?” Denis asked, looking at the old guy at an angle so he could keep his attention on the men lying at his feet after he stood. His gray hair hadn't even gotten mussed in all that.
“I believe Mr. Tompkins that what we just witnessed would be the military making an illegal attempt to take over a Federal agency. They came understaffed for it however if that was the actual goal. That or they just tried to assassinate two Federal agents. Either way, these gentlemen aren't going to be happy about the outcome. We have four cameras in this room, one from each angle. What we lack in privacy here we make up in accuracy, don't you think?” The Director pulled a small black cell phone and tapped a single button, said less than a dozen words and hung up. The whole thing had an urgent tone to it, but not an angry one.