Division NPCs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
survivors_of_new_york) wrote2021-07-23 09:32 pm
survivors_of_new_york) wrote2021-07-23 09:32 pm
For The Lost
[You don't last long as a cop if you can't keep your head, can't spot a liar, can't notice patterns. Not anywhere, especially not where Benitez cut his teeth in Manhattan South, which - before the flu came - had the highest per-capita crime rate and third-highest per-capita homicide rate in the city.
Benitez has noticed a pattern, buried in the reports before him. Working a desk isn't the same as working the street, but feelings come back to him all the same. The numbers, the reports - something creeps up in his throat. The words come off the page and take on a life of their own, like a newly broken lock on a tenement door - a warning of horrors and dangers behind.
He pauses as he reads one sentence, ruffling a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He re-reads it - then takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.
They're losing people. Not to the flu, that's a given - even though Kandel says she'll have a vaccine out soon - but in the sense that they just...disappear. Here one moment, gone the next. Not at the rate that would create a panic - maybe a half-dozen a month - and most of them are civilians by the outposts, but some have been right out of the BoO. Some bodies turn up, but not nearly enough to account for even a fraction of the lost.
It's too steady. Too consistent. People don't disappear like this unless someone makes them disappear.
He hesitates - then snaps a rubber band around the report and heads off, looking for Lindianne.]
Benitez has noticed a pattern, buried in the reports before him. Working a desk isn't the same as working the street, but feelings come back to him all the same. The numbers, the reports - something creeps up in his throat. The words come off the page and take on a life of their own, like a newly broken lock on a tenement door - a warning of horrors and dangers behind.
He pauses as he reads one sentence, ruffling a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He re-reads it - then takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.
They're losing people. Not to the flu, that's a given - even though Kandel says she'll have a vaccine out soon - but in the sense that they just...disappear. Here one moment, gone the next. Not at the rate that would create a panic - maybe a half-dozen a month - and most of them are civilians by the outposts, but some have been right out of the BoO. Some bodies turn up, but not nearly enough to account for even a fraction of the lost.
It's too steady. Too consistent. People don't disappear like this unless someone makes them disappear.
He hesitates - then snaps a rubber band around the report and heads off, looking for Lindianne.]
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[Being menacing while looking like a bad 1950s spaceman is difficult, but Lindianne puts a surprising amount of menace in as simple an action as leaning forward. She crosses her arms with the telltale crinkling of plastic. Stares at Bohdan. Waits for his angry insults to fade into silence.]
[Then, in a tone of voice that makes icebergs seem tropical:]
I’m from the government, asshole, and I can make you wish you had the Green Poison. You’ve probably seen those guys with the red wristwatches running around by now. You know those guys?
[One side of Lindianne’s mouth curls back into a snarl.]
I kill those guys. So start talking. What “stuff”? Who do you work for?
Lie to me. I dare you.
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Bohdan looks to Vegas, then to Lindianne, then back to Vegas. He snorts, crossing his arms. Vegas follows along.]
"Pigs are pigs, and pigs die like pigs. It doesn't matter what colors they wear."
[He makes a gesture that is not rude in and of itself, but whose meaning is unmistakable - buzz off.]
"If you don't know, why would I tell you? You think any of this scares me?" [A mirthless sneer.] "I know you Americans can't lay a hand on me without it being called abuse. Your prisons are like summer camps compared to the ones back home."
[There's a pause as the air stills, before Vegas seems to act on a hunch he's had for a while. He gets up and walks over to Bohdan's jacket, rifling through its pockets. Bohdan starts to get up-
-and is quickly slammed back down onto the bed by Vegas, his hand like a vice on his forehead. The meaning is clear: stay down. Bohdan, teeth gritted, complies.
A few more moments of rifling produces an old flip phone from a pocket - no biometric ID or passcode required to get at the goods. He holds it aloft to Lindianne before handing it over to her - best not to throw things in these suits, clumsy as they are.
It would seem that Bohdan didn't think to wipe it before they came in. His contacts list has no proper names on it - it's populated with what seems like Ukrainian diminutives, and the last call received was around this time day before yesterday. The texts are mostly in Ukrainian, too, with some coded English interspersed with some contacts as appropriate - talk of "cargo", "hauls", "pickups", et cetera, but nothing in plainspeak.
The photos are another matter. Most of them are innocuous, or at least the type you wouldn't think twice about a dirtbag like him having - friends, guns, new clothes, et cetera.
But three of the newer ones break the pattern. They're out of focus and in bad lighting, to boot - but there's blood, rope, naked skin on bare concrete -
Upon further inspection, the subjects - one per photo - don't match Sam's description. One is a young black woman. Another is an older Asian woman, and the last looks like a Hispanic male of unknown age. All are bound with rope and gagged with what looks like bedsheets. It's hard to see their faces, but they look alive, with some bruising but no major injuries.
It's harder still not to infer from their body language that they're terrified. Like they think they won't survive the night.]
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[But that will come later.]
[Lindianne goes very, very still when she reaches the end of the phone's stored memory. It slips from her hands and clatters against the concrete floor. She doesn't react for a long time. She just remains there, staring dazedly at the wall of the quarantine room. There are no words she can say to put this into perspective. Nothing that anyone can say.]
[She doesn't look at Vegas. She takes a step to the window that allows visual access to the room before rapping on it with her knuckle. The tone in her voice is flat and to-the-point.]
Get Benitez and Lau down here. Now.
[Only now does she turn towards Bohdan. She crosses the room in what feels like three quicks steps, bodily hauls him from the bed he's in, and slams him up against the wall by his shirt collar. The blaze in her eye can't be mistaken for anything other than sheer rage.]
You fucking piece of shit- what did you do to those people?! Where are they?!
[She gives him no time to answer before slamming him against the wall and leaning in.]
I work for the government, you asshole, you try me and I will shoot you and throw you into the Hudson my own damn self-
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Two MPs in suits try to bust in to break it up, but Vegas shoots out an arm to block their path and shakes his head. Bohdan's a caged and cornered animal, but he's still got teeth. His glare - that of a hardened, remorseless street tough - matches her own, and the words come fast and profane from his mouth before he puckers his lips and spits a wad right onto her faceplate.
This is the scene Faye and Benitez come upon when they reach the observation window just a few moments later. Faye stands as still as a statue, ever the impassive observer. Benitez is...less so. In a voice muffled by the glass:]
Agent! Agent, what the hell is going on?!
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[Benitez may as well be talking to a statue for all the good it does. She remains standing there, one hand knitted in Bohdan’s shirt. The other remains at her side, hand balled into a fist and arm trembling from the tension. She says nothing. All she does is slam him against the wall once more before letting him drop.]
[She doesn’t turn to look at Benitez and Faye.]
Your missing persons didn’t go missing. They were taken. Trafficked.
[She scoops up the phone and presses it to the glass in one quick motion.]
He fucking deserves to pay for this-
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There are also some crimes you don't get used to, not ever.
Even now, after long enough between patrol, vice, and narcotics to get himself a gold watch for it, Benitez goes white as a sheet at the sight of the images. People treated like slaves, like cargo, like cattle-
He looks to Bohdan, and for a moment it looks as though he wants to punch through the glass and take Lindianne's place. Then the moment passes, and Benitez the father to a little girl who isn't so little anymore becomes subsumed to Benitez the JTF leader.
His eyes are like flint as he points to the MPs.] Decon that phone and hand it over to Rhodes and his boys. I want to know everything there is to know about everyone this guy's been in contact with. I want a rotating shift outside this guy's room until his quarantine is over. You two are the first pair. When it's over, take him to the hole upstairs.
[Then his attention turns to Lindianne. Some of the intensity fades, but his tone of voice is still that of a superior, one who will brook no argument:]
Agent - take an hour, get yourself something to eat, then meet us in Rhodes' office. That's an order.
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[For a long moment, the only sound is the air filtration unit humming. Lindianne remains where she is, teeth gritted and eyes gleaming with something just this side of righteous fury. Common sense wars with the urge to murder Bohdan where he stands and damn the consequences.]
[Common sense wins out in the end. Lindianne scoffs and looks askance.]
Fine.
[She doesn’t touch her food in the mess hall once she’s out of decontamination. She pushes the food (a decent approximation of chili and mac) around on her plate without even looking at it. A mug of coffee sits untouched next to her. The thought of eating makes her stomach roil.]
[She’s at Rhodes’s office within half an hour. The only thing she does is sit and wait.]
[It’s all she can do right now.]
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Faye Lau isn't most people.
She folds herself quietly into the chair next to Lindianne. She's seen the photos by now. It's not her place to judge.
She's quiet for a long while, figuring out how best to parse all this.]
Rhodes and Benitez are figuring out how to plot metadata from the images onto a surveyor's map, maybe get us an address that way.
[She clears her throat.]
Benitez is also...concerned about the possibility of someone on the inside, within the BoO. Someone getting these smugglers past our security, somehow. That, or taking the missing persons out past our cordon. Either way, he thinks there's some kind of leak.
[A beat.]
He also thinks it's going to get way worse.
[The offer is there, subtle, between the lines: you can dip out now if you want. Nobody will think any less of you.]
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[Lindianne doesn’t turn to look at Faye at first. She keeps her eyes fixed on the wall on the other side of the room, listening to the quiet hustle and bustle of life going on around her. She can’t keep the images out of her head. She blinks before rubbing one eye with the heel of her palm.]
They took our own, Faye. It’s like you said back in Brooklyn: I’m connected.
[Now she turns to look at her fellow Agent, face solemn.]
We’re here to save what remains. This is our city. Our people. And we can’t -can’t- let scumbags kidnap our own.
Whatever happens, I’m in this to the end.
[Even if the end is ugly.]
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Rhodes is quiet as he comes out of the tech hub with Benitez. There's no smarminess about him, no wiseass remark. The photos required a lot of work, and took a lot out of him. Lindianne and the others only had to see them for a few seconds. He had to work with them for the better part of an hour.
He collapses in his chair, takes his cap off, and rubs the bald spot at the back of his head. His shoulders slump and his chest deflates as he sighs, then looks up to Faye, Lindianne, and Benitez.]
We've got XY coordinates off the metadata from the images. They plot to an old three-story tenement on the Upper West Side.
[He gestures to the tech room as if it's shorthand for mentioning all the other techs.] We'll be working with the cell phone for the better part of a week, tracking where it's been and who it's been used to talk to. That's all I've got right now.
[He slumps in his chair, defeated, as Faye turns her one good eye to Benitez. He looks between the three of them and nods.]
I want Wolfpack and Neptune on this. Brief them with what we've got in the Situation Room in 30 minutes.
[He nods to himself, sighing through his nose as he grits his jaw.]
We're hitting this place tonight.
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[She locks eyes with Rhodes for a moment. She pauses, mouth parted as if she wants to offer him some empathy. But there's nothing she can say to make any of this less monstrous. She closes her mouth and compromises with a nod.]
Rhodes... [A beat.] Paul. I appreciate what you've done.
These assholes are going down for this. I can guarantee you that much.
[Lindianne spends a few minutes before the briefing in a bathroom out of earshot, throwing up what little food she managed to choke down earlier. If anyone hears her, no one says anything when she finally emerges again. The game face is back on. Her hands are balled into fists at her side as she gives the briefing along with Faye.]
[She stares at a point over Voodoo's head with a thousand-yard stare. She barely blinks. The images feel as though they're burned into her retinas at this point. Nothing will ever be okay again.]
[But what those people suffered... it's going to end. She'll make sure of it.]
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They'll move to the target through the subway lines and go up top at the stop closest to the tenement. From there, it's simple: Wolfpack will split into two elements and provide overwatch from rooftops on either side of the building. Rhodes will cut power to the block, and then Neptune will take the front door and clear the building, floor by floor, room by room. Hostiles who resist are to be terminated, the rest of them apprehended. A JTF convoy will show up to extract survivors once the building's secured. It's a quiet piece of the city - no neighbors that rate worrying about.
Eternity passes in the blink of an eye as the D-boys and SEALs draw gear - night-vision goggles and batteries, carbines and marksman rifles, breaching charges and hoolie tools, flex-cuffs and bolt cutters. It seems in the very next breath that Lindianne is taking a knee with the SEALs in the stairwell of the Washington Heights metro stop, just below street level. Rabbit's on point, the sweat beading on the bridge of his nose visible in the green glow of his NODs as he holds his carbine upright, a defense against anybody unlucky enough to stumble upon them unawares. Inside, the air is stale yet moist, rank with mildew from what remains of the flooding, yet outside, the sky is filthy with stars.]
Mother, Panther.
[Mother keys his radio.] Go, Panther.
We're set up with good LOS into the target structure. One light on in the second story. Zero movement.
Copy, Panther. Postman, Neptune One. I pass Vulture.
[It's Faye who comes over the radio this time.] Copy, One. You have execute authority.
Copy.
[The look in Mother's eyes is like steel as he raises his hand. The SEALs stand and move as one, taking the stairs at a steady pace. Their target is just half a block away.]
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[The building has seen better days. Most of New York has, but this particular spot seems to have suffered a bit more. It squats in the darkness like a hateful creature. The only sign of life is a light flickering dimly up on the second floor. Lindianne's left her rifle behind; indoor sightlines play havoc for snipers. The MP5 she cradles in her hands is enough to see this done. There are zipties in her pack and a first-aid kit at her side. That's enough.]
[It feels like a split-second before they're in the building. And if outdoors is dark, this place is an abyss. She pauses at the first door. Gestures. Nudges it ever so-carefully open, ISAC feeding stats to her contact lenses-]
[-And the second she sees the figure just inside the doorway, she lunges.]
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Mother's voice is barely a whisper over the net.]
Rhodes, kill the power.
On it.
[That light in the second story goes out as they stack up on the door. Rabbit tries the lock - it's open. The hinges creak as they flow in like water, the suppressors on their weapons like horns as the SEALs cover their angles.]
Neptune, moving interior.
[The feeds on the SEALs' helmet cams and Lindianne's contacts are feeding a steady stream of audio and video back to a couple of flatscreens in the Situation Room. Faye and Benitez - and more than a handful of the intel squints - are watching in various positions of tension. They can see the splintered wood and shattered bits of glass underneath Neptune's feet, the old bloodstains on the walls. The mics are even good enough that they can capture the soft sounds of movement from upstairs - someone whispering, the faint creak of bedsprings. But they can't get a whiff of the odor, that faint smell of decay, of unwashed bodies, of stale excrement.
Rabbit's the one to take the door with Lindianne as the other SEALs flow past. As Preacher and Mother stack up on another door, Voodoo takes up position by the stairwell leading up, his infrared laser pointed up the steps like a lance.
Rabbit's on her heels as Lindianne lunges, grabs hold of the figure-
long brown hair, a healing cut on one pale and sallow cheek, filthy white tank-top and panties, eyes wide and mouth open as she issues a startled scream-
It seems to echo throughout the house for the split-second before a hand is clamped over her mouth. Her frail, malnourished frame can hardly withstand the force of Lidnianne's lunge - it's enough to knock her back and on her behind into a corner, where she pants against the hand pressed against her mouth.]
Don'tkillmedon'tkillmedon'tkillme, pleasedon'tkillme pleasepleasepleaaaase-
[Her eyes are squeezed shut. Tears flow readily from their corners, as though she's resigned herself to whatever pleas she makes going unheard.]
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[In the darkness, her eyes are as wide as the other woman. She stares for a moment in silent horror. Yet another moment burned into her memory. Another scar left in the wake of everything that's come before. The MP5 hangs from its sling, forgotten in the moment. Her voice is barely audible.]
JTF. We're here to help. How many are there?
[It feels stifling despite the lack of heat. Lindianne takes her hand away long enough to shrug her jacket off. That gets draped over the other woman's shoulders in a comforting gesture. All around then, the building creaks. The darkness is suffocating. If New York has a dark night of the soul, this is no doubt that it looks like.]
[When she finally turns to glance back at Rabbit, Lindianne's face is stone and thunder. Someone is going to die today for this. And they had better pray that she doesn't find them first.]
[Because they won't live long enough to regret it.]
[She jerks her head back towards the door. You first. The deadness seeps into her voice.]
Door is clear, ma'am. Head back out there, subway tunnel, and stay put. We'll be along shortly. [A pause, then, hissed through clenched teeth:] Go.
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The woman is almost catatonic as Lindianne drapes the jacket over her, eyes darting to and fro like she's a caged animal trying to figure out whether this is some kind of trick. Then, as reality sets in, she pulls the jacket tightly over her shoulders, as if to surround herself in whatever scraps of warmth it offers.]
I don't know. They usually keep us blindfolded on the third floor until-
[She swallows, forces composure into her body.] One of them brought in some customers earlier. On the second floor. [She sniffles, shakes her head.] I don't know how many.
[Rabbit catches Lindianne's look and nods, going back to cover the door, his every step silent. The woman looks out the window in the direction of the subway stop and shakes her head.]
My ankle's sprained. I can't walk.
[Whatever fragments of composure she was able to summon in the past few seconds crumble. Her eyes go wide, her lips tremble, and her chest starts to heave as she grabs onto Lindianne, holding onto her like a frighted child might hold onto a teddy bear during a thunderstorm.] Please don't leave me, please-
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[Surely this can be enough. It has to be. It will be.]
[Lindianne shushes her as quietly as she dares. One wrong sound and the entire mission could go wrong. She won't have Neptune's blood on her hands. Not if she can help it. She pulls back to arms length after a moment, blinking furiously. Her eyes sting. Her voice, thank God, is steady.]
I won't. But you can't come with me. If things go wrong, I'm not letting you get shot. We're going to get you out here. I promise.
[She pulls away. But she leaves the jacket behind. It's a shabby thing after months of wear, but it'll keep her safe and warm. The game face breaks for a moment into a pained smile.]
Keep the jacket for now, okay? For luck.
[When she turns back to Rabbit, Lindianne drops the smile. Go time.]
Neptune One, Wraith. Second story. Civilians present. Watch your fire.
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One copies.
[A trio of sharp thwock-thwocks comes from where Preacher and Mother are. Death moans come through the wall, the sound of lungs shot full of holes and filling with blood still trying to work.]
Two EKIA.
[Suddenly, a shout from upstairs.]
Hey, Esco!
[By the stairwell, Voodoo tenses.]
Esco, you down there? What's going on?
[Dusty's smooth drawl comes over the net.] Mother, Dusty. Movement second deck, moving black side to white. No shot.
Yo, Esco! Fuckin' respond!
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[Even kneeling, Voodoo's definitely got her beat on the muscle front. Most of the SEALs do; the SHD didn't pick her because she lifted weights in her civilian life. Lindianne is a greyhound, all coiled energy waiting for an outlet. She hesitates for a moment there. then, as if deciding something, she yanks her sleeve down. The ISAC beacon on her wrist vanishes. The light goes out.]
[The look she gives him is answer enough: do I have permission to go up there? And even if the answer is no, she's going anyway. Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast. The first step on the staircase is dead silent; walking next to the wall keeps the rotted stairs from creaking in protest.]
[She peers up into the second floor with her MP5 already raised. Esco is already as good as dead. His buddy isn't going to be any luckier. None of these assholes are.]
[They've seen their last day on this earth. They just don't know it yet.]
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Esco! Fuckin' power's out, what's going-
[There's two of them coming around a blind corner from Lindianne's left as she ascends the stairwell. They're fit guys. That, plus their skivvy shirts, snow camo fatigues, and combat boots gives them away - off-duty LMB.]
-holy fu-!
[There's a soft puff as Voodoo puts two rounds through the leader's head, dropping him like a sack of potatoes and painting the wall opposite with his brains. The one following ducks as Voodoo shoots off more rounds. He unholsters a pistol almost inhumanly fast, squeezes off three rounds blamblamblam at Lindianne-]
Wraith's in contact, Wraith's in contact!
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Contact. Second floor, one EKIA.
[Her MP5 is more of a polite cough than a teeth-rattling burst of fire as she leans from cover. Most people would panic under such circumstances. Lindianne, however, sounds almost bored by the entire thing. Whatever fear she might feel has been swallowed up by the memories of everything that's come to this point. Nothing else matters but seeing this done.]
[She presses her back to the door jamb, ducking as a few shots pockmark the drywall over her head. No time to lose. No chance to escape.]
Wolfpack, do you have visual?
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[The suppressed cough of Deuce's marksman rifle comes a microsecond before the deafening crash of a nearby window shattering from the 7.62 millimeter projectile and the thud of a body dropping to the floor. Then - silence.]
Bug food. You're clear, Wraith.
[From behind her, stacked up on the stairwell with the other SEALs, Mother lets out a soft sigh - making a mental note to chew Parker out later for trying to go it alone, perhaps. But for now, they've got a job.]
Neptune's taking the second deck.
[The SEALs advance up behind Lindianne, IR lasers covering every visible angle as they take the stairs one step at a time. As Voodoo moves to hold the stairway leading up, Preacher and Mother split off to clear the far half of the rooms, leaving the closer half to Lindianne and Rabbit.]
Hey! Hey, what's this about, eh?!
[The voice is coming from upstairs, tinged with an Eastern European accent. Rabbit doesn't acknowledge it as he moves to try the lock.]
Talk to me, druzi, and we can work this out, eh?! What you want - money? Guns? Girls?
[Locked. His mouth drops in a slight grimace as he slings his carbine off to the side and gets out his Halligan bar, fitting the flat end of it between the door and the frame next to the lock.]
Fucking say something, you assholes!
[It's funny how something so innocuous as a door can be so terrifying. There's no way to tell what horrors hide behind it. The fear can paralyze you, if you let it. Best not to let it.
Rabbit nods to Lindianne. On your go.]
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[ISAC is still humming away, a steady orange glow in the edges of Lindianne's contact lenses. She glances at Rabbit as the rest of Neptune spreads out. She just as quickly jerks her head in the direction of the yelling. She cocks her head. Listens. Shakes her head.]
[He'll get his shortly. This comes first.]
[The darkness is suffocating. The air is rank and stale. The building groans faintly like a wounded animal. But Rabbit is a solid presence as he gets set. She rolls her firing shoulder and grimaces as it pops. Then, posting up, she glances at him across the door and nods once.]
[The instant he pops the door, she's through without missing a step.]
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Later, when she's not fighting for her life, these are the things Lindianne will notice - an unconscious and bloodied teenaged boy handcuffed to the bed in the far corner, peeling paint on the walls, a bookshelf someone emptied and stripped for kindling and firewood long ago, turned over chairs and tables - behind one of which is a thug with an Ithaca 37. He's panicking, slam-firing double-aught buckshot in Lindianne's general direction - kaBLAMkaBLAMkaBLAM - and although Rabbit's coming through the door with his carbine raised, he still won't be on target fast enough if Lindianne isn't quick enough on the draw.]
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[The room is a blur of sensory information: bed, blood, decay, smashed furniture, cordite, hostile, shotgun-]
[The shotgun registers before the rest of it. Lindianne jukes left like a prizefighter ducking a haymaker and closes the distance. Her vest won't be worth a hill of beans at this range; one lucky shot and the only thing left of her ribcage will be roadkill. Her enemy isn't going to get the chance to put that theory to the test. She front-kicks the table into him to act as a distraction. It's all she needs.]
[The MP5 goes slack on its strap as she spear-tackles him to the floor. She doesn't wait before punching at his throat. Rage is one hell of a motivator. And right now?]
[Right now the only thing she feels is rage.]
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