Summary:An officially-dead vigilante receives a rather unconventional rescue… and job-offer Log Info:Storyteller: N/A |
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"This is bullshit, and you all fucking know it." Jane grumbles. The redhead is sitting in a plain room as its sole occupant. She's handcuffed to a bar that's bolted to the single table, an empty chair across from her. The vigilante has assorted bullet holes in her red leather jacket, but she's no longer bleeding. Squinting, she makes a face at the one-way mirror and very deliberately flips it off.
She doesn't ask for a lawyer, because dead people can't hire lawyers. And Jane is technically, legally dead. She was also just involved in a massive shoot-out that left half a dozen mafia thugs in body bags. Mafia thugs with Federal warrants on them. Which explains why she's not been given over to the local NYPD crowd, where she has connections. Nope, this is now a Federal matter.
Though this was not something for which she explicitly signed up when she 'volunteered' for the Thunderbolts, it is no great surprise to Scandal that the organisation feels able to make demands of her that might be considered unconventional or surprising. And she would readily admit that shipping out any of the 'assets' from the Raft would probably not achieve desired ends in *this* kind of situation…
Thus, phone calls were made by assorted high-ups - both to roust their chosen delegate into motion, and to prepare the way for her with those lucky souls presently trying to work out what to do with their captured dead woman. Now, the door to the interrogation room is opened by a man wearing a classic Federal Agent charcoal-grey suit and a distinctly dubious expression, past whom a twenty-something woman stalks into the room… before pointedly closing the door on the agent who let her in.
Her own attire is distinctly business-like, but clearly rather more expensive than most can afford on a federal salary. The skirt ends a couple of inches above the knee; her boots end a similar distance below. Tailored to fit snugly, both jacket and skirt are a muted deep blue - a tone which helps to draw attention to the streak of richer blue in the young woman's short black hair.
As incongruous as that flare of individuality in hair style, at least to the eyes of a warrior, might be the rather predatory grace with which she moves - *perhaps* just a dancer or athlete, but there's a definite watchfulness to her… and the manner in which her flickering gaze swiftly surveys the whole room before fixing upon its sole occupant might speak to some real experience in such places.
"Good morning. Or evening, if you prefer," she says warmly, pulling out the chair opposite Jane's, before folding elegantly onto it. "I wondered if you would be willing to talk."
Her accent is educated, though with the sort of precise polish that speaks to an 'international' education rather than an origin within the US.
Jane Vasko is slouching in her chair like an emo teenager, and makes no move to change her posture when the door opens. Before she died she was a full-fledged NYPD Detective, on her way towards a very promising career. That was then.
The Agent leans in and Jane peers at him over red-lensed glasses. Great, a Suit. He stays outside, which is good. Jane doesn't have anything more to say to him anyway. The woman, on the other hand, gets her attention. This isn't conventional, which could be either very good or very bad. Her hands move, just enough to rattle the cuffs.
"Nice boots." she offers. "And thanks for leaving the chaperone outside." There's a pause and Jane actually does sit up a little bit. "So I've met Mister Bad Cop. Are you going to play the Good Cop role, or are we going to do something different tonight?"
"Thank you. I *am* rather fond of them." The new arrival offers an apparently-genuine smile, wryly amused, before crossing her legs and neatly smoothing down her skirt. Running her gaze over what she can see of Jane, she somewhat pointedly arches a brow at the bullet-holes. And what can be seen of the bloodstains against the red of her top.
"So… do you want to go through the motions of telling me that the night hasn't been as rough as it looked, that none of the blood is yours, and that everything's normal? Or shall we stick to being unconventional?"
Jane Vasko smiles at the suggestion, shooting a glance towards the one-way glass before she answers. "Hypothetically speaking of course, IF this conversation was being recorded and IF I happened to be somehow INVOLVED with all those deaths, I don't think a 'self defense' plea is going to float very far."
She leans in a bit more, then. "But considering that your jacket is already worth more than an FBI Agent's annual salary, I'll go along with this being an unconventional encounter. We both know that very little of this is really 'normal'." Jane looks the woman over again. "So the REAL question in my mind right now is, who are you and why are we talking?"
The jacket in question is glanced down at, before its wearer chuckles. "I don't think that the FBI pays its people *quite* that poorly, but I might be mistaken." Her lips twitch into an impish little smile… then she leans forward, resting interlinked hands on the table - within grabbing range of Jane's own, quite possibly - as she adopts a conspiratorially playful expression.
"I have been sent here by some rather unpleasant people, to let you know that a rather unpleasant section of the federal government of the United States of America would like to offer you a way out of your predicament. We are aided, of course, by the Bureau of Investigation not being quite sure *what* to do with you themselves - but they will reach a decision some time after some of their senior staff have assembled for a meeting in a few hours' time. I can offer you the chance to present them with a fait accompli, and have you out of here before most of them have even got out of bed."
"If you are inclined to reject this out of hand… then I might see you again once you are in maximum security. But I am not sure how often the powers that be would be willing to pull strings to present opportunities to the same woman, so it might be worth hearing me out, at least."
Jane Vasko wrinkles her nose when the other woman mentions the federal government in the offer. But then the options are played forward a bit more, and she begins to get it. Jane, who's enjoyed being off the grid for so very long, now finds herself in a unique position.
She smiles a little after the speech. "You won't be surprised if I find those list of options to be somewhat limited, of course." the woman replies. "Listen, we both know that it won't take much research to learn a few things about me. You've already guessed that I'd be a VERY popular little girl in prison, and I don't mean in the 'fun' way. So that door is one I'd rather not keep open."
Jane shifts in her seat, giving another preemptory tug on the cuffs. Her voice lowers a bit more. "How about we all this a provisional 'yes', and continue this conversation without the benefit of Agents Smith and Friday overhearing the specifics?"
"Some people might consider acceptance to be their patriotic duty. Others might think that being 'popular' in prison would be preferable," the smartly-dressed woman notes, tone again dry.
Unlacing her hands, she dips into the top of one boot - coming up with a little black device that the former cop might recognise as a high-end (spy- rather than supervillain-grade) white noise generator. That, she sets on the table with a neat little click, before activating it.
"Personally," she says quietly, keeping her gaze firmly on Jane and away from the camera as she leans forward once more. "I want anyone I am responsible for bringing into this to realise that it might be your least-bad option, rather than a *good* one. But if you 'volunteer' as early as possible, then you can secure for yourself a range of perks not open to those who only cut a deal once already in maximum-security detention for… unconventional individuals. A nice, well-behaved volunteer, however, can win herself rights to live out in the civilian world, move *largely* as she chooses, and do a lot of her work on her own initiative. There are a few of us who have secured that status: in so far as my word is worth anything to you, I can assure you that it is a genuine possibility."
"Now… I can perhaps provide you with a minor reason to trust me, or at least believe my words. But I am aware that you might prefer to avoid anything… unusual happening while under observation."
Jane Vasko almost snorts at the mention of patriotic duty, but she manages to keep a straight face. Mostly. The smirk doesn't quite go away. The WNG earns an arched brow, and Jane definitely notices that the woman places it on the table so that it's discreet. Once it's activated, she gives it a moment while listening to the other woman's REAL offer.
"I had a good thing going before crossing into *Federal* territory, so you'll excuse me if I don't exactly trust THAT side of your organization. I went out at night, shot up the bad guys, then healed during the day. I did what the police either couldn't do or wouldn't do, and in return I had a few people who watched out for me when things went sideways."
"Trust is something that's earned, and it goes both ways. It's also a pretty rare commodity these days, especially in law enforcement. So consider me a volunteer, but don't expect me to trust you right out of the gate."
"Heal during the day?" Another wry smile, then the gentle fidgeting of the suited woman's hands produces a clearly-audible snap. Though it's hidden from the camera, the last two thirds of the little finger of her left hand is folded back - a ninety-degree angle the wrong way, snapped right on the joint in the kind of injury that is likely to require surgery to fix. With an unpleasant bone-grating crunch - and a definite wince - she forces it back into alignment, resuming talking as the mangled digit starts to flare up in evident protest.
"I won't ask for details - not yet. Though I should state the obvious: the powers that be are going to take an interest in your unconventional capabilities. I suspect that part of the appeal for many volunteers is that if they can be of manifest use in the field - if only from time to time - then they can more reasonably hope to avoid finding themselves given the task of… assisting research projects. Personally, I am rather keen to ensure that any time I spent in a laboratory is on my own terms, as much as possible."
Her wounded finger is now behaving somewhat oddly. Not only has the predictably-dramatic swelling and change in colour come to a halt, it might even be reducing. Not that she's allowing the camera to see it.
"To the good agents of the Federal Republic outside, I am 'Agent Savage'. The 'Agent' title, I didn't claim, but they assigned it to me by default - apparently badgeless people working for clandestine federal agencies have to be 'agents' themselves as far as many are concerned. Such an assumption can be useful at times… but my 'public' legal standing is only fractionally superior to that of, say, a deceased police officer. Mostly, my legal powers extend to having important people make phone calls to other important people, so that word can then be passed down the chain that questions should stop being asked. Those trusted connections you mentioned are likely to still be of considerable use to you, if you feel able to call upon them henceforth."
That finger is definitely returning to its normal appearance now - it looks like the injury happened weeks, if not months, ago.
Jane Vasko glances down as this woman just casually breaks her own finger, brows lifting curiously. And then it goes back together again. "Nice trick, that." she offers. "And yeah, that's just the sort of ability that creepy sci-fi doctors find interesting to study. I've got a pretty simple trick of my own, but you probably guessed that already." She shifts and the hole-ridden jacket slips aside to show smooth skin beneath.
"We'll have to compare notes sometime. Preferably somewhere else, and without the company of people in lab coats." She smiles, and it's almost genuine. Or it would be if it weren't so feral.
"So where do I sign to get outta these cuffs, Agent Savage?" Yeah, that one's not going away anytime soon. "And I'm Jane. Painkiller Jane… because when I get hurt I feel it. Every. Time."
"I hate regrowing organs," 'Agent' Savage mutters darkly. She darts a glance to her injured hand - the little finger still rigidly stiff, as breaks and tears continue to knit back together beneath the surface. "Joints and major bones aren't much better. Still… shall we shake hands for the camera, and then I can see about getting you out of here? I tend to find that moving at speed can help quite a lot in overcoming people's doubts. And it has the added merit of passing more of the angry recriminations on to my - our - superiors when those dreadfully-important conference calls happen."
She does indeed offer her right (unhurt!) hand for Jane to clasp, seemingly quite willing to risk being grabbed by the dangerous prisoner.
And Jane clasps the hand right back, as best as the cuffs will permit. She even turns to flash a grin towards the one-way mirror. "Thanks, Agent. And see? This is me not biting you…"
"Appreciate losing the cuffs, too. Saves me the trouble of breaking my hands to get free. If it weren't for the cameras…" Yeah, she would've been gone by now. That, and apparently Jane does have a soft spot for law enforcement.
Laughing freely, Savage nods - then reclaims her hand. Dipping into the single small pocket her suit designer permitted to disrupt its lines, she comes up with keys… which she uses to deftly unlock the cuffs. The white noise generator, she snares (and presumably flips to 'off') while en route to returning the keys to their hiding place. Uncrossing her legs, she rises to her feet… and offers Jane a hand up.
"Shall we?"
Jane Vasko lightly rubs her wrists once the cuffs are removed, smiling and accepting the hand up. "Thanks." she replies. "I'll need to get another pair of guns later on. Picked up the others off a couple of dead gang-bangers, so I'm guessing I'm not getting them back." Once on her feet Jane adjusts her jacket, pushes the shades up into place again, and gives the one-way mirror the finger as a parting gesture.
Permitting herself an indelicate snort, 'Agent' Savage shoots Jane a look… then nods. "Yes. I think that I might find myself with some explaining to do if I promised that you could have those back," she says dryly, before cracking a grin as she moves to get the door.
"This one's mine now," she informs the guardian outside. "Relevant arrangements will be completed tomorrow, and all appropriate cooperation will be provided to your department in resolving the outstanding cases." Stepping out past the poor FBI man, she turns to look back to Jane. "This way, please. We'll get you booked in where you're supposed to be."
There might, perhaps, be a hint of playful joy in her expression as she completes the rescue of someone from federal custody… though it's probably only meant for Jane to see.