(no subject)

[remnantrecruit]

Time & Place: A.) Washington D.C., 2274 | B.) Enclave-controlled Detroit, 228X
Description: A.) Bellamy and Abner’s first mission together | B.) The Gang Solves A Murder
Content: It’s Fallout, you know the drill

A.) Introductions 

This is a retrieval mission. One of our own, a traitor to the cause. You'll be accompanying Agent Rook. He has the details, along with a photograph of the target. Your duty is to assist with the retrieval and protect your superior from any harm in the process. You'll be meeting him outside the main gate at 0600 tomorrow. Do you understand? Good boy.

It was a quarter to six when Abner took his position by the gate, folding his arms tightly over his chest. February was fucking cold, and his civilian disguise didn't offer much in the way of insulation. At least they'd given him a scarf—as much to hide the shock collar as anything else, but it kept his face warm. He pulled it up to cover his nose as he scanned the area.

There. Someone else was emerging from the bunker. Smaller than him, almost child-sized. Was that supposed to be his superior? He stood at attention as the figure approached, just in case.

- - -

B.) Whodunnit

Abner remembered in flashes. Blood. Bruised knuckles. The sight of someone’s face being pummeled into a wall, over and over until it looked more like a crushed melon than a human head. And before that—a whisper in his ear, a voice he didn’t recognize, saying words they weren’t supposed to know.

Do you remember your training?

So yeah, he’d definitely killed someone. That wasn’t the important part. The important part was that he hadn’t done it alone. Someone, somewhere, had the controls to his brain. And that was blatant misuse of Enclave property.

He’d turned himself in immediately, of course. Fully cooperative. Now all that was left was to sit patiently in the interrogation room, hands folded on the cold metal table in front of him, waiting for the detective to ask his questions.

Comments

B.) Whodunnit

[burlydetective]

Ben had been at their office longer than Hank had. Older, thick mustache, and a grim, disgusted expression when they'd investigated the crime.

"Yeah, we can't get straight answers out of the guy. Captain says that that someone up the chain is swearing this can't be his fault," he informs Hank, writing down details on a notepad for their files. "He had to be following orders."

Some people are here in full uniform, but Hank's one of the lieutenants that's been around long enough that he can easily get away with his shirt sleeves rolled up, the hem not tucked in. He's got a reputation after what he's pulled off; people don't usually question it.

He scratches the scruff at his jaw, wrinkling up his nose as he looks through the quick sketches of the crime scene. He remembers the body, the pulp of unrecognizable skull, the way they only could identify it by battle scars. Hank's... seen worse. But not by much.

"So. Not his fault. But couldn't say no to an obviously stupid ass or wrong order. Got it. I'll see what I can get."

Hank grabs up his own notepad, a list of questions already on it, and goes into the interrogation room where the murderer is sitting. He sits heavily in his chair. "Alright, Abner, right? Tell me why you went after the victim? You left the guy almost unrecognizable, left him real fucked up. Like I've only seen beatings like that from guys under the influence of some nasty stuff."

Re: B.) Whodunnit

[remnantrecruit]

Nasty stuff? Well, that was one way to put it. Whatever the scientists had given him to turn him into a beast had certainly done something to his reasoning skills. But it wasn’t the experimental steroids that had led to the man’s death. Not this time.

“Yes sir. Private Abner, special asset.” He sat up straight and nodded sharply, the closest he could get to a salute. “I’ll do my best to help with your investigation, sir. It’s just—“ An uncomfortable shift in his chair, a glance to the side. The officer didn’t know, did he? About what he was, what he could do.

“I don’t remember, okay? Don’t even know who I killed. My brain...doesn’t work right sometimes. I don’t remember killing him. But I wasn’t on chems. And I swear to God it’s not something I would’ve done on my own. I’m a good d—“ He caught himself. “A good soldier, sir. I was following orders.”

[burlydetective]

"Yeah, I can tell. Decent complexion. No fresh track marks. Pupils look normal." Hank's giving him a scrutinizing once over, from the motion of his hands to the sudden buck in his posture. The unpleasant shift at the subject matter.

"You have to remember something. If not about what happened? Up to the murder, after the murder. You've got a powerful guy upstairs telling us that whatever this is? You were the gun, not the finger on the trigger. Now I could get into all sorts of bullshit metaphors about smoking guns or fingerprinting or whatever... but I want you to focus.

"Even if it's sounds, colors, people you saw beforehand. Go over everything with me to the moment you lost track, and what happened after."

He readies his pad, about to scrawl some notes, knowing on the other side of the mirror Ben is at it even more diligently. Two different accounts to make sure no detail is missed.

[remnantrecruit]

Focus. Abner nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think past the fog in his head. Focus. Memories seemed to blur and distort when the other him was in control, the Enclave’s machine—fragmented thoughts from a fragmented mind. Still, there had to be something there. Something they could use.

“I was...on patrol,” he recalled haltingly. “Near the outskirts. Heard reports of raider attacks. They sent me alone, of course, that’s my job. Don’t remember seeing any civilians around either.” No witnesses. Had they planned it that way?

“Then...someone grabbed me, I think. Grabbed my coat. Was about to fight back, but...” He shook his head. No good way to explain that part without giving too much away. “They said...something...to me. Might’ve been a woman’s voice, but I’m not sure. That’s when I went away. After that I remember...I remember tasting blood. I think I bit someone. And I remember the mess it made.” He’d been covered in gore when he turned himself in. The thin t-shirt they’d given him instead showed far too many of his scars for comfort, but it couldn’t be helped.

“...Sir, help me out here, please. Who did I kill?”

[burlydetective]

Went away. What a wierd fuckin' way to phrase that. Like he got hijacked or something. Who knows, maybe they should check him for any injection points. Get a more comprehensive review from medical.

"Agent Paul DePleur. Worked security at the Mayor's office."

Detroit's Mayor went strictly by his preferred title of Mayor. It had been that way before Enclave had come. Small concessions, like not displacing Detroit's entire power structure, for the sake of integrating with the population. But in reality, the power structure remained in name only; Enclave had its own personnel in those offices, and its own staff defending them.

Paul DePleur was pure and ruthless at his job. But there was one aspect to the man Hank sympathized with. "Had a loving wife. A daughter. Reputation for getting the job done. And for some reason there's evidence he just let you walk up to him. Didn't run, didn't have much of a chance to defend himself. Acted like you walking up to him should be the most normal damn thing in the world."

He waits for any light of recognition in Abner's eyes. Even a shift of posture.

[remnantrecruit]

Oh shit. He’d killed a superior. A tight knot of dread twisted in his stomach, and he bit his cheek hard to distract from the nausea. The last thing he needed was to puke in front of his interrogator.

“Agent DePleur,” he said, keeping his voice carefully even. “Yeah, I know him. Knew him, I guess. I was assigned to guard the mayor a few times. Public events and stuff. It looked good to have something like me up there with him, you know?” The dehumanizing phrasing slipped out instinctively, a habit he was too far gone to notice.

“I saw what Agent DePleur did to people. I know they were criminals, they deserved it, but...” He grimaced slightly. Flashbacks to Raven Rock—blood, bruises, a metal gauntlet crunching into his cheek. “It was ugly, sir. He had a lot of enemies. I just don’t know who would still be, uh, capable of doing something like that once he was done with them.”

[burlydetective]

Said interrogator sees the shift in his expression, some... change... he can't tell what. At least he can't tell that it's nausea at his own act. It does look like it could be some manner of sudden guilt.

He really didn't know, huh?

"Something like you? You're just a private, Abner. But last I checked privates were still people." He makes the observation as if he wants a further explanation. "Did he have any enemies that he never laid hands on? Or did you know him well enough to tell?"

[remnantrecruit]

“I didn’t know him very well, sir. I’m not supposed to talk while I’m on guard duty.” Abner neatly dodged the question about his alleged personhood. Too complicated for that particular conversation. Better to let the officer think he was a human, not bring up the training unless he had to.

“You said he was married, though—suppose it could’ve been his wife? Like I said, it sounded like a woman’s voice. And if he was like that at work, I hate to think what he was like at home.” Pure speculation, but it was all he had. “Do you know if she’s Enclave too? It would have to be someone with inside information...”

Someone who knew his trigger. Or someone who could’ve gotten ahold of it. And if one unauthorized person knew...well, he didn’t want to think about how many others might.

[burlydetective]

"Not even on a lunch break, huh?"

He tips his head. "Well. Anyone it could have been? Has an alibi. You. They used you to deliver the murder weapon while they went and did the killing. So I need to figure out when you heard this person speak-" to see who would have an alibi for that "-and where exactly it was."

He scratches at his chin scruff, face twisting up a little as he throws a questioning gaze at the two-way mirror. "Think you could recognize the voice?"

[remnantrecruit]

Abner nodded. “I could recognize their voice, probably. But I think I can actually narrow it down a little for you first. Just...give me a second to think about it.”

He shut his eyes again. That morning’s orders floated in his head, slightly foggy but still clear enough for him to backtrack. “They sent me on patrol at 600 hours. I was...out by that old Red Rocket station east of town. You know, the one where the raiders like to set up, with the rocket painted to look like...never mind. That’s where they grabbed me. I remember that part.” His forehead furrowed in thought. “Took me...I want to say, maybe an hour or two to get there from the base? The sun was all the way up, at least.” Clear blue sky, an empty wasteland, and then nothing afterwards but static and fog.

“I don’t know where I was when I killed the agent, though. I barely even remember coming here. How long has it been?” He glanced around the room for a clock, finding nothing but a bare lightbulb and a wall-length mirror, for some reason.

He took a moment to squint at his reflection. Christ, he looked exhausted.

[burlydetective]

"Don't wory, I'm a grown man. I know all the words." It almost sounds like a joke. Can't tell if the guy is sheltered or shy. So far, it seems like the former and in a strange damn way.

"Did someone order you out there, do you go there with any sort of regularity, or could there be some reason for someone to know you were out there. Because if not? Then you were followed. If yes? Then you were specifically researched and set up..."

Because, it seems, Abner could murder people and just forget. Hell of a bonus for confidentiality. He's important enough that the mayor and the Captain are vouching for him, he's a private, and he keeps referring to himself as a thing.

"It's been twenty-five hours."

But the investigation of the crime scene and jumping through the hoops of bureaucracy ate a hell of a lot of time. Especially when it seemed, at the beginning, they'd have an easy case with a cut and dry killer. Nope. They're gonna have some bullshit.

[remnantrecruit]

Twenty-five hours. No wonder he looked so rough. Hadn’t all been spent in this chair, thankfully, but the holding cell wasn’t much better. He scratched under the handcuffs, ragged bands of scarring around his wrists indicating this was far from a new habit.

“I was under orders,” he said. “They send me to check out raider territory a few times a week, if I’m not on special duty. Handful of places—the Red Rocket, the old church, that one movie theater on the south end. Sometimes I have to clear out an infestation, but it was empty this time. Well, except for the killer, I guess.” All things considered, he would’ve rather had raiders.

“Didn’t see anyone following me there, but whoever did this would’ve needed access to Enclave information anyway. They could’ve intercepted my orders somehow—I don’t know the exact schedule they keep me on, but it has to be written down somewhere. Everything is.”

[burlydetective]

He continues to write notes for himself as Abner speaks.

-On schedule, see who placed orders.

-Check out activities of wife.

-Figure out why it's okay for this guy to kill people and why he's allowed near public figures while having this problem.

-Also why he's a private and placed near public figures.

He tucks the tablet to the side, keeping the questions hidden for now. "You're not wrong. The fucking bureaucracy pit is a mile deep. I'm sure we'll find something. But it's my guess that if someone knew how to check or set your schedule, they know a few slight of hand tricks with paperwork."

But he's sure he can figure it out. People slip up talking all the time. Even the very best.

"So tell me, could someone be wanting to get you in trouble? Didn't give a fuck about DePleur. Just wanted you out of the way."

[remnantrecruit]

Abner quickly shook his head. He didn’t even have to think about that one. “No sir. I don’t have any enemies—not in the Enclave, at least.” People who looked down on him, sure. The scientists and soldiers treated him like an animal more often than not, but they wouldn’t take him out of service. He was far too useful for that.

“Besides, my superiors already know I couldn’t have done this alone.” Good dogs don’t bite their owners. “If someone with access to that information wanted me out of the way, they would’ve just decommissioned me right then and there. This was about Agent DePleur. Had to be.”

A slight hint of concern passed over his usually blank face. “Wait. Speaking of superiors...they do know about this, right? I was supposed to be back at base by now. I don’t want them to think I deserted.”

[burlydetective]

"Right. They said that you weren't responsible. That's a funny damn thing."

He leans forward, fingers knit together, brow furrowing. "So... you just... do what your told. No questions asked. No evidence because you don't remember it? Am I somewhere close? But only your superiors are supposed to be able to give those orders.

"But none of your superiors would have wanted this guy dead. And you didn't recognize the voice of anyone you knew."

He sucks on the inside of his teeth in thought, clicking a couple of times.

"Could you have been loaned out without your knowledge? Your superiors didn't want to get their hands dirty with somethin' so they just passed it on to someeone else to pass the order onto you?"

[remnantrecruit]

That...was a possibility Abner hadn’t considered. And it worried him. The more people who knew his trigger, the more chance of something like this happening again. Maybe even happening to someone he liked.

“It wouldn’t be the first time they loaned me out,” he admitted. “I’m only supposed to be used for military operations, but some of my superiors don’t care about that.” They usually limited it to household chores and the occasional underground cage fight, though. Never unauthorized assassination. At least not that he could remember.

“The only reason someone would do that is if they knew I would recognize their voice, right? All that does is make the suspect list longer.” He sighed and shifted his increasingly numb legs into a more comfortable position—the questioning was going nowhere, and it was becoming obvious that he wasn’t either. “Sir, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but...I’m sure you know more about Agent DePleur than I do. Is there anyone you think could’ve wanted him dead?”

[burlydetective]

"Yeah, we've been looking into him. Problem is no matter who hated 'em? They had to go through you. And no one up top is giving me the full story on you. But as someone that gets 'loaned out' and is supposed to be used for 'military operations' I think I'm working some things out."

Some sick things. But he's getting an idea. Maybe the voice'll be the one thing they can use. He taps the desk with his knuckles, gets up, and says, "Wait here. You need a bathroom break, knock on the door. This might take me a little bit."

Hank exits then, goes outside to find Ben in the next room, and takes his notes to compare the two sets. Behavioral and his own list of questions.

"That as freaky for you as it was for me?"

"Hmm." Ben grunts and shrugs. "Remember the time we caught the last mayor and the molerat-"

"Alright, yeah, alright. This is normal compared to that. But, y'know. Still freaky. Who do I talk to if I wanna become a dogwalker?"

"Dogwalker?"

"Yeah, this guy. Keeps describin' himself like an attack dog. I need to take him with me until he hears a voice he recognizes among the suspects. Who do I talk to about that?"

"Can't bring everyone in for a line-up?"

"I don't want these people to know they're suspects. Better to just lead him around, let him sniff. See what he digs up."

"Now you're the one getting creepy with the dog stuff." Ben thumps Hank's arm on the way out, catching words as he leaves.

"It's a good line! I'm a cop. That's the only perk to this work. Terrible lines. Hey.
You didn't answer my question!"

Though within the hour, he'd figured it out. Finally got through to the mayor himself. It's only then that Hank returns, putting a metal nuka-cola lunch pail with a thermos of soup, a baked potato and some cooked meat in it. After all, Abner had been in there a hell of a long time.

"Here. Eat this. Go home. Sleep it off. Meet me here at noon. Got it?"

[remnantrecruit]

His eyes were already open, but Abner still seemed to snap awake as Anderson reentered the room. His focus immediately locked on the lunch pail, and he dug in with his bare hands, finishing off the food in a matter of minutes. Normally he'd control himself better in front of superiors, but it had been over a day since his last meal. If intravenous nutrition even counted as a meal.

"Sorry. Hungry," he panted, wiping his mouth on his arm. The detective's instructions had taken a backseat to his ravenous hunger, but he'd still managed to understand most of them. "I got it, sir. Noon tomorrow?" A curious head tilt. "You're...letting me go? Just like that?"

Apparently he was. Abner carefully got to his feet as soon as he was freed, grimacing at the pins and needles in his legs as he made his way around the table. He paused for a moment at the door, glancing back at the lieutenant before he left the room.

"I want to figure this out as much as you do, sir. I'll see you tomorrow. I promise."

-----

His superiors hadn't been...thrilled...with his new assignment. Still, Abner stood stiffly in front of the police station at noon sharp, sporting a bruise near his good eye and what looked to be a fresh burn mark on the side of his throat. At least they'd given him his jacket back. Minus DePleur's blood, of course.

[burlydetective]

Well, isn't that a hell of a sight. He wants to assume that Abner could go a full night without getting into trouble. So why the ever-loving fuck does he have a bruise?

Hank rolls up with the nonchalance of a jaded man, not especially caring about being there on time. He comes in, does his job, leaves. He's got a good investigatory history. The fact his success record is so good is what keeps him from being fired. The gold-star citizen status.

But his heart hasn't been in it for a while. Honestly he cares about the DePleur case more for the sake of his family and doesn't give much of a damn about the man himself.

"Hey there," he calls out as he gets closer, squinting at the fresh bruise on his already messy face. "Where'd you get the shiner?" He asks outright.

A

[crowspy]

This is like... the opposite of perks of the job. Bellamy isn't one to empathize, usually, but hunting down a traitor cuts a bit close to home. Close enough he can't help but wonder if someone higher up has somehow picked up on what he's been thinking lately — If this is a message. But that's probably too paranoid, even for him. It wouldn't take much for someone to suspect he might want to defect, given his history, but... The past couple of years, he's behaved himself. He hasn't been a model citizen, partly because he just doesn't have that in him, but also partly because he knows if he cleaned up too much, he'd just look more suspicious, not less. But he's been a productive member of their shitty little society since joining up with the Secret Service, as though he's finally found his calling, his purpose in life. So no one should suspect him of anything. Doesn't mean the assignment isn't pointed, though. It's more likely to be a reminder of what would happen if he "fell" again, than it is to be a message of we're on to you. The fact that he's to work with Holland's... biggest success, sure, let's call it that, backs this up all the more, really. It's not paranoia if they'd love any excuse to be out to get you. "Hey, dude," Bellamy calls in welcome as he closes the distance. He looks perfectly comfortable in his wastelander clothes, layers over layers making his form indistinguishable. There's a casual slope to his shoulders, and in the way he has one hand hooked in a pocket and the other raised like he's greeting a friend. "Wow, you're a big boy, aren't you? Private Abner, right? I'm Agent Rook."

Re: A

[remnantrecruit]

Abner gave Agent Rook a stiff salute. “Yes sir. Private Abner, special asset. I’m under your command for this mission. Did they give you the briefing about me?” By the way the smaller man talked to him, he wasn’t sure. Usual protocol was not to acknowledge him any more than necessary—certainly not to address him as an equal. Or to call him a big boy, whatever that was supposed to mean.

“I don’t mean to question you, sir, but I want to make sure you know how to utilize me properly. You should’ve been given a copy of trigger phrase Delta, and...” He scratched nervously at his neck, under the scarf. “...a remote control. For emergencies. It’s unlikely you’ll need either of those, but better safe than sorry, sir. Lot of unknown variables out here.”

[crowspy]

"Yeah, they did." The remote is tucked deep within Bellamy's layers. He has no intention of reaching anywhere near that fucking thing, but he knows better than to say that out loud. The trigger phrase... That gets to be the last resort. The bottom-of-the-barrel resort. Which, hey, is what it's supposed to be to begin with, but Bellamy will probably push it further.

"Don't worry, you're right. I don't figure we're gonna need 'em." He grins. "So did they tell you much of what the mission's about?"

Not much, likely. But he is, as ever, curious.

[remnantrecruit]

So the agent did know what he was. He just...chose to act like this, like Abner was a person and not a tool. And he was keeping it up, too—asking him about the mission? Not wanting to use the remote or the trigger?

Abner wasn’t sure what to think about that. So he didn’t.

“They didn’t tell me much, sir,” he replied instead. “That it’s a retrieval, and you’d have the details. I don’t need details to do my job, though. Just tell me who to kill. Or subdue, I guess.”

[crowspy]

The itch to run is, ironically, getting stronger, despite the warning in the mission. Jesus christ, he hates this, and they haven't even left Enclave grounds yet. "Yeah, subdue. We're supposed to bring this guy back in alive." And it's going to be so tempting to be like, whoopsie, he died, what an accident. Bellamy's going to have to be careful, though. A clever spin on a report won't be enough this time since he's got a watchdog. "Hope you've got your hiking boots on, buddy, 'cause we've got a couple days' trip ahead to catch up to his last reported location."

[remnantrecruit]

“It doesn’t matter what kind of boots I’m wearing, sir. I can go up to a week without needing to stop or rest. Longer in emergency situations. Two days will be no trouble.” It sounded almost like an advertising pitch, like something he’d been trained to recite. Like he was selling himself.

“I’m ready whenever you are. Just lead the way, sir, and I’ll be right behind you. Or in front of you, if you want, but most people prefer me watching their back. Most serious threats come from behind.”