ravenrock | (no subject)

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.

Threaded | Flat

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."

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."