09-09-2018, 10:53 PM
(This post was last modified: 09-09-2018, 10:55 PM by Jay Carpenter.)
Natalie was really drunk.
If it wasn’t for the ridiculous situation in which he found himself, he’d stalk out the door in search of the means to join her stupor. As it was, he was holding an FBI badge in one hand and two agents sprawled at his feet. Probably should wait to make sure nobody shot him in the back first.
He thought he had problems before.
She thrust a slim piece of tech in his hands. The Legion worked with easily decade-old equipment. MARSOC was more up to date, but nothing compared to the sci-fi like advancements of the Facility. At least before Jay blew up their control room and killed a poor assistant. What he held in his hand was something of that quality. He turned it over, unfolded the flexible screen. Sensors read his innermost desires like it listened to Natalie’s voice. A message was summoned.
”A gift.”
One Jay didn’t understand.
He stared at Natalie, but rather than the vulnerable girl wrapped in his arms, he saw the angle of a paparazzi photograph. Courtrooms. Stately family. ’It’s my dad.’
The message was from her dad. A gift. One that definitely wasn’t to be shoved in a vase. They knew who he was. Carpenter. Grey. Not Northbrooke, Grey.
Alistair Grey, imprisoned in as a Custody traitor, pulled strings Jay didn’t even know exist. His tendrils touched all the way to the FBI from half-a-world away. What else did he know?
He let their bonds of light dissipate. The first agent, Preston S. Clark, Agent Clark, rolled to check on the state of his partner. Jay offered to return his property.
He sank onto the bed. The next-gen wallet laid alongside his thigh. A frown took his tone as he spoke, ”Sorry about that. Thought you were someone else.”
Preston glared as he looked up. “Carpenter, I don’t know much about you. Most of your file is black-listed. But you have about a thirty seconds to explain before I arrest you.”
Jay doubted the threat was sincere. More like he didn’t want to admit that one guy kicked both their asses in a matter of seconds. Still, a chill laced ice down his spine. They had a file, confidential, and knew his record. Details were likely obscured or erased to those except higher levels in the Pentagon command, but they had more than sat comfortably. He shifted his weight…scrubbed a hand across his hair.
The partner edged to a sitting position, leaning against the wall. Preston, despite the rawness of soon-to-bloom bruises, was in better shape. Since it was already apparent what he was, Jay spun out a rope of air to yank open the mini bar and deposit two bottles within arm’s reach. To Preston’s credit, who gasped, but held his composure pretty well for witnessing magic first hand. Almost like he might have expected as much, but it was a different story to see it for yourself. Shit, Jay could empathize.
The second guy, whose name Jay still didn’t know, accepted the water and sank his head in his hands like the world still spun for him. Maybe he should ask Jensen to heal the poor bastard. Maybe.
“You’re here for her, I take it.” He nodded a kick of the head toward Natalie. The power continued to swarm his senses, he could smell the alcohol on her even now. What did she want to talk about? Something urged her to seek him in the casino. Only to come across a guy huddled up against another woman. Yep. The good just piled up in spades today. “There’s someone coming for me too. You ever heard of a Nicaraguan cartel lord self-named El Tiburon?”
Preston snapped his head around. Apparently he had. “El Tiburon is a Federally wanted man. A dozen legitimate businesses obscure opioid manufacturing and human trafficking. If you’re saying El Tiburon is after you, then he isn’t paying us enough.” The elusive ‘he’ again. Natalie’s dad. Jay should have read more about him while he had the chance. What did he know?
Darkness deepened his tone. A hint of previous sins proudly spoken. Given the chance, he’d still slaughter the guy. Maybe he would hold back a little with the machete. Maybe not. The guy already had a bullet in the brain and two in the chest before Jay jumped him. “That motherfucker is dead. El Tiburon was claimed by Zacarias, a younger brother. The guy is having a little bit of a problem letting go.” Jay didn’t elaborate further, but the agent nodded like he had a better sense of who he was dealing with. They had no idea, of course. Raiders was pretty damn elite of a group. It wasn't a large leap to assume who it was that swung the scythe. Jay barely knew his own capacity. Ascendancy sensed the potential and cultivated it. You’ll earn it. The medal he pinned to his chest on the promise of future violence.
He tried to pretend Natalie wasn’t sitting right there. Hopefully alcohol plugged her ears and erased her memory. But if FBI agents were here, maybe even to take her to safety at her dad’s behest, then they needed something to go on. Zacarias was at the ball. He saw Jay with Natalie. Connections made men vulnerable. He would plunge the knife and twist the pain excruciating if given the chance to exploit.
“So you can imagine, I’m a little jumpy. And not to typecast, but fuck dude, you look just like Crisostomo Amengual. Maybe you should consider a haircut or something.” A morbid grin broke the melancholy of his expression.
If it wasn’t for the ridiculous situation in which he found himself, he’d stalk out the door in search of the means to join her stupor. As it was, he was holding an FBI badge in one hand and two agents sprawled at his feet. Probably should wait to make sure nobody shot him in the back first.
He thought he had problems before.
She thrust a slim piece of tech in his hands. The Legion worked with easily decade-old equipment. MARSOC was more up to date, but nothing compared to the sci-fi like advancements of the Facility. At least before Jay blew up their control room and killed a poor assistant. What he held in his hand was something of that quality. He turned it over, unfolded the flexible screen. Sensors read his innermost desires like it listened to Natalie’s voice. A message was summoned.
”A gift.”
One Jay didn’t understand.
He stared at Natalie, but rather than the vulnerable girl wrapped in his arms, he saw the angle of a paparazzi photograph. Courtrooms. Stately family. ’It’s my dad.’
The message was from her dad. A gift. One that definitely wasn’t to be shoved in a vase. They knew who he was. Carpenter. Grey. Not Northbrooke, Grey.
Alistair Grey, imprisoned in as a Custody traitor, pulled strings Jay didn’t even know exist. His tendrils touched all the way to the FBI from half-a-world away. What else did he know?
He let their bonds of light dissipate. The first agent, Preston S. Clark, Agent Clark, rolled to check on the state of his partner. Jay offered to return his property.
He sank onto the bed. The next-gen wallet laid alongside his thigh. A frown took his tone as he spoke, ”Sorry about that. Thought you were someone else.”
Preston glared as he looked up. “Carpenter, I don’t know much about you. Most of your file is black-listed. But you have about a thirty seconds to explain before I arrest you.”
Jay doubted the threat was sincere. More like he didn’t want to admit that one guy kicked both their asses in a matter of seconds. Still, a chill laced ice down his spine. They had a file, confidential, and knew his record. Details were likely obscured or erased to those except higher levels in the Pentagon command, but they had more than sat comfortably. He shifted his weight…scrubbed a hand across his hair.
The partner edged to a sitting position, leaning against the wall. Preston, despite the rawness of soon-to-bloom bruises, was in better shape. Since it was already apparent what he was, Jay spun out a rope of air to yank open the mini bar and deposit two bottles within arm’s reach. To Preston’s credit, who gasped, but held his composure pretty well for witnessing magic first hand. Almost like he might have expected as much, but it was a different story to see it for yourself. Shit, Jay could empathize.
The second guy, whose name Jay still didn’t know, accepted the water and sank his head in his hands like the world still spun for him. Maybe he should ask Jensen to heal the poor bastard. Maybe.
“You’re here for her, I take it.” He nodded a kick of the head toward Natalie. The power continued to swarm his senses, he could smell the alcohol on her even now. What did she want to talk about? Something urged her to seek him in the casino. Only to come across a guy huddled up against another woman. Yep. The good just piled up in spades today. “There’s someone coming for me too. You ever heard of a Nicaraguan cartel lord self-named El Tiburon?”
Preston snapped his head around. Apparently he had. “El Tiburon is a Federally wanted man. A dozen legitimate businesses obscure opioid manufacturing and human trafficking. If you’re saying El Tiburon is after you, then he isn’t paying us enough.” The elusive ‘he’ again. Natalie’s dad. Jay should have read more about him while he had the chance. What did he know?
Darkness deepened his tone. A hint of previous sins proudly spoken. Given the chance, he’d still slaughter the guy. Maybe he would hold back a little with the machete. Maybe not. The guy already had a bullet in the brain and two in the chest before Jay jumped him. “That motherfucker is dead. El Tiburon was claimed by Zacarias, a younger brother. The guy is having a little bit of a problem letting go.” Jay didn’t elaborate further, but the agent nodded like he had a better sense of who he was dealing with. They had no idea, of course. Raiders was pretty damn elite of a group. It wasn't a large leap to assume who it was that swung the scythe. Jay barely knew his own capacity. Ascendancy sensed the potential and cultivated it. You’ll earn it. The medal he pinned to his chest on the promise of future violence.
He tried to pretend Natalie wasn’t sitting right there. Hopefully alcohol plugged her ears and erased her memory. But if FBI agents were here, maybe even to take her to safety at her dad’s behest, then they needed something to go on. Zacarias was at the ball. He saw Jay with Natalie. Connections made men vulnerable. He would plunge the knife and twist the pain excruciating if given the chance to exploit.
“So you can imagine, I’m a little jumpy. And not to typecast, but fuck dude, you look just like Crisostomo Amengual. Maybe you should consider a haircut or something.” A morbid grin broke the melancholy of his expression.
Only darkness shows you the light.