necessary_child | (no subject)

(no subject)

Behind Sam's door there are, as predicted, several dozen very unpleasant people with guns. If they look like soldiers, then that's because they are - some kind of mercenary, anyway. Beyond them, they appear to be in some kind of laboratory or medical facility: everything's white and steel, with a prominent scent of disinfectant.

Sam, his normally expressive face hardened and almost blank, his jaw clenched, forcibly shoves them backwards with magic that sends them sprawling into each other like dominoes, moving them just far back enough to allow one of the other two to shut the door.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sam leaves Jack to it - the intricacies, or even the basics, of computing are a mystery to him, and he's quite happy with that. Like Atton, he turns to face the door, eyes still but watchful.

Straight-faced, "Do you know, I get the impression there's no point in asking this lot to surrender."

Funny how these things happen.

"You don't know that. They might be friendly."

Behind them, Jack swears in Centaurian and glares at an errant wire.

"Yeah?"

There are flames dancing around Sam's fingers now as he watches the door, expressionless.

"Well, I'm not."

A large wave of guards appear, more than were in the first group. The leaders get a fireball to the face by way of demonstration.

Atton shrugs.

"Okay, then." The vibrodisk is cast out into the guards with a flick.

Patching his wrist strap into the hardware costs Jack a few painful electric shocks, but rewards him with an agreeable-sounding beep and the dropping of the other security levels.

He grins.

"I'm in. Give me a minute, and we're good."

"I thought we were that already," Sam says over his shoulder: some wanton destruction seems to have lifted his mood. He thrusts his arm out, palm flat, and magical force throws guards backwards.

"I kinda smell burnt flesh. Are you on fire, Jack?" Atton says without looking around. "Ah, dammit, where's the disrupter function. Here!"

Atton levels his gauntlet at the guards, releasing a blast of red energy that tears apart everything in its path - flesh, metal, concrete, brick, everything to varying degrees.

"Just a little bit," Jack says, staring intently at the screen.

He's found some kind of mission statement, or what looks like it thoroughly dressed up in medical jargon. Words like 'anomaly' and 'object,' he realises quickly, mean Sam, and are skated over to talk at much greater length about hypotheses on tissue sampling, practical applications - medical and industrial.

Link to a sketched business model with marketing suggestions. Nice.

Jack copies the files to his wrist strap. Even if Sam doesn't want to see them, he should have the option of knowing the details. Then he turns his attention to some of the medical logs, to see where conclusions might have been stored apart from the system.

"Time knows I hate technology," Sam says admiringly, looking at Atton's gauntlet, "But I have got to get one of those."

It's SHINY.

He glances back at Jack, just before more guards arrive. "How're you doing, Drama Queen?"

"S'not for you, though. S'not."

"Getting there," Jack says, scrolling through some of the logs with a frown on his face.

The descriptions, even skimming though, cause a tiny place in his chest to tighten painfully.

The dates on each log are more worrying still.

"...How far back would you say you were snatched, Sam? Need to run a search here."

"This is because you are selfish and mean and should be ashamed of yourself!" Sam admonishes Atton, magically yanking a gun out of a leading grunt's hands.

But the fight can only do so much for his mood, and his expression hardens again. "A few months, maybe a bit more?" he calls to Jack, sounding dubious. "I wasn't conscious for most of it."

"You should be ashamed. A few months? Kriff, Sammy."

Jack doesn't say anything, mostly because he doesn't trust his voice.

It's... well, it's in the months still, but going by these logs, it was more than a few.

Later. Sam can find that out later.

He keeps searching.

"I didn't exactly make a date in my calendar!" Sam complains to Atton. "You are a horrible person!"

"I hate you, Sammy. I hate you."

Jack is tapping on his wrist strap again, and misses this.

"I hate you more!"

Hates him so much that he hurls him bodily into the next batch of guards, in fact.

...No, wait. That was a fireball.

Same thing, really.

Atton mourns his fiery brother.

He also fires off several rapid blasts of energy from his gauntlet.

It would be too much to hope for that Jack would get anything concrete on who was in charge, wouldn't it? The initials J.D. seem the best he's likely to get, and even then, John Doe seems depressingly likely.

Building schematics, though - that's mnore like it.

"Hey," he says. "One of the central offices, personal effects storage. Sounds encouraging to me."

Sadly, life is cruel.

"Anything else you can get, Jack, or are you all done?"

There are a few of the soldiers left, but not many, and no sign of any more arriving.

"Because I think we're about done here, for the moment."

Edited 2010-01-05 01:47 (UTC)

"They're kinda all dead. It sucks, man."

"Yeah," Jack says, absently, frowning at some oddly coded sections. The software in his wrist strap isn't decoding it, so presumably it's been done manually.

"Hang on," he says, and downloads those too, just in case.

"Want me to crash this lot, for a start before we go?"

"Yes." Sam's eyes are even darker than usual.

"Burn the lot of it."