2013.09.01 - Camden Calamity

Camden.
One would imagine that it'd be a shining beacon for those who live in Philadelphia. But it's not. It's urban sprawl leading to decay. In some cases, it's already looking very much like a set for Mad Max.
The streets are filled with the nameless masses that are looking for a quick buck, or in some cases, maybe a house that isn't filled with desperation. Day or night, there are sections of the city where one will never see an emergency vehicle, even if 911 is called. There simply isn't enough firepower in the city to back them up. Too many reports of ambulances being jacked, police cars having their government issued supplies stolen... and the list goes on.
One of the stranger things about the city, however, is that the state University has its law program both here and in Newark. Go figure. Here is where jurisprudence is taught on the street and every thug is a lawyer.
It's near the University, then, on the edges of desolation, that the target buildings are situated. It's built like a high-security complex. Prisons have nothing on this!
Within, it's a hive of activity. The midnight oil has been burning. Deadlines have been pushed up, though not as much as one would think. It's only one tendril that has been hacked at. It's not yet off, and there are many more that still creep out and hold on to their possessions.
Within Cable's new lab, now that he's fixed some of the fibreoptic cabling (having to use himself as a hot spot is getting tiresome and a little cumbersome), the man sees almost all. Staring at the screens as the data scrolls, there is all the filler that is needed. He'd asked the other day about Camden.
Now, he knows.
It hasn't taken Cable long, getting some of his contacts back in place; those voices on the other end of the mics, on the other end of those phones and keyboards. He's never said that he could do all this alone. Ever.
And Camden is no different.
A text appears upon Domino's screen the morning after all 'that'. Short, sweet, and to the point. "Going to Camden. Pack for overnight."
Delaware, north of Slaughter Beach.
There's always time for another job. A tiny, out of the way harbor at the end of Lighthouse Road opens up into the Delaware Bay, which has become the most unlikely location for arms trading of late. Well south of the heavier population but only a few hours by boat or road away, this sleepy harbor has seen recent activity as more wares are getting shipped in, right under the noses of authorities.
A rival arms dealer wants them dealt with. Payment is simple and straightforward: Whatever gets intercepted at the time of the sting can be kept. Slag the rest. Being that it's a small place out in the middle of nowhere there's not many people to take care of, either. It's a small building, a non-imposing boat, and a U-Haul truck. Subtle as you please.
Domino felt like having some extra space for gear than what her Porsche or BMW could handle. The Jeep Grand Cherokee may not make for the world's most enjoyable or exciting driving experience but it gives her the space she needs along with some amount of offroad capability.
For her it's just another day on the job, roughly dropping down behind another parked sedan as submachine gun fire peppers the opposide side.
Then the text comes through.
"Oh for fuck's sake," she growls while cocking an arm back and blindly returning fire. "Who the hell sets up shop in Camden?!"
Luckily for her, after today's raid she'll be in very good shape for an overnight run.
The arms dealers don't make it. Building, harbor, boat, vehicles, arms. All torched and left to burn. There's no reply given to the message. She would be there.
Cable always seems to have some semblance of a place, temporary as it may be. Particularly when he has to organize a team, such as it is. With time and location set, all that is needed is the albino merc to set things into motion.
He's armed, but not with anything big at the moment. It's not that he can't find the gun to suit him, it's just that now that he's back, he's getting back into the swing of things.
And it's been a rough ride so far.
Dressed in drovers coat now, white shirt, cargo pants and boots, Cable is still rather imposing looking to most, though not quite as odd-man-out, even with the cybernetics. He listens for her, though it's not for her car; who knows what she'll drive next? It's the distinctive... signature of her mind. So familiar, he'd easily 'hear' it, even with the city of the impoverished all clamouring for attention in his head. Reaching for the acetometaphin, he pops a couple and waits at the window.
It's almost show time.
If one is using their eyes and ears to find Domino they'll rarely notice her coming.
If one is listening to her thoughts, one that knows exactly what to listen for, she's easy to pick out.
The albino of the hour enters through the back door, a matte black Desert Eagle clutched in her hand. Just in case. She remembers how things work now (again,) she doesn't need to announce her arrival. If Cable's here, he'll know, and he'll find her. If he's not, someone's about to be in for a world of hurt.
Naturally, it's Nate that finds her first.
She comes to a stop in the middle of the room, blacked out as usual with a mostly white face and mostly white hands. Even then the pistol is impossible to ignore for someone like Cable, as is the fact that once she sees the man her index finger automatically drifts away from the trigger to the side of the frame.
"Camden. Really." Glad to see you, too.
Cable doesn't have to see the move of the finger in order to feel it, to be aware of the muscles that pull it from its spot. He can also tell if it is deliberate move, or if it's an unconscious, automatic response to seeing him.
Turning around now, Nate exhales in what could be construed as relief. Only last night he'd wrested the agreement that she was 'all in', and this isn't so much a test as his calling her in on it. He does need her help.
"Really. I thought it could use some urban renewal." Nate shrugs lightly, and looks ready to go. "You know. Take the garbage out to the dump and have the rats follow it."
~ You ready? It's going to be a long night. We've got an invite to a lab on campus. ~
The promise of mass property damage and rampant murder is usually music to Domino's ears. (Always did have the best date nights with this guy...)
So far, so good. Right up until Nate's talking to her again. In her mind. Anyone else might have missed it or mistaken the twitch as nothing more than a random shiver. He would know better. Muscles tighten beneath her armor-coated skin across the board, so far as to have her eyes narrowing in a clear look of defense.
"Get out of my damned head."
Her finger's still not on the trigger but now there's the thought that she'd very much so like it to be there, and that she may soon get her wish. If this is how the rest of the trip is going to be then it's going to be a particularly grueling run.
Nate's touch is quiet, gentle; very much not like the man that stands in the room. Quiet. Personal. Intimate. The 'words' that are shared have no room for confusion. With minds, there is awareness and understanding.
Her response feels like doors closing, windows closing, and the lights going off. Not answering the door and waiting for him to leave.
Thought and action, while linked, remain apart for the moment, and Cable honestly isn't sure what he thinks about it.
When Nate begins again, he's speaking, and he's turned to face her directly, hands now in his pockets of his coat, fisted there. His tones are low, and direct. "You said you're in, Dom. Now you need to be all in. You know how the game is played. I don't always have the time to pick up the phone to reach out and touch you. I want to know where you are, I need to know where you are and your status."
Cable takes a step forward to stand before her, looking down as he hears those words. Feels them. Being a telepath means that you can never say that you didn't understand.
"We're meeting Dr. Levin in thirty minutes." ~ In the meantime, ~ the touch is gentle. Other times, in the midst of battle, communication with the entire team is perfunctory. Curt. All business. This? Isn't. ~ Did you grab a bite on the way up? There are burgers on the counter in the bags. Rum to wash the soda down in the refrigerator. Sorry I couldn't get your usual poison. Little shops around here only sell things in paper bags. ~ Here, there sounds a note of affectionate amusement, the feather light touch wrapping itself around those receptors. ~ And you're classier than that. ~ 
Dom can't help it. Comparing the two is like comparing night and day when it comes to sheer size and mass. She had trusted Cable without question for so long, yet now with him standing over her like a mountain of metal and muscle...
She feels kinda small. But she still knows that she could take him on.
Initial acknowledgement comes in a quick incline of her head, even further than what it takes to keep eye contact with him overshadowing her, then there's a slight grimace again as so much more of the conversation changes places. No longer communicated by words.
"I know what you're trying to do," she cuts in. There's still an edge to her words, pitched lower as if growling in her discontent. Her other hand, the one currently free of any weapon, comes up palm front in a sign of protest. "You're not going to put my mind at ease by 'reminding it' of this."
(And it's because of you that I don't like anyone being in my head, congratulations.)
With her hand still held up between the two, words and thoughts alike in the air, Dom glances downward with another slow breath. A thought comes and goes like a cartridge through the chamber, lightly shaking her head as she lowers her hand and steps around the bigger mutant.
Toward the counter and the food and drink it contains.
She does still remember. A flash of color, of life, of familiarity, within a mind perpetually shrouded in darkness.
(Damn you, Nate...)
This is about as close as Nate's gotten since returning. The petite but powerful Domino standing before him, or rather, he standing before her. He came to her, not the other way around. And with a mental connection, they don't have to be in the same country, but all the same? He wants to feel her warmth, to feel her heart in her chest beating out its rhythms. He's missed it.
The hand raised between them, well... he can feel the heat off that too. Her words echo in his ears, rolling about in his head. It is true. There is very little in terms of motive, in terms of reasons for his action that Domino doesn't eventually get. Sometimes its immediate, sometimes it takes her a little time to roll it around her brain. But in the end?
She gets him.
And for that, he's not about to apologize.
It's the flickering thought, there and gone in the whisper of a butterfly's wings. There, Nate stares at her, watching and waiting, holding his breath until she steps away from him. Towards the food.
Watching her head to the kitchen, Nate makes a grand attempt at being conversational, "We'll take my car. I don't care if it gets banged up." He pauses then, "ETD, 10 minutes."
By comparison, Domino's now at an inner war with herself every hour of the day. Polar opposites that constantly bash heads with one another, with little ground being gained or lost. Each side has its reasonings, its emotions, its logic. These elements combined make for a surprisingly evened match.
She may scoff at his attempts to bring her back around but it's working. Little by little. Nate always was good at overcoming insurmountable odds on the battlefield, with or without being able to play off of her inherent luck. It works in his favor, when it wants to. Right now, it knows the outcome better than she does. If these two come back together it will only further improve her odds.
Ten minutes? Fine. But... "Same as before? I brought a Jeep. Better for the terrain, more storage capacity, equally expendable." That, and she's got all of her gear stuffed into it, already. Go on, argue with her infallible logic.
Lo and behold, if Dom was expecting an argument, it doesn't come. What does come is, "Okay. You've got your stuff in there? Better to keep it ready on hand rather than repack it." That way she knows where it is to put a hand on it. Just by the virtue of it being the petite albino mercenary, he's got a pretty good idea of what sort of things she's got packed there. A change of pistols, a clean web belt for eveningwear? He can't help but smile at the little inanities. Once, a time ago, he'd share. Now, he'll save it for later.
Nate stays in the living room, and for a long while, the man is silent. Five minutes, six... before he nods his head. Knowing the man, either he's truly silent, or there was someone on the other 'end' of that brain-phonecall.
"Okay, time to move out," he calls back even as he's headed towards the door. "Levin runs a biochem lab attached to the University."
It's probably for the best that such thoughts are kept to himself. In minutes Dom's got herself topped off on calories and just enough rum in her system to help keep things loose. She's likely going to blow a gasket otherwise with all of the repressed emotions lurking within.
Usually she's early. One hour? She'll take 45 minutes. A minute? 45 seconds. This time she uses it all, waits for the call which she knows is coming. Having an accurate internal clock is important, after all. Even then, by the time Nate's 'okay' comes out she's already walking through the house, rocking her head from one side to the next to work out some of the earlier tension.
"I'll drive."
There's that, too.
The inside of the Jeep is kept remarkably clear of any obvious armaments, but check under the towel in the back? Check any of her usual favored hiding spots around the seats? It's all there. Every last nook and cranny, packed full of firepower. She may wind up losing a lot of her earnings while out in Camden but that's something she's come to many years ago. Gear is disposable, replaceable. Mission first.
"What do we need to talk to a biochem Doc about, anyway? Someone cooking a new mutant suppressing cocktail on a rusty spoon?" In Camden?
Another time. Another place.
"You... wait. You're better shotgun than I am."
Cable holds his hand out for the keys even as he closes the door behind them. They may or may not be back, depending upon how things go. First, before he does go to the Jeep, Nate has to pull his own bag out of his pathetic little jalopy.
Pausing at the passengerside door, he's got his hand lingering there after shoving his pack through the open window. "And I know where I'm going."
He stands and waits, though Nate also takes inventory of everything that he can see that she's brought along. Lovely additions to his own. He's got more specialty ammo than weapons. Trust Dom to come through with those!
Stop. Stare. "Whatever," Domino growls while throwing the keys right for Nate's hand. (Too tired for this shit. Save it for where it counts, Dom.)
She briefly considers sitting in the back, both for personal space and so she can be even more surrounded with weapons. Weapons which she could play with while they drive. Something to help keep her grounded. But, she relents and climbs in beside Nate up front. For a little thing she sure can drop her weight down well.
Before the engine gets a chance to turn over she's got a knee-high boot propped up on the dash, the aggressive combat tread smearing a fine layer of dirt and grime across the plastic surface.
Slouch: Check. A/C: Check. Five hundred pounds of illegal weapons: Check.
"Let's roll."
Nate catches the keys, and he does a little leap across the front of the jeep, leaving behind something of a hand-printed dent on the hood. Oops? Things aren't built the way they used to be.
Starting the car, he pulls out onto the almost deserted road. Street lamps aren't going on in this section of town, undoubtedly due to fiscal reasons. Lights on the stoops are coming on, however; not that it stops the sales of this, that, and the other things at all.
"I've got ammo. Didn't know if you had strip charges or not, so I've got some of that. Extra cord. And some breaching slugs for the shotguns." His particular gun of choice for the time being, it seems.
Now, as they drive, there are more cars on the road. It's rushhour, after a fashion. It's a sad case for a city that one or two 'extra' cars on the road means that it's the commute home.
For the drive, Nate doesn't cut anyone off, but he doesn't let anyone cut him off either. More than a couple of times, some shouting had come, only to be silenced.
Sitting at a traffic light, as it turns green, the driver behind them leans on their horn. Nate... doesn't drive. Instead, he pauses, looks in his rearview mirror to assess the driver behind him. Then, he carefully and deliberately turns off the engine and steps out of the car. Slowly.
It's only a couple of steps to get to the other car, and quickly, the man rolls his windows up. "Problem?"
Ohhhh no.
"Didn't think so."
As casually as he'd gotten out, Nate walks back to the jeep, gets in, starts it once again... and they're on their way.
It takes a little time, but they do pull up to a building that looks only a little less worse for wear than its fellows. Driving through Camden allows the viewers a real picture of the decay. Burned out buildings that haven't ever been repaired. Foreclosed houses with squatters. Abandoned buildings, overgrown grass, bushes, trees... all weeds. At least the green plantlife catch the papers, the plastic bags and the random garbage that drifts down the thoroughfare.
Lucky for Nate, Domino doesn't care if the Jeep doesn't make it through the night. The opportunity, however, is too good to pass up.
"Way to speed things along there."
"Not as much underground demand for detcord, oddly enough," she distantly replies while fussing over her nails with the tip of a combat knife. Yeah, it's a bumpy road. Good thing the Jeep's got a relatively soft suspension. "If you're packing for a NATO party then we'll all go home happy tonight."
That's it for initial battle plans, it seems. Which is cool with her. She's got her own little world to worry about. It's Jersey, the only sights worth seeing around here are the fireballs they're soon to be creating.
Even when Nate stops the car in the middle of the road and climbs out with the engine lying still she just sits there, the soft ting! of the blade's tip brushing free from beneath a blacked out nail helping to fill the spot of silence that follows.
It's when Nate climbs back in and starts them moving again that she asks "Feel better?" without looking away from her nails.
A short ways before reaching their destination she finally lets out a quick breath and slips the blade away, having fussed over her nails to the point of over-perfection. It's then that her attention drifts out beyond the Jeep's interior, idly announcing "Be doing this place a favor. Seen more inviting refugee camps."
And that makes reloading just that much easier.
Nate pulls into a side lot and kills the engine. Handing over the keys, he opens his car door and slides out, grabbing one of the pistols in the door well. He checks it quickly and expertly, spins it, and pockets it into his jacket. Hollowpoint. Nice.
Now, it's to the back that he goes, and pulling out his equipment, he goes through the bag and tosses spares at Domino to pick through. Flechettes, a couple of exploding rounds and some depleted core. And, of course, a few door-busting rounds.
"We're expected, and I don't think he'll worry too much about the firepower. He's our consultant for," and craning his neck as he stands a little higher, Nate looks off into the distance, "Over there."
There will be explosions.
"We'll be going right over from here."
There's a blue-eyed glance when Nate climbs out and automatically claims a sidearm from her hiding spot. (That's how it starts, isn't it. Same old same old. So familiar that things happen without either of us realizing they're happening.)
Dom swings her door open and unfolds herself, turning and closing the door behind her while making her way straight for the back.
(Like this. Just like old times. DU slugs, guy still knows what I like.)
An army of two, picking apart the pile of gear for what catches their fancy for the mission ahead. How many times had they gone through these motions before? Too many to count.
"Let's hope not, we're not goin' in subtle." A ragged towel gets tossed aside, pale hands reaching for an IWI Negev Commando. "C'mon, sister. Just about time for your debut." It's one of the newer models, fully STANAG compatible. A hundred round Beta-C gets slapped into the mag well. Pouches containing two more find places to hide upon her combat harness.
The light machine gun gets slung over a shoulder, passing over a belt full of extra 12 gauge shells for Nate's shotgun of choice without so much as looking his way. Without realizing they're happening.
A Serbu modified 870, a pump action so short that it can only fit two spare shells in the tube, finds a place over the back of her opposite shoulder, already fitted with the customary breacher barrel to properly use the doorbuster slugs. And, naturally, a variety of explosives follow.
"Your lead."
There's something comforting in 'tradition'. The way it's 'always been'. This is a dance they've done, learning each others moves, allowing for each others preferences. Everything has a purpose, each weapon, each round, and the choices the pair make seals their respective roles in what is to come.
And it's comfortable without being rote. Nate knows full well that should he pass something on to her, she'll understand the reason for it implicitly.
Method.
Nate grabs the belt with a nod, setting it over his shoulder, under his coat.
With everything stashed, Nate gives Dom an appraising look. "You good to carry that?" He's more than willing to carry it until it's needed. Holding his hand out, he offers a half smile, "I swear I'll give it back."
Now, however, it's time to go.
Closing the car door, Nate begins to make his way towards the front door. It's steel with wire-mesh windows, cameras set to get a good view of any who may enter.
They are expected, however, and as the door buzzes open, Nate pulls on it and holds it for Dom.
It's a longish corridor, closed doors along the sides with signs along. It's not a public lab, obviously, as there is no 'information desk'. Anyone who comes in knows what they're doing and where they're going.
Nate looks particularly attentive, his head shifting slightly back and forth, taking on that risk assessment; head counts.
"Apparently there aren't any vending machines--
From a side office, a man steps out. He's a red headed middle-aged looking man, complete with white lab coat that proclaims him to be 'Levin, PhD..' with a few more letters after his name. About his neck, a badge to allow him into certain areas. He pauses at the sight of the pair, but doesn't seem to bat an eye about the guns.
Nate has something of a half-smile still, and extends his hand. "Dr. Levin, I presume. Nathan Dayspring. This is my lovely and fair assistant Domino." He doesn't see the guns.
When the question is raised Domino looks back to Nate. There, in that moment, there's a faint smirk in place as she makes eye contact with the much bigger mutant. Same old. "Jealous?"
Here, things are routine. Emotions take a back seat to the job at hand. Love the guy or hate him, she knows him. The door's held for her and she doesn't hesitate in the slightest when slipping right past Nate to take point, checking the hallway, identifying routes, mapping the layout within her thoughts. As they walk together like the stars of some high budget action movie the tip of a finger taps lightly against the Negev's receiver, that same sort of nervous tic that they so often show in Wild West movies right before two men draw on one another. The weapon's there, waiting for her, and she's just itching to make it do what it had been created to do.
"We'll find you a Three Musketeers on the way back."
When the other man steps out she stops and turns in an instant, catching his glance, reading his expression, then reading his nametag. Levin. Good deal. With the introduction she offers a customary lopsided grin. Either Levin and security are oblivious as hell here or Nate's got them covered.
When doesn't he?
Now, going into this, it can be easy to forget that Nate is, in a not so many words, freaking intelligent. Math. Sciences. He doesn't particularly look like a studious egghead. Not in the least. But with him, looks can be deceiving. Part of all this is to hit up the east coast's brain trust. To find out exactly what's going on, where things are going, and where some of the snags are. And it doesn't necessarily have to obviously point at mutant research. Or any research that might initially be used for good or ill against their kind.
Sometimes research is for research's sake.
It's those other people who have something to gain that will usurp it and use it to their own ends. Now, however, is not either of those times.
"Mr. Dayspring. Miss.." and Dr. Levin stutters a moment over 'Domino', but recovers easily. Undoubtedly with a little help. "Miss Domino. Won't you both please come into my office? The lab is further down, but I thought I might give you a preview. An explanation, as it were." No PhDs after their names, so here comes those 'layman's terms'.
"Now, in a series of tests, you know that cloning is still a very new field for us."
Nate nods his head slowly, "Yes." For the civilians, anyway.
"And you know that under laboratory conditions, we can even clone mutated mice and rats. Now," and he doesn't stop, but pushes on. "We have hit upon a way to find the gene that'll express the mutation. What some call the 'X Gene'." See? Even Levin reads the papers! "Even before it expresses itself." There, he waits for a moment, letting things sink in. "We've begun to swap out that strand with a 'healthy' strand, and the rat leads a .. not mutated life."
Of course, they've been injecting rats with something that acts like the X-Gene. Is it really that?
~ I want to see his research. And if he's concerned about another lab with this, we're going to need to resupply. Burning the place to the ground won't be enough for me. ~
"I see, Dr. Levin," Nate offers evenly, that smile remaining. "Have you written anything on it yet?" Innocent question!
(Yeah, just use the D-word, kiddo. I wouldn't give my mother my real name.)
Dom's both careful and casual as she steps into the office, not clunking any of her gear on the way through and also not making it obvious that she's avoiding certain edges or angles as she goes. Nice and easy. She's still wanting to know what the deal is with all of this, Nate hasn't been the most forthcoming with the details. Which..again, he usually isn't. She just gets to trust him.
Particularly with their most recent history? At best, infuriating.
As Levin starts going into basic details about cloning she's just laughing on the inside. 'We can even clone mutated mice and rats!' (Yeah, so I've noticed,) comes the sour thought.
And there's the bombshell. Another quack scientist with a 'cure' for their condition. Maybe it's not for evil intentions. The problem is once word gets out whomever gets hold of this research won't end up using it for peaceful means.
She would have brought another machine gun if she had one handy.
As it turns out, Nate's got the same thought in mind. She really needs to stop shutting him out. This isn't the time for blocks in communication.
~ Grenade launcher, couple of RPG's, maybe a tank... I've got a spare Huey on the island. ~
"Also, what are you using to synthesize the X-Gene?"
~ Heaven help them all if they're taking DNA from unwilling participants. ~
"Well, you see? That, that is fascinating in itself. The fact that we -can- actually synthesize the gene. So far, we've broken the code for a couple of things. Higher metabolism for healing," and Dr. Levin begins rolling his hand in the air as he begins to recount the couple of 'breakthroughs' they've come across. "As well as added blood flow to help speed that along as well."
The good doctor looks from Domino to Nate and back once again, "And there is now a DNA database that the police have on a state level, sharing their information with the FBI."
That gains Nate's attention immediately. He cants his head, feigning an expression that he's trying desperately to comprehend that which he's being told even as he communicates with his partner.
~ This might be the break we need on a couple really bad guys though, Domino. Has Magneto ever been locked up here? ~
Now there's a question about ethics.
~ I just want to get a copy of his research. ~ And Nate could understand it all. Easily.
"Now, Dr. Levin. This other lab? Is it a rival, or..." Now, he's looking for clues.
~ Do you need to go powder your nose? ~
Dr. Levin shakes his head slowly, and almost sadly. "We're state and federally funded. Peer review. Now, I know they're working on something similar, but I have some strong suspicions that they've been dealing through," and here, the doctor lowers his voice, "The black market. You see, funding can be scares at the best of times, but in these economic times?"
Cable's brows rise, and he leans forward as he asks, "If you are doing your life's work for the bettering of man, does it matter where your money comes? After all, money doesn't dictate result, right?"
Blink. A Federal database of key mutant genetics... (How did Nate find out about this..?)
Higher level jobs. Not even jobs, this kind of work transcends what Domino has come to think of as missions for some time now. It isn't about stealing a book or taking out a rival arms dealer. These situations run so much deeper, have so much more at stake. It isn't always just about the money. Her conscience is real.
It's just like Nate had said the other day. You're not a cold killer, Dom.
The mercenary work had taken place of the real jobs, the shit that mattered. She's hardly the first soldier to have wandered that path once the missions had dried up.
That vague puzzle that had been floating around in her mind for the last several days just got another significant match. That much more of the picture revealed. This..is where she belongs. It always had been.
~ How the hell would I know? I'm not his parole officer. Look, do you think this database has any ties to the Registration Act? ~
Powder her nose? ~ I'm an albino, you jerk. ~
Still, once more, message received. Nate can keep Levin distracted. She'll just mosey on along and see about getting a digital copy of that research.
"Pardon me," she gently intervenes with a friendly smile. "Dinner isn't agreeing with me."
"Well, one would hope. But those agencies that pay for research and reports do hope for findings compatible with their message." Tobacco companies don't want studies to show that nicotene is addictive. Wind farm corporations don't want to hear about how much more expensive their energy is than, say, coal.
It's true. All the revelations that course through Domino's head are all true. Nate can feel as each and every bit of true understanding begins to take hold once again, finding its roots. The side jobs are fine, they really are. Nate couldn't ever blame her for them simply because with her LUCK? Hell, she could have fallen into a stronghold and not recognize it then. But now?
With that woman, anything is possible.
~ I would lay odds that it is. It's why SHIELD is running hot and heavy about compliance, I'm willing to bet. ~ There's not a lot of love lost for the inter-govermental agency from the mutant. ~ We'll start small. Federal. ~
Nate looks to the Doctor again and smiles tightly. He's heard everything he cares to, and while looking as if he, too, is ready, he offers a rather solicitious, "I'm sorry. Of course we'll wait."
~ Just don't use so much white next time. It makes you look paler. ~ Nate is teasing, of course. Amusement tinges that particular message, so very different from the informational messages carried. It's remarkable how easily Domino's taking to it, now that 'muscle memory' is returning.
~ Go to hell, Nate. ~
Pale fingertips are quick to fall upon the keys of the first terminal she's got a good chance of breaking into. (That would be Levin's.) It's close, already unlocked since he probably didn't count on anyone messing up his perception and letting someone sneak on past to fiddle around with his data, and it's the most direct source to what they're after.
Sometimes it really rocks having a competent telepath on hand. As if being stupid crazy lucky didn't already seem like having cheat mode activated.
~ This is gonna get real bloody, isn't it. ~
(Not enough time to do a full network copy. Give those dice a roll, Dom. Where do we start?)
With a few quick stabs at the keys the binary begins to flow.
She could sit there and spend some more time thinking about how much like the 'old days' this all is but that would mean losing focus on the job, which is something she's not known for. So, she doesn't give Nate a reason to think that she's gotten flaky with time. The rest of the lab is given a more thorough visual inspection. The desk that the terminal's perched upon is quickly but quietly raided for any hard copies of interest. If he has a calendar or a planner she'll snap a few quick pictures with her phone. Full info dump, grab as much of whatever she can get her ghostly little hands on. They can sort it out later.
~ Forty seconds to mark. ~
There's no need to respond. There's a warm sensation of a laugh that wraps around Domino's mind, looking to envelop it in warm richness. A jest shared. It's there, and the feeling lingers for a long moment before there's a thought to be conveyed. ~ Yes. And people will die. And there will be times when it may look as if we're on the wrong side. ~ As if Nate even has to say that? Regardless of how it's said?
Forty seconds to mark.
Nate looks to the good Doctor, and begins that small talk. "Now, Dr. Levin. Who is underwriting that research? And, can you give me a contact name? Someone I should call to speak to?" All normal, logical questions.
Dr. Levin looks pensive for a moment before he shakes his head. "I'd have to look that up. It should take too lo--"
"I can ask when I get there. What's his name? Just so I know who to ask for." Cable's not about to let him go back.
"Dr. Palmieri. He's the lead there."
~ Palmieri. He's the name at the place. ~
Back then Dom would have grinned at Nate's mental reaction. Today she frowns slightly, trying to push it aside so that she can almost literally throw herself into her work. ~ Are we ever on the right side? I'm not fussing over the damages we're going to cause, I'm looking forward to getting started. You know me better than that. ~
(C'moooon... Copycopycopy--for fuck's sake do I have to get out and push?)
Almost as soon as the name is given the file transfer's over. No turning back now, they'll have to make the best with what they've got. The jumpdrive comes free of the terminal in the same swift motion that she stands and stalks her way back over to the other two, feigning brushing her hair back into place. As usual her hair doesn't give a shit what she's trying to do with it, it doesn't listen.
"Sorry, I hope I didn't miss anything interesting," she offers with that same friendly but fake smile.
~ Clear for exfil. ~
It's true. They're never really on the right side, or on the wrong side. They're on the Nate side. The Six-Pack side. On the side of mutants. And their job is to bring down the biggies. Big corporations that end at the government level. Cut deep or destroy research that may be used for ill, even if conceived in good intentions.
~ I'll give you the opening salvo. After that, all bets are off, ~ is promised.
Now, with Domino's return, Cable looks every inch the doting 'boss' for his lovely assistant. "You're okay now? Let's get you some air."
Turning to the doctor, Nate extends his hand once more, "Thank you for seeing us, sir. And I hope to read something with your name in it soon." He'd rather read about Palmieri's, in the obits. But, he will take what he can get.
Looking to Domino now, he looks upon her with the deference one would give to another that is under the weather. "Shall we?"
Nate is ready to lead the pair out, and as they make it to the end of the corridor, the large mutant stops at the end of the hall. Here, he reaches out to take hold of the merc that he's been so... fond of. He mouths the word, 'Ready?' before he announces those fateful words.
"Bodyslide by two..."
In the next second, the pair are somewhere else in a 'holder' that looks like some space tank. Before they're there for longer than a second or two, Nate repeats himself, and in the next second, they're in a building very much like the labs and offices they'd just left, but it's dark. Only a couple of lights can be seen streaming from under the door.
~ Gonna hold it to you, kiddo. ~
The thought fails to interrupt Domino's little act where she dips her head and nods to the offer of fresh air. Looking pale's the easy part, she just has to play up the queasy bit a touch. "Yes, please. Have a good evening, Doctor." (Before I come back here and put my foot up your ass.)
Once more, caught by the shoulder. (Shit, even Fury didn't have me on this close of a leash.) Those two words being mouthed to her, though. God, but it's been a long time. Is she going to have to deal with teleportation sickness all over again or will this also fall neatly back into place?
A subtle nod is all that it takes to find out for herself.
One slide comes and goes, leaving the two in a small, isolated chamber somewhere within the multiverse.
"You're still an ass."
Then comes slide number two. Back out of game mode then right back in again. (Least this setup moves us without reeking of sulfur or I might really be sick.)
Category:Log