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It seemed as if the higher the crime rate in New York, the more impassioned — and frequent — the protests would come. Today is no different. One of the most vocal protests of the day is being held outside of Columbia University, with students joining forces with local organizations to lobby for civil rights.
The man actually responsible for organizing the day's protest is not present. In his place, however, is a man who certainly fits the description. Late twenties, tall, white, blond hair, mustache. There is no stage for him to stand on as he leads the crowd, but that's what the bullhorn is for.
*
If X-23 was a little more normal, she would at this point be tired of these 'retrieval' missions they keep sending her on. It is not entirely a good use of her training or abilities and it certainly doesn't sate her subdued-but-present killer instinct. But it is not her place to question orders, merely follow them and privately hope they'll be more interesting next time. No van delivers her to the scene this time, instead she filters with with the crowd, a short red hairpiece covering her head, and a simple hooded gold-colored sweatshirt instead of her previous combat jacket. On the whole, it's even less conspicuous than the last time she turned up to a protest, and she takes her time weaving through the crowd to get into place near the stage. And waits. Patiently. Perhaps a little *too* patiently and a little too unemotionally, truth be told. Sneaking she can do. Blending into a crowd like a normal person is a little more outside her expertise.
*
The crowd is largely stationary, not too difficult to weave through with a little effort. X-23 is hardly the only person trying to navigate the protest, after all. Noone takes any notice of one more kid in the crowd.
The man with the bullhorn stands very near to the assembled crowd as he makes an impassioned plea for all to be seen as equal in the eyes of the law, for everyone to have their taste of the American Dream, not just the white, rich, and powerful. It's a simple line of rhetoric, but it resonates with the largely college-aged crowd who have his focus.
*
Except for one, perhaps, but X-23 isn't really listening to the words anyway. No interest in what's actually being said, after all. And soon enough, her cue to act comes. Unlike her last visit to a protest, today is not a test of her solo operational abilities, and people far better at appearing normal scattered around the crowd do their part. At first, most of the protesters that see the containers bounce along the ground assume them to be some variety of beverage containers. The truth of the matter— that several canisters of tear gas have been tossed to disperse the crowd in much the same way X-23's blanked gunshots did last time— becomes apparent very quickly, however. The girl, ready for the occurrence, rushes the stage almost immediately, intent on reaching the protest leader before the disruption can really register.
*
The desired effect is achieved: sheer bloody pandemonium. As the gas erupts throughout the crowd, they all attempt to scatter and flee in a state of panic. More than a few people lose their footing; whether they are helped by those surrounding them or trampled is down to the luck of the draw.
The instinct to flee upon the release of the gas is shared by the protest's organizers, but X-23 has one precious moment where the man with the bullhorn is shocked into inaction by the scene before him. Those around him have turned their backs and began to run. His eyes are the size of dinnerplates and the bullhorn clatters to the pavement at his feet.
The battle between 'fight or flight' is not going to be long in the coming.
*
X-23 is, of course, fast, trained, and has already done this particular approach before, though in a slightly different way. It's certainly much faster than the last time, since she has far less to do in this instance while working as part of a team. She's on him in seconds, a syringe full of very powerful sedative in hand. Her aim is, of course, excellent as she goes for sticking it in his neck to administer the dose.
*
It goes even more smoothly than the previous outing. The man is just pivoting on his heel to join his compatriots in fleeing the scene when X-23 reaches him — he probably didn't even see her coming. He has precisely enough time to yelp in pained surprise when the syringe plunges into his neck, staggering to a knee before crumpling in an unconscious heap.
*
X-23 rather speedily hefts him into a fireman's carry across her shoulders, and makes for the van just now arriving on the scene. None of the additional subterfuge from last time— there's less reason to with the tear gas keeping everyone present far too busy to notice her activities clearly. And, since she's not being pursued by a certain agent attempting to prevent unlawful kidnappings, MAVERICK, this time she climbs into the van before dumping him off on the floor of the vehicle.
*
There are no super-powered teenagers or giant green lawyers attempting to stop the kidnapping, and certainly no agent of Canadian intelligence in hot pursuit. But that doesn't mean he isn't actively working to prevent an unlawful kidnapping.
Tracking the gun hadn't worked. Neither had finding the van. Even the hospital in New Orleans had not given him anything substantial. Left with precious few avenues to pursue the case, David North was forced to get… creative. And so the protest's ringleader lands in a limp, unconscious heap on the floor of the van as his healing factor works to metabolize the sedative.
Sometimes, David was a very stupid man.
*
Very, as even though no one predicted his questionable plan and therefore didn't prepare a dangerously-strong dose of sedatives, he's still likely to come to in close proximity to the girl that put him there. In fact… despite the caution he's sure to take in coming-to, she confirms at least some of the suspicions that have been aroused when she can hear his breathing and heartrate change from a couple feet away. Strangely, she does not alert the driver nor the man riding shotgun, simply pressing a cold metal blade against David's neck enough to make the threat apparent. "You are not human," she observes emotionlessly. "That is unexpected. You will cooperate." The threat is super-apparent, of course. Less-obvious is the way his failure to meet mission target parameters has given her pause.
*
The way David's pulse spikes upon a blade being pressed against his neck is probably surprisingly brief, and it begins to settle back into a more even keel as his head continues to clear. The girl is in the van. Of course the girl is in the van.
He remains still, not even opening his eyes. "I am not," David confirms in an equally hushed voice. Being overheard is not really on his agenda this afternoon. "I will cooperate. May I open my eyes?"
*
Laura pauses, considering this request, and glances around to double-check their environment. It's… the back of a van. Windowless, with a heavy cage mesh reinforcing the interior and an interior divider blocking off the driver compartment. In short, nothing to really see and not many options. Safe enough, though she doesn't remove the claw threatening him when she answers with a flat "I do not see why not."
*
"Thank you."
David opens his eyes slowly and blinks a few times to try and finish clearing his vision. Whatever they put into that sedative is no joke. It takes him a moment, but he eventually rolls his eyes back to try and get a look at his… captor? Conversation partner? Whatever she is. The girl with the claw against his throat.
"You look very young to be doing this sort of work," David says in a murmur, remaining otherwise still. "However did you come to it?"
*
23 simply tilts her head to one side, like his choice of question is a particularly interesting one she's not sure how to answer. Or possibly even parse correctly. Yeah, this is going to be an easy conversation. On the other hand, she doesn't seem particularly unwilling (or willing for that matter) to talk to him. Just indifferent and… a few (or more) degrees from normal.
*
After a moment's silence, David's brow and lips both give a brief twist as if to say, 'fair enough.' "It was the war, for me," he supplies quietly, keeping his eyes on her. There is no harm in sharing, and perhaps it is simply a matter of patience. "I was probably not far from your age when the fighting started. I had no choice." A pause, then, and his head gives a fractional tilt to one side, still very aware of the blade. "Do you have a choice?"
*
For a moment, the girl looks like she doesn't understand , or possibly care, about his personal history. The question, on the other hand… well. Her eyes go from a somewhat disinterested roaming of her environment to locking onto his with a snap, and her reply is instant, crisp, and intense. "A weapon does as the hand directs."
*
David can't hide the flicker of surprise that washes over his face at the abrupt change in demeanor, or the particular way in which she replies. It gets the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end and, slowly, the color drains from his face. It takes a lot to give the man significant pause, but this has done it. Hell and damnation. That was a call-and-response.
It actually takes him a moment to wrestle his pulse back into its previous even keel, and David swallows to try and relieve the dryness that has come to his mouth. He sincerely doubts that he will receive an answer to this question, and if he does, not one he will like.
"Whose hand?" David asks quietly. "Who gives the weapon its orders?"
*
No, not one he'll like, and not an answer as such. Just an indrawn breath and a press of the blade against his throat to remind him it's there. The threat is certainly clear. It is, of course, possible she doesn't know the answer to that question, but it seems a dangerous one to ask. "Irrelevant," X-23 informs him firmly and shortly.
*
David tips his chin up slightly as the blade presses against his throat, briefly closing his eyes. Stupid. "Irrelevant," he echoes quickly, keeping his voice low. "Forget I asked."
*
X-23 doesn't nod or anything, but she does reduce the pressure on his throat. There is a long pause, and perhaps the hint of her turning something over in her mind while she tries to work out if she's allowed to engage him in this fashion. Finally: "I do not think I will. Your turn. Why do you ask." More like an interrogation than a real question, to be honest. Unsurprising.
*
Not surprising at all, and entirely fair. "Idle curiosity," David replies, his eyes moving back up to her face. He doesn't wait long enough for the blade to press inward again before he quickly adds, "You're impeccably trained, and as I said — this is an unusual sort of work to be doing at your age," he explains quickly, eyes searching her expression for… something. He doesn't know what, entirely. But there has to be more to her than this. "That all makes me curious."
*
If there's more, it's very effectively suppressed. Probably the best programming job he's ever seen. Of course, there's reason for that, but the truth is probably not even on a reasonable human being's radar. Still… nothing is perfect. "Dangerous," she opines curtly.
*
"Demonstrably," David replies in quiet agreement, and of all things, the exchange makes the corner of his mouth twitch upwards into a smile.
*
It's not returned, but he probably didn't expect it to be. Whatever X-23 thinks of the conversation falls to a bit of a mystery as she similarly falls quiet again. Apparently that is the only question she came up with to ask. But people in her position are rarely very curious or outgoing, of course. As she settles, her claw retracts— she's made the point it was meant to by now— and she straightens her posture. Which appears to be perfect— sitting on the floor of the van, legs crossed, back straight, hands in her lap. Of course, only a fool would relax just because she's no longer threatening him directly.
*
David is feeling more than a little foolish, but not that foolish. He stays right where he is, ear pressed to the floor of the van as it rumbles along. He isn't certain how long he was out, or what little he could hear outside might be more useful. It can't have been long.
And really, he shouldn't allow himself to be distracted, but… David keeps his eyes on the girl, even now that she's withdrawn. This entire situation is not painting a pretty picture, and working out how she fits into it is giving him a headache. "…will you indulge one last question?"
*
X-23 doesn't so much turn to look at him as she slowly blinks and when her eyes reopen, they're focused on him. There's a long pause wherein she decides he has not asked her to guarantee an answer to whatever this question is. "Yes."
*
It's normally such an innocent question, but in his current situation, David can't help but find that the words feel strangely heavy despite his light tone, even tasting odd when they leave his lips. He meets her eyes evenly.
"What is your name?"
*
The girl develops a slight crease between her eyebrows while she holds his gaze, like she's not *entirely* sure how to answer that. Well, she does have something *like* a name… she repeats the slow blink. When her eyes open again, they're turned away, not unlike a feline that's become bored with what until recently was an interesting mouse.
"Twenty-three."
*
There is a very audible jolt that hits David's heartrate at her response, but the only outward response is a tightening of his jaw and a brief flare of his nostrils. Now his pulse is pounding even in his own ears as he struggles to remain calm.
The call-and-response. The level of skill. Giving a number when asked for a name. David hasn't felt a cold fury like this in years and the worst thing is, he has no idea where to direct it. It's almost enough that he doesn't initially realize that the van has rolled to a stop.
The doors to the van are drawn open from the outside, revealing to his view some kind of industrial loading bay — large enough that sounds are echoing slightly off its own walls. But only one sound has David's attention now: a very familiar baritone voice coming from outside, its inflection one of resigned disappointment that makes the man’s blood go cold.
"Maverick. Ain't this a damned shame."
*