Strongarmed

Summary:
June 01 2014: Agent Melinda May interrogates a snarky little punk

The Triskelion Building

Bulwark. Stronghold. Fortress. SHIELD's headquarters gives an impression of solidity, if nothing else. Getting in without the proper security clearances is next to impossible. Getting out without them… a task only for those unafraid to die.


Characters

NPCs
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Mood Music:
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Jericho knew this was a bad idea. An awful idea. A hideously half baked, hail mary, last minute play of an idea. He still wasn't sure how much SHIELD could really be trusted and this wasn't doing wonders for his opinion of them. Sure, he'd escaped their custody, and sure he had expected his initial approach to go a bit rough, but this was important. There was a chance, a small chance, that his cyber warfare expertise and the half functional superweapon implanted in his body might be handy in the coming days. He just hadn't expected her to be there…


Melinda May has just barely managed to get over the residual aches from that car crash, but she's still VERY grumpy. Does this kid even realize how much paperwork goes into having to report a totaled ground vehicle? It's… nearly as bad as reporting a destroyed Quinjet. And that's wrong on way too many levels. But, the kid actually walked in the front door (proverbially) this time, and May is only too glad to take the first crack at interrogating him.

In a sleek, white box of a room with only stainless steel table and chairs, a wall-spanning mirror, and an ominous little camera in one corner to serve as decoration, hopefully he's starting to get an idea of exactly how badly he's screwed up. "So. Jericho. Why are you here?"


Okay, screw this patriotic thing. It wasn't worth it in the least. Man what had he eaten last night that drove him temporarily insane. His first instinct was to respond to her question with snark, but one look at her face told him that perhaps that wasn't his best course of action right now.
The truth? Well he wasn't particularly interested now anyway so…

"I had hoped to maybe straighten things out? I've already got plenty of problems without SHIELD breathing down my neck. And I figured you might have bigger fish to fry."


"Bigger fish than a supposed hacker that can sprout wings out of nowhere?" The derision in May's voice is only too clear. Maybe she can goad a reaction out of the kid. It's worth a try. She suspects her usual Teal'c style of questioning wouldn't work on him. "What problems do you have that could possibly be worse than SHIELD hunting you down?"


She suspects correctly. Quite aside from military interrogation resistance techniques, he has plenty of ways to distract himself from being stared at provided they don't decide to open him up and find a way to shut off his implants. Which they could, to be sure. SHIELD is nothing if not resourceful, but he rather suspects they won't go to the trouble of invasive surgery if they think they can hold him without it.

"Oh gee, I dunno. Maybe something having to do with that car that T-boned you while you and Miss Supercop were bringing me in." His tone is dry and his look mildly incredulous.


Hm. Interesting. She might just be starting to crack this kid's shell. Maybe a little more pressure… "So you're saying those goons weren't there to get your bacon out of the fire?" Obtuse cop routine, check.


She cannot possibly be that dense. Time for a little counter action. "I sure as hell didn't invite them, so unless they were there to pick you for your dinner date. I guess I'd feel bad about that, making you late and all."

Okay so goading a SHIELD agent probably isn't his best move while in an interrogation room, but if he gives out too much there's a good chance he'll wind up dead in a holding cell. He's not at all convinced SHIELD has been safe from Hydra infiltration. Nowhere else he's gone has been, so far.


Melinda May is tempted to tell the kid that he can't goad her that easily, but then, that's probably what he wants to hear. So she opts to play along, instead. Can't hurt. And maybe it'll rattle the kid enough that when the Widow gets here to question him he'll be only too happy to spill his guts to her. So she puts on her best 'that was a stupid thing to say' face and slams her hands onto the table between them even though her voice stays low-pitched. "Stop deflecting. If they weren't there to rescue you, who are they?"


He quirks an eyebrow as she rattles the table. He didn't think it'd be quite that easy. And it's probably not buuuut on the off chance it was it's probably not good to continue to goad her. As for stop deflecting… hell lady, that's the only thing keeping me alive so far as I know.

"Moe, Larry and Curly? Hell if I know, lady. If I didn't invite their assault rifle toting asses to the party what makes you think I know that?"

Okay, that's a lie. Sort of. He's good a good idea who they were. There aren't many organizations that could have timed an attack like that and been bold enough to do so, but given he was in the car with Steve freakin' Rogers, there's a small chance it didn't actually have anything to do with him. Sure. He believes that.


"No, you can't deflect again. When Wolstenholm went after you, you followed her back all meek as you please. These guys showed up, and you ran like a pitbull being chased by an angry cat. I want to know who they are and why they're after you." Though, if it's because this kid's an annoying little snit, May would not be at all surprised.


"Have you seen that lady run?" Jericho's certain he's gonna get punched, he just knows it, but it's just not safe to say 'Yeah, I'm fairly sure they were Hydra agents. They have this thing about wanting me dead.' At least, not safe to say that here. "I couldn't get a way from her with a head start and a building between the two of us. I sure as hell wasn't going to try out doing her in a dead sprint on a straightaway."

And that's saying something. Jericho isn't a professional athelte or anything, but he'll take almost anyone in a foot race. Not Evelyn though, apparently. And yeah… technically he could have gotten away just by flying, but that carries its own risks. The hacker runs his hand through his hair. This is getting too close to the center of things for comfort and this Agent, he didn't catch her name, shows no signs of doing anything but taking machetes to his metaphorical thickets.


Melinda May isn't about to openly admit to what she's seen Wolstenholm do, but then there's a knock at the door. With one last piercing stare at the kid, she stands and goes to the door. After speaking quietly with the agent at the door, she stifles the urge to curse in about three different languages and closes the door again. "Looks like we get to continue this chat on the move. That is, unless you'd rather wait here for another agent to continue this conversation."


Now that does surprise Jericho and it shows on his face. "What do you mean?" He asks cautiously. This could be good… or it could be very bad. He's not quite sure what to make of the fact that she looks upset. -er.


Melinda May steps over and in a few quick motions has Jericho's wrists very securely restrained with what looks and feels like a black silk sash. With weights in the ends. Then the sash is wrapped over his shoulders and around his torso in a way that traps his hands against his collarbones and puts firm (but not painful) pressure on his shoulderblades. In other words, sprouting wings might be bad on the wrists. "Wheels up in five. Get moving." Apparently, she has every intention of dragging him along


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