Day 58: Mission #1 [Scarecrow and Depth Charge]

[scarefaux]

[From here.]It was not the hallway they found on the other side of the door. The crossing of the threshold was accompanied by that spinning sensation in the Scarecrow's middle- similar to feeling he'd had the night the doors were enchanted- and it was no mystery of why: they had been spirited away to somewhere else entirely. Decorated tables,

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[scarefaux]

With all those second thoughts getting to him, the Scarecrow almost didn't realize the conversation had abruptly ended until Depth Charge was on his feet, handing over the strip Rosemarie had given him- well, not so much of handing or offering as silently demanding his roommate take it. The picture had no true meaning to the former strawman; he turned it over in his hand, apprehension building in him from what he might find on the other side.

And waiting there was exactly what they'd been looking for, he presumed: the name. Harrington... He'd heard it before, hadn't he? But where?

Rising from his seat, the Scarecrow gave Rosemarie a polite bow, doing his best to seem grateful for her 'gift,' even if he wasn't sure he wanted it. "It's awful dangerous out there, ma'am. You take care of yourself." With that, he started for the door, ready to follow Depth Charge across the threshold and hopefully to somewhere familiar, somewhere they would recognize, where they would turn in their name and be done with Aguilar's business.

Two steps from the table, then three- the Scarecrow stopped, looking to the 'gift' he still held in his hand, trying to swallow that lump in his throat. It wasn't so simple, was it? Nothing as innocent as a young girl accidentally causing the demise of a wicked witch by throwing water on her in an attempt to put out a fire before it consumed her friend; they were willingly bringing back a name that the General clearly wanted. Why did he want it, and what would he do to the person to whom the name belonged? The Scarecrow couldn't be sure of either of those, even if he'd had a brain. What would he do if he didn't get it? The officer had threatened them- and their fellow patients- with a punishment; however, there were worse consequences than anything the soldiers might assign. That was the part that refused to settle in his chest.

It clawed more at him now that they'd spoken to Rosemarie. Before, she'd been a faceless entity, and any damage they could do to her or her friend didn't seem as real. She cared for him, though. To put a face and a voice with the name was much-

Oh, that Major Harrington! It suddenly clicked in the Scarecrow's mind: the General's replacement for Nurse Lydia on the intercom, who had apparently tried to help at night them under the name Jill. The sounds of her anguish rang through his ears as if he'd heard them right then.

More pieces fell into place, the realizations that landed on his shoulders making it harder to move. General Aguilar had used them to get the information from Rosemarie because he either couldn't get it himself, or he couldn't be bothered. Either way, it had been up to them to get the name, and they had. Major Harrington- assuming the one from the intercom and the one whose name was before him were the same person, though it seemed like an awfully strange coincidence otherwise- must have been up to something behind Aguilar's back- but what? Was he trying to help the patients as well? And if caught, would he suffer in the way Jill had?

The Scarecrow thought for half a second he would turn around, warn Rosemarie somehow- however, he was frozen on the spot, the hand that held the 'gift' still trembling. His eyes searched Depth Charge for an answer; he opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't think of what to say, or even curse his brain for its incapacity. The Scarecrow couldn't let down the other patients and his roommate- he couldn't stand to see one of his dearest friends chastised because he'd been unable to pull himself together at the last moment.

However, he also couldn't bring himself to hurt another- accidentally or unintentionally, even if that someone was a person he didn't know. To think someone else might end up in the same state as Jill, and that he'd be at fault was just too much.

The Scarecrow's eyes fell; it took all he had to bring them from the floor. "Depth- Richard." He corrected himself with a breath, his throat full of knots. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I know I probably shouldn't try to manage things, but... I don't know if this is the right thing to do."

[scalyfishman]

The Scarecrow seemed to be a couple of steps back from him, but so long as he could hear the man's footsteps Depth Charge didn't worry- or rather, he didn't allocate any more of his processor for worrying about that particular thing. There was enough for him to think about already without the additional concern, particularly when he knew that the Scarecrow could probably walk to the slagging door without needing his hand held. It had occurred to him earlier that the guy'd done well so far, that maybe he'd been worrying too much in general, but even that fell by the wayside as they made their way to the exit.

The Scarecrow fell by the wayside too, out of step for a moment before he started to speak- still using their code names, he really was on the ball. And Depth Charge's gut wrenched.

Why did Rosemarie have to do this? They'd have done fine if she'd just handed over the name without saying anything, if she'd just shut up and spilled. Then they could have left with their heads held high, not exactly happy of course but still relatively satisfied that they'd done the right thing. They'd saved the rest of the patients from some Primus-forsaken, unspoken punishment, right?

But no. She'd had to go and chat. Give them a face to go with the name, a history. Major P. Harrington: up until that moment he'd maybe still been telling himself this was just a test, no real names used, but they knew a Harrington- Pit, they'd heard him rambling his spark out just that morning. There was no pretending with that sort of evidence: if they handed the name over and the man suddenly vanished from the intercom, they'd feel it. The blood on their hands wouldn't just be hypothetical.

It would also be the first death he'd directly caused himself since Protoform X.

He swallowed, though his mouth felt unbearably dry. Another peril of human biology. "Me either. Feels all wrong." He dropped back a little so that he could keep his eyes on the Scarecrow, though not for safety's sake- a part of him, Depth Charge realised suddenly, needed the support. "What if he's with Marc? We can't just- just turn him over, can we?"

[scarefaux]

Even with as complicated as the situation was, the answer the Scarecrow was looking for came easily enough. One look at the mention of the Rebel's name, and he could tell Depth Charge was thinking the same thing: that taking the steps to accomplish one goal could set everyone further back than they'd ever expected. It was a dangerous task, sending a little girl and her newfound companions to face a witch for a chance at some brains- and in the end whether he got them or not, he'd decided then that he'd help Dorothy get home either way.

But what was he willing to face to help his friends and fellow patients at Landel's? While the sound of being punished for failing the mission wasn't ideal, he had to admit that if it made things easier later, it was probably better to fail on purpose. Another tricky part presented itself: if they were being watched- and the Scarecrow did expect they were, so they couldn't escape- then could they make it look as though they'd never gotten the name at all? Or warn Rosemarie somehow without being caught? So much for that simplicity.

"No, I don't think we can," the Scarecrow answered, more determination present in his voice than he'd felt in some time. "We need all the help we can get with the institute, and if it turns out that we're turning in someone who is trying to help us... Well, that just isn't bright. We'll be avoiding one punishment, but making things worse for everybody down the road."

That still left the question of what to do about the situation. "Do ya think there's any way we can warn her? I wouldn't count on us being alone here, but there's got to be something we can do. We probably oughtta get rid of this-" he shook the strip in his hand- "if nothing else."

[scalyfishman]

Crazy as it seemed to him now, Depth Charge was glad that it was the Scarecrow with him at that moment- someone he could trust not to overthink the situation, because how could you overthink something when you didn't even think you had the equipment to think at all? This was just one big game of second-guessing, third-guessing, fourth-guessing at the sort of reaction either action would get.

But maybe things weren't that complicated. He'd never been much of a long-term thinker- hadn't lived for much more than the next nanoklik for years now, not since he dropped his title back home- but even he could see how crazy it would be to hand over the guy's name for the sake of preventing one round of pain. The punishment they'd dished out after the food-fight hadn't exactly been a piece of cake, but a repeat of that had to be better than sacrificing someone on the inside- someone who, just maybe, could actually make an impact.

Besides. He wasn't sure if he could ever look Marc in the eye again if they chose to hand it over.

At the Scarecrow's question, Depth Charge just about resisted the impulse to look back over his shoulder to where she sat; they probably were being monitored, and the last thing they needed was to draw attention to their hesitance. "It's probably too late for that," he said after a moment, shaking his head. "As far as they know we've got the name, so maybe they'll just let her leave." Maybe. So long as they don't come back later to cover their tracks. "We've seriously gotta get rid of that thing, though."

The determination in both of their voices was clearer now, even at a whisper. Depth Charge squared his shoulders. "Think we could rip the signature up and drop it somewhere? Bring the top back instead and play dumb?"

[scarefaux]

As much as he didn't want to admit it, the Scarecrow knew what Depth Charge was saying was probably true: that it was too late to warn Rosemarie, and that keeping her friend's identity a secret was now on their shoulders. Another weight added, each one more tangible than the last. He could only hope that the second part of what Depth Charge said was just as likely- that maybe if they didn't draw her back into it, anyone watching them might just let her leave. After all, the military had sent them on the mission in the first place to get the name without raising suspicion, right? Surely they'd only take action if they thought they really had to.

Well, at least that was what the former strawman liked to believe. How strange it seemed to him now that only a few weeks before, he was sitting on an emerald throne in a magnificent city, feeling that even though he was clearly the wisest in Oz, he still wasn't doing enough. The feeling of powerlessness that nestled in his chest on a daily basis, growing since his arrival at Landel's, continued to claw its way up. He had lost his diploma, and his human brain wasn't in the best of condition. If they could protect Rosemarie and her friend the Major somehow, would he be satisfied?

He couldn't know yet. The Scarecrow gave tearing the strip a try; however, no matter how much twisting and turning he gave it, he couldn't manage to rip the gift in half, the coating giving it more than enough durability to withstand his efforts. "This thing is tougher than it looks," he noted, his mind scrambling to think of another plan.

"Excuse me, sirs?" The Scarecrow stifled a jump as the waitress materialized behind him, on edge from the ever-worsening situation. "You nearly forgot your bill." She produced a piece of paper from the tray, handing it to them with a smile.

"Oh, um." The Scarecrow paused, taking the scrap and looking it over. There were an awful lot of numbers on it, but he wasn't sure exactly what it was or what he ought to do with it. "Thank you." It was more of a reflex, his thanking her, but he supposed manners couldn't make things worse.

Another moment passed in silence, and she didn't leave. The Scarecrow eyed Depth Charge for a second before an idea came to mind: she was looking for something in return, he reasoned. She'd have left, otherwise. Reaching into his pocket, the strawman removed the wallet and handed it to her, card inside and all. "And could you do me a favor, ma'am?" he asked politely.

She stared at the wallet, a bit puzzled at his offer. She glanced inside- there was a card, at least. She wasn't going to question someone who came off as 'country folk' too much, so long as the payment was good. "Sure. What else can I do for you today?"

"Could you maybe throw this away for me?" He handed her Rosemarie's gift, the strip now crinkled from his attempt to tear it into pieces.

The waitress gave him another odd look, accompanied by a nod and a smile. "Of course. Be right back with your receipt."

With that, she turned and headed back the way she came. Relief, however minor, washed over the Scarecrow, his empty hands still trembling slightly from the mounting stress of the situation. He returned his attention to his roommate, trying not to look as worried as he felt. "All right, now what?"

[scalyfishman]

That was a no to the ripping part, then, though by this point Depth Charge was probably riding on enough nervous energy to tear through three of them at once. Slag, if he'd had them on hand with the waitress' sudden arrival in the mix he could probably have managed ten. She really had a thing for bad timing, huh? Couldn't say handing over the whole wallet wasn't exactly inconspicuous, either. Even so, it was a relief to see the bookmark finally vanish off with her- good thinking on the Scarecrow's part.

As he watched her head back towards the front of cafe, though, he couldn't help but feel a creep of of suspicion sneak back into place. What if she was a plant? They'd already decided that this place was probably full of soldiers, so for all they knew their waitress was just going to hand it straight to one of those officers when they got back, and no amount of playing dumb would save them then, or the other patients. And when the entire point of this mission for him had been to keep the Scarecrow safe...

No. Keep it together, DC. Don't turn into a conspiracy theorist. Keeping his head together was vital when they still needed to plan what they'd do when they returned, what they'd say, but it was easy to fall back into that nasty little web of doubt again. This was why he hated undercover work: that endless spiral of falsehood, lies prettied up to be convincing enough even to those involved. Total slag.

"We need to come up with an excuse or a false name," he said, well-aware of what he was about to say- but this was a necessary lie. For a moment he broke off, trailing through his memory for the names he'd seen on the bulletin board most often. "Maybe 'Peter' or something? Heard that twice now." Hopefully both Peters involved would understand. "If they ask for more we can say she seemed edgy and we didn't want to push it."

And if that failed... Depth Charge didn't know. But he did know that the longer they stood around, the more suspicious they'd look to any hovering agents.

[scarefaux]

Another false name- they certainly were handy, weren't they? The Scarecrow nodded at Depth Charge's suggestion, sure that his roommate knew best, even if his expression seemed grim at times. It had to be the stress of the situation they were in, he reasoned: the thought that someone could be hurt- someone who could make a difference and actually help the patients trapped in Landel's, or at least was trying- was a lot to handle, probably even more so on a brain that was in proper working order. How Depth Charge managed himself was something the Scarecrow was sure he'd never know.

"Peter sounds good," the Scarecrow agreed with a nod. "I only know of one person with that name, and he helped me come up with a fake name once before. Let's just say I'm not very good at it on my own. Names here are more unusual than they are in Oz, you know. I'm afraid anything I come up with might be suspicious." There was the lingering concern that they would inadvertently land someone else in hot water- hopefully not either of the Peters they knew- but if there was more than one, perhaps it was a common name and they'd never know which was which. It was a hope he had to cling to- there wasn't much else.

He headed for the door, waiting for Depth Charge to follow. "Ready?"

[scalyfishman]

Depth Charge couldn't help but smile a little at that. "I know a Peter, too. Maybe they're the same guy." It didn't seem all that unlikely that Peter would be happy to sit and help the Scarecrow come up with an alias, knowing the guy; not many people would shrug that kind of thing off and actually be useful rather than just nodding and smiling, but he had patience for three. Had to, if he was a medic of some sort. Kind of made him feel a little guilty about the number of medics whose days he'd turned into a disaster zone, to be honest.

He still wasn't sure if using that name would make things difficult for the Peters still in the Institute, but at such short notice it was the only reasonably convincing name that either of them could come up with. And anyway, surely they wouldn't seriously think to associate the name with any of the patients? They knew them. They had them on file, for Primus' sake.

With a quiet breath, he followed the Scarecrow to the door. "Ready." Then he opened it and stepped back through.

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