(no subject)
Title: A Study in Fear
Characters: Team
Rating: PG
Words: 1000
Note: Written for writerinadrawer 1.05. Prompt was this photo of Tosh from the S2 trailer as well as the mandatory inclusion of a picture. I might want to make this into a longer fic one day, but I thought I'd post it as-is for now.
"Get off me!" Tosh screamed as they approached, her voice already hoarse. She fought Owen to get away, only straps at her ankles keeping her in place. As she struggled, the electrodes attached to her forehead strained to detach from the monitors. "Get him off me!"
"Tosh--" Ianto started as he stepped forward, but he was silenced as Jack, next to him, immediately started questioning Owen: "What the hell are you doing to her?"
"Keeping her alive," Owen answered shortly, as he finally got the wrist restraints to strap back into place. "Or trying to. It's my job."
"Ianto!" Tosh caught sight of him, and was scrabbling for his hand. He took hers, as she concentrated on his face. "Ianto," she gasped in between heaving breaths, "what is he doing to me?" Her face contorted in fear and her grip tightened. "Don't let him."
Jack leaned over her, touched one of the electrodes, and then looked over his shoulder. "Owen--"
The doctor sighed and pulled Jack aside. "Look. I'm serious. Her entire body is in overdrive. Ridiculously highs levels of adrenaline, norepinephrine, dopamine. That's your basic fight or flight response: elevated heart-rate, blood pressure, blood sugar, and a whole slew of psychological effects-- notably, panic. I've tried to neutralise the best I could, but it only works for short intervals. She's just--"
"Turned up to eleven," Jack cut in grimly. Owen responded with a mirthless smile. "So, tell me. What causes these kinds of levels?"
"Honestly?" He reached for a leaf of papers, mostly for something to do with his hands. "Unless she's been taking large amounts of speed-- which she hasn't, by the way; I checked-- central nervous system trauma, neuroendocrine tumors, that sort of thing. But in her case, it's this." He passed over an image of Tosh's brain, pointed to a cylindrical dark spot, and said, "Implant, just like the others."
"We thought they were just terrified," Jack mused to himself. "But it was induced. Why?"
"Jack?" He looked up; Gwen was at the railing. He waved at her to continue and went back to studying the implant. "I've been going over the CCTV footage for all of our victims. Two met with the same guy, and I thought it was just a coincidence, because none of the rest..."
"Coincidences are a waste of my time."
"But then I noticed," Gwen went on, her voice devoid of the usual victory, "that Tosh met him also." She leaned over to hand Jack a file. "Put him through facial recognition and got Sergei Gorodetsky. Works at the BT Data Centre in the Bay, or he did 'til he quit two weeks ago."
"That's right around when the deaths started," Ianto contributed, approaching with his hands in his pocket. He glanced over his shoulder to look at Tosh.
Jack checked that she had given him this guy's last known address, and then started toward the door. "Good work, Gwen. Ianto, with me; we're going to get some answers from Mr. Gorodetsky."
OOOOOO
Gorodetsky's kitchen was painted a sunny yellow.
It seemed less than cheerful now, as Jack forced the man into one of his own chairs, and gave the signal to begin. Ianto held Gorodetsky's gaze a few seconds too long, his own face blank, and then cleared his throat. "Mr. Gorodetsky," he began, using the no-nonsense voice he knew Jack would love under different circumstances. "We need to ask you a few questions."
"I don't know anything," he protested in unaccented English. "I haven't done anything."
Ianto opened a file folder flat and settled his elbows on the table in front of him. He flipped through a series of photographs, picked one, and slid it across the table. It was a rather blurry CCTV image of the first victim in a three-quarter profile. "Do you know this man?"
Gorodetsky barely even looked. "No."
"It would be wise to take this seriously, sir," Ianto reminded him, taking care to make that 'sir' anything but submissive. "Do you know this man?"
"I already told you," Gorodetsky repeated overly slowly, as he looked Ianto and then Jack in the eye. "I don't know anything."
Jack, who had come to stand directly behind Ianto's shoulder, his face stoic and his arms crossed, stepped forward now, produced something from one of his pockets, and held it out to Gorodetsky. "This," he said with some degree of relish, seeming to appreciate the weight in his hands, "is a silencer." Jack's lips curled into a half-smile. "Does exactly what it says in the tin."
"I know what it is," Gorodetsky said, nonplussed.
"Good. Because I," and at that point Jack paused, mostly for emphasis (damn, Ianto couldn't help thinking, he was good), "am going to give it to my colleague here. Ianto?" When he tossed it, Ianto caught it deftly. "And he's going to hold on to it for me. Aren't you, Ianto?"
Ianto smiled across the table and added two things to the files on the table. One was the silencer. The other was his handgun.
"Like the man says," Jack said, "it really would be wise to answer our questions."
"Alexander Malcolm." Ianto added a photo of an older, severe-faced blonde woman to the first. "Tanya Young." Another two photos. A dark-skinned man in uniform, a nondescript youth in front of a Boots. "Sgt. Vikas Thomas. Barclay Holcombe." He hesitated, just briefly, and then laid down the last, letting his fingers hover near the weapon as he lifted his hand. "Toshiko Sato."
Jack brought a fist down, hard, on the tabletop, so that Gorodetsky jumped. "I get cranky when people lie to me, Sergei. We know you met with them. Now tell me why, because you don't want to see me cranky.
"I haven't--" Gorodetsky broke off. "They said I had to. They said they wanted to study-- Look, I just said what they wanted, and that's it."
"Ah," Jack said, showing his teeth. "Now we're getting somewhere."
Characters: Team
Rating: PG
Words: 1000
Note: Written for writerinadrawer 1.05. Prompt was this photo of Tosh from the S2 trailer as well as the mandatory inclusion of a picture. I might want to make this into a longer fic one day, but I thought I'd post it as-is for now.
"Get off me!" Tosh screamed as they approached, her voice already hoarse. She fought Owen to get away, only straps at her ankles keeping her in place. As she struggled, the electrodes attached to her forehead strained to detach from the monitors. "Get him off me!"
"Tosh--" Ianto started as he stepped forward, but he was silenced as Jack, next to him, immediately started questioning Owen: "What the hell are you doing to her?"
"Keeping her alive," Owen answered shortly, as he finally got the wrist restraints to strap back into place. "Or trying to. It's my job."
"Ianto!" Tosh caught sight of him, and was scrabbling for his hand. He took hers, as she concentrated on his face. "Ianto," she gasped in between heaving breaths, "what is he doing to me?" Her face contorted in fear and her grip tightened. "Don't let him."
Jack leaned over her, touched one of the electrodes, and then looked over his shoulder. "Owen--"
The doctor sighed and pulled Jack aside. "Look. I'm serious. Her entire body is in overdrive. Ridiculously highs levels of adrenaline, norepinephrine, dopamine. That's your basic fight or flight response: elevated heart-rate, blood pressure, blood sugar, and a whole slew of psychological effects-- notably, panic. I've tried to neutralise the best I could, but it only works for short intervals. She's just--"
"Turned up to eleven," Jack cut in grimly. Owen responded with a mirthless smile. "So, tell me. What causes these kinds of levels?"
"Honestly?" He reached for a leaf of papers, mostly for something to do with his hands. "Unless she's been taking large amounts of speed-- which she hasn't, by the way; I checked-- central nervous system trauma, neuroendocrine tumors, that sort of thing. But in her case, it's this." He passed over an image of Tosh's brain, pointed to a cylindrical dark spot, and said, "Implant, just like the others."
"We thought they were just terrified," Jack mused to himself. "But it was induced. Why?"
"Jack?" He looked up; Gwen was at the railing. He waved at her to continue and went back to studying the implant. "I've been going over the CCTV footage for all of our victims. Two met with the same guy, and I thought it was just a coincidence, because none of the rest..."
"Coincidences are a waste of my time."
"But then I noticed," Gwen went on, her voice devoid of the usual victory, "that Tosh met him also." She leaned over to hand Jack a file. "Put him through facial recognition and got Sergei Gorodetsky. Works at the BT Data Centre in the Bay, or he did 'til he quit two weeks ago."
"That's right around when the deaths started," Ianto contributed, approaching with his hands in his pocket. He glanced over his shoulder to look at Tosh.
Jack checked that she had given him this guy's last known address, and then started toward the door. "Good work, Gwen. Ianto, with me; we're going to get some answers from Mr. Gorodetsky."
OOOOOO
Gorodetsky's kitchen was painted a sunny yellow.
It seemed less than cheerful now, as Jack forced the man into one of his own chairs, and gave the signal to begin. Ianto held Gorodetsky's gaze a few seconds too long, his own face blank, and then cleared his throat. "Mr. Gorodetsky," he began, using the no-nonsense voice he knew Jack would love under different circumstances. "We need to ask you a few questions."
"I don't know anything," he protested in unaccented English. "I haven't done anything."
Ianto opened a file folder flat and settled his elbows on the table in front of him. He flipped through a series of photographs, picked one, and slid it across the table. It was a rather blurry CCTV image of the first victim in a three-quarter profile. "Do you know this man?"
Gorodetsky barely even looked. "No."
"It would be wise to take this seriously, sir," Ianto reminded him, taking care to make that 'sir' anything but submissive. "Do you know this man?"
"I already told you," Gorodetsky repeated overly slowly, as he looked Ianto and then Jack in the eye. "I don't know anything."
Jack, who had come to stand directly behind Ianto's shoulder, his face stoic and his arms crossed, stepped forward now, produced something from one of his pockets, and held it out to Gorodetsky. "This," he said with some degree of relish, seeming to appreciate the weight in his hands, "is a silencer." Jack's lips curled into a half-smile. "Does exactly what it says in the tin."
"I know what it is," Gorodetsky said, nonplussed.
"Good. Because I," and at that point Jack paused, mostly for emphasis (damn, Ianto couldn't help thinking, he was good), "am going to give it to my colleague here. Ianto?" When he tossed it, Ianto caught it deftly. "And he's going to hold on to it for me. Aren't you, Ianto?"
Ianto smiled across the table and added two things to the files on the table. One was the silencer. The other was his handgun.
"Like the man says," Jack said, "it really would be wise to answer our questions."
"Alexander Malcolm." Ianto added a photo of an older, severe-faced blonde woman to the first. "Tanya Young." Another two photos. A dark-skinned man in uniform, a nondescript youth in front of a Boots. "Sgt. Vikas Thomas. Barclay Holcombe." He hesitated, just briefly, and then laid down the last, letting his fingers hover near the weapon as he lifted his hand. "Toshiko Sato."
Jack brought a fist down, hard, on the tabletop, so that Gorodetsky jumped. "I get cranky when people lie to me, Sergei. We know you met with them. Now tell me why, because you don't want to see me cranky.
"I haven't--" Gorodetsky broke off. "They said I had to. They said they wanted to study-- Look, I just said what they wanted, and that's it."
"Ah," Jack said, showing his teeth. "Now we're getting somewhere."