01 [Holo] Arrival
John Casey cranks one eyelid open.
It isn't often that he naps on the job, but sometimes listening to Bartowski drone on and on about desert island scenarios and top ten sci fi babes of all time just make him want to drift off to snooze-land. He shifts upright, becoming fully alert and realizing immediately that he isn't sitting in his lazy-boy chair anymore, or in his apartment with the usual surveillance equipment around him. Even his dish of butterscotch pudding is gone.
Instead he finds himself on a raised platform, in a room with no visible doors or windows, clutching one of his bonsai trees to his chest. Correction: his favorite bonsai tree.
“What the hell?”
Casey scowls and sets the plant down carefully on the steps, then sweeps his gaze warily around the circular room. Looks like some kind of holding cell.
He tests out that theory by trying to find an opening in the wall. Anything which he can exploit. When that doesn't work, he resorts to some cursory bellowing, fist pounding, shoulder ramming and kicking at that self same wall. That doesn't do much of anything, either.
“Huh.”
It's logical to assume that he's been abducted, but how come he can't remember a damned thing? He doesn't feel like he's been knocked out, shocked or drugged into unconsciousness for transport and he's had enough experience with all three of the above to be able to tell.
And what is this band of metal around his wrist? It seems fused there, like it's been grafted on, but wouldn't that kind of medical procedure take time and a hell of a lot of drugs?
Casey moves back up the steps and stares down at the tablet which has been sitting there the whole time, but he's been purposefully ignoring. Looks like some kind of communications device. He picks it up and studies it, frowning. It's obviously been left there for him to use.
He's tempted to smash the gadget into a million itty bitty little pieces. How would they like them apples? He isn't a fan of cooperating with the enemy.
But...maybe he can do some information gathering of his own if he can get the bastards who've taken him to respond back to him. He sits himself down on the top step and pushes what he presumes is the activation button.
“If this is Fulcrum's idea of a torture slash interrogation chamber, I've gotta tell ya, you guys are seriously slipping here. No wonder we've been kicking your ass like it's going out of business. Repeat after me: Blunt, Sharp, Cold, Hot, Loud. And that's only if you don't have any imagination.”
A cold sardonic kind of smile comes to his lips for a moment. Then Casey leans forward, his voice dropping to a low menacing whisper.
“I don't like being abducted and incarcerated against my will. It tends to make me cranky, and you wouldn't like me when I'm cranky. Whatever intel you're hoping to get from me, or plans you have to turn me, forget it.” He gives a mirthless snort. “I'd rather gnaw off my own arm than betray my country. So. You might as well let me go now before I find my own way out of here, track down whoever the hell you people are and open up a world of pain on all of your asses.”
It isn't often that he naps on the job, but sometimes listening to Bartowski drone on and on about desert island scenarios and top ten sci fi babes of all time just make him want to drift off to snooze-land. He shifts upright, becoming fully alert and realizing immediately that he isn't sitting in his lazy-boy chair anymore, or in his apartment with the usual surveillance equipment around him. Even his dish of butterscotch pudding is gone.
Instead he finds himself on a raised platform, in a room with no visible doors or windows, clutching one of his bonsai trees to his chest. Correction: his favorite bonsai tree.
“What the hell?”
Casey scowls and sets the plant down carefully on the steps, then sweeps his gaze warily around the circular room. Looks like some kind of holding cell.
He tests out that theory by trying to find an opening in the wall. Anything which he can exploit. When that doesn't work, he resorts to some cursory bellowing, fist pounding, shoulder ramming and kicking at that self same wall. That doesn't do much of anything, either.
“Huh.”
It's logical to assume that he's been abducted, but how come he can't remember a damned thing? He doesn't feel like he's been knocked out, shocked or drugged into unconsciousness for transport and he's had enough experience with all three of the above to be able to tell.
And what is this band of metal around his wrist? It seems fused there, like it's been grafted on, but wouldn't that kind of medical procedure take time and a hell of a lot of drugs?
Casey moves back up the steps and stares down at the tablet which has been sitting there the whole time, but he's been purposefully ignoring. Looks like some kind of communications device. He picks it up and studies it, frowning. It's obviously been left there for him to use.
He's tempted to smash the gadget into a million itty bitty little pieces. How would they like them apples? He isn't a fan of cooperating with the enemy.
But...maybe he can do some information gathering of his own if he can get the bastards who've taken him to respond back to him. He sits himself down on the top step and pushes what he presumes is the activation button.
“If this is Fulcrum's idea of a torture slash interrogation chamber, I've gotta tell ya, you guys are seriously slipping here. No wonder we've been kicking your ass like it's going out of business. Repeat after me: Blunt, Sharp, Cold, Hot, Loud. And that's only if you don't have any imagination.”
A cold sardonic kind of smile comes to his lips for a moment. Then Casey leans forward, his voice dropping to a low menacing whisper.
“I don't like being abducted and incarcerated against my will. It tends to make me cranky, and you wouldn't like me when I'm cranky. Whatever intel you're hoping to get from me, or plans you have to turn me, forget it.” He gives a mirthless snort. “I'd rather gnaw off my own arm than betray my country. So. You might as well let me go now before I find my own way out of here, track down whoever the hell you people are and open up a world of pain on all of your asses.”