InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Mischief Managed."

Brandon Stone (takenonames) wrote in immune_ic,
@ 2012-01-04 09:46:00

Entry tags:

# 2012 [01] january, brandon, charlie h.

WHO: Brandon, Charlie and O'Brien
WHAT: Infiltrating Ellis Island.
WHERE: Starting at the Liberty Island pier, then Ellis Island. Obviously.
WHEN: January 4th, 2019; just after nightfall.
RATING: Undoubtedly medium, for language.
STATUS: In progress.

For the most part, Brandon genuinely felt awful for not telling his sister what was going on. She was already furious with him, after all. They still hadn't really talked since the whole "stupid fake love-letter posted on the intranet" thing, and he suspected that her fury would last even longer.

Okay, no. That suspicion was more of a certainty, especially since he was sitting on the Liberty Island pier, waiting for West and O'Brien to show up. If he survived this crazy endeavor? If he went back to Madison Square and told Leah, Lilah and Kori exactly where he'd been? Well he was fairly certain that his silent treatment from his oldest sister would put cold shoulder to shame. That was okay, more or less. Okay, no it sucked. Brandon had never been a fan of having loved ones mad at him. Other people? Random people? They could fuck off, but the anger of loved ones always sort of worried him.

He'd cross that bridge when he got to it. For now, though... they needed to know what was going on across the stretch of ocean between Liberty and Ellis Islands. He looked out in that direction, curious as to whether he could see anything from here, but there was nothing. Whatever was going on over there—if anything, even—was pretty hush-hush.

To be honest, he could think if infinite worse people to go on this trip with than O'Brien or West. A lot of trust came with the "law enforcement" thing. They'd both been through the paces before the world ended and since? Well, if he was trudging off onto an island full of psychopathic anarchists? He'd rather it be with those two than mostly anyone else (Leah probably would have fallen into that category with them if he wanted her anywhere near this).

He took his gun from his holster and checked it one last time, more of a nervous habit than anything, as he waited for his two companions to get there.

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littledeadly
2012-01-04 10:18 pm UTC (link)

It was weird, preparing for the infiltration of a place populated by humans. While zombies required some element of stealth so you didn't wind up with a horde, they were ultimately pretty stupid and easy to sneak past. Humans took a bit more finesse, and Charlie was secretly excited for the challenge.

She'd managed to dig out what she had left of her old SWAT equipment. When Boston went down, she'd been one of the first to bust into the armory at her office, retrieving not only her equipment but enough surplus to arm half the safehouse she'd been staying at. When she'd left for NYC, she'd taken about half of it with her. It was what she'd brought along for Stone and O'Brien to choose from. Besides her own stuff, it was mostly basics: three sniper rifles, two carbines, six various semi-automatic pistols, plenty of ammo, and a slew of various silencers.

Charlie was kind of a hoarder when it came to weapons, but at least it was a vice that came in handy during an apocalypse.

The thunk of the hefty duffle bag full of weaponry being placed down announced her arrival on the pier before her voice did. Her greeting was merely a nod in Brandon's direction. There really wasn't a need for formalities, she figured. O'Brien could handle himself, and he seemed to have faith in Stone, and that was all she really needed to know. The three of them would get to know each other plenty over the next few hours. Hopefully they wouldn't be bonding over bullet wounds.

"Take your pick, chief," Charlie told her new companion, tilting her head towards the bag, as she fished a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of one of her many pockets. If she was going to get shot by crazy anarchists, she thought as she lit one and took a drag, she sure as hell was going to have one last smoke before they left.

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takenonames
2012-01-06 06:04 am UTC (link)

"Well hi to you, too," Brandon smirked wryly when Charlie made her appearance.

However, if he had to be greeted in any way, the thud of an offered bag of guns hitting the ground in front of him was definitely among the top ten. Pretty much the only way you could beat that was with a door opening to a zombie-free world. "Got a couple vests, too," Brandon nodded over to his own supply bag as he knelt down in front of the one Charlie brought. "Didn't know sizes so I snagged a bunch." Better that than offend someone he had to trust at his back.

He was mostly satisfied with a couple small guns, but to be honest, you really couldn't have too many. "Shit, you brought the heavy artillery with you."

He eyed a nice looking M16 and pulled it from the bag. "Nice," he muttered, pointing the weapon out to the ocean and looking around, getting a feel for it. "Damn, West. This is better than Christmas. Thanks."

With the weapon shouldered and a sufficient amount of ammo tucked away, he turned his attention back to his companion. "Looks pretty dead over there," he told her, gathering a pair of binoculars from his pack and offering them over to her. "If anything's going on, it's pretty hush-hush."

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littledeadly
2012-01-06 06:42 am UTC (link)

"Hey, I ain't just a pretty face. I'm a pretty face with a whole lotta guns," Charlie joked, rummaging through the supply bag he'd motioned to. "And I'm actually friggin' Santa Claus, too." Her grin widened when she actually managed to find a woman's small in the mix. It'd still be bulkier than she liked (her SWAT vest, which she'd long since lost, had been special ordered in a shorter length), but at least she wouldn't have to worry about it falling off. "Not a bad job yourself, Stone. Actually found one close to my size."

She set the vest aside, going back to her cigarette and pacing the pier slowly. While preparing for a mission that was strictly recon was exciting, as she squinted at their destination. Something about it made her a little uneasy, she realized, as she took the binoculars from him. "There's some sorta shit going on over there. I don't like it," she muttered around her cigarette, mostly to herself. There was nothing to be seen, even in the dim light. "Damn place is too quiet. That always means fuckin' trouble. There should be something, even some rogue swimmers wandering on shore."

Her lips remained twisted into a thoughtful frown as she handed the binoculars back. "You know that feeling in your gut when you know something's off, but you can't fuckin' place it, and your brain says 'fuck off, danger, danger, abort abort abort!'? " She asked after a minute or so, grinning and flicking some ash from the end of her cigarette into the murky water. "I'm definitely gettin' that vibe from this place. Means whatever's over there, it's gonna be fun. Or get us all killed. Or both."

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takenonames
2012-01-06 05:19 pm UTC (link)

Laughing at her quip about being Santa Claus, Brandon shrugged. "Better than Santa Claus in my opinion. All that holly jolly fucker ever brought me were sweaters and Matchbox cars. I'd've been a happy kid if I'd gotten an M16 for Christmas some year." He was kidding, of course. And he definitely wasn't knocking Leah's skills as a Christmas provider or a parental figure. The joke was just a perfect fit.

"So, if you're Santa I guess that makes me an elf." He paused. Weird thought, since she was easily almost a foot shorter than him. "Kinda like Will Ferrell in that stupid movie."

The unease was definitely shared. Brandon couldn't count how many times he'd looked over there, hoping for some kind of activity, only to see nothing. "Tell me about it," he said, eying the area once again. "Water even looks too still. And there are boats on the docks. I don't know how long they've been there but they look way too fucking well maintained to be a new development." They didn't appear to have any rot, though he could be wrong. "There are people there, I'm almost positive."

Brandon stuck the binoculars back in his pack and then turned to look at her. "Yeah, I definitely know that feeling. And you aren't the only one getting it," he shook his head no. A small piece of him wished that he'd at least warned his sisters of where he was going, because fuck knows that Leah would fly off the handle if he just... didn't come back. The fact that he hadn't showed how much faith he was putting into these two relative strangers. "I'm thinking we want to be on the lookout for traps and shit. If these motherfuckers are so adamant to stay unknown, they've probably booby trapped the place to shit and the last thing I want is to have my fucking leg snapped into a bear trap, I don't know about you."

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littledeadly
2012-01-06 06:18 pm UTC (link)

Charlie gave him a lopsided grin. "Sounds like a lame-ass Christmas to me. Weapons were some of Santa's favorite fuckin' gifts at my house." Which was actually true. If there was an upside to being raised to hunt, it meant things like new crossbows, rifles, pistols, and knives were all fairly regular gifts for Christmas and birthdays. Like her sweet sixteen: most teenagers got a car, but Charlie got a custom-made hunting rifle.

"Nah. You're too damn tall, and not goofy-looking enough." She said, after studying him for a moment. "You're welcome to be a reindeer. Or Mrs. Claus." Okay, that had come out more awkward than she'd intended, she realized with a wince, letting the joke drop.

With a sigh, Charlie sat cross-legged on the edge of the pier, still squinting out at the island. Her pacing wasn't helping anyone's nerves, she was sure. "Oh, there's undoubtedly people there," she replied with certainty. Had that even been a question? "Question is, how well-guarded are they? I didn't see any goddamn sniper patrols on the roof, and I'm pretty fuckin' good at knowing what to look for. Maybe we're too far off?"

Not returning was a non-issue for her. Almost every time she left the safehouses, she left with the thought that maybe, this would be her last time. Maybe it was sad, but that thought didn't bother her in the slightest. Her family was gone, and she wasn't close enough to anyone that would give a shit if she vanished. Sure, there were a few people that'd be upset for a short time, but they'd move on. It wouldn't be like losing a sibling.

"Fuck, you're right. If they're not patrolling, it's probably a fuckin' minefield over there. I'll take point. I can spot fuckin' bear traps and snares pretty easy, and if something happens--" I'm the most expendable, she finished silently. You and O'Brien can get back to your families. "I'm the easiest to carry. I'm not gonna be able to haul your ass off that island if you get hurt, and I'm sure as hell not gonna be able to haul O'Brien."

For a moment, she was quiet, exhaling another puff of curling smoke. "Wonder how big the fuckin' air vents are over there. Maybe we could get a look on the inside."

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takenonames
2012-01-09 02:53 am UTC (link)

"Don't get me wrong, Matchbox cars are fun," Brandon grinned wryly. "But you can't cap a son of a bitch from a mile back with one of those." He patted his H&K, which was still cozily slung over his shoulder. The Stones had struggled a bit growing up; the only reason Brandon got a car when he turned sixteen was because he worked with Captain Graham to get one of his old junkers up and running. It ran like a dream, too. Looked like shit for the first few years, but once Brandon started bringing in a steady salary and paid off his debts, she'd turned into a beautiful machine.

Laughing when she mentioned his lack of goofiness, Brandon shrugged. "I'll take that as a compliment. You're not fat or bearded enough to be Santa either, so this whole damn analogy just fell flat," he added with a wry grin. "A reindeer, maybe. Those hooves are probably bitchin' weapons. Antlers, too." The smirk didn't fade at the awkward turn of the joke. It was tough to bug him when it came to shit like that.

That was exactly what Brandon was antsy about. He half-suspected that the second they stepped off the boat they'd be held at gunpoint and dragged back to some meeting hole or what the fuck ever. Not that he didn't think they could fight off a group of people, but was it possible that someone was watching the shores, waiting for some kind of intrusion? Seemed it. Seemed probable, actually. "There are windows too, though," he pointed out. "I'm thinking it depends on how many people are there."

Brandon was hesitant to let Charlie take point. Leah had always told him that he had a bit of a hero complex, and it wasn't entirely untrue... evidenced by the fact that Charlie mentioned taking point and it took all his will-power not to say no. He'd just have to work twice as hard to cover her. "All right," he mumbled, his voice not hiding the fact that he didn't like it much. "But we're all getting out alive. Period." No matter what.

"It's bad that I'm half fucking expecting the island to be one of those primal places with people strutting around in loincloths, ain't it?" he snorted a laugh.

The idea of any of them crawling through air vents was both appealing and unappealing. "We can scout it this time. This is more a whole 'signs of life' scouting thing, at least that was what I'd planned. If we find anything," though it was really more of a when, "we come back and check it out. And we'll be better prepared."

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littledeadly
2012-01-09 10:03 am UTC (link)

Charlie returned his grin, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to get something like matchbox cars for Christmas. It had seemed normal at the time, and it was certainly handy to have an arsenal during a zombie apocalypse, but there were moments where she wondered if she wouldn't have been better off in some ways if her mother had stuck around and she'd been raised like a normal girl. Maybe her father would have been tougher on Robert, turned him into the good shot instead of her. Maybe he'd still be alive. "I wouldn't know," she said finally, shrugging. "Never really got toys or nothing for Christmas. Just stuff to hunt with."

Her mood lightened at his next comment and she shook off all thoughts of her childhood. Humor she could handle. "You haven't seen me when I first get up in the morning. Trust me, I look more like Santa than a fucking human being at five A.M. Don't think I could handle antlers, though. I mean, have you seen the racks on reindeer?" She held up her hands to demonstrate. "It'd topple me."

To be honest, the windows made her the most nervous because of how strangely empty they seemed. If they were boarded up, there probably weren't snipers in them. If they were just dark... well. That was an unsettling implication. "No lights in the windows," Charlie observed. "Which means they've either got 'em boarded up and shit, or they can see in the dark. The second option means they've got their hands on some pretty military-grade shit, either scopes or goggles. Possibly thermal sights, too." And a sniper with a thermal sight would see them coming from far, far away.

Charlie anticipated the hesitation. It always seemed that, with male law enforcement agents of any type, they had trouble putting a woman in the riskiest position; she'd seen it too many times to count as a member of the SWAT team. "Lemme guess: you're not happy about this arrangement?" She intentionally didn't address his 'getting back alive' comment. Typically, telling someone you didn't give a shit about coming back didn't inspire trust or confidence.

"I'd say that's optimistic. I'm more expecting some batshit Deliverance fuckers," she replied with a grim smile, tapping her cigarette on the edge of the pier and watching the ashes fall into the water. "I hear 'squeal like a piggy' and sorry, man, but I'm out. No goddamn way."

Her lips twisted into a frown at his response. He was right, of course, but she hated planning and shit like that. Still, getting lost in Ellis Island's air vent system wasn't exactly a blaze of glory when it came to deaths. "Fair point. We'll get blueprints and shit, plot an entrance and exit strategy."

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detectiveobrien
2012-01-09 05:07 pm UTC (link)

Everyone had to get one thing straight. O'Brien was not a morning person. He never had been, and he never would be. But he had a job to do, and there was one thing that O'Brien had always been, and that was a bit of a workaholic. He liked his job and he liked to do it well. This was the closest he felt like he was going to get to what he used to do, and he was glad to take it. So what if he was a bit grumpy?

And running a tad late (which, normally, wasn't like him at all).

And he also didn't have any artillery to bring... So when he came trudging up in the darkest clothes that he owned-- and all bundled up, mind you, in his scarf, knit beanie cap and all, with no giant bag of whatever, like West and Stone had, yeah, he felt a bit out of place. He hadn't even brought his bag. Just himself and his two Glock 17s. What the hell were they doing with fucking M16s??

He gave a bit of an awkward wave as he approached, forced a smile, but it didn't last too long, and both hands were tucked back into his coat pockets to keep warm.

"...The big guns, huh?" He looked from the bag of artillery to the bag of bullet proof vests, and pointed to them as he stepped over to go through them to find one close to his size. Assuming they were free for the taking.

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takenonames
2012-01-11 06:09 am UTC (link)

Brandon wasn't a touchy feely type, so the conversation turning to childhood Christmases took him off guard for more than just the obvious reasons. There were a thousand things he probably could have said, half of which would've made the situation better and half of which would've made it worse, so rather than going for those, he decided to go for something else entirely and stick with their next, slightly more humorous conversation. "Hey, I can't judge you there. I look like Jabba the god damned Hutt in the morning," he added with a wry grin. He paused and chuckled at her antler demonstration. "Okay, so no reindeer either. How about we just pretend that I'm short enough to be a damn elf? Call it good. I'll stand on my knees."

Taking his rifle from its place on his shoulder, he took a peek through the scope to see if he could see whether the windows were boarded up or not. "No boards," he commented after she finished talking. "If they have military provisions, this just crossed from bad fucking idea to potentially suicidal." Good thing Brandon wasn't scared of going into situations like that. However, it pretty much solidified the fact it was a good damn thing Leah didn't know about this. "Where the fuck's O'Brien? I just wanna go so we can come back and start actually planning." He shouldered his rifle again and looked around.

Though Brandon was hesitant to let Charlie lead, it wasn't because she was a woman. Hell no. His sister was proof that women were even tougher than men most of the time, and you couldn't be raised in a house with three sisters and not know how strong women could be. It had more to do with the fact that Brandon hated not being on point. "Rather take point myself but I won't begrudge you," he told her with a shrug of a shoulder.

The Deliverance comment had Brandon laughing aloud. "I'll be right behind you, don't worry," he mused.

Finally, O'Brien joined them on the docks, and Brandon turned his head, watching as he strutted about like he owned the place. He spent way more time here than Brandon did, so he supposed that was to be expected. "'Bout time you showed up. I was getting anxious," he pointed out.

"What better time for the big guns?" he asked. "Venturing into the unknown? They're lucky I didn't find a fucking grenade launcher to blow the place to shit."

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littledeadly
2012-01-12 01:18 am UTC (link)

"You can be an elf with fuckin' giantism or some shit. Still think you'd be taller than me on your knees, though," Charlie conceded with a grin. She was glad he'd dropped the childhood Christmas topic; memories of her father just tended to piss her off most of the time. Even now, turned into a badass zombie-killing machine, she was sure the old bastard would want her to do something better. Like protect your brother? A little voice in her head piped up, causing Charlie to cringe internally. As much as she put on the brave face, there was still that voice that reminded her of her guilt and failure when she needed it least. Yeah, you were a real fucking badass there, letting your only family get turned into a zombie because you couldn't make it back in time. Good going, West.

No boards. Shit. That's what she'd been afraid of. She pulled her own Remington 700P LTR (her "baby", as she often referred to it-- the only weapon from her SWAT days that she'd never share), taking another look at the rooftops through the scope. She didn't see any glints of light that indicated snipers, either. That was either a very good thing, meaning they were underprotected, or a very bad thing, meaning their snipers knew how not to get caught. "Potentially suicidal. My very favorite kind of fucking bad idea," Charlie muttered, unable to help the grin that crossed her face. Suicide runs always gave that special run of adrenaline that came with the high probability of not coming back.

That was one of the reasons she was insistent on taking the point position. It was, arguably, the most dangerous, and Charlie thrived on throwing herself headlong into perilous situations. "I'd say we could switch off next time, but I'm a pretty shitty follower," she said with a grin. "Not that I wouldn't have your back, but I'd bitch about it the whole way. Fair warning."

Her smile widened when a particularly grouchy-looking O'Brien showed up. "Sleep through your alarm, Chief?" To be honest, she was probably way too peppy about a potentially suicidal mission, but hey. She never claimed to be any kind of sane, only that she was good at her former job. "There's always time for the big guns," she shrugged, motioning to her bag of weapons. "Feel free to grab something that tickles your fancy. And a silencer. Don't need to be tipping off the whole island if we need to kill someone."

She scoffed at Brandon's suggestion. "Grenade launcher? Jesus christ, man, have you no sense of subtlety? If you're gonna take something out, clean and simple's the way to do it. You go in quiet, take a silenced shot, and get the fuck out. No need to blow up a perfectly good goddamn building."

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detectiveobrien
2012-01-14 06:52 am UTC (link)

"Agreed.. I thought we wanted to scout the place out to see if we could use it. If you blow it all to hell, it's kind of pointless, don't you think?" He straightened up with one of the bulletproof vests and gave it a look over before turning his attention to Charlie.

Did he sleep through his alarm? "Something like that," he busied himself with putting on the vest, and then leaned back down to dig through the bag of artillery to find a silencer that might fit his Glock."Thanks... but I think I'll stick with my Glocks." He liked big guns, sure. But he was a pro with his own guns. he felt like they were much easier to handle.

He was definitely not entirely awake, yet. He figured that once they were closer to the island, his adrenaline would get going, and he'd be wide awake and ready to kick ass. But right now? It was as bad as being in a Department Briefing. He always had to fight to stay awake.

"So what's the plan, Stone?" Brandon was the instigator in all this, was he not?

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takenonames
2012-01-15 02:25 am UTC (link)

An elf with giantism, huh? Brandon laughed a little bit and shrugged. “Only problem with that is that elves are supposed to be fucking jolly. Not the jolliest son of a bitch in the world but I can be a bitchy elf if necessary.” He added with a semi-serious shrug. The conversation was absurd, and definitely necessary to keep his nerves off-edge for this mission. “I'd tell you that big things come in small packages but I'm sure you've heard that enough times to make it really fucking tiresome.” Just like people and their constant need to as him how the weather was up there. He knew he was tall; didn't need the constant reminder.

“And that, West, is why we're gonna get along just fine.”

With a subtle, joking roll of his eyes, Brandon snorted a laugh at Charlie's proposal to trade places. “You think I won't bitch?” he asked. He wouldn't, of course, but it was still fun to screw with her a little bit.

Brandon laughed softly at Charlie's question about subtlety. “Course I do. All right, fine, I'll save the fucking grenade launcher for later.” He'd been kidding, of course, but Brandon was completely aware of the fact that his jokes sometimes came off as a bit too serious. “We don't even know what's over there yet. Could be a group of crazy little old ladies and their knitting,” he pointed out with a snort.

The plan. He looked at O'Brien and shrugged a shoulder. “West's taking point, and we're gonna scout the place. A vague scouting to figure out places for more thorough scouting later on,” he pointed out with another glance over to the island as he moved to the boat and nodded for them to get in. “Get in. I'll row.”

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littledeadly
2012-01-15 07:30 am UTC (link)

Charlie often used humor to negate the seriousness of a situation. It was something she'd picked up in the Marines, where she and her buddies would share grim jokes and laughter over their radios, even during firefights and tense situations. It kept the stress level low enough to handle, made things seem a little less real, which, when you were putting your life on the line, was a good thing. Because the minute you let that reality set it, fear started to cloud your judgement, and that usually meant people got killed. "More like fucking awesome things come in small packages," she retorted with a grin. "But yeah, hear it all the time. Usually punch people who say shit like that, preemptively, 'cause they're gonna piss me the hell off eventually."

Yeah, they would get along just fine. Charlie was kind of surprised how well-- she and Brandon seemed to have a similar sense of humor, as well as a similar attitude towards how to handle situations like this. "Oh, I expected you to bitch," she snarked right back. "I thrive on the whining. It's like my fuckin' life blood or some shit."

Her grin widened at his comment about crazy old ladies. "Jesus, man, you'd better get that grenade launcher," she quipped with mock-terror in her voice. "Those old ladies are some vicious motherfuckers. They'll shank a bitch with those needles, no joke."

When it came time for getting in the boat, though, Charlie was all business. Mostly. She grabbed her bag of weapons, tossing it into a nearby boat where it'd be hidden from sight. No need to leave it out on the dock where anyone could see. "Yeah, yeah, planning and carefulness and all that other shit I hate," she grumbled as she climbed into the boat. Okay, so she was mostly all business. "And no flack from you about me taking point, O'Brien. I got this."

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