August 3, 2017
Hours after Jack's First Incident

It had been two hours. The sun was up. The city was awakening from a long night’s rest, starting their work-day with a cup of coffee, a spare breakfast, a shower…

Jack had had none of those. She hadn’t slept, she hadn’t eaten, she hadn’t showered. She’d found some hiding place in an industrial district, shivering and sobbing, as she contemplated her options. It was beyond the prawn, if the destruction of her apartment complex was all over the news or if it had just been swept under the rug as another “mutant power gone wrong”. Jack could hardly scrap together enough coherent thought to ponder that, however. Her mind was spiraling down a path of stomach-knotting sorrow and dread, and a dull ache was growing in her arm.

Where could she go? She had nowhere. No family. She couldn’t go to Zinnia. Not in this state. Times like these she wished she was still in a gang. She wished she had that network of support to protect her from the law…

Dimly, her mind was drawn to a night at Inferno-- why now, of all times, she was remembering this was beyond her. Devon was having a drink in the back of the club, in a private booth, with men who wore suits that were too nice, too much jewelry, etc. A toadlike man that exuded power. This wasn’t the first guest that Devon entertained, and it wouldn’t be the last. Wealthy cats who likely held some sway within the city.

Even if he was a good man… he was a rich man… a powerful one… who hosted a nonprofit organization that helped provide a “safe-haven” for mutants. Devon fit the bill for someone who had connections. Jack sniffled and unfolded herself, a dull pang pulsating in her arm. He was her only hope. If anyone knew how to make someone disappear, it would be him.

===

Keeping to the alleys and quiet streets prolonged the walk over. But, soon enough, she crossed the threshold into Devon’s building. It was a quiet morning-- good. She crossed the grand entryway, past the entryway to Inferno, and towards a row of elevators. The prawn hit the button to go “Up”, a door dinged and slid open.

“Lobby,” a smooth, female voice announced. Jack stepped in. Devon was on the top floor. She selected the appropriate button.

Up, up, up, the elevator went. It was a high-speed elevator, but one that only made you feel heavy for just a moment, and didn’t bump around too much. Soon enough, the doors slid open, with a quiet “bing”.

“Penthouse,” the same female voice whispered.

Jack walked carefully across the carpeted floor, towards the doorway that led to Devon’s place. Outside, there was a buzzer, a camera, and a small speaker. Jack pressed the buzzer and waited, shifting uncomfortably. She looked tired. Tears still rimmed her eyes, and she shivered with a chill that went beyond just physically being cold.

The speaker clicked.

“Yes?”

“Hadden,” Jack greeted, the relief in her voice barely concealed, “Is nee. C-can ‘e talk? Is now a good tine?”

Her voice was thin with desperation, and Jack hated it. She hated sounding vulnerable, and she hated that she was turning to Devon-- her employer-- for help. She should’ve just run.

(ooc: Tag, Tempest)

Three sets of elevators existed in Haven. One set reached only the first few floors for public, but generally Haven’s use. The second set for Haven’s membership with restriction to higher floors, including the faction’s, by security keycode and biometrics. The third of course was Devon’s private elevator up to the penthouse. The second went up to it too but through the lobby with closer security, monitored by the building staff and even Ranger on occasion.

Devon was home, thankfully, when Chief arrived. His phone buzzed with an alert one of the elevators was coming up to his floor. The staff informed him it was Chief and the camera revealed such as well. It was unfortunate security was getting tighter, but with the concerns of the dopplegangers and this SUPER organization Devon wasn’t going to take any chances. Neither Blueprint, Ranger, nor the rest of the Inner Echelon wanted to do so either.

His first thought would have been to meet Chief in the lobby but he waited to hear her voice first. Was it really Jack? How true did it sound?

>> “Is nee. C-can ‘e talk? Is now a good tine?”

Devon was already walking to the door at the sound of her tone. Something was wrong. The relief at hearing someone respond, the slight stutter and need to talk were both signs Devon picked up on easily. The elevator locked down as he keyed open the doors to the hall and then into the lobby. His brow was knit together but he smiled warmly at someone who yes, worked for Haven and for him at times, but had really become a friend. It was almost a year ago they’d met at Chrysalis and then worked together briefly at Sanctuary.

“Come on in, Chief,” he gestured, walking forward so he could enter with her. The doors were locked behind them as he led her to the seating lounge with his small bar and a view out onto the patio. “Would you like water or a drink? Are you hungry? You can rest and relax here, but if you want to talk about something I’m happy to help as formally as you want or just as a friend,” he smiled again.

Jack's throat knotted when the door opened, tears welling in her eyes at the sight of Devon. The prawn wasn't demonstrative in terms of physical affection, just as she wasn't usually outwardly emotive. But seeing Devon-- seeing Devon with his concerned smile, careful words, and potential to help her (really, truly help her)-- nearly broke the prawn down. She wanted to wrap him in a hug and just stand there for a bit... but she didn't. Her throat tightened,

>> “Come on in, Chief.”

Jack nodded, following Devon's gesture into his abode. His place was huge-- she could fit four of her apartment in there, easily-- well, when she'd had one. The prawn would have appreciated her grandiose surroundings if she wasn't teetering on such a precarious mental edge.

>> “Would you like water or a drink? Are you hungry? You can rest and relax here, but if you want to talk about something I’m happy to help as formally as you want or just as a friend,”

"A water, 'lease," the prawn requested, her voice thick and wet. As badly as she wanted to imbibe, her time working in nightclubs had shown her the havoc alcohol could wreak upon distressed patrons. The last thing the needed was to throw-up from stress and drunkenness. That concern also put food off of the table. Jack shook her head politely. Resting and relaxing was also out of the question, with all the nervous energy that was running through her. She felt like, at any moment, that man with the gun would come traipsing through the door. Or the cops.

It was obvious that something was eating at her. Once Devon offered her a glass of water, she didn't drink it right away. She undid her surgical mask, sure, but the glass was clasped between her two hands, an idle index finger tapping its side. Her gaze would occasionally hazard towards her friend, but were mostly fixated on her hands. This wasn't like "Jack". This was a scared and withdrawn version of her.

"I need hel'," she finally mustered, the words spoken as if they were the three most difficult words to utter. Her gaze lifted towards Devon. Jack teetered in her spot, her body tense, "I need... your hel', as a s'riend... D'is... I'd like d'is to 'e as lowkey as it can 'e."

Her words were halting. Jack swallowed hard. And finally mustered a sip of water. There was no telling how Devon would react. He might call the cops, and then she'd be on the run again. Jack measured his reaction... his response... with her eyes.

"Last night was crazy, it's... it's hard to sink it's e'en real, y'know?"

The tears that rimmed her eyes welled-up and overflowed, her grip tightening slightly on the glass. The less he knew, the better.

"I just... I need to, uh... disa'ear."

That pronouncement probably rose more questions then answers. Jack took another sip of water, her hands trembling.

"I has... sound nysel's in a lot uzz trou'le and I need to disa'ear."

She looked at Devon, trying to gauge his reaction.

Mutants were often powerful and dangerous in their own right. They had tremendous abilities, powerful strength, an inhuman appearance… But they had what made humanity different from other species as well: emotional complexity. The awareness of their situations, others’ lives, their thoughts on such, and the resulting emotions reminded Devon of the shared human nature.

Devon’s impression of Jack was someone who’d seen a thing or two, who put herself out there, who was strong, who knew people. She was a fixture of the community; people knew her by sight if nothing else. She helped keep Chrysalis a safe community place and now she managed the Inferno. She was talented outside of her strength, a great person and a mutant of note.

She was clearly upset: tears and worried tone. He brought her the water right away but she fidgeted, didn’t sit. He nodded quickly when she said she needed help. She needed low-key, friendly help.

“Of course,” he said.

>> "Last night was crazy, it's... it's hard to sink it's e'en real, y'know?"

Devon frowned with his blue eyes wide, saddened to see Chief this upset. He moved to comfort her if by proximity alone. She was crying and trembling, overcome. At least he had her drinking water. It was a common tool of a doctor to help the person manage their breathing.

>> "I has... sound nysel's in a lot uzz trou'le and I need to disa'ear."

“We should go to my business on Plum Island. We can talk more there and then maybe arrange for a vacation away for you if necessary,” Devon smiled softly, sympathetically. “Let’s take my elevator down and then to a private SUV and head out there. In the meantime, I want you to focus on not what could be but what you personally need.”

He pulled out his cell phone and tapped away, calling for security to bring a car to the parking entrance. “They’ll be done there in five minutes,” he nodded quickly. “Whatever the trouble is, we’ll talk it out but first I want you safe and feeling comfortable enough we can talk. Come on, you can leave the glass as there’s bottles in the car.”

Devon smiled again, moving to the small door that led to his elevator.

Jack's tone treaded in the direction of wary. She'd never heard of Plum Island before. Devon hadn't mentioned it to her before this, and "his business" was a just-vague-enough descriptor to send the prawn's mind reeling for a moment.

"What's..." she couldn't say the word "Plum" very easily... "D'is island you're talking a'out?" Her mind immediately ventured towards visions of run-down sanitoriums or psych-wards or... the prawn shook her head, trying to dislodge those thoughts that'd glommed onto her psyche, "I'n not exactly... looking to go to a resort or any-sing."

It was the prawn's attempt at humor, but the frailness in her voice made it sound kind-of pathetic. She mopped at her eyes, and took another cleansing sip of water. Whatever it was, if it meant she was out of the public eye, she'd look into it. At Devon's pronouncement, the prawn nodded complacently. Devon was a friend, and he'd take care of her...

... Jack couldn't shake the paranoia that, at any moment, however, the gun-men would somehow miraculously locate her and try to take Tempest out, too. She couldn't stand to lose two friends in one day. The thought brought another surge of tears to the surface, and the prawn took another swig of water. The prawn hesitantly left her cup upon the bar, and trailed after the smaller man, wringing her hands as they went to a small and (in terms of the grandeur around them) fairly nondescript door. She tried to reassure herself that, if there was anywhere where she'd be "safe", it'd be with Devon. He was a public figure. A rich guy. He'd have protection of some sort in place, right?

>> "I'n not exactly... looking to go to a resort or any-sing."

Tempest nodded but smiled softly in response to Jack’s wary tone. “It’s far more than a resort. It’s for treatment, protection…” he shrugged a shoulder. “It’s about personal wellness. It’s also about education and training. The relaxation of a resort is just a perk.”

The elevator led them down as he locked things up via protocol, newly risen security measures due to the dopplegangers from beyond the rift. The private garage had the SUV ready and Devon ushered Jack in quickly to the oversized seating. “Privacy, security, everyone deserves a safer place to take a breath,” Devon said. “It’ll be a few hours before we get to the ferry over to the island.”

He hit a button on the side panel and raised the privacy screen from the driver, though of course he trusted the mutant man with hyper-active senses and response times. Haven had helped him slowly gain control at the Plum Island location. He’d been overwhelmed in the past, but now he used his gift for a number of purposes. He made an excellent driver, at least that’s what he appeared to be, but he was also protection.

“Chief, what happened? I’m sorry you’re so upset, but we can figure it out.”

Jack nodded her head as Devon spoke, listening carefully. She wrung her hands, unwrung them, then knotted them again. Even her secondary hands were restless beneath the fabric of her shirt. Even if she trusted Devon, everything sounded... surreal. None of what he said sounded real, none of this felt real... at any moment, she might wake up, and this whole thing would be a nightmare. They'd reach the bottom floor, the elevator doors would open up onto the private parking garage and Jack would open her eyes to her own bedroom--

No, it was still Devon's SUV. She wasn't waking up from this one. Jack ducked her head as Tempest motioned to the cab of the vehicle. It was roomy-- which is to say, Jack fit when she slouched. She managed to squeeze her way in, and took a careful seat upon the cool, leather cushions. If she poked holes in Devon's upholstery, she wouldn't forgive herself. (Funny how, after all of this drama, Jack was worried about the interior of Devon's car...)

Devon clambered-in after, pressing a button that sectioned the two off from the front of the vehicle. The prawn sat up a fraction, catching a glimpse of the man up front. Wow, Devon didn't drive his own cars... he had drivers...

>> “Chief, what happened? I’m sorry you’re so upset, but we can figure it out.”

"I dunno, dude," Jack protested, looking at her hands, "I- I really did it, dis tine."

She glanced at Devon, her brow ridge leaping from her eyes. The SUV whispered to life, flipping a lazy loop towards the presumed exit. Jack watched the garage move around them through the tinted windows. Where did she even start?

The beginning.

"Last night, I's walkin' hone," the prawn began. Her voice was level. Almost too level, "And I... well, a while ago, dere's dis hone-less nyu-tation co'ier dat stayed wiss nee sore a tine... and I saw hin in Central 'ark. 'ut he was hurt, real 'ad, so I took in' hone..."

That was the easy part.

"Tink it was a gunshot dat jus' grazed hin," the prawn reiterated, "Any'ays, I's gettin' hin taken care uzz, and...and..." Jack had been proceeding through the story at a very clipped pace, but now-- at the meat of the issue-- she was faltering.

"D-deez guys," the prawn said, wringing her hands again, "Deez guys wiss guns... dey... 'roke in a-a-an' dey... killed hin. Try to kill nee too."

Tears were welling up in her eyes again. She inhaled shakily, her hands clenching into fists around one another.

"I don't know how... 'ut... I s'rew a... I tried to... hit den? And..."

It was getting hard to talk. The prawn dug the heel of a primary hand into her eyes, gritting her mandibles against the tears. She pantomimed throwing a punch, brought the knuckles of her hands together and then unfurled her fingers, pantomiming an explosion.

"... j-just like dat. Just like dat! S'ront uzz ny a'art-nent, gone... and..." Jack looked away from Devon. She couldn't stand to see his face, "One uzz the gun-nen..."

She couldn't finish the sentence. She just nodded her head solemnly. Gone.

Devon smiled to hear Jack was taking care of someone, let alone a homeless person in need. That was the heart at the center of this person. Many may condemn mutants, especially those that had different appearances, but there was a powerful heart at the center. What beauty was made of coal under pressure: brilliant diamonds.

But the rest of the story made Devon’s smile fade and his brow narrow. Someone had been after Jack’s ward and then her. And then things had escalated. Don’t bring violence into the home of anyone, let alone a mutant. You never know what could happen. Almost any teenager nowadays could explode dangerously under pressure. It wasn’t the victim’s fault when the bully suddenly flew across the playground because the victim had suddenly manifested telekinesis.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Devon said quickly. “This shouldn’t have to happen when you were trying to help someone. Unfortunately, you can’t be responsible for such when an attack was made upon you and your friend in your own home. Let’s get out to Plum Island, get you rested, and we’ll work on the details.”

“We can talk about how you want to handle it. I’m sure your friend would want to be sure you were safe, first and foremost. I can send people to your home if you want me to, make sure nothing more can be done,” he asked with a slight tilt of his head. His lips curled slightly, his brow heavy in sympathy. And here Jack was, sorry she hurt the people who’d shot her ward and her.

The prawn watched Devon, a maxilliped stirring, but her face otherwise stony. She heard the words that plopped from his mouth, but there was some sort of disconnect between his mouth and her brain. There was too much ambiguity. Again, with that Plum Island, and this whole "getting rested" thing.

Jack exhaled sharply, her mouth curling in its own rendition of a smile, though there was no inkling of joy in her expression.

"I don't sink I can do nuch resting, D," the prawn confessed. The hand-wringing had returned with a vengeance. Her voice was tired. Even now, her nerves were raw, anticipating some external attack. Devon tried to placate her by suggesting that they could figure out how to handle it... telling her friend that she was in the clear, send people to her house. These statements only confused her. Which friend? What people? What would they do? What could they do? She didn't know how to respond, becasue she wasn't sure what he meant.

"I dunno..." she murmured, "I really dunno, D."

The SUV slid to a stop, the prawn's antennae lifted, and she sat up in her seat? Why were they stopped? Then they slowly began to build speed again. Must've been a stoplight or something. She sat back down, groaning.

"I wanna kee' a low 'ro-sile 'til I know who doze guys are," Jack explained, "Don't want e'eryone and dere cousin in-zolz-ed."

Chief seemed to grow rigid in her expressions even as she expressed uncertainty with her words. Again, Devon knew clearly his friend was in distress. Her wishes were clear though and Devon nodded in agreement as he listened. She needed a place to be alone, safe, under the radar. She wanted to figured out what had happened, who had attacked and killed her friend. And she didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.

And so they drove.

A little over an hour later they were in Red Hook on the southern end of Brooklyn and boarding a boat. It was almost 3 hours across Long Island if you drove, but a boat could take you around in about an hour and get you quickly to Plum Island and his business: Hadden’s Havens. It was a few story main building with a number of two story outbuildings, small temporary residences, and some single room suite buildings. People needed a place to stay during long treatment after all.

It would be impossible to get into the main building through a normal front door or even terraced entrance without attracting attention. Instead, they used a private tunnel entrance that led into still further private underground facilities. Devon busily typed something on his phone and let his hand be scanned as he typed in something else on a keypad before they were entering a hall of white plastic panels with a soft yellow glow behind. It was warm, softly lit, and clearly well cleaned.

“This is a private area here,” Devon explained. “Later when you are comfortable we can show you to a private room to stay but for now, as business goes on above us we can relax here.” They passed a few doors including a large set of double doors before Devon led them into a large room, clearly a lounge with a stocked bar, a TV, and plenty of comfortable seating.

It’d been nearly two hours now since they’d left his place and Devon had avoided any further push to discuss the events. But now he had to ask: “Do you want to talk further or would you rather we found something on TV or something?” He smiled gently, head tilted to the side in friendly inquiry.

Jack's nerves began to settle as the drive stretched on... the more distance they covered, the more the prawn was assured that he wasn't going to just... haul her to the nearest precinct of NYPD and let the officers handle her. Of course, "calming down" altogether was impossible, given the situation, but Jack was at least convinced that she wasn't in immediate danger. Migrating from SUV to ship only served to convince her further. Conversation burbled up between the two here-and-there, with casual inquires from Devon, and distracted responses from the prawn. Each answer had a bit of an edge to it.

Though hours transpired between their departure and their arrival, it passed in a blur, for the prawn. Her head swam and it was difficult to make sense of where (and when) she was. Devon's inquiry cut through the haze, and Jack looked up, as if she'd been roused from a very demanding task.

>> “Do you want to talk further or would you rather we found something on TV or something?”

The prawn glnced around the lounge, at the plush chairs and minimalist furnishings.

"Let's... talk," Jack said decisisvely. She was nervous about what they might find on the t.v., if they turned it on. She couldn't bear to see any news related to her or her apartment, for one thing, and watching t.v. would only give her the idle time necessary to spiral into worrying thoughts.

Jack found a nearby couch and sunk into it, resting her forearms across her knees. Her lavender eyes fixed onto a point in the floor. She was certainly quiet for someone who wanted to talk. What would they talk about, though? She'd already told him what had happened... She finally glanced up at Devon again, the corners of her eyes pinching. It was a smile, but there was something sad knitted in her brow.

"Sank you sore sticking your neck out like dis, D."

“You’re my friend,” Devon said warmly as he sat down on a couch as well. He didn’t cross his legs, nor his arms but leaned forward with a gentle smile on his face. “It’s unfortunate the situation… But you were put in a bad position, what those people did. They,” he emphasized the word, “were the ones who broke the law. You defended yourself and your friend. We have to do that and sometimes it’s not the way we want it to go, but it has to. You didn’t make them break in, kill anyone… That was their action.”

But there was another side of it. The mutant side. And Chief had clearly grown in her abilities in that dangerous situation. Devon knew Chief was not a violent person; she was a protective person. Even the most stalwart warden had to sometimes fight back.

He nodded slowly, “And your powers clearly manifested in that dangerous, highly tense moment. Again, not your fault. All mutants know how that can be, but your friends who know you know that you especially aren’t one to simply attack people.” A slight frown touched his lips, sadness in his eyes as well, “I’m sorry they put this on you.”

Tears welled in the prawn's eyes, and she grit her teeth, heavy head drooping as Devon spoke. She knew what he said was true, but that didn't stop the fear from rising up and clamping around her throat. They were the ones that had broken into her place, they were the ones who'd killed Jude, they were the ones who should be punished.

The prawn pressed a balled fist against her chest. She knew this, but she couldn't shake the feeling that as soon as she was found-out, she'd be turned into some sort of sacrifice. Another one-minute news blurb. Another mutant behind bars.

"What'll I do, D?" the prawn murmured. Her voice sounded small.

Devon withdrew some tissues from his pocket. Every respectable psychologist did because even in happy moments – breakthroughs maybe? – people were often moved to tears. In working with individuals on tough memories or hard behaviors there were going to be many tears. He rose, swiftly offering the tissues to Jack before he returned to his seat.

“Well you can stay here as long as you want, Jack,” Devon nodded. “I’m not going to kick you out and we want to make sure you are safe and comfortable. We can help you handle any legal needs as can Haven. But as for what you want to do, that’s really up to you. That’s your choice.

“As a psychologist I’d normally repeat that question a few times while reviewing your hopes and desires both personal and career, maybe interspersing it with how you want to act in the face of what’s happened to you. As Devon I’d normally say we need to take action to protect you and yours, ensure this doesn’t happen again. I’d encourage you to continue what you do and not let anyone hold you back out of violence or fear, though I know there is danger,” he explained while nodding slowly.

“But first, remember you have to take care of yourself. That’s what this place is about, why I started Hadden’s Havens,” Devon went on, “You have to be good, rested, prepared before you can go on to help others. I know you’re the kind of person who’d likely selflessly step back out again so before you decide what you will do next, maybe think about what you need and what you want.”