xp_logs | Genosha - In The Balance: Lie To Me

Round two: Genosha 2, Doug Ramsey 0

It was the same room. The same chairs, the same table, the same featureless walls. But it was certainly not the same Doug Ramsey that was sitting in the 'interrogate-ee' chair. His posture was less stiff, his expression much less defiant. He looked curled into himself, withdrawn.

Beaten. And perhaps on the verge of breaking.

After a few minutes, the door opened, but it certainly was not the same anonymous man who had participated in the interrogation the last time. This was an older man with greying brown hair and a short beard, who came in and looked at Doug for a second or two before shaking his head and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

He returned shortly, shaking his head. "That isn't necessary." He said. "I told those jackals you weren't a threat, it didn't bloody matter what they saw on a tape." He came up to Doug's chair and unlocked the manacles on his wrists, and frowned at them. "Loosen up, son, I'll be back. Won't be more'n a minute."

Doug had heard the door open, but the chair they had him in had its back to the door, just another in a series of tiny mental games. When the man had left the room, he rubbed at chafed wrists and stared morosely at the far wall. Not a threat. Just another way of saying 'useless'. And even if it wasn't calculated, it was another barb slipped into his intense (and getting worse) bout of self-loathing.

Couldn't fight out of a trap. Couldn't get free. Couldn't protect Terry, or Angie, or Jubes, or Amanda, or... His brain chased itself around and around.

It was a bit more than a minute, but the man came back, setting a pitcher and stack of plastic cups on the table between him and Doug. "Ramsey, Douglas? You prefer Doug? Douglas? Dougie? No, Dougie's too twee, that's not you, you're a Doug, or Douglas if it's your mum and you've broken the china." He sat down, silently and watched Doug's eyes track the pitcher. "Problem, son?"

Somewhere, Doug knew the man's bonhomie was designed to build up a connection. Good cop to the previous interrogator's bad cop. But there were so many interweaving patterns of behavior that he couldn't find his way through anymore. "I think I'll pass," he said hoarsely, watching the pitcher of ice water like a hawk.

The man tilted his head at Doug, and then frowned. "Right, that was in your file. Again, I'll be right back." He disappeared through the door once again, taking the pitcher and cups with him and returned shortly, carrying a pair of red aluminium cans. "Your file says you work in IT. Must be rough, keeping that up with the schedule the rest of your duties have you on. Our boys in IT, they go through nine, ten of these a day." He pushed one can of Coke over towards Doug. "It'll help with that headache you're fighting. Don't look at me like that, it's all over your face."

They'd been given nothing but water with their rations, and Doug was indeed nursing a fairly severe caffeine deprivation headache. He hated himself for reaching for the can, but the pop-hiss when he pulled at the tab, and the coolness at the back of his throat, and the first lessening of the twinges behind his eyes were quite welcome. His eyes were wary on his questioner, though. Nothing was given for nothing, not in this environment.

The man waited to sit down until Doug had opened his soda, and only then sat down with a nod. "I don't need to explain to you how this works and we know you're an intelligent man. We'll chat, and if I don't like how you answer my questions, it won't be you we're going to ... " He watched Doug's reactions, almost waiting for the flinch and then continued on. "Don't like that, do you?"

"Would you?" Doug asked in that same somewhat hoarse tone, as if even talking was mildly painful for him, dragging admissions out of him. "Having people you care about used as levers against you?"

"Remind me again, what is it you do?" He seemed to ignore Doug's question, except to jot something down on a notepad. "And this time, don't lie. You're a lousy actor, Mister Ramsey. Every time you lie to me, I'll tell you, and I'll tally it up at the end. If your answers don't outweigh the lies, you know the consequences."

The same question as before. "I'm the entire IT department for my office. I provide electronic security for everyone there. I'm a black belt martial artist, and the White Knight of the New York branch of the Hellfire Club, which means I'm kind of informally Emma Frost's personal assistant." All true, the same as before.

"See, now I have to write down that you're lying to me." The man made a mark on his notepad. "Oh, you're not outright lying, all of those things are true, but every time you speak you shut your mouth tightly, you squint a little, your forehead tenses. I watched the video. Your interrogator the last time was a bloody moron and a sadist but he wasn't wrong. You're holding back, and I want to know why." He jabbed at the notepad with his pencil. "You also misunderstood my question. What is it that you do. With your mutant abilities."

Where the previous interrogator had been something like looking through a dark mirror at a sadistic version of himself...this was worse. This was every little trick he'd ever used himself...being used on him. His eyes widened, then narrowed. He didn't want to say anything, but he was caught in a bind. Refuse to answer, and he wasn't the one that would pay the price. "Advanced pattern recognition," he said slowly. "I can comprehend any language, and I'm very good with codes. And...well, it's pretty open-ended. There are patterns everywhere if you know how to look for them." And he had the sinking feeling that this man did.

"Good. Wasn't hard, was it then?" The man rummaged in a pocket and pulled out a package of cookies. "Biscuit? No, no, you're not a trained dog. Independent type of man, you. Lets move on." He made a mark on the notepad, and then looked up at Doug. "How old were you when your parents abandoned you to Charles Xavier?"

"They didn't aban..." Doug began to retort hotly. Then he stopped. Look at the pattern, the other man might as well have said. And this was an easy one to see. The number of times his parents had come to visit Xavier's - zero. The disappearance to Asgard didn't count, as that had been an emergency. The obscure hint of guilt in his father's body language when Katie had moved to Columbia. The fact that Angelo's mom had picked up from LA and moved to New York for -her- son.

"You want to answer the question, or chew on it a bit more?" At that, the man opened his own soda and drank. "I've got all day, if you need to mull over your parents leaving you to a cult leader, I can give you time." He looked at Doug, meeting his eyes. "I can see you're in pain. You looked away the second I said parents. Miss your family, son? Xavier didn't provide an adequate substitute? Or was it Summers? Was he supposed to be your new big brother, and that didn't work out when he realized you had a crush on his wife?"

"...his -what-? Where did that even come from?" Doug asked with a confused look on his face. That wasn't to say he didn't find Jean somewhat attractive, but he certainly wouldn't characterize himself as having a crush on her. Besides, even in the category of 'hot Xavier's redheads estranged from their husbands', she came in a somewhat distant second. Plus, he wasn't sure whether the 'estranged' part was as likely to stick with her and Scott, and Doug wasn't the sort to get in the way of that.

The man stared unblinkingly at Doug, watching him for several long moments. "Right, so it's only the two we've got who you're looking to shag. So what sent you away from the Xavier camp then? You've been indoctrinated strongly, you meet all his criteria for staff, you're still loyal, what had to fleeing to New York?" He leaned on his elbows, looking straight at Doug. "Son, if you're trying to escape the cult, we can talk. You just need to cooperate."

It was almost more insidious, the implication that Xavier had his own cult. Doug could say that they weren't Brotherhood. And that was the truth. But from the outside, he could see how Xavier's might look like a cult. "Would you have accused Martin Luther King, Jr. of being a cult leader?" he asked curiously. The parallels weren't hard to draw, right down to the terminology of having a 'dream' of peaceful coexistence.

"Martin Luther King, Junior did not have an armed compound, nor did he host members of a terrorist organization." The man replied smoothly. "I get it, I do, it's hard to swallow that your parents might've given you over to a man whose goals are subjugation of everyone who isn't, what did Xavier call it, gifted? You never did answer my question. When did you parents abandon you?"

Belatedly, Doug realized what had been niggling at him since the questioning had started. The word 'shag' was what had crystallized it. If his first interrogator had been his own dark reflection, then this was like being questioned by Pete. Because Pete was just as good with personal insight. It didn't take a mutant power to be able to read people and skewer them with just the right observation. "Sixteen," he murmured, drained of the energy to deny the 'terrorist organization' accusation.

"Right at the most vulnerable time of your life." The man said, the sadness in his voice seemingly genuine. "You want to reconsider your earlier answers? What is it you do for Xavier? Or, what's the your man in here with you, LeBeau?"

"I don't answer to Remy," Doug said stubbornly. "My boss is Pete Wisdom." If Pete had been on Muir Island... Maybe he could have stopped what happened to Rachel. Then again, he could have also died trying. He sighed. "I mean, okay, Remy leads in the field a lot these days, but Pete's the one who gave me a job." It was like a bizarre reprise of his self-justification in the wake of Belladonna's ascension as Black Queen. But this time he -was- betraying his team.

"Fine. What is it you do for this Pete Wisdom then?" He seemed to take that at face value. "And mate, don't give me that line of shite from the last time. I want the real truth, and if you lie, I'll know. Don't lie to me."

Doug looked up blankly at the man. He believed the threat. And so he gave the flat truth, not caring whether or not it was believed. "Covert ops."

"Really. Covert operations? You are going to have to elaborate, covert operations could mean anything. Do you sit in a dark room and browse wikileaks, or is LeBeau and this Wisdom bloke sending you out to topple governments?" He steepled his fingers after making a mark on the notepad. "Fancy yourself James Bond, or, what's the new one, that Damon fellow plays? Good movies."

"Jason Bourne." Doug shrugged. "Well, given how I was captured, you really think it's -not- the second one?" And this wasn't the first time. Though India hadn't gone anywhere near this level of wrong.

"So I shouldn't warn my superiors that we're about to be invaded by Julian Assange?" The man seemed almost amused at Doug's answer. "You are remarkably good at ignoring my questions in favor of ones you prefer. Could you answer the question, please?" It was as if the word please was so much more like "or else" though. "What sort of covert operations are you responsible for?"

The urge to pal around, crack jokes, indulge the man's sense of humor was growing. Doug knew he was trying to build a rapport, but the thing is, it was working, too. "You need me to draw you a picture?" he asked, somewhat disbelievingly. "Infiltrate. Burninate. Assassinate."

"Is that what you were sent here to do? Assassinate?" The man asked. "Clearly you've failed at that, we're all still alive. Do you like your job? Do they reward you somehow, for successful assassinations? Do you get a commission?"

~That's my ex-girlfriend,~ Doug thought, and kept himself from actually saying. He knew Marie-Ange didn't like being protected, that she was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles. But that didn't stop him from doing it. For Wade's sake. "Emma pays the bills and our salaries. Plus our apartments are rent controlled."

"Emma. Oh, Miss Frost, yes, I recall now, you claimed a sexual relationship with her? She's a powerful woman in certain circles, I'm told." The man smirked, and shook his head. "We live in interesting times, don't we? Time was in my day, it was the women who were well paid accessories. Was that what you were groomed to do at Xavier's? To use your, right, what did you call it, pattern recognition to seduce women to Charles Xavier's way of thinking? How old were you again when you were abandoned?"

"I've never actually had sex with Emma." The truth was like a boulder rolling downhill now. Inertia kept Doug talking, and fear of what might happen if the man caught him in a lie kept him truthful. "I just said that to..." Well, he wasn't sure what he'd been intending now. All of that bravado had been washed away. "I didn't seduce anyone to Xavier's way of thinking," he continued. He'd never seduced anyone in any way until joining the Hellfire Club, really. "Sixteen," he answered the final question listlessly, the observation still twisting in his gut.

"And your combat training? Did that begin at Xavier's compound?" The man asked. "How long after your parents turned you over to Charles Xavier did he begin training you for special operations combat?"

"I learned self-defense at Xavier's." He hadn't really been a trainee/X-Man long enough to learn much beyond that. He'd spent a long time on Scott's punishment early morning runs, and then kept to 'safe' duties for the most part. It was one of the reasons Doug had joined X-Force, the urge to be able (and allowed, even) to do something more. "I learned the rest from Pete and Remy."

The interrogator met Doug's eyes, and held it until the younger man looked away. "How many teenagers like you does Charles Xavier have training at his compound? What are his recruitment goals? What did he offer your parents?"

"I have no idea," Doug answered the last question first. "Teenagers? Maybe a dozen. Your government captured most of them." His language was less combative, where he'd thrown the charge of kidnapping at his interrogators before, this time he used a more neutral word. "Recruitment goals?" He shrugged. "Those who are willing to believe in his dream."

"Ah yes, his dream. We're quite clear on that, thanks to you and your teammates." The man made a note on his notepad again and frowned at it. "How often were you subject to Xavier's conditioning? Did he personally see to it that you and the other members of his group were focused on his particular philosophy?"

"Personally? No. I didn't interact with him all that much while I was there. Less since I moved out." Doug's occasional chess game with Xavier had lost most of its appeal since Belladonna had become Black Queen. Harder to look at a chess board with equanimity.

"Didn't I just tell you that if you lied to me, there would be consequences? Are you dim?" The man stood up, shaking his head. "You have one chance to tell me the truth, before I get to the door, or I'm going to go get one of those pretty red-heads you seem so bent on being a bloody knight in armor for and we'll see what they tell me." He made for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

"Remy's planning an escape attempt." And there it was, the admission the whole discussion had been building toward, delivered in that same beaten tone, without even a second thought.

And now he really was a traitor.

"Really?" And with that, the man was back seated, fingers steepled on front of him. "Not quite what I was asking, but I think we can leave off the Charles Xavier's philosophy questions for a bit. Don't think I'm going to forget, but why don't you tell me about this escape plan first. I'll make it worth your time." He scribbled something on the notepad. "Right, you've at least earned yourself a couple of mugs of the swill this place calls coffee."

Be a good boy, get a reward. Good cop, bad cop had been around long before the word 'cop' had been coined. "I don't know everything," Doug said, as if worried about disappointing the other man's expectations. "They haven't told me much. Just bits and pieces I've managed to pick up." And he began to sketch out the plan - a fairly standard one, a diversion giving the prisoners the chance to obtain some essential items and use them to break free of the prison block.