savetheearth | (no subject)

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Who: Nick Burkhardt, Detective Sherman, and their prisoner, Ray
Where: Central police station.
When: A day or so after Ray's arrest.
What: Another live one! What luck.

Ray had been marched out of his cell and into a plain, utilitarian room. Handcuffed and in the clothes he was arrested in, Ray had been sat down at a heavy, metal table. He's been in there for about five minutes when the door opens. Sherman comes in first, and Nick is to follow. Nick has been instructed to stay back, to keep quiet, to watch and only step in if the prisoner showed signs of violence.

Sherman sits down in the chair across from Ray in a way that's almost disarming.

"Why don't we start with your name?"

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He wasn't feeling terribly confident. As far as Ray was concerned, this was a matter of life or death, after all. It may not be the same as being in the middle of a battlefield had been, but he would be lying if he were to say that he wasn't terrified out of his miserable little mind right now.

Any signs of being terrified were completely absent from his features, however, as he watched the detective take the seat across from him. He'd honestly been expecting someone a little more creepy looking, especially after what Nick had told him in the car a day or so earlier. It wasn't exactly comforting, and Ray wasn't about to let his guard down. He glanced over at Nick briefly before replying to Sherman.

"Ray Zimmerman. Sergeant, United States Army veteran. Assuming you're after all the specifics, anyway."

He highly doubted flashing ranks around would help the situation. Actually, he was positive that it wouldn't, but he might as well toss the extra bit of information out there. Maybe being generous with what information he could share would help him out in the long run.

Edited 2013-11-22 08:52 (UTC)

A military man, hm? That was almost promising. It said that this was a man familiar with a chain of command, who would obey orders. Maybe this one could be reasoned with. Not like those two stupid, stubborn teenagers.

Sherman folds his hands on the table in front of him. "Sergeant Zimmerman, do you understand why we brought you in?"

"Yes, sir." There was no point in trying to bullshit around that, at least. He could have played dumb until he was blue in the face, but it wouldn't have done him a lick of good after being pointed out by one of those magical demon sniffer dogs. Or whatever.

Ray straightens his back, at least trying to make himself look a little more sure of himself. He had a vague idea of what to expect, so he was just going to have to roll with what little information he'd gotten from Nick.

"Given the situation, I'm also fairly certain that requesting a lawyer would just be a waste of time. Is that a correct assumption?"

"Completely." Sherman leans back, folding one arm across his chest and tucking his right hand under his chin. "Officially, you're not even here. If we detain you long enough that someone notices, we'll treat it like an ordinary missing person case. But I'm hoping it won't come to that."

No need to mention what he planned to do to Ray if Ray didn't cooperate.

"I figured as much. I don't think you're being entirely honest with me, though."

Ray had to make a conscious effort to keep his knee from nervously bouncing as he spoke. "Why waste resources on someone that you can't make use of, right? You want something from me, and if I don't give it to you, I'm dead. Sure, you might detain me for a while, but it won't last. I know how this works."

"Right again," Sherman said, without so much as a hint of contrition. What a sharp one. Ray Zimmerman was much easier to work with than the teenagers.

He leaned forward, placing his folded hands on the table. "I want two things from you, Sergeant Zimmerman. I want the truth, and I want your cooperation. You can give them to me, or you can quietly disappear. What'll it be?"

Ray sighed. Sometimes he hated being right.

"The truth, huh? Well truthfully, my first instinct is to tell you to go fuck yourself. Buuut, that's not exactly going to do me any good in this situation. So."

He made an overly dramatic display of cracking his knuckles. That's just how he rolls.

"You're the boss. Let's get down to business."

"Our sniffer dogs reacted to you, which means you've been altered somehow. What's happened to you? What changes have you experienced since April? You know what I'm talking about -- I don't care about job changes, I want to know about paranormal experiences."

"Physically, I don't think anything has changed. At least nothing that I've noticed. I've just had a couple weird memories, and a little metal... half egg looking thing showed up in my apartment one day. I don't know what it is or what it's for, though."

"We'll take a look at it," Sherman says. Meaning, they'll confiscate and attempt to analyze it; it's not comforting. "Now, tell me about these memories."

Edited 2013-12-09 22:40 (UTC)

"You want me to bring it in, or are you gonna send one of your goons after it?" Nope, not comforting in the least, but Ray's all about cooperation at this point. For the most part.

"See, this is the part where it gets kind of stupid. The first one I have is me arguing with a big green dude at some fast food joint. In the other one, I was talking to a couple alien-looking insect guys abooout..." He pauses for a moment and rubs his forehead because no really this does make him sound batshit insane, "Um. I guess I was trying to squish out all life on Earth with Mars? Like, the entire planet Mars. And apparently that didn't work out. I... really don't know. I swear to God I'm not making this shit up, though."

Sherman frowns. "I assume you don't know whose memories they are or how they relate to you. We'll come back to that in a moment. Right now, I want to know how you and the others like you communicate. How do you recognize one another?"

"Sure, whatever."

Aaaand here came the part that required some serious bullshitting. Ray had been expecting a question like this, so he'd kind of been ready for it.

"Huh. I don't know if I can be all that helpful as far as that goes. I've been more interested in keeping myself out of this mess than trying to figure out how these people keep in touch with each other. Everything I know, I've just overheard from people that come into my coffee shop. Never thought to get their names or anything since I just wanted to ignore this shit. But they're always on computers or cell phones. My guess is that they've got some kind of forum or a website or something. Hell, maybe they just exchange phone numbers."

It was partly true, anyway. He did do a bit of eavesdropping at work, but never really managed to learn anything interesting. he gave the detective a shrug, "From what I've heard, they don't really do anything special to physically set them apart from everyone else in town. Like they don't want to be recognized."

Tapping his fingers on the desk, Sherman eyes Ray, skeptical. It's plausible enough, and it explains why the vigilantes are so disorganized.

Ray has been cooperative enough so far. Sherman has no reason to doubt him. He nods, accepting the explanation.

"Back to the memories and the metal egg. I want you to describe to me in detail the circumstances of their appearance."

VICTORY. Now Ray could relax. Kind of.

He nodded, tapping his chin for a couple seconds as he thought.

"The first one was a pretty long time ago. I was working at McDonald's, and I got into an argument with my manager. I guess that's what triggered it. It felt like some kinda weird déjà vu, and then I had this memory. The next one was the egg thing. Someone was talking about alien invasions, probably a movie or something? And it just appeared on my coffee table one day. I still don't understand why. And the last one, I was at the movies. I don't really remember the context, but someone said 'unstoppable death machine' and I remembered that thing with the aliens and smashing Earth with Mars. In whatever conversation I must have been having with them, the same phrase came up, so I guess that's what caused that one?"

Well that was a mouth full. Ray leans back in his seat a bit and shrugs. "And here I thought I was just going crazy."

Interesting. Whatever guesses Sherman has, he keeps them to himself as he watches Ray from across the table.

"We appreciate how forthcoming you've been so far, Sergeant Zimmerman, but your release is still conditional upon your continued cooperation." Sherman leans forward. "Names, Zimmerman. I need to know everyone else you're aware of who's involved in all this." The look he fixes on Ray is piercing and eager. Sherman can't completely conceal his excitement.

"Yeah, yeah, I figured as much. Nothing ever comes free, right?"

Ray didn't want to do this. Ray reeeeeally didn't want to do this. Too bad he couldn't think of any way to bullshit himself into being released without agreeing to something crazy. He was silent for a moment as he weighed his options, probably a little creeped out by how Detective Creepy was staring at him. Creep.

"I don't have names. Not right now, at least. Like I said, I've been trying to stay out of this shit, so I couldn't tell you who's out there right now."

Complete bullshit, but if it works, it could buy him some time.

"I can get them, though. I mean, it won't be easy, but I can at least try to get a few."

Sherman looks at Ray with clear skepticism. He doesn't buy Ray's ignorance, but isn't sure he wants to torture Ray, not right now. He wants cooperation, not resentment.

"Descriptions, then," he says, frowning. "Give me a few clear descriptions to work with, and I'll let you out -- as long as you understand that you report to me. You'll get me names in the next two weeks, Zimmerman, or we'll bring you right back in."

Descriptions, huh. You got it, buddy. Lets see how much bullshit-web Ray can spin.

"Well, there's one guy that kind of looks like a fatter Bruce Willis, only with a shitty goatee and a tattoo of what looks like a horse drawn with crayons on his left arm. There's one or two asian guys that I'm not entirely sure are involved? That... doesn't really help, does it. Oh, there is this one tall, kinda lanky white dude with shoulder length dreadlocks. I'm almost certain something got tangled into his hair and died because he smells horrible. Always wears Metallica band shirts and ends most of his sentences with 'yknowuddumsayin'."

Edited 2013-12-30 03:51 (UTC)

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