Vels couldn't barely remember a time in his life that he wasn't on Suppressant, but this didn't feel like it ever had before. His head was spinning and his stomach wouldn't settle. He was barely conscious, and he knew it was because the woman in the next room was keeping him this way.
Operatives by-in-large traveled in pairs, and these two were no different. The Typic was speaking to the Chief and Murad as his partner stood silent at his side. Some equated Typic and Evolute teams to a police officer and his attack dog, though the stereotype rarely held up in practice. "We're getting a cell set up for him, but until then he's yours." He glanced through the one-way mirror into the interrogation room where Vels sat sedated by a heavy mixture of suppressant and one of the mental manipulators who graced the DEA's arsenal. "He'll be able to hear everything in the building." The Typic continued. He hoped they had read the file, but it was dangerous to assume competency when there was so high a chance that secrets could be spilled. He made a motion towards the woman as he spoke, "What the doctor gave him should keep him from being able to kill anyone, but it won't dampen his ability to hear. So keep quiet. Write things down instead of saying them if its even slightly sensitive. And--"
"Don't piss him off." The Evolute finally spoke. He matched the stereotype from his full beard to his dark, round eyes, short stature, and heavy frame. He looked like a bull dog and a trash compactor had been combined in some tragic way to create a human being. One would wonder what ability he possessed, perhaps, for the ID he'd held up beside his partner's was not informative in any way except for a subtle difference in color if someone dared to look long enough at either badge to identify which was which. Otherwise, the suited pair was just that -- a pair of government operatives doing what they did best: keeping everything in line.
The Typic chuckled and shook his head, holding out his hand towards the Chief and then towards Murad. The Evolute did the same.
The woman lingered, silent. She was in her late sixties, but time had been kind to her. Her back bend over only the tiniest fraction. Where some grew heavy with age, she had grown brittle. Her eyes were trained on Vels. "He doesn't think he's done anything wrong." Her statement was not reading the mind, but reading the features of a man who was rattling the chains of his cuffs and tapping them in time to what seemed to be a rhythmic jazz that he was composing.
"We wish you the best." The Typic said again. And then they were gone, and the APD was left with a T1 in their interrogation room.
Time passed with Vels' state of mind foggy. He didn't know what was the suppressant and what was this overwhelming feeling of calm, but as it faded -- whether it was minutes or hours or days, he didn't know. All that he knew was that he was sitting alone in a room. He'd been listening to everything. Every word in the building; every secret love affair's stolen kisses and whispers (and there were far too many for such an esteemed profession); every call home that announced his presence as if he were the beast of the ball.
As Vels' mind came back to him, he tried to get up, but found that his wrists were cuffed (which surprised him despite how much he'd been playing with them to make the soft percussion he'd needed). He tugged on them for a moment like he didn't realize they weren't toys that would come undone with a second's frustration. A frown found its way onto his face as it had when Murad had walked to his door. For a moment he looked angry
and then he started to giggle. It wasn't the dangerous giggle of a man who was going to kill someone, but the giggle of a seven year old who had a secret that they would reveal if given forty seconds or asked the question what's so funny?
Forty seconds of course came first. His eyes focused through the mirror at the officers lingering on the other side. "You can uncuff me." he offered. "I don't need my hands see?" His hands pressed flat against the table. The sounds in the building washed the way that it had when Murad had been around him before, but it was less precise. It was like he was using a soup bowl to throw water on someone's face instead of a bucket. He still had powers, impressive and dangerous powers -- but dampened. The movement stopped as he held his hands up, and then started again. "See? Cuffs don't do anything. Actually!" He chimed. "Maybe I can pick it. That would be cool, right? If I could pick a lock? I bet I can. I can cut pens in half! And make them float. You should see it." he babbled before he started to whistle--a piercing noise which permeated the entirety of the precinct--and he didn't stop.@Murad Hassan
| Hopefully this starter's alright! I figure maybe someone finally gets infuriated by Vels whistling and sends someone in to shut him up/ask him questions now that he's lucid? -- Also we can migrate the date forward or back as you see fit; that's why I made the time kind of wobbly.