220/Definite Analysis

Definite Analysis
Date of Scene:	01 March 2020
Location:	Warehouse, Meat-packing District, NYC
Synopsis:	Sanjeev and Spider-Man take down a human-trafficking organization, and Sanjeev learns some inconvenient truths...
Cast of Characters:	Sanjeev Bassi, Peter Parker

---

Sanjeev Bassi has posed:
    Even though lightning was not arcing through the dark clouds in the sky, Sanjeev still idly wondered to himself what had possessed him to haul himself all the way out to Brooklyn once again on a night like tonight. Light rain fell from the sky causing locks of his dark hair to cling to his face as the remnants ran down the sides of his domino mask and down his chin to soak into the collar of his open black long coat. Water caused the visible hybrid armor on his torso to glisten in the pale light cast from a street lamp below the building he was standing on as he observed the street below.

    Of course, he knew what was keeping him from a warm bed as he suppressed a shiver. The thought that not being able to control his own abilities could lead to him causing destruction among the populace around him. He knew from his own research that the fabric that held together the third and fourth dimensions was a fragile thing. If he stumbled into something that tore that? Or caused a re-writing of physics itself? The area of science was too untested, too unproven to be able to answer the questions of what he could cause by accident. He knew that better than anyone. So, despite having a schedule that was packed worse than most celebrities, he never missed a day of his own self-testing with the hopes that he could control these abilities well enough to not be a hazard to humanity.

    Taking a deep breath, he peered at his surroundings through the fourth-dimension, letting him view the entire area around him as if it were a flat map that he was looking at from above, minus walls and ceiling structures. He could see people in their homes, homeless people in the alleys below huddled around large cans aflame to keep warm. In the next breath, he walked a step through the March slush on the rooftop and into the fourth dimension. There was no physical indication as he disappeared from reality: no telltale puff of smoke, no rift to speak of. He was just there one moment and the next he was gone, stepping onto the roof of another building nearby as if it was in the same stride.

    Grunting, he contained the slight feeling of nausea. In the fourth dimension he did not have a body to speak of, and directionality and distance were concepts that just did not exist. Time itself was out of synch with reality as it was known here. Thankfully, it appeared that he was gradually becoming more used to "walks" through the dimensional fabric. It had only taken...the better part of a year? The thought caused him to sigh aloud. Progress was slow, but it was also safe and methodical using the Scientific Method.

    Though, of course, the moment he relaxed was the moment the alarms in the building below him went off and all hell started to break loose.

Peter Parker has posed:
It was supposed to be a simple exchange.
Ever since the Genosha Assault, certain things were at a premium, and various drugs were part of it. Hurt mutant refugees had to be treated, maintained, or controlled through the use of various pharmaceuticals. One such drug, Peuromycin, was good for controlling short-term memory. Well-used, it helped repair the connections of short-term memory as well as the biological "convertor" to move short-term memories to long-term storage in the mind.

Ill-used, it could wipe memory, or render a persona unable to function.
Four refugees from Genosha, low-level telepaths, were being so controlled, but the drug was not easy to come by or produce. So, the Maggia had special doctors trained in the use of such drugs to maintain control of the telepaths.

The latest delivery had just made it inside the building when the two guards near the side entrance suddenly stopped responding to their radios. The ones sent to investigate managed a garbled message before they, too, went silent.
In bad movies, they simply sent more people to be wayliad. But this is no bad movie. The boss of the facility set off the Battle Stations alert.

Sanjeev Bassi has posed:
    Hearing the alarms, Sanjeev let his special sight kick in. The rooftop below fell away to his eyes as he peered into the depths of the building itself. From what he could tell it looked a lot like a warehouse containing boxes with a few offices. And was that...a medical testing facility in the back? What had he stumbled into? Letting his vision stretch further, he let the cardboard of one of the boxes fall away to his eyes.

    Peuromycin? Why did that particular medication sound familiar?

    Running through a mental list of medications and their applications he knew in his head, he recalled some of the strict teachings of his father. The older Indian man had always wanted his son to be a doctor and to this day still pressured him to change his career path. Truthfully, Sanjeev already had more than enough skill, but lacked formalized training. But, why would there be a facility storing a drug used for the repair and control of short-term memory? This didn't look like a regular pharmaceutical storage facility. This place likely wasn't even zoned for that being in the less nice areas of Brooklyn.

    It was the bullet that whizzed by his head that brought Sanjeev's mind sharply back to reality.

    "He's up here!" exclaimed a man up by the stairwell door to the rooftop, smoke rising from the barrel of his handgun. The young Indian man dove behind the rooftop ventilation system amid another flurry of gunfire. He began to breath harder as the adrenaline from the knowledge that he could have died while lost in his thoughts instead of paying attention to the fact that people down there that had been running about like ants whose anthill had been disturbed and had run up to the roof to chase down whatever agitated them.

    But, why were they chasing him? He hadn't done anything to their facility, whatever it was. Though, the gunfire had triggered the realization of what the Peuromycin was for. They were holding people and controlling them with the medication. Sanjeev had stumbled upon a human trafficking operation. Just his luck. And now, he was probably going to end up dying for it.

    Why was it whenever he tried to run a test these days, situations like this kept happening to him?

Peter Parker has posed:
Jamal Rijato scowled as he looked at the monitor. Things were going from bad to crap, and his fat was going to be in Fisk's fryer. He had been so CAREFUL.
"Kill them both, then prep for move. We'll have to bail on this place...."

Two men advanced, heads tilting as they received the order. "Kill them both. Orders from the boss."

"Both? Both. Both is good."
The men frowned. THAT wasn't over the radio. They turned and one of them was taken out immediately by a blast of grey filaments that covered his arms and torse and knocked him down, anchoring him to the roof.
The second one fired, but the bullet passed the new person's head. And then he commenced with the grunting and the fist-impacts, and then the gun skittered by Sanjeev's position.

And then a familiar red-and-blue vigilante peered around the bulk of the air exchanger.

"Are you all right?" Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man asked...

Sanjeev Bassi has posed:
    He was going to die. They were going to shoot him and he was going to die. Oh, his father was going to KILL him. There was no way he would be able to explain how he was here on a rooftop of a human-trafficking facility while wearing an outfit that could be mistaken for superheroing. If it was possible, his father would raise him from the dead, interrogate him, and then kill Sanjeev himself. And now the men with the guns were receiving orders to kill two people before they moved? They were probably disposing of the people they were trafficking in order to leave this place behind since they had been discovered. Those poor people.

    As the firearm slid past where he was with his back against the ventillation units, the young Indian man quirked an eyebrow. What the... And then Spider-Man poked his head out from around the corner of the ventillation unit.

    Eyes widening, Sanjeev shifted his position, sliding back through some of the slush on his gloved hands as he struggled to get some distance between himself and the hero. Dr. Vijay Bassi was never a fan of superheroes, and he had ingrained that in his son. And Spider-Man was one of the only ones who had been talked badly about in newspapers that were always on their family's dining room table. Wasn't Spider-Man an alien bug person? Who spread destruction and hurt people? Used biohazardous weaponry? Oh, God, what had he gotten himself into?!

    "I-I'm so sorry that I disturbed your human trafficking facility, Mr. Spider-Man," Sanjeev stammered in panic as he held his gloved hands in front of himself. "I didn't mean to at all! I was just trying to run some tests in the area tonight and I happened to be on top of this building! If you could find it in your heart to not kill me and eat my head, I would really appreciate it!"

Peter Parker has posed:
Spider-Man is, for a moment, struck dumb. Absolutely speechless.
"What the HECK is the Bugle SAYING about me?" The words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them.
He looked to the door. "More coming. Stay down, be quiet, and for the love of Jim Belushi, no one's HEAD is going to get EATEN!"

Then the door bursts open, and gunmen start piling out like clowns from a circus clown car. Spidey turns, priming the web-shooters, and then the rock-and-roll REALLY begins.

For people supposedly in on the operation, they seem to have no issue firing on their "boss." Spider-Man leaps to the side, firing jets of weblines and sprays of webbing to glue hands to guns (while also covering the guns themselves) or webbing gun arms to walls, the roof, and the various objects sitting on the roof. Andhe is continually moving.

Sanjeev Bassi has posed:
    Sanjeev was about to reply to Spider-Man's likely rhetorical question by quoting a couple choice headlines from the Daily Bugle, but he closed his mouth promptly when told to stay quiet. He could see the men coming up the stairwell as he could see through the rooftop, but he knew better than to open his mouth to say anything after being told something by someone who was likely more used to being /fired at by a freaking gun./

    Instead, Sanjeev watched as the men started pushing forward through the door with their firearms primed and ready to fire and Spider-Man began to move. It was amazing to watch: the lines of webbing flying in correct directions, weapons being covered by gooey substances. It was obvious that the hero knew what he was doing. Maybe he wasn't so bad? They obviously weren't working for him unless this was some elaborately-staged coup in order to take over the human trafficking business. It probably wasn't. While he had read the Bugle, he was a person ruled by logic and likelihoods rather than flights of fancy. And the data was right in front of him.

    He could stay right here and be safe. Spider-Man would likely be ok with what they were facing. But, would he be ok with that? Being a weight on someone who was trying to help him? Cowering behind this ventilation system? He was no hero, but he also wasn't a person that let debts go unanswered. Taking deep breath to center himself, Sanjeev stood, took a step forward, and was gone.

    Back to the inky blackneess of the fourth dimension. Back to not having a body. No limbs. At least the feeling of panic he first felt when he arrived here years ago was gone. He felt much more at home. Follow the branching light trail to where he needed to exit. The location that he had already calculated.

    Stepping out into reality in the midst of the melee, Sanjeev kept his sight focused. When he appeared between one of Spider-Man's weblines and its intended target, he sidestepped even though it was coming from behind him, letting the webbing paste its intended target against the concrete floor of the roof. It was as if he effectively had eyes in the back of his head. Before he had time to think about what had just happened, a thug came forward and threw a punch at him. Sanjeev reacted with a decade of kung fu training, stepping forward and pulling on the incoming punch while throwing one of his own directly at the thug's solar plexus, effectively doubling the force with the principle of two-directional energy. It drove the breath from the thug's lungs as he gurgled and slumped to the floor.

    It was then that Sanjeev noticed that his nausea from using his abilities was gone. The adrenaline likely had kept it at bay.

Peter Parker has posed:
It was something he was vaguely aware of, his Spider-Sense working at peak levels. But something changed, and abruptly, and then the guy appeared between him and the gunman, with his webs on the way. Only they passed THROUGH him and glued the gunman to the wall.

There was no time.
He ran towards the ledge. "Stay here, whoever you are!"

Then, like he usually does, he jumps off the ledge. A half-a-heartbeat later, Sanjeev hears a THWIPP! and, a moment later, the sound of smashing glass.

Jamal had looted the safe and was about to head out when the window exploded inward, bringing with it a very-active Webhead.
"Hey, is the the DMV office?"
The inane question caused him to hesitate as he brought up the double-barrled sawed-off...

Sanjeev Bassi has posed:
Sanjeev was looking down at his gloved hand dumbfounded when he heard Spider-Man's words telling him to stay on the roof. Nodding simply, his chestnut-hued gaze returned to his hands. Had he just done that? Struct down thugs? He was a scientist, not a hero. It was true that Spider-Man had disarmed the thugs, so he was not at risk of life-threatening bullet trauma. But, he could still have suffered rather severe injuries. Heroes were people that were insane enough to have no sense of self-preservation--insane people that risked bodily harm for some sort of high they got by doing good deeds. He dealt with logic.

    It was while he was looking downward that he could see that medical testing facility in the southeast corner of the building. He could see some thugs trying to escape with four bound people in hospital gowns. Did Spider-Man not know about them? Or that there was a medical testing facility built in here? Was it behind some sort of secret door? Either way, while he was occupied, it was possible that the thugs would escape with their hostages. It was an impossible choice. Spider-Man couldn't be in two places at once no matter what the Bugle claimed his alien powers were.

    Sanjeev was left with a choice. If it was the him before tonight, he would have left it for the police to handle. But, the him now... It was not as if he suddenly caught the superhero high making him think he was invulnerable and immortal. Guns still terrified him. But, he owed something to Spider-Man. And if those people in the hospital gowns were taken, the guilt might torture him. It was the least Sanjeev could do for his savior.

    So, taking a breath, he decided to disobey Spider-Man and stepped through into the fourth dimension once again, appearing behind the first thug and knocking him out with a strike to the back of his head. Exepectedly, nausea assaulted him and he heard the telltale metallic sound of the hammer of a firearm cocking. It was aimed at him. He could feel himself freezing up.

    'Work past it or you'll die,' was the thought resounding through his mind.

    Suddenly, the nausea was gone as adrenaline shot through him. With a wave of his hand, the firearm disappeared, thrown headlong into the fourth dimension as a roundhouse kick to the gut caused the other thug to double over. It appeared if there had been others, they were running either toward the sound of Spider-Man or away in order to not get caught.

    Sanjeev had had enough excitement. Staying hidden with the hostages behind some crates, he waited and watched for things to be clear.

Peter Parker has posed:
Jamal burst from the loading bay door. He looked around frantically. Where was the car? He had to get to the car before he ran out of thugs to distract that interfering wall-crawling KILLJOY!

The car was gone. He didn't see it anywhere. Fucking COWARDS...
Then the webbing wrapped around his legs and pitched him forward into the pavement. He rolled onto his back, still holding the case.
"Spider-Man...whatever..." he pleaded urgently as Spider-Man walked towards him. Spidey hadn't seen the four telepaths, but his Spider-Sense wasn't tickling the nape of his neck anymore. And nobody had gotten out - the drone had been doing overwatch and told him that much.

Jamal held up the case. "Four million! Four million dollars! Take it! I won't tell anyone! Just let me go! You'd have to be an IDIOT to turn that down!"
Jamal held up the case in both hands, ready to let go if Spider-Man took it...

...and then it was swatted from his hands to tumble to one side. The vigilante didn't even look at it as he focused on Jamal.
"There have to be a THOUSAND good reasons to put my fist through your conniving, flesh-peddling brain..." He says in a hard voice.
Then Jamal is nearly cocooned in webbing.
"...but none of those reasons are good enough."

Sanjeev Bassi has posed:
    As the leader of the thugs came through the loading bay doors, Sanjeev stayed silent with the telepaths behind the warehouse boxes as he watched the events unfold. Spider-Man didn't take the money? He could have taken it and still turned in Jamal. Four million dollars was a lot of money. It would be enough for new lab equipment. Enough to fund extra research and improve technological advancements that could propel humanity into a brighter future.

    The young Indian man glanced behind him at the four telepaths. It was true that the money was not gained from good deeds. But, was that the money's fault? There were plenty of atrocities committed during World War II, for example. Wouldn't putting the money gained from those people's losses to good use honor their memory?

    He didn't understand Spider-Man, but at least he could ascertain that he didn't do all this for money.

    Once Jamal had been effectively webbed, Sanjeev popped up from behind one of the warehouse boxes.

    "Hey there, Spider-Man," he said with a sheepish smile and a small, gloved wave. "Sorry for not, uh, staying on the roof like you asked. I saw that some of the thugs were moving these patients while you were busy over there, and I thought you might have some hard feelings if you lose them while you were busy. So, I tried to help you out. I hope that's ok. I don't know about you, but I know I'd feel horrible if I had to make a choice because I couldn't be in two places at once."

Peter Parker has posed:
Spider-Man walked over to Sanjeev. "I don't know exactly what you did, but...is everyone all right? Is any one hurt? Do they need medical attention?"

Because that is really where Spidey's priorities lie.

Sanjeev Bassi has posed:
    Survived getting shot at a few times. Nearly pissed himself. Almost puked all over the floor. Any of those would have sufficed for a response, but Sanjeev decided on a better one.

    "They all seem to still be under the effect of a Peuromycin overdose," he replied to the red-and-blue-clad hero. "Which, by the way, is what all of these boxes contain." He gestured with an open gloved hand at the boxes filling the loading dock. "With how tightly-regulated medication tends to be, they probably either stole shipments that may not have been reported, or they've got an in with one of the medical manufacturers. Might be a lead for the police to run down."

    Shaking his head at what he perceived to be corruption in the medical field, Sanjeev's gaze met with Spider-Man's mask once again. "But other than that, they should be ok. Nothing more than a couple scrapes. The thugs were more concerned about getting them out of here fast." From the way that the young Indian man was speaking in logical, listed form, it was possible that Peter might get the vibe that he had experience in a field that was used to physical trauma like law enforcement or the medical field.

    "Are you ok, Spider-Man?" His gaze fell back on the briefcase that had been offered to the hero with some of its cash now strewn on the floor from the impact of where it fell. "That's...a lot of money to give up."

Peter Parker has posed:
Spider-Man chuckled slightly. "Me? Naw. Just a little graze. Gone by breakfast tomorrow."
He glanced over at the money. "That was made at the expense of those four refugees you protected. It's blood money. It's tainted. And more importantly...it's not mine. If anything, it's evidence."

He looked over Sanjeev's shoulder to see the refugees, then says, "Better get them under cover. I called the cops. They are sending EMTs and a forensic unit, so they'll get this mess sorted out. SHIELD can help the refugees from there."

Sanjeev Bassi has posed:
    The young man hesitated for a moment. "But, couldn't that money be used to help these same refugees?" he asked in reply. "The damage that was inflicted on them can't really be undone, but at least it wouldn't be for nothing." The money would just sit in evidence, and then it would be given to the State to potentially be mismanaged or become some politician's slush fund. The refugees would never see a benefit from it.

    "Well, either way, thank you, Spider-Man," Sanjeev said, extended a hand for the hero to shake with a wry smile. "Sorry about earlier. Saying my father isn't a big fan of heroes is a rather large understatement, and what I knew about you was from the cover stories of the Daily Bugle."

Peter Parker has posed:
Spider-Man shakes Sanjeev's hand. "Thank *you.* You helped save the lives of four people." He glances to the money. "That money will be used to put every last one of these guys in jail, if not prison. And it destabilizes a criminal organization." He shrugs, then fires a webline. "Remember Meyer's Law. When faced with a list of choices, the toughest option is usually the best one to choose."

He waves, then launched himself up into the night sky as the sounds of sirens grow louder...