2645/Black Sun: Dark Days on Staten Island

Black Sun: Dark Days on Staten Island
Date of Scene:	27 July 2020
Location:	Operations: Triskelion
Synopsis:	Daisy and Jemma find Shirin's missing phone and case her office for leads. Surely you don't believe in ghosts...
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Daisy Johnson, Jemma Simmons
Tinyplot:	Black Sun

---

Jane Foster has posed:
Today, a phone call passes through a technician's net. Protocols and advance voice print technology register two vectors of strange behaviour: an agent's phone number, a scream.

Spy agencies run on more than bodies. They run on contacts, and that's technically what Shirin Harami is. Not an active field agent, never going to be, but a graduate of a recruitment program back at a time where ladies of a certain ethnicity were rarely considered seriously for medical or law enforcement roles.

But there is a valuable link to someone in the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in New York. Strange things happen all the time that go without notice. Having someone used to wielding a scalpel in the hand and the mind is valuable. so the occasional check-ins with Ms. Harami at the Staten Island University Hospital or the main office aren't out of the ordinary.

But her transcripts never end in screams.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
There has barely been time for rest as Daisy scours the internet, contacts, recordings and more through the network she created in SHIELD, much of it going through other Agents who skim info and run it up the ladder...

Yet there are certain vectors who go directly to her, specially when certain keywords are triggered: "supernatural" "aging", a few more and Daisy gets access to that info, namely the autopsy report and the call...

A message is sent to Jane and Jemms.

<<Hey, have you got access to Shirin Harami's autopsy reports?>>

Then another: <<Got hold of a call she received and stumbled into them. Think it may be related to the aging we saw on Meris? Let me know, I am trying to track a call that may give us a clue.>>

And just in case a copy of the autopsy report is sent to them. As for Daisy, she goes back to studying the call, related IPs, area of contact, trying to triangulate the origin.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    <<I will have access. Give me a moment.>>

    The text message from Jemma is sent just as the other text message about the call is received. But, Jemma doesn't follow up on the call. If there is one thing she knows...it is that Daisy is on the case.

    And so should Jemma.

    It does not take long at all for Jemma to access the reports. The latest, for a 29 year old white female is up on Jemma's tablet. The frown that was already threatening to remain a permanent feature upon Jemma's face is deepening. 5 separate incidents....all female patients. All the same.

    Jemma....is not happy.

    Another text is sent. <<I have the reports. All the same. We should talk.>>

    They should talk, indeed.

Jane Foster has posed:
< Sorry. Pinned down with work, Furiae. Let me shut down this string of emails and back to work with us. >

Jane's texts represent a connection across the way, but she's not going to be the fastest to respond. Not like Daisy "Flying Fingers" Johnson there, digging into the depths of a hidden world of information.

The personnel file open to general review reveals salient details. Shirin Harami was born in Israfan, emigrating to the US in 1979. Respectable career notes pin down attendance at New York University, acceptance into a medical school in Michigan. Marriage, the failure of that marriage, a late romance blossomed again. She is at the peak of her career, a devoted student of truth. A respected, unremarkable member of the medical community working under the aegis of the Chief Medical Examiner, where she works far too many hours.

Her StarkPhone records speak to a phone number registered in Manhattan, the boroughs of New York. It's a mobile line, ebbing and flowing. The times are rapid, the call sequences extremely short until that last one when Shirin demanded to know who called her. IP addresses bounce all over North America and Europe, routed back and forth. There's information speaking of handshakes and disconnections

Then the autopsies. People die everyday in New York, even in little Staten Island nudged up against the Jersey shore and forgotten by the big city. Women dying of complications, weak hearts or viral loads, nothing out of the ordinary. There are a slew that Shirin went through, bookmarking the incidents -- not all fatal, in fact most not fatal. Clearly they concerned her for some reason.

Women 21 to 60. Cardiac arrest, unconsciousness, a woman found fainted in a locked bathroom. "Mental health episode" reads a pitiless scrawl from a doctor. "Normal women don't hide in bathrooms," Shirin adds.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Oh, you little prick..." Yes, Daisy is talking to her screen. Or in this case to the PRICK that is using proxies for that call so they aren't detected. But Flying Fingers isn't done yet, not the type to give up, she continues on with her search. Searching and seeking. She isn't exactly sure of Shirin's whereabouts so she also starts on working upon tracing her Starkphone, a ping sent to see if she can track the closest phone tower to it.

< Her last call ended with a scream. She is missing now. Trying to track her. >

Then the request to meet. She gets up to her feet, info moved from her laptop to her tablet. <Omw>

She makes her way up to the labs, commiting the capital sin of not having brought foods, but there is urgency in the matter.

<This is going to take a while in getting a trace. Do you know if any team has been sent to her place by now?> She asks.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
     <I don't know on that. Been tracking reports and tying out results.>

     Jemma had her tablet...but her own eyes are on the virtual displays in the lab. The copy of the autopsy reports hover in the air before her, even as Jemma pulls up her own report. It doesn't take much to draw parallels between the two. It results in a muttered curse under Jemma's breath. There's a pattern, a pretty obvious one, but one that remained unbidden until now. This...is not unexpected, but it still is not a welcomed inclusion, either.

Jane Foster has posed:
No sin in coming to the Ops labs without food. It's not the same as R&D; the expectation of a platter laid out for the hungry is lower, except during staff meetings. The unspoken rule of Ops is happy tummies, happy agents. Who dare brave the wrath of a hungry, angry agent?

Munged data on the servers awaits Daisy, bouncing around through layers of delinquency and protection. Marks speckled all around New York don't show a predilection towards one borough or another; she can find spikes of them hitting from upstate, then lost in the marshes of Floridian networks, only to be backtracked into east side of Manhattan. It's a lot of filtering.

The tower, on the other hand, is a lot louder, a lot simpler. Stark Industries technology is what it is, but even a commercial phone needs a handshake before data and calls can proceed. With time, three towers give their registers, ending around 2 PM on Sunday. All of them ping around Richmond County: Staten Island. The last shakes are all from the same tower on the northeast side.

No movement between 6 AM and 3 PM, then. Stationary.

Autopsy reports are fully formed, fully details. The interest lies in certain highlighted excerpts for the victims with not enough of a link to connect them. More interesting are the survivors; Shirin highlighting the troubling conditions that don't jive. "No evidence of sustained blood loss. Blood pressure readings normal, oxygenation monitor normal prior to being found unconscious. Low blood pressure, erratic heartbeat, assumed complication of surgery."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
As those layers get peeled Daisy gestures her fingers over her tablet. "Not you. Nope. Not you either..." many of those hits get put aside while she seeks and seeks. But a pattern appears to be emerging. Upstate. East side Manhattan?

She gets into the lab just as she is finishing this research. "So, what have you got Jemms..?" Daisy watching her friend's expression with a wary eye. "Nothing good it seems..."

She approaches, placing her tablet on a table nearby (no fancy virtual screen for heeeeer!) and continues on.

"I got a hit on where she may be." Even if her own expression isn't the most hopeful. "Richmond county on Staten Island, northeast side." she gets the image up on one of the main screens to look over the zone, thoughtful while she tries to correlate any place in the area with known locations of those hate groups they have been tracking.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    The entering Daisy gets a wave over the virtual screen. Why did Jemma take over the Operations room? Most likely because of the information being gathered. Say what Jemma will...but it is easier to present information within the Operations rooms than in R&D. Especially if it keeps people *out* of R&D.

    "The reports themselves are all the same, once one knows what to look for. But, it isn't the autopsy reports that are the intriguing link right now...but rather the reports of those who survived. There...is a lot more there than no one anticipated. Certainly not me." More reports fill the air in front of Jemma, as she draws circles with her fingertip, the virtual display responding in kind as bits and segments are pulled out. "All...of these share the same conditions. These just didn't trigger inquiries because the patients didn't die because of them. Our nurse was on to something...and I do believe she was probably targetted because of what she found out." There is a soft tsking as Jemma continues to review. "I do believe that...if we can identify the voice on that call you was speaking about, we identify the source of this particular engima."

Jane Foster has posed:
That phone, if rung, goes straight to voicemail. No evidence for text messages or outbound calls dance over the line, no proof of data except thin trickles that ultimately suggest minimal autonomous app activity over the past day until it all goes quiet.

As far as hate groups go, it's funny that Staten Island in all its lazy solitude doesn't spawn many. There are certainty plenty of people with questionable beliefs around, those with a harder bend towards nationalist views. Working class heroes are especially absent; it's not like Spider-Man hails from the island. A swift survey over the local crime bulletins to the darkest, tackiest parts of the web don't show any incidents there. A few tacked through the Bronx, Queens, Manhattan: nothing different there.

All victims that scraped by are from Staten Island health centers, all of them peppered over the course of two to three weeks. Discharged, scattered, free to regather their lives as much as they can. The age and the genders Jemma has caught but the obscure suggestions peek out: rooms alone. Inpatient procedures. Quiet hours, the dead of night, the evenings that wane into the dark.

Shirin hangs somewhere in the balance, a conqueror of untruths. The last twinging tower is above her workplace, or close enough to count. The question might be if she ever checked in; if she ever left.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy casts a look up at Jemma, then to the reports as they are circled about. A brow furrows, thoughtful about the mystery at hand. "Makes one wonder if she may have some more info at her office.."

As the results on hate groups in the area come up dry it makes Daisy ponder, head canting from side to side, trying to pace and figure what her routine was, or in this case what she could be doing. The conversation alludes she most likely was at her place of work so she begins working on following those check-ins, the checkouts. Basically understanding if she may still be in the building ..., somewhere.

"As for the voice, I can try and run some voice recognition algorithms..., also going to try and refine all this static, maybe we can find some background sound on the call that can help." maybe looking for a needle on an haystack, but if there's one thing that SHIELD is good at is finding those!

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Jemma's head snaps up at the mention of going to the contact's office. "Daisy....you're a genius. We should most definitely start with Shirin's office. What we have are electronic filings. There...may be more to uncover in the office." A beat. "And, if we are thinking there might be more, we can be certain that whoever is orchestrating these attacks would have thought the same thing, too. We might be able to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak."

    There is also a consideration with the voice algorithms. "Hmm...Fitz might be able to work on the voice as well, if you wanted him to. He might enjoy the challenge."

Jane Foster has posed:
That voice matching is going to take a while. It's not a shot in the dark despite whatever the TV shows suggest. Nothing works so fast, even with supercomputers and super-hackers. Fitz and Daisy might have to work something out between them, with that snatch of audio recording giving a concerning few hits over the coming hours. Some in New York. Two in Gotham....

One in /Metropolis/.

But time waits for no Fury. It's time to go traveling.

Office of the Chief Medical Examiner....

It's a bit of a drive or a ride on public transportation down to Staten Island. It is the furthest flung of the boroughs, after all, suburban rather than urban. For one, where they are headed has a parklike setting wrapped in trees. Cars are abundant on rutted roads in need of a good paving. Small red and white signs on the verges indicate where buildings are, even if they're awfully hard to see. The stretch of Brielle Avenue marks where the chief medical examiner's office for the area lies, set back from 70s and 80s Era houses with single garages and weirdly Italianate finishes, a hint to the origins of many residents. Unexciting neighbourhoods abut onto chain-link fences, vines looped around them, offering a hint of privacy. But the office itself is a modern block that has little to suggest its identity from the outside except for NYC CMEO stamped on a sign. They can find parking and find their way in through the front doors, questioned by a guard in a blue uniform about their business.

A city flag, and the shield of the office, together lend a good idea they've found the right place. Open to the public!

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"I will actually send it to Fitz now." Daisy says with a nod. There are no instant answers in the world of 1s and 0s afterall. And of course, they need to make sure there are no mistakes in their work. So with that put aside it's time for a ROAD TRIP. Well, a short one, but it's the thought that counts.

"Let's get going then. No time like the present." Impetuous Daisy, but nothing gets in her way when it's time to get answers.

Getting a vehicle to go isn't hard, one of their unmarked vehicles and she gets them down to the place, parking in. She checks her ICER and then nods at the scientist.

Once they get in and are stopped by the guard it's time for some DIPLOMACY. Or in this case, credentials. "Morning. Agent Johnson. This is Agent Simmons. We are here to check on Ms. Harami." she shows her SHIELD credentials. Serious business!

"Can we have a look at her office? We believe she may be missing."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
A single nod is given, along with a slight smile. "He will enjoy that." The sudden onset of actually going right that minute gives Jemma a bit of a pause. But...her answer comes with picking up the tablet from the table...which causes the virtual display to poof out of existence. "I assume that you want to drive?"

"As long as it isn't your van. We should look more the part, you know."

Joking aside, the ride to the medical examiner's office is relatively quick. And yes, credentials are shown. Although, for Jemma, she adds one more bit to her SHIELD credentials. She also shows her medical license as well. "If you do not mind, sir, we are investigating a string of related incidents. If you do not wish to explain to SHIELD nor the mayor's office why we were not allowed in as swiftly as possible, I would suggest that you allow us entry."

    Well....when Jemma plays hardball, she plays for keeps.

Jane Foster has posed:
A small brass nameplate identifies the guard as Bijoco. He sits up a little straighter with the women approach his curved desk. The office place has an anonymous quality to it common to bureaucracy. A place of order: well-lit, midtone woods, spic-and-span within an inch of its life. It's all horrendously tidy.

"ID, please, " he asks in a routine manner. To the side is a clipboard with a chart of names, times, signature spots. "Sign in here, make sure you each enter your name on a separate row. Is Mrs. Harami expecting you?"

He turns to consult his trusty computer, a thing actually from this decade, and types in a few notes. A neat Bluetooth headset makes it possible to dial in an extension, and politely wait while he takes their ID. A little scanner takes a good residual of both of Jemma's, medical license and all. "You specifically need an autopsy report? We do those on our website, otherwise you'll need to shoot over to the Records office and fill out twenty-five forms or such."

They are issued passes that blatantly scream GUEST and he taps his headset. "Hmm. Must be working. I'm not getting anyone picking up. Let me ask her assistant, Deondra should be able to help."

Two minutes and a quiet conversation later, there's a pretty older Black woman coming out of an elevator, looking harried. "Connall, this better be good. I have so much paperwork to catch up on. Who are these two?"

Daisy Johnson has posed:
A subtle nod of approval is given to Jemms when she gets bossy with Bijoco, Daisy even curling the corner of her mouth up a little at it. But attention quickly returns to the guard as their credentials are checked. Super tidy desk..., check.., a stickler for protocol. Just the type of people she -hates-, to the exception of certain R&D people.

"We really hope she'd be there expecting us, but no." a look again to Bijoco's computer.

"All reports are done up on the website and get automatically available?" Some curiosity there on the protocol, "Or do the doctors work offline first?"

But then Deondra is making her way over. "Hello, we are SHIELD agents, we were wishing to talk or have access to Ms. Harami's office. When was the last time you saw her?" She asks. A look then given to Jemms. She will let her fill in on the details of their investigation on bodies. She's the expert!

Jemma Simmons has posed:
There is a roll of the eyes from Jemma in regards to the guard. She has no time for this! Instead, as Deondra approaches, she immediately turns to face her, because Bijoco is absolutely no help. "As Agent Johnson stated, we are SHIELD. Ms. Harami was a contact we have worked with before. It would appear she was gathering information that relates to homocides that we are also investigating. It is also to the point in which her knowledge may put her life at risk."

Jemma pauses, just enough for a breath, then continues. "There are a growing number of cases in which female individuals are experiencing attacks which emulate rapid aging. Some survive this...most do not. And...if you have not seen Ms. Harami, then there is a strong possibility that she is about to or has become the latest victim." The patience is there...but it is wearing thin. "Now then, if you do not mind, we are trying to track down Ms. Harami to save her life and countless others. Please take us to her office or just point out the direction and get out of our way, because every moment spent here in mindless bureaucracy is another chance for someone else to die."

Jane Foster has posed:
"Not all reports come up immediately. Courts control what we can share, same as law enforcement. However, the records department will be able to guide you if something particular is under seal or redacted," says Bijoco. Yes, he is neat and tidy but it means he wipes their ID down with a cloth before handing it back. "All copies go both ways. Nature of the work, I expect, ma'am." Meaning corpses are patient and generally don't go walking around. Formaldehyde isn't usually great to get on keyboards, either.

Deondra wears a white coat and scrubs, rather than an actual suit. Her nametag hangs from the front pocket, and she looks and acts with a keyed up energy. Anxiety, irritation, how can they be told apart. Her expression darkens as she hears 'SHIELD,' and she shoots the guard a look. "We're not having this conversation in the lobby. Come on, we'll find somewhere open." A swipe of her badge and they pass through plexiglass sliding glass doors into a hallway, abruptly turning for the elevator bank. It's quite too late to stop that cat from getting out of the bag, but her terse nature and stiff, brusque posture are enough. "God, what you are doing here? Why have you come, really?" Those questions drop with an almost accusatory stance to Daisy with the misfortune of her being the first to speak.

"I don't know where she is. She's four hours late for work, and she is never late for work. I checked her calendar and nothing's come up." She scowls at them, her eyes baleful, hiding fear. Not well, but trying. "Shirin's not the sort of person to be irresponsible, it's not in her nature. She isn't-- never has been-- very imaginative that way. If she's not at work then she is with her family or friends, volunteering and that's it. Her personal trainer said she never went for a run. And she's certainly not been in the morgue. I can't let you back there-- it's just-- I'm not the chief examiner. But her office-- it's not-- it's empty." She takes a hard breath and gestures angrily for the door. "Come on. See for yourself."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
A nod is given to Bijoco. Maybe something to look into. It gets her thinking, but she follows along with Deondra. Finally someone who may have answers!

"No, it's not normal. Which is why we need to go to her work place. We believe she was threatened due to some work she was doing." a pause, a glance to Jemma and then back. "Did she tell you anything about anything out of the normal last few days or weeks?" She asks.

But then they are at the doors. No time to lose so Daisy leads on, hand resting on her ICER holster as she opens the door.

It leads to the typical, small medical office. A window that gives a nice look of the outside, family pictures, a calendar, neat filing cabinets. And a concession to technology with the computer sitting at a desk. Another neat freak like Bijoco? But something isn't exactly right, the chair is not tucked in. Did she leave in a hurry? Or ..., something more sinister.

Daisy makes her way over to the window to look outside, then a glance to the reports before her attention is on the computer.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Bijoco doesn't even get a second look. Nor does Deondra's withering gaze have any effect on Jemma. She is on a mission of the utmost importance in her mind and she is not going to tolerate any more delays.

The office is immaculate. Everything accounted for. This....isn't the same sort of neat freak that the guard was aspiring to. No. This...this had a purpose. One that spoke to Jemma.

This...might as well have been Jemma's office, from the way Jemma could relate.

And...the first thing Jemms does is walk to the cabinets. "If I was compiling a list....I would have denoted the hard copies with some sort of identifying marker." The drawers are opened and Jemma begins to flip through. It is apparent that she remembers some of the names on the autopsy reports...and she flips through them quickly. "See? Here. she has each one of these marked with a simple paperclip in the left corner of the file. Nothing obvious to most...but glaringly so to her. And here...." A few more are pulled up, each with the identifying paperclip..and all of them with similar stories. There might be a few extra that Jemma had not identified online...but it seems all she found electronically she might be able to find in the cabinets.

Another glance is given, as Jemma considers. "Agent Johnson?" Protocol must be maintained when civilians are about. "When was that call completed? You know which one I mean." No sense panicking others as well. "If our examiner is as rigid as we are told, it is quite possible we can pinpoint her location just based on the time of the call alone."

Jane Foster has posed:
There's not much left out given PHI rules and HIPAA, laws that are held sacrosanct in this little temple of order. A few locked cabinets present that. The paper left out has minor notations, nothing really obvious. Apparently the idea of having a couscous and chicken meal was on the list of things to do, things on her mind. Glimpses into Shirin's mind just as the photos of her family are squeezed into a frame, full of stoic and polite faces or beaming kids. Her computer is off, humming away in its steady waiting state where a nudge and a few keystrokes wake it up out of idle and demands a password.

Deonda loiters back against the door, barring their exit, fully in control of what she sees. She isn't happy about the rigging of the drawers that open, but it is. There are small notes in corresponding ink to the paperclips. Not dates, it's easy to ascribe that. No, this is more esoteric.

File numbers, for certain, contained in the other cabinets and probably on the computers. Digging around takes a while. Deondra gets more agitated. "What are you looking for? Look, she sees.. a lot. And she works hard, so holing herself up for four or five days at a time to get jobs done isn't out of the ordinary. She sees out-of-the-ordinary all the time, Agent." Her tone is bitter. "Even out here. People shot who bleed too much, people with scales or messed up organs and no outside wounds. Just the regular work too, nursing homes and car accidents, anything requiring an autopsy. No, Shirin wasn't concerned. That's the problem, she would have told someone something about being late. She texts me to get her /lunch/ and even a whiff of being late."

There's a desk handset, and the phone number shows a few missing calls. The digits don't match what they have been tracing at all; no calls to her StarkPhone, no calls from the StarkPhone to the desk. The tower placement is accurate for the cell phone, though.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
While Jemma gets working on the file cabinets Daisy goes for the digital. A password though, means she needs to do some social engineering, or at least a try, some combinations with some items she sees. Family, along with a vacation spot which has good memories can make quite the terrific combination for a password.

Yet Jemma's question makes her pause on her endeavors with the computer. "Good idea, she wouldn't divert from her schedule." she picks up her phone to check on it. "4.48am, eastern." she notes, "This Sunday." a look. "Was it normal for her to be here on a Sunday? And if so, where would she be? Here at the office?"

Another glance about. "Because the last ping we have from her phone tells of her still being close to the area. Most likely in the building. Or at least her phone."

She gets to peek under the table, then the cabinet. Maybe it slipped under the furniture.

Jane Foster has posed:
Deonda squints a little. "It's not like her to work overtime that early into the dawn. Sometimes the nature of the work means you can't just stop, especially for anything high profile. She had holidays coming up, and maybe with the vacation time, she wanted to get ahead of the backlog? It's not unheard of." She taps around on her phone briefly to look at the calendar, and nods. "Had time blocked out for a start at ten at night. I'm guessing she wanted to get it cleared out." Unless, of course, there's some obsessive pattern a doctor is following like hunting the trail of Carmen Sandiego.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Closing the cabinets, Jemma turns towards Deonda. "I understand that you are nervous and frightened for your friend, so I am going to tell you exactly what we have." With that, Jemma straightens herself, pulling herself to her complete height while adopting the look that Deondra probably knows too well...the 'I have some bad news' look.

    "at 4:48 am, from a cell phone tower located in this vicinity, Ms. Harami fielded a phone call that ended in her screaming. The research that she has compiled. " A finger pointing to the cabinets. "...that is what we believe caused her to become a person of interest. It closely matches evidence I personally have gathered, with my own autopsy of another individual. I believe that the incidents we are investigating and the research that Ms. Harami was collecting are closely related...and we are trying now to find her to save her life." There was the hint of apology in there...but it had to be said. "As a medical doctor myself, I know exactly first hand the unusual circumstances regarding the cases Ms. Harami has identified. And...I assure you, it is a horrible death. That is why we are doing what we can to find her. For the sake of her and her family."

    This...might be a little too close to Meris for Jemma. But, then again, it explains the urgency is which Jemma is relaying the information. "So, from what we have so far, it was not unusual for her to be in the office early Sunday morning." Then...with a curious expression, Jemma heads to the window. Because....it is the only other way out of the room.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"So most likely being here off-hours, in pursuit of her own answers." Daisy muses, mostly to herself. She gets up from searching for the phone under things, arms folding together and nodding gravely while Jemms speaks about their true reasons for being here looking for Harami.

She paces around the room briefly, continuing her glance about, thoughtful.. "Her office appears to be clean though. If she was here it was as if she simply disappeared..." attention then going to the window when Jemms moves towards it. She approaches as well.

Jane Foster has posed:
The window opens onto a little bit of parkland carved out by a designer who has no idea of what natural spaces are. There's of course the greensward around the complexes themselves; county and city government claim some nice spots among the hints of forest that once clothed the Northeast. Fiddling with the window means dealing with the latches, pushing out the screen, and dropping onto some decorative rocks before hitting the parched lawn. It's a clear shot to a path and then back to the parking lot. Not a lot of signs of traffic, as doctors and nurses tend not to lunch outside their windows.

Deonda's face goes from red to ashen, her lips clamped shut, her expressive eyes shuttered as she tries to process the facts laid out by Jemma. Never let it be said she doesn't hold back punches. "Shirin," she says thickly, "could be dead. Horribly." For those who deal in death, they can imagine the cold linear facts of the slab.

Beyond the window are a few bent blades of grass, displaced stones. Hints of someone big enough to move them, so no child, and definitely not a behemoth. The disruption in the slow mowing isn't much.

It'll take Daisy digging around underneath to come up with a phone, tossed to the back corner under a filing cabinet. A lot more work to dig the thing out, since it's in the worst possible spot to reach. And once found, the Stark Phone is clearly dead: no battery charge, no nothing.

At least they have the thrill of New York City government property in the computer, though commandeering that for their purposes is going to take paperwork and executive notes, more than likely. Sooner or later it's gonna crack; the password being BarHarborHol2021$$$! with some effort.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    If it was not for the closed eyes, Deonda would see that there is a single nod of confirmation from Jemma. But, she does hear the simple affirmation. A single 'yes'. It isn't cruel, but it isn't kind, either...the precise balance that those with advanced medical training seem to be able to master...and even only a few of those do. There is no sense to deny it. It is what it is.

    However, as Daisy looks for the elusive phone, Jemma examines the window...and the immediate vicinity beyond. "This looks like a possible point of exit. But...the window was locked from the inside." Look at little Ms. Sherlock go. "So, unless our subject is able to phase through objects..." And...with the way Jemma is talking, she is certainly taking the phasing bit to heart. "...they did not depart this way." Jemma takes a step back, does one more pass around the window frame (looking for trace evidence, perhaps?) then turns back into the office...

    ...Just in time for Daisy to find the Starkphone. A glance is cast over towards the ashen medical examiner. "Is this Ms. Harami's?" Not that Jemma needs the answer. She already knows it is. Especially since in how it was hidden....in the furthest corner possible. Another question to Deonda. Well...not so much a question but a statement of fact. "The research that Ms. Harami has collected. I would like copies. The originals may stay here, but I would like physical copies, and I do not wish to bother with the website in order to procure them within 2 to 5 business days. Speed is of the essence. I trust you will be able to assist me with this?" Again...not a question, but more of an implied request. "We will do everything within our power to find Shirin." Use of the first name....Jemma is implementing empathy to illicit a positive response. "Of that, I promise you."

    A glance to Daisy. "We can take the phone back to the lab to run an analysis. Are you all set here?" Meaning...did you get what you wanted from the PC?

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Eureka." Daisy states once she finds that phone, a bit of a smile coming to her features. "Yes, it's hers." she puts that one aside. Yep, totally going to take it with them for analysis. "All this effort in covering up where she disappeared to.." the hacktivist shakes her head just so. "Too much an effort. I feel that if they wanted to kill her they would had just done so and leave." give it to Daisy to be hopeful!

"Maybe this won't turn into another Meris." A faint little smile given Jemma's way.

Breaking into that computer does take a little while longer, but once they get in she hrms. "I need to do a more through analysis of what it may have. Could even be a small detail that will help." give it to the hacker to be through where it comes to analyzing info.

Eyes go to Deonda, "And we also are her best chance of getting out of this." she says it earnestly, no false modesty. SHIELD is the best at what they do. "I will need to take the computer along with me."

Jane Foster has posed:
Deonda's shuttered expression tightens, her lips settled into a harder line. She takes a long moment to center herself and not focus on the goofy smiles of the children or the pretty images of a surf-strewn coast.

"It looks like it," she says of the StarkPhone. Standard issue, nothing about it to stand out like scratches or special cases. "Why..." She comports herself with a grimace before Daisy and Jemma. They strip her naked and there is no where to escape from the pain she faces, the fallen flag and her defenses fallen. "I don't know why her phone is here. Maybe it fell out of her purse and she was too tired to get back for it. Or she didn't know."

Bending, borrowing a grain of logic, she mutters as she smacks her forehead. "I never checked the accident reports. The police might have something, and there can't be that many hospitals to check." Her footnote is left behind as she looks to Jemma. "Those records will take me an hour to pull for the full briefs. Printing them off or digitals? What email address?" Getting access in that sense is easier, but her gorge is rising and her eyes narrowed.

Daisy's claims are met with a blunt stare. "Take it up with the Chief Medical Officer's staff. You'll need to convince Di Maggiore with whatever paperwork is needed. I have no authority there, I just know Deonda wasn't here when she should be. That sitting here biting my nails to the quick and making a string of phone calls isn't getting me anywhere and someone has to break to her children that mom's not coming home yet."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    As much as Jemma tried playing hardball, the comment about the kids causes her to back off. But only slightly. "Digital will suffice. Whichever is quicker" No sense in telling Deonda that Jemma already has the digital copies...let's not get the poor dear too much more paranoid now. If anything, it is a psychological ploy to have Deonda feel that she is helping...and get her mind off of the negative aspects of the potentials. "We can handle contacting the family." Because it isn't like they haven't had practice doing that as of late.

    Daisy is then given Jemma's full attention. "Let's go ahead and get that requisition done then. We will get that sent ahead while we continue." Meaning...it is time to go. Besides, Jemma assumes that Daisy has enough to establish a VPN and connect to the network anyways, using the password she just obtained. But...can't mention that in public. "There is nothing more from here we can gather at the moment." The phone, though....that's key. And the fact that the phone just fell out and slid to the back corner of the room? Highly unlikely.

    Still...what Daisy wants. As Jemma nods to head out the door, her own smartphone is slid out and dialing. Does she have a certain chief medical examiner on speed dial? Maybe...

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Expression has sobered up further though, specially on the talk about breaking to the kids on what may have happened. A talk she very recently had. A mute nod is given to Jemms when she suggests they reach out for the family instead of Deonda. Did she still hope they'd get good news though? Find her in time? Maybe..

The backdoor was already getting introduced into the computer as Jemma spoke about the requisition. Ugh, bureaucracy..., but a necessary evil in this case. She puts the computer into sleep and gets up. "Thank you for letting us in here. We will do all we can, and cannot, to find out what happened with Mrs. Harimi."

Again that hopeful smile given to Deonda and she begins walking out as well, the phone is pocketed.

"Maybe our examiner friend was quick witted enough to take a picture out of whoever attacked her." She murmurs once they are out and already near the car. A mystery for later!

Jane Foster has posed:
Records will be sent over as soon as Shirin's assistant can turn herself away from the aawful ideas being contained in her mind. After a few cups of coffee, perhaps her neves will settle down for a bit of typing and not miskeying her password three or six or ten times. After being sick in the office lav, where no one will hear or see.

There have been worse days, if she has stopped and been honest with herself, but they are hard to think of. Going and marching into the Chief Medical Examiner's office might go hard except for the necessity of flexing rank and finding a purpose. Getting a copy of the drives is going to take more time, even for Daisy; the internet isn't blinding out here. Jemma has no reason to call when she can walk down the hallway and turn, directed up to the next floor where the Chief keeps his office.

A mystery for later in a phone. A mystery for later in a hard drive and replicated files.

And meanwhile, the first vocal traces are coming back to a man living in New York, a man with a checkered past...