2901/Sins of the Fatherland

Sins of the Fatherland
Date of Scene:	13 August 2020
Location:	Security: Triskelion
Synopsis:	Hans Schneider is revealed as the 'ghost.' But like all spectres, he's got dangerous things to say.
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Daisy Johnson, James Barnes
Tinyplot:	Black Sun

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Jane Foster has posed:
Triskelion Holding Facilities. Around 09:45

The Triskelion moves on with the calamitous world threats. A new asteroid in the sky. The death of an island nation, formerly a haven of thieves. Closer to home, the problems mount.

Like holding onto a bowl from Antiquity while the European Union advocates stir up a diplomatic fuss.

Like a firefight that struck a knight and a trainee.

Like the ash-blond man seated calmly in a holding cell, awaiting processing. His possessions are disturbingly few: a semi-automatic pistol, a pair of knives, a bag of ashes. The balaclava he discarded remains in a plastic evidence bag. His black armoured jacket, Kevlar vest, and pants also remain, replaced by a pair of sweats and shirt without the SHIELD logo. Through it all, he hasn't said a word. Only smirked. Why would Daisy Johnson care at all?

The only other image on file provided for "John Doe" is her discovery, and analysts tasked to find anything about this man, their unspeaking prisoner, most certainly have a few things to say when her files tagged him. So here she is.

No ID on him. No driver's license, no wallet, no stack of hundred dollar bills or keys to a car, a house, a new life. He sits politely and waits. No one has handcuffed him but he's being monitored, every instant, but the cameras in one of the most secure facilities this side of the Raft. And yet...

He doesn't seem perturbed, not at all.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy had been following those news around the world very closely. Troubling indeed, enough to almost consider the sending of SHIELD but ..., right now she had a mission, and it was focused on discovering more about this ..., 'John Doe'. She was sitting on the adjacent room, looking at him through those mirrored windows that are so convenient on letting her see the man but he not being able to see her...

Her searches had begun, all the traditional methods first. The taking of fingerprints, the use of facial recognition to try and pinpoint this man. Of course that she also had her former investigations helping. SS Invicta, tapping into their known faces, and those of OLD. Because right now she wasn't putting anything out of the realm of possibility.

"This guy seems way too convinced for someone that was caught. As if he has fulfilled his mission.. Or knows he won't stay here for long." she wasn't too sure on which thought scared her most. "But at this rate I think I will be having to go have a word with him." her eyes go to one of the SHIELD guards present. "Did he have any markings? Tattoos?" she asks.

Jane Foster has posed:
Fingerprints produce nothing. Facial recognition, nothing. He is no more a man chased than anything else. The pleasant timbre of his voice might be telling, but the only match for that is one Richard Swift. Whether or not he is Richard Swift, that will not be confirmed one way or the other. He clearly anticipates trouble on that front, and complies by staying silent without his Miranda Rights being read. Not that they apply in the situation.

Either way, the situation is perplexing. Daisy gets a look from the tired tech forced to monitor this. SecOps isn't exciting most of the time, and the older gentleman stuck with this high-priority prisoner frowns slightly. "I don't know. He has been like this the whole time. Sitting there happy as a clam, not saying a word. Not twiddling his thumbs. He may have dozed at one point."

The projected file gives a detailed look of information... which is mostly blank. "No scars, no moles, no tattoos. No convenient blueprint for his affiliations. Look, I'll level with you, he looks exactly like a senior agent, a school principal, or possibly a headmaster in one of those books my kid reads. But fit." There certainly is that. "No one's been to probe him, if there's that. Medical has to go through a different channel and there's the concern that he might just be a foreign national, not a citizen. Complicates the whole lot. We haven't heard a word since that trainee stabbed him in the back. Or supposedly did. There's not even a burn wound."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Richard Swift. The voice from the recording, the one that had threatened to kill Shirin Harami. And then that threat had turned to reality when she had been found dead in the morgue. It made Daisy frown, to study the man's posture, those telltale signs that she has been learning to pick up. The signs of being a nervous..., everyone has a tick. But it's as the tired tech says, he looks like a ..., senior agent. So calm, not showing anything. The frown deepens. "Yes, this means training. Hydra? Fits the mold, doesn't it?"

Daisy had been looking for signs of the man for a while now and in truth there had not been much to follow on just yet but if he didn't want to talk the easy way there was only one way to go. Get in there and try to have him talk. The Daisy way..

"I will go have a word." She tells the tech, tapping the man on the shoulder and then moving to go have a tete-a-tete with the man. "Good afternoon." she offers.

Jane Foster has posed:
The agent on board, Sachowski, looks from the one-way glass back to Daisy. "Not a clue. Some people get like that, reside in their own world. They withdraw back and you're not going to pry much out of them. He isn't losing it to anxiety but you know they can shut down by training, disposition or rarely, it seems, a kind of shock takes them over. They smile but they aren't there. That kind of placidity isn't at all common. I can't say who or what. You get those lifers in here? I hafta imagine they got practice at keeping it cool."

It might not be the answer she wants, but it's the one she gets. Guessing at HYDRA operatives or AIM or a dozen other organizations is plenty uncomfortable, but they're in the business. Even the mundane spies can be tough.

And here he is, Richard Swiftesque, hands in his lap and leaning back a little with all the time in the world.

The tech nods, and no doubt some kind of arming system wakes up. Alerts the bigger guard in the hall, though with a super like Quake -- yes, call-signed for a reason -- there's not really much reason for worry, no room for doubt. Worse has happened. The door unlocks, and she enters a sterile room with a chair, a table, a bolted and low-slung bench of sorts that's really little more than a shelf of metal. The light fixture? Also bolted.

The blond man cracks his eyelid as she enters, acknowledging Daisy with a nod. Afternoon, morning, time blurs without windows.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy casts a brief look about the room, at it's disposition, almost as if she also had all the time in the world too. Thumbs hook on her belt as she takes in everything before she finally focuses herself on 'Richard', both with her normal senses but also with her vibrational one. To read those vibrations running through them, feeling if there may be something amiss, or something they may not have realized before. After her 'dance' with vampires she -will- be careful. She reads the man's vitals for a moment and leaves her powers attuned to him till she finally breaks silence after that greeting.

"Not so talkative now. Thought you were all about talking." She murmurs. "Or is it only when you are threatening women..?"

"Do you know who I am?"

Jane Foster has posed:
The room is barren, as most cells are. It doesn't present much, other than a place for her to sit. If he wanted to try and trash the room with the chair, a plastic creation of no real comfort, that's on him. It's an unusual choice but the blond remains calm on his bench all the same. He absolutely is alive, heart beat and all, the vibrations suppressed largely by all the soundproofing. Recording devices continue their work. All is as it should be, for the most part.

He eyes her through his pale lashes, unsmiling, for it's a truly American habit to smile nonsensically all the time. A reason they're a strange people to those of Mitteleuropa. And elsewhere.

The pause after she speaks rolls on, on further. Giving time to make it uncomfortable or because he needs to choose his words. It's been a long night, the morning broken by a spell of paralysis from a photonic sword finally fading away. "Would you prefer rudeness, ma'am?"

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy remains standing for now, as if expectant whether the man will speak or not before she takes the next move. Or perhaps even deciding /what/ the next move will be depending on the response. There is that posture on her shoulders that is telling she is not here to play though, violence not entirely off the charts. (Or she could be bluffing!)

When the answer finally comes she steps forward, sitting down at the table on the chair for her. "What's the alternative to rudeness?" she then questions. "Without it being silence."

Her sharp gaze remains intent on the man, thoughtful. "We could always begin with names." she offers. "I am Agent Johnson."

"Do you have a name?" she notes the uncomfortable posture on the man and then lets out a sigh, and almost as if she couldn't help herself she gets up. "Can I have a water bottle brought in here?" she makes her way to the door, taking one from Sachowski when he brings it over and then capping it open. She places it on the table.

Jane Foster has posed:
Talking to oneself is an interesting interview tactic. On the part of the prisoner, maybe a sign of madness or total villainy. On the interrogator, a bit redundant. "Richard," who may be named anything but, doesn't fall into gibbering or rough with Daisy. He clasps his hands together. The grey sweats and the grey shirt make for a very grey appearance indeed. "Hello, Agent Johnson." The manners are there, crisp and pointed. "Mr. White." His bearing is precise on that, from where he sits. There are no sudden motions, no bolt for the door. "Am I correct assuming you have questions, ma'am?"

Daisy Johnson has posed:
The water bottle is slid across the table to the man and then Daisy leans back on her chair. "We can begin by what your interest in stealing precious artifacts was." she starts, folding her arms together and a small frown appearing on her expression.

"Because if anything you don't look like an ordinary thief." In fact there's been very little ordinary on the case so far! "Who do you work for?" Daisy asks the questions calmly for now, watching for reactions, expressions.

Jane Foster has posed:
He doesn't reach for the bottle. White, if anything, nods to Daisy to take it if she wants. "An unfortunate necessity," he says, sounding actually quite apologetic in a stiff, proud fashion. Those pale blue-grey eyes follow her wherever she moves. "Are you a religious woman, Ms. Johnson? It is, I know, a difficult and personal subject for some. Just yes or no would be enough."

He waits for her to answer, not entirely pushing the point. It isn't the creepy 'do you consider yourself religious' that comes when someone's about to shoot another. It's more a question of propriety.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy can indulge in that, if anything it can give her insight on the man too. "Is religion really something we can bring down to a yes or no?" she muses, letting out a sigh. "I have always scoffed those notions in the past but I have seen enough from a few years back to tell me there may be something more. But no, not blindly religious, more a 'see it to believe it'" her shoulders then rising in a shrug.

"You do seem to be one though. And committed to what you believe. Are you telling me this was religious-based?" She gesturing vaguely with her fingertips. "But a thievery attempt you seem to regret, even if you failed in the attempt." she leans forward a touch.

Jane Foster has posed:
"Honesty is admirable, and keeping an open mind." White nods, content to rest on that point for a moment after hearing Daisy's answer. "I consider myself a man of faith. Unfortunate that such an object of devotion was left out like a mere magazine or bit of jewelry. A display to enrich an already wealthy institution sits poorly with me, yes. Here it was at risk, and a risk. Sometimes ends, Agent Johnson, require difficult means to remove an object. I am well aware it reads badly on the face. But would you leave a loaded gun out where children could touch it? Or would you take the gun and remove it somewhere safe, locked up so unprepared hands couldn't hurt themselves and others with it?"

Daisy Johnson has posed:
A brow slowly arches the more Mr. White continues to talk but she doesn't interrupt, patient enough to hear to the end. "So you are telling me you wanted to protect the item." her tone stays neutral enough. "Yet who do you think could be after the cup?" she asks. "Or how could it be used as a 'loaded gun' as you mention?" she gestures. "Can you enlighten me on it?" even if something does smell fishy here, if this was indeed the man that was threatening to kill Shirin.

But for now, she indulges this line of interrogation.

Jane Foster has posed:
"Who would not? Warlords here and in the sky have shown there is no functional defense for the average person. Your government stands now, but tomorrow? Your primary candidates to lead a nation of this wealth and power are a plutocrat who values money higher than God. The other, regrettably, speaks of his prejudices as though they are badges to be proud of."

White shakes his head. The cameras roll on. This is a world divided into blacks and whites, harsh and kind. "Agent Johnson, I am not inspired to hope that our fellows would ever leave the cup alone, knowing about it. The very label gives it away. To remove it from public view, and the possibility that a person like the senator or, God forbid, worse might touch it... Do wrong with it... Imagine that Zod had it. Imagine worse. I can barely comprehend."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"It's easy to come here and say you have the power and ability to keep an item such as the cup..." She doesn't call it the Grail! " ... safe." eyes remaining on the man fully while she speaks. She does like some good eye contact. "But as I told you before about religion, I am the type to see it to believe it. Or at least have some kind of proof that you can keep it safe. It's clear you are not working alone, and if not what organization is it that you work for?" She then asks.

Daisy lets the man answer before she follows up with, "And if you are truly intent on keeping those items safe you should share with me what you know. SHIELD does not have an agenda, we work for the betterment of humankind." And she indeed is the type to truly believe it. SHIELD is her family afterall.

"So help us and maybe we can help each other."

Jane Foster has posed:
White shakes his head a little. "No, I'm not arrogant enough to say I could keep it safe forever. Taking it out of that ugly setting to somewhere better suited. The church would know what's best. I do not need to know every army, politician or secret organization to know they would do terrible things with the item."

Repentant and unrepentant, that's sort of how it goes with him. He spreads his hands. "Forgive me, but I know there are many good men and women committed to their country, their cause here. But there are those who are not, and only one in a hundred needs to lay hands on it to do terrible things."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy knows a thing or two about thinking she knows what's best for her and others. Her times as Dark Skye were a testimony to that, until she had found those that believed in her and life had changed. Of course that she wasn't a religious fanatic as Mr. White seemed to be. A fingertip reaches up, tapping on her chin. "So you work for the church?" that still doesn't feel right, her eyes narrowing just so.

"What about Shirin Harami? What can you tell me about her?" Daisy shaking her head. "Or will you deny that you were the one calling her a few days ago before she died?" a brow arches.

Jane Foster has posed:
"No. Work is not a transaction of faith. Service, ma'am. It is a different thing altogether." White stresses the word softly, though he doesn't go out of his way to press it too much. The sound simply hangs there in the air, and he glances from her to the water bottle. She has not drank, neither has he.

Her follow-up line of questioning earns something of a blank look. "Pardon me, but I have no idea of who you are talking about."

His heartbeat hasn't changed.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"So you serve the church..." Daisy states. Not that she actually buys it. Or perhaps the man's 'church' is something different from what she believes in. But it's that second answer that leaves her pondering. Specially as the heart beat does not change. Something -was- off. But perhaps it was time to try a different approach.

She still had an ace on her sleeve afterall.

"Very well, give me a moment." She gets up to her feet, picking up the water bottle and bringing it out of the room with her.

A message is then sent to one James Barnes.

<<Agent Barnes, we have in custody a man you may know from back then. Could you please come down here to the interrogation rooms?>>

James Barnes has posed:
SHIELD's own living relic - somewhere between a ward and a work-release prisoner, one of the last few survivors from the SSR days. His dog is left in his rooms, and Buck arrives in decent haste.

He's in black SHIELD fatigues, but without any rank or branch insignia on them. Anonymous, no nametape on the breast. The sleeves cover the arm, and there's a black glove to conceal the metal hand, with his long hair pulled back. The pale gaze flicks to the man in custody, but there's no overt sign of recognition. None that he's willing to give away, for now. "You called?" he says, softly.

Jane Foster has posed:
Bucky is anonymous in the way that Mr. White is anonymous. He came in without documentation and, if things go as they could, he might leave without it. No embassy staff is on hand and no state or federal official waits to print out some details. Wouldn't that be convenient?

One way glass on the other side doesn't give much in the way of warning of what happens on the other side. Sachowski, the tech, is still watching the conversation and Daisy's departure without much of an expression. Poker face is what they do around here.

White, who has been sitting there the whole time, chooses that moment to stretch his legs in front of him a little. He rests his hands in his lap and sits neatly.

He's more than happy to wait while the tech inside gives Bucky a berth. At least to work; no sign if he recognizes who this fellow is. But you know, some things stand out. A bearing will do it.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy is waiting on the observation room when James arrives, she nodding at their captive through the mirrored glass. "Yes, thank you for arriving so swiftly." a faint smile then given up at him. "Do you recall those images I sent? Turns out this man may be the man on them. He stood out because he seemed to be a .., man out of time. And he was recently captured trying to steal an artifact from the Cloisters." very much like Bucky and Steve, but no need to say that!

She gestures to the monitors where there's still a scan going for prints and imagery. "And as expected we are getting no fingerprint matches, or anything else but that sketch one of the victims was able to take. Yet the voice matches the suspect of having killed one of our Agents a while back. A medical examiner, Shirin Harami."

"So..., I was hoping you could give us a hand." She gestures. "Want to go with me inside the interrogation room? He has been going on with this theory of being sent by the church to protect the Grail." she rolls her eyes. "Could use someone that can call on his bullshit."

James Barnes has posed:
He was was a lively, laughing, utterly transparent boy until the war. Now he's got a prisoner's pokerface worthy of a gulag survivor. But Buck's eyes narrow as he looks through the glass for a long moment, and the thin mouth sets in a line of displeasure. "I know that guy," he says, finally. "He's SS. Hans Schneider, one of Himmler's goons. Into all that spooky stuff they were trying around Wewelsburg Castle. It was the SS cult center - this guy's making claims about the church? Not any Christian church, I'm betting. They were all about the holy relics, though. Indiana Jones - that's less fiction than you'd think, them looking for the Grail or the Ark of the Covenant." A beat and he adds, "If he is who he looks like, he's maybe a little older than me." All of it delivered flatly, but she can see the anger rising behind that calm mask.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy's expression turns to one of distaste the more she hears. Teeth grit together and her jaw tightens. A confirmation of her suspicions. "Hans Schneider.." She nods her head slowly. "He may also be able to somehow move around in a ghost form, that sucks life out of people." she explains, gesturing with one hand. "And while this may be speculation, maybe they already got their hands in another artifact that lets them do it. Still, be careful when we go in there."

She picks up a sound replaying device from the table, configures it and then starts on her way to the other room. "Also, he is a good liar. As in, not even losing a beat when lying to my face."

But now it was time for some reckoning, or at least for answers. She opens the door, stepping in first and to the side to then let Bucky walk in before she closes the door behind them.

"So. Here we are again. I brought someone this time, Mr. White." she gestures towards Bucky.

James Barnes has posed:
There's a little grunt of understanding...and then he's making his way in. Not as big as Steve, either physically or in terms of presence. "Schneider. Long time no see," he says, with an odd kind of casualness. As if they'd been drinking buddies during the war. "How're you doin'?" Nothing dramatic in either tone or manner, but he's got one brow up, expectantly.

Jane Foster has posed:
White -- Hans Schneider -- has immaculate manners even in a holding cell. They've not handcuffed him or jabbed him full of needles, he can sit straighter when Daisy returns. Even trying to stand for the lady wouldn't go over well, probably something the technician warned him not to do. Regardless, those keen, pale blue-grey eyes move to her. Then to the man behind her.

"Agent, welcome back. A guest?" A guest of a certain appearance, definitely incredibly different the last time they crossed paths. Bucky takes some consideration to try to put in a space. A place, anyway. "We've met? Pardon. You may have to jog my memory." He occupies that bench, the plastic seat in front of the table open. Regrettably the only other place to sit is together. "Given the circumstances, I am well. Agent Johnson has been professional. A colleague?"

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Hans Schneider." Daisy provides a full name, letting that sink in and moving close to the table. Not that she sits, still holding the small device in her hand. "That doesn't jog your memory?" She questions. "Because it surely jogged my friend's here." another gesture to Bucky. Not that she goes as far as to introduce him. He can do so if he wants to.

"Or does the name tell you nothing?" Daisy asks, "A follower of the failed Himmler?" is Daisy taunting the man? Well, yes. But she is also studying those heartbeats with her vibrational powers.

Poke the beast!

James Barnes has posed:
Buck slants Schneider a decidedly sardonic look. "1944," he says, crisply. "Not all that long before Christmas. Or, as you celebrated, the Winter Solstice. I had short hair and about forty pounds less of muscle. Wewelsburg Castle. You guys had some idea of human sacrifice activating some holy relic you'd nabbed. We got your guys, but we didn't get you, though," he concedes.

Jane Foster has posed:
There's no sneer, no arrogant closure of expression and conversation. Hans actually appears to consider what Bucky offers up on a plate, replying, "Tsch, thank you." He might have just been offered a compliment or some documents to review. "Regrettably, sir, that I didn't greet you properly in the first case. Hello." It's about as close as he's getting to 'hey, how *you* doing?' "Time moved on a fair bit for us both, hasn't it?" He's not exactly responding to the taunts, perfectly mannered. Urbane, even, the kind of fellow who might steer a mid-level company and please stockbrokers by a calm, measured manner.

So, German. Without the German accent. At least one the great, vast majority of people would hear.

"Errors certainly were made in those days. A certain for salvation, a desire to know our place in the world. We come into this world stained by original sin, but yes, they were compounded by idealism that went too far. What apology could truly have an effect other than striving not to repeat those mistakes of youth?" Well. Relative youth. The age between him and Bucky is a thin divide and neither are old, but neither are they young firebrands either. "Himmler had a good many faults. He at least had the grace to exit the world in a more dignified and less damned manner than Goebbels. Those poor children. We've had many years to reflect on our errors. I won't apologize for stealing the cup, Agent Johnson, for your companion here has illustrated exactly why it had to be taken off display. It's hard to fathom from this side of things, but it would keep worse things from happening."

He lifts his head a little, nodding to Bucky. "You know then I'm not speaking idly. I've left those methods behind me. The fellows we met, the leaders we had, are just as easily made with power in their grasp. Not many would resist it, even knowing it's a danger. Better to leave it in the hands of a humble priest at a rural church who will only admire the gift and keep his faith quietly and deeply in the Lord."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"You talk a good talk, but can you actually walk it..?" Daisy replies at that speech, a small shake of her head given. "I could ask on why you are here in 2020 when you were spelunking around old creepy castles back in '44.." a look is given towards Bucky and then back to Schneider.

She lifts the small device in her hand and turns it on. In it there's a voice, one that is rather similar, or some may even say equal, to Schneider calling on Shirin and telling her she should had backed off from her examinations... And then the laugh.

Daisy lets it play to the end and then clicks it to stop. "This doesn't sound like the works of an humble priest repentant of his ways, does it?"

James Barnes has posed:
"That's a nice thought," Buck's voice is dry as dust. "A humble, righteous priest keeping it. But he wouldn't be able to *keep* it. It needs more than faith to keep something like that out of the wrong hands...and nothing I've heard from you guys makes me think you're the right hands. What're these worse things you're talking about? What're you thinking?" He flicks a look at Daisy. "That's a good question. How are you even alive, Schneider? What'd you do, other than trade away your humanity?"

Jane Foster has posed:
"The grace of the Lord. He has sustained me and sheltered me from death for His reasons. You may not think it much, but with Him, all things are possible." Hans listens to the audio recording, though, and looks puzzled. "I'm but a servant, agents, not a priest. There is a fine difference there."

Still, the recording has him paused, and he looks between the two of them. "I don't recognize that, though I sound that way to you?" His frown is brief and short. Still, there are more pertinent questions. He answers them, leaning against the wall, straightening himself again despite that. "Young man, how are you alive is more to the point? I'm quite mystified. Science? It's no matter, the worse things are all around you. Look at the /thing/ who came to steal a city and a nation. Look at the dictator from the Balkans. That imperious alien who tried to claim this world for his own. Shall I scratch the surface there? It's quite unnecessary to expound except to know what man and alien are capable of. Let humanity keep the Earth for humanity, and not Zods or Lokis or whatever this latest one named itself. I told Agent Johnson as much. Anything else?"

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Or you used one of His relics to remain as you did." Daisy's eyes go to Bucky, thoughtful. "You mentioned an holy relic that required sacrifices on that castle, do you still remember what it was about?" but her focus soon returns to Schneider. "Is that how you became a ghost?" she questions, placing both her hands on the table.

"Used the relic on yourself, did you?" well, it's a long shot but ...!

James Barnes has posed:
"Buddy, if you're a specimen of the humanity you want to keep the earth, I say let the Asgardians or whomever have it. They couldn't do all that much worse than you guys were determined to." There's no anger, no hate in Bucky's voice. Dry and reserved....but there's that glare in his eyes. Like a trapped wolf considering how best to take off its captor's hand, next time it gets anywhere near the cage. "Yeah, science. While you guys were making circles and chanting, the scientists were busy little beavers. You know a guy named Zola? Little toad of a Swiss?"

He meets Daisy's gaze levelly. "I don't. I don't remember all the details. Not which relic they were working with, then." A quick glance back to Schneider, watching for his reaction.

Jane Foster has posed:
"A ghost?" The very idea is offensive. Hans shakes his head. He doesn't speak; his contempt for the idea stands for itself. "I would never presume to use the Grail on myself. That's not its purpose, and certainly an arrogant thing for man or woman to presume." The thud of his heartbeat accelerates a bit at denial, anger a slow seeping drug, but not much else changes. "I'm quite alive."

Zola. It's a name that dimly processes, barely, maybe. "Not sure. Science is weaker than faith, though, as I fear is much lost in modern times. Not long, though. I believe that's all?"

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"A ghost, an echo..., a spirit that needs to feed on others to survive. Draining their vital strength so that husk can go on. It makes sense doesn't it?" Daisy picked on that heartbeat acceleration and now she pulls on that string. Eyes drift to James. "He's no specimen of God or a chosen one. Instead he attacks others to survive."

Her sharp gaze settles back on Schneider, narrowing dangerously. "But just not anyone, do you? No, you go for those that you deem inferior. Sounds more like a curse from God than a blessing.. Or maybe you should not had meddled on things you did not understand." a look of 'sympathy' is given and she shakes her head.

"But you aren't going anywhere now."

James Barnes has posed:
"How exactly did you invoke that grace?" Buck's voice is low, suspicious. "Or did it just descend spontaneously in the form of a dove, or something? Because yeah, sounds more like a kind of vampirism than a blessing."

Jane Foster has posed:
"Agent Johnson, I feel obliged to remind you that I have treated you with the respect you are due as a professional and a lady. It's unbecoming of both to throw disparaging remarks. You aren't blameless, I can see the scars on your soul that your body doesn't show." Hans lifts his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I am evil, you say. I am an echo. Misusing sacred relics, risen from the dead. I believe you're throwing darts hoping to strike a board, which tells me you know no more than you did at the start. I have donated answers in hopes of delivering a proper warning to you and your organization. That such things cannot just be in anyone's hands, but you have not heeded me. Maybe you will, sir, seeing that you are from an older time."

He rolls his shoulders. It's a loosening movement, a warning, especially as he stands then. "Vampires are not a myth, but neither am I ever one to truck with that. It was in prayer, if you must know, after dedicating myself for many years to reflecting and undoing the actions I had taken. How to repurpose myself, seeing the failings of youth. You have witnessed firsthand the truth of my words. Ask your peers. Ask them if they thought the cup was false, young lady. Sir, ma'am."

That's suspiciously like a farewell.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"I'd advise you to remain sitting." Daisy's voice is cold when she speaks but not angry. Her own warning. They do have protections on the room afterall! And a Bucky. Specially a Bucky.

"We will see in the end who is right, won't we?" Daisy steps back from the table, slipping the small replaying device inside a pocket and gesturing towards Bucky. "Time to go, don't think our friend Mr. Schneider will be too open about cooperating further for now." she makes her way to the door.

James Barnes has posed:
"Nothing you've said reassures me that you or any of your allies would be anything like a proper keeper of an item like that," Buck's voice is low, fierce. "You serve God for real, and you want us to see the light? Maybe pray we get a real sign on that front. Pray someone else can take care of that cup. Because it's not gonna be you, no matter who you are or what you've done. Not now, not again. I don't know that it's false or not. But I do know you're not on the side of any God in scripture."

Jane Foster has posed:
"I never said it would be me. Only that I could not abide by its presence there in unworthy hands, where anyone who wanted could take it," Hans says. He raises his hands. "The end, I will stand by my decision and let Him judge. As all of us shall be judged and found suitable or wanting."

He takes a breath, released in a low, steady chuckle. "So comes the hour of the wolf, and yet I have no doubts. For what succeeds the wolf?" There, then, is a nod, expression still. "You're quite mistaken. I am indeed a servant of the Lord, but let it be shown in deeds rather than words. You prove quite right. Perhaps a leap of faith is called for, as there can be no other way to demonstrate it."

At that, he makes a sign of the Cross, a simple slash up and across. And he steps right back to the wall.

Through
    the
        wall.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Oh gosh... When the man takes that step through the wall there is that reflexive lift of her hand, Daisy sending a shockwave in that direction but too late..., just like in the gala she doesn't hit the 'humble priest'. Her eyes do go wide though. "Sachowski. Sound the alarm. Escape in confinement." she casts a look towards Bucky.

"We need to try and intercept! Let's go!" she calls out, rushing to the door. She throws it open and steps out...

"Lets go around, he may not be able to do this for too long." or at least she hopes so! "Sachowski, keep me posted. What happened in that room?" she asks through the comms.

James Barnes has posed:
"Right," Buck says, without hesitation....though his eyes have gone wide. Heading for the room bounded by the wall Schneider just slipped through. He's swearing under his breath as he moves.

Jane Foster has posed:
Sachowski acts almost immediately. Another flowering alarm settles into the Security operations, sending a cascading trigger effect. Doors to lock, enhanced protocols as some of that hidden technology blooms to life. Pitiless computers enact the sweeping mechanisms and the scans, racing in search of what the eye cannot see. Through the common fold run the usual signs of disarray: no heat signatures, no ultraviolet, nor disruptions or spikes in the system. Electrical patterns work fine, even when isolated from the rest of the internal systems. Agents come, armed, the security operatives falling into line as they've practiced once, a hundred, a thousand times.

Somewhere, the gears of SHIELD grind. Inside the Triskelion, one should be safe. One should be certain the bad guys stay put, but they don't, and all that remains is that terrible, chilling cold until dissipating. The wall may be chill to the touch.

Outside, the technician shakes his head. "Visuals show nothing, acoustics aren't picking up on anything. He moved and the heat signature vanished. We've got no breaches on the locks, no malfunctions."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"So, exactly like a .. GHOST!" That last part is sort of shouted out across the corridor when Sachowski reports on no heat signatures, and the vanishing. Maybe she is just hoping that it will taunt him enough to come by. Ah well!

But after a while of searching about the security floor of the base she comes to a stop, hands on her hips. "I will need to send this up to WAND for examination. Clearly this man is the ghost-thing that has been draining people out." another frown. She knew she should had QUAKED him when she had him on that room... Damn her morals..

"Thank you for your help in this, Bucky." a nod of respect given. "I will keep you posted on what is going on. I think there's a mission to happen soon, we won't be letting this stand."

James Barnes has posed:
He favors her with a wry look. "You're more'n welcome," he says, in that low voice. "Because yeah, you're right. That guy....even if he's not formally HYDRA, he's about as bad as they are, and clearly we gotta deal with him."

Jane Foster has posed:
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.

Escalus spoke true under the Bard's pen. Some amount of searching doesn't reveal him, that pale-aspected man lost in the labyrinth of the building.
Perhaps.

And not for long.