7190/Questions, Questions...

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Questions, Questions...
Date of Scene: 02 August 2021
Location: Vault A - Playground
Synopsis: Another round of interrogation, another round of indignation, and more than a little quiet manipulation of certain Spider-agents. But did it work?
Cast of Characters: Michael Erickson, Jessica Drew, Achilles, Jane Foster

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He's singing ABBA.

    It's painful. Not because he has a bad voice - he actually has a surprisingly beautiful one, rich baritone with an oddly resonant tone - but because it's singing at all. He's fitting in. By acting by what his people would consider a deviant madman. Then again, lots of human people these days would consider him the same. But this is because people forget that ABBA is fun.

    "...whoa whoa whoa whoa, Waterloo...finally facing my Waterloo..."

    Down in the containment cells, lying on his back on the bed there (whatever counts as a bed, at least) and staring at the ceiling. Long since retracted his armor and given the data he said he had to Sharon and company, he now just sort of hangs out, on his back, hands laced on his stomach and singing songs from a very seventies and early eighties catalogue. Well okay there, granpa.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Of course, all the containment cells have video. When Jess comes into the surveillance room she finds two agents laughing. The man hanging over the screen, "I bet you lunch out that the next song is "Never gonna give you up."

"Nooooooo, not that...I bet..." the woman straightens when Jess enters. "He's been singing ABBA, Agent. He's got a good voice, too. Just his choice of music." She gestures, "You know."

Drew had a strange childhood by anyone's standards and sometimes doesn't get some references but she gets the ABBA one. She makes a pained face, "What? He is into Euro Pop Contest winners? This doesn't bode well. Open up the feed, I have to hear this. Oh, and put Agent Tampambulos onto the admittance list, please. He should be down here shortly."

Achilles has posed:
    Talk about living double, triple, quadruple lives... Angelo is not unacquainted with such demands of the job. I mean he's not involved in the day to day minutiae of Myrmidon Security anymore. He promoted the vice president to CEO when he joined up with SHIELD. But now that SHIELD is persona non grata, and Angelo had been shifted over to the ARMOR division so that he didn't need to worry about being lynched in the streets... and given that he also has friendships with a variety of folks like... well Amazons.

    Okay, that part is strange. But Diana is such a good person that she makes those around her behave better just because they are near to her. He apologized to her for killing her aunt, and she simply accepted it without question. How does she do that?!

    Okay, details for another day. But he is in his dark gray... so dark it is -almost- black, tailored suit today. It's not a SHIELD jumpsuit or uniform. He shows his ID at the entrance and wanders on inside in a more casual gait.

    But it is not long before the door opens to admit him to the room. Turns out he is humming some music of his own... it's not ABBA, but wouldn't -that- be funny? He's humming Under Pressure, by Queen. Such a classic tune.

    "Am I late?" he asks as he stops humming upon entry.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He arrived on this planet in 1975, and found himself plunged into New York's vibrant musical scene. Disco. Punk. Funk. What would be the earliest tinges of hip hop and rap. Absolute goddamned madness. A servant of the Empire and a member of the Shi'ar race would never wish to indulge in such deviance -- but he's a spy first, and spies fit in. So. Music.

    Just maybe his knowledge of it stopped around 1987.

    When the camera snaps back to Michael's cell, he's no longer singing ABBA -- he's gone on to Joni Mitchell, and now he's singing 'Both Sides, Now'. Remembers hearing her sing it with Bob Dylan when watching an oilman's daughter when she saw the show in Austin. What was that, '76? A year in, when he was playing freelance security under a very different name. Flares and mutton-chops and a porno mustache, tinted aviators. These people and their fashions. She wrote it on a plane, he heard once. "I've looked at clouds from both sides now, from up and down, and still somehow..."

    His choice of music can be very maudlin. But that's how it goes. At least he isn't singing 'A Case Of You' again. But doing this, the act of being deviant in the eyes of his people, helps take his mind off the fleet that's closing on Earth. Who he fears might be at its controls. Preparing himself to aid these people, whoever comes.

    Even if it's home.

Jessica Drew has posed:
After exchanging a look with the other woman agent, Jess merely smiles and shakes her head no. Still smiling, "Let's go on down to the cells. Did you have a chance to review the file I sent you? He's been singing, waiting for us. A happy sort though he never particularly struck me that way. Nice suit. You dress up well, Agent."

She's in the black pantsuit worn by agents when not on the streets. It looks good on her; the white shirt crisp under the black suits her pale skin, dark hair and green eyes.

"Come on." With a sidelong glance, she starts the bass line beat to "Under Pressure." Doo doo, doo doo doo," as she walks toward the elevator.

The elevator lets them out a few doors down from his cell. "His story checks out so far. He's been really forthcoming about his security company and this bust that we took in under. Another security company, right? Do you still have yours?" She waits for his response before swiping her badge to let them in.

Achilles has posed:
    Turning and following Jess like they were working closely together and not apart by the requirements of fate and government, Angelo tucks his hands into his pockets. His footfalls falling in step with the woman's like the sort of person who has spent time in Marching Band, or marching in armies or some such.

    He smirks as Jessica starts the bass line, "Queen. Not Vanilla Ice." he mutters, his voice still tinged with the last dredges of his old English accent. In fact, not as pronounced as Jessica's, when she lets it show.

    But then the exchange grows professional, "Myrmidon. Yes. I am just not involved in day to day operations anymore. They are still out there, and I still am the owner, just not in operations." He pauses at the door and as it opens, he asks, "Should I know what the bust -was-? Or should that wait?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Mind you, when he first saw Dylan play, he thought he might have been an alien himself - the voice, you know, the way you had to strain to understand what the Hell he was singing. For a short time there, Michael - no, Cal'hatar - had to study him for a while before he realized it wasn't some other language in the first place. Of course it was like that for him when he heard the Cocteau Twins for the first time, too. Or met Klaus Nomi. Still not sure about that last one. Shame he died.

    "Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels, the dizzy dancing way you feel...as every fairy tale comes real...I've looked at love that way..."

    It's been like forty years since he's been in love, too, mind. Strange things that come to mind when you're in a cell, looking at the ceiling. The concrete as a mirror, reflecting the long corridor of his life behind him. The life that's yet to come. Assuming he doesn't get killed anytime soon, he's got a long one yet coming.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jess purses her lips and ignores him about the musical correction, already fixed on the upcoming interview. "It should have been in the feed I sent you. You know, the criminals in Germany, the Tannhauser Initiative selling some pretty high-tech weaponry to the Mafia and the Serbians, among others. We picked him up as he was running security for them. His story is that he was getting ready to turn them into the police." She doesn't narrate how she ran into the man twice on the street, and both times, like he was a magnet to violence, all hell broke loose.

She swipes her badge in time to hear Joni Mitchell sang well, albeit an octave lower than the original. "Mr. Erickson, I don't mean to interrupt. I've brought another agent with me."

Achilles has posed:
    "Huh." mutters Angelo eloquently. "I really just wanted to hear -your- take on it all. But yeah, that sounds a -lot- like my recruitment here." he says before the door opens. The rest is left unsaid as he follows inside. He's not dressed like an agent for sure. In fact, for those in the industry, his face wouldn't exactly be unknown, having been all over the Myrmidon website.

    He lifts a hand in greeting. "Please don't let us stop you. Not often we get live concert performances in here." he says as he positions himself nearby.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    If Michael's embarassed, he doesn't show it; the arrival of the green-eyed lady and her burly compatriot has him sitting up in place, giving them an easy, practiced smile. "Should've come in earlier when I was doing the Doobie Brothers," he says, easing himself now to his feet. "Not much to do down here. I take it I'm not being conducted to a firing squad, and that my information's cleared?"

Jessica Drew has posed:
"The Doobie Brothers?" Eyebrows raised in question at her compatriot, whose history is long enough to get the reference probably. "Erm. Not quite, but we are working on it. Your patience will soon be rewarded," said in a lilting tone of voice that promises nothing.

"Would you be so kind as to show Agent Tampambulos your armor, Mr. Erickson?"

Achilles has posed:
    "Good band." Angelo remarks simply. "China Grove. Excellent song. But also a fan of Black Water. For different reasons. Though.. I am not totally up on their whole discography. I actually went to a concert where they opened for Chicago. That was quite a show." he says conversationally.

    And the mention of armor, and his green eyes narrow a bit before he turns his head to regard Erickson, "You mean.." he says aside to Jessica, "He is in here, detained, and yet still has access to this.. armor? I presume that it is somewhat -difficult- to remove his access to it?"

Jessica Drew has posed:
"He reminds me of you, actually. I thought you might find it interesting. Can someone take yours off of you?" The question asked in the same sweet tone Jess used with Erickson, she nearly bats her lush eyelashes. She also knows she is stronger than Angelo on any given day.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I'm old," Michael tells Jessica bluntly, getting to his feet; with a sigh he gets to his feet, rolling his shoulders. "Anyway, yeah, show and tell." In an instant, the clothes he wears is cut into neat slices by sections of red metal that emerge from around his body - a metapmorphosis that should be bloody in the extreme, considering it seems to emerge from his body, locking and building upon itself layer by layer in seconds to form a seven-foot version of his six-foot self, industrial and bulky, made of the same red steel. The helm is faceless, bulky, and the voice that emits from it sounds vaguely as though it were emitted from speakers.

    << I'm not a criminal, I'm helping, and I've been what you people would call a 'superhero' helping people for twenty years. Hell, I helped patch the Lincoln Tunnel with the Vision the other week. And I ain't getting out of these cells, if I know the slightest hint of my trade. So by all means, Mister Tampambulous, let's not worry about what I've got access to. >> Ooooh. Touchy. Polite, but touchy.

Jessica Drew has posed:
"I thought you would be a valuable someone facing that." Jess raises and drops her hand to encompass the armor in all its glory.

"It's rather Japanese anime, don't you think? We've got the feed from some of the traffic cameras of what happened. It was...superhero impressive. I wanted your perspective on it, Agent."

Turning back to Erickson, "Thank you. Unless Agent Tampambulos wants to see more."

Achilles has posed:
    "Well, there is something familiar there." remarks Angelo with perfect aplomb. It is like this is an everyday thing for him. Or maybe he just doesn't react with shock much anymore. You know... jaded a bit. Seen so many things that he's just accepting of it as a fact now.

    "Though, I must say.. I doubt that the origin of his is anything like what I know." He shrugs, wordlessly adding the whole... not that I like to share.

    But he lifts both brows then as he directs his words towards Michael now. "So Mister Erickson, can you tell me about any of the capabilities of your suit? And I presume there is some sort of nanotech or other highly advanced scientific way that your armor is stored within your body, and extruded in times of need?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Something like that." No secrets shared as the plates pare away, retracting into himself as the fabric that had split seals shut once more. "As I told your fellows, it's pretty straight forward. Ballistic protection, ease of movement, can be deceptively quiet thanks to sonic dampeners and the like. I can lift a ton or so, standard low-light and thermal visual sensors. It's not nearly as fancy as what Stark has, for example. I'm a simple man."

    He looks to Jessica. "Funny enough, a lot of those guys who designed those machines in comics in the Eighties had mechanical design degrees. I'm not surprised it looks similar."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jessica has never understood her reservations about the man. The SHIELD technicians are still studying the armor, comparing his description of its power with the footage they have. Everything seems above board. In reality, he is nearly released from custody. The agent is waiting for the technicians to cross the t's and dot the i's. Angelo has a lot of experience with the unusual.

"Funny the things I learn on the job," she comments, frowning slightly. "A simple man, indeed, Mr. Erickson. Who may soon be back on the street pursuing the simple pleasures of a simple man."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "The pleasures of a simple man involving punching people who are causing problems for the public good, yes." Standing on the other side of the security screen, inside the cell, Michael Erickson looks equal parts grave and amused as he nods to something that's been said to him by one of the two agents who've come to visit him. "I don't understand the technology entirely myself - and I know, I know you'd love to examine it, but I've shown as much trust as I can right now. I'm sure we'll work together and you'll be fine people. I'm willing to take the chance on that. Especially if you're willing to take the chance on me." A beat. "Won't be forever, I'm sure. You'll get all my secrets in time."

    He's talking about the armor, right? Surely he's talking about the armor.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Amusement dances in the Agent's green eyes as she regards Erickson. "Well, you did promise to show me yours, Mr. Erickson." Then, she raises a finger to signal both men to wait a moment and steps to the side of the cell.

Nodding curtly, as people do when talking over coms, "Please, Agent, your input will be welcome," can be overheard. She looks at Tampambulos and then at Erickson, "We have one of our scientists who would like to talk to you. Agent Foster should be coming by shortly." She makes no explanation of Jane Foster's status in SHIELD, preferring to simplify the woman's importance not to tip Erickson off.

Jane Foster has posed:
Let's pretend for a moment that Jane Foster was willingly in Delaware. That's about as likely as Michael secretly being an animated cluster of space spores trying to overtake the galaxy by ABBA music as an earworm, psychically insinuating control plans in all these humans about to be launched into space as horrific messengers.

She happens to be in New York but a call and a hyperloop trip to the general vicinity gets her there. SHIELD can supply a car. All that to say she isn't showing up especially fast. Getting through the usual clearance takes a little time, a couple double-takes along the way. No reason for that is given, none is going to be offered. They're an organization of spooks, spiders, and one astrophysicist.

She is not dressed like an agent, which probably drives agents crazy. Jane has light jeans on, for crying outloud. But she is there, as they need, and an assessment asked by Jessica gets a smart, swift nod. "He seems rather pleased about his circumstances." Why else would someone sing? The options are madman, wildman, or Thor. This is not Thor.

Achilles has posed:
    Sure, Angelo is here for a sidewise expertise... something like having years of experience hiding himself from humanity, and having an alternate alternate ID and such. But for a while now, he's been pretty quiet.

    But when he is addressed, or even just looked at, he shrugs and nods. He's made mental notes about the guy and he whips out his Starkphone and begins entering notes into it. For now, he's not bothering to speak up... just keeping quiet for the most part.

    When Jane enters, his green eyes flick up and in her direction before he goes back to his note-taking.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    On this planet? In this galaxy? In this neck of the metaverse? ABBA-spewing brain spores aren't exactly an impossibility. Well he isn't singing now, of course, and he isn't /outwardly/ mad - even though the act of singing would certainly mark him as insane amongst the folks at home. "Agent," Michael says simply, nodding once at Jane as she comes in. "Sorry to bring you in on your day off." Then to Jess he looks, brows arched. "You guys can't get someone in from base, you gotta ask this lady to come in off vacation or something? I'm not exactly exotic potential here. I'm just a guy in reasonably advanced battle armor."

    Which is, really, true. Technically true. The best kind of true.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jessica hides her surprise behind a frown, their detainee (that ambiguous word that fills the cells of Guantanamo) is too astute for his own good. It sets wheels turning in her head. She sighs, masking it as exasperation at his chatter, but in reality, tells herself to keep it simple and not see spooks and aliens behind every bush or ABBA song.

With a pleasant nod at Jane who no more likes traipsing out to the Playground than she does and whom she genuinely likes, Jess extends a hand to said detainee. "Mr. Erickson was, ah, apprehended during a SHIELD take down of a German arms merchant. He was ostensibly running security for them and was, according to him, about to turn them into the police just as the SHIELD team made their appearance. In the course of our investigation of his background, he revealed his identity as the Red Sentinel. I asked that a SHIELD scientist make a study of his armor."

She turns to Mr. Erickson, raising her chin, "Would you be so kind as to show, Agent Foster your armor, please?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Let it be said there are much nicer places to be than the Playground. Anything short of a hurricane-ravaged island ranks right up there. Jane nonetheless deigns to play nice, though her expression shows faint startlement. She buries it under a measure of professionalism, all said and done. Jessica is running this show.

"Good evening." See, it never hurts to be nice. Life lessons of grandmas everywhere apply right now, and even spacemen or strangers from other worlds can expect to receive them. A smartly given nod to Angelo affirms they know one another without getting too much into water cooler chats. The Playground probably doesn't even have a water cooler, really.

"I see. That puts matters in a different light and no doubt affects your investigation," she says lightly to Jess. Her expression doesn't change much at this revelation, nor if Michael were to announce he's the Emperor of America.

Achilles has posed:
    Having finished some quick note-taking, Angelo uploads his notes to a file-share that SHIELD maintains. Basically, he is sending it to Jess and Jane alike, but also storing it on a local server. What? An ancient guy who is -not- afraid of computers and technology? Weird!

    The notes are pretty simple -




    That done, he just leans on the wall behind him and pockets his phone once more.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I can't keep doing this, Agent Drew," Michael says, sighing faintly as if growing tired. "It's a bit taxing to keep manifesting it. But..." And so the illusion job is done again, the hard-light facsimile of clothing shredding open and thousands of slats of red alloy emerging from beneath to form a rapidly-assembling metallurgical jigsaw puzzle. Substructures form in seconds, which become in turn a suit of armor of bulky industrial aspect, two feet taller than he was, his head swallowed at the last with a heavy helmet with a blank, faceless mask. When next he spekas, his voice is flat and metallic, emitting from annunciators somewhere within the armor's structure. Iron Man this ain't.

    << So this is the Red Sentinel suit, >> he tells Jane, gesturing to his armored body. Despite its 80s-toy-mech look and bulk, the Sentinel's movements are rather dextrous. << Primitive compared to a lot of what I see out and about these days, but it's twenty years old at least. It was a prototype when I first wore it. Only one in existence. >> None of these are lies, of course. He's very good at telling truth only to form a totally different picture. Because, of course, that's his job.

    Of course, if one kept up with current events, this self-same suit of armor would have been seen on the news with the Vision not long ago, patching a sudden structural failure in the Lincoln Tunnel with a directed energy weapon of some kind. << I can show you its capabilities but I'm really not interested in letting someone get their hands on it, just now. Like I said, I'm kind of attached to it. >>

Jessica Drew has posed:
There it is again - the imposing red suit that looks like a 1980's engineer's wet dream. Briefly, Jessica closes her eyes and asks herself what it is that bothers her so much about it. But, of course, most superheroes go for a much sleeker look. So is this a case of 'look mama' but don't see?

Jess opens her eyes when a discreet ping tells her of a new internal message which she reads rapidly. Expressions flit across her face as she rapidly ticks off each point he makes until the last. Good, yes. Good, yes. Then, stubbornly, she puts an X next to the last bullet point, which she changes to a ? mark.

"What's your impression, Agent Foster?" she asks, laconically, itching to get her and Angelo someplace private to hash this out.

Jane Foster has posed:
Keep that tablet away from Jane. Really. It doesn't want to stay alive where she is involved; it wants to curl up in a corner and die. Whatever sort of current runs between the battery and the rest of the interface isn't very happy being in close proximity. It could also explain her phone being turned over to... well, it won't be Darcy obviously. Someone in the corner along with Angelo after making the necessary read.

"Trust me, twenty years wears hard on anyone over the age of six. We look back and realize how much better looking we were," she deadpans with a smile, though her attention's quite firmly settled upon the flexible alloys locking into place to form that suit. It may be tall, it may be bulky, and it still represents something alien and therefore interesting. Where precisely it happens to be stored is another matter, but review of the various recordings SHIELD undoubtedly has is bound to be helpful. For later, anyhow, taking measured results. "Understandable, it's something you came with. Though begs the question, why are you here in the first place?" Obviously not /jail./

Achilles has posed:
    His part of this finished, Angelo goes into passive background observer mode. Well, that and watching just in case he is wrong about this guy not being a danger to the folks here. He's good at reading situations and sizing them up. But he would have to be to run a security company right?

    Either way, his hands clasp behind his back and his fingertips caress the bracer under one of his coat sleeves. It's more of a reassuring thing... verifying to himself that his -own- armor and gear are on hand. Almost -literally- on hand.

    The tech expertise is left to Jane and he is just quiet for now. It is easier to observe and notice details if you are -not- involved in the conversation.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    It's a perfectly reasonable question; Michael-as-Sentinel nods slightly at Jane's words, shrugging inside his 'armor'. The effect carries only a little through the holographic bulk. << I've been hunting technical criminals for years, >> he replies. << People who have too much tech on their hands, using it for bad ends. Governments, costumed villains, corporations, and criminals. I steal it, sabotage it, or otherwise get it out of their hands. A few years ago I was turned on to the existance of an organization out of Europe called the Tannhauser Initiative, a group of weapons developers and dealers to various crime and terrorist organizations. Specializing in electromagnetic weapons and high-energy explosives. I know it's nothing to someone like SHIELD, maybe, but the cops and even regular military forces in many countries couldn't withstand that firepower. So I've been doing what I can to break up their operations when I get the opportunity.

    << Lately they've moved some dealings into New York. I'm based there, so, you know. Not in my backyard. I met Agent Drew when we both showed to a deal between Tannhauser agents and members of the Ladrino family of the Maggia, which we dealt with handily." A nod to Jess, meant to be a gesture of respect. << After that I destroyed a load of explosive devices utilizing high-energy plasma. Members of a Serbian criminal gang hired me via my civilian identity as a security consultant to oversee a deal between themselves and Tannhauser agents for a bulk load of electromagnetic rifles and launchers, and as the Feds weren't taking my /very strongly worded hints/, and because I didn't know that Agent Drew here belonged to SHIELD, I and a group of hired men took it into our initiative to capture the whole lot of 'em. Unfortunately, Agent Drew was leading a raid on the same operation, and here I am. Had to give up my long-cultivated anonymity to demonstrate my true intentions. >> Not that he sounds bitter about it. Perhaps a touch annoyed, but only just a touch. << I get it. But at least as the Sentinel I've got twenty years of track record with which to demonstrate my good intentions. >>

Jessica Drew has posed:
The guy bothers her. Put it down to spider sense or his bland, too good looks. He claims to be American and yet. Not that raised-in-a-laboratory Jess can lay claim to having bathed in the warm waters of American normalcy growing up. She pinches the bridge of her nose and presses her lips together till they almost disappear.

Addressing both agents, "He makes a great sales pitch, doesn't he?" Behind that question is a plea to see it her way. It is only on her recommendation that he is still in detention.

"If Agent Foster has no more questions, I'll meet you both outside."

She takes a big breath and practices her hard-won politeness on Michael. "Thank you for your patience, Mr. Erickson. Bear with us a bit longer."

Jane Foster has posed:
Where's that phone? Yup. It's somewhere over that way, and with it, Jane ends up summarizing a few notes that the SHIELD-regulation tablets simply cannot handle. Really. Keep her well, well away from certain unhappy technology that might not be up for the interactions with something infinitely more complicated than meets the eye. "Fascinating. Transnational?"

Her fingers swivel and blur across the screen with an ease suggesting she might be painting several metric yards of string, or a spaghetti finger-painting project. Swirly and twirly. "That's quite the career, and you managed not to run afoul of whichever agencies operate over there?" Remember, astrophysicist. They are not paying her for her opinion on GRU or the Swiss intelligence agency being completely undermined by the financial interests dominating the country's political apparatus. Nope, wrong girl. This brunette can talk wormholes. "How do you manage to maintain an energy source? Something that old would presumably have to deal with the gradual impact of entropy and depletion, especially considering you're not giving off any of the typical signatures that would suggest mundane methods for keeping yourself charged and fuelled. Or is there a USB-A hanging around somewhere no one told me about?" She flashes a smile at that.

Of course she has questions. But most of them can't be asked here.

It's the machine talking to the ghost within, after all.

Achilles has posed:
    At first, Angelo takes a single step, aiming to follow Jessica and Jane out. J & J? His lips quirk at that thought before he stops stock still. Jessica -did- say 'if Jane has no more questions' or something of that sort. And then Jane turned up the thumbscrews. His brows both try to climb his forehead.... and he looks from Jane to Jessica and then he shrugs.

    He leans in towards Jessica and whispers into her ear. Something about Rope, and giving the man enough to hang himself.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    << It's old, >> Michael says with a chuckle, << But it appears to have been made to last. And I /do/ know how to maintain a mechanical system. The power system I don't know anything about, but it remains strong. I'd know if it was failing. >> Ghost indeed. And of course, in saying this he neatly sidesteps the question of where the juice comes from. << At any rate. I suppose I'll just stay here a bit longer, until Agent Drew is satisfied I'm not here to cause problems for you all. >> Heavens forfend!

    And then he is unarmored again, the machine dissembling, turning again to mechanical fragments, then metal pieces, drawing away and vanishing beneath his clothing. He sits down on the edge of the bed, now, somewhat heavily. "Can I do anything else for you tonight, Agents?"

Jessica Drew has posed:
He doesn't know anything about how his suit is powered? Jess scowls and doesn't try to be polite about it. "Mr. Erickson, did you just stumble across your suit in some dark alley one night, decide you liked it and put it on? But, you know how to repair it."

Theatrically, she looks from Jane to Angelo then back at Erickson, hands spread, eyebrows raised incredulously. Her voice rises a point in pitch, "Did you win it in a lottery or did some kind of alien space ship just drop it out of its hatch and say, using reverb, 'Go Forth and Do Good?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Jangelo, that's just the third member of 3J, a new not-Korean band to take on BTS or something of the sort. They just need a little bit of practice before getting the band together.

She isn't twisting the thumbscrews, so much as sort of asking a question of interest! Really, Jane isn't out to trap someone. The scary entrapment protocols for the actual interrogators aren't in this room; they have red or blonde hair, for one, and they generally look pretty damn spooky when smiling. "Old systems get finicky, the tools needed for them harder and scarcer to find, even when the technology catches up. Nothing like having to weld your own from two sticks of gum and a coil."

Nope, she wouldn't know a thing at all about that. None. Totally fair to let Jess play bad cop and Angelo play... well, if there's a cop role he is, it's gotta be the worn beat-cop who saw it all. Including Hector.

Achilles has posed:
    Lifting his brows as Jessica speaks, Angelo bites the inside of his cheek. "Well. If I might make an observation..." he says. His voice resonating for the first time really in this current interaction. "I have what have got to be among the oldest fabricated devices in the history of mankind. I use them on a regular basis... and yet I have literally no idea -how- they function. I merely allow for the fact that my great uncle made them.. and his constructions have not failed me once in my entire life."

    He shrugs, "Is this a detail that we are willing to quibble on? Willing to continue detaining a man who has been spending many years doing things to -benefit- mankind?"

    A pause, and he adds, "As for understanding power systems, I have the most basic idea of how electricity works, but my car and my phone operate on it, and I accept that."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Soon enough they'll get their own gross-ass combo meal or something! Won't that be a treat? Michael just sighs, shaking his head. "I can maintain it well enough - look, when it forms it's all physical, hydraulic, servo-controlled. What I do to it retains. So it's not like it's complicated." He looks to Jessica, then, and smirks. "The lady who keeps dropping into my life out of nowhere and brings gunfire with her dares to act all incredulous at /me/. Amazing." He shakes his head. "Look, I..."

    Angelo speaks, and he blinks faintly at the man. Files a mental note. Then goes back to speaking. "...I'm prepared to say at the moment that it was given to me by a group of people who wanted me to use it for the betterment of this planet. Probably didn't see me doing it by being a vigilante for justice, but it's the best way I've found to be successful." Which, again, totally true. So very truthful is our Michael.

Jessica Drew has posed:
It was like stepping to the edge of a cliff and looking down only to realize that there was an elevator that could take her down. Jess was about to take the leap of belief after Angelo pointed out that he doesn't know how his armor works or his cell phone, for that matter, and let Michael go. No one had invoked god-like powers so far. She takes a deep breath. Two of them in the room, no less. What exactly Jane is or who she has become might be above her pay grade, but she has been on a mission with the woman. Jess hopes that she recognizes otherworldly power.

No. He didn't invoke the gods or a god, but a benevolent group that gave the armor to him and let him go about his business. "They didn't expect you to be a vigilante for justice? What, then? A kindergarten teacher? A bank robber? Or a spy, Mr. Erickson?"

There she was back at the beginning again, getting spooked at bogies in red armored suits.

Jane Foster has posed:
Dropping in out of nowhere? Doesn't sound like Jess at all. No agent to agent commentary there from the blissfully ignorant scientist who quite frankly hasn't been up to anything recently. Especially hasn't got the skepticism of someone who had a bloody island-nation dropped on her, either. She just smiles.

Sometimes this is beyond her pay grade. Sometimes deciphering these things comes right along. But it takes all the skill of a woman in a highly, highly male-dominated field not to chuckle or turn a smirk to the window where no doubt some monitor is present. "Agent?" This to her counterpart. "A professional assessment by the agency will require intensive review, and it's rarely done from a room like this. His cooperation for permitting those scans and non-contact review to maintain the armour's cohesion and safety features will probably go a long way to determining a clearance, if I may solicit an unofficial opinion. The imaging methods used have come a long way and accounted for volatility across several benchmarks, and unless he's packing a small black hole or two teaspoons of neutron star plasma in there, we are more than likely fine." Subtlety? What the hell is that? You've met Thor, right?

"If he is, we're all dead anyway if he chooses to shift remotely any of it, and we are simply acting on good graces. Personally I would offer the gentleman a cup of tea and a book of his choice, if not a music player stocked with the top hits from England in the eighties to the nineties, and ask a little more patience to clear the usuals." Usual whats? Who knows.

Achilles has posed:
    "Ah, but there is one small difference here. I do not believe he is here to join up so to speak. If you are.." He changes the target of his words as his eyes seek out Michael's. "Then I am mistaken, and you can correct me to your heart's content. But..."

    And then his attention shifts to the women. Seriously, they're far better to look at in his opinion. Though... no, that was a long time ago. Anyhow, "I believe he came along as a courtesy. But is not volunteering to have the SHIELD database catalogue every little detail about him and his gear. So... treating him like a prisoner, or even a raw recruit who is obligated to sit around and wait for the red tape they make up on level sixteen to finally get rewound up and out of his way is doing this man a disservice. He helps people. He helps Americans.."

    And then his attention diverts back to Michael, "And we are treating him like a criminal. Despite the fact that he -has- just admitted that there is a group we are unaware of who gave him his armor. Perhaps you could help us to understand that little tidbit of a grenade that you just pulled the pin from and dropped into the room... and it might go a long way towards getting you to the exit."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Look." Michael turns to look at Jessica now, his expression flat. "I don't know your background, Agent Drew, but I've seen you in action. You're the Spider-Woman, you said, which makes your origins likely not mundane. Did you pick up your burdens, when the challenge came, and become a crazy person? No, you're here, protecting people. I didn't enter government service, maybe, but I've done what I can do help, same as everyone in this room. I'm not a ghost, or a god. I certainly can't throw /lightning/ out of my hands." Yes, Jessica, he /did/ see that. "But I can do this, I can do it well, and I've been doing this almost as long as you've been alive, I'll wager." Michael shakes his head, then, looking ever more tired than before. "So, please. I keep getting asked for patience - I'd really, /really/ appreciate if you'd look back on me and see if you can't squeeze some out for me, too. It might actually profit you more than...whatever this is."

    He looks to Jane. "I appreciate it. But I told you before, I'm not letting anyone poke around at this armor. It's connected to me. Hell, it might even be a prt of me. And I don't know any of you people well enough to trust you to mess with it yet."

    And, then, to Angelo. "Not just Americans," he says. "And I'll be glad to talk about it in the future. But not now. I've shown you all as much trust as I'm willing to right now. Either keep me in a hole, or let me out and let me help you. But don't further call my honor into question." Yeah, he's paying attention. He doesn't know who Angelo is, but he's picked up enough. And he knows a warrior when he sees one. "Like this armor, it's all I have."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Being a martyr and playing one are two different things. Jessica sighs melodramatically. "I will pass all of this up to the senior agents in charge of this investigation. Can we get you anything while you wait? It won't be long now." It's against her better judgment but Angelo is persuasive, he's had a lot of practice at his age. She nods at the door inviting the other agents to accompany her out.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "It's fine." He shakes his head once more, does Michael, running a hand through his swept-back hair. "Sooner I'm out of here the happier we'll all be." He lies back on the bed now, seemingly drained. Is it the armor? The situation? The woman? All three? "You have a good evening, Agents."