PHD #205: Sting Op
Sting Op
Summary: Rian and Decumius are playing MP and Kincaid comes up with a plan.
Date: 19 September 2041 AE
Related Logs: Burning Locker of Fire
Decumius Rian Kincaid 
Sec Hub
More than just an office for the Marines and their XO, this room has remote surveillance views of the Brigs as well as a state of the art communications center built into the far bulkhead. A locked and heavily armored door to the aft leads into another room, the white lettering on it reading 'ARMORY.' There are a few desks scattered around the room for getting necessary paperwork done and the Commandant's picture hangs on the wall next to one of the President.
Post-Holocaust Day: #205

The 'Cylon sympathizer crimes' that have been occuring on the ship are deeply troubling. They affect Fleet unity, sow the seeds of distrust and reduce morale considerably on the ship. In that vein, investigations of the actions are starting to crop up. That's why there's a Corporal in the Security Hub today, filling out pages and pages of papers. That's also why, apparently, both Kincaid and Rian have been called in.
Decumius sits by the Sergeant of Arms' desk, with a big notepad in his hand. He's dressed in his black BDUs, but his helmet and rifle rest near the entrance of the office, on a hook and in the rack respectively.

Lance Corporal Daniel Kincaid. Former reporter. Military Police. Defense advocate. Cylon sympathizer. All of those are possible labels for the fellow who comes in. He's not in BDU's. He's in his khakis with his MP attachments, a file tucked under his arm. One of the background checks from the folks that are pouring into the hangar bay, most likely. Why is he doing those rather than digging into these Cylon sympathizer crimes? Well, take a look at those labels. "Corporal?" asks the MP, arching a brow at a guy in blacks chilling in the office. Not what he's used to.

/Finally/ Rian has returned to duty status and is in rotation again. She looks relaxed and at home in her marine blacks, though most of the outer armour pieces remain stowed away on the rack near the door, with her riffle, helmet, ect. Sitting at the small desk against the wall she stares into an old box looking monitor, a keyboard in front of her, fingers moving over the keys easily. Dark eyes squint into the screen, her dark jagged hair covering most of her pale features, carefully she watches the causeway footage from last nights Cylon Lover attack. "Well we can narrow it down to enlisted that have access to spray-paint, I doubt any survivors would have stowed away /that/ in their 'only things left in the universe' packs, D." Rian speaks up to Decumius though she remains fixated on the monitor.

Decumius gets up from his seat, putting the notepad and pen on top of the desk in front of him as he does. He doesn't bother looking anywhere than Kincaid's nametag before greeting him with a smile. "That's me, dude. You must be Lance Corporal Kincaid? I'm Corporal Decumius." His hand is stuck out immediately in greeting. He either doesn't know about Kincaid's labels or doesn't care, as a newcomer to the ship. He glances over to Rian with an arched eyebrow. "That's like what, all of the frakkin' deck gang? Not that I'm trying to take a shit on your research here or anything…" He scratches his head with his non-offered hang. "I'm just clueless." He look back at Kincaid.

Turning in her seat Rian looks to Decumius, brows furrowed in a frown. "Well that narrows it down don't it?" Throwing her hands up in the air in an act of exasperation, "We shouldn't even be doing this. Who cares? I should be shooting up metal, not investigating panty raids." With a stomp of her boot she rises from her chair, moving to greet the new marine her demeanour taking a one eighty from candid and relaxed to distant and cold. Neutral expression and monotone she leans forward, holding out her hand for a firm shake, "Kincaid, I'm Rian, maybe you can shine some more light on the investigation and draw it to a quick close?" Straight to business.

Kincaid takes a deep breath, looking between the two NCO's. "Yeah. That would be just about anyone in the ship assigned to gen det or — well, just about anything. What about features? Anyone get a look at our hero?" He goes to take out a pad from inside of his shirt, clicking his pen open. He's the official detective here. So he'll try to pretend to be one.

Decumius points a long finger at Rian. "Listen, bitch, can it. We both suck at this kind of thing. But the CO wants us to get better. So we're gonna get better. Think of it like BRC, asshole." He can't help but smirk at her, too, while lecturing. His attention returns to Kincaid. "Nope. Sweats, hood drawn up. Nobody even knew if it was a male or female. We're pretty much at a dead end. The area's still closed off, though. We had everyone put up in guest lodgings. With Crewman Wolfe put seperately in her own place."

Bitch? Dec seems to be starting with the dirt talk early in the shift, not really surprising. After shaking the other marines hand she jerks to face the other corporal, looking up the point of his finger to his green stare, her head tilts an inch to the side. "Get that frakkin finger out of my face before I break it off and shove it up your cockhole."

Kincaid takes a deep breath. He lets it out. He looks between the two. 'Really?' is what his expression says. 'Really? We're going here?' But he tries to steer it back on track. "We have the can? Prints?"

"Ow. Saucy, that'd hurt though and I'm not nearly desperate enough to have your digits go anywhere near my crotch. Sorry, toots." Dec blows a mock kiss at Rian, before blowing a raspberry. Back to business, again. His transition is smooth. "Nope. No can. I don't know about prints. I have no idea how to find prints, so that's why I called you in." He lets out a bit of a chuckle. "The guy, we'll call him a guy, dissapeared from the camera just after going into the stairwell. Whoever he was, he knew where the cameras were and how to dissapear. The sweater was found in a pile of shit. Literally. Waste disposal found it. I doubt anything can be recovered from it, but it's in the evidence room, bagged and stuff."

Kincaid takes a deep breath. "Okay. No prints. Nothing on the sweater. Look, gang. I'm not the person that we need heading up this investigation. People figure I'm a cylon-loving-bastard, and folks aren't going to talk to me. So we need a different approach." He looks between Decumius and Rian. "So let me ask you, whatever you think about all of this crap: Do you want to see these attacks stop?"

Rian just drops her arms to her sides and rolls her wide eyes, "In your dreams," she snarls at the kiss and raspberry before stepping away. Moving back to the metal chair and monitor she spins it and takes a seat with it facing backwards. Long black clad arms reach to the desk top to some papers there, eyes glancing over them as she speaks obviously to Kincade though doesn't raise her glance, "enlisted that were on scene where questioned, no one seemed to see anything, most were unconscious due to alcohol consumption, ect ect blah blah."

As the MP speaks she looks up, perhaps a bit of surprise in her eyes but her lips remain neutral, "Well yes, why the frak are we fighting amongst ourselves now?" She looks to Decumius, dark eyes growing heavy, "after everything that has happened? Why?"

"Yes. It's idiotic, it's damaging to crew morale and it's damaging to unity. We need to be banding together rather than squabbling like little idiot children. I know it's human nature to do that, but that's not the point." Decumius has become very, very serious, as has his expression. He nods at Rian. "That's right. We could have killed a /lot/ more Cylons on the surface of Sagittaron if the SSLF had wante to join together. Frak, we would have all pretened that their idiot histories were non existant. Instead, though, they just killed a bunch of us when we approached for talks. Decided it was a nice time for an ambush. Boom. Now, this isn't nearly that severe. But given time, it will become so." He pauses. "Now you don't have to be seen on this investigation. And it doesn't have to be official. But we'd like you on it. I don't care about your sympathies. This isn't politics, this is the military. People do what they're frakking told to, when they're told to. They don't question orders." Another pause. "Not that you aren't. Just these idiots causing a ruckus. Someone needs to step in and tell them to get along."

"Yeah. Well. All right then." Kincaid goes to sit on the desk, looking at the two Corporals. "We can keep working this case the traditional channels. You know, talk to people. Shake them down. That sort of thing. Or we can try to go deeper. Because you know what? This isn't about —" He glances down at the file. "Sofia Wolfe's locker. This is about a whole attitude. So we need to get folks inside. Maybe stop the next one of these before it starts. You guys ready to play some big, burly thugs with a hatred for people who like Cylons?"

A nod goes along with D's big speech, she actually lowers her head and allows dark jagged bangs to hide most of her features for a long while. Though, as Kincaid speaks again she looks up, one dark brow raised quite high, "No, I much rather be on the surface kicking some cylon ass and looking for any other survivors then playing 'shake down' with the crew." She tosses away the paper that is in her hand, temper and annoyance flaring at the whole stupid situation. "People have to stop fighting amongst themselves," a long drawn out sigh.

"I do hate people who like Cylons." Decumius says, rather coldly. "But when you don't know if someone's a Cylon until they turn on you, which is the gyst of what I'm getting it's like nowadays, then no one is really a Cylon lover. Unless they're legitimately treasonous. That's another case. Sofia Wolfe didn't love any Cylon. She may have been friends with a suspected Cylon. That's totally aside." He reaches onto the desk to grab his notepad, closing it and stuffing it in a pocket. Then he grabs his mug of what looks like tea. "By the way, the same kind of thing apparently happened with an LT Alessandra Sophronia in the Viper wings. So you're right, it ain't just about Wolfe. " He nods at Rian.

Kincaid nods once. "Good. So here's what we need to do. First, we need to establish your street cred as Cylon-lover-haters. That is, people who hate those who love Cylons." Just in case it wasn't clear at first. He's clearly thinking out loud. "So we'll arrange to have you shove me around a little bit in a place where maximum amount of people can see. Let's say — the cafeteria."

Rian perks up at the plan, shoulders lifting and eyes becoming brighter, "Oh I can do that!" She doesn't do much to hide her excitement over stirring up trouble. Licking her lips she ads, "we haven't been here long, are there other uh… cylon-lover-haters…" that definitely twists something in her brain saying that, "that we can mess around with?" A look shoots to the other corporal, "though if Marines suddenly start messing up these haters it could be quite obvious what you're trying to do here."

"Oh great, a sting operation. That's not going to really do much for our credibility." Decumius sighs, his eyes betraying none of the enthusiasm his comrade shows. "But I guess it's necessary. I'm serious, the people who did this are almost committing treason by causing rift in the Fleet. They need to be dealt with. If I had my way, I would be very, very severe. But I'm just a Corporal. Yeah, we can do that."

"Good. We'll set it up soon." Kincaid takes a slip off the desk, some sort of call in. "I'll talk to Sawyer Averies about the attack on her. She and I go back to when we were reporters together."

"Brilliant, another attack. Guess chalk up the red cases for the new guys." Decumius says, frowning deeply. This whole situation has him perturbed, it seems. "Yeah, probably not. We need to float this one by the CO, we'll see. But it's a good start."

"Look? You guys got a better idea? If so, I'm ready to hear it. If not?" Kinciad clicks his pen closed and tucks it back into his shirt pocket. "We'll set up our shoving match in the Mess at first opportunity." And with that, the reporter heads off to his background checks.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License