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deadly king
never fade away
Last edited:
simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
To say it had been a bad week would have been an understatement worthy of its own ZIP code.
Shouldn't have gotten comfortable. The moment you get comfortable, that's the moment things go wrong. You know this. You should know this. The self-punishment knocked around beneath that ginger hair, bruising and battering Issac's resolve even further. It has been a little over a month since he had arrived in New York City, finally biting the bullet and leaving his home state after everything at Altarum fell through. Fortunately, the SEC didn't seem to care about his past conflicts. It felt like all of his repentance had finally swayed those heavenly scales in his favorβa fresh start hundreds of miles away, a chance to create a life of his own working in a position he had always dreamt of.
It was a Friday night. Issac came home from a long shift at his new job to find two broken tripwires, razor blades scattered across the floor, a knife sticking out of the wall, a smear of blood beneath that, and two fingers still warm from the guillotine on the floor below.
He knew the law didn't look favorably on booby traps in most states. In hindsight, he would have revised the knife trap to be less potentially lethal. In the moment though, as he knelt on the cold floor, tightening the screws on something substantially less lethal in the safety of his lab, working through shaking hands and shaking breath, all he could think about was that it actually happened. Doomsday scenarios played out in his head every other hour, but usually, he could brush them off as simple paranoia. Disturbing, but ultimately ficticious and best left not thought about. Not this time. Someone had actually broken into his apartmentβhe wasn't just being paranoid. What if he hadn't set those traps? What if he himself had been inside when it happened? Would they have hurt him just as much as his traps had hurt them? Would they have done worse?
What were they after?
His mind drifted to... That project. The one he had been working on tirelessly back at Altarum alongside a certain neurologist. The memory froze him for a brief moment, breath hitching in his throat before being released from his exhausted lungs. Sure, it had saved his skin when it came to finding work after that internship, but otherwise, it only seemed to bring him trouble. So many people had offered to buy those schematics off of himβoffered to finish those rough drafts for sums that could keep a man afloat without a job for years. Had he managed to finish it, that device certainly would have been his masterpiece.
But it wasn't his to claim. He couldn't finish the project without his colleague, and his colleague...
The sound of his lab's door creaking open startled him from his thoughts, and he tried to hide himself further behind the prototype on the table in front of him, clutching his screwdriver like a dagger. Like he would actually use it in such a way. It probably wasn't the police. They tended to be a lot noisier with their entries, and if they knew still had those fingers stored in his apartment, they probably would have brought backup. What else was he supposed to do with them? It's not like he wanted them, he just didn't know how to get rid of them! But still, it probably wasn't the police. Unless they just decided that he was too dangerous to be kept alive and sent in someone to kill him? A government hitman sent to make it look like an accident? It wouldn't be hard to do with all of the machinery the facility had on hand.
"This is your judgement dealt, Issac. Step forward. Accept the punishment you have earned."
...
No, no that probably wasn't real.
The second voice, far more meek and cordial, that seemed more likely. It was an unfamiliar voiceβthough he hadn't had the chance to meet everyone yet, so that wasn't out of the ordinary. Riddled with gravel and a distinctly Russian accent, it called out to him as he cowered, seemingly unsure of how to address him. That's when he remembered: the department head mentioned that he would be in charge of an intern. A college student, still working towards his computer science degree. Keeping quiet, he took a deep breath and laid the screwdriver down, peering out from behind the machine at the newcomer.
They locked eyes. In that brief moment, sky met steel, and dread briefly overtook the engineer, causing him to flinch back slightly and break eye contact before finally getting to his feet. Something about this intern didn't feel right. He looked... Nervous. Terrified, almost. The two men were emotional mirrors. Yet, everything, every voice, nerve, instinct, all the angels and the God who despised him, they all screamed for him to run. This wasn't a manβwho did it think that suit was fooling? This was a beast, sent to finally drag him into the fire. His very own Revelation.
No. No, it was just an intern. He was just an intern. Nothing more.
Clearing his throat and mind, he forced a nervous smile through the runaway thoughts, dusting off his slacks and approaching the intern. Though he still towered over the man, they were at least a little closer in height than most of his colleagues. Good, that made things a little less awkward. "Ah, good morning! Sorry," he stammered, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves for a moment as he came to a stop in front of the intern. "I didn't mean to ignore you, I was just a little lost in thought... You, um. You're the new intern, right? Dr. Minter said you'd be arriving todayβagain, I'm really sorry for the cold welcome. I hope you've had an otherwise smooth onboarding so far..."
Catching himself before he could go on any further, he held out his hand, a tremble still haunting his fingers. "It's nice to meet you... Um, what should I call you? I-I mean, this is my first time being in charge of an intern, I'm just not sure..."
Shouldn't have gotten comfortable. The moment you get comfortable, that's the moment things go wrong. You know this. You should know this. The self-punishment knocked around beneath that ginger hair, bruising and battering Issac's resolve even further. It has been a little over a month since he had arrived in New York City, finally biting the bullet and leaving his home state after everything at Altarum fell through. Fortunately, the SEC didn't seem to care about his past conflicts. It felt like all of his repentance had finally swayed those heavenly scales in his favorβa fresh start hundreds of miles away, a chance to create a life of his own working in a position he had always dreamt of.
It was a Friday night. Issac came home from a long shift at his new job to find two broken tripwires, razor blades scattered across the floor, a knife sticking out of the wall, a smear of blood beneath that, and two fingers still warm from the guillotine on the floor below.
He knew the law didn't look favorably on booby traps in most states. In hindsight, he would have revised the knife trap to be less potentially lethal. In the moment though, as he knelt on the cold floor, tightening the screws on something substantially less lethal in the safety of his lab, working through shaking hands and shaking breath, all he could think about was that it actually happened. Doomsday scenarios played out in his head every other hour, but usually, he could brush them off as simple paranoia. Disturbing, but ultimately ficticious and best left not thought about. Not this time. Someone had actually broken into his apartmentβhe wasn't just being paranoid. What if he hadn't set those traps? What if he himself had been inside when it happened? Would they have hurt him just as much as his traps had hurt them? Would they have done worse?
What were they after?
His mind drifted to... That project. The one he had been working on tirelessly back at Altarum alongside a certain neurologist. The memory froze him for a brief moment, breath hitching in his throat before being released from his exhausted lungs. Sure, it had saved his skin when it came to finding work after that internship, but otherwise, it only seemed to bring him trouble. So many people had offered to buy those schematics off of himβoffered to finish those rough drafts for sums that could keep a man afloat without a job for years. Had he managed to finish it, that device certainly would have been his masterpiece.
But it wasn't his to claim. He couldn't finish the project without his colleague, and his colleague...
The sound of his lab's door creaking open startled him from his thoughts, and he tried to hide himself further behind the prototype on the table in front of him, clutching his screwdriver like a dagger. Like he would actually use it in such a way. It probably wasn't the police. They tended to be a lot noisier with their entries, and if they knew still had those fingers stored in his apartment, they probably would have brought backup. What else was he supposed to do with them? It's not like he wanted them, he just didn't know how to get rid of them! But still, it probably wasn't the police. Unless they just decided that he was too dangerous to be kept alive and sent in someone to kill him? A government hitman sent to make it look like an accident? It wouldn't be hard to do with all of the machinery the facility had on hand.
"This is your judgement dealt, Issac. Step forward. Accept the punishment you have earned."
...
No, no that probably wasn't real.
The second voice, far more meek and cordial, that seemed more likely. It was an unfamiliar voiceβthough he hadn't had the chance to meet everyone yet, so that wasn't out of the ordinary. Riddled with gravel and a distinctly Russian accent, it called out to him as he cowered, seemingly unsure of how to address him. That's when he remembered: the department head mentioned that he would be in charge of an intern. A college student, still working towards his computer science degree. Keeping quiet, he took a deep breath and laid the screwdriver down, peering out from behind the machine at the newcomer.
They locked eyes. In that brief moment, sky met steel, and dread briefly overtook the engineer, causing him to flinch back slightly and break eye contact before finally getting to his feet. Something about this intern didn't feel right. He looked... Nervous. Terrified, almost. The two men were emotional mirrors. Yet, everything, every voice, nerve, instinct, all the angels and the God who despised him, they all screamed for him to run. This wasn't a manβwho did it think that suit was fooling? This was a beast, sent to finally drag him into the fire. His very own Revelation.
No. No, it was just an intern. He was just an intern. Nothing more.
Clearing his throat and mind, he forced a nervous smile through the runaway thoughts, dusting off his slacks and approaching the intern. Though he still towered over the man, they were at least a little closer in height than most of his colleagues. Good, that made things a little less awkward. "Ah, good morning! Sorry," he stammered, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves for a moment as he came to a stop in front of the intern. "I didn't mean to ignore you, I was just a little lost in thought... You, um. You're the new intern, right? Dr. Minter said you'd be arriving todayβagain, I'm really sorry for the cold welcome. I hope you've had an otherwise smooth onboarding so far..."
Catching himself before he could go on any further, he held out his hand, a tremble still haunting his fingers. "It's nice to meet you... Um, what should I call you? I-I mean, this is my first time being in charge of an intern, I'm just not sure..."
deadly king
never fade away
simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
Cold, black leather met Issac's calloused palm in a handshake that was firmer than expected from the lean intern. The engineer could take it of courseβhis hands were likely to be the only tough part of his body. He was just surprised by the force this younger man was able to exert, especially given his field. Maybe it was nerves? Issac was pretty familiar with that adrenal rush himself. He recalled a time in college when he pulled an unsuspecting classmate out of the path of an oncoming car and accidentally dislocated her shoulder. That was a tough one to explain to the Dean.
Ivan. That was right, he had been told his name the day before. He must not have remembered itβthere we're a lot of reasons why he'd forget. Although, Ivan Vasiliev was definitely a distinctive name. Russian in originβthe accent definitely lined up. The drop in his shoulders gave Issac some relief of his own, and as he stepped back, he found himself able to breathe a little easier. Maybe he wasn't here to kill him, maybe he was just a little nervous because he thought that his nationality had him on thin ice from the moment he stepped in the door.
Maybe.
"Oh, um, they didn't say much, really," he said, nervous eyes finally resting on the machine in the middle of the floor for a moment. "They said you're working towards a degree in computer science, and that this is your first internship... There were also a few things said about your English being a little... Um. Off. B-But! That's not a problem if it is, I-I'm sure we'll still be able to communicate just fine. It might have just been a rumor anyways, what with your accent and allβnot that there's anything wrong with your accent! It's honestly... Sorry, moving on."
The engineer had to kill that sentence in the bud. Whatever he was about to say, he knew it would have been entirely out of line. Clearing his throat, he nodded at the offer of assistance. Not that the intern had much of a choice. As the lowest man on the totem pole, he'd be picking up grunt work left and right whether he wanted to or not. Still, Issac himself didn't know how comfortable he'd be ordering himself around. He didn't have much confidence in his own actions, how could he expect anyone else to pick up that slack? Still, he knew the younger man was assigned to him for a reasonβbeyond the theories of malice that kept whistling through his mind.
"Actuallyβyes, for now you shouldn't touch the machinery until I can tell you how to properly engage with it. Safety first, of course. But you will be getting pretty familiar with it, don't worry," he explained, patting the machine in the center of the floor. His hand flinched back to a nervous curl close to his body as Ivan inspected his provided belongingsβor lack thereof. He hadn't been the one to set it up, and he knew he would be hearing that from someone over his head, but even so, he was a bit embarrassed by the lack of supplies. It was enough to get the job doneβa fairly powerful computer from one of the other old-fashioned engineers who refused to work with them, and a keyboard and mouse to go with it. Still, he should have at least dug up a fresh notepad and pen for the guy. "Yeah, that's yours. The PC is all set up and ready to go, just use the login credentials the department head gave you. You can ask the guys over in IT to change them if you need to, but they should work fine as they are... I-I know it's a bit barebones, and I'm sorry about that. If you need anything, please don't be afraid to ask! We have plenty of supplies around here, it's never a problem."
Then, Ivan said something that gave him pause. Sure, it was a formality to tell someone you were glad to meet them, but did he really not know who he would be assigned to when he was hired on? Did he only just learn who he'd be with when he came in today? No, that was too convenient. But it was realistic, wasn't it? Every workplace had a bit of disorder in it, even one as professional as the SEC. After all, there was a reason he was being assigned an intern rather than simply put to work with one of the programmers already established at the facilityβand it wasn't a murder plot. Or a demonic presence.
Wordless through a bitten tongue, he prayed for a moment of silence.
Besides, this guy seemed eager to work. Maybe a bit too eager, but again, he was an intern. His neck was on the line if he didn't tuck himself under Issac's wing as quickly as he could. "R-Right, right," the engineer spoke, picking a socket wrench up off of the ground and fastening a beam into place. "Well, it's, um. This is a small-scale prototypeβnot really finished yetβof something I've been working on for the past month. It's not even fully-featured yet, but it's going to function as our test dummy."
With a small nod, he returned to his desk and unearthed a blueprint, setting the wrench down amongst the clutter before returning to Ivan's side. It was an incredibly thorough design for what the prototype would eventually become: a pillar of metal, 4'5 in height and 2'0 in width, filled with an array of electronicsβsensors, cameras, microphones, all connected to a mass of circuitry like organs to a brain. However, those electronics all seemed to live in the top foot of space. The rest seemed to be a storage chamber and some manner of propulsion system to expel the contents. It looked eerily like the loading and firing mechanism of a high-caliber automatic rifle, but it seemed to be absent from the prototype.
"I'm calling it Project Throne for now, but, um. You know, working title, i-it's all subject to change. It's a security device meant for use in high-security facilitiesβthink military bases or federal prisons," he noted, laying the schematic on the desk and tapping on the top of the device. "Your work is largely going to involve the 'brain' of the device, so to speak. See, I can build this by myself, no problem. I could even get some of the basic functions onlineβhydraulics, electrical wiring, enough to switch it on and off and get it to be capable of motion. The only issue isβum, wellβI am... Admittedly not great with code. I-I tried writing my own, I just can't get my head around it. And I'm not the only oneβour programmers are all spread pretty thin right now. With the features I have planned for it, I'm going to need some airtight code. So, that's your main task. Don't worry about making it absolutely perfectβit's going to need to go through one of the full-time programmers before we can even think about launching the final buildβbut you're going to need to lay a strong foundation for them to work off of."
Once Ivan had gotten a good look at the schematic, Issac took it back to his desk, making an attempt to at least partially sort the clutter while he was already moving items around. "This is going to be a pretty long-term project, and we're going to take things one piece at a time," he said, interrupted in part by the clattering of pens in a pencil holder. "Since the brain is already put together, you should be able to start writing the basic framework for it as soon as you get settled in. I have it fitted with a 3 1/2 inch floppy drive for testing purposes, and you should already have a blank high-density disk in your computer ready to go. I-I understand that you probably won't need more than one since you can always format it and write new data to it as we update things, but if you need more, I know we have some stored in the computer labs. Again, don't be afraid to ask for these things."
As he sorted some papers into a stack, he glanced up from the mess and gave Ivan a nervousβbut altogether warmβsmile. Things had quieted down somewhat now that he had focused on on other things, and he was able to meet eyes once again with his new clarity. "It's a pleasure to be working with you too, Ivan. I-I really hope this all turns out to be a good learning experience for you, if nothing else."
Ivan. That was right, he had been told his name the day before. He must not have remembered itβthere we're a lot of reasons why he'd forget. Although, Ivan Vasiliev was definitely a distinctive name. Russian in originβthe accent definitely lined up. The drop in his shoulders gave Issac some relief of his own, and as he stepped back, he found himself able to breathe a little easier. Maybe he wasn't here to kill him, maybe he was just a little nervous because he thought that his nationality had him on thin ice from the moment he stepped in the door.
Maybe.
"Oh, um, they didn't say much, really," he said, nervous eyes finally resting on the machine in the middle of the floor for a moment. "They said you're working towards a degree in computer science, and that this is your first internship... There were also a few things said about your English being a little... Um. Off. B-But! That's not a problem if it is, I-I'm sure we'll still be able to communicate just fine. It might have just been a rumor anyways, what with your accent and allβnot that there's anything wrong with your accent! It's honestly... Sorry, moving on."
The engineer had to kill that sentence in the bud. Whatever he was about to say, he knew it would have been entirely out of line. Clearing his throat, he nodded at the offer of assistance. Not that the intern had much of a choice. As the lowest man on the totem pole, he'd be picking up grunt work left and right whether he wanted to or not. Still, Issac himself didn't know how comfortable he'd be ordering himself around. He didn't have much confidence in his own actions, how could he expect anyone else to pick up that slack? Still, he knew the younger man was assigned to him for a reasonβbeyond the theories of malice that kept whistling through his mind.
"Actuallyβyes, for now you shouldn't touch the machinery until I can tell you how to properly engage with it. Safety first, of course. But you will be getting pretty familiar with it, don't worry," he explained, patting the machine in the center of the floor. His hand flinched back to a nervous curl close to his body as Ivan inspected his provided belongingsβor lack thereof. He hadn't been the one to set it up, and he knew he would be hearing that from someone over his head, but even so, he was a bit embarrassed by the lack of supplies. It was enough to get the job doneβa fairly powerful computer from one of the other old-fashioned engineers who refused to work with them, and a keyboard and mouse to go with it. Still, he should have at least dug up a fresh notepad and pen for the guy. "Yeah, that's yours. The PC is all set up and ready to go, just use the login credentials the department head gave you. You can ask the guys over in IT to change them if you need to, but they should work fine as they are... I-I know it's a bit barebones, and I'm sorry about that. If you need anything, please don't be afraid to ask! We have plenty of supplies around here, it's never a problem."
Then, Ivan said something that gave him pause. Sure, it was a formality to tell someone you were glad to meet them, but did he really not know who he would be assigned to when he was hired on? Did he only just learn who he'd be with when he came in today? No, that was too convenient. But it was realistic, wasn't it? Every workplace had a bit of disorder in it, even one as professional as the SEC. After all, there was a reason he was being assigned an intern rather than simply put to work with one of the programmers already established at the facilityβand it wasn't a murder plot. Or a demonic presence.
Wordless through a bitten tongue, he prayed for a moment of silence.
Besides, this guy seemed eager to work. Maybe a bit too eager, but again, he was an intern. His neck was on the line if he didn't tuck himself under Issac's wing as quickly as he could. "R-Right, right," the engineer spoke, picking a socket wrench up off of the ground and fastening a beam into place. "Well, it's, um. This is a small-scale prototypeβnot really finished yetβof something I've been working on for the past month. It's not even fully-featured yet, but it's going to function as our test dummy."
With a small nod, he returned to his desk and unearthed a blueprint, setting the wrench down amongst the clutter before returning to Ivan's side. It was an incredibly thorough design for what the prototype would eventually become: a pillar of metal, 4'5 in height and 2'0 in width, filled with an array of electronicsβsensors, cameras, microphones, all connected to a mass of circuitry like organs to a brain. However, those electronics all seemed to live in the top foot of space. The rest seemed to be a storage chamber and some manner of propulsion system to expel the contents. It looked eerily like the loading and firing mechanism of a high-caliber automatic rifle, but it seemed to be absent from the prototype.
"I'm calling it Project Throne for now, but, um. You know, working title, i-it's all subject to change. It's a security device meant for use in high-security facilitiesβthink military bases or federal prisons," he noted, laying the schematic on the desk and tapping on the top of the device. "Your work is largely going to involve the 'brain' of the device, so to speak. See, I can build this by myself, no problem. I could even get some of the basic functions onlineβhydraulics, electrical wiring, enough to switch it on and off and get it to be capable of motion. The only issue isβum, wellβI am... Admittedly not great with code. I-I tried writing my own, I just can't get my head around it. And I'm not the only oneβour programmers are all spread pretty thin right now. With the features I have planned for it, I'm going to need some airtight code. So, that's your main task. Don't worry about making it absolutely perfectβit's going to need to go through one of the full-time programmers before we can even think about launching the final buildβbut you're going to need to lay a strong foundation for them to work off of."
Once Ivan had gotten a good look at the schematic, Issac took it back to his desk, making an attempt to at least partially sort the clutter while he was already moving items around. "This is going to be a pretty long-term project, and we're going to take things one piece at a time," he said, interrupted in part by the clattering of pens in a pencil holder. "Since the brain is already put together, you should be able to start writing the basic framework for it as soon as you get settled in. I have it fitted with a 3 1/2 inch floppy drive for testing purposes, and you should already have a blank high-density disk in your computer ready to go. I-I understand that you probably won't need more than one since you can always format it and write new data to it as we update things, but if you need more, I know we have some stored in the computer labs. Again, don't be afraid to ask for these things."
As he sorted some papers into a stack, he glanced up from the mess and gave Ivan a nervousβbut altogether warmβsmile. Things had quieted down somewhat now that he had focused on on other things, and he was able to meet eyes once again with his new clarity. "It's a pleasure to be working with you too, Ivan. I-I really hope this all turns out to be a good learning experience for you, if nothing else."
deadly king
never fade away
The man couldn't help but cock a brow at the other's continued skittish behavior. It seemed no matter what he said, the man always wanted to backtrack, as if nothing was correct. Now, Ivan was simultaneously used and unused to this behavior. Although he had a few associates that would rather cower than face him head-on, he knew exactly how Isaac felt. All it took was a wrong word or a gesture taken differently and Ivan would have his head bashed in, or nose bruised, or a tooth knocked out. Lucky for both of them, they were in a normal environment with no threat of violence anywhere.
However, the air was still thick. He knew his name and accent had connotations, and the other man's head flooded with preconceived notions. Although Isaac attempted to mend his words, he continued to walk across thin ice.
"This will work, do not worry," he shook his head, allowing himself to sit down. The chair leaned back, creaking as he put his weight on it. Not the best chair either . . . Well, it wasn't like he would be here for hours on end. He had real business to conduct, not sit around at an office following the orders of a man who could barely hold eye contact. Nonetheless, when Isaac returned with the blueprints, he immediately rolled over, inspecting the document. As he was informed, the man was incredibly thorough, keeping in mind the wearer and allowing room for error. It was a prototype, after all, mistakes were bound to happen even if he planned for them. As the engineer spoke, he continued to follow the traces of wire, all around the schematics. Although Ivan didn't quite understand the science behind it all, it was fascinating nevertheless.
Mimicking the nervous system of an organism, the wires are all connected along with sensors, allowing for the user to wield . . . What was inside the box? It was some type of weapon, of course, but the plans seemed incomplete or willingly redacted. From the information Ivan gathered, he knew a caliber system needed to be implemented, so where was it? Had Isaac been forced to remove it? Or was he hesitant to implement it? Maybe it caused too much strain?
The man's fingers gripped the edge of the table, resisting the urge to pull himself off the chair. Diligently, light blue eyes followed the schematic, noting exactly how Isaac not only folded the paper but stored it back in his desk. It was sensitive material, of course, it would be stored away from prying eyes. After a slow nod, the man finally snapped himself back in. As simple as it would be to knock the engineer unconscious and run out of the room with the schematic, it was unfinished. Pieces were missing and a majority of the code had yet to be written. A small frustrated sigh left the criminal, leaning back into the chair.
This was the beginning of his work; Ivan was nowhere near seeing Project AL-TAR, nor seeing any remnant of it. Although the current task -- Project Throne -- would be profitable, it wasn't in the original plan. He was forced into a box now. Continue with this charade as an intern until Isaac revealed Project AL-TAR -- which could take forever -- or find another way? But what other way was there? Maybe he could hire a professional thief to steal the blueprint? 'ΠΠΈΠ·Π΄Π΅Ρ, that would cost an arm and a leg.' And as Isaac stated, he was "Admittedly not great with code," meaning the blueprints were useless. Project AL-TAR would be nothing more than a husk, and no one would buy a husk.
It felt as if he was back at square one, having to complete his own jobs, build his own clientele, and find his own supply out of scrap pieces. Would stringing together pieces of code be similar to jamming in an ill-fitting magazine? Or installing a busted scope? Ivan vaguely remembered breaking apart code to use for his own projects, but it was always followed by a customer's voice asking for assistance.
The white computer whirred, fans turning as the would-be coder inputted his information. As Isaac instructed, everything went smoothly, now staring at the Windows desktop, he tapped his fingers on the desk. Should he really jump directly into work? Admittedly, it had been . . . quite some time since Ivan legitimately did any coding, and he didn't want to make a fool out of himself. He spun around again, now facing the ginger who bore a warm smile -- completely unexpected. Should he smile back--?
"Ahh -- yes, I am sure it will be good. For two of us. Should not be very difficult, I think. But it is larger than other projects I have doing," he rubbed his shoulder a bit. "I will do my best, Dr. Price." He pulled himself off the chair, "Do . . . You think you can show the --" What was the word?
"Where pens are and things -- I need to write," his hand gestured to a notepad and pen. "Or -- tell me where is located and I will find it." Would he let him walk around the lab unsupervised?
However, the air was still thick. He knew his name and accent had connotations, and the other man's head flooded with preconceived notions. Although Isaac attempted to mend his words, he continued to walk across thin ice.
"This will work, do not worry," he shook his head, allowing himself to sit down. The chair leaned back, creaking as he put his weight on it. Not the best chair either . . . Well, it wasn't like he would be here for hours on end. He had real business to conduct, not sit around at an office following the orders of a man who could barely hold eye contact. Nonetheless, when Isaac returned with the blueprints, he immediately rolled over, inspecting the document. As he was informed, the man was incredibly thorough, keeping in mind the wearer and allowing room for error. It was a prototype, after all, mistakes were bound to happen even if he planned for them. As the engineer spoke, he continued to follow the traces of wire, all around the schematics. Although Ivan didn't quite understand the science behind it all, it was fascinating nevertheless.
Mimicking the nervous system of an organism, the wires are all connected along with sensors, allowing for the user to wield . . . What was inside the box? It was some type of weapon, of course, but the plans seemed incomplete or willingly redacted. From the information Ivan gathered, he knew a caliber system needed to be implemented, so where was it? Had Isaac been forced to remove it? Or was he hesitant to implement it? Maybe it caused too much strain?
The man's fingers gripped the edge of the table, resisting the urge to pull himself off the chair. Diligently, light blue eyes followed the schematic, noting exactly how Isaac not only folded the paper but stored it back in his desk. It was sensitive material, of course, it would be stored away from prying eyes. After a slow nod, the man finally snapped himself back in. As simple as it would be to knock the engineer unconscious and run out of the room with the schematic, it was unfinished. Pieces were missing and a majority of the code had yet to be written. A small frustrated sigh left the criminal, leaning back into the chair.
This was the beginning of his work; Ivan was nowhere near seeing Project AL-TAR, nor seeing any remnant of it. Although the current task -- Project Throne -- would be profitable, it wasn't in the original plan. He was forced into a box now. Continue with this charade as an intern until Isaac revealed Project AL-TAR -- which could take forever -- or find another way? But what other way was there? Maybe he could hire a professional thief to steal the blueprint? 'ΠΠΈΠ·Π΄Π΅Ρ, that would cost an arm and a leg.' And as Isaac stated, he was "Admittedly not great with code," meaning the blueprints were useless. Project AL-TAR would be nothing more than a husk, and no one would buy a husk.
It felt as if he was back at square one, having to complete his own jobs, build his own clientele, and find his own supply out of scrap pieces. Would stringing together pieces of code be similar to jamming in an ill-fitting magazine? Or installing a busted scope? Ivan vaguely remembered breaking apart code to use for his own projects, but it was always followed by a customer's voice asking for assistance.
The white computer whirred, fans turning as the would-be coder inputted his information. As Isaac instructed, everything went smoothly, now staring at the Windows desktop, he tapped his fingers on the desk. Should he really jump directly into work? Admittedly, it had been . . . quite some time since Ivan legitimately did any coding, and he didn't want to make a fool out of himself. He spun around again, now facing the ginger who bore a warm smile -- completely unexpected. Should he smile back--?
"Ahh -- yes, I am sure it will be good. For two of us. Should not be very difficult, I think. But it is larger than other projects I have doing," he rubbed his shoulder a bit. "I will do my best, Dr. Price." He pulled himself off the chair, "Do . . . You think you can show the --" What was the word?
"Where pens are and things -- I need to write," his hand gestured to a notepad and pen. "Or -- tell me where is located and I will find it." Would he let him walk around the lab unsupervised?
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simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
The rhythmic thumping of a stack of papers being sorted was abruptly halted by Ivan's request. Well, it appeared that the rumors were true. His English wasn't all thereβhe was struggling somewhat with a word. From his constant gesturing towards Issac's desk, as well as the jumbled words he could manage, the engineer assumed he meant a pen and paper. Embarrassment pricked at his ears yet again at the realization that Ivan really was given nothing beyond the computer. Part of him wanted to be upset at the higher-ups, but he couldn't bring himself to it. This was his responsibility, after all. It wasn't anyone else's fault but his that he could hardly bring himself to function at work.
Still, it wasn't anything that sitting awkwardly in place would fix. Laying the stack down, he again stood to full height, trying to salvage what little respect he could from this situation. Not even respectβhe just hoped the guy could still stand him by the end of the first day. He could hardly stand himself though, so who was he to prevent fate from taking hold on this one? "Right, right. Sorry," he said, a sheepish laugh slipping through. "Uh, this facility is kind of on the larger end, actually... I'm sure you've had some form of orientation, but if you wouldn't mind, I'd rather show you around myself. Just to make sure you don't get lost, you know? There was apparently an incident shortly before I arrived where an intern wandered into one of the chem labs and... T-That's not important, I suppose. To our current situation, I meanβit's important, but we don't need the... Grislier details."
Issac combed his hair back with his fingers, hoping the thoughts of that incident report would fall out of his head along with any loose strands. He didn't want to think too long on if the whispers of that man still echoed in the halls of this place. Making his way to the door, he gestured for Ivan to follow, taking a quiet breath as he braced for what might be on the other side.
This time, it was nothing. Thankfully. Glancing down the hall, he looked past the shadows ducking back behind their corners to remember his mental path to the supply closet. As soon as he was sure Ivan was following, he made his way down the hall, passing by the other offices. Some had lights on, some didn't, Issac didn't want to stop to investigate any noises he heard coming from inside. He knew that these senior engineers ranged wildly in specialization and skillset, and someday he'd need to work with them all at least once in order to complete his projects, but the thought of trying to interact on their level made him somewhat nauseous.
For the most part, he'd managed to skate by his first month relatively unseen by the rest of the department. Sure, there were people who recognized his nameβremembered his involvement with AL-TAR and asked him about it once or twiceβbut he had managed to evade any lengthy discussions of the topic. Or, rather, lengthy discussions in general. He couldn't help but feel like he was still not much more than an intern himself. An intern with a freak accident breakthrough, but an intern nonetheless. All he could do was just make concepts that he hoped the higher-ups would like and hope to keep his position. He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't even know how he got this job. As they passed by the robotics testing labs, his eyes flicked up to the large frosted glass pane separating the hall from the room.
"Are you serious? That's your solution to all of this!? What are they even paying you for!? Why do I bother helping you if you're just going to ignore every recommendation I make!? Waste of my damn time..."
He was about to agree with the voice beyond the pane, but then he noticed that Ivan seemed to slow down and try to peer beyond the haze of the frost. He could hear it too? That gave Issac enough pause to break free from his thoughts and try to make out any distinct figures himself. It was difficultβchattering voices and amorphous shadows seemed to meld togetherβbut one stood out like a shark fin in the ocean. His eyes shot wide open, and he stepped slightly more in front of the intern by his side and held his arm out to block him from progressing further as the source of the angry voice flung the door to the lab open in front of them.
He was shorter than both of the men who had stopped to clear a path for him, yet the simmering anger radiating from every nanometer of his ghoulish complexion was enough to keep Issac firmly at bay. A few strands had fallen out of place from his slicked-back hairstyle, and he remained focused with an exhausted conviction on nothing else but the path ahead. His presence was that of a towering cactus, or perhaps the rotten spire of a corpse flowerβa firm "stay away" without the need for threats.
"Good morning, Dr. Alston-!"
"Don't start with me today, choir boy."
Of course, that never stopped Issac from trying to extend the olive branch. "Trying" being the key wordβit was always unceremoniously snapped in half when it came to this man. The other scientist didn't even pause to meet eyes as he stormed back to his wing of the facility, and his hostility was enough to make the engineer flinch. Issac returned his focus to his intern, bringing his guarding arm back to his side. "Ah, s-sorry about that," he murmured, keeping his voice low in the hopes that he wouldn't be overheard. "He's from the physics department, but you're probably going to see him around the engineering wing from time to time since he provides a lot of advising. He's... I-I'm sure he's harmless, but, um... It's best to stay out of his way."
Issac spared a glance back through the frosted glass of the test lab. Disregarding the shadows peering back out at him, he could vaguely make out the slumped figure of a manβlikely the target of the berating they'd overheardβas well as another figure standing nearby, seeming to meld slightly with the first. Maybe they had their hands somewhere on the dejected engineerβcomforting them perhaps? Despite the fear surrounding the whole situation, he could definitely feel warmth in the frost.
Those sky blue eyes trailed back to the physicistβthe man still making his way down the hall and grumbling to himself the whole way. Issac knew he couldn't exactly shield Ivan from his wrath forever, but he at least deserved to have his first day be free of that fear.
Still, it wasn't anything that sitting awkwardly in place would fix. Laying the stack down, he again stood to full height, trying to salvage what little respect he could from this situation. Not even respectβhe just hoped the guy could still stand him by the end of the first day. He could hardly stand himself though, so who was he to prevent fate from taking hold on this one? "Right, right. Sorry," he said, a sheepish laugh slipping through. "Uh, this facility is kind of on the larger end, actually... I'm sure you've had some form of orientation, but if you wouldn't mind, I'd rather show you around myself. Just to make sure you don't get lost, you know? There was apparently an incident shortly before I arrived where an intern wandered into one of the chem labs and... T-That's not important, I suppose. To our current situation, I meanβit's important, but we don't need the... Grislier details."
Issac combed his hair back with his fingers, hoping the thoughts of that incident report would fall out of his head along with any loose strands. He didn't want to think too long on if the whispers of that man still echoed in the halls of this place. Making his way to the door, he gestured for Ivan to follow, taking a quiet breath as he braced for what might be on the other side.
This time, it was nothing. Thankfully. Glancing down the hall, he looked past the shadows ducking back behind their corners to remember his mental path to the supply closet. As soon as he was sure Ivan was following, he made his way down the hall, passing by the other offices. Some had lights on, some didn't, Issac didn't want to stop to investigate any noises he heard coming from inside. He knew that these senior engineers ranged wildly in specialization and skillset, and someday he'd need to work with them all at least once in order to complete his projects, but the thought of trying to interact on their level made him somewhat nauseous.
For the most part, he'd managed to skate by his first month relatively unseen by the rest of the department. Sure, there were people who recognized his nameβremembered his involvement with AL-TAR and asked him about it once or twiceβbut he had managed to evade any lengthy discussions of the topic. Or, rather, lengthy discussions in general. He couldn't help but feel like he was still not much more than an intern himself. An intern with a freak accident breakthrough, but an intern nonetheless. All he could do was just make concepts that he hoped the higher-ups would like and hope to keep his position. He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't even know how he got this job. As they passed by the robotics testing labs, his eyes flicked up to the large frosted glass pane separating the hall from the room.
"Are you serious? That's your solution to all of this!? What are they even paying you for!? Why do I bother helping you if you're just going to ignore every recommendation I make!? Waste of my damn time..."
He was about to agree with the voice beyond the pane, but then he noticed that Ivan seemed to slow down and try to peer beyond the haze of the frost. He could hear it too? That gave Issac enough pause to break free from his thoughts and try to make out any distinct figures himself. It was difficultβchattering voices and amorphous shadows seemed to meld togetherβbut one stood out like a shark fin in the ocean. His eyes shot wide open, and he stepped slightly more in front of the intern by his side and held his arm out to block him from progressing further as the source of the angry voice flung the door to the lab open in front of them.
He was shorter than both of the men who had stopped to clear a path for him, yet the simmering anger radiating from every nanometer of his ghoulish complexion was enough to keep Issac firmly at bay. A few strands had fallen out of place from his slicked-back hairstyle, and he remained focused with an exhausted conviction on nothing else but the path ahead. His presence was that of a towering cactus, or perhaps the rotten spire of a corpse flowerβa firm "stay away" without the need for threats.
"Good morning, Dr. Alston-!"
"Don't start with me today, choir boy."
Of course, that never stopped Issac from trying to extend the olive branch. "Trying" being the key wordβit was always unceremoniously snapped in half when it came to this man. The other scientist didn't even pause to meet eyes as he stormed back to his wing of the facility, and his hostility was enough to make the engineer flinch. Issac returned his focus to his intern, bringing his guarding arm back to his side. "Ah, s-sorry about that," he murmured, keeping his voice low in the hopes that he wouldn't be overheard. "He's from the physics department, but you're probably going to see him around the engineering wing from time to time since he provides a lot of advising. He's... I-I'm sure he's harmless, but, um... It's best to stay out of his way."
Issac spared a glance back through the frosted glass of the test lab. Disregarding the shadows peering back out at him, he could vaguely make out the slumped figure of a manβlikely the target of the berating they'd overheardβas well as another figure standing nearby, seeming to meld slightly with the first. Maybe they had their hands somewhere on the dejected engineerβcomforting them perhaps? Despite the fear surrounding the whole situation, he could definitely feel warmth in the frost.
Those sky blue eyes trailed back to the physicistβthe man still making his way down the hall and grumbling to himself the whole way. Issac knew he couldn't exactly shield Ivan from his wrath forever, but he at least deserved to have his first day be free of that fear.
deadly king
never fade away
Understandably, the man didn't allow Ivan to wander the facility alone. Even with all his power and connections, he was still relegated to a mere errand boy or lab assistant in the disinfected walls. It irked him, but not a sound left his lips. It would be . . . nice to have a second tour, a better understanding of the complex layout of the vast building. SRC housed not only an entire engineering wing but a physics department and a matching coding department. Similarly, he assumed there was a section for general chemistry, a composites laboratory, and somewhere to build all the machines the engineers needed. Merely thinking about the floors and floors of offices and stations and laboratories was enough to give Ivan a headache. What had he signed up for?
Isaac seemed . . . nice, enough. But what about everyone else?
As they walked through the institute's halls, he made eye contact with a few other engineers and scientists. Most were too engrossed in their conversations or cups of coffee to even spare him a glance; however, one did catch his attention. One between frosted glass whose voice bellowed through the lab. Laced with a distinct . . . tone? Ivan wasn't quite sure how to describe the accent other than loud and unhinged, a jarring contract with Isaac's soft tone. While the taller engineer welcomed Ivan with shaky arms, the other scientist unapologetically ripped through another staff member, calling his work unacceptable.
Although Ivan believed the stranger's demeanor was quite similar to that of other salesmen he met on the street, his appearance was nothing alike. The man's face was pale, paler than his own with slicked-back dark hair and notable dark under eyes. Too many long nights at the lab, he assumed, or was it a general lack of self-care?
Despite the quick -- was it considered a conversation? Why say anything at all if he was simply going to walk away? 'Π²ΠΈΠ΄ ΡΡΠ΄Π°.'
"Harmless? Most yes. He does not look very strong."
This Dr. Alston was like a dog, all bark but no bite. Witnessing a barrage of insults never set a good first impression, but he didn't carry an ounce of mercy with him as he went down the hall. Like a criminal leaving a victim disfigured.
"But I will stay away. If he is physicist, I do not believe I will be needing his help."
However, Ivan grimaced slightly knowing they would most likely meet once again. No matter how large the facility was, or how slim the chances were, he knew this was not the last he would see of Dr. Alston.
Deciding it was best not to linger, Ivan continued forth, pulling his gaze from the comforting shadowy figures. "Dr. -- Mr.? Price. Eh, can I ask something private? The man called you a choir boy. Are you by chance religious?" he asked, "I -- I ask because I am. I do not go as often anymore, very embarrassing to admit."
Isaac seemed . . . nice, enough. But what about everyone else?
As they walked through the institute's halls, he made eye contact with a few other engineers and scientists. Most were too engrossed in their conversations or cups of coffee to even spare him a glance; however, one did catch his attention. One between frosted glass whose voice bellowed through the lab. Laced with a distinct . . . tone? Ivan wasn't quite sure how to describe the accent other than loud and unhinged, a jarring contract with Isaac's soft tone. While the taller engineer welcomed Ivan with shaky arms, the other scientist unapologetically ripped through another staff member, calling his work unacceptable.
Although Ivan believed the stranger's demeanor was quite similar to that of other salesmen he met on the street, his appearance was nothing alike. The man's face was pale, paler than his own with slicked-back dark hair and notable dark under eyes. Too many long nights at the lab, he assumed, or was it a general lack of self-care?
Despite the quick -- was it considered a conversation? Why say anything at all if he was simply going to walk away? 'Π²ΠΈΠ΄ ΡΡΠ΄Π°.'
"Harmless? Most yes. He does not look very strong."
This Dr. Alston was like a dog, all bark but no bite. Witnessing a barrage of insults never set a good first impression, but he didn't carry an ounce of mercy with him as he went down the hall. Like a criminal leaving a victim disfigured.
"But I will stay away. If he is physicist, I do not believe I will be needing his help."
However, Ivan grimaced slightly knowing they would most likely meet once again. No matter how large the facility was, or how slim the chances were, he knew this was not the last he would see of Dr. Alston.
Deciding it was best not to linger, Ivan continued forth, pulling his gaze from the comforting shadowy figures. "Dr. -- Mr.? Price. Eh, can I ask something private? The man called you a choir boy. Are you by chance religious?" he asked, "I -- I ask because I am. I do not go as often anymore, very embarrassing to admit."
simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
Once Dr. Alston had disappeared from view, the whispers stirred back up, urging him to proceed. Force your eyes away and those feet forward. Wouldn't want to keep the devil waiting, after all.
Devil?
Nervous eyes trailed back down to his intern, who had made a few remarks about the physicist's strength. He wanted to agreeβhow many times had he seen that man stumble over his own exhaustion, hands gripped tight around a thermos of black coffee? Surely, he wouldn't have the energy to take up his fists with anyone. Still, Ivan was new here. How did he know whether Alston could fight or not? Was it hubris? Or was it experience? He knew nothing about Ivan beyond name, nationality, and desired profession. Yet, he reeked of brimstone. Why? He had been nothing but kind and patient since he walked in, yet there was something so inherently wicked about him that every glance was enough to stoke the flames in the corners of his vision.
Judgement without reasonable pretense. Why? Why could he never learn? And he wondered why the swords of God's angels seemed to bear down harder on him, pushing him further towards that land of gnashing teeth. Who was he to beg for mercy when he couldn't even afford it to someone he'd just met?
That gentle gravel brought Issac back out of his thoughts again, the fog disappearing from behind those wary eyes as quickly as it had invaded.
Ah, so he had caught that detail.
The staff of the SEC were a diverse bunchβmen and women of various nationalities sifted in to exercise their expertise in such a renowned facility. Yet, Dr. Alston seemed to take issue with the openly religiousβChristians especially. No one seemed to know exactly why. There were theories ranging from such dramatics as him being abused by a priest as a boy to the simple and plain "he just thinks that his word is God." Issac wasn't sure what to believe about his coworker, but he was certain about what laid in wait beyond the veil of death. And, if he were to be believed, so did Ivan. Well, that certainly made the engineer feel worse about his previous assumptions. His gaze snapped to the tile floor for a moment in shame as he worked to busy his shaking hand, bony fingers caught in the mess of ginger curls atop his head. "Ah, um. Either is fineβDr. or Mr., I'm not picky about it. Y-You should probably use Dr. for the others, though," he warned, looking back up as they approached the supply room. "I am, though. Religious, I mean. Seventh Day Adventist. I-It doesn't come in conflict with science as much as you'd think... Just don't tell the biologists I said that."
He gave a nervous laugh at his own attempt at a joke, then opened the door, flinching back somewhat as the lights automatically clicked on and sent shadows scurrying back into their hiding spots. Beneath shelves and between the slats of vents, their invisible eyes watched with intrigue as Issac stepped in and held the door for his new colleague. Their eyes met again, this time in an unspoken query: did you see those?
The unimpeded stride and calm demeanor his companion wore spoke to the negative.
Letting a held breath go in silent relief, the taller man allowed the door to close as Ivan began his search, absent-mindedly stroking his mess of a beard as he tried to determine if he needed anything himself. The room was the size of a small bedroom, lined with shelves and wall hooks that were all filled with office supplies ranging from spare desk chairs to cables long enough to tie a man to them. Despite how well-organized it was, it still caused Issac's addled mind to spin with the sheer quantity of things. He had to catch himselfβthe conversation provided a useful branch over the abyss. "I understand your embarrassment. There's a lot of Christians in this city, I'm sure, but, um... I-I've been here for about a month and... I still haven't gotten my bearings just yet. So, I haven't really been to church since I got here."
Embarrassment brushed a soft red over his freckled cheeks and he turned his head in an attempt to hide his shame. He had to remember to keep his voice audible, though. Just because he was a bad son didn't mean that Ivan had to fight just to hear him speak. "I keep up worship at home, of course. I'm sure you do, too. Still... We would do well to attend mass more often. I-I mean, you're already doing better than me if you've found somewhere to worshipβat least, I think so. It's just... What did my old pastor always say...?" he trailed into a murmur, closing his eyes as he racked his brain for the words that had surely burnt into those folds. And surely enough, he found them. "Ah, right: 'Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another.' βIt was one of his favorite proverbsβhe repeated it all the time... Can't believe I almost forgot it."
A small frown played on his lips. Had he already begun to lose himself? Far from home as he was, he needed to remember to hold on to his valuesβhe needed to scream it down his own throat in the haze of his bathroom mirror as the incandescent lights burned over him in a man-made halo set to melt away. It wasn't like him to just forget his teachings like that. Was he falling faster than he thought?
He could no longer tell if it was homesickness or holy fire that singed his guts.
Devil?
Nervous eyes trailed back down to his intern, who had made a few remarks about the physicist's strength. He wanted to agreeβhow many times had he seen that man stumble over his own exhaustion, hands gripped tight around a thermos of black coffee? Surely, he wouldn't have the energy to take up his fists with anyone. Still, Ivan was new here. How did he know whether Alston could fight or not? Was it hubris? Or was it experience? He knew nothing about Ivan beyond name, nationality, and desired profession. Yet, he reeked of brimstone. Why? He had been nothing but kind and patient since he walked in, yet there was something so inherently wicked about him that every glance was enough to stoke the flames in the corners of his vision.
Judgement without reasonable pretense. Why? Why could he never learn? And he wondered why the swords of God's angels seemed to bear down harder on him, pushing him further towards that land of gnashing teeth. Who was he to beg for mercy when he couldn't even afford it to someone he'd just met?
That gentle gravel brought Issac back out of his thoughts again, the fog disappearing from behind those wary eyes as quickly as it had invaded.
Ah, so he had caught that detail.
The staff of the SEC were a diverse bunchβmen and women of various nationalities sifted in to exercise their expertise in such a renowned facility. Yet, Dr. Alston seemed to take issue with the openly religiousβChristians especially. No one seemed to know exactly why. There were theories ranging from such dramatics as him being abused by a priest as a boy to the simple and plain "he just thinks that his word is God." Issac wasn't sure what to believe about his coworker, but he was certain about what laid in wait beyond the veil of death. And, if he were to be believed, so did Ivan. Well, that certainly made the engineer feel worse about his previous assumptions. His gaze snapped to the tile floor for a moment in shame as he worked to busy his shaking hand, bony fingers caught in the mess of ginger curls atop his head. "Ah, um. Either is fineβDr. or Mr., I'm not picky about it. Y-You should probably use Dr. for the others, though," he warned, looking back up as they approached the supply room. "I am, though. Religious, I mean. Seventh Day Adventist. I-It doesn't come in conflict with science as much as you'd think... Just don't tell the biologists I said that."
He gave a nervous laugh at his own attempt at a joke, then opened the door, flinching back somewhat as the lights automatically clicked on and sent shadows scurrying back into their hiding spots. Beneath shelves and between the slats of vents, their invisible eyes watched with intrigue as Issac stepped in and held the door for his new colleague. Their eyes met again, this time in an unspoken query: did you see those?
The unimpeded stride and calm demeanor his companion wore spoke to the negative.
Letting a held breath go in silent relief, the taller man allowed the door to close as Ivan began his search, absent-mindedly stroking his mess of a beard as he tried to determine if he needed anything himself. The room was the size of a small bedroom, lined with shelves and wall hooks that were all filled with office supplies ranging from spare desk chairs to cables long enough to tie a man to them. Despite how well-organized it was, it still caused Issac's addled mind to spin with the sheer quantity of things. He had to catch himselfβthe conversation provided a useful branch over the abyss. "I understand your embarrassment. There's a lot of Christians in this city, I'm sure, but, um... I-I've been here for about a month and... I still haven't gotten my bearings just yet. So, I haven't really been to church since I got here."
Embarrassment brushed a soft red over his freckled cheeks and he turned his head in an attempt to hide his shame. He had to remember to keep his voice audible, though. Just because he was a bad son didn't mean that Ivan had to fight just to hear him speak. "I keep up worship at home, of course. I'm sure you do, too. Still... We would do well to attend mass more often. I-I mean, you're already doing better than me if you've found somewhere to worshipβat least, I think so. It's just... What did my old pastor always say...?" he trailed into a murmur, closing his eyes as he racked his brain for the words that had surely burnt into those folds. And surely enough, he found them. "Ah, right: 'Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another.' βIt was one of his favorite proverbsβhe repeated it all the time... Can't believe I almost forgot it."
A small frown played on his lips. Had he already begun to lose himself? Far from home as he was, he needed to remember to hold on to his valuesβhe needed to scream it down his own throat in the haze of his bathroom mirror as the incandescent lights burned over him in a man-made halo set to melt away. It wasn't like him to just forget his teachings like that. Was he falling faster than he thought?
He could no longer tell if it was homesickness or holy fire that singed his guts.
deadly king
never fade away
As expected, Dr. Price was religious, even stating his denomination. Although, Ivan had never heard of it. Seventh-Day Adventist? What the hell was that? Who the hell were they? Instead of pondering, he simply moved on, walking straight into the room and past his coworker. Even the shifting of lights and shifting of air was enough to spark tremours throughout the man.
Shelves lined the space, creating a mase as the would-be coder searched for supplies. It was all generic items any office would have, pens, paper, rules, some graphing paper, a few calculators, dry-erase markers, more pens, hole punchers, and electrical chords that span the size of a room. Briefly, he wondered what could be used to take care of any problems or mishaps. Obviously, the chords to tie up any witnesses, the garbage bags to shove and destroy evidence, and a desk to . . .
Ivan sharply pulled his mind back from his thoughts, pulling his gaze to the bearded man. A small sigh left the man's nose, as if scolding himself for allowing his mind to wander too far. He shouldn't be thinking of any of those things within the concrete walls. It would serve no one to be distracted with such vile thoughts. What would Melany think? It was just a storage closet with everyday items. His hand rose, grabbing one of the small black cups, dumping several pens, markers, and a few pencils. The items jingled within the metal confines, circling as the coder dropped in a few more.
The engineer's words did very little to stop his shopping spree, grabbing a few more needed items. A notebook, for starters, and then a few more loose-leaf sheets. Blending in was the most important aspect of this job, if any were to catch wind of his true intentions, everything would be lost. This meant, for better or for worse, he needed to relearn his coding skills and expand upon them. His weapon specialist, Ori -- that damned woman -- continued to nag him about his "Pathetic excuse of a website," and how it needed to be updated. Better security needed to be implemented, something about a firewall and password protection, but why was all that needed? It was behind a torrent, marooned in a deep sea of other websites, could agents really go so far as to track him from one little corner of the web?
Fuck, it wasn't a risk he was willing to take.
Either way, refining the almost-forgotten skill would be all-around helpful. It would save him money and he would be living up to his word, and all at the cost of . . . his sanity. There was a reason why, "The C Programming Language," "Programming Perl," and, "The UNIX Programming Environment," all slowly collected dust on his shelves. Who would willingly sit and read pages upon pages of gibberish and monotonous code and history? God, it was easier to rip apart code found through his computer than whatever that old man gave him. Nonetheless, he appreciated the older man's effort, going so far as to waive the price so Ivan could further "enrich [his] knowledge."
"Would you like to attend mass together?" he boldly asked. "One day, I mean," he spoke again, with a shrug. A simple offer he assumed would be rejected. After all, Isaac needed to settle in and familiarize himself with the city, why would he attend church with someone he hardly knew? "Though I go to a . . ." He paused. What type of church did he attend? Why he hardly bothered to remember the name; all he knew was that it was a block and a half down from his apartment, and the church bells always rang through the apartment engulfed in red.
"We do not have the same," perplexed at the word, he arched a brow. What was the word? Finally, Ivan stopped in his tracks, cocking his head. They both worshipped the same God, was that not enough to stand together under the same house? Did the specifics matter? "It does not matter, we worship God, that is all that is important, yes?"
Giving the ginger a nod, he returned to the door holding quite a few supplies. "Ehh, am I allowed all this? I need lot to write, better to write first, and catch mistake," he explained. "Computer takes long time to process and," his hand made a dismissive gesture. "You understand, yes?"
Shelves lined the space, creating a mase as the would-be coder searched for supplies. It was all generic items any office would have, pens, paper, rules, some graphing paper, a few calculators, dry-erase markers, more pens, hole punchers, and electrical chords that span the size of a room. Briefly, he wondered what could be used to take care of any problems or mishaps. Obviously, the chords to tie up any witnesses, the garbage bags to shove and destroy evidence, and a desk to . . .
Ivan sharply pulled his mind back from his thoughts, pulling his gaze to the bearded man. A small sigh left the man's nose, as if scolding himself for allowing his mind to wander too far. He shouldn't be thinking of any of those things within the concrete walls. It would serve no one to be distracted with such vile thoughts. What would Melany think? It was just a storage closet with everyday items. His hand rose, grabbing one of the small black cups, dumping several pens, markers, and a few pencils. The items jingled within the metal confines, circling as the coder dropped in a few more.
The engineer's words did very little to stop his shopping spree, grabbing a few more needed items. A notebook, for starters, and then a few more loose-leaf sheets. Blending in was the most important aspect of this job, if any were to catch wind of his true intentions, everything would be lost. This meant, for better or for worse, he needed to relearn his coding skills and expand upon them. His weapon specialist, Ori -- that damned woman -- continued to nag him about his "Pathetic excuse of a website," and how it needed to be updated. Better security needed to be implemented, something about a firewall and password protection, but why was all that needed? It was behind a torrent, marooned in a deep sea of other websites, could agents really go so far as to track him from one little corner of the web?
Fuck, it wasn't a risk he was willing to take.
Either way, refining the almost-forgotten skill would be all-around helpful. It would save him money and he would be living up to his word, and all at the cost of . . . his sanity. There was a reason why, "The C Programming Language," "Programming Perl," and, "The UNIX Programming Environment," all slowly collected dust on his shelves. Who would willingly sit and read pages upon pages of gibberish and monotonous code and history? God, it was easier to rip apart code found through his computer than whatever that old man gave him. Nonetheless, he appreciated the older man's effort, going so far as to waive the price so Ivan could further "enrich [his] knowledge."
"Would you like to attend mass together?" he boldly asked. "One day, I mean," he spoke again, with a shrug. A simple offer he assumed would be rejected. After all, Isaac needed to settle in and familiarize himself with the city, why would he attend church with someone he hardly knew? "Though I go to a . . ." He paused. What type of church did he attend? Why he hardly bothered to remember the name; all he knew was that it was a block and a half down from his apartment, and the church bells always rang through the apartment engulfed in red.
"We do not have the same," perplexed at the word, he arched a brow. What was the word? Finally, Ivan stopped in his tracks, cocking his head. They both worshipped the same God, was that not enough to stand together under the same house? Did the specifics matter? "It does not matter, we worship God, that is all that is important, yes?"
Giving the ginger a nod, he returned to the door holding quite a few supplies. "Ehh, am I allowed all this? I need lot to write, better to write first, and catch mistake," he explained. "Computer takes long time to process and," his hand made a dismissive gesture. "You understand, yes?"
simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
Ivan seemed to move completely independent of the words of his superiorβsomething Issac quickly took note of. He may have acted meek and mild-mannered on his approach, but he had settled in fast, and was beginning to act more and more like he was the one with a doctorate in the room, completely disregarding the taller man's existence in his leisurely search for office supplies. Though this would have been cause for offense among some of his peers, it couldn't have been a greater source of relief for the skittish engineer. That confident independence might get the intern in trouble, but it also meant that there would be less of a chance of Issac needing to issue orders against himβsomething he desperately wanted to keep to a minimum.
Those steely blue eyes caught his for a moment, the dark brows that framed them knitted with some unknown troubles. Though he couldn't maintain the eye contact for too long, the engineer gave a gentle nod, hoping to settle whatever worries had whipped up under that fluffy black hair. Maybe all that confidence was just a front. He couldn't say he was unfamiliar with the feeling.
Issac had just gone to gather some scratch paperβfully aware how much of it would be wasted on ripping irrational thoughts from his head before promptly being tossed into a shredderβwhen he suddenly got a response that froze him in his tracks. Ivan wanted to go to mass with him? Wandering eyes snapped back over to the intern, this time trying to study him. They didn't share the same denomination, it seemed. That wasn't exactly unusual, and Issac could recall getting a few head tilts even from other Christians as he professed his beliefs to them. Still, thumbing his small stack of papers, he wondered how much their beliefs truly overlapped. They may have had entirely different beliefs in Russia, loosely referred to as Christianity simply because the Almighty God was involved in some form or fashion. He may have believed in a higher power, but did they know Him the same? Memories of sitting in Bible school and flipping through those thin pages came to mind, the air thick with the scent of ancient knowledge. What did he know about God, really?
That's when Ivan's final plea snagged Issac's morals. Of course, Ivan's denomination shouldn't matter in the grand scheme of thingsβand neither should his own. They were both sons of God after all. They both had a place in His house. Shame pulled one of his hands to the cuff of his sleeve, where it bunched the fabric between his fingers. How many times did he have to punish himself before he changed? "Um... Maybe. Maybe one day," he said with a nod, offering a smile to the intern. "I'm sure we have a lot to learn from each other, after all..."
As Ivan walked back over to the door, Issac made sure to follow close behind, adjusting his grip on the scratch paper he had gathered for himself. "Of course, of course!" he affirmed, opening the door for his companion. "You're welcome to take whatever you need from here. Just, uh, try to make sure it stays in the building, you know? They really try to keep a close audit on some of these things."
A glance was cast down the hall, then quickly back to Ivan. Best not to inspect that figure at the end too carefully.
"Now, um. Let's get back to work, okay?"
---
The sun had gone down, but an orange glow still radiated from the open bay door of an auto shop. Tucked within an old red brick building laid a sprawling garage, cars in various states of repair sat parked on lifts with worn yellow paint and oil stains on their arms. At this hour, there were only two remaining workers on-site, and the only noise to drown out the power tools and sounds of revving engines was a single boom box with a pirated mixtape spinning just within. Elton John's Tiny Dancer echoed with glee within those walls, and the shop's owner hummed along as metal legs tapped out their own rhythm against the cracked concrete below her. Her coworker puffed smoke through burnt lips as he loosened the bolt holding a tie rod in place. It wasn't his song of choice, but he would tolerate it all the same.
"I'm placing my bets with you right now, Ciro," the head mechanic chuckled gesturing towards the shop door with her wrench without even taking her head out of the hood of the rusted red Pinto she was working on. "He's gonna come stumbling through there in... Two, three minutes tops. He's gonna be running on caffeine and spite, bitchin' about the code work he got himself into. Bet the idiot's been working over, too. Whaddya think?"
Ciro poked his head out from under the Firebird above him, raising a sparse brow at his boss as she glanced over at him in turn. A quiet huff came from under her plaid gaiter as she narrowed her eyes at the burlier man.
"Y'know, I know you can't understand me, but the least you could do is humor me."
Those steely blue eyes caught his for a moment, the dark brows that framed them knitted with some unknown troubles. Though he couldn't maintain the eye contact for too long, the engineer gave a gentle nod, hoping to settle whatever worries had whipped up under that fluffy black hair. Maybe all that confidence was just a front. He couldn't say he was unfamiliar with the feeling.
Issac had just gone to gather some scratch paperβfully aware how much of it would be wasted on ripping irrational thoughts from his head before promptly being tossed into a shredderβwhen he suddenly got a response that froze him in his tracks. Ivan wanted to go to mass with him? Wandering eyes snapped back over to the intern, this time trying to study him. They didn't share the same denomination, it seemed. That wasn't exactly unusual, and Issac could recall getting a few head tilts even from other Christians as he professed his beliefs to them. Still, thumbing his small stack of papers, he wondered how much their beliefs truly overlapped. They may have had entirely different beliefs in Russia, loosely referred to as Christianity simply because the Almighty God was involved in some form or fashion. He may have believed in a higher power, but did they know Him the same? Memories of sitting in Bible school and flipping through those thin pages came to mind, the air thick with the scent of ancient knowledge. What did he know about God, really?
That's when Ivan's final plea snagged Issac's morals. Of course, Ivan's denomination shouldn't matter in the grand scheme of thingsβand neither should his own. They were both sons of God after all. They both had a place in His house. Shame pulled one of his hands to the cuff of his sleeve, where it bunched the fabric between his fingers. How many times did he have to punish himself before he changed? "Um... Maybe. Maybe one day," he said with a nod, offering a smile to the intern. "I'm sure we have a lot to learn from each other, after all..."
As Ivan walked back over to the door, Issac made sure to follow close behind, adjusting his grip on the scratch paper he had gathered for himself. "Of course, of course!" he affirmed, opening the door for his companion. "You're welcome to take whatever you need from here. Just, uh, try to make sure it stays in the building, you know? They really try to keep a close audit on some of these things."
A glance was cast down the hall, then quickly back to Ivan. Best not to inspect that figure at the end too carefully.
"Now, um. Let's get back to work, okay?"
---
The sun had gone down, but an orange glow still radiated from the open bay door of an auto shop. Tucked within an old red brick building laid a sprawling garage, cars in various states of repair sat parked on lifts with worn yellow paint and oil stains on their arms. At this hour, there were only two remaining workers on-site, and the only noise to drown out the power tools and sounds of revving engines was a single boom box with a pirated mixtape spinning just within. Elton John's Tiny Dancer echoed with glee within those walls, and the shop's owner hummed along as metal legs tapped out their own rhythm against the cracked concrete below her. Her coworker puffed smoke through burnt lips as he loosened the bolt holding a tie rod in place. It wasn't his song of choice, but he would tolerate it all the same.
"I'm placing my bets with you right now, Ciro," the head mechanic chuckled gesturing towards the shop door with her wrench without even taking her head out of the hood of the rusted red Pinto she was working on. "He's gonna come stumbling through there in... Two, three minutes tops. He's gonna be running on caffeine and spite, bitchin' about the code work he got himself into. Bet the idiot's been working over, too. Whaddya think?"
Ciro poked his head out from under the Firebird above him, raising a sparse brow at his boss as she glanced over at him in turn. A quiet huff came from under her plaid gaiter as she narrowed her eyes at the burlier man.
"Y'know, I know you can't understand me, but the least you could do is humor me."
deadly king
never fade away
Finally freed from those sterilized walls was like a breath of fresh air. Or, maybe dirty air? The pollution in the city was terrible, being a mix of exhaust pipes, chain smokers, and the constant rising construction. However, it all felt natural. Watching the environment change from Queens to Manhattan -- no matter how minor -- was entertaining nonetheless. The biggest difference was the numerous highrises that blocked a majority of the sunlight, something Ivan was unused to. Despite the harsh winters, sunshine managed to find its way onto the estate, something that reached his apartment less and less as construction continued.
It reached the familiar autobody shop even less. Buried in between brick buildings, forced to adapt to the environment was his first contact of the day. The cab ride over was the only chance he got for a breather before being immediately thrust into his next job. Brain still tangled with code, Ivan struggled slightly to remember the exact address. Although he had been showing his face twice a week at the autobody for a year now, it was packed between two other shops, all with cars lining the front. The only way he could tell the difference was the distinct sound of terrible-sounding music emitting from an equally terrible-sounding boom box. Or was the machine merely making the music sound terrible? Regardless, the sound honed him in like a beacon. Waltzing through the various cars, blue eyes scanned the orange-tinted shop for any other employees. Usually, it was only Ori and her bodyguard, Ciro, if he remembered correctly. While Ivan grew to understand the woman over the long year, communication was near impossible with the larger man. It was a wonder how the specialist managed to speak to her own subordinate. How could they work together if they spoke two different languages?
Ivan tried not to dwell on it too long; it simply wasn't his problem. The only one who mattered was Ori and she . . . Merely picturing her face was enough to force a sigh out of the criminal. Working with her was like working with a child, except he could at least underpay a child and they wouldn't blink an eye. A part of the criminal could understand, she was here far before him, already having a name in their world and then he comes along stepping on her territory and putting pressure on her supply lines. If it was anyone backed by another group, they would simply pull out and find another supplier, but this was one simple woman. Or so he assumed. Up until recently, Ivan was unaware of how deep her network ran, something that still unnerved him. Was that man sleeping on the cement floor working for her? What about the ragged man on the bus? Or the one not even half a block down from his church? Who played the part of her eyes and who was a civilian?
"Special Delivery," the man chimed in, poking his tall frame out from behind a rusted vehicle. Gloved hands shot up to his patterned scarf, tugging it off as the warm heat crept up his body.
Although sending one of his men on the ground was convenient and saved time that could be used elsewhere, who else could he vent to without the worry of them using it against him? As he walked closer to the other criminals . . . he realized Melany was the only one to fit that role.
"You two are the only here, yes?" he asked, giving another quick look around before stepping around and behind the pair. "Good, I need to light," he sighed heavily, fumbling through his pockets in search of a lighter. As tempted as the Russian was to unveil the illegal product in the back of the building, he knew it was safer to head to the backrooms. "How long more is this going to take?" he gestured to the cars. "I cannot be here all night."
Last edited:
simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
Echoing just under the static-filled boom box was the telltale sound of shoes too fancy for this line of work, the familiar footsteps not even stirring Ori from her work. They seemed more sluggish than normal, if only slightly, and she cracked a smirk beneath her gaiter as she momentarily ducked back into the hood to remove an old timing belt. Worn thin and stretched to a concerning degree, she took a moment to marvel in its wear, genuine surprise flickering in those eyes. Had it been left a little longer, it might have snapped and wrecked the whole engine. Yet, whoever owned this car either had sucker's luck, or they knew the limits of their machine and all of its parts a little too well.
Just as she discarded the old belt, her equally-frayed cohort poked out from behind another one of her projects, rusted out and waiting on a new radiator. It would be out of commission for a whileβthat part was harder to come by than she'd anticipated. Still, the owner loved the damn thing. Perhaps a little too much. "Hey, hey, what's up, Tiny?" she chuckled, stepping back from her project to greet the Russian. "Look at'cha, you almost look like a respectable grad student. And since you're not completely seething mad, I take it the lab boys bought it."
She walked past the more well-dressed man, playfully thumping his arm with the back of her hand as she strolled over to a shelf full of parts she knew she'd need for the day's projects. There were a few timing belts, routine as they were, but she was able to locate the one she needed with a fair amount of efficiency before quickly returning to her work. "Yeah, it's just us tonight. Go ahead and get comfortable, it'll only be a sec."
Her olive-toned hands were caked in engine grime and peppered with bandages, but it didn't seem to slow her down at all. She still wound the new belt with the dexterity of someone who had done this thousands of times before, manually giving the pulleys a spin to make sure every piston was moving as it should. Now, all that was left was to put everything back together. It wouldn't take long, she knew this. Yet, she could also sense that Ciro was still staring at Ivan with that same wary look he gave anyone who lingered in the shop for too long, and she knew better than to let that tension build.
"So, how'd your first day go?" she asked, a smug undercurrent cutting into her genuine curiosity. "Did they just have you playing paperboy all day, or did you actually get to do some coding?"
Just as she discarded the old belt, her equally-frayed cohort poked out from behind another one of her projects, rusted out and waiting on a new radiator. It would be out of commission for a whileβthat part was harder to come by than she'd anticipated. Still, the owner loved the damn thing. Perhaps a little too much. "Hey, hey, what's up, Tiny?" she chuckled, stepping back from her project to greet the Russian. "Look at'cha, you almost look like a respectable grad student. And since you're not completely seething mad, I take it the lab boys bought it."
She walked past the more well-dressed man, playfully thumping his arm with the back of her hand as she strolled over to a shelf full of parts she knew she'd need for the day's projects. There were a few timing belts, routine as they were, but she was able to locate the one she needed with a fair amount of efficiency before quickly returning to her work. "Yeah, it's just us tonight. Go ahead and get comfortable, it'll only be a sec."
Her olive-toned hands were caked in engine grime and peppered with bandages, but it didn't seem to slow her down at all. She still wound the new belt with the dexterity of someone who had done this thousands of times before, manually giving the pulleys a spin to make sure every piston was moving as it should. Now, all that was left was to put everything back together. It wouldn't take long, she knew this. Yet, she could also sense that Ciro was still staring at Ivan with that same wary look he gave anyone who lingered in the shop for too long, and she knew better than to let that tension build.
"So, how'd your first day go?" she asked, a smug undercurrent cutting into her genuine curiosity. "Did they just have you playing paperboy all day, or did you actually get to do some coding?"
deadly king
never fade away
Steel blue eyes watched the mechanic intensely. The underhanded comment was neither needed nor appreciated as he continued past the cars. Although he would rather smoke in the security and safety of his own space, he knew if he kept Ori waiting she would get even more annoying. It was better to merely put up with her comments for an hour than make her wait later that night after making his other rounds. Besides, it meant he was cooled down for the rest of his clients who were . . . Not as pleasant as Ori.
Making his way to the beat-up, leather-frayed, and dusty red couch, the man pulled his coat in, covering him as he slowly sat down. A small dust cloud rose as he fell, settling on his black coat. With a small huff, he fanned off the debris, noting the woman's attempts to keep him clean were in vain. However, it was to be expected, it was a mechanic shop after all. If it wasn't dust, it was oil, rust, or any other chemical liquid they kept on site. Ivan could remember one of the first times he was allowed into the shop -- it was terrible. Oil stained not only his shoes but the ends of his coat, meaning he had to throw away both items or be at the mercy of a million, "What happened to your shoes?" comments and he was unwilling to deal with the headache. At the very least, the criminal learned never to return in genuine lavish clothing less he wanted to watch his own money go down the drain.
"It was just an introduction, first day," he shrugged, reaching into his jacket's pocket. Removing one of the gloves, he opened the bag revealing its contents along with his own lighter. Although he spent hundreds making himself look like a real professional, the criminal only mustered a few cents for a plastic Bic lighter.
"No coding, yet, but I have work cut out," he attempted to speak a phrase, however, it fell short. His eyes flicked up, watching the entrance as he pulled out the paper. They continued to flick between the entrance, contraband, and the peering gaze of Ori's . . . employee? Ivan was, truthfully, unsure of their relationship or dynamic. Visibly larger and powerful, he was unsure why such a man let one small woman boss him around. Then there was the fact he only spoke Spanish. Or was he mute? Regardless, why would Ori put up with such a headache? Why not hire a bodyguard that -- at the bare minimum -- spoke the same tongue as her?
"They have thrown me in. I have to read up my books again," he complained with a harsh sigh, paper crinkling underneath his fingertips. "Do you know about," rolling the paper under and over, it all came together. "Neuroscience?" Was that the correct word? "I have to program -- brain for security device," he paused. Now, wasn't that ironic? "I do not quite understand. I guess it is scanning and then knowing what to do?" he shrugged, flicking the lighter until a bright flame appeared, burning the end of his contraband.
"I have you building something like that?"
simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
Mangled English filtered through the air as the boombox switched from soft rock to trance, the tonal whiplash such a norm that neither of the mechanics even paused at the genre jump. While Ori continued to secure parts back in place and ensure the timing belt was properly tensioned, Ciro continued to stare down the Russian. They hadn't exactly gotten off on the right foot, though this was a recurring theme with most of Ori's clientele. The guy had a tendency to push the buttons of everyone they came into contact with, finding what irritated even the most stoic of criminals and playing their nerves like a six-string. It was the sort of behavior that made Ciro's presence all the more warrantedβit was a miracle they hadn't been shot yet.
They weren't even in the right health to be picking fights, really. That couchβrust-red and stained with auto grime of all varietiesβwas put there with one specific intention. Of course, it had other usesβsometimes Ciro would crash on it at night, other employees would rest on it for their lunch breaks, and plenty of people had used it as a place to light up just as Ivan was. However, its primary function was to provide a nearby place of rest in the event that Ori's injuries flared up. There were many seats scattered around the shop with this exact situation in mind, and they ran the gambit from cheap office furniture to salvaged home furnishings. A particularly tall stepladder had also made it into the lineup, and Ciro could recall a few instances in which he found Ori sitting on the top step, leaning back as they hung on the rusted seat with a nonchalance that hid every trace of weakness from the untrained eye.
The larger man ducked back underneath the Firebird and wrenched a busted control arm loose from its place, tossing it to the ground with an echoed clatter. It was only one part out of many that needed to be taken care of in that car's busted suspension, but he knew better than to keep staring. After all, the degree of control Ori held over the situation was deceptively high, despite his own concerns. They hadn't even looked up from their work, listening intently to Ivan's shattered complaints.
Ciro couldn't decipher them. Ori hardly could either. It was always like this. The more exhausted he was, the less of a fuck he seemed to give about the English language. It was annoying, but it was an annoyance that they had become accustomed to. As they shut the hood, they stretched their arms against the front of the car, a deep crack reverberating across their shoulders. Maybe it was the unfamiliar topic, but he seemed particularly incoherent that night. Maybe he was already high. They would hardly put it past him to show up still surfing off of a previous hit. Still, what the hell was he talking about? Neuroscience? Wasn't Issac an engineer?
"Ivan, bud, you aren't making a damn bit of sense," they huffed, walking over to the Firebird and banging on the metal near Ciro's head a few times. With a grumble, he pulled himself from the project and went to close up the main entrance to the shop. Seems the day was finally over. As he busied himself, Ori walked back over to the couch, musing under their breath on what Ivan could possibly mean byβ
"Oh, wait. No, I think I get it," they chuckled, leaning on the back of it just over Ivan's left shoulder. "Yeah, it was probably a figure of speech. When we talk about the 'brain' of the machine," they gently poked the side of Ivan's head to emphasize their point, quickly withdrawing their hand to avoid being swatted at. "We're talking about the computer components, the code that tells the machine what to do, not an actual brain. You don't need to be a neurosurgeon, just a competent programmer. So yeah, you definitely have your work cut out for you... Though, from the sounds of it, he's expecting you to also code an AI of sortsβartificial intelligence. Some sort of recognition software?"
They shrugged, pushing off of the back of the couch and tucking a disobedient strand of grease-coated hair back up into their beanie as the roar of the overhead door closing drowned out the synths and metal footsteps. "S'ppose that's your job to figure out, not mine."
As they walked in front of the couch, they produced a set of keys from one of the many pockets of their coveralls. Strapped to a thin wire that acted as a lanyard, the bundle of keys jingled in tune with her taunting gaze as the roaring and music ceased. Seemed Ciro had decided on silence as the soundtrack for the night.
"Anyways, you're a busy man. I won't keep ya long this time. What's the price tonight, Tiny?"
They weren't even in the right health to be picking fights, really. That couchβrust-red and stained with auto grime of all varietiesβwas put there with one specific intention. Of course, it had other usesβsometimes Ciro would crash on it at night, other employees would rest on it for their lunch breaks, and plenty of people had used it as a place to light up just as Ivan was. However, its primary function was to provide a nearby place of rest in the event that Ori's injuries flared up. There were many seats scattered around the shop with this exact situation in mind, and they ran the gambit from cheap office furniture to salvaged home furnishings. A particularly tall stepladder had also made it into the lineup, and Ciro could recall a few instances in which he found Ori sitting on the top step, leaning back as they hung on the rusted seat with a nonchalance that hid every trace of weakness from the untrained eye.
The larger man ducked back underneath the Firebird and wrenched a busted control arm loose from its place, tossing it to the ground with an echoed clatter. It was only one part out of many that needed to be taken care of in that car's busted suspension, but he knew better than to keep staring. After all, the degree of control Ori held over the situation was deceptively high, despite his own concerns. They hadn't even looked up from their work, listening intently to Ivan's shattered complaints.
Ciro couldn't decipher them. Ori hardly could either. It was always like this. The more exhausted he was, the less of a fuck he seemed to give about the English language. It was annoying, but it was an annoyance that they had become accustomed to. As they shut the hood, they stretched their arms against the front of the car, a deep crack reverberating across their shoulders. Maybe it was the unfamiliar topic, but he seemed particularly incoherent that night. Maybe he was already high. They would hardly put it past him to show up still surfing off of a previous hit. Still, what the hell was he talking about? Neuroscience? Wasn't Issac an engineer?
"Ivan, bud, you aren't making a damn bit of sense," they huffed, walking over to the Firebird and banging on the metal near Ciro's head a few times. With a grumble, he pulled himself from the project and went to close up the main entrance to the shop. Seems the day was finally over. As he busied himself, Ori walked back over to the couch, musing under their breath on what Ivan could possibly mean byβ
"Oh, wait. No, I think I get it," they chuckled, leaning on the back of it just over Ivan's left shoulder. "Yeah, it was probably a figure of speech. When we talk about the 'brain' of the machine," they gently poked the side of Ivan's head to emphasize their point, quickly withdrawing their hand to avoid being swatted at. "We're talking about the computer components, the code that tells the machine what to do, not an actual brain. You don't need to be a neurosurgeon, just a competent programmer. So yeah, you definitely have your work cut out for you... Though, from the sounds of it, he's expecting you to also code an AI of sortsβartificial intelligence. Some sort of recognition software?"
They shrugged, pushing off of the back of the couch and tucking a disobedient strand of grease-coated hair back up into their beanie as the roar of the overhead door closing drowned out the synths and metal footsteps. "S'ppose that's your job to figure out, not mine."
As they walked in front of the couch, they produced a set of keys from one of the many pockets of their coveralls. Strapped to a thin wire that acted as a lanyard, the bundle of keys jingled in tune with her taunting gaze as the roaring and music ceased. Seemed Ciro had decided on silence as the soundtrack for the night.
"Anyways, you're a busy man. I won't keep ya long this time. What's the price tonight, Tiny?"
deadly king
never fade away
Oh. It seemed he understood the word in a quite literal sense, not the . . . Was it a metaphor? Ah, with smoke filling his lungs, Ivan wasn't motivated to decipher if it was a metaphor or a simile. Who cared anyway? Ori explained what the engineer meant and what work awaited him in the coming days. Code for artificial intelligence of sorts that can decode whether someone is meant to be there or not. What would that even entail?
"Is it my job," he flatly repeated, taking another short hit before passing it off to Ori. Staying too long with any client would be a bad idea. To avoid making a fool out of himself, he needed to know what he was talking about, even if he fumbled a bit for his first few days. They could forgive a poor college student, right? Out a little too late, can't properly get their gears turning the next morning? Would coffee make up for his lack of eagerness? Although he lied through his teeth and falsely quoted his father earlier that day, Ivan was in no mood to work. How could he? Having been quite literally thrown into the deep end, he was still swimming to the surface for a gasp of air, how could he be expected to swim to shore?
The nickname forced his nose to crinkle. Stupid, as always. Although he and Ciro were similar in height, Ivan practically towered over the woman. Then again, voicing any opposition would warrant another ridiculous nickname. How many had she switched through already?
"Let's leave it at twenty-five,"
After taking the payment, the businessman took his leave.
-----
Despite taking the night off, the man's body continued to thrash against cotton sheets, jolting at the sound of his alarm. Sunshine barely seeped into the apartment, leaving him in darkness for the most part. Roughly, his hands rubbed against his already dark eyes, grumbling to himself as he forced his way out of bed. Normally, the criminal slept in most of the day after keeping himself out the entire night. Clients were most active during nighttime and there always seemed to be some trouble that required his attention. Even after he informed his subordinates he would be taking the night off, they managed to cause a problem. A minor problem, at the very least. Ivan simply sent someone else to deal with the scuffle and then returned to his prolonged study session.
With books haphazardly thrown around his apartment, he grumbled again, hand thrown into his curly hair. He was going to have to come back and clean this mess or put it off until his next day off, which by the looks of it, wouldn't be for a while. Lazily, he closed the unnecessary books, keeping only the highlighted ones out. He stacked a few before giving up and simply returning to his bedroom. There was no time to clean, he had to get to . . . work. Blue eyes stared into the closet, unsure of what to make himself. Bright red numbers burned into his gaze every time he glanced at his clock: 8:07. With barely enough time to stop by the cafe and get to the lab on time, the man merely threw on the first thing his hands grabbed.
Rummaging through the coats of his pockets, he stood by the small entrance table. First, a folding knife landed flat on the wooden table, mildly scuffing the finish. A huff left his lips but continued to empty out the pockets. A near-full pack of cigarettes and lighter followed met with a few small clear plastic bags. Another quick pass over before dashing back to the living space. Quickly gathering the notes he wrote down the note prior, the man grabbed all the loose sheets, shoving them into his bag. Slowly peering over, his brow arched. Should he really take that bag? It was his business bag. All his important products and contacts were stored there. But, that would mean returning to his apartment before officially starting his second job which was simply unnecessary. The security was minimal and he doubted anyone would do digging through his private belongings so long as he kept his head down.
Ivan took in a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the apartment door finally closed behind him.
8:22.
The taxi paused in front of the business, the driver eagerly turning back to Ivan for payment. Rummaging through his wallet, the man tossed a few bills into his hand and quickly exited the car. Rolling his eyes at the line, filled to the brim with other employees hoping to catch some slack with coffee, he continued down the street. Unphased by the number of people walking alongside him, the man followed along until he walked into a smaller cafe. The place was crowded, but all the customers were already sitting down, enjoying their drinks and morning breakfast leaving very few in the line. Pulling out his wallet once again, the man paid for two drinks one of which he had to blindly guess the order for. What would Isaac even enjoy? He seemed like the type to simply want black coffee to add whatever he wanted to, but also like the type who would want a milder drink like a latte. Wanting to avoid any stares from those behind him, Ivan simply settled on two macchiatos and left as quickly as he could.
8:41.
Shit, where the hell are the taxis when you need one? Man, he really needed to hire a private chauffeur already. Ah, he needed to wait until his next cash out to determine that expense. For now, the criminal simply had to rely on normal transportation or sit by himself in traffic. Caving in, the would-be coder took a sip of his drink. Now, caffeine couldn't compare to the other substances he willingly put into his body, but the chemical eased his bouncing nervous leg.
8:56.
They sat in traffic longer than the man would have liked, but it didn't matter as long as he was in the building, right? Not wanting to take the chance, Ivan walked as quickly as he could down the elevators, shoving his leg between the door and wall, and forcing it open again. Greeted by unknown faces, he kept to himself simply pressing the button for his floor and staring at the metallic doors. Thankfully, the only ones talking were two older employees in the back who lowered their voices to barely a whisper.
8:58.
The elevator dinged, opening and releasing the employees onto their respective floors. The first to go was the tall man, glancing between the hallway again to remember the room number. Tenth floor and yesterday he took a right meaning . . . it was a number past fifteen. Tugging the bag back up his shoulder, Ivan glanced between the frosted windows, squinting to make out any figures, and after four doors, he found the room. With another heavy breath, the Russian barely managed to show up on time.
9:00 on the dot.
"Good morning," he forced out, tight grip finally releasing the carton drink holder. A small dent marked where his hands were as Ivan gently placed it down. "I -- got us some coffee," breath still heavy, he focused instead on taking his coat off and hanging it until he gathered himself.
"I did not know what you liked," he spoke, grabbing his own plastic cup. "So I uh," he gestured to the drink and packets of sugar, creamer, and Splenda. "Got everything."
Hoping to make up for his lack of knowledge, Ivan simply brought whatever the man would want to have his drink according to his taste.
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simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
The distant screech of an alarm clock from the bedroom stirred Issac from his restless sleep. So, he was still alive. Good. Merciful Lord, his back hurt. With a tired groan, he pulled himself from under a heap of clothing and blankets he had piled atop his barely-clothed self, his joints a clicking mess as he struggled against the confines of his closet walls in search of the door. Calloused hands scraped against that landlord-white paint until finally, the door pushed open, leaving the man at the mercy of an onslaught of sound that sent him stumbling out of his sanctuary and into the relative blinding light of a sunless bedroom.
A sunless bedroom with a well-placed tripwire.
Normally, he would have the mind to disarm the trap after waking up, knowing it wouldn't need to be reset until he returned. It was simply a safety hazard to keep armed while he was out. This time, he was still picking up the pieces from the previous night, his reflexes kicking in just in time to spare him an early-morning impalement, but not fast enough to spare him a slice across the side of his leg for his carelessness as a small knife whistled through the air, lodging into the drywall just beside his bedroom window. It ripped a yelp from his throat as he collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg as blood began to trickle out from a shallow, yet burning wound.
Between the oozing crimson between his fingers, the screeching of the alarm, and the pounding in his static-filled head, he had half a mind to just crawl back into that still-made bed and catch an extra hour before workβand that was being generous seeing as he was still considering working at all. He knew that wasn't an option, though. What sort of impression would it make on his new charge if he was late, or worse, called out a day after they'd met?
Keeping one hand on his leg, he pushed himself to his feet with a whimper and hobbled towards the alarm clock, fumbling with the switch before finally clicking it off. 7:10. The pain in his wince was now supplemented with embarrassment. He really needed to make a mental note to apologize to his neighbors when he could.
The first order of business was to stop the bleeding. He had managed to keep the wound from dripping onto the carpet so far, but he knew he would still have to put a tight wrap on it to prevent it from staining his pants. He'd just have to be careful not to set off anything else on his way to the first aid kit. Gingerly, he undid the tripwire just beneath the doorframe, keeping his head down just in case the knife trap above him was also mistakenly sprung. At standing height, it would hit the average man right below his lungs. A painful hit, sure, but nonfatal. While crouching, however...
The engineer sighed as the line went slack, slowly setting the line to the side as he reached up and opened the door. He really needed to revise this one. Maybe he could get away with using a baseball bat instead?
As he limped out of his bedroom, he made sure not to stagger too far towards the living room, knowing he would set off a pressure sensor in the threshold. The bathroom was trap-freeβhe had made sure to veto whatever paranoid ideas his brain threw out about creatures manifesting in there. Besides, even if they did, the bedroom and living room traps would catch them. As he opened up the under-sink cabinet, the first trickles of blood finally reached the floor, the feeling warm and sticky beneath his feet.
Patching up the wound was a familiar process, though he wasn't used to it being on this area of his body. Clean away the blood, apply disinfectant, a thick pad of gauze, then a tight wrapping of bandages to hold it all together. It wasn't deep enough to require stitches. He'd pull through. So long as he took things easy, it probably wouldn't even bother him that much. No one would even have to know.
As he fastened the bandage tight around his bony calf, he stared in solemn disappointment. The patch job was good enough, but it shouldn't have been needed to begin with.
At least he was able to pick his watch up off of the sink since it never made it back to its proper spot from the night before. As he clasped the stainless steel band around his wrist, he checked the time displayed. 7:37. Seemed he had gotten rustyβit didn't usually take him that long to patch himself up.
Pulling himself to his feet, he grabbed his hairbrush and caught himself in the bathroom mirror. What stared back at him was a ragged man, pale orange hair ensnaring him like a thicket and just barely avoiding obscuring those exhausted blue eyes. No wonder that one stranger in the subway tunnel mistook him for homeless in his first week after moving inβwith his malnourished frame and unkempt beard he certainly fit the role. Though, the longer he forced himself to look, flinching as he forced the brush through his knotted curls, the more he felt the judgement bearing down on him from within and above. Despite the bones of his hips jutting out further than most, he couldn't help but wonder if they were less visible than when he was still in uni. The freckles covering every inch of skin felt like a dirt he couldn't scrub away, the dirt he was forced to carry to paradise or annihilationβand likely to the latter. And what had he done to earn those long-faded scars that permanently marked the insides of his arms? "They only ever wanted to keep you from burning in holy fire," a voice whispered, forcing Issac to shut his eyes. "You've never suffered a day in your life, yet you marred his temple in false belief. God put these rules in place to protect youβhe loves you. Why did you ever defy Him? Why do you continue to defy Him?"
Keeping his eyes shut, Issac laid the hairbrush down and braced himself against the sink. "You're not real. There's no angels here, no messengers, no demons. I am entirely alone in this apartment. You're just... Just a trick of my imagination. That's all you are. That's all this is."
Whispering reality checks like a mantra, he carried out the rest of his morning hygiene with closed eyes. By the time he opened them again to check his watch, it was 7:59. The minute rolled over soon after it caught his eye. He officially had one hour remaining. Drawing a hiss in through his teeth, he quickly shut out the light and fled the bathroom before he could become trapped by his reflection any further. He'd have to fast track the rest of it, and as he rushed back towards the closet he had just spent the night hiding in, he wondered how exactly he'd manage to do that. For starters, he couldn't afford to contemplate an outfit choice. He'd have to keep it simpleβa white dress shirt, khakis, the first jacket he could find, an overcoat of some sort, plain socks, and loafers. If he could find a tie, it would be a bonus. Now, where in this pile would he have thrown those things for maximum concealment?
The wall clock in his living room glared 8:17 into the back of his head as he rushed out the door with a briefcase in one hand, his keys in the other, and an azure tie looped haphazardly around his neck. He'd worry about fixing it once he got to the station.
The station. Mercy.
Issac tucked his keys deep into the inside pocket of the light grey jacket he'd thrown on, signing the cross as he ducked into the elevator and slammed the button for the ground floor as though the extra pressure would drop him to the Earth's surface quicker. He really didn't want to take the subway, but if he wanted to get to work at a professional hour, then he'd have to avoid traffic as much as he could. Not to mention his preferred method of transport wasn't exactly befitting of his profession. Still, he knew no amount of prayer would ever properly protect him from the subway. He had never seen anything like it before. Sure the campus he was on had a bus system, but it all tended to be very neat and orderly, with most students minding their own business and keeping their voices low. By contrast, the subways of New York City were the closest thing to an anarchist state that Issac had ever witnessed. They were loud, grimy, and he could never tell if the happenings on those cars were hallucinations or simply the world around him going insane.
"Just keep your head down, carrot-top. The less you stare, the less it'll bother you."
The words of that masked stranger rang through his head as he left the elevator, then the building itself. Despite hisβher? He wasn't sure, but the sly amusement in those words didn't do much to hinder their accuracy. Not only were they hard to tell from hallucinations, but the strange happenings on the NYC subway followed the same rules as well: if Issac ignored them, it made them less likely to destabilize him. That strangely benevolent advice hung in the forefront of his mind as he sprinted underground, his brief exposure to the morning light coming to a close as he entered the concrete maw of the beast.
It was a full-on sensory assault the moment he entered the station. From the repeated beep-beep-beep of the MetroCard scanners, to the vast plain of concrete and storefronts, to the people that crowded it all with their chattering voices and warm bodies, it was enough to make the engineer break into a sweat. When was he supposed to get used to this? Head down, head down. He kept his head down and did his best to navigate through the endless flow of people without running into anyone, though he was quickly becoming unsure of how many of the bodies he was dodging were actually there, how many were truly human. He could hardly even hear himself think over the lights and sounds, but he was at least able to make it to the station platform before the feelings of panic began to set in.
Finding a support beam, he pressed his back to it and held his briefcase close to his body as he shut his eyes and tried to stabilize himself. It was taking every ounce of restraint he had to not crumple to the floor with his hands over his ears. It was just so much. He knew it was pathetic to be so bothered by it, but it was so much. The only thing he could do was keep his head down, take in as little as possible, and grit his teeth as the train squealed into the platform. Taking a deep breath, he stepped away from the pole and barely dodged hitting his head as he slipped into the train car. The overhead announcer calmly informed him that it was 8:25 as he found a seat and hunkered down, a complete shivering mess as he silently plead to God for the strength to just make it through the route without breaking down. His tie would have to wait. He could hardly keep his mind in order, much less a tie. Besides, between this train ride and the short taxi hop to his destination, he figured he should get there around...
8:45. As the taxi pulled up in front of the research center, Issac fumbled through his wallet for the fare amidst a sea of wordless apologies. He had meant to get a rough estimate ready sooner, having quickly learned how much New Yorkers despised having their schedules interrupted even for a brief moment, but what was meant to be a few minutes spent in silent prayer on the train had quickly spiralled into him intently listening to the whispers that responded, and the entire trip had blurred before him. He couldn't even remember hailing the taxi. As the driver counted his earnings, shaking his head at the disarray of his passenger, Issac sprinted into the building and hoped no one would have the mind to remark on how late he was. Well, okay, technically, he was still early. Fifteen minutes early. Yet, he tried to have a habit of being at least half an hour ahead of schedule, and as much as he hated to admit it, that punctuality has been slipping ever since he arrived in New York.
Restless as he was, he decided to take the stairs. They tended to be less frequented than the elevator, allowing footsteps and thoughts to disperse into the open air as he traveled from floor to floor. Despite still being trapped indoors, it felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the inner city nightmare he had to deal with before. If only he could just live on-site and not have to worry about any of that nonsense. Giving a shy wave to the coworkers who decided to acknowledge him on the way up, he couldn't help but feel like they were staring at him. Judging him. Was it because he was later than normal? Did they see him at the station? Did they just know how he behaved by looking at him? Or did they know other thingsβworse things?
As he ducked into the engineering wing, Issac finally caught his reflection in the darkened window of an office door. Oh. His tie was still undone. That was probably it. Quickly averting his eyes, he hurried his way down the hall, slipping his keys out of his pocket and unlocking the door to his office. For a brief moment, he glanced up to make sure he had the right door, and his eyes froze on the plaque that adorned the wall next to him. Dr. Issac Price. Dr. That honorific somehow still didn't feel right to him. The weight of the authority it held bore down on him as he broke his gaze and entered the room that still didn't quite feel like his own.
As he hung his coat and set his briefcase down next to his desk, he finally got around to tying his tie, glancing over at his desk clock. 8:49. It really wasn't so late, but he still felt the need to apologize. He wouldn't have demanded an apology from anyone else, even if they really were lateβeven if they hadn't shown up at all! Yet, as he secured the knot on his tie, all he could think about was how unprofessional this all was coming from himself. What if Ivan had arrived before him?
Ivan. The thought of the intern gave Issac a moment of pause as he looked over at the student's desk. He had taken the hectic disarray of day one like a champ, exuding nothing but patience and eagerness in the face of an absolutely unprepared mentor. By all accounts, he was an excellent worker, taking a suboptimal situation and still managing to get a good start out of it. Yet, something still felt... Off about the man. He had ducked out of the office on a few occasions to take calls that he refused to provide any elaboration on, he seemed insistent on taking extra work despite the fact that it would realistically cut into his study hours, and above all he simply felt dangerous to be around. The engineer couldn't put his finger on why, but standing near him for too long was enough to put him on edge. A distinct heaviness clung to him, and a glimpse into those steely eyes felt like he was staring down a long, dark hallway.
As the clock crept closer to 9 AM, Issac shook his head as his own racing mind. He was probably just an exceptionally hard worker. There was no place for this paranoia in their business relationship.
Right as the clock struck 9 AM, the target of Issac's racing thoughts raced through the door, earning a startled flinch from the taller man. At least the anxiety over timeliness was mutual. Seemed the man even brought a peace offeringβa cup of coffee.
Issac smiled with a reassuring warmth. He had never had a caffeinated drink in his life.
Sure, he had tried decaf coffee before, and he could find some enjoyment in it given a fair amount of cream was added, but caffeine was strictly off-limits as far as his denomination was concerned. The body is a temple, after all. Yet, he couldn't quite bring himself to turn down Ivan's offer. A massive part of him wanted toβhe knew it was a bad idea to accept it, he knew it was wrong of him to indulgeβbut how could he? The shorter man was shaking, breathing heavily, his words were rushed and his grip had dented the cardboard cupholder. The engineer was at an impasse: deny his teachings and put a drug in his body (albeit a mild one), or potentially permanently damage the trust between himself and his intern on their second day of work?
Memories of Altarum briefly overtook the judging eyes. Before he knew it, he had taken the cup in his hands.
"Ah, good morningβand thank you," he nodded, taking a moment to warm his hands against the cup before grabbing some creamer and a stirring stick. "You're very kind..."
His voice was still a bit weak. It was a blessing that he could still speak after the ravages of the previous nightβnot to mention the stress of the commuteβbut it was quickly becoming clear that both men needed some time to collect themselves before throwing themselves into anything intensive. Drumming his fingers on the cup, he tried to think of an out. "Um, I have a few... Smaller tasks to get out of the way before we resume our progress. J-Just some revisions to the current schematics, responding to a few emails, it shouldn't take too long. You can get started on your own if you'd like, but... You've agreed to some very long shifts here considering you're still taking classes and all. Not to say I think you're falling behind, but... If you need to catch up on studying, I don't mind."
His throat ached in protest against his words as he sat down at his desk and popped the lid off of the cup, carefully stirring in the creamer. If nothing else, he hoped the forbidden drink's warmth would soothe the pain.
A sunless bedroom with a well-placed tripwire.
Normally, he would have the mind to disarm the trap after waking up, knowing it wouldn't need to be reset until he returned. It was simply a safety hazard to keep armed while he was out. This time, he was still picking up the pieces from the previous night, his reflexes kicking in just in time to spare him an early-morning impalement, but not fast enough to spare him a slice across the side of his leg for his carelessness as a small knife whistled through the air, lodging into the drywall just beside his bedroom window. It ripped a yelp from his throat as he collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg as blood began to trickle out from a shallow, yet burning wound.
Between the oozing crimson between his fingers, the screeching of the alarm, and the pounding in his static-filled head, he had half a mind to just crawl back into that still-made bed and catch an extra hour before workβand that was being generous seeing as he was still considering working at all. He knew that wasn't an option, though. What sort of impression would it make on his new charge if he was late, or worse, called out a day after they'd met?
Keeping one hand on his leg, he pushed himself to his feet with a whimper and hobbled towards the alarm clock, fumbling with the switch before finally clicking it off. 7:10. The pain in his wince was now supplemented with embarrassment. He really needed to make a mental note to apologize to his neighbors when he could.
The first order of business was to stop the bleeding. He had managed to keep the wound from dripping onto the carpet so far, but he knew he would still have to put a tight wrap on it to prevent it from staining his pants. He'd just have to be careful not to set off anything else on his way to the first aid kit. Gingerly, he undid the tripwire just beneath the doorframe, keeping his head down just in case the knife trap above him was also mistakenly sprung. At standing height, it would hit the average man right below his lungs. A painful hit, sure, but nonfatal. While crouching, however...
The engineer sighed as the line went slack, slowly setting the line to the side as he reached up and opened the door. He really needed to revise this one. Maybe he could get away with using a baseball bat instead?
As he limped out of his bedroom, he made sure not to stagger too far towards the living room, knowing he would set off a pressure sensor in the threshold. The bathroom was trap-freeβhe had made sure to veto whatever paranoid ideas his brain threw out about creatures manifesting in there. Besides, even if they did, the bedroom and living room traps would catch them. As he opened up the under-sink cabinet, the first trickles of blood finally reached the floor, the feeling warm and sticky beneath his feet.
Patching up the wound was a familiar process, though he wasn't used to it being on this area of his body. Clean away the blood, apply disinfectant, a thick pad of gauze, then a tight wrapping of bandages to hold it all together. It wasn't deep enough to require stitches. He'd pull through. So long as he took things easy, it probably wouldn't even bother him that much. No one would even have to know.
As he fastened the bandage tight around his bony calf, he stared in solemn disappointment. The patch job was good enough, but it shouldn't have been needed to begin with.
At least he was able to pick his watch up off of the sink since it never made it back to its proper spot from the night before. As he clasped the stainless steel band around his wrist, he checked the time displayed. 7:37. Seemed he had gotten rustyβit didn't usually take him that long to patch himself up.
Pulling himself to his feet, he grabbed his hairbrush and caught himself in the bathroom mirror. What stared back at him was a ragged man, pale orange hair ensnaring him like a thicket and just barely avoiding obscuring those exhausted blue eyes. No wonder that one stranger in the subway tunnel mistook him for homeless in his first week after moving inβwith his malnourished frame and unkempt beard he certainly fit the role. Though, the longer he forced himself to look, flinching as he forced the brush through his knotted curls, the more he felt the judgement bearing down on him from within and above. Despite the bones of his hips jutting out further than most, he couldn't help but wonder if they were less visible than when he was still in uni. The freckles covering every inch of skin felt like a dirt he couldn't scrub away, the dirt he was forced to carry to paradise or annihilationβand likely to the latter. And what had he done to earn those long-faded scars that permanently marked the insides of his arms? "They only ever wanted to keep you from burning in holy fire," a voice whispered, forcing Issac to shut his eyes. "You've never suffered a day in your life, yet you marred his temple in false belief. God put these rules in place to protect youβhe loves you. Why did you ever defy Him? Why do you continue to defy Him?"
Keeping his eyes shut, Issac laid the hairbrush down and braced himself against the sink. "You're not real. There's no angels here, no messengers, no demons. I am entirely alone in this apartment. You're just... Just a trick of my imagination. That's all you are. That's all this is."
Whispering reality checks like a mantra, he carried out the rest of his morning hygiene with closed eyes. By the time he opened them again to check his watch, it was 7:59. The minute rolled over soon after it caught his eye. He officially had one hour remaining. Drawing a hiss in through his teeth, he quickly shut out the light and fled the bathroom before he could become trapped by his reflection any further. He'd have to fast track the rest of it, and as he rushed back towards the closet he had just spent the night hiding in, he wondered how exactly he'd manage to do that. For starters, he couldn't afford to contemplate an outfit choice. He'd have to keep it simpleβa white dress shirt, khakis, the first jacket he could find, an overcoat of some sort, plain socks, and loafers. If he could find a tie, it would be a bonus. Now, where in this pile would he have thrown those things for maximum concealment?
The wall clock in his living room glared 8:17 into the back of his head as he rushed out the door with a briefcase in one hand, his keys in the other, and an azure tie looped haphazardly around his neck. He'd worry about fixing it once he got to the station.
The station. Mercy.
Issac tucked his keys deep into the inside pocket of the light grey jacket he'd thrown on, signing the cross as he ducked into the elevator and slammed the button for the ground floor as though the extra pressure would drop him to the Earth's surface quicker. He really didn't want to take the subway, but if he wanted to get to work at a professional hour, then he'd have to avoid traffic as much as he could. Not to mention his preferred method of transport wasn't exactly befitting of his profession. Still, he knew no amount of prayer would ever properly protect him from the subway. He had never seen anything like it before. Sure the campus he was on had a bus system, but it all tended to be very neat and orderly, with most students minding their own business and keeping their voices low. By contrast, the subways of New York City were the closest thing to an anarchist state that Issac had ever witnessed. They were loud, grimy, and he could never tell if the happenings on those cars were hallucinations or simply the world around him going insane.
"Just keep your head down, carrot-top. The less you stare, the less it'll bother you."
The words of that masked stranger rang through his head as he left the elevator, then the building itself. Despite hisβher? He wasn't sure, but the sly amusement in those words didn't do much to hinder their accuracy. Not only were they hard to tell from hallucinations, but the strange happenings on the NYC subway followed the same rules as well: if Issac ignored them, it made them less likely to destabilize him. That strangely benevolent advice hung in the forefront of his mind as he sprinted underground, his brief exposure to the morning light coming to a close as he entered the concrete maw of the beast.
It was a full-on sensory assault the moment he entered the station. From the repeated beep-beep-beep of the MetroCard scanners, to the vast plain of concrete and storefronts, to the people that crowded it all with their chattering voices and warm bodies, it was enough to make the engineer break into a sweat. When was he supposed to get used to this? Head down, head down. He kept his head down and did his best to navigate through the endless flow of people without running into anyone, though he was quickly becoming unsure of how many of the bodies he was dodging were actually there, how many were truly human. He could hardly even hear himself think over the lights and sounds, but he was at least able to make it to the station platform before the feelings of panic began to set in.
Finding a support beam, he pressed his back to it and held his briefcase close to his body as he shut his eyes and tried to stabilize himself. It was taking every ounce of restraint he had to not crumple to the floor with his hands over his ears. It was just so much. He knew it was pathetic to be so bothered by it, but it was so much. The only thing he could do was keep his head down, take in as little as possible, and grit his teeth as the train squealed into the platform. Taking a deep breath, he stepped away from the pole and barely dodged hitting his head as he slipped into the train car. The overhead announcer calmly informed him that it was 8:25 as he found a seat and hunkered down, a complete shivering mess as he silently plead to God for the strength to just make it through the route without breaking down. His tie would have to wait. He could hardly keep his mind in order, much less a tie. Besides, between this train ride and the short taxi hop to his destination, he figured he should get there around...
8:45. As the taxi pulled up in front of the research center, Issac fumbled through his wallet for the fare amidst a sea of wordless apologies. He had meant to get a rough estimate ready sooner, having quickly learned how much New Yorkers despised having their schedules interrupted even for a brief moment, but what was meant to be a few minutes spent in silent prayer on the train had quickly spiralled into him intently listening to the whispers that responded, and the entire trip had blurred before him. He couldn't even remember hailing the taxi. As the driver counted his earnings, shaking his head at the disarray of his passenger, Issac sprinted into the building and hoped no one would have the mind to remark on how late he was. Well, okay, technically, he was still early. Fifteen minutes early. Yet, he tried to have a habit of being at least half an hour ahead of schedule, and as much as he hated to admit it, that punctuality has been slipping ever since he arrived in New York.
Restless as he was, he decided to take the stairs. They tended to be less frequented than the elevator, allowing footsteps and thoughts to disperse into the open air as he traveled from floor to floor. Despite still being trapped indoors, it felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the inner city nightmare he had to deal with before. If only he could just live on-site and not have to worry about any of that nonsense. Giving a shy wave to the coworkers who decided to acknowledge him on the way up, he couldn't help but feel like they were staring at him. Judging him. Was it because he was later than normal? Did they see him at the station? Did they just know how he behaved by looking at him? Or did they know other thingsβworse things?
As he ducked into the engineering wing, Issac finally caught his reflection in the darkened window of an office door. Oh. His tie was still undone. That was probably it. Quickly averting his eyes, he hurried his way down the hall, slipping his keys out of his pocket and unlocking the door to his office. For a brief moment, he glanced up to make sure he had the right door, and his eyes froze on the plaque that adorned the wall next to him. Dr. Issac Price. Dr. That honorific somehow still didn't feel right to him. The weight of the authority it held bore down on him as he broke his gaze and entered the room that still didn't quite feel like his own.
As he hung his coat and set his briefcase down next to his desk, he finally got around to tying his tie, glancing over at his desk clock. 8:49. It really wasn't so late, but he still felt the need to apologize. He wouldn't have demanded an apology from anyone else, even if they really were lateβeven if they hadn't shown up at all! Yet, as he secured the knot on his tie, all he could think about was how unprofessional this all was coming from himself. What if Ivan had arrived before him?
Ivan. The thought of the intern gave Issac a moment of pause as he looked over at the student's desk. He had taken the hectic disarray of day one like a champ, exuding nothing but patience and eagerness in the face of an absolutely unprepared mentor. By all accounts, he was an excellent worker, taking a suboptimal situation and still managing to get a good start out of it. Yet, something still felt... Off about the man. He had ducked out of the office on a few occasions to take calls that he refused to provide any elaboration on, he seemed insistent on taking extra work despite the fact that it would realistically cut into his study hours, and above all he simply felt dangerous to be around. The engineer couldn't put his finger on why, but standing near him for too long was enough to put him on edge. A distinct heaviness clung to him, and a glimpse into those steely eyes felt like he was staring down a long, dark hallway.
As the clock crept closer to 9 AM, Issac shook his head as his own racing mind. He was probably just an exceptionally hard worker. There was no place for this paranoia in their business relationship.
Right as the clock struck 9 AM, the target of Issac's racing thoughts raced through the door, earning a startled flinch from the taller man. At least the anxiety over timeliness was mutual. Seemed the man even brought a peace offeringβa cup of coffee.
Issac smiled with a reassuring warmth. He had never had a caffeinated drink in his life.
Sure, he had tried decaf coffee before, and he could find some enjoyment in it given a fair amount of cream was added, but caffeine was strictly off-limits as far as his denomination was concerned. The body is a temple, after all. Yet, he couldn't quite bring himself to turn down Ivan's offer. A massive part of him wanted toβhe knew it was a bad idea to accept it, he knew it was wrong of him to indulgeβbut how could he? The shorter man was shaking, breathing heavily, his words were rushed and his grip had dented the cardboard cupholder. The engineer was at an impasse: deny his teachings and put a drug in his body (albeit a mild one), or potentially permanently damage the trust between himself and his intern on their second day of work?
Memories of Altarum briefly overtook the judging eyes. Before he knew it, he had taken the cup in his hands.
"Ah, good morningβand thank you," he nodded, taking a moment to warm his hands against the cup before grabbing some creamer and a stirring stick. "You're very kind..."
His voice was still a bit weak. It was a blessing that he could still speak after the ravages of the previous nightβnot to mention the stress of the commuteβbut it was quickly becoming clear that both men needed some time to collect themselves before throwing themselves into anything intensive. Drumming his fingers on the cup, he tried to think of an out. "Um, I have a few... Smaller tasks to get out of the way before we resume our progress. J-Just some revisions to the current schematics, responding to a few emails, it shouldn't take too long. You can get started on your own if you'd like, but... You've agreed to some very long shifts here considering you're still taking classes and all. Not to say I think you're falling behind, but... If you need to catch up on studying, I don't mind."
His throat ached in protest against his words as he sat down at his desk and popped the lid off of the cup, carefully stirring in the creamer. If nothing else, he hoped the forbidden drink's warmth would soothe the pain.
deadly king
never fade away
How were real students capable of doing this nearly every night? Attending classes throughout the day and then working long hours at a lab? His head was spinning at the mere thought of sitting through a lecture again. Maybe if he went to college directly after high school his feelings would be different; but, if he did that then he would have no business lying his way to employment at the facility.
Attempting to stabilize his breathing, the man nodded, grabbing his bag again as he made his way to his desk. A majority of his make-shift study session went . . . well. Granted, the man was never fully out of practice simply lacking in experience with the projects Dr. Price hoped to complete. Creating some shoddy websites or cracking through a weak firewall could never compare to creating a . . . "brain" for a machine. He still didn't understand the wording behind it, but the books did a better job of explaining.
The wiring of the computer would mirror that of a human brain, hence why it was called a neural network. An individual node might be connected to several nodes in the layer beneath it, from which it receives data, and several nodes in the layer above it, to which it sends data. Stacking up these nodes or densely packing them together makes a structure that resembles the human brain. But, do they have to be packed tightly? A neural network is a method of teaching computers to process data like humans but weren't computers made to do things humans could not? Then again, they couldn't have an armed guard twenty-four hours a day watching for unwanted guests or suspicious activity with the supposed accuracy of a machine. Their system could also, hypothetically, learn from their mistakes and improve continuously just like a human, eliminating the need to recode.
Reading about the subject was fascinating; however, putting it into practice? The man's injured shoulder trembled at the mere idea of attempting to run a code that was so incorrect they had no choice but to fire him. If he couldn't prove he was a competent coder then he would be out of a job and Dr. Price's plans would be out of reach. A sigh left his lips, rubbing his tired eyes. Why did that man have to be so . . . God, he couldn't even think of the words to describe him.
Π‘ΡΡΠΊΠ° Π΄Π΅ΡΠ³Π°Π½Π°Ρ was the only thing that came to mind, but that felt rude. Dr. Price was a religious man that got frightened at the sight of conflict. Extremely paranoid like he had something to hide -- which he did -- but was still kind. Was as accommodating as an anxious person could be and understood his position as a "student." Even enjoyed the coffee Ivan brought despite only taking two sips in the past ten minutes. An odd man, for sure, but not enough to warrant insults.
The computer whirred to life, fans blowing as he diligently typed away his information. A chime announced the home screen as he dug around through his bag. Great, now he had materials from both his careers shoved into the same place. Carefully, he rolled the chair forward, completely covering the bag with his broad shoulders as his fingers dug around. Pushing past through covered small bags and vanilla folders, he pulled out his annotated copy of Logical Foundations of Artificial Intelligence. Evidently, the book was old and in second-rate condition. The front cover was faded and the spine was loose with a few pages sticking out the sides. Ivan couldn't even remember where he bought the book, nor why he packed it up and brought it along. It must have been in a pile he threw in a box and left with. It had that old book smell now laced with red ink as he attempted to enrich his knowledge.
A lot harder to do without the use of stimulants. As the night progressed, steel eyes continued to wander off, switching between pages hoping to cram the knowledge of an entire four-year degree in one night.
Tossing a few more books on his desk as well as an old notebook, he closed the bag, tucking it underneath the wooden desk. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he grabbed the cup of coffee finally. The plastic lid was removed, steaming floating up in the air and into his nose. A bit of relief for his nightly activities.
What should he do now? At his other job, he usually did some paperwork for legal reasons, talked with clients, and assisted anyone with their boat. For the most part, it was hands-on labor in the New York fall air. But here? Ivan was safely tucked inside white sterilized walls with "like-minded individuals" who posed no threat. Not only that, he was an intern here. The title of 'boss' had been revoked and thrown to the taller man across from him who had no clue what to do with it. Most likely too used to working alone.
After taking a warm sip, Ivan cleared his throat, hoping to catch the other man's attention. "When you are to do revisions on the -- schematics," he repeated the word, forcing his way through the strange tongue movement, "Can you explain to me? I uh -- only do small machine," scrambling to fix his words, "Many small, only one or two big. Not a lot of experience and I do not want to mess up your work. You understand, yes?" Voicing his anxiety, the younger man hoped to garner some sympathy before being thrown into the deep end.
An undergraduate should know how to do this, even if with the assistance of others, but Ivan had no real idea where to start. The last thing he needed was for Dr. Price to begin questioning his skills and credentials or how Ivan was able to get the job in the first place, which meant swallowing down his pride.
Attempting to stabilize his breathing, the man nodded, grabbing his bag again as he made his way to his desk. A majority of his make-shift study session went . . . well. Granted, the man was never fully out of practice simply lacking in experience with the projects Dr. Price hoped to complete. Creating some shoddy websites or cracking through a weak firewall could never compare to creating a . . . "brain" for a machine. He still didn't understand the wording behind it, but the books did a better job of explaining.
The wiring of the computer would mirror that of a human brain, hence why it was called a neural network. An individual node might be connected to several nodes in the layer beneath it, from which it receives data, and several nodes in the layer above it, to which it sends data. Stacking up these nodes or densely packing them together makes a structure that resembles the human brain. But, do they have to be packed tightly? A neural network is a method of teaching computers to process data like humans but weren't computers made to do things humans could not? Then again, they couldn't have an armed guard twenty-four hours a day watching for unwanted guests or suspicious activity with the supposed accuracy of a machine. Their system could also, hypothetically, learn from their mistakes and improve continuously just like a human, eliminating the need to recode.
Reading about the subject was fascinating; however, putting it into practice? The man's injured shoulder trembled at the mere idea of attempting to run a code that was so incorrect they had no choice but to fire him. If he couldn't prove he was a competent coder then he would be out of a job and Dr. Price's plans would be out of reach. A sigh left his lips, rubbing his tired eyes. Why did that man have to be so . . . God, he couldn't even think of the words to describe him.
Π‘ΡΡΠΊΠ° Π΄Π΅ΡΠ³Π°Π½Π°Ρ was the only thing that came to mind, but that felt rude. Dr. Price was a religious man that got frightened at the sight of conflict. Extremely paranoid like he had something to hide -- which he did -- but was still kind. Was as accommodating as an anxious person could be and understood his position as a "student." Even enjoyed the coffee Ivan brought despite only taking two sips in the past ten minutes. An odd man, for sure, but not enough to warrant insults.
The computer whirred to life, fans blowing as he diligently typed away his information. A chime announced the home screen as he dug around through his bag. Great, now he had materials from both his careers shoved into the same place. Carefully, he rolled the chair forward, completely covering the bag with his broad shoulders as his fingers dug around. Pushing past through covered small bags and vanilla folders, he pulled out his annotated copy of Logical Foundations of Artificial Intelligence. Evidently, the book was old and in second-rate condition. The front cover was faded and the spine was loose with a few pages sticking out the sides. Ivan couldn't even remember where he bought the book, nor why he packed it up and brought it along. It must have been in a pile he threw in a box and left with. It had that old book smell now laced with red ink as he attempted to enrich his knowledge.
A lot harder to do without the use of stimulants. As the night progressed, steel eyes continued to wander off, switching between pages hoping to cram the knowledge of an entire four-year degree in one night.
Tossing a few more books on his desk as well as an old notebook, he closed the bag, tucking it underneath the wooden desk. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he grabbed the cup of coffee finally. The plastic lid was removed, steaming floating up in the air and into his nose. A bit of relief for his nightly activities.
What should he do now? At his other job, he usually did some paperwork for legal reasons, talked with clients, and assisted anyone with their boat. For the most part, it was hands-on labor in the New York fall air. But here? Ivan was safely tucked inside white sterilized walls with "like-minded individuals" who posed no threat. Not only that, he was an intern here. The title of 'boss' had been revoked and thrown to the taller man across from him who had no clue what to do with it. Most likely too used to working alone.
After taking a warm sip, Ivan cleared his throat, hoping to catch the other man's attention. "When you are to do revisions on the -- schematics," he repeated the word, forcing his way through the strange tongue movement, "Can you explain to me? I uh -- only do small machine," scrambling to fix his words, "Many small, only one or two big. Not a lot of experience and I do not want to mess up your work. You understand, yes?" Voicing his anxiety, the younger man hoped to garner some sympathy before being thrown into the deep end.
An undergraduate should know how to do this, even if with the assistance of others, but Ivan had no real idea where to start. The last thing he needed was for Dr. Price to begin questioning his skills and credentials or how Ivan was able to get the job in the first place, which meant swallowing down his pride.
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simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
To a man as painfully straight-edge as Issac, the caffeine in his gut may as well have been as potent as a line of pure cocaine. He could already feel his heart beginning to race as he tried to busy himself with emails, fumbling with the keys on that clacky off-white keyboard. A few letters would spasm out followed by a hectic backspace or two, occasionally broken up by a nervous scratch of his beard or the clenching of teeth. Retype, rewrite. Did it look right? How did he manage to misspell the same word three times in a row? Over and over, reciting, reciting, reprimanding.
His eyes occasionally wandered over to the intern across the room. He was just a student. Just a young academic, maybe an exchange student, looking to further his knowledge and expand his experience with the world.
So why did his presence fill the engineer with dread?
Issac dug a hand into his barely-tamed hair, checking his itinerary with a quiver in his nerves. He was hoping he'd be over whatever paranoia had dug into Ivan's presence by now, but the night only seemed to make it worse. What was he doing here, really? It made no sense for him to be assigned to a man who hardly had his own footing. Their interactions during the previous day felt like the intern was directing his boss just as often as he was receiving directions. It was complete discordance, a hesitant two-step between two blind men.
And yet, despite the inexcusable incompetence, he remained patient. Maybe too patient. He'd even gone out of his way to attempt to curry favor by buying coffeeβhowever impersonal and detrimental it all was, Issac couldn't ignore the intent. It clung to each synapse and sent tremors deep into his skin.
There had to be an ulterior motive. There always was.
As he opened AutoCAD to translate the physical changes he'd made to his prints into the digital space, he was jolted from his thoughts by that distinctly broken voice. He was asking about the schematics? The strangeness of the question was enough to force Issac's brow into an arch. Why was he asking about those? He was just a programmer. He didn't need to know how to design these machines, only code the software that would guide them. Asking to know any more than that was wildly uncalled for, and it slipped suspicion into those once-gentle sky blue eyes. Why did he want to know? What was he trying to gain from this?
The engineer forced himself to take another sip of coffee as Ivan tried to put his words together, the warmth providing a momentary distraction from the hostility brewing within the fear. Maybe he was just curious. Was curiosity really a crime? Certainly not, especially coming from a student. Despite his heartbeat shaking in his hands, he had to reel himself in. Besides, this could be a good opportunity to talk about his designs. Despite Project Throne being more of an obligation than a passion to him, he still took great pride in the work he did. The least he could do would be to impart that fervor onto a hungry mind.
"It's nothing you need to worry about," he assured, setting the cup down and adjusting his posture. "I'm simply refining the design for future prototypesβmaking an official version of the updated prints. I, um, had to make a few revisions before you arrived. Toning back the apprehension protocol, mostly. You can only be so precise with manual tools, though. So, I'm taking all of the adjustments I made on paper and making them into a proper new version of the blueprint."
He was pulling at his hair again. He could hardly maintain eye contact. It was all bearing down on him, no matter how hard he tried to push it back. So, he simply took a breath and pushed harder.
"Am I making sense? Do you understand what I'm trying to say? I-If you don't, that's fine. Like I said, it's nothing you have to worry aboutβthe drafting process is my responsibility. Though..."
A light sparked behind his eyes. Finally, he found his distraction. He had to suppress the giddiness in the smile that formed. "If you want to look at the current draft, you're more than welcome. I-I could show you how the program I'm using worksβthe basics, anyways. It might help you to know the exact shear and tensile stress limits of all the moving parts, or-or, hey, maybe you could see potential improvements that I can't! Working in this profession for a while can give you tunnel vision, I'll admit. It helps to get a fresh set of eyes on these things."
Now he was rambling, jitteriness finally able to filter into energy. It wasn't like he felt any less like his heart was trying to beat it's way out of his chest, it was just that he was able to talk over it now.
His eyes occasionally wandered over to the intern across the room. He was just a student. Just a young academic, maybe an exchange student, looking to further his knowledge and expand his experience with the world.
So why did his presence fill the engineer with dread?
Issac dug a hand into his barely-tamed hair, checking his itinerary with a quiver in his nerves. He was hoping he'd be over whatever paranoia had dug into Ivan's presence by now, but the night only seemed to make it worse. What was he doing here, really? It made no sense for him to be assigned to a man who hardly had his own footing. Their interactions during the previous day felt like the intern was directing his boss just as often as he was receiving directions. It was complete discordance, a hesitant two-step between two blind men.
And yet, despite the inexcusable incompetence, he remained patient. Maybe too patient. He'd even gone out of his way to attempt to curry favor by buying coffeeβhowever impersonal and detrimental it all was, Issac couldn't ignore the intent. It clung to each synapse and sent tremors deep into his skin.
There had to be an ulterior motive. There always was.
As he opened AutoCAD to translate the physical changes he'd made to his prints into the digital space, he was jolted from his thoughts by that distinctly broken voice. He was asking about the schematics? The strangeness of the question was enough to force Issac's brow into an arch. Why was he asking about those? He was just a programmer. He didn't need to know how to design these machines, only code the software that would guide them. Asking to know any more than that was wildly uncalled for, and it slipped suspicion into those once-gentle sky blue eyes. Why did he want to know? What was he trying to gain from this?
The engineer forced himself to take another sip of coffee as Ivan tried to put his words together, the warmth providing a momentary distraction from the hostility brewing within the fear. Maybe he was just curious. Was curiosity really a crime? Certainly not, especially coming from a student. Despite his heartbeat shaking in his hands, he had to reel himself in. Besides, this could be a good opportunity to talk about his designs. Despite Project Throne being more of an obligation than a passion to him, he still took great pride in the work he did. The least he could do would be to impart that fervor onto a hungry mind.
"It's nothing you need to worry about," he assured, setting the cup down and adjusting his posture. "I'm simply refining the design for future prototypesβmaking an official version of the updated prints. I, um, had to make a few revisions before you arrived. Toning back the apprehension protocol, mostly. You can only be so precise with manual tools, though. So, I'm taking all of the adjustments I made on paper and making them into a proper new version of the blueprint."
He was pulling at his hair again. He could hardly maintain eye contact. It was all bearing down on him, no matter how hard he tried to push it back. So, he simply took a breath and pushed harder.
"Am I making sense? Do you understand what I'm trying to say? I-If you don't, that's fine. Like I said, it's nothing you have to worry aboutβthe drafting process is my responsibility. Though..."
A light sparked behind his eyes. Finally, he found his distraction. He had to suppress the giddiness in the smile that formed. "If you want to look at the current draft, you're more than welcome. I-I could show you how the program I'm using worksβthe basics, anyways. It might help you to know the exact shear and tensile stress limits of all the moving parts, or-or, hey, maybe you could see potential improvements that I can't! Working in this profession for a while can give you tunnel vision, I'll admit. It helps to get a fresh set of eyes on these things."
Now he was rambling, jitteriness finally able to filter into energy. It wasn't like he felt any less like his heart was trying to beat it's way out of his chest, it was just that he was able to talk over it now.
deadly king
never fade away
The engineer's sudden behavior shift was noticed. Shift eye contact, scattered speech patterns, and hesitation lacing his tone not to mention the confusion when Ivan asked his initial question -- almost as if he took it as a sort of threat. 'How dare he ask that?' It seemed. But, indeed what was the harm? Even if he only coded the machine, wouldn't it be beneficial to understand the end product? Despite Ivan's lack of knowledge of Project Throne, he assumed it was like every other mechanical object. It was similar to the automobiles Ori and their bodyguard slaved over at the mechanics. It was like every gun he optimized for clients and sold off; even like the trains that littered the city streets. All giant mechanisms with small parts made everything tick together. Small cogs in a giant clock -- except this clock needed to be programmed using a computer language he was still somewhat struggling with instead of . . . electrical wiring or a projectile system that has had very little improvements over the decades.
Although tempted to retract his curious statement, the taller man eventually swayed -- perhaps delighted by the idea of speaking of his machines. Did he have no one else to discuss these things with? Is no one else in the engineering department or wing willing to hear him out? From a previous interaction with another employee, Ivan merely assumed Isaac wasn't well-liked. Was it his meek demeanor? Did that really bother people too much? It was possible in his own profession to be seen as weak and a pushover for acting like Isaac, but did that type of personality matter behind sterilized safe walls? With safety regulations and rules put into place, it was difficult to purposefully harm oneself unless something went terribly wrong. It was extremely different than his night job where one never knew when it would be their last day.
The criminal doubted he could advise any improvements on Project Throne, but Ori potentially could comment on the product. Now, there was the question of getting the schematics to her and having them revise it -- a play to make himself seem as if he knew what he was talking about. Simply ask the mechanic and then repeat their words verbatim. That would surely sway the engineer to stop acting so jittery and anxious around him. What was the problem anyway? Ivan copied the attire of every other employee -- save for his black gloves and icy stare -- so what did he need to do to get Isaac to trust him? This "internship" would be difficult if they were constantly in a blind dance with one another.
Once the rugged man unveiled the Project Throne schematics, Ivan's intrigue peaked. The entire project was a glorified machine gun meant to keep out intruders that he needed to program. What a cruel twist of fate. If he simply stole the unfinished, unrevised schematics, it wouldn't go for much without any of the codings. He needed to put the work in or his efforts would be worthless which meant . . . Fuck, more hours slaving away to learn the stupid programing language.
His head was spinning as he gazed upon all the compartments, eyes blurring a bit at the several apparatus that needed to be hooked on for all the specific tasks. The blueprints were evidently incomplete due to the scratched-out words and varying degrees of measurements that continuously changed. Having to change the material the turret would fire, the man had to change the size of the barrel as well as how fast it would fire.
"Can I ask -- why change bullets?" he innocently asked. "If we are threatened is lethal force not okay?"
It's them versus any potential intruder after all. Why hesitate to use force?
"I guess police only do that, yes?" They were a group of intelligent scientists, physicists, engineers, programmers -- and whoever was employed at the facility -- the chances any of them were competent to take out an armed shooter or anyone threatening were slim to none. One of the few security guards guarding the entrance could potentially down one of these men but seemed unlikely considering they were building this machine.
Deciding to simply shrug, Ivan moved on to the other component, deciding to ignore the weapon portion. "Where's gonna be?" he asked, raising a brow. "In the lobby?" he gestured downstairs before glancing over the schematics. "So needing to read many face or only one?" Slurring his words a bit, he meant if the machine needed to register multiple employees at once or only one at a time. He assumed one would be infinitely easier to program -- something akin to a biometric safe instead of a continuous system that checked the identity of every single person that walked in.
Although tempted to retract his curious statement, the taller man eventually swayed -- perhaps delighted by the idea of speaking of his machines. Did he have no one else to discuss these things with? Is no one else in the engineering department or wing willing to hear him out? From a previous interaction with another employee, Ivan merely assumed Isaac wasn't well-liked. Was it his meek demeanor? Did that really bother people too much? It was possible in his own profession to be seen as weak and a pushover for acting like Isaac, but did that type of personality matter behind sterilized safe walls? With safety regulations and rules put into place, it was difficult to purposefully harm oneself unless something went terribly wrong. It was extremely different than his night job where one never knew when it would be their last day.
The criminal doubted he could advise any improvements on Project Throne, but Ori potentially could comment on the product. Now, there was the question of getting the schematics to her and having them revise it -- a play to make himself seem as if he knew what he was talking about. Simply ask the mechanic and then repeat their words verbatim. That would surely sway the engineer to stop acting so jittery and anxious around him. What was the problem anyway? Ivan copied the attire of every other employee -- save for his black gloves and icy stare -- so what did he need to do to get Isaac to trust him? This "internship" would be difficult if they were constantly in a blind dance with one another.
Once the rugged man unveiled the Project Throne schematics, Ivan's intrigue peaked. The entire project was a glorified machine gun meant to keep out intruders that he needed to program. What a cruel twist of fate. If he simply stole the unfinished, unrevised schematics, it wouldn't go for much without any of the codings. He needed to put the work in or his efforts would be worthless which meant . . . Fuck, more hours slaving away to learn the stupid programing language.
His head was spinning as he gazed upon all the compartments, eyes blurring a bit at the several apparatus that needed to be hooked on for all the specific tasks. The blueprints were evidently incomplete due to the scratched-out words and varying degrees of measurements that continuously changed. Having to change the material the turret would fire, the man had to change the size of the barrel as well as how fast it would fire.
"Can I ask -- why change bullets?" he innocently asked. "If we are threatened is lethal force not okay?"
It's them versus any potential intruder after all. Why hesitate to use force?
"I guess police only do that, yes?" They were a group of intelligent scientists, physicists, engineers, programmers -- and whoever was employed at the facility -- the chances any of them were competent to take out an armed shooter or anyone threatening were slim to none. One of the few security guards guarding the entrance could potentially down one of these men but seemed unlikely considering they were building this machine.
Deciding to simply shrug, Ivan moved on to the other component, deciding to ignore the weapon portion. "Where's gonna be?" he asked, raising a brow. "In the lobby?" he gestured downstairs before glancing over the schematics. "So needing to read many face or only one?" Slurring his words a bit, he meant if the machine needed to register multiple employees at once or only one at a time. He assumed one would be infinitely easier to program -- something akin to a biometric safe instead of a continuous system that checked the identity of every single person that walked in.
simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
Issac had to release the breath that threatened to remain caught in his throat as Ivan asked the one question he'd hoped he'd leave unanswered. The caliber system, the switch from lead to rubber. Thorns tightened around his heart as his reckless overcaution was called into question, and his fingers knotted together as the anxiety built. No God was there to save him. He knew he'd been cast aside. Still, he pled for a miracle, a sliver of grace in the aether.
As he sought an explanation that would please those judging eyes, the holy sword at his back, he could feel his heart begin to race. Normally, he wouldn't question it. It was just normal at this point for his resting heart rate to be a little too high. This time, though, he just couldn't ignore it. He felt as though he were about to die from the sheer pace of itβlike if he didn't get up and start moving he would end up collapsing to the sheer stress. His heart would simply stop if it pushed itself any harder. This had to be a fact. He was approaching his end, and the blaring trumpets in his ears marked the extent of his folly.
Or maybe it was just the coffee. He couldn't tell anymore.
"I, um," he stammered, clearing his throat as he tried to work past the cold sweat. "I just... N-No, it's not going to be in the lobby. Though, if it were, I think... Maybe. Maybe rubber bullets would be better. Even better."
He gripped the cup on his desk,forcing his praying hands apart. Lord, he had to have looked like a madman. Swallowing his panic, he tried to find his derailed train of thought. "I'm... The bullets. It's not that I can't implement lethal force into my devicesβthey were really pushing for it on this one. I just... I..."
I nearly killed a home invader. Maybe I did. Maybe I'm a killer and I don't even know it. His fingers are in my house. In the freezer. I spent all night bleaching his blood from the carpet, but I'll never be able to bleach it off of my hands.
"... I can't. Thou shalt not kill. Even if it's not me doing the killing, it's still my design. The blood would still be on my hands if I willingly made it lethal when it didn't need to be. It would be used in the restricted access areas of the facilityβin places with high security clearance. It would be checking all observed biometric data against a list to ensure the right people were being allowed in. What if... W-What if someone just... Accidentally made a wrong turn? What ifβWhat if the recognition software glitchedβo-or even the camera hardware itself?"
Issac shut his eyes for a moment, running a hand through his messy hair as his leg twitched in a restless rhythm. It was all he could do to keep the pins holding his mind together from falling out. "The consideration of lethal force was... An oversight. One I won't be revisiting. I'm sorry."
As he sought an explanation that would please those judging eyes, the holy sword at his back, he could feel his heart begin to race. Normally, he wouldn't question it. It was just normal at this point for his resting heart rate to be a little too high. This time, though, he just couldn't ignore it. He felt as though he were about to die from the sheer pace of itβlike if he didn't get up and start moving he would end up collapsing to the sheer stress. His heart would simply stop if it pushed itself any harder. This had to be a fact. He was approaching his end, and the blaring trumpets in his ears marked the extent of his folly.
Or maybe it was just the coffee. He couldn't tell anymore.
"I, um," he stammered, clearing his throat as he tried to work past the cold sweat. "I just... N-No, it's not going to be in the lobby. Though, if it were, I think... Maybe. Maybe rubber bullets would be better. Even better."
He gripped the cup on his desk,forcing his praying hands apart. Lord, he had to have looked like a madman. Swallowing his panic, he tried to find his derailed train of thought. "I'm... The bullets. It's not that I can't implement lethal force into my devicesβthey were really pushing for it on this one. I just... I..."
I nearly killed a home invader. Maybe I did. Maybe I'm a killer and I don't even know it. His fingers are in my house. In the freezer. I spent all night bleaching his blood from the carpet, but I'll never be able to bleach it off of my hands.
"... I can't. Thou shalt not kill. Even if it's not me doing the killing, it's still my design. The blood would still be on my hands if I willingly made it lethal when it didn't need to be. It would be used in the restricted access areas of the facilityβin places with high security clearance. It would be checking all observed biometric data against a list to ensure the right people were being allowed in. What if... W-What if someone just... Accidentally made a wrong turn? What ifβWhat if the recognition software glitchedβo-or even the camera hardware itself?"
Issac shut his eyes for a moment, running a hand through his messy hair as his leg twitched in a restless rhythm. It was all he could do to keep the pins holding his mind together from falling out. "The consideration of lethal force was... An oversight. One I won't be revisiting. I'm sorry."
deadly king
never fade away
The intern looked on with intense curiosity. Fridig eyes moved as brows contorted attempting to make sense of his loosely strung along words. Isaac was stumbling, badly. Was that regular nerves or was the feeling boosted because of the caffeine? Judging by how firmly his fingers wrapped around the plastic cup, he was tempted to say it was the beverage. But, he was also jumpy yesterday, so it seemed to be normal behavior. The longer he waited for a satisfying answer the sooner he realized that was it. A coward's answer for removing the lethal force. Maybe the higher-ups wanted lethal force but Isaac didn't want to have that on his conscious. His stuttering out loud thoughts revealed all. If someone accidentally wandered in did they deserve to be shot on sight? Or what if the system did glitch?
Shit, what if the system broke or did something wrong -- wouldn't that come back to him? As much as he wanted to speed along this process and take all of Isaac's work and run it was proving to be increasingly difficult. He knew someone rumored to have created a machine powerful to control another's actions couldn't be entirely stable but this was work. More work than he bargained for. Slaving away at this docks already wrecked his bruised body, but this was bruising his mind. It was one thing dealing with frustrating clients and rope thick and harsh enough to rip the skin off his hands, but this? This was a giant mental game of charades and chess rolled together tightly. At this moment, Ivan was a simply tired college student hoping to get his foot in the door with an internship that called for skills he barely possessed. Even if he hyperfocused for nights on end, there was the looming fear he would be caught for the simplest thing. What if a coworker was speaking to him and he slipped out something he wasn't supposed to?
For all the mental jabs Ivan took at Isaac for being sputtering, anxious, and overall a shivering dog -- he wasn't much different. Constantly looking over his shoulder was a part of his daily routine. Not to mention the various substances that ran through his bloodstream. For all the marijuana did to calm his nerves it was overshadowed by the overwhelming fear of . . . Everything. One wrong slip and he's floating down a river, or bleeding out his nose for the last time, or a bullet lodged into his chest, or has his blood splattered against his office windows, desk, and chair for pissing the wrong guy off. Fuck, it's a miracle Ori didn't send that oversized guard dog of hers to kill him after he tried to ---
BRRNG.
Immediately reaching into his pocket, the Russian pulled himself off the chair, clearing his throat.
"Eh, sorry doctor give me one second," with his hand raised to the man, he glanced down at the phone, squinting at the contact. Speak of the goddamn devil. With a sharp frustrated sigh leaving his nose, the man quickly left the room without objections.
Why the hell was she calling him? Especially at this hour? Peering down at his watch, Ivan shook his head. It was far too early for any sort of business, even under normal circumstances. Stepping off to a corner with a staircase leading down and a hallway to the right, he stared out of one of the various tall glass windows. Finally, clicking the button to accept the call he grimaced.
"I'm busy now, what can you possibly want?"
Shit, what if the system broke or did something wrong -- wouldn't that come back to him? As much as he wanted to speed along this process and take all of Isaac's work and run it was proving to be increasingly difficult. He knew someone rumored to have created a machine powerful to control another's actions couldn't be entirely stable but this was work. More work than he bargained for. Slaving away at this docks already wrecked his bruised body, but this was bruising his mind. It was one thing dealing with frustrating clients and rope thick and harsh enough to rip the skin off his hands, but this? This was a giant mental game of charades and chess rolled together tightly. At this moment, Ivan was a simply tired college student hoping to get his foot in the door with an internship that called for skills he barely possessed. Even if he hyperfocused for nights on end, there was the looming fear he would be caught for the simplest thing. What if a coworker was speaking to him and he slipped out something he wasn't supposed to?
For all the mental jabs Ivan took at Isaac for being sputtering, anxious, and overall a shivering dog -- he wasn't much different. Constantly looking over his shoulder was a part of his daily routine. Not to mention the various substances that ran through his bloodstream. For all the marijuana did to calm his nerves it was overshadowed by the overwhelming fear of . . . Everything. One wrong slip and he's floating down a river, or bleeding out his nose for the last time, or a bullet lodged into his chest, or has his blood splattered against his office windows, desk, and chair for pissing the wrong guy off. Fuck, it's a miracle Ori didn't send that oversized guard dog of hers to kill him after he tried to ---
BRRNG.
Immediately reaching into his pocket, the Russian pulled himself off the chair, clearing his throat.
"Eh, sorry doctor give me one second," with his hand raised to the man, he glanced down at the phone, squinting at the contact. Speak of the goddamn devil. With a sharp frustrated sigh leaving his nose, the man quickly left the room without objections.
Why the hell was she calling him? Especially at this hour? Peering down at his watch, Ivan shook his head. It was far too early for any sort of business, even under normal circumstances. Stepping off to a corner with a staircase leading down and a hallway to the right, he stared out of one of the various tall glass windows. Finally, clicking the button to accept the call he grimaced.
"I'm busy now, what can you possibly want?"
simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
Ivan's silence rang out like gunfire in the small office space. What was he expecting? What more was that satanic intern waiting to rip from Issac's throat? Confessionals screamed like hymnals from the pulpit? What separated him from the common heretic, then? After all, he was the one who was so gung-ho about swinging a wrench in the face of the sixth commandment, taking souls without even giving them a courtesy of flesh on the trigger. He howled in the night for God's mercy, then built sacrilegious idols against his desires. Perhaps an admission of that truth was what the blue-eyed devil desired. Perhaps one slip would be all it would take to condemn him to annihilation.
That coffee was feeling more and more like a bad idea as the seconds passed.
Though, perhaps there was some grace in the heavens left for him. It would explain why the phone rang. Issac let out a quiet, shaky breath, his heart echoing in every capillary. Merciful Lord on high, that could not have been more well-timed. "Take your time!" he rushed, his voice an octave higher. "I'll be here!"
As soon as Ivan left the room, the engineer rushed to quietly lock the door behind him. His shaking fingers could barely latch the door properly, and he began to hyperventilate as the footsteps grew further away. No, no, this wasn't the time for this. He was at work, this wasn't the time to be acting crazy. He couldn't be doing thisβeven the flickering shadows seemed to turn away in disappointment.
He couldn't be doing this. Yet, the panicked tears were already beginning to fall.
--
"You trying to kill the guy or steal his work over there, Tiny?"
The voice on the other end of the line rang somewhere between a scold and a song, and the faint sound of wheels rolling through the cracked pavement of an alleyway was barely audible over the noise Ori seemed to insist on surrounding himself with. The distant sounds of pneumatic tools, city traffic, and the crackling signal from the one Hispanic station in range of the boombox on the shop floor were all only somewhat insulated by the old brick construction at his back. "Look, we both know the guy has an anxious disposition, to put it lightly," he sighed tucking the phone between his shoulder and his ear. "So what do you think your little interrogation session is going to accomplish this early on? He doesn't trust you. In fact, he actively thinks you're out to get him. And here you are, day two, skidding in the door looking like death warmed over to give him stimulants and a good cop bad cop routine."
He clicked his tongue and pulled a blunt from its baggie. Usually, he wouldn't be smoking this early on, but the sound of a cheap BIC lighter being struck confirmed a distinct shift in the morning routine. Of course, the morning routine had shifted in reverse fashion the month prior. And how many of the days prior to that month actually started with a morning smoke? The questions of routine were blown aside with a puff of marijuana smoke.
"You ever dated anyone?"
That coffee was feeling more and more like a bad idea as the seconds passed.
Though, perhaps there was some grace in the heavens left for him. It would explain why the phone rang. Issac let out a quiet, shaky breath, his heart echoing in every capillary. Merciful Lord on high, that could not have been more well-timed. "Take your time!" he rushed, his voice an octave higher. "I'll be here!"
As soon as Ivan left the room, the engineer rushed to quietly lock the door behind him. His shaking fingers could barely latch the door properly, and he began to hyperventilate as the footsteps grew further away. No, no, this wasn't the time for this. He was at work, this wasn't the time to be acting crazy. He couldn't be doing thisβeven the flickering shadows seemed to turn away in disappointment.
He couldn't be doing this. Yet, the panicked tears were already beginning to fall.
--
"You trying to kill the guy or steal his work over there, Tiny?"
The voice on the other end of the line rang somewhere between a scold and a song, and the faint sound of wheels rolling through the cracked pavement of an alleyway was barely audible over the noise Ori seemed to insist on surrounding himself with. The distant sounds of pneumatic tools, city traffic, and the crackling signal from the one Hispanic station in range of the boombox on the shop floor were all only somewhat insulated by the old brick construction at his back. "Look, we both know the guy has an anxious disposition, to put it lightly," he sighed tucking the phone between his shoulder and his ear. "So what do you think your little interrogation session is going to accomplish this early on? He doesn't trust you. In fact, he actively thinks you're out to get him. And here you are, day two, skidding in the door looking like death warmed over to give him stimulants and a good cop bad cop routine."
He clicked his tongue and pulled a blunt from its baggie. Usually, he wouldn't be smoking this early on, but the sound of a cheap BIC lighter being struck confirmed a distinct shift in the morning routine. Of course, the morning routine had shifted in reverse fashion the month prior. And how many of the days prior to that month actually started with a morning smoke? The questions of routine were blown aside with a puff of marijuana smoke.
"You ever dated anyone?"
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deadly king
never fade away
The man's quick steps came to a sudden halt hearing those words. Fingers clammed on the portable device, icey eyes looking out across the view of the city. They were so far removed from Ori's location, from any of their known locations. How the hell did they get this close? Ivan was careful not to give too many details -- he kept the building brief and the name. Maybe, maybe she caught on to everything from his name? Knowing Ori's extensive network it wasn't unreasonable to guess she equally researched Isaac and found out his information. But, that would explain how the hell they managed to get into the building and --
Quickly, Ivan's eyes pulled away, gazing across the extended hallway, attempting to spot anything unusual. A security guard taking the wrong turn, a lingering stalking janitor, a misplaced shadow, anything that Ori could get their hands on and use against him. After all this time, they continued with their obsessive chokehold on him, with prying eyes wherever he went. Some nights, it felt like there wasn't a single inch of the city untouched by their filthy hands.
"What are you expecting I to do then?" he asked, shaking his head.
It already felt as if the intern got off on the wrong foot. His mere presence was off-putting to everyone in the building, minus the man that hired him, and the nice girl at the front desk. Maybe it was because he was new, foreign to these sterilized walls and no one had managed to muster the courage to speak with him. Then again, it was only his second day. Ivan had yet to even allow himself a moment to interact with anyone than his prime target. The criminal was attempting to minimize his time within the facility, so as not to draw suspicious eyes, but he might have his work cut out for him.
Then, the other criminal hit him with the odd line. It completely caught him off, guard, like throwing a wrench into a continuously moving machine. It completely halted his ever-cycling intense thoughts and search for any traces of Ori.
"What are you talking about?" he simply asked. "I --" he shook his head at the conversation that was to come. "No. Does it matter? I have better shit to do."
Quickly, Ivan's eyes pulled away, gazing across the extended hallway, attempting to spot anything unusual. A security guard taking the wrong turn, a lingering stalking janitor, a misplaced shadow, anything that Ori could get their hands on and use against him. After all this time, they continued with their obsessive chokehold on him, with prying eyes wherever he went. Some nights, it felt like there wasn't a single inch of the city untouched by their filthy hands.
"What are you expecting I to do then?" he asked, shaking his head.
It already felt as if the intern got off on the wrong foot. His mere presence was off-putting to everyone in the building, minus the man that hired him, and the nice girl at the front desk. Maybe it was because he was new, foreign to these sterilized walls and no one had managed to muster the courage to speak with him. Then again, it was only his second day. Ivan had yet to even allow himself a moment to interact with anyone than his prime target. The criminal was attempting to minimize his time within the facility, so as not to draw suspicious eyes, but he might have his work cut out for him.
Then, the other criminal hit him with the odd line. It completely caught him off, guard, like throwing a wrench into a continuously moving machine. It completely halted his ever-cycling intense thoughts and search for any traces of Ori.
"What are you talking about?" he simply asked. "I --" he shook his head at the conversation that was to come. "No. Does it matter? I have better shit to do."
simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
Ori cracked a smile at the sound of that leather glove tightening around the phone, that gentle floating feeling already starting to weave into their tense shoulders to loosen them up as they took another hit. They adored making that man squirm. It was so easy to do. The right fact let slip, the right set of eyes at the right time, sometimes even just a well-placed glance in his direction was enough to wrench a bead of sweat from his brow. And why wouldn't he be so easily played with? After all, Ivan had a lot to hideβpossibly more than Ori themself. Their eyes covered the city to its limits and beyond. They had contacts wherever they had managed to drift prior to winding up where they were. They knew so much about so many. Yet, the Russian always evaded them. They didn't know where he came from, who his direct relatives were, or even his true name. Somehow, out of everyone they had worked with, he was the one who kept his secrets the closest to his chest.
It drove them crazy. The least they could do to return the favor was dig their claws further into his mind.
"Figures you haven't," they murmured, staring a little too long into the burning end of the blunt. "Alright, Tiny, let me paint you a picture. Let's say you're just going about your day; ordering a coffee at the cafe, pretending you know what you're doing, seeing how many vices you can juggle at once before God catches on, just minding your own business. Now imagine some guy comes up to you and starts flirting with you. Asking real invasive, weird shit. 'Hey there, baby girl, where are you from? Go to church lately? Would you ever kill a man?' You'd be pretty weirded out, right? Uncomfortable?"
They chuckled, tracing patterns into the air with the glowing end of their blunt as they painted their picture of a hypothetical coffee shop crush. Then, their voice got lower.
"I mean, it's obvious that the question of your relationship status alone got under your skin. I think if someone started drilling you like that in a public place, well. You'd go insane, huh?"
The mechanic took another drag, laughing through the smoke. As they exhaled, the laughter became more audible, more loose. They couldn't help but enjoy the game they'd made of this. "Shit, now I'm hoping that happens. I'd pay money to watch you try and wriggle your way out of that shit," they wheezed, running their hand down their face. "Ah... But seriously, seriously. Tiny. You've just met the guy, he already thinks he's being targeted, and you're very clearly putting your laser sight between his eyes. Espionage requires patience. Finesse. Especially with a guy like this who you can't exactly convince to share a blunt with."
After a brief pause, they sighed, trying to level back out. "I don't think he has the backbone to kick you out, but you oughta know better than anyone: force isn't going to get you the answers you need," they mused, their tone almost seeming gentle. "It's just going to get you a lot of fronting and more paranoia to chip away at. Take it slow, enjoy the ride. After all, not like anyone in there's gonna shoot you for saying the wrong thing. They're all just a bunch of white collars. It should be a nice change of pace for a guy like you, yeah?"
It drove them crazy. The least they could do to return the favor was dig their claws further into his mind.
"Figures you haven't," they murmured, staring a little too long into the burning end of the blunt. "Alright, Tiny, let me paint you a picture. Let's say you're just going about your day; ordering a coffee at the cafe, pretending you know what you're doing, seeing how many vices you can juggle at once before God catches on, just minding your own business. Now imagine some guy comes up to you and starts flirting with you. Asking real invasive, weird shit. 'Hey there, baby girl, where are you from? Go to church lately? Would you ever kill a man?' You'd be pretty weirded out, right? Uncomfortable?"
They chuckled, tracing patterns into the air with the glowing end of their blunt as they painted their picture of a hypothetical coffee shop crush. Then, their voice got lower.
"I mean, it's obvious that the question of your relationship status alone got under your skin. I think if someone started drilling you like that in a public place, well. You'd go insane, huh?"
The mechanic took another drag, laughing through the smoke. As they exhaled, the laughter became more audible, more loose. They couldn't help but enjoy the game they'd made of this. "Shit, now I'm hoping that happens. I'd pay money to watch you try and wriggle your way out of that shit," they wheezed, running their hand down their face. "Ah... But seriously, seriously. Tiny. You've just met the guy, he already thinks he's being targeted, and you're very clearly putting your laser sight between his eyes. Espionage requires patience. Finesse. Especially with a guy like this who you can't exactly convince to share a blunt with."
After a brief pause, they sighed, trying to level back out. "I don't think he has the backbone to kick you out, but you oughta know better than anyone: force isn't going to get you the answers you need," they mused, their tone almost seeming gentle. "It's just going to get you a lot of fronting and more paranoia to chip away at. Take it slow, enjoy the ride. After all, not like anyone in there's gonna shoot you for saying the wrong thing. They're all just a bunch of white collars. It should be a nice change of pace for a guy like you, yeah?"
