This Is for Real [Ysmir]
Posted: 27 Oct 2017, 23:24
The soldier recognized her. He’d done more than recognize her. He looked right into her eyes and asked her if she’d broken out of the hospital. He knew her case. From months ago. No, years ago. Before she’d been turned. Before she’d met Jesse. No, in fact, it was the very night she met Jesse. Clo could recall the way the asphalt felt under her bare feet, just as she recalled the dampness of the sewers. Her heart had been beating out of her chest. She’d been so disheveled. And Jesse had taken her life. In some ways, he’d saved her; in some ways, he’d damned her. But none of that mattered. The soldier recognized her.
Clo sat in the middle of the floor. She had her journal open, a pen poised to grace the blank sheet of paper, but nothing came to mind. So she doodled. She scribbled misshapen people and dainty little daisies. Each drawing looked like absolute ****, but those drawings meant something to her. She wasn’t an artist, not like Jesse, but she could enjoy art, she could attempt to create art. When she tired of doodling, Clo hooked the pen over the page and tucked her journal into a drawer on the crafting table, one of the ones she kept locked. After that, she took a seat in a chair. Legs hanging over one arm, Clo took her phone from the front right pocket of her jean shorts and tried her hand at composing an email to Athena. Earlier, she’d tried hacking into the police database, but she couldn’t get past the firewall. She just wasn’t a hacker; she just didn’t have the time or the patience. Security. Files. Traces. The whole thing made Clo clench her jaw. She’d almost thrown her tablet across the room, but then she remembered she wasn’t a petulant child and didn’t need to react so strongly. That had been hours ago, before she gave up and attempted to make sense of her jumbled thoughts. That’s what they were, just jumbled thoughts.
She needed to find out why that soldier picked her out of the crowd. He’d been older, probably in his forties, and he’d likely been around during the closure of the mausoleum, but he couldn’t have recalled her case with such clarity unless -- unless, what, Clover? Maybe he had access to the files she’d been trying to uncover. Maybe he knew a guy who knew a guy. She just didn’t know. She needed to know. The thought that hit her next hit with such an intensity that she sat up in her chair, properly, and stared out at the rest of Limbo. What if she broke into the police station itself? But she didn’t know how to hack, so what good would that do, but put her in another poor situation? She lacked the skills she needed to solve the puzzle.
Clover refused to ask Charlie. She refused to ask Marisol. She needed someone else, someone she could trust, even a little, to help with her endeavor. Jersey? Clo stared down at her phone for a long minute, and then she shook her head. Jersey had no business getting involved in such a mess. What if they got caught? Peter wouldn’t like that. More importantly, Clo couldn’t do that to the blonde. She just couldn’t put one of her closest friends in that predicament. She needed someone more than willing to break into a police station and hack into the database from inside. They’d need to take out cops. They’d need to make sure they maintained dispatch. Would Jesse even approve? Of course he would. Besides, she wouldn’t get caught. That was her mantra.
I won’t get caught.
In and out. Second windows. Minute windows. She’d have to act quickly and efficiently. One slip-up meant the whole police force would immediately rally around the station and unload enough bullets to send her right into the shadow realm. She didn’t feel like dying. Dying was most inconvenient. What if she asked Raegan? The woman seemed just as batshit crazy. Maybe they didn’t even need a hacker. Maybe the police files had yet to be uploaded. Harper Rock wasn’t in the dark ages though. Clo pulled up her contacts. Her finger hovered over Sol’s name -- no, it hovered over the word Slut. She just couldn’t press that button. Clo sat in Limbo, deep in thought, waiting for some other alternative to just fall from the sky.
Clo sat in the middle of the floor. She had her journal open, a pen poised to grace the blank sheet of paper, but nothing came to mind. So she doodled. She scribbled misshapen people and dainty little daisies. Each drawing looked like absolute ****, but those drawings meant something to her. She wasn’t an artist, not like Jesse, but she could enjoy art, she could attempt to create art. When she tired of doodling, Clo hooked the pen over the page and tucked her journal into a drawer on the crafting table, one of the ones she kept locked. After that, she took a seat in a chair. Legs hanging over one arm, Clo took her phone from the front right pocket of her jean shorts and tried her hand at composing an email to Athena. Earlier, she’d tried hacking into the police database, but she couldn’t get past the firewall. She just wasn’t a hacker; she just didn’t have the time or the patience. Security. Files. Traces. The whole thing made Clo clench her jaw. She’d almost thrown her tablet across the room, but then she remembered she wasn’t a petulant child and didn’t need to react so strongly. That had been hours ago, before she gave up and attempted to make sense of her jumbled thoughts. That’s what they were, just jumbled thoughts.
She needed to find out why that soldier picked her out of the crowd. He’d been older, probably in his forties, and he’d likely been around during the closure of the mausoleum, but he couldn’t have recalled her case with such clarity unless -- unless, what, Clover? Maybe he had access to the files she’d been trying to uncover. Maybe he knew a guy who knew a guy. She just didn’t know. She needed to know. The thought that hit her next hit with such an intensity that she sat up in her chair, properly, and stared out at the rest of Limbo. What if she broke into the police station itself? But she didn’t know how to hack, so what good would that do, but put her in another poor situation? She lacked the skills she needed to solve the puzzle.
Clover refused to ask Charlie. She refused to ask Marisol. She needed someone else, someone she could trust, even a little, to help with her endeavor. Jersey? Clo stared down at her phone for a long minute, and then she shook her head. Jersey had no business getting involved in such a mess. What if they got caught? Peter wouldn’t like that. More importantly, Clo couldn’t do that to the blonde. She just couldn’t put one of her closest friends in that predicament. She needed someone more than willing to break into a police station and hack into the database from inside. They’d need to take out cops. They’d need to make sure they maintained dispatch. Would Jesse even approve? Of course he would. Besides, she wouldn’t get caught. That was her mantra.
I won’t get caught.
In and out. Second windows. Minute windows. She’d have to act quickly and efficiently. One slip-up meant the whole police force would immediately rally around the station and unload enough bullets to send her right into the shadow realm. She didn’t feel like dying. Dying was most inconvenient. What if she asked Raegan? The woman seemed just as batshit crazy. Maybe they didn’t even need a hacker. Maybe the police files had yet to be uploaded. Harper Rock wasn’t in the dark ages though. Clo pulled up her contacts. Her finger hovered over Sol’s name -- no, it hovered over the word Slut. She just couldn’t press that button. Clo sat in Limbo, deep in thought, waiting for some other alternative to just fall from the sky.
