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spit_it_out) wrote2012-11-11 11:49 pm
OOM: Contact
He had had a routine, in Brazil. It had been disrupted by events back in America. He had found it again in Canada, and even managed to stick to it when he started travelling. Milliways had taken it away. He had bounced between the room he hated, and the cell he needed, and fought for equilibrium. He thought he was gaining on it after the nightmare at Christmas, but now, he thinks – maybe not.
He steps off the boat in Panama, and immediately goes to ground. That’s always the first thing. Establish a bolt-hole, somewhere safe to retreat to in case things go south. It doesn’t have to be fancy – it can’t be, he can’t afford it – but it does have to be secure. He finds a room and locks the door behind him, and is aware of how much he has to kid himself, these days. OK, then. It has to have the illusion of security, some pre-Other Guy memory of being able to turn a key, and have the bad guys be kept outside.
He meditates. He runs. He hangs out along the canal, learning what he can about the boat companies and their destinations. He sets up temporary email accounts, and skims some dollars from companies that shouldn’t miss them. It’s a routine, and he sinks into it with relief. If security is anything, it’s the knowledge that he’s doing what he can to protect people from himself. What he dreads – well, he dreads the Other Guy, of course. But that’s all all-pervading fear, too large to focus on a lot of the time. The minutiae of what he dreads can be summed up as aberration.
So when it comes, he’s left with a sense of resignation. And fear. And he would say ‘anger’, but does that ever leave him, anymore? Ignoring it is not the same as it being gone.
He’s in an internet café. He's tired, and unshaven, and just about out of money. He’s steeling himself for the next leg of travel, because he’s been here two weeks, and it’s time to move on. He has a map in his head, mental pins in certain countries. The next one is in Europe. It’s just going to take cash.
Nombre de usuario: notthatguy
La contraseña: ********
no subject
This one doesn't contain any personal message, just an attachment. A highly encrypted one that politely decodes itself once Bruce opens it. The file holds several copies of very official looking, high security clearance documents about the containment of one Emil Blonsky.
There are one or two blacked out lines about the exact location of said containment, and everything else is stamped in bright red letters: CONFIDENTIAL, EYES ONLY, and DO NOT COPY.
Apparently Ross has refused any further affiliation with S.H.I.E.L.D. and its projects, thanks to the efforts of someone referred to only as 'The Consultant'. Somehow, whoever wrote this document managed to sound pleased about said refusal, despite how formal the legalese is.
Blonsky isn't going anywhere, and Ross seems to be out of favor.
no subject
Interesting. And he doesn't try to deny the immense relief at news of Blonsky's detainment, though there's a pang of sympathy too.
It also reminds him that if Blonsky can be hidden away, then so can he, if they find him.
To: director@shield.org
From: notthattguy@metalib.com
Fury
Interesting, I'll give it that. Though, next question: how do I know you won't just continue what Ross started? I don't know anything about SHIELD. I'm supposed to come in, and trust you won't stick me in a bunker three miles underground?
Banner
He should change country. This is a different internet place, and he's taken every precaution he can to make his digital position known. But there's only so much a man can do on a public computer, and he has no doubt these people are already aware of where he is.
He'll give it to the end of his hour here, then move. He already feels like there are eyes on him, though he tells himself it's probably just paranoia.
no subject
To: notthatguy@metalib.com
From: director@shield.org
Dr. Banner,
Do you really think we want another round of Harlem? I can't prove to you that we are not trying to replicate the serum without showing you our R&D logs, which I have no intention of doing.
I'm not trying to threaten you, but you can't run and hide forever. The higher-ups tend to get antsy if there's no intelligence to share. If you don't want to come in, we could come to you. Your choice of location, of course.
- Nick Fury
Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
no subject
The other stuff, though...
To: director@shield.org
From: notthatguy@metalib.org
Fury
I'm confused. You just want to talk to me, and then that's it? No more Ross, and I can get on with my life?
Impossible to believe it would be that easy. Bruce drums his fingers against the table, and glances around. No one appears to be looking his way, even out on the street. But there are security cameras out there, and he has to get out of Panama before they get bored of the civility, and just grab him.
If you're serious, come and talk to me face to face. Just you, no one else. Agree to that, and I'll name the time and place. I want this over.
Banner
no subject
From: director@shield.org
Banner,
It's a tempting offer, but my senior staff would have my head if I went out alone. And I am sadly answerable to still another organization that keeps a damn close eye on me. Having me around won't help if you don't want to be watched.
I can give you a phone call with no surveillance. And I can give you a meet-up with one of my best agents. Would that work for you, or is this account going to be dead tomorrow?
- Nick Fury
Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
no subject
To: director@shield.org
From: notthatguy@metalib.org
Fury
Nice to know someone's accountable to something, even if it does sound like you're too scared to meet a guy bigger than you.
Not that the Other Guy would definitely show up, but if there's any scenario where he'd lay odds it could happen, it'd be that one. He thinks a moment, and then does a quick search for a few things.
Reserve a room for me at La Villa Créole, Haiti, a week from today. Put it under the name Mr Green. Send a SatPhone to reception for them to hold for me, with a number to call. We'll talk about a meet then.
And yes, this account will be dead tomorrow.
Banner
He hits 'send', and cancels the email account immediately. Either Fury will stick to his word, or he won't. Everything about this tells him to run as far and fast as he can - but he doesn't want to do that for the rest of his life. If there's a chance he can make it so they won't come after him, he'd be an idiot not to try.
That done, he sets up a different account, and re-initiates a program that he wrote. It discreetly hacks a few choice big business accounts, and siphons off a few dollars. Having to restart it with a different account means he'll be hungry for a day, but that's just something he's coming to live with.
He shuts everything down, and pulls his baseball cap lower over his face as he exits the cafe. They might be watching, but he'll do everything he can to make it difficult to see him.
Looks like Europe is going to have to wait.