Chapter Text
Nov 10th, 2082, 4:32AM - Chatroom #p4kl3
Sarah is no longer AFK.
Sarah says:
Have you got the helmet yet? Told the pilot to haul ass
six hrs ago.
Viktor says:
yeah I got it, was cold as fuck out there though
Sarah says:
No shit it was
Crack the thing open with the release module – jack should be
inside, plug in and jailbreak it, then run the video miner.
Viktor says:
im a hardware tech starting today apparently
and before you remind me again, YES im on it
Sarah says:
You know I’m the supplier for a reason.
Good luck building connections in the fucking snow bowl
Viktor says:
and without tits.
Sarah is typing...
Sarah says:
asshole
Viktor says:
gonna open the crate
ill tell you when im in
Viktor is now AFK.
The screen distances into illegible orange light as Viktor rolls his chair back with restless, cramping legs. He turns it to the side, facing the doorstep. The tile is wet with snowmelt, an imposing industrial crate next to his faithful boots. He slips off the chair, crouches down and lifts it up. It’s heavy. His palms are at once slippery and cold.
Somehow, with humbling effort, he manages to heave it up onto the repurposed dining table by his desk. Inside lays the glossy black helmet, still freezing to the touch from its journey in the cargo hold of an Alaskan contraband runner’s shoddy plane.
Seeing one up close sends shivers through his arms, along his spine, and up to his aching head. It sobers him up from the waning medication’s migraine, if only a little, and the sudden irrational fear is worse anyhow. Of seeing a security helmet up close, worse yet, wearing one. The sealed locking contraption reminds him of a bear trap, like the ones set up on the edge of the safehouse property. Partially for helmets like these, partially for actual bears. Viktor knows which one he’d prefer.
A pulse of nausea and dizziness- more goddamn side effects, bring him back to the mission. He wets his dry lips, staring at the shiny, spheric surface.
Viktor is in the middle of a comedown from his cold resistance medication. Concentration is proving hard.
ENEMY TECHNOLOGY
LINK TO ARCHIVE
RETRIEVE FOOTAGE
FOCUS NOW
His hands grapple with the helmet, turning it around as he grabs for the ‘module’. It’s a sharp-looking tool, described by Sarah as “ an electronic key.” He inserts it in the miniscule hole at the center of the ‘c’ in ‘SECURITY’. The jaws that would be holding an employee in place open with a whir that almost makes him drop it back into the box.
Inside, the helmet is void but for a small jack. His numbed fingertips brush over the rough metal inset as his other pair retrieve a wire from under the desk. For a moment it feels like it’s not the right fit, but then it connects.
Turning back toward the terminal, Viktor skims over the new notifications. His eyes strain as he does, and he sighs, then absentmindedly reaches for the prescription bottle on the edge of the table. Four pills left. He swallows one down, then tries again.
Sarah says:
Status?
Viktor is no longer AFK.
Viktor says:
asshole is in – time to get access
Sarah says:
If the forum people update the KeskOS account override again you could actually change it to that, get a nice codename.
Viktor says:
all that effort to be an official asshole for a week until they patch it
Sarah says:
Well, you’re always an asshole to me.
Viktor says:
back to work...
Navigating into the wired connection directory, he examines the playing field. At first glance, all the protected files seem to contain defensive code he’s familiar with. He’d brushed up on it after the other day’s failure, it helped calm him down, not to mention prepare for the next strike.
Accessing the bodycam footage from the servers won’t directly bring them on track to sabotage the Engine or even the corporation, but they need to see if Axel heeded their warnings and managed to kill his brain, or if he’s being interrogated in the machine, on course to be left in there...
Running the executable Sarah sent him during planning, he guides it to the helmet’s folder. A good ten minutes of biting his tongue and fighting the terminal later, he’s managed to dismantle the file defense system.
Viktor says:
connect to the servr, in there search for the date n time to find the casefile, correct?
Sarah says:
Uh-huh, then run it through the video miner. Gonna take a while, these files are encrypted and also compressed with a bunch of other info abt the alert, not just the bodycam recording
I mean it should probably be called headcam but whatever, when youre connected do the switcharoo like I said
Viktor triggers the helmet’s transfer mode, intended for admins to file cases into the archive. With that connected, he sneaks into said destination with only slight struggle. In fact, he’s starting to feel a bit proud, probably because the pill kicked in.
ThermoLite is a household staple up north, especially in places like this safehouse, hidden in the northernmost region of the Russian Empire- Chukotka, near enough to an airfield for deliveries. Sure, the helmet, but also the pills- the MDMA they altered thirty years ago to make use of the raised body temperature, upon the gulf stream collapse. Altered, but still a decent high.
Searching through the seemingly endless layers of folders, with loading times to boot, he eventually finds the file. A recording from yesterday. Viktor copies it over immediately, breath spiking. The file is being transferred. His eyes follow the progress bar as the room begins to get colder. Viktor knows it’s just the pill, but it coincides with the sinking feeling. Once it lands, he rushes to redirect to the downloads folder, and puts it through the goddamn fucking miner thing... then, out of the depths, minutes of mouth half-open staring, a file.
It’s time to push through, now. See what was sentenced. Hold on.
RELATIVE DANGER
SECOND HAND
SEEN WORSE
LOOK NOW
It starts with the cutoff point from break to work, the security lackeys hopping into the truck, garage doors jammed for a moment- at least Viktor could do that- before overridden. He skips through the journey until the screen goes white with snow. They exit outside of the wooded shack, camouflage drawn over its roof. The leading officer- with the camera- draws toward the front door right away, begins kicking it in. His partner joins him with a battering ram.
It’s not enough. The door only splinters into a kitchenette and living room. They expected this, turn to the next door right away and continue. Viktor wonders what’s behind it, what Axel is thinking, doing. If he’s dead already. Worst case, hanging. What does he even look like, that tech he’s been working with for months, the one he’s already inherited the asshole title from.
First, he’s obscured behind the other agent’s vest, but then... pale, shaved bald. A halo of blood on the planks, a screwdriver jammed into his eye socket. The camera moves on to the destroyed field kit, but the image sticks. The room is cramped and dark, a guitar by the window, staying unplayed.
Viktor says:
NOV-04-2082-213PM.mp4
Sarah says:
Good work
Watched it already?
Viktor says:
yes
Sarah says:
You okay?
Viktor says:
fine
Sarah says:
Take a break I know it’s like 5 over there anyway
We’ll talk about it later
Viktor is now AFK.