Else Return ␀ Part II



Scene Title Else Return ␀ Part II
Synopsis Elliot reviews the spoils of his off-the-books data infiltration.
Date February 26, 2021

Elliot has been on edge for hours. Not the post-op adrenaline come-down; that passed in due course. The This was off-books kind. The This might finally tell me kind. The type of information that will free him from the specter of his past. Or bury him alive.

He doesn’t waste time upon arrival home. He secures the doors, performs a detailed security checklist, then unlocks and enters his office. Locks the door behind him. He cuts the seal on the air-gapped computer he bought specifically for securing this data. Wright’s here, and also on edge. Trying not to let it show at home.

The computer whines and clicks through its boot cycle. No wireless functionality. No chance of connecting to anything other than the rig, here in this office. The wire connects with a satisfying click. He enters his decryption keys and the machine begins to strain. Parsing an enormous amount of data.

His fingers drum on the desk beside his keyboard until it annoys him. He leans back only to anxiously snap his fingers. A whiplash crack beside his ears, flinching. Shakes his head, not anymore. Those days are long gone. But they never really are.

He can’t stream Wright for her to calm him down. Not without prior approval. Not since the promises that keep them apart. She shouldn’t even be here. Marthe knows that Wright was on an op and expects closeness to wind down worries of her own.

Lean forward, drumming again, irritation now. It’s so close. Ever since Joy told him records from the Ark were in the possession of Renautas he’s been scheming to get exactly this. Data of a black site experiment even the DOD didn’t know about. Put Asi at risk to help him build the malware to do it. But this… This is…

He runs search after search using high priority keys: Zero. Project 0. C-Ring. Warehouse. Telepathic Network. Quantum Network. Elliot Abel Hitchens. Bastian Michael Nelson. Tala Lualhati Dimatibág. Yancy Garcia. He tries words he has never spoken aloud, not even to Wright.


He scrubs at his temples in frustration. Tries again. He runs enough searches, grazes over enough files to begin to spot other patterns. Things he isn’t looking for at all. Things that could let him live like a king.

“Holy fuck.”

Or bury him alive.

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