Message In A Bottle



Scene Title Message In A Bottle
Synopsis Minea gets word about Primatech from her source and a warning as she sorts through her paper belongings.
Date July 1, 2009

U-Store storage locker somewhere in New York City

Another day, another venture out past Cat's safe house walls.

She'd spent that day slipping off to one of the storage units that she'd rented and staying there for a few hours. Departing only to pick up coffee and a brown bag of food before disappearing back into it. No Cameras inside for Hana to spy and no one else who comes by it.

She'd been going through files, her own files, not the company ones, though there were some of those that were parked off to the corner. She hadn't been kidding about having split them up into small groups. If something happened to her, if Phoenix suddenly opted to snuff her out, then they weren't getting their hands on them. Only one person knew where, collectively, they all were.

There were a few things in here too, things that she had taken from the apartment and stashed, things that would make it look like she had taken off and brought her valuables with her. A small statue, some books, even some clothes. She couldn't bring her Malibu and could only hope that some freak hadn't tagged it on the street or broke it down, or that it had at least been towed away to safety, relative safety of an impound lot.

A small handful of ID's were dumped out of a yellow envelope onto the card table she was sitting at. French passport, South American passport, English passport. The accompanying paperwork's to go with them and her own face peering up unsmiling from each as she flipped them open to make sure they were still usable. English one got put to the side. Out of date. She didn't have the supplies to remake it. The downside to having "defected" was that she didn't have her inks and her papers or her laptop. And she couldn't justify buying it all. That and it would be a big tip off.

She could suss out the less than stellar sources in the city, it would give her something to do. Something to do other than wait. Her eyes flicker over to an already opened envelope that she'd pulled out of a locker at another train station along with more files. That envelope hadn't been in there when she'd stashed the files. Sturdy fingers pluck it up again, pulling out the single sheet of paper within so she can read over the handwritten letters once more.

Everyone was fine. A list of the few people she might have known who didn't make it from the primatech explosion. Magnes thankfully, was not on there. She was on her own for the next month and that she had to be careful. She fucked up, there's be no knights in shining armor to save her. She was cut adrift and not out of deliberate intent. If it was a dire emergency, there was instructions.

No word about shooting at her.

Minea purses her lips. Unintentionally cut off. The folding chair scrapes across the floor as she grabs a tin trash cat and looms over it with the piece of paper in hand. Her lighter dug from her pocket, Minea gives it a few flicks and holds the flame to the edge of the paper to make sure that it was taking good before tossing it into the tin can to burn fully. No trace of the words to be seen by anyone after a few seconds. The trash can shoved with the rest of her stuff. She couldn't leave it out to be seen if someone chose to break in.

Back to the chair Minea sits, shuffling through another envelope when she's settled against, divvying stuff up into small envelopes, tucking appropriate foreign money into the respective envelopes. She'd have to hit up a source, she can work on her English passport while she waits. There's a glance to her wrist watch and a realization that it's getting time to take off soon, head back to the safehouse. Things are turned off, the radio that bleated out it's tinny tunes, the camp light used instead of the overhead ones. For a moment it was almost like being down in south america again. Only without the rushing and the pressure to churn out what was needed in a short period of time.

She pauses at the door, wondering if maybe she should bring them another file or not, but after a moment in though, two, she doesn't. They can ask for more, and she'll bring it. The alarm set on the inside of the rent a storage unit - her own addition, not the rentals places- and she locks the door up tight. Her forehead rests against the painted orange door of unit #1173 before she goes, the envelope that held the note now holding the outdated passport and accompanying files.

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