Participants:
| Scene Title | Security Compromised |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Edgar delivers a message from a puff of smoke to a shadow. |
| Date | September 19, 2010 |
There's a sharp, professional feel to the main lobby of the building. The carpet is a deep maroon underfoot, the walls an off-white cream that doesn't glare too brightly beneath the recessed lighting in the ceiling. Half a dozen chairs upholstered in a sandy light brown sit against one wall beneath a painting, a print of a Thomas Brill that shows the ruins of Midtown covered in vines and greenery as seen from the rooftop of the Deveaux building. The receptionist's station takes up almost an entire wall on the right side of the lobby, guarding the hallway that leads back into the building's offices. Behind and above the desk, the logo for Redbird Security Solutions hangs on the wall in glossy black.
The central hall continues the same carpet and wall colors to a number of doors. There are four offices, a restroom done in shades of blue and pale sand tones, and a comfortable employee lounge with attached kitchenette. An open doorway in the main lobby reveals a flight of upward stairs, and there's a locked door at he end of the central hall that guards the basement steps.
After days spent searching the seediest part of Staten Island for a man that apparently just doesn't exist, Edgar Smythe decided to forge out on his own. According to Peter's instructions Redbird is supposed to be his final destination. An office building.. the speedster's suspicious glare as he slowly plods his way through the lobby is pointed at anyone that might cross his path.
It's all so high tech. A playground for this Rebel fellow.
With a quick blur, the whirlwind that is the ex-carnie zips through the lobby in an attempt to unplug every appliance and piece of technology in the immediate area. If there's one thing that the knife thrower doesn't like, it's being watched and eavesdropped on. When he's finished, he pulls a red scarf from his pocket and slings it around his neck. "I feel like a poofter… red scarf…"
There's a computer set upon the receptionist's desk with a dedicated connection rather than a simple cable line, a phone beside it that's easily unplugged as well. As far as twenty-first century offices go, it's surprisingly low tech. There's likely a security camera or two concealed beneath black hemispheres in the ceiling, but there's no easy way to get to those without actually breaking through the bulletproof plastic.
It's low tech, but there's enough tech that his sudden appearance and the deactivation of the phone lines draws attention from one of the offices.
"You know," whispers something completely unseen a few moments later, "If Messiah wants to talk to me, they could just call… call…"
Edgar remains relatively calm on the exterior, though his eyes dart around, nearly invisible because of the speed they travel. "Messiah ain't talkin'," the Englishman's accent is thick and hoarse with what could be perceived as fear. "Jus' me… I need teh speak teh Cardinal. It's abou' sum'thin' rather important."
He zips through the office again, the knives that he has tucked into sheaths under his coat are weilded in a quick flick of his wrists, appearing at the same time he does. "I ain't 'ere teh do you any 'arm. It's abou' sum'thin' goin' on wi' Messiah. S'why I unplugged ever'thin' I can' le' Rebel know I's 'ere."
"I'm right here… right here…" A shadow stretches up across the wall behind the receptionist's desk in the shape of a man standing beside the corporate logo, Richard Cardinal's posture that of someone with arms folded across his chest. "…I don't know you. Rebel can't get into the building, though, I've seen to that… seen to that…"
"What can I help you with?"
When the man appears, the knives are tucked away post haste. Edgar is still fairly twitchy though, he doesn't know how these things work, just that the thing called Rebel can listen if there's a machine. "Pe'er, 'e tol' me teh find you. Ask you teh meet with 'im. 'E don' trust the rest o' Messiah, says they migh' be compromised."
Stepping forward, Edgar extends his hand for a cordial shake. "Name's Edgar Smythe, outside'a these walls though, me name's Liam." His voice is smoother now, possible indicative of comfort, at least the presence of a little bit of it.
"They are." As the hand's stretched out, there's a long pause… and then Cardinal steps away from the shadow, pulling from the darkness and into three dimensions once more. He's dressed casually; jeans, a t-shirt, a flight jacket draped over the whole outfit, a pair of dark sunglasses perched upon his face. One gloved hand reaches out to clasp the offered, his lips twitching in a faint smile.
"Of course, so is he. He just doesn't know it."
"How? 'Ow've they been compromised and 'ow'm I goin' teh protect myself from the same thing?" There's an edge of concern in the knife thrower's voice, it's clear that he's a little bit paranoid of the same thing happening to him. It might have already, he doesn't know. Furrowing his eyebrows into an angry expression, Edgar gives a solemn shake before letting go of the man's hand.
"'As it go' sum'thin' teh do wi' that Charmichael fellow? The one Pe'er don' remember meetin'?"
"How can you protect yourself?" A wry half-smile, Cardinal's head cocking a little to one side, "It's simple. Don't…" He stops himself, eyes widening slightly behind his shades as if he'd just realized something, glancing over to one side, "…don't listen. Of course. It's all Carmichael…"
He pauses, then turns to walk over towards the hallway, "Come to my office. You don't need to worry about Rebel, there's no outside connections from in here."
Following Cardinal down the hallway, Edgar digs his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The appearance of the other man and the office itself causes the carnie to look down at his own appearance. Pinstriped polyester pants, they're good for running in because they stretch. His t-shirt made of a cotton blend for the same reason, the only thing without any give is the draggin' jacket he's got tossed over it.
He's too underdressed for this sort of thing. "Wha're Rebels limitations? An' 'ow is 'e compromised? He ain't nothin' bu' a blip in a cellphone, ain't 'e?"
"Rebel doesn't have a body any longer… all three of the technopaths that make it up are dead, at least physically," Cardinal explains as he walks slowly down the hallway, one gloved hand lifted in a vague motion to indicate something unseen, "So if it wants to access a system… it needs an outside connection to reach it. A cell phone, a phone line, a cable line…"
The door to the office is pushed open, and he walks within. It's a fairly spartan office, a couch, a desk, a few chairs. There's a Mendez painting hanging over the leather seat behind the desk. stepping around it, he drops himself down to sit in the high-backed seat, leaning back and folding his hands together. "…Rebel isn't compromised. Peter is."
Edgar's confusion is just mounting more and more, his eyes flit wildly from one area of the office to another as he tries to make some semblance of sense in his head. "So… why'd 'e want teh ge' me teh talk to you wi'out Rebel knowin'? If yer office can' be entered by Rebel, then why'd'e no' come 'ere by 'imself? Is 'e usin' me as some sort'a bait?"
Gritting his teeth together, Edgar raises his hand to scratch through his patchy beard. The circular scar under his neck is also scratched at for a little while before he frowns even deeper as his eyes meet Cardinal's sunglasses. "'E wanted me teh bring some'um else wi' me. Some fellow named Ash… said 'e lives in the Rookery. Couldn't find 'im though."
"That's probably for the best… the last time I talked to Ashley," Cardinal's hand rests against the side of his head, his elbow on the seat's arm, "It didn't go very well. As for why he sent you, I'm guessing it's because he's so high profile… they keep track of where he goes."
The Red King regards the speedster for a few moments, and then admits, "If Peter's started to realize that something's wrong— well. I'm not surprised. God knows the poor bastard's had his head fucked with enough over the years."
"'E said 'e wanted a secure meetin' gave me an address," Edgar walks over to the desk and lifts a pen from the holder and tears a sheet of paper off of a pad. In less time than it takes to blink an eye, an address is written down and slid over in front of Cardinal. "I dunno anythin' beyond tha'. Whether 'e's lookin' teh actually talk or wha'… 'E seems a bi' jumbled."
In a blur he's back on the other side of the room with his hand on the doorknob. "I dunno wha' I'll be doin' now. I s'pose I'll keep a watch on Melissa, t'make sure she's alrigh'."
The paper's picked up between gloved fingers, turned over, and Richard considers the letters written upon. "I'll meet him," he says simply, "I know why he's… confused. It's alright."
He pauses for a moment, "Talk to Ling Chao."
Angling his head toward Cardinal for a final glance, Edgar studies him for a long while before nodding slowly. "She— The one tha' lives wi' Melissa? Tha' Ling? She's no' compromised as well? Is it jus' Pe'er then? An' if Rebel ain't compromised… Why's 'e tellin' me no' teh use my phone? Why don' 'e want Rebel teh know 'e thinks there's sum'thin funny goin' on?"
The daggers and secrets is something that doesn't sit well with Edgar, at least the latter half of the game.
"Anyone who's spoken to Carmichael is likely compromised," Cardinal replies with a tight shake of his head to the questions, one hand lifting upwards, "If they've been alone with him… there's no way of knowing whether or not he's influenced them. That's his ability. He can get into your head. Can… I don't know his limits."
His hand drops back down to rest on the table, and he admits, "I don't know if Rebel knows the truth. I doubt Peter does, either."
Nodding once to Cardinal, Edgar sets his jaw. "Righ' then. I know wha' to do. Thanks for all you're 'elp. Sorry 'bout unpluggin' all you're things… Jus' bein' careful."
Slowly, the speedster opens the door and in a blur, he's off. The wind in his wake gently closes the door in a slow swing. Should the shadow go back into the lobby, he might find everything plugged back in and left exactly the way it was found.
The note in Cardinal's hand is lifted up again as the blur of motion vanishes from the office, and he considers the address written upon it for a long moment. "I think I've sown enough seeds," he says quietly, "Maybe it's time to see if the harvest is ripe."