What Happened


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Scene Title What Happened
Synopsis Cat summarily catches Hana up on the current state of affairs. Hana is moderately distracted by past affairs.
Date February 23, 2010

Grand Central Terminal

Stepping out onto the street at 1326 Broadway, after having texted about the confirmed assassin identity and called for cleanup of a mirror she kicked down the stairs, Cat's next order of business was making contact with one recently un-comatose technopath. First method was to perform a test of whether or not Wireless is back in operation to some, or any, degree by texting the simple question 'Are you willing to see a visitor?' to the name. Seconds later, to cover all bases, she phoned the Ferrypeople watching over the location to carry word of her approach and request sans assistance of technopath.

With the clock cresting the start of a tenth hour, Cat reaches the doorway to Hana's quarters. "«Morning»," she greets quietly. In Hebrew.

The text doesn't immediately bounce back, which is what normally happens when messages are sent to an unrecognized address. It also, however, goes without a reply. Unlike the digital communication, Cat's spoken greeting is returned in exact kind, Hana not looking back to the door as she folds a blanket and lays it on the cot that is the tiny storage room's sole piece of furniture. Well — that and a backpack tucked behind it, flat with a lack of notable contents. "What brings you here?" the Israeli woman continues, in English now, as she turns to face her guest.

"You do," the black-clad guest replies from the doorway where she takes just a single step inside. Cat lets her eyes wander briefly over the interior and the resident within, comparing that physical image with the most recent one to compare and contrast.

It's different, that image; there's less of her. Even more angles, the sharp corners and planes of bone; it'll be a long time before the woman builds herself entirely back up to her prior physical condition. Even with Hana's relentless determination driving it. "I had determined that much for myself," she replies, watching Cat study the room. There's precious little to see; it used to be storage.

It stands to reason, when one stoic visits a woman even more stoic than herself, that words would be few. The thought causes her to inwardly grin for a brief period, Cat reply coming soon after. "Had I not come here, it might appear as if you'd been abandoned, and as if we were ungrateful for all the support so gladly taken. It also occurs to me you might desire briefing of things occurring, which I'm here to provide."

The Israeli woman tips her head, considering her visitor for a lengthy moment. "I don't think you ungrateful," Hana finally says. She looks towards the back wall of the room, the one beyond which concrete and dirt extends for long unbroken spans; the one that symbolizes the world outside the terminal. Silence, then, as the technopath weighs the other half of Cat's statements; gauges her own response. "If you can make it a short summary," Hana finally states.

Short Cat can do. "Two members of the Vanguard are in the United States, performing assassinations and attempting to be scary. One of the assassinated was Mother. I intend to proactively bring about the situation's end. Emile Danko is free, and possibly planning to resume his racist murdering ways. It would be good if he was presented something which will inspire him to try an operation during which he would quietly die and not be mentioned in the press. And Rebel have made public, through exhibits and messages contained within a site they created, evidence of camps being built. And of disappearances of registered persons connected to H1N1 innoculation sites."

Hana turns slightly back towards Cat as the younger woman summarizes recent developments. Her profile remains impassive until the end; until Rebel is mentioned, at which her brows draw in, creasing a narrow furrow between dark eyes. "Rebel?" the technopath echoes, not placing the nom de guerre.

"T.Monk and R.Ajas," Cat replies, "they've begun not communicating or acting separately, but instead jointly under the name Rebel. One of the images they made public was of a mushroom cloud over the south pole, the image from when that weapon detonated in shadows and was kept from damaging the world. They told me they'd located your signature in battle with another technopath," she relates, "and were going to your aid. They said if they fell, I would be provided documents. But they didn't, and you didn't."

"Since a short time before the end of Operation Apollo, they've not acknowledged any communication from me. Some may be in contact, or may not. No individual situation can be determined. The only thing that's clear is they came across something and are calling the attention of anyone who cares to work through steganography and investigate onto it."

Though Hana regards Cat directly as she explains, her gaze slips slightly out of focus, leaving it questionable exactly how much of the latter sentences were actually comprehended. Something else holds the core of her attention, memories distant in time and yet all too near.

Alone, but never forgotten.
Sorry, we're late.
Virus. Lethal.

Yet she is aware of when the younger woman finishes speaking, at which point Hana simply draws in a breath and nods but once. "Thank you, Cat." Another silence, weighted, heavy. She sits down on the edge of the cot, folding her hands in her lap. Closes her eyes.

"You're welcome, Hana." There is little more to say. From a pocket Cat produces a USB drive on which she's placed the entire collection of exhibits from arebel.000.biz along with descriptions of the hacks performed on the New York Times site and things she's learned since, complete with mentions of Gregor, Doc Carpenter, Zimmerman, and Hector Steel. Included also among the data are photos of Skoll and Dreyfus, but those are in a folder marked Fugitive Vanguardites.

It's laid on the cot where Hana can easily find it. From there Cat is silent unless spoken to, and if the silence stretches out to a point where it seems the technopath will say no more and desires privacy she will make a comment of farewell and excuse herself.

There isn't much left to say; not while Hana replays the moments before her infection in the privacy of her own thoughts, and not without further comment or inquiry on Cat's part. She looks at the flash drive as Cat sets it down, picking it up a belated moment later, fingers rubbing idly at its slick plastic surface. The Israeli has enough politesse, if just, to call a farewell to the younger woman before Cat entirely leaves the room; and after Cat has gone, her footsteps mere memories of sound, breaks the silence again with a handful of murmured words.

"What happened, Monk? What happened?"

Closing her fingers tightly around the flash drive, closing her eyes, Hana finally takes the plunge she's been dreading ever since her awakening.


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