inbox;

[stressors]

● "Hey, it's Shiro." ●

"Sorry you missed me. Leave me one and I'll call you right back. Thanks."

☏ call. ✉ text. ⌨ video. ☄ action.

code over at pagans

Comments

[stressors]

[ he has too much faith in his hacked tech to make wiser decisions, alas ]

. . . we'll talk about it in my apartment.

For now, make a right at the next light.

[impulsors]

What? Oh -

[ look, he's been distracted -- it's forty miles per hour, now. reflex jerks the car into an abrupt ninety-degree turn.

this isn't, of course, the greatest experience for passenger necks, but who cares about that. ]

[stressors]

[ HE'S WEARING HIS SEATBELT BUT HE STILL GOES SLAMMING UP AGAINST THE WINDOW ANYWAY ]

Keith.

[impulsors]

Sorry.

[ his mouth's screwed into a grimace; at once the car dips back down to twenty-five, recalcitrant. ]

- should've warned you. Are you okay?

[stressors]

It's fine.

[ his arm's only rigged with a bomb, nbd. ]

. . . I'm good to park in this district for a few hours. We can pull over.

[impulsors]

[ it isn't like he's really guilty -- he's seen a little of what shiro's capable of. but there's a sense that he isn't behaving as well as he ought, and that keeps him quiet, his grip measured as he steers up the dawn-reddened street. there's a space between two cars, just beneath a cracked lamp, cramped but doable. he turns his head, keeps an eye on the bumper as he veers into it, and parks.

only then does he seem to look around, considering: the sleepy grey buildings, every window still unlit in their hooded steel frames; a lone figure staggering along the crosswalk at the mouth of the street. ]

This is it?

[ for a town overrun with mobs, this part looks pretty dull. ]

[stressors]

Demoted, remember?

[ but he's turning the radio on -- and keeping his side of the feed on mute, as per usual. there's more of an exchange going on, raised voices and clamor in the background. oddly enough, nothing too alarming. ]

I don't exactly know what they have planned, but I've got a busy month ahead of me besides.

I'd look forward to it, if I didn't know any better.

[impulsors]

Busy waiting around in cars. Right.

[ the radio earns a brief squint, but not much of one; shiro's voice rings level, and so keith takes his cue. he slouches back against the seat, flicking through the few keys on the ring. ]

They're wasting your time. What do you even do while you're waiting?

[stressors]

Sudoku.

[impulsors]

. . . you're kidding.

[stressors]

Yes, absolutely.

[impulsors]

[ oh my god. his eyes swipe around the car for a beat before he slumps against the seat. ]

. . . guess it is pretty tiny for doing anything else.

[stressors]

I guess I can't tempt you into a crossword.

[ but he is opening up the glove compartment -- and brandishing maps of old town, of westerley's high volume cities. all of them heavily marked. ]

[impulsors]

[ ??? lea. . . ning. . . over?? ]

What are those?

[stressors]

I've been tracking the upsurge of activity in the area.

[ there's the click of an uncapped pen.

keith should stop him before he pulls out reading glasses, too. ]

. . . It helps to see where it's most concentrated.

[impulsors]

[ i think you forgot who keith is. he's only craning his neck to look at the nearest map, a hand splaying over shiro's arm for balance. ]

How're you tracking the activity? [ wait. ] Did you actually drive to all of these?

[stressors]

[ i won't remember until keith's got a corkboard full of pictures of shiro's face ]

Only when I've been called for back up.

Most of the time, I've been listening to the radio.

[impulsors]

[ he cocks his head to it, as if he's only just noticed that it isn't somebody yodeling about buttercups. ]

. . . is that the guy you're picking up?

[stressors]

[ buttercup baby, why are you always bringing me down ]

. . . which one?

[ there's more than one person talking on the radio. ]

[impulsors]

The one who's complaining about the coffee.

[ as one voice falls and the other answers - ]

That one.

[ and then - ]

Wait. Does the Company bug everyone who works for it?

[stressors]

. . . don't worry. At the very least, my lines have been -

[ . . . ]

Secured.

[impulsors]

[ narrowing his eyes, every inch a boy who may not enjoy using euphemisms but can certainly feel one hanging over their heads like a sword.

or his arm, certainly. ]

Right. I get it.

[ back down he stares, over the lines and drawn-mazy streets - ]

. . . this doesn't look like anything new, though. We already know mobs show up where there's people.

[stressors]

Where there's Company.

[ but he's leaning back in his seat -- and maybe he's not looking at the map this time, when he's staring at keith, his dark head bent over the paper. ]

But some of these agencies are more private than that. It makes sense to storm Company offices. But in the recent days, there have been attacks on local businesses where they don't exactly advertise that they're Company affiliated.

[impulsors]

You think something at those businesses're setting them off?

[ no, that's a stupid idea -- he shakes it off at once as his head turns, brows stitching black. ]

Or -- someone's starting them on purpose.

[stressors]

I don't know, but there's some kind of method in all this madness.

If only we had some kind of hint as to which side's making the move.

Then maybe we can better redirect our efforts to putting a stop to these mobs before they get out of hand.