Ok, so this is my first foray into fiction writing. Not done something like this since I was in school, and that my dear readers, was a time long long ago. (possibly in a galaxy far far away) Reviews are welcome, hate is not. Criticism will be taken on board, but only if you say it nicely.
Oh, I probably should mention that Ubisoft own Assassins Creed. Good for them. I own my OC's. Rather hoping they are gonna appreciate in value over time.
Right, to the story!
Carey walked into the cubicle to find a pair of legs sticking out from under the machine. Tools as well as an unhealthy number of internal parts were strewn across the floor in a seriously worrying way.
"Leto, you said you would have it up and running in a couple of hours." he addressed the pair of legs, seriously put out by the continual delay. He checked his watch, stressing about the lost time. This was not something he wanted to be pulled up on, again. The damn thing kept glitching and breaking down, but his boss made as if that was his fault.
He sighed as he realised that Leto hadn't heard him. The faint tshk tshk from her iPod barely audible over the hum of all the other machines. He kicked Leto's legs as a movement down the corridor caught his attention. Looked like Peter the section supervisor was making his rounds. He really did not need this right now. Leto slid herself out.
"Hey ya Carey, it's gonna be a while, sorry." Leto greeted him in the far too loud voice of someone listening to loud music. She flashed him a smile while grabbing a mars bar from a pocket. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Peter was making a beeline for his glass cubicle. Panicking slightly, he waved his hand across his throat a couple of times. Leto's eyes went wide as she caught the warning, and she hastily stuffed the earphones down the collar of her jumpsuit. Carey stifled a giggle as the mars bar followed.
"Mr O'Moal..." Peter boomed at him as he strode into the glass cubicle "I am not a happy person. You have only logged 45 minutes of research time today. What do you have to say for yourself this time?"
Carey groaned inside. Was the man blind? Could he not see that half of a Animus seemed to be sitting in pieces on the floor? Or smell the electrical burnt odor in the air? Or see the orange warning lights on the parts of the Animus that still worked? Heck, he even wondered if he had bothered to read the Animus monitor reports? No, all the little creep was doing was checking the time spent in the machine and the subsequent analysis time. Keeping his face as neutral as possible he gestured to the machine.
"It seriously glitched out on me. Synchronisation kept destabilizing. As you said, I only managed to get 45 minutes before it completely over heated. Leto's been here ever since trying to fix it"
Peter turned a sneer on Leto. "Miss Day, I am not a very patient man. You have spent the past 2 and a half hours working on that machine, and I am very concerned about its current status, and your competence at your job."
So, the little slave driver does check the the Animus monitor reports, Carey thought to himself, catching the little glare Leto sent his way.
"Mr Smith, it over heated! I had to wait half hour to even open the baby. She was running at well over 200 at one point. And look at this..." she grabbed a charred, melted blob of plastic from the floor, pushing it into his face. The look of disgust on Peters face was almost priceless.
"Look! That is what is left of 16 beautiful processing chips. It took me ages to get them out. The heat inside there was so great that it melted everything around them, including one of the primary boards." She threw her hands up in the air. "This is the last unit on the line. And I just keep telling you, the cooling system cannot cope with the heat output."
"I don't care Miss Day." He rudely interrupted her, "This is your job, for which you are paid very well. Maybe if you spent less time listening to whatever insipid noise you consider music and more time concentrating on your job, we would not be having this conversation." Turning, he moved to the door, "And Mr O'Moal, just because your machine is not working does not mean you cannot use another" he threw over his shoulder as he left.
"Bastard" Carey growled, his Irish accent deepening "He knows all the available and working machines are being used."
"Slave driving, ignorant pig" Leto was digging around the top half of her jumpsuit before pulling out a slightly melted and battered mars bar. "Want some?" she offered.
He shook his head, amusement playing on his lips as he watched her scoff the whole thing down.
"Well. Your baby aint gonna be workin for te rest of te day" she said with her mouth fall. He sighed in frustration, rubbing his temples. She looked over to him with sympathy.
"Blimey, didn't realise you were so eager to get back to the trenches."
"Damn it Leto. You know you're not supposed to look at what we do here. You could get into a lot of trouble. Or worse."
She shot him a look.
"Yeah, so you guys really think that your computer technician aint gonna glance through your emails or recorded memories when you want me to fix something?" She grinned impishly at him, "Now if that ain't naive, then I don't know what is. Why do you think John spends so much time 'fixing and tweaking' Jane's Animus?" Carey frowned at the remark, not understanding. Leto's face expanded into a gleeful smile. "Oh! You dont know! Man, that is funny. Jane's ancestor she's studying is a whore. Literally, a bonafide prostitute, and ya know, John likes to watch. Man, is Jane gonna be pissed when she finds out that the whole floor knows." she chuckled to herself.
"So, you have watched some of the tapes from my sessions?" He asked nervously.
"Yup." Came the smug reply.
"But not all of them?" He asked hopefully.
"Of course not man. There's been hours of stuff recorded. I'm a tech, not a damn analyst." She said, slipping herself back under the Animus. He rolled his eyes in a silent 'thank you'. A disembodied voice, muffled by the machinery reached him.
"I did however, not miss the night the heat went out." He stared at her feet. He could almost feel the smugness radiating off her. Growling slightly to himself, he turned on his heel, suddenly resolute on finding another Animus to work on, and to get away from that infuriating girl.
Leto chuckled to herself as she heard Carey storm off. She hoped she hadn't offended him, she'd only been teasing. Hell, this place could do with some friendly. It was all swish and Star Trek, but no one was friendly. So serious and focused on their work. Everyone acted like secret agents, all hush hush, need to know and so many layers of encryption that the encryption was encrypted. Carey was one of a few who she knew she could strike up a normal conversation with.
She continued replacing parts in the broken Animus. Testing and rechecking power flow and stability of the coolant system. She didn't mind her job, infact she quite liked it. This sort of technology is what fanboys world over dreamed about, and here was Abstergo using and testing it. She couldnt wait to see them rolled out publicly. It was the ultimate games console. Total immersion. That alone was worth it. But to be able to access genetic memory as well, now that was outstanding. Everyone could research and meet their own ancestors. It could help amnesia and coma patients, help police with suspect ID. Hell, she'd even used it to find her lost keys.
Of course, the money helped as well.
She sighed as she heard a component crackle and fiz somewhere in the machine. She might not be getting home to watch that marathon Dr Who on tv. Still, if she fixed it, at least she would make some people happy.
Peter Smith stood looking out over the animus room, feeling irritated by this woman. Why couldn't she be just like everyone else, and focus on her work. The constant joking and general joviality was making his research team lose focus. Looking down at the tablet in his hand, he sneered at the company photo of her. Who on earth smiles at the camera after having just been fingerprinted, and DNA sampled by men with guns?
A cough sounded behind him. Turning to find one of the security team standing at the door to his office.
"You asked for an update on Miss Day" the grunt with a bad buzzcut said. Irritably, Peter waved him in, and sat behind his desk, pointedly not offering the man in front of him a seat.
"Go on then" he prodded.
The grunt nervously swallowed, and Peter allowed a small smile inside. People were so weak willed. They needed to be ruled, subjugated.
"There is no evidence that she has any contact with the Assassins. Not even close. In fact, she spends most of her time here." glancing down and scrolling down the screen of his own tablet he continued "Last week alone she was here, on site, for 74 hours. She spoke to 26 different people. Only 19 conversations carried on beyond a greeting, and of those, 16 were solely about work.
Outside of work, she doesn't do much. She has her groceries and shopping delivered. Loves thai food, but doesn't eat out. No gym membership, although she does go for a jog on a sunday morning. No friends have ever come over to her apartment. She phones her family twice a week, although, that has become more frequent. Apparently her sister is getting married, and she is a bridesmaid. The last movie she went to see was The Avengers. Actually, she went to see it 4 times." Peter raised his eyebrow, calculating the possibility. As if reading his mind, the grunt continued "But that fits with the personality profile. A geek. She went to see Star Trek 9 times. Owns the box set of almost every science fiction TV show ever to be made. Spends a lot of time on her PS3. Her trophy collection puts mine to shame. She even goes to comic-con every year." He trailed off, hoping the ordeal would be over. Peter looked at him.
"What about the three conversations she did have? Who were they with and what were they about?"
"um, Nicole Pritchard from Internal HR. Apparently they are both massive fans of a canceled TV show called Firefly. Then there was Casey O'Moal. I believe she was giving him tips on a particularly difficult part of a game called Uncharted 3. And, um, they also spent some time discussing you sir. I cannot say that they think very highly of you sir. And, Lucy Stillman. They discussed the new Bond movie and how chocolate was best thing in the world. They also touched on a mutual hatred for Justin Beiber"
"Who?" Peters ears perked up again, but the grunt just shook his head.
"A boy pop star who is very popular at the moment. No affliation, and unimportant."
Peter nodded, thinking.
"Fine. I still want her monitored. Continue tapping phone, apartment, internet and car. And, send me the tapes of those three conversations please. I want to listen to them."
The grunt made his escape from his superior. He didn't like the man who reminded him of a weasel. A dangerous man. He wouldn't want to be in Day or O'Moal's shoes after he had listened to their conversation. He had been very polite in the way he phrased it, but he doubted Smith would be so calm after listening to a half hour of himself being slagged off. No, he made sure he was back down on the security level before he sent Smith those recordings.
So, what do you think? Got any idea where its going? Write something in the box below!
Anything!
There will be cake.