It had been two years, almost to the day. The first six months after Mello left had been the worst for Matt; he'd been exhausted on every level. His mind had refused to form any thought more complicated than what his current video game required, his body began to stop sending him reminders to eat or sleep, which he only did when he was satisfied with the amount of progress he was making on the mission or quest of the moment, and his social interactions were limited to Rogers semi-regular appearance in his room or a random encounter on a midnight run to the kitchen for snacks. The staff had eventually stopped forcing him to attend his classes and the other students paid even less attention to him than they did prior to his best friend's disappearance. It had gotten to the point that Matt had been pretty much convinced they had forgotten all about him.
Around the six month mark, things had begun to take a different direction. He got angry. It wasn't the same sort of pissed off rage that used to send Mello on his rampages, but rather a quiet, simmering resentment that was always present just below the surface. He picked up smoking to take the edge off, but it was never quite enough. He was angry at L for up and dying, he was angry at Mello for his assumption that leaving and finishing what L started would make things better, he was angry at Roger and the rest of the staff for doing nothing about it, and most of all, he was angry with himself for not being good enough to warrant Mello dragging him along.
He had wanted prove to himself, and anyone else that gave a shit, that he was good enough. And he did. In spades. Being as computer-savvy as he was, the redhead took an instant liking to all that the digital world had to offer. He became responsible for all the computer and security systems at Wammy's, and also became quite the underground hacking entrepreneur. He did odd jobs for various organizations in the hopes that he might dig up information on the whereabouts of his former roommate. He made quite the e-name for himself, even if most of the work he did was for less than reputable clients. He didn't care. The only things he cared about were getting the cash to fund his gaming and nicotine addictions and finding Mello.
That was then. Matt liked to think that he'd grown since then. Considerably so. He was content to continue on his own, making his own name the one that people were familiar with. He was tired of feeling like Mello's shadow. The blonde wasn't even around. How could you be a shadow to something that no longer exists?
A loud beep from his laptop forced Matt out of his dazed state of remembrance and he heaved a sigh before he turned his head to glance at the monitor. The flashing icon in the corner told him he had an instant message. The gamer hauled himself to his feet, sparing a fleeting glance at his comfortable bed. It was nearly three in the morning, so the sender had to be in dire straights. He pulled the chair up to the desk, sat down and opened the messaging program that he himself had designed. Sure, there were multitudes of other programs that served the same purpose and were readily available at no cost, but Matt was nothing if not paranoid. The idea that someone else could have access to messages he was sending and receiving made him uneasy. Especially given his usual line of work. It hadn't taken long for others in the industry to catch wind of Matt's encrypted messaging system, and it was now quite widely used among his associates.
He chuckled as he read the message that was waiting for him.
Shoot2Kill says: Yo bitch. I need your skills.
No one ever used their real name in the program. Nothing was 100% secure these days. If it were, there would be no need for the intricate messaging system because they would all be out of work with a quickness. Shoot2Kill was the code name of a frequent client of Matt's, one that usually paid well, and came with added comedic relief. Matt's fingers flew over the keyboard.
GameGuru says: Hey asshole. I'm here. Whatcha need?
Shoot2Kill says: Have a job for you. High pay, high risk. Comes with a catch.
Matt raised an eyebrow. Usually high risk was the catch.
GameGuru says: I'm all ears. Fill me in.
Shoot2Kill says: Yeah, I was pretty sure you'd be up for it. Its a high-profile gig. Lots of surveillance, locked-down systems, that kinda shit. The catch is, I need you here for it man.
Matt thought about that for a moment. He wasn't particularly fond of England, what with the wet weather and snotty people, however he wasn't exactly used to traveling. The only traveling he could ever remember doing was the trip to Wammy's and one trip they had taken to see some museums in London back when he was a kid. Ah hell, what could it hurt. Getting away from this place would probably do him some good.
GameGuru says: California right?
Shoot2Kill says: Yeah. You'd fly into LAX and I'd have a car waiting for you.
GameGuru says: How soon?
Shoot2Kill says: How soon can you get your ass here?
He reached over to the calendar sitting on his desk, flipped it to the correct month and scanned the dates. He had a job to finish up that the client would be paying him for in two days, which would take him approximately three hours if he took his time, and he always did. It wouldn't be a problem to have the cash wired to a different account that he would have access to from America. His fingers barely touched the keys as he typed his response.
GameGuru says: Twelve hours. Tops.
Shoot2Kill says: Good. Your flight is at 0930.
Matt didn't even have time to type out a surprised what the fuck before a box popped up on his screen indicating the other party was sending him a document. He clicked Accept and the file was immediately scanned for any malicious content and downloaded to his desktop.
Shoot2Kill says: It's the flight details and what you need to look for when you get here. Got some business to attend to at the grocery store. Later.
His future employer logged off of the program before Matt had a chance to inquire as to what business anyone could have at a supermarket this late in the evening. It would be around 1900h in Cali. Americans could be so freaking weird.
Matt leaned over his desk to flip the light switch on the wall. If his flight was supposed to leave at 0930, it was probably best to take care of the last minute business. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he flipped between various programs and websites, working to break the required codes to get backdoor access to the DMV in Helsinki. His current contract was to re-arrange some information and switch some pictures on file for a few select individuals. Piece of cake.
Three hours and forty-two minutes later, Matt closed off the last of his programs and leaned back in his chair. It had taken him slightly longer than expected to switch up one of the pictures. The jackass had forgotten to mention that one of the individuals just happened to have heterochromia, and of course he couldn't have lucked out with one blue and one green eye or some shit, no, he had to have one blue and one brown. He had finally given up scouring the net for a suitable substitute face and just picked a random one, Photoshopped the bitch and called it done.
He sent the confirmation screenshots to an encrypted email forwarding server, and was just about to start shutting down his computer when he remembered the itinerary document. He quickly opened the word doc and scanned through it. It looked pretty straightforward. He took down the flight number and the alias he was to use and proceeded to destroy all evidence of the file. He powered down his laptop and shoved it into the padded carrying case along with all of the cords.
Glancing around his room, he made a mental checklist of everything he would need to take with him. Clothes obviously, game consoles, hand-helds, various back up discs...his green eyes fell on Mello's empty bed. The sheets and blankets and pillows were exactly how the blonde had left them, and for the first time since his roommate had left him behind, there was no pang of loneliness, no ache deep in the pit of his stomach. Matt cracked a smile. For the first time since Mello had left, he felt like his own person. Yes, getting away from this place was exactly what the doctor ordered.
"Oh shit, I guess I have to tell Roger that Im leaving," Matt mused aloud to the empty room. His eyes once again fell on the extra bed. "Well I suppose not, really. You didn't, Im sure." The vision of Mello's response coalesced in his mind with ease - the blonde standing there indignantly, hand on his hip, words dripping with incredulity, "Why the fuck would I? So I could listen to him bitch and try to force me to stay?"
Rolling his eyes at his, albeit very accurate, imagination, he hauled a duffel bag out from underneath his bed and started shoving the clothes that were strewn everywhere into it.