It turned out that the man was an ex-hacker, who had changed his career in his old age. He now trained hackers-to-be. Most of the 'training' consisted of a variety of increasingly difficult programs, written by himself, that the hacker had to hack. While being timed. Theo, or 'Mouse' (his alias) was a fast and eager learner. He came to the old man's duplex everyday, taking the bus from the apartment he had rented. This lasted for about a year, until one day.
Mouse had gotten off at the stop about two blocks from the building, as usual, and as he approached the duplex he noticed something was wrong. The building was surrounded by police cars. He just had time for a flash of the Old Man being shoved into an unmarked car by three men in black suits before he ran. His training, he knew, was over. He was on his own.
He didn't get off to any brilliant start, he had to fight his way from the bottom up. And he never was all that successful. He stayed on in his apartment, not doing too badly. For him, though, this was luxury. He was never hungry, and that really mattered to him. Best of all, he was on his own. Doing what he wanted (and liked), when he wanted, with who he wanted. He would have been content to hack forever. Although, forever didn't seem much farther from next Tuesday.
It was a cold September night. Mouse, as usual, was sitting at his computer, ignoring the time. He was Working, the only Work that mattered.
"So... this little bastard doesn't want to pay me? Nice try, sucker." He called a contact of his, who put him in contact with His contact. This contact gave him a location, a time, and an amount. It was a little steep, but reasonable. The next night, at eight PM sharp, Mouse was sitting in the booth of a run-down bar, right in the middle of downtown. He shivered. He was having second thoughts. "This is dangerous. I shouldn't have come. I don't need the money. But no. It's not about the money. I need my rep. Yeah." He had just convinced himself of this when a black haired, greasy looking man slid into the booth across from him. His too-pale skin looked dead and waxy. Mouse suppressed another shudder.
"So," the man's voice was exactly how Mouse had imagined. It grated and shrieked against his ears, "you got a job for Apocalypse?" Just saying the assassin's name aloud seemed to make it more real.
"No. For Apoc."
The man laughed, a horrible nasal chuckle. "Apoc IS Apocalypse. Don't worry, he's the best."
'Great', thought Mouse, 'the best ASSASSIN..." He forced himself to smile. "Fine, yes. Apocalypse."
"Gimme the money. I'll see that he gets it."
"You'd better."
"Oh ho! No one, and I mean no one, cheats Apoc. Oh no, not that one..." He rambled on for a while. Mouse fished in the pocket of his tattered coat for the envelope. He finally located it, barely containing a sigh. He handed it to the man, who made it vanish before Mouse could blink. "Nice doin' business with ya."
He was gone. Mouse got up, paid for his drink, and walked back to his apartment. Only when he was safely behind the locked door did he allow himself to collapse. He slept fitfully, and remembered none of his dreams.
When he awoke, the little red light of his answering machine was demanding his immediate attention. An unfamiliar voice grated from the little box. "Come down to the Hot Joy immediately. There's been a change of plan."
It took him a moment to remember that the Hot Joy was the bar where he had met The Man. Shit. This was definitely bad. He took a few minutes to get ready, and far too soon found himself standing in the bar. A man was sitting at the same booth as before, but it wasn't the same man. This one had long, black hair, carefully twisted and slicked back. He was wearing entirely black, and he was very dangerous. Mouse knew this instinctively. This was not a man to piss off. Mouse swallowed and approached the booth.
As he sat down, he could feel the man assessing him. He could almost feel the smirk, the final conclusion. Small, mousy-blond hair, dainty hands. Nondescript. Well, screw him.
"You must be Mouse."
He gave a half-nod. "And you are?" He suspected, but he felt he needed to ask.
"Apocalypse." He gave a little smile as he said that.
'Great,' Mouse thought. My very own Apocalypse-in-a-bar. Outloud he said "Why am I here?"
"Ask a philosopher. I only know why I am here. My contact was killed tonight, leaving me with some unfinished business... I found the envelope, figured I should make sure you want to go on with this."
Mouse hesitated, then nodded.
"Fine. I'll be done in three weeks. You'll get your money." He left as he had come, without greeting. Mouse realized he was shaking. He felt that he had just passed some bizarre rights of passage. He just wanted to be home.
AN: Oh boy! Now that Mouse and Apoc have met, we're getting closer to the good part! I have an RPG that'll fit the plot nicely, later on... Yep, I'll be updating more now that I'm passed the tricky spot. Worry not, oh few readers... And hey! If some a you are reading without reviewing, lemme know you're there, huh? Thankies! *Mouse chibis for all!*
Mouse had gotten off at the stop about two blocks from the building, as usual, and as he approached the duplex he noticed something was wrong. The building was surrounded by police cars. He just had time for a flash of the Old Man being shoved into an unmarked car by three men in black suits before he ran. His training, he knew, was over. He was on his own.
He didn't get off to any brilliant start, he had to fight his way from the bottom up. And he never was all that successful. He stayed on in his apartment, not doing too badly. For him, though, this was luxury. He was never hungry, and that really mattered to him. Best of all, he was on his own. Doing what he wanted (and liked), when he wanted, with who he wanted. He would have been content to hack forever. Although, forever didn't seem much farther from next Tuesday.
It was a cold September night. Mouse, as usual, was sitting at his computer, ignoring the time. He was Working, the only Work that mattered.
"So... this little bastard doesn't want to pay me? Nice try, sucker." He called a contact of his, who put him in contact with His contact. This contact gave him a location, a time, and an amount. It was a little steep, but reasonable. The next night, at eight PM sharp, Mouse was sitting in the booth of a run-down bar, right in the middle of downtown. He shivered. He was having second thoughts. "This is dangerous. I shouldn't have come. I don't need the money. But no. It's not about the money. I need my rep. Yeah." He had just convinced himself of this when a black haired, greasy looking man slid into the booth across from him. His too-pale skin looked dead and waxy. Mouse suppressed another shudder.
"So," the man's voice was exactly how Mouse had imagined. It grated and shrieked against his ears, "you got a job for Apocalypse?" Just saying the assassin's name aloud seemed to make it more real.
"No. For Apoc."
The man laughed, a horrible nasal chuckle. "Apoc IS Apocalypse. Don't worry, he's the best."
'Great', thought Mouse, 'the best ASSASSIN..." He forced himself to smile. "Fine, yes. Apocalypse."
"Gimme the money. I'll see that he gets it."
"You'd better."
"Oh ho! No one, and I mean no one, cheats Apoc. Oh no, not that one..." He rambled on for a while. Mouse fished in the pocket of his tattered coat for the envelope. He finally located it, barely containing a sigh. He handed it to the man, who made it vanish before Mouse could blink. "Nice doin' business with ya."
He was gone. Mouse got up, paid for his drink, and walked back to his apartment. Only when he was safely behind the locked door did he allow himself to collapse. He slept fitfully, and remembered none of his dreams.
When he awoke, the little red light of his answering machine was demanding his immediate attention. An unfamiliar voice grated from the little box. "Come down to the Hot Joy immediately. There's been a change of plan."
It took him a moment to remember that the Hot Joy was the bar where he had met The Man. Shit. This was definitely bad. He took a few minutes to get ready, and far too soon found himself standing in the bar. A man was sitting at the same booth as before, but it wasn't the same man. This one had long, black hair, carefully twisted and slicked back. He was wearing entirely black, and he was very dangerous. Mouse knew this instinctively. This was not a man to piss off. Mouse swallowed and approached the booth.
As he sat down, he could feel the man assessing him. He could almost feel the smirk, the final conclusion. Small, mousy-blond hair, dainty hands. Nondescript. Well, screw him.
"You must be Mouse."
He gave a half-nod. "And you are?" He suspected, but he felt he needed to ask.
"Apocalypse." He gave a little smile as he said that.
'Great,' Mouse thought. My very own Apocalypse-in-a-bar. Outloud he said "Why am I here?"
"Ask a philosopher. I only know why I am here. My contact was killed tonight, leaving me with some unfinished business... I found the envelope, figured I should make sure you want to go on with this."
Mouse hesitated, then nodded.
"Fine. I'll be done in three weeks. You'll get your money." He left as he had come, without greeting. Mouse realized he was shaking. He felt that he had just passed some bizarre rights of passage. He just wanted to be home.
AN: Oh boy! Now that Mouse and Apoc have met, we're getting closer to the good part! I have an RPG that'll fit the plot nicely, later on... Yep, I'll be updating more now that I'm passed the tricky spot. Worry not, oh few readers... And hey! If some a you are reading without reviewing, lemme know you're there, huh? Thankies! *Mouse chibis for all!*