The next morning, he awoke feeling better.
'After all,' he reasoned, 'I'm paying him. Why would he hurt me?'
He had a quick breakfast of Tasty Wheat, and got right down to business. His latest client wanted to know if the FBI wanted him. That was too easy. He didn't even need to hack. He had a contact whose sister's husband's niece's best friend's son worked for the FBI. And sold its secrets for a little pocket money. He had the passwords, all up to date.
He scanned the ultra-secret "DOA" (dead or alive, for all you non-Star Wars BH RPGers) listing. Sure enough, there was his client's name, with a fair amount of money beside it. His hand was actually on his phone to call the man, when he noticed another name.
Theodore Hall. DOA. $1,000,000 USF.
He blinked. The name was still there. It was his own. He let his hand fall to his side. He didn't know what to do. His mind was blank. A name floated across the emptiness. Apocalypse. He KNEW, with his whole body, that the assassin would be coming after him. A few seconds later, he wondered why, but he was still certain. He shivered.
When Apoc arrived at the Assassin Complex, a message awaited him on his computer. It was from the FBI, one of their standard DOA's, some information, an address, and... a picture. He stared at it a few minutes. It was rather blurry and in black and white, but it was undoubtedly the 'Mouse' he had met only the day before. No matter. Apocalypse didn't especially like hackers, sniveling little people that they were. This was just another kill. He made ready to go out.
Mouse had no idea what to do. He thought about leaving, but decided that no matter where he went he would be found, so he might as well stay. He forced himself to get up, walk over to the door. He locked it, for all the good it would do. His rational mind had shut off. He was purely into fight/flight. He went into his kitchenette, selected a knife, and went back to his ragged couch to wait. He didn't remember falling asleep.
Apocalypse found the apartment easily, and the room. The chain on the door and even the deadbolt presented no problem. He entered the small apartment, the dark not bothering him. He scanned the room... there. The fool was asleep on the couch. This was too easy. He began to get suspicious. He had to be up to something... He was wary as he stalked over to the couch, but encountered no problems. He filled a syringe with a powerful (AN: AGH!!!! Almost typed aphrodisiac...) anaesthetic, and plunged it into the hacker's arm. He twitched once, and his breathing slowed even more. He wasn't dead, just unconscious. He was worth more alive.
Mouse opened his eyes, slowly. He tried to remember what had happened... The FBI... Apocalypse... Yes, that was it. He tried to get up, to try and prepare for when he came, but found he couldn't. He couldn't see. He figured his eyes must have sleep in them, and tried to reach up and rub them. He couldn't do that, either. He began to panic, before he took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to relax. He was in his apartment. He was just overtired. Right? He finally forced his eyes open. Instead of finding himself on the couch of his dark apartment, he was lying across the leather back seat of a car. He could just see the lights of the highway rushing by. He laid still a little longer, until he could raise his head. He moved it just a few inches, so he could see the driver. As he had suspected, it was Apocalypse...
'After all,' he reasoned, 'I'm paying him. Why would he hurt me?'
He had a quick breakfast of Tasty Wheat, and got right down to business. His latest client wanted to know if the FBI wanted him. That was too easy. He didn't even need to hack. He had a contact whose sister's husband's niece's best friend's son worked for the FBI. And sold its secrets for a little pocket money. He had the passwords, all up to date.
He scanned the ultra-secret "DOA" (dead or alive, for all you non-Star Wars BH RPGers) listing. Sure enough, there was his client's name, with a fair amount of money beside it. His hand was actually on his phone to call the man, when he noticed another name.
Theodore Hall. DOA. $1,000,000 USF.
He blinked. The name was still there. It was his own. He let his hand fall to his side. He didn't know what to do. His mind was blank. A name floated across the emptiness. Apocalypse. He KNEW, with his whole body, that the assassin would be coming after him. A few seconds later, he wondered why, but he was still certain. He shivered.
When Apoc arrived at the Assassin Complex, a message awaited him on his computer. It was from the FBI, one of their standard DOA's, some information, an address, and... a picture. He stared at it a few minutes. It was rather blurry and in black and white, but it was undoubtedly the 'Mouse' he had met only the day before. No matter. Apocalypse didn't especially like hackers, sniveling little people that they were. This was just another kill. He made ready to go out.
Mouse had no idea what to do. He thought about leaving, but decided that no matter where he went he would be found, so he might as well stay. He forced himself to get up, walk over to the door. He locked it, for all the good it would do. His rational mind had shut off. He was purely into fight/flight. He went into his kitchenette, selected a knife, and went back to his ragged couch to wait. He didn't remember falling asleep.
Apocalypse found the apartment easily, and the room. The chain on the door and even the deadbolt presented no problem. He entered the small apartment, the dark not bothering him. He scanned the room... there. The fool was asleep on the couch. This was too easy. He began to get suspicious. He had to be up to something... He was wary as he stalked over to the couch, but encountered no problems. He filled a syringe with a powerful (AN: AGH!!!! Almost typed aphrodisiac...) anaesthetic, and plunged it into the hacker's arm. He twitched once, and his breathing slowed even more. He wasn't dead, just unconscious. He was worth more alive.
Mouse opened his eyes, slowly. He tried to remember what had happened... The FBI... Apocalypse... Yes, that was it. He tried to get up, to try and prepare for when he came, but found he couldn't. He couldn't see. He figured his eyes must have sleep in them, and tried to reach up and rub them. He couldn't do that, either. He began to panic, before he took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to relax. He was in his apartment. He was just overtired. Right? He finally forced his eyes open. Instead of finding himself on the couch of his dark apartment, he was lying across the leather back seat of a car. He could just see the lights of the highway rushing by. He laid still a little longer, until he could raise his head. He moved it just a few inches, so he could see the driver. As he had suspected, it was Apocalypse...