A/N: Okay, so, this is a lil' bit important (for me, anyways). I've put up a poll up on my profile page in regards to this story; and I'd super appreciate it if any of you would give it an answer. It'll help me with the next few chapters without having everyone just write the answer in the reviews, namsayin? Also thanks for the reviews so much you guys, it super helps me know what's up and going on in your heads, because I haven't unlocked my telepathy skills yet. I'm lagging.

Mister Smith wasn't entirely sure what he'd pull out from the small hole in the door – he was as equally prepared to feel something nip his fingers as he was ready to find nothing at all. Instead he got something in between – a minutely folded envelope and a papercut. He withdrew his two fingers from the compartment and tugged the envelope through the hole, careful not to rip it. It was a crinkled yellow-white thing with a window, and judging from the return address in the top left, it had held an electricity bill at one point. He quickly glanced nervously around the room, unable to shake the sudden feeling that he was being watched or doing something illegal - which was ridiculous; someone had broken into his child's home and he had every right to be here. Mister Smith looked back down warily to the envelope before decidedly stuffing it into his jacket pocket and setting off at a brisk pace out of the apartment. He'd open the envelope at home, where he'd feel a lot more at ease.

As it were, Mister Smith actually just made it one city over before his curiosity got the better of him. What if it's nothing and I'm getting my hopes up? He wondered, and then paled at the successive thought; What if it's a suicide note? He pulled into a supermarket parking lot that quickly came up on his right and parked near the back, away from the small cluster of cars near the entrance. It was close to 3 a.m., what anyone was doing in the store was beyond him. He was away from prying eyes though, and underneath the dim orange glow of one of the lights that dotted the parking lots landscape, he pulled the envelope from his pocket and tilted it into the light.

Using every ounce of deductive logic he had, Mister Smith tried to piece together the small clue. The bill had been paid – it had 'paid' written in bright red marker on the top right, probably the child reminding themselves they'd dealt with it already. It had also been stepped on at one point or another – he could see the tread marks, and it had played coaster to a coffee cup as well. That was all he could see on the outside anyways – but it was probably what was inside that really counted. With that in mind, he forwent the forensic investigation and instead tipped the contents of the envelope into the palm of his hand.

The first thing that fluttered loose was a small strip of paper. It was a fortune from some unknown fast-food Chinese restaurant's cookie, with the words 'Now is the time to try something new!' printed on one side, and a string of lucky numbers (and the word 'cat' in Chinese) written on the back. Odd, he thought. Perhaps the fortune had sentimental value. Mr. Smith slipped the small piece of paper into his wallet behind the picture of his family, and then unwrinkled the envelope again and shook it, hoping to dislodge whatever else was hidden inside. To his surprise, a bright green USB stick fell out and dropped onto his lap. Mister Smith picked it up turned it over in the light, inspecting the cramped scrawled lettering that wrapped around the stick.
'Don't you dare.'

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Well. The day had started off weird enough; Torres had returned, I'd been sent to my elimination cell five hours too early and then we switched gears from 'toddler play-time' tasks to 'actually-break-into-this-computer' tasks in point five seconds - only to have a guard burst in halfway through the cracking process to tell me I was taking too goddamn long. Whiplash, man, I'm telling you; I was in the cell for maybe, like, thirty minutes; only he was babbling on about me being in here for three hours, and that I was being purposefully obstinate, and that I was going to be 'taken in' if I didn't behave myself this instant.

To add insult to injury, Torres looked absolutely murderous when she saw me enter the cell once I'd been escorted back up. She glared at the guard in equal measure though, as if it was his fault I was there (it was) – or maybe she was pissed he even existed in the first place. The guard had done a double-take and looked between the both of us before he took a breath like he'd just realized something and was going to comment on it, before he quickly shuffled out of sight and muttered into his collar about 'pulling the wrong one' – which I only heard because I was currently yanking the shirt over my head while simultaneously sneakily trying to get the button radio off my collar.

Torres, meanwhile, continued to glare out the door and tugged on her ID bracelet.
"It's okay, you know," I consoled her as I pulled on my pants; "I don't think they'll make you do an elim run when you've already missed the first three."
She said nothing, but I was determined to cheer her up. She was obviously worried that my early return heralded her own detainment for an elimination run. I know what'll cheer her up.
"Hey, Tor, c'mon, we'll go punch things. It'll be great."
She looked at me sharply, like I'd just said something offensive.
I am not good at cheering people up.
"I thought you liked hitting things?"
Again, the glare.
I sighed and flopped gracelessly onto the edge of my bunk. "All right then," I muttered, "whaddayou wanna do?"

She looked murderous. I mean, Torres seemed to have a resting angry face in the first place - or maybe not so much angry as irritated. That and the fact that her favorite pastime was destroying punching bags and running, for God's sake, only further enhanced her 'don't fuck with me' persona. Coming back from the infirmary though, I figured she'd be looking slightly less scary. Nope. Her cheeks had hollowed a bit (from not eating for a few days, I suppose), she's got some heavy bags under her eyes (also understandable), and seemed paler than usual - and even more irritated. I mean, usually she just looks upset, but now she is upset. And I can't figure out why, because she doesn't tell me anything.

We stared ahead of ourselves for a moment – she at the door and I at her bunkbed across the room. Freedom. The epiphany hit me like a freight train. She was free for a couple of days and now she's pissed 'cuz she's back. Of course. I wanted to facepalm, it was so obvious. Yeah she looks sick still, but that's not why she's upset. It wasn't me after all!

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Loki wasn't sure if he wanted to kill the guard, Fury, or his cellmate more. He had a plan, but of course it gets ruined. How could he have been so naïve to expect anything else than complete fucking derailmen-
"-but that wasn't even the worst part."
Loki cocked his head to where Cambell lay spread-eagle on their bunkbed, muttering to thin air.
"The worst part was the fact that they had this Mission-impossible style pedestal that presented the thing to you. I cringed, Tor. I felt embarrassed for Fury."
Loki ignored the prattling twat and tried to come up with a way to keep his cellmate from entering the cafeteria during dinner. The five-group wouldn't talk to Torres if Cambell was there as well; they only barely trusted him in the first place – the cellmate was a liability. I may have to foist Cambell onto another agent; it's too much watching over them and the group of five.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

"Darling, listen to me," Mister Smith consoled his wife, draping an arm over her shoulder and tapping her elbow. "Listen love."
Misses Smith would have none of that though, and continued to blubber into the decorative tea cozy that their child had made back in third grade.
"Sweetheart," Mister Smith attempted again, and sighed at its apparent futility. Honestly, he was jealous, he would love to be the one sobbing into that tea cozy right now.

It had all started so well. She'd asked him why he was so late coming home, and he had explained that he'd gone over to their child's apartment, to which the misses suddenly lit up and asked if anything had been found. In retrospect, Mister Smith probably shouldn't have said that the apartment was clearly burglarized and tossed upside-down, and that the only thing of note was a cookie-fortune and a USB stick.

The crying was getting them nowhere though. "Darling," he said, trying again with the sweet-talk. It usually worked. "I'm going to go see what's on this thing, alright?"
Misses Smith's crying only intensified, and while Mister Smith did feel very sorry for her, he also wanted to know what was so important on the stick that their child had felt the need to hide it so thoroughly.
"I'll let you know if it's anything important, okay?" And with that, Mister Smith straightened and made his way to the den. I hope it's not a suicide note. Somehow he doubted it would be, though. What on earth could a college drop-out gas station manager have that warranted a hiding space and USB stick? Why wasn't it in the safe with the other important documents?

The screen of the family computer whirred to life when he shook the mouse, and Mister Smith fumbled with the USB and wedged it in the wrong way twice before properly inserting it. He sighed nervously when he saw the notification on the screen telling him he'd stuck something into the computer, but he mustered his courage despite his trepidation to right click the icon and select 'open'.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Cambell could not be shaken. No hint was taken – and if it was recognized, it was usually brushed off as a joke. Which was why, ten hours later, Loki was slumped over at the table he usually did with Cambell dutifully sitting across from him. Cambell, at least, looked visibly downtrodden. Good. At least they're unhappy too.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

It was official. Torres was an asshole. I'd spent the whole day reacquainting her with the prison, taking her to hit punching bags (she wouldn't even touch it!) running laps around the gym (outran me) and I even helped her with her stupid laundry (she claimed she was too sick to do it). What did I get for it? Snide comments and dismissiveness. At least neither of us is hungry; bet she'd ask me to chew her food for her too.

I glared at the cards in my hand and mentally reshuffled the deck. Unfortunately, all I could remember in the trash pile was the first three cards, so that was useless. Not that it mattered; she had that smug look again. I sighed and discarded, to which she gleefully drew, put down her sets, and discarded as well.
"Bitch." All I got for that comment was an eyebrow twitch. "Pretty sure you're cheating." I muttered sullenly.
Torres chuckled and leaned across the table towards me. "Prove it." She whispered.
Asshole. I looked away from her feral grin and watched the rest of the prison filter in through the doors instead. Asshole, asshole, asshole. She was making me uncomfortable too; she was so confrontational all of a sudden. I can understand being pissed at coming back to this place, but for fuck's sakes it wasn't my fault. Whatever. I dismissed mentally. I don't have any other friends here. Not that she's… friendly or anything. She almost was. Just before she got food poisoning she was sort of warming up to me. Looks like all that work just backslid to square one.

I glanced back to her out the corner of my eye. She was also watching the door, albeit with some serious amount of intensity. That's another thing about Torres; I mused and looked up to the high ceiling above us. Doesn't really have a lazy gaze and never stares off into the distance. She's always looking… a bit like a hawk. At least that part of her hadn't changed. I wonder how she got caught, though. I bet she wrecked the agents first. I grinned at the thought of her busting down SHIELDS doors instead of the other way around.
"Tor."
"Stop calling me that."
Oh for fucks sakes. "Tor-res."
She ignored me. I'd long ago given up giving-up when she ignored me though; she usually gave me answers if I nagged long enough. Some answers.
"How'd SHIELD get you?"
She hmm'ed and tapped a finger on the table. "Same way you did." She replied vaguely.
"You mean the agents busted down your door, set off the alarms, accidentally tripped on some bed sheets and caused a massive pile up and a two second window to escape?"

Torres finally turned to face me, and I couldn't help but grin. "'Cuz that's what mine did."
"Clearly you didn't run fast enough. Perhaps if you'd taken up joggi-"
"I was too surprised," I interrupted, "I didn't have a chance to react. One second there're people falling through my door, the next second I've got four guns and a snarling dog pointed at my face."
"Sounds exciting." She murmured.
"So what about you?" I asked.
Torres tapped on the table again, probably weighing the consequences of revealing something of herself. I mean, we're both pretty private people. Neither one of us even know the others first fake names. Still, it was kind of… calming talking about what happened - didn't realize that until now though. Man I should have done this earlier.
"I was arrested while jogging through the park."
Why am I not surprised. "You're kidding me." I deadpanned. "What did they do? Tackle you? Couldn't you outrun them or punch them or something?"
Torres raised an eyebrow. "I couldn't hear them." She explained. "I had inserted a pair of headphones in my ears."
Inserted a… okay. I nodded anyways and didn't mock her (not that she'd do the same for me) for her odd choice of wording.
"They accused me of cyberterrorism."
"Same here."
"But I am innocent."
I 'hmph'-ed and grabbed the cards to shuffle them again. "Best of seventeen?"
"Deal me in," came a voice from my right.

A woman sat down at the head of the table with her tray of food and smiled. Well, grimaced. It was a fake smile but it looked like she'd maybe just hit her shin on something.
"Hello." Torres said amiably.
The intruder, who was definitely from the group of five, nodded in Torres's direction and waved the fork that she'd just pulled from its wrapper behind her, "Why you not sitting with us?"
"Well…" Torres paused whatever she was about to say, but I could practically hear her incline her head towards me. I pretended to be completely engrossed in shuffling the cards, even though it was impossible not to hear them.
The new woman sighed, and shifted to address me and extended a hand. "Sophia Dweller."
I looked up from the cards and eyed her warily. Her once purple and black dyed hair was fading back to brown after spending nearly two months in here. She was a good five inches shorter than Torres – who was pushing just over six feet - and judging by the small punctures dotting her face, had a lip, nose, and eyebrow ring thing going on at one point. Confiscated by SHIELD, no doubt; she still had her gauges though.
"Cambell." I replied a moment later, taking her offered hand.
She frowned slightly, but didn't comment on my lack of first name.

"You don't mind if I steal your friend for a moment, do you?" She asked.
I felt my gut twist slightly for some odd reason, but shrugged and looked over to Torres. "Torres can do whatever the hell she wants." I said, with some amount of spite creeping into my voice. Ignoring the smirk from Torres's stupid blonde face, I picked up the cards and got up from the table. "See if you can get her to tell you where the security room is." I muttered as I passed Dweller.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Mister Smith knew the moment the USB window popped up that he should click on the folder titled 'Dont Open'. Who names a folder something like that and expect people not to open it? If it turned out to be a porn collection though, he was going to be furious. The folder, however, would not open. No amount of right and double clicking would get it open. He decided instead to drag and drop it onto the desktop then, to see if that would change anything. Misses Smith wandered in after the folder was dropped, and watched over her husband's shoulder.

"Was that all?" She asked.
Mister Smith hummed and clicked the file, hopeful that this time it would open. Inside was a tiny computer icon, with the same title as the folder.
"Say 'yes'," Misses Smith instructed after a dialogue box popped up asking whether or not they would like to allow the program 'Dont Open' to make changes to their computer.
Mister Smith huffed internally and selected yes.
"Is this a CD?"
"What? No dear."
"But it wants to change the computer."
"I don't know what it's doing, but it belonged to-"
"I know that, but why is it taking so long to download?"
"It's… big?" Mister Smith replied hesitantly.
"Maybe one of the kids knows…" Misses Smith murmured, wondering which one of their four kids would be able to help with something like this.
"Let's just leave it to download," Mister Smith said as he rose out of the chair. "We can check it again in the morning."
"It's five a.m. dear."
"Oh. Well, after dinner."

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

My original plan was to walk out the cafeteria and back to the cell with my tail tucked between my legs. I'd forgotten that they bolt the cafeteria doors once dinner starts, so I ended up walking to the locked door and rattling it like a twat. Ignoring the guards giving me looks behind their goggles; I sat down at the nearest empty table and pretended to scratch my ear for a second. The radio used to feel uncomfortable whenever I stuck it in, but I must've gotten used to it because now I can barely feel it. What I could nearly feel though, once I turned it on, was the panic on the other side. Snippets of conversations and channels overlapped each other to create a cacophony of barked orders and general mayhem.
Shut up… c'mon… I pressed the thing deeper into my ear while leaning onto one hand. It was hard changing the stations like this.
"In the- four forty nine"
"Compromised…"
"Stark… Direc- later!"
"- online."
I smoothed over my facial features that I could feel bunching up into a scowl. Something had just happened.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Mister Smith wasn't very familiar with computers. He was sure, however, that a computer should not be going around deleting his things and… whatever else it was doing now. He'd left the computer open during the day while he was at work to give his child's folder thing time to download. He came home to find that it had not only deleted all his things off the computer, but had opened itself and was now 'combing' something, according to the little box on top of the screen that listed all the things it had already done. 'Delete shit' was apparently the first thing it had been instructed to do.

Then came 'setup shit', 'fix shit', 'install shit', 'patch shit', 'tea', and now 'comb shit'. Maybe I should call someone from IT? He wondered if the IT people from the university he worked at would mind taking a look at his computer. He was good friends with a couple of them, as he had problems with microphones nearly daily.
A ding alerted him that 'comb shit' could not be completed, and wanted to know if he would like to retry. He selected 'no', at which point 'fix shit' reappeared in the box. 'Turn it on and off again' hadn't worked for him either, but he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to pull the battery out. This was his kid's stuff; surely there was a point to it. I suppose it's a good thing I didn't use my work computer for this.

Mister Smith clicked on the box showing all the processes that had and were occurring, and found that he could expand them all.
Delete shit… clear cached… good lord, it deleted the internet? How? Where did it go? Setup… Servos? Fix programs, install on shield... patch previous… what? 'Tea' consisted of multiple pictures of the director of SHIELD wearing pink tutus. 'Comb shit' was supposed to go through files – though whose Mister Smith couldn't figure out, as his were all clearly deleted in step one. There was an error code for 'comb', but the string of numbers meant nothing to him. What was new though was a folder on the desktop that popped up once 'comb' failed… which had nothing but hundreds of blank notepad documents.

Again, another box popped up announcing that 'fix shit' had been completed and wanted to know if 'user' wanted to 'fuck shit up again?'
This is the most foul mouthed… thing… I've ever seen in my life. After a moments contemplation he clicked the 'why not' button, and watched as it once again moved on to install, patch, tea, and comb.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Tony Stark watched with no small amount of smugness as the hacker tried to gain access into SHIELDs systems. Jarvis was putting up one hell of a fight, and the program had been shut down and quarantined less than two minutes after detection.
"See, I told you this would work." Tony looked over his shoulder to where Fury stood behind him, watching the multiple screens as well.
"Can you figure out where it came from?" Fury asked.
"Of course." Tony said in his best duh voice. "…Jarvis, where did it come from?"
"Multiple points sir, most of them from within SHIELDs main office."
Fury's countenance visibly darkened. "I thought you said you got rid of it?" His question was directed both at Tony as well as the SHIELD IT people assigned to assist him.
"Yeah, well," Tony began.
"Sir, we are being invaded again." Jarvis interrupted.
"Well, deal with it."
"I have. This attack originated from many locations, but the infected SHIELD computers only accounted for 12% of the sites."
"And?" Fury growled, and threw up a hand dismissively. "You telling me there's fifty thousand hackers out there?"

"No, they're, well, it's sort of like…" Tony scratched the back of his head. "Like a… uhm. Like a ghost? And it kind of… it can make things in your house wobble a bit, and like… invite ghost friends… and… but if you can get a good priest, I guess… but you'll always remember that the ghost was there and maybe it broke that vase your grandmother gave you. But it… if there isn't a ghost hunter you won't really know where it came from, and they might lie to you, and maybe the ghost wasn't really from th-"
"Forget it. Just get rid of it and find our hacker." Fury muttered dismissively.
"This thing might be setup to run itself," Tony said as he fiddled with one of the computers. "Your hacker might actually still be in the prison."
"Or, we missed him." Fury said firmly.
Tony sighed and muttered about hard-asses under his breath.
"Sir-"
"Just deal with it Jarvis."
"They're awfully persistent all of a sudden." Jarvis quipped.
"Maybe we hit a nerve. Have you done any PSA's recently mien-Fury?"
"Sir."
"Jarvis, I told you to just-"
"One of the quarantined folders is a main component of SHIELDs antivirus."
Tony frowned. "They did that last time too… just leave it, don't delete it."

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

'Would you like to commence operation 'shit on everything'?'
Mister Smith sighed and clicked the 'third times a charm' button, though it was actually only the second time he was doing this. The computer program spoke like his child did, and these were the most unorthodox dialogue boxes he'd ever seen in his life. Whatever this thing was doing, it was obviously made by his kid. I had no idea they could make things like this…

He had no idea what all the buttons and tabs did. All he ever clicked were variations of 'yes' and 'no'. He could read what the program was doing at that point in time, but sometimes it just listed folder locations and operations that he didn't understand. What he could understand was that 'comb' had failed again, and the program – Servos, apparently - suggested that the user should discontinue the infiltration operation as it had encountered too many 'really fucking catastrophic failures'. It suggested an attack operation instead. Third times a charm, I suppose.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

A sudden flickering of the lights just before Torres and I tucked in for the night was the only indication I had that Jarvis was attempting to fight off an intrusion. I thought nothing of the lights, as my mind was preoccupied with whatever the hell had caused such uproar during dinner. The overall security channel had gone absolutely silent, as had the general updates, and maintenance channel. All that was left was the channel devoted to hall guards, the last five stations who had always been silent, and the one that had recently been changed to janitorial staff – who I never saw during the day. They were like little house elves – the prison was just magically clean come morning.

Torres came back from dinner as smug as a cat that ate a canary – probably rubbing it in that she was now a 'cool kid' or whatever because the fivers liked her. I remained as bitter as ever, and realized just how desperate I was for her attention when I found myself considering telling her about the radio.
'I just found it on the floor', I'd say.
'Cambell you're the smartest.' Torres would say.
'Yes and I'm the hacker too, you can be my sidekick.'
'Oh Cambell, you're so illegal.'
'Yes. And rich. Let's buy a tiger.'
'Oh, Cambell!'
"Cambell."
'We can totally break out of here and outrun them forever.'
"Cambell!"
'Cambell isn't my real name; my real name i-'
"CAMBELL!"

I jerked out of my daydream and looked over to where Torres sat slumped on her mattress.
"Yeah?"
"Don't you want to know what we talked about?"
I scowled and looked up to the ceiling. "That's your business; I'm not going to ask."
Torres chuckled humorlessly. "That's never stopped you from asking about other personal matters."
I grunted in response and rolled over to face the wall. I expected her to drop the conversation and drift off into sleep – but she just really wanted to prove how much cooler she was than I.
"The roguish looking one – Draper? He claims he created the program that broke into SHIELD."
I felt my gut twist and temper flare.
"But he also said he sold it, and wasn't the one who used it to commit the crime."
Again I felt the heat rise up and color my face, and resorted to pinching my wrist to keep from shouting that he had shit all to do with anything.
Torres was silent for a moment, contemplating what to say next. "Did you hear the guards talking?" She suddenly asked.

"Yeah," I responded unthinkingly, "I was wondering what that was about."
Torres stayed quiet again, probably assuming I had something else to say. When she didn't continue, I did instead.
"I mean, I didn't hear much, but it sounded like something important happened – something compromised or something, I don't know."
Torres continued to bore holes into my back with her stare. Felt like it, anyways.
"Interesting."
"What did you pick up?" I asked, not willing to let her lapse into aggravated silence again.
"Just that two more inmates had been released."
I froze, deer in headlights, and realized that we were talking about two completely separate events.
Torres remained silent though, and I wasn't about to roll over to check her expression. Shit. Don't say anything, don't say anything. It worried me that she wasn't concerned enough to pursue whatever I was talking about. Maybe she didn't notice it.

I lapsed into uneasy sleep and prayed that my second strike remained unchecked.