Morgan Abrams
11 days until arrest
The press conference is already underway when you join the livestream. The man standing at the podium is broad-shouldered, with tanned skin and neatly combed black hair. He’s wearing an old-fashioned black suit with a red tie, like something out of an old vidshow. The sleeves are rolled up, showing off a gold-colored wrist phone on his right arm. You wouldn’t have put it together without Riley telling you otherwise but that’s definitely the guy in a suit the two of you saw in Hydroponics last week.
“Thank you for the lovely introduction. If you’re just joining us, my name is Alexander Lowe, I’ll be the Special Agent taking charge of the ongoing investigation from here. Specifically, in regards to the April 11th incident, as well as the subsequent NMIV incidents on April 25th and April 28th. Going forward I’ll be making a number of visits and interviews with the full cooperation of Praxis Security Solutions, as represented by the lovely Ms. Moire Hu.”
He gestures to his side, standing to the left and a little behind him is a woman – Chinese? You’re not sure. She’s taller then him, and is dressed in a way more modern looking suit. Her hair is an electric blue, cropped short. Her hands are folded behind her back and her expression is severe, almost glaring out at the unseen crowd. There’s no sign of ferrofluid but this has to be the same woman from Hydroponics too.
So she’s with Praxis – not just with Praxis, she’s in charge of Security. Every time you use your fake account to snoop around, she’s the person you’re potentially pissing off.
“We are taking these incidents with the utmost seriousness,” Special Agent Lowe continues, leveling a stare straight through the camera. “We ask everyone who lives and works in the Boston Praxis Arcology to do the same. That means keeping PPE on you at all times and obeying any and all instructions from security and law enforcement personnel.”
Semaphore Log
🍏RottenApples.Ltd🍏
WileyRiley: Blue chick is so hot
WileyRiley: I had no idea she was Jun’s boss’s boss
WileyRiley: Holy shit
WileyRiley: I want her to step on me
WileyRiley: Maybe spit in my face a little
B-Max6969: What is wrong with you
WileyRiley: What ISN’T wrong with me
Centimorgan: i don’t understand
WileyRiley: Well you see, when a lady loves another lady…
Centimorgan: not that
Centimorgan: why would the FBI get involved and not the CDC?
B-Max6969: FBI handles terrorism
B-Max6969: What do you want the CDC to do?
B-Max6969: Write a fucking letter?
WileyRiley: Moumentai dude
The man is still talking. “No, we will not be taking questions at this time. However, we strongly encourage anyone watching this who might have any information about the source of this outbreak to reach out to us. The contact address should be appearing below me on your screens now.”
True to his word, a URL is scrolling along the bottom of the video as a clickable link.
The blue-haired woman steps forward, pulling the podium microphone to her. “It is important that the public be assured that the situation remains under control, and that Praxis is working in concert with all appropriate government authorities to resolve things without disruption of normal operations. Our brave men and women in Security have performed above and beyond the call of duty these past few weeks.”
“Don’t forget to tip ‘em if you see them about your day,” The FBI agent adds with a wink. Someone in the crowd laughs. With the press conference moving to wrap up, you minimize the stream on your phone and glance over your tablet. Still compiling a month’s worth of surveillance footage on Rivka. There hasn’t been anything interesting yet, but you’ve at least confirmed she’s been no where near either Imago attack site. She doesn’t seem to go anywhere except straight to work.
B-Max6969: Should we reach out to that tipline and tell them what we know?
WileyRiley: Tell ‘em what, dude?
WileyRiley: Oh hey, Mr. FBI guy btw we broke the law a bunch of times please don’t arrest us
B-Max6969: Why would they arrest US? We didn’t do it
WileyRiley: Well maybe they wouldn’t arrest your white ass
Centimorgan: didn’t we already have this conversation
Centimorgan: we don’t have anything actionable
You’ve been combing the Security records all week for any sign of a third person involved with the air filters. Nothing. No one. There isn’t a single recording you can dig up that clearly identifies who took the filter from Hydroponics. Can’t even figure out who put it there. Cassandra, you’re assuming, but there’s no sign of her going anywhere near that location.
It’s driving you crazy.
Someone else must be messing around the Security system. It’s the only thing you can think of. But who or why is way too wide open a question. Brayden insists it’s another mark against Rivka but like, Rivka isn’t a computer person. That’s what she has A* for and A* doesn’t have the ability.
So then who is it?
Centimorgan: you know what would help
WileyRiley: Yeah! Listen to Morgan!
Centimorgan: is if we could actually talk to Cass
WileyRiley: Yeah!
Centimorgan: properly
B-Max6969: I keep telling you I can’t right now
WileyRiley: Dude just go talk to her at her home already
WileyRiley: Buzz her parents or something
WileyRiley: or I don’t know
WileyRiley: *FUCKING CALL HER?*
B-Max6969: I can’t
WileyRiley: The fuck not?
B-Max6969: Look
B-Max6969: Okay, this is kind of embarrassing
B-Max6969: I know, believe me I fucking know
B-Max6969: But her parents… can’t know we’re dating
Centimorgan: what
B-Max6969: We have to keep everything off-net okay?
WileyRiley: Oh my god
B-Max6969: Wish we had known this Semanthing existed
Centimorgan: oh my god it’s called semaphore
Centimorgan: it says so right at the top of the app window
WileyRiley: Oh this just keeps getting better and better
Centimorgan: also: sarcastic shock-face emoji
WileyRiley: Tell us dude
WileyRiley: Be honest
WileyRiley: Does *Cass* know you two are dating?
B-Max6969: You know what screw you guys
B-Max6969: At least you two had each other after Halloween
B-Max6969: I didn’t have ANYBODY
WileyRiley: Dude, you could have reached out sooner
B-Max6969: I did!
B-Max6969: I got punched in the face for it!
B-Max6969: Morgan’s never apologized for that!
Centimorgan: because I’m not sorry
WileyRiley: Stone cold, dude
B-Max6969: Yeah.
B-Max6969: I know.
B-Max6969: If I hadn’t started talking to Cass I might not even be here right now to put up with your bullshit
WileyRiley: Shit man,
B-Max6969: But fine, whatever
WileyRiley: Seriously are you okay?
WileyRiley: You know I’m just taking the piss right?
Centimorgan: that saying is so gross
B-Max6969: I don’t want to talk about it with you two
This is getting absurd. You fall backwards into your bed, limbs splayed save for the hand holding the phone up in front of your face. If you let this continue, Brayden will never take the initiative on anything. A bunch of hot air and bitching.
Shouldn’t be surprised really.
The smart thing is to just let this all die here, you know. The FBI is getting involved. It’s going to be harder then ever to sneak around or mess with the Security logs when whatever outside AI the government drags in is also chewing on the Superintendent’s data. And – you have to admit – a spree of Imago attacks is way over your head. There are trained professionals armed and equipped to deal with something like this; you’ve got no business being involved.
WileyRiley: Okay, okay, I get it
B-Max6969: What were we talking about
WileyRiley: Your inability to talk to Cass
B-Max6969: Goddamnit it’s not me
B-Max6969: It’s her parents!
WileyRiley: Her parents
B-Max6969: They wouldn’t approve.
B-Max6969: My Dad’s first one in our family to reach C-Class, Cass’s family have been C-Class for like ever
WileyRiley: Are you serious?
WileyRiley: They’re THAT kind of people?
WileyRiley: You know there are easier people to fake date right
B-Max6969: It’s not fake!!!
WileyRiley: Man company politics are so stupid
WileyRiley: I hate this place
Centimorgan: Brayden, you’re the one who warned /me/
Centimorgan all about purposefully slowing things down
B-Max6969: This is different!
On the other hand… You’ve barely seen Rivka since your check-up. You can track her through Security all she seems to do is work, falling asleep in her office and then waking up again to get right back to work, yelling at her underlings and logging hour after hour of computer simulations entirely on her own.
Biotique’s internal files aren’t directly accessible through Security either so who knows what she’s working on. You’re no closer today to figuring out what was the deal with those air filter boxes or why she’d need to scare somebody else’s intern into doing her dirty work.
And yet each attack has one of those boxes nearby. Why?
Nothing to learn from watching Cassandra either. No new secret meetings, no further furtive placement of mysterious white boxes around the arcology. Maybe whatever arrangement they had going on is over now? There’s only so much just watching a screen can tell you.
If the FBI thought these were terrorist attacks, they would have said so during the press conference, right? It’d be all over the news.
How are you supposed to do the smart thing and let this go when you might be in a position to get answers? You need to talk to this Cassandra girl damnit.
Centimorgan: Whatever, fine /I’ll/ text her
B-Max6969: what
B-Max6969: no
WileyRiley: OMG
B-Max6969: wait
B-Max6969: wait hold up
WileyRiley: LOL get owned dude
It barely takes a full minute to find Cassandra Wheeler’s listing in the employee registry using your security admin account. C-Class management family, just like Brayden said. Dad runs a supply division sourcing LCD displays from South America. Mother inherited an HR oversight post in residential. Well, that explains a little of why Brayden might think they wouldn’t want their daughter dating down, you guess.
Most people keep their Chattr links posted publicly for networking. You don’t, of course, so it’s possible to go private, but… yup, there’s Cassandra. Her handle isn’t even customized. Could have just done this on your regular profile, didn’t even need to do anything fancy. Kind of disappointing, really.
–Chattr Log–
Centimorgan: hi is this Cass
Centimorgan: uh
It takes a full five seconds to figure out what name to use.
Centimorgan: this is morgan
Centimorgan: morgan abrams?
Centimorgan: from school
Centimorgan: uh can we talk?
Just as you think you’re not going to get a response, your phone chimes back.
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Hi…? Yes, this is Cassandra Wheeler.
@Cassandra_Wheeler: I’m sorry Morgan, but I don’t recognize this line.
Centimorgan: sorry for texting out of the blue like this
Centimorgan: i wasn’t sure how best to contact you
Centimorgan: we go to the same school in Epsilon?
‘Go to the same school’ – you want to chew your own hand off.
Great opener, genius. Want to just preemptively bring up every reason to think you’re a creep and a weirdo too just to get that out of the way?
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Oh! It’s nice to meet you!
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Sorry if I was rude!
@Cassandra_Wheeler: My internship has kept me pretty busy lately so, sorry
@Cassandra_Wheeler: But I don’t have any notes you can borrow.
Centimorgan: no, no! it’s fine, that’s not why i texted
Centimorgan: i just
What to say, what to say…
This is good, actually. This is great. Either she’s too polite to mention all the shit you were at the center of last year or she genuinely doesn’t remember. Otherwise it’d be like, the first thing to come up. This might actually go somewhere.
It takes all of two minutes to find the school website, using the fake account you set up for yourself inorder to check Cassandra’s courseload.
Centimorgan: I’ve got a bunch of stuff from uh
Centimorgan: Mr. Dewale?
Centimorgan: for you
Centimorgan: assignments? Study guides?
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Really? No offense, but why did he give it to you?
Centimorgan: uh
Centimorgan: you know how he is
Centimorgan: plus everyone tells me i’m easy to take advantage of
Centimorgan: it’s a problem
Centimorgan: help
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Haha! Okay, thank you so much!
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Yes, sorry,
@Cassandra_Wheeler: I guess I have been missing a lot of class lately, haven’t I?
Centimorgan: congrats on the internship, that’s cool
Centimorgan: are you free right now?
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Thank you!
@Cassandra_Wheeler: I’m just wrapping up a meeting, actually.
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Do you know the donut place at the corner of the walkway
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Just off the mall on 63?
Centimorgan: Yan Marino’s? the one across from the gym?
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Yes! You know it?
Centimorgan: yeah of course
Centimorgan: when?
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Um… Half hour from now?
Centimorgan: sure
–Chattr Log–
B-Max6969: Are you talking to her
B-Max6969: What are you saying
B-Max6969: What is she saying
B-Max6969: C’mon answer me
B-Max6969: Fuck me I’m freaking out over here man
Centimorgan: got her
Centimorgan: we’re gonna meet up
Centimorgan: see how easy that was?
B-Max6969: are you fucking kidding me
Centimorgan: yan marinos in half an hour
Centimorgan: show or don’t
You drop your phone without looking at what Brayden says in response. Palms feeling more than a little sweaty as you wipe them off on your pants and look around the café.
Okay.
So far so good.
Now to figure out what the hell you’re going to say when you get there.
***
Yan Marino’s is a weird fashion mash-mash of Italian sensibility and Vietnamese flavors. The walls of the interior are decorated with intricately detailed sketch drawings of sci-fi space ships. They’re all framed in blinking neon boarders, hanging at off angles, tilted to maximize wall space. There aren’t many places to sit which, you’re guessing, implies it’s more of a buy-and-go sort of place. There’s a still few booths that look like they were inherited from whatever sort of place this used to be. You’re able to grab the one tucked into the corner. It has a mostly unobstructed view of a window letting you watch the walkway outside as you eat.
A plain chocolate donut. Nothing special. Something you can trust. No horrible gooey surprises inside. It’s still early enough in the day that eating something this sugary is a risk but it’s one you’ll have to take. You bought a second to bribe Cassandra with, under the principle that normal people tend to like free food.
You’ve got your phone on the desk, screen down so it’s not obvious it’s been turned off. Brayden’s not happy but he can thank you later once he’s chilled out. Assuming that ‘chilling out’ is something he’s even capable of.
You see Cassandra pass by the window before she enters. Recognize the blonde hair, and that has to be the same jacket from the security footage. Blue, stiff shoulders, comes to a sort of curve away from the body at the bottom. Even without that visual clue, it wouldn’t be hard to identify her. She’s the only one in the throng of people passing by trying to remember where she knows you from.
As she steps in, you pull your headphones down and wave her over, catching her wandering eye. Her gaze drops to her phone briefly and her face twinges in wary confusion.
Oh, right. Your phone needs to be on for the location finder to function. Oops.
You cough to clear your throat and wave your hand again. “C-Cass right?”
“Morgan?” She hesitates for a second at the seat across from you before taking it. “Your Chattr–”
“Y-y-yeah, um, sorry. Bad– bad– bad– uh– habit?” You brush your braid back, willing her not to ask anything further on the subject. ‘Habit’ Morgan? Really?
Have to force yourself to slow down. Stop the stutter before it starts, or at least try to. You’re so out of practice with talking to total strangers, it’s unreal.
“Sorry to… to message out of nowhere like that. Donut?”
“It’s okay! And no, thank you.” Cassandra puts on a smile, professional, disarming. Great, she’s trying to put you at ease and she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
Also, what are you supposed to do with this extra donut now?
You take a second to study her. Barely got any sense of who this girl is.
She’s pretty… you guess?
You’ve never been a very good gauge of that kind of thing. Might only be thinking about it because Riley brought it up before. Whenever you do feel attraction, there’s always this boiling-over shame that makes the experience more unpleasant than anything. Too many locker conversations, too many awkward moments sitting at a table with other boys having to silently listen while they pick over girls like meat.
But, from a strictly anthropological perspective, Cassandra hits all the typical checkboxes they like to put women into: precisely done makeup, fitted clothes, good posture, open v-neck that shows off her– well. You quickly look elsewhere. There’s a flower stitched into the breast pocket of her jacket? Something white and purple, you don’t know what kind.
Cassandra gives you a look, her unease seeping back in. Out of the static you pick up the outline of her thoughts, distractedly flitting towards something else – thinking about Rivka – wait is she scared of her? Why would anyone be scared of Rivka? Wait, no, stupid question.
Cassandra clears her throat. You were quiet too long – don’t be creepy. “Um… You said you had assignments from school for me?”
“H-huh? Oh! Y-yeah. Yeah. It’s um, it’s right here, wait a– a second…”
You turn to the backpack dumped next to you on the seat and start digging through it. Find the flash drive. You’ve got the entire year’s teaching handouts already saved and ready to sell at a discount below what the school charges for access. It only took a couple of minutes to make an educated guess at where Cassandra’s teacher would be on the track.
Her face lights up as you hand it over. “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver. Work has been keeping me so busy, I feel like I barely have time to do anything else.”
You nod, trying to look sympathetic. “Y-you um– you have an internship already?”
She makes an affirmative noise, not looking up just yet as she clips the drive into her phone and starts copying things over. “Nothing special. I just, you know, get coffee and take notes for the board meetings. Boring intern stuff.”
“Still looks good on an– an application,” you offer. Cassandra sighs, a weary smile flitting across her face. She’s heard this a dozen times from someone else.
“That’s what they tell me. I’m really hoping this gets me a full scholarship – ah, there we go.” Genuine relief as she finishes the download, returning the flash drive to you. “Your mom is… Dr. Abrams, right? Sorry if that’s rude! I thought I recognized your last name, so I looked it up.”
The caution is back in her voice. Feeling you out for something. If you’re involved in whatever Rivka is having her do? This is weird. This is weird! You should have done more research! How are you supposed to question someone without them knowing it!?
You shrug, try your best to appear nonthreatening. Approximating what you hope is an appropriate amount of eye contact. “It’s fine?”
“She’s my boss’s boss. We…” she trails off, searching for the right word to say. “We haven’t talked that much. Does she have you working with her?”
What? As in, like, an internship like the one she has?
“Sorta… I mean– N-not exactly?”
“Not exactly?”
You wince. “Um… I mean, she has me do like… t-t-testing and– and stuff.”
Why did you say that? What the hell? Shut up.
“Testing?”
“…y-yeah.” Shut up shut up shut up.
“Oh.” Cassandra looks you over again, re-evaluating her initial judgement. “What glitch–?” she starts.
You shake your head. “S-sorry. Private. It’s um–” What’s the acronym? Non-discussion – Non-disclosure! “–an NDA.”
“It’s okay! Sorry for prying! Just not the answer I expected.”
You avoid looking at her, ducking your head. “Y-yeah. S-sorry. Sorry. What, um, what about yours?”
She blinks, confused. “Mine?”
“Is your internship under NDA too?”
“Oh.” She looks up at the ceiling, thinking. “I guess it is. Sort of?”
Shaking her head, she continues, “I’m working under Dr. Devon Caldwell? Do you know him?”
“Uh–” Do you? “No?”
“He’s– well, he’s developing new kinds of MediPaste, I guess is the simplest way to put it? But it’s not like I’m doing any of the, uh, science stuff.” She hastily adds, “I mostly just organize his office, get coffee, print papers, that kind of thing. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but if my review metrics are high enough, this could be a stepping stone to getting a junior apprenticeship and a full B-Class management job once I graduate this year.”
So Cassandra is one of those kinds of people. With her whole life already planned out ahead of them.
Can’t imagine it.
No, literally, you can’t imagine it. Every time you try to think about the future, it’s just an empty void.
Fuck.
“Th-that’s… cool?”
Cassandra shrugs, smiling awkwardly. “It’s a lot of running around, mostly.”
This is going nowhere fast. See, this is why you need someone like Riley to be your buffer zone; you’re not equipped to handle strangers. Why did you put yourself into this situation? Just to show-up Brayden? Dumb. Everything about this is so awkward. Want to peel your skin off your face.
You can feel her formulating an excuse to leave the conversation. In any other circumstance you’d welcome the emergency exit but you’re supposed to be digging for information here. Do you just come out and say it? How do you get her on your side without scaring the hell out of her? Shit fuck shit shit shit–
The door slams open, both of you turning your heads to look.
Goddamnit.
“Morgan!” Brayden marches straight at you. Red-faced. Out of breath. In a tracksuit. His hair is a wild frizzy mess – when was the last time he combed it?
You sink into the table. “H-h-hi.”
“You could have said which one, you asshole!”
Cassandra nearly hits her knee against the table as she jumps up, eyes widening. “Brayden?”
Brayden freezes mid-step, finally registering her presence. “Cass?”
Cassandra looks back to you, then back to Brayden. And again. “What is going on right now?”
A loud metallic crack splits the room. All three of you look towards the counter. An irate woman half covered in flour with her hair pulled back under a hair net glares at all three of you, spatula still vibrating in her left hand.
“Buy a donut and get out! I won’t have any more lovers’ spats in my shop!”
***
The tension between Brayden and Cassandra is thick enough to strangle a man.
The three of you huddle under a plastic palm tree in a walkway just off the main thoroughfare of the mall. The raised-square box of the palm tree’s pretend planter is filled with, aside from the standard-issue stones: a scattering of cigarette butts, an empty plastic bottle, and the shredded remains of a bag of pretzels. More plastic potted palm trees line the wall on either side of the restrooms. They probably have some sort of hidden air-freshener aspect to them judging by the heavy fake-rain smell in the air.
You may or may not have strategically chosen this particular location in case of sudden stomach rebellion. At least it would get you out of this situation. Everyone awkwardly staring down at their shame-purchase donut. No one knowing what to say. The level of second-hand embarrassment here is already reaching the point of physical pain.
“So…” Brayden finally says.
“So,” Cassandra echoes back.
“It’s… been awhile,” he adds awkwardly.
“…Yeah.”
“F-f-fuck’s sake.” Enough is enough. You just need this torture to end. Try to keep your face neutral as you pull your phone out and show the black screen to both of them. “Phones off. N-now.”
Brayden and Cassandra stare, not following.
You wave your phone at them. “Safety. Less, uh, listening in.”
“Jesus, Morgan.” Brayden shakes his head. “Come on–”
“Phones. Off.”
Cassandra’s eyes widen in alarm. “What? Why would we need to–”
“Because. We know about you and-and-and–”
“Morgan,” Brayden raises his voice as he tries to talk over you. Wishing he could strangle you right now but he isn’t yet willing to reach over Cassandra to do it.
Cassandra would never get far as an actor, what with the awful quality of her forced laugh.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, but this is really starting to weird me out.”
Brayden puts a hand on Cassandra’s arm. Light, no pressure. “Ignore Morgan. I just… wanted to ask you some questions about your internship.”
“My internship? Why is everyone suddenly interested in my internship? There’s nothing going on with it. It’s an internship.” She hesitates, shifts her weight, and starts to stand up. “I– I’m sorry Brayden but I really need to go. This whole meeting has been really weird.”
Brayden frowns, letting his hand drop as she moves out of reach. “I… okay, Cass.”
Oh come on, he’s not even trying.
You know what, fuck trying to do this the smart way.
“We already know th-that–”
“Morgan!” Brayden hisses, panicked.
“–that my, um, my-my-my mom is uh, m-m-making you do stuff. For her. Off record.”
Cassandra freezes in place, a spike of panic slamming through her chest. “You know? How? I’m not supposed to– I mean– shoot.”
“Look, Cass,” Brayden brings both palms to his face, “I’m real sorry about Morgan. This is not how I wanted to do this.”
You practice restraint by not rolling your eyes. He should be thanking you for finally forcing the issue.
Cassandra tugs at a strand of her hair, worrying it between her fingers.“Wait– Wait, is this a test? Did Dr. Abrams send here you to test me?” There’s a mixture of shame and confusion rolling around in her head. Which, great, because you don’t have enough of your own, clearly.
“W-what? No!” To be fair, that’s totally something you can see Rivka doing “Whatever Rivka’s, um– whatever’s g-g-going on, I’m not involved. Honest.” Cross a finger over your heart. “We’re just…”
“We’re just worried,” Brayden finishes for you. “I’m worried, Cass.”
Cassandra sags, her posture collapsing as she leans into Brayden. Giving in. “It’s… I’m not doing anything illegal, okay? I promise.”
You stamp your foot against the ground for attention. “Not a g-g-great pitch! Now will you both listen to-to-to me and turn off your phones?”
It takes a little more prodding but they finally both comply. Two more black screens join yours, laid out next to the tree behind of all three of you. That’s something, at least. Just have to hope the nearest microphone enabled device is too far away to pick any of this up over the background noise.
“I’m not supposed to talk to anyone about this.” Cassandra laughs, anxiety pouring off of her as she sits back. Shoots a look at you. “Dr. Abrams wouldn’t seriously have me blacklisted from the entire company, would she?”
You think about it, running through the catalogue of graduate student employees Rivka has tormented over the years.
“Um… n—no… she definitely would.”
Cassandra’s face pales. “Oh.”
Brayden nudges you in the shoulder. “Morgan, that’s not funny.”
“I’m… not j-j-joking?”
“Why do you guys want to–” Cassandra stops and shakes her head, “no, first: how did you even find out about this? Do I need to worry about this getting back to Dr. Abrams?”
”Uh–“ Brayden starts.
You jump in before he can spill everything. “I uh, I overheard something my– my mom said. And-and-and, I knew Brayden so-so-so, well–”
“Uh–” he glances over at you. “Yeah. That.”
Cassandra frowns, unsure whether to believe you. Mentally she resolves to put it aside with a shake of her head. “So what exactly is going on then? Like… she’s just making me print out old research papers for her and run some weird errands. Why… all this?”
“Cass,” Brayden says, “she’s practically blackmailing you into this by threatening your career. You think I wouldn’t be worried?”
“Well… don’t be?”
You shoot Brayden a glare. “Th-that’s not– that’s not all.”
He pulls back from Cassandra a little, running a hand through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. “I… yeah. Look, Cass, I don’t know how to say this but–”
“He th-th-thinks my mom is behind all the– the Imago attacks.”
Cassandra nearly jumps in her seat as she whips her head around to stare you. “What? No.”
“I agree, he’s wrong,” you reply. “But–”
Brayden cuts you off. “Those things that Morgan’s mom told you were air quality readers or whatever? They’re triggering Imago transformations.”
The two of you, to Cassandra’s growing horror, competitively go over everything you’ve learned since getting caught up in that first Imago attack. The weird scam-product looking air filters and the stockpile of them in the lab, how every attack so far has had one of those supposed ‘filters’ nearby, the cabinet full of research articles about NMIV and Imago in Rivka’s private office.
It doesn’t take long. It’s not like you have a whole lot of information to work with. Still, by the time you’ve finished, Cassandra looks like she’s on the edge of a panic attack. Breathing hard and fast and clinging to Brayden’s thigh with her hand a little too tightly.
She remains silent for a minute, even after Brayden finishes. Absorbing everything. Trying to make it make sense in her head. Then, after a couple of clarifying questions she just shakes her head. “Dr. Abrams… a terrorist? Bray… I really want to agree with Morgan that this all feels like a huge stretch. How would she even– Are you… completely certain about this?”
“N-no,” you answer for him. When Cassandra turns her head to look at you, you stammer, “W-well, um–”
“Okay, so maybe we don’t have the kind of ironclad proof we could use to get Security to listen to us. Not without getting us in just as much trouble.” Brayden admits that, at least. A reassurance he isn’t going to run off and ruin your life for a second time. “Morgan, you want to show her the video?”
“What video?” Cassandra asks.
You duck your head, checking the hallway for cameras again. “We c-c-can’t just–”
“Cass is smart, Morgan. She might pick up something we missed.”
“What video?” Cassandra demands, voice strained.
When you fail to respond, she leans over, getting into your face.
“You just told me I might be partially responsible for everything happening. Show me the video, Morgan.”
Fuck – fine. You pat down your pockets and unfold your tablet. In thirty seconds you have the security footage of the first Imago attack playing, pieced together as well as you could from a dozen different camera angles. The barking dog, the surprised owner, the sudden transformation–
“That’s too fast,” Cassandra says, reaching out to pause the video right as the dog’s skin begins to split. She’s chewing her lip now. “It’s not supposed to happen that fast.”
Brayden shoots you a look. “That’s what Morgan said.”
“I studied this, or, well, I read some of the papers Dr. Abrams made me get for her? It takes time, there are signs – how…?”
“D-d-don’t know,” you admit.
“The Tomorrowists had some way to make it happen faster, right?” Brayden offers, moving around to your other side to get a better look at the video. Great, now both of them are sandwiching you. This is torture.
Cassandra moves even closer, reaches for the tablet but thinks better of it at the last second. Her hand drops limply. “How did you get this? How did you find out about any of this?”
“Uh–”
“Morgan can get into the security system,” Brayden answers for you.
You shoot him a glare. Does anyone else here care about keeping this quiet? Seriously?
“Really?” Cassandra’s eyes go wide. “So you have recordings of the other attacks too?”
You silently close out the video and tap around for the next one. There wasn’t as much material to work with but what is available is a scene of a large white room filled with row after row of hanging plants. A heavyset black man moves down an open aisle, tablet in hand as he inspects the status of the crop. Heads of Lettuce? Cabbage? Something green and leafy. You’re not a vegetable expert.
The man reaches the end of the aisle and the video switches to a different angle, closer but still too far away to provide much detail beyond the sudden change in behavior. Coughing. Wheezing. The man doubles over, one hand over his mouth before dropping his tablet.
Brayden leans in and taps on the screen, pointing out another of the air filter boxes that’s been stuck to the side of the pillar, just above the man. “There, see? Another of those things. Just like the one Morgan’s mom made you set up in that grocery store.”
Cassandra’s emotions turn from a bizarre sense of relief to one of confusion. “Brayden, I’ve never been inside Hydroponics.”
Now it’s Brayden’s turn to be confused. “What? But didn’t Morgan’s mom tell you to–”
Cassandra shakes her head. “Dr. Abrams gave me a list of places to put up those air quality readers but Hydroponics wasn’t one of them. I wouldn’t even be able to get inside anyway.”
“But the box–” Brayden starts.
“I never went there,” Cassandra repeats.
That… doesn’t make sense, though. You know everywhere Rivka told her to go. You pulled the list from the security recordings yourself. It took an entire afternoon to put together.
Silently, you tap through your saved files and bring up the screenshots. Multiple of them. Some have been resized or rotated around to make the text easier to decipher.
Cassandra’s face furrows in concentration as she stares at the paper. “That’s– is that supposed to be the list Dr. Abrams gave me? Half of those are wrong, I’m telling you. That’s not the list I got.”
Brayden looks mystified. “The fuck does that mean?”
You bite your lip. Rivka wouldn’t be able to edit the security footage like that. A* doesn’t have the processing power. The Superintendent could, but why would it alter its own video like that?
Brayden doesn’t immediately say anything either, chewing over the implications. A second person working for Rivka? A third party entirely?
Cassandra, on the other hand, is frowning. “Wait, how do you… why do you even have all these pictures? How did you know where Dr. Abrams told me to go?” The chain of logic runs through her head impressively fast. Security access – videos – ‘just happened to come across’ – She leaps to her feet. Levels a glare at you and Brayden both.
“Were you both spying on me?” Disgust rising in her throat. Heart racing in renewed panic, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in her head. “What the hell, Brayden? What’s wrong with you? With both of you?”
“I was worried!” Brayden gets to his feet too.
Oh thank god you get to have your personal space back.
Despite every temptation otherwise, you decide not to helpfully mention that the whole thing started because Brayden thought she was cheating on him.
“You could have talked to me!?” Cassandra shouts, throwing her hands up in the air.
It takes everything you have not to respond with ‘that’s what we told him.’ If Riley were here, she’d agree you deserve sainthood for the restraint you’ve displayed today.
“I’m sorry!” Brayden raises his voice in turn. “Would you actually have talked to me, though? You’ve been acting all weird and distant on me.”
“I– I don’t know!” Cassandra pulls her arms around her sides, hugging herself as she steps away. “This is… I want to say I can’t believe this.” Cassandra breathes in and out, deep, shaky. She cracks up a little, the laughter sounding fake. “I’m sorry. I just. I need a minute.”
“Sure, Cass.” Brayden continues to hover near her. Looking for all the world like he wants to touch her but afraid she’d shatter like glass. “Take all the time you need.”
Cassandra stands there, chewing on her bottom lip. “We… no, Brayden, you and I need to have a talk. But first– first we need to talk to Security. Bring this to their attention. They’re looking into all this, right? It’s their job.”
“The– the um, the FBI is involved now,” you supply.
“The FBI?” Cassandra’s eyes grow large again. “Oh god. Then we have to–”
“We-we-we can’t.” Don’t even choke at having both of them look at you this time, you’re getting used to it – horrible. “Th-they’d already know. About– about the videos, anyway.”
Cassandra’s expression creases into a frown. “But not about–”
“Cass,” Brayden cuts her off, voice softer now. “You’re the one that put those box things out there.”
She recoils at that, shaking her head. “No– not, not that one in Hydroponics, I swear I didn’t–”
“Doesn’t matter,” you say with a shake of your head. “We t-t-talk now and you’’ll uh, you’ll probably g-g-get um–”
“Arrested,” Brayden finishes for you with an expression of dread. “You’re being set up. That’s it. That’s what’s happening.”
“Set up!?” Cassandra shakes her head, hair flailing in front of her face. “That’s– No. Brayden, that’s crazy. I’m just– who would even believe that?”
It wouldn’t even matter if they never ultimately charge Cassandra with anything. Getting arrested as a possible suspect in a Imago investigation? Having that turn up anytime someone searches her name on the Chattrnet is a death sentence all on its own. Goodbye internship. Goodbye career. There’s plenty of fresh-out-of-school applicants for an education contract to choose from without that sort of baggage.
“I’ll um, I’ll get in t-t-trouble too. For, uh, for…” you mime typing, “for what it’s worth. And if I g-g-get in trouble, I’m d-d-dragging Brayden down with me.”
Brayden levels you with a nonplussed expression on his face. “Thanks.”
You give him a thumbs up. Anytime.
Cassandra is shaking her head while the two of you talk. The overwhelm threatening her is starting to get to you too. Mental splash damage. Her breathing is coming in fast again. Only stops when Brayden puts a hand on her shoulder. An invitation for a hug, one she lets hang.
“I’m sorry,” she starts, then goes quiet again. “No. I mean, I’m not sorry. But I need… If we can’t go to Security, what are we going to do?” Her head snaps up again, a glare for each of you. “And don’t say ‘nothing.’ You can’t tell me I might be even the littlest bit responsible and then ask me not to do anything.”
“We’re um, w-working on it?”
“Morgan means we’re looking into it ourselves. We’ll find… I don’t know. Something? Some proof or evidence that ties it back to Dr. Abrams–” You cough. Brayden rolls his eyes, “or whoever–”
“Whomever.”
“–whoever is doing this, that doesn’t get us all in trouble and once we have that, we’ll talk to Security.”
“We can… do that?”
You shrug and fold your tablet away. “We’ll try?”
Cassandra takes a deep breath, lets it out through her nose as she clenches her hands. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Brayden asks.
“Okay, I’m in.”