Yelena Belova (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
musicdied) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
clandestinement2025-12-24 03:58 pm
musicdied) wrote in clandestinement2025-12-24 03:58 pm
Hybridization - for makingitworse
There's something off about the facility set in what Yelena suspects was at one point an old mine - there are the bones of what might once have been a town along the overgrown track she'd used as an approach. As important as it's apparently supposed to be, it's sparsely guarded, and that's not just her training as a Widow colouring her judgment. Sparsely guarded, but not entirely unguarded - by the time she gets through the secure door to the facility's server room, she has maybe forty-five minutes before someone realizes the guard she'd had to incapacitate has missed check-in.
It takes her ten of those minutes to interface and get the download set up, and a bit of effort splices her into the security feeds so she can keep an eye on any unusual movement on her tablet. The feeds are conveniently labelled by floor and sector and - there are too many. A subfloor that hadn't been on the schematics lurks on one of the cameras.
"If I was hiding something really nasty..." she murmurs to herself. Still, she wrestles with her options for a long moment, weighing the possibility of valuable information against the sense behind sticking to the plan.
She won't get another shot at this place. Possibility wins out.
She slips her exploits in, system failure to kill cameras and communications and mimic the atmospheric interference she'd heard the guards bitching about, and sets them on a timer, then slips down the hall to the elevator shaft. The elevator's already locked up on the top level; it's a long climb down a narrow ladder that reeks of rust, but she's handled far worse.
She hadn't been able to see much with the angle of the one camera on this level, and what she does find is disappointing. Crates, all numerically labelled, nothing clearly showing what may or may not be important. She winds her way carefully through the metal maze until she finds - another box. This one, though, is white and sleek, with controls attached. There's a screen that appears to be intended to monitor something, but it's blank, and poking carefully at the buttons doesn't bring up a display. Eventually, though, she finds the sequence to unlock the box, and there's a dull thunk, followed by a hiss as it depressurizes. She steps back carefully as the low hum of hydraulics lifts the lid up and back, a small amber warning light blinking beneath the blank screen display.
It takes her ten of those minutes to interface and get the download set up, and a bit of effort splices her into the security feeds so she can keep an eye on any unusual movement on her tablet. The feeds are conveniently labelled by floor and sector and - there are too many. A subfloor that hadn't been on the schematics lurks on one of the cameras.
"If I was hiding something really nasty..." she murmurs to herself. Still, she wrestles with her options for a long moment, weighing the possibility of valuable information against the sense behind sticking to the plan.
She won't get another shot at this place. Possibility wins out.
She slips her exploits in, system failure to kill cameras and communications and mimic the atmospheric interference she'd heard the guards bitching about, and sets them on a timer, then slips down the hall to the elevator shaft. The elevator's already locked up on the top level; it's a long climb down a narrow ladder that reeks of rust, but she's handled far worse.
She hadn't been able to see much with the angle of the one camera on this level, and what she does find is disappointing. Crates, all numerically labelled, nothing clearly showing what may or may not be important. She winds her way carefully through the metal maze until she finds - another box. This one, though, is white and sleek, with controls attached. There's a screen that appears to be intended to monitor something, but it's blank, and poking carefully at the buttons doesn't bring up a display. Eventually, though, she finds the sequence to unlock the box, and there's a dull thunk, followed by a hiss as it depressurizes. She steps back carefully as the low hum of hydraulics lifts the lid up and back, a small amber warning light blinking beneath the blank screen display.
no subject
But there's something uncertain in his voice, now. No, he's not a Guide, but-- would that explain why he can tell she's standing there even if he's not looking at her?
"You can't become a Guide in your thirties, can you?" he asks, with a self-conscious little chuff that's not quite a chuckle, not unless it's a very nervous one.
no subject
There've been theories about latent talents, people who have the genetic traits, but through some quirk of biochemistry don't have the power, as a way to explain why Sentinels and Guides manifest so unpredictably in the population. But it's never been proven, and this is hardly the time and place to mull over fringe theories.
"Okay, Mr. Ordinary. I am going to take a quick look to make sure there is not anything hidden by these crates, so we do not leave anyone behind. Do you think you can get the lid back on that box? If waking you up did not set off an alarm, I think we want to let these people think you are still here for as long as possible."
no subject
He turns back to the box he'd come out of and starts doing just that: tugging the lid back down and finding a way to latch it, while hyperventilating a little very quietly.
no subject
Nothing. Just the crates, and while she would check those as well if she had more time - getting two people out will be much more complicated than getting out alone would have been. Especially when everything about the stranger in the box screams civilian.
no subject
It feels like one of the super-sensitive highs he sometimes gets. Except he's pretty sure he's not on anything right now. (Oh god he wishes he was. A bad trip is better than whatever this reality is.)
"Anything?" he asks, giving his face a casual scrub, as if trying to wake himself up further. Or give himself something to ground with.