Hybridization - for makingitworse

[musicdied]

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.

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[musicdied]

"It's not that bad," she assures.

She considers him thoughtfully for a moment before stepping inside the cabin. "You do not hear anyone?" she asks, biting back the questions that want to follow, about range, about just how keen his hearing is. If he's telling the truth, he won't know. If he's not, it's the wrong time to push.

[makingitworse]

"No one. There's a rat over there. I think it's a rat." He points in the direction he feels the little point of sensation, then follows her inside with some relief. The walls don't exactly cut off the sensations, but having a door closed behind him gives him an illusion that it might. "It's small, probably not actually a spy or an assassin."

[musicdied]

"I have never heard of a rat assassin in real life," she allows, giving him a small, lopsided smile. "Come, I will show you to the bathroom."

She leads the way further into the cabin. It's only one floor, so it doubles as a tour, with her pointing out the kitchen and the two bedrooms as they pass.

[makingitworse]

He takes note of everything. It's not big, but it's bigger than pretty much every place he's ever stayed except his original home, so it's nice that way. It's also quiet. He can hear electricity buzzing and the occasional settling creak of wood, but it's-- bearable.

He stops outside the bathroom, feeling disgusting and exhausted but not quite as overwhelmed now that he's inside and there's only one point of sensation he can "feel", Yelena. "Want me to get the clothes before I go in?" So she doesn't have to slide them under the door or something.

[musicdied]

"Okay," she says, giving him a crooked little smile. "In the bedroom on the right." The one that doesn't have a small duffle bag sitting on the bed, suggesting she'd planned to stop here even before finding him in that box.

She reaches out to squeeze his arm gently. "I will be in the kitchen if you need anything. Take as long as you need." A brief pause, and then, "Is there anything you don't eat?"

[makingitworse]

"No, I haven't found anything yet," he promises, then ducks his head and slips into the bedroom to rifle through drawers until he finds the spare clothes.

Then he disappears into the bathroom. He tries a shower first, hoping to get it over with quicker, but the sound of it leaves his whole head ringing, and putting his hand under the patter makes his skin-- not quite hurt, but it's not happy either. So he switched it to the bath. It's loud at first, but a more solid sort of sound, not hundreds of little pings but one big boom, and then he can turn it off and it's just the sound of water sloshing against the sides.

It's also more bearable to sit in and scrub than to stand under a spray.

And then sit in and try to decompress.

He doesn't take too long, though, because he's also exhausted and doesn't want to fall asleep in there. He finally climbs out, dries off with whatever towel is available, and finds out how well a strangers' clothes fit. Not too badly. The pants are a little short, but nothing is too tight. He pokes his head out, hair still damp.