MICHAEL SHEPARD
Werewolf
Posts: 277
Age:
33
Occupation:
CIA Analyst/Thief
Status:
Married
Partner:
Sara Shepard
Played by:
ANGE
Last seen Apr 11, 2024 18:22:27 GMT
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Post by MICHAEL SHEPARD on Jun 26, 2023 19:32:40 GMT
Detective Carnegie had deep pockets.
Michael stared up at the building as he approached. There werenât many run down spots in Mystic Falls â the Founderâs council probably boiled those out like antsâ nests as soon as they started to grow grubby â but Carnegieâs building was a cut above most of the others. A slick stone exterior, unsullied by fire escapes or pokey little Juliet balconies you couldnât even get a house plant onto. One single apartment in the place â let alone the penthouse â probably cost twice what his own home here had, and his little two bedroom place didnât come with a uniformed doorman.
The smile he shot the man was slick, just the right side of friendly. The jumpsuit from the telephone company had probably sold his story before he even huffed in through the front door with his toolbox dangling from his fingers. ââThese old places, am I right?â Michael didnât bother with the cheesy line, just lifted his chin towards the ceiling like itâd help draw a line between them as lowly little service droids, and the big wigs upstairs. âWe got a call from a tenant up on eight? Somethinâ âbout their wifi crappinâ out. Apparently if they miss this meeting weâre toast.â He grimaced, trying to share just enough of the blame to have the guy buzzing him through to the elevators visible behind glass doors. There was always some jagoff in a building like this who tried to beat everyone else over the head with their bank balance.
Carnegie couldâve probably bought them all. If he dipped into his dadâs bank account a little.
At the sigh from the doorman, Michael was already heading towards those doors. Maybe Carnegie was the jagoff, although from what heâd seen of the guy around the station that part was doubtful. He was a Batman wannabe â a rich boy turned crime fighter â but talk around the water cooler said that he was good at the job at least. Not a man to rest on his laurels. Maybe one whoâd step in to help a woman in trouble. Sagging against the wall of the elevator as he stepped inside and hit the button for the floor below Carnegieâs. Michael let out a strained breath. He hoped that it was someone hoping to help whoâd found Sara and not the shadow he was sure was still dogging his steps.
Each floor was marked off with a shifting sliver of light that shone through the paper thin crack between the doors. Given what had happened to Carnegieâs ex-wife, heâd have to understand what this was like. The fear that clawed at your throat and left you desperate enough to go rogue.
The fire had originated with the cell phone. A lucky short that had taken out the final kidnapper. Two others had been caught in the fire, dying from smoke inhalation, the last had been dead when the fire had started, a bullet pulled from his head at autopsy. It had been necessary to discharge his weapon. An official report had bought Carnegie praise from the Sheriff instead of condemnation. Four bad guys dealt with all at once, who was going to give a damn about how the other three had died, or the reek of magic thatâd still clung to the place afterwards.
If he murmured the right words now, would there be a trail of it in the elevator? Perhaps in the stairwell, wards slathered on like sunblock to cover what was really going on upstairs. Michael abandoned the elevator on the floor below, strolling, unhurried, to the staircase before he raced up. He had at least an hour before Carnegie escaped the meeting the sheriff had called with him and his partners â new evidence uncovered by their analyst about one of their cases. Bullshit, but all he needed it to buy him was an hour.
He glanced back down the stairs as he used a rake to pop the lock at the top of the stairwell. No witnesses, not even down at the security desk now that he dipped beneath the arc covered by the cameras. Heâd checked those yesterday, hoping for some sign of what Carnegie was doing up here, and couldâve mapped out the blind spots in his sleep. Michael dropped in a low crouch in front of Carnegieâs door. âOpen wide, detective. Say aaah.â His voice was a low rumble, covering the faint beep of the device he attached to the expensive digital lock to try and finesse his way through it. âCouldnât just go for a dead bolt? Not good enough to keep all those secrets locked up tight.â Maybe now Carnegie would know better than to go flashing what he was around town.
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LEX CAMERON
Psychic
Posts: 55
Played by:
Julia
Last seen Apr 20, 2024 20:36:31 GMT
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Post by LEX CAMERON on Jul 12, 2023 17:04:09 GMT
â one click and you are overwritten â WITH HIS LAPTOP SETTLED ON THE BED BESIDE him, Lex leaned back into the pile of pillows heâd stacked against the headboard. Winter still wasnât talking to him (even though he did her a favour), so she was out somewhere, doing⌠something. Whatever. He woulda probs been hereâplaying video gamesâeither way.
Lexâs sweaty palms squeezed the remote angrily as he died again, teeth gritted. âFuckinâ bitch,â He hissed, then tried again. And died. Again.
âFuck!â He shouted, and shook the controller around, nearly thinking about bouncing it off the wall. He didnât. It wouldnât be hard to get another, but then heâd have to stop playing, andâas infuriating as it wasâhe was not gonna do that.
Lex grumbled more expletives, restarting from his last save point and heading forwards. Playing as Gaz, he crouched and bound forward through the tall grass; all the while, Captain Price kept muttering orders even though it was supposed to be a stealth mission. Whatever. Lex could be inside the game and beating it in a matter of fucking seconds, but he wanted to do it the real way first. He was trynna beat his record for fastest gameplay.
Just as he arrived at the part he kept dying on, a little alert started pinging on his laptop. Will, probably. âFuck sake!â Lex shouted, pausing the game and tossing his controller down. He pulled his computer onto his lap, then tapped into the systems in Willâs apartment. Old man probs forgot to disable something before going in, but it was still annoying, andâŚ
Oh, shit. No. Someone was actually trynna break in. Shit, why did this always happen to Will? Well, rich people loved money, aaaand⌠that was pretty much it. Theyâd go to any lengths to get their Nazi art back, âparently.
He was already partway in, so why not just let âim, huh? Then Lex could scare the shit outta him. He wouldnât let the dude take anything, obvs. Just make sure he never came back.
As soon as homie was inside, Lex seeped into the computer and travelled to Willâs apartment, spreading himself out within the security systems heâd put in place. And, while he was here, he sent a little alert out to Will in the form of a text: Yo some bitchass is at your crib. I got it tho
From there, he had the door slam shut behind the intruder, then his voice started drifting out from every available speaker while the lights began to flicker. âWhat the fuck dâyou think youâre doinâ, bitch? You come into thiiiiis house thinkinâ youâre gonna, what, snoop around? Pretend to fix the internet? Well, guess what, dude, I am the internet. So checkity-check yourself.â
MICHAEL SHEPARD | no notes.
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MICHAEL SHEPARD
Werewolf
Posts: 277
Age:
33
Occupation:
CIA Analyst/Thief
Status:
Married
Partner:
Sara Shepard
Played by:
ANGE
Last seen Apr 11, 2024 18:22:27 GMT
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Post by MICHAEL SHEPARD on Aug 12, 2023 17:46:44 GMT
Rich, well dressed, a decent detective, a legendary luddite. It was that last part that shouldâve made breaking into William Carnegieâs apartment easy. The manâs curses rolled out of his office in a slow crescendo most afternoons, frustration written on the Hollywood leading man face as he stalked out to the break room for coffee heâd undoubtedly bought. Carnegie hid his lights under a bushel, but he wore those small faults like armour. Luckily for him he hadnât needed to be a modern day whizz kid to foil crime in New York, taking himself from a lowly patrol office to detective in half the time it took most others. He hadnât needed it to save his ex-wifeâs life either.
Michael had pulled together his picture of the detective over weeks of observation. Picking through the detectiveâs files on a system that couldnât keep a five year old out of it if they happened to be on one of the networked machines â a six year old if they were outside of it. Yawning his way through dozens of articles that littered the New York gossip magazines. Honestly, it seemed no wonder that his marriage had failed. The spotlight had seemed to be on Carnegie and the woman who had briefly been his wife almost as often as it had been on Carnegieâs father. The great and dubious Oz â Dalton Carnegie. He was the son of a con man and grifter, a man who seemed to have bought his way into his NYPD throne in a way that Orlov wouldâve appreciated. Maybe Dalton had used a little magical influence to get himself there. He was almost certain that Carnegie had to rescue his wife.
His nose wrinkled as he worked his way along the short hallway to Carnegieâs door. No scent of magic in the air, but there was a herbal hint to the air that could either have been the product of stored magical supplies or Carnegie playing at being Gordon Ramsey in his spare time. Carnegie thought he hid that part of himself well too, but heâd seen the guy sharing his lunch with Buckleyâs girlfriend down at the station â he mightâve believed it was something more than comparing cannelloni recipes, if he hadnât obviously still been pining over Agent Washington.
Whatever connection heâd used to get the fancy locks in had done a decent job. The device was rolling through possible combinations a thousand times faster than he couldâve done manually, but his was no 1234 passcode for dummies. The first digit locked in after a long minute. Sweat pricked at the back of his neck. Two digits, still six to go by the looks of things. By the time the eighth locked in, he was certain that there had to be something hidden here. You didnât go to all that trouble for an expensive wine collection.
The door swung in silently, revealing a dim, quiet apartment beyond. Michael crept through the gap, his fingers hovering on the edge of the door while he strained his senses to make a hundred percent sure. He was just turning back to close it when it was ripped out of his hands. âIs it just a game?â Michael muttered, backing up a step, wary enough now that his eyes were glittering that electric blue. Carnegie didnât seem the sort, but this felt like heâd willingly just climbed into a trap. Son of a bitch!
Snapping around, Michael stared towards the kitchen and the speaker of the small radio tucked on the countertop opposite the door. The voice had seemed to emerge from everywhere, but that was the one spot he could see for now. That hadnât been Carnegieâs voice. It was too high, too whiny. No security company would bother with the interrogation. Theyâd have just sent the cops, keeping him (or trying to) in the apartment until the cops got there. âCheckity-check myselfâŚâ Michael echoed before he laughed. Two could play at poking around in Carnegieâs security system.
He opened three doors around him rapidly before he found what passed for an office. Carnegie had a fancy mahogany slab of a desk, of course. A bankerâs chair pulled up close to it. A laptop sat on the blotter, a little more state of the art than the pieces of crap they had at the station. Michael opened it, immediately tapping at the keyboard. âWhat did he do, hire himself a little hacker to keep the place safe? Let me guess, he let you skate on some charge so you could do all his dirty work for him?â Squinting at the screen, Michael tried the password heâd seen Carnegie typing into his work computer. Most people werenât all that smart, they used the same password everywhere despite every warning not to. âHow often do you have to save him from himself, huh?â Grandpa hadnât been savvy enough to make this hard. Michael huffed out a breath as he started to race through the files in search of something that would tie Carnegie to the magical community.
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LEX CAMERON
Psychic
Posts: 55
Played by:
Julia
Last seen Apr 20, 2024 20:36:31 GMT
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Post by LEX CAMERON on Sept 4, 2023 20:53:18 GMT
â one click and you are overwritten â BRO, LEX WAS GONNA FUUUUCKINâ END this dude. Why the fuck was he doinâ this shitâwho the fuck did he think he was to do it, huh?! Cominâ into Willâs apartment and goinâ through his shit. Also, like, damn, why did Will have so many fuckinâ enemies? Yeah, he stole art or whatever, but he was doinâ it pretty secretly âtil Lex got ahold of him, and that was only âcause Lex was so fuckinâ badass. Seriously, like, how many vengeful bitches had Nazi art, and why did everyone wanna get all up in his grill?!
Anyway, back to bizzzznit. He was gonna fuck this dude up, like, psychologically, bro. Fuck him for thinkinâ he could break into Willâs apartment. Bitchass.
âWe can play a game if you want, homie, but itâll be some Saw shit. Some see-if-you-can-survive shit.â Lex hissed, but the dumbass didnât think he was any kinda threat, obvi, so he kept goinâ. Lex started trembling with anger as he watched this fake-ass dude start openinâ all those doors and shit, rummaging like a little fuckinâ rat, but then ultimately making the wrong decision by goinâ for Willâs computer. Boooooom, bitch.
Lex slipped easily into the computer from Willâs internet, listening to this douche try and guess wrong about who he was, while simultaneously trying to send a piece of his subconscious into this dudeâs phone. He didnât think the intruder would get very far in the computer, but obvi heâd done some research. He was in, and then Lex only let him click the computer folder icon before he closed the window itself, then effectively locked the computer by taking over the screen. He appeared as a shadowy figure on it, no facial features visible, just a reddish-black outline of a face atop a black background. âNah, bitch, guess again.â Lex hissed. âYou ainât gonna see shit. Dunno what the fuck you want, but youâre cracked if you think Iâma let you have it.â He scoffed.
So, yeah, he did have to save Will from himself, but what-the-fuck-ever. That was their shit, and none of this dudeâs fucking business.
Anyway, it took him only a minute to find some I.D. on this dudeâs phone when he really focused. Registered with the cellphone company as Michael Shepard, career: government agent. There was more shit there, but that was all Lex needed for now. He glared at the intruder through the laptop screen, though there wasnât much to see on Michaelâs side except maybe slight shifting and the reflected red glow of eyes. âHow âbout you fuck off, Mike. Huh? Does anybody call ya Mike?â He snickered, âThen weâll see how easy we let you off of this charge, dude. Bet the bosses would wanna know what youâre up to.â He paused, then added, almost like he was switching topics altogether, âYo, anybody ever tell you that Shepard is a boring-ass last name? Like, you never thought to pick somethinâ cooler? âSpecially if youâre gonna go trynna break into peopleâs cribs and shit? Accctualllyyy, that makes senseââcause only the best thieves got cool names, and clearly, youâre shit at this, bro.â
MICHAEL SHEPARD | no notes.
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MICHAEL SHEPARD
Werewolf
Posts: 277
Age:
33
Occupation:
CIA Analyst/Thief
Status:
Married
Partner:
Sara Shepard
Played by:
ANGE
Last seen Apr 11, 2024 18:22:27 GMT
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Post by MICHAEL SHEPARD on Oct 14, 2023 18:14:12 GMT
Heâd felt rusty as heâd settled back behind a desk at the station. Years spent away from official channels had him chafing at the metaphorical shackles you had to wear when everything you did had to be legal. While heâd been away heâd felt the loss of it like another part of him had been carved away â although thereâd been precious little left of him after Abi and Sara had been killed. It had been easier to do what he had to for Orlov when there was nothing of who had been left. With Abiâs return heâd found himself entirely shedding that other side of him, like it had just been a costume heâd slipped on for a while.
With the sound of the voice emerging around him it was like the world had flipped again. The thief was the one who was off his game now, the sudden fear that all that heâd rebuilt here with his daughter was about to go up in smoke drifting into his mind. Some part of him questioned why Detective Carnegie would have this level of security on his place, but Michael knew that why shouldâve been the least of his questions right now.
How was he gonna get out? How was he gonna hide his tracks? How was he gonna get what he came for before he did any of those things?
Once upon a time heâd been a data whiz, his brain working through rafts of data at high speed, making the leaps between seemingly unconnected bits of information others couldnât. It had put him in the shadowâs path, a bug to be crushed beneath a powerful boot, but he hadnât believed that Carnegie could possibly be on that level. Michael shook his head as that voice hissed out. No, Carnegie wouldnât send men to carve his family to pieces, heâd just let a kid bug his intruders to death.
âIâll pass, thanks,â Michael muttered dryly. âI wouldnât want you scrubbing blood out of the fancy rugs.â And the place was fancy. Like something of an Architectural Digest magazine. Carnegie definitely spent as much money on the apartment as he did his appearance. The rooms werenât nouveau riche levels of tacky, that wasnât Carnegieâs style, but every bit of furniture had probably come from an antique store, the art on the walls was definitely not the poker playing dogs sort. Orlov probably wouldâve had him stripping the place bare of the more expensive shit, but he wasnât here for his former boss, this was a fact finding mission of his own, which meant that the laptop was his focus.
The clock in his head ticked off the seconds until the sirens would likely pierce the air. By now Carnegie had probably been informed by the brat that someone was in his place. Michael snorted as he got into the computer. Speaker-boy really needed to teach Carnegie a thing or two about security. âWhat the fuckâŚâ Michael hissed as the folder heâd opened shut. A heartbeat later a face appeared on the screen â murky and amorphous, something straight out of one of those cheesy teen horror movies. Someone in your laptop ⌠ooh scary. Not.
Immediately Michael was tapping at the keyboard again, trying to clear the intrusion from the computer. His eyes narrowed, dark brows furrowing as every move failed. âWho says youâre gonna get any choice in the matter? Iâm here, youâre not, which meansâŚâ He could disconnect Carnegieâs computer from the internet and cut off whatever route this asshole had into Carnegieâs device.
Mike. Fuck. He sucked in a deep breath, staring at where the eyes shouldâve been on that disembodied face on that screen. Was he rattled? Maybe, but he wasnât scared of some pissant little jerk who knew enough about computers to take remote control of the laptop. âItâs Michael.â Or Agent Shepard if you wanted to dig far enough and this guy had. âYou think the bosses would wanna know what Carnegieâs up to as well? Iâd say murder trumps breaking and entering, donât you?â He didnât have evidence that Carnegie had killed the men in that warehouse, or if he had that heâd done so unlawfully, but he was willing to see if that swing happened to hit.
Laughter rolled out of him tightly as the guy went from âhey criminal, Iâm gonna snitch on youâ to âhey, maybe you should get a cool nameâ. âAnybody ever tell you comic books arenât real?â he sneered. âLemme guess, you gave yourself a nickname, some shitty secret identity you can hide behind on the internet so people don't release youâre still living in your momâs basement. What is it? The Snitch? Phiber Optik? Doesnât seem to be like either you or Carnegie are geniuses. If you did I wouldnât have got in here in the first place.â
Pushing back from the computer, Michael started to scout around the room for Carnegieâs modem. Of course it was tiny and sleek, sitting on a side table like it was a piece of art, not a piece of plastic Carnegie wouldnât have understood the first thing about. Not bothering to just switch it off, Michael ripped the cable straight out of the wall, then turned back. Maybe some of Carnegieâs shit was in cloud storage, but he doubted the guy would risk it if he really was some sort of a criminal mastermind in the sheepâs clothing of a walking ad for GQ.
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LEX CAMERON
Psychic
Posts: 55
Played by:
Julia
Last seen Apr 20, 2024 20:36:31 GMT
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Post by LEX CAMERON on Nov 20, 2023 18:33:06 GMT
â one click and you are overwritten â DUDE THOUGHT HE WAS SOOOO SMART. Lex was gonna fuckinâ show him! He mighta been able to get inside the place, but he wasnât gonna find fuck all from it. Heâd be lucky if he even got to go home.
âWhoa, youâre takinâ away peopleâs choice now? Whatâre you, some pro-lifer? Old people are all the same, manâŚâ Lex scoffed, then broke off into a little snicker, amused at himself as he busted this guyâs balls.
âWaitâmurder?â Lex burst into laughterâhis fingers wouldâve curled into his gut if he had control of them right now. Metaphorically, in, like, the land of the internet and whatever, they did. âYou think heâs cappinâ dudes?â He laughed even harder, though he knew Will took out those dudes to save Zoey. That was different, though, âcause he mostly knocked âem out and then Lex started the fire. Also, it wasnât like they didnât deserve it. Fuckinâ scumbags were gonna take out his woman! And Lex had nearly ruined some dudeâs life âcause he was potentially gonna be mean to Winter; he could only imagine what heâd do in Willâs situation.
Mike tried to take a stab in the dark and kept missinâ. Lex snickered again, glaring at him from his spot on the laptop, his brows risingâthough Mike probs couldnât see it. âDude, Iâm sure I make more in a month than youâll make in your whole life,â Well, his dad did, but still. âAnd Iâm sittinâ pretty right now. Also, my mamaâs dead. Guess your daughter and I have that in common, yeah? Lots of that Dead Mom shiâ goinâ around.â He cackled, then watched as Mike headed off toâŚ
Oh, motherfucker.
Thankfully, Lex had a little warning. Heâd prepped for this, dawg. The moment the cable came free, everything went dark around him, and the black abyss, like, shook a little bit. He had one foot out the door, though, andâin a momentâhe was in the electrical system. The digital lock on the front door beamed to life, shining brightly again, erasing the âNo Internet Connectionâ warning itâd had for a minute. It locked, then Lex turned on all the ceiling lights. He went to the clock radio next, speaking through it, because it was still easy without an internet connection.
âHow dâyou know I didnât let you in just tâkeep you in, man? âCause youâre fucked now. Locked in, and that digital shit ainât workinâ âless I tell it to. Plus, Carnegieâs on his way⌠fuck you gonna do when he finds you snoopinâ âround his place? Whatâre you gonna say? âOh, heâs a murderer, wahwahwah!ââ Lex scoffed, using a whiny voice to imitate his new pal Mike. âLike theyâre gonna believe you. You fucked up, dude, yâknow that? Cominâ here on a hunch. Guess thatâs why you ainât active and shit no more, huh? Canât think right?â
MICHAEL SHEPARD | no notes.
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MICHAEL SHEPARD
Werewolf
Posts: 277
Age:
33
Occupation:
CIA Analyst/Thief
Status:
Married
Partner:
Sara Shepard
Played by:
ANGE
Last seen Apr 11, 2024 18:22:27 GMT
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Post by MICHAEL SHEPARD on Dec 18, 2023 20:52:22 GMT
Why the fuck was he bothering arguing with a disembodied voice over what he was gonna carry on doing regardless? At this point he was probably damned either way, so he might as well get what heâd come for and take the rap on the knuckles later. Carnegie probably wouldnât back down at the threat of the Agency, but he if he managed to find something the detective wouldnât have much of a way to fight back. If heâd still been working for Orlov, he wouldnât have worried about the backlash at all.
âA teenagerâs trying to lecture me? Carnegie obviously needs to give you some more concrete rules, giving you a time out obviouslyâs never workedâŚâ Michael muttered to himself. The detective didnât have a kid though. His background dive into the manâs life had only shown an ex-wife â now working for the government herself in the Bureauâs Art Crime department. Papa Carnegie was police chief in New York, a role heâd obviously bought instead of earned on the job, the line stretching back from him one peppered with misdemeanours and enough snake oil selling to make it clear that Carnegieâs money wasnât entirely clean.
The guyâs laughter cut through his brain like a knife, sharp and unpleasant. How Carnegie put up with him he didnât know. Michael felt like a complete fool for narrowing his eyes at the smug face on the screen but he did it all the same, his mouth screwing up into a sour smile. âWhat do you call leaving behind a handful of dead guys in the warehouse he rescued his ex-wife for? You think they all happened to drop from natural causes at the same time?â Thereâd been something fishy enough there to start ringing all sorts of alarm bells for him, even if Liz Forbes had just brushed the whole thing aside. Maybe it had been self-defence, but without evidence one way or another he wasnât about to say the guy had been as innocent as heâd been when heâd killed the guy who came at him with Sara and Abiâs blood on his hands.
This kid obviously thought he could mine Google and find out everything about the guy whoâd broken into Carnegieâs place â as though heâd never kept the worst of what heâd done off of the internet and out of any database. âSpending your daddyâs money donât count,â Michael drawled. âAlthough I guess Carnegieâs gotta pay someone to protect whatever heâs got in here, we both know he couldnât even put up a firewall.â
Heâd thought that Elias was the stationâs watch dog, but apparently this guy could sniff out a weakness just as easily and clawed at it with cackled words now. Anger rose up inside of him in a red wave, driving him back from the computer as colour blanched and then rose back hotter in his cheeks. âYou know nothing about my family. Shut the fuck up,â Michael snapped out coldly. Sara wasnât dead, she was just ⌠gone ⌠and being here wasnât gonna do a damn thing to get her back.
Carnegieâs human firewall obviously wasnât here, or he wouldâve been in the room, yapping directly at him while the Sheriffâs people came racing across town with lights flashing and sirens screaming. That meant he had to be piping himself in over wifi. Maybe there were multiple modems in the place, but he was willing to bet Carnegie hadnât set himself up a full network here. Michael dropped back into the chair, fingers already racing over the keys again. The computer itself was still onâŚ
Fuck!
The lights flared around him, turning the apartment into one huge beacon. Cursing under his breath, he tried to dig faster, without the impediment of the kid keeping him out this time. The voice droned out of the clock radio this time, bragging about him heâd lured him in, trapped him. Another layer of folders down and Michael was shoving back from the desk. If Carnegie did have anything here, he hadnât saved it to his laptop â the man was smarter than that, a digital trail could always be traced, no matter which juvenile delinquent you had guarding the door.
âKeeping people out in the first place is a far smarter move than potentially letting them find something before you try and spring your trap. Not everything in this place runs on energy kid.â The lock on the front door had been digital though, hadnât it? Double fuck. If Carnegie was on his way, he wasnât still gonna be sitting here with his thumb up his ass when the guy arrived. Michael whirled around, checking the window in the office before he headed out into the rest of the apartment. No place like this came without a secondary exit, rich guys werenât gonna fry in their apartments because someone had broken building code and hadnât give them another way out in case of emergency.
âIf youâre so smart, youâd know what the hell Iâve been doing since I went inactive. Send Carnegie my regards huh? Iâm sure heâs just waiting for you to tell him how you failed to keep the guy you let into his place locked in.â He flipped a finger wave into the air as he spotted the fire escape outside the living room window. It had locks in place, but unlike the door they werenât electric, they were all about keeping common assholes from breaking in the easy way, not keeping someone inside. Michael fumbled at the locks, throwing the window open as he heard a car squeal up outside. He scrambled out into the fire escape, darting a look down towards the ground before he started down.
Tagged: LEX CAMERON (finish here or with yours?) * Word Count: 954
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