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#key makes it his mission to make sure shinee never has boring fits
saltyhyunjae · 3 years
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CHAPTER THREE: YOU KNOCK ME OUT COLD AND DISAPPEAR
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genre/warnings: angst, fluff, slow burn, enemies to lovers (?), kidnapping, criminal!tbz, mentions of guns & knives, small mention of suicide
word count: 2.2k
summary: It’s time for y/n to carry out her escape plan.
part two
“Here’s the diary you asked for.” Kevin gives you a small notebook with a pen. “Thank you.” Tomorrow is gonna be the day. The day you finally escape. When you enter your room, you sit on your bed and write down the info you have gathered all week.
Everyone goes to their room around 2 in the morning. Eric gets his midnight snack at 2:30, and Sunwoo goes to the toilet around 3. By the time they’re all asleep it’s 3:30. Instead of leaving at 3:30 you decide that it’s better to stay put till 4. You also checked the door last night. It doesn’t have any censors and an easy lock. This should be an easy mission.
“Knock knock.” Younghoon walks into your room. You quickly close your diary and put it on your nightstand.
“That’s not how you knock.”
He laughs and lies on your bed. “I’m so bored, what should we do?” “We?” You turn around to face him and he nods. You look outside. It’s been raining all week but the sun has been shining all morning. “Why don’t we sit in the garden?” You suggest. Ever since you came back from the grocery store you’ve only been inside. You needed some fresh air.
After a couple minutes you were outside with Younghoon, sitting on a picnic blanket, eating some fruit and enjoying the nice weather.
“Ah, the weather is great today.” Younghoon smiles, laying down on the blanket and you do the same. You smile at the warm feeling from the sun, finally relaxing.
Even though your eyes are closed, you can suddenly feel a shadow above you, blocking the sun. “What the-, move!” You hear Younghoon complain and you open your eyes to see Hyunjae, standing between you too. If you’re completely honest you’ve been avoiding him ever since what happened that one night. The more you hangout with him, the weirder you start to feel.
“What are you guys doing?” “What does it look like? We’re enjoying the sun.” Younghoon puts his sunglasses back on and lays down again. You’re about to close your eyes again but Hyunjae finds a way to lie between you two. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Younghoon groans. “I wanna enjoy the sun too.” “Go do that somewhere else.” “No.” You scootch over a bit and decide to just ignore him.
»»————- ➴ ————-««
After you’re done with cleaning the living room and folding the laundry, Jacob asks you to have another guitar session, to which you excitedly agree. You loved his voice and you were hoping he could tell you a bit more about the boys.
He starts off by singing Paris In The Rain by Lauv. you absolutely love his voice and you automatically start smiling the second you hear him sing. You once again take your time to look at him. He has a soft smile as he sings, his hair falling just right above his eyes that are following the chords of the guitar and his head slowly nodding with the melodies.
When he finishes the song, you applaud him. “Wow Jacob, you’re so good at singing. Do you have some self-written songs?” He nods “I do, do you want to hear one?” You nod excitedly. “This one is called happy-” Jacob gets interrupted by Hyunjae storming into your room. Are you actually kidding me?
“Jacob, Sangyeon needs you to help him.” Jacob nods, stands up and thanks you for your time before leaving to help Sangyeon. You were hoping Hyunjae would leave with Jacob but instead he sits next to you on the bed, very close, leaving no personal space.
You're about to scootch away from him. But he places his hand on your thigh to stop you. Usually if a guy did this you would slap his hand away, but you can’t bring yourself to do that right now. “What’s with the distance? You’ve been avoiding me all week. Did you think I wouldn't notice?” He asks in a low voice. Your brain starts to fog up. “I-” You try to find words to say but nothing comes out. His face gets closer, never breaking eye contact with you.
“What? Do I make you nervous?” He smirks. You feel a bubble of annoyance come up. As you're about to reply with ‘no’, Eric storms in. “Y/n! ah Hyunjae, there you are!” “What do you want?” Hyunjae asks, clearly annoyed at Eric interrupting the two of you.
“Y/n, come play games with me. Hyunjae, you can come too if you want.” Hyunjae huffs and rolls his eyes. “Y/n, please.” Eric whines, now pulling your arm, trying to get you off the bed. “Okay okay.” You give in, scared to be alone with Hyunjae in one room. You would be lying if you say that your heart doesn't flutter every time you see him.
After an hour and a half of playing mario kart with Eric and Hyunjae, and you despite your sneaky protests, sitting in between them, and you beating both of them more than seven times, it’s finally time for dinner. And guess who you're sitting next to. Hyunjae.
“So guys, our break is ending. Our next group mission starts next week, so make sure you prepare for it well. I’ll tell you guys the details later.” Sangyeon announces and the boys cheer. “Finally I was so bored.” Changmin drops on his chair. “You're always bored, maybe you're just boring.” Eric laughs, making fun of him, but quickly stopping as Changmin points a knife at him.
After dinner Sangyeon and Chanhee offer to help clean up and Kevin helps you with the dishes. By the time you're done it’s late, so you decide to go to bed first. Since your escape is tomorrow, you need as much rest as you can.
»»————- ➴ ————-««
Today you woke up a little later than normally so you won't be tired tonight. You really need your energy to run as fast as possible. After you guys are done with eating breakfast you watch a drama with Juyeon, Haknyeon and Eric, do laundry and clean the house and by the time you're done it's time to prepare for dinner which Younghoon and Sunwoo helps you with.
After dinner you clean up with Eric and then go to your room to prepare your outfits. You grab a sweater from your closet and a pair of leggings that would be comfortable and warm, since it would be cold at night.
While you put them under your bed with your sneakers, someone knocks on your door. Finally someone who can knock, you think. “Come in.” Jacob comes in smiling at you. “Hi, am I disturbing you?” You shake your head sitting on your bed and he does the same.
“Well I just wanna tell you I'm very happy to have you here, you’ve been helping us a lot even though I know you don’t wanna be here and I really appreciate you. I would’ve given you a present, but I don't think you would appreciate stolen stuff.” He looks down at his knees, blushing a bit, cute.
You started to feel a pang of guilt in your heart, Jacob has been an angel to you ever since you first spoke to him but you couldn’t take it any longer, you wanted to leave. You needed to leave. Trying to enjoy the time you had left with him you guys spent hours talking about Canada, his childhood, why he doesn’t swear and about how much he loves basketball. You could watch him talk for hours. You nod to everything he says, trying to ignore the butterflies you feel when you two make eye contact.
»»————- ➴ ————-««
You look up at the clock in your room. 04:00. You get up from your bed and make your way to your bedroom door. You slowly open your door and walk to the stairs, quietly going down the steps and taking breaks every few steps. You mentally sigh when u make it downstairs u slowly make your way to the front door in the dark careful not to make a noise.
When you walk past the kitchen you decide to take a knife with you, just in case. When you get to the door you slowly open the door, cringing at the little squeak sound it makes in the process.
Once the door is wide enough for you to fit in, you step outside, leaving the door open, since the sound of the door closing might wake them up. You take a few quick steps till you reach further from the house.
Once you’re reaching the forest you hear the door slam open. Shit! You turn around before you start running. Sangyeon’s standing at the door. Clearly very angry. “Y/N!” You hear him scream as you start running fasters. You hear the others making a fuss as you take a turn right into the forest.
“God, she’s fast.” Kevin breathes out, taking a break from running. “Yeah, just let her go, I'm too tired.” Chanhee squats down, Younghoon doing the same. “No! she’ll report us to the police and then it’s over for us, we need to find her.” Sangyeon says before making his way to the forest, the others following behind him.
You notice the forest is on top of a hill, which makes you run down faster. You run way faster than expected, almost twisting your ankle when taking a turn left. The footsteps of the boys started to fade away but you didn’t slow down, adrenaline still rushing through your body.
“Y/N!” Sangyeon screams looking around, he stops running and waits for the others to catch up, when they do, he shares his plan. “Okay, we're splitting up in the units we use for our missions, call me when you find her.” And they all split up in their units, Sangyeon’s unit going left.
“How could she do this?” Eric sighs. “I mean we kidnapped her, this was bound to happen.” Hyunjae says. He hates to admit but he’s worried sick and hopes you're not hurt. He shrugs it off thinking it's just a normal reaction and that he’s not actually catching feelings for you.
After a while your running slows down and you start to get tired. You stumble across a huge fallen down tree and you decide to hide behind it. Cliche but you're so tired, you can barely feel your legs. Once you sit down, you bend a bit making sure your head isn’t visible. You sigh. Why did you have to be the one to get kidnapped, why did they have to rob the store you work at. You stop the tears you feel from flowing so it won’t block your sight.
“How fast is she, God.” You hear Changmin’s voice from a little distance. Shit. You're freaking out but remain in your position. You pray that they won’t see you, cause they’ll definitely kill you when they do. The voices are starting to fade and you take the opportunity to start running again, regaining the adrenaline you had earlier.
But you should’ve waited. Juyeon spots you. “There!” You hear him yell and they start running after you. You panic, taking a run right, into the darker part of the forest. You jump over another fallen tree and make your way further down. Once you lose them you slow down a bit. You can barely see anything, so you start walking.
Suddenly you feel two hands grab you. You startle and stab the person with the knife you're holding. “Ow!” Jacob. You panic as you start running again, feeling slightly bad that he was the one you stabbed. You hope he’s okay as you start running faster.
After a while you stumble over something that makes you fall down, hurting your knee and elbows. “Fuck.” You whisper, quickly getting up. Soon after you run into a tree hurting your chest and cheek. You were getting so tired, you couldn’t even focus on where you were running to. You prayed this all was just a bad dream and you would wake up in your own room again, remaining your normal life.
“Jacob what happened!” Sangyeon gives him a worried look. The boys gather around Jacob, who’s holding his arm. “She stabbed me.” He understands why you did it but it still hurts him. “God, she has a knife.” Sunwoo panics. “Younghoon and Chanhee, bring Jacob to the house and take care of his wound. The rest of us will keep on searching.” The boys nod at his order and split up again.
An hour passes and the boys still haven’t found you. Hyunjae starts to worry even more. They were all wearing a jacket, but you didn't. It was so cold around this time of the day and it would be so easy to freeze up. “Shouldn’t we just give up. The sun will start rising soon, she’ll probably show up again.” He suggests, but Sangyeon ignores him. He sighs. As much as he wants you to be free, he doesn’t want to let you go.
You’re just roaming around at this point. You have no idea how much time has passed, or if the boys have given up already. You think it might be easier to just stab yourself with a knife and just die. But you didn’t want to give up. You wanted your old life back. You finally see the end of the forest a couple meters away from you and run towards it. But something grabs you and spins you around. You look up and your eyes widen. Hyunjae.
»»————- ➴ ————-««
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silence-burns · 3 years
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Please Hate Me //part 48
Fandom: Marvel
Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?
Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter, smut
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Being the friendly neighborhood Spiderman always gave Peter a sense of pride and purpose, even if he could only share it openly with a few people. It was the kind of accomplishment that made all the hardships seem worth it in the end. It also made him happy in a way he couldn't really explain, but which involved a certain connection between him and the people he protected and got familiar with over the course of his superhero patrols.
But being the friendly neighborhood Spiderman was difficult in a neighborhood where no one was actually friendly in return.
Peter’s frown grew the further into the building he went. He was pretty sure it was the same one Loki and you had been renting an apartment in, and since he was a rather frequent guest, the neighbours should recognize him by now enough to at least return his greetings. 
That was what logic dictated, but Peter was pretty certain the people he met in the hallway only gave him a stern, disapproving look before walking past him quickly.
Peter was still frowning when he moved up the stairs, juggling the keys in his hand. Then he stopped. The unearthly screams of the damned were muffled, but most definitely coming from apartment number 13. 
Opening the door quietly, he slid into the familiar interior, now echoing with pain and suffering so loud, Peter had to cover his ears just enough to move to the root of all evil  - the bathroom. 
There were many inexplicable things Peter had witnessed happening in the apartment 13, and to some extent he got used to the thrill of not knowing what he'd face next time he paid a visit. Still, he hadn't expected to see various parts of a half-drowned owl sticking out of the sink filled thick with foam and bubbles. The owl must've struggled a lot, judging by the amount of water splashed on every possible surface, and the iron grip you and Loki still kept on the bird. Even if Loki was not wearing his usual features, it was still obvious who your partner in crime was.
The two of you froze. Soap and foam dripped to the floor. Loki's new form shimmered with a glamour only magic could achieve.
"Um, what are you guys doing?" Peter asked.
"Trying a new disguise?" The curtain of Loki's new long hair was luscious and utterly drenched. 
"No, I meant-"
"Listen, boy, as surprising as it might be for you, I'm still me, just with a less… criminally wanted image."
"Yeah, only if 'ME' stands for mischief embodied," you laughed.
"It literally doesn't. It's smooth, but it doesn't."
"Thank you, love. Now, could you please stop drowning poor Barbara?"
Loki sighed, but relaxed his grip on the bird just enough to allow it to peak its head out from under the surface and take a deep, long breath. 
Peter put his backpack down and meandered closer, dodging the growing puddles. "Why is there an owl in the sink?"
"Because I'm not allowing any fleas into my house," you firmly stated, pushing the wings back under the water. "And I don't care how many hours we'll spend here, I'm getting all the mud and dirt out."
Barbara clung to her dirt with all her might, but was overpowered and utterly misunderstood. Loki's new form was slimmer, but held the bird with his usual strength and a big dose of satisfaction. The smirk on his face was unchanged, even if the features were new.
"What do you need a disguise for anyway?" Peter asked, looking for a towel. "Can I go with you?"
"I'm afraid that as wildly chaotic and lawless as our destination is, you'd still be age-checked," Loki cooled his enthusiasm.
Barbara rushed to the towel and clung to it, loudly exclaiming what, precisely, she thought about her caretakers. Peter tried to dry her up as best as he could through her wriggling and screams. 
"Are you sure all this soap is good for her? Did you use any animal-friendly shampoo?"
Loki shrugged. "I doubt she can get any more dead."
The boy looked at the owl. The owl looked at the boy. The ruffled and drenched feathers were sticking out in all directions, uncovering a deep and no doubt fatal hole in her side. 
"You got a dead owl…?"
"It was not my idea," Loki groaned, casting the bird a disgusted stare in the mirror where he tried to change the shape of his eyebrows. 
"You're just angry because she likes me more," you laughed while mopping the floor.
Peter did his best to become invisible and not stare too openly at the ribs poking out of the feathers. Barbara puffed them every time he moved the towel around. The boy couldn't speak owlish, but the small, crittering noises she made were definitely far from happy.
"Where will you be going?" Peter asked. The owl sat on his knees and refused to move even after he finished drying her on the couch.
"To the largest casino on the Moon."
"Wait- There are casinos up there?"
"Not for kids your age," Loki said.
Peter slumped on the couch. "That's not fair."
"We'll be back before you notice." You threw the wet rag to the sink. "Of course, as long as a certain someone FINALLY decides what to wear."
Loki ignored your pointed look, too busy with changing his hair color. No matter how many little details he changed, he still struggled with finding a form he was sure would allow him to pass through the guards unnoticed and unrecognized. It was a shame he couldn't use his own - it felt like a waste to hide a face like his. 
The owl settled on Peter's shoulder, immobilizing him with the claws buried in his skin. But even from the couch, the boy could see the remnants of a hurricane that had thrown a rather alarming amount of clothes around the apartment.
"I thought these were yours," he admitted. The owl kept on looking through his hair with the utmost scrutiny and very little gentleness.
"I've settled long ago on what I'm going to wear. As for the diva himself, though…" you gestured around.
"I need it to be perfect," Loki said. "I have an important role to play, I can't just waltz in there and be recognized."
"You could go blond," Peter suggested.
"Ew, I don't want to look anything like my brother- Wait, that's actually a great idea."
Before any of you managed to protest, a full-grown Thor stood in Loki's place, watching himself from all angles in the mirror. The clothes no longer fit, so he dropped them and dove into the closet again.
"...what have I done?"
You patted Peter's free shoulder. Barbara nested in the crook of his neck. "Nothing they can prove. Hopefully."
*
"I am not my father's servant," not-Thor downed another beer. "And if I want to relax for just one evening, I shall!"
The tankard broke into tiny pieces as he smashed it on the ground. The loud applause and waves of laughter followed the very Thor-like outburst, making Loki relieved he was playing his role well. Even in a place like this, crowded with drunkards and gamblers from all over the universe, it was common knowledge what the god of thunder enjoyed.
Loki forced his glamoured face to remain cheerful as another tankard of beer had been brought to him, disgustingly sour and rough. He knew his brother well, and was sure he'd love it, but Loki himself would rather bite off his tongue than willingly digest any more if only he had an actual choice. He didn't, and therefore swallowed another gulp to the cheering from the crowds gathered at his table. The cards had been laid out, waiting for the victors to celebrate their success, and the rest to decide how much more money they were willing to lose to the god of thunder.
Seated in a great hall of marble and gold, Loki wished he could play the way he actually wanted to, which was the very same way that got him banned from the Moon last time he had visited. But for the sake of the mission, he stayed just above the line between bankrupting and winning money, which added to the body he was wearing, was just big enough temptation to keep his table busy.
Everyone entering the biggest casino on the Moon was inclined to try their luck, or at least take a quick look. It was a perfect, if rather boring, way of scanning everyone who entered the rich complex of buildings. The few fountains set further in the back murmured as they shot curtains of water. The air was thick and warm, making crowds of people inevitably gravitate towards them in search of any cold. With the tall, lush plants artistically winding over and between the pillars, it created little areas dotting the impossibly high hall, where the pleasant breeze gathered the people looking for just a moment of relief. You occupied a spot beneath the fountains, where most people would wind up going to at some point, and used it as a second checkpoint, just in case anyone missed Loki's, or rather his brother's table.
"Come on, does anyone else want to lose their fingers?" Loki heard you call out to the crowds.
Between their never ending sessions of losing and winning the money back just to lose them again, there were many individuals in need of a drink and a quick break from the gambling. How easy it was to grab their attention with a loud voice and a dead owl.
Loki stretched his neck and looked over to where you had sat down the bird with all kinds of currency piled between its claws and a single coin shining through the open ribcage. 
"All you need is to get the coin out, what's the matter, people? Is there no one brave enough to win all this money?"
Greed has always been a major deciding factor for the living beings regardless of race and the world of origin. The queue only rose in length as everyone wanted to try their luck. 
The table under Barbara grew more and more slick with blood from cut and bitten fingers. Pure malice shone in her dead eyes.
"What an awful creature," Loki muttered to himself. 
He could sense the stolen pin somewhere in the vicinity, but the casino was a loud and chaotic place, with multiple areas each centered around a different type of entertainment. More than an hour had already passed, but whoever was currently holding onto the pin, had not yet ventured anywhere near.
The two of you were slowly but inevitably running out of time. Odin might've been old and naive, but his spies' eyes reached far and wide. Loki had little doubt he would be interested in his favourite son's apparent evening fun, especially if he had that particular son with him, in the palace. Thor was a good cover, but not for much longer.
And then, by chance or a generous turn of fate, the shadows stirred and whispered. 
Loki cast the dice, not paying attention whether he'd won or lost. His money wasn't real anyway.
There - by the high palms stood the Hoarders, clad in the worn out rags and way too much jewelry. With their grey skin and long limbs, it was no wonder how easily they blended in with the shadows, using their skills to warp their surroundings and get in places others would consider highly secure. But their success was not measured in how many places they were capable of breaking in themselves, but rather how many individuals of all races they could easily befriend and bend to their will. Although, to be quite honest, Loki doubted the necromancer had needed much convincing. 
There were only three of them, each almost an identical copy of the others, but the Hoarders were encircled by both their partners for the evening and whatever scum tried to befriend them. That made it so much harder to approach them, but Loki was already thinking of a good excuse when he rose from his seat. People parted, giving him space - much more that would be granted to Loki's original form. 
The shadows whispered again. One of the ladies separated from the group, with an annoyed expression on her face.
Loki stretched, making sure to put his hands high. Once he caught your attention, he followed the lady at a leisurely pace.
"What do we do?" You asked once both of you entered the corridor and disappeared behind the corner. 
"She's got the pin."
One more turn took you in front of the ladies restroom. 
"Time for Plan C.” Loki began undressing quickly.
Holding a spare dress in your bottomless pocket was not the wisest choice, but it apparently paid off, even if fishing it out took you a moment. Your hands shook. Someone might have walked in on you at any time. While Loki would be doing whatever it took to get the pin back, you would be the one making sure no one interrupted him…
Like distracting the waiter that was now staring at both of you. Focused on the contents of your pocket, you hadn’t even noticed him approaching. Loki clad in only Thor's skin, blinked. 
The waiter turned on his heel and disappeared.
"I can already feel the gossip stirring," Loki shifted into a more feminine body, quickly putting on the dress. "They are going to eat my brother alive."
"Do you feel bad about it?"
"Oh, my heart is breaking into a million pieces," Loki assured you with a smile far too wide for that to be true. 
He kissed you quickly before disappearing into the restroom. 
Life felt amazing. Loki couldn't help but imagine the amount of trouble his brother would get once the word spread about his whereabouts.
His imagination was running wild, but the one thing Loki couldn't imagine was how, merely thirty minutes later, he'd find himself in the dungeons deep beneath the surface of the Moon, half-drowned, and viciously bitten.
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shootwinterfest · 5 years
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Happy Hunting
Shoot Secret Santa Gift by @lizburnz!
The navigation system chimes, “You have reached your destination,” and Shaw mashes on the brakes, simultaneously as she cuts the wheel.
The car screeches to a halt, slanted in a parallel spot, ridden halfway up the curb in front of some apartment buildings and a few startled pedestrians. She slams the gear into park and bolts before the tire smoke even has a chance to settle. Anything else vehicular related is irrelevant now, as she leaves the door hanging wide open and the engine still running. 
Root needs her- needs her help. With what? Specifically, Shaw doesn't know, but the short text with more exclamation points than words seemed pretty damn urgent. And since Root's phone has been going straight to voice mail ever since, she believes the threat to be serious, something that requires a second gun and Shaw's most preferred method of intervention. Shooting. 
But the neighborhood is quiet. Well, not that it shouldn't be, this early on a Saturday morning, but when Root's involved in anything there's usually some degree of chaos. Oddly, nothing seems to be out of place. No smoke means no fire, no screaming means no gunshots have recently gone off. The only person running like their life depended on it, is Shaw, who's starting to wonder if she's even at the right place. 
But it is the right place. 314 Avenue C. And Shaw knows this because it says so. Right there on the door. Behind Root. 
The woman who cried wolf lounges casually at the foot of the stoop, without a scratch on her head or a single care in the world. And though Shaw is somewhat relieved by the sight of neither dead nor dying Root, it doesn't make her any less perturbed, being pulled out of bed at the brink of dawn because someone can't quite grasp what constitutes an emergency. 
Shaw drags her feet the rest of the way, shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets so Root can't see how tightly they're balled into fists. She doesn't want to do anything she might regret, like punch a certain grin off a certain someone's face. Not until she has a valid reason at least. 
“Good morning,” Root sing songs in her usual pleasant way. 
“What is it this time?” Shaw asks, bypassing formalities completely. The faster she gets to the point, the faster she can turn down whatever it is and go home. 
“Let's see...” Root glances to the imaginary watch on her wrist. “Fifty-eight city blocks in less than twelve minutes. Wow, Shaw! I think you broke your old record.”
Shaw's eyes flutter into the back of her head. “Why am I here, Root?”
“Isn't that the age old question?” Root ambles to her feet with a large cup of coffee in hand. “Whole milk. No sugar. Just the way you like it,” she says, extending it towards a wary Shaw. 
Whether it's a hot cup-o-bribery or a peace offering, Shaw isn't sure, but she takes it anyway. “You know, this doesn't even begin to make up for-”
“Do you like hunting?” Root asks peculiarly and out of nowhere. 
Shaw just blinks. There isn't enough caffeine in this coffee, or in the entire city of New York, to help prepare her for the roller coaster that is Root's cryptics. 
The first thing that comes to mind is fugitive tracking of course, a literal man hunt. Now that, Shaw could get on on board with. But knowing Root, it's probably nothing so obvious and easy. It's two very different things, what Shaw thinks and what Root actually means. 
“It depends,” Shaw says, reluctant to commit without details first. She's learned the hard way too many times before. “What the target is... if I can shoot them... but mostly, my mood.”
“And...” Root leans in on the tips of her toes, “What kind of mood do you currently find yourself in this lovely day?”
“The pistol whipping kind of mood if you don't cut the crap and tell me what you want.”
Root pouts half-heartedly, slipping a piece of paper from her coat pocket, to which Shaw snatches and unfolds. Written on it, in barely legible hacker scrawl, is a list of addresses that still do everything but answer Shaw's question. 
“They're apartments,” Root clarifies. “I need your help finding one.”
A map could do a better job. Hell, Root's practically got a GPS system and then some squawking in her ear. But maybe it's more than that, Shaw thinks. Maybe there's a bomb planted in one, or a missing person tied to a radiator. Looking closer at the list, she finds a four digit number beside each address. Next to that, some kind of code... 2/1 1700SF W/D... 
But it isn't until Shaw reads the part about “no pets” that she shoves the paper back at Root. 
“This is why you 911'd me? To help you house hunt!” Shaw says, gaping in amazement. “Are you out of your damn mind?”
Root throws her an obvious look. 
“I thought you were...” Hurt. Dying. Both. The potential of either could light a fire of apocalyptic proportions under Shaw's ass, and Root seems to relish the fact. “Do you know how many traffic laws I just broke?”
Root shrugs. “All of them, I imagine.”
Shaw deadpans her for a moment, mystified as she internally debates whether or not she should spoil her knuckles today with an all you can beat buffet of Root's face. Shaw nearly mowed down a group of tourists crossing the street, sideswiped about a dozen parked cars, ran every single red light while doing quadruple the speed limit. For christsake, she car jacked someone at gunpoint. And for what? For the exciting, once in a lifetime mission of finding analogue-interfull-of-shit a place to live?
“Happy hunting,” Shaw eventually says and turns heel in the opposite direction. And of course it isn't the last word. Root follows on her heals and whines in her wake, with things like please and wait and a few pet names she isn't allowed to call Shaw in public. 
“You're bored, I get it,” Shaw tells her in stride. “The Machine gave you the day off, so instead of annoying relevant numbers, you've decided to annoy me instead. I get it.”
“No, that isn't-” Root groans in frustration. “Will you please just hear me out?” and she hooks an arm around Shaw's to stop her. “I called you because, one, I value your opinion. And two, I thought you'd like to be a part of a mutually beneficial decision.”
“How in the world does this benefit me?”
“Think of it like this. The sooner I get a key to my own place, the sooner you can have yours back,” Root says and places an encouraging hand on Shaw's shoulder, which is batted off not a second later when the information is really processed.
“You have a key to my apartment?”
“I made copies.”
“Wait. Copies, plural?” As in more than one? “Seriously, Root. What the fuck.”
“Look, we can stand here, arguing semantics for the next 45 seconds until your stolen vehicle is swarmed by cops, plural, or...” Root jingles a set of car keys like a carrot on a stick. “I'll even let you drive,” she adds, and Shaw doesn't have much time to mull it over, not with all the sirens wailing in the distance. 
“Fine,” Shaw finally agrees, though it was a tough decision to make. The back seat of a squad car or Root's- where is her car? 
She presses the clicker and follows the faint little beep across the street, to where the vintage muscle car sits. Not just any muscle car though, a cherry red, 1967 Mustang twin turbo V8 in pristine condition. And Shaw knows this, because it looks just like the car Harold has, locked in his garage. The one he brags about all the time, having spent years restoring it to near mint. The one he never drives or lets anyone else drive, for the matter. 
“How'd you get Finch to lend you his car?” Shaw asks, quickly realizing how dumb her question sounds aloud. Especially to Root, who just throws her head back and laughs. 
The first stop of the list is on the upper east side, to a twenty something story apartment building fitted with a starch press suited doorman and a security guard station, which Shaw deems is more for appearances sake. Armed with walkies, flashlights, and pens for the sign in sheet, they let Root and Shaw breeze right by with their fake ID's and concealed weapons.
It's no surprise when Root hits the “P” for penthouse button in the elevator. She's not exactly the humble type, or one to underplay any sort of small endeavor.
A well dressed blonde woman greets them right off the elevator, shining a permanent smile of all veneer that never lets up even while she speaks. Root gingerly accepts the pamphlet offered, glossing over it as she absently wanders about the main living area, which is two times bigger than Shaw's entire apartment. And white. All white. The carpets, the walls, even the staging furniture. Lord forbid anyone so much as whisper the words red wine or tomato sauce, or in Root's predictable case, blood. 
“Seems nice,” Root says while Shaw shuffles alongside like a bored child. 
“Then buy it.” The sooner Root signs the deal, the sooner she can get back to her regularly scheduled program of having absolutely nothing to do on her day off. 
“The master bath apparently has a built in sauna...” Root gives her a little nudge, “Guess how many settings the smart shower has?”
“Enough to replace me.”
“Not likely,” but then Root lowers the pamphlet in introspect. “Unless I could program it to be mean to me...”
“Ha. Ha.”
“I'm gonna have a look around.”
“And I...” Shaw scans the room, searching for the oasis in this desert of white hell, “...will see you later,” and she branches off towards the refreshment table.
It's probably the best thing about an open house. Well, if you're Shaw and you have no intent on buying anything. The free food. And not just tired old finger sandwiches either. The last time Shaw's seen a spread like this, she was undercover at a political fundraiser for what's his name running for office of who cares. 
Shaw sips a bellini from a flute as she grazes the table, helping herself to a little of this and that. At some point she does make threatening eye contact with the foolish person who tried reaching for the last salmon wrap, but all is pleasant and well for the most part. She get's to explore her pallet, Root gets to explore the apartment. A win-win so far in her book. 
“God! You wont believe the offer that tacky-khaki couple just proposed.”
Inconspicuously, Shaw glances a little ways to her right. The fake toothed woman who greeted them earlier stands with another, conversing in whispers and hushed voices. Well they'd like to believe no one else can hear them.
“An open house... what was Harriet thinking? Letting anyone waltz in off the street?”
“We'll have to fumigate when this is over.”
“Would you look at all the riff-raff?”
Shaw follows the acrylic red finger nail as it not so discretely flicks across the room. Of all the people scattered about the living area, she decides to pick out Root. 
“What do you think her net worth is?”
“If that ugly leather jacket's anything to go by. I saw holes in it.”
“And the hair...
“I like her boots though...”
“So did I- five seasons ago!”
Their annoying laughter eventually fades into the violin music, but Shaw's temper continues on it's high note. In her head, she's already plotted half the steps towards their accidental deaths, because no one – no one – is allowed to talk crap about Root. Except for Shaw, that is. 
And under any other circumstance, she'd just go over there and confront the two women with a lesson in manners. Incidentally, fists are a great learning tool for most people. 
Oh, but where would that get her? Wanted by the police, probably, if that little car jacking stunt didn't already land a warrant for her arrest. But it would be fun, well fun for Shaw, to give those rent-a-cops downstairs a run for their money. 
No, she eventually decides. There are more subtle ways to exact revenge. 
She sidles over to the group of young hipsters first, who have gathered by the fire place pretending to admire the brickwork. 
“Did one heck of a clean up on this place, huh?” she says, cutting into their conversation at just the right moment. 
They turn to her with mixed expressions. “What do you mean?” one of them asks. 
Shaw leans in. “Oh, you don't know?” she says in a hushed voice, so secretive and curious, it demands the group's undivided attention. All but one.
The guy with thick rimmed glasses just scoffs at her. “What? Did some dude die here or something?”
“More like dudes. Plural,” Shaw replies and glasses guy stops laughing. “A few months back, this tech company was having their big launch party here. Well, during the party, one of the partners totally loses it and I mean loses it. I heard, it was because the other partners were trying to cut him out... guess he thought he'd beat them to it.” and she unfolds the rest of the scene, in graphic detail with complementary stabbing gestures. To the point, a few of them turn a sickly shade of pale. 
But glasses guy, the apparent leader of the pack, needs more convincing. 
“Come on! How do you not remember this?” Shaw says, and name drops a famous New York magazine that all the people like them claim to read but never do. 
And suddenly, him and the rest of the group are singing a different tune, nodding their heads and collectively muttering things like: Oh yes, I remember that article and Such a tragedy and It's too bad, I heard they were really up and coming... 
“Yeah.” Shaw gazes solemnly at the fireplace. “That's where they found the head... threw it like it was a bowling ball.”
Like before, they stare at the fireplace. Albeit, in utter silence and for new and morbid reasons now, but Shaw takes it as her cue to move on. 
And move on she does, to the pleasant older couple standing by themselves in the kitchen, which is also bigger than Shaw's apartment as well. They look a bit out of place. Suburban, perhaps midwestern. Shaw isn't sure just yet, but they definitely aren't like the rest of the people who live here. 
“Excuse me,” Shaw says, all smile and cheer. “I couldn't help but notice, you two aren't from around here, are you?”
“Oh, heavens no!” The woman replies. Her accent is unmistakably southern and thick as molasses. “We're visiting our daughter. She just graduated from NYU!”
“Edna, you don't gotta tell everyone we meet,” the husband grumbles. “Hell, half of New York City knows by now.”
“No, it's fine,” Shaw politely reassures them. “You two must be very proud. Are you looking to move here as well, or?”
The woman side eyes the man. “Well, I would like to... It'd be nice to live closer to our little girl. Not  to mention the broadway... But Richard here's an old stick in the mud.” she leans in to whisper only to Shaw, “He doesn't take to change very well.” The man grumbles again. 
“I totally understand. When I first moved here, it took me a while to get acclimated. I mean, the first time I was mugged-”
“You were mugged?” The woman clasps her chest. “Oh, you poor thing!”
“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, “You get used to it. After a dozen times or so it's just like muscle memory. Wallet, phone, jewelry, please don't kill me.” Shaw acts it out like a routine. The grand finale, pulling the bottom of her shirt. “I was stabbed a block away from here, wanna see the scar?”
Their southern manners come to a full stop and they leave without so much as a goodbye or a bless your heart. Filled with a sense of crudely gained accomplishment, Shaw blows the smoke from the imaginary barrel of her imaginary gun and sets her sights on other targets. 
One by one, they're taken out. She tells the uptight newly weds the apartment had been used as a movie set for prestigious films such as Gang-Bangs of New York, and One Fuck Over the Cuckhold's Nest, and Forrest Hump. 
The leader of the co-op board has a portrait of Hitler hanging in his foyer. The neighbor downstairs is prone to clanging pots and pans at odd hours of the night because the voices tell her to. The walls are coated with so much lead paint, the apartment could double as a fallout shelter from radiation. And the whole building is haunted by failed venture capitalists, Shaw said to another person, and when his back was turned, she flickered the light switches. 
And alright, that last one was mediocre at best, she admits. But in her defense, the one too many bellinis were starting to kick in a that point and she was running out of material. Thankfully, Root had come full circle by then, finished with her browsing. 
“What do you think?”
“I heard the foundation's crumbling-” Shaw covers her mouth, pushing back the bubbly. “Whole place is gonna level in like a year.”
Root flashes her a look of disbelief, “That's absurd,” and returns to the brochure in hand. “I think it's pretty nice,” she says, and goes on and on about all the nice features and the nice amenities and the nice view.
“You!” 
They look up and see the teethy realtor clomping her heels in their direction. “Aw, shit,” Shaw whispers when the woman turns her pointed red nail to her this time.
“Just where the hell do you get off! I lost potential buyers because of you!”
Shaw blinks, unfazed by this woman practically yelling in her face. However, Root's rather confused, bordering the edge of worried. 
“What is she talking about?” Root asks, one of her hands sliding to the taser tucked in the back of her pants. Hovering, like she's unsure whether or not it's going to be necessary in the next ten seconds.  
“I don't know,” Shaw replies with an innocent shrug at first, until she completely abandons the concept of an inside voice. “Must be all the asbestos in the air!” she shouts and the rest of the room, the few people she hadn't managed to scare off, they all clam up and turn bug eyed in their direction. 
For a moment, the realtor panics and her fake smile returns to settle the crowd. “You need to leave!” she says through gritted teeth. “Both of you need to leave, immediately!”
“Way ahead of ya, sister.” Shaw says and calls out over her shoulder, “Wouldn't want to get a stupid thing like lung cancer or anything!” At this point, Root looks like she's going to taser Shaw instead. 
“Let's go, Sameen,” she says, perturbed and not in a mild way, judging from grip she has on Shaw's elbow. 
And still... “Really, you think they'd shell out a few extra bucks to remove hazardous materials from the walls!” Shaw manages one last time before she's shoved into the elevator.
Root jabs the lobby button and the doors close. She turns to Shaw with a myriad of emotions, some embarrassment, a little confusion, but mostly anger in her eyes. Shaw can feel them boring into the side of her face.
“What?” Shaw eventually shrugs. “Something you wanna say, Root?”
Root crosses her arms, tightly over her chest. “Something you wanna say, Shaw?”
Shaw rolls her eyes to the top of the door, watching the floor numbers fall on the screen for moment before clearing her throat. “Your hair looks nice today.”
Miles later in Midtown...
Together, they loiter the sidewalk in front of the next apartment Root might potentially rent, if the realtor ever decides to make an appearance. They've been waiting over a half an hour now. 
“What's taking so long?” Shaw asks, again. 
“Traffic, probably.” Root shrugs. She doesn't seem to mind the waiting as much as Shaw does. Then again, she doesn't have anywhere else to be. And neither does Shaw, but that's besides the point. Tardiness is just unprofessional. 
“Call them.”
“I've already called five times,” Root tells her. “No one's picking up.”
“When?” Shaw asks. She hadn't seen Root touch her phone at all. 
Root just taps the shell of the cochlear implant hiding beneath her hair. Oh yes, how could have Shaw forgotten, the ethereal blue tooth connection to robot overlord. 
“I still don't understand why the Machine couldn't help you with this,” Shaw says to her. “Seems it'd be a heck of a lot easier. Beep boop beep... an apartment appears.”
Root smirks at her sideways, “You know that's not how it works.” 
“Why not? I mean, she can make up elaborate identities for you, reposition satellites in orbit for you-”
“She can also tell me how many times you've watched Eat, Pray, Love... this month.”
Shaw glares to the side of Root's face trying, and failing to keep the amusement all to herself. But she's distracted for a moment, there's a passerby who's taking too long to pass by Harold's car. “Keep moving! So her abilities fall just short of finding her favorite asset a place to live?”
“She wants me to be more...” Root chews the inside of her cheek, “Independent, was the word she used.”
For once, Shaw's in agreement with Root's girlfriend. 
“I'm pretty sure this is the exact opposite of what she meant,” Shaw teases. That is unless, the definition of independence changed over night and no one bothered to say anything. 
“She also thinks we don't spend enough quality time together,” Root quickly adds, casually with a flip of her hair. 
“Yeah, right,” Shaw scoffs at that. She'd like to know what the Machine would have to say about being  slandered and used as a pawn for Root's own projections. “We spend lots of time together. Too much if you ask me.”
“Numbers don't count.”
“You come over all the time,” Shaw argues. Root just lets herself right in, with all those keys she's made.
“Sex doesn't count either.”
“Then what- Hey buddy! You wanna lose that hand!” Shaw shouts at a particularly touchy admirer of Harold's car. “What does count?” she finally asks. Really, she wants to know, how she can possibly spread her time thinner than it already is. “Does this count?”
Root thinks about it for a moment. “I'm not sure yet. But I'll let you know.”
“Right.” Shaw shakes her head; Root can be impossible at times. The 'issue' can go on the back burner for now, Shaw decides. They've got to move forward with the day, which is no longer dependent on the no-show realtor. 
The front door of the building is locked, go figure, but that doesn't repel Shaw. There's an intercom system right beside it with dozens of names, each having their own call button. Shaw mashes all of them and waits. 
In no time does the speaker crackle with static and slews of voices, speaking all at once in a melody of Hello? Who is it? and What the fuck do you want?
“Time Warner Cable,” Shaw says into the box and almost immediately, a buzzer goes off and unlocks the door. Shaw opens it and turns to Root still waiting on the sidewalk. “You coming or what?”
Root leads her upstairs and down the short hallway. “This is the one,” she says, pointing to the lock for Shaw to pick, which she does so effortlessly.
The inside is just as bland as the outside. The walls are coated in a neutral beige color that matches the carpet in all the rooms. A single bedroom, an eat in kitchen, a reasonably sized living area with a few windows and an okay view of the coffee shop all these midtowners mill about. And that's pretty much it. Though, Shaw thinks that was Martha Stewart crossing the intersection. 
“I don't hate it,” Root sums up, having toured the entire place in less than a minute. 
“But you don't like it either.”
“Eh.” Root shrugs. “It's just hard to picture myself living here, without my things.”
An idea pops into Shaw's head. “Okay, how about...” she thinks aloud and surveys the area. “Your desk can be here, in the living room, since you don't watch TV anyways...” She moves to the kitchen next. “You can put a little cafe table here... coffee pot here... and hey look, extra cabinet space for things that aren't cooking related.”
“I know how to cook, Shaw.”
“Name one time you cooked anything,” Shaw asks, but immediately stops Root the second her mouth opens. “Let me rephrase. Cooked anything that wasn't eventually used as tear gas.”
“Okay, you've got me there,” Root concedes. “Please continue.”
Shaw leads her to the bedroom. “The bed can go here. Nightstand with the lava lamp right next to it. Dresser here. Bean bag- if you still want it, there. The closet's kinda small... you'll have to get rid of a few jackets, but-”
“Wait,” Root interrupts. “Go back to the part about the bed.”
Shaw back tracks a few steps. “The bed goes here and-”
“Right here?” Root asks, edging closer and closer. 
And Shaw's so distracted with her fake floor plan, she thinks nothing of it. She doesn't realize Root's been methodically backing her into the wall until her back actually hits the wall. 
“And, what do you imagine we'd be doing on this bed, Sameen?” Her voice drops an octave in Shaw's ear, tingling like those fingertips skirting the inside hem of her jeans. 
“I can think of a few things...” Shaw whispers, tracing the heat radiating from Root's lips inches away from her own. “On this bed, and then, that bureau over there.”
Root flashes a grin and presses it to Shaw's, briefly though. The kiss was only a ruse to take Shaw's lip between her teeth and tease some more before letting go. “I want you to know...” Root sighs as her hands circle around Shaw's wrists, “I'm really sorry about this.”
What that means? Shaw doesn't know. She barely had time to process anything Root said, because as soon as Root said it, she was spun around and pinned to wall with her arms locked behind her back. 
“Whatthafuck!”
“Just go with it sweetie,” Root tells her, and not a second later do they hear footsteps coming down the hall and a man's voice calling out shakily. “Hello? Is someone there?”
He double takes when he sees them, his face conveying a look of surprise and slight fear for his life. “What's going on here? Who are you?”
“Special Agent Augusta King,” Root announces. As swiftly as she got the jump on Shaw, her free hands whips out a black leather bound badge that says FBI. “We received an anonymous tip about a wanted criminal hiding out in the building.”
“Here? In this building?” the man stutters in shock.
“Are you the tipper, sir?” Root asks, meanwhile, zip tying Shaw's wrists together for the bonus effect. So tight, Shaw thinks she's actually in trouble with the federal government. 
“No, I live next door, I was just going-”
“So you heard suspicious activity from the vacant apartment right next to you and didn't think to report it?” Root says, catching him off guard. “Sir, are you aware that harboring a fugitive of the law is a felony offense?”
Shaw grumbles, “Like impersonating a-” 
Root silences her with a good shove.
“Woah, wait a minute,” the man backs away, hands up in defense. “I had no idea she was- I wouldn't harbor anything!”
“You'll be hearing from my offices.” Root begins escorting Shaw out into the hallway, pausing to glare at the man as she passes. “Don't leave town.”
By the time they exit the front door, Shaw is more than done with the whole charade. Immediately, she shirks out of Roots grip, fuming slightly as she strains for the folding knife in her back pocket. “I can't believe you- no wait, I can!” The zip tie snaps free after a bit of sawing.
“I'm not the one who left the door wide open.”
The few choice words bubbling in the back of Shaw's throat, simmer down. Root's right. She did leave the door open. Like some kind of fucking amateur. She rubs her sore wrists, bitter. “What are you still doing with that thing anyway?”
“I don't know.” Root jogs the badge in her hands. “It does come in handy though.”
Shaw shakes her head. From the corner of her eyes, she notices a suspicious group of hoodlums beginning to circle Harold's car like vultures on a carcass. 
“Gimme that!” Shaw snatches the goddamn badge out of Root's hands and flips it out with an, “FBI! Freeze!” The little bastards bolt in all directions, and Shaw hums to herself. “How come I never got one of these?” 
Later and lower on the east side...
Jerri, a fast talking woman from Queens who looks like Fusco's sister, hustles them up the stairs of a run down walk up. The bellinis Shaw guzzled earlier threaten to make a second appearance as they round the landing of floor number six. More so when she sidesteps a ragged baby doll lying in a questionable pool of something awful slicked on the floor. 
“Not much further,” the woman tells them. “Just a few more floors!”
“She said that- three floors ago!” Shaw huffs in tow.
“Try to keep up, Shaw,” Root says, jogging the steps with ease, at a steady rhythm that's utterly baffling. Considering Shaw's never seen her so physically active at something that didn't involve
“Coming...” Shaw grumbles and picks up the pace. She reaches the top floor well behind them, out of breath. “I gotta start working out again.”
Jerri pulls out a ring of keys bigger than a steering wheel and starts sifting through them. “It's gotta be one of these,” she says and tries a few but to no avail. “Doh!” she smacks her forehead. “Silly me, we went too high! It's two floors down!”
Shaw deadpans. “Are you fu-” Root jabs her with an elbow, “Funny! Aren't you just funny!” 
“Down we go!” Jerri cheers, waving at them to follow her once again. Shaw wouldn't follow this woman if she were the most relevant number of her career. But Root insists, so she has no choice but trudge back down the stairs. 
The door, the right one this time, it looks like it was breached with a battering ram and glued back together. It sticks as Jerri tries to push it open. Shaw wishes she hadn't been able to unjar it from the frame, when they finally step foot inside.
Cramped is an understatement. Claustrophobia is an increasing possibility for Shaw as they stand shoulder to shoulder in what the realtor calls a studio apartment. More like a closet. 
“Why don't I give you the grand tour!” Jerri says. 
Shaw turns her head left, then right, then back again. “I think I've just had it.”
“Oh, she's hysterical! Does she do stand up?”
“Only when she can't sit down.” Shaw wriggles free of the pair for more space, but doesn't get much. The square footage of this place barely pushes the three digit realm. 
The detail Jerri goes into as she tries to upsell this apartment gives Shaw the idea, she's either the most optimistic woman in the world or the biggest hustler in New York real estate. And if it's the latter, Root's the most patient mark, letting this con artist finish her entire spiel of blatant lies. 
“Look Root, I'm in the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. At the same time.”
“I think what my friend is trying to say-”
“Her friend...” Shaw interrupts, until she realizes that Root didn't actually put the word girl in front of friend first. For once. “Never mind, carry on.”
“There just isn't a lot of space,” Root puts delicately. 
“Space? There's plenty of space!” Jerri fires back, jazzed and sorts. “What this place lacks in size, it makes for in compartmentalization!” and she goes on to show them, the hidden cabinets in the in the walls, the drawers underneath the diagonal slant in the staircase frame. “And!” she claps her hands together before grabbing the the lonely painting from the wide wall. Underneath is a latch like rope, which she pulls. “Tada!”
A bed flops out of the wall and Shaw stares at it, unblinkingly. “You've got to be kidding me.”
“May we have a moment please?” Root says, and Jerri the realtor goes into the kitchen, two feet away. 
Shaw whispers to Root. “This whole thing is one bad pullout joke. You can't actually be serious.”
“So what?” Root replies. “It's not like I'll be around to mind it so much.”
“Well, I mind it!” 
Root smiles as she bats her lashes. “Planning sleepovers already?”
“Not if I have to unhinge the bed every time I wanna-”
“Want to what, exactly?” Root teases, for a moment, until Shaw's dead serious face hits home. “Okay, okay.” She clears her throat for Jerri to end her fake phone call. “Do you have anything else available?”
“Preferably not coffin-sized,” Shaw adds. 
It's like a light bulb flickers over Jerri's head. She frantically searches through the mess of sordid papers in her haphazardly thrown together briefcase until she finds the one. The holy grail of documents, she holds it up. “Yes!” she exclaims at first, then presses it to her chest, distraught. “No, I don't! Technically, the application's still pending and I can't show you.”
“Come on, Jerri,” Root says, putting on half her charm. “We just wanna look. Where's the harm in that?”
She gives it some thought. Not much. “Oh, what the heck? You've convinced me. It's only three floors down, come on, I'll show you.”
“Let's hope she's got the right building at least,” Shaw says and Jerri bursts in laughter. 
“Honey, if your job doesn't involve a stage and microphone, you gotta change careers because you are-”
“Hysterical?” 
The other apartment is nothing like the previous. It's as if they've slipped into an alternate universe on the stairwell, because there's no possible way this is the same building. Root's in awe the moment she walks in, her eyes lighting up in a way Shaw's never seen before, well, when it comes to this sort of thing. 
Crown molding lines the walls, coated in a scheme of rich blues soft whites. The long paneled windows that stretch from the living room all the way to the kitchen fill the spacious interior with honest light. And the view, Shaw's never considered Midtown to be a scenic place. Then again, she wasn't looking through this window. 
“You've been holding out on us, Jerri,” Shaw tells her. For the first time today, she approves.  
“About that other application,” Root says, “What if you accidentally misplaced it?”
“Say no more, sweetheart.” Jerri bats a hand. “My family's from Sicily. I know all about that sort of thing. We'll go to my office, lose some paperwork, sign some paperwork, have ya in here in no time,” she says, and starts ushering them towards the door. Quickly, adamantly. Suspiciously. 
“Wait,” Shaw says. There's something missing, something she's not telling them. “What's the catch?”
“Catch? What catch? You two look like a nice couple, I wanna cut you a break, that's the catch.”
“We're not-” Shaw rubs the bridge of her nose. “Look, no offense, but this is all too good to be true.” There's got to be something wrong with it, Shaw can feel it in her bones. Shit plumbing, rats in the walls, a weird smell that only comes around during certain times of the day. Something. 
“Listen, I got pristine records going back thirty years on this place. You can take a look for yourselves, but we gotta go down to my office fir-”
“Shh!” Shaw holds a finger up, silencing the room. “Did you hear that?” Her ears keen to the faint, muffled noises. “It's coming from the living room.”
“Yeah, you know what,” Jerri hastily explains in Shaw's wake. “I know what that is. The neighbors are redoing their kitchen. On a Saturday, can you believe it?”
Shaw ignores her and presses her ear to the wall, listening for the noise that seems to have gone away now.
“See? What'd I tell ya? Now if you don't mind, I-”
There's a loud crash suddenly. Something had smacked against the other side of the wall with such force, it rattled the hanging lights and shook the floor. 
Shaw slowly backs away as more, lesser thumps follow. Steadily, like a beat from a drum. And not seconds later, the moaning starts. Unmistakably from a man and oddly, a very strict sounding woman who seems rather disappointed in him.
“And...” Shaw turns to Root with her I told you so face. “there's the catch.”
“Rent controlled nymphos...” Jerri hisses and then smacks the wall, “Hey! Some of us are trying to work over here! Not that you care! Can't go one minute without screwing each other's brains out! Literally!”
“Are they?” Curiosity in her eyes, Root steps closer to have a listen for herself, and it's completely unnecessary. With walls so thin and neighbors so loud, she could stand in any room and still hear all the graphic details of their sexcapades. So it's really a bit extra of Root to flatten the whole side of her face against the wall like that. “Oh, Jerri, you have been holding out on us.”
Shaw rolls her eyes, “Come on, we're leaving,” and takes Root by the arm.
“No, Shaw wait! It's getting better!” Root protests as she's literally dragged to the door. “Shaw, I heard a paddle!”
….
The end in East Village.
“I don't think I've ever heard the word charming used to describe so many not charming things in my life,” Shaw says. She fiddles with the butter knife at the table while she waits for her order. They decided- well, Shaw insisted they stop for a late lunch, and the Russian owned deli on 7th was the closest eatery that wasn't a letter grade away from being quarantined. “How is a giant water stain on the ceiling charming?”
“Depends on how you look at it,” Root replies, her head in the piece of paper lain on the table top. She's been scribbling on it since they sat down. The list from earlier today looks nothing like it did, crumpled up, torn at the edges and for some reason, wet. Nearly all of the address had been crossed out, angrily by the look of it. 
Shaw twirls the utensil in her fingers. “I thought it looked like Margaret Thatcher.”
“I'm not getting sucked into this argument again.” Root draws another x over something and brings the pen to her lips, chewing at the end. “It was Barbara Bush anyway...”
Shaw snatches the paper from Root's unsuspecting hands. 
“Hey I need that,” Root says. Her attempts of retrieving it are all in vain. “Shaw, I still haven't decided which one I- where did you get those glasses?”
“Glove box,” Shaw replies, lifting the shades from her eyes to squint at the paper. “Didn't think I could get a hangover before I fell asleep.”
“Can I have it back, please? It's important.”
Shaw throws the glasses aside. “Root, these are all crap. You know this.”
“But I need to pick one.”
“Seriously, have you never gone apartment shopping before?” Shaw asks. Judging from the look on Root's face, she hasn't. “Root. Just make a new list.”
She sinks into the booth, whining pitifully. “But I hate this so much, Shaw. Can't I just live with you? Please?” 
Root smiles, full charm this time. And Shaw jumps when she feels something crawling up the length of her thigh. Luckily the waiter comes with the food, so Shaw has a valid excuse for evicting Root's foot from her crotch. 
“Independence.” Shaw reminds her before grabbing the sandwich off of the plate. She's about to take a bite, but pauses midway. An odd feeling had struck her, a feeling like she's being watched and not by a secret system.
Leaned against the wall, slumped in her seat, is Root, staring at Shaw's sandwich with a weird lust in her eyes. If she was hungry, then she should have ordered something. So tough, Shaw thinks, bringing the sandwich to mouth again and goddamnit!
Shaw cuts the fucking thing in half and slides the plate across the table. Root smiles to herself and takes a nibble and then just- chomps down. Shaw can't believe what shes seeing right now.
“This is the best sandwich I've ever had,” Root says, at least that's what Shaw thinks she says. Root's mouth is so full, and yet, she keeps trying to fill it. 
“As a person who's had a lot of sandwiches, I-”
“Shut up and eat it, Shaw!”
Without further protest, Shaw takes a bite. Her eyes roll into the back of her head. “Oh my fucking god.” It is the best sandwich she's ever had. Why is Root right all the time?
“So, tomorrow...” Root manages to swallow the rest without choking. “New day, new list, perhaps a new car even? I heard Harry's got a viper tucked away in cold storage.”
Shaw chews on it. As fun as it was gallivanting around this charming city with Root... she'll have to pass. “Sorry, you're on your own for round two. I'm busy.”
“I checked. You're not.”
What is this? Slow season for criminal activity? “I'm taking a personal day.”
“Fine,” Root says, dabbing with the napkin before it's surly tossed aside. “I'll be wandering Hell's Kitchen tomorrow if you change your mind.”
“Okay, Root.” Shaw snorts, almost choking on her food. “Give your taser a good charge before you do.” She'll definitely need it for that side of town- if she were actually going. 
Shaw's not stupid, she recognized the pattern as soon as she saw the list. All the stops they've made so far today were along the 4 train, which lets off near Subway HQ and coincidentally, right by Shaw's apartment.
They step outside the deli and Shaw gives the place a nod as she slips the glasses back on. The sign is in Russian, and unfortunately, none of it involves the ten words she knows. “Goodbye restaurant I don't know the name of.”
“Actually,” Root says, glancing up at the sign. “It think it says sandwich, well, bread meat bread, but you get the picture.” 
“Hmm.” Shaw shrugs. She's halfway to the car, that better not be stolen, when she notices Root isn't behind her. Doubling back, Shaw finds her standing at the deli's window, staring at a sign that says For Rent – Inquire Within. 
They inquire within. 
The owner of the deli; a burly, grey bearded and rather abrasive gentleman named Vlad, throws his dirty apron over his shoulder and yells something wild in Russian to the cooks behind the counter. 
“Come! We go!” he then yells to Root and Shaw, and leads them out and around the building, through several locked doors and up a rickety old freight elevator, all while cursing in his native tongue. And Shaw's sure of this because most of those words he's using, are the same ones she's used to start bar fights overseas. 
“You go, I wait,” Vlad says, and shoos them off the elevator. 
It's was an industrious space converted to a loft by the previous owners. The concrete floors were replaced with dark hard wood for a more domestic feel, but the steel pillars remained. Carved out to one side, the obvious kitchen accustomed with marble counter tops, a range, and a classic style refrigerator. And in the far corner, the porcelain bathroom with the large clawfoot tub, partitioned by a wall of glass blocks. 
Root turns circles, marveling the expanse of open floor plan. “I have no words, Shaw.” 
“I'm shocked,” Shaw replies, but it has nothing to do with this rare real estate gem they've stumbled upon by sheer luck. Root's non-stop motormouth has suddenly run out of fuel and hell has actually frozen over. 
But in the weird trend of today's events, Shaw checks and double checks everything. That the light switches turn on and the water runs from the faucets. She test the sturdiness of the steel beams and the thickness of the walls. She stomps around in her steel toed boots for weak spots in the floor. In the end, everything seems to be in working order. The radiator is blasting heat, the toilet is flushing, and yes, the refrigerator is also running. 
The second Shaw mentions roof access, Root's falling over to make a deal. 
Vlad may be limited in English, but he understands the universal language of money and the giant wad of cash Root suddenly pulls out of her pocket. He shoves a set of keys in her hand and goes off on Russian tangent as he counts the money.
“He says...” Root pauses to listen. “No checks, no cards, rent is cash only...”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
“I did some work for the Russian mob- long story,” Root tells her before she's back to translating. “I'm supposed to put the money in an envelope and slip under his door... on the first of the month, not the second, or... well that doesn't sound very pleasant.”
Shaw's eyes widen some. She tries to ask what the she means by that, but Root shushes her with a raised finger.
“There is one rule... don't bother me. If you do not bother me, I will not bother you and everything will be... cookies and cream?”
“What does that mean?”
“Sorry, I'm a bit rusty.” Root tunes back in, nodding profusely at the last part before he shakes her hand and leaves. 
“What did he just say to you?”
Root turns to her. “He said, My name is Vladimir Baronov Petrovich, and I fix nothing.”
A week later... 
Shaw picks up a bottle of wine on the way to Root's. A house warming gift of sorts, or a present depending on how you look at it, though Shaw prefers it as a celebration of mission completion and good things yet to come. 
The days of Root living out of satchels and crashing on couches are finally over, and for some reason, Shaw takes comfort in that. It means things are changing, for the better, she believes. Having a safe, permanent place to lay your head, it means something.
Shaw can hear the faint music playing as she lifts the elevator gate. She expects Root sprung for a decent sound system, something to listen to while she cranes her neck over a computer for hours on end. And maybe she found a nice desk and a comfortable chair like Harold's to sit in while she does, Shaw wonders, as she rounds the corner, quietly. 
Sneaking up on Root is a hit or miss, depending on the Machine's mood. But Shaw hopes she gets to catch Root doing something weird for once, even though she has no idea what that might entail. 
Root's barefoot, sitting cross legged on the floor with a soldering iron, humming to herself. And Shaw thinks it's actually kind of cute- maybe, at least until she finds a better word for it. Which is never. The feeling becomes short lived, the nameless word is moot when she realizes why Root's sitting on the floor. 
She has no goddamn furniture. 
“Love what you haven't done with the place,” Shaw calls out, announcing her presence to Root, who flinches and then smiles bashfully to the wires in her lap. As it turns out, the Machine was in Shaw's favor this evening. It's a rare occurrence to find Root so off guard, with her hair pulled into a loose bun, with little smudges of soot on her shirt and holes in her blue jeans. 
Her walk is still the same, smug saunter as it always is though. Root lets her hair down as she approaches, on purpose Shaw thinks. 
“Welcome. May I take your coat?” Root offers, and Shaw does a bit of casing as she slips her arms free of the sleeves.
It was inaccurate to say Root didn't have any furniture; there's a mattress lying in the middle of the floor beside a steel column. Root had thrown some sheets and pillows on top and called it a bed. Next to that, her other Root things. A laptop, a bag, a few articles of clothing and a cell phone playing the music Shaw had heard earlier. 
“Is that for me?” Root asks, nodding to the bottle of wine in Shaw's hand. 
“Yeah, but uh,” Shaw rubs the back of her neck, glancing again at the great empty space. “I feel like I should have brought a plant or something, or a chair.”
“Busy week,” she says, internally debating where to hang Shaw's jacket, for a moment, until deciding to just throw it on the floor. “Haven't been home much lately-” and then Root laughs, lightly to herself. “It's strange isn't it?” 
“What is?” Shaw asks, halfway to the kitchen for a pair of drinking glasses before she realizes, Root probably doesn't have any of those either. 
“This place, my place... It is supposed to feel this weird?”
“Don't worry, the charm wears off pretty quick. Eventually, it'll be just another Tuesday night where you store all your things.” Shaw flops down on the edge of the mattress. “Correction, thing.”
“Awfully presumptuous of you.” Root teases. 
“Awfully rude of you, not owning a couch.” There are worse problems than not having a proper place to sit. “I'd guess you don't have cork screw either, or is that me being presumptuous again?”
Grinning, Root ambles to the spot next to Shaw on the mattress. “You'll have to use your imagination, sorry. I didn't think you'd bring anything fancy.”
The label is the only fancy thing about this wine, an Italian sounding word, Shaw thinks it means something like hat. The price tag said twelve, but she got it for six. 
Shaw flicks open her pocket knife and stabs it into the cork with a twisting motion. 
Root leans back and lounges on her elbows. “I did buy something yesterday, now that I think about it.”
“What?” Shaw asks, straining with the knife and the cork that wont budge.
Root nods. “That.” and Shaw looks in the direction. Hanging on the opposite pillar is a crudely sketched portrait. Of Shaw.
“Um, where did you get that?”
“From the man in the park,” Root replies, like it's supposed to mean something to Shaw. “Fun fact, he used to be police sketch artist until he injured his hand in a tragic trout-fisting accident. Anyways, if you pay him twenty dollars, he'll draw anyone you describe.”
Thankfully, Shaw gets the bottle open by then. The horrible taste of it helps her forget she ever heard the words trout-fisting back to back. “Hope you like cork in your fancy wine,” Shaw says and passes it on. “My eyebrows are off, by the way.”
“Hmm...” Root cocks her head the side, “I still like it.” She takes a swig from the bottle and grimaces almost instantly. 
“You know, you don't have to drink it,” Shaw says, laughing at the sour look on Root's face from the cheap wine. She has to run to the kitchen sink to wash her mouth out, it's so bad.
“Wanna see something cool?” Root asks when she returns and Shaw throws her a wary look. The last time Root tried to show her something cool, she ended up with stitches. 
“Do you have a first aid kit?”
“No?”
“Then no.”
“Just close your eyes,” Root insists. “Please..”
“Fine.” and Shaw covers her eyes, however, she checks for any sharp objects in Root's hands and in the immediate vicinity first. Patiently, she waits on the bed, listening to Root as she scampers around in her bare feet, for a moment until there's a loud click and the main lights go off.
Shaw opens her eyes... winding up the steel columns and along the rafters high above the bed, Root's hung strings of lights. Of all shapes, sizes and colors, they're arranged in way that makes Shaw feel like she's sitting inside a Christmas tree. 
“So this is what you've been doing?” Shaw smirks to herself. The order of Root's priorities are a mystery to her.
“Livens the place up,” Root says, looking up with a kind of awe in her eyes, or maybe it's the light glowing from the red bulbs. 
Root joins her on the bed again. Their legs hang off the edge, their feet occasionally running into each other.  
Shaw takes another swig of the wine, biting at the taste. “So um, does this count?” she asks, and when Root turns to her mixed, she has to awkwardly clarify. “Is this part of that quality the Machine says we don't have enough of?”
Root says nothing, she just grins.
“Why not?” Shaw goes on the defense. She showed up, she brought the wine, she looked at the pretty lights and they're talking. If that isn't quality time, then what is? “I really think you should reevaluate-” and suddenly, Shaw is rendered speechless by Root, who grabs her face and kisses her. 
“That's why,” Root says, giving Shaw a quick peck on the lips before pushing her down on the bed and climbing on top. 
And Shaw doesn't protest either, when Root starts unbuckling her belt, she's beginning to think this may fall under another made up category in Root's head. Something along the lines of fun time. 
“But if your so worried about it, Sameen,” she says, leaning in as she pins Shaw's wrists above her head, “You can come by tomorrow. I'm going to Ikea.”
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sunlitroom · 5 years
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Gotham – s5e02 – Trespassers
As I watched it, and some random observations here and there.
Previously on Gotham:
Did you miss the finale of season 4 and only now tune in?  For anyone who somehow forgot, Jeremiah’s bid to get Bruce to notice him helpfully coincided with Ra’s need to speed Bruce’s destiny along by destroying the city.  Jim helpfully tells us that the city is now up for grabs.  Tabitha made an absolute mess of attempting to get revenge for Butch – going out not only irritating and unsympathetic, but really, really dumb. Barbara wailed. Jim shot Oswald in the leg, for which he has put a bounty on his head. We are reminded that Jeremiah shot Selina – and a nurse with very distinctive eyebrows recommended that Bruce go find the witch.  A lisping big-eyed orphan child pleaded with Jim for help.
As always, long post will be long.  There are likely to be rambling digressions. Gobblepot might appear (although I welcome all shippers and non-shippers alike :)).  There will be naked favouritism and naked not-favouritism.  Broader comments at the end on plotlines and parallels and general direction.
We open on the boy, Will, from the last episode.  Jim and Harvey watch from the doorway as he is examined, and fill us in on his situation. His parents were killed in a home invasion and he was taken to a factory, to be a slave alongside lots of other children.  The people responsible are known as the Soothsayers.  
Harvey’s never heard of them before – but can hazard a guess as to the location of the tunnel they’re building near the docks.
Winsome orphan boy begs Detective Gordon to save his friends, because they’ll be punished for his escape.  
Jim and Harvey leave – Jim resolved to go rescue the children.  Harvey reminds him, though, that Oswald has a bounty on his head and he can’t safely leave the station.  Someone appears and tells Jim that there’s a call for him from the mainland
Jim goes to take the call. The voice on the other end tells him that confrontations must be avoided.  Jim tells him to please think of the children.  The voice says that his dedication is admirable but he lacks perspective – he runs the risk of sacrificing many to save a few.  He’s told that it’s the ‘collective opinion’ that he stand down and keep the green zone safe.
Jim protests – and says they need supplies.  The voice says they cannot risk any more pilots.  Jim snaps that they can preserve the lives of a few over many, but he can’t. The conversation is seemingly over and Jim stares consideringly into the distance.
Harvey enters with Lucius. Jim immediately starts to plan a rescue mission. They need to go through the Dark Zone.  Harvey reminds Jim of the ammo situation. Jim says he’ll talk to Barbara. Harvey reminds Jim that she might not be amenable.  Turning to Lucius, Jim asks him to sort out some sort of housing for the children they’ll rescue.  Harvey makes an unhappy face about the general risk of it all.
(An aside – in a desperate bid to extract something of interest from an episode that was pretty turgid.
I know we’re probably not supposed to complicate matters to this extent– but anything this straightforward is boring, so I feel like some over-analytical meta is needed to problematise everything.  
It occurs to me that this desperate time of suffering is maybe the happiest Jim has ever been in Gotham.
St Jim of Gotham.  They love their Jim Gordon.  Detective Gordon can save us.  
He constantly gets to be heroic – Jim Gordon keeping everyone safe, bringing them supplies. His word is law – Harvey and Lucius might pull faces, but they do what they’re told.  He has no boss, no troublesome politics to play.  There’s no awkward shades of grey – just good guys and bad guys.  The voice of authority is just that – a voice – and so perfectly unreasonable and hateable and removed – so absolutely in the wrong.  Hell – Jim should send Jeremiah a bouquet for this.
It’s telling, I think, that when Harvey later spots the candle burning in the abandoned building Jim’s head goes straight to the Wild West.  If you want to sell me that Oswald is enjoying playing benevolent leader over in City Hall, then it must also be accepted that Jim’s equally loving playing Gary Cooper at GCPD)  
We hear night time noises and see Bruce at the gates of an abandoned mansion.  He’s looking for the witch.  As he enters the house, we see ivy climbing over the walls.  As he progresses, we see it weapped around statues, and – more alarmingly – twisted around various corpses.
We see movement behind him. Someone has sneaked up on him – but Bruce had spotted them, and easily disarms him.
Are you with her?
What?  I’m not sure why Gotham went with characters from a Hammer Horror  - but, whatever.  It’s all corduroy waistcoats, flat caps, and English accents.
Basically – they’ve decided Ivy is a witch who can talk to plants and knows magic and can take souls.  They’ve trapped her in a windowless room with no food or water, and salted the floor. Eventually, they’re going to burn her. A few months of isolation and apparently parts of Gotham have turned into small superstitious English hamlets from the eighteenth century.  There’s terrible doings up at the manor!  His Lordship’s up to no good!
Bruce quickly makes up a story about a missing brother.  Credulous villager from another film says he’ll let Bruce talk to Ivy.  Bruce shines a torch into the room – and we see a sleeping Ivy. She’s wearing a sequinned jumper that also impressively manages to look like slimy moss.
Hello Ivy
At Sirens, where people are eating and drinking and generally having a good time.  Barbara, meantime, swigs from a bottle at the bar.
Jim enters.  We see there are lots of other men there.  Jim tries to make small talk about how busy the bar is.  Barbara points at his head and reminds him of Oswald’s bounty.  She asks if he’s out for one last hurrah.  Jim says he wants a favour.
Barbara laughs
A favour?  That’s why you stood back and did nothing while my best friend on this earth was stabbed through the heart?
(Best friend.  Best friend.  Wow.)
Jim protests weakly that he put Oswald down – but Barbara shrieks, eyes bulging with rage.
You restored his limp - he should be dead!
Jim takes what I think the Marquise de Mertueil described as ‘a marital tone’, and delivers an admonishing
Barbara
On this – Barbara starts shrieking
Everybody out!
Jim asks if she’s planning revenge.  Barbara retorts that
Someone has to do something about that freak
(An aside - Again with the ‘freak’ word.  It really does nothing to make her more likeable.  Also – the only things she could pair with it in the warehouse were the fact that Oswald has a beaky nose and a limp.  That’s all it takes for Barbara to decide you’re a freak. Writers - if you want to cultivate any sympathy whatsoever for Barbara and her lost ‘best friend’ – it’s perhaps best not to remind the audience that they’re both beautiful entitled rich girls who looked right down their noses at almost everyone else who failed to fit that description.)
Jim tells her he has an army – it would be suicide.  Barbara angsts it up and tells him to look around – they’re all slowly dying.  Some get to choose how.  I think this is meant to be about how she’d choose to die killing Oswald – but all it does is remind you that Tabitha most definitely opted for her fate – and renders it all less than sympathetic again
Jim tells her he’s sorry about Tabitha, and that things got out of control.  What things?  When she ran into a warehouse filled with Oswald’s men and a bunch of ammunition?
He goes on to say he’s trying to keep the city from falling apart. Barbara stares back at him and tells him he’s too late.  Jim frowns.
She goes on – though, and asks him about the favour.  He asks for trucks.  She asks what for – and Jim stodgily replies that it’s a police matter.  Barbara laughs at the absurdity of it – catapulted back to the compartmentalising days of their engagement – and says they could write that on his tombstone.
She caves, though, and gives him the trucks.  She then bizarrely screams after him, though
Knock yourself out - drive into the nightmare you created.  Here he comes, Gotham – your judge, gaoler, most hated son. Have at him - rip him to shreds.  No-one deserves to die more than he!
So don’t give him the trucks, then.  Make your mind up, Barbara.
Her lip wobbles and she drinks again.  I’d give it a rest, Barbara – that was mental.  You’re one drink away from a self-indulgent karaoke song.
Jim and Harvey drive through the city – specifically under a bridge, where we can see bodies hanging. Apparently, this area was a cesspool before – but is now even worse.  People dressed in gothy, skull-heavy outfits suddenly appear alongside them, flinging Molotov cocktails and firing arrows.
Welcome to the Badlands.
We’re at the location the place Will mentioned, where there’s child slave labour overseen by some tools in gasmasks.   One complains that the oldest boy we see – Gabriel – allowed Will to escape.  He thought Gabriel had promise – and offers a chance to inhale whatever is in his mask for energy or to see the future.
He then witters on about the tunnel they’re building that will give them exclusive access to the mainland for trade.  Until the situation is resolved.  Or, you know, someone just comes in and takes it from them.
Gabriel points out that the tunnel is too narrow.  Progress is slow, the roof is leaking, and it’ll collapse when they hit the river.
Beardy gasmask guy gets cross at this.  He had high hopes for Gabriel.  He points his gun at him, but is disturbed by one of his minions telling him to get out front.
Outside – we see trucks parked.  Beardy irritably asks who was on watch.  One of your tedious stoner mates?
Put your weapons down
Is that the James Gordon?
We get western-style music
Beardy comments that if they kill him they’ll get bullets and be in Oswald’s good graces.  They draw guns – but are surrounded by GCPD. There’s a bit of back and forth – but Jim takes his keys, and goes into the building, telling Harvey to kill him if he moves.
The children all stare adoringly at Jim.  He gives the keys to Gabriel, who starts to release all the other children’s manacles/cuffs/whatever.  It was a pretty tooth-rotting moment.
Outside, leader man asks Harvey why he’d be a cop in this town.  Harvey says the costume shop was out of gas masks – so it was either this or sexy nurse.
As they talk – the leader’s eye flits to one of his men, creeping up.  There’s a disagreement that quickly turns into a full rammy.  Most of the children escape in the trucks – but Jim, Harvey, Gabriel and two little girls are left fleeing on foot.
Back at the mansion, Bruce approaches Ivy.  She seems relieved – asking for his help. She says she didn’t kill the men in the vines – it’s the park. The trees, plants, roots – speaking to one another. The men came to kill her – but the plants saved her
Bruce tells her that he needs help for a friend who was shot – not naming Selina. The nurse directed him to The Witch – and here he is.  Ivy said she would usually help – but this park is behaving so oddly.
We hear a knock at the door – jaunty waistcoat villager.  Bruce asks him to wait. Ivy says there’s a magical seed under the oak – she’ll help him find it if he protects her.
Back at the Library, Ed wakes up.  He's chained himself down – and is exultant that it seems to have stopped his sleep walking.
Doesn’t he…. have the key? Jfc, Ed.
He unlocks the padlock and gets up, heading to the bathroom
No
Why am I seeing this?
I don't need Ed peeing
As he relieves himself – he talks to himself in the mirror about how the sleepwalking was likely just stress.  
We hear grunting from somewhere else in the room.  Ed pulls back the shower curtain, and finds a burly biker man tied up in the bath.  
Ed looks away, back into the mirror and tells himself there’s nothing there – laughing hysterically. His laughing fades and he closes his eyes.
He pulls back the shower curtain again – this time wielding a plunger.  Without washing his hands.
He asks the biker who the hell he is.  The biker is massively disgruntled.
Are you serious?
Ed admits he doesn’t remember.  The man’s name is apparently Tank.  He’s part of the Street Demons gang.Ed asks if he hit him, etc.  Tank is still sullen – and says Ed wanted information, but he wouldn’t give it.  Ed eyes him
I’m gonna guess you gave it to me
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Oo-er, missus.
Ed says he can't remember the info – so they’ll have to do it all again, and hauls him out of the bath.
Jim and co running through the streets, hunted.  Shooting Oswald was dumb, Jim.  I know he’ll forgive you shortly – but it’s inconvenient in the meantime.
They run into a nearby building.  Harvey points to the candle burning, and warns that someone else is there.  Jim’s all caught up in the romance of his sheriff fantasy, and says that settlers in the Old West would sometimes leave a candle burning as a sign of sanctuary.  Maybe there’s still good people left in Gotham
Harvey raises an eyebrow at this romanticism, and then complains when Jim sends him to search the basement in this creepy hotel.  Jim meanwhile heads upstairs.  The children are left behind – and we see a shadowy figure pass behind them, looking sort of Victorian.
(An aside because this episode is boring – it’s odd how our collective imagination heads straight to Victorian stuff when it comes to ghosts)
Jim walks along the upper floor.  It’s a nice, creepy atmosphere.  There’s a room with a flickering bulb.  Jim offers a very tentative GCPD.  A small boy dressed in a school uniform runs out.  Jim reassures him.
Harvey in the basement, which is actually a proper kitchen like you would get in a big old house. Less traditional are the containers on the table containing jewellery, glasses, teeth, and fingers.
Harvey starts to quietly panic.  He’s then accosted by the masked Victorian woman wielding a razor, and starts to loudly panic.
Jimmmm!
Back at the library, Ed hits the biker in the face.  Am I expected to believe Ed was able to overpower this guy?  
He caves and passes the info – which is pretty pedestrian: Ed wanted to know where the Street Demon base was and whether their boss, Emmanuel Vazquez, would be there.
Ed asks the man what his demeanour was like last night.  Was he confident, flamboyant, charismatic?  Or a little repressed? Conservative?  Nerdy?
The man says he seemed stiff – in a daze.  Ed digests this, and then they leave.
Back at Ivy's impromptu 60s horror film.  Bruce leaves the room with a faux terrified Ivy.  Bruce tells the villagers to stay calm – he’ll take responsibility for her. Ivy promptly kills them all.
She turns to him – a hand on his throat – and tells him he’s utterly naïve.  Bruce says she didn’t have to kill them, but she replies that she wanted to.
Bruce stares balefully at her.  He tells her the friend he’s here for is Selina – she’s paralysed and has lost the will to live.  Ivy glares back at him.
Good.  That bitch destroyed the last drop of Lazarus water.  Let her suffer
Bruce says he doesn’t believe her.  Ivy avoids answering him like Jim has avoided awkward discussions about killing Oswald. She tells him she wasn’t lying about the park.  She’s been feeding it corpses.  It consumes them then flourishes.  She says she’ll plant Bruce.  What will grow, she wonders.
He tells her those men she killed were right.  She’s a murderous, callous witch. She smiles
Trying to bait me, boy?
Bruce says he wouldn’t waste his breath.  There’s no good left in her.  The park isn’t beautiful and colourful and flourishing.  It smells of death.  
Ivy doesn’t like this. She purses her lips and tells him it’s a work in progress. Bruce says it’s a nightmare.  She looks at him, and says if she helps him, he’s to leave her alone.  They leave for the garden.
Back with Jim and the kid from the room
(An aside – it struck me here that the pacing in this episode felt really off.  This should have been tense – but we spent too long with Ed and Bruce, and now we’ve lost a lot of tension.)
The boy tells Jim that his parents are dead – the woman here found him – the ghost.  She was kind at first.
They’re interrupted by Harvey. He says that there’s a crazy woman here. Jim tells the boy that they’ll protect him.  As they start to run, the boy says she makes him call her mother.
They head into a room off the corridor, but the boy slips out and shuts Jim and Harvey in.  We see the lights in the room flicker and strobe. The boy, stone-faced on the other side of the door tells them
The lights will make you dizzy.  Then fall asleep.  You won't feel a thing
Harvey starts to fold. Jim kicks at the door.  The boy calls that he should give into it.  As he does, we see the woman behind him, and she slashes out at him with her razor.
There’s a scuffle. Harvey smashes the window – allowing light into the room.  Her mask falls off, and the ghostliness is all gone.  She screeches at Jim – she’s the only mother the boy knows.  Harvey tells her she’s a crazy bitch – but she protests that she’s protecting him: she taught him how to survive.
She also manages to kick and slash Jim, and makes her escape.
At the biker hideout, which is apparently deserted.  As we look round, though, we see lots of stabbed bikers – including the boss.  Tank asks if Ed does this, to which Ed honestly responds that he can’t remember
Turning, we see a really boringly painted message on the wall
Penguin was here.
The biker growls: Penguin did this
Ed looks dubious.  I think not
Tank replies that whoever it was, someone started a war
Back at Ivy’s park.  She reaches into the earth as Bruce watches and extracts a seed.  It looks incredibly gross.  
She hands it to Bruce. He asks her if that’s human blood that it’s coated in.  She tells him that if Selina ingests it, it will find the way to the wound.  Bruce asks if it will cure her.  Ivy shrugs. Everyone responds differently.  The only thing that’s sure is that she’ll be altered forever – the darker angels of her nature unlocked and set free.  You very rarely see that one listed in the side-effect section of the information pamphlet.
She asks if Selina can live with it, then eyes him shrewdly and asks if he can.  Bruce tells her he doesn’t know any other way.  Ivy smiles – and tells him to go then, give her the seed. She adds that he still doesn’t know if he can trust her.  Bruce agrees and she replies.
Good – you’re finally becoming a man
Bruce asks where she’ll go, and she says that’s none of his business.  He needs to hurry: the seed will die if exposed to the air for too long.
(An aside - if I desperately scrabble to get more fro this episode - I could say that there’s maybe a Jim and Bruce parallel.  Jim’s doing good - but he’s definitely getting something from what he’s doing now.  Bruce’s actions are to save Selina - but also to salve his own guilt at how she ended up shot in the first place) 
Back at the haunted hotel, Harvey and Jim run downstairs and usher the children out.  As they do, Harvey turns to Jim
Not everyone wants help, Jim Gordon
They run out into the street.  We get a slightly too loud bit of dialogue between Harvey and Jim to let us know that Jim only has two bullets left. It had a real look out for snakes! quality.
The soothsayers and the goths show up.  There’s a standoff where they both have guns pointed at Jim – both keen to collect the bounty.
Bruce is back in the ward. Alfred tells her that Selina’s not great – hasn’t uttered a word since he left.  Bruce tells him the witch is actually Ivy.  Alfred looks dubiously at the seed – which does look really nasty.
Bruce says it might help. Alfred says Ivy is a maniacal cold-hearted killer
Selina suddenly pipes up
Give it to me
Bruce says he has doubts. Selina says that she’s suicidal anyway – so if Ivy wants to kill her, she can have at it.  Bruce hands her the pill.  She asks if she’s just to swallow it, and then does so without hesitation. Bravo, Selina.  That seed looked gross.
They watch. She exhales
Still here
Alfred laughs.
Selina says she knows Ivy has lost her mind – but Selina found her when she was first on the street, after her parents died.  It was a cold winter – and Ivy got really sick. Selina took her under her wing: showed her how to find food, a roof.  Eventually she got colour in her face – and Selina kept checking in with her every day.
I know she looks old now – but she'll always be that little girl to me
Alfred and Bruce look fondly at her – but as they do, she starts to sweat and convulse.  Doctors and nurses rush in, and Alfred holds Bruce back
My God.  What have I done?
Back at the standoff. This is really unforgiveably boring.
Blah blah  - Jim has two bullets.  Basically, Barbara arrives before things can go very wrong.  She’s had a change of mind since their chat.  Beardy guy takes aim at her from the ground, but Jim shoots him.  Barbara comments that it must be love, since it was his last bullet.
She steps closer and tells him to
Help me do what needs doing - kill Penguin
(An aside -I’m so very done with this stupid notion that Oswald is the big problem in town.  It makes absolutely no sense.  If anything, the only reason we don’t have all-out gang warfare is because there’s not enough ammunition to go round, because Oswald has a grip on it.  As for the notion that Barbara is somehow better – she’s hoarding food and drink to run a brothel while there’s not enough to go round.  If they show doesn’t make clear later that Barbara’s stance is entirely personal and irrational, I’m going to be very grumpy.)
Jim says they’ll table this discussion for later.
(An aside.  Barbara.  Harvey. Jim is not going to kill Oswald. If you don’t know this by now, then you haven’t been paying attention.  He didn’t do it to placate Falcone. He didn’t do it to string Theo Galavan along and get a conviction. He didn’t do it to guarantee silence after Theo’s murder. He didn’t do it when Oswald’s actions threatened to disrupt his work with the Court of Owls.  He didn’t do it when he was apparently all darkness and rage with the Tetch virus. He didn’t do it at the bequest of Sofia Falcone, and he didn’t do it most recently, when the city is a wasteland and Oswald controls virtually all the weaponry.  It’s a no, guys.   If he changes his mind on this, then it’s an ooc swizz.)
In the Green Zone - where the lighting is all idyllic.  Lucius shows off the new lodgings he’s found/created.  It’s not ideal – but it’s better than anywhere else. Citizens are gathering, and it’ll be full by lunchtime.
A woman approaches with her children to thank Jim for delivering them.  Barbara rolls her eyes and leaves – calling over her shoulder:
See you around, killer.  We have unfinished business
I have to ask – is anyone invested in this?  Anyone?
Back with Selina.  The doc says whatever she took put her into shock – but she’s now stabilised.  Bruce looks solemn.  There’s a statue of Jesus behind him.  Hi Jesus!
Alfred says they should go. He walks on, but Bruce lingers to peek in, and is shocked to see Selina’s bed empty and the window open.  He rushes in and looks out the window.  Selina walks up behind him
Bruce says it's a miracle. Selina’s eyes are closed, and she smiles beatifically.  She says she feels no no pain.  Bruce says he thought he’d killed her, but Seline says she’s even better than before.
They hug, and over Bruce’s shoulder, we see Selina open her eyes – which momentarily look just like a cat’s eyes.
General Observations
Ugh.  With a couple of exceptions, that was a slog.
No Oswald at all.  I’m not sure why this would be the case – but the episode palled badly without him.  If it’s to try and easily paint him as a flat villain in his absence, it failed.  Life in Gotham is mind-bendingly boring without him.
Ed
It’s not that I’m not interested in Ed, but there’s not really much need for interpretation or further examination for what’s going on.  It’s either part of his own subconscious (we’ve seen that this can happen with Ed), or something to do with Hugo’s tinkering.  I’m not quite sure why I feel a sort of weird lack of tension with this plotline, but there it is.
Barbara
Likewise – Barbara’s revenge plot is really just tiresome.  I will admit to being nakedly biased towards Oswald, but even if that weren’t the case - it’s hard to feel real sympathy here.  Babs – Oswald didn’t invade Sirens, seek Tabitha out and then stab her in the heart.  She went looking for him, and then left him with no other options.  Not only that – but she was fully aware that getting revenge for Butch meant leaving you alone.  Last, but not least: She.  Murdered. His.  Mother. I know the big female solidarity thing really only extends to women 18-40 who can turn a profit for you – but still.  Take a moment to think this over.
Look I get that it’s easier for her to be angry at Oswald than it is to be angry at Tabitha – but it’s still a bit tedious.  A lot tedious.
Jim
As previously discussed, there’s more meat to Jim’s story right now – but I’ve no idea whether it’s intentional.  I’m sure Jim does genuinely care about the citizens who need help.  However, Jim is also loving this.  All that murky stuff from the past is gone.  Here, he’s Big Jim Gordon, the heroic sheriff in a Wild West town.  His deputies do what he says, and Miss Kitty who runs the brothel can help out when needed.  Big-eyed children rush to him for help, mothers thank him, and he gets to rush headfirst into fights outgunned whenever he wants.  
I’m not sure where that fancy-dressed guy with the European name and the limp fits in to his story, but maybe Jim’s watched more Westerns than I have.
Hopefully this might head in a more complicated direction.  A couple of the scenes with Jim and the children seemed deliberately too saccharine. Harvey warned him that not everyone wants his help.   Let’s see where things go.
Jim and Barbara
I remember, way back when, commenting that the lack of real closure between Jim and Barbara felt unrealistic.  Jim’s serious-minded and quite traditional (or seemed so at that point, anyway).  He and Barbara were engaged to be married – church booked and dress bought, as Barbara told us.  The relationship did have had its problems: Barbara was depressed and day drinking, while Jim was busily emulating his father and compartmentalising like crazy – but it always felt like they would have more definitively closed the chapter, as opposed to just moving on like it was a short-term relationship.  I think what we’re seeing here is basically unfinished business being played out. Probably better for it to play out with the help of contraceptives, but hey, we know where they’ve decided to go with this.
Again - if you want to make it more problematic in a desperate bid to make things more interesting - killing Tabitha, having Barbara trade in ‘information’ instead of all out violence, masking what goes on in Sirens, putting a nice white coat on her: it’s all to ‘purify’ her character to make her suitable for the pregnancy storyline later.  Not too, pure, though.  My guess is she’ll die nobly at some point, and Lee will wind up raising the baby with Jim.
Recaps are a lot faster and easier when there’s no Oswald and the episode is a bit lacklustre.
Thoughts?
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mintchocolateleaves · 7 years
Text
Law Unto Themselves (3/??)
Summary: Kaito searches Pisco’s home for the aforementioned disc. Dark!AU where the good guys are the bad guys, and vice versa.
[Beginning]     [Previous Chapter] 
They say only sociopaths and stupid people want to live forever.
And Kuroba Kaito is not stupid.
He’d not been lying when he’d said he was looking for a gem. It’s not his fault that people don’t know about the legend of Pandora, don’t want to look into myths and fairy tales for some distortion of the truth, about gemstones that cry tears of immortality. Sometimes, when he cannot sleep, because he is too focused on tracking the gemstone down, Kaito wonders whether they’ll taste salty, like real tears.
He pockets his phone, thoughts of Kudo Shinichi lingering in his head. Every day he guesses, wonders what exactly Kaito’s motivations are. And ever day he is forced to repeat himself, to tell him he is looking for a jewel, and bite his tongue from snapping completely and asking why he doesn’t just read the files Snake and his cronies had submitted before their ‘untimely deaths’.
Kaito shakes the thought away, forces himself to remain straight-faced and professional, and reaches into his pocket for his lock picks. He keeps them in his car, hidden under the passenger seat – easily accessible but still an efficient hiding place. Sometimes the best hiding places are the simplest.
“Okay,” he says to himself, barely a whisper as he pulls out two picks. He’s going in through Pisco’s back door, and just from looking at the lock, it’s easy enough to know that there are at least four pins that he needs to unlock. He suppresses a sigh as he identifies the lock as a wafer lock.
Pulling the torsion wrench from his set, he pushes it into the bottom of the lock, ready to keep all of the pins in places when he unlocks them. He almost wishes that he’d gone around to the front door – it’s an older lock, an easier door to open, but there had been a CCTV camera watching over, and there’s a light shining outside the door, a motion sensor.
Sometimes, technology is frustrating, despite all of it’s practical uses. Or rather; it’s irritating when Kaito has to go out of his way to bypass it, simply to break into a house.
If it was a heist location – something a bit more challenging – then it’d be more fun. A little amusing, but not an inconvenience. Pushing pins up within the lock and shaking his head, Kaito realises that’s what this is: an inconvenience. He’d planned on making copies of the blueprints for the Tokyo Sky-tree tonight, but a phone call from Kudo had dragged him to the gun trade, and afterwards, involved sending him on some useless mission.
The door unlocks with a faint click, and Kaito pulls the handle down, shimmying in through the back door and across the threshold into the kitchen. It’s a cluttered space, with pans and plates left on the drying rack. Pisco enjoyed cooking then, odd, seeing as Kaito had imagined him being the type of man who ate meals over the sink, always busy.
A part of Kaito wants to put the dishes away, just because Pisco never will again. Instead, he leaves the kitchen behind, climbing the stairs for some resemblance of a study. He grabs a small torch from his pocket – the beam isn’t bright, but it’s enough to see more details inside the room. Next time, he thinks, he’ll actually bring some night-vision goggles so that he doesn’t need any light… They’ll fit in the glove compartment, he thinks, and as long as he makes sure Aoko doesn’t take the car for work…
“If I were an eighty-year-old dead guy,” Kaito whispers to himself, “where would I keep a hidden file?”
He’s kept it on a disc, which is always harder to find than a paper trail, but he’s pretty sure that given enough time, he’ll find it. Provided that no one comes calling on Pisco tonight, Kaito’s certain that he’ll find the disc in no time.
The study isn’t tidy. It’s organised chaos, with books spread across the floor, files piled up against the wall. There are pictures spreading the wall – many from murder scenes, some from crimes Kaito’s committed himself. He’s not sure whether to be uneasy about the interest into the shows he’s put on, or proud.
He chooses proud, because pride feels much better than nervousness.
Pulling his phone out, he turns his settings onto flash, capturing the wall on his screen. It’d be stupid not to take pictures, even if he’s here for something else. Kudo doesn’t raise his voice much, (not that Kaito really cares when he does, it’s almost laughable watching the usually controlled man become slightly irrational), but he definitely would if he realised Kaito came back with only half of the information.
And then, he decides to search. He searches the man’s laptop first – sometimes people’s sense of security leads them to leave things in the simplest of places, and sits in Pisco’s chair, skimming over files he’s saved just in case there are copies on his laptop. There aren’t.
There’s no disc either.
It’s not surprising. The clutter of the room is a pretty obvious indicator that Pisco had relied more on paper evidence. That’s why he’s got a board of evidence, is why he’s so messy – people who use computers wouldn’t have as many police files lying around.
Wait… Is it even legal to bring police files from a police station? What a bad man. And here Kaito had thought Pisco would have been on his high horse, trying to play morality – but isn’t he technically as bad as Kaito is? He’s broken the rules, and frankly, breaking one always leads to breaking more.
“I wonder…” Kaito mutters, reaching forward to check the desk drawers. “If Pisco ever killed anyone?”
The man had been a cop before retirement, and well… it’s very easy, Kaito finds, to pull the trigger when the urge grows too much to handle. And Pisco would have even been able to blame it on police work, turning murder into self-defence.
Sometimes, Kaito thinks that he’d make a brilliant police officer.
But all the paperwork… How all his detectives can deal with boring office work is bewildering. Or maybe it’s worrying? Someday, he’ll book them in for a psychiatric test, because they clearly need one.
“Not in here.” Kaito sighs after a second, jumps up from the desk and makes his way over to the bookshelf. He’s still using his phone as a torch, and skims over the titles of books trying to find anything that stands out. Most are books on criminal psychology and other things relating to police work. Boring things, truly, except maybe one of the… yes, there’s one that looks more interesting compared to the others.
A cook book.
There had been a few downstairs in the kitchen, but only one in the study – Kaito reaches forward and pulls it out. As he opens the book, flipping through the pages, a single disc drops from between the paper. It makes some sort of noise as it lands on the carpet – not quite a thud, but not a clatter either. It’s a muffled sound, and while it doesn’t ring, it certainly carries through the room.
Kaito scoops the disc up.
Since Kudo wants the files ASAP, he circles around Pisco’s desk, rebooting the computer and placing the disc into the drive. The machine whirs – old technology, seriously, who even uses computers when laptops are so much better? - and Kaito taps his foot against the carpet as he waits.
He checks his watch – 1 a.m.
It’s late. Aoko will be wondering where he is; there’s only so much blame he can put on marking student’s coursework and preparing magic tricks for weekend shows. Even with all of the business he has with Kudo and the organisation, he’s usually home earlier than this.
Unless… Kaito glances at his phone next, when the computer continues to load it’s main functions, the loading bar only halfway loaded. There are two texts, both from his girlfriend and Kaito opens Aoko’s messages with the same euphoria he imagines a drug addict feels during the initial high.
Will be home late, don’t wait up. Xx
Someone was late to the briefing AGAIN. If KID can show to his heists on time, our team should have the same courtesy. Hahaaha xx
Kaito sends a quick text back, saying he’d been distracted with work for tomorrow’s class, but that he hopes she’ll be back home soon. It’s a lie – of course it’s a lie, but it’s not like he needs to work on an excuse if Aoko’s not home either.
The computer lets out a little ring, a signal that it’s fully loaded, and Kaito leans forward, double clicking with the mouse onto my documents. Seconds pass, and Kaito drags the cursor over to 'External device’, and opens the disc.
It takes some time to load, and when it does, the computer flickers.
Insert Password. The disc says.
Kaito pauses, tries to think of any words that’ll lead to the disc unlocking itself. It doesn’t feel like he’s taking too long, but after a minute of thinking, the computer blinks off, the screen going black. Safety measures, Kaito’s almost impressed.
He glances around the room – no sign of a password, no carefully placed post-it notes or words sketched into the desk. And he certainly doesn’t know enough about coding to hack into the disc without a password…
Kaito leans back in Pisco’s chair, lets out a sigh. There’s only one place he can go to get the disc hacked into without the password, only one place he trusts enough to deal with something this… is it important? He isn’t sure.
He checks his watch again, only three minutes have passed. It’s not like can even make an excuse that everything is closed, and that they’ll be asleep. A short sigh forces Kaito to push himself forward, a groan forces its way onto his lips and he makes his way back downstairs to the back door.
His car is two blocks across, and Kaito runs his hand through his hair as he makes his way back. It unlocks with a click of his car keys, and for a moment, Kaito has to suppress a yawn as he throws himself forward. To think – he’s going to have to wake up for work in four hours, and his night isn’t even over yet.
Coffee isn’t something Kaito tends to dabble with, but somehow he knows he’s going to have to fix himself one tomorrow. He’s already trying to figure out the water to milk ratio for a perfect drink, deciding how many sugars he’s going to have to put in to make it edible.
“Fucking Kudo,” Kaito says, slamming the door beside him. He pushes his keys into the ignition, the engine roaring into life. “The things I do…”
He sends a quick message as he’s preparing to pull away, the pictures he’s taken, and confirms that he’s got a disc, and that he’s working on breaking through any security measures to get inside. Then, throwing his phone onto the passenger seat, Kaito signals left onto the road, and makes his way down town, to Shinjuku.
[Next Chapter]
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