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It starts, as so many things do for him, for want of a code.
Blume, however unfortunately, has gotten smart, these last few weeks. They're learning DedSec's MO, they're learning his, and it seems like they know better, now, to put anything that might give him access to their systems in arm's reach. They stop carrying their log in credentials on their phones, stop checking that remember me box on their computers, they stop sharing trade secrets over the phone, even, and move workstations to face away from the surveillance cameras in every room. They're doing it all the old fashioned way, now, by memory, and while that's annoying, it seems Blume underestimates his commitment to the cause.
It doesn't take him long to narrow it down to a short list of people who might have the code he needs. It even easier to narrow it down further, to who's the most convenient target, and he's waiting for one of Blume's code monkeys three nights later, in a dead zone along her daily after-work jogging route. He claps a hand over her mouth as he drags her, kicking and screaming, into the alley where he parked his car, and shoves a piece of duct tape over her mouth to keep her quiet before he shoves her into the trunk, neater than the fixers that came for Frewer, once upon a time, back in Chicago. Her phone gets turned off and tucked into his pocket, and then they're off, headed back towards the hackerspace he, Clara and Ray have claimed.
He's not worried about her seeing it. For all she'll know by the time they get there, it's just a house. It could be anywhere in the San Francisco or the outlying areas. He'll dump her somewhere far away, once he's done with her.
He throws her over his shoulder, when they get home, when he gets her out of the trunk, and beelines inside, hearing her nails catch on the walls as he carries her up the stairs and to his and Clara's bedroom. It doesn't slow him down any, and there's a chair already waiting, set up before he even left, at the foot of the bed for him to dump her into. When she tries to get up, he pulls out a gun and turns it on her.
"Don't," he orders, voice muffled by the mask he's had pulled up since he left for 'work.' "Sit down."
It's up to her how messy this ultimately gets.
Blume, however unfortunately, has gotten smart, these last few weeks. They're learning DedSec's MO, they're learning his, and it seems like they know better, now, to put anything that might give him access to their systems in arm's reach. They stop carrying their log in credentials on their phones, stop checking that remember me box on their computers, they stop sharing trade secrets over the phone, even, and move workstations to face away from the surveillance cameras in every room. They're doing it all the old fashioned way, now, by memory, and while that's annoying, it seems Blume underestimates his commitment to the cause.
It doesn't take him long to narrow it down to a short list of people who might have the code he needs. It even easier to narrow it down further, to who's the most convenient target, and he's waiting for one of Blume's code monkeys three nights later, in a dead zone along her daily after-work jogging route. He claps a hand over her mouth as he drags her, kicking and screaming, into the alley where he parked his car, and shoves a piece of duct tape over her mouth to keep her quiet before he shoves her into the trunk, neater than the fixers that came for Frewer, once upon a time, back in Chicago. Her phone gets turned off and tucked into his pocket, and then they're off, headed back towards the hackerspace he, Clara and Ray have claimed.
He's not worried about her seeing it. For all she'll know by the time they get there, it's just a house. It could be anywhere in the San Francisco or the outlying areas. He'll dump her somewhere far away, once he's done with her.
He throws her over his shoulder, when they get home, when he gets her out of the trunk, and beelines inside, hearing her nails catch on the walls as he carries her up the stairs and to his and Clara's bedroom. It doesn't slow him down any, and there's a chair already waiting, set up before he even left, at the foot of the bed for him to dump her into. When she tries to get up, he pulls out a gun and turns it on her.
"Don't," he orders, voice muffled by the mask he's had pulled up since he left for 'work.' "Sit down."
It's up to her how messy this ultimately gets.
