Triumphant return

[Oriena]

She looked down with faint annoyance as his hand gripped hers. The fuck? But the sudden grasp was too crushing to brush free; instead her muscles stiffened, her gaze narrowing irritation that travelled up his arm to his new features and darkened a glare there. Not that he noticed. His attention jerked back the way they'd come, expression blanked with awe. It sat oddly on White's severe features.

Ori had no sympathy for his wonder. Not right now. After a moment to unravel his words, she did not need to even try to know she'd sense nothing of power that came from a man, and the exclusion only soured her mood. "White feels nothing,"
she reminded him sharply. Not that the warning appeared to permeate at all. And it didn't stop her leaning in to watch the spectacle on the screen of his wallet, as pockets of others in the street around them did the same.

It was not awe that poured from Ori's gaze as she watched The Ascendancy's demonstration, but calculation. She forgot the crush of her fingers, now massaged in her other hand. The whisper of a smile ghosted her lips, sparking a retaliation in her eyes that burned like wildfire. Whatever message she read from the display it enlivened her, and she wasn't thinking about the opportunity it offered to their current circumstances.

White's voice brought her back to the present. A mischievous smile answered the call. Baccarat? Interesting.

[Jaxen Marveet]

Oriena reminded him of he disguise, and Jaxen scowled and rolled his eyes. He fucking knew White felt nothing. The man was a damn robot. But if she felt that, really felt it, she would have wet her panties. All he did was grab her hand and turn around. For all they knew White was cloistered away in the Power-closet, yet to come out.

God help them all if so.

The souring mood helped depress his expression into a permanently pissed off glare. White was cold, too. As though he tolerated everything around him and by his mercy, or sheer laziness, he allowed others to exist.

Jaxen kept that mood in mind when they opened the doors to the mansion. The Fake White held the door with his fingertips as Oriena passed by.

The interior was stoic and quiet. Glass cases displayed the ornate crystal sculpture as he remembered. The shop keeper glanced up from behind a counter and quickly flicked his gaze back to his work when the Fake White stifled any forthcoming welcome with a single look.

He led Oriena to a hallway where the restrooms were located. First barrier of entry was a large door with a sign that read private and a pair of ordinary hired security guard posted at a desk nearby.

The Fake White strolled up, Oriena in tow. He took quick stock of the potential threat they posed. If all else failed, the ancient power could deal with them, but a silver tongue took real talent.

The Fake White reached for the door, but stopped himself just before touching the doorknob, rounding on the guards.

"Damn it! You still check ID! Even if it's me. Understand that?"

[Borovsky]

White wasn't do back anytime soon. No one had notified him of the man's return. He wasn't Atharim. He was one of the very few people who did not bear the mark to enter the facility. When he walked past he didn't think anything of it. It didn't matter really. They knew him.

But the man stopped and turned around and yelled at them. The stood up straighter, they nodded. And with a smile, "Fine, sir. Id. You too lass."

He wouldn't let anything slide now. Getting yelled at wasn't exactly a highlight of his day after all. He'd ID the Regus too when he returned, just to prove a point.

[Jaxen Marveet]

The Fake White retrieved his Wallet from beneath his jacket; the hint of a holster flashed from the other side. Identities were easy to fake, Jaxen showed off the CCD card, name and picture registering as legitimate Custody issued. It wasn't completely foolproof, if Custody Security Service were to investigate it, but short of that, Jaxen was confident these two morons would buy it.

Oriena on the other hand, would need to show her true identity, a nam the Atharim didn't need on their list. "I vouch for her."
The Fake White said, resting one hand on the desk top as the other tucked the Wallet back inside. His gaze rested squarely on the one doing the talking, "No more second chances,"
warning issued, he proceeded to the elevator, waving Oriena to follow in his footsteps.

The elevator doors closed and Jaxen laid eyes on the control panel for the first time. Previously, he entered the Atharim strong hold by climbing down the elevator shaft and overriding the lock from inside. This time, they had to physically enter a key code on the touch pad in order to activate the lift. Using a key code that Jaxen didn't have.

He knelt low, eyes studying the screen, squinting to look for oil smudges from finger prints. He recognized the manufacturer for the touchpad, and knew it would require a four or maybe a six digit code. There were two systems that could make it work. First, every Atharim that used the elevator used the same key code to unlock it. That would be risky for the organization because every time a code was changed, which it should be on a regular basis if Mr. White was in charge of ensuring its secrecy, then disseminating that new update to every Atharim was an inherent risk. Imagine an email titled "New top secret passcode change" every seven days. Eventually some moron atharim would leak it.

That meant that each user to enter the elevator would register an unique keycode. If it was anything like bank pin numbers, and even if a hundred Atharim were in the system, chances were high that basic statistics would apply in the situation. That was, someone out there was stupid enough to use 1234, or maybe 4321 as a passcode. Just in case, Jaxen tried both, but neither worked. He glanced at Oriena, smirking. It was worth a shot.

But even if the most basic of codes didn't apply, that didn't mean other patterns didn't hold. Most people used even numbers. Repititon was common. Fingers moving on the grid so a person hit the buttons with their index and middle finger (2580, for instance) were all worth checking. However it was likely that enough failed attempts would lock the system completely. Jaxen wasn't going to risk blindly trying numbers. Although it worked in many other instances.

Had the touch pad been a key pad, with actual buttons to depress, a piezo-electric circuit could tell him what buttons were pressed most often. From there, the basics of password psyche could figure out the sequence with only a few attempts.

But this was a touch screen. Which meant crystals and liquid.The manufacturer of this particular screen was Perceptive Pixel. Jaxen recognized the PP logo on the screen border. The evolution of touch screens over the years spanned resistance to crystal depression to conducting micro currents, a circuit that was closed when human skin touched the screen, to finally, technology called frustrated total internal reflection. Touching the screen scattered light within the frame. Cameras on the interior surface detect the optical change, and send a signal a local computer for analysis.

There was no way to know what the most recent light scattering patterns were from the last person to enter the elevator. But the computer was totally hackable.

Kneeling on the floor of the elevator, he pulled an old fashioned pin from a pocket and picked the lock hiding the controls to the keypad that required access for local service. The interior of the elevator panel was a mess of boards, circuits, fiberoptics and wires. The same technology that allowed for content sharing between Wallets by touching them together allowed him to hack his way into the controlling computer.

Two minutes after getting in the elevator, he successfully reset administrative passcodes to manufacturer default, broke the link, locked up the control panel and entered the nine-digit code that Perceptive Pixel used. The elevator began to descend. The Fake White glanced at Oriena, but withheld the grin of success. One more barrier remained.

The elevator doors opened into the white room he remembered, but thankfully, nobody started shooting at him. A pair of more competent looking security sat behind a more beefy-looking security desk, monitoring screens, cameras and thermal imagers recording body type signature. Jaxen knew the Fake White would be a little off. He was just a little too short, a little too narrow in the chest. His heartbeat was more rapid than it should be. But given the face that he wore, nobody would think twice about his visit.

He did nod slightly as they passed right by and entered the Atharim headquarters proper.

[Borovsky]

ID checked out, but the fact he wanted to let one of them slide after scolding them was rather off putting, but they let it go. It was Mr. White after all, he was the one who put all the latest security measures in place after that thief tried to break in.

But he sent word down stairs as the elevator took White down. Stand alert. White is on his way down. He's in one of his moods." When was the man ever not in one of his moods as they called it, but it was better they be alerted.

[Oriena]

Oriena waited with lazy confidence as the first obstacle presented itself, gaze roaming the guards' faces with little short of apathy. For the briefest moment a spark lit her expression - at least when it seemed the first hint of conflict might kindle. Pretty lies coloured her tongue, but she had no need of them. Instead she only had need to drift after the fake White, though she did turn back, offering a wicked grin to the chastened guards. And a coy wink.

In the elevator she leaned back, arms folded, the flat of one foot resting on the wall. Jaxen seemed to know what he was doing, and Oriena was content to let him get on with it. Of electronics and infiltration, she knew little; her preferred methods were far less subtle. But she watched anyway, curious to witness the competencies of a different kind possessed by those fingers; then, pleased when he manipulated the system, and they began a smooth descent.

White walls greeted beyond the slide of the doors. More security, to whom she paid little mind. For now still content to follow White's lead.

[Jaxen Marveet]

The second pair of guards watched him pass with furrowed, quizzical brows. Clearly the thermal thumbprint that the Fake White exhibited did not match their records of the real one. However, they closely scrutinized the man that passed, the one giving them little extra thought, looked at one another and shrugged the instinct away. It didn't make sense, but their eyes didn't lie. They were otherwise too afraid of White to confront him. A factor that worked in Jaxen's favor.

The lower levels beneath the Baccarat mansion were old. Jaxen could tell that much. But they'd been updated well. That explained the records of contractors and permits Jaxen had been able to source off city websites. But never did he find a blue print of a map of the place. Even that one time he'd been able to hack into their system, never did he find such practical information.

So he explored off instinct.

Luckily, some of the main areas were open to see off the main passage. They passed what appeared to be a sparring room, for instance. A place to eat. Restrooms. Practical stuff like that. But it was the library that Jaxen searched, all under the guise of inspection by the Fake White.

The library itself was a room full of floor to ceiling shelves, like a padded cell for the insane, spines of all shapes, ages, and materials lined every surface. Ancient leather-bound books filled the lower-most and tallest shelves like a foundation. Small, pocket or palm-sized spines lined the rows closer to the ceiling. Some of them looked a thousand years old. Or older.

The Fake White was careful not to let the awe touch his eyes. Instead, he kept his gaze narrowed. The Fake White had seen all this before. He didn't care about books. Or about the shiny things on display or held behind glass cases.

Jaxen cared, though. His fingers itched to caress every object. To tease the secrets from their pages out of sheer, covetous desire.

Instead, he left Oriena and went to a work station on the wall, careful to keep his gaze angled toward the door, eyes flicking up every once in a while as he worked to establish an uplink with his Wallet and begin keyword searches.

Scrimshaw

Ireland

Manx

Heroes

Gods

Treasure

Weapons

Ancient power

Naga


....

and so on.

[Borovsky]

There were certain words searched in the Atharim Database that triggered an alert to the security systems. With the arrival of White the men watching them were distracted. Since when did the man make spot checks. The man at the computer absently dismissed the alert that popped up on his screen. Someone had printed a list of Gods just as the system flashed again when another search entered the system. Gods, weapons from the same terminal.

A man from security got up and started for the computer that was being used. Why was White using the terminal....

[Oriena]

She was bored.

Oriena cared nothing for history. Her fingers itched only with the urge for casual destruction; burrowed like rot within her enemy's heart, it was her only burning desire. The power purred against those thoughts, inciting idle hands to mischief. He'd have been wiser to give her something to do. Left to her own devices, Ori thought only of her own amusement. Why did the Atharim even keep this stuff? Her fingers trailed a row of spines, the moroseness of her expression lightening when an idea sparked.

She was kind enough to allow Jaxen the time to dig out whatever the fuck it was they came for first. As for Ori, she came only for the opportunity to toss a gauntlet.

Tick tock, Jaxen. She began to let the power trickle in, one sweet drop at a time.

Then, a distraction.

Ori turned as footsteps beyond touched her newly heightened senses. Her gaze flickered to the fake White with the shadow of a smile, then sauntered over to the door. A calculating hand grasped the handle moments before it opened outward. "Oh."
They stood toe to toe, just shy of a collision. Ori blocked the doorway, and knew it. Stormy eyes glanced upwards, touched by a veil of curious warmth. It was just one of the security guys. "Sorry. Hi."

[Jaxen Marveet]

Jaxen keyed commands with lightning speed, his fingers crackling across holopads like flashes. He knew he needed to be quick about this. Knew his time as Fake White was limited. The illusion was knotted in place, so failing weaves weren't the worry. Discovery was. Or worse yet, the real White could walk in.

He knew the real White was associated with the Atharim. He told Jaxen as much at Manifesto. He worked with them in the past, and Rune knew about White. He did say he was not "one of them" whatever that meant. Security was his day job, monster hunting his night one. As the Atharim were interested in monsters, thats where Jaxen figured the two crossed paths.

He downloaded a lot of stuff very quickly. Copied was probably the better term. Jaxen didnt have time to read everything in detail, but he grabbed as many data entries as seemed relavent. But his eyes fell to a few things.

...Book of Nuachongbáil

...The Sword of Light of Nuada.

...everlasting fame

...a supernatural spear

...Atilla the Hun

...Grendel

....Nóralltach – the Great Fury

...heralds the end of days

...Pliny the Elder



In other words, a lot of shit about kickass sounding weapons, and a lot of words Jaxen couldn't pronounce. With his father having confiscated Emperor Maximilian's coronation sword from Jaxen's secret stash of stolen shit, he would need a replacement.

If this stuff even existed out there.

Oriena's voice suddenly cut through the air.

Fake White slapped the screen shut, having deleted browser history, unless he had been tracked the whole time. Fake White turned, flashing his back between the door and the workstation so to hide the sleight of hand that put the paper slim wallet back inside his jacket pocket. The screen blacked out. The hilt of the gun was visible when Fake White turned to see who Oriena greeted, face a shade shy of about to fuck someone up.

Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Feb 3 2018, 09:59 PM.