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Post by Deleted on Sept 6, 2017 0:05:45 GMT -5
1:42am
Egyptian Wastelands
e r r o r
In recent years, it had become normal for his railways to become known as the Railway of Death. Even in other wastelands, it was common knowledge. Break a rule and die. That was how it had been from the start, how he'd rose up until he'd become the Protector of the Egyptian Wastelands; a mythical figure. He was also known as Anubis. A rather fitting name - the god that was associated with the afterlife.
Gale Amari was not much, in reality. Small and unassuming, innocent-looking. Most of his passengers assumed that he was another passenger. Those who found out that he was Anubis did not often life for long, only finding out after breaking one of his rules. The pure surprise in their eyes was almost worth it. Bonus points for the large men he'd hefted up and thrown out of the side of his trains. Due to his lack of a face in popular wastelander gossip, he became more and more mysterious until he was a horror story to children and a grim reality to adults. Many wanted or needed his trains, but not all of them were willing to follow the rules, and thus did not ride.
His cybernetic eye linked to his main computer systems - which were complex as hell, and had been awful to figure out properly, but he was used to them, now. It meant that he could monitor activity on all of his trains around the world, could make sure that no trouble was happening. More often than not, there was very little trouble - no traps had to be set off, and he could focus on patrolling the train that he'd chosen to ride for the night. He switched trains daily, and if he wasn't on one of his trains then he was probably in his main control room.
The main control room was well-hidden with multiple passwords. Though he knew that a brilliant mind could crack them, they had to locate the room, first. He was quite secure in his hiding place, knew that it would upset him quite a bit if someone managed to get there - more so because of the personal items (his little futon shoved in a corner, a picture of the Jackals, all young and smiling, the engraved knife that he wanted to get rid of but couldn't). It was everything he was and more. If anything ever happened to him, the systems would keep the trains running and would know via his eye what had happened, and so it would either switch to a system where it picked up troublemakers and did Gale's job for him (as they did when he wasn't around on the certain train), or it would revert them to normal trains. It depended entirely on if he would be coming back or not. It made him secure in the knowledge that no matter what happened to him, his little world would remain in-tact and fine, would be able to run without him just as well as with him.
Gale's night, however, was not going very well.
It started with a murder, but when didn't it? A murder on one of his trains. Naturally, he knew the culprit; Salem was not a subtle man, and he often chased down his victims. When one of his victims had entered one of Gale's trains for an escape, Salem had followed - and had slaughtered the man. He supposed that it made sense, when a mass murderer followed a victim, but it broke one of the rules.
Salem had been kicking and screaming, pleading for mercy. He had realised, far too late, what crime he had committed - and whom had witnessed it.
"You should've known," the Protector murmured into the whimpering murderer's ear, holding him firmly in front of the open train door. The wind whipped his hair, the sand would've irritated his eyes had he not been used to it. Most Egyptian Wastelanders were fine with uncovering their eyes, it was just one of those things. "You knew these were my trains, friend."
"I'm sorry!" the wails were louder than Gale had anticipated, grated on his nerves. In the distance, he saw a shadowy wolf stand. The Wasteland Wolves, of course, would not come close to his trains - but they would enjoy their meal. "Please, don't do this!"
The word twisted Gale's gut. He stared Salem in the eye, and let go.
Salem was not a small man, but he wasn't large, either. He dropped like a stone, and a bump in the otherwise smooth ride told Gale where he had landed. He did not blink - he simply closed the door and went back to his patrol. This incident alone, however, was enough to put him in a foul mood. He'd disposed of the victim's body easily (another out-the-door) job, and had cleaned up the blood left behind. It wasn't a big deal, but it bothered him that his rules had been broken. He felt even more sick at Salem's last words - but he had to push it down and get on with his life, because things weren't as simple as telling people not to say certain things.
He'd been foolishly hopeful to think that it would be the only incident of the night. Considering that the Railways of Death had gained a reputation, very few people broke the rules nowadays; it meant less blood on Gale's hands, at least.
Error. It wasn't exactly something Gale wanted to see, and the letters briefly obscured his vision in the one eye. It took him a few tries to try to get it to clear so that he could have his full vision back - but he wasn't too sure on how to fix it remotely. After a few tries to get it to sort itself out (sometimes they did that), he came to the conclusion that he had to fix it from the control room. It was sheer luck that the train was heading back to the station. All he could do was sit and wait for the ride to be over, unable to access any of his systems without getting the error. If it was big enough that he was being forced to go back to his control room, then it was a problem. He only hoped that it wouldn't affect his trains.
It did, in fact, effect his trains.
They didn't stop entirely - which was a relief. They did, however, go slower. That was an issue. He could pull up his map of the Egyptian trains (not the worldwide ones; that was another issue he'd have to sort out), could see that they were delayed. Goddamn. Whatever was causing this was going to feel his fury, and he was not in a patient nor forgiving mood today. Nah, whatever this was could go f**k itself.
After a journey that felt too long, he was finally off the train. He half-limped due to pins and needles in one foot (he'd napped at one point, due to an empty train), and walked along the sand beyond the station, walked for near ten minutes before he found the sandstone steps. To most outsiders, they were just...ruins. Some assumed that it was a collapsed tomb, and if they found out it was something more, they backed out. Quickly. It had a dangerous sort of aura around it, didn't welcome anyone. After inputting his passwords, he entered the room and pushed his mask down slightly, glad for slightly fresher air. He ran a hand through his hair to brush out the sand, walked towards the main computers - and paused.
There was a man there. A man in gear that felt far too much for a native wastelander. He did not, however, know anyone who would wear that - and even if he did, they wouldn't have been able to get in here. Though he briefly noted the tree symbol on the stranger's arm, he didn't pay much attention to it.
"Who the everloving f**k are you?" his words were ground out and one hand moved to his side to reach for the hilt of his scimitar, "and what have you done to my systems?"
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Sept 6, 2017 1:45:58 GMT -5
404 ERROR
Identity: Unknown
Organization: Unknown
Purpose: Unknown
If he were to be honest, things were easier nowadays. In his youth, in the glory days of the Resistance, when it had first came to him from the word of mouth of a friend, it had been harder. Tracking down the Wasteland leaders without no basis of trust with the wastelanders and a system to work with had been hard. Little knew him for who he was. Those who knew of his alias were the trusted confidants of the Resistance, leaders working towards a better future for the wastelanders. Those who knew his identity were even smaller in numbers.
He lived as a ghost and he became one in due time. His work had been violent and bloody, merciless even. He used to be a soldier, a paratrooper that fought off bandits from entering cities and saving city folk from violent wastelanders, so how he came here was quite a development. He didn't quite mind it in all honesty. It was a nice change for him, the work was similar to the kind he had done for the Service, a clandestine agency that worked for the French government. He had earned his reputation as a spy there and he had lost everything there as well. They made him and they broke him and he became more fearsome than they could have ever imagined.
He went by Ghost nowadays to his business partners, to the fellows he took odd jobs from, for the work he did with political assassinations and espionage. It was a name built on blood. To the wasteland leaders like Maxim Alkaev of Russia, Nahla Mansour of Egypt, Elimisha Kamau of Africa, and whatnot, he was known simply as A.F. Atticus Finch. Code: Actum Fide. Meaning: "What we do, we do in faith." The entirety of the delegates of the Resistance used the same manner of aliases and codes. Malakai Croft, M.C., Michael Collins. It was a system of usage where old and familiar names became their identities. It worked. It passed a message while they were at it.
The governments that dug into lines of information regarding them found out information about nonexistent figures or long dead ones. They united the Wastelands in India, China Africa, America, Russia, North Korea, Egypt, Canada, and Antarctica through a network. A shadow network formed by the deeds of ghosts. Delegates of the shadows, as they were better known as.
He had cleaned his hand up of a job done in Peru, the assassination of a long standing politician who preached of bombing the parts of Brazil and Venezuela that had became wastelands. The rhetoric was slowly becoming more common in regular jargon and vernacular, the public was starting to believe it and demand it. Such was the state of affairs. A quick and powerful message had to be sent out, a bullet to silence a man who wished to end the lives of hundreds and thousands of wastelanders.
Jobs like that were the easy ones. And then on the rarer occassions, they asked of him to branch out his duties and go back to the wastelands. He'd familiarized himself with them quite awhile ago. He knew how to survive in one, how to appeal to the wastelanders, and how to stay out of trouble. This case, however, was one where he needed a bit of attention and quite some trouble. It meant that reaching out to Nahla was his best way out.
He had gotten to know one of the Egyptian protectors in his younger years when he had started out his work. When the Resistance had been weaker, but nowadays it grew in numbers and in strength. The governments of the world was ignorant about the shift in the balance of powers. In due time, there was going to be a revolution. A rise in numbers that would lead to war and violence and then, if things panned out, equality.
There were a lot of folk who believed rhetoric was the end of it. Enough protests and speeches and rallies would lead the cities to care about the wastelands, but that wasn't the case. He'd been alive for far too long to believe in something that naive. Equality, freedom, and peace were all paid in blood. Only war would bring to light the truth and when that happened, what was done in the dark would finally be brought to the light. The ghosts that work the case would become obsolete and in due time, he and the others would disappear if they didn't die first.
He like the wastelands a fair bit, didn't want to change it, he just wanted it to be safer. For the wastelanders to be given rights that had been revoked from them long ago when they had been given the short end of the stick. It had started a long time back when the world had collapsed upon itself. When war raged rampant and nobody was safe. When nuclear bombing became a thing of the present and not the past. The world was left in ruins. The places destroyed and deemed 'unsalvageable' by the lucky ones in due time became the wastelands. The parts that were untouched by the bombs became the cities.
They preached of a new future, brighter and a world where there was no war while all at the same time subjugating millions to a life in poverty and constant despair. Wastelanders were warzone survivors. Their lives were spent in constant fear, no day was guaranteed to them. Nobody would miss them if they died. It wasn't a pretty situation. Families rarely stuck together. It was every man for himself, only the strong survived.
Cityfolk came to view them as savages, violent and wild. It was a shame they never reflected on what made the wastelanders that way.
He had came quite a fair distance from Peru to Egypt, but the word was in that nowadays, there was a new protector. Someone who controlled more of Egypt than Nahla did. Nahla controlled a fair part of it, but she wasn't one of the - and the Resistance had coined this term - "certified protector" of Egypt. She wasn't a large holder in the land mass, she had influence in a fair bit, but a figure by the name 'Anubis' was running the show in Egypt nowadays. She was "Bast" to the wastelanders, Ra's third eye. The person on the grounds, he assumed, since Anubis was under control of the railways system in Egypt and a fair part of the world.
Whoever they were, they were becoming powerful, and the Resistance wanted that influence on their side.
He was one of the most well known delegates. He had dedicated his life to Resistance work, had, after the incident, became an even more influential power in the organization. He became more or less of a living legend in the Resistance, rarely to show his face in the headquarters they had garnered in the oncoming years. He was always out on the field or at home. There was no in-between for him. The fate of the world waited for no man.
He wore his wasteland gear like a cloak. The weight of it became almost companionable, familiar in ways he could not describe. It wasn't like home, but it like a long loss friend. The symbol he bore on his arm gained him passage to many locations. The flag he carried was a common commodity in the wastelands, a symbol of hope that was depicted as a bloody tree. It had been drawn by Maxim Alkaev years ago. When the first talks of resistance and revolution had begun. It had been a means to reclaim the symbol of life that had long become the symbol of death.
Trees were breeding grounds for trouble in the wastelands. Usually the animals lived there. Creatures like wasteland wolves and radiated bears claimed cities and what remained of forests for themselves. Nowadays, the meaning of the symbol was not well known, but what it represented was.
The trip he was making to the Egyptian wasteland city of Bilbes, a large metal fortress, was to locate Nahla. He knew that if there was anyone who knew about the existence of Anubis, it was her. The request to enter Bilbes had been eased with the symbol and the soft promise of revolution. The slogan, acta non verba, went a long way.
The escort though was uncalled for and a little too flashy for his tastes, but the young man, Hanif, had insisted. He was full of questions. Asking about the plans, about the schedule, about when something would happen and how long was left until the revolution occurred. Those were of course questions asked out of haste, the youthful desire for things to occur quicker. It never worked that way.
He had tried to answer them to the best of his ability, deflecting rather than offering a truly satisfying response. Hanif had seemed to understand the message and backed off somewhat. They had spent the rest of the walk in silence, Hanif departing when they had arrived. Thanking the younger man, he headed inside. It seemed this was one of the better wasteland cities. It was large, not beautiful, but comfortable. It wasn't as dirty as many he had been to and the living conditions while not ideal were better than most.
Nahla had made quite a name for herself now. In the past, she had been young and reckless. A close mark on the Service's eyes, but deemed less important than some other individuals. He had came to her before she caused too much trouble, before she was deemed the next target. He had taught her how to organize a resistance, how to start a quiet revolution that would go unnoticed until it was too late. They had spent a few nights together and had silently dispatched a military recon unit. She had told she was indebted to him.
He had vanished after that.
It had been unlucky timing. He couldn't stay far too long. The Service would find out something was admist, but they had been wiser than he and the Resistance had first thought. There had been a mole somewhere in the works. He had been exposed, marked criminal of war, and taken care of. Except they hadn't killed him. They had failed. They thought he'd died, but that was far from the truth.
He hadn't returned in years. He knew she wouldn't be happy, but they were good friends and with that line of reasoning, he could only hope she'd spare him some generosity. She had been cleaning a rusted knife when he entered, barely glancing up briefly to take note of him before returning to the task. Clearly, she had not recognized his gear. "How might I help you?" Hell, she sounded tired.
This must have been a common occurrence. He couldn't even begin to fathom how many times per a day. "Nahla," she seemed to perk up at the sound of his voice, placing down the knife with a loud 'thump'. He didn't even get a chance to continue before she raised a hand accusingly, pointing at him, hand tightening suspiciously around her knife.
"You!" The words were loud and he cringed slightly, smiling sheepishly under his mask. "I thought you were dead and look at what the wasteland wolves drag back in! Get out."
"Nahla, please," his tone was softer in comparison as he raised his hands to attempt to placate her. All he received in return was a strong punch to the shoulder. She had settled back in her chair, fuming, but silent. Seeing his opportunity he continued, "The Resistance has heard word of a new protector. I need your help."
"You mean, the protector? Anubis?" Whatever anger she had had earlier was gone. She seemed to have perked up at his words, sitting up straighter. "The king of the railways?"
"Yes, that one" he said, hoping she would continue with useful information.
"I'd tell you to wait for him to visit Bilbes when he's checking his train here, but I highly doubt that's the quickest way. And I don't know where to find him." She shook her head. "You're on your own, Al." The sound of his name coming from a wastelander had come as a surprise after all this time. She was one of the few who knew that was still alive. He smiled slightly, lowering his head.
"Alright then, I suppose I'll be leaving." The words were cold, he knew, but there was nothing to gain by being in Bilbes. Perhaps on his way back, he would stop by for a night or two.
"See you," she said softly, watching as he got up. "Don't die."
He turned back at those words, pausing. He supposed that was as close to a term of endearment as he would get from her. "I won't," the words tasted an awful lot like a promise. He hated promises. They never ended up well for him. "Stay safe," he responded, leaving. That meant that he had to fall back onto Plan B.
It was to locate the location of Anubis' railways. Quinn O'Sullivan, one of the leading tech experts and a long time agent of the Resistance, had geared him up with the proper tools to trace down the source of the railway's computer system. He and the younger man had went hours on how to deactivate the system, how to slow it down, and how to reactivate it. In accordance to Quinn, it was "easy". He didn't agree. The system, though "old as f*ck" was a lot more advanced than the technology he dabbled with. He generally utilized tools handed to him to get jobs done in a clean and orderly fashion. He didn't bother with the more technological side of it.
Still, the knowledge had come in handy when he used the devices to locate Anubis' headquarters. It wasn't big by any means, but it was quite an impressive control room and quite intricate despite being wasteland gear. Inputting the strings of text as he had been taught by Quinn, the error message had popped up just as it should. That meant that the temporary damage had been caused. It would force the man out of hiding and back here. In a controlled environment where he could talk to him.
He had removed his guns and weapons after settling down. The heavy equipment bore down on him and if he were to be honest, that only hindered him in a close quarter fight. Though he certainly wasn't looking for one. He kept his eyes on the screen, watching as the word 'ERROR' blinked back at him. The sound of the door opening however alerted him to the fact he was not alone. Not turning to the other man, instead, he tapped in the code to reinstate the trains back to their normal service.
Slowly turning around, he eyed the other man cautiously. He was smaller than he had first thought. Eyes flicking to Anubis' hand, he saw the man going for a scimitar of all things. Hmm. "I wanted to talk to you, but I've been told you're a man hard to come by," he answered raising his hands. "So, I had to expedite matters. As for your question, Anubis - and please correct me if I'm wrong here - I am Atticus Finch. I just slowed down your systems but I've returned them to their normal settings as you can see."
"Now," he said, standing up slowly. It was rude to sit down when the other man was standing, "May we talk? I won't use up much of your time."
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Post by Deleted on Sept 6, 2017 2:41:35 GMT -5
intruder detected.
activate security precautions? no.
intruder cleared. no information found.
cleaning files...
contact bast? no.
confirmed. setting trains back on track.
fix complete. no errors found.
worldwide map restored.
six (6) new messages. ignore.
It seemed that everything had been restored when he'd come back. That irritated him more than he would've liked to admit. Though the error was gone, the influx of information was not appreciated. It hurt his head, forced him to process as quickly as possible so that he could focus on the stranger in front of him rather than focus on fixing his goddamn trains. For a moment, he simply inhaled deeply and tried to sort out his thoughts, setting them in order. His computers flicked up a constant stream of Arabic characters, refused to slow down. He'd have to ignore it, for now - it was mostly trying to figure out what had gone wrong. It didn't seem to know that it had been a code, nor that it...was harmless? It just slowed it down. That was a pain.
I've been told that you're a hard man to come by. He narrowed his eyes and tensed some more, tracking the other man's movements cautiously. He was still tensed, ready to move at any second. Gale was a hard man to come by for obvious reasons - the amount of power he currently held made him both fearsome and a target. If he was constantly moving, constantly here and there and faceless, then he was just a little safer. At this point in time, nobody knew his location for sure. Some thought he was still in China, negotiating for new trains (he'd got the one he'd wanted), some thought he was in Japan, securing a city train (that hadn't ever happened and he didn't care about city trains) - but most were secure in the knowledge that he was probably in Egypt. He was, after all, the Protector. If he wasn't in Egypt, then it was for business or to check on his other trains. Always brief trips out, never for too long.
He hated that he'd been pulled back and found, though. His systems were older because he didn't want to be tracked, and the older the system, the harder it was for newer tech to find him - so how had this man found him?
Atticus Finch. The Resistance. He hadn't expected to be tracked down by them, of all people. It took him a few moments, but Gale eventually removed his hand from the hilt of his scimitar and straightened up a little. The fact that he was referred to by Anubis meant that his identity wasn't compromised. That was good. He hadn't been betrayed, hadn't had information leak.
Gale waited for a couple of seconds and listened, angling his head to the side a little. Then, he moved around Finch and to his computers, shifting his body so that he could watch the stranger from the corner of his eye while he worked on checking that his systems were fine. They were - confused, a little muddled, but otherwise fine. They were back on track and the trains were back to speed, and that was good. That had been something of a scare that he'd never experienced before. Maybe he needed to update his security - but he wasn't sure how. His brows furrowed a little and he stood up straight again, turning to look at Finch.
"Yes, we can talk," his tone was calm and cool, no longer defensive but certainly cautious. "I want you to explain how you f**ked with my systems, too."
To have slowed them down like that...it was a problem. Hell, he probably wouldn't have noticed if his eye wasn't connected to the whole system - it gave him a headache, sometimes. There was so much information going through his brain at one time that it overwhelmed him from time to time, but he was okay, he'd gotten used to it. It had taken years of practice, years of trial and error. System errors were not good, and even this one had shocked him badly. Maybe he needed a break. He was working all the time, never had breaks - but he couldn't afford to be able to relax. It was tiring. He was tired.
But he needed to find out more from Finch. He knew the initials - A.F - and knew few rumours surrounding the Resistance. He'd never paid much attention. When he had been younger, the Jackals had never bothered looking into the possibility of the change that the organisation wanted.
The way he stood near his computers was near-protective - he didn't think that Finch would try to mess with them again, but he couldn't be too careful.
"Wait," he held up a finger and narrowed his eyes. "How the sh*t did you get in here without the passwords?"
There were three passwords that kept the control room locked. All of them relating to his family. If Finch had either figured those out or bypassed - he needed to know. If the former, than Gale...wasn't happy. Hell, he wasn't happy in general. To have his personal space invaded like this, to have his systems messed with, to feel like this entire situation was out of his hands...it was bad.
It was mildly surprising to realise how genuinely distressed he was. Everything had been fine for years - he'd worked up a reputation, worked up territory, worked for a title, and now it felt like it was all precious. Like...like glass. One wrong move and it could all shatter and collapse on top of him, and he hated that this was his wake-up call. He'd been careful! That's why he was so firm on moving around as much as he could, on remaining unpredictable - but if he could be forced back with one little adaptation to his systems, then he had a problem. A severe one. Maybe he could invest in getting Bast to contact him if someone wanted to find him. That way, at least, he could have a little more control over the situation instead of having his livelihood threatened. God. He hated this. Hated feeling so out of place in his own home, hated knowing how fragile this business really was.
He swallowed, took another moment to be grateful that no, his identity was not compromised. He was okay, he would be okay, and if he could just get Finch to leave, then that would be good too! Admittedly, Gale didn't like the idea of someone going about knowing the face of Anubis, but whatever. That could be dealt with at another time. He also didn't like that he had a glaringly big weakness, but that was another thing he could work on. F**k, he'd honestly thought that his control room had been safe. If the dangerous appearance didn't throw people off, then the a) death or b) multiple passwords should have. And yet here Finch stood, and that p*ssed Gale off more than he'd admit.
Maybe he needed to hire security. But that had even more flaws, so he decided against it almost immediately. He could hire someone to fix his current security, but that was a bad idea, too. Everything he had set up was...mostly his, with some additions from people who were long dead and couldn't spill secrets. He found himself chewing his thumb nail, staring rather intensely at Finch. He did not like this situation, he did not like this man, and he did not want to be here. He was uncomfortable and more distressed than he liked to be.
Just typical, he thought bitterly, a terrible day turning into an even worse day. All I need now is for someone to tell me one of my trains was derailed, and then everything will be just as awful as ever.
He was, perhaps, more than a little angry.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Sept 7, 2017 20:01:15 GMT -5
A.F.
FILE ACCESS: REVOKED.
Mission Objective: Recruit Anubis.
Call Sign: Atticus Finch
Code: Actum Fide
He was a man who could read situations well. Anyone who worked with him for an extended period of time agree with that. He fancied himself a man hard to fool, but there were occasions when he was wrong. He wouldn't deny that. Still, as he backed away to give Anubis more room to take control of the situation in order to defuse the tension, he had a feeling that Anubis wouldn't kill him unless he gave the other man a reason to. That was fair if he were to be honest.
Watching the other man remove his hand from the scimitar, he smiled behind his mask as he watched Gale turn to survey the room. He hadn't touched or moved anything, so hopefully that didn't ruffle any feathers with the other man. He watched the younger man, a little surprised as to how young Anubis actually was. Then again, it wasn't quite startling. Wastelanders died young. There was something about the way the man held himself that said he was dangerous, and he was no fool. All the wastelanders were dangerous, but this man held himself with an air of authority that showed he was not only sure of himself, but he was confident in his abilities.
There was a reason he was the protector of Egypt nowadays, Alphonse supposed. The shift in Anubis' tone didn't go unnoticed by him as he settled back against the wall, seemingly relaxed. Honestly, he didn't think a fight would break out, but he wasn't exactly relaxed. He simply seemed to put down his guard. There was a fair deal of caution in Anubis' voice as he spoke and he couldn't find it in himself to fault the other man.
Hell, it would have been strange if the other man didn't hold his reservations. Smiling underneath his mask at the words of consent, he nodded. "Fair enough. The Resistance has a number of technological experts," he answered easily, it was simpler not to lie to Anubis. He knew if he wanted to establish value and trust, honesty was the best method. Besides, they were all on the same side here. Anubis was the protector of Egypt, if anybody wanted these wastelanders safe, he'd take a hazard and guess it would be Anubis. "One of our own analyzed the train system you had. He pinpointed the computers and the method to infiltrate it once I reached the mainframe. It's just some code work I had to memorize, I'm not quite savvy with computers, if I'm to be quite frank."
But it was easy to mess with Anubis computer. It wasn't hard, the difficult part had been locating Anubis' base of operations. Hmm, perhaps he could establish value on how the Resistance could aid in increasing the security of Anubis' train system. There were plenty of skilled hackers in the cities, if the city wanted to ruin it, they could once they located it. With the help of one of their experts, that would be much harder. That was, of course, if that interested Anubis.
Judging from how protectively Anubis stood before them, he supposed that it would be quite an enticing offer. However, before he was given the opportunity to speak, Anubis continued with a question. Tipping his head to a side, he realized it was a fair question. He hadn't quite contemplated how important the matter would be to Anubis given the technological advancements in the city. Reaching into one of his pouches, he pulled out a small device and gently tossed it towards Anubis.
"We call it a codelock breaker, it was developed by our experts," he explained. It had been stolen from an older model in the MI6 which was highly outdated and given to them by Mal. It was advanced and made better by the crew working on tech for the Resistance like Jason Rodriguez. "It can break into most security systems and leaves no traces behind. You can have it, if you'd like."
He had a number of devices with him, but the codelock breaker was one of few made by Jason and Quinn. He'd have to try to secure another one when he was done here. It seemed like a good idea to offer it to Anubis. The other man would find it useful. The device just had to be in range of a security system to hack into the security and crunch some numbers or whatever for it to figure out the passwords. He didn't really know how it worked, just knew that it had worked in his multiple tests on the field.
It was something he'd leave to the experts.
Realizing he had yet to remove his own mask to be fair about the situation, he lifted up his hands to remove his helmet. Ruffling his matted hair to give it back some of its volume, he smiled at the other man knowing full well he wasn't exactly welcomed. He was just being tolerated. "I suppose I should get into the matter as to why I'm here," he finally said. Straightening up, he watched Anubis to look for any signs of a reaction to his words. "The Resistance is trying to unit the Wastelands for a revolution. Originally our contacts here was with Bast, however, her status of protector of these wastelands have shifted over to you in recent years."
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he tipped his head as he continued, "You hold authority here. People believe in you to protect them. So, the Resistance wants your assistance and your support. You're a leader here and we need the wastelanders to know that their leaders stand with the Resistance."
"Of course, it's not without benefits," he added as he finally took his eyes off the other man, glancing around the small headquarters. "We can send one of our technicians here to look into upgrading your preexisting security system so that it's harder to infiltrate. We also have shipments of weaponry, technology, and body armor we need sent out. And your trains would be quite helpful in the matters."
Personally he thought he was making quite a good sales deal. But it was hard to tell what Anubis wanted. In all his years as a protector, the younger man hadn't tried to promote the Resistance. So did he want equality or safety? Or money? No, the trains made a fair deal of money. He didn't need that. Whatever it was Anubis needed, he supposed he'd be able to pinpoint it with enough time to converse with the other man. That was if, and only if, Anubis didn't want him to leave immediately and showed no interest.
That would be unfortunate.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2017 1:43:51 GMT -5
welcome, anubis.
two (2) trains are delayed. confirmed.
train route: shaoxing added. confirmed.
resetting traps...
traps reset.
intruder: atticus finch. confirm.
confirmed. new database: atticus finch.
scan.
scanning...physical profile created for atticus finch. danger?
unsure.
data created. access files? no.
confirmed.
check status of egyptian train routes.
checking status of all egyptian train routes.
e r r o r: train route: bilbes not found. try again? yes. retrying...
The computer beeped softly as he tried to retrace Bilbes' route, but it didn't seem to be visible on the map. Probably some bandits. Maybe it had been derailed. God, today just wanted to kill him. He bit his lip, more p*ssed that he'd been temporarily unable to access his computers for updates, so now he had to go through the history, all while listening to the other man. He frowned a little as he watched the digital route of the Bilbes train moving along the tracks, listened to Finch while he worked.
"F**king awesome," Gale's tone was bland and unamused. "It might not be convenient to your cause, or whatever, but I'd rather that if there's a next time, you just wait somewhere else for me."
He watched the screens for a moment before moving away and turning to face Finch, crossing his arms and frowning. The Bilbes train was one of the most useful Egyptian trains due to the connection to Bast - but it had been on its return trip, so maybe he was lucky and it had just lost its tracker briefly. That happened from time to time, though not often. It worried him, but he couldn't just go and check on it, because he had other matters to deal with. One of the matters, of course, being Atticus Finch. There was nothing on him - the fact that Gale had to sort out a new file just for this man was a pain.
"I don't need it," he wrinkled his nose. Messing with the security systems of others wasn't his thing, and he didn't really enjoy breaking into places, either. He had his power, other people had theirs. He didn't want a codebreaker or whatever, even to analyse. He was glad that his question had been answered, however, and he focused on Finch a little more, narrowed his eyes and studied him further. He didn't look or hold himself like a wastelander, but there was certainly an air of confidence there. Used to the wastelands, probably. Adapted. Whatever. Gale wasn't sure if he cared.
Gale watched the other's mask come off, giving silent, constant commands to his computer to add certain details to the file he had started up for Finch. It was best to keep the physical details of potential threats on hand, but he had nothing else - he wasn't sure what to think about Finch, really. A stranger, coming in under the name of the Resistance, forcing him home and using Gale's own home as a controlled environment. It wasn't unnoticed that some control was being given back, but Gale already felt too tense, too aware of every movement. Too aware of his personal space being invaded and his computers being messed with.
But he listened. Why not? What sort of protector would he be if he didn't listen to things that could potentially make life better for the people who counted on him? A terrible one, most likely.
There was a reason that Gale strayed away from the Resistance, however. He wanted to keep a peaceful life, just wanted to be able to make business and deal with people who broke his rules. He'd never asked to be the Protector, but he'd become it anyway and that was just how life went. As much as he wanted to turn Finch away and shoo him out, it was impossible to do - especially if Bast had been involved with them beforehand. In fact, it felt like he was cornered. Rejecting the Resistance, both business-wise and wastelands-wise, was a bad choice. Hell, he had no choice. He reached up one hand and checked absently at his thumb nail, brows furrowing a little.
"That's a lot to offer just for support," his tone, perhaps, was a little too disbelieving - but he couldn't help it. Things just weren't that good. Nobody offered both business and assistance with security for 'support'. "What else does the Resistance want from me?"
He knew that during his time as the Protector, he hadn't done much. He'd killed dangerous people via his trains, had become owner to a vast majority of land due to his transport; but that was it. He took people from place to place in the wastelands, offered a safer option. He had never promoted freedom, had never suggested that they fight. He'd hoped that he'd stay low on the radar, that the Resistance would ignore him - but he wasn't that lucky.
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