FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Mercenary is the first arc of The Underground series

Chapter 17 of 32

Blackwell

Alias watched as Jenna removed his rain soaked overcoat and draped it across one of the chairs in the kitchen to dry. Alias wasn't used to having company. Not even Mick had seen where he lived, and the name on the door was for a Mr. Tueur; who was registered as a fifty-four year-old single mouse. Alias looked around; there was hardly anything in the fridge, which looked as if it belonged in a quarantine zone, most of the shelves were empty, except for the random article, cans of soup made up most of the garbage, and the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes.

"You wanted coffee, right?" His asked, hoping to direct her attention away from his mess.

"Yes, please..." the young vixen replied. "Actually," Jenna replied, looking slightly coy, "I know this sounds awkward, but is there any way I might be able to get a shower?" She asked indicating to her stained clothes and appearance. Her fur was matted with dirt and blood in some places (both her own and others), and her clothes were disastrous. She had come a long way from the uppity vixen he had talked to in Club Xero. Now, she looked like one of the females Alias always saw hanging out on the street corners, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

"Yeah," Alias replied caught slightly off guard by her question, "towels and stuff are under the sink. The bathroom should be clean enough." Alias replied, and hoped he was correct. He actually couldn't remember in what state he left it in early yesterday morning. "Just across the living room and to your right."

Jenna looked around the door of the kitchen, looking for the bathroom.

"Just yell if you need anything."

Alias, without another word, set to brewing the grounds. As his paw pressed the "brew" button, he had to wonder if there was life before coffee. Or perhaps it just was that he was too dependent on stimulants and depressants. Alias nodded; that was probably more likely the case. Alias could feel his weariness pulling down on his body as he leaned against the kitchen counter. He shook his head; he needed to focus. He couldn't afford to lose focus in the game, not even for a second. That's the quickest way he'd end up dead.

But, his next move was important.

Right now, Alias was in a holding pattern until Mick could dig up some dirt for him. Alias knew that if he could get in touch with this person, he could start a fire big enough that Hets would be forced to look the other way. If all went well, he'd just drop Jenna off, and Alias would move a few spots down Hets's "To Kill" list. Which would be enough time for Alias to get the Hell out of Dodge, so to speak. But Alias had to wait. Mick knew it was important so Alias assumed he wasn't messing around. He'd call Alias when he had enough for his purposes.

Alias reached to his side and released the Velcro straps holding his flack jacket on. As he pulled the heavy vest off, he felt the rush of cool air. It felt like shedding a second layer of skin. He tossed the bulky lapel on the table, which about toppled the wobbly structure over. Standing there in his baggy black cargo pants, tucked into his combat boots, and figure-fitting shirt, Alias caught a glimpse of himself in the darkened kitchen window. The two Berettas stuck out on his hips where they were holstered. It was almost slightly difficult to tell where he began and his clothes ended.

But it worked for him, and that's what counted. If Alias wanted style in his career he'd work for a clothing company. Plus he never had to worry about matching anything.

Alias walked over to a cupboard and pulled the door open. Inside laid a dusty laptop computer. Alias hardly even used it, and when he did it was for a specific purpose. It was both a beast of burden and a savior at the same time. Grabbing both the computer itself and the power cord, Alias took a seat and started it up.

On primary appraisal, the clunky black laptop looked like nothing special, but it was designed that way. Looking like a piece of junk, it would draw less attention than some fancy contraption. But the power of this machine lay within its plastic shell.

It cost Alias about a full jobs pay to get this machine with the specs it had. Most of the technology wasn't even available to the public and even some military contractors. Its operating system was not like anything else on the market and had been privately developed by a software corporation with ties to private security and military institutions. It was the Blackwell, and it was the one thing Hets was worried about.

Given, Alias had a hard copy of every job he had pulled for anyone. But he kept digital records for quick reference and client history. He only planned to use it as a bargaining chip in dire circumstances. Circumstances he now found himself in.

The information, however, was not on the Blackwell. Alias knew that the laptop could easily be stolen by some petty burglar, or destroyed by some force, so he took precautions to prevent the loss of data. The Blackwell was truly only a terminal to a larger server housed in a server farm that was not even located in Palamont. The drawback was that if the Blackwell was ever destroyed or became nonfunctional, the only way Alias could access anything was to go to the server directly and log in from there. So, Alias took precautions. The mouse track pad was biologically sensitive; it took Alias's paw print to log in. There were several passwords to unlock the hard drive; and if the Blackwell were suddenly hacked by an outside source, it would go into lockdown and cut all access to the server.

Or at least that's what Alias had paid for.

But it worked as more than just an information storage device. It kept dirt on people he had been involved with, but it could also search databases and pull new information. Alias could potentially end many careers if he let his Blackwell information leak to the media. However, he had no intentions of doing so. Most people who were in the Blackwell had paid great sums of money to make sure the information didn't exist any longer. It was a powerful force, and one Alias would use if necessary. Mick was supposed to email everything he had uncovered in his investigation. From there, Alias would upload it to the server, for possible future reference.

Pulling up the search query, Alias hesitated for a moment before typing in what he was looking for. The cursor blinked on the line that read: First Name. Very slowly Alias typed the word "JENNA" in the blank space.

Then he stopped.

This wasn't the way to do it. Besides, it was best if he never knew anything about her. It sounded strange, but the less he knew about her the better. He was a higher target than she was, and if he had the misfortune to fall into Hets's paws, he could potentially leak information, even if not meaning to. Alias had been on his own for so long, he wasn't used to thinking about other people. He wasn't used to being concerned with them.

Alias cleared the query. It was simply a harsh reminder of his life, who he was, and how he survived. Alias couldn't let himself become close to anyone. It was just too risky for the both of them. For better or for worse, it worked.

It had to.