Every Old Knife Rusting in My Back [Open]

[cassidykept]

WHO| Black Tom and open
WHAT| Tom works on a scheme and plays Tetris.
WHEN| Week 2
WHERE| CELL-U-LAR Phones!
WARNINGS| None yet.

Tom's relocated to the Cell-U-Lar cellphone store. Part of this is out of convenience - so few Tributes have any need for the nonfunctional flip-phones that the small store is relatively quiet. Until he finds an ally to watch his back while he rests, he'll need to be sleeping in a somewhat untrafficked area like this. The bookstore has become entirely too populated throughout the day by people desperate to be offended by their mendacious biographies.

The other part of this is far more sinister; now that Tom has grenades, he's intending to use them, but he doesn't actually want to spend much time around the little bombs given that the make has a tendency to up and detonate with no warning. It's not a terribly high chance, but between the type's reputation and the Gamemakers' supposed habit of causing mayhem for the hell of it, he'd rather keep a distance between his prizes and himself.

Which means he has to figure out how to build a detonator from the crap at the mall. Thankfully, he has enough of a background in explosives that he doubts that will be too much of a trial. Even though he typically rested on his superpowers back home, he's been without them enough times that he's put work into being able to work with raw materials like a baseline human.

So he's going through the store, examining each flip phone as if he's just shopping. He hums to himself and runs his hand over his goatee as he examines each one. He's gotten himself all trimmed up at the Glamour Nail and despite the low-class merchandise throughout the mall, he's put together a subdued but stylish ensemble.

He rests on his cane as he flips open the next phone, pecking at the buttons with his thumb, before he takes a seat behind the cash register and pulls the sandwich he got from the food court out. The phone plays a little ditty as colorful blocks in strange shapes fall from the top of the screen to the bottom.

As time goes by, lines of digital bricks disappear as Tom turns out to be quite the Tetris gangster.

Comments

[yourmove]

After sitting with some unauthorized maintenance with Jet, Alex takes off again on his beat. As far as he can tell from his HUD, his glucose levels are sufficient for now and he isn't in danger of starving. Lack of sedation has dropped his efficiency levels considerably. He should talk to Dr. Norton about eventually removing the need for sedation - for sleep - so he could operate longer without that drop.

Still. He's got a job to do. It's one of the things that hasn't changed since he got turned into this graphene shell of a man and Alex takes it as seriously as he did back in Detroit. As Venus and Eridan are still at large and unaccounted for, Alex decides to locate cooperative Tributes and enlist them. Cast a crude network for information seeing as his databases are offline and he can't access the mall's CCTV. It's hardly efficient, but it's the type of thing that works in his experience.

Although most of his past sources hadn't known he was a cop. The chassis he's grafted into now makes any kind of anonymity impossible.

Alex finds Tom at Cell-U-Lar. He steps through the door, filling it with his hulking black frame, as he looks left and right for any sign of Venus and Eridan, establishes they aren't hiding behind the flip-phone displays, and zeroes in on Tom. The well-maintained goatee and hair look respectable. As he doesn't see Tom walking out of the store with the phone, he doesn't jump to [APPREHEND: SHOPLIFTER]. It's not a crime to try out a store's merchandise.

"Good evening. I'm Detective Murphy," Alex says politely. He seems to unconsciously favor the less burned side of his face, head tilting to the side. "If you're free, I can use your help, Mr..." He pauses to access one of the few databases intact - the Gamemaker scores. Tom's name and face pop up in a match. "Cassidy."

[cassidykept]

Tom hears the metal man coming - it's hard not to, with that chassis - and while he's daydreaming slightly for a moment his mind entertains the fancy that it's Cain, lumbering around through the kitchen trying to get dinner onto a plate without breaking it. It's only for a second, but at rest his mind settles into a comfortable past he wouldn't have access to even outside Panem, into a time when he was, if not happy, at some sort of peace.

It's snuck up on him, how exhausted he is; typically he wouldn't be zoning out watching the little colored bricks fall into place. Even on the run, he's had Cain as backup, or at least some hideout to get a full night's rest, and he's always slept on beds with wooden headboards in case someone broke in. His ability to channel explosions through plant matter has kept him safe in the past, even if it's failing him now, and very suddenly he realizes how vulnerable he is without his powers and his strongman. He only has a lifetime of being a fugitive and his charm to rest on.

He doesn't let the phone go, but he feels the weight of the hunting knife in his pocket. He stands, ready to run or negotiate or otherwise face the danger with his wits about him - and then relaxes.

It's so helpful when police officers announce themselves. It's like a cheat code to the entire interaction.

"Oh, thank goodness. I was beginning to think this place was entirely lawless." He sits back down, as if an obedient pup to the embodiment of justice. He keeps his hands where Alex can see them, trusting that the only tool he needs is his silver tongue.

Besides, Murphy? American accent or not, they probably have some cultural heritage in common. He files that supposition away for further investigation.

"I'm at your service, Detective Murphy. Anything to bring a little order to this madhouse. I can't even sleep for fear of all the criminals here. Did you see what they made of that poor girl in the food court? The tied her up like an animal."

[yourmove]

He doesn't do smiling these days, but he's still capable of approval. As Tom speaks, Alex is adjusting his profile in real-time, checking off "cooperative, concerned about crime levels". It's something of a digital thumb's up.

Alex doesn't bat an eye at the mention of Eponine's corpse. "Yes, I saw. It's unfortunate."

The body is gone by now. He assumes coroners have picked it up and that puts following up on that behind the active suspects he's tracking, such as Ms. Milo and Eridan.

Alex watches as Mr. Cassidy sits back down, the very picture of a helpful, concerned citizen who doesn't want to make the wrong moves. Alex thinks he likes that the man keeps his hands visible at all times, no muscles twitching like he wants to try to play chicken with a cyborg. He wouldn't say it's refreshing because he can't feel relief, but he does find it more than acceptable. He moves to stand closer to Mr. Cassidy, servos and joints whir-thudding, Alex training his least damaged eye on the man. He looks attentive, back straight, his blink-rate a little fast but not too fast that it looks suspect. Mostly it looks like he wants to do his part. Alex doesn't see any reason to disbelieve Mr. Cassidy.

"I'm looking for these two." Alex rattles off descriptions of Ms. Milo, Eridan, and then pauses. "Did you see who killed Eponine?"

Because if he has a face, a description of anyone, he can file that away, multi-task.

[pimpcanes]

Inside Tom's own head, the metaphorical gears and pulleys are working away, trying to figure out how to turn this most efficiently, how to not only walk away from Detective Murphy not a suspect but possibly with an extra ace up his sleeve.

"I didn't see who did it, no. Thank Christ I was away from the scene of the crime. I don't know if I could have handled the trauma."

Tom looks genuinely contrite, and then as if he's just connected the dots in his mind. Next to him, the phone gives up trying to tell him it's Game Over and goes into sleep mode. "I was, however, solicited by a woman who wanted my help murdering the competition. I turned her down, of course. Even if I hadn't suspected a trap I just don't have the stomach for that."

He proceeds to tell Alex about Molotov Cocktease, the redhaired, one-eyed woman in scandalous clothing with a carbine. He explains how she waved a gun at him and then decided he wasn't worth her time. He does a good job of sounding as if this woman positively terrified him.

"And she had an open container of gin, for what it's worth."

[yourmove]

Alex logs the crimes, neatly, tabbed to the side of his HUD so he can bring them up at any time for reference. "Thank you for your keen eye to detail. I'll schedule her for pacification once she's located."

He preemptively adds a note not to issue any verbal warnings for Ms. Cocktease. No physical force. Pausing to study Mr. Cassidy, little reticules tracking the movement of his eyebrows, corners of his mouth, what his eyes are doing, Alex comes away with the impression that he's scared for his life and yet here he is, trying his best to give enough testimony that Alex can do his job. It's impressive. Citizens on average are law-abiding but their powers of recall are lacking, and the window of time to get any kind of accuracy short. They contradict each other. They confuse blonde hair for brown, forget identifying marks like tattoos, shirt colors of suspects. Mr. Cassidy isn't the average citizen. He identifies, he reports any and all crimes he witnessed. Alex thinks he likes that.

"Is there anything I can do to assist you before I return to patrolling, Mr. Cassidy?" Alex's good eye roves around the store, then back to Tom, the joints of his neck humming quietly. "I can recommend therapists if you like."

It doesn't matter to him that there's no way out of this Mall. In his mind, he has a list, he can give names and contact info and that's enough.

[pimpcanes]

"Pacification?" Tom expects that an officer made of metal probably isn't the kind deployed for petty theft, and thus isn't the sort who expects all suspects to meekly put their hands in the air and against a police car. He can only imagine what that chassis is capable of, and what sort of violence is inherent in Alex's concept of a word with its roots in peace. He can imagine it being used against his own body, his far too human bones breaking.

Best he know what 'pacification' entail now, rather than find out later.

It's that sobering thought that, lingering in his mind, keeps him from outright balking at Alex's suggestion of therapists. He maintains a straight face, although a twinkle of amusement crosses both eyes.

"No, thank you, I already have a therapist I see regularly," he lies. "But I would appreciate knowing what schedule your patrol follows? That way I would be able to come to you if I saw anything out of sorts. I could be useful to you, really."

Besides, knowing where the robot cop is is probably not the most useless information in this Arena.

[yourmove]

Alex is happy to define, exactly, what pacification means. "Application of lethal force to a criminal who refuses to obey the law. Repeated offenses will eventually result in pacification."

Or they could just skip the first couple of steps and go right up to Alex trying to murder someone. As it is, he doesn't care about the grey areas - there's a finite number of strikes he internally racks up for offenses, which means he would react with excessive force for something as little as repeat shoplifting. It doesn't occur to him that by spelling out exactly how he works and sees the world, he's just given Mr. Cassidy the keys to the kingdom, the means to control his very own cyborg.

"I appreciate your desire to help," Alex almost seems surprised by the offer, his mouth twitching imperceptibly, something behind his eyes flickering before they flatten again. "I patrol each floor at least once a day, starting with the first floor in the morning. That said, my schedule may change if I encounter a citizen who needs assistance or is breaking the law."

He assumes that answers Mr. Cassidy's question.

[pimpcanes]

"Only repeated offenses? What if someone's really crossed a moral boundary? And do you do your own investigations?"

He has to be sure, for curiosity's sake alone, of course! Someone with such a genuine expression of concern couldn't possibly be considering using all this information for his own less-than-savory ends. It couldn't possibly be because he wants to know how well he has to cover his tracks after he blows up the food court.

He gets up, as if to lead Detective Murphy out of the store.

"Regardless, Detective, I thank you for the work you do. I'll come to you if I'm in need of any help, or if I see Ms. Milo or Mr. Ampora or that awful Ms. Cocktease again." He glances back at the cell phone displays. "I'll likely be found here. It's a quiet enough place and I may finally get some rest."

[yourmove]

"Yes, I do my own investigations," Alex says stiffly. "Crossing a 'moral boundary' - assault on an officer, murder, arson, for example - will require immediate pacification."

Alex doesn't think it weird that they're playing 20 Questions. Rather he sees it as Mr. Cassidy simply wanting to be informed and he has nothing to hide, no capacity to toy with white-lies and skirting the truth because it's safer for everyone.

He takes that as his cue to head back out there, pivoting toward the door and taking almost leisurely steps toward it - no looking left or right like another Tribute might be waiting out there with a spear.

"You're welcome, Mr. Cassidy. I'm glad to be of service. And thank you for your assistance. Stay safe."

And with that, Alex heads out on patrol again, unhurried and predictable.

/and a wrap!

[pimpcanes]

He gives a curt nod, then waits until he's sure Alex is well out of sight before returning to his task at the phones. He only whistles to himself, satisfiedly, because he knows that no one is there to listen besides an audience on the far end of a screen.

He has much work to do before the mall 'opens' tomorrow, and while having Alex at hand is a useful, it's not his top priority. He can turn his attention to a more strategic longterm maneuver once he's managed to make use of all these grenades (and he will).

The tune he whistles is foreign to the viewers, but he knows it to be a song about all the bad robbers being caught by the infallible, unperturbable police.