#mr robot fandom

Chapter 2: Inception

——

You liked fishing for possibilities. A mild coffee in the morning, whether you chose to drink it or not, bringing back an extra copy of the New York Times even if you didn’t read it. Asking for a guy’s phone number, it didn’t matter if you texted him or not.

The chance of option and subconscious search for these options of potential, unbeaten paths were tiny luxuries you indulged in.

You were naturally opportunistic, whether be it for better or worse. Opportunity could lend itself to usefulness and the more it became a part of your routine, the easier it was to carry out tasks they asked of you.

This was what brought you to the pet store on a Sunday morning, just a day after moving into your new apartment. Sam’s Pet Store, a locally owned family pet shop that was about as rare to find in a city of chains and franchises as the mythical unicorn tattoo that inked itself on the cashier’s forearm.

Parrots preening their feathers in generously spaced cages and red-eared sliders basking under sunny UV lamps pointed to the reason this place might’ve still been standing for the past ten years.

You’d been searching for a friend as of late; a non-human companion was much easier to manage, and not to mention you wouldn’t really have to worry about them behind your back. They were uncomplicated—you met their needs and they would do just fine.

Walking past the aquatic section, you glanced over at the colorful gravel and decor lining the shelves. Something caught your attention, and you readjusted the bag on your shoulder to stoop down and take a look.

In one of the several aquariums set up along the side of the store was a lone angelfish in its tank. Well, perhaps alone wasn’t the right word—it had companions, flitting this way and that around the space of their tank. Their gracefulness was alluring to watch, pale bodies seeming to flow in a way that was hypnotizing. But this one was by itself, separate from the rest of its finned friends. The possibility of forming attachments, yet for some reason or another choosing not to. Perhaps for similar reasons as yourself.

By the time you had picked up your afternoon lunch at the gyro place next door, you had acquired pink aquarium gravel, water treatment solution, and a new friend in haul. The remainder of her needs were covered in a plastic bag of supplies in the crook of your elbow. Hands full, you decided to head back to the apartment to finish unpacking and to set up the aquarium.

——

The kind of thoughts that drowned your conscience weren’t centered at first around the assignment. They were that of family, friends, people you could have loved. Your home growing up wasn’t remarkable in any good sense; in fact, perhaps it was fortunate for you that your home life was complicated. Family wasn’t something used as leverage for you—they were unable to communicate with you at this point.. Rather, you were your own leverage, your well-being and sacrifices coming first. But that kind of existence came with an exchange; you had no one to be accountable for, nor anyone to specifically care for you. A ghastly wandering soul on an abundantly lacking earth.

Was it better or worse this way? Staring up at the ceiling from the dusty couch cushions, you had decided it had to be for the better. You’d seen your fellow employees tied down by circumstances outside of their control; family members outside of their control. At least this way there was no one left to exist as baggage—even if you still thought of them.

Eyes flitted down to the coffee table adjacent to the couch as you watched your new fish friend, Pavlov, swim around her tank. A sense of comfort could be found in having another living being in the same room as you. Semi-reflective scales changed direction as she searched for a suitable home within her aquatic sanctuary. The tank itself, aside from gravel and a plastic plant, was empty. That would be unacceptable. Restless, with no cover, Pavlov’s anxiety would grow. She’d need a real home.

Silence washed over the apartment with a restlessness you could feel in your bones. Acknowledging the fact that it would be better to get to work sooner than later, you decided to get a move on with getting to know your patient.

Shoving yourself off of the couch, you moved to the open file sitting on the kitchen counter and closed it, sticking it in a bin full of manila folders with your unpacked stuff. Heading to your suitcase in a corner near your bed, you changed out of business casual attire, slipping into a plain white tee and a pair of stretch jeans and sneakers. A couple spliffs in your pocket, you left your hair in a casual up-do as you closed the door behind you, making sure it was securely locked.

It was time to smoke.

The outside steps of the apartment facing the busy street, you found, was the perfect spot to take in a moment of silence. With one or two swipes of a match and a homemade rollup, you inhaled the burning bud and watched as wisps of smoke poured out into the open air. After a few breaths, a calming feeling came over you and you felt you could think a little more clearly.

Elliot Alderson. An enigma of a human being, from what you’d read in his file. A blackhat hacker with a whitehat day job. Not the most atypical, but the fact that he would work for a security company while doing what he did in his free time?

Another breath.

It was a smart move, really. He seemed smart, so your approach would have to be relatively inconspicuous.

You finally let the joint fall to the cement, grinding the ember out with the heel of your shoe. You stood up, tucked the remaining matches back into your pocket and dialed in the key code to get back inside.

The hallway was dim compared to the outside world. It took your eyes a second to adjust to the low light. Aside from the creaky stairs, you could get used to this place. You decided to focus on that as you headed up the stairs. The more you tried to figure out your plan of approach, the more uptight you knew you’d become. The urge to have a neat, cut out plan was tempting you into inaction, but better judgement said the longer you waited, the more you’d only hold yourself back.

At the top of the stairs, you received a text on your phone from Irving.

2:33PM>Tabs on the guy needed. Get to it, sweetheart.

You shut your phone off and slipped it into your back pocket, feeling your heart beat faster as you approached the apartment door. Your skin still crawled whenever you received anything from them. Five years later and you still felt the same as you did before.

Taking a deep breath, and starting to feel the pressure from your employers, you stepped forward and knocked on the door, trying to clear your mind at the last minute.

Silence.

Another few knocks. Fingers tapped the side of your jeans in impatience. First interaction and all you could only think about was how he sure took his time. That you didn’t have. Then as soon as you leaned forward to knock again, the door opened. If blatant mistrust could communicate itself through a single action, it was the way he opened the door. Wide eyes peered at you startlingly as it swung open to reveal a mid-sized man in his late twenties, dressed far more casually than you would have initially anticipated.

He said nothing, though his eyes seemed to communicate every piece of his visible confusion at someone he never saw appearing at his doorway. His suspicion was obvious, and it surprised you, even though it shouldn’t have. Perhaps it was the level of authenticity that you weren’t anticipating.

You paused, having to take it in for a moment before shifting your focus. A smile quickly washed over your face as you let your hands fall into your pockets.

“Hey. Sorry to bother, I was just wondering—You don’t have a lighter on you, do you?”

You fished out one of the remaining joints from your pocket and held it up as you spoke, an expression of apology evident in your tone.

As he stared back at you with a somewhat blank expression, you could feel your pulse began to pick up again. This was going to be the hardest part, you assured yourself. Meeting new clients often was.

He finally blinked and seemed to register your question, but didn’t open the door any more than he had initially.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll go get it.”

Hesitantly, he disappeared back into his apartment for a moment, leaving the door cracked open in front of you.

You considered going in, taking a second to think. A question popped into your head, wondering what boundaries that would cross for this initial meeting. After a brief but careful deliberation, you made your choice. Maybe it wasn’t an invitation, but you pushed open the door to step inside.

He appeared to be rummaging through a couch cushion to look for it, and your eyes gazed around his apartment in the meantime. Relatively plain, it seemed the only aspect of his place that wasn’t minimalist living were his multiple monitors sitting at his desktop. No notable picture frames up on the walls, no posters. Not even any cheesy magnets up on the fridge.

“Here.”

His eyes were fixed as he pushed a lighter towards you—apparently he’d found it. A strange feeling of caution washed over you. You could sense he’d been watching you, even when his eyes weren’t actively on you.

You took the lighter, a natural curiosity pushing through your wariness.

“So,” you started casually. “Want to smoke?”

When he seemed hesitant, you couldn’t help but roll you eyes in response. Despite the nature of your job, it was often your true personality showing through. Most of the time, surprisingly, it helped you in your work. A little natural impatience could go a long way.

“C'mon, it might as well be better than whatever you’re doing right now, or it’ll at least make it better. And if I’m being honest, it’s no fun smoking alone.”

Must he really need any more convincing? It turns out that was enough to reason him to utter a monotone, ‘Okay,’ and the two of you made your way to the front steps of the apartment. By the time the doors closed behind you outside, you pushed a roll into his chest.

He took it between his lips and you took the liberty of lighting it for him. You watched as the smoke left his nostrils, your interest in him slowly piquing.

“You live here for very long?” Your questions started off casual.

He seemed quiet when answering. “Not really. Just a few years, about.”

Nodding in response, you let him take another drag before taking it back from him.

“What’s the neighborhood like?”

“It’s alright, I guess.”

Another drag.

“So you’re telling me I could walk around here at 3am without worrying about getting mugged?”

Silence.

You turned back to him, attention drawn by the lack of response. You could see he seemed uncomfortable, sort of just stood there, not responding.

“What’s up?”

You handed the spliff back to him, leaving the question open-ended.

After some more silence, he replied, “I’m just not that good at… Small talk.”

You couldn’t help but wonder if you came off too strongly, and to be fair, that might have been the case.

“It’s alright,” you said with a shrug. “If I’m being honest, I tend to initiate things a lot. It usually makes the awkward parts go by faster.”

He just nodded, again not saying anything. The two of you sat in silence, while you took in the moment, letting time pass. After a few passes back and forth, you looked over. You could see his expression changed in a way that forced you to break the silence with a laugh.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Your face. Your expression, is all,” you explained with a snort. “It’s good bud, right?”

Finally, for the first time you could see the edge of his lip turn up in the beginnings of a smile. Or a smirk.

“Hey, you know what we should do right now?”

He turned his head to you partly, green eyes only half-open in an obvious high.

“What?”

Perhaps it was coincidence that it’d crossed your mind. The statement was still in his file, but you’d told yourself for the moment it was a point of commonality.

“Have you ever seen that movie Back To The Future II?”