#mr robot fanfiction

Chapter 1 : An Extension

——

You remembered a strange story from before. It may have been from a children’s book, or maybe it was just something your mother had repeated to you when you were too young to notice. Beyond the hall there is a door. Beyond the door, there is a room. Beyond the room…

What was there?

Darkness encroached upon the space in a way that made your skin crawl, a cool breeze coming in from somewhere, somewhere unknown. Moisture hung in the air, a distant dripping reminding you of the smell of mildew that frequented these kinds of places.

There were no corners of the room, no walls to see, only an empty dark space beyond the door. So how did you know it was a room? Well… It just was. A gut feeling, one of familiarity.

It was the same strange sense of familiarity you felt when looking down at the table in front of you—a duality side by side, two masks staring back at you each with a silent sense of judgement.

One of them was undoubtedly clear to where, you didn’t need to stare at it for more than half a second to recognize it. Curved, shadowy features, white sharp teeth with a disquieting expression of deep disturbance etched into its face. If you could call it that. A demon registering as a face. One that understood fear.

It often unsettled you in a way that, even if briefly, disorganized your thoughts.

Your eyes shifted towards the other face on the table. Nearly the opposite; white, creamy features like that of a figure in a kid’s candy commercial. An almost jolly face, except for the slight downturn of its brows which didn’t seem quite content. It almost reminded you of the monopoly man, a vivid icon of a closed world. His smile was threatening, in a ‘I know something you don’t’ kind of way.

You pondered the message of these two meanings when a door opened to your right. The door you yourself had come out of. As the gun was held up to your head, a strange sensation came over you, one of almost immediate surrender. A calling. The urge to give up, just a tantalizing breath away. And as the shot of a handgun rang out, you could almost feel the fulfillment of what a dark nothingness would finally feel like, the near satisfaction of being free.

——

You allowed the warm feeling of sleepiness to fade away. It was being replaced by the cold, frigid air of your apartment, but the muggy drip in the background pursued. What finally awoke you from your subconscious state, bringing your eyes back to the bedroom of your apartment was a cold water droplet breaking on the skin of your forehead.

Rain fell outside your window, a cascade of hydric pressure pouring onto, and now through, your roof.

A sigh escaped your lips, the stress of the day already settling in far too early for comfort. Thoughts of planning, habitually mapping out the day’s schedule began resuming in your brain. A distraction was needed.

You thought about the mask from the dream last night.

A symbol you had known for what felt like an eternity. The past five or so years had been taken out of context into a world that only existed within the corners of your mind. Everything related to the dark web and rampant injustice, where the real evil lies, not the kind of evil that captures petty theft on the morning news. The kind that looms in the background when everything else goes to shit, it was something that had interested you from a young age.

The Dark Army. A myth of the real world, for sure. You’d heard about rumors online and vaguely in conspiracy-based news articles. But you weren’t a techie, as much as the interest in this new path was sparked online. Curiosity about peoples’ dark sides formed in an area you were much more familiar with. Psychology was the creature comfort of yours. A way of understanding the world you lived in, without having to necessarily understand people by way of interaction. At least, not directly and not all the time.

You pushed the sheets off of you to put a pot of coffee on the stove. The light and sweet aroma of coffee grounds was helping you to settle down a little. Even having something as small as that to grasp onto was comforting at least. The soft breath of peace and quiet in your newly ironed work clothes and pleasant fragrances kept you in line for a short period of time.

At 9:55 exactly, your self-protecting world of peace was brought to a screeching halt by a familiar knock on the door.

One that couldn’t even hold off long enough for you to pour your coffee into a mug. Exasperated, you closed your eyes for a moment to recollect, before moving over the cramped space to the peephole of your door. And you let him in.

He wore a two-piece suit with a striped tie, his overall impression and presence that of a middle-aged car salesman. A pair of silver frames guided his face, and he oftentimes he could almost seem sympathetic.

“Sorry to interrupt your morning, sweetheart, but we really gotta get down to business with this whole end of the deal we’re trying to establish.”

As your poured your coffee from the pot, a couple of men dressed in all-black came in, one posted by the door and the other, the half of a dining room table Irving had sat himself down at. You couldn’t help but recall the masks from your sleep last night. Brushing the thoughts off, you offered him a cup to which he complied.

“So… sweetheart,” Irving started as he stirred a couple spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee. “And understand—I’m only calling you that ‘cause you have stated previously you don’t want me calling you by your name. And I care enough to respect peoples’ wishes, by the way.”

You were surprised to find that he complied. Even if just for the purpose of not wanting to get too comfortable with them. You knew. Complacency was dangerous.

He continued, tapping the remaining drops of coffee from the spoon into the mug.

“Understand that you’ve been with us for some time now. And hey—congrats. Not everyone gets to outlive their expiration date, if you get what I’m saying. And as the saying goes, ‘simply forget the past and…’” He snapped his fingers a few times, trying to remember the rest. “How does it—ah. ‘And forge towards the future,’ right?”

You weren’t entirely sure of who he was trying to quote, but nonetheless the essence didn’t go over your head. What he was saying was that…

“…we want to give you a little promotion project. As they say, get up or get out. And clearly it isn’t your time to get out yet, so what do you think? You up for that?”

A silence settled over the room momentarily. You couldn’t help but remember the sense of impending doom that, throughout the past five years, had been looming over you. Not always, but your intuition for timing generally could be counted on. Even when it came to your own well-being. Any person you had come up against, whether ordered to or not, you had a sense of the when and where to talk about certain things.

In this case, however, a question pushed through your consciousness, one that you didn’t feel entirely agreeable to. Yet.

“What kind of promotion?” Your fingers enclosed themselves around your mug, the heat emanating feeling almost burning to the touch.

“The kind of question I like to hear. ‘What kind of promotion?’. Well, to be honest it’s a more personal one. Something a little more long-term with benefits provided, not like these interviews you’ve been doing for the big, three-letter corporations.”

He leaned forward, a sense of clearness communicated by his gaze and posture.

“You’ll have a place provided for you, rent paid in full, granted, a little shabbier than the place you currently occupy now. Food will also be provided for, but you have to limit yourself to the stores we pre-approved of. Remember to keep it mixed up, so as to not look too suspicious. Lastly, your only terms of requirements for being on the job are watching over a certain fella every now and then. You know, checking in on information we need, making clarifying judgements about his behavior. He’s a bit of a hard shell to crack if you know what I mean. Kind of an odd-ball, but nothing that we don’t have confidence in you with.”

He continued on for a little longer, mainly about the living space and kind of neighborhood it was in, since that was something previously established as important information to how you’d work your case.

“…He’s important. So much so that the boss wants to put a specialist in the building to keep tabs on him. And we think you might just do the job, with your background and such.”

All of this processed in your head as he spoke. Already you were thinking about various angles of approach, the times and places it would be best to begin conversation with someone. The way fear could interact with the psyche, what actions could bring about suspicion, since, if anything that was your main goal to avoid in cases like these.

You hated to admit it, but these kinds of cases excited you.

One more clarifying question. It helped to compartmentalize an identity, connect a soul to a body.

“I just need to know his name.”

Irving appeared somewhat satisfied, apparently approving of the fact that you had essentially certified your acceptance of this promotion.

“His name is Elliot Alderson. You’ll appreciate him, I’m sure.”

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?”