Stephanus "Stephen" Reagan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
capitolprivilege) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-07-25 08:13 pm
capitolprivilege) wrote in thecapitol2015-07-25 08:13 pm
Entry tags:
[CLOSED]
Who| Stephen Reagan and Altair
What| Altair makes a poor life choice that probably would have worked out better if he had been anywhere but the Capitol.
Where| A surveillance blindspot.
When| Two days or so before the 4th wall event
Warnings/Notes| Violence!
Stephen knows where a few blind spots are. He's deliberately chosen to spend a few minutes today near one of them. After all, what good is a secret hacker post if a camera picks up what you're typing into it from behind you?
The cameras are sparse here. The alley behind him would be a better blind spot, since it's camera and microphone-free, but Stephen doesn't really have an excuse for spending ten minutes standing in an alley fiddling with his communicator. He can, however, sit on this bench near the alley, knowing no cameras are filming him from behind, and go through what people are saying on Tony Stark's post with minimal fear of discovery.
Nothing to see here, just a slightly shimmery Capitolite taking a break from wherever he was walking to and checking messages on his tablet. Completely ordinary.
What| Altair makes a poor life choice that probably would have worked out better if he had been anywhere but the Capitol.
Where| A surveillance blindspot.
When| Two days or so before the 4th wall event
Warnings/Notes| Violence!
Stephen knows where a few blind spots are. He's deliberately chosen to spend a few minutes today near one of them. After all, what good is a secret hacker post if a camera picks up what you're typing into it from behind you?
The cameras are sparse here. The alley behind him would be a better blind spot, since it's camera and microphone-free, but Stephen doesn't really have an excuse for spending ten minutes standing in an alley fiddling with his communicator. He can, however, sit on this bench near the alley, knowing no cameras are filming him from behind, and go through what people are saying on Tony Stark's post with minimal fear of discovery.
Nothing to see here, just a slightly shimmery Capitolite taking a break from wherever he was walking to and checking messages on his tablet. Completely ordinary.
so plurk decided not to tell me when you posted whoopsss
He had been warned by his Mentor, fittingly enough, about cameras. Just any alley would not do. He followed Stephen from a distance, blending with people when they were there, and with shadows when they were not. Stalking was the Assassin's meditation, and he slipped into it like a pair of favorite shoes.
Finally his patience was rewarded--or nearly. Stephen was near one of the blind spots Shepard had given him, but not in it. Altaïr sighed. Everything was so much easier without machine eyes watching my every move. This could never be a simple matter of eliminating watchmen on roofs. He didn't know where the cameras were placed or how to remove them unseen.
He supposed he would have to give Stephen a reason to enter. He doubled back around, entering the alley from the far side where Stephen would not see. He scuffed his boot loudly against the wall and cried,
"Help, please help me! My leg!"
He pressed close to the nearest corner and prepared to grab Stephen if he turned around it.
NP NP
...Stephen lets out a quick, frustrated breath, and ends the session as he climbs to his feet. He heads into the alley, looking around, suspecting nothing--
"Hello? Can you hear me? Where are you -- aaagh!"
no subject
He grabbed him by the shirt and hair. The wall seemed a convenient place to throw him against, as long as the element of surprise was on his side.
"The images at your party were a lie. What do you really know about the Districts? How are they treated? How are they secured? Which trains go to them?"
no subject
But Stephen realizes his mistake the moment he looks up. He recognizes Altair at the same moment he processes the questions that are actually being asked. His fear for himself takes on a different shape.
"Oh, no. Don't do this. You really don't want to do this."
no subject
He curled his fingers into a punch to show he meant business.
no subject
He was acutely reminded right now.
Stephen stared up at Altair for a moment, breathing in an uncontrolled staccato, apparently frozen. He was trying to get his mind clear, trying to make a decision, trying to think--
My god. He's going to kill me.
Stephen knew he shouldn't call the Peacekeepers. He knew that calling the Peacekeepers would get Altair arrested, tortured, maybe even killed. But the sound of Altair's voice, the look in his eyes, the drawing-back of his hand -- they all had Stephen terrified. If there were any pity in it, anything besides cold resolve, Stephen probably wouldn't have done this. He probably would have talked. But as it was, his hand slips to his watch, and even as he flinched away from the threat of the blow -- I don't want to die -- his fingers pressed the panic button.
"I'll tell you anything you want to know," Stephen gasped, feeling like the worst rebel ever and knowing he had to keep Altair listening and not killing him until the Peacekeepers arrived. "It was about the Districts, right? One -- one question at a time. I know about the Districts. I've been to some of them. One, Two, Four, and Six."
no subject
His voice did not ease off any of its harshness. He kept his fists raised, but did not punch him again. Six was the transportation district, and one he felt key to helping whatever rebellion there was. Part of the Assassins' success was their ability to go where others could not and appear seemingly out of thin air. If that method was applied to resistance cells... Trains and planes, the lifeblood of Panem, could be useful.
"How did you travel to Six? What did you observe about the guards stationed along the route and at either end of it?"
Six was also the district Linden was from, and Altaïr was almost sure he was sympathetic to rebels. He had met Linden at Stephen's party, in fact. Things were coming full circle, and like the vague threads of conspiracy between his most recent targets back home, he was determined to have answers. Could Linden have been spying on Stephen? It was too early to tell.
no subject
"Games staff travels by train," Stephen says, the words coming fast and breathy. He straightens up slowly, pressing hismelf back to the wall. "Escorts go to the District, perform the Reaping, and bring the Tributes back to the Capitol all by train. There are walls and fences separating each District, and guards are always posted on those walls, especially where the train cuts through them. Travel between Districts by Districters is strictly forbidden and punishable by death, so anyone trying to sneak through the tunnels would either be arrested or just killed on sight. As the transportation district, Six is heavily guarded against unauthorized travel. I don't know exactly how many Peacekeepers are stationed there, but it probably won't be hard to find out if you took a look a They guard the train stations more vigilantly than they guard the factories or the neighborhoods. The people there are usually too exhausted from work, too addicted to Morphling, or both to try anything on their own."
He takes a deep breath. What else had he been asked? What else could he talk about?
"There are fewer Peacekeepers at the Capitol station. They're not expecting anyone from the Capitol to try getting on the trains illegally, and until the Quell, the trains only brought two people from the Districts into the Capitol. They figure there won't be much trouble there, and even if there is, there's so much surveillance that backup would be there in minutes."
no subject
From what he said, Altaïr saw that it would be easiest to travel to District Six from the Capitol—that is, once he knew more about getting rid of surveillance and the patrols at his destination. He would prefer to have someone on the other side take them out, but gone were the days when he had a network of novice Assassins to do the gruntwork before he went for the big targets. Perhaps he could sneak onto an escort's train, or even get the cooperation of an escort...
As for the Districters, he could perhaps exert stealthy influence against the use of this debilitating "Morphling," maybe destroy or hide some cache of it, but the working conditions would not be changed. He could not count on much help from the people until a District was liberated, and a District could not be liberated until he was able to get there and kill whoever was in control.
"What of the flying machines you call planes—"
He heard footsteps. Running. He turned his head, but it was too late. Several Peacekeepers had snuck up to the alley and were now pointing guns and shouting orders for him to get on the ground.
"Come any closer and I'll kill—"
They fired taser darts instead of waiting for him to finish. Dimly, as he fell to the ground in a world of pain, he mused that he'd never seen anything quite like those.
no subject
He felt tears begin to prick in his eyes -- what if he had been wrong? What if Altaïr wouldn't have killed him after getting the information? In his mind, Stephen was confident in his guess, but his heart was torn.
Yet even through the guilt, Stephen knew this would be public. He knew this would not be kept secret. And he knew he would have to take a position on it.
In a haze, Stephen allowed himself to be taken to a doctor, to be examined, to be told no real damage had been done. In that haze, Stephen came to understand that he could not sympathize with Altaïr publicly, not without looking like a traitor. This was it, he knew: if he did not resign himself, Cyrus would pull any string necessary to ensure that Stephen was removed from his position.
He hated to do it. Guilt still twisted at his insides whenever he thought about what was likely happening to Altaïr right now. But Stephen would turn the situation to his advantage. He would find a new place to occupy, a new way to serve the interests of Panem -- all of Panem. Perhaps it wouldn't benefit the Tributes quite so directly, but if he played the long game right, if he kept his mouth shut and his eyes open, Stephen Reagan could continue his work.