𝓜 —— ; Performing an exchange in person wasn’t something Mihael was found of. He was far too careful and paranoid to even so much as consider it an option. However, this time was different; exceptionally so. Maybe he was finally insane — maybe he was so desperately lonely that he’d completely gone off the deep end — but, God, if he never followed up on this lead out of fear of becoming a raging serial killer with a weakness for strawberry jam, he would surely do something he’d regret.
Regret was a fool’s feeling. Mihael stood by that for his entire life; he’d never allowed himself to regret a single day. Though, there was just one thing he couldn’t help but regret. That cool winter’s night in January, he’d watched the Japanese Police surround his life-long friend and shoot him down with no remorse. That was fine; he’d make them feel the remorse they should have felt that night, it was simply a matter of time.
Mihael was working on a case regarding said police force and he needed dirt. A friend of a friend had recommended to him a certain programmer who was known for his impressive work in cracking into confidential files. The level of skill wasn’t what threw him, it was the hacker’s handle; Big Brother. In an instant, Mihael had contacted him and asked his price. The response he’d gotten was the absolute tip-off, as the email was ended with ‘Big Brother is watching you’. That was it; he needed to know. A quick email back demanded Big Brother to meet him on a street corner in Dunsmuir, California with a USB drive, containing the files he required.
Now, logically, anyone could make a reference to Nineteen Eighty-Four, but it was the fact that he hadn’t seen one yet in his line of work that furthered him to believe in his hopes. It had been four years since he’d died and Mihael’s research on this hacker showed that he’d only been around for three. The evidence piled up; his hopes rose; his prayers may finally be answered.
He stood against a brick wall at their meeting place, keeping an eye out for any obvious features he would recognize. Mihael’s lips curled upward for the first time in years as he remembered those striped shirts he was so fond of. The auburn hair; the freckles; hell, even the cigarette smoke; he’d forgotten how much he’d missed it.
❝ Please, God, if you’re still listening, please let it be him. I know I’m reaching here, I just— I need this to be true. Please hear me, ❞ a small clutch on his rosary ended the short prayer before he raised his gaze to a figure before him, ❝ You here to arrest me for a thoughtcrime? ❞
