The Prisoner's Dilemma
folder
Wei� Kreuz › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,798
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Wei� Kreuz › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,798
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Prisoner's Dilemma-Prologue
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters. Siren and Hacker, however, are all mine.
Author's Note: Sequel to "An Ounce of Prevention." With apologies to any game theorists out there; I know the situation described in this story isn't technically a prisoner's dilemma, but it's close enough for me. *g*
Feedback is appreciated, particularly constructive criticism.
His heels clicked on the glossy surface of the floor as he approached the security desk. At this time of night, only one bored-looking guard lounged at the bank of screens, keeping more of an eye on the monitor playing music videos than on those displaying the various camera feeds from the offices and labs upstairs. He cast a gentle net with his talent, culling the images he'd need from the guard's thoughts.
/Siren, are you in position?/
/Affirmative./
He closed the remaining distance between himself and the security guard, sinking deeper hooks into the perceptual centers of the man's brain. He cleared his throat until the guard reluctantly dragged his attention away from the nubile young songstress on screen. The guard's eyes swept up and down over him, taking in only what he wanted the man to see. As far as the guard was concerned, he was a prototypical technician, sporting all the correct identification badges on the chest of his blue jumpsuit.
"Can I help you?"
He smiled innocuously at the guard-pleasantly charming, but not memorable. "Yes. Dr. Braeburn was hoping to run a few diagnostics on the cameras in sector 7. I was hoping you could give us a hand."
The guard sat a little straighter in his chair at the mention of one of the company's directors. Establish a chance for ingratiation-check. "I'd love to help the doctor," the guard said with the heartfelt enthusiasm of a true kiss-ass, "but I'm afraid there weren't any diagnostics scheduled for tonight."
He let a hint of embarrassment creep into his smile. "No, this wouldn't be listed in the schedule," he said, bringing his hand up to sheepishly rub at the back of his neck. "You, er, may want to check sector 7's feed."
Pushing his talent to its limits, he probed more deeply into the guard's visual cortex, hoping he could sustain the necessary image. He noted the way the guard's eyes widened as he scanned the monitor in question, hopefully seeing Dr. Braeburn standing behind his assistant's chair, resting his hand on her desk and apparently murmuring in her ear. "Um, the doctor and his assistant were hoping for a 30 minute window to perform the diagnostics...."
"Oh...I didn't realize the doctor was...working this late." The guard pulled his attention away from the monitors. He looked rather uncomfortable. Put the subject emotionally off-balance-check. "I'm not sure...someone might notice if I take surveillance offline for that amount of time."
"I'm sure I could do something on my end," he said, infusing his voice with just the right touch of commiseration. "I can work with the logs down in data storage, splice in old footage maybe." Ensure a diffusion of responsibility-check. "I'm sure the doctor will be very appreciative of our work."
The guard hesitated for a moment, hands hovering over the control panel as he looked from side to side, scanning the lobby. "Alright," he said, shutting down the video feed for sector 7. "You'll make sure Dr. Braeburn knows who was on duty tonight?"
Careful to not let his relief at no longer having to maintain such an elaborate visual illusion show, he nodded his head solemnly and checked the guard's nametag. "Of course, Ramirez. Thank you for your help."
/Siren, it's a go./
/Copy, Hacker./
He gave the guard one last forgettable smile and made his way to the stairwell, climbing down a flight to the data storage level. He didn't have access to open the doors for this level, but he didn't need it. Waiting on the steps, he focused his talent on intensifying the link with his partner, monitoring her progress.
As always, it was a thrill to watch her work. Locks yielded to her touch. She could've taken out the very cameras he'd just convinced the guard to switch off, but doing things this way would hopefully buy them more time before their actions were discovered. She confidently moved through the offices adjoining the research labs, easily bypassing the clean room's electronic security. Inside, she swiftly navigated rows and jumbles of complex equipment-flashing lights beating frantic pulses in their exotic language, wires snaking everywhere, machinery that existed nowhere else in the world-and placed both hands on the central processing unit that was the focus of this jungle of technology. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her power stretched to its limits by precision work.
/Acquisition complete./
/Kill the source./
She did it with barely a thought, sending out a pulse that wiped every circuit in the room.
/It's done./
/Alright, we need to get out of here./
/I'm on my way./
He nodded, even though she couldn't see the gesture. Preparing to sever their connection, as he always did at the end of a mission, he was surprised when she sent him another thought.
/Xavier, are you sure about this?/
/I don't know baby, but it's too late to turn back now./
Author's Note: Sequel to "An Ounce of Prevention." With apologies to any game theorists out there; I know the situation described in this story isn't technically a prisoner's dilemma, but it's close enough for me. *g*
Feedback is appreciated, particularly constructive criticism.
His heels clicked on the glossy surface of the floor as he approached the security desk. At this time of night, only one bored-looking guard lounged at the bank of screens, keeping more of an eye on the monitor playing music videos than on those displaying the various camera feeds from the offices and labs upstairs. He cast a gentle net with his talent, culling the images he'd need from the guard's thoughts.
/Siren, are you in position?/
/Affirmative./
He closed the remaining distance between himself and the security guard, sinking deeper hooks into the perceptual centers of the man's brain. He cleared his throat until the guard reluctantly dragged his attention away from the nubile young songstress on screen. The guard's eyes swept up and down over him, taking in only what he wanted the man to see. As far as the guard was concerned, he was a prototypical technician, sporting all the correct identification badges on the chest of his blue jumpsuit.
"Can I help you?"
He smiled innocuously at the guard-pleasantly charming, but not memorable. "Yes. Dr. Braeburn was hoping to run a few diagnostics on the cameras in sector 7. I was hoping you could give us a hand."
The guard sat a little straighter in his chair at the mention of one of the company's directors. Establish a chance for ingratiation-check. "I'd love to help the doctor," the guard said with the heartfelt enthusiasm of a true kiss-ass, "but I'm afraid there weren't any diagnostics scheduled for tonight."
He let a hint of embarrassment creep into his smile. "No, this wouldn't be listed in the schedule," he said, bringing his hand up to sheepishly rub at the back of his neck. "You, er, may want to check sector 7's feed."
Pushing his talent to its limits, he probed more deeply into the guard's visual cortex, hoping he could sustain the necessary image. He noted the way the guard's eyes widened as he scanned the monitor in question, hopefully seeing Dr. Braeburn standing behind his assistant's chair, resting his hand on her desk and apparently murmuring in her ear. "Um, the doctor and his assistant were hoping for a 30 minute window to perform the diagnostics...."
"Oh...I didn't realize the doctor was...working this late." The guard pulled his attention away from the monitors. He looked rather uncomfortable. Put the subject emotionally off-balance-check. "I'm not sure...someone might notice if I take surveillance offline for that amount of time."
"I'm sure I could do something on my end," he said, infusing his voice with just the right touch of commiseration. "I can work with the logs down in data storage, splice in old footage maybe." Ensure a diffusion of responsibility-check. "I'm sure the doctor will be very appreciative of our work."
The guard hesitated for a moment, hands hovering over the control panel as he looked from side to side, scanning the lobby. "Alright," he said, shutting down the video feed for sector 7. "You'll make sure Dr. Braeburn knows who was on duty tonight?"
Careful to not let his relief at no longer having to maintain such an elaborate visual illusion show, he nodded his head solemnly and checked the guard's nametag. "Of course, Ramirez. Thank you for your help."
/Siren, it's a go./
/Copy, Hacker./
He gave the guard one last forgettable smile and made his way to the stairwell, climbing down a flight to the data storage level. He didn't have access to open the doors for this level, but he didn't need it. Waiting on the steps, he focused his talent on intensifying the link with his partner, monitoring her progress.
As always, it was a thrill to watch her work. Locks yielded to her touch. She could've taken out the very cameras he'd just convinced the guard to switch off, but doing things this way would hopefully buy them more time before their actions were discovered. She confidently moved through the offices adjoining the research labs, easily bypassing the clean room's electronic security. Inside, she swiftly navigated rows and jumbles of complex equipment-flashing lights beating frantic pulses in their exotic language, wires snaking everywhere, machinery that existed nowhere else in the world-and placed both hands on the central processing unit that was the focus of this jungle of technology. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her power stretched to its limits by precision work.
/Acquisition complete./
/Kill the source./
She did it with barely a thought, sending out a pulse that wiped every circuit in the room.
/It's done./
/Alright, we need to get out of here./
/I'm on my way./
He nodded, even though she couldn't see the gesture. Preparing to sever their connection, as he always did at the end of a mission, he was surprised when she sent him another thought.
/Xavier, are you sure about this?/
/I don't know baby, but it's too late to turn back now./