Syte Scraps (Unfinished WIPs)

…Ow.

Strike stirred, face twisting into an expression of pain before he could fully wake up. He didn't feel like himself. He was sore, skin crawling with the sensation of half-baked code firing off. Pixels and error messages flooded his vision, obscuring his surroundings as he blinked them away.

He was in unfamiliar territory, he realized, even before his vision returned to him; the bedding was too soft beneath him, the light too harsh. The last dregs of his grogginess vanished, and he bolted upright, the sudden motion sending a wave of radiating pain through his arm.

“Oh! Mornin’, sleepyhead.”

Unfamiliar territory, but an unfortunately familiar voice. Strike bristled, turning sharply to meet Vulf's gaze. Vulf's toothy grin sharply contrasted Strike's bared teeth, his lip curled up to reveal steely fangs.

“Wh… Vulf? The hell are you–”

“There was a blockage along our net route,” Vulf explained, hands clasped behind his back, “and we had to get it sorted out. Had no idea we'd find a valued customer on the line! Figured it would be safest for everybody involved to get you out of the way.”

The wolfman’s grin faltered, his face contorting into something fierce. “Good to finally figure out who's been intercepting our damn packets, too,” he growled. “Bastard.”

If Vulf had been trying to intimidate Strike, he hadn't been successful. Strike only half noticed, anyway; his head spun as he tried to piece things together. He was starving, it made sense that he'd been out looking for data (though if his aching was any indication, he hadn't been successful). And messing with Vulf's work seemed right up his alley- if for no other reason than because it would be funny. He studied Vulf's face, looking for any tell of a lie. Even in his irritation, the salesman's smug aura and charismatic grin seemed perpetual. It was aggravating just to look at him.

“So you kidnapped me. And you're watching me sleep.”

Vulf raised his hands, as if in surrender. “No, hell no- Xander told me to babysit. Probably didn't want you chewing on the furniture–”

At the sound of Xander's name, Strike stumbled to his feet, gripping Vulf's shirt collar with an intensity and speed that made the werewolf yip in surprise.

“You brought me to him?” Strike hissed, uncharacteristic panic in his voice. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

Vulf was quick to shove Strike aside, brushing himself off as though disgusted by the contact. Strike tumbled back onto the guest bed, bracing himself against the mattress. “If it's any consolation, pal,” Vulf said through clenched teeth, “I had every intention of just leaving you there. It was his idea to bring you in.”

“Of course it was. Of course it was, ugh…”

Strike hissed, raking his hands through his stringy hair. Vulf frowned at the sight of Strike's distress, his expression almost a semblance of pity (which was about as much sympathy as he could muster without straining something).

Eventually, Strike pushed himself back off of the bed. Vulf tensed, bracing himself for another attack, but Strike only glared at him. A wave of nausea claimed Strike as he righted himself, fists clenched as he forced the aching pangs of decaying data to the back of his mind. He ran his tongue over the serrated edges of his teeth, contemplating the possibility of shredding Vulf to bits then and there.

But he didn’t. Not out of any respect for the wolf, of course. But the last thing he wanted was for Xander to get a taste for revenge.

“Tell Xander I’m leaving,” Strike said stiffly, willing his voice not to crack with nervous tension. He expected Vulf to stop him, or make some sort of demand that Strike could argue against. But Vulf only shrugged.

“Sure, yeah. He'll notice whether I tell him or not. But I'll put in a good word for you.” Vulf accentuated his point with a thumbs-up, and Strike looked on with bewilderment. He didn't think he'd be free to leave, but he wasn't going to stick around long enough for Vulf to change his mind.

Strike plucked his headset off of the nightstand, putting it back on his head. The familiar weight was pleasant, and he felt as if he could focus better when the rattle of digital background processes was muffled. He'd never admit that the device was a comfort to him, of course. Especially not to Vulf (he knew better than to admit vulnerabilities in front of the wolf; Vulf would always find a way to monetize it).

“I'll see you soon then,” Strike said in a tone that suggested he would rather not. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, tugging at garters on his sleeves; nervous fidgets disguised as an attempt at presentability.

[...]

Xander set the table with practiced ease, humming to herself as he did so (Strike noted that the older man, oddly enough, placed down four plates for the three of them). What followed was a terribly awkward dinner, in which meals were unanimously left uneaten.

The room was quiet, the tension thick in the air. Vulf attempted to liven up the room, mouth running to break the silence. “Y'know, we've got to do this proper, sometime. How's that sound? A real nice dinner party- make use of all of this table space, you know?”

Neither Xander nor Strike would respond to him.

Strike wouldn't touch the program on his plate, eyeing both it and Xander with equal suspicion. He fully expected it to be malicious- some sort of hidden spyware, a tracker disguised as harmless code, a nasty trojan. Errors bubbled up in his vision. It had been too long since he repaired his code, but Strike recoiled from the plate as if it was toxic. For all he knew, it was.

Xander seemed to have the table etiquette of a nobleman, and the appetite of a bird. His focus wasn't on his meal, or his hospitality- rather, it was directly on Strike. Even when Xander tried his best to be polite and look away, Strike could catch an eye-spotted tail glancing in his direction.

“I wouldn't poison data,” Xander eventually spoke, the low tone of his voice causing Strike to jolt. “I wish you would eat. It would aid your… odd condition. I could switch our plates right now, if it would assuage your worry.”

“Don't. It's fine,” came Strike's near-immediate reply, though he still refused to eat.

Xander made no move to pressure Strike further on the matter, and the room fell to silence once again. Strike almost felt relieved, even grateful, that Xander hadn't pushed it- but he tensed up again as he realized it had just been another mind trick. Probably.

“I've located the MAC address of your home device,” Xander spoke up after a few moments, giving no explanation as to how he did so. “I would be happy to transport you home after dinner.”

Strike glanced up at Xander, mouth opening and closing as if to try and practice the words he wanted to say.

“I don't stay in my home device.”

Xander raised an eyebrow; Strike had told her something she didn't know. “Then I can take you to the device that you do reside in. I will just need the address.”

Strike really didn't want to give Xander any information. But Vulf piped up, much to his dismay. That detestable mutt.

“Oh, I've got it, don't worry.” Vulf said, waving his hands to open windows of scrolling data. “It's always with that detective. I've got the address somewhere in here.”

Strike shot a chilling glare in Vulf's direction, his fear briefly replaced with the anger of betrayal.

“I'm allowed to sell your information to third parties. It's in the contract,” Vulf explained, before rattling off the address to Xander.