Ford
THIS IS ALL MENIAL SHIT.
There's so little skill required to hack into this person's computer that it really shouldn't be classified as a hacking job. He's got his passwords and usernames/email addresses scribbled down on a torn piece of paper adjacent to his large computer monitor. Even Clark's scoffing and sniggering at this man's inherent stupidity to scribble his passwords down and display them so openly.
There's nothing too intricate that requires my full attention as I'm scouring the contents of this computer. The owner is a random Richard Bowstring, and Hawk's intel revolves about Richard conducting his own investigation into Red Alert. As it stands, I've already discovered the folders he's got saved on his computer with hordes of information on the legacy stored inside.
They're not even encrypted, for fuck's sake.
"You made your move on Sophia yet?" I ask Clark.
The other guys are posted around the house and down the street so if necessary, when we're alerted of Richard's unanticipated arrival home, we are offered an abundant amount of time to escape. But Clark's watching over me in case shit hits the fan and I need protecting. Apparently, my boxing training had been forgotten when we devised the plan, but I'm definitely not complaining now. I've spent the better half of the time chatting aimlessly with Clark as I garner the proof required for Hawk for him to judge what punishment Richard should endure, and also removing any traces of his investigation into Red Alert and thwarting future endeavours.
I'd already performed a check of the girl Clark chose to be his next target on West Point, acquiring as much essential information as possible. Her name's Sophia Petrov. It was completed before Genevieve discovered my shameful mountain of bracelets from my past girls—curtesy of the fucker named Harris—and now it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
A few months ago, I never used to think twice about checking out a potential girl.
With Genevieve, everything changes. Including me.
"Taking her on a date Tuesday evening," Clark replies smugly. "I know a little place called Moonshine."
I shake my head. "What's she like?"
From her profile, she seems just like your average girl. There's nothing truly remarkable about her, but maybe Clark disagrees. Truthfully, I found her profile bearing striking resemblances to Gabriella, and I wasn't thankful for the reminder of what happened to her.
Clark and I continue our discussion on Sophia until he somehow steers it toward Genevieve and I, querying just how we're getting on. My answers seem quite curt, but it's simply because I'm staggered, unaccustomed to this type of conversation where I'm discussing my relationship with a girl I actually have feelings for with one of my friends. Besides, this is the first time it's happened to me, though I know Clark has experienced it a plethora of times beforehand.
Not too long later, there's not a trace left of any incriminating evidence and I've entered a certain set of commands that'll thwart Richard from being able to exploit West Point for his own gain. He won't be able to obtain any Red Alert information through that anymore, and I'm inclined to deduce that it was his main point of call for the amateur investigation.
"I'm done," I announce, shutting down the machine.
There's no need to wipe away any prints because I'm gloved. If there is somehow any lingering DNA from me and Richard wrongly decides to take this to the cops, there are cops with considerable amounts of influence that'll be able to rewrite the case to suit Red Alert. I'm sure Hawk will see to it that it never reaches that far, nipping it in the bud early.
