Manic [h.s]

#013

"Welcome to the playground, follow me

Tell me your nightmare and fantasies"

Playground | Bea Miller

February 05, 1999

IRIS XANDER

"Isn't this model outdated?" I ask, glancing at the humming computer that intermittently emits soft clicks as Louis types away. The room remains quiet and I sit with my legs stretched out before the computer shelf, which houses an array of unfamiliar devices and wires that I assume are all Louis'.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I mean, didn't people stop using this computer model a while ago?" I ask, looking at the machine.

"Yeah," he responds, eyes fixed on the screen that is filled with lines of codes and various displays. I lean back in my seat beside Louis, patiently waiting for his reply.

"That's the thing about outdated computers. As you mentioned, hardly anyone uses these models anymore and that actually works in our favour," he explains and I furrow my brow, trying to understand his point.

"But newer models are more advanced, right? Wouldn't they be even easier to use?" I ask.

"As said, people rarely use these old models. That includes the cops. All the databases are designed for the newer stuff. So, let's say we need to hack someone's device. If they find out it's been hacked, they won't be able to trace us back because our method won't match their tracking system. You get it?" he explains and I nod, processing his words. "This way, it's easier for us to avoid getting caught and accidentally crashing into other devices because they can't track us," he concludes with a casual shrug.

I've been here for about three days now and honestly, it's been a nightmare. Everyone else seems to know exactly what they're doing. Then there's Niall and me. We spend most of the day holed up in our room because we have no clue what to do.

After what happened three days ago, I rarely spent time inside the bar. The argument with Harry didn't last long and it definitely didn't end well. I haven't seen him since then and honestly, I prefer it that way.

And today's another boring day. It's almost two in the afternoon and I still have no idea what to do. Louis is as always glued to his computer and I find myself just sitting here beside him, watching him work. Not exactly something to be proud of.

The sound of the door unlocking catches my attention and soon, it flies open. Louis and I look over in unison to see a man with jet-black hair rushing in. His eyes are wide and his lips slightly parted as he quickly approaches us, his boots thumping on the cold floor. But that is not the only thing that makes my own eyes widen. It's his clothing!

Fuck!  It's the FBI!

Instinctively, I stand up from my seat, my heart racing. "Calm down. He's one of us," Louis says calmly, noticing my panicked expression.

"What?" I ask.

"He works with us," he says and I look over at the man again.

He's wearing a blue bulletproof vest that fits snugly over his muscles, while a dark blue half-sleeve shirt peeks out from underneath. On the side of his chest, there's a badge displaying his name 'Zayn Malik' and below it, three bold white letters read 'FBI'.

"What are you doing here?" Louis asks in confusion at his sudden appearance. It takes me a moment to realize that I've never seen him here before.

"It's Dennis!" Zayn clarifies. Wait, who's Dennis now?