"— I don’t think even the two of us could tackle a New York style pizza like this."
"But we could probably put away more than half. Maybe more than 75%. And it's pizza. How can you pass up a chance at pizza?"

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@datavoices
"— I don’t think even the two of us could tackle a New York style pizza like this."
"But we could probably put away more than half. Maybe more than 75%. And it's pizza. How can you pass up a chance at pizza?"

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"Don’t notice what?"
"The watches. I tried one on once and couldn't get it off for ages, but the suit guy still doesn't know his is gone."
” —— If there isn’t, I will be so so disappointed. “
He pulls up Google on his laptop screen, angling it so they both can see.
"Score! Wow, would you look at that. Pizza or bacon. Awesome."
"Uh, 'scuse me, is this yours?"
"How come people don't notice?"

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"Is there such a thing as a pizza-flavored soda? Or maybe cheeseburger-flavored."
Abandoned hospital- This hospital is abandoned and disused. It’s been disused for some time. The reason for it’s immaculate interior is that it’s guarded. What’s eerie is that the operating theatre clock starts as soon as someone walks in the room and all the lights turn on. Beautiful photo by Gina Soden
{swear I will get the new greeter posts up by tomorrow, but I am very sleepy indeed. Until then, hello!}
Reblog if your muse had a bad childhood

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Cue raised eyebrow. “Sounds like you have more than enough to take him down.” What she wouldn’t give to have that much information on some of her other targets. “I have an FBI agent’s info if you want, he’s pretty reliable.” He’s taken down a couple of her marks without any issues, in the states anyways. She has a friend at Interpol for everyone else.
"So if you have all of that information, why are you waiting?"
He gives her a bewildered look. "What would I want an FBI agent for?" Andrew doesn't want the man arrested. He's intelligence; he'd be out in a few hours, and then he'd burn all the project data, erase the paper and data trails, and make Project Wireless vanish as though it had never existed. If he thinks there's still a chance of retrieving Subject 3, he'll keep hanging on to his records in hopes of salvaging his little project. Besides--
"It's personal. And people who think like spies are really easy to gaslight."
She frowns. That was big time stuff. The kind of stuff that’s hard to prove and harder still to get someone to get in trouble for. They always covered their tracks far too well. But that… that wasn’t something that could just be ignored. “Do you have proof? It’ll be hard to take them down otherwise.”
"Don't need proof, I've got his passwords."
"And cell number, and IP addresses to work and home computers, and his car's GPS, and the security cameras in his office, and the ones in his house, which, can you say paranoid?" And copies of project records detailing exactly what happened, why, and who gave the orders. But he wants to wait to use those till he can find out where the funding came from.
Ash shrugs in response to his thanks. It wasn’t a big deal. “What’d they do?” Her interest is peaked. Bad guys were a bit of a… hobby of hers. Or taking them down at least.
He looks back down at the soda. "Stole people. Drugged them, messed with their brains, tried to change how they worked." That isn't too revealing, is it? "Some of them died."
"Someone?" She reaches out, pulling the ketchup out of his hand and replacing it with his soda before going back to her own drink. "Sounds stalker-ish."
"Maybe, but I don't think it counts if they're evil." He smiles goofily at the soda and takes a sip, then looks up at the girl. "Thanks."
”…’Ey, you in there?” Ash pokes at him in the shoulder, eyes narrow.
He jumps, then pokes the stranger back. "I am now," he says grumpily. "What's more frustrating, having your contacts list scrambled so all the numbers are with the wrong names, or having half of them scrambled at random?"

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Ash sits down across the table from this strange person, watching him as she sips the remaining half of her strawberry milkshake. “Watching something?”
"Someone," he corrects absently. He reaches for his orange soda without looking, misses entirely, grabs the ketchup bottle, and brings it halfway to his face before blinking and looking at it in surprise. "Wha--"
He’s bored. Gazing blankly at his laptop without really seeing it, he mentally sorts through the tangle of flowing signals in the coffeeshop, chooses one at random, and pulls up a text editor on their screen.
Hi there.