#bothreads

@ skratch records

Deciding to ignore the horrors of the world, Bo turned to work. It was easy, he found, and he wondered for a long moment if his father had done the same thing. What little he remembered of the man, was that he threw himself into work often. But his job was important, he was an important man. More so than Bo. There were times they thought about walking in his footsteps. As he browsered through the newest releases, he thought only about that, and barely registered what he'd been picking up.

Boudhayan always planned to be inconspicuous, either by walking along with the crowds, or by sticking to the shadows. He’d learnt to hide, the friends he’d made when coming to NYC had taught him. Taught him how to act normally, how to be a city dweller and not a wastelander, how to blend in.

A skill he needed, because while he was as much a coder as a hacker, the latter earned him the most money. And he followed a set of rules when it came to the practice: 1) proximity to power, the closer they could be to the source, the better. 2) don’t take chances, always go in with a plan and a back up plan. 3) never take too long, best to get out within a set time frame. 4) make as few chances as possible, don’t leave a trace. 5) absolutely don’t have a signature method, switch it up.

Bo closed their small 9-inch notebook, and shot down the street, mission accomplished. They planned to get out of there as quickly as possible. Heart beating in their chest as the adrenaline started to work, this would never get old.

They rounded the corner and almost collided with someone. “Sorry, excuse me,” they uttered quickly, slipping into the shy persona that worked so well with people.

Not having a home meant that Bo could always be on the road, they had a backpack that held everything they could ever need, they rented places, clothing, bikes, and so forth. Whenever they had money to stay at a hotel, they'd make sure to wash all their clothes and soaks in a bath for as long as possible.

Anyone who met them on the street would not suspect that Boudhayan had no home to call their own, they simply came off as someone mysterious who was always typing away on their laptop and drinking coffee, and who was shy when spoken to.

Except at the clubs, when all their belongings were stowed away in some locker, and they had the freedom to move around without having to worry how far they strayed away from their spot. They were sweaty and hot and in need of fresh air and water, making their way outside of the club with a bottle of water - no cap - and took a few sips. "It's bloody hot in there," they said, brushing the sweat from their brow. "And freezing out here."

Bo opened the door to the cramped studio to let Ira in, smiling as brightly as he was able given how tired he felt after the Lagoon party and all the speculation that had been on the air afterwards. They hadn't wanted to talk about it, but the subject kept on coming up regardless. They were glad to have someone who wasn't connected to any of that come in.

"Hey! Thank you for saying yes to the invite," they said. "I'm so glad to have you on the show, we're not due to be on air for an hour yet, but I thought maybe we can look through your work? I'm sure everyone knows you, I've spoken about your cartoons very often."

Bo didn’t much like the holidays. Once, perhaps. When they still had family, when there were people around them that had that holiday cheer. When there was gift-giving and good food. Now the days that should bring cheer brought them nothing but sorrow. The smile they offered strangers was replaced by an ever present frown, and the ability to escape any conversation that turned to the holidays. Even on the radio, Bo offered advice to people who were looking not to go and join family or friends. But mostly they spoke of other things. New music, changing weather, world politics. 

And they went home absolutely exhausted. Just the idea of having to make it through the December month was turning their mood sour. So when they entered their regular bodega to find it packed with carollers, they quickly shot to the back of the place and riffled through magazines they didn’t intend to buy, keeping an eye on the front and praying nobody was going to start singing. “Sorry,” they said when someone appeared in their line of vision. “Do you think those people are going to leave any time soon?”

Bo had to admit that from the moment the 24-hour crime free for all was announced, they'd been running fast on adrenaline. This was their chance, and they were going to be taking it, consequences be damned. They were dressed in all black, their mask on their face, and their digital notebook close by hand, ready to start all this. Hacking into the security systems wasn't hard, not when they'd already had a few opportunities to stake it out, to dip their toes into the water.

The job done, Bo planned to get out, make sure nobody ever knew they'd been there, and continue some hacking in the city... maybe some looting, before finding out if the job was completed on the other's ends.

Bo's eyes shot to the street as their target neared the area, the red light on the small digital notebook that they carried having been moving around for a while now. They'd set the bug quietly, and it had taken a long while for the code to do its damage, but now the replicant was moving towards the location, and they were ready. They pushed the notebook back into their backpack and gave the Neon Pariah on the other side of the alley, hidden behind some boxing the signal. If all was correct, they'd fucked with enough of the code for the replicant not to notice them.

Bo was contemplative these days, far more on his second job as a vampire hunter - or lackey - than on his first job. He still managed to clock in on time, give it his all on the air, and raise no concerns. But outside of those hours, he was trying to think of ways that they could further this. He wasn't sure what the whole thing at New Years had been about. He'd just followed. Like he was prone to do when it came to Rosalin.

He followed because he thought it would supply him with information, with knowledge. He hoped in time he was uncover the name of the vampire who had killed his family.

This was just a stepping stone in that direction.

He had headphones in as he was listening to a new album that had been delivered to the studio that morning, but he wasn't registering any of it. He was considering which area of the city he was going to patrol tonight.