1387/We have questions

We have questions
Date of Scene:	26 April 2020
Location:	Samuel Morgan's Brownstone Apartment
Synopsis:	Why do you work here? For the incentives...
Cast of Characters:	Samuel Morgan, Bobbi Morse

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Samuel Morgan has posed:
    From the outside, it's quite a nice brownstone. Set in the less expensive and less fashionable part of the East Side, away from the better known boulevards, in a relatively quiet cross street... quiet by Manhattan standards. Six floor, the usual facade, the usual stairs up, the usual front door, the usual. Everything, really, the usual. Nothing unusual about this place. So ordinary it's downright suspicious to the right mindset.

    Up on the fifth floor, in the unit overlooking the street, lives someone quite unusual. His neighbors on all sides, above, below and across the hall, are the quiet professional types. By themselves or a recent couple, nothing would make them stand out from a crowd. The only thing that's a bit unusual, really, is that they all draw a paycheck from the same organisation. Sam knows this, they know that he knows or at least suspect, but nobody talks about this. That's the way this game is played.

    In the safehouse, Sam lives his life like an emancipated teenager, pretending he's not under constant surveillance, and is allowed to do this as long as he never acts as if he's not under surveillance. Espionage, gotta love it.

    Late in the afternoon, there's no music coming from his place, but the TV is clearly on. It's a saturday, the school year is ending... really, it's what you'd expect from a typical teenager at this time of day, on this day, at this time of year.

Bobbi Morse has posed:
Someone had to follow up on this after action report. There are certainly many approaches to dealing with a teenager like this and perhaps today it's the Bobbi way. Under lock and key, the file is put away. She empties out her possessions. Everything digital.. in to the box. Locked again. She keeps one piece of electrical equipment on her only. She parks two blocks away and walks the rest of the way.

*knock knock* On his door. Agent Morse is there, looking professional in suit pants, suit top and white blouse. Her long blonde hair is down and she looks at ease. "Samuel, it's Agent Morse." The one piece of equipment she kept on herself, activated.. a jammer. He might be under surveillance all the time, but while she's here it's going to be all off the record. The agents listening in on his home will hear the expected normal sounds, but not what they're actually saying. She figures he will appreciate that.

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "Who? I didn't order pizza." comes back through the door as the latch opens. And then the deadbolt. The chain. The secondary lock. The tertiary lock. The mortise lock. That little thumb catch over the useless door knob lock. At length, the door opens, and Sam nods his head for Bobbi to come in, stepping aside after making sure she was, in fact, alone. Alone and with an active jammer...

    One of /those/ visits.

    He's dressed casual, hoodie, lounge pants and thick socks, closing the door behind the unexpected guest. Locking it, in precise order. "C'mon through. Wasn't expecting anyone today, thought my mandatory check-in wasn't until Wednesday."

    It's a typical apartment, small but not uncomfortable, and more than adequate for a teenager by himself. Or, nearly by himself, since a German Shepherd is sprawled out across the sofa, seemingly watching TV. "Shift, Bear. We've got a guest." With a curious look, the canine obediently hops off the couch and traipses over to his large doggy day bed, curling up with one eye fixed on Bobbi. "Can I get you a drink? It's water or soda only, I'm afraid."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
    Bobbi is smiling the moment she sees the big dog. Her attention shifts back to Samuel. "This is a great set up you have here. I'm good for fluids thanks. What's your poison, Sam or Samuel, something else?" She looks around the room and takes it in. She settles down on the previously occupied couch and says, "This isn't a check in exactly. This is more, a concerned friend who you don't really know is your friend yet, kinda visit."

She takes the jammer out of her pocket and puts it on the table, unaware of just how good he is with technology but pretty curious none the less. "How'd school? I hear you've been having some problems."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "Sam is good. Samuel if we're being official." the teen mentions on his way to the fridge. It's a semi-open kitchen, and it's not a mess. In fact, the whole place looks to be very well taken care of. Even the take-away menus are squared exactly to the edge of the island/breakfast bar. "Mister Morgan if I'm in trouble, Scorpio if you're here to kill me, Techno if you've got a mission."

    A few moments later, he's leaning against the wall, opening a bottle of Mountain Dew. Teenagers... the need for sugar and energy is real.

    "I sweep the place for bugs every other day, they keep installing new ones while I'm out. Bit of a game we play. You won't need that..." he nods to the jammer "but it's appreciated. What's up?"

Bobbi Morse has posed:
    Bobbi is impressed, she wasn't expecting the apartment to be this clean. If anything it's quite suspicious for a teenager to be this clean. She chuckles at his comment that he sweeps for bugs. "I wouldn't dream of having conversations like this without the jammer. There's plenty of ways to listen in on an apartment that don't require physical bugs in the room." Her position on the couch is turned so as not to be facing any windows. "I appreciate honesty above all else, even if someone has screwed up or perhaps made a bad choice. So I won't warm you up with the easy soft ball questions like, why did you accuse that girl of being a HYDRA agent only to retract it..."

She watches his reactions, his expressions, trying to get a good read on him. "Because I remember when I was your age I didn't appreciate people questioning my every move all the time." She rests her hands in her lap and asks, "Is there anything you'd like to get off your chest before I go further?"

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    The sofa is in an odd place, on second thought. The whole place seems a bit... strange. The more time spent inside, the more those little oddities become apparent. Highly polished reflective surfaces are practically everywhere, kept immaculate and acting almost as mirrors. The whole layout seems to be twisted ninety degrees to standard, ruining the view from the window, but making it easier to see out... and, on reflection, much harder for someone with a parabolic microphone or a high powered rifle to find any targets. The whole place, upon reflection, seems to be a testament to someone who relies on wit and paranoia to stay alive. But for all that, it's still kept as clean as if it were barracks ready for parade.

    "I'd just ask who leaked that. I'm pretty sure all the recording devices in the office were offline, made sure of that. Means either Doctor MacIntyre or Miss O'Connail talked to you about it. My money's on the latter. And if you know my file, you know why I was worried."

    He sits down on the carpet, next to Bear, one arm around the dog's neck and the other hand holding his drink, the cap wedged between his fingers and the bottle. "You came here, you're showing me good faith, you're being honest. You'll get nothing but honesty from me in return. Ask your questions."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
    Bobbi crinkles her nose up and smiles a touch more as he snugs the doggy. "Hey we're SHIELD, it's our job to know things worth knowing. You're worth knowing Sam. Though I understand your sentiment. I hate being on the record too.. kind of ironic considering my job." She taps the side of her nose and fold one leg over the other. She has an easy nature to her when doing this kind of thing. You can guess she has a lot of these kinds of tactics up her sleeve. "Did you hack in to the SHIELD servers and alter your file, redact, delete or remove any information?"

It's quite to the point in fact. She doesn't ask the question in an accusatory tone, almost an inquisitive one. Her eyebrow raises just a touch as she asks it. There seems to be another thing on her mind entirely, resting on the answer he might give.

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "No, I did not." The response is immediate and flat, like the response given by someone who knows he's being asked questions to calibrate a polygraph. It's given in the tone of voice that is normally reserved for questions like 'For the record, what is your name?'. Sam seems to wait patiently for a follow up, his arm still around Bear, who appears to have as much affection for his human as vice versa. And those eyes betray that this is one smart pupper. Probably the one place Sam never checks for hidden microphones.

Bobbi Morse has posed:
    Bobbi presses her lips together and nods. "Okay then," she says and smiles once more. "Now we can move on to the more interesting questions. If you were going to do that or something of a similar nature, how would you go about it?"

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    An eyebrow raises. "Ooh, intrusion hypotheticals. It would depend on the vector I chose." A sip from the bottle before Sam continues. "With access to a file server in a remote farm, I could run a diversionary ping against the firewall and try to slip in before the systems recovered. But that's amateur stuff. If I was serious about removing myself from the database, I'd more likely use a logic bomb. Present an innocuous file to be added to an unrelated database, say the paperclip invoice from the planning desk on the third floor... have it expand and unpack three seconds before the server backup is made and go along for the ride. Then depending on the type of logic bomb used, I'd have given myself remote shell access to do as I please or inserted a code string that would look for a specific set of key words and corrupt the file structure over time. Say... a week? Two on the outside. With every server backup, the parity would unravel further, until even a deep level root repair couldn't fix what I destroyed."

    Sip.

    "Not that I've ever given that kind of thing any real thought."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
    Bobbi gives him a look of surprise.. or is that delight. She takes in his plan, following along with it in her head and then nods. "Besides HYDRA in general, who would benefit the most from sewing seeds of distrust between SHIELD and yourself? because that appears to be what is happening... how would you figure out who would have done something like that. You're the data forensics in this scenario, someone has deleted specific data and you need to find out how and who. Let's posit some scenarios - scenario one, deleting information about you; scenario two, shipping objects out of a secure warehouse on trucks with no source or destination that are recorded as having no cargo; scenario three, deleting specific audio logs between agents and HQ." She twins her fingers together and points them at him, "Go."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "I would, first and foremost, need to have positive proof that the data that has been supposedly deleted actually existed. The best way to cover up a data theft is to make it appear that more data has gone missing than is truly the case, and make the fictitious pieces of data appear to be of a greater priority or strategic value, thereby delaying the discovery of the actual theft, and in the best case scenario making the real objective appear as nothing more than collateral." For someone who isn't giving this much thought, Sam does seem to be putting effort into this. Idly petting Bear with his left hand, he leans his head back against the wall and looks halfway at the ceiling, halfway at something about a mile further away.

    "Correlation between data becomes important. You would imagine that it's important what the subject or common ground of the actual data is, but in cases of data theft or data manipulation, you need to track down the common operator, the common access. Data isn't a corpse, it doesn't need a motive, the killer doesn't need to be related and neither do subsequent victims. In that simile, only the killer matters, not the fatalities. In the cases you posit, in the hypothetical..." and now he looks back with a raised eyebrow and a stress on that last word "... the common denominator in topic appears to be me, at least prima facie. The intermediary topic, the shipping, doesn't fit, and an unskilled operator would discard that data as being irrelevant or a statistical outlier. In this case, it needs to be understood that the removal of things from a secure warehouse might have been the goal. By adding up one and one, we would arrive at three, namely that I am the common operator, and thus I would by default be responsible for the shipping problems. Except I know that's not true, so we must cast the net further."

    His fingers tap against the bottle, and the cap is rotated between two fingers without much effort, spinning end over end in an almost hypnotic fashion. "No, in these cases I'd look at what else is missing. What is the underlying topic of the missing data, and who or what is being threatened by its existence. That is more likely the culprit or, at least, the instigator of the data manipulation. The manipulator is likely much closer at home, most likely a corrupted minor technician with just enough access and just enough disloyalty to pull it off, but not enough intelligence to know why they're doing it."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
    Bobbi steeples her fingers together and hmmms as she listens to your conjecture. "So you see, it comes down to a few things." She lifts an eyebrow, "Am I to believe that you're jerking us all around and are still working for HYDRA, as the evidence wishes me to believe.. which I don't believe. Or that someone else is pulling strings and figured you'd be an excellent fall guy." She takes a printed photo out of her pocket. It's a photograph from her phone of Gothic Lolita.

    "This is LMD-UIA-Queens-001. A convoy of SHIELD trucks was ambushed in Queens and this android emerged from storage there," it's clear which side of the track she's chosen for now. "The trucks had no destination or arrival data, the cargo is meant to be in New Jersey and there are no records of this android as far as I can see. My report got reclassified above my level, the audio logs of my communications with HQ were deleted and then I get a report that your file has been tampered with." She places the photo down on the coffee table before her. "Do you recognise her?"

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    For someone who is used to being suspected, Sam takes the whole having evidence planted in his direction quite calmly, almost as if it were expected. He's still relaxed on the floor, giving Bear most of his attention, while he gives a glance or two at the picture. Then another, with narrowed eyes and a canted head. "Nnnn-oo. No. Not familiar. But LMD-UIA? Part of project Livewire then?"

    He takes another gulp of his Mountain Dew, giving an apologetic smile at the deduction. "I heard about it, years ago. Doctor Eissen was pretty dismissive of the whole concept, but he was a pure geneticist, figured he could create better work than bashing together an android with half understood technology. His words, not mine. Bad times if one of those has gone rogue."

    Giving Bear one last scritch behind the ear, the teen stands up, stretches for a moment, and finds himself a more proper seat, dragging over a chair. "Look. There's two possibilities you have to acknowledge. One, that I'm a trained actor and assassin, playing the long game and dissembling every moment of every day, in an attempt to reach an objective unknown to you, meaning that my advice to you is meaningless at best and aimed at misdirecting at worst. Or two, one of your data entry clerks got turned."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
    Bobbi glances at him sidelong, "Yeeeeah. Well I've been there and done that and believe me, you don't want to play the long game. You need an excellent exit strategy because the first time you come across some ultra paranoid pri... ah.. person, excuse my language. You're going to be having a bad day. But yes, there's another part to the conspiracy playing out in my head. If pressure is put on you like this they might use it as blackmail to get you to cooperate with them, or help this LMD.. LMD because it looks like an android that looks very human, UIA is just Un-identified Android. Not creative I know. But yes, I believe someone is doing the dirty in SHIELD and probably getting paid for it. What I want to know is.. do you have any suggestions on how to catch the piece of... shirt." He's 16 years old, he's heard it all before, but she should still try and be professional.

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "Paid? Hah. My guess is they're on the incentive program." Sam corrects as he finishes the Mountain Dew, putting the cap back on the bottle. At this point, a typical teenager would punt or yeet the thing into the nearest trash can, but Sam is no typical teenager. He stands and walks to the kitchen to dispose of the empty bottle properly, in the correct recycling bin. Everything in its place... "Besides, I am that ultra paranoid bastard. The problem is this, you see, for HYDRA trying to infiltrate SHIELD..."

    He returns from the kitchen, with a chew bone for Bear. This he does toss over, and the loud *CHOMP* when the Shepherd catches it brings a smile to his face. That smile is still there as he sits down. "Proper HYDRA agents have tells. Routines they stick to, because that's how they've been trained. I'm trained to spot those, to make contact with inside people when on a mission. You'd be surprised how obvious it is once you know what to look for. The deep cover ones are different, but they can't be relied on for something like this, it's too blatant. Their goals are far more long term. Some of them probably don't even expect to ever be activated. Some of them never are. And that breeds a problem with loyalty." A furtive glance around the room, as if to check that everything is still where he left it. He's remarkably candid, but trust doesn't come easy.

    "For things like this, you put someone on the incentive program. By that I mean you kidnap someone they care about, give them a set of very clearly defined tasks, and remind them that the person being held will be killed at the slightest error or the slightest hesitation. Then you remind them that you're always watching, and that someone will come test their loyalty at least once. Why do you work here? For the incentives... Query and reply, probe and pass phrase. It's stupidly simple, but it works."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
There's a nod agreement as she slowly stands up. "An elegant little code. Pretty harmless too." She frowns and mms. "If you do see this android.. be careful." She takes out a card and places it on the coffee table. "Give me a call. If you need anything just let me know. I know you have your school work, your counselling, your weekly checkups etc. But if you're getting sick of the double talk bullsh... shirt. Well, I'm more of a straight to the point kind of person." The card reads Agent Morse and has a phone number that connects through SHIELD. "Oh and call me Bobbi." She picks up the jammer and places it back in her pocket. "You've got a good head on you Sam. If someone is j.. messing you around you tell them to talk to me."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "I'll keep an eye out. Want to bet she'll eventually show up at my school? Just the way my luck runs." Smiling, Sam stands and sees Bobbi to the door, like a proper host. "Thanks for coming by, and being straight with me. You've got no idea how rare... nah, you probably do. Say hello to agent May for me, if you see her around. Tell her I've started using that Chinese place she recommended, the Sui Mai is amazeballs."

    The locks are released, in reverse order, and the door opened. "Feel free to drop by if you have any other questions, Bobbi. I'm either here or at the school. Except when I'm not, I s'pose."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
Bobbi mms, "Oh yes, the Sui Mai is great isn't it. I'll pass it on to May." She steps out of his space and turns back around, "Well if I need you, odds are someone will know where you are." She gives him a small wave and then wanders back out of the building. She has her two block walk back to her bike to think about Samuel's //way// of being. She's going to have to get to know him further, he could be real useful in a pinch."

Samuel Morgan has posed:
    "Take care." There's a last smile as the door finally closes. The locks come back on, one by one. Sam stands by the door, listening to the footsteps recede, the thump of feet on the stairs, and faint slam of the front door.

    His forehead slowly lowers to lean against the door, eyes flashing a bright blue. ".... Shit..."