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Summer Storms (5) : There have been plenty of thunderstorms this summer, and everyone is blaming the weather for the strangeness of their electronics--or, bored kids out of school. It’s not uncommon to get phone calls from impossible numbers--strings of letters and numbers, and a blank caller ID. It’s hard to make out any sounds; it sounds like static, and a broken up voice in a language you can’t make out. There is no way to call the number back; it says the line is disconnected. Sometimes, text messages come through, in foreign symbols. The messages always disappear within a few seconds, and there’s no way to reply. People have even had video chats, but the image is always staticky and it’s impossible to make out any details except for a silhouette, and the same strange, foreign language. The city is hoping to have this issue fixed soon, but in the meantime they are asking for patience.
Crocoite was more than a little annoyed.
Before his hunt, he opted to get some sleep so he could stay out all night in the hopes of finding more and more Negaverse soldiers to make contact with, learn about, and take mental note of. Perhaps even forge a few new working relationships. Resting would give him a clear, dangerous mind to work with, so he could stay sharp and focused on his mission regardless of the hour.
But he kept getting these incredibly frustrating phone calls. Every ten or twenty minutes, it felt like, while he was trying to rest in a room completely blacked out by curtains and locked doors, his phone would light up. He was pretty sure he had turned it off, twice, but it still rang. He had a ring tone, though he was not interested in other people hearing it, and usually kept the phone on vibrate instead.
Yet the theme to X-Files still played sleep rendingly loud.
Instead of powering up with his phone on him and sending it to the pocket of subspace that stored his things, Crocoite had set it aside so he could pick it up once he was powered up and keep an eye on it. He was going to figure out who had been crank calling him, no matter what he had to do. Honestly, he was out here on patrol, grumpy and half asleep, in the hopes that he might find someone who had enough technical knowledge to aid him.
He kept up with the newest electronic toys, but he could not say he was an expert. Tracing calls was most certainly not in his repertoire of skills.
