Chapter Text
In retrospect, it wasn’t really that much of an issue. National City was bound to have some form of grocery store or fast-food open past midnight, but Lena wanted to bring actual food with her for her lunch break. The three zip-locks and plastic container with no lid currently occupying her kitchen drawer would not suffice to hold the chicken scampi she’d prepared that afternoon.
“Frig,” she swore out loud.
She shook her head at the preposterousness of her swear word.
“Fuck!” she yelled louder, because no ex of hers—who’d prefer it if she wouldn’t swear—would stop her from going full sailor now that they’d split. Now that Lena had practically moved across the country and taken the first available job in her field she could find.
It had horrible hours—8 pm to 4 am—and the pay was barely admissible, but it was well within her ability and had hired her on the spot. Probably, because it was such a shit job. It wouldn’t matter though, because in a few months she’d find a better one and have Catco Media on her resumé.
It felt odd, leaving the house after dark to head to work. With the rest of her dinner sitting in a pot in the fridge, Lena maneuvered the busy night streets of National City with only her purse and laptop bag. The crowd was young here and even the streets out as far as the rent-controlled side of town were busy. Lena noted the hole-in-the-wall lunch places with closed signs hanging in their windows and the fancy bistros halfway through their dinner rush. Lena dropped her head, trying to ignore the want to return home with a box of take-away and curl up on her… desk chair.
The rest of her things were still in Metropolis where she was trying to sell her current apartment. It left her missing a few things and lacking others that hadn’t been shipped yet—like proper leftover containers.
She was only a tad surprised to see Catco still bustling with people filing in and out on the street level entrance. She looked up at its tall windows, noting which floors glowed a dim yellow and which ones merely reflected lights from other buildings. She would be half-way up—a dim yellow light throughout the whole night.
Lena sat in the lobby of the 15th floor with her purse in her lap and her laptop bag leaning against a jean-clad leg. It’s super casual, so dress down, her new boss had said over the phone. Lena was used to power suits and black dresses, so coming to work in dark jeans and a blouse felt wrong on so many levels.
“Lena?” a familiar voice called.
She looked up to see her new boss walking out of a set of glass doors wearing ripped jeans and a ratty polo.
“Shaun?” she asked, trying to repress the stress lines that always formed on her forehead.
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, shooting her a goofy smile. “Welcome.”
Waving her over, he led her through the open door into a room of offices and cubicles. He held his arms out and turned in a circle.
“Welcome to the IT floor.”
The room was empty. Absolutely deserted.
Lena held her hand over her mouth and breathed in to say something, when he beat her to it.
“They go home early,” he replied.
“But all the people—”
“—The news people?” he interrupted. “They’re here like, 24-7. But IT…” He laughed. “They hit the street when the clock strikes 5.”
“So it’s just you and me overnight?” Lena shifted her purse up her arm, holding it tighter.
“I’ll be up a floor—some management offices.” He showed her his name tag that hung from a beaded cord around his neck. “But hey, no line for coffee, no nasty smelling washrooms—down the hall on your left by the way—and you have your own office each night.”
He turned around, not paying attention to the bewildered expression on Lena’s face and began peering inside open offices.
“You can use Dilworth’s at night. He’s pretty clean. Just don’t spill anything.” He held his hand up in a pause. “Actually, just eat out here to be safe.”
Lena bit the inside of her lip. Who was he to assume she’d be spilling anything? He was wearing flip flops for crying out loud.
It took some shifting around to set up. Dilworth apparently had a hundred children—or family members—and liked his display of McDonald's toys around the back of his monitor. Lena slid an old miniature Furby back and turned its body around to face the wall.
“You’ll be using this laptop for work,” Shaun said, walking in and placing it on a clear area of the desk. “It’s equipped with fingerprint scanners that are set up for you, but always use the same finger. If it fails logging in twice, it will erase all data and that won’t be fun for either of us.”
Lena nodded. It was a lot to take in. Much more than her last job where the worst thing that could happen was receiving an error message from a typo in the code.
“Our last security system was hacked so they’ve gone full-on defcon five upstairs,” Shaun noted.
“You mean defcon one?” Lena clarified.
Shaun just blinked at her, so she waved him off.
“Anyway…” He gave her an inscrutable look as he slouched against the door. “They’ve installed new encryption software, but the old system that tracked intra-company correspondence has been scrapped.”
He pulled a chair from outside Dilworth’s office and rolled it over beside Lena’s.
“We’ve already got the script running, so there isn’t much work,” he continued.
His fingers tapped impatiently against the peeling siding on the desk.
“If an employee within the company sends an email, memo, or instant message containing one of their red flag words,” he said, air quoting red flag , “then it will be forwarded to you through the software. Look it over and make sure they’re not conspiring against the company and such or committing a felony.”
“So I’m just reading emails?” Lena asked, rubbing her forehead.
“Uh, more like screening,” Shaun supplied.
“And if someone is swearing a lot or misusing company computers for other business—sexting—” he said in a mock whisper, “then send their log-in ID a warning message.”
Lena held back an exasperated laugh.
“And what happens with these warnings?”
Shaun shrugged.
“Nothing. They usually just scare them enough to stop. Bigwigs don’t like us employees chit-chatting and flirting away on their time. So just use your cell for that.”
“I see.”
Lena wondered how they’d feel about her using company time to look for a new job.
“Is that it?” she asked.
“Oh!” Shaun scooched the chair back and hopped up, searching the shelves on the other side of the room for something.
He pulled out a small TV, probably from the 90s, and set it on the desk beside Lena’s work laptop.
“Here,” he kneeled down, yanking the TV’s cord from where it had wedged underneath his chair, and plugged it into a power outlet. “Some nights are slow, so I suggest bringing with you some DVDs.”
He walked back to the shelves and returned with a tiny disc player.
“They don’t want you working with your personal laptop for security reasons, but this old guy can’t connect to shit, so you’ll be fine.”
Lena nodded slowly. This was a joke. One giant joke. How could this position even be classified as IT? She had a degree in computer science! Lena took a deep breath and smoothed her hands down her jeans.
“If you have any questions, just call.” He tapped Dilworth’s office phone on the desk, before taping a sticky note on top.
Shaun, it read. Ext. 525
“Dial 9 before the number if you want to call out of the building… But it’s 2016. So, I doubt you’d really need to.”
Lena forced out a chuckle.
“Yes, I doubt I would.”
Shaun walked over to the door, a slouch in every step he took.
“I’ll check back in after your lunch break,” he began. “Make sure you haven’t fled yet.”
It was a joke, but both seemed to share an uneasy laugh.
“Night,” he said with a wave. Then he was gone.
It took a great deal longer to figure out the old work laptop. The finger scanner was attached via USB and wouldn’t connect properly unless Lena held the cord with one hand and scanned her index finger with the other.
There apparently hadn’t been a screener working here since they installed the new system, because there were 3600 red flag texts waiting for her to read over. After the first forty, Lena realized most were flagged for cursing or risque language.
>I didn’t know we had a scheduled meeting until I was twenty fucking minutes late.< sent 03/04/16 14:38 from 18.20.16.91 to 192.168.1.55
>F0cking Diana is back again. Can’t believe she didnt cum last wekk< sent 03/05/16 10:12 from 172.16.254.1 to 10.8.3.193
It was somewhat satisfying to see the highlight disappear from every text passage she read, but after two hours, the number had only shrunk down to 3450. Every time a long email would come up, she’d try focusing only on the red bolded text, but sometimes it was just too easy to be nosy.
>Felipe,
I asked Christine about the floor scavenger hunt for next week, but she said we should hold off on it until the weather gets warmer. Like getting exposed to any chilly weather will kill her… I swear she just doesn’t want to cooperate with me. Can you try and speak with her for me?
You’re the best,
Hailley < sent 03/10/16 12:12 from 216.109.112.135 to 216.127.72.7
At midnight, Lena logged off on her work laptop, grabbed her purse, and headed out in search of food. Two blocks down she found a wrap place still open. The employees looked more dead than she did, so she gave them an apologetic smile when her order teetered on complex.
“No kale?”
The girl behind the counter shook her head.
“Lettuce is fine then,” Lena replied, nodding her head.
The girl picked a handful out with her gloved hand and plopped it down on top of the rest of her veggies.
“Anything else, ma’am?”
Lena shook her head and slid down the counter to the cashier. Before she paid, her phone dinged with an email.
Lena,
Hope the new job is working out. I heard from your mother that the hours are horrible, but I’m sure you’ll make it through.
Jack
Lena laughed, walled by her ex’s email. He’d talked to her mother?
The girl behind the counter cleared her throat. God, Lena probably looked like a crazy woman—ordering a wrap at 12:30 at night and laughing bitterly at her phone.
“8.35,” the girl repeated.
Lena muttered out a sorry, before handing the girl her credit card, and hitting reply on her email app.
“It’s going great,” she mumbled to herself while typing out the message.
The girl handed Lena back her card and slid the wrap on a tray across the counter.
“Have a good night,” she said in monotone voice.
Lena simply hummed and picked up the paper rolled wrap in one hand, ignoring the tray.
When she got back to the office, Lena pulled her jar of kombucha out of her purse and set the veggie wrap on the table outside of Dilworth’s office. She wondered what would happen if she took an extra long break. Would anyone notice? Would Shaun even care? Speaking of the hippie, where was he?
Despite no visit from her boss yet, at 1 am Lena walked back into the cave that was Dilworth’s office and opened the laptop back up. The harsh fluorescents in the room were too bright in contrast to the rooms outside, so Lena worked with a desk lamp.
By 2:30 she was on her last tank of gas, head slumped over against her hand with an elbow propping her up. She’d gone through another 50 emails and a hundred or so odd memos and IMs. Then, a short IM caught her attention.
>It might be risky , but I think we can pull it off< sent 04/01/16 5:45 from 69.89.31.226 to 172.30.0.218
“Huh,” Lena mumbled.
This could be something.
She copied the computer’s IP address and searched the rest of the red flags for any more highlighted texts. 12 popped up, but they were just curse words and a compiled list of the owner’s favourite movies, including number 4: Risky Business.
Still, the IM was odd and alerting. Lena picked up the office phone and typed in Shaun’s extension. After three rings it went to voicemail.
“Shiz,” Lena swore, slamming the phone back in its cradle.
She turned back to the laptop and began pulling down untouched menus on the program. She found another search bar and typed the IP into that one. This time, the loading hourglass spun for a minute, before an incomplete list of emails and messages from the IP popped up.
>James,
The gang is meeting up at 6, so let me know if you’ll be finished up by then. If not, we can save you some food.
Winn< sent 02/20/16 15:13 from 69.89.31.226 to 172.24.161.84
>Can we talk?< sent 02/23/16 14:01 from 69.89.31.226 to 172.30.0.218
Lena stopped reading after the first few. This was a person. Between the words and numbers were people—people likely at home, in bed, alarm set to wake them up in a few hours. And here Lena was, snooping through their emails. In the back of her mind a voice warned her of how wrong this was, but what if it wasn’t something naive? What if she could be the one to out a company scandal or corruption? She hit control + F and pressed on.
Copying the receiving IP in the find bar, Lena clicked enter and waited as a smaller, but still substantial list of texts popped up. Most were IMs, which meant the receiver’s name wasn’t included at all, while the email’s last names and contact details were blurred out for privacy. Lena scanned down the list until she found a text file larger than most.
>Kara,
I spoke with James and he said he was onboard. He’ll contact Clark tomorrow, but for now, we need to discuss the suit. 7:30 at your place sound fine? I’ll bring food and beers. Alex can come too, but lie and tell her it’s BYOB. My accounts been really taking a hit lately and I want to save some for next time I’m over.
Your trusting computer-genius,
Winn< sent 03/25/16 16:22 from 69.89.31.226 to 172.30.0.218 13:36
Then the next.
>How did it feel last night?< sent 03/27/16 8:45 from 69.89.31.226 to 172.30.0.218 13:36
Lena looked away from the computer. Had she just accidentally stumbled into someone’s kinky relationship? She hit next and braced herself.
>I don’t think so. I can look into a new material better suited for flying, but I’m busy with Cat stuff right now< sent 03/27/16 8:52 from 69.89.31.226 to 172.30.0.218 13:36
Flying?
Lena went back to her search filter and looked up messages sent out between 8:45 and 8:52 on the morning of March the 27th from the other IP. There was only one.
>For the most part, good. Do you think it looks a little pretentious with the House of El S plastered right over my chest? Also, the material was a little stiff at higher altitudes.< sent 03/27/16 8:49 from 172.30.0.218 13:36 to 69.89.31.226
Suit? S? Flying? Lena’s eyes went wide. Supergirl?
She shoved her chair back from the desk and spun around, knocking her half-finished drink to the floor.
“Shit,” she hissed, picking it up quickly.
The drink had left a dark stain on the light blue carpeting, but Lena could barely spare the effort to care.
Supergirl worked for Catco? Her new job in National City just got a bit more interesting.