Binding Thoughts of Days Long By
Summary: Alone with his thoughts, Jor reminisces a little on his past and recent events.
Date: 28/10/2013
Related: None… yet.
Jor 


Wed Dec 25, 3013 — Jor's Apartment — Landing — Imperius


He was digging through his old case files. There weren't many of those left, now; they'd taken the vast majority of them from his personal database the very day he had been arrested, looking to see if there had been any connections between his work and the charges that had been filed. It was a pure twist of luck they had missed the ones he was looking at now. Somehow, no one had managed to crack the cipher he had used to write down his notes on the files that had (at the time) gone unsolved. Perhaps because the words had not been obscured by encryption, but rather topics, no one had thought to look through his "literary journal" for evidence. It had been an idea that had sprung out from seemingly nowhere, born of a worry that someone had been rummaging through his investigative notes. Even now, after fifteen years thinking about it, he still couldn't recall what it was that he had felt was missing, only that his review of the evidence of that one case had seemed off the next day, even though the archive of the data, the videos, the interviews, had all been accounted for in the system.

The cipher had been the major step he had taken to concealing his files from unwanted eyes. Concealing his notes as a literary analysis had been difficult to get used to - the process had taken over two weeks to transcribe everything to the point it made sense - but the result spoke for itself, now when it was so long after his fateful trial had ended. He'd had fifteen years to keep the word association and turns of phrase fresh in his mind, after all; there had been little else to do. Sometimes, he had had to use the litany as his sole means of keeping sane, during those times when they had allowed him to lie there in that poor excuse for a bed and sleep had been near impossible. More often than not, he had slept poorly. It had been worse during those first months of his sentence, when his body was not accustomed to the labor required of him despite his training, and his mind had still reeled from the shock of everything that had transpired. He could still recall, still feel the disbelief when the Watch had shown up at his doorstep to arrest him that day, listing the murder charge first and foremost.

The second step had been that sorry excuse for a data tablet, one he had taken when he had reviewed that straightforward case about the so-called "Storyteller" hacker. He'd told people he had accidentally broke it in an accident, and couldn't afford another, but the truth of the matter was that he had been forced to call in a favor on damaging the tablet's connections to the point that only a now-archaic wiring method could access what was on it, as well as transfer information to and from. It was an old model now, after all. Fifteen years had changed basic devices considerably, including how they worked, but they all still shared that… vulnerability. Keeping his personal repositories from direct access by the InfoSphere had been paramount, at the time. That wasn't to say someone couldn't just steal it, of course, but better that he knew someone /had/ than be stabbed in the back by an unseen, unknown observer. A pity he couldn't secure more effective safeguards for that tablet than the eraser program, one that would scramble everything should it detect potential unauthorized access. It would have to do, though.

Having even a partial record of his old investigations would doubtless get him arrested now, should anyone discover that they really were, and so necessity dictated that he continue the practice of obscuring them. A literary analysis wouldn't be looked at oddly, after all, since it was well known he had been a reader during his days on the Watch. And now, with more at stake than his reputation being tarnished by whomever had felt threatened enough to frame him then, it seemed all but imperative to keep his true thoughts to himself, and his most vital data stored at a very secure location: himself.

He flipped through the pages, vaguely recalling the facts he had written, by hand, what seemed a lifetime ago, until at last the blankness of the sheets before him were staring back. Writing on paper seemed odd, at times, but there was an advantage: it could never be hacked through the InfoSphere. That had been his biggest fear, in those weeks before his arrest: that someone had sabotaged his work and later used it against him.

Writing his thoughts and more down on these latest two inquiries - the one under the guise of doctrine, the other as a discussion on The Essays of Torem Valder, a writer during the Second System War - Jor sat there, every so often glancing at the time, wondering if his gambit would pay off. So much was happening all of a sudden, as if the war around him wasn't enough, and some of it, he was sure, had been nothing but cover-up. More would have happened otherwise, if it had all been exposed. So he wrote down his thoughts on that news at the Chantry, and his fears, and continued to bide his time, hoping that his request to the Commissioner would be granted. And that he wasn't walking himself into a trap.

The worst part was, he was sure there were some waiting ahead.

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