Who: Mozzie & Isabel What: Someone woke up on the wrong side of the rage virus this morning When: Today Where: Prison kitchen Warnings: Paranoia self-destroy ya
Sighing, Mozzie unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his shirtsleeves. The kitchen was hotter than usual and he was in the middle of one of his kitchen projects. Every few days Mozzie made vegetable stock out of whatever odds and ends were at hand. A large container of it went into the refrigerator to be used in place of plain water and the rest got frozen and could be thawed out to use as a base for soup. Normally Mozzie enjoyed taking nothing and making something out of it. But he had other things on his mind and as he worked he began to just slam ingredients into the pots in no particular order, chopping furiously one minute and slamming pots and pans out of his way the next in a frantic flurry of movement.
He wasn't even supposed to be here much less slaving away in a too hot kitchen in some horrible prison in a town so podunk he doubted it was actually on any maps. He WANTED to go home. he wanted his warehouse back, he wanted his life back. But even if that wasn't possible he wanted most of all not to be in Everett. They'd been SAFE in the aptly named SAFE ZONE. They'd fallen into a nice way of life there with June and Diana and Jones. No crazy costume parties, no man eating biblical monsters, no airborn rage viruses. They' been safe and happy but no, that wasn't enough. Peter and Neal had decided to stay in Everett and like a bunch of IDIOTS he, Alex and Elle had left the SAFE ZONE, risked their lives to reach Peter and Neal and then decided to stay with them instead of bringing them back to the SAFE ZONE.
Because being SAFE just wasn't good enough for Peter and Neal. The Suit's overdeveloped hero complex was always likely to get him killed and to HELL with how much Elle suffered every time he went out the door or how much she had missed him while they were apart. Mozzie picked up a cutting board and slammed it down on the counter with enough force to crack it in half. "Who cares if Elle is safe or not so long as Peter gets to play FBI? Not that Neal is any better." Mozzie felt a little better with the crack of the cutting board. It was satisfying to break something, to cause a little destruction, to be the one to make the mess instead of the one who was always around to help clean it up so he picked up a pan from the rack and hurled it into the rack of clean glasses. When it hit, the glasses exploded outward with a wonderful CRUNCH.
Thinking about Neal made Mozzie even angrier. Neal's reason for staying in Everett was like his reason for just about everything. Mozzie's best friend was apparently working on screwing his way through a Who's Who of unstable troublemaking brunettes that one way or another would either get him killed or land him in prison. They'd all come to Everett, come to this dank, ugly little prison and Neal couldn't even be bothered to be there for them. "Typical." Mozzie hefted another pan and slammed it down on the counter over and over again until the handle broke off.
He took in the destruction in the kitchen, breathing heavily and feeling the sweat pour off of him and for a minute he didn't know why he'd been so angry or what he was doing. Destroying the kitchen wasn't going to do any good. The problem wasn't the kitchen, it wasn't even Peter or Neal. The problem was the government. They'd been the one to create the zombie virus and unleashed it on an unsuspecting population. Which meant that this new virus was most likely the result of more government experimentation. Someone was trying to wipe out the rest of the people. One virus at a time. Which meant they were most likely being watched. Bugs and cameras could be anywhere. Mozzie had planted more than a few in his time and he immediately began tearing the kitchen apart looking for listening devices.
Every shelf and cabinet in the kitchen was emptied out onto the counters and the kitchen islands while he checked every inch for a camera. Not finding any there, he sat down on the floor and began prying open the heels of his shoes with a paring knife. "It's got to be here somewhere. I know it is. They have to be watching. They're always watching." He muttered and when his shoes didn't yield any bugs he tossed them aside and went over everything once more. Then he felt it - there was a twitch in the back of his neck. Someone had placed a bug under his skin. It had to be his roommate the man with the shaky ties to the British government. Why else would he be in America? Holmes waited until Mozzie had fallen asleep and slipped a microchip or something into the back of his neck. So he picked up the paring knife again and poised the tip of the blade against his neck. He'd get it out and then everyone would know the truth.