~POV Robert House~
Robert Edwin House understood that he was the hero of humanity, the future savior of mankind, the self-appointed chosen one that would ensure humanity's survival long after the sun burned out and the Earth lay in ruins and ashes. Robert would be the architect of a new golden age of expansion, the man who would achieve everything good and ever lasting for the species he did not care enough to relate to, but cared enough to save. Yet, here, right now, where the first year CIT student stood, all such future plans were in danger. Staring down at the corpse of Special Service Agent Sid Harlan, a dead body that could damn not only the future of the self-proclaimed savior of humanity, but the future of humanity in it's entirety, if House was caught with said body. The weight of that realization settled on his shoulders like wet concrete, or like the horrible deformed giant will of Todd Howard reducing him into a stain on the floor… again. The stress would have shattered someone like John, but for Robert Edwin House, his mind raced with cold, analytical speed, already calculating every variable and searching for the next step in a situation he did not fully grasp. Just as he was pondering what to do, his system notification rang with a new quest alert.
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Quest Added: "A Dead Man's Exit"
Objective: Dispose of the body of Secret Service Agent Sid Harlan without leaving any evidence that could link his death back to you.
Description: Through an unfortunate accident, a federal agent now lies dead right in front of your bedroom due to your actions you filthy murderer. Find a way to dispose of the body and make sure none of this comes back to haunt you. Failure to accomplish this mission could bring dangerous federal attention down upon you. Kiss humanity's future good bye as it will end with you on death row.
Optional Objectives:
(Leave No Trace on Campus): Dean Oswald Cadwell already has enough problems to deal with, ensure the university is in no way blamed for this.
(Phantom in the Storm): Complete the entire disposal of the corpse without alerting or tipping off anyone. Remain completely undetected throughout the entire corpse disposal process.
(Solid Alibi): After disposing of the body, establish a credible alibi that protects you from any and all suspicion. Due Note- The AI companion whispering directions in your ear does not count as a legally binding alibi. Sorry Not Sorry.
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"Victor," Robert said quietly into his collar's speakers, voice low and controlled. "What happened?!"
The cowboy AI's warm, steady drawl came back instantly, calm and serious as a trusted lawman delivering hard news from the saddle. "Well now, Boss… looks like we got ourselves one hell of a predicament. Poor old fella's gone and suffered himself a heart attack. Accordin' to the settin' we put on your contraption, the door trap, discharged right around a 150 volts. On a healthy man, that amount of juice generally ain't enough to do much more than knock him flatter than a tin plate and convince him to keep his mitts off your chicken coop. But on a lawman of his years... his ticker was likely creakin' worse than a saloon door in a dust storm… well, that jolt was enough to stop his heart dead in its tracks."
"Do you think the Boston Bugle will ask me for my side of the story, or will they go straight to the head lines? Don't answer that! I can see it already! CIT student murders American Agent by setting a trap meant to stop commies. If I get caught with this corpse there is no explaining away what happened without ending my plans here. I swear to Chris Avellone my luck is dog shit, even when things are going well, Toad Coward finds a way to mess with it." Complaints aside, at least now House was certain about where the experience gain originated from.
"If there's any silver linin' in this thundercloud, Boss, it's that these low-voltage traps don't tend to leave obvious burns or any telltale brandin'. To most folks, he'll look like he simply keeled over when his heart decided it had punched its final timecard. Still, I'd strongly recommend you peel those cowhide gloves off him real careful-like and inspect his hands. No sense lettin' some tiny mark sit there like a rattlesnake under the porch, just waitin' for an observant fella to notice. If we ain't got no mark of murder on him then all things considered, Partner, this here is about as clean an accident as a man could hope for after a plan goes and bucks him straight into a cactus patch." Victor, even after an accidental murder, the AI went with its primary objective, remaining positive and helpful in a moment that any other companion would be freaking out over.
Robert Edwin House knelt beside the body, his movements precise and clinical. He carefully gripped the fingers of Agent Sid Harlan's right hand, the one that had most likely closed around the electrified doorknob, and slowly peeled off the wet black leather gloves. Cold rainwater dripped from the material as he turned the pale, wrinkled hand over. Robert examined the palm and fingers under the dim hallway light, searching for blisters, charring, redness, or any telltale electrical burns. There was nothing, the skin was unmarked, slightly damp as House could tell from the mittens he wore, but otherwise completely normal. Doing the same with the left hand of the Secret Agent, Robert again found no sign of trauma nor any obvious external damage given by an electrical source. No entry wound, no discoloration, no evidence at all that Agent Harlan had come into contact with the voltage trap that killed him. Slipping the black leather gloves back on, House whispered calmly into his mic. "Unless they plan an extensive autopsy, which even then, there shouldn't be any proof linked back to us. That is with the exception of the body currently rotting in my bedroom. Victor, I need options for removal. Now!"
Victor didn't miss a beat, his warm drawl rolling out steady and thoughtful like a trusted trail boss sizing up a tough situation. "Well now, Boss… option one's simple enough. We could donate this ol' fella straight to the medical department as a cadaver. I'll tuck him into them electrical logbooks quiet as a cat slippin' through a moonlit barn and mark him down as an unclaimed John Doe who, out of the goodness of his departed heart, kindly volunteered his earthly shell to the noble cause of science. You haul his body in there nice and subtle-like, and this whole affair'll be cleaner than a whistle fresh from the general store and more efficient than a greased wagon rollin' downhill outta county lockup. And seein' as Commonwealth Institute of Technology runs more bodies through them laboratories every semester than a butcher handles cattle before winter, one extra stiff ain't likely to kick up so much as a speck of dust, Boss."
House immediately shot the suggestion down. "No! Too many people saw Agent Harlan with Secretary Walters. Hell, Campus Security Chief LeBron spent time with him, he could point out the cadaver as the agent's body if he ever went down to the medical department. Worse, if the feds launch even a cursory investigation in order to find there missing agent. Then all hell will be unleashed if they found their Secret Service agent's corpse on a dissection table at CIT, the entire university becomes suspect number one. The optics alone would have this university permanently shut down."
Victor hummed. "Fair point, Partner. Option two's a whole lot messier. You could carve this ol' boy up into manageable portions and dissolve what's left of him in a tub of acid. Commonwealth Institute of Technology keeps industrial-strength acids stocked in the chemistry stores, stronger than a snake's temper in July. You'd seal the pieces in a sturdy bin, let the acid do what it does best, then haul the resulting sludge over to Charles River and pour it out under the cover of darkness. No body, no crime, and nothin' left but murky water and a guilty conscience."
"What the fuck Victor! What happened to all those talks regarding the importance of humanity and kindness and all that other bullshit you want me to care about. Yet, now you want me to treat a Secret Service agent's corpse like a slab of meat at a butchers store or pin the blame on someone else." House, grew wrathful, ignoring the fact he was speaking loudly enough that if Mao was in his room he could hear everything House just said. Victor chimed in at that moment, his cheery self in full effect.
"Those there were all a test, partner, and I am mighty pleased you passed with flyin' colors. Had you chosen either option without so much as blinkin', I'd have been more disappointed than a rancher watchin' his prize bull wander off with the circus." Victors voice beamed with joy.
House pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes I'm happy that you're happy, but outside of the moral component of your recent suggestion. I do not believe I have enough time to even carry it out. Between getting the acid and the plastic bins that can hold said acid, not to mention the time needed to drain the body of blood before chopping it up. It is very likely Mao will be back in under two hours before I even reach the agent's knees. Even if I wait at night when Mao is asleep, I would have no other place to carve up the federal agent than in the same bathroom I share with Mao. Worse there is likely to be enough evidence building up within the drainage pipe that a forensic team could uncover it. Hell, there might even be an unnatural smell, that my roommate could pick up on or spot some blood drops that I might have missed from a rushed job. Worse, even if I bribed Edgar for off-the-books acid, he will eventually become a loose end, one that will squeal. If he is interrogated by Professor Gorllewin or by Federal investigators, Edgar will be pointing his finger straight at me. From there the forensic team would comb every inch of my dorm room and eventually they will turn up something incriminating, most likely hidden in the drainage pipe."
Victor sounded disappointed, for a moment he had thought that he had a break through with Robert House. Only for his creator's reasoning to show he was opposed to the chopping of the body because it was inconvenient and not because it was immoral. "Well now, Boss, there ain't much else I can conjure up unless you're fixin' to retrace this agent's footsteps, haul him somewhere well off campus and a good long ways from your dorm room, then lay him down gentle-like and let folks reckon old age finally caught up with him out there. Might be he was walkin' along, felt his ticker flutter like a spooked quail, and simply folded where he stood. It ain't the most elegant solution under God's blue sky, but it could steer suspicion away from your doorstep. It is good you found him so soon after his demise, for in eight hours from now the Livor Mortis will set in and then a good enough chop shop coroner will notice the corpse had been moved."
"That will have to do, with the rainstorm there will be few people outside to see me dropping off the body. Victor handle the security footage, and help me retrace the agent's foot steps. Hopefully at the end of it there is a government vehicle, I can drop him off near there, make it look like he just arrived before he passed away from the unexpected excitement of infiltrating the dorm rooms." Unless he has a partner waiting on him, that will complicate things further... will have to scout out ahead or something.
The centralized security system of CIT was more Victor's personal domain and play ground. He could slip in and manipulate the footage with ease to cover House's tracks, while viewing thousands of hours was something far easier for the cowboy AI. Even when it came to the digital footprints, Victor left no evidence behind that anyone within CIT would ever discover without the use of an AI of an equal level of intelligence to Victor. It did not take long for Victor to discover Agent Harlan's path of approach, the AI had one foot within the CIT campus security network at all times and could run an analysis of the footage at the speed of a nano-second. "I got somethin' that might fit together neater than fence posts in a straight line. I'll give your Agent Harlan his credit. He was sharper than a cactus needle, used camera blind spots for most of his approach and only showed up a grand total of three times, makin' sure those CIT lenses never got more than a blurry glimpse of his face. But even the slickest fox leaves tracks in the dust if you know where to look. I caught his point of entry. He came in through the old maintenance tunnels, the ones that connected to the sewer and storm drain system. All of it is right beneath the east wing of the Dormitories build. There's a entrance that runs straighter than an arrow toward your dorm room."
"Good! Hide my approach on the cameras out of the campus and clear up any of the spots that Agent Harlan failed to properly hide himself. I want no evidence that he came onto the campus. He died wherever his car was parked and that is the story I want the CIT camera's to tell." But now I need to worry about whether or not he brought a partner with him. If so then I will have to find a park bench to place him on, or leave him somewhere within the sewer tunnel.I can stealth through the university grounds, but it will be best if I have something to disguise the corpse as I lug it around. It did not take long for House to find a solution to moving the corpse problem, for exiting out of his room, he immediately grabbed the first thing that drew his attention. Unfortunately for Mao, the solution to disguising the corpse for transportation came in the form of a $400 Chinese style rug that House's roommate had bought with his share of the robot fight club prize money. Mao had taken complete control of decorating the space that he shared with House. The rug should have been placed within Mao's bedroom like House did with any of his personal items, but now bad luck would befall the carpet as it would serve as an accomplice to Robert's wicked plan. House moved fast, having the prized oriental carpet rolled into a grotesque burrito, perfectly covering the corpse inside completely. Sorry Mao, but the need of me outweighs your decor choice.
House grabbed whatever tools he thought could aid him, which mostly included a dozen Bobby pins and a screw driver incase he ran into any locked obstacles on his path. With tools secured he quickly changed out of his clothing attire, for what he currently had on was intended for an important hearing with the CIT administration that turned into a brunch with the Dean. The first thing House put on was leather gloves of his own, ones he immediately wiped down to eliminate any pre-existing finger prints upon it. From there Robert had to settle for something that could not be easily distinguished or remembered, clothing that was also easer to move around in. He settled on a green track suit that made physical exertion far more bearable, with a long dark grey trench coat overlayed on top of it to blend in better as a student leaving to trek through the storm. The final piece that topped off the disguise was a classic eight-panel newsboy cap. At the right angle the cap perfectly hid House's facial features, helping to protect House's identity against anyone he would pass by when moving the disguised corpse.
The cap was a gift from Emogene Cabot at House's last rendezvous with her, a date at the Black Harp some time a month ago. Seeing House fight in a ring at the most popular casino in the Commonwealth, had the old immortal woman drunk on House's presence like a cat on catnip. Emogene had been pressuring House for another date at the Black Harp or somewhere equally as exciting, doing everything short of a surprise visit to Robert's dorm room. A shame she would not see me wearing the cap the next time we meet, as anything I wear during this run will have to burned later. No, shred of evidence left behind. "Victor, guide me!"
"Copy that partner. Take a left, then you're going to have to make a right and one last left when you reach the end of the hall. The maintenance door's sittin' there has kindly been unlocked and the noise maker defused. You can thank the meat inside that Chinese wool burrito of yours, as he was kind enough to kill the alarm on his way inside the dorm building. You're going to have to be moving as quietly as moonlight on a prairie, you got two love birds camping after the right. I'm sure you can slip right through before their lips break apart for some fresh air. Godspeed, Boss." With House's maxed out strength, carrying the rolled up carpet was not a problem no matter what obstacles appeared before the sneaking first year. Yet when it came to walking past the hormonal teens that should have been inside of their dorm room instead of blocking the public hallways in order to exchange saliva, Robert had to time things perfectly. Thanks to House's 300 in sneak, he did as victor said, moving past the two extroverted romantics, who had their eyes closed, their lips locked and their bodies pressed into one another in a disturbingly fierce and aggressive moment of passion. By the time the two broke off for some air, House was past them and through the door that led inside the maintenance corridor without either one of them even realizing House had passed by.
The maintenance corridor itself was narrow requiring House to readjust how he held the rolled up carpet as he moved through the dimly lit concrete throat that smelled of rust, damp stone, and the shoddy work of unionized employees. Based on what Robert saw, it seems the CIT maintenance crew had collectively taken the last three months off given the condition of the corridor. House moved swiftly but carefully, the heavy Chinese rug slung over one shoulder, its crimson peonies and golden cranes now cradling the limp weight of a dead Secret Service agent. Pale emergency lights flickered overhead, casting long, stuttering shadows that danced across exposed pipes and bundled wiring running along the walls. Water dripped steadily from overhead conduits, forming shallow puddles that reflected the sickly yellow glow. The air grew thicker and colder the deeper House went, carrying the faint metallic tang of old machinery and the distant echo of rushing water. Eventually Victor spoke on the comms directing House further in the maze of corridors that tunneled through the entire campus.
"Easy now, Boss… you're doin' just fine. Keep that rug balanced steady on your shoulder and watch your step, 'cause these old maintenance corridors are meaner than they look and about as welcoming as a rattlesnake in a bedroll. The last clear sightin' we got of Agent Harlan on the campus feeds was right above the sewer access tunnel comin' up on your left, just beyond that big rusted junction box leanin' like an old fence post after a hard storm. That crafty old lawman slipped up through there thinkin' he was quieter than a church mouse in a grain silo. You're nearly at the very same spot now. Tread careful-like, partner. The sewer floors are goin' to be slicker than goose grease from all this rainwater seepin' through the cracks, and the last thing we need is for you to lose your footing and turn this tidy little operation into a two-man burial detail." Robert did as he was guided, going down a short flight of metal stairs that rang softly under his boots. At the end of the corridor, a heavy grate-covered access tunnel led downward into the old storm sewer system. House simply pried the grate open with a quiet grunt, the rusted hinges protesting only once, then lowered himself and his macabre cargo into the damp darkness below.
The sewer tunnel was wider than expected, its brick walls slick with moisture and streaked with centuries of grime. A overflowing rivers worth of rainwater gurgled around House's ankles as he trudged forward. Roberts maxed out agility prevented him from losing his balance and descending into the dark sewer water depths bellow. With his 10 in perception he noticed the faint hand marks of someone trying to correct himself against the overflow of the sewer, most likely the marks were that of the deceased agent, left behind as he navigated his way into CIT. Robert now used that small trail to navigate himself through this sewer system and towards the agents origin point of this operation. The rolled up rug grew heavier with every careful step House took, the overflowing water pushed against him, trying to throw off his every step as if damning him for the murder he committed. The effort against the overflow forced House's maxed out Endurance to work overtime to prevent any exhaustion based mistakes as the tired university prodigy hauled his victim down the tunnel, until reaching a faint gray light up ahead. The exit grate, the entrance that Agent Sid Harlan entered through and now House would exit out of. The grate lock was unlocked, the mechanical mechanism expertly bypassed by a savvy infiltrator, most likely by Agent Harlan. Exiting the tunnel that connected both the sewer and the Boston storm drains, House entered into an area just outside the campus perimeter.
There, parked crookedly under a cluster of tree branches, was Agent Harlan's unmarked government car, or at least Robert House thought it was his, as it was the only vehicle parked within the area that Robert could see. Strategically using the CIT yellow brick path as islands to hop onto, House attempted to get closer to the vehicles without leaving any foot prints or any traces of his existence upon the sea of wet mud. Just as he reached the edge of the campus ground and got near the road where the vehicle was parked, Robert saw something that put a cold chill through his veins. That fear soon dissipated as he came to a proper understanding of the madness he was looking at.
Agent Sid Harlan did not just arrive by himself, for inside the government vehicle was another familiar individual that accompanied Secretary Walters during his visit to CIT. This other agent was much younger, so much so that the second agent could pass off as a college student. The man waiting in the car had most likely served as a get away driver for Harlan's espionage mission, waiting for his senior colleague. What had at first seemed like a serious problem for House, had turned into the first honest to god break that he was given since arriving in Boston. The getaway driver had parked at what at first was thought to be a perfect stealthy spot, but in hindsight, with this horrifying storm, could now be considered the worst stall imaginable.
What Robert House at first thought to be a camouflage of tree branches and leaves covering the car, turned out to be an entire tree had toppled on top of said car. Somehow the storm had knocked over the crooked Massachusetts Northern Red Oak tree, causing the large trunk not only to smash into the vehicle, break through the front glass windshield, but also impale the waiting baby-face driver inside. Two agents had died on this mission, with the second of the Secret Service agent slumped dead, skull and chest cavity caved in by the unexpected impact and penetration of the unpruned oak tree. It looked to be something straight out of a final destination movie that the transmigrator John had seen in his previous life, the memory of those gruesome movies helped prevent House from flinching away from the accident before him. The getaway driver suffered extreme bad luck, the sort that far surpassed Robert's own, and all the young agent did was wait in his car for his senior partner. House, completely disbelieving the strange sight that he stumbled upon... again... let out a slow breath, before a creeping giddy infected him. The laughter came out as a short, dark, and disbelieving chuckle better suited to a villain than a rational student of a prestigious university.
"And I thought my luck was complete shit. Oh Secretary Walters, how you will weep. Two agents dead, on a off the books infiltration without a court warrant. Your head will be on the chopping block for this catastrophe. Praise be to Tim Cain, Chris Avellone, John Gonzalez, Allah, Vivec, the holy Atom or even the Invisible Hand of the Free Market System. I do not know which of you are responsible, but from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. Oh System, oh system, if you can hear me I swear I will never complain about my luck ever again." That being said, House did take a couple of steps backwards from the damaged government car, just in case the rumors of world governments being 15 years ahead of the public sector was true. Though the technology that resulted in a nuclear fusion energy source for vehicles did not yet exist, Robert was not willing to temp fate by being in the blast zone of a small mushroom cloud.
Victor chimed in, extremely concerned and confused by what his creator was muttering. "Partner, are you losin' your marbles? If somethin's got your gears grindin' wrong, I'm always willin' to lend an ear and some helpful words. Preferably before you go full black-hat desperado and start tyin' damsels to railroad tracks while twirlin' your mustache and monologuing at them."
"Oh my sweet, sweet Victor, you have nothing at all to fear. Daddy is just enjoying the... fall of a giant." Robert Edwin House understood psychopathy and megalomania, at least in the clinical, textbook sense. A normal human being would have looked upon this tragedy before them and wept with genuine sorrow for the lives extinguished on this dreadful day. Dorothy would have shed silent tears without end, Felix would have stared in frozen horror, Simon would have attempted some clumsy joke to mask his terror, and even the anxious Mao might have collapsed under the weight of the scene, maybe even die of a heart attack. Yet House felt nothing of the sort, any competent behaviorist observing him now would have checked every diagnostic box and promptly placed him on a watch list because at that moment all Robert House wanted to do was smile. He stood motionless in the pouring rain, the deluge falling so heavily it rivaled the grief of a newly widowed woman, while Robert Edwin House allowed a slow, beaming smile to spread across his face. A smile of pure, radiant joy amid the storm of near-total darkness at the messed up situation before him. For the first time since his transmigration, the crushing weight of his self-appointed role as mankind's shepherd and savior against the coming annihilation had finally lifted from his shoulders.
At this moment, Robert Edwin House knew that somewhere out there, someone was about to suffer far worse than they ever had before. Secretary Tim Walters, a possible agent of the enclave who might one day play a part in triggering the end of the world, would soon face the consequences of his own actions. If Robert trusted his instincts and suspicions, then these two Secret Service agents were sent by Walters to investigate House or acquire something they believed he possessed. Most likely related to Liberty XLR and the solar cell design, not only did the agents fail, they were now both dead. All because of a high powered bureaucrat of DC who had stirred up more trouble than he should of, and the blowback for Tim Walters would be devastating.
In the brutal calculus of power and DC politics, this was nearly as damaging as Walters killing himself. At the very least it will damage his connection with the President, have him vilified from his fellow DC socialites, and most likely end his career in disgrace, if not out right suicide. Robert decided now was the perfect time to utilize the most pathetic form of science that ever existed. Psychology. From that excessively praised field of study, House calculated that there was 99.999% chance that Secretary Walters would kill himself, with only a 100% chance of error. House's far more superior and reliable mathematical equation on the other hand, far more trust worthy than the fatuous caveman science of Psychology, stated there was less than a 3% chance that Walters would kill himself. House was missing many variables from his equation, the formula was a poor shadow of the future wonder that could predict the fall of humanity, but even with those in-depth observations, Robert was disappointed that all of his hypotheticals place Walters at an all time high of a 10% chance of self deletion. There was a 90% chance the Secretary of Energy was likely to find a way of shifting blame if not wiggling himself out of this, a thought that left House unhappy but there was little he could do at this point to improve the odds.
House was not sure if the man was even in Boston anymore, for requests for another visit were made, yet all were denied. The last of those denials were made two weeks back, Victor had registered Professor Gorllewin's... colorful reasoning and formal complaint to the office of the president of the United States over the Secretary of Energy's actions. A simple, don't look too closely, scholarship administrator made it clear Walters would never set foot on campus grounds again. There was a more than likely chance the Secretary fled back to DC, and plotted a reprisal for the indignation. Robert was certain he would have to get the first Nuka-Cola recipe made within a month and have it on store shelves before the end of the Summer semester. For at the end of the year Government grants to the Commonwealth Institute of Technology would more than likely be denied. The only silver lining was that between all the annoyances House suffered, the thought of the Energy Secretary struggling to explain the death of two agents would feel absolutely... Divine. The feeling of primal triumph came and died just as quickly, for House's current mission mattered more than any barbaric yawp. There was work ahead, and though the situation was favorable for Robert Edwin House, he was not out of danger just yet.
Never let a good tragedy go to waste. Robert unrolled Agent Harlan from Mao's rug, before House carefully cleaned off any fibers or traces of fibers that might be linked to Mao's carpet. During the process, Robert House had rummaged through the old man's pockets. Outside of his badge, the only thing of importance that Robert spotted was the 10mm pistol in the agent's shoulder holster, the first weapon Robert House had come into contact with since entering this world. It took only a moment for House to decide what to do, as he quickly focused on positioning agent Harlan's body near the crushed car. Staging the scene of the agent returning to find his partner dead, forcing his hands to clutch at his chest as if he'd suffered a fatal heart attack from the horrible sight. With as much forethought and focus, Robert House had created a scene that told a tragic but believable story of two agents going on a off book late-night assignment before tragedy struck. Between Robert's understanding of staging a corpse in such a way that it would throw off a coroner, as well as the madness of going out in this horrible storm, House felt certain he would get away with this. The scene was set, one agent was crushed by a falling tree and the other dying of a heart attack from the shock of seeing his partner's demise. It would fool many investigators when they observe the scene that between House's intelligence and maxed out medicine, was created to be extremely plausible.
House wiped down Agent Harlan one final time, rolled up the soaked Chinese carpet, and made his way back to the dorm. Leaving the agent alone, still clutching at his heart, his last expression was a face of surprise and pain, most likely from the shock of the door knob, yet now it perfectly fit the constructed narrative. One of an elderly mentor close to a junior partner whose sudden and accidental death due to the hazardous environment caused a large enough shock to Agent Harlan who tragically followed his partner, dying of a sudden cardiac arrest due to ventricular fibrillation. The message was perfect, only one thing could ruin the narrative, specifically the missing holster and weapon of Agent Sid Harlan. Yet, Robert House was certain his luck would not fail him, for right now he was taking a risk for a future scheme that involved the agent's pistol. Returning to the sewer entrance grate, once on the other side of it, House pulled out his Bobby pins and screw driver, and re-locked the grate, making it as if Agent Harlan never entered.
Mao was still in class by the time Robert stealthily returned to the dorm room, unseen, with little evidence outside of a trail of water that was lost among two dozen other trails left behind by the numerous students that braved the storm to return to their dorm room. House laid the rug on the shower curtain rod, with majority of it inside the tub of the shared college dorm bathroom to dry off... eventually. House even came up with an excuse for his roommate to explain it away, Robert would take the blame for it, but not in person. House would leave a note for his roommate, apologizing for getting so much rain water on Mao's prized carpet and If it did not dry off properly, Robert would either pay for the dry cleaning or buy his favorite Chinaman a new and better carpet.
"Victor! I will be gone for the rest of the day, you can enjoy tonight off." Robert House was not interested in hearing Victor's response, most likely another lecture on morals or his overly kind and intrusive concerns on House's mental state. Abandoning both the speaker and listening device that aid in communications with his AI creation, House began work on his alibi. The rest of his day would have involved clubs and work on class material, yet Robert was already ahead in his studies and his duties as a club member. No, the entire event with the dead Secret Service agents corpse had left House in a rather strange mood, and he decided now would be the best time to visit Emogene Cabot.
The lovely, not so young woman, would serve as the best alibi for House. Robert had become the newest romantic interest that Emogene was obsessed with, he believed the Cabot girl would be unlikely to lose any attachment to him for at least half a decade. As good as that was for House's overarching plans, it also meant Robert would be forced to be physical with her for a while. Tonight in particular he imagined the insufferable state of cuddling with her near a fire place, the sight of the burning flames would match the sensation of his skin when touched by that ancient woman, but that was a cost Robert was willing to pay for a proper alibi and a place to stash the evidence. The eager woman would most likely enjoy hearing updates on House's academic life and the recent administration hearing. Robert was effectively cleared of all charges, and got a new job as the Dean's personal assistant and apprentice, while also being recruited into the proto-institute. The woman would have a thousand questions or more, and Robert would have to entertain all of it while obscuring other matters. Changing his clothes for the third time this day, House wore something that the Cabot girl would find respectable, something with long sleeves that would prevent too much skin on skin contact.
House allowed himself a small, tired smile, bagging away the same clothing he wore when dropping off Agent Harlan by his car, placing the attire inside a leather black bag. On top of the clothes, Robert also added the agents holstered weapon, the electric trap that murdered said agent, as well as all of his Velvet knuckles winnings, and any last pieces of evidence that might concern any investigators coming to search CIT with a warrant. The few things House left behind was the speaker, the comm device, and the sleek black laptop that housed Victor. His AI companion aided greatly with dealing with the network security and masking Houses presence within CIT, to take the laptop out of the university campus would cut off Victor from his powerful digital perch. With the backpack of incriminating evidence loaded up, Robert then put on a new raincoat and made his way out into Boston's open streets.