And God; God knows I'm not at home
This is a residential district.
Jason chose it because it was far enough away from Torchwood and other power centers to make it unlikely that anyone important would happen across him, because it was densely-peopled enough that he stood a good chance of disappearing into a crowd if need be, and because it was where he'd happened to end up after dumping his unfinished transmitter in one of his scavenged houses and taking the first random cross-streets he passed in order to walk off his annoyance.
He's moved out of the apartment above Lynn's junk shop - not that he particularly wanted to, but a certain security feed he made it a habit to review every time he came in made it abundantly clear that it wasn't a secure location any more. Odds were that Torchwood knew he was in the city, and odds were that if they weren't actively looking, they'd still take the opportunity to drag him in if he happened to cross their path, so he fabricated a story about how a cousin called, offered him a job somewhere in Iowa, the offer was too good to pass up - and he vanished. Leaving behind the most comprehensive assortment of components and sources to build the transmitter that was supposed to get him out of this place, he dumped the machine in an abandoned house and lost himself in Chicago.
And here he is. Sitting on a bench in front of a Dunkin' Donuts and a store bearing the marquee HATS PLUS and a smaller Space For Lease sign in the window, temples supported by his fingertips, trying to resist the urge to find someone justifiable and hit them until they stop moving. There's got to be crime going on somewhere... right?
Time was, and he'd even mentioned this to Gwen, long, long ago when he'd just been worried about crossing a line rather than having already built a bridge over the line, sped across on a motorcycle, and then burnt it, that he could construct anything he needed in a few days, a week tops. And that had been true - with access to a wrist device, relative invulnerability, theft and extraction capability, and no concern over who caught him or saw him doing what, he could have. Now he was playing in the shadows, and that was a lot slower.
Sometimes he wonders if it mightn't be easier just to wait out their natural lifespans and adopt a more confident approach.
...Jason is on a bench somewhere nowhere near downtown Chicago, and he is having a bad fucking day.
Jason chose it because it was far enough away from Torchwood and other power centers to make it unlikely that anyone important would happen across him, because it was densely-peopled enough that he stood a good chance of disappearing into a crowd if need be, and because it was where he'd happened to end up after dumping his unfinished transmitter in one of his scavenged houses and taking the first random cross-streets he passed in order to walk off his annoyance.
He's moved out of the apartment above Lynn's junk shop - not that he particularly wanted to, but a certain security feed he made it a habit to review every time he came in made it abundantly clear that it wasn't a secure location any more. Odds were that Torchwood knew he was in the city, and odds were that if they weren't actively looking, they'd still take the opportunity to drag him in if he happened to cross their path, so he fabricated a story about how a cousin called, offered him a job somewhere in Iowa, the offer was too good to pass up - and he vanished. Leaving behind the most comprehensive assortment of components and sources to build the transmitter that was supposed to get him out of this place, he dumped the machine in an abandoned house and lost himself in Chicago.
And here he is. Sitting on a bench in front of a Dunkin' Donuts and a store bearing the marquee HATS PLUS and a smaller Space For Lease sign in the window, temples supported by his fingertips, trying to resist the urge to find someone justifiable and hit them until they stop moving. There's got to be crime going on somewhere... right?
Time was, and he'd even mentioned this to Gwen, long, long ago when he'd just been worried about crossing a line rather than having already built a bridge over the line, sped across on a motorcycle, and then burnt it, that he could construct anything he needed in a few days, a week tops. And that had been true - with access to a wrist device, relative invulnerability, theft and extraction capability, and no concern over who caught him or saw him doing what, he could have. Now he was playing in the shadows, and that was a lot slower.
Sometimes he wonders if it mightn't be easier just to wait out their natural lifespans and adopt a more confident approach.
...Jason is on a bench somewhere nowhere near downtown Chicago, and he is having a bad fucking day.