There were several things that made Alex's job actually fun for her. She enjoyed the analysis and the interviews, but criminal minds were hard to take all the time. Since she had started her studies in the field Alex had volunteered at a local free clinic, offering free help to those who really couldn't afford a real help.

Alex had found a reputable location near The Guardian. It was a quaint office, she shared her space with a few other specialists. But they had a comfortable room they used for discussing various things with patients. It wasn't quite as comfortable as she'd have liked but it would do.

Today she'd only been able to see one client. He was a regular, he suffered from OCD and kept to a very specific schedule. He was the only one Alex was able to see before she headed into the office to do her real work.

Alex had scheduled a meeting with the Chief Inspector. She had a bit to discuss with him, and hoped that he would understand what she was offering him. He believed that these gifted souls could be dangerous, Alex could tell by the way he had handled Mr. Gregory. There were bound to be more in Moscow, she hoped to offer him some advantage.

She was a bit early to their arranged meeting time, Alex fixed a cup of coffee for her and the Chief Inspector. She didn't know what he took, she added a few packets of sugar and some creamer to the plate that held his cup. She took hers black. Alex waited outside his office sipping at her horrible cup of hot coffee.

Greetings, all!

I was instructed by Ascendancy to post any lore that I put together about the dreyken society. That is what this thread will be used for, and I hope its disseminated to all the appropriate places around the website. Anything posted here has been approved a priori by Ascendancy.

--Enzo

A rape victim was rescued recently, the circumstances of her rescue, however, are considered unknown.

The reporting ambulance driver has said that he found the victim propped up against his ambulance and as he drove away, he heard a wolf howl.

"I was at my ambulance and heard a sound from the other side. I went to investigate and the woman was there. My partner and I loaded her into the ambulance and as we took off, I heard a wolf howl. I swear. It was close."


This seemingly unusual circumstance is augmented by the victims own statement.

"He was there and then another man grabbed him. I could hear him growling. I couldn't see his face, but his eyes glowed yellow. The man with yellow eyes saved me."


The police located the rapist, who admitted to the crime, in the victim's neighborhood. He had been beaten and sustained many injuries. A note was attached to his clothing proclaiming "I am a rapist. I've harmed your wives, daughters, sisters, and friends. Do with me as you will."

The police are attributing this to an act of a vigilante that people are calling "the Wolfman."

When asked about the situation a CDPS responded: "The term 'hero' has been used too often with vigilantes. Why does a man save someone, then flee the scene? Since when is it heroic to beat a man, even one guilty of a terrible crime, then leave him to die on the street? A hero puts them self at risk to help others, but what sort of person flees from the police after doing something that so many would seem to call heroic? The police cannot be everywhere at once, and there are crimes that transpire that we cannot stop, we rely on you, the people. Not to take justice into your own hands. Justice is not breaking a rapist's ribs and leaving him to bleed to death on the street. We rely on you the people to watch out for each other, to protect each other, and to help us help you. Vigilantes risk not only their own lives, but those of others. Of the victim they have leapt in to save. Of innocent bystanders who may be caught up in the violence. Of their own families and loved ones. Vigilantes do not have the training or resources of the CDPS. They are not held to the checks and balances that keep the CDPS in line with the core beliefs and values of the people of the CCD. They believe themselves outside the system, above the laws, justified by their own goals and beliefs, and it is only a matter of time before they take life and death into their own hands."


The police would like to remind people that if they see a crime taking place to contact the authorities right away.

Comments are open

((Police quote provided by NumberTwo))


Edited by Calvin, Aug 19 2014, 11:48 PM.

<small>[[continued from Concerning the meaning of dreams]]
</small>

Connor looked out the window as the Russian countryside rushed by. It didn’t seem like they were going nearly 300 miles per hour. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, the lulling sway of the train, its mag-lev drive barely audible, relaxing him. He had his arm around Ayden and she slept against him. It wasn’t going to be too much longer. It only took 2 hours to get from Moscow to St. Petersberg. He was looking forward to the weekend for a number of reasons. He gave Ayden a squeeze and smiled. She’d said ‘yes’. His heart was content.

The Pushka Inn Hotel looked like a mansion from the pictures he’d looked at online. And it was centrally located in the once imperial capital of Peter the Great. The city was filled with places to explore, things to see and places to eat. He’d made reservations at a very nice Thai restaurant once he’d learned it was Ayden’s favorite.

And, of course, there was the Ice Palace sports arena. No, he wasn’t taking her to a sporting event. The Foo Fighters were on their Wheels of Time farewell tour. He couldn’t believe that after recording music and touring for his entire life, they were hanging it up. He couldn’t blame them, of course. Dave Grohl was in his mid-70s now and the only other original surviving member, Taylor Hawkins, was close behind him. They’d spent most of their life touring and recording one album after another. He felt old thinking about that. It was an end of an era.

Connor thought of his dad, remembered those long drives in his truck, listening to music and talking. And then when dad died, he’d continued to listen and to learn. Somehow, it just made him feel connected to his father- and his youth. But one by one, over the years, those bands and artists they had shared together had gone on to other things, broke up, or died. They were the last of that era. It made him nostalgic for all that had already gone.

He’d known they were winding things down as they had gotten up there in age. But they kept coming out with new stuff at least once a decade, and they still toured, though not as aggressively as they once had. Well, at least this was their first farewell tour. He smiled. He was just glad that he’d seen that they’d be in St. Petersberg this weekend. He might have missed it. The promotions also mentioned appearances by number of other bands as well. Red Hot Chili Peppers, Pearl Jam, Beastie Boys, Garbage, Jane’s Addiction, Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots, Veruca Salt, Weezer. He wondered if they had found cover bands for all of them or had found a brother or sister or son or daughter of the original artists to carry on the torch since most or all of the original members were gone.

Whatever was, it was going to be awesome and something that he had to see. For himself. For his dad. He thought of Hayden and wished he could’ve brought him, could have shared this with him. That would have been fun. He looked down at Ayden. At least she was going with him. Most of this music was way before her time. Some of it before his, really, if not for his dad, anyway. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Many of them had reformed during his teenage years and early 20’s. So lots of people his age had listened to them along with the newer stuff. At least where he’d lived.

When he was in his early 20’s America had been in a 90’s redux. He wasn’t really sure why, exactly. It was the 2020’s after all. But American influence in the world was on the decline, especially with the CCD- it was called the ASU back then, he remembered- on the rise. There had been a lot of natural disasters that had devastated the country too. He remembered the strain it put everyone under, the near collapse of the economy and infrastructure while the two big parties continued to polarize the nation.

Where he had grown up, which had been comfortably populated, suddenly saw a huge influx of people. Things changed almost overnight until the four states of Colorado, Utah, Arizona and New Mexico became this new energy and financial powerhouse like California used to be. Their natural resources and lack of any major environmental threats made it relatively secure. But the environmental disasters coupled with a string of terrible presidencies and policies had already weakened the country enough, economically and politically, that they country wasn’t able to recover despite that. The US lost its once proud position as the world’s only superpower and the strongest economy.

If he had to guess, the 90’s nostalgia of the 20’s was an attempt to remember and maybe return to when America was at its peak. Unparalleled power and position in the world. No major military actions, and certainly not any sustained wars against terror. Unparalleled economic growth. No government debt. Rapid technological improvement. Social change. It seemed like everything was looking up. It was a Golden Gge. So many things from that era were resurrected, from music to fashion, from remakes of movies and TV to national heroes. He’d certainly enjoyed it, since it felt a way to connect with his dad.

Funny to think about that. It was a long time ago. He was only in his 20’s. Just married, newly a father. A lifetime ago. And now…now that era was coming to an end. Well, that was ok. He was starting a new life. His life hadn’t been perfect. He’d lost so much and would do almost anything to have them back. But life didn’t work that way. You had to accept what happened and move on. And he was doing that, here in Moscow with Ayden. It seemed almost fitting to be going to this farewell concert after having asked her to marry him. It felt like he was closing one chapter on his life and starting a new one. That was life. Sometimes hard, sometimes great, but always life. The chorus from “Times Like These” came to his mind. “It's times like these you learn to live again. It's times like these you give and give again. It's times like these you learn to love again. It's times like these, time and time again”


He felt Ayden shift contentedly and looked at her smiling. Yeah, it’s times like these. He closed his eyes and drifted off.
Edited by Connor Kent, Aug 27 2014, 04:12 PM.

Continued from Dueling Dragons

(closed for now)

The past few days had not been her normal routine. The day she'd met Lucas shifted her schedule to the point that staying up another 24 hours didn't sound like a good idea to Aria.

She woke up early, it was always dark when she woke up. The day's flowed like her nights used to. Morning workout, it was sad she couldn't get outside in the fresh air to practice, but inside it was warm and her sparse studio worked well for that. Thankfully no one lived underneath her so she didn't disturb their wee hours sleep. Aria's routine was always the same, same practiced moves she did since Father Dimitri had given her free reign of her workouts. Stretching then sword forms. Some of the hunters likened it to dancing, but it was more like tai-chi than anything. Slow movements, perfected over time. Providing control of her body at all times. Cardio was the same, except the movements varied as she sparred an invisible opponent.

Shower, dressed and then to Atharim headquarters to research more about Ascendancy's past. There were many questions and many inconsistencies. For instance, Siberia monastery? What really happened? That was someplace Aria above all others might be able to figure out what had happened. If it were emotionally encapsulating of death and destruction as the manuscript Regus had her searching through when she first got to Moscow, surely something would be gained from going there. She'd started researching the means to get there.

The day grew late and Aria's stomach rumbled. Her apartment not far away allowed her to eat in the privacy of her own home. Unlike a few days ago, something actually adorned her walls. Aria had framed Lucas' drawing and hung it above her bed as a reminder of the internal struggle. Not that it was needed, it was a daily fight. Nearly hourly as the pain and suffering of humanity poured into Aria's body. The later the day grew the worse it got. Too many minds awake and feeling.

Tonight Aria would stay up despite her better judgement. The night was so much easier to function in. Aria went into the Desolate Scroll and nodded to the shop keep, he had a customer who was waiting. The man was nearly empty of all emotion. Aria glanced over her shoulder and wondered if he as like Dane's doctor at the precinct. Sentient or just empty? She wouldn't put empty past anyone since meeting Dane.

Aria took the stairs two and at time and opened the door to her apartment. Sanctuary so to speak, but it was home regardless of the sparse state.


Edited by Aria, Aug 19 2014, 11:19 AM.

He had left the errant princess of the Grey family alone long enough. The situation in the city had quieted down, and the Red Cross staff that had gathered in Freetown were already getting to work establishing camps and hospitals, although even a casual glance quickly revealed that the military was not being terribly cooperative with their efforts. The small trickle of refugees still allowed into the city were combed for any they could find with Temne connections, and those ones were left stranded outside their secure perimeter.

With the loss of one of the city's main hospital, and the overwhelming number patients, medical supplies were in short supply, and with the airport closed down it was proving a challenge to get any more into the city any time soon. His people had already chartered a ship to set out of Casablanca in the next few days, loaded with supplies 'donated' by Morocco and equipment for his men, as well as more men from the company's headquarters.

He made his way to the rooms given over to Miss Natalie Grey shortly in the wake of the wounded Legionnaire that delivered her and the boy's breakfast. Ekene, from what he had read in the reports. The one that had laid up one of his men, although the boy's motivation for it seemed to be in the right place. A Temne lad too, meaning the boy could prove dangerous to have around. General Wallace-Johnson seemed the sort that would use anything to his advantage.

He knocked and waited, rather then just barging in. He may have owned the building, and thus have been afforded the right to come and go as he pleased, but that room had been given over to her, and he was far too intelligent to simply barge in on a woman. It was time they came to an understanding, of how they could help each other.

Continued from A Date...Maybe?

((Closed for now))

Calvin entered the bar. It had been a bad day to say the least. Things had started to look up between him and Sierra, only to be smashed to bits at the end. Snow was dead and something happened to Calvin. All the anger inside – anger at the injustice of it all and anger at himself for being too weak to help – had caused something to snap. A darkness had settled over him.

Calvin had tried to administer justice. He sought out the man responsible for Snow’s death, hoping to make things right with Sierra. He had even caught up with the man, but the wolf in him had calmed down. He was Calvin Johnson, and Calvin Johnson couldn’t kill. He left the man’s residence and sought out Dawn Wind. The wolf responded but was furious with him. It seemed like even the wolves were going to abandon him.

The bar was nice, but not the best in the city. He avoided Chesterfield’s on the chance that Connor or Ayden would see him. He didn’t want company. He wanted to be with himself…and with whiskey. Calvin had removed his contacts and he glared at people as he passed. It was clear he wanted to be left alone and others found his golden eyes intimidating. They gave him a wide berth as he made his way to the bar.

The bartender approached and before he could ask Calvin ordered. “Whiskey – and leave the bottle.”


The bartender frowned at Calvin but did as requested. Calvin took a shot and refilled his glass, downing that one as well. People left him be as he sat nursing his drink. He kept silent and kept thinking about his worthlessness. He was helpless and a burden to anyone he came across. At least he had whiskey.

The drink began to affect him. He could feel it, but kept drinking. The bottle was full when he had ordered it, but it was now about halfway done. A woman approached and sat down on the stool next to him. She had likely arrived after he had because she had approached him when others gave him a wide berth. Calvin didn’t look at her or acknowledge her presence.

“Hi”
the woman said, sounding quite cheerful – a little too cheerful for Calvin’s taste.

“Go away,”
Calvin said, taking another drink. He didn’t look up at the woman; he instead kept his eyes focused on the label of the whiskey bottle.

The woman paused for a minute before replying, “It just looks like you could use some company. Can’t I just talk to you?”


Calvin almost growled. She was the type that “wanted to help” him and probably wouldn’t go away. “Fine,”
he said with some contempt in his voice.

“What’s wrong, honey,”
she asked sounding concerned.

“None of your damn business,”
Calvin said, still not looking up.

The woman sighed, “You’re kind of cute. Bet you’d be cuter if you smiled.”


That caused Calvin to look up at her. She was – well – quite attractive and also dressed quite provocatively. What little she did wear shouldn’t have actually counted as an outfit, and Calvin’s imagination, feeling quite drunk, went wild with what she might look like underneath. Had he been sober and thinking clearly, he would have realized she was a prostitute.

She had shoulder length blonde hair and was smiling at him. Calvin turned back to his drink and finding his glass empty, filled it again. “I don’t have much to smile about.”


The bartender was watching the exchange, frowning, but didn’t say anything. “There’s always something to smile about. I’ll be right back ok?”


The woman stood and went behind him and paused. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear. “Stay here, ok? I’ll be back soon.”


The kiss burned on his cheek and brought images to his mind that would have been unwelcome sober, but in his drunken state he savored them, but even still he couldn’t go against himself. He couldn’t take advantage of this woman for his own pleasure.

The bartender finally spoke bringing Calvin out of his thoughts, “You know she’s a hooker right? She just wants your money.”


It took a minute for the words to register in Calvin’s mind. She was a prostitute? That changed things – there was no way he’d fall for that.
Calvin didn’t answer the bartender. Instead he reached for the bottle to refill his glass again, but almost fell off the stool.

“That’s it, I’m pulling the plug on you man,”
the bartender reached for the whiskey bottle, but Calvin grabbed it first and growled. The bartender stepped back and prepared to call the bouncer.

“It’s ok,”
the woman said returning. “I’ll take care of our friend here. He’s had a rough day. Let me help him.”


The bartender raised his hand – a gesture that seemed to say “I’m washing my hands of this matter” and turned to help other customers.

Calvin could smell her perfume – his heightened sense of smell unaltered by the alcohol. Calvin began to speak to tell her that he wasn’t interested, but she spoke first.

“You know now. It’s my job to help people like you – to make the pain go away – to make you feel good.”
She began massaging his shoulders, her hands moving down his arms and over his chest. “Let me help you. Let me make you smile.”


Her hands went down his stomach and she touched his leg as she kissed his cheek once more. His brain began to rationalize it. She could help him feel better. She could make him smile – and he wouldn’t be taking advantage of her; it was nothing but business to her. Part of him argued against this, but the alcohol was louder – the depression and booze overriding the part of him that said that this was a bad decision.

Calvin pulled out his wallet and dropped several bills on the counter, “Will that be enough for the bottle?”
the bartender grimaced at the amount of bills, but nodded.

Calvin dropped a few more bills and the bartender’s tension lessened. Calvin picked up the bottle of whiskey and the woman took his empty hand and led him out.
Edited by Calvin, Aug 19 2014, 11:41 AM.

Cont from Charms


Reed blinked a few times to wet her eyes. They felt strangely slick without her usual contacts. The embassy security gate check did not allow for the wearing of any device that might block, retransmit, or alter the reading of a retina. Reed therefore wore none today. She had to make due without the Lens warrior in her left eye. The technology was not as robust as the land warriors Jacques preferred, but she would have preferred something. As it was, she was running blind. Ironically enough.

The Chinese flag billowed on invisible streams of air overhead. Every once in a while the seemingly weightless material unfurled completely and the Five Stars would show themselves. With a self-amused smirk, Reed gauged the reaction of her fellows, if there was any. The Legion representatives seemed overwhelmingly apathetic to the Chinese. Jacques had made his feelings clear yesterday on the roof.

She stood in security line just another rep of the Legion, apparently. When it came time for her scan, she stood in place while invisible eyes tingled up and down her body. She had nothing on her of note, of course. There was a borrowed Wallet in her pocket, but that was turned over to electronics checks while she was physically cleared. Her clothing was simple as it was yesterday. Well-fit, but not particularly snug pants fit her hips and thighs well. She wore shoes that were sturdy enough to withstand the African terrain, yet they themselves weren't exactly tactical.

After her body was cleared of anything that might compromise the Chinese, they asked to examine her jacket. She slipped a short, lightweight jacket from her shoulders and laid it across the arms of an expectant young man. He was Ministry of State Security, as were all the examiners in this convoy of secrets. The Ministry was around almost sixty years, and by now were terrifying in their efficiency. Their entire purpose was to circumvent measures against enemy spies, agents and counterrevolutionaries. More so, not only did the Ministry protect against such threats to the government, but to the entire socialist system as well. Dual designations gave the Ministry enormous leverage in the scope of their mission.

Reed smiled, amused, when the man returned her things. Foremost, her jacket bore a security tape, a small square about the size of a thumbnail that allowed passage in pre-designated areas of the Embassy. Primarily, the common areas. They'd come a long ways in the last ten years.

"Thank you very much,"
she said with a disquieting smile. The Chinese man did not respond.

And Reed was inside. Of course, that was the easy part.

Days and nights blurred for Ayden. Her hours at Chesterfields were so Chaotic that she ended up sleeping in her apartment most of the time. And every single time she woke to the same image and couldn't go back to sleep. The image of Connor dying. Ayden remembered her family dying, but the images never woke her from the dreams, she only knew that they had and she felt horrible. A vague memory that she was supposed to do something accompanied the dreams. But she couldn't place it. But she knew she knew what it was in the dreams.

But the dreams never came when she found time to sleep in Connor's arms. But that was rare, they could spend more than few hours together sleeping, their schedule's just didn't fit well.

Tonight Ayden and Connor's schedule had lined up perfectly. He got off work at the same time she did. He picked her up at Chesterfields and they went out for dinner and they spent the rest of the night in his apartment making up for the lost time. Not that their sex life had been disturbed by her chaotic schedule. But it would be wonderful to wake up next to Connor after a great night's sleep. And from their time alone, Ayden was rather tired when she drifted off to sleep with Connor's arms around her. She loved sleeping with him next to her.

Dreams were happy, at first. Memories and playful dreams. When the switched happened in the dreams, it was subtle at first. Ayden started to toss and turn in her sleep. Memories of her parents were tinged red with a bullet from a rifle. The scene of her parents advocating against the military when she'd gone missing, their images splattered with their blood. Other memories were changed to horrific scenes, all because Ayden hadn't done something.

The last image was the night she had shot Connor. There was some relief to the exacting need for something, something had happened that day that made things better. But as Ayden drew close the image she saw startled Ayden awake.

She sat bolt upright in bed. Her heart was pounding and sweat slicked her skin like she'd just run a marathon. Ayden's hand was clutching Connor's. She let it go abruptly, the images still in her head as she turned to look to find Connor looking concerned up at her.

Dressed, for once, rather plainly, Hood sat on a bench watching the entrance to the city metro. People came and went in a constant stream, old women and young couples off to the markets for the inexpensive produce that could be found there even in the heart of the Russian winter, some hurrying to reach the warm buildings the market fled to during the winter months. Others were more pragmatic about it and trudged along, embracing the cold morning air, accepting as something that they could do little about asides embrace.

A weather-worn shemagh was wrapped loosely around Hood's throat, serving it's practical role as a scarf, albeit one better suited to ward off the sun and sand, not the cold. A thick, heavy down jacket with fur-lined hood. As was common for old Moscovite culture, the jacket had a decidedly military cut to it, but Hood wore it more for functionality then for appearance. It had pockets, and was warm. Water proof, and treated against stains. Practical, functional.

Of course, it did look a bit more intimidating then those ridiculous brightly coloured plastic garbage-bag looking things the young folks were wearing these days. That was a fashion he had wished died years ago, but the blasted things seemed hell-bent to hang on. He shook his head in silent exasperation as a group of young men wandered past in jackets of bright yellows and shiny blacks or opulent blues. Ridiculous things. Looked like crap.

On the bench next to him was a nondescript backpack which appeared to be empty, or at most holding something slender or small. He didn't need to glance at his watch to tell the time; it was clearly displayed on the HUD of his Landwarriors, as was a photo of the man he was waiting for. He would routinely turn his head to sweep his gaze across the area around him, waiting for the facial recognition software to spot the man in question, and was satisfied when it finally flashed a man's silhouette and confirmed his ID to the picture.

An office manager for Krasnyy Medved Security Solutions (KMSS), Mr Volodya Fyodorov. The company had recently finished being investigated for four former employees who had been killed in their attempt to kidnap a very rich man by the name of Mr Talanov, and had instead stumbled on the man's former personal bodyguard, Mr John White, of Pervaya liniya Security.

Of course, that was all the cover story for what had been a contracted assassination attempt. Not that either company, or either involved contracting parties, were willing to admit to something like that. So it was all swept under the carpet as bad men doing bad things of their own accord, leaving their parent company, KVSS, free of any bad press.

The man seemed annoyed, more so then an early Monday morning away from the office would usually call for. The man's annoyance was of little surprise, or of any real care, to Hood of course. Who wouldn't be annoyed to enter their supposedly secure work office to find a post-it-note stuck to his computer screen with a copy of his own security code to disarm the building's security systems, and a note of where to meet whomever had placed the note?

Hood raised a hand and caught the man's attention, waving him over to take a seat on the bench. Mr Fyodorov hadn't always been flying a desk; the man was ex-military, although from what Hood could gather, it hadn't been anything particularly interesting. Mundane Air Force BS. Lent well to a resume for private security work though.

Mr Fyodorov approached Hood and stopped without sitting, staring down at Hood for a long moment before glancing around to see if they were being watched. Hood gestured for the man to remove his sunglasses, and with the aid of his Landwarriors was fairly certain the man didn't have any implants for eyes.

"Sit down, neighbour. You're drawing attention."
He jerked his head to the side of the bench such that the backpack would be between them both, and when the Russian man finally sat, Hood dug out a manila file folder and held it without quite offering it to the man.

"All I want to know is who commissioned the team. If you don't know, you will find out and pass it my way. If not...well, you know how these things go, Mr Air Force."
Hood's tone was neutral, almost bored, and certainly confident. This was exactly the sort of thing he did in a past life, after all.

Mr Fyodorov snatched the folder from Hood's hand and opened it to reveal a dozen printed photos, all of the interior of Mr Fyodorov's home. His two guard dogs asleep in the yard. The main panel of their security system turned off. His living room, with children's toys still on the central throw rug. His kitchen, the fridge door open and a hand holding up a glass jug of milk. He and his wife asleep in bed. His twin boys asleep in their room. The usual sort of stuff. With the folder was the details of what Hood mentioned; the four men's names, information on them. Even their bank statements, from before things had been fudged to make the men look like they had been acting on their own.

"Do we have an understanding?"


Mr Fyodorov was no longer looking irritated. He had visibly paled, and glanced at Hood with barely contained horror. "I have no interest in you or your family asides what information you can get me on this matter. Really, it's in your company's best interests. Your people never should have been stupid enough to take the contract to begin with. Shadow wars aren't meant to be fought where the police are involved. That's what makes them shadow wars, after all. Time someone reminded whoever payed you all that lovely money to remember that."


Mr Fyodorov closed the envelope, but Hood took it and returned it to his pack, casually checking the signal scrambler that sat in there as well. It had a very limited range, but any electronics he or Mr Fyodorov would have been carrying weren't likely to be sending anything. "We do."


"Excellent. You can get it to me..."


-----

Hood walked out of a nearby alley were a burn-barrel and a group of homeless men had set up for the time being, waiting for the lunch hour rush to go back to pan handling. The added fuel for their little fire was received without question.

The file folder. Synthetic skin pads off his finger tips. More synthetic skin pads off his face that had subtly altered his cheek bones and brow, all just enough to thwart facial recognition software from a distance. Better to be safe then sorry, after all.

With that little errand checked off his list for the day, he strolled into the market area. Two birds with one stone; he needed some groceries. Rune had near eaten him out of house and home after she had graduated from the smoothies.