Friday, May 17, 2150 3:49:33 PM

New York City, New York: 404 HQ

Dark pushed the door open and stumbled his way into the slightly dingy room of the motel and kicked the door shut behind him. He was actually somewhat surprised; the cleaning staff here seemed to be more vigilant than those in the places he normally stayed at. At the moment though, Dark wouldn't have cared how the room looked. After hoverboarding all the way from Kansas up to New York, he was completely exhausted. Caution still intact though, he did lock and bolt the door before setting down his backpack and board, then kicking his pants off and flopping down on the mattress. With his pants off, he could finally stretch his tail, which normally stayed tucked down his pants but it got uncomfortable after a while. In fact, however many endless he'd spent hoverboarding across empty fields was very uncomfortable too. So much so that it called for a nap....

After a short cat nap, Dark woke up to the sound of water hammering against his window, eliciting a groan from the boy as he rolled over and stuck his head under the pillow as a crash of thunder sounded in the background. " Damn it all. I'm not going out in that. Guess I'm stuck then" he muttered irritably. Rain, for one thing was not good on his technology, but there was also the simple situation that having wet fur was a pain to deal with. His right eye flashed, activating his GLOVE. At first he just surfed the web, pulling up a map of New York City, looking for someplace interesting to visit when a news update caught his eye. Something about hackers causing mayhem in the city.

"Tch. Look at that. I just waltz into town and they're already spouting crap against my kind. Long live the Hackers." he grinned, ready to jump in. Where to start first though... Banks. Banks are always a good first target.

"I've got the world on a string, got that string around my finger..."

Adam strolled down "New Broadway" millions of people around him and not one knew who he was. Massive digital billboards showed everything from automobile ads to news broadcasts. He wasn't paying attention to the world today though, today he was just walking up and down the streets, watching people, enjoying life.

His stomach had reminded him that it was around lunch time and that had spurred his current direction, down to a pizza parlor where he knew the owner. He climbed a side staircase to the parlor that over looked a small park at the intersection of 12th and Broad.

"Kirby!" A voice attached to a large man at the end of the counter rang out. "What can I get for you my friend?"

"The usual Lorenzo, that pretty waitress still working?" He made his way to a table in the sun, near the rail overlooking the street below.

"Which one, Ashley? She's out of town. You'll have to settle for Lisa."

"I heard that." Lisa came in from the back and threw a rag at her uncle.

Adam stood as she came over and gave her a hug, "I didn't know you were back in town Liz. How was Paris?"

"Boring. How do you think it was?" She playfully punched his shoulder, "I saw Marc Brian's gallery. The man has more talent in his little finger than I do in my whole body."

Adam looked her up and down, "Well... I don't know about your whole body."

They sat and talked for a while, she had been the one who introduced him to some of the art circles in New York. It was what kept his normal life funded. He could do plenty for free, but he still had to have a normal life. Of course most wouldn't consider the artist's life normal to begin with, that never stopped the richer among them from dropping a couple thousand dollars on a piece that might or might not be replaced in a week.

As they talked and he ate he idly watched one of the news broadcasts across the street. Nothing that interested him too much, but then, he wasn't paying enough attention to know what the story was about. That is until a sketch of Mac Alastaar flashed on the screen, along with a few other people he knew through ties to the 404's.

"Well I'll be damned. Look who just got famous." he mumbled.

"Looks like your friend Mac. That can't be good for business." Liz said softly. She had her fair share of connections with people of a 'less than law abiding' nature. Many of the artists in New York straddled that fence, and there were some in high places who had thought maybe it would be best to just push them over the fence and let them all fall in the same pool. It had never happened though, rich people didn't like bare walls so they had to have their artists.

"Yeah, well I never did like the idea of getting buddied up and giving yourself a group name. Things like this happen." Adam tapped his fingers on the table. For any one watching it looked like a hyperactive kid tapping away, but they didn't see the computer interface floating a few inches in front of his face.

He finished typing his message and hit the send button.


"Shortcut,

Saw a mouse, it was playing tag with the big bad wolf.
Not a fun game I think, hope it keeps it's head down.

Or makes friends with a bigger wolf.

XIII."

The line was encrypted, but he still liked to be vague with his messages, not only was it safe, it was more fun. It had become XIII's style.

Lee held the phone to her right ear though she wasn’t listening; her mind was racing and it seemed there was no way to stop it. In a sense it was like having an extreme panic attack; emotions rushing through her body with no order or reason to them. She was jittery, unstable and more lethally added to the equation…armed. Senses that she’d long since forgotten edged into her brain and broke through the barrier that had been set in her fragilely programmed mind.

“Amalie I think it’s best if you come back to headquarters immediately.” She heard his voice but she wasn’t processing it. Instead her eyes skimmed the busy streets of New York. The City you were born. The underground streets you used to live on. She thought quickly before shaking her head. I was born in Chicago… She tried reminding herself but it haunted her thoughts.

“You don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question. As soon as it escaped her lips her mind was brought back to the conversation.

“Your being tracked, Amalie.”

“That’s not my name.”

“Than what is it?”

A frustrated groan escaped her lips before she threw the phone to the ground stomping on it until it was in pieces. She didn’t know her name…It was the most maddening feeling to be so unaware of what was going on around herself. She stomped on the device once more before kicking it into a nearby drain.

“Track that.” She grumbled angrily though she knew there were other ways in which she was being tracked…un-removable ways in which she didn’t quite know. She looked around from behind shaded eyes at the people passing by staring at her and the small scene she had just made out in public. Generally that would have been a cause for punishment…she was trained to be stoic, to blend and to go unnoticed. Only now her training was beginning to fade and become jumbled. These streets…they brought her back to something else, some other time that seemed far and distant. Her gaze scanned up a building before realizing that she needed to keep moving; to be stationary was to be a sitting duck in this situation. Disobedience was never acceptable, and even if this was the first time she’d even been insubordinate it would carry grave consequences if she was to be caught.

As she stepped through the crowds she glanced up at the flashing billboards of times square, some traditional and others holographic hovering above the square. She was nearly running, trying to find some place she could safely take a deep breath and think this through…

((Argh!!! wrong location... just ignore this please))

A boy, a boy named Benji Craston, walks quietly down a rundown street. He
doesn't look about, doesn't stop to greet anyone he passes. He only walks,
his right hand twitching over and over. The twitching is, actually, typing.
Benji's typing, into his own personal GLOVE. To anyone else it looked like
an old fingerless glove, but it was much, much more.

"It's a calm evening in Old New York. Hardly anyone about, and those who
are, are either too drunk or high to notice me. I just got back from LA,"
Benji silently typed as he walked, "And I am not missing it one bit. It was a
busy month, mostly spent erasing and copying data from the old base. It
was boring, but I did have a bit of fun when I managed to get one of
Sigma's computers infected with a nasty case of Ms. Corren Alastar." Benji
smirked at the thought of his late best friend, and the memory of the
successful hack. More the latter though, because the former made him sad.

"I'm on my way to raven station, where I'll finally get to see Mac-o again.
We haven't spoken in ~forever~, and I need him to help me run Tyra
through the turing tests. That, and I guess it wouldn't be too bad to see him
again." Benji stopped typing at the sound of footsteps, quickly turning off
the GLOVE and increasing the speed of his steps a bit.

"Hey Ben-Ben, wait up!" The man calling out was an older man, dressed in
older stained clothes and covered with filth. Benji hesitated, but finally he
stopped in his steps and turned around. Upon recognizing the man, he let
down the hood of his PLaD hoodie with one gloved hand, as he never went
outside without them. 'No use hiding now that I've been identified,' he
mused softly as the man stopped his pursuit only a couple feet from the
teenager.

"Hello Frank". Benji spoke softly, not wanting to draw any more attention to
himself than needed. It wasn't really working. To the people of Raven
street he was a stranger, an outsider, and now he had at least a dozen pair
of eyes watching him. The only one he recognized was the man who had
called out, Frank Hardy. Benji knew Frank as a hypo addict who had paid
Benji very well for infecting his ex-girlfriend's computer with a lower-scale
version of 'Mia'.

"Well, if it ain't Ben-Ben Carton, hacker-extraordinaire!" The man had a
nasal quality to his raspy voice, as well as a strange accent Benji couldn't
place. One or two of the other vagrants nodded in agreement, while most of
them scowled at Benji. By his clean clothes, and combed hair, it was clear
he was not from around here. "What'cha doin' in tha' UnderCity old Benny
boy?" The man smiled a crooked smile, his teeth yellow and his breath
rank.

"Hacker extraordinaire? This, I would ~love~ to see." Benji whirled at the
sound of a female voice, taunting him. He turned to see a taller woman,
dressed in full PLad armor. She had two laser pistols trained on him, an
amused smirk on her face. "Go ahead, hacker-boy. Give up, say...
everything you've got."

Benji tensed, hearing Frank back up and away, leaving Benji to fend for
himself. "I don't want any trouble, ma'am. I think I'll just get on my way.."
He pulled his hood back on his head and turned around, slowly taking a step
away from the bandit. He felt the familiar sizzle-pop as the extremely
concentrated electricity popped against the back of his hood, as she fired the
weapon. He staggered and fell to the ground, eyes closed and motionless.

"Extraordinaire huh?" The bandit smirked softly, turning Benji's body over
with her foot. She reached down, taking the wallet from the boy's pocket
with expert fingers, tossing it behind her, where a man, surely her partner,
waited. The bandit was just reaching down again when Benji's left hand
shot out, grabbing her own. There was a fizzing sound, and then the woman
slumped on top of him, unconscious.

"Try to rob the Flashboard, do you?" Benji muttered, all of a sudden fully
conscious and pushing the sleeping bandit off of him. He stood slowly,
brushing off his shirt and pants calmly. Then he pumped his fist in the sky,
yelling out to all those watching. "No body, and I mean no body, robs Benji
Carton!" He flashed a cocky smile to the stunned Frank before disappearing
into a back alley. He was still chuckling to himself about the look on their
faces when he remembered his wallet.

"Sh*t!" Cussing was something he tried to avoid, but right now he didn't
care very much. That wallet had over $5,000 dollars in it. Sure, it wasn't
worth as much these days, but it was still something. He stopped, turning
around and seeing the street in the distance. No, the accomplice would be
gone by now, probably spending Benji's money for another shot of Hypo.
Sighing softly, he turned back around and pulled open the steel door that led
to the old subway station nearest.

"Call Mac Alastar." He spoke the command into his hand softly, listening
carefully as the GLOVE read the voice command and the phone number was
dialed. It rang, and rang, and finally went to voicemail. "Hey Mac-o, its
Benji. Could you send a car for me? Thanks." With that he ended the call,
sitting back to wait. He hadn't bothered to leave a location, no, Mac-o would
easily just track him. Now all there was left to do was wait.

Jacob had been living in the undercity since he lost his official job, he made enough money to provide himself with Hypo and female companionship, both of which were more easily and cheaper to obtain within the undercity then above. Since his job had shifted to the underground it was only suitable his residence did as well, his residence housed his powerful computer system and no one would look for it down here unless they had a very good reason.

Truth be told Jacob probably fitted in better here then above, although his computer system was state of the art his interface towards it was very basic. Everything down here was very basic as well, time seemed to be standing still. Funny enough the most modern stuff here seem to be the products available within the supermarkets, unfortunately they also have enough brands to make it almost harder to chose breakfast cereal then to hack into a database.

Jacob continued to stare at the cereal boxes, he hadn't had the stuff for ages yet suddenly he wanted to try it again. While deciding he was easily distracted by a notification from his computer system, Jacob moved his hands in front of him and started to type in mid-air. Jacob figured he was perhaps one of the last who still used a keyboard, albeit virtual, to enter commands but he even had seen people use hardware keyboards down here. A few commands revealed that a lot of nodes had upgraded their software, rendering them useless, fortunately for Jacob their new software contained an ever larger exploit, one that wasn't public knowledge yet. Before changing his system to use this exploit he had to test it out on at least one of those nodes, he had only tested it on a leaked release of the software so perhaps they patched it. Jacob forgot about cereal entirely, and spent the next twenty minutes verifying the new exploit would work.

Perhaps because he was satisfied the exploit did work, Jacob didn't feel the need to buy cereal any more. He had stocked up on enough food to stay inside for a while again and went to the register. The female cashier caught his eye, she had been born here since her skin was pale, it wouldn't surprise Jacob if she would offer different services during evening hours. She even seemed familiar actually.

"Hey, don't I know you?" Jacob asked as he lowered his shades to examine her more closely, perhaps he should cut down on Hypo so he would remember better, luckily she seemed to have the same problem.

"Oh." She said after looking confused for a while, then she moved closer and lowered her voice. "Didn't recognize you at first, but yeah we got together for a night once. Appreciate if you would just move along, I'm trying to start with a proper job and don't need reminders to my old one."

So she was familiar "Err, sure sure." All the items Jacob had were already scanned so all she had to do was to supervise the process to prevent theft and abuse and handle the cash, it probably would pay crap too. "If you change your mind, I'd gladly become a customer again."

Jacob headed back home, seeing that girl had almost made him change plans, but he already had postponed his reply to the 404 too long. He logged in his system again and sent a brief reply that he accepted to meet them so they could discuss the matters at hand.

Dahlia moved around New York City with relative ease. She had decided to go for a dark gothic look today and people seemed to separate themselves the best they could when she walked past. She didn’t mind it, matter of fact she liked the avoidance, well at least for the day. She wore a long dark wig and exotic makeup. Her clothing was smooth and tight a tight black corset hugged her, and a long black skirt accompanied it. She wore a cross around her neck that lay proactively between her bosom and skull shaped rings aligned her hands. She was returning home from her latest “deed”, back to her New York Condo were she could rest and relax. There were only a few people like her that existed, few people like her meaning few Assassins who were also hackers. Dahlia looked down at the ground towards her black boots almost arriving to her home lost in her thoughts.

"And there you have it. The notorious hacker group: The 404’s are responsible for all the mayhem in New York City. It is strongly advised that at the first signs of being hacked you report it to the authorities, so it can be handled. Remember if you see any of these people or if you have any information regarding them, call the below number."

Dahlia stared at the large screen in Times Square and frowned; the government just didn’t like them at all, they knew too much. Dahlia shrugged, the 404’s will call when and if they needed her help. Then she recognized a familiar face, “Shortcut…” Dahlia murmured inaudibly and continued to walk her hover board in hand and her purse around her shoulder. “They should be more careful,” she thought.

Dahlia arrived to her destination, home. She threw off her bag and dropped her hover board onto the floor making her way to her large window that looked down onto the city. “Glad to be home!” she shouted loudly throwing her arms up stretching. One wouldn’t have guessed that the twenty four year old lived such a luxurious life, but she got paid for selling some of her designs to designers as well as hacking for those for a “small” fee. Not to mention she charged top dollar to become a private trainer.

Dahlia glided away from the window and into her bathroom to get more comfortable. That was the first thing she did when she arrived home, undress back to her normal self. Dahlia always amazed herself at just how much she could look like a total different person. Dahlia peeled off her wig and slowly everything else that made up her outfit for the day. Soon enough she was back to her normal looking self; big gray eyes, dark brown hair and light tanned skin. Dahlia slipped on her pink robe and made her way to the kitchen for some ice-cream before settling down on her couch and clicking on the television.

The same news she had seen before in Times Square was on and she laughed loudly to herself. “Oh shortcut, that’s a horrible picture of you!”

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The sound of the light footsteps were drowned by those of the steel-toed boots that chased the light framed woman. Fleeing from the house of one of the higher-ups in Seattle, she'd been rewiring the lights to flicker on and off randomly, just a harmless, irritating prank meant to agitate the higher-up. She could have done it remotely if the wiring wasn't on a closed, encrypted circuit. The moment she hacked on, she would have been traced. So she trekked to the guy's house for a short while in order to do some harmless prank. Now she's sprinting for her life.

The man running after her, just another of the government's monkeys, can't catch her. He won't. She may spend her time behind a desk but two bombings and fierce genetic rewiring has left her in top physical condition. She knows how and where to hide.

Splash.

Thud.

Splash.

The sky is dark as rain descends on her small part of the world. She throws down her smoke screen, hopes on her hover board and straps in. Soon she's zipping through the narrow alley ways in an attempt to run as far away as fast as she can. By the time the man regains his composure, she's gone, cursing him out in four different languages, with some extra, made-up words for good measure.

She'd been sloppy. She was never sloppy. The wires she was messing with kept shocking her and her glove almost short circuited. The new GLOVE model better be freaking nice as hell if she was going to risk her butt just to prank someone for a gorram bet.

Her hover board shut off as she approached the front steps of her secluded apartment. She watched it power down completely and retract. She lightly touched her glove as she moved up the stairs, watching the latest news cast, damn. Her little prank must have caused quite the stir. Maybe she should have hit a desk jockey. Good thing was, she got the light thing to work. She also planted a loop bug to loop the signal to her GLOVE so she could manipulate it at anytime. Life was reasonable. She moved into her house and sighed.

"Summer, Summer, Summer..." She shook her head at her own slip up. Her coat was shed first, then the rest of her clothes, except for her glove, which she kept on all the time. She spread her toes on the cool floor, happy to be back in her home. She smiled and pulled on her shorts and shirt. Pulling up a link feed to Mouse's house, she waited for him to open the link.

"Hey, idioto, you owe me a new GLOVE. I want the model G-3 on my doorstep by tomorrow, compreda?"

Mouse scratched his beard and thought for a moment, "Proof?"

"Pull up the news."

"And there you have it. The notorious hacker group: The 404’s are responsible for all the mayhem in New York City. It is strongly advised that at the first signs of being hacked you report it to the authorities, so it can be handled. Remember if you see any of these people or if you have any information regarding them, call the below number."

"Damn girl, I didn't think you could do it. You'll have your GLOVE by tomorrow... But how'd you know they'd blame the 404's?"

"Mouse, everyone blames them." Summer smiled at him and closed the feed, going to lay down on her bed. She pulled her laptop up on her stomach and began typing away, programming the lights in the guy's house to flicker to the beat of an old song, one when they actually used instruments.

The training room was very lively tonight. New recruits were sparring with each other in various boxing arenas, hoping to show off their skills. There was also the option of training in the virtual arenas, which were in a separate section close by. The recruits however, thought that that was the wimps way of training, that real fighters actually worked their muscles, instead of sitting in a chair plugged into a video game.

Jake, one of the recruits who was dominating the whole room with sheer strength, puffed up his chest and goaded the others into fighting him. "C'mon! Can't any punk in here match my power?!" The others simply glared at him, thinking about how they wanted to shove his face in, but knew they probably couldn't. Jake was a beast. Standing at 6'4", his muscles larger than the others, he dominated the others easily with brute force.

Vahr was walking down the hallway, his blood racing. He was bored, anxious, wanted to attack something. But he had no way of doing so since he wasn't ordered to do so. Such was his conditioning. Despite his killer intent, he never actually killed someone unless his handler gave the okay. It infuriated him to no end, but he obeyed anyway, knowing full well what would happen otherwise.

He entered the fight room, his towering and intimidating presence attracting everyone's attention. In truth, a blue skinned shark-man, towering at almost seven feet, was hard to miss. Jake was still in the center arena, showboating. Jake took notice of the new comer but didn't bat an eye. "Hey you! The freak!" He called out, pointing at the shark man. "You want summa' this?!"

Vahr had simply stared back, slightly irritable, he stated, "You ain't worth my time, chump."

The cocky recruit could have just walked away at this point, but was blatantly unaware of who Vahr was, or what he was. "Hah! Is that a fact! Come up here then, I'll show you what the number one rookie can do!"

The shark man's frown turned into a wide grin, showing his sharp teeth, which were prominent under the light from above. Vahr said nothing as he walked up the the arena, and climbed up under the ropes. "Fine then, show me." He said with a menacing tone. "Show me what the best of trash can do."

Jake was diminutive compared to Vahr who had at least six inches on him. But this didn't daunt Jake one bit. He charged in, reeling his right fist and punched Vahr's stomach with all his might. Vahr didn't budge from his spot, simply absorbing the punch. Jake however had scraped his fist against what was essentially something rougher than sandpaper. Jake winced in pain, his knuckles bleeding. Vahr had that toothy grin of his again. "What? Did we start?"

Jake simply grew angry, and this time came back and tried attacking Vahr with his knee-guards. The attack was slow and easy to read, allowing Vahr to crouch and block with his left hand. He then quickly grabbed Jake's left leg with his other hand and pulled him off his feet, easily swinging the helpless fighter like a rag doll as his slammed him onto the mat again, face first. The force was tremendous. Lucky for Jake, the blow wasn't fatal. However, the bones in his upper body were all broken, with his left leg badly torn up from Vahr's hand. The other recruits couldn't believe it. Not only did this monster beat Jake, he nearly killed the man within seconds. "Next."

But soon, the room was emptied of the rookie members as they quickly escaped, hoping to escape the same fate. Vahr sighed. "What, no more entertainment?" He looked down at the unconscious Jake. "My handler's not gonna like this..." He got off the arena and accessed the intercom on the wall near the entrance. He input a code into the key pad, connecting with the infirmary. "Sharkskin here, get a damn medic to training room B-45. Don't worry." He added. "He might live this time."

“Oh, ew.” Sunny muttered as she stepped into the subway car headed for Raven station. Having grown up in an immaculate environment Sunny was quite adverse to the unsanitary. While it was a habit she'd tried to break being that it so strongly resembled Simon, it was so deeply programmed into her that it was a hurdle her will alone couldn't jump.

Decked out in all white from her hair to the heels of her boots Sunny looked like a slave to fashion to people who'd never seen an android before its color scheme was administered, after all monochrome was trendy. Because of this, no one found her that unusual as she sat down, but she certainly did stick out. Due to that, Sunny had made it a point to follow her “target” from a distance. She didn't need him noticing her and trying to put a bullet in her pretty little head or something along the lines of damaging her rather expensive body.

So, three train cars behind the young “Flashboard” Sunny sat, taking care not to touch anything as she shoved her hands in her pockets. The pleather trench served it's purpose of keeping her safe from the cesspit of germs that was the New York subway. When the train reached its stop the young woman made haste to get out to the car, weaseling her way past several other patrons not only to get away from the germs but to not lose her target.

Much to Sunny's dismay the destination was just as disgusting, and her hands stayed shoved deep into her pockets as she regarded the young hack with cautious eyes. He was being talked to by what looked like a hobo, though sometimes telling the difference between hackers and hobos was difficult. After an exchange the boy looked less than amused, and was soon apprehended by a female hacker decked out with all the fixings. Sunny hoped that he wouldn't get beaten too bad, if he was dead it might be harder to find Shortcut.

Thigh high platforms resounded against the pavement as Sunny trotted up to the alleyway. Stealthy? No. But the city was full of noise, she didn't think he'd pay attention to her footsteps. Sunny was naïve when it came to human behavior. She'd yet to realize most would live past her low expectations of them. In an almost sheepish manner Sunny peeked her head around the corner, white irises surrounded by black rings surveyed the alleyway. No one but Benji from what she could tell.

As the young man walked into whatever room the steel door may have led Sunny was faced with a tough decision. Should she stay in the alleyway, or should she follow him through the door? She'd hate to follow him into the room only to find it crammed full of 404 members. Sunny's main objective on a daily basis was making an honest attempt at not dying. Living was probably one of her favorite parts of life, and she'd have preferred to prolong it as long as she could. Running like some half wit into a room full of people who wouldn't think twice about disassembling her wasn't the best of ideas.

As quietly as she could, Sunny crept down the alleyway. Once near the door she crouched down and stared at the door in disgust. Was everything on that side of town amass with germs? She was wondering if this place was the epitome of shit or if that's just how humans were. Taking her sleeve and wiping down a small portion of the door Sunny pressed her ear to the door in hopes that she'd be able to hear what was going on on the other side.

Simon slammed his fist hard against the rigid surface of his desk upon reading the headline scrolled across the front page of the New York Times, “Computer Terrorists Strike Again”

“Damn it!” Simon cursed as pain shot through his hand in response to the tantrum the sent the bottle of distilled water across the metallic desk. The pain was enough to quickly remind him of his foolishness. There he paused his rant long enough to twist his wrist and assess any damage he may have done to his delicate synthetic covering. “Still in tact.” He sighed in relief chastising himself for his lack of control. The relief was short lived as Connie Chen appeared on the video monitor confirming the reports he had just read.

If it wasn’t one thing it was another that demanded his attention. He thought he had people in place to deal with such minor annoyances. Perhaps, it was time to implement the heavy handed approach. Subtlety just wasn’t accomplishing his objectives as quickly as he had hoped. There had been setbacks along the way but this could prove devastating. It is time to turn up the heat and put the fight back in the streets.



“…And there you have it. The notorious hacker group: The 404’s are responsible for all the mayhem in New York City. It is strongly advised that at the first signs of being hacked you report it to the authorities, so it can be handled. Remember if you see any of these people or if you have any information regarding them, call the below number."

*Sketches of the fugitive Mac and a few other 404 members flash across the screen, along with an 1-800 number*

"These people are terrorists and must be apprehended before they can wreak more havoc upon America. It is our duty as U.S. citizens to do-“




“Will the madness never end! Pictures!” Simon exclaimed.


Simon was so completely engrossed in his own thoughts he failed to notice the arrival Emia. He began to wonder just how much an effect the current news coverage would have on her conditioning. He had managed to limit the unraveling of her “true self’ with great success thus far. She was of more use to him in her current persona. The coming events were quite likely to open Pandora’s Box.

The steady regiment of injections and pills had been enough lately to keep her ignorant of her former self. The effect seemed to keep her stoic and emotionless for the most part limiting her flare ups that often induced detrimental flashbacks. She believed that she was a victim of a car accident that nearly killed her and he was her hero. He preferred it that way but recent events had him concerned. He would have to keep a closer eye on her.

“How long have you been standing there my dear?” Simon softened hoping to deflect the suddenness of the situation. “I was just about to send for you”

Turning, he carefully reached across and picked up the tabloid he accessed earlier. Stretching the newspaper out for the young girl to view he drew her attention to the headline. “Have you seen this?” Simon barked as his emotions began to build up uncontrollably once more. Before she even had a significant chance to answer he held up a singular finger expressing his desire for her to hold that thought. Alerted to the incoming call he swiftly activated the communication device attached to his left ear and by the resulting sour look the engulfed his face at the information he received.


“What??” Simon exclaimed, the added irritation evident in his voice.


And Version Two?.....“You’re sure?......How did this happen?”

“Lock down the facility immediately and stream me the security footage. I will be as soon as possible to deal with this mishap personally.”


“Emia, Looks like we will be headed back to New York sooner than expected. Be a doll and make the necessary arrangements will you? And have somebody to track down this reporter, Connie Chen and find out what they can about these sketches and the 404 characters. She has to have a source for this kind of information and I want it!

The B-45 training room was packed with recruits, who'd come to do some hard core training. Most were sparring and some were working out in between fights. Temperance was watching two aquaintances battle it out before her as she did push-ups. Her routine was fifty push-ups, fifty sit ups, fifty push-ups, and then break. After her break she would spar with two people and then start the routine over again. It kept her heart rate level and allowed her paced breathing.

She was just getting through her first set of push-ups when she heard Jake, a beastly, cocky recruit start calling out for someone to challenege him. Everyone seemingly ignored him, so he focued on Vahriak Shigawa, otherwise known as Sharkskin. Vahr ignored him, throwing back insults, but finally Vahr gave in and jumped under the ropes of the arena. Temperance moved over to do her fifty sit ups, watching the match with curiosity. She knew that Jake was about to draw his own blood, but she couldn't help but wonder what Vahr's tactic would be this time.

As she moved into her thirtieth sit up, Temperance watched Jake slam his fist into Vahriak's stomach, pulling back in anguish and blood on his knuckles. She gave a small laugh and smiled when Vahr did exactly what she knew he would. He picked up Jake and slammed him into the mat, shattering most of his bones and leaving him barely alive. She rolled her eyes at Jake and got up as everyone started filing out, afraid of Vahr. She simply went, grabbed her towel, and took a swig of water from her water bottle.

Vahr walked over and called for a medic, something typical for him, and waited. Seeing as how he was near the door anyway, Temperance walked over to him.

"It's about time someone taught that worm a lesson. Good job keeping him alive," she commented.

Temperance knew that Vahr was a bit tempermental, but would probably take it as a compliment nonetheless. If he didn't, then she understood, but she hadn't meant it to be a snarky comment either. One thing she knew for certain was that he would not take it too personally. It was common enough knowledge that he was a homosexual, so this provided her with certainity that he would one less guy watching her exercise. Whatever floats your boat, pal. . . she thought, waiting on his response.




Charles flashed his ID to the guard at the front desk and nodded his appreciation when the guard opened the secure doorway for him. He stepped through into a long, narrow hallway that split off in several different direction, signs posted everywhere on the wall. He followed the signs that pointed him to the primary Manager of Devoid Handlers. The Manager's primary job was assigning the correct handlers to the correct Devoid based on personality and other various aspects. The handlers and the Devoid needed to get along perfectly, so it was the Manager of Devoid Handler's job to match them up without fault.

Charlie stepped into the office riddled with cubicles and ringing phones, glancing around until he found the room he wanted. The people at the cubicles looked at him funny, but he didn't pay attention. He was in a U.S. Marshal's standard uniform, his hat held firmly in his hand, but not on. The people would wonder why a U.S. Marshal was in their office until they realized that he was a Handler in uniform for his cover job, as he should be.

"O'Malley," a man from within the room called. Charles stepped one step into the room and waited. "Come in, sit." Charles obeyed and sat down, politely closing the door behind him.

There was no name plate on the man's desk, no stray notes or faxes to indicate the man's name. He was dressed in a button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, tie worn loosely under his collar.

"We'll skip the formalities for now. What you need to know is all in this folder," he said, handing Charles a manilla folder across the desk. Charlie accepted it and opened it for a quick scan. "That is Temperance. She is down in the Training Facility, room B-45. I suggest you read her folder and pay her visit. If you have any further questions, come see me again."

"Yes, sir." Charlie stood up and left, taking a right out of the office. The signs led him to the training facility and he climbed the ladder to the second floor viewing area. He walked along the narrow path until he found room B-45. He put the folder on the sill of the half-wall window that overlooked the training room and opened it up.

Name: Temperance
Age: 30
Species: Human
Race: Devoid

He read the basic information and scanned the index contents. A picture of Temperance was attached, so he took it out and held it between his fingers. He lifted his hand towards the window and scanned room B-45 for her. He found her doing push-ups while watching the arena where two guys were about to duke it out. Curious, he watched too.

The more tempermental of the two struck the other and pulled back, his knuckles bleeding. A quick glance at Temperance showed her smirking and doing sit ups. Charlie narrowed his eyes in confusion and looked back to the arena just in time to see the one who'd just busted his hand being slammed into the mat by the other.

The other recruits ran out, but Temperance stayed. She went to talk to the guy as he called for medical attention over the intercom. A glance back showed that the other was still unmoving. Is he dead?

Shaking his head, Charlie went back to reviewing Temperance's folder.

Relapse risk: High
History: Boyfriend and parents killed in the Clyde-Phelps tripple homicide by semi-decapitation. Became a Forensic Anthropologist to solve the homicide with the FBI before volunteering to join The Program.
Personality: Relatively withdrawn and quiet. Strong-willed. Full of determination. Basically logical. Dangerous.

Charlie stopped. Dangerous? What is that supposed to mean? He thought on it for a moment and turned his head back to the arena, where the limp body still lay. Fatally dangerous? Seeing no alternative answer at the time, Charlie went back to reviewing the folder.

Cover job: Marine Biologist

The sound of a door closing regained his attention, and he looked up to discover it had just been another room's door. He decided to head down and meet Temperance, semi-aware of what he would be facing. He placed the picture in his shirt pocket, closed the folder, grabbed his hat, and headed down the stairs. He followed the signs around a few corners until he found the door for room B-45. He knocked once and opened the door.

With a soft click, the door handle turned, both hallway lights automatically illuminating as the door itself opened, casting a soft light over the man who stepped through. Closing it behind him, placing the case he was carrying to one side, Steven Wright stepped through the nearest door, moving with quiet precision. Shrugging off the jacket he was wearing, straightening up to his full height, sidestepping the dining table in the centre of the room, he stopped, laying the jacket on the back of a chair, eyes moving over everything. Searching. Questioning.

For fully half a minute nothing moved, then Steve yawned, his spine clicking as both arms reached up over his head, five words crossing his lips.

"It's good to be home."

Stepping through into the kitchen, he walked over towards the fridge, the holoscreen set into the wall next to it coming on automatically. Barely paying attention to the news feed scrolling across the screen, he reached into the fridge without looking, pulling out a vacuum sealed container, his lips splitting into a grin as he held it up over his head to see the contents. announcing his happiness to the empty room.

"Mm, chicken salad. Got to remember to tip Mary extra for looking after this place."

Rolling up his sleeves, he stepped across to the sink, turning it on and thrusting his hands under the pouring water, idly wondering how the housekeeper was doing. He hadnt seen her in weeks, work being what it was lately. These last few days in Leeds had just been the icing on the cake. Still, security consultancy paid well, and it kept him sharp. That was important. Behind him, the screen switched to a live feed, blaring out the latest headlines.

"And there you have it. The notorious hacker group: the 404's are responsible for all the mayhem in New York City."

The announcement stopped Steve dead, his head darting round, making sure he'd heard correctly. For the next five minutes he simply stood watching, hands dripping water over the floor, meal forgotten. The hackers were getting more confident with every passing day, it hadnt been long ago that they wouldnt have thought about showing themselves in public, let alone something as daring as this. Shaking his head, Steve turned his back on the screen and finished preparing his dinner.

Two minutes later, he was pulling out a chair in the dining room, barking out "Mail" at the screen as he sat down and picked up his fork, the familiar female voice of his email inbox filling the room.

"Good evening, Mr Wright. You have four hundred seventy nine new messages."

Mouth full of food, Steve groaned. Ten days gone, four hundred and eighty new messages. He was willing to bet that three quarters of that was adverts for cybernetic penis modifications or supposedly advanced and illegal tech. No matter how good the antispam filters got, the bloody hackers always found a way through.

Halfway through the second message, something about a chinese financer who simply needed fifty thousand dollars backing for his new venture, guarenteed seventy thousand dollar return!!! Steve lost interest in both it and his dinner. Without warning, a sudden pain lanced through his head, the right side of his vision lighting up, words and numbers scrolling down it faster than he could read them, disappearing just as fast. An infodump. Before anything else came up, Steve smiled a grim little smile to himself, betting he knew what this was referring to.

Accessing the files, the smile widened. He was right. A target list, all known hackers, three marked for priority. Jacob Owen. Rook Maverick. Dahlia Blackwell. Scanning the names, taking in the sparse info and few security pictures there were available, Steve rose and headed upstairs, taking in the rest of his objectives. Equipment was already at a dead drop, as were flight tickets, all three targets last known positions being somewhere in America. His handler would contact him at the airport. Most importantly, all three were wanted for questioning, so taking them alive was preferable.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Steve bounded across the landing, darting into and then back out of his bedroom, the ready bag, permanently packed at the foot of his bed, slung over his shoulder. In the few seconds he was in the room, something about him had changed, his face hardening, all humour gone from his eyes. Walking back down the stairs, he called out once again to the house systems, instructing it to cancel all appointments for the next week and recording a message for Mary, explaining that he had been called out at short notice and wasnt likely to be back for another week at least.

Sliding on a pair of boots, peering up at the vidscreen showing the street outside, the dark sedan pulled up right outside his house, its plates already run and confirmed, Steve opened the door and stepped through. Behind him, the lights dimmed, winking out one by one until the house was once again filled with darkness.

Vahr looked back at the woman talking to him. It was Temperance. Vahr didn't exactly socialize with anyone in particular, especially since most were afraid to even look at him funny. But for some reason, it was easier to talk to her. She apparently wasn't as intimidated. "The worm was askin' for it. Seriously." Vahr grinned. "He's just lucky he wasn't one of my targets." He sighed, shaking his head, saying "My handler doesn't even give me missions anymore. I've been on standby for the longest ass time."

He turned to leave. As fun as talking was, he was hungry. "I'm headin' to the cafeteria. See if they got some damned sushi this time." As he walked toward the entrance, an odd looking man he hadn't seen before walked through. He looked tasty. Vahr licked his lips, before exiting the room and walked towards the cafeteria.

There were too many hallways. The who facility was virtually a maze. He only managed to find his way thanks to the hundreds of signs posted here and there. As he walked, he would have the urge to kill any person that walked past him. Soldiers, scientists, even men in some of the higher ups who managed this place, Vahr wanted blood. He couldn't help it. The shark DNA he had implanted in him so long ago had mutated him so far, that he could barely be considered a human anymore. Vahr always made sure that he had his killer instinct in check, or else he might seriously eat someone.

Vahr had reached the cafeteria, which was closed at the moment, due to repairs and renovations in the kitchen. "Goddammit!" He sputtered. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?!" He punched the door, leaving a dent in it, then walked away. He was in a bit of a fowl mood. Because of his mutation and his mental instability, he was told he wasn't allowed in the outside world anymore. He wouldn't have been able to live out a normal life without attracting too much attention. Vahr was constantly being moved from facility to facility whenever it was convenient for them.

The large shark-man stormed through the halls in a fowl mood. And everyone noticed. And so everyone kept clear of his path. He moved back instead, into his quarters, where a large TV was set up and a large aquarium was built. Vahr jumped into the glass box and breathed out through his gills. This was where he was most at peace. He was able to just swim or float comfortably in the cool tank. His body settled to the bottom of the tank, where Vahr decided to take a nap, the gravel shifting beneath him. Hopefully soon, he'd finally get his chance to satiate his blood-thirst.

Emia waited quietly for Mr. Murphy to notice her, her high-heeled fashion boots clicking silently against the floor. He was watching the news, broadcasting something about a group of hackers. Yes, she knew all about the '404s, having spent a rather good time researching them in the past. They had always peaked an interest in her, most likely because from the first time she had heard of them she had deeply disliked them. She wouldn't call it hate, no, Mr. Murphy and Iota both would be very displeased if they knew she was feeling emotions like that. Finally he turned around.

“How long have you been standing there my dear?” He spoke more gently to her now, causing her to smile to herself halfway. Yes, she had seen Mr. Murphy upset, and she liked it very much that he was nicer to her than anyone else. Sure, maybe she was his pet a bit, but he was all she'd ever known... She was about to answer when he interrupted, asking her another question. Again she opened her mouth to speak and was shushed.

“What? And Version Two?.....“You’re sure?......How did this happen?” He spoke into his phone in a sharp voice, making Emia shrink back a bit. Mr. Murphy could be very gentle and kind, but he could also be terrifying. At least that's how Emia saw it as he continued to speak into the cellular device.

“Lock down the facility immediately and stream me the security footage. I will be as soon as possible to deal with this mishap personally.” Emia listened very carefully; trying very hard not to look scared or worried. She was feeling really emotional today, and she knew it wouldn't take very much for her to crack. Finally Simon terminated the call, turning back to her.

“Emia, Looks like we will be headed back to New York sooner than expected. Be a doll and make the necessary arrangements will you? And have somebody to track down this reporter, Connie Chen and find out what they can about this Shortcut character. She has to have a source for this kind of information and I want it!"

Emia only nodded dumbly, her huge eyes welling up with tears. She didn't want to go to New York! Not in a childish way, no, she could tell it was something to do with the new drugs Mr. Murphy had put her on. For no reason at all she could tell, she was taking a strong disliking to certain things. New York was one of them, and the thought of going there made her just want to scream!

"Yes Mr. Murphy. I'll see that it is done." She whirled around away from him, feeling the almost imperceptible vibrations as the nano-motors took effect and propelled her towards the door to the room, a bit too fast for human standards. She didn't care, she just wanted to get out of the room and away from Simon before he called her back, making her have to turn around and reveal the tears streaking her face.

Why did she have to be so darned unstable? All these emotions, off and on, never really making sense. Emia squeezed her eyes shut tightly, standing at the doorway to the room with her back to Mr. Murphy. He was obviously upset about something, and she didn't want to risk upsetting him by leaving without permission. And what was that he had said about a version two?? She resolved to ask him later, but right now all she wanted to do was scream... and cry... and hit something. Ah yes... as soon as this mission was over she would go to Seattle and rip apart pieces of old machinery with her bare hands. Okay, so she was smart enough to know that would almost definitely would not happen... but the thought of it made her feel better.

"Anything else sir?" Emia didn't turn around, knowing that her make-up had almost certainly smeared, revealing the ghostly white circuit boards laying beneath her right cheek. She waited for Mr. Murphy's answer in a uncertain silence, and she took advantage of the time to get a better grip on herself. 'See Emia? Only a little one, about thirty seconds. Maybe this round of drugs is different, this could be the one that finally gets those pesky emotions stable. See? Just breathe, breathe slow and even so Mr. Murphy won't notice...' She went on mentally coaching herself for what seemed like a long time before she heard another voice.

"Emia." The voice itself was indeterminable, merely there. It spoke in her head, coming from all directions and at the same time no where. She sighed softly, mentally replying. 'Hello Iota.'

"Okay, baby. Lil', we've been through a lot together. I know, I know. It's been a long and bumpy ride, but I feel that we've grown because of it. Together we can take on anything. Hell, I'd be dead if it wasn't for you. I know your day is coming up, the big one. The big two-oh, and I figured I'd get you a little somethin' special. That's what long time friends do, right? Well. I went out to little store and got you a hardware upgrade. Nothin' big, you know I don't have much money at the moment, but it's a memory upgrade. You'll be pulling more than 60 terabytes. Great, eh?"

Gigger turned to look out at the busy street from the shadows of a shady alleyway and then looked back at Lilly, his computer. He had been waiting a while to make a nice-sounding speech, but that was the best he could produce. Most hackers would likely call him crazy for building an emotional relationship with his computer, but while it was weird, it worked for him. He and Lilly got shit done, and that was all he needed to get money.

"All right, all right." Gigger exhaled and reached into his right pocket, withdrawing a fingerless glove and slipping it over his left hand. He wiggled his fingers as he got them comfortable in the fabric. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. 5...4...3...2...1...

"Okay!" He snapped open his eyes, opening up Lilly to reveal the screen, "shall we begin?"

He began typing at insane speeds, his eyes darted over strings of green-text and information, taking it all in. Windows opened and closed in quick sucession on the screen, and in the corner a counter showed. It was counting down from 5 minutes. A map displayed on the screen, a red blip showed and then the window disappeared.

REBBY.WORM.EXE - INIT.

A progress bar shone, and quickly revealed at Gigger's virus had been sent to its destination. He picked up Lilly and moved to the edge of the alley, looking out at a tall, electronic billboard in the street. It was advertising a designer car, and just before the high price was shown, the screen cut to black. Then, a movie began to play. It was without sound. A group of Japanese women in revealing clothing were dancing and singing on a white background. All ready a few men had noticed the little replacement ad.

Gigger rested Lilly atop a box and began to do the real work. He wirelessly searched for a nearby cellphone, hacked into it and boosted the signal of it. From that phone he sent out a swarm of viruses that sent to every cell within a few metres. The phones all began to play their ringtones, with the owners looking at them in confusion and frustration as they saw the same video playing on their phonescreens.

Next, he jumped from the cellphone to a wireless modem in a building across the street. He used the modem as a means of access into a computer network. A smile creeped over Gigger's face as he found his target: A car. New model and very expensive. It was at the end of testing, clearly this particular vehicle came with AI-autopiloting, just as he was expecting.

The car in the building roared to life, the wheels screeching against the floor. It turned sharply and sped to the window, firing itself into the street. It landed on the road and spun a perfect circle before stopping and opening its doors.

Gigger disconnected Lilly, but not before leaving a few destructive viruses, of course. Within a few seconds the loud sounds of steel crashing into steel was heard as cars smashed into the cherry-red sports car Gigger had left on the road. He closed Lilly and placed her in a backpack with he then wore. Gigger left the alleyway, and went to a payphone.

He input a long string of numbers and waited for a tone. Three beeps sounded. He put in more numbers and waited again.

"Hello?" A man answered.

"It's done. They'll assume something went wrong with the programming. It should set production back a year or two."

"Good work! Your money has been transferred in whole. If we need your help again, I trust we'll be able to contact you?"

"Don't worry. If you need to contact me I'll know about it. Be seein' ya."

He hung up and left the phone, keeping an eye on the anarchy down the street.

Kick to the knees. Elbow to the throat. Fist to the stomach, then groin. Elbow to the back of the neck. The man dropped to the floor on his hands and knees. His left hand was around his throat as he gasped for air. Rook drew his pistol and kicked the man to the floor. He lowered to one knee and smiled wickedly as he whispered, "I don't know how in the hell you found me, but I told you you'd be sorry for trying to blackmail me." he chuckled and placed the barrel behind the man's left ear. "I keep my gorram promises." he growled before pulling the trigger. There was the quick whine as the weapon discharged. The quick blast of energy burned through the skin and skull easily before spearing his brain and ending his miserable life.

Rook rose to his full height and reached back around him, lifting his gray long coat to slip the gun into its holster on the back of his belt. His pale cyborg eyes flickered all over the man's body. Yep, he was dead. He glanced in a mirror nearby. His long, gray, wiry hair was loose around his face; he wore a ragged gray long coat over a black muscle shirt. His pants were black jeans, and he wore knee-high black boots. Rook readjusted the earpiece on his right ear as he reached into his coat. "Artemis, we shiny?" he asked.

"I don't think so." his AI replied. He had given her a female voice, basing her partially off the Greek goddess.

"What do you mean?" he asked, hand paused, gripping a box shaped black comm.

"I think he was rigged. As soon as his vitals cut off the authorities sent out an alert." she replied coolly.

"I should have given you more emotion." Rook grumbled, raising the comm to his lips and pressing down on the send switch.

"You did. I just choose not to use all of them at-"

"Shut up, please?" Rook asked, irritation lacing his voice.

"Eh? What was that?" someone asked through the comm.

"Not you, Gilchrist!" Rook sighed into the black box. They used them due to the fact that the authorities wouldn't be looking for this type of signal. Gilchrist was one of Rook's New York contacts, and another Assassin. Rook had gone to New York to meet a man who had somehow caught him, and decided to blackmail him instead of turning him in. Rook had never intended on paying the bastard. "We have trouble." he went to the window of the small, dirty apartment. A number of police vehicles were coming toward the building. "Can you and the others handle them for a minute?" he asked. "I'll get out through the back door, go through the alley."

"You sure?" Gilchrist asked.

Rook rolled his eyes and - barely stopping himself from shouting - said, "Yes, Gil, I'm sure." in a strained voice.

"Whatever you say." his contact replied. "Just move fast."

"You can count on it." Rook said. He slid the comm back into his coat and went to the door, gloved hands pressing the button for it to open. It may have been a shithole, but it wasn't that old. "Artie?" he asked, starting to a window at the end of the hallway, a fire escape outside leading down to the alley. "Do we have a readied AIDs on hand?"

"Fully prepped, and ready to burst." she replied cheerily.

Rook paused by the window, "You sound chipper."

"I thought you wanted emotion?"

"To match the gorram situation, yes!" he cried. Shaking his head he opened the window and climbed through, shutting the window before starting down the old metal stairs. "Release it into the local police connections, see if you can't set it off at a critical node, or something."

"On it." she stated.

"And while you're at it, call Dahlia Blackwell, wouldja?" he waited until she picked up, by now on the ground and taking off down the dark alley. "Hey, I'm in your neck of the woods and in a bit of hot water. Mind if I hide out at your place for a bit?"

((http://cryoflesh.com/shop/images/Siberian%20Coat.jpg))

Dr. Li Cohen

Friday, May 17, 2150 7:45:22 AM
Subject, 192, 'Emily Lam'. Admitted into Omega Genetics center to observe the regrowth of her new arm. Subject visited the center at 9:25:12 AM, Wednesday the 15th of may 2150. Subject stayed until 10:15:32 AM and was admitted leave at 10:17:47 AM.

Li stared at the machine implanted into the wall of his office for nine seconds before pressing the fifth square black button on the 1st row of the machine, deleting the message. He then clicked the triangle shaped button next to it to play the next message.

Subject, 198, 'Thomas Ryan' Was admitted into the program at 5:49:21 PM, Thursday the 16th of may 2150, for a full facial recontruction after being identified as an agent of the program. His nose was increased in size and his forehead was les-Blurzzzz. .

The Record came to a halt when Li pressed the red square button, the second button, on the first row. Li sat down in the odd shaped white chair behind his desk and began to go over the blue prints submitted to him for approval from the head of the Omicron Security center, on his electronic high technological touch screen Device- (TTSD)-, a new sort of computer that like most touch screen computers released in 2030 was increased in its ability to allow the user to interact with it. In a new addition of it, a hologram projecter was built in allowing 3D viewing of objects and documents, aimed at buisnesses of architecture and other such companies.

The program as the company that produced it was a rival, North American Technology Corperation AKA NATC, took over the company and stole its creations and ideals. This was lead by Li Cohen himself in the way his own company was taken over, though this time, without the murder and the removal of existence of 200 employees. Instead Cohen decided to simply to pay a visit to the head of NATC and had his Mind Mentally Conditioned so that now he became yet another mindless servant of the program. Resulting in all of NATC products being sent to The program and the Government becoming richer by the second.

The Blue prints showed the design of a new explosive device. A C-1 explosive that was contained and could be disguised as a small Data chip or memory card. High security Data recorded on these chips or personal information that the owner would not want to leak out could be simply remove at a touch of a button, or to the owners choice, at the command of certain words being said in hearing distance of the devices MIC, a 500 metre range. With this commanded self destruct in place if the object was to be lost or fall into the wrong hands at a touch of the button the data would be removed, hopefully before the finder transferred the data to his computer or hand device. A Tracking device was also set into the data chip so the owner could track it down and destroy it if it fell into the wrong hands.

Li mind filled with more ideas by the second, and they weren't the slightest humane. He pulled the levitating pack in front of him that had come with the blue prints, to him and opened it finding five small data chips inside with a set of instructions. Cheerfully he slid the package into the side pocket of his lab coat and pulled his own designed robotic arm towards his mouth.

"Set Arm Feature-4-Cellular Intercom Communications device". At the words the following things happened.
• The wrist turned counter clockwise once then extended forward

• The wrist expanded revealing nine slots which each contain a tool/device/weapon, it looks very similar to the chamber of a pistol.

• The hand tool's metal pole connecting it through the robotic arm. A gate to its slot opens and the pole slides down a gap and returns into its slot, it is the first tool of his 'arsenal'. Device No.4 the Cellular Intercom Communications device gate then opened allowing it to be pushed into the center where the hand originally was.

• The wrist then reverted to normal and 'compressed'.

• The new tool, Device No.4 the Cellular Intercom Communications device is in place of the hand.

"Contact- Identification number 0450362- Linda Elizabeth Adams-/" .

The device rang three times.

"This Linda Elizabeth Adams, Answerring to Dr. Li Cohen, How may i be of assistance?/"

The Women, Linda was aged 27 and was a receptionist of the program who did not have a memory of the place she worked and went home every night thinking she worked at an insurance company. Linda worked under Li, and Li would often ring her to send people up to his office or to ask for something to be sent or delivered.

"Linda Dear, Could you send up Test Subject 0457 Please? Thankyou./"

OOC: Can i have my office and private quarters being put in as a location please? That would help cause i have no where to post atm for now i wil post it in Earth 2150 until i place is created and will edit once it is done :)

"Anything else sir?"

Emia didn't turn around, standing at the doorway to the room with her back to Simon. There was distinct distress in her voice. Not surprising really given the circumstances. Anything to do with her past, Shortcut, the 404’s, even certain areas of New York City itself, could trigger her emotional ‘episodes’. If he had been more aware at the moment he might have called her back and asked what was troubling her. Instead, he allowed his mind to be preoccupied with the task at hand. It was always the same lately, work first.

People had become a means in which to get the job done. Simon’s people skills had diminished greatly since the accident delegating various tasks so that he now only had to deal personally with a select few. It was in this aspect he had come to rely heavily on Emia. Her unique skills in reading people have proved invaluable since the untimely departure of Veronica.

“No, that will be all Ms. Marksmen. This was to be a chance to get away from the city. Sorry to cut it short.”

A small pop-up appeared in the bottom right hand corner of his image screen alerting Simon to the arrival of the package he had requested. It was never his preference to transmit such information over the internet but in this case he had made an exception. If the revelation revealed in his earlier conversation was any indication time was of the utmost importance. A few quick clicks and the attached video file was loaded and ready to be viewed.

The contents were subtle enough. The ‘Veronica’ unit as he called it had simply walked out. Walking out of a secured facility was a feat in itself. What had made this such a monumental mystery was the fact that the unit had not been activated. Tracing the android’s movements backwards Simon was able to locate what he believed to be the origin of the event.

It took several minutes to find what he had been looking for. A small brightly lit sterile room, its white walls lined with various monitors and equipment of any well stocked medical facility. He watched as two technicians laboured over the test piece known as Version Two. Initial tests had all proven successful. A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips as the proud papa viewed his newest creation.

The body of the android was nothing spectacular, a simple generic form at the moment. But, you can’t always judge a book by its cover. What was of greater importance was the synthesized brain within the shell, a combination of high-tech electronics and Simon’s own DNA. An experiment initiated in part by the successful merger of similar elements within Emia that now keep her alive. It is hoped that this unit would one day house the creative genius that is Simon should his natural body continue to fail.

Within the confines of the testing lab was also a singular gurney pushed off to one side of the room. Atop the mobile cart was what appeared to be a well shaped female form concealed below a fresh white bedsheet pulled up over the body. While it wouldn’t seem out of place in such an environment it somehow caught Simon’s attention. It was as if he was expecting something to happen.

“There it is.” Simon mindlessly whispered aloud as he continued viewing the footage.

((Wrong place, sorry. . . ))

Temperance didn't have much to say in response to Vahr, mostly because he walked off, but also because she was a relatively quiet person. When she actually went out of her way to speak to someone, she was usually direct, and even blunt to an extent. That was the price of being a Devoid, right? Temperance couldn't help but wonder what was missing. She felt like something in her past had traumatized her, but she couldn't tell what it was. It was just a stray feeling that wouldn't go away. It bothered her.

The sound of the door shutting finally forced Temperance to turn around. Vahriak was gone now, but a man in a U.S. Marshal's uniform stood in his place. She narrowed her eyes curiously and readied herself for combat. She didn't know this man and he was not going to get her to trust him, even a little bit, easily.

"Temperance," the man said in a smooth, firm voice. "My name is Charles O'Malley." This man, Charles, knew her name. Why?

"It's nice to meet you, but I must be going now, so if you'll excuse me," she said, starting to walk around him.

"Not so fast," he said, putting a hand out to stop her. Bad choice. Without hesitation, she grabbed his forearm, planted her feet, and flipped him onto the ground. He groaned in pain as she stood over him, her hands holding his arm in a position of control. "Okay," he groaned. "I deserved that. . ."

"What do you want?" she demanded of him, her towel falling to the floor beside her. She glanced around him and found the folder he was holding was now lying on the ground, it's contents strewn around him. His hat had been flung backwards when she'd flipped him and now lay several feet away.

"I'm your handler," he said, wisely lying still. Temperance clenched his arm and pushed it the floor, grabbing her towel and bag and storming out of the room.

She didn't want a handler. They thought they could replace Peter. How dare they! Peter had been her first handler, but he'd only been a handler for a few months. He'd died on a mission with her, something that was not supposed to happen. She'd been placed back at the Alpha Base to train afterwards, her memory wiped of any specific details. All she knew was that Peter had been a handler and that now they were tryinng to replace him. Well, she wouldn't let them.

"Temperance, wait!"

"Stay away from me," she snapped. Charles ran up beside her, retracting his hand which had instinctively gone to grab her arm and stop her. Wise decision on his part.

"Let's at least go have some coffee before your reject me as your Handler. Please."

"Fine," she agreed after a moment of thought. Charles was worth a second look, she'd admit. He was very handsome. Without another word, she stalked off down the hall, Charles following her.



Charles scanned the Temperance's folder for anything that might explain why she'd stalked off when he'd told her that he was her new handler. He'd read her history, but nothing other than the Clyde-Phelps case was listed. He sighed and masaged the back of his neck. Temperance could really do some damage when she wanted to.

Charlie looked up to see that Temperance was examining the fish tank in the lobby. The cafeteria had been closed, so Temperance had led him to the main lobby, implying that he find a way to get their coffee. He had and now sat on the sofa, leafing through her folder while she sipped her coffee by the fish tank. She wasn't much of a talker, as her file had said, but at least she stayed around, giving him the opportunity to talk to her.

Something in Temperance's file suddenly caught his eye. There was trauma report near the back. He skimmed the contents.

. . . handler Peter killed in action. Temperance was returned to Alpha Base, put under heavy watch. No problems observed during dormancy.

So, her handler had been killed. That explained her reaction.

"I'm almost finished with my coffee. If you have questions, you better ask them now," Temperance said, sitting in a chair across from him.

"Well, how about you tell me about yourself?"

"No. You're not going to be my handler, so it doesn't matter."

"Come on, Temperance," he said, closing the folder with frustration. "Work with me here. I'm your new handler whether you like it or not."

Temperance sat forward, glaring at him. "I don't need a handler. Peter is my handler!" she said.

"No, he's not! He's dead, Temperance." Temperance narrowed her eyes at him and guards eyed them curiously.

"I'm going to my room. Thanks for the coffee," she snapped, slamming the cup onto the table.

"Temperance," he said. He sighed and threw his hat on the table. "This is not going to be easy . . . " he mumbled as she disappeared around the corner.

"Fix your make-up, Emia." Iota's voice was slow and distinct, almost tantalizingly so. At least thats how Emia felt as she made her way down the hall of MurCORP, toward her dormitory/office. It was a rather good sized room with a couch, food dock and desk. The desk was special, of course, not only would the hologram screen surf the web, but she could connect her left brain to it, essentially putting her thoughts on a screen. Yes, her left brain was badly injured in the Accident, so Mr. Murphy's surgeons had replaced it with a high-tech computer. Her brain still controlled it, no, she did'nnt qualify as AI, but it was a valuable resource to her. "Your foundation has smeared and your circuits are plainly visible." Iota continued on.

"I'm on my freaking way! Why can't you just leave me alone?!?" Emia hardly even realized she was almost speaking aloud as she hissed the words under her breath. Her high-heels clicked on the linoleum floor as she walked, her head held high even though her face was still streaming tears. "Augh!!!" The pain of the electric shock was enough that she had to lean against the wall until she felt better. Her ears buzzed with the sound of the electric diodes in her neck winding down after delivering the painful punishment. Iota, apparently satisfied that he had taught the girl a lesson, promptly left her mind. The moment he did this Emia slowly sank down to the floor, sitting and waiting for her heart to catch up to her.

Sighing softly, she slid a long, pale hand into her dress pocket and pulled out the small green vial. It was the newest medicine Mr. Murphy had put her on, and who knows? Maybe this one would actually get these emotions under control. Quickly and precisely, her hands unscrewed the cap, revealing the almost impossible small needle protruding from the tiny cylinder. With a muttered curse she quickly stabbed herself in the jugular vein, allowing the medicine to dispense for a couple seconds before removing it and replacing the cap. Sure, it hurt, but the scientists hurt worse. After giving a few seconds to let the medicine kick in, Emia finally stood and made her way to her office.

Once inside, she moved over to the desk and sat in the sleek metal chair. Sliding open the drawer, she removed two long, silvery cables and laid them on the desk. After looking back once to make sure the door was locked, and then mentally disabling any video-cameras as best she could, she slipped off her dress. Taking the cable, Emia looked down at her ribcage. There they were, the two metal ports, just underneath her bra on the right side. She pressed the end of the cable into the enclosure, it snapping shut with a small click. Same for the other cable. First, she needed to charge. One cable plugged into the green fusion port beneath the desk, yes, there it goes. Next one into the desk, linking her mind to the holographic screen.

A few minutes later, the proper arrangements made, Emia unplugged the cables and returned them to their place, pulling her dress back on. Finally she moved over to the mirror along the opposite wall, pressing a button beside it and causing her make-up drawer to open. She stared at her face, pale and streaked with mascara and eyeliner, with the entire side of her cheek gleaming silvery-white, lines of circuits snaking their way just beneath her skin. Without thinking she ran her fingertips along the area, but it felt the same as normal skin. She resolved to ponder this later, but for now she needed to fix the disaster that was her face. Finally she was done, her face again a perfect cream, with huge round eyes and the small, slightly turned up nose. It was almost perfectly symmetrical, and wasn't tainted at all by any scars, marks, or acne. Finally content that she was decent, she allowed her eyes to fall closed as she placed a direct call to Mr. Murphy.

"It's been arranged, sir. A boat will be here in thirty minutes."

Finally, around 9 in the morning the downpour of rain ceased to hammer against the loose windows of Dark's motel room. "Its too damn early to be up" he muttered irritably, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Much as her preferred to stay in bed, he knew by this point there was no getting back to sleep so with a great deal of cursing and muttered groans the boy managed to push himself to his feet to stretch as his eyes scanned the room for the scattered pieces of clothing he'd tossed haphazardly around the room the night before. Pants over here, shoes over there, shirt draped over the bed.

In spite of his habitual grumbling, Dark was actually quick to wake up and reach full alertness. Less then ten minutes later he was up, dressed and ready to go out and work.Before leaving though, a quick tap of his fingers turned his GLOVE on to go into his bank ledger. Always methodical, the boy kept a log of his transactions so he knew exactly how much he had and a small frown said he didn't like the numbers he was seeing. In that case, those numbers needed to be fixed before anything else. Pausing only to grab his backpack, which held his tools and stayed with him at all times, and his hoverboard, Dark set out.

Gliding along down the smaller roads of New York City, Dark glanced around at each of the buildings, scanning each with the cybernetic eye implanted in his skull. Personally he figured the government would use big impressive buildings that everyone knew where it was. The White House and Pentagon served as perfect examples of that, however, surely there were other locations. His eye could see that this set of coding was for porch lights and that one over there connected to the billboards ahead, but every so often he'd see a building that felt different, and those were what he searched for...

'Scratch that' he thought to himself as a loud protest from his stomach snapped the boy out of his reverie. 'I'm lookin' for food first.' It wasn't all that long a search to find the nearest restaurant; a small coffee-shop about a block away from National City Bank.
The board beneath his feet switched directions to take its rider to his new destination. "I get to work while i eat. Isn't that convenient?" he asked himself with a grin as he rounded a corner and hopped off his board in front of "Meg's Cafe." Pulling his hood up and tucking his board under his arm, Dark trotted inside and was promptly seated by a middle aged woman with greying hair and a faded pink apron. At least she smiled. That's one thing Dark always noticed; is the staff happy with their jobs? Unenthusiastic staff could be an indicator of something sinister lurking in the bowels of the building. Bad food could be another. No restaurant would stay open if their food sucked, so any that did should be investigated.

This however was obviously not the case as the waitress came out of the kitchen, walking toward him with a big steaming omelet and a large glass of milk. 'Oh my god, it smells so good!' Dark snapped his jaws shut to keep from drooling as he stared at the food. He took the opportunity to pull off his gloves, actually.... he wore one black leather glove and one black leather GLOVE, along with his black shoes, black pants, black shirt and black jacket with the black hood that covered the black furred ears poking out of his black hair. His sleek black tail snaked its way out of his pants and as he set the gloves on the seat behind him, hidden from the rest of the cafe, his tail leisurely went about tapping buttons to start going through the database of the bank a block over, leaving his hands available to scarf down his breakfast.