Kiana Shamshiri's Story

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New York City, 7:00 AM

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The dawn sky graced the rigid skyline of New York City. Carrier shuttles puttered through the air, delivering their passengers to their workplaces. Down below, citizens bustled through the streets. One particular shuttle carried Felix Grelen, current leader of the rebel Network. The scruffy man looked out the window from under his hood, towards the giant hulk that was Signet. A look of indifference passed over his features, which quickly dissipated. No need to think about them now. He wasn't at work, was he? Felix smiled as his stomach growled slightly, and he remembered his job.

The shuttle landed at it's station near Times Square, a docking platform with adverts and kiosks lining it. Felix stepped off and began walking down the street, which was alive with morning commuters, to a glass-walled café on the corner. The door slid open, admitting Felix into the sleek establishment. Silver, white, and black was the theme here at Viva La Java, the best damn coffee joint that would support the Network. Felix stepped up to the beveled counter, and gave the bell a ring.

A short, young, auburn-haired girl with light, yet fierce, features came to greet him. "Cat, there you are! I was wondering when you'd get here. We got your order in the back. 2 sacks of regular and 2 of vanilla, right?" The young lady relayed to Felix, using the nickname he wore in public. For some reason, she insisted on calling him Cat. Maybe the chin-whiskers? "Hey there, Ellie. Yeah, sounds about right. I'm sure the customers will love it. Go ahead and deduct it from our account." Felix greeted and instructed, which Ellie heeded right away. "Alright, all done. We'll get it over there soon. Here, have a cup of this new stuff, since we had extra. It has orange and hints of vanilla in it." Ellie handed the man a paper cup of the piping hot brew with a smile, and Felix took a sip.

"Hm, that's pretty good. You think you can add a bag to the next order?" Felix asked, and the girl nodded. "Sure thing, Cat. Take care now!" Ellie cautioned, and Felix gave her a kind nod. Stepping out of Viva La Java, Felix had a visible smile on his face. The proprietors of the coffee house, Ellie and Thompson Henders, were a father and daughter team. The Network, wanting to establish economic ties and assets, chose to reach out to the Henders, since no one could protest to a good cup o' joe. At first, they had refused out of fear, not wanting to be shut down for working with rebels. However, that changed once Ellie's mother went missing after an eco-rally. Signet was obviously behind it, and out of anger, they befriended the Network, and established a friendly partnership. They both supported each other, with the exchange of money and supplies hidden in the bags of coffee beans.

Felix walked down the street, and turned into an alley. Taking out a key card, he opened the backdoor of an old brick apartment building. Inside, it was abandoned, broken furniture and dust everywhere. Felix slid another key into a hidden reader, and a floor tile opened, revealing a ladder down into darkness. Felix quickly descended down the ladder, closing the tile and shortly arriving in one of the Network's security checkpoints. It was a simple scanner in an old piping room, with guards positioned at the entrance. Staring into the scanner, a gentle light pulsed over his retina, and confirmed his identity as Felix Grelen. Nodding to the guards, he stepped into the atrium from behind the storefronts. "Morning, everyone! The coffee and things are on their way, so you'll get your fix soon enough. Get ready for the day, folks! Today we do some more recon." Felix instructed, briefly before metal crates fell from a grate above them, briefly hovering before hitting the ground.

"Oh hey, lookie there. Go ahead and pop it open, fellas. And where's Kiana? We need to get the plans sorted out." Felix asked as he shifted into work mode.

Vasska was in bed, snoring actually. While Vasska's snoring was generally a non-issue, he needed to be out of bed about five minutes ago. His alarm clocked blared for the fifth time, waking up everyone but Vasska, who almost purred happily in his sleep until a brave recruit doused him with water. Roaring awake, Vasska was about to pulverize the little twerp. "Gimme one reason why I shouldn't, eh? Come on then, let's have it." Vasska yelled at the poor man, who was really only doing his job, instantly pouncing on him and holding him off of the ground by nothing but his shirt collar with only one hand. Completely speechless, the man opted, smartly, to point to Vasska's alarm clock which read, "7:00 a.m." Vasska flung the man from him, as luck would have it, the poor sap landed in a group of his friends, who caught him gently. "Fuck! Is that what time it is? Why didn't you idiots get me up sooner?" Vasska raged as he flopped out into his room, threw his clothes on, and flung himself out of the door. As he walked, Vasska used the windows that he passed to carefully style his massively unkempt bed head. Finally pleased, Vasska stepped inside a local grocery and headed towards the back freezer section. Once he reached it, Vasska swiftly presented his card key and the door opened with a small beep.

Vasska stepped lively, as their partner at the grocery didn't like to be kept waiting and only liked to deal with Vasska, probably because the two of them were a real pair of bastards. Vasska walked for a short distance, passing cartons of milk, frozen dinners, and ice cream. "Yo! Mr. Fatass, I'm here, where's our meat?" Vasska shouted harshly to their partner at the grocery. Slowly but surely, the man in question thundered into view. He was not a small man by any definition of the word, he was in fact, very large. Funnily enough, however, this man was not very fat, though there was just enough on him to hide the huge amounts of muscle that he sported. He was six foot five, weighed almost four hundred pounds, and looked like he could eat a whole hippopotamus after wrestling it to the ground. He was not a small man. His body was made almost entirely out of muscle, and when he finally made it over to where Vasska was, he deposited a large canvas bag on the ground at his feet. The bag must have weighed about two hundred pounds, just from the sound it made when it hit the ground, and it was nearly full to bursting. "Vasska! It is so good to see your skinny twig face here again," the large man said, though it sounded as if he were shouting. "Will you be able to carry all that? It's not just meat this time. I've got medicine and other supplies in there too." The large man commented, attempting to whisper. Vasska just shook his head and dug around for a moment in his pocket. After a second he produced a wallet which he threw at the man, who caught it deftly. "There's the agreed upon amount Fred, say 'Hi' to the wife and kids for me." Vasska said simply, his sharp, crooked smile edging up the one side of his face. Fred nodded, smiling jovially, before heading back into the other sections of the frozen food. Vasska knelt down and hefted the large duffel, slinging it up on top of his shoulder, before making his way out of the back door, still carrying the massive bag on his shoulders.

Vasska proceeded through town as he did all things in life: loudly. He waved at every pretty girl that passed by, he shouted at, at least, half a dozen people trying to steal whatever might have been in his pockets. As Vasska sent them sprawling to the pavement, still toting the huge bag, he chuckled slightly. "Ain't nothin' in there anyway ya damn fools. Big man's got the wallet." Vasska went about his business, enjoying the sights, smells, and sounds of the great big city. It was a paradise here, even with Signet sticking their grubby paws in everything. While Vasska may have looked to simply be enjoying himself to the common passerby, he was heading along a specific route. This one had less cameras than any other way through the city, and took him directly to the Network. Walking up to the old building, Vasska presented his key card once more and made his way inside. Once he reached the secret tile, again, Vasska swiftly presented his card and jumped through the entrance, latching the secret entrance shut behind him. He landed hard, but his bones were strong, they would bend, but never break. Vasska walked down the corridor and made his way to the old piping room. He stared into the scanner and it recognized his bright blue eyes. "Vasska Thresh" displayed on the small screen. He walked into the room, where Felix was already getting things going and tossed his giant bag on the ground. "'Fore I open up these crates, I need two a' you guys to take this to the freezer and get this meat in there. Can't have it spoilin' on us." Vasska ordered, making sure they two men had the large bag secured between them before they took off. "So, Boss-man, what's on the schedule for today?" Vasska asked, walking up to the first crate and smashing his fist down on the top of it. The lid gave, ever so slightly, and formed a lip just big enough for Vasska to get his fingertips underneath. He grabbed the edge and tore the lid off of the first metal crate. As he continued speaking, he walked over to the second crate and repeated the process. "Or was this it? Come on man, I'm dyin' I haven't kicked some Signet ass in god knows how long. They're starting to forget how dangerous I am up there. They took down my wanted posters." Vasska mock pouted, smirking at his boss. "As for Kiana, I ain't got the foggiest. Where the hell did that stupid chick go anyway?" Vasska asked, looking around.

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“Ya,” the woman bit off in a rich contralto, “I am aware.” Her accent, the rolling, slightly guttural one of a very particular wasteland tribe, made her clipped words sound all the more imposing, perhaps, impatient as they already were. The voice on the other end of the phone, masculine but clearly frightened, trilled for a few seconds after that. Her eyes narrowed, sweeping the central room of her apartment with displaced suspicion. The rat was trying to scurry out from underneath her, and she didn’t like it. Cowardice didn’t sit well with Kiana, and they needed this shipment to come through, or they were going to be unarmed for too long. Operations were starting to pick up, and they needed every spare bullet they could come by, to say nothing of the guns themselves.

“Ahmq nfran,” she hissed lowly in her native tongue, then shook her head. Not worth becoming angry about. Hanging up on the call, she tossed the phone onto the sleeping mat on her floor and threw open her closet. Now she was going to be late for the meeting this morning, and the bearer of bad news, no less. Such was the lot of someone in her position, perhaps.

Shrugging into her trademark trenchcoat, Kiana tied up her hair and pulled on her preferred boots, lacing them with deliberate, quick motions. Some things, you could rush. Making sure you wouldn’t trip at a vital moment was not one of them. Returning to her kitchen, she poured the abandoned hot water into a thermos rather than her usual cup, dropping the teabag in after it. She didn’t like coffee, though most of her comrades seemed to live on it. Well, except Vasska. He just ate animal carcasses—sometimes almost entire ones in a sitting.

Treading with cat’s paw softness down the rickety stairs of her fire escape, she jumped the last story or so and landed in a crouch, threading through the alleyways and backstreets that were not so closely monitored by Signet. And why would they? Nobody up there in the big, shiny buildings with official titles and more resources than sense wanted to see a bunch of starving homeless people and criminals, now did they? For these were the only people Kiana passed on her journey. Several of the bums tipped their hats or threw her a half-mocking salute, and she simply grinned in response. These people always had their eyes open and ears to the ground—the best intelligence network she could think of, anyway. The criminals scattered, having learned some years ago that tall, dark woman was not a potential victim, and neither was anyone else if she happened to be around at the time.

Reaching a particular manhole, she glanced around a few times before lifting the cover, climbing down the first few steps of the ladder before replacing it over the top and sliding down the rest of the rungs, to land lightly on a slightly-damp stone floor. The main sensation in this place was auditory: a steady dripping of water. Counting bricks, she at last came upon what she was looking for—a nearly unnoticeable divot in the cement walls. Sliding her nondescript identification card into it, she took it out when it was returned, slipping it into a pocket of her coat and stepping forward as the wall slid into the ground. Inside the second room was the retinal scan. She hated these; every time, she wanted to blink when she should be holding still.

Whether she was getting better at fighting that instinct or the software had learned to compensate, she was let in after one scan this time, and ascended a staircase to the main hideout through its secondary entrance. Just in time, apparently, as she heard Felix inquire after her location and Vasska’s snarky answer. Blinking languidly, the Lieutenant approached the other body-manipulating elemental from behind soundlessly, casually planting a booted foot onto his back when he bent over one of the crates. “Perhaps, if you were less talking and more listening, you would know where the ‘stupid chick’ was,” she speculated, her tone just as deadpan as her catlike movements would suggest. Returning her foot to the ground, she shot a glance at the boss.

“Bad news, Felix. The weapon dealer you found, ya? He is… pancaking.” She meant to say ‘waffling,’ but occasionally Kiana confused her English-language idioms, and in this case picked the wrong breakfast food. “I do not think he will provide what he promised, the rat.” She looked displeased by this, if a few steps short of angry. She was far from as volatile as some of her comrades, after all.

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New York City, 6:45 a.m.

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In Signet’s New York, the sun rose always at six a.m., or so it seemed. Whatever the case, Lena rose with it, most of the time, and spent the next forty or so minutes preparing for her day. Daily preparations were a routine, honed almost to an art form, and one that she found soothing, in their own way. Just as well, when the rest of her life had a tendency to be anything but. Every day at the office was something new or unexpected, and that was to say nothing of the rest of her life, which was quickly unraveling in front of her eyes. Sometimes, she almost wished she could return to the days when she’d been so flawlessly together at all times, controlled, cool, and always collected.

In the end, though, that wasn’t what she wanted, and she knew it well enough.

Taking up the briefcase beside the desk in her room, she used her other hand to collect the jam-coated toast from the plate on the counter, slipping her feet into the red heels by the door. Violet may have been her mother’s color, but she’d always preferred red, after all.

As design would have it, she lived no more than ten minutes from her office building, one of Signet’s so-called ‘field offices.’ From the outside, it was rather nondescript, if a little nicer-looking than most, a sky-cutting spire, perhaps made to be reminiscent of that which it stood to protect. The entire structure was of steel frame and glass panel, though reinforced so many times it was entirely unlike what most would think of when it came to glass. Her team made its home on the thirty-third floor, and this morning, she was alone in the elevator. That was quite normal; she was always the first person into the office, like clockwork.

These few minutes, before anyone else arrived, gave her a chance to situate herself in front of her bank of consoles and read any reports that had come in overnight. Today, there was just one, something about Delta Team zeroing in on an arms dealer suspected of supplying the Network. Interesting, but it could wait until later. With a flick of her fingertips across her glass interface, she sent it to one side of the curved screen that synchronized all of her hardware, and tapped something else, bringing up a list of personnel files, then the next brief. This was what she needed; the field team was going to be sent out today.

Glancing over the brief, she sighed. They were going to need to split the team then, which meant twice as much work for her. Not an issue—she was more than capable of handling the extra load, and she knew it. It was simply that the fact that so much work lay before them meant that the Network was gaining ground. An undesirable circumstance at best.

“Recon and infiltration… now, who to send where?” The team had a variety of talents, and part of her job was assessing those relative to the mission data she received and making recommendations to Mr. Serafino, the leader of Alpha Team. Well, for a start, Mr. Turinn would be valuable for the reconnaissance…

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The subways, 7:30 AM

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Felix turned to see their resident hot-head, Vasska Kresh. "Vasska. Glad you're up and around. No worries, we'll find something for you to do. Today's mission is stealth-based, but I'm sure we can fit you in. Come to the meeting room once you take care of the crates." Felix offers a smile as he began walking towards the command room, an old storeroom that had been gutted and filled with a holo-table and screens to provide debriefings. Kiana came up beside him, delivering bad news on the arms dealer. "Really now? That's a shame. The make-shift guns we're getting from the wastes keep breaking. That guy had quality armaments. We'll discuss a solution at the meeting." Felix almost laughed at Kiana's butchering of the idiom, but he was completely serious now. It was an important mission, today's assignment, and if they screwed up, Signet could very well be at their door step tomorrow.

Felix turned a corner, to a door made of smooth steel. It had no visible latch or knob, to deter people from entering and to act as a safe room. Beside it was a console which housed three scanners; one for retinal ID, the next for ID cards, and the last for voice verification. Felix wanted no one getting in without permission, as a large amount of sensitive data was housed in this room. Stepping up, Felix flashed his eyeball to the scanner, slid his card in, and sternly said, "Felix Grelen, Bravo, one, nine, Foxtrot, Zulu, four, seven." The scanner flashed green, and the door slid open with a slight hiss.

Inside, there was a staircase, which illuminated to reveal a glowing room at the bottom. Felix swiftly descended the stairs, and entered the room below. The room was a small rotunda. A circle of chairs and tables with data pads surrounded a silver holographic projection table. On the sides of the room were banks of terminals and screens lining the cracked cement walls. There was a chill from being so far underground, but Felix didn't mind. He stepped over to a coffee machine, which was using the last bit of vanilla coffee grounds they had. He poured a cup for each member that would be present, which was to be six today, excluding himself. The extra two were scientists which would explain today's gadgetry. After his coffee duty, Felix stepped over to the intercom terminal, and activated it. "Attention. Would Celero de Tempestas, Dr. Williamson and Dr. Theodore, and Porter Buchanan please all report to the comm room? Thank you." Felix hung up, and took his seat, waiting for everyone else to file in.

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Porter Buchanan woke from his dreams of smoke and burning metal with a name on his lips. He lifted his head from the computer terminal desk where he had once again fallen asleep. He swiveled in his chair to stare into the cool dimness of his room and swallowed a mouthful of the dank air as he watched the ever creeping daylight probe his home. Light sunk through the cracks of blinds hanging from the single window of his apartment cell. It crept through the darkness along the beige carpeting. It stopped a foot short of a writhing mass of black wiring matting the floor in a second carpet lit by the steady white glow of several computer monitors crackling with video feed. Porter turned back to his display. Each screen held half a dozen or more windowed scenes of different resolution and clarity from all over 22nd century New York City.

A panning view of an old, suited man with a bottle of unopened wine standing amidst the morning crowd of Times Square. A wide angle of a dog convulsing on the electrified gate of a pierside warehouse. An ovaline viewport tracking a man with a shock of blue hair as he kneed a grubby man in the stomach and left him clutching his stomach on the pavement. A shaky thermal image peering down the holographic sights of a hip height Signet firearm loosely swaying from side to side. A crowded elevator heading to the 33rd floor. Shaky, skipping video of a rickety slum apartment with a barely noticeable blur flashing from the fire escape to the alley below. A zipping, whirring feed from a security detail shuttle pursuing a smaller craft across the crowded air transport lanes amidst the towers lining the steel sky. A single static shot of the monolithic Spireheart, a towering monument to mystery and power.

A wan smile appeared on Porter’s face as he watched New York. Dozens of mornings from all walks of life played side by side in a quietly humming mosaic. So many people and places unknowingly unified in a comprehensive whole. New York in all of its dirty, beautiful splendor woke him up each morning.

“Beautiful,” he breathed into the dark.

A faint feeling of regret struck Porter. He lacked the poeticism to capture the amazing diversity of this city. Here he was, a single man watching New York with a million metal eyes, staring both within and without. And the most he could muster was “beautiful”. He picked up the half eaten cherry Danish and a cold McGriddle he kept in reserve, nomming them as he ran over a mental checklist of data reports, maintenance, counter-intelligence, and hackwork to be done before he headed to the operation for which he was becoming dangerously late.

(He paused briefly to wonder at the survivability of the 20th century American food chain in a cutthroat competitive market nearly a century later. An uneasy Cold War between the Golden Arches and Signet’s Signoms chain had been simmering for over three decades now, with no side gaining the clear advantage. Quite a feat considering Signet’s control of Spireheart xenotechnology. Porter would have to look into infiltrating McDonald datasystems sometime after today’s op to confirm or deny his suspicions of a second unnamed xenotech supporting their position against the Signet megacorp.)

With some hesitation, he raised a hand to bring up the holographic type interface. His fingers danced across the hard light as he robotically recoded the security framework of his computer and maneuvered around a handful of clumsy attempts to lock out his Signet authorization. A lazy slap of his fingers hurled a data packet through the electronic ether from Porter’s terminal to a reasonably secure Network database with the most important video feeds collected from the last 72 hours. The bug inserted into Signet’s Eastern Upper District cIOS (citywide Infrastructure Operating System) by Network operative granted nearly unprecedented access and control of Signet operating systems. As far as Network personnel were concerned, Porter had only been on the consulting board for the plant. However, as sort of a personal challenge (one undertaken while he was not entirely sober), Porter personally “bugged the bug” through a series of risky Network and Signet hacks which managed to both extend the reach and control of the Network information systems and provide Porter with a personal series of bugs within the Network himself. Old habits die hard.

“Grelen would kill me if he found out,” muttered Porter. The clock display the screen to his immediate left reminded him that he had an op to get to. He quickly set a dead man’s switch to his console, which would send a data packet to hidden terminals all across New York known to himself and a select precious few shortly before causing a chemical fire to engulf his cell if not the entire apartment in the event that his home was discovered by Signet operatives. His displays dimmed and he made his way to his closet to get dressed.

After throwing on some underwear, a pair of brown slacks and a white tee, Porter reached for a hidden compartment within the desk of his control terminal. He took out a grey mesh-like article and slipped it on his right forearm. It consisted of an array of impossibly thin wire wrapped into the shape of a glove-sleeve. The forearm portion held a nano-processors array in a carbon-fiber matrix. Just below the wrist on top of the radial artery was a smooth and flat node housing a holographic projector for a hard light interface operating on the time-tested technique of quantum superimpositioning. The pHOSTI, (portable Hard-light Operating System and Terminal Interface), was an invaluable tool and labor of love for Porter. It was also a mouthful to say, so he dubbed it the Terminal. It wasn’t the tech itself; arm terminals were quickly becoming a must have for the average middle class citizen. What made Porter’s Terminal unique its ability to direct link with the centralized Signet operating system. He held much more than the eyes of the city on his arm; with this interface, he had a finger on the electric pulse of an ever growing array of Signet infrastructure. Porter flexed his fingers as the mesh flashed with white current running through the fibers of his Terminal as it powered on. Status reports and diagnostics flashed in front of his eyes in a vivid orange holographic display, cast from a position to make it unreadable from any point of view except that of the user. Another flick of his wrist minimized the display.

Porter threw on a sweater vest and reached under the relatively tidy bed to retrieve an innocuous brown box. He removed the lid and took out a shoulder holster carrying a Network manufactured automatic pistol; a modified design emulating and improving the lightweight and low recoil MP9 design of the Heckler and Koch company, privatized by Securitas Defense Manufacturing over sixty years prior. After securing the automatic and a few clips of ammunition, Porter withdrew a small black cylinder from the box. He whipped it in the air and with a soft shink the telescopic baton locked into its full 26” length. When he slid his thumb down the side Porter could hear the rapid, tapping sound of electricity coursing along its length. He cut the power to the baton and forced the length of the baton back into its retracted position. It was a gift from a friend and he always regretted never thanking them.

Finally, Porter put on his dull tan duster, retrieved his spinach-green scarf, and collected brown baseball cap from a clothes rack hanging by the door way of his apartment. Unlike his fellow Network agents, Porter saw quite a few benefits to rooming in an apartment with Signet utilities. A flicker of light and a flurry of keystrokes on the holographic image on his Terminal immediately looped the hidden camera feed in the apartment hallway in front of Porter’s room. The door gave a short sharp squeak as Porter left the room, locking it behind him. With another flick of his wrist, the elevator at the end of the hallway opened just as Porter reached it. The elevator descended to the first floor without a single stop. Porter nodded to the attendant with a perky smile on the first floor reception desk, He pulled up her Signet employment profile while he waded through the cold spring air.

“Marceline Kovacs, 28, Receptionist,” he read as he absentmindedly weaved through the early morning rush.

“Income, $33,021 credits per year, Bisexual, recently purchased an apartment in Brooklyn with fiancé, Katrina Petrov, upscale painter who suffers from acute anxiety disorders, depression, and addiction to Mizchu peyote. Petrov was charged with possession of contraband and later convicted on Febuary 24th, 2165. She is serving 4 years in Muscgrove Penitentiary. Marceline is currently taking yoga classes offered by her supervisor, Nathaniel Chu and paid by Signet. Frequents Viva La Java, coffee store owned by husband of neutralized eco-rallyist and suspected Network sympathizer, Vivian Henders.” Porter ran the profile through his head while checking video feed of surveillance cameras tracking him through the bustling streets. Occasionally, Porter stopped to double back on his steps to both confuse potential trackers and to add stock video to Signet databases if he ever needed to set up false video trails for those particular cameras.

“Kovacs is less likely to be a Signet agent. She must be going through a lot. Should pick up a coffee for her at Viva La Java,” he said as he inserted stock footage of him entering a shuttle bus downtown into the last Signet security camera before reaching the NYC slums, where cameras were scarce and in poor condition. Porter tugged down his cap and pulled up his scarf. The eyes and ears of the street folk were the major intelligence network here, networks of back alley connections and shady deals. In the slums abandoned by Signet, a hacker had a much harder time cracking infrastructure technology if there weren't any in the first place. The few electronic systems which thrived in the underworld consisted of independent and decentralized control centers coded with ingenious security. The survival and persistence of these networks proved that necessity was the mother of invention when it came to Network telecoms and utility. But in spite of the challenge of hacking non-Signet regions of town, Porter's Network ties gave him some access to the underworld data networks. For a man like Porter, a crack was all you needed.

A small beep from his Terminal caught his attention as he hurried along the alleyway towards: an audio trigger from one of his Network bugs. Someone with very high security clearance just used his name. Porter set the audio to transmit to a location directly on his eardrums and he began to listen to the static laced voice of Felix Grelen.

(In the infancy quantum mechanical tech, many a headphone company derided the idea as lunacy; they were promptly bankrupted by the first reliable and non-fatal quantum entanglement auditory entertainment handhelds or “music players” as they were dubbed by the common folk).

“-and Porter Buchanan please all report to the comms room? Thank you,” chirped the leader of the Network. Porter stared down at his Terminal for a few moments and he sprang into a light jog down into the alley way entrance to the Derelicts.

“Shit. It’s already 7:40. I’m going to be late,” grumbled Porter. He stepped into the alleyway behind a decaying brick apartment building with no name and resisted the urge to simply hack open the entrance while he fumbled for a shoddy laminated ID of a goofily grinning “Theodore Battier.”

(Porter had been convinced that all high level personnel were required to smile in their Network pass IDs as a practical joke by a Network security technician. That technician later lost a good month recovering from a broken jaw as well as his Earth elemental girlfriend when she received a series of ethernet messages from her boyfriend asking a mysterious “Leah Battier” to “do that thing again with your tongue” next time the met. Porter was a man of restraint and if the man was just a guard or resource allocation he would have passed it off with a laugh. But by God, no techie was going to get the better of Porter Buchanan.)

Porter slid the aforementioned ID into the reader and entered the back door. He searched for the tile marking the hidden reader (“What was it? From the trash can three up and two across?”) and hastily swiped another ID card (“I swear I’ll never live that picture down”). The tile opened, revealing a ladder into the darkness. Porter clambered down the ladder to find two security guards eyeing him blearily. Porter yanked down his scarf and leaned forward for the retinal scan. As the thin red line swept a single green eye, Porter hazily remembered something about some new technology present at the today’s briefing for the rest of the ground team.

The ground team. Make no mistake, he was no cushy mission control hacker (there was a kick you just couldn't get from sitting behind a desk when you saw firsthand the flawless execution of an operation) and if Grelen put his trust in these men then so could he. But judging from the psychological reports and classified Network dossiers, they had their failings. When you boiled down all his talk of loyalty, Vasska was a hungry dog on a leash. All Felix had to do was point him in a direction and things would die. It brought Porter no small manner of relief that he was on the right side of the leash. de Tempestas was an unknown, but his previous encounters with air elementals all pointed to caution. Porter had the least qualms about working with Kiana. A battle medic with the smarts and determination to get the job done. But she lacked the social subtlety and judgement needed when fists and bullets were not the order of the day. Luckily, Grelen had enough of both to go around.

The doorway shifted aside and he entered the atrium. A few empty boxes lay strewn about with a wetness lying at their bottom. He forced himself to slow his pace despite being a full 17 minutes late. At the security measures outside the stairway leading to the Network Command Center, Porter scanned a teary left eye and swiped his IDs a total of five times.

“Porter Buchanan, Tango, Romeo, Alpha, One, Seven, Zero, Romeo,” said Porter. The door slid open with a slight hiss and Porter shuffled his way down the stairway and set his Terminal notification to admit only the triggers of highest importance. He crossed the threshold into the glowing Command Center with the meeting already in progress. Though he kept his expression neutral, a slight pinch at the brow indicated his annoyance.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone. Got stuck in foot traffic.” said Porter as he stiltedly grabbed a chair as his eyes flicked over the data pads. He placed a thumb on the pad to begin the data transfer from pad to Terminal.

Just as Vasska was bending over another crate he'd effortlessly cracked open, he felt the solid thunk of a boot on his spine. Vasska sighed. “Perhaps, if you were less talking and more listening, you would know where the ‘stupid chick’ was,” came the deadpan, though obviously tribal tones of one Kiana Shamshiri. Vasska did nothing. He could tell from her tone that she wasn't in the best of moods, so provoking her wouldn't end well for anyone. Instead, he continued tearing the lid off of the canister and allowed her to take her foot off of his back on her own terms, which didn't take long. Kiana continued.

“Bad news, Felix. The weapon dealer you found, ya? He is… pancaking. I do not think he will provide what he promised, the rat.” Vasska openly laughed as he stood up straight to his full height. "Maybe we should let you step on him next?" Vasska prodded. "You could squish 'em like those pancakes, eh?" Vasska laughed. "Although, with the patterns on yer boots, maybe they'll look more like a waffle, yeah?" Vasska teased.

"Really now? That's a shame. The make-shift guns we're getting from the wastes keep breaking. That guy had quality armaments. We'll discuss a solution at the meeting." Felix said, suppressing a chuckle. "All jokin' aside, that does suck pretty bad." Vasska offered, though it was more of a follow up to his jokes at Kiana's expense. "Just kiddin' 'bout the waffles babe, let's get going, yeah?" Vasska offered, another sharp, toothy smile splitting his face as he gestured to the door. "Ladies first," Vasska said, allowing Kiana to go in before him. Once she was through, Vasska waited for the security to reset itself before walking up to the door and sliding his card deftly into the appropriate slot. Next came the retinal scans, his eyes reflecting the light and creating an odd signature, one that was entirely Vasska's and would be incredibly difficult to duplicate. Finally, came the voice recognition. "Vasska Kresh," Vasska said, stepping up and putting his mouth right next to the microphone. "Seven, Foxtrot, Zulu, Eight... er... ah fuck it, just lemme in already, I damn forget every time, you bitches know that!" Vasska finished, just a little irritated. The light green light flashed, followed by a small ding as well as Vasska's name and picture showing up on the little screen. "Ha! Stupid fuckin' thing." Vasska concluded as he walked through the doorway into the comms room.

Inside, there was a staircase, which was illuminated to reveal a glowing room at the bottom. Vasska descended the stairs, and entered the room below. The room was a small, round room full of The Network's... everything. A circle of chairs and tables with data pads surrounded a silver holographic projection table. On the sides of the room were banks of terminals and screens lining the cracked cement walls. There was a chill from being so far underground, but Felix didn't mind. Vasska went over to his seat and flopped down almost lazily. Felix passed him some coffe which he quaffed instantly despite the blazing temperature. Vasska liked his coffee black and piping hot. As he sat, picking at his nails and waiting for the others to arrive he heard Felix speak into the intercom which would alert all required personnel. "Attention. Would Celero de Tempestas, Dr. Williamson and Dr. Theodore, and Porter Buchanan please all report to the comm room? Thank you." Felix hung up, and took his seat, waiting for everyone else to file in. The three of them, Kiana, Felix, and Vasska waited for a moment before the others began to file in, including one Porter, the nerd. "Sup techie," Vasska asked as he entered the room. To which he replied, “Sorry I’m late, everyone. Got stuck in foot traffic.” As he spoke, he stiltedly grabbed a chair and his eyes flicked over to the data pads. He placed a thumb on the pad to begin the data transfer from pad to his... arm thingy... the Terminal.

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“I am slain by knife of your wit, Vhasska,” Kiana replied dryly, nevertheless half-smiling and preceding him down the stairs to the meeting room. She’d never quite managed to master the conventional pronunciation of his name, as the hard ‘Va’ was particularly troubling to her native tongue, and so it was always a bit softer, with a semisilent ‘h’ thrown in there to make it comprehensible.

She reached the scanning terminal, thankfully quite well-calibrated to the differing inflections of her voice, and spoke, though only after leaning down slightly for the retinal scan and swiping her card again. “Kiana Shamshiri: Echo, three seven, Whiskey, Zulu, nine, two.” The door hissed open again, and while she could have just held it open for Vasska, she chose not to, because hearing him get frustrated with the machine amused her, and sure enough, there was yelling thereafter, followed by the door’s eventual surrender.

It wasn’t long before the others, including the group’s tech, Porter, who made his excuses for his lateness. Kiana simply shrugged; he was here before they started the meeting, so she wasn’t sure why that was considered late. She’d never really understood the need to run everything on minutes and seconds like people did in the cities. As long as you did things when you needed to do them, the utility of such devices was negligible. Still, it clearly served some function, so she showed up when it was asked of her and didn’t fuss about it. Granted, she didn’t really fuss about anything, so perhaps the point was irrelevant anyway.

The doctors filed in after that, taking their usual seats. Brooke Williamson and Silas Theodore were both in their mid-thirties, and were something of a joke around base for their tendency to bicker like an old married couple, despite the fact that neither of them had ever been married, and certainly not to one another. Still, they did good work, and she found no fault in having your eccentricities if you did. Perhaps that was why she’d never taken issue with the odd techie, Buchanan. Kiana had not been raised to understand machines, as there was very little use for them out in the Wilds, but she could appreciate that in order for the Network to succeed, they needed a few people who did. She’d gathered that the device on his arm was capable of a great deal, but frankly, she’d rather not carry anything on her person that was too delicate to hit someone in the face with.

Perhaps a hint as to why her cellular communication devices never managed to last more than a month or two. “So Felix, what is on the docks for today?” The word she was looking for was ‘docket,’ and she vaguely sensed that something was wrong with the idiom, since it made no sense to her. Still, lots of idioms in this language didn’t. There was more than one way to skin a cat? Of course there was; why point this out? Why skin cats at all?

City folk were strange.

The team began to file in, one by one, until all required personnel were in the room. Felix grinned, more of a friendly greeting than a genuine smile. "No worries, Porter. You're here, that's all that matters." He turned to his right-hand woman to answer her question. "I do believe you mean docket, love. And on that topic, allow me to get to the mission today." Felix turned to the bank of consoles behind him, and made a gesture with his fingers on the smooth, hard-light surface. A light blue holographic diagram of the Signet field agent building appeared on the holographic table in the center of the room. "Today, we will be breaking into this field agent building to tap a line of data that is kept off the main network. As such, we haven't been able to reach this line before now." Felix stepped up to his data pad, and dragged a figure on it's screen around. The diagram on the table morphed and moved to show an interior map.

In the 34th floor, little orange blocks were arranged on the transparent floor. "This is a block of servers holding data we do not currently have. It could be accounts for an online store, or it could be sensitive security details. Either way, I don't like information being withheld from us. As such, the doctors here have developed a program that will ease this issue." Felix gestured to the men, and Williamson got up. "Thank you, Mr. Grelen. As you can see, this server block is quite high up, and it will be very difficult to reach undetected. As such, Mr. Kresh, Ms. Shamshiri, Ms. de Tempestas and Mr. Buchanan, you will be infiltrating the building under the orders of Mr. Grelen. You will be given ID codes for your arm terminals, and will be testing this," Williamson motioned to Theodore, and he rose. "A holographic facial reconstruction device we call HIDE, or Holographic Disguise." Williamson stopped him short. "That isn't what we agreed on! We said it would be called the Incognito!" Williamson whispered loudly.

"Shut up! Just go with it!" Theordore retorted, before going back to the presentation. "You will be implemented with this collar and network of nodes that will replicate the face of the ID holder we give you. Hopefully, without many flaws. Once in, you are to place this beacon on the 34th floor servers." The scientist held out a small chip. "It will create an invisible bridge to our servers, which we hope will stay invisible. If it were discovered, we'd be in quite a mess." Felix stopped him short as well. "Thank you, you two. You may be seated. Now, I'm sure you get the gist. Porter, you will be going up to the servers, while Kiana, Vasska, Celero and I wait on standby in case you are discovered. In that case, you're authorized to do anything that won't blow up our image. Vasska, I'm looking at you." Felix finished with a grin. "So, any questions?"

Vasska snickered again as Kiana butchered another idiom. However, he allowed Felix to correct her. "I do believe you mean docket, love. And on that topic, allow me to get to the mission today." Felix said, and turned to the bank of consoles behind him. He made a gesture with his fingers on the smooth, hard-light surface and a light blue holographic diagram of the Signet field agent building appeared on the holographic table in the center of the room. As Felix prepped the visuals, Vasska leaned back, placing his feet up on the edge of the table, making sure he wasn't crushing or disturbing any important electronics. He gave off an air of confidence, like there was nothing in this mission that would surprise him and there was nothing he couldn't handle. His trademarked smirk was plastered on his face and he watched with a surprising attentiveness that belied a cold, calculated desire to watch Signet burn. "Today, we will be breaking into this field agent building to tap a line of data that is kept off the main network. As such, we haven't been able to reach this line before now." Felix stepped up to his datapad, and messed with something on the screen. The diagram on the table morphed and moved to show an interior map of the building complete with the power grid, ventilation, and pipes as well as all the doorways, windows, and facilities. Vasska had to admit, the building was built to withstand assault... from humans anyway.

Felix drew their attention to the 34th floor. On said floor, little orange blocks were arranged on the transparent floor in a small grid. "This is a block of servers holding data we do not currently have. It could be accounts for an online store, or it could be sensitive security details. Either way, I don't like information being withheld from us. As such, the doctors here have developed a program that will ease this issue." Felix said and gestured to the men in lab coats. At that, Williamson got up. "Thank you, Mr. Grelen. As you can see, this server block is quite high up, and it will be very difficult to reach undetected. As such, Mr. Kresh, Ms. Shamshiri, Ms. de Tempestas and Mr. Buchanan, you will be infiltrating the building under the orders of Mr. Grelen. You will be given ID codes for your arm terminals, and will be testing this," Williamson motioned to Theodore, the other lab coat sporting techie, and he rose. "A holographic facial reconstruction device we call HIDE, or Holographic Disguise." Williamson stopped him short. "That isn't what we agreed on! We said it would be called the Incognito!" Williamson whispered loudly. Vasska chuckled, a deep, grunting, growling sort of laugh. "Real neat, now will the pair of ya quit bickerin' like a married couple and make the presentation." Vasska chuckled. Those two were never getting along, and it entertained Vasska to no end. At least it was something to laugh about. You had to live off of small victories in this line of work.

"Shut up! Just go with it!" Theodore retorted, in a semi-hushed voice, before going back to the presentation, hoping to end the conversation before Vasska could make fun of him again. "You will be implemented with this collar and network of nodes that will replicate the face of the ID holder we give you. Hopefully, without many flaws. Once in, you are to place this beacon on the 34th floor servers." The scientist held out a small chip. "It will create an invisible 'bridge' to our servers, which we hope will stay invisible. If it were discovered, we'd be in quite a mess." Felix stopped him short as well. "Thank you, you two. You may be seated. Now, I'm sure you get the gist. Porter, you will be going up to the servers, while Kiana, Vasska, Celero and I wait on standby in case you are discovered. In that case, you're authorized to do anything that won't blow up our image. Vasska, I'm looking at you." Felix finished with a grin, which Vasska mimicked. "Aww come on bossman, that's no fun. It's been ages since I got inta any REAL trouble. That bit with those guards the other day, that doesn't count. It was over 'fore it started." Vasska chuckled, the thought of breaking some bones made him chuckle. "So, any questions?" Felix finished. Vasska spoke up, taking his feet off the table and addressing Felix. "So what would happen if say, our cover was blown? I ain't sayin' I'm lookin' forward to it, though crackin' some skulls could be fun. I'm just sayin' what if things go horribly wrong? You wan' me to make a distraction and get you guys out? If not, what AM I allowed ta do?" Vasska prodded, hoping for a good answer, though he had more pressing questions. "Further," Vasska continued. "What if our lil' bridge gives out or gets noticed? How do we service/reclaim that lil' sucker if we start gettin' into some heat?" Vasska asked. Though he was more prodding into a way he might be able to go postal on some unfortunate bloke, hopefully more than once, the other questions he was asking were surprisingly serious. Never let it be said that Vasska didn't take his work exceedingly seriously. He owed it to the old chief to see this through, and he'd be damned if some stupid ass thing let Signet take all the chips.

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“Download complete.” Porter glanced down at his Terminal and flicked the briefing into his “Current Assignments” folder. He returned his attention to Grelen, who delivered a practiced smile to the hacker. Porter scanned the comms room and examined the field team with a cold, deliberate eye.

Operative Vasska Kresh sat with a languid carelessness with an empty cup of coffee in front of him as he picked his fingernails. The white of his outer mandible gleamed in the Comm room’s blue lowlight. “’Sup techie,” he said, mandibles moving in time with his lips. Porter found the effect intensely unnerving and he recalled the operative’s dossier retrieved from his personal Network hacks. ’An animal in every sense of the word.’ He’s a bludgeon of a man. More power to the one who wields him. His body-elemental abilities synchronized well with his brutal efficiency in hand-to-hand. He currently held a federal bounty of somewhere around 350 million credits for murder, assault, terrorism, destruction of public property, and a variety of other charges which quickly began to bore Porter.

The hacker gave a quick nod to Kresh.

Beside the bludgeon sat Operative Kiana Shamshiri, codename “Stiches”, body elemental, who glanced over Porter with an inscrutable expression. She had a tawny complexion derived from one of the many tribal groups in the Wastes. Tautness wrapped her entire muscled physique. Her hair hung in black bangs which framed intense charcoal eyes. They’re a lot alike, you know. The same look in their eyes. But Shamshiri’s more…still. The soft blue light of the rooms managed to illuminate the curve of her robust Amazonian figure. Porter caught himself beginning to stare and he politely coughed as he checked her dossier. Surprisingly, she was marked as their medic instead of fire-arms support, which had been Porter’s first guess. It also seemed that she was a cage fighter. No surprise there.

He nodded to her as well.

In the corner sat the illusive Celero de Tempestas, code-named Cell, wind elemental who could induce a relaxed, almost hypnotic psychological state using her voice. Porter was about to reinspect her dossier when a voice interrupted him.

“No worries, Porter. You’re here, that’s all that matters,” said Felix Grelen with a practiced smile. The leader of the entire NYC Network was a tall man for a tall role, his eyes flashing a dangerous yellow-green behind his glasses. Porter didn’t need to pull a dossier on him. They had long ago come to an understanding of their working relationship.

With a swish and hiss of electronics, Dr. Brooke Williamson and Dr. Silas Theodore, Co-heads of the Technical Staff, bustled into the room. Judging by the bluster in Williamson’s face and Theodore’s thin lips drawn into a narrow line, the two had been arguing just moments before and were straining to remain professional. Both held countless degrees in the diverse fields of engineering and had an expertise in the mechanical which rivaled (and at times exceeded) Porter’s own. They provided the Network with invaluable equipment and tech that kept the Network alive. They also shared enough belligerent sexual tension to power the entire Brooklyn county for a good half of the year. They were also horrible at maintaining Network data security and Porter mercilessly exploited this fact to expropriate their designs and piggyback on their networking.

“So Felix, what is on the docks for today?” said Operative Shamishiri.

“I do believe you mean docket, love. And on that topic, allow me to get to the mission today,” said Grelen. Porter watched intently as activated the hard-light consoles in the Comms room. The Network had put an amazing amount of resources in adapting old power systems of the derelict subway systems to service their organization. The resourcefulness and ingenuity of Grelen’s predecessors still managed to awe Porter even after five years as an operative. A light blue holographic diagram of the Signet field agent building appeared on the holographic table in the center of the room. It was a remarkably plain building labeled only by the Signet logo rising high amongst the megatowers in upscale Manhattan. Porter pulled up some data on his Terminal which identified the building as the Signet New York Human Resources Building and little else.

"Today, we will be breaking into this field agent building to tap a line of data that is kept off the main network. As such, we haven't been able to reach this line before now,” continued Grelen. The display changed to give a floor plan for the 34th floor. Little orange blocks depicted a large server system. "This is a block of servers holding data we do not currently have. It could be accounts for an online store, or it could be sensitive security details. Either way, I don't like information being withheld from us. As such, the doctors here have developed a program that will ease this issue.” Porter allowed himself a twitch at the corner of his mouth. A man after my own heart.

"Thank you, Mr. Grelen,” said Dr. Willaimson as she rose to her feet. “As you can see, this server block is quite high up, and it will be very difficult to reach undetected. As such, Mr. Kresh, Ms. Shamshiri, Ms. de Tempestas and Mr. Buchanan, you will be infiltrating the building under the orders of Mr. Grelen. “You will be given ID codes for your arm terminals, and will be testing this.” Williamson motioned to Theodore, who withdrew a set of thin, metallic collars which was studded with holographic projection emitters. He went around the table, handing one to each of the field team. Porter was quite familiar with the prototype; he had in fact tracked its rocky development nearly a year ago when Williamson first keyed in her schematics into a Network terminal. Porter ran a gloved finger over the outer rim and quickly connected the device to his Terminal.

"A holographic facial reconstruction device we call HIDE, or Holographic Disg-."

"That isn't what we agreed on! We said it would be called the Incognito!" Williamson whispered loudly.

“Shut up! Just go with it!” spat Theodore.

(Porter would have suggested they just fuck already if recent maintenance records in the laboratories didn’t already confirm this occurrence.)

“Real neat, now will the pair of ya quit bickerin' like a married couple and make the presentation." Vasska chuckled
Porter weathered the rest of the presentation. He was well aware of the bug. Williamson and Theodore had reluctantly consulted with him in designing the data-bridge. To their credit, Porter had little to improve in their mechanical design beside correcting a few glaringly unnecessary elements which “looked cool” but were ultimately inefficient and energy consuming. Of course the two were too proud to mention it. And of course Porter had placed his personal access line in the bug.

"Thank you, you two. You may be seated. Now, I'm sure you get the gist. Porter, you will be going up to the servers, while Kiana, Vasska, Celero and I wait on standby in case you are discovered. In that case, you're authorized to do anything that won't blow up our image.” Grelen fixed the body-elemental with stern, fatherly disapproval. “Vasska, I'm looking at you.”

"Aww come on bossman, that's no fun. It's been ages since I got inta any REAL trouble. That bit with those guards the other day, that doesn't count. It was over 'fore it started."-said Vasska. Grelen ignored him.

“So any questions?” Vasska was the first to speak up.

"So what would happen if say, our cover was blown? I ain't sayin' I'm lookin' forward to it, though crackin' some skulls could be fun. I'm just sayin' what if things go horribly wrong? You wan' me to make a distraction and get you guys out? If not, what AM I allowed ta do?" Vasska prodded."Further," Vasska continued. "What if our lil' bridge gives out or gets noticed? How do we service and or reclaim that lil' sucker if we start gettin' into some heat?"

This stunning display of impatience, recklessness, and transparency once again reminded that Kresh was a viscious, psychopathic manchild. He would have been content to let Grelen handle the query. But sabotage, stealth, and tech was his expertise and perhaps Operative Kresh would do well to remember that. The hacker cleared his throat to save Grelen the trouble.

“Operative Kresh,” said Porter as he absentmindedly checked the surveillance video of the area surrounding the Human Resources Building and double-checked the team dossiers. He kept his tone flat and even but refused to give Vasska his full attention in a measured power move. “I am the one placing the bug. You will be doing guard duty. If my cover is blown, I will die. I do not intend to die. Your ‘distraction’ would cause unnecessary loss of life and fuel media backlash against the Network. Look up when you walk by Times Square, Operative. Signetwork calls us terrorists, anarchists, and psychopaths an average of eight times a minute. And the average New Yorker believes them.”

(Porter understood that all of this was technically true.)

“Instead-” Porter glanced at the Tempestas girl. “-I suggest Operative Cell should accompany me.” This seemed to get De Tempesta’s attention. “Her psycho-auditory based xenogene-derived manifestati-ah!” He had bit his tongue. Porter took this moment to cool his temper; throwing a tantrum wouldn’t help anyone. “We won’t need to punch someone when we can say please,” Porter simplified. “Less bodies that way.”

“I’ve connected the beacon to my terminal with an effective range of two miles. It can cause a short circuit in the chip if we blow our cover.” The hacker finally looked at Kresh. “If worst comes to worst and we’re discovered, then a diversion might be necessary and if anyone can make a big noise, it’s you.” He let a touch of grudging (and artificial) admiration color his voice, an unspoken apology for the tongue lashing earlier. “I’ve heard about your service record (read it personally). Never leave an operative behind (that wasn’t already dead). But this isn’t a battlefield. We’re on a stealth-intel mission, we have personnel IDs, and we have a working knowledge of the terrain. Unless Agent Whitehaven himself is going to be there, no one has to die today.”

Kidding, of course.

Porter collected himself; this was most he had said in a very long while. He wasn’t one to give speeches. That was Grelen’s job. The man must have been rubbing off on him. Whether that was good or bad, he couldn’t tell. “Back to the operation,” he said. “What IDs are we using for infiltration? We’re going to need matching uniforms for the disguises to work; I do no not think that Signet employees come to work wearing trenchcoats, baseball caps, and very short jeans. In addition, what’s our transport in and out as well as estimated drop off and pick up times?

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Selena had been about to clarify for Gabriel that all they were dealing with was genetic material and not actual live animals, but fortunately he seemed to figure that out on his own. It likely would have been a bit embarrassing for him if she’d had to say something that everyone else already knew. Actually, it was probably a bit embarrassing for him anyway. She fought off a sympathetic flinch, exercising her discretion and waiting for all the questions to make it into the air before addressing any of them. It would help prevent redundancy, in all likelihood.

Picking up a tablet from her desk, she flicked through a few screens until she had what she wanted. “Beta’s reports indicate that Gaia as an organization has a membership estimated at a couple hundred, but not all of those would be field operatives. As Mr. Whitehaven suggested—” there was a pointed look here directed at Atlas: business hours— “They would not likely utilize all of their resources for one operation, especially when that risks drawing attention. Unfortunately, the report is rather unclear about just how many are expected at the warehouse today, which means I’m going to put an educated guess at between three and six.”

She frowned at that; she was going to have words with Beta Team’s leader if the man didn’t sharpen his operatives a bit. At this rate, their shoddy work was putting her people in danger, and Selena Cross did not take very kindly to that. To date, they were the only squad without a proper fatality in the last ten years, and while some of that had nothing to do with her, there was no mistaking that she did everything she could for her team, even when she was stuck behind a desk instead of out in the field with them.

“As for the rest… Rachel’s a known Elemental. Mind, specifically geared towards puppetry, so that probably means it’ll end up a showdown at some point, Mr. Turinn. Use caution—she’s quite good. The data says that James Dwyer hasn’t displayed any Elemental powers, but if his sister has them, I’d exercise caution anyway. Since I don’t know who else they’re bringing, I can’t help you with that, but I’ll be tapping the cameras at the site, so if I recognize anyone, I’ll let you know. Van’s here in ten, gentlemen.”

That would give them time to grab any gear they thought necessary. For her part, Selena picked up the usual communications units—specially designed to fit over the ear without impeding hearing from the actual environment. The tactical vans contained a wide range of electronic equipment, but she took her tablet as well, since it contained all of her personal software and configurations. Better to be overprepared than underprepared, which was perhaps why she felt so personally offended by the Beta report. It wasn’t all that noticeable, but the slight tic in her left eyebrow and the way she compressed her lips into a thin line might have given it away.

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About half an hour later, she was passing out the comm devices, letting the team work out their strategy for themselves. Her job was just to fix it and tell people where to go if things went south. “Be careful out there,” she said, her tone quite far removed from the businesslike efficiency she usually infused it with. But then she brightened, and shot them all a half-smile. “Wouldn’t want to lose our spot as the Alpha Teaa, now would we, gentlemen?”

So saying, she pulled the back door of the van shut and settled herself in front of her consoles, which were now showing her a live feed of all the cameras set up around the warehouse. Well, except Camera 4. That was apparently out. Selena sighed and shook her head. No finesse at all. “Gale here,” she said into the communicator. “It looks like your targets have knocked out a camera on the southeast side of the building. There’s an entrance there, so they may already be inside.”

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New York City, 8:00 a.m.

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Well, this was pretty standard. Williamson and Theodore were at each others’ throats (she wasn’t sure why they were always like that, but they were. Did they really hate each other so much?), Vasska was wondering when he would get to be the blunt instrument with which things were hit, Porter was talking so fast he tripped over his own tongue. Felix, as usual, oversaw everything with the patience of a martyr, which was an idiom she did not understand, because didn’t martyrs usually die in the end? She did not desire that any of her comrades should die, especially not on a mission such as this.

She shook her head, though, at the mention of uniforms. “Unless we plan on infiltrating as, how you call, janitors, we won’t need uniforms. The average Signet operative wears a suit and tie to work, so as long as we all look a little bit different, we can pass with the credentials, yes?” It wasn’t really a question; Kiana had been with the Network long enough to know details of this nature. The point was just to not look any different from the rest of the people in the building.

“More of concern is this,” she said, pointing to Vasska, or more specifically, to his external skeleton parts. “This is very unusual, even for Elementals. And so is this,” she pointed to his hair, which was very blue. “Good for standing out, not for fitting in.” In an office that size, it would be expected that not everyone would know each other, so strangers wandering in would not be a major problem if they had the IDs, but you saw someone like Vasska once, and you remembered them. You would likely know if someone looking like him worked in your office building. It would be worse if anyone recognized his face from those wanted posters on which he figured in prominent detail.

“Suits we have in storage. But if he walks in there like that, the cat is out of the bag.” Perhaps surprisingly, she didn’t completely butcher that particular idiom.

Felix switched the display to some profiles of Signet employees as the questions began flowing. "Well, Vasska, I do believe Porter hit it on the head. If the bridge is detected, we have a two-day grace period to escape New York and move to a bug-out in Vancouver. Trust me, we could do it in that length of time. Regarding IDs, you will be taking the parts of a system technician, that would be Porter, and some pencil pushers, which would be the rest of us. We should all blend in rather well, as the device has nodes which will cover Vasska's little protrusion. It will be cloaked, however I wouldn't get to close to anyone. You may get noticed. We will be in and out, this should only take an hour tops. Transport will be a public bus under our control. Just look for Big Sal, big guy with a scruffy face and bad attitude. Alright, I think we're ready." Felix explained, taking breaths here and there. Grabbing his satchel, with a high-energy projectile pistol and the holo-gear, Felix shut the table down. "Let's move out."

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The group of seemingly Signet employees stopped outside the entrance to the Signet Field Offices building, Felix (or now known as Kieth Grandenson, a middle-aged man with dark hair and a disgruntled attitude) turned to his comrades. "Alright, remember, in and out. Don't loiter, and try not to speak to anyone. The heads-up display will feed you info about your ID holder, but not enough to last in conversation. Be on your guard." "Kieth" turned and entered the lobby, an extravagant room with high ceilings, modern paneling, chic decor, and many inhabitants. Everyone bustled about the floor, staying to the sides of the entryway, which was a marble walkway. In the corner, a lounge was placed, with a self-serve coffee droid, synthetic flowers, and holo-mags containing all the latest NYC gossip. The elevators sat at the back and sides of the room, although only the back would go up to the 34th floor. This was guarded by ID scanners, and security cameras. Secretaries worked at their desks, also proving to be a buffer between the team and the elevator.

Felix simply diverged to the coffee lounge, and sat at one of the faux leather couches. It was a shame that real leather, along with normal cows, disappeared some time ago. Deciding to forgo the coffee (it could short out the device), he picked up a holo-mag and began to flip through it. Celebrity gossip, make-up tips...ah, there it was. A report on the terrorist efforts of the Nefarious Network. Felix gave a disappointed sigh. Surely they could come up with better. A small, troubled looking man came by and sat next to him, "Hey Keith. I though you and the family were on vacation in Honolulu?" he asked. The device activated, and told Felix that this was Keith's co-worker, Thomas Arbuckle. "Yeah, we were. My mom got sick with the flu, though, and you know how bad that can be for old folks." Felix relayed, gleaning info from Porter's bugs placed all over New York. "Ah, wow, that is tough. Sorry to hear that. Is she alright?" Tom asked, to which Felix nodded. "Yep, she's doing well. Doctors say she'll be back home tomorrow." Tom grinned, and stood up. "Great. Well, see ya later, Keith. Got some paperwork to fill out for the DNA vault mission today." With that, Tom left.

DNA vault?...So that's what the mission was today. Felix pondered, and shot this info off to everyone through his arm terminal. They'd have to be ready if operatives came down. Afterwards, Felix went back on stand-by, reading all about how Jennifer Lopez the Sixth was getting along on that new reality show, "NYC Lyfe 4EVA". Programming these days.

Vasska smiled through "Operative" Porter's tirade. He realized his duties were not directly involved in the true aim of the mission, he was more concerned with the safety of his teammates. "Easy Techie,". Vasska said, addressing Porter directly and looking him square in the eyes. "No reason to get all riled up. I'm just looking out for the safety of my family because that's what ya are." Vasska said, making sure to make eye contact with every Network agent in the room. "Yes, I never leave a man behind. I'm damn proud of it. However, there ain't no place in our war on the Signet that ain't a battlefield. You'd do well to remember that." Vasska said solemnly. "I don't care how stealthy ya are, there will never be a moment where ya aren't fighting for something. I am by no means attempting to usurp yer position, I'm much better at punching things than saying please." Vasska chuckled. "I'll stick to my stuff, and you can stick to yers. I'm just saying, if you need me, I'm here." Vasska said, allowing a genuine smile, though still bestial and creepy, to slide through his usual facade.

Vasska sat back once more, and allowed the rest of the presentation, as well as the HIDE and ID explanations, to resume without any more of his own questions interrupting the flow of events, until Kiana addressed his appearance. Vasska sighed. "Come on babe, don't knock my regalia. It's my individuality you're insulting. You can't live your life blending into the norm. However, since stealth is a priority, I guess I can cover up. However, the second we're out, my bones are too." Vasska said with a smirk. At that, Vasska stuck his thumb in his mouth and blew hard, allowing his cheeks, as well as the rest of his body, to puff up and slide over his mandibles and other external bone parts. Once the bones had shrunk back into his body, Vasska took his thumb out of his mouth and blew out all the air. As he did, his body shrunk back down to its regular size, and immense density, and his bones were inside where they, "belonged". Once that was done, Vasska slid his hands through his hair and the blue dye, that his body naturally produced, appeared to bleach out from the roots and his hair returned to its natural brown. Finally, he wiped his eyes and their pigment vanished; his eyes returning to their original green instead of their normal icy blue. "Happy now?" Vasska smirked, his teeth no longer sharp. "I'm just as plain and boring as the rest of NYC." Vasska mock griped. His vocal chords adjusting to remove their regular growl halfway through his statement. Surprisingly his voice was even tempered and contained a gentle strength.

---

Vasska walked through the vaulted halls of the Signet corporation without the usual berth people gave him. He appeared to be a regular human without a shrug of uniqueness at all. His little device was feeding him info on the building's specs. What it was made out of, when it was constructed, blah, blah, blah. Vasska was getting some heads up on people too, but there was nothing too important. No one of any real importance attempted to talk to him, and the ones who did simply offered small talk. While Vasska struggled to maintain a regular pattern of speech, that didn't sound like the combination of a true New Yorker and a old school cowboy's vocal tics. After a while, Vasska, who didn't like being out in the open, managed to sneak into the employee lounge, where there weren't as many people. Further, Vasska's ID, Zane Hendricks, appeared to be both respected and left alone enough where Vasska's margin for error in conversation was minimal, allowing him to maintain a constant watch on his HUD feed. While he wasn't the most involved in the mission, Vasska didn't want to allow his attention to the mission chatter to slip.

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Call her old-fashioned (and really she was by comparison), but she had never liked the holographic disguises. The technology was just imperfect as all get-out, with a tendency to malfunction or even just waver slightly at the worst of times. Apparently, Vasska had a second layer of disguise, however. She hadn’t known he could do that, actually, and might have to look into expanding her own powers in that direction as well. Getting noticed was all well and good on their less-clandestine missions, but she could really use the ability to blend in a little more on occasions like this. Women didn’t usually come in six-foot-tall varieties, nor such dark ones in the city. All she had to make herself less obvious was a machine she didn’t trust much.

Maybe she could talk to Porter about putting his mind to work on improving the standard design sometime. If not him, perhaps one of the doctors would do it, but the Network used the disguise modules so infrequently, and not everyone shared her suspicion about them.

The briefing finished, and like the rest, she collected the illusion module and the information on the person she was impersonating—a man, actually, since even a hologram couldn’t make her shorter. One of those nondescript, middling-build guys that filled offices everywhere, probably. The attendant voice-alteration software was a little more reliable in her personal experience, though it was still weird to hear a light tenor where her husky alto usually registered. Jeffrey Leighton was her name. Well, his.

She entered the building separately from the others, and last. Leighton actually worked on the first floor, in the front offices. She could have smacked whomever had decided it was a good idea to make her into an PR monkey. That meant talking, and accent or no, Kiana’s way of speaking was rather distinctive. She’d just have to avoid it as much as possible. The Signet psych eval mentioned that Leighton was a bit dull when not in front of an audience, so she’d just have to assume that being taciturn wasn’t going to be an issue.

She nodded to a few of the other office employees on her way in, aware that her job was to maintain a clear exit in the event that one was needed. Elevators could be hacked and used to get everyone to the first floor in an emergency, but they’d still need to cross a very large lobby filled with people, many of them armed.

Settling into Leighton’s office, which had an ideal view of the goings-on in the lobby and also just outside the building, she started reading through his papers, figuring that at least, she could get an idea of what the Signet Public Relations spinning doctors were up to lately. Why were they rotating, anyway?

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New York City, 8:17 a.m.

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“Hard to say,” Selena replied to Gabriel’s question about possible exits strategies for the Gaia team. “Chances are good that they’d try to get out the same way they came in—minimize evidence, avoid needing to take out another camera. If you make a left now and move around the building about thirty degrees, there’s a service entrance you might be able to use to sneak up on them. Cameras there indicate that there’s nobody in the immediate proximity, but…”

She paused a moment, typing rapidly and bringing up all the other cameras in the building. Biting her lip, she thought it over for a moment. “Okay. There’s one person looking in your direction. I have visuals on at least five others, but these cameras have blind spots. I’d estimate you have between three and four extra.” That was a best guess, and all she had to go on were the building schematics and general observations about the body language of those present.

“All I can tell you about Ms. Dwyer is that she shows signs of psychopathy,” she replied to the request about a psychological report. It made her dangerous, but also easy to provoke, if that was what Mr. Turinn desired to do. There were also studies about higher frequencies of mental illness in psionic elementals, and that occasionally, those irregularities gave their powers strange properties, but the research was still new, and unconfirmed.

“Mr. Whitehaven, you’re headed in their direction, but if you take a straight shot from the southeast entrance, the only person who should get a visual on you is Dr. Fleche. I’m not sure how he’ll react, but given his present circumstances, he might be of some help.” Mostly in the “keeping quiet” area of things. The more of a drop they got on these operatives, the better.

Locating a third entrance, she sent Mr. Serafino towards that one, so he’d be able to flank the group and provide Atlas with some backup, hopefully enough to keep Ms. Dwyer unaware of the other psionic in the room. She was troubled, however, because there was just no telling how many of these other people were Elementals or humans of any kind, and not knowing was the worst position to be in. Isolating each of them, she took three-dimensional stills with the cameras and uploaded these to her systems for facial recognition scans, but the computers knew them no better than she did. Not good—Gaia must be gaining support, or they’d always had far more than suspected. And why were there so many people here, anyway? Logically, this operation should have been kept smaller. It was true that Rachel Dwyer was not always rational, but her brother was quite linear in his thinking from the information she had, so he should have stopped anything incredibly peculiar before it started.

Presently, the majority of the group was clustered around the large mainframe computer console. Dr. Fleche stood off to one side, facing the way he’d come in. Against his temple rested a cold steel barrel, attached to a gun held by a man her systems didn’t recognize. A woman, not Dwyer, appeared to be handling the computer, assisted by James, the brother. A few more looked at the screens, apparently searching for something in particular. The rest were scattered, including she suspected a few in camera blind spots, either poking through the room, which contained mostly cryo tubes and crates holding both digital and analogue data, or watching warily for intruders.

They had to be looking for something in particular. It was the only thing that explained the intent with which they searched the computer. Even Dr. Fleche wouldn’t know where everything was just by memory—the Ark was huge, and ran several floors underground as well. On a hunch, Selena logged into the systems via a remote signal—something that perhaps an intelligence analyst should not have the credentials to do. But her “other” credentials were the ones she used, and after a few backtraces and traps, she pulled up on her own screen what the ecoterrorists were looking at.

“Now… what do you want?” she murmured thoughtfully.

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"Connecting Life"

Five huge telescreens sizzled these words into every eye that paid a passing glance as it hung from a mechanical stalk in the middle of the main lobby of the Signet Field Office. A long digital ticker tape trilled across the entire length of the main lobby noting the rise and fall of stock. A sea of white shirts, ties, and black slacks hurried churned underneath the display set. Some ascended the nearby escalators into the overlooking first floor offices. Others stopped for a cup of caffeinated motivation at the coffee machines by the rather spacious employee lounge. An information and help desk strictly maintained by a diligent crew directed any and all queries to unreachable forms of higher management. Each and everyone of these busybodies scurried to send reports and file data in the bureaucratic marvel that was Signet. Operative Celero de Tempestas pushed her way through the crowd. disguised as the perky but inexperienced secretary, Sasha Connaway. Operative Porter Buchanan flicked through his terminal display, disguised as the easygoing and slackerish Service Technician James Federov. With one look, the two made their way to the very back of the lobby where two helmeted Securitas guards stood for id checks.

Nothing, thought Porter as he attempted to uplink his Terminal to a nearby camera; the machine remained unresponsive. Knew it. All this tech is off the main grid. Could manually hack them given 150, no 138 seconds, but then I risk detection and counter-hacking. Not worth the time. He walked up to the guards and flashed his identification in tandem with Celero, earning a dismissive grunt from the guards as they waved them through to a glass elevator giving a choked view of the New York skyline in the shadow of the Spire and other scrapers surrounding it. They entered the elevator alone and without incident. Porter waved a hand over the holo-display to select the 34th floor. The Network operatives watched the street fall away as they rose higher and higher.

"First day on the job?" spoke Porter, words chosen with care. A microphone bug in the elvator was practically guaranteed and he had no intention of revealing his identiy in a glass cage in Signet Field Offices. He watched Celero shift nervously, the disguise holograms mimicking her queasy look.

"Yeah," she said. Her eyes wandered aimlessly avoiding Porter entirely.

"Don't panic." An uneasy silence filled the elevator. Eventually the elevator pinged to a stop and they emerged onto the 34th floor. It was a simple corridor, with a trio of guards manning a checkpoint by the servers. "ID's please," asked one of them, a young looking woman no older than 25 with a severe overbite. Once again, Porter and Celero flashed their ID's. The security officer peered at the cards and at the two of them. The security guard fixed Celero with a bored stare and she jerked her head to Porter.

"The hell're you with him? Yer Carson Mikado's bitch right? Mr. Carson's office down that way?" Celero froze as the Network operative she slowly worked her mouth.

"Well uh..." Immediately the poorly shaven guard behind Securitas Overbite nudged his dentally inferior friend. "Fuck off Sellie. Stop messing with her. Mr. Mikado is right by the servers down the hall," he managed with a grin. Overbite scowled at Shaves and muttered something about "first day pranks" as Porter and Celero walked down the hall until the guards were out of sight. They stopped at the server room enterance, a pair of opaque glass doors Celero nodded to Porter and stood by the entrance to keep watch and wave off any potential genuine service staff. Porter checked his watch. 8:40. Excellent. No one should be inside. He entered the room and stood in front a central control hub, the gentle hum of electricity marked the passage of zettabytes of information flowing through hundreds thin, liquid cooled towers. Porter reached into his pocket to peel back the sticky portion of the Network bug so that it stuck to his index finger. He brushed a single gloved hand ran over an interface port. The bug disappeared into the mainframe. Porter brought up the display on his Terminal.

It took 4 seconds in total for Porter Buchanan to establish uncontested control of every piece of Signet tech within a three block radius of the Signet Field Office. It took a second to de-encrypt the entire Signet anti-hacking system, another lazy iteration of the defense runtimes guarding mainframe Signet datastructres. Another two seconds and he received a confirmation signal from a number of Network techs on standby confirmed that Network hackers had their grubby little fingers on the information. One second later, his personal expropriation code gave him administrator access to every piece of tech, from the cameras all the way down to the coffee droids.

Porter gave a wan smile.

He flexed his fingers and keyed in a command.

---

The digital ticker tape flickered once. A pencil pusher looked up with tired exasperation; the ancient thing had just been fixed as he wordlessly keyed in a report to maintenance.

(This report reached maintenance a few hours later unmodified. It could have put the entire Network in jeopardy, losing many of its operatives in the protracted investigation and eventual discovery by Signet analysts. This mundane maintenance report held the Network's very existence in the balance. Maintenance took one look at the header and deleted it without hesitation.)

The ticker tape froze in front of a certain Keith Grandenson. For few seconds the words "Expropriation complete" flickered in front of him. The ticker tape then resumed normal operation.

Felix looked up as the ticker changed in front of him, revealing that Porter and Celero had succeeded. Standing up, he whispered into his comm. "Mission success. Everyone get out of here-"...the sentence was ended with a slight oof. Felix looked up to see that he hand ran into someone, a burly security guard. "Hey, watch it!" He said, but stopped when he saw that Keith's face was...flickering. The HIDE was now disturbed, and was giving out to reveal Felix underneath. "Security, we've got a live one!" The guard uttered into his radio, but Felix simply turned the HIDE off and looked at him. The Network leader simply raised one hand and said one command.

"Down, boy." Felix ordered before using his Elemental power to bring a section of ceiling down on the guard, causing a chair from the floor above to drop on him and knock him out cold. "They found me, get ready for some fun, boys and girls." He advised, but he knew they should escape. A black van rolled in front and released four more guards, in addition to the three in front of Felix. They came from the back of the office. The workers were all cowering under desks and praying that the terrorist didn't kill them.

Felix picked the chair up off the downed guard, and set it down. He then took a seat. "You're under arrest! Get on your knees!" One guard ordered. "Oh, come now. Do you seriously think I'd get these nice pants dirty? I'd much rather sit here." Felix rose his hands, and his seat began to float. It was a little strenuous, but in the moment of fear the guards had, Felix had enough time to coalesce a little psionic energy in his palm. Felix wasted no time, and sent this little bullet straight into the heart of the biggest guard, knocking him down. "Fire!" The other ordered, and like some bad fantasy vid, Felix soared through the air using the last bit of energy he had.

He landed behind the desks, where bullets began firing. Thankfully, the desks were lined with metal, in case of armed robbery, so the workers could take shelter. Felix's head pounded, the small act of forcing the psionic energy draining him for a moment. "Could you guys shut them up? My head needs a second to recuperate." Felix asked the entirety of his team.

An uncharacteristically fiendish grin slid it's way across Zane Hendricks's face. An unwitting co-worker tilted his head in confusion. "Umm... Mr. Hendricks..." The dim-witted moron stuttered, completely unaware as to his own immediate danger. Zane stood, hands slamming down on the table; a spider's web of cracks danced to life, skittering across the tabletop. "Hear that? No more playing nice. Bossman's given the all clear. Gimme two seconds, I'll have every guard in this place focused on something much more... pressing." Zane spoke, though apparently to no one. When the increasingly dull office worker stepped close to "Zane", shortening his life span astronomically, Vasska's animal instincts took over. Zane Hendricks roared, a mighty bellow shaking the lounge in which he stood. His maw seemed to stretch unnaturally, as if some sort of beast lay hidden underneath the office worker's skin. As the foolish man, who was now far too close for Vasska's comfort, tried to run, the smell of sweat and fear clinging to him like a thick coat, Vasska swatted at him. The back of "Zane's" hand caught him under the chin and sent him rocketing through the air and out the nearest third story window. Several other office workers tried to detain the seemingly crazy and berserking "Zane", but they met similar fates. One hung from the ceiling tiles, his shoulders and down were all that was visible. He appeared quite stuck. Another was sent through several cubicles. He didn't get up. Another still was shoved into a garbage can and mercilessly kicked down a long hallway that ended in several flights of stairs. Soon, every guard on the premises was headed to "Zane's" location. Vasska made sure that he was even more of a menace than Felix could ever be. There was no way that Felix was getting left behind, not if Vasska had something to say about it.

Vasska took this lovely opportunity to smash as many important looking computers and devices as he could, making his way down to the main lobby where he had more exits and his opponents had less room to contain him. While he rampaged, Vasska didn't focus too much on making his attacks stronger or faster, instead, he was growing tired of the horrendous itching that the HIDE collar was causing. So, doing the only thing he knew how, Vasska, "filled in" the mold created by the HIDE's display, allowing his face to naturally form an accurate likeness of Zane Hendricks. Only close relatives, extremely close, or attentive co-workers, and spouses would be capable of noticing the minute details Vasska missed. Though he was a beast, in every sense of the word, Vasska was no idiot. He knew the hide could die at any moment, and that keeping it in one piece was a priority, so as he ran to the lobby, causing as much mayhem as he could, Vasska removed the HIDE and hid it in one of his jacket pockets. Finally, that taken care of, Vasska took the final turn and found himself down in the lobby where he'd walked in that morning. He had no knowledge or memory of the place's layout and how it was organized, structurally or otherwise, Vasska was just following his nose. When he reached the main lobby, Vasska roared once again, stretching his vocal chords, expanding his lungs, and allowing a massively loud bellow to echo throughout the building. People didn't know what was happening, but their instincts told them all they needed to know. There was something strange about Zane Hendricks. It was a primal feeling, something they couldn't explain. All they could recognize was that he was dangerous. The prey viewed their predator with eyes full of fear. People froze in their tracks simply hoping, praying, that "Zane" would let them be. The fear coated their bodies like sweat, dripping to the floor and filling the room with its stench. I was an instinctive fear.

Soon, black shirted, muscle bound men stormed the room. They weren't professional hitmen, they weren't even armed. They were most likely bouncers. Rent-a-cops armed only with their fists and with the intimidation such measly weapons provided. Vasska smirked. It was like Signet was just sending sacrificial lambs to him now. "Think you boys can wear me out?" Vasska taunted, it was oddly sickening coming out of "Zane's" mouth. "You won't even be enough to make me sweat." The predator challenged, stepping forward and causing the herd of worthless men to flinch backward instinctively. Vasska cracked his knuckles. "Who's first?" He asked, a wicked grin on his face. What was about to happen next could only be described as the single biggest kerfuffle in military/police policy in dealing with powerful rogue elementals.