Welcome to Europa, the neon city of the future, host to our neo-noir adventure; blurring the lines between good and evil, right and wrong. Ideas that are what you make it in a world where ideas are dangerous with revenge, paranoia and alienation recurring, dominant images.
The end of Industrialization and shift in product demographic have lead to a clear divide between rich and poor, like never before seen in history, visible in almost all aspects of modern living, unavoidable. Advances in the fields of medical science and technology over the last two centuries have increased lifespans and seen a reduction in mortality rates. World population has more than doubled and rising, little land mass is left unpaved, adding to the vast mega-metropolis' that make up the core of 'countries' governed by private mega-corporations having left behind traditional politics a shift that gradually made itself prominent with the world going in a more service-based direction.
Almost but entirely wiping out sense of national identity outside of a few small pockets. The breakdown and reformation of social order as known in the 21st century juxtaposed with the advanced technological and scientific achievements that have propelled mankind into a new high tech age. The neo-futurism movements of old from literature, film and art inspired much of the world we see today's high value on art and architecture, a departure from post-modernism adhering to the idealistic belief of a better future through a need to periodize modern rapport with technological advancement taking precedent.

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The rain.

The West districts always had the worst part of the storms, especially district sixteen.

It's where Adrian was, in the J.Russo Saviour Hospital where Maggie resided. He stood over his older sister, the woman in her thirties with dark brown and blue eyes laid in her hospital bed. A hospital gown covered her as she laid under the covers of the bed, the machines beeping and clicking as it monitored her vitals. She breathed slowly as her eyes were closed, her body in a deep sleep while her pale cold skin resonated the idea that she was sick. What the disease called again? It was named after someone in the old twenty-second - Meaford's disease named after The Agency CEO who first got it. The disease that turned skin into metal, a rare disease gained from cybernetics and Maggie was one of the "lucky" few to get it. There was hope, especially with the turn of the twenty-third, technology just seemed to get better by the minute - wasen't that the reason Maggie got in the first place? No matter, the treatment there was treatment but it's expensive, experimental in nature. In Europa, every choice is a russian roulette so pull the damn trigger and stop being a pussy about it. So Adrian did, that's why she's in various experimental studies.

Things seemed to get better, for Maggie atleast there was a chance of recovery for her. It could be reversed, but she'd need to be nursed and cared for the rest of her life. Nothing was ever perfect, there was always a possibility of her being completely fine like the rare 0.01% of Meaford survivors experience but luck never rubbed off well on the Steele family. Adrian reached down for Maggies cheek, he stroked her soft face only to feel the build up of metal and cybernetics growing under her face. He shuddered, retracting his hand in disgust how could this happen to Maggie? Why his family. While his mind raced with thoughts, he coulden't help but smile. Maggie looked so peaceful, it wasen't on purpose though as she is in a medically induced coma. Waking up, with what she has? It would be too painful, she might die from it. If she continues to stay asleep, she'll die. You can only be in a coma for so long, the doctor or - a nurse had said.

Adrian walked out the hosptial ward, the hallways were packed with doctors, medical staff and injured people. Something had happended, various news mega corps spit out stories of horrendous 17DEM terrorists raping and murdering people in different district. While pirate radio told a different story through his ear buds, one thing was for certain the districts were blazing with firefights. People would die, alot of people would die once Eurocorp sent in the death squads. There was people to save, those who were wanted alive. Adrian could atleast spare some lucky criminals from the squads, who's to say they wont merk 'em when he hands them off to the corp? No one knows, and it's not Adrian's concern if they do after that. Anything is better than being on the streets, and that's something everyone knows.

Adrian made his way to the reception of the hospital, the armed security returned his gear to him. Obviously, you can't walk around a hospial armed - for safety reasons. He took his Cobray and gravity knife, he then felt in his pockets for his buckshot before making his way to the DTS (district transit system). The sprawling mega-line touched most of Europa, while some lines were under repairs due to recent 17DEM bombings. He stepped onto one of the dozen district transit subways and sat down in the packed car. The damn thing almost threw everyone onto the floor as it flew out of the station.

Where was Adrian headed? Where the rally was, of course.

The epicentre of a toxic lake always has the best pool of fish to grab.

Natalia stretched her limbs as she went around her apartment flat. Beige walls surrounded her, decorated with many obscure paintings. These were the ones made by the homeless men out there. Or well, she didn't know if they were just selling it for someone but they were on the streets so she felt the want to buy from them. They looked nice anyway. The sofa faced the currently closed TV with a table in the middle which held some small decorations. There were more rooms but they were of no real interest aside from the kitchen.

Compared to before, this was modest living. With her parents' fortune and her own earnings back at JPN-22, she lived like a King. Though, she got used to this kind of living. It was fun and interesting. There was never a dull day with her mercenary jobs. She opened her radio and then her TV before sinking onto the sofa. The news anchorman began going on about 17DEM's armed resistance and how it killed innocent civilians in a rally. However, the pirate radio station The Locker, one of her personal favorites, said it the other way. However, it was obvious that people were getting hurt because of the two factions - either or, there are people in danger.

But the red haired female didn't really care. Why would she? It wasn't like she was getting anything from those civilians. It wasn't her job to help them. She took hold of her remote when that phone rang. One. Two. Silence followed. With a sigh, she stood up and headed to the room on the farthest right. She opened the door and then opened a wardrobe. She placed her hand on the wall - a hidden scanner - and it flipped to reveal her armor. She swiftly put everything on before finalizing with the mask. Honestly, she looked like a guy in this get up. Good enough for her. She then collected her weaponry.

Natalia opened a window and then stepped outside, to the fire escape route. She closed the window discreetly before grabbing hold of the ladder and sliding all the way down. Dusting herself off after she landed, she stuck to the shadows and headed to a hidden payphone in a back alley. She looked at the phone before dialing it on the payphone. It rang thrice before someone picked up.

"Robin Hood?"

"That's me." Her voice became distorted, sounding more like a young man. "What do you need happening?" Somewhere down the road, she expanded to doing mercenary work. That was fine with her as well. After all, she was still earning money. She leaned on the wall next to her as the client spoke.

"You might have heard of the happenings in DST-07." Who hasn't? She wanted to reply but simply kept her mouth shut to let the client to continue speaking. "Now in one of the sub districts on lockdown, there are some VIPs for our organization in there. It's dangerous, since the government's responding with force. I want you to help them to get out." The line went quiet as he waited for her response. A breakout huh? Should be easy enough by using the rally as cover. In fact, the police force would be stretched too thin to notice a few slipping away. She opened the map in her phone and looked at DST-07's general layout.

"Where are these VIPs located? Just tell me what sub district." She replied and the man happily relayed to her their positions. She marked them on the map. "And my payment?" This was the important part of the deal after all. It would be a no go if they expected her to do it without any sort of payment. What? Did they think they were that lucky?

"Of course. We'll drop it off at any location. Just send it to us." He replied. Satisfied, Natalia agreed to the terms and hung up. It didn't take very long so only a few would have been able to trace that. If they did, well, all the more fun. She'd have a challenge on her hands. She headed over to the garage and then grabbed a motorcycle. It wasn't hers. It was a friend's. But she had the keys... heh. She started the engine before launching off into the streets with her destination at DST-07. This would be fun. Aw, she could have used this opportunity to steal something. Again, with the police force stretched thin because of these riots, she could use that confusion to her advantage and take things she wanted.

But not now, she was on a job after all.

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At the bar a lonesome man was seated, glass in hand, awkwardly spinning the drink inside of it around, whirling it like a drainage pipe whirling rain water. Before the drink could spill over the edge, he stopped swirling it, and slammed it down. The drink went straight down his throat, the burning after-sensation being nothing to an experienced drinker like this. The Rowdy Wrangler, this place was called. A shitty drug-den, but it was his shitty drug-den. A grimace crept up on the man's lips, as he thought about that. Mhm, yes, well, that's just what he told himself. My shitty drug den. The place was a notorious hangout for some of the more seedy characters in Europa, and although the club had a unique vibe, there were hundreds if not thousands of places like this one.

Coincidentally, the Rowdy Wrangler was also a known hangout for bounty hunters and mercenaries that were.. a bit more uncaring as to what job they did. Pavlov was one of them.

The door behind them opened up, and a group of five stepped in. Heads turned, assuming the people to just be a set of regulars. But the heads remained turned and, slightly confused about what they were looking at, Pavlov turned too. At the door stood four armored and armed men, bearing the official Eurocorp EDF emblems on their sleeves. The fifth and final member was one dressed in corporate garb, not military. He held out a holographical interface, this time not with the EDF emblem but with that of the Eurocorp headquarters, proving their official warranting of the following message.

“Eurocorp is hiring,” the man stated loudly, his voice emboldened by the microphone augmentation in his cheek. It overpowered even the music and, almost directly when he started speaking, the music cut out, causing the DJ to raise his hands in anger. It seemed the EDF was jamming the signal of the music temporarily. “And you're joining. We're offering a premium bounty of 500 credits for every 17DEM head you take, and 250 credits for every 17DEM civilian sympathizer. Eurocorp requested deathsquads, you're supplying. Come see me at the table over there if you're interested.” The soldiers raised their guns into a standby position as they looked around the place, before following the corporate crier to a nearby table, setting it up and clearing out the trash that was sitting on it by simply shoving it aside, onto the floor. Not like anyone was gonna complain - the place was filthy as it was, but besides that, Eurocorp didn't give a shit about places like these.

Immediately, the veteran mercenary teamleaders moved to take the job. They had entire teams, meaning that for every 3 men you could supply under one name, you got an extra raise on the premium. Some groups, as big as ten, would make big money on these 17DEM punks. Pavlov was not one of them - but 500 credits per head was a good bounty for 17DEM guys. The 250 credits for sympathizers was how you earned the rest of your monthly rent - sympathizers would mean anyone that was in the area that didn't have a gun. So.. basically, civilians. But they'd never say it like that.

Pavlov got up from his seat and headed to the table as well, to sign up for the death squads. He simply stood in line until it was his turn, then answered the questions that were barked at him. “Name?”

“Pavlov Akilov.”

“Pavlov.. Akilov.. Russian name. You Korporat affiliated?”

“Ex-Korporat operator.”

“That's not what I asked. Are you Korporat affiliated? A spy, saboteur, etcetera?”

“.. no.”

The recruiter looked up momentarily and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I figured. That question is just standard procedure. Legal liabilities and stuff. Ex-operator you said, so I'll just write that down as experience. You got your own weapons, ammunition and armor?”

“I've got this,” Pavlov said as he padded onto the holster that hold his Katie, the sub-machine pistol. “I've got enough ammunition for a few trips. I've also got T-2 armor.”

“Cyclops, biclops, or standard visor?”

“Cyclops.”

“Alright. I've filled it in, this is your risk assessment and the additional sign-up fee you're being granted. You're considered a high-risk hire because you only have a pistol, since the Katie is legally classified as a pistol no matter how much it acts like a chainsaw. Your armor is good, but it doesn't cover the chest well enough to account for Eurocorp standards. According to these calculations, you're going to get a 250 credit signup bonus.”

“Fine,” Pavlov answered, and he was about to turn away and get ready. The man spoke up again, though, forcing him to stop and listen.

“I'm patching your augmentation into our comms system. You'll be listen-only-no-speak for the first bit, until you're automatically placed into a squad. Listen carefully for where you're supposed to go.”

With that done, Pavlov was finally allowed to leave, exiting the shady bar and heading for his apartment where his shit was stored. The place was messy, as usual, which Pavlov was kinda used to at this point. The armor stood on a rack in the corner, so he promptly put that on while listening to the mercenary broadcasts. “First fly-out is at 12.05, any latecomers will be penalized 500 credits from their accounts...” The suit fit him perfectly, and he briefly tested the visor, seeing if the HUD was tracking his eyes. The red circle on his visor tracked his eye movements precisely, so it was all a-okay. He pulled his gloves on tighter, and reached into a satchel next to the armor stand, grabbing a set of ten magazines for the Katie. Good thing it was lightweight, so he could carry plenty of mags for it. He put them all into their respective place, before heading out again. Strangely enough, it never seemed to be the case that people stood out when wearing armor in public. It was.. simply fact of life.

---

“You, you, you! Move to the other VTOL!” A man with an EDF patch on his shirt guided people into the right vehicles, giant vertical-take-off-and-landing things that could take you just about everywhere. They flew over Europa often, but Pavlov never had the experience of sitting in one of the Eurocorp models himself. Until now, he'd only flown in Korporat ones, which were arguably a lot less.. comfortable.

He loaded into one of the VTOL's, with at least seven other guys, all mercs, before they were automatically assigned to their team. The comms beeped momentarily, alerting the users to the channel switch. “Beep, beep. Channel 4 Zulu-Romeo-Romeo-Alpha. Channel privileges now set to: read, write, listen, speak. Enjoy your flight, and Eurocorp thanks you for your services.” The mercenaries all looked at each other, giving a firm nod before the heavy blast of the VTOL's engines roared out and sent them into the air off of the platform. Pavlov saw the ground slowly disappear under him, before it started speeding up and they were moving towards the 7th district.

Bare human arms flexed and bent, next to propped knees, spread and drawn with a body balancing on his toes as opposed to the flats of his feet. The subtext of the mechanical exercise quivered a blue dim light exuding from his goggles, strapped ominously around his head. The lenses flickered and disfigured with screens rearranging themselves for precision and accuracy as codes trickled information together. Analyzations and quickly stored researches scanned and re-routed program fixes for the limp creation in front of the male and his work.

Slinking in the air with a constant pace above them, the beaten and outdated ceiling fan spun its blades carelessly in a jagged circle, causing a repetitive crook to pulse the silence of tinkering thoughts and petty calculation in his living area. The scraping blades casted repetitive, moving shadows in the dull, morning view as invisible specks of dust, caught like small gnats, stirred in the motion and floated weightlessly under the shabby, hesitantly vibrating light, cascading over Bass and his work. They had nested themselves in the middle of his one-roomed apartment, pushing aside his nubbed mattress, now pressed against the paint peeling walls of the apartment. Dirty laundry had been shoved into the dented and cobbed corners of the place. The upkept mess was completed with a rusted sink and its occasional, abnormal drip.

It had been almost two weeks since she moved into the apartment with him, now, and he had yet to make the transition of trash to treasure with this newest member. She was a decent scrap that was found in the city’s large dump and currently attempting to become Bass’ personal favorite, aside from his babies, his fabulous goggles. He could never cheat on them, replace them. They had a very special spot and place in his mind, and she’d be a stupid cunt to think otherwise. She did have a running chance against his web crawling, Konchu, though. As much as he adored his suicidal Konchu, she appeared to have a completely different take on, ‘Till death do us part.’ She was also only capable of doing so much. With this new girl, on the other hand, he was starting to put a lot more effort into her than he originally had planned, and his efforts were already beginning to pay...

Electronic muscles on the gray radio began fidgeting and murmuring. Any second, now. A quick needle threaded a thin, faint line of white noise through the small, humid apartment, momentarily diffusing the weight of the atmosphere and causing Bass’ long, toying fingers that were tracing the outline of robotic flesh, to pause in their arthropodic rhythm and to web as his palms smoothingly over the machinery when he shifted his attention to the charismatic snark of The Locker’s personality who was parroting the news of EuroCorp’s shitfest. Right on time. It was the usual anti-propaganda squabble, but generally pleasant to hear, especially, this time around the clocks.

To help you relax, here's a new tune from Palmer's Medic to mellow out to.

Static simmered through the shoddy radio when The Locker shifted its entertainment method. Electronic music waves washed discreet tranquilization through the apartment, masking the broken sound of the ceiling fan’s motor fighting for significance.

“Tsss,” the tip of Bass’ tongue pressed mockingly against the back of his teeth, feeling the uneven nature, before his lips slowly parted and widened themselves into a peculiarly indulgent grin, “Who needs motives?” A scoff jovially squeezed in his chest. He was frustrated, but it was rude to show such negative emotions when introducing himself to new gadgets. It was just not polite by any means. And, of course, the newest addition to his family, although, not quite his taste and having already been with him for several weeks, was a dainty thing. Her outward appearance was easily tarnished. It was obvious by the look of her, and she did owe him, now. If she had been left in the dump any longer, she might as well have been left unrepairable, which, of course, would have been such a damn shame; her inner workings were so new and intricate. It was as if they had never been touched.

But, upon further investigation, the reason they had never been fucking touched was because they were so goddamn complicated. He was making progress, though, especially with the recent acquisitions of learning tools. She appeared to be some mid-range priced cyborg who failed to gain any popularity on the market due to needless wiring and costly upkeep. She wasn't even close to being a good investment. It should have been obvious to the manufacturer. Bass was tossing around the idea that she was a failure for a reason. EuroCorp's stealth was notoriously clumsy when trying to bury their skeletons where nobody could find them. The Locker was proof.

“Maybe, you, hmm?” His smile shrank into something more pleasant at the prospect of his question. He nudged her leg, thrusting and observing it sideways. She could blink smoothly, now. Her chest could even press inaudible flushes of breath like humans but only when in resting position. Her mouth was still cranky, but the material used for her lips made a nice accent on her features. She should have been made as a low-range cyborg. She had a decent outward design, but it wasn’t exactly high-end or ultra-chic. The inner-workings didn't connect well, either, and it was the internal engineering parts that evidently pushed up her price.

His fingers, balancing thin silver tools, crawled into her thigh. Her mobility was a bit of a nuisance. Her previous owner had managed to destroy her lower half, which was a shame because Bass really hauled her for mobility’s sake. He really couldn’t be mad at her nor her owner, though. Her moderate appearance seemed more timeserving; she wasn’t unappealing if her wear said anything; and her wiring, if properly altered, would make her quite the commodity. She was already paying her debt and managing to give Bass a good mental workout despite any of her annoying tendencies. She was actually pretty close to being a cheap hack’s dream girl. Golly-fucking-willikers, whomst've'd guessed he would be the lucky one to pick her up?

The silver pick in his hand suddenly dropped, and his shoulders slouched. The glare on his goggles beamed a low vermilion. Right on time, again. A low grumbled sigh drifted from his falling smile. His goggles flashed back to a turquoise color. “Unfortunately,” he paused his vain announcement, bringing his hand towards his face to remove his goggles. The gadgets rattled with cords as they scraped over his blond hair, dark and damp in cold sweat, “I…” His bare eyes studied the pale, waxen doll in front of him. The dark bionic lines outlining and fitting her joints and muscle pieces together weren’t as easy on the eyes as Konchu’s spider design, but he wasn’t about to tell her that, “... have to go to work.” Pushing his attention towards his goggles, he fiddled with several of the switches and drives, and the illumination from them faded into a dormant fixture when he helped the plugged wires release themselves, “I’ll tell you what, though,” his body stretched backwards, reaching and twisting his wiry, half-naked frame towards the radio, “I heard there’s a nice Lacey’s Lingerie store in the 7th, which is--,” his finger pressed the off-switch, and the music died, “exactly where your new owner is headed.” She deserved something for her patience. At least, she was allowed to think she was deserving. Her bare necessities would be needed in her future, after all. It was a win-win scenario.

She made no response even though her owner patiently awaited one as they both laid separately, in opposing directions on the unswept flooring. The ceiling fan’s groan was made noticeable, again, and the sink dripped, but the metal marionette offered only silence in return. Bass closed the window of opportunity for conversation after only several seconds. He tightened his body and contorted it upwards, “You’re much more open when I’m inside of you,” his indulgent smile slithered back on his lips, and he rose from his position. He had some packing to do before he left, and was feeling irritably impatient with her, now.

But first, his dark eyes, lethargic from lack of rest and over-stimulation skimmed the grimy hole: Where, oh where, are my shoes?

"you know they told me Europe was a lovely place, that'd be great here, but I must say..." Drayfus stuck his armored head around the corner of the building he was using as cover to shout at the EDF forces down the way "I'M REALLY NOT FEELING THE LOVE RIGHT NOW!!!" he immediately yanked it back as a hail of bullets whizzed past, at least one glancing off his helmet, and still he was only laughing. The mercenary from Canada-down-under had come to the continent to escape the exceedingly deadly environment that was forming for him back home, but of course he couldn't get out alone and that meant he owed someone, Which is why he was here now: assaulting district-7's police headquarters alongside another short Asian mercenary at about the same time rioters and 17dem were laying siege to the place. His objective was to take out the police commander, then the debt would be considered replayed. He readied his rifle and looking over at the mercenary that currently shouting angrily in a language he didn't understand.

While Dray may he been excited by the current combat, Hideo had more mixed feeling about the situation. He was there on a mission to tap into the EDF's security network so that he could monitor their activity. The riots and heavy gunfights in the district seemed like a good cover to infiltrate the place, though it also meant security was tight which is why he was hiding himself among the resistance and planning on covering up his tracks later. Now though he found himself pinned near another strangely well-armed gunmen, he had some suspicion that the man was another corporate agent like him but they were hardly his first concern right now. Over the gunfire he still managed to hear the gunman call out "Hey!" and when he looked up he saw him looking like he was ready to charge. For a second Hideo thought the man was made until he noticed that a second wave was coming on their side, it looked like a small 17dem force.

With reinforcements here Drayfus freely opened fire and Hideo popped up from behind the car he was using as cover. Between them and 17dem they gained some ground on the EDF. Both men took a side alley to try and find a way around the EDF defense, neither questioning the others intentions and accepting that, for the moment, they had similar goals.

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An array of household appliances, snack foods and knick-knacks sat nestled in and around various shelves and cabinets, visible from the shopfront's counter. The district's flea market, which was tucked away neatly on the eastern side of the retail sector, remained open twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty five days a year. So far Kaytlin was impressed, at least by the size of the endeavor in comparison to those she'd visited in other parts of Europa - even if the wares on show had proven to be lackluster. While the young woman had not set her sights on any particular item, the reason for her stroll through the neon lit alleys and side streets was business. Kaytlin wasn't here on a shopping trip and from a glance at her balance earlier in the day she could not act as frivolous with her funding as the weeks previous had afforded.

The minutes began to draw on and as she adjusted her gaze from the top rack to directly ahead, Kaytlin was taken aback by the dead stare of the lifeless retail unit that ran this stall in the early hours of the morning. Composing herself, she looked over the android from her position. It was an older model, that was for sure - it resembled a human in shape, height and other amenities but, the faceless and otherwise featureless mannequin left more to be desired and was overall a vague looking creature. That is, if you could even call it that considering the basic programming made it no more than a glorified calculator, an antiquity by all rights.

"Browsing, or daydreaming?" The unfamiliar voice pulled Kaytlin out of her trance like analysis, who snapped her attention to the figure looming over her, mere feet away.

"Just waiting on you - I assume." She retorted, looking up towards her newly acquired company under the dead gaze of the shopkeeper, the chin of her helmet visible under a baggy, canvas hood.

"I see you're enjoying the MKIII..." The overall shady individual remarked, regarding Kaytlin's EuroCorp provided DRONE suit. Height aside, he wasn't a particularly well built man, his slim frame made him appear as more lanky than anything else. There was nothing indicative in his dress or demeanor either that screamed he was an agent but, then again, that was the whole idea. "Walk with me." The male continued, scratching at a four day stubble before heading further up the alley at a brisk pace.

Kaytlin shook her head in annoyance, bemused by the character, muttering under her breath "All right." before taking after her contact, quickly catching up to him. Head down and hands tightly pocketed, the pair walked in silence for the first few minutes - even for the time of night the market was quiet, although, this was to be expected with some of the riots, still in full bloom around various zones and sectors, being right on the market's doorstep. "So, what's the deal? As lovely as this romantic walk down the boulevard is, I'm not paid by the hour." Kaytlin broke the long, awkward silence simmering between the pair but, did not receive an answer. She wasn't even sure if the agent had acknowledged her words, she squinted growing frustrated by the man's blatant ignorance. "Hey, what the fucks with the cold shoulder, man?"

It was just as she'd finished speaking that Kaytlin noticed where the man, who failed to introduce himself, had brought them.

"Seeing as you're so eager to get on with your task, tell me, what do you see?" The agent's voice held the same monotone texture as before while he gestured up the street to the blockades and flashing lights of a security force cordon.

"Europa security..."

"Yes." The lanky male cut over her, "These protesters, however gallant and noble their actions are causing a lot of damage to property and EuroCorp's public relations. Our mutual employers want the man, woman or cyborg responsible for the data leak and they want him alive."

"What for?" Kaytlin inquired but the question was dismissed with a gesture and a stern expression.

"How should I know?" The agent sighed and reached into his pocket taking out a handheld device, his fingers traipsed over the device quickly, fingernails pitter-pattering across the glass screen. "There. I've forwarded you a dossier containing all the information we have but, don't get your hopes up, it isn't much."

"Great." That famous sarcasm was ever clear regardless of it falling on deaf ears. The pair, standing isolated at quiet crossroads, did not share pleasantries or wish farewells and Kaytlin watched with a sense of disdain and confusion as her contact waltzed away, the hem of his long coat fluttered, following behind it's wearer subdued by the welcome breeze. Just before disappearing around a corner he turned and caught Kaytlin's watchful gaze before calling out to her.

"Oh and, don't fuck this up!" The words resounded around the area, echoing loud and clear for the woman who now stood alone. She couldn't help but take note of how eerie the place was when no one was around or, more accurately, when most were holed up to avoid the isolated instances of conflict scattered throughout the city.

At a loss, Kaytlin took a moment to release her own handheld from the confines of her coat pocket and began to look over the notes she had been given by her mysterious and equally reserved handler. He really wasn't kidding. She thought as she scrutinized the mostly barren files - the events that unfolded were clear enough yet, from just a first glance Kaytlin was seeing discrepancies in reports as well as finer details. Overall it seemed mostly useless but, perhaps closer inspection and study of the dossier would provide some answers or, at least, clues.