In an abandoned apartment, Lauren "Sass" Hedley sat on the empty couch. Her feet were propped up on the coffee table, and a backpack filled with gear sat next to her. Despite the fact that she looked relaxed, if not bored, Sass was inwardly terrified. Tonight, after six months of retirement, she was ready to enter the world of the Sprayers once more. A half a year ago, she'd been the leader of one of the city's best crews. Until the night when they'd been caught. Sass frowned. Those were thoughts she didn't like to entertain.

It was well past curfew, around one in the morning. This same time two nights ago, she had been running around the city with a can of red paint. If Sass saw an artist's work and liked it, she had tagged their painting with a bright red 'X'. It was a symbol that hadn't shown up in the city since her crew had disappeared six months ago. Doubtless, there would be excitement. Confusion. Suspicion. Maybe some people thought that some mischievous young Sprayer was going around impersonating Sass. But no, the X's were her's. Along with them, she had taped a scrap of paper to each piece of graffiti, bearing confusing instructions on where to meet her. The instructions were written cryptically, almost in a code. Even if a law enforcement officer had found them, they wouldn't have understood what they meant. Only a Sprayer could figure them out.

Now, Sass waited. Any minute, her new potential crew members would be walking through the door of the abandoned apartment, gathering in the lobby. She would go down to meet them, talk with them, determine if they were what she was looking for. No one would ever fill the hole left by her old crew. But maybe, just maybe, teaming up with artists once more could help. She missed Spraying. It was time for her to get back in the game.

A bright red 'X'.
Jack skidded to a halt as he saw that tag on a piece of artwork. He stood, confused, dazed, almost. "I haven't seen that in a long time." he muttered to himself. He reached out to grab the piece of paper next to it. He studied it nor a moment, before he dashed away, leaving the paper for the next sprayer. As he strode across the rooftops, he slid his firearm into his hand, wary of a trap. When he worked as a Northgate guard, he knew that they were working on decoding it, but he was hopeful they hadn't made much progress.
As he arrived, peered into the building. It appeared to be something abandoned, possibly an apartment. He couldn't really see if there was anyone there. He quickly pulled up the bandana that covered his face, then flipped up his hood. He took a deep breath, then vaulted through a window, his gun raised. "Hello?" He said loudly, his voice echoing through the dusty lobby.
He almost shuddered with anticipation, having no idea whether or not he would be met by a Sprayer or officer. He slowly lowered the guns barrel a little bit, slowly reaching for his bag, to pull out a Molotov, in case someone called his bluff.

4:23 PM

William walked down an alley that he knew. Curfew wasn't for a few hours, but he didn't dare being outside anytime close to it. He couldn't risk harassment, he couldn't go back. The thought of being in that place again made him shiver and break out in cold sweat. The thought of Scarecrow, still inside, made him want to throw up. He stopped. There was something on that wall, something that shouldn't have been there. A red X. He knew that symbol, but he almost couldn't bring himself to go and look at it. That was Sass' symbol, her signature. But no, she was dead, wasn't she? And this wasn't her work. What was that scrap? He got closer and looked at the scrap of paper that was taped next to the wall. Will read it, but didn't touch, and then looked at the camera on the wall nearby. He turned and walked away.

"The bed on the tongue in the stars of a Helm."

A tongue is a restaurant, a bed is a home. "Stars" means to the right of "Helm" a water tower. Sprayers had an esoteric system of codes to give each other directions. It was one of the most well guarded secrets that they had. Even if you knew all of the code words, it was a very vague set of directions, and it would take an intimate knowledge of the city. Not many knew the language, and fewer would be able to place the exact location that it meant. An apartment over a restaurant, somewhere to the right of a water tower. There were many water towers, many restaurants, and many apartments. There were three locations that Will could think of that fit all of those criteria. He could check real estate websites to see which ones were abandoned, probably only one. That would be the place. The place that a dead girl was calling Sprayers to meet at. Could she have survived, he wondered, as he turned the key in his own apartment. Maybe. He heard gunshots, and he never saw her inside the prison, but he didn't actually witness her fate.

He realized, as he dumped his groceries on the counter, mindless of the meat that needed refrigeration, that he had to go see this meeting.

~~~

1:05 AM
All his gear had been confiscated, but he knew of a Sprayer, name of Dodger, who kept stashes around the city. A quick dip into the nearest one, and William was equipped well enough. He had a new mask, and a new hood. Couldn't risk using his old outfit, they knew it, it was compromised.

Without climbing gear, he had to take the fire escape up. He jumped on top of a restaurant's dumpster and leaped up to the fire escape, pulling himself up with some difficulty. Damn was he out of shape. The fire escape was easy, like climbing stairs, and he knew the apartment by sight because the window was slightly cracked open. Nobody would leave that open after curfew unless they specifically wanted someone to join them.

He pushed the window the rest of the way and climbed in.

"Sass?" he called out.

Dodger whipped around in a quick circle, hearing someone call out a name, one he hadn't heard in quite awhile. This name had more than a little weight around here. "Sass". He vaulted behind an old musty chair, in case it was an officer. No such thing as too much caution, Dodger always said. He contemplated in his head whether or not to respond in any way. Too many bad scenarios went through his head. This didn't stop him though, he had enough hope that it was someone friendly.
Still behind his chair, Dodger put away his gun, instead taking a Molotov in one hand his lighter in the other. He stood, his hands raised, with the weapons. His entire plan revolved around the darkness blotting his weapons from view. "I'm assuming you got the same message that I did? Or are you just checking random buildings for a dead lady?" He asked, loudly and clearly.
His left hand twitched, a nervous tick he had, usually only happening due to a situation he knew he was in trouble. He peered around the small lobby, still unable to make out the figure of anything other than a few chairs and tables. There was no light other than a pale shine of moonlight through broken, boarded up windows. A small cough surfaced in the back of Dodgers throat. The dust wafting through the air certainly wasn't helping his visibility situation.

What the hell am I doing.

Tyven's own voice echoed in the openness of the jittery nerves of his own mind. Each step his solid, canvas sneakers took towards the intended destination was another second of increasing anxiety and for him that wasn't a good thing. Thinking back to where he was before this very moment twisted his stomach inside out. Why did things like this make him so upset? Beads of sweat began to dot along his dark brown hairline and a drop formed on an even darker sideburn.
Suddenly, the frantic impulse that he had been evading the whole time caught up with him, and he stuffed his hands in the depths of his pockets to feel a small plastic bag with tablets in it. A tiny wave of relief radiated throughout his body as he felt a select one travel down his esophagus; he could never let anyone know how good it felt.

He didn't know he long it was until he reached the block where the note specified -- all he knew was that he was already extremely paranoid. The sweat that had beaded earlier had dripped several times onto his stained t-shirt that clung to the sides of his pale belly-flesh. The streets were too quiet. A full and bright moon mocked the solo man as wisps of night-light hugged the contours of his gaunty face, nearly turning him into a walking skeleton. It wasn't the first time he'd been out alone at night, oh no. But for some reason the blackness of the shadows between block buildings haunted his presence more so than usual. A tick had him rub the inside of his wrist where a knife accident left a nasty cut-bruise combination; the tremendous pain felt good. Tyven was genuinely afraid of what was to come.

The cameras that had followed him with their lenses focusing in and out turned toward where he was heading: the building. As he approached the site to where he was summoned, an uncalled for rush of anger overcame the fear, and without an announcement he leaped through an opened window with a single swift motion to confront the being who wooed him. Inside, he discovered three others.

"Who the fuck sent me this note," he directed to no one in particular. His hands crumpled the piece of paper into a ball that fit inside his wounded fist. The trail end of his question could be heard in the quaking rafters, and his voice shook with uncertainty.

As Jace sat atop one of the skyscrapers that littered the city, he watched the clouds roll overhead. He was in his zone, happy and free, not being held down by anything. He had just covered the side of this building with a large mural of clouds. With a satisfied grin, he closed his eyes to rest for a minute. That minute turned into several hours and at 12:30, way after curfew, Jace had finally awoken. With a yawn he looked around, somewhat surprised by the darkness he had found.

“Shit… Again?” He mumbled under his gas mask as he stood up and dusted himself off. He had a habit of falling asleep at times like that. He was still a little drowsy, so swinging from buildings seemed like a bad idea. He hooked his grappler onto the edge of the building and began to scale his way down. It was then that he noticed something was off about his mural. There was a big red X right in the centre, standing out on the bright background. At first, Jace was a little annoyed but he saw some sense of expression in it, so he just smiled and admired it. After a few minutes of looking at it, he noticed something strange. It was a note taped to the wall. He pulled it off the wall and inspected it for a bit.

“Words…” He said with a slightly confused tone. He could figure out the code, it seemed easy enough, but something about this was a little strange. He was a little out of the loop of Sprayer knowledge, knowing very little about sprayers of the past, so this was a little strange to him. A smile crossed his face as he decided to pay this mysterious person a visit.

Half an hour had passed, and with a huff, Jace landed on the ground outside the specified building. He leisurely walked towards the building, taking notice of the cameras, buildings nearby, wind direction, anything that could help him get away in case of a fight. He preferred to run, not to fight. Fighting was a last resort because if you even get scratched, that could be it. He pulled his hood up to his head to conceal the small parts of his head that his mask left uncovered. He shot up a grapple to the window he had seen to be open. He was about to pull himself in, before he heard someone inside.

“So other people got the note too…” He said as he reached the ledge and crouched below the window. He couldn’t make out how many of them were inside, but it seemed as though the atmosphere wasn’t exactly hostile. This window was wide open, so it seemed as though people had used it. He decided that entering that way was a bad idea. He took note of the floor and the position of the apartment and decided to take another approach. He jumped to the ground and made his way up the old stairs. He ran quickly, but quietly as not to alert the wrong people. It was when he arrived to the door of the apartment that he felt a little nervous. What if this was some kind of trap? What if he was going to get hurt? With a chuckle, he put these thoughts out of his mind and knocked on the door. He held in the safety button of the smoke bomb in his pocket, so all he would have to do is squeeze and throw, and he would have a nice shroud of smoke to escape through. “Anyone home? You better have a good reason for painting on my clouds” He said with a cheeky tone. If this was a friendly thing, he wanted to make a good impression.

It was the late afternoon, Carissa hitched a ride to the edge of the city with some local punks and was currently on the monorail towards the spot where she had been tagging a few nights before. Her earbuds were in and her music was blaring so loud that she almost ended up missing her stop. Carissa made it out just before the doors closed and started her way walking. A few people stared at her, her hair was unwashed and her jeans were a mess with patches and rips. She looked a little out of place in the complacency people had fallen into after the police state had really came into effect and hit hard.

She reached her destination. It was a large white office just like the rest of the buildings in the city, however it was obviously different in one aspect. Someone had put a bit of life back on it in the way of what was essentially a doodle of Carissa's. It was in her distinct archaic style of a female soldier in the style of a Vietnam vet with the signature anarchy symbol painted on the front of her helmet and with various anti-government slogans on the jacket. It was signed with the familiar signature of simply "Anarcho". She smiled at it before realizing that someone had painted over part of the art. At first she was starting to get angry before she realized what it actually meant. She remembered people in her old running crew talking about this before and how it was quite a prestigious honour. She went up to read the scrap of paper that was left there, she knew exactly what that meant to her.

---

Carissa was walking towards the building, trying to keep out of the way of cameras. She knew she could get herself out of the footage but she didn't want to put her friend through too much work tomorrow. She had her bandanna on just in case she had any run-ins, though she was confident enough in herself to avoid them or at least run away in time for it all to be okay. Her only worry about today was finding a place to crash, she knew she couldn't sleep outside any more since the curfew came into effect, and it would be too far for her to try to make her way out of the city and to the abandoned suburbs in order to actually get what she would call a good night's sleep.

The building Carissa was looking for came into view, it was at this point she sprinted to the side of the building and hid under a window for a few seconds to catch her breath. She heard voices inside, they didn't sound like the police but for all she knew they very well could be. She took a few deep breaths before vaulting over the wall and through the window. Though she couldn't see for shit she didn't think she saw any police uniforms on anyone. "Will you guys calm down? You realize you can be heard from outside, right?" She said in a way that wasn't too loud that it can be clearly heard from outside, but that could be heard by the few that had already showed up in the building.

Earlier in the day Trevor had drove a few hours from the nearest field office and had arrived at the outskirts of Northgate around one in the afternoon. The brakes of the dark blue Tahoe squeaked as the SUV came to a halt outside the monorail station and as he turned the key the engine went silent. He stepped out of the vehicle, adjusted the baseball cap on his head and glanced around, at first taking in the amount of cameras present at a simple monorail station which caused him some anxiety, because while they were great for watching and catching criminals, they posed the risk of catching some of his ill-mannered behavior. They weren't kidding when they said the place was highly monitored.

"Ah you must be Agent Westbrook, welcome to Northgate." a security officer said as he approached the vehicle. "Your truck will be safe out here."

"It belongs to the federal government I don't care what happens to it. So if I understand this correctly the roads are too narrow for vehicles so everybody just uses these trains?" Trevor asked, with that cocky tone of voice.

"That's right, it's very efficient and helps us keep control of things." the officer responded, doing his best to remain polite.

"Right... well I need to go to the downtown of this great utopia so if you don't mind, I'll be on my way." Trevor had proceeded to grab three duffle bags from the SUV and boarded the smaller monorail designated for law enforcement/emergency use.

Having arrived downtown, Trevor glanced around once again, seemingly not getting over how many cameras were watching the city. He saw a few large buildings connected to one another and clearly marked as the headquarters for the city law enforcement. Carrying the duffle bags he made his way inside and to the front desk where a few young ladies were busy on computers and answering phones. "Yeah hello I need to speak with a..." he paused and pulled out a folded piece of paper which he opened up, "Mallory...Teken. I'm agent Westbrook." He forced a fake smile as he held up the badge that hung around his neck, the secretary nodded and placed a call to the requested party.

Our freedom of speech is freedom or death
We gotta fight the powers that be
Lemme hear you say
Fight the power
Fight the power
We gotta fight the powers that be

Lee Brandt hummed the old-time ballad to himself as he powered forward, his lean greyhound body leaned forwards. But tonight he wasn't Lee Brandt. He was Clarion, and the only things that mattered were the hiss of his wheels, the smell of the paint, the cool of the night air.

He was a Sprayer.

It was a simple word, true, but he reveled in it. It had come to mean so much. Freedom. Excitement. For the first time, Lee Brandt felt like he was a part of something, not just an observer, no longer that guy at the party who just watches everyone else have fun. He was nervous and scared and elated all at once.

Totally radical.

His long legs pushed him forwards on the skates, nearly eighty years old but well-maintained. He was new at this, he had needed help decoding the invitation. But he felt honored to be included, like a gathering of legends. The Round Table, or the Foo Fighters. Something like that.

This was the place. He had a cautious look around, but his own enthusiasm for the project overrode his caution, and she skated right in through the door on hissing wheels. "Whassup, dudes," he whispered as he skated backwards around the group in a slow circle.

"Well, it looks like we're all friends here, aren't we?" Dodger said, allowing himself to fall backwards, landing with a muffled thud in the same chair he had been using for cover not too long ago. A cloud of dust filled the air around him, and a more than a few moths left, scared out of the home they had made in the old moldy cloth. He quickly flicked on his lighter, just for a second, to get a good look at the people who had gathered. The light seemed to flood the lobby, however the circle of light was actually rather small, to the point where someone outside wouldn't notice, unless they had been staring into this particular room of this particular building. "Well, look at we have here. One supposedly dead girl, an amateur sprayer, and some other people, who I'm guessing are Sprayers, am I right?" He asked, directing the question to no one in particular.

"Speaking of amateur Sprayers, how's the spraying been going, Clarion? Been getting into trouble like I told you?" He said, his tone jovial, however still in a silent, almost whispering voice. Not actually waiting for a response, he proceeded to remove the fuse from his molotov, take a swig of the Scotch inside, before screwing the lid and fuse tightly back on. Scotch calmed his nerves, and he felt like his nerves would need some calming soon. "So, as Clarion so eloquently put it, wassup?"

Sitting in the apartment above the lobby, Sass could clearly hear as each of the Sprayers arrived. Her Sprayers. These could very well be her new family. She listened intently to each voice. The first called out a simple 'hello', loud enough that she frowned disapprovingly at the noise. It was good to be able to hear them, but she hoped that she was the only one who heard. The second voice sent chills through her, calling out her name. Sass. No one had called her by that name in months. Even the sound of it reminded her of her old crew. She could have sworn it was one of them speaking it, but she knew better.

Four more voices followed the other two. The cloud painter, Free; another asking who had sent the note; another, female this time, warning everyone to quiet down; and a final voice that whispered something too quiet for Sass to hear, who was later addressed as Clarion. Six. Add herself, and it was one more person than she'd had in The Devil's Own. It was a good size for a crew. Nodding to herself, Sass stood up from the couch where she'd been sitting. Her unruly hair was already pulled back in a ponytail. All she had to do was tie her signature red-skull bandana around her face, and pull up the hood of her thin sweater. Shrugging her backpack over her shoulders, she went to introduce herself.

She walked down one floor, heading to the lobby, keeping her footsteps soft enough to remain mostly unheard. The group had quieted down somewhat, and she could now barely hear the whispering voices. Taking a breath to calm her own fraying nerves, Sass reached the bottom of the stairs and regarded her group. Masks were on, hoods were up. She couldn't see faces, but that was a good sign. Clearing her voice, she grinned beneath her bandana and stood before them. "Glad you all showed up," she said. "Not gonna lie, I was a bit scared no one would stop by."

"So, I'm guessing you all have an idea already of why I called you here," she told them. Doubtless they had already been thinking she was starting up a crew, even if she hadn't said so yet. "I dropped off the world about six months ago. Had a bit of a run-in with the law. I'll spare you all the details. The point is...I'm back. And I need a crew."

She cast her gaze around the room once more, looking at each of the people gathered there. Her gaze lingered perhaps a second longer on Gray's face. The part of his face uncovered by a mask sent pangs of familiarity through her. Maybe this would be harder than she thought. Sass hadn't counted on her mind placing the faces of her old crew everywhere she looked. "I've been going out, looking at all of the paintings. If you saw an 'X' on your painting, it means I liked it. It means I think you're a hell of a painter, and it means I want to work with you," she told them. "That is, if you're willing to work with me. If you do, we can start tonight. I got a few jobs lined up with some of my old contacts. What do you say?"

Leaning against the wall, Sass waited for the reactions. Whatever people had to say, she hoped they would say it quickly. The cameras outside had doubtless registered at least one of these people entering the abandoned apartment after curfew. At most, they had a half an hour before the authorities set out.

A hush of mystery could be felt as it draped upon the few souls in the shadow-filled room of the apartment. The presence of the red skull bandanacommanded attention when she walked into the small, but miscellaneous fray of people that appeared to be gathered together on purpose. When she told of how she had collected them in this very place, the thought of someone having that much power over him made Tyven twitch; had he just been obeying her without realizing it? From what she said, he had. For some reason this uneased him, even more so than the walk over here from his prime spot earlier. Who was this red skull, and what did she want with all of them here? It felt like a trap; he was a caged animal. His blood pressure started to rise again, the pulse in his temple felt like it would explode. That wouldn't make for a very lovely first impression.

Tyven's bruised hand found it's way to the side of his head and cradled it as he tilted it with curiosity. A sharp stab in the middle of his palm made him think otherwise, and he quickly switched sides with his other hand. This was a strange predicament he was in, indeed. His pair of dark eyes glanced around the room at the othersthat were chosen; some he made eye contact with. How did he get here? The settled dust of the dank, creepy building settled in the back of his throat and instead of speaking with a gusto, his voice was dry when he asked his question. "Who the hell are you and why should I take orders from you?," his voice was sandy, and his stale glare settled on the red skull again as he waited for her answer.

Carissa looked at the woman who had recently made her way down to the lobby. Carissa looked over the new woman, immediately drawn in by the red bandanna. A bold choice in a profession that values subtly and dark colours. This immediately made her at least respect this person more than she already had. Carissa had heard stories about this woman before, but she could never really verify them or think of them of anything other than rumours. But if the stories were even half as true as they were told then this would be an opportunity she would not want to miss out on.

Carissa listened to the woman as she told them of the details. Though she wasn't really one for actually doing jobs, she did always need money. She felt that jobs would rob her of her artistic integrity, but sometimes you have to sell out in order to make a living, especially if you want to live off the grid. She noticed the other man who seemed to be very nervous and antsy about the whole ordeal and it brought a few questions to her mind, she didn't want to just blindly jump into the first job offer she got, even if it was from someone who had some respect in the sprayer community. "This sounds like a fine deal you're offering up but I've got a few questions before we get started. One, how do we get payment for jobs? Does it get to us directly from the customer or does it go through you? Also am I right in assuming payments will be cash only, because I don't have a bank account or anything in order to accept anything else. And finally, does anyone have a place I can crash? I'm not really living in the city limits right now." The last question wasn't really directed towards anyone in particular, but the question had been nagging at her since she got here.

After watching someone skate past him backwards, Jace decided that this was nothing to be scared of. He walked into the group and sat on the floor, fiddling with one of the screws on his mask. As the lighter flicked on, Jace took the opportunity to inspect the faces of the people here. They were all wearing some kind of bandana or a hood. He let out a small sigh as he relaxed himself. Apparently some of the others knew each other, but Jace didn’t recognise anyone. If he saw their art, or heard their name he might know it, but apart from that, he didn’t take the time to recognise people whose face he couldn’t see. He got a screwdriver out of his pocket and started fiddling with his grappler, when he heard someone approaching. He slid himself back against the wall in an attempt to hide himself in case of an encounter. It was when a woman with a bandana walked in that he let his guard down a bit. ‘She must be the sprayer that called us here’ He thought as he smiled under his mask. Jace was a little surprised as to the reasoning he had been called here. He had always painted because that’s what he loved, so this was a bit of a different turn to he was used to. He listened as others spoke, wondering in silence what he should do. Should he accept? Or just stay the way he is now. Would this take his freedom away? With a grin under his mask he stood up and walked over to the woman, who seemed to have an air of seniority to her.

“I’m in, but I will do things my way.” He said, not in an angry or assertive tone, but in a playful one. He weighed up the options, and this seemed like something that could help him spread his wings. He then heard one of the sprayers, a girl, asking a lot of questions. He found it strange that she was asking so many questions, but it was when he heard the last bit that he felt some sympathy. He knew what it was like to be lower than the rest. Granted, her situation seemed much worse than his was; he was just in a bit of a lower class spot. He was lucky enough to have come into a good daytime job, tinkering and fixing things for people around his area. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to move him out of the slums and into an apartment. He didn’t want to be a burden to his parents, so he left about 6 months ago.

“If you need a place to sleep, I have a couch in my apartment” He said to her with a warm tone. “It’s not much, but it’s got a good view.” He was being polite, offering what he could.

"Hmmm..." Dodger muttered to himself, a rather genuine sound of confusion dancing on his voice. "On the one hand, I could agree to go do illegal stuff with a bunch of people I've never met, and a girl who, until now, I believed to be dead, and probably end up getting arrested, killed, and most definitely tortured in the process, just for a sense of good in our hearts, and some cash in our pockets..." He muttered, chuckling under his breath as he said it. "Or, I could be 'that one guy', and put my personal safety above any sense of right I have in my soul..." Suddenly he snapped upright, taking a rigid pose, saluting, and standing straighter than a pencil.

"Yes. Si. Oui. да. Under no circumstances would I say no." He said excitedly, putting all of his self control into keeping his voice below a whisper.He carelessly stuffed the Molotov back into his duffel bag, then slung the bag back over his shoulder. He did keep the lighter out, however, and rhythmically flipped the lid open, then closed, not actually turning on the flame. "So, what are we waiting for?" He asked, suppressing the shouts of joy that were clawing at his throat.

"If my man Dodger is in, then I so am," Clarion said, unable to keep the joy out of his voice. He spun in a slow circle on his skates, then gave daps to Dodger. It had taken forever to teach that to anyone, but the rush he got every time from it was worth it. It paled in comparison to the rush he was getting now. The world just got a hell of a lot more extreme for him. He was a real Sprayer now, that much couldn't be denied.

"This is the biggest thing I've ever been privileged to be part of," he said excitedly. "Really, dudes, this just totally radical." He skated over to the nearest person, not even caring who it was. "You know how to do daps? I'm gonna teach you. Hold out your fist. No, really, this will be so cool."

The group at large gradually calmed down, but Gray was obviously still uncomfortable. He stood still, with his limbs close to him, trying to take up as little space as possible. It was something you learned in a Northgate Prison.
At first he thought it was a trap. Sass was nowhere to be seen, and more people, all Sprayers, gathered here in one place. It was suspicious, but just as he was about to bolt, she walked in the door.

It was her after all. Alive, contrary to what he(and, apparently, everyone else) had previously thought. She had a job for them, some agreed immediately, some questioned.

"In." Gray said, simply, "Of course."

Then, suddenly, he reached over and put a gentle hand in Clarion's way as he made another skating lap. "Stop, please." The circling made him nervous. Made him think of a predator or something.

Mallory was sitting in her office, reviewing security footage from the previous evening, when her earpiece rang. She pulled her gaze away from the screens, where video clips of garbage blowing down the streets had been mistaken for curfew breaches. Every now and then, an actual figure would cross the screen. But every time, their face was covered. Obscured by a mask or bandana. Even if a high enough resolution image was captured, eyes were almost always covered, making retina-identification impossible. Those who dared to go out after curfew knew how to keep themselves hidden. Nevertheless, Mallory archived the clips showcasing people out after dark. They always slipped up eventually.

She pushed a button on the keyboard, and her secretary's voice came through her earpiece. "Hello Mallory," she said, calling her by her first name as Mallory so often requested. Not for familiarity or anything like that. She simply abhorred the name 'Teken'. "There's a Trevor Westbrook here to see you."

Mallory nodded. "On my way down." With a few quick keystrokes, she closed her work and signed off of the computer. Mallory's office was six stories up, but she still opted to take the stairs the vast majority of the time. Now was no exception.

A few minutes later, she was walking into the lobby. As always, her posture was perfect, and her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Seeing a man standing by the front desk, she smiled coolly at him. Compared to the usual people of her ranking, Mallory looked out of place. She was young for her job, barely a legal adult and still a few years away from the legal drinking age. But that didn't stop her from performing her job. "Trevor Westbrook? Pleasure to meet you," she said, though her expression didn't shift to indicate any pleasure at meeting him. It remained cool and guarded. She extended a hand to introduce herself. "I'm Mallory. What do you think of the city so far?"

The note had given explicit instructions. Well, not really. Nate glanced at the square of paper once more, in the privacy of his own home, taking care that he had gotten the place right. If he hadn't, he'd be hard pressed to explain what he was doing out and about at night, though his prestige with the Northgate officials would possibly get him off with a warning. Once.

When the old crew, Den of Thorns, was captured, no one had seen his face. As far as he knew, he was still free and clear, and trusted by the government in the city, seeing as he had crafted the system now in place, at least partially. He was free and clear. But alone.

A knot formed in his throat as an image of his wife flashed through his mind. The system had worked too well. It had destroyed his happiness, annihilated it. Nate had lost the woman who had made his life a joy. But he'd never shown it, not on the outside. In fact, at times he made contributions to the Northgate system, making it better. The officials gave him respect.

He spent long nights on shadow websites, or around the shadier parts of town, concealed from the cameras by an elaborate helmet, crafted from scratch in the dark of night. The helmet had a cell phone, cell scrambler, and a one-way tint on the eye pieces. The eyepiece and the jawpiece could both swivel out of the way, though it was easier to just take the helmet off when talking face to face. The helmet, and his older age, had earned him the nickname The Architect. Others called him Relic, since he was a bit old to be involved with such anarchy.

It was from these midnight forays that Nate learned of the new Sprayer gang forming. It was through these midnight forays that his name had fallen into the lap of Sass. She had contacted him earlier than that night, leaving a message for him to meet her at the library, wearing two watches. She slipped a note into his palm one day, while he meandered through the hall of books. Thus marked the beginning of a few weeks correspondence. He had demonstrated that he possessed plenty of useful knowledge and scientific artistry, even if he wasn't a painter.

Then, that night, he had been given a final note. A meeting point, to meet Sass. Well, Lauren, rather--he had discovered her name in that library, though his reputation for being trustworthy helped to avoid a confrontation. He was one of the few people, if not the only person, who would know what she really looked like tonight, though only out of necessity. His knowledge of the workings of Northgate made him essential to any Sprayer group hoping to pull off truly audacious jobs. He knew how to beat the system, and that was important.

---

After slipping through the night for a half hour, and dodging cameras as best he could, Nate finally beheld the place they had been told to meet. He took a deep breath, and stepped into a meeting very much in motion already.

Nate could tell that unless he could prove he meant no harm, he'd have just ruined the meet, and the chances of this working. He had to move fast. "I'm unarmed, and I was called here by Sass. I mean no harm, none at all."

He stopped, glancing around, and then hit the switch for the jawpiece. It swiveled down, leaving him free to speak unhindered. "I'm sorry I'm late. Hello, Sass. And company. I'm the Architect, though..." He smiled, "Relic works just as well."

Sass’s heart sank slightly at the first reply to her invitation. A jumpy guy with a bandana around his face and a snapback hat casting shadows over his eyes. ” Who the hell are you and why should I take orders from you?” was his query. Sass matched his glare evenly, but decided to wait for the rest of the responses before setting him straight.

The next reply came from the only other female in the room, and instantly reassured Sass. The barrage of questions indicated that, at very least, this girl was smart and able to think on her toes. Sass felt a slight bit of sympathy for her as she mentioned she wasn’t living within the city. Of course she couldn’t. If she didn’t have a place to stay, she’d be rounded up within a few days and arrested for breaking curfew. Thankfully, another of the gathered Sprayers spoke up, offering his couch, and also agreeing to join Sass on his own terms. Sass nodded a grateful acknowledgement to him, recognizing his voice as the one who had earlier complained about someone painting on his clouds. Had to be Free.

“There ya go, you’ve got a place,” Sass said, smiling beneath her bandana. She drew everyone’s attention to her, focusing in particular on the man who’d accused her of giving orders. “Lookit here. She’s smart enough to think up a few questions instead of getting all uptight about me giving orders.”

“Payment’s in cash. Always cash. I don’t work with bank transfers or cheques or any of that fanciness. Too easy to trace. As for how you get it, I handle picking it up and passing it on,” Sass explained. Before anyone could accuse her of hoarding the money, she elaborated. “Safest that way, y’know? If any of our clients decide to start getting cozy with the authorities, I’m the only one they can talk about. Latest you’ll have your money is two days after you work a job, usually less than that. I like things organized. Money things, anyways.”

She turned to Dodger, listening with slight apprehension to his monologue. Of course he had to draw everyone’s attention to how dangerous their job was. However, his quick salute reassured her once more. "Yes. Si. Oui. да. Under no circumstances would I say no."

Sass grinned broadly beneath her red bandana at his enthusiasm. He was quickly joined by another, a lanky young man in roller blades who dwarfed Sass in height by well over a foot. Having heard Dodger address him earlier, Sass could only assume this was Clarion. The last to speak up was the man who’d stood still and silent near the back of the room. He agreed with a simple, “In. Of course.”

Sass nearly flinched at his voice. She hadn’t heard it in months, but it wasn’t easy to forget the sound of your crew. Kraut had been a part of her crew, and his voice sent sharp familiarity through her mind. Except Kraut was in jail. Kraut was in jail with Mouse and Scarecrow, and wouldn’t be out anytime soon. She nodded to him, hoping she didn’t look too shaken by the sound of his voice.

Now that everyone had spoken up, she turned back to Jager, crossing the room to stand before him. Like everyone else in the room, he stood well above her head. But Sass carried herself in a way that suggested she could easily look down on him. “Who the hell am I, and why should you take orders from me…” she said easily, restating his earlier question. “First question. I’m Sass. You can figure out all you need to know about me by asking around on the streets. Do your homework. Second question,” she continued, her eyes narrowing in irritation. “Orders? If you’re gonna be making accusations like that, you might as well leave right now. I don’t do orders. I do damn smart suggestions, but it’s up to you whether you’re gonna listen to ‘em or not.”

She raised an eyebrow, prepared for a smart response. But before any could come, a noise outside the apartment made Sass tense visibly. However, she relaxed once more when she saw who it was. “Hey Relic,” opting for the latter of his monikers. “Glad ya made it. Everyone, Relic’s a genius. Knows the city and the system better than anyone. Even me and you.”

She stepped back, once again regarding the entire group. “Time for me to get names straight.” Pointing at each of the Sprayers in turn, she addressed them by the names she’d managed to work out with logic. “So we got Dodger and Clarion. Free, love your clouds, sorry about the ‘X’ on ‘em.”

She looked to the Anarcho, and to Jager. “Not sure of either of your names yet. Sorry,” she apologized, though the apology was really just a way of saying ‘oops’ rather than begging forgiveness. She glanced back at Gray. “And you as well.”