[rednblack]

"No, Agent Case, I cannot guarantee you control over your body during your lifetime. I cannot even guarantee that for myself. We serve a cause greater than ourselves and we do so however we can. But I will say that it has never been company policy to push people out of their bodies. I would think that the company has earned some trust and credit after saving both you and your brother after you were clinically deceased."

"Were you similarly saved, Rhodes?" James asks.

"Illeana will have the finest materials and resources available to her at all times," Rhodes continues. "But she will be an Ares employee with all the benefits and the responsibilities that entails. She will find a very warm home and welcoming colleagues to collaborate with, but it comes with oversight and accountability. The same is true for all of us."

"Of course," James says.  "I simply feel that it's necessary to clue you in on her studies, as her benefit will benefit Ares as well."

James switches his Ikon to wireless off, and when it comes back online he is broadcasting as James Case, Ares employee.  The boat docks at Fort McHenry, the turtle-shaped ramparts rising up stately and well-manicured.  He stands and offers Illeana his hand before turning to Rhodes.  "Shall we?"

[Tecumseh]

James asks whether Rhodes was saved too. The question hangs in the salty sea air for a long moment. A thin wisp of a smile appears on Rhodes' handsome face. He looks impossibly composed - even his hair seems to resist blowing in the wind - but this question seems to be giving him more pause than the others.

"Voluntary replacement," he says at last as the boat pulls up to the dock. The corpers all line up like good little lemmings at the front to offload once the ramp is in place.

Illeana squeezes James' hand hard. <<Voluntarily replacement? Voluntary replacement? What sort of man goes to the doc with four good limbs and says, 'Here, chop these off'??>>

James holds Illeana's hand as they stand to disembark. James notes that the kids in business suits have set up a subtle perimeter so that a pair of them are on each side at a comfortable distance. Rhodes brings up the rear.

"You have a good day now, hear?" the smiling captain says jovially, his eyes lingering just a moment on Illeana's perfect face as she passes by.

[rednblack]

The young corpers form an unobtrusive perimeter around James and Illeana as they exit the water taxi, and Rhodes, while easy with a smile, must be waiting for the other shoe to drop.  "I assume that Bulldog's for us, eh?" James asks, and Rhodes nods in the affirmative.

Even though they're past the point of no return, or at least no immediate return, James briefly questions his life choices that have led to this moment.  The Shimko SIN was solid, or at least the best he could do given a paired life on the run, and Illeana was no help in the ID department.  Certainly, she made him faster on his feet, and together he feels as though there were few threats they couldn't handle or avoid entirely, but the present situation demanded thinking otherwise.

Still, while worried, James doesn't feel trapped, or more accurately as trapped as most would feel in this situation.  He'd rather be with Ares, in some sense back home, than he would in the clutches of any of the other big ten.  Ares, after all, has historically been on the right side of history.  FireWatch had neutralized the threat of the bug spirits back in Chicago, Ares' relationship with the UCAS government was almost benevolent, and the corporate ethos stressed family, and more importantly community, in an era when most were happy if they could bleed a populace dry of labor and nuyen before moving on.  Certainly, those hoops out in Germany may feel the same way about Saeder-Krupp, but this is the UCAS not the AGS.

Or maybe this is his latent programming talking.  Some undoubtedly is, but James has done the research, he's looked into "independent" sources, and made up his own damn mind.  The facts are what they are, but what really nags at him is if his entire value system is really what's been programmed, not just the facts and figures. 

Or maybe it was just a question of the devil you know.  Here, at Ares, at least he would be respected, outfitted with all the power of the greatest megacorp on earth behind him, "and free to pursue their aims with all their fervor as well," he can hear Illeana speaking into the back of his mind.

Well drek.

And then there's Rhodes chilling confession, the one instance where his unflappable demeanor almost seemed to crack for a moment, and Illeana's incredulous response.

<<Voluntarily replacement? Voluntary replacement? What sort of man goes to the doc with four good limbs and says, 'Here, chop these off'??>>

Well, I might. he has to admit to himself.  There wasn't much left to improve, but if Ares offered to outfit him with new ears, would he think twice?  He might for Illeana's sake, but he would also undoubtedly think of the weakness of his meat ears when compared to the rest of his near-perfect form, and there were some days when he lamented that there was so little left for him to improve.  The cybersingularity seeker in him is already greedily thinking about upgrades to deltaware, or how sweet that could be, and maybe then he could afford some upgrades.

Is this you, James?  Really?

<<I don't know.>> is all he can manage in reply to Illeana.

#

James exits the gym in his Ares Rapid Transit Platinum TekLite workout clothes, a skintight body suit that wicks away moisture and actually has a cooling effect when he perspires.  And he's been doing a lot of that.  195kg deadlifts are nothing to sneeze at, and doing so while attempting it is likely to give one a hernia.  He pats down his face while he's shown into a small room off the main gym floor where a pair of Ares suits await him.  They're both human, wearing the company's finest, and while the man extends his hand, the woman introduces them as Dr. Franklin Ames and Dr. Elizabeth Personette.  Surprisingly, for the last few days of James experiences here at the compound, they're not smiling.

"Good to meet you," James says, smiling enough for the whole group, and taking the offered seat.

"Well, I know that you're a busy man, Mr. Case, so we may as well get right down to business, shan't we?" Dr. Personette opens, dismissing any ideas of foreplay before they get to whatever it is that they're after.

"Uh, sure, I guess," he answers, "but, what exactly is the business we're getting down to?"


"We're going to ask you a series of questions, James.  Just answer with the first thing that comes to mind.  There are no wrong answers here," she adds, though everyone present knows this to be a lie.

"How do upsetting problems generally make you feel?"

"Uh, upset," James says instinctively, trying to comply, but then feeling as though such an answer isn't really appropriate for the circumstances.  Correcting, he adds, "I tend to be a very solution-oriented person.  When problems arise, I find it best to divorce emotion as much as I'm able to, and spend my efforts toward looking for solutions, ideally multiple solutions so that I can pick from any number of workable solutions as a matter of process."

"When you get angry do you have trouble staying in control?"

"No." James mind flashes back to New Orleans, and his late night walkabout after that tiff with Illeana, but that wasn't really "out of control" was it?

"How do you typically deal with failure?" the man breaks in, rattling the question off with unsettling speed.

"May I have a glass of water?" James asks, patting his brow with this monogrammed towel.

"Later, agent Case," Dr. Personette replies.  "Please answer the question."

"I don't like to fail," James admits.  "I mean, I like to think that I'm here because I had such a good record with Ares before I lost my memory, and while every mission cannot be successful, I'd like to think that my missions can be successful."

The days of psychologists scribbling in notepads is long gone, but James can see it in their eyes.  They're scribbling down drek on him right now with their DNI, and looking smug as if they had some legal pad out in front of them while they did so.

"Have you ever been deliberately cruel to an animal?" the woman asks, adjusting her glasses.

"Not that I remember, but isn't that a thing little twisted kids do?" James says.  "I mean, I shot a behemoth, but that wasn't to be cruel.  It was trying to kill Illeana. . . Oh, and I shot a juggernaut, but it was trying to eat me, so I don't think that counts."  Dr. Personette looks up over her glasses, and James again questions his life choices.

"Would you consider yourself subjectively firm or objectively flexible?" Dr. Ames asks in his clipped way, though even he seems thrown by the last exchange..

"Objectively flexible.  Definitely," James says, certain that this, at least, is a correct answer.

"Would you rather ride on a train, dance in the rain, or feel no pain?" Dr. Personette asks, eyeing him closely.

"Uh, what?" James asks, caught off guard.  "No, no, you don't need to repeat yourself.  Umm, feel no pain, I guess.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Case.  You'll find water and a Typhoon shake waiting for you in the locker room."

"Is that it?"

"No, I'm afraid not.  We'll complete the battery later this afternoon, after some additional training."

The Typhoon shake acts as James lunch, which keeps him from feeling bogged down in the way that a 3000 calorie meal would, and after he rehydrates, James returns to the gym for some light sparring and FireFight kata exercises.  None of his "opponents" offer much resistance -- Why are they going easy on me by sending these hoops in on me? he wonders, and he finishes the afternoon with some heavy calisthenics and free weight work before finding himself back in the little room with the doctors.

Again, they waste little time before starting the battery.

"It’s your birthday. Someone gives you a calfskin wallet. How do you react?" Dr. Personette opens.

"I say thank you," James answers immediately.  "That is a very extravagant gift, if for a rather superfluous piece of personal attire, and I don't know that I'm the kind of man who would really appreciate such a thing, but it would be a very nice gesture to say the least."

"You’ve got a little boy. He shows you his butterfly collection plus the killing jar. What do you do?"

"I'd inspect his collection," James says.  What the drek, are they trying to see if I get weepy about a bunch of dead bugs?!  In other news, James has been reading up on parenting, for what purpose is unclear, even to him, but at least he has something to add here.  "Specifically, I would see if he had any rare specimens that I may be able to comment on, you know for encouragement.  I may be a bit put off by the killing jar, but that would depend on whether or not he seemed to think that the killing jar was the 'cool' part of the whole thing, ya know?  The butterflies would be objectively beautiful and valuable in their own right.  The killing jar is simply a means to that aim.  If my boy felt otherwise, we may need to have a talk about that."

They scribble like mad, mentally anyway. 

"You’re watching the trid. Suddenly you realize there’s a wasp crawling on your arm. What do you do?"

"I stay still until it moves.  Then I smash it."

"You’re in a desert walking along in the sand when all of the sudden you look down, and you see a tortoise, it’s crawling toward you. You reach down, you flip the tortoise over on its back. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over, but it can’t, not without your help. But you’re not helping. Why is that?

"Why would I flip the tortoise?" James asks, confused.

"It's best if you don't question the scenarios, agent Case.  Just answer the question please," Dr. Personette says.

"I find this to be a difficult question to answer," James says. "Maybe I would want to see how it reacted?  Maybe I wanted to know how a creature evolutionarily designed to live in just such a place could cope with outside influences beyond its control.  Maybe, I dunno, I guess that's it."

"Describe in single words, only the good things that come into your mind about your mother."

"You do know that I don't know my mother, right?" James says, perhaps a bit more sharply than he intended.  They stare at him, waiting for an answer.  "I mean, I think my parents took us to the lake as kids.  Maybe?  If they did then--"

"Single words, agent Case."

A bit flustered James bursts out, "Vacant.  Nada.  Absent.  Empty fraggin' space.  Nothing.  No one.

"Gone.  She's gone."

Again, James has barely finished speaking before Dr. Ames drills in with the next question.  "You're reading a magazine. You come across a full-page nude photo of a girl. You show it to your girlfriend. She likes it so much, she hangs it on your bedroom wall. The girl is lying on a bearskin rug. How do you react?"

Are my sexual preferences part of the test?  James barely resists the urge to say so, but knows the only answer would be that he should answer the question.  "I would probably like that.  At first.  Later, I dunno, later maybe I would feel threatened by it.  I mean, a woman is one thing I can't be for her, right?  Like, the one thing I can't do."

"You impregnant a woman who runs off with your best friend, then decides to terminate the pregnancy. What do you do?" Dr. Personette's question is so ridiculous that James has to suppress a laugh, which at least brings him back to his senses a bit.

"I would be hurt.  Temporarily, at least, it would be awful.  And a year, maybe two down the line, I'd think I'd dodged a bullet.  There's some expression, I don't know where it comes from, but it goes: if you lend a chummer twent nuyen, and you never see him again, it was money well spent.  They'd both have saved me from the other."

"You're watching a stage play. A banquet is in progress. The guests are enjoying an appetizer of raw oysters. The entree consists of boiled dog stuffed with rice. The raw oysters are less acceptable to you than a dish of boiled dog. Why is that?"

James considers the question a bit before answering.  "Probably because I'm not the one eating it.  Watching someone else eat oysters is not the most appetizing experience, but watching someone pretend to eat dog is the same as watching the pretend to eat horse, or t-bone, or stuffed quail.  The playwright must have chosen dog for a reason, and I think I would be cognitive of that fact, but as for personal acceptance from the audience, yeah, oysters can look gross."

"Thank you again, agent Case" Dr. Personette says standing.  "We'll be in touch."

"Hey, anything I can do to help, right?" James says, with his easy smile, ready to get back to his room, to Illeana, and to a real meal for once today.

[Tecumseh]

The Bulldog had taken James and Illeana straight to an Ares Arms building. They were briskly whisked through security before taking a high-speed elevator directly to the roof. There they are met by a GMC Banshee. The young corpers broke off with excited smiles while Rhodes joined James and Illeana in the t-bird. Then they were rocketed off to Detroit at supersonic speeds. (Rhodes mentioned 1,500 kph when James asked.) The flight took half an hour.

From there James and Illeana had been separated for individual testing, although they were allowed to maintain commlink contact between "sessions". James was initially concerned that they might have hacked Illeana commlink to mimic her communications, but there were enough inside jokes and private references that he was assured it was her.

James endured three straight days of grueling physical tests (including overnight monitoring in a test lab environment) and was looking forward to a weekend with Illeana to recover and compare notes. Their "home" was nowhere near as nice as what Rhodes had described - small windows with no views - but Rhodes assured them that they were at the top of the list for one of the prime housing units.

"We just had a VP get extracted," Rhodes explained. "Aztechnology, we think. You can have his unit just as soon as we clean it and sweep it for anything that may have assisted the extraction."

James wondered if that's the time they needed to lace the unit with enough sensors and tags to satisfy all the various Ares researchers who wanted a piece of the new celebrity couple.

"I'll be out on assignment until further notice," Rhodes said. "Retaliatory strike against the Azzies. No, you can't come with me. You remember what happened the last time you went on a retaliatory raid against the Azzies, don't you? Well check your service records if you don't. If you're not in an executive suite by the time I get back, I'll kick some hoops."


6:01 PM Friday, September 6th, 2075 - Detroit, UCAS

James arrives home from his most recent training session to find Illeana cooking dinner. It's the first time he's seen her in three days. He gives her a long kiss and then a little bit more. Over dinner - Illeana's traditional Stir-Friday - they debrief about their week. James turns up the Mozart's Die Entführung aus dem Serail playing in the background, the voices of the singers helping to mask their own.

"You're working with Drs. Ames and Personette too?" James asks, somewhat surprised that they would assign the same doctors to a vampire that they would to a cyborg.

"You know she's Awakened, right?" Illeana asks. "She's running a battery of detection spells at all times. She assenses at regular intervals too."

"Is she any good?" James asks.

Illeana smiles mischievously. "Pretty good. Above average."

"What did you do?" he asks, taking a bite of stir-fried chicken with sweet peppers while 'accidentally' clinking his water glass to create a ringing sound.

"Let's just say that her spells didn't work as intended. They now understand my competence, if not my psychology."

Illeana sips on a 'smoothie' of unknown origins. James wonders what she added to it to add texture.

Later, in the shower, they talk more about things that might be more sensitive.

"Stevens and all our investments are in my name so they don't know about them," Illeana explains while James scrubs the accumulated grime off his skin. "In the meantime, I'm missing most of my foci: my sword, my coat, the knife I use for carving." She exhales slowly, the hot water cascading over her back. James glances at her mask that's sitting on the bathroom counter. The shower is one of the few times she doesn't wear it.

"Ares pulled some strings with Knight-Errant to get the Shin-Hyung out of being impounded," James responds. "That said, Ares has it now, who knows where. I got some questions about why I had a Hyundai instead of a GMC Commodore. I think they were disturbed to find that marketing and brand loyalty are susceptible to amnesia."

"They're planning on getting me a Corporate Limited SIN," Illeana says, her expression dubious.

"They're reactivating my Corporate Born SIN," James says. "The only hitch is whether the other 'me' gets the old SIN or the new one. Ares isn't on the forefront of rights for free spirits but evidently they've decided that the free spirit of a former Corporate Born SINner is more than they can turn their back on."

"They'll have biometrics on us once everything goes through," Illeana sighs, her cheeks puffing out. "That's enough for ritual sorcery to track us."

Later, cuddling in bed, there's no music so the conversation returns to less-sensitive topics. Illeana asks what an O-7 pay grade is worth.

"33,166 in Ares scrip every month," James answers. "That's with eight years of service. Evidently I get credit for my Firewatch years but not my Knight-Errant years."

"That's ¥9,476 a month at the current exchange rate," Illeana answers. James glances and confirms that her commlink is next to the bed, as is her mask. She knew the exchange rate off the top of her head and did the math. "I'm at ¥6,267. Our combined housing allowances are another ¥3,099 a month. Or, they would be if they paid us in nuyen. If we want to exchange it for something else it will take a bite if we're trying to stay under the radar. It doesn't seem like enough to cover the type of place Rhodes described."

"There will be significant discounts at Ares-owned properties for using Ares scrip," James explains. He cradles her in his arm, then kisses her forehead and tries to change the subject. "I'm looking forward to this weekend," he says.

On cue, a high priority alert comes through on James' headlink.

<<@Agent Case-β [Dr. Franklin Ames] R&R is hereby postponed until further notice. Report to duty at 06:00 tomorrow for additional testing.>>

James sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. He tells Illeana, who asks what it means.

"It means welcome to active duty," he says, wondering how his old self used to feel about it. "Our time is no longer our own."

[Tecumseh]

6:01 AM Saturday, September 7th, 2075 - Detroit, UCAS

"Agent Case, uh, Beta, reporting for duty."

"You're tardy," Dr. Ames chides him. "We expect punctuality, Agent Case."

James elects not to respond. He just stares at the doctor, a black man somewhere in his 50s. He's wearing a white lab coat that contrasts brightly with his dark skin. Illeana had said that he had cultured bioware like Doc, so probably a high-end cerebral booster plus a mnemonic enhancer too.

Dr. Ames turns on a signal jammer and hands James a paper-and-pen test. "Commlinks off. You have 29 minutes to complete as many questions as possible. Begin."

James sits at a desk, alone in a room that could hold at least two dozen. Instead it's just Drs. Ames and Personette studying him as James scribbles his answers. The questions are broad, covering topics as diverse as natural history and trid actors and directors. There are math and science and vocabulary questions, plus a short segment on chess tactics that James actually enjoys.

"Time," Dr. Ames says. James isn't even halfway done with the test. He stands and hands it in.

"Disrobe," Dr. Personette orders. She's standing next to a treadmill attached to a great deal of monitoring equipment. James strips down to his Ares Rapid Transit Platinum TekLite body suit. The doctors wordlessly attach wireless sensors to James' body.

"Why were you going so easy on me in the sparring sessions?" James asks, as much to break the silence as to get an answer.

The doctors exchange a silent look as they continue to attach sensors. They place a mask over his face that James knows will measure his CO2 output. There's also a straw in the mask that will provide hydration. Dr. Personette finally says, "It would be inappropriate to comment on the testing, as doing so might compromise the results. Now, run until failure."

James inwardly groans. That means running until he can't run any more. It was going to be an exhausting day. Dr. Personette set the treadmill to a steady pace of 13kph. The pace is easy for James, ridiculously easy. It might as well be walking, even though his legs are hitting the treadmill at a steady rhythm. He wonders if this is actually a psychological test instead. There's absolutely nothing to look at except for the blank wall in front of him. The room is white, the lights are white, the lab coats are white. His eyes start to lose focus.

His commlink isn't supposed to be on, so he can't even talk to Illeana while running. A half hour passes, then an hour. He begins to wish that he had something, anything to occupy his mind. Even Illeana's spreadsheets would be a gift. Instead he goes through various chess openings in his mind: King's Pawn Game, Center Game, Bishop's Opening, Vienna Game, King's Gambit, King's Knight Opening, Scotch Game, Three Knights Game. More time passes but it's hard to keep track because there's no time or distance counter that James can see.

He looks over at Dr. Personette. She's in her forties, tall and lean with serious hair and a serious expression. Her ancestry is European, probably English. James wonders what tradition she follows. Hermetic, most likely. He reviews what he knows about hermetic mages, then goes on to think about architecture, tequila, industrial chemistry, Manhattan fashion, crime fiction, insect spirits, the special forces of Aztechnology, and the Natelys, all in no particular order.

A lot of time goes by. James wonders if he's run a full marathon by now. He wonders if the doctors will give out before he does. They do look rather tired on their feet, and rather hungry too...

"Can we increase the pace?" James finally asks, not the least bit winded. The doctors exchange another silent look. Dr. Ames nods.

The speed of the treadmill increases and its such a blessed relief that James almost cries. "Faster," he says, and they comply. "Faster."

James' legs are flying and he knows it. It's running, but his kind of running. He's going at least twice as fast as he was before. This would be a sprint for a normal runner - one of those poor suckers dependent on meat legs - but for him and his redlined limbs it is a jog. At least now there's the prospect of finishing this test before tomorrow, he thinks.

The relief is short-lived. Even at this pace, James knows he can run for ages. His training - training which his brain barely remembers but that his "muscles" certainly do - basically made him a professional runner, swimmer, and gymnast. Combined with his natural abilities (well, cybernatural), he is basically unstoppable. The only one who might potentially outrun him was Illeana, and that's because her vampiric powers of regeneration essentially meant that she never got tired. Now that often works to James benefit, as her refractory period is basically zero... His mind wanders off.

James has no idea how much time or distance has gone by. He spaces out regularly, losing track of his ongoing pace count somewhere around 50,000. The only consolation is that the doctors look even more tired than he does. He savors their discomfort for a moment before blanking out again.

When he comes to, the doctors are looking far more attentive. He wonders if they got something to eat while he wasn't paying attention.

"That will be enough, Agent Case," Dr. Personette announces. "The test is complete."

James steps off the treadmill. Dr. Ames considers him warily, then hands James the same test he was working on this morning. "Resume," Dr. Ames says.

James knows that it's hopeless to ask for a towel or for lunch (or dinner?) so he sits and resumes the test where he left off. After another thirty minutes Dr. Ames calls time again. He stands to hand in his test. The demeanor of the doctors has visibly changed since he last spaced out on the treadmill test. He wonders if he blew their minds with his performance.

Dr. Ames accepts the test and puts it aside without looking at it. "Please return to your seat," he says, looking at James as if he's some alien specimen. James does.

"We're going to ask you a series of questions, James," Dr. Personette says, her tone more intense than before. "Just answer with the first thing that comes to mind.  There are no wrong answers here. How do upsetting problems generally make you feel?"

"Didn't we do this yesterday?" James asks.

"Please answer the question," Dr. Personette says to complete the cycle. Her tone is definitely more agitated.

"Uh, upset. Same as yesterday."

Dr. Personette opens her mouth to ask then next question, then closes it. She starts and stops a few times, visibly flustered.

"Why are we doing this?" James asks.

"To see if your answers change," Dr. Ames answers coolly. He leans back with a hand on his chin, studying James.

"Do they ever?" James asks.

"Yes," Dr. Ames answers simply.

"Oh, you mean from before," James says, the realization dawning on him. He wonders how much the other James Case - Case Alpha - answered the questions.

"Well, yes," Dr. Ames admits. While something seems to have made Dr. Personette upset, Dr. Ames seems to have become more frank and more open. "But also day-to-day changes, as well as changes brought about by mental or physical fatigue."

"Well I'm just going to give the same answers as I did yesterday," James says. "Solution-oriented, divorced from emotion, and so on."

Dr. Ames shakes his head slowly. James is visibly confused. Dr. Ames flicks off the signal jammer. "Turn your commlink back on."

James does so. Dr. Ames sends a video to the image link in James' cyber eyes. He sees a recording of his interview yesterday.

"How do upsetting problems generally make you feel?" Dr. Personette asks.

"Uh, upset," James says reflexively. "Speaking of which, bro, I hate to ask you this, but could you spot me some cash? I'm, like, ¥300 short on my CINNAMON TOAST payment due on the 15th."

The doctors exchange a look.

Correcting, James adds, "I tend to be a very solution-oriented person.  When problems arise, I find it best to divorce emotion as much as I'm able to, and spend my efforts toward looking for solutions, ideally multiple solutions so that I can pick from any number of workable solutions as a matter of process."

Dr. Ames stops the video and looks to see if James has an explanation. "Your brain waves indicated a significant shift during your erratic answer, Agent Case. You were brought in today for additional testing and examination. Here's what just happened."

He sends another video to James. It's from James' session on the treadmill. James sees the timestamp and realizes that he must have been running for at least five hours.

"Here, Agent Case," Dr. Ames says, pausing the feed. "Your brain waves shift again here. You were, quite literally, asleep on your feet. While sleeping in an upright position is physiologically possible, it is unprecedented for a human to fall asleep while running at 26kph and to continue running."

James watches. It's pretty hard to argue with what the electrophysiological monitoring is suggesting. He looks unconscious, but yet he runs.

Dr. Personette rejoins the conversation, still perturbed. "Agent Case, we detected some anamolous nanoware in your system, concentrated in your prefrontal cortex. The design and functionality are foreign to us but the nanites appear to have unconscious control of your nervous and muscular systems. Unauthorized augmentations are strictly forbidden in the Instigator program, although we recognize that there are attenuating circumstances in this case. Next, describe the nanoware to the best of your ability, including origin and intended functionality. Please, be detailed."

[rednblack]

Oh dear Hecate, just like Chino.  James shifts uncomfortably in his seat.  It would be one thing to see videos of him before, if his voice had changed, or his mannerisms, even patterns of speech -- he's come at least to expect something like that at some point.  But to see himself speaking just yesterday, and to see a stranger uttering those words, it's terrifying.

His initial impulse is to snap them both like twigs.  He would lunge for Dr. Personette first, impale her over the table with his spur, and then hit Dr. Ames with his shock hand, just to stun him for long enough that James could come around and finish the job quietly with his hand held tight over the man's mouth.

But it wouldn't change anything.  Still, the fact that James is considering it means that his very short-lived life back at Ares is over.  There's no way they'd return him to active duty now.  Ares wouldn't have him monitoring a food processor at this point.

"Agent Case, we detected some anamolous nanoware in your system, concentrated in your prefrontal cortex. The design and functionality are foreign to us but the nanites appear to have unconscious control of your nervous and muscular systems. Unauthorized augmentations are strictly forbidden in the Instigator program, although we recognize that there are attenuating circumstances in this case. Next, describe the nanoware to the best of your ability, including origin and intended functionality. Please, be detailed."

"I haven't had any unauthorized augmentations," James begins.  "Well, that's not quite right.  I installed a stealth dongle on my implanted commlink, but I did so myself and was conscious the whole time.

"Forgive me, this is quite a lot to take in," he adds trying to make sense of the revelation, and keep Dr. Personette's questions straight.

"I don't know where the nanites originate from," he says, settling on a strategy.  "Nor do I know what their intended functionality is.  As best I can tell, they are from before I was me.

"More importantly, at least from where I'm sitting, what can we do about them?  I'm not keen on a 'repeat performance,'" he says motioning toward his internal commlink, but the gesture could just as easily be interpreted as him pointing toward his own brain pan. 

[Tecumseh]

The doctors exchange a silent look yet again. James wonders if it's just an ingrained habit for them at this point or if there's actually some sort of code or pattern to the looks. But why wouldn't they just comm each other? Or maybe they are madly in love with each other, forbidden to consummate their passion by Ares' policies against co-fraternization within the same department. The silent looks afford them the opportunity to stare deeply into each other's eyes, if only for a fleeting moment.

"We can tell that you are distressed, Agent Case," Dr. Personette says dispassionately. "Please remain calm. You are among friends." She fixes James with a cool, even gaze that's anything but friendly.

"We will need to run additional tests, of course," Dr. Ames says eagerly, and James wonders if he just signed himself up for a lifetime of running until he passes out.

"I hope you understand how unique you are," Dr. Personette says with a tone that could be described as mildly patronizing. "Agent Case, there is so much we can learn from you. The separation of body and spirit is, of course, intensely fascinating from a metaphysical perspective itself."

Dr. Ames jumps in. "I think you can understand how valuable it would be if we could give our operatives the ability to physically function even after being rendered unconscious. You understand the potential in that, don't you?"

"Just as you said yesterday, 'Anything I can do to help, right?'" Dr. Personette adds with a sly smile, the first smile James has ever seen on her, as she feeds his own words back to him.


12:01 PM Tuesday, September 10th, 2075 - Detroit, UCAS

The next few days are a grueling grind of physical and mental testing. James is being run ragged with practically no downtime. Dr. Ames and Personette can't monitor him 24-hours a day so other doctors and technicians fill in.

"What can I talk to Rhodes?" James asks Bobby, a bright young man with the build of a couch potato, despite Ares' strong cultural bias for fitness and physical activity. Still, Bobby has a good sense of humor and the idealism of youth. This might be a calculated ploy by Ares to have someone working with James that he will be less inclined to brutally murder out of frustration. Or, if he does, at least it was a junior employee, and a fat one at that.

"He's still on assignment," Bobby answers, checking several monitors while James does an unending series of squats and pull-ups. "Probably eating tacos and murdering Jaguar Warriors. Or vice versa."

"When can I meet my brother?" James asks.

"He's also on assignment," Bobby says. "Different assignment. It's weird that you don't know him. He's a legend around here; everyone knows his name. Best rigger in the whole company, probably the whole world. Half of the most recent generation of drone pilot 'softs are based on his work."

"When can I see Illeana?" James asks.

"She's going through her own testing," Bobby answers, his white lab coat showing some red stains of whatever he had for lunch. "And, I might add, setting several corporate records in the process."

He pauses what he's doing to list off a series of names on his fingers. "Aztechnology, Cavalier Arms, DeBeers-Omnitech, the Draco Foundation, Evo, Saeder-Krupp, Wuxing, and ZetaImpChem all have or have had vampires on the payroll before, but she's a first for Ares. Officially, anyway. I think the fact that she's infertile helped convince them to take the risk."

But how would they have know that before testing her? James wonders. It probably means that it's not the real reason. So, am I the reason they took a chance on her? Is studying me so important that they'd risk letting a vampire loose in the company? Or did my other self tell them how helpful she is? Or is there something else?

James sees Bobby get a far-away look in his eye when talking about Illeana. The look of distraction, desire. She has that affect on people, especially men. Bobby shakes his head to clear it.

"Mr. Knight is reviewing the daily briefs on her," Bobby says. "On both of you," he quickly adds. "There are some markers in her blood that suggest that she's older than she looks. Rumor is Mr. Knight wants to meet her. I mean both of you."

With his regular Leónization treatments and deltaware bioware, Mr. Knight looks and moves like a world-class Urban Brawl player. James continues his unending up-and-down loop of squats and sit-ups and wonders if he's going to have to geek Mr. Knight for trying to steal his girl.

[rednblack]

10:01 PM Tuesday, September 10th, 2075 - Detroit, UCAS

James is running.  Again.  And again with Bobby, that fat little weasel who must've really drawn the short straw to be standing next to James for what must be a full twelve hour shift today.  And again, he's running through chess openings, trying to pass the time as jogs along at a mindnumbingly uninteresting 26 kph.  Only one thing is different this go-around, one thing that nags at James even as he plays through the various responses.  Normally he favors aggressive, tactically oriented opening games, and almost always Kings Pawn games with the white pieces.  But now he finds himself examining the English opening, and Catalan, positional games where white sacrifices initiative, fianchettos his light-squared bishop, and squeezes out a win with small incremental improvements that seek to deprive the opponent of good moves in return.  With the black pieces he examines the French, Caro Kann, and the Slav Defense: all solid foundational approaches to minimizing white's starting advantage and creating a difficult castle to storm. 

He finds his change in thinking interesting, but also worrisome.  Is he accelerating the nanite's takeover by continuing to stress his body in this fashion, and for these lengths of time?  And if so, why are the nanites more interested in positional games?  Given James' current predicament, it would seem as though tactics need to win the day.  Or are they communicating with him somehow, encouraging him to play the long game?  And if so, are they doing so because biding his time only gives them more control? 

Or maybe the nanites are from Evo? he reasons, knowing that the Russians have favored each of those openings since the days of Soviet hegemony in the world of competitive chess. 

"May I turn the wireless functionality on for my commlink?" James asked, trying to keep his voice neutral over his natural contempt for the doughy fragstick in front of him.

"Why?" Bobby asks, his insufferable smile faltering for a moment.

"I want to know how many games Botvinnik won with the Slav Defense."

"I'll check for you," Bobby says, and his eyes grow even more dull for a moment.  "Six wins, four draws, no losses with the Slav.  Oh, and he played thirty-five games with the Semi-Slav, and only lost one," he adds, helpfully.

In the time it took Bobby to check, James could have hurdled the treadmill, and grated Bobby's face against the rapidly spinning mat like so much soycheese.  But then he'd have no one to feed him information about chess players who have been dead for seventy-five years.  What a shame that would be.

Instead, James lets the topic of chess die out, and he returns to letting Bobby gush about how great everyone is, and how wonderful his -- and more importantly -- Illeana's progress have been these past few days.  He keeps his questions general and non-specific, encouraging Bobby to delve into details only with noncommittal nods and silence as the man speaks.

[Tecumseh]

??:?? AM/PM Thursday, September 12th (?), 2075 - Detroit, UCAS

If Bobby is the good cop, the doctors are the bad cops. During the testing sessions they observe, they throw sand on James, which finds its way into uncomfortable crevasses and causes abrasions all over his skin. They douse him frequently with cold water and tell him run if he wants to stay warm.

James hasn't seen the light of day all week. Probably to prevent me from running off, he thinks. His test environments have all been exceedingly drab. He's woken up at odd intervals, often roughly and in the middle of REM sleep. Without his commlink, he rarely has any clue what time it is, how much time has passed, or how much time is left until he can go home and collapse. Or, per the nanites, keep going.

Meals are the only way that James can keep track of what time it is, or might be. The only upside to the hellacious training is that he can eat as much as he wants of whatever he wants. The serve him four meals a day, including 'Mid-Rats' that he assumes are around midnight, plus regular snacks and constant hydration to the point where James thinks it might be some kind of water torture.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Bobby asks, ready to take down an order while James runs.

"Soykaf. Juice. Ham and eggs. Oatmeal with raisins and cinnamon. Toast with butter and jam."

Bobby freezes. James quickly reviews what he said.

"Did you say 'cinnamon toast'?" Bobby asks, trying not to sound concerned.

James kicks himself, realizing that he did say 'cinnamon' and 'toast' sequentially. He wonders if he just inadvertently canceled his scheduled R&R.

"No," James says, trying to keep his tone even. "Toast with butter and jam. Oatmeal with raisins and cinnamon."

Bobby nods understandingly but takes far more notes than he should be at this point of the testing. "Coming right up," he says absently.

Breakfast arrives, as requested, and James gets to stop running for fifteen minutes to eat. He peppers Bobby with questions to help break the silence. "Bobby, what suits does Mr. Knight favor these days? Bobby, what improvements have they made to the focusing lenses in Redlines and Lancers since the last time they went through trials? Bobby, what sort of heat dispersion does the latest generation of ballistics cloth offer for our high-end clothing lines?"

Bobby answers gamely and at length at first, then slows down and answers more cautiously. James thinks back and realizes that his questions might be interpreted as how resistant Mr. Knight's suits might be to laser shots. That line of questioning probably wouldn't look very good on his evaluation.

Ares had already confiscated James' Redline, ostensibly under the premise of evaluating it and performing the necessary maintenance and upgrades, and had yet to return it. The lack of it weighed on James in a strange way. Of course it was easier to run and jump and exercise without a one-kilo weight on the small of your back, but its absence felt heavier than the nominal weight did.

Bobby doesn't seem to let James' questions weigh on him too heavily, although he continues to take notes at an above-average pace. "C'mon," he says when James' allotted meal time is over. "I have a special treat for you."

He leads James out into a sterile hallway, then down to a testing room that James hasn't been in before. Bobby opens the door with a cheerful, "Ta da!"

In the middle of the room, there's a massive... torture machine? It has hydraulic arms and and reciprocating cams and a lot of crazy drek.

"It's an Ultra Gym!" Bobby announces proudly. "I had to pull some strings. It's an Evo product and generally there's a strict prohibition on purchasing anything from their MetaErgonomics line, but in this case we didn't have a sufficient internal equivalent. Check it out!"

James approaches it cautiously. He sees that he's supposed to stand in the middle of it and do... something.

"Sorry it wasn't here sooner," Bobby says. "First I had to submit a proposal for an exception for the purchase order. That took a day to get approval. Then we had to get it delivered and assembled. That took another day. Then we ran through proper testing, which took another day. It all takes time, you know?"

James didn't know, but he does now.

"Sit in the saddle in the middle. Put your feet on the pedals and cinch the belt around your waist. The grab the handgrips and squeeze the trigger when you're ready!"

James follows the directions but waits to squeeze the trigger.

"It has 20 levels," Bobby explains. "Your average adult male is going to start at level 3 and work his way up. But based on your testing, let's try... level 18!"

James squeezes the trigger. Almost immediately, he finds himself doing a fast cycle of chest press, biceps curl, shoulder press, lat pulldown, while simultaneously alternating leg presses and thigh curls. It is alternately wonderful and horrible. While the change of pace is a sweet relief, the level of effort required is ridiculous. The weights were clearly designed for an ork or a troll and James quickly finds himself outmatched within the first sixty seconds. The overly-heavy weights cause him to tweak his back and reaggravate a wrist injury he had sustained earlier in training. He can run all day, faster and farther than almost anybody, but strength-wise he's only a regular superhuman. He wonders if the final test is to see whether he throws up his breakfast all over the machine.

Checking James' vitals, Bobby says, "Woah, let's dial it down there!" He reduces the level to 16, which is a challenge but feels sustainable. The urge to vomit subsides but his back and wrist still ache.

The testing stops after fifteen minutes. James feels more tired than he did after six hours of running, and debates whether he would fall to the floor if it weren't for the saddle. Still, Bobby claps, applauding his performance.

"That's it!" he says. "You did it! You're done! I'm filing your report as we speak. Your R&R starts now!"

"What time is it?" James asks between gasping breaths.

"It's 13:01," Bobby answers.

"But I just had breakfast?"

"Eh," the chubby technician answers with a shrug. "Anyway, I bet you're eager to get home. As you have no idea where you are, I'll get a couple guards to guide you back."

Bobby summons an ork and a troll who are wearing armor jackets and helmets. They have stun gloves on their left hands and stun batons on their right hip, plus Ares Executioner SMGs on slings. They escort James through a long series of hallways, then an elevator, then an underground tram, then another series of escalators, elevators, and hallways - always indoors - until he finally recognizes "home". It's still the less-prestigious apartment that he and Illeana were in last weekend. The ork and the troll take him to the front door, then spin into sentry position on each side of the doorway. James sighs and enters.

He's practically tackled by Illeana, who leaps into his arms and cinches her arms around his neck like a noose. James holds her, self-conscious of how sweaty he is, and closes the door gently behind him.

"You're back!" she exclaims with a tone halfway between relief and disbelief. "Bobby kept me updated on how you were doing but I wasn't 100% sure they were going to let you come home!"

James, exhausted as he can remember being and with a painfully sore back, slides down the wall until he's sitting on the floor. He cradles Illeana and strokes the back of her hair and notes that she's not wearing her mask. She nuzzles her face into his neck and exhales deeply, as if she had been holding her breath for days.

[rednblack]

When Illeana nuzzles his neck James exclaims, "Your mask?!  What happened?" and traces the line of her jaw gently with his thumb.  They both sigh deeply, and James breathes her in like the scent of home and smiles broadly.  Their lovemaking is less athletic than usual, but it's a slow burn that leaves him sated and sleepy afterward. 

"I've missed you," he says simply, stroking her hair in the bed afterward before falling into a deep sleep.

[Tecumseh]

Illeana doesn't immediately answer about her mask, but her nuzzling and kissing strongly suggest that she had it off in anticipation of James' arrival home. He sees it on the bathroom counter after Illeana carries him off to the shower.

James falls asleep while Illeana readies some alchemical preparation to fix his wrist and back. He has good dreams courtesy of Illeana. He dreams of a cool green mountain meadow with a fresh babbling brook winding through it. In the dream, James naps in the warm sun while Illeana plays a flute or a harp or some lilting instrument. (She later tells him that it's a Mozart piece titled, appropriately enough, Concerto for Flute and Harp.)

James has only squeezed in a few hours of sleep each day for the last five days, and very little of that was contiguous. He sleeps for 18 hours, waking up at 08:00 on Friday the 13th. The first things he smells are pancakes, eggs, and soykaf.

"How did you know when I'd wake up?" he asks groggily, propping himself up in bed.

"I didn't," she admits. "I've just been making pancakes at regular intervals for a while now."

"How long?"

"Six hours," she says, trying to block James' view of a several dozen excess pancakes heaped in a huge mound.

"You didn't sleep?" he asks.

She gives a little shrug. "I didn't sleep well while you were gone. I'm a bit off-schedule."

Illeana curls up next to James while he eats and updates him on her testing regimen. Evidently she was able to coax regular updates out of Bobby with her feminine wiles. James can imagine that being a highly effective strategy with the portly technician.

"I'm worried," she says in a whisper barely above subvocal. "I'm worried that we'll be perpetual test subjects. Each of us must be a researcher's dream come true. What if they never let us out of their sight? What kind of life will that be?"

"This isn't exactly what I signed on for," James agrees. "It may suck, but it's completely understandable, especially given that we just got here. Let's get out today and forget all about it for the weekend."

After spending the morning together, James and Illeana finally get up and get dressed. The weather forecast mentions the possibility of thunderstorms over the weekend so they dress accordingly. James goes to the front door... and finds it locked. He tries again to confirm that it's not a lock or maglock. The door still won't give. Finally, James knocks. The door opens and James sees the same ork and troll who dropped him off yesterday. Evidently he managed to sleep through the entire shift of the other guards, presuming that there is a separate shift with separate guards.

"Yes, sir, how may I help you?" the ork asks.

"I'm sorry, you are...?" James asks.

"First Sergeant Towser," the ork answers. James looks at him and sees a face that might be kind if it smiled. The man had blond hair and blue eyes and looks rather like Chino, if Chino had a deep tan. "This is Gunnery Sergeant Hartman," he says, indicating the troll.

Hartman is huge and more than a meter taller than James. "How many we help you, sir?" the troll rumbles, echoing the ork's question.

"We wanted to do some shopping," James explains. "Take in a trid and probably do dessert and soykaf out."

Towser nods quickly with an apologetic expression on his face that says "I understand, sir, but..."

"I understand, sir, but our internal intelligence reports have indicated that there is an extremely high probability that you are at imminent risk of extraction," Towser explains. "If you prefer, you will find that your home entertainment system features everything available from Ares Global Entertainment, including new releases. You may also do any online shopping you like via your commlinks. Delivery is complimentary, as are exchanges and returns. You may also order dessert from any restaurant in the greater Detroit metropolitan area and it will be delivered under 30 minutes."

James studies the man and realizes that his insignia are unfamiliar to him. "What's your unit, First Sergeant?" James asks. "You're not Knight Errant, nor Firewatch."

Towser stiffens. "Seraphim, sir," he answers tersely.

Seraphim. Elite corporate security that Damien Knight retained from Cross Applied Technologies when he picked CATco apart following Crash 2.0.

"Ah, Seraphim," James says knowingly, although unsure about whether he outranks these men or not. "A special consulting services division that is responsible for providing bodyguards for Ares executives, conducting internal investigations, threat assessment, and other operations typically assigned to elite internal security, correct?"

"Correct," Towser answers stiffly.

"Well if you are our bodyguards," James says with a sly smile. "Then bodyguard us. Let's go." He grabs Illeana's hand and pulls her past them. Illeana flashes James an impressed smile as they walk hand-in-hand to the elevator. Towser and Hartman fall in behind. There is a moment of awkwardness as the foursome steps into the elevator together.

"This is the recommended route based on your requested itinerary, sir," Towser says, sending an ARO with a highlighted map to James and Illeana. "This will provide the greatest coverage for overwatch with the least exposure for extraction."

"I'd like to go outside," James says, noting that the route remains completely indoors.

"Negative, sir. The current weather conditions are thunderstorms and high winds."

"First Sergeant, did you ever do surf training? Cold as tits outside but you're down on your back in the sand with waves pounding over you and the wind robbing your skin of whatever heat it might have had?"

"Yes, sir," Towser answers cautiously, unhappy with where this is going.

"So did I. A late summer thunderstorm is nothing. Let's go get wet."

The elevator doors open and James pulls Illeana out. Towser and Hartman follow, with Towser calling in the route change to whatever central operative is keeping overwatch. James strides through the lobby with Illeana in tow and boldly pushes through the lobby doors. He stands outside, face up to the rain as he sees the sky for the first time since Baltimore. He sighs contentedly.

"Okay, that's enough of that," he says, squeezing Illeana's hand. She takes that as her cue to activate a magical preparation that forms a shimmering barrier around them that wards off the rain. The two lovers hold hands through the plaza while Towser and Hartman follow unhappily behind.

[rednblack]

"You're too cute for words," James says, peering past Illeana at the pile of cooling or cold pancakes behind her.  "Those are way too big for you hide with that little waist of yours," he adds playfully.

Over breakfast they talk about James' dreams, courtesy of Illeana, and she tells him that she chose a Mozart piece for his trip through some European meadows.  "You have a good memory," he jokes.  Snuggled up while he eats, Illeana tells him about the regular updates from Bobby, and James asks if she was knows how often they are able to trigger his "fugue" states, for lack of a better word.  "They won't tell me anything during the testing," James adds.  "Maybe they think it will interfere with the results."

After breakfast, James dresses and shaves while Illeana readies herself for a fun day trip shopping, and James is a little annoyed afterward that his door must be opened from the outside.  After a brief exchange with his escort, James pulls Illeana toward the elevator, and the two metas follow dutifully.

"So, how about a piece?" James asks while the elevator descends, and the ork and troll give one another worried looks.  "Look, I know you're good with that thing," James says to the troll, "but you're not as good as I am," he adds matter-of-factly.

"And last I checked I am licensed and authorized to carry a firearm both for execution of my duties to Ares and for my personal protection.  Yep," he says, double-checking his SIN.  "Still there, and should there be an extraction attempt three guns are better than two."

#

The shopping goes quickly, and almost cheerfully despite the rain and overall bleakness of Detroit.  James looks at ties, commlinks, cufflinks, a new dress for Illeana, and briefly considers a calfskin wallet priced at ¥675 with a chuckle.  He looks at art for the walls of their apartment, and openly discusses with Illeana the virtues of buying pieces now, versus waiting until they move into their more permanent, and promised, living quarters.  He even lets Illeana drag him into an upscale talismonger shop where she enters into rapt discussion with the clerk, a rather tall and pale human gentleman who apologizes that they don't have more Wiccan goods -- Ares being given to a certain corporate prejudice toward hermetics.  James asks about special orders and delivery times, interjecting where he can here and there about all things mana-related, but soon the discussion turns to technical for a mundane to understand much.

For lunch, James has a cuban sandwich and bottled water, and invites Towser and Hartman to join them.  "I've never completely gotten used to eating alone," James confesses.  "Another few pairs of smacking jaws would be a welcome addition to my repast."

Over the meal, James notes the different types of Typhoon shakes the restaurant makes in house, adding flavors and supplements as directed by the clientele.  "It was an interesting marketing strategy," James says, pointing his sandwich to the ARO.

"Hmm?" Towser says, noncommittally, the more verbal of the two.

"You see, Ares had been used to sharing the foodstuffs market with the proctologists for a long time," James says, making reference to an old slang term for Aztechnology, or as the Ares' school boys called it, Asstechnology.  "but when Renraku entered the market, and with very Ares-esque packing with their XLerator line of performance supplements, Mr. Knight himself took it as a personal affront.  The prevailing wisdom was to follow the course that Ares had previously held, just try to out-Ares Renraku, which shouldn't be too hard, right?  Package the new line in red, white, and blue, maybe throw a few maples leafs on the UCAS offerings and put the old stars and bars on the CAS one, but some kid just out of uni had a brilliant counter play.  We're already Ares.  Let's out Renraku Renraku.

"And the Typhoon line was born.  It was a brilliant move in an increasingly multicultural world that still played on American prejudices of the Nipponese takeovers.  They gave their flavors names like 'Ronin,' and 'Kakyū,' words that carry a certain mystique for anglos, and the Amerinds to a certain extent, but which have definite negative connotations in traditonal Nipponese society.  My favorite is the 'Gaijin.' 

"Anyway, what trid would you like to see, Kat?" he asks to silent groans from his two "bodyguards."

[Tecumseh]

Illeana says that she doesn't know how frequently James' fugue states are triggered, but she says she'll try to find out once testing recommences.

"Negative," Towser says to James' request for a piece. "In the event of an extraction, your orders" - he looks to both James and Illeana - "are to take cover and wait for backup. If direct contact is made, your orders are to resist with your cyberweapons and..."

He trails off, glancing at Illeana. He looks at her distastefully seeming to understand what she is. "...improvised weapons."

An extraction attempt does not seem highly likely during the shopping trip. The areas where James and Illeana are guided to go are AA and AAA locations with extensive coverage by Knight Errant officers in addition to regular drone patrols. James and Illeana are not the only ones with bodyguards trailing them at a respectful distance. Towser and Hartman generally wait outside in the rain while James and Illeana shop, although James is fairly certain that means that the cameras and sensors in the store are keeping tabs on him instead.

Similarly, both Towser and Hartman decline to join James for lunch or Typhoon shakes. Instead they keep watch, with one scanning the perimeter while the other keeps eyes on the "packages" at all times. They often position themselves a dozen meters away. James wonders if they have intentionally calibrated this distance in an effort to be outside of James' immediate striking distance. Are they concerned that he'll run off, or that he'll turn violent during a fugue?

Illeana notes the use of her nickname "Kat" when they arrive at the cinema and scan the listings.

"Two options," she says. "They have the latest Manhunt sequel." She gives James a knowing look. The antagonist features active camouflage and directed-energy weapons, and the title of the film seems to resonate. "Or the Cross Point: Daedalus trilogy, remastered and rereleased." James knows the one. It features "Ace Holt" running around with an Ares Redline pistol.

"So which will it be, Ace?" she asks playfully.

[rednblack]

"Oh, Crosspoint.  For sure." James smiles back.

He orders the tickets on his link, and they finish up their lunch without any more impromptu lectures.  Later, once they've found their seats and the previews have ended, he begins inspecting his garments electronically for stealth tags.  Once he's confirmed that there are two apiece in each jacket, shirt, shoes, etc. he grabs Illeana's hand and begins tracing letters across her palm.

W E R T R A C K E D

He starts, not that she hasn't assumed as much.  L R O P E he begins again, and finishes with a rough sketch of gallows across her hand.  With so many modes of egress through the theater it really is surprising to James that the escorts have chosen to remain outside.  Throughout the first act, while Ace Holt is geeking terrorists with flashy trideo-only FireFight moves and his trusty Redline, James goes through the process of locating the stealth tags in Illeana's clothes, and trying no to think too much about how naked he feels without his Redline.  Fraggers.  That's going to be a real pain in the hoop to replace.

Later, James excuses himself to the restroom with the plan of seeing if he can potentially manufacture a distraction that will allow Illeana and him to make a break for it.  Unfortunately, his timing is off, and James can't find a place to pee without being flanked, much less gain access to the janitor's closet or air vents.  He returns to his seat, and sits down heavily.

N O L U C K, he traces on Illeana's palm.  A F T E R S H O W ?

[Tecumseh]

Illeana downloads a quick Morse code tutorial via her commlink. Grabbing James' hand, she squeezes her response:

W I Z
Y N O T
W A L K I N G O R R U N N I N G

Conveniently, there's a love scene in the movie where Ace Holt finally seduces the lovely Mona Lott. Illeana uses the on-scene romance as an opportune time to lean in an pretend to neck with James. Her mask bumps into his neck, which isn't as much fun as real necking, but at least she can whisper in his ear while the rest of the audience is focused on Mona's on-screen assets.

"I'll cook up a little something to distract them," she whispers.

James knows what she's referring to. Illeana can put together what she calls a "party preparation" that's basically the magical version of drugs or sex or large amounts of chocolate. Usually it's fun for personal use but in this case it could be a good way to have the good Sergeants orgasming instead of minding their targets. It might be a way to avoid triggering their biomonitors too.

Once the love scene is complete, Illeana takes the straw out of James' drink, splits it in half, and begins inscribing it with magical runes and mystical formulae that were probably never intended to go on a 10cm piece of cylindrical plastic.