Her bare feet twitched as they touched the cold concrete before beginning to fumble about for her slippers. A restless night's sleep and now cold toes? Could it get any worse? Yes, it could. She could still be living with her parents instead of out on her own. The re-purposed and refurbished warehouse wasn't so bad. She just needed to get used to it. She'd only lived here a week so far. It just took time to adjust. There had been many changes in her life recently. She'd just turned twenty three, her boyfriend of eight years had just dumped her for a leggy stage actress, her grandmother had passed away and left her a butt-load of cash, and she'd moved from the middle of nowhere to New York City. Things could definitely get worse, but instead they were getting better. Her toes finally found purchase in the plushy softness of her slippers and she yawned as she rose from the queen sized bed. Her new apartment was a loft style place in an old converted warehouse in Lower Manhattan.

She trudged down the stairs to the kitchen and set some tea to steep before shambling toward the bathroom. Her parents wouldn't believe it was their little girl who stared out of the mirror. Her shoulder length ginger hair was dyed candy apple red from the roots to about two inches from the end. She slipped on her chunky black framed glasses and stared at her blue eyed reflection. Based on apperance, she could see why her boyfriend left her. She wasn't anything special. There were curves to her figure, but not much. She wasn't gangly or curvy or a stick figure. She was just petite. Standing a measly five foot two, her body matched her size. She was small everywhere. After scrunching her face this way and that in the mirror, she finally gave herself up as average and continued with her morning. A breakfast of white tea, soft boiled eggs, toast, and Greek yogurt was followed by a quick shower. She slipped on a pair of black leggings that were more holes than fabric, followed by a net mini skirt and a white crop top. After braiding her hair, she added a red and black striped tie and her favorite cadet cap. A few choice pieces of jewelry and securely tied knee high Converse shoes finished the ensemble. Then she grabbed her backpack and camera before leaving.

Shortly after boarding the subway and on commute to work, her phone began to ring. 'Unsatisfied' by The Replacements began blaring through the subway car. Digging in her backpack, she found her phone and answered quickly. "Harley Quinnet, New York Sun." Her voice was soft yet clear. She listened for a moment before speaking again. "Yes boss, I'm on my way. I'll be there in about ten minutes." After listening a moment more she hung up and slipped the phone back in her bag. Harley Quinnet, or just Quinn to most of her friends, had been a journalistic photographer all through high school. Now she worked for the New York Sun, taking pictures of whatever, where ever, and whenever her boss told her to. Today it was going to be a performing arts affair in Central Park.

After arriving at work and grabbing her press badge from her office, Harley hightailed it to the park. If something was going down and she was getting paid to photograph it, she didn't want to miss anything. Her backpack thumped against her as she ran down one of the paths in the park. She had gotten directions to the event from a nearby bike cop. The performance was due to start in just a few minutes and if her luck held out, Quinn would make it just in time.

Christopher Knight was born into the world but he did not exist anymore. Jack had erased every record of his own existence, including his real name. Somewhere there were people that had once been part of his life that would have come under threat had they been linked to him by those that he fought on a daily basis. It was important to erase himself from the system when he fought this system everyday. He was known by many aliases - Zero, Aku, K.O. - which stood for King of Outlaws, as he was named after the press got wind of his activities and decided to write about him to sell more newspapers. Many thought he was not alone but rather an organization. It was sort of true for he did have a lot of help from the hackers all around the world. The robin hoods of this digital age had each others' backs, always. There was a code of honour that ran as deep as a brotherhood formed in the trenches during a war. They were constantly hunt, humiliated and punished by the authorities for one reason, when the world told them to keep quiet and follow their rules like everyone else, they said, 'No.'

Jack did what he felt was right since he was a small boy and eventually had to run away from home at the age of 17 to continue doing so. He was a gifted student, a child prodigy who could not be held back no matter how much others tried. Once he disappeared off the grid, about 9 years ago, no one could find him. No he lived in the epicenter of the western civilization and ran what the papers called, a parallel government of sorts. He was sort of an anomaly even in the hacker world. He exposed himself online on many communication channels to talk to normal people, journalists and whoever else wanted to talk to him. These "townhall" chats he arranged online brought out the big guns - NSA, FBI, and other unknown government agencies who wanted to find him. He was a criminal, guilty of numerous cyber crimes, but (most) of the people loved him. He was a celebrity to the news agencies - a man who always made headlines when he emerged. Despite the efforts of the governmental agencies he was still free and every such instance made him more and more popular.

He monitored the channel he had created for his "followers" and looked through a summary of requests by popularity up on the wall in front of him that had his "screen" projected onto it. He had just gotten out of bed and yawned as he read through it. He smiled. Someone had asked him to stop the radio stations playing the same annoying song they have been playing over the whole month. Many people were tired of it and chimed in that it would be wonderful if it disappeared. Over the night, they discussed and suggested what it should be replaced with. The suggestion ranged from creepy to offensive. Jack smiled to himself as he walked up to his desk which only held a keyboard and mouse and thought about a while. He worked swiftly, going into the major radio station libraries, replacing the song one of his favourites. Once he was done, he replied to the conversation that had been going on on the channel with just one message. The screens of many of his followers, that came from all parts of the society, lit up with that message that morning, "Zero: The Saints are Coming." The conversation erupted right after but Jack had closed it already. The news would cover the small hack later full of their traditional puns everyone was used to hearing. Once he had taken a shower, he exited his house in a rather expensive part of town in his usual clothes and walked out to get breakfast.