[hider=Questioning]
	A man was sat in the most uncomfortable chair he's ever seen, in a windowless room.
[i]Its not an interrogation, just questioning. But why the handcuffs?[/i] he thought as he tried to move his hands even a little. Seeing it was fruitless, he put his feet atop the table in front of him. A Chicago PD officer entered the room.
"Feet down. I'd like a little respect here," his voice like gravel in his old age.
"Nah."
"Its not often someone is questioned by the chief."
"Its not often I get questioned at all. I guess we both have the honor."
A loud sigh came from Chief Smith as he began the "questioning".
"Alright. Can you clarify some things for me?"
"Maybe. That depends." the man said in a condescending manner.
"I already have your file. Brynn Jonathan Irons; age twenty two, correct? No known address."
"The first two are right."
"And your address?"
"That's personal."
Another sigh from the officer as he continued.
"On the night of September 30th, where were you?"
"I was working a job. Protection for some guy's kid."
"And did you encounter a Mr. Adrian Warwick?"
Brynn laughed for a second. "I might have. There were a lot of people I encountered."
"Let me clarify, did you harm Mr. Warwick."
"I wouldn't say harm, more of self defense."
The officer got up from the desk a moment and walked around.
"Mr. Irons, Adrian Warwick is a very powerful individual. He can do serious harm to you or those you care about. We're just trying to figure out if he was in the wrong or you were. Were there any cameras or people who can more easily clarify what had happened that night?"
"I doubt it. It was a hit on the guy's daughter and-"
"This 'guy' you are referring to is Senator Bronson, correct?" the officer asks as he writes in his notebook.
"Yeah. Anyway, it was a hit. Warwick got a bunch of junkies with no training whatsoever to try to take out his kid."
"Junkies? Anything in particular you noticed about them."
"A few had the shakes. Withdrawl maybe. Seemed something bad."
"I see," the scratching of the pencil against faded paper continued. "And Warwick? Why was he there?"
"If you want something done right, do it yourself. He was there in case something went wrong. And he did."
"How did you know he'd have to be there?"
Brynn chuckled, "Well that's easy. He came to me with the job first. Tried to low ball me. I went to the Senator and offered to watch his kid for double what Warwick offered. He got wind of that somehow and here we are."

	The investigation went on for what seemed like hours. Chief Smith was still sat at the other end of the table with only a few questions left. "Look," he said in a tired tone, "Joseph himself wanted to make sure you wouldn't be arrested, only questioned. You're making it pretty difficult to hold up my end of the deal." Leaning back in the chair and staring at the ceiling, Brynn wasn't really paying attention.
Another loud sigh from the officer as he asked the last of his questions.
"Mr. Irons, you are a Breaker; is that correct?"
"So what if it is?"
"You are aware of the new Act that was just passed? That you have to register?"
"Must have slipped my mind."
"Even if you are [b]his[/b] son, we can't have you running around endangering civilians."
"So I'm more dangerous than King? Than the drugged out idiots killing for no reason?"
"I didn't say that. But they aren't freaks-" At the moment the officer uttered that word, Brynn was already standing over him.
"I. Am. Not. A. Freak." he gritted through his teeth as he was slowly breaking the cuffs around his wrists. The sound of metal bending and twisting becoming louder in the silence that followed his words.
"Please, have a seat." Smith said weakly before regaining his composure. "There's only one question left."
Slowly, Brynn sat back down.
"Now Mr. Irons. Some of the...items you were carrying have not been seen for over a hundred years. We were curious where and how you obtained them."
"A trade secret. Can't give that info."
The last sigh from the officer escaped his mouth. "Well Mr. Irons, it seems you are free to go. On the way out you may regain you possessions we confiscated. However, get registered. We can't be this lenient again." Smith unlocked the hand cuffs and escorted Brynn out of the interrogation room.[/hider]

[hider=Strange Customer]
	"Let's see what we got here," the man at the lock up began as he handed Brynn his belongings, his accent overwhelming at times. "One dark red overcoat; one black helmet; one set of keys; one...sword. A standard issue mark 1911 pistol."
"Its no longer standard issue."
"Right right. This thing is ancient. Good condition though." After gathering the rest of his things, Brynn walked outside and put on his helmet as he mounted his motorbike. The User Interface booted up instantly.
[i]Good evening, User Irons. How can I assist you?[/i] the cold voice said cheerfully as Brynn started the engine.
"I need to go home. No location tracking."
[i]Very well, this is the route to[/i] [b]Home[/b]. [i]Your location data has been deleted and will not be tracked for this session.[/i]
Following the map that appeared in the corner of the visor; Brynn made his way home. A short trip it seemed to be. Dismounting the bike in the lane on the sidewalk, he walked toward the door of the shop and looked inside.
[i]A customer?[/i] he thought. [i]Shally never has customers.[/i] Brynn decided to wait at the side of the shop for them to leave. [i]A man it seems. Covered entirely. A hat too. Not a single inch of skin showing. Not too tall.[/i]
After they exited, Brynn entered the shop and was greeted by the shopkeep. "You know, you didn't have to wait. It was actually a job for you," she said, slightly annoyed. "Yeah, I figured. No one that shady comes here looking for old furniture." Dropping a letter into his hand, Shalquior continued. "They seemed pretty suspicious. Didn't give me any info. You aren't mixed up in this gang nonsense, are you?" "What nonsense?" Brynn asked as Shalquior turned on the television.
[b]Two days ago there was an attack on Senator Bronson's personal home. We have recieved reports from both the fire department and the police that the attack started inside the house. Bullet holes and various slash marks as well as blood coated the main hall and most of the upstairs. Surprisingly, the only room untouched by violence was Amelia Bronson's; age five. Several suspects were apprehended while the Senator and his family have been to moved to an undisclosed location.[/b]
"Oh. That. Yeah. I did what I was paid to do."
"Right..." Shalquoir retorted as she hopped off the counter. "Open that letter then."
"Fine fine."
Brynn carefully opened the envelope and a few things fell out. A handwritten note, a credit chip, and a disposable phone.
"Credit chip? Some kind of advance?" Brynn said as he read the letter.

[i]Mister Irons & Miss Shalquoir,
We may have found something of interest that pertains to both of you. Come to the address on the device enclosed to find it.
From, an Old Friend.[/i]

"What do you think, Shal? A trap?"
The cat sat on the chair thinking for a moment before saying.
	"I might have to close up shop for a bit. This may get very interesting."[/hider]