[center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLjA2NzRmZS5RMkZwZEd4NWJpQkZiR3hsYzNkdmNuUm8uMAAAAAAAAAAA/monitorica.bold.png[/img][/center] The crackle of a coil. The smell of menthol and berries curled out from the woman's mouth, the vapours picked up and carried away into the air. Caitlyn was... Displeased was the right word to put it. From departmental director to squad supervisor. It was a step down and make no mistake, with the only compensation being that she was still earning the same amount as she had been back in the USA for a [b]lot[/b] less work. Some might have taken the chance to have a bit of an R&R session; use the free time to do something new and creative, but the FBI agent had found the idea of that somewhat galling. She was more experienced than this. She knew she could be helpful, but the bosses in the NSF were paranoid beyond any reasonable level, even for a clandestine governmental department. A figure moved through the oppressive atmosphere. Takai Shunsen. She had only really clocked him initially because he had come from Okinawa; usually the southerners were a bit more familiar with people from the US, but he was a junior agent and he had never ended up underneath her. Then the bomb had gone off and everything had gone to hell in a handbasket for a while. She was mildly surprised to see him alive, but that wasn't a [b]bad[/b] thing- beating the odds was never something to condemn. That being said, she noticed something different. As he approached, she'd let the vape slip from her lips, turning to address the younger man. [color=#0066ff]"New chrome."[/color] She said, without much emotion put into the statement. [color=#0066ff]"I hope physio hasn't been too bad. I know what the docs put you through."[/color] Her being a cyborg was well-known, and she could empathise with the man. Something of her younger, stupider self was in him right now; the self that had been lost along with two limbs. [color=#0066ff]"If you want to talk about it, or want some advice on how you can make them run better, my door is open. I've not been busy what with no DADs going on."[/color] Her Japanese was workmanlike. It wasn't pretty or flowery and she certainly had one hell of an accent, but she could be understood by and understand others. It did its job. Then, the man passed, like the smoke from a cigarette into the smog, and she would place the mouthpiece to her lips once more, drawing in the flavoured nicotine and holding it in her lungs, staring out at the city. Had she been more impatient, she would have wished for something more to do, but she knew that life had a way of pitching fastballs at you right after a lull in activity; she'd enjoy the slow times before a DAD went wrong and she was being dragged through the mud for being a foreign agent. Then, as if to give her a little taste, the lumbering form of Kaz would come into view. You could have put her on the Bear Flag and nobody would be able to tell a difference... Well, that was unfair. The bear was less liable to tear you to pieces. Maybe a bit hairier too. [color=#0066ff]"How goes it?"[/color] she would say in English. Even in Tokyo, it was a crapshoot if any Japanese people would understand you- even before 2012 they'd been somewhat insular with language, but the rising tide of nationalism had rendered a lot of people either too caught up or too afraid to speak the language if they didn't obviously look like a foreigner. [@LetMeDoStuff][@Smike] [hr] [center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLmVjZTllOS5WR0ZyWlhWamFHa2dXWFZyYVd0di4wAAAAAAAA/fatrin-sushi-day-demo.regular.png[/img][/center] Yukiko was having a late lunch. She sat deep in her regular ramen bar, a steaming bowl of food in front of her, and felt a certain level of concern. Her funds would not last her forever. She needed work, but she had an exclusive contract with the NSF that would leave her liable to more trouble than she wanted to get into if she started doing 'extracurricular' work without approval. She could sever the contract, but the NSF could prove to be a lucrative source of income if she held out for just a bit longer. It was a difficult, frustrating path that lay ahead of her. Perhaps she'd just have to tighten her belt and cross her fingers. Surely, they would be returning to regular functions, and she'd be getting more than the stipend she was currently receiving- the stipend that was barely above the poverty line. She had been good for rent for two years by now, but it only took two months of missed payments before her landlord would start to kick her out, so she didn't have the luxury of just being able to coast on by like some might. Standing from her seat, she topped her glass up again from the soda dispenser and grunted, frustrated. Money problems aside, there was also the fact that she was [b]goddamn bored.[/b] She had been sitting on her rear, twiddling her thumbs and generally feeling useless. She didn't exactly take pleasure in killing people, it was merely another aspect of her job, but [i]damn[/i] if she didn't prefer it to doing absolutely nothing. The noodles went down, as delicious as they always were, but her mouth moved mechanically, her tongue numb to the flavour. Maybe she'd go to the range. At the very least, it couldn't hurt.