[b]November:[/b]

[b]Orange:[/b]

So here’s the thing with about how quiet Fiona and Crystal have been about this, until now. 

Picture this date, instead, as breakfast at a New York cafe. The coffee is terrible and expensive, the bagel surprisingly good, and halfway through Fiona would just give up and order a $2 pizza to the table, which beat out everything else on the menu. 

Picture this date, as well, to be 8:45am, September 11, 2001. You gesture at the world trade center and say - “I’m about to do gay crimes for journalism”. 

Right now this actually looks worse than that. Not, like, aesthetically. Aesthetically it’s perfect. Crystal will definitely be able to appreciate that, eventually, probably, maybe. But you just applied actual astrophysics to the Basque Space Program, and not even the Weathermen dreamed of blowing up an [i]actual weather system[/i]. 

It may take a moment.

Somewhere, someone plays a very old song: 

[i]In old movies people scream choking on their fists when they see shadows like these[/i]
[i]But no-one screams, because it’s just me [/i]
[i]Wrapped up in myself, never going to get free[/i]. 

[b]Strawberry:[/b]

The play has mixed results. The artistry is impeccable, but you’re officially dealing with people who’ve had social hacking training. Even if the deceit doesn’t scan as deceit, you’re at a point where these are people who will follow a checklist to the letter, with no regard for the emotions. 

Kind of like how Buckingham guards were trained to literally trample children instead of deviating even a single step off their patrol routes, or if armored cars see a crash at an intersection they’re trained to speed up and plow through. It’s a bad look, and that will win you some sympathy, but soft power doesn’t stand up to a slung submachine gun and recognized security forces doing their job. They’re in uniform, it’s the hard counter to an emotional play. 

“Just answer the question, Miss…” He trails off, then turns and whispers to the android beside him, “Scan their ID.” 

You’ve spent cover 4, so one of you can’t fail this check. The other one’s about to be escorted out and generate some heat. 

“They’re allowed to be here. This is a volunteer organization.” A man in a sweater vest who’s been holding a half-full mug of coffee the entire time stands up for you. Floor managemnt. The sympathy play gets you that. 

“They [i]were[/i].” The guard corrects him.

This takes time though. White: Mycroft’s data was either a state channel, or just using the preferred encryption signatures of state actors. Probably the former, they have fairly exclusive contracts with their vendors, and you would know. That doesn’t confirm Mycroft as conspiracy either way - you already knew this is a deep-state project from Dad. No way to tell if this is a dropped line or a pulled string. 

Meanwhile, Bruce Spring drops from the network. Officially, anyway. Now he’s switched from an issue of passive surveillance to an issue of active surveillance. He’s still in the area of operations, which means he’s still in your sights. Just not in your ears. 

[b]Waffle:[/b]

This will take more time than the other teams have to react, and will be frictionless. The searchlight has changed target. 

[b]Flood:[/b]

Cool girls don’t look back at explosions. You’re well outside the blast radius when the mortar hits, burrowing a minivan sized divot into the greenhouse full of kraty hydroponics green onions that was growing above you. 

Another song starts to play, very different to the one from before. An APC with a grenade launcher turret tears through Gaia. Its all terrain wheels are screwlike, letting it drift at unpredictable angles through muddy topsoil. This accounts for at least two of the remaining Chase Black operators, one at the wheel and one on the turret. 

Too many crops to weave and hide through to get a good pursuit or target. They need to cover a lot more ground than you do, but they’re covering it a lot faster. Mounted speakers on the APC blare a very different piece of music. This one’s happier, even, [i]playful[/i]. 

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run. 
Don’t let the farmer have his fun, fun, fun.
The farmer can survive without his rabbit pie
So run, rabbit, run, rabbit, [i]run, run, run.[/i]

It’s a cute bit of psy-op, but they overplayed their hand. This is a hammer and anvil strike. You’re being corralled into the real killbox. The APC [i]could[/i] hold all six of this fireteam. That’s what you’re meant to think. 

The problem is even if you know that, what can you [i]do[/i] about it?

[b]250 seconds remain [/b]