Flit was taking a cab back to her flat when the digital 'newspaper' laying on the front seat updated.
"Terrorist shot dead in marketplace bombing..." She reads to herself. She winced. Somebody had tossed a grenade into a group of innocent people. She vaguely recognized him, but couldn't place the face.
What a miserable world this was.
...
When she got back to the hotel, the weather was turning ugly. Well, uglier. It put her in a foul mood. Well, fouler.
Flit slid through the confusing honeycomb of passages and rooms that made up the prefab she was sheltering in. There were no names on the door, no numbers or letters. As long as you had the money, no questions were asked and you were free to come and go as you pleased. Whores, mercenaries and thieves bumped shoulder to shoulder, in and out all day. The erratic layout of the place was deliberate, as it has once been a secret prison for some group or another. There were still drifts of bones in some of the lower rooms, usually with holes drilled in their skulls. Not all of them were old. For those who didn't know their way about, it was a confusing death trap now, as it had been then.
Which was why Flit usually chose this place when she was in this part of the world.
...
She only began to feel safe after she was in her room-the quadlocks engaged, and the chugging hum of the old kinetic dampers came on.
It was spartan, in most sense of the word. There were no windows, only bleak permacrete walls. Tinkered equipment laying around. Scattered weapons. A grungy telescreen occupied the north wall, and after a moment it's rudimentary sensors detected her and it turned on, though soundlessly. A ceiling fan spun in meandering circles. A few pieces of battered furniture broke Flits fall as she sighed, removing her coat and sundry one by one. Casting away the shell.
...
Flit had nearly dozed off when her eyes clicked open. She had made a promise, hadn't she? The only one that mattered
She strolled over to the secure holo-at least as secure as she hoped it was-and made a call. Someone answered. She said the right words and codes in combination.
A few moments later, she saw the sleepy face of her own young daughter appearing over the holo-screen, smiling slightly. Meandering Flit. Mea, usually. It would be a lie to say everything she did was for her...for Flit could be a cruel person, angry and selfish and not at all heroic. There was no real cliche here, no deadly disease or expensive treatment that justified the horrible acts Audacious Flit undertook as a living.
She just needed the cash. Having grown up in the usual standard of abject poverty, Flit knew how it was. You sold out, or they broke you. Flit hoped to save Mea from this fate. She kept no hope for herself.
"...Hey honey. You ready for that story?" She asked kindly, forcing soft emotion back into her voice-the sort she suppressed in professional company. Flit had to try hard not to be the cruel person she really was right now, for her daughters sake. Hopefully she would never known the truth...one day, Flits luck would run out, maybe...the stories were all ready. An accidental death by drowning, no body. A generous inheritance. Hopefully, she would never know.
Mea nodded, shy as ever. She had her fathers stark jet black hair, carefully kept long, and her mothers own sapphire blue eyes. A promise was a promise, after all. She had trouble sleeping when her mother was away, and Flit had promised a whole chapter from Meas favorite book-the Raincatcher.
It was about a Kharmino who was trying to outfly a rain storm, an impossible task...which she suspected, was some sort of stealthy parable on life.
Action: Chill at hotel until mission. Speak to daughter over secure-holo.