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Holly slipped into her apartment and fell out of her jumpsuit, and into a set of civilian clothing. She ran a hand through her auburn hair, and plopped down on her sofa. She glimpsed over at her briefcase and groaned.

She didn't like paperwork. It drained her energy, and she needed all of her energy everyday. Like, for Root's yelling and Chix's advances. (Plus, she hadn't gotten enough sleep last night.) She couldn't make it without enough power to afford to use her sharp tongue.

But, she also needed clarity and grounding. That was why she kept a dia- er…account of her life. (Yeaahh….that was it.) There was nothing to de-spazz and release anger like writing your feelings down, into words, onto paper, for all eyes in the world to see, real, physical, and staring back up at you.

'Clarity and grounding,' she decided. 'That's what I need.'

She tried to pull herself off of her sofa, but could barely move her limbs. Paperwork must have taken more out of her than she thought.

'Clarity and grounding,' she decided. 'That's what I need. Clarity and grounding…right after a nap…'

At eight-fifty three, Foaly did one last check, booted the security system, polished off an apple, and was out of the Ops booth in less than ninety seconds.

Not bad, for a personal record.

He clopped through the Tech department, glimpsing into the empty cubicles that held eager, arrogant, and annoying techies in the daytime. Techies much like himself. (Author's Note: The author wishes to mention that not all techies are created equally, and therefore this will not apply to the tech people in other forms of work. I IDOLIZE YOU GUYS!)

Hopping onto the late-night Haven subway system, Foaly rode the rails until he got to a busy section of the metropolis just northeast of the Police Plaza. His apartment was smallish, but comfy, and held all of his take-home/prototype technology. The only problem was getting himself in there…

He key-padded himself in and locked the door, then went into his bedroom and promptly fell onto his mattress. Foaly lay on his bed, thinking. Then, he curled his legs under him and yanked up a blanket, falling into a deep sleep.

Grub was sitting at his mother's kitchen table. In all honesty, he did have an apartment, but he came to see his mother once almost everyday. It was then that he made true his threats to Trouble.

He was thinking. His mother was worried.

He was thinking about what Chay had brought him. Perhaps the best thing to do was simply hold on to it.

"Grubby, honey, have you seen my glasses? I know I just put them down…" his mother called.

"They're on the counter, Mommy," Grub responded, and realized something. Holly would notice that her book was gone! If she wrote in it all the time, it would only be a matter of hours before she started looking for it!

'What would Troub do?' Grub focused as hard as he could. 'What would Troub do?'

It came to him in pieces. He slowly connected them.

'Read it tonight!' a part of him said. 'Read it and copy what you need! Go! Go!'

Grub got to his feet and put his empty glass in the sink. He leaned over and kissed his mother, saying, "Thanks, Mommy." Then, he pulled on his blazer and dashed out the door, to his mother's cry of, "Be in bed by nine-thirty!"

It's short and stupid, but it sets the scene!

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