Cover Story

-heist-

"How much do you care about me, ani-chan?" she asked, voice childish and unassuming.

"However much you think you need." He laughed: a sound crisp and almost sweet, like biting into an apple. "Why?"

A thoughtful pause. "I decided…it would be great if you wanted to die for me."

Brrrring!

"Huh!"

Bannon came awake violently, jerking up right and gasping in horror as a piece of printer paper stuck to his face and blinded him. Half asleep and delirious with remnants of a million nightmarish telephones, it took him a couple tries to get that demonic paper off his face. Finally, he slapped the paper off. Fiery tendrils of his own hair hung in skin-tickling spikes around his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

He blinked wide almost feline eyes into the mid-day stream of clear light. A distorted square of sun-light through his sky-light overhead, patterned weird across the kitchen counters, bright and clean in the dingy shadows of his apartment.

Bannon hunched over his open laptop and held his head between his hands a long moment, the phone ringing and ringing until it finally stopped. Hung over with his late-night activities and the sudden interruption of his day-time napping, the nocturnal felon moaned and reached for the pillow he'd dragged on the counter nearby. He wondered irritably how he'd missed the pillow because now he had the lap-top company logo squished into his forehead.

Yanking the pillow out from under a snoozing Shi-Shi (why should the cat get to sleep?) he selfishly hugged it and dropped his head onto the feathery headrest – determined to get some damn sleep before raiding WAYNE Enterprises tonight. The cat yowled in aggravation and slunk away to the corner of the counter where he coiled up to glare menacingly at his lethargic young owner. Bannon ignored that glare with almost royal efficiency, yawning loudly and shoving his face into the pillow.

Bing!

Ban groaned. Shi-Shi too gazed at the guilty laptop with utter disbelief, as if it had suddenly begun to tap-dance across the counter top. The alien noise of new e-mail almost sounded almost unknown in his moment of surrealism between sleep and waking. He numbly clicked the tiny blurb and a new message from CircusRunaway sprang up, the words running together in grayish little smears across the computer screen and he muttered darkly to himself, squinting at it.

Dear Bandit13,

Are you sure you want to get rid of those demonic sheep? If you can sleep at night it means less time to be up and about high jacking cars. But if it will help break your addiction…just go read a damn book, you illiterate jerk. Just messing with yu. But seriously, sit on the couch and read until you can't keep your eyes open anymore. Promise you'll be dead asleep in minutes.

-Signed CircusRunaway

The irony of this did not escape the achy-eyed, teenager as he yawned yet again and rumpled his nest of copper hair. Smacking and punching keys at random, he spelled out a half sober kind of reply, so exhausted that he pretty much wrote the quickest thing to his foggy head. 'Quick' being a loosely used term as his thought processes at this stage of under-rest equaled something kind of like...being hammered. Hard. Like way too many shots of straight alcohol. Thus, he rambled.

Dear Whatsyurname,

Thank U so much for the sleeping tips. Since yu e-mailed last night and I was busied I chose to ignore your message. So while Im sleeping suddenly, my comp makes a 'ding' sound and wakes me up to tell me that you've e-mailed me a couple tips on how 2 sleep. Wow. This must be karma for all the cars I've been jacking lately. A couple hundred actually. I guess I deserve this or something, eh, chuckles?

But yu wanna know some weird shit? In high school I used to run X-country a lot…so I'd sleep really well at night…and that has nothing to do with anything. I just suddenly thought about running. Like running away from the circus…what kind of lame-ass name is CircusRunaway anyhow? Makes y' sound like a damn clown and an unemployed one at that. Oh! Weirder shit! The last circus I went to was awful. There was this huge accident and two of the performers died during one of the acts…I'm not sure which one. Good lord, I feel sick. Later.

-Bandit13

He hit 'send' and buried his face in the blankets, immediately drifting off to slee…

Brrrrring!

Bannon twitched away from the laptop with a cringe. The phone rang again and he proceeded to glare at the device of his torment. Who called him like this anyway? He knew a grand total of five people in the whole damn city and five fifths of them wanted to throw him in jail. So who would call?

Brrrring!

He snatched up the phone and jammed it to his ear while reaching for the computer's volume dial. "What?" he snapped, jiggling the dial to no effect.

"Hello. Who's this?"

"Ban Mallory. Who's calling? It's the weekend. No repairs until Monday and that's only if I'm in a good mood," Ban articulated, crossing his arm over his chest and falling back into his seat, hand tucked in the crook of his other arm. "And why did you call my home phone? How'd you get this number?"

"My list," the voice answered promptly, energetically in the manner of sale-men(women). "Mr. Mallory. Could you use more money?"

Under the couch Shi-Shi's tail flicked back and forth nervously, his ears twitching at the sound of his master's short laugh. "Yeah!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, glancing at his laptop. "That would be fantastic! Can you do that for me?" Would CircusRunaway get his e-mail anytime soon? He hoped so. The mechanic felt that somehow not hearing his friend's answer would be upsetting somehow.

Meanwhile the lady on the other end sounded hopeful, launching into an elaborate script to promote her scam – err – financial plan. "Well, we can do that for you! If you just-,"

"Great! You get on that!" Ban interrupted her. "Send a hay-bale! Send a couple in fact! I'm trying to make rent. Thanks."

And he hung up. Shi-Shi voiced a loud complaint and the thief cast a look at the cat just in time to see him glide across the carpet to his conspicuously empty food dish. The young man scowled. What happened to natural predatory instincts? Shi-Shi must have missed God's memo while He handed out the rules of being an animal and whatnot. Lousy snooty cat. Can't even get his own stupid food and Ban knew for a fact several rats had made residence in his shop downstairs. One had even grown so bold as to steal his peanut butter sandwich last time he brought food down.

He got up, grumbling to himself as he padded quietly across the shag before tip-toeing over the kitchen tile, feet sticking to the cold linoleum as he pried the fridge open. He squinted into the back of the cold-box and yanked a random tuna can from the shelf. Kicking the door closed he popped the lid and crouched by the empty food bowl, shaking the tin rapidly to dislodge the cold fish. With a splat it flopped into the bottom of the dish in a grayish/pink cube.

"Reow…" said Shi-Shi reproachfully.

"Oh shutup," Bannon groaned, standing up and massaging his aching shoulders. He sat back down at the counter, coiling his arms and dropping his head on them; eyes closing. "Go catch a rat and be useful why doncha?"

He started to slip away again, almost dropping off when…

Bing!

-the disgustingly cheery sound stabbed him awake.

Grrr… He groaned and hit the keyboard with his fist, somehow opening the e-mail and a sound byte file inside reading From:D.S. anonand a sound file. His fist against the board had already clicked it automatically and the scrolling time marker had already began to roll along the bar at the bottom of the file. He grumbled, thinking it had to be one of those irritating prank e-mails that said some something foul before detonating your computer or something, but no profanities emerged from the speakers, no pornographic script or curses against his mother and her children.

Nothing.

Only a faint shiver, a warbling string of sound that floated through circuitry into his living room. He blinked. Was that… No couldn't be. Who would send him something like that? He shoved himself upright, frowning deeply at the screen, the marker still rolling, but the sound didn't come in clearly as it should have. Shi-Shi abandoned the tuna and retreated in a flash to the couch. He growled from beneath the sofa nearby, animal eyes glittering greenly under the shadow gap.

Ban pushed away from the counter, feeling a bit disconcerted as he reached for the box he'd set on the counter the night previous. Ripping it open, he turned the silver faucet, water gushing from the spout and he jammed his head under. Cool water split at the nape of his neck, running in cold rivulets down the sides of his throat and face. He emptied the contents of the box into his hands…then into his hair.

Then sound spilled into the studio apartment, washing over the oriental furnishings and generally demolishing feng shui with the familiar warm-up scales of a violin.

He jerked, freezing at the sink, his pulse leaping like a startled animal against his ribs. The notes began to climb and he closed his eyes to protect them from the water, or so he lied to himself. He turned off the water and thoroughly saturated his red hair with his product, head bent low over the sink like he'd fallen suddenly ill. The sad, wavering notes of the song jittered through his kitchen and he found himself suddenly doubled over the sink, fingers tangled in his hair, his lips tight.

The warm-up paused…then suddenly launched into a violent staircase of jagged notes. Faster than natural human fingers moved, it seemed, the sounds leapt from the strings of the invisible instrument. The unforgettable, undeniably wicked song of dangerous style and speed: The Devil's Trill. The pride and joy of those few great violinists who dared challenge it, the song every truly amazing musician tried to defeat.

Bannon ground his teeth and yanked his dripping head from the basin, crossing the room and twisting the sound off his laptop. He slammed the computer closed with a hearty 'snap' of plastic clasps and stood there: hand over the lap-top casing, breathing harder than natural. He jerked suddenly into motion, scrolling the e-mail for clues, text, anything but only found a simple line in neat Times Roman script beneath the sound file.

Wonderful work, Ban.

He deleted it with prejudice.

-heist-

"Mr. Regan? Regan?"

The pretty blonde reception lady looked around earnestly. Several curious visitors in the lobby looked up, most of them graying older men with a smattering of smart looking thirty-somethings with a glint of ambition in their sharp eyes; the fresh batch of business men and board representatives here to meet with Jump's suspicious executives. In sight of new and expensive future development prospects, the branch had just recently put out a request extending over-seas and across country in hopes of gaining funding from a wealthy buyer interested in their work.

"Right here," a friendly voice said from the side hall.

The receptionist blinked as a pale young man in a sharp navy blazer and slacks stepped around the corner, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. His shiny black briefcase looked brand new and his blue-black hair almost too dark to be real. Maybe dyed? His blue-green eyes looked oddly colored, like he wore contacts perhaps, but then why wear those stylishly tinted glasses? Probably just a trick of the light she thought, smiling at him as he moved toward her, apologizing for not hearing.

"A bit tired. Long trip from Gotham," he said with a rueful grin. "Is Mrs. Miriweather ready to see me?"

"Yes. Right this way," she said, high heels tapping on the polished floors as she turned and sashayed into the adjoining room. "Aren't you a bit…no offense, meant; I'm actually very impressed, but aren't you a bit young to be representing for Sasaki Industries?"

The young man just laughed a short lazy laugh that relaxed everyone in earshot. "Yeah, but the board of directors is convinced this is worth investigating. I'm just a go-between you know. It's really not all the glamorous, but it brings home the dough."

The woman looked wistful. "Wish mine did. Here we are. Go right on through."

As he entered a severe looking business woman in black blouse and skirt looked up sharply from an extensive file on her desk. Her expression was one of deepest suspicion and dubious formality as the unusually young man introduced himself. She extended a hand and shook with him before he took a seat in front of her. She studied him warily, almost doubting this friendly youth could possibly be the representative of Sasaki Industries. However, WAYNE Enterprises' Jump branch very much needed funding and Sasaki – who already allied with the central branch of WAYNE Enterprises – was a coveted buyer.

She'd have to be both very nice and very professional.

"So," she began, standing and coming around to the side of the desk. "What is it that you are interested in?

The young man flicked open the clasps of his briefcase. "I'm interested in the recent robbery. I flew all the way to Jump City only to hear one of its branches has been raided. I want to know what is being done to protect Sasaki's future financial investments."

The woman looked sour, but graciously complied. "Yes. Rest assured that will not be happening again. We've tightened security around our newest inventions. I personally check the vault for its safety every night at eight sharp and I never miss my deadline." She looked so serious she might have just declared she'd murdered a man. "Never. Only I know the security codes to get in and of course my superiors in our Gotham branch."

The youth looked dubious still so she went on. "It's state of the art. Surely, you have a standard at Sasaki. Tell me how would you defend such a prize as our universal adaptors chip?"

He looked thoughtful. "Not that I'm an expert but…in addition to single personal access, I'd have guards patrolling round the clock, motion sensor, heat sensor and audio sensitive alarms, silent alarms and periodical laser scanning. Re-enforced vault, laser grids and security cameras outside the room at all times. Though I trust your camera angles don't record whatever code it is you use to get in or what it is exactly inside the vault because it's classified and stealing security tapes is easier than stealing the chip itself."

The woman looked amused by his thorough list of precautions and nodded daintily. "All taken care of. Do you wish to know more about the adaptor?"

Regan leaned forward, intrigued now that his company's future 'investments' seemed secured. "Yes. Your public announcement was a bit vague."

"With reason. We don't want every two-bit thief in the country flooding us," she snorted. "These two chips are proto-types in a new age of nanotechnology. Like living tissue the first chip can be amalgamated into any existing nanotech and then used to increase its adaptability, efficiency, intelligence, cooperation; you name it, it can do it. We've lovingly nicknames her Espia, meaning 'spy'. The chip in this building is the chip that controls whatever tech that its sister is inserted into. We call her Socio: 'partner' and I assure you one without the other is useless."

"Can you recover the stolen chip?" he asked sharply.

"We are seeing to it," she said shiftily. "Does Ms. Sasaki have any specific interests in this branch and its work?"

"Pardon me?" The young man seemed perplexed.

"Ms. Sasaki," she repeated impatiently. How could he not recognize who he worked for? Maybe he misunderstood. "Since she's taken over her father's company I thought she made it clear she would be dedicating herself to other endeavors outside the company. Has she changed her mind? Her father's recent death shook everyone -,"

Regan cleared his throat suddenly and pulled a smooth kind of paper from his briefcase, handing it to her with a sudden air of one distracted. "Yes. She's handed over the company's smaller works to her board of directors. I get my orders from them. Not Maia Sasaki herself. Would you mind looking over these legal documents before I go? I'll leave them with you if you'd like."

Mrs. Miriweather took them and had only just begun to read them when the young man laughed. "Oh. Excuse me. You've got one extra." He plucked the smooth, laminated one out from the bottom of the pile, forcing her to peel her fingers from the glossy finish. "I'll get back to you soon as possible. I'd like to wait it out a bit, make sure we're not making a bad investment. It's been a pleasure."

He gave a small bow that she attributed to his Asian heritage and left. Moments later a man from another firm entered the room and she forgot all about Sasaki's Industry's too-young representative and the strange look behind his tinted glasses as he said 'Maia Sasaki'.

-heist-

Author's Note: Sorry for the wait, but I couldn't get this chapter to sound…right somehow. Maybe because X wasn't doing anything particularly thievish at the time, but it gave me a bloody head ache to write out. Drafted and rewrote it almost five times. My plot keeps trying to evolve into something retarded and pointless. So...hard…must maintain CHARACTER! Questions will be aswered and flames will be used for smore-making. Join me and eat smores!.