It was embarrassing but no, she hadn't clocked him on the tram. She hadn't clocked him on the way home either until her smart device had alerted her. She knew that was what it was for but she liked to think she kept herself aware. He knew some solid trade craft.<br/><br/>She blew smoke, the flare of her cigar illuminating her face in the dark room, her stalker haloed by the light in the hall outside the door. He was muscular and she knew right away he was like her. A gray. So the opposition had their own operative to secure the information. But why hadn't he tried to take it from her? Take it by surprise? Why hadn't he pumped her full of bullets until she'd stayed down and taken it?<br/><br/>She keyed another command on her wrist-link and the lights came on. The apartment was surprisingly well decorated. Not overtly so but still nice, a little girly... Aside from several weapons on the dining room table, a few partially deconstructed, and the reinforced punching bag in the corner. It had the feel of two personalities, two occupants. One was more whimsical, the other militant. A hall branched off the main room, leading to two bedrooms.<br/><br/>She crossed her legs, still pointing her SMG at him as she removed the cigar from her lips with her other hand. Her eyes focused on the tattoo on his shoulder, the same design she had on the shoulder of her jacket and the brown and gray one piece she was wearing. The barrel of the gun dropped a little. So that's why he hadn't jumped her. They technically worked for the same people.<br/><br/>"You're a Hex-Corp freelancer..." she said in surprise. "Shit." The implications were not lost on her. It was an internal company conflict. The little data stick in her pocket could be the spark that ignited a corporate civil war... depending on what was on it.<br/><br/>"I'm guessing you have an idea of what he did. You were there to pick up the info he was gonna deliver right? Or protect the person he was going to pass it to." She still had the gun pointed in his general direction. Even if they were working for the same corporation, they were still freelancers. The money was more important than the lives of fellow freelancers. Had to cap a few for a pay day? Sometimes it was necessary. But he was also a gray. Where had he been cut? Where had he trained? Where had he fought? Those questions united every gray. The scars on her joints itched.<br/><br/>"Come in but don't get too close," she said, keying the door closed behind him. Her eyes flicked to his knuckles, detecting a faint trace of blood.<br/><br/>"What's going on?" came a sleepy voice from the hall. A woman appeared in a silk kimono with a floral print, the robe open to reveal a smooth, curvy body. She was pale with dark hair and olive eyes. Those eyes widened when they saw there was a guest, turning bright orange, hair rippling, turning pink, skin darkening. She got herself under control, returning to her previous coloring as she pulled the kimono closed. She was a copycat, another genetic oddity. Hex-Corp had once employed a division of infiltration specialists with chameleon abilities. It didn't let them change their bone structure but superficial details were maleable and they could pass for other people with a bit of cosmetic assistance, allowing them access to rival corporate nations to commit espionage.<br/><br/>Cleo had worked for Hex-Corp almost as long as Beretta had. Now she made her living as an escort, tailoring her look to fit the preferences of her clients. Despite being retired from the corporate espionage game, her ability to kill had not atrophied one bit.<br/><br/>"Beretta. It's four AM. No booty calls after midnight, remember?"<br/><br/>"He's not a booty call. Go back to bed."<br/><br/>"If I were more awake I'd take him from you. But I have an appointment in a few hours anyway. I might as well make coffee. Want some, scary guy?" She asked as she passed Carth, going into the kitchen and putting on a pot of coffee.