It suddenly felt like the walls were watching. Like there were cameras and microphones everywhere, watching all that she did... Watching her shower. Amanda couldn't see or find any of these robotic spies, but neither could she shake the memory of some vaguely watched news article on nanotechnology. Could they really make cameras smaller than she could possibly hope to find? Was it only paranoia suggesting that in the first place?<br/><br/>Either way... What was she supposed to do? With no options other than to try and keep her hands in front of her chest and sex, Amanda had little to do other than finish her shower and hope it wasn't broadcasting to some perverts basement.<br/><br/>Finally as she slipped from the cubicle and straight into her towel her phone rang. Was the timing a perfect coincidence? Or did someone know...<br/><br/>On the other end was her coworker, a Scottish giant of a man called Malcolm Travis. She'd worked him before; he was as hard working and capable as he was brash and slightly imposing... Particularly for his suspects. His words sounded urgent. "Amanda? Hey, Amanda, look... Can yeh get down to te' station a-s-a-p? There's one hell of a shitstorm hittin', and we need all te' hands we got. There's crime fuckin' everywhere, more calls than we can handle. Serious ones at tha'. Just get on down, aye?"<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>