Selena Arthur raised a hand balled to cover her mouth as she stifled a yawn and rocked atop her feet in time with the almost rhythmic shifting of the Seattle metro bus. She wasn't truly tired, just, fatigued. It had been a long boring day at the<span class="bbc_u">Justice Java</span>coffee shop in which she worked, a long boring day filled with fussy customers and far too much aerosol caffeine for one person to breathe in; still it helped her stay awake. She looked forward to getting home, even if home wasn't particularly nice, or even particularly homey.<br/><br/>It wasn't a long walk from the metro stop; cold though. The October wind bit into her as she walked up the hill and into her building. A brief stop to check her mailbox in the lobby; nothing important, not even bills. Paper mail truly was a dead medium. Still, coupons.<br/><br/>Selena sorted through them on her walk up to the third floor. She was already feeling more alive just from walk up the stairs; it was only three floors but good exercise nonetheless, and more than enough after standing behind a counter serving coffee for eight hours.<br/><br/>She dropped her junk mail; which was most of it, down the trash-shoot on her way to her door, fished her keys from her pocket and unlocked the door. Her apartment was small, sparse, and decorated more like a safe house than a place to live. A small studio flat, wash room adjacent, a single bed, a dresser cabinet, a chair that had been repurposed into a laundry hamper, and most importantly a kitchen with a bowl of fruit on the counter.<br/><br/>Selena ran her hands through her hair and snatched up a snack from said fruit bowl, an apple held in her teeth as she changed out of her work clothes and let the sun set as she showered and washed off the day's labor. A short shower and a fresh set of clothes later it was well past sunset and plenty dark enough for the less than human element to be crawling out of their caves. This was the part of the day she actually looked forward to.<br/><br/>A towel wrapped around her neck she made herself dinner; nothing special, in fact, a little sad; all she made was a sandwich. It was a nice handmade sandwich, but it wasn't much of a dinner. Selena ate half and put the other half in a paper bag for later. It was joined by a bottled water, an orange, and a scone from the coffee shop that was too old to sell. And with meal bag in hand Selena left her apartment once again, locking her door behind her.<br/><br/>This time she went up; four more flights of stairs, one old mechanism that didn't even merit being called a lock anymore, and she was on the roof. She set a hand on her hip for a moment, looking out over the dark grey city, before reaching for the charm bracelet on her right wrist.<br/><br/>A brief flash of light later, and Selena Arthur stood on the roof no more. Pretty Soldier Selene stood in her place; small paper bag in one hand, six foot naginata in the other. Another night, another patrol.<br/><br/>At least this time she remembered to pack a snack.<br/>