The clatter of keys filled the room, the sound of it as soothing to his mind as the silky smoke that curled in the air. The only light in the room came from the computer screen, throwing a green lustre over pale white skin, hitting his red hair and making it look almost black. Unlike the fashions influenced by Blondies and their Pets, the man didn’t expose his body, but wore a thick cream jumper and tight dark jeans.<br/><br/>He didn’t dress for anyone’s pleasure, or to pander to his own sexuality, but for comfort. For the warmth of the clothes and for the protection it offered from unwelcome gazes. His features, his position, his height, they all worked against him. He did not desire to be desired. It was one reason why on the cusp of the evening, he was to be found cloistered in his apartment, still working and not out enjoying the pleasures of Midas.<br/><br/>He knew someone had entered the building the moment the door opened. He reached for his lazergun before he opened the viewer, staring at what he saw for several long, wasted moments. A Blondie?<br/><br/>Even though his brain knew who it could not be, his heart twisted with a forlorn hope. The Elite moved into the path of another camera. No, no it wasn’t<em>him</em>, but he was familiar. It took him only a second to recall the name. Raoul Am. Iason’s friend. He took tea with a the merest hint of lemon, and would cut his food to bite sized pieces before starting to eat it.<br/><br/>Why was he here?<br/><br/>The hacker put the lazergun away and closed the programme, returning to the order forms he was sorting through for the next week of trading. He sent three out to different suppliers, making offers for their stock. Everything had become so expensive over the last few years, and it didn’t take a genius to work out why. They had to pay the labour the legal minimum, and that money wasn’t being poured back into the market. The lack of trade between Ceres and Midas was having an effect, and it wasn’t good.<br/><br/>He didn’t twitch when the door slid open, didn’t turn when his name was called. “Sir Am,” he murmured around his cigarette, fingers still moving on the keyboard. “If you’ve come to reminisce, please go back to Eos. I do have a life beyond pleasing Blondies.” His voice was absent of emotion or inflection. He didn't sound aggressive or sullen, thought he felt them keenly.<br/>