<em>...timeskip...</em><br/><br/>Being engaged to Ingress while also technically serving as a combination bouncer and neighborhood watchwolf proves to be an interesting combination. On the one hand, the staff at her establishment come to regard you as (more or less) a piece of furniture that just happens to be all but married to their boss, and they act accordingly. Which is to say they're nice and friendly and don't stop making out (or more) just because you happen to walk past them in the hallway. On the other, the people in the neighborhood in general now regard you with a certain wariness, acknowledging that you can be relied upon to deal with interlopers, invaders, and thugs, but not entirely accepting...as if they're waiting for you to form your own brute squad and start demanding protection.<br/><br/>Junior still hasn't gotten back to you. He's dropped off the radar. His new pad, all nice and neat and fixed up, doesn't seem to have been lived in. You also haven't had any additional trouble with that street rat...or any word, either.<br/><br/>You've also discovered that Ingress's place has occasional theme weeks. This week is Private School Girls, which means that all of the kittens are in little plaid skirts just barely long enough to be decent, white blouses, old school ties, and either blazers or vests with a variety of naughty parody schools on them. That is, you think those are parody schools.  You've never heard of a Patron Saint of Hardcore Bondage and you're not sure you want to.<br/><br/>Of course, it's been very quiet of late. Not much for a bouncer to do. So the cries of alarm from the foyer, followed by the insults and bellows of some knucklehead bruisers busting up windows and scaring the clientele are almost a relief to hear.<br/><br/>= = =<br/><br/>It isn't the Killjoys again. You kind of did enough of a number on them that they've pulled back. These guys are Asian...weirdly spiked hair, some dyed in fluorescent colors. Black leather jackets. Some brightly colored characters on the back might be a name, but it's all Klingon to you. Nunchuks, knives, and mirrorshades.  Through the front door and windows you catch a glimpse of several sporty racers pulled up against the curb--their rides, all pimped and tricked out. So there's a fair chance that these bozos are not local.<br/><br/>Time to go to work, Wolfie.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Stats</div><div class="spoiler_body">Die Cap of Six. Wave One: Threat Level 12, Damage Rating 1.</div></div><br/>