Highway leads trough the grassy plains, turning across a clump of sickly trees and heading towards a cozy little motel. On the horizon, shapes of mountains look into the pale sky. It's rural Canada, somewhere behind Lake Superior, away from the bustling metropolis of Ottawa. Chronos and Bloodsword had to make three stops to rest before they got here from New York. It took one day. Now they are quite hungry, thirsty and a bit chilly, as if Canada would conform to stereotypes and decide to be cold this day.<br/><br/>Back in New York there's another torrent of dirty rain falling from thick clouds. On a landing pad, atop a skyscraper, the hover-cruiser pilot patiently awaits for the passengers that seem to still be at the briefing.<br/>Shapes of Inimicus and Laughing Lady appear, the pilot gives a lazy salute and opens the door to the vehicle.<br/>The flight is to Canada, where the satelite tracked a certain token that was missing from the caffeteria yesterday. The agents weren't filled in at what criminal matters were accidently uncovered when they gone into action, but those were small time affairs. What was important is that a small plastic card from a certain top-top-secret laboratory was in the fugitive's possesion and was tracked to Canada. For the trip, they got a suitcase full of equipment and chock full of buearucracy working to have their actions be legal. No license to kill this time, not license to destroy, but at least the Canadian police would recognize their status.<br/>When inside the dry and warm interior of the grav-cruiser, the pilot pulled off her face-covering helmet and adjusted her flowing golden locks. "Cassie." The voluptous blonde smiled before turning to the controls.