Morning in the A.D.D.'s barracks.
Status of Katie Mercury: Grounded.

Looking over her drying nails, Jennifer's eyes flicked to the blinking red light on the phone. Annoyance swept over her features, her trimmed brow furrowing at the unexpected interruption to her weekly ritual. Who calls the agent barracks anyways? She pressed the intercom.
"Hello?"

A slight pause.
"Yes, is this the Alien Defence Directorate's barracks?
The man's voice was friendly, somewhat gruff with age.

A roll of her shadowed eyes.

"Yes, how can I help you?"

"Ah good, I'm a buyer for Vortex Industries, I'm sure you've heard of us?" *Chuckle* "Well anyways, I was hoping to speak to a certain young woman there, could you possibly patch me through to Kate Mercury?"
Blinking slightly at the implications of success this call was making, she leaned forward into the intercom.
"K-Katie? Katie Mercury? You want to speak to her?"

On the other line, a small huff of annoyance passed the man's lips.
"Will this be a problem?"
An defensive chord was struck in the man's voice.

The woman looked to the clock, 10 in the morning, the slacker probably isn't even up yet.. a slight, malevolent smile pulled at the edges of her rosy red lips. Hopefully she isn't up yet.
"No problem at all sir."

A few buttons pressed, and the communication screen in Katie's room began to flash yellow and ring with a terribly annoying beeping.

She races across an endless desert, chasing the day. She is confident that no matter how far the sun runs, it will never elude her, that she could circle the face of this vast planet a thousand times and yet the sun's position in the sky would never change in her relation. It is bliss, nude on chrome metal, the engine rumbling like a jackhammer between her legs, thighs squeezing warm, powerful body like a lover, perpetual ecstatic embrace. They pitch and weave around dunes and rocks and as---

BA-DEEP-DEEP! BA-DEEP-DEEP!

*snort*

There's no answer on Kate's end, so the sadistic little dispatch bitch takes great pleasure in patching it directly into Kate's implant, the beeping echoing inside her skull. It's disconcerting to say the least. The secretary's bright and sunny face flickers to life on the screen of Kate's spartan garage workshop. Kaaaaaaaaaatiiiiiiiie! You've got a gentleman caaaaaaaller!!!!" A hand raises from a mess of covers on the far end of the room, middle finger extended. The receptionist must take that as a greeting, because she patches the man from Vortex Industries right on through.

Through the other end of the screen, the demon-negotiator gets a panorama of Kate's inner sanctum: Spare parts lay scattered mish-mashed across the slick steel floor, mixed ith half-finished chassis, glowing robotics, half-empty pizza boxes, spent pill bottles, shredded rolling papers, beer cans crushed underfoot, an artificial canopy that could support an ecosystem of Amazonian proportions. In the far corner sits a lumpy cot, and atop it, a mess of tangled girl, face down: dusky, bike tanned skin wraped over sleek, svelte womanly muscle, she looks like the sports car every man wants to wreck slipped into warm skin - face in pillow, sheet pulled just above the round curve of her rear, gentle curve of back exposed, arms raised, holding pillow over head as she hopes beyond hopes through her hangover that whatever this bother is will just. go. away.

His red eyes swept to the agent, lying on his 'borrowed' ship's floor, face pressed against the cold metal. Unconcious with hands and legs tied, semen leaked out from her pussy, still flushed bright red from the last hours stimulus. She had been so nice to set up the conference call, and provide him with the lovely software though. The wonders that death threats could bring! Looking to her personal com device, he smiled again at her wallpaper, the lovely candid photo of Katie Mercury. A slight scowl was spread across her lips as she stood watch of transport vehicle. Her lean body wrapped tightly in the racing suit she wore, the woman's allure sent a rush through him. The banner of the com device: I <3 Kate Mercury

Leaning back as the call was patched through, the demon cycled through his software. Voice changer, image darkener, IP scrambler, solitare. He closed the losing game of solitare in the corner of the screen as an image finally appeared on the screen. An eyebrow raised at the hellish mess before him, the hodge-podge of metal, blinking neon, glass bottles and other garbage assaulted his vision. It was like a college boy's dorm room, sans the playstation and plus some gearhead nonsense. His eyes scanned the room, coming to rest upon the girl, holding her pillow firmly over her head.

A vein pulsed in the demon's forehead as he began, the background of the bridge was slightly visible, but on her screen, the speaking man was merely a silhouette.

"Uhm, yes hello, my name is Ross Raddish, I'm a buyer and investor interviewer for Vortex Industries. You must be Katie? I can see scraps of your work all around you, and let me just say, it is wonderful to see you so comfortable in your element."

Biting his cheek at the horribly flattering chatter he had to bullshit his way through, he continued. Now trying to get her attention, he decided to get into the motivational stuff.

"Vortex Industries has heard much of your work, and would like to look at a few of your machine designs and customizations...possibly fund some of your endevours.."

What a way to wake up. Between the mattress and her body, her fingers are buried between her legs, thighs creamy with nocturnal emissions, the hand holding the pillow lifting it and flicking it away before spidering blindly across the bedside table, procuring a tight-rolled joint. She pulls herself to a seat, tightly wrapping sheets around herself as she folds her legs underneath her, quilt thrown over her shoulder like a shawl. Her dry hand lights the fragrant cigarette up, dark scowl set in pretty face as she glowers at the large screen. "No, I mustn't be 'Katie'. Captain will do just fine." She stifles a yawn with the heel of her hand, taking a long drag off the fragrant hand-rolled cigarette. "Do you know what time it is, Ross?" Because she sure as hell doesn't. She's going to kill that little bitch Jennifer.

"You know what? Forget it. It doesn't matter. Let me make this easy for you. I'm happy with my current phone plan, I don't want a subscription to the New York Times and I'm uite content with the current contract between myself, the ADD, and Mercury Industries. I'm heavily invested in the company, you may not have heard." That last sentence drips with sarcasm, but she's curious about what this slick shyster thinks he has to offer her.

"Ah yes, excuse my brashness, Captain Mercury."

Anger wasn't the word in this situation, a more fitting description run along the lines of 'copious heaps of violent rage'. He glared at her, not that she could tell. Such disrespect, such haughty sarcasm. Oh how he would pound it out of her! Seeing the woman light up a cigarette, he silently cursed her for reminding him of his own incendiary vice. He produced a cigarette from behind his ear, and with no flick of a lighter, no spark of ignition, it was lit. The tip glowed a darkened red due to the software, hardly illuminating his lips.

"Yes, I know your affiliations..."
Briefly removing the cigarette, he let the smoke trail lazily up to the ceiling of the stolen cruiser as he reflected on his lying skills.

"Captain, would you say that the A.D.D. and the family business are entirely agreeable about your salvaging and customization?"

The man on screen seemed disinterested as he continued to point out flaws in her 'happy' set up.

"The payment of a captain in the A.D.D. is horribly low for some one of your obvious skills, and Mercury industries does have a reputation to uphold as a safe competitor...well hell, at this rate, you must have thought to yourself that your skills, your talent is underappreciated in your line of work."

Seeming to direct his gaze more clearly at her, he played her arrogance against her.

"Some might even call you a mechanical genius! I wouldn't be surprised if you made the cover of Gearhead or even Time magazine...with the right sort of publicity anyways. Hell, all I'm saying is, Vortex is looking to open up to the speed demon genre, a genre you have all of the bases covered on. Tuning, maximum displacement engines, the most responsive handling not on the market, theres alot of money to be made."

His voice lowered, smoothly adding to his statement.

"Alot of money to be made for us. In fact, on all models that you design, all aftermarket customizations you make, we will be willing to offer to you 50% of all sales. Which you can do with whatever you like, put it into Mercury industries! Buy a shitload of booze! Whatever! You'll be making your name known in the automated industry, making money, and doing what you love to do, not answering to a single superior.

Tapping ash off of the cancer stick, he leaned back in the seat, one often sat in by Katie's comrade.

"Can we cut a deal? By the way, its about 10:15."

Slowly, lazily, she pushes to a seat, one hand holding the sheets in place over her breast while the other twirls the joint in thoughtful circles while the man gives his sales pitch. But the smirk on her face suggests the thought in process is 'what she'll have for breakfast'. Suffice to say, she doesn't look impressed. Her answer is probably a surprise then, held out after a long pause, joint perched in her lips as she smooths hair back out of her eyes. "Make it 13:00, make it lunch, and make it public and you've got a deal. You can patch the meet coordinates in to my ship." It's a grasp of boredom. She highly doubts any private firms have any better proposals than the boat she's in, but it's not like her ADD schedule is lined up. It's another week before the tests on her new neuro-interface are done and until then, she's grounded. Hell, they don't want her even leaving the base, but what they don't know won't hurt them, will they? [b]"You'll have an hour to make your pitch. I doubt you'll get very far unless you bring me some equipment to test drive. And for Christ's sake, next time, don't call me through the ADD operator. Dipsh--" The last word is muttered, cut-off mid-syllable as she taps at her temple. The call blinks out.

And so she sets about starting her day, hours earlier than she ever expected to. The time in the shower is long and steamy as she mentally brings the dream she had been having to its logical conclusion. The handheld showerhead gets put to good use, hand-calibrated for extra horsepower, surely. Hair is still damp as she squeezes into her civvies: black leather pants complimented with snapped motorcycle boots (the only kind of shoes she has, but freshly polished to a shine), bra followed by tight little vest, zipped just above the cleavage (Might as well give the salesman a thrill if he's flying all the way out here for nothing, right?), then a matching biker jacket before tugging on fingerless gloves. She checks herself briefly in the mirror before sneaking into the vehicle bay to manually disengage her ship from the dock, and ten minutes later, she's out, sneaking under ADD flight control, tapping in the coordinates her newest admirer has undoubtedly sent to her ship's database.

Early into this venture, he had honestly wondered if some scrawny mechanic was worth all of the trouble. There was a somewhat fetching agent unconscious and naked not ten feet away from him. His patience with his prey was all but non-existent, and for her to give him orders! Impudence! The fury rose in his chest, his heart pounding in his ears as she cut the call. "I need to put some fear into this bitch."

Tapping his fingers, plans began to swirl throughout his head. He was an intergalactic criminal, going in his true form to any respectable location was out of the question. He would have to call on some demonic magicks, for the sake of a good disguise. In addition, after meeting in a public location, he would have to convince her to leave with him. These were two conditions that he rarely had to deal with. Looking back at the com screen, he took in the sight of his prey. The candid shot wasn't very good, but this Kate looked like an exceptional lay. He could feel the sexual excitement growing within his stomach; the blood rushing to his loins as various images of her anguished degradation took a hold upon him.

"Fuuuuck." Crush opened up a directory of places to eat and picked out an expensive one. He leaned back in his chair and drew a symbol in the air, his fingers leaving a red trail that seemed to stain the air itself. "Metrear, zazbast, stelatha" In a burst of bright light the symbol fused into the demon's chest. Blowing the smoke out of his face, the demon pressed one finger to the symbol and it glowed a menacing red, barely visible against his crimson skin. The spell was activated, now he just had to decide on his appearance. His eyes closed as he imagined a slick businessman. Upon opening them, he was a Caucasian male in a dark suit. His eyes were a deep brown, his hair black and slicked back. He looked at his reflection in his polished shoes and gave it a smirk as he adjusted his tie.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

He looked at his gold watch, it was 13:30. The disguised demon took a look out of the window, the view was worth the high cost of the drinks. A dazzling array of stars blazed in the darkness of space, seemingly within reach from his chair. The designated meeting place was a diner located on a large meteor within ADD territory by the name of Halogen. Made sense considering the use of neon lighting. A steady stream of mixed drinks had him pretty buzzed. He adjusted his cuff links with some annoyance, he could have guessed she would show up late. Crush just hoped she wouldn't attract much attention.

Whoever this mysterious benefactor was, he seemed to know how to exploit an expense account. She knew of Halogen, an upscale diner close enough to Antares to make it a sort of unofficial officer's club for the elite amongst the ADD, the glittering monolith at the heart of the bustling mining-cum-tourist site, converted by smart investors realizing the prime location and the dwindling ore veins running dry on the prior mining colony. The cleverest of investors had built this tower, spiring from the hub spaceport; stuffed with bars, hotel rooms, gambling tables, spas - insuring that practically every visitor would see the tower first and a generous number would never even leave its spacious quarters on their visit to this galaxy's answer to Vegas.

All eyes slowly float to her as she steps through the whirring doors of the elevator. It's not that body --- it's the clothes, dusty biker girl in the wake of suits and ties from the local ADD weekenders and more colorful formal ensembles from the smaller pockets of alien creatures. A blush rises up in her cheeks as eyes nervously scan the patrons for sight of a commanding officer, someone who could rat her out, get her into trouble. Oh, that smug little bastard did this on purpose. He wants her on her toes. But... Oh! That view is beautiful!

A brief murmur with a waitress, who points her to the back, window-facing table. There's a suggestive twist to the waitress' lips as she makes quick exchanges with the bike jockey and then Kate's stepping back over to his table. "Ross Radish, you think you're so fucking clever!"

He could feel his brow furrow, did she know anything about a business meeting? The girl looked like she belonged at a Motorhead concert. His view of Kate was replaced by the bottom of his glass as he downed the rest of his drink. The demon could feel the steady pounding of heavy boots on the polished granite floor as she made her way to the table. Posture straightened and hands folded in front of him as his gaze made its way to his client.

A smirk, induced from a combination of alcohol and malicious lust tweaked his lips. "Clever? I don't know if I would go so far as to say clever." He motioned for her to sit, and twisted his wrist to look at his watch. "You're a bit late, Captain. I hope you don't mind that I've ordered a few drinks. From the smell of your breath I can tell you have your own vices to wrestle with" The businessman grinned at his guest, in all honesty he should have been a bit more courteous, considering the situation. But, he had decided to have a drink or 5.

"And feel free to call me Ross, I can tell by your attire that you aren't a fan of formalities" The demon was playing hardball straight from the gate, he knew about women and their wonderful tempers. Walking the line between quiet annoyance and vocalized rage was just the right way to cloud a girl's judgement. Alcohol was helpful, but not nearly as much fun. "You want a smoke? Talking with a pretty client always makes me so stressed.." He stuck one in the corner of his mouth and lit it with a produced silver zippo. Oh Ross wasn't hard pressed for cash, no sir.

To Kate, board rooms are a foreign concepts, and liquid lounges are never consumed in high-end penthouse restaurants. It seems she's already made drink preparations. As she drops to her seat and kicks boots on the table, the waitress she had just murmured to arrives with a tall glass of opaque liquid, an alien liquor resembling scotch whiskey. If she's not a connoisseur of hard drinks, she at least knows the more expensive items on the drink list. She sips the drink as her chair leans back onto hind legs. Her brow rises, vaguely bemused. "Very perceptive, Mister Raddish. Let's keep it formal. I'm not a street walker, after all." Eyes drift casually to a table of businessmen who keep glancing over her way. "As much as your peers wish I was..." A smirk as she kicks back the drink.

She rolls her eyes as he tries to play the role of hard-nosed businessman. A hand-rolled joint is procured from a battered, vintage Lucky Strikes tin. She tips it into her mouth, leaning forward to let him light her up. "You were certainly willing to wait."

He leaned closer and lit her up, the zippo was shut and out of sight with a flick of the wrist. "Right, formal." His dark brown irises paused at her boots on the table for a moment and held back a scoff, she seemed just as blunt as he was.

"Willing? Not so much, inclined to? Yes." He pulled a folder and opened it, spreading several pictures across the table. Various pictures of modified vehicles, motorcycles, and engines were visible. All were Kate's work, some even included pictures of her riding them. He calmly gazed over them for a moment and looked up to her. "Vortex industries wants these designs. Why don't you take a look and tell me what you think.."

Taking a long drag, he seemed alittle disinterested in her reaction as he took a long look at her breasts.

She savors the cigarette while he talks, blowing smoke towards the ceiling. Patrons continue to look over with a general sort of disgust. Her expression, meanwhile, climbs through incredulous bemusement as he keeps speaking. A plume of fragrant Smoke is blown towards the ceiling before she finally drops her feet to the floor, chair sinking ack onto all fours. She settles her drink back down to carefully comb over the photos. She's fully aware he's staring at her breasts, but seems unconcerned. She's used to this, from her CO's all the way down to random civilians.

"So.... Let me get this straight. You want me to take my vehicle designs, which are exclusively contracted to my employer, a vast intergalactic military establishment who are by all accounts bordering on psychopathy, and you want me to defect with models in tow, to a company I've never heard of who keeps their holdings secret. To prove why this act of treason would be beneficial to me, you hired a papparazzo to take pictures of me and classified vehicle designs in what would likely be considered an act of industrial espionage." She leans forward towards Ross over the table, smirking insufferably, long stream of smoke blown into his face. "Does that sound about right?"

"Thats not it at all." he paused, looking at the photos for a moment. "Well, perhaps the industrial espionage part of it, but the rest is much less rediculous than you make it sound." Knocking ashes off of the edge of his cigarette, he seemed unmoved by her smoke. "This is more of an investment on our part, in that you will continue to do this kind of work." He swept the photos into a neat pile and they were gone in an instant. Sleight of hand wasn't the least of his skills. "If these plans are owned by the ADD, then my hands are tied, I can't ask you for them. You would probably be dead within 48 hours."

He smiled cynically for a moment. "Would you say that the ADD is a very fair employer, Captain Mercury? From what I know about you, which is a rather extreme well of information, you've been grounded, despite your own wishes." His eyes, dark, piercing brown, went up to her forehead. His shoes clicked on the floor in thought.

"And using the new nano chip tech on you, like a guinea pig. A lab rat." His eyes went to hers, manicured fingernails tapping on the table. "Wouldn't you think of yourself as worth more to the ADD? You're one of the best, if not the best mechanic in the force...and yet they hold you with an iron fist."

He shook his head and looked to his watch. "My offer includes funding you very, very well. Continue your work in the ADD, get discharged and work in a mechanics shop, become a table dancer on this godforsaken rock, whatever. As long as you keep up the amazing technological advances you've been flaunting in the various sectors of this galaxy, then we will pay you. We don't need the rights, just the information."

The waitress came back, "Another round." She looked somewhat bemused at the short response, and turned on her heel, heading to the bartender.

"You'll be on a firstname basis with some of the best mechanics and engineers in the field. Our lead man was in charge of the coyote project, and he is dying to speak with you about some of your modifications to his first gen model." The drinks were delivered to the table, he seemed disinterested in the tall crystal glass of clear green liquid.

"I hate to sound vain, but my employees are like family to me, I take care of them well. I wouldn't go so far as to say this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for you, perhaps twice or thrice." He pushed the butt of his cigarette into an ornate ashtray. "Do you have any further concerns or...?"

She snorts. Yes, Kate. Very flattering. Very feminine. Her smile is cocky. "Can't kill what you can't catch. That goes for the Directorate as much as anyone." She leans towards the waitress in an aside. "Filet. Medium rare. Buttered scallops. Bring them out first." While the restaurant started with a focus on the local cuisine, the business brought in from Antares led them to expand their menu to add Earth delicacies. The local fauna tends to bring out serious intestinal problems in Earthlings. But parasites aren't polite dinner conversation, so we won't dwell. She exhales a stream of smoke. "But that's neither here nor there. 'Fair' doesn't enter the equation. Not out in here in the wild west. But they provide me with opportunities I don't get elsewhere. The size of their structure offers options I wouldn't otherwise have... And the chance to scour battlefields before they've been properly mopped is a great boon. They also tend to be.... Loose.... with their ethics clauses." She shrugs. "I'd be a fool to have not checked out the alternatives before I entered into a contract with them. A contract that is still in effect, mind you."

But she's not a loyalist. Never has been. And the regulations, the dangers of combat, hell, the dangers worse than combat, certainly chaff her sensibilities. "You want a rat on the inside, hm?" Lips curve upward, sardonic. "Pardon me if I sound vain, Mr. Raddish, but I'm not on the market for a family. The one I rarely see suits me just fine."

"I imagine that would be something that you have in common with your employers, loose ethics.." He fllicked the edge of her boot, feeling rather bored with all this official business. And hearing her drone on about her benefits with the A.D.D. and then the nonsense about not wanting a family. She wouldn't be talking much with a cock in her mouth, that was for sure..

"If you'd prefer a less personal relationship with us, then thats fine." Polished shoes clicked on the granite beneath them. He could feel the alcohol running through his thick, obsidian blood, he was getting impatient with this shifty bitch.

His attitude changed however, as she smiled at him with a familar look of cruel intentions and finally gave him something to work off of. A rat? Sure, great, whatever. "I'll take a rat, if thats what you want to be." A long drag on his cigarette lit up his eyes with the light of the glowing cherry. His muscles tensed within the illusion, eager to make her squeal for mercy.

The food arrived. Ross's eyes pierced through the smokey haze at the waitress until she had retreated. "You'll share your information with us, we'll provide you all the benefits formally mentioned." He smiled at the unfaithful mechanic, her slender cheeks flushing as the alcohol crept through her system. Or was she just blushing at his smile? "And if you do a good job, maybe I'll take you out for a date some time." His smile spread wider, his face darkening steadily as the blood rushed to his face. He was drunk, and was apt to hit on his prey in that state.