Jones Kelly awakens to the sound of her phone buzzing. It’s a text message from headquarters, instructing her to check her email. She rolls blearily out of bed and stumbles across the hotel room to where her laptop sits open on the table. Jiggling the tiny mouse to rouse the machine from its own slumber, she enters her password and brings up her inbox. Sure enough, one new message awaits:
Excellent work. Postpone follow-up until resolution of next case.
Terse and to the point, with a congratulatory flourish. Some dozen attachments lurk beneath – she clicks “Download All” and heads for the shower.
The hot jets both relax and invigorate. She breathes deep of the steamy air and works the stiffness out of her joints. Yesterday had been her recovery day, her time to rest and eat while composing and filing her report. Her grafts were marvelous things, improving her performance in nearly every area – but damn if they didn’t work up an appetite. Whether running, healing, or simply perceiving beyond the bounds of her mundane senses, everything had a calorie count attached, and the price was steep. Yesterday’s dull ache had faded to a languorous stiffness by the time she bedded down, belly full at last. As always, the stiffness seemed to have tightened its grip on her overnight, but it would be gone in a couple hours as long as she stretched.
She turns off the shower, dries off, brushes her teeth, and performs her stretching ritual to work out the last few kinks. She then dresses and heads to the lobby for coffee – whatever it is, it can wait until she’s fully awake. She checks the time as she heads down the hallway: a quarter past noon. At least she’d been able to sleep in.
Two cups of decent-for-free coffee later, a third in hand, Jones is back in her room and perusing the attachments: dossiers on five hunters in Las Vegas, just like she’d received for her current case, as well as some intercepted network chatter and a load of photos. She sets up a new case file and starts working her way through the mass of information.