First Day of the Rest of your Life

"A Mandlebrot set is a continuous pattern of points that define the boundary on a plane. It is spiraling, contorted, and infinite. But it is also distinct. There are few less recognizable images than that of a Fractal, the result of a visual interpretation of the Mandlebrot set. I think they're beautiful."

"What's so important about that?"

"Well, like I said, it's infinite. As the set continues it just gets more complex. It never diminishes, it never weakens. It continues, forever. Permanent. It may change appearance, color, or design, but the Mandlebrot fractal cannot be stopped."

"That's why he draws the spirals on the victims?"

"Yes. Or at least, that's what I think. You should be looking for someone who knows mathematics. A university student, at least."

"Well, anyone could have just looked it up on wikipedia."

"But it takes a certain mind to have an appreciation for complexity."

"...we'll take it into consideration. If his MO changes, we'll let you. Thanks, Alexander."

"It's my job. No thanks necessary."

It was a bitter October morning. No snow was on the ground yet, unusual for Chicago, but the sky was ready for it. The clouds shivered with the expectation of the snowfall that was about to come. Leonhard Alexander Booth entered the office at 9:05 AM. He sat on a computer playing minesweeper. He had won 20 consecutive games now, in about one hour. He was getting pretty good at it, and was considering upgrading to Master difficulty. He sighed, and then looked out the window of his desk, shifting his tie.

It wasn't worth it.

He looked back toward his desk, fingers shivering a little from the chill. They had given him the chilly office, with the bad heat vent. He worked here, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Chicago Branch division of Crytography and Encryption. For 3 years, he looked at serial killer cases, online theft and fraud, and all manners of cryptography. He was confident that if he wanted to, he could design a code that no one at this office, outside of himself, could break. But he was still getting the chilly office. His throat tightened and his vision got cloudy as he thought, stomach growling. There was never enough food in the office.

"Mr. Booth?"

He looked up from his daze suddenly, opening his eyes toward the woman who had entered.

"You have a visitor. It's from the CIA."

"...what?" He needed her to repeat, at least once more.

His secretary opened her mouth and moved her head, but closed it and just shrugged. "I... I don't the details. They came and asked specifically for you today."

"You can set aside what you're working on now, they've got a conference room. I'm sorry this is short notice, I just was informed."

He sighed, and relaxed his shoulders before standing. He looked at his reflection in the sheen on the plastic desk. Plastic. Not even wood. 3 years.

"...Leo... you're... young." The secretary said quietly. "... I don't know what's going on, but... are you going to be okay? You're quiet, you worry us sometimes."

He looked behind him at the window, as the first snowflake of the day fell, lightly touching on his window.

"Yeah. Everything's going to be fine."

The Conference room was plain, with carpeted wood floors, plain white walls and exposed ceilings painted dark to hide the utilities. Budget constraints and practicality dictated minimalism to be a most desirable architectural design to be used for offices these days. Half a dozen agents were already seated, and the usual chatter was absent, as there was tension in the air due to the presence of a figure.

Ellie wore the very formal and typical black suit of a CIA agent, complete with glasses. She was a small, half-asian woman, hair braided into a ponytail and beautiful, but in the way a viper was- she exuded cold menace and control, and it took a few moments before one would realize she was in a wheelchair. The lenses of her glasses were red, and hid her eyes- though her gaze fell on each person who came in. She was tapping her fingers impatiently, waiting for the last agents to come in. Behind Leon was a middle aged, very well fed cryptologist, quite round and balding. He was One of Leo’s seniors and a respected member, nearing retirement.

A few other members whispered among themselves before the meeting started. “You heard about this Spook from the CIA?”

“Heard from a friend she was put in a wheelchair on an assignment is that country next to South Africa... Bongo... Bongolesomething.”

“Isn’t she just an intel person?”

“Who knows with the CIA. Backstabbing Spies and stone cold killers, every one of them.”

With everyone now present, the woman in the wheelchair hands the stack of papers to the secretary, who gave all the agents copies. “Gentlemen, I am Elisheva Wong from the CIA’s transnational affairs office. Herein are numbers, codes, communications and other gathered data from Interpol regarding a pressing issue on American soil... we have reason to suspect that contraband from Africa has made it here. We’d like you to decipher the smugglers’ manifests, and the FBI’s field agents will organize action in coordination with my office.”

Members of cryptology looked among themselves, wondering who would crack it soonest. They looked at the data as well- it was some new kind of code, slightly primitive, easy even, though unknowingly to the FBI agents each sheet referred to a different location, and none were dead on. There was a deeper reason for the deceit, as Ellie was on the hunt for a traitor. Ellie shoots everyone an assessing glance, and the FBI cryptologists shuddered slightly.

Leonhard entered slowly, keeping his head low. He glanced up at the room, and caught the faces of everyone there.

She's in charge.

Tick.

The back of his mind immediately drew the conclusion. He could tell instantly that his superiors were tense. The other agents were tense. But most importantly, the tension increased on the faces of those sitting close to her. The rumors and whispers were loudest from the edges of the room, away from her. The pattern was obvious. Clear. She was in charge and no one in the room would cross her.

Tock.

He watched her carefully as she spoke, watching for signs of weakness, lies, or confusion. He didn't know why she was here, but he was learning, slowly. He kept his brow low and his gaze away from her, mimicking the actions of the superiors with perfect control.

Tick. Wait.

Tock. Superiors.

He looked at the faced around the room once more. Why did she choose these people? He was a 3-year desk worker, but he saw Mark, a successful field agent, James, the divisional director, two investigators (who weren't partners), "Mouse", the lead programmer... these people... why...? Often times they weren't the ones who even looked at the code.

Tick. She is avoiding collusion.

These thoughts ran though the depths of his mind as he was handed a piece of paper. He had been sitting for 30 seconds.

Tock.

Tick.

The people were not the optimal group to solve the code, they were chosen because they are unfamiliar with eachother. She chose from every division at varying tiers, avoiding partnerships and co-operating members. There was always a chance that she had just chosen at random but...

Tick.

Nothing is ever random.

Tock.

His palms grew warm as he held the piece of paper in front of him. Forty-five seconds. If the plan wasn't to solve the code, then why was he even here? It was then that his eyes focused on the numbers in front of him. He started to look at the letters and numbers, and ran through all of the traditional patterns in the back of his mind, when he came to a realization. He had seen this code before.

His first year at the FBI he was given a task to decipher and reciprocate a code for use in a sting operation against a drug trade cartel. The team assigned to deliver the code once finished was caught in a shootout, and the sting operation was canceled long before it could happen. The code never landed on anyone's desk. It was a traditional columnar transposition code, but the message was designed to be able to reply and convey extra information that someone else would know, without garbling up the original code. In his spare time, he opened the old file that no one had looked at, and worked on it. He solved in in two days. It was a two-layered columnar transposition with a significantly encoded keyword that had two interpretations. The cartel would use one, and the sting agents, another.

Two messages at the same time. Truth and lies. Reality and fantasy. Black and white.

When he solved it, he put the code back. But despite doing most of the work himself, he was never given credit for it. Traditionally, code-making was reserved for those who had field experience. This lady, Ellie Wong, would never have known that he was on this team. Handing him a code that he had already encountered, much less already completed, would have-

Tick.

The goal isn't to solve the code.

Tock.

He frowned slightly. It had been two minutes. He lifted the paper off of the desk in front of him, and held it up to the fluorescent lights. No changes in thickness in the pages. No forgery. The weight was good, and the starch was strong in the fibers. This was hot off the presses. The pages couldn't have been more than a few days old. He wouldn't dare ask for the original, but sometimes the keywords were threaded into the pages themselves. But he kept his mouth shut. It was obvious that this wasn't a normal code.

Tick.

He brought the paper down, and as he did, he glanced around at the room once more. In the few seconds he kept his eyes up, he watched how everyone else was solving the code.

One had a calculator out. The other was drawing a vector matrix. One was circling letters. One was cutting the paper up and rearranging it. Horizontally. That surprised him. Columnar transposition, obviously, and he was Horizontally organizing it. These guys were trained. There was a certain procedure they were supposed to use when approaching a new code, he knows that they were not partners, but at the same time, their methods and conclusions should be more consistent. They weren't.

Tick.

That's because they don't have the same code.

Tock. Three minutes.

Okay. They didn't have the same code. Then what was the CIA's motive!?

"I know the answer."

Tick.

His voice was quiet, so quiet, but it rang out loudly throughout the room. He looked up sheepishly at Ellie.

Tock.

"It's... uh..." his eyebrows raised up an down as he tried to speak up. "Well... It's flight numbers. A sequence of flights. Five of them. Five different states, five different numbers. No airport codes, however, so that implies that they airports in each state don't change, just the states themselves." It was a false answer, but he just needed to get into a private room so he could ask what was really going on.

The room was quiet. He could tell right away that none of the other crypotgraphers believed him. That made sense, since they weren't working on the same code. He looked at Ellie now, directly in the eyes. "But, I might be wrong. I'm still new to this. You should cross-reference my results with others." He heard a small chuckle and a few whispers. He thought he even heard the word "autistic" thrown around. His neck muscles twitched at the thought.

Tick.

Tock.

Four minutes. It had only been four minutes.

Ellie looked at the young man that approached, who broke the code in four minutes to his peers’ quiet amazement. Her expression did not change, though the young man did just break a code ten times faster than she did, and without the aid of computers. Perhaps there was talent here in the FBI afterall. Ellie simply took his papers, looked them over and placed them in. “Thank you for your work. Feel free to wait in the lounge while we let the others finish their assignments.”

Ellie said nothing further, and awaited the others to finish up, her expression as serious as ever. Thirty minutes in, the senior agents finish their work, and before the hour was up everyone was wrapping up their own interpretations.

“Heh, one of the easier ones we got... Surprised the CIA had to come to us.” One of them remarked, unfortunate enough to exchange glances with Ellie. That man broke out into an unexplainable cold sweat. The other agents go their own ways, returning to their offices or going out for an early lunch. Nobody seemed too excited or worried about the case, but then again they were just office personnel after all.

“The field boys will handle it.”, they’d say dismissively. Ellie remained in the conference room with her two associates in black, chatting away over the data. One agent though, the senior one, was in a hurry to leave it seemed. He had taken a good look at Ellie and was sweating. He paced quite quickly towards the parking lot, got into his car, and drove away, his movements quite nervous.

"Thank you." Leo said, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to keep his composure. He looked closely at her face as she put the page away. There was no indication, no sign of lies. He gave the wrong answer. Yet she showed no indication. Her face was too unfamiliar. He turned away from her and started walking to the door. He could feel the heat of the gaze of his colleagues, but he felt no pride at "solving" the code.

Then something changed. The more he tried to study her face, the worse he felt. A sort of sweating, foreboding emotion came over him. He fought it for a few seconds, before averting his eyes and turning away to leave the room. It was worrying, and he had no previous experience to compare it with.

He still new the right answer, of course, but if they truly did need this code solved, he needed collateral to protect himself. As far as he could tell, no one else in the room had the same code he did. It was a gamble, sure, but he didn't have a lot of other options...

Its a double blind. He thought to himself. Perhaps she didn't know the 'right' answer either, to avoid making the deception too obvious. There was something going on, but he just couldn't discern any possible motive for the secrecy.

He sat on a chair in the lounge. The chairs were always too wide, and too deep for him. He wasn't nearly as large as the seat he was trying to fill. He sunk down into the cushions, wrapping around him. He put his hands in his lap, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He could lose his job today. Or worse, get accused of something dangerous.

What did I get myself caught up in now... He wondered. His heart was getting tight from the excitement, and the anxiety.

Minutes pass by and the CIA agents show up, appearing at multiple exit points to greatly deter uncooperative behavior, save for the window. They maintain a composed behavior, though

"...Mister Booth. Please come with us. Your cooperation will be very much appreciated."

If Leon complied, they would quickly make their way to his office, of all places, uncovering notes and journals in his desk that was, obviously to Leon, not there before. The head of the FBI, the director himself, was speaking with Ellie concerning the 'evidence'. The agents close the door behind Leon. It seems whatever was happening, was happening in a very closed circle.

The director looked at Leon with a disapproving frown.

"Son, you've got alot of explaining to do, else we're putting you away for a long time." He said, crossing his arms.

"Nothing is ever so easy, sir... this evidence only proves the existence of a mole within your office. The next step is identifying him." Ellie said, holding the notebook with a gloved hand, studying every single square millimeter of it. Strange lights and patterns showed up subtly on her lenses, indicative that her spectacles were nothing ordinary.

"Eh? You think this is a plant?" He asked, skeptical. He couldn't see the connections, but then again the Director was part administrator as well as agent, his skills having dulled over the years.

"It is. Leon has quite the knack for the cryptic arts, exceeding even the CIA's own computers." Ellie looked at the young man with those eyes behind her lenses, in control of her expressions. Secrets were the business of spies like her, after all. "I'm certain with his help, he can aid us in pinpointing the real culprit. Won't you, Leon?"

Each step made Leo feel like he was moving deeper. Deeper and deeper into the "rabbit" hole. He was no stranger to lies and confidentiality, that came with the FBI training, and hew as certainly no stranger to aggression and emotion. His family made sure of that. He could tell when he was being lead into a compromising position. He was being lead into a compromising position. Rabbit was running deep into a hole now, peering over the edge at a case so discreet that the CIA had to deceive the FBI to make sure of the consequences that would result from their investigation.

But rabbits ate plants. They were docile, and they were hunted. While Leo did indeed feel hunted, he was not docile. He was quiet, calm, but had a conscious strength about him that he attempted to project to his peers. His strength was formed from trust, because despite the danger of being involved with this plot, he could still, to all his knowledge, trust his superiors and the CIA with their jobs.



Despite this, Leo's eyes widened slightly at the sudden accusation. He had given a false location, that much was true, but it was to learn more about the plans. His mind raced in reply as the others talked among themselves. He looked up at Ellie when complimented, ambition and need rising in him before being shot down by her gaze. That feeling. Again. It's... dread, fear... it's not normal. This was the second time he experienced it now, and he was certain that this wasn't just the social effect of an authoritative presence. There was something unnatural about it.

As the group turned to him, he responded, making a quick nod. It was apparent that he was a little happy, in fact, due to successfully guessing what was going on. All of that emotion rose up and culminated into a single word:

"Ah."

Silence hung in the air for fifteen seconds after that. He could feel the seething accusation from the Director, and the suppressing calm from Ellie.

"...that was the game, right? You gave different codes with different locations to different agents in different departments to hunt out who would be willing to protect eachother. You brought in enough CIA agents to make everyone afriad of their job, and, like any rational human, when threatened with your job versus your partner, who may be a mole, you'll keep your job. Unless... you're the mole or you know who is."

The hanger holding the silence up dropped. Leonhard leaned back in his chair and pointed gently at the file on the desk that contained the code.

"I gave you the wrong answer. I solved, yes, I did, but I gave you the wrong answer. I'm not the mole, but I did it to find out what's going on." He paused, checking his hubris. He didn't want to overstep his bounds. "You see, not all patterns are just numbers and letters. People have them too. They do similar things, act a certain way. I'm good at seeing patterns, and well... maybe it wasn't obvious to the other agents, but I saw something suspicious. Now I know. You're finding a mole in our own department."

He leaned forward now, putting his hands on his knees. He looked down, frowned a bit and thought. He breathed in deeply, and then exhaled before nodding slowly. His nod became stronger and he looked up with confidence at Ellie, despite the dread rising in his stomach. "Okay. I'm in. What do you need me to do?"

"Very perceptive. I see the FBI has its share of diamonds in the rough." Ellie said, almost amused. It seemed someone knew how to play cat and mouse, and Ellie approved greatly. She took out the other results, and showed them. The Director excuses himself, and with a single prompt, the other CIA agents left.

"The people who produced results are making calls. The FBI's own lines are extensively protected, and tapping them would likely leave some traces or tip off the mole. We'll have only a small window of opportunity before they'll know... so I'm now asking you to defeat the department's protection... something that stays off the records. This is a dangerous operation now, and we'll be heading into the field to intercept whoever it is."

Ellie's investigative power was not as deduction based nor was it as precise as Leon's, but she had the power of supercomputers, extensive surveillance technology and a ruthless personality that allowed her to cull large amounts of information for processing... And she wore it on her face. Her glasses, not merely some expensive branded spectacles, began to project a number of holographic screens onto the walls, displaying audio waves that sounded like static - the protected lines.

a holographic keyboard materialized before Leon. "...whenever you're ready."

Leon looked at the keyboard, and then at the data. His mind moved quickly, his hands placed flat on his lap. Eventually his head slowly moved up to look at Ellie. He leaned forward and placed his palms on the table between them. He frowned slightly, before looking at Ellie with a blank face "This can't be the only way." He said.

Without other agents in the room, the area was surprisingly empty. This let the quiet rise and envelop the whole room. "You're asking me to break into the entire FBI mainframe, to break their encryption and to wire-tap my own organization." He paused. "...if I'm going to do that I need to be sure I know I will be safe. I need to be sure I'm doing this for the right reason, or that if I get fired over this, I have a place to go."

He looked around the holograms carefully. It was obvious that he had already begun tearing apart the code and seeing the methods that may be able to tap without leaving a trace. "I doubt you're really worried about tipping off the mole. He would have seen this coming, if he was smart enough to also evade less careful methods. What you've done already would tip him off, unless..." He sighed. "Unless you have a scapegoat that would let him stay undercover. That's me, isn't it? If I can't get the mole, you'll arrest me as the mole so you can continue pursuing him without tipping me off." He shook his head slowly, thinking. "And then, even if I do help you... what is to stop you from using your new gained power to watch the entire department? What if you're covering up a crime, and using this 'mole hunt' as an excuse?" He looked at her carefully, suppressing the overbearing effect her image had on him. "We don't have a huge window. I need you to prove to me that I'm doing the right thing by helping you. I can't just trust you, I'm sorry."

"You're a smart one, Leon. You think ahead, and you think around what's there given to you. You'll get far in the FBI very soon." Ellie said, as she removes her glasses and wheels up closer to Leon. The projections on the wall shimmered slightly. Ellie met Leon eye to eye, her social training coming into play. "Are you keeping up with current events? I wouldn't expect it, considering my operations are covert campaigns on foreign soil...." she paused.

Without the glasses, and on closer inspection, one could make out the lines in her face, hidden slightly by makeup. She was a fairly small woman, but her build was definitely athletic. One might suddenly wonder what kind of... event could put a trained spy in a wheelchair.


"There are powerful forces at play in the world, mister Booth, far more than our combined departments' jurisdictions can allow, and I am fighting a losing battle protecting America... and its unwitting people from threats." Ellie fiddled with her glasses and a new display showed up on the wall, this time a Audio-Video recording. Classified Video

It ran for about half an hour, and most of it was recordings of clandestine combat operations in Africa- the Bongolesian army under Salvatore Baptiste fighting insurgents led by Colonel Hassad. The international news only covered the aftermath of the war, but this was footage by the Danger Divas, as they raided the manor and faced those Brutes- hulking human monstrosities capable of taking .50 caliber machinegun fire and rip a trained soldier in half bare-handed.

The footage also showed the laboratories where men were in the macabre process of transformation; young african men, some too young, injected with a strange serum through tubes that feed into their cranium and bloodstream... and turning them into those.

"...The technology... if it can be called that... was not exclusive to Bongolesia. We have reason to believe terrorist organizations have gotten a hold of the formula used to make... them... and are now distributing them to organized crime in the country. In fact, we think the first serums are already in distribution." Ellie brought up pictures - security footage - of local gang members of immense size, and battlefields with conditions similar to the African war zone.

"I don't expect you to trust me. I half-expect you to decline, or get past my computers. You are a smart one, Leon. I'm sure reinforcing the FBI encryption after this will be a breeze for you."

Leon thought to himself, ...she's not well... Leon noticed. Now that he was closer, he could see that her legs were not degenerated, and by the way she moved, she hadn't been in a wheelchair for very long. Each second he spent in the room with her taught him more and more about this mysterious CIA agent.  Leon's eyes widened and his brow lowered at what he saw. He felt the pressure of a heightened pulse as he watched the video in front of him.

When Ellie broke her back in the video, he couldn't help but mutter, "...that was it..." under his breath. A quick glance at her wheelchair confirmed his suspicions. He had been watching her, her body shape, her movements, her expressions this whole time. And now his brain was telling him, with only minimal doubt, that this "Scorpion" in the video was either her identical twin.... or the woman herself. He couldn't help but begin to sweat at the realization. But that doesn't resolve my question... she's using emotional appeal... He understood now that she was conveying the need to solve this problem. The desperation in her plea. She expected him to do it for his country, not for himself.

Ellie, if it was not her intention to reveal her identity, should have either not shown herself in person, or been more cautious with the amount of information she showed Leon. Leon's talent for recognizing patterns extended far beyond alphanumerical patterns, but it would be reasonable to assume that Ellie would not have realized that until it was too late. "You... you would only show me this, after I request for job security... if you felt..." Holding his own realizations about Ellie at bay, he struggled with his words. "...if this is not a one-time event. If you do make me scapegoat for this mole... you will..."

He looked at her more confidently now, as his brain reoriented itself. "You will arrest me as the mole, so as to not tip him off, while I break into the FBI database. Since I'll be doing it for the CIA, it won't be illegal, but I will lose my job with the FBI. Which is what you want... because then I'll work for you." He nodded. "I get it now. I understand."

He put his hands forward onto the keyboard. "...but you won't need me to work very hard at this." He said, tapping into the network and immediately bringing up his own work computer. From there he extracted a series of data, and then went through a few encryption transformations, before the data assembled itself into a program. He ran the program.

"...I broke into the FBI inter-communication database nearly four months ago."

It was amazing how quickly he adapted to the holographic display. Without prompting, he found out out to extend the keyboard and started typing with one hand on each board. He didn't need to do any complex coding or incredible mathematics, he had already built a machine capable of getting Ellie what she wanted. When the program finished its job, he patched up the holes it left very quickly.

At last, the audio waves were recovered and the de-encryption process began. He looked at her plainly. "...this is an amazing system you have, but... information processing still takes time. It will be about six minutes and thirty seconds, give or take ten seconds, before we'll get the results of the audio transcripts." He said, his voice getting quieter near the end. It was obvious that he was still a little shaken up about what he had seen.

He was quiet for a few minutes, before speaking again. "...that being said, there's still my own personal program's encryption on it. Which means I can show it to you here today, but it's useless to you without me around to break it." He swallowed, before looking at her more precisely. "I want to keep my job at the FBI, as an alibi, still with full FBI privileges, but I also want to be paid to help you. Not the CIA, you, with these investigations." He nodded. "That is my price." He could tell that she was in quite a desperate need for the assistance in this, and that she valued his skills. He needed to make an offer now, or forever pass up this opportunity.

Ellie simply gazed at Leon. He saw the big picture very well, someone very helpful to Ellie's covert missions. She nodded in approval as Leon figured it out all by himself, including already defeating his department's security.

"Very well. It seems I can tap you for long term operational assistance. But I'll warn you Leon, there are many things I fight that the public- and indeed anyone- are better off not knowing of. Once you're involved, there's no turning back... and I can only keep you in the FBI once the real mole is caught."

Once the decryption was done, the masked phone lines were now tapped, and they listened.

"I wonder where Glen is taking me for dinner..." A female voice said.

"You won't believe the new place in town..." A young man began.

"Have to meet...Need to move the trojan horse to Troy..." Said a senior agent.

"There we go." Ellie said. The I.D. system identified their potential mole. It seemed that the senior FBI officer was the one they were looking for. He drove away, very quickly, and called an unidentified number on the secure channel.

Ellie made her way to the parking lot and got into her car, a Lamborghini Gallardo, sleek black and modified. Her very unique looking wheelchair was apparently engineered by the same people as this car, and it entered effortlessly into the sports vehicle, becoming Ellie's seat. The interior was sparse on the luxury, but fitted with the most high tech surveillance and driving equipment, most of which weren't on the open market. It was a spy's dream come true.

The entire back seat was also modified to be an automated armory, though hidden in compartments. A radial menu showed the weapons offered: heavy machine guns, grenade launchers, a laser-guided rocket launcher...

"Buckle up." Ellie said, and without another word they were hitting the streets, Ellie driving very, very quickly. At their current speed, they'd intercept their quarry within the next ten minutes- the mole was headed to the heart of the financial district, with lots of corporate buildings.

Leon was a little dazed by the sudden turn of events, silent as he followed Ellie to her car. He gulped, sweat coming down his forehead as he kept pace through the parking garage. He overlooked the interior. He was wealthy enough he could buy a car like this... but... Not like this. He thought. This was incredible. The resources these people had at their disposal gave him a bit of shell shock.

"Who were the others on the recording...?" He muttered as they reached the location. In his shock, he didn't go through the weapons, or do anything else other than simply take in the sights and observe what was happening in front of him.

"Just kids, using their privileges to save on their phone bill." They arrived in the basement parking of the office building the mole went to, a few minutes behind. Ellie paid the parking fee in cash.

They found a spot in the parking lot easily, taking the handicap spot. She gets out of the car, finds a terminal fairly quickly, and taps the security feeds. On the other side of the parking area, among the cars was the Mole, meeting with a dark skinned, bald, hulking humanoid figure in a tailored suit.

"..." Ellie's face turned to a scowl. The man who had put her in a wheelchair... was alive. So he was the mole's contact. She returned to the car and pressed a button on the dashboard that activated the weapon radial menu. She pressed again, adding non-lethal options. She turned to Leon. "Leon. Can you make the arrest? I have business with the contact. Take any weapon you need."

"I've never arrested someone before..." Leon muttered to himself. He looked up at the exchange happening on front of him, and then behind him. He reached for an M9 pistol. He frowned at it, and looked back up at the two men. He could hear the wind blowing a can down the street and the gentle, burbling idle of the high-compression Lamborghini V10. His mind was furiously going through every arrest he had seen, real or fictional. He was analyzing every aspect, checking every detail, successful or unsuccessful. He looked for optimization patterns, critical inconsistencies, and qualities of the method. His eyes narrowed, realizing what he must do.

He put the M9 back and grabbed an M4 and a non-lethal temporary paralyzation grenade, better known as a "flashbomb".

Without hesitation, he immediately opened the door, standing behind it, and fire once between the two men. They suddenly started, without time to grab their guns. Hands! Ground! Now! He shouted. It was completely illegal and in no way held authority. In fact, if another police officer came by, they'd be likely to see Leon as the criminal. But that didn't matter, because Leon had the gun pointed at them first.

The first man, the mole, immediately froze, and then tried to run. Leon threw the Flashbomb, and ducked beneath the car door. The resulting explosion of light and sound shook the ground slightly, and he looked up to see the mole, on the ground, rolling on his back and moaning in pain. That's correct, Leon saw him moan, but did not hear him. He couldn't hear anything for a few seconds. He ran up toward the mole, now incapacitated. It was then that he noticed that the second man had left his field of vision.