"The lunatic is in my head
you raise the blade, you make the change
you re-arrange me ‘till I’m sane
you lock the door
and throw away the key
there’s someone in my head but it’s not me..."
Pink Floyd . Brain Damage

January Ninth, 2004
New Orleans, Louisiana

The was high overhead, beating down on an unseasonably scorching day, even for New Orleans it was unusually balmy and dismal. Mikel treaded heavily down Bourbon Street, uncomfortable with the masses of people around him, all seeming to be heading in opposite directions, making the trek through them near impossible. His hair was hanging in his face as a cigarette was smoldering down, dropping the occasional ash onto his shirt, causing him to swipe it away with his free hand, the other placed firmly on the laptop case suspended from his shoulder, keeping it close and secure against his body. Under his hand, he felt the textured airbrushing he had, had done nearly a year before by a friend of his, reading in various shades of blue ‘emptystar’. His eyes glancing up at every awning stretching out from their respective building, searching for the location of their rendevous, a Cajun joint named Yatz’s.

On he pushed, almost violently and militant at points, he finally reached the Jungle-Green (as designated by the Crayola Corporation) awning, with bright crimson letters reading; "YATZ’s. Finally, now - to find her." Scanning the occupants under the awning of the outer-seating, he looked down at his watch and saw that he was just under fifteen minutes late. "Shit. She wouldn’t have left, would she? Fuck..."

"Not at the moment, thank you." he spun on his heel and was face to face with a twenty-something girl, she looked of middle-eastern descent, but had the voice and a few features of a typical blonde beauty, a quick smile flickered from his lips. "But maybe later, after we’ve made each others proper acquaintances. I’m Sana, and you would be?" She asked, reaching out her small, finely defined hand, her nails short and painted an dark swirl of blue and black.

"Mikel, and I’d love to talk with you a bit, but I’m looking for someone."

"Are you, now?" she asked, a look of puzzlement on her face. "Well, maybe I could help you? What do they look like?"

"Well, as tacky as it might sound, I’m not entirely sure. I just know that she’s wearing a light blue peasant ... thing with white embroidery, and jeans. And she said she’d meet me here at noon, which yeah, I’m fifteen minutes late, but fuck - I’m from BFE, I’ve yet to actually venture into N’awlin’s. Sad, I know, but I didn’t expect it to be so hard to maneuver the streets."

"Oh, I think I can help you... Mikel, was it?" she smiled mischievously, adjusting a thick strap on her shoulder that he hadn’t noticed before. "Come this way." she turned around and made her way into the restaurant, and it was hard for him to keep up, but he noticed that the strap over her shoulder belonged to a notebook case, with a replica of a name tag plastered to the front reading, ‘Hello My Name Is..." and in beautiful handwriting, ‘sl0wm0tionri0t’. He quickly noticed what she was wearing and caught up, tapping on lightly on the shoulder.

"Real fucking cute." he smiled sheepishly, acknowledging that he had fallen victim to her ruse.

"I know, now sit down and lets have some lunch, friend."

At the table, across from each other, they both smiled nervously, not exactly know what to say, but having a vague idea of what not to say. The waiter showed up after they had looked over the menus, and Mikel was working on his second cigarette since arriving, making sure not to exhale it in her direction, (now) knowing that she didn’t smoke, and near abhorred it. The conversation picked up after they ordered, and they discussed some more specifics regarding the job they were to do.

"So, Mike, how do you suspect that they’ll keep us anonymous, while still being able to provide asylum?"

"Well, handle’s are where they start the search in Washington, I suppose. And, if they put a block on these names, any time they come up in the system, they’ll be like ‘Well, fuck - we can’t do anything about that. Let’s knock down the door of some other hacker kid who we can touch, just to keep the Companies That Be, happy.’ Which seems a bit iffy, in my opinion, but that’s how they work. There isn’t much we can do about some poor hack-twit, but that’s kind of the rules of the game as I see it - take care of number one, and fuck numbers two, three, and X. Selfish as hell, maybe, but it keeps me out of jail, and out of Bubba’s hands."

"What about us? SESIL? Do we matter?"

"Yeah, that’s why I’m here, I guess I trust Locke, and if this gets us all clear to do as we please, to the extent of what she said, then I’m needed. Well, we’re all needed here, but you know what I mean."

"Indeed. Been visited by any letters or spooks?" she asked as the waiter returned to their table, his hand held high, and a large tray with their lunch resting upon his open palm. Flipping open the stand, he set the tray down and dispensed the proper plates; a juicy steak, medium with a baked potato and fried okra for him, and a small chicken caesar salad for her, with light dressing. After the prerequisite thanks and nod from Mikel, the waiter scurried back to the kitchen and Mikel fixed to answer the interrupted question.

"Well, the other night after I got off, I heard the same car I’ve been hearing for the past month. Didn’t bother me, though. I guess you’re right, if they’re going to fuck me, they’re going to do it on their time, and there’s no escaping it."

"Yeah, I’m always right like that..." the sentenced faltered as she began nibbling at her salad, and he dug into his lunch. As the sentence, the conversation was sparse as they ate, giving their minds time to work on other things to discuss.

After the check arrived, Mikel quickly snatched it from under her fingers, and opened it, his mind during a few calculations, before finally shrugging, and pulling his wallet out, and slipping a crisp hundred dollar bill inside the black faux-leather covered book. "And you’re the next contestant on Bozo’s Grand Prize Game." he smiled, lighting another cigarette. The waiter returned and before he had a chance to ask; Mikel said to keep it, without even giving the boy a glance, a smile stretching across his lips.

"Time to the airport?" he asked, looking at his watch.

"We got a few hours until we have to check in, but it’s all good - we can kill them there, or I can show you about town for two hours."

"Well, I hate to say it, but I’m done with the crowds on the street, so let’s just head to airport. I’ll let you show me all about town when we come back home." he paused for a second, mumbling "if we come home." under his breath.

After arriving at the airport, and checking their luggage, they sat in the area near the boarding gate, their laptops wedged between their feet; keeping them close, secure and relatively out of sight.

"So, Sana, do you know which alphabet agency we’re working for here?" he asked, watching the elderly man behind the counter, checking and rechecking a small stack of paperwork.

"Not entirely sure, no one asked the other day, but I’d think it’d be the NSA."

"I don’t know, from what I’ve seen and heard on their boards, they’re pretty much obsolete. My guess is a toss-up between the feds and the CIA. But, I could always be wrong, it could very jolly well be the NSA."

"Eh, not really a clue - we’ll have to ask Locke’ when we get to Virginia."

"Oh yeah, where abouts in Virginia are we heading to?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

"Just north of D.C. at least that’s the way it looks from the directions I got from MapQuest. But yeah... why?"

"Oh, no reason." he answered, staring at the well-polished floor, almost able to make out his reflection. To his relief, the shaky voice of the man behind the counter called their flight, and they stood and started towards the gate.

Treading through the deep snow surrounding the parking lot of Denver International, Bobby and Lori noticed the feeling in their toes beginning to fade and grow numb, further the trekked under the awning over the drop-off lane, and had finally reached the end of the six accumulated inches of snow. Beating their feet on the oil-slick drive-up lane, hiking their laptop cases further up their shoulder, and nodding to the security officer as they passed through the automatic doors and into the comfortably toasty airport. Checking their bags and passing through the metal detectors without an issue, they continued through the monstrous airport to the gate on their tickets and checked the board, the flight was going to be a little late taking off due to the snow and ice on the runway. They boarded the plane and took their seats on the right side, Lori got the window, and after he had plopped down next to her, she rested her head on his shoulder, and they watched the high-noon sunlight reflecting out over the pasture to the west end off the airport, glittering like a blanket of stars.

A few hours after they watched the sunset from the air, they landed in New Orleans, and waited for the passengers to deboard the plane and the new arrivals to board. To their luck, they didn’t have to change flights, and remained in their seats, as comfortable as they would be next to the fire at home.

"So, do you think Locke’ has our names sent to the necessary channels, yet? Or do you think it’ll be at the end of the ordeal?"

"Probably after, yeah. Probably after."

"Why do you think that?"

"Well, I was sitting up last night, just poking around, getting random information online, like the directions to the motel and shit, and around two or three, I saw that boat, and the same four men as have been around over the past month."

"Shit..."

"Yeah, but I didn’t worry too much about since we were leaving today, and any incriminating info would be with us, and by the time we return home, if everything goes as planned, they won’t be able to touch us, y’know?"

"Guess you’re right..." she laid her head back on his shoulder, and slipping off into sleep as the flight leveled out and they continued on their way to Dulles.

Looking out over through the clear night sky of the south, Bobby noticed huge green spires highlighted by the crisp January full-moon, shaped like crumbling houses, and spreading out widely over the land. Mildly confused, he turned his head and saw that the person behind him was awake, and seemingly coherent, tapping away on a laptop. Bobby hadn’t noticed him before - ‘must’ve gotten on in New Orleans...’ he thought, quietly clearing his throat.

"Yes?" The young man looked up, and met Bobby’s eyes.

"Oh, I was just curious, what’re those plant-like houses about?"

The man looked out the window, over his own sleeping companion, and saw the houses that had been devoured by the killer plant. "Oh, that? That’s Kudzu." he gave a quick smile, and returned his gaze to Bobby. "It’s a brutal thing, really. It swallows everything, grows up around it and damn near swallows it whole. My dad used to say that you couldn’t even kill it by burning it. It’s surreal, he just grows and grows and the only thing you can do to get rid of it is wait for old age."

"Oh, I see. Thanks." Bobby turned back around, and as he slid back into the seat, he heard the guy behind him say "You're welcome."

As the plane came nearer to D.C., and began its approach pattern; Bobby, still staring out the window watched as a huge mass of thick, monotone gray clouds came out of nowhere and were rolling fast, like a sea of boulders in mid-air. Lighting began leaping between the uniform clouds, thunder washing over them, rattling their hearts against their ribs.

"How often do you see Gray being loud and flashy, ‘eh?" the man behind him had leaned forward and asked quietly in Bobby’s ear, securing his laptop in the case and standing up, putting it into the overhead compartment, atop another, near identical case.

"Hu-wha--?" Bobby asked, turning his head around to look at him.