#off-air

[K_108725]: Can I do it?

[M_100013]: Is everything prepared, though?

[K_108725]: Eh, good enough.

[M_100013]: Good enough?

[K_108725]: We have a deadline and I’m working my ass off!

[M_100013]: So no.

[K_108725]: WHATEVER.

[K_108725]: CAN WE FINALLY GET THE CASTING DONE?!

[M_100013]: … Fine.

[K_108725]: YES!

[M_100013]: Maybe this will give you the kick you need to work.

Hell-- he's glad it is the middle of the night; if he had to guess, it's 3 in the morning, pushing 4. It's still a few hours until the sun starts lightening the sky on the other side of the wall. It's damn dark, too. When he looks up, he sees countless stars, lazy clouds.

It being fuckoff early means that nobody's going to see him. Nobody's going to know what he's doing. ...Hell, the instructions that he has are even a little fuzzy. He has the gist.

Fit kneels, in the middle of his quaint little rooftop garden, carefully unhooking the wires of his arm. Around him, in a circle like a cross between a steampunk workshop and a poser occult club, are radio components-- diodes, transformers, capacitors, antennae.

He connects the circuit to the port in his arm he'd disconnected the wires from. That seems to work; his screen flashes, goes dark, opens a terminal.

> ...

Fit doesn't know if this'll get through. Whatever he does, he has to do it quick. His contractor expects attentiveness.