Street Ronin sighs, rubs his eyes, and leans back in his chair. His computer has been analyzing the files from a USB thumb drive for the last hour, and it’s boring.
He and Red Shift have been in the safehouse Tactical Room for most of the night, trying to piece together all the information they received from their new partners. He’s tired; Red Shift is bored. As far as Street Ronin knows, Red Shift doesn’t sleep.
“You know how TV shows always have computers showing you a search in progress? Like, they have a graphic of a file being put next to a graphic of another file, and then big blocky letters say ‘no match,’ and then it does it again?” Street Ronin reaches for his coffee, sees the mug is empty, and frowns.
“Yep.” Red Shift takes the empty mug and sets down a fresh, full one. “Almost as dumb as the bomb always being disarmed three seconds before it goes off.”
“You’re a saint,” Street Ronin says, grabbing the mug gratefully.
Red Shift snorts. “No saints in this neck of the woods. Except maybe the cop.”