Mortimer Graves, soon-to-be ex-employee of Hannio's Cake Shop, had never been particularly good at fitting in with the people around him. He had never fit the standards for his society: they were flamboyant, he was comfy, and that was how it was going to stay. He was used to the outfits around him having at least four bright colors each, with his being at most two colors if he was being brave. He'd been called all of the names: Drabby, Two-Tone, Slacker, etc. He viewed them as compliments, ways of letting him know that was an individual. 

As he approached the double doors to Hannio's, he sighed. Jally had left the doors propped open again without setting up the bakery items first. He watched with slight amusement but mostly pity as Jally rushed the fresh-baked pastries out the door as the angry customers pushed past each other, trying to find the cause of the hold-up. The bakery was one of the most popular pastry shops in town, which meant crowds on Break Week. This was the first day of Break Week, and already he felt sorry for Ingunia, his boss. She would have to serve the crowd with less staff than usual. 

He slipped quietly past each gaudily-dressed personage, ducking under arms and twice bumped into several Mettelica, who enjoyed covering themselves in armor, usually steel. Covered in bruises and dirty from head to toe, he was unable to be inconspicuous any longer. He lurched forwards, causing some disgruntled grunts and yells.

"Oy, Mort! Can you help me out today?" Jally shouted. 

Mortimer called back, "No, not today. Sorry!"

He rushed inside, ignoring Jally as he whined after him all of the impossible threats he would accomplish later. He had to tell Ingunia before she handed him work to do. 

Ah-Hah! Found Her!

Mort strode across the lounge room, then slid through the counter bar. 

"Ingunia! I have to tell you something!" He tapped her shoulder when she didn't immediately spin around.

"Mortimer Graves! You're here at last! Clean up your mug and start! What? Why are you staring at me funny? Wait, are you... LAUGHING? I won't tolerate that, you know me." She took a breath, confused into silence as Mortimer continued to guffaw behind his hand. 

"About that... um, I'm quitting. Sorry. Why, you may ask? I have a better-paying full-time job lined up. I have to quit today though so that I get this job. I only got the notice today that I had to quit today too...Bye!"

He ran for the double doors, too fast to hear coherently what Ingunia was saying. That was the point, as she liked to yell at people who decided to disobey her express orders. He would have to change his numbers, move to the house that he had finally paid off with renters, and maybe even change his name so that she wouldn't track him down again. He really didn't want ANYONE to be able to find him again, except for possibly Mr. Harius Zarryn. He would have to keep the phone line the same, then, and contact the phone services if Ingunia called. 

He plopped down on his couch, staring around at his one-room apartment. He knew he should be working on that prison plan, but he just felt.. bleh. He had never really experienced 'bleh' before, mostly because he used other words for it, like boredom, lethargy etc, but how he felt right now was too basic for those terms. Bleh. 

Two hours passed, with only a gentle wave of acknowledgement from Mort. He still hadn't physically done anything yet.For the last half-hour, he'd been using a device that lets the body rest while allowing the brain to think. Here were his thoughts concerning the prison break-out plans, the character of his new client, and the likelihood of his plan succeeding: 

Firstly, I need to establish which prison he's been placed in. He said a high-security center, right? I assume that he's being put into the NSC in that case. He wants me to break him out, not keep him out. I presume that he must have some kind of plan, and I'm only assisting with part of it, otherwise he would have asked for advice rather than ordering me to do his will. He's no fool; not everyone can get the jump on me when it comes to the pho- oh, wait, it took me longer than usual, so maybe not. He's not the terrible-with-tech type though, which is a relief. I'm not sure I could handle that kind of villain after what happened last time. 

He paused, checked his logic, then continued in his mind: I won't be able to accomplish this by myself. I'll need a team of three, maybe two if the other person can take orders. Any more people would be an unnecessary waste of knowledge leaking, as people like to spread secrets. Even three is taking some huge risks. A small squad consisting of me and one (or two, if really necessary) will be best-sneak in, grab the client, sneak out. Much simpler to engineer with only a couple of people's stupid actions to compensate for. 

Mort woke his body, wincing with effort to stand up. Those bruises still stung, even though he had put healing lotion on them. He stretched, enjoying physical freedom again- the Bodyrester, while very handy for serious, undistracted thinking, was oddly imprisoning as well. 

Mortimer Graves needed a partner. Not a romantic one. A business one. He got on his computer and logged in with his eye-scan. This was going to be... interesting.