[member="Miss Blonde"]
Greg Ison's nose was still broken from the last time Helix Syndicate Enforcers had visited him to remind him of his outstanding debt. That had only been a couple days ago, and now they were already back. Or two of them was, plus a spooky skeleton-looking dude. They invited themselves into his run-down studio apartment, which was furnished lavishly with garbage, one mattress, a desk, and a pair of crates that served as both a chair and a table. Truly a charming arrangement, certainly stereotypical for a freelance slicer fresh out of university. "You're not gonna break my legs, are you?" Greg muttered, sitting at his desk. He powered on the terminal, like they asked. "That's what they'd do if they had to come back."
"Depends entirely on you." The Helix Syndicate didn't actually have any intentions on breaking Greg's legs. He was going to need them if he kept missing payments, at which point they were going to send him to the debtor mine on Mygeeto. Spindly little cretin that he was, he could use the exercise. "I need a signal tracked."
Pollux dispensed the necessary information, and sure enough Greg found the holonet page. The room became illuminated with a holographic projection of the feed and Ison's terminal became crammed with lines of code. Pollux might have been able to do this all himself, probably not even get caught, but this time around he had specific need for an amateur. Greg squinted at the screen, then muttered something unintelligible in annoyance. He soon clarified, "They're constantly moving the," He paused to breath through his mouth. "Signal. Rerouting it. Looks like every second."
"Can you find the source of the transmission or not?"
"I- I can. It'll just... Take a while?"
The Givin stared straight into Greg's soul for a moment. Then he gave the slicer a condescending pat on the shoulder and walked away, making himself comfortable on one of the crates. Sufficiently inspired, Greg got to work straight away, in his usual clumsy - by the standards of most slicers - fashion.
