Day 2
We tailed this agent as he made his way around the market looking for directions, he purchased intoxicants capable of projecting one into the Acharayim network feeds and eventually arrived at Station646. Security was tight. The building was constructed of a multibandwidth material with time-based phasing encryption set to each layer of matter. This "invisible fence" of modulated material kept this Temple like atmosphere from being tangible in any kinetic sense. In fact, attempting to touch such fields may damn well rip your hand off through a magnetic repulsion of your charge. Specially tuned KEY augmentations are generally required to punch through these fields and co-exist in the proper resonant sequence with these planes. He looks up above at the white vibration's shade of a ghost door and sees a badly painted, charecture of a nine legged spider made from a splashing stain motion.
Exactly how Agent 943.5 cracks such advanced systems is unknown, however research of this specimen suggest he is in possession of an advanced DNA structure acting as an amplifying receptor with multilayered harmonic tuning. This anomaly allows him to assume passive roles relative to external stimulus and build links to them altering the nature of the source signal to be in accord with his own in a series of feedback loops.
He hits the grid, ether snapping with intense reverberating loudness. Deafening. He falls between the light that is not. In the grids, winds not present surge in howls of anger. 444hz in varied glitch pulses. Ain sophic exposure turned up too high, white flicker followed by drowning imagery. Visions of Time spent starring at the sun in Bangladesh, addicted to opium and a short-haired Russian hooker named Sophia with milk soft skin. He remembers hir subtle colours cast against dim lights of distant memories.
"Shadow of trump 19...?" grees a murmuring madman nuerobender with wires hanging out of his badly carved up eyes and other quite noticeable self mutilations inflicted on his meat in the name of upgrades. The sight of this startles our agent out of his time based signal jam. "Two types of people come here, junkies and upperclass Crumpocrat scum - what's YOUR fucking deal, man?" Agent 943.5 looks up the barrel of a sawed off pump shotgun for nano-armor piercing shrapnel rounds towards another man of hispanic origin, barring a thin but long Lao Tzu-esque mustache and goatee, puffing a palm's length anti-aircraft shell turned into a pipe. Our agent extends the paper, it's seal recognized by both the mad eyed old man and associate. They nod lowering the weapon. The sudden, violent anesthesia of a hammer. Our agent's vision fades. Cackling old madman's sinister clown chuckle echoes as our agent's Vision fades to black once again.