Sitting at her computer, Fin’s hand hovered over the ‘send’ button. Did she really want to leave the Wolverine in favor of whatever else INTEL could come up with? She got up from the desk and made a drink for herself. It was one of the better bottles of rum she owned, flavored with plums, bananas, almonds, vanilla and caramelized sugar cane.

Her shift was long over with but she couldn’t sleep, so she’d slipped on a pair of low slung pants and a cropped t-shirt that slid off one shoulder and headed to her office. It was 0145 hours and Fin was having what for her, was a life crisis. She paced the open area in her bare feet, her shoes kicked over into a corner. Walking over to the wall that was one, large viewport, she leaned against a corner and stared out at the blackness of space.

—Fin