The man in charge, it turned out, wouldn't even see Mr. Shaw - "Got more important things to do," might have been overheard as a broad-shouldered private dick filed out of his office and right by the waiting trained killer, followed closely by his secretary, who stopped short when he made good on his promise of walking out the door. She was stunned, uncertain what to do, and then turned to inform Mr. Shaw with the best smile she could manage,

"His deputy assistant will see you now."

Not the boss. Not even the man with the deputy position, nor his assistant, but whoever was next in line for the position of his assistant. It turned out to be a mannish-looking woman, approaching middle age, her solid build going slowly to seed, who looked disinterestedly over her desk at her doorway, and then Shaw, once he walked through it.

"So you're Shaw, huh." His papers were on her desk. She wasn't paying much attention to them.

"You're a loose cannon, Mr. Shaw," the woman said flatly, though gathering anger twitched her pale, masculine lips. She did look over his various letters and records and recommendations, and shook her head as she did so. "I was gonna sugar-coat it, but hey....I already don't like you, so let's get right to it.

"Your personal life is a mess and would reflect very poorly on our business, your methods are too aggresssive, your temper is too short, and I've heard about some of these marks." She gave him a nasty smile. "Small-time. Amateur stuff. I don't care how hard you worked for 'em, you've been taking contracts that pay ****ing peanuts. You don't have the attitude we're looking for. You're not a good bounty hunter nor a good detective. You're....some kinda maniac. Trained killer without a care in the world, and we don't have any use for you here."

She tucked his file back into an envelope before she threw it at him. "Scram. You want work that'll take the likes of you in this town, go check the job postings. Maybe they'll want a rat like you to scrub their floors, and won't give a damn what you blow your meager checks on."

And that was that.

The day was muggy, but Aaron's spirits were high. Grammy was having a sale on vinyls, a lot of old punk, and he was gonna have a field day with it. Leaving his West End apartment in a dingy little corner of nowhere special, over-furnished and sealed up tight, he began the trek to and through the Shadey Lanes and the psychopaths that swore ghosts lived in it. Along the way, he managed to bum half a pack's worth of cigarettes. They rested now in the little case he kept in his jacket pocket.

Damned cold weather.

After his journey came to an end, he stood in front of the store at the bins, flipping through album after album, wondering which to waste his food money on and which to waste his fuel money on.

The questionnaires had progressed nicely - now ASRI knew what Shaw was capable of, and Shaw likely knew, by their reckoning, that they were out for more than social research. Across the street a man had been looking for entirely too long at the same selection of avocadoes. Even when Shaw arrived, he looked over his shoulder, and then kept right on inspecting for a good minute longer. When the minute was up, he picked up an avocado...

...and with his free hand, hurled a knife towards Aaron Shaw's middle as he turned.

Now, as a man of situational violence, and with damned good design on the layout of an area, Aaron had expected a gun. So with the quiet whistle of a knife through the air, it took him a few seconds longer than was professionally safe to realize something had been thrown, the gentle sounds of clothing moving in a loud hurry and the knife coming closer and closer easy enough to discern on the moderately dead street. Unfortunately, for the seven or eight vinyl records he was holding, this would cost them their lives. He spun around and cast them out towards the knife, causing them to shatter as they slowed the blades motions and threw it wildly off-target, allowing Shaw to catch it by the blade. In almost the same motion, he made for the man, knife in hand and a helpful smile on his face. "Oi! Hold it!"

The man froze in place, and then his eyes lit up to match his maniacal grin. He dashed towards a carriage passing between them, clambered easily up onto it, and leapt clean over Aaron and onto the roof of a stand. It was enough to make many people gasp and a few scream, and they generally stood back and stared as the assailant scrambled up onto the roof of the building as nimbly as a monkey in a tree.

"Wise guy, eh?" Aaron ran up behind a rather large man that was situated by the stand, kicked him square between the shoulder blades, and used his stumbling frame as a boost to kick up onto the same stand the assassin had. He leapt to the fire escape, making it by a wide margin and landing with a heavy, thunderous clatter of metal on brickwork, and followed the man up the building, hopping over the top and giving chase.

The man was apparently expecting a little more ease, because when Shaw lands, he picks up speed, veering suddenly to the right to clear an alleyway, then another turn to clear another. He's going for the taller buildings and doing his best not to look over his shoulder at his pursuer.

Aaron followed with relative ease, dropping back here or picking up there, but in general seeming to have no issue in following the man. He could wait, so he began to let himself fall behind enough to look like he was still trying. He had a feeling that one man wasn't all they'd be sending, but he certainly needed to give the assailant what he deserved.

It was to this that he was building up - a broader street, several feet more than the alleyways, with a ten foot drop. He vaulted without looking, without thinking, legs pedaling through the air, and dropped into a roll on the slanted rooftop on the other side and scrambled to his feet. He backpedaled, awaiting his assailant, two other thugs emerging at either side.

This was something he'd been waiting for. A good reason for his hanging back. He'd need to run a little harder for this part, since he saw the man jump off like a zealot. He had a feeling that if they were trying to kill him, they would try to do so without losing any men. Anyone outside a massive, well founded religious group, at least. Last he checked, none of those had his name on their bad list, so he leapt like a lunatic, boot pushing off the very edge, sending him on a slow, higher arc towards the building. His arm cranked back and he flung the knife dead on for the assailant's heart, smiling. "Dropped somethin', ye f**kin' git!" When he hit the ground, he crumpled and kicked off from a roll, letting him sail forwards towards the group with his fists clenched shut and ready to end them.