Infamous

Restless

That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be – my job down in Columbia on behalf of the Gentleman, I mean.

But nothing beats the feeling of coming home to your own place. The Santa Barbara air is warm while I push open the front door of my single-story home. The lights flicker alive and a collective hum rushes through the entire property, letting me know that the security system recognized that it's me.

My duffle makes a rustle after it's thrown on to the couch and with a sigh I drop down on it too.

Bars. Clubs. The Gentleman's place. Go to Los Angeles for a bit by the bullet train.

I run through the list in my head, I'm feeling a bit restless even though I just came home.

Taking a deep breath, I quickly stand and shift the area at my temple to silver. I pull out a slim case that has two silver receptor-transmitters and attach it to the side of my temple. Silver is the best metal for electrical conductivity, that's how I'm able to tie into my systems even though I didn't undergo the surgery for a neuro-link. It works just fine, if not a little better than what the rich socialites can afford.

A holographic screen follows me around my home that's designed with a minimalist style in mind – aka not too much shit I need to worry about but still aesthetically pleasing.

Crowds. Age average. Music. Venue. Dress code.

The mental list and commands go on, a few screens pop up to show me the real time feed of a few clubs and bars in town that seemed promising. Demographics is another thing I throw into the filter. Don't want to go to some up tight venue.

I lower the sunshades within my room, with the sun drowned out the calm midnight feel of my bedroom takes over and it feels quieter with the darkness. There are two tones in here, black with cool blue accents. Just the way I prefer it too.

Going through the walk-in closet, I immediately zoom in on the corner collection of suits and other garb. I've decided that I'll go to an upscale place tonight, I'm in the mood to dress up a bit. Sometimes I'll be the complete opposite, where I'll dress down completely like one of the college students in the area and get shit-faced until three-in-the-morning.

I decide that I'll go to a bar down by the beach that I've been to many times before.

The Indochino catches my eye, then there's the Tom Ford and Alexander McQueen that I had custom made. I look over my bar choice one more time, not exactly an occasion that calls for McQueen, so I'll settle on the Indochino.

Classic black on black with no tie. Unlike my time with the Gentleman, I don't plan on wearing my special jacket and pants combo that have my usual tricks embedded in it. I don't even plan on wearing my helmet out because I'm not stupid and I'm not trying to get caught.

Rather, I'm going out with my regular face.

About as regular as it can get after I've had the past couple of adjustments done to it so that I can remain inconspicuous if I'm not wearing my mask.

I'd say the only thing remarkable is my grey eyes, but that's only if I'll look directly into another's gaze. Which is something I traditionally don't do unless I'm trying to get your attention. My unruly dark brown hair is tamed for the night, but I keep that wind-swept look to it. Good suits are often ruined if you don't fix up your hair.

The silver band around my wrist is a clever computer device so that I don't have to carry one around in my pocket. I retain full functionality of a regular device – or smart-phone for the archaic types – without having my pockets bulging. There are a couple hundred dollar bills that are slipped into the slim soft-leather wallet along with my identification.