Jason lay on his bed with his work machine in front of him. Much as he hated it, it could play video more smoothly than his own Dell laptop, and so it was doing just that. The room was dark save for the glow from the Mac's screen. Jason yawned and then shook his head vigorously, popping another chocolate into his mouth. He needed to stay awake. He needed to finish the show so that he could write about it. His website, Meow Meow Anim, was long overdue for a post.

It was about midnight when he finished watching the show and taking screenshots of it for his site. He opened his text editor and had only gotten as far as telling it to wrap to page before he was notified of a new e-mail.

<b>From: </b> blogsw@anim.meow.us
<b>To: </b> Meow &lt;jason@meow.us&gt;
<b>Subject: </b> MMA - contact form - P.T.H.
<ul><li>P.T.H sent you a message through MMA's contact form. This is his message:
"Jason, this is Frog—we have our situation. Those procedures I mentioned in passing are probably going to be necessary. Step outside; the Inspector will pick you up in the van. We need to move. Now. Bring your Macbook Air."</li></ul>

Jason's weariness departed. Something interesting, something probably top-secret was going down. So enthused was he by this odd turn of events that he didn't even question the unsettling evidence that Frog was familiar with his website. He ran to his fridge, grabbed an energy drink, and pounded it down. He returned to his room and retrieved his work computer. There was already a second e-mail waiting for him:

<b>From: </b> blogsw@anim.meow.us
<b>To: </b> Meow &lt;jason@meow.us&gt;
<b>Subject: </b> MMA - contact form - P.T.H.
<ul><li>P.T.H sent you a message through MMA's contact form. This is his message:
"Hurry it up, Jason!"</li></ul>

Jason obeyed, dashing out of his apartment and down seven flights of stairs to where the LAW1 van was stopped. He clambered in breathlessly and sat down next to Frog. Before he had finished setting his computer up next to that of his mentor, the van sped away.

"Where are we headed?"

"To a place where our cameras' data will reach our computers faster—the town in which our cameras are setup."

"Richmond?" Jason asked.

"No, not Richmond," laughed Frog. "We don't <i>actually</i> watch Richmond. That's just our public cover. You and I are watching Berkeley."

"But the cameras are in Richmond!" protested Jason.

"Oh, no, no."

"Oh, but yes!" Jason argued. "I remember, about five years back, when I was starting at Cal, there was this huge to-do about surveillance cameras in Richmond, and the Berkeley City Council—"

"Five years ago, the DHS got a bunch of cameras set up in Richmond, all in plain sight, and had a festival with the publicity—both good and bad—that this attracted. Those cameras were <i>duds</i>, Jason. The real cameras are in Berkeley, but we can't let the Berkeley residents know. They'd revolt or something, radicals that they are.

"As it turns out, Jason, we have a particular target to watch tonight."

"Oh yeah? Who's that?" Jason didn't want to try to wrap his mind around the politics of his job, so he didn't ask about what Frog had said regarding the cameras.

"As it happens, she's a first-year student at your Alma Mater."