Quantico, Virginia, December, 2077, Monday…

As leader of the FBI task group responsible for hate crimes, Caitlin Murphy had plenty of paper pushing responsibility that she tried to avoid as much as possible. The computer networking made it less paper than electronic, but the idea was the same. And the paperless office that was predicted at the end of the last century was far from being realized. People carried along their sophisticated PDAs with them everywhere, yet they often asked for a hardcopy of a forensics analysis or a wanted person's dossier. Even though she had a staff of junior agents to handle a lot of the more routine stuff, there was still plenty she had to contend with.

She had started the morning badly, still trying to shake off a bad Saturday night date. Her mood didn't improve after doing her mind-numbing bureaucratic chores for a full morning and most of the afternoon, along with several long distance phone calls, videomails, or e-mails. She was definitely getting antsy. She could only take so much of it.

She was dressed in her usual blue jeans, sweatshirt and sneakers. Her only real adornment was a pair of simple gold earrings. On her coat rack was a Navy surplus coat, now the rage among college students, but this one was old. Its purpose was to hide her shoulder holster as much as it was for the cold, although Quantico in December could be bitterly cold.