The three of them had gathered for breakfast around the small table in front of the television in the living room. Abigail rubbed her aching back, for the night on the sagging mattress had been anything but restful. She held a half-eaten jam sandwich in one hand and a cup of improvised instant coffee in the other. The other two were also chewing on their sandwiches, not looking too fit at this hour.

"What do we call ourselves, anyway?" asked Harry, sipping his cup. Abigail and Yuri looked at him quizzically. "Well, we need a name for our agency, don't we. A name for a sign we can put on the door outside. A name we can put in the yellow pages," he elaborated.

"In the yellow pages...?" said Yuri, raising his eyebrows. "Are you sure we should have ourselves written in yellow pages?"

"Why not? After all, potential customers will find us easier then," Harry countered dryly, but suddenly wasn't sure if this was really such a good idea.

"It should definitely sound professional," Abigial began to think aloud. "But also bold, like adventure and stuff. How about an acronym for a name? That kind of thing always goes over well. It shows right away that we've put some thought into our agency." She stared into her cup, as if searching the brown liquid for a suitable inspiration.

"How about *The Bone Crushers*," Yuri spoke, taking a large bite of his bread with relish.

"Very serious," Harry grinned. "Why not *The Robbers*?"

"What do you think of *Special Operations Force Agents*," Abigail interjected, as some jam dripped unnoticed from her bread onto the carpet.

"Much better already," Harry nodded, considering for a moment. "And the acronym would be.... SOFA?"

Abigail pressed her lips together. "Uh... yes, SOFA," she said, scratching the back of her head as another blob of jam dripped onto her hand, which she licked with an awkward flick of her tongue.

"SOFA... sound like serious adventure and lots of action," Yuri grumbled, popping the rest of his bread into his mouth whole, then wiping his hands on his pants.

"Pha! Then come up with something better," Abigail grunted, slightly offended.

"It wasn't a bad idea," Harry noted, trying to encourage her to try again.

"How about... about... Trained Rookies Against Problems?" it came out of her.

"That pretty much sums it up, actually," Harry replied, impressed. "Well, it sounds pretty darn good to me. At least not too flashy or forced cool and yet somehow.... how shall I put it? Sporty?"

"Acronym be TRAP then," Yuri nodded. "When I arrived in city here, learned early what means *trap*. Must tell you now. There was this woman in nightclub, very good looking. Wanted to make love with me right away in back room. But suddenly, when pants of woman was down..." Harry had the greatest difficulty not to spit his coffee across the living room with laughter.

"It can also just mean *trap*, as in entrapment" Abigail, who could already guess what exactly this story was getting at, quickly interrupted him.

"Alright, so TRAP," Yuri said, and the other two agreed.

"Now that we have a name, though, we're still missing something very essential," Harry continued to ponder.

"Yeah," Aigail sighed. "We need a car, I know. We talked about it the day before yesterday."

"Do you actually have a driver's license?" she asked Harry. "Well, I've actually never driven a car before, and even if I had.... I'm not sure if a driver's license from Fukumata would even be valid in Elysium. The cities sometimes have reciprocal agreements for such documents, I don't know," Harry shrugged. Abigail's cheeks took on a soft red tinge. "I don't have a driver's license either," she said, clearing her throat sheepishly. Harry looked at her in surprise.

"No driver's license?" he repeated questioningly.

"No. I've never needed one at any of my previous jobs in IT. Most of the offices here in the city can be reached quite easily by public transportation. Besides, a driving test is comparatively expensive and I've never been able to save such a sum on the side," she explained with a slightly apologetic undertone. Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Her slightly cowering posture on the subject suggested that she was fundamentally uncomfortable with the idea of having to drive a car herself. Then Abigail and Harry turned to Yuri at the same time. He was taking a sip from his cup and looked back and forth between them in surprise.

"Don't look at me. Drove a tank once but never a car," he explained, then continued to drink.

"Holy shit..." sighed Abigail. "We're seriously starting an agency and none of us know how to drive?"

"Not so shit, only need fourth man," Yuri replied, setting the empty cup down in front of him.

"Yeah, why not, actually?" mused Harry. "That way, if the three of us are in action somewhere, at least one of us can always watch the car."

"Does anyone else have money to buy the car?" asked Yuri.

"We'll worry about the details later," Abigail said, rubbing her nose in annoyance. "In a pinch... we'll just grab one and repaint it. We'll think of something."

"How we'll get fourth-man-driver?" interjected Yuri again, starting to pick his teeth with his right index finger. Harry went to his backpack and pulled out his wallet. Then he counted through his remaining cash.

"We won't get very far now. There's still enough for a listing in the yellow pages and a newspaper ad, though," he noted.

"You're really going to place a newspaper ad for a driver?" asked Abigail with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah sure. Gotta start somewhere," Harry defended himself with a shrug of his shoulders. "If we're going to do something like this, it's best to do it in the biggest daily newspaper. It's also a form of advertising, you'll see. What's the number of the Daily Observer, then, I'll give them a call?"

"Yellow pages is under TV," Yuri said, nodding his head and pointing in the direction of the tube set.

"There, what did I say? It's incredibly important that we're in there soon, too!" grinned Harry, picking up the little yellow book and starting to leaf through it.

"Yes. With advertising slogan: book TRAP for serious action. We'll soon have lots of calls from strange men..." muttered Yuri.

Three days later, the apartment was spotlessly clean. Harry and Yuri had passed the time by performing all the small household repairs that were necessary as best they could with the tools at hand. Meanwhile, a homemade TRAP sign had been placed on the apartment door. Abigail had connected her C64 computer to the Teletext Internet connection and that had worked fine, too. She had only had to bypass a relatively small security barrier with the help of a brute force program, and with a little luck they would be able to use this network completely free of charge in the future. They waited anxiously throughout the morning, because today was the day. The ad for the new driver had appeared with today's edition of the Daily Observer. Around 11 o'clock, the phone actually rang. Harry picked up and the other two immediately interrupted their activities and came into the living room, curious.

"Good afternoon, you're talking to the TRAP agency, the agency for special cases. What can I do for you?" he spoke confidently into the receiver.

"Aaah yes, wonderful, finally dude! I thought I'd landed in the maternity hospital again. Do you even know that you have almost the same number?" it bawled on the other end. Harry held the receiver a little further away from his ear and screwed up his face. The person he was talking to was loud enough that his comrades could easily hear.

"Who's talking, please?" he asked when his counterpart had finished.

"It's me! You're the guys with the agency, right? I read it earlier when I was sitting on the bowl. Dude, I'm your man! You won't find a better driver in the whole city than old Ralph!" he yelled again.

"Um... how are your references," Harry hesitantly inquired.

"Well, they're the best, man, really juicy, you'll make eyes! You won't find better ones anywhere! When can I start? Where should I go?" it boomed from the receiver. Harry looked back and forth between Yuri and Abigail, trying to read from their facial expressions what they thought of the caller. Yuri just shrugged.

"Shall come," he spoke somewhat subdued. "Can't be that bad. If need be, we'll send him to our neighbor." Abigail's expression, on the other hand, was laced with a gentle hint of hopelessness. Harry gave Ralph the address, and he confirmed that he would be on his way immediately. Then, in the background, other people could be heard swearing and cars honking. Apparently the applicant had called from a pay phone and not hung up.

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"We'll just... wait for the interview," Harry explained, still holding the phone in his hand, puzzled. "If more people come forward, we'll just choose the most suitable candidate at the end." Then he hung up and trotted into the kitchen. "I'll cook something from the canned goods we brought," he muttered. Suddenly the phone rang again, and Abigail and Harry turned and came right back to the phone. Yuri picked up with a deadpan expression.

"Good day, you now speak with agency TRAP, we make special cases possible. What I can do for you?" he answered in a low voice. Abigail then hung her head and rubbed her temples. Something whispered on the other end of the line and Yuri thought for a moment. "No, I not am midwife. No, yes am sure. Yes special cases, but not fetch babies. No, yes. Thank you, have a nice day." Then he hung up. "Crazy man earlier was right, we have almost same number as baby clinic."

"If you're going to the kitchen, could you please see if there happens to be any booze sitting around?" Abigail asked Harry, then shuffled back toward her computer.

An hour later, the doorbell rang. In the meantime, the phone had been silent, no other applicants had called in, and there were no new requests for obstetrics. Abigail opened the door and looked scrutinizingly at the man standing in front of her. He was a punk who must have passed the age of 70. He was dressed in worn combat boots, torn black jeans, which in some places were only held together by large safety pins, a washed-out blue T-shirt with two crossed pistols and a skull printed on it, and over it a worn leather jacket with numerous chains hanging from it. Under the jacket, one could clearly see, he carried a holster with a pistol. On his back hung limply an ancient backpack with many patches from various bands. His tanned face was covered with countless wrinkles and scars. His black hair stood out as spiky bristles from his head with the help of a fair amount of hairspray. He grinned broadly when he saw Abigail.

"Well hello there! If I had known that such a beautiful woman was working here, I would have brought a bouquet of flowers!" He then took out an original box of chocolates from his backpack and handed them to her. Abigail, who had been rather put off by his first impression, now appeared visibly surprised.

"Oh... but this is... uh... thank you...!" she smiled and invited him in. Then she looked at the package. "Fine chocolates with pear brandy? That's good, I like that kind of thing."

"Don't you? I do too! I've been eating them every day since I got sober!" he replied with an even broader grin that pushed the folds of his mouth together like a leathery accordion, at which Abigail raised an eyebrow. The other two greeted their guest as well, and they all sat down together in the living room around the small table.

"Then I would suggest we just introduce ourselves in order and then we'll see if we can come to an agreement business-wise," Harry initiated the conversation and the others nodded in agreement. "Harima Kenji, but everyone calls me Harry. I was originally born in Neo Tokyo, but grew up and lived in Fukumata. My parents were too poor to send me to good schools, and once you end up there in the suburbs, it's hard to get out the normal way. My uncle at least had a small martial arts school and taught me everything he knew over the years before he was shot by protection racketeers." At this point he paused briefly, but then continued. "With the help of his training, I was able to earn a living doing all sorts of small jobs for all sorts of people. Mostly as a bodyguard for foreign businessmen who wanted to hire someone with local knowledge. In the process, I also learned American. Some time ago, however, there were some... complications. Was better for me to leave the city and Elysium seemed a good place to start over. This is where I met my colleagues just a few days ago. We were all looking for a fresh start in some way and thought we'd throw what little money we had left together and start an agent agency. There is always a certain demand for people to take on assignments for delicate matters. But you can't get far on your own; as a team you can offer a wider range of skills, be more flexible." Abigail nodded in affirmation to Harry's explanation.

"Yes, exactly. For example, I myself am not a good fighter, but had enough of just being cheap labor. My name is Abigail Lindsay, by the way, and I was born and raised in Elysium. After school I did an IT apprenticeship and since then I have worked for various companies, but I have always been just a number in huge faceless work masses, like in a beehive. That typical boring life, where every day is the same as the next. At some point, you can't take it anymore if you don't want to become completely numb. I could have gone on like this until I dropped dead, but I just wanted to experience something. Even if you give up what little security you have, even if it becomes dangerous and..." she let her gaze wander briefly over the living room "... and not very comfortable." The old punk rubbed his chin thoughtfully during Abigail's explanation. It was clear from his face that he must have been through quite a bit himself. He had probably only barely escaped with his life more than once. However, he seemed to be able to understand her motives well and did not consider her decision to be naive at all, despite her obvious inexperience. Abigail looked to Yuri and nodded at him.

"Yuri Artemovich Sokolov," he introduced himself, pointing with his thumb. "Come from Utopia and was in special military there. Parents died early, grew up in state institutions. Got a lot of military training and a lot of politics school. But it is not so good for head and if you start to think too much, everything becomes hard. Then a year ago escaped on deployment and ran as far as I could. Now here."

"Jeez, man...," the punk scratched the back of his head."That's quite a distance you've run. How long does it take to fly to Utopia? Twelve hours or so? Respect."

"Yeah, or so," Yuri confirmed.

"If they find you here, they'll cut your throat?" the guest inquired.

"Yes," Yuri replied curtly.

"I thought so," he nodded again and then looked around. "So I'm Ralph, just Ralph. I don't need my last name anymore, otherwise the authorities will only find me faster. Guys, I'll be honest with you, because you've been there too. I've done a lot of shit in my life and to this day I don't know how I survived it all. Then two years ago I broke out of the shell during a riot because I didn't want to die in there."

"Shell?" inquired Harry.

"State prison of Elysium," Abigail explained briefly before Ralph continued with his explanation.

"I'm getting a little too old for all that shit, and it's getting more and more dangerous out there for someone like me. I used to be a tough guy but times are changing. You are looking for a driver? I can drive, will drive you everywhere, no problem. If I get a place where bullets don't fly around my head in exchange."

The other three looked at each other and thought for a moment. An old outlaw, who was possibly still on current wanted lists, possibly had a serious alcohol problem and of whom one could not begin to say how reliable he would be. Would he clean out the whole place while they were asleep?

"Um...so about a payment...," Harry began.

"Oh, don't bother," Ralph waved it off. "All I really need is a place to crash and something to eat. You've got a nice cozy place here. Oh, and I can even contribute something, even if it's not much. My car is outside, I can contribute it to the commune." Yuri got up and went to the window. Outside was a green Ford Capri S, about ten years old. It had a few dents, but otherwise seemed to be in good condition. Yuri nodded to the others and raised the thumb of his right hand.

"We'll just try that," Abigail said in response, and Harry also agreed. "You'll have to sleep on the couch in the living room, though," she followed up. Ralph grinned.

"That's an improvement on the back seat of my ride, girl. We have a deal."