"No, no, there's no closed circuit for me to tap into, I'm relying on, on, uh, Frank to make sure my server taps don't get messed with." On the luxurious, 70's couch of Rueben's home sits a man who is the opposite of relaxed, hunched over and muttering to himself while he clicks and clacks on a shoddy keyboard, mumbling into a headset.

"Check, got it. I'll just, uh- keep track of the feeds to confirm Linus's appraisal of Benedicts schedule." He says, and there's a chuckle on the other end. "My only job is following people around these big ass casinos, you think I can't handle that?" Linus's voice comes over the mic.

"Not a you problem, but you can't ever be to careful. Never ever." Livingston reminds him, before jolting as he goes off the mic feed at the presence behind him. "Jesus- it's you. Shouldn't you be... be tied up?"