"Hey."
Megan looks at you. You look at her. You look into her clear, green eyes and you think about the way things were. You think about the rare moments you caught together, when you just got to spend time with each other. The bed that felt emptier and emptier with every passing month as Megan worked later and later, as you kept getting called out on assignment. The day you came home from clearing out your desk and she wasn't even there. You'd thought she'd heard, just up and left you without a word. Lonely days, a blur of directionless anger and self-loathing, before she was done with her conference and got back to set the record straight. It was the clearest sign the two of you were ever going to get. You couldn't be there for each other.
But she talked to Sarif and you got the job, even though your name was mud. Because she still trusted you, trusts you, even now. Could've been a lot worse.
"It's gonna work out, alright?"
She smiles slightly. "Yeah..." She averts her eyes, fiddling with the pin in her ponytail just to do something with her hands. You sit back and wait for her to keep talking. "Eve, I... there's something you should-"
Bing! hiss... The elevator stops and opens, welcoming the unwanted intruder. A life support system for a ponytail wearing a two-tone zip-up leather jacket and white turtleneck. Dresses like a rockstar and acts like one too. Even hid his cranial aug markings under that luxurious head of hair he's got so as not to ruin his aesthetic.
"Good evening," he says, crossing the elevator to lean against the glass wall between you and Megan, elbows on the handrail.
"Pritchard," you say with forced neutrality. The elevator seems to get a dozen degrees colder as you and Megan make all reasonable effort to ignore Pritchard's existence.
"So, are we all ready for the trip?" He's French-Canadian and by God has he made negative effort to lose the accent. There's a certain cadence to it that makes him sound insufferably smug even when he's not particularly trying. When he does it makes your hand itch to throttle him.
You and Megan make vaguely affirmative noises. The elevator rises, up and up, in perfect silence. You tell yourself there'll be another time, you'll just have to be patient. You are calm, you are like a river. Pritchard's a desk jockey, you can put up with him easier once he's only in your ear at Washington. At last the elevator stops at Megan's floor.
"Farid's going to be here any minute now, I have to run." Megan glances at you. "See you at the helipad, Eve."
"Sure."
The doors slide shut. The car rises once more. On and on, all the way to the top, with no one but Pritchard for company. Shit.
"Did I... interrupt something, Jensen?" he asks innocently, a hand over his heart.
"You fix that firewall yet?"
"You don't 'fix' an entire firewall," Pritchard replies instantly, stepping away from the railing to face you. Then the initial flash of pompous anger fades and he leans again, all his weight resting on his left elbow as he faces you. "You find the loophole and you plug it."
"Then did you plug it?" you ask, sounding incredibly bored.
"Yes, I did. Want to know how? Oh right, ex-cop. It'll take me some time to construct a simple enough metaphor for the layman."
This time you actually look at him. "Ex-SWAT. And you'd be surprised." You feel the elevator slowing down, so you refrain from further comment. "Sarif ask to see you too?"
"Athene." The doors open. You let Pritchard bull past you into the executive reception area and shadow him, quickening your strides a little to keep pace - he's got an impressive frame for desk jockey. "She wants me to show her how to track the team's GPL implants." He half-turns as he walks. "In case your security plans in Washington don't measure up."
"I appreciate the concern, Francis."
"Ah! Pritchard, Eve, lovely to see you both." Athene catches Pritchard at just the wrong moment, his retort dying on his lips. You nod at the steel-haired woman on the other side of the desk. "Go right in, he's waiting."
You peel off and head through the doorway to the right, Pritchard's voice slowly fading away behind you. But you actually pay attention this time, catch the gist of the explanation before Sarif's voice overwhelms Pritchard's. Implanted trackers send a pulse every five seconds or ten feet, picked up by the company satellite and bounced right back to HQ. Pretty foolproof, short a sufficiently-talented fool. You file that away and turn your attention to your boss.
"He's a Nobel Prize winner, he won't jump for anyone!" Lyle, one of Sarif's aides. You don't really see much of him but he seems an alright sort.
"I'm telling you Lyle, the bigshots love this guy. The hearings will go a lot smoother with Darrow there."
Lyle brushes past you on the way out, off on his unenviable job of calling the father of cybernetic enhancement technology to see if he'll change his schedule and fly to Washington on a moment's notice, pretty please. You shoot him a vaguely sympathetic look. He seems a bit too haggard to notice. Then he's gone and you're back on task. Sarif.
"Big day for us tomorrow!" Sarif rounds his desk, arms spread. "Everything in place?"
"Yessir. Capitol Police will escort us to the Hill, then Federal Protection Services will take over," you rattle off quickly.
"Good, good! How's our girl holding up?"
You shrug slightly. "She's nervous."
"All she has to do is show 'em her research. She explain it to you?"
"Not really a science girl, boss."
Sarif makes a face like you just said you 'weren't really an air girl'. He gestures like he's describing a giant mutant fish he caught on a fishing trip last week. "It's incredible! All those 'purists' out there accusing us of tampering with the natural order and stripping people's souls piece by piece while-" he chuckles at the absurdity "-making them pay for the privilege. And all Megan's done is figure out how to unlock the potential hidden in our own DNA!"
Sarif rounds his desk again as he talks, absorbed in the sound of his own voice. You match him unconsciously, drawing closer to the other side of the desk. He leans against the genuine varnished wood, mismatched hands side-by-side. You can see his vid-screen over his right shoulder. He muted the baseball game and forgot to turn it off.
"Safer and easier'n anything Darrow ever did," he finishes.
"Yeah, well... for everyone's sakes, I hope you're right," you say.
"What d'you mean by that, sport?"
"I'm just saying, I've been down there." You indicate the city out the window, all of Detroit sprawling beneath Sarif's watchful eye like a diorama. "There's a reason they call it Darrow Deficiency Syndrome. Getting augged takes something out of you."
He sighs. There's a tone of annoyance but mostly he's just disappointed. You're sure he's given the spiel a dozen times in interviews, but TV's nothing compared to the real thing. "Cyberpsychosis is psychosomatic. Trust me, we've got a whole department looking into it! Are there health risks to getting too many augments? Sure! You can always have too much of a good thing! But what Megan's talking about, what we could achieve? Wiping those risks out completely! Unlocking the body's full potential, the sky's the limit!"
We've already been to the sky, and past that. Turned out there wasn't much up there at all. But you don't say that out loud - Sarif probably wouldn't appreciate it, tonight of all nights.
All thought of how much further you can push Sarif flees your mind in an instant, driven out by the harsh blare of a klaxon. The vidscreen behind Sarif goes solid red, displaying an alert symbol before flicking over to a floorplan of Megan's R&D floor. Your whole body goes tense in an instant. Sarif's slower to react, seeming to take an age to turn around, but you see his stance tighten up just the same.
"Environmental malfunction," the automated PA states neutrally. "Laboratory subsection six. All lab chiefs, please report in."
You don't move. Could be nothing, could be a false alarm, a loose wire, someone leaned on the panic button. But coincidences don't exist. The timing's too perfect. Your gut tightens and turns cold. You see the same thoughts run through Sarif's head, coalescing into the same conclusion.
"We don't take any chances," he says. "Not tonight." He half-turns. "Take my elevator, it'll be quicker. And keep me posted."
"On it." Short, sharp, to the point. This is what you've trained for. Sarif waves his augmented hand and the VIP elevator unlocks with a soft electronic blip. You double-time it inside, stab the button for Megan's floor.
Shaking hand. You stare at it until it stills, slowly curling it into a fist as the car descends. A year since you've seen real action, maybe more. The muscles remember, but the brain can fuck that all up if it feels like it regardless. You shut your eyes, shake your head - you're being irrational. You're a desk jockey now too. You've got people to take care of the action for you. You're just there to observe and report. You thumb your commlink.
"Pritchard, has Megan called in yet?"
Pritchard's voice comes through as if filtered through a strainer, crackling and corrupted. "Her GPL shows her moving through the micro-chem labs, I think she's running!"
"It'd have to be a hell of an equipment failure," you murmur, biting back useless worry. "Can you get eyes on her?"
"I'm trying, but the cameras aren't responding. There's interference coming from somewhere." The distortion's only getting worse. Pritchard's voice is so garbled you have to strain to hear him. "Find our what's happening, Jensen! Hurry!"
"Pritchard?" Nothing. Not even distortion and static. "Pritchard!" Just nothing.
The lift stops early. The doors open to an empty hallway, the shining skyline of Detroit staring you dead in the face through the floor-to-ceiling window, before it locks up completely. The alarms are still blaring, the building lit by nothing but the strobing scarlet of the emergency lights.
You hear gunshots, muffled by distance but unmistakable to the trained ear.
You reach into your coat and draw your sidearm. Predator heavy pistol, chambered in 10mm Auto, fifteen shots to a mag. It's not yours, not really. It's corporate issue. But it sure feels reassuring enough in your hands.
You're under attack. Have to move quick. Assess and respond. Any realistic prediction of your opposition tonight heavily features augmented hostiles - and at that point it's a crapshoot if your sidearm will be enough. Getting to a security locker might take precious time you don't have. But running facefirst into a bullet won't do Megan any favours.
And obsessing over Megan won't do you any. Assess and respond. Close your eyes and check the building schematics in your head. Think tactically. This is a new ballgame with its own rules, a different kind of criminal mind to anticipate. Where are you needed?
[ ] Security. You're still an officer, you need to give orders. Rally the guards and pick up some more serious hardware while you're there. Some flashbangs and EMPs alone could be enough to turn a win against an augmented team.
[ ] Finances. Money's one of the motives that never goes out of style, and Sarif's got plenty to spare. The right strings of numbers to the right buyers could be worth a fortune - and the department's full of tired office workers doing overtime with no idea what's hit them.
[ ] R&D. It's a juicy target despite how heavily defended it is. Prototypes, research data, key personnel for snatch-and-grabs. Key personnel with implanted tracking devices. Anyone willing to go so loud and make a beeline straight for the heart is either stupid or very, very dangerous.
[ ] Executive Suite. Shit, it seems so obvious if you think about it. Setting off the alarms, spooking everyone at R&D. It drew you and no doubt everyone else on the security staff right there like flies to honey. Sarif's in danger as long as the threat isn't contained, and your boss is a juicier target than any number of scientists to the right buyer.
[ ] Motor Pool. Every crime needs a getaway, and they obviously didn't just fall from the sky. If they're smart they'll have something unmarked idling underground, ready to peel out into the streets and just vanish. Best to cut off their escape, make them come to you.
