As Adrian crossed through the gate to District 26, she really wished that she had her pistol. District 27, home, was a modest section of New Downtown. It had its share of troublemakers and unscrupulous behavior, but District 26 was one step away from a maximum-security prison. Everything was coated in a layer of brown. Be it from ancient cars, piles of garbage heaved into empty lots, or how the multi-story brick structures were boarded up. It was a little slice of outside the wall but with the added iron grip of the consortium prying into everything. Adrian preferred the outskirts over this place. But Morioka Park was in District 26.
The armored corporate police, with long tinted visors and bearing batons, stood around the metal turnstile gate and stared a hole in her head. Adrian began to wonder if this was some elaborate ploy to put her down. She paused and considered going back.
"Keep moving." An amplified cop's voice boomed at Adrian.
She pressed forward through the long chain-link fence corridor that led into the district proper. Looking through to the exit gate to District 27, she found a group of armored cops beating someone down with their batons and jabbing them with the electric prodders beneath the grip. Seeing those in line standing there with impatience while a pair of criminals weaved through the crowd and rummaged through pockets, she decided that maybe going to the park would take enough time to let that sort itself out.
As she stepped out onto the asphalt of the street bisected by the separator that isolated District 26 from District 27, she traced the safest path. The raised concrete staircases jutting out from the worn-down brick residentials were lined with loiterers sitting and standing around, eyeing with aggression and want. They were dressed like Skabs, with sleeveless denim jackets adorned with metal spikes. Neon mohawks of various colors—green, pink, red. Though most of them weren't modded. Wannabes, or initiates. Adrian couldn't tell which and didn't care to find out.
Leaning against one of the brick buildings with an alley, she found it surprisingly empty. An opportune crossroad. She could take her chances and try to blend in with the downtrodden crowds. Her attire was too clean, where the rest of the pedestrian traffic's worn and second-hand outerwear meshed with the environment, she stuck out. The only thing old on her was her father's leather jacket, and it mostly kept its charcoal sheen. Adrian's red denim pants and knee-high brown leather boots she bought recently screamed for someone to go after her. The alley was the safest bet, so she entered.
Halfway through, she heard a commotion from the way she came, and saw silhouettes lingering around the alleyway entrance. She picked up her pace and pushed for the outlet of the close-quarters space, her shoulders almost brushing against the brick walls on each side. In a mild jog, she heard footsteps and found a group now pressing on in pursuit.
The only advantage she had now was size. Adrian's pursuers were tall and bounced off the walls, running shoulder-first in order to fit and struggled to keep pace. She was running at a full sprint without a problem. But that advantage quickly came to an end as she exited the alley.
Ahead of her was a chain-link fence into an open, sandy field piled high with garbage. Atop the refuse mountain peeked a giant advertisement for Faista, its neon segments animated a bottle of soda dancing back and forth on top of a huge hovering quadcopter over the district's city center. Well above the multitude of dilapidated skyscrapers bunched together in a pitiful skyline.
The only way out was down the pathway that passed the raised stoops leading into the back doors of the brick residences. Adrian sprinted and found another alley, both tight and empty. She tilted her head back in frustration and above her, embedded into the building, were ancient, rusty air conditioning units. She bolted into the alleyway and then began scaling the tight walls, spread eagle. Then Adrian plopped herself on the unit, which creaked as she placed her weight down, and pinned her feet against the wall on the opposite side of the alley.
Four men stopped at the mouth of the alleyway and looked around, frustrated.
"Go that way, find her." One of the Skab-wannabes shouted and pointed down the alley.
Two in the group rushed down the passage, one after the other, each too wide. They ran shoulder-first back toward the main street, their metal spikes scraped the brick walls as they rushed along. The leader then pointed along the empty lot, in parallel with the residentials, to signal which way to go. His partner took off. The last wannabe ganger was alone, and paced, clearly distraught.
Then the display embedded in his wrist started to ring, signaling a phone call. He jumped, nervous and spooked. It might have been drugs, but he didn't look to be tweaking. He reached down to the display etched into his flesh and accepted the call.
"Yeah." The wannabe answered. He stood in silence for a moment. "We found her; we're going after her now." Then the wannabe sputtered. "L—look man, we're going to get her. Y—y—you don't have to do that; she'll be in your hands soon."
There was a long pause. "I understand." He hushed out fearfully.
On his wrist, the call indicated that it ended. The caller hung up. As the wannabe spun and let out a stream of expletives, the AC unit that Adrian propped herself up on let out a whine and a groan, then part of the rusty metal snapped and jolted. The wannabe spun and looked up.
Thinking fast, Adrian threw herself feet-first down upon the wannabe, a little over a story off the ground. She smashed into his chest, and he slammed into the ground. Without a tumble, she landed hard, and her ankles ached. She scrambled and put a boot on his throat after recovering quickly.
"Who sent you?" Adrian hushed out with venomous authority.
As the wannabe reached toward his belt, Adrian dug the toe of her boot into his neck and inhaled sharply, to let him know she was ready to snuff him. He capitulated and raised his hands, sputtering labored breaths.
"I won't ask again."
He gurgled something. She eased her foot.
"I can't tell you. They'll kill me." The wannabe's arms shook with terror as he spoke.
"And if you don't tell me, I'll kill you." She leaned weight on her foot, and he gurgled in agony.
Then she let off pressure.
"La Monahan." He gasped for air. "Brenaough La Monahan."
She heard that name somewhere. Or saw it. It was on that data chip she'd swiped from the tweaker's hideout when she was rescuing the boy on her last job. He was an antique dealer for the richest of the rich. Maybe he figured out somehow that she had dirt on him and wanted to settle business.
"What does he want with me?" She let out a muffled, grizzled tone and began to put more weight on the leg that pinned the wannabe.
"I don't know." The wannabe writhed and weakly grasped her leg, gasping for air. "He has my sister."
She squinted, skeptical but curious about this otherwise random factoid. "How old is she?" Adrian eased her foot.
"Seven." He grunted, breathing and drooling. "She's seven. They snatched her when she was going to school."
Adrian didn't like what she stumbled upon. What would an antique dealer want with kids? No, that was a stupid question. The fool under her heel, and his family, were set to get ground to chum by the inner workings of this degenerate city.
"What's your name?" Adrian slid her boot down to his chest.
Relief washed over his face as his head rolled to the side, grateful for air. "Donnie."
"And your sister's?"
"Sarah. Sarah MacDonell."
"Do you have a picture?" Adrian readied to stand on his neck if he tried anything stupid.
With splayed arms, he reached up and over his head and tapped on the display embedded into his arm. Then reached up to her and offered a data transfer.
Adrian pulled her phone out and engaged sandbox mode. If this dummy was going to try something, he was dead. She pulled a thin wire from the bezel and jabbed it into the connector port of his arm, beneath his elbow, unenthused about wireless transfer. After the connection, receiving three pictures, two portraits of a young girl with light brown hair flashed on the screen, taken candidly. The third picture was of them, Sarah and Donnie, together. Her birthday party.
The pictures seemed legitimate. It was too elaborate of a hoax to be spontaneously produced like this. Adrian was convinced.
"Who's your outfit? What gang do you roll with?" She looked at him with disapproval.
"La Monahan wanted me to join the Skabs, said he needed good business partnership with them, and I was his guy."
"And you believed him?"
"What choice did I have?" Donnie looked away with regret.
Adrian let her foot off him and pointed at his arm-display. "I have your information. I'm a private investigator. My sense is that this guy has a grudge against me and that's why you're here." She stared at him for a moment, contemplating her next words. "I can help get your sister back."
"How? This guy's everywhere."
"And he lost a kid to me, just this week. I got him back safely."
Donnie paused, blinking in thought. "I—I don't have any money."
Adrian leaned down and stared at him. "You're going to have to turn your brain on if you ever want to see your sister again."
"W—what do you want?"
"You're my inside guy now." Adrian looked at the chain-link fence just beyond the alleyway's entrance, and the trash piles which she could evade the rest of this guy's goons. "We'll be in touch when I find out more."
The thought of doing pro-bono work churned her guts, but considering how big this case was getting, letting a little fish go to get the big fish was a necessary part of the game.
She bolted for the fence and leaped over, disappearing between the mountains of garbage. Rushing for the park was simple, it was near the District 26 city center. As she arrived, the park was nothing more than a holographic image of a pond upon a concrete slab. Holographic ducks swam around the water, and a kiosk near the entrance sold digital bread for throwing to the fake birds.
At a park bench, a man in a suit and fedora gave her a knowing look. It was her contact. She took the long way around, buying a few digital bits of bread and feeding the holo-ducks. Then, sauntering over to his bench, sat far on the other end and turned in the opposite direction that the man was faced.
"You're in deep shit, you know that?" The gravelly man called to Adrian.
