Babylon, for all of its soaring towers and bustling skylanes, was still not without the small ma and pop establishments sprinkled about its outer-rings. The more in the center of the large city one went, the more corporate it became. Out here in the outer-rings, with smaller buildings barely fit to scrape a heel, much less the sky in comparison to the colossal towers of crystal that jutted up out of the ground and into view. It was brick and concrete in the outer-rings and the people shuffling by or seen in their beat-up skycars were as tough and grizzled as the streets they walked on. The people inside the [i]Rolling Dice[/i] were no exception. Tipping back frothing brews or searing spirits, every so often they would whisper about the pale fellow with the blonde hair.

“Drink?” Asked Kristof, sliding over a pint to Richard. The man was too busy staring off into space, running circles in his own head, to pay attention to whatever Kristof said.

“Oh, sure.” Richard said, smiling. Kristof wasn’t too bad once one got past first impressions and assumptions. The man looked sleazy, which he was, but no one in Richard’s line of work wasn’t to some degree, and he was a bit blunt, not one to beat around the bush if something was stupid. That last fact was a good thing, though, made him a good man and a good Coordinator.

“Well, there it is. So, are you having fun chasing after whatever you’re chasing after?” And his voice reminded someone of what a snake would sound like if they could talk. Each word seemed to slither out of his mouth, a bit breathy.

“Not so much fun as,” Richard paused, not knowing what it really was, then his eyebrows perked, “obligation.” The word seemed to flit from his mouth on wings of velvet.

“Obligation? To whom, may I ask?” Kristof said, taking a swig from his pint. Its counterpart was left undrank by Richard.

“No, you may not. I can tell you that they’re important. Tell me, Kristof, should personal problems ever cross over to work?” Richard asked. He knew that it would be far easier to achieve what he needed if he managed to get his cell to go after his problems with him. Something about it just seemed a bit wrong, though, selfish. He felt manipulative at that moment, but it was his job to sway minds to the cause. Well, [i]his[/i] cause, really. The Group was all about justice for the downtrodden, and the child Richard once had been was very downtrodden. You couldn’t get more downtrodden than having your family killed right in front of you and being sent to the hospital.

Downtrodden definitely was going through surgery to have a foot of intestine replaced, facial reconstruction surgery and having your own half-working eyes replaced, as well. Downtrodden was having your spinal cord cut out and a cybernetic one put back in, it definitely was having the muscles in your legs completely replaced by synth-muscle to keep up with the demand of the new cybernetic CNS and every other muscle in your body reinforced with the stuff. Normal people, normal children, don’t have to go through physical therapy to relearn how to walk while the others played soccer. If there was anyone Richard knew who had suffered under injustice, it was him. It was his sister, his parents, every one of the android workers he had once loved like family.

“We are to remain professional in the face of what might make others zealots. We are not the bleeding hearts, we are the hands that tear the cold hearts from the chest of corrupt individuals. That’s what Marcus told us, anyways. I agree with him, for the most part,” Kristof looked at his friend, “Are you alright, Richard? I always knew you to be the brooding type with something to hide, but you seem more distant than usual. What did that Alexander fellow have to say to you in the club?” Kristof asked, trying to get some form of conversation out of his colleague.

“He told me about Mason. They’d talked in the past. He told me to see a man named Frederick Mause. I don’t know if I can even trust this source, yet,” Richard looked at his pint that he had yet to take a drink of and then did just that before returning it to the bartop, “If Mason talked to him, he at least has something useful about him.”

“I was brought on after Mason left. Who was he to you? Marcus says that he was a good man and Ainsley can only vouch for him being a good Intelligence Officer.” Kristof said, taking a drag of his v-cig.

“He’s both. He taught me everything he knew. He taught me patience, told me to use the asset’s emotions, greed, anything you can to establish some form of trust. He was pulled in by Babylon military police and none of us have heard anything from him since. I think he’s dead. The fact that our cell has yet to be raided and none of us have noticed any prying eyes is a good thing.” Richard said before taking another drink.

“I bet. So, he was a good mentor, I’m guessing?” Kristof replied, taking a drink in turn.

“Safe bet. He was. I once entertained fantasies of trying to get ahold of old friends from the Military Academy, see what they knew about a prisoner named Mason Moore,” 

Richard shook his head and took another drink, “Nothing could be worse. Me, a dead man come knocking at a few doors asking about another dead man. If that wouldn’t have raised a few flags, then I don’t know what will.”

“True enough. Maybe one day he’ll turn up.” Kristof smiled, slapping his colleague on the back.

“Ainsley would probably say I’d sooner grow a second penis and then get the President to kneel down and-”

“Okay, okay. Jesus, even when Ainsley isn’t here I have to hear her damned mouth. You’d think it wouldn’t hurt a lady to be feminine and kind.” Kristof grimaced.

“She kills people who hurt others on the sole principle that that’s what she was hired on for. I found her in a bar, tried to be a gentleman and get her to come to our side that way. She only slapped me and then laughed at my expression afterwards. Mason told her that she’d be payed and then he told me that I was using the wrong technique for the wrong kind of asset,” Another drink, “I was still learning.”

The two shared a laugh before their PDAs vibrated in their pockets. They didn’t have to look at them to know that it was Marcus, calling to get the chickens back into the coop. Maybe he’d pegged a suitable goal to try to accomplish. Blackmail a politician, kill a mining-rig manager, clear out a wind-farm to send a message to some corporation. Any kind of fun stuff. Whatever it was, it would have to wait a quick trip on the skylanes as Richard and Kristof pulled the doors of the skycar closed.

“Are you okay to drive?” Kristof asked. Richard only paused to look at him for a few seconds, considering the situation. They didn’t even get to finish their respective beers.

“I would think so.” Richard said.

“I would hope so.” Kristof muttered.