[center] [h1] Vincent DeSilvio [/h1] [/center]

[i]Tip. Tip. Tip.[/i] The sound of dripping water woke him up before his alarm did. This was not uncommon for Vincent DeSilvio; he had stirred moments before the alarm sounded every day for the past six years. Whatever event had made him a light sleeper wasn’t in an easily accessible recess of his mind and honestly, he didn’t mind it. “Urgh,” he grunted, reaching a hairy arm over the naked torso of the female form lying next to him. She shifted as he moved his arm to turn off the alarm clock; but it was too late. The music began to loudly play before he could finger the snooze option on the holographic screen. 

[Hider=Music] [youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DbN1MtzyEM] [/youtube] [/hider] 

“Good morning sleepyhead,” the thick French accent of the woman greeted him as fought with the holo-screen. “You can keep the music on. I like this song.” Her t’s had a thick z sound with each one, stereotypical yes, but it was something about how she cheerfully spoke in that thick accent that struck Vincent to the core. It was silly, yes, but [i]fuck[/i] it was sexy. 

“I paid three hundred creds for the damn thing,” Vincent grumbled, moving his arm back as he slowly pushed himself upright onto the bed, “You’d think it would work.” 

“It works fine for me.” 

“You’re good with technology. I can barely use my datapad without breaking something.” 

“You’re good with me.” Audra leaned over and grinned coquettishly, her bright purple irises illuminated by the dim holo-screen.  She looked nearly indistinguishable from a normal human woman, but her eyes were a dead giveaway. Her eyes and several small ports on her upper back; which were usually hidden by high-collared shirts. She was [i]designed[/i] to look and sound comforting to those around her. After all, she was a grief counselor. Her job and purpose was to help others and talk to them about grief. The fact that she was insatiable in bed and seemed to understand what Vincent said even when he himself struggled to understand his words made her the sole comfort in the man’s life. 

“You’re not technology,” Vincent said abruptly,” trying to avert her eyes from her naked form. He didn’t have time to waste engaging in early morning coitus; he had to be at briefing in thirty minutes. He [i]wanted[/i] to of course. In the two years of their relationship, sex was never an issue. Nor was communication. In the small handful of relationships he’d struggled with over his nearly 30 years of life, Audra was the first relationship that he’d felt [i]comfortable[/i] in. Even [i]fulfilled[/i]. The only glaring issue was the biological one; the fact that regardless of how soft her skin was, how warm her breath on the back of his neck could be, how deeply she could [i]feel[/i] to him, she was at the end of the day: [i]artificial.[/i] 

It’s also why he hadn’t introduced her to his mother in the two year span. Ever since George’s death, she’d been inconsolable; and he’s put a lot of faith in the anti-aug movements. Hell; she’d always spat at the site of cyborgs and androids; even robots. But after George’s corpse came back in a box; she’d put everything of her person in religious fanaticism. That had led to him growing up also looking down on the augs. Classmates who had replacement limbs (and in district 15, missing limbs were the [i]least[/i] of your fucking worries), kids with implants to help them see, or even help them breathe? They were [i]sporco[/i]. Filthy. Perhaps that’s why he never really had friends growing up. He was afraid being near anyone different would make him [i]filthy[/i] too. 

Audra was not filthy. He’d seen filth, in District 10, in 12, all over 15. But in the district 7 bar where the two had met one night after Donlan Caul had taken him out for drinks in celebration of a large bust; he’d met her. They’d been living together for almost a year and a half now. 

“You know what I mean,” she said, chuckling, and sat up on her side of the bed now. “Hurry up and take a shower. I know you’re already going to be late as it is.” 

Vincent nodded and got up, walking through the small but modestly furnished apartment his salary afforded for himself and Audra (whilst also sending money back to 15 for his mother and Fiora), and looked out the orange holographic blinds of his window. [i]Tip. Tip. Tip.[/i] Droplets of water. It reminded Vincent of other memories. Not just water. [i]Blood. Synthetic blood. Android with his throat slit open. Bled dry, like a cow-[/i] He shook his head. Shower. Clothes. Breakfast. Work. He started in a pace that was almost robotic in his practiced motions. Exactly one minute thirty seconds for cleaning his entire body. Dressed in two point five minutes. Grabbing the steaming piece of toast Audra had been making at the end of those two-point-five minutes and tearing into it before giving her a long kiss, grabbing his case, and heading out the door. 

The [i]cheery[/i] mood he’d been in when around Audra immediately dissipated as he stepped out the door and into the cold air outside. District 7 was nice; crime wasn’t too high and it wasn’t a cesspool like 15 was. But it wasn’t district 2 or 3 either. But his price range was 7, and he had to deal with the people there until he could get to administration. 

“Ey, you fuckin’ EPA dog,” a thick-accented man on the street yelled at him. [i]Korporat accent. Refugee possibly? Why was he on the streets of seven? Usually, they’d be relegated to the higher number districts.[/i] “I know you’re with the EPA. How many more people are you gonna [i]fuckin[/i] kill today?” 

Vincent fixed the collar of his jacket and kept walking. [i]Focus. Keep walking. Get to work.[/i] What new memories would he make today? Which junkies, corpses, whores and fucking psychos would he get to talk to today? What would he bring home with him, nestled comfortably in the back of his mind? What would wake him up tomorrow?