The flourish of lights illuminating the cracks in the pavement and noise coming from the grungy streets with dilapidated and modern structures sharing space. Sirens, screams, shots, the smoke pouring from buildings that never stopped burning her nostrils. An abandoned security vehicle in the middle of the road, stripped of an engine, radio and its tires. A huddled group of young hooligans with baseball bats, sitting by a dumpster fire and chucking some emptied plastic jugs inside. One boy striking a fleeting glance with Scarlett, giving her a vacant, yet fierce stare, looking as if he face-planted into powdered sugar. The city really brought a new meaning to crystal clarity. Her full sprint passing through couldn’t slip past reality, getting caught in the moment. How was she going to return without transportation? That recollection shattered her stride like a bag filled with hammers thrown into her plans. She hadn’t remembered to specify a retrieval time and location, did that idiot explain anything? Would she have bothered to listen even if he did? She groaned aloud and smacked the side her helmet, then thinking about her limited options. Balancing the risk of the police, shootouts and further chaos for the chance of having her ride waiting there like a carriage ready to whisk her away. It reflected a fantasy that made the broken fragments laying beside the overflowing trash can belong to a glass slipper, and the pool of chunky orange goop from a crushed pumpkin. But the distinct smell of booze and food poisoning clung to her, as she only kept walking to distance herself from the oncoming nausea... [hr] After six minutes of ambling across sidewalks had elapsed, a couple of revving motorcycles had simultaneously pulled over toward adjacent empty bike racks with loose steel chains piled on the ground on the street corner ahead of her. She suddenly recognized at least one of the drivers as he removed his headgear, another Reaper apart of her masters hirelings. The face of forty going on twenty-five from cybernetics, dressed like money didn’t matter, the artifice clear as his glossy sheen in his eyes. His voice being the most apparent giveaway of his age, sounding like the cigarettes he smoked bore holes in his lungs. “Lookin’ for a ride, Scarlett? We were just heading back to The Fortress.” What were the odds? She hated the very concept of fate, and calling it fortune was debatable, more accurately a set of circumstances that settled her prominent query. Still as the air she remained silent and standing, making her decision underneath a flickering street-lights exposing Scarlett's soaked red body. Interrupted by a familiar sneering sound from the armored woman removing her dark hood and showing off her long synthetic bright blue hair, like she was proudly displaying the mop dyed with window cleaner, affixed to cover her balding spots. “Let the self-serving mutt find her own way home.” The woman cawed, an appropriate description given her similarities with scavenger birds. Scarlett kept her mouth shut, answering with a nod of acknowledgement, while hiding a smirk and sauntered up to the man’s motorcycle. Briefly touching her holster, inserting her fingertip and feeling where she’d hidden the folded piece of paper. “Bitch, get your own boyfriend to drive you-Oh, right! He’s dead. Not that you wouldn’t fuck him, if he had any bones you could stick-” Something would have snapped before she finished her sentence. Charging her and lunging at her like a beast, knocking her off the motorbike and slamming her backside into the bike rack. Her weapon stuck strapped ineffectually to her back pinned to the concrete. Scarlett’s concentration unbroken by the shouts of the other men who she knew couldn’t kill her, let alone stop her fast enough. Scarlett quickly binding her movements with the chains, leaving her cries as her last desperate struggle. Proceeding to bash her skull with her fists continually smashing in a blind rage until the blind would have equal measures to recognize the leftovers... But her inner demons were pacified, with the first man snapping at her. “Cut that out, before I inform the boss how much his ammunition you wasted on a single flunkie that you let escape and it comes out of your paycheck.” He warned through clenched teeth and a low growl. “Don’t talk about that with her around.” She muttered in a defensive tone, facing away from them and pulling her hood up. “Scarlett isn’t going to tattle. She’s a good girl. So no more bickering.” The man stated in a casual way, though she’d long gotten used to the pet-speak. The man pointed over to the third wheel who remained entirely silent. “Get on with Chaz, he won’t bite.” He chuckled at his own statement failing to brighten the mood. Scarlett hopped on rear of the motorcycle and awkwardly put her hands on the stranger’s shoulders, least they were clean and didn’t wreak... With the sound of burning oil, they sped off toward The Fortress. Scarlett despite her best effort to focus on the road, got lost in her anxiety... [i]“Just get back with the news in one piece. Nobody else can know about this. If I’m right, anyone trying to discover Davison’s whereabouts would kill for this information…”[/i]