Scarlett stared at the tons of empty glasses and a half-full fruity cocktail, the girlfriend’s jacket hanging on the chair, plus a scribbled note she watched the man leave behind on the table. ‘My compliments to the bartender’ with a generous tip lying beside it. Her panicked mind adrift and thrashing in the rising waves of tension. His offer became a siren song holding her hostage like a serrated blade held up to her neck. He pressed deep and waited for Scarlett to open up and spill out. What if he already suspected she discovered–

[i][b]"Wait!"[/b][/i]

[i][b]"Breathe…"[/b][/i]

This game wasn’t over yet.

In fact, she had the single most valuable piece in her possession quite literally stuffed inside her helmet. In order to maintain her sanity she’d need to quickly glue the pieces together that he intentionally tried to break apart, managing the memorized Machiavellian moments making minutes of time minimized to milliseconds of theorizing.

Taking the opportunity to call his bluff, she had to get her hands dirty and evaluate the groundwork laid before her, charting every peak and valley. She stood up from her seat with a definitive stance, not collapsing from shaky legs due to unbalanced thought, nor underneath the weight of his assertions assaulting her self-assurance. 

The first contradicting question that made her feel like he revealed his hand. Why exchange the notes beneath the table? Perhaps nobody at the bar would notice or care to consider it without context. But he specifically agreed to keep everything casual to not arouse raised eyebrows. So why not simply across from it? To avoid her recording receiving the notebook from him, his eyes and movements were focused on her actions. He was incredibly careful and calculated.
 
Bringing along this woman that hated her, then expressing her wrongdoing on a mission so brazenly might have been effective countermeasures against her ruining the plan and gave him an easily manipulated and obedient ally if Scarlett resisted. Her prolonged absence to the bathroom was likely ingested, would it be a stretch to assume he had put something in her drink? 

But that lead into why take the notepad? So she wouldn’t show somebody? A bizarre language she doubted her master even understood? He knew her enough that she didn’t have real friends in The Fortress, let alone in Night City. After all this trouble and supposed trust? She had to look down to read them, so the possibility of recording the messages themselves could still happen. But his thoughtless sentence painted a picture worth a thousand words. That wasn't his handwriting! 

The answer to who wrote it and therefore must be an active accomplice became apparent that their third wheel wasn’t accidental. He never showed his face and spoke to reveal his possible difference in nationality. He stayed back to stop her from running away without a fight. His nerves exaggerated to garner sympathy, or was it desperation slipping in while hiding nefarious intentions? Regardless, his similar appearance to her boyfriend was a damned sinister play to tug at her heartstrings. A spider crafting a strong web by spinning a thread of lies that would stick to her and it almost worked. She figured every word was the truth, it would make his motivation to do this in the first place crystal clear.  

All except the prisoner actually knowing anything about Davison, and her master’s motivation. Which in turn, completely removed her incentive to accept it. She remembered her master’s words whispered erotically in her eardrum clearly, so if one of her boyfriends killers had known anything about the Lieutenant. She’d be the first he’d sic on him without hesitation. She needed to escape before they returned…

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that that red-headed girl wanted to contact her for reasons unknown, but she couldn’t risk staying much longer. Knowing her ability to record any additional footage without another data chip was limited to approximately forty seconds. She captured video of her and the other two patrons at the pub, hopefully she’d be capable of gathering enough information to find her again. A sharp scream pierced the air, coming from the wraith of a woman scorned sounding off the metaphorical starting pistol. Throwing caution to the wind by exerting her long digitigrade legs, she made a swift exit...
[hr]
As Scarlett raced out of the bar, she gracefully avoided running head-long into a patron heading in. He was maybe a few centimeters taller than she was with neat hair, and looked to be obese at first glance, a fact poorly concealed by the long, fur-coated aviator jacket he was wearing. The lower-right half of his face was slack and sagging, almost like he had suffered a stroke, and he had a curious, linear tattoo of some kind running down from his nose, past his lips and down to his chin, although she didn't get a good look at it due to her rush. Just another weirdo coming in.

"Sorry there missy." He said as he held up both his hands - which were both covered in thick, calloused scars. His voice was rather deep and had a kind of deep scrape to it, some kind of faint metallic clipping at the end of each syllable, but he was not hard to understand despite the deformity of his jaw. He turned to watch her race past him, calling out to her as she went. "Be safe out there. There's been a firefight in the combat zone, and you aren't the only animal out there. A hardware spider was seen creeping around." 

He then turned and headed into the bar.
[hr]
In the alleyway, waiting at the edge of the road with three parked motorcycles and a set of keys somewhere on the man who stood there like he was expecting her. She clenched her hands and aggressively approached as he whipped out an Excalibur Nightstick in his right hand, glowing blue from the volts of electricity coursing from the tip. Of course, he couldn’t raise concern from other potential liabilities by calling for help or using louder firearms. Neither could she make a break for her Beretta’s and blast away subsequently alerting those who’d be able to pursue her. Her own straps lying on his seat. A single strike against her flesh would suffice to impair her movement entirely.

Throwing the jacket over the taser as he swung down to stop her charge, she grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm back, spinning him around and attempted to yank it out of his grasp. He slammed his left elbow into her chest, it was powerful hit but she refused to let go. They continued to both struggle, the jacket falling between them, she tried manipulating his hand to taser himself in the back and quickly wrapped her other arm around to pat and check his torso for keys. No luck.

He dropped the weapon, landing by the jacket and began pulling out a switchblade with his free arm. She pulled his arm back and used her strength to slam him into the wall of the adjacent building, his left shoe coming off and his helmet audibly clashing. She heard the jingling that time, and if his left pocket held the switchblade... 

[i]“What the hell?”[/i]

She stuffed her hand inside his right pants' pocket and immediately regretting it, her hand felt trapped in a sticky substance that refused her attempt to pull back. That distraction allowed him to break free from her hold and spin around, shoving her full force off her feet and falling backwards on the ground in front of him. The helmet absorbing the blow to the head, the feeling of exhaustion begin creeping up from her rapid beating heart. She’d lose the battle of attrition, if she hadn’t already lost time. Her gaze catching glimpse of the object inside the tipped over shoe, the keys! He pulled and flipped the switchblade open, she snatched the keys and rolled over toward the jacket, and stood upright on all fours. He stood in a defensive position with his blade ready for Scarlett to lunge forward. Scrutiny and instinct agreed that his left leg was the easiest to sink her teeth into, followed by the wrist he held his weapon in–

He wouldn’t risk throwing it at her and ruining his advantage. She rushed toward his motorbike and hopped on, sitting on her firearms and inserting the keys and turning on the ignition. Scarlett gripped the handlebars and shoved her foot into the gas pedal. What they said about riding a bike proved true as she sped off into the street. He ran forward into the street, noticing her turning around and still increasing speed, coming straight at him. Scarlett was ready and willing to break the rules, she’d allow breaking a few bones on her way out. [b]WHAM![/b] Hurling him into the air and knocking him unconscious. 

“I hope that hurts.” She growled aloud, before spending the rest of her time catching her breath as she rode off into the night. Next stop; The Fortress.