[i]Sun’s high in the sky by the time I leave Luca’s. Another dose of ISAAC floods my neural weave. Slow as apology, I can feel the fog of trauma retreat. I walk the couple of blocks to where I parked Mary, carving my way through the sea of twisting humans.[/i]

[i]<< Ascot is going to be a headache. Albion are heavy-hitters with a reputation for stacking bodies. The ICE on that flex circuit was no joke either. Gonna need a decent runner. One that’s cheaper than Eggy.[/i]

[i]Ah, fuck. All that time in the deli and I didn’t grab nothin’ to eat. I know just the place. >>[/i]

[i]I open the door to Bodega Bacu’s and am greeted by a jangly voice that bleeds through low-fidelity speakers blaring tinny P-pop, telling me to enjoy a tall Falco's Choice Coco-not Piña Slush. Projected neon font jiggles center-aisle across a fat cloud of synthesized tropical fruits that puffs out of poorly hidden diffusers in the shelving. I drop olfac sensitivity by 10% to keep from coughing up a lime.[/i]

Stylistic slogans in English and Alpabetong shatter across the broad expanse of Sóse's scuffed and faded bronze Deflexion jacket as he reaches through the holographic projection for a couple cases of electro-lime H2.0. He turns to the register and lines up, partitioning a section of his faculties to review the relevant details to his case.

[i]<< Missing girl. Missing scientist. Worried parents. Dead husband. 

Corpo stink all over the place.

What the fuck has Froggy got me looking into? >>[/i]

"You. Again? Why don't you just b-b-buy in bulk, ah? You like coming in here or somethin'? Always wasting my t-t-time with small purchases." The question came from the bodega's second-gen AI cashier; a rough simulacrum of the shop's original owner, now dead some 15 years.

"Morning to you too, Bacu. Let me get the waters and two, nah three, yeah three chopped lechon with eggs. Real pork, too. None of that pakshet lab-grown swine you try to pass off to the assholes. Oh yea, extra onions too."

Digital brilliance flashed across the dull copper of Sóse's irises as he paid for his items. The register blared a sour note while the words [color=red][b]INSUFFICIENT FUNDS[/b][/color] manifested in mid-air as a crimson chyron that scrolled in front of the detective.

[i]<< That ain’t right. Let me check somethi- Oh, that bacon-lipped son of a bitch. He froze my fucking accounts. >>[/i]

Digging through his pockets, Sóse produces a handful of colorful datashards that he considers for a moment before setting a pair of chips on the counter. Their edges glowed in alternating lilac and saffron as Bacu scanned the floral motif of their QR codes.

[b][center]***[/center][/b]
Tinted lenses slipped across Sóse’s eyes from zygomatic recesses as he sunk into the plush leather upholstery of the driver’s seat. Massive hands on the steering wheel, he breathed in relief. After a recuperative moment, the engine turned over with a thought from the cybernetic detective.

[i]Ten minutes later I’m coasting along the Palisades Parkway going to town on one of Bacu's sandwiches when a holo-call comes in through Mary’s comm systems.[/i]

[i]<< It's MeMe. Shit. >>[/i]

[i]I disable the vis-feed before accepting the call.[/i]

"MeMe, theyby, sweetheart, I was just going to call you."

"That’s cute but cut the bullshit, hunty, because this is not your momma’s house. I know a growing boy has got to eat and I'm not the only game in town, but you’re treating me like a Flatbush glitchqueen and it’s got me reevaluating our relationship.”

[i]I struggle to choke down the lechon while I wait for the bomb to drop.[/i]

“What's this I hear about you doing a job for Froggy Huang?"

[i]<< Best to be honest with MeMe. Never know what they've got tucked away. >>[/i]

“It’s a missing persons gig. Real time sensitive. Froggy’s name doesn’t leave as many lips as it used to and I owed him big since that raw deal in Neo-Chinatown. Look, MeMe, I’m headed North out of the city. Froggy knows we’re done once I wrap this up. When I get back, I’ll do your next gig pro-bono.”

[i]MeMe's response hits me at the same time as a notification from Mary’s on-board navigation system informing me of my ETA.[/i]

"Tsk. Don’t make it a habit of disappointing me or deals won’t be the only things raw around here. See you later, soldier-boy.”

[i]<< ETA to Belleayre is approximately 2 hours. >>
<< Thanks, Mary. Take over for me, will ya? I’ve got a lot to think about. >>[/i]