Faraday Serum II: Best Laid Plans free porn video

The Best Laid Plans By: Light Clark and Meridian Synopsis: Almost two years have passed since the Protean serum capable of changing men into women was brought to Aurora in an effort to save the people of the world from extinction. The Aurorans have since organized the Faraday Initiative, a program calling for volunteers to undergo the treatment and begin bringing women back to the planet. Two lowlifes from the streets of the opulent city's underground volunteer in the hopes of swindling their way to the top of society. Chapter One: Step One The obnoxious buzz of an alarm forced me awake by sending a pounding through my head. As it did, sweet dreams of a fancy restaurant and a mountain of luxurious food faded away. In their place was just the dim gray world of early morning, mingling with the dreadful racket that told me it was time to get up and go to work. "Ugh ... fucking too much to drink last night," I grumbled as I used one hand to rub at my eyes and the other to swat at the nearby clock. That silenced the annoyance and helped to wake me up, but didn't help the ache that throbbed in my temples all that much. It was more than enough to get me to regret the night before, a late one with plenty of liquor involved, but not by all that much. After all, it had been fun, and there wasn't much else to do for fun these days. With a grunt of exertion, I finally got myself moving, rolling over to the edge of the bed. There, I sat up, but not all the way. I wasn't a tall guy, but even I had to hunch over to not hit my head on the bunk above me. For a few seconds, I just sat there, getting my head in order for the coming day. There wasn't all that much to that, but it was important. Otherwise, I might forget something, like that deal I had later or that I needed to look for a couple of choice opportunities while I was working. "Alright, time to go make the money," I finally told myself, practically a mantra. That was what it was all for, the credits. Well, that and the dream that they'd buy someday. When that day came, I definitely should have a food mountain like in my dream, full of high quality meats with fancy sauces and lots of liquor and champagne stacked up alongside it. Something so pointless and wasteful was exactly what wealth was for. Readied for the day ahead, I shoved myself out of bed and navigated my way across the small bedroom. The first stop was getting a change of clothes for the coming day. After that, a punch on a sticky wall panel opened the automatic door that led out to the hall beyond then a more gentle tap got me into the bathroom. Inside, I flipped on the lights, dropped my spare clothes on the vanity, and went straight toward the shower, tossing a quick glance at the mirror along the way. "Hey there," I greeted my reflection with a smile. It was a good smile, easy and winning to go well with the handsome, trustworthy face that surrounded it. Well, it wasn't looking too trustworthy at the moment with the scraggle of beard, splotchy red eyes, and messy hair, but I could fix all of that later. A few more taps had the water for the shower flowing. While it warmed up, I stripped out of my clothes. That task didn't take long enough, though, forcing me to just sit there and wait while the cheap, old plumbing did its work. Just another of the little perks of living in the shitty little apartment. Eventually, I managed to get into the water, giving myself a thorough wash that helped ease my throbbing head. Once that was done, it was back to the mirror for a close, careful shave and drying my hair. After that, it was time to get dressed. My outfit for the day was the same as every work day. It was a simple, gray uniform made from cheap material with shoddy workmanship. It screamed laborer to everyone that looked my way. By itself, it was enough to get a lot of people to look right over me, beneath their very notice. "Stuck up, pricks," I muttered at the very thought even as I moved on with my morning routine. The next task was dealing with my hair. Fresh from the shower, it looked like a shaggy mess, but a little gel and some deft handiwork had it all neatly slicked back. It was a nuisance, but the only useful thing my father had ever taught me was that the keys to success were a sharp haircut and winning smile. After giving the mirror one last smile to make sure that I had both things down, I nodded contentedly. "Alright, time to poke the bear." Out of the bathroom I went, returning to the bedroom for the next chore of the day. It was the most annoying, because it was the one that made me wake up first. After all, if I trusted my friend and bunkmate, Spencer Miklos, to be the first one up, we'd sleep through work at least half the time. Stepping up onto my bed, I reached into the top bunk to give the big, meaty, mass that lay there a healthy shove. "Wake up, Spence! It's time for work!" The only response I received from the slumbering behemoth was a low growl. Unlike a real bear, that growl wasn't a warning. It was a sign that he was almost up. All he needed was one more shove. "I said up!" I barked, giving Spence that last prod he would need before dropping off the beds back to the floor. With my buddy handled, I was off again. Next in the morning routine was breakfast, so I took the other direction in the short hall outside of my room. That led to the main area of the small apartment Spence and I shared. It was a combination kitchen and living room, both of which were fairly cramped, or at least, they seemed that way whenever Spence was lumbering around in them. Short and wiry, they weren't too bad for me. A short stop in the kitchen got me a bowl of cereal before I plopped down on the sofa in front of our TV. The thing was one of the few luxuries in the whole apartment, large and fancy but not because Spence or I cared that much about watching it. We just got lucky and snatched the thing a few months back to replace the little dinky one that we'd had before. Grabbing the control pad, I flipped it on and switched it immediately to a news station in the hopes of hearing something useful. There wasn't much of a chance of that, though. These days, the news was pretty much focused on just one thing. "- is expected to talk about the experimental trials responsible for her startling transformation as well as where those results will lead next," a serious-looking anchor was saying as soon as the channel came in, proving my very point. On the screen was an image of a woman, one that I and every other schmuck in Aurora knew quite well. Hannah Orlaev was the face of hope, the first success from scientific dabblings into some old Protean chemical. Less than a year ago, she'd been going by Hank, not Hannah, which fit her a lot better at the time. After all, she used to be a man, just like all the rest of us. All the actual woman had been killed off years ago by The Phage. Apparently now, though, they were going to be coming back. "Not that Spence or I are gonna get a chance to land one anytime soon," I muttered in between bites of my cereal. There was no way the fancy bigwigs that ran the greatest city on Proteus were going to let a couple of delivery men like Spence and me get anywhere near a girl. They'd rope them off in some fancy part of town for their sons to make a few goes at. I did however chalk one up on the list right next to food mountain for when I finally got us out of these dregs and into respectable society. Caring more about that goal than the useless news story, I flipped the TV over to a different input. The thing doubled as our computer's monitor, allowing me to pull up some of the documents that I had on Spence and my's savings. They were pretty good, for the kind of money we made, but not nearly good enough for my liking. We needed to find a way to make more. While I ran through the numbers, I could hear the various sounds of my roommate moving around in the background. Like me, he got a shower and changed clothes, but he was much quicker about it. I guess his old man hadn't taught him the same lesson as mine, which, in my opinion, was a good thing. I didn't need another winning smile or sharp haircut, but an imposing tower of muscle with a big black beard and a scar along his right eye was quite useful. Listening to the sounds, I knew exactly the right moment to look up from my cereal and greet my friend with a chin bob and easy, "Hey." "Morning," Spence rumbled from the back of his throat before quickly turning that into a cough. As he cleared his throat, the big man lumbered over to the counter to grab a small box before finally flopping down in the chair next to the sofa. Once he was situated, he opened up the little box, pulled out a slip of paper and some tobacco, and rolled up a cigarette for himself. A lighter appeared from his pocket a moment later to light it. As the first puff of Spence's morning cigarette entered the air, I frowned. It wasn't the smell or the health warnings or any of that nonsense that I cared about. It was the wastefulness. The stupid habit cost money without doing anything for us. Then again, so did staying out late and drinking, and there was no way I was going through all this grind sober. "How're we doing?" Spence asked between drags, tilting his head toward the TV. "Good," I exaggerated as I quickly flipped off the screen. "And we'll be even better after the deal I set up for tonight." That claim brought a slightly skeptical look onto the big man's bearded face. "You sure about that?" "Yeah, of course," I answered confidently. "Why wouldn't I be?" The big man took another long drag, then puffed. "They just seemed a bit iffy to me," Spence replied. It might have sounded simple or maybe cryptic to anyone else, but from him to me that pretty much meant he thought this was all going to end in a fight. "Well, yeah, obviously," I answered without any concerns for the arrangement. "It's a back alley deal for stolen goods. That's about as shady as it fucking gets in this city." Seemingly content with that answer, Spence shrugged off his worry. "Alright. We gonna hit the bar again after?" That question took longer for me to answer as I weighed the cost against the fun. After a moment, though, I finally shook my head. "Nah, this isn't big enough to celebrate. 'Sides, I need to find some leads for our next deal." That news got me a nod of understanding from the big man as he fell back into silence to enjoy his cigarette. My attention fell back to my cereal as well, or at least it appeared to. While I stared at the bowl, I tried to think of what I was going to do to find another score. Big as Aurora was, there wasn't a whole lot of crime. The police force was sharp and nobody wanted to pay the penalty for getting caught. Anyone that did anything even remotely serious got deported, cast into the wasteland outside the capital. Out there alone, a guy was more likely to get himself shot than find a nice place to live, and there weren't any places as nice as Aurora. I knew that all too well. After all, that's where Spence and I were from. Finishing up my last few bites, I got up to take my bowl to the kitchen. "You gonna eat anything, man? It's almost time to go." Spence shrugged. "I'll grab something on the way out." "Suit yourself," I replied before starting back toward the bedroom to grab a few of my things before work. *********************************************** *********************************************** The steady clack of the little train car on its lonesome rail kept time for its journey round the city. Fortunately, Spence and my's time riding along with it was nearly over. Our stop was just a couple down the line. Yawning sleepily, I lounged back in my seat and glanced around at the rest of the car. Beside me, currently staring off into space, sat Spence, the reason why we even got to have seats at all. Most of the people inside were crammed into the standing area. There were a lot of them, but it was hard to really focus on any individual one. Like us, they mostly wore uniforms, just as shoddy, but shaded or styled differently to show what they did. A trio of guys in red worked motorpool. There were a couple of greens on garbage detail. I believed the yellow were infrastructure maintenance. It was hard to remember what they all were, but it did make for a colorful crowd - a whole rainbow of nobodies slogging off to their menial jobs. A slight lurch brought the car to its first stop as various colors left and new ones shuffled on. Then, we were off again, only to stop a few blocks further along. This time, I popped up from my seat and swatted Spence on the arm. The big guy snapped to focus right away, shoving himself slowly to his feet to follow me off the train car. Passing through the station, we got out onto the streets of Aurora. They were nice streets, smoothly paved with wide sidewalks. Even the buildings looked to be in pretty good shape. I suppose that's easy to do when the city can draw in immigrants like those guys in yellow back on the train to do all that maintenance work with promises of the happiest life a fella can find on Proteus. The reality was more wages that can barely keep a man going, but barely going is better than the not going at all that a lot of people find out in the rest of the world. A few blocks from the station, Spence and I found our own particular spot for barely going. It wasn't much to look at, just a big warehouse with lots of trucks parked at the loading docks. Less fortunate souls than us were already hard at work, and had been for some time, loading up all those trucks so they'd be ready to go out as soon as their drivers came in. "Jim, Rick, Eddie ..." I rattled off the names of some of the loaders as I walked by them, occasionally throwing in an a, "How's it going?" or a, "Hey there," to mix it up. Most of the workers gave me little more than a head bob and an absent, "Hey," but a few went with, "Andy." They were too busy finishing up their jobs and too tired from their shift to bother with much more than that. As Spence and I moved down the line, we passed fewer and fewer loaders, indicating that most of the further trucks were already done. Unfortunately, ours didn't seem to be one of them. There were a couple of loaders leaned against the side of our truck, apparently taking a break to talk rather than finish their job. I might've understood, if I wasn't the one they were holding up with their chat. "Hey, Frank," I greeted the loader that I was more familiar with. "How long until you'll have her ready to go?" "Oh, the truck's all set to go, but I don't know when you're going to get to take her out," Frank answered. "The boss wants to see ya, first." Even as worries flittered through my head, I shrugged off that news with apparent nonchalance. "He probably just wants to give me a raise, is all." "Yeah right," Frank muttered sarcastically as he pushed himself off the truck. "Congratulations then." "Thanks," I replied brightly, intentionally ignoring the sarcasm. Smilingly easily, I turned to my buddy. "I'll be back in just a minute." "I'll wait in the truck," Spence responded with typical brevity. With a quick nod of acknowledgement, I turned to stroll off, keeping that smile on my face the whole way to the supervisor's office. It did a good job of hiding my racing thoughts as I tried to figure out exactly what kind of trouble I might be in. There was that crate of hooch Spence and I nicked a couple weeks back. I also had a few things stashed in my locker that I otherwise never used. It could also be that little back alley boxing match that I set up between Spence and a big brute named Brad on the loading squad that put the latter out of work all this week. It was hard to really say, but whichever it was, I'd just have to talk my way out of it. I was used to that. "You wanted to see me, boss?" I greeted pleasantly as I poked my head into the door of my supervisor's office. Seated at his desk, Robert Greene, pain-in-the-ass extraordinaire, looked up to give me his best effort at a stern and reproving glare. "Yes, have a seat." Used to dealing with such looks, I just walked right over to take one of the dinky little chairs that sat opposite the man's desk, smiling the whole way. "So, what can I do for ya, today, Mr. Greene?" "You can try explaining to me why your truck has reported more missing and damaged packages in the last month than any five other trucks combined," Robert stated, trying to put a sharp, accusatory edge into his voice to match his gaze. As soon as I heard those words, relief flooded me. It was immediately clear that Robert had nothing solid. All he had were some mildly suspicious circumstances and a not exactly solid plan to try to bait me into giving him more through confrontation. There was no way that was going to work on someone like me. Taking a moment, I rubbed at my chin as if deep in thought. "Hmm, I suppose it did seem to happen a little more than usual this month. I wouldn't have guessed five times, though. Are you sure there were that many?" "Very," Robert confirmed coldly. "I just triple checked the numbers a moment ago." Shaking my head, I gave it another moment's thought before finally shrugging helplessly. "Well, I'm stumped, sir. I guess bad luck?" "Bad luck?" Robert questioned dubiously. "Yep, I mean, what else could it be? Maybe the loaders played some pranks or-oh ..." I began only to pretend that the implied accusation finally dawned at me. As it did, I pointed at myself in disbelief. "You think I did something?" "The thought had crossed my mind, yes," Robert answered, not seemingly to fully buy my story. "Well, I ... I don't know what to say," I began, acting like I was at a loss for words over the very idea. "I mean ... I would never report a package damaged or missing if it wasn't the truth." I could see the act starting to wear Robert down, leaching away his conviction as he asked, "Is that so?" "Of course!" I declared emphatically. "In fact, let me go get my partner, Spence. That way, you can ask him any questions you want. I'm sure he'll verify every single report I filed." Bringing up the big man was just the nudge that Robert needed to abandon his efforts. No one ever wanted to question Spence. That was no surprise, though. After all, he had a well deserved reputation for being quick to lose his temper and terrifying when he did. "No, I don't think that will be necessary," Robert answered quickly, adding a fervent shake of his head. "It was just a routine investigation of an anomaly. These things happen sometimes, though. I don't see any reason to go any further into it than this." "Oh ... alright," I replied, bringing my smile back to lips. "Then is it alright if I get back to work, sir? I've got a truck full of deliveries waiting for me out there, and there's only so many hours in the day to get them where they need to go." "Of course, by all means," Robert replied, waving me toward the door. Nodding gratefully, I rose from my seat. "Thank you, sir." *********************************************** *********************************************** Chapter Two: Same Shit, Different Day "Fucking Greene," The short man said from the other side of the truck cab, smiling a toothy smile at me like everything was going his way. In his defense, they usually did. "Thinks he's got things figured out, but keeps going off all half-cocked like that. Makes this job almost too easy, Spence. Too easy." I just grunted back at that. Andy always talked too much. On the route. With the guys. At our stops. Even at the bar, when everything was done. Even where you were SUPPOSED to talk, he still talked too much. Somehow, he did it without giving everything away. And people liked it. They liked that gleaming smile and professional charm. They liked the confidence and the glint in his eye and the way he laughed when he was supposed to, the WAY he was supposed to. They liked him because he always looked and sounded like he knew just what to do. Because he did. I was in the driver's seat as per usual on our routes, even though it was all pretty much automated. Just needed some minor input and an eye out and such. Andy kept me company from the shotgun seat in that big company truck, and I'd listen to him go on like always. Kind of a comforting background noise to lose oneself in while doing a braindead job for hours on end. Often enough, though, someone managed to piss Andy right off. "Can you believe that asshole?" he was saying as we climbed back in, sweating and winded, after finishing an offload at one of the usual spots -- a smaller warehouse working as another middleman for our foodstuffs in this particular burrough. "Thinks he's so much fucking better than us." The smaller man tossed himself into the front seat while I squeezed in behind the wheel. "Not even so much as a thank you for the guys nice enough to haul in his shit from clear across the fucking city. It's just common fucking courtesy, man." "Hm," I grunted in agreement back at him, but it was unconcerned. I'd seen Andy lose his shit around enough stuffy-assed, rich-ass native-born Aurorans to have lost count of all of them. Not that I bothered keeping one in the first place. I agreed, sure. Put on a colored jumpsuit and you were just another one of those rats underfoot, suckling at the teat of this great city they'd founded. People like us were tolerated, but would never be good enough to rate anyone's notice. But I'd grown up with that. It was in my blood to have people look down on me -- figuratively, if not physically, of course. I dared some motherfucker to try and do it to my face too. I'd show him the same lesson I showed everybody who got on my bad side before long. Andy was different, though. A cut above, but no one else but me bothered to see it, usually. I'd first met him when we were both snot-nosed pukes, terrorizing the streets back at Sommelier, the habitat where I'd been born. He was a leader even then, running a small gang of likeminded punk kids as they threw their weight around the place's underbelly. First coming into his own as a future Great Man, someone poetic might've said. Mama might've said. She would've liked Andy. Would've liked how far he'd taken me with him by his side. Working menial jobs as immigrant labor for the fat cat eggheads in the capital wasn't enough for Andy, though. Not by the way he was always scheming for something more, that is. Not like it was for Mama Miklos' little Spencer baby boy. The fact that we were even here at all after all we'd been through before escaping Sommelier was a motherfucking godsend in my book. "You'd think they'd teach these pricks better at whatever fancy school their daddies sent them too," the man himself was still griping about that one bad stop fifteen minutes later as we came up on the next. He waggled a finger at me as we dismounted to unload. "And you KNOW it was his daddy because no fucking WAY did that asshat work for a goddamn living. Not like you and me, Spence. Not like you and me." I did most of the unloading as Andy talked, but that was just fine by me. It was kind of our system anyways. He'd do the administration, the talking -- and I'd get the simpler stuff. The stuff my six-foot-three mass of corded muscle was built for. And I got to do my idle thinking without any outside pressure bullshit while Andy went on with his mouth and took any opportunities to intercept white collars come to check up on us. It was all practically fucking meditative. The blue blood at this place was even worse than the last guy that set Andy off, though. My little buddy started giving him the sideways smile and good-little-boy eyes. The kind he reserved for people trying to look down on him that he knew weren't even half as clever. I just shook my head and chuckled to myself as he did. Guy was a fucking pro at working over asswipes. That didn't stop him from venting about it later as we drove off, though. "Swear to god, Spence," he grumbled aloud as he flicked that manager and his restaurant off through the sideview mirror as soon as the man had turned his back, "We're too good for this shit. We've paid our dues. It's time to move on up." It'd been six years since the two of us had dragged ourselves out of the wastes and into Aurora. Andy's silver tongue had done the trick, landing us jobs as laborers inside the city. We'd gotten our color-coded jumpsuits, some modest living, and the first decent place to sleep in what had felt like a lifetime. It'd always felt like enough for me after getting away from Papa's shit, but I always kinda knew it wouldn't be the same for Andy. He needed more, DESERVED more. Kind of guy like him figured shit out and got it done. Who better to put themselves up there to the top of a bunch of pencil-pushers and line-towers? Most of the time I figured I was just lucky to be along for the ride. The other man was shaking his head as the truck made its merry way up to the next stop. "And what's even wrong with us, huh?" he demanded at me, but I knew he didn't expect an answer. He already had his own worked out, like always. "All this work? All this bowing and scraping and lifting and 'yes, sir' 'no, sir' 'thank you, sir, may I have another, sir?'" He leaned across the seat and jabbed a finger towards me. "We've fucking EARNED some time in that sun, man. None of these shitheel Aurorans had to earn it like we have. Our time's a comin'," he stressed, relaxing slowly back with another thoughtful shake of his head. "I promise you that, Spence. Our time's a comin'." I let that sit for a while. The rumbling hum of the truck as we roared on to our next stop filled the space between us. The man was thinking. Always thinking. And when he went quiet like that, it meant he was REALLY turning something over good and proper inside his head. I waited until he'd had his moment. "So what's the plan?" I asked then. Because Andy always had a plan. Always had a mark. He was always a step ahead and anticipating the steps beyond that. It was fucking beautiful to watch him bring some of that shit together sometimes. But he just shook his head at me. "Nothing as big as we deserve," he said, but didn't miss a beat. "Yet. But we got that deal in a bit. It's something, at least." I wasn't so sure about the Farley brothers -- two wiry little fucks who sure didn't look related by the general makeup of them, but supposedly had their fingers in some restricted places up with the blue bloods. And Andy had something for them to recoup some of their shadier clientele amongst the lesser elite. He was smart enough to keep an eye on our manifests when we went out and always made sure some easily redistributable cargo went missing when he could manage it. This time, it was those fine and fancy wines and liquor the top dogs liked to sip from their ivory towers. And we had-- Wait. Hold on. My eyes were suddenly glued on something outside the window up ahead. "Well, fuck ME!" was what I mumbled in Ungrish a moment later, though, just staring out the front of the truck. "What?" Andy immediately demanded. He didn't understand that bastard mix of Hungarian and English my father's cadre had brought with them to the colony, and always hated when I said something in it he couldn't make out the meaning of. I just tossed him a lopsided smile. It was mid-morning, broad daylight. Worst fucking time. But empty street, and we were rolling up nice and steady. Not a care in the world. And Danny had none either. Fucking Danny boy Danny. From the Wigstrom Pub two weeks ago. He'd said some shit to me and Andy, but mostly to me. I'd gotten a good punch in, but then his buddies pulled me off and held me down while he wailed on me instead. Held Andy down too, but I kept their attention focused on me so that they'd left him alone, throwing us out into the street afterwards with just some bruised ribs and blood in the back of my throat. Funny. I only saw two of his buddies with him now. Motherfucker was swaggering up this backstreet between an industrial building and some kinda shop, easy as you please and sharing a laugh and some drinks for the road. I kicked the truck into slow gear, popped the door, and hopped out onto the street behind them. Andy almost gave me away when he shouted after, asking what the fuck I was doing. Danny got the idea when I loped up on him and cracked his fucking skull. "Hey, what the fuck?!" Other two guys weren't slow, but also weren't fast enough. One got me in the shoulder, but I clipped his jaw, caught his stomach, and knocked the piss right outta him. Third guy didn't get a chance to do anything but hit the pavement with the prettier part of his face. Then Danny got my full attention. Andy was shouting a warning at me from the still rolling truck a half minute later, while I tenderized Danny boy's ribs in kind with my size thirteen boot. Guy number two was getting back up when I glanced that way, and I grabbed the open truck door and clotheslined his body with it. I was growling a bunch of shit in Ungrish at them all the while, leaning heavily on Papa's Hungarian side of it. Not a one understood, but they got my meaning anyways, I think. I swiped the whiskey they'd dropped and hopped back into the truck. Andy waited until I'd pulled out a cig and taken a long drag along with the last few, surviving gulps from the bottle before he said, "You better not've killed him." I smiled full-on over at him, all feral white teeth and pleasant fucking satisfaction. "He had it comin'." At that, Andy leaned forward in his seat, sighing and shaking his head. He got a good look out my sideview mirror at the three assholes back there, rolling around on the ground. Satisfied, he eventually slumped back. "We've got a few hours left 'til the deal. Just keep your shit under control so we don't put ourselves on a radar. Don't need any cops hanging around the trade zone, you know what I mean?" I nodded. I understood. And between that stolen whisky, my hand-rolled cigarette, and freshly-baked memories of Danny lying broken in a back alley ... I was more than content to ride out the rest of our shift in comfortable silence while Andy and the fat cats talked, talked, talked. *********************************************** *********************************************** Andy had worked the spot out with the Farley brothers a day or so ago, making sure it was close enough to our route for us to get away with. And since we didn't wanna get caught carrying a crate of illegally filched, high-end booze meant for the creme of the elite up top somewhere, we'd gotten it loaded into the truck along with everything else. Guys who did the loading weren't too bright, so Andy would remark with a smile when I asked, and an extra crate looking official enough to have been accidentally left off the manifest hadn't even registered with them. Safe, Andy'd said. Worst case, those guys asked questions and we pretended we knew nothing about it. Chocked it up to those "missing" shipments the boss was always complaining about. Hell, it'd just make us look that much less to blame for any of it. The other man had it all figured out and pulled a little trick he'd learned with the onboard systems for the truck. Cracked open the side panel and did something to spoof the tracking chip. If anyone checked the logs, it'd look like we took a wrong turn somewhere, got stuck, and then showed up back where we were supposed to be when we un-spoofed it. Not sure how he'd managed that, but it was perfect for some daylight dealing. We rolled down into a big loading area behind a dozen empty warehouses and factories. Nothing but automated worker drones clunking along in the background, sensors pointed elsewhere. Andy'd picked a nice spot out of view of any direct camera supervision. It was a good spot -- a spot we'd scouted out briefly before. Anyone seriously interested in what was going on would have to do some serious digging to figure it all out. And, really, our game wasn't interesting enough to rate that kind of attention anyways. Seemed like that rankled Andy some of the time. But I suppose a big score would've made him feel much more satisfied with his lot in life. Me? I was happy as long as we were getting something done and I didn't have to take no shit from anyone I couldn't get away with a swing at if they got too mouthy. Like that one guy a few months ago. Thankfully, some of Andy's patented quick thinking made sure THAT body never got found. Sometimes, guys turned out a lot more fragile than they looked after I started in on them. Especially with enough drinks under my belt at the get go. The brothers were already waiting when we got there. I'd love to have imagined that as a good sign, but those weasley fucks just looked too shifty, sitting there on the hood of their stolen auto. Stolen, because I KNEW pricks like them didn't make the kind of creds you needed to have a private vehicle. Hell, me and Andy only had the utility trains and maybe our company truck, like today. We were a couple of average guys, just trying to skim off the top and keep a little piece for ourselves that would otherwise go unnoticed by the blue bloods. The Farley brothers, though, they were fucking thieves. We popped out of the truck, Andy with his usual confident swagger and me trailing a little more cautiously behind. I tried to size the two brothers up for a few, give them some of the old dead-eye stare that made most assholes start spewing up their guts past the lies. Nothing, though. One of the little fucks winked at me. "Get the stuff, Spence." Andy strode forward, clasped hands with Trent Farley, who you might've called the "smarter" of the two brothers. I turned back towards the truck and headed to get the liquor crate, not hearing what they said or caring much. Same old bullshit, different day. Hauling it back, I saw Andy grinning and laughing with those two, just like old friends. Man was a snake, though, and I knew that look. He wasn't any dumber about these two pukes than I was. Both of us were looking out for a double-cross. There were no guns, of course. Auroran police kept that shit strictly locked down. If by some miracle some two-bit lowlife like the Farleys got their hands on a piece AND got it de-chipped, the sound, or the cameras, would've had cops all over us before we could blink. Not that I'd put that kind of stupidity past these two, but I figured we were safe. No, I was looking for knives. Vic Farley had a nice six-inch blade on him. I saw the hilt bulging out above his waist and caught a glimmer of it when he brushed his leather coat back to put his hands on his hips, belly-laughing at some shitty joke Andy made. Trent had something too, buried in the side of his boot under the pant leg. I kept an eye on them while Andy worked his magic. The deal had already been struck, of course. Now was time to shoot the shit and inspect the other party's goods first-hand. Andy went to work on the crate of industrial-grade antibiotics the Farley's had brought out, smuggled somewhere from a factory in Old Town, while I dropped, popped, and showed the crate of high-end booze to Trent. Both him and Andy cracked jokes and made friendly small talk while they worked. Nothing wrong here. Nothing to worry about. But both those smiles hid a lack of hesitation to knife the other in the back if they detected even the slightest cheat going on. We'd worked with the Farleys once before, and I hadn't liked them then either. But there was a demand for what we had back where they operated, and a general shortage of antibiotics amongst the rundown clinics of Pioneer Hill, where we lived. So we could both push the other's goods in our respective areas easily, making some easy money with little fuss. Too bad that wasn't good enough for the Farley's to settle on. Vic had been getting more anxious as Andy inspected the stout, vacuum- sealed glass vials in their crate one-by-one. Nothing too noticeable, but I'd been looking for it, and I made sure I was close by. Trent seemed oblivious, but he smiled too much at me while he checked the liquor over. And I guess Andy must've given something away when he cast a glance back over his shoulder at me, yelling, "Hey, Spence?" but I couldn't tell what. I just saw Vic start to move. Vic went for that blade. I saw it, and was waiting. I caught his arm before he could grab it, twisted until the bone cracked, and clocked him in the face with my free hand. Andy backed up but Trent leapt to his brother's defense. His mistake was trying to sock me in the kidney instead of going for that knife first. He tried to fix it a split second later as I turned around. I stomped my boot into his chest and that put him down. The knife clattered away and I went to get it, plucking it out of reach. I heard a shout behind me. Somehow, Vic was back on his feet. I would've given the little fuck credit for that, despite his broken wrist and nose, if he hadn't repaid my leniency by trying to stick a knife in me. I caught it in the forearm before he could do any real damage, but my own blood came pouring out as he reared back and tried to swipe again. I saw red. Not sure how it happened, but both the Farleys were beaten and broken and breathing shallowly on the ground with faces turned to hamburger meat when I finally caught a breath. The knives were tossed, Andy was untouched, and we were the only ones left standing. "Fuck!" Andy was looking at the goods. Not sure how that happened either, but the antibiotics were scattered all over the ground, a bunch cracked open. I vaguely remembered Trent hopping on my back and having to toss him away in the rush of all of it. I guess he'd landed on his own wares. I looked back to the booze and realized they hadn't fared much better, not least of which because Vic had broken one open to jab me with and then got upended into the crate himself when he failed. Andy was looking pissed. But not as pissed as when those sirens started up in the distance. "FUCK!!!" Cameras must have caught some of the action on the periphery. Probably just the sound of it, I'd have guessed, but it was enough to set off some red flags. Andy put both his hands on the back of his head and just surveyed the carnage a moment before getting himself under control. "We gotta move," he snapped. "Back on the route, turn the tracking shit back on. Make like we weren't even fucking here. Fuck these guys. Fuck!" He was already moving back towards the truck. I plucked up the knife with some of my blood, gave a cursory look around for anything else damning they might find, but found none. Farley's shouldn't have fucked with us. Shouldn't have fucked with ME. They'd taken all the beatings from it. Andy wasn't gonna be too happy about it later, though. On my way to the truck, I made sure to snag one of those high-end wines from inside our crate, popped the top, tossed some on my knife wound and hauled ass back while chugging. Not the first time things had gone sideways for us. And nothing to do for it but to drink the pain away. *********************************************** *********************************************** Chapter Three: Step Two A heavy sigh slid from my lips as I carefully knit needle and thread through flesh. There was nothing else to really do. Everything was a mess, and the only salvageable piece was my sasquatch of a friend that had wrecked it. Well, I supposed, he wasn't really the one that had wrecked it. That had been the Farley brothers doing. Assholes had gotten greedy, wanting more and willing to kill to get it. They should've known better than to try that shit with Spence around, but greed and stupidity ran together more often than not in criminal circuits. Nobody bothered to look at the big picture, except me. "Sorry, man," Spencer grumbled at my sigh. It was an insincere sound, barely even words really. After all, the big guy, who's knife wound I was stitching up, didn't regret any of the things that he'd done. If anything, he'd been pleased with himself. After all, one of the only things that ever got a smile on his face was when someone was stupid enough to get his blood boiling and pay for it. He wasn't an idiot, though. He knew I was pissed about all that loot we lost, all the work and money it represented. That was why I got an apology, even if he didn't mean it. "It's alright," I answered as I worked, returning the favor. There was no reason to hold it against the big guy. "I think we got away clean, gave those fuckers what was coming to them, and all we lost was one little box of goods. I'll just line something else up, and get us back on track." "Hm," Spence grunted in acknowledgement as he took a pull on his stolen bottle of wine. I supposed that was one other piece that we'd managed to salvage. "Spare a swallow?" I asked, pausing in my work to reach for the bottle. Shrugging, the big guy handed the liquor right over. As soon as I had it, I tossed my head right back, guzzling down a few big gulps of the stuff. Light weight that I was, that was all I needed to take the edge off and start actually believing the shit I said. "Thanks," I added as I handed the bottle back to return to first aid. All I got was another of those grunts from Spence when he took it back to drink some more. By the time the bottle dipped again, I was finished with my work, patting the big guy on his arm. "Well, I won't say it's as good as new, but should keep you from bleeding to death." Barely even glancing at his arm to see my handiwork, Spence nodded in approval. "Good enough then." "Yeah ... " I muttered as I pushed myself up from the crate I was using as a stool to walk into the kitchen and clean the blood from my hands. "Anyway, we'll lay low tonight, then tomorrow night, I'll get started on lining up our next job. We've got a few things stockpiled that I can shop around, other guys'll have new stuff to bring up, too, and if nothing else, Marty's bound to have something he wants moved on our truck." It was hard to tell if Spence even bothered to listen to all of that, but he did nod. "So, hold off on drinks until tomorrow then?" "For you, yes," I answered. "You're gonna need to stay here for a few nights. We've got too many beating victims out there right now, and that arm of yours needs some time before the next fight or you'll bust your stitches. I'll handle it on my own." This time, it was very clear that Spence had paid attention because he glanced back my way to offer a skeptical look. "You sure? Danny and his buddies might be looking for payback. Don't think they won't take a swing at you if I'm not around." That warning earned a derisive scoff from me as I finished washing my hands and walked back into the living room. "Ha! After the beating you gave 'em, those guys ain't doing shit for a while, and they couldn't catch me even if they weren't pounded to shit." Relaxing into his usually impassive expression, Spence shrugged off his worry. "Alright." With a plop, I settled into a seat and grabbed the control pad to turn on the TV. "Yep, you can just relax here for a while; have a couple drinks, smoke a few cigarettes, and spend some time figuring out what you want to do with all the money we'll be making."" *********************************************** *********************************************** "Shit," I cursed under my breath as the morning news rolled on, leaving a spoonful of cereal just dangling in front of my mouth. The cause for that single expletive was just a little blip for the program in front of me. It had hardly even warranted mention, just a few lines about a couple of guys found beaten to death behind a warehouse. Basically the only other information they gave were the two guy's names - Trent and Vic Farley. I didn't feel bad for the dearly departed asshats. In a way, I was actually glad they were dead. Dead people don't seek revenge, and it wasn't like they hadn't earned the reaper's call. There were other problems with it, though. The cops wouldn't have even cared about a couple of lowlifes like them getting beaten, but there'd be, at least, some heat over two murders. Plus, it was just bad for business, killing people, especially during a deal. "Oh well," I sighed, shrugging off the worry to return to my momentarily forgotten meal. It was in the past and I already had Spence laying low. There wasn't much else to do. I'd just work around it like I always did when the big guy's temper caused an issue. "That's enough news." Unlike the day before, when I switched off the news, it wasn't to start checking on finances. After all, all my accounts were at the same spot as before. I did pull up an inventory list that I kept to mark off the lost booze and the never gained antibiotics, though. "I need to go apologize to Mitch about losing the goods I promised to get," I noted to myself as I updated the document. "Maybe bring him a little something to make up for it ... hmm ... " I looked through the list for something that would be hard to make a profit on, but still be appreciated as a token of good faith. "Nothing great, I'll have to look for something to swi-shit." Normally, I'd just steal something from one of the shipments that would make a nice gift, but my asshole of a supervisor would be watching the reports. I could pass off a month here or there with really high package loss rates, but if it was a constant thing, even a dipshit like him would figure it out eventually. I needed to lay off for a month or two to lull him back into complacency before I started that racket up again. "I guess I'll just have to buy him a couple drinks," I finally muttered, before moving on to the next task for the morning, checking the mail. One of the nice perks about Aurora was that there was mail. It was even delivered electronically. Of course, every perk has its downfalls and this one's was that it was mostly used to just blast citizens with meaningless drivel. Every week, there were dozens of messages about deals, proposed tax changes, and random revitalization initiatives. They wanted to make sure everyone knew how great it was to be an Auroran and how much they were doing to make it even greater. Right on cue, the very first note I read was entitled 'Making the best even better', in chipper arrogance. That was their way, always acting as if heaven itself had fallen to earth and named itself Aurora. It was enough to make my eyes roll every time I had to go through it all. "Gone ... gone ... gone ..." I mumbled as I went through the list, getting rid of item after item. One was a special deal on clothes due to overproduction. Another was a message talking about how the gubernatorial election would be coming up that fall. Funny thing was that the fancy old rich guy they'd put in charge last time wasn't even running against anyone. After all, there was no chance anyone was going to vote out the guy that was bringing women back to the world. "I'm surprised they're not just making him king. I mean, it's not like they'd ever let anyone who wasn't a regular at their fancy parties actually run for that sort of thing. They probably fix it, anyway." As I muttered, I continued through the pile of crap, tossing item after item. I was soon back to droning, "Gone ... see ya ... nope ...," too, right up until one thing got me to at least pause as I read out the title. "Faraday Initiative? Wasn't Faraday the scientist head up that whole women research thing?" Dumbfounded as to how anything related to the return of women could possibly have come to me, I just stared at the note for a moment, believing I had to be wrong. When the subject didn't change, I opened it up to figure out what was going on. Before any sort of hope or excitement could build, though, it was immediately dashed by the contents within. "Oh ... of fucking course." I'd been right about Faraday being the name of the scientist that was working with the Protean chemical. The Faraday Initiative was even a new government program that was apparently intended to place newly minted women with strapping young men so that they could start breeding. All of that sounded fine and dandy, except, the invite wasn't to be one of the strapping young men. No, the bigwigs up top wanted Spence and me to be the other side - a couple of newly minted women for their dipshit sons. "God damn shits think they're so great that they can just bully the rest of us into lining up to lose our dicks and breed with 'em. Fucking nonsense," I muttered, closing out of the note to get back to deleting out all of the useless crap. All told, there were only two things that were actually worth the time it took to read, a reminder that our rent was coming up, and a note about raising the cost of tobacco and beer to help pay for some government shit. *********************************************** *********************************************** "Come on, man, I know you can move this," I argued, trying to get some leeway. "I'll even cut the price ten percent, just to make it easier." The guy that sat next to me at the bar, one Logan Falkner, wasn't budging, though. He just shook his head. "I'm sorry, Andy, but I can't. You're just gonna have to find someone else." Frustrated, I swiped a hand over my slicked back hair as I tried to think. Logan was usually a pretty eager dealer. In fact, usually, he was too eager. That was why he was the sixth person that I'd tried to make a deal with over the last few days, because overeager people make mistakes. Even he wasn't biting, though, not even at a discount. "It's top notch tobacco, Falk, finest stuff you can get anywhere in the city," I pushed, changing angles. "It's like silk on the throat and kills nerves like that." For emphasis, I added a snap of my fingers. "All you have to do is get someone to try one puff, and they'll be hooked. Plus, I'll even give you first shot at anymore I manage to bring in." There was a flicker of temptation on Logan's face, but I could tell immediately, it wasn't going to be enough. There was just too much hesitance right alongside it. I tried to come up with another push on the spot, but I wasn't quick enough. "Sorry, man, I just don't have the creds," the dealer told me, pushing off of his seat to indicate that I would have no more shots at the sale. "Sorry." "Alright, you're loss," I conceded, trying to play it like it wasn't a big deal. Inwardly, though, I was furious. If I was built like Spence, I would've just hauled off and beat the shit out of Logan for fucking with me like this. I knew it wasn't a lack of funds, or trouble with moving the product. A guy like him never held back for logical things like that. No, it was because of all the rest of the mess. Waiting for the dealer to leave, I pounded a hand on the bar, spitting out a raging, "Fuck!" under my breath. This was the problem with killing people. Taking a deep breath, I forced the anger away and lifted a hand to gesture at the bartender. "Shot o' whiskey, please." "Right away, Andy," the guy answered, turning immediately to fill the order. A moment later, the drink clinked down on the bar in front of me, and I immediately tossed it back. As it burned down my throat, it helped burn away my cluttered thoughts, too. With that, I could start fresh, take a new approach, and just think about what came next. "Give me another," I ordered, even as my brain got to work. The problem was simple - people were scared. They were always scared of Spence, though. That's why I kept him around. This was more than the usual intimidation, however. It was real fear, but it was also temporary. I just needed to let 'em settle down, rebuild the trust, and it would all be fine. Problem was, that would take a couple weeks at least, maybe more. I was already losing out by having to hold back at work. If I couldn't get anything lined up in the interim, I would just be bleeding time. The flow of money had already been barely a trickle, hardly enough to even scatch away at the great divide between where we were and where we deserved to be. It was taking too long. I needed to go faster not slower. I needed- The clink of another glass in front of me stopped those raging thoughts in their tracks. Quickly, I tossed it back just like the one before it. As it settled in my gut, I settled too, blinking away the anger as I slouched in my chair. Raising my hand, I waved for another as I leaned forward to rest my chin in one hand. Like that, I just stared into the mirror across the way, taking a moment to just let my mind go blank. Getting angry wouldn't help anything. That was how the whole mess had begun, people not controlling their damn tempers like some wild beasts. "Thank you, my good man," I told the bartender with dramatic flair as the third drink clinked down in front of me. "Sure thing," came the easy reply before that wonderful dispenser of drink was off to his next customer. Grinning, I snatched up the shot glass to toss it back, but I didn't quite get it to my lips. Instead, I caught sight of something in the mirror that ended my budding good humor in an instant. Just walking into sight at the far end of the bar were a couple of guys that looked like they'd been on the wrong end of getting run over by a car. The bruises and broken noses and all the rest weren't enough to keep me from recognizing Danny and one of his friends, though, and here I was without my muscle around. "Shit!" I hissed under my breath before casually setting my glass on the bar. Sudden movement would draw attention, and if those guys saw me, I would be the next badly beaten body that would make it to the news. Forcing myself to remain slow, I slipped off my stool and started away from Danny and his lackey. As I moved, I kept close to the stools, using the larger men sitting at the bar to hide myself from the mirror. At the same time, I made sure to look out into the taproom, hiding my face for the gaps between drinkers. A handful of easy steps, and I was passed the bar before cutting left, ducking through the door there that led to the kitchen. As soon as it was impossible for Danny to see me, I abandoned my easy stroll and darted quickly through the back of the bar. It earned me a strange look and a blurted, "Hey!" from the chef, but I ignored him. He didn't make any moves to stop me, either, leaving the path across the room to the door out the back completely clear. Out in the alley, I didn't slow down, hurrying to the street and then making sure to put a few buildings between me and the bar. Even then, I glanced back a few times to make sure that no one was coming after me. No one did, though, thank God. "That's something, at least," I muttered as I shook my head and started trudging back toward the apartment. The whole way, the same thought echoed in the back of my head. I was going to need more than that if I wanted to get anywhere. *********************************************** *********************************************** "Don't bullshit me, Marty," I warned. "Usually, you're begging me to move something for you, and here you are saying you got nothing?" Martin Coolidge, the last ditch effort in a week full of failed attempts, rolled his eyes at me. "Yeah, and usually you and that raging lunatic of yours don't beat your contacts to death." I couldn't believe the man would come right out and admit it like that, but when he did I was so frustrated, I wanted to just reach up and rip all the hair from my head. "Argh! I've told you they started that shit!" "I don't fucking care," Marty retorted. "I saw the photos they put out, just like I saw Danny's face after Spence just opened up on him in the middle of the fucking street. That guy's fucking terrifying." "You don't have to ever be near him," I offered, knowing I could work the details so the two never had to so much as look at one another. "That's not the only issue, man," Matry countered. "The Farley's may have been shitstains, but they had friends, and Danny's promised to fuck up anyone that works with you two. He's even been waving around a gun he got his hands on somehow. I ain't getting in the middle of that shit." The part about the gun was new, but all the rest was the same shit I knew was going through the heads of everyone I'd tried to talk to since that day. It was just too sketchy for anyone to deal with Spence and me right now. I couldn't even really blame any of them. Three nights straight, I'd had to duck assholes looking to fuck me up. I was sneaky enough to give them the slip so far, but it was only a matter of time, especially since Spence wasn't going to just sit on his ass forever. His arm was on the mend, and I'd just tossed a week in the trash without anything even close to a deal. "There's gotta be something," I tried, switching to begging in the hopes that sympathy might work where cleverness wouldn't. I played it to the hilt, too, putting desperation into my eyes as I leaned forward with a hand out beseechingly. "We can keep it under wraps. No one has to know. Discounted rate, too." There wasn't even a glimmer of a chance in Marty's gaze as he shook his head. "Sorry, man." "Alright, I understand," I surrendered. "Thanks for talking with me, at least." "Anytime," Marty assured me. "Yeah, see ya," I replied, offering an absent wave as I turned to go. "See ya," Marty replied. With nothing else to say, I just walked away, leaving the little out-of- the-way alley that was perfect for such dealings. By then, I was already on to other plans, trying to think of what the next step should be. Obviously, Spence and I could just wait it out. Heat like this would blow over eventually. If it was the cops after us, that would be different, but they'd given up on finding the Farleys' killer almost immediately. We still had our day job to hold us over. The only other option I could think of was the exact opposite route. If I told Spence what Danny had been saying about us the last week, all I'd have to do is point him in the right direction and that asshole wouldn't be a problem anymore. It wouldn't make people any less scared of Spence, sure, but it would be the right kind of fear, the kind that makes people do what they're told. It had its risks, especially if what Marty had said about Danny having a gun was true, but it was by far the quicker solution, and I wanted quick. I couldn't just sit around in that damn truck dropping off all the goodies to those fucking privileged pricks in their fancy houses while I had to slink back to my dumpy hole of an apartment every night like a meaningless little rat. With those thoughts rolling about in my head, I was in a shit mood by the time I got back to the apartment. That just made it all the more important for me to stop outside the door and put myself together. A few deep breaths put me back in control as I straightened up my posture and put an easy smile on my face. Only then did I open the door and walk inside. In the apartment, I immediately spotted the hefty bulk of my friend lounged in one of the chairs, facing toward the TV. "Hey, Spence." I got no grumbled greeting back from the other man. In fact, he didn't even move. I found out why a few moments later when I walked up beside the chair and found the big guy sound asleep, surrounded by empty beer bottles and an ashtray with plenty of recent butts squashed out in it. "Glad to see one of us had a good night," I remarked at the sight before slipping by the big guy. Plopping onto the couch, I grabbed the control for the TV and switched it over to the computer. There, I dove into my various notes, looking for anything I might have missed over the last few days. There had to be something, an angle that I'd overlooked or an offer that I hadn't considered. There were always more angles, more tricks, more ... After a while, I just leaned forward, resting my head in my hands. There was nothing. Either I just chuck months into the bin or I make the mess even bigger by letting Spence loose and hope that the resulting chaos landed my way. The problem was, both options felt like utter shit. Even at their best, neither got me where I wanted. I was still so far away, a little bug looking up at a towering mountain that I'd never be able to climb no matter how hard I tried. That mountain was reserved for the asshats that were born on top of it, and they'd never stand for someone like me, born at the bottom, to stand up there with them. "Or will they ..." I mumbled as an idea caught in my head. Sitting up, I started searching through things on the computer again. This time, I had a specific item in mind. It took a bit to find, dredging it up from where I'd tossed it. Luckily it hadn't been cleared out yet, and as I read through it, I knew I had my answer, my way to skip right to the top of the mountain at the very invitation of those useless shitheads that wanted to keep me down here in the dirt. "It's gonna be a tough sell," I told myself as I glanced over at Spence. He wasn't going to like this way, regardless of if it was the best and fastest. He'd rather go punch obstacles out of the way, even if he had to spend his whole life punching without making any headway. It might be easier to just not try to convince him, to leave him behind. He could be such a liability sometimes, and this was really more my expertise than his. Still, it wouldn't be right. It had been just him and me against the world for years now. Plus, there was a better chance of it working with both of us going for it. "I'll figure it out." *********************************************** *********************************************** Chapter Four: Salut I laughed. I stared back at Andy, and laughed. I almost never laughed at Andy. Not like that anyways. We were in our apartment. Late. Another night spent shut in and "laying low" while the rest our small world went on outside the door. While people probably wondered why good old Spence was hiding his black- bearded mug away. While Andy took stupid risks and tried to wrangle us up some opportunities without me there beside him, watching his back. He really wasn't built to take a punch, after all. Not like I was. He'd gotten us some good booze. Not sure from where, but I'd learned long ago not to ask too many questions when it came to how Andy acquired half the shit he did. Looking a gift horse right in the mouth was what they called that. So I drank, and didn't question. We shot the shit, reminisced on lives wasted at Sommelier. The people we'd left behind. The old gang. I still had the tattoo I'd gotten to commemorate my loyalty to it, a black-ringed phoenix on the back of my left hand. I pawed at the skin there with a finger while I waited for Andy to drop the punchline on that one. Because it was a joke. It had to be. So I laughed. I laughed at him. But Andy wasn't laughing. He'd gotten this strangely intent look in his eye. It took me a moment to see it through the cloudy haze that'd settled over my mind, but it was a look I'd seen him get when he was trying to be extra persuasive towards some mark. Except now he was looking at me. And, if he was to be taken at face value --HE was the mark. We both were. Eventually, I just shook my head at him, taking another swig. My cigarette had burned down and I tossed it into a well-used bowl beside me. "It's our way in, Spence." His gaze hadn't flickered. I glanced back, disbelieving, but he was still staring at me. I could feel the weight of it on my sluggish thoughts. "You wanna volunteer?" I started, the words coming out slowly and carefu