Reke's Ride

Reke stepped out of the room, only to be replaced by a Drone carrying a change of clothes. The outfit was bland, what looked like jeans with a large billowy shirt. Lance wasn't sure if it was the fashion here but a part of him told me that this outfit would never be trendy no matter which corner of the universe he went to.

 As he dressed himself he found a weird dust in the collar of his shirt, as it touched his skin it quickly crawled around his neck. As he tried scratching and rubbing off the dust the door opened once more. Reke entered with the same old man from the ambulance ride.

 The detective kept a large polished badge on the chest, clearly marking his position. The rest of his clothes were scruffy at best. the outfit matching the equally disheveled look of the old man quite well. Reke, spent the time collecting herself, the messy bed hair, matted down to appear a bit more sane.

 Lance recoiled slightly upon seeing the man. His skin seemed to crawl with the same itching sensation from the ambulance ride. 

The detective seemed surprisingly nonplussed by his reaction. "Names Roshenko, Detective Seamus Roshenko. Sorry 'bout that night kid." Roshenko said as if reading Lance's mind.

 "I'm just a shadow don't mind me." Roshenko fished a loose cigarette out of one of his many pockets, as he brought it to his lips he paused giving a light grin to Reke who watched his acts with a cold glare.

"We're going to a little hole-in-the-wall, owned by my brother. Nice, quiet, with a dedicated smoking section." She addressed Lance without taking her eyes off Roshenko and his dangling cigarette.

"Fantastic!" Lance said as he watched a reluctant Roshenko return the cigarette to his pocket. "When do we leave?"

"Just gotta give you the basic kids so you don't do anything stupid." Roshenko stated flatly as he leaned back against the wall, which squeaked as he put more and more pressure on it. "First the dust on your neck are tracker nanites, pretty bog standard but they will flare like a floodlight if you get too far."

"Far from what?" Lance asked.

"Me." Roshenko grinned cheekily. The old detective rasped his fingers against the wall. "Secondly, you aren't charged with anything; at the moment. But keep in mind you are a person of interest. Do you remember what that means?"

"Detective." Reke's tone was stern, but both Lance and Roshenko ignored her.

"I've seen cop dramas." Lance replied.

"Oh have you, it seems you remember 'Zeemer Star Ranger' but you can't remember what sent you hurling to the earth. " Rosheko's eyes seemed to drill into Lance, the grin never seeming to reach his crows' feet.

 Lance mentally noted down the name of the alien show, the name alone was nearly enough to drag him out of the conversation, with a cough he shifted his eyes to the door. Reke pulled out a pair of keys, a thick ring that seemed more reasonable on the hip of a janitor than in the average person's pocket. They chimed aggressively as she spun them in a showy fashion.

 Roshenko raised his eyebrow at the act. "Who said we're taking yours?"

Reke looked flatly at the detective, her keys spinning in her hand. " Sir, I've seen what they have you lot drive at the department, no offense but I rather die than sit in the back of one of them." There was still a tinge of exhaustion in her voice, the coffee she hugged turning out to do little for her mental state. 

"Hey!" Roshenko playfully chimed back. " My car is the nicest in the department." Lance glanced at Reke who returned with a soft grin. He promised if he ever had the money he would buy her a beer, or whatever people drink here. The Detective was intense, in a way Lance could barely articulate.

His every move was akin to a coiled snake, calculated and deliberate. Roshenko guided Lance out of the hospital room as he and Reke bantered back and forth. His hand placed ever so gently on Lance's back but even with a gentle Push Lance could feel the power behind that arm.

He kept behind Lance, seemingly taking the stroll casually but Lance could feel his eyes drilling into his skull. On occasion the hand would guide him, moving him away from a crowd, or to shift him into a turn, and every time he could tell it would take a flick of his wrist to snap his back. Was this the loss of strength from the hospital stay, or was this an effect of the Mods he heard everyone talk about? 

The 'guiding' hand only increased more and more as they got into the more crowded sections of the hospital, These were notably more maintained but the sights remained the same; hurried drones and robots shuffled too and fro, the few nurses and doctors ran down the halls at speeds comparable to an Olympiad. The civilians that sat on chairs lining the halls or in tucked away waiting rooms was what truly caught Lance's attention; the majority of people kept to themselves, quiet conversations occasionally echoed through the halls, utterly indecipherable with the general cacophony of the hospital.

Most of the people were dressed plainly and Lance didn't fail to notice many had old scars or faded, rusted cyber limbs. The most notable were those whose limbs were painted a vibrant turquoise. Any around them kept a wide berth, only in the most crowded areas people kept close to them and it was clear to Lance quite reluctantly. 

His two watchers also practiced this behavior, winding wide around them if they could. Lance nudged Reke, an act that got both her's and the detective's attention.

 "What's with those people with the-""Droogs." Reke cut off Lance with the warm, but authoritative tone. "You don't want to be messing with them." 

"They're not bad," Roshenko added. Lance could see Reke's shoulders tense up as Roshenko said that, but it seemed the detective didn't care or notice. " Most are just street kids left over from the war, pickpocketing, light pranks, scams, nothing too outrageous."

"That's the keyword, most. You run into the wrong one and you're getting sent to the crematorium." There was still an authoritative tone in Reke's words but it seemed colder than just a second ago. Lance glanced at the woman, her short well-built body shifted into a combat-ready stance every time they passed one. What surprised Lance the most was that he knew what a combat-ready stance was, something in Lance warned him not to cross the short paramedic. 

The trio eventually weaved through the corridors and halls into a secluded parking garage, due to the lack of people and the lack of any care for appearances indicated to Lance that this was the employee parking. The concrete matched the cars that filled it, faded. Worn and damaged through the years, on occasion, a nice vehicle would pop up even with low profiles and small bodies that stood out like beacons at night. Each of their shining paint jobs that gave sparkled like they just came off the showroom floor

 Lance stepped towards one of the cars, it sat impossibly low, the wheels sunk into the body leaving only an inch between its body and the dirty asphalt. It caught light in ways that should be impossible under the dull lights of the parking complex. As Lance bent closer, taking care to avoid touching the immaculate paint. 

He momentarily stepped back before trying to take a closer look, the sparkling flecks he spotted were in fact tiny nanites much like the ones that clung to his neck. Each seemed to do nothing more than slowly scuttle around the car, amplifying every bit of light that hit them. They inched up and down the long body of the vehicle, its long, angular form was the odd yet perfect blend of a hypercar and a hearse, and its blocky rear jutted out into the shape of a wide square tail. 

"It's stunning," Lance whispered to no one. He instantly pictured himself zipping down a picturesque highway hearing the steady roar of it's engine as the wind buffeted his hair.

Roshenko let out a low whistle in agreement. "Damn, a Polari Nova. ain't seen one of these since…well ever." 

Both men studied the car for a handful of minutes. Reke on the other hand watched them drool over the car with a light look on her face, Roshenko would on occasion tell Lance about some fancy features of the vehicle. Eventually, the detective pulled himself away from the car, his eyes still giving it quick looks at its tinted windows and shapely form. 

"So, where's your ride Reke?" Roshenko asked peeling his eyes off of the Nova long enough to look at the cars around him. 

Reke spun her keys one more time, clicking a smooth silver fob with a fluid movement. Both men jumped back as they watched the Polari scream to life. The sunken wheels lifted themselves out of the body giving it several feet of clearance and its sleek, shark-like form shifted to an equally angular but more boxy appearance. The car rolled itself out of the space, Lance stepped back to allow it through. 

As it got clearance three doors opened and a pleasant, masculine voice echoed through the complex. "GREETINGS OLGA HOW MAY I BE OF SERVICE."