1b: Entry Point
The arrivals lobby was a hive, people flitted about, eyes down. I was alone; it was not often people used the executive elevator. A security guard sat hunched against the wall, cigarette smouldering in his mouth. He was probably meant to be looking out for me; people get anxious when one of the Hashashi descends. Quietly I edged around the corner and disappeared into the crowd. For several moments I watched the guard grumbling to himself. Local enforcement wouldn’t be a problem here.
Outside the smell of humans closed in around me, the lonely patches of light pulsed violet, probably caused by the thick atmosphere. A pool of green liquid edged towards my black boots, arching around the protection field like waves lapping on a shore. I began to wonder why Whitchel had chosen this place to run to, there were plenty of nooks and crevices to hide in but the view was depressing to say the least and there were several interesting and violent ways to die.
“Are you the man?” A small, whiney voice appeared at my shoulder. I sighed; even the local Congregation reps were useless. I had heard the idiot approach from over ten paces.
I let him sweat for a while, ignoring is nervous gestures. “Yes I am.” I looked at him; he was even smaller than his voice, his shoulders hunched towards his feet as if there was a coiled spring pulling them closer. “Who are you?”
“Your assistant.” He smiled, he was missing three teeth, the rest were brown.
I paused, studying his outline, he was carrying three weapons, a pistol stuck in his belt, a knife sticking out of his inside coat pocket and a small grenade strapped to his thigh. “I work alone.”
His right hand flinched. “Justice Smith …” I didn’t let him finish the sentence, whipping out his gun and shooting the grenade. The protection field took the brunt of the blast but I was still knocked to the ground. I grasped my briefcase and melted into the shadows, pausing to let the unconscious navicom direct my feet.
Behind me the screams of the Congregation fool were quickly drowned out by the stampede of feet.
Outside the smell of humans closed in around me, the lonely patches of light pulsed violet, probably caused by the thick atmosphere. A pool of green liquid edged towards my black boots, arching around the protection field like waves lapping on a shore. I began to wonder why Whitchel had chosen this place to run to, there were plenty of nooks and crevices to hide in but the view was depressing to say the least and there were several interesting and violent ways to die.
“Are you the man?” A small, whiney voice appeared at my shoulder. I sighed; even the local Congregation reps were useless. I had heard the idiot approach from over ten paces.
I let him sweat for a while, ignoring is nervous gestures. “Yes I am.” I looked at him; he was even smaller than his voice, his shoulders hunched towards his feet as if there was a coiled spring pulling them closer. “Who are you?”
“Your assistant.” He smiled, he was missing three teeth, the rest were brown.
I paused, studying his outline, he was carrying three weapons, a pistol stuck in his belt, a knife sticking out of his inside coat pocket and a small grenade strapped to his thigh. “I work alone.”
His right hand flinched. “Justice Smith …” I didn’t let him finish the sentence, whipping out his gun and shooting the grenade. The protection field took the brunt of the blast but I was still knocked to the ground. I grasped my briefcase and melted into the shadows, pausing to let the unconscious navicom direct my feet.
Behind me the screams of the Congregation fool were quickly drowned out by the stampede of feet.
posted by M D Richards at 9:03 AM
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