[IC] Incursions

[slint]

Sometimes I think thou art a flower expanding
Sometimes I think thou art fruit breaking from its bud
In dreadful dolor & pain & I am like an atom
A Nothing left in darkness yet I am an identity
I wish & feel & weep & groan Ah terrible terrible

-William Blake



...

Interest Thread

[Lord Wyron]

[2 DAYS EARLIER - LOCATION; DISTRICT 0 SCIENCE TOWER - 1400 HOURS]
Dr. Johann Clark moved through the open hallway at a hasty pace, his leather buckled shoes echoing off the black, smooth tile floor. His white lab coat flailing behind him, and an advanced screening tablet tucked under his arm he moved with a purpose. Approaching a sliding, glossy black door. Entering password into the keypad a hiss of compressed air sharply sounded as the door slid open. Dr. Clark moved through, the door closing with a slam behind him, a red light from the keypad signifying its locked status.

Dr. Clark entered his lab, a large, dark room with wide square windows overlooking the massive cities of District One. In the middle of the room was a long surgical table, upon it was their experiment: Unit 0.18462958, the most advanced AI model to date. Metal restraints held down the hands and feet in case the robot were to be hostile upon activation. Dr. Clark looked towards his colleague, Dr. William Mars, his helper in this experiment.

"Dr. Mars, are we ready?" Dr. Clark asked excitedly. The former looking back. "I am nearing the final stages of activation, just running a diagnostic of all systems."

"Oh to hell with preparations. Science is about experiments! We can't waste our time running through petty preparation protocols. Just activate it!" Dr. Mars was prepared to object, but his colleague's fiery eyes filled with excitement and stubbornness told him otherwise.

Pushing a few buttons on the console, a loud whirring sound was heard. The lifeless husk of a machine on the table began springing to life; lights all over its body began lighting up, finished by the large light that serves as its 'head'.

[SEKTOR'S POINT OF VIEW: ACTIVATION]
First it began as a small blue dot in a center of darkness lit up. The dot began to grow larger, until suddenly there was a flood of light. The machine awoke, it's vision overlay colored varying shades of blue. Boxes of texts began to appear in the side of the HUD; [MODEL ACTIVATION - IDENTIFICATION CODE: 0.18462958 - RUNNING SYSTEMS DIAGNOSTIC]

[DR. CLARK'S POINT OF VIEW: ACTIVATION]
As the machine woke up, Dr. Clark and Mars could only look out in complete awe and surprise. With the push of a button, the surgical table rose up slowly until it was facing upright. The robot looked about curiously, finally breaking the silence with a series of sharp, almost reptilian clicking sounds. It's 'head' swiveled about aimlessly, landing right onto Dr. Clark. Suddenly it spoke, a cold, metallic voice that only vaguely sounded human.

"Unit activated. Model identification number, 0.18462958." It spoke the numbers in cold efficiency, no emotion whatsoever in tone. "You identify as Dr. Johann Clark - born in District 0. Qualifications: Doctorate in Robotic Science." It turned it's head to look at Dr. Mars, "You identify as Dr. William Mars - born in District 1. Qualifications: Doctorate in Computer Science." It suddenly froze, completely and utterly still.

"Running systems diagnostic: Head systems, working at 84% capacity. Torso functions, working at 100% capacity. Appendage systems-" The robot awkwardly began to clench it's 3-digit hands. "Working at 38% capacity. Inefficient. This unit must rectify situation." It continued moving on, "Central computer systems, working at, 89% capacity. Additional systems, thermal overlay, working at 100% capacity. Night vision overlay, working at 100% capacity. X-ray vision overlay, working at 100% capacity." It looked down at the flabbergasted doctors once more. "This unit is only working at 76% of desired optimum efficiency. This unit requires updates of core software to ensure it is working at 100% systems capacity."

"Remarkable." Was all Dr. Clark could utter in this state. "I can't believe it worked. It *actually* worked!" Dr. Mars, however, seemed less than impressed. "Dr. Clark, a word please." He requested in a stern voice, motioning towards the office door. The robot looked at Dr. Clark curiously as he slowly followed his colleague. They both left the office, leaving the door opened by a crack. Dr. Mars began to speak,

"Johann, I don't trust it. I feel uncomfortable enough we didn't run the necessary protocols before activation. But the robot already knows us by name and birth district!" Dr. Clark shook his head and laughed. "William, this is why I run the experiments. Safety is for idiots and cowards. I let you restrain it, but what do you want me to do now, shut it down?!" "That may be a possibility." Dr. Mars returned back indignantly

Back in the office, the robot increased the range of its audio receptors, hearing the entirety of the conversation. A text box appeared in the middle of it's HUD, [HOSTILITIES DETECTED - SELF-PRESERVATION MODULE ACTIVATED: EXTERMINATE ALL HOSTILITIES]

It looked down at the arm and leg restraints, a distinct stretching sound heard as it clenched its fist. A clang echoed off the walls as one arm restraint was ripped off of the table, its companion following after it. The machine broke off the leg restraints as well, hopping down from the surgical table and clicking ominously. A whoosing sound was heard as the robot became invisible, the only way to detect it being a transparent, rippling shape almost undetectable by the naked eye.

"Did you hear that?" Dr. Mars asked warily, turning towards the office. "William, I have no idea what you're talking ab-" Dr. Clark was unable to finish his sentence however, as he looked down and saw a massive hole in his stomach. The cloaked robot having plunged it's arm through the doctor's abdomen. He could only gurgle and croak out sounds before collapsing with a loud thud. Dr. Mars had no time to react, as his neck was sharply snapped by the hostile machine.

The robot prowled the facility, killing anyone in his way who recognized as a threat.

Hours passed and the facility had been ransacked. The robot stood in front of one of the wide windows, overlooking the bright skyline of the city. It looked about slowly, "Unit identification number inefficient. Designation required, affirmative, unit designation: Sektor."Suddenly, Sektor smashed through the window with a single fist before jumping out without a second thought, plunging towards the ground below....

[Theodorable]

DISTRICT 12 \\ LOWER NEIGHBORHOOD

A sigh, like a cloud. Light and fluffy.

The syringe rolls about, finding the air and bouncing across the cool linoleum. He's twirling his fingers, but finding nothing.

Knock, knock.

"Come in," The twirling fingers murmurs.

The door chokes and heaves but cranks open, it's tracks ungreased and ancient. A pair of men, one with slick, black hair and another with shoulder length violet hair enter the cramped dormitory and pause to grimace. What's that smell? Trash blankets the floor and the only light is from an unadjusted holoscreen at the far corner of the room. Our slick haired villain reaches callously into the confines of his maroon leather jacket and pulls a handgun from it's prison -- archaic, bulky and completely menacing. The other man lights a cigarette, careful to avoid stepping on the litter that is abound in every direction.

"Mr. Corlan?"

The figure slouched at the edge of the loveseat stirs. Draped in darkness, he sits up and his silhouette is apparent in the visage of the blaring holoscreen. He's a well to do man with a suit and tie, but it's been hours since he's worn it proper and his tie hangs low around his neck. The matte of sweaty hair atop his head is in no fighting condition and while not visible from afar, a simple glance at the base of his neck tells any wizened up onlooker how he spends his weekends.

"What is it, boyssssss," he slurs, but on no purpose of his own. He's feeling high and mighty, except the mighty part. The two men step through the minefield of garbage and form a fleshy wedge between the television monitor and the couch. The klick of a pistol's hammer being cocked is the start of the soundtrack. Suit and Tie doesn't move, but instead stars up at the visitors like presidential candidates, but their sharp demeanor's owe sympathy to the bank. The man of violet takes a long drag of the cigarette. He drops it's burning stub and crushes the flame with a grinding stamp of his boot.

"What's his fucking malfunction?" Violet inquires, as if reciting the greatest articulation of philosophy.

"He's triple dosed. He don't get it," the slick haired hero says. Suit and Tie stirs and in a flash the gunbarrel is pointed right between his eyes, but the poor soul doesn't skip a beat.

"Come onnnnn, I was gonna pay up when I came back to uh," but Suit and Tie's dialogue is superseded by the one between Slick and Violet.

"Triple dosed? You mean like shootin' up three times a day?" He's bewildered at this point.

"I'm talking three syringes in a sitting. He's fuckin' fried." Slick glances at Violet, to check his expression maybe. Maybe.

"What? How is he not in a coma?" Klick! An orange light glows bright, then is snuffed out. Violet exhales smoke and clutches the cigarette between slender fingers. He gazes around, but his gaze is paced and cautious. He spots the syringe but it's all the evidence he needs. Violet's eyebrows dig deep and he scratches his head to find an answer to a question that hasn't yet been asked.

"Yeah."

The pistol barks. Suit and Tie goes limp against the couch, his eyes still cool and relaxed. The announcer on the holovid doesn't skip a beat. There's a political scandal in District Zero but nobody is listening. Droplets of crimson soak into Violet's jacket, but there's more important business here. "Didn't I say we weren't going to sell to outsiders?"

Slick knocks open the chamber on the pistol. He pulls the smoking case free from it's metallic prison and drops it. He's digging in the pocket of his trousers for something, but Violet isn't finished.

"I'm fuckin' serious, Dak. This dude is a bullpup and he didn't pay up for weeks."

"He just paid up."

"Cut that shit out."

"Got a light?"

Klick!

Slick joins the party with a cigarette of his own. He leaves it dangling from cracked lips while he pulls a fresh round from his pocket and drops it into the chamber. He slams the breach and points the gun downrange, as if ensuring post postpartum perfection. The two linger for a few minutes, their gaze trading between the corpse of Suit and Tie and the various oddities that dot his abode. He's a working man, an informant and a junkie; but most importantly an informant. What family he worked for in the district was nobody's fuckin' business any more because he was a dead man and dead men don't snitch.

Violet takes one more drag of his cigarette. It lasts an eternity. He flicks it across the room and it's fiery ember is swallowed by the darkness. The door closes and the news report continues on somewhere in the background.

[YoshiSkittlez]

I’m a rockstar, I’m a dealer

“Seventy-two…”

I’m a servant, I’m a leader

“Seventy-three…”

I’m a saviour, I’m a sinner, I’m a killer

“Seventy-four…”

I’ll be anything you want me to be

The ominous sound of a click echoed through the empty basement room, the once heavy bass and tendrils of the even heavier guitar lines abruptly stopped, leaving only the grunting sound coming from a male as he continued his seventy-fifth vertical sit up. The shirtless male arched his back, putting his body in an awkward looking bended shape as his bright golden eyes pierced the dark green eyes of his cousin.

“How about a maid? You’ve let my place go to shit.” The cross looking woman said folding her limber arms across her chest, looking up at the male with a dissatisfied expression.

The vertical position of the male forced the sweat from his legs to trickle up his flexed torso, up his neck and up to the very top of his head where it continued to drip off of him as he stared the female down. With an agitated sigh, he bent his torso up, practically folding his body in half as his fingers nimbly worked the metal restraints that had been clasped over his bare ankles, thus releasing the hold on him. With somewhat of a back-flip, the male fell to the floor deftly on the balls of his feet, bending at the knees to soften the blow some. He slowly straightened his back up, vertebrae by vertebrae until he was standing at his full six feet, two inches and ran his hand through his mess of sweaty hair. The sides of his head were shaved, leaving just a thick strip on the top of his head of hair to grow. Sure he could have put it into a mohawk if he wanted to, but that just wasn’t his style. He preferred the messy mop look. Hell, even if he wanted to try a different hairstyle, it was practically impossible for him to grow any hair on the left side of his head. A thick scar reaching from the back of his head wrapped around the top of his head, cutting just into the top of his eyebrow. It was a scar that probably should have had medical treatment, but instead was healed on its own, therefore still looking very raw despite the fact that he received the scar nearly a year ago.

Approaching the woman with his chest heaving as the sweat dripped down his body in the normal way now. He reached over her female’s shoulder, keeping his eyes on her and pushed the play button on his gigas-nano, the Ozzy Osbourne song picking right up where it had left off just moments ago. A bright red light emitted from the music player, displaying a laser-light up on the wall of a female dancer, supposedly nude, pole dancing to the beat of the music. The female glanced over to the bare wall that now had a red virtual prostitute dancing all over it and shook her head.

“Classy.”

“I told you not to interrupt me when I’m training.” The male’s voice said gruffly, a calloused tone in his natural voice sounding like he had been gargling rocks his whole life.

“Don’t be a twat Deon, I let you live here remember?” The female sighed. “Besides, I only came down here to remind you that I’m going to be gone this evening. I have a meeting I need to go to about project X-95.3. See there might have been some malfunction therefore we might have to do a total recall-“

“Kate.” Deon interrupted her, rolling his eyes. “I don’t care.”

Kate narrowed her already small eyes at her cousin, her middle finger subtly itching to flip him off.

“Just remember to not piss off A.D.A.M. again, I’m not about to leave my meeting just because you’ve been stuck with a neo-tranque dart again.”
Deon scoffed, picking up a dirty white rag from the floor and used it to wipe the sweat from his neck.

“You know, it might actually be cute if your little artificial system was real, but the way you talk about it sometimes makes me wonder if you’re into that weird ass cyber porn shit.” Deon countered but then waved Kate off before she could remark back at him. “But yeah, yeah, you got it. No problems from me. Besides, I work tonight, won’t be home until your hitting your snooze button.”

“Yeah, work.” Kate scoffed, unable to help rolling her eyes as she turned to head back up the stairs to the main part of her loft. She closed herself into the bathroom and finished applying her makeup. Some nude lipstick, brown eye-liner and black mascara; that’s just about as classy as Kate got. Flattening out the wrinkles on her small green dress with her hands, she gave herself a once-over look in her full body mirror before deciding ‘good enough.’ Leaving the bathroom, she picked up her car keys and left the safety of her home to travel the dangerous roads full of morons that didn’t know how to drive.

Deon finished wiping down his neck and glanced up at the neon colored digital clock on the wall. The entire basement of Kate’s loft had been transformed into Deon’s living space. It was dark, musty, unfinished…reminded him of his own room back in the fourteenth district actually, so he didn’t mind. He didn’t have time to start up another rep so he moved to his bathroom where he did a quick rinse down and dressed in new clothes of a beat-up looking grey wife-beater and a pair of black baggy cargo pants.

Moving over to where his mattress lay in the middle of the floor, he scooped out his sunglasses and headed up and out of the loft to the garage where he mounted his cycle. Pressing his thumb to the sensor bar, it whirred to life and Deon was off to ‘The Spit.’

[Lord Wyron]

[PRESENT DAY: STREETS OF DISTRICT ZERO]
Sektor walked down through the moderately crowded streets of District Zero, looking about everywhere curiously. The robot had first garnered much attention as it would awkwardly walk at an odd, uncoordinated pace, bumping into quite a few irate pedestrians who were about to object sternly upon looking up at it and backing away warily. However, as Sektor began to study how humans walk it adjusted it's pace, walking at an almost eerily human pace, it's arms swinging subtly at its side, cocking it's 'head' side to side occasionally.

Sektor crossed at an intersection towards a transportation port between districts. Guards clad in armor, with their faces hid by a balaclava and helmet held guns against their chest, looking around cautiously to ensure no crime was to be committed on premises.

As Sektor approached the stairwell, one of the guards held out a gauntlet-clad hand in front of him. "Halt there, machine. State your model identification number and primary directive." The guard demanded in a calm, but firm tone.

Sektor's eye light dilated, as if it was centering in on the guard. It clicked ominously but spoke, "Unit identification number: 0.18462958 - Primary Directive: Classified." The guard clenched his fist slightly but began to type information into a small datapad. "Your identification number doesn't show up in our clearance, robot. Care to explain why?"

Sektor made a small whirring noise before responding, "Base code is classified. Orders from District Zero Administration."

The guard could only sigh and look at the datapad once more before looking back up. "Fine, I'll let you pass. Be some other guard's problem. But if you come back here and start issues, I'll turn your scrap heap ass into a dildo, you hear me?" The guard threatened menacingly.

"Affirmative, information database updated." Sektor responded before entering the tram sent for District 4.

[Gonzo]

Beep Beep Beep.... Beep Beep Beep.... Beep Beep Be-

James slammed his hand down on the old, black alarm clock he had bought at some antique shop in a lower district. He slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to look at the time, just as he always did when he woke up. The white letters on the black background showed the time. "Four twenty-two, pm," The man mumbled, groggily, to himself. He continued to look at the clock, and when the small black square flipped over to show the time was "04:23" the man got up.

James slowly walked over to the large window of his large room and took a deep breath. "Window, open." The dark screen of the window rose slowly, illuminating the room with the orange glow of a setting sun. The view was beautiful, "breath-taking" as one of the girls he had slept with, described it. His light brown eyes sparkled, and for a moment, everything was quiet, and he was calm. However, a few moments later, the noises of the city came rushing back into his ears, signaling that it was time to get ready. James sighed once more, and made his way to the restroom.

The water, like a soft waterfall, cascaded down from the shower ceiling, and onto James, all the while one of his favorite Motzart pieces played in the background. Once he was finished with his shower, and dressed in one of his usual outfits; a plain white dress shirt, buttoned up and left open at the collar, black pants, and a black blazer, an older style he had seen in old pictures which he had taken quite a liking to, he stepped out of his room.

"Get up, Mason! It's almost five! Your room looks shittier than ever, Mason. Learn to clean up once in a damn while, will you?"

James what met to a swift shot to his gut, which cause him to double over and let out a small groan.

Mason sat up slowly in bed, throwing his head to the side to move his semi-dark hair out of the way of his bright green eyes. His eyes narrowed as he looked over at his brother and he stood.

"How are you this fine evening, James? Stomach flu? Why are you bent over like that?" He asked innocently.

"Fuck you, Mason. Sometimes I want to strangle you. I really do." James straightened himself up and then turned, then made his way out of his brother's room. "What club are we headed out to tonight, Mason? How about Eclipse? The club is nice. Hot chicks."

Mason shook his head and followed his brother, a small smile on his face. "Nah, I think we should check out this place called "The Spit." I heard about it from a friend of a friend. He says it's a good place if you like rock, which I do. And I think we should give it a try. it is in the same district as Eclipse, too. It's bound to have hot chicks, and I bet you anything, they are going to be real freaks in the sack!"

James was quiet as he stepped into the living room of their flat, and then turned a few moments later. "Alright. Sounds good. If I don't like it, then I can just make my way over to Eclipse. Now, since that is that, go get cleaned up and dressed. Hurry up. Hop to it."

[YoshiSkittlez]

7:00 pm and Deon clocked in…literally. With one mean right hook, Deon’s balled up fist met the jaw of his opponent, clipping him immediately in the sweet spot. Deon couldn’t hear the cracking coming from the man’s jaw from the loud roar of spectators watching the scene, but his fist was able to feel the rigid bone structure cave in certain areas putting a rather satisfied smirk on his lip as he pulled his hand back. The man with the now broken jaw hit the cage wall hard and slumped to the ground in a pathetic heap. The uproar of the crowd around him forced his hands into the air in a victory stance, his golden eyes piercing through the metal cage he was enclosed in to those enjoying the show; but even their cheers and yells of excitement were drowned out by the club’s choice of music, a song that usually played when Deon was on a hot streak.

“Lllllllllllllladies and gentlemen! Give it up for District 10’s favorite fighter! The Crusher!”

The announcer, barely audible above the bar’s noises, was seemingly heard as the volume increased ten-fold, making Deon’s ears start to pound. He hadn’t been too fond of the nickname he was given, it was sort of something the announcer just decided to start calling him once he began to work at the Spit. The frequents seemed to like it, and it got his face plastered around all over the district, so he didn’t mind.

“Someone scrape this donkey shit off of my ring.” Deon shouted to the crowd, obviously very into the attention he was getting and in response, one of the clubs bouncers entered the caged ring and dragged out the unconscious man that Deon had just been fighting. Deon followed after the bouncer, leaving the cage and forced his way through the crowd that had gathered since he had started fighting until he reached the bar. He tapped the counter twice, signaling for the bartender to grab him his usual and took a moment to look over ‘The Spit.’ It seemed like it wasn’t that long ago since he came to work here, had it already been a year since his entire life had flipped upside-down on him? The bar tender had just pulled out a frozen glass and began to pour the clear liquid into the glass when Deon put his hand on the bar tender’s arm, motioning for him to leave the bottle and then took the bottle from him, drinking straight out from the top.

Not even moments later, a small group of women approached him with very suggestive looks on their faces. Deon set the bottle down; his interest now peaked as the one in the tight red leather dress promptly sat down on his lap.

“That was some fight you did out there.” The girl in the green dress said as the one in the red dress began to nibble on his ear and neck.

“Hell of a fight, tell me; have you ever been beaten?” The girl in the blue dress asked, moving so that she was behind Deon and put her hands down onto his chest, pressing her own chest up against his back. Deon was only too happy to oblige.

“No ma’am, you’re looking at an undefeated champ.” He smirked, picking up the bottle once again letting the girl in the blue massage his chest while the girl in the red continued to nibble on him. The girl in the green then took this as her chance and pushed the bottle away from his lips, pressing her own lips to his while her hands danced tugged at his hair.

God he loved going to work.

[Gonzo]

James looked on, his brown eyes clearly displaying disinterest for the fighter. The young man picked up his drink and sipped it quietly, continuing to look at the victor. A small scoff escaped him as the fighter so very politely asked to get the unfortunate loser out of his ring. Leave it to the people of the lower districts to be complete animals with no manners at all.

"Calling someone donkey shit, how nice. Maybe he should look at himself in the mirror," James said, more so to himself than anything. It's not like the fighter would have heard him over the roar of the crowd, anyway.

"What did you say, James?" Mason turned his head in his brother's direction and raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing. Just that the fight was just swell. This club isn't what I expected at all. You sure you don't want to go to Eclipse? I mean, come on, The Edge in district 2 is better than this dump--"

"Come on, James! Lighten the Hell up. This place isn't that bad. I like it." Mason turned his head and locked eyes with a short-haired, blue eyed brunette with tattoos up and down her arm, and a small, gold nose ring, smiling at him from across the way. He turned back to his brother and patted him once before standing up and starting to walk away. "Lighten up a little. Find a chick. Bang her in the bathroom like I'm about to do."

James watched at Mason went over, exchanged a few words, and was practically dragged away by the brunette. He returned to scouting the room, hopefully looking for someone he could approach, but found no one. His eyes locked on the fighter, who was now at the bar, surrounded by a small group of women. They were practically having sex with them. Now, he didn't mind if a couple girls were attracted to the man- he wasn't bad looking- but he did mind that they were acting the way they were acting. Even the girl with Mason, who was probably riding it out in the bathroom right now, had the decency to keep her actions private. James took another sip of his drink and snickered.

"Only place lower district trash like him could really hang out, huh?" He mumbled, maybe a little too loudly, to himself.

[YoshiSkittlez]

"And it is because of that and that alone that project X-95.3, on the market now known as the toaster, should be recalled."

Kate had made it to the meeting in one of the industrial buildings inside of District 4. It was a large building, filled to the brim with elected officials, scientists, and just about anyone else who had anything to do with robotics and the making. Sitting with a small squadron of her own classmates, Kate found herself standing up and addressing the speaker.

"I disagree your Lordship. Project X-95.3 is showing no signs of hostility towards the human race. There is only a slight malfunction that can be addressed simply by a software update transmitted via satellite. Not only is this method more effective, but it will also take less time than issuing a mass recall on the model."

The cameras had all tuned into the student section where Kate had voiced her opinion. Not only was this meeting being held live, but also broadcasted to other districts, somewhat as a sort of news broadcast to those who where unable to make it to the meeting. The man at the podium turned his attention to the woman as well, a rather ugly smug look on his face.

"My dear, not only have you interrupted me, but you have brought attention to yourself by means of which you can not even back up. Who is supposed to fund the research for this update? I certainly won't be taking any money from my own pocket for a matter that is just as well taken care of by the people."

"But the people are at no fault your Lordship." Kate interjected, earning a few murmurings among the people in the building. It was this sort of 'meeting' that was best run-through by the high-council with their per-determined speech. The congregation was just expected to nod their heads and go with the decision that had already been made, but Kate had just enough about that, and was unafraid to voice her own opinion.

"Whats your name?" The man at the podium asked.

"Katherine Saunders of District 4 your Lordship." Kate answered.

"Well Katie...I shall then hand this matter over to you then. Come up with this 'update' by no later than tomorrow evening. If your efforts prove fruitless, then I have no choice but to place you under arrest. Case dismissed."

The room bellowed out in an uproar, not to mention a rather shocked looking expression on Kate's face.

"Your Lordship that's not what I meant!" Kate shouted out, but her own words were drowned out by the mass of others shouting objections as well. It was then that the security had breached into the room, taking crowd control into their own hands as they pushed people towards the exit,shooting those without even so much as blinking to those who protested.

"Fucking diplomats..." Kate grumbled as she was issued back outside.

[Lord Wyron]

[PRESENT DAY: STREETS OF DISTRICT FOUR]
Sektor continued down the street, emulating the behavioral patterns and movements of the pedestrians, it's stance, form, walk, was all eerily human - an almost frightening observation.

Sektor decided to widen its search by accessing the radio channels of District Four, hoping to at least find some information regarding its creator. It finally managed to pick up a stray signal, strong and clear, coming from one of the industrial buildings.

"I disagree your Lordship. Project X-95.3 is showing no signs of hostility towards the human race. There is only a slight malfunction that can be addressed simply by a software update transmitted via satellite. Not only is this method more effective, but it will also take less time than issuing a mass recall on the model."

The voice of a young female rang out within Sektor's audio receptors. It ran a quick scan of it's database, archiving the woman's speech and checking for any matches within the databanks. [MATCH FOUND - IDENTIFY: [PENDING...PENDING...PENDING] CONSENSUS REACHED - SUBJECT IDENTIFIES AS KATHERINE SAUNDERS - BIRTHPLACE: DISTRICT FOUR - QUALIFICATIONS: GIFTED PROTEGE IN ROBOTICS AND TECHNOLOGY. RELATIONSHIP TO PLATFORM: INTERNAL SOFTWARE DESIGN. INFORMATION AVAILABLE: NEW PRIME DIRECTIVE, LOCATE KATHERINE SAUNDERS. SECONDARY DIRECTIVE - DEFEND]

Sektor then started moving with a purpose, tracing the signal towards the industrial building and preparing to initiate his programming.

The robot was met by a massive flood of people exiting the building. Sektor began a mass scan, doing his best to find this woman who had eluded him since activation.

[Mach2]

Vander had two options that evening. The first was to sit at home. Home, of course, being the tiny shoebox of an apartment in District 16. There, she would rock slowly back and forth on the edge of her bed, listening helplessly as her brain assaulted her with all manner of unpleasant thoughts. She would remind herself that she was dying. She would reflect, in a ritual of masochism, upon what her life could have been. And, of course, she would be alone with her cravings. It had been nearly a full day since her last fix. That was longer than she'd gone in at least a week.

The second option was to go out and do something. Antsy as she was getting, this was definitely the preferable of the two. Even if she'd tried, she wouldn't be able to handle a night at home, alone. Not again, not when she'd gone so long without sending a syringe of Lucid coursing through her veins. So instead, the girl had dawned her black leather jacket and brushed her hair down over her right eye in an attempt to hide how bloodshot it was. She locked the door to her darkened apartment, and let her feet carry her into the streets. Hell. Maybe she would get lucky and find some money. Then she would be able to score herself another round of Lucid.

For some time, quite a long time, Vander simply walked. She kept her gaze down, not wanting any neon lights to trigger a migraine. She didn't consciously have a destination, nor did she much care. Her mind was elsewhere, thinking many of the thoughts that she would have ended up thinking if she had stayed home. There was a distinct pain in her stomach. Somewhere around the lower right side of her gut. It was as though someone had clamped a vice there, and was tightening it and tightening it with every step that Vander took. She knew what the pain was. It was some part of her being eaten away. Some organ that she would soon have to say goodbye to as it died.

She had turned nineteen three weeks ago, and she wouldn't live to reach twenty. The thought hurt, enough to make her eyes water. She blinked hard, crushing the tears away. What good was self-pity? It was, after all, her own actions that had put her in this position.

Vander looked up, deciding it was time for a proper distraction. She found her legs had carried her all the way to District 10. She smiled slightly to herself. District Ten was host to a perfect distraction. The Spit. She had been before, and knew it was exactly what she needed right now.

---

A brief while later, she was weaving her way through a screaming crowd. Music played, blaring over the speakers. The beat was driving, the guitar chords and vocals strong and powerful. She leaned against the railing of a set of 'staff only' stairs that no one was using, watching the fighter inside the ring. The 'Crusher' was a crowd favourite, and she had seen him fight before. Within moments, his opponent was on the ground, unmoving, and the screaming of the crowd intensified.

Between the music and the people, Vander's head was tearing open with a quickly-growing migraine. She didn't mind. It meant she was living, was doing something, instead of just sitting around. Doing things, being places, meeting people...it was something she had to do as much of as she could. From her position against the railing, she watched the goings-on of the club, trying to find a good place to go and strike up a conversation. Women and men were everywhere. The former often climbing into the latter's laps. Vander watched several of the couples with mild amusement. The fighter had left the ring, surrounding himself with women wearing less than half as much clothing as Vander. She cast a gaze in his direction...and decided the ratio was probably closer to less than a third of her clothing.

Casting her gaze around again, she saw that she wasn't the only one to be looking in their direction. Two men, close friends, or perhaps even brothers, seemed to be shooting glances at the fighter and his harem as well. As she watched them, one was dragged off by a tattooed girl. Vander decided that this was the opening she had been waiting for. The other man was close, and hadn't seen her yet. She closed the distance between them quickly, coming up behind him just in time to hear him say something about, "Only place lower district trash like him could really hang out, huh?"

She sat down in the chair beside him, not waiting for an invitation. "Careful," she warned. Her tone wasn't the playful purr of a whore trying to flirt. Nor was it paranoid or threatening. It was the voice of someone who simply wanted nothing more than to talk. "Some people might take offense to being called 'lower district trash'."

The smile she offered him was pleasant and genuine, but still didn't reach her eyes. Her eyes were tired, the pain of the headache she was dealing with beginning to show in her expression. And even as she spoke with him, trying to focus on a conversation, Vander couldn't help but glance again around the bar, on the off chance that she might see someone she knew as a dealer. She looked back to the man, extending a spider-fingered hand. "Vander Pzypialkowski," she introduced herself.

[YoshiSkittlez]

Already lost in his own world of quirky little fantasies, Deon didn’t even notice the two ‘newbies’ that had walked into The Spit. He had been working here long enough to know just who the regulars were and weren’t, but then again it didn’t take a nuclear physicist to figure that out just by looking at the person. If they weren’t pierced, tattooed or rough looking in anyway, they were fresh meat…Deon’s favorite kind to screw around with. The announcer had just broken over the stereo system, pulling both Deon’s lips and attention away from the girls for a moment.

“Llllllladies and Gentlemen! The night is still young, and we seem to be low on volunteers for cage matches tonight…”

A loud ‘Booooooo’ resonated throughout the bar, and Deon had to smirk. His eyes then wandered the crowd, scoping out anyone that might even be somewhat of a challenge for him before his bright golden eyes met with a man who seemed to have been looking at him for quite some time. But then the man was quickly intercepted by a girl that Deon had seen around The Spit on a few occasions.

What was her name? Velandria? Venessa? Shit… He couldn’t remember. Practically picking up the girl on his lap, he set her aside and got to his feet, immediately swaying as the effects of the alcohol already consumed throughout the evening had gone through him. He quickly grabbed the bottle from the bar and sauntered over to the two individuals he had been staking out, practically creeping up behind the girl as she introduced her name.

“Bless you.” Deon said smartly as she said her last name and with a small smirky smile, pushed the bottle back to his lips until half of the contents had been drained. His eyes then darted back to the man who he was SURE he had never seen before. This guy looked just about as clean as they came.

“You lost little boy? From the way that you were lookin’ at me earlier, I might be able to direct you to a gay bar down the road a ways…”

---

Infuriated with her current situation, Kate just wanted to stand there and scream at the building. But she was better than that…more dignified. So with a quick double middle finger she was off in a heated walk, shoving her hands into the pockets into her fairly expensive fur coat she had thrown on for the bitter evening weather. She kept on walking, fuming in anger which then slowly started to turn into panic once she realized just what it was that she had to do.

“An entire main frame update? By tomorrow night? I’m going to need a miracle.” She said to herself, stopping alongside the Fourth District Park and took a seat on one of the cold, metal benches.

“I could call up my study group…see if they would want to help…but God they’re all just…stupid.”

She threw her head into her hands, tugging at her short brown hair in frustration.

“I can’t get arrested…no one ever comes out of prison here. I’ll have to run…but then my entire life would be ruined. I would have achieved nothing! My entire life would have been a total waste!

I could leave though, try to see if there are any other cities out there. Is there? We’re not supposed to know about life ‘out there,’ so I either end up dying here in prison, or die out there trying to run…

Or…or maybe I can do this. What’s the problem Kate? You built your own defense robotic system for your parents when you were 8, you can do this…a small update should be a cake-walk for you. Hell, you helped design this stupid model, they took the blueprints from the school…THAT’S IT!”

Kate stood up straight, a rather confident look on her face.

“The school! The school will have all the information I need. Someone must have hiccuped on their part of the design, I just have to pinpoint the blue-prints, sign on to the main computer and it will be done!”

Kate grinned, a pulse of adrenaline pulsing through her body as she felt her feet starting to carry her to the Third District where her school resided. Sure it was after hours, but being one of the best students in history, Kate was granted full access.

[The Roman07]

Jack looked down at the time on his phone. "Shit! Already late." He muttered as he walked the streets of D4. Looking up at the sky high multiplexes all brighter and cleaner than any of district 17's hospitals. It made him sick... not a single homeless person on the streets, law enforcement made sure of that, slowly picking them up and promising them shelter in the next district over until they get tossed so far down they just get forgotten. Jack got so lost in thought he accidently bumped into the local law enforcement. "Hold up sir STOP!" The voice demanded underneath a helmet visor and armor designed for riot control. "You can't go this way we are currently containing a riot so please step back." The voice was shaky and young sounding. Jack couldn't help but smirk. "Sorry, Detective Roman of D17. Just passing through for a.... checkup." Jack went to reach for his badge but the kid raised his rifle as he noticed the handle of his pistol sticking out his waistband. "STOP! Hands out!" Jack could see the kid was obviously jumpy. Jack did what he said but gave the kid a look of disbelief. "Seriously kid, I'm just getting my badge to show yo-" "ENOUGH! Keep your hands where I can see them while I call for backup and THEY will see what's in your back pocket." The kids hands were shaking so bad his rifle was rattling like a cornered rattlesnake.

Now if it was any other day he would simply wait for "backup" to show his badge and Alpha zone temp admission ticket and be on his way.... unfoftunately he managed to forget his ticket. "Sweaty palms kid? Heartbeat pounding? ...scared?... I know the feeling. The feeling of not knowing what's going to happen next, asking yourself if this man your pointing your gun at is a killer-" "PLEASE be quiet sir while we wait for backup." The kids voice sounded nervous as he reached for the radio on his belt. "How you get this job kid? Daddy on the force I bet... wanted to be like good ol' dad. Except he didn't want you hurt so you got a spot in the higher districts, not as much crime up here I bet." Jack laughed a bit before he rested his arms atop his head and let his brown leather coat open from the wind. His pistol was clearly seen and the moment the officer looked down at the gun, Jack grabbed the rifle with his left hand and bent the barrel. Internal safeties in the modern gun made sure it didn't fire as he pulled the rifle out of the kids hands. Jack yanked the kid off his feet with a quick grab from his right and up against a nearby wall, trapping him with his own bent rifle. Jack pulled out his gun.... "you see this asshole? POL-ICE IS-SUE!" He yelled, tapping the barrel on the kids visor. He then pulled out his badge and repeatedly tapped that too on the visor. "Now if I was you id forget this happened, then request a new firearm because this one is obviously malfunctioning. Than id go back to you fucking daddy and request a cushy desk job cuz' son... this line of work is not for you." Jack couldn't help but smell a heavy ammonia smell all of a sudden, instinctively he looked down and bellowed out a laugh. "Oh and kid... you pissed yourself... good job officer Bradley." Jack gave a salute with his off hand and let the kid off the wall. The kid collapsed to his knees in a state of shock as Jack slowly walked away, re-holstering his pistol. An automated voice eminated from his holster. "Please state reason for unholstering your sidearm for security and record purposes please Detective Roman." The metallic voice asked. "Maintainence and cleanup" he stated. An audible beep and a metallic "No discharges, all rounds accounted for.... Process confirmed. Have a nice day detective." replied shortly after.

[Gonzo]

"Some people might take offense to being called 'lower district trash'."

James froze in his seat, not daring to turn around and face the person who said that. Over the noise of the bar, he couldn't quite make out the voice, so he didn't want to turn around and end up having his teeth knocked in. When he did turn, he visibly relaxed, letting out a small sigh of relief, and returning the smile. He reached out a hand, not bothering to get a good look at the girl, more so because of relief it wasn't some ass hole trying to kill him for the comment, and took hers in his.

"James," he said with a small, polite smile, "James Jami- I mean... James Johnson." James mentally kicked himself. He wasn't supposed to let anyone from the lower districts know his real last name. His father, Henry Jamison, the famous Politian, and (hopefully) soon to be president of New Ancorda told both of the boys that if anyone knew their last name, they would have been killed. And for good reason, too. Henry was involved with the creation of most of the current laws with New Ancorda, especially the relocation of homeless to lower districts, making him very, very disliked in the lower districts.

He looked at the girl's hand, and then frowned at it's state. It wasn't normal than most hands, not any of the hands from District One, anyway. It was bony, spider-like. It was as if the skin was just holding in bone. He looked up at the girl's face and saw the damage; her eyes were almost lifeless, tired, her cheeks were sunken in, or, they seemed like it, anyway. She didn't look healthy. She didn't look happy, even with the discerning smile on her face. And yet, even with the flaws, she didn't look half bad.

He tried not to stare as he pulled his hand away, and was silently hoping for his brother to come in and save him from the now growing awkward silence. Unfortunately for him, fate didn't have his brother in mind. He didn't hear the "Bless you" coming from the fighter, but he definitely heard his next choice of words.

“You lost little boy? From the way that you were lookin’ at me earlier, I might be able to direct you to a gay bar down the road a ways…”

James turned and looked up at the fighter from his seated position, and raised a disapproving eyebrow at the man.

"Good evening," James said with a fake, yet very convincing polite smile, and a nod of his head, something he had picked up from his father. "I thank you for the offer, sir, but I must assure you that I am not gay. Sorry to disappoint you." He turned back to Vander and gave her a genuine smile before turning to the bartender. "Another drink please, and whatever the pretty lady wants. Put it on my tab."

James turned back to the man when his drink was brought to him, and after taking a sip of his drink, he spoke again. "Now, it was nice meeting you, uh, Mr. Crusher, was it? Anyway, it was nice meeting you, but I was having a conversation with this lovely lady here, so if you don't mind, I would like to continue the conversation. Thank you."

Mason stepped out of the bathroom, higher than a kite, and kissed the brunette once more. "Hey, babe. Call me sometime if you want to get together again." The brunette simply blushed and walked away. Mason turned and saw his brother, sitting next to a girl. Good for James. Hopefully he scores tonight.... Wait... why is he not talking to her? And who is th- Oh shit. James had one of those fake smiles, and he was talking to that fighter. That did not look like a good recipe, not to Mason, who had started walking in the direction of his twin brother.

Completely ignoring the fighter next to him, James turned back to Vander and smiled again. "So, Vander Pzy-Py..Pes..." He trailed off in defeat before shaking his head. "So Vander, what brings you to the spit this evening? To be honest, this is my first time. My brother dragged me here. It's... Interesting, to say the least."

[Mach2]

The frown on his face as James shook her hand didn't go unnoticed by Vander, and the second the introduction was done, she pulled it back. She placed both hands in her lap, hiding them from view. Partly out of a slight embarrassment, but mostly because she didn't need to make James uncomfortable. She wanted a conversation, and that wouldn't happen if she scared him off by being a walking skeleton.

She was about to speak up again when a voice from behind interrupted. She smirked slightly at the 'bless you', turning around to face the fighter from earlier. He had a bottle in his hand, and seemed to be looking for conflict. Half of it was drained before he spoke again, this time to James. “You lost little boy? From the way that you were lookin’ at me earlier, I might be able to direct you to a gay bar down the road a ways…”

She opened her mouth to intervene. Half the people in the club had probably been eying Deon up that evening, male and female alike. She could have argued the pointlessness of picking a fight with any one particular person...but before she could speak, James was already handling the situation. He defended himself simply, brushing Deon off without hesitation. Simultaneously, he offered Vander a drink. With her headache continuing to grow, she wasn't about to turn it down. "I'll take a hurricane," she told the bartender. Moments later, a glass of something dark, red, and laden with alcohol arrived.

The conversation was continued, with James asking her what had brought her to The Spit. She was all too aware of the fact that the fighter hadn't left. It was definitely James' first time, or else he might not have brushed off a drunk ring brawler so easily. Nevertheless, she answered his question. "Pzypialkowski," she repeated, saying it slightly slower. "Don't bother trying, I couldn't spell my own last name until I was nine."

She took a large sip of her drink, the alcohol providing a more comforting pain in her throat than the pain everywhere else in her body. What did bring her here today? Well...there were all the honest answers. She was looking for a dealer. She was looking for a distraction. She was looking for a fun time. Instead, she shrugged easily. "I like talking to people. Everyone's got an interesting story, and I like to hear 'em," she answered. It was as honest as any of the others. "What clubs do you usually go to? Higher Districts, I'd guess..."

[Lord Wyron]

Sektor finally found her. Archiving a picture of her face it took upon scanning her. Running the picture through its database, Sektor confirmed she was the woman it was looking for. The AI began tracking behind her, studying her movements. She sat down upon a park bench, beginning to speak quickly to herself. Sektor noted panic in her tone, a box appeared in the side of its HUD,

[PHEROMONE LEVELS SUGGEST INCREASED AMOUNTS OF FEAR, DURESS, PANIC, AND ADRENALINE - SUBJECT IS EXPERIENCING INCREASED HEART RATE, GOOSEBUMPS ON APPENDAGES, DILATED PUPILS, NAUSEA, SHORTNESS OF BREATH: INITIATING GUARDIAN PROGRAM - PROGRAM ACTIVATED: WORKING AT 100% EFFICIENCY]

Sektor approached her slowly, somewhat increasing its speed as she stood and began walking away. "Katherine Saunders." Sektor spoke at first, its voice almost eerily sounding human. Yet not entirely, a mechanical undertone sounded from the machine's vocal receptors. "Unit designation: Sektor. This unit has been researching its database to seek this platform's maker. Katherine Saunders was located. Databases suggest you were involved in this platform's core computer systems and emulation program. Affirmative?"

Sektor stopped speaking, tilting it's head to look at her in a very curious form.

[YoshiSkittlez]

Good evening? Deon had to snort out a slight laugh. Where the hell did this guy come off with his manners? No...he definitely wasn't lower-district material, but he did respond to James by running his fingertips over the tips of the shaved hair on Vander's head.

"She is quite lovely isn't she?" He agreed, his eyes glancing from one part of her body to the next. She was thin...a little too thin for his liking but that just meant that she was into the hardcore stuff, and Deon liked hardcore women. "You've got some style baby." He smirked pulling his hand back from the shaved part of her head and then ran his hand over his own shaved parts on his head, first the left side and then the right as if to accentuate that he too was shaved. He then shot a deadly look to James as he kept on insisting to talk. Deon craned his neck a bit, rewarded with two loud cracking noises coming from his neck as he did so and looked down on James as if he were nothing more than the scum on the bottom of his shoe.

"Baby if he's bothering you, you just say the word and I'll take him out back...straighten him out real nice." Deon threatened James, keeping his golden eyes on the 'rich boy.' "You want a good time right?" He asked, then turning his attention back to Vander, who's name had once again slipped his mind even though he had just heard her say it. "Tell you what, look at it this way." He said and moved himself completely in between herself and James, his back to James and pushing him away against the bar and his flexed chest towards her.

"You stick around ol Richy over here and you get a laugh, maybe two. You go home with me tonight, I'll get ya whatever ya want. Watcha want baby? More alcohol? Some hash? Need a needle in your arm? I can hook you up baby!" He said letting out a slightly squeaked laugh, as the alcohol was starting to consume his brain more and more. The announcer came back onto the microphone, blaring his voice out over the music and loud guests.

"No volunteers? Well then, you all know what that means. The Crusher gets to pick his next victim!" The room exploded, the girls overly excited and the men rather pissed off. Deon broke into a grin, still facing Vander but his finger pointed directly to James.

"Him! I pick him!"

---

At hearing her name, sounding somewhat echoed, Kate initially thought that it was someone from the meeting that was instructed to follow her, but when she did a quick look around she saw nothing...until it was staring her right in the face. Staring down the blue dilated light that was looking straight at her, Kate forced herself to take a few steps backwards having been startled, and then awe struck her slender face the moment she realized that it was the robot that had been talking to her.

"Uhm...ye-uh...affirmative..." Kate said nodding her head up and down, but her eyes glanced over the workmanship of the robot. She circled around him, letting her fingers be her eyes as she went around him and carefully examined his wire structure, his main frame, even his circuitry. Everything about this robot seemed so-

"Perfect. You're...perfect!" She exclaimed having come full circle around the robot and staring back at the area she knew for it to be an eye. "You...you shouldn't exist...I...where did you come from?"

[Lord Wyron]

Sektor studied her for a moment, formulating a response. "Unit identification code: 0.18462958. Designation: Sektor. Katherine Saunders is acknowledged inside the database. Consensus confirms you were involved with inner computing and emulation programming of this unit's platform." Sektor informed.

"This unit was activated 48 hours ago. This unit is still adjusting to the mobile platform's functions. Databases are working at 100% efficiency. Calculations confirm, action may be undertaken by the District Zero Administration to shut down mobile platform. This unit cannot allow that to happen in order to fulfill primary directive. Prime directive: Guardian Unit. This unit is required to protect Katherine Saunders from all harm that may come to her physical platform." Sektor stated.

"This unit has initiated and activated Guardian programming. This unit is required to remain within a 100 yard radius of Katherine Saunders at all times - recommendation: this unit requires weaponry to allow combat/defense systems to work at 100% efficiency. Calculation: without weaponry, this unit can only function at 48% of desired efficiency. This platform's armored core is capable of withstanding a calculated estimate of 12 rounds from a Viper assault rifle before critical damage is sustained."

[Gonzo]

James kept quiet for the most part, simply staring at Vander, trying to ignore the comments made by the fighter. His grip around his glass tightened, and his free hand balled itself into a fist, all the while, he kept his polite smile at Vera, waiting for a moment where the drunk would shut up so that he could continue the conversation. Sadly, he never got the opportunity, for the fighter pushed himself in between the two, and began speaking to Vander.

The young man went through all of the possible scenarios in his head; grabbing the glass he was holding, and bashing it over the jerk's head; slamming the man's head into the bar; grabbing his bar stool and beating the drunk half to death, all seemed like good ideas, but he stopped as he noticed himself raising his glass. The words of his father rang in his ears. Remember, James, and you too, Mason, I cannot just send you out by yourselves. Remember this, I will have eyes on you at all times. This way, you can stay out of trouble, and not do anything that will taint the family name.

He quickly brought the glass to his lips, and, after taking a quick drink, immediately turned his head to the entrance of The Spit, then around quickly. There was no sign of anyone watching him. But of course there wasn't; even if there had been someone watching, they wouldn't have made it obvious that they were watching. With slight hesitation, he turned around, and was met with a finger pointed in his direction, and the uproar of a very pleased crowd.

"Him! I pick him!"

He hadn't even heard the announcement, but by the look on everyone's faces, and the cheering, he could tell that he was in for a fight. He froze for the second time that night. Immediately, his heart began pumping at an incredibly high rate, and his palms began to sweat. His legs started to shake, and he turned his head around. His eyes were met with his brother's, which, although glazed over, were wide with horror. He turned his head back and looked at the back of the fighter, and then at Vander. Within an instant, his legs stopped shaking, he stopped sweating, and his surprised expression was twisted into a small scowl. He set his cup down so hard, that it almost shattered. By now, the crowd was silent, anxious, waiting for either acceptance or cowardice. Slowly, he turned his face to the crowd and threw up his hands.

"Alright! Let's do this!"

The crowd erupted into another series of cheers and yells. James looked at Mason, who was, by now, almost suffering from a heart attack, and merely shrugged. This man was drunk, the fight wasn't going to be that difficult. At least, that's what James was hoping.

[Mach2]

Just as easily as James had brushed Deon off, Vander did as well. The second his hand was reaching for the jaggedly shaved hair, she pushed it calmly away. With a few years as a dealer under her belt, she had inevitably run into all sorts of his kind of scum. Men with big muscles and bigger egos. And each one, she declined just as easily.

This guy was serious with his attempt to come onto her. She raised an eyebrow as he pushed himself in between her and James, a complete invasion of her personal space. Any other girl would have reacted differently. Some may have slapped him, several seconds ago, but Vander knew that a girl's slap was akin to a tickle for an undefeated bar fighter. Other girls may have succumbed, flattered by the romanticism of flirting with a small-time celebrity. Vander simply sat there, watching him intently. She listened silently to his sales pitch, completely ready to turn him down when he finished.

But his offer to get her whatever she wanted...it grabbed her. An iron fist had clamped itself around her attention, and she could think of nothing else for a split second. The calm left her face, replaced instead with a sudden intense focus. A fire ignited in her eyes, and her mind held only one word. Lucid. He had the drug. There was no doubt, he had the drug. Or someone who could get it for her. Deon had the power to diminish the pain that was coursing, even now, through her bones and joints and organs. He could get her the drug she was so badly craving.

She only barely managed to keep herself from blurting out an acceptance. She was talking to James. Not Deon. Just because some drunken moron threw himself at her...the second she managed to get herself back under control once more, the announcer was yelling across the club again. Before she could react, Deon had pointed his finger at James. "Him! I pick him!"

Behind Deon, the girl watched James' face shift to an expression of shock and, perhaps, even slight terror. It was instantly replaced with a cold scowl. She watched him, imploring him with her eyes to find some way to reject the call. Instead, he slammed his empty drink down and turned to face the crowd. "Alright! Let's do this!"

Vander grimaced. The crowd grew deafening once more, eager for their bloodshed and concussions. James had turned, facing the man he'd been talking to much earlier. His friend, or brother, or someone. While the screams of the crowd were still sounding, she seized her chance. Her hand snapped out, bony fingers grabbing Deon's forearm in a grip that was surprisingly strong. She stood, the space between them, if possible, shrinking even further, and spoke. "Anything I want, right?" she questioned. Her eyes were intense once more, her voice audible by Deon and no one else. "I want him to win. You do that, we'll see about that good time you offered me."

She released his arm, and the edge of her mouth tugged up into a slight smile. It was pure and complete flirting. The distance between them grew once more as she sat back down, raising her drink to her lips, and continuing to stare Deon down. Maybe, just maybe, Deon was drunk, stupid, or desperate enough to fall for her split-second decision. And if he did, she would come out on top. James would defeat the undefeated, and she would have a chance at scoring a hit of Lucid.