[IC] Incarceron - The Tales of New Ancora

[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 nearly empty basement room, the once heavy bass and singer's dead-pan tone stopping abruptly, leaving only the grunting sounds coming from a male as he continued his seventy-fifth vertical sit up. Confused as to what happened to his music, the shirtless male relaxed his body down, allowing the metal clasps around his ankles to hold his full weight. After repositioning, he arched his back to take a look, putting his body in an awkward-looking, bent angle. The culprit as to who had turned the music off was soon recognized as his golden-colored eyes met with the dark green orbs of his cousin, her thin arms crossed over her chest and giving him a chastising look.

“Anything I want you to be?" she asked, the toe of her foot tapping on the hard, concrete floor almost impatiently. "How about someone with a bit of self respect, Deon? You’ve really let my place go.” she finished, looking up at the male with a dissatisfied expression before taking a quick look around the room which she had allowed him to live in when he moved in with her a year or so ago. Sure it was just her basement, but that didn't mean that rats had to live in it. Her fingers itched at the very thought of what kind of possibility that might have been.

Deon's hanging, vertical position, forced the sweat from his legs to trickle down his flexed chest, onto his neck and down to the very top of his face where it continued to drip off of the point of his nose 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 a practiced twist of his body - a sort of a back-flip - Deon fell to the floor deftly onto the balls of his feet, bending at the knees to soften the fall with much more agility and grace his cousin wanted to give him credit for. He slowly straightened his back up, vertebrae by vertebrae until he was standing at his full five feet, eleven inches and ran his hand through the small mess of sweaty hair he had left on the top of his head.

The sides of his head were shaved, leaving just a thick strip on the top of his head where a patch of hair grew. Sure he could have put it into a mohawk if he really wanted to, but that just wasn’t his style. He preferred the messy mop look. Less upkeep. Less responsibility. 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 due to a thick scar reaching from the back of his head that wrapped around to the front, cutting into the top of his eyebrow. The scar itself was thick, raw-looking even - a clear indication that medical treatment should have been administered, but not heeded. That was Deon's choice, however. He didn't trust the hospitals in New Ancora. There was very little he did trust in this shit city anymore ever since the incident that gave him the scar in the first place.

Approaching his cousin with his chest heaving for breath as the sweat continued to drip down his body, he reached over her shoulder, keeping his eyes on her and pushed the play button on his virtual music player, The Ozzy Osbourne song picking right up where it had left off just moments ago before the female had so rudely turned it off. A bright red light emitted from the music player upon activation, displaying a 3D rendition of female dancer, supposedly nude, pole dancing to the beat of the music just above the player. His cousin glanced down, unable to keep her attention off the display of flashing red color and shook her head in disgust.

“Classy.”

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

“Don’t start with me, Deon, I pulled every string I had and let you live here, remember?” Kate sighed. She hated talking like that. Strong, assertive language was never her strong suit but she had lived with Deon long enough to know by now it was the only way to talk to him and hold his interest. Sometimes. “Look, 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 T-95.3." She explained, her arms unfolding so that she could start using them when she continued to talk, her agitated voice towards her cousin turning into excitement for the topic at hand. "I didn't actually program this one, we were invited by the Science Board as a classroom demonstration to sit in. See, there might have been some malfunction. So we might have to do a total recall-“

“Katie!” Deon interrupted her, rolling his golden eyes. “I don’t care.”

This had Kate clamping her mouth back shut, her arms hanging awkwardly in the air for a moment before she let them fall back down to her sides, her shoulders slouching just a bit - deflated and her eyes betraying a hint of hurt.

“Just remember to not piss off A.D.A.M. again. I’m not about to leave this 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 security system was real. I mean, you gave it a name, for Gods sake! But the way you talk about it sometimes makes me wonder if you’re into that weird-ass cyber robot porn fetish 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 when you wake up in your bed... alone.”

“Yeah, "work.'” Kate scoffed, using her fingers in quotation, unable to help rolling her eyes as she turned to head back up the stairs that would take her back to the main part of her loft. With that asshole behind her, 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 blue button-up shirt, 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 seventeenth district actually, so he didn’t mind. Actually, Kate had asked him a number of times when he would start "dressing it up" and making it look more like a room with carpet and decent furniture. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to. What he did know is that 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 with a button-up jean-jacket with no sleeves over it and a pair of beige cargo pants.

Moving over to where his mattress lay in the middle of the floor, he scooped out his sunglasses from a pile of dirty clothes 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.

[Atrophy]

Annie clutched her knife in her left hand, holding the weapon so close to her chest that she could feel the thundering of her heart as she pressed up against the alley wall, rain falling upon her visor. One minute. She would give herself one minute to catch her breath and then she would move. Her whole body tensed as a burst of gunfire cut through the pitter-patter of rain, answered by the spraying call of a submachine gun. It was a familiar sound, and one that she had never grown used to. She imagined few ever did. Her right hand grasped her shoulder where a stray bullet had winged her. Her fault. Stupid, careless. The stinging pain was already fading; she had been shot enough times to know that more damage had been done to her leather jacket than to her body. Still, the jacket had been an expensive, frivolous purchase. That’d teach her to buy anything besides second-hand.

A stupid thought to have as gunfire sparked against the wall near her like miniature, murderous fireworks.

The job was supposed to be a run-of-the-mill milk run. Pick up the package, deliver the package, payment on delivery. Sweet. Short. Simple. It didn’t pay much, but a little extra spending cash to pad her pocket with sounded good at the time. Normally she would squirrel away any earnings she had made, but after the week she had she felt it was necessary to treat herself. Maybe she would’ve gone to one of those bougie restaurants in District 10 that liked to pretend that they were an experience akin to fine Alpha dining or treat herself to a massage from a place where the masseuses didn’t and weren’t expected to proposition the clientele at the end. Now, she would just settle for making it home alive and soaking in the tub until this entire night washed off of her.

The sound of sirens in the distance was added to the continuous call-and-response of gunfire, doing little more than doubling Annie’s desire to escape from her current predicament. She’d take getting shot at any day over being question by the police. The alley to her right was out of question as another rattle of shots rang off of the walls; she’d have to cut left through the back markets. Stashing her knife, the carrier turned away from the alleyway, staying low and moving quickly in case any other stray shots found their mark on her, black boots crunching through wet, broken glass. All she had to do was get back to her bike. If she got on her bike, she would be fine.

Annie had been hired by some small-time, two-bit crook who just went by Jay to receive a manila envelope to a even smaller-time, wannabe gangster that had broken off of the District 15 Deltas to form his own band of merry drug dealers and pimps out of his own greedy desire to take home a bigger cut. Whatever, she needed money too; it wasn’t her position to judge. She was to meet Mr. Hotshot in a strip joint that he was now the sole proprietor of ever since he pushed the Deltas out; a real classy place where the only thing sadder and more pathetic than the patrons were the dancers. No amount of makeup or glitter could hide the tell-tale dead eyes of a burnout; a bunch of walking corpses spasming and gyrating to a bad techno beat. Lovely place.

The bouncer had given her little trouble at the door; Mr. Hotshot had been expecting her. She kept her helmet on. Anonymity wasn’t always necessary, it wasn’t as if she had aspirations for public office one day, but she preferred to keep her face hidden around recipients just in case they tried anything funny and came after her later. She was led to the VIP Room, which was nothing more than a slightly nicer booth in the corner of the place, and she made certain to note the exits as she made her way through the pulsating lights and smoke. Better to be cautious than to be dead. Mr. Hotshot was nursing a clear drink with a girl on either arm. Perhaps it would impress her if she were a guy, but to Annie it appeared as if he was trying just a little too hard.

She should’ve realized something was fishy from the start. Too many eyes were on them instead of the dancers, and the guard detail was too lax for the head of a gang, even a newly formed one. Mr. Hotshot had hardly pulled the envelope out of his jacket before his brains were splattered across the table, the girls beside him screaming at the top of their lungs before they too got caught in the crossfire. Annie had dove out of the booth, but not before catching a glance across the shoulder. Fire filled her arm as the unmistakable blast of a shotgun echoed from behind the bar, peppering the shooter that had engaged on her table. Another blast and the bartender was taken out; seconds later, and Annie found herself in the middle of a gang war.

And so now she was trying to escape said gang war, crouching behind emptied knick knack stands on a street full of neon lights and canopy tents. A spray of bullets ventilated the tent next to her as Annie hit the ground, throwing out a son-of-a-bitch underneath her breath as she scraped against the asphalt. The sirens grew louder and louder, but the gangers seemingly did not hear them or did not care. Crawling on her stomach, Annie looked for an exit. This place was foreign to her, but any main street would help her gain her bearings. Another spray of bullets forced her head back down. Shit.

The sirens were practically upon her now. She heard the sound of a man screaming uncontrollably as thousands of volts went through his body moment after a loudspeaker announced the presence of the police. Shit. Shit shit. She did not need this kind of headache. Making a break for a building, Annie lifted her foot and gave one, two, three mighty kicks near the door’s handle before it gave. Alarms sounded throughout the building. She paid them little attention as she quickly made her way through, unlatching the front door before slipping out into the main street. The road was more or less barren. Good. A few seconds to breath.

Yet the seconds lasted one too short as blue and red lights rounded the corner, the high beams of a squad car falling on Annie. She knew they wouldn’t give chase for long and didn’t care enough to actually get an arrest, but the cops were no better than the gangs out here: if they had a moment to participate in a little game of smear the carrier they certainly weren’t going to pass it up. Her bike was two blocks away in the direction of the cop car. A game of chicken, then. She bolted towards the high beams as the car’s tires spun up to gain traction on the slick road and peeled towards her, narrowly avoiding a hit as the car jumped the curb in an attempt to swipe her and instead bashed into a trash can, sending garbage spilling everywhere. Snapping her head back, she could see red taillights come to life as the car was put into reverse, the driver intent on ending her’s.

Annie rounded the corner just in time for the car to blow by where she would’ve been if she had kept going straight. One more block. A hundred meter dash. Easy enough. She kept running, pumping her arms like a sprinter as the flashing red-and-blues corrected their course and filled up the street, reflecting off of the barred windows of closed pawn shops. A wall of parked cars served as a buffer between her and the police; she took the momentary respite to hit the remote start for her bike on her smartwatch. If anybody tried to jack it before she got there they would be in for a nasty surprise from the anti-theft system. She could see where she had parked her bike. Now there would be no delay in her escape. Just one problem: she had to cross the street.

The squad car had been staying neck-and-neck with her, but it pulled ahead for a second to let the officer riding shotgun out so that he could try and cut Annie off. There was nothing her stun gun could do against his hand-me-down armor, but she was running fast enough that she was within striking distance by the time he had leveled his gun. She smacked his wrist away as the weapon fired, a deafening ring echoing throughout her helmet as the bullet flew harmlessly by her head. He fired more shots into the air as Annie grabbed onto his wrists, twisted her body, and flipped him over her shoulder so that he would hit the concrete hard.

She kicked away his dropped gun and kept moving, the squad car keeping pace with her still. After getting back up to her full speed, she angled herself slightly and leapt up onto the hood of a parked car. With little loss of momentum, Annie pounded over the hood, up the windshield, and onto the roof of the vehicle. Without even a second of hesitation Annie leapt from the roof of the car and tucked her legs, the squad car speeding past underneath her. She landed with a roll and kept moving as the car screeched to a stop, but by the time it had turned around she had already jumped on her sportbike, kicked up the stand, and rolled on the throttle. She zipped off down the road, water spraying behind her as she weaved in and out of side streets to lose the cops. The sirens grew fainter and fainter and then completely vanished. She let out a sigh of relief and jumped on the freeway, heading towards the inner Districts.

She tapped a button on her bike. A small screen asking for a voice command appeared in the corner of her helmet. “Call Jay.”

“Calling: Jay,” replied the synthetic voice in her helm

“I expected your call thirty minutes ago,” said Jay.

“There were complications. Your friend was murdered by the Deltas.” Annie paused, and then added, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, fuck him, he was no friend of mine. Did you receive the package?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting for you at our agreed upon spot. Don’t make me wait.”

Click.

Annie groaned. Some milk run. Still, at least she was getting paid. Shifting gears, she tore down the freeway towards District 13, the world melting into a neon bleed of lights as her speedometer ticked higher and higher.

[Lord Wyron]

"Welcome home, Detective Monroe."

The cheery automated voice greeted Leon as he stepped through the threshold of his District Four apartment, droplets of rain lazily falling from his jacket-clad shoulders onto his glossy-black NAPD armor. The door quietly hissing shut behind him, Leon tossed his police badge and keycard into a small bowl by the entryway, feeling his stress instantly start to dissipate in the freshly-scented atmosphere. He was home for the night.

Absently brushing a few damp strands of hair from his face, Leon casually strolled into the living room, hearing the droll voice of a TV news anchor relaying some stock story or another about crime rates in Beta, the NAPD's "stalwart war against corruption", and any other out-of-district humdrum that the good sycophants of Alpha would have no need to worry over from this side of the Wall.

"Mal? You home?" Leon called out, turning his attention towards the empty room itself, fluidly taking off his jacket and tossing it on the nearby couch. No doubt Mal would appear the instant his coat landed to chew him out for laziness, prompting a subtle twitch of his lips at the humorous imagery.

Moving past the living room into the kitchen, Leon stopped dead in his tracks as he saw her casually sitting on the marble counter-top, one leg crossed over the other. She wore an elegant black silk dress that comfortably hugged her thighs, leaving the rest of her legs exposed through a slit down the side. Her dark brown hair was down, curled, and sprayed to wit's end to compliment her equally time-consuming makeup job that brought out each and every one of her already-beautiful features. Nonchalantly holding a champagne glass in her right hand, Mallory raised it to her red-painted lips, taking a small sip while the glass in her left hand remained untouched.

"Hey." Leon mustered, his voice quieter than he was intending. His focus shifted to looking his lover over, sharp green eyes seeming to linger on every one of her features, his smile unconsciously widening the further downward his gaze went.

Quickly regaining his composure, Leon briefly cleared his throat. "Today's not my birthday, is it?" A short chuckle escaped his lips as both hands found their way to his pants-pockets, still enamored by her appearance.

"You look... wonderful." He said next, slowly moving towards her to close the distance, his eyes still holding that marvelous mixture of surprise and lust. "What's the occasion? Did I forget about something?" He asked half-heartedly, briefly looking down at his armored uniform for emphasis, though not for long, his gaze instinctively drawn to her, as if the moment he looked away, she'd disappear.

Chuckling lightly at his reaction, and then again at his words, Mallory gracefully slid herself off the island counter, the heels of her shoes clicking as one foot came into contact with the floor after the other. "You forget I'm a cop too, sometimes." She began to explain as she closed what remaining distance they had between them, extending her left arm for him to take the undisturbed glass of champagne. "I've been listening to the scanner. I know what kind-of day you had."

Letting their fingers linger as he took the glass from her, Mallory pressed a soft kiss to his freshly-shaved cheek before continuing. "The amount of paperwork alone to clean that all up would make me want to invest in my own winery." She half-joked.

"God, don't remind me." Leon replied with an exaggerated scoff, immediately bringing the glass to his lips, his eyes briefly closing as the taste of the cool liquid seemed to instantly relax him.

"You know," he began, lowering his glass back down to the countertop, "I'm almost tempted to stop taking Beta cases, settle in for the cushy Alpha jobs. I'd be playing detective to see who threw a can in the trash can instead of the recycle bin." Pausing to chuckle at his own joke, Leon continued, "Half the time I wonder why we even have units there at all. It's not like a criminal from Beta's gonna be getting in, not without some measure of insane luck. But... there's no point in discussing that right now." Leon paused, letting both hands move to her sides, gently pulling her closer to him.

"Work's done for the day." With that, he drew his head in to join his lips to hers, all his earlier tension fading away into nothing. Not quite expecting it, Mallory let out a very soft gasp, but quickly eased her eyes closed and brought her now-free hand to hold onto his shoulder, returning his affection by kissing him back, pressing her lips flush with his.

Getting lost in the gesture but a moment or two longer, she eventually pulled away, albeit slowly. Her steely-blue eyes blinked, the mascara and eyeliner outlining them making them pop and sparkle even more than normal. Her red lips slowly split into a sheepish sort-of smile.

"There is... something... that I wanted to discuss with you." She finally admitted. She didn't exactly get all gussied up just to greet him with a glass of champagne; she could have done that in her pajamas and he would have been just as happy.

"Oh? Leon raised his brow, an expression so typical for him it might as well have been on his ID photo. "Is it something illegal? To I have to get my cuffs involved?" He inquired with a playful, sultry look, his eyes locked with hers. They always stood out to him, able to peel past his layers like a knife through butter, stoic and impassioned at the same time.

"But really, what's going on, Mal?" Leon shifted to a slightly more serious tone, his joviality masked by earnest as he awaited her news.

She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but his gaze had her faltering. Shaking her head, she pulled herself away from him and walked back to the island in the center of the kitchen. Gone was her sultry, feminine sway. She may as well have been in jeans. Mallory was right back to "work" mode.

She took one more drink from her glass before she set it down on the marble counter beside his, freeing her hands to pick up an envelope that had been laying there. Then, turning around, she kept the thick envelope closer to her as she began to explain.

"I put in a transfer a few months ago. When you and I started getting more... serious. I... didn't tell you sooner because I didn't think they would accept it..." She paused, and then ahnded over the envelope to him, a smile not far behind on her glossy lips. "I got their acceptance today. Leo... do you know what this means?" She gave him time to open it up and look over the information himself, his eyes scanning the words inside like any information analyst half-worth-their-salt. "Sure, they'll have me working down in District Six, I'll have to pack up my apartment and move, and there's still a bit of paperwork and finalizing to do... But Leo... it means we can finally go out! Expand our dates outside of your living room!" She chuckled. "We can finally start being a couple!"

"A transfer." Leon repeated, his tone unsure of itself as he began processing the news in his mind, feeling the hum of his cerebral implant documenting the knowledge as though it were a data file in a hard-drive.

His thoughtful look was soon cracked by that same sincere smile spreading along his lips. "That's... that's wonderful!" He exclaimed, "District Six, that's not terribly far! Quick half-hour drive, if that..." There he went, thinking aloud, as if speaking what was in his mind would make it all easier for him to understand.

"Oh, I'm gonna miss seeing you at work every day." He noted with a slight twinge of regret, before quickly contradicting himself with another grin. "But this is better than we could have hoped for!" He gently put the letter down on the counter, still unable to fully believe what he was hearing.

"Well. We can finally make this thing Facebook official, then!"

"Whoa, easy there, Tiger." Mallory put a hand on his chest. It was cute to see him so excited about something, but they had to take this slow, just like the rest of their relationship.

"First off, no one uses Facebook anymore. And secondly, we can't really do anything until I'm nice and cozy at my new desk. I'll be more than happy to have you do the heavy lifting on moving-day, though." She gave him a playful smile. It was going to happen - finally! Once this was all squared away, there would be no more hiding, no more lying to their boss, no more pretending to be a certain way around the other.

She wrapped her arms, both of them, around his torso and hugged herself close to him. "I'm going to miss seeing you at work, too." She paused to chuckle. "I guess no more quickies in the staff closet. That was kind-of fun." She lifted her chin to look up at him better. "But...I still have two or so weeks left there... we'll have to make sure to do it at least once more," she winked, "for old time's sake..."

"What, it's not old enough to be a vintage reference yet?" Leon replied with a small grin, breathing in her perfumed fragrance as she pulled him into an embrace, letting steady hands drift to her back. "It's funny how time flies when something seems so far-off. Then the closer it gets, everything seems to just slow down. Who knows, maybe in a couple of years we could see about settling for one residence instead of two; rub it in the chief's face." Leon smirked softly before locking eyes with hers once again, his face melting away to that same serious expression he often wore at the office. "But whatever we do - whenever we do it - we're going to do together. Always."

---

---

Leon jolted himself awake with a sharp intake of oxygen, setting fire to unprepared lungs. With a weary call of "Mal?" escaping tired lips, Leon's eyes, narrowed with fatigue took in his surroundings as his vision cleared and mind returned. Swallowing back a bad taste in his mouth, Leon rose from his half-laying posture on the sofa, brushing the stray hair from his face as he took in the vacant living room. He was home, and he was alone.

The apartment was quite nice when first purchased, and still retained a sense of its former Renaissance-esque glory. But its interior was muddled with stray junk and boxes, blankets and pillows tossed about from too many late-nights spend sleeping on the couch instead of the bed. A few hours of cleanup and a bit of better lighting would be more than enough to spruce it back to full vitality, but Leon never seemed to find the time or motivation.

Stretching out his right arm towards the flask that stood upon the small glass coffee table, Leon stopped just inches away, gaze affixed on his prosthetic, its full artificial nature left uncovered by the short-sleeved t-shirt he wore the day before. Looking like some chromium replica of human musculature, Leon couldn't bring himself to see the synthetic flesh that coated his hand and wrist, instead seeing the plastic, polymers, and fibers that only made the prosthetic feel more alien. Sure, the pressure sensors inside the arm allowed him to touch things, so to speak. Textures, temperature, quality, it was all foreign in this arm. And no matter how long he had it, it would still feel unnatural - a weight that merely looked like an arm.

Enclosing his grip around the flask, Leon brought it to chapped lips, throwing his head back as the lukewarm liquid burned down his throat, leaving a bitter and caustic taste in his mouth. Already the nanomachines inside his body were working diligently to break down the alcohol before it could even reach his stomach. After everything the government had poked and prodded, taken out or put inside of him, they couldn't even let him self-destruct. Where was the joy in smoking a cigarette if the burning of nicotine was replaced by your body automatically repairing the damage? What was the point of getting hooked on pain pills if you couldn't even catch a cold?

Putting the flask back down with a heavy sigh, Leon turned his head towards the glowing digital clock on the wall. Barely past sunset, too early to go back to bed. Most of the Alpha citizens would be schmoozing with each other in some big-name club or penthouse, completely oblivious to the goings-on in Beta.

Moving to stand, Leon suppressed a stifled groan as his joints popped painfully, the actuators in his limbs not used to lounging. Moving towards the front door, Leon grabbed his jacket, slipping it on sloppily, not sure where he was going or why, just that he was. Opening the door and stepping out, Leon left no more sound behind him than the one lasting shut, not even an automated voice to bid him goodbye.