"I'm in big trouble."
Joe assessed the situation before him with as clear of a head as his type could - calm and brief as the summer wind. The blood upon his fingers wasn't good. The dead broad lying motionless in the bed wasn't good. The gentleman who had just left the room, leaving Joe with the brunt of the notably apparent murder, definitely wasn't good.
"Just remember.. you killed me first."
The unknown man's words to his murdered beloved just before he planted a kiss to her pale cheek caught Joe by surprise. What strange metaphors these orga use to cover their tracks! Joe eyed the nameless man as he stalked from the room, who barely gave even so much as a rectifying glance towards him before trailing out the door, and disappearing. As the door closed and the silence resumed, Joe simply straightened the collar of his vinyl knee-length trench, his eyes still locked upon the dead woman in the bed - she seemed so... peaceful. With the tip of an imaginary hat, Joe smiled to the corpse timidly.
"Farewell, mi'Lady. T'is a shame our time here couldn't have been more... lively."
With that, Joe followed suit out the door, and strode down the hallway maintaining his cool and jovially trenchant manner. Joe's rather resourceful nature served him well in times like these; no one even took notice as he clung to the shadows unseen and unheard, hustling his way right out the lobby doors and out onto the street. Once out in the humid, dark and dreary citylight, he ran his hand through his holographically enhanced dirty blond hair, promoting it to revert back to its default ebony state. It's eerily doll-esque abruptness upon his head, like patches of plastic threads, gave the only hint to the fact that he wasn't orga. Every other detail about him, from the sassy glimmer in his eyes to the dazzling fashion of his polished vinyl clothing , faithfully and impressively emphasized this mecha's line of work almost as well as his namesake.. Gigolo Joe.
It wasn't but three seconds on his chosen westerly course before his sharp eyes caught sight of a police vehicle, cruising its way down the city street towards his direction. His reflexes served him well as he immediately pulled a 180 and headed calmly back down the way he came. Seizing the first opportunity, he perused past the hotel from which he had exited, and ducked down a side alley, lying flat up against the wall, just out of direct sight. He watched steadily and warily as the police vehicle just continued slowly on by, never once even noticing the completely motionless, black trenchcoated young fellow taking refuge in the alleyway. Being a mecha had its advantages - and Joe took control of every one he could muster in times of need.
As the echoing of the police intercom atop the vehicle bounced haplessly off the walls making their calls inaudible, Joe glanced down at his chest, and pulled his shirt halfway open, eyeing his license tag embedded within his skin just above where his heart would be. It's LED panel glowed with the eery emerald drab of the instrument panel to an age old jetplane. Joe's personal ID number flashed repeatedly in an endless loop across it, indelibly marking him and making him an easy target for the authorities. After a moment of processing, Joe looked back up, concluding his decision to what must be done, then slowly reached for his wrist. Depressing a small button invisible to the naked orga eye just below the wristbone, his entire hand slowly detached at its base and flipped open backwards like a trap door, revealing delicate robotic instruments, wires, and Joe's handy personal tool kit tucked away neatly within his forearm. He poked and prodded around until he pulled out just what he was searching for - a slender, razor sharp scalpel.
Without a sinle word or sound, Joe raised the scalpel to his chest, and proceeded to take one step closer to anonymity.
Joe assessed the situation before him with as clear of a head as his type could - calm and brief as the summer wind. The blood upon his fingers wasn't good. The dead broad lying motionless in the bed wasn't good. The gentleman who had just left the room, leaving Joe with the brunt of the notably apparent murder, definitely wasn't good.
"Just remember.. you killed me first."
The unknown man's words to his murdered beloved just before he planted a kiss to her pale cheek caught Joe by surprise. What strange metaphors these orga use to cover their tracks! Joe eyed the nameless man as he stalked from the room, who barely gave even so much as a rectifying glance towards him before trailing out the door, and disappearing. As the door closed and the silence resumed, Joe simply straightened the collar of his vinyl knee-length trench, his eyes still locked upon the dead woman in the bed - she seemed so... peaceful. With the tip of an imaginary hat, Joe smiled to the corpse timidly.
"Farewell, mi'Lady. T'is a shame our time here couldn't have been more... lively."
With that, Joe followed suit out the door, and strode down the hallway maintaining his cool and jovially trenchant manner. Joe's rather resourceful nature served him well in times like these; no one even took notice as he clung to the shadows unseen and unheard, hustling his way right out the lobby doors and out onto the street. Once out in the humid, dark and dreary citylight, he ran his hand through his holographically enhanced dirty blond hair, promoting it to revert back to its default ebony state. It's eerily doll-esque abruptness upon his head, like patches of plastic threads, gave the only hint to the fact that he wasn't orga. Every other detail about him, from the sassy glimmer in his eyes to the dazzling fashion of his polished vinyl clothing , faithfully and impressively emphasized this mecha's line of work almost as well as his namesake.. Gigolo Joe.
It wasn't but three seconds on his chosen westerly course before his sharp eyes caught sight of a police vehicle, cruising its way down the city street towards his direction. His reflexes served him well as he immediately pulled a 180 and headed calmly back down the way he came. Seizing the first opportunity, he perused past the hotel from which he had exited, and ducked down a side alley, lying flat up against the wall, just out of direct sight. He watched steadily and warily as the police vehicle just continued slowly on by, never once even noticing the completely motionless, black trenchcoated young fellow taking refuge in the alleyway. Being a mecha had its advantages - and Joe took control of every one he could muster in times of need.
As the echoing of the police intercom atop the vehicle bounced haplessly off the walls making their calls inaudible, Joe glanced down at his chest, and pulled his shirt halfway open, eyeing his license tag embedded within his skin just above where his heart would be. It's LED panel glowed with the eery emerald drab of the instrument panel to an age old jetplane. Joe's personal ID number flashed repeatedly in an endless loop across it, indelibly marking him and making him an easy target for the authorities. After a moment of processing, Joe looked back up, concluding his decision to what must be done, then slowly reached for his wrist. Depressing a small button invisible to the naked orga eye just below the wristbone, his entire hand slowly detached at its base and flipped open backwards like a trap door, revealing delicate robotic instruments, wires, and Joe's handy personal tool kit tucked away neatly within his forearm. He poked and prodded around until he pulled out just what he was searching for - a slender, razor sharp scalpel.
Without a sinle word or sound, Joe raised the scalpel to his chest, and proceeded to take one step closer to anonymity.