Reclamation Agent Archer had still been rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when he had received his assignment for the day. Out of lack of any serious criminal activity since Sacred Coil's second defeat, it had been both a blessing and a curse to be slapped with some of the most boring, low-risk tasks that Godmother and Whisper could find for them; attaché duty to a local 31PD precinct, community outreach, it felt less like they were a highly trained and highly mobile response team and more so glorified crossing guards in the last few weeks.
That only compounded when Archer had been given the illustrious task of traffic duty. His designated jurisdiction fell upon a thoroughfare in the Fringe, particularly the weathered and bump-ridden roads that bridged the glittering lights of City 31 with the still untamed outside world. On the busiest days it was an infrequent trickle of big-rigs, self-driving postal vehicles, and the odd traveler coming into or leaving the city, today was not one of those days.
But lucky for him, he had someone to make things better.
"Eugh, there's nothing good on." Agent Torque murmured, the Viper pinching the radio dial between two scaled fingers and twisting from left to right and then back again, a messy, imprecise blur of sounds and static filling up the squad car.
Archer cocked a brow at her and huffed as he sat up. "How would you even know if anything good was on? Look how fast you're scrolling, let me try." As he leaned forward his hand reached out to the knob. Torque shifted to prop her back against Archer, blocking him.
"Ah, ah, ah. Not falling for that one again. If I let you have the dial we'll be listening to Old Earth rock songs for the next couple of hours." She gave a playful flick of her tongue as she simultaneously leaned back against him, crushing him into his seat.
Archer turns his head as he grins, an arm going around her waist. "Cut me some slack, like your stuff is any better!" He laughs as he tries extending his other hand to make a second try for the dial, only to have that blocked as well as she grabs his hand. He makes a show of struggling before going limp with a dramatic groan.
"Fineeeeeee, you win. Hope you're happy." He purrs into the back of her head, nuzzling his cheek against hers as she flushes and slithers up off of him, getting back to her own seat as Archer crosses one leg over his knee.
As Torque scans through the stations he looks around at the debris of their lunch, discarded wrappers and a grease-stained paper bag emblazoned with the "Burger Palace" logo. He picks up the bag and starts cleaning up the wrappers.
"If there's one thing I miss from home, it's the taste of actual beef. None of this vat-grown crap, it's gonna kill me one day, I swear." Archer says, shaking his head as he crumples up the bag and wrappers into a ball.
"I don't know, between a bullet and a burger. I'm going with the burger."
"Pfah, wrong choice." Archer huffs before a lull falls over them once again.
"It seems like it's a quiet night out there. Think we're even going to have to go into drive?"
"I doubt it." Torque replies "It's almost night. And when we're done I'm going to go out and enjoy myself a little. Maybe find some excitement that'll make up for this slog of an assignment."
Archer turned his head up at that notion. "Oh? Like where? And since when do you go out?"
Torque shoots back with an annoyed look. "First of all, screw you." she says, cracking a grin before continuing. "It's just a small club, has dancing, drinks, the whole she-bang. I like to go there sometimes."
Archer leaned forward and rested his elbow on the armrest of his door, looking fondly at Torque as she spoke, his cheek resting on his fist as he listened.
"That sounds nice."
"It is." She smiled and reached forward to pat his knee. "Maybe I'll take you there sometime, and get the immense entertainment of watching you try to dance."
"Oh God, spare me." Archer burst out, grinning as he sunk back into his seat.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the sound in the car be dominated by the pop tune Torque had found. It wasn't the worst thing Archer had heard, but that was clearing a pretty wide bar. But then another sound fills the air, not just inside the car but outside it too. The deep familiar thrumming of engines, wheels grinding against the uneven pavement. He turns to Torque.
"Do you feel that?"
She sits up, looking out to search for the sounds of the oncoming vehicle, from the deep rumbling it could only be a truck. "Yeah, I hear it. I guess it was too much to hope that-"
Something passes them by in a blur of steel and colorful paint, the rumbling of wheels on road reverberating through the ground and making the car shake. Archer and Torque brace before looking out towards the pair of quickly fading taillights in the distance.
"Holy shit!" Archer grunts.
"Punch it!"
Archer flies into a frenzy of movement, shifting the squadcar out of gear and stomping on the gas. The car explodes out from the alleyway, tires screeching against the pavement as they speed off after the truck.
"This is Torque and Archer, got a 10-37 speeding down Liberty Boulevard, moving to intercept!" Her voice was calm as she spoke into the police scanner, but he couldn't help but hear the nervous energy underlining it, almost like she was hoping for a break in the monotony, even if it was just a speeding trucker.
Archer flicked on the sirens as he gained on the Truck, still intently holding it's almost ridiculous speed. After a few blocks the truck had finally relented when it saw that the squadcar was just off it's bumper. It pulled over to the side and came to a complete stop.
"That easy, huh?" Torque murmured, a bit disappointed as she turned back to the scanner. "10-38 on that speeder. Moving to investigate."
As Archer and Torque walked up alongside the side of the truck, they finally got a chance to see what it was. One of the large sixteen-wheelers that occasionally moved food and other goods out of the city. Emblazoned across its side was a smiling cartoon of a creature that resembled some mix between a turkey and a fish. A distinct beak and gizzard were juxtaposed by rows of scales and fins where the wings would be. It stood beside flowing cursive text which exclaimed "TurTuna! Chicken of the Sea meets Chicken of the Land!" in bright blue lettering.
The driver himself was a scraggly looking hybrid man, in a beaten up jacket and stained shirt, he idly wiped his hands on his work jeans as he stepped out of the truck and stood before Archer, his brows creased into a look of either contemplation or annoyance.
"Uhhh, having a nice night, Officer?"
Archer assumed a nonchalant air, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked the man in the eye. "License and registration, please."
The man fumbles in his wallet and hands over the card and registration, Archer gives them a cursory look, checking them over.
"Do you know why I pulled you over?" He says as he hands them back.
A moment's hesitation, the other man looks around. "Uhhh."
Archer turns and then points at a road sign displaying the speed limit.
"Do you see that sign?" He asks
"Yes."
"That says 40 miles per hour, you were going 70."
He shifts weight from one foot to the other, scratching the back of his head as he sucks in a breath through his teeth with a hssssk.
"Sorry about that, officer. I was just cutting this latest delivery a bit close, they dock my pay if I come in late. You know how it is."
"And how much do you think you're going to lose from a speeding ticket?"
As they talked, Torque walked down the length of the truck. As she flicked her tongue out she could sense...something. Heady and metallic, the scent hung in the air around the truck, different from the normal smell of metal and rubber she was accustomed to, only growing more and more intense as she headed close to the back. She had a hunch and looked over to her partner.
"Archer!" She called out, dragging his attention away from the trucker. "After this stop I think we should get some sunflower seeds." She says, nodding her head towards the truck. He only nodded, the Reclamation Agency had specialized code-phrases associated with several types of contraband. Elerium smuggling was "Sunflower".
Archer turned back to the noticeably impatient Hybrid, every second he stood there he shifted more and more. "Alright sir, you're lucky it's a quiet night, any other time you could've been at serious risk of hurting somebody. But I'm going to let you off with a warning, just as soon as we complete a routine inspection of your cargo."
That seemed to set him off, he groaned. "Are you kidding me? What are you even checking for? Salmonella?!" Grimacing as Torque undid the latch and swung the doors open with a whine.
"Sir, it's just a routine search."
"At this rate you might as well have just given me the ticket."
Inside, Torque sniffed against the cold, fishy air. Inside were the boxes of TurTuna, she ran her fingers along the edge before lifting the lid and staring down into the chunks of half-bird, half-fish meat packed in ice. She narrowed her eyes down at it and flicked her tongue. Meat and...metal? She thought.
She reached down into the crate, pushing aside the TurTuna and ice and stirring around until she felt her hand bump up against something, no, a handful of somethings lying on the bottom. She reached out and gawked at the pile of Elerium resting in her palm. The chips of refined alien metamaterials glowed a gentle amber light which illuminated her face. "Well, this just got more interesting." She murmured to the Elerium.
"This is ridiculous!" The trucker proclaimed, his hands balling into fists at his side, despite his bluster Archer could see the sweat beading on his brow, he was still cool on the outside, but he wasn't about to doubt Torque's instincts, he tensed ever so slightly.
"Sir, if you have a complaint, you can submit it formally to the City Council. I can forward you copies of the relevant forms and office hours."
"Archer!"
He turned to Torque, who stood on the truck's rear bumper as she leaned off one of the doors. "Nevermind those sunflowers, Arch. I just remembered we had some back at base." She said, nodding her head back towards the truck. Her coded language meant the confirmed presences of elerium. Archer suddenly took on a more serious air, going from his practiced nonchalance to something more directed, more intense.
He turned his head around to face the driver. "Sir, we'd like for you to-"
That was as far as he got before he felt a fist smash into his face, sending his world spinning.
He hit the ground on his hands and knees as another brutal kick sent him gasping to the pavement, the Hybrid climbing back into the truck, the deep thrum of the revving engine shaking the ground before the awful racket of screeching tires filled the night, As the Driver gunned it Torque flew out of the back as the was thrown from the vehicle. Her body rolled on the pavement before she caught herself and instinctively gave a hiss of pure, primal rage.
"ARCHER!" She cries out, breaking into a mad slither as she makes for the Squadcar
Archer was already back on his feet, albeit with an arm wrapped around his chest. "I'm fine." He wheezed, yanking open the door and throwing himself into the driver's seat. "Call it in, we're getting that fucker."
Torque reaches for the radio as the car jerks with the acceleration. "This is Torque and Archer, we're 10-80 heading towards the City outskirts from the Fringe, suspect is in a sixteen-wheeler fleeing along the intersection of 54th Street and Liberty!"
The pop of firing cylinders and the screech of rubber on asphalt follows them several blocks, their sirens a piercing wail which echoes off the housing projects of the Fringe, the neon lights of corner stores and bodegas blend together into a multicolored haze as they slowly gain on the truck, its open rear doors flapping and banging against each other, adding to the raucous cacophony.
Archer gropes for the loudspeaker's receiver, his brows furrowed intently at the truck as his mouth twists up into a scowl. "PULL OVER!" He yells.
"Does he really think he can outrun us in that monstrosity?" Torque murmurs.
"All he has to do is cross city limits and his chances of escaping get that much better. There's a million different roads you can take once you're out of the city." Archer replies.
"But we still have the sp-LOOK OUT."
Archer already has his hand around the handbrake as the Truck makes a wide, skidding turn along a street corner, the trailer hooked up to it smashes against a stray lamppost and sends several crates flying from the back, Archer swerves left, then right. Throwing the two agents against one another as he struggles to evade.
The car bounces and a splatter of wet, fleshy giblets paints the bottom left corner of the windshield.
"Holy shit! Did I hit someone?" Archer gasps.
Torque gives the stain a closer look. "Nah…only Turkey-fish."
The radio crackles again. "Reclamation Agents, update?"
"Still in pursuit! Suspect took a turn down 58th Street."
"Alright, we'll get a unit out there with spike-strips. Keep us informed."
The radio clicks off just as another screech as the Truck makes another turn, Torque pulls the sidearm from her belt.
"Fuck that! We need to put an end to this now!" She shouts.
"What are you?" Archer began, only to see her and turn back to the road, his gaze newly hardened. "I'll bring you up alongside the front, go for the front tire." He says, shifting the car into the next gear.
Slowly, they gain on the truck, Torque sticking her body halfway through the window with her pistol drawn, bracing herself with a hand against the car. She fires once, then twice, then the tire bursts and the bare metal of the wheel sends sparks trailing down the road, the truck slowly turns out of control. Torque feels Archer pull her back into the squad car as he stomps on the breaks and they skid to a halt.
The truck carries forward on its own momentum, the brakes unable to properly slow the tons of speeding steel, its front smashes into a storefront with a crash, the entire rear of it lurching forward before finally falling still, leaving behind an eerie, stunned silence.
The blue and red lights of the 31PDs patrol cars aren't far behind, and within 5 minutes 3 police cars, a firetruck and ambulance are lighting up the span of a few blocks, officers move to cordon off the ends of the street to keep the crash secure from any curious onlookers.
That's basically a formality in this part of town. Archer thought, This was the kind of place where if you heard something off, you just hunkered inside and hoped that it wasn't heading your way. Unfortunately, for the owner of the store the truck had just crashed into, that wasn't an option.
"Oh my God! Oh my God!" a well-built Hybrid man dressed in a wife-beater and blue pajama pants wailed as he clutched his hands to his head, staring over the smashed shelves of liquor bottles, bargain bin single malts and vintage cognacs doused the floor and walls in equal measure, and wine painted the ground like blood at a murder scene. The proprietor stumbled around the remains of his former livelihood. A pair of officers moved in to keep him away from the truck as well as stopping him from crossing the broken glass.
"Sir, please return to your home." Archer heard one of the officers say as he got out of the car.
The man's initial shock seems to die out almost immediately after he's spoken to, replaced with a burning, red-hot rage. "My home's upstairs, asshole! How about you explain why there's a truck rammed through the front of my fucking store!" He boomed right in the face of the unlucky officer. His pinkish skin was turning completely red, a vein bulged almost comically from an overdeveloped and muscular neck. His hands, the size of phonebooks, clenched and unclenched reflexively.
Archer pushed his way through the line of police just in time to defuse the situation. "Easy, easy, the Reclamation Agency will reimburse any damages your store's been subjected to." Torque, falling hot on his heels, moves past them to subdue the driver of the truck
The man calms down, only a bit, but it's progress. He regards Archer with a incredulous look. "No shit?" He says, clenching and unclenching his jaw.
Archer nods reassuringly. "Yeah, and we're an executive body, so you don't have to fill out forms or wait in a queue or jump through a million legal hoops." He hoped he wasn't lying. When funds for the week came in, they were spent at the group's discretion, their budgeting could vary from week to week depending on what they needed. With any luck the agency could also push a few thousand credits towards this unlucky bastard.
The man's red slowly fades to a flushed pink, he unclenches his hands and lets out a long, deep breath.
Meanwhile, Torque had already gone around to the shattered remains of the liquor store where the front bumper and grill was fused with a tangled nest of bent metal shelving, the combined aroma of spilled whiskeys, bourbons and absinthe was overpowering for Torque, and she kept her tongue firmly in her mouth as walked over to a pair of EMTs and a firefighter.
"Stand back!" He loudly announces as he clutched the Jaws of Life in his hands. As the small generator laid amongst the bottle fragments put-puts along, the steady electric whirr of the spreader head spreads a gap between the door and the frame, building and building pressure until the lock snaps, the door is prized open by another firefighter waiting besides the first, and in another minute the spreader head is swapped for the cutter and the door is removed, they deflate the air bag and cut the seatbelt before gingerly lowering him onto a stretcher provided by the EMTs
Blood ran down the man's nose in two red, heavy streams, smearing all over his mouth and cheeks as his head lolled from side to side, he was bruised all over and the stark off-white of bone sticking through his torn top made Torque's stomach flip. However, she only got a glimpse of him as he was wheeled to the ambulance, feeling a bit dumbstruck by the sudden surge of activity that had blown by her.
Archer comes up behind her, wiping his brow. "Jesus, that guy back there looked like he was going to take my head off for a second. Can't say I wouldn't feel the same, though. Where's our guy."
"Hospital." Torque replies, gesturing towards the ambulance going down the street. The responders begin to file out, the firetruck leaving back to it's station, one police car escorting the ambulance, and another two cars hanging by the crime scene. The Officers now finally begin to investigate the TorTuna truck for the reported Elerium smuggling.
"Agents!" An officer calls and Torque and Archer walk over.
"What is it, officer?" Archer asks.
"You guys reported a 10-40, right? Elerium smuggling?" Something about his tone didn't sit right with Archer.
"Yes, is there a problem?" He says slowly.
The Officer smacks his lips. "There's….nothing here."
Godmother was stern, but she wasn't cruel. That's why they were chewed out in a small supply room back at Chimera Squad HQ, not up in briefing where the entire squad could see…and hear.
Archer had honestly blanked out during the first part of her dressing down of his and Torque's conduct as Agents. It gave him the strangest sense of Deja Vu, he could almost feel the log he sat on as a boy the first time his Mother had yelled at him for going out to hunt at night, she had yelled at him for so long and so hard she turned red and had to sit down out of fear of fainting. But by the time he tuned back in, Godmother wasn't even halfway done, and she certainly didn't seem winded in the slightest.
"...to say the actions you took the other day were reckless and needlessly endangered civilians is a tremendous understatement, not only did you engage in a high speed chase in a notably volatile district like the Fringe, but acted in a completely unjustified manner regarding threat escalation…"
It wasn't quite yelling, now that he thought about it. She wasn't putting the fear of God into his heart through sheer volume alone, but it was her tone, her rhythm. An unsettling mix of a Drill Sergeant reprimanding a recruit and a parent disciplining their child. Once again he thought of his Mother.
"...as Reclamation Agents, we're emissaries of the Agency, as well as law enforcement officers! Our executive privileges are just that! A privilege! And one not to be abused for ANY reason! Doing things fast isn't the same as doing them RIGHT!" A fist pounds the flesh of her palm for emphasis. "I thought this was something you both knew!"
"Godmother!" Torque attempts to get a word in. "There was Elerium, I held it in my hands! Sure, some might have flown out when I got tossed out of that truck. But I still had that chip!"
Godmother's gaze bores a hole through Torque, making her sink back into her chair and sink back into silence. "That. One. Chip. Is the only thing that kept you both from an immediate disciplinary suspension. The fact that 31PD hasn't been able to retrieve any other pieces from the scene of the crime hasn't helped your case, and when your only suspect recovers, he's going to claim all sorts of things: you planted that Elerium to arrest him on purpose, you mistreated him while in custody, or God forbid, you profiled him." She counts the imaginary charges on her fingers, blowing up at the last one, as if she can't even begin to imagine it.
She relents, just for a moment, taking a few deep breaths before continuing. "And you, Archer."
Archer swallows.
"You are our newest addition, that is true. But you're by no means "new" to this team. You know protocol, you know what's expected, you know what we handle and what we delegate to 31PD. You DO NOT work with your partner to shoot out the tires on a fleeing vehicle. And you most certainly DO NOT make promises to civilians saying the Agency reimburses them for collateral damage that YOU cause."
Archer makes the mistake of opening his mouth. "What about when we're in the field? All the damage to public property when we fought groups like Sacred Coil, or when Mercs storm a building. If the Agency and the City can foot the bill for things like that, why can't they spare a little more for some poor guy's shop."
Godmother gives him a look that simply says 'You should know better'. But nevertheless, she explains it to him.
"When we are in the field, we are fighting groups that pose an explicit, tangible threat to the entire City. These are threats that have demonstrated the use of lethal force in the past. A shootout with Sacred Coil is NOT the same as going after a single speeding truck driver! And does not invite the same response!"
Archer's reply died in his throat, and he instead sunk down in his chair and shut his mouth. He notices a rack of sleek gray androids over in the corner, deployed in the rare case in which an agent is wounded and a replacement is unavailable, they stand on their rack, motionless, lifeless, simply hanging and silently staring down at him and Torque with a smooth, metal, featureless face. Not my replacement, I hope.
"Barring any emergencies, the two of you are going to be on base duty indefinitely. Chimera Squad has built up a lot of goodwill in City 31, but that goodwill is easily lost, our entire public perception can be flipped by one bad encounter. And I don't want this incident to be that. Do you understand, Agents?"
"Yes, Godmother." The two reply simultaneously. Godmother looks between the two of them, holding the icy silence for a moment before finally.
"You can go."
Archer and Torque rise from their seats and silently file out of the supply room and head up to the base proper. Godmother waits a solid 30 seconds after the door closes to finally exhale, her shoulders falling as she takes one of the chairs vacated by the Agents, she throws her leg up onto the other and runs a gloved hand through her black, curly hair.
"Those two…" She mumbles to herself.
The next week was one in which Archer had become more intimately involved with the base's Assembler than he ever cared for. Shelter, the Chilean Psionic who normally volunteered to operate the machine, had offered words of sympathy and reassurance, however hollow they may have rung to Archer, and taught the marksman the basic procedure of loading in the needed materials and printing equipment according to their specifications.
"Sometimes I like to watch the machine work, it's therapeutic, almost." Shelter said. Archer had actually seen the man sit cross legged in front of the see-through top of the assembler as it slowly printed out a plate of body armor. And he found himself subconsciously taking Shelter's post.
He rested his fist on his cheek as he propped himself up in a chair, manufacturing a replacement for the android they had rigged up as a sparring partner for Zephyr, the woman broke a piece off that dumb bot practically every other week and he was starting to wonder if it really wasn't just better to buy a dedicated boxing bot rather than just taking one of the androids and strapping a bunch of padding to the front and sides.
As the long tube of hydraulics slowly rose from the inky bed of resin and polycarbonate slush that collected at the bottom of the assembler, Archer fetched a pair of gloves as the UV cycle began, solidifying the raw materials into rock-hard components with a battery of ultraviolet rays, this left the hydraulic rather hot to the touch, and given the conductivity of the materials he didn't want to hurt himself, though maybe some second degree burns would break up the mundanity of his work.
With his gloves on, he popped the cover of the Assembler and gently lifted the hydraulic up and out of the machine, walking across the base to leave it by the equipment bay. He may have made it, but he didn't have to put it into the droid. Let Zephyr fix what she breaks, he thought smugly.
It was a dull Friday evening, but the last week had been dull regardless, not only had Godmother seen it fit to slap he and Torque with base duty, but their shifts had been restructured so that they had, at most, about a fifteen minute window to talk to each other, at least while on the clock. For the first time in a while, he had been eager to leave the HQ. Especially with Torque's invitation.
Soon enough, the time had wound down, and he was off for the weekend. He had left his Agency uniform neatly folded on his bed and slipped into a comfortable shirt and blue jeans, throwing a jacket on before stepping out.
A breeze whistled against his back as he walked out past the old trainyard, the husks of rusting industrial buildings dotting the landscape. What was once ugly and alienating to Archer was now familiar and reassuring, the buildings were mute sentinels seeing him safely out. He pulled out his phone and sent a text.
I'm waiting on the corner of your favorite cafe.
The response was quick, and appropriately snarky.
You mean the only cafe within a hundred meters of the HQ? I never said it was my favorite, but beggars can't be choosers. Σ8
What is that?
Turn your head, genius.
Is that…supposed to be a snake?
Shut up.
Archer laughs aloud.
Love you.
There's a pause after he sends the message, he stares at the three blinking dots, at least half a minute goes by.
Love you too.
A little while later, Torque had met him on the corner of the street. Archer was taken aback. She wore an unzipped black leather jacket with a studded collar and distressed, fraying edges. Beneath that was a white tank top starkly marked by a band's logo, the predominantly red and black symbol on the white background of the shirt reminded Archer of a gunshot wound, maybe that was the intent. The name of the band was stylized in an aggressive, angular font and he could only make out the word "rail" from it.
He probably would've rolled his eyes if he saw anyone else wearing something like that. But on Torque it complemented the eggshell-white and pink of her scales perfectly.
"Wow, you look great." Archer says.
She chuckles. "You too. I mean, in that whole 'generic action movie hero' sorta way."
He takes her hand and her eyes widen, but only for a second before she squeezes back. "Eugh, every second I stand around in this part of town I feel like I need a tetanus shot. Let's get out of here."
"Sounds like a plan."
They had left sometime in the evening, and while the streets were busy with people, the bulk of the day's rush had passed. They coasted along the crowds, passing scenes of vibrant city life. They passed an open-air market in the Downtown area, where clothes, food, jewelry and other valuables were sold. The music from a street performer echoed down the street as Archer and Torque turned the corner to get on the subway.
Getting off the train, however, something about the utilitarian brick and mortar apartment blocks seemed familiar.
"Um, Torque?" Archer asks the Viper. "Where is this club, exactly?"
"Oh…" she hesitates before giving him a forced smile. "In the Fringe."
"You have to be kidding."
"Don't worry, we're almost there."
The club was a small, spartan building. Harsh, fluorescent neon lighting bent and curved in languid lines that spelled out "The Viper's Nest", chased with colorful designs of Vipers dancing and curling in between the letters. In front of the building was a modest parking lot set besides the entrance, both watched over by a burly muton.
"Here we are!" Torque announces with a flourish. "I know it's not the assembler, but I know how to have a good time." She teases, this time leading Archer by the hand as they cross the lot to walk up to the door. As they draw close, a realization clicks in Archer's head.
"Viper's Nest? That's Xug's front."
"First of all, shush. Secondly, it's not much good as a front if you can't actually pass as a club."
The situation only got more awkward when Archer noticed the Muton bouncer at the door was the same one that offloaded whatever Xug had to sell to the agency that week.
He scrambles in his mind for a name, but Torque saves him. "Evening, Sasko." She says, giving him a small wave. The muton nods his head at her before looking over to Archer, he stands at least a foot over the human and his broad shoulders block the entire doorway.
"You know Archer, right?" she's met with silence from the bouncer "From work?" more silence, Archer steps in. "C'mon, I've been there for months!"
Finally, he speaks, a deep, rumbling growl that Archer can feel in his shoes. "I'm not stupid." Sasko says before finally stepping to the side. "You know the rules, Torque. I trust you can make sure he follows them too."
"Can do." Torque replies, nodding her head as she takes Archer by the hand and they both step inside.
The club is a boisterous flurry of sound and motion. Patrons wildly dance in tune with the music pulsing up on stage. The wall besides the entrance was plastered with posters for a huge array of groups Archer had never heard of. He figured out quickly that the Viper's Nest catered to the live music crowd, alternating between bands every week. This week's sound was some trashy experimental tune that could only be described as the culmination of a couple dozen synthesizers, a bass guitar and some random drums being thrown down a garbage chute.
"The club reserves the right to boot any band out if they or the crowd doesn't like them enough." Torque explained to him as they got their drinks at the bar. "That's usually a bad omen for their musical career. A lot of the booted bands usually break up a couple months after this place spits them out."
They find an empty booth to sit at with a good view of the dancefloor and the clubbers, the ones on the floor are too wasted to care about how bad the music is and simply relish in being completely uninhibited. "A lot of dreams die here, Archer. That's part of the attraction, at least for me." Torque gives a sly chuckle as she tips her drink back, Archer fixes her with a coy grin as he takes his own rum and coke.
"Damn, didn't know your mean streak extended to some hapless wannabe superstars." Archer laments, letting a bit of the rambunctious mood bleed into him as he smiles.
Her expression twists up into confusion for a moment, then melts into realization.
"Huh? Oh! No, no, no, no, you misunderstood. It's not watching the dreams die and taking some unhealthy glee in it that's the attraction. It's the attempt."
"The attempt?"
"A lot of these bands are local from the Fringe or the Switchyard. If you're playing here you're either underground or barely starting out. A couple of kids, a group of friends, they're all people trying to take a crack at stardom. And a lot of them are gonna wipe out, but a few are going to make it. I root for all of 'em!"
Archer mulls over what she said, contemplating it over a second sip of his drink. "Hm, I didn't think about it like that."
She shrugs. "Eh, I could have phrased it better. And I can't pretend it isn't at least a little bit funny when someone plays absolute garbage and the crowd boos them off immediately." She lets out a stifled laugh as she sips her drink. Her eyes size him up mischievously as she points a finger at him, glass still in hand.
"I still want to see you dance tonight."
Archer groans. "Oh, you really don't."
"But I do." A voice says from the darkness.
Archer and Torque snap to attention, already on the defensive, their reflexes ratcheting up as fists grip around glasses to form makeshift weapons. But from the darkness, occasionally illuminated by flashes of multicolor lights, is a blood-red handkerchief, and the sand colored plates of the familiar Viper who wore it around her neck.
"Torque, Egg." Xug introduces, her hand resting flat on their booth's table as she looks over the two of them with a cordial expression on her face.
"Egg? You're still calling me that?" Archer mutters, turning his nose up in annoyance as he realizes he spilled half of his glass onto his jacket, Xug pulls a handful of napkins from a pocket in her jacket and lazily throws them in front of the Human.
"You're still making a mess of yourself, so why shouldn't I?"
"What do you want, Xug?" Torque asks impatiently. "We're not exactly in the Headquarters, so unless you've got plasma grenades in that jacket too we're not interested in buying.
She takes the jab in stride, simply laughing it off. "I'm not in your headquarters, hun. You're in mine. And what I have…" Her eyes, narrowed to hyper focused slits, flit between the two Reclamation Agents. "...is a proposition."