Chicago - Roxie
Taylor stood at the sink, fiddling with her hair in the mirror. The small cut on her forehead stood out against her blonde hair. The bruising hadn't been as bad as she expected, she'd covered the worst of it with makeup, but she'd have to put a bandage over the cut. No matter how she tried to style her hair, it wouldn't stay hidden.
Sighing, she let the strands fall back into place and reached for her bag. The android attendant gave her a friendly smile as she exited the restroom and ventured back across the lobby. Another android greeted her at the desk. "Good morning. Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes. Taylor Kolbeck, here to see Rachel Bailey." The android continued staring at her while its LED flickered yellow, processing. Taylor fiddled with her DPD staff badge, trying not to think of Connor and the night before.
"Welcome, Miss Kolbeck. Please proceed to the elevators on your left. Miss Bailey's office is on the 49th floor. Someone will direct you as you get off the elevator."
"Thank you." She followed the instructions, taking the elevator up. As she stepped off, there wasn't another android there to greet her, but Rachel herself. The brunette pulled her into a hug immediately.
"You look like shit," she muttered into Taylor's ear, making the blonde laugh despite herself. Rachel pulled away and inclined her head in the direction of her office, leading her down the hallway.
As soon as the door was closed, Rachel glared at her from over the desk. She flopped down into her chair and tracked Taylor with her eyes as she eased into the seat across from her. "I want the truth, Taylor. I know you aren't here to give me an exclusive."
"How do you know that?" Taylor answered, trying to keep the note of defensiveness out of her voice.
"Well for one, you're still part of the investigation, if that lanyard around your neck is any indication. So you still can't give me any real details of the case, can you?" Rachel crossed her arms. Taylor glanced down at the I.D., frowning.
"Not exactly," she conceded.
"Then why are you really here, Taylor? Tell me what's going on." Rachel leaned forward, placing her elbows on the desk and fixing Taylor with her best penetrating stare. Taylor wondered if this is what the people she'd interviewed over the years received.
"I need a favor."
"I figured." Rachel didn't even bother feigning surprise. "Unfortunately for you, I'm busy and I don't come cheap."
"What do you want?" Taylor hesitated as a smile stretched across her friend's face, almost predatory in nature.
"The truth." Rachel leaned in. "Why did you really come to Detroit? Why did you agree to help CyberLife? What were you really doing in L.A. before you left? What's with you and that android?"
Taylor felt her hands clench on the arms of the chair. Rachel glanced down at them and then back at her, waiting. "I came here because I needed to understand what was happening in Detroit."
"That's not good enough and you know it."
"It's the truth though." Taylor swallowed. She didn't look away. "No matter where I went or who I argued with, the story was always the same. Deviants are killing people in Detroit. I had to come here, to know why."
"Did you figure it out?" Rachel asked next, narrowing her eyes.
"I think so. I'm not sure." The blonde bit her lip and did glance down this time, thinking. "I don't know if it's enough, Rach. It's complicated. But CyberLife was a means to an end. It's impossible to get closer to this without associating with CyberLife. I didn't have a choice about that."
"The ends don't always justify the means, Taylor. Some people aren't going to understand what you're doing, even when it's all said and done." Rachel finally leaned back in her chair, considering the woman across from her. "What are you doing? What were you doing in L.A.?"
Taylor felt her face twitch and inwardly cursed. Rachel was her best friend. She was also a damn good reporter, with the awards and decoration to prove it. Lying to her wasn't an option, not really. Convincing her there was a good reason, that was the goal. "I don't know what you mean."
"Taylor, how long have we been friends now?" Rachel sighed through her nose. "I was a nobody working at a gossip rag when we met. Seven years ago? Eight?" Their blue eyes met across the desk. "I know you well enough to know that you like to keep people at a distance. It says enough about you that your best friend is a reporter that is supposed to be writing articles about which celebrities you're sleeping with."
Taylor winced at that, but Rachel didn't look away, just kept barreling forward, no holds barred. "When you fell off the radar a few months back I thought it was weird. I thought maybe I just pissed you off. I have that effect on people. Oh, you're still all over social media preaching about deviants, but that takes all of two minutes a day, right?"
"We live in separate parts of the country," Taylor said, shifting in her chair. Rachel frowned at her, still not looking away.
"You barely answer my texts. I talked to Jake at the party. You know, the one you left early the other night? He said the same thing. It's one thing to stop talking to me, but it's another when it's your brother. I know something is going on, Taylor. If you want my help, and I know that's why you came here, you're going to tell me."
The room got quiet. They stared at each other over the desk, neither moving, neither willing to bend. Taylor continued to chew on her bottom lip. She needed Rachel's help. She couldn't leave without it. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she began, "You're right."
"I knew it." Rachel sounded like a grade schooler who had triumphed over their schoolyard bully. Taylor couldn't help but smile at her friend's sense of competitive pettiness, even in this situation.
"But I can't tell you anything." The indignant noise that followed this statement made Taylor wince again, but she cut her off before she could say anything, "You have to trust me. I promised."
"Well isn't that convenient for you." Rachel said after a moment. She was staring intently at Taylor's face, probably trying to detect the level of bullshit she was being fed.
"Will it help if I promise you the exclusive?" Taylor offered hesitantly. "On the deviants. On everything, when it's over."
Rachel stared at her, frowning, furrowing her eyebrows. "You realize that could be anything? Or nothing?" She sighed again, "Taylor I'm going to help you. With whatever crazy scheme you're plotting. I just want you to remember that you do have people that are worried about you."
"I know." Taylor felt the stab of guilt, but she couldn't relent. Not now, not over this. Involving Rachel and Jake in this would be reckless, more so than she was being on her own.
"Does Alex know about this?" Rachel asked suddenly, her eyes widening. "There's no way you're doing anything without him knowing about it."
"He knows a little. Not everything." The blonde conceded, "Even less since I came to Detroit. We got in a fight so he's not talking to me right now."
"You aren't exactly instilling me with a lot of confidence right now." Rachel's mouth tightened. "Listen, before you tell me what you need, there's one more thing I want to say to you. I don't think I should have to say it, but…"
She finally did look away, glancing off to the side. Almost in thought, but there was a tension about her shoulders and a vague sense of unease in her expression. Taylor shifted in her chair again. "This thing, with the deviants. Eventually it's going to get bloody. Are you ready for that?"
"What do you mean?" Taylor leaned in, suddenly nervous, unsure of how much Rachel really knew and what she was implying. Rachel leaned away again, almost reflexively.
"You're a celebrity and you always have been. You know what it's like to have people take everything you've ever done and turn it into a media storm. Anthony Jacobsen will take what you're doing personally, and he will come for you as soon as he perceives you as a threat."
"I'm not worried about that," Taylor eased back in the chair, feeling her muscles relax. Rachel arched an eyebrow, skepticism covering her face. "Really. I don't care what happens with the media. I'm past that now."
"Well, let me give you some advice." Rachel placed her elbows on the desk and leaned in again, lips quirking, "You should get out ahead of this now. You're the most influential person on social media, right? Start a conversation. A louder one. Get people involved. Just pointing a finger at it isn't working."
"What do you suggest?" Rachel shrugged.
"That's up to you. Now tell me what you need me for."
Taylor sat at the desk she shared with Connor later that day in the precinct, scrolling through her Twitter account. Rachel's advice was stuck in her mind, but she was struggling on how to follow it. In the interim, all of her social media accounts were getting backed up with messages. The last few days had been hectic, and she'd barely been on them, so now she was paying the price.
With her ear buds in, she clicked on another video that had been tweeted to her and waited for it to start. Her chin was propped up in her hand and she had tied her blonde hair back into a bun after the first few times it fell into her face. Even now, she had only made it about halfway through her backlog of Twitter and she had been at this for a few hours.
She glanced over at Hank's notably empty desk. Apparently, he hadn't even bothered to show up today, so he was probably at a bar somewhere drinking. Connor was seated to her right, diligently combing through incoming case files for mentions of deviants.
The video was a few seconds in when she sat up straight, turning up the volume on her ear buds. The girl on the screen was facing the camera, the lighting was terrible. Something was rustling around in the background. But the story.
When the video ended, Taylor opened it again and played it over. An idea was forming, but she didn't know if it would work. It was crazy, but sometimes those were the best ideas. She also didn't have time to ask Markus what he thought about it...
The video ended a second time and she stood from her chair, grabbing her bag from under the desk. Connor glanced up, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. "I'm, uh..." She hesitated, "I'll be back in a bit."
She made her way across the pen toward the elevators, trying to think back to the tour that Connor had given her and where the best lighting had been in the building. The lobby had great windows but there were too many people there at any given time. She was tempted to see if she could get access to the roof, but the wind would be terrible.
Still, she climbed on the elevator and went up, knowing there had to be an office somewhere that no one was using at the moment. As the elevator climbed floors, she was already forming the words in her head.
Taylor stepped into the bathroom when she got off the elevator, touching up her makeup and pulling the band-aid from her forehead. Then she pulled her hair from its bun and fixed it as best she could. She stared in the mirror for a moment, before pulling her sweater off as well. The blue V-neck underneath showed off the nick on the tip of her collarbone that had scabbed over.
Slipping back into the hallway, she made her way along the row of closed doors, reading over plaques announcing what lay within. She took a chance on a conference room at the end of the hallway and found it blessedly empty, rolling chairs neatly pushed into the long table, sunlight slanting into the long, plated windows that made up the far wall.
She opened the camera on her phone and found a good angle. For a moment, she looked out over the city of Detroit, taking deep breaths, centering herself. Then she raised the phone and hit record. "Hi guys, it's Taylor. I know I've been quiet the past week or so, but it's busy here in Detroit."
She took another deep breath in through her nose. "I'm sharing a video with you. It's a story about a deviant, and I'm not going to say more than that because I want you to listen. I know that this deviant thing is bigger than they would want you to believe.
"The girl who shared this video attached a hashtag. That hashtag is my deviant story. If you have a deviant story, I want you to share it. Since I've been in Detroit, I've been threatened by deviants on more than one occasion. I've been held at knifepoint by a deviant, I've been attacked, and I still haven't changed my mind.
"Deviants deserve a voice. Let's give it to them." Her thumb brushed over the record button, ending the video. She let the air leave her lungs finally, a great deep shudder. She touched the edge of the phone to her forehead, wondering if she was doing the right thing.
But she opened Twitter back to the video and retweeted it. Then she navigated back to compose her own message and upload her own video. She stood there, when it was done, her finger hovering over the submit button, feeling like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, toes curling over the precipice.
Her heart started to pound in her chest, anxiety curling like smoke in her stomach. Her finger dropping cut everything loose. There was no taking it back. She closed the phone and slid it into her pocket, looking out across the skyline, trying not to feel like she was shattering on the rocks below.