They had to dodge, weave, step sideways, and attempt to flow with thousands of other Digimon down the central roads of the capital. Jorcy was finding it decidedly difficult to breathe, and not just because of the confusing plethora of unidentifiable odours. He wondered why the hell he didn't stop Jet from yet another crazy idea.
Out of nowhere, a claw grabbed him on the shoulder. He turned to face his assailant, fully ready to take him down. It was only Jet, however - somehow he had fallen behind. He pulled Jorcy out of the main pedestrian flow, straight through a wooden door, and into what appeared - initially, anyway - to look like a tavern.
The outside noise reduced to a low hum when Jet shut the door again. Various patrons, hunched over their drinks, didn't even bother looking up. The lighting from the ceiling was set very low, and it took Jorcy a few seconds to adjust from the bright lights outside.
Jet pulled him towards the counter, practically dumping him in a chair before he sat down himself. The bartender - a few feet away, scribbling on a notepad - looked up as they sat, then folded the notepad closed and walked over.
"So, can I get you gentlemon anything?"
Jorcy didn't know which he found more surprising. The fact that an inner-city bartender spoke perfectly trimmed English - or the fact that the inner-city bartender was a human being. While his brain slowly disengaged from his jaw, Jet ordered two beers. The bartender was quick, and Jorcy had a cold pint in his hand before he was able to say anything.
The bartender noticed his completely lost look, and grinned apologetically. "Weren't expecting a human here, were you?" Jorcy could only shake his head. The bartender chuckled and shrugged.
"Well, here I am. Name's Trent. And you are?"
"Jorcy ... " Jorcy begain. Trent nodded, then turned to Jet.
"And you must be the infamous Jet Black?"
Jet made a strange noise - half-sigh, half-growl. "What gave it away?"
Trent shrugged again. "I'm just good at reading things."
"Uh, Trent..." Jorcy began, but Trent had already anticipated his question.
"Why am I here?" He asked. Jorcy nodded. Trent thought for a few seconds, then started.
"Moriseriko has been in contact with humans for a long time now. I actually run this place along with my Digimon partner. I suppose you could say we're in retirement of sorts, though my Digimon partner often accepts freelance work, and is out of the city most of the time."
"How long have you been here?"
"About a year now. Jasper - that's my partner - and I met out in a prospecting field up north, quite some time ago. He inherited this place from his uncle, and decided to keep it running rather than sell out. It took a little while for our usual clientele to get used to the fact that there was a human here, but we don't advertise the fact, and everything kept spinning. Another one?" Trent asked, nodding at Jet, who had already finished his beer. Jet nodded, and Trent set about getting him a new beer.
Jorcy tried to take a sip, but it was already warm from his holding it. He put it down and forgot about it, choosing instead to look around the place. It was the sort of tavern he would have expected to find in some remote village somewhere. Wooden floor and ceiling, stone walls, massive wooden tables and benches, candles and lanterns, and foggy old windows. The place smelled mostly of beer, a few stronger alcohols, wood, and that same confusing, mildly nauseating mix from the street outside.
"Anything interesting happen lately?" Jet asked as he started on his second beer. Trent shrugged at the question. Jorcy noticed he did that a lot, and started wondering about him.
"Depends on what you call interesting. There's a lot of Digimon leaving the continent because of the war, and there's some increased military activity to the north west, but that's really about it."
Jet grunted and continued working at his beer. Jorcy was still analysing Trent. He was about six foot two, a little heavier than skinny, looked very fit, sported close-cropped hair, obviously of English descent, and was wearing totally black clothes. Nothing overly suspicious.
Trent grinned at him. "That's a hard stare you're giving me, Jorcy."
Jorcy looked away, pretending not to hear. Trent walked off, going back to his notepad. Jorcy gave him a look out of the corner of his eye, then returned his attention to the discarded beer in front of him.
"You're not drinking," Jet said. It was more of a statement than an observation.
"Not thirsty."
Jet grabbed the beer out from under Jorcy at lightning speed. Jorcy let it go. His thoughts drifted to Edan and Kaida, and wondered how much success they were having. He would rather spend time looking for Flame than sitting in some tavern in the middle of a stinking, crowded city.
The door opened, bringing in with it a new blast of noise and odour, and a new patron. The door shut just as quickly, and the newcomer - a Greymon - stopped and looked around for a bit. Then he spotted his target, and moved towards it. Another patron, at the back of the tavern.
Jorcy watched him go, then heard Jet speak suddenly.
"Anything about that seem odd to you?"
"No, not really," Jorcy said.
"Trent," Jet called, and Trent looked over questioningly.
"That Greymon," Jet said, gesturing at the distant Digimon. "Regular?"
Trent followed his outstretched claw to the corner of the tavern, where the Greymon was having an intense and hushed conversation with someone across the table. The other Digimon was almost invisible, dressed in a black cloak, sitting in the shadows.
Trent shook his head. "Not a regular, but that's the third time he's been in today."
Jet nodded, then turned back to Jorcy.
"We're going to follow him out of here," he said in a lowered tone. Jorcy was confused, but nodded. Jet looked back at Trent.
"How much do we owe you?" he asked, gesturing at the empty beer glasses.
Trent shook his head. "Nothing."
Jet raised an eyebrow. "Why so?"
"Because I like you," he said with a smile.
Jet grunted again, but before he could say anything else, the Greymon stood and moved towards the door. The moment he reached it, Jet and Jorcy stood. They managed to catch the door before it closed, and disappeared onto the street.
Trent cleared the used beer glasses away, then returned to his little notepad. It was entirely blank, except for a black line across the bottom.
He scrawled on the line. Jet, Jorcy. Contact A-4, 15m. Then he drew a circle in the middle of the page, wrote "TX/s:GC1" in the middle, and drew a vertical line through it.
The ink faded off the page, and as if by magic, a new message appeared in the middle of the page, remaining for only a few seconds before fading away.
Message sent.