Okay, first up- I'm very sorry to keep you guys waiting, especially after such a good response from the first chapter, this was supposed to go up about a week ago (more than that now, but that's a long story). Unfortunately, I spend the majority of last week either trudging through snow to post various important documents (and stressing about said documents) or in bed recovering from a rather bad cold (caused, and then made worse, by stress).

Chapter 2

"What we're dealing with here, is a total lack of respect for the law."

Detective Inspector Seifer Almasy stood in the Parliament hall. Immediately before him sat the members of the Cabinet, and either side them sat the minor members of parliament. It was a gathering of the country's most powerful men, and he could barely contain his contempt of them. He was a front line policeman who had risen speedily through the ranks, so naturally there was no one better for the job of convincing these degenerates that there was a serious crime problem in the slums. The thing was, no one gave a shit.

He wasn't a fool. He knew that when his superior asked him, a 'humble' Detective, to speak here that the Cabinet would not be thrilled. The slums were the subject of discussion, after all, and they were a far cry away from the world of these men. The squeaky clean inner city couldn't care less about the poverty and crimes of the outer city, except as a means of boasting their own superiority complex or as a scapegoat for all of life's problems.

Not enough government money to spend? Stop giving cash to those lazy ghetto dwellers. Why should they get an easy ride through life when the rest of the city worked hard for their livelihoods?

Most of these people wanted the slums to vanish, their inhabitants along with them, and they didn't care how. He was sure that Field Marshal Drakeman was chief amongst these thinkers. A man over twice Seifer's age, Drakeman was the Minister of Defence, head of the military and the intelligence services. His greying hair was combed back while his uniform was pristine over his broad-yet-tall frame. He had all the baring of a man with power, and by God did he have it. He was one of, if not the most, powerful man in the Cabinet – and he didn't give a damn about what Seifer was saying. It was rumoured that the Field Marshal's personal desire was to bomb the slums and rebuild them from scratch. Before Seifer had even uttered a word this man had been against him, and it pissed Seifer off.

Even so, as Seifer continued his speech he felt the man's eyes on him. He may not care what the D.I. was saying, but his eyes never left Seifer, examining the man who stood before the Cabinet table. If the bastard spent less time watching him and more time listening, then he would know what Seifer was saying was important.

At least the other ministers had the decency to seem like they were listening. Besides the Minister of Media, who looked like he was one step away from pulling out a yo-yo to entertain himself. Seifer supposed that he was living proof that with enough charm, charisma and, of course, money, you could do anything. He seemed to care little about the matters being discussed before him, as if running the country bored him. He supposed that was one thing that the Minister of Media and Minister of Science and Development had in common. However, Seifer guessed that in the case of the Minister for Science, it was due more to him wanting to dedicate his time to a 'higher cause' rather than these 'insignificant' matters, or some such bullshit. The 'Reclusive Minister' never came to these meetings, so he gathered, preferring to lock himself away in his lab instead. Hell, Seifer didn't even know if the minister was a he. Yet despite all this, s/he was still one of the two most influential members in the cabinet. It was a sharp contrast to his own superior.

Seifer couldn't even look at Minister Wedge, the Minister of Justice, fearing that his disgust at the man would be reflected in his expression. It was Seifer's personal opinion that at some point during the minister's career, his spine had been ripped out, leaving him with the useless lump that sat before them today.

He focused on his speech, talking about how the gangs had power in the slums and the police had little, too little to do anything. It was a situation the police often found themselves in, in all ladders of society in Esthar, and the Parliament Hall and Council Chamber were no different. Here, the Minister of Justice held as little power as the police in the slums. Minister of Justice? A sharp bark of laughter rang round his head. The title was a joke, as hollow as the man himself. Minister Wedge may agree with Seifer and his intent may be good, but he had no power to sway the others and he wouldn't try.

"We need to be the defenders of the Law and Justice, not only in name, but in practice. The police-force need to regain power and respect," Seifer continued, starting the second half of his speech.

Realising that more was coming, Minister Martine's expression stiffened, his exasperation shoddily covered up. He tapped the end of his pen on the table, a beat a second.

"Corruption must be…" tap, tap, tap, "…brought to an end…" tap, tap, tap, "... the gangs need to lose their…" tap, tap, tap. The distracting noise caused Seifer to lose his place and he was forced to start his sentence again.

Minister Martine smirked and sped up his tapping. As Seifer continued, so did the beat of the pen, until the D.I. wanted to grab the instrument and shove it down the man's throat. The minister's assistant looked up at her boss. She was an attractive brunette who probably had a brain to match her looks. It was one of the many perks of Martine's department (Education); he had the first pick of any particularly promising youths. He was alerted to gifted students early, keeping tabs on them and enrolling them in the best schools and universities on scholarships. Afterwards, he employed all of those he'd seduced over to his department. He employed more than his fair share of bright young graduates, most of whom were rumoured to be attractive young women. Of course, not all were employed in his department; after all, strong allies were just as useful as loyal subjects. The Minister of Health was living proof of this.

When Minister Martine started to stop tapping whenever Seifer stopped talking and renew it every time he opened his mouth, the detective thought he would snap. He was saved though. The pen was roughly grabbed from Martine's hand by the Minister of Health, who sat next to him. Martine shot his friend an irritated look that lacked any really bite. Minister Lloyd in turn ignored it, addressing Seifer.

"Please continue, Detective Inspector Almasy."

Seifer nodded his thanks before he continued, now focusing his attention on the Minister for Health in the hopes that he had found a supporter. The man was known to be good natured and friendly, so maybe Seifer was in luck. This minister was different to the others. He hadn't been born into the wealth that the others had, he'd worked his way up from the lower-middle class. While it didn't sound like much, it was an achievement only made by one other person since the Great War. Lloyd had been spurred on to help others by the horrific burn that marred the left side of his face.

However, looking at the man now, Seifer knew his hope was useless. The man didn't understand the point. Yes, Minister Lloyd may have wanted to uphold discipline, but he felt like the slum dwellers wanted to be there, to live in poverty as they did. If the minister could work his way to the top, then why couldn't they work their way out of their own poor circumstances? They must be lazy and laziness must not be rewarded. It brought Seifer straight back to square one.

He continued regardless, but the more he spoke, the more he realised that no one cared. They just wanted him to finish so they could continue with their white-washed lives that covered up their scandals and corruption, and it made his blood boil. He may as well be talking to a class of five year-olds. At least they would be more honest about their boredom.

Maybe he was being a little too harsh. Out of the seven ministers who had bothered to turn up, only one showed any interest in what he was saying, the Minister of Business and Finance. Of course, one out of seven was a pathetic result. Besides, Seifer didn't know anything about the man, except from what he saw before him; a man who, despite being in his forties, didn't have a single grey hair amongst the dark brown. He wasn't ugly, but he'd clearly never been a looker. Oh, and there was the small fact that he owned forty-one percent of all the city's businesses. Some were, strictly speaking, government owned which he had inherited with the job, while others he had bought or started with his own money.

Seifer finished and looked up at the members of the Cabinet, the looks of boredom, polite attentiveness and their total lack of concern. He sensed their mood carried on throughout the minor politicians in Parliament Hall. No one said anything. Seifer grit his teeth. How could they not care? He just told them that they were ignoring the slums, their own people, because of the lack of real power the police had. Were they deaf, stupid or did they simply not care what happened outside of their own little bubble?

"The Police need help to fight crime," Seifer tried again. "We need more power. We need to weed out the corrupt." Once more his comment received no response and he couldn't help his anger boiling over. His face twisted into an ugly scowl and the frustration was clear in his voice. "The slums are falling apart, a breeding ground for open conflict, human trafficking, arms dealing, illegal prostitution, not to mention countless other instances of law flaunting. The slums can't improve without addressing these problems. Don't you care?"

"Thank you, Mr Almasy, for bringing up these issues," Minister Lloyd broke in smoothly. "We will take your words into account."

The minister's dismissal only fuelled his anger, but he caught himself before he started hurling random abuse at the ministers. Hot headed words, while they would make him feel better, would only hurt his position and would likely land him on probation few months for assaulting government officials. Instead he clenched his fists and took a deep breath. He should have just thanked the men for their time and left, but instead he couldn't stop himself from having the last word.

"The problems in the slums are only the surface of a deeper problem. It doesn't begin and end in the outer city, it spills into the suburbs, and the centre of Esthar itself. It's only a matter of time before these deeper problems begin showing themselves in your own backyard." Turning sharply, he marched out of the hall.

Seifer stormed through the hallway, mentally ranting and raving, every now and then muttering a curse. Not two minutes down the corridor Seifer spun around and kicked out at an innocent waste bin. The bastards. The self-absorbed, narrow minded, arrogant, twisted bas –

"Detective Inspector Almasy, can we talk?"

Seifer whipped around to see the last person he'd ever expected to see standing before him. He managed to hide his surprise under a mask of scorn. The other man merely smiled.

"I have a proposition for you."

(&)

Squall had barely left the building when a sleek black car screeched to a stop at the end of the alley way.

"Selphie's getaway service," the driver chirped happily out of her window as they approached. "If I don't get you away, then you'll never need to make another getaway again."

By the time she'd finished her sentence Irvine had already slid across the bonnet and was slipping into the front passenger seat.

"Good timing, Sefie."

Squall let the android girl's legs drop to the ground, freeing his hand to open the back door. As soon as he slipped both himself and his burden inside, the car sped forward.

"Flash car, where'd you get it?" Irvine asked, his tone pleasantly conversational as he twisted around to look out the back window.

"Edge of the slums, it was all lonely by itself so I thought I'd give it some company."

"It's a little noticeable," Squall grunted, as he rearranged the girl in the seat behind Irvine and tired to strap her in. It wasn't the easiest job in the world, not when she kept slumping forward.

"Not down Whore's Alley it ain't. Besides, it's not my plate."

Sirens suddenly started blaring from behind and Irvine cursed.

"Damn pigs. Your time to shine, Sefie."

Squall looked up in time to see Selphie grinning as she slammed down on the accelerator. Irvine reached for his gun and opened his window fully, ready to fire at their pursuer. Beside him, Squall finally heard the 'click' of the safety belt catch. He slid across the back seat to his own side, and drew one of his Twin Punishment handguns. He was just thankful that they were only running from the police. Whilst the Force had better resources than the gangs, they carried little fire power: one simple hand gun, and maybe a taser if they were the paranoid sort. The gangs carried anything from knives to machine guns, and they used them liberally. The police hated wasting their limited ammo with mindless shooting; they preferred to aim to kill or disable.

Selphie made a sharp turn to the left and Squall had to frantically clutch onto the door handle to stop himself from flying into the girl … android … cyborg … whatever he shared the back seat with. She wasn't so lucky. Being unconscious she had no way of stopping herself from forcefully hitting the door; her head hit the window with a crack. Ignoring her, Squall turned to look out the rear window.

"They have a friend," he announced.

The police cars behind them sped up, trying to close the gap.

"Hold on," Selphie grinned.

She swerved, overtaking the car in front of them, and made a sharp turn down a road that would take them out of the smaller residential streets. The car they'd overtaken honked its horn loudly, while the first police car over shot the turn.

"We've lost one," Squall informed their driver.

"He'll be back," she said. "He'll go down the next turn and come up at the crossroad."

"Let's see if I can get rid of this one," Irvine said as he pulled himself out of the passenger window. Sitting himself firmly on the frame and holding onto the handle above the window, he let off a shot towards their pursuers, grazing the paintwork. Squall had seen his friend do this a couple of times and every time he had to wonder how the gunman didn't just going flying across the road, especially considering the way Selphie often drove.

His thoughts were brought back to the interior of the car when the girl next to him stirred. His eyes shot to her. Now she chose to wake up? He supposed as long as she didn't freak out it would be fine. However, he really didn't have time to sit around and explain the situation to her to keep her calm.

"Looks like the princess is waking up," Selphie's voice drifted from the front seat.

Squall didn't bother replying. He watched as the girl blinked, her eyes coming into focus as she looked up at him. She met his eyes and he noted the lack of fear in them. No, she wasn't scared, she was just very confused. He supposed that was to be expected, she'd just woken up after … however long she'd been under for. He doubted she understood enough of her situation to be scared. He vaguely registered Irvine giving a whoop; his friend must have hit the police car, but his mind was trying to work out if he should say something to the girl. What did you say to someone in a situation like this? If it was one of his gang he would have shoved a gun their way and told them they had dogs on their tail. He couldn't really do that with her, she might turn on them.

She swallowed. "What – "

Selphie suddenly turned left and the girl was slammed into the door again before she could finish speaking. She gave a small yelp.

"Sorry," Selphie threw back.

There was the sound of a gunshot behind them and Irvine dropped back into his seat.

"Bastards," he said indignantly. "They tried to shoot me!"

Squall tore his eyes away from the girl who was looking around, wide-eyed.

"How dare they return fire," was his dry reply.

"I know, right? I might complain."

"I'm sure they'll love that," he muttered before saying, "I thought you got 'em?"

"Yeah, but their friend joined us again."

Squall frowned, he hadn't noticed that. "When?"

"Passed 'em at the crossroad, we just got ahead of them," Selphie answered for her lover. "Just after princess back there woke up."

"She's awake?" Irvine twisted round in his seat to look at the passenger. "She is." His grin faded. "She looks kinda … confused."

"She's just woken up in a speeding car," Squall pointed out, looking back out the window at their followers.

"So have I."

"But you passed out after drinking too much."

"Yeah, but I still shot the car behind us."

"No, you didn't."

"Sure I did. Right Sefie?"

"It was kinda a dustbin."

"It was ...? Damn, I must've been wasted."

The car pulled onto the largest motorway in the slums: the Ring Road. It also marked the boundary between the rich inner city and the poor outer city. Selphie weaved in and out of the cars while the police followed, sirens blaring out behind them.

"They're still following us." It was obvious; Squall didn't really need to tell them.

"Just a bit longer … here!"

The freeway dividers along the centre of the dual carriageway disappeared. Selphie grinned madly. She turned the wheel sharply, slamming on the breaks and spinning the car around until it skidded into a U-turn. Irvine laughed and he held himself in place while Squall resisted the urge to close his eyes and curse whilst praying they wouldn't be hit. The girl beside him gave a strangled cry that caught in her throat. Groaning she screwed her eyes closed.

The car had barely straightened on the other side of the motorway when their insane wheelwoman hit the accelerator, hurling them forward again. Squall looked around to see how the fuzz handled the turn, but lacking the ease and skill that Selphie possessed, their car skidded across the road only to slam into another vehicle at high speed. There was a deafening crash as the windows smashed and the metal bent out of shape. The force of the blow sent the police car spinning into the end of the barrier. Squall turned round when another car crashed into the back of the second. As he turned towards the front he saw their tag-along was bent over, hands over her head. He could just about glimpse her lips moving, but what she was muttering was beyond him.

In the driver's seat, Selphie whooped and punched the air (as much as she could in the car's small interior) with a fist.

"Just make sure you don't pick up any more," Squall stated.

She looked at him through the rear-view mirror. "Sure thing, Mr Boss Man."

She steered them off the Ring Road and back into the slums. She didn't slow down properly till she was off the main road and confident they weren't being followed.

"You guys 'k back there?"

The strange girl beside Squall straightened, her eyes distant and glossy. She hugged herself, drawing the coat tighter around her body. All things considered, she wasn't dealing with this too badly. Though he suspected at least a small part of it was due to the shock she must be in. She'd woken up trapped in a car that was speeding dangerously through the outer city, with three strangers and only a coat to protect her dignity. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant awakening that she could have asked for.

Squall turned back to Selphie. "Drop us off at Whore's Alley. I'll take her back by foot while you get rid of the car."

"It'll be hard to say goodbye," she sighed. "She's such a sexy beast. Oh well, 'least I can take what I want; my baby needs some new parts."

"Take too long and you'll get caught," Squall cautioned. It was his way of saying 'be careful'.

"Don't worry, I know exactly what I want."

Squall didn't bother replying.

Selphie drove them deeper into the slums, coming to a stop at the end of a lively road. Lively it may have been, but the occupants mostly ignored them, more concerned with their own dealings and interactions. Squall quickly opened his door, telling his charge to get out. However, by the time he stepped round the car and onto the pavement, all he saw was trash. He opened the door and frowned down at her.

"Come on."

She didn't move. Her eyes were still glassy as she looked blankly into thin air. She wasn't really with them anymore, he realised. A sharp, frustrated breath escaped him. It was just one thing after another tonight; he was really starting to wish he hadn't agreed to this. He leaned over and released the catch on her belt. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he started to manoeuvre her out of the car. Then she moved. He felt her fingers clutch the material of his T-shirt, brushing against his shoulder through the material. It startled him, but he continued to ease her out, hoping that she would take the hint. He felt a wave of relief when her legs moved of their own accord, her feet connecting with the pavement. Her slow and clumsy movements implied that she moved unconsciously, her semi-vacant expression supporting his suspicion, but a small light hinted at stirrings of awareness.

Squall pulled her up into a standing position and she slumped, one hand desperately grasping his shirt, the other holding her coat shut, but she remained on her feet.

Turning to his friends inside the car, Squall said, "I'll see you soon," and slammed the door shut.

The car took off and Squall made his way down the street, the woman stumbling beside him. For all the world, they looked just like a guy escorting his very drunk girlfriend home.

This chapter had another first from me; I've never really written a chase scene before (not a proper one), so I'd love to hear if it worked and what need improvement. Thank you to everyone how reviewed the last chapter, sorry if I didn't reply to your review, but last week I really wasn't feeling up to doing much typing.

Oh, forgot to mention last chapter, but the title of the fic is taken from the 'Prodigy' song by the same name. This chapter also contains one of the few lines from the song.