Force applied by a Drive user in our world does not equally bear the outcome of its acceleration. Henceforth, mass is irrelevant.
— Master Espoir's Second Law of Drive
On May 16, 3073, Abbas Avdol was born to Darius and Zahra Avdol. He spent his childhood living with his parents and grandfather on Laylom Avenue, a street within the same district that Léon and Tenmei lived. His neighborhood was much like the others in Skid Row when it came to appearance: a slum, with dilapidated apartment blocks, ignored by the city. Shabby houses were closely knit all along Laylom, leaving mere inches between them. The scent of burning plastic in empty drums permeated the air every night, which was especially noticeable during the autumn and winter months.
Avdol recalled a time in his childhood when blaring diesel trains passed by the front of his house. Worryingly crawling in beside his mother, clutching onto her long, dark hair, the hum of her voice chased his fear of the noise away. And in no time at all, he drifted off into a deep slumber. Nestling into her warm embrace, hearing the rumble of her hums with his ear pressed against her chest, and how could he forget her tucking him in? He'd give anything to feel comfort like that again.
Anything.
Just months before his birth, Avdol's parents had traveled from Egypt to Paris to escape the vagaries of war. World War 4 was still ongoing, and the damage to infrastructure in Cairo had taken a massive toll on the population. Inflation was at an all-time high, people were trapped in their homes, forced to endure the sleepless nights. Worse yet were the air strike missiles. It wasn't long before the SNA — also known as the Seven Nation Army — became involved, fending off enemy troops with the latest advancement in modern technology.
Avdol's father had worked as a police officer until they laid him off and, within a few weeks, gave notice that they were finally letting him go. For compensation, a measly 5000 currents had been deposited into his account.
5000 was nowhere near enough to afford a new home. Nowhere near enough to afford food that would last more than a week. Given the state of the economy, and prices skyrocketing due to the war, his options were slim. Darius stressed and languished over what to do next for days. Knowing he had nothing else to fall back on, knowing he couldn't raise his son in or near a war zone, he was driven to make a decision: to pack whatever his family could carry and make off to the Imperial Capital by boat.
The escape from Egypt fostered hope in him once again. He had a chance to start again. A clean slate. Upon arriving in Marseille, Darius applied for asylum. He and his family were eventually relocated to Paris, where he could begin receiving his benefits and look for a new place to live for the time being. Yet thoughts of Cairo still haunted him day and night. Sure, they were far from the terror back home… but did they really leave it behind?
In Skid Row, terror lurked behind every corner. The kind that involved muggings, murders, burglaries, drug dealing – a list too long to rattle off in a single breath. Most notably, Darius had bore witness to numerous hate crimes against the mechanical ones bearing an uncannily passable human appearance, and the lesser A.I.s most of all. The same issue that was prevalent in Cairo was no different in the Imperial City; if anything, it was worse. Seeing the officials of Skid Row turn a blind eye to the rampant crime, and the local gangs take advantage of the innocent, his hatred for the city deepened.
On the east end of the business district, just after using what little currents he had to get a few things, Darius happened to walk onto the scene of Skid Row Police booking a criminal for possession of an illegal item. Fashioned to the criminal's belt, resting just over his hip, was an outdated cash register. It was a lightweight U-Drive reader with the top half in the shape of a circle, and the bottom in the shape of an uneven trapezoid. There was a screen that projected from a small cube in the center of the round piece. Like most technology in that era, the screen projection was tangible and interactive through touch. Just below the cube was a card slot for U-Drives.
Although the registers were manufactured by the Key Karimba Corporation, and as such earned the name karimbas, everyone in Skid Row just referred to them as keek readers or KRs.
While these devices were in fact useful, the stigma surrounding them gave small businesses a bad name. Hackers had made it possible to make illegal transactions that couldn't be tracked by the government, earning it its bad rep. Honest people, whose only means of income were to run the local shops, almost always ended up going out of business due to the lack of trust in their consumers. Criminals all throughout Skid Row were using them now for their own nefarious reasons.
Darius knew exactly what was going on. He'd arrested people for possessing KRs back in Egypt on numerous occasions. It was in that moment, as he watched the officers forcefully push the criminal into the backseat of the transport, the sudden urge to rejoin the force took over. He'd seen more than his fair share already within the short amount of time he'd been in Skid Row. Between the unfair treatment of A.I.s, theft, and gang presence, he'd had enough. It was time to do something about it.
The prefect of Skid Row law enforcement skimmed through the information Darius provided them, eyeing him occasionally as he went over the details. "Says here you're a refugee." the prefect's weary eyes glanced up at him.
"Yes," Darius answered, "I applied for asylum in Marseille some days ago."
"I see. You're a citizen of one of the Seven Nations, so that's one thing going for you…"
As Darius sat there anxiously in front of the prefect's desk, he could hear the faint murmur of people talking just outside of the office. The prefect scrolled through the screens, his brows perking at something in particular. "Egyptian National Police, huh? So you've also got experience under your belt. Nice."
Darius shifted in his chair. "Does this mean I qualify?"
The prefect hummed, a moment of thought filling his face. Dismissing the screens in front of his face, he sighed and entwined his fingers over his desk. His tongue clicked before he said, "I'm gonna be very honest with you…" Those words made Darius more nervous than he already was. "...you seem like a really nice person, but without citizenship, there isn't much I can do for you here. As I said before, asylees from the Seven Nations have a better chance at finding work than say, uhhh… immigrants. But this is the Imperial Capital of the world, pal. France won't hire someone without citizenship, ya get me? Even if you are from one of the Seven Nations, you still need to prove you're a citizen of France before we can hire you on the force."
Darius scoffed, baffled at being given "no" for an answer. "What are you saying? That you won't hire me?"
"I'm saying if you're serious about joining law enforcement, you had best apply for citizenship first. Do that, then we'll talk." He shut off the device and slid it across the desk, concluding the interview.
Darius's heart dropped and he clenched his fists. "But…! That could take…?!" He slammed his hand down on top of the prefect's desk, standing up and leaning towards him. "You don't understand! I need this job! Please! My wife's giving birth soon. I need the money now! "
"Heh! You and a million others." The weary-eyed officer pushes the device with Darius's information on it forward a little more, his gaze exhausted and expectant. "Welcome to Skid Row."
Darius bit back the need to argue with the prefect. He snatched the device off of the desk and stormed out of the office with the door slamming shut behind him. As he stormed back to the lobby, he passed by a small group of officers that were standing around talking.
"Did you hear about what happened to Balthier?"
"No, what?" A few keywords in the conversation grasped a hold of Darius's attention as he walked by.
"You know they laid him off weeks ago, but just yesterday they fired him."
"...the fuck?! Why?"
"Why do you think? Goddamned government replaced him with one of those scraps."
PANG
Darius froze in his tracks, eyes widened. Why did that sound so familiar?
Realization settles in his chest like a hot coal. So, this is what the Egyptian National Police did to him? All this time, he wasn't laid off due to the poor state of the economy, he was fired and replaced with an A.I.! Those assholes! If he didn't need the money so badly, he'd have told them they could shove the 5000 U's up their ass.
Darius seethed. Rage boiled from the depths of his chest until he could feel it climbing higher and higher, ready to explode. Fifteen years on the force just to be treated like this?! Like garbage?!
As he left the prefecture and stomped through city block after city block, a thousand grievances swarmed his mind. There wasn't enough money. Applying for citizenship was no doubt going to be costly, let alone a daunting process. He couldn't wait that long. He needed the money now . He needed to get his family out of the slums now, not later. He couldn't have his wife give birth to their first child in a neighborhood rife with violence and drug trafficking.
The rage became too much to handle. Darius descended with meteoric fury upon a pair of trash cans in an alleyway, kicking them over, before slamming his fists into the claustrophobic brick walls again and again until his knuckles were bloody. Each punch was punctuated by a wordless scream, a primal cry burning out into the sky.
And then, when his knuckes ached so badly that he couldn't punch any more, he pressed his back to the opposite wall and slid down, tears falling unbidden from his eyes. "This? This is the best I could do?" he lamented between strained cries. His sobs filled the alley as a car drove by, its headlights briefly illuminating his body as it passed, yet the driver did not seem to pay him any mind. He was alone in his sorrow, completely and utterly.
Somewhere in the depths of the alleyway, Darius heard the sound of a kindred spirit. Strained wailing belonging to what Darius assumed to be a man echoed off the walls, followed by hissing, secretive voices like snakes hidden in tall grass.
Rising unsteadily to his feet and skulking through the shadows, Darius listened. The man crying out in pain was spouting profanity. Part of Darius told him this wasn't any of his business — to turn back and go home to his wife and father. Instead, he caved to the urge driving him forward. The thoughts telling him he may not be an officer, but he could still help an innocent person. That maybe he stumbled into the right place at the right time. If someone truly was in danger, he'd never forgive himself for turning a blind eye.
"Hidin' like a dirty rat won't work for you anymore, Pascal." came a young baritone voice.
"Fuck! God, Angus, what've you done to my leg?!"
Angus's shoes clomped along the alley. It was clear in all that darkness that he was wearing a hat which had peculiar rods poking up along the brim. Darius squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of who was interrogating the one called Pascal. The only light source was a bright, neon blue pouring in from the street around the corner where the man was standing. Darius's heart throbbed in his ears as he continued to eavesdrop. Shadows shrouded the faces standing over Pascal, as he whimpered and dragged himself across the pavement.
"You know, I'm getting really sick of your bullshit." Angus spat. "Who you been talkin' to? Was it one of your former execs? Well?! Who?!"
"I haven't talked to anybody!"
Standing over him, Angus appeared to be pulling something out of his coat. Darkness shrouded what he held, until a screen flickered on, illuminating Angus's fair-complected face in the dark alley. "That's not what your recent call logs are telling me," Angus snarled, and Pascal froze beneath his icy gaze. "Or the personal messages you've been sending back and forth."
Pascal opened his mouth to speak, but Angus cut him off. "Oh, yeaaah! You thought you could delete everything, and I wouldn't find out. You forget one important detail about me… I learned from the best. You don't need to be a hacker to access this kind of information."
"'If you can get me out of this hell,'" Angus quoted mockingly, "'I promise to make it worth your while. These gangbangers are loaded — Jesus Christ, it's fucking insane! I can get you the money asap, but I need you to vouch for me.'" As he took a breath between sentences, Pascal's pants scuffed along the ground as he scooted away.
"And then this, whoever he is, says: 'how much we talkin'? You say: 750k. I give you a percentage, you get me back to the capital and I can clear my name. I was thinking we can frame Devereux. Hell, providing substantial evidence to the courts is a bitch nowadays with A.I. making replicants of visual and audio content, right? They can't provide anything that confirms I'm guilty for fraud. If anything, they just arrested me on a whim because they couldn't prove it. Don't worry, we'll figure this out. So what you say? If you're in, I'll gladly go 50/50.'"
"Wow…" Angus said, the mere sound of his indignance making Pascal wince. "...you're pretty fucking stupid, huh? If it's really so hard to convince the court with pictures or videos, then how is framing someone else gonna work in your favor?"
"Oh, fuck off!"
"Listen, you were imprisoned for embezzling funds from charity; if not for the prison break you took part in, I wouldn't have taken you in and kept the cops off your ass! After all I've done for you, this is the thanks you show me?! You of all people deserve to rot in the gutter!"
Angus held his hand out, and in an instant, something appeared in his palm. Its chassis was large and boxy, but it looked undeniably like a gun, with a handle and a trigger. The closer Darius looked, the more it seemed like Angus was holding… a nail-gun?
A sharp hiss of air echoed down the alleyway, and Pascal stiffened, yelling in pain. A gasp caught at the back of Darius's throat. Thinking to himself that his sharp breathing might be heard, he threw a hand over his mouth, his blood stilling like ice.
"Fuck!" Pascal's voice ricocheted off of the walls around him. "Nnnnnghh!" With one hand, he felt around for where the nail had just shot into his leg, only to feel… nothing, not even a hole. "The fuck…?! There's nothing there!" He struggled to lift his legs, grunting in the process before shouting, "Why the hell can't I move?!" Try as he may, his legs stayed rooted to the ground.
"I wouldn't try to move your legs so much if I were you," Angus warned, "unless you wanna see what happens when the human body moves at speeds it just wasn't built for. You catch my drift?" In spite of Pascal not being able to see the nails, Angus could see them perfectly clear.
From the darkness, Angus's accomplices emerged. The first is a Japanese woman with wavy, waist length, cherry red hair. The inner corners of her brows were upturned, and her lips settled into a frown. She kicked over an autoclaved cement block, making a heavy, rock-on-rock thonk just inches away from Pascal's feet. Atop her head, sat a pair of transparent, neon pink VR glasses. A pastel green bustier drew attention to her lithe body. Matching that was her lipstick, as well as a pair of hotpants with torn, wine red-tinted, nylon stockings. Silvery, nearly white hoops dangled from her ears. The shoes were much more classy — a pair of pastel green heels with a strap around the ankle. Around her neck, she wore a plaid magenta scarf that hung down to her waist.
Alerted by the block she'd kicked over, Pascal's eyes widened. Darius's mouth parted and he began to inch closer to the alley's exit behind him, his baser instincts yelling at him not to stick around. They couldn't really be planning what he thought they were, were they? The man emerging from the darkness with a sledgehammer held white-knuckled in his hands dispelled any of Darius's doubts.
Pascal's voice quavered. "What're you gonna do with that?" No response. "Quaid! Answer me, goddamn you!" Douglance Quaid, the muscles of the group. A loose, sky-blue tie with rhombi and triangles hung around his neck. With that, there were also a variety of chain necklaces varying in silver and gold. Large rings looped through his earlobes, and connected to them were dangling chains attached to blue, rhombic hexahedrons. Thick, smudged, black eyeliner lined his lids, matching the peaked cap he wore on his head. It had pointed rivets along the brim, a chain going over that, and an emblem in the shape of a cog and diamond. The shirt he wore clung to his body, defining every muscle. It was sleeveless and solid black with the collar trailing up his neck.
Darius's breath quickened. He'd seen many terrible things back when he was working as a police officer, but this? This was on a whole other level of fucked up. He was beginning to get the feeling he'd better leave, and fast, but fear kept his feet glued to the concrete. Shit, shit, shit! These ahmaqân are insane!
Angus said nothing. All he did was stand there and look down on the pathetic excuse of a man beneath him. Silence settled over the alley as Darius quietened his breathing in hopes they wouldn't learn of his presence. Pascal glowered up at his now-former gang boss.
Angus narrowed his gaze, kneeling down to meet Pascal at eye level. "Ain't it ironic that I didn't put you through initiation after those inmates joined? I bought your bullshit sob-story. Here I was thinking I should take pity on you. Boy, was I wrong… we were just another rung in your ladder. It's alright though. I'm a handyman, I can fix that real easy."
"What," Pascal asked unsteadily, "you gonna kill me?"
Leaning forward, Angus spoke quietly into Pascal's ear. Darius struggled to make out what he was saying, furrowing his brows as he stood against the wall listening. "I don't kill my boys," Angus whispered, "not even you."
Relief washed over Pascal's face, but his eyes went wide as the sledgehammer began to drag over the asphalt towards him, scraping harshly against the pavement. Quaid walked over, lifting it and clenching his gloved, black fingers around the handle. Pascal's breathing grew rapid as he watched him, then glanced back at the block near his feet. "No…!" With a fearful expression, he looked up at Angus, who got up to stand, turning his back to Pascal. "You can't do this to me!"
Dainty hands with polished, neon-purple fingernails reached out and tenderly grabbed him by the arm; he looked over to see the red-haired woman giving him a pitiful look. Sympathy was brimming from her purple eyes, spilling over in the form of tears. "Angus, please," she begged, "just this once?"
He frowned and shook his head. "Mariya —"
"Please!" she cried, her sudden outburst echoing off the walls. "Pascal is a horrible person, yes, but don't be worse! I understand what you're doing, but there has to be another way! Do what you must, but please don't make me be a part of this!"
He couldn't quite look her in the eye, so he looked elsewhere: to Quaid, who met his gaze. The look in his eyes was sharp, piercing. Demanding Angus to consider her request.
Stray, auburn strands of Angus's braid blew on a soft breeze, and he turned his gaze skyward, unable to look at either Quaid or Mariya. Pascal, the silver-haired traitor, shifted his eyes back and forth, anticipating the worst. From the shadows, Darius watched, feeling awful for the woman that was having to endure his demands despite not wanting to go through with any of it.
And then, finally, Angus looked to Mariya. He caressed her face, his voice whispering something in her ear that was hard to make out. All Darius knew was that her crying was getting louder.
Angus eased her down onto her knees in front of the block, and guided her hands towards it. He was still saying something to her, though in a low, soft voice. With Angus's rough, large hands over hers, Mariya slid the block in place, and brought both of Pascal's ankles against it. "I'm sorry…" she murmured.
Angus stood up behind her. Two nails zipped past her head, splitting the wind and disturbing her hair as they shot past. One in each arm to ensure that Pascal didn't fight them. Losing the feeling in both of his arms, and having no control over them, Pascal fell on his back, his immobilized limbs unable to keep him upright.
"It won't matter what you do to me," Pascal jeered rebelliously, "the transaction's already been made. All your fucking money is mine! Get fucked, all of you!"
Nobody seemed to be buying it for one second. "Quaid." Angus deadpanned. That was the signal. The time for judgment was now. Mariya scurried away over to a wall where she crouched down in front of it with her hands clasped over her ears, sobbing. All Quaid had to do now was deliver the two blows that would cripple the rotten bastard on the ground. His grip tightened around the hammer and he raised it back. Inhaling through his nose, he hesitated. Then, his grip around the hammer loosened, and he let out the breath he was holding. The sledgehammer clattered to the ground, and Quaid looked at Angus.
"I can't do it, man…" he whispered. "This is crazy."
"You'll do it," Angus demanded, "or I will."
Quaid huffed and stepped away, pacing and shaking his head. "Come on, Angus. This is going too far! Why don't we just —"
Angus closed the distance between him and Quaid, jabbing a finger into the man's chest. "Because we need to teach people in this city what happens when they fuck with us!"
He walked over to the sledgehammer, scooping it up off the ground. "You wanted to be a part of this gang." He shoved the hammer forcefully into Quaid's chest, a scowl seared onto his face. "Now be a part of it."
So, this Angus is the true culprit. Darius turned his head from peeping around the corner and shut his eyes tightly, awaiting the imminent terror to unfold as Quaid returned to Pascal's side, his expression equal parts uncertain and shocked.
"On another note, Pascal," Angus remarked. You're forgetting about one important thing."
Pascal's smug expression waned. "What?"
"It doesn't matter where you go. In Quiet Riot territories, I've got eyes and ears all over. It's how I found out about what you were doing behind my back. Your biggest mistake was that you underestimated the people on this side of the capital. While you were sleeping, I hijacked your cracked U-drive and installed a virus."
A fearful silence clung to the air around them. "That's right," Angus said, "every last current you planned to spend — no matter where your money was meant to go — it's all right here." He swished his coat away from his hip, revealing the KR attached to his array of belts. "The virus redirected any money you've been spending to me. You can't fucking lie there and convince me of bullshit when I have the history recorded on my hip. You haven't made a full 750k transaction. Nice bluff, but I know better. Those rungs in your ladder aren't looking too stable now, are they?"
Pascal stared up at Angus in utter disbelief. "You…! You god damned —" He continued on, spitting profanity at them, slurs, hateful remarks, the whole nine yards. Angus appeared unfazed by his tantrum, his eyes narrowed and cold. He gave Quaid the go-ahead with a nod, but doubt kept him planted. Taking too long to lift the hammer, Angus stormed over, growling and snatching it from him.
"Fuck it, I'll do it myself."
"Angus!" Quaid reached out to stop him, when his boss spun on his heel and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close.
"You need to grow up and stop being such a pussy!" Angus spat directly in Quaid's face. "Move out of the way." He shoved him aside with a growl and stormed toward Pascal, reeling the sledgehammer back for a swing.
"Oh God, Angus!" Pascal cried, his faux bravado failing in the face of the encroaching sledgehammer. "Wait! WaitwaitwaitWAITWAITWAIT!"
WHAM
Darius winced, unintentionally holding a breath as he tightly clutched his dark blue jacket.
WHAM
He waited to hear the screams, yet oddly enough, there were none. A dead silence swept through the backstreets, creating an eerie atmosphere all around Darius. I don't understand. Shouldn't he be screaming? Quietly, he inched closer back to the corner and took a peek. Everything was silent save for Pascal's erratic breathing.
Darius was shocked to see the sledgehammer buried in the concrete next to Pascal, the pinned man untouched by either swing.
Pascal cracked one eye open. "Holy fuck… holy FUCK!" He looked up at Angus, whose eyes were shadowed by darkness, and smirked. "Man, you really had me going there. Y-You're all talk, aren'tcha?! What's the matter, Angus? Getting cold feet? Fucking hypocrite! HAHA! You'll call Quaid a pussy, but look who's talking!"
Angus's face twisted into a disgusted sneer. "Shut him up." he ordered Quaid. He turned his back on them and made his way over to Mariya who was still crouched by the wall, trembling and weeping quietly. The gentle touch of his hand on her shoulder made her flinch. Kneeling beside her, Angus set the hammer down and consoled her by rubbing her back as he took her by the hand.
"Come on," he spoke softly, running his thumb over her knuckles, "when this is over, I'll make it up to you. I promise." She sniffed, reciprocating as he helped her up. Bright, turquoise lights glowed near the alleyway, coloring the outline of their bodies. Darius's eyes shifted back and forth between them and Quaid.
"You just wait, motherfuckers!" Pascal spat. "When I get back to the capital, I'm gonna —" Thin, cobalt blue wire with a sharpened point manifested itself from where Quaid was kneeling and skewered Pascal's lips, weaving them shut.
Quaid sighed, tiring of listening to his loud, muffled protests. "Sure you will, pal."
What the…?! Dammit, I can barely see, but…how did he silence him without even moving? Darius redirected his attention back to Angus and Mariya, squinting — trying to figure them out. Why are they just standing there? What the hell is going on?! Angus frowned, bending down and retrieving the sledgehammer.
He stepped up to the block between Pascal's ankles, legs slightly parted as he rested the head of the sledgehammer over it and propped one arm over the handle. "Contrary to popular belief, joining a gang ain't as simple as signing a contract. Recruiting members comes with risks; risks I just can't take. By letting you join, I put people in my community at risk. It may not seem like it to you, but to us, people's lives around here matter a whole hell of a lot. We don't just go shooting up a place because we can. Granted we're a bunch of assholes that manage to fuck shit up all the time, but we do it for a reason. If you haven't noticed the economy by now, you're even stupider than I thought."
He spit on the ground. "But what can I expect… you're from the capital. You don't care about the economy any more than the Empereur does. You're all just a load of self-absorbed pricks, gushing over your robots and gizmos because they make you money. You don't have to pay the lesser A.I.s, because they're not human enough for you. At the end of the day, it's what's in your bank accounts that matters." Angus paused briefly. "Pop quiz: Do you know what happens to gang members that try to leave?"
Pascal grunted, taking heavy breaths through his nose.
"We beat the ever-loving shit out of them. But congratulations, Pascal! You're not like the other girls, nahhh, you're something special. Which means you get the special treatment! See, you tried to hit me where it hurts." Angus laughed, sending a chill up Darius's spine. His tone then darkened. "Are you really that stupid? People rely on me to pay them so that they can afford to survive. Skid Row's in pain, Pascal. A lot of it… and now, you're going to know what that feels like." Angus motioned for Quaid and Mariya to come over.
They exchanged a look of dread, having no choice but to comply. Mariya knelt down by one leg, then Quaid by the other. Their hands each reached out and took a hold of the nails in Pascal's legs, filling him with bemusement as to what they were doing. To him there was nothing there. They were gripping nothing.
"After tonight," Angus continued, "I want you to remember every ounce of pain shooting through your body. Because next time I catch you on the streets, I won't just bludgeon your legs." He chuckled. "Noooo. But rest assured, I won't kill you…" A dreaded silence filled the alleyway, fomenting the fear that both Darius and Pascal were experiencing. "...but you'll wish I had."
All it took was one single motion. The snap of a finger. Mariya and Quaid simultaneously removed Angus's nails from Pascal's legs. His eyes shot wide open, and so did his legs. Both tibias and fibulas in each leg shattered, sending a horrific shockwave of pain throughout Pascal's body. The blood-curdling scream echoing from his lungs sent Darius into panic mode as he tripped over himself and high-tailed it out of there. Looking over his shoulder as he ran, he bumped into a trash can, sending him hurtling face-first onto the pavement.
As he fell, the device with his information tumbled out of his jacket and skidded across the pavement, but he hardly seemed to notice as he left the alley as fast as his legs would carry him. Mariya, Quaid, and Angus all looked over to the alley where the noise was coming from, catching the glimpse of Darius's silhouette moving in the shadows. A loud hey! echoed off of the walls and in his general direction. His heart pounded in his chest, and he fled the scene, his chest and throat aching from exertion.
.
.
Quaid gave chase, but realized that whoever had been watching had already put a good distance between them. Stopping in the alley where they'd heard the sound of footsteps, Quaid noticed a device sitting on the ground… some kind of data-pad. He bent over and picked it up, raising a brow at it. As Angus and Mariya both caught up to him, he indulged his curiosity and pressed one of the buttons on the interface. A screen lit up from the projector and Angus skimmed over the information, getting a clear look at Darius's face as well as his personal information. Such as: his address, his birthday, his marital status, and wouldn't you know it… his former job as a police officer.
"What is it?" Mariya asked.
Quaid lifted it up to show them, and both Mariya and Angus wordlessly inspected the information on the screen. "Looks like we attracted some attention." He couldn't stomach the feeling he was getting from it. If he knew Angus, something ominous was brewing in his mind, though he dared not ask what.
Angus hummed in thought, and snatched the data-pad from Quaid's hands, waving it around and smirking. "I think our friend here might be missing something. Whaddaya say we return it?"
