Otherworldly

The year was 2784 A.D. and mankind had breached its intellectual capabilities. There was still room for improvement, but life was perfect on this planet. Who would want to change anything? Healthcare was affordable, the air quality was significantly better than it was seven hundred years ago thanks to ever-improving purification systems dotting the planet. Government was singular, something like a presidency though not nearly as corrupt. Every country tolerated the other, as they knew the penalty for no tolerance was to be branded an enemy and that was something no one wanted when the entire world was in cahoots.

Everything was moderated when it came to Earth. There were plots of land that stretched for hundreds of square miles in select areas that served to protect wildlife including plants. There were islands serving as prisons where prisoners were allowed to roam free and fend for themselves, although Survival of the Fittest did weed out so many of them (as was the intention). Overall, the world was a much better place.

At least, in certain cities.

There were entire cities, entire states that were considered ghetto. Run down areas with Cyborgs running about, no real sense of government evident. It was as if the Government decided these places were too far gone and couldn't quite get a grip on them without risking civil war.

As for school systems, they were similar to how they were seven hundred years ago, except teachers were replaced by computers programmed by engineers who specialized in the criteria it taught. In essence, live teachers were still around, although they never really showed their faces unless they had to make repairs. Students still went until 12th grade and then had the option to go into college, though some students, those with money, typically had modifications to their brain that allowed them to quite literally plug into the class' database to study, rather than to stare at a datapad and read their courses. Schools in the ghetto-like towns and cities were no longer in working order, however. Kids who decided they wanted to learn either had to find a way to teach themselves or they got together with a small group of friends and shared knowledge they found on the Internet.

My name is Rourik Slevin, and I'm probably going to die today. I pissed off the wrong people. Actually, I have pissed off A LOT of people. This time, however, I think I went a little too far. I mean, sure, here in the slums of Liverpool, you have your gangs fighting for control of turf and black market augments. People die everyday here. But you know what's worse than THAT? The government. I messed up real bad, I tell you. Really, reeeeeeally bad.

You're probably wondering why I'm telling you all of this. I'm a jack ass, that's why. I'm arrogant. I'm superficial. I'm very keen on spouting on and on about this and that and spinning yarns of my greatest feats. Let me tell you, the viewer, that this is what will mark me down as a legend among humans and the cybernetic communities. Not only did I manage to acquire some nifty top secret, untested government-level cybernetics and augments, BUT, I managed to implant them. YES! Implant them. Into whom you may be asking? ME! That's who. ME! For all I know, I could be a walking time bomb right now. But you know what? I don't give a fuck! I'm going to be dead soon. The government will be knocking down my door any moment now. My sources have informed me that a government transport was sighted four blocks from my complex approximately ten minutes ago. If I'm lucky, my guys will prove to be a small distraction and allow me to slip away... HA! Who am I kidding? They're low-level, half-assed augments with shitty cybernetics and mediocre cerebral implant chips. They're fucked. But me? No, I have a chance. I'll give them a run for their money. I'll show them what can and cannot be done. Whoever sees this, I love you. If I'm dead by the time you watch this, or if I'm alive, I want you to know only one thing: I would have gladly carried your baby. End holo log!

It was dusk over Liverpool. The filth and grime and dirt that permeated this forgotten city was layers thick. It was quite possibly one of the worst ghetto cities on the face of the planet. Ridden with violence, gangs and trafficking, only the lowest of the low, the worst of the worst and vilest patrons called this place home. Cyborgs littered the streets and made up more than three quarters of the populace. They were petty - their cybernetics C-grade augments. Many people came to Liverpool looking for cybernetics, hoping to become something more. The trade was bustling. Many would call it black market, but unbeknownst to them, they were getting the short end of the deal. Most of the cybernetics had either been tampered with or hacked. They were bad product. Bad cerebral implants led to brain damage or impairment, causing people to become psychotic. Ocular implants resulted in blindness. Cybernetic organs, untreated and untested, or removed from the dead and implanted in the living, caused the spread of disease or proved to be fatal. It was a trade as filthy and corrupted as the streets themselves.

As the heart of the madness, there stood Rourik Slevin. An entreprenuer and business man - or so he believed himself to be. In truth, he was partly responsible for the havoc and chaos Liverpool grew to be infamous for. Under close watch of the government, he had long proved to be a low-level tradesmen by their standards despite everything. He was an average augment. He had the basic, standard-issue cerebral implants, basic ocular support and bodily function. He, to them, was nothing more than an overly confident ne'er-do-well that just so happened to do slightly better than the other reputable con men of Liverpool. It wasn't until he grew too audacious and managed to bypass central security in a cybernetics warehousing and development firm in London called ICarus. With the aid of four hundred low-level cyborgs and their cerebral implants combined, he and his band of misfits broke security - completely shut it down. Through several years of planning, scheming, acquiring schematics of the ICarus firm and buying off feeble employees to provide sensitive data, Rourik succeeded. He stole the prized possession. A highly experimental cybernetics set dubbed "Alloces." The purpose of the set? High-end governmental procedures. Cerebral implants, ocular implants, spinal cord augmentations, nerve and impulse enhancers, auditory and olfactory enhancers - it was in layman's terms: a weapon. What good would come of that? Power. Previously unattainable power. He wanted it. He got it. But at what price? The Alloces model had just left factory. Tests had yet to be administered. Rourik wanted to be the test subject. He wanted it all. All to himself and no one else. In the wake of the robbery, the four hundred who aided in his conquest died. Their brains were overloaded. They died of severe hemorrhage. A fate Rourik knew would come to be. Those who helped in his conquest, disappeared. They were killed off before they could realize they were not getting a share of the loot. In the time frame of three months, Rourik subjected himself to implantation of Alloces. At the hands of cyborgs, pre-programmed and set to deactivate upon completion of duty, he underwent procedure after procedure, all the while avoiding capture and detection of the government. It has not been 'til recent that Rourik publicly announced his return to the world knowing all too well that the government would be knocking at his door, seeking to take back what he stole, and to kill him for his transgressions. The implants were there. His body had accepted them. There was but one last thing to do now: activate them.

Remember Reason was only nineteen. Graduation was soon and, in April, she would turn twenty. Regardless of living in a considerably calm and nice place such as Manchester, she absolutely hated it here. Some took little comfort that they were but a forty minute drive to Liverpool, but others seemed pretty positive that they were safe there. That "the scum of Liverpool wouldn't dare leave familiar ground." And sure, this place was nice and all, but not to our Remember. The young woman was the center of negative attention at her place of learning. Her obsession with the paranormal and her tendancies to remain silent and aloof gathered much unwanted attention. Her lack of external and showy modifications and other cybernetics. Not to mention, her name.

Remember Reason. Why the hell would her parents give her that stupid name? Eh, to be truthful, she didn't mind it. What she did mind was sitting in her corner in class, writing some paranormal fiction story when some asshole would walk up to her and yank her pen out of her hand, then proceed to draw or scribble over her page. She also seemed to hate the teasing she got for never speaking, and for the times when she would, although most of those times she'd say something quiet and morbid.

She knew what set people off, and she felt no fear for the students here. But she was so curious about that emotion. So overwhelmingly curious that she knew she needed to visit one of the ghetto cities. Their falling-apart buildings fascinated her in photographs. She wanted to visit the ethereal leftovers from what once was life, their spirits, those who have died in that town. She wanted to speak to them, learn about them, break that barrier between physical and the metaphysical. So, once she escaped the confines of this torturous learning environment, Remember planned to take a transport over to Liverpool to roam around.

By the time that rolled around, it was clear the computer operating the craft was programmed to avoid the area.

"Computer, permission to override?" Remember asked, knowing it'd be useless.

"Permission denied. I cannot take you there," replied the computer.

"Please, Computer. Can you take me close at the very least?"

"It is unadvisable."

"That isn't an answer.... Can you take me close to Liverpool?"

Silence ensued for a moment before the computer finally spoke up again. "I can take you within two point five seven miles. It is unadvisable."

"Thank you."

Computer recognized the thanks as a hidden cue to proceed, and so it did. The trip was slower than Remember would have liked, but she supposed it was the computer giving her enough time to mull over her options and to change her mind. She did not, though, and the closer she got to the awful city, the more excited she got. Of course, one wouldn't be able to tell by looking at her. There was no reason to be all grins and giggles when riding alone in a transport.

Eventually, though, the transport stopped and the computer found it necessary to speak again. "Destination reached. I cannot wait here longer than one hour. I must return to--"

"I know, Computer. It's what you're programmed to do," she replied. The woman stepped out of the transport and began to walk. She wore a coat with a furry hood, black of course, and a black sweater-like dress beneath it, which ended right above her knees, with an inch of lace circling the hem. Her shoes were simple black dress shoes. Perhaps she should have chosen a different outfit, since it was a little chilly, but all of her clothes were fairly similar. Hell, the closest thing to pants she had were pantyhose or tights.

Regardless, she was in awe the moment she began to walk toward the distant city. It'd take her about an hour and a half to get there, if that, but boy was she excited when she had the city to stare at like a chunk of meat dangling in front of her on a fishing line.

Rourik set aside the tiny little holo log, laying it on the table at his bedside. He stood and left the room with a certain calm and pronounced subtly. En route to the living quarters of his expansive loft, he caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror. For a moment, he stopped to look upon himself - to take in all that had changed, and what little had remained the same. He was more machine than man now. He was practically an entirely different person, yet still the same at heart. He traced his fingers along his jawline, examining the contours of the steel mandible - there he found the slight sensation of pain from carbon scarring, where the attachment had been soldered into his flesh. It was a reminder of his humanity and of his mortality at heart. From there, the mandible lied connected to his auditory implants. Where his ears were once before, they were now replaced by rounded metallic caps, bearing the insignia of ICarus. His hand ventured further around and along the back of his head, sensing the grooves and craggy texture of his cerebral and spinal implants as it trailed down his metal-encased neck. The units had been designed with the human skeleton in mind to resemble the spinal cord. Gold, silver and metal. Precious material. The rest of his body, he couldn't give much thought. Time was of the essence. He was merely grateful that through the trauma of implantation, he had retained his devilish grin and above average looks. Afterall, his ego was on the line here.

Gunshots and yells served to break his concentration. He stormed into the living room, pushing past desks and work benches of surveillance monitors and shoddy cybernetic parts. His entire trade and livelihood was practically housed in this cavernous room. Lined with velvet drapery, full of holes and irredeemably stained, they enclosed the massive windows of his high-rise that looked over the majestic wasteland that was Liverpool. From there he witnessed the government transport. A massive, grey, levitating vessel armed with a single ion cannon sure to short circuit and utterly demolish any cybernetic beyond recognition. It was tailed by a small group of armed androids floating alongside on their highly maneuverable hover bikes. "All this just to capture one guy..." he mused, arrogantly. Waiting inside that vessel was a small phalanx of government troops. Highly trained, extremely deadly, with only one objective: destroy Rourik.

The time had come. Rourik grabbed a coat from a desk he had previously stolen from a straggler. It was old, it was gross and deeply stained - a horrid brown color. But it was hooded and it would prove to be the perfect disguise in order to avoid detection. He slipped it on and went for the Alloces activation module. The little gadget sprung to life in a myriad of flashes and vibrant colors. He flipped through menus with the swipe of his fingers, eliminating ay existing programming, prerequisites and variables that had been previously pre-programmed into the set. He aimed for full control. Direct control. His brain would become the control center. Everything would manipulated by his thought patterns. This set would become as his previous body: fully and perfectly integrated. Or so that was the plan.

Before he hit the activation queue, he turned around and activated the sentries of his complex. The government had fourteen stories to conquer and many adversaries -or rather, pawns- stood in their way to buy him time in case something went wrong. "Greetings, Great and Infallable Prestigious Master," greeted the robot, "What is thy bidding?" "Terminate anyone that steps foot into the building. Broadcast on station gamma." The building was secure. Shit was going to hit the fan. And soon.

"It's time!" he yelled victoriously, looking below to the approaching transport. He held the activation module and pressed the keypad, entering the code and initiating the activation sequence. Paralysis! Rourik dropped the module. Its interface shattered. He fell forward, up against the windows of his loft. His breathing grew short, limited. His head swam. He could hear his heart struggling to beat. His limbs grew numb. His eyes grew blurry. His ears rang and buzzed. White noise. Darkness. Stiffness. Pain, such horrid pain. His head quaked. His body underwent spasms. His soldered joints hinging and unhinging, kicking and swinging wildly, breaking table legs and knocking over fixtures. What torture. Such torture went on for an eternity - or so it seemed. In the end, all fell silent. He felt light. He felt like he was floating. Floating on a cloud in mid-air. He could see an expanse of white. A long and expansive void. How odd, he thought. Was he dead? Was he alive? He didn't know. He knew peace, however. Then, out of the white, came a crash. A thunderous moan so horrid and obscene. The whiteness was torn apart and was consumed by blackness. The groans and screams of many a horrid nightmare surrounded him. Eyes in the dark, gnashing teeth - hungering grasps. Then silence again. Then gunshots. Rourik arose from his unconsciousness in a fury. He was alive! He looked around. He touched his face, he looked around the room, he looked at his hands and his metallic fingers and his golden, silver inlay wrists. Explosion from below! Approximately three floors down he estimated. By mere thought alone, as if second nature, his body suddenly responded. He could see through his complex's security feed. Like a third eye. He was viewing the chaos on each floor, wirelessly. He needed not a monitor to see what was happening. Given he knew the access code to his security feed, one of his many new enhancements, the RV (remote viewing) Implant, activated, wirelessly connected, and linked a direct feed of the happenings below into his brain, playing these images as if he were witnessing them right there and not floors above. "This is fuck---" Explosion. It interrupted his train of thought and early victory shout. The cyborgs and their bikes took a more direct route. They blasted through the windows with their cannons and now had Rourik in their line of sight. They were attempting to surround him from above and below. Now was his moment. He had better come through and prove himself. It was time to play with his new toy and give these fucks a run for their money.

Remember's trip was slow and agonizing. She was more than a little uncomfortable but equally as excited. She was walking slowly, debating between sticking to alleys for cover or walking in the open for safety. She decided that either was just as bad a decision as the other. With a little sigh, the young woman continued to walk, the city drawing closer with each slight step. Remy's eyes were focused on the prize, though there wasn't a single place she had in mind to visit first. She half-assumed most buildings were abandoned since they may be deemed condemned. Safety was her main concern, though it was just a little cloud floating in her head among a storm of various other thoughts.

The city couldn't be any further. It had been a good hour or so and it still felt like she had forever to go. In all actuality, it wouldn't take but ten or fifteen more minutes of persistent walking to breach the city line. She was already nearing the Welcome to Liverpool sign, which was rusted and suffered from bullet holes. Not to mention, its corners were so decayed that they were still crumbling slightly with each strong breeze.

"It looks awful," she said softly, a smile stretching across her features. She failed to consider that there may very well be children living here, but the strange awe she felt when staring at this ghost city was more than enough to overshadow that. Unfortunately, Liverpool was so much more densely populated than she originally thought. By the time she entered the city itself, she managed to spot many Cyborgs running rampant, some fighting, some pursuing a woman down an alley, and in one case, a Cyborg woman demanding valuables of a preteen boy. It was becoming all too clear just how terrible this place really was. And then she saw the Government transport and its hover bike companions. "What in the world...?" she whispered.

She thought the government abandoned this place! Remy was squirming with delight, curiosity, and very, very slight fear. This place appealed to so many of her senses and she was pleased with that, even with the negative ones. The fear was the type one got from reading a horror book, not from actually being in a situation she was actually exposed to. The strange woman was way too eager to find out what was going on, she even ignored the gunshots around her! She just watched the building, inching closer without getting too close, curious about what was going on but too awe-struck to dare ask one of the officials what was going on. Assuming she'd find out soon enough for herself, Remember waited, practically bouncing in her place.

The hover bikes tore through the window and levitated to a halt in the middle of Rourik's loft. The cyborgs deftly recited their orders with the utmost authority, "Rourik Slevin, we hereby under the direct order of the Global Presidency Union, have been issued a warrant for your termination under the causation of domestic terrorism and grand larceny. Deactivate and comply." As the officers finished reciting their duties, the doors to the loft were breached. Heavily armed and more heavily armored cyborg militants began to swarm the room like angered hornets, shouting orders and demanding deactivation and cooperation. There was no time to think. Rourik scrambled to his feet, zipped past the bikes and took a leap of faith.

He bounded from the fourteenth story window under a torrent of gunfire and violet ion beams, reaching dramatic heights and great length. He flew across the skyline, landing and tumbling to safety atop the adjacent complex - his pursuers hot on his heels. The chase was on. He had never experienced such strength and such agility. His physical prowess was astounding. Each leap was effortless, each landing painless and smooth, minus a few missteps. All this power and strength was alien to his once very average body. Rourik took the streets, jumping from the rooftops, throwing off his pursers momentarily. He landed hard having miscalculated, stumbling and crashing headlong into an old, abandoned car, sending both he and the vehicle colliding with the side of a nearby building. "Woo!' Ever the optimistic, some'd say arrogant, bastard, he stood and brushed himself off, still in complete awe of his own daring feats. He turned and looked back, awaiting the government to turn the corner. This was a perfect opportunity to escape, however, to Rourik this was all a game. A very fun game. The hover bikes turned the corner in a fury, coming to a sudden halt as the massive government transport floated by like a massive lumbering beast, sizing up its prey and advancing like a dark cloud, raging with a torrent of storms.

The transport's front end opened up, a large cylindrical cannon extending outwards. It was an intimidating sight. Moreso when the reactors actvated and produced a menacing hum. That sound foreshadowed the destruction that this beast intended to leave in its wake. Rourik lifted his arms and motioned for them to advance, taunting them. He then turned and began to run down the street, his legs pushing him to a dizzying speed. The transport fired. A loud boom, followed by an flash of violent, incandescent energy that tore through the strengths. The mere force of the blast sent debris on the sides of the streets up into the air. Rourik took to the wall, aiming to make use of the GD (Gravity Dislocator) implant, which allowed the subjects feet to produce a slight anti-gravitational field, allowing them to perform deft acrobatic feats of heightened agility. Feats that demanded more finesse and subtly. Unfortunately, as Rourik hit the wall, the cannon's blast did as well, blowing a hole in the side of the building. Rourik lost his footing and stumbled under a small avalanche of rubble and sediment. The area of the blast glowed, arcing electricity.

Government troops zeroed in on the sight, rifles drawn and armed. "Scanners indicate no signs of life," belted an officer, lowering his weapon. The others followed suit. "Subject terminated." "You idiots, that was not a direct hit!" The commanding officer yelled, "Keep your weap--" Rourik erupted from the rubble. Using an officer as leverage, he lunged, grappled and kicked off of the troop, granting himself momentum and speed and sending the troop flying backwards into the transport. He looked back, not even paying attention to where he was going, "You have to do better than that, motherfuckers! I can do this allll damn day!" As he turned back around, there was Remember. Who was she? Where'd she come from? Why was she standing there watching? Why wasn't she hiding? If Rourik was a thoughtful type, he would have paid heed to those questions. Instead, he almost ran directly into her. Trying his best to avoid that catastrophe, he stumbled and tripped, losing his footing and bounced his was across the street, tumbling and crashing through an old pawn shop's display window. Ouch.

Remember could only say one thing and one thing alone to what was displayed before her: "Whoa...!" The young woman couldn't tear her eyes away from the scene which did not at all concern her. It was violent, it was exciting, it was everything she'd been warned about and then some about Liverpool. And it was amazing. It made her glad she came here, even though she should have sensed danger. Perhaps she got lucky? No one was trying to hurt her or rape her or tear out her cybernetics, mostly because most of them weren't visible. The only enhancement she got was, when her vision was failing at a younger age, she was given a simple surgery to fix the issue and she was able to pick from a vast array of different hues for eye colors if she so wished. Her eyes were once a dark red-brown, and with her snowy hair, it really didn't look that good (or so she felt). It was a free addition and she saw no harm in it, so why not?

Said violet eyes were still stuck on the scene, not twitching to the sounds of gunfire or to the voices of officials yelling about this Rourik Slevin fellow. Terrorism? Grand larceny? Deactivate and comply? Oooh, she wished she could ask this man questions! She had so many. Curiosity was not a good thing to have here in Liverpool, especially concerning a 'terrorist' or what have you. The clumsy man seemed to be preoccupied with those before him while he ran toward her direction. Surprised by their paths intertwining, she watched. She'd slip out of the way if need be (if she could snap out of that 'WHOA' state of mind), but it seemed that when he turned around, he was just as surprised at her appearance as she was with his speedy running and decided to take a detour.

He tripped. He rolled. He fell. He...crashed into a building and destroyed the window? Oh, great. She felt guilty. She should have moved! She heard his name, so she figured she'd play on this situation some. Maybe if she was able to help him out of this rut, he'd owe her some answers, just for curiosity's sake. Quickly, Remember ran toward him, mustering up some fake tears by pretending to quietly sob on her way to him.

"Rourik!" she cried. Here came the real waterworks. Hearing her own voice crack from faux misery, from false desparation, the woman began to fill out the act much better than she originally thought she would. Once she ran into the window, trying to be mindful of the broken glass while still trying to seem like she wouldn't care, like it didn't matter because her friend was laying there dead or dying, Remy collapsed next to him. She leaned over him and hugged his body, shaking slightly. She spoke quietly between fake sobs, "Play along," she said, giving him a smile if he dared to look at her face.

Sobs intensified as she caressed his face, turning around with an enraged expression on her own. "He was my best friend!" she screamed. "Now look... dying here..." They'd likely want the machinery back. She didn't think of this. She'd probably wind up making a fool of herself, too, if this didn't go according to plan. But my god, those tears....

She then began to ramble, hopefully loud enough so that a nearby official could hear her. Something about a grave plot on an acre of land her family owned. How her family would be irate that she'd perform a personal funeral service for her friend and burying him there. She prayed to the Universe that they'd believe her rambling and uncontrollable sobbing and her overprotective nature over the body. God, she hoped so.

What a crash. Even that left Rourik feeling lightheaded. His cybernetic visor's HUD flashed before his eyes, running diagnostics and damage assessments. All seemed to be in the clear as everything read nominal. However, before he was able to get to his feet and continue fleeing, there scampered in a very peculiar girl. She kneeled over him, weeping her eyes out, yet smiling devilishly, asking him to... play along. Was this girl trying to help? "Who the hell...?" He half asked, perturbed. She didn't know who he was. He didn't know who she was. She clearly wasn't a militant, and he had a feeling that she certainly wasn't a denizen of Liverpool. She was too prim. Clean cut. Not to mention, she hadn't cut his throat yet or tried to steal his cybernetics. Curious. Either way, he didn't know what her game was, but he knew it wasn't going to work. She had no idea who she was lumbering over, moonlighting as a grieving friend. Nevertheless, he played along, long enough to formulate a plan in the time it'd take for the government troops to arrive on scene and for him -maybe them- to escape. He didn't know if cared enough to save her, but he found himself curious as to who she was.

The yells of soldiers echoed in the distance, not too far away. The hum of the transport's cannon dying off as it's engine rumbled, carrying the beast, inching it closer to the dilapidated pawnshop. Behind his lids, Rourik's TCPU (Tactical Central Processing Unit) had taken a lay of the land - in this case, the interior of the pawn shop. Like photographic memory, he was greeted with a 3d generated schematic of the shop. All the exits and windows were highlighted in vivid detail. The rubble and downed shelves, the old, broken computers and garbage - everything was laid out. The implant formulated and calculated the best possible exit based on an approximate survival ratio, taking into account the numbers of threats that encroached outside. "We have to get the hell out of here, whoever you are. They're not going to let you go. This little charade of yours has landed you in deeper shit than you know. I'm NOT the kind of person you want to be grieving over or acting like you give a shit about," he urged in forced whispers, trying his hardest to play the part, while also trying to evince the severity of the situation. The soldiers had moved in. Three now stood outside the window, guns drawn, laser sights locked on the pair. "Female! To your feet. Stand and move away from the subject. Back up to my voice - slowly. You have only once chance to comply, or we will open fire!" They switched on their ion rifles, allowing that distinctive hum to dictate how serious they truly were.

"This is bullshit," Rourik cursed, still faithful to his role. "Listen to me carefully. I want you to stand up and head towards the door behind us, but wait for me to distract these guys first. It leads to the basement of the shop. There's a manhole that leads to the sewers. That's your - our best shot at getting away from these assholes. Act on my signal...." Rourik arced his leg, and with all his might, the gears and cybernetics audibly churning within his joints as a testament to his newfound strength, he kicked the downed shelf that lay at his feet and sent it hurdling through the air with such violent force. The troops were taken off guard, so much they didn't even have the opportunity to parry the metal shelf. It crashed and sent them and itself flying across the street, nearly making landfall with the adjacent sidewalk. Now, he really did it. He either just offed, or gravely injured, three governmental officers. He was digging himself an even deeper grave. And now this girl, he had most likely wrongly implicated her into his crime as an asset.

Just as anticipated, it wasn't going to work. Hell, even his reaction was surprising to the female. She knew far too little about this place to play the charade correctly. This place was awful, rugged... somewhere she should never have come. When he half asked that question, she felt hope sink in her stomach and escape her feet. She wasn't going to get the answers she wanted because she failed.

Remember couldn't do much other than frown. "They will let me go if I tell them the truth then, I suppose," she answered. "If I back off and have nothing to do with you," she added. But where was the fun in that? And still, she wanted to be able to explore. She didn't want to be sent home or kept in a cell for questioning or what-have-you. When they called out for her, she visibly twitched. The gravity of this particular situation was settling in and she realized that those were real guns, not the invisible, pretend guns one would use in a little charade with friends. This was reality, not a play. The hum of their guns filled her ears and for a moment, she had to piece together what it could have been. Once it clicked, the already pale individual turned a stark white. Perhaps curiosity really was what killed the cat.

A mental debate began in her head. Remember was trying hard to scheme up a new plan, something less stupid and definitely fool proof. And yet, she was failing in that as well. It didn't matter, though, because her thoughts were interrupted by Rourik's cursing and his explaining his own little plan. God, maybe it wouldn't be that he owed her one for saving him, but the other way around? It sure seemed like it was going to be the case. The young woman watched as he flew into battle, throwing that shelf and injuring those Government officials. Since this was likely her best shot at running behind him and toward the basement, she took the chance and ran as fast as her scrawny legs could carry her. The door flew open clumsily and slammed against the wall, her feet carrying her downstairs with a flurry of light taps. It was dark, so she struggled to find the manhole. Instead of searching for it on her hands and knees, though, she just walked around the room until her feet hit the metal. Her hands reached down to try to grab it and pull it up but she was far too weak. Remember was only human, after all.

She had to wait on him and that scared her. What if he died? What if they found her? She lied to the Government. She ran from Government officials. And now, she hid from them, waiting in a ghetto town full of archaic cyborgs and waiting on a terrorist.

What the Hell did she get herself into?

"Shit!! Move in, move in!" The commander yelled vehemently. Rourik was quick to follow suit. However, he really had no idea if the sewers would prove to be a reliable escape route. He never ventured into the sewers during his times in Liverpool. The sewers belonged to another gang of cyborgs called the Muck Drifters. He never quite understood the name, but he assumed that because they waded and wallowed in all manners of shit in their feculent lair, that the name was certainly appropriate. Either way, he and his new counterpart were about to enter uncharted territory. Given his reputation could very well buy them passage, it didn't mean that his body and all the goodies it carried wouldn't land in bigger trouble. Afterall, having the government up your ass is clearly bad enough.

Rourik slammed the door to the basement in his wake, as if that would do any good - and it didn't. Ion beams tore -or rather burnt- through the wood like a hot knife through butter. "Shit, shit, shit, shit!" He cursed with each step. The basement was darker than he expected. He could ever so slightly make out the silhouette of Remember through the opaque blackness. She must've found the manhole, he assumed, or she was standing there like a dolt. "Did you find it?" he asked, instinctively ducking as the basement door crashed down the steps in slivers of wood. "Good. I'll take care of this." His shoved fists into the metal covering and gripped it tightly, jerking it free and tossing it like a massive frisbee at the trio of troops that had entered the basement. Two caught off guard and pummeled with the heavy disk. They were either killed by the violent impact or knocked unconscious - he could not tell. There was one left and that's all he cared about. "Get down there! Quickly!" Surprisingly, he was placing himself on the line to allow her safe passage, ultimately before himself. The remaining troop fired his rifle, inflicting a direct hit to Rorik's shoulder. Man, did it hurt. The ion beam literally paralyzed his right arm for a brief second before his cybernetics kicked in and activated his IPN (Ion Particle Nullifier) implant. It was a life-saver. While ideal for the occasional blast, an entire torrent of ion blaster fire would overload the implant render him unconscious and quite frankly, dead. Ion energy was superbly deadly to cybernetics.

"Piece of shit!" he cursed. If they wanted to play dirty, he could too. He charged the troop, parrying a few stray and panicked shots, and landed a fist into his chest, tearing through his body armor and drawing blood. It was a fatal blow. Rourik withdrew his bloodied hand as the troop collapsed. He found himself briefly stunned. He truly did not know his own strength. Yet. More troops were piling in at the top of the stairs to the basement, firing on sight. Rourik slipped off to the side to find cover. "I have to stall them. Let's even the playing field." He jumped out, the palm of his glowed a peculiar violent. There arose that distinct, though from his hand! He lashed out, sending forth his fist and releasing a short, debilitating wave of ion energy. The energy pulsed and sent electricity arcing into the air from bodies and weaponry of the troops. They screamed in unimaginable pain as their very own cybernetics revolted and turned against them. Those with cerebral implants bled from their noses and their mouths, others arms and legs gave out, and others simply died right then and there, spared the suffering of their brethren.

Rourik was free, but more were rushing in. The big guys. The Phalnax. The advanced infantry division. Their heavy foot falls were intimidating. They were slow, though. And bulky. He turned and rushed towards the manhole and slipped into the unknown. The smelly unknown.

Of course Remember knew nothing of the Muck Drifters. She knew nothing about anything concerning this place, except that it was interesting and cruel and different. So when he asked if she found it after running downstairs to meet up with her, she nodded and muttered a faint, "Yes, but I can't open it." She was too frail, too weak to be able to pick up the heavy chunk of metal. But of course, Mr. Cybermuscles could lift it with ease and toss it at people. It was surprising to her how much she'd seen people get hurt today, and now she was running away from the culprit. Even though she was innocent, no Government would find that not suspicious. She was an accessory now, more or less, and there was nothing she could do but run.

She was becoming frightened and concerned, but equally thrilled with this chase. It was exciting and new and nothing she'd ever dreamed of experiencing. The closest situation to this she'd ever gone through was when she was locked in the girls' locker room and when she escaped the other girls thought it would be a good idea to chase her down and scare the shit out of her. Remy had always been picked on growing up. She was strange and reclusive and sometimes morbid. Nobody really liked her. That was alright, though, because she didn't really like anyone else either. Her thoughts were soon interrupted by Rourik as he urged her to go down into the Smelly Unknown. The scent made her nose twitch and her nostrils flare, although she was holding her breath and breathing through slightly parted lips. Without wasting a moment and without complaint, the woman climbed down the ladder until she reached the bottom, feet dipping into shallow sludge. They weren't swallowed by the muck, however, as it was only an inch or two of the stuff covering the tunnel. Well, for now. This was a sewer after all.

Remember ventured forth a bit but didn't go too far. She was still listening to this Rourik fellow as he yelled and attacked and was shot and so on. She was worried. God, she hoped he wouldn't die. When he got down there, she felt relief, but also a great deal of nervousness. She was alone here, with some terrorist in a sewer without any idea of where to go or what to do. Well, except walk. Oh, yeah. And talk.

"Oh! Why're you running? What do they want? What did you do? Are you really a terrorist? Did you kill a bunch of people? Why did you make me come down here? I could've left another way I think. Maybe. So your name is Rourik?" She continued with the questions until she had no others, though the others were less important and more vague. She herself didn't expect answers on those. Still, her voice gave away how very excited and thrilled she was, even despite the circumstances.

Rourik's internal sensors were going haywire. Among assessing and locating any acrrued physical damage, power levels of certain implants and acquired intelligence on the surrounding area, his auditory implants gave notice to the peculiar sound of... retreat? Yes, it seemed the advanced infantry had turned heel. How curious. He wondered what they were up to. Maybe they were calling for more grunts to give chase into the sewer? Maybe they were reformulating their plans? He didn't know. However, he did know that he was getting the third degree from his new little counterpart and he couldn't think for being lambasted with questions.

Rourik pulled his overcoat tight over his body, eager to conceal the bulk of his cybernetics, his hood however was shunned and pulled back. He really did a number on himself. The carbon scarring and mandible cybernetics along his jawline, the retractable ocular lenses implanted into his temples, the steel robotic casing surrounding his neck, lined with intricate golden circuitry and conduits - it made one wonder what exactly he chose to hide beneath the dirty, brown overcoat. He took down the sewer, his feet sloshing and squishing in the unctuous muck, prepared to answer the girl's questions.

"Well, since you're now with me, I guess I should be straightfoward," he said. Funny, because he wasn't a very straightforward guy to begin with. "Those guys, back there," he began, jerking a thumb in the opposite direction, "were government agents sent to kill me. Why? Because - because I pulled off the most extravagant, brilliant, infallible heist in the HISTORY of mankind, sweetheart. I stole from the government. And you know what? I am damned proud of myself. They want their toy back, but they can't have it. It is MINE. ALL MINE!" He reached into his coat's pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Casually lighting up, he continued, "By their standards, I am a terrorist. However, by my standards, I am a simple entrepreneur - nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps I did kill a few people, but how I see it, is that THEY killed themselves, because they KNEW the consequences of our arrangement, you see? They killed themselves. I didn't kill anybody," Except maybe a few government agents, he thought to himself. That realization came with a vague sense of dread, but was soon ignored as he carried on his rant, fueled by his ego. "And so here we are: you and I, two wanted criminals. Terrorists. We're enemies of the state. Wait, no, WORLD. I mean, sure, you could probably return to whatever fancy hole you crawled out of and get away from me and no longer consider yourself implicated, BUT," and he stopped and turned towards her, "You'll die making it out of this town," he said, both smug and oddly amused at the thought. "So, Ms. Whatever-Your-Name-Is -seriously, what is your name?- welcome to Liverpool! The asshole of the world. I am Rourik. I'll be your host for the rest of your indefinite stay!"

Stole from the government? So that explained it. She rested her eyes on the goopy slosh below and thought as he gave her the answers she sought. She didn't even mind the cigarettes at first. The scent was hot and bitter and it made her nose itch. She hated it. Remember eyed him as they walked, listening intently and biting her lip. How was he able to do such a thing? Eh, she supposed that wasn't an important question anymore.

"You're making excuses," she said simply as he pointed the blame on them. "They were just doing their job. Protecting what was theirs. You stole it and they wanted it back. And it's their fault for trying to get it? Their fault they died? It's yours. You need to accept that." Remy paused to listen to more, eagerly awaiting his conclusion. This time it wasn't because she wanted a turn to talk, but because she didn't want to listen to anything grim any longer. "I didn't crawl from any fancy place, Mr. Rourik. It isn't as rundown as this but I prefer the appearance of this town to the one I came from." As he continued on, she felt her stomach sink and her hope fall along with it. She put an additional foot of distance between them by stelling back a bit.

"So I could leave... I could easily leave this situation and no longer be involved in your little fiasco, but at the risk of my life...?" She couldn't quite believe what she was hearing, really. Not at all. It was evident on her face that she was afraid of this whole thing. "I made it in here okay, couldn't I leave in one piece, too?" No, likely not. She only ever heard this place was awful, that there were murderous anarchists rounding every corner, squeezing from every crevace. Guns and other weaponry were implamented in the limbs of many for easy access. She was human. The most enhancements she had were her eye color and maybe an organ or two, nothing other than necessary. She didn't like standing there with him facing her. She didn't like being down here in the sewers, either. Remember let her head lower as she began to realize fully what her situation was and she began to walk again. What unnerved her the most was that he didn't seem sympathetic for her. That he seemed a bit amused by the fact that she was stuck here. Maybe she was being self-centered, or maybe he was just having a rough time and didn't quite have his head screwed on right. Regardless, she wasn't happy about it.

Then she remembered he asked for her name. She paused in her steps and contemplated whether or not she should actually give it to him, and eventually sighed and agreed to do such. "Remember," she answered. "Um... Remember Reason." She braced herself for strange comments and began to walk again. "If you're my host, don't let me die." Demanding! But her voice sounded sad and scared and she really just wanted to live through this. "I don't want to die."

"Making excuses? Nah. I'm churning out facts. I was just doing MY job and taking what belongs to me and everyone else out there in Liverpool. Power, freedom, choice, reason in the face of injustice and sanctity in the face of danger and poverty. I do what I do to instill courage and hope. There is a backbone to my methods. A lot may say that that backbone is completely decrepit and mangled by some scoliosis, but who are they to say anything about something they don't even understand?" He took a last and final draw from his cigarette and tossed it into the muck. The flame burnt out, giving off a little sizzle as it was drowned by the unctuous slime and sewage. "It is my fault they died. I killed them - but they knew what they were chasing. They knew what I had taken and they stupidly came after me. I am untouchable." He was so extraordinarily confident. No, he was arrogant - so sure of his abilities. What had he been before? Before all of these enhancements? Was he just the same? Too proud to admit his own faults. Too egotistical to realize he, just as everyone else around him, could and would surely die or face retribution for their trespasses? Maybe the procedure fried his brain a bit. That was a risk he was aware of prior to the traumatic procedure. Perhaps this was one of the side effects.

"Either way, sweetheart, you look like you come from a far better place than this shit hole," he quipped, vaguely mesmerized by some odd metallic trinket he found in the sludge. "You could leave, yes. Oh, you could TRY to leave. TRY is the keyword. You know government agents carry photographic eye implants, right? They already snapped a picture of that dainty little face of yours when you were pulling off your best in hopes of an Emmy nomination, pretending to be my grieving friend. Your face is right up there beside mine on the Most Wanted poster." His attention drifted back to the matter at hand. He caught up with her to carry on his self-assured verbal tirade, "There's no fuckin' way you'll make it out of here in one piece. This is Liverpool. It was bad enough with the gangs running around - the rouge cyborgs. It's even worse now that the government has encroached on our turf. Shit is going to hit the fan. We don't like the government here. We hate the government. As long as they're here looking for us, there will be blood. Urban fuckin' warfare." He lit up another cigarette. He wasn't so much a chain smoker as he was a nervous smoker. He was very on edge. He knew where they were, he knew what they could run into, and he knew neither this place nor the surface was especially forgiving or inviting.

There on the wall, a map of the sewer lines and the interconnected hubs that laced together all of the districts. Rourik sauntered over and gave it a studious gander. "Hmmmm," he mumbled, clearly working the gears in his messed up head, "Look here," he pointed, "We are here, apparently. Go figure - red X and all that shit. But we should head over here!" He pointed to the market district. His eyes emitted a green ray that thoroughly scanned over the map, logging it into memory, granting him freedom to immediate reference to find their way. "This is probably our best bet to lay low. The old market district. It has its share of stragglers, but a few years ago, some shit went down. Nobody knows what the fuck happened. I know it was the government. I'll bet my fucking life on it! Anyways, the entire district was cleaned out. Everybody disappeared. However, there were a few people left over. But they weren't alive. They were... fucked up. I mean, fucked up. These cyborgs had been drained, dude. Completely drained. They were like husks. None of their parts were salvageable. I witnessed it! The carbon scarring and the fried circuitry, their internal power sources were devoured. The fucking government was probably testing some kind of subtle weapon to wipe us the fuck out. But anyway, the market district is deserted. People are afraid to go there. Some say it's haunted..." he paused to interject with goofy little noises, attempting to mimic a ghost, "But they're all full of shit. Chapman Hall is where we'll go. It's an old manor outside of the district. About half a mile or more. I dunno. But it's safe. And seeing as that I am your host, Miss Reason, and you have so eloquently demanded i keep you alive - this is your - OUR best bet." The long-winded sod turned heel and carried off, expecting her to follow suit, "So let's get to it! Cute name, by the way!"

Untouchable. He was untouchable... no, he was arrogant. "You say that, but I think that perhaps those words will come back to bite you in the ass. Maybe...?" she guessed. No, she was sure of it, but she wanted to sound less rude. Her life was in his hands now. She should at least act appreciative. But still, she couldn't help but to add certain things. "You instilling power and inspiration and all that isn't going to help make Liverpool better. If anything, it might get worse. Sorry...."

As he continued and mentioned the photographic implants as well as her little play she put on, Remember blushed and looked away. When he continued, she squirmed. She didn't like that. "My face is not dainty!" she retorted, then focused on the real issue at hand here. "Most Wanted... me? On that list? For... for that of all things?!" she asked as if offended. Of course she wasn't, she was more disbelieving than anything. Shocked. Scared. "Urban warefare because of you? Us? I didn't want anyone to get hurt, I was just curious. I wanted to know what you were doing, why they were chasing you. It was...exciting. But now, now all this. God, I hope no one else gets hurt because of this." She didn't want to be part of the cause why people were fighting the Government. Not at all.

Remember's head was lowered as she walked, ignoring the scent of muck and smoke as she did so. He lead her to a map of sorts and she glanced at it halfheartedly. As he explained the market district's history, she grew intrigued, and then excited. "Haunted?" she asked, beaming with a particular interest. She was ecstatic again. But then concern settled in. "There've been no more deaths right? No more failed cybernetics...?" She held her stomach lightly, squeezing the puffy fabric of her coat in a self-hug. She never spoke of her internal replacements. One lung, her heart, her liver, and her entire stomach were all cybernetic replacements. She felt offended he said they were full of shit because she so entirely believed ghosts were real. Hell, she even looked a bit angered at the statement! When he spoke of going to Chapman Hall, Remember began to walk. The compliment paid to her name was a surprising one. "No taunting? No rude comments? Just... 'cute?' Huh. Thanks, I guess."

"'Didn't want anyone to get hurt.' That's what gets people hurt more than actually WANTING to hurt people," he remarked, almost conjectured. He let out a faint little laugh, somehow amused. Seemingly. "I've had more things bite me in the ass than you will ever realize. However, for once, i think it's time for my ass to bite back... Wait... Uh, fuck it, yeah. It's time for my ass to bite back. My ass will bring..." he burst out into laughter, "My ass will bring Liverpool back to its former glory!" He was practically on the verge of tears from laughing so hard. At least he was... optimistic? The magnitude of shit they were in -one would think- would surely leave even the bravest of the brave in a pessimistic state of being. Who knows? Rourik was never really one to take anything, especially life, seriously. "Ehem, but no, we'll be fine you and I. We'll be the modern day Batman and Robin. The modern day... uh... Whatever, you get the point, right? Right? Bottom line: as long as we're here in Liverpool, those guys back there are going to be destroying everything trying to find us. The gangs are going to be killing them for destroying their city. So, I think, if we disappear, the government will leave Liverpool. They leave, we come out from hiding, we probably have to leave and have our identities altered, go somewhere and start anew either together or separate. Hey! We'll figure it alllll out." He really was a visionary of sorts. One that was full of shit and potentially broken promises all tied together with feeble ambition.

"But anyways," he began, kicking an old tin can down the dark sewer's corridor. he was relieved to see that the muck and grime had receded some ways down, as evidenced by the subtle "tink" of the ricocheting can. "Haunted, yes. There haven't been anymore reports about mysterious deaths. Hell, nobody has even wandered over there that I know of ever since the shit went down. It's a ghost town. Figuratively speaking. Perhaps literally speaking, too. Who knows. We shall see. Oh, and why would I made rude comments about your na-- Oh! Turn right up here!" He abruptly made a sudden right, tripping over his own feet, not bothering to pay attention to his HUD's mapping. He landed with an audible thump and cursed the ground, as if it were its fault. "Piece of shit! Goddamn it! This coat is ruined!" As if the gross thing wasn't ruined enough already. Then, ahead, a light started to build on the walls from around the corner. Then voices. Someone was coming. "Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Quickly, over here, now!" he urged, scurrying off into a darkened corner, "If that's what I think it is, we cannot be seen, or we are fucked!"

Indeed, it was exactly what he thought it was. Muck Drifters. These oddball ne'er-do-wells were the rulers of Liverpool's sewers. They practically controlled the underground hub of faulty black market cybernetics. And despite their reputation as con men, they had a hefty sum of money and influence over Liverpool. This group was rather large. Probably rallied by the ruckus above, perhaps heading above to defend their hometown. They were dressed in dirty rags and leather jackets. Old Harley boots and thick leather belts. Some had their hair pointing straight up on end. Liberty spikes, mohawks abound! The only discerning feature that distinguished them from humans, the exorbitant use of cybernetics. The gang's members always sported gawky implants. Older models. Bulky eye gear surgically attached to their eyes. Cochlear implants that allowed sonar recognition and freedom of communication over a private channel. Many sported purely robotic limbs, some carrying wrist mounted weaponry. It was said, the more cybernetics, the higher the rank and the more dangerous the member. This group was no exception. Many were higher ups, some others were mere grunts. Regardless, they were all armed with assault rifles and ammo bandoliers. It seems they were going to war. Rourik didn't want to deal with this right now. Not here, not in the sewers. He didn't want to place Remember in danger, either.

Remember twitched a little as he repeated her and laughed a little. He was always babbling, and this worried her. Was he insane? Maybe. Probably. They were in Liverpool after all, and he had attacked the government and stolen from them. Plus he just would. Not. Shut. Up! Still, the information he gave her made her even more concerned than that. New identities? Start anew elsewhere? "Leave everything behind? What about my family...? Oh no... We won't be on the news, will we?!" The girl was becoming panicked and afraid. She didn't want to be seen on the news. What would they say about her? What would her parents think about what they would say? Oh god. Oh no.

She turned toward him and shook her head. "I don't want to figure it all out, I want to go home. I shouldn't have even come here. Shouldn't have bothered to try to help." She began walking again, a little faster. Her shoulders were raised and her arms were hugging her. Her head was lowered a little although her eyes were still glued to the path ahead. She was likely to go through several stages of emotional reactions whilst she came to terms with her new situation, and this was probably normal. She was just a normal highschooler about to graduate and start her life. She never signed up for this!

The tripping cheered her up a little bit, but she wouldn't give any more than a slight twitch of her mouth that somewhat resembled a smile. "You should proooobably watch where you're going. Or learn how to walk, either one works." But then the lights and the voices and the footsteps in muck came into play and she was starting to get panicked once again. And apparently, so was Rourik. When he scurried off into a corner, she followed his voice to hide beside him, pressing herself firmly against the wall there with her shoulder touching his arm. Remember's breathing was shaky and shallow and fast and she was having one Hell of a time calming down.

Remember watched as they passed, one pausing momentarily because he thought he heard something, but when Remember held her breath and stared wide-eyed, waiting, he left a few seconds later. When they got out of plain sight, she exhaled slowly, trying not to make it too loud although she was desperate for another breath. By then the woman was trembling wholly and she fought to keep from throwing up from nervousness. This was not the kind of thrill she wanted. She wanted excitement from creatures that couldn't hurt you, just manifest and scare you. She didn't want to fear for her life and run from the government! When they had left, Remy tilted her head up and toward the man and waited for his say-so to begin moving again, all while struggling not to collapse to her knees for a moment of relaxation. Besides, that sudden fear made her knees weak.

Rourik's array of sensors were going nuts. His inability to maintain his metal composure, all spurred from that very tense moment, left his cybernetics and assessment in a state of momentary disarray. He placed a hand on Remember's shoulder, gripping it ever so slightly as a reassuring gesture that everything was indeed going to be okay. He quickly looked her over, his high-tech eye implants scanning and reading her vitals, taking note of her pulse, her state of alert and respiratory function. If he had not been so caught up in the moment, he probably would have taken a moment to gloat about his nifty array of gadgets, to brag about how varied and impeccable they were. Truly, this man, holding such a weapon not meant for civilian life was a travesty. He was a weapon. A true weapon of espionage. Yet, at the heart of it all, he was just an idiot. A somewhat capable idiot - but an idiot nonetheless. "Calm down. It's okay," he assured, listening in, detecting foot steps, realizing they were drawing the distance further and further away. "They're out of reach by now. And surely, those low-tech shit implants they have won't be able to detect us. We just gotta get out of here. And now. It's not much further according to my data."

He stood and crept out from the corner, looking left and looking right. Clear. Things were clear. "All right, let's go," he said, motioning her along. Rourik rerouted the data from his HUD to a small holo projector on his wrist. The layout of the sewer system and their predestined waypoint shone brightly in a neon green, lighting up the dark around them. The waypoint colored in red as a tiny flag. "Here," he said, pointing, "We exit here. It's three-hundred meters. Not far. We'll be on the outskirts of the market district. Then, it's a short walk there from that point and we're off to Chapman Hall. We'll be fine." He suddenly far more relaxed and composed. Actually, he was rather serious - a complete change in demeanor. One moment he was the aloof, arrogant buffoon - the next he was a calculating and protective guardian. Certain implants in his brain were releasing a highly concentrated, synthetic serotonin in response to his heightened state of alert. In dire situations, these implants were intended to help calm the subject in order to aid them in devising sound strategy to overcome daunting odds. Such was occurring presently as he and Remember faced the possible threat of the Much Drifters.

He continued onwards, following the projected holo map. Each step brought him closer and closer to their destination. "Stay somewhat behind me in case we run into more Drifters. There's no telling how many are above, too, once we get out of here. There could be more. Hell, who knows where this exit will lead us exactly." Stepping into the unknown. How frightening. "Ah... here we are... And the fucking access ladder is well... fucked." He lowered his arm, dismissing the holo map. "Well, Remy, how do you want to approach this little situation? I can either grab you and toss you up above, or you hang on to me and we can jump up there together. Either way is sure to be exhilarating ride." He said with a devilish grin, "Afterall, it is the ONLY way, unless you wanna travel further through shit and piss and find the next nearest exit, which of course, would only tend to fuck the situation when we're clearly trying to unfuck the situation. SO! Your call, Remy!" Sensors in his HUD started to go off. Movement had been detected, stirring from the way they came, "Oh, and make it fast. Someone's coming."

Remember didn't seem soothed when he placed a hand on her shoulder. Mainly because her question was probably forgotten, although she saw it as intentionally ignored. "Rourik, we're not going to be on the news, are we?" she asked. That was her biggest concern out of the few questions she asked before. As he told her to calm down and assured her it was alright, even if it had nothing to do with her fear of being broadcasted throughout the country (or worse). Now the woman followed him again, contemplating on the sudden change of attitude. Her knees hurt from the adrenaline that left her and all she wished to do was sit. She was just so afraid! But equally, she knew that once they made it to the surface she'd feel a whole lot better. It wasn't exactly a comforting situation down here, likely where her vision was fairly limited compared to how it was when she was above ground.

Three-hundred meters could have went by faster, but she knew it was probably because she was counting every little step. It was almost like counting to three hundred, except she never reached it because they walked faster than she could count. Each increased number took three full seconds for her to say it, as each second was an indicator of one foot out of three in a meter. Finally, though, they had approached. Unfortunately, the ladder wasn't in fit condition for climbing and so they had to think of another way to get up there. Rourik had two ideas, both sounding a bit obnoxious but necessarily so.

"Throw me...?" she questioned. How the Hell would she know she could latch on to something in time before she came tumbling down? Still she didn't know the guy well enough to just cling to him and wait for him to jump up and bring them to the surface. Well... then again, it was probably an easier outcome for her. She was lazy and weak and scared right now, so latching onto his back or something was likely the best option for her. As she thought this over, he rushed her to make a decision because of incoming life. "Shit, uh.... Don't throw me." That was her answer. Whether or not he was ready, she was too scared to stay there any longer, so she just wound up jumping onto his back and wrapping her arms around his throat, not quite squeezing hard enough to suffocate him, but enough to keep her latched on enough for her legs to mimic her arms. "Just climb or jump or do something, please!" she squeaked.

And so, on his back it was! He had hoped she chose that method. Then, too, he really wanted to throw her. He'd never thrown a person before. That was his logic: he'd never thrown a person before and he really, really wanted to just toss her like an old sack of potatoes. However! This was not the case. Not this time anyways. "Hold on!" he warned, leaping straight into the air like a rocket. He bounded from the manhole and into the open air, between two buildings, a mere twenty feet from the road. He landed with ease and scanned the claustrophobic alleyway for any signs of life. Nothing. Clean. Desolate. Below, however, whoever was around the bend had just reached the manhole. Their light was shining from above to below, searching curiously - cautiously. "Is someone there?" they beckoned. "Whoever you are, you best stop fuckin' around!" they raged, their voice gratuitously hoarse and distinguished by a thick cockney accent. Rourik scampered a bit from the manhole, eager to make sure they didn't catch sight of them in the least.

It was dusk, or nearing dusk. Rourik estimated that it was probably around 7:30 at the latest. 6:45 at the earliest. He didn't quite know and he didn't really pay much heed. He just wanted to get to Chapman and leave this shit hole behind for a while, lay low and plan his -their- next move. He thought it best to relay the bad news to Remember beforehand, though. "We're going to be on the news. Most likely, it's already happened. If we can find a television, you'll know for sure." He could easily target and hone in on the local newsfeed, but he wanted to spare the girl the breaking news until they were relatively safe. They were still in Muck Drifter territory. "That's the least of our worries for now, though. We gotta get to Chapman. It's nearing dark and we've got - according - to my assessments, exactly 2.5 miles before we hit Chapman. Oh, and 1.5 miles until we're out of Much Drifter territory. That's an estimate, the latter. My scanners don't give me that kinda shit. THAT comes from experience." Whoop dee doo, big accomplishment there. Everything was so cavalier to the man. It was horrendous. One could say he took an overly simplistic approach to the simpler things in life. Or a very irresponsible approach.

He did have a bit of a conscience, though. The thought of having possibly, and probably, ruined the girl's life - unintentionally or intentionally, whichever one could see it - was weighing him down a bit. "I mean, if you're really THAT worried about being penned as my accomplice, I could probably hack into governmental records at some point and erase your name, your charges and your file altogether. They can't book a girl if her file doesn't exist." That was clearly a shortsighted offer. Or was it? Afterall, he was wearing a highly advanced prototype on and in his body. "I dunno. One step at a time, Remy." The sound of engines emerged in the distance. Loud, old, oil and petrol driven engines. Motorcycles - relics from the past. "It sounds like we've some incoming company..." Rourik scanned the sides of the building, determining that heading to the rooftops might be a good idea. "You might want to stay on my back... Are you afraid of heights?"

She did indeed jump on his back, clinging tightly while burying her face against the cloth on his back. As the following took place, she wouldn't pull her face away from his back, afraid to see what could possibly see them in return, although those voices made it awfully hard to continue to hide her face. If it was getting to be somewhat darker outside, she was starting to get really scared. Maybe not terrified, but worried heavily about whether or not she'd be able to react effeciently in limited light. That wasn't for another hour or so, though, two at most. She had plenty of time to hope to whatever God was listening that they would make it to that mansion by the time night hit.

Eventually, Remember did lift her head, and she pulled her eyes toward him although he could not meet them. "...Maybe later. I sort of want to see this place you're talking about. It's probably the biggest reason why I came here, even if I only just learned of its existance." Basically, she came here to find the creepiest buildings in hope of finding creepy things! Such as ghosts and such. She believed in them, perhaps way too much. She claimed she had one or two follow her around at her home back in Manchester, so she'd often be seen talking to it at random intervals throughout the day, regardless of her location.

Remember was absolutely terrified of heights, yes, but she would likely not tell him that. Even though he asked, she'd shake her head. "N-no," she replied hesitantly. She clinged a bit tighter, though, and would re-bury her face into his back. She didn't want to see what they were about to do. She didn't want to be afraid of what was to happen next. She was already scared, and seeing the heights would likely make her even moreso! The sounds of old engines rung through her ears, causing a trail of shivers to promptly make its way down her spine and arms, stretching over her stomach, down her legs, and all the way to her feet. Perhaps it wasn't so much shivers as it was that she was shaking subtley right now. This awful place was very real. She wasn't excempt from the dangers here, and she was learning this very quickly.

"Huh. You're one hell of an adrenaline junkie. Most of your type would have already shat their pants and been forced into the trafficking," he jested, or was it a jest? Most likely not. "But then, too, you have ME keeping your ass intact. And my own ass as well, aha!" Rourik sauntered over to the side of one of the buildings, looking upwards and gauging the height and distance, calculating his approach and available methods. The roaring engines were closing in fast while he wasted time. He really didn't care. He knew very well they'd be out of sight before anyone even knew they had been standing there previously. He leapt without warning, guiding his feet alongside the structure, the anti-gravitational enhancements gracefully guiding each and every step. He was virtually walking up the wall, reaching the top in two, three, four elongated steps that were more akin to an ice skater's eloquent dash across ice. He landed atop the old building. Bird fecies, everywhere. Old anttenae, downed clothing lines and a curious little table with broken chairs greeted him, regarding him with the town's characteristic stoicism. Lifelessness - these relics of the past embodied it.

Rourik knelt to let Remember down off of his back. The engines of the gang had drawn eerily close. The old Harley's had parked in front of the building they were standing on top of. "Huh... I wonder if this is a hideout of theirs? This building?" Rourik mused, sneaking over to the edge to peak over and acquire a general idea of what exactly they were doing there. The gang of eight had gathered around their rides, having lit up cigarettes, talking among each other. Rourik listened in, amplifying his cochlear implants to eavesdrop easily. "The rest of the guys are coming in soon. Turns out Rourik is the cause of this shit. He supposedly stole some governmental prototype. I shit you not." "That's a load of bollocks. From the government? Ha! You believe anything anyone fuckin' tells ya!" "I heard it was true. Why the fuck else would the government be honing in on our turf? Did you see Slevin's building? The government went in there and took him out. But, they left all his goods behind. That's why Eric ordered us here. There's a shipment coming. We gotta be here to unload all the shit the boys heisted from Slevin's roost." Rourik backed away from the ledge and turned around, "Mother. Fucker." he cursed, "These assholes have been looting my shit! And apparently, I'm dead! The government's too chicken shit to admit that I BEAT them. They can't say that I'm still alive - that I fucking WON!"

He was livid. Livid over nothing, practically. "But hey! I guess the good news is that if I'm dead, then that's probably what they reported on the news, huh? Maybe they didn't bother reporting anything about you - my accomplice. Hell, you may be 'dead', too, for all I fuckin' know." He shrugged, turned around and brought up his holographic GPS navigator. "We need to get going, I guess. But look!" he pointed from where they were standing, "You can see Chapman from here believe it or not. The bell tower." Indeed, the belltower of the manor stood high over the distant trees, poking up beyond the horizon of the market district's buildings, eclipsing the setting sun. The sky around it was a beautiful pink, sprayed with hints of purple. It was a rather inviting sight to behold. "I think for a bit we'll stick to the rooftops to avoid any street traffic, yeah? You okay with that?"

Remember stared at him. "Trafficking?" she asked. What did that mean? Perhaps she didn't understand simply because this was a completely foreign place to her with foreign concepts and foreign rules of life. She was quickly distracted by his cocky outburst of how she had him to protect her. She wasn't sure if she felt like she trusted him to keep her alive, but she had no real choice but to confide in him since there was no one else out there for her. As everything took place, she felt herself losing her mind into a forest of thought, ignoring him as he inched them both closer to the ledge so he could listen in. Even as he yelled and cursed and fussed about what he had heard, it took her a full moment to pull herself out of thought and back into reality again.

"Dead?" she asked. It would make sense. They could have likely recorded the event and used her little fiasco to form a believable story, then edit in some footage of the building collapsing on top of them (even if it had to be conjured) and viola! Perfect escape from the fact that they hadn't managed to complete their mission, to kill their target. It was an easy enough escape that they likely used to some extent before. Falsifying a story so that they could save their own asses. Tch, she wouldn't put it past them, and she knew that Rourik sure as hell wouldn't either.

The woman stared at the manor they continued to mention as she noticed it was in sight. She didn't even realize she was nodding in agreeance to staying on the rooftops until she had done so repeatedly for half a minute. Finally, she spoke something more than just single word questions that repeated fractions of what he said, sounding excited, "I can't wait." And that was that. Silence fell back upon her, although that smile of hers seemed to come out of nowhere. "C'mon, let's hurry. I want to see it in the light!"