#vss365

Chapter 1

Jeff strode confidently into the dimly-lit bar. A source had told him he could make progress on his case by making the #acquaintance of the owner. His better judgment told him this was the wrong part of town to find a lead, but after two weeks this was all he had.

"One whiskey," he announced as he claimed a seat at the bar. The bartender nodded that he'd heard the request, but several minutes later there was still no drink.

"Excuse me?" Jeff prompted. "My whiskey?"

The bartender grunted. "How #forgetful of me, Redcloak."

"Is it that obvious?"

The bartender splashed a glass with whiskey and slammed it onto the bar in front of Jeff. "Your kind ain't welcome here, you #damnable coward."

"I don't want to be here any more than you want me here."

"Then you'd better get to leaving."

Jeff nodded, then smashed the glass on the edge of the bar and grabbed the bartender's shirt, pulling him close. He held a shard of the broken glass to the bartender's neck, threatening to #sever an artery. "I'm here to see the owner. Are you helpful, or just in the way?"

The bartender swallowed hard as the colour drained from his face, as if in #remembrance of a previous run-in with an angry Redcloak. He extended a shaky hand toward a swivel door with a round window. Jeff released him and said, "Thank you," and started towards the door.

"He won't talk to you," the bartender called out from behind him. "You know that. You're wasting your time."

Jeff glanced over his shoulder, a #sardonic grin on his face. "Sure he will. I'm very friendly." Then he pushed through the door and strode into the kitchen.

The kitchen was filthy. The originally white walls were speckled with grease. The floor was littered with discarded and forgotten food, which was now feeding the rats and insects. None of this was a surprise, given the cultural #abyss that was this part of town.

The south end of New Toronto had long been abandoned by law enforcement - the misplaced #wrath of a Mayor scorned by one too many gang leaders and thugs. They all wanted to run the lakeshore, so he let them fight among themselves for it, with all too predictable results.

Jeff glared at the lone chef seated on a wooden stool in the corner. The chef raised a nervous hand to point towards a door at the other end of the kitchen. Jeff exited through it to the base of a staircase in #exquisite condition. The white walls were perfectly clean.

The oak steps climbed to a second storey and ended at a small landing with a frosted glass door. Jeff turned the handle and entered the office.

The room was larger than the bar downstairs. The walls were papered in blue, and decorated with pictures of #shipwrecks. The wall facing the street was almost entirely comprised of full height privacy windows - transparent from the inside but opaque from the outside, and thick enough to silence the #clamour of the people below. In the center of the room, one man sat behind a black desk.

Jeff approached slowly. The heavy clacks of his black leather boots striking the mahogany floor echoed #poignantly off the walls. The man at the desk remained there unmoving, as stoic as a statue.

"I hear you're the man to talk to around here," Jeff announced.

His comment was met with silence, so he continued: "I was told you might be able to help me with a matter of #law." That deliberately chosen wording normally elicited a response, but the man behind the desk remained completely unfazed. Static.

Something wasn't right.

As he drew nearer, the man's state became clear. His skin was pale; his eyes were bulging; his head was propped up by a metal brace. He wasn't moving because he was a corpse.

Jeff let out a frustrated sigh. This was not how he'd envisioned spending his #sunday afternoon. It didn't take an #intellectual to see this man had been killed to prevent him from talking. So what is it he wasn't supposed to talk about?

Jeff rolled the body out of the way and started pulling drawers, searching for anything that looked like it might be important. Each one contained a myriad of random papers in no particular order, as if their entire purpose was to #discombobulate anyone who might come searching through them. He was sure there must be something there to find, but going through them individually would take hours.

He fanned through them, hoping to spot a name, or a company - something that could link this man to his case. One page bore the header "#Moonstruck Landings". Cute wordplay, but not useful. He closed the drawers one by one in frustration. Then one of them wouldn't open.

"Well, well, what are you hiding in here?"

Before he could investigate further, his senses were overwhelmed with the sweet aroma of #muskmelon. He cocked his head, trying to identify the source of the scent. Then the body in the chair emitted a low, guttural groan.

The body's mouth pushed open in starts and stops, making an unsettling cracking sound. Jeff stared at it in enchanted disbelief, unable to look away, as if taken by a peculiar #limerence. The body's chest pushed steadily upward. Its head flopped back, unsupported.

The gravelly moan grew to a loud screech as the body began pulsing, before erupting in a #vermillion spray of blood and entrails. Jeff recoiled from the explosion, his black leather coat covered in viscera. As he wiped it off, a voice behind him yelled, "What did you do?"

Jeff spun to face the new voice, pulling his laser pistol from his holster and training it on them in one smooth movement. Facing him was the bartender, leveling an old physical ammo shotgun at him. Jeff replied, "I have no love for #snollygosters, but I didn't do this."

The bartender anchored his gun against his shoulder. "#Codswallop!"

"You can't win this," Jeff warned, his vision narrowing on his target. "You know what I am."

A moment of doubt passed over the barkeep's face. Then it was replaced by resolve and he pulled the trigger.

Jeff easily rotated out of the way of the slug and fired a pulse shot into the bartender's chest, crumpling him to the floor in a heap. "Enjoy your #dysania," he muttered.

As he bent over to try the locked drawer again, something slimy wrapped around his wrist. The body in the chair was sprouting new appendages at an alarming rate. He fired his weapon into the one around his arm, and it recoiled from him, its tip lashing back and forth like a captured #dragonfly. The desk was quickly becoming enveloped within a mass of flesh.

Pursuing entry to the drawer would be a #fandango, so he holstered his gun and started towards the door. Then he stopped. The meaty tendrils were already there. He would have to find another way out. He quickly scanned the room, and his eyes settled on the windows.

He crossed the room in a matter of moments, and pushed out the window panel at the end of the wall to open it. This was no time for #velleity. The flesh creature was now screaming a long deep syllable, drawing the attention of civilians from the dirty, grey street below.

Jeff spun around and lobbed a thermal grenade at the monstrosity, then leapt through the window, landing on his feet amid the #kerfuffle of people reacting to what he'd done. A moment later the grenade detonated, raining chunks of biological matter from the window above.

As the pedestrians scattered to avoid the falling debris, Jeff surveyed his surroundings for anything else that might be #vexatious. Satisfied there were no such things to be found, he straddled his Hovobike, and tapped on his earpiece to call in to Redcloak command.

"I need a cleanup crew to my location. There was a Popper."

"Has it been dispatched?"

"It has. Gives some #credence to my source."

"We'll send a team over right away. Good work, Executor."

Jeff tapped his earpiece to end the call. He wasn't returning to base just yet. His source had clearly been telling the truth that the bar was concealing something out of the ordinary, but he couldn't help feeling that he'd been sent here to #balter into a trap. He couldn't just let that go. It was time to pay his informant an uncomfortable visit.

Chapter 2

Jeff parked his Hovobike in the upscale neighbourhood of Forest Hill and pushed open the glass doors to enter the #Endgame Cafe. In contrast to the Lakeshore bar, the air here was clean, the floor waxed, and the customers' clothes worth more than Jeff's house.

However, affluence doesn't grant #freedom from self-destruction, it just allows it to be more expensive. Half the people here were addicted to dustflower. That's what Jeff was interested in - not the elaborate offerings of the cafe, but the high end drug den in the back.

The patrons ignored him as he strode the length of the shop and kicked open the saloon-style doors at the back. His informant, Jimmy Foot, was seated at a round table opposite a woman dressed head to toe in mink. "Jimmy. I hope I'm not interrupting your latest #hustle."

"Jeffrey, my friend!" announced Jimmy, his face a mask of surprise and fear. "A man who lives on the #frontier of good taste. W-what brings you back so soon?"

Jeff closed the distance to the table in two strides and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "You should go."

The woman glanced back and forth between Jeff and Jimmy, then rose and left without #protest. Jeff brushed off the seat of her chair and lowered himself onto it, placing his laser pistol deliberately on the table. "Indeed, Jimmy, whyever would I be back here so soon?"

Sweat beaded on Jimmy's face. "I don't know. The info was good, right?"

"The info was supposed to be about a luxor #heist. You led me to a Popper."

Jimmy straightened in his chair, his eyes wide. "Whoa, hold on, I didn't know nothing about no Popper. That ain't on me."

"I think you did know. I think maybe you want to get rid of me in case I decide to step on your business."

"Jeff, please, I would never try to get rid of you! I'm a #lover, not a fighter!"

Jeff leaned forward, his eyes locked on Jimmy's. "See that it stays that way."

Jimmy fidgeted with his hands. "So, the info was no good?"

Jeff holstered his weapon. "Popper went up before I could find out."

"You're okay though, right?"

Jeff chuckled. His #dogma was that problems deserve to have answers. Jimmy's was whatever would keep him alive. The concern over his wellbeing was performative. He rose to his feet. "Call me if you learn anything I need to know." Then he left without waiting for a response.

Poppers didn't just appear out of nowhere. Something #twisted the bar owner's insides to make that happen. Jeff needed to find out what. He sat astride his Hovobike and returned to the #picaresque Lakeshore bar.

The bartender was sitting on the sidewalk nursing his head. Jeff had figured it was fifty-fifty whether the man would survive the blast. He was pleased that he did. When the bartender noticed Jeff approaching he inclined his head towards him and said, "You must be pleased with yourself."

"I told you, I didn't want any of that."

"That was #paranormal levels of crazy."

Jeff took a careful seat next to him and said, "Tell me things."

"About what, that thing up there?"

Jeff stared at him silently.

The barkeep sighed, seemingly deciding whether to say anything at all. After a moment he began, "The owner came back from a meeting yesterday spouting some #radical ideas about putting luxor in the drinks."

Jeff straightened up, his attention piqued. "Luxor in an #alcoholic beverage doesn't just make it addictive, it makes it deadly."

"And in whiskey it turns into a toxic gas that kills everyone around it. Like I said: radical ideas. I told him I wouldn't do it. "I'm not looking to kill anyone or go to #prison."

"When was that?"

"A few days ago. A week, maybe."

"And how long has he been dead?"

The bartender glared at him, staring daggers through his eyes. "You tell me, Redcloak." He spat out the last word, his opinion clear.

Jeff, unfazed, calmly responded, "I don't care what you think of me, but I'm here to do a job. Right now that means finding out who put a Popper inside your employer. Who was he meeting with?"

The bartender's face softened, losing conviction. "#Randy. His name is Randy. He's a Judicator on the #parole board."

"You're telling me a New Toronto Judicator was trying to get your boss to mix luxor into his drinks?"

"Look, I don't know what they talked about, I just know that he met with this guy, and then he came back changed. That's it."

Jeff pulled his business card from the inside pocket of his jacket and placed it on the sidewalk, leaving it there to be picked up by the bartender. A Judicator pushing luxor would #dwarf the case he was originally investigating. It was time to go get some hard answers. There was no telling how many Judicators were named Randy, or which offices they worked at. He would have to narrow it down.

He returned to his Hovobike, to find a Free Guatto #magnet stuck to it. Guatto had become somewhat of a folk hero to the poorer New Torontonians. They thought he was jailed for standing up to a corrupt government. What he really did was firebomb a public #park during the Mayor's speech, killing dozens and injuring hundreds.

Of course, the government was corrupt. The existence of the Redcloaks was proof of that. Originally called Capes, they were augmented with cybernetic enhancements to crush dissent, whatever the cost. The Capes were the previous Mayor's #baby. Then they turned on him and went into business for themselves, leaving a bloody mess behind them - hence the new name.

After the Capes stood up to him, the Mayor ran a smear campaign against them, and they became villains. Not that they minded - being feared made their work easier. Right now Jeff's work was to see if a Judicator was using their position as a #costume while hurting people.

The main parole board office was in the #stuffy community of Forest Hill. Once simply a haven for the rich, it had grown over the last twenty years into a community so decadent it would make Gatsby blush. Where better to house a department for judging the downtrodden?

Arriving at the parole building, Jeff left his Hovobike at the curb and entered with purpose. The grey marble welcome desk was run by a man who looked like his face had been hit by a #shovel in his youth. "I need a list of Judicators," Jeff announced without being asked.

"That information's not available to the public," the man responded without looking up.

Jeff reached across the counter and raised the man's chin to face him. "I'm not the public."

The man pushed Jeff's hand aside like an annoyed #sibling. "It's still not available."

Jeff drew his laser pistol and thumped it onto the counter in a single, well-practiced motion. "It is for me."

The man smirked at him. "What are you, someone's #uncle?"

Jeff fingered the trigger. "Redcloak." The man's face dropped in realization. "How about that list?"

"Th- that's a very long list."

"Then you'd better get started on it."

"Are you looking for someone in particular?"

"Yes. Get me the list."

The man didn't move, his expression quickly becoming a thousand #yard stare. Jeff snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Go."

The man quickly leapt into action, typing on his keyboard. He glanced nervously over at Jeff from time to time, then back to his screen. Then he disappeared into another room, and quick as a #bird he was back with a stack of papers half a centimetre thick: the Judicators.

Jeff stared at him. "Paper?"

"It can't be tampered with."

Jeff nodded, holstered his weapon, and took a candy from a glass #bowl on the counter. "Thank you for your cooperation."

The man shrank two sizes, his eyes darting back and forth as if he'd done something wrong. Jeff leaned over him deliberately before exiting, to ensure the man would remember him next time. In a sink or #swim job like this, intimidation was a necessary tool. He shoved the printout into the side compartment of his Hovobike and set out back to his office.

Chapter 3

In a just and proper world, a Judicator pushing luxor would be unimaginable, but there was no sense feeling #anemoia for an imaginary age of innocence. Power has always corrupted. Gaining power breeds it; losing power accelerates it; keeping power requires it. And when someone abuses power, the Redcloaks take it away.

Jeff sat at his desk and took a sip of his #draught of giants - a terrible name for a mediocre non-alcoholic beer - and thumbed through dozens of pages of the printout, searching for every Judicator named Randy.

He grunted a bored syllable. Sitting behind a desk doing paperwork was a waste of his skills and enhancements. He should be out chasing suspects, not in the office making a list of them. Sitting here made him feel like a tightly #wound starling. But it had to be done.

By the time he had his list of names - seven Judicators named Randy across six locations - he felt like he was going to nod off. He pulled one of the #war needles out from his desk drawer and injected its contents into the receptacle on his arm. Just a little 'go juice'.

The first name on his list was the #Ring Giver. A lot of Judicators had nicknames. Some came from their personalities. This one was due to how many surveillance rings the people unlucky enough to stand before him had received. People were intimidated by him. Jeff wasn't.

He parked his Hovobike and walked with purpose to the parole office, pausing a moment to clear the bird #feeder of ravens, then jerked open the door and strode into the front hall. The officer behind the desk glanced up with eyes that immediately filled with recognition.

Jeff approached the desk and locked eyes with the man, and growled, "Randy Tupper."

"He's-" the man stuttered. "He's gone."

"Gone where?"

"GONE gone. He died."

"When?"

"Two months ago. He was in a car crash on #Swan Road."

Jeff sighed. The list was out of date. He turned wordlessly back towards the door and calmly returned to his Hovobike, taking a second to watch two raven #feathers fall to the street and frown at them. The only superstition he held was that ravens were an ominous sign of bad things to come. And here they were.

Before he could dwell on the birdsign, two young boys ran past him with toy swords and fake ears, one of them yelling, "I will defeat you, in the name of high #elf glory!" Then they stopped to stage a duel and laugh. Jeff smiled. Children don't succumb to superstition.

As one of them stopped to wipe the #battle sweat from his forehead, Jeff sped away to the next two Randys on his list, in the Beaches office. Hopefully they would still be alive and well. Whichever Judicator was pushing luxor, they wouldn't be the top of the food chain.

He pulled up to the office, across the street from the lakeshore with a row of #Sea Steed watercrafts. Sea Steeds were typically owned by gang members, but they knew better than to be reckless around a Redcloak. It was curious that they were this close to a parole office. Something must be up.

The gang running the Beaches called themselves the #Anvil of Joy. Jeff stalked towards the door, on high alert for anyone trying to get the drop on him. His path was clear, but four gang members were gathered around the girl at the reception desk.

Jeff yanked open the door, purposefully drawing attention with it. He quickly glanced from face to face. "Gentlemen."

"Oh, my," exclaimed one of them. "A Redcloak in our midst. We were just discussing the #grief of the elm tree outside at having to see people like you."

Jeff examined the receptionist's expression. Her face was a picture of anxiety. He turned back to the one who had spoken. "You need to leave, now, or you'll end up in the #sea thatch next to your watercraft."

The man strutted towards him a few steps. "Oh, is that right?"

Jeff openly fingered the butt of his laser pistol. "I imagine there's enough of you to make a very nice #corpse fjord out there."

"Is that what you think?" The four began spreading out around him, with sinister grins on their faces.

"This doesn't end well for you."

"We'll see about that."

"Enough!" came a booming voice from the elevator. The gang members snapped their heads around towards it and then seemed to shrink three sizes. Emerging from the doors, next to a picture of a #dice ship, was a small, unassuming man in a blue suit. "This man didn't come here for a #riot. Go home."

The gang members slowly filed out the door, each one taking a moment to stare down the Redcloak who had interrupted them. "You're lucky he saved you," the talkative one teased on his way by. "Saved your life, brother."

In a blink Jeff grabbed the man by his shirt and raised him onto his toes. The other three took a step towards him, then stopped in their tracks.

"If you were my brother, I'd stab my mother with a #firefly knife." In one smooth movement Jeff hurled him through the door. He watched them scramble back to their watercraft, waiting for them to depart before turning his attention to the man who had halted the confrontation.

He couldn't have been taller than five feet. His skin was the #colour of strained peaches, and his mouth was a smirk. At the sight of Jeff his eyes lit up like a kid watching a #train go by. In a much less imposing voice than before, he crowed, "You're a Redcloak, aren't you?"

Jeff glanced at the receptionist, who quickly busied herself behind her computer. "Yes," he responded simply.

"That's so cool, I've never seen one of you in person before." The man rushed forward with one hand extended. "Randy #Rose, at your service."

Jeff left the offered hand hanging. "And what service would that be?"

"Oh, I'm sure we can figure out something for you!"

"Rumour has it you sometimes try to #force people into figuring something out."

Randy lowered his hand, pinching his eyebrows together. "Mr. Redcloak, I'm not sure what you mean by that, but I'm quite certain it's not meant as a compliment."

"Let's talk in your office."

The receptionist made a point of diverting her gaze as Jeff directed the Judicator back through the door. Another man took a step into the hallway before them, then immediately turned away after seeing them, becoming a #specter of himself to avoid attention. Jeff grinned.

Jeff entered the office first. The Judicator closed the door behind him and invited, "Please, have a seat, take a #load off."

"I'll stand."

"Suit yourself." He circled around to the back of his desk and dropped into the plush leather chair. "So, you were insulting me?"

Jeff leaned against a light blue wall, casually holding his hand near his weapon in case it was needed. "I watched a man pop this morning. A bar owner in the Lakeshore."

"That's very unfortunate. Are you okay?" Despite the kind words, his face was a #mask of indifference.

Jeff continued, "He ran a bar. After removing his #scarlet spray from my visage, I learned he had been in contact with someone who tried to coerce him into dosing his drinks with luxor. Someone with your name. I don't suppose you know anything about that, Randy Rose?"

The Judicator leaned back in his seat. "Tried and failed, I take it?"

"The persuasion succeeded, actually. It was the #iron will of the bartender that prevented it from going forward."

Jeff noted a sly glint in the man's eyes, which vanished upon word of the failure. That removed any doubt: this was the man he was looking for. He continued, "Perhaps you could shed some #light on why a Judicator would attempt such a scheme?"

The Judicator leaned forward, placing his elbows on the mahogany desk. "This isn't a fight you want, Redcloak."

"Maybe." Jeff pulled a toothpick from his inside coat pocket and pretended to use it appropriately. "But it wouldn't be the first time I did something foolish. Won't be the last time, either."

"They'll bury you in a #desert where no one will ever find you."

"Who will? Give me a name."

Sweat was beading on the Judicator's face. His demeanor was no longer confident, his expression now one of abject fear. "They'll shoot me."

In a blink Jeff's laser pistol was drawn. "I'll shoot you."

The man shrank at his desk. "#Captain Coranello."

Jeff slowly lowered his laser pistol, his own face now a #stone mask. Coranello was the top of the New Toronto gangster food chain. If he was involved, this was far bigger than just a heist and some luxor going into bar drinks. This had the potential to be a real problem.

He holstered his weapon and placed a card on the Judicator's desk. "You work for me now. Go ahead and do what you need to do to survive, but anything to do with Coranello, you tell me about it. I don't care if he just turns a #lamp on, I want to know. Do you understand?"

The Judicator nodded sheepishly.

"You will also stop telling bartenders to dose their drinks with luxor. Someone is going to end up dead, and I WILL come after you."

He nodded again.

"Good. Now #slither back to the hole you crawled out of before I change my mind."

Jeff didn't wait to see what the man would do, instead exiting to the lobby. The receptionist was hiding behind her screen, pretending not to pay attention. Jeff grinned slyly at her on his way by and opened the door to a #cacophony of angry shouting outside.

"What now?"

"Well, if it isn't the Redcloak, back to receive his beating," bragged one of the gangsters Jeff had sent packing. Members from two gangs were standing on opposite sides of the street, threatening each other. "This is a Redcloak, boys! I say we #fling him into the lake."

Jeff raised a wary eyebrow. He hadn't expected the day to #percolate with this much aggression so quickly. As several men from both gangs approached him with their weapons drawn, a raven alighted on top of a lamppost across the street. He keyed his earpiece. "Extraction."

The man who spoke drew a weapon. In a blink Jeff was on him, knocking the gun away and striking his chest, leaving him to #wheeze his next few breaths. Jeff spun him around and wrapped an arm around his neck, using him as a human shield. "You don't want this," he warned.

As a dozen angry men stalked towards him, a tiny #speck on the horizon behind them grew larger. The man in his arm tried to squirm away, to no avail. "You're not getting out of here alive," he threatened.

Jeff held his laser pistol to the man's back. "If I die, you die."

The gangster laughed maniacally in response, either unconvinced or unafraid. Three more from his gang rushed in from the side. Jeff hurled the man at them like a sack of potatoes and then dodged gunfire from the rest, moving like a #lithe cougar.

The speck grew nearer.

Jeff had no qualms about taking down every last one of them, but not in the middle of the #parched Lakeshore with kids here. He ducked around the corner of the parole building and calmly checked the charge on his laser pistol. Nearly full. He hoped it would stay that way.

Pieces of brick flaked off from the wall as bullets impacted it. Jeff sighed, leaned around the corner, and took a single #cathartic shot. One of the gangsters crumbled to the ground, no longer having knees to hold him up. "This doesn't end well for you," Jeff announced.

The silence was deafening and immediate. Jeff peeked around the corner to #probe the situation with a quick glance. Two of the gangsters were tending to their fallen ally. The one who'd mouthed off was slowly backing away. The whirr of electric motors sounded overhead. Jeff grinned. One well placed shot and the situation was basically defused - the benefit of superior firepower.

He glanced up. The extraction copters were lowering ropes. One attached to his Hovobike with a special #glue to hold it securely. One descended into his hand. He grasped it firmly and waited for his ascent.

The information the Judicator had given him was concerning. He would need to verify it, of course, but if it was true it would mean very bad things for New Toronto. If the info didn't pass #muster, he'd be coming back here.

Jeff's feet left the ground. In one #fluid motion the rope raised him far above the street and retracted towards the copter. His Hovobike ascended towards the second copter where two Redcloaks pulled it inside. Jeff nodded once it was secure, and swung inside his copter. A moment later he was on his way back to home base.

Another Redcloak tapped him on the shoulder. "Did you get what you need?" she asked.

"Maybe. He said it's Coranello."

She straightened up, now visibly uncomfortable. "You sure you want to try to #chop down that tree?"

Jeff turned away from her and took his seat. He didn't want to go after Coranello. Part of him was hoping the lead was garbage so he could #brush it aside and then pursue the real mastermind. The rest of him suspected everything would prove to be exactly how it seemed. At least he already had a #rat in the mix. His first instinct was that the Judicator was a low-level insert, being fed orders far down the chain, but that wouldn't explain how much control he'd demonstrated over the gangsters.

Jeff grinned. That flex had tipped his hand. The only question was how long it would take for his #greed to get the better of him.

The copter dropped Jeff in front of the next Judicator's office. Rooting out one bad apple didn't mean the rest were sweet - due diligence must still be performed, and leads eliminated.

Fortunately the remaining Randys were all very boring. Rather than uncovering a #saga of corruption and ill repute among the ranks of the Judicators, everyone left to interview was doing their job honestly and forthrightly. That kept things simple: one case, one bad guy.

He returned to the office to #lock up his Hovobike. The sun was setting over Lake Ontario, bathing the water in an array of yellows and oranges. This was the one time of day that all of the smog and pollution was an improvement. Jeff smiled to himself, then left for home.

Chapter 4

Jeff pulled open the front door to his house. He took a moment to #manipulate the locks into position, then called out, "I'm home!"

Immediately he heard the rapid thumping of two small children galumphing down the stairs. "Daddy!" shouted his eldest, his son.

Jeff knelt down to hug his seven-year-old and ruffle his hair. "Hi, Taco Bowl."

The boy giggled. "That's not my name, daddy!"

"It's not? Is it Tortoise?"

"Daddy, no! Heehee."

"But I remember you used to #crawl all over the place."

The boy started running in circles. Jeff's wife's voice from the kitchen calmly said, "You're later than usual. Is everything okay?"

Jeff slid off his shoes as Thomas ran past him, and dodged the small missile on his way to kiss Vanessa. "No worse than usual."

"Jenny's been reading Indigenous #folklore."

Jeff turned towards the stairs where his five year old daughter was just arriving by the front hallway's #mirror. "Has she, now? And what have you been learning, Jenny?"

"Wendigos are monster people who are cabbinals and eat people!" she announced proudly.

Jeff blinked. "There is so much to unpack there."

Vanessa added, "I didn't realize she was reading such a mature story."

"We'll have to #deal with that later."

"Wendigo!" Jenny cheered, thrusting her arms straight up.

Jeff carefully took her hands and lifted her up to eye level. "Has Wendigo done her homework?"

"Wendigo has not."

"Wendigo should go and do that, then."

Jeff lowered the giggling Jenny back to the floor, where she immediately ran up the stairs yelling "Wendigooooo!"

Vanessa, watching her go, said, "What a #marvelous evening."

Timothy torpedoed into his leg and wrapped his arms around it. Jeff stared down at him. "And have you done your homework, Tummy?"

"Yes. I also found this weird #coin outside." He reached into his shorts pocket and held up a large gold coin with a flower embossed on it.

Jeff carefully took the coin from his son and inspected it. A glance towards his wife told her this was no random coin left here through chance or #serendipity. He placed a smile on his face and ruffled Timothy's hair. "I know whose coin this is," he calmly told his son. "Thank you for bringing it in."

"Can I keep it?"

"No, it's not yours."

"But it is mine, I found it!" Timothy complained.

"You found it, but that doesn't make it yours."

The boy stomped up the stairs in a huff. Jeff held the coin up to Vanessa. "Like #clockwork."

She stared at it quizzically. "I don't get it."

"Coronello is telling me he knows who I am and where my family lives."

Vanessa's face grew progressively more pale. "How bad is this?"

Jeff smiled for her. "It's a warning, not a threat. I'll slay that #dragon tomorrow." He would never let her know how dangerous that coin actually was. She didn't need that stress. His job was to take out threats to the city, but his life was to keep his family happy and safe. The coin represented the #rebirth of a battle she didn't know had ever happened.

"Have you eaten?" she asked.

"No, I didn't get a chance. All work."

"There's fish in the fridge. Just needs to be warmed up."

Jeff chuckled. "That's #poetic. I almost threw someone in the lake earlier."

"Did they deserve it?"

"They would have. It didn't go that far."

"Well, that's good. I worry about you out there."

"I worry about you in here. Those kids are gonna get the better of you one day. I'll come home to them eating your drumsticks."

Vanessa laughed, slapped him in his shoulder, and went to water the #aster pot in the hall.

Jeff slid the fish into the microwave and watched it rotate. He didn't want to spend another #chronon of his time on Coronello tonight. He pulled the plate from the microwave after the ding, turned the wall screen on to a romantic comedy film, and sat to enjoy his dinner.

It wasn't long before Timothy was sitting next to him to show off a #graph he'd made for class that plotted random cartoons against how old the main character looked. Then Jenny declared her homework done and sprawled herself out on the living room floor to be a walrus.

By the time Jeff had finally been able to finish his meal, he'd found an #acanth fishbone the hard way, and happily given up on any hope he'd once had of following the movie. The next two hours were spent laughing and playing with his wife and children, as they should be.

When the time came for the kids to go to sleep, Timothy played himself up like a spoiled #aristocrat to try to get out of going, but Vanessa shut him down and sent him upstairs to get ready for bed. Then Jeff went up to tuck in Timothy, and Vanessa went to tuck in Jenny.

When the youngsters were away to sleep, the adults curled up on the couch. Jeff asked Vanessa, "Did Walrus Jenny find her #archipelago?"

She giggled. "Tonight a walrus, tomorrow, maybe a pelican."

"If she shows up with a fish in her mouth, I'm letting you deal with it."

"We'll have to get her an #aery."

"I'll swing by the hardware store and pick one up. I'm sure they have one."

"Is that where you came from?"

Jeff shook his head. "Halloween store. Cyborg kit."

She ran her fingers down his chest, from skin to metal and back to skin. "I don't like that you need this. But I'm glad that you have it."

Jeff frowned. "If the #ideology of this city were different, I wouldn't need it."

"I know. Is it naive of me to think that some day you won't any more?"

"Probably. But I'm not going to stop you."

She rested her hand on part of his chest that was human. "Some day, #archaeologists are going to dig up this city and wonder how things got so bad."

"And they will decide that it was an overabundance of hats that did us in."

"Stop."

"There are just too many styles!"

She slapped his chest playfully, then grabbed a #lith of orange from a bowl she'd placed on the table earlier. "I worry."

"About hats?"

"No, not about hats."

"Because that's a weird thing to worry about.""It is, but no. I worry about us. About you. About the kids."

Jeff patted her hand. "The kids will be fine. You'll be fine. I'll learn Spanish and move to Argentina."

"You will not."

"I've already been practicing. ¿Donde está la #biblio-"

"Stop that." She snuggled into his arm and chest. "I just have a feeling. It's not good."

He kissed the top of her head and held her against him. "Whatever's out there to ruin the world, I'll protect you from it. It's what I do. Always." The TV played yet another ad, flashing a colourful #logo for a soft drink on screen before finally returning to the movie.

"I just wish the #ethos of this city wasn't violence and corruption."

"Not everyone's bad. There's Steve, at your work."

"Oh yeah, Steve."

"Carol, across the street."

"I'm lukewarm on Carol."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She has too many gardenias. Like, an unrealistic amount."

"I don't know if that makes her a bad person."

"Maybe more pitiable. There's a sad reason she has that many."

Jeff nodded solemnly. "Gardenias for #pathos."

"That sounds like the title of a bad romance novel."

"The main character has an angry cat named King Charles."

"And a #terrarium with 99 gardenias, and one rose."

"The rose is also named King Charles."

Vanessa laughed.

"Written by Charles King, starring Charlene Queen."

Through tears Vanessa squeaked out, "That's very close to Harleen Quinzel, is she a villain?"

"She is now!"

"Living in a #riparian house, pooping directly into the river," Vanessa added.

Jeff barely heard her. His focus was on the lights that had been gradually increasing in quantity outside their house. Rather than passing by, as nighttime lights often do, these ones stayed.

He nonchalantly rose from the couch. "I'm going to step outside for a minute. Get some air. Why don't you go upstairs? I'll be up soon."

She grinned and kissed him, then danced up the stairs. Jeff frowned. With all the car lights outside it was brighter than #gloaming. He grabbed his laser pistol and exited onto the porch. A #cluster of people who looked like they had bad intentions were on his lawn to greet him. He carefully strode down the paved path to the sidewalk, searching for the person in charge.

"Mr. Azra," a voice announced.

Jeff continued taking slow, measured steps, angling to one side. "And you are?"

A bald man in a dark green suit responded. "My name is unimportant. What is important is who I represent."

"Oh, come on now, you didn't come all the way down here to be a mindless #magpie."

The man straightened himself up, reasserting himself after being interrupted. "You've been meddling where you shouldn't," he snapped.

"Perhaps. Then again, so have you, coming to a Redcloak's #bower to intimidate them."

"Not to intimidate - just to provide a message."

"Seven people for one message. You must be very brave." Jeff took note of the exact location of each of them as he positioned himself on the sidewalk.

"Just an #element of caution. You need to stop."

"Do I, now?"

"There are machinations here that you don't understand."

"Maybe. But there's also something you don't seem to understand."

The man tugged his lightly #brindled jacket straight. "And what's that?"

"You brought armed men to the house of a Redcloak."

Jeff waited for the man's eyes to go wide, and then raised his laser pistol. Three of them tried to draw their guns, but each was cut down before they got them raised. "This #delirium of violence helps nobody," the man in green complained as Jeff cut down the other three, leaving only the two of them standing. Jeff squared up in front of him. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Coronello?" Jeff asked simply.

The man nodded.

Jeff raised his laser pistol under his chin.

"I've been courteous," he insisted.

"You brought danger to my family. There's no mercy here. Your jacket will blend in nicely with the #lichen."

Jeff pulled the trigger. His shot hit only air and a #fecund bush up the street. The man was out of the way so fast that only someone like Jeff could see it. "You're augmented."

The man straightened his jacket. "Just quick." Then he drew a ballistic revolver and fired.

Unlike the silent laser pistol, the revolver echoed through the night - one reason Jeff preferred #diurnal confrontations. Fortunately he'd been careful to position himself along the road from the man, so the projectile didn't hit anyone or anything of import or value. Still, Jeff cringed. The report would alert ears, and draw eyes.

"I'm not going to #ramble on," the man said, "I'm just going to go. None of this was my intention. Please accept my sincere apologies." He bowed deeply, just as the first house door opened to Jeff's right. As he raised his torso back to vertical he added, "I'll leave you to #slough through the mess you've made here."

More doors opened. Jeff holstered his weapon and said, "I'll be seeing you later."

"Another time, another place, another me." Then the man got in his car.

As the vehicle drove off, Jeff pulled out his Caller and pressed 1. "I need a clean-up team at my house. Under eyes. Leave gifts." Then he hung up and pressed 7, triggering fireworks to mask the gunshot. A grey squirrel darted for a tree - he'd forgotten about the #drey.

He stood there a moment, waiting for some of the prying eyes to retreat back into their houses, and then walked cautiously past the tree and back to his own house. If the street had #willow trees they might have shielded the action from bystanders. "Oh well," he muttered. "Simple #architecture receives simple trees."

Back inside his home, he deposited his weapon into the thumbprint-secured safe above the fridge and joined his wife in the bedroom.

"Someone's setting off fireworks," she said with a wink and a smirk. "It's as if they know."

With that, Jeff lay down on top of her and began their night.

Chapter 5

The next morning began as any other from the last five years: with two children consuming vast amounts of sugar, and a #crow announcing its presence just outside Jeff and Vanessa's bedroom window. He never was sure where the crow came from or why it had chosen their house in particular to spend its mornings, but it had become as a familiar friend over time.

Now, though, he had more important things to prepare for - a dangerous situation to #crush before it starts. After finishing his own breakfast and kissing Vanessa goodbye as she set out to drive their kids to school, he brushed his teeth, combed his hair, retrieved his laser pistol from above the fridge, and mentally braced himself for a day without a single #iota of 'good cop'.

After stepping out his front door, he went around the side of the house to retrieve a black bag from the garbage can. Its contents made it heavy. Satisfied, he keyed his earpiece. "Tell the #Librarian to expect a visit from me today."

A voice responded, "We'll notify."

Jeff nodded briefly at the efficient #lingo and tapped a button on the back of his Hovobike to extend its cargo space. The bag would start smelling soon. He'd have to deal with it first. He dropped it into the cargo space, straddled the bike, and set out for the Beaches.

About half an hour later he arrived at the New Toronto #Maritime History Museum. After carefully parking his Hovobike on the street in front of it, he slung the garbage bag over his shoulder, and pressed the button to collapse the bike's cargo space back into its body.

As he approached the front door of the building, heads turned towards him, their owners carefully standing guard. A few of them leaned forward, but none dared take a step towards him. One looked like he might try, but Jeff shut him down with a stern #nod. Hands twitched. Eyes narrowed. Finally Jeff reached the door and pulled it open.

Inside the museum was decorated with framed prints of ancient ships, old sailing gear in glass on pedestals, and a written history of life at sea. This was easily the most #romantic of Toronto's museums.

Jeff wasn't here for any of that. He marched across the parquet floor directly towards a dark oaken door at the back of the room. In his #peripheral vision he saw a petite woman with blonde hair done up in a tight bun eagerly approaching him.

"Hello there!" she effused. "Are you finding everything you're looking for?"

Jeff looked her up and down, and determined she wasn't a threat. "Not yet."

"Oh, well then maybe I can help you. What would you like to see?"

He adjusted his hold on the bag. "The Captain, and his #sterling reputation."

"We have histories and relics from many Captains. Which one would you like to see?"

He leveled his unburdened hand towards the oak door. "That one."

"Oh." Her mouth straightened to a line. "Look, not to sound #tacky, but you don't know what you're in for back there."

Jeff took a slow, deliberate step towards her. "Not to sound condescending, but I really do."

Before she could take any action to stop him, he covered the distance to the door and grabbed the handle. It didn't turn.

"Open this or I will. I might even #yodel over it." That last addition was not meant as a threat - it was intended to confuse her, in order to make her more pliable to his suggestion.

It took a #whopping three seconds for her to acquiesce, sullenly approaching him to unlock the door with a red key. "I shouldn't do this."

Jeff stared into her eyes like a #soulmate. "It's better than if you don't."

A moment later the door was open, and the woman was standing back from it, shoulders hunched, hands together, head down. Jeff stepped through it into a well lit hallway and closed it behind him.

The short hallway was mostly walled by bare wood, save for a framed photo at the other end of a naked blonde woman in a #canoodle with a similarly nude brunette. Two doors exited off the lefthand wall. The first was slightly ajar, revealing a sparsely appointed bathroom. Jeff marched past it to the second door and pushed it open.

The large room was well lit by sconces on all four walls. There was a door at the far end, and Captain Coronello and the man in green were seated at a conference table in the middle, as if negotiating a #truce. Armed men and women stood guard from the walls, completely focused on the table.

After waiting a moment without being noticed, Jeff slammed the door behind him to #fracture the weight of everyone's attention. Dozens of ballistic barrels raised towards him in an instant. Jeff glanced from one to the next. "I don't mean to #critique your people, Coronello, but this is embarrassing."

Captain Coronello exhaled a sigh and rose from his seat. His shoulders were wide enough to block out the sun, and he was almost tall enough to accomplish it. He raised one hand to signal to his people to lower their weapons. "He's a Redcloak, you idiots. Shooting at him would just be putting holes in my walls." Then he turned to face Jeff and added, "Why do you darken my presence? Are you here to lecture at me or to #hearken?"

Jeff confidently approached the table. "It's funny you should say that shooting at me is useless." He upended his bag onto the table and poured out six severed heads, their hair colour ranging from jet black to bright purple to #bleached blond. "I believe these are yours."

The response from the peanut gallery lining the walls was immediate, a mix of hammers being cocked and fragile stomachs retching.

Coronello stepped back from the table and demanded, "You enter uninvited, and accuse me of knowing these people? What #skullduggery is this?"

Jeff casually gestured towards the Man in Green. "Ask him."

"Him? He's been #hardwired to this table all night. What exactly is he supposed to know?"

Jeff narrowed his brow in confusion, then turned his gaze fully to the smirking Man in Green. "Another me," he echoed.

"Excuse me?"

"Your man here has duplicates. One of them brought those six," gesturing to the heads, "to my doorstep last night."

"I don't mean to #tax your reasoning ability, but that sounds very much like a 'you' problem."

"Primarily, yes. But he did it in your name."

In an instant, Coronello's face became rigid and stern. "Are you lying to me, Redcloak?"

"I never have before, and I'm not now."

Coronello turned his attention to the Man in Green, who suddenly seemed very small. "It would appear you have become #besotted with power."

The Man in Green straightened up in his chair, in a clear attempt to reassert himself. "I cannot be blamed for the actions of a duplicate. They do what they will."

"Then you have until midnight to convince them otherwise, or my retribution will be downright #draconian." The edge his words carried was #serrated.

The Man in Green opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it, nodded, and rose to leave. As he passed Jeff the man gave a nod, a wink, and a smile, and then smoothed his hair with one hand as he exited the door. One final #furtive glance over his shoulder, and he was gone.

After taking a moment to compose himself from sending his man away, Coronello straightened his grey suit jacket and turned his attention back to Jeff. "With that ugliness settled, is there anything else?"

"I talked to a bartender yesterday who said his boss had been convinced to mix luxor into the drinks. The same boss ended up being a Popper. I assume you wouldn't know anything about that?"

All eyes shifted to Coronello. "Luxor and alcohol would be a truly tragic #duet. Why would you think I'm involved in that?"

Rather than tip his hand by answering, Jeff motioned towards the heads on the table. "Call it a hunch."

At that Coronello placed his fists on the table and leaned forward onto them. "If I wanted you to #vanish, you'd be gone."

"That would be a very interesting day."

Coronello grunted his amusement in a way that only Jeff would recognize, then waved his hand to send him away. "Go, #gallivant somewhere else. Before I change my mind."

Jeff placed one hand behind his back and bowed. "Captain."

A moment later he was out the door and back into the public part of the museum. The host girl was pacing nervously. When she saw him, she ran over. "What did you do?"

"Nothing that can't be undone. Now if you'll excuse me, I must #excogitate my next course of action." He strode past her towards the door, taking a moment to scan the roadside and the building's surroundings for the Man in Green, or anyone else who may try to attack him. Coronello would undoubtedly #embox the heads and dispose of them. That wasn't Jeff's concern any more. Satisfied that nobody was going to kick up a fuss, he exited towards his Hovobike and drove to the Library.

* * *

Jeff stood at the front desk waiting patiently for the Librarian. A sign on the wall said, "A hunger for knowledge will #awaken your thirst for experience." Jeff smirked at it and paced in front of the desk.

Several minutes later a green light on the desk turned on, and then Jeff found himself seated at a table opposite a slender elderly man with thinning grey hair. "So, what would you like me to #bequeath upon you today?"

Jeff instinctively patted the table and glanced around the bookshelf-lined walls. The instantaneous transit to this room was something he'd never gotten used to. He fixed his eyes on the man. "Hello, Librarian. The time has come to #extirpate a cancer from this city."

"Which cancer would that be? New Toronto has many."

Jeff leaned forward onto his elbows. "Luxor."

"The #introvert drug. A very ambitious goal. Why is now the time to remove that particular plague from circulation?"

"Captain Coronello is trying to kill people with it."

"Surely the better course of action must be to take him off the field, rather than attempting to remove an entire narcotic from circulation. Unless there's something else you must #apprise me of, of course."

Jeff frowned. "Suffice it to say it's a complicated situation."

The Librarian nodded solemnly. "Very well. But this is a traditional problem. Why come to me?"

"There are Poppers involved."

"I see. That is indeed the #quintessence of nontraditional things. But it still does not answer the question."

"I don't know what I don't know."

The Librarian leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers beneath his chin. "You seek information."

"I seek #boffo clarity. There are a dozen different directions I can take my investigation, but the more dead ends I run down, the more likely people are to get hurt."

The Librarian nodded solemnly. "And your payment?"

"Will depend on what you give me."

The Librarian grunted, and then closed his eyes. When they opened again they were pure white. The lights dimmed - his unique #connate ability drew from the building's power for fuel. The air buzzed with #enlivening electricity to the point that it was almost audible.

Jeff instinctively leaned back in his chair, as if an extra foot of space would provide some amount of protection from the bizarre physics overtaking the room - if it even was physics. Nobody had ever been able to explain the Librarian's abilities - or what he saw when using them.

Finally the electric hum faded from the air, and the lights resumed their usual level of brightness. The Librarian slowly closed his eyes and uttered a single word: "#Atone."

Jeff leaned forward expectantly, waiting for more. Instead, the Librarian opened his eyes and stared at him. "What does that mean?" Jeff asked.

"It means pursuing this goal you've set yourself on will cost you dearly. You can consider this meeting a #boon; no payment."

Jeff patted the table and glanced around uncertainly. "That's it? You didn't give me anything."

"You have everything you need from me. Give Susan a nice #aloha on your way out."

Confusion quickly turned to frustration. "That's not-"

And then he was back in the library. The desk he'd previously been waiting at now had a woman with pink and blue striped hair sitting at it, using the computer. "Did you get what you needed?" she asked in disinterested nasal tones.

Jeff huffed. "He gave me nothing and #rushed me out before I could say so."

Without looking up from her screen she said, "Tragic."

Jeff stared at her a moment before sighing and letting go of his frustration as useless. "I assume you're Susan?"

She didn't respond.

"How is it that this place isn't #overwhelmed by his ability's electrical pull?"

At that, the woman finally glanced up with two different colour eyes. "What makes you think you were still here?"

Jeff opened his mouth to respond, then closed it silently. All he could argue were assumptions. Better to just stay #motivated by the task at hand. "Aloha."

Susan waved half-heartedly and returned to her work.

A moment later, Jeff was pushing open the glass doors to the library, #astonished by how unhelpful the Librarian had been. Jeff had been here many times before, and the Librarian had always given him extensive information. This time it was almost like there was an underlying #animosity behind his response.

No matter, Jeff decided - he had a job to do, and it was time for him to get back to it. Unfortunately the next step was both clear and confusing: what, exactly, did he mean by "atone"?

Chapter 6

Jeff sat behind his desk poring over every type of document from business registrations to interrogation transcripts. Following the Librarian's advice had always been #successful in the past, so there must be something somewhere to tell him what 'atone' meant. So far he'd come up empty. Out of all the hundreds of files they had on the bar with the popper, Luxor, Captain Coronello, New Toronto gangs, and the maritime museum, not one of them included the word. It was getting to the point where its absence was almost #suspicious.

With a frustrated syllable, he tossed a requisition report from the bar down onto the desk. It landed in a folded mess, partially tented upwards. Seeing this rearrangement gave him a thought. He grabbed a page and wrote down the word:

Atone.

A tone.

At one.

"#Cheeky."

He snatched up the page and hurled it across the room. It cartwheeled through the air and landed without #remorse in a waste basket. Hours of research, and all he'd managed was to go from one abstract concept to three. Surely the Librarian hadn't sent him hunting shadows.

He placed his elbows on the desk and rested his head in his hands. He knew there was something here, and for all of his flaws, he wasn't too #proud to admit he couldn't see it. He needed a new perspective.

He pushed out of his chair and began pacing up and down the hall. He frowned at a clock reading 12:51, and then at himself. He could #disapprove of the Librarian's message all he wanted, but it wouldn't get him any closer to discerning its meaning. He needed to think more creatively.

Then a thought stopped him in his tracks: 'At one'. He raced back to his desk and rifled through the files and papers now scattered on it, searching for anything set to happen at one o'clock. 1pm is a #busy time for airports and train stations - he had to find something tied directly to Coronello, or to the targeted bar.

"Come on, where is it..." The aimless search had taken so long he'd been becoming #drowsy, but now he was reinvigorated. 1pm came and went - he wouldn't be stopping whatever it was he was looking for today. But now he had a full twenty-four hours to find it for tomorrow.

He absent-mindedly sipped from his Draught of Giants as the clock advanced to 1:30, and then to 2:00. His vigour began to fade, and he began to #doubt that there was anything here to find after all.

2:30.

Finally he found a paper that looked promising: a train schedule.

He slapped the schedule against the desk with a renewed #confidence that he was back on track, so to speak. Tomorrow at 1pm he would intercept that container and see what the Thirsty Pistol had really been importing on a weekly basis. In the meantime, his desk was a mess.

Gathering up the papers to put them where they came from took longer than strewing them across the surface had taken. As he muttered to himself about how all of this really should be stored on computers by now, he heard a low voice #whisper in the hallway beyond his door.

He stopped in place, straining to hear what the voice was saying. Unable to make it out, he crept to his door, being sure to stay out of sight. Finally the #melody of the voice became audible.

"-don't think he suspects anything."

"How can you be sure?" replied a female.

"He's still looking at the bar."

"He's cleverer than you give him credit for. He took out six last night, and dropped their heads on his doorstep."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"His persistence is quickly becoming a #motif for the week. We need to take precautions."

"You seem set in this."

"I am."

One of them shuffled in place, causing the sound of fabric shifting against itself and the wall. The man continued, "What do you suggest?"

After a brief pause, the woman answered, "We find a #groove somewhere and bury him in it. Today."

Jeff's interest immediately became hard resolve. He wasn't safe. More importantly, if the Redcloaks were coming after him, his family wasn't safe. He had to contact Vanessa and #verse her in the situation. But before he could do that, he had to get out of this building.

That was a problem. Everyone else here had the same or similar augments to his own. His only advantage was that the discussion he'd overheard was private - the conspiracy was a #chorus of two. Seeing no better way out, he strode out into the hallway to see who they were.

"Hi, guys," he cheerfully announced to Rachel, part of the Redcloak command structure, and his friend Michael. They both stopped talking immediately. Jeff needed them to overestimate the quality of the #acoustic insulation, or he was toast. "Anything I can help you with?"

The other two shared a concerned glance before Rachel replied, "No, I don't think so."

Jeff maintained his smile and continued, "Great! I'm just going to grab a late lunch. Need to get back into my #rhythm after a long morning. Do you want me to bring you back anything?"

They both offered trepidatious 'no's.

Jeff nodded to them and strolled to the elevator, glancing up at the camera at the end of the hall. He took a moment to make sure his #pulse was under control, then turned back and asked, "What were you talking about there just now?"

After a long couple of seconds Michael answered, "We were just catching up on what we've been up to these past weeks. Rachel was telling me about a #fusion restaurant she tried for the first time."

Rachel shot him a look and then continued, "I was. Miso Hungry, on King."

Jeff asked, "Was it good?"

"Very good. They've arranged different cuisines into perfect #harmony."

"Excellent. Well, if you recommend it, I'll definitely give it a try."

The elevator behind him announced its arrival with a melodic *ding* and the doors slid slowly open. Jeff entered it casually and pressed the button for the ground floor, then stared at Mike and Rachel until the doors closed.

The elevator hummed as it descended, the #change in elevation enough to make him need to pop his ears. Lunch was the furthest thing from his mind; he needed to secure his family. And, not knowing how far the claws of the conspiracy reached, he couldn't trust anyone.

As the elevator slowed to a stop, a #crescendo of voices met his ears. The doors slid open to reveal the bullpen, full of Redcloaks and administrators. A dozen people were talking, laughing, and carrying out their jobs in front of him. Were any of them planning to take him out on his way by?

As he walked through the room, his head on a swivel, the #resonance from the walls made the cacophony seem to grow ever louder. The thirty seconds it took him to reach the far end seemed to stretch out for hours. He pushed open the glass door to the main hallway, and continued forward towards the building's exit, hoping the #coda to this cautious escape would not involve any unwarranted bloodshed.

A monitor next to the exit displayed the camera feed from the alley on the other side of the heavy steel door. It was empty. Of course, when your enemies moved as fast as he did, that didn't mean much. He thrust open the door and exited quickly to the heavy #air outside. Immediately he stepped to the side and lowered himself into a fighting stance for anyone following him. The door swung closed and locked itself. No one came. He breathed a sigh of relief and continued towards the street, crushing a discarded #apple core beneath his boot.

As soon as he was out of earshot of the Redcloak building he reached for his earpiece to key a call to his wife, but stopped short of pressing it - that piece was part of the Redcloak network. They'd be listening. Calling Vanessa on company tech would be extremely #bad. He needed another way.

He stepped out onto Adelaide Street and halted the first person he saw: a tall, balding man who looked like this morning's #breakfast was the same drink he'd had last night. "I need your cellpiece."

The man stared at him incredulously. "What? No."

Jeff snapped his arm forward and yanked the cellpiece from the man's ear. "I wasn't asking."

The man reached a hand up to stop him, but Jeff already had it in his ear, placing a call to his house.

"Vanessa! It's not safe. Put the kids in the #car and go somewhere. Now."

Through the cellpiece, his wife replied, "Well... Hamilton, then." Then the line went dead.

She wouldn't really take them to Hamilton, of course - that was a bluff in case the line was being listened in on. They had prepared for just this moment over #dinner many times. It was absolutely vital that even Jeff did not know where they were going.

Satisfied that his family was safe, he gave the man back his cellpiece, with a #dry "Thanks."

The man nodded while stumbling backwards, and then ran away up the street. Jeff walked the other way. Now that the only person in danger was himself, he could take a moment to breathe, but with potentially the entire Redcloak organization on his heels he still couldn't afford to be #idle - he needed a plan. More than that, he had to steer clear of all company resources. That meant no Hovobike.

He stepped up into a stopped railcar and took a seat near the back, beside a blonde haired woman with the chapped #lips of a Dustflower addict. She tilted her head up at him and asked, "Do I know you?"

He glanced sideways at her. "Probably not."

She nodded. "Then I won't feel bad about this." Half a second later she was thrusting a knife towards his neck.

Jeff immediately grabbed her wrist. She was strong for an addict, but not enhanced. He gave her a #little jostle and elbowed her in the jaw. She went limp.

He took a moment to straighten her up in her seat, then peeled open one of her eyelids. The eye behind it was #misty - a sign she was deeply in need of a fix. He shook his head and muttered, "Dustflower." Then he folded her knife closed and shoved it into his back pocket.

As he faced forward again, something struck him hard in the jaw, knocking his head off axis. His neck cracked. He raised one arm, anticipating another blow, and quickly found his attacker: the man in green, whose red eyes were focused on him as if being here was a #quest.

Jeff lanced his fist out at the man's face. The Man in Green tilted his head out of the way, maintaining eye contact. Jeff grabbed his shirt and ordered him, "Talk."

"Do you have any idea what it's like to #slaughter yourself all day?"

"That's very much a you problem."

The man smirked. "Poetic."

"I'm flattered you'd take time from your busy suicide schedule to pick a fight with me." His free hand fingered the knife, out of sight below the seat back.

"Like rain in a #spoon, priorities sometimes combine."

"Poetic. What is it you want?"

"I have seven duplicates - or, rather, I used to have seven. I now have one, who has so far evaded my efforts."

"You ambushed me like a #thief in the night, you can't do that to yourself?"

"Believe you me, if I had any other alternative I would already be pursuing it."

Jeff screwed his grip on the knife. "Alternative to what?"

The Man in Green took a deep breath and sighed it out. "I'm here to request your assistance in neutralizing my last duplicate."

Jeff laughed in his face. "You're asking me for help? What #wet nonsense is this?"

"The kind I believe you will agree to."

"I can't even #begin to tell you all the reasons I won't."

"Perhaps. But I have a very good reason why you will."

Jeff raised his hand and waved the man to continue, making sure he saw the knife.

The Man in Green smirked at him. "How do you suppose I found you here?"

"I wasn't hiding."

"But you are running. My tentacles tell me the Redcloaks seek to silence you."

Jeff raised the knife to the man's neck. "You did this."

"Not at all. I just heard a little #rhyme, and paid a little attention."

"You mean you #breached a secure facility."

"Is it necessary to labour over details? You are an Executor - an augmented individual designed to be an unstoppable killing machine. You don't really think they would release you upon the world without a leash to control you?"

Jeff slowly shook his head. "They track my Hovobike. I left it at HQ."

The Man in Green shook his head back, and pointed at Jeff's. "They're tracking your #attic. They'll find you the same way I did. I'm sure you will agree, that would make hiding from them problematic."

Jeff had never thought of the Redcloaks as being that controlling of their agents before. Still, with how many augments they'd put in him, it made sense that they would have installed a beacon too, to #guide them to him if he ever needed assistance - or to be hunted down.

"So you want my help saving your skin from Coranello, in exchange for removing a piece of hardware that may not even exist."

"Leaving all of your thoughts and locations safely #unread."

"Or I can gut you myself and take my chances."

"You could. Although, I wouldn't."

"Oh? Convince me."

"Those two Redcloaks at the front of the railcar aren't here for me."

Jeff pulled his eyebrows together, and then glanced past the man to the far end of the packed railcar. Two Executors were staring holes through him. Their #goal couldn't be clearer.

"You snuff me out, they have justification to disappear you. Or you can stow your arrogance, admit that our causes #align, and work with me to solve both of our problems."

Jeff could probably take down one Executor if he had to. Getting away from two would be unlikely. "No one innocent gets hurt."

"Obviously. Also, since you #possess in your head a way for them to always find you, clearing you of that burden is the first priority." After a beat he added, "Once that is completed, we track down the duplicate who came to your doorstep."

Jeff faced him directly. "That is a bold claim to make."

"As I said: our priorities align."

"Awfully convenient that you happen to need help with the one I'd be most interested in finding."

"There is a certain #sense of destiny to it, though it is mere happenstance."

Jeff frowned. The Man in Green was clearly winding him up. Who knew whether he was telling the truth? Jeff glanced back toward the Executors - they were gone.

The railcar hadn't stopped.

He quickly rose to his feet. "We'll need to #continue this conversation elsewhere."

The Man in Green straightened up and said brightly, "Excellent!"

"I'm not agreeing with you. We need to get off this railcar or we're both dead. Then we'll talk."

The man nodded and backed out of the seat he was occupying, and started pushing his way towards the #door.

Halfway there, Jeff was stopped by a hand on his chest. A voice to his right pointedly said, "You never #fail to be predictable."

Jeff turned his head towards the grey suit-clad Executor. "You don't want this."

"It's not about what I want. It's about what's necessary."

Without warning, the Executor crumpled to the floor. Standing in his place, the Man in Green looked down at him and said, "I couldn't agree more." The vehicle came to a stop. As the door slid open, he wiped his hands together. "Piece of #cake. Shall we?" He stepped out.

Jeff followed him down to street level. "Subtle."

"He's fine. I just hit his switch."

"Quaint." He quickly glanced up and down the street. "There were two of them."

"You need to learn how to trust people."

"Your #legacy suggests that would be a tragic miscalculation."

"Our collective history before now consists of two short interactions, one of which did not in fact involve myself."

"Call it educated intuition."

"Very well, I can see I must earn your trust. Come now, no time to #amble - we have an important conversation to continue."

They started down the rubbish-littered street, Jeff's hand always on the handle of the knife. "You need my help."

"It is unfortunately so. And due to the #abysmal state of the Redcloaks, which I've known all along but you are only now discovering, you also need my help."

"I'd get great pleasure from watching Coronello tear you apart."

"I don't doubt it. But then you would be faced with a veritable #torrent of Redcloaks coming to claim your head. Working with me is the only way to ensure that your head remains in place on your shoulders."

"Or you can take your chances and try to #forage for help elsewhere, though I would hesitate to believe anyone else can direct you to the resources I have available."

Jeff searched for a flaw in the logic of the Man in Green. He wanted desperately not to work with him. Alas, he was unable to find a better alternative. "Suppose I agree this is necessary - just today. What happens next?"

A joyous grin spread across the man's face. "Well! First, we go to the Butcher to remove your tracker and #placate the situation you have going on now."

Jeff stared at him. "The Butcher?"

"Don't let the name dissuade you. This is your pathway to freedom."

"This arrangement is already losing its #lustre."

The man stopped and faced Jeff directly. "You need me as much as I need you. Neither of us have a choice in this." After a beat: "It's not difficult to #extrapolate your future without my help - or mine without yours."

Jeff sighed. The Man in Green's logic was sound. An alliance of convenience with a man who'd tried to kill him once already was the best way forward. "Where do we go?"

Chapter 7

Jeff stood on the streetcorner alongside the criminal he had somehow become #entangled with, and stared up at the storefront's dingy sign. "It's literally a butcher's shop."

The Man in Green grunted in amusement. "Don't be so naive. You know better than that."

The man pulled open the door and led him in. Immediately he was struck by the putrid stench of rotting meat, so strong that it could have stood #sentinel against robbers all on its own. Jeff covered his nose amid the otherwise clean shop.

His companion was undisturbed.

"You don't smell that?" Jeff asked in wonder.

From behind the glass counter a tough-looking woman spat out, "Redcloak," as if it was a #pejorative.

Before Jeff could answer for himself, the Man in Green cheerfully replied, "Yes! He's here because he's seen the light."

Jeff lowered his hand from his nose, unsure how the other two weren't affected by the vile odour. "Dial it back. I'm here because I don't have a choice."

The woman removed her clear vinyl gloves and used one hand to move her #azure hair from her face. "Tell me things."

He took a moment to scan the shop for eavesdroppers. Worn posters of cuts of meat adorned the faintly green walls. The floor was a red and white checkerboard. The ceiling was solid white, with a pleasing #radiance coming from the tube lights. No other people were present.

"The Redcloaks are hunting me," he began. "I'm told by... what's your name?"

The Man in Green stood there with a #lackadaisical grin across his face, saying nothing.

"...I'm told by this piece of refuse that they have a tracker embedded within me, which you can remove."

"Which I can remove?" She glanced towards the Man in Green.

"I may have elucidated him as to his current predicament. Our ambitions are currently aligned."

She heaved a sigh and pressed a concealed button behind the counter. A #sonorous buzz rang out from the backroom. "Wait here."

Jeff tilted his head, confused. "Are you not her?"

She didn't reply.

"Can you at least tell me what that terrible stench is, and why you two don't seem to smell it?"

"Oh, that? It only affects people who feel #amorous towards the person they enter with."

Jeff stared at her coldly.

"As a Redcloak, that #melon of yours has enhanced senses, yes?"

"Obviously."

"Call it an early warning system."

Before he could consider the meaning of that, a spindly man pushed through the rubber strips hanging over the doorway behind her. The man spotted Jeff and declared in a far lower voice than Jeff would have expected, "Redcloak."

Jeff nodded.

The man glanced at the Man in Green, who also nodded.

"Very well, follow me. Don't mind the #tsundoku. Folks like you have made things very busy around here."

"How so?"

"Well, you create such a friendly atmosphere that everyone just wants to sit around drinking #tea all the time. Would you like some #chai?"

"We do what we can to make this city safe."

The man spun on his heel to face him. "You think so? Tell that to Guatto."

Jeff opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He couldn't think of anything that wouldn't escalate the argument and put his procedure at risk. He knew he'd have a #treppenwort about it later.

"If the Redcloaks wanted to keep the city safe you wouldn't be here."

The man led him into a room with a wooden chair in the center of it, which looked like it used to be used for electrocutions. "Take a seat."

Jeff slapped a #mosquito off his neck. "You're the Butcher, then?"

"Obviously. I assume you're here to get your tracker removed. Do you want your switch disabled too?"

Jeff stared quizzically at the Man in Green.

"I told you."

To the Butcher: "Yes, let's remove the ability to turn me off. How long will this take?"

"Not long. Just a few minutes, and you'll be enjoying the #yakamoz by tonight." The Butcher turned his back to Jeff for a moment, then returned holding a #jumbo cleaver in one hand.

Jeff jumped out of the chair. "WHOA!"

"Relax, it's a signal blocker. We don't want your friends dropping in on us while you're under the cleaver - I mean the knife."

"Why does your signal blocker look like it works here?"

The Butcher shrugged. "Camouflage."

Jeff carefully returned to the chair. "Okay, fine. I probably shouldn't, but I'm trusting you."

"Your vote of confidence is overwhelming. So, let us #continue making you human."

The Man in Green scoffed. "Redcloaks are human like #Gigli was a quality film."

Jeff stared at him. "You sought out my help. Not the other way around."

The man raised his hands in mock reverence. "Of course. Just having a bit of fun. I so rarely get to relax nowadays."

The woman from earlier pushed through the rubber strips into the back room, bringing the stench with her. Again, only Jeff noticed. She glanced about and said, "Don't mind me, just grabbing some #sugar." Then she left.

Jeff asked, "Can you do something about that smell?"

The Butcher grabbed a syringe and tested how #flexible the needle was, then dryly responded, "Ha ha, no," before bringing it towards him. "This will make it hurt less."

"I stay awake for this, or it doesn't happen."

"Believe you me, I wouldn't have it any other way."

Jeff yelped in pain as the knife cut into the back of his neck. "You said you were giving me an anesthetic!"

"I said it would hurt less. I didn't say it would be painless."

The Man in Green chuckled at him. "Have you attempted meditation? Imagine yourself in a #garden."

The blade carved around to the base of his skull. "If this doesn't work I'm killing you first."

The Butcher pressed something into Jeff's neck. "Relax, you'll have your #mojo back..." Something pushed up inside the base of his skull. "...momentarily."

The pain stopped. The Butcher leaned down and held a small, metal object in front of him. A dim light was blinking red.

Jeff stared at it intently. "That's the tracker?"

"Congratulations."

"Good. I assume you destroy it now."

"No, now we stick it in an #apple and toss it to the dogs."

"Goose chases. Even better. Now disable the switch."

The Man in Green chimed in: "You mean the switch you weren't even #aware of until I used it on your friends?"

"Do you want a medal?"

"No, just some recognition, perhaps."

"Okay, I thank you for telling me about it." He turned his head to face the Butcher. "Now, please disable the switch."

The Man in Green added, "With #alacrity, please. We have a task of some urgency that must be completed."

The Butcher nodded, then picked up a pair of scissors from a blood-stained wooden table. "Whatever you do, don't move."

Jeff heeded the warning and held perfectly still, as only a Redcloak can do. A moment later he heard and felt a quiet *snip* deep in the back of his neck. "Is that it?"

"You are now free to pursue your life with all the #ardour you want."

As Jeff placed his hands on the wooden chair arms, the Butcher grabbed his shoulder. "Not quite yet." He squeezed a cold gel onto the back of Jeff's neck. "Skin glue. Don't bleed on my floor."

The Man in Green smiled. "Let's go put your #avidity for murder to good use.

Jeff glanced towards the Butcher for anything else he wanted him to do. The Butcher nodded and stepped towards the desk, and began cleaning his implements on a rag.

Jeff stood up and nodded to the Man in Green in turn. "Okay, then. Let's go set your duplicate #ablaze."

The Man in Green looked him up and down. "Wait - you still look like a Redcloak. We need to get you into civilian clothes. Come with me."

He led Jeff up the street to a large store called Bargain Bill's, each letter in the sign #aglow with a different shade of neon blue.

"You brought me to a front for the Street Eagle cartel?"

"Would you ever come in here to shop?"

"Of course not. They're responsible for half the Poppers in the city."

"And yet the Redcloaks never shut them down. Your lack of professional self-#awareness is staggering."

Jeff stared at him indignantly. "Or maybe their #acumen is high enough to know it's better to have one known location than many unknown ones."

"Maybe. Perhaps we should enter the establishment to find out for ourselves." The Man in Green pulled open the door. "Shall we?"

Jeff hesitantly entered the store and was greeted by the same sorts of things he'd seen in every store: shelves stocked with merchandise, a plain white floor, and flickering tube lights above clear plastic. "It sure is a store."

"Your level of #astuteness is unmatched."

Jeff cautiously walked along the aisle ends, staring down their lengths. Any time someone caught sight of him, they quickly lowered their heads and left to a different one.

"You'll find no #amity here," the Man in Green cautioned from behind him. "These folks know you."

"I've never been here before."

"You must know by now that that doesn't matter. They know what you represent, even if you haven't fully grasped it yet."

"And what's that?"

"An #affinity for forcing society to conform to exactly how you want it to be, and nothing else."

Jeff halted in his tracks. "You're saying the Redcloaks are fascists?"

The Man in Green squared up to him with his usual cocky smirk. "Yes." Behind him, the woman at the checkout counter nodded grimly. He added, "You think you're an image of #arete virtue. You're not. You're self-appointed, imposing your will upon others, and anyone who stands up to you gets taken down. You've given this city the #ambiance of Putin's Russia. The Redcloaks are not good people, and the fact that you think you are one is the biggest joke of the decade."

"You're not exactly a picture of #altruism either."

"Correct. But I'm self-aware enough to know that about myself. And whether you believe it or not, that is one of very few differences between you and me. Now," he said, straightening his suit jacket. "Your new clothes."

Jeff considered arguing over the matter, but given everything he'd learned about the Redcloaks today that contradicted his beliefs, it seemed unwise to defend them at the moment. No, better to keep his counsel for now, and use his newfound #autonomy to discover the truth.

The Man in Green thrust a gaudy yellow tee shirt out at him, featuring on its front the green outline of a bird above the words 'Don't Be A Tweet'. "Do you like this?"

"No. This is hideous."

"Perfect. The more #ardor you have for something, the worse it is for you now."

"I thought our goal was to kill your last duplicate. Why does it matter what clothing I wear?"

The Man in Green held up a pair of khaki pants between them. "Your #attributes as a Redcloak make you stick out like a camel in a swamp. He'll see you coming from a mile away."

"But you in a green suit will blend right in with your urban environment."

"Oh, don't you worry about that - I have that #puzzle well under control."

Jeff grabbed a light denim jacket, with large inner pockets, off a hanger, then took all the clothes to a changing room. Changing out of his Redcloak blacks made him feel #hollow. He'd been an executor for so long that wearing colours was like wearing someone else's skin. He shrugged the jacket on and tucked his laser pistol into one of the inner pockets. It bulged out visibly in the front. He frowned and exited the changeroom.

"Yes! You don't look like a walking murder charge any more." The man glanced down at Jeff's shoes. "Except for those. Get runners. And try a smile - you need to #submerge yourself in this new look."

Jeff curled his lips into a grin.

"Well, the important thing is that you tried. That's like a #portal to my worst nightmares."

"Do you want my help or not?"

"Would you rather I deceived you? That smile will draw undue attention, and make people notice your firearm bulge. You need to pass for civilian."

Jeff gritted his teeth. The Man in Green was needlessly abrasive, but he was right: Jeff hadn't needed to worry about the #impact of things like that in a long time. He grunted that he understood the point, and grabbed a white pair of sneakers off of the used shoe racks. After trying them on, he motioned the Man in Green towards the cashier. "You're paying."

"Your clothes."

"My card is tracked by the Redcloaks. Unless you want them to show up here and turn us both to #ash, I'm not paying with it."

The man smiled. "Finally, you get it."

Jeff nodded, more out of reflex than agreement. "You pay, I'll get my blacks."

"And do what with them?"

"Well, I'm not leaving them here."

The woman behind the register piped up, "No, you're not." Her voice was cold and dry, as if she'd been through this #swamp before.

Jeff quietly turned back towards the changerooms. Faintly he heard her say, "He really doesn't know, does he?" He collected his Redcloak blacks from the heap he left them in on the changing bench, and as he left he heard the Man in Green saying, "...entirely #pervasive."

As he returned to the cashier, he asked, "Are we done here?"

"Almost. Are all of your personal effects out of those clothes?"

He took a quick #peek through the pockets. "They are."

"Good! Now let us dispose of those in a dumpster and go do a good old fashioned murder!"

Jeff stepped back from him. "Hold on. Dumpster?"

"Were you planning on carrying them around with you?"

"I was planning on storing them somewhere."

"As was I: in a dumpster."

"Explain yourself."

"The tracker in your head's now a #dud. Next they'll track your jacket."

Jeff frowned at him. "You assume there's one in here."

"You assume there's not?"

He adjusted his hold on his old clothes. He bought the jacket himself, but it was not always within sight at Redcloak headquarters. It was possible. "I don't like being #harried like this."

"Someone whose life is all about exerting control is uncomfortable with not having any? You don't say."

Jeff turned to the cashier. "When is your trash collected?"

"When they come to get it."

"That's not helpful."

Just then, an #amber glow came in through the windows. The Man in Green snatched the garments from him and announced, "Too late, it's time to go." A moment later Jeff's old clothes were on hangers next to a navy blue long coat with a #lobster pattern on it, and the two of them were racing up and down aisles for the rear exit.

Jeff opened the door and closed it behind them faster than any non-enhanced person would even register. The two of them got through with no problem. Jeff quickly asked him, "Amber means Redcloaks?"

"It's an early warning system. The #pinnacle of self defense technology."

Jeff nodded. See a Redcloak, #raise the alarm. A simple and elegant solution to what they viewed as a serious problem. He still wasn't convinced that the corruption was systemic, rather than a handful of bad actors within the organization, but now was no time to argue.

The Man in Green seemed to agree, as he was already walking down the trash-filled alley. Jeff caught up in just a few strides. They emerged onto the main road, taking their #travel at normal speed to avoid arousing suspicion.

A Redcloak in front of the shop glimpsed him. Jeff tensed for a confrontation. The Redcloak turned away, disinterested. Jeff straightened up in surprise. "I was certain he'd recognize me."

"Do you want to make a #postcard out of this moment? It's time to go."

Jeff nodded and they both sauntered away up the street.

Chapter 8

Jeff and the Man in Green sat across from each other over a clean, grey cafe table next to a large window. The brightness of the world outside wavered as the sun's #journey took it behind a cloud it sporadically peeked through. The Man in Green sipped his tea.

"Are you going to tell me what we're doing here?"

"Patience, my former Redcloak... Is there a name for those? 'Former Redcloak' is rather awkward."

Jeff narrowed his brow.

The man sighed. "Fine. We are waiting for a woman with a green #suitcase to pass by this window."

"I trust we're here for more than simple #sightseeing."

"Obviously. My safety does hang in the balance, after all."

Jeff kept his gaze fixed on the man's eyes.

"My duplicate arranged to purchase a particular compound from that woman. We are here to collect it first."

"So your brilliant plan is to #troll him?"

"Don't be so simplistic. I take what he wants, then let him know I have it and that if he wants to get it from me, he needs to meet me somewhere. Then you ambush him."

Jeff nodded his understanding. "You have a place in mind?"

"I do."

Jeff stared at the Man in Green, waiting for him to elaborate. Instead he just sat there with an annoying smirk on his face. "Are you going to tell me where that place is?" Jeff finally asked.

"It must #rain before it pours. Trust is earned - you haven't, yet."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

The Man in Green fixed his gaze attentively out the window. "And so is she." Then he rose with a #hop and strode through the exit onto the sidewalk.

Jeff followed him out at a more casual pace.

"Hello. I believe that suitcase is intended for me."

The woman cautiously slowed to a halt, casually arranging her feet into a fighting stance while keeping her torso facing forward. "And you are?"

The Man in Green opened his arms welcomingly. "It's me!"

"Not interested." She quickly spun on her heel towards the #horizon.

"Wait!" the Man in Green called after her with some urgency in his voice. She rotated a step farther away to face him. The impatience displayed on her face was almost frightening. The man heaved a sigh and dejectedly said, "I'm Elmo #Skerry."

Jeff stifled a curt chortle.

Elmo shot him a look of warning, then pulled an old style cellular phone out of his pocket and held it out to the woman. "Let's not #delay this any more than necessary."

The woman stared a hole into his face. "What happened to making this exchange at the Monterey Cafe?"

He shrugged. "Something came up. I assume you have no intention of standing here to #complain about it, so shall we complete the transaction?"

The woman tapped on an earpiece Jeff hadn't previously noticed, and then appeared to pay attention to something he couldn't see. A moment later, she extended a pay pad next to Elmo's phone. The pad dinged. She glanced at it to verify the payment, then handed over the suitcase. "A pleasure doing business with you." Her eyes shifted to Jeff and back. "I assume you have a #train to catch. Goodbye."

It took a moment for Jeff to fully digest what she'd said. He took a step after her, but Elmo stopped him with a light hand on his chest. Memories of the files he'd been digging through hit #home in his mind. He stared daggers into Elmo's eyes. "That was no coincidence."

Elmo heaved a pointed sigh. "When will you accept that everyone knows more about what's going on in this city than you do?"

"I've been at the heart of New Toronto for decades."

"No, you've been duped into believing the #souvenir shop version of New Toronto is genuine." He patted Jeff's shoulder. "It's time to grow up."

Jeff shot a glare at him, but he'd already turned away to return to the cafe. "That's it?"

"For now, #yes. I suspect you're going to learn a lot of things on your own over the next few days - no sense in harping on it."

Jeff tilted his head and stared up the street to follow the woman's departure. She was already gone, disappeared into the crowd.

"You move like a #tardigrade," came Elmo's voice from behind him, growing slightly more distant. "We have tea to finish before our business."

Jeff felt a brief flush at being spoken to like this - again - but swallowed his pride and returned to the cafe. He'd struck a deal with this man, and that deal must be honoured as he would for any #citizen. "You sure there's time for tea? She was on her way to the drop."

Elmo took a measured sip. "There is always time to be civilized. Besides, he doesn't know we intercepted her. I have a network of contacts that's spread like #mycelium around New Toronto to keep me informed, but my duplicate does not have access to it. He is in the dark."

"As far as you know."

Elmo grinned. "If he knew, I'd have heard about it. I set up a #parameter for that."

Jeff grunted. He couldn't think of anyone he'd found more tedious than Elmo, the infamous Man in Green. "Do you ever speak like a normal person?"

"Of course not. Why would I want to be like everyone else?"

"Yes, what possible benefit could come from being easily understood?"

"You don't seem to have any difficulty with my verbiage."

Jeff tapped his head. "The Re- ...company #devotion to communication gave me a full dictionary."

"I see. Well, in just an hour or two's time our joint efforts will be completed, and you will never need to interpret my words again."

"With the way this day's gone so far, I'm half expecting your duplicate to turn out to be a #Creeper."

Elmo's expression fell to slack. The colour drained from his face. "Why would you suggest such a thing?"

Jeff downed his remaining tea in a single gulp. "Relax. As long as he's not a #Planaria there's nothing to worry about."

Elmo's eyes went vacant, then in an instant his mask of amusement returned. "Well. Then I'm sure all will go as planned."

And what, exactly, is the plan? You have been vague at best when describing it so far."

"My unemployed friend, that is because my plan doesn't have details."

"Excuse me?"

"Our #descent into violence is to be reactionary."

Jeff slapped the top of the linoleum cafe table in frustration. "You're telling me your grand plan for saving your own life from Coronello's wrath is 'it'll work out'?"

Elmo smiled and leaned back in his seat. "There's the #latent rage I've been searching for. Let's go." With that, he finished his tea in one gulp, put his hands on the table and pushed his himself up onto his feet, and strode out onto the sidewalk.

After a moment of confused disbelief, Jeff followed him out. "You manipulate like a #taipan."

"I don't know what you mean."