Kochi Has No Longer Made Every Thread

[Obelisk]

------------------------

A child's face, one lit up with a brilliant smile. He's only an infant, but holds so much intelligence in his too familiar ice-colored eyes. His skin tone is a smooth caramel color, his hair just starting to get what will one day be a full head of black curls.

A man's voice, familiar and smooth. " Yeah, you understand everything I'm sayin' don't you?"

A woman's voice, fluty and humored. " He's only four months old."

The woman's face comes into view but her features are blurred, undefined. All save her beautiful smile. Perfect white teeth in two perfect rows. She's amused, happy.

The man speaks again, looking back to the infant. " Nah, this kid's a -genius-, isn't that right?"

The baby giggles and bangs his spoon on the table, sending orange gunk flying into the man's face. It's a wet feeling and smells distinctly of carrots.

The woman laughs and it sounds melodic and absolutely wonderful. The man laughs, too, and there is a complete sense that there is love in that room, and joy.

------------------------------

Alistair woke to a blinding headache and a cold sweat. He lay there in an empty room of a dilapidated building until the pain started to subside. The man shifted and sat up leaning against one of the walls and swallowed roughly. His blue eyes wandered around and took note of his clothing. They weren't his uniform. He wore a white tank top and jeans that seemed a bit too big. They weren't his. They were someone else's, but who?

Holy fuck did he ever feel like shit. It was like he had the hangover from hell and couldn't remember anything. After being thrown out of the Argonaut's headquarters, Alistair had woken up on the streets utterly confused. It took him a while to remember what had happened and when he did, a lot of the pieces had been missing. The cyborg remembered everything up to the point he had lost his ever-loving mind. Anything that had occurred after that had been lost.

But... how the hell did he get in here? Alistair rubbed at his eyes and released a groan, pressing his mind for any information. There was nothing helpful but a disgusting smell made him retch. What the hell? Alistair looked around and it took him sometime to realize the smell was coming from him. It was then he noticed that his robotic leg was covered in blood splatter and what appeared to be little pieces of dried and rotting flesh. Wonderful.

Alistair's face contorted into a clear look of disgust as he finally stumbled to his feet. "Fuuuuck," He seethed out and pressed a palm against his lower back where a dull ache had made its presence known. Just what had he been up to last night? Sheesh.

Cautiously, Alistair made his way out of the building and found himself in an alleyway. He cast a calculating look around before he noticed a make-shift faucet jutting out of the ground. The residents around the area must've used it to wash their clothes or something. He hoped to god no one drank from it. In any case, it would serve as means to clean his gore-covered leg off.

As he turned the knob and let the water flow, Alistair could clearly hear the voice of a newscaster emanating from above. Someone was watching or listening, rather, to the news. Alistair absently scrubbed at the metal of his leg while he listened closely to what the radio had to say.

The captain of the police had been killed last night. Someone had broken into his home, leaving the entire place in a wreck. When he had failed to report in for duty in the morning, someone had checked up on them. Apparently what they saw had sent them into shock. The coroner said that his skull had appeared to be literally crushed to oblivion. They suspected mutants had done it, as who else could possess such strength?

Alistair would've paled if he could've. He glanced down at his boot, watching as the water washed away the gunk and blood. He couldn't have... could he? Wide eyes were sent in either direction of the alley and Alistair turned the faucet off. The newscaster also mentioned that there was, apparently, a confidential computer disk that was missing. Something that held very sensitive information. A city-wide search was going to be issued, this Alistair could easily guess. It was likely most mutants would be detained and hell, if he was found, he'd probably be shot on site.

He sighed, cursing his luck and wiped his hands off on the back of his pants. Alistair paused, eyebrows shooting up as he realized something was in his pocket. He pulled two items out. One was the calling card that Eros had left him and the other? It looked like a disk. An information disk. An information disk with very sensitive information.

"Well, fuck." No one could've said it better. He quickly replaced the card and disk into his pants (the captain's pants, actually) and cast one last look around before walking down the alley. Shit, shit. What had he done? Why couldn't he remember? He was glad the bastard was dead, but fuck, he was so screwed. Alistair considered the card the mutant left him but grit his teeth in defiance. Fuck that, he didn't need Eros or the rest of his crew. He'd figure something out, somehow.

In the meantime Alistair was careful to stay within the maze of alleyways, away from government eyes. He needed time to think, to figure out what the fuck to do.

[Rip]

The allyways were always more lively then people gave them credit for, especially concidering the amount of young, hot blooded 'rebels' that swarmed the streets after dark. These kids weren't the real deal obviously, nothing like the well organized, underground opperations that brought down huge officals and symbols of tyrany. No, the gangs were just teenagers (sometimes younger) with an ego, but as immature as they were they did in fact sometimes cause an awful lot of trouble. This trouble, unlike the carefully planned operations and projects, tended to be spontanous and dangerous: professionally made firerocks verses bathroom chemical combination bottlerockets on a 4th grade education. No one walked around here unarmed without risking themselves harm from one of these impulsive blow ups. Of course, not everyone was out to cause problems, but when it followed you around like a fucking leech you needed some backup plans. If, well, if you were the type of person to think ahead.

Isaac had been 'evicted' about two hours earlier.

His place wasn't much of anything, just some random, dumpy apartment that had been abandoned on account of urban sprawl. But this dumpy shithole had all his stuff, including all the trinkets he swipped of people and hoped to either trade or sell off for cash, and his fucking clothes. All the shit he had gotten for Annie. Most of THAT was up in flames, along with his hammic-esk bed, which was really just a big net strung up and his entire wardrobe piled ontop to act as blankets. The kid wasn't even sure why the hell they had targeted him of all people, but then again, that sort of prejudice never showed much meaning. It didn't even matter why; all that mattered was that now he was fucking homeless and scrap poor. He needed something fucking big to just get back on his feet again.

He felt shitty. One of the punkasses had busted his lip and his knuckles were bruised and bloody; he was dirty, grimy and gritty with street residue, and he wanted to fucking punch someone. The cat, though, was perfectly fine, which he was greatful for. Isaac was too much of a pussy to actually go and pick aother fight, so he just sat against the fucking wall, chucking rocks at the old rusty dumbsters. At least he still had his board, and that rocket had helped alot. He didn't know he had hit one of the assholes in the face with it, and it was a good thing too, since he would have felt bad.

"MOTHER." BANG. "FUCKING" CLANG. "BULLSHIT!"

Should have thought ahead.

[Obelisk]

The loud metallic bangs that broke into the alleyway caused Alistair to slow his pace until he came to a stop. The ex-cop hesitated, debating whether or not to turn back and find a less occupied route. That really wasn't an option though. Alistair was bound to run into people wherever he went. Cyborgs in general weren't a rare sight, really. Those who could afford to have missing limbs replaced with cybernetics did. Their new limbs, however, were made to imitate human strength to an exact degree. Cyborgs like Alistair who possessed superhuman strength and endurance were all part of the government. Any civilian found with cybernetics that were too strong or what not were arrested. The fact that Alistair's leg and arm looked like government equipment didn't help things either.

Alistair just shook it off and continued down the alleyway, turning the corner than stopping yet again. His eyes fell upon Isaac's figure and narrowed. The kid was familiar, Alistair was sure they had run into each other once before. He took a few steps towards Isaac then paused as flashes of images came to mind.

Eros. A chase. Isaac stealing his badge. Cheeky bastard.

" Ass gremlin?" Alistair chanced, voice sounding as if he really thought that was the kid's name. Of course the cyborg knew better but that had been the name he'd chosen for Isaac at the time, so hell, it still applied. Kinda.

[Rip]

Dumpster violence did indeed make him feel a little better- at least he could beat up non-moving, rusty, hole ridden trashcans- so he could actually think. It wouldn't be hard to find another place (apartments weren't scarce) but to find another place that didn't leak all over the goddamn place or have rats under the carpet would be a chore. He wasn't exactly in a position to be picky though; any place with a roof would have to do for now. At least until he could do something, sell the stuff he managed to grab or something-

He did have a gun. It wouldn't be hard to just take something. It's what he normally did anyway just... a little more secretive. The whole secretive thing didn't seem to be working so well, so why not try a new style? It was easier, thats for sure, and he wouldn't be fucked with like this again. Put a hole between someone's eyes, you didn't need to use fists for that one which was a skill he obviously lacked. Isaac didn't notice he actually pulled the thing out while he was thinking and looked down at it uneasily. Still hadn't fired the damn thing. It was loaded this time, which was a step up from last time. Why was he even carrying it around if he wasn't going to use it? Curiosity if anything lead him to point it at the dumpster, but he was interrupted.

Ass gremlin?

Face screwed up, he turned his head and the 'wtf' expression melted into surprise. "Robocop?"

Next was a blurt of excuses and allabys. "LOOK, I DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT ALRIGHT THEY JUST FUCKING BUSTED IN- I PAID FOR THAT PLACE, I SWEAR TO GOD C'MON MAN CUT ME A BREAK THERE WEREN'T NO DRUGS OR ANYTHING... AND YOU GAVE ME THIS GUN THATS THE ONLY GODDAMN WEAPON I GOT SO CUT ME SOME SLACK!"

[Obelisk]

Despite being paranoid as hell Alistair couldn't help but laugh at Isaac's reaction. It felt good, to laugh. It was a good way to release tension if only just a little. The ex-cop drew his hands up and held them to his sides, shaking his head in a disarming manner.

"Woah, woah, calm down there, Sport. I'm not looking to bust anyone." Alistair dropped his hands and cleared his throat, gaze falling off to the side for a second. He looked back to the youth, furrowed his brows and drew in his bottom lip, worrying it with his tongue.

"Um. I'm not really in that line of work anymore, really." The cyborg said quickly but made no move to elaborate. There was too much shit going on, most of it he couldn't even remember or understand. He was looking at Isaac in such a way that it looked like he was considering something. But damn, did the boy look roughed up as hell. Alistair almost felt bad for him, hell he did feel bad.

"Shit, son, you look like fuck warmed over." It was a casual observation and Alistair had never been the most eloquent person around. Again the man looked hesitant, throwing his gaze over his shoulder several times, searching for a threat that apparently only he could see.

"Alright kid, I know you probably hate my guts, but I'm desperate here." And the cyborg did look desperate. Tired, worn out, confused, and worried as hell. " You know this city, right? You know where to go when you don't want to be found, right? I need you to take me there. I'll make it worth your while. Somehow, I swear. Just. Help a guy out?" Alistair waited, holding his breath. He was expecting Isaac to decline to help out of spite and he wouldn't blame the kid, but damn, was he ever hurting for some luck.

[Rip]

“SERIOUSLY IF YOU WANNA DRUG BUST I CAN SHOW YOU THIS STASH THATISN’TMINE AND- oh.” All hardly intelligent, rushed jabber ceased immediately, as did his wild arm motions and expressions. He calmed on a dime, looking very relieved, even rubbing shoulders as if needing to brush off the stress. The last place he wanted to be was jail, and a bit of adrenaline was still fluttering in his stomach. He had just enough time to wonder why this canner was walking through the allies if not to throw someone away when the word ‘Sport’ drove a nail through every ounce of pride he had. A blistering glare was thrown over a tensed shoulder, but the sharp retort on his tongue was cut off by the observation on his appearance. Oh, he looked like shit. Really? This information was so new that Isaac felt the need to exclaim his gratitude in the loudest possible way, so he drew in a breath annndddd the yell died in his chest soon as Ali made a very interesting request. A place to hide, huh?

There were plenty of places like that. How ironic though, that this cop (or ex-cop, the kid wasn’t sure he believed that story) wanted to be taken to a place where others hide from people like him. What kind of trick was this? The smartest thing to do right was to say no and take off, because this creeper might have a gun. But, could he outrun him? He’d never have time to get on the board fast enough, and if he was caught he’d be dead either way. No, maybe turn this plot around and take the guy to the middle of nowhere and leave him there. That’d be a nice way to repay the guy for all the people he’s probably fucked up. Or maybe he SHOULD take him to where everyone hid and just hand him over. The fucking canner would get a fair trial then. Fair as everyone else who lived in this shit hole.

But then again, the idea of doing this guy harm (or potential harm) when he really hadn’t done anything directly to deserve it made Isaac feel sick. Looking Ali over, studying the face, Isaac sighed through his nose, lifting one arm towards his face as if to hold the bridge of his nose, but he changed his mind and let it drop with hesitation. “Yea. I know a place. But call me Sport again and you’ll end up where you don’t want to go.” The threat was empty. Even if he knew secret passages, he’d never have enough guts to double-cross for sake of pride. “My name’s Isaac.”

After playing guide dog for about half an hour, the hover boarder would have lead Ali to the remains of a crumbling church. The stained glass was shattered in most places, making the religious pictures impossible to decipher unless you were sharp on your Roman Catholic trivia, and the entire building was on a slant, like it might crumble any day. It hadn’t though, that thing had been surviving for years. Its artistic beauty might have deteriorated, the statues might have eroded, even with the crosses that once stood proudly on the roof now lying broken in an overgrown area, but it still survived.

Isaac headed up the cracked and distorted steps and squeezed through the broken doors. “Here. Won’t find many people around this place.”

[Obelisk]

"You've got a deal, Isaac." The cyborg flashed a grin and it was obvious that he was immensely relieved. Finally his shit-poor luck was turning for the better. " I'm Alistair." The ex-cop introduced himself quickly before following behind the young man. It'd been a long, long time since he'd been afraid for his own survival. To the government's credit, they took reasonably good care of their projects. It was only after something lived beyond its use that things turned sour. So, as a government lackey and tool, Alistair had never really had to worry about dying as long as he followed the rules and did what he was told.

Now he was a murderer and a rogue, a thorn in the government's side. The ex-cop did consider, though, that it was entirely possible they assumed he was dead. Just because the termination program had not worked didn't mean that the people in the Series Eight Division knew about it. Hell, they probably thought he was rotting in some ratty corner of the city. It was also very likely that they had already lined up some poor soul as SE-0300's replacement. Alistair almost felt bad, but now wasn't the time for that. He needed his mind clear so he could come up with a plan.

To be honest, the cyborg was struck by the sight of the long-forgotten church. It brought a familiar warmth to him but Alistair couldn't place it, couldn't remember why a church would bring up such a feeling. Most people he had met weren't religious in the least and Alistair wasn't a man of faith either. Well, not now. Whether or not he had been in the past was all but a mystery. The strange, surreal feeling that had settled over him might've been a clue, though, had the cyborg paid it any heed. He didn't, however. His mind was too preoccupied with thoughts like:

Oh shit, Oh shit. I FUCKING KILLED THE POLICE CAPTAIN. Now I have a disk. A disk that everyone is looking for. Oh, god, I am so screwed. I'm gonna die and someone will sell me for scrap metal. And it will suck. A lot.

Outside Alistair was the picture of indifference, save for maybe a slight hesitance in the way he carried himself. "Huh, so this is it." He pursed his lips. " Cool." Alistair's ice-like eyes flicked to Isaac and the man grinned. " Thanks, kid, I owe you one. I'll make this up to you, somehow." He spoke as he walked down the aisle of the church, approaching the area where once an impressive alter had likely stood. Alistair threw a look over his shoulder, regarding Isaac with a considering stare.

" Say, you wouldn't know where I might get a hold of a radio, would you? You, know, keep up with the news and all that." Alistair smiled tightly, obviously trying not to be well, obvious. The ex-cop needed some way of keeping tabs on the government's movements. Absently his hand went to tap against his back pocket. The disk and card were still there. Just what the hell was on that disk anyway. Alistair's thoughts were everywhere but he kept his gaze fastened to the boarder, waiting for his reply.

Maybe the Ass Gremlin wasn't as bad as first impressions had lead the cyborg to initially believe.

[Rip]

Isaac found Alistair’s paranoia both hilarious and disturbing. Hilarious for obvious reasons, especially since Robocop was, well, Robocop, but as for disturbing Isaac couldn’t help but wonder what Ali was so keen on getting away from. What more, was this pursuer imaginary or a real threat, and was it going to follow them? The kid felt stupid for putting himself out there, especially since people didn’t tend to return favors anymore, but he didn’t change his mind. While he disapproved of the place he was leading tin-man his own situation wasn’t much better, and he had no intention of sleeping on the street. Unruly or not, he did have some standards.

The church was so lifeless for two reasons: 1. No one really knew it was here, 2. Somewhere along the line, humanity lost faith. Not just in religion or deities, but they had turned their backs on almost everything. As the technology advanced so did that lustful scientific curiosity, so to satisfy it the previous boundaries created to preserve morals had been knocked down with a bill shaped wrecking ball. There were still believers of course, the lucky ones who still had something to give them hope, but there were nowhere near as many as before. Even the older nursery rhythms and bedtime stories had been buried and forgotten. Only the oldest generations remembered them, and less they tried to pass them down, the elder folk were bluntly ignored. The old were not exactly respected anymore; it was all about youth and the new. Another form of manifest destiny, just a much less straightforward one: immortality. People wanted action; people were tired of waiting. It was why Eros and terrorists like him were so popular.

Isaac always felt weird going here. He knew absolutely nothing about religion except the scrap he found in books and what he heard from shouting from the curb. Who were the statues suppose to be? What did the glass pictures make? What did the lyric-like words mean in the age-weathered book title ‘Bible’? The vandalism made him uncomfortable, he realized as he looked around the inside. The spray paint screaming up and down the walls, the moldy pews and smashed up figurines, the forgotten baseball bats laying under broken windows, the bullets lining the rotten floor near the exit: it was sad in it’s own little way. The hover boarder had the sense that he should feel safe in places like this, places that used to mean so much to people and provide sanctuary, but unlike robo-cop, he had no homey feeling. It was curiosity if anything that drove him to wonder about the church, but the more unsettling sensation that he was less of a person worsened once he past through the doors. Less of a person, less of a human being. To what great debt of gratitude did he owe a building?

“I hate it here,” Isaac grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But no one's going to look for you around here." The kitten, who had been sleeping the whole time, climbed onto his shoulder. Shaking his head at the proposal to repay him, he'd just mummble "Don't worry about it" but when Ali mentioned a radio, the kid had to consider that. Isaac did have a rather nice one back at the apartment, but since that had been ‘manifested’ as well it was out of the picture. It was possible that he had a small one somewhere hidden, so he took a moment to dig through his pants and jacket until he pulled a very small, slender device from his breast pocket. Being about five inches long and half an inch thick it was considered balky, like a CD player verses and Ipod. “I don’t know how long it’ll last.” Isaac said, an almost tossed it over when he saw a few remaining bloodstains on a particular mechanical leg. He considered then continued, “You can keep if it you tell me what you did.”

[Obelisk]

The easier life got, the more riches and luxuries mankind could afford, the less and less they needed to look to "God" or something similar for anything. It were always the down and out people who were the most faithful, those who had nothing so looked to spirituality for hope, for guidance. The military still allowed chaplains to serve alongside soldiers, and it was in war that Alistair had found his spirituality. Of course the man didn't remember this, but if he did, it wouldn't have been all too surprising. People were much more ready to accept a higher power when they were staring death in the face, when tomorrow was never certain.

Alistair had run his hand over the back of one of the wooden pews, tempted to touch, to feel the relic. He pulled his hand away an examined it, rubbing his fingers together and watching as the clumps of decay and dust fell to the floor. It was almost sad to see the church in such poor state. It served as a commentary on the times, however, and it was a dark comment.

The division between the classes had grown to an extreme. There was no longer a middle class -- just those who lived in poverty and those who were rich and lived in luxury. Government employees enjoyed the privilege of living in relative comfort and that's why people tried so damned hard to get a job with the government. Most were cast out because the requirements were insanely strict and for a reason too. It wasn't spoken of but there was an obvious sense of genetic superiority, a club, one closed to anyone deemed unfit. Like the mutants. Like the majority of humanity.

A person's real last choice was to join the military, to enlist. That's what Alistair had done, he had had a family to provide for after all. Again, it wasn't as if he remembered any of this. Still those memories that were there but weren't, served to make him feel the way he was -- surreal, out of place, hesitant. Everything had an explanation, Alistair just didn't know what the hell they were.

"It's not so bad; Just a relic of the past." The man had murmured absently before moving towards the other, standing in front of him with arms crossed over his strong chest. The older male brightened visibly at the sight of the small radio held in Isaac's hand, but his expression turned sour so quickly it was comical.

"What?" Alistair swallowed, looking extremely uncomfortable. Shit he should've done a better job of washing himself off. The kid had helped so far and he really needed that damned radio.

" Alright. Alright." Alistair rubbed at the bridge of his nose, eyes falling shut as he heaved out a sigh. " You heard about the Captain? Captain Slaymaker? Yeah well... that blood you see on my leg? That's his." Alistair left it at that. Assuming Isaac had heard the news of the Captain's murder, Alistair figured he was clever enough to put two and two together.

[Rip]

Alistair was right of course; the church was a perfectly harmless thing. Unless a piece of roof fell on his head, it wasn’t directly assaulting Isaac. It was just a building- an old, forgotten, stupid building which had lost all it’s symbolistic meaning when the promises inside it fluked. But still. Isaac felt hatred enough to recognize it, so he only responded with a shrug and flipped the radio around in his hand until he found the on button, testing how much battery was left. He had been hoping to sell this, among a few other things, or trade it off for something more useful, but he supposed the idea of handing it over rather then waiting for Robo-cop to use the can opener of an arm on his head was a smarter plan. Besides, he could always swipe another one later.

Isaac looked up, amused with Ali’s expression and interested to hear the story. The Captain? Oh yes, he had heard about that. It was the buzz of the city, actually. Everyone was talking about it. His hate group (which was enormous) celebrated vocally and loudly while his followers (smaller but more powerful and with more connections) took out their frustration on the hate group. Plenty of fights broke out that day, plenty of riots. Deaths? Probably. Not like they’d be reported by name, just numbers. While the people were glad to blame the government as much as they could, it wasn’t like they could do much damage anymore. Freedom of speech was still allowed, legally, but anything against procedure was ‘suspected of domestic terrorism’, even if it clearly wasn’t. Entire newspapers, staff and everyone connected to them, were eliminated before and it would probably happen again. Probably a few weeks from the Capitan’s death day.

The rest of the explanation was a complete surprise. Both eyebrows shot up and he lowered his head a little bit, as if to get a better look at the man. Eyes stayed on his face, waiting for some kind of sick smile that would indicate an unfunny joke, but when it didn’t come his gaze shifted to that metal leg. No doubt the renegade cop COULD kill someone with that if he wanted, but… the media had been all over the story of course. They used every possible reference to allude to the supposedly obvious culprits. Everyone and their mother suspected Kama and his group, for good reason, obviously, but some things didn’t quite add up. The report had mentioned the skull being crushed to pieces- to pulp, nothing but a bloody lump of fucking pudding, and it was hard to smash anything up the much- to lift something that heavy so repeatedly…

Isaac, like everyone else, did not like the Captain. He allowed things; ordered things, offered things… it ruined people. Then again, certain people wouldn’t even exist if said Captain hadn’t done what he did; whither these people were better off dead was an entire debate in itself. Slymaker was a monster.

But still.

The kid was thinking, and then looked down at the radio, bouncing his hand a few times before sighing and handing it out. “Why’d you do it?”

[Obelisk]

Alistair had hated the Captain for one reason only -- he had treated cyborgs as nothing more than tools. Never once had Slaymaker referred to a cyborg by his true, real name. No, it was always SE-0300 this, SE-0300 that. No one had seemed to mourn the loss of a cyborg or react the same way they would have if a human agent was lost or killed. It was common practice, almost a rule, to perceive the cyber as a machine. Subhuman, that's what they were. During his service to the precinct, Alistair had illustrated his contempt of the Captain by doing the only thing he could, acting out or not fully complying to orders. It was his ornery nature that subjugated the cyborg to brain surgery after brain surgery. They wanted to suppress his personality, to stamp out that flame of rebellion. They'd succeeded only in creating a completely unstable person, someone who could not control themselves when their emotions grew too extreme.

The cyborg had waited for the kid to run, to call him a murderer and be done with it. Alistair should've realized that a lot of people would've been happy about the Captain's death. A lot of people, sure, but not necessarily the right people. A high-class murder tended to piss of high-class people. People with power. People who would do anything to stop a rebellion that could compromise their comfortable way of life.

Isaac didn't run, instead he asked a question. This caused Alistair to blink in surprise. It was a strange question, too, one that the cyborg didn't really have a complete answer to. He found himself speaking without even really thinking about it.

" I don't know. I can't really remember doing it. I guess I just didn't like the guy." Alistair offered, rolling his shoulders back in a shrug. " Whatever, he's dead now and there's no changing that. Not that I'd want to. The man was a prick, you know?" Alistair tilt his head slightly and looked at Isaac. " Alright, kid, do I pass or not?" The man said, eyeing the radio.

[Rip]

"Yeeeaaaaah, you pass." The kid said, handing over the piece of shit radio. “Smashed him up good, didn’t ya? Must have been drunk as shit if you don’t remember. How did you find out- wake up with half a brain on your pants?” Isaac had a look of complete mockery on his face, and who could blame him? This cop, this robotic cop, just told him he killed the biggest symbol of new age development. A cyborg was much less likely then terrorists on account of cyborgs... being government built and usually government controlled. Ok, maybe Alistair didn't like this government control, but was that rebellion enough to cause him to kill someone? To some people it might, but the kid had a seeking suspicion that they were relatively picky about the people they tacked metal parts onto. The monkey-suits had enough to worry about with outside terrorism; they didn’t need extra from the inside.

Then again.

Isaac had heard rumors about a small selection of military solders that were succumbed to… eh… more then costumed improvements. The chances of meeting one right now were pretty slim though, and Isaac was a person of logic and statistics. It was much safer and easier to assume Ali was bluffing. The kid wouldn’t be surprised if he did murder someone (he’d seen police brutality far surpass a bump on the head), but Slymaker was a no. BUT, he was curious now and feely awful cocky after surviving his apartment being blown up, so he slid his hands into his pocket and slouched his posture, a horrible cheeky grin on his face. “Prove it. Where’s that disk thing the report said was missing?”

[MeltedChocolate]

((may I join wit Finch? or this this liek kinda private?))