The wave of realization washed over her. She had given a gangster some of her father’s most intimate information, from the trusted individuals he had frequent contact with, all the way to a list of obscure names that was otherwise irrelevant to his life. They weren’t constituents, they weren’t supporters who donated millions. They were normal people. And to top it all off, DeVile knew exactly where the rest of this sensitive information was housed. She walked along the city streets, her hands deep in her pocket as if to hide the flash drive from the few bodies that pushed past her. Everybody seemed like a criminal now, even the mother’s who carried their children as close as possible. They each looked at her as if she was their next target. To her right was the middle of the shopping district, signs illuminating the night sky and some popping out in holographic, 3D advertisements of dancing women in their lingerie. Sex sells, this mentality stood the test of time. As she passed one of the smaller shops, she looked into the window and at one of the tinier, older screens that played the news. Her eyes popped out of her head as she covered the sides of her face to peer into the window. On the screen was a woman, her eyes gleaming even through the gritty screen. She held that same maniacal sneer that she had witnessed before experiencing that sleep paralysis one evening ago. Across the screen were a set of meaningless words to most, but the most dreadful to Desirae. Wanted by Federal Police for Terroristic Intent: Lucille Afarattis -- extremely dangerous Cursing under her breath, she backed away from the window and walked quickly towards the train. Suddenly, as if in a movie, the entire city turned into a walking advertisement for this warrant. People looked at her, furrowing their brows as they ignored the notice. Ignored the warning that a home-grown terrorist was walking the streets. She thought back to the fact that Zeke knew nothing of her, only that she was a mutual friend that tagged along. Desirae was a nobody, but somehow Lucille knew there would be somebody to drug that night. It wasn’t like Desirae spent her time going out to eat with her father regularly, she hardly spent time outside the house unless it was with Zeke or taking a midnight excursion to make a quick buck. The fact that this woman knew where she would be far sooner than Desirae even knew irked her, made her question the validity of her own household. If she didn’t question her father’s trustworthiness already, she sure as hell did now. It just wasn’t adding up. She maneuvered through the streets, stopping in her tracks at the sight of a glitching figurine at the end of the sidewalk. In the midst of a crosswalk, with cars driving and seemingly breezing through the image, was an impossible sight. She rubbed her eyes before accepting her insanity, taking a few steps closer. It was a translucent figure, wavering in the wind and disappearing for a few seconds before returning to life. It lifted its hand up, waving directly at her when she stopped just feet from it. The body of the ghoul was blue, sparks of electricity flying off of it and into the air. It was bald and had eyes the size of a baseball, a feminine figure flowing down from the curvature of her chest to the outline of her waist. Naked, only plates covered its chest and buttocks; a glitch between reality and virtuality. Reaching up, she lifted a finger to try and touch her, stepping into the crosswalk to get a closer look. It was mesmerizing, a vision of obscurity. Just as her finger made contact with the electric form, her finger felt nothing but air and emptiness. Within an instance, the figurine had disappeared and Desirae was greeted by a honk, headlights edging closer to her as the tires screeched and burned on the cement. She looked to her left to watch the inevitable--she was a deer in headlights and there was no way around that. Letting out a gasp, she closed her eyes and felt her body smash into the cement before everything faded into the darkness. ⟨ᴠᴀɢʀᴀɴᴛ⟩ Darkness was a familiar feeling. DeVile sat on the edge of a roof, staring down at the city as he sat overtop the flying cars. Every now and then, he would be greeted with a honk if the driver noticed his dangling legs, swaying hundreds of feet from the ground. He had set up a time to meet with Vesna next week to discuss the logistics of what Desirae had given him, and request her help in finding out some more information on what the list could mean. She wasn’t a good contact, but he would be a fool to ask anybody else in this city for information. That woman was a snake, she could slip through every department around, may it be private or municipal. The night was quiet, and he enjoyed climbing to the rooftops to get away. Away from the partying, away from the drugs and alcohol. This was his alternate reality hidden beneath a jungle of those who augmented, and those who sought to destroy the artificial enhancements they chose to partake in. Up here, there was no police supervision or camera tailing him. No midwest mother hollering at him for taking a stroll through town. It was serene. The penthouses above him, on the surrounding buildings, lit up in vibrant reds and blues. The glass structures revealed much about the inhabitants; some were night owls, whispering sweet nothings to their partners as they danced around the completely windowed and exposed living rooms. Some turned their lights off early, the only activity the security drones that soared mindlessly around their patio. Every now and then, the flashlight that pointed off the drone would look his way, and even though he was too far away to be picked up on the camera, he waved. Chuckling to himself, he swung his legs over to the landing and rubbed some of the dirt off. Below, sirens wailed in the distance and approached the traffic light below this building. He peered over once more, watching as paramedics and police rushed to a nearby crosswalk. Security drones flew in every direction, going all around the intersections and cutting off any further traffic. Even up here, he could hear the robotic voices drone on: "Alert, no traffic permitted. Please follow the illuminated markers to locate the closest detour." Humming under his breath, he jogged down the stairwell until he was on street level, pushing past the door and making his way down the alley. A few hoodrats whispered amongst themselves and pointed gestured nonchalantly towards the open road, shaking their head as they started to back away. As DeVile passed them, he could overhear one phrase: “She looked fine, man. There was a shit ton of damage to her face, but it wasn’t nothin’ she couldn’t survive.” “I don’t know, that was a lot of glass.” DeVile walked onto the streets, rolling his jacket sleeves down so his augmentations were concealed. While the general public remained relatively uninterested and uninvolved in the life of cybernetically adapted individuals, there were far too many police officers for comfort. Some didn’t pay any mind, but he had a few run-ins with some dirty cops that practically put a bullet in his head for existing. Augmentation was a risky business, and an even more risky thing to have on the body. He leaned on the brick wall and crossed his arms, hiding his metallic hand in the inside of his jacket. The cops were the most normal looking out of the bunch, their eyes concealed with visors that connected to helmets. The helmets had a thick connection to their armored chest plate, the design built to reflect bullets into the air instead of absorbing it like older technology. He knew they could see him, even with how far they were. Those visors IDed people the second they came into view, listing all warrants and prior offenses imaginable assuming they had the proper chip in their wrist. If they lacked the ID chip, it would reveal any of the augments that covered their body, may they be external or internal. It gave him the creeps. A security drone flew by him, stopping to scan his face with a bright light. He held his normal hand up, concealing his face until the drone gave up and left. Scoffing, DeVile returned to watching the scene and observed the paramedics. They were an augmented marvel. Clearly, it was all external--the government would never condone or allow internal or permanent augmentations. Those were too hard to control. Their face was completely concealed with plated white armor, the metal engraved with octagonal shapes that illuminated every time they moved their face. Their shoulder plates a sky blue, and their chest plates an offwhite, it read: Trauma Team. He had seen some really good medics, and some really screwed up ones. He just hoped whoever helped the poor person laying for dead in the street was competent enough to help. Pulling himself a little closer, he stepped up to the line that a drone was shining onto the ground with its laser, warning him not to get closer. He looked past the medic’s truck into the area that the headlights shined onto. There was a body there, relatively bruised and beaten but otherwise not in too bad of condition. Minimal blood splatter and the victim was still moving. Stepping to the side, he caught a glimpse of the face. The hair was matted, blood drying in the strands of her blonde hair. One eye was closed tight, the other open but unmoving. The left wrist looked broken, the medic doing his very best to avoid her injuries as he applied pressure to the bleeding eye. Another medic joined him, a syringe in their hand as they inserted the needle into either side of her eye. That was what made his stomach churn. Her uninjured eye opened wide, a scream so blood curdling it sent a shiver down his spine as the needle entered the whites of her eyes. DeVile stepped closer and past the line to get a better look. He doubted his eyes, but there was no reason to. Desirae was laying there, bleeding out of one eye as the medics tried to keep the shard of glass inserted into her eye from moving deeper in. He backed away, clenching his fists as the drone’s siren wailed. A cop turned to look at him, his baton turning to light as electricity ignited from the handle. He waved it at him, warning him to scram or else. He walked back into the alleyway, gripping at the roots of his hair. Just as he was about to turn into the alleyway, he saw her unconscious body again being tossed onto a gurney and practically flung into the truck. Desirae was a disaster he wasn’t prepared to handle, but he feared how well those medics would treat her. He wouldn't be surprised if she came out more beaten and bruised than she was when she was found by those pricks. Cursing under his breath, he walked back into the headquarters and decided he needed to figure out a way to keep closer tabs on that girl.