Lemmy drank the final dregs of his soup in solitary silence. It was unthinkable. The fact that Asha was now his employer wasn't so bad. The fact that Asha was also, as of a year ago, legally his better half hadn't been either. The fact that he hadn't designed a single new engine concept since becoming Lemmy Meadows-Greigs, was.

It was like she took pleasure in ripping him away from his work to do her odd jobs. At least once a month she'd send him away on some sort of wild goose chase for information he didn't even know to look for. He'd even moved his garage away from the Dome to put some distance between them. This hadn't worked in any tangible way, but he at least felt like he'd tried.

At first he'd thought that Asha wanted them to spend more time together. As heartwarming as this delusion had been at first it had been just that. By the third time she'd declined to come with him or even keep regular contact with him during these little escapades Lemmy had accepted the reality. His wife, however much he wanted her to, probably didn't much care for him as a person.

Oh, she recognized his value in some capacity. Whether it was his meticulous eye for detail or his social standing that she tended to use as a billy club, he couldn't be quite sure. Lemmy had made the same stupid mistake that many attention starved people did. He'd mistaken her attention for affection.

Now that he could look back on it with a more conscious eye he could remember that their "dates" had come off more like job interviews. Which job exactly he wasn't sure. By the time they were engaged Meadows Mercantile had already bought out Greigs Aeronautical and had even changed it's name to Greigs Aerodyne. She'd said that it worked better to attract the private sector.

He didn't quite understand that either. Ninety percent of all their revenue came from government projects anyways. They'd secured contracts for another two capital ships from Valka National in the last year alone, leaving them far above profitable. Why they would need to pander to the private sector now was a mystery to him.

At first he'd almost been excited about being useful to her, though this had worn off quickly. Most of the assignments she'd given him had bordered on asinine. Recording traffic flow at a busy intersection up north. Reorganizing and sorting through the Meadows records from the last hundred years. Taking care of her uncles cat out west.

Actually, the month he'd spent taking care of Wilson had been quite enjoyable as well as enlightening. His parents had never allowed he or his sisters to keep animals in the house. They'd pointed out that they didn't want to have to clean up after an animal, but this had only confused a seven year old Lemmy. Even by that age he knew they didn't clean their own house. Or their second house. Or their third.

His Father had later told him that pets were a "quaint concept" and only served people who would rather socialize with an animal than a person. To his credit, this hadn't been entirely untrue in Lemmys case. The thought of spending his time with a doe-eyed puppy certainly beat the thought of spending it with his boring, social-hierarchy motivated family any day of the week.

For what it was worth, he didn't hate them. He couldn't really find it in him to hate them. He just didn't find it enjoyable or particularly enriching to talk to the majority of his family. They weren't exactly pleasant people to converse with. It seemed like every conversation was an argument you didn't realize you were having.

On the topic of arguments, it seemed like the scruffy man he'd been told to follow was in the middle of a rather heated one himself. He didn't recognize him, or the woman, but the old man stirred up a familiar feeling inside of him. He could swear he'd seen him around the garages and vehicle depots near his workshop.

The heap they'd rode in on seemed a bit familiar as well, though you tended to see a lot of ambulances in need of repairs. He'd certainly never spoken to the old man but the other shop owners seemed to give him plenty of respect as a rule. At least that's how it came off to him during the monthly SOA meetings. His name was Al or something, but from what he'd gathered they all called him Donny.

Him being here may have been a coincidence, then again Lemmy had learned there was no such thing as coincidence when it came to Ashas assignments. This being no different than the rest she'd somehow known ahead of time when and where the ambulance was going to crash. She'd even gotten which table they would sit at right. It was uncanny just how precise she could be at times.

Lemmy ran his finger over the button on the little box she'd given him. If anything were to go wrong he was to push it, grab the scruffy man and run. What qualified as wrong he had no clue. What the button did, he had no clue. Where he was supposed to run to he had no clue either. All she'd told him was to press it, grab him, don't look back.

The table where the group were sitting had quieted down after the food had come. At the moment the man he knew as Donny was inspecting the scruffy guys fingers. Lemmy tried to take notes as inconspicuously as he could though he wasn't exactly a professional. Half of them came out slanted down the page while he tried not to look directly at the paper nor the table they pertained to.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Weird, there's little ridges where the fractures were. It's almost like something filled em in. Could you hold up your other hand next to it real quick?" Aldon said, curiously running his fingers over the bumps under Harvels skin. Harvel obliged.

He lined up the thumbs on each of his hands and fully extended his fingers. It was hardly noticeable but the ring and pinky fingers on his left hand seemed ever so slightly longer than on the other. He thought back to when he'd felt his shoulders earlier and squeezed one of the ridges.

It was squishy and malleable like a sponge. When he pulled his fingers away the ridge reformed, expanding back into it's original shape. "Aldon, do you mind having a look at my back too?" Harvel asked, moving to pull up the back of his shirt.

"That sounds like a great idea. Why don't you two go do that in the bathroom? I'll look after our table." Parker interjected before Aldon could respond. He seemed a bit thrown off by the outburst but Aldon shook off his surprise and led Harvel into the back of the restaurant.

Parker waited until they were out of sight to refocus her attention. The man at the table next to them had been there before they were. He'd been nursing his bowl of soup for far too long and had been taking notes and sending them sideways glances for the better part of an hour. If he was a spy he was terrible at it.

He wasn't a mercenary. The lack of overcompensating tattoos and a plate carrier covered in "Special Forces" patches you could buy online proved that. He kept reaching into his pocket and fiddling with something nervously. Suicide bomber? Maybe, but then why the notes? Who was going to read them once he was crispy?

Parker laid down across the booth and pretended to check her phone. Using the reflection from the screen and her eyes to filter out the excess light, she could make out a few of the notes on his page. Most of them were about Harvel, some about her, though she wasn't sure what "buff nasty" meant, and the rest were about Aldon.

Nothing specific like movement patterns or weaknesses to speak of. He'd written down when they'd gotten here, what they'd eaten and that he thought he might know Aldon from somewhere. It was almost like he knew nothing about them to begin with. Any good spy would likely already have most of the information he'd prioritized.

He seemed nervous. Nervous was good. Nervous was usually talkative. Normally she would wait for Aldon and Harvel to get back in case things went sideways but she'd sent them away on purpose. No need for Harvel to accidentally tell the little man more than she might squeeze out of him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Is it bad? Aldon? Seriously, what's going on? You went all quiet." Harvel asked, staring down at the bathroom sink. He'd been standing there with his shirt pulled up over the top of his head for the last few minutes while Aldon poked and prodded his wounds.

"Uh, honestly I couldn't tell you, but I don't think skin should be all wrinkly and orange-ish green right? It doesn't hurt does it?" Aldon commented, giving one of the bright orange growths another prod with a chopstick he'd snagged from their table.

"No, but I can feel you prodding it. Wait, what do you mean by wrinkly and orangish green?" Harvel asked, twisting his torso as he tried to get an angle from the mirror.

"Well, you ever seen the bottom of a mushroom? Wrinkly kind of like that. It's orange as a traffic cone but if I move my head it turns green like canal water. Weird stuff kid. Weird stuff." Aldon said, significantly muffled this time.

Harvel let his shirt down and leaned on the sink for a moment. He gave Aldon a quizzical look as he pulled his shirt off of his nose and mouth. "What? I thought it might be contagious!" He said, tossing the used chopstick into the trash next to them.

"uh-huh... You got a knife on you?" Harvel asked, putting his jacket back on.

"I ain't cutting it out for you if that's what you're asking." Aldon answered, placing a defensive hand over his back pocket.

"What? No no no. I want to do a test cut or something. Something small to see if it heals up quick like the others. Somewhere I can see it for myself preferably." Harvel quickly explained. It might not be the smartest idea if injuries made it more severe but at this point a small cut was just a drop in the bucket.

Aldon shifted his jaw back and forth in annoyance for a moment before relenting. "Alright, fine. But if it's my knife we're using, I'm making the cut. Now sit down on that toilet seat and grab some shit tickets. Don't want you bleeding all over Auntie Hoangs bathroom." He said, whipping out a six inch folding knife and snapping it open.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lemmy focused on his paper for a minute while he wrote. "Went into bathroom together, left lady outside in booth." When he looked up the lady was gone as well. He began to write this down but as he got to "gone as w-" he was interrupted.

"Your water sir?" a voice said from above his head. He knew he had a full glass already but if the service was this good there was no need to be rude and refuse.

"Oh, thank y-" Lemmy began to say as he looked up, but stopped short. Parker placed the glass down on his notes before he finished the sentence. "Yooouuu..." he trailed off as she sat down across from him.

"You indeed." She said, crossing her arms. She made a point to flex a bit as she did. Showing off the guns generally loosened people up a bit. Plus if she needed it her spare pistol was under her left armpit and a little quicker to get to from this position.

"Y-you wouldn't happen to be about to ask me how the f-food was w-would you?" Lemmy stuttered, hastily putting his pen on the table and getting it as far away from his hand as he possibly could. The way she was staring at him he could swear she was looking at his soul.

"No. I am about to ask you who hired you, and why they would hire such an amateur." Parker clarified, tapping his note pad with her free hand. The taunt felt a little extra but it seemed to have gotten the point across.

"Ah, you are? Well, um. My wife, I guess." Lemmy blurted, sweat beginning to accumulate on the top of his scalp. His mind had raced to come up with some sort of lie but it had blown a tire and left him standing on the side of the road with the truth.

"You guess? I see. Can you go ahead and guess what that thing in your pocket does as well?" Parker added patiently. She unlocked her left eye and pointed it at his pocket for a bit of extra effect. She could move them independently whenever she wanted but as it screwed up her depth perception she normally kept them in sync.

"Um, it may be the trigger to a bomb... I don't know. She told me to press it when things went wrong." Lemmy explained, unnerved by both her eye and the sentence he'd just spoken. "I don't think it'll blow anything up in here, cause I'm in here too." He continued, noticing Parkers muscles tensing up.

"Does what's going on at this moment count as things going wrong?" Parker asked, locking her eye back into place.

"A-are you going to hurt me or that scruffy man you're with?" Lemmy asked, relieved at the slight return to normalcy.

"No. Not if you don't give me a reason." Parker replied, palm still resting on the grip of her pistol.

"Then I don't think this counts. Look, I don't know if I'm on anyone's side in this but if I am it's probably yours." Lemmy pleaded. He really didn't want to find out what the button was for if he could help it.

"That's good to hear. Next, what's your name?" Parker asked, slipping her hand off of her weapon.

"Lemmy. Well, Limerick, but everyone calls me Lemmy." He replied, squirming in his seat. He wasn't quite sure about telling her the whole truth. He could now see the pistol in full view. He didn't know anything about weapons really. Only that you didn't want to be on the side the barrel was pointing at.

"Good, there's the first. What's the last?" Parker asked, her annunciation leaning toward frighteningly sweet.

"Last? I'm not quite sure what you mean." Lemmy said, eyes still glued to the pistol. He might be able to feign stupidity and get away with it.

Parker sighed. She hadn't wanted things to go this way. "Watch this." She said, raising her hand toward a server momentarily. "Could you bring us an extra fork please?" She asked, prompting the server to begin walking back towards the kitchen.

"Why do we need a fo-" Lemmy began before he felt something hard press into his knee. His eyes locked back onto the now vacant space where the pistol had been.

"Lemmy, don't test me. Now, last?" Parker said, right arm below the table. Lemmy swallowed hard.

"Greigs. Limerick Meadows-Greigs. Sorry." Lemmy choked out. A wave of relief washing over him as he felt the gun pull away from his kneecap.

"Don't be. Everybody gets one. That in mind I hope you'll be more forward with information from this point onwards, yes?" Parker said, sliding the pistol back into its resting place.

"Yes, yes of course. I know it's not my place to ask questions, but how do you know I'm not lying?" He asked, trying to steady his nerves. He wasn't lying of course but some idiotic part of him couldn't help but be curious.

"I can see your brain Lemmy. Certain parts light up when people lie." Parker answered, no semblance of emotion in her expression. That was a lie. When most people made up fake names on the fly they tended to be much less creative than "Limerick". It was usually Johns, James', and Jessicas across the board in her experience.

"Oh." Lemmy said under his breath. The bluff seemed to have worked. It tended to work on anyone unfamiliar with the limits of ocular prosthetics. Of course she could see how hard his heart was beating from the way his throat kept bulging, but you could have seen that with normal eyes from a mile away.

"Now, Lemmy who might your wife be? If you don't mind me asking." Parker asked, making her eyes whir in and out of focus. She'd learned a long time ago that unnerving people was actually quite easy. As long as you were alright with a bit of a headache afterwards all you had to do was move the little slider labeled sharpness back and forth a couple times.

"Um, I'm not sure she would appreciate me telling you. She can be a bit... intense." Lemmy mumbled, rubbing the sweat from his palms on his pants.

"Lemmy, I happen to be aware of who Asha Meadows-Greigs is, and I understand why you might be hesitant to sell out your wife. But, and I can't stress this enough, Asha is not here right now. I am." Parker explained, annunciating as many syllables as she could.

She didn't necessarily want to be as threatening as she was being at the moment. Aldon had taught her that avoiding violence while inspiring fear was the key, but it wasn't like he was an expert on keeping that balance himself. She'd seen him blow out his fair share of kneecaps during interrogations. Of course, those men had all had names like "Cutter" Moseby and "Roaster" Westcott, but there had been a significant deficit in kneecaps afterwards all the same.

Parker didn't enjoy interrogations. She'd definitely killed or maimed plenty of people during gunfights, but at least they shot back. It was, in a way, mutual. Interrogations on the other hand, no matter how many people the information saved, felt sadistic. Keeping a level head during the process was not an easy task.

Not an easy task when you were desperately attempting to hold down your lunch after the first broken finger. Not an easy task when all you really wanted was to be back at home with your cat and a big plate of chicken over rice after a long day. Not an easy task when you knew that if you showed even a hint of remorse they might use that to stall and an innocent hostage might die.

At the moment it helped that she didn't believe it would come to that with Lemmy. The good thing was that he didn't seem to know all that much to begin with. The bad thing was that even the information he had was hardly usable. A button that could potentially do anything and a wife so high up on the social ladder that if she spit it would hit terminal velocity and likely kill her by the time it got to her level.

"Did she tell you what to do once you've pressed the button?" Parker asked, hoping for some semblance of useful information.

"Yeah, grab your friend and run." Lemmy answered, an embarrassed expression passing across his face.

"Run where?" Parker asked, glancing around the room for any points of egress she might have missed.

"I don't know. She just said to run." Lemmy clarified, shrugging his shoulders in defeated acceptance.

"Fuck. Well, that's not very helpful is it?" Parker said, slumping back into her chair. Parkers phone vibrated. Careful not to take one of her eyes off of Lemmy, she checked it under the table. It was from Aldon.

It read: "How's it looking out there? Need to get Harvel out of here soon. Something weird going on with him."

"Not good. I think that would be a good idea. How weird? Weirder than the hand thing?" Parker texted back. She waited a few seconds before a response came through.

"Weird. Guy is turning into some kind of mushroom or something. Gonna try to get Hoang's son to let us out the back. What does "not good" mean? Just a feeling or you got something concrete?" Aldon texted back.

Parker decided that texting a full explanation would take too much time. "Coming back there. Got someone you'll want to meet." She typed. Sending out the message she re-synched her eyes and pulled out the gun under the table.

"I need you to come with me. Bring the button. No arguments please." She demanded, pressing the barrel into Lemmys knee again.

"O-of course. Lead the way." Lemmy complied, nodding profusely.

Neither Parker nor Lemmy were quite prepared for what awaited them in the bathroom. Harvel was, for lack of a better term, fused to the side of the stall. An orange, spongey growth, the size of a small tree extended from the floor to the ceiling, encasing Harvels right forearm, effectively trapping him inside. Miniscule green particles, glinting in the dim light emanating from above the sink, had filled the room like a dense fog.

"Cover your face. Probably don't want to breathe much of this crap in." Aldon shouted as they walked in.

"What the fuck happened?! Is that what's keeping him alive?" Parker asked, promptly pulling her shirt over her face. Lemmy shook off his shock and quickly did the same.

"Don't look at me, he's the one who suggested we do a test cut. I may have cut a bit too deep. It just sort of shot out of there and pinned him. Wait, whos he?" Aldon explained, pointing to his folding knife, still lodged in the side of the growth.

Parker pushed Lemmy towards Aldon. "Tell him what you told me. Harvel, are you alright? You conscious?" She said, keeping a respectable distance from the open stall.

Harvel let out a groan. "Yeah. Wish I wasn't. I think I might be sick." He replied. Parker couldn't tell if it was the mist or his skin but there was something very green about the way he looked.

"I'm going to try to get you out alright?" Parker said, giving the growth a forceful pull. The substance felt as if it were rooted in place with steel bolts. With every attempt more and more green particles permeated the air.

"Stop! Stop! Hurts! Why does it hurt?" Harvel whined, clutching at the orange folds surrounding his arm.

"Look, I know it hurts, but we've got to get you out of there." Parker said, still mid tug.

"No, I mean, it hurts, and I can feel it. Jesus I can taste the floor. Why can I taste the fucking floor? I think I'm about to be sick." Harvel moaned, lurching forwards and clutching at his stomach. He felt as if his insides were being moved around like one of those shifting tile puzzles.

His mind was a torrent of different smells, tastes, sights and textures. He tried to close his eyes but he could still see the bathroom as if he were inspecting every square inch from a millimeter away. Images, flowing in as if from millions of microscopic eyes, were slamming full force into his skull all at once. It was like cramming thirty pounds of souvenirs into a carry on bag. The zippers were holding for now but he could almost hear them popping tooth by tooth.

He could smell Aldons sweat in the air. He could taste the plaster in the ceiling and the unspeakable things that coated the floor tiles. He'd felt Parkers attempts to free him as if she were trying to rip his own skin off, and could see the capillaries in her hands expanding. Whatever It was, It was also Harvel.