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 its 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 him 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 Lemmy's 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 guy's 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 right. 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 its 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 Hoang's bathroom." He said, whipping out a six inch folding knife and snapping it open.