�Hey, Lee- Want another drink?� The bartender�s friendly, enthusiastic tenor wound through the usual clamor of dancers, drunks, and loud music. He was a little too enthusiastic; it was no secret that the boy had been ogling her all night . . . Not that she had done anything to encourage him, of course. She couldn�t help that she was naturally well-endowed.
�No thanks, man.� It also was no secret that he had been trying to get her drunk all night as well. Good thing she could hold her alcohol. God only knew what would happen if she couldn�t. (How many times have we been through this?) �Here.� She handed him her card. �Take 50 credits as a tip.�
�Thanks!� He said gratefully, and ran the card through a scanner. Installed into the card was a smartchip that kept track of her total assets in the bank, allowing her various employers to either deposit her money directly or direct it to the bank via her card. It was the offspring of the old, outdated credit cards from the 1900's and early millennium, and although by far more secure, it was still quite vulnerable to hackers as it operated on a satellite-linked internet access. She should know; she worked on her own time as a hacker. She had broken enough account codes to empty them into her own card. Not that she could really afford to tip, though. She had some expensive habits to maintain, and a child.
But it kept the boy occupied, with his plans on what he would buy with the money he would earn. He chattered on about maybe becoming a musician, or a programmer. Don�t quit your day job, boy. The way you babble on, you�d likely be caught and killed after revealing half of the Underground to arrest. She zoned him out, nodding and grunting in the appropriate places.
Lee went on like this for fifteen minutes until he came in. The musician slash comic writer. He even had his own gallery, and a private collection. Raeh Alexandros. He was famous throughout the Underground for his skills and for the fact that very little was known about him. And the fact that he was so damn gorgeous . . .
He was graceful; something Lee could appreciate, having worked with models since establishing her daytime career as a fashion designer, one of the few legal options for one with the creative flair and a stomach or two to feed. He would have been a great male model. His shoulder length, multilayered luxurious black hair argued that either an extremely skilled stylist or a very horrible one visited it; his tanned olive complexion was totally even . . . And his body was toned. She would have bet her whole account to say that beneath that white shirt was a washboard -rock hard smoooooth- pack of abs. She wiped drool off of her mental chin. He was stunning. Pretty. Gorgeous . . . Beautiful, darling . . . And those (winter sky clear winter sky oh god . . . How long has it been since those eyes have been seen?) cool ice blue eyes . . . She felt a slight shudder of something akin to anticipation. She was glad that the Forerunner had entrusted her with this assignment . . . Hopefully, once he joined the Children, they would get a lot closer. If the Forerunner didn�t decide to take him for herself.
But that could be adjusted when he was taken in. She slid off the bar and made her way to his table.
*****
Sitting on a high stool at a secluded table, Marcus Caravolh was dressed to be overlooked in his black vinyl jacket and blue jeans, mouse brown hair and nano-colored green eyes. He tapped his fingers on the table in an unconscious display of anxiety as he waited for his assignment to enter. Checking his watch, he sighed. It had only been five minutes since the last time he checked, which had only been five minutes from the time before that. Come on, Mr. Alexandros . . . Make your grand appearance so you can make your grand exit. You have work to do.
Marcus had been assigned to find Alexandros and conduct him to EDF headquarters. The EDF, or Eden Defense Force, provided protection to the city against the radical group known as the Children of Eden. Its members were known to have supernatural abilities; after several units of the Council�s military force had been wiped out with nary a trace, even those crack-heads could figure it out. The EDF�s members were outfitted with various artificial equipment coming in the form of bionic implants or nano-technology enhancements to better level the battlefield between themselves and the Children; unlike the rest of the population, the Defenders� bionic transplants weren�t for lifesaving or mobility purposes, but for performance. Oh, they went virtually unremarked as did the other �cyborgs�, but they had abilities the others didn�t- enhanced strength, speed, senses, or stamina were just some of the things they had available to them.
He wasn�t really sure why Alexandros had been chosen as the next candidate. Maybe it was just because he was an insider to the Underground, possibly privy to any information about the Children. Maybe it wasn�t so simple. He had done a background check on Alexandros and come up empty-handed- no files with his ID existed. Perhaps he had been a victim of the Population Board�s identity wipes in order to conform to population statistics; perhaps he had been wiped out for another reason . . . There were too many �maybes� and �possiblies� instead of �definites�.
A scantily-clad waitress finally came by with the drink he had ordered earlier- a paradise margarita. As he took a sip -not too keen on alcohol . . . Too easy to get drunk off my rocker- the man himself strolled in with the easy grace of a dangerous predator, confidant that he could handle anything that came his way. He supposed a woman would find Alexandros attractive; he was definitely good-looking, pretty almost, but not effeminate. He looked strong, although he wasn�t bulked up. He could definitely move, with that form, and Marcus would stake his life that the man could outrun and outmaneuver any non-enhanced human. Hell, he could probably outrun some of the Defense Force. Marcus noticed the small bulge at the top of the man�s high-laced combat boots - why the hell is he wearing those? Must be a fashion statement. Doesn�t seem really angsty though - that signified daggers, or some other type of combat knife. So he�s smart. But I don�t think he�d provoke a fight. He seems too laid back. Marcus counted on his instinct; it had saved his life too many times beyond count. He trusted it now that starting a situation with this man would end his career.
Standing, Marcus strolled to Alexandros�s table nonchalantly. �Hello, Mr. Alexandros.�
*****