Part the third
The team’s morning then undergoes a slight hiatus as the individual members go their separate ways temporarily to pick up equipment that they think they will need whilst exploring, charting and maintaining a section of Mort City ’ s sewer system. For Bonky this comprises some extremely thick armour, customised with his favourite band and cartoon stickers; also a large, Stormer-proof rubberised torch and a Chainaxe, customised by Bonky with a large, friendly looking smiling face. He had tried taking more things down with him before, but found that he tended to leave things behind or drop them when he got up close to anything that needed sorting out.
Steve has a similar array of equipment to collect, so heads off to his apartment several sectors away. Before he leaves he shouts out “Give my love to Jen” and winks at Bonky. Bonky winks back, which makes Steve laugh. Bonky likes to make people laugh. He is quite good at it, although often he is not sure quite what it is that is funny.
Jacinta smooths down her suit once outside the donut place, makes a call on her Disposa-Fone and hails a cab. “2 hours” she says. “Don’t be late, Bonky, OK?”
“OK”
And she, too, is gone.
The Wraith has left in search of the hollow point ammunition he favours, silently and gracefully leaving the building with only a feline smirk directed towards Bonky and Mel. The Ebon decides to stick with the Stormer, as she already has everything she needs. “I’m wearing it” she tells Bonky, not for the first time, as they make their way towards his apartment block. “The DeathSuit?” he asks. “Yup.” “But where is it?” “Underneath my skin. Just underneath. Honest. Look.” Mel concentrates, her eys light up briefly and Bonky thinks he can see sparks. Mel’s hand goes see-through and underneath Bonky can see something black, black and white. He reaches out to touch it... “Uh uh, sorry big guy, not till its out completely. It might bite you!” This last said jokingly but with genuine concern in Mel’s voice, funny considering Bonky outweighs her by a factor of at least two and a half, and towers over the Ebon’s slight frame.
Bonky, however, has been there before and backs off, instead, placing an arm companionably around Mel’s waist. The Ebon relaxes and does the same, and the two head towards Bonky’s quarter at a leisurely pace. The rain soaks them through in a couple of minutes, but they don’t mind for now. The rest of the day will be spent where the water is considerably less fresh than even this acid-polluted muck. Bonky makes the best of it whilst it lasts.
Bonky piggy-backs Mel the last two hundred metres, and they end up splashing, whooping and hollering as they re-enter the ground floor of the building. A suit passes by them and tuts at Mel, although he hasn’t seen Bonky yet. A moment later the suit picks up the pace as the Stormer looks in his direction, he forgot that some freak of the housing system put a hundred kilos of vat grown biogenetic killing machine on his floor. Mel and Bonky laugh all the way up to the thirty-second floor, where Bonky’s apartment is. The suit maybe won’t forget who his neighbours are in a hurry again.
Umm, here's some more
The whole floor smells of freshly brewed coffee as the pair leave the lift (Bonky knows that Mel prefers the lift to the stairs): Jen is obviously up and about. Bonky checks his watch. Just before eleven, say the large, friendly looking digits. Still early for Jen, but stranger things have happened. Most of them down sewers, admittedly, but Bonky’s experience of life as an Operative has been a touch limited so far. He glances at Mel who tries momentarily to look stern but then fails completely and waves a hand in mock defeat in the direction in which she knows Jen’s flat lies. This becoming something of a ritual between the three of them.
Bonky gives a small rap at the door of number 242. Inside he hears clunking noises and eventually scraping sounds from just inside the doorframe. The door opens a crack and then wedges itself on something. “Oh hang on I’ll-“ comes a muffled voice from inside. There are noises like bottles breaking from just inside the apartment. Bonky applies some pressure to the stuck door and there are more noises of bottles breaking as the door swings inward on its hinges. There is a strangled yelp from the door-opener who then appears, dressed in yesterday’s jeans and a faded Karma T-shirt. She is nineteen, looks twenty-nine and clutches a bowl full of strong coffee. The real deal, too, not the instant stuff that Bonky always has. “Hey B, hey Mel. Come in. Coffee’s brewing if you want some.” Bonky nods, politely, and Mel does the business at the machine.
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