Empathy

Chapter Four & Five: Creepin'

Creeping in the shadows Ishmael and I keep our heads down. I wasn't fully convinced that someone from Scepter Seven could be the culprit. They were on President Cage's side, ordered to protect civilians not murder innocents. I didn't want to blame anyone from Scepter Seven but they had given us are only lead, I wasn't about to ignore it.

I had to ditch the hood (too recognizable) the black leather jacket wasn't a perfect fit but nonetheless I was able to move freely. Ishmael dressed up in all black and grays to, it was odd seeing him not in fancy, colorful clothing. The two of us wore similar black bandanas, Ishmael decided to throw on sunglasses said if he was gonna play the role of a spy he would do it right. Ish turns to me and wipes some oil on my face. It doesn't feel awkward, I guess I got used to leaking oil spraying on my skin from all the gadgets and metal parts I was forced to fix.

Black smudges were under Ishmaels eyes, we were disguised to blend in with everyone else. It was easier to spy that way especially in the Runaways(one of the poorest sections in Seattle).

Something shiny catches my eye from Ishmaels belt. He places a hand on his hip and with both hands holds out a flintstone pistol. I remember Elliot keeping weapons under his mattress for protection, every time I'd peeked he'd lecture me, never allowing me to hold an object that could kill.

Look where I am now.

"Just in case we get caught." Ishmael says, from the craze look in his eye to the intrigued tone of his voice, he wants an excuse to use a weapon. Surprisingly, it's not unsettling.

I take the gun from his hand, it's not as long as a regular shotgun, but I know from the figure and rounds, it'll shoot like one. It's length reaches about nine inches, the body is black with an outline decoration of silver swirls. It's beautiful. I tuck it in the holster strapped around my right thigh, the leather jacket covers it up.

"Where's your defense?" I ask shoving my numb hands into the comfort of my warm pockets.

Ishmael pulls out a metal crowbar that's hidden in his boot. It's not uncommon for the people of Seattle, human and machine, to carry around a weapon randomly. Though it is a major threat and the parts of Seattle we're heading into are dangerous, the top elite gangs in the city roam around terrorizing everyone. Unluckily for Scepter Seven they were given the task to keep order in the streets today. Luckily for us we know they're in the streets today thanks to Elliots rotation schedule taped in the police departments announcement boarder.

The cool metal of the crowbar taps against my leg. "Ready?" Ishmael asks.

I nod, we walk out of the alleys entrance, trash and homeless civilians line up against most of the drug stores holding out tin cans and cardboard signs. Everyone we pass steps out of our way, I can feel there eyes burning a hole through my body, there searching for weapons that they can't find.

"I already told you no Gamer! Now scram street rat." A heavily built man says to a beautifully dark skinned girl. Her curly brown hair is piled on top of her head, a silver clip holding it up. Her light brown eyes look as if there scorching the man alive. Her features resemble someone I know, I just can't place the name.

"It's just one shift, please." Gamer begs. "I just need this one payment and I'll be out of your hair for good."

"Yeah," the man spats, "heard that before, yet here we are."

She's losing her patience, tightening her hands into fists. "Cut the pay for all I care just please give me something."

The man barks out a laugh. "Why? So that you can just go off and buy more useless games to play while your Mommies out saving the world? I don't care if you are Scepter Two's daughter, you're not getting a job here, now leave before I call the cops."