The neon lights flashed by as the ‘car sped up. Hanson was on a mission tonight, I could tell; he only piloted this carelessly when there was something afoot. Under, over, and around, he dodged the other ‘cars, lights flashing and siren wailing. Those weren’t unusual, it was the rare Vancer that didn’t use their sirens when going even on a mundane trip, but this time they had a more insistent tonality; once again, Hanson was on a mission. Everything about my partner screamed “don’t mess with me”, from the high-slicked collar of his station-issued coat to the steel-grey handle of his flechette, worn under the armpit in typical Vancer style. Hanson was ready for action, and I looked to my own needle-chucker to ensure I was ready to match him.

We parked the ‘car at the Bazaar; one of the seedier joints in the city, but a well-known one. The clients knew enough to turn away from us as we entered—visiting grungers like this isn’t illegal, per se, but it’s better to not catch the attention of a Vancer on the hunt. Even so, the employees here aren’t shy, and two of them came up to us as I followed Hanson across the pit floor.

“Hey there, boys, looking for something in particular tonight?” the curly-haired blonde put forth, tracing a neon nail just above my shoulder.

“We’ve got a special on for fellas like you,” the darker one purred, eying Hanson up and down. He shrugged it off and sped up, eyes flashing to the foot of the stairs where the ugly, bald, elephant sat.

“Hush, girls, we’re on the clock tonight. Gotta have a word with the big dapper man upstairs,” I said, giving the blonde a wink. She pouted and waved me off, pulling her friend away from her prey and moving on to easier targets.

“Who uses words like ‘dapper’ anymore, Vic?” Hanson growled from the corner of his mouth as we climbed the stairs.

I shrugged even though he couldn’t see me. “Seemed like the thing to say. Besides, look at his bowtie; fugly here’s clearly put in the effort.” This last was directed at the bouncer before us, the previously-mentioned elephant. He grunted, a sound I’m sure he was accustomed to making, and shifted on his stool, still blocking the doorway.

“Shift it, bub,” Hanson began. “I’m looking for Guy Lorenz, and you’re in my footpath.” I slipped a hand surreptitiously into my coat to rest on my side-arm, ready for trouble as the two-ton man tilted his head ponderously to one side, tapping a foot twice the size of Hanson’s and mine put together on the buzzer to open the door. I relaxed slightly; the rank was enough to get us in. If we were very lucky, it might even be enough to get us back out. And, if not… well, we still had our flechettes.