Glitch in the God Complex (AmpCore #1)

34 - Uncle Cutter

Shit, Kirk thought, as a fresh jolt of unwelcome emotion shot through him. He felt his cheeks flush and in a motion sharper than he meant, he stepped away, clearing his throat.

Arden jerked back as though she'd caught an electric shock from touching him. She hesitated for a moment before jamming clenched fists into her pockets, looking awkwardly at the ground.

"Sorry, I didn't-,"

"Forget about it." Kirk shook his head wearily, digging the fingers of both hands into his hair. "I don't know about you but I could really use a drink. C'mon."

*

Even if you were lost, it wasn't hard to find a bar in Hadrian.

With Arden slouching sheepishly along in his wake, Kirk trudged through the unfamiliar narrow streets until he spotted the glare of a half-shattered neon sign. In totally it would have read THE SINKTOOTH, but the march of time had eradicated half the letters leaving it with a less legible, TH- -INK—OTH. It's entrance jutted out of the side of a mottled, four story stain of black concrete, people blundering in out with varying degrees of steadiness.

Kirk joined them, reaching back with one hand. Arden took it without a word, letting him lead her in past leering eyes and slurring mouths until they were inside. The place was your standard dock-side dive, barely half full, with a blare of generic techno rock music crackling out of tinny speakers to drown the low hum of conversation.

A few heads turned their way, but no-one here paid much attention to a couple more no-hopers. Kirk let go of Arden's hand, and swept up to the bar. A young, hollow-cheeked barman served them up two of the cheapest beers he could muster, and then they slumped down into a booth.

He leaned against the torn cushion back, planting his bottle down on the stained wood of the table and sighing heavily. Arden drained half her beer in one go before curling up opposite him, knees tight to her chest. For a moment they sat, letting the ambience this dingy little shack wash over them.

"So what now?" Arden asked softly, easing the bottle back to her lips and taking another gulp.

Kirk blew out his cheeks in a sigh and took a swig from his beer, gently turning the bottle from side to side.

"Well," he said. "That depends."

"On what, exactly?"

"You still want to do this?" He raised his eyes to meet hers. "You still want to take on the corps?"

"You know I do."

"Then..." Kirk shrugged. "Then I guess we've got to keep trying." Sliding the beer to one side, he unfurled the blueprints he'd managed to snag in their flight from Delgado's refuge. Take a deep breath, he smoothed them out on the table.

They were a little scuffed and torn from their flight, but they would still do the job.

"You want to find that place," Arden said. "Where they made the wraiths."

"The wraiths seem to be after Piper. We find them, we find her."

"But how are we going to do that? Without Delgado, without someone with connections-,"

"I don't know yet, I don't know." Kirk flapped a hand at her to be quiet. "I just... I just want to know if you're still with me on this. If you are, then we finish these drinks, find somewhere to lie low and get some sleep. The corps aren't going anywhere."

"Isn't that the inconvenient truth," another voice said, cutting dagger-sharp into Kirk's ears. He looked up sharply to the left, and found a woman standing a few feet from their booth. She was dressed in baggy black cargo trousers, a short sleeved leather jacket and a ragged grey t-shirt – nothing unusual about that.