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#Adrasteia – July 23, 2018
Dawn can't help her gaze wandering back to her own hands as Bishop speaks. Her expression turns distant as his words conjure all too familiar images. For just a moment she's not there. She's somewhere else, and her hands are bare, no longer covered by black textile. It makes it all too easy to see the red blood that covers them, accentuating every line in her palms, and the scars that stretch out to her knuckles. Not here. Not now. She
closes her eyes and with no small effort she forces her mind back to the present. A deep breath follows as her eyes open, the scent of the air freshener and the snow glistening under the streetlight outside the alley helps ground her, and she offers a faint nod, doing her best not to let the storm in her mind show on her face. "You've... you've fought them?" she asks, finally turning her gaze back to him.
Bishop watches Dawn for a moment, her temporary disconnect not going unnoticed, though he says nothing of it. He sits in silence, taking another sip of his coffee as curiosity causes him to ponder what put this woman on the trail of a pair of dangerous animals. When she speaks again, his detatched amusement seems to grow, culminating in a snicker and a small shake of his head. "I've fought many people. Even fancy myself pretty good at it,
if I do say so myself." he says, "But this wasn't a fight. It was a slaughter." he says, gaze on the snowfall outside the windshield. It seems to be picking up. "He-... Jin-..." he emphasizes- a name he was only able to put to a face long after the fact- and casts a brief look Dawn's way before returning his attention to the windshield, "...moved around like a phantom. Could barely keep track of him. I've come across my fair share
of biotics. Tough bastards, the lot of them, but this was different. It was like he was in three places at once. Just when you thought you had a bead on him-..." he snaps his fingers, "...he was gone. Only to reappear behind you. No, it wasn't like any biotic I've ever encountered." The way he talks about the ordeal is as if he still hasn't come to terms with what transpired. As if recalling a dream more than a memory.
Dawn once again listens in silence, her gaze focused firmly on Bishop while he speaks. Every word serves as further confirmation. There's no real surprise in her expression in response to the information he's relaying, as if it's all things she expected to hear. "Were they armed? What did they wear? Any... cybernetics, or... breather masks? Anything else that stood out?" she asks, in rapid succession, turning a little in her seat towards
Bishop gives a small shake of his head. "The guy carried an expensive-looking sword. But outside of that? Nothing fancy. Predator pistols you could probably get in just about any back alley in Adrasteia. They weren't wearing hardsuits. If I'm being entirely honest? I don't even know if they had bloody shield generators. I don't-..." he trails off, a hint of embarassment creeping in. He pushes through it, however, giving a slight snicker at
his own pointless professional pride. "...I don't think we landed a shot." His admission causes him to look Dawn's way briefly. But as soon as he meets her eyes, his gaze lowers, settling on an arbitrary point on the dashboard as he searches through his memories. "They were dressed in all black." he finally continues dismissively, aware that's not particularly relevant, "Pretty covered up. Between that and trying not to get my head
lopped off, I didn't get exactly get a chance to search them for identifying marks or signs of cybernetics." He passes that dry, cold smirk Dawn's way once again, narrowing his eyes briefly, "I'm sure you understand."
Dawn gives a few nods, glancing out the windshield briefly. "Yeah..." she says, her voice quieter than before. Silence takes over for a moment before she speaks again. "Do you know anything... anything about where they came from? About why they're working for Cross? How long they've been with him?"
Bishop returns his attention to the flurry of snowfall that has begun to rain down. The windshield wipers are doing their best to clear the snow, but no sooner have they cleared a sheet of white for it to be replaced. He pulls in a deep breath as he shifts against the seat, cradling his cup of coffee in his lap. "I spent the better part of six months trying to see what I could stir up about them." he admits, leaning his head back against
the seat's headrest as he stares straight ahead. "Mostly ghost stories. As far as I can tell they've been with Cross since his arrival. Or close to it, at least. I spoke to a bloke that supposedly helped Cross put the Enforcers together. Ex-Alliance. Ran his own PMC until Cross bought them out and used the pieces to build his own personal army. He couldn't tell me much about them, but he did tell me the two acted as Cross' personal
guard. Were never too far from him. Which is funny, considering he makes plenty of public appearances but you never see them with him." he points out, rolling his head against the headrest to glance Dawn's way. "Sounds like they might be a bit camera shy." he muses, that smirk making a brief return, "Perhaps they've a reason to be." He lets that linger for a moment before drawing in a breath and continuing. "As for where they've come
from or what they're doing working for a man like Cross? I haven't the slightest. But I don't get the impression they're particularly welcome."
Dawn again ends up chewing the inside of her cheek as she listens. As Bishop finishes she nods faintly, letting her attention wander to the windshield wipers, watching them sweep across the glass, and listening to the muffled sound of the rubber. She draws in a long breath, letting it out with a sigh. "Not a lot to go on, but it's start. Is there anything else you can tell me about them...?" she prods, hoping she might get some additional
Bishop turns his gaze back to the windshield as well. "Brutal killing machines without so much as a trace of their existence anywhere on the extranet. They avoid public appearances. They rub out targets dictated by Cross and then disappear right back into the shadows as if they were never there until he needs them again. Even those near the top of Cross' little kingdom talk about them like they're death-bloody-incarnate." he muses aloud
with a sigh. He prods at his lower lip with the tip of his tongue for a moment as he considers his words. "You sure this is something you want to get involved in?" he asks, glancing back Dawn's way. "Sometimes you just need to realize when you're in over your head and cut your losses. Just a bit of friendly advice, love." he offers, the tone of his voice implying that's exactly what he did.
Dawn doesn't seem deterred, or even put off, by Bishop's grim summary of the twins. His final suggestion elicits only an empty snort at first. "Wasn't really my choice to get involved." she says quietly, not looking Bishop's way. Her eyes follow the snowflakes outside as they dance in the wind. For a moment, she looks very tired. With a heavy sigh she banishes the forlorn look from her face, looking back towards Bishop and aiming the credit
chit his way with a deft movement of her fingers as she holds up her hand. "Thanks for the intel." Despite the lack of emotion in her face, weariness still lingers in her unusual eyes, a contrast to the intense violet coloration that almost seems to shine from beneath uneven strands of black hair.
Bishop tentatively reaches out, gently retrieving the chit as he holds Dawn's gaze. He seems torn for a moment, jaw tightly clenched. At odds with himself. Finally, as his gaze returns to the windshield, he lets out a deep sigh. "Serena Torres." he says, his gaze moving to his rearview mirror to assess the situation behind them. Unfortunately the increase in snowfall causes the mirror to show little more than a flurry of white. Those with a
foot in the tech world and up-to-date on the news might recognize the name. The real name of a wanted hacker who- until recently- was only known by her pseudonym 'Axiom', connected to activist group TruthHax. He furrows his brow at the lack of vision before settling back into his seat. "She oversees all of Cross' security. From what I understand there isn't much that goes on in that fortress Cross has locked himself up in without her
knowing about it. You want intel-... Real intel-..." he's quick to stress, "...I can't imagine there's a better place to get it."
Dawn seems a little surprised by the unsolicited addition to Bishop's previous advice. After a moment's silence a brief, faint flash of a smile and an appreciative nod follows. "Okay." she says, mostly to fill the silence as she considers this new information. "Guess I know who I'm talking to next. Don't suppose you know where she has her drinks?" she tries - by the tone of her voice the question is only half-serious.
Bishop returns the question with a brief snort. A small, puff of air through his nose. "Afraid not. We don't exactly keep the same company." he says dryly. "Though considering it seems like she's the key to the Cross kingdom-..." he leans forward slightly, craning his neck to look in the general direction of the Torthus-Cross building, the red pulsing lights atop it to warn gunships of its positioning in severe weather visible even through
the wind blown snow, "...I'd wager that you're unlikely to find her out and about on her own. Especially with the Children of Aite on the prowl and their sights on Cross." As he settles back in his seat he turns his attention to Dawn once again. "You know if you approach her it's going to put you on Cross' radar." he says bluntly, making no attempt to mask the fact that thinks that's a bad idea. "And if you're on Cross' radar, you're
Dawn follows Bishop's gaze towards the Torthus-Cross building, looking at the blinking lights thoughtfully. A couple of nods follow. "Point taken." she says, running possibilities through her mind. "Guess I have some thinking to do." she says as her hand goes for the door handle, popping it open and stepping halfway out of her seat. "This has been... informative." she says with a glance back to Bishop, and another appreciative nod.
Bishop watches Dawn in silence, giving no response as she begins to exit the vehicle. A powerful gust of wind sends the snow nearly horizontal for a moment while Dawn steps out into the flurry, causing Bishop to look forward once again and give a sigh, his jaw tightening momentarily as a small internal struggle takes place before he sends an accusatory look her way. "Not really the kind of weather you want to be wandering about in, love."
he calls out, having to raise his voice a bit over the howling wind now that the door is open, "The Blossom is only a few blocks away. For 700 credits the least I can do is drop you back off." he offers begrudgingly.
Dawn seems a little caught off-guard by the harsh weather, and as Bishop speaks she looks back at him, the wind blowing her hair around. She considers for only a moment before nodding and lifting her booted foot off of the ground, slamming the door shut again.
Bishop casts another fruitless glass at the rearview mirror as he starts the engine up again. With a swipe through the dashboard interface, the windshield wipers pick up their pace enough to give at least some visibility as the van begins to lurch slowly forward from the alley. The vehicle's large wheels tread effortlessly through the layer of snow on the ground that's beginning to mount. The street ahead of them is suddenly bathed in
white light as another gunship passes overhead. Out of the alley the looming lights high atop the Torthus-Cross building are much more visible through the snowfall. "I assume it goes without saying but I'd appreciate it if my name didn't leave your mouth after today." he says, temporarily leaning forward and squinting for a moment to see through the flurry of snow.
Dawn lets her arm rest on the inside of the door, her gaze following the searchlight of the gunship as it passes by. "Of course." she says with a nod. She seems to have relaxed enough that she can allow her mind to wander a little as she watches the passing lights of the city in the dark.
Bishop nods to himself, falling silent as they proceed towards their destination. Another block passes without a soul in sight. But as soon as they round the corner of the block the Blossom is located on, the colorful neon sign comes into view, cutting through the wall of white. Much like in Dawn's room, the music is still audible from a few buildings down. Despite the snowfall, a few people are standing in the parking lot exchanging words
beside a truck. Looks to be another packed night. It always is. As the van rolls to a stop out front of the rowdy bar, Bishop looks to Dawn and he can't help but see another person being sucked in by this hopeless city. Over the past two years he has watched as the people closest to him found themselves caught in Cross' orbit. As they ran. Hid. Fought. Surrendered. Fed the unending cycle with plots of revenge. There was even a time
when he counted himself amongst those caught in that orbit. But some managed to drag themselves out of the rubble and start new lives, a thought that brings his mind back to Veneya and the image of her seated at the bar in that branded hardsuit. Maybe it's finally his turn to do the same. Start a new life. Far from this city. That fake smirk crosses his lips again as he addresses Dawn. "I hope you find what you're looking for." he
Dawn watches the people by the truck in silence for a moment, her mind dwelling on thoughts unknown. Bishop's words bring her back to the present, and she looks over to him while gripping the doorhandle. She studies him for a moment before nodding and opening the door to step out. "Hope you find yourself a new city." she replies after turning back to face Bishop, her hand resting atop the car door as the wind makes a mess of her short,
uneven hair, and her jaw clenches in response to the cold. With that she slams the door shut, turning to head into the Blossom. She moved earlier the same day, of course, but there's no need to make that obvious.
Bishop watches as Dawn rounds the vehicle. As she begins to enter the Blossom, he gives a glance back into the bed of the van. Noticing that somewhere along the way the sheets he had tossed over his things had shifted, he reaches down and gives the corner a tug to cover up the long barrel of a rifle poking out. After taking a sip from the second cup of coffee in the cupholder that has long since gone cold, he grips the wheel and puts the