Because Adam hadn't seriously hurt anyone and had been stealing from a corporation Dawson happened to despise, she didn't give him up but did intend to question him on the matter, which could determine whether or not she fucked him again (or at least how hard). She left technician Tamara with a promise that she would look into the robber's identity and also into the matter of Nuclear Winter. Tamara was willing to take any comfort she could find.
She was formulating ideas when she emerged from the precinct building. The SINless crowd was still outside, as they had been for weeks prior, and likely would still be for weeks to come. The city council wasn't fond of the demonstrations... They loved the cheap labor but hated the idea of recognizing their existence legally.
Only now after seeing the intricacy and the potential for disaster in what Nuclear Winter was doing did Dawson begin to consider that all these things were connected. Rhetoric sensationalizing the presence of vigilantes while distancing Lone Star from the city's government by doing nothing about terrorism against private property. The poorest people of San Francisco demanding recognition from the free state, and clearly being organized without any one group clearly behind it. Mother Earth allied with GreenWar and Henan, up to something.
Ionfist's ghost, projected onto the body of a blank that had seemingly come through on its own.
It was that last fact that Dawson was dwelling on when she sighted Ivan in the rear of the crowd. An ork towering over everyone around him, blood-red hair, dressed only in the tattered remains of a once-orange jumpsuit. His cybernetic hand held in its grasp a cardboard sign reading History Is Written by the Winners.
Before Dawson could process this she registered a slight gleam in an open window with its blinds lowered all the way down, eight stories up in the drab office building in front of which the crowd was situated. Out of reflex she threw herself to the side.
The whir of the bullet crashing into the glass door behind where she'd been standing was louder to her than the muted pop of the rifle being fired, meaning it had a suppressor. Hastily Dawson scrambled to the side of the precinct building's front door area, taking scant cover behind the concrete corner as four more bullets in rapid succession landed in the spot where she'd thrown herself. That meant it was a Cavalier Arms Crockett EBR. A career killer, then.
Three officers in patrol armor came bounding towards the door from the inside of the building with their Colt Governments drawn, but before they could ascertain the situation Dawson stepped out of cover.
Three more muted pops sounded in quick succession and the bullets collided with a plate of solid ice five centimeters thick directly in front of her chest. A moment later she released her concentration and the ice dissolved, allowing the bullets to drop to the ground.
Not dissuaded, another pair of shots were fired from the window and Dawson let the magic in her core explode into her muscles, shoving herself away from the corner to the opposite side of the landing. The rounds missed her by less than their own width.
By now the crowd had realized a gun was being discharged and started to hastily disperse, suspiciously calm as if they'd been prepared for violence the whole time. There was no screaming, no trampling or chaos, and Dawson noted that people met in tight half-dozens to take direction from singular leaders who took them in solid directions towards streets leading away from the precinct. They'd be back. Of Ivan there was no sign.
She stepped out of cover again but the shooter had gotten the message. Amid the frantic sounds of patrol officers shouting for backup and reporting shots fired, there was no further gunfire. Whoever had been paid to kill her had gotten the message she was sending: You're not going to get me if I know you're there.
Her muscles burned with the magic forced through her veins to accelerate her motion, and the ache continued as Diana--gun in hand--grabbed her by the shoulder to pull her back into cover. Her hand pressed to the front of her parted coat where the ice had melted and soaked through her shirt to show the defined muscles beneath.
"Detective! Are you hurt?"
"No new damage," Dawson stated. She pointed upward at the building. "That window on the eighth floor. The shooter is going to be long gone by the time you get there, but let me know what you find."
Diana was silent for several seconds as she put it together, then belatedly put her gun away. "May I ask, what is someone trying to kill you for this time?"
Dawson put her hands in her coat pockets and rolled her shoulders against the settling fatigue. "Must have been something I said."
= = =
After Dawson had left to see about another apocalypse, Instinct sat next to Shelara on the couch. The brown-haired elf had her visor down and the flicking left and right of her eyes combined with her datajack having a small cable in it indicated her attention was fully in the matrix.
She set one hand on the elf's thigh and the girl straightened up at once, then smiled toothily. The visor flipped upward and her focused eyes found Instinct's.
"What did you two talk about?" Instinct asked.
Without looking Shelara's right hand settled over Instinct's, and her other went to the antique decking manual on top of her bunched-up clothing. "You know I want to study engineering," she reminded her. Instinct nodded in remembrance. "She said it's going to be easier to get a SIN soon."
Instinct's brows lowered a fraction. Did Impulse intend to help Megiddo for this purpose? Practically a deal with the adversary himself. She turned her hand over on Shelara's thigh and squeezed her fingers.
"It will be." Those crowds outside of banks and precinct buildings were organized. Was Tranquility and Veer'dalai behind it? But the crowds had bloody tusks, and ancients among them, and so many more... Instinct ran her right hand through her hair, suppressing a growl of frustration felt for how they were keeping her in the dark.
"I believe it," Shelara answered, leaning over in her seat to put her head in Instinct's neck. Instinct pressed lips to the elf's forehead reassuringly.
At the window overlooking the fountain in front of the Orchard, Jastira was standing naked eating a bowl of something crunchy and wet. With her mouth full, not bothering even to stop chewing, she pointed with her spoon and said "Hey that guy is back, the one who won't give us more champagne." She swallowed and spoke more clearly. "I'm going to show him my ass."
The elf turned around and widened her stance to press her bare buttocks to the glass. She was tittering to herself and fingering the window's tint controls when Instinct sidled up next to her and emitted her tongue, long and agile to wrap quickly around her throat. She squawked and dropped her bowl, which Instinct caught in one hand while setting the other on the small of Jastira's back.
Her wet, hot mouth muscle continued to climb up the elf's head and face, passing over her upper lip, over her eyes, crawling through her neon-green hair and over one of her ears. Jastira's squeals of delight were cut off when the tip of Instinct's tongue plugged her mouth, and then all the elf could do was suck thoughtlessly on her provided pacifier.
