Chapter Five – Rac

Chapter Five – Rac

“Hello. I’m Jeff Personen, and I’m the director of the CPS. Child Protective Services. I was made director because of my ability to turn any organization once run by the government into one that can bring in a steady profit.

With the CPS, I did this by hiring ex-military, psychologists, and lawyers, and using them to extend the reach of both what the CPS does, and how it acts. Now, for a small fee, a parent can protect their child from just about anything: psychological issues, legal issues, and even the other parent!”

–Jeff Personen, Director of the CPS, in a 2029 interview.

***

“Uh, heya!”

Gomorrah stopped mid-stomp and whipped around to stare at me, her expressionless mask not conveying any emotion, but her stance did a lot of the work. “Cat? You took your time in getting here.”

“‘Here’ isn’t exactly the most accessible place,” I said. “The auto-taxis won’t even come here, you know? Plus I was buying new gear.”

“Nice armour,” she said. “I’m thinking of getting an upgrade too… but that’s besides the point. I’m glad you decided to show up.”

“Wow, you’re extra passive aggressive this, uh, morning.”

She shook her head. “I haven’t slept. I’m running off of adrenaline and two energy drinks. I’ve still got the shakes from them.”

“Alright,” I said. “So you’re looking for Franny. I’m assuming no luck so far?”

Gomorrah sighed, then looked around us for a bit. The ex-factory floor was still as empty as it had been when I arrived, but that did leave some prying eyes. “Come with me; we shouldn’t talk out in the open.”

I followed the nun as she moved to an exit, then slipped outside. The air was as foggy and cancerous as it had been moments ago. “What’s the situation so far?”

“Right,” Gomorrah said as she grabbed onto a nearby set of rails. “I arrived at the convent because Sister Darlene called and said that some friends of Franny were worried about her. I figured I’d find her with some bruised knuckles and maybe a black eye again.”

“Again?”

“She takes the ‘saving the lambs’ things a little more literally than most,” Gomorrah said. “She’s a good person, just a bit zealous.”

“I figured zealous was a pro in your line of work,” I said.

“Usually,” Gomorrah agreed. “Franny is a bit more violent than I think the average nun should be.”

I paused, then pointed at her. “Don’t you frequently set things on fire? Living things?”

“That’s besides the point. I asked around, and she was here for a little bit. Usually she stays above-ground when she’s going after some pimp or whatever. It’s not like her to go down this deep. This isn’t the safest place around.”

“Who was she going after? You mentioned something about Sewer Dragons?”

“That’s what one of Franny’s friends said, but no one else will tell me anything about them. There’s barely anything on the net except a few mentions and those don’t tell me much.”

“Right, so you lost her,” I said. Gomorrah turned to protest, but I cut in first. “No idea where she is, no idea where she’s heading. And neither of us know much about this area. I’m poor… was poor, but not this poor.” I gestured to the wide open space around us. “So… let’s get help.”

“Help? Wait, where are you going?”

I descended the nearest stairs and walked back into the bazaar, Gomorrah hot on my heels. The bazaar hadn’t gotten better. Maybe some of that had to do with the time; it was well into the morning already. Most sane people should be asleep by then, though I figured without any sunlight down here, there might not be anything like a natural circadian rhythm.

The girl hawking junk was still in place, sitting on the counter of her little stall while she rubbed at some old phone with a rag.

I gestured for Gomorrah to stay where she was as I moved up to the stall and coughed. It didn’t make any noise. Frowning, I reached out and tapped the counter twice.

The girl didn’t even turn around.

Was that not loud enough? I made sure my mask was set so that my voice was projected from it. “Hey.”

The girl bounced up and spun around, staring at me with widening eyes. “H-hey! Welcome to Rac’s trash and shit, uh, how can I help you?”

“Rac’s?” I asked.

“My name’s Raccoon,” she said.

It kind of fit. She had these big goggles on, with thick pads around them that gave the impression of rings around her eyes, and she certainly had the “rooting around in trash” part down.

“Cute name,” I said. “Don’t mean to bother you, Rac, but my nun-friend here and I are looking for some information. You got any? Or if not, do you know any good local gossip?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Raccoon said. She squinted, looking at me up and down. “Whoa, that’s some nice armour. You must be from above. Like, way above.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Not that far up,” I said. “So, we’re looking for someone called Franny. Uh. Gomorrah, you have a picture or something?”