Kirk paused outside the police station. To anyone else, it wasn't much, just another grey metal lump in Hadrian's evergrind, stinking of cigarettes and cheap fast food. He wouldn't say his memories were better than anybody else's, but they he'd be willing to be they meant more.

He checked his pocket again, feeling the solid structure of Delgado's cigar case between his fingers. She'd helped him. She'd interviewed him right here, when all he'd been trying to do was find Piper.

Before AIs, and AmpCore, and rebellions.

God, how part of him wanted to just wrench the clock back to those simpler times. But, if he was really honest with himself, he couldn't go back now. Someone had to do this, and even if all he got for his trouble was a bullet between the eyes, it would still be worth it if he could just plant one deeper seed of doubt in the world.

You don't have to take it.

Heaving in a breath and shaking his head to clear it, Kirk squared his shoulders, curled a fist around the cigar case, and marched up the stairs.

The lobby of the police station assaulted his senses as he entered, the already potent smells mixing with the bellow of orders, swearing and screaming of disgruntled citizens and the occasional thump of a fist hitting a human body. He had to swerve to the side as two cops clattered by, wrestling with a brawny young man who snapped and snarled at them like an animal. Eventually they got enough leverage between them to haul him off, and they disappeared down a connecting corridor.

Clearing his throat, Kirk tried not to get in anyone's way, darting and dancing through the chaotic flow of people until he reached the haggard desk sergeant. She looked like she hadn't slept for a week, her grey uniform shirt dishevelled and open at the throat. The cigarette between her teeth didn't stop her from speaking at a rapid pace, dismissing the one after another plaintiff that arrived in front of her.

As he reached the front of the line, she paused long enough to scissor what was left of it between two fingers and exhaled a bloom of smoke right into his face. He grimaced and waved it away. A far cry from the expensively scented cigars, he got a nose-full of acrid, synthetic tobacco with a side of scorched mint.

"C'mon, pal," the sergeant grated, one hand tapping disinterestedly at the holo-interface to her right, the other still holding the smouldering cigarette.

"I... huh?"

"What's the problem?" She looked at him expectantly and stuffed the cigarette back into her mouth. "Or are y' just fuckin' sightseeing?"

"No, jeez, I'm here to see at detective."

"Are ye, aye?"

"Yes." Kirk bristled, fixing glaring at her. "Detective Doser."

"Mate, if you've got a crime to report, put in the bloody system." She jabbed a finger at one of the automated kiosks, currently jammed with disgruntled citizens. He considered them dubiously for a second, then turned back to her.

"I'm not here to report a damned pick-pocket," he snapped, his patience quickly evaporating. He could feel the line of people forming behind him, but he ignored it, his ire fixated on the desk sergeant as she looked past him. Her face pinched with irritation.

"And what do you want with Detective Doser?"

"I need to speak to him. It's about a case."

"A case?"

"Yes. My name is Kirk Balfour. Tell him I need to speak to him about our... mutual friend."

"For fuck sake." The woman rolled her eyes and tapped the implant in her temple. The holo-visor over her eyes flashed red for a few seconds, then switched to cobalt blue. "Aye, Doze, it's MacIntyre. Got some kid from the docks looking for a word with you?" She paused. Nodded. "Aye, no shit. I told him that, but he wants to talk to you. Name's Balfour. Kirk Balfour. Says you two have-," she glanced to him through the visor, "a what?"

"Mutual friend."

"Mutual friend," she repeated for Doser.

He tapped his fingers nervously against his thighs as he waited. MacIntyre let out a snort of surprise.

"If you say so. No fuckin' rust off my bones." Her visor vanished and she jerked her head towards the chaos of the bullpen beyond a sheet of reinforced armourglass. "Alright, Mister Balfour, go on through."

"Thanks," he muttered, jamming his hands into his pockets and setting off. He passed through the swinging double doors and emerged into the den of the station's detective core, a motley crew of men and women who looked like they'd given up on ever really stemming the tide of Hadrian's criminal underworld.

Not that difficult to understand, given that half the time the criminals would be operating with the tacit support of one corporation or another. Frankly, Kirk wondered how the regular cops of the city managed to drag themselves out of their beds every morning.

He spotted Detective Doser easily enough despite the barely controlled mayhem. He was a big man, maybe in his early forties, and carrying an impressive beer gut shamelessly. His red hair was shaven right down to his scalp, while his beard bristled, unkempt and stained. The bags around his eyes spoke of long days, coupled with longer nights. His shirt was rumpled, suspenders valiantly holding his dark trousers in place. The desk in front of him looked more like a landfill than a detective's work space.

All in all, he looked like hell.

"Detective?" Kirk said as he approached.

Doser's eyes rose slowly from his the arc of his gossamer-thin computer monitor. For a moment he didn't say anything, just staring. Then he blinked bloodshot eyes, and fumbled around on the desk until he located a bottle of pills. Kirk pressed his lips tightly together and waited, as the haggard detective swallowed three capsules, washed down with brackish looking coffee from a foam cup.

Doser smacked his lips as though he'd just tasted a measure of the finest whisky, and then leaned back in his chair.

"Kirk Balfour," he muttered. "Now there's a name I never thought'd darken my desk again." He gestured to the seat opposite him. "Well, you're here now. This better be good. I'm a busy man."

Kirk eyed the mess in front of him dubiously. "So I see."

"Don't be judgy, Kirk. Makes you seem like a dick." Doser chuckled to himself.

"Thanks for seeing me," Kirk said. "So, err, I'll get right to it I guess. I need your help."

"Ah, so it's a favour you need? I'm not really in the business of bloody charity."

"This is important."

"I'm sure you think so." Doser shook his head, lighting a cigarette with a weary smile. "Look, mate, I respect that big bloody backbone of yours, but what in the hell makes you think I'm gonna be stickin' my neck out for you? I am an acquaintance of yours, at best, and from what I've heard, you're on a lot of people's naughty lists this year."

In response, Kirk reached into his pocket and pulled out the cigar case. With a sweep of his hand, he cleared a space between them, and placed it down on the table, sliding it towards the detective.

Doser's brows rose and he leaned forward. "Fuck me, who'd you lift those from?"

"I didn't steal them. They were Chloe's – Detective Delgado's. Your old partner."

The detective picked up the case, turning it over in his weathered fingers. He leaned back and clicked it open, staring at the two remaining cigars inside.

"That's her brand alright." His eyes flicked up to Kirk again. "So if you didn't steal them, how'd you get them? Where is she?"

Ah, shit. Kirk realised, in his eagerness, that he'd forgotten how good Hadrian's corporations were at keeping a lid on bad smells. Besides him, Nevay, and the handful of misfits they'd scraped together for a revolution, nobody knew about the AI. Nobody really knew what happened to Chloe Delgado.

The unfairness of it hit him like a punch in the face, and he felt his jaw clench tight with anger. Doser might have looked like he just crawled from the backside of a nightclub, but the man was still a detective, and he caught the shift in Kirk's posture in an instant.

"Oh." Doser scrubbed a hand over his face and cleared his throat awkwardly. "So... what happened?"

"I..." Kirk shook his head, making a gesture to their surroundings. "I can't say too much – not here. Just that we went after the corps, and we did what we needed to do. But she didn't make it."

He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting down to the detritus of his desk.

"Should've known." Doser's shoulders sagged and he closed the case again, sliding it back across the desk with surprising gentleness. "She must've liked you a lot, mate."

"Well, she didn't exactly give them to me." Kirk gave an awkward shrug. "I was there when she..." The sentence didn't want to come out. His mouth twisted uneasily and all he could do was shrug again.

"Yeah, I had a feeling that bloody rebel streak would catch up to her eventually." Doser shook his head sadly. "She was one of the good ones."

"Yeah, she was." Kirk didn't really know what to say next. His fingers entwined together on his lap as he tried to think. Across from him, he saw the detective swallow down a lump in his throat. "I'm... I'm sorry. I know you guys must've been close."

"Y'do, do you?" Doser sniffed and blinked, rubbing his eyes. "Guess it ain't the same around here without her smashing heads with the corps every other day."

"You miss her, don't you?"

"Oh, get your head out of your arse, will you?" Doser grumbled. "I'm not pining with a bloody broken heart. I just didn't realise how much her fuckin' idealism was keeping me from seeing the shit we were wading through every day. Then I let her open my bloody eyes." His head rocked back and he sagged in his chair. "Ignorance is bliss, y'know?"

"I know you saved her life," Kirk continued. "She told me. That means somewhere, somehow, you do give a shit about what's going on out there."

"Oh-ho, is that what this is all about?" Doser puffed on his cigarette and took another gulp of stale coffee. "You think I've got a heart of gold, and you're here to recruit me for your grand fuckin' revolution?"

"I... what?"

"Don't look so bloody shocked would you? I'm a detective!" He blew out a stream of smoke into the air with a crooked grin. "Yeah, heard you're runnin' with Cutter's little stab-mistress. Whats-her-name, Naomi... Niamh-,"

"Nevay."

"Nevay Jennings. That's the one." Doser slapped one fat palm on the desk with a cackle. "You got bad taste in women, Kirk, I'll tell you that for free."

"I'm not – we're not." He rolled his eyes. "Look, I get it. Chloe's gone, and you're left with a whole lot of stuff you wish you didn't know. It sucks – believe me, I know, but I need you to talk to me, Doser."

"Jesus pissin' Christ. Listen, I don't need a therapist."

Kirk scowled. "Not that kind of talk, you ass-hat. I need information and I thought you might care just enough to help."

The cigarette flared. Doser puffed for a moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Information about what?" he said eventually, shifting his bulk to straighten up a little.

"What do you know about that corporate cordon – the one that's wrapped all around Allchem?"

"I know it's sealed up tight. Got us filthy locals locked out." Doser sniggered to himself and shrugged. "What about it?"

"You know why they've got it all on lockdown."

"I got my theories." He tapped ash form the cigarette into an empty mug, giving Kirk a sly smile. "I'm guessin' you do too?"

"I know that somebody hacked up a whole gang and turned their turf into a butcher yard."

Doser nodded. "Yeah, word's sneaking around. That wanker Priatt, right?"

"That's right."

"So what's the problem? Far as I'm concerned, somebody did the world a big fat favour cutting that rapey bastard to pieces, and if it's got the wind up the corps then that's just a little icing on the cake."

Kirk gave him a dubious look. "So you're really okay with somebody out there hacking people to bits?"

"Didn't say that. But they're not letting us anywhere near it. If the corps want that mess, I say let 'em have it."

"So how much do you actually know about what happened out there?"

"Just got the third-hand scoop from some of our street-talkers. That's it." Doser spread his hands apologetically. "Sorry, mate."

"So nobody mentioned the barge from Hadrian South?"

"Y'what now?"

"Nevay and I, we were there, where it happened. There was a barge moored at the terminal – belonged to a scav named Maddie."

Doser screwed his eyes shut for a moment, as though the act of thinking was physically painful. When he opened them again, his visor sprang to life across his eyes. He winked through a few pages of information.

"Madison Farrell," he said, and the visor disappeared again. "We've had her in here a couple of times on illegal salvage beefs. The hell's she got to do with this? You saying she was dumb enough to go digging across the water?"

"Apparently she was quite the regular."

"Fucking idiot." Doser stubbed the last of the cigarette out angrily.

"Yeah."

"So you think that...?"

"We do."

"Lovely." Scratching the back of his neck, Doser forced a bleak smile onto his face. "And I take it you want me to some diggin' around in 'official' channels?"

"That's exactly what I want." Kirk nodded. "Something's on the loose out there, Doser. This time it was Priatt. For all we know it could cut up a fucking school next time, and the corps are trying to keep a lid on everything all over again. Just like they did with the codewraiths. They couldn't – or wouldn't – clean up their own mess last time, and that is why Chloe's dead. You want to let that that same train just run away all over again?"

"I'll think it over," Doser grunted. His smile faded, his expression turning more serious as he met Kirk's gaze. "What did happen to her, her? What the hell did you all find out there?"

"I can't tell you," Kirk replied. "At least not here." Reaching into his pocket he slipped free a torn scrap of paper, and passed it over to Doser. "You want to know what happened to Chloe, then find out everything you can, and meet me there. I'll explain it all."

Doser took the paper, examined it for a moment, then crumpled it up and added it to the ash-mug. He lit another cigarette, then gestured back towards the door of the station with a wave of his hand.

"Alright, that's about all we've got time for today, mate," he said. "On your way. Tell your girlfriend I'll see you both real soon."

||