Trinity

The sun didn't come up on Trinity today. Instead the sky was black, filled with clouds and pouring down rain. Pouring actually probably wasn't the right word. The rain was coming down in sheets, step outside for a second and you would be soaked. Lightning was striking in the distance outside of Class 1, where they had no worries of any of it passing through the glass dome they lived under. The other classes didn't have such luxuries and if they need to go anywhere they would have to risk getting nearly drowned in the rain. Thunder was constantly rolling and quite loud to the point where the many stray dogs wondering about Class 3 were busy howling from underneath what shelter they could find from the storm. The amusement park in Class 2 was shut down along with most of the outdoor activities they usually held. Those known as The Keepers were stuck inside their headquarters, unable to cause their usual problems in the streets. It seemed Trinity had come to a sort of stand still, aside from Class 1 and those who braved the storm.

Johan had just stepped outside his massive home to go to the car that was waiting to deliver him to the security check point that separated the first and second classes when he heard the rush of water. Tossing his eyes skyward he watches as the water waves itself from the top of the glass dome toward the bottom. He smiles a little at the sight as it really was quiet spectacular. After a long moment of thought he places his bag of supplies on the ground and pulls his small cell phone out and points it skyward. Taking a high resolution picture, he smirks a little knowing a few of the children in the second would want to know what it looked like. His mind then wandered toward his clothing, knowing full well his sister would kill him if he got these nice new cloths wet. They where completely white and made of fine fabric, not exactly his personal liking but his sister liked to use him as a walking bill board. Her only saving grace was she often tailored his cloths to fit his specifications. He liked simpler cloths over the more fancy and less practical and she knew it.

Just then his Cell phone begins to ring with a lovely song meant to remind him of flying http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zZyCny56UpY&feature=g-u-u. A mental image that reminded him of his sister Robin and her company who's symbol was a red feather curved as if falling through the sky. Lifting the phone to his ear he quickly says "Morning Sis, have you seen the...." He began excitedly before he was apparently cut off. He smirks a little as her excited voice rambles on about something "Yeah I...Yes...Yeah hun its okay, calm down I am not in the 2nd yet." He chuckled lightly as she had called him to make sure he didn't go into the rain with what she had recently made for him. She seemed to talk a bit longer before he speaks again "I know its fragile fabric and gets dirty easily. So what would you like me to wear oh princess of fashion." He poked fun lightly at her need to fix his sense of fashion which was actually non existent for the most part. He pauses a long moment before his face sours a little "You didn't!" He sighs heavily in defeat. "Fine I'll be right over, but this better be good." Apparently his hyperactive sister had seen the news report for rain the night before and gone straight into creating a water proofed outfit for him.

He sighs again lightly before he gets into the car. "Morning Greg, how are the kids?" His driver smiles lightly "Morning Johan, they are great, that turkey you sent was fantastic. So where to this morning? Second class?" Johan shook his head "No my sister has a new test for her guinea pig, and if I don't show she will hunt me down and turn me into a pin cushion." They both laughed a little, Greg having gotten to know the fireball that was Robin rather well over the past half a year. Greg pulled out to drive to Nitidus Ala Robin's head quarters. Greg was a second class man who's family had fallen on hard times, the truth was Johan never really wanted a driver, despite his parents telling him it looked more distinguished. That never really mattered to him. The story was that Greg was running out of money, his family business had recently crashed and his wife was busy taking care of their 4 children full time. Johan had been helping the man with medical issues for quiet a long time by then and finally when he came in with a broken arm from falling off some scaffolding at a construction site. When Johan heard the story he saw an opportunity to appease his parents and help someone at the same time. He hired the man as his driver and payed him way more than an average driver would make. This allowed the man to live a comfortable life that even let his wife quit working if she wanted too and Johan to get his parents off his back. The money hardly bit into his funding so it wasn't an issue money wise and he was more than happy to help the man out. Besides that they had become rather good friends over the years of medical assistance for his family. It was rather nice because their entire family enjoyed the job. Greg would sometimes bring his kids, one of them almost old enough to drive themselves. Occasionally his wife Victoria would come instead of him just to give him some time off while still making money. Of course it wasn't needed because Johan gave him any days he wanted off, he figured they did it for the extra income.

It was an ordinary day, filled with ordinary happenings.

A man was cutting open her shirt.

Well, seriously, sarcasm aside, it was actually an ordinary day - minus being chased by the police and falling from the sky and whatnot. Being stripped of her clothes? Yeah, pretty ordinary - part of the job. Now, being stripped of her clothes with a knife was a little weirder and having her clothes cut by a Class one redhead whilst being strapped to a table? Okay, that was a little more awkward. She heard the sniiip of her shirt tear open. With her eyes closed, she could feel the half disgusted and half lustful gazes of les démons roaming over her skin. And they call us ill-mannered and uneducated.

"Good morning," the doctor said. Does he normally talk to his dying patients on an operating table? Charming, really charming, she thought drily. Juliette peeled her eyelids open to squint her emerald eyes against the blinding lights of the infirmary, trying to have a better look of the man that hovered over her. She looked closer and realised why he looked so familiar - he was that suspicious creep of a doctor that often ventured to Class three to spread this fairy dust over the poor, poor people. God, she hated him. There were no good-hearted people in this world. Not one. Everyone wished for something in return and those who did good from the unicorns of their hearts were either mentally deranged or lying.

"Hi, I'm Juliette. It's nice to meet you, too. No, please, take off my clothes. It's not like human decency exists or anything," she mumbled, her long lashes brushing against her skin as she looked around the room. "If we're already on fourth base, perhaps I should at least have your name? You know, so I wake up knowing who took off my clothes last night?" Juliette paused. "Not that I'll remember it."

Juliette's body tingled, buzzing with something that dulled all of what she felt. She liked it - this disconnection from her body. She wanted to remove herself from it all, so her body would no longer be hers. If she'd known this was all it took to make her not feel, she would've given up trying to destroy herself long ago and taken this lovely shortcut. "If you don't mind me asking - where do you get this blissful, numbing drug? Do you have a dealer and does he accept bodily services as payment?"

Something pressed against Juliette's skin, however - something foreign and heavy. It was cutting into her skin and she was sure it would leave her bruised, it was as if she was- "Did you tie me up?" she asked. "That's pretty kinky." The drug didn't seem so wonderful anymore. Juliette's eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open as the probably-poison dulled her rationale, making even the démon before her seem a little less evil. How was she to defend herself when she could not even lift a finger? Why were they treating her when she was little less than a criminal who'd injured dozens of police-officers, watchmen and security guards? Did they wish to torture her? If so, why fix her injuries just to break her apart? Why not break her broken body the way it was already? Was this doctor more than what he appeared to be? Of course he was. No psychologically sound creature could be so selfless - it was abominable. He was here to dissect her brain and fill her body with nails so she'd spend an eternity in torture.

Somehow it was easier to believe the doctor was an evil, soulless creature than it was to believe he had an actual conscience. Kindness was unnatural.

Her mind seemed to clear with her thoughts of her future torture and the doctor's part in it and she saw his actions in a new light. He'd asked the others to leave the room - did he wish to do more than simply remove her clothes? Was he going to- "There's no point in raping me when I can't feel it," she found herself saying. It was silly and she should've kept her mouth shut for now they might choose to remove the lovely, blissful, numbing drug from her body. She'd have to feel it, once again, and every moment would drag into an eternity of Hell as it always did. She wouldn't scream, weep or beg for this démon. She would never give a Class One the satisfaction of seeing her tormented. She'd laugh, smirk, and pretend she enjoyed it, or at least that she did not care.

"So, how's life in good old Class One oblivion?" she asked, a measly attempt to distract him from what she knew he wished to do. "How are the violins? Do you have music there?" You'd be hallucinating if you ever heard a violin sing in Class Three. She was the sole musician of the entire district and the only music that ever existed in the slums was that of her own singing. She'd admit she was rather curious about life in Class One. But still, she really hated them and she always would. The words poked and prodded at her tongue and she had to force them back but she simply wouldn't, couldn't. They slipped.

"I really, really don't like you."

Not quite awake, Adrian extended his arm to the side table next to his bed looking for a pack of cigarettes. There were a few packs on the able, only of which actually had any smokes inside. This wasn’t a particularly unusual way to start the morning, though. Adrian would just one by one grab a pack and give it a shake to see if it had anything for him, and when it didn’t he’d drop it or maybe toss it across the room. Finally he heard the rustling of sticks inside the pack. He removed one and placed it in his mouth then began the whole process over again until he found his lighter, which was buried underneath the empty backs on the table. Only after lighting the smoke did Adrian will his eyes open.

Sitting up in bead, Adrian rubbed his temple and wondered if ‘hung over’ had to be an every morning thing. As far as homes in Class 3 went, Adrian’s wasn’t as bad as most. While it still lacked electricity and plumbing, it at least was built out of wood and stone as opposed to the almost tent like structures most had. Adrian usually just went to the station to shower, anyway.

A few minutes later, Adrian was walking out the door, lighting up another smoke. Because his current pack was running low, Adrian grabbed a few more from his stash underneath the floor boards and put them in his jacket pocket. Not that he would need more than one pack, himself. On the most stressful days Adrian may go through two packs, but usually he’s a pack-a-day kind of guy. The purpose of the extra packs was that you would be surprised just how much information one pack of cigarettes will get you in some of the more shitty areas of Class 3.

Today, though, the detective didn’t really feel motivated to do much. He figured he’d take a lazy day. Maybe go to the station and do some of the paperwork that had been piling up on his desk only to call it early and get day drunk on his roof. The thought made him smile. Once at the station though, the chief walked up to him. “Smith! Today’s your lucky day. The Crimsons attacked a warehouse today. We ended up chasing one of them all the way to Class 2. You get to be our liaison to the Class 2 Police department, and see what info you can get.”

The Crimsons were the least of Adrian’s worries. Yeah, they were a gang, but as far as gangs went they really weren’t that bad. Sometimes they would even pull Robin Hood type stunts and feed the people of Class 3 with stolen goods. But, Adrian would never turn up a trip to Class 2. “Sure thing, chief. Just going to hop in the shower first.” If he was going to go to Class 2, he would do so clean. In truth, Adrian liked to be as clean as possible, always. The reason his house was often so messy and unorganized is that intoxicated Adrian doesn’t necessarily share this value. But now, Adrian was sober and the police station had warm water; there was a shower waiting to be had.

After a good shower, Adrian dressed and walked to the lot where he signed out a motorcycle. Before checking in, Adrian figured he’d go to the infirmary. Apparently the woman was shot, and he’d have a much easier time trying to get to her if he found her being worked on than if she was behind bars. All he needed to do was talk to her for a few minutes so that he could tell his superiors that he tried. Different police departments weren’t known for working very well together. Besides, it could also mean bumping into Johan, which would be nice. Adrian hasn’t seen his doctor friend in a while.

Finally, Adrian walked through the doors in the infirmary, showing his badge to the woman at the front desk. Talking somewhat out of his ass, Adrian said “My name’s Detective Smith. I’m here to see the girl who was brought in here earlier.” Of course, Adrian didn’t bother mentioned that he was a detective from the 3rd Class, nor did he know for sure whether or not the girl was there. It worked though.

“She’s actually being worked on by Dr. Ferin. If you’d like to wait, Detective, by all means.”

Adrian nodded and walked to one of the chairs in the room. “Don’t mind if I do. Can you have the good doctor informed that I’m here once he’s finished with the patient?”

Mac rolled her eyes at the nonchalant hello. She wanted him to pay attention to her, but apparently that wasn't going to happen. She stood and listened to him with an annoyed look on her face. She could have been flipping him off for all he knew. He was no fun while he had to do a million things. Mac sighed and glanced outside. The rain had let up a lot. When he got to the part about killing someone, she got a rush inside of her. She loved playing assassin. She wasn't so sure about the family part. She couldn't kill a kid. She would let them be. She was hoping he might be able to tell her exactly where to find the leader, but sadly she was being sent on a wild goose chase, off to find some Class Three girl involved with the gang and just happened to be in Class Two with the police. Lovely.

"Alright, Ally," She said and finished up her coffee. Her jacket was still soaked, so she left it where it was. She was going to be coming back to the head quarters anyway. "See you later," She called and headed out the door. She pulled up her hood and got on her bike. The mist was still nipping at her face a bit, but it was better than the buckets that were drowning her before. She started the bike and rode away. She happened to see someone on a bike, just like hers, but the wheels were turned so that they were horizontal rather than vertical. It was a hover bike and those things were awesome. She made a mental note to as Ally to get her one. She sped off to Class Two, on her regular bike.

When she got there, a few people were crowding around a fountain, while a woman was frantically talking away about some girl on a hover board. Mac was about to keep walking until the police were mentioned. She walked over to the people and pushed her way through the crowd. "A girl on a hover board, running from the police?" Mac smiled inwardly, but on the outside she forced her face into a worried look, even a few tears welled up there. "Where is she?" Amaco cried, grabbing onto the woman's arm. "She's my best friend!"

"You're best friend is a criminal?" The woman asked, looking at her skeptically.

Damnit, didn't think this through well enough. The girl thought. "No!" She cried out, forcing more tears to come to her eyes. "She told me that she was going to come to Class Two today to buy a new blanket for her baby boy, and I told her not to go, but she didn't listen. I had heard about a gang planning some big thing and was worried she might get caught in the cross fire! And of course she did, but now she is in trouble!" Mac was speaking extremely fast, and she would be surprised if the woman understood her in the first place. She bit her lip and waited for her response. She received a pat on the shoulder, and the woman who had been relaying the story gave her a sad look.

"Class Three, and she has a baby. That poor girl. She looked so young too!" The woman said, addressing the fake story more than she did Mac.

"She was raped. I told her I would help her take care of him. Where is she?" Mac asked again. She was done embellishing for now, she needed to find this girl.

"She's getting treated by Johan," She pointed to a street. "I'm sure you're familiar with him, he does make it to Class Three, right?" The woman said. "Go down that road and turn left at your first chance. Go all the way to the dead end, and turn right. The police station is in the first door on your right. You should see the sign."

"Yes of course," Mac said and thanked her before running off to the street she pointed to. After running down the roads, following the woman's helpful instructions, she found the station. She wasn't really sure how to go about doing this. Faking an injury might work. Or accidental drug OD.

Mac reached into her bra and pulled out a small syringe. She flicked it a few times before putting the tip into the crook of her elbow, ever so carefully. She held her upper arm and slowly reach her mouth towards the need. She clamped onto it, so when she bit down the meth would go into her blood stream. She dug the needle in a bit further then bit down. She waited a bit longer then climbed up to the window again. It looked like Johan was finishing up. She could feel the meth taking control of her body. Grinning, she stumbled to the door of the police station and pushed her way inside.

"I think I took too much." She said and held up the syringe. Of course, after a few years on and off of meth, she was well accustomed to this small amount. Had this been her first time, well this would be a very different story. She blinked a few times and made her eyes go wide, looking completely out of it. She inwardly applauded herself on her acting, at least she thought it was good. She glanced over to where a sign above a door said infirmary. "I need to see a doctor." She said. She risked getting in trouble with the police, but Ally could fix that.

The doctor seemed to be taking his time, but that wasn’t an issue. Adrian wasn’t in any hurry to be getting back to Class 3. To kill time though, the detective excused himself for a smoke.

One thing that separated Adrian from most is that he had no desire of moving upwards in class. Even if he ever did get to a point where he could move into Class 2, he wouldn’t take it. There was no way he could ever live with himself knowing how bad it was in the slums.

The biggest reason, though, was that if he moved up a class he would never be able to complain again. He could envision himself getting a steak in a Class 2 restaurant, for instance. He ordered it rare, but the waiter brought it out medium. In that instance, one would naturally complain, but then Adrian knew in that situation he would remember the nothing that happened to be on most people in the slum’s table that evening and just eat his damn steak. It’s surprising how terrible life would become if complaining was no longer an option.

An attractive girl pushed passed him, and instinctually Adrian’s eyes followed her, getting a good look. “Not bad,” he muttered unashamedly and finished off his cigarette and giving the butt a good flick. It surprised Adrian to see the same girl standing in the room holding up a needle. It didn’t really make sense though. As a detective in Class 3, drug OD’s are commonplace. Just about everyone is addicted to something or another, though the big one is meth. The wealthier of Class 3 can afford shitty heroin. Adrian happened to have a taste for opium, which was almost impossible to get unless you knew the right people. Fact of the matter was, you don’t walk into a police station holding up a syringe claiming to have done too much. That’s just not something people did. And even if it were, did she inject herself and then walk to the police station to use their infirmary instead of walking herself to the hospital if she were ambulatory? This isn’t Class 3. Class 3 has ambulances which she could have called. So as far as intent, she had one. Plus, she didn’t even look like she was ODing, just getting a high. Made Adrian a bit jealous, to be honest, and reminded him of his sobriety.

Wasn’t his problem though. Fuck the Class 2 cops; they can figure this one out on their own.. Adrian gave her silhouette a quick scan and concluded that she wasn’t strapped with explosives, which meant he was safe, which meant he could go sit back down. Still, he’d be wary of the girl, not for justice’s sake, but for entertainment. There was something happening in here, and Adrian was curious to see how it would play out. Hopefully the doctor would be out soon, get this show on the road.

She was impressed. Other than her parents and some members of her gang, she'd never once met anyone else who could speak French with such proficiency - especially not a Class One. She wondered how he'd known she was French; Juliette was not an uncommon name and there were many non-French Juliette's and Juliet's. She'd seen him placing a small, strange-looking device in her side pocket, around it were a pair of unusual strings. Was it a tracker of some sort? A bomb? A weapon? Why would he give her a weapon? No, surely it was poison that would eat away at her limbs and render her immobile.

"Vous pouvez être capable de tromper toute la classe III; vous pouvez même gagner leur confiance et les plier à votre volonté. Ils sont désespérés et vous êtes l'espoir, mais je ne suis pas aussi facilement influençables tels qu'ils sont. Vous êtes né un démon et tu mourras un démon, et je ne peux que prier pour un Dieu inexistant que votre vie va se terminer bientôt," Juliette snarled, her emerald eyes glowing in anger. You may be capable of fooling all of Class Three; you may even win their trust and bend them to your will. They are desperate and you are Hope but I am not as easily swayed as they are. You were born a demon and you will die a demon, and I can only pray to a non-existent God that your life will end soon.

Five minutes later she was handcuffed to a chair, her wrists clamped firmly onto the handles and her ankles to the legs of the chair made of steel. She was quite sure the entire thing was attached to the floor itself. Wires connected themselves to her body - to her temples, fingers, toes and some other more tasteless areas - electrocution wires, probably. Tthe remote rested on the opposite end of the table, mere inches from her fingers, taunting her. Her piercing green eyes snapped upwards to stare into one of the cameras that rested in all the corners of the room. Juliette grinned at the people watching her from a "secure room." A double-glazed, bullet proof glass window rested on one side of the wall. Although Juliette could not see the other side, she knew they could see her.

"We have two remotes," boomed a voice from invisible speakers. "One for your interviewer and the other for us. If you so much as move a fraction of an inch - you will be electrocuted. The voltage is high and the current low, meaning you will not die for a long, long while. If you continually fail to comply, we will increase the voltage to encourage your obedience."

They were speaking to her as if she were a dog.

"Why, I'm honoured you took the initiative to put such measures in place. Perhaps you might even be capable of creating souls for yourself one d-" Juliette's words were cut off by her own scream as electric needles pierced through her entire body, threatening to tear her apart. The pain was overwhelming, blinding, pushing out all of what she was and filling her with searing torment. Her spine jerked upwards before she fell limp against the electrocution chair.

"You will also be punished should you speak out of line," said a crisp, professional voice curtly.

"Bite me," Juliette snarled before her body convulsed involuntarily as fire ripped through her muscles. She bit down on her tongue, trapping her screams in her throat.

"Who do you work for?" the voice asked. Juliette rolled her eyes - they knew whom she worked for.

"Starbucks - don't you remember me? And I thought your iced cappuccino and I had a special connection." Juliette waited for the electric shock but nothing came. "Tired of using your manicured Class two fingers to press the button already?"

"Just the contrary," the voice said before knives tore at Juliette's being - it felt as if she was being put through a paper shredder. "We were just increasing the voltage. Now, let me rephrase that question: Who is the leader of your little gang?"

"This seems like overkill for a 'little gang,' don't you think?" Juliette asked before muting pain silenced her words.

"What is your name?" the woman on the other side asked.

"Bond. James Bond," she ventured. James Bond had been one of the only movies she'd ever watched in her life. She'd been barely six then and a projector was brought to Class Three as a little "treat" in hopes of eradicating the protests for equality.

"If you continually refuse to comply - the electrocutions will eventually kill you," her tormentor explained.

"Great. I was getting a little sick of my overcooked eggs," she said sarcastically, gripping the chair tightly as another round of electricity pierced through her spine. Beads of cold sweat trickled from her forehead as she forced herself to stay still - she would not let them see her tremble.

"Where are your headquarters?" the voice asked again.

"This really fancy, useless building in Class One that could feed a planet," Juliette said sweetly.

"You will not work with us," spoke the speakers. It was more of a statement than a question. "A detective from Class Three has come for you. If he fails to convince you to do what is best for Trinity, you will be executed." The buzzing of the speakers was abruptly silence - leaving Juliette in a world away from home.

Of course Johan was able to come to the same conclusion that Adrian had. The doctor was one of those people you didn’t mind being more rich than you were. There was something about him that kept him out of the circles of hate you held everyone in the upper classes in. Adrian got to his feet and shook the doctor’s hand as he approached.

“You look…clean,” Johan stated, causing Adrian to smile.

“I figured I’d freshen up before seeing how the middle half lives,” Adrian responded.

"I hope you guys aren't too hard on that girl I just patched up." The concern in Johan’s voice was clear. It was one of those things that many in the upper classes had, concern. In Adrian’s experience, if you talk to any of the richer folk individually they’d all talk about the atrocities of the slums and Class 3, but only a small fraction of them, like Johan here, ever did anything about it. People in Class 3 could rarely ever afford concern. It was too expensive.

“Hell, Doc, I’m not the torturing type. Not like you guys up here at least. People seem to think pain’s what does it. If she really is from Class 3 just lock her in a room for a while and wait till she needs a fix. They always talk when they need a fix.” For some reason, that amused the detective.

As they were talking, a cop walked up and touched Adrian on the shoulder. “Detective Smith?”

Adrian turned his head, “Yes?”

“The woman isn’t responding positively to electro-interrogation. We’re going to let you interrogate her now.”

Adrian placed a mockingly shocked look on his face and turned to Johan, “You hear that, old buddy? She’s not responding to electro-interrogation.” Shaking his head, Adrian chuckled. “I’ve got to go do this. Probably going to just find a hotel here tonight, put it on the department’s bill. I’ll give you a call later; maybe grab a beer or something.”

Extending his arm as if to say “Lead the way,” Adrian followed the cop into a hallway until finally the cop opened the door to the interrogation room. Adrian stepped in and observed the woman attached to the chair. Sadly, women like this weren’t that uncommon in the slums. Again, the best way to deal with these is just locking them in a room until their addiction overrides sense, when they’ll tell you anything for a fix. She was a Crimson. At times, Adrian had secretly rooted for the Crimsons. If he left her here in Class 2, she’d be tortured more, maybe even killed. If not, she’d be in for a hell of a time going through withdrawals while in prison. If he could somehow get her to tell him just a little, he could probably take her back to Class 3.

“Hello, Ma’am,” Adrian said, pulling a back of cigarettes out of his jacket. “I hear you’ve had an eventful day. Mind telling me about it?” Adrian pulled out a smoke and lit it. Then, as a sign of good faith, he pulled a second out and extended it towards Juliette. The lighter was in his hand next to the smoke.

Adrian couldn’t quite figure out why he felt compelled to help this woman. He watched the show, for that’s what it was to him, and grinned. It was comical, in a sad kind of way, to watch this girl in action, eventually getting shocked. Say what you want about Class 3 criminals, but they do not lack in passion and hatred for their oppressive superiors. There was something beautiful about this one though. Not in a sexual way, no. While he body was beautiful she seemed a bit shit down in that department. It was the way she seemed to be a force of nature against the upper class, of which Adrian shared with her a hatred of. It was nice, really. He could almost pretend like she was winning.

At that point, there was no leaving her. Adrian was decided. Luckily, he could call in a favor or two from these guys and get her released to him. Standing up, Adrian walked over to her and lifted her chin so that he could see her eyes. He wasn’t trying to be forceful, but he needed to get a look at her pupils, so he as gently as possible turned her head up to him. Her emerald eyes gave away her sobriety. That was what Adrian wanted to see, whether or not she was acting under an influence or if she was worth respecting at all. Luckily for her, she was sober, or at least her pupils weren’t dilated. Had she been high Adrian probably would have left her there.

Abruptly, Adrian turned to walk to the door, but stopped before going through it. With a sigh, he turned around and walked back to Juliette and knelt beside her chair. Handcuff keys were universal, at least the more basic ones. In the higher classes, mostly just in Class 1, you saw more technologically advanced handcuffs. As expected, his key fit into the lock on Juliette’s right hand, releasing it. He took her hand in his and brought her wrist up to eye level, to make sure her hand was alright. It wasn’t uncommon for Class 2 cops to cuff criminals from Class 3 too tightly. Once, Adrian had to come pick up someone who made it to Class 2, similar to his assignment today, and by the time he got there the person he was picking up had lost a finger from the cuffs not allowing blood into his hand. Juliette’s hand seemed fine though, but just for good measure Adrian rubbed it gently with his hands to get blood flowing back through it. On his way out, he placed his open pack of smokes and his lighter on the table.

Once outside the room, a cop walked up to Adrian, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Fuck off,” Adrian said and walked past him and around into the room next to the interrogation room, where he could see Juliette through the one-way mirror. Inside was the man he wanted to see. “Detective Rothes, clearly this woman’s not worth anything to you. Release her to me; she belongs in Class 3.”

The Class 2 Detective chuckled, “Adrian, she’s our only link to the Crimsons, who just attacked a warehouse containing food meant for us in Class 2. She’s under our jurisdiction.”

“You’re not going to get anything out of her and you know it. Besides, you owe me.” Adrian was referring to the time Detective Rothes had been kidnapped while on a case that brought him to the slums. Adrian had been the one who found him and saved his life. “Larry, give her to me, and we’re even.”

Detective Rothes thought about it for a moment. “Fine. She’s your problem, now. But if our warehouses keep getting attacked down there, you know we’ll start sending in our people. I would suggest you look into it.”

That was more warning than a threat. It was never good when Class 2 started sending crews down into the slums. An occasional detective was one thing, but when groups of officers and soldiers started getting deployed, usually it meant civilians in Class 3 were killed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Adrian walked back into the interrogation room and looked at Juliette. “They’re releasing you to my custody.” He walked over and unlocked Juliette’s second wrist, again giving it a check to make sure all was well. Adrian also grabbed his pack of smokes and lighter off the table. As soon as she was free, Adrian cuffed her hands together, but not tightly, and started to lead her out of there.

On their way out, Adrian didn’t notice the doctor or the woman who came in claiming to be overdosing. With one hand on Juliette, Adrian pulled his phone out and sent Johan a text.

They released that girl to my custody. Meet at the Broken Tooth in an hour for a drink?

With the text sent, Adrian walked the two of them out to the parking garage. Once far enough away from the entrance, Adrian unlocked the handcuffs around Juliette’s wrists. “I haven’t been out of Class 3 in far too long, so I intend on getting a beer with a friend of mine who understands the plight of the poor to a point where he always covers the bill, and then staying at a hotel for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll take you back to Class 3 and you can get back to whatever it is you do. I’ll see to it that you don’t have to worry about any charges.” Adrian walked up to his motorcycle and mounted it, turning his head back to Juliette. “You’re welcome to join me,” he said while starting the bike, “Or, if you’d rather, you can go off on your own. I honestly do not care. Getting you out of their hands was enough to clear my conscious.” Adrian pulled another cigarette out and lit it, “So are you coming?” He motioned to the back of the bike.

It was only a couple of hours into his shift, when Colby knew his day just took a turn for the worse. “Colby!” He glanced to his right as he set a couple more orders up on the counter to be whisked away to their prospective tables. Dave, the shift boss, was heading his way while tugging an apron over his head. Colby already knew that meant trouble. “Maria’s out sick and Shelly was due to leave a half hour ago. I’m taking grill, you fill in for Maria.” One of the small tablets the diner used to take orders with was shoved against his chest and he caught it on reflex.

This wouldn’t be the first time Colby had to fill in and actually serve more as a waiter than a cook, and he hated it more and more. “Don’t forget the nametag!” Dave was already working on the outstanding orders, Shelly was finishing up the last few deliveries that were ready to the respective tables. Colby reluctantly washed his hands, then trudged off to the side of the break room where he stored the apron for washing later and found his nametag. Only employees that would be dealing face to face with the customers had to wear one, but there was one for everyone. They did have to swap shifts now and then, or fill in for another.

The nametag itself was a set of top and bottom white fangs, like a wolf, with the fang on the top right broken halfway. The employee’s first name would be in the middle in red letters on the black background of the ‘mouth’. Colby sighed, his stomach already queasy with trepidation and growing anxiety. There was no way to avoid it, so he tucked the red shirt into his jeans and put the tag in place on the shirt's front left side. Fingers quickly combed through his hair, and then he headed toward the front part of the diner with a heavy sigh.

Shelly gave him a quick hug and peck on the cheek in thanks, finally able to clock out and head home. That left Colby with a bit of a blush and tuck of his chin as he moved to the first table that still had to order something. He managed a sideways smile, which caused a dimple on the right to flash briefly when he looked at Morgan. Here we go. This was the part he really hated. The talking. “Wuh-wuh-welcome to the B-b-bro-broken T-tu-tooth.” Hate. Talking. So. Much. He took in slow breaths, tried some deep breathing techniques even though they had never worked in the past. He would try almost anything at this point.

“I’m C-c-colby and I w-w-wu-am your wu-w-w-wu-waiter. Are you ruh-r-ru-okay to order?” Sometimes, if he felt himself getting stuck on a word, he would switch to a different word that meant the same thing, more or less. He wished Dave would let him use his tablet to write on instead, but just like his father, people tended to think if he talked more, he’d ‘grow out of it’. Sigh.

Everyone was officially insane.

Juliette resisted the urge to drop her jaw and gawk as the Class Three detective sat on his bike, his eyes on her. She blinked slowly, her green eyes looking up to see the sun before quickly looking away, narrowing her eyes at the blinding sparks of light that pressed against her retina. It was not often one saw such blue skies in Class Three - the district was always covered in a haze of smoke. Not to mention the atmosphere was always so gloomy, the sky would look black even if it was blue.

She looked into the man's warm chocolate-brown eyes and realised he was waiting for her. She looked down at her free hands, red welts circling her frail wrists. Food was not easily available in Class Three and she was as slim as a willow tree or a model, her body so fragile in appearance, it seemed as if she would break with a hug. Not that she'd ever received a hug. The others in Class Three knew she could not be so easily broken, however, for she was subjected to things much crueler, vigorous and violent than mere hugs. She looked at the detective before her for a long moment before walking gingerly over to his bike. She'd never seen such a strange contraption before.

Poking the seat, she quickly pulled her hand back to her chest. "What is it?" she asked, looking at the man who'd possibly just saved her life. Pursing her lips, she slowly did what the detective had done. She swung her leg over the strange, soft, cushioned seat and cradled the bike, her legs pressing tightly against the man before her. What did this strange thing do? Was it a vehicle? Not knowing what to do with her hands, Juliette placed them in front of her, between her legs. She did not trust this man and he probably wished to sell her to the black market. Why else would he save her? But she had no other choice. Her hoverboard was ruined and she had no way of knowing how to return to Class Three. She did not even know where she was. This man was dangerous but he was her best bet.

Several nauseating minutes later, the world was tilting. It turned out the strange piece of metal was a motor vehicle, a terrible one at that. It was utterly nauseating and Juliette felt as if she would soon hurl. Luckily, she'd not eaten since... She didn't know. She groaned, collapsing against the detective as the bike cruised into a stop. She did not even know how to get off of this silly thing.

The words 'Broken Tooth' hovered above heavy double doors. Juliette furrowed her brows before looking at her possible-saviour, possible-kidnapper. "I do not have any broken teeth," she said.

When they were inside the large and strangely clean building, Juliette's eyes searched the place as her nose sniffed the air. This place smelled amazing and all that food... "Welcome to Broken Tooth, table for two?' came a cheerful voice. Juliette jumped, habitually reaching for her gun but instead grasping thin air. She cursed inwardly, realising the authorities would not have allowed her to keep her weapons, obviously. She eyed the oddly dressed woman to a booth of sorts. "Please, have a seat," the woman said, watching Juliette as if she had two heads. The Class Three girl had been staring at the table and benches for quite some time now. "Miss?" the waitress repeated again. "Are you alright?"

Juliette nodded curtly before slowly edging onto the bench. She gasped at the softness of the cushions and the existence of the cushions. Everything in Class Three was hard, mushy and dirty. This place was clean. The woman placed two long but thin books before them before edging away, but not without throwing Juliette some confused and curious glances. The waitress walked over to her co-worker, Colby, and whispered in his ear, "There's this really funny girl over there. It's like she's never seen a restaurant or food before. What a weirdo."

Meanwhile, Juliette stared at the 'Menu' before looking up at the man before her. "I don't understand," she said. "Do people simply look at food here?" Why did the woman only give her pictures of food, rather than actual food? Juliette looked around, seeing the plates of food on everyone's tables. "Is it because we're Class Three?" she asked. Nodding, she decided she'd answered her own question - the answer was yes. Juliette fiddled with the button-up, light blue shirt she wore. Being Johan's, it hung loosely over her smaller frame, the sleeves falling well past her fingers and the bottom edges of the shirt covering most of her thighs. She held her sleeves up to her nose and breathed in the lovely fragrance. Why did it smell so nice? Perfume, perhaps? She'd never seen perfume before but she'd heard rumours that everyone in Class One wore some. Did Class Two's wear it, too? Holding the soft material to her smooth cheeks, she decided even if she disliked Johan - she loved his shirts.

"What is your name?" she asked the detective before her, although half of her attention was still on the shirt. It was so lovely, soft and clean. It made her wish to take it off right then and there to prevent her dirtiness from tainting the purity of the shirt. "I'm Juliette but you can call me Letta, la belle or Jewel." She paused. "Actually, call me Chateau. We're not friends. Why did you save me? Are you going to kill me? Are you a cannibal? Are you going to sell me?"

Adrian
Adrian smiled at the girl. "Settle down, girl." Turning his head, Adrian signaled over a waitress. "Two beers, please." The waitress nodded and walked away. Placing his attention back on Juliette, "Okay, Chateau. I'm not going to kill you, nor do I plan on eating you." The waitress had brought back two pints of beer, placing one in front of Adrian and the other in front of Juliette. "You look half starved and will probably be needing a fix of some kind or another soon, so you're not worth much selling either." Bringing the beer up to his nose, Adrian paused for a moment, just smelling the beer. It was of such better quality than the swill they got down in the slums. When he took a sip, it was pure magic. "My name is Adrian. I'm a detective down in Class 3. And as for why I saved you, well..." He trailed off for a moment, lit a cigarette, then looked back at her, "I guess I'm still trying to figure that out. As for this place, if you can't read when the waitress comes back just point at whatever you think looks most delicious and she'll bring it to you."


Juliette
Juliette was annoyed that Adrian the Bastard Detective thought she couldn't read. Well, he wasn't wrong but it still annoyed her. She could read French perfectly well. Giving him a pointed glare, she looked down at The Menu, her eyes savouring the images themselves. She'd never seen such beautiful-looking food before - then she saw the price. Juliette looked up and frowned. "Unless you haven't noticed - I'm not exactly your typical rich girl. Unless the chef will give me food in exchange for sex, I'm afraid I cannot afford any of this."

She looked longingly at the mug of beer before her but did not touch it. Was it drugged? Poisoned? Her throat felt like sandpaper; her thirst, overwhelming. She'd not had alcohol the entire day and thinking of it made her yearn for drugs, as well. Which reminded her of his earlier words. "Just so you know, my father gave me drugs to keep me sedated enough to not fight back. You could do that," she said. Adrian was right, she did need a fix and she hoped he'd give her one. "I'm fantastically submissive under the influence of Cocaine." Not Opium, though. That morphed her into a vicious, hateful nutcase. Juliette flicked her eyes about the room, snatching the mug of beer and swallowing it all at one go. She barely tasted it but she loved it all the same. Still, it wasn't strong enough. She wanted - needed - to lose herself. To not feel. For her body to not be hers.

Adrian
Juliette's words made Adrian choke on his beer for a moment, trying to suppress a laugh. "I can't afford this place either. Luckily for us, a wealthy friend of mine will hopefully be showing up." Like many women in Class 3, this girl seemed to have no sense of trust at all. It was unsurprising. It appeared that he was going to have to be perfectly clear with her.

"Look, Chateau, I'm not interested in fucking you, eating you, selling you, betraying you, poisoning you or, for that matter, hearing your sob story. You're from Class 3, we've all got one." He paused a moment to let that sink in. "Instead, for reasons completely unknown to even myself, I called in a favor to get you out of those bastards torturing hands, and tomorrow I plan on dropping you off in Class 3. In the interim, you now have a chance to enjoy food and booze you'll never again be able to afford, and tonight you're going to get to sleep on the most comfortable bed you'll ever sleep on." Adrian was about halfway done with his beer, but decided to slow down, not wanting to be drunk by the time Johan showed up. "Fucking enjoy it, please. And you'll get your fix tonight, don't worry." Under his breath, Adrian muttered, "and I'll get mine too."

It was a simple arrangement. What he lacked in money, he made up for in favors. A hotel owner's daughter went missing in Class 3. Adrian didn't find her in time to save her, but he was able to return her body back to her father. In return, Adrian had a place to stay, on occasion, if there was a vacancy. The hotel owner already knew he was coming. The drugs, on the other hand, were easy to find. He'd already sent the necessary text, and just sent another adding cocaine to the list. Adrian would simply pick them up on the way to the hotel.

Juliette
Juliette raised an arched brow and smirked at the detective's explosion of words. Leaning back, she crossed her arms and legs, fiddling with the soft cloth of Johan's shirt thoughtfully. "Let me guess - you grew up in an orphanage in the deep, dark depths of Class Three. After seeing the atrocities of the world, you decided 'Hell, I'm going to be a detective.' You're trying to change Trinity for the better and give the poor people of the slums a chance at life," she said, gesturing around Broken Tooth with a hand. "Or at least, a chance at not being overly miserable," she said, staring intently into Adrian's eyes. "Why?"

Adrian
Adrian was actually enjoying this conversation more than he thought he would. "Still trying to figure that out," he grinned, echoing his reasoning for saving her.

Before Juliette could respond, Johan joined them at the table and commented about the meth'd up woman experience from earlier. Adrian laughed, "For someone as experienced with drugs as she was, you'd of thought she'd had a better idea about what an overdose looks like." Responding to his question, "No, we haven't ordered, except for the beer." While they weren't exactly close, Johan had sewn Adrian up enough times to count them friends, probably. Adrian appreciated Johan not being like all the other assholes in Class 1, and he liked to think that Johan saw him more as just an alcoholic slum detective. Johan was probably the closest thing Adrian had to a friend, at least.

Deciding to go for a more current topic, Adrian brought up the Keepers. "What do you think of those Keepers, by the way? I feel like I'm hearing more and more about them lately. Mostly just conspiracy stories out of meth heads down in the slums, but still, there's usually a little truth behind conspiracy. You heard anything up in Class 1?"

Morgan thanked Colby as he set her order down, and was taking a drink of her orange juice when she heard someone break out in song. And it wasn't in English, but French. She didn't understand the language, she was only slightly fluent in spanish, but she knew the difference in the languages. She has a beautiful voice.. she thought, turning her head as she set her juice down, looking back at the girl at the table.

The group looked odd to her, one man was dressed up nicely, and she eyed with curiosity, wondering why he dressed so formal on a rainy day. The other had a beer in front of him, along with the girl, but he seemed pretty relaxed from her view. Her eyes looked back to the girl, and she smiled hearing her song end and she wanted to clap or something, but everyone else was just looking weirdly at the group, some with awe expressions, some that read 'What in world is with these people?'

She heard the group next to her whisper about the formally dressed male looking like he was from Class 1, then the other one looking like he barely belonged in the restaurant, and continued their gossip. So what if they were different classes? It seemed nice to have diversity for once, at least to Morgan it was.

Stomach growling quietly at Morgan, she turned back around, remembering the sole reason she came here for was to eat in the first place, not gawk at others for having nice voices or better clothes. Picking up her fork, she started digging into the biscuits and gravy, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the first bite.

From the look on Johan’s face, he was enjoying Juliette’s singing as well. There was something special about the girl. For a second, Adrian reconsidered what he said about not selling her, but only in jest. Turns out he could have gotten quite a price on her. That was exactly the sort of trade that Adrian spent most of his time trying to stop. While drugs were bad on Class 3, Adrian didn’t have the moral authority, according to himself, to join in on the war on drugs. The sex and slave trade, though, was something else. Drugs only destroyed the user. People buying and abusing girls like Juliette was another matter, one with no moral ambiguity in Adrian’s way.

Cutting and biting a piece of his steak, Adrian listened to Johan talk about the burgers. As far as Adrian was concerned, the doctor was probably right. Only on one occasion had Adrian ever gone to Class 3, and that was more accidental than anything. Unfortunately, he was ushered out almost as quickly as he got there. “They do make good burgers, but I almost prefer the thrill of eating burgers in the slums. The risk of wondering what, exactly, you’re putting into your body is of the ways I get my kicks,” he said, laughing. “But I don’t know how much of a difference sending canned foods into Class 3 would make. The gangs would get the food and distribute it, or not. A few cans of food can’t change a culture.” While talking, Adrian’s eyes followed a drop of barbecue out of the doctor’s burger and onto his pants, where it slid off as if his pants were laminated.

“Well then. Nifty.” That was all Adrian could think to say about the whole pants situation. Were falling barbecue droplets such an issue in Class 1 that they engineered pants to no longer accept stains? Talk about unnecessary. But if anyone had earned unnecessary spending it was Johan. He at least tried to make a difference. Looking around the room while taking a drink of his second round, Adrian couldn’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable. People seemed to be constantly glancing at the Class 1 example of society, as if he was some god who was honoring them with his presence. When you’re at a bar and one person keeps looking your way, then there’s usually cause for some kind of concern. If everyone keeps looking your way, however, you lose the ability to pinpoint the one who may be a cause for concern. In another round or two, Adrian would stop caring, but for now it was a bit unnerving. "We're going to be staying at my usual place tonight, if you need to get a hold of me for any reason. And I mean any reason at all. I wouldn't mind having an excuse to stay up here another night," Adrian said, clinking his glass against Johan's. "Nor do I feel our new friend, Letta, would either." Using one of the names Juliette had told him not to use was meant to be an offering of friendship to the girl. "Lovely singing, by the way."

"Lovely singing, by the way," the detective said.

Juliette grunted in reply, returning to her pessimistic self now that she was no longer singing. She chewed for a while before looking up at Johan. It was strange how sloppy the Class One doctor was. You'd think they used a million different spoons for each ingredient when they had such an abundance of resources and technology. But this man before her would make even her father cringe, which was saying something. It made her instantly like him a lot more. She stared down at his pants, fascinated by the drop of sauce that slid straight off the material. How she loved his clothes. She'd do anything, anything for his clothes.

"We've never hurt anyone who didn't deserve hurting," she said to Adrian, referring to what he'd said earlier about the gangs in Class Three. "Class Two didn't need all that food. They have more than enough," she said gruffly, before putting down her fork when guilt knotted her stomach. "Little Timmy's never seen pasta before," she mumbled to herself, staring at her plate of spaghetti as if she wasn't sure whether to hate it or love it. She would bring Timmy here for his 11th birthday one day. Somehow. Eleven. God, she hated that number. She hoped life for Timmy when he was eleven would be good. It would be. She'd make sure of it.

"Sink," she said as a way of explanation before she slipped from the booth, walking past the auburn-haired waiter who was heading in the direction of their booth. "Sink?" she asked him. After receiving her answer, she walked towards the sink and gasped in surprise. It was white, pristine and the water was lukewarm. When she'd asked for a 'sink,' she'd expected a leaky, rusted and flimsy piece of metal that half hung off of the wall. This was... A real sink.

Washing her hands, she marvelled at the lovely scent of the pink soap and the wondrous flow of water. Out of habit, she washed her hands hastily, not wishing to waste any of the precious water. Juliette jumped as a piece of tissue dropped down from a box on the wall with a mechanic bzzzz. She took the tissue and wiped her hands, feeling how soft the piece of material was. It made her feel terrible for throwing it away.

"Hey, pretty thing. Mind if I take a seat?" Juliette overheard on her way back to their booth. She stilled, staring as a large man loomed over a fragile beauty with purple-red hair. "You want a drink? A lovely girl like you shouldn't be eating all alone," the man said, bending closer towards the girl and brushing his hands against her body. Juliette stared, her entire body tensed like a coiled spring. "Did anyone tell you how hot you look, baby?"

That did it.

Juliette's father always, always called her baby. It was a horrible pet name for a child he sold and abused. She hated it with a passion, she hated men with a passion, she hated sex with a passion, she hated them all and she sure as hell hated the monster before her now.

"Get. Away. From. Her," Juliette said slowly, in a humming voice more ferocious than if she'd shouted them into his ear.

"If it isn't the little Class Three fountain girl from before," the man said after he'd turned from the red haired girl. He grinned, appraising Juliette's body. She hated his eyes, hated the way they crawled over her. "If you give me some, I'll give you two dollars. You're not bad for a dirty whore," he said with a smirk, reaching towards Juliette to wrap his thick arm around her small waist. Juliette's green eyes sparked with fury as she turned her body to the side, grabbed the man's wrist and lifted it while whacking his elbow downwards. She swept her legs over the man's and he flipped easily backwards, crashing into the redhead's table and breaking it to pieces. She grabbed the man's hand, bending his wrist inwards into a wrist lock. Curling her slim leg around his, she swivelled around to flip him onto his stomach. Untangling her leg, she forced her knee into his spine and twisted his arm behind him.

"If you give me two million, I might consider not dismembering you," she whispered near his ear.

"Miss, I'm afraid you-" a man who looked to be the manager began. Juliette shot him a glare and nudged her head towards Johan.

"I'm with him," she said.

"Oh, uh..."

Juliette dropped the whimpering man's hand, stepping off of him and turning to the red haired girl. "Are you okay?" she asked, the concern apparent in her green eyes. Juliette patted the girl consolingly before hugging her gently, as if she were a porcelain doll. "You must've been terrified." Juliette saw no distinction between rape and sex, they were both terrible, and flirting might as well have been verbal abuse. "You can sit with us," she said, pulling away from the woman and taking her hands in hers. "Those two are asexual," she said, gesturing towards Johan and Adrian.

Tugging the red haired girl away from the destroyed mess of what was once a table, she shuffled along the bench and patted the space next to her. "What's your name, Red?" she asked. "I'm Juliette but you can call me anything you want. Would you like some..." Juliette trailed off, holding up the glass of frothy liquid, unable to remember the name. "Ah... Shaking milk?" The poor red haired girl had gone through a traumatic event and Juliette hoped she'd not be emotionally scarred by it. The terrible man she'd roughened up a little had renewed her dislike for men. It was uncalled for, as she'd been made to sleep with women as well. But men, men were just...

"The ass," she said, gesturing towards Adrian. "The something's-clearly-wrong-with-him," she said, waving at Johan. "It's okay. You can call them whatever you want. They can't hear and be male at the same time."

Mac watched as the man hit on the red headed girl, also very pretty. The girl who Mac had come into this bar in the first place for stood up and kicked the shit out of him, after quite the disturbing comment from him. So she was the girl she was looking for. Mac decided now was as good a time as ever and stood up, just as Juliette, as she had called herself, pulled the redheaded girl into the booth. She walked over to the table and smiled at the girls, ignore the men completely. "Hi," she said simply, and gave a small bow. Despite being away from her family for a long time, bowing to strangers on a first meet was burned into her brain, and she couldn't help herself. "Your singing was beautiful. I couldn't understand a word of it, let alone being to guess what language it was, but nevertheless, it made me want to sing along as well," Mac smiled at her, taking in her long hair and model-like physique, which was hidden under a mans shirt. She bit her lip and her smile turned into something a bit more sensual. She leaned on the table and ran her fingers along Juliette's arm. "I think a beautiful girl like you shouldn't be stuck here with the likes of them," She cooed at her, jerking her head slightly in Johan and Adrian's direction. "I sort of overheard you're from Class 3. I am just heading back that way, I umm, seem to be out of the good stuff," She stole a look at Johan and smirked. She wasn't afraid of what they might do, because she had the training of a Keeper, and still had the taser on her. Plus, Alexander wouldn't let anyone have the satisfaction of punishing her except for him. The first thing she did was wrong was fail to get Juliette, and she knew that she would be in trouble. She swallowed the thought and turned her dark eyes back to the girls exotic green ones. "So what do you say, gorgeous?" Mac asked her, blinked a few times before standing up straight and adjusting her shirt slightly. She flipped the key to her motorcycle between her fingers idly while she awaited an answer. One hand was behind her back, more than ready to grab the taser if Johan or Adrian tried to take her back to the station, she wouldn't be having that.

Alexander pulled up behind the diner and was about the begin a raid when when one of his guards spoke up, "Boss, it seems that Mac is trying again... i-it looks like she is coming onto the target." Alexander looked back at the sharpshooter and said, "Take a position that would be good to take out the police officer." Alexander then looked at one of his foot soldiers and said, "You watch the sharpshooters back, the rest of you wait here... i'll call if I need you." Alexander then took off his energy shield and body armor. Then he stuffed his pistol into his pants and was very carful to be sure no one could possible see it no matter how well trained. Alexander then stepped out of the car and walked back around to the front of the diner and walked through the door. He sat in full view of Mac and gave her a look full of anger, but Mac was a Keeper and that meant she was family so he had her back incase anything went south and she should know that Alexander never goes anywhere without backup.

"Waiter, I would like a coffee. Black, no sugar." Alexander said looking at the waiter with a stutter.

"The ass," Juliette said, gesturing towards Adrian. "The something's-clearly-wrong-with-him," she said, waving at Johan. "It's okay. You can call them whatever you want. They can't hear and be male at the same time."

Morgan nodded, glancing at every both both, still shaken up. She bit her bottom lip gently and remembered that the woman asked what her name was, even though calling her Red was familiar enough since Chelsie usually called her that. "Morgan.." she said, as she sat down beside her, her hands on her lap at she stared at what she assumed was a chocolate milkshake.

"I'm good for the moment, but thanks." She laughed nervously, pushing her hair away from her face, stealing a glance at the table the guy had been crashed into. She felt bad when she watched Colby cleaning up the mess.. I should give him a good tip.. he looks like his day isn't going too well.. she thought, unconsciously rubbing her sides, still feeling that guy's lingering touch. She never had problems with guys before, but it was probably bound to happen at some point.

Turning back to the table, she put on a smile, trying to push the events that just happened aside. "So what are your names.. unless you rather I go by the ones I was given by.. Juliette."

"Hi," spoke a sultry, raspy voice. Juliette looked up and away from Morgan to find herself looking at the most beautiful Asian woman she'd ever met. The woman bowed and Juliette felt as if she needed to stand and curtsy, but resisted the urge.

"Your singing was beautiful. I couldn't understand a word of it, let alone being to guess what language it was, but nevertheless, it made me want to sing along as well," the woman continued. Juliette merely stared at the smiling beauty, before glancing behind her to make sure she really was who this woman was talking to. She was. What did this person want? Was she a policewoman in disguise? Come to arrest her once again?

The French girl jumped when the woman reached out slim fingers to trail over Juliette's skin. Get off, off, off me, Juliette panicked after wincing at the touch. "I think a beautiful girl like you shouldn't be stuck here with the likes of them," she continued, nodding towards Johan and Adrian. "I sort of overheard you're from Class 3. I am just heading back that way, I umm, seem to be out of the good stuff."

"Well if it isn't the run away addict! Still fleeing from the police are we?" Johan asked, amusement lining his dreadfully handsome face. It was cruel for life to give him not only wealth, but beauty. It made Juliette sick. Still, what he'd said about the Asian woman and what she herself had said had her interested. Juliette raised a brow, the panic slowly seeping down her spine, through her toes and into the tiled floors. Good stuff... She must have meant drugs. Biting the inside of her cheek, Juliette stayed silent, keeping her expression as neutral as possible.

"So what do you say, gorgeous?" the Asian woman asked, causing Juliette to nearly flinch. Gorgeous? She was accustomed to la belle but 'gorgeous'?

"Yes, of course I'd ride off into the sunset on a white horse with a stranger I've known for 30 seconds," Juliette said sarcastically. "It's not like that's idiotic or anything. Hey, maybe if you bribe me with lollipops, I'll concede. Although, I do appreciate your lack of respect for those two." Juliette grinned then turned to Morgan. "Would you like to join us on our little Girl's Day Out? Drugs, drinks, sex and dirt. Wooo!" Juliette cheered with false enthusiasm. Although, the first two did sound rather appealing.

"Who are you and what do you really want with me?' Juliette asked the stranger, leaning back against the bench and crossing her legs as one would expect a rich corporate woman to do. "If it's sex, I go by the hour. Women get a discount, though," Juliette said with a smirk and a wink. She lifted her emerald gaze up to meet the woman's and- Juliette froze. There was something so awfully familiar about those eyes. This stranger was interested in her, in more ways than one. Juliette cringed, tugging the sleeves of Johan's shirt down to hide more of herself. Maybe if she buried herself deeply enough to the shirt, she'd simply disappear. Maybe if she shrunk into oblivion, they'd leave her alone. "Morgan and I are busy shaking milk," Juliette mumbled, shuffling closer to Morgan - the heavenly, heterosexual woman - bless her. Juliette looped an arm around Morgan's just as she heard the pinpricks of sirens.

Her gaze shot up as she tensed, her body coiling into a bullet ready to be fired. Then, snarling, she shoved the table aside as she stomped towards Johan and the blinking red light in his pocket.

Although she was standing up and Johan was sitting, she still was not that much taller than him and he was bigger than her. He could shove her away, if he so chose. Still, Juliette, in her rage, grabbed the handles of his chair and glared straight through his eyes, through his optic nerve and into his soul. "Why did you call them?" she demanded before abruptly letting go of Johan's chair. She paced along the width of the booth, biting on her thumb as she shot glances out the window at the sound of the approaching police. Grunting, she grabbed all the knifes from the table and spun them expertly in her fingers, getting a feel for their weight and shape. They were disappointingly blunt but sharp enough to kill if she shoved them into someone's heart with all her might. Not that she would, of course. Usually. Sometimes. Only when they deserved it.

Juliette glared at Johan, considering whether to kill him. Then, an idea sprouted in her mind. She turned around, searched for the stuttering waiter. Yes, he'd be easy, but not as valuable. Did he know the police wanted her, though? Surely not. Hopefully? "Sir?" she called out to him. "Could you come here for a moment please?" When he came, she would wrap her arm around his neck in a choke hold and snap it if he fought. No, she wouldn't. She couldn't. Not when he'd done nothing but serve them amazing food. No, she had a better idea.

Leaning into Johan, she pressed the edge of a knife to his throat. Ah, curses. Juliette was turning into a soft démon lover. She couldn't harm Johan, either. Not after how suspiciously kind Johan had been and after he'd practically saved her life. She knew it was all a trap to get her where she was now - unable to kill the démon but still, her logic did not seem to be winning as it normally did. Johan didn't have to know that, though. She'd drop him off at the outskirts of Class Three and he'd be fine. Ish. She only hoped he'd take her threat to heart and not know how to fight at all. Maybe she'd be lucky and he'd be the Class One type who sat on their million dollar sofas all day. No, he didn't look the type - but a girl could hope.

Juliette tucked a strand of Johan's hair behind his ear and whispered, "Ever seen a bank robbery?"

Well, dinner had escalated kind of quickly. Juliette was quickly making him regret getting her out of that police station.

”I hate to be cliché, but no good deed seems to go unpunished,” he thought to himself, but mostly ignored it. Adrian had no intention of being a knight in shining armor for this girl. Getting her out of the hands of Class 2 police was enough for him, so if she went and got herself back into their grasp he could drive back to Class 3 without any remorse on the subject.

It was sort of annoying, to be honest. Juliette wasn’t acting grateful at all. It’s like, ‘Hey, I called in a big favor to get your ass out of the electric chair; so if you didn’t go around telling people I was asexual that’d be pretty nice of you. Bitch.’ Now she was causing trouble and flipping dudes into tables and bringing strange women back to the table. Oh look, meth bitch from earlier had popped back into their lives, which was far too coincidental to be coincidence.

The ‘asexual’ comment made Adrian grumpy mostly because it forced him to remember that he was currently on a bit of a dry spell. Considering he made it his job to stop the sex trade, he couldn’t pay for a hooker without risking losing all moral authority he felt he had, which would devastate him, and the number of clean women in the slums seems to get smaller every year. For a while Adrian had a little thing with a woman who worked as a waitress, but that fell through about four months ago when they realized the only reason they were together was because they both happened to be just a bit better than the usual Class 3 person. Adrian greatly considered looking her back up once he made it home, though. He was beginning to miss even the basic form of female companionship.

Now the cops were on their way because Johan flipped his panic button, which Adrian wasn’t a big fan of. Not that it was that big of a deal, but the detective had become increasingly curious of who this meth girl was, and three cars of cops in riot gear would probably prove to kill any chance of learning anything from her. Juliette wasn’t a big fan of the idea though. It seemed as if her addiction was beating the battle with reason, at the moment.

Putting a table knife up against Johan’s throat was comical though. For one, Adrian knew well enough that Johan had the training and the will to live necessary to beat this girl down like nobody’s business, though he most likely wasn’t feeling threatened enough to even bother. However, Adrian had a sense of loyalty to Johan. Not so much as a leader, but as a power far above anything Adrian could ever hope to be. When Juliette placed a knife up against Johan’s throat, he couldn’t help but think ”That’s my doctor.” Although Adrian didn’t consider Johan to be a leader, if Johan wanted the position he probably could take it quite easily. The guy was charismatic, passionate, skilled, and Class 1 rich. He was already looked at almost as a god when he ventured into Class 3. It was an awakening moment for Adrian to realize that he would follow Johan into war, should the doctor ask.

“Have you ever seen a bank robbery?” Juliette asked Johan.
But it was Adrian who responded, nonchalantly. “No, but I’ve stopped a few. Ever looked down the barrel of a loaded gun?” The gun had come out almost as soon as Juliette had threatened Johan. It was cocked, and Adrian’s finger was resting on the trigger. Even if the chances of Juliette killing or even hurting Johan were slim, Adrian didn’t want to take that chance by remaining passive. Johan was simply too important. Far more important than a gang member who thinks she’s a good person because her gang occasionally feeds a few people. All Johan had to do was nod his head at Adrian and Juliette’s brains would be scattered across the room.

The bar at this point was dead silent, with all eyes on the scene developing and a few people, probably those carrying some type of drug or illegal weapon, leaving out the back at the sound of sirens. The stuttering waiter seemed to also be watching the show, as well as a number of other waiters and waitresses. It’s a good thing Juliette wasn’t armed with a gun, considering the number of hostages she currently had in the room. To Adrian, this was little more than an inconvenience, or at least that’s how he acted. “Now if you’d let the good doctor go, we can go take care of satisfying your addiction. I promised you a fix, didn’t I? For some I can’t seem to comprehend, I’m getting the feeling that you don’t trust me.” Adrian smiled down the barrel of his gun at Juliette.

"la belle, stop your sulking and come with us. Your gun could not be more organised, you've been at it for three hours."

Emerald eyes burned as the beauty glared at the older gang member, baring her teeth and shoving the magazine into her rifle. "No," she said curtly before taking out the magazine once again. She'd been taking apart her Anschutz .22 LR and putting it back together for much more than three hours. She'd begun prior to dawn and Trinity's Sun was already setting. She propped up the weapon between her legs, pressing the muzzle against her forehead as she leaned against it. Breathing. Her finger rested on the trigger as she counted the minutes. She didn't know when it had first begun, when she first started counting the hours of the day and the days of the year. Her twenty four hours of today were almost over and she was grateful.

The door clicked shut as the older Crimson gave up with a sigh. Juliette opened her closed eyes, her eyelashes brushing against her cheekbones as she blinked slowly. She rubbed her abdomen, the side where a laser had once pierced through. She was completely healed now, with nothing to hint at what had happened. She thought briefly of a certain red haired doctor, but quickly brushed the thought away. She stood, lifting the rifle onto her right shoulder - also healed now.

Looking through the rickety windows, she pressed her palm flat against the dirty, cracked glass. The room was dim, the gas lamps having gone out weeks ago. Orange sunlight streamed in through the windows, painting the furniture in an eerie glow as the Sun disappeared. Juliette's pupils dilated to allow in more light but there could never be enough light in Class Three. It was a world of darkness, as it always would be. She knew, as a Crimson, she was meant to have hope for change but she didn't. She never had and she wasn't about to begin now.

Juliette let her eyes wander along the homeless figures below, a pang in her chest signalling guilt. Her apartment was lopsided, ruined, flimsy, but at least she had a home. She let her mind wander, thinking of the detective, the strange asian woman, Morgan and Johan. She wasn't sure what she felt about the last two. They seemed nice enough for then again, the upper classes were fantastic liars. Money could earn you trust and she would never become one of those. She wasn't on the side of le démons. Was she? Since she'd returned from her trip to Class Two, people had been treating her strangely. Of course. Not many people wrecked such havoc in the upper classes and came back so intact. Most of them believed she'd slept her way out of it - that's what they used to explain everything good that ever happened to her - and the rest thought she'd done more than sleep. She's seduced a rich man and was now conspiring with the upper classes. It was stupid. Why would they need her? She was a simple prostitute. A simple woman who could wield a gun and pummel most men.

Normal.

Juliette turned away from the window and dropping her rifle onto her makeshift bed, opened the rotting door of her closet. She immediately dropped her eyes, seeing the beautiful clothes that hung from the hangers. None of them were hers, but gifts from her clients. They made her sick but without the income from her part time job, she would truly be sick. She needed to forget her body by using it. Abusing it. She pulled a random set of clothes from one of the hangers, slipping from her clothes and ripping the new set over her naked body. She cringed at the fine material as it slipped over her skin.

Soon, she was out on the streets, her fingers running through her sun-streaked hair as her eyes darted from one shadow and person to another. Juliette pressed her fingers to her cold lips, drumming them against the softness as she yearned for anything to quiet her mind. She needed to lose herself in the blurred beauty of drugs. Her long legs pulled her forward, even though all she wished to do was standstill. None of the locals paid Juliette any attention, being used to seeing women dressed as she was walking about. Juliette's heels splashed against a puddle as she caught herself in the reflection of a rundown building. A slim, auburn-haired woman stared back at her. She was clad in black, her eyes filled with a hate and sadness so intense, it hurt Juliette to look at her.

"Hey, babe. How much are you?" whispered a raspy voice by her ear. Juliette cringed imperceptibly, forcing a smirk to her lips as she dropped her lids to make her eyes sultry. Juliette turned around slowly, pressing her hands against the man's chest. He was tall and heavily built, and he reeked of cigarettes. He reeked of home.

"I don't think you can afford me," she whispered, turning around to walk away. She was headed for one of her many dealers, one of the dealers who accepted 'bodily payments.' She wasn't here for this man.

"Woah, woah. Slow down, baby," the man called, snatching Juliette's wrist in his. The gang member stilled, narrowing her eyes and whipping her head around to stare at the large man, his figure towering over her.

"Let go," she warned.

"Are you doing to make me?" he asked with a sly smile, jerking her forward against his chest and wrapping his thick arms around her.

There comes a point in every cop’s life, especially those in Class 3, where they have to make a choice between corruption and whatever sick sense of justice they may have. For Adrian, that time had already come and gone. The gangs knew that Adrian didn’t take any bribes. Usually that makes the cop’s life harder, and in a way it did. Every now and then a gang put a hit out on him. It was never serious though. Adrian’s saving grace was how much he ignored the drug trade. The only time he ever intervened in those matters were when the people involved were being stupid about it, like the time where he had to shut down a cocaine operation because the gang involved was cutting the coke with a white powder that was making those who used it incredibly sick, even killing a few.

It had been a week since they had gotten back from Class 2. As promised, Adrian dropped off the girl and made sure the charges were dropped against her. There was little point in prosecuting her, anyway. She’s still a whore, so she’s low level in the gang anyway. Were she in a position of any influence, she wouldn’t still be working the street. Most of what the ground level folks knew, the cops already knew too. At the end of the day, all they would have done is wasted money prosecuting a prostitute, and getting one whore of the street wasn’t worth all that time, money and effort.

There was little going on in Class 3, at the time. Since being back, Adrian had wrapped up a few homicide cases and found one missing child. Those were all the cases he was assigned, and had yet to be assigned a few new ones. For an alcoholic with a slight drug problem, Adrian was very good at what he did. It wasn’t arrogant for him to claim he was one of the best, if not the best, detectives in Class 3. His resume shined. But life was beginning to become more dangerous for him. There’s no such thing as a living cop legend, because eventually the more malevolent of fellows in Class 3 will get together and decide that you’ve worn out your welcome on life. Even Adrian, despite his ignoring of the drug trade, will ultimately find himself in their crosshairs. It was for this reason Adrian was spending all his extra resources, including money and favors and influences, to turn his home into at least a somewhat defensible position. If they wanted him, more than a few people would die before they got him.

“Adrian!”

Hearing his name awakened Adrian from his little daydreaming session, leaning back in his chair at his desk. “Yeah, Chief? What can I do you for?”

“We have another missing child.”

Adrian sighed, and then looked up at the chief. The man was a bit overweight, yes, but what many would mistake for fat Adrian knew to be incredible strength. The Chief worked out as if he were addicted to it. It was the lack of cardio that attributed to the somewhat excessive amount of fat. For a guy in his mid 50’s, the chief looked much younger. The only things that gave away his age was his extra fat and the thick handlebar mustache that started from his nose and fell to at least two inches below the chin. “There’s always a missing child, Chief.”

“Yeah, but not like this. This one comes from Class 1.” Hearing that, Adrian froze. That almost never happened. How does a child get all the way from Class 1 to 3? Something didn’t smell right about this.
“Then why aren’t the swat teams down here? If a Class 1 child was kidnapped by someone in Class 3…” The chief waved, as if Adrian had got it wrong, then took a seat in the chair across from Adrian’s desk, shutting the door to his office.

“This is coming from really high up, Adrian. There’s something fishy about all this. The child wasn’t kidnapped by a citizen of Class 3. Apparently this is between two Class 1. But for whatever reason, they believe the child, Hannah, is being held somewhere in Class 3. Your abilities have not gone unnoticed Adrian. You were recommended by someone as the guy who could find this girl.” The chief pulled a small, wallet sized photo from his shirt pocket and handed it to Adrian. It looked like a school picture day. The girl was wearing some kind of school uniform, and she couldn’t have been more than twelve, with dark brown hair and pale skin and a naïve, awkwardly youthful smile. “I’m afraid that’s all the information we were given. For now, this is your only assignment. Good luck, son.”

As the chief left, Adrian sat back into his chair and ran his hands through his hair, wondering just what the hell he had gotten himself into now. He knew where to start though. A case like this, he could afford to go ask the gangs, personally. All these years of looking the other way on a few things, the least the gangs could do would be tell him if they’ve heard any rumors of a girl from the upper classes. Also, he should probably talk to Johan. There could be rumors and gossip about this going on around Class 1, as well. Pulling out his phone, Adrian sent Johan a text:

Know anything about a missing Class 1 girl?

After a quick check of his equipment like his gun and knife and handcuffs, a good habit to be in considering if one of those three things failed you it could mean your death, Adrian walked to the motor pool and signed out a car this time. Not a hover car, but just a black, civilian looking car. Of course, it was bulletproof, and while it looked rather junky, it actually had a powerful engine and was quite formidable.

The gang that owed him the most recent favor, for taking care of Juliette and dropping the investigation on them, was the Crimsons, so that’s where he’d start. In no time he was across town, just in time to see a big brute of a man trying to force himself onto a prostitute. It was perfect timing, to be honest. Starting at the lowest of levels was always the best way to begin an investigation. You don’t go straight to the gang leader. That was bad form. And usually these whores are so drugged up that they’ll tell you anything if you gave them reason to, and saving one of them from being raped was more than enough of a reason.

Pulling over and lighting a smoke, Adrian seemed to be unnoticed by the pair. When he overheard the girl clearly say “no,” that gave him all the reason he needed to intervene. “’Scuse me sir, but ‘no’ means the same thing from a working girl’s mouth as it does yours or mine.” The big guy turned around, ready to fight. Usually, Adrian would fight, but this time he didn’t have the time or care for it. Instead, Adrian just flashed his badge. “The paperwork I’d have to fill out after killing you just sounds too exhaustive. Please, just scurry away, now.”

The guy stared at Adrian in silence, though it was clear that a bad word or two on Adrian’s behalf was circling the large guy’s head. The moment seemed to last a while, but the guy soon turned and walked away, mumbling something about killing Adrian later. That wasn’t troubling though, because they all did that to some degree. By now, Adrian had realized that, coincidentally, the girl involved in all this happened to be Juliette. Once the large guy had walked away, Adrian turned to Juliette and flashed a big smile, “La belle! What a pleasant surprise.” It was hard to decipher whether or not he was being sarcastic or sincere. Seeing her dressed seductively though reminded Adrian that he needed to call his ex, more than anything. And while the detective did probably stare at Juliette's legs longer than he should have (being a legs man), he hid it pretty well with a little joke, “lookin’ good, but doesn’t lingerie go underneath clothes, though?” Adrian chuckled as he cleared the distance between them, deciding to go ahead and ask what he needed to. “Have you heard any rumors about a missing Class 1 girl being held somewhere in Class 3?”

Adrian wasn’t a man who believed in fate. In fact, the very idea of it sickened him. It was a cop out for people who did not see the horrors of life to use when describing them. The old “It was meant to be” phrase is used for more in the upper classes than Class 3. At one point, Adrian might have considered himself religious, but as the years passed it belief grew harder and harder. While he never officially surrendered his faith, he hadn’t thought about it in years, either.

Running into Juliette was just a coincidence. Receiving a text from a friend at the station that read You wouldn’t happen to have pissed off any Keepers lately, right? moments after running into Juliette was again, coincidence.

Juliette was turning out to be a fascinating creature, Adrian realized. Her emerald eyes seemed to be brighter every time he saw them, and she seemed to have a habit of showing them off. Surely throughout her time on the street her eyes have been complimented heavily, and maybe she unconsciously developed the habit of showing them off. Her first response was a lie, of course. Adrian would have been surprised if she began with the truth. Her pride was probably hurt by Adrian rescuing her from that thug. No doubt she could have handled it on her own, and had Adrian known it was Juliette he was dealing with at the time he might have let her. Discovering that the scantily dressed whore was Juliette was just as surprising to him as it probably was to Juliette when she realized she had been thrown back into the path of the detective.

After finally coming clean, the woman seemed to lose herself in thought for a while. Adrian had trouble telling whether or not she was staring at him or into the void of some memory or another. The Black Bands, huh? Maybe a sit down would be nice. Of course, no it really wouldn’t. There would be no sitting down with their leader, Hugo Dar. Adrian had put away more of their hierarchy than he wish he had, at the moment. Out of all the gangs in Class 3, it was probably the Bands that hated him the most. It was a smart move by this Van Stoon character, should Johan’s theory prove correct. If Adrian’s reputation had grown, it wouldn’t have been a stretch to predict he’d be put onto the case. It wouldn’t take much bribery money either to get enough information on Adrian to realize who his enemies were. Naturally, you’d want to hire the gang that hates the cop who’d be working against you the most to hold the girl. That’s a shame. Adrian was hoping Von Stoon to be as idiotic as his name.

With a frank good bye, which sounded from Juliette as if she were expecting never to see him again, at least alive, she started to walk away. Adrian didn’t bother going after her. Instead, he simply finished his cigarette and tried to decide on a plan. His job was to save the girl. Juliette had confirmed that she was there with the Black Bands, which meant Adrian had two options: 1. A stealthy approach. He’d sneak in, find her, and sneak out. The pro was that if execute perfectly he would avoid bloodshed. The con was really the challenge. There weren’t many ways in and out of the place, and all of them would be well guarded. There would most likely be a sewer or air vent entrance somewhere, but even if he managed to get to the girl sneaker back out with her would be next to impossible. On his own, this would never work. If he had a distraction, then maybe. 2. A fuckall kill all approach. As the title suggests, Adrian would make a quick visit to his home where he would load up on all the things he owns that make the largest booms. With all these large boom makers equipped, Adrian would proceed to blast the ever living hell out of everything in his way to the girl. The pro was in the plan’s simplicity. The con, it meant guaranteed death for both him and the girl. It’s always shame when a con like death gets in the way of a good plan.

Juliette did something unexpected, though. She turned around and walked back, taking Adrian’s hand into hers. It had been a long time since he had held a woman’s hand. It was a feeling he had very much missed. Juliette’s far softer, more delicate fingers felt nice to Adrian’s rougher ones. She began to pull him in a direction, towards the club where the Black Bands were, and whispered that after this she owed him nothing. Adrian simply replied, “I know.”

Adrian did not expect this bit of honor from her, but at the same time he would not deny it, either. For what he saw in Juliette then was the answer to the problem with his plan to use stealth: a distraction. She wasn’t armed, at least not with anything she couldn’t hide somewhere in what little she was wearing. Adrian wouldn’t be surprised if there was a knife hidden somewhere. But even with that, she did not have enough to assume she was expecting to walk into a fight, which meant she was expecting to talk. Adrian would let her. And while she talked, he’d find the girl. In his jacket was a suppressor for his pistol, which meant he could stealthily kill, but he also had a knife to that effect.

Of course, this matter with the Keepers was still on the back of Adrian’s mind. With his free hand, not wanting to stop holding hands with Juliette considering he was more comfortable than he actually wished he were, Adrian responded to the text from his friend at the station, mentioned the Keepers. Not that I know of.

Almost immediately, he got a reply, One of the higher ups, maybe even their fucking leader, is looking for you man. He’s covered in blood. Apparently he cut down some Crimsons earlier.

Adrian replied, Thanks for the heads up. Delete these texts. He cut down some Crimsons? Adrian looked at Juliette. Replaying their entire time together, a few things started to make some sense. That woman, Mac, the one on meth…she never did explain herself, yet she showed interest in taking Juliette away. Now a high positioned Keeper shows up at the station covered in the blood of Crimsons, the gang Juliette’s connected to. It just smelled fishy, and Adrian’s detective senses were going off like crazy.

There were some decisions to be made, and quickly at that. Regardless of what Juliette’s connection to all this was, it would not be long before the Keepers figured out just where Adrian was, which was not a good thing. A guy covered in blood isn’t looking for a friendly chat. Whatever this Keeper wanted to talk about, Adrian didn’t like not having any kind of upper hand. He had to know more about what was going on before he’d deal with this Keeper. But at the same time, if they didn’t go after the missing girl now, there might not be another chance. Adrian could save himself and Juliette, but in doing so could very well condemn the girl. Still, even if they did manage to save the girl, chances are the Keepers would be waiting for them just on the outside of the club by then. In the end, Adrian decided there was nothing which could be done for the girl at that time. They had to run, at least until Adrian could gather some information on what the hell the Keepers wanted with him. It meant leaving Class 3, and the only person that could manage that was Johan. So Adrian sent one more text.

Johan, something’s wrong. Keepers are after me. I think Juliette’s involved, somehow. None of my Class 3 hide-outs will work. Need access to Class 2. Please, help. Heading to the gate now.

Adrian trusted that by the time he and Juliette had gotten to the gate, Johan would have thought of something. If he didn’t, at best they’d be turned away, at worst arrested. If they were turned away, it just meant more running than hiding. There were a few places Adrian had set up should he ever need to disappear, but that was only when thinking about running from one of the Class 3 gangs. Such places wouldn’t last long against a group with the resources of the Keepers.

Halting them, Adrian turned around and started to walk back towards the car, pulling Juliette with him. “Change of plans, doll. We’ve got to go. Apparently, the Keepers are looking for me, and I have reason to believe they want you too. We’ve got to leave Class 3. Hopefully, Johan will help us do that. Remember? The guy who’s shirt you liked?”

They got into the car and Adrian began to drive as quickly as he could for the gate. Even at top speeds it would take about an hour to get there. The entire way, while talking to Juliette, Adrian kept a watchful eye in his mirrors. The car he was driving was loaded to the teeth with various guns. Should a few very out of place vehicles appear in any of his mirrors, this trip could get very interesting, very fast. There was one saving grace that Adrian could probably count on, though: his chief. While the chief wasn’t exactly a beacon of justice due to having taken money from just about everyone in Class 3 up to no good, probably from the Keepers as well, he was not a man to be bullied or intimidated, and would see this Keeper’s barging in covered in blood as an attempt to do just that. The chief would, hopefully, give the Keeper a hard time before finally spilling all the details. Adrian could only hope.

"This is kidnapping," Juliette hissed, crossing her arms over her chest and crossing her long legs over Adrian's dashboard in hopes of annoying him. She held the music device Johan had given her, giving the detective a scalding look. "This was not a part of the plan. Besides, what do Keepers have to do with me and what makes you think they want me, anyway? I'm just a lowly class three prostitute," she said the last part with sarcastic malice.

Her music device - also a communicator, apparently - began to ring. She had the same ringtone for everyone, which she changed on a day to day basis. Today it was'Love Me Dead' by Ludo, it was a song she was fond of and could relate to. Though, perhaps not in the way the writer had intended as it reminded her of the men who'd used and abused her. Her father, his clients. Juliette tapped on the slim screen - Keenan was calling - and put the device to her ear begrudgingly. Keenan was a notorious playboy with a face much too beautiful for one with as wretched a personality as himself. She disliked him. Then again, she disliked a lot of things.

"What?" she snapped.

"Oh god, Juliette. He just, they were, he, we, dammit Juliette! He was looking for you and they refused to talk and he just- He just," Keenan said before choking on his words. He was breathing heavily, his voice raspy and heavy, as if he'd just run a marathon. Perhaps he had.

"Woah, woah. Slow down, pretty boy. What are you talking about?" Juliette asked, chancing a glance at Adrian and shrugging to say she didn't know what the person on the other end was on about and that Adrian shouldn't... Worry or whatever it was he did.

"The Keepers, Jewel. The Keepers are after you," Keenan whispered.

"Wait, what?" Juliette mumbled, clutching the device to her ear. "What do you mean they're after me? How do they even know who I am? Why? How did they-"

"I don't know why but you bloody hell had better not betrayed us," Keenan hissed, his previous anxiety now replaced with spite. "They came for you, Chateau," he said. "And they killed every last one of them to find you."

"Killed who?" Juliette asked, although she already knew the answer.

"The Crimsons. Caius," Keenan said, barely whispering the last word. Juliette held the phone so tightly she feared she would crush her fingers against the metal but her hands were numb, all of her was.

"Caius?" she echoed. Caius was an old friend, the closest thing that had ever come to a best friend. He and her had... History. He'd refused to sleep with her once, saying he didn't want a relationship in which she only loved him because she felt she had to.

"The Keeper asked them where you were. 'The French girl.' Caius and them defended you to the death," Keenan said, the blame evident in his voice. "One of us finally gave you up."

"Did- Did anyone..."

"No."

The device slipped from her hands and the line went dead. Juliette stared, wide eyed, at the road ahead, clutching her thin and short skirt as her body trembled. No tears came, none ever did. "Stop the car," she whispered. "Stop the car!" she said with more conviction, her head snapping around to glare at Adrian as if he was the cause of all her problems. Yes, anger. Anger she could cope with. "Let me out," she growled before turning to the door, ripping at the handle. She jerked her body backwards trying to open the door but it was all but locked. "I need to save them. I need to save him," she said frantically. They're dead, Juliette. No they're not. "Stop the car! Let me out! He needs me, he needs me."

Juliette quickly snatched her phone from where it had fallen, scrolling through her contacts. He'd said his number was here, it was here. It was here. Yes, it was. Juliette clicked on his name, pressing the device to her ear. "Johan, Johan, Johan. You need to get them. You need to find them. The Keepers are trying to kill them." They haven't succeeded yet. No, not yet not yet. "They're looking for me and you need to- I need to- Let me out of this goddamned car, Adrian!" she yelled, ripping at the door handle once again. "He needs me, Johan. We have kids and they don't know- Oh god, oh god. You need to send your Class One forces or whatever the hell it is you have. Bloody hell, open!" she shouted. Juliette slammed her fist into the glass, kicking at the door and pounding her fist on it. "What the hell, Adrian? Is this bullet-proof glass?" she hissed, shaking out her now bloody fist. "Okay, okay, listen, Johan. Caius. He's tall, about 6'2". Hazel eyes, olive skin. 23. He's left-handed and he likes to wear old hoodies. His favourite's the red one with 'Crimsons' written in black. You need to get him, Johan. And little Mikey. You need to get Mikey. He's 9 and oh god, I forgot his birthday present." Juliette was babbling, digging her nails into the edges of the car door and pulling furiously at it. A whimper escaped her lips.

Juliette pulled her legs to her chest, resting her head against her knees and wrapping her arms around herself. "My fault, my fault, my fault," she whispered repeatedly. Juliette raked her fingers through her sun-streaked hair and pulling at it. "They're dead," she choked, pressing her palms to her eyes. "They're alive, they're dead." Juliette dug her nails into her arm, clutching her knees to her chest.

It wasn’t that Adrian didn’t want to let her out of the car to help whoever it was she was going on about, but at the same time it wasn’t like he wanted to abandon that Class 1 girl, either. Juliette’s phone call had only confirmed his suspicions, and fact of the matter is despite the decent number of weapons and ammunition underneath the back seat, there was nothing they could do at this point. A detective and a whore do not an army make.

The prospect of simply letting her go troubled him, but not too much. While he had come to consider Juliette more than just a gang prostitute, she wasn’t his friend. He didn’t think so, at least. It sort of dawned on him that he was now risking his life and career for this woman. The detective hoped to not involve Johan beyond getting them through the gate. With Juliette calling frantically like this, Johan may feel more needed, and that damn doctor would put his career on the line for something like this too. If Johan fell through though, that complicated things. There were a few smugglers tunnels that led into the Class 2, but it had been so long since Adrian had seen them it would be a gamble to think that by now they weren’t blocked up or being watched.

It was more than risking his personal being for Juliette, though, Adrian would admit. He had wanted an excuse to investigate the Keepers, anyway. Worst case scenario, he uses Juliette as a bargaining chip, somehow, especially if she kept up this kind of ingratitude. Obviously the girl was bat shit crazy, but a thank you would still be appreciated sometime.

For now, they had to head towards Class 2. From there, once at a safe house, Adrian planned on checking out the Keeper headquarters. They wanted Juliette, so as long as he kept her hidden, he could use her to get out of whatever kind of danger he comes across. It was a chance he might not have again. And it wasn’t like he’d just give her up or anything. But it also wasn’t like he wouldn’t.

Still, seeing her upset like this troubled Adrian on some level. Comforting wasn’t really in Adrian’s nature, but he had to try and calm her down, at least. Reaching out and putting a hand on Juliette’s shoulder, Adrian said, “We’ve got to figure this out before we do anything. For now, that means getting out of Class 3.” Adrian put his hand back on the steering wheel. “I know where we can be safe. And if you have any idea why they might be after you, it couldn’t hurt to tell me.”

The most unfortunate thing about the vehicle they were riding in was the locator chip that Adrian had forgotten to take off. It was underneath the car and quite easy to disable, but there was nothing he could do about it for now. Besides, it’d look sketchier if he showed up at the gate with it deactivated. But if they decided to make for one of the tunnels, he’d have to take it off. If the Keepers were at the police station, finding Adrian wouldn’t be hard at all.