(OOC: Howdy! I'm glad to see someone finally decided to make another Blade Runner game! Hope you don't mind I get my characters moving already.)
"Can't sleep?" Grace asked as she looked into Dave's cool blue eyes. The only light came from neon cityscape beyond, his eyes just barely glinting in the dark.
"No." Bullock said calmly. His mind was elsewhere.
"You're not still angry with me are you?"
"No." He shook his head and moved a strand of hair out of her face. "Not anymore."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Are you worried I'll retire you?"
"Has the thought crossed your mind?"
"If you asked me that yesterday I would've said yes. Today... Nothing's the same."
"Some things are. I didn't lie before. I meant what I said."
There was a pause.
He didn't answer.
"Do you love me?"
He stared at her. Those eyes that had pierced him so deeply the first time he'd seen them. Almost glowing like hot embers in the cold New York night.
"Dave!" Bullock shot awake. He looked over and saw a young boy standing in the doorway of his makeshift shack in the underbelly of Los Angeles. The boy was Kitridge, a flight-footed courier who usually delivered messages to the various rebel cells. He sat up in his cot and adjusted his aching shoulder where the black metallic arm met his very human body. "Parcel for you, Dave." Kitridge said, handing him a small black box.
"Thanks kid," Bullock grunted and snatched the parcel from the boy. He looked over to the small shelf over his cot and grabbed a tin of protein chocolate substitute, Wallace brand of course. He tossed the tin at Kitridge who caught it and smiled before dashing off with his well earned snack.
Bullock frowned and looked the parcel over. It was a small, blocky rectangle with white edges. Basic data recorder, holographic screen. Bullock pressed the little white switch on the side and the thing lit up. An old man with one eye appeared in front of him.
"Bullock, I've got a job for you. If you're feeling up to it I need you to grab a spinner and head to Las Vegas. We have some off worlders looking for sanctuary. Figured it'd be good to have an old runner watching their back. Speak with Desmond at the depot, he can get you a ride." The hologram flickered off and Bullock let out a heavy sigh as he looked over the recorder.
"Please don't tell me it's rigged to explode." He quipped as he set the recorder on the shelf and grabbed his old blaster and holster. After grabbing some breakfast, a small bottle of hooch from one of the market vendors, he stuffed his fists into his coat pockets and marched off to see Desmond.
Later That Day - The Shore Wall
Swift walked along the concrete shore outside the wall keeping the Pacific at bay. Waves crashed onto the man made coastline and sent sea water spraying up into the air. A thick fog clung to everything, dropping visibility significantly. Swift enjoyed these walks, the crashing waves, the sense of emptiness. Nothing but her and the sea. The city was behind the wall, and couldn't touch her.
She looked up and caught the smallest glimpse at a ship making its approach to the airfield across the sea. She had come in on one such vessel a few years back. The grand return to the world that had created her. She spent all of it crammed into a packing crate. Then had to ditch into the ocean and swim for several miles to reach the Los Angeles coastline. The very ground she was currently walking on.
Ice cold water splashed her face and left her soaking wet. But the cold didn't bother her, she was designed to survive in far worse conditions. She barely even felt the cold. Instead she smiled and continued her walk.
A couple miles up the coast the waves began to calm and an eerie silence fell over the wall. Distant noises from the city echoed like hushed voices inside of a cathedral, faint but present. Swift gazed up at the wall and frowned, her gut told her something wasn't quite right.
A piece of the concrete in front of her exploded, and she immediately jumped backwards. Another high powered round cratered the ground she had just been over. There was no viable cover for her. She was a sitting duck. So she bolted for the only option she had available: she leaped into the sea.
The water was freezing cold, but again she could handle it. She could faintly hear the pattering splashes of a few more rounds impacting the water behind her as she continued to swim. 108 meters. That was how far the entrance to the spillway was. She always had escape routes planned out. She could hold her breath for several minutes, could tolerate the burning in her lungs for a few more minutes after her oxygen expired, and perhaps one more minute after that before her mind succumbed to the lack of oxygen. She just had to swim as hard as she could.
Meanwhile, atop the wall, several hundred yards ahead of where Swift had been walking, Blade Runner DT-752-909, or "Dakota" as he was often called by his lieutenant. Sat in his police issue spinner and stared at the screen for his drone which he had set up to ambush Swift. He frowned.
"Switch to thermal." He said. The screen flickered and the infrared camera's feed appeared on the monitor. The water was obscuring the target somewhat, but he could still make out the outline. "Turn 180 degrees." The drone panned over and fell upon a section of the wall a little over a hundred meters away. The entrance to the spillway. "Continue to track target." Dakota said as he switched his spinner on and took off. The drone continued to hover and watched Swift intently as she made her way to the spillway.