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2018-03-17 04:20:33 (UTC)

Kicking Around Ideas

There was a throbbing in the dance club, almost inhuman in its' beat. Otherworldly, some would say. To an untrained eye, nothing would seem amiss . Men grinded on women, women grinded back, bartenders nodded to the beat of the music blaring out of the high-tech speaker system, and the alcohol and synthetics were flowing. Yet, there was a tension hanging in the air as Detective Armstead walked past the bouncers. They were Model 2100-12 HYPE androids. Not top of the line, but advanced enough to have facial recognition capabilities and hold a basic conversation. They even looked like passable humans, even when they malfunctioned with facial ticks. Her facial scrambler would let her pass them with no problems, but she would have to avoid direct contact for her cover to work undetected. She wouldn't let this mission fail. These androids were not unusual in a popular, but lower end dance club.

Det. Armstead walked towards the bar, swarming with female bot dancers, drunk men, and a group of females celebrating something. She would have to wait awhile before getting served. She checked her interface bracelet, no new messages or comm interference. The detective was flying in blind and solo for another thirty minutes before her back-up would would arrive to be the second set of eyes. She shifted her weight in her heels, she took a mental note of all of the exits manned by androids and robots. Before she could do a visual sweep she was interuppted by a voice.

"Well... Well... BYT. Would you like to buy some syn?" A thin man with a mustache sauntered up to the detective. He did not fit the description from the Armstead decided not to blow the cover that was carefully constructed for the mission tonight.

"Well, what have ya got? Sugar Plums?" She said the code words nonchalantly to ensure the man could reveal his identity. She shifted towards him to close any space in case some else was listening. The man shook his head but seemed eager to move closer to her in the loud club.

"Honey, I got what you like. No Sugar Plums though. Pick another." He almost whispered in her ear, almost jokingly.
"Blueberry Pops." The second set of code words slipped out of her words like silk, drawing the man a bit closer in. A spot at the bar cleared for a moment, and the detective took her chance to move in and the man followed.

"Hun, is it your first time? Those things are decades old, no one in their right mind has them anymore. Ain't profitable." He wasn't our guy. The detective put her hands on the bar, trying to signal a bartender.

"Maybe I'm not interested. Buy me a drink. Whatever you like." She leaned towards the pusher and he let his eyes wander down her body for the first time, which was unusual for a synthetic pusher, usually they sex it up and then charge for the 'freebies' when you weren't expecting it.

"Look baby, come back to my booth. I'll lay it all out for ya, let the syns speak for themselves. I just want to loosen you up a second. Have fun, ya know?" She knew too well. She wasn't interested, and the booth would blow her vantage point in the club for the real informer to get her connected.

"I'm more thirsty. I'll get it myself. Go bother another fembot." All of the bartenders seemed to look past her as she waved her credit block, flashing it's yellow-green light ready to be scanned. The words seemed to fall on deaf ears as he placed his hand on her hip. She let his hand linger there for a moment, not to attract attention. The mission is vital.

"Look, I've gotta helluva deal tonight. One night only. My boss is making his rounds as well, he might want to add a personal session for ya. He's got the LInk up. Whatever you want. On the house." She put her hand on his and removed it. The bartender slid over but siddled it's attention to the right of the detective.

"Which booth?" He took this i