Chapter 96 – Just Take Your Last Name
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After the chaos, after the smoke and blood and fire had all settled, Arthur strolled back toward the street where it all went down. The crash site from earlier still reeked of burning fuel and melted carbon steel, the remains of the MaxTac hover vehicle fused into the road like a scar that wouldn't heal.
He scratched his head, looking at the wreckage with a sigh.
"Well... guess that favor I owed the Sixth Street kid ain't happening."
The car he'd promised to return was now scrap metal in another dimension, courtesy of the Terrorist Mobile Team's air support.
"Not my fault," Arthur muttered, stepping around the smoldering debris. "Totally the fault of those flying corporate psychos."
He flagged down a Delamain taxi a block away and ducked inside, giving it a destination only he and one other person would understand. The ride didn't take long.
Soon, Arthur was standing in front of the old, decrepit garage where this whole mess had really started—the same place where he and Maine had first met. It was more dump than structure, a scrapyard's graveyard wearing the skin of a building.
Garbage was piled so high around the walls that it looked like it was holding the place up. The smell alone could knock out a lightweight. Not even the homeless would stay here long.
Maine sat on a rusty folding chair near the garage entrance, a bottle in one hand and the other resting on his thigh. The chair creaked under his weight, threatening to give out with every breath he took. Given his bulk—and the fact that half his body was metal—Arthur figured it was just a matter of time before gravity won.
Arthur lit a cigarette and scanned the area. Broken parts. Vomit. A suspiciously humanoid pile of... well, he didn't want to think too hard about that.