Somewhere a guitar strummed a tune in sympathy for the rioters. It rode on the radio waves.
The hybrids hissed and spat like animals at the police dogs closed in, baying all the more and pulling at their leads. Then the order was given and they were let loose. The hybrids recoiled at the lunging quadrupeds enough to part ways for them to duck between legs and weave around the crowd. One of them, a German shepherd breed, went took off like a rocket when his eye locked on a target, his barks not enough of a warning for the human girl in his sights. She had little time to try running in fear before he came in from the side, powerful jaws snapping onto her forearm, teeth sinking in with bone-crushing force.
With a sharp jerk from his neck muscles and a toss from his forty kilogram frame brought the young woman to the ground with ease. She screamed in fear and pain, at the mercy of the canine cop. All the hybrids stepped away from the assault, afraid to do anything as the police moved in.
Ev'rywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet, boy
The next dog that charged was a big sixty kilo rottweiler, barreling through the crowd to get to a heavyset human male who was pummeled to the ground in one forceful motion by the heavy canine. The cameras caught him cowering with his arms over his head to protect himself from the onslaught.
Cause summer's here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy
Hazard caught glimpses of the updated report on the riot from days ago in the mirror's reflection, but he was more concerned with not nicking himself while shaving using the primeval method of steel razors and lubricating gel. He would have had it done yesterday at the barber's if he felt at all comfortable with letting someone close to his throat with a blade. So, he left it to the last minute to go clean shaven with his new flattop cut. Once done, he rinsed the last of the gel from his face and gingerly ran his fingers across the surface of the skin, appraising his work and noting all the good three days of sleep did for the lines under his eyes. The angular jaw was once again visible, the lines of his chiseled face imparting that formidable exterior that was fitting for his new job as a security agent.
Tossing his used razors away while carelessly dropping the towel draped around his shoulders to the floor, Hazard checked his attire in the mirror once more. Grey shirt, black pants, polished shoes, red tie. And his name tag with the logo of his current employer, Sharp Edge Securities R&D, displayed across the heading. He looked positively spiffy—if he would say so himself—and looked out of place in his new studio apartment. Not in the best of shape itself, but the rent was cheap.
But what can a poor boy do
'Cept to sing for a rock 'n' roll band
Hazard turned off the TV screen just as some bear-hybrid from the Animalus Embassy started to voice some nonsense. He had other things to worry about. Like breakfast before he went to his new job. . .and the time it would take to get there by transit.
Cause in sleepy London town
There's just no place for a street fighting man
No!
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Hazard had essentially been hired on the spot when he called in, his first interview merely dedicated to uploading his retinal files, psych. evaluations, drug screening records, and whatever else that would finalize his employment. From there on, he was immediately given an assignment in the field with some of Sharp Edge's researcher. To get ready for the day ahead, Hazard just needed to pass through some retinal scan access doors and give a few wordless salutations to fellow employees on a trip to the loadout chamber. There he slipped on a grey and red Sharp Edge company jacket, donned a similarly styled cap, and snapped a web belt fitted with holster and pockets for the standard issue weapon to security guards, the Lightning Hammer electro-pistol.
Five minutes later, he was exiting the elevator that took him up to the top floor of the tall building. The last three stories were in fact a single hangar, besides the few small offices to the rear. It was outfitted with mechanized supports from the ceilings and electromagnetic lift pads on parts of the floor to such an extent that Hazard would have ventured a guess that it might have once been intended for storage and maintenance of what else but military air- and spacecraft designed by Sharp Edge themselves. There were only three vehicles in there, however, and very little human activity to speak of, only work droids tending to a docked cargo aircraft.
So despite the noise that was being made by the motorized work lifts—pulling cargo out, stacking other boxes in, performing general maintenance on the large aircraft—it was not enough to drown out the music that was coming from the smallest craft, and loud enough to be heard all the way from other side of the hangar.
Hey! Think the time is right for a palace revolution ♪♫
But where I live the game to play is compromise solution ♪♫
Walking up to the craft, Hazard could see that there was a younger woman sitting on the edge of the floor inside where the sliding door opened with her legs swinging leisurely underneath. She seemed to be busy looking at something on a small digital device, obviously not in charge of the music playing because she had on a pair of headphones arcing across her long chestnut hair. The woman noticed Hazard's approach and looked up at him with hazel eyes. A knowing smile spread across her features and she removed the headphones, grimacing a little at the sudden volume of noise.
"Hey there, guy. Are you. . .? Ah, you are Haze," she took notice of the name tag. Hazard could barely hear her, but could make out the words from her lips. He gave her a bored expression before nodding in the affirmative.
Well, then what can a poor boy do ♪♫
Except to sing for a rock 'n' roll band ♪♫
"Control. . .control called," she raised her voice over the music, "saying that they updated your status, not two minutes ago—couldn't get a hold of. . ." Tired of yelling over the racket, she snatched up her headgear and screamed into the built in mic, "Devin! Would you please turn that down!"
'Cause in sleepy London town ♪♫
There's no place for-- ♪--
And whoever she called killed the music.
She took it from the beginning: "Control contacted us—instead of you because you don't have a communicator—and they want you to report to the tech. lab on the fifteenth floor."
"Hey, what's up?" came a younger male's voice from inside the aircraft, "You have your noise cancelling frequencies, why can't I have my rock 'n' roll?"
"I just needed to explain something to Haze and he doesn't have headgear, alright?" the girl said to the hidden person.
"Haze? Who in the world are you—oh! You mean Hazard's here; we've got our escort?" A scuffling could be heard as the person got up from, what could be assumed, lazing in a supine form, perhaps with feet propped up somewhere. A man younger than Hazard stepped out from inside the aircraft, teetering on the edge of the fuselage. "This means we're taking off, right? Let's go, let's go, go, go! I wanna be outta here!"
"Not so fast, Devin. Haze has got business to finish up downstairs," The girl informed him. "By the way his is Devin Bennings, Haze, and my name is Annika. Annika Staley."
Hazard gave a nod.
"Sorry, I've just been looking forward to getting out into the wastes, you know?" Devin sat down cross legged behind Annika. "What's it you've gotta do, man?"
"He needs to see technicians in the labs," Annika told him with a roll of her eyes, "I told you this just minutes ago."
"Sorry again, I don't really pay attention to newsflashes," Devin shrugged, before looking a Hazard again, "But hey, tech lab; that sounds good right? You're getting new gear or something, maybe even a performance upgrade." He clapped his hands down onto his legs as if emphasizing something. "Gonna need something to keep up with us now, yeah?"
Hazard raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but Devin did not elaborate, he only let a mischievous grin play across his face.
"Head on over to the labs, man. We'll wait for you till then okay? The pilot's still going over his logs with a magnifying glass," Devin finished the conversation, getting up and moving back into the aircraft. Annika was already back to her little device, headphones over her ears.
--a street fighting man♫
No!
<><><><><><><><& #62;<><><><><>
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