I hang up the link; make my way to the lot across from Prostheticore. She was already in her car, says she'll be here in no time flat. I wait. She shows up about ten minutes later, car screaming into the lot like a bat out of hell. She double-parks, nearly smashing into the side of my car, throws open the door of hers. I smell burning rubber.

“Took you long enough,” I say, tipping my hat.

“Product promotion,” she says, brushing past me to survey the lot. “CyberCorp’s stopping the god damn traffic to promote their stupid chip. Thanks for the call, though.”

“No problem,” I say.

“Too bad you didn’t get that message earlier, we might have made it in time.” There’s something in her tone there. I think back to the precious minutes spent in the MetaScape, and try to keep anything from sowing on my face.

“You’re not getting one of the new implants?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Monopolies. Hate ‘em.”

“Keep the economy going though, right?”

She glares at me. “You believe the shit on those monitors just like everyone else? Fine, whatever, he’s gone. Great. Now what.”

She’s attractive as hell, I have to admit. Long dark hair and this fire in her eyes that says she knows what she wants and she gets it. Right now, though, she wants her brother, and she’s paying me to help her find him. Gotta get focused.

“What’re you looking at?” she asks. I blink.

“Oh—ah, thought I saw something.”

“Yeah,” and she narrows her brows, “I saw something too.”

Cold hits me like a knife through the bowels. There’s something wrong--feeling of being watched.

"So what's the game plan, Detective?"

"Prostheticore," I say. "Let's go."

We Drive to Prostheticore