The inside of the concealed room was larger than the entirety of the storefront. The walls were the same color but far cleaner, and while the shelves still lined every conceivable inch of them and were crammed with various tech and scraps, everything seemed far more organized. Even the scraps were of a higher quality and were actually useful, even recognizable to most people; parts of laser projectiles, various medical supplies that had only recently become available to the public, even the occasional core implant that didn’t look that different from the merchandise nestled in the thief’s knapsack. There were still several android limbs and other accessories, but they weren’t haphazardly reaching for unwary victims or strewn about. In fact, most of them didn’t even have any pseudoflesh and at least half were barely recognizable for what they were. This room contained raw components, things that had the potential to break ground in the technological world, if put together correctly. At least, that was Xen’s view of it. The storefront was little better than a compost heap, a graveyard for when the things from this chamber died. In the center, a reclining and elevated chair stood on a thick pole. Metal restraints, open and harmless for the moment, rested where arms and legs would fall. The hidden doorway slid shut seamlessly behind the trio and the fence turned to face his guest.<br/><br/>She didn’t look confused, just suspicious. He supposed it wouldn’t be fair to blame her for that; cynicism and suspicion were traits of survivors, after all. Of course, the same person who said that had also mentioned that “subtlety” was one of those traits… it didn’t seem like the girl had quite mastered that one.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBF00"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Xen Lao, businessman, negotiator and… I don’t know, tinkerer, I guess?”</span></span>He used the opportunity to shoot a look to Gil, and jerked his head toward the chair.<span style="color: #FFBF00"><span style="font-weight: bold">“I hope you don’t mind if I do the repairs while we talk. He’s got a pretty sensitive system.”</span></span>The android removed his shirt quickly in response, letting it fall to the floor as he approached the fence. As the robot assumed a supine position on the operating chair, Xen fished the little laser pointer that he had used earlier on Mar out of his pocket, the other hand making a series of tapping sounds on the underside of the left arm rest. A small dial with a fairly decent amount of small, silvery surgical tools appeared from the ground by his feet, raising slowly to the level of his waist.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBF00"><span style="font-weight: bold">“I also distribute items that the government would rather I didn’t. It’s mostly to some… like-minded syndicates, but I make some good credit off the Enforcement, too.”</span></span>As he spoke, the little blue laser blinked into life and sheared sections of the flesh around the android’s bullet “wound” on his arm, until it was less of a tear and more of a removed square. Some replacement material rested on the silver tray and the fence picked it up delicately, without looking away. There were no scorch marks or otherwise offensive issues past the torn flesh, at least not that he could identify without his glasses.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBF00"><span style="font-weight: bold">“What can I call you?”</span></span>he asked, his voice distracted and eyes on the android. The tip of the laser began to gently adhere the new material to the open square on his arm, the blue line of light leaving no trace or difference along the seam. In a few minutes, it would be like it had never been missing.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Shit</span>. He had caught up. Celi had purposefully increased her pace when she heard the thundering footfalls behind her and had made a very clear point of<span style="font-style: italic">not</span>turning around to see the runner, but the detective hadn’t taken the hint and now walked alongside her.<br/><br/>After his first question, she contemplated simply ignoring him completely until he decided that it wasn’t worth the effort of keeping up and just left. Somehow, however, she wasn’t even patient enough for that right at this moment. Before the last syllable of “seven” had gotten past his lips, she overrode his statement with a sharp tone that was only a little more professional than her “shut up”.<span style="color: #BF80FF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Enforcers are blind. They never see what’s right in front of them. Great cannon-fodder, though.”</span></span>Sarcasm dripped from her words, buoyed with very genuine dislike. She approached an intersection and paused, scanning the three-way fork very carefully with her heat-sensing eye. The bounty hunter was fairly certain she wasn’t going to pick up any signs of biological life here, but the artificial optic was pretty sensitive to most things when it was active; Lao hadn’t short-changed her with the implant’s integrity. Plus, her real eye wasn’t exactly that of an untrained civilian.<br/><br/>A spot of darkness on the ground down the right path (barely visible from her angle) caught her attention and she made a sudden beeline to it. Celi squatted down and dropped her fingertips in it without hesitation, then rubbed them. Slightly gritty, but with a sort of slick film over it, even in his half-disintegrated state. It was burned psuedoflesh, likely from the android. At least the shots fired from the enforcers had<span style="font-style: italic">some</span>effect, even if it was almost entirely useless. If their guns stopped working completely, she was going to be all for recycling them into beverage machines.<br/><br/>She stood quickly and continued down right fork, still keeping a sharp look out. Following a trail was always more effective than casting a wide net, in her opinion- particularly when the net was made of high-power idiots. Hopefully this wouldn’t take long. She wanted to cash the check for the C-7 and the bitchborn that had lifted all the merch from Sorelli’s, then catch a shuttle to Sector 16 and get a drink. It was shaping up to be one of those days.<br/><br/><span style="color: #BF80FF"><span style="font-weight: bold">"If you're going to tag along,"</span></span>she intentionally used a somewhat immature phrasing, mostly to drive home her dislike of him rather than reinforce any seniority,<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #BF80FF">"at least keep your eyes open."</span></span>