<div class="floatleft">(http://i952.photobucket.com/albums/ae5/Warden_Ice/Cyberpunk1_zps5f1699a9.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Camille Jessica Ivery<br/><strong>Location:</strong>47 Denverton Drive: Cybercafe Interior<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Riley Barrington (NPC) | Dean Coleman (NPC)<br/><strong>Doing:</strong>Suspicious Activity<br/><hr/><br/>Camille had pulled up all the proper dossiers of the clientele within the cybercafe's interior.  Most of the patrons showed up clean, as far as 'clean' in this city went.  It was a real rarity to find someone not dipping their fingers into something, usually chalked up towards the youth of the city.  The public school system was just as cutthroat as any other establishment so by the time the children wisened up and were exposed to the illicit aspects of society,  things stuck in one way or another.  Whenever she pulled up a 'red flag', indicated by the flashing words 'Wanted' in red, she'd take a quick survey of their crimes and file a report.  She was an undercover narcotics officer and using scanning technology to find a wanted criminal was technically a violation of their civil rights.  Instead, the report went into the compilation files to build up a profile for investigators to get a vague idea of their schedule and frequented places.<br/><br/>The subtle chatter of patrons.  The sloshing of coffee.  The clinking of coffee cups.  The gentle whir of machinery.  The beeps of computer terminals.  The low ambiance of the television delivering the orchestrated and watered down version of the news, focusing on celebrity statuses or the newest upcoming project that was played up to be good for the city but in reality only benefited the higher class.  All of this and more became the identity of the cybercafe and Camille couldn't help but feel uneasy here.  It was too ... quiet.  Quiet pockets in the industrial waste of this city always left her uneasy.  Given that everyone turned their head to look towards the couple, passing them either scrutinizing gazes, lewd appreciation of her anatomy, or the passive aggresive animosity of their lives merely directed towards them by proxy of existing, she knew some of the reasons.<br/><br/>Tension was very thick in the air and even with all of her augmentations, Camille felt the nonexistent hairs on the back of her neck stand up or experienced the simulated sensation of goosebumps forming on her synthetic and inked out flesh.  Riley finally brushed past her, gently placing a hand on her upper back to catch her if necessary when his large, bulking size pushed past her.  She felt the small jar and stepped to the side before following him.  She looked towards his predicted path and caught sight of a man sitting alone in the corner beside the furthest window inches from the door that led to the terminals behind the cafe.  Her retinal scanner brought up the man's profile to confirm it was Coleman.  There was their mark.<br/><br/>Riley took a seat first, purposefully sitting next to the man to remove his ability to escape and Camille sat across him, folding her arms on the table to lay her head down and gaze at Coleman with artificial eyes sideways.  The man in question looked at them both but mostly focused on Riley, who had put his massive arm on the back of their shared seat and grinned at him.  A cold sweat immediately came out of Coleman and he swallowed the collected saliva in the back of his throat.  There was so many possibilities about what was about to happen and none of them seemed good.<br/><br/><em>"Coleman, right?"</em>Riley said to break the silence.<em>"Dean Coleman?"</em><br/><br/>The Fixer nodded slowly, not questioning how they knew his name.  Things were looking bad.  When they had the confirmation, Camille lifted her head and glanced around to spot for anyone watching them, noticing one or two patrons watching.  They quickly averted their gaze and she felt the corner of her lips tug upwards in a smirk.  How far humanity had fallen for people to turn a blind eye to something that was clearly wrong.  Easier to look out for one's own skin than advocate self-harm by seeking the hero title.  She's been on both sides of the law and in either outlet, that fact didn't really change.  Cops were just as easy to corrupt as a drug lord.  You couldn't trust anyone.<br/><br/><em>"Well, Coleman.  Your friend, Mister Chops-A-Cow-Up told us we'd meet you here to discuss some business.  Now, I dunno 'bout you but unless you wanna let all these people in here know 'bout your business, I suggest you come with me.  My friend here,"</em>Riley continued, nodding to Camille to reference his friend.<em>"She's gonna keep your seat warm. So, let's go, buddy."</em><br/><br/>Camille turned her gaze to the Fixer to give him a wink and smile, moving her fingers up and down in a wave-like motion, one finger raising then lowering as the other followed.  Riley was taking him to their vehicle to do what he did best and Camille was to stay behind in case of the cops were called so she could handle things with protocol.  There was also the chance that the Fixer hired external help in case of the worst so any other suspicious activity would need to be monitored.  She observed her partner and Coleman get up and head out of the cybercafe while she maintained her seat.  The moment she heard the door close she came to a stand and made her way to the bar to lean upon it and cross her ankles.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: andale mono;"><strong>"'Ey, gimme a french vanilla latte,"</strong></span>she said, ordering something that was now a rarely heard of delicacy in places like this.