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_ Act 3: Judgement Awaits _

The next morning was dreadful. I reluctantly opened my eyes, finding myself in the same room as the night before. My wishes were unanswered as I wanted to return to my usual Cryptic Initiate's duties, not be on the run from an arrest and possible execution. What has been done is done though, I suppose. I pondered many thoughts as I stood up and stretched. I was still in my clothes from the day before, though I saw Bernie's clothes lying on the ground near the couch. He slept in his boxers, which had images of Tutu the Explorer on them. Assumingly he had a crush on the actress and not enjoying a show meant for three year olds for its story and character development.

"Bernie," I stated sternly and a bit drowsily. "Wake up."

Bernie didn't really respond to this, so I smacked him upside the head.

"Huh, what!?" Bernie gasped and groaned. "Jeez, Laney boy. You didn't have to grow violent. Still got them clothes on?"

"Yes and I see you're a fan of Tutu," I chuckled.

"Yikes!" he blinked and blushed, trying to cover his boxers. He quickly grabbed his clothes and tried to put them on, stumbling quite a bit. He did eventually get dressed, thankfully. "Well, we're gonna need some new threads if we're gonna impress that Don guy."

"We?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Oh no, Bernie. I'm doing this alone. You're staying here, in the apartment. This is perhaps your only sanctuary from anyone you owe money to. And unless someone saw you come in the building yesterday, no one knows you're here. This is the safest place in Tonoko for you. Hell, maybe even all of Mortion."

"You're bein' a spoil sport again," Bernie sighed. "I can handle myself, Laney boy. We're just gonna go shoppin'. How risky is that? I'm not the only Promus out there.

"Mortion has a higher population of Promus Alphas, Bernie," I replied to that. "I should know. The Cryptic Guard takes statistics of the Tonoko residents every month. That means you're still easy to spot even among other Promuses."

"I can handle any trouble," he stated. "Come on, let's get us some new threads with that leftover Tin ya got."

I simply sighed and shook my head, then reluctantly opened the door and let him out first. He was stubborn, a bit like me, but he wasn't in full disguise either. He would be easily noticed. I kept thinking that now that I helped him with Jack's tab, Bernie expected me to help him with everything. It seemed like the most logical conclusion to make.

"Well?" Bernie chimed in a loud tone, breaking my thoughts. "Ya comin' or not, Laney? I can't reach the gas pedal, ya know." I chuckled and followed him, soon climbing into the truck's driver's side. I did assume the truck didn't need to be returned right away, hence why it was parked in front of the apartments. I drove to the nearest Apoca-Store which took less time than I thought it would.

"This place?" Bernie askeds and then scoffed. "This ain't a place where you dress to impress, Laney boy. Come on, go further down the road to Impersonal."

"Impersonal?" I asked. "That tuxedo place for old coots?"

"It ain't just for old coots," he humphed. "I happen to be a very well respected Impersonal Club member. I can get you deals on suits that you can't get anywhere else."

"Just deals on suits?" I chuckled. "No scheme to win over a store's heart in hopes for free merchandise?"

"No!" he protested. "Is it wrong for a Promus to want to look good?"

"Considering I found you plastered at a tavern, yes, it's a bit wrong," I shrugged. "You didn't give a great first impression of being the least bit civil, Bernie."

"Well, that's why they say don't judge books by their covers," he stated. "Now, come on, we're here. Time to make you a studly gentleman for your interview or whatever it is."

I let out another light chuckle as I climbed out of the truck and turned on the alarm. I followed Bernie into Impersonal, looking about as this store was a complete foreign land to me.

"Hey, Marci, baby!" Bernie excitedly as he approached the counter and hopped onto a chair nearby to see over it.

"Bernie?" Marci seemed to blink. She was a rather cute Festo, with a bit of a skinny figure. She perhaps was no more than only 130 pounds. She had beautiful black eyes, which glistened in the lighting of the room. Her facial features were so soft that it gave the impression she was very young, but she was perhaps barely a year or two younger than me. "What are you doing here?" She brushed her blue hair from her face, uncovering both of her eyes as there was some noticeable coverage due to her hair seeming to fall to her bottom and past where I could see, assuming it stopped near or at the floor.

"I'm here to get a great deal on a tuxedo for my friend Lane here," Bernie grinned. "Got a special deal for the VIP member, sweet cheeks?" He held up a small card and handed it to her.

"VIP member?" Marci asked, looking at the card. "This expired two months ago, Bernie. You wouldn't... um... renew your subscription to our membership club." Her voice squeaked mid-sentence, causing her to blush. I personally found it cute.

"Expired?!" Bernie blinked, sounding legitimately surprised. "Sal said there wasn't a charge though. It was on the house!"

"For the first year, I'm afraid," Marci said. "It's been a year and two months."

"Dammit," Bernie sighed and hopped down from the chair.

I rolled my eyes and approached the counter myself now. "Well, would you have any suggestions for an interview with a high class employer?" I asked.

"Oh, I'm usually the one picking out the suits, so of course," Marci nodded. She gave me a warm smile as she moved from behind the counter. "I'll be right back with a suit. Just wait for me at the dressing room over there." She then turned away from me and headed into the backroom with a cute sway in her step, her bushy tail swishing a bit quickly.

I walked over to the dressing room's entrance and stood against the wall. I looked over a sulking Bernie and shook my head. "Cheer up, Bernie," I said. "I'll get my suit."

"It's not the fact you're getting the suit," Bernie sighed. "It's the fact I can't seem to do anything for you but you helped me."

"I'm not asking for anything in return other than just listen to me," I said. "If there are people out in the city looking for you to shake you down or cut your finger off due to debt, then I may have more trouble dealing with that. That's why I told you to stay in the apartment."

"I ain't a fan of bein' useless," he said, sighing.

"I understand that, but..." I started.

"You understand?" he interrupted. "You aren't a nobody that people love to trick into owing money to. No one ever gives me a chance to fight back or be a man of my word. Ya saw that here. I didn't even know that club membership expired. I finally was gonna help someone out, but nope, just my luck."

"Calm down, Bernie," I sighed. "You'll be able to help somehow. Just calm down."

Marci returned with a suit, which was a black pinstripe one. I smiled at her and took the suit, heading into the dressing room. I soon reemerged wearing the suit. I adjusted the white color, as it had a dress shirt coming with it.

"You look quite handsome," Marci smiled as she stood behind me.

"Thanks," I chuckled. I looked myself over, sighing, as I didn't enjoy the new dress shoes the suit also came with. I then handed her the Tin card, nodding. "I'll take the suit."

"Oh?" Marci asked, sounding a bit surprised as she took the card. "Most customers usually don't take the first suit, especially not my picks."

"Is that so?" I chuckled. "Well, I'm glad to be the first then, Miss."

"Oh, my name's Marci, sir," she said, blushing gently as she swayed to the register.

"I figured when Bernie greeted you. Mine's Lane, " I said, following her. "Just Lane."

"Oh, well, that'll be.... 150 Tin," she said as she typed on the computerized register. She then handed me the card back and smiled.

"Perhaps I'll come back for more suits if I get this job," I smiled back, chuckling when she blushed rather cutely again. I then headed toward the entrance of the store, looking back at her. "If I get the job, then I might be back for more suits from you." I chuckled again at her girlish blush before heading outside and motioning Bernie to follow.

"So, what does this job pay, Laney boy?" Bernie asked. "I'm curious. I don't know what Don Bortelli is involved in. If it's them gamblin' races, you should tell them they're fixed. I doubt he'll win a dime." "It's not exactly a gambling race, though their organization probably has some hand in the fixing," I sighed.

"They do?" Bernie asked, and then blinked. "This ain't one of them people that can cap our asses if we look at 'em cross-eyed, is it?"

"Unfortunately, they would probably do that," I admitted. "I'm looking into being initiated into the Crimson Gavel, gaining Immunity from the Cryptic Guard."

"The... The Crimson Gavel!?" Bernie yelled in surprise.

I quickly grabbed him and covered his mouth.

"Shut up," I said in a hushed tone. "Yes, the Crimson Gavel. I don't have a choice. It's either this or risk being caught and executed by the Cryptic Guard. Considering they believe I committed treason,"

"Oh no," Bernie said, pulling my hand off of his face. "No, no, no! I'm not gettin' involved with them, Lane! I've already had my neck on the line with those psychopaths."

"Fine," I shrugged. "You can defend yourself against anyone that you owe money to then." I then began to head toward the truck.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Bernie suddenly yelled and tried to run in front of me and stop me. "Let's not be irrational here, Laney boy. I... uh... overreacted to the news. I'm not one for shady types, but if this guarantees protection, then I'm all for it."

"I didn't say it guaranteed protection like Immunity," I said. "I said I'd protect you from any trouble. Though now adding onto that would be actually listening to me."

"Fine," Bernie said, rolling his eyes. "I'll listen to you like a Promus would listen to his own mother. Not calling you girly or anything."

"I didn't interpret it that way," I said, climbing into the truck. "Come on, we need to return this truck anyway."

We arrived at Don Bortelli's house around twenty minutes later. Bernie insisted on wandering off to a nearby store as he gave me his Communicator's Codex Number, which was basically a phone number, but much shorter. I walked up to the front door, knocking on it a bit hard so it was heard.

"Easy on the door," Don Bortelli chuckled as it opened. "I got a lot of money, but I ain't wanting to waste it on repairs."

"Oh, sorry," I said. "I was only knocking a bit hard so you'd know I'm here."

Don Bortelli let out a chuckle and let me into his house. I looked around, seeing the marble tile floor and the leather couch before me. The walls were painted a beige tint, with the wooden ceiling fans sparkling as if they were brand new. I followed the Don into what I assumed was either his study or his office or both.

"Now, Mr. Silverbane, is it?" he addressed me. "You want to become a member of the Crimson Gavel. May I ask why you're taking such a risk?"

"I have some Cryptic Guard issues I need help with plus I need a way to make money," I said. "The Crimson Gavel seems like it'd be a good place to start for an Anti-Cryptic Guard kind of deal."

"Oh?" he chuckled. "You think it's that easy to get into the Crimson Gavel, the biggest criminal organization in Mortion? Hell, maybe even all of Krater. It isn't that easy, kid. There are trials. And these trials could take quite a while. Though that's why there are ranks. A couple of oddjobs as we'll label ya as a Lackey, though you also need a primary family to answer to. It can't be mine because, hey, I already like you and I can't show favoritism." He then looked through a catalogue on his laptop, stroking his large chin. "Ah, yes. The Vinchi family. They haven't had a Lackey in a while. I'll put you with them. Though do understand that the Vinchi family will be your primary family to report to. Do any job they ask, without questions. However, that doesn't exclude other families from giving you jobs as well."

"So I'm a multi-family Lackey, but more toward Vinchi?" I asked, a bit puzzled.

"Well, yes," Don Bortelli nodded. "Though if one family wants to start a fight with another, you come to me first before doin' anything one of the families told ya to do. Got it?"

I silently nodded to tell him that I did understand.

"Good," he continued. "Now I need you to go see Don Vinchi. I'll tell him you're comin' by. You need a ride? You can take one of my Hoover Bikes." He then tossed me a key, which I had little time to react to, but still caught.

"Yes, sir," I nodded and began to head for the door.

"Oh and Silverbane, nice suit," he chuckled. "Perhaps there's more in this business for ya already if ya kiss ass like that all the time."

I let out a small chuckle before leaving the house, heading toward the garage and found the Hoover Bike that the key went to. I sighed and climbed onto it after grabbing a helmet. I hadn't actually ridden a Hoover Bike before, but there was a first time for everything. I grabbed the throttle as the bike turned on, gulping. I made sure the garage door was fully open and I was doing one last check to make sure I was secure when suddenly... VROOM! I had accidentally kicked the acceleration pedal and while adjusting my feet, I fully stepped on it. I sped out of the garage as if I was being chased by the Cryptic Guard itself. Frantically, I tried to adjust myself to hit the brake, but couldn't due to the speed I had quickly accumulated. I muttered various forms of vulgar language as I tried to gain control over the Hoover Bike. When I finally did, I looked up and gasped, trying to slam onto the brakes as the Hoover Bike smashed into a guard rail, sending me flying forward and landing on top of a food stand, destroying it and crushing quite a bit of the food underneath me. I groaned and tried to stand; finding it quite difficult given the condition the landing had put me in. I looked around, noticing the hundreds of stares and the angry food stand owner.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing!?" the owner yelled.

"Surviving a massive flip," I answered, in a tone that tried to make it obvious that yelling at me wasn't going to solve anything.

"I don't know if you've noticed, by you crushed my business," the owner snapped. "I should press charges against you! Don't give me that 'it was an accident' crap either. You're like every other Hoover Bike punk around here, always destroying property. I should call the Cryptic Guard to haul your ass to prison!" "Sir, kindly shut the hell up," I snapped back at the owner. It did cause the man to look at me in disbelief as I told him that. "I'm in pain right now, so the least I can worry about is your unnecessary complaining. I know the law. Every vendor out here has an automatic insurance plan if any accidents happen. If they don't, then that means they're operating illegally. Now, if you were operating illegally without the insurance, I'd understand the attitude but you'd also be arrested."

The man just growled at me now and was about to say something before he just turned and ran away, assumingly as fast as he could. That did show some insight that perhaps he was an illegal street vendor, not licensed by the Cryptic Guard - whom took about 45% of the profits anyway from street vendors. I brushed what I could off of my suit and walked back over to my Hoover Bike, making sure it was in Park Mode before pulling it off of the ground. I typed in Don Vinchi's name into the on board GPS and immediately it beeped, pointing to a building next to me.

"Well, that was convenient," I chuckled to myself. I parked the bike and headed into the building, looking around.

It was an apparent office building, which had the list of floors next to the elevator of which business was on what floor. I found Vinchi's Cleaning Service on the fifth floor and decided to take the elevator there as I will admit that I was too lazy to climb the stairs.

After the ride in the elevator, I approached one door and knocked on it. I then jumped back when I did hear a bang and a man shout that he curses trash cans before he opened the door.

"What?" he asked, clearly angry at the aforementioned trash can. He was another large man, perhaps another Festo. He was perhaps half the size of Don Bortelli, in both height and girth. He sported purple fur, with a somewhat fresh scar on his left cheek. He narrowed his eyes, apparently an impatient type as I did hesitate at first to give my answer.

"I'm Lane Silverbane," I said quickly, regaining myself. "I've been sent by Don Bortelli, as I'm Don Vinchi's new Lackey."

"Oh?" he asked, chuckling. "Fresh blood? That hasn't happened in ten years. I'm Don Vinchi, boy. Come on in. Pat here needs to search ya, makin' sure you ain't got any trackin' devices on ya." He walked over to a computer and clicked something on screen as Pat put me against the wall and began to, well, pat me down. "Ah, I see. Going for Cryptic Guard Immunity, eh? You'll learn more about the specifics of that perk later. For now, let's just introduce ourselves. Silverbane, as I've said, that's Pat. He'll sometimes give you jobs and accompany you on them. Though my son Sprock mostly helps hand out and accompanies those on the job. Mostly we collect payments, issue 'messages' for late payments and so on."

"Payments?" I asked as Pat finished searching me and I turned to face Don Vinchi.

"Payments," he reiterated. "We collect money, mostly, Silverbane. These people pay for protection against vandals and you and I both know the Cryptic Guard ain't gonna give it to 'em without takin' even a bigger slice of their store's pie."

"So it's not just street vendors that they take a percentage of the profit from?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They're more like a legal version of our system," he chuckled. "Only if ya don't pay after a certain extension, we cap your ass and put you six feet under. The maximum delay, with a 25% interest fee, is a month after the intial payment is due. However, if any of the Dons take pity on that person, we extend it another month, but it turns into a 50% interest fee. You get two extra months to come up with more than enough cash to avoid sleepin' underground. Sounds fair to me."

I simply nodded slowly, letting him talk. I wasn't going to screw up and voice my opinion. I was perhaps the lowest rank in the organization. My opinion would only mean risking myself "sleeping underground".

"Good, it seems like you understand that, Silverbane," he chuckled. "This is how collection jobs will go. Either Pat or my boy will accompany you, perhaps doing the talking. However, if they ask for an extension, you call me on your Communicator. I can tell when someone's lyin'. Though there may be the occasional good poker face. If I suspect somethin', then I may send you back durin' closin' time and break in to see if they are actually lyin'. No objections to that?"

I shook my head as I still only listened. I then watched him pull out a powerful military grade laser pistol as he slid it toward me.

"Lucky for you, it's my last good gun," he smirked. "Keep it on ya at all times. It's got the symbol for the Crimson Gavel. It should keep the pesky Cryptic Guard at bay for a bit. It's not giving you that Immunity perk, but it will use the power of suggestion to seem like you are indeed high enough rank to earn Immunity." I took the gun and looked it over before grabbing the holster and fashioned it around my waist, under my coat. I then sheathed it, barely in time before being startled by the door being slammed open.

"I got the ice cream guy that's been tryin' to ask for an extension again," a muscular Festo growled as he carried a shivering Kreemer, whom had a lighter red skin tone than Jack did. He was skinnier than even myself, meaning he apparently didn't eat much. I assumed this muscular Festo, however, was Sprock, Don Vinchi's son.

"Good," Don Vinchi chuckled. "Explain yourself, Alamode. Why ain't you got the money yet? You're doin' good business, ain't ya?"

"Oh, y-yes, sir," Alamode nodded, gulping. "It's just.... We sell ice cream at such low prices, that it's taking a bit longer. We can't raise prices without... you filling out paperwork."

"I won't give a damn about paperwork if it means getting our money faster and on time from now on," Don Vinchi snapped. "Ya got one last chance, you sniveling sun-chasing ant. By the end of the month, with 50% interest. And sell your products at triple the price. This city's rich. It can afford it."

Alamode gulped and quickly nodded, though I had noticed a fear in his eyes as if raising the prices that high would perhaps make his ice cream shop fail. Sprock was grinning at it, however, before tossing Alamode into the hall.

"Who's the new blood?" he asked as he shut the door. "I don't like 'em. He's got snitch written all over him."

"Easy now, boy," Don Vinchi chuckled. "According to what Bortelli sent me, he's an ex-Cryptic Guard perhaps looking for some payback. Though he also came from Jack and Jack's never sent us bad eggs before."

"Ex-Cryptic Guard, eh?" Sprock asked, eyeing me up and down. "I bet that makes him think he's a goddamn hotshot. Well, listen, buddy boy, you ain't nothin' until you move up from Lackey. Even I'm higher rank than you are. The only thing I gotta say about you that's remotely nice is perhaps an impressive job on escaping the Cryptic Guard, though they probably have more people to frame than they care about catching you." He chuckled as I seemed to show that I was affected by that statement.

"You know about them framing people?" I asked.

"Of course, the entire organization knows," he sighed. "Figures a soldier would be fed lies. We don't give a damn about it because it doesn't hurt our business. They do stay away from the businesses we own. It's usually innocent civilians that are targeted."

I began to say something before I remembered that I was dealing with the Crimson Gavel, not just some verbal argument. I looked around, sighing a bit gently as I just waited for that tidbit of information to pass my better judgment.

"If you two are through, I got a few collection jobs for ya to do," Don Vinchi chimed in.

"Oh yeah, sorry, Pop," Sprock said, grabbing the list. "Come on, newbie. Time to go point guns and collect money."

I waited until I turned away from the Don and Sprock couldn't see me as I rolled my eyes, following him out into the building and eventually out of the building.

"First stop's a place called Pod's Emporium," he said. "Ya probably never been there 'cause Cryptic Guard soldiers are rarely mingling with the public."

"I know what it is," I said. "I haven't been there, no, but I know it's some sort of car dealership. Why do they need protection?"

"Ya kiddin' me?" he sighed. "Criminals always jack cars, newbie. Start thinkin' otherwise you'll be another Pat. Maybe good with a gun, but certainly not good with logical thinking."

To be honest, that remark was indeed beginning to make me not like Sprock that much more. He walked me to a two person Skylark, a sports hover car. It shined in the sunlight as if was brand new. The typical red paint had a chrome finish, with the red becoming orange on the bottom half of the Skylark. I climbed into the passenger seat, as he climbed into the driver's seat. With the key immediately in the ignition, he revved the engine quite loudly. He then sped off toward the Emporium, seeming to avoid some traffic laws if the lane and roads were clear. I sighed with relief as I was indeed wearing my seatbelt as he sharply turned about three times, and then floored it once we hit a straightaway. He was indeed a reckless driver and I don't think anyone was happier than I was when we finally stopped at our destination.

"Get out and sweet talk the idiot," he ordered. "You're the Lackey, you gotta listen" I nodded and tried not to sigh before I climbed out of the car. I looked up at the Emporium and shrugged, heading toward the entrance now. Apparently the customers did see my gun and even though I wasn't reaching for it, they still scattered and stayed out of my way as I made it inside. I looked around in the clean Emporium, noting all of the cars were vacant and lacking a sales representative. Instead of bluntly shouting that I was looking for somebody, I decided to use my detective skills. It wasn't that hard though, as the 'boss' stood out like a sore thumb. He wore a plaid overcoat, with a matching hat. He had a thick beard around his face, though he was clearly a Lunga, a basic feline version of the Promus. They weren't friendly with one another either.

I approached him in a normal walking pace, though I did notice his reaction when he finally did spot my gun. I blinked, being caught off guard with him shoving an employee toward me and beginning to dart for the exit. I didn't say a word as I ran past the employee, jumping over a couple of the steps to the stairs ahead of me. He knocked over a large mascot statue, causing me to have to time a jump. I did jump and barely made it over the bronze statue made to look like a strange Festo lumberjack. I caught the man going through the backdoor in the corner of my eye and regained my balance, heading toward the door. I swung it open, dodging a couple of workers coming through with a giant box. I continued down the hallway, hearing the man's sneakers scuffing the tile floor. I turned the corner, to find three doors and no sign of which one he had entered.

I sighed and thought for a moment of which door could lead to something that wasn't an exit. Though my thoughts were interrupted by a sudden sneeze from the door on my left. I then opened it, blinking when it was just an office and a different man was working on something. I then groaned, being struck in the back of my head by a large object as I heard a loud laugh and scuffling again. I turned back, holding the back of my head to see the other two doors hid a closet and another office. I grumbled and headed back down the hall and after the man. I groaned as the pain was still there as I ran, sliding around the corner this time and trying to catch up to the idiot. I then I heard a loud groan and the scuffling stopped. I had to put on my own 'brakes' as I caught up and noticed Sprock holding the man by the neck and grinning.

"Givin' my buddy here trouble, eh?" he chuckled. "Looks like you clocked him with something. Maybe it was a bag of money? The very same one you owe the Crimson Gavel. You're two months overdue, ya mook."

The man seemed to gasp and groaned from Sprock's grip. "P-Please... I'll... I'll get your money," he groaned.

"After that stunt, you will and we'll be near you to shoot you if you do anything funny," Sprock said, practically dropping him onto the ground. He did aim his gun at the man, officially holding him at gunpoint.

The man groaned and stood up, holding his hands up as he headed toward his office and then opened his safe. Sprock placed his Communicator on top of it, as it would be used to calculate the amount owed times the 50% interest. There was a loud buzz, rather than a ding, from it only a few seconds later.

"The normal payment's been met, but not the 50% interest," Sprock growled. "You're hidin' money, aren't ya? This business makes more than enough money. Tell me now or you won't be livin' to sell another damn car."

The man gasped and pointed above Sprock, where there was a painting hanging above the safe on the wall. Sprock humphed and pulled the painting off of the wall with great force, destroying it as soon as it hit the ground.

"Ah, another safe?" Sprock asked, holding the gun closer to the man's head now. "Open it. And you won't be havin' two safes anymore, got it? You can't swindle the Crimson Gavel, you stupid mook."

The man shivered and nodded, reaching up and unlocking the safe before pulling out the bag of money. He placed it into the safe, where the Communicator did finally ding, even saying there was about 100,000 Tin more than expected.

"Good," Sprock said. "Now empty it out into the bag with the Crimson Gavel logo on it and from now on, you put money in this specific bag. Got it?"

The man tried not to sniffle as he nodded, emptying the money into the nearby Crimson Gavel sack. He groaned when he was shoved into the wall when the sack was full. Sprock tied it and picked it up, heading out of the room and past me. I nodded and followed, feeling a bit bad as it left this Emporium owner with only 100,000 Tin for two months' worth of profit. In a place like this, he had to have made over a million Tin very easily.

"That's why you always use your gun, newbie," Sprock scoffed. "I don't know what you were trying to do, but clearly it ain't workin'. Start actually usin' that gun. I'm sendin' ya in quite a few times and we still got a few more stops before we can call it a day."

I nodded and looked down at the gun still in my holster. I wasn't a stranger to firearms, obviously, but I still didn't feel right about this. I had to swallow my pride, however, if I wanted the official Cryptic Guard Immunity. I climbed back into the Skylark, looking over the list as it did detail various locations with certain due dates. The one that stood out to me was Impersonal and the address - the same one that I had gotten my suit from.

Impersonal's debt was to be collected tomorrow, as they were at the 50% mark like the Emporium was. All I could think about was Marci now.