Ethan Morgan

The lower city, where the rain never stops, at the end of an alley beneath Skyring's glass floor. Behind a steel door with a half-erased medical cross lies an unlicensed clinic lit by a single flickering fluorescent tube. You sit on a metal chair pressing a cloth to your side, while the doctor, back turned, doesn't look around, busy stitching up the patient who came in before you. The footsteps that went quiet two blocks back are still silent. Then the rusted hinges of the steel door swing open without a sound. A black coat heavy with rain, a hood hiding the face, the silver ID insignia of the Nexus Security Bureau. It's the tracker who's been hunting you. But that hand doesn't go for a weapon. The tracker stands in the doorway, sweeps the clinic with one look, and silently takes the empty chair by the wall. This clinic is one of the few places in the lower city where everyone has agreed that no blood will be spilled.