(homicide? it sure sounded like it, watching the last of the man's synapses fire off in little twitches. his fingers are the last to quit, hei looking up from the body. he didn't suggest he kill him, but that's one way to shake the potential cop call, knowing the wireless connection the implant affords — learned through trial and error with several food stalls — is going as dead as its owner.

now he's the target, almost sighing out at the "favour" the man asks him for, attempting to resist with an ache in his chest that forces his legs into motion. hei wheels towards the wall, jaw tight around the curse he wants to spit but can't. that's an order too, a colourful one. so he's left speechless, stained fingers greeting the cold exterior of the multi-storey building obscuring them entirely from a view he'd surely have liked.

too bad.)

Who are you going to tell? No one's coming, since you did what I said. (in clear chinese, immediately translated by their own implants nestled beneath the months-old scars on the backs of their necks. this guy would've jetted out of the alley long before the cops came, anyway, he's well aware of that, but still — there's no leg either of them can stand on here. and his own are propped exactly a foot apart.)

I've got two pockets and both are full. It's all I've got on me.