Trying the phone numbers first as I make my way back to a train station. The first one is a disconnected number. The second one is picked up by some gal speaking the soft form of Roarkian, which I can’t speak and I’m damn sure the orc can’t speak either. The third one though, the third I get a nibble on. It’s a voice mail, and the voice is male. See what I did there with the voice mail thing. Okay I know it wasn’t that good, but come on, not bad for a gumshoe right? Right? Alright fine be that way. Anyways the voice I get, which tells me “No answer phone now, leave message.” is a gruff, guttural male voice which I’m pretty sure is my orc pal. So I hit the track and receive app on my phone.
I love how that name is open source now. Apple tried to trademark the name, back in the day. Then other companies started challenging the trademark and Apple tried to take them to court. The ensuing lawyer-witch battles destroyed a large sector of Wall Street, and ultimately Steve Jobs lost half his soul to the Rand Corporation. What Rand has been doing with it I don’t know, but Apple’s new iHat is pretty badass so no loss on productivity on that side of the fence.
My little phone application basically just leaves a really long voice mail, which is composed of a bunch of random jingles from the 1950’s for products that don’t exist anymore. During the playing of the jingles the application sends a trojan to the voice mail location. The trojan sits there, like trojans do, and waits for the voice mail caller to call the voice mail. When they do, it then goes out to the voice mail owner’s phone and send’s back their phone’s location to my phone. Pretty sweet tracking device, as long as the schlomo actually checks their voice mail. I’ve found that where dirt bags are concerned you’ve got a 50/50 shot of them checking their voice mail. Except for drug and ‘tion dealers, they always check their mail.
In the mean time, I’ve gotten on the train and am headed toward address the first. Address the first is in a not so good part of town…you know now that I think about it the not so good parts of town outnumber the good parts of town like ten to one. Anyways, it’s a border zone. Residential district that borders a heavy orc district on two sides and a heavy dwarf zone on the other. Yeah, now that I think about it, why the hell am I going there again? Oh right, cause I have to kill some orc thug boy, wonderful.
I step off the train, and the old familiar heat wave washes over my exposed skin. I’m tensing up expecting the shock wave but it never comes. I open my eyes and look around. No fire or shrapnel to be seen. Oh wait, I see it now, it’s not an explosion, it was just the exhaust port of a passing dwarven tank. I call it a tank instead of car because most cars don’t have modified howitzers and armor plating attached to them, and what just passed me had both. Another wonderful day in The Drag. I pull up the phone and attached my eye-ear piece. Okay, lets see, about 15 minutes up Drag St., then left, right, left, and then right. Now lets put the eye-ear piece away before those orc youths over there decide that the little money I have on me really belongs to them and I’ve just been keeping it warm in my pockets. And now once more into the breach.
