Burgundy loped along the street, in the growing shadow of the el-way. Her buds buzzed in her ears, filling her with thumping bass and blazing strings. Not many dared trade away hearing, but under the cross-and-crescent and a stellar reputation, Burgundy was one of very few who traveled Moscow without fear.

Her short brown curls bounced as she bobbed in time to the beat. She heard a noise behind her, muffled by the buds. Turning she saw two humans, calmly standing in the swirling dust. Their gasmasks hid any clue of appearance or expression, but their posture was non-threatening, if tense (more fear than aggression). They were clearly day-walkers, since, well, it was day (if only just), but they didn't seem to be Patriots. They were young, for one thing, and though the smaller carried an AR, it let the gun hang from its strap. Her assessment was proven when a robot stepped from the shadows and joined them.

Burgundy had removed her buds during her analysis and begun swinging them slowly. She smiled easily. "What can I do to help?"

"Um, what?" He was a he, apparently. Under 20.

"How can I help?"

"Help with what?" Inexperienced, uncomfortable.

"That thing you got my attention to ask about. You know, the reason you're talking to a Med?"

"Oh." Bit thick.

"Yeah...."

"Um...." Dear god, man, say something.

"Dear god, man, say something."

"You're a medic, right?" For fuck's sake.

"Yeah, that's what the big ol' Cross-n-Crescent on back means."

"Er, yeah. Sorry, just a... intro thing." Eh. Understandable. Still annoying.

"Okay."

"Excuse me," the other human stepped forward. A she, this one. Her voice sounded off, slightly. It could have been explained away but the combination of her mask and accent (French), but was more likely caused by a physical abnormality of the lips, tongue, or throat. Injury possibly. Likely, even. Reason to approach her? Unlikely but possible. Shortened index finger on right glove, but that pointed to an old injury.

"Yes?"

"Are you for real?" What?

"What?"

"Three people walk up behind you in an alley and you don't even react?" Definitely inexperienced. Frighteningly so.

Burgundy ignored the girl, looking instead to the robot, who wore a shocked expression from her companion's display.

"You would've stopped them, right?"

She nodded. Then hesitated. Then winced. Then nodded again.

"Good girl. What's your name?"

"That's Cappy. Cappuccino, actually." Eh? Eww…

"Yeah, I asked her. What's your name?"

<Cappy, she just said.> Really.

<Really? Why?>

< It's my name? I…like it? I don't understand.> Okay then.

<Don't worry about it. My name is Burgundy Elms, it's nice to meet you. While I'm not a licensed doctor, I am a med-school grad with one year of hospital experience and seven of field surgery.>

The human girl stepped forward again. "Hey, some of us can't read sign that fast."

"I said 'I'm not a real (she added air-quotes to the word) doctor, but I have the experience.'"

"It's not really your experience we're after." Oh?

"Interesting."

"Tell 'er, Peter."

The boy looked like a middle schooler called up to the board. He shuffled. "Uh, you know how they say Med's police their own?" Again with the "intro-thingies." Regardless....

"Yes?"

He set his shoulders and rallied slightly, but his arms stayed stiff at his sides. "Well, is it true?" What are you kids up to?

"Yes."

Peter was getting into it now. His hands left his sides. "There's this guy, a real creep. Hostile, greasy, but impossible to read."

"You just described more that have the living city, including a few close friends of mine." Little Cappuccino stood off to the side, shuffling shyly, but Burgundy could see her eyes sweeping the street and windows.

The boy was unfazed by her sarcasm. He took a while to get a good run up, but it looked like he might be competent after all. "He's always buying weird stuff: IV's, sleeping pills, painkillers, ladies clothes...."

"So.... what? He's a hoarder and a crossdresser?"

"We don't know exactly, but something's off about the guy. Everyone can see it, especially the ladies and robbies. He stares at them. No, not at them, sorta through them? It's unnerving." Bunny started feeling cold. "Anyway, he's a Med, and he's never actually done anything, as far as we 'know,' so nobody can do anything."

Bunny combed her fingers through her hair. "You got anything else about him? His name? Physical description?"

"Uh, American. Kinda rat-looking, with his weird beard. Name's uh, Oscar Something." Fuck!

"Kristof."

"What?"

"That's the fucker's name. Of course he's alive, the fucking lizard. Born to skitter and crawl under rocks..."

"So, um, you know him?" Mister fucking hesitant is back again.

"No, not at all." Bunny's sarcasm sloshed rather than dripped.

"So we were right." The girl'd stepped back in to cover Peter's sudden, but apparently expected, drop in charisma.

"Probably. I don't know (she dropped air-quotes again). He dodged a half-dozen harassment suits, and at least as many work-place complaints."

"A doctor?"

"EMT. Former OR nurse. I think he served a tour in Europe."

"Good resume, pity he's an ass-head."

"Excellent resume; it's the only reason real he never got charged."

~Sun's down,~ Cappuccino whistled, ~Dust's dying.~

"Shit, I'm supposed to be home pretty soon."

"What about Fuckhead?" Outside of Peter's moments of confidence, the girl appeared to be the leader.

"Can you meet me here tomorrow?"

"Same time?"

"Later, I'll bring friends."

"Two hours after sunset then?"

"Sounds good. Oh. We haven't been introduced."

"Oh right. You're Burgundy, I'm Jana."

"Nice to meet you."