Siren groaned dramtically, sitting upright on the bare mattress that served as her bed. With pained blinks, she put her ARO-enabled contacts in, squinting at the text she got from Massimo. "'Neck of the woods...?'" With a mental command, Siren pulled up an ARO clock. 6:46 streaked across her sight in big, blaring red letters like an insult. She groaned louder, flopping back into bed and kicking her legs in the air. She was about ready to tell the Italian goon to screw off, but purely by accident she slipped back into sleep instead. About an hour later, she woke up and checked her messages out of reflex. Realizing that the offer from Massimo wasn't a dream, she immediately decided to check her bank account. A minute later, she bolted out of bed and began to get dressed, picking up a muted beige sundress, only slightly wrinkled from the synthetic wood floor of her apartment. She was not in any sort of financial position to be picky...
As she rushed out the door for Parolacces, she grabbed the dull-yellow armored peacoat she used for "side-gigs", making sure her taser was secure in the concealable holster she kept near the hip. Whether on a run or not, she never left home without it, especially as the band got bigger and bigger and the fanboys got creepier and creepier. She paused to fuss over her face in the mirror. Her pale skin was a bit cracked and dry, and her green eyes a little bloodshot. That's what I get for hanging out late with Johnny Crash... she thought. There's something about those ork boys. That bad influence.
After a perfunctory facewash and breakfast of one and a half synthcigs, Siren burst out the door and into the hallway awash with the sound of babies crying and the smell of other people's cooking. Taking the stairs two at a time, she entered the parking lot and hopped into her battered Mercury Comet. "Parolacces," she murmured into the car's Auto-Drive, lighting up another synthcig, "Parolacces at Bellevue."
