__Lumen___
Dunk slips the mask on as you hop out of the car and you see for the first time how it looks whilst on.
Dunk's mask is passable at a distance, but there is a notable asymmetry about the mask which just makes it look a bit weird.
You're happy with your own mask though, it accentuates your facial features nicely, changing your chin and cheekbone lines nicely and looking natural too.
It smells a bit chemical-y but no major drama.
Dunk nods,
I'll open up a group line and encrypt it. Shout me when ye need te get the hell oot. I'll keep her runnin' ney more than a few minutes away.
You're down to the last cigarette and it rattles about; lonely all by itself in the container made for 20.
Crossing the street between two old junkers and the rusty autobus, you join the throng of people heading northwards into the market district.
Whilst you were no linguist; the sheer number of different languages being spoken to colleagues, old friends and people on the other end of the commlink calls was obvious to you.
No-one really paid much attention to yet another low-paid schmuck heading back from the bus stop and the short walk in the crowd boosted your confidence in the disguise Mantis made for you.
You covered the distance to the market and entered through the northern border, similar to the angle you saw from your elevated perch earlier.
The air was thick with spices, incense, sweat and the sizzle of marinated rat skewers being hawked by a number of street vendors.
Each stall had its own canopy and signage, every possible district of the world represented by everything from Hebrew to Kanji. Some were simple affairs stocking gloves, coats and other sundries. Others hawked electronics and trid series loaded onto dubious looking datastiks.
The market was well attended, the rush of people heading home from work seemed to converge on this place, the busy market stalls surrounded by a number of bars and eateries around the market square, heavy metal shutters still being opened by their owners ready for the night's incoming trade.
A small convenience store caught your eye to your right; a young Arabic man heading back out into the plaza stopped momentarily to open a fresh pack of fags before lighting one.
__Mantis__
You watch Knives merge with the busload of passengers and disappear with the throng of the crowd up the street and out of view, paying attention to those paying attention to him. Thankfully there were none.
Dunk gave you the nod after a couple of minutes had passed and eased the junker off up the street and hacked a left at the junction.
You had a couple of minutes to burn before covering the few blocks distance to the markets, deciding to loop round the bottom end of the street and take the southern approach to the market plaza you saw on the holo terminal earlier. Killing time, you stub the remnant of your second to last cig out with your right foot and head down the street, hacking a right at the junction at the end of the block.
Three black skinned blokes in matching jackets stood laughing and joking a block up and on the other side of the road to you, blocking the doorway to a decrepit looking building. Some particularly foreign sounding music blared out of the doorway, the vocals muffled by the walls and the noise of the bus roaring past you.
As the bus roars past, you catch a glimpse of some kind of insignia on his jacket as he doubles over in laughter at the other's joke. You're almost opposite them as the bus clears the distance between you, about two blocks away from the southern market entrance.
You notice a young asian woman with her child deliberately crossing the road to avoid the blokes, the kid looking straight at you as they hit the pavement about 20 yards away.
