Lancers IC Thread

The 'bots trip Sandpiper as he follows his compatriots into the alley. Strangely Burroughs is nowhere to be seen. With Terror instantly going to stand watch at over the fallen one, the other two find themselves boxed in. Panicky, they are obviously not ready to take on a coordinated Lance. The one in blue looks at the one in red, and both nod. In unison they say, "The wave crests." Moments later, foam emerges from their mouths as they fall lifeless to the ground.

From a ledge above, the Detective says, "Not bad. We never got one alive before."

Two hours later. CED temporary Chapterhouse, formerly the Anaphora Hotel.

---

Burroughs is frustrated. The suspect is docile. Compliant, and remaining utterly silent. Absolutely no trace of toxins found despite a thorough medical exam. As she paces outside the Conference Room 1, which has had a handwritten sign saying "Interrogation 1" taped to it, a uniformed officer brings her a folder. "What the hell."

She gets a bottle from a cleaning supplies cupboard, storms into the room, and squirts it on Sandpiper's arm. The tattoo ink runs and fades to nothing. "OK. Want to tell me what is really going on here?"

He sighs, then shrugs. "Recognition code: Paraprosdok. Chiasmus. Hypophor. DDS 001 point nine."

Burroughs slumps. "You're Accordance Patrol. Of course you are."

He nods. "Major Carl Verran. I was undercover with the Wave, trying to get to Syne. We couldn't risk letting Enforcement know, because very few people are immune. I have a particular genetic mutation that makes it impossible for me to be indoctrinated by exposure."

Her comm beeps. "I'll be back." Verran nods, and says "I was expecting that. Tell your commanding officer I am comfortable and being well treated." He sits at relative ease as she storms past the Lance.

Your comms beep. Incoming message from the Fugue.