A Difference of Opinion

[tomcat]

Fuckin' rain. Always fuckin' rain.

Wylde squeezed the packet of hot sauce into his ramens. How many was this, three? It was a habit he had formed while aboard the Scylla - a UN drop ship - during his time with the CDP. The rations they had to eat then... well it required every bit of flavoring you could find. Now back on Earth, it was mostly salt and some other artificial flavoring - chicken or beef - and that was just not enough.

The packet squeezed empty and the brothy ramens went darker red. Rett stirred it a little with the chop sticks and then proceeded to shovel the noodles into his mouth. Not bad, he thought, even as he smiled to himself that the Noodle shop owner had had enough money to afford a Persian cat! Definitely a synth, but still, That's irony!

He stood under a canopy, street level, while he ate. His spinner was parked about five vehicles down from him, but there was nowhere dry nearby it and he didn't want to sit inside. He preferred being outside most vehicles now. Feeling the G-force affect you, as a drop-ship fell into a planet's atmosphere... yea, he experienced that enough. Rain or not, Rett preferred it outside.

His mind continued to wander while he ate. The difference of LA on Earth compared to Rust-Vaal on Calantha - one world of continuous sunshine and desert heat, to this shit hole where the rainfall is measured in months.

Wylde shook his head. He was one year into this new job with the RDU - five if you included his off-world excursions in the CDP. From behind him, someone yelled out an insult in Chinese. Well, he thought it was Chinese. Could have been Korean, or some other bastardization of every language spoken in this city. There was no gunshots, so he ignored it.

Another mouthful of ramen.

One year and already one desk-duty. The fucker hadn't listened. It wasn't his fault that the man wouldn't drop his weapon. There was now a hole in the skull where the man's brains had been. Should've listened, he told the ghost for the thousandth time.

Needless to say there was an inquest into the event. Two weeks off - no badge, no weapon. Talking to a fucking shrink. Mandatory desk duty for what had seemed like forever, but was all of six weeks. Now Wylde was back on the street doing what he knew how to do.

His KIA chirped in his pocket and Rett cursed as he spilled hot broth on his hand and coat reaching for it. He saw the screen and the channel that was calling - Holden.

He tapped to answer, "Wylde."

[Eclecticon]

Sorry for the delay.  A post will be up later today.