Onward!: Chapter 2 - Part 1

"Life in the City, or Los Angeles, as we used to call it, is pretty damn fast. You stop to look around and admire the architecture and you'll find yourself in the Black ORs. Yeah, I said Black ORs. Operating Rooms that are run for the Black Market. Yes, even in the future we have these things. Over a hundred years worth of technology and googleplexes of money spent to create body parts and the High Enders always wind up paying black market prices," he said. He took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled through his nostrils.
"But you know what, I love it here. I love it here in the filth and stink of this tainted city. It's my home. And I'm the only journalist doing the City justice. So back the hell off me Macon Dean. I paid my debt to you and Deacon Smith asked for me and only me," said the man. He tossed his cigarette at Macon Dean's armored feet.
The eye-patched commander of the 7th Operator Precinct in Down Town Los Angeles crossed his immense forearms and sighed.
"Dwight, the only reason I tolerate your ass is because you helped me out once. You know that don't you?" Macon said. His icy blue eye looked Dwight Anders unwaveringly.
"I missed you too Macon," said Dwight. He hugged Macon tightly.
"He's in the conference room."
Dwight Anders was as much a celebrity as Deacon Smith now was. In fact they were the City's stars due to the request made by Deacon Smith after the Drighton Spaceport Massacre. Dwight pressed his hand onto the icy slab of metal on a cylindrical column in front of the conference room. A light at the top blinked red, then amber and finally cleared to blue. The double doors hissed open and closed quickly behind Dwight.
"You're late," Deacon Smith said.