Onward!: Chapter 2 - Part. 2

Dwight did not expect to see Deacon Smith out of his armor. He sat in the left hand corner of the room in darkness. Only the orange burn of a cigarette could be seen until he leaned forward into the light. Deacon wore the Skinsuit that was worn beneath any suit of armor. There were various plugs and hose feeds for the suit to connect to. Sitting at the other end of the conference room was the Mark 1 armor. It sat in a chair and leaned against the wall like some sleeping sentry. Dwight's forehead broke out in beads of perspiration.
"You remember that don't you? The way the suit gave you claustrophobia when you were sealed into it and the helmet came on. You remember the first time you vomited into your faceplate only to have the damn thing clean itself and smell like it was brand new. I know I remembered even before I put it on. Sit down Dwight," Smith said.
"Yeah, yeah I do Deacon. Now let's talk about what happened," Dwight said. He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small black ball that resembled a marble. He placed it on the table and pressed his fingers on its sides. A red light came from inside the sphere and it hovered above the table and stopped at the level of their mouths.
"Fancy, Orb Recorder from RugashiCorp., huh? I didn't think journalists made enough to pay for tech like that?" Smith said.
"We're online and the feed is open, so I suggest we begin. How does it feel to be called a City Hero Operator Smith?" said Dwight. He reached into his jacket pocket again and produced a cigarette.
Deacon Smith stood up and limped towards the table in front of Dwight Anders. He sat down and smashed his cigarette into one of the stainless steel ashtrays.
"Well Dwight, I'll tell you how I feel. I think it's a waste of time for people to call me a hero. I killed a man on the roof to get inside and that isn't something a hero does," said Smith. He paused a moment. "That's why I shouldn't be a hero. No room for them in this world anymore," Smith said.
"Tell me something then about the Drighton Spaceport Massacre then, or at least the key question that everyone has on their mind. Tell me where the disc that incriminates Marshal Amon is?" Dwight said.


Previously on Onward!...

"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.