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"...I work in the same district at a company that uses THAT thing. Those things are probably EVERYWHERE around here and I can't do anythin' about it." Clover mutters. You don't think he even remembers he was in a conversation with you. "I worked in FACILITIES with that thing."
You decide to interject. "To my knowledge, every Company has a fucked up Singularity or a Singularity that can enable fucked up shit. I can't say specifics in case, you know, a spook or something is listening but...I doubt you can find anything better."
This snaps Clover out of it. "I suppose not. Maybe it was all of that magical girl talk ringin' in my head. It's not like I don't know this but, I dunno, felt like I was turning into that Wendy gal."
"Pft. What, no? You're not foaming at the mouth-" You're interrupted by a series of alarms and whistles blaring from the Shooting Range. You glance up at the point counter at the back of the range- Wait, 42 points? The cardboard cutout promptly spits out $350 and a handful of ammo. Nice, profit of $100.
>+$100, +4 REVOLVER AND PISTOL ROUNDS
Clover lets out a low whistle. "Nice! I actually set the max to around 60? That's the highest I ever got but most don't even get past 20!"
You place the pellet revolver back onto the table. It quickly disappears, leaving you only with your rewards. "Didn't know I had that in me. Just did it automatically. Anyways, look, Clover. I know what you saw in there must've been bad but..."
"I know. I can't exactly get up and leave this district. I guess it's just another source of motivation for me now; To make the folks stuck here with me happy, ya know?" He hands over your rewards, which you quickly pocket.
The two of you begin to walk over to the Mahjong table. Mostly because he's following after you
"I respect that. Maybe that's the only thing you can do, you know?"
"I know. Just sucks that every day that passes, I see a bit more wrong with the world. REFINEMENT, those spooks...I guess I just have to step up and be the hero everyone needs."
"Sadly, you can't stop time at a whim. Else you would probably be a Color or something."
"Pft. Yah, that's fair. I gotta do bother some other folks but thanks for the talk. Helped to clear my mind."
He takes his leave, leaving you to approach the Mahjong table by yourself. The table, which had four players before, now only has three. Seems like they're waiting for someone to play their bizarre fucking game.
You promptly sit down. Before the three T-Corp residents, each of which is a tattoo-coated gangster with overly stylish white business suits on, can start the game you notice someone approaching. Quentin.
He looks a lot better than he was a mere hour ago. Most of the damage you've done to his shell has been patched up, even including a new eye in place of the one you blew out. The only sign that he's not what he appears to be is how tattered up his ETF uniform is and some stitches all over his body. Seems like those new organs are working well.
