Dinner Date

"You were lost." I blandly state to The Voice as the black cab cruises down a long street with large trees planted on each side, towards my dinner date with Hernandez and whomever my "co-star" is.

"I was not lost." The Voice protests, "The Commander gave the wrong GPS coordinates for the meeting point. I was merely following defective instructions."

"You should have just checked the address in the message." I state.

The Voice stubbornly digs in, "Then why bother having GPS coordinates in the first place? That is what the cab uses to navigate after all."

"You could have seen that we were at the wrong place just now." I point out.

"The LED lights strung throughout the trees by the side of the road interfered with the cab's sensors." The Voice rebuts.

"But those sensors are working now, while the cab is driving on the same road, surrounded by the same trees, bearing the same LED lights." I comment in a deadpan tone.

"Yes." The Voice confirms.

"Really?" I ask while holding back giggles.

"Really." The Voice says waspishly, "Now stop bothering me about it. We are at your destination."

I check the revolver securely fastened in its concealed carry holster and button the brown blazer over it as the cab stops before a roast chicken restaurant. My stomach starts to rumble as I climb out of the cab. I hope Hernandez ordered plenty to eat, I was once again getting tired of The Voice's bland cooking.

"You really like the whole brown blazer and trousers combo huh? You prepared the exact same clothes for me while I was at the Academy as well." I comment to The Voice as I make my way to the restaurant's entrance.

"It makes you look professional and inoffensive." The Voice explains, "Also, I had already readied the templates for those clothes. It makes the outfit easier and less tiring to spawn."

Templates eh? So that was why The Voice is so stingy with the equipment it had been providing me. Crafting atomic death ray pistols or blazing swords of justice for me was out of its budget. Still, I can't believe that a revolver was the only thing within its price range.

"Are things really that tight for you?" I ask, slightly concerned. The Voice is either not doing as well as it had been claiming or it just doesn't want to invest too much in me. Both possibilities mean nothing good.

"Most of my power is reserved for emergencies." The Voice rasps, "For example, interfering in your battle with Master Chance for instance, or preventing Fate from creating new places of power. By deploying my strength in this fashion, I can accomplish what you cannot and provide you with a decisive edge whenever necessary."

I shrug, accepting The Voice's answer. It makes sense at the very least. As I push open the door to the restaurant, the smell of grease, meat and spices hits me. A waiter approaches me and I tell him that I am here on the invitation of Hernandez. As the waiter leads me to the back of the restaurant, I struggle to keep my mouth from watering or my stomach from embarrassing me. Hernandez has good taste in food at the very least.

The waiter takes me to a corner table for three right at the rear of the dining room where two men are seated there engaged in deep conversation. One of them matches the photo of Hernandez that The Voice had shown me. Dark skinned and sporting an anachronistic looking mustache, Hernandez looks like he's an bit part actor in some old timey movie. I got the impression that he was lean from the photo, but Hernandez is positively wiry. He either does not eat enough or has a body that does not put on weight easily. The man is also out and about in casual wear. So this is probably an off the books meeting.

Hernandez restlessly puffs on a cigar while speaking to his companion, a wrinkly old man whose shaved head reflects light like a mirror. Blemishes caused by age dot his entire face and his expression is weighed down by a constant look of fatigue and consternation. Wrinkles wears an expensive suit with a pin on the lapel. Initially impressive, I however quickly notice that the suit has not been ironed lately, with creases on it marring Wrinkles's appearance. Not bothered with appearances perhaps? Or is Wrinkles no longer able to afford being bothered about such things? Squinting, I notice that the pattern on the lapel matches the one worn by Delinquent back at the Academy.

So my "co-star" is from the Matsui family. Figures, going from what The Voice had told me previously. Hernandez waves the cigar about while urging his companion, "Look. You've got to stick with the program. Both of us are are in too deep to stop now. The only way out of the shit we are both in is going right through it."

Wrinkles frowns as he replies, "I'm running out of enforcers from the raids we mounted. The P5 taking over Six Trees and cutting us off from the rest of The City has also badly impacted our revenues. The family is on its last legs. You said bringing in the P5 would save us Hernandez. I'm not seeing it."

Hernandez quickly says, "The P5 is the only reason why you're not sitting in a jail cell right now. So when the P5 says jump, we ask how high. You get me? Or do you want your old ass to be snatched from your mansion by P5 commandos and dumped in front of SOPO HQ?"

"There you are!" Hernandez exclaims as he spots me approaching the table, "About time you got here. Waiter, you can start serving the food."

"And this is?" Wrinkles asks as he casts a thoroughly unimpressed glance at me as I am taking my seat at the table.

"Godfather Matsui, meet Daffyd Gallant. And vice versa." Hernandez lazily introduces.

"Gallant." Matsui muses, "My son told me about you. Said something about you hurting some of our family."

Before I can answer, Hernandez cuts in, "Hurt? This guy can do way more than just hurt someone. He's got serial killer credentials. Bona fide terrorist too."

"Hmm. And why is this man sitting here with us?" Matsui says as he narrows his eyes at Hernandez's colorful description of me.

"Should we even be talking about stuff like this in public?" I protest, "Not that any of it is true of course."

Hernandez laughs dismissively, "Relax. The other diners are all my people. Here as security. The owner of this place is also a friend of mine. He and his staff are discreet. As to why you're here, you are the external consultant I've been telling the Godfather about."

"External consultant." I repeat slowly.

"Yes. External consultant." Hernandez nods, "I'll go over the details of the job soon enough, but let's eat first. I'm hungry."

....

Hernandez is one of those guys that just don't put on weight easily. As he finishes off the roast chicken while Matsui and I look on with amazement at his appetite, the waiter passes me a sealed folder. Opening it, I see that it is a brochure for an upscale housing project called "Heaven on Earth". Phase two of the housing project to be precise. Going by the brochure, phase one had completely sold out, no small feat considering the prices being asked for those admittedly very nice looking bungalows.

"You familiar with the URI?" Hernandez asks me once he finishes wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Yeah." I answer, "Host property development project, buying up City land, chasing people away. What about it?"

Hernandez takes a sip from his glass of water before continuing, "Its more than just some property development project. Its the Host's round about way of building their City of God without getting their faces smashed in by either the P5 or the Legion. Once the URI is complete, its supposed to form a rune or glyph or something like that with Ascension Tower at the center."

Matsui makes a dismissive noise, "Urban myth. The URI is just the end result of The City allowing itself to be corrupted by Host money and promises. And the Host on its part is feeding off all the money sloshing about the URI. There is no need to attribute far fetched reasoning to an event when the obvious answer is staring at us right in the face."

Hernandez pounces on Matsui's response, "Then tell us about the promises the Host has been using to get their way."

Matsui hesitates at this challenge before saying, "Ascension. But that is most likely another urban myth surrounding the URI."

"That's a lot of urban myths." I comment, "What is ascension referring to anyway?"

Hernandez gives a mocking smile as he speaks in a sonorous voice, "That whoever believes in the Host shall not perish, but have eternal life."

"Immortality? Seriously?" I ask with my mouth agape. Is that even possible?

"Oh yeah." Hernandez agrees, "The Host has promised to take the Council on a trip to pierce the heavens."

"And we," he gestures at the three of us while continuing, "are going to bring all of them back down to earth."