The cigar tastes like citrus jalapeño and the smoke lingers for several minutes after each puff; you have to roll the window down so the driver can see. You ride through the dangerous area of the deadly part of town. At one stop light, a homeless Anu man staggers up to your driver's window, you roll down the window and let him have a silenced round from your handgun; he tumbles backward, bleeding out on the street. The Streets are rain slick and the blood makes a lazy river to the gutter.
Reaching into your pocket for a lighter you come across the small box that brought you out. A picture box, animated a little spark of flickering light, dancing out its messages: a girl in a tub, a razor, a shipping container. Nothing is making sense but the driver is still there, stop light still glowing red. Absent mindedly you get out and open the trunk where there is a tank of hydrogen and weather balloons; you inflate the balloons, attaching them to the indigent with cables.
You set him free...
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