[As soon as he realizes they're mutual acquaintances you're doomed, bird boy.]
Makes you wonder who's that invested in keeping him off our plate.
[Someone made sure he got himself sick on his own bad medicine and then turned him loose. Or maybe he escaped. Either way, that screams loose end. If whoever he was working with wanted him to be their scapegoat, they'd be best served by making sure he's properly out of his head before he gets found. Nikora's pretty local, though. If word got out that he's a wanted man, he might have enough friends to try and hide him.
He finishes off the rest of the pastry and dusts the sugar off his hands, reaching into a pocket to pull out his scifi smartphone equivalent and pulling up what they've got on Nikora's supposed movements over the past few days. The places they've covered, stories they've collected, actual (scarce) evidence they've found that he's still on the right moon.
If they work off Damian's hunch and assume that keeping him somewhere populated would have made him easier to find, eliminate the larger clinics—he taps the screen—]
There's at least three hole in the wall clinics in the city proper that we haven't hit. This one hasn't been requesting much in the way of aid since the warrant went out. Either they've got some real impressive stockpiles to dip into or they care a whole lot about going under the radar.
[Should have seen it before. Medicine is starting to trickle down, now, but since the cure is being ferried around by Killjoys and Company personnel alike, asking for help is asking for attention.]
no subject
Makes you wonder who's that invested in keeping him off our plate.
[Someone made sure he got himself sick on his own bad medicine and then turned him loose. Or maybe he escaped. Either way, that screams loose end. If whoever he was working with wanted him to be their scapegoat, they'd be best served by making sure he's properly out of his head before he gets found. Nikora's pretty local, though. If word got out that he's a wanted man, he might have enough friends to try and hide him.
He finishes off the rest of the pastry and dusts the sugar off his hands, reaching into a pocket to pull out his scifi smartphone equivalent and pulling up what they've got on Nikora's supposed movements over the past few days. The places they've covered, stories they've collected, actual (scarce) evidence they've found that he's still on the right moon.
If they work off Damian's hunch and assume that keeping him somewhere populated would have made him easier to find, eliminate the larger clinics—he taps the screen—]
There's at least three hole in the wall clinics in the city proper that we haven't hit. This one hasn't been requesting much in the way of aid since the warrant went out. Either they've got some real impressive stockpiles to dip into or they care a whole lot about going under the radar.
[Should have seen it before. Medicine is starting to trickle down, now, but since the cure is being ferried around by Killjoys and Company personnel alike, asking for help is asking for attention.]