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Slinging herself over what was to her, a chest high wall, she kept glancing back, “I don’t think you will; they get a better payout if they take you into custody alive.” She attempted to reassure by offering a less terrible bad scenario. Dahlia’s fate was only a small part of their conversation, for even she could get her priorities thrown out of whack.
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Continuing the vital investigation aspect of their investigation, she mused alongside her imperiled companion, “Singular shapeshifter fits.” She contributed, winding down narrow trash filled alleys. Ruminating on her own thoughts, she ran numbers in head, taking their own travel times into consideration. Stopping for a moment at an intersection, she put her calculated thoughts into far more tactile words, “I don't believe it is a full network; the times of the incident reports are consistent with travel and hypothesized execution times.” Her mind twisted, however, attempting to make sense of where the gap had laid. Eyes widening, it struck her, the one inconsistency across all the places of business they had gone to during this terrible night in an awful place, “Wait.” She abruptly and confoundingly uttered as she began crossing the stop-light assisted intersection, “There was an employee cleaning the tables in the Waffle restaurant! It must have been him!”
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This leg of the journey was far less calm and collected. It didn’t take long for the gun drones to fall upon them, and they were exactly what they were purported to be. Shooting first and sirens second, they opened fire on the duo, showing no concern for any other bystanders or places of business that may or may not be destroyed in the process. Putting the Superimposer to her eye, and slotted in a proper scene for this particular array of mishaps. Lighting got a bit cooler from the warm summers of Motor City; rain slowly dripped, easing its way into a torrential problem. Slowed and weapons damped, their shots found it increasingly difficult to catch their mark.
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Ume, attempting to lead the way, was off, her stride not really offering much more speed than Dahlia’s shorter gait. Confused by their newfound ease of movement in the screeching, metallic wind, the two drones made the simple mistake of bumping into one another, moving in front of each other’s range of fire, and fumbling turns. Taking to the air herself, she took aim, firing a bolt of the Superimposer at one of the drones. Letting loose a distress screech of implied robotic sapiency, they erupted into a sparking rondo of zips and crackles. In its deathrattles it fired much of its remaining payload into its neighbor, removing both from the picture. Feeling a tinge of guilt, Ume attempted to change the subject while the carnage settled, and more living drones appeared further up the street, “Up here, and quickly, before we get cornered.” Suggesting the two head up the stairs to an overstreet walkway that led into a building.
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“Oh…” Ume groaned. Her natural vantage allowed her to get a preview of what awaited at the top of the steps. It was her, fully dressed, standing well behind a pair of bulky cybernetic bounty hunters of dubious humanity. A smug, self-satisfied smirk crept across her double’s face. Openly expressing her earth shattering disappointment, she buried her face into her palm, “Please no.” She continued, showing shades of embarrassment.
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Brandishing an outdated accent, the fake Ume finally spoke, "She’s tricky ain’t she?” She sneered, setting a predatory gaze onto Dahlia. Her attached cyborg minions trained their guns on the sheepish lady, allowing the tension in the air to boil all the more. The real (Maybe) Ume uttered, “No, I object.” Sternly under her breath.
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Getting closer to the two, she placed a hand on the elevated shoulder cannon of her minion, “Ya’ll are fixin’ for’a heap trouble.” She barked, different hues of amusement marking her perceived victory. Up close, Ume noticed a few serious inconsistencies: Flipped button placements, her watch went counterclockwise, and her singular anime bang was off to the wrong side. Her disguise was an amateurish mess, could nobody else notice the watch? This train of thought gave the fake Ume plenty of time to keep on yapping, “An’ what’s this, she’s got herself this shoddy dupe’a me!” She explained, her voice cracking, “Ya thought ya could hide, draggin’ that lil troublemaker ‘round? Ya think this is…uh… Lone Wolf’n Cub or sumthin’?” She kept on closing and closing the gap, “Well, ya got yerself ‘nother thing comin’. Boys, get’em!”

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“Ue-Su-gi” She guided, helping Hana through the spelling process. Then when confronted with the audacious family crest, Ume let out a slight wry chuckle. It had been awhile, but she did have a passing familiarity, “Ah! Not personally, no… I’m an Uesugi, not one of the Uesugi; I used to get asked about them a lot when I moved to Tokyo, and it usually stopped as soon as I opened my mouth.” She explained, allowing her Tokyo-softened Kansai twang to shine its way through.
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Her own family, mostly cooks (and occasional shogi players) in Osaka, had found the idea of sharing their family name with stuffy old money amusing. Her uncle often graced her with wildly farcical tales of their fictional great-great-grandfather: A problem gambler who had fallen from their ivory tower and married a farmer’s daughter in Takatori, leading to his exile.
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Usually reserved Ume had brightened up considerably as the conversation weaved back into filming. Even when breaking a modicum of “Camera, yes, be it a Mitchell BFC or an Alexa 65; I can operate it. I haven't done much formal work in sound mixing, though, I aided with some friend’s student films at most, but most of my knowledge isn’t based on personal experience, only literature. My expertise, overall, lies in camerawork, lighting, blocking, mise-en-scène–the moving picture.” She so cheerily exposited.
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Filming remained a team endeavor, and a complicated one at that. Ume had no delusions in being a fully fledged expert in every aspect of filming. Nevermind the many missing roles beyond the camera-side film crew technical side: Writers, actors, stunt actors, special effects supervisors.
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Getting so ahead of herself, she had forgotten her own companion, who rang back to her attention. It was a pleasant surprise to hear her usually so terribly meek friend chime in eagerly, even expressing shared interests she didn’t know they shared, “Ah, Dahlia. You never told me you had an interest in editin’; I can help you learn how to splice analog film.” They had been so busy running from monsters and overcoming increasingly bizarre challenges they never really got the chance to really talk to one another, really, but at the very least, she knew that they both had seen Tremors.
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Being caught up in all manner of tragedy had put home further away than it already was. She had yet to see what her home had become since she was whisked away to this Earth-Chan’s bizarre hodgepodge of science-fiction and fantasy that was once simply Earth. Wrapping her ahead around the pretty intuitive (and intimidating) concept of Neo-Tokyo, she tried to focus ANTHEM and Hana’s stated intentions. Even if there were gaps in her filmmaking potential, she still had the capability to help, “Ms. Sakuyuki, I would be honored.” She accepted, ready to take the plunge and see what had become of home. Once more, considering her friend’s nerves, she turned to companion, “Dahlia?”
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But long before they could take a trip across whatever maelstrom consumed the Pacific, they had another person to formally meet. Taking in the rumors brewing as they passed. What little look she had gotten before didn’t do the cart and its occupants justice. Seeing was believing, and even in seeing Ume still failed to believe, no matter how many times she read the speech bubble. Pulling her camera from her inventory, she took a picture of DeeDee's monstrous friends, wondering if they had any acting experience. Luckily, she was hungry, and did, in fact, like tomatoes enough to only eat tomatoes for a meal. With a menu thrusted into her hand, she squinted. A dish in particular stood out to her, one of confounding redundancy and curious potential: “One tomato parmigiana, please?”

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Mission Details

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Leaning against a hotel balcony, Ume looked out into the smoky, hazy city. All of its moving pieces captivated her, the racing supercars, the blinking ads, the mysterious car parks. Drinking hot, barley tea from a Styrofoam cup, she took out her camera. Opening playback she set it to black and white ‘nitrite filmstock’ mode in 1.33 resolution. The cinematographer returned to the hotel room where she had left Dahlia to enjoy her lunch.
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She suddenly had a lot to think about, since accepting this mission, and actually arriving in Motor City. Most of this thought went back to Gilda, the woman who had issued the mission. Locked in a cramped holding cell, choking out every word in a wheezed sob, Ume was perfectly convinced of her innocence in regards to all of her accused wrongdoing: the racketeering, the larceny, the blackmail. Most striking, was that many of these crimes continue to rack up even after she had been taken into bounty hunter custody.
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Opening the file that had conveniently come with the mission, she went through the photographs. There were many blurry images of women who dressed, and looked a lot like Gilda at various states of criminality in various portions of the city. One page showed the Gilda she knew she met, the driver, bright-eyed and victorious, and the next showed a blurry CCTV image of her kicking an ignited trashcan down a fire escape while shouting "Escape this!" loud enough for many onlookers to look on. They may have very well been the same person, but Ume was open to investigate further.
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Watching the interview over and over, she paced the room. Looking over her shoulder she finally began to openly express her plans, “Finish up your lunch. Gilda, allegedly, vandalized several businesses in the early, early hours of the morning. We’re going to pay them a visit.”

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She wasn't able to get at any of the popular high end tables, they were served for long time members. Flabbergasted, Umeko was shuffled off to the entry level pachinko machines. She had been given a fair price for her scrap, and she was familiar enough. Having traded some for a coffee, she had entered "the zone" and was at least working towards getting her hands on the centerpiece engine. Only, she wasn't. Quickly, she was overcome by nightmarish uncertainty. Loss after loss racked up, and Ume felt herself slipping further and further into despair. These cyborgs had tricked her for sure.

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Looking around, she began to wonder if she had the nerve and the pure ability to pull of a heist in this setting. Eyeing the turrets, both of which having their green laser sights trained on her head was a strong deterrent. This must not have been the first time a newbie gambler's frustrations had directly led into an attempted robbery. Lighting the cigarette that came free with the pachinko balls, she continued to play. It was statistically unlikely that she would come away with a profit, but she could always spawn an icy lake on another road if she needed a few more catalytic converters.



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Finding herself fascinated by the odd narrative being played out on screen as she kept playing more and more, she failed to realize that a large payout had fallen into her lap. Frantically, Ume filled her buckets, until she was left having to make her shirt into a bucket. Taking the pachinko balls to the front desk, she proudly set them down. What she could afford was heartbreaking, in total, what she could get did not come close to equaling the weight of her gambling tokens. She was able to get some of her scrap back, and she wasn't stopped when she left with her excess pachinko balls.

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Her inventory was nearly filled to bursting with all manner of trash (and valuable car parts) made treasure, to the point that she may not have really needed any more. Still, there may have been plenty of need for more. This city offered many opportunities for the collection of scrap, and turning the corner provided Ume with another still.
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Deep in an alley, she found what could charitably called a hive of scum and villainy. Smoke akin to the heated computer chips assailed her, bringing her to a dead stop. Mismatched metal panels, and hanging beads signified an entrance or an exit. Curiosity drove her to push through. Cyborgs, some more on the cusp of being androids huddled around game tables, hanging from wires, and shouting obscenities at busted tin cars shooting around in circles.
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Ume moved through, ignored, far too organic. The entire club was in a violent uproar, caught up in upset after upset. She had perhaps run into the very beating center of the illicit scrap trade. Buckets of scrap metal appeared to be heavily guarded by remote turrets, and lit up in the center of the club was a dusty old motor. She had to get in on this. From her inventory, she pulled it all; the clutch packs, the catalytic converters, the discarded weapons, and "misplaced" cybernetics, "I would like a spot at one of the tables."

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One pile of scrap was hardly sufficient. The authorities, or at least a gang of burly, cyborgs that acted the part had taken over the rainy corner. Similarly dressed, and even more intimidating cyborgs were patrolling the sidewalks, scanning all along with their glowing red eyes. Finding more trash cans to hide behind, Ume snuck to relative safety. Summoning rain was hardly a crime, and if she hid the evidence that implied sabotage, they couldn't pin anything on her.
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The very same trick wasn’t going to work twice, not with rain warnings popping on digital interfaces all over the city. Ume was going to have to go back to basics if she wanted to succeed where very few, if any, of her predecessors failed. Dipping into the alleys allowed her to work double duty; she could both hide from the doubly murderous freelance police, and collect metallic garbage.

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These alleys were a veritable treasure trove of discarded and unloved bits and bobs of metal. Broken katana, firearms inconspicuously stuffed into trash cans, and many forcibly discarded cybernetics. Normally, copper held great value, but she wasn't certain if that is what the quest giver was after. For security's sake, she grabbed a few snapped blades, in addition to the copper nervous system, which would be perfectly usable after a quick wash.

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With only two free hands between them, it was easy for things to get so out of hand. Still channeling all the grace and candor of a motorcycle gangster, Ume rose a fist in jubilant as not one, but two shoes were let loose as projectiles, “Oh!” She cheered. Only a small part of that had been acting. Awkwardly reaching her free hand across her own chest, and leaning back, she struck Dahlia with something far more aggressive than a pat on the back, “Great shot there, tesoruccia, I’ll get a pair’a Louis Vuittons later to replace’em.”
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But that left one last villain to be dispatched. Ume recognized it as her turn. Cracking her neck, a furor overtook her already furious demeanor, “Hey tough guy. That problem I was talkin’ about, right here.” Flashing the Wordline Superimposed with all that eagerness of someone setting out to get charged with aggravated assault. She stood for perhaps too long with the viewfinder pointed. Beads of sweat began to set on her brow, and a tremble befell her; her façade was beginning to buckle. A problem had arisen, a big one. She needed full dexterity across two hands to operate her magical tool under dignified circumstances.
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“Hold on… I gots sumthin’ for ya, just… ” She rather shakily threatened. Letting the viewfinder fall back into place on its sturdy lanyard she felt around for her slides. Making no attempt to make eye contact with Mr. There Here himself, she finally retrieved one of the slides, and simply held it for a moment. Muttering under her breath, she slid the slide between her teeth. Freeing her hand once more, she lifted the latch, and freed the slide currently in place. Dropping it, she flinched as it rang for an uncomfortable amount of time. Setting the new slide in, she moved the super imposer to her eye.
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Sunny Los Angeles was suddenly inflicted with the terror of torrential rain. Dejected, There Here decided he no longer wished to be in this here. Saddened, cold, she didn’t even wait to be struck with lightning.

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