Leading a life of crime comes with certain benefits. You’re essentially your own boss (unless you get caught up with a loan shark, something Ozzie has sworn he’d never do a third time), you get to see the worlds (albeit sometimes from the back window of transport buses), and you certainly don’t have to pay taxes. A particularly good benefit is a highly developed Gift of Gab.


    Ozzie could spin a bullshit yarn like no one’s business. As the machines click and whirr and inject their various drugs, Ozzie tells Joy everything she wants to know. Lies stack on top of each other in a delicate balance of outlandish and believable. Every time a detail seems too extreme, he grounds it in reality. An emergency “three-star” contract pops up as part of an automated proximity flag to Prox’s Sunny Side, a new Cosmological Guard taking care of a perp in Neon City sees the contract and figures it’ll be an open-and-shut case, using the last of his ship’s hyperjump charge to bounce the 3000 or so miles in under a minute. He follows the perp, gets into a scuffle when the criminal ambushes him in the apartment, shoots a few rounds of a homemade firearm, and is inevitably overpowered by the daring and brave Cosmo Guard. Honestly, it’s some of Ozzie’s finest work, fit for an award really.


    Joy is eating it up, furiously scribbling shorthand in her notebook as fast as Ozzie can dish out details. He figures the more he can overwhelm, the less likely he is to be cross-examined. His level of details range from overly in-depth to downright barren, and before Joy can ask to elaborate, he’s onto the next pitch. He’s positive that even if she manages to get a full blown story out of this, by the time she double checks her notes he’ll be halfway to the next star system, still presumed dead at the hands of “Agent 09”.


    “And after our brief encounter in the lobby,” Ozzie says. “I walked my way to the nearest MediBay. Only to get mercilessly kicked in the leg and blackmailed into giving you your scoop.” The machine finishes applying the final bandage wrap to Ozzie’s wrist and goes into “double check” mode, prompting him to select that all his individual wounds were treated according to his liking. “Is that enough for you, Miss Kennak?” Ozzie quips as he taps “yes” on at least a dozen different prompts.


    “I must say, Agent,” Joy says. “That’s quite the story for your run-of-the-mill bank robber.” Her voice betrays her ever so slightly, having a tone that says she’s more relieved that he’s stopped talking than impressed with the tale she’s been told.


    “Well, sometimes things just don’t go to plan.” Ozzie says, sliding out the examination chair. The screen reads him as having a clean bill of health, along with some recommended prescriptions to “facilitate a speedy recovery”. Of course those have to get screened by an actual doctor, but he saves the receipt anyways. He knows a few rippers that would be more than happy to put their signature down for a few unmarked credits.


    Ozzie begins to don his - well, Agent 09’s - suit. It’s basically his, it’s his biometrics at the very least. Finders keepers or whatever. It’s so much more simple when he’s not scrambling to throw it on with the cops about to bang down his door.


    “You know I have to admit,” Ozzie says, tucking his jumpsuit pants into his boots. “I feel fantastic. Almost better than the one on the ship.” He loves to keep up an act.


    Joy smirks and starts to collect her belongings as well. “Only the best for the sunburnt masses,” she remarks. “And thank you again for your cooperation, I’m sure this will make for a great piece back at-”


    She stops short. Ozzie notices, but is turned away while he puts his visor back on. The pause extends for just a second too long, and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something is wrong.


    “... the office.” Joy finishes. Ozzie catches her reflection in a decorative mirror hanging on the wall. She is staring down at his legs, eyes wide. He makes a point to turn around quickly and catches her eyes flick up to meet his gaze behind the visor. She flashes a professional smile, trying to play it off. He stares her down as he puts his gloves back on. She doesn’t budge.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Ozzie locks the glove in place at the wrist and does a quick pat down of himself, mimicking the act of seeing if everything is in his pockets. He taps his chest, and then his thighs, and winces. The gunshot wounds, though patched, are still tender.


    The gunshot wounds. That he claimed “the robber” had inflicted on him in a heated scuffle. His perfect alibi suddenly had a massive hole - or rather, a lack thereof. The material on his suit had a distinct lack of bullet holes bored into the fabric. Which means he couldn’t have been wearing them at the time of the fight.


    Ozzie’s entire story comes under scrutiny from a single detail. He knows this. He knows that she knows this. And from the gap he’s left in the conversation, it’s increasingly clear that she knows that he knows.


    Think fast, idiot.


    “Oh!” Ozzie says, his voice being masked by automatic modulation once again. “The painting! Almost forgot about it.” He moves swiftly towards the door and grabs the frame from the ground. “This thing belongs in a museum, don’t you think?”


    As he picks up the painting, he holds it in front of his body to hide his hand reaching down to grasp his powered rod. He clicks the button and it hums to life, almost inaudibly. He lets it rest on his hip as he opens the door to the MediBay, hot air rushing into the pod.


    “Pleasure working with you, Miss Joy.” Ozzie says, as polite as a schoolboy.


    “Likewise, Agent.” Joy says. She is polite, but the warmth in her voice is gone. It’s unmistakable.


    “Ladies first.” Ozzie says, and holds the door open with his foot. Joy takes a tentative step forward, her fake professional smile unwavering. Ozzie scans her face, looking for anything that would give away her intentions.


    Then, he sees it. Her eyes move, ever so slightly, to Ozzies left shoulder. His nerves spike, and time moves to a crawl. Glaring sideways out his visor, he sees it. The “EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN” button. Which doubles as a high-priority alarm to Prox’s Finest. She’s going to lock him in the MediBay red-handed.


    Ozzie has no choice.


    He whips out the powered rod and thrusts. It cracks on contact and she screams, dropping her notebook as she grasps at her shoulder. Ozzie spins to slap the emergency button and spins out the threshold as heavy metal shutters drop from a hidden compartment above the door frame. He barely has time to get himself and the painting out of the way, and the shutters hit the floor with a loud CLANG just behind him. A siren begins to blare, and red lights flash on the outside of the MediBay.


    Joy pounds on the metal and screams from the inside, but is barely audible over the cacophony. “You motherfucker, let me out! Let me the fuck out you lying piece of shit!” She deserved to say those things, of course, but it still stung.


    Ozzie looks left and right for any signs of nearby enforcers. The coast is clear, for now. What Ozzie does see, is a sporty looking bike with the keys still in the ignition. Joy never took them out when she ambushed him earlier. He hops on and scans the dashboard. The battery life is nearly full, and the speedometer tops out at nearly 90 miles per hour.


    Sol Prime import. Very classy.


    He tucks the painting under his arm and revs the bike. It lurches forward and nearly bucks him off as the front wheel jumps into the air. He wrestles the beast back down like an unbroken steer and laughs wildly. It’s like he’s a young punk all over again. He takes one last look at the MediBay, and imagines Joy Kennak of the Proxima Sunrise ripping her hair out and stomping all over her pristine notebook.


    He smiles, and takes off down a side road as he hears cruiser sirens come to life in the distance.


    Time to find Agent 09’s ship.