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Her visit is unscheduled; and the moment Nisha steps into the air lock? She can almost taste the tension that's thick in the air. There is something wrong; and she doesn't need to be a Siren-- or for that matter, even a scientist to place those clues together. No one is meeting her eyes, either. There was the person idly pointing at her, though.
Although that isn't anything new really. When you're fucking the CEO of the most powerful company this side of six galaxies people tended not to make small talk. Or was that four. Hnn. She wasn't very good with remembering the random things Jack liked to spout off to stroke his ego. There were always more important things to... discuss. That did take her right around to her previous concern; people were particularly edgy today.
The woman shifted her weight, boots knocking off the polished metal and the remains of Pandorian mud scuffing off into the grates. In the distance, she could make out the familiar whirl of cleaner bots and freight carriers buzzing around the station. The low hum of the place accompanied by the female voice that chimed off reminders to the population. Everything looked normal; but that wasn't really a good tell-tail sign. Hyperions were good at hiding things. Especially trouble.
Nisha lulled her eyes against the neon glare of billboards, convincing herself she didn't miss the dry dust and rotten landscape that had become her home over the last few months. Oh but she did. Everything here was too clean. To perfect. Despite Jack's requests to keep her aboard the station? She had never been able to stay very long. It was too removed from the action for her. She needed to sleep with one eye open. She needed the rush of battle to stir her morning java-- it was in her blood.
Without a pause to consider the queueing travellers at the reception desk, Nisha bypassed the typical traffic for a separate terminal. She received a few curious looks here-- mostly from the few travellers who obviously did not recognize her and wondered why she could cut ahead of them. The small perks were enjoyable-- although even without them? Jack knew she would have just hopped every security field and likely taken down several security details. This simply saved him time and money in the end. With an impatient grunt she hauled her badge off her jacket to flashed it towards a scanner. The screen blipped green, and the gate popped open with a polite; "Welcome back to the station, Sheriff."
She bowed her head under the brim of her hat, strolling out into the bustling hub as she fixed the obnoxious badge back in place. It was as busy as she remembered-- perhaps even more so. She certainly didn't recolonize some of those towers-- were they new? Nisha paused to squint around, lips pursed slightly. Why was Jack always renovating this place. He was more active than a skag in heat.
The woman tilted her head to the side, fixing her usual landmark with a hint of relief. At least he hadn't moved that fountain yet. Not that it was a particularly great piece of work. It was actually kind of ugly. But a sly remark on her part had mentioned how much she had liked it. She did like it. Kind of. Only because it was a good ol' faithful fountain and always pointed her in the right direction. If Jack had his way? Nisha would be downloading a new map every month to try keep up with the expansions on this place. She was bad enough with directions as it was.
Maybe he did it to annoy her. She wouldn't place it past him.
The Sheriff took her time, following the subtle directions of her fountain as she rounded the corner and headed for the centre tower in the district. Unless he had moved to /another/ tower without telling her. She stepped around two arguing C14P-TP units, and leaned in to thumb the button of another scanner. This one flashed over her person, another bleep of lights, and a cheerful voice stating; "Hyperion employee confirmed, access granted." The doors to the lift beside it released and opened to welcome the knocking of her boots into their dim structure.
She elbowed the button to the top floor, and placed her weight against the wall with a bored expression fixating itself on the glass. Her reflection was idly looked over, contemplating if she should have showered first. It took her a moment to decided that Jack didn't, at this exact moment, deserve her to fluff and polish herself. Not that she was grimy. Just worn. Nisha liked to think it made her look tougher. How many floors was this building again. Uhh.
What felt like a hundred extra floors later, the gunslinger slipped out of the lift and into the main console room. The disturbing amount of steward bots rolling around and chattering to one another was always unnerving. What was more unnerving? When they paused and several spared her confused looking glances.
Huh.
She fixed them a stern expression, lips pulling aside to flash her teeth-- and that was that. They startled back to their work without voicing the concerns that had been in their tiny circuits. Or memories. Or. Whatever the fuck they had. Uh. Technical things. Yeah.
It wasn't until she was making her way down the ridiculously long hallway, that Nisha finally decided that something was up. She squinted at the doors that were closed, nibbled at her lower lip, and then sighed out audibly. "I swear, if he's gone and lost the other eye, I am not going to keep myself from laughing." She remarked tersely to herself, before stomping her way to the double doors.
And found them locked.
She leered at the handles then bared her teeth for a second time in the last minute. A new record. She was so fucking sick of this.
The deafening 'crack' of a gunshot echoed down the hall, and before some bullshit alarm could sound? Nisha kicked the door clean in; sending the metal clattering over the tiles. She stepped in, Widow Maker dangling from her fingers with smoke still trailing from the mouth of the barrel. The office was blackened out-- which was interesting. She wasn't even aware it had a black out option.
"Who the FUCK did that? I said I DID NOT want to be disturbed. What part of--"
Oh, so he was home. He sounded like he was in one of /those/ moods as well. Nisha grinned, stepping forward and letting her boots grind the door into the polished floor with some semblance of pleasure. Strange, normally he knew when she was on the moon base in advance.
"You changed the lock," She remarked dryly, while climbing the stairs slowly and fixing the silhouette against the window with a lazy smile.
"Nisha...?" Jack sounded as if the gusto had been knocked out of him, and it caused her confident approach to halt. She raised a brow, studying the glow of monitors over his features. It dawned upon her she could make out the faint outlines of his scars in the dim light. That wasn't good. He never took that mask off in public.
"No, it's Alma Harren." Nisha remarked, sinking her weight to the side and canting her head to the side. He didn't react, and it set her on edge. "Ya'll alright there, handsome...?"
"It can't be." He muttered softly to himself, and in a kind of hollow manner that left her eyebrows raising higher still.
"What can't be..? Listen, luv, as much as I enjoy playing games with you? Ya haven't explained the rules to this one." The woman mused, daring to step forward and close some of the uncomfortable distance between them.
"You're dead." He stated firmly, some of his earlier fire rooting itself into his words and those shoulders straightening. "Nisha is dead, and whoever placed you up to this is going to suffer. But not nearly as much as you are--"
"Kinky." Nisha ventured, setting her hands onto the desk and leaning in to peer at the programmer before her. "We've never done this one before. But can we act out where I die? You know I hate it when you leave the gory parts out." She sassed him, and set those burning yellow eyes intently upon Jack's remaining eye. He looked frustrated-- and the spark of rage that lit into his eyes left her mouth moist and her tongue heavy.
Oh, he was delicious when he got upset over something. What she didn't expect was for him to level revolver at her forehead-- no, that's a lie. She had seen him draw it. It was reason enough as to why her own was nestled against his temple. "I'm going to enjoy crushing the life out of you." He hissed, and the sound of it sent a shiver down her spine. Oh.
"Mmmm, you have spent some time thinking this one up. Okay, let me see. I'm a clone? Body double. Or an android. Or even better--- am I a holographic? That would be cool. Do you have a preference?" Her questions were met with uncertain anger bordering on confusion, and she blinked in turn. "No? Well you have give me some kind of direction here, Jack--"
"Normally I appreciate attention to detail. But now you're REALLY starting to piss me off. I mean really, it hasn't even a been a week since she died. Have you no respect for the dead--" The barrel of his gun was grinding into her skull, and yet? Nisha was baring it just fine until she noticed the moisture in his foggy eye and the way it glimmered in the dim lighting.
"Woah, no stop. Safe word or something. Are you crying. I don’t do crying. That's new even for you." Nisha lowered her gun, despite the barrel warming against her skull. It didn't budge, and her brows knitted together slowly. "...you don't really think I'm dead, do you. Because that shit would be totally fucked up." His gun was wavering now, almost shaking in his hold and suddenly she had feeling like she had been hit in the gut.
"You are dead." He whispered, and the tone was so husked with pain it left her numb in response to it. Shit. He actually-- he actually fucking believed it!? Whoever the fuck was spreading that rumour around was going to get law up their arse and order down their throat.
"Hey. Hey no. Look at me." She set her pistol on the desk between them, and reached tentatively to cup the side of his face. "Do I look dead. Right here. Miss Nisha Kadam, Lawbringer and Sheriff of Lynchwood. You know, all the way from that back arse town ya' gave me?" He didn't respond, but the slack in his grip was enough for her to ease his revolver to the side. Shit. She wasn't good at this kinda thing. Comfort. Or whatever the fuck.
"Okay. That's better. Breath. I'm alive. Listen to me, okay." She was petting the side of his face, but he was shaking slightly and that wild look didn't bode well. She'd seen men with that look. It was often right before they did something stupid and suicidal. "Let's prove it. You're actually forty five. You would have people believe you're still in your thirties. You have a very sensitive scar on your left inner thigh where one of my knifes slipped a few years ago. Uhh... you have five active body doubles last I counted, and I've only accidentally fucked one of them. The rest were not accidents."
His fingers were gripping at her jacket now, watching her intently. As if waiting for something else. Anything else. "You... lived with your grandma when your mother ditched you. Grandma was a bitch who abused you. Your wife died in some freak accident you would never tell me about and you have one daughter named Ang--" The rest of her sentence was muffled as she found herself hauled into his arms and a face buried into her hair. Nisha released a breath she hadn't known she was holding, and wrapped an arm around him in return.
"Easy there partner," She whispered, drawing his frame back with her as she sat in his chair. He collapsed into her lap with a noise in the back of his throat that left her filled with... something. It felt like indigestion. Only worse. She hadn't even had the pleasure of eating anything rotten. "I ain’t. Uh. Good at this." Nisha muttered, fingers lifting to glide through the grey streaking his black strands. He half laughed (or choked?) against her. She took that as a good sign.
Man, who'd gone and fucked him up this bad? She called dibs on their skull as her next mug.