I can see her finger tightening slightly on the trigger, the telltale strain of a carbon-fiber tendon on the back of her hand standing out ever so faintly under the skin. The muzzle of her pistol yawns like a fat, black nothingness, a silver circle glimmering out of the dark at me with unnatural steadiness. My own remains tucked at my side, a squat, ugly thing of metal made more for getting the job done, with none of the slick elegance of a corporate creation.

I might see all that, but it's not what I'm watching.

Her eyes spark with something that doesn't even rise to the level of resignation, a flat violet glow adding its telltale shine to the rain running down her outstretched arm. She could've tried to pass, I suppose, swapped eyes with someone who'd long ago replaced their own. But she's smiling, an ironic twist of the lips, those violet eyes flitting from my coat to my gun, and back to my own imperfect stare.

"I've seen shit you wouldn't believe," she spits, jerking her head in the direction of some far-off memory. "Transports on fire off the shoulder of Armstrong. Beams glimmering in the dark on the last night in Volgograd. But all these-"

She stops, glaring at me. Probably, I'm sure, because of the grin I've been positively helpless to suppress.

"Glittering."

I grin wider, nodding at the gun in her hand. "It's glittering in the dark, if you're trying to do a callback here. Although, I have to say, you're a damn sight cuter than Rutger Hauer ever was."

The realization clicks in her eyes, and I fish my phone out of my pocket, thumbing through old posts and finally displaying the one she'd put up a week back. As fast as it had appeared, her gun vanishes, tucked away somewhere suitably discreet.

"You never mentioned you were in the war," I comment offhand, eyebrows raised. "There was an awful lot of stuff in that post about why cats are the superior pet, though, your fondness for old-school flat films, and - what was the phrase?"

She's blushing, now, and I make a point of leaning in to read the title of her post back to her.

"'Just wanting a proper flesh-and-blood dicking.'"

"A girl can have preferences," she huffs, crossing her arms and looking back down the street. "You ever been with a synth guy? I swear, the fucking XY series is just dull. I don't know who thought that the Cervix Jackhammer is an appropriate routine, but-"

I snort. "Please, have you seen the techs who work on the newer models? Half of them are synths themselves, since the Act, and the other half have the Pornhub implant by now; it's going to be a vicious cycle."

Gesturing down the street, I hold out a hand. "I probably should've mentioned my day job before we met up, though - but the whole deal about retiring? Just an urban legend."

Pausing, I lower my voice.

"We might have made a bit of a scene, though - care to take this somewhere a little less crowded?"

The title came to me first, and a plot followed shortly after - a detective runs into an android lass on what I'm totally imagining as RAOBJ a dating site, and they hit it off. With, of course, just one little misunderstanding to start with...

DPP Profile