"... you're, uh, sure that this is the right place?"

"I'm sure," Amy replied with a scowl.

They'd parked across the street from a dilapidated two-story brick building that had obviously seen better days. A buzzing neon sign hanging over the door identified it as THE RUMBLE SEAT BAR & POOL HALL, while another, placed in the only window that wasn't boarded up, advertised COLDEST BEER IN TOWN. Several of the letters blinked on and off fitfully, adding to the general sense of disrepair.

What a dump, Ryan thought as he looked over the dingy exterior. I wasn't sure what to expect when Amy said she knew where Syd would go, but I hadn't been picturing... whatever this is.

"Is she even old enough to get in?"

"Technically, you only need to be eighteen for them to let you into an... establishment like this, as long as you don't want to drink." The policewoman's scowl deepened. "I'm pretty sure she was getting in with a fake ID even before that."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I never caught her doing it," she said, her tone growing a touch defensive. "Anyway, for her it's a safe spot. She comes here all the time when she wants to lay low. The owners know who her parents are, and even they wouldn't be stupid enough to let anything bad happen to her."

"...her parents?"

Ryan shot her a confused look, and she shook her head irritably.

"It's not important right now. What I'm trying to say is that Syd isn't a bad girl, she's just..."

He waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts.

"...well. Maybe she is a little bit of a bad girl, but she's just lashing out, and it's mostly harmless misdemeanor stuff. She isn't out to hurt anybody."

"She stole my Changer," he pointed out. "That almost got us both killed."

"Ah. Yes, I suppose that's true. But how was she supposed to know it was actually some kind of alien transformation device that you needed to fight a giant monster?"

Ryan didn't say anything, and after a few moments she continued.

"Syd is like the little sister I never had," she said at last. "We've been close since we were kids. She's been making a lot of bad decisions lately, but I know she has a good heart."

He glanced at Amy's hands, which held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.

"Hey, relax." Ryan flashed her a smile, trying to diffuse some of the awkward tension that had built up. "We're not going to let anything happen to her."

The beautiful blonde nodded once, sharply, and he returned his attention to the area map provided by his Implant.

Traced out in three dimensions, the rough arrangement of their surroundings expanded before his eyes. The club was situated just off the road, in the midst of what looked to be several blocks of apartments. Behind it stretched a series of long, sprawling buildings in various stages of collapse. Warehouses, he guessed, but from here he couldn't tell if they were in use or abandoned. Given their derelict state, apparent even in the simple wireframe representation, he suspected it was the latter. Beyond them, there was nothing in that direction except the riverfront.

At the back corner of the bar, a glowing purple dot blinked into existence.

Bingo.

"Syd's here," he announced. "Or at least the Changer she stole is. Hopefully she's still with it."

Relieved, Amy let out a breath that he hadn't realized she was holding.

"Thank goodness," she said.

"So, what's the deal with this place?" he asked.

"I know they always say not to judge a book by its cover," Amy replied, "but in this case, The Rumble Seat is exactly what you'd expect from the way the outside looks. It's somewhere people go to make the sort of mistakes that get the cops called. Which they do. Frequently."

I'm way out of my depth here, he decided. Better let Amy take the lead.

"Just let me know how you want to handle this," he said. "I'll be right behind you."

Turning in her seat to face him, she gave him a serious once-over.

"Look, Syd's still not answering her phone, so we'll have to have to go in there and find her. It's her favorite place to hole up when she wants to lay low, and they're usually willing to put up with her hanging around... but the regulars don't love cops, even off-duty ones. If I roll in and start asking questions, we could end up in a situation."

"Okay, fine, so we might have to knock some heads. What's the big deal?"

She didn't return his grin.

"Can you handle yourself? No offense. You're really impressive at breaking out of handcuffs and throwing rocks, but there probably won't be much call for either of those talents in a bar fight."

Ryan considered how to reply without making it sound like he was bragging. What he'd been through wasn't anything he wanted to brag about.

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"Let's just say I've had some training."

She shrugged.

"I'll take your word for it. Ready to go?"

Exiting the car, they made their way towards the building.

At least it finally stopped raining.

A moment later, he realized that was a mixed blessing. The parking spots in front of the bar were packed, more than a dozen motorbikes leaning against one another in a space that would barely fit two cars. On the adjacent sidewalk, a crowd of rough-looking men in biker leathers stood huddled beneath choking clouds of cigarette smoke, laughing, shouting and shoving, all of them obviously very drunk.

Pushing her way through them, Amy made a beeline for the balding, heavyset bouncer seated on a barstool by the door.

"Bar's closed," the man grunted, not even bothering to glance up from his phone at her approach.

Amy's grey eyes went to the COME IN, WE'RE OPEN sign on the door, then returned to his face. She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"It just closed," he clarified lamely. "Come back tomorrow."

"Really?" she asked, stepping forward to peer through the grimy window. "Because it looks to me like they're still serving in there. Selling alcohol after hours is the sort of thing that'll get your liquor license yanked, you know."

Finally, the bouncer looked up, taking in the sweatpants and hoodie she was wearing.

"You on duty, officer?" The man's gruff voice had more than a bit of Northeast accent. Brooklyn, maybe, or thereabouts. He dragged out the word "officer", making it sound like a curse. His attention turned to Ryan, standing behind her dressed in a similarly-casual fashion, and he grinned, revealing several metal teeth. "Or is this a date?"

Her expression entirely unamused, Amy took another step closer. Even if he were standing, Ryan thought that the bouncer would still be an inch or two shorter than she was; in his current seated position, she loomed over him.

"I don't have time for this. Get out of the way, Charlie."

"Fuck you," the man apparently named Charlie eloquently replied. "You think you can just walk in like you own the place?" He hooked a thumb in the direction of the other bikers. "I ain't the only one here you tried to throw in the can for nothing."

"For nothing?" Amy's voice rose, indignant, matching his anger. "You were trying to sell drugs in a middle school parking lot, you lowlife! I was just doing my job."

Charlie's grin widened as he stood, pushing his way to his feet and putting himself nose-to-nose with Amy. Or trying, anyway. Given the height difference, it was more like nose-to-chin, which lessened the effect somewhat.

"Well, I'm out now," he said, "and the bar's still closed. If you want in, you better come back with a warrant next time."

She frowned.

"Why are you out, Charlie? You should have at least a year left on your sentence."

"Friends, bitch. I got friends. Which you ain't got." Charlie cut his smirk over to Ryan. "Unless this pretty little thing you brought with you is your new friend. What do you say, fella... you her friend?"

"She's my teammate, jackass," Ryan replied without thinking.

The biker burst out laughing.

"Did you hear the pretty boy? He just said the cop is his fuckin' teammate! Bet they're in a bowling league or some shit."

More laughter rose from the crew. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan noted that the crowd had drawn a lot closer once the yelling started.

Surrounded. Not good.

"We're about to end up in a situation," Ryan said, pitching his voice low so that hopefully only Amy would hear.

"Fuckin' right, you're in a situation!" Charlie yelled, then took a drunken swing.

Amy turned her body slightly, letting the punch sail harmlessly past her shoulder.

"Ryan," she called in warning, looking back to make sure he was okay.

The glance cost her. Charlie followed up his first attack with a poorly-executed kick that caught her in the stomach and sent her staggering back.

Ryan took a step towards her, only to find his path blocked by two more of the thugs. Clearly visible protruding from the waistband of the nearest was the butt of a revolver.

His training took over.

Ducking low, he brought up his arms and rushed the pair. A punch, robbed of momentum by his sudden burst of movement, rebounded harmlessly off his chest, and then he was inside their guards.

With a flat expression, he brought his folded elbow up into the attacker's temple. The biker buckled to the side, flopping face-first into a puddle. Neutralized, he thought. Next. Ryan turned to face the man's partner without sparing another glance for his former opponent.

A shot to the collarbone dropped that man in a heap. Next. Another stepped up to replace him. This one, surprisingly, managed to block the first punch, and received a knee to the gut as a reward for his efforts. He doubled over, wheezing in pain, only to catch a rising palm strike on his chin. The punk's teeth clicked together with a sound that was loud enough to be heard over the general clamor, then his eyes rolled up in his head. Next.

Amy, meanwhile, had found her footing. Ducking beneath another unsteady haymaker, she stomped down hard on the instep of Charlie's boot. Before he could recover for another swing, she was on him, her fists connecting with his body and face in rapid, punishing succession.

Charlie stumbled back, hands flailing at the air. Off-balance thanks to the foot still planted firmly on top of his own, he was helpless to resist when Amy grabbed a handful of his shirt and threw him over her hip. The bouncer hit the ground hard, and she followed him down, putting a knee onto his chest as a strong suggestion that he should stay put.

She turned in time to see Ryan standing over the groaning form of his sixth opponent, feet planted on either side of his waist. One hand was wrapped around the back of the man's neck, holding him up off the ground, and the other drawn back to strike.

"Ryan, stop!" Amy shouted.

Charlie, still on his back, looked around Amy to see what was happening.

"Hey, what the fuck? Your boyfriend is going to kill that guy!"

Ryan heard people speaking, but the words had an odd, muffled quality, like he was floating underwater. In his current state of mind, they were just meaningless sounds. A distraction, and nothing more.

The man on the ground wasn't a person. He was a confirmed hostile, a blip on the screen. A threat to his team. Hostiles remained a threat until they were neutralized. Every scenario he'd been faced with over the course of his Forward-Commander training had been carefully tailored to emphasize that final, brutal rule.

Your team depends upon you for their survival, Forward-Commander, a gurgling voice whispered in the back of his mind. What will you do to protect them?

His clenched fist smashed into the biker's bearded face, repeatedly, until the man finally stopped moving.

"Neutralized," Ryan said tonelessly. His head swiveled towards the greatly-reduced crowd of thugs that still remained standing. Moving as one, they took another frightened step back, bunching together in an attempt to avoid the intensity of his blank gaze. "Next?"