Neo Sydney – Sector 14 22:00 – June 19th, 2518 Dropbear Detective Agency - Cryogenic Chamber The small and rather dark chamber held six coffin-like contraption just tall and broad enough to hold a tall and fit male each. The floor was foggy from the cold mist emanating from the only two coffin currently used at that time of night, the low hum of machinery nearly deafening in the artificial silence of the chamber. It was cold here, should any living being enter the narrow room used by the Dropbear Detective Agency of Neo Sydney, Australia, each coffin used only for the uninterrupted training of rookies engaged by the small agency. As the need for those were so far in between these days, it was no wonder that no one had bothered with comfort nor safety of the frozen recruits, and as such, when the two cryogenic pods released their captives, it was two very disgruntled and sluggish detectives that emerged in a cloud of frosted ozone mixed with gas. One of these recruits was one Zane Franklin, a young man approaching his mid twenties with a record that would have made every other agency turn him away. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, the Dropbears were a strange lot, not putting much stock in social expectations and putting it all on cold hard results instead. That was why the newfangled detective was here, for if anything else, he brought results, even if they were neither expected nor wanted at times. A brusque and glum looking man with a brutish look in his eyes and a menacing grimace twisting his scarred mouth further, that one had the demeanour of a badly tamed wild dog, and seemed to take pride in it all. There was nothing but curses and a complete lack of grace to be found in the man that night, however, as he half limped, half stumbled from the slightly elevated coffin he had found himself stuck in for a month now. When they promised good training, that was certainly not what Zane had expected, that was to be sure! His half stumble leading him toward the oposing wall before he collapsed, the bulky auburn haired former thug ended up on his hands and knees, nearly managing to prevent a dry heave before he expunged the contents of his artificial nutrient-filled stomach on the steel tiles of the chamber. “Fuck,” he rasped softly between heaves, “that shit's not right, mate... urgh!” Ripping away the remaining cables and plasters sticking out of his naked torso, Zane winced in pain as blood briefly spurted from his new wounds before the later healed with the help of the various healing agents in his bloodstream. “Huh, could've had used that trick in my last knife fight...” Straightening himself somewhat so he was leaning on his thighs instead of the now filthy and still freezing floor, Zane took deep breath to stave the grogginess, sickness and strumming migraine he could feel all the way to the deepest part of himself. It was worse than any drug or liquors he had ever taken, far, far worse, and he was desperate to never go through this again. “Gotta find a way to earn myself a place with the higher up somehow...” His thoughts, said out loud with a baritone that was far more raspy than the usual gritty tone of his voice borne from many night of hard booze and screams, were interrupted by the thump of a body nearby, reminding him, vaguely, that he had not been alone in his torturous rite of passage. Looking at the woman now by his side, Zane rubbed the scar under his left eye roughly with a callused finger, looking at the mysterious woman before him up and down for all it was worth in the gloom and mist of the place before uttering a half grin at his companion in misery. “What a ride, huh, Doll?” Okay, that was quite lame, but he was out of sort, and the woman could find comfort in this small show of sympathy, could she?