Dawn Station - Streets of Sector Nine City Tier 4 - Just outside Origin Medical Wholesalers Warehouse Garage
The ride to the warehouse garage was brief, but for the two passengers in the truck bed, it was only slightly short of terrifying. Even though Amelia never worked up the courage to accelerate to any considerable speed, the sheer volume of traffic whizzing by, the angry blaring of horns and foul language hurled their way, not to mention the way the truck veered into the oncoming traffic lane a few times, narrowly avoiding a collision, and coming close more than once to trading paint with a few lampposts, even the threat of a low-speed collision was enough to cause both Danny and Rathe to question the wisdom of riding in the back without safety restraints of any kind.
Finally, however, they made it to the turnoff that the clerk instructed them to find, and Amelia made the turn. The side of the vehicle came so close to the corner of an adjacent building that Rathe, having grabbed the side of the truck bed seconds earlier to keep from being tossed out, managed to wrench his fingers away from being pinched off by no more than a tenth of a second. Down the ramp the vehicle rumbled, finally coming to a stop (mostly) within the bounds of the second of a column of rectangular white boxes painted on the pavement. A three-axle, box-shaped vehicle was parked in the space ahead of them, seemingly unoccupied at the moment.
The garage itself was immense, with ceilings that stretched high above them, made invisible by the powerfully bright overhead lamps that bathed the entire area in sterile while light. A wall of glass windows lined the wall all along their right side, revealing rows of identical partitions that were somewhere between offices and cubicles, each one of them indistinguishable from the other apart from a few personal touches; photographs of loved ones, carefully manicured plants, and the occasional bit of furniture -- likely brought by the occupant from home -- that looked much more comfortable than the standardized and rather spartan chairs and desks. To the left, immense warehouse shelves lined in perfect rows went off into the distance, as if the group were looking into a hall of mirrors, veering off in a vaguely curved path until they vanished in the distance. The shelves were lined with marked parcels, pallets, and wrapped boxes, all tagged and labelled by an automated system. The distant sound of whirring machinery could be heard, possibly forklifts or other sorting devices, but none of their sources were visible at the moment.
A uniformed ORISEC employee approached the vehicle as it stopped, a middle-aged but rather healthy looking man with a combover, holding a clipboard. He waved his free arm at the occupants of the vehicle as they stopped, and strolled up alongside the truck.
"Name?" he inquired in an official monotone.
