[Mac Sirloin]

And now something that's all over the place.

Brit took a quick glance at Barry, waved her hand, and took off down the road. As Ruck turned the corner, Barry realized that they'd been dropped off at the public inclinator, sitting downhill not ten blocks away. Shuffling his feet tiredly, Barry gained momentum within a short time's jogging. He flexed the cushioning implants in his knees and took a large, galloping leap. He landed ten feet behind a still sprinting Brit who turned worriedly at the noise. Barry stumbled forward, but maintained his locomotion and took another jump. He sprang forward as a small gang of old women with a shopping cart appeared around a corner and landed clean in the basket, carrying it forward with him. Brit leapt out of the way as the cart whined past her, Barry trying to free himself from the contents and shouting
“Hoooooooo!” as loudly as he could.

Barry threw an arm out and caught the paint peeling remains of an old street lamp. The two metal digits on his left hand screeched and burned but held the metal tightly. The cart veered into the road and hurtled towards a large group of people packing into the inclinator through a large steel gate/
“LOOK OUT!” Brit shouted. A pair of gang bangers leaning on the gate looked up at her quizzically.
“Cook out?” one said. “There's a cook out?”
“Yessss. Just what I needed.” Said the other. “I am getting my roasted yam on tonight!”
A group of people wandered by them, obscuring the speeding Barry just as he crested the road in front of them.
“NO BRAKES! CART! WATCH IT!” Brit yelped.
The taller of the two bangers saw a swath of people leap out of the way ahead of him.
“What the-” he said, as Barry thundered through the gate, latching onto a railing and turning hard onto the maintenance staircase that led under the inclinator. The wheels caught the safety rails and rolled mine-cart like down the enormous stairwell. Barry tucked himself into the cart as much as he could, piping and red emergency lamps flew above him in a blur.
Brit wheezed her way into the gate, no sign of Barry but some curious people.
“He boarded already! What a dick.” She said.

Meanwhile, Ruck directed his Taxi to park in front of the inclinator gate at the bottom of the hill, near his factory. To his annoyance, there was some kind of delay with the inclinator, as it had paused halfway down. Picking up a battered newspaper, he sat in the Arrival lounge and caught up with his stocks and the comics. Ruck hated the comics.
There was a groan above him, a loud, mechanical bang, and the sound of an enormous gearbox complaining. Alarm lights began flaring through the view window above him, tracking a straight line down the maintenance tunnel. He followed the red lights just as they levelled out to the maintenance door sitting about twenty feet away. People mumbled in mild panic just as Barry exploded through the door, his battered cart flinging two wheels into the air, dragging itself into a desk and finally harmlessly flipping itself apart into a couch. Ruck dropped his paper as Barry peeled the wrecked cart off of him. He moved his arm awkwardly and brought it up in front of his shakily. There was a large chunk his left hand missing.
“Huh. Hadn't felt that.” He said, then fainted.

Ruck paid the On-site First Aid worker fifteen hundred dollars to patch together Barry's hand and call off an ambulance, shelled out another three thousand to have a top-of-the-line replacement hand delivered to his factory office, and about one hundred dollars to the secretary whose desk had been damaged. He took great lengths to avoid bad publicity, and needed Barry intact to work. His headgear had prevented a concussion, though heat grating was dented. The tunnel was surprisingly unharmed, and the maintenance crew had to admit that the scrape that ran the length of the stairwell was cool looking. Ruck had decided that the railing, which could expand outward and contract, had simply maintained a wide, perfect rail the whole way down. It kind of made sense.
Brit arrived in the exit lounge a disoriented and battered Barry, and a tired Ruck.
“Mr. Rickerton.” She said.
“Brit.” He replied, not looking up.
“Is he...”
“He's fine. A little shaken and roughed up, but otherwise he's A-okay.” Ruck looked up and smiled.
“Well if you say sOH MY GOD WHERE'S HIS HAND!?” Brit said, her eyes widening.
“We don't know. But there's a new one ready for him. It's taken care of.”
Brit slit her eyes and looked up at the engine for the inclinator warily.
“Well sir, I think I do.” She said, jabbing a thumb at the expanse of steel above them.
“Who's ready for some climbing action?” Barry chirped.