Lyla's heart seized in her chest for the the briefest of moments before her natural defense mechanism, sarcasm, kicked in, complete with an exaggerated eye roll, "Aw Jesus, that didn't take long."
"Not to worry," Connor hissed behind her, "I'm surreptitiously recording everything. I got your back, Lyla."
She grinned, "You always do, my man," and then turned to properly face the head suit, a tall, thin man with silver hair which had already started fading into a dull, listless gray. His jaw was firm and eyes didn't twinkle as he looked at Lyla -- looked into her soul, by the piercing looks he gave her.
She gave him a nod, "What's up?"
"Miss Jennings, I --"
"That's MIZZ Jennings," she interrupted.
But Silverhair continued as if she'd never opened her mouth, "-- regret to inform you that your diatribe up there is likely to cost you your freedom. We can't have heretics running around, jamming up the air waves with their bile, now can we?"
"'We?'" Lyla smirked, "who's 'We?' There's nobody left in this damned wretched world. Who do you represent? Some long-forgotten statesman who's spent his last three years in a bunker beneath the Rockies?"
Silverhair didn't speak, but the featureless government clones behind him grit their teeth in annoyance. It was clear to Lyla they didn't much like the idea of somebody willing to engage them in a debate, willing to call out their wrongs. And that realization kind of tickled her. She stepped into his personal space and jabbed a finger into his chest with just enough venom to skew it off its perfect line at his collar.
"So I don't know who you think you were, but let me assure you, you have no power over a free thinking woman such as myself. I've been telling people for years that this day would come, but no one would listen to me, would they? Well now it looks like I'm pretty freakin' accurate with everything I've ever tried to warn you idiots about, am I right? So you should be listening to me, you ought to be writing down every God damn word that comes out of my mouth, because I ain't doin' it just to hear my lovely voice echo around the empty walls which we used to call CIVILIZATION. Ya get me, Chuckles?"
Connor knew Lyla was a passionate woman, but even he had never heard her so antagonistic. There was a part of his mind, a part nearing the surface actually, which envisioned these government bullies taking out their sidearms and shooting them both in the alley out back. He tittered nervously, "Ummm, there are various recording devices all trained on you folks, just hoping to get some good footage of police brutality, so let's keep this civil, eh?"
Silverhair chewed on his teeth as he ignored Connor and focused instead on Lyla. She expected him to give her a good backhand slap across the face (she kind of deserved it, after all), but his voice remained neutral when next he addressed her, "Would you like to see the man for whom I work? I think you two should meet."
"Oh hell no," Connor trembled, "don't go anywhere with him, Ly."