Sibling Duty

[Omi]

Hurrying through the narrow Manhattan streets, Marisa cursed for the umpteenth time. What the hell was he thinking? She'd barely been able to believe the brief mail Mal had sent her, at first taking it as a joke in poor taste. As it turned out, she'd been proven wrong, and now she was worried sick.

Clouds rumbled ominously overhead, causing her to quicken her pace. The air and streets themselves were both filthy, and getting caught in the rain would only make her feel worse. Christ. This sorta area's where he got his apartment?

Turning yet another corner, she arrived at the prescribed block of flats; a dull, uninspiring block of metal, concrete and glass. Producing a public-access keycard from a pocket, she triggered the main doors to swing open.

She stepped inside and crossed quickly through the lobby, noting the empty reception desk and generally disheveled state of the building's interior. Figures. Doesn' get any better on the inside, neither.

"Floor eigh'," she muttered, calling the lift down. "Room, uh, eight-four-three-B?" She checked her hastily-scribbled directions, just to make sure.

---

After a brief trip up eight stories, Marisa stood outside the marked door. This's the place, then. She was surprised how apprehensive she felt, although it was more out of concern than anything else. Mal had always been anything but impulsive - and yet here he'd gone and followed her all the way out to Liberty. Christ. That was one thing she hadn't foreseen.

Taking a deep breath, she hammered on the door, figuring that the doorbell probably didn't work.

"Mal!" she yelled, not caring about the noise she was making. "Mal, it's me! Open the damn door!"

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