Okay, I know that title doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, but this night didn’t start out anywhere near as goddamn awful as it implies. Hell, if nothing else, I couldn’t have a bad attitude when there was a scant chance that I could ride back to my flat later that night with a fortune in my pocket.


    I don’t mean the kind of chance you get at gambling dens or casinos, either—no, not the false hope that wealthy assholes use to make themselves even wealthier. Getting this kind of money would only require the help of a dear friend, the perfect spice of confidence, the right words at the right time, and few choice batteries (not the electric kind).


    I walked into one of Silverhold’s mid-range cybernetic clinics with half those factors in my back pocket, and a giddiness to get to the other half in the near future.


    That wasn''t guaranteed, of course, but let a man dream.


    The lobby of this building was plastered all over with MergoTech logos and iconography that mostly consisted of straight lines and that particular silvery color that was commonly associated with toilet handles; pretty much the usual for such overfunded establishments. The usual for most of Silverhold, really.


    It was an oversized room crowded with enough ill-fitting chairs to be confused with an airport lobby from three decades ago, and the intercoms blasted the kind of pop music that grated on the ears hard enough to make anyone unfortunate enough to be listening to it want to dig out their inner ear canal with a sharpened pencil—without any intent to ever replace the ear, since that’d make more money for the rich bastards who thought installing that intercom was a good idea.


    Sorry, am I rambling? I’m just trying get across how sorely I wanted everyone who worked in that place to piss themselves and die.


    Okay, maybe not that last part, but you get my point. This place pushed every one of my little rage buttons.


    Most of the people working the front desk inside were bored-looking middle class types who looked too tired and worn down to bother expressing any emotion besides mild annoyance—something I thought my buddy Darian would relate to. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t think of them as malicious people. They worked to support an exploitative tech industry dominated by a company that only cared about padding their bottom line, but were people nonetheless.


    And I’d need to amiably chat with those people if I was going to walk out of there with my due payload. I wasn’t usually one for talking past people, but it could be made effortless by having a prize-winning smile, a gargantuan tolerance for people’s annoyance, and my personal delight at annoying others.


    I strolled toward the front desk, moving past rows of drab seats that were filled with people of various ages and sizes; almost all of them were better-kempt than people from the Undergrowth were, save for the ones with missing arms and poorly-grafted skeletal augments on their bodies. Those peeps had more glares than smiles.


    I puffed on my E-cigar as I walked, savoring the sweet n’ tasty warmth of its chemicals so that I didn’t notice how the freezing, over-conditioned air prickled my skin.


    As I kept walking, I mulled over the inevitable human interaction in much the same way one ponders the eruption of a bubbling volcano. In this case, it would probably be easier than usual, considering the monotone attitude of the people who worked in these neural implant clinics. But it didn’t hurt to plan for the worst.


    I know I just said that talking past people isn’t too difficult for me, but considering how things like this somehow always turned awkward anyway, I knew better than to assume my flawless attitude would prevent any incidents. You get me?


    The woman at the desk who I’d have to speak with was one of those haggard-from-working-all-day types, with long brown hair, a spotless white coat, and rounded glasses. Her eyes were focused on an unseen computer monitor behind the desk. Considering her line of work, I reckoned she was used to dealing with a bunch of screaming assholes and impatient people (or some combination thereof) around the clock, so it wouldn’t be all that difficult to put forward a comparatively-passable first impression.


    After what felt like a century of pondering how I would approach this first hurdle, I stepped up to the desk and leaned my arm against the front counter with a bright smile on my face. I nodded to the receptionist as I plucked the E-cigar out from between my teeth.


    "G''morning!" I said. "Sorry for the delay. Traffic''s right fucking busy out there right now—I don’t need to tell ya, I''m sure. Anyway, I''m here for an appointment at nine?"


    "It''s the evening, sir," she stated without looking away from her screen, "and if you''re here to confirm your appointment, you''ll have to wait behind the other five people you just cut in front of." She paused. "Without meaning disrespect, sir."


    "None taken, none at all. Thing is, I know I''m running a little late for this—but as you''ll see, this isn''t the sort of appointment that can safely wait. I don''t have the kind of augments that can hold out for care or caution." Most of that was true, anyhow. Even if I had run late on purpose for an appointment that doesn''t exist. "So if we could speed this along, then I think…"


    I trailed off as the receptionist met my eyes with such a precisely emotionless stare that it somehow came back around to being full of anger. "No, I don''t think we can. You''ll have to wait for your turn, I''m afraid. Sorry for the inconvenience."


    Now sit the fuck down, I imagined her saying if workplace decency didn''t hold her back.


    Okay, maybe talking my way through this wasn''t going to work. Golden smiles and a good attitude only got you so far.


    As worse people than me learned long ago, money got you farther.


    I cleared my throat. "Will this speed it along?"


    Before she had the chance to reprimand me with that nearly-a-glare again, I flipped a shiny silver dollar card out of my pocket—all the while keeping a close eye on the lobby''s security cameras so they couldn''t see the "transaction." This job was gonna get noisy at some point or another, no matter what my partner thought, but there was no sense in making things messy sooner than needed.


    Her eyes widened at the sight of it, and for a moment her veneer of tired professionalism cracked. She glanced behind me, brow wrinkled in bewilderment. "Uh… you''re sure putting in a lot of effort just to get inside sooner."


    "Sure am!"


    She looked back up at me.


    I threw my hands up. "I''m running late!"


    She blinked, then shook her head. "Right. Okay. Sure. Just… leave that there and I''ll get you checked in." She looked back at the computer. "What''s the name?"


    "Thanks bunches." I slid the dollar card across the desk. "It''s Jordan. Uh… Jordan Safira."


    No, that wasn’t my actual name. Still isn’t. We came up with it in such a short time that I nearly popped a blood vessel trying to remember the stupid thing.


    (The real name''s Tarim, by the way. Nice to meetcha.)


    "Huh," she stated. At first, I feared that the receptionist saw through the fake name, but she then followed it up with, "I''m not seeing that name in our itinerary."


    My heart skipped a beat. "Sorry, what?"


    "It’s not here, sir. I just said that." She put a finger to her chin, eyes narrowed in confusion. Her eyes flickered back down to the dollar card. "Well… if you want, I can call up one of my managers, and see if they can—"


    "No no no, that won''t be needed!" My ability to form words was stunted by my own racing mind. Where the hell was it? There was no reason Darian shouldn''t have gotten the name in before… "I, uh… I need a minute. Do you have a bathroom here?"


    Thankfully, she was bewildered enough that she didn''t notice how stupid the question was. The woman leaned over the counter and pointed to a doorway on the left side of the lobby. "Through there, down a little ways to the right."


    "Thanks. I''ll be back."


    As I turned away, she tapped the dollar card I had left on the countertop. "Um. Do you want…?"


    "What? No, please! Kindly keep it," I said against the better judgement of two-and-a-half decades of instinct. "Think of it as a tip or whatever, instead."


    Before I could pause to wonder if my own words made a lick of goddamn sense, I jogged off into the adjacent hallway—all the while ignoring the pointed glares of the people I’d cut in front of a short moment ago.


    Try not to judge too hard? Please? I wasn''t joking, this really was time-sensitive. Sort of. Even if that didn’t end up mattering much.


    I continued down the empty hallway, surrounded at every turn by the hum of fluorescent lights overhead, plaster walls, that godawful music screaming through the intercom, and the annoying, persistent buzz of uncertainty and despair in the back of my head. Windows off to the side were shuttered so you couldn''t see the dark-red light of dusk across the skyline, and the hallway reeked of annoyingly-strong air fresheners—you know, the kind you only used to cover up something you really didn''t want your visitors to smell.


    Speaking of terrible smells, the moment I spotted one of the bathrooms off to the right, I dived into it, yanked the door shut, and clicked the lock—all as if I was in a rush to have the world''s ugliest bowel movement.


    In reality, I only wanted to find the pristine bathroom because this was one of the few rooms that they couldn''t fill with security cameras—though that didn''t stop them from installing an intercom in the ceiling, to the torment of me and anyone with decent taste.


    The conversation I was about to have couldn’t be in earshot of anyone else.


    So I waited for a minute, listening to make sure that nobody else was going to inconveniently saunter by this cramped single-toilet bathroom. Then, when I felt as confident as any person who had just watched their plan dissolve before their very eyes could, I put a finger to the earpiece hidden in my left ear, and flipped it on.


    I found myself short of breath as the audio came through—though at first I only heard hissing sparks, clinking metal, and, as always, the murmur of tragically out-of-fashion rock tunes on a low-quality car radio.


    Save for the music, all went quiet for a moment after that. The silence was broken by a weary sigh on the other end. "Oh, wow. Something fucked up already?" a low and delightfully mellow voice said.


    I, uh, tried not to relish Darian''s voice too much. It was always refreshing and cozy to hear my years-long partner-in-crime simply talk in a way that I never found myself willing to acknowledge out of an innate fear of making shit weird. I cleared my throat and said, "Probably, but if you can believe it, I don’t think it was my fault this time."


    "Well, I might believe it if you''re denying blame up-front this time." A seat creaked and Darian audibly cracked his knuckles. "Alright, so what''s the damage?"


    "Good goddamn question. Just to double check, did you get into the clinic''s system and forge the appointment entry, like we discussed beforehand?"


    "Why the hell are you asking? I verified it right in front of you before you waltzed through those doors. Did you zone out again?"


    "I… don''t think I did?" I shook my head. "But that''s not why I''m asking. I had a chat with the receptionist and the name we agreed on isn''t in their logs. No appointment, no entry. Sweet fuck-all."


    Darian paused. I for some reason imagined him cautiously frowning. "That doesn''t make sense."


    "See? That''s what I wanted to say!"


    "Well, I mean it doesn''t make sense that they could have corrected the log entry, and then not… immediately apprehend you when you gave them the name."


    I thought through the implications of that with a mixture of dread, and a kind of confusion that rooted from ignorance. “Does that mean that— I''m sorry, are you suggesting that the clinic didn’t remove the record you inserted? That it was someone else?”


    “I don’t fucking know, man. There''s a lot of other options, but that''s the only one that makes a degree of sense.”


    “Wait, but—”


    “I said a degree, Tarry. This makes as little goddamn sense to me as it does to you.”


    “''Kay. Good to know,” I said, despite the anxious sweat on my forehead. "So best case scenario, they saw your forgery and just haven''t acted on it yet. Worst case, there''s someone else who might’ve broken into MergoTech''s database."


    "I, uh, don''t know that I would rank them like that, but those are our main possibilities, yeah. If there is someone else in the system, they might’ve reconstructed the database after tampering with it to cover their tracks. That would''ve erased our appointment entry."


    Shit. Well at least it wasn’t guaranteed that someone was onto us. Granted, a massive city-domineering tech company like Mergo’s was attacked by hackers all the time. But the fact that this happened just as we were trying to infiltrate and rob the clinic was kind of creepy. It probably wasn’t worth worrying about it if they hadn’t tried to arrest me, though.


    "I guess it doesn''t really matter who did it, either way," I said. "The easy route''s locked out." The thing we were looking to steal was on one of the upper floors of the clinic. If I still had my fake appointment, then I could’ve strolled right up there with no resistance. Alas, this meant it was time for the messy route.


    "It isn''t closed to us forever." Darian''s voice was laced with caution. "We can just come back tomorrow or another day, and the mark will still be there. If they restored the database, then the backdoor I left in there is probably patched. But if we wait another day, then I can—"


    "Of course, of course. Sounds rational. It would definitely be easier. Just remind me: When is the rent on our flat due?"


    "You mean my flat?"


    "I live there too, don''t I? Semantics! Now answer the damn question!"


    "Fine. Uh… in three days?"


    "Yeah, we''re not waiting that long.” I smiled with devilish glee. "Don''t worry. Just means it''s time for me to improvise!"


    "Tarry, my buddy," Darian groaned, "that is exactly why I''m worried. But just keep me in the know no matter what you decide to do, alright? I''d rather make sure I''m keeping my sights on the right part of the building."


    "Why? Expecting me to go flying out the windows at any minute?"


    "Genuinely can''t rule out the possibility. Now I''m gonna look into whatever caused our entry injection to be erased, so call me up again when—"


    "Actually!" I cut in before my nerves could do the talking for me. "Um. Would you care to stay on call, for now? Y''know, just in case something comes up. Makes this easier."


    Darian didn''t speak for a good minute. I wish I could tell you why not knowing what he was thinking at that moment made me feel a weird mixture of fear and excited anticipation.


    "I feel like it would’ve been better to ask that before you walked in," he finally said, with a weak smirk in his voice. "But if you still want to hear me that much, sure, I''ll stay on. Just hope you don''t mind the sound of hissing sparks in your ear—got some stuff I''m tinkering with in the back."


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Sure, I don''t care." I amicably hid my sigh of relief. "To be honest, hearing anything worse than nails on a chalkboard will be a step up from having this fucking music blasting over my head."


    True to his word, I soon heard hissing sparks and the clinking of mechanical parts once more through the earpiece. God only knew what he was tinkering with now—knowing him, probably something computational, explosive, deadly, or computationally explosive and deadly. Not that I cared much. It was just nice to know I wasn’t alone in this disconcerting bloody building.


    The end of this conversation was accompanied by feeling the pieces of my new “plan” fall into place in my head with visceral satisfaction.


    I unlocked the bathroom door, took a quick peek outside to make sure nobody had been eavesdropping on me, then just as quickly ducked out. No one was around (at least none that looked up from their drinks and/or phones) and nobody from the lobby had come looking for me. Perfect.


    I easily slipped back into the hallways and headed in a direction that I, as a guest, wasn’t allowed to go. The signs on the plaster walls labeled that direction as being the “stairwell.”


    The stairs in here were probably only supposed to be used during a fire (not that they indicated that, since MergoTech was insistent that their technology was so flawless that to even entertain the notion of a fire in their buildings warranted a defamation suit drafted by fifteen law firms), but they’d also make for the perfect way to get to even more places I wasn’t supposed to go.


    As I walked through the clinic, I found myself unable to ignore the TV monitors set into the walls of every hallway I passed through. They had been there all along, but since most of them aired the usual rubbish of ancient sitcoms and soap opera reruns, blocked out between overloaded advertisements (at a ratio of 2 minutes of showtime to 59 minutes of ads), I didn''t find a reason to pay attention to them any more than I did the godawful music.


    That was before their channels changed to a public news broadcast. One that proudly displayed the face of MergoTech itself.


    "... How much longer will we be content with mediocrity?" the man on the air said. "Silverhold stands tall as the beating, technological heart of North America, thanks to the hard work of our people. MergoTech has made this city what it is! Now, I intend to bring Silverhold the respect among the nations of the world that it has always deserved!" He shoved a beefy finger out in the direction of the camera. "That you have always deserved!"


    Yeah, that was their man alright. Vincent Mergo, first-ever chief executive officer of the world''s shiniest tech conglomerate. Looking at that tall, beefy man—with a curled mustache, dark eyes, bushy hair frayed white, and one hand that was entirely made of black steel—I couldn''t help but think he looked more like a hopelessly irrelevant wrestler who didn''t hide their cheating rather than a supposed genius who spearheaded modern cybernetics.


    He pressed on with his sociopolitical rambling and pseudo-philosophical bullshit, hands atop the pedestal in front of a dark purple curtain. I found it difficult to take the man seriously. His company practically owned the city as it was, but he saw fit to drop the pretense and was running to become Silverhold''s Minister of Finance. His reclusive son was set to inherit MergoTech in his place.


    So god only knows why this socially-detached businessman’s campaign speech sounded more like a dictator rallying his army for an invasion.


    Monitors bearing his mustachioed face flanked me on every wall as I walked through the spotty beige hallways, searching for the elusive stairwell. I tried to block out his voice from my brain and listen to the sounds of Darian working in my left ear, but that was easier said than done when it boomed from every screen in the fucking building.


    I stopped by one of those monitors on my way down, staring at it with a very slight frown. Well, I think it was slight.


    "... the only way to ensure our legacy, first and foremost," Vincent continued, "is to look after ourselves and the integrity of our neighbors! Financial management is crucial! Trade and industry is crucial! And above all, we must ensure a diverse industrial base instead of leaving everyone to buy the goods of a few self-interested consumer giants!"


    The frown became accompanied by a glare. I idly flexed my right hand into a fist, finding it hard to focus on anything else.


    "And, of course, there is the issue of the Undergrowth…"


    When did the clinic get so hot?


    "For all that our city shines," the CEO said, "none can deny that the widespread poverty and crime that infests the lower grounds of Silverhold is an issue of critical importance. Which is why, as your Minister of Finance, my first course of action will be to eliminate poverty and the institution of the city''s Undergrowth as soon as—"


    I moved my fist so quickly that I didn’t realize what I had done until Vincent Mergo''s voice sizzled out, supplanted by the sound of shattered glass and sparking wires.


    I blinked, processed my actions in a second, and drew a sharp hiss of breath. I had punched a hole clean through the wall-mounted TV. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d punched into the wall on the other side of it. I carefully pulled my fist out, trying and failing to not cut myself on the broken glass, and looked through the hole.


    Yep. There were harshly-bent wires, torn insulation, and chunks of broken plaster through that hole—plus a few sparks still bursting out from exposed electronics.


    Huh. I promise I don''t do this sort of thing very often. I’m serious. Sometimes shit just breaks around me.


    I looked down at my aching hand, which clinked with the sound of metal joints. It was now dark red for obvious reasons, but the cybernetics built into it still seemed functional. It was one of the few that I let myself have, specifically because I found a chipset for it that wasn''t owned by fucking MergoTech.


    It didn''t look like much and it really wasn''t: Just some metal lines that ran along the top of my hand in a pattern that followed the bones in my arm and fingers, thin enough that it was barely visible unless someone was really looking for it. The metal lines were even shaped like bones, for some reason.


    All it really did was provide a lot more support to my hand’s skeleton and cartilage in the event that I needed to punch something really hard without the risk of serious bone damage.


    That, and it could generate a consistent mid-voltage electrical current. For reasons.


    I looked back up at the freshly-steaming TV, and despite it all, smiled in relief. A little venting never hurt anyone. Besides, at least this part of the building looks empty today compared to the rest of—


    A barely-audible gasp from somewhere behind me was enough to crush my back under a thousand-ton weight of awkwardness.


    Hesitant, I turned around. I hadn''t noticed that this particular wall-mounted TV was right in front of a break room. There were a few people in there, all of whom had the courtesy to stand there and stare at me with slack jaws and wide eyes. One person with long hair in a white suit sat in a fluffy chair directly opposite from me, looking directly through the doorway over a steaming tray of food. Another had been absently pouring coffee into a cup on the counter, but when they saw me, froze in place with coffee pot in hand, not seeming to care that they were spilling scalding-hot decaf all over the painfully pristine counter.


    I slowly lifted my hand up and gave them a little wave, smiling wider to hide how hard I was cringing. I decided to take a quick step to the left, took another step after that, then kept going until I was around the next corner and well out of sight.


    Once I was in the clear, it took a great deal of willpower to keep myself from collapsing against the wall out of sheer indignant shame.


    I don''t know why that got to me so hard when I knew getting this job done meant I’d have to make an even bigger mess than that, but christ that was embarrassing. The thought that they might’ve been watching me the whole time I stood there, glowering at the TV screen like it dishonored my family, was icing on the fecal cake.


    "Ah. Punching shit before you''ve even reached the first step of your master plan, Tarry?"


    My blood ran cold. I hadn''t even noticed that Darian’s work had quieted in my left ear, but there he was, placidly pointing out my fuck-up with his usual silky-smooth voice. It would''ve been infuriating if every other possible emotion wasn''t drowning out my anger, right now.


    "Huh? What are you talking about?" I brushed back some of my hair and stood straight. The best way to feel confident was to first look confident. "It’s not my fault the televisions in this place are so old.”


    “Just because I can’t see anything in there right now doesn’t mean I don’t know what it sounds like when you punch out electronics. I’m quite familiar with it, in fact.”


    “But you can’t prove that I did.”


    “Buddy, don’t tempt me to hack into the clinic’s security system just so I can retrieve and replay the CCTV footage directly in your ear.”


    I opened my mouth to retort again, then cut myself off. “Wait. Why didn’t you do that in the first place? Getting an extra set of eyes in here would’ve made this way the hell easier!”


    There was a pause that felt like the audio equivalent of a raised eyebrow. “Because hacking MergoTech security systems is a very different beast from hacking their appointment books. And, jokes aside, I can’t be bothered. In case that isn’t enough, you insisted that we didn’t need it anyway, because, and I quote, you ‘got this.’”


    “Oh.” I only just remembered that we did have a conversation about this just before I waltzed into the clinic. Everything that happened before now had blurred in my head as I focused on getting to the juicy payload that awaited somewhere above me. “Well, I do got this! I guess it probably just wouldn’t have hurt to have the extra help so I’m not walking into this blindly, y’know?”


    “I do, but our backdoor is gone and hacking my way back in would take a lot more time than we have left to do this—unless you want to delay our plan like I suggested earlier. Sorry, chum. You’ll have to stick with your own eyes.”


    “Hmph. Fine. At least keep an eye on the building’s security alerts from wherever you’re camping out, right now.”


    “Have been. Why?”


    “Because I’m about to make a spectacular scene.” I smirked. According to the signs, the stairwell I was looking for would be just around the next corner of this building’s monolithic hallways. So it was good to know that my shameful retreat from the break room conveniently led me in the right direction.


    The audio popped as Darian sighed through the earpiece. “One of these days we’re going to successfully do a job stealthily.”


    I snorted back a small laugh. “Darian, I love ya, but if you want things done quiet-like, you probably shouldn’t let me do the stealing.”


    “Huh. Touché. At least try to get back in one piece, then.”


    “With a nice chunk of secret MergoTech cybernetics to sell?”


    “Not… really what I asked,” Darian said, though he seemed content to let the topic pass.


    He didn’t audibly go back to tinkering with whatever project he was working on, which I took to mean that he was listening to see what mess I made of the first step of my new plan. The pressure was a tad stressful, but at the same time, I was flushed with confidence and energy.


    I held myself straight, and walked around the next corner of the hallway.


    I was greeted by the sight of a guard blocking the stairwell’s door.


    I stopped short, nearly face-to-face with the guard, whose frown was carved deep into his face. He looked a little more advanced than the sort of guard you’d normally see in a clinic: Less someone who wrangles panicking patients, and more the sort of guard who would legally be able to sock you in the jaw for disturbing him with your existence. Standard MergoTech personnel fodder.


    He wore a kevlar vest over a deep, dark blue shirt, a radio on his shoulder, and had a little wide-brimmed hat that was the same color as his shirt. A pistol and a baton rested on his belt, neither of which he seemed eager to reach for in spite of how hard he was glaring at me.


    I stumbled a bit when I first saw him, but quickly recomposed myself, and shot him a well-to-do smile. This wasn’t that big of a concern. All I had to do was move fast enough that his brain couldn’t work before I was already gone. People could be slow if you simply acted reckless enough that their grey matter short-circuited.


    As such, I attempted to move right past the guard, giving him nothing more than a friendly smile and a brief wave, as if I was just another employee who wasn’t able to get into the elevator, and was thus forced to take the healthier route.


    He blinked stupidly at me. For a moment I was deluded into thinking my plan had worked without a hitch.


    Then, as if snapping awake from a dream, his eyes shot open, and he put a hand in front of my chest before I could get to the stairwell''s door.


    Ah. Figures there was no clean way of getting through here.


    "Excuse me?" He met my eyes. "What do you think you''re doing back here? Patients aren''t allowed upstairs."


    "Who you calling a patient? I work here." I crossed my arms in what I hoped was an indignant manner, though considering what I was planning to do, I''m not sure why I was even playing along at that point.


    "Do you? Then where''s your employee ID? And why the hell are you dressed like that?" He crossed his arms right back at me.


    "Ah, right. Well, for one thing, I left my uniform upstairs. And for another thing, I did have my ID on me, but—and I don''t think you''ll ever believe this—I kind of forgot it at ho—"


    The fiery "I have heard that excuse a thousand times" glare he gave me was enough to realize I needed to change tactics.


    "Hey, I''m just kidding, man! I know that don''t fly. I''ve actually been carrying it around in my pocket—sorry about that. Mind if I bring it out?"


    Even though I was already reaching for my pocket, the guard kept his eyes locked on me, mouth in a thin line to express displeasure with my general existence.


    After a moment, though, he said, "Fine, but you better keep it out, next time. There isn''t a second warning for this sort of thing, bud. Ain''t worth losing your job over something so tiny."


    "Of course! I getcha. Thanks for letting me off easy," I said, still shining him a bright smile.


    The only thing in my pocket was a baton. I could feel the texture of its handle, now; it was folded up so that it wasn''t any bigger than a hand, but when flipped out, would be longer than my forearm. It even had a little metal port on the pommel that could sync up with the cybernetics in my arm. For stunning results.


    This shit wasn''t cheap, but when I reached for it the wave of adrenaline that burned through me was enough to make my smile impossibly wide. So I''d say it was worth it.


    The guard''s eyes widened in realization even before I pulled the baton out and flipped it open. It was made of slick black metal (except for the rubber grip) and had a few small blue LEDs above the handle that lit up with an electronic sizzle when the baton extended to its full size.


    It felt right in my grip. It felt ready to beat the shit out of a corporate thug.


    "Psych!" I said, in the brief second before a fist cracked into my ribs.


    I doubled over from a mix of shock, pain, and a sensation like my chest had caved-in on itself. I still kept a tight grip on my baton, but I can''t say it did me much good as I keeled over and fell with my back against the hallway’s wall.


    Dammit, but I was shocked that the punch didn''t break any bones. At least, I was pretty sure it didn’t. Dazed and thoughtless as I was (besides a directionless giddiness that reminded me of being high), I still mustered up the brain strength to prod at my ribs, and they all felt like they were in one piece. Or their own individual pieces. Or however you say it.


    That wasn''t going to be the case for long if I stayed on the floor, knowing MergoTech''s goons. That punch landed hard enough that he probably had cybernetics similar to my own.


    I looked back up at the guard who''d just fed me a knuckle sandwich, but instead of prepping himself to finish the job, he had one hand over the radio on his shoulder, whispering into it so quietly that I almost didn''t hear him.


    "C&C, we have a potential trespasser on the first floor. Looks to be male, with short messy hair and dark skin. Lean, tall, muscular, maybe in his mid-twenties," he said. "He''s carrying a blunt weapon that may or may not be deadly. Requesting consideration for lockdown and at least one additional enforcer to accompany me in case he attempts to…"


    Ah shit. Guess there wouldn''t be time to rest on the floor after all.


    Still holding the baton in my right hand, I put the point of one finger against the weapon''s pommel. There was a barely-audible snap, crackle as a circuit closed between the metal parts in my hand and the charging port of the baton. I had no real way of telling how charged it was, but I took the prickling sensation and raised hairs on my arm as a good sign.


    My smile returned. As if I didn''t still feel like I was going to hurl, I hopped back onto my feet, electrified stick in hand.


    The guard was still distracted with talking into his radio. So much so that all he could do was look at me with mild surprise in the brief second before I whacked him in the neck with my baton.


    A brief hissss, and a flash of light burst from the guard''s neck, like rubbing a hand too fast over a blanket. But instead of, say, keeling over from the electric shock, the guard in question just put a hand to the blackened spot on his neck, and babbled, "Gah! Fuck! What the hell was…?"


    I frowned at him as he staggered to a stop against the opposite wall. Huh. That was supposed to knock him out. And going from the fact that he apparently had the alertness to glare right back at me, I didn’t have much time to correct that mistake.


    Pushing past a thin veil of panic, I reached down and twisted a little dial around the pommel of the baton. At the same time, the guard reached for something on his belt; whether it was his own baton or a firearm, I never wanted to know.


    I turned that dial aaaaaaall the way up. There was a visceral SNAP, a flash of light, and next thing I knew, the end of the baton was crackling with little arcs and bolts of lightning, like the world’s smallest tesla coil.


    The guard stopped short, hand to his belt, staring at the thing. Then he looked up at me. I couldn’t tell if the expression on his face was surprise or fear.


    I gave him a confused shrug, then whacked him in the neck again.


    The guard’s limbs froze up, and he made a sound somewhere between a blubbering noise and a cough as the baton’s shock burned through him.


    His eyes rolled up into his skull, but just for good measure, I spun around and slammed the heel of my boot into the side of his ribs. That hurled him against the right wall of the hallway with a thud.


    The guard crashed into the plaster and slid down to the floor with all the grace of a squirrel falling out of a tree. He settled down with closed eyes and open hands, softly breathing but not moving an inch. The blackened, bruised spot on his neck was much bigger than it had been a moment ago.


    I winced. Okay, maybe that was overkill.


    Before I could consider taking advantage of the opening I’d made, I realized the man’s radio was still on. I paused, and, too curious to resist the impulse, listened. I had to lean down close to make out the words, fighting down a brief paranoia that he’d wake back up right in front of me.


    “...security incident on the first floor,” some fellow’s voice said. “Communication lost, possible officer down. Officer in question requested consideration for a lockdown. Request should be reviewed despite not being filed a week in advance. Any available units report to the eastern stairwell for…”


    I listened to the chatter with rising anxiety. Then, I ripped the radio off the strap on his shoulder and slipped it into my pocket. Any MergoTech goods fetched a pretty penny in the Undergrowth.


    Once done, I stood straight and moved toward the stairwell door, folding my baton back up. Didn’t want to risk tasing myself in the groin.


    As I stepped over the collapsed guard and grabbed the door’s handle, a sinking feeling hit me, like someone had dropped a bag of bricks in my gut. I hadn’t thought about it at the time, but there was no going back from bopping a man across the bonce with an electrified stick.


    From this point on, there was no more room for talking. No suave attitude. No stealth. Just good ol’ fashioned violence.


    Knowing that it was time to brush fingers with death once more made me nervous, sure, but it also filled me with whimsy. Empowered me. Energized me.


    It was time to earn our money the fun way.