It was so late it was early. A silent figure swept across the Detroit skyline like a mercury silhouette. Twenty-five stories down, a couple of two-bit thugs were hard at work jacking an Enzo. The shadow dropped from the sky. It landed silently in the shadows at the end of the alley. The muffled conversation of the thugs echoed through the alley.
Moments later, their screams didn't have time to.
A peculiar grinding sound filled the ensuing silence. The figure emerged from the shadows. He wasn't very imposing, not at first glance. He was slight of frame and barely five feet tall. He was clad in a now blood-spattered pair of leather overalls and a t-shirt bearing the insignia of a cartoon-style skull. He had messy blonde hair that nearly covered a pair of unblinking electric blue eyes. Pointed elf ears peeked out of his hair on either side of his head. He was handsome in a wild sort of way - on that half of his face. Where he should have had a mouth, he had a horrific set of mechanical mandibles. Behind those mandibles was a hole surround by minuscule serrated blades. His arms were mechanical, and had three large claws emerging from each wrist. The claws were razor-sharp, coated with diamond, and then coated again with cyanide. Two submachine guns hung loosely from his waist and an automatic shotgun was strapped to his back. He began quivering from caffeine withdrawal and sprinted at lightning speed out of the alley and down the street to where his stash was located. His name was Twitch, and he was the deadliest anti-hero of his time. Most people just didn't know it yet
Waiting down the street was another elf. He wore a trench coat that was several sizes too big, strapped to his bony body with a variety of belts. His right arm was cybernetic: inside was a remote rigging system. His central CPU was housed in his own brain, and wires snaked in and out of his shock of white hair. He pushed his spectacles up over his greenish eyes. A tiny, spider-like security drone was perched on his shoulder, gleaming in the moonlight. Shelob, he called it. He was leaning against a large RV. It was a slow vehicle, but it served its purpose. You couldn't hold low speed against a vehicle that was layered in three coats of armor and housed a minigun, two roto-drones, two anti-personnel doberman drones, and several months' worth of energy drinks and cheap beer. His name was Menniker, and he was the wheelman and field support for the deadliest anti-hero of his time. He had known that for quite a while.
Right on cue, Twitch sped down the street. He was nothing more than a ripple in the air, as he seemed to have compulsively cloaked himself in his degrading state of mind. Menniker was used to this sort of thing. He hid at the front of his RV and willed the back open, simultaneously issuing commands to the doberman drones to open fire at will. Twitch took several hundred explosive rounds before he finally skidded to a halt. He still managed to slam into the RV, throwing Menniker a couple of yards back. By the time he regained both consciousness and his footing, it was almost dawn and Twitch was working on his third case of Bawls. The two got into their usual seats and Menniker took manual control over the RV. He liked it better that way. As they slowly moved down the street, Twitch opened the glove compartment and removed their secret money box. He opened it and began counting their funds.
"Menniker." said Twitch in his mechanical voice, "Did-you-know-that-we-have-enough-money-for-breakfast-and-nothing-else?"
"What?" exclaimed Menniker, "What happened to the money from that heist we stopped and then finished last week? That had to be at least ten thousand nuyen!"
"It-was-thiry-two-thousand-nuyen-give-or-take." replied Twitch. "I-put-it-into-my-motorcycle-fund."
"...you're buying a motorcycle?" inquired Menniker in total disbelief. "With our money? Listen...motormouth...I have a week's worth of hangovers, you probably threw my back out, I wasted a ton of ammo trying to stop you from doing it in the first place, and I have to pee! And now you're telling me that you took not only your share of our money, but mine too, all to put it into some 'fund' for a motorcycle that you haven't even told me about until now?"
"Um...yes."
"Why didn't you tell me? I could've jacked you one or something! For Christ's sake, Twitch! Think about these things!"
"I-want-a-brand-new-one." stated Twitch. Menniker started to say something, threw up a little in his mouth, and settled on flipping Twitch off.
Down the street, a flash of red and blue lit up the facade of a bank. Gunshots cracked through the air. The two cohorts turned toward each other and smiled...or Menniker did, at least. The RV's back flew open. The roto-drones flew out and rained grenades onto the firefight. The dobermans rolled into the open, firing explosive rounds. Then, in the carnage, a distortion in the air dashed into the crossfire, taking bullets shot in confusion. Then, Twitch shut off his cloaking field, guns pointed in both directions, and fired.