Gabrials Choice

by G.X. McBride

A street orphan not long into manhood is taken by a shadow corporation and turned into a professional assassin.

It goes without saying that I do not own ShadowRun, only this story and its characters belong to me. It's also noteworthy that this was my first FanFic (written something like 8 years ago, and yes this character is where I got my Pen Name). I've done some tweaking to try to bring it up to date with newer SR systems, but I've never truely gotten this story into a state that I'm completely happy with. Perhaps some of you can help me with that? In any case, I'd rate the story T for violence, some minor sexual situations, and some strong language. Enjoy : )

G.X. McBride

The Beginning

"Have you selected someone?"

"Yes"

"Who exactly?"

"You'll see him soon enough."

"Will it work?"
"You're the mind-bender...you tell me."

I grew up in Seattle. Not the Penumbra District or Downtown and sure as hell not some cushy, comfortable Archology. I grew up in the Redmond Barrens. I don't remember ever having any family...just a series of foster homes set up by some religious organization trying to "save the children". By the time I was sixteen I had already run far far away from that anyway. Unlike most runaway kids I didn't join a gang. I just made my living boosting...cars, stereos, B&E (that's breaking and entering to those not in the know), etc. etc. yadda yadda yadda. Not having anyone to watch my back I had to learn to fend for myself. A natural niche for being quiet was my best ally. Having damn good instincts also helped quite a bit. Long about the time I turned eighteen I started taking small time runs. Single man jobs, mostly just small time warehouse infiltration, theft, things like that. That's how things got started. One night I was walking "home" (which at that time was the most rundown part of the barrens I've ever seen...corner of third and central...one room apartment...the kind of neighborhood where you need air cover and a squad of UCAS seals with you just to check your mail. I didn't have to worry...I didn't have much to steal back then.) it was raining. The kind of light drizzle that's half acid, half road grit. Gets next to your skin and makes you feel like you haven't showered in a week. I was in a hurry, walking fast, and not paying much attention to anything except my feet and the street. All I remember hearing was the scream of rubber on pavement...looking up to see a van slide to a halt a few feet away from me...three men, wearing masks leaping at me from the side door. I remember catching the first with one helluva right jab...then goon number two kicked me beneath the chin while goon three drilled me with a stun baton. I remember trying to stand...something hitting the back of my head..and the world going black. I faded in and out of consciousness for a while, but I still couldn't see...it was hard to breath as well...like I had something over my head. When I finally came too I was naked, cold, wet, and above all strapped to a chair at a table in what looked alot like a police interrogation room. The room was cold and the floor so much so that it almost burned the bottoms of my feet. The only company I had was my own reflection in a mirrored wall on the other side of the table staring back at me. The other walls and ceiling appeared to be made of highly sterilized stainless steel, all blued out to appear black. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly trying to clear my head and size up my options. This is what I came up with.

A.) Sit there and do nothing.

B.) Swallow my own tongue.

C.) Try to slit my wrists on the handcuffs holding my arms.

As I'm sure you guessed I chose A. Maybe some of you cyber punks could have broken free of such things...at the time I didn't have a speck of metal in the meat, but I digress.

I'm not sure how long I sat there. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. Eventually a man entered through a door that was most definitely well concealed...I couldn't even see it. He wore a crisp black armante suit, a pair of ray ban wrap around night shades, and a set of hardliner gloves. He was black...and so damned cybered he hummed. I think the thing that disturbed me most was the clothing. It was all black and seemed to absorb every bit of light that came near it...I had to look very hard to follow him because he nearly blended in with the blacked out steel. He moved around the table with deliberate slowness, an obvious intimidation technique. It worked perfectly...I almost pissed myself. I have been afraid many times in my life. I've never felt anything like that before. My adrenaline runs pretty damned high in a firefight, but right then right there I almost had a heart attack. I was cold, naked, helpless, alone, and all that added up to a sheer stark basic terror that I haven't the words to describe. The figure sat across from me and took off the glasses. His eyes were stark white, obviously cybered. He began to speak quietly...his voice had an almost audible hum to it, like a synth-vox that wasn't quite tweaked right.

"My name," he said "is Michael. I know already who you are...but what you don't know is why you are here."

I started to respond, to say something, anything, when he slipped a hand inside his jacket, and withdrew a pistol...I didn't know it at the time but it was a Colt Manhunter. He racked the slide and ejected the top round from the chamber. He placed the loose round on the table between us, sitting upright. The pistol he placed just in front of himself, pointed towards me.

"Don't talk...just listen." his voice had an almost hypnotic monotone to it.

"You are Gabrial. You waste your talent and your days on petty theft, larceny, and other such nonsense. You scratch out a living on the fringe of society. You have two choices now. You can become part of the "System"...or you can disappear. We will make you stronger, faster, smarter. You are quiet...we will make you into a shadow. You will learn these things, or you will die...plain and simple. Now you will sleep...when you awaken things will be different. You will be different. You will be better. Sleep."

I'm not sure what happened next...I blacked out. When I woke up I really was different. My body had changed. I was a little stronger than I had been....and a helluva lot faster. My reflexes were so fast that it looked like the world around me moved in slow motion. I could see perfectly even in full darkness. I could see heat...I could see sound. I couldn't lose my balance...even when I tried. I could hear things...whispers from outside the door seemed like they were right next to me. Loud noises seemed distant. At first it was all I could do to walk. Then the training started. Classroom stuff at first...they explained to me what had been done. My reflexes, overall coordination, speed, and natural athletic abilities had been augmented by a state of the art move-by-wire system and a balance augmentor (an interesting note: the move-by-wire system actually causes my hands to shake sometimes while I'm relaxed...and thanks to that balance augmentor I literally had to learn to fall down...small prices to pay). I had synthetic muscle tissue implanted all over my body wich made me stronger and faster. My eyes had been changed...the color had been altered to a color blue so light it seemed nearly unnatural. These new eyes could see into the infrared and ultrasound spectrums. They could project extremely thin polarized light beams that when coupled with the lowlight enhancement could turn night into day. They even packed a flare comp package that would blot out the sun if needed and a vision magnification job that allowed me to see just as far as if I'd been looking through a scope or a pair of binoculars, and they were wired for smartlinks. My ears had been enhanced with high and low freq modifications as well as a hearing enhancement package with a sound dampening safety measure that would cut out anything loud enough to be harmful.

Both my hands had been removed and then replaced...with the magnetics they had built in I could climb nearly anything made of ferrous metal, hang on to just about anything. A trauma dampener helped my body withstand otherwise devastating wounds (they actually shot me to test this...not fun) and synthetic mnemonic cells were grafted to my brain giving me a photographic memory. (they gave me a new heart too...apparently they thought I needed a stronger one. I've heard stories about runners who got geeked by their own adrenaline gland giving them a coronary.) From what I understand I had gone from street thief to million nueyen man in a few short weeks.

The System

"All of the operations were successful?"

"Yes. He is ready to begin training."

"Good."
"How will he react to it?"
"You're the teacher. You tell me."

"I can't teach if he won't learn."

"He'll learn. His personality is absolutely perfect for this. Well...almost."

"Almost?"

"Relax Michael. We will keep what we like and change what we don't. We made you after all."

"How kind of you to remind me."

Then the training came. Weapons, tactics, sneaking around, martial arts, explosives, vehicles. I learned all sorts of things. I could point shoot a demi-credit out of the air at thirty paces with a pistol. I could hit a bullseye on a moving target ten times out of ten at a thousand yards with a sniper rifle. I could cut a man in half from fifty yards with an assault rifle. I could treat a chest wound, pass unseen in broad daylight down the middle of a crowded street. I learned to be a near magician with electronics, especially security devices. Michael was my instructor...my teacher. Whenever he spoke I listened. I never said anything in return....hell I never spoke to anyone. When I slept they played this slow soft music in my room...I wondered why...but they just said it was part of my training. Later I learned it was a combination of some kind of magic ritual chant, subliminal behavior alteration and probably a thousand other things. I imagine that it made me more susceptible to suggestions, not to mention inducing mass paranoia and rubbing out all traces of whatever small conscious I had left. I crammed two years worth of intensive training into about six months...give or take. When it was over they had burned damn near every trace of my old self out. I graduated with honors...wich just meant that I didn't die somewhere along the way. On to the final test...

The Final Exam

"Is he ready Michael?"

"His training is finished if that's what you mean."

"You know damn well what I mean."

"Yes I do...but I know it makes you uncomfortable to ask."

"Alright damn you. Will he kill?"

"If we ask him to...yes."

"I assume you have something special in mind for his debut?"

"You might say that."

I woke in my room. Something wasn't right and I knew it. The music wasn't playing...the lights weren't on...but by my retinal clock it was well past 0500. My first thought was that something had happened. Perhaps the compound had been attacked? Scratch that...no one would be that crazy. I strained my ears and heard nothing unusual. Total silence. I walked to the door and tried it...locked. I gave a mental shrug and waited. Maybe Michael was just running late. Thirty minutes ticked by. Then forty. Then an hour. Something was definitely not right. I walked to my closet to get dressed and found my jumpsuits and training clothes were gone. In there place was a black suit...a duster and a small suitcase. I blinked and examined the clothing. Expensive as hell...Kevlar lined. Exactly my size. I put them on (minus the tie...a man has GOT to draw the line somewhere). The gloves with the suit had Kevlar woven into them across the heel, knuckles and ridge of the hand...perfect for hand to hand work. The palms were also cut out in a small diamond shape exactly over the center...where my smartlinks sat beneath the skin. The suit was obviously custom tailored and had only light Kevlar weave in each piece but when wearing several layers would offer excellent protection. The longcoat came down to just past my knees, and added a somewhat thicker layer of Kevlar over my vital organs. It was tailored just loose enough to hide weapons anywhere you could think of without being obviously tailored for that purpose. After a quick look in the mirror I hefted the suitcase and sat it on the bed. At first I thought it could have been trapped...perhaps a bomb...but I quickly dismissed the notion...if Michael had wanted to kill me I wouldn't be writing this now. I popped open the chrome latches and opened the black leather case with a casual flip of the wrist. The inside was full of foam custom cut around several items. In the bottom of the case sat two pistols. They had started life as Morrisey Elites. The grips had been custom cut to fit my hands. Judging from the ejection port they had been rechambered to fire a larger round than was standard and each had a small well polished stainless steel diamond on the grip...smart links twinkling like a single star in the black night of gunmetal. Between the two sat a simple but functional cougar long blade double edged knife with a dikoted blade. In the top of the case ten full clips of .40 caliber ammunition were strapped along with a holster rig made to carry all of the above and a pair of wrap around ray ban shades. I slid the one piece holster onto my belt and adjusted it around to the small of my back. It was made for the pistols to sit with the grips facing equal but opposite directions, and the blade sheathed vertically between them. I hefted one of the pistols...it felt like an extension of myself....as soon as my hand clasped the grip a silver crosshair appeared in my field of vision along with an ammo counter that read absolute zero. I slid a clip into the weapon and chambered a round with a thought. Instantly the ammo counter adjusted to read 07 and the ammo type (APDS...Armor Piercing Discarding Sabot) appeared in small letters next to my retinal clock. Engaging the safety I holstered it then repeated the process with the other. The weapons were small...only carried seven rounds, and while easy to hide didn't have quite the range that bigger pistols had due to the shorter barrel but in the hand of an expert were extremely lethal. I picked up the knife and twirled it testing the balance. It was balanced well for throwing, small enough to be concealed but long enough to make a formidable weapon. The dikoted blade looked sharp enough to cut the darkness itself. I slipped it into place between the pistols, pocketed the extra magazines, and then to complete the picture put on the glasses. When I looked into the mirror the transformation was complete. I was no longer the street kid from the Seattle barrens. I looked like a black clad executioner, or a man about to go to...or cause... a funeral...a near mirror image of Michael. The dark clothes and glasses covering my short frame. Short cut wavy black hair against my Caucasian skin. I looked like some sort of fallen angel. I had become a living weapon. I thought I was ready. It was time for me to graduate. I wanted a job to put all those hard earned skills and expensive hardware to work. I wanted my first assignment

Of Beginnings and Endings

"It's all arranged."

"Where is he?"

"He just finished getting dressed."

"Bring him in..lets get him briefed."

"You sound nervous."
"After everything we did to this kid he could be capable of anything."

"First of all he's not a kid. Second he will do what we ask...you said so yourself."

"Bring him in then Michael."

"As you wish."

The door opened. The lights came on. I turned slowly toward the door and as usuall Michael was there. Silently he nodded. He'd never done that before.

"The clothes fit well?" he asked. I only nodded in reply.

"Come with me...it's graduation day."

Those words sent a spike of adrenalin into my bloodstream...and brought everything into focus. It was like knowing you were about to walk into a fight. The adrenalin hits your system. Your senses become hyper acute. Your reflexes go from razor sharp to pure monomolecular edge. For me the combat high pushes me into a coiled spring. Then when it's time all of that energy comes out.

"Gabrial?"

I mentally cursed for drifting off and looked to Michael as he stopped before a door somewhere a few dozen twisting corridors away from my own.

"Gabrial, I have one last order for you. No more silence. I have taught you all that I know. We are equals now."

For a moment I almost didn't know what to say. I hadn't said ANYTHING to Michael in the entire six months I had trained.

"Today is your last day here. After today everything will be different. You will always be alone. Trust no one other than yourself. Remember what you have learned. Those skills are the only way you will stay alive. If you survive long enough perhaps things will change again. For your sake...I hope you do."

Without another word he led me into the room. It seemed vaguely familiar at the time. Stainless steel walls blued so well to be black. He sat at one end of the table and I sat at the other placing my briefcase beside my chair. From under the table he pulled a manila envelope and slid it across the table to me. I didn't have to open it. I knew what it was.

"Target?" I asked.

Michael nodded. "Corrupt corporate VP. He has cut the cost of cyber R&D by experimenting on the homeless. Many of them die. Those that live are disturbed and ultimately dangerous. They have formed a gang calling themselves "The Fallen". You are to eliminate both the gang and the VP."

"Numbers?"

"The VP always has at least two bodyguards. Both highly trained and cybered. The gang has only twelve members at present but you should be ready for more."

"Other information?" It was my last question.

"You have been set up with an apartment in the Penumbra district. You have a fool proof SIN(Systems Identification Number) as John Alexander, an accountant working for White Castle Accounting INC. You may contact me by message drop for information and equipment as needed. You will find all other relevant data within the file. You have a car waiting outside with some equipment that should be useful. Good luck Gabrial."

I nodded and stood as if to leave....and found I couldn't. The world began to fade into darkness. On some level I realized that I must have inhaled some sort of gas. The last image I saw before passing out was of Michael standing beside me looking down at my face. He was smiling.

The Coming Storm

"So it begins."

"So it does."

"Do you really think he's ready for this Michael?"
"Over ten million nueyen worth of cyber and bio ware. More training than any single Seal team has.

Not to mention that mental "conditioning" you put him through. If he's not ready now he never WILL be ready."

"You're right of course. I shouldn't have doubted your judgment."

"Doubt my judgment all you like. It's my training you are paid to trust."

I woke up sitting in the driver seat of a car. A SAAB Dynamite to be exact. A quick scan of the dash and the interior told me alot. Satellite linked comm unit, nitrous oxide, a little extra armor, concealed vindicator mini-gun in the trunk (which is in the front by the way), an active signal jammer, and all kinds of other electronic goodies. I couldn't help but smile. At least Michael had good taste in vehicles. A glance at the surroundings through the mirror tint glass told me all I needed to know. White Castle Accounting firm, penumbra district. I checked the glove compartment and found a pocket secretary with the ignition circuit to the car built in. I checked it's memory and found the address of my new apartment, cranked the car (it obviously had some engine work done as well) and left the parking lot. Twenty minutes later I pulled into the parking garage of the apartment complex. Twenty three minutes and I was walking into my new doss. Simple, one bedroom, kitchen/den combination, one bath, one walk in closet. Panic button (as if I would really call Lone Star if someone broke in?), microwave, fridge, sink, dishwasher. It would do. There was a briefcase on the bed. Inside I found an unmarked credstick linked to a numbered two-hundred thousand nueyen account. Well thus ends the ten cent tour...down to business I thought. I opened the manila envelope Michael had handed me and began to read. It was unreal how much information can be stored on an individual in todays society. I had pictures of the VP...one James Walter Madison Dustin Richards the third. (Is that enough names? Some runners I know would have shot this guy on general principle.)

Pictures of his family. Pictures of the "gang" (wich were actually doing his dirty work by kidnapping other street toughs according to the files I had.) I memorized their daily routines. The route James Richards took to work. The hangouts of the gang. Everything down to the vehicles they preferred. This wouldn't be easy. But what the hell I thought. Isn't that what I was trained for? I picked up the pocket secretary and dialed Michael. I needed some hardware.

Down to Business

"Was that him?"
"Yes."

"He's working more quickly than the others did."

"That's because he's better than them."

"Or more reckless perhaps?"

"Perhaps...but I have confidence in his skills."

"Let's hope he's as good as you say."

I lay on my stomach atop a three story roof of an abandoned warehouse. It had taken less than a day to gather the equipment I needed for the first part of my plan. It had taken only a few hours to get set up. James Richards the third traveled to work along the street in front of me. He rode in an armored limo. A virtual street legal tank. That thought brought a cold smile to my lips. There was a reason the military called a tank a rolling coffin. I scanned the street with my vision mag systems and waited. It was 0735...five minutes before the VP would be turning down this particular street. It wouldn't do for me to miss because my target was early. I had thought there would be some sort of emotion involved with this. My first assignment..the training was just a game by comparison. I felt nothing. No anticipation, no fear. I was just numb. Focused. Everything seemed to be reflex. I had triple checked the Walther MA 2100 sniper rifle and it's ammo load, had gotten fairly comfortable and was constantly scanning for any type of movement or noise that seemed out of place. Everything was just the same today as it had been yesterday. With one exception. Today James Richards was going to die. Exactly 0740 the armored limo turned onto the street and began heading towards my position. I waited only a moment and tapped one of two buttons on a small black box lying beside me. The stoplight in front of the limo turned unexpectedly red. The driver stopped gently so as not to disturb the million nueyen a year suit in the back having his morning coffee. The limo stopped smoothly atop a manhole and waited for the light to change. I touched the second button. The C-12 charge placed on the underside of the manhole and shaped just perfect to concentrate it's explosive force upward detonated. It sent the manhole straight up at something very close to the speed of sound. I would love to know what that explosion sounded like but my hearing dampeners cut out all the noise. Everything almost seemed to be happening in slow motion. The manhole struck the unarmored underside of the limo....blew straight through the front, no doubt killing the driver. It hit the underside of the armored roof and stopped though it's kinetic energy nearly ripped the armor free. That much kinetic energy hitting the top of the car it rolled over onto it's side...with it's undercarriage facing me. I grasped the grip of the sniper rifle and held it steady, zooming in on the gas tank. With no hesitation I squeezed the trigger. The first round was an armor piercer. It punched through the unarmored gas tank and left it spewing it's fuel all over the road. At that moment the door opened and a man I recognized as the VP began trying to climb out of the top of the limo. His nose was bleeding. I fired the second round, an explosive tipped ballistic .225 caseless. It hit my target just under the left eye. His head exploded. Mission complete. I fired once more. The third round, a white phosphorous incendiary bullet struck the stream of gasoline leaking from the ruptured tank. It lit the fuel. The limo seemed to leap into the air flipping end over end as the tank went nova. The aerial fireball seemed a fitting send off for the man. A little taste of hell away from hell. I rolled away from the edge of the roof and paused only to break down the rifle and drop it into a shapeless bag. I slid down the ladder of the fire escape on the other side of the building, dropped straight down the waiting manhole and into the sewers. I came up several blocks away, shed the nondescript gray jumpsuit (under wich I wore my now familiar black suit) dropped it and the over boots I wore into a dumpster. From behind the dumpster I pulled an anonymous black briefcase, and there in the cover of the alley I slid the contents of the bag into the case, closed it, donned my ray ban shades, flipped a lit match into the dumpster (wich I had previously filled with lighter fluid) and stepped out onto the street blending seamlessly with a thousand other corporate types on their way to work that morning. I was still numb. Phase one was complete. Now for the gangers.

The First Step

"That went well."

"Yes it did."

"Again I apologize for doubting you."

"Don't apologize Just stay out of my way in the future."
"Fair enough. Old friend. Fair enough."

An hour after that I was walking through the front door of my apartment. I changed into a pair of jeans and a simple white T-shirt. I barely broke stride as I grabbed my shades and duster and stepped straight back out the door and into a cab that I had called on the drive back to my doss.

"Where to?" the orc at the wheel asked. I remember quite clearly the scars and tattoos that covered his face. Tough old bastard I guessed. Even he shivered slightly when I gave him the address. "You sure about that pal?" the grizzled orc asked. In answer I slotted my credstick, paid double the fair and added a hefty tip. The cabbie looked at the numbers of his account jump and nodded calmly. "You got it amigo...but don't expect me to wait up." I only nodded in reply.

Thirty minutes later I was walking down some nameless street in the barrens. Not terribly far from where I had grown up. I moved with the casual pace of someone who belonged in the area. I knew the turf, and there was nothing to worry about. I was still riding the comfortably numb sensation from my earlier ambush on the limo. I walked the four blocks from where I had the cabbie drop me off to the flop doss that the gang had been using. It had been a fairly large store front at one time, now it was little more than a gutted shell but it still had four walls and a lockable door...it was actually better than alot of places I had stayed in my youth though that seems so far in the past now I can barely remember it. I deliberately walked past the door of the doss and cut into the alley beside it. The gangers had left their bikes there. All of them still had keys in the ignition. Evidently word had gotten around that this gang was NTBFW. (That's "NOT TO BE FRAGGED WITH" for those that don't know.) I crouched for a few moments in the shadows listening as I screwed the silencers onto my pair of elites. I didn't hear anything from inside or out. After a moment longer I slipped both pistols into the outside pockets of my duster and broke the glass of the window with my elbow. The sound of the glass shattering seemed very loud in the still silence of the alley...but no one would notice this far out in the barrens. It was an every few seconds kind of sound that blended into the background noise like a match being struck in a bar. I still didn't hear anything inside so I climbed through the window and found myself in the bathroom. The smell hit me first. Not that of shit or sewage. Vomit and death. A corpse lay beside the toilet...a spilled cup of beer at her feet and a half eaten slice of pizza in her hand. I nodded calmly. It had cost me quite a bit to set this up. Five large pizzas, two kegs of beer, paying a cabbie to deliver them, and the gamma anthrax laced pepperoni pizzas, and catalyst dosed beer. The catalyst worked nicely to speed up the effects of the gamma anthrax. I opened the bathroom door and stepped into the only other room there was in the place. The smell was appalling. I counted the bodies. Eleven in this room, all dead. One in the bathroom made twelve. That matched the number of bikes outside and the intel I had received. I double checked each body just to be sure. One was actually laying on one of the pizza boxes, the note I had hastily scrawled still attached. I reached down and lifted the note reading it once more. "My compliments boys. Keep up the good work. JWMDR III." I pocketed the note and did a quick evaluation of the way I felt. In less than twenty-four hours I had killed thirteen people. (Sixteen if you counted the limo driver and two body guards) I still felt calm and composed. I know I should have felt something. I thought about that for a moment. As it happens I chose the wrong moment to think. The door behind me was kicked and came free of its moorings with a crash. Afterwards came the words most shadowrunners REALLY hate.

"Lone Star FREEZE ASSHOLE!" the statement was punctuated by the hammer on a Ruger Thunderbolt being cocked.

My reflexes instantly kicked into overdrive. My senses became hyper-alert even as somewhere in the back of my mind I was cursing a blue streak. I made sure to keep my hands at my sides. Sure I was probably fast enough to dodge a bullet. But what if this guy had won the departments award for marksmanship? Why risk it.....yet. My enhanced ears picked up the footsteps and told me exactly how close the cop had stopped behind me.

"On the ground man." he grunted. I heard the rattle of cuffs.

"Lie down in this? Like hell. Just cuff me and get it over with." I placed my hands behind my back as if to oblige.

"Whatever man...just don't move or you'll be breathing out the back of your head." the flatfoot grunted chuckling. "You do all this?" he asked as he placed the gun to the back of my head.

I had gotten lucky. A real pro would have just kneecapped me then cuffed me. This guy wasn't that smart. He didn't seem to realize that not everyone folds their hand when they get a gun waved at them. The second that cold steel touched the back of my head I was in motion. I whirled bringing my left hand up pushing the gun out away from me while leaning and stepping to the right. A nanosecond later I twisted the weapon out of the cops hand and it hit the floor. Thankfully it didn't go off. A quick snap kick backed the pig off of me. We stood there for a moment looking at each other. He blinked once in surprise. It had taken less than a half a second for his world to get spun. He had just had control taken from him. I made a mental note not to repeat his mistakes. He drew his baton and came at me swinging it in a vicious arc toward my face. He wasn't very smart...but he did have balls, I give him that. I ducked under the swing easily and drove my right fist into his gut. His armor absorbed most of the blow but enough got through that he grunted. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He swung the baton down at my head again, and I spun away and slammed my right heel into his knee. It buckled and the man fell screaming from the shattered joint. I booted him again in the throat to shut him up, then stepped away out of reach. Time returned to normal. I drew one of the elites holding it tightly in my right hand. He lay there choking staring up at me.

"Please..." he wheezed. "I didn't see nuthin...nuthin man.....please." Behind him his badge had fallen. The wallet was open clearly showing his badge...number 114...beside it was a picture of the man with a pretty blonde child of about eight in his arms. Both were smiling. My finger started to tighten on the trigger and stopped. I was looking down on this man...the silver crosshair from my smartlink centered right between his eyes. I knew I had to kill him. The voice inside my mind that governed my survival instinct told me so. Only this time another voice rose to argue with it. It told me that his weapon was out of reach. That he was too far done in to keep fighting. That he had a family that obviously loved him. That he was only doing his job, an innocent bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time. All this took only a fraction of a second. He just lay there shivering and whimpering in fear and pain. His armor was streaked with his own blood and piss. Then the survival voice said exactly what the other voice didn't want to hear. "He saw your face." it whispered into my mind. My jaw clenched. I didn't want to kill this man. I also realized that my wants didn't matter. I had no choice. Then I realized I never had. This was what the System wanted from me. My finger squeezed the trigger in it's usuall precise fashion. The shot was perfect...quick, painless....the least I could do.

It was a shitty apology to Officer Baker. Between the silencer and my hearing dampener the gunshot could have been no more than a whisper in the city. In my mind it echoed off the walls and from the buildings around like a firecracker set off behind a bullhorn. Even now when I'm alone in the darkness and my eyes are closing I can still hear that echo. Something tells me that I always will.

Time To Go

"You were right. He passed with flying colors."

"I told you he would."

"He's almost as good as you."

"That makes him the best operative we have then."
"Yes it does. He's the new golden child. How does it feel?"

"How does what feel?"

"To have created a prodigy of yourself?"

"A prodigy? Oh no. He's far more than that."

I slid the pistol back into my pocket as I crawled back through the bathroom window. There were thirteen corpses behind me, one of them a cop. Standard procedure when the uniform didn't check in would mean another cop close behind. I had to get out of there...quickly. I straddled one of the bikes outside. A Suzuki Aurora with a simple black and red paint scheme that would be easy to forget. I cranked the bike and poped the clutch. As I pulled out of the alley the cops car was still parked in front of the doss. Only then did I wonder how he'd gotten the address and why he was there. Fortunately no one seemed to be paying alot of attention to it...yet. I twisted the accelerator and the bike turned smoothly out onto the street. I intentionally took the long way back to my apartment. I had to think and I always think better when I'm moving. I was no longer numb. Down in the pit of my stomach an uncomfortable lump had formed. I tried to put a name to it and it introduced itself readily. It called itself "Guilt". I thought about the gangers I left behind. About the VIP I had aced that morning. Still nothing. I thought about the cop and the lump tightened. The VIP and the gang had met a well deserved end. They were parasites feeding on society. The cop was just being a cop. I had to kill him I told myself. I'd rather be guilty than have a one way ticket to Hollywood Correctional.

That much I admitted was true. I had killed him to save myself. In fact I had been quite lucky he hadn't thought to call for backup. On another deeper level I wondered where that second voice had come from. It had rose from the back of my mind and fought the System and all it had instilled in me. It had told me that the killing of an innocent man had been wrong. Deep down in my soul I realized something else. I agreed with it. I ditched the bike several blocks from my apartment, wiped it clean then tossed the pocketed note from the pizza box into a dumpster. I walked back to my doss, took a shower, and went to bed. It had been one hell of a day. Only later did I realize the irony of it all. My first step off the path the System had set me on had come on the same day as my first step on it.

The Beginnings of Endings

"Gabrial is still performing well."

"Well enough Michael. Though he's near the end."

"The end of what exactly?"
"His operational usefulness period."
"You mean the lifespan of your "mental therapy" don't you?"

"Yes. The process breaks down quicker in the good ones."

"A shame. He really is one of the best."

I felt an odd touch of deja vu walking through the barrens that night. It had been two years since my first assignment, almost three years since the system had embraced me into it's fold.

Ironically enough I had returned to where it had all started. I heard only the rain...the same gritty stinking rain from my youth, and the sounds of my running shoes on the pavement. It was late, a little after midnight by my retinal clock. (Not that it mattered. Life starts at midnight chummer.) My duster flapped in the breeze over my simple jeans and sweater. A "Sea Dogs" (the team is actually called the Mariners but no one calls them that anymore) baseball cap kept the rain out of my face, and off my ray bans With the exception of the way I move I looked just like any other thrill seeker out to brave the wilds of the Redmond Barrens past sunset. (I've never understood why people still go there. No cops, just the law of the tooth and fang. Kill or die. Fight or flight. What makes corporate suits go out slumming in a place like this?) There were only two types of people on the street that night. Predator and prey. I didn't mind. I had my pair of Model 25 Glock .40 cal's with me. (I had started with a pair of Morrisey Elites. Over time I switched to the Glocks because with a little customization I was able to get the same punch, more ammo, and better range out of an equal size package. Michael had always said that a smart runner arms himself as best he can.) The prey on the street walked and talked and laughed, looking for some joy boy or joy girl to slum with, or perhaps seeking the latest alcohol or chemical induced utopia on the streets. The predators watched from the shadows and waited for just the right time. None of them gave me a second look. The last two years flew through my mind as if I were watching a simsense vid back at my ten thousand nueyen a month doss in the Renraku Archology. One "job" a month. Money piling up in my accounts.

As the jobs got more difficult my bank roll simply got bigger. Somewhere during all this time I had changed. After a few months I had started lying to Michael about expenses. Overcharging my "operational funds" and dumping them into several accounts under completely false names set up by anonymous deckers I would hire through the network of contacts I had painstakingly assembled. I kept those identities hidden from the "system" as well. Then it was equipment. I had weapons cache's and vehicle drops spread out all over the UCAS and a few drops open in the Salish lands as well. I had started buying training from outside sources. Gun smithing, more martial arts, weapons training, improvised explosives, meditation, statistics, all sorts of things. I never told them about these things even though I was compelled to do so. I was trying to stay ready for an emergency I told myself. I glanced up at a street sign and cut in my low light vision to read it. (The street light nearby had been shot out. What a surprise.) It read "Third and Central". I was standing in front of my old home.

I stepped through the doorway (The door had long since been removed) and looked around the interior of the one room doss. Nothing had changed. The floor and walls were covered with years of dust, used condom wrappers, discarded BTL chips, and empty synthahol bottles from the local squatters. The air stank of sweat and smoke like an old abandoned bar. The memories began to come. Vague and out of focus at first, but gradually they gained clarity, until I was literally reliving my past. Hiding in a dumpster as a group of troll gangers ran by chasing me. Peeling out in a stolen Ford Americar with the owner yanking at the door. Crouching in the shadows of an alleyway while I watched a group of Halloweeners beat a man to death. (The first time I had seen someone die. I think I was about twelve. I think.) Kneeling in a corner bleeding, nursing a few broken ribs and a mangled arm after sparring with Michael. Lying on a rooftop watching a limo over the barrel of a sniper rifle. The echo of a gunshot that tore a police mans family apart. Pressing a button and watching a mans house turn into a fireball. Running through the forest of the Salish lands with a team of Salish Shide Wildcats (The Indian version of UCAS Seals. Damn those guys were good.) right behind me. Walking into a bar full of gangers. Being the only one to walk out. The memories surged through me. I remember at some point hearing two voices screaming. One was the guttural feral growling of the System and all the instincts and urges it forced into me. The other was the anguished voice of my conscience given life and sound through the voice of the youth I had been. Gradually the voices began to merge, until only one voice remained screaming. That voice was my own.

Deja Vu'

"That's it Michael. He's done."

"Very well. I will handle him."

"Not this time my friend. Arrangements have been made."

"What do you mean?"

"Because of his record the Committee feels you are too valuable to risk on this one."
"You do realize that I'm the only one who can handle him?"

"It will be taken care of Michael. Don't worry."

"I'm not the one who will try and kill him. You are. Worry about that."

I came to slowly. Everything felt a little weird at first. Fuzzy and out of focus. Gradually I regained my composure and things began to clear up. I realized where I was. I stood up and checked my pockets. Pocket secretary, cred stick, knife, pair of Glocks, everything was there. Glancing at my retinal clock told me I had only been out for a moment. Still amazing I hadn't been robbed. I walked out of my old doss and turned west anxious to reach the outskirts of the city and my Dynamit. I wanted to go home. Take a shower, get some sleep. Think about what happened. I readjusted my cap to block the rain and started walking. About half way up the block I heard tires squeal on pavement. A white Bulldog Stepvan came sliding to a halt right in front of me...three men in masks leaping at me from the side door. I remember thinking to myself "You have GOT to be dreking me chummer" as I caught the first with one helluva right jab. Goon number two tried to kick me under the chin while goon three swung a stun baton toward my chest. I sidestepped goon two's kick and grabbed goon threes arm guiding the "hot" end of his stun baton into goon twos groin. (Hey there is no such thing as a fair fight chummers.) As goon two was learning to sing soprano at one hundred and ninety five decibels I occupied myself breaking goon threes arm (elbows don't fold backwards after all) and driving an elbow into his temple. Before goon threes unconscious body hit the ground I snap kicked goon one in the face as he was trying to get up and bolted for the closest alley. The whole confrontation lasted about 1.5 seconds. Halfway down the alley I heard the unmistakable sound of a vindicator mini gun spinning up. A glance over my shoulder told me all I needed to know. The noise came from a pop-up turret on the roof of the van. I could even see into the cab. I still haven't forgotten the grin on that dwarf riggers face as the gatlin gun started spitting fire and lead. 2 meters and .25 seconds later I was diving around a corner coming into a roll back to my feet and running like the wind. A quarter second later I was ducking and weaving through alleys I knew like the back of my hand. Encounter over (so I thought) in about 2 seconds total. I remember wondering who those guys were. The similarity to the way I was initially kidnapped by the "System" were not lost on me, but if Michael wanted me all he had to do was call me in. Perhaps a test? No scratch that. That mini gun was using the real deal judging by the holes it left all over the alley a quarter mile before. The whole thing baffled me. The goons had been strictly small potatoes, used to having their prey fold before them like a pair of deuces against a flush. They could have just been go-gangers looking for a thrill. The rigger though, was top flight. The way he stopped that van at just the right angle to let those guys at me. The way he handled the mini gun He was a pro, and go-gangers couldn't afford that level of skill much less pay for that kind of hardware. I replayed the entire fight in my mind as I breezed through the alleys, my feet automatically taking me towards the alley where I left my car. Someone wanted me. Obvious. But if they knew enough about me to know where to find me then they would have to know enough about me to realize that three amatures and one competent rigger didn't have a hope in hell of taking me down. So why send them? The "click" of a safety catch answered all my questions for me...

Time to Run

"He went home eh?"

"So the sat-image says."

"The initial team got him then?"
"Of course not."

"Then it's blown and he is going to get away clean."

"I think you overestimate his chances Michael."

"And I think you underestimate his abilities Madison."

It had been a set up. Whoever sent those men KNEW I would duck into this network of alleys. They KNEW I grew up here. They KNEW I would get away and make a run for my vehicle. That meant they knew who I was, and how I operate. That meant Michael. The "System" had turned against me. I registered all of this in the back of my mind even as I realized the danger I hadn't seen. Ironically it was a mix of my enhanced hearing, jazzed reflexes and Michaels training that saved me. All courtesy of those who now wanted to see me dead. I had just exited the alleyways and my car was only about twenty yards away. The hearing amplification software in my ears picked up the "click" of the safety catch to a firearm. The spatial recognizing software told my brain exactly where the noise came from. (about ten feet to my right, near the wall of an abandoned warehouse) My training and wired reflexes automatically threw me forward into a roll coming into a crouch while whipping the Glocks free of their holsters at the small of my back. The gunshot came halfway through the roll, missing my head by a few scant inches. Close enough for me to feel the heat and rush of wind as it passed by. I came up to my feet and opened up moving straight at the gunman....or gun woman in this case. She wore a black Kevlar bodysuit (skin tight, and DAMN she was cute) under a green duster and I could tell by the way she moved that she was almost as fast as I was. She spun and crouched behind a steel dumpster only holding the pair of Ingram submachine guns over the lip of it spraying on full auto. By then seven feet of pavement separated us. Five of it was dumpster. I hit the deck and rolled again coming up with my back against her hiding spot. We spent the next few seconds playing tag over and around the garbage bin, and with those nearly bottomless clips she was doing a great job of keeping me pinned down. I turned to face the dumpster and kicked it with both feet. The heavy steel didn't roll much, but it didn't have to. It clipped her hard enough to knock her over and I sprang into action. I slid around the dumpster bringing up both glocks expecting to catch her on her back. Instead I found her flying through the air over the dumpster (damn that chicca was fast!) We both emptied our magazines at each other at near point blank range. As a tribute to Michaels training she didn't even scratch me. As a tribute to whoever trained her I hit nothing but air as well. She hit the dumpster and slid over and across it rolling to her feet on the other side. I backpedaled away from her slamming a fresh clip into the glock in my right hand. Game over. She looked up still fumbling for her mags as I brought the glock online. I centered the silver crosshair directly over the crosspiece of her shades. She dropped her irons and stood slowly raising her hands. The glock followed her head.

"Madison said you were good." she said with a smile.

"I don't know who Madison is lady. Who the hell are you?" I responded while in the back of my mind my training screamed at me that she was buying time. That I needed to drop her before I lost the edge. She tilted her head and chuckled.

"Poor boy. So lost and clueless too. They'll catch you eventually you know. Just put the gun down and I'll make your death quick and painless."

"Honor among killers?" I asked shaking my head. That told me all I needed to know.

"Adios bitch." I growled and squeezed the trigger. The damndest thing happened. She was in my sights. I had her cold, dead to rights. At that moment I owned her. She was dead and she knew it. I knew it. Then the hammer came down, striking the firing pin. The pin shot forward and struck the shell casing. And nothing happened. A one in ten million fragging chance. It was a dry round. A dud. My glock jammed on the bogus bullet. The "CLACK" of the misfire sent her into a blur of motion. She flicked her wrist at me and I barely managed to spin away from the shurikan she had up her sleeves. I lost my gun somewhere during the spin. Then she was all over me...and not in a good way.

Honor Among Killers

"Nice picture on the sat-link. My compliments to the techs."

"A bit like watching two gladiators go at it. Damn that guy IS good."

"I told you to let me handle it."

"The tertiary team is inbound. We'll get him Michael."

"Madison you couldn't get Hepatitis BT from a two nueyen whore. This op is screwed and we both know it.

Call off the teams before you get anymore of them killed."

"No faith Michael. You wound me."

"He has your name now. What do you think he's going to do?"

The back of my mind registered the "snick" of the ankle spur poping as well as the sound of the blade ripping through the back of her shoe as I was ducking under her crescent kick.

I lunged at her with a short right wich she deflected well enough with her own right hand.

Her left palm strike met the forearm pads of my duster then we both spun away from each other circling. She nodded appreciatively and I smiled back as she raised one leg and drew a long double edged blade from a sheath on her calf. She somehow managed to make the gesture seem both deadly and sexy at the same time. I drew my own blade and twirled it once just for show. On another day in another place under different circumstances this would have been fun. She came at me with a fore handed slice aimed at my throat wich I leaned away from. She followed up by continuing the spinning motion and launched a roundhouse kick lead by her ankle spur. I backpedaled away from her parrying and dodging looking for an opening. She fought methodically at first, all whirling blades and leather, keeping me defensive and taunting me with her smile and flowing duster. I backed her off by stepping inside her reach and planting my left fist into her stomach. She stumbled back a few steps and growled. I gave her my number two calm smile and motioned her in adding "C'mon gutterslut" in my most taunting voice. She obliged. She came straight at me with a stab aimed at my throat. Her lunge left her over extended and I caught her wrist twisting it with my left hand while bringing my right heel down HARD on her right foot holding it there, pinning her foot to the ground and immobilizing her ankle blade. I put the blade of my knife through her forearm, passing it right through the bead of the bone and twisted it. Her blade fell from numbed fingers and she cried out just before I slammed the cold blacked out steel pommel of my blade into her temple. She hit the ground like a sack of apples. I kicked her blade away and patted her down. No more weapons but she did have a pocket secretary and a pack of smokes. I left the smokes but pocketed her computer. I knelt there with the tip of my blade at her throat knowing I should kill her. If I let her live she would come back for me again someday. All my training told me to kill her. Something came up from inside and stayed my hand. Maybe I have a thing for blondes. Or maybe killing someone who was defenseless just didn't sit right with me anymore. Even though that someone had just tried to kill me. I slipped the Doc Wagon Platinum contract wrist band off of my right hand, clasped it around her wrist and hit the squealer button. A trauma team would be there in moments. Doc Wagon always responds. Even in the barrens. I figured they would save her life, patch up her wounds, and most importantly hold her for questioning as to why she had a wristband registered to my current fake name and keep her out of my hair for a week or two. Then I turned on my heel, sheathed my blade, grabbed my fallen glocks, got into my Saab and drove away.

On the Bounce

"How is Kit?"

"She'll live. Massive tissue loss in her right forearm. Right foot broken in three places. Concussion.

Doc Wagon is holding her for interrogation. So far she's not talking."

"He didn't kill her? Curious."

"Speaks volumes about his frame of mind doesn't it?"

"I assure you he had his reasons. He always does."

"Where do you think he's going?"
"Frankly I don't know. He's too creative to be predictable."

Forty minutes later I was turning my Dynamit into parking garage A2 at Seattle Intercontinental airport. I parked on the fifth floor and scanned the parking garage cutting in my lowlight vision. No one was around. I needed a new car, new clothes, new everything. New identity. I had to leave behind everything the system had access to. I stripped down in the back seat of the Saab and got out staying low and avoiding the garage security cameras. I rolled under the car and touched a concealed sensor opening a panel just beside the gas tank. I flipped the switch inside activating the timer on a shaped C12 charge inside the gas tank. In thirty minutes the car would become a fireball, destroying all of my clothes, gear, and any DNA I had left behind. I moved out, staying to the shadows. (Airport security in the sub orbital terminal is top notch. A pity there wasn't enough left in the security budget for the parking garage. No thermal cameras or pressure sensors there.) Three rows up I rolled under a Cadillac T300 Landrover SUV. I had purchased the truck a year before and stashed it here in case of emergency. (I think this qualifies.) I reached into the frame and pulled a small magnetic box from the undercarriage just over the front axle. I removed the keyless entry system from the box and tapped in the correct button sequence to deactivate the trucks security measures and warm up the vehicle. (The security system is simple and has 3 levels. Level 1 is a bit like getting a static shock. Level 2 is like being hit with a stun gun. Level 3 makes the electric chair look like a lava lamp.) The big SUV rumbled to life and the internal computers started a quick warm up routine. Another touch to the keypad opened a concealed hatch in the floorboard of the rear of the vehicle. I climbed through and slid into the swivel chair mounted in the rear of the SUV. Most Cadillacs are excellent luxury vehicles, with every bell and whistle possible. Mine was a bit more than that. On the outside it had a jet black radar bane paint job, mirror tinted lexan bulletproof windows, and all terrain Kevlar lined bullet proof runflat tires, built onto a frame and suspension that would perform and excel on or off road. All in a normal looking package. Inside, behind the mirror tint glass my "Rover" is a security buffs wet dream. High performance supercharged engine. Titanium alloy armor under the body. A full sensor suite built into the hud, signal jamming systems, signal receivers, a shielded satlite communications system, laptop mounted with a nice untraceable satellite link to the matrix, rotating spools for holding up to 4 separate license plates (all registered to a different false SIN I had created) and a military grade auto-nav system. (Not to mention the small arsenal I had concealed in a half dozen or so concealed compartments in various places. What can I say chummer? Its a dangerous world out there.) Damned shame I hadn't thought to keep a change of clothes too. I hit the ignition switch and activated the auto-nav setting the destination as one of the several expensive apartments I maintained in the downtown Seattle area. I had it take the most round about route possible. I checked my retinal clock as the SUV drove itself out of the garage. In twenty minutes the fire department would be showing up to deal with my old car. I sighed inwardly. I loved that car. Oh well I thought. No help for it now. Down to biz. I slotted the pocket secretary I had taken from the assassin into the port on my laptop, then dialed the signal receiver to the police band.

The Next Step

"They found his car an hour ago. In pieces."

"Oh? Where?"

"Seattle Intercontinental. He's probably on a sub orbital flight to Paris or maybe Rome by now."

"I doubt that."

"Then where is he running to?"

"You think he's running? He's planning."

"Michael with due respect to his ability you don't really believe he would be crazy enough to stay and lock horns with US do you?"
"Madison with due respect to you. You are a soldier. You teach people to kill. I am an assassin. There is a difference."

"Oh is there?"
"Oh yes. You teach your students how to kill. I teach mine how to THINK."

I accessed the internal memory to the pocket secretary and did a quick scan of the information it held. I didn't think much about it at the time, but looking back now I wonder why she hadn't used some kind of encryption on it. I wonder why she brought it with her at all come to think of it. It was linked to a 30,000 nueyen bank account, had detailed information on me, if not on my training, my current SIN, a detailed work up of her identity, (A personnel manager working for Nueyogenic Labs INC.) and the internal phone book contained a few phone numbers. I ran the numbers through an online phone book and got a list of names, her work phone number and a message drop. Standard company work. I swiveled my chair to the other side and accessed my car phone then looped its signal through the satellite com system. I touched a few numbers and hit the "send" button. Before the phone even rang I was rewarded with the image of an animated woman on the comm screen. Sorceress always hid behind her matrix persona. The young woman was raven haired and rail thin, decked out from head to toe in black and she had so much animated eye shadow on she looked like a raccoon. Sorceress is one of the Seattle undergrounds best deckers (that's "Hacker" in laymans terms) and shes largely responsible for the formation of the "Shadowland BBS". The BBS is a billboard system where users can anonymously post information, contact each other for runs or simply B.S. about the runs they've pulled off.

"Damn it shadow boy? What time is it in your world?" she grumbled sounding only half awake. Her image pouted cutely.

I glanced at my retinal clock and responded. "Two in the night. Thought you never slept anyway?"

"You mean two in the morning."
"No way chummer. It's not morning till the sun comes up."

"True enough baby face. So why the frag are you dragging me out of bed this time of "night"?"

"Job for you. Standard rates." Her standard rates are about triple what a typical decker would ask. However when it comes to shadowrunners you get what you pay for.

"I'm listening." Suddenly she was all biz.

"I need you to check on these numbers, assemble a background on all the names, and I need this done five minutes ago. Also find out everything you can on Nueyogenic Labs and the personal file of the employee I'm sending you and clean out this bank account, take your pay out of that."

"I suppose you want all of that done ASAP?"

"You bet your pretty black heart on it Sorc."

"Done. I'll collect on completion, get back to you around ten hundred tomorrow morning?"

I nodded in reply and sent the files to her. She disconnected without another word.

Morning Comes

"So what is he "thinking" then?"

"You still don't buy it. Let me show you what I mean. Define the word Objective."

"A goal to be met."

"Very good Madison. You have some rudimentary education. Now define the word "Target"

"Something you shoot at."

"Typical response from a cretin. Now lets try "Obstacle"

"Something in the way."

"Ah a soldiers mind. Now let me tell you how he looks at this. His "Objective" is to stay alive. We are trying to kill him and he knows this. That makes us an "Obstacle" standing between him and his "Objective". Now by your definition we are "in the way" Correct?"

"Yes. So what about the "Target"?"

"That's simple really. In his mind we are the obstacle and in the way. Therefore we must be eliminated for him to accomplish his objective. Now given the intelligence he has thus far, hence YOUR name, the target dear Madison, is YOU."

"He wouldn't be that stupid Michael."

"What was your definition of "Target" again?"

I parked my SUV in a reserved parking lot and got out. I faked a drunken stagger on the way to the elevator and continued it on the way to my apartment. Luckily it was on the floor above the parking garage and I didn't bump into anyone on the way there. I closed the door behind me and locked both maglocks then armed the security system. (In this case the "security system" is a claymore mine inside the second mag lock in the center of the door at chest height. The detonator is electrical and wired to the first and third mag locks. Due to the arrangement most people attempting to break in will start with the top or bottom lock first. When a lock is disabled the electrical flow to it stops. When the electrical current stops flowing the detonator stops recieveing the "safe" signal from the household computer and detonates the claymore.) I took a quick shower, using the hot water to ease away the pain from my earlier sparring match, then crawled into bed. It had been a helluva night and I needed a few hours downtime. I would need the info from Sorceress before I could plan my next move anyway. I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling listening to the echo of a silent gunshot......

When I came back to my senses I was lying on my back. It was dark and stuffy. I cut in my lowlight vision and activated the tiny thermal lamps in my cybereyes. I was lying in a six and a half foot by three foot box. It was moving, bumping, as if being carried. For a moment I almost panicked. I was inside a coffin. "I'm not dead!" the voice in my mind screamed. Then I remembered. Thirty one targets. Mafia boss. Her subordinates. Their subordinates. How did I get here? The Mafia Don. A sniper rifle. A funeral. It's so easy to break into the morgue. The Don didn't really want to be cremated. That's alright. I'm sure she didn't feel it, and if she did she was in no position to argue. I remembered climbing into the coffin. Must have dozed off. Difficult to believe with the cramped space and the gear I carried. My body armor, glocks, a small pack of explosives, and lying next to me in the coffin rested a Vindicator Mini-gun with a thousand round belt of armor piercing ammo. I had wanted to pack the coffin with enough explosives to level the old cathedral. Michael had vetoed the idea. He had believed there was too great a chance that some of the targets would survive. To be assured of a kill I had to be there. That meant a more personal touch. The coffin stopped moving. With my hearing amplification I heard the priest begin talking.

"We are gathered here today to commit this body to the earth...."

I quietly removed the leather wraps that kept the rounds in the mini gun belt from jingling together then pulled my baclava down over my face.

"Though her body may be entombed in this hallowed ground her soul shall from this moment on forever soar through the heavens..."

I had forgotten that the "Don" had been a woman. Not that it mattered. The .223 caseless bullet that hit her in the bridge of the nose didn't care either. She was more ruthless and cold than her predecessor had been. She just wasn't as cold and ruthless as I was. I placed a small shaped C-12 charge on the inside lid of the coffin. The charge was shaped to blast upwards. It would shatter the lid and throw the shrapnel up and out, away from me.

"We shall never forget, but always shall we remember the deceased, who was taken so violently and prematurely from this world..."

I slipped a flashbang from my combat harness and set the fuse for a half second. They thought that her death was violent and premature? They had no idea.

"We now commit this soul to the heavens, Ashes to ashes, dust to....."

Go time. I detonated the C-12, and threw the flashbang straight up in the same motion. The explosions were washed out by the hearing dampeners in my ears, the flash of the grenade barely made my vision flicker. I sat up in a blur, bringing the mini gun up with me, my thumb holding the button on the grip. The sound of one spinning up is very distinct. No one that has been on either end of one will forget it. The shining silver crosshair appeared on my vision courtesy of my smartlink. I engaged the magnetics in my hand to help me keep the weapon steady. There were about fifty people in the chapel, each of them blinded or stunned. I never hesitated. My finger tightened on the trigger and the crosshair swept from person to person. The vindicator min gun has a sort of high pitched "BRINNNNG" sound when it's spinning up. When it opens fire that sound deepens and sounds like an oversized saw. That saw obliterated everything in its path. Men and women were thrown like rag dolls, blood fountaining, limbs severed, torsos shattered. It seemed surreal, like I was watching from outside my body. Things like this only happened in movies and in video games. Except this was real I realized, when the mini guns tone changed again. The belt was dry. One thousand rounds. Fifty people. Fifteen seconds. I lept from the coffin and slung my pack, then dropped an incendiary white phosphorous grenade into it to erase any trace of my presence. The voice in the back of my mind, my survival instinct, was screaming at me to get going. I checked my Retinal clock. A quick glance around the room showed me all I needed to see. Shattered pews, shattered bodies. The priest had caught a face full of splinters from the coffin lid. Wrong place. Wrong time. I swallowed the now familiar feeling of guilt. Think about it later. Gotta go. I was off and running towards the back of the cathedral and down the stairs. I heard the Willie Pete go off behind me. I entered the cellar of the cathedral and planted a shaped charge on the floor in the exact center. I checked my clock again. Ten seconds. I heard a rumble in the distance. Eight. I heard men crying out from upstairs. Apparently Knight Errant security had been contracted for this high profile a funeral. Six. Voices up the stairs on the other side of the door. Four. The rumble was getting very loud. Two. Combat boots on the stairs coming down. Zero. I hit the detonator. The plasticrete floor shattered in a near perfect three foot circle. I lept through the hole and landed atop a moving subway train, laying out flat and activating the magnetics in my hands again, to be sure I didn't slide off. I crawled to the last car of the train, then dangled over the side. I slid the window open and climbed through it. I found myself in one of the luxury suites of the "Grey Line" subterranean tour train. It runs from Los Angeles, through Seattle, and under the Salish lands. A sort of secluded getaway for those who didn't want to take a cruise. I closed the window and the noise of the train stopped. I shed my body armor and took a shower. The priest came to mind as I lay down in the rented train car. Something I've always been grateful for. Cybernetic eyes can't cry...

I woke up with a start. I hadn't thought about that mission in some time. It had been a nick of time success. It was also very high ranking on the list of things I didn't want to remember. I sat up then shook my head to clear it. Then the phone began to beep.

Don't Start the Ball...

"You're leaving Michael?"
"Yes. Going home."

"Running away you mean."
"More like waiting. You told me to stay out of it remember?"
"He won't come here. He doesn't even know where "Here" is."

"He'll come, Madison. He'll find this place and come for your head."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because I would."

I rolled off the bed and blanked the telecom screen before hitting the "talk" button. Sorceress' image greeted me with a black lipped smile and twinkling raccoon eyes.

"What no vid?" she pouted again.

"Status?" I asked.

"Poo. You're all business. Not that I blame you chummer. Price like that on you're head I'd be worried too."

"Price?"

"Yeah. Don't know who, but someone has a serious amount of cash on you. They're trying to turn over every rock in this city looking for you." she giggled.

"You trying to collect?" I muttered.

"Uh-Uh amigo. Be bad for business I do have a rep to maintain. Wich reminds me. Got a blank chip?"

I nodded and slotted one into the jack on the telecom.

"Packet incoming. I think you'll find all this useful. The nueyogenics laboratory stuff is sketchy though. They aren't connected to the matrix anywhere. Pretty odd for a company that says they deal in cybernetic research and development."

The chipjack beeped announcing the download was complete. I reached for the disconnect button.

"Hey Shadowboy?" she asked softly.

"Yeah?" I returned.

"Keep your head down chummer. I don't know what you're into. But you need a decker, you know how to find me."

"Thanks Sorc. I will, and I will."

The animated image winked then blew me a kiss and the screen went blank.

I slotted the chip into my laptop and entered the correct decryption key, then decompressed the filed and began reading. Sorceress was thorough as always. Detailed backgrounds on the friends, and coworkers, stored in the pocket secretary. A blueprint of the Nueyogenics Laboratory building in Seattle. A detailed background of one "Amy Starling" the nice lady who formerly possessed the pocket secretary. The name was definitely a fake. I noted that she was still being held at the Doc Wagon facilities, and would be transfered to "a special" prison later that day. The system at work again. If they followed SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) they would terminate her. She had become a liability and ran the risk of exposing the system by being captured by Doc Wagon. For some reason that didn't sit well with me. I'm not sure why. She did try to kill me. I called up a map of the city, and began to study. What the hell I thought. Why not go rescue someone who will do their absolute best to punch my ticket permanently. Besides. I needed the intel on Nueyogenics. Since it wasn't on the matrix it may well be a System owned and operated delta clinic (A hidden hospital where prototype cybernetics are made and installed. Cutting edge stuff. Very expensive, custom tailored to the individual.) and if it were they may have some record of operatives history there. At very least it would be worth a look. The gears started turning. I knew what I had to do. All I had to do was figure out how to do it. And somehow avoid getting very dead along the way.

Twenty hundred hours. Eight P.M. that night. I was standing on the sidewalk on the Wombley overpass watching the busy night life traffic pass under me. If I had guessed right the van transporting Amy Starling would pass bellow me. It was the only major roadway near Doc Wagons holding facilities. I sighed mentally. How may guards would there be? How many inside the van? How many vehicles? This run had WAY too many variables. Too much could go wrong. A smart runner would cash in his chips and walk away. Only a fool would try something this stupid. Or desperate. A column of white vans turned onto the street a block away and began moving towards my position, single file. No more time to think. Three vans. Objective in the center one. Lead and tail are just there for security. I flexed my knees feeling the gentle sway of the overpass under me as the traffic went by. The wind tossed the tail of my duster a bit as I gaged the distance from overpass to street. The first van passed under. I judged the speed of the column and then lept over the rail. Everything clicked into place. Time slowed down. The move by wire system pushed my perception and reflexes to the razors edge. The balance augmentor helped me maintain my balance and footing as I came down on the roof of the white van. I whirled around and drew one of the modified Ruger Thunderbolts from its shoulder holster. (Marvelous weapon. Most of them are carried by Lone Star, and cops like to hassle anyone else who owns one. An automatic pistol with a twenty round clip and the stopping power of the .45acp hardballer round. The envy of any sub machine gun, in a smaller package. The standard model kicks like a mule though, making accuracy really suspect past three shots. My pair however, having custom grips, with steel strips underneath for my magnetics, a set of compensators on the barrels and being rechambered for a somewhat lighter .40 caliber round, can dump a full magazine and never so much as budge.) I centered the silver cross hair on the mirror tinted windscreen of the trail van where the driver should be sitting and tightened my finger on the trigger. The long automatic burst didn't shatter the lexan glass, but it spiderwebbed it to hell and gone making visibility impossible. I holstered the pistol and dropped off the back of the van keeping one hand on top, the magnetics holding me in place while my feet found hold on the rear bumper. I quickly slapped a tiny speck of pre-shaped C-12 over the door lock and slapped the detonator. The one second fuse gave me just enough time to get back to the roof before it blew. By this time the van was swerving all over the highway trying to shake me off. The charge blew and the door swung open. I clasped my knife between my teeth, pirate style, and swung into the rear of the van, just as a short automatic burst from a gunner leaning out of the passenger seat of the van behind me cut the air where I had been. I was hoping they wouldn't fire inside the van for fear of hitting it's occupants. I'd soon know.

I drove both feet into the chest of an armored man on my way in. Three men in the back. One was standing over Amy with an empty syringe. She was already unconscious. Mentally I swore. The man I kicked bounced off the back of the cab. The third man was struggling to bring a Remington 750 Riot Shotgun to bear on me. I grabbed my blade in a reverse grip and flew into action. (Not to sound conceited but I'm fast. Faster than they'd ever seen at least.) I grabbed the barrel of goon threes shotgun and forced it upward away from me before dragging the dikoted edge of my knife across his throat. I followed by simultaneously stabbing the needle man in the eye and kicking goon one again, as he tried to grab me, this time aiming at his groin. (Remember chummers. No fair fights.) He dropped to his knees clutching his jewels. It was the easiest thing in the world to grab the back of his head and toss him out of the fluttering rear door. My amplified hearing picked up the sickening crunch of armor and bone as the trail vans wheels ran him over.

I sheathed my Cougar Long Blade, and picked up the shotgun checking it's ammo load. (No smartlink! The system having budget cuts or what?) I moved to the rear door and rapid fired three rounds from the pump action. The first hit the gunner square in the chest. He dropped his SMG and slumped, hanging half out of the window. The next two went straight into the windscreen again, this time the heavier slugs from the shotgun shattered the glass. I'm not sure if I hit the driver or not but the van swerved out of control, went sideways, then flipped onto it's side in the center of an intersection. I paused for a moment and touched a few keys on a transmitter I carried, then I turned and slapped a somewhat larger wad of C-12 against the back of the vans cab. I covered Amys body with my own to shield her from the concussion and hit the detonator. The charge peeled the armor separating the rear and the cab as if it were a can of sardines. It also splattered the driver all over the cab, and destroyed the controls for the van. (Damn damn double damn. I think I used a BIT too much) I reached into the cab and yanked the emergency brake, causing the van to skid sideways to a halt and throwing me, the two corpses, and the package, against the side door. I hurriedly opened the door and threw Amy over my shoulder drawing a smoke grenade from a pocket and rolling it out first. The cloud of thermal smoke concealed normal vision, and played hell with anyone viewing the infrared spectrum as well. Under the cover of the smoke I ran for the closest alley, tapping a few more keys on the transmitter as I ran. The first van had stopped and its occupants were pilling out. They fired blindly through the smoke. I felt a round drill me in the small of the back, but the Kevlar lining of my duster prevented it from causing more than a smug bitch of a bruise. As I rounded the first corner of the alleyway a second round punched me in the shoulder, slicing through the thinner layer of Kevlar like butter and drawing blood. The round spun me and almost caused me to drop my package, then the balance augmentor and trauma dampeners kicked in, holding me upright and stemming the blood flow. Dulling the pain. Keep running. A second bend in the alley. My LandRover sat there waiting, rear door open and inviting. I threw her into the back, lept in behind her, and slammed the door. I climbed into the driver seat and heard the loud "CLANG" of small arms fire pinging off the armored rear door. I turned the ignition and the power plant roared to life. Another burst struck the rear passenger side tire. The Kevlar held. I shifted the SUV into gear and stomped the accelerator. Smoke and screams came from all four tires as I turned onto a parallel street and double clutched into second gear. I took the next turn I found, and kept the SUV moving as fast as I safely could, tapping the console switch to rotate license plates. I set the autopilot for the address of a street doc I knew in the barrens. It wouldn't do to go to a hospital. They tend to report gunshot wounds. Then I crawled into the back and checked Amys pulse. Weak but alive. I injected her with a DMSO/MAO cocktail to slow the effects of whatever they had given her. Then I switched on the signal receivers to the emergency frequencies. They were alive with ruckus several miles behind me. Fire department. Police. Ambulances. Coroner. "Not a bad days work" I thought grimly. Then I stripped off my duster and slapped a trauma patch over the bullet wound in my shoulder. Just a nick, but it would need stitching. The trauma patch would do for now. I sat and fell into a meditative state as the olive flavor of dmso began to form in my throat, the chemicals from the patch going to work. An hour later I woke up when the SUV stopped outside a run down two story garage. I scowled and pulled the SUV inside. The door closed behind me. This is going to be expensive I muttered. Then I got out.

...If You Aren't Ready to Dance

"Kit broke free."

"Oh did she now? I doubt she was in any shape to do that on her own."

"She wasn't on her own. Someone helped her."

"I see."

"Damn you Michael. You know something. Who was it?"
"Who do you think?"
"Gabrial? But why would he...."

"Because she knows you. And you signed her death warrant. Twice."

"This is getting out of control."

"Thought you said you could handle it?"
"I can and I will. But this is getting costly."
"If you say so Madison."

The mage called "Sturge" met me in the garage. Sturge was a smallish man, even smaller than me (and I'm not exactly huge) and almost anorexic looking. He wore jeans and a Sea Hawks T-shirt under a white lab coat adorned with various fetishes and magical doo-dads, and a pair of ginormous glasses that made his brown eyes seem to be the size of dinner plates. He stepped lightly to the side as I pulled Amy Starling from the rear of the SUV and draped her across my shoulders. She was barely breathing.

"What's up doc?" I asked. (Always wanted to say that.)

"What's her problem?" he grumbled.

"Some type of injected poison I think. Dosed her with MAO to slow her heart rate and slow the effects. She needs your help, NOW doc."

"Triple the standard rate Gabe. People are looking for you. LOTS of people."

"Done. Now fix her." I handed him a credstick.

I took her upstairs and laid her down on a bed that looked way too sterile to exist in an abandoned garage in the middle of the Redmond Barrens. Sturge liked the outside of his place to look condemned. Kept anyone from looking too closely at the operations he pulled off inside. A hefty contribution to the Eye Fivers go-gang and the all Troll Disassemblers down the street made sure he didn't get hassled by any of the locals. Anyone else who came prowling found out the hard way that Sturges magics can do far more than heal. He sat in a chair across the room and stared at her intently for a few moments. I took a seat in the corner and watched. A few moments later he blinked, stood up and grabbed a case from his closet. He removed a syringe full of some amber colored liquid from it and injected the entire thing into her. Then he waved his hands over her body and began to chant in the spidery language of mages. By the time he had finished the color had returned to her cheeks and she was breathing regularly again.

"That was fast." I commented. He nodded and returned to his seat.

"You're bleeding." he noted.

I nodded in return. He raised his hand and opened his mouth to begin speaking. I shook my head.

"Just stitch me doc. No magic." After all the system had done to me, I didn't really trust magic anymore. Not even the healing type. He shrugged and picked up his surgical kit. I turned around but kept an eye on him in the mirror.

"So how is she?" I asked as he threaded the needle.

"She got a hefty dose of Doom. Nasty stuff, but I believe I administered the antidote soon enough. Good thing I stocked up recently. Hard stuff to find. She also has a concussion, a broken right foot, and a pretty nasty stab wound on her right arm. Who worked her over? She's hot."

"Didn't catch the guys name, the one that injected that stuff in her. The rest is my handiwork." I winced as the needle bit.

"What happened to the guy?" he asked as he matter of factly began to stitch the bullet wound closed.

"He caught a ride." I responded remembering the sickening crunch.

"Was he a mage?" Sturge asked.

"Don't think so. Didn't seem to be. Why?" That was curious.

"She's got almost as much chrome (Cyberware) as you do chummer. But her aura is all weird. Like there was some heavy duty magic performed on her at one time, and it's starting to degrade and wear off. Come to think of it you're looking different yourself."

"How so?" I asked.

"Well your aura is dark where the cybernetics are. Those parts of your body are "dead" in a spiritual sense. But what's left of your spirit is burning with an intensity I've rarely seen. A combination of fear, anger, guilt, pain, and sheer determination. Lights you up like a spotlight in astral space chummer. Mid life crisis?"

"Something like that. So what do you think all that magic on her is?"

"Don't know. It's a little similar to cybermantic stuff, quickened spells and the like, but it's not affecting her spirit. Some of it appears to be touching her mind." he shrugged and cut the thread from the needle with his teeth.

"You mean mind control?"

"Yeah, but really subtle." He responded as he tied off the thread and examined his work.

"And it's degrading? Wearing off? As in not working any more?"

"Yeah. My healing spells seem to be speeding that up as well. A few hours she'll be past it. Few hours after that and she'll be fully recovered, even from the wounds you inflicted."

"Thanks Doc. Here's a bonus. I was never here." I handed him a wad of bills this time.

"Of course you weren't. Keep your head down chummer. I'm rooting for you." He helped me get her back on my shoulder and walked me back to the SUV. I buckled her into the passenger side seat and got into the drivers seat turning over the power plant under the hood. It was going to be a long night.

The Enemy of my Enemy

"Alright Michael. It's been twelve hours. We can't find him. I need your help."

"At last you realize that you are in over your head. A bit late however."
"The committee said.."

"The committee has decided to tie this operation off. You're on your own."
"So they're letting him go?"
"No. They are just giving him time to run. Let him believe he's safe."
"And that will work?"
"No. But you try convincing the bean counters of that."
"So much for being subtle. I'll have to mobilize the strike teams."

"You do that. Make sure you're insurance is paid as well."
"Fuck you Michael. He's dead and you know it."
"Temper temper Madison. Save it for Gabrial. Not that it will help."

I carried Amy into a single story house I maintained in the Renraku Archology. (You can NEVER have too many safe houses. Bolt holes are nice to have.) She was breathing strongly and appeared to be regaining consciousness. I sat her in a chair in the living room, grabbed four pair of pulse cuffs from the bedroom and cuffed her to the chair at the wrists and ankles. The Ares EMP Personal Restraints (Or pulse cuffs for short) are basically a special set of handcuffs used by police or military/security forces world wide. They generate a small strength electro-magnetic pulse into the wearers body. It's not a strong enough shock to hurt (although I've heard of some very nasty things being done by increasing the juice.) or even to feel. But it does kick all of the cybernetics in the limb attached to it into a "stand-by" mode. The cybernetics stops receiving signals from the bodys nervous system, and just sits idle, doing nothing. It wouldn't do to have her break loose and start wrecking my home by doing something stupid like trying to kill me....again. Then I cooked dinner for two. When she woke up I had already finished eating and was in the process of cleaning my pair of Thunderbolts. She tried to feign sleep. My enhanced hearing picked up the change in her breathing. Still I let her get away with it for a few minutes, until my weapon maintenance was done. Then I slid fresh clips into each, chambered a round then ejected the magazines. I placed a new round in each one then slapped them home. Twenty in the clip. One in the pipe. Just in case. I slid a chair next to hers and sat holding a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.

"Hungry?" I asked. When she didn't respond I poked a finger into her forearm right where I had stabbed her. She winced and straightened her eyes fluttering open.

"Hungry?" I repeated.

"Why don't you go slot yourself till you're raw at both ends chummer?" She growled.

I shrugged and began to eat the portion I'd made for her.

She just sat there and watched till I'd finished. I sat the plate down and reclined in the chair.

"If you're going to kill me..." she started. I just laughed.

"If I were going to kill you I would have done it by now." I chuckled.

"Then what happens now?" she growled.

I responded by calling up the blueprint of Nueyogenics Laboratories on my laptop and placing it on the coffee table in front of her.

"Now we talk."

"And if I don't?" she asked. I shrugged.

"Then I cut you loose and your friends eventually find you. Then they use a less pretty method than injecting you with something that will cause a heart attack. The phrase "nine millimeter migraine" comes to mind. You blew the op. The target escaped. Then you got captured. They tried to kill you. I broke you out." I explained.

She seemed to digest that for a moment.

"What's happening to me?" She asked. I tilted my head questioningly. "I feel different..." she went on. "Like somethings changed in me. What did you do to me?" her voice was rising. Getting close to panic.

"Calm down. I didn't do anything. The mind control techniques they used on you are wearing down, losing their hold. Same as they did with me. You're becoming yourself again, whoever that may be. You have a name?" I asked, just trying to keep her talking.

She looked at me for a moment, looking right through me. She was staring at an invisible screen six inches from her face, like she was watching a movie from her past.

"Kit. My family called me Kit." She shook her head like a dog shaking off water.

"Well "Kit" we have a common enemy, and a similar goal. Why don't you help me out. In return I'll give you a bank roll, a car, and a safe egress from the city." I offered.

"How can you guarantee they won't be hunting for me?" She asked, though I could hear a bit of hope creeping into her voice.

"Easy" I said. "They'll be too busy shooting at me." She gave me the strangest look I think I've ever seen.

The Wings of Angels

"Hello?"
"It's me sir."

"Ah. Maddison. How are things?"
"Things are secure Director."

"Have you made any progress?"
"No sir. I believe the subject has left the country and gone to ground."

"What does Michael believe?"
"Michael will never change Director. He believes that the target is still in the city despite the fact that he knows we are hunting him.

Sir I would also like to point out that the subject would have been neutralized

well before now were the matter left strictly to my control and I am recommending that Micahel be removed

from his duties for interfering in an operation that is clearly outside of his own boundaries."

"Is that your personal or professional opinion Maddison?"
"Both Sir."

"Let us hope you are correct."

It would have been relaxing in other circumstances. I was hanging suspended from a stealth spec spider line shot from a grappling gun. Twenty stories above the quiet Seattle streets and hanging at the halfway point between buildings, the air was still and I drank in the damp cold night with deep breaths, tasting the salt of sea air, striving to control the adrenaline that always begins to burn in my system when the heat is almost on. The Nueyogenics Compound was only a hundred feet in front of me representing all the fear I had felt in the last twenty four hours. Later I would realize that it represented all the fear I had felt in the last twenty years. Behind me, an equal distance away was an apartment building, in wich I had recently purchased a penthouse facing this complex on the twentieth floor. The place had cost a small fortune, as had the tidy sum I'd paid to Kit for the info, and the down payment to Sorceress to run support on this op. I hung motionless gently swaying in the breeze, the featureless glass building in front of me was still as if waiting and watching me. The apartment behind me in all it's lavishness and warmth seemed to call for me. In one flash of insight I realized where I was. My minds eye began to flash with half remembered images. Perched in the door of a GMC Banshee over the Salish lands. Cradling a rifle watching a blonde haired Mafia Don through a high powered scope. Standing on an overpass watching a convoy of vans approach. Decision time. Final Destination approaching. The point of no return.

"You're drifting. WAKE UP." The voice in my head yelled.

I came back to reality and began to double check my gear. AK-97, with under barrel Remington 990 shotgun. Pair of Thunderbolts. Spare ammo. A few bricks of C-12 plastic explosive. Electronics kit, and assorted gadgets. Body armor. It was time. I took a deep breath and began to pull myself towards the building as I subvocalized into the microphone taped to my throat.

"Blackout is on approach." I whispered.

"Copy". Came Sorceresses voice from the other end.

I began to pull myself across the rope towards the complex, the pulley on my harness making a quiet whirring sound that seemed far too loud with the adrenaline amping up my already jazzed hearing. Twenty feet out the power grid for the entire city block went down. I cleared the last of the rope at a dash, pulled myself onto the roof, tapped the rope with the catalyst stick I had tucked into my webbing and climbed onto the top of the small upraised portion of roof that contained the door leading in as the rope turned to grainy black dust. I knew from Kits intel that the building had it's own generator. I also knew it would take sixty seconds for the generators systems to finish warm up, and diagnostics before coming online. Somehow I kept my hands steady, despite my heart hammering in my chest, as I unhooked the camera over the door and began to wire in my own special addition to the Nueyogenics security system.

"Fifteen seconds" Sorceress whispered in my ear.

"Copy" I breathed into the mike. My hands worked faster.

"Ten seconds"

"I can count you know." I began twisting the last of the connectors into place.

"Five seconds, MOVE IT shadowboy!" Sorceress barked as I finished my work.

"Done." I whispered and took my hands from view of the cameras lens a fraction of a second before the red light reactivated.

I rolled away from the camera and lay on my back waiting for Sorceress to get to work. I remember the stars seemed so close from where I was. Then it occurred to me that I had never really stopped to look at the stars before. They were quite beautiful, and completely impassive. The tiny pricks of light stared back at me in complete indifference, while I watched them for what seemed like the first time.

"GOD DAMN IT! WAKE UP!" My instincts screamed in my head. I shook my head again to clear it. I was on a shadowrun, and I wanted to stop and stargaze. I smiled thinly to the sky, and wondered at what point I had lost my mind. (The irony of that thought didn't occur to me until years later.)

"Ok Shadowboy we're golden" Sorceress said over my shielded stealth com link.

The Nueyogenics Complex was completely off the grid of the Matrix, so Sorceress couldn't just hack in. The wiring job I had just performed on the camera amounted, in laymans terms, to installing a tightly focused, untraceable, wireless link thats only purpose was to catch a signal bounced from a comset in my apartment. Sorceress had ridden that signal, into the cameras output feed, and caught a ride along with the imaging data from the camera directly to the cpu of the security systems in the building, where she had set up shop and would be acting as support for my little unauthorized access into the web of the Nueyogenics facility.

"You're in?" I asked just to double check.

"Yes Shadowboy. This system is now my very own personal bitch." She sounded slightly smug.

"I should have charged you more though. This is the first time I've ever seen an attack utility that looked like a howitzer before when it wasn't just some corp-sec programmer overcompensating."

"We'll discuss a bonus later. What have you got?" I muttered.

"Well lets see....I'm editing your image out of the security system, so cameras and pressure plates aren't an issue. I can't access the research or personell files from this system though, so you're still gonna have to go inside and run a manual system link, and chummer that is NOT going to be fun. This place is crawling with corp-spec guards, and I don't mean rent-a-bacon."

"Great." I scowled and slid off the raised shed and onto the roof. "Go time" the soft snakelike voice of the system purred into my ears. I smiled faintly in the darkness. It was time to bite the hand that fed me.

I crouched beside the rooftop access door and waited while Sorceress opened the lock then I moved down the stairwell like a ghost, my cougar longblade fighting knife held in a reverse grip, as I stayed low, peeking around corners and making less sound than the Mouse in that Christmas song from last century. I avoided most of the guards easily enough. They were good at the security stuff sure, but they weren't really trained to deal with people like me. Most people aren't. Everything seemed just slightly off however. The voices of the guards were tight, and seemed a bit tense, the normal banter and talking about last nights hooker, or the game the day before weren't there. Something just didn't seem right. I slid into a maintenance access tunnel for the elevators in the building and slid down the cable towards the bottom of the floor, then crouched silently atop the car at the parking garage level, and began placing a shaped C-12 charge at each brake and the power system for the car itself. "Just in case" I told myself.

"Sorceress did you trip any alerts on your way in?" I asked quietly.

"No way omah. I'm a ghost in here. Why?"

"Nothing. Just being sure."

"You ok Shadowboy? Nerves?"

"I'm fine," I replied as I dropped into the elevator car. "Take the car up to ground floor."

The magna rail elevator rose soundlessly and stopped at the ground level of the complex.

"Ok chummer," Sorceress breathed into my ears. "You're clear to go, the patrol is a few corridors east of your position doing a routine sweep. Drop and go." With that the doors slid open and I darted out of the elevator soundlessly moving through the corridors, hiding in darkened office cubicles and detouring through empty cafeterias to dodge choke points and security stations. Within five minutes I had reached the server control room.

"Status?" I asked into the mike.

"Clear for the moment chummer, but don't make me wait. The security sweep will be heading your way just a touch sooner than I'd like." She responded.

I closed and locked the door behind me and went to work. I had almost finished wiring both servers into a connection box with a simple toggle switch that would link the two when Sorc suddenly whispered sharply "Trouble!" and I heard the door unlock....

The Last Dance

"You feel that captain?"

"Sir?"

"Somethings not right."

"The security sweeps haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary Madison Sir."

"Sweep again Captain. Somethings wrong. I know it."

"With respect sir...He wouldn't come here."

"Sweep again Captain. That's an order."

I flattened against the wall beside the door and did my best wallpaper impression as a white labcoated technician entered the room, and began fumbling with the lights muttering under his breath about some sort of "system lag". The second the door closed I began to move. My knife came around in a short, economical arc. The blade cut through the darkness, but in my mind I was squeezing the trigger of a pistol and destroying a policemans family. The dikoted near monomolecular edged point wedged directly into the base of the mans skull, severing the brain stem. I caught his body and lowered him gently to the floor then crouched listening staring at the body and what my reflexes had done. The name "William Jordan" stared accusingly back at me from the holo-badge on the techs coat. I remember seeing it quite clearly, but I also saw the body of a policeman. I saw a priest with a face full of splinters, and shrapnel.

"Jesus Christ!" I heard Sorceress exhale sharply through the tactical com. Had she seen it? Of course she had. The room had a camera in it. Oh god, I thought. What would she think of me now that she knew? "Knew what?" the voice inside whispered. "Say it." It coaxed. Now that she knew I was a.....my mind struggled for the right word. "Murderer" the small voice from the part of my mind that still heard the system supplied helpfully. No. I'm not. I had no choice. I didn't want to kill him. I had to. "Whatever you say." The voice chuckled. "Murderer." I closed the mans eyes with my thumb and middle finger. Like all of them before. Quick, painless. They never knew they were dead. As always, it was a shitty apology. "Think later Gabrial" my instincts growled. "The game's still on."

I finished wiring the servers and placed a finger on the toggle switch.

"Are we go?" I asked the darkness.

"I'm ready to retrieve the package." Sorceress' voice was cold and hard as ice.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Oh yeah I'm fragging wonderful. How are you?" She responded.

I opened my mouth to speak. I wanted to scream. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! Please get up!" Then the quiet part of my mind, the part of me that wielded the system and all of it's dark gifts rose up and swallowed up everything else. I remember feeling noticeably cold. Detachment sat in, like I was watching a trid show, and everything was happening to someone else. I wanted to beg Sorceress' forgiveness. When I opened my mouth to speak however what came out was:

"We don't have time for a lovers quarrel at the moment Sorc. Pull it together. Are you solid, or not?"

An affirmative double click of the mike was all the response I got. I scowled and flipped the switch on the server connection without another thought.....then all hell broke loose.

"ALARMS! I'M IN! RETRIEVING DATA! INBOUND SECURITY! EXTRACT, EXTRACT, EXTRACT!" Sorceress was screaming in my ear. As soon as I flipped the switch, alarms had lit up the night, and red klaxon lights began flashing all over the building. I threw the door open and unslung the AK from my back, tunning out the sound of alarms and concentrating on the layout of the building.

"Talk to me Sorceress" I barked into the comm as I breezed through corridors.

"I have the data, but I can't control the security systems anymore. I'm locked out of everything.
I managed to cut back into the cameras, but nothing else." She began talking rapid fire. "You have strike teams inbound from all over the building. CONTACT!" she yelled just as I rounded a corner and ducked back just ahead of a burst of fire from a four man HK (That's Hunter Killer) Teams SMGs. I leaned around the corner and loosed a short burst from the AK putting three of the team down for keeps and leveled the last with a blast from the Remington that caught the lexan face shield of his helmet. I ran through the building back towards the elevator shaft.

"Inbound choppers to the roof Shadowboy! Recommend trying for the parking garage. Maybe boost a vehicle and go E&E (And that's Escape and Evade) streetside."

I almost made it too. I rounded the corner to the lobby where the elevator was waiting, then dove over a desk as a group of strike teams emerged from the elevators guns blazing.

"Talk to me Sorc!" I growled as I traded shots with the team, burning through a full magazine of AP rounds and working to keep the teams pinned in the elevators.

"Multiple hostiles inbound from the stairs, they're working a team down to the lawn via chopper, to get to the front doors and flank you."

"In short, I'm fucked?" I growled and tossed a fragmentation grenade into one of the elevators then pivoted bringing up the AK and nearly cutting a troll corp-cop in half as he emerged from the door of the stairwell.

"I'm working on it Chummer" Sorceress sounded like she was about to cry.

I was screwed. We both knew it. I thought about that fact as I reached for a fresh magazine and realized I didn't have another clip for the AK. My mind kept working on options, turning over problems and attacking them from every side, even as the slide on the Remington 990 locked back, the chamber emptied and no spares left. With a curse I grabbed the weapon by the barrel and broke the stock across the jaw of a dwarf that tried to leap over the desk that was now shot all to hell. Then it was over. I remembered the pair of Thunderbolts holstered at the small of my back as the HKs surrounded me rifles and smgs leveled. Red dots flitted across my chest and face, dancing in my eyes, and reflecting from the matte black material of my body armor. The air was thick and cloying with gun smoke and blood, the night was thick with the cries of wounded men, and calls for medics from those still standing. The captain of the team ordered me onto my knees. I crouched locking my hands behind my head. He moved around behind me and reached for my pistols. Then that familiar cold voice chose to speak. "You know the way out. Do it." In a flash I remembered the charges I set on the elevator. Time slowed down. My body moved like a marble through a well oiled glass tube as I rolled for cover behind the desk and slapped the detonator on my right thigh. The explosion would have been deafening were it not for the hearing dampeners built into my ears. I watched as the mag lift doors splintered inward. The world shook. The doors fragmented sending razored sheets of plastisteel through the lobby, the car fell with a screeching that sounded like a banshees wail. Somehow I got my feet under me and dove for the elevator rolling, and dodging. The firestorm, and razor wind swirled through the lobby as men screamed and dove for cover or fired at me. A bullet struck my forearm passing right through the body armor, and embedding in the soft flesh between the bone. Another spawled off the armor in my right shoulder blade. I shielded my face with my hands as I dove through the elevator doors and felt as if the very fires of hell were licking at my black clad body. Two stories straight down, with only a shattered mag-car to cushion the fall. I remember flailing at the walls of the shaft, the sick sweet smell of the cooked flesh of my hands, the no-slip gloves melted to the skin. The sound of that flesh ripping from my hands as the magnetics systems of my cyberhands caught the wall and began to drag. The car rushing up to meet me. Then darkness, the breath being driven from my lungs.

I was standing in a church facing the pulpit. A large cross was suspended from the ceiling, and stained glass windows reflected multicolored sunshine across the room. I heard a sound behind me and turned to face it. It was a shuffling sound, like a step and I immediately dropped into a fighting stance. As I turned I noticed a coffin, the lid shattered then I heard the voices. They moaned and groaned, in agony, in pain. A crowd of people were shambling towards me. A priest, his face ripped off from shrapnel and splinters carried a bag full of ashes and blond hair. A police officer with a small caliber bullet hole between his eyes, brandishing a picture of a young girl like a badge. A burned corpse with most of its head blown off, followed by a dozen go gangers, their faces and clothes streaked with vomit. A technician with glazed eyes and a white lab coat, blood seeping down his jacket from a wound in the back of his head. A troll all but cut in half. A whole church full of people who were torn to shreds. One of them was screaming, a long deep scream, the same pitch, same tone, over and over again. They would stop, draw breath, then scream again. The same ARRRRRRG! ARRRRRRG over and over.

"That's not a scream." That cold voice said calmly.

Then my eyes opened. I was lying at the bottom of a ruined, smokey, elevator shaft. I got my feet under me and grabbed at the door to the parking garage. Somehow I found the strength to pry the doors open.

An Unexpected Gift

"I told you he would go there."

"Yes you did Michael. I'm glad we didn't take Maddisons suggestion after all."

"What are my orders?"

"Take a vacation my friend. We have him."

"As you wish Director. But I will believe that, only when I see his corpse."

The night air, and all of it's coolness cleared the fog from my head, and the smoke from my lungs as I dragged myself out of that elevator shaft. I scanned the parking garage flickering through all of vision enhancements, noting that only the thermographic vision was still functioning, as my hands automatically checked over my gear, Most of wich was gone, or useless after the fall. One grenade, and my Cougar Longblade were all that remained of the small arsenal of weapons I had carried into the facility. I looked down at my armor and winced. It was charred, and dented, there were a few bullet impacts that had almost certainly penetrated and several pieces of steel shrapnel were still lodged in it, blood seeping out around edges and dripping from blackened metal. My hearing kept fading in and out. I began moving towards a parked white van that looked vaguely familiar wondering how my extraction had gotten so fragged up. Then I tried to remember what my original extraction plan had been. I had slagged the stealth line. The front door was out. Even this way was REALLY dicey. I hadn't arranged a rooftop pickup. What was the original extraction plan? "There wasn't one." The voice in my head said coldly.

"What?" I asked aloud.

"There wasn't one Gabrial. You came here to die." It whispered. "But you won't die here. You can't. Suicide by corp-cop just isn't in you."

"Why would I do that?" I muttered as I began stumbling towards the van. "Wait a minute. Who the hell are you?" I shouted at the van still moving towards it.

"You think you want to die because you can't forgive yourself for the things you've done. As for who I am...I'm part of you."

"No. You came from them. What they did to me."

"On the contrary. I'm the part of you they tried to erase. I am the part of you that helped you throw off their shackles. I am the part of you that knows the truth."

"What truth?"

"That you have murdered people. But I also know that you had no choice in the matter. In some instances you were being controlled, and not in your right mind. In some cases circumstance forced your hand. But you never really did have a choice."

"And that makes it alright?"

"Oh no." The voice in my head laughed nastily. " You don't get off the hook that easily. It wasn't right. Now what are you going to do about it?"

On some level I realized that I was talking to myself. That I should be getting the hell out of dodge. That I had absolutely flipped my lid. But on another instinctual level I realized that this conversation had to be spoken.

"I'm going to put an end to it." I said grimly. "All of it. Help me." I asked the voice.

"Of course." The voice said. "But first I want to show you my face. After that we won't be able to talk anymore, but we won't need to. You'll be just fine. Are you ready?"

I nodded a reply.

"Good. Now close your eyes and then open them when I tell you to."

I kept shambling towards the van but I closed my eyes.

"Alright Gabrial. On three. Are you ready?"

"Yes" I replied.

"One." The voice hissed. I took another step. "You've done terrible things Gabrial. Only you can make them right."

"Two." I bumped into the van and began to make my way towards the drivers door by feel. "You aren't crazy. Just confused, overstressed, and coming down off of the dregs of some serious mind juju. This is it Gabrial. The last step towards shrugging them off. Forever. Are you ready?" The voice rasped inside my head.

I nodded again.

"Three!" I opened my eyes. I was standing at the drivers door of the van. The only thing in my field of vision was a face I barely knew. Soot covered, bloody, and battered. I was staring at my own reflection in the driver side window, listening to the word "Three!" echo through the parking garage, in my own voice. I reached inward towards that cold part of my mind searching for the voice. It was gone. More correctly I realized that it was never there. I looked inward towards my chest seeking the emotions that had been tearing at my soul. They were still there, ready at hand, but they had subsided to a ball of cold fire nestled deep down in my chest. Gradually that coldness spread across my body. Where it touched the pain lessened. My spine straightened. My gaze leveled and my face calmed. My vision cleared. Then I saw a hint of movement in the window and it felt like a troll with a baseball bat slugged me in the small of my back. I fell and rolled over struggling for breath.

"Damn I knew you guys were crazy but actually talking to yourself? Michael REALLY wound you too tight didn't he?" the voice belonged to a well built man wearing body armor and cradling a smoking shotgun. His face was flat, and emotionless, his hair had once been dark but was now salt and pepper grey. He stepped forward and booted me in the ribs. I doubled up under the force of the blow and rolled away, but he followed kicking me again.

"Look at you. Crawling like a worm. I thought you were some kind of stone killer." he kicked me again.

"Michael was so wrong about you. You're nothing. I don't even need the gun." he kicked me in the face as I tried to get my feet under me.

"Just another piece of gutter trash." he kicked me in the small of the back and I screamed.

"You're going to die boy." he smiled and rolled me over then stepped on my chest pinning me to the pavement. "Michael won't be happy that a mere "cretin" like me offed his star pupil. I will give you points for trying though. It took balls to come here son. But in the end you weren't so smart after all were you?" He stomped on me. "Were you!?"

In spite of myself I started to laugh, a hoarse wracking laugh that left me coughing blood. He reached down and caught the front of my ruined armor and lifted me with one hand placing the barrel of the shot gun under my chin and pinning me to the van.

"What's so funny punk?" he snarled into my face.

I smiled coldly and met his gaze. "You think I'm done?" I looked down at his badge and noticed the name "Maddison" etched into it. I laughed and spat blood on it.

"Time to stick a fork in you boy. Adios mother fragger." He growled and squeezed the trigger. The shotgun discharged. If it had still been pointed at me I wouldn't be writing this. At the last second I slapped the barrel aside and embraced that cold dark fury that I had felt before. Riding the wave of fresh adrenaline it gave me I brought my right knee up into Madisons side and twisted rotating the shotgun as I did. The hand he held on my armor slipped, releasing it's grip and moving involuntarily towards his cracked ribs. The shotgun rotated in his grip as I ducked down and in, then with a quick jerk I broke Madisons trigger finger wich caused the shotgun to fire again. Straight into his right knee. The leg fell off at the knee and Madison screamed falling over backwards. I snapped the weapon up and fired three more rounds. Two in the chest. The last emptied Madisons brainpan all over the asphalt. I dropped the shotgun and was about to enter the van when I heard the rubber on pavement squeal of a car sliding to a stop a few feet away. A pretty blonde woman wearing a green duster sprang from the driver seat of a Saab Dynamit and all but threw me into the car pulling the door shut again as she lept back to the wheel and redlined the powerful engine pointing the car out of the garage.

The Dynamit skidded out of the parking garage sideways and accelerated down the street. We made the next corner just as a small army of Lonestar, Corp-cop, and emergency vehicles turned towards the building we had just left from the opposite end of the street. Five minutes later we were merging onto highway 105 towards downtown Seattle.

I looked the woman over my gaze lingering over the bandage on her right forearm.

"Not to sound ungrateful Kit. But what the frag are you doing here?" I asked.

She glanced over at me then turned her gaze back towards the road. "I was in the neighborhood" she muttered.

"Sure." I muttered back.

"Well I was after Sorceress called me and said that your exit plan had gone to hell in a hand basket. And gave me a rather large addition to the tidy sum of cash you furnished for me to pull your ass out of the fire. What were you trying to do? Get yourself killed?" She glanced at me again. "You look great by the way." She smiled sweetly.

I looked at my battered reflection and chuckled, blood running down my chin. "Thanks" I grumbled.

"Anytime. I'm taking you to see Sturge. After that we're quits Gabe. We're even now."

I only nodded. The rest of the ride went in silence, with me passing into, and out of coherence. We stopped outside Sturges and she popped the canopy and helped me out of it. Half carrying me to the door of Sturges. I checked my retinal clock. It was past four in the morning and Sturge was sure to be asleep.

"He's going to be pissed." I remember saying with a blood spattered grin. "He hates night calls."

"It's ok." She said gently. "I've taken care of everything." She lowered me down on the doorstep. Then she leaned forward and kissed me softly. "Gabrial?" she said quietly.

"Yeah?" Was all I could manage.

"I'm sorry." She said quickly. I felt more than heard the double tap to the chest she delivered with the Ares Predator she had concealed under her jacket. I remember lying on Sturges doorstep as she walked away dialing on a phone while I slid down the wall into a growing pool of my own blood. She put the phone to her ear as my vision gave out. I heard her voice as I faded into the darkness. "Yes Michael." Her voice was strained. "Operation completed." The sound of the phone clicking off. The sound of one quiet sob and the door closing again as the Dynamit sped off.

Still Standing

"That was Kit?"

"Yes."
"It's done then?"
"It is."

"He gave us a good run Michael. I thought he would actually make it for a minute there."

"Yes he did Doctor. I'm actually quite proud of him."
"He definitely performed up to spec."

"He did that and so much more."

I remember hearing voices. Maybe I was dreaming.

"Is he going to make it?" The voice sounded like Sorceress.

"Hard to say. He has too much metal in him for magic to do much good, but I did what I could. Took me almost nine hours just to pull all of the shrapnel, and bullets out of him. Only the trauma dampener and shock were keeping him up anyway." This voice was Sturge.

"Tough fragger to be so damned small ain't he?" The first voice said.

"I've seen bigger men die from less." the second voice confirmed.

I passed in and out of consciousness for what seemed an eternity. During my less coherent moments sometimes I saw faces. Sometimes they were Sorceress and Sturge (I was shocked to realize that in my dreams Sorc in the flesh looked just like her Matrix Persona). Just as often they were Kit, or Madison, or Michael. Sometimes they were people I knew were dead and gone. Mostly though there was just a relaxing quiet darkness to it all. Like a soothing sleep.

Then I woke up. I recognized the sterile sheets and lumpy eggshell mattress of a hospital bed. I lay very still listening quietly and taking stock of my surroundings. Dingy walls. Down the hall someone was watching the trid. I was naked under the sheets and I moved slowly testing my body. My fingers and toes could still move. Then my elbows, knees, hips, shoulders and finally my back and neck. Nothing hurt...too bad. My hands felt strange. Looking down at them I realized why after touching them together. They were real. Not orthoskin covered cybernetic replicas. Real hands. Bone. Skin. Muscle. Flesh and blood hands. If I looked closely I could even see the faint scar at the wrists where the old hands had been removed. What the hell? I thought. I put that thought on hold and looked at the rest of my body. My chest was covered in bandages and wrapped in gauze. My right forearm was tapped up in a gauze pad and a back brace wrapped me from behind. I struggled for a moment and sat up wincing with the effort.

"So you're awake? Took your fragging time Shadowboy." Sorceress said from the door to the room. (I was even more shocked to realize that my dreams had been correct) I had been so enthralled by the fact I was still alive I hadn't heard her come in.

"I'm not dead then?" I asked somewhat stupidly.

"It was touch and go for a while, till your fairy godfather showed up with a trauma team." She gave me her best black smeared smile.

"I have a fairy godfather?" I chuckled softly.

"Yeah chummer." Sturge said stepping around Sorceress. "Came in here with a full trauma team, even brought a few new toys for you, wich I helped install free of charge. How are the hands by the way?" He asked matter of factly as he checked my pulse.

"They feel fine. Different but fine." I replied.

"Good. Exact copies of the original near as I can figure. Sorceress even ran the prints just to be sure. Updated your eyes too." He said.

"My eyes?" I asked doubtfully. I hadn't even heard of such a thing.

"Relax chummer. You just got a serious upgrade." Sorceress grinned. "I'm jealous."

"What exactly was done?" I asked testing my eyes, and ears.

"A full redeaux Shadowboy. New eyes, ears, and hands. A more stable Move-by-Wire. Should stop your hands from shaking, and improve it's overall performance by fifty percent or so. The Eyes have pretty much the same package, the ears too, though you managed to fry the sound dampeners in the old ones. You got a new trauma dampener too. The old one was going the way of the dodo after the treatment you gave it a few weeks ago." She laughed brightly.

"You throw one helluva party Gabe." She said.

"How long have I been out?" I asked and began to stand, brushing off Sturges protests.

"About a month," Sturge replied irritably "It was iffy for a while but I figured you'd pull through. The world isn't lucky enough for you to die off just yet."

A month? Frag. Why hadn't the system boys picked me up? They would surely know where I was. That was plenty of time to get a whack-team in here and clean all of us up.

"It's done Gabe." Sorceress said as if reading my thoughts. "They're through."

"They?"

"The people you were running against. They're done. Finito. Adios Mother Fragger. DONE." she said with finality.

I responded with a blank look and she continued. "The files I jacked from their system were the motherload. The central hub for operational data. Payroll. Operatives. Everything. Every dark little secret. The biggest conspiracy since President Dunklezahns assassination." She grinned. "I think we even know who shot Kennedy."

"What did you do?" I asked leaning back.

"Well at first I sat on the data, started decrypting. Then that Michael guy showed up and gave me the encryption key."

"Michael?" What the hell? Was the world totally off it's rocker, or was I losing it again?

"Yeah. Your fairy godfather. He decrypted the file for me. Patched you up. Then took his toys and left like a ghost. I'll admit I was a bit scared when he led a crack team of dockwagons finest through the front door, wich you'll have to pay to fix by the way, but he turned out to be alright. Always had that look like he knew something nobody else knew. A bit cold but alright."

"Sounds like him. Keep talking." I muttered closing my eyes and listening.

"The whole aftermath was his idea. Instead of selling off the info, I used the Shadowland BBS. I made it public knowledge. The runners spread it out. Soon every corp had the info. Then the media. Most of the public thinks it's some kind of Machiavellian conspiracy theory, but the corps know better. LoneStar is running nonstop arrests, usually for tax evasion, or mail fraud, or even speeding. A lot of their reports are ending with "Suspect fatally wounded while resisting arrest." Knight Errant is taking a more direct approach. Systems agents are turning up all over dead under "mysterious circumstances." Even Doc Wagon is joining in the fun, showing up to save operatives but being just a "few seconds late".

"And they are doing this why exactly?" Sturge asked. I thought I knew the answer.

"You tell me chumeroo I just work here." She replied.

I chuckled. "Economics, and information." I replied. "Cold hard math, and the bottom line. The system was becoming too powerful. Corps could use it against each other sure. But they also had to worry about it being used against them. The cost to benefit ratio of having such an organization around isn't very friendly. You end up eating alot of the profit you make by using them against the competition trying to fortify yourself against the same people you use. The only advantage the System worked was complete anonymity. The System just knew too much about the corps. Had too many of their dark secrets. If the Corporate Court was going to act against them, it had to end it all in one fell swoop. You gave them the information they needed to do that." I thought about that for a moment. "What happens now?"

"I'm not sure. Michael made a few arrangements for Sturge here. He'll be back on Doc Wagons payroll as soon as you're ambulatory again. I made enough nueyen off a few generous corporate contributions to retire. Where you go now is up to you Shadowboy. You're name was completely omitted from the files." She giggled. "I wonder how that could have happened?"

"And Michael?" I asked.

"He's gone. Poof. Vanished. History. He left you this though." She said pushing a black leather briefcase towards the bed. "My guess? He's on a beach somewhere living the good life. Can't say I blame him."

I took one look at the briefcase and rolled onto my back closing my eyes. "I need some sleep. Wake me in a few hours." I said, and then fell into a beautiful dreamless sleep.

The End?

"You actually did it Michael."

"No my friend. He did."

"I never thought we would actually pull it off."
"You doubted me?"
"Some yes."

"Serves you right then."

"I suppose it does."

"Where will you go?"
"Back to England. Retire. Write bad poetry, while drinking good wine. You?"

"Anywhere I don't have to see a gun. Fifteen years is a long time to train kids into machines.

So many good men and women used up and thrown away.

I figure this is our severance package since our former employers don't need it anymore. I think it's time I let this game go."

"It is at that Michael. See you later my friend."

"Don't count on it."

I sat on the edge of a parking garage twenty five floors above the Seattle coast, breathing in the salt air. The last rays of a pink sun reflected from the blue pacific ocean as the fiery orb descended into the dark water. Pink and purple clouds moved lazily across the sky as I hefted the briefcase and placed it beside me. At first I thought it could have been trapped...perhaps a bomb...but I quickly dismissed the notion. If Michael had wanted to kill me I wouldn't be writing this now. I opened the chrome latches without hesitation and shrugged mentally at the feeling of Deja vu. Inside I found a simple sheet of paper and a credstick. I lifted the paper and began to read.

Dear Gabrial,

I told them you were so much more than a prodigy. They never listened. Perhaps they wish they had now. If only wishes were granted all the way from hell. It's a waste of time to appologise but for what it's worth, I know the things I did to you were unpleasant. I know the wounds you carry will be a long time healing and the scars, both physical, and others, will possibly never go away. But try to understand. Everything that happened had to happen exactly the way it did. Anything less and the System would only have carried on. You have done evil things Gabrial. But in doing those things you have toppled a greater evil, avenged those who have fallen before us, and saved those that would have fallen after. I hope you can find some measure of comfort in that thought. The credstick is linked to a series of accounts and dead drops containing more nueyen than even a playboy could ever possibly waste. I would like to think that you will use that nueyen and go somewhere quiet and retire peacefully, but we both know you won't. I gave you the skills my friend, I made you the weapon. Now your hand is on the gun, your finger on the trigger. Do with my teachings what you will. Live free Gabrial. Live well, and do what you will. But forgive yourself and LIVE. That's the last order I will ever give you. Goodbye my friend.

Truly yours.

Michael

P.S. Thank you for Madison. I've wanted to do that for years now. I hope they made a special ring of hell just for him.

I closed the briefcase after pocketing the credstick and letter and took one last look at the sunset. Where to go? I had said my goodbyes to Sturge earlier that day. He seemed happy to be back in the operating room, with a real staff. Sorceress now ran the Shadowland BBS full time having bought out her partners. I walked to my shining new Harley Electroglide and straddled the powerful machine taking a moment to look at my reflection in the window of a Eurocar Westwind parked next to me. I decided I looked good in jeans and a T-shirt, ballcap on backwards. But something was missing. I squinted for a moment then completed the look with a pair of Ray Ban White Law wraparound shades. Perfect. I started the motorcycle and took my time heading down the ramps to the ground level. I stopped at the exit. Where to go? Left or right? I looked both ways. Nothing was coming. I walked out to the middle of the street and looked around again. Left or right? I shrugged to myself and remembered a trick from an old movie I saw. I picked up an empty soy-soda bottle and spun it in the middle of the road. (The idea is to go where the bottle points.) The bottle spun for a moment, then stopped pointing back into the parking garage at my bike. "Ah Christ!" I muttered and kicked the bottle away walking back to the bike and hopping on ignoring the strange look from the parking attendant. Left or right? I looked right and twisted the accelerator leaving a trail of rubber leading from the garage onto the road. Left or right? The first choice I'd made of my own free will in years. A pretty simple, unimportant choice. But it was a start....