The briefcase was heavier than it looked, though that was due to the contents being slightly, if not entirely illegal. The weight of it was dragging down my mind. What if I got caught with this? I didn't even know if this was what I had requested in the first place. For all I knew, there was just some scrap metal inside this case. I couldn't exactly open it up to look; not out in the open. I gulped down my fear and kept walking. People passed without so much as a second glance, entirely unaware of the deadly weapon I was hiding. Granted, I looked somewhat ominous, with the trench coat and briefcase, so they probably thought it best to not bother me.

Chink. Chink. Chink. It was impossible to forget about the prosthetic foot. Not only did it catch the reflection of the street lights in my peripheral vision, but the noise accompanied me everywhere. Maybe opting for prosthetics instead of biological replacements wasn't such a good idea after all? I flexed my metallic hand awkwardly. No, this was just easier. Perhaps I could get a foot that actually fit into a boot, though?

I froze on the spot as I saw pink hair in my peripheral vision. My blood had turned to ice. Was that SF-A2? I tried to gulp my fear down again, but it caught in my throat. Deciding there was no use in delaying it, I quickly looked over my shoulder.

It was the wrong shade of pink, and the person was too tall and their body was the wrong shape - but she was a Vocaloid. Of that, I had no doubt. I had seen that particular model several times before, and each time she had given me the same trouble. I let out a breath I didn't realise I had been holding, and resumed walking. Well, that was the Vocaloid-of-the-day over and done with. I didn't exactly spot them very often.

My blood was up, and wouldn't come down, like fire gushing through my veins. A police car turned the corner ahead, sirens blazing. For a moment fear clutched at my chest as I thought it was about to stop, but the car simply blazed past. A phantom itch was creeping across my prosthetic arm, a prickling feeling like there was a spider crawling over the skin that wasn't there. I gulped again.

The seconds dragged themselves by as I walked. It was like some sort of waking nightmare. Every shadow seemed like a threat. I sighed, glancing down at my watch. Nine o'clock.

When I looked up, my blood froze. This time there was no mistaking it. Everything was just as I remembered it. SF-A2, dead ahead. If I stopped or ran away, that would be suspicious. All I could hope to do was keep walking and hope I wasn't recognised. I didn't want to lose another limb. I tilted my head down and hunched my shoulders up, for what good it would do me. If this was indeed another SF-A2 sent to kill me, then I didn't exactly have much of a chance. I would have no time to retrieve the contents of the briefcase before I was turned into swiss-cheese by whatever weapon she was carrying.

There was somebody walking with her, too. Another weaponised Vocaloid, perhaps? Only time would tell. My heart was thumping loudly in my ears, sweat beading on my forehead despite the cold. My body tensed and I prepared for the worst.

As they passed, I saw that SF-A2 was smiling. I couldn't tell whether that reassured me or made me feel even more uncomfortable. I paused and glanced over my shoulder. SF-A2 laughed at something the other person said. Not weaponised after all. Perhaps that one SF-A2 was an exception? I hoped that was the case. I didn't want to have to fight any more armed robot vocaloid things. My grip tightened on the briefcase, and I resumed walking.

My blood was up, and it wouldn't come back down.

Luckily, it seemed that the workshop was empty. As I placed the briefcase on a workbench, I glanced around just to make sure I was alone. It seemed I was - nobody had decided to stay for overtime or anything like that. I pressed my thumb into the case's analyser, and heard the click of the lock unhooking.

With one last fearful glance about, I opened the briefcase. The sense of fearful anticipation faded. The contents of the briefcase were exactly what I'd requested. It hadn't been easy to get a hold of the supplier, and to have gone through all that effort for them to supply me with the wrong weapon would've been frustrating to say the least.

An HK416 assault rifle, capable of both semi-automatic and fully-automatic firing modes, complete with a vertical foregrip and ironsights. If I was ever going to go up against another SF-A2, I would be ready for them. There would be no more losing limbs for me. Thirty rounds of 5.56×45mm would surely be enough to put any weaponised Vocaloid down for the count. I gulped, unsure if that was the truth. Well, as long as I aimed for the chest and head, I would probably be fine… right?

"What've you got there, Will?" I slammed the briefcase shut, hoping my visitor hadn't seen the contents. I had been so sure that I was alone. Evidently I had not looked hard enough. It took me a moment to realise that he had said my name and not somebody else's.

"I didn't see you there Huey. You startled me." I took a deep breath to try and steady my heartbeat. William. That was my name now. William Bennet. Officially, John Moody no longer existed.

Huey took a few steps closer, his eyes narrowed with curiosity. "So? What's in the briefcase?"

I clenched my fist, hearing the scraping of metal on metal. "Nothing important. Just personal stuff."

He was looking more and more suspicious with every word. "Why did you take your personal stuff here?"

Shit. He was right, of course. Why the hell would I take my personal stuff into my place of work? I wouldn't. I would take it home, obviously. It was personal stuff and that's where personal stuff belonged. "Just… It's nothing, okay."

"I dunno," Huey droned, leaning on one of the many supporting concrete pillars of the workshop. "Seems pretty suspicious to me." He was doing this on purpose. I could just feel the shit-eating grin lurking behind that flat expression of his. It made me want to punch him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think that -" There was an odd sort of whistle, and Huey broke off abruptly and brought his hand up to the side of his neck. "Ow, what the…?"

From the skin of his neck he pulled a small dart with an empty chamber on the back. The faux-suspicion on his face turned to confusion. "What the hell is th…" His eyelids flicked and his sentence trailed off and died, and he very suddenly dropped to the floor.

Before I could properly comprehend what had just happened, I found another dart had found its mark in my own neck. I pulled it out as quickly as I possibly could, but as I looked the chamber was empty. Whatever sort of cocktail had been in that dart was now in me. "This is bullshit." I said to myself before I blacked out.