It seems like only yesterday that I was in the shadows. Flying through the air with a rigger I’ve never worked with, preparing for a low jump. Jumping from this ratty chopper didn’t seem like such a bad idea when the rockets started whizzing past us on our way to a house, no, a mansion in the middle of nomads land. Coop, as he liked to be called, was showing the fear in his eyes. “In and out,” I told him, knowing that even If I could calm him, there was nothing I could do for myself. It was too soon to be under this kind of attack, they knew we were coming, they knew what we wanted….
The streets are dark these days. Just yesterday I went to a fixer to get some startup gear to start this running game I haven’t played in over ten years. Although the time hasn’t taken too much of a toll on my body, my mind wonders.
“Coop! Behind you!” The shots sounded like firecrackers my grandpa used to describe to me as a child. My grandpa, who fought for a country that doesn’t even exist. Nothing more I can do for him, he’s dead. I don’t have a way out.
I walk through the ally on route to my lowest level of living space I can image, aside from living on the street. “Psst, chummer, I know a way to take the pain away!” A large creature with tusks puts a vile in the front pocket of my leather over coat. “You look like a guy who needs a little help to relax.”
Even a blind man could see he’s just a dandelion eating Ork poser. They say the first is always free, but he must be burned out on something. I’ve been in town for 3 days now and this is the fourth fix he’s helped me out with. Can’t say I’m mad at him, just bummed I can’t find a Johnson to help me with some work. Then maybe I can do something other than this poison they call Zen.
As I round the corner to take the last leg of my journey home I see a faint silhouette next to the dumpster. With the speed of thought I magnify and switch to thermo. A lifeless figure lay as another goes through his pockets. He should have never put his guard down, or his gun. I hate it when a Halfer thinks he can wetwork in my back yard. The dwarf was taken by surprise, and before he could even put a stubby finger on his pistol, his brains were splattered against the brick behind him. I take a knee and take aim back down the alley where I just came from... waiting… 10 seconds…20 seconds… 30 seconds…
If the poser had heard what I had just done he would have come to look for leftovers. I holster my predator and pick up the smoking shell lying on the ground. Can’t leave it laying around for lone star to find, after all, I’m a SINner now. Prison does that to a man.
I shove open my rickety door and lock it behind me. Taking the Zen from the pocket of my jacket I sit in the only piss stained piece of furniture in my place and begin to meditate. Tomorrow will be a better day; tomorrow I will meet Mr. Johnson and start working again. Tomorrow…
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