Whitesnow (1/23)
“Che cazz!” Luca swore, thumping the driver's headrest, “We’re trying to count here moron!” He received a sticky puff of chemicals in the face by way of response. Another blow to the headrest, but he continued with his bookkeeping. “What do we have now Pike?”
Pike’s optic implants scanned everything they’d pulled from the briefcase. Stacks of scrip, a couple short term corporate expense cards, and a small velvet bag with enough diamond wafers to manufacture a hundred computer banks. The final tally illuminated the bottom left corner of his vision.
“We’re lookin’ at a hundred fifty thou in scrip, guessing another sixty for the cards and wafers,” Pike blinked hard at the score in front of him. It was easy as sin to get it. Some poor ruster was trying to make a deal. Standing on a street corner all by his lonesome, holding a briefcase that Pike could see from two blocks out was weighing him down. He’d come alone, unarmed, with every single thing they’d asked for. The poor bastard was too shiny to realize that he’d been walking straight into a trap.
Two shots to the chest and it was over. Satyr grabbed the briefcase and threw it in the back for Luca to crack. Easy as anything. Someone ran from the alley screaming after them, weeping and gesturing, but Gareth had no mind to stick around. They were down the street in seconds, leaving the unfortunate ruster to bleed into the dirty puddles by the curb.
“We’re gonna be factory new after this one fellas,” Gareth whooped, punching the ceiling. The murder weapon rattled in the center cup holder, Gareth too adrenaline high to bother holstering it. Satyr, in the passenger seat, was just high. He traced a raindrop down the window, muttering to himself as he attempted to get the chemstick back to his lips. “I’m tellin’ you boys this is a game changer. Some poor slug gets dropped in a gutter, that’s dime a fuckin dozen this far from the CZ boys. Who’s gonna come after us? That bitch was too busy screaming to get a look, and even if she did, what? She’s gonna tell CorpSec that she got two hundo thou boosted? They’ll be looking at her pretty closely after that,” He punched the roof of the car again.
“Basta,” Luca moaned, “the punching is going to give me a headache,”. He eased back in his seats, carnally rubbing a stack of scrip over his chest. “You’re sure she won’t say anything?”
“She didn’t so much as shout ‘stop’ at us,” Gareth grinned in the rearview, flashing chrome teeth, “She was too busy shouting at the slug. We’re home free. Quit worryin’, alright?”
The woman had exploded from the alley. Maybe she was the buyer, maybe she was the look out. Hell, maybe she was some Good Samaritan concerned about the wellbeing of her fellow man. Whichever it was, she kept screaming something at the corpse, barely sparing a glance at the car as it sped away. Satyr tapped a finger on the window, mouth opening and closing. Guy was deadzoned.
What had she been shouting? Pike rolled back his audio channels, trying to pick the word out. He traced through the evening on the glowing green interface at the corner of his sight.
Car engine, the radio thumping reggae off some Zionite pirate station in orbit, the buzz of Satyr’s vape. Scroll forward
“I’m just saying we told him to come alone and he didn’t,” Luca placed his bundle of cash in the briefcase, replacing it with a crisp stack. He continued tracing the money over his pecs.
Squeal of brakes, Gareth’s window rolling down, two cracks, a body thump. Car door open, the sing song beeps of the open door warning. Car door slam, briefcase thud against seat. Satyr cheering, thump as Gareth punched the roof, squeal of tires. A woman’s voice screaming. Isolate, clean up
“And? She’s back there shooting out snot and we’re in here richer than we’ve ever been in our lives,” He shot another glance in the rearview, “Unless you’d like us to donate your cut to the poor lady,” Luca blanched, staring out the window. Satyr tapped the glass again.
“L-loo… l…”
DRIVE DRIVE DRI-I’m fuckin driving-GET A MOVE ON GAR-Oh shit we’ve got-We’re leaving her don’t sweat-哥哥! 哥哥! MOVE IT MOVE IT! Rewind to timestamp 01:12:38, isolate, run translation subroutine
Gareth cranked the music loud, the interior of the car vibrating with the pulse of it.
-don’t sweat-哥哥! 哥哥! MOV- Mandarin detected, initiating subroutine
Satyr tapped the glass again, his eyes wild. He said something, or maybe he mouthed it. Who could tell with the music on.
Run audio again, timestamp 01:12:26 DRIVE DRIVE DRI-I’m fuckin driving-GET A MOVE ON GAR-Oh shit we’ve got-We’re leaving her don’t sweat-[Big Brother! Big brother!] MOVE IT MOVE IT!
Another thump on the roof of the car. Luca threw the money at the headrest.
“I’m telling you, for the last time, quit punching the roof of this fuckin’ car!”
“I didn’t do shit, so if we have a problem why don’t we pull over and sort some stuff out you and-”
Chrome ripped through the roof, piercing Gareth through the shoulder. Cylindrical, chrome, and sharp, and it was in Gareth’s shoulder. His arms were limp and his body was rigid and there was something sharp in his shoulder and it was peeking out the rear of the driver’s seat and it was dripping blood on the floor. The car sped up. Satyr gasped, limply attempting to remove the object. It bucked and whirred, internal gyroscopic machinery altering perceived entry angle and velocity of impact. A Whitesnow bolt; 16 inches of chrome and death designed to make the job of any coroner much more difficult when trying to determine the murder weapon.
The car bucked, bouncing over the curb. Pike threw his arms over his head as the Shinohara collided with a light pole.
Impact detected. Minor lacerations detected. Concussion detected. Administering adrenazine. Find medical assistance immediately.
Pike bolted upright, the chems flooding his system. The hood of the Shinohara was crumpled, acrid electrical smoke billowing from it. Satyr was immobile, the glove compartment embedded in his chest cavity. Chemsmoke trickled from the corners of his mouth. Gareth was… the spike was gone. The roof of the car had been punched open, a foot wide hole above the driver’s seat. Pike made a grab for the door, missing the handle on his first attempt. Luca groaned next to him, his nose gushing blood down his face.
Pike eased his way out of the seat, aware of the trickle of blood running its way down his left arm. Pain flared every time he moved his head. There was a Quiet Clinic a few blocks from here. He’d been to it once before, and as QC’s go it was as good as could be expected; it hadn’t left him with a staph infection or malware. He’d get there and get it all sorted. He had enough scrip to get fixed up factory new.
The ringing in his ears muffled the sound of breaking glass.
Pike reached back in to grab the briefcase. It was still there, though most of its bounty wallpapered the inside of the car. He clasped it closed and dragged it towards him. It crunched over the broken glass from the window.
Luca was no longer in the car. Pike’s heart hit his stomach.
On the ground of the back seat, covered in scrip, was Gareth’s piece. Onyx black, a scarlet dragon emblazoned on the side. He wouldn’t need it anymore. Left hand on the briefcase, right gripping the pistol, Pike limped his way away from the wreck. This part of the Rust City was dark, the money flowing from the Corporate Zone never quite reached this far. A few flickering street lights cast dim circles of protection onto rain slick concrete. Pike adjusted his grip on the pistol.
The windows around here were dark. If any of the derelict apartment blocks were occupied, the squatters and scavengers had no interest in helping. He stumbled further down the street, towards an alley he knew would cut right to the QC. Each step sent a jolt of agony up his leg.
Disable Nervous Interface, right leg. Initiate
All pain, all feeling, ceased. He hobbled on a dead leg, desperately making his way towards the alleyway. A monorail thundered by somewhere in the distance. He inched closer, his right leg rigid and numb, his cyberware filtering away any sensation.
Step, step, step. Darkness poured out of the cavernous mouth of the alley. The pistol jostled in his grip, slick with crimson.
Step, step, step.
He took the chance to turn his head. The car was still a crumpled heap, the smoke still poured from the hood. Hazard lights blinked against the dark. A thick trail of blood led from Luca’s seat into the darkness of the street. The horizon beyond was dominated with the steel and glass of the Corporate Zone, arcologies lit up so bright they hurt to look at even from this distance. Something crunched in front of him. He turned too slowly.
Fingers, hard and merciless, gripped his throat. He strained to turn his head but couldn’t, his assailant just out of sight. He cursed himself for not splurging on the Periphi-View upgrade on his optics. He flailed wildly, unloading several bullets into the concrete in an attempt to break free. A ping on his optic made him aware one of the bullets had struck him in the shin. 1’s and 0’s kept the pain from reaching his amygdala. Bile rose in the back of his throat, panic gripping every inch of him. He swung wildly one last time.
Severe injury detected. Spinal injury detected. Tracheal injury detected. Severe laceration of the neck detected. Would you like to contact emergency services? [Y] N
Pike’s body hit the ground with a dull thud, his head followed soon after. Another poor slug dropped in a gutter, that's a dime a dozen this far from the CZ. The difference was that this one wouldn’t have anyone crying over him.
Chrome fingers wrapped around Pike’s, prying the rigor mortised fingers from the handle of the briefcase. His optics sizzled out as a heavy boot stepped into view.
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