“This job isn’t for the strong of arm, Tom. Why don’t you and your mecha-hulks just find a Korner Mart to knock over?” The jab was meant to be friendly, as I’ve said it many times before, but this time I guess he took it a little too seriously. Times were tough, the Corps were starting to do more of their own dirty work, putting more pressure on people like us and cutting deeply into our profits. We were all struggling, but Tom must’ve been really hungry. I saw Tom’s scowl as the flash of crappy bar neons glinted off his chromed arm and instantly my breath caught in my throat. An instant of panic was all I allowed myself to experience. This wasn’t, after all, the first time I’d been in this situation. Different person on the other end of the cybernetic arm, but the same situation. I smiled a menacing smile, all teeth and no mirth. Calmly I reached down into my pocket and grabbed my pop-top. With half a thought I disabled the safety on my own cyberware, the familiar feeling of the world slowing down as my brain activity goes hyperspeed. Colors became more vibrant, the lights became brighter, the low hum of the bar turned into a deafening cacophony of noise. With heightened speed and reflexes I willed my arm to move. A blur even to my eyes, my pop-top impacted with Tom’s arm. A bright flash and a sharp, deafening crack followed. My automatic safety features were just a nanosecond too late, as usual, causing me to be momentarily disoriented before the flash and noise were dimmed. I really liked my pop-top. I had a friend help me with the design and creation of it. About the size and shape of an old LED flashlight, one end held a small explosive, which when you included the metal casing, created a small shaped projectile of molten slag. Built and designed to destroy, or otherwise incapacitate Cyberware, it is one of my favorite pieces in my daily arsenal. One can never be too careful after all. Tom’s arm exploded at the elbow. My heightened reflexes allowed me to avoid most of the shrapnel, having begun moving the instant my pop-top impacted with Tom’s arm. What seemed like an hour later I heard Tom’s anguished scream. I, of course, was already almost to the door, not wanting to get caught between any of Tom’s boys. Tom would live, but I was going to have to come up with a really good way to reconcile with him. He hadn’t deserved that, and it wasn’t professional, but I didn’t like being grabbed. On the bright side, my track record states that the more sideways a job started, the more smoothly it would end. If that were to hold true, this job would be the smoothest I had ever had.

“This job isn’t for the strong of arm, Tom. Why don’t you and your mecha-hulks just find a Korner Mart to knock over?” The jab was meant to be friendly, as I’ve said it many times before, but this time I guess he took it a little too seriously. Times were tough, the Corps were starting to do more of their own dirty work, putting more pressure on people like us and cutting deeply into our profits. We were all struggling, but Tom must’ve been really hungry. I saw Tom’s scowl as the flash of crappy bar neons glinted off his chromed arm and instantly my breath caught in my throat. An instant of panic was all I allowed myself to experience. This wasn’t, after all, the first time I’d been in this situation. Different person on the other end of the cybernetic arm, but the same situation. I smiled a menacing smile, all teeth and no mirth. Calmly I reached down into my pocket and grabbed my pop-top. With half a thought I disabled the safety on my own cyberware, the familiar feeling of the world slowing down as my brain activity goes hyperspeed. Colors became more vibrant, the lights became brighter, the low hum of the bar turned into a deafening cacophony of noise. With heightened speed and reflexes I willed my arm to move. A blur even to my eyes, my pop-top impacted with Tom’s arm. A bright flash and a sharp, deafening crack followed. My automatic safety features were just a nanosecond too late, as usual, causing me to be momentarily disoriented before the flash and noise were dimmed. I really liked my pop-top. I had a friend help me with the design and creation of it. About the size and shape of an old LED flashlight, one end held a small explosive, which when you included the metal casing, created a small shaped projectile of molten slag. Built and designed to destroy, or otherwise incapacitate Cyberware, it is one of my favorite pieces in my daily arsenal. One can never be too careful after all. Tom’s arm exploded at the elbow. My heightened reflexes allowed me to avoid most of the shrapnel, having begun moving the instant my pop-top impacted with Tom’s arm. What seemed like an hour later I heard Tom’s anguished scream. I, of course, was already almost to the door, not wanting to get caught between any of Tom’s boys. Tom would live, but I was going to have to come up with a really good way to reconcile with him. He hadn’t deserved that, and it wasn’t professional, but I didn’t like being grabbed. On the bright side, my track record states that the more sideways a job started, the more smoothly it would end. If that were to hold true, this job would be the smoothest I had ever had.