DATA .01

 It was a dark, small room.  One could argue whether it would be better referred to as a closet.  A lone, bare light bulb hung from its electrical cord.  Its undirected light cast dim light in all directions, creating dark shadows on the forms behind the larger of the two men who had positioned themselves opposite each other at the rotting wooden plank that constituted a table.  The larger of the two sat on a knee-high shipping crate.  The other stood, hands inside his trench coat, only the glow of his cigarette illuminated the shadow on his face cast by his fedora.
 “I see you’ve all recovered nicely since your last outing,” Eliot said with a nicotine-stained grin.  “I’d heard that you’d all been flat-lined, apparently word on the street was wrong…I’m glad you’re alright.”
 The gruff looking man with broad shoulders and rippling biceps, who sat across from him, took a long drag from the cigar held in a death grip between his teeth.  “Eliot, I’m not interested in your appreciation for our health, I just want my compensation.”  A forced stream of white smoke sped past his barely parted lips at an acute angle relative to his cigar.
 The three who were positioned behind him nodded their agreement (of sentiment).
 The streetman pulled out one hand from his coat and removed the cigarette from his lips.  His movements were calm, slow, and purposeful.  “Guys, come on, you know I’m good for it, it’s just I have this other gig lined up for you’z and I figured you wanted to hear about it first.”  Eliot spoke, smoke spewing forth from his mouth as if he were a dormant volcano slowly approaching eruption, all the while calmly waving his hands at the violence-grizzled streetrunners in a calming manner.
 “I need a tune-up, and I hear that my new subgun’s just been finished, just hand over the loot before I rip out your liver and eat it.”  The voice was metallic and as cold as the room.  The dim light reflected marginally off the grit covered, chrome arm as it flexed.  The servos were clearly audible as the forearm ascended and descended repeatedly.
 “Mark, calm down before we have save your ass from another brain-fuck,” The voice was level.  A well-groomed Caucasian lifted his head and looked at the large metal construct that was once a man.  He ran a hand through his short, dark hair, then proceeded to straighten out his dark blue business suit.  The barrel of his 14mm pistol barely bulged out his suit jacket.
 “I am not Mark anymore!” The metallic voice boomed. “You will all call me The Silver Ronin!”
 “Right, Mark,” he spoke again, a slight chuckle making itself evident in his voice, as a grin played on the side of his mouth.
 “I’ll break you, Travis!”  The metal man shot back.
 “I’ll disassemble you both and sell your organs to the body bank if you both don’t shut up.” a woman’s voice muttered from the shadows, as her fingers stroked her temples.  “Listen Eliot, give me my creds so I can get away from these wired-up morons.”  She leaned closer to the pair at the table.  She chewed her pink bubble gum loudly and open-mouthed.
 Hellcat was five foot-six inches of lean Asian American.  Her skin was slightly tan; and her eyes, though hidden by a pair of wrap-around mirror shades, were a crystal blue.  Her face was soft: soft skinned, soft expressions, and this belied her hardened mind and soul.  Her short, swept-back hair had traces of a fading purple dye, revealing the natural black that was comparable to the darkness of her nylon bodysuit.  Her bodysuit did nothing to hide her endowment, though she wasn’t by any regards buxom, so much as she was athletic.  On top of the body suit was a dark blue motorcycle rider’s jacket, complete with kevlar elbow, collar, and back reinforcements.  A hint of the tan colored, leather shoulder holster could be seen peeking from behind the heavy jacket.  A pair of lack-luster engineers’ boots and matching black fingerless gloves completed the ensemble.
 She popped her gum loudly.
 “Alright, alright.  You’re obviously eager to get your payment…so I suppose we should take care of that first.”
 Mark’s metal hands rubbed together, making a sound like the sharpening of a dozen combat knives.  Eliot reached into a molding cardboard box and pulled out four suitcases, and passed them around, calling each of the street mercenaries by name; Mark, Travis, Hellcat, and Justin Schaffer.
 Hellcat opened her case and smiled approvingly.  “Oh yeah!  Now that’s what I’m talking about!  Deck upgrade here I come!”  She giggled to herself as she took the credchip and swiped it along her electronic banker, moving the virtual money to an unnamed Swiss bank account.
 The others started to move the blue eurodollars into reinforced duffel bags, and jacket pockets.  When they were all done Schaffer took another long pull on his cigar.  “By the way, you get my Jack Daniel’s?”
 Eliot nodded and passed him the small bottle of liquor and a shot glass.  Schaffer grinned around his stogie as the seal broke with a muffled pop and began to fill the shotglass.  Closing the bottle up and holding his cigar in one hand, he threw the Jack Daniel’s back and swished it from side to side as if it were mouthwash.  It cascaded down his throat accompanied by a loud gulping noise.  The others watched and waited for him to finish, as if everything hung on his enjoyment of some 20th century alcohol and one of his trademark stogies.
 Looking up at Eliot and replacing his cigar, Schaffer asked, “What’s the new deal?”
 “A man has recruited me to represent his interest in having someone extracted.  It’s gonna be a long contract, and difficult…but nothing I don’t think you can’t handle,” Eliot grinned and ejected a cigarette from the pack and gripped it between his lips and proceeded to light it.  The way he casually went about acted as a visual period.  “There is a follow-up, after the extraction, you’ll be escorting the extracted to Night City by air.  The client says he’ll pay very well and has inside information.  Also, if you guys decide to not stay in Night City, we’ll send you back here to New York, or anywhere else you might prefer.”
 “How much we looking at?” Travis spoke up from the back.
 “Five each, plus expenses,” Eliot replied blowing a stream of smoke up at the dim ceiling light bulb.
 “Hardly worth my time,” Mark grumbled.  “Can’t even get a good body waxing with that kind of chump change.”
 Shaffer turned his head slightly to the left and looked back at the shadowcasted metal monstrosity, “Fine, then we’ll leave you behind this time.  Makes no difference to me.”
 Mark’s optics whizzed in response, and he made an irritated grunt as he put a non-existent nose in the air.  Travis and Hellcat laughed behind their fists.  Shaffer cleared his throat and the duo immediately stopped.  Justin’s eyes calmly examined both of Hellcat’s and Travis’s.
 “So?  What do you two think?  You in?”
 The two looked at each other, and simultaneously their faces contorted with their equal sized grins.
 “Just lead the way, choomba,” Travis stated, his enthusiasm evident.
 “Right on, boss!” Hellcat chimed in.
 “What about you Mark?”
 The ‘borg looked at his feet, then one of his optics swiveled and focussed on the group leader.  “I’m in, I guess.  Though I think this is still a waste of our time.”
 “Come on, Mark,” Eliot piped up, “think about the chance to go across the country, and see this great country and all its glory!”
 “Glory?  GLORY?”  Mark’s voice rose quickly, filling with a slow-burning rage.  “I don’t know what you see, but this country hasn’t any glory left!  New York is a radiated hole, The Midwest is a barren wasteland, corrupted by roaming bioplagues, the oceans are polluted to the point where you can’t even go into the water without coming out covered in something, or with an extra limb!  Humanity continues to destroy everything around it!  And by journeying out into space we’re just making it all worse!  We’re going to pollute and destroy every world we come to, just like we did to this one!  That is why all of humanity must be destroyed!”
 Mark took a flat-footed stomp towards the table, becoming more visible in the light.  He stood easily six foot, six inches tall.  Head to toe he was a modern day chromed golem.  His arms were as thick as some middle-aged trees.  His legs were clad in camouflage patterned pants that tucked into heavy, mid-shin boots.  His pants were held in place by a pair of bandoleers that were slung over either shoulder and went straight down to the top of his pants.  Each bandoleer had enough loops to easily carry two dozen shotgun shells, or half as many 40mm grenades.  His face had one large optic at about the same place where a regular person would have his or her eyes.  On either side of that were two smaller optics.  All three were blood red.  He lacked a nose, ears, and hair, but he did have a mandible, and within was a regular, flesh and blood mouth.
 He raised his arms over his head and threw back his head as he raged.  Travis and Justin leapt to their feet and worked to restrain Mark.  Travis worked to hold the raging metal chimera’s waist and legs, as the party leader worked to restrain the cyborg’s arms.
 “Hellcat!  Quickly!  Sedate him!  He’s going psycho again!”  Shaffer shouted in his most authoritative voice.
 Hellcat’s leather clad hand dove into her pant’s thigh pocket and withdrew an air-hypodermic.  It looked like a large phallic vibrator.  She turned a knob on the butt end of the device and found Mark’s nutrient supplement port and switched the release.  It made a muffled sound like the hypodermics used on Star Trek, likely why air-hypodermics had been nicknamed “Bones”.
 Mark continued to rage violently, and threw Travis against the far wall and was doing his best to break Justin’s back in an artificial muscle backed bear hug when the drugs finally kicked in.  His grip on Justin started to loosen and then he slumped to the floor, his metal body ringing out as each part collided with the hard floor.  The three partners stood over their comrade, and worked to regain their wind.
 “Justin, I say we dump him!” Hellcat was the first to speak, and started in with a pleading voice.  “His rages are getting worse and more frequent.  I think that it’s only going to get worse!  What if he flips out on us in the middle of a firefight?  Remember: ‘friendly fire isn’t’?”
 “She’s right Justin.  Look at him, it takes all three of us to calm him down, and now he’ll be out for…hey, how long should he be out Hellcat?”
 Hellcat looked down at the empty hypodermic in her hand and regarded the dials.  She’d used about three times the regular dosage, she’d wound up turning the dial the wrong way.  “Umm…about an hour.  I kind of overdosed him.”
 “Shit,” Justin and Travis swore simultaneously.
 Justin looked at his two teammates, “We can’t just let him go…I can’t let him go.  It’s my fault he’s like this.  Besides, one of the best breachers out there.”
And it was true, back in the Central American wars, or “police actions” as the United States had called it, Mark “Ronin” Coleman was one of America’s best urban assault troops.  Unfortunately a small rebel village in Guatemala had received information on the approach of Shaffer’s squad and had dug in well and setup so many traps you couldn't sneeze without one going off in your face.  While breaching the stronghold’s secondary armory, Mark set off a claymore, which took his legs clean off, his torso fell on a trigger which setoff several C4 bombs that had been rigged up next to all the ammunition piles.  When the medics found him, all that was left was Mark’s head and neck.  His gray matter was quickly moved into a cryostasis tank and shipped home.  His finger was given a proper burial and Mark Coleman was officially listed as KIA.
Shaffer looked down and slowly removed the cigar from between his lips and blew smoke out of his nostrils like a pair of upside-down smokestacks.  “It’s my fault he’s like this.  It’s my duty to watch over him.  I’m not leaving one of my men behind,” his voice was soft, as if he were speaking into a mastoid communications array.  He closed his eyes and slowly lifted his head, looking at his other two group members.  “You two are free to go though, you’ve got no responsibilities to me, and I none to you.”
Travis and Hellcat exchanged looks and shrugged simultaneously.  “Boss-man, you ain’t getting rid of us that easily.  Five grand a person, heh, we wouldn’t be making anywhere near the money on our own as we’re making with you,” Travis joked with a grin.
“Glad to hear it.”
Eliot cleared his throat.  The three partners that remained standing faced him.
“So, are you taking the job, or what?”
Shaffer looked over his shoulder at his two conscious comrades.  Hellcat grinned and Travis gave a slight nod.
“Excellent.  I’ll have him forward me all relevant information to you,” Eliot said steepling his fingers.  “I’ll contact you when I have everything in order.  That should take about twenty-four to thirty-six hours.  I recommend you get any equipment you may need, and rest up,” he looked down at Mark, who was still on the ground and dead to the world.  “You want me to get someone to haul him to your staging area, or do you want to leave him here?”
Shaffer regarded his comatose comrade, “If it won’t cost us anything, I’d prefer him to be discretely moved to our staging area, and also, arrange to have his new toy ready for us.  He’s getting his rest now, and likely won’t be up until just before we leave.”
“Sure, sure…I’ll do it, for you.  But I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to get it for him.”
“Eliot, don’t give me that kind of crap.  You and I both know you can do it.”
“Fine, then you owe me whatever the cost of the gun is, plus twenty percent, for playing your gopher,” Eliot said with a sly grin as he put on a pair of wrap-around mirrorshades.
“Ten percent.”
“Seventeen.”
“Thirteen percent, and that’s my final offer Eliot, or else we smear you and drop the contract,” Shaffer growled.
“Done!” Eliot said happily with a grin that could easily span the crater that was once Manhattan.  “I’ll send for someone to have your can recycled,” he said over his shoulder as he left through the disintegrating flake-board door.
Shaffer looked over at the other two and remarked, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”