- 7 -
Doing the Laundry
[no time stamp]
The good thing about being me is, even when I screw up, my magic and body just give me a scowl and a grumpy nod and clean up the mess I’ve caused.
After an hour I was on my feet again, perfectly healed up and running.
Decided to charge my bike and get some snacks at the Stuffer Shack.
Another crappy day working overtime for me.
Of course it was THIS Stuffer Shack that got robbed right now.
And to add injury to insult, Jet and Nebraska were right in the middle of it.
On the bullet receiving end.
One in the car, two in the shop and one on guard.
He spotted me and definitely looked like he wanted to play hardball.
I let the engine roar and went all action-hero on him.
Bullets flew past me as I fishtailed and a blink later my bike gave him some full frontal fucking 50/hour crash love.
I prayed real hard that the windows here were made of ordinary glass; and they didn’t disappoint. While my bike stayed outside, I crashed into the store, took some racks down with me and got coated in sticky pink…stuff. I don’t even wanna know.
I grunted in anger and disbelief when I saw that the thug under my bike was still conscious.
Fuckin’ orks. What takes those people down for spirits sake? Direct meteor hits?!
Nothing a quick comlink command switching on my anti-theft wouldn’t fix. A few thousand Volt are pretty convincing.
I didn’t see Jet right now, but I heard the unmistakeable roaring bark of a shotgun a few rows further.
One more behind the counter. Gotta take him out or Jet’d be in serious trouble.
A quick slide, and a bullet caught in my suit, a grab to get that drekhead to my side of the counter and…
I was still slimed and now an ideal target.
Think fast, be resourceful, that’s what I’ve been taught.
A cybernatic arm was holding the heavy pistol.
He missed me.
That was my chance.
You see, a tag eraser is a nice little toy. Gets rid of all kinds of bugs.
And roasts unshielded devices. Most cyberware is protected, but sure enough the EMP would mess with this guy’s systems.
And it did. He got some spasms in his arm and let go of his gun.
Now we were on Western Pain Time and it was Fog o’ Clock!
Few seconds later, he hit the floor hard with my arm around his throat. Few more and his lungs had a nice flavor of elemental smoke.
Jet and Nebraska hat some trouble, but ultimately they brought down the other guy.
Again, Jet’s chest had an unhealthy appetite for some shrapnel. He wasn’t as lucky as last time, but Zach and our Doc showed up in time to let him cheat death.
The last ganger outside in the car was smart enough to get the hell outta this, as he saw his chummers take a beating.
And we…well, we were community heroes…kinda?
That kid behind the counter and his girlfriend were glad this was over and let us take all the stuff we wanted…
Take what you can get, right?
The day still had some hours left.
With Jet bleeding all over the place, but stitched up properly in the clinic, Nebraska spilled the beans and told us what she and Jet were up to:
Some good old B&E.
Small window, both literally and figuratively.
But still doable.
With a good ad lib plan, we drove there, got in not quite as silently as we wanted, but we did anyway.
What a classic!
Wait, the point is still coming up. You’ll get it eventually.
So we got in there, Nebraska, with some remote help from Jet cracked a frickin’ old school safe and we made some easy money without any problems whatsoever!
Nah, just kidding.
We were royally fucked, of course.
This place belonged to the Yaks.
A laundry. What else.
They used the place to clean dirty money.
Seriously, we need a secretary to keep track of the big players we keep pissing off.
We grabbed the gear stored in there, some nice gadgets like grenades, Scorpions…
Oh, and money. Just enough to piss them off, but not enough to go all ‘Ninja: Path of Vengeance VII’ on our sorry asses.
And once again we were hot and on the run.
Fuck my life.