The machine gun barked and spewed a rain of imaginary, digital ammunition. The minotaur's reaction was immediate, stopping in its tracks and throwing its arms up defensively. The construct absorbed the impact of the bullets, stepping back on one leg to brace itself. It roared in pain and frustration.
I grinned wide and advanced, pushing the creature backwards down the hallway. My grin disappeared, however, when the thing swatted at me with one massive hand. I fiddled with some code as fast as I could, raising the gun up to block the strike, watching as the heavy weapon transformed in my hand and became a massive riot shield. I grunted as I did my best to absorb the impact, but fell backwards onto my digital ass.
I scrambled as the monster reared back for another blow, and threw up my shield again. My arm went numb under the force, and I was reasonably certain my meat body was sporting a nosebleed. Thinking fast, I slammed my free hand to the ground and executed one of my programs, summoning forth a riot geared avatar next to me that began throwing out suppressive fire.
The minotaur howled and staggered back, giving me a moment to breathe. I rolled back and slapped my palm to the floor again, and summoned up another avatar, this time to the opposite side of the beast. Using the distraction to my advantage, I took another look around.
The data point was right behind it, and I grinned. All I had to do know was get to it. Grunting with effort, I burst forward in a blur of motion and slid between the monster's legs.
I reached the data point, a glowing orb made of digital light and code, and slammed my fists into it to begin the download. In a matter of moments, I had transferred the contents of the node into my brain, and then from my brain into the hard drive plugged into my cyberdeck. I grinned and jacked out.
Back in meatspace, I came to and yanked the cord out of the terminal, "Let's get out of here," I barked at Drex, "I've got what we came for."
She nodded, and together we headed out the window of the top floor, rapelling down the side of the building towards freedom and payday.
Johnson was at the agreed location and delivered as promised. It took all of my effort not to rip his skinny neck out, but I held back and we got paid.
About an hour later, Drex and I were sipping soykaf and wondering what to do with the money. She tapped me on the shoulder and pointed out a figure approaching carefully from one of the alleys nearby, dressed in a high-nuyen suit and a wide open greatcoat, his golden eyes locked in our direction and his mouth pulled up into a predatory grin.
When he got close enough, he extended his hand to us, "My name is Hans Brackhaus," he said in a thick German accent, "and I represent Saeder-Krupp. I'm here to offer you a job."
I curled my lip in a snarl, but Drex waved me off, "What kind of job?" She asked.
The German chuckled, "Smash and grab," he said, smiling and showing far too many teeth, "your standard milk run."
There is no such thing as a milk run, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar.
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