The lady in red paced back and forth in the gray room. She was not interested in the wall of static nor the wine. She questioned her reality and became angry. She slammed her fist against the wall and yelped in pain, but the static didn’t change. She flexed her hand, glaring at it. A door appeared within the smooth wall's surface and opened soundlessly. The man in gray walked in speaking into a small com unit. “..so it’s DNA wired? No, I don’t have the crack. Look, I have the next best thing here, so just take care of it. Your services are no longer needed in that department, just finish the movie. Half of your fee is already deposited, incase you need anything. No, thank you, Vendik.” He snapped the com shut, “My dear, it is done. You may take her place and work for me now. We can’t get out the rest of the data that was created after you, but that shouldn’t be a problem for you to retrace her steps.” She approached him, still nursing her hand, “I can just pick up where she left off?” “Of course, all I have to do is simply revoke her termination papers and rehire you. That way, it will look like we had a spat - I fired you - and then rehired you after you changed your attitude. That will explain everything,” he reached out and stroked a satin curl, “and anything.” He let the innuendo hang in the air. She looked at him with luminous green eyes and pushed her hair back with her injured hand. He gently took it and held it in his. Looking deep into her eyes, he murmured, “You are an extraordinary woman.” She arched a graceful eyebrow and smiled laconically. “We shall see,” and walked back over to her chair to pour the wine again.

Krissen open her eyes to a bright light shining down on her. I doubt this is a religious experience I’m having, she thought. There was a strap holding her chin in place and the table underneath her was cold metal. A med room of some sort. Hope, against her will, surged inside her. “She has lovely green eyes. They normally don’t come that light shade. Asians like that.” “How can you tell?” a familiar voice asked. “She’s awake, the cam is currently looking at her ocular cavity. Now, what is she for?” “We’re just scrapping her for parts. She’s a corp, so everything should be good.” the woman in red leather could be heard further away. “Well, thank goodness you didn’t kill her. I’m sure I can find a use for all of it” “How can you be any better at killing then us huh?” the black man with the skull face demanded. “It’s best if I just take her apart while she’s still alive. No trauma to the tissues.” He inserted cables into her neuralware. “What are you doing?!” Krissen croaked fighting against the straps. “I’m setting up to record the operations. It may come in handy, should I ever need to make a point to someone. Good day, gentlemen. My nurse will pay you at the door.” The ripper doc clambered into a PAS frame with an intricate console. He typed in a sequence and Krissen felt herself rise off the table, then slowly turn over. “Activate Lazor, have mandibles on stand by” he spoke into the microphone. “Affirmed” the computer replied. Krissen felt the cool caress of the light blade, and then the itch of sliced open flesh, followed by the burning. The motor of the robotic surgical arm drowned her scream out. Her scream hit a new pitch as the mandible began to work her spinal column out gently. Blood dripped in down to table below her and she watched it collect in the run off grooves. She began to feel weak and lightheaded. Her scream lost its power. The ripperdoc came around to her front and punched a needle into her chest. Her head snapped back up as the adrenaline reactivated her heart. He deftly put three needles into her throat and she could no longer scream. He hooked up a few pads with wires hanging down to her chest and went back to his work. You bastard! I could have paid you more than what you’re going to get from my body! she screamed silently. The blood began to dribble down again and collect in a pool that reflected her face.

Trauma Team came after 20 minutes. Actually it was only 8 minutes after he snapped the card, but it was still too late. He knew that it was a bad idea to call Trauma Team - to call anybody - with Nigel torn open like that, but Jerrig didn’t care. “Can you help him?!” he asked of the lead as he watched 2 RNs load Nigel’s body into the medvac and attempt resuscitation. “We will do everything, sir,” the lead replied, grim faced. The girl fastening drips to Nigel’s arms snapped her head up at that. She touched her throat and replied through the silent comm-vox, “You can’t be serious.” The lead replied, “Try anyway - you never know. I gotta pump his buddy for answers so keep his hope on edge. Make a show of it.” The lead, a man with gray eyes and a shaved head wearing a wrap around com unit and a visor patch looked at Jerrig next to him. “Sir, where did you get this card?” “I got it from some guy. He walked by and saw me trying to open the elevator shaft.” “Why?” “I dropped my own card when I found Nigel. Please, charge it to my account! I don’t care. He’s me only mate in this country! I got an account. I just dropped the card!” Jerrig became a little hysterical. The lead began to suspect something else was causing the rise in his voice. “What happened?” “I don’t know. I found him like this. And all I know is…” Jerrig trailed off and looked behind himself and glance up and down the street before continuing, “This isn’t the first time I saw this tonight.” The lead nodded him to go on. Jerrig lowered his voice even more, “I was in this bar - O’Tooley’s - and when I went to the john, someone had taken out 2 guys. Draped their intestines all over the stalls.” From the med vac, the order to clear was heard and the fibulator was applied to Nigel’s lifeless sewn up body. The stitches strained, but no blood trickled out. Jerrig stared in horror at the stitches, as though they would open and dump The lead cleared his throat to get Jerrig’s attention. “The man that gave you the card….” “Oh, tall bloke, trench coat. Dark gray hair. I think he’s a Blood Razor.” Jerrig babbled. The girl took her stethoscope off and looked up, “I’m sorry, sir, he’s dead 10.” “Whu…?” Jerrig squeaked. “Death State 10, sir,” the lead explained, “Irretrievable. Means he’s been dead over 15 minutes. I’m sorry, sir. Nothing can bring him back from that long of a flatline.” Jerrig dropped his head. “The body, sir?” “Just.. … the morgue is fine. Not like I’m gonna keep it.” He attempted a joke. The lead nodded and motioned to the Rn. She covered Nigel’s face and pulled out the drips. “We’ll need a statement from you. Sign here, our conversation was recorded but it can’t be submitted without your approval.” Jerrig numbly pressed his thumb against the document and watched as the med vac lifted off.

Catherine Biggs was in trouble. She wasn’t sure exactly how, but she could feel something in the air. She told C@ to drive the car home and then to play Make Believe. These meant the bot would turn on lights, skim messages, lock doors, and flip through TV stations as though it were Catherine. It mildly amused Cathy that whenever she did used this command, old reruns of the Jerry Springer Show would always end up in the deck player. She didn’t trust C@ with the microwave just yet. After Cathy’s car left the parking garage, she pulled out her trusty little back up key and went hunting for a place to crash where there weren’t any cameras. This wouldn’t be the first time she slept at work. There were the street riots of 2018. A really good concert from Johnny Silverhand pushed the Battle of the Bands over the edge and extended the CZ 4 more blocks. Biotechnica encouraged its employees to stay the night. The pizza was pretty good. It ended up being like a huge company slumber party. Catherine was still an intern when she wandered down to the Operator’s Room and ran across Simon. Simon Travegalia - most mean spirited man alive. Until you ply him with Pizza Hut and engineered whiskey. The Coms room was the safest room in the entire lower level when security decided to have its little paint ball tournament. Simon showed her how the best offense was an aggressive defense, and they never had to get up from their chairs. Electrified doorknobs, card readers refusing to read cards, gunfire triggering the Halon system, card readers triggering the sprinkle system - much to the dismay of accounting. The Coms Room - there’s a spot to crash. Come to think of it, that place became shunned after that night. Cathy stopped outside of the Com’s Room and felt around for Simon’s “I’m too drunk to code” card. Still there. She stepped into the room and flicked on the lava lamp. ‘I guess I’ll raid the fridge (independent coolant unit) and pull out the futon (ergonomic stabilizer).’ A beeping came from her laptop. Cathy plopped onto a crate and jacked in. ‘C@Speak’ the message popped up. ‘GO’ she typed in the password. ‘Car failed destination. Gone to new. Gone manual.’ Someone jacked the car? ‘NEW DESTINATION?’ she queried. The coordinates were somewhere deep in the CZ. Looks like a jack. ‘I’ll take care of it tomorrow.’ She thought and told C@ to call Johnny Cab to 3 blocks from where the car went offline and to have it drive to the apartment. ‘Cause ya never know’ she thought before cutting the connection and slopping some pizza into the microwave.