This was the man with the black autopistol. He also carried a plasma pistol. This was the weapon that would overheat and when it did it would at least keep his warm or frankly dark cold heart healthy. Even the burns over the years led him to wear gloves, and with his small hands he was always mocked for that. He would use his special skills to get what was needed from him, get it done, get it over and either move on or remember his history. And get his revenge.
Five months before the Assiduous Takeover gang took him into their wing and under their control. He learned and learned the ropes. Drill after drill. The Van Saar were good at shooting, good at technology but there was no time off. No hanging out, no telling stories. Just no stop preparation. Such a cerebral group led him to be a tired and very upset scummer. He was bored and he was very unhappy with what they had left him with. Scout duty, however he had back up and as he walked down the long pathway, he went to head under a walkway and the intercomms filled up.
A huge wave over static cleared, shocking him for a second, maintaining his cool. Future assassins they saw themselves as and their lasguns and one with a needle rifle shot down the enemy leader, who had a bead on him and was coming around the corner. He hid there for fifty minutes, tired, hungry and needing a smoke. He was a narcotics and alcohol addict that had recovered.
Waiting felt like eternities sometimes but he had instincts. This gang finally paid off. When he got home to celebrate he was fired. With severance pay. Going down the street then, the sniper, a short haired bearded man, said all clear and waved. His cough had cleared up. Something in the vitamins he thought.
Drinking heavily at the bar, mostly recaff, some mixed drinks and a few ladies approached him. They had heard he had had relationships with some famous Escher from a while back and the other people in the bar grew quiet as this gang, The Spiced World View, interviewed him.
“Poisons, huh?” she said.
“Well you know that’s just a state of mind.” said other.
“I know, I have my habits but I am on top of them. How are you?” he said looking directly at this older but to him, very attractive, pink haired woman.
“I know you like Cindy.” said a third woman, a juve.
They left that night together, the scummer could not remember what had happened later on when he looked up the gang they had decided to leave him a note in the post.
YOU ARE NOT OUR MATERIAL BUT WE WANT YOU FOR A RAID IN THREE WEEKS
He could not remember what he said but his savings were running low. He set up his data pad, in a rough motel in a settlement and just wrote a few sonnets to himself. Wrote as well of his time with the Van Saar. Walked down the road and took an old quad bike out over the way towards the Escher gang. Itinerant work was hard, shouted someone as he passed. The Orlock will kill you, hissed a Cawdor retiree. And a bounty hunter stood at the gate, winked at him and smiled, bionic eye rotating.
Five months before the Assiduous Takeover gang took him into their wing and under their control. He learned and learned the ropes. Drill after drill. The Van Saar were good at shooting, good at technology but there was no time off. No hanging out, no telling stories. Just no stop preparation. Such a cerebral group led him to be a tired and very upset scummer. He was bored and he was very unhappy with what they had left him with. Scout duty, however he had back up and as he walked down the long pathway, he went to head under a walkway and the intercomms filled up.
A huge wave over static cleared, shocking him for a second, maintaining his cool. Future assassins they saw themselves as and their lasguns and one with a needle rifle shot down the enemy leader, who had a bead on him and was coming around the corner. He hid there for fifty minutes, tired, hungry and needing a smoke. He was a narcotics and alcohol addict that had recovered.
Waiting felt like eternities sometimes but he had instincts. This gang finally paid off. When he got home to celebrate he was fired. With severance pay. Going down the street then, the sniper, a short haired bearded man, said all clear and waved. His cough had cleared up. Something in the vitamins he thought.
Drinking heavily at the bar, mostly recaff, some mixed drinks and a few ladies approached him. They had heard he had had relationships with some famous Escher from a while back and the other people in the bar grew quiet as this gang, The Spiced World View, interviewed him.
“Poisons, huh?” she said.
“Well you know that’s just a state of mind.” said other.
“I know, I have my habits but I am on top of them. How are you?” he said looking directly at this older but to him, very attractive, pink haired woman.
“I know you like Cindy.” said a third woman, a juve.
They left that night together, the scummer could not remember what had happened later on when he looked up the gang they had decided to leave him a note in the post.
YOU ARE NOT OUR MATERIAL BUT WE WANT YOU FOR A RAID IN THREE WEEKS
He could not remember what he said but his savings were running low. He set up his data pad, in a rough motel in a settlement and just wrote a few sonnets to himself. Wrote as well of his time with the Van Saar. Walked down the road and took an old quad bike out over the way towards the Escher gang. Itinerant work was hard, shouted someone as he passed. The Orlock will kill you, hissed a Cawdor retiree. And a bounty hunter stood at the gate, winked at him and smiled, bionic eye rotating.
