I sat at my workbench while the partially obscured sunlight streamed through the windows. Almost perfectly set to illuminate the two open cases in front of me. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting, really. Certainly not anything more than different ammo types. Perhaps I was being prepared for something.

Left hand ached as it went forward to grasp at item number one. A reminder that I still had wounds to heal. From within soft casing, I plucked a small object. Circular, transparent, and thin. Just about the same size as the lenses in my goggles. Any patience already eroded before I’d started the day proper - I moved the disc up to my eye without thought.

Somewhat amused that it clicked into place over my right eye. Should have known that it was purpose-built. I frowned and looked around my house. A faint row of letters appeared at the bottom of my vision. No Threat, it assured me. I turned back to the case and raised an eyebrow. No message within, but I wondered if this had something to do with things heating up.

If Boss was going to send me on contracts with variable stakes, I might need something to tell me how deep the shit was before I jumped in with both feet anyway.

An upgrade that didn’t need maintenance or filling with various vials - I welcomed it, but further testing would be necessary to see if it was useful or just a distraction to prickle me with future headaches. Generally when someone was a threat, I knew in short order.

I went to examine what was behind door number two, before my STAR lit up with a message.

Clearly I’m not keeping you busy enough if you’re getting into that much trouble. The super must be something special to have convinced you to speak. Don’t lose sight of your role. Health report? Boss.

Wasn’t sure I was a fan of either of his insinuations. It wasn’t like I asked to be invaded by a biker-wizard gang, and the reward was something pragmatic. I had gone silent for too long. I rolled my eyes. Just give me something to kill already.

[Available for work tomorrow. Minor injuries. Send.]

Rockslide had forced her way into my life, and although she didn’t seem to be an immediate threat, I was cautious about her. Some things still weren’t adding up - but my brain was still lagging and I shuffled any of those problems away. Worst she had threatened me with was a budding social life, something I paled at but wouldn’t kill me. I hoped.

Perfect. Another of my Agents has let me down. You were my first choice to pick up the pieces - message me when you’re up for it. Boss.

Hmm. The first confirmation of there being other Agents in all the time I'd known him. Or at least, there was one that was now dead. Things must be pretty dire if his lips loosened that much - but he couldn't let his client down otherwise he'd lose face. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to butter my wheels by saying I was next up to the chopping block… but it worked.

I was only human, after all. Took pride in completing my contracts and hadn't done a disservice to Boss in these last five years. His flattery was almost enough to want me to say I was fine now, get the contract and start cracking skulls today.

But rest was important. I pushed myself harder than I should already. There was no point dying just for extra credit.

Plus, what I had said to the super was true. If she was going to continue living here, then we'd need some defenses against villains who wanted to take a shot at her. For my sanity's sake, I required the vocalizer. Not that I had much in terms of functional assets to bring to the table - but perhaps the hoard of credits that had been accumulating dust could be of some use. Might have an alarm system in one of the crates...

I shook the thoughts from my head.

The second case had some kind of gadget that I couldn't even guess at the function based on first appearance. A small chip with connecting wires affixed to a flat black plate of metal in a stubby L-shape. Could easily fit in the palm of my hand - so I lifted it up.

Small spark of familiarity at the shape of the metal piece now that it was closer to me - my years of maintenance on my arm having me familiar with all the grooves and split sections. This would be to replace...

Yes, here. I twisted my arm counter-clockwise to look at the right-hand side. The part of it that dealt with the V-Force power. Not something I often dug into other than to clean out the grime and ensure the connections were tight twice a year. I wondered what this could possibly be replacing.

Placing it down on the workbench, I shook out the case to see if there was a note or anything else that might hint at the upgrades purpose. No. I flipped the switch on my spotlight and hovered it over the chip. Difficult to see with my tinted lenses, but there was something printed across it.

VF_OVRCHG

[Overcharge].

I shuffled uncomfortably at hearing my voice bounce around the room. Although it felt like there was still something... disjointed about it. Only natural, I supposed, given that it wasn't my actual vocal chords doing the talking.

Wasn't too sure what Overcharge meant, but I could fasten together enough of a guess to make it presentable. A controllable way of shuffling more V-Force than should be safe into a shot. What that actually meant in a tangible way would have to be something I'd test later.

Case of tools slid out, and I dug out the necessary ones to unscrew and pop open the similarly shaped panel on my arm. New piece was a slightly darker shade of black, which might annoy me until it got worn in like the rest. The guts of the old part followed out, and I compared the wiring of the two before making any changes.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Same connectors, although one set of wires was thicker, and the chip was slightly longer. Switched the pins one at a time, and the deed was done. Plate back into place, clicked and screwed back in. Case back in place. Light off. Empty gift boxes in the corner of the room.

Perhaps I should have a healthier attitude towards waste disposal.

From my vocalizer, I let off an audible grunt. That was the problem with socialization. Now I had something poking at my brain, making me want to be more acceptable in the eyes of society. But could a killer like me ever be?

I drummed my fingers on the edge of the workbench. Rest day. I needed to do maintenance on my arm. Reload my drum mag. Maybe give my bike a look over.

Simple things to keep my mind at peace, so that I was focused once Boss sent me over the contract.

And for as long as daylight let me, that's what I did. Everything was well serviced and in good condition, fully stocked and prepared for my next contract. Outfit patched up. Wounds all but recovered. Dusk was settling over the world, and I was pretty ready for another long sleep. Hopefully, this one wouldn't be interrupted by violence or the incessant pestering of the-

A dull thud echoed around the room. She had returned. I waited at the edge of my mattress, ready to turn in, for the inevitable knock at my door.

It didn't come.

So then I just felt rather silly for expecting it. An uncomfortable fuzz had started to form at the edges of my being, and I tried to brush it away mentally. Familiarity was a distraction and could lead to weakness. A cordial neighborship shouldn't be deadly. I'd just have to be diligent about it.

I laid down and settled in for an overdue and uninterrupted rest.

Another dream... or rather, something close to one. As if emotive worms struggled to weave their ways through the thick mud inside my skull. Were these the fledgling feelings of my social life coming into bloom? Or perhaps aged memories of my prior life trying to find light or sustenance?

Neither question found answer, as my eyes opened. Not to the sound of kicking at my door, or with criminals pestering my time of rest - but to the silence of a new day.

Although, with the amber sunlight barely illuminating my palace, it seemed as though I must have been out for almost a full day.

I rolled onto my back and groaned audibly, still slightly bemused that I could do that.

[Message Boss. Recovered and ready for contract. Send.]

As I deflated onto my mattress, I had to admit to myself that the vocalizer did make my life easier. Didn't mean I was about to start spouting monologues wherever I went, but when necessary I'd make good use of the function. While I personally considered the eradication of the wizard to be a recompense for taking away the mob boss kill, I didn't feel like I should be further indebted to the super just because the gift was especially well thought out.

I stood from my place of slumber and started to prepare. Might have to go at a moment's notice. Drum mag ready. Stims functional. I popped one of the newer nutritional cannisters in and was pleasantly surprised that it didn't have the usual side effect of immediate lethargy.

Sleeping like the dead had done wonders for my injuries, and there was barely a feeling at all where the skin had healed over. Hopefully I could make it out of my next contract with fewer wounds - but I doubted it. I wondered if the other Agents had it as difficult as I often did - or even if they worked solo. A small group of people like me would turn even the toughest contract into mincemeat.

But the subtlety was important. Easier to dispose of one errant pawn than a group who could choose to stick together. My fingers ran idly down the length of my gun as I waited for a response.

Oceanio Factory 3B. Assassinate target Dr. Ghalli. Recently signed off on restricted testing practices. Concerned party wants that stopped. Expect light firearms. Automated security bots are acceptable collateral. Target scheduled to be on site for next four hours. Don’t let me down. Boss.

Probably just took a long time to download the contract on this encrypted network - it wasn’t like me to be so impatient. But now I knew the score. Not that I was anything close to the morality police, but generally restricted testing practices meant something inhumane. Oceanio Corp dealt with some cybernetics - but mostly medical or restorative things. Internal organs and disease immunity.

At some point, I’d sussed out that mine came from Brickwork, a company that mostly dealt in military contracts. Made sense on the surface of it. It was a gun-arm. How Boss got it and stuck it on my near-corpse five years ago wasn’t something I questioned. Any guesswork had too many valid answers, and to dig into it further would put the trust Boss and I shared on thin ice.

Some additions to my load out this evening.

Drum mag with thirty standard shells. Two ten-mags with Tazer shells. Small pouch that held my three remaining Sanguine stakes. Medium pouch with the two EMP nades. Tool Kit. To finish off, I slipped a spare stim pack into a fold in the small pouch. I’d keep two cans on the bike for after contract completion.

The most prepared I’d ever been - but I could feel that the stakes were higher. It wasn’t just the fact that an Agent had already died on this contract and security was bound to be higher - there was something else in the air. A disturbance for my trajectory through life.

I’d save the poetry for later. Lights off, door open. Traps armed. A quick glance over at Roxy’s house. Darkness. Perhaps she was working late again.

I stepped over to where I left the bike, giving my dejected car a nod in passing. End of an era.

Seeing as I didn't have an audience - aside from the super's security cameras - I leveled my gun-arm out to the endless plains of the wastes. Nothing in the chamber, my brain signaled to use Overcharge.

A brief hum that vibrated through the barrel of my weapon, cresting in a brief second in a short blast. Muzzle flared with light blue as a near-invisible gust of pure force hummed out a good thirty or so feet before petering out. Around fist-sized, it looked perfect for punching people long distance even when I was changing mags. The slight hiss coming from the box of tech-magic on the side told me that there was a decent cooldown on it if I didn't want to burst apart. Inert-metal-chunk-arm was much less impressive, especially if it took half of the rest of me with it.

About time I received some accessories. And speaking of - it was time to get properly acquainted with my new mode of transport. The motorbike was a wide and heavy beast, something that the rather frail wizard would have looked comical riding. A deep, reflective black that had hints of purple to it. Four chrome exhausts shot up at the tail, the harsh shapes and sharp curves of the vehicle making it look like liquid violence given purpose. That's how I liked my technology.

I straddled my stolen steed. Ergonomically, it was a much better fit for me. Slightly awkward to ride with one hand, but perhaps I could alter it to fit my gun-arm when I next had the time.

Flick of the switch and it roared into life. A noisy thing, fueled by the promise of the power it could grant me. A stark change to how the car answered my call.

[Let’s ride.]

Oh, no. Ugh. Terrible. Intrusive thoughts had won out, and I regretted every syllable. Tempted right there to remove my vocalizer, but I wavered enough to forgive myself this once.

I hit the pedal and rolled away, escaping the cloud of self-inflicted disappointment.

Darkness would arrive soon, and death would sing a sorry tune that my shotgun was eager to make a duet.