Tanje took us to a small, homey cafe maybe fifteen minutes from his shop. It had no name, just an address, which was apparently fashionable. Seating was outside under the lifelights, at tables of wrought-iron and clear acrylic. We drank spiced caff dispensed from a polished samovar while the bird fell asleep on my shoulder. I was still full of pho, but Tanje ordered himself a ham and cheese sandwich. When it showed up he proceeded to eat it like it was a steak, cutting it up with fork and knife. I found myself mesmerized, staring at his precise motions-hold with the fork, exactly three strokes of the knife to cut off a piece, up to mouth, rest, repeat.

"Sharkie? Sharkie!"

I jumped, launching the bird into the air with a peep. "Wh-wh-what? What is it?"

Tanje gave me a wary look. "I asked you if you were alright. You've been staring at my plate for perhaps thirty seconds now."

Wow. I felt like Walker, except I didn't have the excuse of seventy-two hours awake. "S-sorry about that, sorry. I'm fine, it's just...well, I've never seen anyone eat a sandwich like that."

He looked down and flashed an embarrassed little smile. I immediately felt bad. "I understand that it's strange, but it's the way I was taught. Old habits die hard, as they say."

"You've got better manners than me, that's for sure," I replied, trying to lessen the sting of my gaffe.

"I'd give them a seven out of ten," he said with authority. "Keep your elbows off the table and don't slouch so much. It's a chair, not a bean bag."

"O-oh. Of course." I hurried to correct my posture, but Tanje started laughing, hiding his mouth with one hand.

"I'm only joking, of course. I always hated those etiquette lessons. So pointless, so many hours wasted on salad forks and dessert spoons when I could have been learning something useful instead."

I stayed quiet. His past was obviously a touchy subject and he'd keep talking if he wanted to.

Instead, he sat back with a smile on his face and sighed, letting the steam from his cup drift past his face. "I appreciate this very much, you know. You spending time with me. I've not made many friends here."

Such gratitude made me feel awkward. I rocked my chair back and forth, thinking. He'd left me unsure of what to say, so I just went with what I felt. "Same, Tanje. Same. This is the first time in a while that I've hung out with someone. Like, just hung out, without it being for work or something." I returned his smile. "I like it."

He grinned for real, the formal mask slipping a bit. "Quite. Quite." A pause, and he leaned forward, fingers steepled. "So. I assume you've heard there's a Princess Deya animation in the works?"

I hadn't. Hadn't checked the net since getting fired, in fact. No time. "Seriously? Not just a rumor this time?"

"Ah, so I'm to be the bearer of good news!" He clapped his hands together. "Last night, there was an official announcement from the publishers. It's to be thirteen episodes, though they did not say which studio they've given it to."

Oh, boy. I took a big sip of caff. "That's not good. If they give it to the same people who did the Sura reboot-"

"Oh, Kings forfend! That one was truly awful."

And so on. We talked awhile about Deya and some of the other series we both read-turned out we had similar tastes in popcorny stories about overly perfect women and their hopeless suitors. The bird glanced back and forth between us the whole time. Eventually the conversation turned to people-watching, Tanje pointing out bionics and concealed weapons with practiced ease.

"Do you see that woman there, wearing the blue dress and black jacket?" Tanje said.

"Uh-huh."

"Well, she's printing like an amateur." He sniffed. "Whatever she's carrying is small, but it might as well be a .570 Broadhead for how much it stands out."

I couldn't see what he meant at all, but I took his word for it. "How about that guy? Pale, black denim coat, red jumpsuit."

"Hmm, let's-Sharkie, he's got a Yakkorp ten-gauge slung on his back! Of course he's carrying!"

I snickered. "Sorry. Guess I'm playing on easy mode. Okay, how about-wait, what the hell are those?" Forgetting myself, I pointed at a guy in dark blue coveralls with the sleeves torn off. His arms were bionic, but they looked crude, made of metal rather than composite.

Tanje gave a low whistle. "TU Bureau steelbodies! Oh, my. I'll tell you this, my friend, D-block is the only place you'll see those outside of a museum or a junkyard. They're likely three times as old as their owner."

"Man, really?"

"Certainly. TU is never on the cutting edge, but they build for longevity. Those ought to be fully serviceable as well."

I filled my cup from the samovar. "So, like an old kalash versus one of those new Hejlikka lasers?"

"I suppose. Though they've not worked out all the issues with the lasers yet. If my sources are correct, they're incredible until a cell ruptures and vents boiling toxins all over your face..."

And so on again, for another hour or so. The experience was incredibly normal, incredibly mundane, and incredibly reassuring as well. No matter what I did for work now, I hadn't completely ruined my life or locked myself out of regularity. I had friends, and for being such a simple fact that made me very happy.

Eventually the samovar grew lukewarm, and the conversation faded into companionable silence.

"I ought to be getting back to the store," Tanje finally said. "This was very pleasant, Sharkie. Cathartic. I'd like to do it again, if you feel the same."

"For sure. I needed this too, I think." I stuck out my hand, and he shook it. We grinned at each other. "And fuck Prince Odegaard, right?"

His laugh seemed genuinely happy. "In all ways but the literal."

"Shit, yeah. We'll make that a corollary."

He nodded. "Until next time, Sharkie. Stay safe."

"You too, Tanje. Keep an eye on the park." I pulled out some chits to pay at the same instant he did. I laughed and said "Split it?"

"That will be fine with me. See you soon, my friend."

"See you soon. Bye, Tanje." He headed back towards his shop, and I had a long, uneventful walk home. The bird stuck with me that long, occasionally peeping at its compatriots as they flew by. When I got back to my crate, though, it chirped, pecked me right in the middle of the forehead, and flew off, lost immediately in the dark sky. I guess my cube was too shitty even for actual flying garbage.

I undressed and lay in bed for a while, reading and checking the net. Soon, though, despite all the caff I'd drank, I found myself flagging, lethargic, and all-over ready to pass out. Well, it had been an eventful day. A few extra hours of sleep would be nice. I flipped off the lights, dropped onto my pillow-

And was awoken by the clank of my burner slab vibrating itself off the shelf and onto the floor. I flailed around blearily until I found it-the clock read 12:27 AM.-and answered.

"What?' I said, yawning.

"Sharkie. It's Walker." His voice was low, serious, close to the mic. "I need help bad."

I instantly became more awake. "What happened?"

"Fuckin' got ambushed by Blues after the powwow. Monta's with me but he's hurt bad, outta commission, and they're all over us. I think they got my normal phone tapped, and you're the only one I know they ain't got to. So yeah. I'm sorry to do this to you, but I need you to drag our asses outta the fire."

This was bad. Walker was my only connection to the Holy Bones-and even if he wasn't, he'd done right by me. He was my friend as much as a boss could be. I had to help him.

"Where are you?" I asked calmly.

"Wait. You're actually comin'?"

"Don't be stupid, man. Where you at?"

"Sheeit, alrighty then! It's an old warehouse complex in Vatburg. Been derelict years. It's on Monitor Line, east o' the Dak church. Just look for the one with Blues crawlin' everywhere."

"I'll get there soon as I can."

"Good. But be. Careful. Right? I don't wantcha gettin' killed on my account. No heroics. Just get to us and get us out, got it?"

"Got it. Ought to be..." I thought for a second. "...twenty minutes 'til I get there. You gonna be alright?"

"I'll manage. Luck, Sharkie, and don't get Kingsdamn shot."

"Same to you, Walker. Hold on."

The line went dead and I leapt up, threw on the same clothes I'd worn earlier, and got my shit together. I grabbed the saw, the Slukh, the coilgun and a few reloads, my knife, a couple flashlights, and, on a whim, the disinfectant and bandages. I chucked everything that didn't have a sheath or holster into the pockets of my army jacket, then tore ass out the door.

I wasn't the best runner, but I made pretty good time over to Vatburg-especially considering the CySkin tugging at my side every step. I went by the Dakessar church Walker mentioned. A faulty plasmagram tencrown topped its spire, popping with artifacts as insects flew into it and fried. Prayer kites flew high above it, strings of LEDs stitching across the black sky.

Slowing to a jog, I turned onto Monitor Line and switched off my flashlight. The crumbling street lacked sidewalks and was scattered with debris. Lining it were nigh-identical empty warehouses and offices, windows broken and sheet-metal sides scarred with rust. Off in the distance, the long, low ration processors were brightly lit, almost fenced in by beams of lifelight, but here it was dark, dark, dark. Only one pole in three was active, and most of those had a few elements out.

Stolen story; please report.

At least it made my destination easy to spot. Flashlight beams bobbed and danced in one of the lots, and I could see the more powerful illumination of car headlights there too. Fuck, there had to be more than ten of them. Direct confrontation would just get me perforated here. I moved closer, keeping low, and crouched behind the rusted hulk of a parts-stripped box van to get a better look at the place. An L-shaped single-story building, probably offices, curled around two sides of a smallish warehouse like a cat around a space heater. The buildings were fronted by a parking lot that was checkered with abandoned vics and derelict forklifts sitting on dead tires. The whole lot was surrounded by a half-toppled razor-wire fence.

Moving all around the parking lot were men and women with flashlights and guns, occasionally calling to each other. There were three or four vehicles parked haphazardly in the middle of the lot, most notably Walker's piece of shit sedan. The doors were left open and the windows busted. Hard tell but I thought I saw bullet holes in the door.

Looking closer at the Blue Div soldiers, I spotted handguns, pump shotguns, a few stubby caseless-loading Thayer carbines, one guy holding a rust-spotted kalash with a drum mag. Not exactly the kind of thing you stuck under your jacket for peace of mind. This had obviously been planned.

Okay. Sawada always told me that if you have a problem too big to solve, turn it into a bunch of little problems. My goal was to get Walker and Monta out. To do that I had to find them, and the easiest way to do that was to message Walker. There was the risk his phone would go off and get him rumbled, but I had more faith in his intelligence than that.

I shot him a text: Where u at?

The reply was almost immediate. ofices round bakc. im stuck. watch 4 hevys.

Short and to the point. I'd have to bust his nuts about quarrymen being borderline illiterate when I found him, but first I had to get to his building. There were plenty of holes in the fence, that was no problem, but I'd have to cross a stretch of open ground to get there, fifty yards or so of grainy dirt spotted with trash and dead weeds and absolutely devoid of cover. Once I got inside the fence I could hide behind a flipped-over bulk trailer, but 'til then I'd be exposed. The dark would be my friend here, but if any of those shooters had night scopes or bionic eyes I'd be boned as soon as they looked my way. I thought a moment, but couldn't come up with a better plan than to say 'fuck it' and run-or could I?

I'd been thinking I was going to slink over there and ninja my way in somehow. But there just wasn't enough cover, and stealth was not my forte. With all those deeks flashing lights around there was just too much of a chance I'd get spotted. So. If I couldn't get past the soldiers, I'd just have to get them to go somewhere else. I needed a distraction, and what better distraction than an explosion?

I drew the coilgun and set it to penetrators. It buzzed in my hand as a uranium slug slid into the acceleration chamber. Bracing it on the hood of the van, I looked down at the cars sitting in the lot. Hopefully, there was an older model down there, something with plenty of metal in it to get this uranium to ignite. No, no, no...Shit. They were all conplas wonders except for one-Walker's own lovely chariot. Well, he could probably afford a new one. I still couldn't tell what the hell kind of vic it was, but all the sedans I'd chopped up had the fuel tank under the trunk. Hopefully he only kept it half full. I set the holo crosshair just above the rear tire, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.

The fucking thing deafened me-I resolved to buy some smart earpro after this for sure- but that wasn't my most pressing concern. I saw a nice thumb-size hole appear in the fender, but nothing else happened. Everyone down there was looking around, one guy noticed the bullet hole in the car, and WHOOM, the thing went up in a great plume of greasy orange flame.

I was already running, pounding across the dirt fast as I could, weapons bouncing, hoping the noise of flames and sheer distance would keep them from hearing me. My stance was weird, my head reflexively cringing down as if that would do a thing to keep the bullets off me if I got spotted. I leapt the hole in the fence, feeling my jeans tear where my calf caught an unseen twist of wire, and scrabbled over to the flipped trailer. For a moment I froze, ready to hit the ground or leap every which way or ­something when the slugs started flying. Though I heard shouting and saw frantic movement of the flashlight beams, no rounds started whizzing past my head. Good. They'd be looking for a sniper or a bomber's vantage point for at least a little bit. Distraction complete, but I had no time to rest.

I peered around the corner of the trailer, huffing and puffing like a leaky compressor. Holy shit, if a single short sprint wore me out I needed to do more cardio.

If I'd understood Walker right, he was in the offices at the short end of the 'L,' on the side of the building farthest from the road. I was near there, but to get to the building itself I'd have to cross the parking lot. Between the cars out front and a still-functioning lightpole at the corner of the fence, I'd have to stay in a narrow band of shadow to keep out of sight. I had no idea what was waiting for me around the corner, but even as I watched a couple of women with headlamps and short assault rifles ran from around the corner and over to the explosion. I didn't see any more lights back there.

I decided to take the chance. Not wanting to make more noise than I had to, I drew the saw in my left hand and the Slukh in the right. I darted across the shaded strip and around the corner of the building, slowing down a bit to make sure I didn't trip-falling over and slitting my own throat would be an absolute raddy idiot move.

No one was back here, luckily, unless they were lurking in the dark with lights off. I didn't get jumped, so I guess they weren't. I hugged the building, its moist fiberboard walls smelling of mildew and decay, until I found a windowless door leading inside. I was about to open it when I heard voices from within. They were hard to make out with the door in the way and the shouting out here. I listened for just a few seconds, getting antsy.

"...the hell was that? You sure we-"

"Rossi said stay, so we..."

At least two just past the door, maybe more further in. My best option was to bust in the door, surprise them like I had on my other missions. Here came the messy part.

I knew things were gonna go bad as soon as I kicked through the door. Rather than blow it off the latch, my boot punched right through the rotted plyboard and hung up there. Reflexively I yanked my foot back, and of course now it came off the hinges. This left me with a mushy pile of fibrous door tangled around my kicking leg. Fortunately, it also left the two Blue Division soldiers in the office shocked momentarily still, astonishment on their tattooed faces.

I brought up the Slukh and two-tapped the farther one, a thin sallow woman in a cheap suit, through the face. At this range, I couldn't miss even one-handed. She dropped without a noise, flashlight rolling crazily across the floor. The other one, unfortunately, did the smart thing and hit the floor when I swung the gun toward him, trying to bring up his own from where it was caught under his body. My other two shots hit air, and acting on instinct I lunged for him with the saw. The stupid fucking door on my foot turned what certainly would have been a graceful, balletic leap into a flailing half-faceplant, but I still managed to sink the tip of the blade between his eyes. I'd made a complete fool of myself, but hey: the only people who’d seen were dead now.

I dropped my weapons long enough yank the hellish door off my leg with extreme prejudice before getting up and reloading. The room I was in had been a reception area once, judging by the crushed chairs and desk-shaped pile of woody sludge in the corner. The only light came from the doorway and the Blues' dropped flashlights. There was only one way forward, and it led into a door-lined corridor whose every surface was furred and streaked with black mold. My lungs were getting a workout tonight, that was for sure.

Walker had to be close, but I didn't dare call out for him. There might be other Blues looking in here, and the blown-up car wouldn't distract the other ones forever. I dropped the Slukh into my pocket and grabbed the burner slab-

One of the doors smashed open and out barreled a man, big but not quite my size, bionic arms, gun aimed at me. I mimiced the guy I'd just killed and dropped, moving low and diagonal to get into saw range. I raised it, ready to take his arms off at the elbows. But the dude ­dropped the gun, stepped inside my reach before I could swing. He reached for the grip of the saw, and before I knew it he was pushing on it, torquing my wrist. I pulled away but it was too late. My arms didn't bend that way, and the saw twisted out of my grip and clattered to the floor. It was a precise application of massive force that left me empty-handed and him perfectly poised to punch me.

Which he did, very hard. Once of his carbon-ceramic fists slammed right into my chin like a twenty-pound sledge. It rocked my head backwards and sent me smashing halfway through the opposite wall. I put my fists up and tossed out a jab but he was already moving, floating around it and sending rapid-fire jabs and hooks of his own at me. He bobbed, weaved, hitting high and low in quick succession. I tried to stomp his feet or hook an ankle, but this guy was on a different level, stepping around my attempts like he saw the future.

I caught one or two of his blows on my forearms but several made it through-and boy did I feel them. Guy had to have full-frame upper body enhancements to hit this hard. I felt blood dripping down my face, and I hissed when one of his blows came near the wound in my side. I couldn't even get a hit in I was so busy blocking. Man was a real martial artist, ready and willing to beat me unconscious or dead.

But then he nailed me near the eye, right on top of the bruise the burnout had left me earlier. There was a starry flash of pain in my head, and I got fucking angry.

I was going about this the wrong way, trying to back off and use my reach advantage. But he'd been smart, jumping me in a tiny space where that wouldn't matter. So when I saw red I just fucking rushed him, taking another hit to my side before yanking him into a clinch, my left arm round the back of his head.

He reacted immediately, trying to pull away, but I had him too tight. I caught a knee aimed at my ribs on my own leg, mostly by luck. His face was inches away from mine. Olive skin, strong nose, thick eyebrows, full lips set in a frown, large pores shadowed in the dim light. Blue ink patterned his cheeks like shattered glass. I drove my right fist into his ribs as hard as I could. A little puff of air escaped him, but there was no other reaction.

I did it a second time, a third, a fourth, over and over again. "Kill you," I hissed madly into his ear. "Kill you. Fucking kill you." Something cracked inside him and I grinned. He sent a few blows into my side, my ribs creaking, but I barely felt it.

He tried to push away again, shoving on my chest, full escape mode. I let go this time-for just a second, letting him build backward momentum before I grabbed the back of his head again. Now that long reach was worth something. I yanked his head toward me, pulling him off balance. He fell face first, head on a downward arc-until I smashed my knee up into it, hitting his forehead with a sound like an axe biting wood.

Kings, that felt good. "Serves you, you fucking-"

He laced his hands beneath my thigh and heaved upward, dropping me onto my back. Fuck! I thought for sure that knee was it, but he was still coming, on top of me now, a bloody mark on his forehead and rage in his eyes. I expect I looked about the same.

Staying like this was a losing proposition, so I used one of the dirtiest Sistema-4 tricks I knew. I hooked a thumb straight into his mouth and yanked sideways. Most people don't expect this, so they react instinctively: follow the motion to avoid the pain. He was forced to roll off me, landing by my side. Immediately I turned over, grabbing him by side of the face to pound him into the floor, but then I saw the saw.

It had landed on the square handguard, teeth facing up, industrial diamond sparkling all gaily in the gloom. Perfect.

Bionic hands smacked into my forearm, grabbing and squeezing. I heard a reedy snap, felt a jolt run up my arm, but it didn't matter. I jerked his head up and shoved it side-on into the saw. He finally cried out, a guttural bark of pain escaping his lips. It wasn't enough, though. A saw doesn't do much cutting staying still. So I tapped around, feeling frantically for the handle until I smashed my palm down on the trigger.

It ran for only a fraction of a second, vibrating crazily on the floor before it shot out of my grip like a scalded cat. This was still enough for it to bite into the side of his head, shredding his left ear and eye, his blood misting into my face. Now he really screamed, high and desperate, his hands dropping away from my arm.

"What did I say, motherfucker?" I sounded horrible, unrecognizable. "What did I say?" I lifted him by the head again and smashed the back of his skull into the concrete floor. "What did I say?" Once more. "SAID I'D KILL YOU!"

Suddenly there was blur of motion, he screamed again, desperate and agonized, and there was a sharp, cold pain in my side. I glanced down and saw he'd hit me below the ribs, his thumb actually sticking into me like an ice pick. This motherfucker. Why'd he lack the courtesy to just fucking die when I wanted him to?

"That's it, that's fucking it!" I spat. I leapt up, stomped on his gut to keep him there and grabbed the arm he'd stabbed me with. I braced my foot in his armpit and pulled, back taut, biceps flexing. Composite creaked, metal groaned. I growled, gave it one more calamitous yank, and with a noise like a car accident the limb pulled free at the shoulder interface, trailing ribbon cables and shredded cowling. He yowled, muscles seizing like a roach dropped into a fryer. Savage joy sang up my nerves, twisting my face into a rictus grin. Without any more ceremony, I flipped the arm in my hands, raised it high over my head, and slammed his own fist down through his skull like I was trying to piledrive a hole in the concrete. If he survived that, well, I'd fucking sit back and let him kill me.

He didn't. Pieces of him were spattered halfway up the walls, in fact. Gyeoksung's interfaces had always been shit. He should have sprung for Yakkorps. I was breathing hard, adrenaline still buzzing. "Not so fucking fun, is it?" I huffed at the corpse through grinning teeth. It didn't respond. People you kill usually don't.

Amazingly, that whole altercation had taken less than 90 seconds. I picked up my saw and took stock. There were cuts on my face, one of them dripping blood into my eye. Bruises all over, the CySkin under my arm was torn and slowly leaking blood, and the wrist he'd grabbed hurt and clicked when I moved it. It was already swelling up. Add to that a probable concussion and a fresh hole in my side and, well, I was not in the best shape. Had to get this done before the adrenaline wore off and I turned into a quivering wreck.