>> Assassination Protocol

## battleTek System Self Diagnostic: Complete ###

ID: 'Spook'

Armour Systems: Online.

Movement Servos: Primed

Battle Stim Injector: 94%

Healing Injector: 56%

Remote Suicide Switch: ERROR! TAMPERING DETECTED! VIOLATION REPORTED!

## Glory to The Great Leaders! Glory to the neoSoviet Empire! ##

“Mate….” Zip’s digital ghost hisses in my ear, low and warning, as my eyes flick across the frozen bar. The main floor cleared in half a second as regulars step back from their tables. A rising wall of thugs in spiky black jackets locking Kami into her corner table. Spreading a massive, empty, space around the fake barmaids that traps us right in our booth.

Into that huge void, steps ‘Mr Chrome’. Bullet-holes smouldering in his cyberTek skull. He twists his neck with a metallic crunch, and stabs a finger upward. Instantly, every light explodes with sparks in our little section of the bar. “EMP!” I hiss as my robotic eyes jitter with static and noise. They're shielded - thank bloody God - but barely shielded enough, as it turns out.

It clears quickly. Right in time to see both ‘maids’ glitch out. Holograms dying in a waft of plastic smoke, and a sad pop of dying projectors.

Silence looms, and I hunker inside it. Our entire section in darkness, haloed by stuttering lights.

“Now. Ain’t that better?” Chrome growls at his ‘killers’ - who turn out to be your typical tattoo-chick-plus-hairy-biker combo. Mid twenties, ish. Matching names inked on their inner arms - giving me a ‘Bruno’ and ‘Tina’.

The shock on their faces is wild. Pistols still raised, but shaking.

I lean to Demon, almost butting his horns. “Let’s slip out, quick, while they’re talkin’.” I mouth over comms.

“Bad idea, mate. Like, really bad. Look at the crowd.” Zip warns, twisting at one of his fingers.

“The wall of eyeballs pointed our way, ya mean?" I’m tryin’ not to.

“Yeah, mate. You move, they’ll think you’re in on it - and bam.” He stutters as I flick a look across the merc bar, now it's easy to see. Layout screams 'former diner' - from the circular tables, to the walls lined with old red-leather booths. Each and every bloody one jammed with eager-faced patrons, ready for a show. All cybered-up gangers, mutated Gone Wrong thugs with eyes on their elbows, and eerie men in rough suits - hoisting viciously calculated stares. The croc crook from before swirls a huge beer in one scaly paw, while a second supports his chin. A third arm looped round some octopus-faced thing with boobs.

“Craaap.” I groan, sinking deeper into my haunches. “Seriously? They all wanna get caught in the crossfire or what?”

“Nah, mate, it’s all for ‘Face’.” Zip explains in rising panic. Eyes flickering across an augmented-reality model of the bar generated by our cameras and eyes. Likely to cover the fact he's launching fast drone support. “Like….. Y’know? One guy bolts, you know they're a coward? Right? That they don’t belong?”

“It’s a bloody game?” I meet Demon’s sharp eyes. “Stay put n' pretend it's a show, or get called a sissy?”

“Got it in one, mate.”

“Great.” I hiss, trying to un-slide from under the table, while pretending we were never down there.

“Just listen.” Kami grunts, clinking things shifting under her cloak. She looks calm. Intent. But one of her steel-spike boots is twitching under the table.

I nod. Flicking my ears back to the stand-off.

“-thought ye’d ge lucky, eh!?” Chrome snarls, ramming a finger of jolly violence into our ‘lucky’ pair in time to his words. “But yew’re in a spot of bother naw. Ain’t yeh? Thinkin’ yeh ought’ve picked a bigger gun. Eh?” He leans in. “Or maybes a smaller target. Eh?”

“Phhh. We’re a little impressed, oh great ‘King of Olde’.” Tina sneers the name of the gang, stepping to flank him. Pistol dangling from one clipped finger. “Dermal armour. Right? Good in a bullet-storm. But….” Her eyes drift down. “Bet it makes a guy stiff in…. just.... all the wrong places….” Her eyes flick lower, then back up to his - with a smile. And I smell something up. She’s way too cocky. Like it's all going to plan….. “Bet my Bruno is twice the man you are….”

“That so?” Chrome’s massive head twists at Bruno.

“Analysing structure.” Cracks the shifting voice of Polybius in my ear - virtual diagrams unfolding from Chrome. “Estimate body composition is 90% mechanical. Fake skin over titanium composite skeleton. Likely all organs are removed. Leaving the brain, alone, to be encased in a life-support shell. Scans required to confirm.”

“Dang. That’s basically mil-spec kit.” I hiss as that monstrous cyborg chastises the scrawny flesh-man.

“Come on! Show him Bruno!” Tina hisses.

“Do I look like a holoMonster card to you?” Bruno hisses back, a titter of laughter rolling through the crowd. Onlookers signalling they’re a group.

All part of The Face.

Chrome-y turns to his goons. “Yeh think we oughta skin em before we kill em? Eh?” He raises an arm, and the crowd roars blood and mayhem.

“FLAY EM!”

“RIP HIS NUTS OFF!”

And it only gets less polite from there as black-jacketed Gang enforcers peel outta the shadows. All spiky shoulders and killing eyes. A few flexing claws - or spiky tails. Or metal fists. But, behind Chrome, rises the worst. A sliver-thin creature. All languid paws and razor claws, wrapped up in slick black fur. Face like a jackal, but covered in bony spurs - like thorns - and speckled with gleaming metal implants. A slick melding of sinuous creatures. It almost screams 'artificial', but it screams 'danger' a whole lot harder.

It's a GMO, like us. But not a human-faced half-half, with funny ears and a fuzzy tail. No.

It's a full blooded Pure. More monster than human. More fang than smile.

“Shiiii-” I hiss. “Kami, where are ya?”

“Where…. do you…. bloody…. think?” She grunts as her white dot is forced back across my mini-map by the surging crowd. Trailing insults and metal elbows as she fights to stay in the far corner. Safe - for now - but trapped. I swallow, and my guts knot. Fretful claws still picking tape off our smoke-grenade, under the table. Like it matters what it looks like....

“Mate. Like, don’t panic. Yeah?” Zip’s digital ghost flaps its hands up into a blur. “Like, stay still. Right? They ain’t after us.”

“Right.” I mutter as the jeers hit an ear-drilling crescendo. "Not yet, they ain't."

Least, they don't know about the bounty....

Chrome raises a fist for silence. With a showman’s smile. “I’m likin’ a bunch’a these suggestions, boys n’ girls. ‘Specially that bit with the pliers n' their delicates…..” The gang whoops, but…. That ‘killer pair’ keep smirking around at people. Smug. Cocky. Almost winking. Bruno’s gun tapping his elbow as Tina goads them all with gang-signs…. The crowd screams, and Bruno cheers em on.

"Something’s up. Y'see it?" I hiss.

It’s almost…. like they know.... they’re gonna win…..?

“COME ON THEN! TRY IT!” Bruno yells. “We’re Hell's Bloody Reapers! And our crew’s gonna make a show outta YOU….!!”

Chrome laughs, like a stalling engine, spinning his arms around. “OH YEAH!? An’ where are dey den? They hidin’ behind mine?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Biker girl smiles, slipping behind Bruno. And my eyes flick to the crowd itself. Widening.

“Oh Hell.” Is as far as I get before the jackets at the back pull massive, skull-headed, knives - slamming them into the necks and backs of the guys in front. Butchering ten or twelve of the weaker goons in seconds, and spraying the ceiling with blood.

Pandemonium.

The chaos is instant. The shock is incredible. Even Chrome pausing - wide-eyed - which gives Bruno and biker girl a precious few seconds.

They raise their heavily etched guns.

“Smile for The Reaper.” She purrs, and flames roar from vents in the sides of their guns. Rocket-bullets smashing off Chrome’s face.

And I feel death coming.... for us.

Time slows as the bullets carve spinning, corkscrew, whirls of smoke across the bar. All my adrenaline roaring free of its cage as I twist - grabbing the back of our bench-seat. My feet kick leather, and I flip clear over the back. Right as the first bullet hits that titanium face, and ricochets. Veering right at us.

Fluff explodes from my seat as I hang there, mid-flip.

Then my skinny weight carries me over down - clawed toes slapping, hard, onto scarred table. Right between some sketchy dudes - who weren't near as quick. I flip again, as they jerk to the tune of the bullets above. Grabbing the next divider, and twisting my body into a second flip - and over. Wind rushes in my furry ears - and I pat down, safe, onto the next table along. Rolling off, down, onto the long bench seat. Sliding under it - coiled and ready. Half a micron later Demon lands beside me in a flurry of yellow tail claws. Horns twitching. Strands of gold leaking from his hood.

“Shit, Zip! This is nuts! Gimmie a way out!” I say very, very, calmly.

I mean, considering I nearly got shot.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Mate! I’m working on it! But, like, there’s like - a whole mess out front!? Uh….?”

I flick a look round the corner as that big Chrome bastard steps into the hail of bullets. One boot after another. Backing the pair right up into a central table. Then round it. Into the middle of everything, where everyone can see. A shadow flicking to his right as that Jackal-faced GMO slips around ‘Bruno’, right as he fumbles a reload. A fuzzy footpaw, loaded with claws, kicking hard into the back of Bruno’s knee. Smashing it into the ground, and slashing backward.

Ripping.

Bruno's scream is shrill as black clawed fingers bury themselves in the side of his head. Twisting his face into the hard edge of a table like a big, fat, wet, hammer.

CRACK.

“Oops.” Says Chrome, conversationally.

Bruno hangs limp from the Pure GMO’s grip, and his girlfriend scream pitifully. Spinning to confront it, pistol out. But The Jackal stares her down with genocidal intent. Fixated on her face. Twisting its own, side to side. Muzzle to gun-muzzle. Spindly arms sliding around her….

She fires.

Jackal thing twists its head - and she twists with it. Bullets smacking a river of fire off its jaw that blasts along the cheek. Burning fur. Bruising skin. Hammering teeth. But rockets suck up close. They slap off its skull - spinning trails of smoke, right into the onlookers. Gaining speed until-

Whap.

One punches through a dude, and drills the wall. He blinks in shock - blood blooming as a glass slips from his hand. His friends grab him. They scream. And everything goes to absolute crap in half a second - guns rising as bladed shutters guillotine the bar. Mass panic. Maids piling into their panic room. Bullets everywhere as regulars join the fray.

“Time to bloody go!” I rip my hood off, and the mask with it. Sections of gloss black armour peeling off my back. Ripping through my loose shirt as they slide up to cover my neck in armour. Tiny arms grab my ears, and fold my hair as segmented plates lock tight to my skull. Three curved blades of bullet-proof plastic snapping together in front of my eyes.

Helmet: Activated.

Armour: 95%

With a twitch of my wrist, a web of tactical vScreens unfold from nothing. Info shared at blistering speed within the linked world of our implants. I’ve got external cameras, plus a few left inside. All fully hacked and controllable, thanks to over-preparing. My vision jinks as Kami and Demon gain coloured outlines. 3D maps of the bar overlaying my vision, with dots for us and the patrons. I flick that away, and crick my neck. It’s a big ole room. With all the original furniture-

CRASH.

-most of the original furniture. Plus two exits, front and back. One ahead. One to the right. Back’s an unknown - the door’s locked. Could be storage. Could be a way into the old drone tunnels…. I twitch toward it in a whisk of tail - and damn near get my nose chewed-off by a wall of bullets that sets me darting back under the table. Thickest fighting has swung hard into that door as half the patrons grab at the same idea. But my enhanced eyes flip to the other side of the room. Front door is directly ahead, like a taunt. Just past the bar, but lighter on the scrum. “Kami. We’re bustin’ out the front. You’re closer. Try t’meet us there.”

“On it.” She grumbles, and Demon twists behind me. Shredding his way over the back of the seats in a golden-clawed fury of feet and leonine tail.

“….glad we ain’t paying for that….” I grumble, slipping out the booth on all fours. Taloned toes and sharpened fingers clicking across rough paint. Bumpy. Uneven. Flecked with gleaming-wet shards my street-toughened pads ignore. I duck under a table, working my way forward. Direct to the door - while horn-boy traces the left edge of the room. Using the booths for cover. Shiit. What's he going to do at the bar? It sticks out, right to the left side of the door itself. Nothing but battered stools, and-

“Spook, you must hurry.” The metal voice of Polybius scars itself across my senses. “[Unknown persons] have attempted to trigger the bar’s [autogun defences]. I am blocking them. For now.”

“Oh Hell.” I can’t see Kami. Hell, I can barely see the fight - what with all the gyrojet bullet-smoke. The spitting fire. And just the utter storm of jostling legs, as two furious gangs trap the regulars and randoms in the middle of their war. Patrons fighting to escape, or for vengeance, or for the sheer bloody love of mayhem. The whole thing rotating around Chrome himself - who leans back, right middle of it all. Lighting a tiny cigar with his thumb, as he rests his ass on a table.

As if all the world were a show…..

I jolt sideways as a thug’s boot stomps right where my fingers were. The guy leers down, and I snarl as it swings up for my face. Guess some just want to hit stuff, and they don't much care what.

He stomps again, glass still in hand, and I stab claws deep into the top of the boot. Twisting - rip - then twisting back. Loosing a scream to split your head - plus a second boot, flailing and stumbling. I bounce back on my haunches, then slam at him from the side. He’s heavy. Fat. Panting. Red of face - and leg. But I’m light, limber, and I hop one foot right up onto his arm - kicking the sharp toed other into his squishy chest.

He gasps. He chokes. And five more rip at his eyes as he stumbles back.

Swaying, limping, and starting to tumble.

I help him on his way by kicking off him, into a flip. Bullets screaming past my face as as I land - crouched, and snarling - beside the table. Slipping back under. He screams at me. He calls me names, rolling about on the floor.

And that’s how I know I’ve won.

A subtle shift, and I’m around him - the fight roaring in every direction. Claws. Teeth. Guns. Metal fists impact face - and, wow, jaws are not meant to twist like that. It’s manic. A maze of stomping legs and lizard tails. Spiky fists. And some guy with a raygun that lights things on freaking fire.

A female thug slams into me, and her eyes go slick-sharp. Pistol twisting up to murder me. I don’t wait for the shot - I jink right, and claw her hand away with a swipe. Grabbing the barrel with my other, and kicking hard off her chest. She stumbles into the scrum, and - hey - free gun.

But she's righting herself, fumbling another. Damnit, I could flee- but she's right in the way of the door. So I leap - and her panicked bullets fly. One smacks my armour, like a fist - carving a white-hot track across my chest. And then my heels slam all the breath clear out her lungs, and I swing the butt of her gun right into her chin. She swings the gun at my face, and I punch hers into a table-leg. Knocking her half-way to Neverland.

I flip the gun she 'gave' me, grabbing it by the handle. No time to find the other - I blocked on reflex, and now it's off under the tables. Rolling off, and back into cover, I check my map. Demon’s dot is halfway to the door - still following the left wall. Like I bloody should have. We converge as he dips out of cover to bolt past the shuttered bar - all art-deco red, and glorious chrome. Once, it would have sat in front of a whole wall of windows. Now-

A patron blurs over my head, and impacts the heavy shutters with a massive bang, rolling off em onto the booths beneath. Shuddering me all the way through. The Jackal lands on the table above me. Snarling. Bloodied. Dripping. Raw with primordial musk, and animal fury. It drops from the edge. Prowling toward the windows, and its prey.....

I swallow, and its head snaps to me. Low and ready, with its swollen face. And bloodied claws of sparkling metal. “A baby.” It breathes, in a gory hiss. “A cub.” I go very still. Freedom beckons - right at the end of the bar. I don’t look. Don't breathe. I focus, instead, on the jarring thump of my heart. The stillness of the monster’s paw. The drip of red that slips down fur….

It laughs, and snaps its head away.

Playful, and bubbling with murderous glee.

I bolt - crashing past Kami on the way. Her hood snaps toward me. Evil slashes of ink carving a mad smile from the cold void of her blank, white, mask. Her steel-studded boots planted on the back of a struggling ganger-girl. “We goin’?” She growls, many thin metal arms slipping back into her cloak.

Sliding for guns. For bombs. For knives.

I twitch my ear toward the exit, and she nods. The three of us converging to-

And that’s exactly when it all goes knackers up.

Outside - a bang. A scream. A howl of engine, ending in a blunt crash of metal that shudders the entire bar. Ending in a wild shout of “THERE! THEY’RE IN THERE!” Gunfire roars across the shutters like rocket-powered rain. I bounce back from the door as a wall of blue-shirted thugs come blasting their way in.

A third gang!?

“Oh Hell…..” I growl, and we bolt back along the bar - right at The Jackal. "SHIIT!" I slam us to the right, into the first booth behind the bar, and under its table. Sandwiched between the fight, the ringing shutters, and everything else. It’s terrible cover - but look at our options. Demon hesitates, leaping out to drag a central table onto its side. Wedging us in.

Cozy.

But not exactly bulletproof.

Virtual windows unfold around us. I see most of the bar - but outside? Smoke cut with neon, billowing across our hacked cameras. A mess of shadows, lights, and chaos. Inside - the fight is turning. The newcomers beaten back into the tiny entryway by the bar. At the last second, one raises a rusty stick-like SMG, and hoses one entire side of the room. Tiny 22 calibre rockets busting off Chrome’s face. Irritating him no end, I'm sure. But with a simple gesture, his entire crew swivels - like he pinged some kind of implant. Each and every one focusing their fire directly on the doorway.

Several go down. One flees.

And everything goes silent, as the whole dynamic of the bar starts to change.

Chrome steps forward. Slowly. Calmly. Grabbing the fallen Bruno by his damaged neck, and yanking the now-bloodied biker chick from under a table. He pulls em upright. Her clutching a hole in her side. Him still dazed - choking on the ruins of his face. For a long beat, he says nothing at all. The whole bar fixated on either the door or the toughest bastard in the room. A heartbeat. Another. And then, we catch it - a whisper so quiet it carries to every ear in every corner.

“What. Did. Yeh. Do.” The monster growls, a spice of anger breaking his rocky calm.

It’s not a question. He already knows.

An old Comms chip slips from her hand. Tinkling on the floor. “EMPs don’t work if it’s off.” She grins. But Chrome slams her head on to a table. Wordless. Bruno dangling, ignored, in his other hand.

“What.” He says. “Did. Ye. Do?”

“Called backup...." Biker chick whispers, eyes almost blank. Lips barely moving. "Then….." A broke-toothed grin. "....told ….. your friends on Fourth Street…. you was having trouble. Didn‘t I?”

She's barely with us, yet she shivers my hackles with the danger in her tone.

Chrome smiles. “You did, yeah?”

“Yep.” She slurs. “And now you gonna die. Even you can’t fight two gangs at one….ce.” She spits blood in his face, laughing through the pain of her tearing wounds. A dark and strangled sound.

Chrome lets her finish.

And then the monstrous man crushes their necks to paste. Damn-near shearing their heads off. The necks stretch, and then he drops them. Discarded, like old tin cans.

Thunk…..

….thunk.

“Cowards n’ scum.” Is the only eulogy they get. “I claim yer useless gang. Any ya freaks wants out, there’s the door.” A bright, metal-toothed, smile glimmers about his lips. “If yeh can make it out.”

My eyes snap to it in desperation - but I ain't fool enough. And what the Hell’s going on outside? Spiky shadows lash the coloured smoke beneath my cameras. A leather jacket whipping past, baseball bat swinging. I catch a punk in a blazer. Flashes of rocket-fire…. A grenade that whites the screen…..

“Piss off!” Snaps a mohawk man, ripping open his jacket. Revealing an augmented chest inked with gang tattoos. “We don’t work for you. We work for The Reaper.”

“An’ yeh leaders got reaped.” Chrome paces around the room to face the man. A circle of thugs and regulars clearing around him. “Cowards.” The monster sneers, as I hunker deeper into our booth. Sharing a nod with the other two.

"Time for the big guns…." Kami mutters.

“Polybius. Code Delta-Delta.” I breathe.

“Please stand by.” Cracks the eerie static voice.

Chrome grips the man’s jacket with bloody metal fingers. “Yeh boy here got balls. I’ll give ‘im that. Big ole brassies….” The goon swallows, eyes flicking. “Now. Yeh think Fourth Street’ll care whose wiv me when they get in ‘ere?”

“N-n-” The man’s eyes stick to the blood on the hand.

“Exactly!” The leader roars. “Everybody stands, or everybody dies! Thas’ how it is! Always will be!” He squeezes, very slightly, and even over the crashes and screams outside I hear that jacket creak. “So get yer asses in line, or we’re gonna have problems.” He lets go, and turns away.

“Polybius?” I hiss again.

“I have full control of the network, such as it is. The EMP fried large parts of it. The rest is borderline salvage.”

“Shit. How many I got?”

“Five units out of twenty survived.”

“….good enough. Ready?” I grunt, popping the little metal panel in the side of my head. Slotting something into the main port with a thunk that echoes round my skull.

“WARNING - Internal Security Breach.” Intones a crude synthetic voice. “Wireless brain Uplink established. L.M.G. property has been opened to hack- hack-” The voice glitches to death - subsumed by that eerie symbol built of eyes, and grids, and triangles.

“Patching you in.” It intones. “Please stand by for neuroJump.”

I nod to Demon, and he pushes me into the back of the booth. Hunkering protectively. I shut my eyes - a string of data welling up the side of my screen. “Jump in ten. Nine…..”

“This’d be so much better with Zipper-”

A half dozen thugs with reaper-skull shirts and spiked blond hair blast their way in through the front. Laying into the jacketed Kings with ornate guns and knives. A cheer roars up from the Reapers, Chrome SNARLING as the truce comes to a sharp and bitter end. “YER BOSSES ARE DEAD. SO WHO D'YEH FIGHT FOR?” He roars, hurling the dead pair right in their faces. Raising a thick metal finger. "YEH CAN'T TOUCH ME! YEH KNOW IT!"

“Six. Five…..”

The new Reapers balk, trapped between Chrome and the roaring cry of "FOURTH STREET GONNA KILL YA!"

Chrome smiles.

A reaper yells "TO THE BLOODY DEATH!"

A gun fires.

And Polybius says “One."

Instantly, everything slows as my mind is ripped clean out of my body. Colours and lights blasting through my being. Connecting me, like threads of wire. Harnessing my brain, as if it were a computer.

I open my many eyes.

And I become the building.

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