“Raccoons in England? Next thing you’re gonna tell me aliens will fall from the sky tomorrow.”

“I’m telling the truth! They stole my wallet. They’re a plague on this city I tell you!”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up and pay your tab you crazy old coot!”

--Random conversation in a London bar, six hours before the initial Ohio incursion.

I pause to take the belt and sheath off Spot and Stripe, giving them each a quick scritch behind the ear as a reward, before we continue running, just in case someone saw us. I slide the belt into the waistband of my baggy trousers as I run, securing the knife into place at the small of my back, just below the hem of my hoodie.

I don’t normally carry a weapon, but it’s not like I’m against them. I’ve just never needed more than my nails and teeth so far. Mum and Dad taught me well.

We keep running, weaving through nearby alleys in an erratic pattern until I’m sure no one is chasing us. Finally, I stop running and collapse on the floor, setting my backpack down beside me and leaning my back against the alley wall as I regain my breath.

“Eee ee e!” Chip squeaks at our brother and sister proudly, climbing into my lap as he regales them with the details of his adventure.

At least, I assume that’s what he’s saying. As much as I love them, I’ve never really been able to understand my family. I can make guesses, and I know them well enough that they’re usually right, but the language barrier between us still remains.

Chip rolls over, presenting his belly to me for his promised scratches which I happily provide. Getting back to the den be damned, he’s fluffy and I’m tired!

Stripe completely ignores our brother and climbs up my sleeve to stand on my shoulder. She gives me a pat on the head and lets out a reassuring, rumbling purr, before jumping off and running over to sit at the mouth of the alley. Spot on the other hand takes the moment of respite to worm his way into my hoodie’s pocket, before reaching out and batting our celebrating brother on the head.

I’ll let him have that one, Chip did make his job harder by pissing off that mechanic so much. Honestly, that’s the main reason I ran so far. He looked angry enough to still be chasing us now.

I fiddle with my augs as my breathing stabilises, sending a message to Hands that may or may not reach him before we do.

[The job was a success. Have our payment ready, we’ll be there soon.] – Elise

The image on my retina flickers in multicoloured hues for a few moments when I hit send before settling. I really should replace my augs, but it’s quite hard to find someone who’ll operate on a person that doesn’t exist without actually making them disappear. And that’s not even mentioning the cost.

Shaking the thought away, I lift Chip to my shoulder and push myself off the floor. I grab my bag and whistle for Stripe to follow, before tucking my hair in and flicking my hood up. It won’t let me blend in, three raccoons don’t exactly scream subtle, but it will at least keep anyone from looking at my face, and that’s enough for me.

Stripe walks along side me as we step out onto the open New Oxford streets and make our way towards the south of the city. I keep my head low, staring at the pavement and completely ignoring the noise around us. It’s hard not to look up every time a hovercar swoops too low or a blaring corpo ad nearly deafens me, drawing three angry squeals from my siblings, but I manage.

At some point, my hands find their way into my hoodie pocket to give Spot some scratches, and Chip leaps off my shoulder before running off into the crowd. He’ll be back soon, so I ignore him and keep going, watching Stripe move over to pad along in front of me as we enter a busier sector of the city.

She guides me forward, occasionally hissing at pedestrians that stray too close, opening a path to keep me from bumping into anyone.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Ki ki,” I click out a quiet thank you before looking up past street level for the first time in our trek.

I recognise the street as Rose Hill almost immediately, seeing a familiar ad for the new Boots hand cannon projected on a wall up ahead. How a pre-incursion pharmacy ended up being an arms dealer I’ll never know… nor care.

I cross the street and approach the alley beside the ad. There’s a man crumpled up on the floor just past the entrance to the alley, wrapped in a patchwork quilt with a small pot set down in front of him. He glances up as I pass, looking at my face past my hood and causing a shiver to run down my spine, before nodding silently.

I nod back and keep walking, not stopping until I turn a corner and come face to face with a recessed doorway. The heavy metal door before me is covered with rust and looks like it hasn’t been opened in years, but I ignore that and slam my fist against it anyway.

Three light knocks, two solid thumps, and now we wait.

“Eeee!” I hear an excited squeal and the soft patter of paws on stone and look back to see Chip running over to join us.

He’s skittering along on his hind legs, carrying what looks to be a bowler hat with a shiny silver buckle.

Again? Where does he even find these things? Who wears fucking bowler hats in 2032?

He offers me the hat, so I take it and rip off the buckle for him before tossing the hat away. He squeaks happily as I pocket the buckle for safe keeping, before pulling himself up my leg and trying to push our brother out of my hoodie to take his place.

Really? Was that a bribe?

I hiss down at him in warning, and he stops disturbing Spot before climbing up to sit on my shoulder again as if nothing ever happened.

“Ee!” Stripe calls for us, drawing my attention over as the deceptively old-looking door swings open without a sound, revealing a dim hallway.

At least one of us is paying attention.

I walk into the building, scooping Stripe up in my arms on the way past. Thankfully, she peacefully snuggles into my chest. I don’t feel comfortable letting them run free in here, some of Hands’ followers give me the creeps.

The man behind the door as I step just so happens to be one of those creeps. I don’t know his name, but he’s a hulking monster of a man with half of the skin on his face peeled away to reveal the metallic sheen beneath, and more cybernetics crammed into his body than I thought humanly possible. He glares down at me as I walk past, letting out a rumbling growl as his gaze flickers between Chip and Stripe.

“Hands is waiting for you in room three,” he says before slamming the door shut and earning three annoyed hisses that seem to alleviate some of his anger. “And keep those rats under control or you’ll lose them.”

Jeez dude. Calm down. You get your arm stolen once and suddenly raccoons are the worst creature known to man. Grow up.

I silently turn my back on him and walk down the corridor quickly, reading the numbers on the doors I pass until I reach three. I push the door open and step into a cosy room, lit by a few warm yellow lights flickering overhead, with two plush sofas in the middle facing a low coffee table between them.

Sitting on one of the sofas watching me is Hands. He’s an older guy with well-groomed silver hair combed back over his head, and a neat matching beard. He’s wearing the same burgundy pinstripe suit that he always does, and both his arms are casually thrown over the back of the sofa as he leans back comfortably with his legs crossed before him.

“Hello, Child,” he greets in his rich, Scottish accent. “I assume the job was a success?”

“Tsk,” I click my tongue and nod, pushing the door shut behind myself with my foot before walking over to collapse on the sofa, slinging my backpack towards him in the process.

“Hahaha,” he chuckles at my frustration, catching the bag easily with his chromed hands and watching with a raised brow as Chip and Stripe move to sit on either side of me. “I take it you tried to message me then?”

I nod, still not removing my hood as I help pull Spot out of my pocket where he got tangled during Chip’s assault.

“You know,” Hands says, lifting my backpack without bothering to check it. “I could get you some better augs for this if you wanted.”

My head snaps up, my hood falling back as I fix him with a glare and my lips curl in anger. That’s not our deal and he knows it.

Spot, Stripe, and Chip all join me in glaring at him, hissing as well.

“Hahaha!” Hands barks in laughter, clutching his stomach. “I’ve never seen someone so angry at being offered better payment. Don’t worry, I’ve prepared you reward already. I never go back on my word.”

He wipes a tear from his eyes, and they light up for a moment as he sends someone a message. I quickly pull my hood up again and give my siblings some calming head pats as Hands finally opens my backpack and pulls out one of the cylinders, turning it over and inspecting it for damage.

“Everything’s here,” he says with a nod before standing up and walking to the door. “You can use this room until you’re done. No one will bother you, and Miguel will let you out after even if you don’t ask nicely.”

He opens the door and lets in two women carrying two plastic trays each. They approach us and set the trays down on the coffee table while glancing confusedly at my siblings, but we barely pay them any attention. None of us even look up as they leave with Hands and the door clicks shut, because all eight of our eyes are fixed on the steaming plates of pork-chops and potatoes before us.

Better payment my arse, this is a real reward!