Travis had his que ball lined up for a split with a lead set up against the bank. To Tasìa's eyes, the shot looked solid if he smacked it just right.

Not being in a friendly mood at the moment, she didn't give him a chance to complete it. She popped a .22 round into the ball just to the side of his aim.

The ball careened in a bell-torque spin into a hanging electric torch just above the table.

Blue sparks flew above them. White phosphorus burned into the green mat.

She shot a second ball and made it smack into the knuckles of the older gentleman who chose to speak rudely to her.

Reflective of the tradition of her people more than her religious upbringing, that rudeness on his part made the value of his life forfeit.

He flinched, and the stick dropped.

The third ball she targeted proved to be trickier than the first two she shot; infact, she had to shoot it twice. The first bullet got the ball airborne where it spun vertically in her direction, immaculate and no wobble.

Now stabilized and at its mid air apex, a second shot sent the ball smashing into a bourbon decanter sitting on a shelf between the two gentlemen in the back.

The electric torch gave up its struggle as it diminished in dramatic fashion into darkness leaving only soft lit lamps that curled up the room's four corner posts to provide the room with light.

On the billiards table, the smoldering felt board burned where white phosphorus marred into it.

Tasìa estimated that her so far one sided shoot-out with the spooks took her one-point-one-seconds from the time she drew her pistol up to aim to the last two shots that sent the eight ball smashing into the crystal decanter.

The four men froze in place, bewildered. Even with the opening gamut she delivered with a half-whispered quip and a gun in hand, they were not prepared for the chaos and mayhem of her actions.

The Spetsnaz-based specialist small arms training she received at the hands of General Kutuzov played no small part in that execution.

His words echoed from her youth.

Often bad men dwell in drunk house dives to congregate with their soul-brethren. Today, my child, I will teach you to use that environment to your advantage.

Understand this. This is done more to break their spirits than to kill them.

"Everybody get your hands up!"

Travis took his right foot and stomped out the flame that slowly burned on the billiards table.

Tasìa cleared her throat.

"Travis ... We are waiting on you, son."

Once Travis complied along with everyone else, Tasìa continued to speak.

"These are the ground rules. No one moves except under my directive. If anyone is noncompliant, I will severe a digit from each hand of the other three individuals before drilling bullets into the offending party's eyeballs.

"Is there anyone of you who doubts my capabilities?"

All four of the men shook their heads.

"Good. Now that is settled. Starting with you -," Tasìa turned to the oldest of the four, "- the dumb fucker with the dismissive attitude. Your wallet, that gold chain on your neck, the white gold signet ring on your right ring finger, and the small caliber gun holstered along your jacket inseam, throw them on the table in front of me."

"You're robbing us," Travis questioned. His pitch exasperated.

"Of course. If I don't make you pay a real price for your insolence, there will be no end to your attempts to fuck me over."

Though the older man complied with her directive he kept shooting glances Travis' way. At first she assumed he was trying to alert the other spook to a countermeasure of which she was prepared to drill bullets into him the instant he tried anything.

However, she quickly realized she had wrongly assessed the man's motivation. Something else was at play.

The older man's eyes twitched everytime he glanced towards Travis. It was fear.

More a fear of the mechhead Travis than of her.

He laid down the last item, the gun, a .9 mm snub-nosed, and backed up.

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"Hey, Silver Fox," Tasìa called out to get his attention. "What's your name?"

"Why don't you look it up in my wallet?"

Tasìa stomach tingled with regret. But for the broken neoPalm, she could have made a run on all of their accounts and turned it into a real payday.

How was she going to get anything done without the specialized for spook craft Personal Assistant?

This was no time to let her attention drift, she needed to respond to the man's challenge. Tasìa flicked her gaze back to the older gent. She gave him her best dead in the eyes cold blooded killer expression to let him know his mouth was about to get him murdered.

"Would you care to run that by me again?"

He shrugged.

"My name is Rubin."

"Alright, Rubin. Why are you throwing shade on your partner?"

"He's not my partner. An acquaintance, at best."

She regarded the spook with snarling disdain. Has this man ever been a field operative? No street game in this one at all. His haughty tone suggested a lifetime of unchallenged privilege.

"Then, what is your problem?"

"I happened to be watching his face when you popped that ball in front of him. He let his mask down and showed what he is - Manifested.

"His skin crawled with the subdermal serpents. You should have seen those eyes - like two black oily pools.

"And it was just for a moment. Then, within say, like a blink, he was normal again."

The man in the very back to her right volunteered.

"It happened. I saw it too."

Tasìa made note to keep an eye on the young man's companion in the back to her left. He gave the one who spoke an evil glare like it was verboten to even acknowledge her.

But she flicked her focus to each in turn for several seconds as she tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Rubin ... Did you not notice how your voice became sibilate when you first addressed me so rudely?"

His face pinched.

"For a moment, speaking became difficult. Your actions were unexpected. I had to clear my throat."

Tasìa shook her head.

"That is not what happened at all, Rubin."

Travis spoke up.

"Rubin. Your tongue bifurcated."

Rubin laughed and sneered.

"Impossible."

Tasìa considered the possibility that they may not actually know they were Manifested. The worker back at the IMCQ cubicle farm certainly seemed to be going about his daily work routine like an unassuming human no matter his appearance.

Tasìa always felt uneasy around the Manifested. Even though she had control of the situation, she had to fight back the urge to drill each one of the men with a bullet into the side of the skull.

She kept a continuous imaginary rectangle lined up with the center of their heads forming the four defining points in her vision. Arrays pointed from the end of her barrel to just on the inside of their temples.

It would take a mere point four dash five seconds. Problem solved.

"Hey," said Rubin to her. "I don't mean to set you off, but you look awfully twitchy, right now."

She promised herself if only there was no other choice or if time was a severe factor would she shoot anyone in her latest venture.

Except eventually for Tatiana's kidnappers. You could not allow them to live and expect the continued respect of others. They would have to die, cruelly.

Tasìa nearly spat out.

"You two are both Manifested, and you don't even know it."

Was she more disgusted than spooked by them? She wasn't sure. Her emotions were entirely discombobulated.

"Not possible," Travis protested matter-of-factly. "We receive a dose of Lysergic Acid every six months. Far exceeding what is considered necessary for normal activity in the Quadra.

"We don't venture very far from Asunción. Beneath the SkyTether there are two nuclear power plants that power a crystalline-based oscillation wave. They produce a resonance frequency that keeps the nanospores out of the city."

"How do you know that you are receiving Lysergic Acid?"

The man at the back of the room on her right giggled before he spoke.

"Oh, trust me, you know."

He appeared to be the youngest of this crew. The man by his side gave him another malicious glare.

"Hey, Petro," Rubin spoke up, addressing the man giving the evil eye. "Stop doing that. In case you haven't noticed, you are pissing her off."

Tasìa nodded approval. Whatever Rubin's short comings, he was starting to wise up.

She addressed the youngest member.

"I'm afraid you are wrong. LSD can be faked. If you lace treated mushrooms with a synthetic speed, you wont notice the difference."

It happened to Tasìa and one of her fellow Sisters at the nunnery, Lizpetha, while the two were on a spiritual retreat together. If not for her friend's heart murmur both of the Sisters would have been none the wiser that what they bought was not LSD.

Fortunately, Lizpetha survived what turned out to be a harrowing experience for both of them.

Tasìa frowned with her puss pensive and her head shaking.

"I have way too many damned questions, but we need to wrap this up."

She unzipped her fanny pack from which she produced a netted white sack.

Tasìa threw the bag at the billiards table just in front of Travis. She continued to speak.

"Travis. You know what effects on you I want. The gun, likely same model as Rubin's in your boot. Clips in your jacket. Diamond broach attached to your cowboy hat. Put them in the bag. Go around to your friends in the back and collect.

"I know what you all have. Especially, your weapons. So, don't try to short me, okay."

Where they hid their weapons upon their bodies was knowledge she uncovered more through their body language than any bulk she initially spotted.

Their torsos tended to bend away from the position of the weapons. That predictable motion was made to free up access so they could grab the guns with their hands when the opportunity ever presented itself.

She noticed the youngest spook shifted from one leg to the other. His eyes were eager.

"Hey," Tasìa began. "What's your name, kid?"

"Fodor."

She wasn't sure if that was his first name or his surname. Though there was an odd familiarity about him. Did he grow up in San Pedro? One of the urchin gangs she hassled for shits and giggles?

Why did that occur to her?

"So, what'cha got?"

Petro's eyes darted up, but he quickly looked away before they could settle on Fodor, once more.

"Your Aunt Tatiana. I've seen her. She is up in the top suite of the SkyTether."

Tasìa aimed before Petro could get his gun entirely set in place. He was just about to point it between Fodor's eyes when Tasìa shot off his trigger finger.

The gun skittered on to the floor.

Petro looked as if he could not comprehend what had just happened. The pain and the missing digit had not entirely registered in his conscious mind just yet.

She started to rush her words

"Petro," Tasìa commanded. "Bite down hard into the leather of your jacket. If you scream I will shoot you between your beady fucking eyes. Got that?

"Travis. Hurry up. Get your shit done. Bring the bag here. Put Rubin's shit in it, last. Five minutes, you got that? Nobody follow me for five minutes. I will know."

With that message, Tasìa grabbed the bag from Travis's hands. She slipped back out the door.