Nothing like a pistol-whip hangover to start the day.

It didn't help that Danny's cheap synthetic vodka was fighting with my concussion for the honor of killing me.

I couldn't remember much about the previous night. After getting back to the staging area, we drank, checked my car for leaks, and limped it back to my rental garage in the Silvia District.

I remember puking out the window on the way there, and Danny telling me at least a hundred times not to fall asleep.

And now it was time to punch the clock and work for a living. I barely had time to throw on a suit and check the mirror to make sure my face was as bruised and swollen as it felt.

Sure enough was. I'd be vexing a lot of facial recognition algorithms today.

The minute I stepped out of my HEMA building, I found myself in a sea of Greysen Security contractors in HMPD uniforms. They were posted on every corner, and rolling by in six-wheeled armored trucks. Small clusters of them glared at me as I walked to my Place of Employ — unfortunately located inside the mile-high Greysen Skypillar where the uniformed mob was the thickest.

I didn't work for GreySec, though. I wasn't a jackbooted goon in grey body armor. Not anymore.

Now, I worked for Edison Motors, and they leased their headquarters from the biggest military contractor and privately-owned army in the world. Being inside GreySec's Skypillar probably made the execs feel safe.

Today, it wasn't giving me that feeling, as much as a feeling of butthole-clenching angst.

Security must have scanned me thirty times as I passed through the Edison lobby. And their eyes kept following me from under their ballistic helmets, no doubt intrigued by the huge, revolver-shaped bruise on my face.

The scrutiny was only part of my pain. What really put my sphincter in a fist was seeing the building's maintenance crew running tests on the ceiling-mounted automated defenses. The little AI-driven gun turrets always creeped me out. Even though I work in the autonomous vehicle biz, I've never trusted technology enough to want it pointing a loaded weapon at me.

Stepping off the elevator on the twenty-third story gave me some cause to relax. In a few minutes, I'd be leaning back in my office chair, fiddling with wireframes, and forgetting about head trauma and invasive police states.

I thought so, anyway.

Even in my office, away from motorized turrets and helmeted goons, I couldn't get my mind off the DMZ they'd made out of Center Street. Focus wasn't on the agenda, so I turned away from my desk, elbows on my knees, to stare out the window. The gray uniforms were everywhere, not just my street.

The whoosh of the office door broke my reverie as Danny rushed into the office.

"No excuse for tardiness, bro," I said, chuckling. "I'm the one with the six-shooter imprint on his face."

He slammed down his briefcase, shaking his head. "Checkpoints. So many fraggin' checkpoints. It's like an episode of Red Mirror out there."

"Yeah, they had my place surrounded like they're expecting PAC paratroopers to fall out of the sky. You think it's got something to do with the TaoCom thing last night?”

Danny peered from behind his desk divider and pushed his glasses up his nose. “No clue…holy crap, Jakob. Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"What, this?" I asked, tilting my head to give him the full view. "Nah. It looks worse than it feels."

Danny narrowed his eyes. "Your call. But hey, I did find out something about the Luckies busting up our race.”

I leaned closer. "That's the gang? The Luckies? Pft. They got nothing on my streak."

Danny barked a laugh. "Well, there was this chapter of 'em holding down the Quarters for the last year or so. Then all of a sudden, a few weeks ago, pretty much all of them dropped dead."

"They seemed alright to me," I said, pointing to my cheek.

"No, that's the thing! Some other group of Luckies moved in to fill the void, you know? And they just decided to go shockwild with their newly-claimed turf."

"And I'm guessing they raided the race to get their hands on some primo wheels, right?"

Danny waved his hand. "I don't know the motives, just the means. But yeah, those biker skitzbags all deal in stolen property, so it tracks."

I nodded, allowing my gaze to drift back through the window. Getting carjacked was rough, but it was over. Whatever the hell was unfolding outside was just spooling up.

"They've got GSEU employs down there, not just badgers," I mumbled. "Front-line guys, probably fresh back from a tour in some war-torn hellhole. Somebody’s gonna get shot.”

Danny chuckled. “You haven’t heard? One hundred and thirty-nine GreySec-involved shootings as of this morning’s newsfeed.”

I got a job at Edison Motors to get away from that kind of horseskitz. ‘Police actions’ and ‘lockdowns’ that invariably turned into street battles — or accidental killings.

That was the kind of crap people had to deal with in Rio or the Remnant United States. Hope Megacity was the epicenter of modern society. It was supposed to be safe.

“One hundred and thirty-nine,” I repeated.

The newly-minted corpses could have been gangers stirring up trouble, or just some low-tier denizens sneaking out of their buildings to get food for their families. When you put that many guns and nervous idiots on the street, it’s hard to say.

I turned away from the window, swiveling back to my desk. As soon as my eyes landed on my terminal, my mind went blank.

The renderings on my screen seemed dull and pointless. User interface designs for the next series of Edison road vehicles.

Some of my best work since being promoted to UI Development, but caring about them seemed wrong, or at least low priority, in the grand scheme of the last twenty-four hours.

“Well, don’t get distracted,” Danny added, probably sensing my lack of focus. “That one-week deadline on these AR wireframes is too generous. You can bet if we don’t have them over to testing by tomorrow, Reyez will be in here all red-faced, kicking our toys around.”

I cracked my knuckles. “No doubt.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that, given the circumstances, I cared even less about the department manager’s tantrums than I did about the project. Better to keep my mouth shut and pretend to work.

But just as I found the perfect position to stare blankly at my terminal, the office door slid open.

My eagerness to see what kind of new distraction was entering drained away when glanced toward the door. A pair of the corporation’s security associates strode in, crisp in high-grade tactical glasses and cheap black suits. Apart from being different heights, both men looked like they could have been 3D printed from the same file.

“Jakob Qadir?” the short one asked.

“Yeah?”

The associate puffed out his chest. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news…”

I barked a laugh, leaning back in my chair. "Doubt that, since you're grinning like a chimp who just smelled his own fart."

His smile fell off faster than a secondhand wetgear dong.

"Nice face, wise ass," he growled. "Get the fuck out the chair."

Shorty's partner wasted no time circling behind my desk to aggressively help me to my feet.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

I glanced at Danny, but he was busy turning ghost-white. The fact that his eyes had somehow grown beyond the rims of his glasses told me he wouldn't be contributing much to the discussion.

“Gonna tell me what this is about?” I asked between prods toward the door.

The shorter associate smirked, and tall boy shoved me into the hall.

I figured I wouldn't get an answer. As a security errand boy, he probably didn’t know. I had some guesses of my own, but none of them were good.

“Hold up,” a voice boomed from down the corridor.

My escorts and I turned around to see Hiro Williams storming toward us from his corner office. He was my division head. My department manager’s boss.

“This man is my employ,” Hiro growled with the faintest remnants of a Briton's accent, “and this is my floor.”

Short boy chuckled. “This man belongs to the corporation. Just like everything else in here.”

“Including me,” Hiro scoffed. “Yeah, I get it. Brilliant intimidation. But Edison also sets the protocols, and you can’t pull my employ from his workstation without notifying my department.”

Short boy clenched his teeth. “Well, consider yourself notified, Mr. Williams.”

Hiro stepped to the security associate, emphasizing the considerable height difference. Looking down on him with unyielding eyes, Hiro simply shook his head ‘no’.

A proverbial dong-measuring contest was an interesting play on Hiro's part, but he would have never tried it without protocol on his side. Division heads did have to be notified about security investigations so they’d have time to fill in for detained, interrogated, or dismissed employs. It was written down in some Edison handbook somewhere. Inside our corporate HQ, that made it law.

Short boy knew that just as well as anyone. And I could tell by his withering look that he didn't much care for it.

“If he leaves this floor, I’ll shoot him myself,” he said, jabbing his porky fingers into my chest. “We’ll be right back.”

“Don’t waste another trip,” said Hiro, still looming. “Have your section chief call me so I can tell him about your overzealous little raid on my floor.”

I wanted to laugh, but unlike Hiro, my title offered no immunity against the security associates. They’d have every right to turn around and stick me in the nose. Seeing little benefit to bringing that on myself, I just waited for them to board the elevator and vanish behind its sliding doors.

Hiro watched them, too, silent agitation sparking in his eyes like a food cooker with a metal spork inside. All it would take is one smart-ass comment or minor irritation and the sparks would explode into a firestorm of rage.

I’d seen it before, a couple of years back. I’d even helped hide the body.

“Fuck’s sake, Jakob,” he sighed once the lift took away our guests. “What'd they do to your face?"

I touched the bruised cheek and winced. "Not them. Some biker last night."

He sighed. "Just get in my office."

***

Hiro sealed and locked the door behind us.

Six-foot-something and broad-shouldered, he cut an imposing silhouette striding in front of his office’s immense windows.

In truth, Hiro scared me more than the security associates ever could have — though I spent years trying to make sure he didn't know that.

“Major cockup, my friend,” he said, dropping into the padded chair behind his synthwood desk. “The Farmers are onto you.”

The beloved Edison Internal Employ Investigations Office. Inside the building, we called them ‘Farmers’ because the department's initials sounded like something from an old kids’ song. That was the lore, anyway.

“Don’t you mean they’re onto us?” I said, taking a chair on my side of the fancy desk.

Hiro scoffed. “Nope. Just you. I actually did get a notification from one of my friends in security. About two minutes before I found them pushing you down the hall.”

I frowned. “Everyone at Edison seems to have a different opinion of what ‘notification’ means."

“This time it meant I needed to get you out of the building.”

“Okay, well that ship has flown,” I said, shrugging. “Better tell me what they’re investigating so we can get our story straight.”

He ran his fingers through his perfectly-trimmed black hair, then checked his reflection in his desk to make sure every strand was still in place.

“What do you think they're after, Jakob? The visors. The misuse of company resources. Illegal manufacture and distribution. Depending on how much they know, they can twist it into corporate treason charges.”

“Ah,” I said, struggling to keep my heart from beating through my nine-hundred-credit silk shirt. “More likely their goons will put two in my chest and say I tried to escape. Save the company some scrip on processing a capital offense.”

“Right,” Hiro said, nodding. “Let’s avoid either of those outcomes.”

“You’re shiny, right?” I asked him. “No eyes on you?”

“As far as I can tell. The Asset Management flunkies found a lot of discrepancies in your department and passed the data along to the Farmers. Seems like they’re only interested in you because you’re the poor sucker who’s tagged to the hardware. They’ll probably rake Reyez over the coals for being your supervisor, but he doesn’t know anything.”

“Good. So you're free to do whatever you gotta do to save my ass. What's the play?”

“String-pulling and favors,” Hiro said. “Any minute, that moron’s section chief will call me. I’ll calm him down, buy some time to ‘look into it internally’, then divert their attention to Reyez.”

Reyez wasn’t a great department manager, and he had a temper like a spoiled toddler, but pushing him in front of a speeding train didn’t feel great. Still, survival instincts and all that.

“Sucks for Reyez. Just make sure nothing happens to Danny, alright?” I added. “He’s good at his job, and he stays clean.”

Hiro nodded, pulling a handheld slate from behind his desk and tossing it in front of me. There was a company document on the screen, topped with the Edison Motors, ZLC letterhead and the Hope Megacity seal.

“Gotta do something about you,” Hiro continued. “First, fill out this incident report.”

My eyes narrowed. “Why? Because security wrinkled my jacket?”

“No, you’re going to enter a formal complaint about the Farmers interrupting your work over false accusations. You’re going to say how completely humiliating it was, and how you’re furious.”

“Okay…”

Hiro smirked. “Then I’m going to tell you to get bent. It’s going to make you so angry that you resign right here on the spot.”

I chuckled nervously. “This is your plan for getting me out of this?”

“Hell, Jakob…this is my plan for getting you out of the building. I can pull favors, but you really need to put serious distance between yourself and Edison. At least if you resign, you don’t lose everything.”

“Just my housing, my income, my career. Yeah.”

“Come on. What have you been doing with all that scrip from the visors?”

I scratched my ear. “I put it all into charity.”

Hiro laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Well, my friend, I hope you’re joking, because your days of climbing ladders are over.”

He was right. Resigning like this would put such a stink on me, no ZLC would ever touch me again. In a megacity of a hundred million people, most of them drooling over the chance to be a corpo achiever, the big corps had the luxury of being picky.

“There’s really no other option, Hiro? Come on.”

His eyes lit up with the tiniest spark, and I knew I had to back down. He was getting frustrated, and the thought of Hiro becoming an enemy made me shudder.

“Use your head,” he said through gritted teeth. “You can’t keep working here.”

I sighed, grabbing the slate from his desk and pairing my neurocom. Answering the form’s questions through the MiFi connection, I watched the fields populate with my grievances and overreactions as I made up the words.

Halfway through the form, Hiro’s eyes flashed green — a call on his own neurocom coming through. Probably the security section chief.

Hiro reclined back in his chair, green-lit eyes fixed on the far wall, while he lied and manipulated our way out of this mess. I returned my focus to the form. Knowing what it meant, it was like filling out my own death certificate using Azrael's pen.

When I finished, Hiro was already off his call, waiting with his hands folded in his lap.

“Done,” I said, setting the slate down. “How’d that go?”

“Security is standing down for the moment. I told them they were idiots, and that I’ve been suspicious of Reyez for weeks. Surprisingly easy to distract them.”

I rubbed my eyes, absently hoping it would change the situation. “They don't give a damn who they collar. You know that."

Hiro grinned. “Alright. When I submit your resignation, all hell is gonna break loose. Your employ status and citizenship will go into review, and you’ll be sealed out of your apartment. Your wallet will be frozen. The legit one, anyway.”

“Okay.”

“So, I’m giving you a half hour. Move some scrip around, get what you can out of your place.”

“I can see why you never hear about people resigning like this,” I said. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Get some street-level job selling lab meat on a stick?”

Hiro chuckled. “You’ve been making and selling illegal tech for months, my friend. I think you’ll find there are plenty of better opportunities for people with a dynamic moral architecture.”

“I’m not a ganger, Hiro. I’m a UI designer.”

“And a mechanic. A good mechanic with military experience. You’d fit right in with that gang. The vets with the loud-ass ICE bikes."

I rubbed my bruised face. "The Luckies? Not sure they'd take me with open arms."

"You could be worse off," Hiro shrugged.

He couldn't have known how wrong he was.

I’d been working my way up through Edison for years. I had a great apartment in the corporate HEMA building and pulled in good scrip. Enough to finance my racing habit and still have enough to raise hell with some of the chungs from work. Just last week, five of us snuck into a rooftop party in Palace Park, and I watched Danny pound shots with some great-nephew of one of the Founders.

But all of that was about to be erased. Scrip, comfort, friends. Gone with the swipe of a stylus.

I could not be worse off. I was sure of it.

Not that I was given a chance to argue my case. Once I'd filled out his precious forms, Hiro didn't hesitate to shove me out of his office.

I made my way down the elevator and out of the Skypillar’s lobby, this time with an even warier eye on the automated turrets in the ceiling. No technicians on scissor lifts around them this time. Instead, the creepy little autonomous guns tracked me like nervous eyeballs.

Once I was out in the street and under the immense shadow cast by the overcity of HighHold, my biggest problem came to the forefront. The freaking lockdown, checkpoints, and fifty-thousand armed GreySecs buzzing around the mega like mozzies.

In thirty minutes, I was going to be tagged as homeless — with a bright-red Disemploy status and 'citizenship under review' footnote. I’d be recategorized as the lowest of the low in a megacity crawling with suspicious scowls and eager trigger fingers.

Dammit. What crap timing.

Stepping off toward my HEMA, I fantasized about dropkicking whoever pissed off TaoCom enough to cause this mess.