Something i Wrote a while ago.
Diamond in the Data
Chapter One
Barrel looked at the apartment block from the window of his 1999 Mustang GT, a true classic car of the pre collapse. He knew that Slaps would be coming home to his hovel soon, but the thought of going and depriving that goon of a data pad stolen from his client was not a prospect he relished. Slaps was a stupid lug, but he was a big stupid lug with a temper and fire power attached to his blue touch paper. This was not going to be a piece of park, or a walk in the cake, but he was pulling in two large for it and you did not turn your nose up at the sort of Euro. It was time to man up and bring the office back a quick pay day for a dangerous hours work.
Cycling through his optics he decided on low light for this murky time of the evening as it gave him a slight advantage over image enhancement in this unmaintained area of Night City. At best there was three street lights working in a six block radius and a lot of shadowy corners for things to jump out at you. Barrel had never been the sort to get cyberware just for the fashion or practicality of it, but a flashbang in the face had blinded him about three years back and he had need replacements eyes. He had looked, well been told by his doctor, about standard replacement eyes that would have been just as good as the old one, but he had gone with a monovisor as it gave him that slight advantage of extra peripheral vision. When you are in the shooting game advantages are useful. The only other cyberware he had installed was his neuralware that aloud him to jack his guns, and the chip socket so he could store the feed from his visor if the stickies started asking about the legitimacy of a kill. Police tend to believe it is self defence if you can show a vid of what happened.
Slaps walked into view as Barrel finished playing with his his optics. Damn he was ugly. Six foot four with the husky build of a professional wrestler and a face even a lace ho couldn't love with two happy dream bags glued to it. He wore the outer wear of choice of all gun thugs nowadays, a dirty trench coat, this model a crappy brown colour bulked out on the right side. Hell that meant heavy ordnance. This was going to be a harder job than he thought. Well no use complaining, he had a job to do and two gees with his name on them waiting at the end of it. Time to suck it up and get the lead out. Barrel opened the door of his automovehicle and stepped out into the night of the City of Night, with a mind to do some violence.
Watching the lump of man enter his apartment, Barrel dodged a few cars and crossed the road. He had already clocked the Juvy gangers stepping out on the corner and made a bee line for them. Twenty bucks made for a better security system than any that could be fitted to a car, that and the right attitude. He handed the twenty to the alpha, nodded at the car and gave him the look. Street kids new their own, new that if one had made it to twenty five and was breathing he was not to be messed with, new if there was trouble that they couldn't handle you come find that senior and he would help. That was the code they lived by, the one given to them by Poppa, God rest his soul, seniors don't interfere unless asked and keep a bit of wealth coming down stream. The Alpha a kid known as Snicket nodded back and the Juvies moved over to Barrels car. He watch as they did and then winced and one sat on his bonnet. Ah well won't be the first dent, won't be the last.
Time had passed and Slaps was well into the apartment block by now so it was time to go talk to him. Barrel check his loadout as he walked. Tazer check, four flashbangs on his belt at the back check, and the tools of the street solo's trade, a pair of pistols in speed holsters, one under each arm. His weapon o' choice was, like his car, a Mustang. The Mustang Arms Mark II, a weapon of mixed reviews with a love hate relationship with it's owners. Like most US corporations that made it through the collapse Ford had diversified to survive. Their arms division needed a name that people knew, a name that was American, a name that meant raw unadulterated power. For Ford that only meant one thing, the Mustang. So they came up with a highly engineered eleven millimetre pistol with a rate of fire that could put up a fight with some machine pistols, there was only one problem with it. It was highly engineered. If the gun was not cleaned after firing or dropped, the thing would jam like High Street in rush hour and be about as easy to clear, so your average street Joe hated this weapon. The thing was Barrel was not your average street Joe, and he liked that speed and compact build, this was a gun made for an anal ex street kid like him that like thing clean and in their place, and he new how to look after his babies.
The apartment was just steps away now so it was time to clear his mind and get his game face on. Slaps was not going to give up this slate without bad words and the guy knew how to handle himself at least some. No more being in his head, Barrel had to move now to the moment. He pushed the front door of this shabby domicile and stepped into conflict.
Diamond in the Data
Chapter One
Barrel looked at the apartment block from the window of his 1999 Mustang GT, a true classic car of the pre collapse. He knew that Slaps would be coming home to his hovel soon, but the thought of going and depriving that goon of a data pad stolen from his client was not a prospect he relished. Slaps was a stupid lug, but he was a big stupid lug with a temper and fire power attached to his blue touch paper. This was not going to be a piece of park, or a walk in the cake, but he was pulling in two large for it and you did not turn your nose up at the sort of Euro. It was time to man up and bring the office back a quick pay day for a dangerous hours work.
Cycling through his optics he decided on low light for this murky time of the evening as it gave him a slight advantage over image enhancement in this unmaintained area of Night City. At best there was three street lights working in a six block radius and a lot of shadowy corners for things to jump out at you. Barrel had never been the sort to get cyberware just for the fashion or practicality of it, but a flashbang in the face had blinded him about three years back and he had need replacements eyes. He had looked, well been told by his doctor, about standard replacement eyes that would have been just as good as the old one, but he had gone with a monovisor as it gave him that slight advantage of extra peripheral vision. When you are in the shooting game advantages are useful. The only other cyberware he had installed was his neuralware that aloud him to jack his guns, and the chip socket so he could store the feed from his visor if the stickies started asking about the legitimacy of a kill. Police tend to believe it is self defence if you can show a vid of what happened.
Slaps walked into view as Barrel finished playing with his his optics. Damn he was ugly. Six foot four with the husky build of a professional wrestler and a face even a lace ho couldn't love with two happy dream bags glued to it. He wore the outer wear of choice of all gun thugs nowadays, a dirty trench coat, this model a crappy brown colour bulked out on the right side. Hell that meant heavy ordnance. This was going to be a harder job than he thought. Well no use complaining, he had a job to do and two gees with his name on them waiting at the end of it. Time to suck it up and get the lead out. Barrel opened the door of his automovehicle and stepped out into the night of the City of Night, with a mind to do some violence.
Watching the lump of man enter his apartment, Barrel dodged a few cars and crossed the road. He had already clocked the Juvy gangers stepping out on the corner and made a bee line for them. Twenty bucks made for a better security system than any that could be fitted to a car, that and the right attitude. He handed the twenty to the alpha, nodded at the car and gave him the look. Street kids new their own, new that if one had made it to twenty five and was breathing he was not to be messed with, new if there was trouble that they couldn't handle you come find that senior and he would help. That was the code they lived by, the one given to them by Poppa, God rest his soul, seniors don't interfere unless asked and keep a bit of wealth coming down stream. The Alpha a kid known as Snicket nodded back and the Juvies moved over to Barrels car. He watch as they did and then winced and one sat on his bonnet. Ah well won't be the first dent, won't be the last.
Time had passed and Slaps was well into the apartment block by now so it was time to go talk to him. Barrel check his loadout as he walked. Tazer check, four flashbangs on his belt at the back check, and the tools of the street solo's trade, a pair of pistols in speed holsters, one under each arm. His weapon o' choice was, like his car, a Mustang. The Mustang Arms Mark II, a weapon of mixed reviews with a love hate relationship with it's owners. Like most US corporations that made it through the collapse Ford had diversified to survive. Their arms division needed a name that people knew, a name that was American, a name that meant raw unadulterated power. For Ford that only meant one thing, the Mustang. So they came up with a highly engineered eleven millimetre pistol with a rate of fire that could put up a fight with some machine pistols, there was only one problem with it. It was highly engineered. If the gun was not cleaned after firing or dropped, the thing would jam like High Street in rush hour and be about as easy to clear, so your average street Joe hated this weapon. The thing was Barrel was not your average street Joe, and he liked that speed and compact build, this was a gun made for an anal ex street kid like him that like thing clean and in their place, and he new how to look after his babies.
The apartment was just steps away now so it was time to clear his mind and get his game face on. Slaps was not going to give up this slate without bad words and the guy knew how to handle himself at least some. No more being in his head, Barrel had to move now to the moment. He pushed the front door of this shabby domicile and stepped into conflict.