5 comments/ 18465 views/ 2 favorites Footwork By: RandomPax Note from the Author: Meant as part of an ongoing series (I hope). I want to send a special thanks to Colleen Thomas. Her work in both The Run, and Voices, helped inspire me to work on some of my own Cyber Punk genre experiences, having been a gamer for fifteen years now. I hope that all will see my sincere attempt at flattery. I also want to thank my editor, Andrea, for all her help and putting up with my crap. * Daniel stretched out on the oversized bed feeling the deliciously cool satin rub against his naked body. Looking over at the flawless form of his escort, he had nearly forgotten about her presence, her perfect body, a heat generator in his cool apartment. Long supple limbs perfectly toned to that of a professional dancer, skin as smooth and creamy as money could buy, hair and nails perfectly manicured so that even a night of intense physical exertion couldn't tame them. Her breasts were full, large and fake, with the nipples a perfectly painted rosy pink. He could see her mound with its hair shaped in an x, exactly like a pirate map, matching the coppery blonde of her head. If he had to make a guess he would say about 100k Hong Kong, just for all the externals. He could handle all of that, 'til her eyes opened, and those Kanobi 1700's stared at him in the non-human blue. A small smile played on her cosmetically full lips as she noticed he had been watching her body, probably thinking she might have just won herself a mark. Hoping maybe that she might be able to wrangle out enough money to pay off some of the debt she owed on her sculpted form. Suddenly feeling sick with himself, he rolled off the bed grabbing his wallet; he hated his insight at times. The tile floor felt cool to the touch only long enough for his internal sensors to detect then nullify it as warm blood was forced to his feet and his metabolism was kicked into a higher stage. Pulling out three thousand in Hong Kong cash, he laid it on the dresser as he made his way towards his bathroom. "Money's on the table," he said without so much as a second glance. He knew she wouldn't take anything that hadn't come with her, and she would be grateful for the tip he had left her. The level of escort service she came from ensured a certain amount of safety, but even that only went so far. He started the glass-incased shower as he stepped in, muting the shower's noise internally. He paid close attention to her movements as she gathered her things and left with the money. A trick he had picked up over the years as a means of survival, and it had saved him more than once. As he heard the door click shut with a slight electric hum of the magnetic lock, he finally allowed himself the luxury of fully relaxing. Though he didn't need to use the hot water as means of warming himself, he did enjoy the sensation of stinging heat as it beat on skin. He had always loved a hot shower first thing in the morning. He checked his internal clock and saw the time was 14:37. Make that first thing in the afternoon. He took a look at himself in the mirror before heading out, his black suit, with a high collared white shirt, simple black tie, and perfectly pressed pants. His trench covered that, giving the illusion of a low to mid level corporate worker, only the slight bulge of the armor and weapons gave any indication that he wasn't what he appeared. He forced himself to smile as he stared at his reflection; it still amazed him how people would react to it. He had never considered himself pretty or handsome, though he didn't have a hard time finding women to go home with him. His light brown hair was offset by his naturally green eyes it had cost him a near fortune to get the exact same color as his original eyes, but he felt it had been worth it. To him, the eyes were the windows to the soul, if there was such a thing. He left his reflection with a last look around the room making sure all was secure before picking up his briefcase and heading out, hitting the maid service button before closing the door. He took the elevator down to the main lobby of the complex, always empty; it was the kind of place businessmen had to take his mistress, or to establish her. It is why he chose it to begin with, all part of the illusion. Noticing the rain he pulled an umbrella out of his brief, as he walked out onto the busy sidewalk of Hong Kong. Entering the cab he closed the umbrella and returned it to the brief were the auto dry started with a muffled hum. He gave an address and watched the people and vehicles pass by as the cab pushed its way into traffic, then bullied its way through the crowded streets towards the destination. He watched with a trained awareness as he traveled, making sure no cars were following as he watched the reflection of the mirrored skyscrapers. The towering glass giants dwindled as he moved south, to be replaced by older business buildings turned townhouses, then changed to modern apartment complexes, finally to lower rent buildings, where all the "help" stayed. Calling the cab to halt he got out, paid with a moderate tip, and started walking down the street. He could almost smell the oily machinery and rusted metal of the docks nearly two klicks south. It reminded him of home. He opened the door to the bottom level of a gray nondescript building whose only sign was a basic wood board with black lettering in English, and Mandarin, saying "Gym". The interior was brightly florescent, as the windows were all covered to allow no external distraction, and the smell of sweat, leather, and bodies assaulted him. The noise of weights clinking, treadmills running, fists hitting bags, and people sparring were a familiar sound that brought a small level of peace to his mind. Chad glanced at his arrival and just gave a nod of acknowledgment as he walked in, turning back to those sparring even before Daniel could return the nod, business as usual. Chad was an odd character. Of Indonesian decent, he had a thick accent that Daniel couldn't place even after all this time, but he knew the gym and sport fighting business. He was small with darker than average skin, and a quick, bright grin that struck as open honesty, so rare in this day. Now, however, his face was screwed up yelling at the two in the ring, his swearing coming in so many languages that Daniel couldn't recognize them all, and he knew most. Daniel climbed the stairs towards the right. As he passed the office he saw Katrina absorbed in her terminal, part secretary, part student, and Chad's only daughter. She looked nothing like her father, seeming of strong Norse decent, her naturally blond hair and blue eyes were in sharp contrast with her father. She was a rare unaugmented beauty, who doted on her father and had him wrapped around her finger. There was nothing that Chad wouldn't do for her, and gods help any man who tried to harm her. The closest thing he had, or allowed, as family and they were precious. Anyone trying to take that away would feel the wrath of hell. He would ensure it. Up the stairs he opened a small apartment across from the locker rooms. Large enough for a single bed, a tiny desk with tele-view next to it, dresser and weapons locker on the opposite side, with an unblocked view of the shower and toilet. It was more of a home to him than the high priced flat he rented for appearances. He changed again for his daily workout, anywhere from two to four hours was his normal, he didn't actually watch a clock or count reps anymore. He was beyond that, working his bio enhanced muscles to a comforting strain. He had a preferences towards the bio instead of the hardware that most runners used, it was easier to hide, and left him feeling a little more human. Though the cost was great, the adage, you get what you pay for was true on this account. He was just finishing his shower and about to turn off the water when the door opened to his room. He knew who it would be, if there was ever a time when he could count on Katrina, it was to come in while he was taking a shower. He couldn't help but feel a little pleased by her obvious enjoyment at watching him; it did however make him keenly aware of her father's protectiveness. Maybe that's why she never entirely entered his room, just kind of leaned on the doorframe, so that even her father could tell nothing shady was going on. Grabbing a towel he watched, and waited as she got her eye full, scanning him up and down, like she was memorizing everything about him. "So was there something you wanted or are you just here to ogle me?" he said as he started to dry off. A small smile twitched her lips at the comment, but still the eyes hadn't made it back to his face yet. "Both actually," she stated as her eyes finally reached his, "besides I can't help it if you are an excellent specimen of the male populace." "Of course you would use anthropologic terminology to describe nothing more than watching the meat market," he stated with a wry twist of the lips. He started to slip clothing then his form fitted body armor on, and noticed she had the smug look on her face for having gotten away with something. He dressed quickly under her watchful gaze, feeling a slight something he hadn't in a long time, self-conscious. She let out a small purposeful sigh as the last of his clothing came into place, and he couldn't resist glancing at her. She had her lower lip tucked between her teeth, a bad girl looking innocent routine that she had perfected. It made him want to growl. He didn't because he knew it would only encourage her. "You got a message from an unknown, stating you are wanted at Grizzly's 22:00," she continued, her face set in a professional secretary manner that would have had executives banging down the doors. He sometimes wondered how it was that she was able to slip roles like that. Enticing nymph to hard ass professional, the switch was like a splash of cold water. "Unknown?" he restated. It was code for couldn't track the incoming call. He had set up a small terminal with some good, albeit not great, trace programs. Now he understood the change in attitude. He knew the place, a hangout for local Americans. Not a usual meeting place, no one he knew did Biz out of the place. As he understood, just low-level VR, and chemicals were pushed there. It unsettled him. "Correct. Are you going?" Worry tinted her voice. He realized he must have given something away, her eyes pinched slightly in concern. "Biz is Biz," he said flatly, bringing up his best disarming smile, trying to relieve any concern she may have. "Sure it is" her mouth drawing her thick full lips into a hard thin line of anger. "By the way you're late on rent," she said in her cold tone as she walked tightly down the stairs towards the office below. More code for the gym was in trouble financially. He had helped finance the gym to start, knowing that Chad knew the business, but the entire bookkeeping was done by Katrina, and she had come to him secretly for more money when things got tough, so he had made a deal with Chad to rent the room next to the lockers, in exchange for small monthly payments. Chad had an odd sense of honor about money. He walked down to the office slowly, the noise of the gym having settled some as people were starting to head home. Except for Chad and a couple of hopefuls whom he worked to exhaustion, the place was almost empty. The noise and humidity dimmed to the point a person almost couldn't hear the rattling air conditioner, and industrial fans that stirred the air on the floor. Katrina was absorbed in the net, when he made a transfer of funds. Checking the time, he knew the money wouldn't be accessible until tomorrow. Though she hadn't asked for an amount she never asked unless it was major so he slipped ten thousand into the business account. "Happy birthday, Fuckhead," her tone still angry, she pushed a cupcake in front of him. The lone candle at top nearly doused as she dropped it on the desk. He couldn't help but look at it. He wanted to ask if it was really his birthday, though he knew Katrina wouldn't be wrong on the matter, it was just that he had forgotten he even had a birthday. He looked up at her in honest surprise, and a little bit of wonder not knowing what to say. "Thank you," he said. It seemed small and inadequate, but it was all that came out. "You reached thirty one, congrats," she said, her face softened slightly as she watched him. "Now blow out the fucking thing before it gets wax all over my desk." Her face hardened before it turned back to the console. Her language use was one of her more charming traits, like her father. "Sixteen years, Katrina, it's been sixteen years since I've had a birthday cake." He said as he licked the wrapper the cupcake, and a small slightly painful smile entered his face. "Thanks kid." Her face having softened into a pleasant smile changed as the last words exited his mouth. "Don't you dare call me that Danny," her words a whisper full of venom and acid. "I'm nineteen, and a full grown adult." It was the way the words escaped her that struck Daniel, as if there was a great well of rage and hate from which she could pull. She was the only one he ever let call him Danny, she was the only one who had never tried to wield it like a weapon; until now. "I know your age, I've been to your last three birthday parties. It has been a little over a year since you turned eighteen and started walking in on me..." he was going to continue, his own anger seemed to fizzle as she stood in front of him with such force that her chair slammed against the wall. "This isn't about calendar age, god damn it, and you know it. You know the hells that dad and I have been through. You know that I don't have shitbag fantasies or fluffy ideals about how life is." Her face was a twisted red that seemed to be highlighted with veins that were starting to turn purple and throb. "You know I am not and haven't been a 'kid' in a fucking long time, Danny. You have never treated me as one before and I will not; will not, have you starting now. Is that understood you bastard?" Her breath was coming in deep angry pulls now, causing her nicely sized chest to rise and fall, nipples hard and straining against her sport bra and t-shirt. All he could do is give her a nod of agreement. She was right; she had come up hard, and even with a father like Chad there would be challenges and trials. Being a blond haired, blue-eyed female in a mainly Asian area, especially female, meant she must have resisted kidnappings, rapes and seductions. If any of those had occurred he hadn't heard of it. But she would have experienced it, if not first hand, at least witnessed it. He knew that, he merely forgot, he did that from time to time with those he cared for; wanting to lock them away from all harm. He didn't have the right, and he knew it. "Rent's paid," is all he said as he left the office, allowing the door to close by it's own accord. He saw Chad raise eyebrows at him. "I'm an idiot," he stated as he walked towards the exit. He could still hear Chad's barking laughter, full and rich as it filled the gym; understanding the underlining truth to those words, having been on the barbed side of Kat's tongue before. When she decided to argue, she always won. Darkness was starting to settle on the city night as he walked down the block to grab a taxi, the city lights, and cold mist gave a haunted feel. The rain had started again, so he turned up the collar on his trench, nudged his metabolism up a few notches to fight the chill, and headed out. His current clothes were the real him, rusty browns and grays, loose and relaxed, they allowed him perfect freedom of movement, weighted down only by the light ceramic armor, and weapons he carried. He had almost reached a waiting cab when the sounds and sights down a dead end alley got his attention. His thermals kicked in showing six figures, five against one. The five had low level, but large amounts of chrome showing, dampening heat signatures in strategic positions, mainly light pistols and knives. The sixth, was female by size and weight distribution, lightly modified, but meant to offset biological differences that come from being born female, heavy pistol in left hand a metal pipe in the right. He knew he should continue on but his curiosity was tweaked, what would five gangers want with one lone woman, besides the obvious. They were circling in on her, cornering like a predator, not a lone victim. As he switched his cyber eyes to starlight to get more detail, the gangsters were Choppers, a sublet of the Triad known to use butcher's tools to chop and maim instead of kill. The woman was wet from the rain, her short black hair plastered to her head; she had the appearance of a person in one too many fights, her nose having been broken in multiple places. One lip, still scabbed from a recent fight, twisted in a smiling snarl, allowing blood to leak from the crack in the scab. Her stance signaled readiness, her legs coiled loosely, like springs. It was her eyes that made him stop moving towards the cab. There was an overwhelming glee in them. She was a young lioness fighting a pack of hyenas. He knew she would win the fight, though it may cost her one or more limbs, and he knew he couldn't allow that. Before he realized it, he had closed the twenty meters and had his .357 auto-mag at the back of one ganger's head. In his amplified state, the red mist caused by the exit hole of the armor piercing round was seen even before his sound dampeners kicked in to protect his hearing, leaving a feeling of silent thunder as the concussion wave from the bullet breaking the sound barrier traveled his body. The next shot was aimed at the low right side of the next Chopper, just below and behind the angled elbow. The high explosive round caused a flowering of blood, tissue, and bone at the lower rib cage as it did its job, blooming like a plasma bag dropped from a skyscraper. The third was in the process of turning, his Mongol features looking towards the sudden appearance of Daniel and the sounds created. He didn't have time to blink before the next AP round entered his forehead, cocking his head at an odd angle as the body started to tumble like a tossed rag doll. The fourth ganger, Korean most likely, was moving head and gun towards the new threat, smarter than the last but not trained so he fired to soon, missing Daniel completely. Daniel saw the red dot of his SIG on the armpit of the leveled gun arm, and stroked the trigger. The gangster's chest rippled unnaturally, like a tight balloon inflated for the first time, the HE round worked magic on the soft target. The fifth ganger was simply staring at Daniel, not yet getting the situation. Not understanding how his hunt of a single female prey had suddenly turned into a massacre of the hunters. He stood transfixed as Daniel leveled his gun, the smart-linked weapon leaving a red dot on the forehead of Chopper. "Run." Daniel said in a voice calm and cool, though he wasn't sure, since the echoes of the gunshots still reverberated through the alley so his sound dampeners hadn't let up. He could only guess at the volume of his voice by the vibration in his own skull. The Asian/Black ganger didn't have be told twice, he tore through the alley way towards the street knocking down piles of trash and slamming into dumpsters as he slipped on the rainy streets. Daniel hadn't even realized he was smiling till he turned towards the lone female. He smoothed his features as he holstered the weapon and turned to leave, his mind preparing to forget the entire episode. He was looking for the now absent cab, most likely having hauled upon hearing the shots. "Fuck you!" the scream so powerful and full of rage that it strained with a croak near the end. Footwork He turn back just to make sure it was her, zooming in he saw her eyes were an angry red with what might have been tears, though it was hard to tell in the rain. "Fuck! You!" Each word a complete lung filled scream, as she noticed he had turned back towards her. Daniel hadn't expected, thanks, or anything at all for that matter, it had been an entirely selfish decision on his part and he knew it. It hit him then that he had ruined her hunt, he had taken the prey from her, and she was roaring her compliant, like a true lioness. He didn't know why, but he understood that. There was nothing to be done about it now, so he took a digital picture of her face, and then zoomed in for a retinal shot, storing both. He turned back down the street, walking to find a cab. He tried to dismiss her. It was time for Biz. His account was leaking funds like a rusty faucet, and the footwork needed done before the fun could begin. The Haven was placed on the outer reaches of the slums, known as the Gulch. The warehouse neighborhood would never stick out as one of the best nightlife spots in all of Hong Kong. It had no sign, so if a person didn't know where it was they didn't belong. Right off a main highway it was easily accessible, and being on the edge of the Gulch, it had protection from the law as well. Young, rich kids would come to play. Some with, some without, parents for a night of debauchery. It catered to only the highest ends of hedonism. "Only the best for the best" was its motto. It was printed on the napkins. The three rules that existed in the place, one No Kids, two Consent is Mandatory, and three Alura is in Charge; were printed in large bold print as a person walked in. She didn't take kindly to child play, or rape of any kind. The one rule that in her establishment a person could be killed over was the third. She was in charge and she meant it, she had sweated, bled, killed and nearly died generating the cash that was needed for such a business. She had set up the local police chief and was now making sure no cops came into the place without her placing the call. The threat of releasing a video showing him in uniform on the receiving end of a five-man train, begging for more, had gotten his cooperation. He was a regular now. He saw the waiting lines of people held back by a velvet rope at the entrance and almost chuckled at the attire. It varied from punk to slut but it was all purchased at quadruple rates for a single name attached to it. Some of the clothing wasn't clothing but holographic images of clothing, which with slight modification would even flicker embarrassingly to reveal everything, at the proper time of course. As he paid the cab and exited, he moved for the VIP line and was almost stopped by a chromed out Chinese man in a black jacket with a SMG slung at the shoulder. Alura's muscle was always good, and with SMG's and tailored red shirts with black jackets, always visible. Marcus, head of security for the Haven and for Alura herself, waved him through. The Chinese man, who smiled demurely and stepped out of the way at Marcus's signal, must have been new. "Is she busy?" Daniel asked quietly as Marcus led him in, walking past security screening that would have made a bank proud. "Currently yes, and another appointment after. Is it important?" Marcus asked. A large Japanese man, the kind you always imagine to take up sumo, had been in the employ of Alura's for almost five years. Queer as any flamer on the strip, he was devoted to Alura, and had beaten one boyfriend to death for dating him to get to her. "Not so much important, as time critical." Daniel responded smoothly, walking past the rules board where the lettering was half a meter in height. She had added a new one it seemed, four, No Press. Daniel looked questioning at Marcus. "We have had problems with a new tabloid as of late. They seem to want to publish pictures from the Haven," he said, noting Daniel's interest. "I will be handling that problem personally." He had no doubt what that meant, and was glad he wasn't the editor of the magazine. He had seen Marcus pop a man's eyes out just by squeezing the temples. "She'll be down in ten, your booth is being cleared as we speak, please enjoy your stay Mr. Waters." Marcus replied politely as he headed back to his station. His eyes adjusted to the flashing lights, smoke, and fog that were generated for atmosphere. The sound, a rhythmic thumping that caused teeth to jar, was tuned out almost immediately, though the shockwaves from the bass could still be felt. Walking towards his usual booth, the place was almost empty; barely a hundred in the downstairs alone. He figured that Alura was making the mob outside wait to help build the tension. It always made the clients she had more interested if they had to wait. Forcing the rich to wait only seemed to enhance the experience for them. The place was decorated in a tropics setting this week, with palm trees, grass skirts and the drink special was a blended real fruit margarita. A long bar on the east side of the grounds, fitted with paper umbrellas, and holographic ocean night behind it, gave a near perfect ambiance The dance floor was covered in soft black sand and there were already people rolling in it, near the north end at the volleyball net. He had to give it to Alura she was good at this. People came every week, shelling out thousands just to see how the place looked. Her design and fashion skills were highly sought after by those in the Know. The private booths to the south and west walls were also used for business and pleasure, with a charge time that would have made a banker blush. As he entered the booth, the sounds and vibrations of the music stopped cold, even the flashing lights dimmed to faint twinkles, as the electronic counter measures kicked in. It wasn't until he was seated that he noticed the projected full moon and stars on the ceiling. Nice touch that. "Sir?" the waitress asked as she walked through the hologram door; a dusky brunette her breasts open to the breeze and grass skirt swishing to show a shaved pussy with multiple piercing. She looked fabulous, but all of Alura's girls did. "Scotch iced, three vitamin bars, and a liter of water." He said opening the table console and plugging into his NIT jack. He had removed his DNI when the Neural Impulse Translator had come out, it operated in the same manner as a DNI except there was less conscious thought behind the acts, as the micro computer learned to adapt to the user's thoughts instead of a user adapting to the interface, a small but dramatic shift in technology. Since he had ten minutes, he logged into a back door of the local police network and began a search for his Lioness. The facial feature file came back as no match within seconds, but the retinal was still running, having a lot more characteristic points to try to match. The order was already on the table, having been left while he was logged into the console. As he jacked out he allowed himself to down the tumbler of scotch. He wasn't a drinker, but he did like the warmth that scotch provided. It was really the only alcohol he allowed himself, and even then one glass was broken down by his bio so that it never had an effect on him. Swiftly eating his high vitamin protean bars he washed it down with water and barely had time to wipe his mouth before Alura showed. She was dressed in nothing but a sheer white thong and bra that did nothing to hide her form, but actually enhanced it in the pulsing black light of the dance floor, producing the image of moving transcendence. He stared hard at her firm flesh as she posed for his gaze, loving the attention. Her striking copper flecked eyes showed only a little of her Asian heritage, with small folds at the corner, while her German/Irish nose, had a slight upturn to it. High cheeks, and narrow jaw showed her Native American decent. Silky black hair hung below her sleek shoulders; her skin a smooth bronze, taunt against an athletic build. Her breasts, a perfect 34c, had tan aureoles, with smoky brown nipples at the center, hardening at his gaze. Her waist was a slim curve, showing no fat, yet still held the softness of feminine beauty. Her ass was firm yet yielding, and the legs seemed to go forever. Her pubic hair was trimmed and tight in the shape of an exclamation point, the dot ending just above the start of her slit. He never tried to hide the look of lust in his eyes when she was around. She would be offended if he did. She prided herself on her sensuality, and sexuality. It was a tool to be used, and she could wield it as precisly as a scalpel or as brutally as a broadsword. He had seen her seduce gay men and straight women both; he didn't doubt she could talk them into a threesome while she was at it. "So what do you think tall, dark, and dangerous?" she asked as she slid onto his lap, throwing her legs onto the table and knocking everything off the table but the console. Even in this greeting game she was professional; those who doubted it, didn't last long. "You could make a priest go blind from masturbation," he said simply. " Not me idiot, I meant the club." She giggled into the right side of his neck, wiggling on his crotch, showing that no matter what her words said she was pleased at the compliment. She traced her hands down his stomach, and rib cage, only to fake a pout at the feel of armor. "Oh, yeah it's nice, but cannot be compared to its owner." He breathed heavily into the inviting cleavage of her chest, his lower lip brushing lightly against her left globe. He could smell her musk, mixed with wildflower perfume, as she continued to wiggle her hips trying to get his hardening cock to press against a more pleasurable spot. "Oh, your still have your little tool," she said softly, rolling up his body, pressing him back against the seat, having found the sweet spot between her thighs she had searched for. "You know me, I'm just old fashion on some things," he said. It was a running joke between them. When a man can get a cyber-enhanced, multi-directional rotating cock the size of a night stick with integrated clit stimulator, only an idiot would forgo one. He was an idiot. It was one of his few prides. "Some of the best things in this world are old. The Kamasutram, has been around for a long, long time," she whispered in his ear, gently rocking her hips on his now throbbing cock. He moaned into the hollow at the base of her throat and was about to respond when the console chirped. Both of their demeanors changed instantly, as Alura slid off his lap and moved between his legs to sit on the seat, he adjusted as he scooted back to allow her movement and leaned forward to flip the console open. On it a picture of an attractive young woman popped up, the retinal pic had found a match. Sierra Chang, registered nurse, well on her way to an all expenses paid scholarship to medical school. That had been two years ago when she filed rape charges against a mid-level corporate man with the hospital she had been working for. "Damn it, now I'm going to have to change panties before I go back up. Last thing I want is a Red Army General to get the wrong idea," she said with a slight pout. Daniel couldn't help but chuckle at the comment. She elbowed him in the armor for it. Hard. She was so soft and supple he sometimes forgot that she was augmented as well. The chuckle stopped but his grin grew slightly, and he knew his balls would ache for a while after this meeting. "Yummy," she said lightly, looking at the picture of Sierra. "Personal or Biz?" she asked scanning the screen. "Personal," he mumbled before switching to the picture of Sierra taken that day. Watching for a reaction from Alura out the corner of his eye, he downloaded the info into his internal drive. "Still fuckable," she said with a slight shrug, "To bad about her face though, must have been repeated blunt trauma to have altered her bone structure that badly. Steel club, or titanium knuckles would be my guess." Her attitude was as calm and clinical as a doctor in a morgue. "Sounds likely," he said, agreeing to her assessment. "Now to Biz," he said closing his console, leaning back to rub her shoulders. She gave a soft moan of relaxing pleasure as his hands started to massage her with years of experience, knowing just the spots to make her sigh. She did some of her best thinking in a massage chair he knew, so he tried put her as near to that center as possible. "I got a call from an unknown wanting to meet at Grizzly's. Have any ideas?" he asked. Her back had tightened slightly at mention of Grizzly's, so he knew there was something. He continued to work the muscles of her shoulders and back, waiting for a response. "Rumor is, a foreign suit is in a bind and looking for someone to do a hard run for little profit. An R&D company specializing in biotech based out of Japan but financed by the American corporation Dupont. Kanto is its name, here to negotiate with Chang Industries. Thought it was lot of hot air but if the suit was able to get a message to you, it might not be so empty." She spoke clearly and with chosen precision. Meat of the data, what she had devised as important. She was good at information gathering and filtering; it was one of her strong points. He trusted her judgment on info more than anyone else. "Thanks Alura, you're the best. One thing, if you would, track down my lioness?" he asked as she started to stand. Her eyebrow arched a little at the title he had given, and a small smile lit her lips. "I'll get my boys on it," she said bending over giving him a full view of her shapely ass, slowly pulling down her panties; moisture clinging to her coated snatch. "Your right, I am the best, and don't you ever forget it." Her statement punctuated by the snap of her wet panties hitting his chest, she left. His hand unconsciously pulled the panties up to his nose, his thermals showing residual heat from her hot pussy. He inhaled deeply, wanting to capture that sweet musky scent, and know it always. He ran his tongue over the dripping cloth, savoring the taste of her juicy cunt. He checked his internal clock. 20:57, little more than an hour, a twenty-minute walk from the Haven. He had enough time. He closed his eyes as he pulled down his zipper, smelling and tasting the delectable juice of Alura. Freeing his throbbing cock, hard from all of her attention, he stroked himself, building his fantasy of her sucking on him. Her full thick lips wrapped around him, sucking on just the head as her tongue starts to dip into his slit, milking more of his precum. Her teeth supplying slight pressure as she goes down, taking all of him in, he can feel his tip touching the back of her throat as she constricts her muscles there. Making her lips a tight seal as she sucks powerfully at his shaft on the way up his cock. The tip of her tongue was a smooth, warm, firm pressure on the sensitive ridge of his shaft. As her mouth moves off his shaft, she swirls the swollen head with her tongue. With his cock completely covered from her saliva, and his precum she strokes demandingly at his cock as she gently sucks on one sack. Putting pleasurable pressure on it as she traces small circles with her tongue before pulling her head back and with a wet pop, let it fall back into place not so gently, before moving to the next. He can't help but gasp at the pleasure pain of the ball play, the pain starting to recede as a comforting tingle of warmth moves to take it's place. He hasn't yet recovered from the second wet pop, when she attacks his cock with her mouth. Her hand still stroking his slick rod, squeezes and twists to the right as it comes up, while her mouth clamps with suction as her head and tongue twisting slightly left as it goes down to meet her fist, her actions forcing the head of his cock to turn purple and tingle. He can't help but moan at the mental image, as he brings the sopping panties to his cock, using them to help with the fantasy. The sheer wet fabric, silken smooth as it glides over his gland, before he starts to pump in earnest. His fantasies never include words between them, soft moans, feral growls, and grunts of ecstasy, just primal, urgent, and needful. She never looks up as she repeats the movements over and over. Sucking, twisting, pulling, and squeezing all at the same time, the sensations cause him to jerk, thrust, and arch. Her hair draped across his lap tickles his thighs, balls and cock as her head twists and pumps. Though he watches her every move, as she grunts at the effort, her unused hand hidden from view all this time snakes out to slip into his mouth, covered with the juices of her own orgasm. His hands bunch in her hair, tightening it against her scalp as he sucks her fingers. That's when her gold-flecked eyes meet his, realizing she won this round, he allows himself to cum. Glob after glob of cum shoots out the tip of his dick, covering panties, table, console, and his hand. Arcs of electricity starting from the bottoms of his feet, the palms of his hands, and the back of his neck all meet at some point near his ass, only to be released by the spurt of his cum. Surge after surge the release leaves him gasping and still twitching, as he milks himself. It was moments like this that he wondered why he even bothered with high price hookers. A little time with Alura and he jerked off better than they could fuck. He cleaned himself with napkins, and placed one unsoiled on top of the cum-soaked panties, the logo, only the best for the best, purposely visible. Leaving with panties in hand, he walks past a waitress, placing them on her tray. "Leave those on Alura's desk, she'll want them back," he said walking towards the restroom. "Certainly, Mr. Waters," her tone showing no surprise at the request to place cum filled panties on her employer's desk. The thought amused him. The place had filled up by the time he left the booth, having let most of the outside mob in. A Hawaiian fire dance was occurring were the volleyball net had been. A small stage had been set up and even had what appeared to be real islanders doing the show. He saw a male gay couple having sex next to the sink he was using. The dominant had residual chemical dust around his nose, while the sub had his face pressed against the mirror releasing steam upon it with his rapid breath, a cloth mask inducing his high. The orgy had begun. Checking his internal clock he had thirty minutes to make it to Grizzly's. His fantasy had taken more time than expected. Allowing an attendant to dry his hands, he left the restroom to a small stream of newcomers, fresh from the security screening, flush with excitement and drugs of some kind. Making his way out of the club, he noticed car shows going on across the street, each owner trying to show off as many of its flashing lights, booming music, or screaming engine as possible. He couldn't help but think of peacocks showing off. As he moved through the warehouse sector into the heart of the Gulch, he noticed the bleed of music from a dozen cultures and genres blending in the echoing alleys, becoming its own hypnotic rhythm. It was the sound of life without hope for today, but with hope that just maybe tomorrow would be different. He understood the sound well. The smell of destitution and indifference were present with the reek of urine and exposed garbage. He walked on without fear. There was always a hum of danger in the Gulch. People didn't walk alone in the dark within the Gulch without being one of two things, dumb or good. Feet splashing lightly in newly formed puddles he entered the Gulch, more and more people could be seen standing around the only working street lamp on the street. Junkies, fixers, whores, and johns could be seen in alcoves, flickering neon the only other illumination in the area. Footwork A stream of large rats fought and ran after a morsel of some kind, forming a ball of wiggling fur at times. He thought he saw a finger with a ring on it, but dismissed it. One of the rats stopped and stood in front of him, staring, as if trying to make sense out of Daniel, its eyes glowed pink, and the nose twitched before following its brothers. The rodents eventually flowed into a drain and out from sight, though the screeching could still be heard a dozen paces away. It was the muscle that gathered to the lamplight like deadly moths that slowed his steps. His eyes verified the logo of the gang; silver cleaver on a red background. He instinctively knew it would be the Choppers. Of the eleven members there, the third from the right closest to the main strip was the Asian/Black he had let run earlier. He had a sense of odd coincidence, if he believed in it. As he got closer, the survivor spotted him and started tapping his leader and whispering. He didn't need to heighten his hearing to know the information of the message, 'That's the one that did Billy, Marco, Jams, and Lu.' He never took his eyes off the survivor as he walked up to and then past. He turned right under the light of the lamp, passing several of the thugs. Once the twisting of his neck started to tighten, he relaxed his neck taking his eyes off the survivor and looked down the path his body was already on. The moment he heard clothing rustle behind him, he stepped side ways and drew his pistol. The smart link activated smoothly and without stutter, as it projected a dot on the forehead of the leader, range displayed and taken in account by the software. Looking down the length of his arm, he knew he didn't want a fight. He knew he would win but the chances of not being hurt were very poor. So he did the only thing he could, he had to establish pack dominance at once. The nature of humans to run in packs is so biologically instilled that it can't be disrupted, he knew this and exploited it. He had to grab the leader by the throat and clamp so hard the leader knew who was alpha. The Choppers were lit completely by the overhead lamp; Daniel faced them, his body sideways and his gun arm directly in front. It was a trick gunfighters used in the old west, presenting as little target as possible. Though he couldn't remember where he had heard it, he knew it was true. Daniel maintained the dot on the leader's forehead as his eyes scanned the next four he would kill. After that he knew the chaos of battle would cause any plan he had to be useless. But the plan wasn't to fight but to let them know death would occur if conflict happened. Daniel's eyes didn't blink, being cyber enhanced he didn't need to, his silhouette slim and unmoving. The pull of his breath was even, the muscles of his arm and wrist didn't move; keeping the pistol so still a ball would balance. He didn't know if any of the gangsters would be conscious of these things, but the subconscious would scream at the danger. The leader was staring directly at Daniel, the press of his pack closing around him loaning him courage and numbers. The entire exercise was a sign of support for their chosen alpha. The pack slowly started to draw weapons. Daniel looked directly at the leader and moved his head in a negative. His pistol never wavered. "No," the leader said as he motioned for the weapons to stay. As the pack started to relax he gave Daniel an ample nod. Turning Daniel holstered his weapon, and started to walk away knowing that they would be attacking someone soon for some infraction. It was a reward the leader would allow his pack for the support and obedience of the encounter. "Ya bitch is dead. Julius wants her. Nuttin' you can do about dat," his howl of subdued victory stating this encounter wouldn't be the last. Daniel's steps never stopped. The main strip was really two roads that the met in the heart of the Gulch. Nicknamed Sex and Drugs, each lane had its own control on vice. If the alleys were dark the strip was day, the flashing signs and holographic ads flickering and alternating. The area gave off a sick red tinge with the placements of red lanterns swaying in the night breeze above the center of the strip. It reminded him of blood washing along a beach. Drugs was controlled by the Triad, having the best contacts with the heroine farmers. That being the basis for most newly designed chemical highs gave them a leg up. Sex was controlled by the Bratva, or Russian Mob. Having long time ties with human trafficking, they had set up an informal alliance to push out other organized crime. The uneasy alliance has resulted in large sums of money for both sides, though that will only last till one side got greedy enough to start a war. He turned right on Drugs and made his way past all vendors selling anything from the latest designer drug to fake Rolexes, and from the most poisonous booze, to stolen Rolexes. Shifting of languages could overwhelm a person if not ready for it. From one stand to the next barkers would shout in as many as three languages trying to draw business. People strolled down the center of the street avoiding the pickpockets that would hide between stalls, waiting for a mark. Grizzly's was a small bar located underneath a VR den, with ropes and poles extending to the street, showing boundaries for the vendors. Even in the slums there are second-class citizen and vendors were it. Since most of the street merchants didn't use themselves, the area needed to take the money by another means. The gangs would call it a sidewalk tax; building owners would call it lot rent. The more expensive a rent the better the location, the more a vendor paid in tax, the less he or she would lose to thieves. Gulch economics 101. Grizzly's had an interior that always surprised him though he had been here a couple times. An odd mixture of a Wild West saloon and a Boston sports bar, it seemed to put most North Americans at ease. The crowd was engrossed in a game happening as it was displayed on the largest Holo. American football had grown on the world stage dramatically as they were the first to allow cyber and bio enhancements. Would-be pros from other sports moved towards it after an injury mandated cyber replacement. Even with all the modification players had, protective gear was so advanced few deaths occurred. He wasn't a fan, but knew some who were so he kept up with it for social purposes. There simply wasn't enough poetry in the game for his tastes. The three thick black men sitting around the bar at strategic positions told him who would be protecting the John. He didn't like the term, it made him feel like a prostitute, and in truth he knew he was; whoring his soul for money. He just didn't like it was all. Daniel took the only empty booth in the far right corner, his feet sinking uncomfortably in the sawdust floor; a small card on the table stated reserved. Tossing the card on the floor and he sat in the corner openly watching everything and everyone. The table was a stained, scarred slab of early synthwood with a number of dirty jokes and scratch porn covering its surface. Anytime eye contact was made he would hold the gaze a second and offer a polite nod, only the three black bodyguards returned it. A Japanese man came out of the bathroom and walked directly towards him, dodging a waitress dressed in a bad Indian outfit. He stopped and bowed formally at Daniel before slipping into the booth opposite. His stature and posture a perfect show of respect and honor. Boring Japanese. "Thank you for coming Mr. Waters, I thought that maybe with your American background, it would be pleasing. I have what you might call a "job"? My family would lose much face if this..." John stopped talking as Daniel leaned in, his hand extended to the middle of the table and thumped it like a gavel with his trigger finger, letting the guards get the idea of speed and strength they would be dealing with. "To the job. What, when, where, how, and most importantly why." he said as the pale John started to understand the fact that he was dead before the guards could react. "My family is prepared to pay..." John quieted as Daniel leaned back in his seat. "Where in my sentence did I ask amount?" he sighed looking out at the guards. "Get me your boss, and walk him here, or I walk." John slid out of the booth straightened the suit unconsciously and walked towards the closest guard. He whispered to the guard, who nodded and followed John back to the booth. The large black man was heavily modified, a loose suit hung on him with a crisp corporate cut. His shoulder holster barely showed with the sway of movement, walking like a boxer. He extended a large hand as he sat where John had a moment ago, now regulated to stand just outside the booth. Daniel met the handshake with proper courtesy, both hands tightened in a firm grip, an unmodified person would have screamed. "Tanaka, leave." The guard's voice a deep baritone, the smooth and softness evoking command with every syllable. Here was a man Daniel knew must have practiced his voice, maybe even sung in a church choir, full of range and capable of deep passion. John bowed low and walked from the booth. "Mr. Waters, my name is O'Hare, last week one of our children took something he shouldn't have. An entirely in-house affair, but when tracked down, our wayward son had been killed, and the stolen item, missing. A Chang Industries now possesses this stolen data. We are currently negotiating a contract with Chang, direct corporate conflict would hamper these goals of profit," the black man said, his voice a soothing tone mixed with the white noise generation that occurred throughout his speech. "The data stolen is information on a new synthetic skin that would revolutionize cyber implants. It is carried in a portable computer the size of a briefcase. It is, of course, encrypted with the most modern defensive programs. However it is a time specific encryption, in five days, nine hours and forty six minutes the data will unlock ,." O'Hare said. The silence after a white noise was like chasm that needed to be filled. Daniel resisted the urge to speak and silently watched as O'Hare licked his lips after a small throat clearing. "My company wants the data back in three days, the current owner is hiding at The Embassy. We are prepared to cover as much as 100k." O'Hare said, opening his in a small waiting manner, a data chip left on the table. Daniel pulled a noise generator out of his pocket, the size of a cigarette box; its blanketing effect covered the entire bar. Sharp comments and swearing started as the game was interrupted and reception lost. "200k for the Embassy, 200k for the three day time limit, and 100k for talking to Tanaka, 250k of that upfront." he said, a little arrogant. The crowd rejoiced as the game reappeared when he switched off the noise. O'Shea sat there quietly, relaying information for an approval to the demand. O'Hare's eyes narrowed at the amount, he had to know it was an incredible price even for the job they were asking for. Daniel saw the slight widening of his eyes as he got the response, if Daniel hadn't been looking for a reaction, he wouldn't have even seen it at all. "That is acceptable Mr. Waters. By midnight of the sixteenth you will have my data, and I will have your money," he said nodding. "You'll contact me by..." "I'll contact you here at the bar, have my money ready, the next time you hear from me I'll have the box," he stated confidently. Taking the chip, he wrote an account number on a napkin. "I expect the deposit by 09:15 Hong Kong time, if it isn't, no deal." Rule one never, let them see you sweat, and he was. He dropped his active sneer; leaving the bar for the cool, almost clean air. He started walking, footwork complete. It was time to work, and the first thing was to establish a team. He just wished the ache of intuition would stop its nagging.