No matter how many deep breaths I took, I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. I tried tightening my grip on my little pea-shooter, but the slippery grip betrayed me yet again. The Cadmus E-20 was a notoriously finicky shooter, but it was also the only shooter available for thirty creds if a person knew the right dealer. And in a world where having a shooter was better than no shooter, this hunk of metal was my life insurance.

  It wasn’t hard to figure out why I was suffering from a potentially terminal bout of nerves. The alley pressed into me from all sides, the smell and garbage doing nothing to help my mental state, or that of the twelve other miserable wretches waiting here. Jason had a sick sense of humor. Thirteen? This whole thing was gonna go swimmingly, in the most drowning sense of the word.

  Funny thing, number thirteen. The universe had gone to shit and back, and yet old Terran legends still stuck around.

  “So Jace, after this job, you think I can get a piece like yours? You said we’ll be hitting that fucker at five. It’s been forever and he’s not fucking showing,” Hein complained. How many piercings was too many? I didn’t have an exact number to give, but looking at Hein’s cheeks covered by pointy studs, I could confidently say he’d found the answer.

  Half of Jason’s little hit squad looked like they were starving spirits of the dead who had crawled out of a sewer. The other half had carefully slicked hair, artfully ripped clothing, and more ‘bling’ than was healthy for them. Hein belonged in the second half. Me? The first half.

  “I told you to shut it and wait, didn’t I?” Jason stepped into Hein’s face. “I don’t need you bitching at me, I need you to do the job and do it right.”

  Jason didn’t belong in either half. His firm face meant he’d never had to go hungry for a single meal. And his clothes were from the middle district, where people didn’t have to deal with the grime and the stench and whatever diseases were in season along the outskirt slums.

  No, Jason was there for the thrill and the street rep.

  “Is your information good?” I asked. I could practically taste the bitter desperation lining my cheeks. This wasn’t a job that I normally did. Too dangerous, too many variables. But when Jason cornered me and told me about his plan, I couldn’t back out. I don’t know how he knew, but he did.

  “I’ve already told you, Gato’s good for the info,” Jason spat.

  Technically, it wasn’t Gato’s tip. It was his sister, who had the dubious fortune of being a Reaper higher-up’s regular hookup, and the idiot had bragged about how his mighty gang had made a deal with some shady corp for prototype cybernetics.

  Now, did that mean the cybernetics were any good? That was debatable at best. Most probably, the gangers were being used as a test study on what the cybernetics actually did to a body. But was the chrome going to be more expensive than anything most of us could ever dream of laying our eyes on? Also yes.

  When Jason told me his plan, there was a little belittling smirk on his lips. Like he knew he was making an offer that couldn’t be refused. It didn’t matter. I could take the humiliation as long as the creds were good.

  “But what if the intel isn’t worth the hassle? We gonna wait here for no one to show up?” I pushed. I kept my voice even and tried to keep my stance loose and relaxed, even if I was pretty sure I was almost as twitchy as the rail-thin gleamer Jason kept in his group just for quick access to recreational substances when the mood hit him.

  Technically, it wasn’t smart to challenge Jason so openly in front of a crowd. His temper got the best of him nine times out of ten. Predictably, the ponce’s eyes got narrow and he exaggeratedly spun on his heel to send his dramatically cut trench coat billowing behind him. Considering how often he did that, he probably thought it made him look intimidating. The article of clothing might have been impressive on its own, but it was both painted in bright neon reds and greens and it hung off the frame of a brat more concerned with being worshiped than doing any sort of exercise.

  “We have a problem, boy?”

  Jason stalked closer to me with each word until we were standing nose to nose. Frankly, I was surprised he hadn’t tried to swing at my face. It was only when his eyes flicked to my hip that I knew for sure what was giving him pause. Out of all thirteen of us, only he and I had a shooter to our names. His was a large chrome monstrosity he could barely hold properly. Mine might have been a Cadmus E-20, but even they didn’t miss when the target was only a couple inches away.

  “Jason, I’m here to do the job you invited me to, not cause trouble or whatever. I’m just asking if I still have a job or not, that’s all. I’m sure the others are wondering the same thing,” I breathed back.

  Now that he was close, I got a good look into his eyes, and they were flinty with anger. But more important than that, I caught the hint of small cog-like symbols all around the outer side of his iris. I recognized them instantly from hours of scrolling through ads. Machina made some excellent eyes, and even better cybernetic limbs. Not top of the line, but they were up there.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Jason paused and swept his gaze over the gallery that was eagerly watching our little spat. He stewed in his thoughts just long enough for some of the aggression to bleed off. Instead of another curse, his pointer finger rose up to his eye.

  “Gato’s good for it. They know better than to fuck with me. And one bonus tip, Gato said that the mule is gonna carry some cybernetic eyes. Good ones that don’t go out on you.”

  A cold sweat broke over my back. Did Jason know about my condition? Or was he just bragging about his new toy eyes?

  But the thought that dominated my mind was the fact that there might be a set of eyes at the end of this job. I used to think being poor was scary. No, losing my sight bit by bit with an onslaught of headaches, nausea, and dizzy spells was much worse. So if there was a set of eyes in the mule’s package, I was taking it. It didn’t matter if the whole gang turned on me or if I had to shove them into my skull myself afterwards. I would do it.

  “Lost your tongue?” Jason taunted. His eyes flicked again to my waist before he stalked off. “Just don’t lose your nerve when it’s time to do the job.”

  I kept my mouth shut this time as our glorious leader stalked away, sticking his left hip forward a little to show off the monstrosity he called a shooter. In the trickle-down economy of this world, the better heat a person was packing, the higher their standing. When someone kills a gang boss? They grab the now owner-less shooters first.

  Luckily, a minute or so later, our glorious leader’s eyes started to glow with that tell-tale sign of an ocular call, and a smile began to take over his normally dour countenance.

  “That was one of my guys,” Jason said when his eyes dimmed. “The mule’s on the way, so everyone get ready and try not ruin this for me.” The latter half of the order was aimed at me, but I nodded along just like the rest of them.

  It wasn’t hard to find cover as our little group scattered. Jason’s intel said that the mules would head down this grimy alley. As much as I doubted anyone would intentionally come into this dumpster and that we’d have a much better ambush spot if we found a choke point among the garbage, it wasn’t exactly the time for strategy.

  After settling behind a rusted slab of metal, I fumbled with my gun one last time, trying to do a professional job of giving it a look over. My old Cadmus E-20 was, from personal experience, a rugged piece of machinery. The only problem was that I had exactly two magazines for it. Fifteen shots in one, and seven in the other.

  Rowdy laughter sounded at the entrance of the alley, effortlessly cutting through the subdued quiet of the near-abandoned block and instantly cutting a frown into my face.

  We were on the lookout for a mule. Mules didn’t laugh. They moved quickly and efficiently, and most importantly, they moved alone.

  Not for the first time, I cursed my poor eyesight when two blurry figures finally entered view at the mouth of our chosen alley, two giants of muscle and fat engaged in jolly conversation. The bottom of my stomach fell out when I realized both had gym bags casually dangling from their shoulders, and I had to hold back an urge to curse loudly.

  I was going to skin Gato if we survived because he wasn’t good for shit. It wasn’t one mule the Reapers had sent. It was a pair of them, and that complicated things.

  I wish I could say that the immediate ring of Jason’s shooter echoing through the alley was unexpected. Almost instinctively, I raised my gun and pulled the trigger once, twice, five times in total, no thought spared to saving the bullets.

  My eyesight being what it was, my shots were just sent in the general direction of the mules with little aim. But luck was on our side. A spray of red plumed through the air, and one of the two mules slumped down to the ground.

  That’s also where our luck promptly ran out.

  In a move smoother than anything I could ever have managed, the second mule turned and raised a hand directly towards the street kids who were starting to leave cover to rush them. The motion confused me until I caught a glint of metal, unmistakable even to my damaged eyes.

  A shot louder than Jason’s erupted into the air, and one of the street kids at the front of the charge was reduced to a shower of blood that just about completely chunked the middle of his body. A head and shoulders slopped to the ground with a squelching noise, and my hands began to shake as I swung my shooter towards what was apparently the greater threat.

  Jason got the memo too, because his shooter barked again even as I unleashed bullets of my own. His shot made the mule groan and stagger back, a small patch of red slowly spreading through his shirt. On the other hand, my two shots plinked against the man with the sound of bullets impacting metal.

  Subdermal? The thought ran through my mind as the man’s shooter fired once more, and another street rat was reduced to near nothing. As much as hot adrenaline was elevating my heart rate, an equally cold calm was coursing through my veins. He should be going for me or Jason, the ones with shooters. But he’s taking out the close targets. That makes no sense unless… he has a mid to short range weapon of incredible destructive potential, but low kill potential longer range.

  My feet began moving on their own as I backpedaled while squeezing the trigger again and again.

  Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… I clicked once more on reflex, but my shooter refused to spew any more attempted murder until I fed it again. If I was being generous, I had landed eight hits. It didn’t matter. Neither Jason nor my shooter could penetrate the mule’s subdermal beyond just small splotches of blood.

  In the meantime, the mule had taken out most of Jason’s gang who had rushed him. But there were still a couple who somehow kept advancing when most of their comrades had been blown to bits. With a quick motion, the mule tossed his bag aside and wrenched his left arm to the side in a move that looked both unnatural and uncomfortable. Maybe it would have even looked funny, if it hadn’t caused a long, deadly blade to spring forth from his limb with the sound of ripping fabric.

  The blade sailed straight through one of the street rats and proved its sharpness when it sliced its target in two. Blood splattered everywhere as the alley’s fight slowed for a moment, just long enough for a single thought to run through my mind.

  We’re dead. We’re all so very dead.