”
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I spit blood onto the ferrocrete. It sizzles — probably from the plasma burn cooking my ribs. The bastard talks too much. Always the loud ones who think they’ve already won.
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"What'cha lookin' at, street punk? Eyes up here!"
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He’s got a voice like rusty nails dragged across synth-steel. His jaw’s half-metal, teeth grinding like old gears. The Electro Krystal dangles from his belt like some twisted trophy, pulsing blue, begging me to rip it free.
81Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXAixjGd7Wn
"You want the last Krystal in this district? Then fight me for it, scum!"
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He thinks I came here for the krystal. He thinks I give a damn about the krystal.
81Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO1HCm7vlru
What I came for was revenge.
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"You talk too much," I growl, spitting again. "Maybe I’ll break your jaw and use it as an ashtray."
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He grins, cybernetic eye twitching, arm whirring with serrated upgrades. "You fight dirty, I walk. That’s the rule."
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"I don’t fight dirty," I say, cracking my knuckles. "I fight to kill."
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He charges. I let him come. Always let the big dogs bark before you put ‘em down. His blade-arm screeches out, nearly takes my head, but I duck low, drive my knee into his groin so hard I hear the crunch of a shattered implant. He screams. Sounds like music.
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I don’t stop. I never stop. I grab his arm, twist it until the servo-sinews snap. Then I slam his face into the alley wall — once, twice, until the chrome plating peels off like a goddamn banana.
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"Still watching me, street punk?" I whisper in his ear, dragging the jagged edge of my boot down his back. He coughs blood, gargling something about rules.*
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I fish the Krystal from his belt. It hums in my palm like a heartbeat. Warm. Alive. I look down at him, broken, twitching.
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"Here’s a new rule, asshole — don’t fuck with ghosts."
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Then I drive the Krystal into his chest. Not gently. It sizzles through his armor and flesh like butter, and the bastard glows from the inside out.
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By the time I walk away, there’s nothing left but a puddle of slag, the stink of burnt
81Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX75oPeFtVh
meat, and a memory of screaming.
ns216.73.216.143da2
