Day 4: Rip me up

Sinner Alley is where we all go to get wild, no law, no chasers, and no rules. The Chasers had been chased out by bombs, blood, bullets, and blades. So, I was packing as went in, ya know, had my trust blaster. The older model still used ammo. Got myself a few rounds from Old Crazy Eyes. He aint' want a dead runner on his hands, aint' good to get more of em.

Sitting in this bar called the Old Broken Oni. Feet up on the table, beer in my right hand, cigarette in my left. Covered by the man I'm meeting, I was told he would be out shortly. Well, that was 2 hours ago. I aint' minding the downtime. But now, boredom is laces into my fingers, and my toes tapping to the K-Pop from yesterday.

My normal cure aint' a good idea on the job. But it seems like I might have time to burn through it. But then the backdoor opens, and I'm ushered into the dark. The man behind the desk is massive, Asian mixed with metal, pure metal expensive metal.

The metal is hardcore on this one. It seems both arms have been done up. His right eye is gleaming in that cold cyber way. His teeth have unnatural sharp-tipped teeth, his jaw seems to be a little too square. His right ear is blinking with a little wires coming out of the back. A data chip in the back of his neck, so yeah, is chromed to the nines.

So yeah, cyber death-dealing decker. What the fucking hell in the love of all that is blessed by the Prophet is this?

I stood there waiting, placing down the package in front of him. Watching this man unlock it with his right thumb. His hand is opening the briefcase, as he turns it for me to look down into it."Your new gear, your new work." The voice is cold, a hint of menace mixed with mirth as he shoves the case forward."Welcome, back to the game. I asked for someone skilled but out of the game."

My eyes had to be wide as fucking saucers as he spoke. I was confused, elated, then worried as a mother fucker."I aint' do that no more. My port is too old, and that is too fancy." My finger poting down at the Hollie for a moment, it was top of the fucking line. It was a deck made for crushing corps and making the chaser cry.

A snap of his fingers, picked up by his goons. Aint' nobody knows to ask no more, but you know what. Starting to fucking get used to this shit, been running for months now, and maybe now I get to fly."The Doc gotcha kiddo, have fun on the fucking table." With that, his men take me into the back, blood-soaked table, and a mad looking ripper. Short Asian man, nothing about him stands out, except for that blood-soaked suit. His tools are around that expensive suit, dripping down. It seems my new gear in my neck might have been used. I feel bad for the chop job. Aint' going to be moving much without der spine.

To remove chrome, one has to get into the spine. Right in the center of your spinal is where a real cyber doc lines up your chrome. But when you get a ripper, they can use any nerves. They are back alley, but the thing is I have always found them more skilled. Cause, fewer tools, no AI, no help but themselves. After time, they learn to hook it up into new parts of your body, faster parts, working better. Higher rate of burnout if you're not matching it right, but better use if you do. The risk is fucking worth it for a cowboy like me.

Fuck my life, but if this works, if this is real.......heaven is mine again. Did this really happen, or is this an organ harvest?