**

“What Resources do dirt farming hippies have that can help find Zita?” I demanded, and once more Rooker raised his hands, palm out to urge me to calm.

“These people aren’t just hippies, they’re Silicon Valley refugees. These people have connections everywhere,” Rooker replied.

Moving toward his office cabinet, I pulled it open and searched for his hidden stash of booze.

“Don’t you have any Jameson or Glenlivet? All I ever see around here these days is cheap domestic beer,” I groused and slammed the door closed.

“Scotch is for social gatherings and memories, not business and boozing. Besides, don’t you think you’ve had enough tonight?”

"I have a constant throbbing pain in my lower back and fire shoots down my left leg every time I bump the nerve inhibitor, which shouldn't even happen. On top of that that weasel Seth is trying to squeeze me for cash, or to fuck him, so if I have a drink once in a while, I'm no worse for it as far as I can see," I said in a voice that was no where near as nonchalant as I was trying for.

"Well, hells bells, I'm not your mother," Rooker held up his hands in surrender. "You've got Gunny for that, but just take it easy okay?"

I strode past him, my frame whirling and clicking with each footfall. “If these hippies have so many resources, why can’t they get supplies out to their settlement?” I scoffed.

Standing just outside of the office, I could only go down the stairs or back inside, and Rooker was blocking the door, so I headed down toward Beto and the shop, and Rooker let me go.

He knew pathetic couple would weigh on my mind, and it was better to wait a few hours before pressing me. But there was no way I was going to fall into the mission like he hopped.

Good people or not, I was in no condition, mentally or physically do them any good. Fully functional, I used to need a support team and leadership. He’d just have to send Beto. Someone who wouldn’t fail them like I failed Kāne.

“Previous models of these Munition Deployed Seeker Drones,” I glanced at Beto as he walked the Pitbull attack drone into the testing cage. It was a sleek machine, with prowling like panther in the wild, but the bulky frame reminded everyone of its name’s sake.

Fitted with a N-Mark 12mm cannon, or an LG5 is a semi-automatic grenade launcher, they were highly effective first strike weapons. A team of five could effectively breech most conventional infantry lines in minutes, unless they had sufficient countermeasures.

The issue with the Pitbull type platform was the same issue most all of our modern engineering field faced. Power. Even with the Vexx 9, 18.3v smart battery controlling power usage down to the tiniest percentage the Pitbull could only effectively be used for around 90 minutes. Which in a battle is a lot of time, but not so much when there are effective counter drone capabilities.

“We’ll just call it the MDSD, the old assault counter drones were simple kamikaze units.”

The big man rolled his wrist in the air, with his index finger out, telling me to get on with it. Beto wasn’t big on talking, but he was huge on showing. It seemed he expected the same from me in return, but my nervous system was jacked up on high from the meeting.

Around me the clean white surfaces of the shop pulsed as the drug raced through my system. The effect was uncomfortable if I focused on it, but I could be bothered with focusing outside of my current work. I hadn’t performed this well in months, and it felt like every new idea was erupting into a world of tactical possibilities.

“Each.410 shot gun shell, I can deploy three seeker drones, which I can guide into an incoming assault. Effectively making my five shot pistol a fifteen projectile load out, which on its own could counter at least part of the assault.” I felt myself grinning even as Beto frowned.

“Enough exposition. I helped you test it, remember?” Beto scoffed.

“Sure Beto, just wait for it.” I admonished.

Beto shot me a dirty look, his right hand moving to the woven 550 cord around his left wrist. It was a Bucket List Boys gang sign, one that had fallen out of use after Kane left the gang. Beto tended to toy with it when he was curious, or intent on a new weapon. So I knew he was curious, but I ignored his tale and smiled devilishly in return.

“Let me just put on the optics rig.”

I had made no improvements to the rig. It was still cumbersome and bulky. The straps were fitted against my skull and under my chin, with pads for my cheeks and forehead. It felt like a mid-evil torcher device, but once situated it was snug enough.

“That thing is 100 years out of date.” Beto groaned, and I could see his faith in my new system flagging.

Behind us, someone slammed into the massive steel roll-up door, sending us both into a ready crouch.

“Weapons!” Beto growled, but he needn’t say anything. The primary entrance blew open, and in that instant, I fired a shot from my pistol and deployed the seeker drones.

In the optics, the drones appeared as they moved into a Triangle frenzy ready pattern. Each a small blue dot waiting for my orders to come at a glance.

“We got it Abbs!” The thin nasally voice I heard was none other than Seth, and behind him three goons drug an injured third.

“What the fuck?” Beto yelled, but Seth ignored him and motioned for the wounded man to be laid down on the workbench.

“You wanted Amber, baby? Daddy got you a pearl!” Seth’s grin was too wide to be real, his words too absurd. For a heartbeat I swore the Sertra was playing tricks on my mind, but Beto’s reaction shattered that comfortable illusion.

“That dude’s been shot!” I ambled over toward him, my frame clomping on the cement floor.

The motion must have seemed uncanny to Seth. He stepped back momentarily, then with a bizarre nervous energy that screamed out that he was on a tech-meth high, he glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s Johnny, he’ll live.”

“I dunno boss, he’s lost a lot of blood,” another of the goon stated.

Even as I glanced downs a crimson puddled spilled over the side of the bench. My stomach lurched as my gaze seemed to fixate on it for a second.

“Did you say you have a pearl, Amber? As in A25?” Beto said, clearly stunned as Seth’s words finally registered, but my mind was racing.

“That’s what I said Gordo!” Seth’s laugh was high and wire thin, but his goons looked panicked.

They were all dressed for success, in standard knock off brand named suits, dark glasses and earpieces. For some reason, I had my doubts that any of them actually worked. They looked like kids playing dress up for trick or treat to me.

On the other hand, they all had the tale tell bulges under their jacket’s, and the cheap blue knuckle studs just under the skin said they weren’t total clowns. Sure, they were low rent street thugs, but thugs.

“We were moving product for The Faction. Got word they’d stolen some Amber from Vis-Dyn, so we hit their currier.” The gorilla like goon, with blue hair and too many facial tattoos, said simply.

“Shut up Ben! You talk too much.” Seth shouted, but Beto was already on the move toward the security lock down panel.

“You hit a Faction currier? You really are as stupid as you look..” Opening the panel Beto set the locks and brought up the security feeds.

“The Faction didn’t know it was us. I’m not that stupid.” Seth strutted up to me and pulled a pill shaped box the size of his hand out of his coat.

“Warning: RADIATION DETETCHED.” Screamed the lab’s contamination detection system.

“You fucking Idiot!” I screamed and drew away. Then, on instinct, I opened the hatch to the test room.

“Put it inside. The shielding should protect us for a while at least.” I said and turned to my computer.

Beto was moving toward us both, and the sheer size of him, and the look on his face pressured Seth to comply with my demand.

Trying to look annoyed despite the clear signs of being unnerved, he stepped over to the clean room, and sat down the container, then stepped out and as Beto closed the door.

“What is all the upset about? Amber isn’t dangerous, they talk about how safe it is on the TV all the time.”

“Long term exposure to any radioactive isotope is dangerous.” I muttered, but my mind was in gear.

“The nanite containment pod.” I shouted with a grin as the idea formed.

“I planned to use that for the heist, but I never really got it dampeners in line. But I think I can make the nanite pod into basically a makeshift miniature reactor,” I said in a rush, which earned a look from everyone.

That sounds like science fiction. I realized, but the pod would provide adequate shielding, just like any reactor would need once you started making energy.

“That’s pseudo-science, Abby. Like the Arc Reactor, or Cold Fusion.” Beto said as he came to my side and started to review my diagrams.

“Hey, don’t ignore me. I want my device. You said you could make it if you had Amber, I brought you Amber.”

Once more, Zita’s memory spoke to me, both analytical and curious, just like the child I’d known. “A sodium cooled fast reactor isn’t required, and either is a molten fluoride reactor.”

“I know, I know. Amber is a comparatively cold fusion grade element. But it spills massive amounts of beta particles. Beta particle poisoning at that level wouldn’t mean cancer somewhere down the road, it means cellular corruption immediately.”

“Beta Poisoning? Cellular Corruption? Is that how the device will work? Corrupt the source towers?” Seth asked, and for a second I was completely at a loss.

“Tissue cells, genius, not cell towers. This has nothing to do with smart devices and phones.”

Back on the workbench the bleeding goon started to cry. “I’m getting so cold.”

Beto reacted, grabbing the first aid kit from the wall and hurrying over to him. “Where were you hit?”

“It’s a gut shot.” The tattooed faced goon stated, his hands pressed to the obvious wound.

Beto looked at the first aid kit and frowned. “He is going to need a doctor. I have nothing in this kit for something like that,” Beto said as he tossed a neck collar over his shoulder.

As he spoke, images flew through my mind. Detailed diagrams, element capture concepts, and math are more complex than I could understand. Rather than developing the answer, it was like it was being delivered to my mind from god, or the devil. I just had a blueprint in my head. “That’s it.” I said and stood back.

“What’s it?” Seth asked, hope dawning like the morning sun on his features.

“I think I just solved cold fusion,” the room seemed to freeze as Beto, Seth, and all three goons looked at me like I lost my mind.

“I don’t know how, I just, I see how to do it.” My hands were already moving over my equipment, and old prototype, as if of their own accord and quickly a new device started to take shape. “This is going to take some time. How does security look?”

I asked and Beto shoved the first aid kit into blue hair’s hands. “Hold gauze to the wound and keep pressure.”

Beto glanced over at the security panel, “Looks to me like we are clear for the moment.” He said, his eyes already wandering back to the first aid kit.

“Hey face tattoos, give me that MDA,” he commanded, but the thug just looked confused, then started digging in his pockets.

“Not the drugs, the Medical Diagnostic Analyzer.” Beto groaned, but the thug complied and dug in the first aid kit until he found the only thing that looked technical and handed it to Beto.

As he ran the MDA over the wounded goon’s abdomen, I continued to modify and update the prototype I’d worked on unsuccessfully for so long. The images and concepts just came to me, like I had a cheat sheet and someone else guiding my hands.

I understood it all but didn’t. As an engineer, I understood the specs, design, and concept of what I was building. As a someone who had no experience in nuclear physics, I was more than a little out of my depth, and yet there I was building a self-contained reactor the size of a battery powerful enough to light a city, but small enough to fit in my frame.

“Aortic tear in progress,” An artificially calm voice announced.

“What does that mean Mister?” Face tattoo guy asked, but even as he did, the wounded man breathed his last breath as his life’s blood spilled out.

“It means we need to focus our efforts on other places.” Beto announced, then moved to the security panel as if the whole thing were nothing more than a car that failed to start.

“What? That’s it? We must be able to do something for him. CPR or something!” Blue hair yelled and started toward Beto.

Beto paused just long enough to stare the man down. Whatever the man saw in Beto’s eyes, it stopped him in his tracks.

“CPR can’t put his heart back together. This aorta is torn. All that blood is gone. He’s dead.” The eerie level of calm Beto was exuding sent a chill into the room.

“Fuck man, that’s just cold.” Tattooed face growled, but both men stayed put.

“Eyes away.” I said loud enough for everyone to hear, then dropped my visor and started to ultraviolet solder together the electronics.

Seth stood in the same place as if lost. For a moment he looked like he might join his men, then Beto, as he monitored the security footage. Realizing he was out of his depth seemed to make him freeze.

“I’ve got a few heavy cargo trucks pulling in,” Beto called.

“How strange. I don’t recall placing any orders or allowing any late night shifts.” A husky southern voice drawled.

“Hello Rooker, I bet you’re glad I’m not back now,” I remarked without looking up.

“And yet, here you are, Bro, in my shop, and trouble is outside my door. Now, how did that happen?” Rooker said flatly and turned to his right-hand man. “Sit Rep Beto.” Rooker ordered, and Beto leapt into reporting.

“We have six to eight potential hostiles outside, headed for the entry. This is Seth and his goons. One came in wounded and is now dead. The others are fine.”

Rooker slid a toolbox to the right, and behind it a panel I hadn’t known existed slide aside. From it, he plucked a pair of shotguns from the racks. “And how did we get so popular this evening?”

“Seth and his goons stole from Amber from, Seth, who was moving it for The Faction.” Beto replied as Rooker tossed him a shotgun.

“I take it you had something to do with that Abby?” Rooker asked as he bound down the stairs to the garage floor.

“I owe Seth money. Seth wants me to build something with the Amber,” I responded, cutting to the quick of it, rather than draw out the details. There would be time for that later.

“I almost have the Amber shielded, but I need a few more minutes.” I said.

“The Faction can’t find us here or we’re dead!” Seth nearly growled.

“Okay, goons, get in the pit. Beto, roll your Cuda on the lift to conceal them.” Rooker ordered.

“My Cuda?” Beto asked and shot Rooker a warning glance.

“Oh, don’t worry you big baby, if anything happens I’ll pay for it,” Rooker snarked.

The men started to move, but Rooker held out a hand to hold them off. “Take your dead with you. I can explain a lot, but not one of your dead goons.”

Seth growled and motioned to his men to grab the body. Both men groaned, then picked up the man between them and threw the body into the pit without a second thought.

“There’s something leaking from the car, is that fuel?” The blue-haired goon pointed to a series of drops that trailed on the floor as Beto pushed the car easily up on the rack.

“No, it’s water,” Beto replied with a grunt, and pushed the car over the top of them as they looked up from the pit.

“So much for the hydrogen cell,” I scoffed, but Beto only shot me a look.

“What about the blood, Boss?” Beto asked.

“Grab that hydraulic fluid from the supply room. Make it like spilled from there, with luck the red will cover the smell and the color of the blood. Just do it quick, then set the shotgun out of sight and look busy.” Rooker called.

“I guess it already looks like I keep a shabby shop,” Beto grumbled as his eyes drifted to the water spill from the failed unit, and the audible drip, drip, drip from the leak.

“What a shit show,” he sighed, then grabbed the hydraulic fluid and spilled it on the floor, then laid the bottle down on the counter. There was way more fluid than the bottle explained, but all we could do was hope The Faction enforcers didn’t notice.

“Delay them as long as possible. I need a few more minutes, then the Amber will be undetectable,” I said, but even as I finished saying my piece, the door exploded open as if kicked by an elephant.

“Seth! Where are you, Seth?”

The Faction, a Neo- Kkangpae Mafia family, comprised members of both North and South Korea. Refugees from the fall of the North Korean state, under the conservative president of that period.

Forced to accept that their political faction had caused the situation the conservatives brought in the refugees to red states. In many ways, it created the exact ethnic take over they so feared. As populations boomed so did the crime rate, and soon The Faction was running the criminal empire in the state. They aren’t as big as they came, but they’re ruthless. This was something everyone knew and accepted.

The Hyungnim, or Faction lieutenant wasn’t trying to look like a stereotype, but he fit the mold, anyway. Dressed in a blue suit, with a white shirt and tie, he could have been any business executive in the area. Except, of course, for the bull pup machine gun, and HUD with targeting optics.

“Who you are looking for, friend?” Rooker said with a dangerous grin that even the mobster could read.

The Hyungnim came to a sudden stop, his arms out as if to block his men from progressing. With a concerted glance he took in the shop, his eyes falling first on the people, then the obstacles and exists. Finally, I could see him examine the Cuda, and in the silence only the water dropping from the car could be heard.

“Just a little coolant leak, we were just about to put her up on the rack and take a look, but obviously we otherwise keep a clean shop. Did you have some repairs you wanted us to consider?” Rooker said with his best sales agent smile.

The leader narrowed his eyes, a passive smile touching his lips. We were dealing with a professional, we all knew it, and the knowledge only made the tension inside me grow.

“Seth, I am looking for him. We tracked him here.” He said.

He was a thickly build man, from his square skull and shoulders to his powerful chest and arms. On his face was a tattoo of a snake, with a lifelike head resting between his eyes.

“I ‘haven’t seen Seth since this morning when he was trying to hook up with Abby here. I guess he has a thing for woman who can’t feel how small his dick is.” Rooker said simply, a touch of humor in his voice knowing that Seth could hear him.

Rooker’s disposition, however was clearly that of a man who knew his business. Professional Tactical Solutions wasn’t just a fly-by-night operation. Rooker wasn’t just some security consultant. Everyone around here, from law enforcement officers to the local scum were well aware.

PTS were more than hired guns. PTS is who the hired guns had nightmares about.

“I am Hyungnim Sung-ho Jin.” He announced, then took a few steps forward. “This man, Seth, stole something from The Faction. Something worth starting a war,” he said with raised eyebrows and glower on his face.

“Don’t know where he is, friend.” Rooker responded.

The battery was complete, but I wasn’t feeling really positive about its detectability. For it to be secure, I needed to weld the shielding on, but I’d run out of time. Instead of being closed, it just sat inside the casing. The casing would help, but I couldn’t be certain nothing would escape.

“Then we are at an impasse.” Sung-ho Jin said and spread his arms wide, as if to say, “What can we do about this?”

“So we are. What would appease The Hyungnim? How can we resolve this little predicament?” Rooker glanced at the other men and saw as one of them started to lift his gun.

The motion set an explosion of movement and like lightning striking Beto’s weapon came up and somehow, maybe it was the drugs my own pistol was out. The shop’s security system kicked into high, and all the doors slammed closed and locked with a resounding boom.

“Well, that was dramatic.” Rooker yelled in a booming voice and raised his hands to stale Beto and I from firing. “Let’s not get overexcited.”

“Apologies, Mr. Rooker. My men know that this item, which was stolen from us, is worth more than their lives. They are keen to get it back. Failure for them is not an option.”

Sung-ho Jin slowly lifted his hand to his tie and adjusted it, and we could all clearly see the BLB tattoos on the back of his hand. “My former alliance once had friendly ties with PTS, perhaps it could again? Allow my man to scan the premises for the lost Item. If we find nothing, I will apologize, and amends can be made.”

Raising a brow, Rooker seem to consider it, then nodded his head once in agreement. I wanted to object, but I knew doing so would pull the muzzles off these dogs, and a lot of people would end up dead.

Sung-ho Jin jerked his head forward, and another man in a suit hurried forward. Unlike the others, he wore dark glasses and held a small black box with a wand attached to it.

Glancing down at the man, Sung-ho Jin smirked a little and harshly said, “Chajda.”

The small man went into motion, his head down as he watched the readings in his dark glasses and moved around the shop. As he moved, the others also moved, fanning out and looking around. I knew the search would take a little time, the unit he was using had limited range, and was most likely the one they used to confirm their payload was real.

“Bucket List Boys, eh?” Rooker asked, clearly making small talk, but I knew he was trying to forge bonds. Everyone in PTS had a job, and Rooker’s was the front man for sure. If anyone could work a deal, it was Rooker. He just had that way about him.

“He’s a cross between Matthew McConaughey from the Dallas Buyers Club and Michael Rooker from the actor from The Walking Dead.” Kane often reminded me, and claimed it was where he’d gotten the name. After showing me a picture, I had to admit there was resemblance.

“Ye.” Sung-ho Jin replied in Korean, but we all got the meaning, then glanced at Rooker’s hand.

“Oh no, I wasn’t a member. A guy named Kane used to be my Alpha Team leader. You know him?” Rooker asked but wasn’t appearing to name drop.

“Kane was part of the Boys. But that was a long time ago, and allegiances shift.” Sung-ho Jin responded and watched as his man walked around the room, scanning. I felt my heartbeat race as he neared me.

The man was using the scanning in the Montag method, which meant he was professionally trained. He wasn’t just some guy with a device; he was a professional who knew what he was doing. That could mean a lot of trouble.

The man paused and tilted his head to the side, then slowly raised his head and looked directly at me. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could see that his wand had stopped moving, and he was focused on me.

“That, Ambulatory Assistance Frame, that’s not conventional. Did you make it?” He asked, and everyone was suddenly focused on me.

“Ye.” I said in Korean and tried not to fidget.

The shop was once again silent except for the constant dripping. Each drop hit like the ticking of a clock, building the tension and fraying my nerves.

“You should invest in a more powerful battery. Something with a longer charge time, or include a charger in your system,” He said, then turned to continue scanning.

“Yeah, it’s a prototype.” I confirmed and nearly let out a laugh. This man either missed the battery sitting right next to me, or he intentionally overlooked it. By his comment, I was left wondering.

“Your battery is almost dead. You should change it out before you are left stranded.” He motioned to the A25 prototype and paused, waiting.

“Okay, sure.” I responded and with everyone watching I removed the conventional battery from my ASF. The prototype wasn’t specifically built for the ASF, but I had configured my frame to take multiple power cores.

As I clipped it in, I felt myself release a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. It fit snuggly and, in my optics, I could see the charge register as full.

The man smiled a little and pointed his wand at the spent battery, then frowned and moved away.

“I guess it wasn’t the dead battery,” Rooker said in a jovial tone.

Around us, the thugs eased up, and the tension dropped a few degrees.

“Like I said, there’s nothing here, Bro. Why don’t you send the boys home, you and me can go up to my office and have a nice glass of Soju and Lemon Soda, and talk about the future?”

Sung-ho Jin once more narrowed his eyes, perhaps the insulting drink offer, or because of the actual potential of making a short-term ally with PTS. Then, his head cocked slightly to the side.

“Whats the problem, friend? You have a call you need to take? I can wait till later for that drink,” Rooker said warmly, but even as his sentence ended, hies eyes widened just a little.

The dripping was gone.

“Seung-gang-gi!” Commanded Sung-ho Jin, and pointed to the 1971 Baracuda on the lift.

Rooker shot me a side urging caution, and Beto caught the movement as well. He didn’t want a fire fight bursting out any more than I did. However, if one did, it would be the three of us against Sung-ho Jin and his six- goons. It was better to wait.

The man with the sensor equipment glanced around, then hurried to the control button. Pausing for only a moment while the others got in position, the man looked right at Rooker, grinning and triumphant as he held down the lift button.

The car rose steadily as everyone watched, but when the man looked down, his face fell into a frown.

“Hyungnim! No one is in there.” The sensor operator said with surprise, but I knew the truth. The mechanic’s pit had more space down there than people expected and from where the man stood, he couldn’t see the men that were likely right below his feet.

IN a flurry of movement all the goons moved in closer to look, but by the time they noticed Seth and his goons the trap was sprung.

From below his feet, shots run out and two Korean gangsters went down hard, while a third had his leg blown out, sending him to the floor hard. Sung-ho Jin crouched down and backed away, his own gun coming out, but with the angles as they were, he had nothing to shoot at. Until he spotted us.

“Geogi! Get them!” he pointed at us and fired his bullpup at Rooker, sending us into cover.

The rounds flew around us, but even as we moved, Seth’s crew was crawling out of the pit, and Beto was returning fire. The odd swung in our favor quickly, and as another gangster went down, Sung-ho Jin headed for the door.

Rooker blasted another Gangster with the shotgun, sending him flying back into a shelf of fluids.

“Hey, take it easy on the shop!” Beto bellowed and stepped out in the open to fire his own shotgun. The impact slamming another’s into the wall and leaving one unwounded, and a second crawling in Sung-ho Jin’s direction.

“Now is not the time to worry about whose cleaning up!” Rooker screamed and shot the skinny sensor reader that was still standing over the put in the back of the head. Dramatically, the man fell, his body like it lost all bone structure as it tumbled into the pit. Meanwhile, I kept my head low and worked my way back to better cover after firing a round into the air.

Deploying the drones in a tight space was always trickier. I didn’t have open skies, and being a mechanical shop, there were a lot of devices and tools to mess things up. However, like clockwork, the three miniature drones were in the air and I was scanning for targets.

The size of dimes, the drones’ only real effective quality, was their speed. Once commanded to target someone, they leapt up to six hundred feet per second. While slow compared to most guns, the sharp design was plenty powerful enough to pierce most clothing, skin and bone, with little effort.

Seth went down hard rounds for a Bullpup stitching across his chest. No blood flew at first, and I realized he had on body armor, but blood erupted from between his lips, so I was guessing they’d ruptured something.

I sent a drone at Sung-ho Jin, who must have sensed it because he dove just before impact. With a glance, I sent the second drone after him. His movements made it hard, but the drone nailed him in the lower back, which didn’t stop him, but it slowed him down a lot.

Another exchange happened out of my line of sight, but above me another can of hydraulic fluids burst and the red shower that rained down on me made me lose focus. My last round went wild and crashing into the car.

“Can we please not shoot the million-credit, Classic car?” Beto pleaded in dead pan tones.

The shop went silent suddenly and I realized the firefight was over. On the floor lay five of the gangster’s bodyguards. Seth was gasping on the floor by the roll up doors, and his men were slumped just over the edge of the pit.

“Oh, Sung-ho Jin look at the mess you made,” Rooker called. Then he rested the barrel of his shotgun on his shoulder and walked over to where the man was still trying to drag himself away.

“Oh, don’t be a cliché. You can’t get away. If I’m going to shoot you, you’re dead.” Rooker said, Beto ambled over in their direction and paused nearby as if to listen.

“My famil-“

A shot rang out, and Rooker dove to the ground. My own reaction was muted because of my frame, but I also jerked and shied away.

“What the hell, Beto?” Rooker said loudly, as he held his ears.

The smoke from the recently discharged shotgun curled out of the empty chamber as Beto ejected the shell.

“Wasting time.” Beto groaned as he looked around the shop as if he couldn’t wait to get to cleaning up.

“Yeah, you fucking psycho but still.” Rooker agreed as he ran a finger under his lip absently. “I suppose you’re right. But I was hoping to feed Sung-ho Jin to the Vis-Dyn pukes he stole the Amber from. Maybe I can work something out with them.”

“Why would we need to do anything?” I asked, “We stole nothing, and we can give back the Amber.”

“It’s not that simple, Bro. We need The Faction off our backs. Do you think the Kkangpae Mafia families will just let this all go? At least if they are more concerned with Vis-Dyn and their stodges The Corporate Marines, then they are with finding out exactly how Sung-ho Jin died, we have some wiggle room.”

“So, we tell Vis-Dyn the truth, they can go after The Faction and we keep our mouths shut. I don’t see the problem,” I said with added heat. I wanted this whole night to be over. Vis-Dyn, PTS, shady deals, this was all too familiar too much like the old days that took him from me.

“Because Seth most likely shot off his mouth about the whole thing. He wanted street cred, and he wanted to become more respected. Too bad he was too stupid to either,” Beto said.

“So, what do you think? He talked and told them about us?” I asked.

“Bro, you know Seth,” Rooker dead panned.

“I didn’t say shit!” Seth coughed up more blood, the droplets falling on his cheek.

He was right. Seth was a slimy worm of a man, with an ambition to rival Vis-Dyn itself. He would see getting one over on the Mafia a feather in his cap. And if I had built him the area denial weapon, he wanted he’d have had a chance.

“Vis-Dyn will put the pieces together, and eventually it will lead back to us. People know Seth has been poking around, and they know he has been talking big. Once the Marine Corporation is put on the case, we’d be found out,” I concluded.

“Hey, you can’t just let me die here. Don’t ignore me, you owe me, you owe it to Kane,” He croaked.

“Still wasting time.” Beto repeated as he dragged the bodies over to the roll-up door, as easily as if he were moving dust tarps.

“He has a point. We can’t just let Seth die,” I said, grabbing the medical scanner and ambled over toward him.

“We can’t shelter him,” Beto said, looking at Seth like his next victim. “Vision Dynamics wants him, The Faction wants him, if we admit to being connected to this to either, we’ll be fighting the other, I say we kill him and toss him out with the rest of the trash. We can say they took each other out.”

Broken bones at 3, 7 and 11. Right lung collapsed. Proposed needle chest decompression to increase likelihood of survival.

In my head, I could already see what was going to happen, but I just couldn’t accept it. Things like this were above my pay grade. Normally the big wigs decided and Kane dealt us in, or folded us out of the game. Without him, I felt paralyzed, uncertain, even if the obvious outcome was clear.

Ignoring Seth’s scream, I stripped off his armored coat and shirt. Where he’d been hit, I could see bruises were already appearing.

“Seth, this is going to pinch a bit,” I said and grinned, knowing it would hurt like hell.

Pulling out a large-bore needle, I located the intercostal space between the third and forth rib and pressed the needle in.

“Oh, god no!” Seth screamed, but as I glanced at Beto, I could see the big man was smiling a little. A shiver went down by back, but Beto wasn’t the only one on my mind.

“I don’t. I can’t go against Marine Corporation again.” I felt my throat closing and forced myself to take a suddenly shuddering breath.

“You can make your own way, Abby.” The memory of Zita’s voice said just inside my conscious thought, but I pushed it away as the panic started to rise.

“I know you can’t, Abbs. So, this is what we’re going to do. You’re gonna take that job I told you about this morning. I’ll tell them you two left this morning, and this dust up just took place here while Seth was looking for you.”

“What are you going to do with me, Rooker? You owe Kane, you betrayed him to Vision Dynamics, don’t do the same to me,” Seth said and tried to prop himself up on his elbows.

“Beto, come on man, we’re Bucket List bothers, man. I’ve never betrayed your loyalty, man, never,” Seth pleaded.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Seth?” I asked confused.

“If we can get some distance, fast, and I can stay here and work my magic, we might be able to skate on this,” Rooker said.

“Rooker, what is Seth talking about?” I asked again.

“No one ratted you out, Seth. But, you’re right about loyalty,” Rooker rolled his neck on his shoulders and let out a resigned sigh.

“What do you want me to do, Boss?” Beto asked patiently.

“You still have connections in the Bucket list boys? If so, I need you to take this sack of shit back to one of their safe houses, somewhere they can get him medical care.”

“Who’s going to clean this place up? Put it in order?” Beto said as if it were the most important issue of the night. And, perhaps to him it was. Most of the guys he targeted were making mess of his shop. I was almost convinced he would have shot me for flying that drone into the classic ford mustang on the lift if he had the angle.

“Beto, I have over fifty employees. I’m sure they can get it cleaned up,” Rooker said, exasperated.

“Not correctly.” Beto grumbled and headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Rooker asked but leaving a trail of blood boot prints Beto just kept walking, turning his head slightly to reply, “Get a couple guys to carry his litter. The sooner we get done the sooner I can come back and put my house in order.”

“It’s my business, not your house!” Rooker complained, but Beto was already marching up the stairs.