It was all part of the “game”, cruel and vicious…all aspects that came along with a black market run site. However, there were some people out there, smart enough to work in a service business model. Monthly maintenance at a small fee. Smart, because maintaining your prosthetics was a full-time job.

“Nova, keep track of anyone that comes within twenty meters of me, track their patterns and zero down on who could be following,” I said aloud.

“Affirmative.”

I made a series of left and right turns, eventually circling back to the escalator.

I felt as if someone was eyeing me the entire time, and not from above. Nothing. I couldn’t really understand where this uneasy feeling came from. I turned around and rounded a Gimbap and Noodle stall and sauntered up four floors as fast as I could.

The twelfth floor wasn’t as active as the previous eleven floors. I went down the corridor, catching glimpses of honeyed meat, braised lamb and spiced wings. It was a food connoisseur’s delight.

I stopped and turned, feeling as if someone was following me closely and finally caught sight of who it was.

The kid had a metal face, sculpted into a traditional Japanese mask with red markings slotted into the section where dimples would be. Thin blue lines fell from below the mask’s eyes, no, not mask, but his eyes. His eyes were white and lacked pupils, giving him a blank stare. No emotion was written across their ‘new’ face, but that was what to expect when someone changed their entire face.

The surgery was well-constructed, I couldn’t help but admire it, but then he opened his mouth. The canines of the mask curved in opposing directions, yellow mist exhuming from ‘mouth’ in such a menacing way.

The inner inlay of his mouth glowed dark-red, leaving a distinct look when he formed words through the mist, talking to his friend.

The outfit he wore was strictly urban white sneakers, blue sweat pants with red and white LED lights stitched at the side blinking intermittently, He wore a RED hoodie with pockets sewn to the sides, where his hands were slipped in.

I turned left, and inspected the jewellery, making it seem that it was my intention. Unknownst to him though, I saw him step back, hesitant by my sudden turn as if he didn’t expect to be seen.

If that wasn’t a Hannya Boy, then I don’t know anything and trust me. I know one when I see one. I ground my teeth and nodded. I guess Zade’s tip was right. I thought bitterly, this Akatani fellow seems to be real...but. “...you’re in my world now,” I whispered with a laugh, noting this bastard knew nothing about tailing.

“Does he have comms Nova?” I calmly asked the AA. As I approached another stall.

“Comms detected” Nova confirmed.

“See if you can piggyback off the source signal and hack into the comms,” I told the AA.

“Checking now.”

The scent of silicone and rust bombarded my nose, making it twitch. “How much?” I asked the young vendor, pointing towards a broken prosthetic where the microchips around the bicep area were revealed.

“This here?” He asked, pointing to the correct item.

“Yeah, that one.”

The young vendor grabbed the prosthesis and handed it to me. I turned the prosthesis in my hand, inspected as critically as I possibly could, feeling the succulent silicon composite making up the sleeve. It was soft and pristine, despite being in these conditions, unlike my sleeve.

“You treat your wares well, Kid,” I said.

“No one wants a broken prosthesis. I have to wipe these down weekly, and inspect each one accordingly.”

I looked around the stall, noting the three rows of prosthetics limbs. One row on the right was dedicated to arms, whilst the row on the far left was dedicated to legs. There was a row in the back that seemed to be for marinating biochips in a solvent, to keep them from rusting.

“I see, is this third-generation silicon-based?” I asked the young vendor.

“Not quite, this is the fifth generation.”

“Interesting. what is this then?” I said placing the prosthetic on the parchment and began rolling up my left sleeve.

I outstretched my cybernetic arm to the vendor and watched his eyes beam in amazement. The excitement that he showed just from eyeing my arm, put a smile on my face which made me note that the kid had an admiration for prosthetics.

“Is this a fourth-generation prosthetic? Stancer Tech, right?” He asked.

“Sixth Generation actually, but you’re right, this is Stancer Tech.”

“It’s beautiful.” He said, eyes gleaming silver from the colour of the anti-piercing plating.

“I’m sure it is…price for the third-gen?” I asked, knowing full well he never answered the question earlier.

“1000 Creds.”

“Steep, aren’t you? I'll take it for 600 creds. However, you see that yarn of wiring…attach it to the arm and make a modular device to clench its fist at whim. Can you get it done?”

“600 Creds?” The young vendor objected.

“Think before you speak, you could be missing out on a deal here, Kid,” I said.

The young vendor rubbed his temple, contemplating on whether it was a good deal or not, “Deal.”

“How long before you can rig something up?” I asked.

“Fifteen minutes, the most, unless you want something more complex than clutch and release.”

“Good,” I said.

I walked over to his Creditswipe machine and tapped my creditstrip against it, typing in 1100 CREDS. Labour and Wiring. He probably doesn’t know how good it takes to rig something up like that in fifteen minutes.

I then shifted my focus back to the white transponder line and continued my trek to Shedrick’s delivery locale. As I stalked off, the Hannya Boy came alive again, showing interest in the jewellery store opposite me. The fool.

I made a quick right, then a sharp left, easing through a crowd of Japanese ‘idols’ wearing miniskirts, singing as loud as they possibly could through their speaker-mics. I circled all the way round to the escalator again.

As I climbed the escalator, I watched as four more of the Hannya Boys were still searching for me with bemused faces. All I could do was laugh and shake my head.

Despite giving them the shift, I still felt uneasy, as if someone had been watching me. These Japanese-mask kids didn't have the hot breath I felt at the back of my neck like a wolf would hunting its prey. It was ever-present, and still not there…like a hollowed heat of anger. Who are you? Whoever these Japanese-mask certainly didn’t feel like them. It was best to figure out who they were first. Then, they catch the real pursuant.

“Nova, how many gangs use Japanese styled masks as faces?”

“Fifteen gangs in Bridge City alone whilst there are sixty-seven throughout the Federation Sir.”

“Use the snapshot I took as a basis for your search.”

“The style matches three known surgeons within Bridge City.

“Three surgeons? Ok well, let’s narrow it down. Who are these gangs that conduct business with these three surgeons?”

“Noho Telkons, Kitsune Kraizens, Hannya Boys, Tengu Assassins.”

I made my way to the fifteenth floor, which didn’t take long for me to find the store, a three-minute walk from the escalator.

The sign underneath the slide indoor read “Yozik’s”. It illumed in yellow with a green outline, trying its best to catch anyone’s attention. It worked because it caught mine.

It was well lit and the sound of water filled the room with a peaceful nuance, as it flowed into my ear, like a river. It was peaceful, tranquil and provided relief for my anxiety.

As I browsed the pet store, on the right, fish swarmed around each other in a giant aquarium. A written sign hovered over it: Guppy Fish. Its stencilled background held a magnified poster of an ocean beach long gone, with the words WELCOME TO ANTIGUA. The fish were orange with soft spots of black and white intricately knitted into its scales and had long extravagant tails trailing behind them. In the aquarium to my left, the fish zipped back and forth, a lot more vigorously. Betta (Siamese fighting fish). The tails that embellished them from behind cut the water easily when they manoeuvred. That wasn’t even the most beautiful thing about them. It was the prism-Esque glow they held. I’ll buy one another time.

I walked over to the counter to meet, who I assumed was Yozik. Thankfully, the room was empty, so I could conduct my business. “C856-B98-E21475,” I said gruffly.

Yozik flashed a grim smile. “One second,” He said in a singing tone. I turned around again and eyed the fish, biting my bottom lip, hypnotized by the Betta’s elegance. “Maybe I should get one now,” I mused.

The dangle of the shingles chimed, fostering Yozik’s return. The slim man placed an Oval metallic casing on the counter. I rolled it into position, feeling like the cold steel of the surface slid through my fingers. When I finally got it upright I tapped in my code and a loud hiss of compressed air rushed from within the package seeking its freedom.

I slid the lid up and saw my item. “Shedrick really does know my style,” I thought with a grin. A heavy pistol sculpted to my grip alone. Teleari-X, the pistol was one of Gunfer’s Customs. They usually did a custom job on any particular item I’d request, and this was one of them.

I was tempted to lift the pistol out of the metallic casing, but I couldn’t afford to get Yozik in trouble with the Mangol. Guns weren’t allowed, but deliveries were, once a weapon wasn’t brandished.

I closed back down the lid back before the vendor’s gaze could catch sight of my weapon. Hopefully, I didn’t need to use it. Hopefully, I did. I had a lot of pent up stress to vent, ever since Eclain sucker-punched me, maybe the Hannya Boys would get their due….or not.

“How much?”

“200 Creds.”

“Done,” I swiped Yozik’s datapad, scooped up my metallic case in my arm and made my way to the door without waiting for the approval ding.

The door slid open. Three men with Japanese masks for faces stood around the door, one in front of me and two to the side. They stood there with a menacing pose, steam flowing from their mouths.

“Found ya…” the Hannya Boy with the red Hoodie said. He stood in front of me, posing as if he owned the world. A woman and daughter scuttled between us, noticing the atmosphere far better than the cartman who was still trying to strike a deal with a passer-by.

If there was a time for a quip it would be now, but none came. So I exercised what I thought was the best question to ask in a situation like this.

“Who’s gonna go down first?”