Wegner went down. The three men behind him rushed in with fists swinging. Mongo launched at Rip while the other two lunged for Chance.

The infiltrator was smaller but he proved quicker, jumping out of the way before they could reach him. Unable to arrest their momentum, they slammed into the plank bar, making it bend in the middle. In one smooth motion Chance grabbed his stool and slammed it over the back of the closest man, shattering the wood and knocking him to the floor.

The other man recovered, bouncing off the bar. He pulled out a switchblade, snicking it open and glaring at Chance.

The infiltrator glanced down at the knife and decided it had to be enhanced, just like the thugs. He looked back up into the man’s bright blue eyes . . . and ran out the door. For a split second the thug looked surprised, then he raced after Chance. His partner pulled himself up off the floor and ran out, too.

The man behind Wegner came in swinging and Rip put his fists up, blocking the blows. Rip grunted as the man swung high again, then came in low too fast for him to block. Sensing an opening, Mongo activated a skill and his forearm started spinning in a fist cyclone. He pattered into Rip’s belly and face, blurring with speed.

Rip kneed Mongo in the groin, disrupting the skill. He pushed away, sore, and reached into a jacket pocket to retrieve his enhanced wrench, the one item kept outside his interspatial wallet. Mongo dropped to his knees, then the floor, writhing in pain.

“Mutti . . .”

Wegner stood up, sunglasses cracked and askew. His arm whirred and clicked as he took them off his face and placed them neatly inside his suit coat, a furious expression on his face.

The prosthetic swiveled outward, metal fingers balling up into a fist in a series of five tiny clicks. He glared at Rip, the slight bruise on his chin from the shattered mug rapidly shrinking.

Rip put his dukes up again, this time with his right hand gripping the wrench.

Wegner moved in fast with an uppercut, which Rip easily blocked. The baron’s artificial arm whirred then blurred like a jackhammer, seeming to punch him in ten places at once. Rip stepped back, staggering. Wegner smiled, the scars on his cheeks scrunching up in a tight web. The arm fell to his side, the wind up mechanism expended.

“Enhanced metal hurts, ja?”

Rip shook it off, wiping his face. Pain registered all over. He frowned back at Wegner, annoyed.

What is it with Germans and punching skills? Let’s give him a taste of his own medicine.

Rip activated [Vampiric Speed] and pummeled Wegner’s face with the enhanced wrench, striking him a dozen times in the blink of an eye. He kept hammering against the man’s temple.

Wegner went down again, this time losing consciousness.

Rip stood on his knees, catching his breath.

He said, “You tell me.”

Mongo slowly pulled up to his feet, still holding his crotch. His eyes widened in surprise, tracking Wegner to the floor. Then they narrowed as his head turned up and regarded Rip.

“Keine Fähigkeiten.”

Rip sneaked a quick glance at the translation popup. He thought if the guy spoke much more, the implant’s audible translator would kick in, which would prove very useful while fighting.

Then I wouldn’t have to stop and read everything.

“No more skills, huh? Whatcha got, Mongo?”

The big man tilted his head on top of a very thick neck, giving Rip a confused look.

Rip decided Mongo did not speak English, so he waggled his fingers in a come hither motion, fists up.

The German charged in with a roar, bent over with both hands out. Despite the demand to use no skills, Rip slipped into [Stealth] and sidestepped. But Mongo must have had a counter skill because he adjusted course at the last second.

They slammed into the bar, shattering the plank. The big man drove Rip back into shelves filled with bottles, raining down glass and liquor. The bartender jumped out of the way, screaming.

Mongo wrapped his arms around Rip and squeezed with biceps as wide as young trees. Rip felt his chest compress, and he struggled to escape as his feet lifted off the floor.

Mongo grunted and activated a skill. The pressure on Rip increased exponentially, and stars burst in his vision.

He yelled, and his implant popped up with a notification about [Unbreakable Will].

Instead of trying to break the man’s arms open with his upper body, Rip flexed his legs against the pub’s wall and pushed hard. Mongo stumbled backward, tripping over the busted wood of the bar and the broken stool. He fell to the floor like a bag of bricks, making the thin boards bend. His grip loosened and another popup let Rip know his [Disarm Traps] skill had ticked up a notch.

Rip’s wrestled free an arm and punched the man in the crotch again, a strategy which had worked so well the first time. Mongo’s grip loosened some more. This time Rip pulled free, standing up and backing away.

The big man curled up into a fetal position, groaning softly again, his face displaying a rictus of pain.

“Let me introduce you,” Rip said, panting, his chest throbbing, “to the fine sport of wrestling.”

He climbed up on a barstool and jumped on the German, slamming down on Mongo’s face with the enhanced wrench as hard as he could.

The battered floorboards cracked and gave way. The big man fell through, his weight splintering more wood on the way out. Rip spread his arms wide, arresting his own downward motion. He stayed inside, staring down through the hole as broken wood fluttered away.

Mongo tumbled under the platform, bouncing off a support beam and a couple suspension ropes. Then his body fell free in the open air, dropping . . . dropping . . .

Rip heard a terrified scream drift up. He watched Mongo’s body grow smaller and smaller, until it plopped into a puffy white cloud far below and disappeared.