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The man with the mohawk narrowed his eyes, looking at Mason’s foot, but didn’t say anything.
 
He held back, his fingers twitching at his side.

The woman laughed.
 
It sounded genuine.
 
“I’m sorry, what—”

Mason tucked the swords by his side, throwing himself into a tumble towards the big man.
 
The woman’s sub machine guns chattered after him, tearing chunks out of the floor.
 
Mason’s roll took him behind the big man, the woman’s guns still firing.
 
A look of horror passed over her face as the big man stumbled, blood spraying from the bullet holes.
 
Nasty — explosive rounds
.
 
Mason pulled the swords out, stepping over the big man’s corpse.
 
He swung twice, then stepped back.

Red tattoo looked down at the stumps of her arms where her hands had been.
 
The sub machine guns had fallen to the ground, hands still holding the grips.
 
Mason stepped towards her, and she started to back away, leaving a trail of dark red on the ground, the spatters coming from her wrists.
 
She stumbled once as her foot hit the table Mason had crouched behind.

“You—” she said.

Mason stepped forward, planting his foot into her stomach and pushing.
 
She stumbled back, hitting the window, the glass cracking.
 
Mason frowned, then did a spin, the kick hitting her high in the chest.
 
The woman’s body smashed through the window and out.
 
A half a second later a thump rose from the street below.

He turned back and looked at the big man’s body.
 
There were bullet holes up his leg and into his chest.
 
No groin shot
.
 
“Close enough,” Mason said.
 
He held the swords loose by his side, small drops of red falling from the blades.

A slow clapping sound made him turn.
 
Mohawk had his hands held in front of him, fingerless gloves muffling and shaping the sound at the same time.
 
The last Tiger said, “Impressive, company man.”

“I wish you guys wouldn’t call us that.”

“It’s what you are.”

Mason shrugged.
 
“It’s no crime to have a job.”

A smile tugged at Mohawk’s lips.
 
“Come now.
 
You take it a bit further than just a job.”

“Maybe.”
 
Mason flicked some of the blood off one of the swords, the drops spattering against the floor.
 
“Still no crime.
 
Now take you guys.
 
Coming in here.
 
Busting up the place—”

“We own the place.”

“—busting up the place, attacking me and my associates.
 
That sounds like a crime.”

Mohawk put a little pout into his voice.
 
“Aww.
 
Did we hurt your delicate corporate negotiations?”

It was Mason’s turn to smile.
 
There wasn’t anything happy about it.
 
“You have no idea.
 
Tell me, what’s your malfunction?”

“My malfunction?”

“Yeah.
 
You come in here, a bunch of big swinging dicks.
 
Aside from,” and here Mason tipped his head at the broken window, “your token female.”

“She wasn’t a token.
 
She was my girlfriend.”

“Unlucky,” said Mason.
 
“So you come in here, wanting to pick a fight with ‘company men.’
 
You can’t win that fight.”

“I don’t know.
 
It almost worked.”

“Didn’t even come close,” said Mason.
 
“Now it’s just you and me.”

“Sam is still out there.”

“Sam?”

“The big guy.”

“Ah,” said Mason.
 
“The enforcer.”

“Yeah,” said Mohawk.
 
“I guess you’d call him that.”

Mason took a step forward.
 
Mohawk stepped back.
 
Mason nodded, then said, “Sam’s a smoking ruin right now.”

“He’s a total conversion.
 
Against a norm?
 
Please.”

Mason laughed, a little mirth in it this time.
 
“That guy wasn’t a norm.
 
He was Metatech.”

“Meta…
 
Shit.”
 
Mohawk shrugged.
 
“Ok, so Sam’s probably dead.
 
But we got one of yours.”
 
The man pointed towards the Reed man, lying still on the ground.

“He’s not one of mine,” said Mason.
 
“We going to do this, or what?”

“Do what, company man?”
 
But Mohawk started to move, and Mason followed, the two men circling each other in the middle of the room.
 
Mohawk reached into his jacket, his hand coming clear holding what looked like the grip of a sword.
 
There was no blade.

Mason looked down at the butterfly swords he held.
 
“Don’t you think that’s a little unfair?”

Mohawk smiled, his lips thin and nasty.
 
“Sometimes it’s got to be like that.”

Mason’s overlay fuzzed with static again, then cleared.
 
A blinking cursor on the bottom right spat out some text.
 
The text said
systems online
.
 
Mason smiled.
 
“Yeah.
 
Sometimes it’s got to be like that.”
 

He tapped the lattice, overtime rising like a tide.
 
The color washed from the light.
 
Mason’s lips felt too slow and thick to speak.
 
His optics marked the sword grip the other man held, picking out the nano filament blade of the weapon as it slid out.

They ran at each other, but the outcome was certain.
 
Mohawk’s sword was held high over his head, a classic
kendo
strike.
 
Mason slipped to the side, the lattice gritty and unsynchronized against his muscles as he stepped to the side.
 
He struck behind him, both blades entering the other man’s back.
 
Mason felt the other man shudder through the grips of his sword, then a clatter as the nano filament sword fell from his hands.

Mason smoothed the lattice off, overtime dropping like a shroud.
 
He tasted cinnamon and spat on the floor.
 
He checked the other man
— dead
— and then went to look at Mohawk’s fallen sword.

The handle was standing up from the floor, the blade fallen right through.
 
He could hear a soft hum from the weapon.
 
Vibroblade, maybe
.
 
He didn’t touch it, thinking of the Tenko-Senshin in his holster.
 
“Carter.”

“Yes, Mason.”

“We’re going to need a clean up crew down here.”

“They’re already on their way.”

“Cops?”

“Of course.”

“Can you—”

“You talk to the cops,” she said.
 
“I’ll talk to the chief of police.”

“Thanks, Carter.”
 
Mason walked back to the window, looking out.
 
The steady stream of people on the sidewalk continued to walk past and over the woman’s body that had fallen on the street below.
 
“I hate Chinatown.”

⚔ ⚛ ⚔

The cop was a short fat man who smelled of bad coffee and too much work.
 
His body armor didn’t quite cover him, stomach pushing through between the chest and leg plates.

“So,
citizen
,” the cop said.
 
“You were just minding your own business.”

“That’s not what I said,” said Mason.
 
“I was trying to have a business meeting.”

“Right,” said the cop.
 
“Minding your own business, like I said.”

Mason looked down at the man.
 
“You make it sound like it’s…
 
What’s that thing you guys do?
 
That’s it,” he said, smacking one fist into his other palm.
 
“Like it’s a crime.
 
You do crime, don’t you?
 
Fight it, I mean.”

“Look, pal—”

Mason held up a hand, stepping back from the smell that peeled away from the cop.
 
He watched the police drone hover over the scene.
 
Red and blue lights licked over the walls as it scanned, light lasing out in flashes of green to mark out things the tiny AI considered evidence.
 
It had stopped over the grip of the sword sticking out of the ground.

The cop looked over his shoulder at the drone.
 
“Got something to add to your statement?
 
Maybe want to tell me about the sword?”

“No.”
 
Mason sighed.
 
“It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“What?”
 
The cop stepped up to Mason, looking up into his face.
 
Mason tried not to breathe.
 
“What doesn’t have to be this way?”

“Am I free to go?”

“Are you..?
 
No, you’re not free to go.”
 
The cop took a step back.
 
“What’s your rush?”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No.”

“Then I’m free to go.”
 
Mason nodded at the man, then started towards the doorway to the restaurant.
 
He stepped over the bodies on the floor.
 
He paused by the Reed man.

The cop was a half step behind.
 
“Hey, buddy—”
 
He put a hand on Mason’s arm.

Mason stopped, looking down at the hand.
 
The cop followed his gaze, then pulled his hand back like he’d been stung.
 
“Are you putting me under arrest?”

“I’ve still got questions.
 
Shit, wait a second.”

“What is it?”

“I got a call coming in.”

Mason nodded.
 
“You’d best take that.
 
It’s your boss.”

“My…
 
What?”

“Your boss.”
 
Mason shrugged.
 
“I don’t know about you, but I usually answer when the boss calls.”

“Look, just…
 
Shit.”
 
The shorter man pointed at Mason, the armor of his gloves worn.
 
Police budgets don’t stretch quite far enough, do they?
 
“Don’t go anywhere.”
 
The cop got a distant look as he took the call.
 
Cheap uplink, probably.
 
No multitasking upgrade.

Mason crouched by Reed’s body.
 
“Carter?”

“Yes, Mason.”

“I take it that the chief of police is calling?”
 
He reached for the dead man’s sunglasses.

“I hope so, Mason.
 
I woke him up.”

“How’d he take it?”
 
The sunglasses came free.
 
Mason looked at them.
 
A nice pair, but nothing special.
 
Nothing you’d be testing out for the company.

“Not well.”

“Do I have anything to worry about?”

Carter barked a laugh.
 
“You?
 
You’ve got lots to worry about.
 
There’s a couple rival syndicates caught up in this now.
 
One of them’s got a dead agent.
 
And you’ve managed to piss off a local gang.”

“I meant, from the cops.”

“Oh,” said Carter.
 
“Them.
 
No.”

“No?”

“No.
 
The South Sun Tigers, though.
 
Those guys…”

“I understand.”
 
Mason sighed.
 
“Look, what do you think of this?”
 
He held up the sunglasses in front of his optics so Carter could take a scan.

“I…”
 
Carter paused as the overlay mapped the sunglasses, a manufacturer and model number flicking up into the corner of his vision.
 
“They’re sunglasses.
 
Pretty expensive ones, but off the rack.
 
Nothing custom.”

“Right.”
 
Mason reached down to the dead man’s face, pulling it towards him.
 
“Ah.”

“Ah?”

Under the body was a spread of red, too shiny to be blood.
 
“That’s not blood.”

“No,” said Carter.
 
“Then—”

“This guy isn’t dead.”

“It’s not a guy,” said Carter.
 
“Kick it to thermal for a second.”

Mason nodded, his optics flashing into the softer blues and brighter reds of thermal.
 
He looked around at the bodies around him, their bodies already cooling in death, then back down to Reed’s body.

Stone cold, except for a bright burst at the core, a rectangle of white heat against the cold blue of the body.
 
“Is that..?”

“Yes,” said Carter.
 
“Reed Interactive sent a robot to meet you.”

“It wasn’t a robot,” said Mason.

“You’re sure?”

“Play back the video, Carter.
 
It wasn’t a robot.”

There was a pause.
 
“You’re right.
 
It wasn’t a robot.
 
Say.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s not a robot, but looks like one?
 
If you were into synthetic entertainment, what’s the next logical step?”

“Jesus, Carter.
 
Is this some kind of sex bot?”