bunched and scarred ugly round it. His left eye was missing and a low-grade replacement winked in its stead, glittering with anticipated vengeance.
Some way off behind Tufa stood two others. They were huge, hulking men, more massive than Otto. Bad cy-jobs, overamped-up metal Marys, faces stretched like sausage skin, pumped up on steroids and aug drugs and full of knock-off Sinosiberian cybertech. Impressive on the street, not to Otto. He appraised them coolly, near-I adjutant running a threat scan, quickly coming to the conclusion that he could take them both easy enough; they were stronger than him, but Otto had the edge in training and experience. Trouble was, they were both packing flechette rifles and had spread themselves carefully. He'd kill one in a heartbeat, but he'd never get them both down before one filled him full of hypersonic darts or laid his skull wide open. That'd be fatal, even for him. He'd have to bide his time.
"I like your new look, Tufa. You get that in jail?" said Otto.
"This and a lot more, fucker," said Tufa. "Five years I was rotting in that Laotian hole. Five years, Klein, five long years where I've had nothing but your death to think about, and I've been real creative. I'm going to take my time on you."
"The weeks must have flown by."
"Fucking shut up!" Without warning, Tufa stretched out his arm and shot Otto. A standard carbon hardpoint, not much danger. The bullet buried itself in the flesh of Otto's belly, coming to rest against a sheet of his internal armour. Otto grunted. His gut stung as if the devil himself had dipped his steaming trident in and out. Healthtech stemmed the bloodflow. He would give Tufa no satisfaction by revealing his pain.
"How did you like that, you soppy cunt? Not laughing now, eh? Oh, I'm going to have some fun with you, I paid a lot of money to get you here, and I want my money's worth. I've waited a long time, a real long time, I ain't going to rush, oh no, I ain't going to rush." He cackled. The man had plainly gone insane. That wasn't helping the odds.
"So you said," said Otto through clenched teeth.
"Shut up or I swear I'll off you now, you smart-arsed German fuck, value for money or not! Now," said Tufa, his voice tight, "walk over to that warehouse, we're going inside." He gestured across the way to the building Otto had been watching.
"Right."
"Yeah, 'right', and you'll do it now or my friends here will play pincushion with your hide, got it?" He waved a sophisticated-looking phone mockingly at Otto. "I wouldn't bother calling that friend of yours if I were you. I've got you jammed, haven't I? Launcey was good, real good. Audio bafflers, Grid suppressors… the lot. Expensive, but I got your supposedly oh-so-uncrackable MT cipher, haven't I?"
"I am honoured you went to so much trouble, but you should have spent something on yourself, bought yourself something pretty."
"Ha! Money well spent, I said that, didn't I? I mean it. All of it from my jobs, all gone. On you." He pointed at Otto, his hand coming up and down with oddly feminine delicacy. It wavered in the air; he was high on something. He smiled, his deformities dragging his mouth into a leer.
"That's a nice smile," said Otto, "it must have been a hit with the ladies back in the slammer, not that they'd get much of a view of your face."
"Shut up!" roared Tufa, his face red. He held out his gun and shot Otto again, close by the first bullet. "Got that?" This time Otto really felt it. He charged his healthtech to deal with it quickly; this was a more serious wound. He almost vomited. He hated vomiting. He gagged, his mouth filling with alkali saliva. Spit and a little blood ran from his mouth. He staggered, but did not fall.
"Loud and clear," said Otto. A wave of nausea passed over him again, his skin prickled. To say his gut hurt was a monumental understatement. The bad cy-jobs grinned at him evilly as they followed him over to the
Some way off behind Tufa stood two others. They were huge, hulking men, more massive than Otto. Bad cy-jobs, overamped-up metal Marys, faces stretched like sausage skin, pumped up on steroids and aug drugs and full of knock-off Sinosiberian cybertech. Impressive on the street, not to Otto. He appraised them coolly, near-I adjutant running a threat scan, quickly coming to the conclusion that he could take them both easy enough; they were stronger than him, but Otto had the edge in training and experience. Trouble was, they were both packing flechette rifles and had spread themselves carefully. He'd kill one in a heartbeat, but he'd never get them both down before one filled him full of hypersonic darts or laid his skull wide open. That'd be fatal, even for him. He'd have to bide his time.
"I like your new look, Tufa. You get that in jail?" said Otto.
"This and a lot more, fucker," said Tufa. "Five years I was rotting in that Laotian hole. Five years, Klein, five long years where I've had nothing but your death to think about, and I've been real creative. I'm going to take my time on you."
"The weeks must have flown by."
"Fucking shut up!" Without warning, Tufa stretched out his arm and shot Otto. A standard carbon hardpoint, not much danger. The bullet buried itself in the flesh of Otto's belly, coming to rest against a sheet of his internal armour. Otto grunted. His gut stung as if the devil himself had dipped his steaming trident in and out. Healthtech stemmed the bloodflow. He would give Tufa no satisfaction by revealing his pain.
"How did you like that, you soppy cunt? Not laughing now, eh? Oh, I'm going to have some fun with you, I paid a lot of money to get you here, and I want my money's worth. I've waited a long time, a real long time, I ain't going to rush, oh no, I ain't going to rush." He cackled. The man had plainly gone insane. That wasn't helping the odds.
"So you said," said Otto through clenched teeth.
"Shut up or I swear I'll off you now, you smart-arsed German fuck, value for money or not! Now," said Tufa, his voice tight, "walk over to that warehouse, we're going inside." He gestured across the way to the building Otto had been watching.
"Right."
"Yeah, 'right', and you'll do it now or my friends here will play pincushion with your hide, got it?" He waved a sophisticated-looking phone mockingly at Otto. "I wouldn't bother calling that friend of yours if I were you. I've got you jammed, haven't I? Launcey was good, real good. Audio bafflers, Grid suppressors… the lot. Expensive, but I got your supposedly oh-so-uncrackable MT cipher, haven't I?"
"I am honoured you went to so much trouble, but you should have spent something on yourself, bought yourself something pretty."
"Ha! Money well spent, I said that, didn't I? I mean it. All of it from my jobs, all gone. On you." He pointed at Otto, his hand coming up and down with oddly feminine delicacy. It wavered in the air; he was high on something. He smiled, his deformities dragging his mouth into a leer.
"That's a nice smile," said Otto, "it must have been a hit with the ladies back in the slammer, not that they'd get much of a view of your face."
"Shut up!" roared Tufa, his face red. He held out his gun and shot Otto again, close by the first bullet. "Got that?" This time Otto really felt it. He charged his healthtech to deal with it quickly; this was a more serious wound. He almost vomited. He hated vomiting. He gagged, his mouth filling with alkali saliva. Spit and a little blood ran from his mouth. He staggered, but did not fall.
"Loud and clear," said Otto. A wave of nausea passed over him again, his skin prickled. To say his gut hurt was a monumental understatement. The bad cy-jobs grinned at him evilly as they followed him over to the
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