Snippet #2768878

Julius kept eyes forward during the little barroom confrontation, making a study of the bottles lined up behind the bar. It was quickly over. Reaching for a coat pocket, Julius pulled a business card out and dropped it pointedly on the floor where the cyborg cradled his damaged hand. He needed to overhaul his framework. His hand had crumpled like cheap aluminum. Of course, using cheap aluminum suggested he couldn't afford quality. If he visited REPAIR, he'd be buying salvage. And it was a big if. A lot of cyborgs refused to see a professional unless they were going critical. Then again, if he didn't want his hand broken so easily again, he'd make the investment.

Julius cast a surreptitious glance at the cyborg making her proposition to the general assembly. It was a surprise to see the familiar petite shape of the cyborg in a bar on the bottom of End City. Julius had last seen her four years ago, laid out on the work table, face split open and eerily empty. A lot of work had gone into building her, a lot of money into high end mods. If memory served, it had been a memorial build. People didn't buy into memorial builds casually: it took an individual incapable of letting go. Maybe the ghost in the machine hadn't wanted to be kept by the man who'd commissioned her immortal resurrection. Was it her dead boyfriend, Mr. Six Feet Under? It made sense, given her overreaction to a drunken pickup. Given their strength discrepancy, he'd never been a threat to her.

Still. It galled to see masterwork in a dive like this. If she went down in The Veins and bit it, it'd be downright tragic. Julius pulled out the crumpled half eaten sandwich and took a heavy gulp of tepid beer.

Besba's rats were the closest thing to pork Julius had tasted in over a decade. They were also the closest to real chicken, or fish. Importing from Above was too expensive, and hunting in the Veins put the mystery in mystery meat. Life at the bottom wasn't kind. But beer was cheap. The murmur of the room returned, and Julius washed down another bite of tender spiced meat.

When the large warrior petitioned to join the party, Julius's eyes snapped back to the safety of the bottles on display. Wizards above, that thing is a monster! Professionally speaking, of course. It wasn't the first time Julius had seen that character in the neighborhood, but never at such a close proximity or within the suddenly-cramped confines of four walls. Permanent armoring was old hat, but the proportions of limbs and posture were reminiscent of a predator from the Veins, and didn't belong to a human host. It was at odds with the innocent little girl facade worn by the other cyborg. Is he a cyborg? His choice of words didn't line up with his appearance. A monster aping human, and overcompensating. It sounded too formal, especially inside a bar.

Julius risked the reflection in the mirror behind the neat row of liquor bottles. The view wasn't perfect, just a glancing profile. But Julius caught the way he reflexively rubbed his neck, like he remembered how it felt to have skin flush with embarrassment. Whatever he was now, he had been flesh once.

He might have been badly damaged before becoming a cyborg, Julius speculated privately. Or maybe he chose a custom build, hoping for improved speed, or had changed his center of gravity to compensate for an overly large weapon. Julius was betting there was buyers remorse. There had to be, right?

Break time was almost up. Julius ordered a half pint refill anyway. Long enough to catch the girl's name. She hadn't technically been the customer last time she was in the shop, and the order had been paid in cash. No paperwork, no names. It was nice seeing her again though.