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d79ace.jpg
Baby Ice Posh
d79ace
>Are you?
I dunno, am I?
>Ask him about the nerocom thingy in your backpack.
I know how to use a NeroCom. You strap the thing on your wrist. They have their origins in old "smartphones" from a hundred years ago or something as stupid. It's got time, a phone, messenger, PDA, and it functions as a pretty handy credit card when needed. Some people, they hack them to add all sorts of things to it, but I've never really thought much of it.
I don't even know why he gave me the second NeroCom, I have one on my wr-
It was on my wrist.
Goddamn fucking Florian.
>Ask about his first work. How it went, what you should expect.
"Well, I'm still getting used to this whole job," I tell him. "You've done this before, right? What should I be expecting?"
He puts down his glasses and reaches for his prosthetic arm. Much to my horror, he removes it with relative ease.
"Well, Tarreñas, my first time, I still had an arm, and it wasn't working for these guys," Chris shrugs with his one arm and shoulder. "This, my friend, this was when the war was still going on, yes? And bestia didn't, and still don't have the infrastructure or numbers like you have. Non-mutants, if that is what you still call it."
"I don't really identify much with the rest of humanity through orthodox means." What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Being a clone has really only caused shit to happen for me. On top of that, with my life, my new life, I have no reason to sulk over that anymore.
"So I can skip the formalities, then. What we did have, was guerrilla warfare, and we were very good at it. But even with this, we were still heavily spread out. No central leadership. Radio waves get intercepted easily, so many of us went with something more sincere when it came to getting orders out."
"Letters?"
He nods. "Delivering messages and items that weren't all legal. The reason why I lost my arm, Tarreñas, is I did something very stupid. I was caught smuggling explosives, really cheap ones. You know what happened?"
He puts the metal arm back on, ears pinned back, grimacing at some past mistake. "Sometimes, there are battles you cannot win. I thought to myself, ¡No huyas, pendejo!, and ran through fires, through firefights, threw stealth and sublety to the wind. It worked, sometimes. Other times it comes back to bite you in the ass. I'm running with these explosives in my back, and I'm thinking, I've been shot at and I'm running through flames, and nothing has happened to these bombs. Esta madre no funciona! This shit doesn't work! Déjate de leches, those things did what they were designed to. They exploded."
He sees me standing there, a little more pensive than when I had entered the room. He starts laughing- what is with these guys and laughing? - and shrugs. "You wanted to hear my first job, right? Expect nothing and everything. Deliver everything like your life depended on it- most of the time, someone's life does depend on it."
>Ask this guy how do we actually get to Churchill Valley.
"In that case, I had better get going," I tell Castillo. "I'm supposed to be delivering this to Churchill Valley. Do you know how I can get there?"
"Where is Martin Fröde? That weasel should know. I think he's gone off on a lark again, probably down to the bar. Me, I haven't been to the Valley, but I know about Churchill itself, which I passed on one assignment. It's to the south of Moreno Parkway, the intersection outside Agouri's, I think a hoverbus has a line that heads down to a train station. But I'd still rather go with the first option. Agouri's for Martin, if he's not in there for directions, then try the bus line. Good luck, Tarreñas."
He strolls out of the kitchen.
I can go back to Agouri's or try and find a route myself. How about it?
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