authorization, execute someone on the spot. His job, officially, was to remand bleedover assets who escaped into reality. Krista worked them to her advantage, claiming her Spinner methods were best to insure the continuation of a sane world. Tripp eliminated them just to be sure. Unofficially, he was one of the best EA hitmen in the agency.
“I need to know who sent that money and where it went. And you’re going to tell me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Two reasons: that account is funding bleedover assets who are causing trouble in a major Rend-V and, if you don’t, you won’t walk out of this bar alive.”
“Bleedover? That’s real?” The man licked his lips and inhaled deeply.
A HUD alert registered the man’s vitals were spiking. Hark noted sweat welling on the man’s brow. Already, two lines dribbled down the sides of his face. His underarms were pumping out liquid as well.
He’s about to panic, sir. Since that doesn’t seem to matter, maybe show him your shield …
Sunni loved stating the obvious.
Trip withdrew his repo shield: a crystallized matte-black, alloy star in a black-leather folding wallet. All he had to do was flash that and the world was his. He set it on the table.
The target gulped, his eyes now glowing as if backlit.
Sir, that should do it.
I don’t have time to make him love me, do I?
“I … uh … the account … is …”
“I know: confidential.”
Tripp placed both his hands on the table and splayed his fingers. In the popular imagination, a repo possessed ingenious methods of dispatching his enemies. Specialists like Hark were human tanks. A repo was a bloodshed artist.
“Now,” Tripp said, “the names, before I get impatient.”
The man’s mouth hung open far enough Tripp saw his epiglottis shiver. He stumbled through two innocuous sounding names that had to be covers. The sender and receiver, for sure. Sunni began cross referencing them while Tripp sipped his beer and stared at the pathetic asshat who used his position as a financial magnet to help undermine the sanctity of the Rend-Vs.
Got them, sir, both major players. Sersavant intelligence officer, Pizer Dauk, is funding an up-and-coming director, Miesha Preston, the daughter of the host of Collides … . She’s rumored to be backing a principal antag who’s missing, Ervé Wrighter. He’s a—
“What did Dauk offer you?” Tripp asked.
“Excuse me?”
“For laundering his funds to Preston.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on. You can tell me. You’re helping a rogue Voxyprog intelligence officer and a controversial EA Rend-V director run an evil prick so that he can do his thing: Ervé Wrighter. You know the name. Everyone does. He’s a major antag. Major status. And he’s been on the run, until recently.”
“I had no idea he was involved—”
“Right, so you aren’t a fan. Let me guess what Dauk promised you. Access to a harem Rend-V. A week of dipping it in as much rendered snatch as you can. You into the twisted Vs?”
That’s it, sir .
Tripp didn’t need Sunni to see the slight change in the man’s face. Pizer Dauk had access to the deepest secrets in the Voxyprog fortress. He’d promised some sort of fetish dream you couldn’t get in reality. Tripp had seen it all. He would like to sit around and get this guy’s story. You never knew when you’d hear something original, like the tale last week of a guy who wanted his own Rend-V world full of fembots who battled to be in his bed at night.
Tripp saw flashing lights outside the single window. The cops were clearing the space near the bar, a wide interior corridor with a thousand other shops. The small portion of the hive would be in lock down until they bagged the criminal.
When the door kicked open, everyone inside dropped to their knees, hands up. Stormtroopers in black riot gear rushed in and locked on the booth. They made sure to keep their weapons away from Tripp.
He stood slowly,
“I need to know who sent that money and where it went. And you’re going to tell me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Two reasons: that account is funding bleedover assets who are causing trouble in a major Rend-V and, if you don’t, you won’t walk out of this bar alive.”
“Bleedover? That’s real?” The man licked his lips and inhaled deeply.
A HUD alert registered the man’s vitals were spiking. Hark noted sweat welling on the man’s brow. Already, two lines dribbled down the sides of his face. His underarms were pumping out liquid as well.
He’s about to panic, sir. Since that doesn’t seem to matter, maybe show him your shield …
Sunni loved stating the obvious.
Trip withdrew his repo shield: a crystallized matte-black, alloy star in a black-leather folding wallet. All he had to do was flash that and the world was his. He set it on the table.
The target gulped, his eyes now glowing as if backlit.
Sir, that should do it.
I don’t have time to make him love me, do I?
“I … uh … the account … is …”
“I know: confidential.”
Tripp placed both his hands on the table and splayed his fingers. In the popular imagination, a repo possessed ingenious methods of dispatching his enemies. Specialists like Hark were human tanks. A repo was a bloodshed artist.
“Now,” Tripp said, “the names, before I get impatient.”
The man’s mouth hung open far enough Tripp saw his epiglottis shiver. He stumbled through two innocuous sounding names that had to be covers. The sender and receiver, for sure. Sunni began cross referencing them while Tripp sipped his beer and stared at the pathetic asshat who used his position as a financial magnet to help undermine the sanctity of the Rend-Vs.
Got them, sir, both major players. Sersavant intelligence officer, Pizer Dauk, is funding an up-and-coming director, Miesha Preston, the daughter of the host of Collides … . She’s rumored to be backing a principal antag who’s missing, Ervé Wrighter. He’s a—
“What did Dauk offer you?” Tripp asked.
“Excuse me?”
“For laundering his funds to Preston.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on. You can tell me. You’re helping a rogue Voxyprog intelligence officer and a controversial EA Rend-V director run an evil prick so that he can do his thing: Ervé Wrighter. You know the name. Everyone does. He’s a major antag. Major status. And he’s been on the run, until recently.”
“I had no idea he was involved—”
“Right, so you aren’t a fan. Let me guess what Dauk promised you. Access to a harem Rend-V. A week of dipping it in as much rendered snatch as you can. You into the twisted Vs?”
That’s it, sir .
Tripp didn’t need Sunni to see the slight change in the man’s face. Pizer Dauk had access to the deepest secrets in the Voxyprog fortress. He’d promised some sort of fetish dream you couldn’t get in reality. Tripp had seen it all. He would like to sit around and get this guy’s story. You never knew when you’d hear something original, like the tale last week of a guy who wanted his own Rend-V world full of fembots who battled to be in his bed at night.
Tripp saw flashing lights outside the single window. The cops were clearing the space near the bar, a wide interior corridor with a thousand other shops. The small portion of the hive would be in lock down until they bagged the criminal.
When the door kicked open, everyone inside dropped to their knees, hands up. Stormtroopers in black riot gear rushed in and locked on the booth. They made sure to keep their weapons away from Tripp.
He stood slowly,
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