Yaram placed the storage drive on the desk, wincing as the creature lifted it with an arm he thought was a supporting beam.

  Calling it a creature was, likely, scientifically inaccurate, but appropriate as far as he was concerned. It had been human, once. But it had crossed the proverbial line of being definitively human a long time ago.

  It hung from the ceiling, clung to the corner like a spider in a web of dark cables instead of pale silk. He couldn’t see any flesh, but he could see the silhouette of a head, embedded into a mocking caricature of a human torso. Both were shells of a dark, unreflective metal, inside they probably contained some kind of biological component, Yaram didn’t really want to know for certain. Multiple limb-like appendages sprouted from the torso, half of them kept it stabilised to the ceiling, bolted and nailed into the concrete itself, the other half were operating multiple workstations in the room, clicking rapidly on more keyboards than there were screens. While Yaram was the subject of most of its attention, it didn’t feel the need to stop operating any of the machines haphazardly strewn around the former apartment.

  The drive on the table was retracted back toward the body of the creature with the folding metal arm, which then plugged it in somewhere Yaram couldn’t see. He heard the high-pitched whirring of a disk drive as the data transferred. If he were a little more curious, he would’ve asked why it was using such an archaic storage standard, but he wanted to leave the building as soon as he had what he needed.

  The drive he had offered contained around a month’s worth of CCTV data from a high-footfall sector on the planet Terval (a frankly boring planet a handful of systems away). It seemed that whatever this creature was, had developed an obsession with watching unremarkable people doing unremarkable things. Humans were nothing without their vices, however depraved, and while this thing didn’t feel human, not anymore. It still exchanged a service for a vice.

  Maybe it wasn’t so far from that crossed line after all.

  The whirring cut off, and the limbs of the machine shivered in what could have only been described as ecstasy. Yaram had to fight off a shiver of his own.

  “Your objective is in Building 204-C, Floor 3, Apartment 3.” Its voice was unsettlingly human, it resembled the synthetic voices of Space Port announcers, it was likely using the exact same voice-bank, every word was clear and had an air of calm assurance.

  “Appreciate it.” He said simply, turning to leave as quickly as he could.

  “Planetary Enforcement Agents are en route” It stated, almost mockingly in that polite tone.

  Yaram turned around slowly, thumbing the button off the holster strapped to his upper thigh. The creature made a slow raspy coughing sound; it echoed like it was inside an empty food can. It took the bounty hunter a second to realise it wasn’t some kind of hardware glitch, it was laughter, ‘natural’ laughter, untainted from its pirated voice box. Somehow, that had been the most unnatural thing he had witnessed come from it.

  “Not here. Planetary Enforcement Agents en route to target location. Likelihood their arrival precedes yours: High. Advice: Make haste.” Somehow the announcer style voice had a hint of humour behind it, it clearly enjoyed the drama.

  “Appreciated.” Yaram stated again, this time genuinely. PEAs weren’t a huge problem, they would slow him down, but he had yet to find any that posed any sort of threat. It did, however, require him to think a bit harder about his exfil. While they weren’t a threat on their own, when one is threatened, the rest swarm like a horde of insects, all desperate to bring something of value back to their nest. Not very fun to shoot out of, and he would have to shoot out of it. Despite doing much of the same work, PEAs were never a huge fan of freelancers, and would probably sentence him for his ‘crimes’.

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  They had gotten to the block before him.

  The street outside was empty, no vehicles parked on the road, no people outside, but he knew they were here.

  PEAs liked their tech, however effective or ineffective it may be. A favourite on Garant, apparently, were the PHDs. Tracking through torrential rain is pretty easy when a cheap gadget does it for you. The only downside was that it left behind a distinctive smell; something between burning hair and the metallic hint of blood. This isn’t a downside if nobody is actively hunting you.

  Yaram admitted he actively enjoyed proving their assumptions of being untouchable wrong.

  He unholstered his sidearm from his thigh, carrying it at low ready with his left hand. On most missions he would also carry a rifle, but he wanted the mobility that a sidearm could offer, his off hand would be needed to keep his target from running away after all, he did want that hundred thousand.

  His sidearm was a modified Coil Pistol, Yaram had replaced almost every part from its original design from when he had ‘obtained’ it a few years ago. It was shorter in height but longer in length than its counterparts. There had been an optical sight on top, which he had removed and replaced with low profile iron sights, his helmet did most of his aiming anyway, and he found he actually performed better with the physical irons than most optical sights. Plus it kept it from snagging on things as much, including his holster, allowing him a quick draw whenever he needed it. The grip had also been modified, the crook of his hand sat comfortably under a generously extended beavertail, his fingers wrapped around a polymer grip moulded for his own hand. The whole thing had cost him about 1K Standard, and about half a decade of work, to upgrade. The only part that had remained untouched were the magazines, it was seated in the grip of the pistol like the automatics of old (or the current, less fortunate souls), but instead of one stack of rounds, it was split down the middle. One side the power source, the other, the titanium flechettes that would be flung toward his target with a speed faster than anything gunpowder based could even hope to achieve. With his right hand, he unclipped a device from his belt. It was a torch, a stunner, and an info-shunt all in one, it could also double up as a baton too in a pinch, but that was more due to the fact it was long and heavy.

  Floor 3, Apartment 3.

  His movements were swift, one foot in front of the other with his torso remaining stable, like the head of a bird. It was late evening, so it would be unlikely to come across witnesses or civilians, but they weren’t who Yaram was looking out for. At the end of the opening hall for the building, he saw a lift and a staircase side by side. He didn’t hesitate to take the stairs. Neither were an optimal position to be ambushed in, but he preferred having two directions of escape than none. As he started the climb, he reached up to the neck of his armour, pushing a resistant button. His helmet’s heads-up-display booted to life, stuttering slightly but quickly correcting itself and clearing up. He took note of all his armours functions, finding them all operational as usual.

  “Planetary Enforcement Agency! Open up!” Yaram heard them shout from the other side of the door to Floor 3.

  He checked his gun again, still as operational as it ever was. Surprise was on his side, which was always nice. His exfil vehicle had been called to the front giving him a quick and efficient escape. Everything had fallen into place. Not bad, considering the short notice.

  He opened the door slowly. He spotted two PEAs at the door, chose a target, then fired.

  Blinding white light filled the hall, rocks, not rocks, shrapnel, ricocheted off the walls like sparks from a firework. Something solid hit Yaram in the shoulder, pushing him back a half step. He swung back into cover, the door closing behind him. It took an agonising moment for his eyes to adjust, he had gone almost completely blind after the shot and had relied on instinct and hope that he had actually taken cover from the threat.

  Something had gone wrong, his gun was not supposed to do that.