//2 potentia gathered. Potentia available: 5.//
The kid stopped breathing as his chest contracted, forcing all the air out of his lungs. The color drained from his face, and his eyes went cloudy. Then, like someone tripped a breaker, he gasped for breath, eyes watering. “Wha-what—” he tried to ask, only for his words to falter as he squeezed his eyes shut and cradled his head in his hands. Hector had seen it a hundred times; an aura drain when you didn’t have much to give could deliver a hell of an instant hangover.
He walked over to the wiry guy, who was conscious but barely; his lungs weren’t working so well, and he was hyperventilating in a panic. Hector pushed him onto his back, and he cried out, drawing a shuddering breath that made his shattered ribs grind wetly under his skin. “I w-wish I knew…” he gasped.
The words tickled Hector’s curiosity. “What?”
“R-red. My dad s-said—” He coughed, choking off the word. Hector almost gave up on hearing the rest, but then the guy’s blue-tattooed lips moved and he croaked out, “—said never fight a red.”
Hector inclined his head, nodding almost imperceptibly. “A hard lesson.”
He triggered his system and felt the aura potentia rush out of the man into his hand, tingling into the pathways of his new skin. The meaning of the thug’s words rattled around in Hector’s mind; he’d heard variations a thousand times, seen the stares, heard the whispers. Red auras weren’t common, but everyone in the business knew that when you ran up against a team with a red, you had to take ’em out. Reds were fearless—no hesitation, no backing down—certified terriers. They were finishers with killer instincts, and their aura systems evolved in violent, dangerous ways.
So they say.
//7 potentia gathered. Potentia available: 12.//
He inhaled shakily, sucking his teeth at the rush. Up the block, someone coughed, and he saw the flare of a chem-stick. He knelt there, letting the potentia settle into his body, then he stood, stretched his neck, and walked over to the last thug, the one he’d pistol-whipped.
The big man’s barrel of a chest was moving up and down, but a fist-sized purple lump stood out over his right ear. Hector was pretty sure he’d need some time in a trauma center, or he’d never wake up. The price of drawing iron in a fistfight. He knelt and put his hand on the shuddering chest, pressing into the rough fabric of the overalls. A moment’s pause, and then he triggered his aura system.
//4 potentia gathered. Potentia available: 16.//
Hector grinned savagely. Damn nice scrape for a guy with no system.
He ran his eyes over his attackers and decided they were more dead than alive—faces ashen, eyes bloodshot and colorless, bodies trembling. But they were breathing, and that was a mercy as far as Hector was concerned. He took a step but then paused, examining the men’s fingers. Sure enough, they all wore rings with digital interfaces. He tugged them off, stuffed them in his pocket, and continued on his way.
The encounter had been brief—the fight a handful of seconds. Nobody seemed to have noticed, but Hector knew he might have missed a witness or three. People didn’t tend to stick around to announce they’d watched some thugs killing each other in the pre-dawn hours. He looked up. Drone lights flickered, but they were distant and seemingly unconcerned. What had Grando said about the peacekeepers in this district? Real bastards.
Hector had a feeling there wouldn’t be much of an investigation into three thugs taking a beating. He’d been worried about the gunshots at first, but the more he listened, the more similar sounds he heard echoing off the plasteel towers of the city. It didn’t seem that crime management in Helio was very high on the City Governor’s agenda.
“City Governor.” He grunted, scratching the itch of a memory from another life. Drake Conti danced past his mind’s eye, bragging about being given the honor of appointing a governor at Ceres—the result of his work on an Imperial committee. Hector pushed the memory away.
An alcove in the side of a building, lined wall-to-wall with brightly painted vending machines, caught his eye. An idea occurred to him, and he stepped up to one of them and ordered a hot coffee. When the price flashed on the screen—1.21 bits—he tapped one of the rings against the sensor. A red LED flashed, and nothing happened.
Locked, no doubt.
He tried another, and the machine played a tune—cha-ching—as a raccoon-tailed girl danced across the screen with a thumbs up. The bulbous, silver machine hummed and hissed, and as it worked to deliver his order, Hector tossed the ring in the air and caught it, holding it up to inspect. A red-eyed black skull met his gaze.
The machine spat his coffee into a plastifoam cup, so he picked up his drink and stepped back to peruse the rest of the auto-vendors. A bright red and green one caught his eye with its holo display of a nuke going off, followed by the product name: Atomic Foodz Bar. Hector smirked and tapped the third bit-locker on its sensor—red LEDs. With a shrug, he paid with the skull ring. Then, Foodz bar in one hand, coffee in the other, he continued on his way to Lemon’s.
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He took his time, pausing to watch the trains pass under a bridge. The district was waking up; a few pedestrians passed by behind him while he stood there, and he could see lights turning on up and down the avenue. For just a minute, as he stood there in his new body, in that magical hour before the sun comes up and things get busy, he believed he really was a young kid—future wide open and unknown. Then he remembered he was Hector Finalis. He remembered what he had to do, and his eyes got hard as he turned away from the trains.
When he reached Lemon’s building, the street-level door wouldn’t open for him; she hadn’t set up his biometrics yet. After scowling in irritation at the sensors for a moment, Hector stepped up to the panel and tapped 33 on the menu—Lemon’s apartment. A chime sounded, then another, and then the screen resolved into an image of Lemon.
“Hector?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh…the door. Listen for the beep.” She reached for something, then the door made a chirp sound, and Hector went through. He made his way up the stairs to her place, and before he could knock, she pulled open the door.
He slipped past her into the cool, filtered air. “Thanks.”
“Do you do this all the time? I’m missing hours of sleep here.”
Hector looked at the clock on the wall: 0812. “I won’t be here long.”
“I wasn’t saying that…” The corners of her mouth tilted down, and her lips pressed together. She sighed and walked over to the kitchen. “We’ll get you coded in before we leave. Then I won’t have to wake up to let you in or whatever. Besides, maybe I can get Grando to change my shift—if you’re going to be going in earlier, I mean.”
Hector nodded, sitting down. He watched as she made herself a cup of tea. He didn’t want to talk, but something told him it was the right thing to do. “You don’t have to bend over backward.”
She looked up from the tea she was mixing. “Hmm? What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “I really won’t be around here long. I’ll try to make you some money before I go, though.”
She smiled with one corner of her mouth, stirring something that looked like honey into her cup. “You’re sweet. I…I mean, I won’t lie, those extra bits are much appreciated.” She nodded her head toward the door. “You met my landlord.”
Hector snorted, then he remembered the bit-lockers and pulled them out of his pouch. “Forgot about these. One of them is unlocked, the other two—”
“Where did you get those?” She set her cup down and hurried over.
“Some bangers.”
“Bangers?”
“Yeah—street-gang type.” Hector shrugged.
Lemon’s hand trembled as she took the lockers out of his palm. “But were they legit in a crew? I mean, real bangers?”
Hector let his mind drift back, picturing the three thugs. Had any of them been wearing any colors? He remembered plenty of tatts and mods, but nothing that looked like a gang marking. Shaking his head, he said, “Don’t think so.”
“They could be tracking these…” She turned the bit-lockers this way and that.
Hector shook his head. “Not those three.”
Lemon arched an eyebrow at him, but didn’t push the matter. She held each of the rings up to her own, and when she got to the skull-shaped one, she smiled. “Oh, wow! 3200 bits!”
“Good.” Hector nodded toward her clenched fist. “Know someone who can crack the others?”
“Yeah, I know some guys I can ask. We telling Grando?”
“No.”
She licked her lips, her eyes hunting for his, so he gave them up, let her look deep into them. After a moment, she nodded. “Okay. You know what that means, though, right?”
Hector tilted his head to the side, considering. She feared what Grando would do if he found out. “Your contract that bad?”
“Yeah, ’fraid so.”
Hector nodded. “Don’t worry. I don’t talk.”
She held up the lockers. “Percentage?”
“Ninety-ten.”
Her bangs swayed left and right as she leaned forward, scowling. “Eighty-twenty.”
“Done.”
“I’ll put your cut of whatever it is on the unlocked one. Oh, and the cracker’s cut comes out before we split.”
Still holding her gaze, Hector stared for a moment. He didn’t say anything, but anyone could have read his mind through that stare: Don’t cheat me.
Lemon swallowed, perhaps a little nervous from that deep look into his soul. After a second, she stood and tugged at the hem of her t-shirt. “Let me get dressed, then we can go get breakfast.” She smiled. “Well, breakfast number two for you—”
“Three.”
“Seriously?” She chuckled, then walked over to one of the wardrobes near her bed alcove. Meanwhile, Hector tuned her out and asked his aura system for an updated status report:
//Status:
Level: 1
Archetype: Brawler
Aura Pool: 8/8
Aura Potentia: 16
Attributes:
Strength: 9.36
Speed: 11.1
Vitality: 8
Perception: 11
Corpus Vivum Improvements:
--
Abilities and Boosts:
Strength Boost: 1+ Aura
End Report.//
After a quick review, he scanned through his archetype menu:
//Available Abilities and Boosts:
- Level Advance 1 -> 2. Cost: 10 aura potentia
- Reinforce Strength – +2 Strength. Repeatable. Cost: 5 aura potentia
- Iron Fist – Infuse aura into bone and muscle to amplify striking force. Cost: 10 aura potentia
- Aura Blade – Condense aura into a medium-length force projection. Cost: 10 aura potentia
//Awaiting directive…//
Hector was tempted to spend fifteen of his sixteen points right then and there on an ability and a strength enhancement, but he knew better. He’d benefit the most from improving his levels—the early ones were cheap—and each one would increase his corpus vivum’s aura tolerance, which meant less chance of an overload. “Among other things,” he muttered, mentally selecting the first option.
//10 potentia applied. Corpus Vivum conditioning has begun. Approximately 16 hours to complete level advancement. Disorientation, weakness, and even fleeting incapacitation may occur. Extra caloric intake is recommended.//
Hector had seen the warning too many times to be concerned. He ignored it and, as Lemon walked around the couch, stood.
“Ready?” she asked.
He nodded, taking in her outfit—slim denim pants, pink walking shoes, a light gray coat. It was a very different look from the one she’d worn the night before.
“What?” She looked herself up and down. “I have more clothes at work.” Hector shrugged and opened the door. On the way to the stairwell, she asked, “What kind of breakfast are you in the mood for?”
“Eggs. Meat.” He saw something dance across her eyes, and he added, “We’ll use my bits.”
Lemon smiled, nodding. “I know just the place. I’ll get the next one, okay? After I get my next payment from Grando.” She grabbed onto his arm as they descended the stairs. “I think we’ll make good partners, Hector.”
He grunted.