Maybe on another night I'd walk away. Hell, even tonight, I'd prefer not to fight. I'm here for Silvio, not to tussle with street trash over a smoke. But I'm sore, exhausted and fresh out of patience...
Goddammit, I really do want that cigarette.
I force a thin smile. "Not lost. Just asking politely for a cigarette," I say evenly. "No need for trouble. Then I'll be on my way."
Fuse laughs, a harsh braying sound. "Polite, huh? Hear that, Sly? Old borg here thinks he's polite." He flicks his half-finished cigarette to the ground in a shower of sparks. "There. You can have what's left, scrap-head. Now piss off, before we decide to carve those shiny augments out of you and pawn 'em."
So much for the nice approach. I stare at the glowing ember of the discarded cigarette as it sizzles in a puddle at my feet. Something in me snaps. Maybe it's the pain, the stress or just the sheer disrespect of tossing away that last precious bit of nicotine.
A bitter chuckle escapes my throat before I can stop it. I lower my hand, clenching it into a fist. My augmented arm whines softly, the servos in the brace adjusting to the movement. "That wasn't very friendly," I mutter.
Fuse steps forward, pulling a flick-knife from his jacket with a flourish. The blade springs free with a metallic click. "What you gonna do, grandpa? Cry about it?" The others fan out, encircling me. The big guy cracks his knuckles. The girl draws a short serrated shiv from her vest. Sly hefts his wrench like a club. They think they've got an easy target.
I roll my shoulders and pain spikes down my back. I'm in no condition for a brawl. The smart move would be to back off, let it go. But I've never been accused of being smart. Instead, I hear myself growl, "Last chance. All I want is a smoke."
Fuse's grin disappears. He flicks the knife in a short arc and lunges. "Get him!"
I react on instinct. The world sharpens, a red haze creeping into my vision as adrenaline floods my veins. Time lurches.
Fuse drives his knife at my gut. I pivot just enough, the blade skitters off the metal brace under my coat with a shriek. He looks confused that it didn't sink into flesh.
I seize that moment and drive my forehead straight into his nose. There's a satisfying crunch. Fuse yelps, staggering back, clutching his face as blood spurts between his fingers.
The big guy charges from my right, a metal pipe raised high. I sidestep on pure muscle memory, biting back a groan as my injured leg protests. The pipe whooshes past my ear, and before the thug can recover, I slam my cybernetic fist into his ribcage. A crack echoes. He wheezes and doubles over, the pipe clattering to the ground.
Something sharp slices across my left side, hot pain blooms. The dreadlocked girl managed to slash me with her shiv while I was focused on Big Boy. The blade skated across the reinforced plating Roger strapped onto my torso, but it still found flesh just above my hip. Warm blood trickles down my side, mixing with rain.
I hiss through my teeth and backhand her with my elbow before she can dart away. My elbow catches her cheekbone. She cries out and stumbles into the brick wall, sliding down with a dazed expression.
Sly, the wiry mechanic, is the only one still standing unscathed. He rushes me, swinging his wrench at my head. I raise my left arm to block, steel meets steel with a dull clang.
The impact shudders up my rigged arm; something in the jury-rigged elbow joint jolts loose, spraying sparks. A warning icon flickers on my HUD, servo failure. Not now. I snarl and twist, wrenching Sly's weapon out of his hands with my right. Before he can blink, I slam the heavy wrench across his jaw. His eyes roll back and he crumples into a puddle.
Fuse has recovered enough to pull a gun out of his jacket with trembling hands. His one good eye is wild with rage. He fires. The muzzle flash lights up the alley.
For a split second, I tense, bracing but my new neural shock shield kicks in. A web of electricity dances across my skin; my vision strobes as the implant scrambles the bullet's trajectory.
The round that should have punched through my chest veers off-course, sparking off the steel doorframe of Roger's clinic behind me. I feel the impact like a sledgehammer to my ribs. It still nearly knocks me off my feet.
I stagger, and Fuse's second shot goes wide. He can't aim well with one eye swelling shut from my earlier headbutt. The girl is down, groaning; the big guy is on his hands and knees, coughing for air. Sly is out cold. That leaves Fuse and he's frantic. He fires again—once, twice—the shots whizzing past me into the night.
I grit my teeth and charge straight at him. Rain and blood trickle into my eyes, but I don't care. Fuse tries to backpedal, squeezing the trigger wildly. Click. Misfire or empty mag. Either way, his luck's run out. I swat the gun from his hand. It skitters across the asphalt.
Fuse screams something incoherent and swings his knife in a wide, desperate arc. I catch his wrist with my cybernetic hand. The servos whine angrily at the sudden strain. With a snarl, I slam his arm down onto the hood of the car.
The knife clatters away. Then I grab a fistful of his neon hair and introduce his face to the same hood hard.
Thud.
He crumples to the ground, dazed and spitting blood.
Before he can recover, I loom over him and plant my boot on his chest. He wheezes, rain washing the blood from his busted nose across his cheeks. I lean in, breath ragged.
The world sways for a second, black edges nibbling at my vision. Easy. Don't go down now. Roger's adrenal compensator works overtime to keep me upright.
Fuse claws weakly at my boot, panic in his eyes. I reach down and pluck a fresh cigarette from behind his other ear. It's a little bent from our scuffle, but salvageable. His eyes widen in outrage as I hold it up.
"I'm taking this," I say flatly. He opens his mouth... maybe to curse, maybe to beg. I never find out. I slam the wrench's butt against the side of his head with a dull thunk. His eyes roll back and his head hits the wet pavement.
The alley falls quiet except for the patter of rain and my own ragged breathing. I straighten up slowly, every muscle and wound protesting. The fight was stupid, unnecessary... and exactly what I didn't need. Hot blood is seeping from the new slice on my hip, and my head throbs with each heartbeat.
But at least I got what I wanted. "Should've just given me a smoke," I mutter into the drizzle.
Cable-hair girl is curled up against the wall, clutching her cheek and whimpering. The big guy is still wheezing on all fours. Sly lies sprawled, snoring faintly in his puddle. None of them are eager to get up for round two.
I walk with a limp to the car and lean against it for support. One of them dropped a cheap disposable lighter on the ground. I pick it up, wiping rain off the casing. My hands are shaking from exertion and adrenaline but I manage to flick the lighter.
A tiny flame springs up, sputtering in the downpour. I shelter it with my cybernetic hand as best I can and bring the stolen cigarette to the flame.
The first drag is heaven. Nicotine floods my lungs, mingling with the taste of rainwater and blood. I close my eyes, savoring it despite everything. A faint, shaky sigh escapes me. In the grand scheme of things, one smoke won't fix my problems, but right now it's the best feeling I've had all night. It only cost a bit more blood and a few bruises.