[center][h3][color=0076a3]Phantasm[/color][/h3]

Approximately two months prior to Strasbourg[/center]

[color=bfbfbf]Phantasm stood alone, the rain peppering the ground around her.

Phantasm leaned against a wall, under the protective awning of a computer cafe in Chengdu, China. The air was thick with deep, gray smog. The few people that did pass by her each wore their own air filtration system, lest they risk an early death at the hands of the clouds of chemicals that permeated the city. Phantasm, too, wore, what the locals called, an 空气口. It was an older model, built by a local firm, but it was good enough quality to properly filter an impurities. Sure, it had limited usage, but she didn’t plan on staying in the city that long, anyways. The place was a dump and, like most of China, was built on industry and little else. Anyone who had any money moved out, which left the city a cesspool of penury and decay, with the remaining residents consisting mainly of junkies, peons, and hobos. It’s probably no secret that people turn to drugs to escape the monotony or plight of living here. But hey, Phantasm didn’t really care about the various socio-economic factors which brought her business, she just cared that it brought her [b]business[/b].[/color]

[color=0076a3]>time[/color]

[color=bfbfbf]The neural processor recorded the thought of “time” that just passed through her mind. This was no ordinary thought, however. This brief spark of the synapses within her brain were special; they were specifically directed towards the 3800 that sat snugly on her occipital bone. Within milliseconds, the processor had been able to read the message directed to it and convey another message to her OEA to display the time for her to see. Although, note that none of this particularly concerned Phantasm, whose interest with the methodology of her various implants generally only lasted as long as the salesperson’s overview of his product.

It was 7:53:12 P.M.

Phantasm was waiting on a nondescript client, a woman, from what she judged. She wanted to meet at this location, not asking for any specific drug or any certain quantity. A very mysterious woman, though she probably had some very non-mysterious money with her, so Phantasm made sure not to think too much about it. They were to meet under the awning of the computer cafe, at 8:00 P.M., Chengdu, China; Phantasm brought a relatively new drug, Angelfyre, to sell to the woman. The stuff was getting popular with the younger crowd, gave the user a rush at first and then sent the person into a daze, so they say. Fun at parties, no doubt.

A sudden buzz broke her train of though. Phantasm reached into her pocket and whipped out her cell phone, looking at the caller. Valentin Siderovich, older guy, affiliated with the Свобода gang, a group of “Neo-Anarchists” who owned a lot of nightclubs all around Eurasia. Phantasm tapped the command to link with her neural processor and stowed the phone away.[/color]

[color=7a7a52]“Hey, whatz up?”[/color] [color=bfbfbf]he asked, her ear implant transmitted the mans abnormally thick accent with crystal clear quality[/color] [color=7a7a52]“Your deal went through or no?”[/color]

[color=0076a3]Not yet, Val, it’s at 20:00, my time,[/color] [color=bfbfbf]Phantasm told her neuralware to reply via text.[/color]

[color=7a7a52]“Aw come on Phanta, why you don’t pick up the phone and talk to me,”[/color]

[color=0076a3]I told you I have business, can’t talk[/color]

[color=7a7a52]“Alright, alright, listen, though, I have something for you. It’s a file, from anonymous contact, just for you, they said. I’m sending it now. It’z safe, don’t worry, scanned it already”[/color] [color=bfbfbf]he said. Phantasm was now interested. She glanced back at her phone and swiped the file to transmit it directly to her 3800. Her neuralware scanned the file, transmitting its information directly into her brain. A contract, bearing, at its head, the logo of Kybuashi Enterprises.[/color] [color=7a7a52]“It’s password blocked. I could have cracked it but I’m too lazy for that shit,”[/color] [color=bfbfbf]Val finished with a laugh.[/color]

[color=0076a3]Val, this isn’t pass-protected[/color]

[color=7a7a52]“Was when I got it,”[/color] [color=bfbfbf]he muttered,[/color] [color=7a7a52]“heh, spooky stuff, I guess.”[/color]

[color=bfbfbf]Spooky stuff indeed, mused Phantasm as she perused the contents of the file. A contract detailing a pretty heavy job: multiple people guarding a very important, top secret prototype. Most importantly, though: big payout.

>time

7:59:47

She ended her call with Val just as she noticed the lone figure walking up the road. The figure introduced herself as a representative from Kybuashi Enterprises.[/color]

[color=669999]“I assume you already viewed the document I sent. Come inside.”[/color] [color=bfbfbf]The woman said, her voice partially muffled by her filtration mask. The two women entered the internet cafe, which was surprisingly empty for this time of day. The small, plump man who sat behind the counter directed them to a room upstairs. The room was barely furnished, the two chairs within it angled towards the meager view of the street outside that was provided to them by a rather dirty glass screen.

The two took off their filtration mask and sat down as the man hurried to exit the room. Phantasm scanned the buildings across the street, making a mental note of the second story apartment whose residents “happened” to be out of town for the week. The representative smiled as she noticed this.[/color]

[color=669999]“Right, let’s make this quick. Unfortunately, you will not have the opportunity to sell me any narcotics. Fortunately, however, I have proposed an offer that will, hopefully, reimburse you for your lost time,”[/color] [color=bfbfbf]the woman joked. Phantasm stared at her. [/color][color=669999]“Right, since you already read the contract, I’ll just let you sign now, unless you have any questions . . .”[/color]

[color=0076a3]“Why me?”[/color] [color=bfbfbf]Phantasm asked, picking up the pen and signing the contract.[/color]

[color=669999]“That is . . . confidential, but I’m sure you can deduce why when you meet your coworkers,”[/color] [color=bfbfbf]the woman replied, gathering the papers and pen. The representative made to leave, but Phantasm still had a question.[/color]

[color=0076a3]“Why did you contact me like this,”[/color] [color=bfbfbf]Phantasm asked, facing towards the street, the woman already at the door at the opposite side of the room.[/color]

[color=669999]“Because we knew you would accept our offer,”[/color] [color=bfbfbf]the woman replied frankly.[/color]

[hr]

Phantasm stood alone, the rain peppering the ground around her.

Crash’s words brought Phantasm out of the stupor of boredom. Ten minutes. 600 seconds. It wasn’t long, but the waiting made it feel like an eternity. That was coupled with the natural reluctance of conversation within the group. 

Phantasm had barely noticed the rain, only now did she pull out her umbrella from one of her many coat pockets. Today’s attire was a gray coat with bulletproof lining, gray pants, and gray sneakers. Boring, but she didn’t care. This wasn’t wetworks yet, so Phantasm didn’t have to worry too much about what clothes she wore.

One of the hired goons decided to buy them all drinks. A nice gesture, without a doubt, but one that she felt was relatively fruitless, considering how most of these grade-A doinks cared little about the physical, let alone emotional, well-being of one another. Nevertheless, Phantasm appreciated the act. Unfortunately, Phantasm didn’t drink; drinking slowed her down, got in the way. She never took any of her own wares, nor did she indulge in many other vices, for that matter. Waste of time, waste of money, waste of life. Except for sugar. Sugar gave a tangible feeling of elation for a fraction of the cost of many other substances. Sure, she couldn’t eat too much, but moderation was her specialty, temperance her art.

Essentially disregarding the man’s toast, she stowed the can into her backpack, ultimately placing the backpack on the ground beneath her, directly next to the gun bag that stored her rifle. Luckily, in this day and age, no one really batted an eye at a group of armed thugs. I mean, they probably did, but no one had the balls or the jurisdiction to try and walk up and confront a group of would-be corporation thugs, politely asking them to hand over their weapons. If there were people like that, they’re probably dead now.

One of the girls mentioned something about the abnormal amount of people that were hired, talking about how most of them might die. While that was a possibility, half of these dorks probably thought of the fact as a probability. Phantasm made sure to comment on the matter, in hopes that these bozos might look on the bright side of life . . . like the guy who passed out the beer. A quirky character, one whose accent had changed since the first time she met him, but otherwise fine.

[color=0076a3]“I doubt this is a suicide mission. Kybuashi’s counting on this [i]thing[/i] to make it home safe and sound. It makes sense that they would hire some extra insurance. Besides, if they had meant us to be fodder, they would have gone and got some enforcers. They’re planning for something else, count on it,”[/color] Phantasm said, her voice taking on an almost didactic tone. It wouldn’t help any of them if they only thought about the various gruesome ways they all might eventually meet their fate, so it was in her best interests to try and dissuade such thoughts.

Her phone buzzed, it was Val.

As much as she could have used his company, she pressed the X and stowed it back in her pocket, waiting until something could finally happen. She was tired of waiting.