Getting transport back was easy, they wee expecting the terminal's call now, it was all just a matter of how long it took to physically drive there. After all, normally an armored roller wasn't sent into the Zone, it wasn't like one of the tanked-out taxis or Doc Wagon vehicles. But tip off that you have your mark and finishing up business, business they have been waiting for? Rest assured most corps or their contacts were... eager, to put it kindly. The type of salivating, hungry for that next splash of credits, kind. It meant more tech for everyone, most everyone, anyone that had a hand in it; all the bureaucracy at its finest. It didn't matter if you were a suit sitting in the glitzy side of town who just happened to "okay" the entire ordeal of the security who were on a retrieval team, your hand was in the jar, and that meant more stuff for you. Not much, but when you're at that level? Anything you touch makes you money and without the risk of getting your shiny, upper crust chrome blasted into a million pieces like the scavs fighting in the slums were for a piece of that profit.

So Theron considered himself lucky, real, real lucky after everything he had dealt with. Not just Tracy or Golemeth or all else, no, he meant everything. It wasn't like he was praising high heaven for it either, just deep inside glad that they were so damn hungry for their cut of the pay that they weren't going to leave him out here waiting. Freaks, tweaks, tuners, boosters, whatever the hell else existed now legitimately lived here in the Combat Zone and knew it like the back of their hand, because there wasn't any escape; sure as hell not into the Wastes and their particular brand of freakshow wasn't going to make it far in anything but the slums. So whatever they could get, they wanted bad.

Not having tech, other than a coat, some glasses, gloves, and a gun, made that a whole hell of a lot easier, as did dragging around a bleeding, burnt heap of a broken down cyborg. It just still wasn't easy, nothing was for the man as he tucked himself there in the alley, eyes glancing from one side to the next. He could hear engines, here that wasn't all too rare given some things still were going combustion, but what Theron sure as hell hadn't heard yet was the whine of a hydrogen turbine. An armored transport was a big, beefy wall of plasteel and plain old heat and projectile resistant ceramic, and had no shortage of firepower. It also was a beast of a money sink considering it was a privately owned tank on wheels, but when you were a corp the rules changed. Want an auto-cannon that would put holes through wall after wall and had self loading magazines from its batteries of armament? Sure, sure, whatever you want, as long as the money was good.

Just another symptom of what had happened to everything, apparently back in the day, before it all that wasn't the case. But now? Now that sweet whine of industrial engines was somewhere not far, which meant whatever service they dispatched for a pick-up of corp business was getting closer.

That just meant the man's eyes sifted through the gloomy, old neon glow and stared long and hard at the problem bot-man. He was even more a mess just laying there on his side in a puddle, jaw limp and probably drooling on himself. Theron just couldn't get the attraction of it all into his head. He signed this deal for biotech expressly, god knows where it was coming from or why, but it still got into his nerves and made him uneasy he simultaneously didn't have that kind of staying power all the while the fact it made someone [i]that[/i] vulnerable. Hell, someone like Tracy, some decker or ripperdoc, of even moderate skill could just slap some plugs into the ports and browse the brain like it was no issue from a sleazy thought-trip house. It got a huff out of him, a shake of his head and a slight nudge of his boot to the crumpled mess of somewhat person.

[i]"Still not worth the envy..."[/i] The man muttered as he rubbed the back of a sleeve to his nose, displacing the discomfort with the gesture, and allowing his attuned hearing to pick up the closing sound. Again that just led him to looking up the alleyway and back, no visitors yet.