(with apologies to the Bare Naked Ladies for the title)
The rain was falling heavier than normal as we collected on the last BPN. Sounded like someone was machine-gunning the roof of the BPN hall, putting everyone inside on edge more than usual. When we got outside the spray was up to my knees. The rest of Odyssey decided they were going to hit the Pit for several hours, probably to get riotously drunk and spend much of our profits. I decided to set off alone.
I pulled down my hat, a broad brimmed creation designed to keep out the water -- whatever will these fashion designers think of next? -- and set off back to my apartment. Cars and bikes sloshed past, soaking my long coat. On one of the roadways off to the side a couple of storeys down an APC skidded on it's way to the Downtown gates. Must be some Operative squad off on an urgent BPN. I'm glad it's not me. I have to sleep soon. I can't think when I go without sleep for ninety hours.
Dark towers surround me. Apartment blocks. The occasional light, but most people are asleep by now. I somehow get to the door, get past the door, throw the coat and hat away and fall onto the bed, passing out into a deep, dreamless abyss. I don't even realise the static on the vid.
Static on the vid? I jump up. The clock shows I've been unconscious for three hours. I feel like shit, but there's some drugs that'll help me get by for an hour or two. I head down the line of apartments, waking people up. The sight of me, of a Wraith, freaks most of them out when they see me normally. Seeing me now, dishevelled and worn to breaking point scares them more. None of their vids are working. One's daughter is still out, most likely with her boyfriend, but the parental units are worried. I tell them to get some rest, that I must just be paranoid. Likely they won't sleep. If I can't sleep, why should they?
Basement. The vid channels come in through fiberlines in the basement, avoids interference from communications and other transmission sources. I remember that now, something half-listened to when I first moved in. Something must have got to the lines. The elevators are a crap shoot, none of them work any more. I pop another pill, and hit the stairs running, taking them three or four in one bounding stride. Halfway down, I realise I just have my FEN 603. I'm not worried. Something has decided to tamper with SLA Industries property and right now, in my hazy mind, that makes it my prey. I am an Operative. I am a Wraith Raider. I am not a hunter. I am the hunter.
Images crowding into my vision, barely glimpsed scenes in the shadows of the stairwell and there in front of me is the basement door, heavily locked. I can't stop in time. The drugs have spiked my nervous system. Two bullets turn the lock mechanism into so much scrap metal and one last bound throws me through the door. A flare of pain in my leg. I landed badly. Teach me to prefer drugs to sleep. Does give me a split second of clarity. Guy with a pistol. Tied up girl. Seen her before. Him trying to splice something into the cable lines, hands shaking. He doesn't want to drop the pistol.
No explanations, just the ring of a gunshot. I'm not Nightfire, I don't know if he's firing CAF or one-seven HESH. Just that he missed. I'm still moving, kicking off with my good leg, slamming my knee into his groin and my elbow into his temple before he registers that I'm alive. He drops. I free the girl and call the Shivers. Turns out that girl was the missing one. Saboteur was the boyfriend, was working for DarkNight trying to patch in a subliminal transmitter to the cable input. Shivers took him away, thanked me for my assistance. Didn't want thanks, but was too hyped up to sleep. Found sleeping pills, passed out for a full day. Better living through chemistry.