Whatever I was dreaming about, the mindless chirp of the telecom saves me from it. I'm grateful; normally, my dreams aren't the kind you want to dwell on. Most people say they can never remember their dreams. Forgetting mine seems to the trouble.
I prise open an eye, glancing at the clock printed green in my vision; 2:38am. A little over an hours sleep - great. I let the eyelid fall back into place, and blindly reach a claw out, fumbling for the telecom button. I leave a few scratches on the table, but I get it on my third try. Unwilling and unable to move, I lay sprawled in the bed as I hear the signal connect.
"Mr Kennicky?"
Female, probably human, same plastic condescending tones used by every corporate on the planet. I barely manage to mumble a reply.
"Don't you people ever sleep?"
I get the feeling that, somehow, my need for sleep isn't gonna let me off the hook.
"Mr Kennicky, I'm Grace Viers, KPS Public Relations".
Dammit. Someone in the office has his or her panties in a bunch about something. Now I know I'm not gonna weasel out of this, I begin the painful process of dragging myself back to consciousness as the suit drones on.
"We have a public relations matter Mr Kramer would like you to attend to; I'm uploading a data transmission to you now."
I roll over in the bed, flick the switch on the Oyster on the bedside table, and wait for the footage to load up while I try to palm the sleep from my eyes. Gradually, the feeling starts to return to my skin. A discrete bleep from the laptop tells me the footage is loaded. I punch the start key, and watch it roll.
I recognise the principal at once. A new guy to the circuit, a 714 called 'Waste'. Getting the hell pushed out of his too; either he's friends with the Prince of Darkness, or he's got one hell of an agent. Either way, he's only been around a few months, and already he's getting some big-time TV exposure.
Our friend is doing a post-match chit-chat with some low-rent human reporter. I look for the channel logo on the footage, and spot the familiar SIC brand floating in the lower right hand corner; probably tonight's 'Cults of Carnage' or 'Slash & Burn'. I don't really listen to the interview itself; I've heard this guy speak before, and the day a single 714 gives a half-decent interview is the day I flush my LAD account, get myself a 'Digger Sucks' DNA tattoo and wander into Sector One.
Instead I try to figure out what's got the bigwigs at KPS all tangled. A couple of seconds later, the big lug gives the answer for me.
The show is tonight's 'Cults'. It just went out, so someone at the office has hustled to get this too me. Seems that the biogenetic beefcake went and grabbed a Mangler off the body of a fallen CK, and was beating Cultists with it like a club. We get a replay of this, in glorious technicolour, while the hulking ape tells the whole world that he was hitting people with the gun because he thought it would do more damage than shooting them with it. Cute. No wonder PR are having kittens.
The footage cuts back to the brute, and I start to scan him for logos.
Bingo, just like I expected, a Klip Killer patch on his chestplate. Looks like KK are taking a little cheapshot back, just because I accidentally called someone's Panther a 'charm bracelet' on The Hunt last week. The footage clicks off, and the telecom light blinks on again.
"You see the problem, Mr Kennicky?"
I slide out of the bed, try to work out the knots with a few stretches.
"Sure. What do you want me to do about it? Beat him to death with a Mangler to prove a point?"
The little fake corporate laugh tells me that my sense of humour isn't the sharpest right now.
"Of course not. But Mr Kramer feels a response would be appropriate. Covert Games have been approved. Your agent is at the Arena now, filling out the forms."
Covert Games. Sweet. I least I don't have to get up close with the big lug.
"OK, no problem. I've got 72 hours, right?"
I might even manage to get some sleep after all.
"I'm afraid not; our sources tell us that Waste is booked on 'Last Man Standing' in 9 hours. We'd prefer him not to make consecutive television appearances without some form of retribution."
Oh, crap. So much for getting some sleep.
"Is my 'Shell out of respray yet?"
In the, background the sound of keys clicking her shiny corporate laptop sounds like the clicking of my spine falling back into place.
"Sorry, sir, but the Marketing Division haven't settled on the colour scheme for the new logo yet; your armour won't be available for another 24 hours."
This just gets better and better. I start to dig through the pile of clothes strewn on the nearby chair, trying to figure out which ones are clean. I know my laundry routine sucks, but hell, I've got bigger fish to fry than clean clothes. I try a little sarcasm.
"Anything else? Want me to go after him blindfolded? One arm tied behind my back?"
There's a short silence from the other end of the phone, and I remember that the last time I opened my mouth like that it lead to the infamous 'Naked Pig Wrestling' assignment. I close my eyes and wait for the hammer to fall.
"I've just talked to Mr Kramer..."
Oh, hell.
"...and he feels that, due to the nature of Waste's comments, you should deliver our reprimand...up close. Our R&D have just produced a prototype for our new range of hand to hand weaponry..."
I've seen it. It's nothing more than a nice looking, vibrating stick. You could probably do more damage with a dinner fork.
"...and Mr Kramer thinks that a demonstration of its effectiveness will be good for future marketing. We'll have the prototype ready for your collection, and Professor Garnet will be happy to explain the few bugs that need ironing out."
Just peachy.
"Any other questions, Mr Kennicky?"
Yeah.
Haven't you got some other assignment you'd prefer to send me on; like maybe shining the shoes of everyone in the office, or standing around serving drinks at some KPS Marketing party?
Why didn't I stick with Operative life, getting paid a pittance to do things which only half made sense?
Why the hell did I sell my soul to you?
"Mr Kennicky?"
Do you really think I have a choice any more?
"I'm on my way."
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