From: Blitz <blitz@crow.cybercom.com>
Subject: Tales From the Zone, pt 2
Date: Fri, 19 May 1995 17:38:03 -0400

(Apologies for the delay...not even sure if pt 1 got posted to begin 
with, the news server has been going batshit in a big way.)

"Where the fuck am I?" I asked, aware that I was conscious.  I opened my 
eyes.  I felt them open, anyway...nothing but white static.  Shit.  My 
thoughts weren't there, my mind a blank hole.  What the hell had happened 
to me?

"Are you awake?  Holy shit, I thought you were gonna die there or 
something..." said someone.  Man's voice, young, nervous.  "I mean, you 
were REALLY bleeding..."

"I bleed alot.  Don't mean much.  Mind telling me where I am, who you 
are, and what happened to me?"  I added some subvocalization, intended 
for the AI.  "Hey.  AI.  Help me out here.  What happened?"

No response.  That was NOT good.  Oh shit.  The barricade between my mind 
and insanity, as cracked and wormholed as it was, had collapsed.  I was 
gonna be in for some shit in the very near future.

"I'm Ratchet's assistant, the one who does the biotech jobs.  I put in 
your new teeth.  Name's Grover, remember?"

I ran my tongue experimentally across my lower teeth.  It felt like 
licking a row of razor blades.  I tasted blood.  "They feel good, Grove.  
How do they look?"

"Pretty fucking mean," said Grover.  "Very predatory.  That the effect 
you were going for?"

"Yep.  Now, I need some info here.  Last thing I remember I was talking 
to a friend, Hans, outside of the Grand Hotel in Jersey City.  Forgot 
what I was gonna do."

"Partial amnesia from a head wound.  It should come back.  You fought 
Byorox, remember?"

"No.  Did I win?"  I sat up.  I was clothed in some kind of fabric, 
probably cotton.  Still just interference for vision.

"Yeah, you won, but he messed you up.  Me and Ratchet fixed you just 
fine, though.  But we had some problems.  A ninja came looking for you, 
and he wasn't friendly."

"He still here?"

"No.  We amscrayed.  Don't worry, we're safe."

"Hmmm.  Ratchet around?"

"Nahhh.  We fix alot of samurai, right?  We each got a hiding place, one 
that the other doesn't know about.  Just in case.  Ratchet doesn't know 
where I am, I don't know where he is.  But we should be safe for a bit.  
How're you feeling?"

"Pretty fucking lousy.  I can't see anything, and my AI isn't talking.  
You know anything about neurosurgery?  I'm gonna need a doc quick."

"No.  Shit.  Ninja hit us with an EMP, musta thought Ratchet and I were 
chipped.  Dammit, I thought I fixed you.  EMP scrambled the RAM in your 
ocular preprocessor.  Don't worry, I can fix that quick.  It's military, 
right?"

"Yeah."

"Just a few flipped bits.  Hold on..."  The room snapped into startling 
clarity.  "There.  That better?"

"Much."  I looked around.  It was a small cement cubicle, damp and dark.  
A steel door was set in one wall.  A message of some sort was stencilled 
on one wall in small, official letters, but they were too faded to read.  
"Where are we?"

"Old subway tunnel, Jersey City.  They'll never find us down here.  At 
least, not for a while."  Grover stepped into view.  He was generically 
handsome and tall, a living advertisement for his biological 
modifications.  Each of his four hands was holding a tool of some sort.  
I wondered briefly about that...when you had four arms, were two 
preferred, or just one?  I'd have to ask him about that sometime.

"So," I said, "how'd I do in the big fight?"

"I recorded it," he said.  "Standard holovid camcorder, sorry, but I got 
a small player here.  Want to see it?  It might help you remember."

"Please."  I watched him get the holovid player, about the size of a 
paperback novel.  The chip was already in.  He flipped it on.  A small 
simulation of the Other Side's dance floor blurred into view.  The res 
was poor, but I could see the small figures of Jetta and Byorox circling 
warily.

"Sorry about the clarity, but that place was pretty smoky and it was an 
old recorder," said Grover.  "Know who put the assassin on you?"

"Shit.  These days, I don't even keep track of who wants me dead.  Could 
be a couple of people."  Jetta came in with the knife, lunging expertly.  
It broke as Byorox's mace turned it away.  I chuckled.  "That's the 
second time I've had a monoblade break on me.  First time I almost died 
because of it."

"So I've heard," said Grover.  For one moment, I got a good view of 
myself, as the holographic Jetta moved to regain her balance.  Her pale, 
arrogant face was coldly rageful, long brown hair flying despite the 
bandanna on her head to hold it down.  Byorox's backhanded mace swing 
caught her on the jaw, knocking her to the floor in a spin.

"Shit," I swore.  "That the head wound you were talking about?"

"Yep.  Amazing regenerative abilities, Jetta.  I'm surprised you survived 
that, let alone got back up," said Grover.

"Musta been the endorphins," I lied.  I hadn't been on analogs for that 
one.  I still didn't remember being struck, but it must've hurt.  Byorox 
swung the mace down, seeking to end the fight immediately.  Jetta rolled 
to the side, face and chest covered with blood.  She got to her feet, 
sidestepping his rush like he was a Scalp.  She stepped in close, inside 
his swing range, drumming punches into his body.

"Damn, you were wired," said Grover.  "Ten punches inside one second.  
How high you chipped?"

"Pretty high."  Jetta kicked him on the inside of his left thigh.  His 
face contorted in pain.  She struck him across the face with an elbow.  
He backpedalled, still wanting to use that mace.  She spun fluidly, like 
a dancer, hitting him in the jaw with the outside of her foot.  Down he went.

"What the hell did they train you 'Blazers with, anyway?"

"Little bit of everything."  Jetta waited for him to get back up.  There 
was no sound to the vid, but I could see myself taunting him, gesturing 
for him to come get more.  I must've been really pissed off.  "TKD for 
the kicks, JKD for punches, traps and infighting.  Aikido for defense and 
for moving around 500-pound Scalps that don't like to be moved.  Muay 
Thai for power, endurance, and the shit they don't teach you in the 
dojo.  Escrima to integrate it with weapons.  None of it microsoft, 
either.  They wanted us to be able to improvise if things went to shit, 
and they usually did."

"Yeah.  I guess so."  Jetta moved in again, catching the Ortho's swinging 
arm and throwing him over her shoulder.  The mace clattered to the floor, 
out of reach.  She kicked it away and began taunting him again, grinning 
through a mouthful of broken teeth.  Byorox got up, his confidence 
visibly shaken.  He was a big man with excellent training, but he felt 
alot safer with that mace, the symbol of his rank.  He drew a knife from 
nowhere.  Jetta popped the blades out of her fist, holding them back, 
tensed to strike.  They began circling again.

"You certainly do have the moves out there," said Grover admiringly.  
"Ever thought about teaching classes?"

"Not enough interest.  Most people don't want to put in the time when 
there's cheap microsoft out there.  Works well enough, until you meet 
someone who actually knows what they're doing.  I see it all too often, 
believe me."  Jetta lunged at her opponent.  He turned expertly, 
suffering a long, shallow gash instead of a killing blow.  He grabbed her 
in a headlock, driving his elbow down into her back and forgetting the 
claws.  She slashed him in the thigh and he pushed her away.

"So what're you gonna do now?" asked Grover.  "And by the way, this 
little service costs extra...you know that, don't you?"

"I got more money than time right now.  So be it.  Guess I'll pack it up 
and get out of Jersey for good.  People keep trying to kill me around 
here," I said.  "They only pounded on my door and pissed me off in Germany."
Claws rang against knife without a sound.  Jetta caught the knife wrist 
and twisted it too far.  He reached around with his other hand to 
transfer the weapon.  She kicked it away and wrenched the knife from his 
hand, throwing it into the crowd.  The claws retracted.

"This job wasn't for money, was it?"  asked Grover, his tone solemn.  "I 
mean, there you go, putting the weapons away whenever you could.  You 
didn't want this to be quick, did you?"

"You ask alot of questions, Grover," I said.  "Bad habit.  It's nice to 
know secrets until the owners come looking for them."

"Now watch this," he said, speaking like an overexcited college boy 
again.  "This shit is amazing.  You mean to tell me the military taught 
you THIS?"

Jetta took a flying leap, locking her legs around Byorox's neck.  She 
drove him into the concrete floor face-first, her weight behind it.  She 
rolled off, straddled his chest, and punched him four times across the 
face, left-right, left-right.  The left fist froze above her shoulder, 
trembling.  The claws popped free.

"Saw it in a flick once, actually.  I'm kinda surprised some crazy shit 
like that would work."  I smiled.  The left fist descended.  Blood 
sprayed.  It came back, then down again.  More blood.  It began to pool 
beneath them, black in the varied lighting of the club.  Byorox's arms 
and legs, all that was visible around Jetta, began to twitch and shake in 
convulsions.

"Well," said Grover, turning the display off, "there it is.  You beat him 
but good.  That swing busted your jaw, most of your teeth, and put some 
vertabrae out of alignment, but that was pretty easy to fix.  You asked 
for the new teeth."

"Got a mirror?" I asked.  He nodded, smiling, and held up a small shaving 
mirror, the corners black with grime.  I looked into it.  There was a 
light bruise on my cheek and the left side of my jaw.  I parted my lips 
and grinned.  There they sat, two rows of teeth that would've looked 
perfectly at home in a shark's mouth, fitting perfectly to one another, 
almost too white and bright to look at.

"Outstanding," I said.  "Where's the Tank Suit?"

"Brought it with me," he said excitedly, obviously pleased at the 
compliment to his work.  He rummaged through a bulky backpack, removing a 
beige duffelbag.  "It's in there.  With the clothes you were wearing and 
the pistols."

"And my bandanna?  You KNOW I can't work without that fucking bandanna," 
I said, a little worried.

"Yeah, that too, it's all there."

"Outstanding."  I pulled the two pistols out and crossed them in my 
waistband, untucking my shirt and hanging it over them.  I wrapped the 
bandanna around my head and slung the duffelbag over my shoulder.

"This shit's on your tab, okay?" said Grover.  "You'd better pay, 
Ratchet's mighty pissed about his place getting trashed like that."

"Shit, have I ever stiffed you guys before?"  I smiled and winked.

"Where you off to?" he said.

"I heard that the guy who did my AI, name's Kenji, lives over in Japan.  
I've been meaning to pay him a visit for a while, but I kept putting it 
off, putting it off...I guess it's about time I stopped by to say hello, 
get this fucking thing fixed once and for all before I go off the deep end."

"You know your way out of here?  It's like a maze," he said.

"Well, considering how much I probably owe Ratchet now, I'd have to say I 
once again have more time than money," I said, smiling.  I opened my 
mouth and snapped my teeth together.  "I'll find my own way out.  Thanks 
for the show, huh?"

"Anytime," said Grover.  "Be seeing you."

"Next time some asshole knocks my teeth out, I know where to go," I 
chuckled, stepping out into the inky, wet darkness of the old subway tunnel.