11: Neon
It took all of thirty seconds for Sam to realize she’d been sold the fuck out to the corp. Her netrunner going quiet all of a sudden when he was supposed to be monitoring the movements of building’s security team was the first hint, and the alarm sounding shortly thereafter was one hell of a second hint. She swore as she ran down a suddenly brightly-lit hallway and frantically tried to pull up the schematics of the building to look for a hiding place. There was a nonzero chance, she knew, that they were no more reliable than her netrunner had proven to be (okay, she thought, so maybe he was sold out too and the reason he went silent is that he’s dead, but it felt unlikely to her), but she didn’t have much of a choice.
The sound of booted feet echoing down the hallway made the decision for her and she all-but dove into a nearby office. She quickly began shoving a filing cabinet to block the doorway and looked around for any other possible bits of cover. There was a single desk that was little more than a table, and she flipped it over to give herself something to hide behind. On a particularly good day, it might even take a few bullets.
There’s no way this works, she thought, one hand drawing her blade and the other reaching for an EMP on her belt, but at least I’ve got more cover in here than I would in an open hallway. A diffused neon light streamed into the room from the window looking outside as a giant advertisement for the newly-opened low-orbit casino floated by. The door exploded inward, carrying the filing cabinet with it. Sam flung the EMP immediately and charged.
The resulting detonation was enough to take out the first few members of the security team sent to kill her – their vision distorted, they never saw the blade coming. The remaining three, however, were a little more quick to recover and began firing rifles directly through the doorway. Sam got lucky: the bodies of the guards she’d already killed made good shields as she dove to the side.
When the fragmentation grenade rolled through the door, however, Sam knew she was hosed. Her choices became the following:
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Get blown the fuck up
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Jump out the window and splatter across the street
She decided on the second option, and was treated to a few heart-stopping seconds of freefall before she bounced off a passing aircar and, scrambling, drove her blade into the hull.
This is the last time I take a job from someone I don’t know, Sam thought, her shoulder lurching uncomfortably out of its socket, I don’t care how fucking good the payday is.