This is your wake-up call. The time is twenty oh-four. This is your wake-up call.
My eyes snap open, focus, and lay into a stare at the painting on the wall of my apartment. A pleasant country scene. A steady beeping in my head.
Acknowledged, I think. The beeping stops. I have some trouble standing up due to the gash in my right leg. I curse silently, having forgotten to heal it the day before. I grab the large pioneer backpack next to the bed and open it up as I sit back to rummage through it.
Treatment centers, need treatment centers. Ah, there they are. I rifle through the contents. Two 14s, three 18s, a 20, and a 39. I pull out the level 20 TC, and activate it. The digital readout comes to life.
QL: 20
CHARGES: 12
Figures. I take a look at the QL 39. Eight charges left. The pain in my leg is throbbing. I use it. The nanobots do their work instantly, and the wound closes.
My eyes begin to burn. The world goes black.
Corneas Recharging, Please Wait...
Question to self: Was the ceasing of the pain in my leg worth the burning sensation in my skull?
...Complete. The world returns to my view. Same painting on the wall.
Answer to self: Sure was. At least I can stand now.
I rub my eyes and stand up. I toss the TCs back into the pack and seal it before strapping it over my shoulders. I face the door.
Message from Metalynx: Greetings, Program! Good to see you in the land of the living.
"Ugh. We drank to much last night," I reply over the comlink. "How long was I out?"
Metalynx: Two days, bro. Good thing you showed up, too. I have a buyer.
My pupils dialate with fear. A buyer, and I'm almost out of TCs. "What's he want," I ask. I did a good job of keeping my voice clear of apprehension.
Metalynx: Five QL 30s, as we agreed.
My eyes close. I knew it. He'll kill me if he finds out I don't have them. "When's the trade scheduled?"
Metalynx: Has to be today, bro. You have the kits, right? Tell me you have the kits. I spent a lot of money on you, man.
Mental Note: I don't care what his bio reads. This guy's a trader, not a fixer. Nothing worse than being employed by an uptight trader.
"I got the kits, man. Gimme a couple hours of R&R, got a client lunch," I lie.
Metalynx: Don't take too long.
Connection Closed.
My eyes re-open. I don't have the kits, and I just gave myself a couple hours to get them.
Any other time, that would not have been long enough. But I need the cash.
The door swings open. I step out.
((to be continued...))
