What a Day...

  Two men will be dead in a moment, neither of them will have lived. The other two won't die; both of them have lived decades and will live for many more.

  He's standing behind two soldiers dressed in grey and dark blue urban camo uniforms. The acrid, metallic smell of their M18 ARs firing at his team lingers in the air. So close is he behind the first one that he could reach out and place his hand on their shoulder. But instead, he levels his 1911 inches from the back of the left one's head and pulls the trigger. Sweet hydraulic fluid and a coppery smell of blood permeate the air. The enemies teammate stops firing and looks back over his shoulder wild-eyed. Before the enemy can react, he's dispatched as well.

  It's been two weeks since he's been back as a Specter, it feels like he's hitting his stride.

  Bucket sends a neural message to his squad:

  DM Team AC – Bucket – Good job on the cloaking script Glitch

  DM Team AC – Glitch – Man, I recorded that shit Bucket. Damn, why bother using AR's when you can just walk up and execute them?

  Looking down, Bucket sees what he's seen hundreds of times before: two men in military fatigues lying there, dead, in a back alley off 3rd Ave and 97th St. on Manhattan Island, 1986. The faded, stylized graffiti on the walls clashes with the dark red smoke stained bricks from a fire years ago, random puddles from the rain last night are scattered about, the stink of the human condition lingers in the air.

  But this isn't real; this is the Hype.

  He switches his echo-suit's vision out of the Hype to view the real world. The men are lying there in white, smooth, walnut-shell textured echo-suits, like contoured plastic and steel medieval armour, only much more deadly. Well, they would be deadly if they didn't have their heads blown open with blood and hydraulic fluid oozing out.

  There is no graffiti; the ancient brick wall is just old, grey concrete, most buildings just patched together with a grey industrial synth concrete, like a glued together tea mug. In the real world, a storm is blowing in, thunder cracks in the distance as the rain falls.

  And it's not 1986. It's 2219.

  Kneeling down to the first one, he tilts his limp head back, the black holographic bug eyes of the mask stare blank into the abyss. Using his knife, Bucket makes an incision in the man's jugular. The least he can do is ensure their suffering has ended. He pops the mask off. Looking at the wetware host's face, he figures he wasn't older than 17. He hates when the bastards use hosts so young.

  DM Team AC – Bucket – They're just kids. Some days I hate Net Lords more then others.

  He quickly slit the others jugular as well.

  DM Team AC – Leech – Damn Bucket! That took balls.

  It irks him that even his own guys don't 'get it' some days. Who the hell is he to judge though? They all gotta do what they gotta do to deal with it all. All he can do is keep moral up.

  DM Team AC – Bucket - I just took advantage of you guys drawing fire, good job being a target Leech. Way to do fucking nothing.

  Bucket claps his hands.

  DM Team AC – Leech - Hey, someone had to draw their fire. Besides, we all know our fearless leader likes to be the hero

  DM Team AC – Bucket – Is Beacon with the HVE?

  DM Team AC – Glitch - The HVE is in fair shape. They seem a bit behind in their extract prep.

  DM Team AC – Laser – Shiiiet, that never happens.

  DM Team AC – Bucket - Ok, enough bull shit. Focus up, let's head out.

  It's an unneeded risk to all of them if the HVE idn't properly prepped. They've had a lot of fatalities with Spectres lately; that's why they've called Bucket and his team in to assess and figure it out.

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  Switching back to viewing the Hype, Laser, Leech, and him are all dressed in denim jeans and jackets, carrying a guitar case that's masking their ARs. The team walks down the street, blending in with all the Net Lords in the Hype.

  Today Bucket's team is assessing Scout Specter Beacon. Bucket has heard some concerning rumor's about Beacon; he's also been spending months prepping wetware hosts for skinjacks when it should only be taking weeks.

  Arriving at the veterinary clinic, they enter. Bucket switches to real world vision and approaches the reception desk. Looking in the real world, all he sees is her echo-suit. The wetware host underneath is some poor lady grown in a vat, never fully conscious of the fact she's human, a toy for the Net Lord controlling her. Who would want to be Generic Receptionist #3 for over 100 years?

  “I'm here to see Dr. Franks.”

  “Ok. Have a seat, I'll let him know you're here. Where is your pet?”

  “Oh he's shy, I have him here under my jacket.” Bucket pretends to pet an imaginary critter under his coat. “Yeah, he's a cowardly little yellow-belly RAT that likes to hide in dumpsters.” He says, trying not to grin. He can hear the guys seated behind him acting up.

  “Oh, that's so cute!” The sweet-as-pie receptionist exclaims, “What is the little guy's name?”

  Looking directly back at Leech with a big grin, he responds to her question, “I call him Leech.”

  The guys all cover their faces, muffling their laughter.

  “Oh, you must care deeply for him.”

  “Not really, he's a little asshole.” He turns and sits beside the guys. By now, the boys have all lost any sense of composure, looking at them he just grins.

  “Asshole,” Leech says, still covering his face, trying to hide his laughing.

  After a short while, receptionist #3 calls them in to see Dr. Franks. Walking in Bucket notices Franks looks a bit pale and nervous, Beacon is trying to calm him.

  Beacon's job has been to work with Dr. Franks to get his mind ready so we can take him to extraction, pull off the skinjack, have the suit removed, and his connection to the Net Lord severed, freeing his mind to become Unlinked. They have a forced sleep script running on the Net Lord linked to Franks. Franks is in full control of his body and mind, for now.

  “Hi, I'm Bucket. We're your escort team. How're you doing, Franks?”

  “I'm doing well, nervous though.”

  Scanning over him with his ghostshades, Bucket sees his HR is elevated. He stops and scans Franks chest. He has sever plaque built up on his arteries; he won't even survive the removal of the echo-suit.

  “It'll all be fine. Beacon and I need to speak outside for a minute.” Beacon doesn't look too surprised when Bucket calls him outside. They go out the back door. Bucket has a look around before he gives Beacon a hard shove, he stumbles as hits the wall.

  “You're either grossly incompetent or better have a damn good reason why we're attempting to extract a target with a heart condition. Thousands of wetware hosts to choose from, we're risking our lives for this shit and we're trying to run a skinjack on someone with a subpar life expectancy? Does he know he has a heart condition?”

  “Look, this is the fourth person I've scouted. I spent a month with him, he's a good man.”

  “And how do we know that? You haven't been here a full cycle, you haven't seen 1986 repeat at least once. Most of them have a script to be good people. You know it's a farce. He didn't know he was a Host until you made contact, it's your fucking job not to make contact if they're not a healthy extract target.”

  It's all going to fall back on Bucket, like always. Beacon is to green to do the cutwire. Bucket shoves the door open with all his might; it slams into the wall and almost clocks him in the head as it bounces back.

  “Ok, everyone, follow me, let's head out.”

  Leech looks at Bucket nervously; he sees it as well. Leech is good, but fixing shit like this issue is just about the only weakness he has.

  They head out; it's a four-block walk to the clean room.

  Two blocks in, he's slowing. Franks looks pale as hell. Bucket takes them down a side alley.

  “I just need a minute. This has been happening more and more the last two weeks. The Doc says its fine, I just need more exercise. My family have all had this issue as well, the Doc figures it's a bug.” Damn, looking down at him at a different angle Bucket sees it; a bad blockage. He looks so damn pale. He sits down beside him.

  “So Franks, tell me about yourself.” He's an aware human being now. Bucket needs to treat him as such.

  “I'm married, have two beautiful children, Thomas and Angie, and my wife Justine is amazing.” He has no family; they are all grown in a vat, the script feeding him and his family the lies. They are wetware hosts being controlled by Net Lords. But in Franks' mind, they're his world.

  “That sounds amazing, Franks. A friend of mine loves his family so much that he said he can close his eyes and see their faces. Is it true? Is that something all fathers can do?”

  “I think I can, but I was told they're not real by Beacon, that I will be freed. I don't understand. This is all so confusing.”

  Bucket taps the side of his head, “They are real up here, close your eyes and imagine them, the smiles on their faces, all the good things in their life.”

  He closes his eyes, “I can see them, they're so beautiful.”

  With no hesitation, Bucket draws his 1911, points it at Franks head and pulls the trigger. He slumps to the ground.

  Beacon draws his revolver and points it at Bucket's face.

  “What the hell was that!” Beacon screams. Leech is nervously tapping the side of his leg with his hand, Laser is just looking down.

  “That's the shit people that know what the fuck they're doing have to do when people like you fuck up. With the heart condition he wouldn't have survived the suit removal; you fucking knew this. He was winded after only two blocks. The Net Lords were probably already looking to replace him, he went to the Doctors recently.”

  His hand shaking, gun to Buckets face he has a look of dispare, hopelessness. “We could have saved him. You had no right to make a cutwire call.”

  “I'm the Sargent, the highest ranking member here. Its not only my call it's my duty to make the right call. Look man, you fucked up, I fuck up we all have fucked up. But shooting me in the face won't bring him back, At least he died thinking of his nonexistent family; he died feeling some joy in life.”

  “You're right, I'm envious,” Beacon says. He points the revolver to the side of his own head.