Clothes Don't Make The Man

"Honey, we've got company.... again."  

Jian stood up from the couch, brushing the tortilla crumbs from his tattered blue and white Caber Biosystems wife-beater. He thought-clicked the HV unit off, silencing the latest 1960s Latin Guitar Revival performance from New Havana.

"Maybe you can convince them to take it outside this time." 

Heather's voice sounded from the kitchenette, her usually soft tones sharpened. That meant she was mad and odds were, with him. This was the third time this month, which was pretty ridiculous, but the neighbourhood had been going downhill since Wild Rose Biotech shut down its main research lab and closed down its production lines in the Caled Metroplex. All sort of nice folks had moved out, following the good jobs, and all sorts of detritus had blown in as a replacement. And some of them just weren't that bright. 

Jian surveyed the three 'men' standing inside his balcony door. They had obviously climbed onto his balcony from one above, below or beside and were looking fairly pleased with themselves for this display of skill. Meeting their feral yet largely clueless gazes, he continued the conversation with his beloved.

"I have my doubts, Honey. We've got two idiots and a moron, or perhaps it's two morons and an idiot. Really just shades of grey and sometimes hard to tell apart. They don't look bright enough to be trainable." 

"Well, what do they want this time? It's not like we're rich. If they'll go away quietly, they can have a few meal packs."

She seemed to be possessed of a forlorn hope that perhaps offering these shallow-end swimmers in the city's gene pool a ration pack would forestall the truly inevitable.

"SHUT IT, ORGAN-BANKS!" bellowed the largest of the lot, the one in the middle, the one with the facial piercings attached to the large chain leading to bars through his nipples and then descending behind his belt buckle to regions best left uncontemplated. "This MY action. You stop broadstreaming scramble. You dance MY dance!" He spat his way to a finish, probably partly as emphasis and partly because otherwise the facial piercings would have had him drooling anyway. 

The other two, the tall, spindly one on the left dressed all in black bleathers and carrying the large butcher's vibroblade and the fat, short one dressed in the latest in worn-out, three-generations-out-of-date military cargo pants and a day-glo orange wife-beater obviously thought the leader's assertive speech was the definitive word on the subject. The fat one shouted "Factoid!" and the spindly one "Verify!".

Jian gave them an askance glance. "Well?"

The leader, fingering the butt of a large-calibre plastigun while hefting a monowire spooler in the other hand, seemed momentarily non-plussed. Apparently he had sought silence and possession of the token to speak without having any concept of what he was going to say. Jian could have said he recovered quickly, but reality would have been sadly abused by that description as the pause was quite lengthy.

"You Gee-Ann. Deleted Fast-Trak and 40 Cred. We same packet. We pack YOUR bits!" More foam flying from the mouth, barely intelligible. 

Jian reflected that if the local riff-raff got much dumber, they'd probably need state sponsored life support or they'd forget to eat.

"Honey, these 'gentlemen' appear to be here representing the same urban youth organization the last pair represented. I think they want  a word with me or perhaps something more physical." 

Jian's tone was mild, but he stepped out of the middle of the rec area into the workout area in front of the balcony, both to close some distance with the intruders and to ensure that if the monowire (or 'slashwire' as they called it on the street) was deployed. the HV unit woudn't take any damage. It was okay for him to get cut up, but Heather would have him neutered if these idiots interrupted her HV viewing schedule.

"I knew it! I knew it was going to be all about you. Why do none of the visitors ever come to see me? It's always you, you, you and the outcome is always broken furniture, severed limbs, broken bones, and a visit from the emergency services." 

Heather's tone was sharp. It showed her annoyance at the untoward disturbance. She was a bit mad at him, but the tone had more to do with her being worried about him. Even though he could hear her continuing preparing dinner in the kitchen, he was fairly sure she'd have slid the Skoda 5.8mm from its hidden location in the kitchen and slipped off the safety, ready to back him up if things got unpleasant. 

At least, he hoped she wasn't just chopping up the celery for the salad as the sounds seemed to indicate. He liked a good salad, but the monowire was a bit tricky and he could end up julienned if things went badly awry.

"Honey, be reasonable. I can't be held accountable for every imbecilic stim-slammer in the neighbourhood taking a big hit and then deciding that I should be his route to the Hereafter. They do have freedom of choice even if it isn't backed up by much upstairs." 

Jian flexed his shoulders and wrists, tested his balance, and started to settle into Primary Awareness.

The leader, annoyed that his threat had been taken so nonchallantly decided it was past the time for civilized discourse, albeit said leader would have had to look up the meaning of both 'civilized' and 'discourse'. He snapped his wrist and the fun started.

The spooler in his hand sung like a high pitched fishing reel and the monowire, weighted at the end by a sharp barbed penetrator, shot out towards Jian. At more or less the same time, the tall one snapped on the vibro-butcher knife with the loud buzz that all vibros generate and began to step towards Jian. The stout, fat one brought his right arm up with a cocked fist bearing a jam-stunner, obviously planning to stun-punch Jian and take him out.

These three were pretty quick and fairly coordinated. Life on the streets was tough and tougher still if you were an idiot or a moron, so to survive these ones had to be fairly quick, fairly hardy, and utterly ruthless. 

Unfortunately for them, compared to Jian, these clowns were the rankest of amateurs.

Quick was a word that wouldn't have done Jian justice. Blindingly fast might have started to get close. Bionic and bio-genetic enhancements had notched up his reaction times to the point where greased lightning would probably be a more reasonable description. Jian eyed the oncoming monowire spearpoint as it moved towards him in what appeared to him to be slow motion. 

Jian pivoted low and spun clockwise out of the path of the monowire and out of the fall of the wire once the spool hit its stop. He continued the spin, sweeping out his right leg, sweeping the tall, spindly one's feet out from under him by smashing the right shin, leaving the bone protruding from the now useless leg as the spindly assailant tumbled to the ground.

Before the tall, spindly one had even drawn enough breath to scream, Jian went vertical, springing high into the air, pushing off the ceiling with his arms, rotating in a complete sommersault in the air over the monowire now settling to the ground, and slamming both of his heels squarely into the forehead of the stout one with the jam-stunner. The crack of bone could be heard and the body began tumbling to the ground while Jian landed on all fours.

Jian blurred immmediately into a sommersault along the ground, coming up fast into the leader from below. Jian's right hand slashed up in a knife hand smash that broke the leader's extended wrist and sent the monowire spool sailing away to bounce along the ground. 

Jian's left hand latched a solid hold on the chromed bar through the leader's left nipple. The leader had time to dimly register his two fallen comrades, the broken wrist, and the grip on the nipple bar and joining chain before Jian moved again. In that frozen moment, the first dim sense of outright terror and the realization that he had badly screwed up started to dawn upon his drug-addled conciousness.

Jian spun rapidly away from the leader in a counterclockwise rotation. The corded and augmented muscles of his left arm ensured an unbreakable grip on the chromed nipple bar and the connector chain the leader wore. The scream as the strong bar and chain pulled metal through flesh, starting with the nipple and moving upward to the facial region and downward below the belt, was like the screech of a soul being rent asunder upon the Ninth Plane of Hell.

As Jian spun to a stop, no more than three seconds from the leader's wire cast, the leader finished collapsing to the ground, screeching incoherently, joining the unconcious or dead stout intruder and the thin intruder holding his smashed shin and letting out an anguished wail. 

Jian stepped back, noticing in his peripheral vision that Heather was punching the call button for the emergency services who would shortly then be enroute allegedly. He also registered that she leaned around the kitchen doorframe with the Skoda in her hand, ready to back him up with lethal force.

It wasn't necessary as this fight was over. None of these broken miscreants would give Jian any trouble. Just to be sure, he reached into a vase filled with umbrellas he kept just inside the rec room and produced a Kockler C-4 Flechette Carbine. 

The safety immediately disengaged as the weapon authenticated his implants. The C-4 was small, but the flechette burst it produced would shred half the body of a man into bloody cowburger at distances up to 50 yards. Even these cess-pool floaters would recognize the folly of screwing with that, were they not preoccupied by their various injuries.

Heather spoke up, her voice still tart, but with a very slight cracking, betraying her agitation and fear for him. 

"You've got blood all over the tatami and likely it's tainted. We'll have to throw it out and get a new one! And the felching slashwire tip is stuck in one of my favourite throw pillows! And look at you! You've got blood and bits all over your clothes just before dinner! You'll need to wash and dinner will be overdone and ruined!"

Jian spoke in a reassuring tone to calm Heather down, partly for her sake and partly because having an agitated woman behind one with a loaded firearm with safety disengaged didn't seem like a low-risk option. 

"Heather, you can lower the Skoda now, we're safe."

He hesitated a moment before continuing, noting Heather registering his words and lowering the Skoda.

"You always wonder why I never buy nice clothes and always kick around in second-hand store or freebie promo giveaway t-shirts and UberMart jeans. THIS is what seems to happen to any clothes I own."

"I long ago learned that it doesn't matter how expensive, how rip resistant, how stain impervious they claim the stuff is. It still ends up in the rubbish bin after an exciting episode. And it seems every episode with me is an exciting one."

He finished more quietly.

"Honey, I'm glad you had my back. The Polmedics will get this sorted out. I'll get a fast shower and change. Dinner will be just fine. You did good, very good."

"And I love you."

© May 2009, Lux Mentis, all rights reserved.