“Have you seen the face of God?” The words floated out of the ether like a familiar song that you can’t quite place. “There is only one way forward, but so many ways back.” I woke with one of those full body jerks you get when you don't mean to doze off. Whatever I had been dreaming fled my mind no matter how I tried to hold on to it as I took a second to remember where I was, but the clatter of the subway brought me up to speed quite literally. I ran a hand over my face as I peered up towards the harsh fluorescent lighting, trying to find the station map. My stop soon. There was always something that unsettled me about the subway. The subterranean maze of tunnels felt like a time capsule that had been forgotten. No matter how much the city above progressed, or how efficiently you could replace your body parts with tech, below ground you’d always find the same battered trains riding the same grimy rails. I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets as I disembarked and climbed the tiled stairs up to the surface and lifted my head to squint angrily at the clouded morning sky. Snow again. Luckily it was only a slow dusting for now, and my office was a short walk anyway. The door whined as if lamenting the cold let in when I shoved it open and ducked inside. There was a middle aged, wirey guy sitting on the old couch outside the downstairs office. He was holding a slightly beat-up cybernetic arm in his lap, and the matching socket sticking out from his shoulder wiggled as he unconsciously tried to raise his detached arm in a casual greeting. “Hey, Nate.” “Morning, Mr. Osmund. I take it the arm is still giving you trouble?” I leaned against the wall next to the stairs leading to my office. Mr. Osmund had been in and out quite a few times recently. “Course. Take it from me, don’t buy second hand, uh, hands. No pun intended.” He grimaced and jostled the limb with his knees. The downstairs office was run by a lawyer firm that specialized in augment and body mod cases. I had a few mods myself but considering I always did my research before hand, I had thankfully never needed their services. I made a sympathetic face and headed upstairs to my office. I styled myself as a “private eye” of sorts, as evident by the sign on my door, but these days it mostly just meant I was a gun-for-hire that at least tried to stay on the positive side of the law. Now and then I even worked with the cops, and by extent, the corps that owned them, but I tried to stay away from getting too deep into their corner. ------------------------------------------------ It was an uneventful day. A lot of paperwork with not a lot to interrupt it. A middle aged lady braved the weather to bring me a job in mid afternoon. She was an middling height, dirty blond, all around unremarkable woman that would look right at home at suburban book club. The job she brought was just as average; someone broke into her house, she wanted her stuff back, particularly her late mother’s jewelry. The description of the tattoo she had from her security cameras told me all I need to know about who did it: Grott’s crew. I typed all the info she had into my data link and let her know I’d give her a ring when I had news. Easy money. Most petty thieves didn’t have much backbone when you pointed a gun at their face. Speaking of guns, I needed to swing by Pandora’s Box, my favorite local weapons dealer. My current piece was getting a bit lackluster these days. It had a lot of sentimental value but that doesn’t stop bullets or the people firing them at me. I grabbed the gun holster from my chair and my coat and headed out into the snow. ------------------------------------------------ An electronic chime from somewhere behind the counter announced my arrival into the shop. A scaled head poked around the door into the back room, tongue flicking. Seth was a snakemorph, and had run the shop as long as I’d been coming here. When I had first moved to the city, it was a bit jarring for me to see people that didn’t look human. Science had figured out gene modding, stem cells, and cybernetics and all that shit years ago, but that didn’t mean anyone who went for that came to the bumfuck nowhere town I grew up in. I didn’t claim to know how it worked or understand it, but if someone wanted their DNA spliced so look like a cat, that was their business. I had asked Seth what kind of snake he went with at one point and he told me a bush viper. I had no idea what that looked like, but if his slightly spike yellow-green scales were anything to go by, I wasn’t in a hurry to meet the original version. “Ah, ‘Detective’ Holst, here to shop or still just looking?” He had a slightly unsettling way of talking that I’m pretty sure he did on purpose. I sighed and drew my worn p220 out of my shoulder holster. “Shopping, this time. It’s finally time for an upgrade.” I offered the weapon to him. “Hmmmm, let's see,” He turned it over a few times, testing various pieces. “Ah yes, you’ve had this for quite some time, no? Did you have something in mind or would you like some recommendations?” “You know this stuff better than me. I haven't been keeping up on all the latest styles.” “Very well,” He grinned, and turned to inspect the rack behind him. After a few minutes, he had assembled three different handguns on the counter and motioned for me to take a look. I picked up the first one, hefting it in my hand. It was surprisingly light, and had a noticeably less bulky apperance. “The GJ-36, that one is unique. It fires tiny rockets that are filled with a sticky gel that will detonate shortly after impact. Works wonders on armor. It’s a bit strange to shoot, as the “bullets” start quite a bit slower than you’re used to and speed up after they launch, but the results are… impressive,” He rasped excitedly. “Next is a more traditional one. I thought you might want something familiar. The Oleron 14 is a fairly new model, swapping traditional projecting methods for a mag rail system, resulting in a larger projectile while still maintaining a similar feel.” I liked this one. Straight lines, dark metal, and large square front made it visually aggressive in a way that spoke to me. Fancy new toys were all well and good but it’s hard to beat something I know how to use and I can trust in rough situation. Still, there was one left on the table. “What about the last one?” “The Ceser is bit of a niche pick, but not without it’s fans,” He mused as he picked up the pistol and dropped the mag out into his hand. He tipped it forward to show me the rounds; they were strangely thin. “These darts are made of a cesium alloy. Do you know what cesium does when it meets water?” I shook my head. Science wasn’t my strong suit. “Watch,” He popped a dart out and walked over to the front door. I followed him as he opened it and tossed the little needle out into the snow. For a second, there was only a faint hiss. Before I could remark to him, there was a bang as the dart burst, sending snow skyward. “Now remember that our bodies are about 70% water.” He grinned ferally as he led me back inside. “ ------------------------------------------------ Thirty minutes later, I walked out of a store with a reassuring weight in my shoulder holster. Seth had a knack for fitting clients with just the right guns, and while they had all gotten careful consideration, I had gone with the oleron. Now, it was time to get down to the dirty part of this job. I headed back into the subway. Grott was a local small time “crime lord,” if you can even call him that. His squad of junkies and misfits mostly just did low level crimes, avoiding the police due to not being worth the effort of officially arresting. However, I needed the paycheck. His hideout wasn’t exactly hidden so I headed over to the slums on the east side of the city. Hopefully, I could take them by surprise, they’d hand over the lady’s jewels and I’d be out of there with no bloodshed. Though, things had a way of rarely sticking to the plan. I emerged from the subterranean tunnels into what felt like a different city. My apartment wasn’t luxury by any means, but it felt like a penthouse compared to some of these buildings. Boarded windows, cinderblocked cars and other tell tale signs of “the bad part of town.” I flipped my collar up against the chill wind and nudged my elbow into the gun against my ribs for reassurance. I moved off down the street. I wanted this to be over sooner rather than later. I came up to an abandoned underground parking garage. This was the place. I hopped the ramshackle barricade and headed down the ramp. There was a thug in a folding chair at the bottom of the ramp, tipping back towards the wall and clearly asleep. High quality guard work. I drew my gun and pointed it at him as I tipped the chair further with my foot. He jerked awake before he fell but froze when he saw the barrel staring down at him. His put his hands up. “Smart move.” I said quietly, not sure if there was any other lookouts. He looked young, couldn’t have been more than 17. His hands were shaking. I don’t think they even gave him a gun. “Relax, kid. I’m just here to get back some of the shit you guys stole. I won't shoot you or anyone else unless I have to. The sooner you tell me where the stash is the sooner I can leave.” “It’s- It’s the office on the third floor down. The one with the ‘Management’ sign, I swear.” “Thanks. If you hear gunshots, I suggest you get out of here.” I lowered my gun and headed into the car park. The first floor was deserted besides the kid. I headed over to the stairwell and paused in the doorway, listening. I could hear some muffled chatter from downstairs. As I snuck down the stairs, I glanced down the middle of the well. There looked to be at least five floors, though the bottom two were blocked off by junk. I paused at the door to the second floor. Through the gaps in the ill fitting door I was able to see a few groups of rough looking guys in what looked like the living space. They were a pretty abnormal bunch, ranging from ravaged guys all teched out with makeshift mods, to morphs of various types, to scrappers that wouldn’t look out of place in a post apoc movie. Scavenged beds adorned the edges of the room, and some shoddy tables hosted card games and other time killers. A generator chugging away on the far wall powered some heaters and hanging light bulbs strung across the ceiling. I couldn’t see the whole room so it was hard to say how many people there were but it was already more than I wanted to tangle with. I descended to the third floor and stuck my head through the vacant door frame. A large room filled with abandoned cars was dimly lit by a couple of flood lights. I could barely make out the hallway on the left side with the aforementioned sign hanging crookedly above it. The shadows that were moving back and forth suggested there was a couple of thugs guarding the prize. The multitude of cars provided plenty of cover as I snaked my way through the room. It took me quite a while but judging by the nasty looking shotguns the patrollers were carrying it was better to play it safe. Judging by the digitigrade legs walking by the car I was hiding under, at least one of the two was some kind of morph but hopefully not a type that could sniff me out. These guys were clearly not experienced but I wasn’t going to say no to a bit of good fortune. It took longer than I would have liked, but seeing as I managed to slip into the hallway without getting busted, it seemed like a fair trade to me. The oleron in my hand was encouraging as I crept down the hallway. The couple of rooms I passed were empty, and I could see light streaming from a doorway down the hall. It was flickering, and I could hear the dim prattle of some tv series. If this was truly where the stash was I would have to get rid of this gangster one way or another while I sifted through the loot. I took a deep breath then whipped around the corner, gun raised. “Hands up, motherfu--” The hissed words died on my lips as I stared not at another guard, but the teary eyes of a young, furred, female face. This just got a lot more complicated.