I unplugged and flopped nervelessly from the chair. My body still shook from the Cerberus3’s attack. My mouth was filled with an acid taste and my tongue was swollen.

I vomited, then stood and stumbled to the small bathroom to rinse my face. In the mirror, my eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Over my shoulder, I saw a curl of smoke rising from my neural socket.

Burned out, I thought, cursing. Motherfucker!

Washed my face, fumbled in the cabinet for some pills and dry-swallowed them. I walked to the kitchen and grabbed two beers from the fridge before I flopped on the couch and cued the monitor. The speed pills lit my circuits.

News.

A dark-clad figure in a smoke shrouded room, blood on white marble at his feet. He gave the camera the finger and a wild grin, then stepped out of sight.

The reporter’s voice-over: ”...man, believed to be the terrorist responsible for this unprecedented attack on One Shell Square’s corporate offices.“

“Fuck, Benny. Get out! Get the hell out, now!”

He couldn’t hear me.