CURL tightened her grip on a roof handle. The IFV moved forward another moment before coming to a complete stop on the rooftop below, and opening its doors again. Preature, CURL, and Tinker stepped out, each one taking an armored case from the IFVs secure storage. Preature tied a cloth ribbon to a bolt nearby, giving Leary a view of wind direction and strength from his post.

A moment later, the hush of an IFV-29 was heard approaching from the east. Preature watched it arrive and settle before the doors opened. Leary peered through his scope, eyes tracking every person present in the deal.

Six heavily armed P-Sec officers funneled out of the vehicle before the client, Physt, stepped out. He was a collector of valuable merchandise, trading it for information in the upper echelons of the corporate world. He was a true native to the Beaverville suburbs, and he looked it. His breath was shallow, the adrenaline of the moment sitting on the edge of his nerves. Preature watched him through mirrorshaded eyes. Physt never attended a deal. He was an anxious person, and Preature wanted to set that anxiety to ease.

CURL’s eyes went still behind her shades as her mind worked to hack into Physt’s cybernetics. It took an inordinately long time to backdoor through his security suite, but she was able to get in. She was cloaked in his systems, but there was no guarantee. She waited, watching for any sign of detection. If anyone made a wrong move, she was ready to take control of his cybernetics, paralyzing him on the spot.

Tinker leaned over to take the case from CURL’s hand as it began to go slack amidst her focus on the hack. He stood behind Preature’s left shoulder, barely able to peek around the man’s wide frame.

Preature smiled at Physt. “Chilled?” he said, shifting his gaze over the P-Sec officers that flanked nearby.

Physt grinned nervously, and nodded. “Chilled.” A shaky breath punctuated the statement.

“Good.” Preature replied. He lifted his phone. “Ready?” he asked.

Physt fumbled in his pocket to get his phone. “Yeah, so. I uh, I send you the money as you hand the merch to my people, yes?”

“Yep. As agreed.” Preature was stoic. His cybernetic eyes captured every fraction of movement of the seven people before him. A glint of red showed in a P-Sec’s eye, a targeting reticule locking onto CURL. Preature shifted his eyes onto this one. “Slow down, big fella. We’ve got eyes, too.” Leary turned on a laser sight, just for a second. Long enough for the P-Sec to see that it was aimed at his crotch. “Bad way to go,” Preature smiled through metal teeth. “It’s a long and painful bleed.”

“He… hey hey hey,” Physt gestured a shaky hand to the P-Sec in question, a glint of red flashed off in his eyes. The reticule was gone. “Yeah, look. It’s just a big deal is all. Let’s get off on the right foot here. How about, as a gesture of good will, I send the money before you hand over the merch?”

“No. We do it as I said,” Preature corrected unwaveringly. Physt nodded back, with his mouth hanging open. His nerves on the absolute edge.

“Yeah, uh. Let’s do it.” He told three of his people to step up to Preature, and Tinker. One of the remaining P-Secs watched CURL, and the other remaining two scanned the neighboring rooftops for Leary.

The merch changed hands, and Preature’s phone signaled that the money transfer had been completed. He smiled broadly. “Nice doing business with you.”

Physt sighed in relief and grabbed a vial of designer synthcoke from his pocket. “Shit, man. Nice doing business with you!” He took a snuff off the back of his hand. His eyes remained closed for a second before smoothly opening. “This was tense.” He laughed.

“Call again if you want more,” Preature said, turning around to head back to the IFV-24.

“Hey!” Physt called. “Why do you float that old model, anyway?”

“Nostalgia.” Preature rumbled back without stopping or turning around. Physt nodded and turned excitedly to his P-Secs in inebriated excitement. He hooted with joy and jumped back into his IFV-29.

Physt and his P-Secs leave soon after. CURL blinks back to the surface as Physt goes out of range. Tinker smiles in relief to himself. Leary floats down the zipline, SMG in hand and sniper rifle on his back. His feet silently brace him as he hits the side of the building. Then he rolls over the ledge, joining the group.

“Smooth,” Leary called.

“Like clockwork,” Preature says.

They climb into the IFV-24. Tinker set it to auto-nav back home. CURL looked at Leary. “Why is it always the balls?”

“They don’t always see the laser sight on their heart, but they always notice the balls.” Leary pressed a button on his wrist panel to inject himself with some of his P-Sec drug concoction. He stretched his head back. “We still good to make my stop?”

“Shit! Yeah, one second,” Tinker moved back to the nav panel and corrected the destination.

“Language, Tinker,” Preature mumbled, his eyes closed behind his silver shades.

“Sorry,” Tinker winced, taking his seat once more. Feeling his mistakes deeply. Taking mental notes to never make them again.