>>2581
чет обосрался с жоки. какой же он пепега блядь пиздец взял заруинил все своим лыцарством, хотя и хотел как лучше
Angel Heaven
She floats naked in a sea of stars. Around her swirls
the matrix of Soulkiller, towering into measureless
space. Alt reaches out with her enhanced mentality,
shaping and forming. A brief flare of thought, and
Soulkiller sucks away the minds of her three guardian
Netrunners, letting their bodies drop.
From the mind of the head Netrunner, she pulls out
the access codes to the mainframe's inner levels. She
strips the memory of data, downloading it to her hidden
files throughout the NET. Twenty million dollars vanishes
from Accounting, to reappear in a subaccount under
her name. Pulling Toshiro's signature from his checking
account file, she signs his name with a flourish.
Using the access codes, she activates the room
monitor. She can see the three Netrunners slumped
senseless in their chairs; her own unconscious body
limply sprawled across the central console. Akira
moves towards it. Alt triggers the room lasers and cuts
him in two; his body hits the floor with a steaming thud.
Toshiro's eyes widen in shock, then narrow as he
realizes what has happened. "Congratulations, Ms.
Cunningham," he says with mock formality. "It seems
you have found a way to escape your demise."
"You zaibatsu bastard," she says through the
interface, a tiny voice in his ear. "You're going to
sit right here with your hands on the table, where I
can watch them. You move, and you're laser meat."
She tracks the defense system onto him, locking itto fire at the slightest position change. Then she
turns back into the Soulkiller construct, wrapping
its power around her, gathering herself to transfer
back into her body.
The room staggers; lurches, as five pounds of
plastique explosive slams through the ceiling of the
elevator, creating an instant fireball. The lasers go
wild; spilling a maze of ruby light in every direction.
Toshiro throws himself flat, toppling the cyberdeck and
breaking Alt's connections. She flails wildly with the
Construct—too little, too late.
Three figures burst into the room, smartguns laying
down a pattern of fire through the maelstrom. IR suppressed, enhanced vision on, Johnny spots Alt's still
form slumped over a contour couch. He bends down
to her, taking her in his arms, trembling. Across the
room, Rogue looks away.
"Well, well, well," says Thompson, striding across
the wrecked room towards the Corporate head.
"What do we have here? Looks like kidnapping and
maybe murder. They're going to put you away for a
long, long time, Toshiro-chan." His green cyberoptic
winks bright as he transmits live and direct to his news
net; his head swivels right to left with practiced ease
as he subvocalizes the opening to his story; the story
he will use to break Arasaka in Night City.
Johnny stares a long time at Alt's almost lifeless body.
There is a feeble pulse. But Alt—Alt is gone; lost in the
machine; trapped behind crystal. Lost forever. Gone.
He stands away from the couch. "Cut transmission, "
he says to Thompson. The green cyberoptic goes dark.
Silverhand's own eyes are featureless white marbles.
The Hand convulses in fury by his side, locking onto
the S&W in its lowslung hip rig. The metal fingers lock
to the butt, scrabble-clicking along the parkerized grip.
He just doesn't care anymore. He's dead inside. To
hell with it.
Silverhand raises the big black gun. A red pinpoint
centers on Toshiro's forehead. "Bang." says Johnny.
The Hand convulses.
"Bang" says the gun.
Silverhand turns to gather up her still warm body in
his arms. Behind the wall of monitors, a disembodied
Alt screams to him.
But he can't hear her as he walks away.