Brandi.

It is almost a little funny, you type in the answer into the keyboard of your name but over and over again when you hit enter the name vanishes as if you didn't answer. As if the name was either taken or unacceptable. Finally you type Brandi and it sticks. The screen answers, “Nice to meet you Brandi, call this number if you ever need anything.” A phone number follows. You store it in your memory before jacking back into the terminal to see if you can find a fixer, someone to hook you up with new guns. Sure enough many of the people here all are happy to give you some names, several people, a samurai, a ninja, a cowgirl, and a big fat shark all walk up to you and slip you some info. They all seem to highly recommend a man by the name of ForTranz. He seems to specialize in decker gear, plus general weapons and supplies for people who travel light and move in the shadows. Saving his number, as well as the one for the doc that has the better chip jack, you jack out and fire up your com to contact them. There is no answer from ForTranz, but you leave a message. Next you try the doc, and get an answer. He will see you and is only 4 blocks away.

Your meeting with this doc goes far easier than the last. It seems this guy is basically legal, all his stuff is priced out of a catalog and the entire place is extremely sterile and business like. “No chance for a fuck me discount here.” You say with a little giggle and elicit only a slight, “Excuse me?” From the receptionist. Most everything here is fuck expensive as the base surgery cost is through the roof, but sure enough as the last hacker shack or whatever you want to call it promised the surgery and implant of the small advanced 7 slot hidden jack is only $9000 assuming your existing computer and hardware are compatible as it doesn't require invasive surgery, more of a hardware swap than anything. The only other thing you find, and are very surprised to see considering it is a weapon of all things is a set of retractable razors that fit under your nails and extend just about an inch, they are very thin and you remember as you look at them hearing someone in the decker hangout talking about picking locks with them. You place the order, wait about 4 hours, and viola you are down to only $8000 dropping another 4k for the blades.

Finally finished you head back out to your bike when your com rings, “Hello?” You say into your head.

“So what is it you need?” The voice answers, obviously assuming you know who it is, which of course a quick look at your display tells you it is ForTranz.

“I am looking to buy some weapons.”

“Okay, how much money are we talking?”

“$8000.” You answer.

“Nope, sorry don't meet new clients for less than $25,000” With that the line simply goes dead.

“Ain't that a motherfucker.” With no other great ideas you decide to give your former fixer a try, The phone rings for a few moments before he picks up, “Hey Max I need some gear, can we meet up.”

“Who the fuck is this?”

“That is kind of hard to explain. Last time we talked I was going by Lynx.” You start to say, as he chimes in.

“Hey Lynx are you fucking with me?” Yelling as if to someone standing near him. “Yaah I didn't think so.” Then back to you he adds, “Look I don't know who the fuck this is or why you are trying to impersonate, badly I might add, one of my runners. But if I ever hear your voice again I will send someone to tear you apart. Now fuck off.”

You aren't sure which is more shocking, what he said or the fact that playing back the audio and amplifying it, plus a little dampening to his voice you catch the voice you started with, as Lynx answer him, saying, “No, what do you mean?” Looking down at your sexy little body you say stunned, “No fucking way, they didn't change me, they swapped me. They stole my fucking identity.” Now you really want a gun. You also better get your ass moving as the job they wanted you to do next might very well not even exist. “Fuck me.” Calling up what information you can, you find a gun store nearby. You can't imagine it will have as good of a selection as a fixer would but you might as well head there.

Firing the bike back to life you speed off into the night. Soon you arrive at the steel bar reinforced building in a strip mall next to a slurpy shack, a pizza place, and title loan company. Walking in you find the place is by no means large, but is a lot better stocked than you were expecting. Not in heels for the first time in a while as you walk up to the counter you can't help but feel small. This 5'4” tiny body is always going to feel small, especially talking to someone that is clearly 7' tall or more. An orc or something by the look of him. The man behind the counter is bald, wearing dark rimmed glasses, has pronounced tushes, is sporting a wiry, bushy, mustache that you can't imagine he trims with anything other than a dull knife. What you can see of his body is also covered with the same wiry hair, not like a coat or anything, but it is just everywhere, even on his shoulders. He is wearing a drab green tank top that has far to large of a neck opening, and a pair of light brown pants held up by a thick belt. He is fat, but not obscenely so, you have no idea of his weight as you haven't met a lot of 7' tall orcs, but you would assume it is pushing 400 lbs, with a lot of that weight placed squarely in his barrel like gut. He smiles as you walk up to the counter, which is both creepy and kinda nice at the same time, before saying, in a voice that is far more normal than you were expecting, just sounding kinda like someone with a perpetual cold. “What can I get you miss?”

Looking at all the guns on the walls and in the case you simply start with, “Are any of your guns smart chipped?”

He retains the smile, “No need to be insulting. All my firearms come either chipped or standard, chipped just cost about double. So what kind of gun are you looking for?”