Page 31 of Fatality

Fuck that.

Near my apartment, it's two.

Upper Layers, always so goddamn expensive.

I growl, grab the can off the shelf—it looks fucking tiny in my hand—and slam my palm onto the payment scanner hard enough to rattle the entire checkout.

I step back outside and head for my Charger.

Leaning against it, I crack the can open, and that sweet little hiss hits my ears.

I take a long sip, that's exactly what I needed after all that shit.

I exhale slowly.

I still have to deal with those fuckers, ones who owe my gang money.

Pay or lose a finger. Simple.

So why the hell do I have to explain it over and over again?

Don't place bets on races if you don't actually know how shit works down here.

A voice echoes through the night, and I tilt my head slightly.

“Let go of me. I'm going to see my friends. They're waiting for me—”

A woman's voice carries across the street.

My head snaps toward the sound, she sounds angry and definitely in trouble.

Probably trying to make excuses to get away from that man.

Maybe it'll brighten my night more than these shitty Upper Layers and their lights.

The man answers, but I can't make out what he says. I don't have hearing enhancers.

I head over and immediately spot the source, right in front of the convenience store.

The exact moment things are about to get either interesting or boring.

I take a sip from my can, one hand shoved into my pocket.

The woman has long black hair pulled back into a low ponytail, but what really catches my attention is the dress.

That thing probably costs more than my Charger.

My eyes glow a little brighter, I catch the reflection in the metal of my can.

Now this is interesting.

An Upper in this kind of situation.

She'll probably smile, throw some credits at him, or let him do whatever the fuck he wants. She's not very tall and he could snap her in half.

Especially with that bionic arm.

“Let go of me, you fucking freak!” She punches him square in the nose.