Decker taps idly on the table. He mutters under his breath to whoever is next to him. "Bet there's nothing that eye's seen that's worth the extra cred. Course not. Just a faster eye. Sure."
He sits back in his chair as @Mille Visage
begins her standard negotiations. It was always best to let her work. She's shrewd. Gets the best prices for their work. Vinnie inevitably gets fodder for the blog, too. "I'll hit the normal spots. Finding a big noise in R&D shouldn't be that hard. We find the eye in under 24 hours, we get a bonus?"
A while ago
She's definitely savvy. It's one thing to broadwave a call out to R1cKy-T!kK. It's something else to pinpoint him and offer him a gig.
He buttons up his mind, remarking to the fellow next to him. "Guess this noise at NG needs something done big and way quiet. Who else tries to find a legend like R1cKy-T!kK for a simple intel job? I bet Tik ain't even hungry."
Not even this source knows who he's sitting next to. Still, the younger man nods and affirms. "Ricky's out of her league anyway. What do you think she wants though?"
Decker scoffs. "Probably some dirt on a company rival. You know how the corporate types are. Smile in your face while they get somebody to plant the knife in your back. They ain't got the bytes to do it themselves. Maybe she's got her sights set higher. Wonder what her deal is."
He puzzles over the computer screen for a minute. "Breezy, wanna make a soda run? On me this time."
Breezy nods excitedly and jumps up to leave the room. "Sure, Vinnie. I got you!"
He'll be gone at least 10 minutes. Let me just delve this "Ms. Gray" and see what's up. Northern Gun senior exec. CV...accomplishments. Blah blah. Not bad to look at. Either daddy's connected or she slept her way...what's this...HOLY SCRAG!
As soon as he moves deeper into the system for the real dirt, massive security descends. A pro like Vinnie Decker, a.k.a. R1cKy-T!kK, doesn't get red-handed like this. Nobody
has this kind of HCM. Tik even delved some of Prosek's personal files one time and didn't see anything this heavy.
A simple message flashes across the screen:
We know where you are.
You will be ID'ed.
Do the job or do a turn for every charge.
Decker grits his teeth. I gotta fled.
Before he can pack his gear, though, his own mental security goes off. Micro-drones inbound and from all directions. There is no
getting out of this.
"Scrag. Scrag! SCRAG. I'm pinched. I'm dead. How...nuh-uh. Not me. Think, man. Focus."
Retreating into his mind, he forces his powerful psyche to try to reach out to all of the drones. There are simply too many to get before they get to him. Sweat pours from his brow as he pulls back further into his subconscious. He hears the drones enter the room. They flit and flutter about, searching high and low, scanning for the hacker they've been sent for. Vinnie holds his breath. Surely they've pinged him and sent it to the security squad down the street.
They buzz intermittently, straining their sensors....until they leave. Decker opens his eyes and looks around. No drones. No security. How did they not see him? Every one of those things has state of the art sensor tech. He should've been made a thousand times over.
He flips open his mini-comp and sends a message back.
You don't make R1cKy-T!kK. T!kK makes you. Drone again and I ruin NG. I'll do the job, price agreed. First and last. Separate ways.
A minute passes. Another incoming message. Your target's name and vitals are uploaded. Plant these files on his personal drive. Ping his wife. Business concluded. Cred will be loaded when done.
Under his breath, the perplexed, but relieved, Vincent Paul Decker curses. "Fraggin' corporations."