Someone is in my apartment.
The security system pings me for normal shit like a B&E, but I’d got nothing while working at the Jinteki people plant. Whatever this is then, it isn’t anything normal, and so the New Angeles Police Department aren’t my best option. Lucky me. I can do without the awkward questions my ‘guest’ would prompt if they found him.
So instead I find him. He’s lounging in the poly-fibe settee, ThreeD up too loud, console, voicePAD, data packs, empty Diesel cans and Shankers food containers strewn about. Like he owned the hab, just as he had way back when.
Ryp Phays. Self-styled ‘cyber-guerrilla’ as if that makes his brand of virt-terrorism any better. He calls himself a Runner when he’s not being pompous, which is really a cyberspace criminal as far as the Corporation targets are concerned. Justifying it as sticking it to the Corps where they hurt the most – their bottom line – is just so much bullshit when he’s just trashing other people’s property for the thrill of it. Ryp lacks elegance. There’s no style to his running; his cyberspace hacking is all about burning it down with viruses and ice-eaters.
He grins at me. ( Read more...Collapse )