Seven weeks ago – Yellow Sun Music, Yau Tsim Mong District, Hong Kong

“I need three guys for this – security on the way over, during the show and after.” Kang said, “Last time these girls performed, it was a mad house and there’s no way I’m going to take that kind of flack again. Here me?” He was a short man and nearly yelling.

“I understand; I get it.” The bodyguard replied. “What Liqin wants ...”

“Finish that sentence and you’ll never work for me again. Got it!” Snapped Kang. “It’s 800¥ for your crew, double that if one of you gets shot at; half that if a girl gets shot.”

“OK – but can’t I just work it with two? My other guy is down right now.” The bodyguard asked.

“Look you cheap prick ... this is a three-man gig. I don’t care how you split the money; I don’t care who you use.” Kang said, clearly angrier than he should be.

“I don’t have another guy...”

“You! Joe!” Kang yelled across the store. “Li said you were looking for some work. You doing anything tonight?”

The man, Joe, was white and seemed out of place in the record shop. He was tall and big, bald head with short, stubbly black hair. He wore khaki pants and black button-down shirt. Joe turned around and nodded yes as he walked over.

“Stick that,” The body guard said, “I’m not working with that poser.”

Kang angrily stuck his finger in the bodyguard’s chest, “You want this job – you work with him.” He spun in place and walked away, “No one takes direction anymore.” He said bitterly, meaning as much this situation as he did three others he was currently juggling.

Joe was cut in for 150¥, clearly he was getting screwed; but he needed money more than he needed to argue about it. Maybe – if he was lucky – he’d get shot at and he could double down.

The job seemed easy enough. The Daises were an all-girl dance band. He was the third part of a three-man security team. The guy in charge called himself Turtle – Joe thought he seemed decent enough, for a guy who was talking an extra cut just of his money. Long ago, Turtle had given up on his dream of running the shadows and had settled into the world of the professional bodyguard. His partner was an orc named Frag. Frag had a nasty attitude and smelled like he needed a bath. He kept saying that the ladies liked him like this. He seemed as dumb as he was stinky. He went home to change and grab his gear – they met back up two hours before to go over and get set up.

The Pterodactyl Club was downtown and catered to young wage-slaves looking to dance and have a good time. They traveled in a large van (well, large enough for the three girls and two technicians) – but with the three bodyguards, the ride was cramped. Joe was under (or over) dressed depending on who you were looking at. Turtle and Frag wore nearly identical black suits without neck ties. The girls wore as little as Kang would allow them, then they took their shirts off. Joe looked like a technician – wearing a black t-shirt un-tucked over work pants; under the t-shirt he was wearing a vest and carried his predator.

Frag pulled up behind the club and Turtle got out and got the door. When he returned, he handed Joe a credential. “Wear this and give it back to me when we’re done. Understand?”

“Yeah.” Joe answered. It was clear that Turtle was thinking this was going to be a one-time thing. There wasn’t even an attempt at making things cordial.

“Put these in your predator.” He said, handing Joe a clip of ammo. It was gel-rounds. “God forbid you need to shoot someone; but, if you have to shoot; you’ll probably hit one of the girls and then we’re all out of work.”

“OK.” Joe answered, wondering if everyone was packing these pieces of shit or just the new guy. He switched the clips and placed the old one in his back pocket.

While Turtle helped the girls of the van, Joe and Frag cleared the front of the stage. The doors would open in thirty minutes; and the girls would go on two hours later.

“OK.” Turtle began, “Frag’s on the stage left; I’m stage right and you’re on the back. If anything happens, you’re only job is to clear the back alley and get ready to open the door so that we can get the girls out. Got me? No guns, no smart-guy shit. Just clear the alley and get the door.”

“Got it.” Joe answered. He didn’t like being talked down to; but he needed the money more than he needed to smack this douche-bag around.
He understood his position on this team – and was just hoping to get his money and show that he could handle his business.

“There are eight to ten guys who will be running around in black ‘security’ t-shirts. They can say what they want ... but they don’t get between the girls and the back door.” Turtle continued to explain, “That’s our way out and I have already cleared it with the club manager. So – don’t take their shit.”

Joe nodded.

“After show the girls are going to want to go out into the crowd. When they do that, you’re job is to *stay put*; keeping a clear eye-line from the stage to the door. When it’s clear that they are going to want to go out the front door, I’ll radio you. Then you get to drive the van around front and pick up everyone. Clear?” Turtle asked.

Joe nodded agreement.

The show began and the girls – singing, dancing and playing in little more than lingerie. They didn’t sound all that great, but they had amazing energy and they made the crowd jump. Joe did his thing and kept the doorway clear for the girls. This really did seem like an easy way to make some scratch. Pity he was getting screwed out of a proper share.

It was impossible to see the door from where he was standing. And so, he didn’t see the gangers push past security. His first indication that anything was wrong was when gunfire erupted and screaming erupted from the club floor.

**Two security down.** Turtle said, his voice a little panicked. **Clear the girls out of here guys, rally at the back door and wait for me.**

When this started, Joe changed the clip with gel-rounds out for the standard clip. “This way!” He shouted to the boss’ sister and one of her bandmates. Sounds of automatic fire and screams created chaos. It seemed like the gang had entered with the intension of killing as many people as they could.

**Fuck!** Turtle said over the link, **I’m hit.** His voice wasn’t loud nor did he sound hurt, he just sounded pissed. Most of the gunfire had been light pistol or SMG fire, but Joe caught the distinctive sound of a Colt Manhunter being discharged. **Fuckin’ gangers ... always hopped-up on Cot or Black Powder or some drek. I hit that guy three times before he fell down.**

**I’ve got Liqin and Mei with me,** Joe told Turtle. **We are headed out the back to the van.**

**No!** Frag shouted, **Hold them inside and wait for me, I have Niu and Joy. Turtle’s taken a round the shoulder and is moving back away from the attackers.** The sounds of shouts and cries of pain and shock could be heard over his voice link.

**Screw that – get Liqin and Mei clear; start the van and be ready for us when we get out.** Turtle corrected. **Security is dropping like flies up here. These assholes must be really pissed off at someone.**

**Understood.** Blank replied, then he turned to the frightened performers. “OK – stay behind me; I’m going to open this door, then we’ll all run to the van.” The girls nodded in agreement.

**No!** Frag repeated, **Wait for me – then you go out and secure the van.**

**Joe, do what I fuckin’ told you.** Turtle said, **Frag, stop giving orders. We need the van running – and all these assholes seem to be inside. Go!**

**...** Frag opened his comm line to say something – but nothing came over.

That all made sense to Joe. “Let’s go!” He said, kicking the emergency bar on the door to open it. No one counted on the two waiting in the back ally; they opened up with shotguns.

BOOM! BOOM! Fighting instinct, Joe braced himself against the door frame and stood his ground, pushing the girls down behind the heavy, metal door. Flechettes burned though his t-shirt and hit him hard, ripping into his vest.

“Stay down!” Joe shouted to the girls, **Taking fire out the back. Two with shotguns.” Gritting his teeth, Joe pulled out his Predator; happy to have changed clips earlier when all this went down.

Using the door as cover, Joe took aim; but before he could fire off a round ... BOOM! BOOM! Both shotguns fire again. The door took all of the first shot, but with the second, Joe’s head snapped back and banged against the metal door frame. He could taste blood running into his mouth as tiny darts embed into his altered jaw, cheek and forehead – it felt like his head was on fire. His wrap-around glasses shattered with the impact, causing his left eye to flicker and lose a little resolution. This job had now cost him way more than he would earn. “Fuck.” He said to himself.

He returned fire, feeling the slightly unnerving sensation of the machine taking control of his reflexes. Joe moved faster than anyone could expect: putting two rounds into the first guy – center mass – dropping him instantly; and one clean through the neck of the second, he was dead before he hit the ground.

**Two down, rear secure.** Joe sent, thankful for the mental communication. “Ladies.” He said, pulling one of the flechettes out of his face and throwing it to the ground.

**We are right behind you, open the van for us; I’ll drive.** Turtle commanded.

After getting the girls inside, Joe spun to see the other two Daisies, their technicians and his two ‘partners’. Turtle was bleeding from arm and left leg. Frag was running with a limp; but everyone else seemed healthy. The orc took note of the two on the ground, Turtle didn’t even seem to notice.

“Damn, you look like hell.” Turtle said to him, “You gonna be OK?”

“I guess.” Joe replied, he couldn’t see his face; but from the looks on the face of the girls – he was pretty messed up. Pain dampeners seemed to help him block most of it out. He slammed the door once everyone was in and Turtle gunned the van away.

Joe sat on the bench seat, pulled off his ruined shirt and tried to wipe the blood away from his face. The van sped away back toward Yellow Sun Music; Turtle and Joe would have to wait to later to get to the shadow clinic.