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“The easy way out?” she asks herself, cruising along the Pacific coast highway, top down, the moist night blowing through her thick hair. “Is there ever any easy way out?” She flicks her cigarette away and watches the embers melt into the night. “I’ve started something here, and now I’ve got to finish it.”
“You’re not going to make it this time,” he turns to her, watching the neon glow around her silhouette emanating from the city in the distance behind her.
“What choice do I have? I put this play in motion, your brother is in deep, if there’s any chance that I can get him out alive, don’t I have to take it?”
“He’s my brother, you’re my wife, how the fuck am I supposed to decide between the two of you?” A shake of his head, a lick of his lips, and then bang, out cold.
“Well, I’ve just made that decision for you.” She wipes the bit of blood from the butt of her gun and holsters it, breaking hard, leaning over to open the door and kicks him out onto the floor. “You’ll be fine, lover.”
Bringing up the HUD on the windscreen of the Porsche, she just states their name. “Hard Brothers Limited.”
The computer gives her the last known location according to the city’s police database. “They’re not even trying to hide anymore.” She mutters as she spins the car back out onto the highway and back into the city.
Howling screams, closer every second, gun shots, freaks and synthheads, neo-punks and ultra-revolutionaires, every type of new creed and culture and that’s crept out of the underground since the Brothers got their hands on the AI. They let this quarter of the city just fall into their hands, too much time, money, effort to try and bring it back around, and she thinks she has a chance? One lone person?
“Well, I just might, what’s to fucking say I can’t?” And in the process potentially bring the city to its knees, she thinks. Well, you did the deal, your brother’s husband got caught up in the damn mess, and now you have to put this shit right, or tear yourself apart trying, one or the other and no going back. No easy way out.
The Porsche spins parallel with the entrance to the skyscraper they’ve taken over, she looks up, what’s that? A good 80 floors of bad guys before hitting the final boss. "HARD BROTHERS LIMITED" flashing right at the top in neon pink. Here the game begins, here her game begins.
“Hey lady, now, ain’t this a nice car?” Some neo-punk walks up to her, chain wrapped in one hand, flicking his mohawk back with the other. The gun comes out, a bullet through the head, one fucker down, who knows how many more to go?
“Well, it’s going to be fun finding out,” she says, as she steps out of the Porsche and lights another cigarette, watching the doors to the building open, watching the new freaks come towards her.