Alley squatters

Kiroshi was sitting across from me on an empty cryo box, sucking down a can of stimcaff. I told him I don't know how many times, that shit's gonna fry his nerve ending but he craves the rush and says it boosts his response time in the fray. Short-term shit you ask me; one of these days he's gonna be nothing but a twitching meat sack and then see how long before a Piehead or FreePublic jerkoff makes him into a meat smear instead.

We were cooling in an alley off the Firedrag, waiting for the Union noobs to bring up some cell recharges for our suits, just shooting the shit and banging on each other's reps like we always did between frays. We'd had some fun that morning: three Luxes fresh out of prep academy, suits all polished and gleamy like they just rolled off the line. Probably did, come to think of it. Those boys had not clue one among them how to roll or glide and me and Kiroshi just slid right in amongst them like hot oil and sliced and diced them into component parts. Took the stuff we needed, took the stuff we wanted, wasted the rest and left the Luxes with just enough biomass to have something to graft the prostheses onto. Good stuff.

Kiroshi finished his stimcaff, tossed the can into a nearby pile of debris, then made an exaggerated show of stretching and yawning. I knew what was coming so when he tried to grab at my chest I slid my nanoblade lightly along the outside of his forearm - not deep enough to sever anything critical, but enough bite to put him on pause for a sec the next time he thinks about trying it.

"Motherwaster!" he yelled. "What fried your drive?" He pulled back and examined his arm.

"You should leave it," I razzed him, "I put a nice curve on that. Make a great scar, you can make up some drek about how you got it fighting Chippers."

He scowled at me and sulked over to his suit, where he grabbed his medkit and slapped a knitter patch on his arm. I knew he'd mope until we got into another fray, so I ignored him and turned to check on my own suit.