text: Byron slid his revolver back into the holster on his hip, and gripped the burned tissue at his waist where a plasma bolt grazed him at the start of the fight. If he wasn't covered in cybernetics already, that graze would have killed him outright. "Guess being pulled apart and stitched back together again has its benefits if it happens enough to you..." He laughs under his breath as he walks over to the corner of the food court now littered with the bodies of the men and women he used to call family, and pulls out a cigarette as he takes a seat. "Smoking is bad for your health," a synthesized female voice warns him in the back of his head. "I have a goddamn hole in my chest, Sal. A little smoke isn't gonna kill me at this point." "No, but its going to shorten your natural lifespan if you keep it up." He takes a long drag on the cigarette before he resumes talking to the AI. "I don't plan on dying naturally. Besides, any death at this point is better than putting up with your incessant nagging at my lifestyle choices." He leans back in the seat and closes his eyes. "I can keep doing this as long as I want anyway. This tech they stapled all over me is holding what's left of my body together remarkably well." "Yeah, well, don't forget that if you die, we both die. I have a hard enough time dealing with the fact you're the only human I can interface with, so you'll have to forgive me if I get a little concerned for my own survival." They hear the sound of rushed footfalls and the clanking of heavy armor echo through the halls on either side of the fod court. Six heavily armed men dressed in metal riot gear and carrying heavy plasma rifles line up on either side of the food court, all aiming at Byron. "Speaking of survival..." "Spaceport security! On the ground and hands in the air!" Byron stubs out his cigarette and stands up, his artificial fingers grabbing his revolver and automatically reloading it despite the demands of the security guards. "Sal, hit the lights for me." "Already on it." With a loud \*k-chunk\*, the overhead lights flick off, and all the security guards hear is the sound of gun and blaster fire as they shoot blindly into the darkness. When the lights come back on, six guards lie dead on either end of the courtyard, all of them with a single hole bored through their face plates. Byron lights up another cigarette and steps carefully around the bodies next to the right hallway, and reloads his revolver. "I think we're done here, Sal. I got what I came for." "Kind of a lot of effort to go through for a hundred year old pair of headphones..." "Not a pair of headphones, Sal... These ones are the key to a whole lot more than good sound quality." He holds out a pair of red plastic earbuds, with the audio jack at the end resembling a small microchip. Byron pulls the chip from the headphones and stuffs them in his pocket, feeling pleased with himself about a job well done.