The noodles were steaming, nestled within their chipped bowl with a flower print on it, salty broth catching the light in the little noodle stand. Gloved fingers broke apart the wooden chopsticks, rubbing them together to remove the sharp splinters of faux bamboo. She briefly wondered how long since anyone had actually seen real bamboo. It was one of those words that everyone knew meant an old Earth plant. But now it just described a type of faux wood used for cheap chopsticks or cloned as garnishing for upscale corporate offices.<br/><br/>Silver-grey lips skinned back from white teeth as she lifted some of the salty noodles to her mouth, chewing slowly. She could take her time. He wasn't here yet.<br/><br/>A man sitting two stools down moved closer, now only one stool away and regarding her out of the corner of his eye. She'd clocked him as soon as she'd come in. He wasn't a threat. Just a jerk who'd never had some grey meat and was looking to score.<br/><br/>"I hear you grey ladies are all about the rough stuff," he said with a sideways smile, blowing past any attempt at small talk.<br/><br/>"You like it rough?" She asked, dipping her chopsticks back in the bowl and winding more noodles around them.<br/><br/>"I'm pretty much up for anything..." He looked excited at the fact that she seemed to be responding.<br/><br/>"Good, because I really get off on breaking people's necks when they call me a grey lady," she said, fixing him with a red glare. The asshole backed off pretty quickly. She wondered briefly if he might have tried to get rough with her for refusing him if she weren't what she was. Normies knew not to mess with a grey.<br/><br/>She tapped her credit disk against the counter, the digital display on the surface accepting her payment for the noodles. "Bye Moe," she said to robotic server who beeped in response. Was he called Moe? No. He-- it-- was a serial number in the Happy Noodles franchise database but she came here enough that she'd decided to give it a name. It didn't seem to mind.<br/><br/>She left the stand, raising a hand to push aside the little blue curtains hanging over the awning with the Happy Noodles logo on it. Her Hex-Corp SMG bumped against her chest, slung on its harness under her coat. It wasn't hidden though. Down here in the warrens, it was common to see people toting around some heat. Self policing was how the warrens stayed intact. No one started shit unless they wanted a lot of guns pointed at them. Of course, no system was perfect.<br/><br/>The black patch on her shoulder, reminiscent of a law enforcement insignia, displayed what she was even if the grey skin didn't give it away. Beretta's parents had accrued a substantial debt with Hex-Corp when she was only a few years old. Unable to make the payments, they'd given up their first born and she was sent to the farms to grow sugar plants as cheap labor. In her early teens, she showed a certain amount of physical resilience and was reassigned to Hex-Corp's on retainer mercenary firm: NervStrike. Despite the stupid name, they were no joke and fitted her with a standard security operative enhancement package. The augments were a widely used type of enhancement. Every corporation with its own private army had their own Grey Division.<br/><br/>The Corporate wars were in full swing at the time and after basic training, Beretta was sent to the front. Several tours under her belt, she was promoted to an elite division within the company and spent several years working for the higher ups as an operative. Once her tour of duty was finished, her indentured servitude was lifted and she was allowed to either choose to take her severance pay and leave, continue on with the company as a free citizen of the Hex-Corp consortium or become a freelancer. The latter option was by far the most attractive offer. Freelancers were technically not affiliated with the company, working as independent contractors. They were free to take any contract as long as it didn't conflict with their parent corporation's dealings and they could perform tasks that weren't strictly legal on behalf of the company without the company being liable. In return, freelancers were given quite a few perks including high end gear and paid quite well.<br/><br/>She carried a Hex-Corp SMG, had their patch on her jacket, but the little black wings beside their corporate insignia identified her as a freelancer nonetheless.<br/><br/>The warrens were gloomy, illuminated by an almost epilepsy inducing amount of neon and holographic signage displaying all manner of businesses. She took up position in the mouth of an alley, ignoring the couple further down in the gloom, the woman on her knees, head bobbing on his crotch. She made out a strip of purple on the woman's upper arm with the BustyBeauties Pleasure Service logo on it. Working girl then. But that wasn't what Beretta was here for and the couple ignored her as well as she surveyed the square. The Happy Noodles noodle stand was on the far side and she could still make out the jerk who'd been cruising for some grey meat. She took aim with her SMG. It was unlikely she could have hit him from here, even with the muscle enhancements allowing her to control the recoil. Maybe her sidearm. But she wasn't being paid so what was the point.<br/><br/>She WAS being paid for something though. Someone actually. Whistle blower. She knew full well that Hex-Corp had some shady shit going on but they were paying her to eliminate one of their analysts. The moral implications didn't much matter to her.<br/><br/>She spotted him entering the square. A cubicle nerd. He'd likely never ventured out of the Hex-Corp district in the upper levels where they housed their white collar employees. The surveillance up there was far too omnipresent for him to pass off whatever dirty secrets he'd discovered though, hence the trip to the lower levels of the station.<br/><br/>He clutched a data tablet to his chest, approaching what had once been a nice bench in the square but was now covered with rude graffiti. He sat down, looking around anxiously. He stuck out like a sore thumb. Amateur. Stupid, altruistic, noble idiot. And what would he get for his bravery/stupidity? A bullet in the brain.<br/><br/>She calmly fitted a suppressor to the barrel of her SMG, activating the holo-recorder on her wrist. The brass liked to see the kill. She walked forward, out of the gloom of the alley, bathed in sickly green light from a nearby display over a tattoo parlor. The whistle blower caught sight of her, eyes widening too late as he realized who she was. A grey.<br/><br/>The gun made a<i>fut, fut, fut</i>sound as she pulled the trigger, two rounds to the head, one to the chest. As soon as the man went limp, she ejected the mag, letting go of the gun's grip and raising her hands as passing pedestrians all reacted. Most ran. The more gun happy ones reached for their weapons but hesitated as they caught site of the grey and the freelancer patch on her arm. This was a professional, not someone trying to start a gangwar. It was a corporate beef. It had nothing to do with the little people and they soon went about their business.<br/><br/>Beretta picked up the magazine, fitting it back into her rifle and turning off her recorder before picking up the data tablet and leaving the square.