Pain. That was the first thing that came to his mind. And then he realized he was still alive. Well, he thought, I guess I should be glad they still think I can pay them off. He was seated and bound, unable to move his limbs. He opened his eyes. Featureless room, filthy white tiles, table, a flickering bulb. An impeccably-suited figure sat opposite him, face wreathed in shadow.<br/><br/>'Mister Steelbeard,' the man droned, his tones sepulchral. 'Are you still with us?'<br/><br/>'Aye, I am.'<br/><br/>'Good.' The man produced a series of photographs and slid them across the table. 'We understand that your debts are unusually high. High enough that most of my colleagues wouldn't even deign to hire the likes of you. That's why we're here, Mister Steelbeard.'<br/><br/>Uri leaned over and squinted at the pictures. A fireball hurtling across a blue sky. Some manner of cube in the black void of space. An indistinct figure retrieving said cube from a crater in the ground.<br/><br/>'My sources,' the shadow said, 'tell me that this cube is an extraterrestrial artifact of some value. A storage device, perhaps, or a piece to a greater puzzle. Naturally, my partners-in-business are all eager get their hands on this device. That's where you come in.'<br/><br/>'A retrieval op.'<br/><br/>'Correct.'<br/><br/>Uri leaned back and sighed. 'Boss, I'm not exactly in the best of situations here. I'm running empty. No ammunition, my gear's gone a bad way--'<br/><br/>'Leave that to me, Mister Steelbeard.' The suit shifted, straightening its posture. 'I never leave my employees without the means to do the job.'<br/><br/>'What are the terms?'<br/><br/>'Bring us the cube and the treasure, and that'll settle your debts.'<br/><br/>Uri exhaled. One successful op, and boom, his slate was clean. Hell, maybe even more, if the loot was good enough. But there was something off about this guy. It was too good to be true.<br/><br/>'What's the catch? What if this job goes to drek?' Uri grunted.<br/><br/>'Then you die,' his employer replied casually. 'It's simple, Mister Steelbeard. Succeed or die trying. This is your last chance.<span style="font-style: italic">I</span>am your last chance. Nobody else on Earth wanted anything to do with you. So let me make this abundantly clear: Were it not for me, you would be a corpse in an undercity alley, a loan shark's shiv in your back and your lifeblood seeping into the gutters. This is the end of the line. All or nothing.'<br/><br/>Uri paused for a moment. Well, he thought, I guess I've got nothing else to do, right? 'Alright. I'm in.'<br/><br/>'Good.'<br/><br/>And then something jammed a needle into his left carotid artery. Uri woke up in a dead-end alley on the city surface, clad in a flak vest with a shotgun and dart pistol strapped to his body. A heavy duffel bag sat on his chest and his old mini-comp was strapped on his wrist. To his right sat his last surviving spider drone, beaten, battered, but in good repair, with a fresh belt of ammunition loaded into its gun. The employer wasn't lying after all. He looked up and saw the device's entry contrail still fresh in the sky. Uri Steelbeard, debtor, mechanic, and dead man walking, shouldered the pack and set off, drone in tow, triangulating the cube's landing point as he went. This was going to be a long, long day.