I gave the outer titanium alloy shell a few raps and allowed my hand to slide down the cool, reassuring metal. ‘What’s the score on armour-piercing rounds?’
‘Won’t stop them completely, but there’ll be better protection than your last. Remember: it’s the sustainability that’s important here. The suit’s got top-of-the-line anti-malware programming, and the helmet has a rear-cam. Useful in the shabbier neighbourhoods.’ Badger touched a button, got the armour’s chestplate to slide open. The Torven pointed to the carpet of bio-organic tendrils oozing out of the interior surface. ‘The interface is top of the range; you can expect instant responses on a biomechanical level. You’ll get readouts across the whole electromagnetic spectrum: biochemical, acoustic and pheromonal, everything. It monitors dopamine, adrenaline, blood-glucose. This beauty bonds with you and adapts to your body, making you more intimate with the hardware on a full neural and physical integration for sharper reflexes.’ He pointed again to the tendrils. ‘These are our selling point for Reapers. This suit is more sensitive, more precise; the stimuli is more powerful, completely adaptable to your physiology. Whatever sensations you’re experiencing, whatever stress levels your body is riding out, the suit will equalise and match up with you. You could almost say this suit becomes a part of you when you wear it.’
I was dully aware that I was grinning. ‘Where’d you get this stuff?’
‘Not something we can disclose,’ Badger sniffed, rubbing the freshly made wound on his head.
‘The free market is a wonderful thing,’ Fox agreed, readjusting his beanie, ‘and needs protecting. Now. This armour ain’t quite sentient, but it’s equipped with a smart processing-core, same as an AI, wired so that protecting you is its one and only goal. In a way, these suits like being worn.’
I stared at him. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘I ain’t. Welcome to the future, mate.’
I couldn’t not take it. I mean, I don’t think I could have physically walked away. And after Fox took my measurements and made some alterations, the armour fit me to the millimetre. After the interior padding around my limbs was adjusted for flexibility, I slid into it for the first time. I itched as the tendrils squirmed across my body like sentient liquid, dripping down my flesh, finding the notches in my spine. Connecting to me on a biomechanical level and jumpstarting the bonding process. The cobalt spinal ridges tightened against my body, running from the nape of my neck down my spine and along the curve of my tailbone. Badger attached the shelled armoured plating over my kneecaps. I raised my arms and allowed him to do the same to my elbows. I felt a familiar blistering sensation, like a bucket of electric, icy water being poured down my back, the electrostatic interface hooking in. Locking to my pheromones and reading my biometrics. A vibration rolled up the suit, shuddering down on a musculoskeletal level. The hydraulics began pumping, my body heat equalising and my flesh merging into the hardware. I unclenched my fist, armoured fingers clacking together. Lost in the composite layers of hardware and sensation, I wasn’t sure where my flesh began and the suit ended.
There was a much bigger suit in the corner, so bulky you’d have to climb into it as opposing to strapping it on. ‘I’m guessing you won’t tell me where that came from either,’ I said, rolling my shoulders and feeling the suit’s inner tendrils scramble along my back.
‘Those heavyweights there are reserved for Iron Class customers.’ Fox placed a hand on his puffed-up chest. ‘I’d sell it to you, truly. But the code’s got to be respected, a chain of command to be followed. It’s the way of things.’
‘The way of things,’ Badger echoed sagely.
I nodded along, as if I knew what they meant.
‘Now.’ Fox clapped his hands together. ‘Weapons.’
A tall, antique wardrobe peeled apart in a flurry of golden and black cubes to expose a series of a gleaming racks. Microgrenades, razornades, neurotoxins, shardpistols, handcannons, EMP pistols, carbines, autorifles, marksman rifles, scattershots, railguns, fancy slingshivs and all manner of sharpshooters. There were even smatter-turrets, missile launchers, and nanoguns used in space warfare. Military-grade hardware, all sheathed in gel-padding and plastic casings.
A lot of weapons manufacturers had gone out of business after the Reaper War. Not on a large scale, of course. People always want better ways to kill each other. But the sudden drop in demand meant a lot of wholesalers selling cheap to buyers who saw an opportunity in places like Compass.
‘You want to raise some pulses? This one will set you right.’ Fox handed me a silver scattershot with a polished wooden stock. Good balance, solid textured grips.
‘It’s all untraceable,’ said Badger, stormtech flashing down his arms. Standing next to me, the alien carried the same overripe, sickly-sweet musk I did. Guess the stormtech altered alien pheromones as well as human. Wasn’t too sure what to think about that. ‘The scattershot’s equipped with a magnetic system, allowing you to retrieve the slugs after you’ve fired them.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah,’ Fox piped in. ‘If the rest of the gun doesn’t work, you can always hit ’em with it.’
But it was the heavy handcannon that drew my attention. Matte-black with bursts of red streaks down the ribbed barrel, like crimson rain bleeding across metal. Lights winked on, thrumming to life in my hand as I hefted it and stared down the holographic sights, getting an idea of its weight and balance. You’ve got to feel just right with your handcannons.
‘Ah. That’s the R-32 Titan,’ Fox piped in. ‘A semiautomatic death machine, my friend. Multicalibre printer, adjustable sights and spread, jet propulsion energy charges. It’s packing four ammo types: standard, armour-piercing, EMP, and explosive rounds for the times you’re in a bit of a tiff.’
Had to
