The heavy pulsing of the Industrial music filled the air of the rave. Everywhere, people were moving rhythmically, though not always in synch with the music. However, one shape wasn't dancing. This rebel was forcing his way through the roiling mass of bodies, no easy task considering the warehouse (already larger than the biggest nightclubs of the city) was overflowing with dancers eager to have fun tonight. Passing several acts that were questionably legal, the man eventually reached a break in the masses: a staircase, where several people were draped on, passed out from sheer exhaustion, or comatose with chems.
The non-conformist was dressed as such; while almost every raver in the building was dressed in bright neon colors or urban chic, he wore a relatively out-of-place casual suit. His chestnut hair also marked him as an outsider, being more at home on a professional businessman than the mall rats around him. In fact, the only thing that marked him in any similar fashion to those around him was a pale shade of skin.
Collecting himself and straightening his coat, he ascended to the stairs, only to be stopped by a rather large bouncer with several obvious cybernetics, most notably his left arm, finished in chrome.
"Got an ID?" The man pulled a credit chit out of his coat's inner pocket and handed it to the guard, no fear in his eyes. Taking a look at it, then sliding it through a notch on his arm, he nodded. "Go right ahead."
He advanced forward, no missteps in his stride. He paused for a minute once at the second floor, as if looking for someone.
"I thought I'd never see you tonight," a computer-like voice began, "I thought you had gotten lost, or worse." He turned to see a heavily modified man sitting on a couch. "How goes the night, Faustus, or shall I say..."
"Save it, Golem," he replied curtly, approaching the man. "I saw your handiwork in the news."
"Wondrous," the synth-enhanced voice began, "did you happen to notice the mark I left on the woman?"
"We had agreed no mutilations." Eying the man's enhancements with disgust, he added, "I'm guessing that was part of a bonus you didn't tell us about?" It was a rhetorical question, considering the new Eye he had obtained since last week. He was modified more than most humans could take; all 4 limbs were now finished in an obsidian gloss, as well as the lower half of his face, little more than a grill replacing his entire jaw. While his cranium and lower torso appeared unmodded, little else remained untouched by glossy cybernetics.
"How did you know?" The modulated voice carried nothing but mockery.
"I met up with Spinneret this morning, and I just got done talking with DOS before I got here. We've agreed to cut you out after this little stunt of yours."
"Well, then," the cyborg said, calmly leaning forward, "Where do you plan on finding yourselves a merc as tough as I am to provide muscle?"
"We've already got another job where we don't need muscle. You're out, it's been decided." The modified man began to rise to his feet as people on the lower floor began to scream.
Both men looked toward the source, only to be blinded by searchlights coming from the now open warehouse doors. Gunshots filled the air as modulated voices screamed for obedience and order among the people, who weren't listening.
"Dammit, this is why we agreed to have no mutilations!" He drew a .45 from inside his coat and racked the slide to chamber a round.
"Don't worry, Jack," Golem said, "I'll help you out this time for free." His left arm began to unlock and morph panels, revealing a concealed heavy caliber rifle. "What do you say we have some fun?"
