Two Hundred

The guard was quickly knocked out while I took the droid out of commission with the sabretaser. The jolt threw the droid into diagnostic mode, which only lasted a few dozen seconds. It was all the time, however, that Fetus needed.

She removed the industrials from her ears and unscrewed one of the bulbous ends of each. To the others, she attached a clip from the implant she had equipped. Within seconds, she had a soldering kit, and got to work on altering a chip inside the droid’s gunmetal casing as Acrylic began doling out weapons from the duffel bags to the appropriate parties.

Hard Drive’s lackeys were obviously enjoying themselves. Beghilos had tied up the KO’d security guard, who was now in his undergarments, while the lackeys got Daemon suited up. The company-standard jumpsuit strained at his truly ripped musculature.

“My ability to mask the surveillance via diagnostic has nearly lapsed,” Acrylic informed us. “You have all been informed of your charges. May everything return 200.”

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