Once again Tray was left to his own devices as he banked off Main Rail #3 and down into Woodlawn, where the NT seemed all but deserted from this distance.

I’m lucky I’ve got such good avatars. The mornings would be awfully lonely without Liz,

and Lars is as respectful as they come.

Look at that gamer freak kicking the terminal housing, trying to get his invalid imprint back.

Lars appeared with his visor down. “You best sort this out, Sir, ASAP!”

As soon as he began to slow he blinked at the traffic light and his boots released, permitting him, as a security operative, to bail off the rail before he reached the light. He hit the ground on the balls of his feet, tucked and rolled, and came up running for the NT. The gamer freak was still screeching at the NT and punching it. Then a whistle seemed to alert the freak and he turned to see Tray bearing down on him and sped off on his skateboard.

Tray picked up speed as he felt Lars release a carefully calibrated adrenal burst.

Lars popped up. “Sir, there is an accomplice behind the repository. Secure that alcove after you have immobilized the felon.”

Tray dove onto his side as he drew his .50 caliber Olive Branch Sub-lethal auto and fired down the alley at the legs of the furiously skating freak. His first round missed and the second one shattered the boy’s heel. Lars appeared immediately in a lab coat to comfort him. “Sir, high-caliber sub-lethal can maim. It is an intrinsic liability and you are not to blame. I have already uploaded my findings to the defense counsel—that’s good, holster up before advancing, Sir. We need to be conscious of appearances. You are now rendering aid as per Universal HFC Compliance Ordinance Three-twenty-four.”

Tray was used to hustling while Lars rambled on with the legal minutia. He came to a crouch over the skeletal gamer, and then stabilized the foot and low leg with a gel-cast peeled off of the medical pad snapped to his left thigh. He inquired into the gamer’s wellbeing as he rolled him over onto his back only to be met by a 30 centimeter stainless steel murderpin thrust beneath his visor into his face by the snarling freak. The massive needle penetrated his chin and drove into his gum below his front teeth.

Damn their strong when they are all gamed-up.

His mind lit up in a rage and Lars’ display never clearly materialized. His tactical avatar’s pleas for restraint and citing of various portions of the Universal HFC Annotated Code of Compliance could be heard faintly, muffled in the background as they were by Tray’s pounding heart.

Murder me! Murder me, you freak!

He punched and kneed and stomped, and, after some brief span of time, the gamer freak lay dead and broken at his feet. Tray stood, murderpin protruding from his chin beneath the visor, and looked around at the clutch of disorderlies who had gathered to witness the freak’s arrest.

These disorderlies have no right to judge me!

Lars could still not come into focus as the rage pumped from Tray’s heart with great ear-ringing thuds. Neither could he hear his tactical avatar. He could however, hear the clear shrill voice behind him, “You goon, you cleaner-punk, you killed him!”