HATE

"Sit still!" the doctor shouted, his strong, gnarled hands shoved the man back into his seat.

The man shifted his weight in the chair uncomfortably. He was in bad shape. Blood was gushing from a gunshot wound in his shoulder. The doctor now took the man’s right shoe off. Blood soaked the sock. As the doctor cut the sock away, he could see the damage. The foot was a mangled mess. It was suprising that the man made it as far as he did on a foot like this. Either he was in shock or his control over pain was incredible.

He look at his doctor. The Doc stood approximately three meters tall. For a troll, he was big. Real big. Word is that Dr. MacKenzie used to be a professional bodybuilder. You could see it in his build. Even though he no longer competed, the Doc still trained hard and it showed in his incredibly forearms, as his hands worked away on his foot. The troll had worked hard to break the stereotype that all trolls are stupid. Dr. Simon MacKenzie, aka. Dr. SmackHeads, was one of the best street docs in Chicago – if not the best. The man felt safe in his hands.

"The bullet has destroyed your foot. It has shattered bone, torn tendons and muscle. That sort of damage could take quite time to perform extensive surgery and we don’t have time, or staff for that matter, to get a tissue sample and clone you to get a replacement part.

As for your shoulder the bullet went clean through, but it did substantial internal damage. You running around earlier this evening aggravated it. The muscle have been torn completely from its moorings, requiring microsurgery to stitch them together. You’ve also undone the good that the nanites did in repairing the damage.

They’re going to have to be amputated. Assuming you’re wanting them replaced, we can either get them from a clone, or we can replace the damaged limbs with cyberware (once I get some measurements). However, considering the time it will take to culture a clone and given Chicago’s present situation I would opt for cybernetics. It’s up to you."

The man didn’t even hear the doctors words after the word ‘amputate’. All because of one individual, he had cost him an arm and a foot.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the dull ache of pain he felt all over, his mind traced back today earlier events.

It was approximately 16:30 hrs, downtown Chicago. Word breaking out all over that insects have overrun the city and that the military has been mobilised to protect them. People panicked and ran to supermarkets, loading up on all the goods they good. It was a nightmare for the mall security team

Bob and himself decided to hang out the front of main supermarket. He knew that the majority of people would be heading there.. That’s when we heard the gunshots, coming from the gunstore. It was no surprise really, or at least it shouldn’t have been one. In this situation they should have anticipated some was going to hit the store and they should have had men covering the store. But they lacked the manpower and facilities to employ any real security. I should know, he thought, these punks wouldn’t know real security if it bit them on the...

"Miguel!" Dr. Smackheads snapped. ‘Stay conscious. You’re in shock from the blood loss and if you pass out, you may well die. Tell me what you want to do."

"Just do what it takes to patch me up as quick as possible Doc." Miguel murmured.

The Doc made him lie down on the table and to strip down. He placed a tranq patch on his chest and waited for the drug to take effect. As he faded out of consciousness, his mind drifted back to the store.

They ran, pushing their way to the crowd to get to Norbert’s Gunstore. Norbert was a friend of his, they went way back, and he was not going to let his friend down. The rest was in slow motion. He watched as

a man dressed in a black suit leapt ontop of Uncle Tommy’s Ice Cream Stand. Pressing the butt of the submachinegun into his shoulder, he fired off two rounds.

Hi friend, Bobby, was the first to fall. Then second round then struck him in the shoulder. The impact from a slug sent him sprawling for the ground. He then realised he was bleeding. Badly. He tried to crawl for cover behind the water fountain out of the gunman’s line of sight. The gunman bought the gun to bear on Miguel and fired off another round.

It hit a lady near him dead square in the back, blowing a hole through her chest, straight through her baby.

She collapsed on the ground and the baby skitled out of her grasp in a bloodied heap. He closed his eyes and for one moment, forgot his own pain. He could see the tears welling in the womans’ eyes she lay on the ground opposite him, blood pouring out of the chest cavity. Her chest heaved, her breathing labored and he watched as the spark of life departed.

Anger. White searing hot anger burned within in him. He wanted to kill that man in the suit. He wanted to beat him with his bare hands. He wanted the blood to wash over him, see his features break and distort under the force of his boot.

He knew he must be made to pay. He knew it as sure as he knew his own name. It was his destiny.

When he awoke, he found himself in a vat – filled with a green fluid. Panic! Why wasn’t he drowning? He could see through the liquid… he was still in Dr. MacKenzie’s hospital. He could feel the mask over his face that was feeding him air. He could also feel the intravenous tubes were attached to his left arm. He swung his head to look at his other arm. He could barely make out the features under the water. But he could see it was metal.

He looked that Doc, who was tapping away at a console. He then realised that the Doctor was looking at the electronic monitors next to him. He then felt a warm liquid sensation wash over him and he passed out.

When Miguel awoke, he found himself in bed. He felt sore all over. Doctor MacKenzie was looking down on him. With the Doc towering over him like a giant, he felt like has five again, standing before his dad.

"Good morning. How do you feel today?" the troll enquired.

Miguel shifted his weight so he could prop himself up on the bed. He did so with a grunt of effort.

"Sore…"

"Hardly suprising," the Doc announced "You’d lost a substantial amount of blood, caused severe damage to your limbs. I hope you like the new replacements."

He glanced at his arm. It was glistening chrome. Very stylish. Obviously very expensive.

"After talking to Norbert when he first brought you in, I made some adjustments according to what he told me. Internal smartlink, popout concealable holster, retractable spurs, datajack and storage space. All built in. I had to increase the strength and speed of the limb to match the other limb."

Cyberware! Cybernetic technology – state of the art technological devices, implanted throughout the body. After talking to a mage once, he explained that cyberware took away from their humanity, the more you get implanted, the more you lose your soul! It made sense. He’d met several people wired to the max who were little more than machines coated in flesh. After that discussion he’d vowed he’d never get any implanted. He was quite proud of the fact he had come this far without any.

Now he was cybered – he felt like he had lost something. Less than whole. Incomplete.

He focused on the wrist and watched as three sharpened blades popped out of hiding with a subtle ‘click’. With another thought, they retracted back into place.

He held his chromed hand with his other flesh and blood hand, running his fingers along it’s surface. It was obviously finely crafted, sculpted to match his physique. He then also noticed the chromed left foot.

The Doc beamed, obviously quite happy with the workmanship "Normally I don’t do these sorts of jobs on the spot, but since you’re a friend of Norbert’s and I do owe him one, we’ll call this even. Where is the little dwarf?"

Miguel looked up with hate filled eyes as he remembered.

"He’s dead."

The troll was taken back. "Wh.. how?"

"After you patched me up, we went back to the mall. It was deserted. We were able to pull up security footage of the shooter. We called in a few other favors and we got a name: Joshua Smith.

We got Joshua Smith’s address. In the process of doing a thorough SIN check we realised that it was a false SIN. So we’re figuring he must be a professional of some kind. We talk to a few more people, with the picture we got. We find out the puto’s name is Fitz. He’s got a background with gangs and yakuza. Used to be a hitman when he was a kid. Takes the professional B&E jobs now. So I figure we’re going up against one very well armed, and most likely, cybered individual.

So I got some of my friends at Eagle Security, Norbert got some of his old mercenary buddies together. We prepared to hit them from all sides. I lead half the team around the back to attack from behind, whilst Norbert lead the attack from the front. We had stun rounds, tear gas, a skilled team and a good plan. it should have came off without a hitch.

But I don’t know how but they must have knew we were coming.

After opening fire and releasing the tear gas, we realise we’re fighting not one but at least six. Six well armed and well trained men. They were all professionals, Doc. I can only assume that his whole team were hiding in the one place for mutual protection since the outbreak. They got us all. The guys covering the front ran because a fragging Wasp Spirit popped out of nowhere and I barely got away when I was the only one left. Norbert never made back out of the house."

The Doc was silent for a moment.

"So what do you plan to do now Miguel?"

Miguel’s eyes glinted as he looked up at the Doc. Pure venom coursed through his veins.

"Revenge. That is what I plan. I plan to make them all pay. As for Mr. Joshua Smith, well you know what the Bible says – an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth."

Miguel closed his eyes. He knew he had the ability to take them out. He just needed a plan. He recalled the hatred he felt for Fitz and let it wash over him. It was like a blanket, keeping him nice and warm on a cold night. And it felt good.