Her prey was close. She’d been tracking her tag for almost twenty four sleepless hours and had finally brought him to ground, literally, in Street City. This lowest part of Freehaven was a melange of old and new tech. Yellow cabs, spewing their hydrocarbon pollutants, crawled along wet, grimy streets. Flitters scurried through the chasms between the towering ‘scrapers. Humans in antiquated business suits brushed elbows with mechas from other worlds as they all made their way past gaudily lit shops. Freehaven was everything to everyone. Reality was only limited by the user’s imagination and account balance. It was also a hell of a place to hide. Her prey was half-mecha, and he was a tough son of a bitch. But she’d tagged worse . . . much worse .
Jericho wasn’t about to let a tag with the ability to tear her head off with one hand get in the way of buying a better reality. She pulled the tall collar of her jacket tight about her neck and stepped into the virtual glow of Street City.
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