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In the deserted, urine-soaked lobby of the once-magnificent Mile Marriot, the HSA TAC squad had taken to Tasering rats for entertainment. There was no shortage of targets, so size counted, with the biggest prize being ten points for a Godzilla rat, all the way down to five points for a baby rat. Anything smaller than a cat didn’t count, and ten bonus points if the Taser put them down with one jolt.
So far, no one had collected the bonus.
“I think he’ll shoot his dick off before he makes the top floor.” Maravich idled against the bar, dividing his attention between the 3D antics of their subject and the competition in the lobby. “Hey, Duvall! Nice shot, compadre.” To Ramirez, he said, “Man, this is a waste of fucking time. Let’s go pop the guy now and get it over with. I mean, think about it, if he actually hurts somebody up there, it’ll be our ass.”
“Your ass, you mean,” Ramirez scoffed. “You afraid you’ll lose your payday, Big Ben?”
“Fuck you, Beaner. You know how much Renascentia pays for a fresh, live body in good shape, with all the right paperwork attached. Duvall, you jackass! That wasn’t a rat, that was a homeless guy.”
Duvall cackled. “My bad.”