Over the years, Wombat’s trusty SecuriTech Armadillo line armor jacket had turned aside its fair share of bullets, blades, beer bottles, and even a few bombs to keep him from slipping into the annals of shadowrunner history, but its days were numbered and Wombat thought it was the perfect time to buy something new.
He had wanted to get access to Armand’s Armor Emporium, the famous runnerware host that sold everything from triple B (Bargain Basement Brands) to Zoé, but he lacked the street cred for that kind of hookup, so instead he was browsing the racks of WeaponsWorld while trying to use his ’link to comparison-shop a few Matrix sites. Thus far he had found that WW wasn’t full of great deals. A lot of sites beat them by a long shot, but when the price nearly doubled to have it altered, and then tack on the shipping (which made him think it was coming in from orbit), Wombat settled in to focus on the meatworld.
It was a good thing, too. Despite being distracted by the plethora of colors and styles in which armor jackets were being created these days, he managed to notice the rapidly darting gaze of a fellow customer bouncing between the clerk behind the armored glass, a seemingly gleeful elf with an armor vest over his shoulder waiting in line to pay, a rather bulky-looking ork who appeared to be sifting through magazine softs near the front door, and the two-plus meters of troll that stood guard there. The shifty-eyed customer, a rather unremarkable human, was hiding his gaze behind some top-end shades that certainly didn’t match the rest of his street chic outfit.
Wombat took note of everything and then shifted back a few rows. He couldn’t see the shifting gaze, but for now he didn’t think it was necessary. He’d spotted the players and was just waiting for the play to go down.
And go down it did.
The elf got to the head of the line and chatted with the clerk for a few seconds before slipping what looked like a certified credstick through the payment slot. No sooner was the stick through than the elf ducked down and let the armor vest pull up over his head.
The troll at the door must have had some wires installed because he moved fast. Wombat barely had time to activate his own reflex system before the troll was dropping his massive fist down onto the crouching elf. The armor vest, a low-grade knockoff of Ares’ latest design, did little to stop the troll’s fist.
The mag-soft browser was close behind the troll, though not close enough to save his ill-fated companion. The ork made three quick jabs at the troll’s back and legs. Each hit was followed by the distinctive “pop” of shock gloves discharging. Instead of seeing the troll start doing the herky-jerky from the excess of electricity pulsing through his massive muscled structure, Wombat watched the ork’s eyes widen as the troll spun and sent the shocked striker flying with a massive backfist.
A flash of light from inside the clerk’s booth was quickly dimmed by Wombat’s flare compensation eyeware, but the troll was not so lucky. The big guy’s hands went up to his eyes just in time for the shifty-gazed human to move in and plant a steel-toed boot square in the troll’s abdomen. It was the kind of wide-open hit that usually made P2.0 streams across the globe showing the little human take down the big troll. What really happened still deserved a few million hits on a P2.0 as that distinctive pop of shockware filled the air again, this time sending the shifty-eyed son of a bitch to the floor.
Wombat had seen enough. He moved toward the troll cautiously and spoke. “They’re all down.”
“No drek,” the troll said as he rose back to his full height.
“You just security here or you do sales too?” Wombat asked.
“What’re you looking for?”
“I’ll have what you’re wearing.”