"Wakey wakey!!!"
Micheal felt as if he were drowning, unconsciously gasping for air only for more water to enter his lungs, excruciating pain assaulting his chest.
"He is awake."
He felt his lungs clear, coughing loudly, his body pushing out every ounce of water that had entered his lungs, each cough sending rippling pain through his chest.
"Oi! Belay all that hackin' an' wheezin'—ye'll be splatterin' snot on me brand-new boots, ye scallywag!"
Before he could tell what was going on, a slap landed on his cheek.
"Huh?" Holding his cheek, he looked toward where the slap had come from, his pupils dilating as they fell on the towering men before him.
Iron Beard sat comfortably on a white sofa.
Beside him was the triclops and two other cyberpunks Micheal quickly recognized as part of the gang.
His gaze would have wanted to settle on them longer, but it was unconsciously drawn to the disfigured body lying beside him—the body of Mr. Dickson, his jaw torn out, blood continuing to pool out.
"Ar—" Micheal wanted to scream but quickly swallowed the thought.
He might be scared, but screaming now would mean more trouble.
"Wow, you held it in," a hoarse voice interrupted his thoughts, his gaze settling on the owner.
Iron Beard, who had earlier mimicked the voice of Mr. Dickson, now spoke in a different, more befitting voice.
His red cyborg eyes glinting with a malicious intent.
"You got guts. I like it... I won't kill you if you tell me who sent you."
"I... I... don't know what you are talking about." Micheal's eyes darted, afraid to look directly at the malevolent pirate before him.
"How did they—"
Slap!
A slap landed on his cheek, interrupting his train of thought.
The slap so strong he tastes iron in his mouth.
"How dare ye be spinnin' lies afore the Cap'n, ye bilge rat!"
"Argh!" Micheal let out a painful scream as he was held by the ear, his body weight threatening to tear it off.
He quickly got up, trying to lessen the pain, only to be met with another slap across his face—this one greater than the last, teeth broken, jaw shaken.
"Arg... arm showrry!" he quickly knelt down, his forehead touching the ground.
These people were not playing around; they would kill him if he dared play with his words.
He regretted his actions—regretted the desperation and confidence that had brought him here.
But...
"No one sent me. I came here to get Mr. Dickson's signature," he explained, tears, blood, and snot dripping down his face, still unwilling to say his true intent.
"I would have believed you, if this was his room, but it isn't. Yet you followed him here," Iron Beard narrowed his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Shit," Micheal cussed internally. He had been found out.
This wasn't part of his plan. He never once thought it would come to this.
Using thermal vision—an enhanced vision that allowed him to track heat signatures—he was able to follow them despite their distance apart, his vision allowing him to even see through walls.
Something near military grade, yet he, a so-called average Joe, could do it.
"Shit, I might die at this rate. I should get their pictures quickly," he thought of another plan.
There was no way he was going to die now and even if he did, he will go down with them.
He was poor but not weak willed.
If they were stupid enough to keep him alive, then he wouldn't waste it.
"I followed him and noticed him entering this room," Micheal said, his voice shaky, his tone apologetic, yet his mind remained sharp, lines of code running through his iris.
"And you didn't notice the hulking man by his side?" Iron Beard asked, seemingly amused by Micheal's attempt to lie.
"Yes, continue asking me questions, you f*cks. You will be my ticket to a loan-free life," Micheal cussed, smiling to himself, his face hidden from view.
"I did, but I didn't see the trouble. I thought maybe he was a friend," he said as he worked, speaking to Iron Beard.
People who exposed their cyberware weren't rare. In fact, they were common—exposed sutures from cyberware fusion left for fashion, some to make a statement.
Some went full cyborg, with the only organic part being their brain; others were partial, like Trijack.
It was thus not uncommon to see people like that.
Micheal hoped that common belief would make his lie more believable.
"Trijack, did you notice him following you?" Iron Beard turned to the triclops.
"No."
"See, he didn't notice you. Even with all his three eyes, he didn't notice you following him." Iron Beard rose to his feet, his cold metallic fingers caressing Micheal's hair.
"Argh!" He pulled him up, their gazes meeting, the last line of code sinking down Micheal's iris—a smirk on his bloodied lips.
"Huh?" Iron Beard was taken aback—his prey was laughing, the scared kid no more.
"What have—"
Bang!!
The door exploded, followed by a smoke grenade that quickly released its contents, the whole room obscured by white smoke.
"You?!" Iron Beard growled, tightening his grip on Micheal's face.
"..." Micheal screamed in agony as his jawbone cracked, threatening to break under the pressure.
" Cap'n, We gotta shove " one of the gang members urged, but before he could finish his words, the sound of gunfire rang out.
"Shit!! ... you are coming with me!" Iron Beard grabbed Micheal, holding him by his jaw.
He quickly rushed toward the window, Micheal screaming from the pain.
He was being dragged by his jaw, holding on to the towering man's hand for dear life.
The pain seemed to disappear as his pupils dilated, reflecting the glass window before them.
"This is the hundredth floor... is he planning on..."
Before he could finish the thought...
Crash!
The glass shattered with ease
The golden light of the morning sun blanketed the white clouds, tainting their purity with its chaotic orange hue.
The sight looked breathtaking.
"I never knew I could witness such beauty before my death," tears fell down the sides of his eyes—tears that should have fallen downward now moving upward as the two plummeted at full force.