......but it's gonna COST ya! Plenty, pal.

<The shadowy man finally leans forward into the light, relaxing his legs that are rested atop the table and keeping him propped back on two legs of his chair.>

Ya see, the problem here, is that the gizmo ya want, is in the middle of a clanner hideout, see? Now apparently y'all know what that means, otherwise ya'd a done it yerself, see?

Clanner's may be like fricken barbarians, they may live in caves and huts, and the what-not, but they ain't dumb. They got gear just like you corp boys. There's gonna be guns, and security, see?

<The man lights a cigarette, while dropping his legs off the table in motion so smooth that it screamed of nano-augmentations surging throughout his body.>

I also figure, see, that the fact that ya was diggin round enough to get a timeslot with me, that ya got a pretty damn good idea about what kinda guns and security that they gonna have. So ya both can wipe off that corporate careless grin, cause I know yer screwed.

<The two men glance briefly at each other with a surprising glare, then turn a skeptic gaze back toward the man.>

Yea, kids, Slip always does his fricken homework, and if that's all the better ya are at lockin yer files down, I'd say yer best bet is ta get a job hockin bronto burgers. I'd hate ta see ya'll trying ta make yer way on the grid, now that'd be a sight. HAH! The two of ya trying ta climb that ol omni ladder just a little too fast, see? Ya done screwed up, and now yer lookin ta find a way back ta good. Tryin ta make me think all ya did was need a gizmo from Tir? I'll tell ya something, ya don't ask for quality like me, then hand over a stack a bull**** like that, see? So I'll cut ta the chase, before yer buddy there soils his corp trousers. I ain't fond a ol' uncle omni, but he treats me well, see? I don't need none a his troubles, and he sees to it that he ain't makin any of em up for me. So I got a debt, see? I help the corps with a few things, like makin sure that a couple a monkeys like you don't go findin yer way up the ladder again, see? So here's how it's gonna work, it's 10K fer this here appointment with me, it'll be 500K fer the advance, and a cool mil when I give ya the gizmo.

Yea...

...I thought that'd put yer stupid grin in order. Now then, ta finish this little "get together", I'll summarize it, nice-n-easy for ya. I took the advance and the meeting creds out of yer account already, cause let's be honest, there ain't no way yer gonna manage ta spit a "no" out a that sad face a yers, and I was already there in yer account. Second, since that leaves ya with enough credits ta eat fer about a week er two, I set up a meetin with some boys that might arrange a loan for ya. Third, I don't like havin ta watch my back....

<Suddenly, elegantly, with a subtle grace, the man bends his body almost in a blur, producing a large weapon. In fractions of second, he unleashes a mad torent of projectiles buzzing madly towards the other man's assistant. Before the body hits the floor, the dark fixer has already resumed his relaxed feet-on-table position, and has lit another cigarette.>

I don't wanna hear any more, "Ambush him on the way back." crap. I got more bullet's, then you got friends, see? Meet me back here in a week, and I'll have yer gizmo for ya. Pal. Pleasure doin business....

<A horrified executive slowly stands, and leaves the small club. Unsure of whether to feel comforted or not. When he arrives home, he finds a note on his mantle sitting next to the signed picture of Phillip Ross he got for an 80 percent effeciency increase. The autograph read, "Great job, Ted, we'll be keepin our eye on you!" The note read, "and another thing, see? If you think that I don't have offers coming in from some of your executive pals, you are dead wrong, see? Only they don't want the "happily ever after" ending that you were hoping for. Underneath the message was a list of men he had recruited to help handle the ambush. There were red lines through all but one of them. Hans Gorman, his assistant. A chill ran up his spine, as deftly programmed nano-bots began to collect together on the face of the paper. Making a line through that familiar name. He glanced back at the photograph. For the first time in his life, the gaze of Omni-Tek was something he no longer wanted.>

<Back at the small bar, the young fixer signals to a waitress>

Hey Opal! My deck says I got another one right fast, who is it, and what da they want?

<The scantily clad serving girl, spits back at him in a rugged street accent>

They didn't say, it's some organization, wants ta talk ta ya about being a member or somethin, here they are now.........