“You know he’s just a myth, right?” Spanlan told Miguel. They were walking down 121st Avenue of District 1, Sector 70, and watching the numbers tick up on their bank accounts. They’d just turned in a bounty for a minor criminal gang that had been making a mark in Memorial, but not nearly big enough for law enforcement to get involved.

“Then why does he have a name?” Miguel asked in a very matter of factly voice. People bumped into them, but paid them no mind as soon as they got a glance at their persons. Anyone and everyone could tell from their loud, neon outfits that they were nimrods, maybe looking for someone even they knew for some quick money. Spanlan and Miguel didn’t mind their stares, though. They welcomed them, actually, like any other nimrod would. The attention meant that their names would get farther out there, possibly offering sponsorship or being approached for special work.

Spanlan moved his hand to his chin and rubbed at the small scruff that he’d been growing for months. It was thin and wiry and everyone he knew told him that his chin looked like a pair of testicles with the pubes desperately trying to grow back. He’d gotten tired of everyone telling him this. But Miguel never told him this. And Spanlan knew that they’d only known each other for a few months and completed one other job together, but he liked how Miguel never mentioned facial hair and only said things that Spanlan would never even think of saying. He thought it was a class act.

“Well, maybe Willy Nilly is a group of people, not just one weirdo cutting people’s dicks off,” Spanlan said after contemplating the question. Miguel shrugged and smiled, clearly satisfied with the acknowledgement that the legendary nimrod wasn’t just a story people told.

They made their way to a cafeteria nearby and swiped their phones at the door. They flung open and the two walked in, hastily grabbing a tray and stacked small plates of steak, shrimp, and chicken on. When their trays were full and it took them some effort to carry their food, they walked to a table near a holograph that was broadcasting the news. On the visuals, they proudly looked at a line of men and women, some sitting up with angry looks and others held up and slapped to consciousness by law enforcement officers. The cafeteria was filling up with the late night inebriated crowd coming in for meals, but Spanlan and Miguel could still hear the segment that was running.

“-gang, the Swellers. Their main illicit activities included illegal drug trade, food trade, and brews of unregulated alcohol. Memorial law enforcement was called to the scene after commuters and bystanders reported ‘strong, stinging odors and an unusual amount of screaming’ from this skyscraper on 114th Avenue, District 1, Sector 70. Law enforcement finally arrived after a series of small explosions inside the skyscraper shattered the entire sixth floor’s glass windows, startling those on the street outside of the building. Law enforcement is currently withholding the names of those responsible for the capture and detaining of the Swellers, but we’re certain that their identities will be known soon enough. Malia with WBN news-”

As the camera flashed to the flames being extinguished, the two men smiled at each other, proud of their work being displayed. 

“So, what do you say to going out? Celebrating? There’s an awesome dispensary here that gives the hookup when it comes to the symph,” Spanlan said through a mouthful of food. Miguel chewed his food thoughtfully and looked at his phone again.

“Not for me. Be glad to make sure you don’t die when you’re fucked up, but I’m still not at my financial goal for the month,” he said. Spanlan clicked his tongue.

“It’s gonna be a whole year before you’ll be able to even afford someone to find your family’s signet. And even then, you know the P.I. is going to milk their time with this. It’s gonna cost you millions. Wouldn’t you rather just celebrate for a second? Live in the moment and all that? I’ll tell you it’s easier,” Spanlan said, finishing the last of the meat on his tray. Miguel looked him up and down and shook his head before taking another bite of shrimp.

“For what? To keep a dependency up? Weak,” Miguel said very matter of factly. More people were showing up, taking seats next to the two. Spanlan felt a tinge of anger take over, but he pushed it back with a laugh, knowing that making a scene here would cause more trouble than it was worth. Besides, he knew that Miguel had a point. The only thing that he could look forward to other than doing a job was getting another hit. 

Spanlan got up and looked down at Miguel. They locked a gaze for a few seconds, both unsure of what the other might do.

“You yards done here or do we need to find another place to sit?” A teenager said, a group of others behind him snickering. Without breaking eye contact, Spanlan opened his mouth.

“We’re done here. Learn some fucking respect, twerp,” he said. The teenager and his friends scoffed and laughed. Spanlan slammed his tray on top of the lead teenager’s, smushing all of the food on it. But before the teenager could respond, Spanlan turned his gaze to him, his teeth gritted together into a forced smile. The teenager and his friends backed away, leaving the bench unoccupied. Bystanders watched in high tension, everyone unsure if anyone was going to do anything about this nimrod’s outburst. But before anyone could move, Spanlan bussed his tray and walked out of the cafeteria, into the warm, muggy, summer air of Memorial.


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After a month of symph induced frenzies, Spanlan was fined and ordered to repair the damages he'd done to his apartment walls. Because of this, his search brought him to job request hunting Miguel. With only a moment of hesitation, Spanlan called Miguel into the city, promising a lead on a good paying job.

But, in two minutes of meeting each other at a tavern, Spanlan found himself with his back to the wall, terrified to peek around the corner of an alleyway in one of the worst sectors in District 1.

“He’s not just a fucking myth. He screamed he’s going to cut our dicks off,” Spanlan whispered shakily to Miguel, who was catching his breath as quietly as he could.

“You tried to fucking collect me,” Miguel said in between his breaths.

“500k is a hard deal to pass.”

“I’m 500k, too?” 

A gunshot sounded and a piece of the concrete wall flew off, cutting the cheek of Spanlan. Bystanders both on the streets and in vehicles abandoned their properties and ran into apartment lobbies, taverns, or anywhere that they could be safe. Those who couldn’t get anywhere before doors were locked, ran down the street away from the sound. The street was a maze of buses and cars, surrounded by shopping bags, broken bottles of liquor, and trampled bikes.

Spanlan darted away from the broken wall corner, Miguel following with his head low. They ran into the street, ducking behind cars. The thumping sound of heavy boots on concrete echoed from the alleyway like thunder. Spanlan looked over the roofs of cars and saw a hulking figure in a dark trench coat with an old tricorn hat storming out of the alleyway. The figure locked eyes and Spanlan felt a chill down his spine as he caught a glance of the curved sword in the back hand of their assailant. The sight of it was blocked when the figure turned and aimed their revolver. Spanlan felt his eyes widen and a gunshot sounded while he felt himself fall to the ground. 

When the weight on top of him was gone, Spanlan turned around. Each breath brought a debilitating, stabbing pain in his upper back. He couldn’t get up. He looked to his left and saw that Miguel had been shot and leaning against the tire of a car next to them. Spanlan tracked his eyes to the thundering sound of boots on the asphalt a car away from them. The trench coat figure approached them. Spanlan tried to get a look at the figure’s face, but it was covered by a balaclava. The only thing visible was the figure’s perfect, white smile.

Miguel made a coughing, gurgled sound as Spanlan watched the figure twirl their sword. Before anything could be said the figure shot Miguel in the head. His body slumped to the ground and the figure swooped down on him, keeping their gun trained on Spanlan. The figure tore off the pants off their kill, examining the groin area with great interest.

“You sick fuck. Is a million credits not enough for you? At least leave us whole,” Spanlan said through gritted teeth. The figure continued their examination, nodding their head, then looked down at Spanlan.

“More genitals attracts more people,” the figure said, keeping their toothy grin. 

Spanlan took a breath, trying to imagine the high he would get from synth. But his lungs stung one last time before he felt a piercing pain in his head.