Catwalk: Messiah by Nick Kelly Read Free Book Online Page B

comm buzzed inside his helmet. “Cat.”
    “How’s the armor feel?”
    “Yellow.”
    Delambre chuckled in reply. “I’m not certain I’ve ever felt yellow. Can you describe it?”
    “Sure, grab some binoculars, take a trip uptown or to the sim-lab and stare at the sun for an hour. Then get back to me.”
    “You seem edgy. How can I assist?”
    Cat rolled his eyes. “Just tryin’ ta put together a few loose ends on some cases. The armor’s better’n I thought so far. Ain’t had cause ta try it out yet, but the night is young.”
    Delambre paused before replying, as if seeking a second opinion. “You have my assurance it will meet your needs, Catwalk.”
    “I’ll keep ya posted.” Cat clicked the comm dead and twisted his wrist, burning more kilometers beneath him. The price tag on the armor was more than he had anticipated, and he would demand a back-up suit, given the pace of some of his investigations. He was going to need to cash from a few other outstanding jobs.
    Fortunately, there was one he’d been trailing for a while, and tonight might prove the perfect outlet for a little recreation.

    The Paradigm Shift was founded by two lifelong virtual world gamers who had decided on a permanent meeting place for those who logged more minutes in a fantasyland than reality. A neon display above the entrance boasted a myriad of colors, and the doors flanked by eight-meter high guardians. A red dragon reared on its hind legs on one side, perfectly crafted from reinforced steel. Opposite the dragon, a large robot with chain-guns instead of hands faced off against it.
    The bouncer and his correspondents inside sported some formidable armor. After all, the clientele here was only half composed of meek gamers playing dress up. The other half had the resources and funds, usually through gaming, to undergo surgery to closely resemble their in-game personas. Everyone in the place represented some sort of fantasy rendition of reality…a character.
    The main areas of the club weren’t potentially hazardous. It was in the VIP section where the real money flowed. The inhabitants there were revered by the common crowd. These virtual power brokers often decided on a whim how to change the very dimensions where hundreds of thousands clung to every imaginary facet of their lives. In this restricted area, the wardrobe ranged from custom tailored suits to armor and shields. Each player had their own idea of how to represent the money in their deferred off-world accounts.  
    There was a portion of the gamers who chose to represent their investments through appearance. They sported uniforms identical to what their avatars wore in the virtual world. Some did so by choice. Others were so physically altered they’d become the very character they’d once invented.
    Cat grinned to himself at the notion. He’d been no different, really. The surgery he’d undergone made him into the character he’d become. The difference was that when he killed an opponent, they didn’t get to reset somewhere. They flatlined, regardless of what game they thought they might be playing.
    He set the half-empty glass of bourbon on the small tabletop. Sweat dripped from the glass to the rectangular surface, dripping onto the chessboard set into the mahogany. The chair across from him was empty. There would be no opponent tonight, merely a job to be done and a paycheck to collect.
    He had pieced together the backstory, a high-level rivalry amongst the gaming companies. The man who called himself DoB, aka Descendant of British, had jumped ship to start his own firm, leaving one of the leading gaming companies without a head designer. Then, DoB decided to show up at Paradigm to celebrate with a few of his close friends.
    Cat grinned at the irony. There was a benefit to identifying your friends solely by virtual renderings. It meant that in real life they could look like anything. In this case, they could even look like a scarred and tired ex-cop who’d