Griff didn’t like where this was heading.
Johnny Nefertiti promised he had the wiz to handle anything that came their way, but five seconds into the Maxwell Tenements they’d run afoul of a Rat Shaman. She wasn’t alone either. Griff hung back by the stairwell, the door to the inner courtyard between the seven buildings propped open with the remains of a toaster. The other door, the one leading back out of the complex and into the city, was closed. He kept staring at it, thinking about leaving Johnny Nefertiti behind. Griff wasn’t cut out for this. Sure he’d run a few jobs before. When muscle popped up as it always did, he’d stand a little taller, show his incisors , clsnch and unclench those MCT enhanced muscles, and say, “You don’t want this trouble.”
He even tried that here, but the Shaman dead-eyed him right back. She spat on the ground and he shrunk back when that spit coalesced into the shape of a rat, and then split into another, and another. He was in his backpedal by the third phase of mitosis. Vat grown muscle had nothing on her shit. Johnny Nerfertiti didn’t say a word. Griff saw him soften his stance as he tripped by the mage. Real wiz shit was going down, and it had nothing to do with Griff. Better put, Griff wanted nothing to do with it.
Some Thoughts:
- That was about 8 minutes of my life right there trying to get back into the fiction mode. I’ve been reading a lot of Gibson lately, so there is the likliehood this bit of fiction channeled his aura.