Thick, cool bricks made of local yellow clay backed Adi's significant figure in her usual dimly lit corner booth. Small, grimy windows on each side of her booth almost completely blocked the harsh outside sunlight. The manufacturer on Mars reinforced the thick polycrystal windows to insulate against the brutal Chendiurian heat and, to a lesser extent, deter thieves and vandals from breaking the expensive, nearly irreplaceable windows.

Adi drew a slow breath, instantly gagging. The air in Niles' bar was its usual toxic stew—stale beer clung to decades-old composite flooring, layers of unwashed bodies radiated sweat and desperation, and smoke billowed, dense with cheap narcotics and engineered tobacco blends. Just another Tuesday, she thought, a bitter taste coating her tongue, in the cesspit they call 'entertainment.'

The cloying hint of knock-off perfume and discount synth-cologne occasionally cut through, doing nothing to improve the atmosphere—just adding extra notes to the chemical assault on her augmented senses. Niles doesn't bother with incense.

Her neural net automatically categorized every scent molecule, flagged the toxins, and recalibrated her filters, but even tech had its limits. The military grade cutting-edge blend of nanoware, biotech, and superconducting molecular circuits wired into her skull made her faster, stronger, and sharper—but it also meant she couldn’t ignore how much the world stank. Cybernetic progress: a miracle and a fucking curse, all wired together under her skin.

Damn the fucking Corps for increasing my nose's sensitivity, Adi thinks. I would if I could shut off the damned cloned tissue, bioware, and bionic-enhanced olfactory lamellae in my nose and sinuses. I had to look up what 'increased retronasal olfaction' meant. Fuckin' Corps couldn't just say they increased the blood flow to my nose and sinuses and the enhanced taste buds on my tongue.

Adi’s eyes swept the bar from her slightly elevated booth, every detail feeding into her neural net’s quiet background hum. The place was intentionally dim, shadows pooling in the corners like lazy predators. Smoke hung in layered sheets, thick with cheap narcotics and burned synth-tobacco, swirling under flickering, half-dead lumen strips. The low murmur of voices blended with the clink of glasses and the occasional scrape of chairs—steady, predictable noise, just enough cover for private deals and whispered threats.

No music. No holoscreens, vomiting ads or news feeds. Just stillness wrapped in grime. That’s why Adi liked Niles’ place. In a city obsessed with overstimulation and constant noise, this hole was as close to quiet as Chendiuria got.

Adi’s considerable height and dense, sculpted musculature hinted at raw power—endurance, strength, and the kind of violence that didn’t need advertising. What her appearance didn’t give away was her surprising weight, a side effect of the layered subdermal armor, cybernetic reinforcement, and dense bio-engineered muscle fibers packed under her skin. You only noticed it when she moved—fluid, deliberate, but with a heaviness that spoke of mass barely contained.

The regulars gave her space, not out of fear, but out of respect seasoned with a healthy dose of self-preservation. Adi’s presence was a kind of silent insurance policy—her reputation was enough to keep most of the city's usual vermin in check.

Her deep golden amber eyes—heavily modified with military-grade cybernetics and bioware—glowed faintly as they scanned the battered playing cards scattered across the table, the surface worn smooth by years of drinks, elbows, and the occasional knife tip carving fresh graffiti into its scarred surface.

Niles’ Haven, named after its gruff owner, was a proper dive—no pretense, no polish, just rough edges and bad lighting—a sanctuary for those who didn’t belong anywhere else. A place where shady deals are made. Tucked into the rusted gut of First City’s industrial sprawl, it was a world away from the towering, sterile gleam of the New Delhi arcology that loomed in the distance like some obscene monument to wealth and power.

First City held roughly 4.5 million souls, crammed into the surrounding dilapidated sprawl of Chendiuria’s first waves of colonization. About 70% of the planet’s population eked out their lives here, either grinding through factory shifts or clawing their way through the black and gray markets that kept the city’s real economy running. The slums—mostly prefab housing blocks thrown up during the early settlement years—still stood, ugly and defiant, their poly-ceramic shells cracked and weathered by decades of neglect and planetary dust storms. Maintenance was an afterthought, if it happened at all.

The arcology’s superstructures loomed above it all, shimmering towers of chrome and glass, their perfect lines slicing into the dusty sky—a constant reminder of how far removed the wealthy were from the squalor below. Niles’ Haven sat firmly in that shadow, catering to the people who knew better than to dream of arcology life.

Rat has given me more than one job where I needed to find landlords or their proxies for those shitty tenements. Some of those landlords didn't wish to be found--too bad for them. Adi chuckled to herself. I still remember the look on that guy's face. Took me three weeks to find that shit stain. He screamed like a scared little girl when I blew the floor out from underneath him while he was on the shitter. I suppose landing him waist deep in the sewer while glued to the toilet with permanent high-strength construction contact cement was a bit cruel.

After replaying the video in her HUD, Adi couldn't help giggling. I still wonder what excuse he gave to the emergency room medics, or did he pay under the table for a recordless medical treatment? Adi doubts she will ever know.

Adi exhaled slowly, her eyes sweeping the murky interior of Niles’ Haven. Perched on an elevated, half-forgotten corner of the city, the bar clung to relevance like a stubborn weed in a crack of ferrocrete. Out here, the glittering promises of Chendiuria meant nothing. This was where the cargo haulers, waste reclaimers, broken dreamers, and underpaid factory rats came to escape—if only for a few hours—from the daily grind that chewed them up and spat them back out every shift.

Niles’ Haven wasn’t about hope or ambition. It was a place where people nursed cheap drinks, chain-smoked their last few credits, and traded exhausted stares in the flickering gloom—small mercies in a city that didn’t give a damn whether you lived or rotted.

Adi shuffled the cards with fluid, mechanical precision, her fingers moving in a rhythm that spoke of muscle memory and long hours of downtime in far less forgiving places. Her years in the Colonial Fleet Marines etched the habit into her—a small ritual carried forward from the Revered Ancients, when cards were one of the few constants between deployments, firefights, and the dead silence of deep space.

For Marines, card games weren’t just about winning or losing. They were about killing time, breaking tension, building trust, or sometimes settling scores without fists or blades. Like countless others before her, Adi had found comfort in the familiar shuffle and slap of worn cards—a small tether to humanity while living on the razor’s edge of combat.

But it was not just about the games. In the Corps, Adi learned the universal military truth of 'hurry the fuck up and wait.' To her amusement, she discovered that within Marine culture, the phrase 'fuck you' could sometimes serve as the highest term of endearment. Adi's time in the Corps taught her a profound truth: people fall into three categories: those you live for, those you die for, and those you kill for.

I've learned that I will also lie, cheat and kill for those I love.

This is my fucking life now. I got out of the Corps to be gainfully unemployed while sitting in a dingy, depressing, half-empty dive bar playing solitaire all fucking day.

Sitting, as opposed to lying down, is impractical in the bar, as it maintains her metabolic load at a minimum. Adi discovered the truth and wisdom of a quote attributed to an unknown ancient Green commander: 'Never stand when you can sit, and never sit when you can lie down.'

The valuable deck of playing cards, an unexpected and insightful birthday gift from Nyomi, Adi's roommate and lover, holds a unique significance in their shared history. These ancient relics, Adi muses, are from a time when humanity looked at the stars with a mix of wonder and fear, and are a testament to the resilient spirit of our species.

In a world twisted by unfathomable tech—where flesh fused with machine and reality itself bent under corporate whims—these simple cards remained oddly rare, oddly precious. No VR overlay, no AI opponent, no simulated odds calculations—just ink on polymer sheets, untouched by algorithms. For Adi, they offered brief sanctuary, a primitive escape hatch from the endless churn of augmented life and its tangled politics.

Her bionic, cybernetic, and bioware-enhanced frame shifted smoothly under the desert-tan long-sleeved shirt, fabric pulled taut across her dense, heavily reinforced musculature. Muscle fibers layered with cloned tissue and almost double the usual fast-twitch density moved like a symphony of engineered power—strength built for war but applied now to the quiet rhythm of an ancient game. The casual grace of her motions belied the kind of force that could crush bone or tear steel. This was her calm—the calm before everything inevitably went to hell.

Many assume I am clumsy and slow because of my considerable size, picturing me as lumbering and uncoordinated. She knows that her powerful physique, resulting from significantly increased muscle mass, denser bones, and subdermal armor, makes her less nimble. I am not as agile or stealthy as others, which makes some missions more challenging for me. Adapt and overcome.

The battered digital clock above the bar blinked just past noon, its flickering pale blue glow slicing through the smoke-hazed dimness and snagging her attention. Adi's enhanced and augmented eyes have no problem piercing the dim, hazy light in the bar.

Right on cue, her stomach growled—deep, hollow, and constant. Hunger was her ever-present parasite, gnawing at her insides like a methed-out rat in a drainpipe.

The price of power, Adi thought bitterly. All that bionic, cybernetic, and bioware enhancement came with a brutal metabolic bill. Colonial Fleet Marine augments didn’t run on good intentions—they ran on protein, calories, and a steady stream of specialized nutrient packs. Not cheap.

She scowled as she did a quick mental check of her dwindling credit balance. Every meal felt like feeding an industrial furnace. High-density protein wasn’t exactly easy to come by in First City unless you wanted to risk bootleg synthmeat with questionable genetic tags. And she was already overdue on gambling with that particular set of dice.

Adi sighed, her breath barely stirring the smoky haze as her fingers idly shifted a card across the battered tabletop. Her amber eyes swept the bar again, the scene layering itself effortlessly into her neural net’s situational overlay—faces tagged, exits marked, weapons flagged.

The cards, though—that was something different. Something analog. She preferred the tactile feel of real cardstock under her fingers, the faint, comforting smell of old ink and worn plastic coating. None of the sterile, soulless perfection of e-decks or neural-link simulators. This was tangible. Grounding.

The deck itself was a rare treasure: antique black-and-red playing cards, corners clipped, slightly warped from years of handling. A gift from Nyomi, given with a wink and a whispered promise on Adi’s last birthday. Allegedly, the cards had once graced the tables of some pre-spaceflight casino back on Old Earth, back when people still thought roulette wheels and craps tables were peak entertainment.

Adi allowed herself a small smile. In this city of neon lies and corporate shadows, the cards were one of the few honest things left.

Adi could’ve been running half a dozen games of solitaire simultaneously on her HUD, effortlessly managed by the multi-phased quantum computer resting underneath her skull's calavaria on top of her brain which tied to her neural network—the superconducting molecular circuitry that wrapped her brain, traced down her spine, and coiled around her hips like a second nervous system. The nanites humming through her bloodstream stood ready to assist, optimizing cognitive load, sharpening focus, filtering distractions.

But she didn’t enjoy playing that way.

The sterile perfection of her digital overlays lacked the imperfections she craved—the texture of the cards, the tiny variations in shuffle, the slight warp that caused one to stick to another. Flesh and bone still held dominion over certain pleasures. In a world saturated with machine precision, Adi found satisfaction in the minor chaos of analog randomness. It reminded her she was still, mostly, human.

Adi notices Niles shuffling toward her booth. Niles is slightly shorter than average, stout, with a slightly rounded belly and of an indeterminate age that seemed to blend into the weariness etched across his pale face. His wild, too-long, thinning reddish-gray hair frames tired dark brown eyes, shadowed by the burden of countless late nights behind the bar.

Niles carries with him a complex bouquet of scents that tells a story of his surroundings. The unmistakable aroma of stale, cheap smoke clings to him, mingling with the lingering essence of cheap alcohol. Beneath this, the undertones of cheap, greasy soy-based takeout linger, evoking memories of rushed meals and late-night and early morning cravings. A spicy-scented soap that adds a hint of unexpected freshness tempers this, battling against the heavier odors. Finally, a potent musk of cologne wraps around him, bold and assertive, creating an intriguing contrast to the other scents that intertwine like an uninvited guest at a party.

Adi knows Niles is as close to being an unmodified human as possible today. Despite knowing Niles for years and frequenting his bar, Adi has never discussed the specifics of Niles' immigration to Chendiuria, including when it occurred. Adi notices Niles struggling with the heat coming in through the open door. Adi hopes the bar's dodgy air conditioner units don't crap out again.

Niles constantly deals with the heightened gravity of Chendiuria, continually adjusting his stained apron while trying to fix his old, frequently malfunctioning anti-gravity belt. He often needs to plug in the belt because its nuclear battery is unreliable and barely holds a charge. Adi knows why Niles cannot replace his anti-grav belt.

"Another quiet day, Adi," he observed, leaning against the outer edge of her booth, careful not to block her view. Niles runs his hands through his sweat-soaked hair, causing more of it to stand up. His voice had a heaviness, a gritty fatigue that spoke of years of pouring drinks and listening to patrons' woes, each syllable dripping with the weight of uncounted stories and silent struggles.

Adi looked up, her amber gaze meeting Niles's eyes. "Quiet's good. Means no trouble."

Niles chuckled softly, a sound that danced lightly through the hazy air. His eyes shimmered with a blend of gratitude and an undercurrent of worry, revealing the unspoken thoughts that weighed on his mind.

"Trouble's always lurking somewhere, you know that, Adi. But I appreciate you keeping it away from here."

Adi nodded and offered a faint smile. "It's the least I can do, Niles. It helps pay for my food. Several times I have come very close to eating us out of house and home."

Adi understands Niles pays her what he can afford and does so more out of kindness than a genuine need for a bouncer of Adi's caliber. Since Adi is between jobs yet again, any amount of income is helpful.

Niles glanced at the ancient deck of Hoyle traditional playing cards with clipped corners, a hint of nostalgia flickering in his gaze. "Old-Earth priceless ancient relics. They're something, aren't they? Wonder who paid the freight lifting something most would consider frivolous out of a gravity well."

"Yeah," Adi agreed, briefly looking at the cards on the table. "Reminds us where we came from. Nyomi's gift connects me to a long-gone world that had once dreamed of the stars."

Adi gazes at Niles with a thoughtful expression. "Not too many people are familiar enough with ancient playing cards to spot them."

"Adi, I have managed bars for over 70 years across three planets and two space stations. I've seen about every kind of card game that exists. Ya' ever figure how old they are?" Niles asked, not totally ignoring Adi's gentle probe.

"When Nyomi gave them to me, after freaking the fuck out at how much they must have cost, I did a little research. They are over 700 years old or so, give or take a few decades. Bet these old cards have a few tales they could tell." Not for the first time, Adi wishes she had psychometry.

She turns a card over so that Niles can read the back. "I couldn't determine where this Circus Circus Hotel and Casino was, but the odds are pretty high that the cards are most likely from an Old Earth place called L'Vegas."

"Where was that?"

"I have no idea, Niles. Neither did any of the historical records I searched. Mother couldn't locate the place in her university's library either. If we had full access to the GalNet, we might figure it out. Only the Revered Ancients know where this place was. Based on our findings, or rather the lack thereof, we believe this ancient site was likely nuke obliterated from Old Earth during the Machine Wars."

"I wondered if your mother was still teaching at the university."

"Teaching history hardly pays the bills even with a pair of doctorates."

Niles gestures towards the cards. "The cards are obviously quite valuable. Good thing you have them, Adi. Only a fool would try to steal them from you."

"I am just one woman. That's why I don't just tell anybody about my cards. Even on this backwater planet of ours, if word gets out that I possess something so valuable in the right market, somebody will send enough muscle to steal the cards. After the job I did for your family, I know that I can trust you." After all, it's how she and Niles met.

"At least you are aware Adi that somebody will hurt or kill you to take what you have."

While patting his pockets, Niles mumbles, "Where the fuck is my lighter?" Using a battered, dented, and scratched chrome lighter emblazoned with the Mars 5th Space Strike Fighter Wing emblem, known as The Widowmakers. After lighting and puffing on a short, thick cigar. "I'm glad you never pawned them."

"I've been tempted, Niles, but it would hurt Nyomi's feelings. I think she went through a lot to get these cards for me. I avoid hurting her as much as I can."

"That's because you suffer from chronic nice-fem syndrome."

"Ha, ha. Better than chronic asshole syndrome. Like some people I know."

Niles nods and, trailing smoke, walks back toward the bar. Adi refocused on her solitaire game, finding a brief escape from the constant weight on her shoulders.

Adi's thoughts wandered to Nyomi and the warmth of their shared moments as the noon sunlight barely came through the small grimy windows. With each card she played, Adi hoped to create a better future for them—one where she could use her augmented body not just for survival but for making a difference.

At least the bar's often-repaired air conditioners work well enough, removing some of the Chendiurian heat and making the bar marginally comfortable. Because Adi usually loves the heat, Nyomi affectionately nicknamed her Lizard. But sometimes, it gets a bit too toasty even for her. 

Nyomi also calls her Lizard because of her cold, lizard-like fury. Adi has become acutely aware that her temper has intensified dramatically since she underwent extensive enhancements as a Colonial Marine. The once-manageable fire within her has often transformed into an uncontrollable blaze, frequently erupting at the slightest provocation. Instructors have noted this change, drawing parallels to a phenomenon from ancient times referred to as 'roid rage,' where heightened aggression and irritability consume those under its influence. The comparison resonates with Adi, who struggles to balance her newfound strength with the volatility of her emotions, resulting in a constant internal battle.

As second-generation colonists, she and Nyomi were born with the Mandelic-Scontewi-Torwickel dominant genetic modifications. In the past, it took years of sometimes haphazard genetic tampering to adapt humans to space and non-Earth-like environments. The rise of true quantum computing, sentient AI-driven algorithms, and nanoscale DNA sequencing allowed scientists to adjust humanity's circadian rhythms for space travel. Advanced AIs also discovered and mapped biomarkers for aging, leading to some of the longest increases in human lifespans.

Along with all the genetic benefits already bestowed on humans, the MST modifications to the colonists significantly improve their radiation tolerance, while enabling them to withstand the extreme heat and the tenuous atmosphere of Chendiuria. These conditions are reminiscent of environments encountered at altitudes of three and a half kilometers above sea level, where the air grows thin and the sun's intensity amplifies. The MST enhancements ensure that the modified colonists can operate effectively in these challenging conditions, enhancing their resilience and adaptability.

Individuals born on Chendiuria with the dominant MST gene modification have a strong aversion to cold environments. Anything under 20°C is something Adi hates. Adi shudders as the memory of the penetrating cold of deep space resurfaces. Adi's disdain for cold weather notably intensified after she underwent Colonial Marine Basic Training at Parris Island on Old Earth.

Reshuffling the cards, Adi glances at Niles behind the bar, who is lazily slicing vat-grown citrus substitutes. Niles wears his permanently stained apron, and Adi suspects it may have been white at one time. A thick, slightly smoldering cigar, two finger-lengths long, filled with a mix of cheap tobacco and marijuana, shifts from one side of his cavernous mouth to the other. The explosion of bright red hair on his chest contrasts with his thin, sweat-soaked sleeveless shirt, which is bright white and emblazoned with the logo of the Spectacular Jupiter Dragonflies, his favorite zero-g Jai Alai team.

With a neural networked thought, Adi orders another high-protein slushy from one of the service robots. The icy drink includes vat-grown watermelon, durian, and strawberry substitutes, plus a substantial amount of nutritional yeast and soy protein. Perhaps the next slushy she will try is the chocolate, coconut, and acai. The chocolate-flavored slushie also offers the option to add caffeine.

"Nyomi accuses me of thriving on nothing but caffeine, salt, and sugar, even though she knows how fast my metabolism runs."

Adi cringes as she looks again at her dwindling credit balance. With her enhanced metabolism, she is always hungry. She can't afford any food or snacks offered at the bar, nor can she pay for outside food delivery. Adi's stomach rumbles, protesting its empty status. Fuck, I urgently need a better-paying job, and the sooner the better.

After a brief pause, the ancient food delivery system delivered her drink, which rattled and banged through the service duct overhead before landing and wobbling on her table. Despite its rough trip, not much of her drink splashed out of the glass. Gulping half of the bright red, ice-cold slushy, Adi is thankful her Marine augments prevent brain freeze. While she despises cold weather, she loves cold drinks.

Many years ago, Adi recalled finding broken, historically significant labeled video clips on the secondary education school level holonet. One of the fragmented clips was from an old educational film with a man warning that green food was being made from humans. Adi struggles to understand the seriousness of the situation on Old Earth that led to including people in green food.

Perhaps this troubling realization is why processed green foods aren't popular, she speculates. The ways of the Revered Ancients are mysterious, but eating people? Fuck me. How hungry do you have to get before your neighbors look tasty?

Adi has always wondered if the green food that included people was between or after the two Machine Wars. While at Parris Island on Old Earth, Adi learned that in the centuries following the last Machine War, conditions on Old Earth have shown slight improvement.

Adi takes out her last capybara jerky stick, teriyaki-flavored and habanero-spiced. Adi values the thick plastic wrapper, which prevents grease from soiling her hands and protects her irreplaceable, valuable cards. The 35 cm locally made snack hardly lessened her daily caloric deficit.

Nyomi will disapprove of me indulging in junk food again, Adi muses, thinking of her health-conscious lover. At least Nyomi can be glad I'm not eating bucket loads of tasty, greasy, salt-laden soy chips with mayonnaise. Adi's stomach rumbles. Nyomi is correct; she reflects, I need more complex carbohydrates and proteins to provide a steady energy supply throughout the day.

Adi's stomach growled again, a deep, resonant rumble that seemed to echo in the quiet booth. She glanced at the empty glass in front of her, already finger wiped clean from the protein and nutrient slushy she'd devoured just minutes ago. Such a meal would leave most people full, but Adi hardly felt it. Her nanites, a constant hum beneath her skin, demanded fuel, burning through calories at an astonishing rate. It was like living with a furnace perpetually roaring inside her, consuming everything she fed it and still clamoring for more.

Her lover, Nyomi, who'd long since given up on conventional portion sizes for Adi, was used to the insatiable appetite that came with Adi's accelerated metabolism and dense cloned muscle mass. Nyomi knew that if Adi didn't maintain her caloric intake, her energy would flag, and the nanites wouldn't be able to keep up their ceaseless work of repair and regeneration.

After this morning's particularly grueling training session with shifu that left lesser individuals gasping for air, Adi felt a familiar ache deep in her bones. She knew what it meant: her nanites were still working overtime to repair the micro-tears in her muscles, and they needed more building blocks. Time for another protein shake, she muttered, already anticipating the thick, nutrient-dense concoction that would be almost a meal in itself for a norm. On days like these, when she pushed her body near to its limits, her intake often tripled, a stark contrast to the dietary needs of an ordinary person. For Adi, sustenance wasn't just about feeling full; it was about maintaining the intricate balance of her enhanced physiology.

Because of her significantly enhanced metabolism, Adi needs a higher intake of calories, as well as essential vitamins and minerals. Adi's metabolism operates approximately 50% faster than the average human's. The average human is about 30–40% muscle by weight. Adi's neural-net driven musculature, including artificial myomeres, carbon nanofibers, and bio-engineered muscle tissue, adds to her mass. Her bio-hybrid muscular systems provide optimized power and speed. Reinforcements to Adi's skeletal and muscular systems handle her increased strength. Despite her augmentations, Adi maintains a humanoid frame, meaning she still needs a functional balance of bone, organs, and other tissues.

With her significantly increased muscle mass, about 70% by weight, and her nanite metabolic load, she requires a daily caloric intake of at least 10,000 calories to maintain her energy levels. Adi's nanites need extra protein for their construction and repair. Protein is essential for tissue growth and healing; an increase in nanite activity will raise this demand. If Adi is injured or participates in strenuous activities, she might need to consume up to three times her normal daily protein, nutrient, and calorie intake.

After leaving the Corps, Adi struggles to maintain a balanced, nutritious diet that supports her energy levels, sustains her nanites, and ensures her overall health and job performance. Adi recalls signing all the paperwork required by the Corps to acknowledge the impact of her augmentations on her civilian life. Still grieving, Adi was unaware of the challenges of finding meaningful employment and managing living expenses. Reflecting on her choices, Adi wonders if she should have remained in the Corps. However, if she had stayed in the Corps, she might not have met Nyomi or her other friends.

Adi's fingers moved the cards in a steady rhythm, punctuated by quick jerky bites and sips of her slushy. She remained focused, undistracted by the bar's ambient noise. The hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses created a familiar backdrop, grounding her amid her thoughts.

As the late afternoon drifting sun cast shifting patterns on the table, a commotion at the bar's entrance drew Adi's attention. A disheveled sanitation worker, still wearing his filthy uniform underneath an equally begrimed reflective safety vest, staggered in with an apparent drunken swagger. Several other sanitation workers entered the bar earlier, taking their usual corner table. This drunken fool was most likely one of them, but arrived later.

The worker surveyed the bar through bleary, bloodshot eyes, his gaze finally settling on Adi. He lurched forward, his unsteady steps betraying his inebriation. Staggering across the bar, the worker headed straight for Adi's booth.

The stench of industrial waste clung to him like a badge of dishonor. As the worker got closer, Adi cursed her Marine augmentations, permitting her to smell the unsavory bouquet wafting from the sanitation worker's clothes from across the bar.

"Hey, hey, beautiful!" he slurred, his voice too loud for the small space. Adi's amber eyes flickered in annoyance, her hand hovering over a card. She had dealt with her share of unwanted attention in bars like these, and this situation was no different. Ignoring him was often the best strategy, but she could sense his persistence growing like an itch that refused to fade. As tempting as it was, Adi probably shouldn't shoot the man or threaten him with the variety of other weapons she carried.

The sanitation worker plopped himself down uninvited on the worn bench across from her, causing the battered bolted-down poly-chrys table to vibrate slightly. "What's a big girl like you doing all alone in this shitty joint?"

Adi's lips tightened; the worker's harassment was unwelcome, and her fingers tensed around the cards. She glanced at him briefly, her gaze icy. "Playing solitaire."

The worker chuckled, oblivious to the coldness in her tone. He leaned in closer, his low-quality alcohol and cheap flick-stick-laden rancid breath wafting over Adi.

Adi's nose wrinkled at the smell of the worker's breath. "You need to go eat an entire box of breath mints and gargle several liters of mouthwash."

This worker would not be the first Adi encountered in Nile's bar. Stoned and drunken sanitation workers were a common feature in this part of the city. Because of their powerful union and political lobbying organizations, the city hired human sanitation lorry operators, but the city's AI managed the lorries, with humans only for emergencies.

The local news frequently reports in gory detail about the one to two individuals "accidentally" killed by a sanitation worker each week. A common joke within the city is, "How are a bullet and a sanitation worker alike?" The answer is, "A bullet can be fired and usually only kills one person."

"I've seen you around," the worker said.

"Hard to miss me." Adi's physical appearance makes her stand out, sometimes making her a target or subject to scrutiny. Her augmented physique frequently impacted her relationships with others.

"At first, I thought you were a male heavy laborer. One of the lads said you were a fem, even if very brutish looking."

"Your intelligence astounds me." This worker is irritating her.

"Well, honey, maybe you could use some company, eh?" The way he emphasizes the word honey makes Adi's skin crawl.

Adi's patience wore thin. "I prefer my own company. Leave my booth." Nyomi always accuses Adi of being as subtle as a lead pipe–whatever that is.

Undeterred, the worker reached across the table, his hand inching closer to Adi's cards. "Come on, let me join in. Or we could go someplace. I will show you a thing or two."

"I sincerely doubt that."

"We'll have a good time."

"Sit on a rusty spike and rotate. Then you might actually entertain me. You look as if you got dragged through the ugly and stupid store aisle face first."

"Come on, don't be like that, doll."

Her patience snapped like a taut wire. With a swift, controlled movement, Adi dropped the cards to the table and captured the worker's outstretched hand, her overhand grip firm and unyielding. She squeezed his hand with enough pressure to make him wince.

"Let go," he slurred, struggling against her grip.

Adi leaned in, ignoring the intensified scents of cheap booze, foul body odor, and cheap flick sticks that clung to him, overladen with the stench of refuse. Her voice was low and firm.

"Listen carefully, fucktwat. I came here to enjoy a few quiet moments. You're not part of that equation. Tell me, shit bird, do you have a death wish? If you do, you've found the right woman." She squeezes the worker's hand tighter for added emphasis, feeling the first of the delicate bones lightly grate together.

"Let the fuck go," the squirming sanitation worker nearly shouted, sweat forming on his creased, reddened brow. Yet he made no move to leave Adi's booth.

"If you don't fucking leave right now, you'll wish you had. Some people, no matter how intelligent they might be are just too stupid to live." 

"Hey, easy, doll. I was jus' lookin' for some fun." He struggles, trying to pull his hand back.

"Lemme go!" He practically yells.

"I get it, shit bird. Everyone wants to feel special, especially when they're not. You will go be special somewhere else."

For added emphasis, Adi squeezes his hand a little tighter, feeling the fragile bones grate together nearly to the point of breaking them. Adi could reduce his hand to a bloody pulp, but this reeking, drunken, and likely stoned fool doesn't deserve that kind of hurt–yet.

"Pain is theoretical until you experience it. Care to experience more?" Adi tightens her grip on his hand, watching as his face goes white with pain. "Leave, or I'll crush this hand. If you continue to piss me off, you'll be fucking lucky if that is all I do." 

The worker's bleary, reddened eyes widened as he finally registered, through his drug and drunken haze, the crushing strength in her grip and the authority in her voice. With a few shaky nods, he jerks his hand free and stumbles out of her booth. Mumbling a half-hearted apology, he retreats to a table on the far side of the bar, surrounded by other sanitation workers, cradling his injured hand as his pride is likely wounded by the encounter. It didn't help the injured worker's pride when the other sanitation workers at the table laughed at him.

Niles, his grizzled features illuminated by the pale yellow glow of the bar's lighting, shakes his head at the sanitation worker. "Stupid fucker. Lucky to be in one piece and breathing." More of the vat-grown citrus yielded beneath his practiced knife, the faint scent of the freshly sliced fruit mingling with the cloying smoke of his smoldering cigar.