Нейромант

           `Well,I’mundercompulsionmyself.AndIdon’tknowwhy.IfIweregonnasubjectyoutomyveryownthoughts,let’scall’emspeculations,onthetopic,itwouldtakeacoupleofyourlifetimes.BecauseI’vegivenitalotofthought.AndIjustdon’tknow.Butwhenthisisover,wedoitright,I’mgonnabepartofsomethingbigger.Muchbigger,’TheFinnglancedupandaroundthematrix.`Butthepartsofmethataremenow,that’llstillbehere.Andyou’llgetyourpayoff.’

           Casefoughtbackaninsaneurgetopunchhimselfforwardandgethisfingersaroundthefigure’sthroat,justabovetheraggedknotintherustyscarf.HisthumbsdeepintheFinn’slarynx.

           `Well,goodluck,’theFinnsaid.Heturned,handsinpocketsandbegantrudgingbackupthegreenarch.

           `Hey,asshole,’theFlatlinesaid,whentheFinnhadgoneadozenpaces.Thefigurepaused,halfturned.`Whataboutme?Whataboutmypayoff?’

           `You’llgetyours,’itsaid.

           `What’sthatmean?’Caseasked,ashewatchedthenarrowtweedbackrecede.

           `Iwannabeerased,’theconstructsaid.`Itoldyouthat,remember?’

           StraylightremindedCaseofdesertedearlymorningshoppingcentershe’dknownasateenager,low-densityplaceswherethesmallhoursbroughtafitfulstillness,akindofnumbexpectancy,atensionthatleftyouwatchinginsectsswarmaroundcagedbulbsabovetheentranceofdarkenedshops.