"Ey, Dutchko. Ya sure this the place? Looks like any ol' corpo block to me."

"Oh, yeah. Don't be fooled, Little Bear." said Dutchko, tapping the ashes off his cigar as Amber squinted through the viewfinder. "These Cartel fuckers are smart. Soon as the walls went up, they changed tack. Decided to act all squeaky-clean for the corpo suits."

Amber already knew the implications. The Cartel dug tunnels that'd make the Viet Cong blush. Peel back that shimmering veil of Chicago glass, and the place would have all manner of subterranean storerooms, sweatshops, and Simulacra slaving away their pitiful lives.

Poor bastards were lucky if they got a smoke break. At least as a gutter-rat, Amber could light up whenever she wanted.

Catching Dutchko's Ace-of-Clubs Zippo, she lit up a Newport and asked, "So what's the plan, eh? Sweet-talk the gate guards, sneak in on a shipment? You yourself said these guys don't fuck around."

Dutchko remained silent, catching a glimmer against the sky in his mechanical eye. Amber understood by instinct: A surveillance drone that'd noticed the strange distortion of the pair's image-curtain.

Acting quick, Amber stamped out her cig. Too late. The drone hurtled for the humanoid figures it detected in the image-curtain, emanating a shimmering red as it readied its microbomb. Amber staggered back, eyes widening with terror, just as Dutchko grabbed her with his cybernetic arm, and threw her headlong down the stairs they'd taken to the roof.

The moments after were a swirling cacophony of pain. Best she could tell, she tumbled down the stairs like a toboggan down the Matterhorn. Dutchko yelled some bullshit, she damn near broke her back, before skidding to a halt on the landing. The noise of a dozen cluster bomblets roared through the roof door, causing the whole building to perceptibly rumble.

By time Amber got her bearings, she found herself lightly sprinkled in concrete powder. Dutchko pulled her upright, and handed back her pistol.

Dutchko grinned, despite the painful bruise on his scuffed cheek. "Smokin' Kills, as they say. I oughta report you to the boss for that."

"Try it, and your ass is grass. B'sides, you've got enough cabañas to make Castro jealous", Amber snarled, cocking her ten-mil. "So what now? The job's off?"

Dutchko clapped his hand on her shoulder. "Amber, honey! We're professionals here! There's always a backup, and backup to the backup."

Having mixed in with the crowd of panicked office workers, Dutchko met Amber at his sports car. Gal was already on her third cig by time they sped off. In her reflection off the window, as both of them pondered the new plan, he caught a sinister smirk spreading across her face.