Read Catwalk: Messiah for Free Online Page A

prepared.
    Cat tilted his head slightly and pushed one of the faux leather chairs toward the stranger. The man sat, comfortably folding his legs as he did so. Cat drew the pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, offering one. The man waved a hand in denial.  
    “You mind?” The hitman asked as he pulled out a lighter.
    “Not at all, though that tells me something of your nature when it comes to caring for your health. You will start me at a bit of a disadvantage if you’re going to be poisoning yourself regularly.”
    Cat nodded and lit the cigarette anyway. The man’s simple statement revealed that he was here for the interview as Catwalk’s biological and technical consultant. It was an odd mix, but one that was growing tightly intertwined as mankind embraced machine in a symbiotic relationship.  
    “Touché. So, I read up on you, sounds like you ain’t no stranger to some a’ the seedier elements in town.”
    “I have constructed my professional career in accordance with my goals. There were a few…mistakes amongst my acquaintances, to be certain. But, that is why we’re here, isn’t it? Each of us wants to ensure that this is not another mistake?”
    “What do you know about cyber-surgery?” Cat replied.
    The man brushed a bit of ash from his cleaned and pressed pant leg. “If you’ve read up on me, you know already.” He paused and then leaned forward. “I understand that your cybernetic enhancements are somewhat unique. I admit that I carry a professional fascination with unraveling the mysteries of your internal workings.”
    “You think I’m a puzzle ta solve?”
    “I think you’re an interesting case on the biological level, Mr. Catwalk. I have no delusions of being a psychiatric professional and no desire to provide you with such an analysis today, or ever.”
    Cat downed a slug of the vodka, “Smart man.”
    A silent nod was his only acknowledgement.
    “You already know how I pay, then,” Cat continued. “There’s a commission on completed jobs, plus an ongoing rate for my maintenance. I can handle my own gear.”
    “Are you saying I’m hired, then?”
    Cat took a drag from the cigarette. “Don’t get ahead a’ yerself. There are a few more things that factor in. First of all, there’s a bit of a trial period. I’d love to hear how yer ‘professional fascination’ digests the in’s an’ out’s of my gear. Secondly, there’s a little matter a’ professional courtesy, meanin’ you disclose the right info to the wrong parties, an’ you get scrapped for parts. Third, I’m gonna need ta know what ta call you.”
    The man smiled the faintest of grins. “For your first condition, I’m as enthusiastic about diagnosing you as you are to hearing my analysis, but you know that already. To address the second, I would not carry the longevity in my career working with your particular brand of professional if I did not respect that level of privileged information already. Third, I’ve used many handles in the past, though I’ve had to retire them due to conflict with a former client who is still seeking to partner my testicles with jumper cables. Hence, my need for employment.”
    Cat nodded, downed another mouthful, then gestured, glass in hand, “Why the eyes?”
    The question caught the tall, well-dressed man slightly off-guard. Cat noted the first time he had succeeded in doing so. “I overcame a rather debilitating disease which threatened many of my biological processes when I was young. It was the result of a misdiagnosis from a public servant medical practitioner. I nearly lost my eyesight, as well as my kidney and liver functions. My eyes never fully recovered, making me quite sensitive to bright light and flashes. When I was a teenager, I opted for full replacement over generic chemical enforcement. I’ve never, as they say, looked back.”
    Cat grinned at the level of humor suddenly shown by the previously stiff conversationalist. “Gimme an address an’ I’ll