A demon of a cough rips through my lungs.

“Welcome to life,” I say hoarsely, tip my hat to them.

The door bursts open and Enforcers run in by the dozen—a hundred assault rifles bristle from their ranks, every single one pointed straight at the heart of one old fart.

Another man in a white suit runs in, eyes bulging out of his head like ripe grapes.

“What—wh—do you realize what you just did?” he sputters.

I hold up the EMP Cannon weakly.

“Sorry,” I croak, “guess I missed the sign.”

“Sh—shoot—” but he doesn’t finish the command, because he starts coughing like hell, topples over, and there’s blood dripping out of his mouth all over the front of his suit.

“Feels nice, huh? Little taste of your own damn medicine.”

The Enforcers are getting it to—they start tossing down their weapons, tearing at their helmets to free their airways. Helmets hit the ground and they fall on their hands and knees—a whole room full of them sputtering and coughing.

“You… you fool,” the man in white says, blood dribbling down his chin. “You’ve destroyed the nano-inhibitors… doomed the entire world…”

“Wrong,” comes a voice from behind him.

Everyone in the room lurches around—Enforcers scramble for their weapons but they’re too weak, half of them collapse from the effort.

Standing in the door, framed in white light, is Drake Collins.

“There’s a cure,” he says, and walks over their bodies towards me. He leans down and thrusts a small dark syringe into my arm, squeezes down on the plunger. “It’s already in the streets—scientist developed it awhile ago but couldn’t sell it because of competition with the TRUchip.” Drake straightens, helps me to my feet. “Funny thing is, cure’s up for free sale now, with one exception.” He grins at them lying retching and coughing on the floor. “No resale to CyberCorp. Have a nice day, assholes.”

“D-Drake?” I muster.

“Come on out, Jack Fenix. Time to be a hero.”

Hoarse laughter shakes me.

“Hell with that,” I say, “I need a damn drink.”