Good Morning, Sunshine

Thank you, Mr. W. Gibson. You are an amazing inspiration.

   Simon Greene was already up when the sun rose over the horizon. He was already dressed when the vast majority would be taking their first glances of the daylight. Simon already knew what his day of work was going to entail when everyone else was taking their morning piss or fixing half-assed breakfasts.
   The company car met him on the pad outside of his apartment. It was one of those sleek new vehicles; it looked like a black lozenge. It had no wheels.
   Something split the lozenge and a panel pulled up like the wing of a cockroach.
  "Good morning, Mr. Greene," said the car's immaterial driver.
  Simon stepped inside the thing. Inside, it was made of black leather, big enough for maybe four people. A swiveling screen rested by the window; Simon didn't need to call in just yet. The front of the car was walled off by a black tinted sheet of glass. He knew that beyond that glass rested the computer that piloted the car, handled navigation, regulated interior temperature for comfort, and could speak in nearly every language left on the earth.
   "Please buckle yourself in. Safety first," the car commanded and Simon obliged. "May I get you coffee? Biscuits? Maybe the news for the day?"
   Simon's head hurt. "No, but thank you. You know where I'm shipped off to for today?"
   "Warsaw, Mr. Greene." the car rotated on the pad and then lifted up. Inside, Simon felt nothing and wouldn't have known that he was moving had he not situated himself near the window. "Mr. Omoi filed me your parameters for today."
   "Okay,"
   Simon put his head back and closed his eyes. His head was hurting. He did not get enough sleep last night. Slowly, he sighed and slightly loosened his tie. Today was his anniversary; nine years together with Susan. Nine years of feeding her bullshit. Nine years of lies and deceptions and half-truths. Still, he thought, she has no clue. He told her he was a ranking executive for a big company run by a zaibatsu, Mr. Omoi. He was high ranking, up the chain. She thought he pushed pencils or brokered deals between other companies. She loved the "high life", the parties, the prestige. He hated himself for lying to her, for having to lie to her. He saw it, mocking him from just behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes to sleep. Hell, Susan didn't even know of the modifications and implants and countermeasures within Simon's body. She didn't know that he was company property.
   Could he ever tell her? he mused. Probably not. No one wants to get tangled up with the zaibatsu or their legions of "private security". And everyone whispered about the favorite toys of the zaibatsu, their prized and dreaded shinobi. Every company that expects to amount to something has a shinobi or two. The really big ones have several. To his knowledge, Simon was the only one working for and owned by QuellTech. He answered only to Mr. Omoi, must to the chagrin of several executives and chairmen. He was purchased and trained from birth, his genetics and body tampered with to enforce perfection in mind and body. He received the most lethal training in the world, ranging from gunfighting, martial arts, and special forces instruction. He knew of the old shinobi clans of Japan's past; he particularly connected to the Kōga. He wielded a sword.
   "Are you prepared?" asked the car as they sped through empty sky, the grey and rainbow sprawl of Tokyo beneath them. The sun was starting to shine brighter now.
   "Of course."
   "Good. Mr. Omoi just uploaded an additional parameter."
   "That being?"
   The car was silent a moment. "Bring him the head of Andrezj Gorski. It appears that this won't be just an infiltration mission, Mr. Greene."
   "No," Simon sighed. He had forgotten his briefcase. He would now have to rely on the cybernetics and tools hidden inside his body - and using them was always painful. "It isn't."