Another burst of fire, this time from yet another angle and accompanied by a scream. Somebody’s down, and from the direction of the sound, I’d guess it’s one of our spotters. Cursing almost as fiercely as Fraser, I pull out my SMG. The feather-touch of the wire in my brain tells me the skillwires are pulling data from the skillsoft plugged into the socket at the back of my neck. My palm tingles, and some normally unused part of my brain lights up as the gun’s circuitry synchs up with the tech in my head. Instead of merely holding a gun, I now feel like the weapon’s a living part of me. Like, at last my arm is whole again, or some such drek. Data floods into my mind as the smartgun and my skillsoft do their digital handshaking. Heckler & Koch 227-S, recoil-suppression active, silencer at nominal one hundred percent effectiveness—as if it matters—twenty-eight rounds in the clip, one in the pipe.