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... two chummers did the same. They held still, trusting in their holo-camo to prevent the silent machines, bristling with spikes and blades, from spotting them as the machines moved down the hallway in perfect lockstep.

Crashrider waited ten pulses then held up his black anodized cyberarm and motioned his chummers to follow him. The arm replaced in the game the useless meatspace one that had been burnt and scorched, the nerves reduces to screaming fire and the artery exploding from biofeedb ...

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