"Memchip, gimme." D-point-six held out an open palm. "Aw, man, c'mon. You don't need that shit, you know my rep, man." Detective Raoul Ramos knew his memchip was loaded with memories that would mark him a decent lowlife, memories borrowed from chips held in evidence for authenticity. He also knew that not whining about it would harm his cover as Papa Rox, petty dealer and part-time murderer.

"Fuck your rep," D.6 said. Rayza, D.6's right-hand girl, put her gun up to his head.

"Yeah, man, fine, whatever." He reached up to his temple and released the chip. As it unplugged, his port sealed up to prevent infection. "Here." He slapped it into D.6's hand.

D.6 put it in his own temple port and started accessing the stored memories. "Yeah." He nodded. "This is good stuff. This is real. Ooh," he flinched, grinning, "that shit's nasty. You're nasty." He laughed.

D.6 gave the memchip back and said, "Ain't no cop done these things. Know how I know?" He leaned in close as Raoul reinstalled the chip. "'Cause I done some of 'em."

The memories flooded into Raoul's brain with crystal clarity, followed closely by a bullet.