The story is based on a book by William Gibson, I have no claim to the
setting, charactors and other stuff contained within. 


Blown

        By Thomas Hobbes

A William Gibson/Count Zero inspired fanfiction.



Turner had been a soldier in his own right for most of his adult life, although he'd never worn 
a uniform. A mercenary, his employers vast corporations warring covertly for control of entire 
economies. He was a specialist in the extraction of top executives and research people. The 
multinationals he worked for would never admit that men like Turner existed. 

The helocopter came for him, it's slow rotors turning as it made its lazy way accross the sky.
It came down in a swirl of dust, Conroy stepped out - ducking his head needlesly, instint
overcoming reason. Conroy wore a tailored Armani suit, slightly too large for his frame. Turner
knew why the suit didn't fit, why the suits most of the people in his wore didn't fit. The 
answer, of course, was weapons. The leathal deathdealing insturments that let people conduct the
business below the business. No one really cared anymore. The governments had given up as they
came under the control of corporations. Corporations figured it was good for business if a 
certain percentage of customers didn't survive unless they were good. Turner was good. He was,
he admited without modesty to the few people who asked, one of the best. He was good enough
that the corporations now used him, instead of mearly watching him.

Conroy came up to him, his usual look on his face. A look that said that he knew something you
didn't. The thing was, he usualy did.