The Verge:

“Come with me if you want to live.”

That’s how it started. One moment I was ordering a Ketel and tonic at the bar, and the next some hulking bodybuilder with a bad accent was getting blasted out the window. The guy that put him there was ragged, scarred; wrapped in a dirty trenchcoat that barely hid the shotgun he was carrying.

Except the bodybuilder only looked like a man. He was something else; part human and part machine. Shotgun blast after shotgun blast, he kept coming, metal glinting from his wounds. I piled into the car, Shotgun Guy behind the wheel, and as we rocketed away from the bar he explained that I’d been targeted for termination.

“It’s not what you’ve done,” he explained. “It’s what you’re going to do!”

Lovely bit of writing.