“A pug puppy,” came Hood’s gravelly reply. “A designer dog.”
The creature’s face was as black as the tarmac, eyes wide and corkscrew tail wriggling.
Hood replaced the lid and thrust the box at the driver. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card with an address.
“Take it to the ork who lives here. And don’t mention my name.”
“Very good, sir.”
Hood watched the Phaeton roll away, then took a long moment to enjoy the night air. Finally, he limped to one of his private jets. It was several minutes more before it roared down the runway, and only then did he start to relax.
Hood still thought the terminal looked like a giant arachnid from above. The concourses were its legs sprawled across a massive rain-slick slab that stretched toward the edge of the city proper, where myriad lights resembled a starry sky. The terminal where he was headed wasn’t nearly so interesting, but the city was bigger . . . and so was the problem there that he would tend to next.
Shadowrun 45 - Aftershock Page 30