Alister moves through the street, it was dark out, lamppost alight and filling the concrete and asphalt with reflective lighting. His clothes were simple, replaceable, with gloves covering his hands and simple running shoes on his feet. Soon enough, as he walks up to the car parked on the side of the street, one of many, hand reaching out, he is shocked. Looking at the windshield, then tracing where it could come from, and seeing some recent clients of his, pistol still in hand.
"Oh Hey guys." The man sitting out of the sun roof was trying to pull the bolt on a rifle back and push it forward, but he was having trouble, one of the people in the car recognized the spook and began to demand the sniper stop, the other, driver, encourages the sniper to hurry up.
"Don't point that gun at me dude," Alister walked across the street with no ounce of malice in his body, simply walking up to old friends like they weren't just trying to kill him. "Don't point that gun at me man, don't do it." Before the man succeeds in loading the rifle and beginning to lift it, to which Alister raises the pistol faster then he can raise the rifle and puts three shots center mass of the shooter, then lowering quickly and putting three shots through the windshield into the driver and changing over to point at the passenger and doing the same, standing there and eyeing them up. 3 inch groupings from what he can tell, good enough.
Beginning to walk away, cursing to himself for losing a client, as he begins to disassemble the pistol, dropping the mag and throwing it, taking the slide off the top and breaking it, he feels footsteps moving up behind him a bit to quickly while he turns and tries to throw the mangled slide into his fighter, feeling a slam into his side as he is forced onto the road. His instincts worked fast, covering his head with his arms while the wounded man punched down at him, trying to get at the head. Alister caught the blood dripping from him, raining down on him while he tries to react, feeling the slams of the fist into his metallic arms, stopping his breath, his implants begin to speed up.
A slam forward into the man above him, elbowing him in the side before he punches the man's throat, collapsing his trachea as the man begins to gasp and take extremely shallow painful breaths. The rest of the fight was over quickly, Alister pulling a blade from his belt and stabbing it through the man's rib cage, about the second one down and up toward the heart, needle point making quick work of the subpar subdermal armor.
The Time after the fight was one of relaxing and adrenaline rushes calming down, with Alister heading to a local brothel he knew of, far enough away to not get canvassed by the police. It catered to more rougher clientele, which is what Alister was, a rough man.
The one dancer he did recognize, signed back on, was Hershey, a mixed race dancer and opportunities it seemed. He was perfectly formed, with tight hips, but a good untainted body from any fight, a real innocence to him, it drove him up the wall. Moving down to the spot he usually sits at, not far off from where Hershey could see him, their eyes meeting and the usual electrical current between them shooting off. Soon enough, as Hershey worked the pole and moved, Alister's eyes following his body, tracing where it went, the dancer eventually moved off the stage and walked through the beaded curtain.