Shibva

Two hours ago, Pete had been pulled gasping from a tank of jelly. Now he sat in an immaculate office, wearing borrowed clothes with his employer staring him down from the far side of a granite slab desk top. "Welcome back, Pete." Terrence Carter, syndicate heavyweight and the man Pete ran data packets for. "I must say, you look better than you did the last time I saw you." Pete sat straight in his chair, tentatively rolling and flexing muscle that remembered thirty eight years of abusive mileage, but didn't feel a days wear and tear. "What happened Terry, what's going on?" "You were running a very special package for me Pete, one we couldn