Futuristic CYBERPUNK: Archangel - ACT I: Start the Fire

[Purity]

 

[Saavedra]

Graye Winfrey

WHITE RABBIT persona - Early evening, Watson, Nyx´ Warehouse

Night City looks its best when the sun comes down.

There was something in her father´s eyes when he said that. It was one of the few memories Graye still had of him. Not a file in a computer, not a recording from one of his appearances on TV, but something that belonged to her, and only her. A memory she had grasped and held onto like a gunshot victim with a Trauma Team card. At the time, they were sitting on the roof of a Nomad´s kombi, watching the sun come down over the wilderness outside the ruins of Chicago, and he had said those words while staring into the distance. What he felt as he said that, what was reflected on his eyes, was a mystery to her even now. Unreliable as it was, given the time and trauma, Graye´s impression was that his eyes let through a sort of... contented resignation. He praised Night City even knowing it was worse than a bucket full of used needles because here, in this pile of broken dreams and broken people, he had found something that he could not find anywhere else.

Had he already figured out he would die there? Or maybe he thought that he would leave the city eventually, and feel the memory of it tug at his heart?

Every time she remembered his eyes, Graye hated the city. And every time, because the memory came to her at sunset, the city would respond by turning on lights on. The orange of the sun descending into the horizon would be punctuated by the multicolor lights appearing on the dark silhouettes of her buildings. It was like the most black-hearted prostitute putting on a dazzling array of fabulous rings, bracelets and necklaces as she prepared for another night of business. And she made it work like a pro. The ugliness and the danger in her was temporarily covered up by the fascinating sight of her jewels, and for a moment at least Graye would forget that she hated it. Just long enough for her own business to distract her.

Her rollerblades hummed, beginning to vibrate as the engines came on.

White Rabbit had a delivery to make. Her powerful PantherAmerica legs began to alternate as she combined her own motions with the power of the engines. A quick thought, and her RedCape system began to reproduce her personal playlist, the music enveloping her together with the feeling of speed building up around her body. Soon, she was lightning streaking down the bridge between Japantown and Kabuki. At this time of day, at this particular location, blading was the way to go. She rolled easily between the cars, alert for the possibility of drivers opening their doors but knowing how unlikely that was even with the traffic stopped, as it was at points. And if the traffic was stopped... the vehicles on the road received a promotion: from annoying obstacles to useful ramps. Rabbit was not the only one with that kind of generosity. There were other bladers darting in between the vehicles, and launching themselves off their hoods and roofs. She spotted a couple ahead that had stopped on top of a truck, holding hands and watching the other bladers speeding around them. They waved her way when they saw her coming. Rabbit rolled up the front of a car, probably scratching the windshield on her way up, and flew sixty feet through the air. The feeling of the wind fighting her as she escaped the clutches of gravity was exhilarating. The sensation as air resistancet pulled at her poncho made her smile sincerely, something few things managed to do. And as gravity began to protest at her continued flight, pulling her down, her legs shot air downwards with a sudden thoomp, enough for her to mock any law of physics (and probably one or two city ordinances). She reached the edge of the truck roof feet first and grinded her way onwards while the couple formed a semi-circle and held their hands out to her. Rabbit met them, completing the circle, her fingers intertwining with theirs. The three spun on the spot, helping Rabbit bleed speed bit by bit, until they finally stopped. Looking from the outside, it was a beautiful maneuver, like a dance. To them, it was a common courtesy. The couple were old friends of Rabbit´s, or at least the closest thing she could have to a friend in this city, and they exchanged words. Tonight, Rabbit decided to set her voice filter to her favourite: slightly annoying anime little sister, with a subtle electronic filter. Far and away the one most people preferred, when she asked. It went well with her emoting on her helmet´s visor-screen.

Not all bladers were free spirits longing for speed and spectacle. There were one or two gangs among them, and the Cutters were far and away the worst. The couple warned her they were out in force tonight just north of Corpo Plaza, having some kind of fight among the ranks. Probably another race to the death to see who would be leading them. Swords and knives were out, this time to cut each other, not pedestrians. There would be blood and broken bones, but at least it would be mostly theirs... unless you fucked up and went into their racing grounds tonight.

Rabbit high-fived the two of them, thanking them for the tip, and the motion pushed her away. With the wheels unlocked and well greased, her rollerblades slid her on toward the other end of the truck. The kind of info they gave her would normally have deserved a few eddies, but not with these two. Not with real chooms. They didn´t need the money, and didn´t want it from her, anyway.

With real chooms, you traded love, not money.

It was that kind of thing, you know?

Rabbit turned around, rolled down the end of the truck, landed a bit heavily on the road, and continued on her way. Streaks of color crossed each other or ran along each other on the bridge, weaving between the vehicles, and they would do that for a while still. Most were just kids enjoying one of the rare, somewhat reasonably healthy freedoms Night City allowed its inhabitants. There was almost a sense of community among them, specially at this hour. You could actually hope for help from these kids if you had an accident.

You didn´t want to be blading past midnight, though. Not unless you wanted to know the other sort of bladers.

----------

It didn´t take long for White Rabbit to arrive at the warehouse.

It was... suspiciously nondescript, which made the girl grumble deep in her mind. Nondescript meant unclaimed. Unclaimed meant whoever was working in that warehouse either didn´t want to be seen, or didn´t have the guns to hold onto it if they were seen and attracted attention. She exhaled, shrugged, and reasoned there was no point in just standing around. Instead, she rolled on to the closest garage door until she was just a few feet away, and with a quick thought deactivated the magnetic latch on her back.

From under her poncho, a heavy golden cross fell to the ground, face-up. It was roughly as tall as her arm was long. Quite bright under what little lighting there was in the area, even though the gold was obviously just paint. The top was fashioned into Jesus Christ´s head, which under these lighting conditions actually looked kinda spooky, and the fake rubies running down the front really did not add much to it. It was ugly even by the Valentinos´ standards. With the weight off her, Rabbit already felt lighter. She also felt prettier and classier. With another sigh, she spun around and rolled backwards until the warehouse wall stopped her. She then crossed her legs and arms, the latter disappearing under her poncho, and waited. With every visible bit of her colored a bright white, and standing under one of the few sources of light in the area, White Rabbit was almost blinding. To those that already knew her, the courier-turned-fixer was unmistakable. Her modified biker helmet had a black visor, but it was the bunny ears on top that drew attention. Her poncho hid her arms, but not so much her figure, as her chest pushed it out. Her legs, encased in a tight bodysuit, stood on state-of-the-art rollerblades. All in all, she was difficult not to spot, but the point of coming here was to be seena. However, as time ticked on, she felt almost resentful at having to just stand there and wait. It was a fine night to blade, and the trip here had awakened her appetite for more. There was nothing to do about it, though. White Rabbit understood that business was business. So... no choice but to wait and see.

 

[StormWolf]

Diego “Cazador” Murrieta

Mira, it was supposed to be a milk run…

Nothing turns a day sour like a gonk with a gun. The gig was simple. A milk-run. Something that Diego has done half-drunk, before. It was because of this, he resented the fact that he was staring down the shaking barrel of a Vend-it gat in the hand of a gangoon half-flashed out of their gourd. It was insulting.

“Chingado, what is it you’re tryin’ to accomplish here?” Diego asked in a tired grumble, his unlit cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. Eyes half-lidded, the super-sized Nomad lamented the goods that were almost-definitely melting in his trunk. Not only was he going to be late for the delivery, but he’d be showing up worse than empty-handed to dinner.

“Eddies, choom! Fork ‘em!” The ganger’s voice was thready and shrill as nails over a chalkboard. By the look of him, he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink that didn’t come out of a hypo in days. Nodding, Diego moved slowly, letting the gangoon see his shovel-sized hands set down the carryall.

“You should’a hit me up before I went and spent them, amigo,” Diego said with a chuckle and a shrug.

“Did I stutter? Show me the cash, chooh-chugger!” Fuming and frothing, the ganger staggered a step closer, waving the barrel beneath Diego’s nose. Huffing a long sigh, Diego moved his hand towards the open breast of his bulky armorjack.

“Aght! Lemme see your hands!” Another step, and Diego could feel the barrel of the pistol rasp against his beard.

Diego growled and rolled his eyes, “Pedro mira, coño, do you want your ennies or not? I got places to be, so if you don’t make up your mind, I’m feedin’ you that gun.” Diego spoke with the same serrated-edged coolness he used when his sister hogged all the hot water, but his blue-gray eyes were slate-hard on the ganger before him. The gun moved closer, jamming into Diego’s cheek.

The ganger’s mouth started to move, chapped, flaking lips forming the beginnings of a word around his nine yellow teeth when Diego raised his left hand, scuffed blue-black chrome flashing in the greasy sunlight and ever-present splatters of neon. Thick fingers curled around the gun as Diego heard the click of the trigger and the thin plink of the hammer dropping on his cybernetic pinky. No contact, not bang, no bullet. The gangoon’s jaw sagged.

“Performance issues under pressure, eh choom?” Diego asked, curling his right hand into a fist and slamming his titanium-steel knuckles into the ganger’s sternum, driving all four-hundred pounds of himself and his internal linear frame into the punch. The gangoon folded like a cheap lawn chair as he sprawled back on the soiled and cracked concrete of the sidewalk. Gun still in hand, Diego adjusted his grip, shoving the barrel into the ganger’s mouth with a snap of teeth around the rough, highlighter-yellow polymer.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Diego asked with a shrug and a shake of his head. Finger aligned along the receiver, he dropped the magazine, pocketing it before racking the slide. The unfired nine millimeter round shot upwards into Diego’s calloused palm. Showing it to the ganger, he threw the bullet at the man’s forehead with a dull thump.

“The next one I send your way will come a whole lot faster, si? Now fuck off, and don’t come around this bodega again, or the last thing going through your mind will be your ass.” Without another word, Diego stuffed the Vend-It pistol into a jacket pocket and gathered up his gear. He kept his eye on the reflection of the boosterganger in his windshield, but the gonk had chosen the better part of valor and ran off, hands clasping his ruined and bloody dentistry. As soon as the engine turned over, Diego rang Nyx on the holo. As expected of a Fixer looking to make themselves important, she left Diego to hang a few rings before her Agent took his call,

“Haáahe, Nyx. Just callin’ to let you know I’m en route. Goods are intac-”

“I’m sorry, Nyx is currently on another line. Would you like to wait or leave a message?”

Diego ran his tongue over his teeth to stifle a sigh. He hated talking to Agent-AIs.

“Just let Nyx know that Cazador is on the way with her delivery, okay? Okay.” Shutting down the call, Diego took the moment of relative peace on the road to light his cigarette. A flick of his lighter and a long drag eased Diego’s nerves for a moment… at least until his holo rang again with the wolf sugar-skull of none other than the Bruja Aldecaldo herself,

“Hola, abuelita,” Diego said with a sigh and a forced smile,

“Mijo, you are late for supper,” Abuela Aldecaldo crooned

“Yes, abuela, I got held up in town. Gig is gettin’ dragged out. You know how it is.”

“Did you get the cenzon mezcal like I asked?” Abuela asked, her voice choppy through the vibrant background noise of a Nomad camp at mess. Diego had in fact forgotten all about the tequila.

“Lo siento, abuela. I completely forgot…” he said sheepishly. Abuela tutted, and Diego could feel her shaking her head at him.

“Your head is either in the clouds or the gutters, mijo. What am I going to do with you?”

“Forgive your favorite grandson and let him off easy? Because he is working so hard to support the family” Diego said. Pleading, really.

“Do the dishes and get Abuela her sauce first thing tomorrow, and I’ll consider it,” she said, audibly amused. Diego groaned, wanting nothing more than to unwind after dinner, but one didn’t get to Abulea’s age without being a triple-A grade asskicker. She had earned her handle of ‘Bruja’ back in her edgerunner days, and only gonks forgot it.

“Of course, Abuela. Anything to spend more time with you” Diego said, earning a chuckle from the old nomad on the other end of the line.

“Attaboy, mijo. Antonio and Mercy are on the warpath tonight, so you’re better off running your gig anyway,” Abuela said with mirth, but not an ounce of falsehood. Like hell Diego was going to let his brother and sister eat his rations when he was the one on grocery duty. “Got any juicy deets for dear old Abuela?.”

“You just want to gossip, don’t you?” Diego asked, his voice wry as he threaded the needle of evening traffic from Haywood to Watson. All things considered, there were worse delivery routes to take, but then again, Diego had run the fury roads and high seas from Night City to Cuzco. It was all relative at that point.

“Oye, I have few pleasures at this age! Spill,” Abuela commanded as Diego heard her light one of her synthcigars on the other side of the line.

“One of the leads you passed my way earlier in the week holds water. I’m headed to Watson to make contact with Nyx, see what’s what.” Diego checked his rear-view, making sure that he wasn’t being followed to the drop off point. As dumb luck went, it looked like the boosterganger he smeared into the sidewalk had no friends.

“Nyx? The ‘borg woman?” Abuela asked, sounding incredulous.

“Mhm. She’s not Maelstrom no more, Abuela, otherwise I’d have lost her number.”

“That’s my boy. Don’t do anything uncharacteristically stupid. I can’t count on anyone else for heavy lifting around here,” Abuela said around her cigar, puffing loudly.

“Just my normal level of stupid, Abuela. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Oh, mijo, Tess is clearing her camper, lots of nice things could be going to wast. When are you going to find a nic-“

“Adios, Abuela! Love you!” Diego said, knowing where that conversation was going, and decided that dealing with the old Bruja would be future-Diego’s problem. For now, in the dark and neon-painted present, there was a Fixer that needed talking to.

* * *​

Diego’s truck would be heard before he, or it, would be seen. The super-charged engine snarled like an apex predator of old as he pulled up to the pock-marked facade of the worn-down warehouse. It had plenty of glow-paint graffiti and old streaks of blood-rain-rust, but no definitive gang tags that marked it as claimed territory.

Diego squinted his eyes at the squat brick of cinder block and sheet metal as he sucked in the dregs of his cigarette. If there was a place to set up a trap and scav chrome, this sure as shit looked like it. Flicking the butt of his smoke out the window, Diego snatched the familiar heft of his Colt AMT2k from his shoulder rig and checked the chamber. The 12 millimeter round winked at him through the breach in the chamber; locked, loaded, and ready to go. Releasing the slide with a sharp metallic rasp and stuffing the full-metal hand cannon back into its holster, Diego climbed out of his Thorton Nomad Custom with his charm-heavy keys jangling in his palm. He spun the key-ring on a finger like an ennie-rate cowboy poserganger before stuffing it into one of the many pockets of his jacket.

A humanoid wash of silver-white all but glowed in the headlights of Diego’s truck before they finally winked out. He knew that helmet anywhere. “Hola, Rabbit,” Diego said, giving the fellow edgerunner a casual wave as he shouldered his carryall. His eyes caught a glimpse of the gauche Valentino cross and smirked. How was it that he got stuck with the sight-unseen pick-up when the White Rabbit got to deprive a gang of their glitz? Talk about a raw deal.

“How’s it shakin’, conejita? Been a hot minute since we ran the same circuit.” Diego was all warm demeanor with a dimpled grin as he parked himself on a stack of steel drums piled against the front face of the warehouse. Now, all there was left to do was wait and talk shop until Nyx blessed the crew with her presence.

 

[Saavedra]

Graye Winfrey

WHITE RABBIT persona - Early evening, Watson, Nyx´ Warehouse

Oh!

Rabbit had expected someone to arrive, although perhaps not in a way that would blind her. The lights on the vehicle swept over her, and although the visor blocked the worst of it, she still could not even tell the model of the vehicle for a moment. However, the ID system in her eyes saw through the light and immediately identified Diego. The girl nodded imperceptibly, thinking to herself that it was a nice thing there was someone she knew involved in this. Although her face was as deadpan as usual, when Diego came out of his custom car she rolled off the wall and approached her with a cute, pink, whiskered smiley on her vis-screen.

Nearly every teenager in Night City knew how to emote on the Net even as they looked dead inside judging by their actual, meat faces.

"Hey, hey, hey! Qué pasa, Diego!" The girl rolled on one leg towards the nomad, arms still crossed, as if she was frozen mid-step through some weird dance she had once seen on some vids about Russia. As Diego walked, she simply fell in step with him. "You´re in this business too, then? How´s la Abuela?"

 

[Steve Jobs]

Vaitiaré Herschel

Down in the dumps

When Vaitiare first heard of the crew she hadn’t considered joining. Not really. It was a hypothetical, fueled by a passing respect for Ares’ endeavors in the criminal world. He wasn’t just an edgerunner but the edgerunner that everyone aspired to be and his exploits made waves through Night City. He must have been raking in eddies by the thousands and assuming that he was as kindhearted as the rumors suggest, his crew must have been eating just as well. Comparatively, she was a bottom feeder, lapping up the menial tasks nobody else wanted. Where edgerunners mowed down anything and anyone that would get in the way of their illicit activities, she skirted around wet work, always facilitating death but never outright flatlining someone. She didn’t feel ready to discard her chances of finding a normal career, but this pain editor wasn’t going to pay for itself.

She was twenty-two thousand more eddies in the red (the ripperdoc didn’t accept installments) and every day that she didn’t pay him, the interest would only mount. Initially he’d framed it as an investment, something to help take the edge off while doing her more unscrupulous gigs but more importantly, to assuage her phantom pain. Despite Militech's claim of her prosthetics being "like flesh and bone," she could still feel currents run through her leg, a ghostly reminder of what was missing. Sure, her body recognized that these were her arms and legs but her brain knew what was missing and she needed it to stop surfacing at the most inconvenient of times.

So Vaitiare pursued every lead she could find, piecing together just enough information to snag an "in" with the former crew member. Nyx must have caught on to her desperation because she forwarded a gig to her only five minutes after Atara reached out.

Bring me the eye of Haruka Orochi. - Nyx

Attached were a few photos of a woman along with her license plate, her place of work, home and textual descriptions for good measure. According to the data, she was an upper middle class corpo working a nine to five on and clubbing nearly every night. More often than not, Riot was her bar of choice, followed by Atlantis. Otherwise she was fairly reclusive, only leaving the house for work and errands.

Nyx had left it up to her to decide how she wanted to approach Orochi which , while understandable, was all the more frustrating. Given how segregated corpos were from the rest of the world, it would be difficult for Vaitiare to tail her without any security guards crying foul. Instead, she needed to find a space where neither of them would stick out. That left her staking out Riot for the past week and a half, bored out of her mind and wondering if someone had tipped her off. There was no possible way that she decided to switch bars after two years of continuous patronage. Not to mention that the one night Vaitiare did park across from Atlantis, not a single corpo came in or out.

So Vaitiare sat in her C240T, in the middle of the night, for what felt like years, but was only truly five hours before her target finally emerged, waving goodbye to a three other women.

Haruka Orochi, age twenty-nine. Brown, curly hair with pale skin. Identifying features include a peony tattoo on her shoulder and heterochromatic eyes (blue and yellow). She had no idea how it was possible for Nyx to find a picture of her in nearly the same dress as the corpo was wearing today, but had little time to ponder the degree with which she investigated all of her subjects. Instead, Vaitiare slipped a gun into each of her holsters, one for killing and one for zapping. Before locking her car, she tucked her extraction kit into her pocket, shuddering at the thought of what she was about to do.

Keeping a safe distance, Vaitiare fell behind the corpo as she sauntered past the row of executive cars, the sports vehicles, and finally stopping in the economy section. Whether she was still tipsy or coming off the high, she seemed more concentrated on humming as she unlocked her car, only stopping when she felt the barrel of a gun pressed against her back.

“If you don't want your brains blown out, you'll take a walk with me,” Vaitiare whispered.

Leading her a few blocks away from Riot, the two fell into an alleyway between two China Chens, both of which were closed for reconstruction.

“Give me your eye.”

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me! Your eye now," Vaitiare said, pressing the barrel of her gun against Haruka's temple.

“Or what? You’ll kill me? I’ll have you know that I have the premium package. The moment you lay a hand on me the Trauma Team is going to come swarming in and you’ll be zeroed faster than I can say ‘shoot," Haruka smirked.

“Yeah? Well that's not gonna matter once you're six feet under."

“Oh please if you really wanted to kill me you would have done so already,” she laughed, "who sent you? Geraldine? Satoshi? Some other lowlife?"

"Doesn't matter. Hand it over."

"Then take it from me." Before Vaitiare could blink she felt an elbow strike her gut and another to her hand, causing her to drop her gun. A flurry of blows followed after, each faster than the last as the pink-haired corpo zipped behind her. Trying for the gun on the floor, Vaitiare just barely missed it before blood blossomed along the side of her body.

"Tsk tsk," Haruka said, wiping her nose with her thumb, "did you really think your little...whatever those are could keep up with the latest chrome."

Stepping over her attacker's body, she held two fingers to her temple, muttering a few words before beginning to walk away.

"Ngh..." Vaitiare grunted, clutching the bullet hole embedded in her.

"Wait! I'll tell you who put a bounty on you.”

A pause.

"The person who sent me after you is-“

In a manner of seconds, oxygen rushed through her system, bolstered by her newly minted blood vessels. Pain was replaced by adrenaline as she drew her taser and shot two darts into the corpo's back. All at once electricity surged through Haruka's body, face contorting in agony as she fell to the floor. Scrambling over, Vaitiare propped her target's body up against the alley wall and pulled a small toolkit from her back pocket. Regardless of whether Haruka called the police or a body guard, she had around fifteen minutes before she recovered from the shock and Vaitiare knew that trick wouldn't work twice.

Unfurling the kit, she taped open Haruka's left eyelid before grabbing a pair of tweezers and a knife. Vaitiare gazed at the synthetic, purple eyeball as its pupil dilated against the light of the moon and much to her chagrin, it wasn't a simple sphere. Instead, the wires were woven into the muscle fibers and skin surrounding her once natural eye. Vaitiare held back her gag reflex as she severed the implant from its host, pocketing it before wiping her knife against her shirt.

Was Nyx trying to test her gore tolerance? It didn't seem that much more special than your standard implant and Haruka, didn't seem to be anyone special so what point was there to retrieving this? For that matter...

Vaitiare's eyes moved toward the other eye, still peacefully attached to Haruka's face. What were the odds that Nyx was talking about this eye over the other? She knew nothing of the other woman so it was entirely possible this was also a test to determine whether she could distinguish which eye was more important than the other.

What are the odds you're over thinking this?

"NPCD! Stay where you are!" Sirens blared in the distance as a police car raced onto the scene, happy that they had action beyond kicking down tents.

Shit, had it been that long already? Jamming her fingers into Haruka's right socket, she ripped the implant away from its housing before sprinting away.

She couldn't go far with her scrap heap but months of chauffeuring taught her all the shortcuts and all the dead ends Little China had to offer. Hopping the fence, she blitzed past restaurants, the weapon shops, and even the weird shop that stayed in business despite never being open. Anywhere adjacent to open road was an enemy and should they bring in a helicopter, open sky. Nobody in their right mind would take her if they knew she was being chased (if anything, she'd be fresh meat for all the vultures hanging out at Afterlife). She could feel her heart struggling to continue, her wound only tearing more as she continued to flee from the NCPD. If the Trauma Team was worth their salt, they'd be following her blood trail.

Her breaths ran ragged as she limped towards her final destination, be it from escape, infection, or blood loss. After heaving herself into the dumpster, she pulled out her phone and punched in Nyx's number.

Shaking off the feds. See attached. - Vi

Taking a photo of her haul, Vaitiare leaned against the disgusting, metal wall and closed her eyes.

Hours passed and Vi awoke to a pleasant numbness. The pain editor had done its job, allowing Vi some respite against the wound and the mental burden of leaving her household unattended. Somehow her ball of fabric soaked up the river of blood and pus from last night's injury, leaving only a trickle running down her leg. There was a part of her that wished she'd Haruka outright, at least to prevent her current predicament but there was certainly some value in keeping her alive (as far as Vaitiare knew). Her hands were still (figuratively) clean and without her eyes, the corpo would have no way of identifying her. Climbing out of the dumpster, the edgerunner basked in the afternoon sun before letting out a loud retch.

She needed a shower, expeditiously.

---​

Two hours with the medtech patched her bullet hole but no amount of washing could rid the smell baked into her clothes. Hell, even the tech was reluctant to take her until she threatened to beat him half to death. By the third rinse, she'd discarded her clothes in favor of the spare uniform in her car, the only one that she hadn't burned during the strike. It was ugly, ill-fitting, and ratty beyond belief. Were it any other situation she wouldn't be caught dead in that outfit but she'd be damned if she rolled into the meeting reeking of raw sewage. She swallowed her pride and buttoned up the polo before throwing fifty eddies his way (courtesy of Haruka). Vaitiare had spent too much time in Little China, far too much to double back (seriously, why couldn't the meeting be in Arroyo?) so the only place left to go was Nyx's warehouse.

 

[Jealousy]

Amélie Tetta

Heywood, The Glen, Apartment 56-R: 4:37pm

Amelie leaned forward in her chair, her eyes narrowing at the information on the screen as her face drifted closer towards the computer screen. "A computer mouse, really?" she spoke aloud to her empty apartment. Empty NiCola cans and food wrappers littered shelving space while bundles of clothes scattered the floor, emphasising a degree of neglect which was in no small part due to her eagerness to get herself working again. "Who in the actual fuck would even have this anyway?"

She leaned back in her chair and kicked her legs out, rolling herself away from the desk as she stared up at the ceiling in a moment of quiet contemplation. The information was all there including where she'd find such an item, although knowing the detes was only half the battle considering she had to actually go out and get the stupid thing. "Alright, I can totally do this. Just need to put in the prep work and probably stop talking to myself." she sat herself up and slid her chair closer towards the desk.

The item appeared to be some kind of antique located within a company building called Hatten & Co, a law firm with plenty of competition. From a glance at their website page it seemed obvious that they worked primarily in support of corporations to protect them against anyone even hinting at a lawsuit. So basically a building full of assholes, the kind who would likely have such an antique item for no other reason than to brag or some other stupid shit. "Or maybe it's worth a lot." she muttered to herself.

The building was your typical tall building in Night City, plenty of floors with the higher floors being reserved for those on a better salary. Looking at their 'About Us' section it was easy to retrieve notes about their dress code and they even included a little information about partnerships including a reference to who they hire to maintain their security detail. Of course it was all fairly light on specific details but that was to be expected. Amelie made her notes before eventually after a good couple of hours researching decided to put together a plan.

///Central Plaza North, Hatten & Co: 11:24pm\\\
Two days after receiving the contract, Amelie made her way to the buildings location at an hour when the offices were more likely to be vacant. She predicted that cleaning staff and security would still be on site, but depending on how she proceeded it shouldn't be too much of an issue. She'd arrived a few hours earlier to capture a body scan from an employee during normal leaving hours, storing it internally on her drive before waiting for the building to empty of it's daytime staff.

"Ok, I-can-do-this-I-can-do-this-I-can-do-this!" she shook off her nerves as she readied herself for the job, activating her chameleon cloak a short distance from the entrance to the building. Her cloaked attire emulated a simple business suit with a jacket and pencil skirt, tie and shirt complete with her hair neatly tied into a bun, the scan taken from a woman structured similar to her own dimensions. She had five minutes before the cloak would begin to stress leading to eventual system failure. With a ten minute reset she needed to get up to the top floor as quickly as possible and get out before then.

Upon entering through the revolving door at the entrance she was greeted by two guards who looked towards her before returning to a conversation they appeared to be having. They were armed but didn't seem to be carrying anything too heavy which was good. A member of the cleaning staff inside the lobby area paid her no attention, pushing a polishing machine against the white marbled floor while she made her way towards the back where she pressed a button to summon an elevator. "Forty third floor, really?!" she muttered as she watched the number above the silver doorframe tick down.

She was working on a time limit and couldn't really afford to be waiting around, but with little choice other than the dreaded stairs she simply shuffled a little impatiently while watching the guards through the distorted mirrored reflection in the metal elevator doors.

'DING!'

The doors parted before her and she might have been relieved were it not for a tall man in a similar styled suit staring down at her. "What, not even gonna say hello?" he spoke and raised his eyebrow while stepping out. She could feel her heart beating faster but managed to give a smile before feigning a cough while giving a polite "Hello!" in response.

"That doesn't sound good, you feeling ok Nikki?" he asked, his expression shifting towards concern. Amelie simply nodded, holding her throat with one hand as she stepped into the elevator, turning to press a button while making gestures as if she were in some kind of hurry. The man merely looked at her confused but as the doors closed she could only release a deep exhale as the elevator began to ascend. "Too close... "

'46'

'47'

'48'

'49'

'DING!'

The elevator stopped a floor short of the final floor where the detes had mentioned the office would be with the antique. Only now did she realise there must be some kind of executive function in order to access the last floor, probably some kind of ID Card or something more complex. Either way she didn't have the time to think about it or consider a workaround. There had to be some kind of stairwell up to the last floor, a fire exit or something similar.

Fortunately the floor seemed to be empty so her pace was a little better for seeking it out only to find she was held up again by a damn tech door. "Not nearly good enough to hack this, though it's not alarmed... " she thought aloud before glancing up and down the corridor to make doubly sure the floor was empty. Then with a little bit of force she threw her elbow hard against the glass panel, shattering it for her arm to slip through and activate the handle from the other side.

The office was finally within reach now as she ascended to the final floor and she were about to round the corner when she almost stepped out into the iris of a camera casting green lasers as it swept the hall, visible only thanks to her optics. She knew she didn't have anything that could take it down at range or at least not without causing a commotion that'd make the effort a waste of time. She had to wait, time her movements and make a dash for the door. "Now!"

She sprinted as the camera swept left, it's pivot starting to return it's gaze before she dropped and skidded along the laminated floor to slide out of it's view with barely an inch to spare. She lay there for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest before starting to collect herself up in front of the large office beyond the two dark oak doors. "You better fuckin' use this mouse Nyx... " she sighed, dusting herself off before glancing up at the camera sweeping away above her head.

Another small victory as the doors weren't locked, allowing her to walk freely into the large open office which was everything you might expect it to be. Large wooden desk, lavish furnishings and a computer terminal none of which were of any interest to Amelie as she made her way towards a display cabinet centered against the left wall. If this dickhead was keeping an old computer mouse to brag about he or she was probably gonna have it on display.

"And there it is." her eyes illuminated into a dull glow as she scanned it over to make sure it was definitely the item she came for. "Holy shit, is that a ball... it uses a ball!" it wasn't even an old optical mouse, this thing was legitimately a historical relic. She was about to open up the case to take it when a further scan notified her that the cabinet was alarm protected. "Fuck." she had to find a way to turn it off and as luck would have it there seemed to be a wall terminal nearby close to the front door.

Amelie wasn't a master hacker, far from it actually although this one appeared to be fairly simple as she discovered soon after she chipped in. "Or not." she realised rather quickly that her skill level would only permit her to put a delay on the alarms activation. "Two and a half minutes isn't a lot of time." she muttered, releasing a small exhale upon coming to accept she had very little choice if she wanted to get her hands on this mouse. Resigning herself she activated the breach protocol and began to work the system through the sequenced coding, finding a backdoor through a sprinkler system installed and working her way towards the alarm controls.

As quickly as she could she turned and made for the display case, opening it and grabbing the mouse to put away inside her jacket. She turned and ran for the door, pausing to wait for the camera again before taking off down the corridor for the lift. Her chameleon cloak disabled as she hopped the stairwell, landing with a nimble roll before continuing to the elevator and hitting the button. "Come on!" she was out of time for her cloak and now she had to put as much distance between her and the office before that alarm sounded.

Ten floors was all she managed before the alarm went off across the building. Amelie closed her eyes trying to calculate in her head how long it would take for a full security response, estimating around three minutes if they were good. "Can't you go faster!" she yelled as her finger clicked the button repeatedly as if it would do anything. She once again watched as the numbers decreased for what felt like an age, somehow feeling longer than when she'd ascended the other way. Finally the doors parted at the lobby allowing her to step out.

"Hey you! stay right there hands where I can see them!" a lobby guard she recognised from before raised his palm towards her while his other rested upon the iron attached to his hip. Amelie raised her hands as ordered, noticing the other guard wasn't around which probably meant he was either making his way up using the other available elevator or perhaps even making arrangements for backup. "Relax! I'm working a job." she replied, moving her hand down slowly towards her jacket.

The guard pulled his sidearm and aimed it at her causing her to pause her movements. "I'm just gonna show you my badge." she continued moving slow, reaching into her pocket before withdrawing her DG insignia badge and presenting it towards him. It was enough to make his arm relax slightly but the gun was still aimed in her direction.

"You just happened to be here as an alarm goes off inside the building, doesn't seem likely." he was right, but she was running out of time before backup arrived so this conversation needed to end quickly. "I was hired to track a suspect, someone who might be looking to damage the reputation of this company. A suspect who is probably responsible for this alarm who might be getting away since you're holding me up." she replied, doing her best to think on her feet. "Your boss isn't gonna be happy if you're the reason the one responsible gets away."

She'd created doubt she just had to hope it was enough to sway him in her favour. "Fine, it's not like there aren't cameras around. If you're bullshitting it'll be your funeral." he moved his gun away and she lowered her hands. "Thank you, hopefully they didn't get far... " she commented for the sake of her story before continuing to sprint through the lobby to the street outside. She could hear sirens closing in from the near distance, she was cutting it fine. Time to get out of here and get the mouse to that drop box.

-----
"I need some wheels... " she muttered to herself as she walked her way towards the disclosed location. She'd gotten public transport most of the way but she'd have been a fool to think there wouldn't have been some walking involved given the likely desire for this place to be discreet. "Yeah just leave your bike in London, Night City has plenty of transport you won't even need it... good job Amélie you fuckin' moron." she muttered to herself before giving an exasperated sigh. The first thing she needed to put eddies towards was a bike or honestly even a car at this point. I mean sure public transport was everywhere, but the ambience of coughing and shitty music from handheld phones combined with the smell was enough to put you off for life.

She stopped in front of the warehouse, eyebrows furrowing a little as she took a moment to assess whether or not it was the right place. It looked exactly like the photo and the location was right so really all she had to lose was a few apologetic words towards an annoyed owner if she happened inside the wrong building. "May as well head inside I guess." she thought to herself before walking up, noting the pretty wicked looking set of wheels parked out front. She approached the door, resting a hand onto the handle as her other slipped inside her jacket to withdrew her sidearm. There was every possibility that this was some kind of setup after all and she wasn't about to let her guard down entirely until she was sure it was all on the up and up.

As she walked inside her eyes were drawn to fall upon the first person who she happened to recognise almost immediately, eyebrows raising as she returned her sidearm to her jacket. She was sure she'd worked with the woman wearing the helmet before or at least done a job that had something to do with her. She couldn't be fully certain so decided not to voice any of it openly just yet. Instead she approached and waved a hand with a bright smile, though internally conscious just on the off chance this wasn't even where she was supposed to be. "Hey! I don't suppose you guys are here for the 'AA' meeting, lead by someone called Nyx?" she carried forward her sense of humour doubled with a false excuse just in case these guys had no idea what she was talking about.

 

[LuckyOuie]

KALI LIWANAG ♡

DRIVING TO ARROYO

A loud electronic song blasted across a near empty desert highway. The noise polluted an otherwise desolate road. Suddenly a pink Makigai MaiMai sped through the highway, carrying the noise away towards the setting sun and away from the Badlands. Inside the MaiMai Kali sang. “Pon pon shit! Pon pon shit! Pon pon shit! Pon pon shit! Pon pon shit! Pon pon shit!” Her pitch was way out of tune and her voice far too deep to emulate the song she was singing. Still she sang, windows down for all of Night City to hear. All of a sudden Kali’s jam session was cut short by the all too familiar sound of an incoming holocall. Kali picked it up.

“Yes maaa?” She said, stretching her words out playfully.

“Kalifornia Maria Concepcion Liwanag, do you know where the car is?” Tala said with the cold tone of a hardened gang member and the thick Filipino accent of Kali’s loving mother.

“Ma, I can explain!” Kali immediately spat back, “There’s this chip, you see… had to bust it for a crew. It’s a big one, ticket to the major leagues type o’ gig!” Kali said, eyes sparkling with what the future held for her. “You remember V, right? Night City legend. Made their name by kleppin’ a chip from ‘Saka! Just imagine where we’ll be a year from now. Major leagues, ma… I just gotta do an after-meet with the chooms who set it up.” A deafening quiet loomed when Kali finished her explanation. The dread of her mom’s silence struck fear deep in Kali’s heart.

“Hija, you are in big trouble when you get back..." Tala said now with worry in her voice. "Just make sure you're home before 2AM, if not I’m getting all your ninangs and we’re going to find you if it’s the last thing we do. Then you will really be in for it… intinde?” She asked, the worry shifted to a warm concern.

“Opo ma, I promise… salamat.” Kail said, nerves calming down. The call disconnected. A breath of relief escaped from her lips.

The song continued playing loudly, but this time Kali didn’t sing along. A wave of responsibility washed over her. Suddenly it all felt real. She was on her way to becoming a Night City legend. The city would know her name. Fame and fortune would be hers, then she would be able to take care of her family. Her mom and the Moxes, they had raised her. Soon she would be capable of giving them back everything they had given Kali and so much more… they deserved that much.

Kali’s MaiMai exited the badlands and entered into Santo Domingo. Suddenly a news broadcast interrupted her tunes.

“Breaking news,” The voice of a lady news reporter said. “A Kang Tao transport AV has crashed outside of Night City causing a massive explosion that resulted in the deaths of four employees and the destruction of military grade cargo.”

“Bingo.” Kali said to herself, feeling nova.

“Early investigation appears to show that the aircraft’s thrusters were deactivated by a malicious netrunner attack-” The reporter continued.

“And the runner's right here!” She shouted at the radio, bragging to the reporter who was unable to hear her.

Kali snorted with pride and switched the station to Morro Rock where Kerry Eurodyne’s ‘Chippin’ in’ was playing. She punched the volume up and realized it was already at max, chuckling at herself. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel to the beat of the song.

She drove by a flock of 6th Street gangers having a drinking sesh in the middle of the road and groaned, but not even they could ruin her mood right now. Kali fixed her jacket, straightening the creases on the numerous Moxes logos. Sure, she was in 6th street territory, but that was just more reason to show off her colors.

Kali slowed down her MaiMai as she approached an average looking auto shop in Arroyo. 777th Street. Kali wasn’t sure if the name of Vance’s shop was meant to be a slight against 6th Street or a way to associate with them, but either way she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. She had heard a lot of bad things about 6th Street, but sprinkled among the bad were some good. Their origins, for instance, weren’t so different from the Moxes. Just people trying to help each other out, but 6th Street members nowadays weren’t exactly the same. For now she held her judgment off… maybe one day she would dig some info up on them.

Pulling up to her right, Kali parked the MaiMai on the autoshop’s driveway. She thought about Vance and his crew. Even if they were 6th Street affiliated, Kali had heard good things about the crew and loud things too… a lot of loud things. If she was going to be in Vance’s crew, then people would hear about her too. That was good, loud was good. In Night City, a person was only as good as their name was recognizable. Loud was what Kali wanted to be.

Kali pushed the car horn and began to play a simple beat, blasting noise throughout the street to announce her entrance. She kicked the MaiMai’s doors open and rose out of it like a phoenix rising from ashes, her right hand pulled her mom’s aviator glasses from the glove compartment.

Damn, I’m nova... so Kaliente. She thought. “Knock knock, choombas!” She shouted as she put on the sunglasses, greeting no one in particular but hoping whoever was inside the auto shop could hear.

 

[Inb4Cloaker]

John Greene

Pacifica, Watson, Arroyo // Smiting Heretics

There were rumors circulating regarding an abandoned clinic on the southern side of Pacifica, and even wilder rumors about the person who inhabited it. Some said that a madman with a massive suit of armor inhabited the place, smoking everyone that walked inside. Others insinuated that he even had a ferocious beast that he had captured and tamed during his travels across the Badlands. Either way, word of mouth kept the curious and daring away long enough for John to set up some minor fortifications by using whatever scrap he could find. The fanatic gazed out through the cracks of a boarded window while pondering over the local rumors. Maybe those tall tales the locals drummed up weren’t so far from the truth, after all, John did wear a big suit of armor and could portray himself as a mad man at times.

The ferocious beast bit didn’t quite holdup, however.

A fuzzy but firm head collided with Johns ankle, followed by a quiet sneeze. Sighing with feigned indifference, he kept his gaze on the world outside the clinic and responded without diverting his attention.

“No, you already ate. Plus, you’re getting too fat.” John spoke softly and quietly, as if talking to a child.

Seconds passed with no further interactions or movements from his animal companion, so he chanced a glance down and caught the gaze of his pet opossum, Smoky. With large beady black eyes and a face that looked perpetually depressed, Smoky stared up at John and sneezed again, having finally caught his full attention. The little opossum that John picked up roughly a year ago was far from little at that moment, and appeared well taken care of on top of sporting some extra weight. Just as John was about to say something else to his small companion, he faltered and turned his focus towards a table in the far corner of the room. Several empty medication bags and pill bottles littered its surface; a vague reminder of the situation the two were in. The medications weren’t for John, rather, they were for Smoky and his implanted cybernetics. It was a miracle that such a little creature could even take the cybernetics, much less sustain himself, but that miracle depended on John providing his little friend Immuno-Blockers on a consistent basis. Discrete odd jobs and the credits he had earned previously were enough to keep him afloat for a while, but that supply had since run out. Just like everyone else in the god forsaken city he long ago swore to burn, he needed to make some eddies.

Carefully making sure to not step on his friend, the fanatic walked past the table while running his hand over the top of his bare head. Smoky, who had taken a liking to following John around when he wasn’t preoccupied with infiltrating the snack drawer or taking a mandatory power nap on top of everything with the exception of his own bed, followed in his footsteps with high hopes for treats. Instead of stopping near the makeshift pantry, however, John continued down the graffitied hall and entered a dimly lit room. Dangling from the ceiling was a single light bulb that flickered occasionally, reflecting the dust that still hadn’t been entirely cleared from the air. Propped up by old medical containers was his suit of juggernaut armor, along side two data-shards with two previously disregarded messages. Slowly and deliberately, John circled around the set of armor and seemingly inspected it, all the while doing his best to rack his brain for a better solution than what he was about to consider. Nothing came to mind, and as he pinched the bridge of his nose, he reflected on the messages

Nyx was not a name he associated with a crew. It was a name he associated with Maelstrom, and despite all his attempts at internalizing tolerance for the new world he lived in, that was the one bridge he wasn’t ready to cross. There was a time when the Inquisition had those chrome obsessed soon to be cyberpyschos backed against the wall with no way out, but they just barely managed to pull through when everything was said and done. Things flipped, and the Inquisition had to back down when Maelstrom built back up. Clenching his jaw, John found himself glaring down into the small slits of his helmet, lost in thought.

The task? Simple. Pick up some type of cyberhand from a nearby garbage heap of a gang hideout. The reward? A chance to make some real money. The motive? That was the one thing he couldn’t put his finger on, since it all just seemed odd. Even Ex-Maelstrom wouldn’t contact Ex-Inquisition on the best of terms, much less with the intention to work together. Either it was a set up or some kind, they didn’t know John was Inquisition, or they just didn’t care. Regardless, it didn’t sit right with John. Working alongside Ex-Malestrom would eventually lead to a painful and violent end for him and those who would inevitably cross him.

Decisively, John brought his fist down on the datashard with the Nyx message, crushing it with prejudice. Satisfaction, hot and sweet burned in his eyes as he flicked his gaze to his only other option.

Vance was a name he associated with a somewhat remarkable crew, on account of their attack against Arasaka. That particular crew was also rumored to have some times with 6th Street and their affiliates which, fortunately, did not have particularly aggressive encounters with Inquisition forces previously. If asked to describe the relationship between the two gangs while he was still crusading, John would paint the picture of two neighbors who would glare at one another from either side of a hedge row while exchanging a few choice words from time to time. Direct interactions between the two gangs were seldom, and any confrontations were often much less violent than with other gangs. The animosity was still there, but an Inquisition assault force was more likely to ignore 6th Street activities and focus on other hostile threats. Likewise, 6th Street activity was noticeably low in Inquisition occupied territory, and half hearted efforts were made to keep clear of zones where they were known to operate. Righteous anger subsided within John as he held up his second and last opportunity to make any money.

This task was arguably more dangerous, but also considerably more straightforward. An overwhelming show of force and aggression would be needed to prove himself. Unlike the Nyx job, this tasking made sense to John, since he would undoubtedly expect to be tested on his combat abilities before being employed where hostile engagements would be routinely expected. On top of everything, this man had a responsibility to his small friend. Smoky depended on John to survive, and for John to ensure Smoky survived, he needed to choose wisely.

Within minutes, grating sounds of armor plates and heavy metal spilled out from the room John entered and into the makeshift kitchen area. It wasn’t long before the thudding footsteps of the fanatic echoed throughout the building, signaling his decision. When he stepped out into the main reception area, he was remarkably unsurprised to spot his mischievous companion climbing up towards a previously forgotten bag of chips on an empty medical shelf. Having realized that he’d been made, Smoky elected to free fall off the shelf and land on the ground with a soft plop before trying to briskly waddle away. The mischievous opossum found himself hoisted into the air by a pair of armored gloves before he could escape, and was brought to a large kennel. Along with a bowl of water and two apples, Smoky was secured against his will in the kennel before being enveloped by the darkness of a draped blanket.

“STAY QUIET, STAY SAFE. I’LL BE BACK SOON.” John boomed out from his internal vocoder when he neared the clinic door. He could only hope that he would be right.

Spoiler: Training

An Inquisition instructor stood atop a watchtower, observing from above as he called out mantras and instructions to the trainees below. The red cross tattooed on his forehead and the long unkempt beard he sported revealed that he was a veteran of combat that was since forgotten by all but the survivors and the scorched ground it took place on. During his fighting, he was given no mercy, and in turn he would show none to the armored juggernauts below him. That particular day was a confidence building day, designed to assist the acolytes in realizing just how durable they truly were. Each juggernaut stood with one brick of plastic explosives strapped to their chest in place of their standard EMP vests. Suicidal attacks were nothing new to Inquisitors, but these trainees were expected by their peers to survive detonation. One by one, the trainees broke rank in a full sprint towards a crater ridden field, doing their best to move as fast as they could in several hundred pounds of metal. Regardless of how fast they moved, the result was always the same.

“Make your sacrifice!”Echoed out from the loudspeaker atop the watchtower, and the instructor detonated the explosive.

Being violently flung off his feet and haphazardly flying into the air before colliding with the unforgiving ground, the trainee’s plastic explosive caused a shockwave that rumbled the ground and added another crater to the barren wasteland. Sand and debris rained down on the trainee who was ordered to break rank, finalizing the event. Some remained on the ground for seconds or minutes before eventually rising up, remarkably alive and in one piece before limping off to inevitably receive treatment for their internal injuries and broken bones. In rare cases, those who were deemed particularly weak by the lord above never rose again. This type of training was exceptionally rare, and dangerous, but it served a significant purpose with fortifying the Inquisitions ideology. It further encouraged zealous willpower, and glorified reckless acts within the juggernaut’s ranks by instilling a sense of invincibility through the faith of their god, combined with the ingenuity of their armor. For them, sacrifice was something to be revered or embraced, not feared or shunned.​

​

Move with violence of action. Enforce righteous will. Retain control.

Seldom did the juggernaut leave his makeshift home and beloved pet, with the exception of mandatory supply runs. This particular circumstance was a special occasion, however. John needed to provide a show of force, and he knew exactly who to make an example of. Recent rumors involving the abduction of body purist monks by Maelstrom gang members, followed by forced body modding, had provoked the Inquisitors ire. Through an unlikely connection he had with a Voodoo Boys affiliate, he was able to confirm the rumors and identify a Maelstrom target. At the very least, he would be avenging those that they had forced cyberware onto and make up for the Inquisitions lack of progress in the recent years. Shortly after leaving the clinic, John found himself stationed on the edge of the dilapidated factories that dotted the exterior of Watson.

Bathing the air in front of him with an ominous, dark blue light, the GP-5 mask activated fully. Possibly the only bit of tech John possessed, it allowed him to minimally replicate the function of an outdated cyber eye by feeding him basic information. The juggernaut mentally reviewed the pertinent information that he had memorized about the upcoming assault and checked over his equipment. Well armed was an understatement, as he was equipped with numerous explosives of different sizes. Grenades dotted either side of his waist, and claymore mines were firmly strapped to both of his knuckles, as well as on the front of his helmet. Attached to his left leg was a folded up E-Tool, and attached to his right was a pouch containing a brick of plastic explosives. Scorched armor covered the inquisitor, battle worn and dinged up from previous encounters. The paint had all but been scorched off and replaced with a rusted black coating, leaving barely any specks of green and tan. Only the religious insignias of the inquisition and various biblical verses remained untouched, seemingly reapplied before the juggernaut suited up for yet another righteous crusade. From behind his chemical mask and bulletproof visor combo, John stared down the Maelstrom hideout that would face his judgement. Marching forward with fanatical determination, John made no attempt to conceal his approach or mask his obscenely loud footsteps.

Move with violence of action. Enforce righteous will. Retain control.

This would be the first conflict he’d engage in without Inquisition oversight, and with that in mind, John hoped to not go too overboard with his newfound free will. Like a rabid dog that broke free of its chains, he was entirely unbound in how far he would go to tear down his enemy.

“JUGGERNAUT ONE ON SITE. MOVING TO OPRESS HERETICS. MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YE SOULS, FOR I SHALL NOT.” He boomed out from his amplified vocoder, signaling his presence to the sentries posted outside the closed garage. Without waiting to hear a response, John promptly activated the noise cancelling protective measures within his helmet. Things were about to get excessively loud.

Akin to being struck by a pebble thrown by a toddler, the first bullets were fired accurately into the Inquisitor. Knowing that any type of small arms fire he was met with would be ineffective, he pressed on against the three Maelstrom gang members. Johns obscured vision prevented him from making out details regarding the opposition, but one thing was for certain: they were shooting at him, and that was all the information he needed to detonate a claymore directly into their face. By the time the fanatic had closed the distance and gotten near enough to illuminate the first two sentries with the blue glow of his mask, John had already received upwards of thirty failed lead injections. With a casual left hook, the first sentry received a claymore directly to the chin, completely removing his head in the process and swiftly ending their heretical existence. Following suit, the second sentry found himself quickly dispatched by an unceremonious headbutt from the juggernaut, detonating his rhino mounted claymore and flipping the Maelstrom chrome junkie directly into the garage door with what John would assume to be a loud crash. After dispatching his first two enemies, the inquisitor glanced up in search of the last sentry he previously counted, only to find that they had dropped their weapon and fled the scene entirely. Obscured vision and fast moving targets were not a good combination, and by the time he caught a glimpse of the fleeing gang member, they were well outside of smacking range. Not in the mood to lob a grenade, John turned his attention to the closed garage door.

No sooner than he expected, John was subjected to a barrage of both large and small caliber ammunition that pierced the garage door. While the smaller rounds had minimal affect on him, the larger caliber ammunition caused John to stagger back momentarily before bracing himself. A cacophony of lead colliding against unyielding metal echoed around him, only interrupted by the fanatics callout.

“BODYPACK HOLDING. HERETICAL FIRE: INEFFECTIVE.” Another message, seemingly directed towards nobody, was let loose. In reality, John had regressed back to his ingrained practices. A training scar from the past, the juggernaut often made callouts to alert his fellow inquisitors of his situation in battle. He spoke only to himself and the dead, now.

With deft movements and while under heavy fire, John reached down and unlatched the plastic explosive he brought with him. With one arm shielding his head, he used his free hand to lob the explosive a few yards away and towards the bullet ridden garage door. With only a few seconds to brace himself, John stepped back and began to rearm claymores onto his fist and helmet. Sliding into place with unnoticeable clicks, he applied the last claymore right as the plastic explosive detonated, silencing the gunfire. A shockwave was flung out against the inquisitor, along with various pieces of metal and, unfortunately for the enemy, bits of bloodied cyberware. Despite the force of the explosion, John hardly gave way or took a moment to breathe before progressing forward through the breech. On the other side of the billowing smoke, John found the remains of several very deceased gang members, along with some holdouts. Notably, he saw the source of the large caliber ammunition that was being continuously dispensed; a light machine gun mounted directly atop a makeshift APC. Deciding not to give the dazed occupants of the vehicle a chance to rearm and reengage the juggernaut, John withdrew a CHAR grenade and activated it in an entirely commonplace manner. He slammed it against the side of his helmet three times, causing it to rupture and hiss as molted hot fire leaked out of it. Before detonation, he tossed the grenade into the hatch and barely managed to slam it shut.

“HELLFIRE HAS BEEN ADMINISTERED.” He called out, his vocoded message inaudible amongst the screams from within the visibly shaking vehicle.

The remaining hostiles opted to flee out of the factory, putting as much space between the mentally deranged menace that decided to drop by unannounced. Unfortunately for them, that insane man had not quite met his objective. John could have walked away victorious at that moment, but he had other intentions. In true inquisitor fashion, he intended to ensure that full measures were taken during his mission.

“THOU ART UP AGAINST GOD AND THE WALL. I .AM .THE .FUCKING .WALL.”

The militaristic demeanor of the Inquisitor fell to the wayside in favor of pure religious fanaticism. With nobody to keep him in check, John fell victim once again to the Inquisitions primary mindset.

Make your sacrifice.

Pulling open the drivers side door of the flaming APC, the fanatic was instantly met by a burst of flames and flaming Malestrom members that were still trying to claw their way out of the fire. Unyielding in his plan, John pushed his way into the flaming vehicle himself before slamming the door closed. Engulfed in fire, the fanatic felt his armor begin to heat up as he struggled to activate the gradually melting vehicle. Without consideration for his own well-being, nor the explosives at risk of igniting on his own person, John started the engine before backing the vehicle out of the garage and over a few unlucky gang members.

With minimal vision and with flaming Maelstrom sinners clawing at him in a desperate bid to escape the flaming hell John created, the Inquisitor aggressively slammed the critically damaged APC into action. Recklessly crashing into anything he saw move, and everything he didn’t see move, the fanatic screamed out into his vocoder with unbridled rage.

“SACRIFICE! SACRIFICE! MAKE YOUR SACRIFICE!” Wheels turned and metal burned, covering the industrial zone in scorching hot fire and molten metal.

John had lost it. For a minute, he was back in the Inquisition. He was no longer alone, and he was acting with extreme purpose. Adrenaline kicked in, he felt nothing, and he thought nothing. Bodies mounted underneath the continuously degrading APC, with flames reaching the engine and causing critical failure. For a brief moment, John was prepared to die a righteous death, and there was nothing holding him back. It was just him, the enemy, and the god he served. Yes, it was finally his time to make his sacrifice. If only he could see through all the smoke, he would take more heretics down with him.

Smoke.

Clarity flashed through him, like white hot lightning.

Smoky. He had a responsibility.

All at once, every sensation that was initially dulled by fervent passion returned in full force. His armor was hot, nearly unbearably so. With a reactionary kick, John sent the driver side door wide before tumbling out of the still moving APC and onto the unforgiving ground. The vehicle continued rolling steadily for several dozen yards before colliding with a brick wall and combusting, scattering what remained of the already horrifically mangled vehicle into the air in a burst of finalizing flame. Meanwhile, John remained motionless on the ground after his tumble eased to a halt. The lenses of his mask flickered in conjunction with sounds of static feedback, followed by a grunt of pain. Although he remained well protected from the battle he had just instigated, John knew that he would definitely be hurting the next day. When his mask lenses were steady once again, John rose to his knees, and slowly, to his feet. Despite still being partially on fire, his suit began to cool as the dust settled around him. In the distance, sirens blared. It wouldn’t be long before more gang members or NCPD decided to investigate, and John didn’t want to stick around for any interviews. News of the event would spread just enough to get word to Vance, and if not, the juggernaut would just have to hope that the new battle marks he just added to his armor would be telling enough. Casting a side glance at the destroyed APC, John opted to walk off his injuries for a bit before finding some wheels to the Arroyo meeting point.

“RIGHTEOUS WILL HAS BEEN ENFORCED. GOD BLESS.” Were his final words to the scene around him.


The journey to Arroyo was straight forward and remarkably peaceful. Having been given enough time to reflect on his actions, John enjoyed a short walk out of Watson while he came to terms with his last episode of overzealous activity. If he wanted to take care of Smoky and adapt his way of thinking to his new environment, he needed to forgo his fanatical tactics to some extent. Righteous combat was perfectly acceptable, however his reckless nature needed to be tuned down a few degrees. Old habits die hard, but hopefully some thoughtful prayer would enlighten John as to how he should improve. It’s unlikely to work, but he was hopeful. Eventually, John was able to throw enough credits at a box truck driver who would be willing to haul John over to Arroyo. Initially surprised, John regrettably remembered that people in Night City would sell their souls for credits if they could, and driving some guy in smoldering armor covered in grenades was more likely par for the course. He should’ve offered less money for the ride.

Upon arrival in Arroyo and after a brisk walk around the block, John arrived at the designated meeting point. Luckily, the previous fight had wiped away a majority of his inquisitorial markings. Only one remained, and it was a large red cross painted onto the back of his armor. Bits and pieces of biblical verses also remained, but it was unlikely to be enough to confirm his identity as a religious fanatic. Unsure of how Vance or other crew associates would react to his affiliation, John elected to see if he would be recognized as an inquisitor rather than blatantly announcing it. Being an unusually dressed man with grenades was bad enough, he didn’t need to sprinkle on any religious background too.

He saw the bright pink MaiMai before he saw the auto shop… long before he saw the shop in-fact. Raising his ballistic visor, his emotionless GP-5 pointedly flexed as he made an unrecognizable expression underneath it. Unknowingly making a cross over his chest with his hand, John tore his blued gaze away from the vehicle and observed the owner. It was difficult for him to hear what she said, but it sounded to be about something regarding a roomba. The sound of music became more and more apparent as he entirely disable his noise cancelling measures, bringing his attention once again to the pink micro-car. Intrusive thoughts got the better of him, and with a few loud clomps, John found himself considerably closer to the vehicle. A quick glance at his reflection reminded John that he needed to disarm before the meeting. Having all but forgotten about the owner, John set about covering up his EMP vest, stashing his claymores, and futilely attempting to dissipate the faint trail of smoke that was still accompanying him.

 

[Mamori23]

Eve Marlowe

PACIFICA, WATSON, ARROYO | Wild Nights

Eve laid back, arms stretched over head staring at the dirt covered ceiling of her apartment. Or was it? There was a bullet hole on the left corner, fresh with a twin beside it matching the same caliber of fire. She didn’t recognize either, possibly due to a hangover pounding fiercely against her eyes causing them to squint. They glazed over, blue eyes taking in pieces of an environment growing more, and more unfamiliar the further they looked.

That wasn’t her carpet.

That wasn’t her table, it was black and definitely still intact.

That wasn’t her coffee, in fact she hated that shit with a passion.

And, although Eve did have a similar red double length couch — it most certainly did not have a dead body on it staining it crimson.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Eve blurted, groggy from a sad amount of sleep. She was able to confirm it now at least, no, this wasn’t her place. The only problem now was her new friend didn’t ring any bells. The clothes, jacket, two large gold plated cyberware arms, and a shot up face didn’t help one bit either. She turned around, taking in the interior design for more clues. “Why the fuck...” Eve took notice of the barely hanging door, lodged into the front was her guitar splitting it more wide open than her on a good day. Okay, wild night. She was used to those, often was the starter of them — but to have this much of a lapse of memory added more to the sudden mysterious morning she was struggling to put together.

Should she call the cops? And blame it on who? Myself? Eve dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. The cops would take the easy route even if it wasn’t her doing, and place the cuffs on her slim wrists tight. She had to figure this one out in her own true detective style.

The fight to stand on two legs took an embarrassing few seconds, one limb moved while the other was still on smoke break. Fuck. Eve pursed her lips, wanting to roll a cig between them hard. She dug a hand in her pocket, seeing her ripped jeans even more tattered from whatever scruff she got into during the night. It was still night, right? She flicked her eyes over, dawn beginning to break through a shattered window and fog ridden sky. It was going to be morning soon with one hell of a way to start with eggs, cold coffee, and a dead body for company.

A puff of cancerous clouds hovered over her face, dried blood lingering on her chin unnoticed. Eve was spacing out sitting on the couch besides the man watching the sun come up. The question ‘why’ played over her head in a loop, spinning over and over.

It didn’t make any sense till a distinct sound broke the silence of the room.

“Meow.”

“Oh fuck, that’s right.” The memories played like a BD dance, each brush, slash, and bang brought her right back to the night her new friend got killed over a cat burglary.

The request came simple, one message from Vance over her holo telling her about an offer. A chance to join his illustrious — more infamous to others — crew. A simple run and down hit against minor building strong arm in Militech going by the name of Hulk.

A big gonk motherfucker, with an even larger set of hands making a name for himself with a rep for brutal kills enough to make a sensible person know to back off. She sent a reply back, telling Vance he had a sick fucking sense of humor joke if he expected her to take fucking Hulk down. She got dead silence as a replay. Eve sucked her teeth, popping out of her crib with heels digging into concrete on every step till it got on her bike. The tires left scorch marks, riding with enough irritation to fuel her bike across the asphalt. She could turn it down, tell Vance to kiss her pretty little ass and find better luck elsewhere with his nothing crew.

Eve's lips twisted, pissing herself off now with reason putting its unwanted ass in view. The only problem turning him down? Eve was on a shorter list of friends. She had no one, and needed to start building connections up again fast. Besides, it looked like they shared a common desire: Revenge. If things worked out, it could lead into a beneficial relationship of ‘I scratch your back, you scratch mine.’

Eve took a quick glance up ahead, in the dark of night the city lived up to its reputation. Who needs stars when you can look up and see a river of neon ads, sponsors, and holograms dancing among overloaded eyes too stimulated to freaking know what’s being sold? Adam fondly loved to call them corpo stars. ‘They already owned the galaxy babe, we’re just a couple of lightyears away from getting the message.’ He used to say right up against her ear, laughing like a fucking hyena.

Eve put more pressure on the gas, flying far past the limit to out pace the sounds of laughter ringing in her ears. She didn’t need ghosts curving her off the road to eat concrete. The rapid pace did have a reason aside from running, Eve needed to make a few stops and grab her gear. Hulk was a big man, but if she could get him nice and lined up for her it wouldn’t be that hard to crack his dome in two. She checked the time, judging by the hour Hulk would soon be hanging around Lizzie's bar. Sometimes with a crew, other times without. She was praying for the latter, but could work with few numbers. It’s not like he’ll stick with them for long anyway. Eve heard he liked to blow steam off, get a couple of dolls wrapped in his guerrilla arms and carry them out in bulk.

A big man got large needs, she only needed to be one of the few lucky gals carried away with the purchase.

She hopped off the bike, already feeling a base of music booming itself outside the streetblock and over. A few folks hanging outside enjoying a smoke, or looking to score judging from the looks over her revealing legs. She needed to make herself desirable, easy to squeeze and get a man thinking it's a damn nobel prize he swinging back to his apartment.

The man in question currently had two joytoy’s beside him when she got to the bar. He had the whole booth to himself upright in the corner while strippers danced around the joint, taking twice the amount of space Eve wondered how those girls weren’t squished next to him. Hulk was jacked, gold plated cyberware shining through the lens flare of the bar and giving her a headache on view.

“Hey, Lolo,” Eve called over to the bartender, leaning over the counter with a smile spelling trouble leaning her guitar besides her. “I’m gonna need something sweet to cover some real bitter shit that’s about to be in my mouth.” Lolo held a laugh, wiping a finished shot glass and sliding her direction. She held it in her hand, metal fingers tapping along the edges counting down the second Hulk eyes would turn to see her ass bent over the counter.


1...2..3..atta’ boy she smiled against the rim of the glass, catching his eyes gliding over her curves. He looked like a dog ready to test the limits of his new chow-toy. Eve turned her eyes away, draining out her glass smoothly down her throat. She was going to need to be slightly comatose to bear through this bullshit. The joys of being a former prostitute, it taught important lessons, like patience. Especially when a client got handsies with her ass. “Hey, Lolo,” Eve called again, getting her attention with a glance, “Cool if I take the stage? I got a clear set of pips now and a little sound to tune the crowd up.”

“For real? Ain’t you done singing after getting hitch with your little wanna’ be-”

“Can I sing or not Lolo?” Eve cut past Lolo, ice on her tongue making a message clear. The topic about *him* ain’t up for discussion. Lolo gave nothing but a questioning brow, clearly not taking too much of a liking to the switch up of attitude. “Sure, but a big girl is gonna want a word with you after. Clear?”

“Preem.”

She hopped off the counter without another word to spare, sauntering through the crowd with much emphasis to sway her hip to the beat and keep Hulk fed like a dog. The current DJ gave Eve a confused look twice when she got on stage, moving his head between the crowd and back, clearly not expecting back up today. Eve pointed a hand towards the bar, thumbs telling him to step back. “I got a special song for my new sweet heart, just one little dig. You can spare a girl that, right love?” The DJ took another glance, seeing Lolo shrugging her shoulders and back over to Eve sweetening the smile on her lips. “All sweet here Chomba, I'll smoke any day.”
“Save me a cig.” She laughed him off, turning to quickly get her guitar set up and meet her new lover's eyes when the stage light took attention to its switch of entertainer of the night. “Hello all my sexy joys tonight. It’s me, your favorite bitch on the street feelin’ extra hexed when I saw something fitting perfectly in my favorite BD clips.” Eve turned her eyes, making direct line of sight with Hulk to full view to crystal blue eyes shining with love sickness. “I just had to give him a piece of my voice tonight. You down for something a bit more heavy? I need y’all to feel me on this or you save that for the person right next to ya more better. Cuz’-”

Eve strums her bass, beat starting to build up,”My boy hates everybody but me.”

The song played, beat after beat playing to draw Hulk’s attention all on her, and sink further into her play up. It sold better than whatever lip work the joytoy beside was selling, practically having him right where she wanted once the music came at the end and Hulk taking the frontrow. “Were you playing that for me, beautiful?” Hulk asked, breathing heavily full of shit Eve had to bark a laugh to disguise the need to vomit on his croc shoes. Shit taste on his mouth and clothing, fuck me.

“Maybe. I could even take this solo with you if you buy me another drink.” Eve said, voice lidden in silks to charm her new gorilla man to take her in his arms and back over to his table. Shot, after shot. Eve drank with Hulk till the man had gotten hard in the balls with a need to piss; but with the way he eyed her over the whole time it looked he’d hold it for however long it would take him. “Hey,” she started in a whisper, gaining Hulk’s interest away from her ass to focus on her face smiling like a lovestruck teen. “I want to take this more closer now, don’t you hear me sing properly for you.” A touch to his arm, pulling him closer to feel herself on him.

“Alone.”
In Eve’s time working, it never failed to amaze her how easy a suggestion of alone time worked for people. It was a spell, one snap and Eve was driving with him and two joys over to his place.

Around then, more drinks were drained out the bottle. Even a special mix of drugs started circulating the system. Oddly enough, to Eve’s surprise, Hulk had a cat in his place from the litter box in the bathroom. “Oh? You look for my main pussy?” He said, laughing hard enough to shake the girl on his lap. “It's around here somewhere. Cute little shit, I got it off of someone and it stook around.” How anyone stook around him was beyond her, but Eve didn’t let that show on her face. Instead, her fingers started to focus on the strings playing off her fingers. It was easy getting lost in the rhythm, beat after beat flew out of her in no time. The mix of drinks plus whatever shit Hulk had also played a major role in making her start to fly too, losing an increasing amount of focus to the original intention for her to be here.

The drugs turned everything brighter, shinner. The shit lights around his place like stars, swirling around her vision with each of her strings sending a spark.

Eve was getting on a fast plane to cloud nine, and fucking way she was coming down.

Fuck. She should’ve laid off, but the sweet taste of something easy ain’t a thing to pass up when shaking her closet got more demons than angels. It made everything looser, turning pain to pleasure, but a stubborn crawler wormed its misshapen head out with a reminder she was on a gig. It didn’t need to offer some motivation for her to act though, once consciousness came too, Hulk was losing his shit on a girl.

Wrong. Fucking. Move.

Did he not see the name tattooed across her chest? Blind motherfucker.

“Hey, Hulk.” She stopped playing, gaining the man’s attention who turned with a look all these types had when getting rough with a joytoy. The kind of cold stare wondering why a bitch was yapping without a muzzle on.

“Did I say you could stop playing?”

“Nah, but I thought you might like to hear what it's like getting the sound knocked against your chrome, choom.” Hulk was big, hefty, and could rock a small thing like Eve down flat without much effort. She knew this without needing to be told. The things working in her favor this instance though, both of them were drunk, high, and Eve was a fast motherfucker swinging her base.

The fight was a blur. The BD overlying this trip to memory lane cut things in some places, Eve was pretty sure one of the girls had gotten a hold of his gun. The two shots fired at the ceiling bringing that distinct memory into place, along with the shattered glass of her body being flinged outside the window. Eve would have to walk outside to check if that girl lived, but afterwards? She recalled digging the ax of her bass into his chest, getting him off balance enough to grab hold of his gun.

She didn’t want to admit the rush she got, firing one shot after another into Hulk's skull till it turned into paste. At one point, Eve didn't even see the brute anymore. A mass of imaginary figures slid over him, each shot changing him into a new man.

A lot of them looked like Adam.

Eve dragged her cig, glancing over the Hulk’s body to see a dried up spot of vomit. The exhale was far more than just smoke leaving her system. She needed to eat, and get something better in her system than a dead man’s coffee. The next turn of her gaze was over a small hairless cat, taking a spot next to her with guileless eyes empty of all thoughts. Did it even care if Hulk was dead? She wondered, scooping the cat up in her arms.

“Alright little...” Eve pulled up its collar, seeing the cats name labeled as pus—

She ripped the collar off. “Angie, or whatever the fuck I decide on. You’re under new care now. Keep the claws off the leather seat.” She said, pulling out aviators from her jacket pocket and resting them over her eyes. The sun was going to kill her this morning.

----

The drive to Arroyo was much more bearable once she bought herself something warm and uncaffeinated. A bacon egg and cheese, with side drink of Diente Dorado got Eve feeling perky. “You want some bacon Leo?” She purred at the kitten resting in her jacket, taking refuge against threats abound. Sharp eyes, Eve didn’t blame her new friend’s nerves. The streets of Arroyo ain’t a cozy atmosphere, leering eyes of predators were abound here.

It didn’t help either that while Eve wore blue, it sure was missing some red and whites to fit the 6th Street gangs branding. Neither did her Mox tattoo, boldly inked across her open chest unhidden from view. This wasn’t her neighborhood, but it seemed in the coming days Eve was going to have to get more cozy with the locals. She munched causally from her bike, taking a quick scoop from a high vantage overviewing Vance auto shop. It looked like shit, but dangerous? Still up for debate. What wasn’t up for question though was a distinct pink MaiMai driving up towards the auto shop, and if her ears ain’t completely shot — it was playing horrendous music.

Her luck was turning questionable by the minute.

“Breakfast over Teddy. We got some crew to meet and take a shit on if needed.” She curled a finger under the cat’s chin, rubbing it to earn herself a purr before settling back on her bike to drive up to the auto shop. Eve arrived a short few minutes later, enough time for additional geared up gonk stroll up with a wisp of smoke over him.

Cute. Meathead.

Eve parked her bike, leaving her bass on its side but strapping her pistol inside the back of her torn up jeans. She leisurely walked up to the pair, busted bottom lip turning a nice plum color with her aviators doing the muscle work to hide her blackout eyes. There was nothing disguising the cat curled up in her blue-black jacket looking like a bulge, poking its head out in curiosity towards a new environment awaiting him blasting music.

“Kali, you five seconds before I get our mystery man's attention with a shot out if you don’t turn that shit down.” Eve said, tiredness turning her voice harsher,”How the fuck you even driving your Ma’s car over here? And with this big motherfucker here,” She pointed a blue metal thumb at John,"New mini lunch you brought over? Surpised he fit."

 

[Zerulu]

Kade De León

Synth-eggs and wraiths

\\Who? What?? WHERE???//

Pit pat pit pat pit pat​

Rain hounded the windscreen of Kade’s borrowed Galena G240, which worked better in park rather than in drive. “Fucken gonks,” poking at his synth-ramen doused in what was advertised as ‘authentic’ soy sauce, “I asked for NO synth-egg.” With a slow roll down of the window, the cardboard container took a swift exit out of the car, its contents spilling on the street, “Wasn’t hungry anyway.” Eating street food only developed Kade’s hunger for some ‘real’ food cooked by his mother, but this was his life now. Before he could get too lost in his nightly ritual of self-wallowing, a message came through, somewhat glitchy it was. He had to get a new cyberdeck.

He had gotten word back from that crew that Ares used to lead. They wanted him to go on some wild goose chase to test if he was ‘trustworthy’ or something of the sort. A futile endeavour; no one was trustworthy in this city, a lesson Kade knew all too well. However, he was still in need of eddies, and being in a crew guaranteed gigs, guaranteed eddies, so he’ll entertain their little vetting process. To say Kade had second thoughts once he read the mission details is an understatement;

‘Wraiths…. Badlands…. Service station….. Supply closet…. Datashard… coords sent…’

“Fuck.”​

Getting something from the badlands was bad enough, but from the wraiths? Took a special kind of stupid even to consider it. Or desperate. Kade happened to be that special kind of desperate. Starting the engine to his Galena, Kade had made up his mind; he’ll either die or live just long enough to regret accepting this trial gig. Cruising down the highway, Kade couldn’t help but rant to himself, “Preem, just fucken preem. Send me to the badlands to get some stupid datashard from the FUCKEN WRAITHS! Do they want me dead or sumthing? Is this a tasteless joke, a hopeless mission they give to failed applicants to laugh about between themselves?” His hands gripped the steering wheel harder, “Well, I’ll fucken show ‘em, I’ll show ‘em just how much of a joke I am.” Twisting the wheel violently, the car swung off the main road and onto the dirt roads that were signature of the badlands.

‘Cooler heads will prevail’​

A mantra Kade would repeat in his head. Who knows, maybe this wasn’t such a fruitless effort anyway? The wraiths probably aren’t even expecting him. With the radio off, the rest of the trip was rather sombre, just the dim headlights lighting the barren dirt road and heavy breathing complimented by some heavy rain. How symbolic. It wouldn’t be much longer. However, to Kade, it already felt like an eternity. A pit in his stomach so strong it could muster up its own gravitational force, was he really about to do this? Hedge all his bets on a promise? Given Night City’s reputation, it was a dumb thing to do, and with someone of Kade’s experience, it was almost suicide to trust a promise. But here he was, between the last crossroads to hell, or rather the service station.

“Malditos espectros”​

Here he was, parked a short walk away from the target. He could already see the lights from the wraiths. Usually, life in a place so barren would be considered beautiful, ‘The beauty of life in death.’ In this case, it lost a lot of what made it beautiful. His archaic, by modern standards, eye implants couldn’t give too much intel on what he was dealing with.

‘Four life signs detected, armed.’​

Not much good that intel was. He could already see four of them with his naked eye, and them being armed was a given. Kade’s approach to conflict was, for lack of a better word, unorthodox. He knew a fight with these ‘people’ was unavoidable, but it was better to blindside these people and give them a reason to hesitate. “Hello? I think I need directions.”

Emerging from the shadows with his arms outspread to show no weapons. All attention was now on him, “Looky here fellas, a little gonk wantsa know where ta go!” The one in a red jacket perched up, his comrade next to him with a very obvious accent replied, “Da… maybe we can help friend. Show him arounda place, haha!” The two wraiths that spoke continued to approach him, their posture poor, backs slouched, but in either hand, Kade could see some iron. The one in red and his comrade eventually reached arm's length, placing his literally ratchet hand on Kade’s shoulder, “Let me’s help ya friend.”

Giving them a sly smirk, Kade responded awfully confidently, “Won’t actually be needing help anymore, friend.” in a quick motion, Kade’s arms seemed to disassemble and, in an even quicker motion, reveal two massive blades, each now with one victim skewered on them. “God, I love these things.” With the eerie joy and happiness of a child who had just woken up on Christmas, Kade now brought all his attention to the two remaining wraiths, who, in their arrogance, assumed their two buddies would have the situation sorted. With their guard down, Kade lunged for the next closest, distinguishable by their neon pink mohawk. In two swift motions, the left blade sliced through the neck, and the right blade punctured the gut.

The fourth and last Wraith now had time to acclimate to the situation. Displaying fear more than anger. A small pistol in the Wraith’s right hand, his hand shaking too much to get an accurate shot, “Put the pistol down, you stupid fucken Gonk.” Apparently, this was enough for the wraith to suddenly gain enough confidence in his abilities, opening fire on Kade.

Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Click… Click​

“Looks like someone’s out.” Stunned in fear, the Wraith didn’t run, instead shying away from the slowly approaching Kade, eventually falling onto his back, “N-no, please… I didn’t… didn’t mean to shoots ya.” Kade simply shook his head, followed by the shaking of his mantis blades, the microvibration generator doing its work. The job was now complete. With the Wraiths indisposed, all Kade had to do was retrieve the datashard. What his initial scans failed to pick up was the Wraith bruiser still inside the service station, waiting for their chance. As Kade approached the door, it didn’t open. Instead, it flew into him. Explosion, after explosion was all Kade could hear as he was pushed back, slowly catching himself up to speed on what was going on. “THOUGHTS YA COULD ZERO ME WRAITHS AND BE DONE WIV IT, EH? NOT TODAY GONK, NOT TODAY!” Lying on his back, reminiscent of the scared Wraith, it all seemed rather hopeless for Kade. Shot after shot from the bruiser's power shotgun rung through the air, peppering Kade.

‘Internal weave integrity running at 45% efficiency.’​

He had to do something, and fast. With the bruiser approaching his body as he continued to fire, Kade unhooked his only backup weapon off his belt, a small neurotoxin knife. In between the blasts of the shotgun, Kade took his chance, throwing the knife and implanting it in the bruiser’s neck. Silence finally fell upon the service station once again. With the toxins entering the bruiser's body, he quickly dropped his shotgun, both his hands rushing up to the wound in his neck. His body would shortly meet his shotgun on the ground. Kade’s adrenaline booster kicked into overdrive, not letting his body rest just yet. Backed up by his synthetic lungs, he was in no short supply of oxygen. “Ok… Ok, Datashard.” The fight was over. Kade’s body just wouldn’t let him believe it yet. Able to quickly charge into the service station and reach the storage room, he’d find the datashard sloppily hidden under a cardboard box, “There ya are ya bastard.”

__________________________________________​

During the drive, Kade’s body was able to relax. No longer working off of artificial adrenaline, he could adequately breathe again. Silence again fell inside the car; no radio; the rain had stopped long ago, and all that filled the air was Kade’s solemn breathing and the noise of the screams that still played on in his mind. The truth was, killing never got any easier. No matter how many times you did it or saw others kill, the guilt remained the same. Kade latched onto that guilt, he didn't wallow in it, but he acknowledged it. He'd mourn everyone he killed, and it's what kept him human, kept him sane. Arroyo was a fair distance from the Badlands, but then again, so was everything; this gave Kade some time to think and think about what he was getting himself into. He hadn't formally joined an actual gang since his NCPD days, and soon he was about to be in a new crew. Time will tell how working with others will compare to running solo. Maybe it'd do him some good.

__________________________________________​

‘Hopefully, this meeting will be quick; the sooner I get to a ripperdoc, the better’, he thought to himself. Significant damage had been given to his internal weave, damage further leaking into his internals. Nothing fatal yet, but it's best looked at sooner rather than later. As he stepped out of his car and took in a swift breath of Arroyo's familiar air, a new chapter of Kade’s life had just begun. His beat-up Galena would be the least aesthetically pleasing vehicle amongst those already at Vance's meet-up place. A pink car and a bike.

Parking his car across the road from the auto shop, he could make out three figures already there. After he was halfway across the street, he figured he could see two Moxes and a, well, something. An interesting group already, not very 6th street aligned, but then again, neither was he. He'd missed all previous conversation, just barely, half being too far away and half being lost in his own head again. The first thing the group would notice about Kade was his tattered off-white tank top, which was better off in a dump rather than being worn; he outstretched his arms as he presented himself, flashing his extensively augmented arms, "Hope I'm not interrupting some sort of important Mox business," he quickly followed his joke up with an introduction, "Kade." his arms gestured towards himself, "That's me." as if it wasn't painfully obvious already.

 

[RikuXIII]

Naomi "Net-Fly" Ali

"I know what's real."

The pixelated and impressionist world of the net twinkled around Naomi as she ventured forward. The ICE here was more robust than expected. With her closing in on the last firewall, she was very careful with her movements so as not to cause too many "ripples" in the virtual world. If she could get through the ICE without triggering it's more extreme reactions, then that would look really good for this audition. Taking a knee next to a flickering doorway, Naomi observed the pattern a few moments before putting her hand against it, the image of a dragonfly appearing where she touched it. This last barrier would take a little time to crack unnoticed, but she wasn't rushing this. Not when there wasn't a need. That changed a moment later when the world around her turned red, accompanied by a high pitched whine.
"Mèd!" Naomi swore as she whirled around.
Something had tripped the ICE, and now it was searching for her. She was almost certain she hadn't done anything wrong, but that wasn't much of a comfort in the moment. Naomi caught sight of moment to her right. She dove out of the way as pixelated lightning struck where she had been. She rolled up onto her feet and sprinted around the room. More flashes of the ICE's active countermeasures hit as she prepared a few tricks. Her digital form split into two copies. One kept moving, launching a few cursory viruses at the ICE, while the other returned to the doorway to keep working on a way through. With the need for subtly gone, she took a figurative hammer to the firewall. The two versions of Naomi would switch roles as needed to keep the ICE from nailing her.
With the young netrunner nearly through, she felt a ripple in the construct around her. She was experienced enough to deduce it was someone else trying to break in as well. From the ripples, this person was an amateur with the light touch of a tank. But they were getting closer, likely launching their attack at the weak points Naomi had used to get to this point. The ICE's countermeasures weren't firing as much, so they must be focusing on the gonkbrain trying to muscle in.
"Fine with me." Naomi muttered as her doubles switched jobs again.
With a spray of pixels, the rival netrunner burst in. His representation was grainy, but pretty rotund. Despite the size, he deftly dodged more counter measures as he surged forward.
"Who they hell?" The gonk croaked as he caught sight of someone else.
Naomi took a moment to refocus herself, the two doppelgangers recombining into one. With surprising speed, the gonk launched a few bolts of electricity himself at Naomi, the sign of quickhacks in this place. Normally a good move, but with the Raven Microcyber Mk.4 in her skull, these attacks slowed to a near crawl in the digital space. Naomi sneered as she countered with her own quickhacks.
"Get lost, gomi!" She called out as her attacks hit, causing the gonk to seize up as his physical body was likely doing the same under the affects of Short Circuit.
The gonk was stunned for only a few moments, but that was enough for the countermeasures to catch up with him. A scream rang out as his form was reduced to individual pixels, then nothing. If he was lucky, he'd just wake up with a massive headache. If not, well...Naomi wasn't going to shed a tear. With one more blow, she was through the wall, with the data waiting there all nice and ready for her....

Naomi's eyes snapped open and she gasped as she twisted in her netrunner chair. After a few deep breaths, she reached out and grabbed a bottle of water she had left there. She downed nearly half of it before letting up. She looked around the dingy reality of her apartment as she readjusted to life outside the net. That had nearly been a disaster with that creepo jacking in. But she still got out with the goods. That deserved a little reward.

***​

Naomi banged on the warehouse door with her fist, then took a few steps back. She enjoyed one last puff on the cigar she had before dropping it and snuffing it out. When the door was opened, she smiled and held up a data shard.
"Us Cracks vintage demo reels, only available to gold tier members of their fan club. And now, us. Do I pass?"

 

[Cadborosa]

Salem Fields

"Here I Am"

A smokey gunpowder smell hung in the air of the bustling streets of Kabuki. Salem felt the pit in his stomach grow vaster than the neon-lit sky of Night City. The emotions practically shot around in his mind. He felt the sadness of parting with the relative safety of his old life, but there was also anticipation for the no-seatbelts thrill ride that was about to commence.
Either way, it's time. Earlier, Salem had placed a couple of decoy explosives at the opposite end of the Maelstrom's disgusting Kabuki base. Those concrete walls color hide under the blood stains and waste. Salem could only hope he wouldn't end up adding to those stains. Walking with the crowd, heart racing, he shot into the alleyway. "Come on, calm down, stupid heart. Want me to replace ya?" he softly growled, readying his Grapplewire, "It's simple, get the safe that doesn't have a bomb, avoid getting shot, and escape, never to return here. Totally simple." Salem closed his eyes, listening. This simple plan started like any other brilliant plan, with an explosion. As soon as he heard that cue, Salem nervously climbed the cold concrete wall to the second story with the help of the Grapplewire, the strong gusts chilling him to the bone. Plus, the simple grip tape he slapped onto his shoes was not helping his fears. Before Salem could regain his composure, the second timer went off. Almost dropping his bat and having a heart attack, he slammed it into the window. The glass shards sprayed out, reflecting the neon light that leaked into the ally in variously beautiful ways. It'd have been dazzling. Salem's mind was too busy thinking of every way things could go south to appreciate the sight as he swung into the window with a few cuts, wincing as the glass crunched under his weight.
The question of whether he just busted his stealth operation was shoved to the back of his head as he dashed through the wooden storage room door, coming face to face with a Maelstrom. Salem's heart jumped out of his chest as those glowing red Maelstrom eyes peered into his entire being. They stared at him, wanted him dead, and knew he was dead. The eyes. The eyes. The eyes. The eyes. The eyes.


Snapping out of the initial shock as if his brain dumped cold water over him, he flicked his pistol and barely flatlined the booster in time. Sound carried throughout the building, alerting anyone who didn't already know of his presence. At least I can stop worrying about if I ruined my stealth attempt, Salem figured, sighing. Booster's body lay on the floor, blood pooling around the new hole through their red eye. Salem covered his mouth, taking a step back. Don't hurl now. Those damn Maelstroms will be on me any second now, thought Salem, resisting his gag reflex. With a metallic click and beep, the explosive scanner started.

The door was rigged and barricaded. Iron fully loaded up. "Come on, Maelstrom Maniacs! I got a full sixty magazines with your name on them!" Salem shouted. He had six. The footsteps blended with his thundering heartbeat, thwarting his attempts to track their proximity.
THUMP
THUD
THUMP
THUD
THUMP
BANG
The bullets whistled their signature lullaby of death, passing over and into Salem's barricades. The door was more holes than wood after the first bullets barrage. In the reloading gaps, Salem unloaded a whole magazine into the doorway, just hoping he hit something at the very least. Bullets continued to fly until the scanner emitted a low electronic beep and flashed red. "Damn, just my luck," Salem growled, "Now I gotta clear all these boosters and get to the other safe. Two mags to do all that. I'm so dead." His eyes wandered over to the safe, gears turning in his brain. That's it! Salem's brain sparked an idea, attaching the safe cracker and pushing it against the wall. He used his Grapplewire to pull and rearrange his barricades. Goggles snapped on to protect his eyes. Nerves ran wild as a second felt like an eternity waiting for the safe to explode.

The safe cracked open, tripping the explosion. Knocking over Salem, the force and heat of the blast were more intense than he anticipated. His barricades fell up him, the safe door flying overhead. His ears were ringing as he shoved the debris off him and felt for the new hole in the wall. Salem forced himself past the small hole, scrapping his ganic skin against the brick. Their eyes darted around the room in a panic, desperate to find the safe before he inhaled a breath of smokey air, slamming his hand around to feel it, cutting himself on several spare knives before the chilled, small frame of a safe graced his fingers. The barricade crumbling in the other room made him jump as, once again, shots began to fire. Lungs practically burning, he pushed out of the smoke, the safe tucked underneath his arm. There wasn't much cover, and now he had two directions to worry about; it wasn't looking ideal. He groaned, realizing his only clear option. The window was practically calling his name. Here goes nothing, he supposed. With a running start, they slammed through the window, spraying the glass outward, escaping from the deadly building. Salem quickly turned, shooting his Grapplewire to the top of the building, slowing his descent for a second. The machine whirled and sparked before the wire snapped in half, sending him crashing into the glass. A guttural cough escaped Salem's throat.

He could feel his injuries catching up with him. Yet, he could also hear the Maelstroms attempting to do the same. "Rather die from blood loss than let those creeps catch me," Salem groaned, turning over and shoving himself off the glass-littered alley floor. They threw a stun grenade through the window before booking it down the alleyways, bloodied with people who weren't quick enough. He ran harder than ever before, the taste of blood filling his mouth as his feet slammed against the unforgiving concrete till he made it to his junk Ragnar. He slammed the door shut, body aching in ways he didn't even realize was possible. Opting to go to a back alley doc the further he could get from the Maelstroms, almost risking bleeding out. "If this chaos is the norm, this will be one hell of an interesting job," He morbidly chuckled. Several thoughts filled his head, one being the most prominent.

I hope this can help me find him... it had to.

------------

One rough morning. That was the only way to describe Salem's troublesome trip to the warehouse. But he did make it there in one piece, with his car gaining several new scars.

The half-open tired eyes of Salem Fields watched the warehouse for an almost peaceful moment till the roar of another engine bolted him from slipping into the old comfort of the peeling seat. His body jolted up before his brain processed anything, causing his skull to slam into the car roof. "Ow!" Salem yelped before sinking back into the seat, rubbing his head. Great. It just had to be one of those days, huh? Salem bitterly thought to himself. Deep breaths. The nervousness he felt about entering that warehouse was worse than the actual job. So many things could go wrong. What if the safe isn't the right one, or maybe they meant to steal it from another compound, or what if he doesn't meet some extra test, or what if it's a trap?

Body heating up from the stress, Salem quickly snatched his chilled water bottle, chugging it. It didn't help much, given he was almost melting from the inside out. He knew he had to act fast to regain composure. Salem's palms delivered a decisive strike against his face right before forcing himself out of the car onto Night City's filthy pavement, saying a short farewell to the disfigured car interior. While not the safest place, that interior provided him some form of comfort. But he knew he couldn't stay in a bubble if he wanted to live in Night City.

Hearing people on the other side, he slid the door open enough to squeeze inside, feeling the door press against his body before quietly closing it behind him. The door clicked shut. Now, it feels like everyone's staring at me, Salem thought, head aimed at the ground as his feet carried him to the nearest corner, carefully setting the safe down.

 

[Steve Jobs]

Vaitiaré Herschel

Vaitiare stepped out of her car feeling somewhat relieved upon seeing the other vehicles in the lot. Not that she minded being a driver but she couldn't imagine the C240T surviving too many fights. It'd already been a decade old when her late father passed it down to her and she was sure that the recent mayhem has only sped up its aging process. The Machinaw (just barely recognizable under all the mods) looked like it was ready for war. Between the jagged grille, weapon mount, and copious amount of graffiti, it screamed nomad with a penchant for roadside battles. Even the Ragnar nearby seemed sturdy enough, though she greatly questioned the skill of the person behind the wheel. It didn't seem fair for the poor thing to have so many scratches, but that was her jealousy talking. If their crew was half as good as Ares' previous iteration, then she could buy a car for every day of the week!

...After she repaid her debts of course.

Waving the thought away, the woman approached the warehouse with a concerned expression. Everyone seemed so young. While she knew she started her career rather late, it felt wrong seeing people nearly the same age as her brother in the room. Even if she wasn't trying to cast judgment, she wondered if they would be better off working a normal job. They could have been lawyers, or doctors, or teachers. Sure, she could have been too but it was never an option.

She produced a brown bag from her pocket and glanced around. "Order for Nyx. Orochi eye...anyone?"

 

[StormWolf]

Diego “Cazador” Murrieta

//>_Nyx’s Warehouse, Watson

Seeing the pixelated emoticon on Rabbit’s visor, Diego smirked warmly to his fellow edgerunner and gave her a resigned shrug, as if to say ‘guilty as charged’. He tilted his head in a wolfish manner as he looked Rabbit over, enough to appreciate the suit and the figure that filled it without lingering in an uncomfortable duration. Abuela would crack her cane over his head.

“No mucho, hermana,” said Diego, “Just another day in the City of Dreams.” He settled into his seat with one scuffed boot resting over the opposite knee. Diego was wearing a candy-skull decorated t-shirt beneath his deltajack; merch from a joint called ‘Tacos Mijos’ in Haywood, by the look of it.

“Always, Conejita. Life is cheap, living is expensive, and Abuelita needs her sauce to stay civil,” Diego chuckled, a full-bodied thing that rolled up from his stomach all the way to his flashing smile. His siblings got the glamorous or safer jobs; Antonio with his VIP driving and Mercy being a gearhead for the clan, it fell to Diego to go into the city and pan for the proverbial gold. Diego was about to ask about Rabbit’s recent work when another figure fluttered into their proximity. He arched one split eyebrow at the newcomer, not seeming bothered or alarmed one bit.

It was Night City. Diego counted himself lucky the chick wasn’t screaming and lobbing flaming shit at them.

“AA? Well shit, if that’s the case I got a bottle of Bolshevik in the truck…” Diego said with a smirk. “Si, I’m here for… whatever-the-fuck Nyx is running. Cazador,” Diego tapped two fingers to his brow in a lazy salute. Blowing a coiling strand of black out out of his face, Diego rummaged in his jacket for his pack of cigarettes. Redwood brand, his favorite. The carryall with his own delivery was set neatly between Diego’s feet.

He had a cigarette hanging from his lips when the warehouse door rattled as a couple someones Diego could best describe as ‘little squirts’ wriggled through in quick succession to each other. He arched a brow, looking them over from head to toe, then shrugged, nodded at them with his chin, lighting his cigarette with a snap of his zippo. Diego took a quick draw, the cobalt gray smoke dribbling from casually smirking lips,

“Pass like a kidney stone,” Diego said to the bite-sized young woman who all but screamed Netjockey, but on seeing the familiar glare of a cigar winking at him, Diego decided that he liked the cut of her jib. Up next was a young man in the same general bracket, though inversely to the chairjock, the poor buy looked about ready to melt into his shoes.

“Welcome to the party, choom,” Diego said in casual greeting to the newcomer. Diego tried to be open-minded and flexible in his thinking, not judge a book by its cover, no matter how borderline panicked and sweaty the book in question seemed to be. He honestly felt a little more at ease. It had started to look like Diego would be the only set of testicles in the crew before the boy-wonder showed up, which would have earned him a non-stop stream of flack from Mercedes back at camp.

Diego had tracked the boy with the safe as he trudged over to a corner, the Nomad idly puffing his cigarette the whole while. The metallic creak of the door snagged Diego’s attention again, drawing his blue-gray eyes over to what was probably the biggest, baddest looking woman he’d seen since Woodchipper herself.

Diego didn’t count the folks in the Animals. They were all manner of wrong. Grotesque, even.

“Well shit, we’re one Rockerboy and a keg short of a party,” Diego said with a low chuckle like molasses, tilting his head to look over the proffered paper bag. “None for me, thanks. Watching my figure,” Diego mused with a smirk, patting one shovel-sized hand against his abdomen with a low thump in triplicate.

“It’s lookin’ like our host is waitin’ on everyone to trickle in… This all of us?” Diego asked, his question directed at nobody in particular as he swept his gaze from one corner of the warehouse to the other. As things went, this was a pretty decently-sized Crew the Fixer had gathered together. Diego was relieved that some of them seemed to have their own means of transportation. While they could fit in the Tatanka they would need to get really friendly, really quick.

 

[Saavedra]

Graye Winfrey

WHITE RABBIT persona - Early evening, Watson, Nyx´ Warehouse

Rabbit didn´t even mind Diego checking her out, or at least what he could see under her poncho. Her PantherAmerica legs cost a small fortune and although you couldn´t tell while they were encased in her tight bodysuit, there was a reason for that. You could fit a whole lot of power in a fine-looking package, and Militech had a thing for that. And to be perfectly honest with herself, if there was going to be anyone ogling her, Diego was one of the few people she did not mind doing that. White Rabbit knew herself well enough to know she was an Aldecaldos fangirl to the heart.

Diego´s comments on Abuela´s drinking habits met an insistent nodding from her. It was not the way any person normally nodded, but White Rabbit was a walking cartoon having to do without the more subtle facial language. "Wouldn´t dream of denying Abuela her little pleasures, no!"

Rabbit had her back turned to the next person to approach, and only realized they were coming when Diego looked their way. Standing with her oversized gauntlets clasping each other behind her back, the girl simply activated her rollerblades with a thought and positioned her feet to spin around slowly and face the newcomer. Someone who, to Rabbit´s surprise, she was also happy to see. "Amélie! Mon amie!" The pink rabbit smiley showed again on Rabbit´s visor face, accompanied by fireworks, as she rolled slowly toward the young woman with arms outstretched...

... and then stopped, a chilling thought crossing her mind.

She knows. It wasn´t exactly panic that hit Rabbit then, but there was definitely a reaction in her brain that put her on high alert. Because unlike Diego, Amélie had met White Rabbit before. Worked for her, actually. But not just for Rabbit. The young detective had also met Graye Winfrey, and that shook Rabbit to the core. It was not a simple case of an embarrassing secret being at risk. White Rabbit and Graye Winfrey were two different people living in the same body, but they were never supposed to live in it at the same time. The faux cheerfulness of Rabbit died like a candle thrown into the sink when Graye´s habitual coolness tried to push itself into the situation. It was not exactly a case of double personality, or bipolarity or anything like that... it was more like a psychological shortcircuit. A moment of stilllness in body and spirit that lasted long enough for Rabbit to realize that she was standing there, awkwardly, with her arms out towards the British runner. Half-composing herself in a hurry, Rabbit stuck one leg up in the air and slid backwards, away from the detective, at the same time she threw her arms up and behind her head and showed Amélie an emoji with a winking eye and a stuck-out tongue. She was glad that nobody could see her frankly worried face under her helmet.

"Oops, sorry! Was going to kiss you like you Euros like to do, but I´m not sure, you might enjoy that too much after all!" The voice synthetizer was really, really good, and Rabbit was quite grateful for that. You almost couldn´t tell the doubt and harried tone, if you had not caught up the weird way she stopped halfway to hugging Amélie, or at least trying to.

She was not done yet throwing a playful jab at Amélie when others came in. Another young woman she had never seen before, a boy that really didn´t look too well but whose hair made her go "Fluff..." audibly enough for anyone close to hear, and... a huge woman who honestly was kinda awesome, in a way, and immediately seemed to dominate the place with her presence. Hers, and that of the brown bag in her hand. Her very vague, joking explanation of what it was had Rabbit doubting her for a second, before she considered that if you thought about it for a moment, she was probably being perfectly literal. And her prosthetics really did not make her look like much a of a jokester. Still a bit spooked from recognizing Amélie, Rabbit couldn´t help letting that get through to her even if just a little bit. She rolled back toward the stupid golden cross, rather subdued, bent down at her knees to pick it up in a way that was rather lady-like for a lagomorph, and hugged it to her fairly outstanding bosom. Christ´s head, looking kinda scary or just ridiculous depending on how the light shone on it, ended up at roughly the same height with Rabbit´s visor. Driven toward exerting some control over herself and seeking a distraction from the sudden weakness in her head, Rabbit took a few deep breaths and projected the Christ´s face on her visor, with a pixelated image that turned from gold to pink. A silly gesture, really, but it helped...

 

[LuckyOuie]

KALI LIWANAG ♡

SMALL TALK

Kali thought she would be fashionably late. She made an effort to look like one of the cool kids, turns out she was early. She scanned the area with the aid of her kiroshi optics behind her mother's dusty aviators. To her disappointment, it looked like she was the first one there. "... Where are my choombas?"

Kali jerked her head to the sudden sound of a familiar voice.

Kali saw Eve. Her striking blue hair was hard to miss a mile away. When she meant she was looking for choombas she didn't expect it to be taken literally. Eve was a familiar face, a pleasant surprise.

"Eve! You're in this shindig too!?" Kali shouted excitedly as she raised her hand high and waved at the rocker girl. Still the same old Eve, Eve's way of greetings and formalities were threats and banter.

Kali switched off the car's engine along with the radio.

"How the fuck you even driving your Ma’s car over here?"

Kali with her quick wits responded, "With style, obviously." She adjusted her shades and flipped her hair. She, then, briefly took her aviators down to get a good look at her old Mox friend.

"And with this big motherfucker here,” Eve continued.

"What big motherfucker?" Kali looked around again and saw a giant in their presence. Her body jumped a bit, almost making the shades fall off of her hands. "D-da–dayum!" Kali blurted out as she spun to look at the beast. Her neck moved up and down to see this person fully. "That IS a big motherfucker." How long has he been standing there? Kali wondered.

Kali’s eyes traveled at the beast once more. This giant was behind a suit that looked tough and used, smoke was coming from the back as if he had just gotten off from a mission. He was just a stranger, possibly a co-merc for Vance but, still, Kali thought it was best not to get on his bad side.

Kali instinctively walked backwards from the giant, moving herself a little closer to Eve. "‘Sup?” Kali attempted to greet him as she tried to regain her composure. She coughed and gulped the remaining awkwardness down.


So far it was a small party of three. Kali heard footsteps nearby, when she'd turn, a young man wearing worn down clothes started to approach them.

"Sorry. Got no spare eddies here. Look for other chooms." She waved a palm out, warning him off.

"Poor guy. Looks like shit." Kali whispered to Eve while using a hand to hide her mouth, wanting to be sympathetic to the man's situation.

It was sad enough to be homeless, it was even sadder to be homeless in this side of Night city. Then her eyes darted to his flashy augments. The way chrome ran through his forearms wasn't like that of a beggar.

"Kade… that's me."

It was a mistake to dismiss the man before he talked. It appears the number of party members was only increasing. "Oh haha my bad." Kali scratched the back of her head.

“The name's Kali, but you probably know me as the hotshot netrunner… Kaliente. ” Kali introduced herself then paused, allowing her nickname to settle deep in the hearts and minds of her fellow edgerunners. It would be a drink in the Afterlife one day. She took her index finger and made it touch the tip of her tongue then quickly to the side of her hip, making a hissing sound as if to extinguish a flame. She was hot and she knew it. Supernova. She immediately nudged Eve’s shoulder. “Aren't I, Eve?” Kali needed someone to vouch for her.


With the four standing in the auto shop's driveway, Kali suspected that everyone gathered here were for Vance's gig. So, is this everyone? She asked herself. Then, she heard the high pitched screech of rubber burning into asphalt. A Kusanagi came into view. Kali raised her brows. Loud entrance. Nice Ride. Respect that. Kali thought.

The rider was a young man wearing all black. The only saturation that he had on him were his golden eyes. He wore a fancy trench coat, so, was he like a Morgan Blackhand wannabe? Further thoughts Kali had on him dissipated when she saw the Arasaka briefcase in his hand. She was more intrigued about the briefcase than anything else. Soon, the man would join the group.

"Preem package…" Kali commented, her words rolling out slow and smooth "-- The one in your hand, I mean." She suddenly added, stammering a bit.

She cleared her throat loudly. Trying to regain control of the conversation, she asked a question. "What's inside?" She said.

Despite asking, Kali didn't expect an answer. She had asked something of a complete stranger. Eve, aside, everyone here was a stranger.

Kali knew what she had done to get here, she didn't know what the others had to do.

She mentioned chooms but, besides Eve, they weren't exactly all choombatas yet. Not until Kali gained more info on all of them and figured out just who these people were.

 

[Purity]

UNDISCLOSED WAREHOUSE

Northside, Watson, Night City

At Net-fly's incessant knocking, the door to the warehouse creaked open on rusty hinges. The face of a seemingly young girl peeked out from behind it.

"Oh. It's you guys."

There was a glint of silver that was visible for a brief moment as she tucked away a revolver behind her back. An Overture, it looked like. Her large jacket concealed any signs of her carrying even as she turned around and disappeared back into the warehouse, door slamming shut behind her.

A couple seconds later one of the much larger garage doors grinded open, revealing the contents.

The stuff stored inside had certainly seen better days, and boy was there quite a lot of it. The place itself was large enough to have several garage doors leading in, but it wasn't something that was immediately apparent in the maze of fading cargo crates, dusty covers concealing mystery items that had been lost to time, and some construction equipment that looked more as if they needed help moving as opposed to helping move anything else. Not to mention the metal walkways around the perimeter and crisscrossing over the tops of everything, more doors that lead to God knows where, and a hydraulic elevator that possibly meant this chaos was repeated on another floor. The same girl was leaning slightly at the entrance.

"Name's Atara, but I don't suppose I'm the one people are looking for. Come with me."

Atara kicked off the garage frame and snaked through the narrow pathways formed by the literal walls of stored items with a familiarity that spoke volumes about how long she'd spent in the place. Once everyone else had found their way over, she punched a red button that caused the whole thing to lurch before otherwise descending smoothly.

The next floor down was an unbelievable contrast to the previous. It was as if they'd stepped into some luxurious clubhouse: dim neon lights, black couches and furniture everywhere, even a full-on bar. There was a pale-haired man lounging on one of the couches, and he gave them a lazy wave as they entered.

The only thing that seemed out of place was in one of the corners, there were dozens of monitors all overlooking a couple deep diving seats. And in one of those seats, in a black netrunning suit with glowing red accents, was Nyx.

"How nice of everyone to join us down here."

The most disconcerting thing was that the voice resounded through the room even before there was a hiss and Nyx disconnected from her port. Her voice was much less otherworldly when it was coming from her, though the smile really didn't fit the eerie array of red eyes.

"I suppose it’s show and tell time, then. What’s everyone brought?”

Cadborosa (Salem) ▽ StormWolf (Diego) ▽ Steve Jobs (Vaitiare) ▽ Jealousy (Amelie) ▽ RikuXIII (Naomi) ▽ Saavedra (Graye)

777th Street Auto Shop

Arroyo, Santo Domingo, Night City

There was a rather pleasant smell of wood smoke wafting through the air as the sun carpeted the sky in her dying blazes. Pleasant, but it still had a rough time cutting through the nauseous stench of piss and gas that normally permeated the city air.

The sound of the Kusanagi was what made someone kick out from working underneath a raised truck and pull out her earbuds.

"Wow, this late already? 'Sup, choombas. You can call me Candy."

Candy took an already dirty rag and wiped some of the grease on her face before spitting out a lollipop stick. She thumbed the auto shop behind her.

"This is my place. Well, actually my dad's, but, well, he's not really in the condition these days to come out, so it's just me. And the folks like y'all who Vance drags here. Speaking of…"

She walked over to a van parked outside the shop and gave the back a knock.

"Yo, Vance."

Nothing. There was a very abrupt escalation in volume as she violently kicked the side of the van.

"VANCE, WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

There was a thud inside, and the back doors opened slowly.

For having fought in a war, Vance was surprisingly not very chromed out. It just made the muscle he did pack more intimidating as he stretched and yawned. That, and for some reason he was wearing sunglasses, as if he'd fallen asleep with them on.

"Didn't expect the fuckers to show up so damn early."

He slammed the doors to the van shut as he walked back over to the group.

“Is this everyone? Why’s there so few people?”

Candy sighed and crossed her arms, a look of complete exasperation overtaking her face. “Fuckin' hell, you told me to only ask these people.”

Vance smirked. “Ah, right.”

He seemed to give everyone in the group a cursory glance, before he leaned against the truck that Candy had been working on.

"So, got a question to ask. What are you gonks expecting to get out of this, anyway? What makes you tick? What're your dreams?"

He took off his sunglasses to reveal piercing blue eyes.

"Because you sign up with Vance, you better be fucking ready to start the fire."

Zerulu (Kade) ▽ @DonutCRY (Jin) ▽ Inb4Cloaker (John) ▽ LuckyOuie (Kali) ▽ Mamori23 (Eve)

 

[RikuXIII]

Naomi "Net-Fly" Ali

Northside, Watson, Night City

Naomi's quick eyes sized up Diego, making a face at the kidney stone comment. But she cracked a grin when he went on.
"Nova." She said, realizing he was like her. A hopeful.
The netrunner opened her mouth to introduce herself when Atara opened the door and invited them inside.
"Hope everyone has the door fee." She said, beaming at the others.
Following Atara in, Noami's attention was a bit more on the other hopefuls than the surroundings. The big guy from before seemed to be a Nomad. At least she thought that's what the Aldecaldos were, from the patch on his jacket. There was another walking tank with some serious exposed chrome, though she didn't seem to have a patch like the guy. A rocker looking chick in white who seemed to know the Nomad, and the fourth individual. There was a...business look to the fourth that Naomi found familiar. She wasn't sure what though. Maybe something back in London? Naomi was still considering this when she noticed a fifth slip in. Fluffy headed choom not that much taller than she was. Quite too. Might be worth while keeping an eye on that one.
While Naomi's attention was mainly on the other mercs on the ground floor, her attention was fully on her surroundings when they reached the sublevel. Damn! A preem place like this needed lots of Eddies to keep up. A hopeful sign of things to come. With Nyx's introduction, Naomi promised herself once she had the capital, she was going to invest in a dope as apartment where she could set up her system like this.
"Preem Us Cracks demo reels." Naomi said, stepping forward to offer the shard to the former Maelstrom member. "Some surprising ICE protecting it."
Her eyes lingered on Nyx. She really wanted to ask other more...sensitive questions of the netrunner, but this wasn't the time. Not with so many new faces. Speaking of which, she half turned to the others while keeping her hand with the shard out for Nyx.
"And to start the ball rolling on at least basic intros for those of us not in the know, I'm Net-Fly." She said, giving the others a friendly smile. "As you probably guessed, my specialty has more to do with cyber troubleshooting than in the flesh shooting."

 

[Inb4Cloaker]

John Greene

Arroyo, Standing By

While he was still distracted by his efforts to stash away his gear and dissipate the remarkably stubborn smoke trail that was following him, a new potential crew member arrived. Initially, John did not pay any mind to this new visitor. It was only after he was addressed with the possibility of hostile intentions that he redirected his attention. Restricted significantly by his suit, the juggernaut was unable to turn his head and glance back towards the newcomer. John was forced to turn his entire body around until he was able to adequately view the relatively blue woman. For a moment, John thought that his lenses were over exaggerating her appearance, but a few blinks dissuaded him from that notion.

“WASTE NOT YOUR AMMO, HARLOT. I WILL SIMPLY HEAD-BUTT THE BULLETS OUT OF THE WAY.” John responded simply, sounding more tired than agitated underneath his vocoder. The sight of a small cat gazing back at John did have a positive affect on his mood however. It reminded him of Smoky.

The not so subtle reaction from the other woman who’s car he was using as a mirror caught his attention, however he did not hold her desire to put distance between the juggernaut against her. If he was in the same position, he’d also want to stay away from the smoldering, explosive covered figure. With the two Mox standing alongside one another, John slowly started to piece together their affiliations. He knew they were part of a similar group, but he wasn’t able to accurately identify that they were Mox just yet. Chalking it up to a lapse in memory, John responded to the pink jacket wearing lady with a relatively friendly thumbs up. This was unintentionally punctuated by an incendiary grenade falling free from one of his side pouches, bouncing off the concrete ground before finally resting next to the miniature mobile next to him. Upon noticing this, John spent the next few seconds making a casual attempt to clumsily bend low enough to recover the undetonated explosive.

He was not attentive enough to catch the arrival of the ragged man, but took notice shortly after standing straight up once more. Again, John had to turn his entire body around to face the newcomer before he could properly assess them. Their shirt was a torn mess, and John could quickly identify a few ballistic markings trailing over Kade. Despite being obviously injured, the man was still standing and making an effort to progress his mission. John recognized this feat of willpower, and offered the best advice he could muster.

“BROTHER KADE, IT MIGHT BE WISE TO SEEK OUT MEDICAL AID SOON. ALSO, ARMOR UP. IT HELPS.” His emotionless chemical mask crackled out, the blue lenses reflecting yet another wanderer who was summoned by Vance. He wondered how many would heed the call, up until Kade provided an answer to Johns aforementioned curiosity regarding the ties of the two women.

Mox were not a common sighting for Inquisitors, particularly for Johns relatively remote chapter. His only encounters were within the year he spent closer to night city, and he didn’t have much of an opinion on them. Still, having no opinion was better than having a negative opinion. At least they weren’t Maelstrom. As Kali introduced herself, John wracked his brain for anything he could remember about the self proclaimed hotshot netrunner. When nothing came to mind, he half shrugged and offered another, albeit less enthusiastic, thumbs up.

Before he got a chance to introduce himself or say something that might’ve done more to antagonize everyone around him rather than break the ice, another contender entered the fray. This one carried a blade, and from the looks of him, he knew how to use it. The fanatic was not big on using edges to cut down his enemy, since he was far from dexterous enough to swing a blade with any exceptional amount of grace or skill, but he still held respect for those that could. He responded promptly to his inquiry.

“NEGATIVE, SWORDSMAN. I SUSPECT WE WILL ALL MEET HIM SOON THOUGH…” The Inquisitor barked back, halfway reassuring himself that Vance would address the group soon. Or rather, that he’d make himself known.

The mention of another package by Kali elicited a confused response from John, who scanned the ever nearing swordsman again for the other package he was supposedly carrying. Tilting his head slightly and using one of his armored hands to wipe the visor of his helmet clear of debris, John called out over his shoulder.

“SISTER KALI, YOU SHOULD GET YOUR EYES CHECKED. THIS MAN HAS ONLY ONE PACKAGE.” Unlike Kali, John was not interested in knowing the contents of the package. If he was to be privy to its contents, he would no doubt be enlightened shortly. Unsurprisingly, the fanatic was unable to locate the second package the swordsman brought.

No sooner than the words echoed out of Johns vocoder did Candy come into view, followed by Vance. With the whole group evidently present and being addressed by the combat veteran, John redirected his attention to the blue eyed man. Being quick to identify a lack of chrome on the man, the fanatic crossed his arms over the steel plates that protected his chest. It was an unexpected, yet not unwelcome surprise to know that the veteran potentially relied on skill more than he relied on cyberware during combat.

Although he wasn’t sure as to exactly what a gonk was, the inquisitor felt that the term was most likely not a positive title to bestow. The answers to Vance’s questions were simple. Ever so slightly, John let the mask slip on his prior affiliations.

“FOR NOW, I EXPECT PAYMENT. LATER, I WILL DREAM OF SALVATION.” He didn’t provide an explanation on what made him tick, since it would become fairly obvious soon enough.

 

[LuckyOuie]

KALI LIWANAG ♡

ROAD TO THE AFTERLIFE

The young man in the trench coat was a complete grouch.

Kali didn’t expect a reply, but she didn't warrant a grumble. She placed both hands to her hips and let out a small "Hmph." from her pursed lips. Annoyed. Whatever.

"SISTER KALI, YOU SHOULD GET YOUR EYES CHECKED. THIS MAN HAS ONLY ONE PACKAGE."

"Yeah, I know that." Kali butted then quickly crossed her arms. She turned her head away from the tank with furrowed brows.

Kali forced herself to cool off. Maybe the katana-wielding man wasn't all that bad, moments ago, he had tossed a bounce back to Kade.

Looking back at Kade, not only was the homeless man packin' major cybernetics but a lot of battle scars as well.

Tattered clothes. Major chrome. Yet no money for a ripper doc, by the looks of it. Kali knew a chrome junkie when she saw one. They usually don't last long out in the streets. Hopefully he doesn't go psycho any moment.

Kali turned to Eve. Before she could relay her observations to her, Kali finally noticed the black eye hidden underneath Eve's aviators.

"Sheesh." Kali muttered, her head tilting slightly to view it. It didn't look pretty. Then again, no bruise does. But of course, it did not compare to Kade's. The netrunner just had more sympathy for her old Mox sister.

Obvious that Eve wanted to hide it, Kali chose not to say anything.

Thank god for Cyberspace. Kali thought. She had conquered Daemons and cracked through seemingly unbreakable ICE. Unlike meatspace, damages didn’t stay— at least, externally that is.

But it wasn't to say that Kali couldn't take a punch or a bit of lead coming her way. She had plenty of experience in a fight, courtesy of Kitty Claws.

The autoshop's owner emerged from her den and greeted Kali and the rest. Candy was friendly, Kali figured.

Candy called Vance and eventually, with effort, he followed.

It reminded Kali of how her own mother wakes her up in the afternoon. Candy and Vance must be family, or treated each other like one.

Kali straightened her posture, a bit of excitement building up in her. Eyes more attentive than ever. All her hard work had led up to this. After this meeting, she'd be working towards something bigger— grander than any of her past gigs. She deserved better. For the longest time, she waited for the major leagues and now she was knocking at the door.

Vance stepped out and questioned them all.

"What are you gonks expecting to get out of this, anyway? What makes you tick? What're your dreams?"

The way Vance talked sounded more like a rocker boy than a war veteran. His introduction was more dramatic than Kali's. It only hyped Kali even more.

After the katana-wielding man and armored beast shared their piece - - with the golden eyed boy actually handing Vance the suitcase - - It was Kali's turn.

"Have you heard the news? A Kang Tao AV up in ashes due to a malicious netrunner attack!” Kali said, imitating the voice of the reporter on the radio. “That was me. The name's Kali." She said, introducing herself with a rhyme she thought made her sound cool. "All for a chance to join this crew. If that doesn't scream the desire to start the fire, I don't know what does."

 

[Mamori23]

Eve Marlowe

PACIFICA, WATSON, ARROYO | Now It's A Party

Eve watched the familiar turn unfamiliar in a matter of minutes. Kali looked the same, attitude included; loud, proud, and still into pink. The little fruity pop. Eve practiced a healthy distance policy when it came to the other Mox, loving in bursts and appreciating the distance when it came. Who’d figure they’d link up here of all places?

“Eve! You're in this shindig too!?"

”I didn’t come here to see the sights, that's for sure.”

She replied back, losing the bark in her previous bite as if she hadn’t just threatened physical harm. Eve may practice in keeping Kali at arms length, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care any less for her fellow Mox’s back. She had taken a foot forward when Kali finally took notice of the giant standing around them, placing herself in front of the blonde without a beat of hesitation. “So, not your snack then, huh?” She questioned, spreading a teasing smirk right until ‘big motherfucker’ finally got a voice to fit the picture for his enormous frame.


“WASTE NOT YOUR AMMO, HARLOT. I WILL SIMPLY HEAD-BUTT THE BULLETS OUT OF THE WAY.”

“We’re throwing job titles, choom? Damn, I was gonna reserve asking about the job offer for cum dump, but we can talk shop. How much did they get you?” The aspiring young David challenged the goliath. The woman barely made it to the man’s neckline, much less his torso, but fucking hell could freeze over right now before Eve didn’t get a nail in this tank. The lingering effects of drugs were a hell of a thing to the danger senses—they typically lacked threat detection.

Among other detrimental factors.

She made hard eyes at the man, ignoring the kitten that made a pawed motion towards him with curiosity. Eve ignored the next arrival too, too caught up with sending threats through her shades that she missed Kade’s introduction. The memo finally reached only after Kali started making conversation, flicking her head to the side revealing small hints of plumage coloring the corners of her blue eyes. She scanned him up and down; ripped clothes, bloody, hurt and hanging on from either sheer luck or skill.

Whichever, guy knew how to use it, and well.

“The name's Kali, but you probably know me as the hotshot netrunner… Kaliente. Aren’t I, Eve?”

”Yeah, a real ten out ten crossing the net but minus ever lettin’ her try an attempt at a tune.” Eve gave, getting a wolfish grin nudging the other girl back from her arm. “I still got bills coming in from the last one.” The woman added, turning back a passive glance onto Kade trying to figure out this party's picture. It wasn’t average at the least, but workable was a separate discussion and Eve hadn’t got her opinions settled on them. Much less for the next guy to pull up. Tall, dark, and moody in ways fitting some drama film Eve watched on a slow night in-between gigs.

She bet he’s a real riot.

Eve rolled her eyes at Kali’s greeting, taking a vow of silence from both that joke or introducing herself towards Mr.Quiet. He at least did carry an interesting ‘package’, reading off the briefcase label with a low whistle as if calling at his ass passing them by. “Damn.” She slided with a snort, feeling the furry bundle caught up in her arm start getting restless from all the new faces. She threw a quick glance at Kali, catching the Mox's eye spotting her damaged face. Eve pressed her lips together, exchanging a silent message without a word: “Yeah, keep it quiet.” The coded happily read from her old friend, she moved a hand under the cat's chin scratching it till the kitten began purring when the owner finally dragged herself out to greet them.

Candy. Eve wondered if it was a name given cause she was sweet, or chosen from a selected interest in food. She threw a nod in greeting, tilting her head at the discovery that this was not in fact any of Vances property but hers. ‘Not Vance’s place?’ She wondered if the old vet was bumming around the place then, or if he had a more personal crib? She betted on the latter, watching said man come out in a yawn she’d wish she could be doing right now.

"So, got a question to ask. What are you gonks expecting to get out of this, anyway? What makes you tick? What're your dreams?"

Eve meant the man's stare with a smile more carnivorous then friendly at the dare to his challenge.

“Fuck a fire. I signed up hoping for brimstone and gun smoke. You can give the matches to the next one, I’m lookin’ for the bomb trigger to start a light show ain’t no one ever gonna miss.” She said proudly, showing a festering resentment buried deep, and likely to keep growing without any breaks to stop it. “You got any of that Vance? Or were you only hoping for a drop off of this pussy for you?” The rocker pulled out the kitten from her jacket, small blue eyes piercing back with a dull guileless stare that only a pet could pull off as cute. “A little gift from Hulk.”

 

[Saavedra]

Graye Winfrey

WHITE RABBIT persona - Early evening, Watson, Nyx´ Warehouse

Rabbit was not particularly impressed with Nyx´ warehouse. Or, when the group descended, with the establishment hidden underneath. Then again, few places could impress a corpo kid. At least, not enough to make them show their appreciation of the place openly and sincerely.

Graye had gone out into the city with her classmates more than once. Typical let´s slum it up with the plebs kind of business. It was something they did for fun, or so they said, but she was a smart girl and cool-headed enough to see through the nonsense. After the first time the boys and girls in her class dragged her out to one of those outings, Graye knew it was never really about having fun. At least, not the normal meaning of fun. As they made plans back at the academy, everyone would talk about excitedly about the people they were going to meet, the music they would listen to, the drinks they would try for the first time, how Graye absolutely had to come with them because that would be the best evening EVER... and then, for the next three or four hours, the results of deeply absorbed cognitive dissonance would play out in the same painfully predictable manner every time. Graye, who always had a cool head on her shoulders, would do her best to keep the group out of trouble, which was easier said than done. They were, after all, a bunch of spoiled, arrogant brats with more money than sense, would would complain and look down their nose at everyone and everything they ran into.

They wanted to try out new drinks, but they found all the drinks were terrible. They wanted to meet new people, but every customer and patron was ugly, ridiculous, brutish or just plain subhuman. Every building was old and decaying, every club dirty and stinky, every piece of music loud and distorted. And yet, that was just what they said, not what they actually thought. In fact, they loved that shit. All of it. Even dodging the trash piles and puddles of puke made their hearts race. But they couldn´t admit that out loud, because they could never, ever lower themselves to the level of a common citizen even among friends. Back at the academy, they were naive kids wanting to see something new and interesting and even dangerous, and that made Graye go with them the first time. But she saw that out in the streets, they all became that one judge from Night City´s Got Talent that was a complete gonk nobody liked, but made sadists laugh because he ripped every performance apart.

Corpo kids wanted to be part of Night City, but they knew they couldn´t enjoy that openly because that would be lowering themselves to the level of the plebs.

The first time Graye went out on her own, she drank something at some club that closed not long after, tried to dance before realizing she had picked one of those places where they only played music for people with genuine brain damage, ate a hamburger that did not taste at all like the real meat she usually had, and bladed home almost as fast as she did in competitions after she noticed she was being tailed by a group of gangoons who probably didn´t need someone to tell them the time of the day. She then spent two hours vomiting in her toilet, and paid 500 eddies to her doctor to not say shit to her mom. Which she probably did anyway, Graye realized some time later, but her mom had the grace to say nothing about it, probably figuring Graye had learned her lesson.

That little adventure of hers had been a thousand times more enjoyable than all the outings with the other school kids, and it did not really had the effect her mom thought it had.

Now, Rabbit stood among the edgerunners in Nyx´ club, or whatever the place was. And she was not impressed with the place not because she was a corpo kid suffering from a superiority complex, or because high class clubs looked better, or even because she had already been to enough clubs like this that it was nothing new to her.

She was not impressed because Rabbit knew that the most interesting thing about this place was that it was hidden right there, under a warehouse in Watson. What truly piqued her curiousity was not the bar, the couches, the lighting or anything else that you could see once inside, but rather whatever was out there that you could not see. There had to be other entrances leading to it. Other warehouses in Watson? Tunnels snaking through NC and coming up in other neighborhoods? And all of them hidden, like this, in a way that Nyx could presumably watch and control...

Well, Rabbit knew better than to be curious. What you didn´t know could kill you, but trying to find out whatever you didn´t know could also kill you. It would be up to Nyx to tell them whatever they needed to know, for now. Starting with the identities of the other runners here. Amélie and Diego, Rabbit already knew, but the others were unknowns to her. One of them introduced herself as Net-Fly, a netrunner. Didn´t really ring a bell, so Rabbit knew she would try and find out about her on her own. When young woman was done, the pause that followed pushed Rabbit to follow her example the very moment that pause began to turn uncomfortable. Her rollerblades activated and rolled her to a point somewhere in the middle between everybody else, at which point she put one hand over her rather outstanding chest and held out something in her hand.

Rabbit, in her visibly eccentric outfit, showed everybody present her particular trophy: a cross with a height about equal to the length of her arm, plated in gold (well, probably painted), with a line of rubies embossed down the front, and with the top of the cross shaped like the face of Jesus Christ in a way that, under any lighting except that of the middle of the day, made him look depressed, disappointed, or just plain sinister, depending on how you were feeling at the moment. Probably a combination of all of them if you were having a really, really shitty day. The whole thing was just a really, really garish and ugly piece of trash.

The weirdly-disguised girl began to talk, the anime little sister setting in her voice modulator giving her that particular tone of voice that walked on that dangerous line between cute and annoying, and most importantly enabled her usual routine of sounding like she was actually invested into something when resting bitch face was her default facial expression. "Ladies and gentlemen, brothers and sisters, choombas and choombattas. To the inexpert eye, this may seem like just an incredibly ugly Christian cross made of some cheap metal, with plastic toy jewels on the front, and covered in golden paint. A cheap piece of trash of absolutely no value. However, uh... this is... uh, this actually cost..."

Rabbit let that hang in the air for a moment as she tried to think of a way to make a joke about two people getting crushed to death and five torn to pieces by .50cal machineguns. Deciding at last that she was not drunk or hyped enough to joke about that, she let out an audible sigh. "I´ll be honest, I´m not sure what the point was in getting this. It was kinda horrifying, too. It wasn´t difficult, but I hope whatever you want my help with is worth killing over, Nyx." Then, the small cartoon animal tossed the cross onto a couch close to Nyx, and then tossed herself onto the closest, softest couch she could find, her arms disappearing under her poncho, her legs crossing at the knees, and her head tilting at the others while a cute, innocent, white rabbit smiley with whiskers materialized on her visor. "Anyway, nice to meet you all. I am White Rabbit, and I´m a fixer. I´ll try and get you anything you need, from detes to wheels to chips."

For a moment, Rabbit brought her hands out from under her poncho to spread them open apologetically. "But starting today, I´m drawing the line at religious artifacts. Sorry."

 

[Jealousy]

Amélie Tetta

Early evening, Watson, Nyx´ Warehouse

A wash of relief filled her chest once she realised she was in the right place, her expression shifting to a small amused grin as the man introducing himself as Diego mentioned a bottle of vodka. "I'm more of a whiskey girl but I wouldn't decline a glass of quality poison." she replied as she made her way closer towards the duo. The letters of his name manifested above his head in bright red before they faded out, the information being committed to her internal memory storage which was pretty standard practice for those in her line of work. Seeing him light up a cigarette pulled upon a thread of temptation for a moment but fortunately a lively distraction pulled her red irises towards the skating female calling out her name, eyebrows raising in the surprise of being recognised.

Never before had she been so grateful for being slow to react otherwise she too would have been left looking foolish with her arms outstretched instinctively to welcome a friendly embrace that never came to be. Instead she watched with a slight tilt in her head as White Rabbit retreated with a light jab aimed at the place she hailed from. There was an over familiarity that felt out of place given she'd only worked a few jobs for Rabbit and there was something else in the brief interaction that seemed a little off. Hell any detective worth her salt would have picked up on it but it didn't seem right to challenge it, at least not yet and not when there wasn't really a need to. For now her explanation seemed enough to satisfy Amélie and prevent her from considering the interaction further.

"While I 'do' have some french in me, in London an unsuspected kiss might earn you a broken nose for your effort." she replied with a smile. "It's nice to see you again Rabbit, It's certainly been a while."

The next arrival had her looking over her shoulder, noticing first the small Netrunner followed after by the male with the bushy hair. Amélie cast an amused glance towards Rabbit at the fluff comment before she turned to regard the giant woman arriving afterwards who actually intimidated her a little before she managed to disarm her anxiety with the friendly offer from a bag pulled from her pocket. She politely declined, not really ready to trust taking things from anyone she'd only just met.

Amélie spent the rest of the wait observing the others that had gathered, attempting to get a read on their individual characters by way of how they spoke and carried themselves. There was a lot of information to be taken if one took the time to observe and listen, to take note of the finer details that lay just beneath the surface. Of course she didn't suspect anything worrisome or problematic, if anything it was just good practice to keep the senses sharp and tuned. Besides White Rabbit was here and that was enough to set Amélie's mind at ease for the time being.

When the doors to the mysterious warehouse finally opened and a woman named Atara called them to come in, she'd followed with the rest of the group to be introduced to the rather dusty interior causing her to wonder where they would all possibly fit to sit a meeting with Nyx. The transition to the lower level however once again brought a surprised expression to her face and based on the small smile adorning her features it was safe to say she was digging the style of the place as she allowed her eyes to pass across the various details around their environment.

She'd have liked to look around more but the sound of a voice carrying through the room pulled her attention forward to finally see Nyx in person for the first time, her attention immediately drawn towards those red eyes and wondering which of them were the correct set to look into when sharing a conversation. Again she kept quiet after the ask for them all to reveal what they had brought, not quite confident enough to be the first one out in front of the group.

Fortunately the small Netrunner decided to take the initiative and she watched with interest as the girl stepped forward and presented a shard towards Nyx, quite curious to what might be on it but quite accepting she'd probably never know. When she introduced herself as Net-Fly she raised her hand to give a small polite wave accompanied by a smile to acknowledge it before once again letters appeared above her head before fading away as the name information was stored. "Nice to meet you, I guess we know who to come to if we happen to catch anything out there."

Once Net-Fly had finished Amélie looked towards the others to see who would be next up before taking a moment for a deep breath, feeling like being last was probably just as anxiety inducing as being the first up. So she decided she'd be the next one to step up and introduce herself to the gathered group, reaching into her jacket to pick out what appeared to be a very 'very' old beige computer mouse with two buttons, a ball and a wire neatly wrapped with a cable tie. "I can take a guess why you had me get this, though I'm hoping it was for more than just a joke pun." she spoke as she stepped to hand it over.

"As for names and stuff, just call me Amélie." she smiled. "I'm a Danger Gal detective with the alias of Chameleon due to my speciality for... well, maybe it's easier to just demonstrate." her eyes took on a dull glow to steal a visual scan of Nyx before activating her Optical Chameleon Camo, or OCC for short. Within a short passing moment her visual image completely changed to replicate Nyx perfectly from the style of her hair down to clothing and colour pigment. "Infiltration and generally getting into places I shouldn't." she dispelled the camo and returned to normal, starting the timer for her OCC to begin it's charge reset timer. "And that's it! ... I think. Nice to meet you all." she finished before moving herself aside for the next person.

 

[Steve Jobs]

Vaitiaré Herschel

In the club

She knew that Nyx was not a straightforward woman, but Vaitiare's naivete really showed when the group descended to their true base. Far from the decrepit maze, the clubhouse gave a peek of Nyx's true colors, albeit they were far more garish than she was expecting. She'd imagined the netrunner having a conservative aesthetic, but Vaitiare was hardly complaining. Even without comparing it to the abandoned factories where she'd normally meet her clients, this place was luxury incarnate. From the neon lights to the premium, (most definitely real) leather furniture to the fully stocked bar, it felt closer to Riot than the technological fortress she'd pictured. She had half a mind to hop over the bar and pour herself a drink, but she couldn't afford to relax while there was still business to tend to.

"I suppose it’s show and tell time, then. What’s everyone brought?” Nyx asked, red eyes glowing behind her headgear (if one could even call it that).

The short-haired girl was the first to approach, passing off a data shard and introducing herself as Net-Fly. Between the headband and sideport it was hard to see her anything other than a Netrunner and a tiny one at that. Soon after, the rabbit-suited girl (very appropriately named "White Rabbit") produced a cross necklace with no particular points of interest (save for how gaudy it appeared to be). It was odd to go from a data shard to a piece of jewelry and the next artifact, a retro mouse. There didn't seem to be any commonality between them and when she factored in her own test it only furthered her theory that all of this was arbitrary. All the woman wanted to know was whether they were willing to throw themselves into the line of fire for her and perhaps, test their physical limits.

Vi gave a short nod to Amelie as she demonstrated her camouflage, deciding approach Nyx next. Sparing the theatrics of White Rabbit and the geniality of Net-Fly, she rolled the cyberware from its bag and held one with her thumb and the other between her middle and ring finger.

"Two Kiroshi Mk 2s, courtesy of Haruka Orochi," she announced before tossing them back in the bag and sliding it towards Nyx.

"Didn't know which one you wanted so I decided get you both," she shrugged as she turned towards the rest of her newfound crew. "Name's Vaitiare, Vi for short."

 

[Cadborosa]

Salem Fields

NYX' WAREHOUSE, WATSON, NIGHT CITY

Salem shifted awkwardly, leaning on a fence next to the warehouse. His meat eyes scanned around the group, feeling unqualified compared to all the remarkable others who looked like they belonged. It felt like he wasn't supposed to be there, as if he'd entered Arasaka tower and claimed ownership over the entire corporation. Panic increased upon seeing a young-looking girl open the door. Was he actually in the wrong place? Would he get flatlined if they found out? Salem tried his best to shove these intrusive thoughts to the back of his mind, and he was already in this deep, so he might as well continue diving in hopes of getting something out of it.

Grinding snapped him out of his worry-filled head, specifically the grinding from the large door, which was now open, with the girl leaning at the entrance. Salem looked down at the worn down and dirty streets of the area, then back at the inside of the garage, and for once, he couldn't tell which one looked worse. The messiness of this warehouse reminded him of the first time he had entered his brother's apartment after arriving in night city, looked less like an apartment back then and more like a super-sized back alley trashcan that no one had emptied since the time of red. Though, this looked harder to clean.

Introducing herself as Atara, the girl had invited them to follow. Salem slowly moved from the wall, staying at the back as he followed the young girl who moved through the warehouse clutter as if it were a programmed path for her. Yet, it didn't seem the girl had any implants in her head, but Salem was probably missing something obvious again. Either way, he followed. Salem's eyes wandered around, wondering if the junk came from other older recruits, but that'd be a high recruit-to-death ratio even for Night City. He decided to ask about it later, not wanting to get psyched out before his first job. Eventually, his feet reached the elevator, shaking from either anxiety or anticipation. Salem couldn't distinguish the two.

The machines' initial abrupt movement caused Salem to stumble, tripping over his feet and only saving himself from falling to the ground by desperately grasping onto the railing with a sigh escaping his throat as he pushed himself back to stable footing. I wonder if I should offer to fix that or at least take a look at the thing, Salem thought as the elevator descended into what he expected to be more madness.

It was a pleasant surprise upon seeing the actual base, making Salem realize he was a fool for not realizing that the upstairs must've been a cover. After briefing calling himself an idiot, his eyes explored the beautiful set-up. The light reflections on the furniture and bar made the place look almost mystical. Who is this crew's interior decorator? Because I need to set them up with my brother asap, Salem joked inside his head, cracking a slight smile. The sudden voice almost made Salem jump. His eyes started darting around until they landed on the disconnecting netrunner. Salem got shivers from the sound as Nyx raised herself away from the port, smiling with red eyes, gazing at the group.

T h e E y e s.

Salem felt himself slipping into a panic and only barely pulling himself from falling once again. Though, he couldn't keep his composure. Pushing himself to the surface of the nearest wall. Salem covered his mouth and screwed his eyes shut. Heartbeat going crazy, clawing to escape his chest like a wild animal, he started counting magpies in his head to calm himself down. A tactic his older brother had taught him long ago. Once he was calm, almost everyone had shown their bounty. Luckily, his ears gathered enough to assume what each of them did.

Carrying the safe under his now aching arm, Salem nervously fiddled with the goggles around his neck before stepping forward. He approached and set the safe down. "One safe as ordered, no idea what's in it other than that it isn't a bomb. I already used that one anyhow," Salem robotically stated. It was almost painfully obvious he practiced that in the mirror a few times. Moving away from Nyx before he spoke to introduce himself, "Uh, I'm... you can call me Magpie. I've worked with tech for most of my life, so I can usually figure things out in the field. I'd also say I can hold my own in a fight. Haven't died yet." Yet being the keyword.