Chapter Thirteen
July 19th, 2077
Night City, Northern California
Northside, Camp August
Sunlight.
Cyrus hadn't felt its rays glisten across his skin in years. It was a foreign touch that a Spartan seldomly experienced during their lifetime. Spartans were never allowed to remove their MJOLNIR while operating in the field, and only while stationed aboard a UNSC warship were they allowed to remove their power armor.
The last time he operated outside any armor was during a deployment to Arcadia, a supposedly loyal UNSC planet. Reaper team's objective was to infiltrate and destroy a rebel base camp nestled deep within Arcadia's capital Pirth City.
Cyrus and his team completed their assigned mission but not before butchering every insurrectionist they could get their hands on. The Spartans were not at all pleased that there was time wasted on insurgents and not Covenant.
That was the last time ONI deployed his team in UNSC territory.
Taking off his bodysuit and armor pieces was a complicated and time-consuming process without a second pair of hands, but it was not impossible. Even so, Cyrus was unable to tolerate the irritating cacophony of twisting and turning just to make sure the parts were connected correctly.
Chamber never pushed him to remove his armor and take a walk in the sun. She understood that Spartans treated their armor like a second skin, only removing it when deemed necessary. Today was one of those times it was required, and it was all thanks to Dana Parker and his resident AI.
Chamber practically pushed him out the door when he got a call from the Chieftain. The AI was eager to perform her yearly updates to his MJOLNIR's firmware and cyber offensive capabilities, which required him to be out of armor unless he felt like standing still for hours on end. She remained at the hideout to finish her work, assuring him that it would not be for more than a day.
Cyrus was surprised to receive a phone call from the woman this early since their previous conversation. The Chieftain hadn't sought him out for a little over a week now; she was preoccupied with her duties.
Those duties entailed managing her new outcast camp located ten kilometers east of Northside's Arasaka Waterfront, located near Pershing Street. Dana led her outcasts to an abandoned underground roadway and established a permanent residence along with ten other homeless clans. When the final details were set in place, Dana took charge of the newly christened Camp August.
Over three thousand people were residing in Camp August, most if not all of them outcasts who lived in the shadow of Night City. Cyrus offered to assists Dana and her people with safe passage to the Camp August grounds when the transfer was still in development, but Dana declined.
The Chieftain was concerned that Cyrus might draw unwanted attention to her people, and while he disagreed with her sentiment, he still respected her decision.
So, instead, he chose to keep an eye on them through the ever-vigilant eyes of CCTV cameras. There were several dicey moments involving the outcasts and the scavenger clans still roaming Northside like cockroaches.
Nevertheless, Dana manipulated them like a career politician; Cyrus was convinced that she could levitate water with her speech alone. She possessed an unnatural talent to persuade anyone and practically anything that had a set of ears.
Cyrus approached the underground tunnel, making eye contact with a pair of outcast guards, each outfitted with Kevlar vest and D5 copperheads. Both men were pulling security outside of the tunnel's main gate when he arrived; their fingers grasped their firearms tightly.
Cyrus could see the sweat permeate from the youngest guard's forehead while the eldest guard put on an expression of granite.
"Who are you?" The older guard asked. His companion muttered a snarky comment about the Spartans height and physique under his breath.
"My name is Cyrus; I'm here to see Dana Parker." The Headhunter replied.
"The Chief?" The man shook his head in denial. "No way she's preoccupied tonight."
"Just tell her my name." the guard gave him a pointed look sizing up the Spartan size and frame.
"One moment, please."
The security officer activated his communication module, Hazel Brown eyes turning a shade of piercing blue. "Miss Parker, we have a guest here to see you. Name is Cyrus."
The Spartan could pick out the Chieftains response with his augmented hearing, and Dana seemed to be happy he had finally arrived at the outcast stronghold. The older security guard acknowledged Dana's order and motioned for Cyrus to follow him.
"The Chief has given the all-clear. My name is Douglas. I'll take you to her." The tunnel doors swung inward, exposing the structures and people waiting inside. "Stay on my trail. It gets crowded at this time of day, and the boss wants to see you urgently."
"Understood." Cyrus followed the older man's trail, weaving in between crowds of outcasts the further he delved into the camp. The Spartan drew his escort's attention with an inquiry. "Have any trouble setting this place up?"
"First few days were sketchy," Douglas admitted. "We had a couple of run-ins with a scavenger clan not far from here, but eventually they backed off; too many people live here to make it worth their while."
The Spartan and his escort eventually passed by a makeshift school nuzzled underneath an old parking elevator. A section of which had been cut out to make room for school chairs and death organize in front have a whiteboard. The class was currently in session with all twenty-five desks occupied by an assortment of kids ranging from ten to fifteen years old.
Cyrus recognized two of the children currently occupying those seats; they were Adam and Amanda, the outcast children who took a shining to him while he was a guest at dana's camp. The pair's sole guardian, their mother, was currently teaching algebra to her offspring and the outcast children living at Camp August.
"Hey," Douglas broke Cyrus from his observation. "Keep up, man; we're almost there."
Cyrus nodded in affirmation, passing by a soup kitchen whose employees were preparing the day's lunch. Due to his impressive height of Six-foot Five, he stood a head taller than most Night City occupants. The Headhunter was drawing far more attention than he was used to; it most likely didn't help that he was wearing clothing that, while somewhat inconspicuous, did little to hide his frame.
The Spartan was wearing a black long-sleeve combat shirt with kevlar pads protecting his torso and forearms. Over that, he wore a deep brown zipper less leather coat, sleeves extended to the edge of his forehand, meeting the strap of two black combat gloves. A set of black tactical jeans covered his legs, and a pair of drop leg holsters containing two suppressed Constitutional Arms Unity Power pistols.
A black tactical harness was wrapped around his midsection and waist, and pouches lined his hips containing ammunition and other fighting equipment. A pair of black combat boots completed his outfit, and while it did provide adequate room for maneuverability, it had minimal ballistics protection.
It wasn't long before Cyrus was able to lay eyes on Dana Parker; the outcast Chieftain was wearing cleaner clothes than what Cyrus was used to recognizing. It seemed to him that her new position granted her the ability to stop smelling like a sewer. Dana was currently conversing with a female guard, whose attire indicated she was a security officer.
"-on our newest members, the last thing I want is to have another incident with a Scavenger clan making off with one of our people." Cyrus picked up the final words in the pair's conversation and watched the guard salute Dana before hurrying off to her post.
Dana's eyes practically lit up as she took in Cyrus's form; the Chieftain extended her arms out wide, consuming the Spartans frame as best she could. Cyrus could only stand like a statue; his years of combat could never really prepare him for these types of close encounters.
"Cyrus," The Chieftain let her hands fall to her sides, freeing the Spartan from her tender embrace. "It's good to see you. I gotta tell ya, you look better out of all that armor."
"How did you know it was me?" Dana's eyes sparkled in amusement.
"Because you're the only person I know named Cyrus," Dana replied rationally before her smile grew. "That and you walk just like you do out of armor. Someone ever tell you you're more coiled up than a rattlesnake."
"Something like that. What's the situation here?" The Spartan's eyes examined the outcast stronghold around him; hundreds of tents populated the abandoned underground highway. Chamber's official estimate of the camp's population was sitting around the three thousand marks, but that number seemed a little low in his opinion.
"Things could be better like always, but this place improves every day," Dana replied.
"Any issues with the scavengers." Northside still maintained a large number of scavenger clans in the area, but most were still running scared on the off chance Cyrus returned his attention to Northside.
"A few clans bother us every now and then, but our size keeps them at bay," Dana replied vigorously.
"Then why am I here?"
"Take a walk with me," The Chieftain beckoned him. "I want to show you something."
Dana turned on a dime, and Cyrus diligently followed in her wake. The attention he received grew at an alarming rate, and she was quick to take notice of the bewildered stares. "You're still as popular as ever I see."
"Not my intention, I assure you." The Chieftains bark of laughter rang in his ear. The woman led him past a row of tents, exchanging greetings with their occupants before a single guard caught her attention.
"Chief!" An eighteen-year-old security guard rushed up to Dana's side. "Clint was looking for you, he's got more activity from scavengers on the perimeter."
"Cameron, tell Clint and Marybelle to meet me in the command tent in half an hour." Dana's eyes shot back to Cyrus. "I need a moment alone with our guest."
"Yes, Chief." The guard snapped a quick salute before beating feet towards his intended target. The Chieftain rolled her eyes in amusement at the boy's antics. Soon enough, the unlikely pair reached a rope ladder heading to a scaffolding dangling below the roof of the tunnel.
"Come on, Cyrus, I'm sure you can handle a little climbing." Dana teased the Spartan as the pair ascended to the overhead scaffolding; she reached the top a few seconds before he did. By the time Cyrus ascended, he discovered Dana leaning against a scaffolding railing, scanning the occupants below.
Cyrus joined her side not long after, arms leaning against the railing and attention falling on the pedestrians below. It was a sight to behold, thousands of outcasts milling about just trying to live their lives. Despite the grim circumstances, there was an air of contentment trickling through the families inside.
"You ever seen such a thing," Dana's mouth broke into a level smile. "Over thirty-five hundred people, all living in the shadows of Night City. They should hate their existence right now, and yet not one of them gives a damn. Every single one is content where they are right now because of you."
"How so?" The Spartan's look of confusion reflected through his crimson eyes. A mirthful expression crossed Dana's face.
"When you took down the Maelstrom, you left a lot of people wondering what was coming next. Outcasts camps across Northside didn't know what to do in a world without Maelstrom. Their destruction led to this; every homeless camp in Northside flocked to this place as a means of protection. And it is all thanks to you, Cyrus."
The Headhunter scanned the outcasts below; Dana was not lying to him about their happiness. The expressions plastered on the outcasts below could not be faked. The light behind their eyes was teeming with a swirl of emotions. All the worries and pain these people had suffered was washing away with each passing moment. This place was heaven in the underground, as far as anyone else was concerned.
"What about the Scavengers?" Dana's expression leveled out as she regarded him.
"I know that look, Cyrus. You can't be here every single time someone's punding at the gates. I didn't ask you to come here to deal with them, you've been in Japantown smashing Tyger Claw heads for a few weeks now. The last thing I need is for one of these Scav clans to disappear when I am handling them. You destroy one of those clans, and you might as well put up a neon sign saying we are protected by the Headhunter."
"Then what am I here for." The Spartan questioned.
"Look around you, Cyrus," Dana motioned to the mass of bodies below. "Of all those people below, barely a hundred of them know how to fire a weapon without shooting themselves. They need someone to teach how not to get themselves and everyone else around them killed."
"I'm a soldier, Dana, not a teacher," Cyrus said practically. The Chieftain pushed off the railing and led Cyrus to an overhanging office.
"Cyrus, you are far more capable of teaching these people than anyone else I have. Even my most veteran security guards haven't seen more than a few days of combat." Dana turned her attention back to him. "None of them know combat like you, and sooner or later, something bigger than Scavengers is going to come knocking and you won't be here."
The pair stood in silence before Dana continued her pace towards her office. They entered without a word, the Chieftain flicking on the overhead lights to the room. The setup remained much the same to her tent at their previous encampment. The only difference was the assortment of cabinets filled with Whiskey and alcohol.
Dana had a strong taste for alcohol and Whiskey. A taste that damn near boarded on an alcohol problem, but she always denied having one. The aforementioned possible alcoholic leaned against her kitchen table, arms crossed, and a passive look on her face.
"Fine, give me your best ten shooters, and I'll teach them what I can," Cyrus conceded. "After that, it'll be up to them to educate the rest of your people how not to blow their own heads off."
"Thank you." Dana nodded in acknowledgment, anxious frame unraveling like a yarn. "When do you want to start?"
"One week, no more, no less. Just make sure they don't waste my time."
"They will be ready." Dana turned her attention to her liquor cabinet. "Care for a drink?"
"Whiskey on ice." Her face went alight with wonder.
"A man after my own heart," The Chieftain tossed him a full bottle of vintage American Whiskey. "Didn't take you for a drinker."
"I'm not," Cyrus refuted. Spartans possessed a metabolism that burned through narcotics and alcohol faster than the side effects could take hold. That didn't mean he couldn't get drunk; it just indicated it took actual prolonged effort just to get tipsy.
Cyrus lowered the gaiter wrapped around his face, lowering just below his chin to act as a makeshift scarf. Dana struggled to maintain her focus on pouring her liquor, but her eyes drank in the Headhunter features as he threw back a swig of Whiskey.
The bitter taste traveled down his throat like a sputtering river. His taste buds were covered in a glitter of cedar and brown sugar, and a soothing sensation settled his always running nerves. Cyrus could feel his body reacting to the poison coursing through his veins, and within moments, the effects that could have taken place were eliminated entirely.
"You're younger than I thought you'd be." Dana's forlorn expression was not lost on him; a glass of Bourbon hung loosely in her left hand.
"Does that frighten you?" Her eyes closed suddenly a deep exhale flowed through her lungs.
"No," She replied dejectedly. "It just disappoints me."
The pair sat in comfortable silence, finding a pair of chairs to relax on. The only sound coursing through the room was the clattering of human voices echoing from outside. Dana tried her best to realign her composure, and after a few more shots of Bourbon, she seemed to have found it.
"So," Dana burned out. "Anything new happening with you outside these tunnels?"
"Nothing of note." Dana's bark of amusement indicated she did not believe him.
"Come on, Cyrus, this is you were talking about," Dana tossed back another shot of Bourbon. "You don't get to use the word simple after our introduction involved you falling from the warehouse scaffolding and pasting a Maelstrom thug all over the floor."
"Not everything in my life is as fascinating as it seems, Dana."
"You and I have vastly different definitions of fascinating." She bit out playfully. "Last time we talked in private, you decided to start hunting Tyger Claws. Were the Maelstrom not enough for you?"
"The Maelstrom were just the beginning, and the Tyger claws will not be the end." Cyrus threw back another mouthful of Whiskey.
"Just be careful, Cyrus," Dana emphasized. "Whether you know it or not, a lot of people here give a shit about you."
"They shouldn't," His retort earned him a reproachful glare from the Chieftain.
"Well, they do. Especially when that good samaritan doesn't have a reason to, most people in Night City request eddies at the end of the day, so color us outcasts surprised when you didn't ask for anything more than where to next."
"I'm not most people." The Chieftain slammed her glass in frustration, a splash of Bourbon caking the kitchen table.
"Why did you help us that night."
"It's just what I do, Parker," Cyrus replied. "I go out and deal with individuals who have chosen the wrong path in life, no more, no less."
"Look, I won't pretend to understand what you want out of life, Cyrus," Dana replied softly. "But you are one man among many, and no matter how many people you kill along the way. Nothing's ever really going to change."
Cyrus could not allow himself to believe that his entire livelihood and his brothers and sister were based on buying time in blood.
Every life taken, every sacrifice made, pushed back the doomsday clock for Humanity further. Sometimes it was a day; sometimes, it was an hour, but no matter how insignificant the value, time was bought no matter what.
His crusade against the Maelstrom and Tyger Claws was not just an act of retribution for their inhumane crimes. Their very existence was an infected wound on the body of Night City, and the only way to treat that wound was to cut it out.
The Corporations were a cancer on this world; Arasaka, Militech, and Kang Tao were one of many that needed to be removed. That would take time, and Cyrus was a patient hunter.
"Things can change with time, and all it takes is to pull the right trigger on the right person."
"Or not to pull." Dana countered. "Sometimes it's hard to decide against killing someone while looking down a sight."
"Not as hard as you think."
Cyrus let the conversation die out by finishing the rest of the whiskey bottle. Dana chose not to fight him further on the subject. Both were stubborn people to a fault; their conversations often ended in awkward silences. This typically led to Cyrus leaving camp for the night to engage in his usual activities.
The Headhunter stood abruptly, tossing the empty bottle of Whiskey into the waiting arms of a garbage bin. Dana could only watch him leave with a muted expression as he approached the door.
"Look, you need help or someone to talk to," Dana stood and placed her bottle of Bourbon back in its original location. "You know where to find me."
"I know," Cyrus replied evenly. "Goodbye, Dana, thank you for the drink."
The Headhunter disappeared into the crowd soon after, form merging between the outcast masses. When he finally emerged from the thick mash of bodies, he brushed past the young security guard holding the tunnel entrance. The boy nearly yelled in annoyance until the Spartan's form disappear into the shadows.
A light reflected from the Spartan's right pocket followed by a staccato of vibrations. Cyrus reached into his aforementioned pocket and retrieved a cellular phone Chamber had ordered him when he left the hideout. The familiar avatar belonging to his tolerated Merc greeted his eyes.
"Vargas."
"It's time." V's tone left no room for argument, and he was happy to oblige.
"On my way."
July 19th, 2077
Night City, Northern California
Kabuki, Charter Apartments
Cyrus was expecting several things to happen when he arrived at Alvarez's apartment. The possibility of V being her usual irritating persona greeting him at the door, or Alvarez giving him the stink eye as she reluctantly invited him in. He did not expect a butcher knife to be thrown at him as he entered the apartment; his reflexes alone saved him the embarrassment of being the first Spartan to die by a butcher knife.
"Vargas." The Spartan growled at the perpetrator.
"Cyrus?" V's quizzical look expressed her confusion clearly, she had not expected him to show up in anything less than his usual equipment. "What the hell, you're in…normal…clothing. I'll be honest wasn't expecting you to show up in civies."
"And I wasn't expecting to be greeted with a butcher knife." He retorted sharply. "Consequently, I guess we're both surprised tonight."
V had the decency to look a tad embarrassed at her actions. "Sorry."
"I'm sure you are." Cyrus tossed the knife onto the kitchen counter. "Apologies for arriving late, I was preoccupied."
"Is this your boy?" Judy's voice rang through the room.
"Yes, though this is the first time I've seen him in civilian clothes." Vargas appraised his looks with a critical eye before landing squarely on his face. "I dig the look. Could do without the face mask, though."
"I'm not here for fashion advice Vargas." Cyrus paced into the room, brushing past the irritating Merc and her compatriot. "Let's make this quick; how are you getting clouds?"
Alvarez was the one to break the plan down for him, and for the first time in a long time, Cyrus was reminded why civilians very rarely made plans that weren't viewed as completely naïve. Her plan hinged far too much on shock and awe, relying far too much on hope the Tyger claws would run with their tails between their legs.
"Alvarez, this is an incredibly naïve plan." V cringed on the inside from the Spartans' blunt tone. She had been hoping to bring Judy down slow, offering more solutions that didn't rely on blind luck and hope. Cyrus smashed that hope and lit it on fire with his tried and true no-bullshit approach.
The Headhunter was absolutely against using Tom and Roxanne as there main muscle. They were and always would be civilians, no matter how many modifications Alvarez could implant in them. They took to this plan because they had to, not because they wanted to. Judy was arguing her baseless points of manpower and capability to him, and he had little patience to argue with a Mox.
"Let me make this abundantly clear for you, Alvarez," Cyrus declared with a tone of steel. "This plan is going to go one of two ways. One, the Tyger Claws come back and butcher everyone involved."
"But-" Cyrus cut into Judy's retort.
"I wasn't finished." The Mox's word caught in her mouth when the Headhunter's crimson eyes bore into her. His eyes alone had the ability to freeze people into the place, he never had to raise his voice to drive home a point.
"Option two, Maeda, your snake in the grass, cuts a deal with the Tyger Claw bosses and takes control of Clouds. Whatever option you pick, it will end with nothing changing." Cyrus and Chamber both had the Clouds manager pegged for a snake the moment they obtained her records.
Maiko Maeda started off as a doll working in Clouds; after two years, she was at the top of the nightclub's food chain. However, she utilized every dirty trick in the book he could think of—intimidation, Blackmail, anything, and everything to coerce her way to the top of the food chain.
The woman people like livestock, something to be cultivated, milked, and then thrown away like trash. She was going to screw anyone and everyone involved in this scheme, and she might have gotten away with it. Unfortunately, the snake didn't account for a Headhunter to get involved.
"Maeda is going to screw you, Alvarez," Cyrus stated with a manner of finality.
"I've known her for years," Judy replied angrily. "She'll come through for us, and she owes me that much." The Mox was trying to convince herself more than Cyrus.
"Then you don't know her at all," Cyrus retorted. "Maeda is an opportunist, and she will climb all over you and leave you with nothing but scraps."
"What do you suggest then?" The Mox had given up on debating with the Headhunter on the high possibility that Maeda would screw them over. V had been suspiciously quiet during their exchange, instead choosing to munch on a pizza while talking on the phone.
"We adjust. Cut your dolls loose, they don't want to do this, and we don't need them." Cyrus demanded. "I can handle the club and the Tyger Claws inside myself, we kill the bosses and Clouds will be open to new management that you can choose."
"What about the rest of the Tyger Claws?" V finally joined in the conversation, pizza in hand.
"The rest are running scared Vargas," Cyrus said. "I've killed enough of there Lieutenants to rattle the command chain. The only thing left to do now is aim for the head, and Hiromi Sato will give me that chance."
"How so?" V asked.
"Taki Kazo has called a meeting with the surviving officers to discuss their fragile future in a few days. Hiromi Sato has graciously offered his apartment as a safe zone for that meeting. We attack the club, wipe out the Tyger Claw leadership and install the one gang in Night City that can take control of Clouds."
"Which is?" Judy asked.
"Your gang Alvarez." Cyrus informed. "The Mox are capable of running that club by themselves, and I can assure you the Tyger Claws will no longer exist when I am finished with them."
Judy's thoughts were running rampant with new ideas, she had tried to get the Mox to assist. But Suzie was unwilling to commit her people to the fight, and Judy couldn't blame her. The Tyger Claws outnumbered the Mox by thousands and any gang war between the two would lead to the Mox's massacre.
However, if Cyrus was able to guarantee that the Mox would not have to suffer any backlash from the TC. Suzie would take that deal and run with it.
"Look, Judy, we're here to help," V appealed. "Cyrus wouldn't bother talking to you about this if he didn't intend to assist. Are we good?"
Judy grumbled in indignation while Cyrus shrugged his shoulders in response. V wondered why she expected anything else from two of the most stubborn individuals in the world, besides herself at least.
"Great, that settles it," Vargas paused for a moment. "Cyrus, you and I got business, I need backup for a gig, and it involves your favorite kind of people."
"Who?" The Mercenaries eyebrow rose with a spirited smile.
"Tyger Claws."
Hook, line, and sinker. She had his attention.
July 19th, 2077
Night City, Northern California
Japantown, I-26 Interchange
"How many do you see?" Cyrus and V studied the Tyger Claw compound from a cliff edge five hundred meters to the east, sitting underneath the I-26 Interchange. Like many Night City structures, their point of interest was protected by a ten-foot-high wall laced in barbed wire.
"Seventeen," Vargas replied. "By my estimations at least, what about you?"
"Twenty-Five." Vargas shot him a sideways glance.
"How'd you get that number?"
"Instinct." The Merc's sideways look turned into one of disbelief.
"This fucking guy." Johnny's engram materialized to her left. "I'd ask why you brought him along, but I already know the answer to that. Taking advantage of the man's hatred of Tyger Claws, how bold of you."
"I am not manipulating him," V dismissed. "He wants to kill Tyger Claws, and I want to rescue a hostage. That and we are friends so he would help me anyway… I think."
Today's line of work was clearing a Tyger Claw auto shop known currently holding a woman hostage. Her name was Lauren Costigan, some poor soul whose husband got caught up in the wrong crowd.
The TC compound was separated into two levels, each containing its own functions and capabilities.
The first level was where the TC conducted their auto shop business; it served as a front for their legal activities and kept the NCPD at bay. One compartment room served as a break room on the main level, where the gangoons could relax and enjoy their meals. A second room controlled the auto shops' security cameras and was always manned by a pair of Tyger Claw gangers.
The second level was a basement area that served two functions. It acted as a Tyger Claws weapons dump, a place where the TC stored dozens of illegal firearms and bladed weapons. It also contained a small weapons manufacturing line, allowing for the continued production of small arms and ammunition. It's also the same level the Tyger Claws kept their hostages, and that's where Vargas's missing person was located.
"How do you want to play this?" Vargas asked.
"I'll hop the east wall, clear the compound from that direction," Cyrus said. "You swing around the north side, kill the rooftop guards and slip in from the west."
"Sounds good. I'll insert a daemon into their security net, put their cameras on a one-minute feedback," Vargas equipped a silenced Ajax and playfully waved Cyrus to take the lead. "After you."
The Headhunter vaulted over the ten-foot-high wall with minimum effort. Landing feet first with a silent thud, Copperhead strapped to his back and two Unity's strapped to his thighs.
Vargas swung around the North wall, mounting her rifle on the fractured frame of an old Thorton. She opened fire with her Ajax, blasting the entire left side of the TC lookout's face. Switching off to her next target with practiced ease, she fired off another shot, tagging the final TC lookout in the left cheek.
"Lookouts are down." Vargas sprinted for the compound while Cyrus went to work. "Forty seconds."
His hands found the skull of an unsuspecting TC soldier, taking a piss behind a dumpster. Cyrus snapped the gangoons neck with a sickening crunch, leaving the corpse to fall in a pile of garbage.
A swift slash from his Kukri cut a TC Berserkers voice box before another stab through the cranium ended the gangoons wretched life. A voice around the corner of the building drew closer to his position.
Cyrus palmed the Unity strapped to his left thigh, slowly drawing the pistol. A TC soldier turned the corner and was met with two bullets ripping through his left cheek and beating heart. The gangoons body fell forward, allowing the Spartan to catch the falling corpse and lay it quietly onto the floor.
Two TC gangoons were chatting up one another near a pair of TC marked Quadras. Vargas acquired both targets in quick succession; her Ajax emitted two silent puffs that imploded the head of both gangoons. Their corpses fell neatly behind their vehicles, narrowly avoiding the anxious eye of a TC Lieutenant startled by the muffled sound of bodies hitting the floor.
"Hayato?...Kyocera?" The TC lieutenant called out to his two now dead subordinates. His curiosity got the better of them as he emerged from the Auto Shops garage.
The TC officer was inches from the grisly discovery when a pair of hands grasped his head and the bottom of his jaw. The TC was not given a chance to struggle; Cyrus ripped the officer's jaw off with an inhuman amount of force and crushing the man's cranium with his other hand.
Brain matter and bone fragments covered the Spartan's hands. Cyrus wiped his bloodied hands against the officer's pristine suit before letting the body fall forward, spreading more crimson blood on the auto shop grounds.
"Was that necessary?" Vargas tried to blink away the gruesome scene from her eyes.
"Yes."
"Twenty seconds." The Merc reminded him of their running clock.
Four Tyger Claw guards were performing vehicle maintenance inside the auto shops' main service area. They were quickly killed with a burst of silent projectiles from Cyrus and Vargas. A TC Rangoon emerged from the auto shop break room with a confused expression etched into his face.
"Hello?" The concerned ganger walked to investigate the lack of noise inside the service area. The Headhunter emerged from the shadows and buried his Kukri into the TC's gut, lifting the man high into the air using his body to smash open the entrance to the break room.
Cyrus threw the ganger's body with incredible force, spine cracking as it smashed against the steel wall. Vargas brought up the rear-firing two shots through the skull of a Tyger Claw, lost in the joys of a braindance. Blood and bone fragments splatted across the couch he was lying on.
The Spartan and Merc breached the shop's security room, slashing the throats of one TC soldier who had no idea what was happening while Vargas fired two lethal shots into his partner's startled face. Cyrus pushed aside one of the TC bodies to gain access to the shop's security room.
"Vargas, you're up." The Merc slotted her jack cable into the security monitor while Cyrus maintained security.
"Only need a moment." The Merc's eyes lit up with a light blue hexagon while she accessed the security net.
"Done." Vargas retrieved her cable and accessed the internal surveillance cameras.
"Basement layout?" His HUD projected a detailed outline of the workshop's lower level. A single set of stairs led into a small factory line; crates of automatic weapons, small arms ammunition, and rocket launchers populated most of the central room. Two more side rooms made up the rest of the basement level. One room contained four TC soldiers playing blackjack, while the last room kept their hostages penned in.
"I can only see four TC enjoying a game of poker," Vargas replied while panning through the remaining cameras. "I think that might be all of them."
"Are you sure?" Vargas nodded in response.
Cyrus chose to believe his companion, holstering his Unity and retrieving the Copperhead slung across his back. Vargas inserted a fresh magazine into her Ajax and brought up the rear one again.
"I'll take the Tyger Claws," Cyrus ordered. "You take the hostage room, make sure they're still breathing."
"Got it."
The pair descended the flight of stairs quietly, intent on averting any substantial noise that may draw the remaining TC's attention. Cyrus palmed a flash grenade strapped to his belt and noiselessly moving towards the ignorant group of gambling Tyger Claws.
Vargas swung around his left, preparing to breach both compartment rooms at the same time. The duo peeked inside both compartment rooms, taking in the number of personnel inside.
Cyrus flashed a number four to indicate total contacts inside the gambling room. At the same time, Vargas's hand signaled one hostage and two Tyger Claws. Vargas counted downtime to breach with three motions with her left hand.
The Headhunter tossed in the flash-bang while Vargas breached the hostage room. Her Ajax fired four suppressed shots, earning shrieks of terror from the hostage inside and startling the TC soldiers in the adjacent room.
The Spartan's door slid open, drawing the attention of all four gambling TC soldiers. An object bounced around the room, causing the walking corpse's eyes to widen in shock. A loud bang slashed the vision from their eyes before a staccato of gunfire ended their suffering.
Vargas stepped over the body of a TC berserker and her partner. The three remaining occupants were hostages, one of which she recognized as Lauren Costigan. The traumatized woman crowded into the room's left corner, forcing V to raise her hands in a calming motion.
"Found your hostage," Johnny's body appeared next to a pile of garbage. "She looks scared, shitless."
"Hey, it's ok. I'm here to help," V assured the terrified woman. "My name is V, and my friend and I can get you out of here."
"Bloo…?" The woman's muttered a word beneath her breath.
"What?" A pair of terrified eyeballs gazed into hers.
"Bloodhound." V's body seized up in surprise, gaze swinging in all directions to find the Tyger Claw elite. Realization fell upon her as she gazed back into the main room, where Cyrus was waiting.
"CYRUS!" The Merc's warning came too late.
A Bloodhound suddenly fell from the scaffolding above, landing directly on top of the Spartan's frame. An electrified katana slashed across his face; the Spartan used his Copperhead to dull the attack, but the blade sliced through his rifle, splitting the weapon in two.
Cyrus immediately recognized a Tyger Claw Bloodhound's familiar disposition, duel wielding an electrified Katana and an Arasaka Shigure.
"Your death will be slow." The Bloodhound unleashed a torrent of gunfire from his Arasaka Shigure. Cyrus drew one of his Unity's and his Kukri while diving to the left, exchanging a barrage of gunfire with the TC Elite.
Vargas emerged from the hostage room guns blazing, firing a burst of rounds at their new adversary, but the lethal projectiles missed their target by inches. The Bloodhound tossed a frag grenade that landed feet away from the Spartan.
Cyrus responded quickly, kicking the frag away from him and the hostage room. Fragments and shrapnel bounced around the basement, narrowly avoiding a box of unspent ammunition.
The Merc fired another burst at the Bloodhound and watched as he quickly rolled out of the way, parrying a counterattack from Cyrus' drawn Kukri.
The Spartan ducked underneath the Bloodhounds retaliation and gripped his right arm knocking the SMG from his grasp. Cyrus barely deflected a slice from the Bloodhounds Nodachi with his Kukri; sparks flew as the Spartan's blade waned.
The Headhunter shot his momentum forward, his left hand curled in advance as a Spartan-powered fist slammed into the Bloodhounds skull, teeth, and blood scattered across the basement floor. The Elite's cry of pain was snuffed out with a burst from V's Ajax. Vargas gave him a concerned glance, eyes searching for any lasting injuries before settling on the Spartans enigmatic face.
"Huh," Johnny's face was just as stunned as she was. "I'll be honest; I thought he'd be older."
The Merc had to take a double-take as his features finally registered. A pair of crimson eyes stared right back at her, freezing her in place as she stood in. His hair was as black as night, styled like a military crew cut that had grown out a bit past regulation.
But it was his age that drew her full attention; she assumed him to be at least thirty for a long while now. Based on his maturity, experiences, and general demeanor, he would give off. Instead, she could easily deduce that he was barely of drinking age and that alone through her entire opinion of him into doubt.
"Cyrus," The Merc drew his attention immediately. "How old are you?"
The Headhunter didn't answer immediately, and his eyes left her concerned gaze as he looked for something to catch his attention.
"Cyrus," Vargas' tone was practically pleading with him now. The Spartan reluctantly agreed with her demand.
"Twenty." Whether it was curiosity or concern that demanded she inquire. In the end, all V was left with was a stunned expression and a stilled heart.
"V," Cyrus called out to her. "The hostage."
Vargas turned around sharply; Lauren Costigan stood in the doorway; eyes focused on the now-dead Bloodhound. The former hostage was in a trance, most likely due to the traumatic experience suffered at the Tyger Claws' hands.
"I'll get her." Vargas acquiesced. "We'll meet by the car."
"Agreed." The Headhunter's form disappeared into the upper levels; V's eyes never left his until he disappeared into the floor above.
"Damnit, Cyrus."
July 19th, 2077
Night City, Northern California
Charter Hill, Hideout
Vargas took Cyrus back to the hideout shortly after dropping Lauren Costigan with Wakako's Mercs. Neither V nor Cyrus spoke on the way to the Spartans hideout, and the silence was all that persisted inside Vargas' Avenger.
After the mission to retrieve Hellman, Cyrus and he finally exchanged some words. Some of it was small talk, but a few conversations were more relevant to his interests, centered around tactics and weapons.
"So, what are you working on now?" The Merc asked.
"You have a program that causes a target's weapon to malfunction. Reducing its accuracy and causing it to jam constantly. And if you have it, then someone else probably does." The Headhunter refused to let anyone make a fool of him and jamming his gear was most definitely never going to happen.
"Do you do anything that doesn't involve snapping necks and shooting a gun, Cyrus?" V chided playfully. "You know, like hobbies or activities that generally don't end with someone dying."
"No." Cyrus's entire routine since he was eight revolved around was wake up, train, eat, and sleep. The only difference now at twenty years of age; training was swapped for hunting covenant or insurrectionists and sleep rarely came to him anymore.
"Jesus, you're depressing." V's whimsical tone was not lost on the Spartan. "One of these days, Panam and I are going to take you out."
"You won't live long." The Aldecaldo sputtered in response.
"T-That is so not what I meant," V growled in muted frustration. "If there were any two people in Night city that needed a vacation, it'd be you and me. You are probably one of the most wound up people I have ever met, and I have had a stressful couple of weeks."
"Maybe," Cyrus spoke indifferently.
"Why scared of being out of your shell?" Vargas remarked.
"On occasion," Cyrus replied.
"Soooooo?" V drew out. "Would you say, yes?
Cyrus let the silence be his own answer to the question. He was doing his best to disregard Vargas's pointed look. He could practically feel a second set of eyes boring into his back along with V's. Chamber had gone silent on his request; he didn't want Vargas knowing about her until she agreed to his terms. Until then, his AI would remain in the dark, biding her time for her eventual reveal.
His attention returned to the task at hand, fingers finding the correct parts to reinstall the Copperheads barrel without looking like a tool. The pure monotony of the process let Cyrus' thoughts wander unimpeded. He hadn't taken off his armor in months prior to today, Chamber had an exact date, but he had no desire to open up that can of worms anytime soon.
Chamber pushed him every now and then to come out of the power armor, bask in the feeling of the morning wind and glorious sun. But he never really budged on the requests, didn't see a point in removing MJOLNIR just to put it back on an hour later unless the situation called for it.
"How do you take it off?" The question caught his attention. Vargas was observing his MJOLNIR suit laid out on a reinforced steel table, the armor was segmented out, and his bodysuit was separated to the left.
Vargas' hands felt every segmented part with a fascinated expression, she made an attempt to lift the chest piece, but even her cybernetic strength couldn't maintain the weight for exceedingly long.
"Carefully," Cyrus intoned. "It usually helps to have a second pair of hands, but I learned how to do it myself over the last year."
Vargas placed the chest piece down carefully; the weight caused the table to creak in despair. The Merc cringed as the sound scraped through the rest of the bunker until it mercifully came to a grinding halt.
"Real smooth V," Johnny commented offhandedly. "Truly, it's a wonder why he takes you so seriously." That comment earned him a venomous look from the Merc.
"When did you start?" Cyrus gave her a confused look.
"Start what?"
"This," Vargas waved towards the MJOLNIR armor. "How old were you when this began?"
"Eight," Cyrus replied. "Got picked up for a special project; eventually, it led me to receive that armor."
"Fucking told you V!" The Merc tried her damndest to ignore the engrams bitching.
"And that project turned you into what exactly," V stated. "A Super Soldier?"
"A Hunter."
Vargas waited patiently for him to continue, but Cyrus refused to elaborate further. Her attention returned to the armor before a question that had been gnawing at her spilled from her mouth. "Why?"
"It was necessary?" The Merc rounded on him with a livid expression.
"How is that necessary!" Bitterness spilled from her lips. "In what world is it crucial to recruit an eight-year-old boy and turn them into killers!"
"In my world Vargas," Cyrus proclaimed. "It was essential."
"I don't believe that. It isn't fair to you or anyone else." V replied solemnly.
Her sentiment echoed similar to the Chieftain he had come to know over the last few weeks. V was of the same mindset on his upbringing, but they weren't surprised and he knew why. Night City was the type of place that educated the feint of heart with brutal efficiency. You did no survive this city without gaining some thick skin and loose morals
But Cyrus had neither the time nor patience to discuss the matter further, with anyone.
"What you believe is irrelevant, the past cannot be changed, and I am not willing to waste my time explaining to you the unfairness of life." Cyrus challenged. "What happened to me. Does. Not. Matter: I was created to be a hunter. I was made to shield Humanity sometimes from itself, and I do not regret any of it."
Vargas had no immediate response to that declaration, and tension reigned inside the bunker once again. V could not come to terms with Cyrus' childhood and the ordeals he endured when he was merely a child. V promised herself that she wouldn't ask any more questions, but she still needed an answer to one final inquiry.
"Who was responsible for it?" Cyrus's movements paused for a fraction of a second before he reluctantly answered.
"They are no longer a factor in this world."
Vargas was far from satisfied, but she was unwilling to push the subject further. V had already delved far too deep into his past life for her tastes, and she hated herself all the more for it. Her curiosity and desire for knowledge often led to her burning one too many bridges, and she didn't want to burn this one.
V was almost grateful to receive a call from Panam if only to occupy her wayward thoughts. "V, thank god, you answered. I could probably use your help right about now."
Panam could be dying, and she still wouldn't come out and say she needs help immediately. "Probably?"
"I could really use some help right about now," Panam confessed. "Can we meet?"
"Yeah, just tell me when and where." By now, Cyrus's focus was on V, and his expression practically gave away that he could hear every word falling from Panam's lips. Looking off to the right, Vargas followed his arms to his touch phone, which was connected to her phone call. V gave him an annoyed look that he merely shrugged off.
"You don't know how good it is to hear that, V." The Aldecaldo sighed in relief. "I'll call Cyrus; I could probably use his help too."
"Don't bother." A bewildered look crosse Panam's face for a moment. "I'm with him right now."
"…..I'm not even going to ask." Panam drawled out. "Can he help?" The Spartan nodded in response.
"We're in," Vargas declared. "Just tell us where to go."
"Swing by the Aldecaldo camp; I'll explain later." The phone connection cut out, leaving the Spartan and Merc to stand in total silence.
"Come on, CY," Vargas urged softly.
His only response was to retrieve a Tsunami Nekomata hanging from his armory wall. The Spartan tossed her the tech rifle and retrieved his own weaponry set before glancing over at his MJOLNIR armor. Vargas watched him stare listlessly at his armor in silent confusion. It only grew larger and startled her when the tacpad flashed twice.
The Spartan quickly returned his attention to his armory bench, grabbing ammunition, an extra unmodified Copperhead, and donning another black face mask. V stopped him with a hand before he could climb up the flight of stairs.
"Are we good?" V always kept her friends close, and when a problem made itself known, or an argument broke out, she always made sure to put it to bed immediately. V let far too many friendships fall apart because she didn't dare to confront the problem immediately.
"Yes." Cyrus had no idea how much that meant to her. V took in a deep calming breath before locking her attention back onto the Headhunter.
"OK, let's go help our girl."
The fools that drew the ire of Panam Palmer and the Aldecaldo clan, had no idea what hell was about to be unleashed upon them.
Obviously, this chapter was different from the rest. Seeing as our boy was rolling around in something other than MJOLNIR, it won't last for too long so not to worry if you dislike our grade A OP sociopath missing out on his gear.
The next two chapters will be focused on the Aldecaldos, after that, we delve back into the Spartan's own adventure involving the patriotic influenced 6th Street Gang and hunting the hapless remains of the Tyger Claws.
Updates will obviously be slower the further we get from holidays, but I will endeavor to upload at least once every five days.
As always criticism is welcome when it comes to any part of the story, stay safe out in this ever-evolving circus of a world.
Reviews:
no169: Yes they will have their own separate bonding experience in the near future not to worry.
Mercenary X: The interaction between Chamber and the rest of the wayward group will come in time, our boy still follows UNSC protocol to some degree and Chamber's exposure only heightens the danger, the more people know about her.
MEleeSmasher: Oh not to worry our Spartans presence will change everything.
grant. : It is possible but not a priority for Chamber or Cyrus, as far as they know she needs more than just a new brain to help her.