A/N: I've been working on this fic for about a year on ao3, but I was told I should put it up here too for y'all to enjoy!
Malik finds herself flying Sarif to meetings with other corporate heads for augmentation companies, with legislators, with all sorts of aug-specialists. Sometimes she is sent to pick up clients to meet with him, or with his researchers and engineers. When there are no people to ferry around, she offers to help out delivering shipments and bringing completed augmentations to the LIMB clinics their clients reside at.
It's one such delivery to a LIMB in Denver when she takes off again and notices her dashboard readouts indicating the plane being heavier than it should be with just her in it. Flicks to the bay-camera – she hadn't flown any planes with one before, but Sarif sprang for all the best upgrades. She spots a crate of augmentations, un-opened, and decidedly undelivered. She checks the delivery log, but the LIMB clinic had confirmed receipt of all items. She's already a few states over, can't really turn around without explaining to Sarif and LIMB the extra delay.
She's flying low over Chicago when she passes over a LIMB clinic surrounded by protesters. Wonders what that is about, looping back to check. The fact that she could see the mob from the sky was a testament to just how many of them there were. Pulling up newsfeeds to see what's happening, and the headlines roll down her screen. Chicago LIMB Clinic Claims Stolen Augmentation Shipment Fourth Week in a Row. Riot Outside Chicago LIMB as Patients Denied Surgery Yet Again. "We Just Aren't Getting Our Shipments" LIMB Clinic Explains.
Well. Wasn't that convenient? She just so happened to have a crate of augmentations that needed disappearing.
Logging a stop in Chicago for refueling, she changed the plane's flight mode with an easy reach above her, stretching up to flick the switch. The engines rotated, faced downward for descent.
By the time she'd landed on the helipad and started putting the plane into standby – she didn't plan on staying long – people in the street were pointing at her and LIMB employees were on the roof. She opened the cockpit straight off, unbuckling her harness and hopping out of the chair.
"What is this?" A woman in a labcoat is rapidly approaching her, an aide rushing behind her, looking frazzled. Actually, all the people on the roof look harried. Exhausted.
Malik wonders how long they'd been here. How long they couldn't leave the clinic from the rioters outside.
"Santa heard you've been losing shipments," she says. "I happen to have an extra box in the back that needs a good home." Box was underselling it.
"You…you do?" The woman looks wary. And hopeful. Malik wonders who's been stealing augs from LIMB, who, though tied to Tai Yong and the traids (at least in China) at least tried to help augs when it could.
Malik reaches back into the plane to flick a switch, opening the bay door. "Free to a good home. It sounds like you need it. They're custom fits, but I figure you'd take anything you can get right about now." Glancing over the edge of the roof at the crowd below.
The woman glances over her shoulder, frowns, chastising the two employees who had just come up to the roof without, it seemed, permission. And then tilts her head at the VTOL, to go get the crate.
"Just like that?" she asks. "No tax benefit form signature?" No matter how many augs this pilot brought, they'd have to be worth a small fortune. Most rich philanthropists liked to write that kind of thing off at the end of the year.
"My only condition is that this is an anonymous donation." Malik very consciously does not look at the SARIF logo emblazoned on her suit. Thankfully the plane didn't have the words painted all over it, so she wouldn't get caught on the news with it. She could have been more careful, could have pulled her flightsuit half off and hidden the SARIF painted down her front, but hindsight was 20/20 and all that. She'd just have to do better in the future.
Huh. The future. She caught herself planning how to do this better the next time. As if stealing from her employer and his clients was a viable career path.
Though…Sarifcouldafford it. And she was certain that this LIMB clinic was not the only one in dire need of augmentations for patients who needed them, not just wanted them.
"That can be arranged, ma'am," the woman answers, catching Malik's attention. While she'd been considering just how serious she was about continuing down this road, they'd taken the crate out of her VTOL and opened it. They looked impressed with the contents. She didn't even know what was in them, except that they were just one in a shipment of many custom-sized augmentations ready for installation into their rich owners. They hadn't been activated yet, and because they were custom order, Sarif didn't tell the purchasers the serial numbers. Once they were marked delivered, Sarif erased the numbers from his database except to mark them as Sarif products.
Untraceable.
"Great. Well, I gotta run. Do you need a ride out of here?" she asks, glancing again at the street.
"Despite those overzealous demonstrators, there is still work that needs to be done. Thank you for the offer, though, ma'am." The woman waves the two employees to get the crate inside. They jog off to get more help.
"Sure. Hopefully that helped a little." She reaches in again, closing the bay door. The woman waits for her to finish before reaching her hand out.
"Is this going to be a recurring donation?" she asks, a little hopefully. A little desperately. Just how bad is the situation here, Malik wonders? It is nothing like Hengsha, with an illegal chop shop on nearly every corner – here, LIMB does not get the funding it needs, and the illegal modifiers are cracked down on so much more harshly.
"Dunno," Malik answers honestly. Reaching out to shake the woman's hand. She takes it, shaking firm and smiling despite the answer not being what she'd hoped.
"Well, I certainly hope to be seeing you again, Ms. Claus," she says, an exaggerated wink.
Malik laughs warm and moves to settle herself back into the cockpit, firing up the VTOL only after making sure the area was clear. Taking off and stopping to fuel at the nearby airport before carrying on back to Detroit.
Somehow, she doesn't feel burdened. Doesn't feel guilty. She feels light. Wild and free. Teeth on her bottom lip and it reminds her of that night in Hengsha when she'd first died. Dead to the triads and here she is in the states walking down the same path.
The successful smuggle settles over her like a well-worn cloak, warm and familiar. Perhaps it wasn't the triads pushing this upon her. Perhaps they just pulled it from within her.