By the time they heard the roar of a Thorton Mackinaw rolling into the makeshift driveway, the badges of Night City suddenly realized it was time for lunch.
It was a Saturday, and the Fourth of July to boot. As far and wide as the eye could see, just about everyone on the force involved in this could be heard grumbling for any plans to kick back and relax, whether it was alone or with their families.
NCPD was already spread thin enough as it was, half the beat cops here didn't even cover Heywood, let alone Wellspring.
The building bordered the district, riding along the strip into The Glen, run down and riddled in Valentino's graffiti and bullet holes (probably years old given the neglect of the place). The main entrance was blocked off by a mountain of trash bags, so any possible way of entrance was through a series of parking garages across an auto hobby shop.
Killing the engine and climbing out, the driver looked to see the group dispersing, clearing a path straight for the building; the entrance already cordoned off by holographic yellow police tape. There, the older man standing at the front of the garage entrance already recognized him.
That made things easier for him.
"Detective River Ward," the older man nodded.
"Skip the titles, Harold," River said, peering over his shoulder into the hallway ahead "You gonna let me in?"
Harold clicked his tongue and sighed, "Not before giving you the sitch. This one's… messy."
"Hm," River hummed, "Alright then, lay it on me. What's the damage?"
Despite what he said, Detective Han let the man through, with Ward trailing behind him and hanging onto every word with each step into the halls.
"About a month or two ago, we got word on the street that some booster gang was looking to expand their territory, broaden their horizons to greener pastures, as it were." Han began.
Right as if on cue, River spotted the first corpse: covered in stitched together stainless steel and crimson chrome, skin pulled taut against wiry muscle and sinew. Han nudged it on the shoulder with a foot, letting its face droop over, a graying tongue lolling out while everything above the nose was covered in spider-like optics where its eyes should've been.
A single bullet hole punched clean through the central eye: instant death.
"First one to die here. Our poor choom here was sporting a Lexington with a full mag. Never got a chance to fire a shot."
"Maelstrom," River said, "All the way out from Watson?"
"Bingo," the older detective smiled grimly, "This place's been abandoned for years, aside from the occasional squatter that we're too busy to clear out. We don't know how long they've been holed up here, just when we got the news. From the looks of it, not too much longer."
At the end of the hallway was an elevator, nonfunctioning just from looks alone. A door down the middle led out to a corridor, three or so bodies splayed out, each with a handful of gunshots through either center mass or the skull.
"Fucking gruesome."
"Clean as hell, though," Han remarked, earning a look from his taller contemporary, "Let's keep moving."
"Yeah," River only said, keeping his hand on his revolver as they trudged on.
It was a six-story building, residential from the looks of it. Signs of it being an apartment were gutted and replaced with operating tables, armories, and mattresses, flecks of dried blood dotting the rooms every now and then.
Almost every room contained a body, most from Maelstrom, but once in a while they'd catch an unfortunate victim used for XBDs in varying forms of mutilation.
"Some these pricks make a living off of braindances, recording indoctrination by installing their signature cyberware without anesthesia," Han noted, more to himself than to River, "Sick fucks. Almost makes me wish we didn't have to catch their murderer."
"Murderer?" River raised an eyebrow, to which Harold turned back to acknowledge him, "You're telling me this was only one guy?"
Han shrugged, "That's what one of our specialists think, she's on the top floor trying to make heads or tails of a raw recording we managed to snag off a corpse. Bastard was just finishing up with another XBD before shit went down."
"Not editing it at the station?"
"Nah, Ericson thinks being in the original environment of the BD'll allow for better editing; something about 'the vibe," Han said, "Fuckin' weirdo."
River frowned, "So what do we know right now? Concrete, I mean."
They stepped over another corpse leaning against a narrow strip of railing, climbed up the stairs to the next floor and came to a stop.
Han let out a sigh, reaching into his pocket to light a cigarette before coming to a stop, "All we know?" River nodded, so he continued, "Our mystery murderer came in through the same entrance we did, swept up anything with a pulse, then left as quickly as they arrived. Probably carried something big with armor-piercing rounds, either a Kyubi or a SOR-22 judging from the diameter of the holes."
"Huh, no motive?"
Han only shook his head, "Far as I know, our perp's job was to turn this place into a morgue. They did a damn good job at it too."
"So we're looking at someone with a military background," River crossed his arms, contemplating, "Possible cyberpsycho?"
"Nah, all these kills are too clean for a psycho, methodical-like." Han said, "You look at all the bodies we saw? Each either faced the direction where the killer would've gone through, or didn't have time to realize they were in trouble at all; perp knew to keep their distance, not to get up and personal unless the situation called for it."
"What about security footage?" River looked up and around. He didn't make note of it, but around a dozen or so were set up in the area, also nonfunctioning from the looks of it, "Nothing to pull off from there?"
"Trashed." Han answered, "That's why we're pulling up a BD. We think whoever we pulled it out from was looking through the cameras before he, and the cameras, were zeroed out."
"Goddamn, a miracle if that's true. Well in that case, let's skip the tour and meet up with Ericson."
Han only answered with a grunt.
Couple minutes later, they reached the top, stepping over another half-dozen bodies on the way up. Far end of the dim hallway was an open door, a dark-skinned woman in NCPD technician attire with wavy black hair typing away at a laptop, a wire plugged directly into a braindance wreath which stuck to her head.
River Ward stood at the doorway while Han leaned against a nearby wall, a couple seconds passed before the latter coughed. The techie came to a stop, but didn't turn around.
"Dicks finally on deck?"
"Fuck you, Ericson," Han shot back with a playful grin, "How're we looking on the BD?"
"Was just about done with the finishing touches, but it's good to play right now," she said, paused, "Detective Harold Han, right?"
"The one and only."
"Aaand…" she lifted a finger, "I'm guessing Detective Ward's with you too."
"Hah, got eyes on the back of your head?" Ward asked, amusement tinted in his voice.
"Nope, haven't gotten those installed yet. I just know the two of you are often glued at the hip. Maybe you can find a case where you two are finally working alone, yeah?"
"Yeah yeah, can we just see the damn BD?" the older man snapped.
"Okay okay. Sheesh, Han, no need to be like that. I got it right here," Ericson unplugged the wreath and lifted it off her head, holding out to the both of them, "Any takers? Come on, don't be shy now."
The pair of detectives turned to look at the other, to which River finally relented, "Alright, give it here."
"Perfect, just take a seat here and I'll have everything up and running in a jiffy."
True to her word, he took a seat down and watched her immediately slot the BD into the wreath, placing it over his head without a word after. River flicked the ON switch and watched light and sensation take over his own.
A couple seconds later, River's vision came to, tinted over with a slight red hue and a strange sense of vertigo from having to look through the eyes of Maelstrom optics. Not even his own old-fashioned eye implant was this bizarre.
"Fuck!" he hissed outside the wreath.
"Right, I should've mentioned that earlier, sorry!"
"Seriously, Emily? You're a grown ass woman," River grumbled, "Whatever, what am I seeing right now? And what the hell is that sound?"
"I decided to skip the XBD that your recorder had just finished up on, he's right about in the next room over from the one we're in now. As for the music, they're streaming out music from Totentanz, an old hangout for usual Maelstrom members. Probably homesick, huh?"
"Yeah, probably." River said, the recording continuing as he did.
Ignoring most of the sensation going on in this recent corpse's body, the Maelstrom member had spent the first minute or so cleaning off hands of blood with a wet rag, head bobbing up and down to the trashy arrhythmic beat.
Then that's when it started.
A dull bang resonated from his right, the Maelstrom's right he meant, now finding himself staring down the security systems to see someone breaking in through the front entrance.
"What the fuck…?" River felt the Maelstrom member quietly mouth, optics glued to the screen in front of him.
The first died just as Han said: bullet through the skull, their Lexington hit the ground before the trigger could be pulled, then the body followed soon after.
The silhouette then stepped into view, to which River could only describe as a blurry-looking giant covered in metal and obscured in shade.
"Running some quick math, whoever the perpetrator is stood at approximately a little over 7 feet. Should I keep playing?"
River gulped, the sensation barely noticeable in the braindance, "Yeah."
The giant stepped into the hallway, the camera focused down the hallway so Maelstrom only got a view of their back from an upper angle. Four men, each trigger pull just a fraction before anyone in the room had any time to process they were in danger. The room was cleared in seconds before the figure kicked down the door in the center, pointing the weapon into the room and firing three shots, each slightly swept from left to right.
"Pause."
"What's up?"
"Their weapon, zoom in on it." A second later and the braindance drew closer to the image, blurry as it was, but its features discernable, "Suspect was using a Kyubi, 12.7x55mm armor-piercing rounds from the look of it."
"Ballistics reports match too."
"What did I fucking say?" Han said within earshot.
"Yeah yeah, you were right. Whatever, keep going."
The braindance continued for the next few minutes, and everyone that crossed this figure's path ended up as a smear against the ground. River watched through this corpse's final moments as they patiently and methodically cleared out everyone on the floor, swapping out the empty magazine with a new one, climbed the stairs, and moved onto the next room.
Clear out, reload, climb, move on.
Clear out, reload, climb, move on.
Again and again, until finally–
Gunshots, this time not just being picked up from security cams. River could practically taste terror on his tongue.
"Shit, shit, shit!" the Maelstrom goon began to panic, reaching for any kind of weapon within arm's reach. A ConArms Liberty sat right by him, but for some reason didn't even try to reach for it.
River paused the footage, "Why didn't this guy call for help?"
"Had to edit out the sensation and effects, but your guy on record was tripping out on blue glass and drunk off his ass."
"Too elevated and crossfaded to make a proper judgment call," Han said.
That explained why he didn't even make a move for his piece, at least. River played the footage from where he left off, a pair of gunshots, gunfire back, then silence. Two more bangs rang out, not guns, but doors being kicked in.
Yelling, more gunfire. The music suddenly cut out.
Quiet now, all but the BD recorder's labored breathing.
Ten seconds, then the door flung open, nearly tearing itself off its hinges.
River paused, barely a fraction before the guy was a corpse, "What the hell…?"
Now they were face to face. Not in the flesh, but it was close enough.
Their suspect stood in full view, pulled into the light of a dozen computer LEDs, yet the recording was still fuzzy, only able to make out the Kyubi in hand, just a trigger pull away from flatlining this Maelstrom goon. That's when River finally managed to get a good look at the perpetrator.
Just as Ericson described, they were massive; covered head to toe in some kind of tactical-looking gear and armor, wearing headgear that was obscured by the muzzle flash, but River could almost feel them staring.
That last part spooked him the most, like it was glaring past the recording and at River himself.
"Hey Ward, you in there?" Han's voice echoed beyond the braindance. River regained his bearings, realizing he'd been staring at the giant for a lot longer than he intended.
"Yeah, I'm good. Ericson, you seeing this?"
"Uh huh. Notice anything?"
"Nothing, I just know we can cross MaxTac off the board. What, you see something I don't?"
"Yep, lemme just pull away reeaal quick–" River suddenly found himself pulled out from the BD's first-person view. The rest of the braindance that the recently deceased failed to see was a mess of visual and audio static, a result of the BD being slapped together and edited too fast.
Emily was a tech wizard at this kinda stuff, but nobody was that good.
"-And zoom in on here," she cut in, moving the viewpoint closer to their suspect, "So at first, I couldn't notice anything either, who made the armor or whatever it is. That's when I noticed a little something-something."
Zooming in a bit closer, the visual feed enhanced, fuzzed, and cleared up.
River narrowed his eyes, pupils narrowed along a portion of the left breastplate, "Dots… that's braille."
"Exactly. I don't have access to the net here, so I can't do a quick search," she coughed, then read aloud, "Could be a set of numbers, though. Any idea what it could be?"
Han piped in before Ward could get a word out, "Could be a serial number? Service? NSN or document code? Who fucking knows, the guy could be a robot or something."
"Or someone that underwent a Full Body Conversion. Judging from the height, they could be an old IEC Dragoon, or something that 'saka was cooking up in a robotics lab," Ericson pointed out, earning another grumble from the older detective.
"Right, so we're looking for Adam fucking Smasher now, is that what I'm hearing?" River could sense Han turning to him at that point, "Are you hearing this horseshit, Riv?"
"Can it," River snapped, "Anything else you saw that I might be missing?"
"Nah, not my department," Ericson said, apparently unperturbed by Han's rant, "Anyway, what's the verdict, Detective Ward?"
A couple more seconds of searching passed, River then sighed, "Pull me out, can't find anything else, not here at least."
"Roger dodger," Ericson chirped, shutting down the BD and returning the detective to the real world. She watched him pinch the bridge of his nose before chiming in again, "Where do we go from here?"
"Back to HQ, I'll have to file more reports there," River said, letting his hands fall back to his knees, "For now, we'll have to keep an eye out for this guy, er– cyborg, whatever."
"Beat cops will actually have to pay attention to something for once," Han laughed, "In the meantime, we'll let transportation come and lug all the bodies for the coroner. Doubt we'll get anything out of it, but hey, the best we can do is wait 'till then."
It was River's turn to grunt, lifting himself off his seat and towards the stairs, "You coming with, Ericson?"
"Yeah, gimme a minute to join y'all."
"Gotcha. Let's go, Harold."
"Mm," the two headed down the hallway and down the stairs, "How long you think it'll take to find the guy? End of next week, probably."
"Awfully confident, Harold," River said, pivoting around the stairs and taking the next flight down, "Night City's a big place. Plenty of room to hole up for that long."
"Please," Han guffawed, "It's a seven-foot tall hunk of scrap, can't be that hard to spot one of those."
River only sighed, hoping that his partner could be right.
But he knew well it'd be a lot more than a week, that's for damn sure.
-oOo-
"Come on. Pick up, pick up, pick up…" a man in his office paced back and forth in the center of the room. A bad habit he always had, one that ended up leaving scratch marks on the wooden floor from dragging his feet.
He really needed to put down a new carpet for that.
Line went dead. He called again.
The man's pace slowed down, wrinkled black fabric that made up his duster nearly tripped him up the last time he didn't pace himself. Instead, this habit shifted into rapid foot tapping, drumming like a backstage rockerboy zeroing out on smash… and he wasn't sharing with his outputs.
"I swear to God if you don't pick up–"
The line stopped, went still, then finally: [Voxel]
"Don't you 'Voxel' me, assmunch– I told you to be careful for this gig," the man snapped, "And what the hell took you so long to pick up?"
[new gear, thanks to the last job you paid me for. 2nd Amendment sells cheap– and discreet, and what I had wasn't exactly what I call, what do the kids say these days: preem?]
"So-so I've heard. Finally invested yourself in something fancier?"
[Kyubi wasn't doing right for me, needed something more… versatile than just semi-auto. anyways, what's this about being careful?]
"Huh? Oh, oh!" the fixer's thoughts pivoted back onto the right train of thought, and thus his anger returned, "Son of a bitch… you made sure to clear out that building and to make sure you weren't spotted, right-right?"
[kept a tab to treat the job as a burn-op, not just solving a little territory dispute. made sure to scrub anything that could trace back to me. what, Valentinos not happy with the job?]
"That's not the issue, I–" Voxel chewed the inside of his cheek, giving himself a second to cool down, "I'm zipping you the deets. Lemme know if anything sticks out to you."
The fixer's eyes flashed for a couple seconds, data crossing from cyberdeck to cyberdeck across a wireless infostream.
"Play it."
The recording went as followed:
"Welcome to N54 News. I'm Gillean Jordan, bringing you the latest from around the world. Today marks the 56th anniversary of the Pathfinder mission, a long awaited mission to Jupiter back in 2020 that had since then gone radio silent. Ever since the Fourth Corporate War, three years after its disappearance, Militech didn't give up hope trying to find the whereabouts of the missing crew, even as NASA itself was defunct. To this day: not a single word. Did they manage to touch ground on one of Jupiter's moons, or was the crew lost with all hands on deck in the cold reach of space? To this day, it remains a mystery.
Onto more recent news, NCPD reports were leaked by an anonymous hacktivist group, the reports themselves are dated a week old on what appears to be an old 'borg going rampant throughout the Heywood region of Night City. While not officially confirmed, these reports appear to line up with other recent attacks upon various gangs and other groups: Tyger Claws, Animals, scavengers, and now recently Maelstrom. If there is anyone that is able to spot this individual, please notify local authorite–"
The volume went mute, droned out by the noise of a dial tone pending. The footage on the recording was still playing, various scenes censored for public discretion, but relevant details remained clear.
"This was from yesterday. Whaddaya think?" he asked, receiving no response at first, "Hello? Hey-"
[I got it. I made sure my presence was spotless. how'd this leak?]
"According to my sources: pigs pulled a recording from some chromefreak just after he was done filming snuff. Managed to get you in the spotlight before he bit the bullet."
[so I see...]
Voxel blinked, "'So I see'? My friend, do you not see how unfathomably close you are to getting zeroed?"
[didn't get my face.]
"Huh?"
[looking at the recording again. the muzzle flash hid my face… lot of the features on me here aren't very detailed either.]
"Yeah, well, pulling a recording from a man sent to the great beyond isn't gonna do much," Voxel paused, inhaled sharply, then resumed, "This– you know what this is?"
[I'm listening.]
"A miracle, my friend. An act of capital G-god, lightning in a bottle, call it whatever. Cops came this close to getting a whiff." The fixer stopped himself, just as he realized he was pacing 'round the room again, "At best, they'll forget about it by the end of the month. Worst case scenario? A persistent as all-hell lawman will keep digging, or they'll put out a bounty and send an edgerunner to do it for 'em."
[I've been keeping myself on the down-low this whole time. you know I've been taking your advice, right?]
"I…" Voxel sighed, rubbing his eyes with a hand, "Fucking hell. Yeah, yeah. It's been over a week now, now you answered. Dunno why I bothered getting worried."
[you never get this jumpy. besides, I think I'm overdue for a little trust.]
The man laughed, "Don't get ahead of yourself. I may have believed all that Buzz Lightyear bullshit you spouted when we met, but I knew you'd just get yourself into some real trouble if I didn't bite," he made his way back over to his desk, slowly reclining into his chair, "And I know a good investment when I see one."
[investment requires commitment, so I've heard. anything that gets me in hot water could lead back to you.]
"A real big fish outta water, leaping into a pond too small for the other big 'uns. Not everyone's a tank with legs, so you went with the least interesting cover story I could come up with: a full 'borg too stubborn to swap out his chrome, and too old to keep up with the city."
[and I'm hanging on well, if anyone asks. I got it.]
No one's interested in old history anymore, so barely anyone'll ask. And a reason like stubbornness is boring and relatable enough so no one'll pry, and give enough sympathy to answer any questions.
To him, it was the perfect excuse.
[that all for now?]
"Not so fast, my friend. Time is money, and I figure we at least put this line to good use while you're still on it."
[so I'm not just here for advice and a pep talk. you got another job lined up for me?]
"As a matter o' fact, I do. Zipping you the deets." His eyes flashed and more info was transferred, "All the way down from the Badlands up to Watson. Medium risk, pays well, gig's from below the table; quarter-pay upfront. You'll be working with two other edgerunners as additional muscle."
[gang risk?]
Voxel frowned, "Raffen Shiv– Wraiths, mostly. Maybe 6th Street too on the way there, but this is a transport job, so unless you have something they want, it shouldn't be an issue."
A couple seconds passed. Voxel presumed his favorite merc was still looking through the details.
[a netrunner? and the amount of money here is enough to pay for a mid-sized crew.]
"My friend, it's free money. That's why I'm sending you instead of outsourcing to other shit-for-brains that want to klep a free eddy doing nothing on their ass. Are you really making a fuss about this?"
[doesn't feel right. and you didn't answer my first question.]
"Then do whatever you want with the money after it's done. Donate it to charity, get yourself a Joytoy, I don't care," Voxel smiled humorlessly with a shake of his head, "And to answer you: better to have a netrunner on hand for all occasions; saved my old crew's asses more often than not."
[bragging now? not what I expected from you.]
"I'm just layin' all the facts out for you, my friend. So whaddaya say?"
Seconds passed, Voxel was just about ready to give him an earful again, maybe try to sweeten the deal a bit, until the other line finally broke the silence.
[where's the meeting point?]
The former netrunner-turned-fixer's grin stretched out into a full white-toothed smile, "I knew you'd finally come around. Location's at La Palapas Motel, I set up a time for the three of yall tonight; take a Delamain and don't be late."
Voxel heard the line on the other end cut out, leaving the man all by his lonesome once again. A cigarette case rested in the corner of his desk, in-laid fool's gold with a rabbit geometrically sculpted into its center.
Of which the fixer decided to indulge in. Anything to calm his nerves.
A ring of smoke escaped the man's lips after a second, the burning stick dangling between his fingers. Voxel needed to thank the Doll he had a fling with down at Clouds for introducing him to this particular brand.
The name didn't come to him immediately, so his thoughts wandered elsewhere, to more relevant subjects. Recent memories, nearly on death's door, rakes of eddies piling in through repeated successes from a merc picked up by a certain fixer.
'What an odd path my life has suddenly taken,' Voxel thought, absentmindedly smiling to himself.
A minute passed, extinguishing the half-finished cig into an ashtray
"Happy hunting, Zi."
-oOo-
The sky over the Badlands was the color of television tuned to a dead channel. The sounds that pierced it, however, was of gunfire punching through styrofoam walls and plaster.
A small army of raffen shiv brought down in full force upon a pair of trespassers, Wraiths all piling on a single car brave, stupid, and strong enough to clear through a gate with a rusty lock. The two inside managed to climb out and take cover behind it, though the ballistic armor wasn't invincible.
Patience was a virtue, and one easily squandered when eddies were on the line.
"Dammit, Becca. What the hell were you thinking?'' The first of the two, a tall blond woman dressed in red with a facemask, brandished an Omaha, managing to get lucky with a couple of potshots and focus long enough to hit some of their foes with some heavy quickhacks.
She wasn't panicking, of course. Exiled nomads like these weren't infinite, but the clown car level of absurdity of them piling out of their makeshift hotel rooms was enough to make her worry.
The woman peeked out of cover just long enough to take aim, charge, and burst-fire. The screams as she ducked back in weren't exactly what she'd call satisfying, but that was one less person shooting at them.
Her eyes narrowed, demanding again, "Becca–!"
"I know what I was doing! Not my fucking fault they had a panic button. It was your job to check, wasn't it?" the second of the pair screamed over the arrhythmic pounding of gunfire, a smaller woman with white-blue synthskin and Mox tattoos, mint-green hair, and a pair of overlapping red and green cybereyes. Though underdressed, she made up for this by the overwhelming firepower she held in comparison to her taller and lankier counterpart.
"Can't hide behind there forev-" one of the shiv's managed to shout, only to lose half their face to a steel slug payload delivered via M2038 Tactician pump-action.
"Yes we can!" Becca shouted, leaning out and catching another Wraith in the leg, "So unless you want us dead, why don't you come out here and say it to our faces!"
"I think he's dead."
"I know," she said, crawling forward to throw back a grenade that one of the Wraiths tried to lob, an explosion followed soon after, "I'm out, cover me while I reload."
"Do what I can," the woman in red closed her eyes, cyberdeck throwing out a Ping subroutine to bounce around and catch any other possible ports to access. Unfortunately, there were no security cams or turrets to use against them.
Then again, they would've used the latter already if that was the case.
"Alright, done," Becca braced her shotgun over the hood of the car and took aim, "Where the hell is our backup! They were supposed to be here already… huh– agh!"
The girl pitched backwards with a yelp, clutching at her face while sparks shot out from her eyes.
"You okay?"
"Some fucker's rebooting my optics. Not permanent, but it stings like a bitch," Becca stretched out her hand, feeling about for her shotgun until her fingertips touched the barrel, "Here, make yourself useful."
She slid the gun to where she assumed her partner to be, who cautiously picked up the pump-action weapon.
"How many do we still have on us?"
"Hell if I know. Too many?"
"Well, shit. Think you can find whoever hacked me?"
The netrunner didn't answer, instead she hefted the unwieldy weapon over her cover and fired, only barely managing to clip someone a second away from tossing another grenade. The slug hit some part of their armor and the only damage she managed to put in was knocking them to the ground.
The grenade's pin was pulled when it fell to the ground beside them, though.
She pulled herself back into cover, to which Becca sat up, back pressed against a nearby tire. Blinking and squinting, it looked like her vision was back. She once again found her shotgun returned to its rightful owner, now enthusiastic and taking aim with a malicious giggle.
An explosion went off a second later, tossing up dirt and rubble from the hotel entrance. The woman would have smirked if she had a mouth to do so with.
Another half-minute of this gunfight, and neither side was letting up. Hell, the Wraiths only seemed further encouraged by this enthusiasm.
Raffen Shiv were a subgroup of nomads consisting of exiles and criminals; the worst of the bunch. Tight-knit families led to some internal problems when shit hit the fan, but it was the mantra of various nomads to always stick by each other.
To end up Raffen Shiv was a sign that one had done something so heinous, so terrible or absurd, that the family considered them a detriment to the group and exiled. One beyond saving and cast out to fend for themselves.
The fact that there were so many was less a statement of a nomad's ethics and more an indication of how far people have fallen in the New United States. Even the corpos didn't want to deal with them, preferring to mark any attacked convoys off the census than deal with domestic guerilla fighters on their own turf.
The overwhelmed pair slowed in gunfire, knowing full well there was more ammunition and manpower on the opposing side. It wasn't a fight they could win, or escape from without proper prep-time.
And neither of them had any in stock.
So, it had to have been pure luck when the gunfire came to a halt. Or rather, they instead focused on a new target.
"Huh?" Becca mouthed to her counterpart, who only shrugged in response. Both eventually willed themselves to peek over the ruined vehicle they used for cover: a bunch of backs turned away from them and focused on a singular source firing right back at them in burst-fire.
Neither of them were able to see who it was that got the Wraith's attention, but whoever it was, they made quick work of their foes. Each shot hit clean, head or center-mass around the heart, and moved onto the next target with little hesitation.
Roughly two dozen bodies in total. This must've been the group Voxel hired.
The taller woman was at least happy to catch a break.
Becca though?
The shorter girl giggled to herself, snatching the Omaha from her partner's hand while dropping the Tactician she already emptied out in favor of a Unity in her offhand, vaulting over the bullet-ridden hood of their car and taking aim.
"Come on, cocksuckers!" she screamed, cackling and popping skulls like they were water balloons. They didn't even have time to turn around and retaliate, just enough to know they were in danger before a bullet perforated their skull, "I'm not done with y'all yet! Give us what we came here for and we'll let you go!"
She hollered all of this and more, over the thinning crowd of people that was dead-set on killing her just seconds ago. Overconfidence didn't even begin to describe her, but she was alive in spite of it.
Fortunately, the battle dwindled down in under a minute. By that time, both guns went empty, and Becca was down to her last two magazines. Tossing aside the Omaha and feeding one of the magazines into her Unity, she cautiously trudged forward, arms perpendicular and gun parallel to the rest of her body.
"Yo, somebody out there?!" she said, taking cover behind the small office building smack in the center of the motel, "If you're the folks that were supposed to meet with us, you're kinda fucking late!"
One second, two, then five.
"You the two I was supposed to meet?" another voice piped in from the other side of the motel, deep and processed, like it was being said through a speakerphone, "Voxel said you two were a mile out from here."
"Got impatient. Y'all were supposed to meet us out here on the dot," the girl snapped, "What about everyone else? They too chicken to talk?"
"Else? No, it's just me," the voice said, "Had to take a Delamain. Bit on the heavy side to drive here myself, and the cabs don't go beyond city limits."
Becca scoffed, "What, you just walked here after?"
"Something like that." A moment passed. The girl raised an eyebrow at that, "So are we just gonna stand around without showing ourselves or…?"
"Guns on the ground, now," she ordered, "Nice and easy. Promise I won't shoot, just something not right I'm getting from you."
A slow sigh followed, "Fine, whatever makes you happy."
She heard a heavy thump soon after, peeking out from the wall to see a Masamune now lying on the ground.
"Are we good now?"
"Your side piece too."
A beat, "...I don't have one."
Becca frowned, "The fuck you mean you don't have one?" She let out an exasperated growl and poked out of cover, "Fucking fine, step out now. We're good."
The source of the voice obeyed and stepped out, slowly just like she asked. What she expected was some hardass grizzly guy decked out in mil-style gear and cyberware.
Instead, she got a 7 foot-something tall 'borg towering over her, hands lazily raised above their head like the Unity pointed at them was nothing more than a water gun.
From head to toe, this guy was decked out in plates of greenish-gray metal, separated by what looked like a strange smooth black under armor that seamlessly conformed to each movement.
"What the fuck…?" she blinked, still keeping her gun pointed at him, "Who– what?"
"What, are full body conversations out of style now or did I not read the fine print?"
"Whuh–? Oh, put your arms down," Becca lowered her pistol and sighed. Dude was huge but he wasn't a threat, didn't give off the vibe, "You got a name, tin man?"
"Just call me Zi for now," the borg leaned down to pick up his rifle, brushing off the dirt with a hand before slinging it over his shoulder, "What about you and your partner?"
"Hmm? Oh yeah, hey!" the girl turned around and yelled, "We're good now, it's just the guy who was supposed to meet up with us!"
A bit later, her friend in red stood up from behind the car, eyes widening at the sight of the shorter girl standing beside a relatively sized goliath.
"I'm Rebecca, and this–" she nudged her partner on the arm as soon as she was within reach, "-Is Kiwi."
"Huh, you weren't kidding. It is just one guy," Kiwi tilted her head, "Must be really feeling yourself getting all the pay a small group of mercs would usually get."
The borg shook his head, "We can discuss payment some other time. Data said there was a van that was stolen by the Wraiths, full of guns that was supposed to be supplied to whoever's selling them after."
Kiwi hummed, irises lit up in a circuit pattern before dulling a couple seconds later. Rebecca watched from the corner of her eye as she disappeared behind one of the buildings, a slight tilt from Zi's head told her he shared the same sentiment.
'What is she up to?' they both wondered.
A minute later, the sound of an engine roaring to life echoed as a V340-F Freight van rolled into a nearby clearing. Kiwi sat in the driver's seat and looked at the both of them expectantly.
"Found it."
Rebecca grunted, scratching the side of her head with the barrel of her pistol, "Uh huh, you sure?" She walked over to the back of the van and pulled open the door, "Ohhh yeah, this is it."
She looked into the vehicle's massive compartment, then glanced at the giant, then back inside. Rebecca held out a finger to him, in a 'wait here' gesture, then disappeared into the trunk.
Kiwi, on the other hand, leaned against the car door, studying the borg's massive frame. Eyes lit up with a netrunner's vision as she tried to discern his nature, make, age… and vulnerabilities.
She had no intention of stabbing the guy in the back, just to get some insurance in case he has the idea himself. She made sure she wasn't looking at him directly, keeping him in her peripherals while she tried to make heads or tails of what she was looking at.
And man, was it something. The armor may have looked dented and worn out, but the software underneath was beyond cutting edge, maybe even out of reach of whatever would hit shelves off Arasaka or even the NUSA military within the next 10– no, 20 years even.
She studied his face, or rather, the armor that covered where she assumed his brain was. The armor seemed the thickest there out of all, looking less like conventional armor and more like a boxy-looking blast visor, a single camera optic gave the only indication that he was able to even see.
It seemed a bit impractical. A good shot there could leave him blinded, but then again, there were probably also a number of redundancies that she couldn't pull from him.
'Huh,' was the only thing she could say in response. Either this guy really was an old borg with neuralware beyond her own scope… or there was something deeper that she just wasn't seeing.
In the meantime, he had his guns on him and wasn't pointing it at them. Not exactly trust, but he couldn't make eddies without their help.
"Yo!" Rebecca finally cut in. Zi turned to her while Kiwi looked back to the road, "Gotcha something."
Zi looked down, just in time to catch a pistol sailing towards him in an arc.
He looked down at it, studying the weapon, "What's this?"
"Said ya don't got a side piece. Inventory won't notice one gun missing from the list. Straight from Constitutional Arms' assembly line, the Liberty," she handed him a set of magazines, each chock full of ammunition, "Chambered in .45 Super. Competitor with the Tsunami Nue, but this puppy always felt less clunky to me. Consider it a gift from me, choom."
She watched the borg pull back the hammer and rack the slide, slid a mag in, cocked it back into place. Zi aimed somewhere in the distance before finally relaxing, pressing the pistol to a part of his thigh where it stuck there.
"Bit too early to be on choom terms, isn't it?"
Rebecca shrugged and walked away, straight towards the passenger seat, "For now. Oh, uh, since our ride's trashed, we're all gonna have to ride this back to the drop off point, you cool with that?"
"This is a two-seater, Becca," Kiwi reminded, glancing at the borg just some distance away, "You cool with riding in the back?"
Zi nodded, "Fine by me. I'm too heavy for the front seats anyway."
"Let's not waste any time then," Kiwi said, wincing as soon as he climbed into the back, feeling the distribution shift from the sudden increase in load. The doors shut behind him, "You good?"
"Yeah."
Kiwi grunted, "Well, it won't be the smoothest ride… or the fastest. Let's just hope the guy who put out the gig actually pays us."
"Dibs on his hands if he doesn't," Rebecca piped in, "Bro's been wanting new ones lately and… ah shit, I'm gonna have to tell him I trashed his ride…"
"Just buy him a new one. Should be enough with the eddies from this job," Kiwi said, rolling the car out of the motel premises and onto the highway.
"But I'll be back to zero again!" the shorter girl whined, "I saved up so much from all our jobs this month…!"
"Shouldn't have trashed his ride then."
"Fuck you, Kiwi," Rebecca grumbled, pulling her legs up onto the seat and hugging her knees, "Kick a girl while she's down, why don't you? Lucy wouldn't say shit like that."
Kiwi only gave out a short chuckle, "Well, Lucy's spending her time picksocketing rather than deal with any gigs like this. Maybe hit her up when she isn't busy."
"Yeah, maybe."
Just a couple more minutes 'til they reach Night City premises. From there, it'll be smooth sailing until the next job.
-oOo-
The van came to a stop behind a warehouse, Zi unloaded the crates full of guns onto a set of pallets sitting nearby. Rebecca could only whistle at the borg's inhuman strength, shooting him a thumbs up while he leaned against the van.
A portly and balding man exited from one of the office doors after Kiwi honked the horn, dirty and covered in gun grease, but knew what condition he was in not to shake anyone's hands.
"Christ, can't thank you enough for bringing these. Stock was running low this month and the assembly lines in Night City weren't taking any requests from little 'ol me," the man thanked them profusely, "I'll get a forklift and see if I can't haul these up."
"And about payment?"
"Payment? Oh right, yeah yeah," the gun dealer's eyes lit up and the eddies were transferred, "7k eddies each, a quarter already upfront."
Kiwi narrowed her eyes. Not upset at the payment, but maybe a bit irked that their little lone savior was the one getting a full 21k extra. Felt like ennies relative to the danger they were just in, but he was good enough to make up for three mercs who would've bit the bullet halfway into it.
Hell, that probably would've increased the pay.
"Alright then. I'll let you get back to it then."
"Hey, hold on," the man stopped her, "I work at a 2nd Amendment shop over at Megabuilding H10. I know the pay wasn't much, but I'll be able to give you and your crew a discount next time you stop by."
Kiwi gave the man a look. Uncaring about the deal, but she didn't voice that aloud, "I'll keep that in mind, Mr…?"
"Wilson. Robert Wilson," he nodded, making his back inside for that forklift.
With that in mind, Kiwi let out a sigh and climbed out of the driver's seat, standing up straight to see Zi and Rebecca hanging out near the corner of the warehouse. The former of which turned to her as soon as she entered his line of sight, "Hey."
"Hey," she said, "So, job's done. Guess we part ways from here."
"Not yet. One second," they watched the borg reach for his back, to which Rebecca and Kiwi in turn immediately reached for their own weapons. The giant stopped, looking at the two of them in what she only assumed was confusion, before pulling back with what looked like a–
"Huh," Rebecca put away her gun, looking at the small paperback-sized device, somewhat baffled, "An antique cyberdeck? You really are old."
"Only way I work. Anything else is incompatible with my hardware," he explained, typing away at the set of keys on the pad before handing it over to the two, "Slot yourselves in."
"Uhh, why?"
A slight chuckle from him, "To make up for the damage."
Both women looked at each other before Rebecca shrugged and slid the interface wire in first. Kiwi eventually resigned and did the same.
Seconds passed.
[Funds Transferred: €$3500]
The two looked up at the cyborg in surprise.
"Made more sense to split it evenly. Four-ways: you two, myself, and our fixer," Zi nodded, "That's fine with you two?"
Kiwi nodded back, while Rebecca was more than happy to voice her thoughts out loud.
"Hell fucking yeah! And you said it was too early for choom, huh? I like you already."
Zi only shrugged, "Just think everyone deserves a fair shake," with that, he turned to leave, "Well, until then, I suppose."
"Yeah, until then." Kiwi nodded, not quite sure of the read she got on this guy, but at least appreciated the extra eddies. Someone like him could be pretty useful down the road… she'll keep Voxel's number on hand.
Just in case.
"Think Maine might like this guy?" Rebecca asked.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Kiwi replied, "In the meantime, you still need to do the NCART walk of shame. No wheels, remember?"
"Up yours, you bitch," Rebecca flipped her the bird, pulling her jacket tighter around her and picking up the pace, "You're coming with me."
"Yeah? Just not in shame."
Rebecca only groaned, "Pilar's gonna give me an earful…", Kiwi silently chuckled in response.
Just another day in Night City, she supposed.