The lights flickering over his operation room told Owen Princeton something was off with the situation. He knew well, since he changed all the bulbs there last month.
It was right around closing time when the ripperdoc received a visitor at the entrance of his clinic. The balding surgeon had just finished wiping his hands with sterilizing fluid to avoid potential contaminants from his range of patients for the day, now carrying a crate full of used medical equipment to disposal.
Even working for the criminal underworld, standards and oath dictated consummate and professional behavior. That included no patients beyond closing time.
"Come back tomorrow, I won't be taking reservations," his voice came out in a clipped drawl, a symptom of an aging vocal synthesizer, courtesy of NUSA military replacing his throat thanks to a shard of grenade shrapnel shredding his windpipe.
"Don't worry. I'm not here for an operation," the slender figure's voice came out in a feminine timbre, touched with a slight Japanese accent. He watched what he realized was a young woman pushing herself off the wall she was leaning on and stepped under the halogen light glowing over the building entrance.
Now visible, her appearance turned out to match her voice: a young woman in a black overcoat that faded down into a maroon hue; underneath revealing a sleeveless, skin-tight Netrunner's jumpsuit. Her features were as sharp as they were elegant, azure eyes cut into a serious expression contrasted with her relaxed posture.
She wasn't with the Tyger Claws, or with any other suit he knew about, and he knew a lot of suits.
She was deadly too. Owen knew that, and she knew he knew that.
"I've come for information," the woman crossed her arms, gesturing towards the room behind them with a nod, the room Princeton just left.
The surgeon made no effort to resist, only returning her nod and slowly turning back towards the operating room. Owen relaxed a bit, knowing full well he was safer in there with the–
"It would be best if things were as discreet as possible, that's why I made sure to jam and disable any and all forms of communication as soon as you left the door," her voice came out in a whisper, but sounded clear as day even from the gap in distance they'd formed, "Including the little red button you keep beneath your operating seat."
'...Damn it.' He cursed under his breath. The ripperdoc didn't get a good enough look at her face, so he wasn't able to deduce what kind of cyberware she kept under the hood. At the very least, most of her body was covered, so that was already a moot point.
If he started looking now, the lady would immediately tell. She already pulled the rug away on his backup plan.
But that did tell him she was a netrunner of some sorts. Neuralware had to be part of that package.
The doors closed behind them, leaving the two in the same sterile room that Princeton had just cleaned up after. He turned around, placing the box on a nearby table.
"Alright, how can I help you? I don't offer consultations," He kept his voice clear and his tone firm. True, the man was practically shaking in his shoes, but it was best he remained cordial. The sooner he answered her questions, the better.
"Not that kind of information," she smiled, lips curving up yet her eyes failed to match, "It's about a patient that had recently come for your services."
The older man raised a thinned eyebrow, "I'm afraid I can't. Patient confidentiality is something I prefer to uphold. Whatever you think I may have, I'm not at liberty to divulge private details."
"I see…" the woman nodded, understandingly to his surprise, "That is one thing I can respect from others: those who hold to such convictions even in this rotted city. Please take a seat, Dr. Princeton, these matters are far more important than things like a patient's medical history."
Though only somewhat mollified by her explanation, Princeton made no effort to disobey, leaning into a rolling chair he had set aside for his own leisure.
"By all means then, ask away."
The man watched the young woman reach into her coat pocket and pull out a shard, her arm stretched out towards him while it rested in the palm of her hand.
Princeton looked down at the shard, picking it up and slotting it into his system. Scanning it for potential malware, he saw there was none, and the information stream pooled into his mind.
A hazy video, like an antique video camera playing directly at a TV screen, the grainy footage made it clear of the degrees of separation needed to actually get to this low of a quality, especially in this day and age.
The ripperdoc watched a hazy figure flit about through dark hallways, dull flashes and muffled cracks of gunfire punching through red and silver gangoons. The footage suddenly pulled away towards a door as the gunfire became louder, the video suddenly grew a lot clearer now that it wasn't looking through what he realized was a security system screen.
The door suddenly slammed open with a bang, revealing a hulking mass and a rifle held in its hands. A final shot rang out before the recording finally went dead.
Princeton looked up at the woman, patiently waiting for the footage to end before she finally spoke once again.
"Look familiar, doctor?"
He swallowed, wetting a dry throat while she gazed down at the old ripperdoc. Her expression was unreadable, eyes boring into his own while the rest of her face had softened, expecting an answer, but didn't know how he would respond.
'Hmm…'
"This is the footage from N54. I'm not sure what you're trying to do by showing me this," he said, his voice level though pitched ever so slightly near the end, "You saw the news, didn't you? It was leaked by some hackers who managed to get their mitts on the data."
The woman stood still, statuesque even. Even though it felt like minutes, it was only a couple seconds before she finally conceded, "Very well then, my mistake for coming here. The shard, please?"
She held out her hand, and he was more than happy to return, eager to see her out and go on with his own business.
That didn't happen.
Instead, the woman snatched the doctor's wrist with her other hand, twisting it until an audible pop echoed, before slamming it into the operating tool table.
"Huh–? AGH-!" It was barely even a second, and Princeton didn't even have time to process this until the woman pinned the hand in place with a tanto, striking through the back and piercing all the way through.
Then the pain finally registered.
"Fuck!" the man screamed, eyes bugging out of his skull. His offhand digging into his thigh while the other remained immobile, blood pooling out the wound and fingers spasming in place, "Fuck fuck fuck! GAHGH!"
"Finally ready to be honest?" she glanced off to the side, more interested in what was under her fingernails than him.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? You crazy bitch!"
"Nothing really. Well, now that I know you're not using a pain editor, this'll make my job easier," she placed her index finger over the top of the knife's handle, nails painted maroon and matching the pooling set of blood soaking into the mint-colored paper cloth covering the table.
"I will ask you again: does that footage look familiar, doctor?"
She watched the man continue to struggle, red in the face and spitting a surprisingly short list of curses at her. A complete 180 from the composed and dignified medical practitioner she was speaking to seconds prior.
"I said… I said I don't–" she pushed the blade deeper with her finger ever so slightly, "AAah! Fff… fuck! I said–"
"You repeated rhetoric spewed by news reporters that I, frankly, consider what many in the business call bullshit," the woman said, "Yet you didn't deny it either. I suppose we can skip the pleasantries for now, since you've all but told me of your involvement. Where did you get this footage?"
"Why do you care? I just klepped it from some woman during a bi-annual tune-up. She left the braindance with her gear, so I copied it onto a blank record! A media intern was willing to buy the info off of me for a cut of his pay that his boss would give him," Princeton managed to compose himself, willing himself through the pain to keep his voice even, but not enough to spill the beans.
"Mm hmm, and who do you think led me right to you? That intern was far easier to interrogate, had a lot more on the line to lose," her voice was wispy, almost amused, but her expression remained stony as ever, hardening further as she leaned in, "What woman?"
"I don't know, I–" the woman's finger threatened to press further, "I-I swear! She was just some chick in some old tac-gear or something. Either NCPD or some dirt solo's output, that's all I know!"
The woman stared, lips pressed into a thin line before turning away towards a personal laptop seated in the corner of the room. Jacking an interface plug into a port, she tore apart the computer's firewalls with ease, information poured in and contained itself on an internal storage unit within her cyberdeck. Private information of all of Princeton's clients.
She was telling the truth when she said she wouldn't ask him about his clients' personal details, though circumstances now required more… forceful methods. Besides, taking this data wasn't exactly part of the interrogation anyway.
"That will be it for now. I have all the information I need," she smiled and turned away, intent on exiting the former doctor's chop shop, "A pleasure doing business with you."
"W-wait, what about my hand?"
She frowned, "What about it? You might have stolen information from a patient, but you never failed your duties as a medical professional. That's why I'm leaving the blade in your hand, rather than amputating it entirely; doctors of your caliber are rare nowadays."
Without expecting a response in return, the woman finally left the clinic. The doors slid open and all lines of communication returned to the building as soon as she was no longer within sight of possible security systems.
She needed to go somewhere more secure. Downtown of the City Center wasn't the most private place, but knowing each path through Night City like a blood vessel of an intricate circulatory system made it easier to weave through the shadier ends.
A pair of shades completed the set to match her overcoat. With an air of confidence and a matching aesthetic, that was enough for even the most hardened of gangoons to disregard her as a potential target.
This wasn't Watson or Wellspring, she didn't need to keep her hand on her piece in the event of overconfident scavengers. Hell, the homeless were well-aware to keep their distance and she didn't even regard them as a threat.
The woman eventually found privacy over a balcony overlooking the city. Neon lights aglow and gunfire peppering off in the distance; edgerunners and their ilk, she suspected.
Her eyes lit up in a green tint, the hum of a ringtone booming in the back of her ears and simultaneously within. A heads-up display appeared over her vision and she set to work, fiddling with the call halfway before it could even start.
Done. Now they could talk without any potential for eavesdroppers.
The netrunner's call was finally picked up, a man's voice answered through rough static.
[Is this line secure?]
"Yes," she confirmed, "We are currently speaking over an encrypted channel. Our calls should not be monitored, whether by outside parties or–"
[Very good. We shall keep this brief then. Has our potential asset been found yet?]
"Not yet. I have a couple leads, but this is a big city. This is– what do they call it? A needle in a haystack?" the woman shook her head, "I'm working my way down the chain, cutting through the weakest links to see if they can draw me to them."
[And?]
"My newest lead drew us to potential NCPD… or a solo. It was hard to tell with him cursing."
[The interrogation went poorly.]
"My methods drew the best results, and that led me to where we are now."
[Talking to me on a call, in a dingy hovel of a fractured country. It's for good reason that Night City is rated the worst place to live.]
"All for you. Now I have two options to pick: bribe the police or cut a deal with an info broker to point me in the right direction."
[Hmm…]
The woman let the man think. Leaning against the railing, she took a breath, careful to ignore the noxious odors of the city.
The scent of cigarettes and chemical fumes, shit and rot of dead bodies that were tucked away in the little corners of the city. Crumbled fast food wrapping she tried to step over but inevitably missed, the occasional bullet shell and dried blood and gore that city custodians occasionally ignored.
'Disgusting,' she could only think. This was not her home, far from it, though she will compromise to serve if necessary.
[Your old 6th Street friend has not made an appearance in some time. Perhaps he may pay a visit with old friends. Gather favors and deliver if necessary.]
The woman raised a brow, "You think he may be able to help?"
[Perhaps… perhaps. Bribery with police may appear straightforward, but discretion is key in this particular task. He still curries favor with a certain rogue. I will handle funds if need be, though it looks like searching for our mystery cyborg will take some payment after all.]
"No such thing as free."
[Someone has never considered thievery.]
"Free for me, not for them."
[Ha. So you say. Very well, I suppose we have our priorities in order?]
"I can prepare right now. He will be there tomorrow afternoon, provided that the Afterlife will let him in."
[Will that be a problem?]
"...No."
[Good. Evaluate this asset, get close if he must. If they are as useful as the city whispers, then they will be beneficial to our plans. If not, do what you must to ensure they have no intention of getting in our way.]
"Understood. Consider it done."
[Very good. It is a pleasure to work with you again, Kaede.]
"As with you, Arasaka-sama," even outside his presence, the woman bowed in deference. The call came to an end, leaving her alone in the vast expanse of Night City.
Eventually, she pushed herself off the guardrail, eager to get to work already.
If she was lucky, Rogue Amendiares had a good memory.
-oOo-
"Got another job for you, my friend," Voxel began the moment Zi picked up his call. The fixer was still damp and in the process of drying his hair off with a towel, first from his morning run, then from the shower that accompanied him afterwards
Not a net pro anymore, but a runner was still a runner.
[no good morning? i haven't even had my morning coffee yet.]
"We both know you don't drink coffee."
[of course I do. cream and three sugars, decaf, picked up from the local matapang shop.]
Voxel's face scrunched up, eyeing the paper cup resting in the corner of his office desk, full of exactly what the borg had just described on his run back to his apartment. The young man's eyes widened as his mind turned back to the conversation.
"You–"
[relax, I didn't stalk you… I just memorized your order from a receipt you left in the trash when we first met.]
The man was on the verge of fuming, but again managed to keep his cool. This fucking "borg" was taking years off his life just from the high blood pressure alone. Voxel focused back to the other line, "You're a real comedian, you know that?"
For a moment, he swore he heard a chuckle on the other end of the line, but no sound profile came out then.
"No seriously, that was almost two months ago. Given the things I've seen from you, you're exactly the kind of gonk to do that kind of bullshit."
[not for fun, at least. anyway, you said you had a job for me?]
'Liar,' Voxel thought to himself, taking a sip from his coffee, the taste somehow pissing him off even more just from his stupid prank. He set the cup to the side, "Apart from the heart attack you nearly gave me, I managed to fish out a job from someone in the upper echelons. Sending you the info."
Eyes lit up, details received, business as usual. He gave the man some time to look over the details, to let him come to his own conclusions.
Before dropping the real caveat, that is.
[santo domingo? that's not too far away. what's this about… cybermatrix?]
"Mm!" Voxel grunted, mouthful of caffeine until he swallowed, "An old cyberware corporation even before the first corpo war. Despite being dwarfed by both Arasaka and Militech, it remained in the same competitive market as Zetatech, Raven Microcybernetics, and Dynalar. Unfortunately for them, this particular place has been scooped out by a particularly nasty group, a hategang called the Inquisitors."
[never heard of them. are they like maelstrom?]
The fixer frowned, just about ready to correct him, "Just about the opposite, really. Hell, these guys are just about the reason why Maelstrom exists in the first place."
[giving me a history lesson now?]
"Yep, so pay attention, my friend," Voxel smiled wryly, "These guys go way back before the 21st century, believers in the idea that all the chrome you got on you is a capital S-sin against the big man upstairs. Not willing to remove your cyberware? No problem, they'll do it for you on the spot and on the house, whether you like it or not."
[...sounds like they're fighting a losing battle.]
"You don't know the half of it, choom. When you hate one of the most important parts about today's corporate society besides eddies, that paints a target on your back and puts you on everyone's shitlist. These fuckers are like cockroaches, even I don't know how they're still here."
[so what's the deal? this feels like more than just simply clearing out an old gang. there's an angle here.]
The netrunner nodded, "This gang hasn't been as active like it was before, taking on big names like Arasaka, Militech, and even Kang Tao would pretty much be a suicide charge straight to zero-town. The way I see it, smaller companies like Cybermatrix here are easy pickings, especially in Santo Domingo. Their downsizing makes their presence harder to find, so they're not on any of the usual gangers' radars. Any more questions?"
[I think I get the picture. thanks.]
"No prob," Voxel shook his head, "You of all people sure as hell need the pointers…"
[what was that?]
"Nothing important," he tossed the coffee cup back, draining it dry before flicking it into his wastebasket, "There's a little something I need to point out before you even consider this job."
[go on.]
"You'll be working with someone from 6th Street. One Francis "Cysco" Corradi, answers to Cysco. He's willing to divide the cut in your favor if he takes full credit," That wasn't even the weird part, "But at the same time, he's requesting your help specifically."
[my help?]
"That's right. I'm not sure whether your incident in the news made waves throughout some part of the underworld, or if this guy's just keeping tabs on you."
[the maelstrom job was from the valentinos, and they're in the middle of a turf war between 6th street and the animals. he must've caught wind that they hired me and just wanted to make sure I kept my nose out of their business.]
"That explains the higher cut on your end: he's probably bribing you to maintain neutrality… and I guess he wants to scurry back home with the Cybermatrix cleared of vermin, have 6th Street invite the company back in open arms and open wallets for protection money."
Voxel nodded. It made sense: this gangoon planned on a long-term investment rather than bulk pay, and it'd be completely in 6th Street's favor with zero strings attached. While he and Zi would take the majority of some corpo's pocket change, this Cysco guy would get a standing ovation with his gang.
It was like the start of a very bad joke, and Voxel wasn't keen on hearing the punchline.
"Anything else you got?"
[nah. what's the pay?]
"35k eddies in total: 15 for both of us, our choom here will take what's left."
If one ignored what he considered now, it was a solid deal. Voxel grit his teeth, knowing it was his job to take into consideration any negative variables that may spring up, he already felt like he screwed up before the job even began.
He could tell Zi to call it off, and he'd do it without hesitation. Problem is, the money was already forwarded, so any sort of last second refusal wouldn't be tolerated, especially if this Militech guy valued discretion to pay a couple mercs for an off-the-record job.
[when's the meet up with this guy?]
Voxel swallowed, wetting a dry throat, "Early morning tomorrow, 3 to 4 AM. You'll be in and out before sunrise. The place is down the road from Megabuilding H4, past the Kendachi warehouse and take a left, you can't miss the big glowing sign. If you manage to spot a bunch of unchromed guys armed to the teeth, you found your prize."
[tell cysco to arrive earlier. I don't want to be late again like my last job.]
"That was on the Delamain, not you," the netrunner shook his head and smirked, "And that'll be all, my friend."
[copy.]
The line cut out, leaving the former netrunner to his lonesome. The man drummed a finger against his desk, in hopes that the rhythm might actually take his mind off whatever it was that was bothering him.
Voxel eyed the cigarette case on his desk, opposite the side of where he kept his coffee. He bit his tongue, knowing full well he'd already put some form of addiction in his body already, but his willpower was quickly waning.
'Fuck it.'
He snatched the case and grabbed a lighter, a cigarette now in his mouth and burning at the end. The fixer breathed in the sharp-tasting smoke, then exhaled in a resigned sigh, leaving his lips in a wispy gray trail.
Best he could do was wish the man good luck. In the meantime, he had to make a call.
-oOo-
Cysco didn't know if it was a matter of luck, but Rogue Amendiares had a terrific memory.
Strolling into Afterlife was easier said than done, harder when the bouncer's memory wasn't as good as the infamous fixer he'd been looking for. The gangoon left most of his more telling gear behind in favor of generic chic to blend into the rest of the club, but the woman had a sharp eye.
"Long time no see, Frankie," the woman had smiled at him, muted by the wavering stack of work that grew and shrunk by the hour, "Gone dark on me for ten years and here you are again. I'd ask what can I do for you, but that doesn't sound very mutual, doesn't it?"
She was correct on that part, but his contact handed him a blank check and a single task.
"I've been busy. Night City's a big place, and I can't always be out and about, y'know?"
Rogue nodded, "Right. But since you're not here for pleasure, at least sit down for a drink. Then we can talk business."
It was only a couple hours, the girl bringing them drinks was a cute little thing; the bartender was an even prettier catch, though she wasn't exactly the talkative type (Rogue mentioned something about a dead husband, but his memory was half-lost by their tenth shot).
He couldn't let things slip, lest she be a bit more reluctant on handing him the info he needed. Cysco's mind was a haze throughout that talk, but he managed to keep his wits intact. Or at least he hoped he did.
Eventually Rogue agreed, though the price was steep. Cysco gave her the eddies, the info, and the chip as a lead. In return, she gave him a faint smirk and told him she'd call back the moment she had his info.
A couple days later, she put him through with Voxel. He needed the big guy and already had a convenient job lined up beforehand. Cysco brought it up almost verbatim, though only mentioning Rogue as his source of information was a good enough incentive to reel this jackass fixer into the job.
So here he was now, a street away from his destination, with a half-empty flask of whiskey and strapped in his own personal iron. Morning drinking wasn't good for anyone's health, but it was better than whatever other shit vices existed in this city.
Another hour passed. He checked the clock: 02:58 AM.
Cysco grumbled, watching the time slowly tick down on his optics. He was informed right at the very last second that his backup would be late, so now here he was, leaning against the wall of a nearby alleyway.
Out of curiosity, the gangoon squatted down, looking at himself in the dim reflection of a puddle right by his feet.
Clean shaven, eyes covered by shades, marred by a receding hairline and thinning pepper-salt hair, the man's face showed his age and he wasn't afraid of it. Cysco ran a thumb across his skin, feeling each imperfect crease and wrinkle that marred it.
Old? Nah, seasoned.
That's how he liked it.
He stood back up, looking out from the corner of his eye as something approached. Cysco watched as a car rounded a corner towards his alleyway, nearing until it finally parked right in front of him.
A Delamain. The passenger door opened and Cysco was only able to make out the vague features of a hulking metal mass struggling to get out of the vehicle, listening to it creak and groan beneath its weight all the while.
"You have arrived at your destination. Thank you for choosing Delamain. I look forward to serving you again," the speaker chirped in spite of the damage inflicted.
The solo watched the mass finally rise to full height, now face-to-chrome with a goliath of a borg looming over him.
The giant standing before him was his antithesis: in contrast to his own cyberware, the cyborg's appearance screamed practicality. Cysco couldn't spot any underlying cybernetics, no seams to show there was anything meant to spring out from underneath. Maybe there was something special in his neuralware, but the outside served purely as armor, plain and simple.
Hell, that philosophy seemed to carry into their armory too. Where he favored the sleekness of a L-69 Zhuo, the cyborg before him sported a more practical HJSH-18 Masamune. Or the four Malorian Overtures visibly strapped to his waist while his counterpart sported a single ConArms Liberty.
A thing of pure metal compared to little ol' him.
"You Cysco?" The taller of the two broke the silence, his voice strangely clear compared to the usual retail-brand vocal synthesizer.
Cysco nodded, eyeing the figure up as the vehicle behind him sped off, "Tha's me. Guess your fixer wasn't lyin' when he said you're a big guy."
"Full Body Conversion," the giant answered. The only indication he was even looking at him was a single optical camera fixed on the left side of his head, "Name's Zi. I'm guessing we're straight on the details?"
The man nodded, "Yep, just clear an annoying rat's nest and give word to the corpos that the job's done."
"Good," the giant unslung his rifle, cradling it in both hands, "You know how many we'll be expecting?"
"A couple dozen at least," Cysco answered, the pair already stepping out of the alleyway, now walking along the flowing highway, "Good call to arrive at this time of day, actually. If we're lucky, then most of 'em holding the place down would be asleep and we'd be catching them with their pants down."
Zi nodded, "Why this place?"
"Did Voxel not tell you? It's cuz this place is an easy target," Cysco loaded a fresh magazine into his Zhuo, shouldering the shotgun and thumbing the hammers on his Overtures, "Don't feel too bad about zeroing these guys, most of 'em have probably committed some kinda hate crime. The rest are probably bozos and bystanders."
"I won't," the lack of doubt in the borg's voice put Cysco's mind at ease, "What heat are they packing?"
"No preference in what they use, except none of these guys are chipped or chromed out," the man answered, "The worst I can say is the guys that juice up on bioware to give 'emselves a slightly better edge than their usual grunts."
"Bioware?"
"Biological enhancements. Vat-grown muscles surgically implanted, skeletal muscles enhanced with nanites, toughened skin similar to subdermal armor. Like the Animals, that kinda thing," Cysco shook his head, "For some reason they take an exception with nanotech. Seems a bit contradictory for me, but they won't be alive long enough for me to question it."
"No netrunners then."
Cysco paused, then frowned, "They might still be using antique cyberdecks and tech that ain't exactly chipped into the body," he scratched his head, "If so, just expect slower response time with these bozos. They're dinosaurs, but treat 'em like they're modern 'runners."
"Will they pose a problem with our softs?"
"No, and even on the hypotheticals that they do," The gangoon tapped the side of his head and grinned, "Self-ICE, man. No motherfucker frying my chrome with this shit. What about you?"
"Same deal."
Cysco raised an eyebrow at that but kept his tongue.
Traffic throughout the city was rarely light, but Cysco doubted people would care to see the two of them at this time of the day. When corporations dictated your schedule, people rarely cared about what they passed by.
The solo's eyes bored down at the cyborg beneath his shades.
They were closing in on their location now, if the big "Cybermatrix" logo wasn't a big enough hint already.
The building was a large steel building, its logo glowing in neon light-blue and fixed atop its roof. Jutting out from the leftmost side of the building was a concrete extension, a lobby area if Cysco had to wager. The entrance building's pipes extended out from the steel fence and into a sewage drainage area, graffiti'd onto the side was his gang's logo in a fiery [666th Street, MOTHERFUCKER!].
The two crouched behind a nearby dumpster. Cysco adjusted his sunglasses and fired a Ping into a nearby security system with a little help from his cybereye. Without any chrome, Inquisitors couldn't be passively bounced off the system.
He took control of a camera and counted them.
Each person wore gear of varying quality and matching guns, all of which looked like refurbished Corpo War fatigues with the serial numbers scratched off. The guns were modern though, he could spot a Copperhead and a Nowaki among the small group.
To the untrained eye, they wouldn't stand out from the usual 6th Street member. Only difference was everyone showing a clear lack of cyberware.
"I'm counting seven–" he corrected himself, "Scratch that, eight shopped up at the front entrance. At the very least, I could take out half of 'em before I gotta reload. How 'bout you?"
Silence.
"Zi?" his optics exited the cam system. Looking around, the metalhead was nowhere to be found. Cysco stood up and disengaged the safety on his Zhuo, "Goddammit, where are you?"
He didn't even turn off his hearing. How'd he lose a half-ton of steel that easily?
The sound of gunfire was his only answer, two shots, then followed by a dozen more. Cysco turned back towards the source of the shots: right in front of the building.
'Fuck,' Cysco cursed beneath his breath, jogging until his pace picked up into a solid run, hefting the heavy shotgun in his hands, 'Can't go around mercing folks without me, I got a job to do too.'
The solo aimed down his sights before finally clearing the corner, finger firmly on the trigger before he came to a stop.
Zi stood at the center of the entrance clearing, his pistol in one hand and a huge fucking combat knife in his offhand. Surrounding him were the dead Inquisitors, only four of which sported gunshot wounds.
"Only managed to take out four of them silently before I got spotted," Zi said, "There was a ninth one you missed in the back."
"Shoulda waited for me, man," Cysco said, looking over to the number of corpses the borg before something caught his eye, "I need another pair of eyes to watch my back."
The taller solo looked about ready to retort in kind before relenting, giving the man a quick nod before kneeling down. Cysco watched the borg wipe the blood off his knife with a dead man's sleeve before sheathing it.
"How much you got?"
The 'borg unloaded his pistol, "9 in the magazine, and enough for the rest of the gig."
Cysco stared at him for a second before clicking his tongue, reaching down to one of the bodies and pulling something out of the pile, "I don't doubt it, but better to be safe than sorry."
In his hands was a short-barreled pump-action shotgun and a bandolier of shells. Zi slung the bandolier over his massive frame and cradled the weapon in his hands, inspecting it.
"An Ithaca Stakeout," Cysco said, "Must be on a tight budget to carry those around. These've been around since 2013, and went out of business ten years after when it was bought out by ConArms."
The borg pushed the shells into the loading port before stopping at eight.
"Close range, they'll be expecting us at the front door now. Can't afford mistakes if there's goods in there, eh?" Cysco nudged the cyborg with an elbow before trotting off ahead of him. The sound of the shotgun pumping back and forward again was music to the man's ears.
They approached the entrance. The door was sealed off with a magnetic lock, to which Cysco had the perfect countermeasure.
"Stand back," he planted a charge against the door, took his own advice, and activated the detonation command.
The door exploded and was reduced to steel slag. The two looked at each other, sharing a nod before cautiously shuffling inside.
Zi swept the room out of Cysco's peripherals, the only sign someone was here was the shrapnel-ridden gangoon splayed out in front of the front lobby desk.
'If they didn't notice us then…' Cysco thought. He noticed the borg approaching from behind, "Clear?"
"Clear," Zi nodded, "I'll take point. You got my back?"
"Like white on rice, man," Cysco watched the borg move on ahead of him. The hallway wasn't narrow, but it'd be a tight squeeze to get ahead with Zi taking up center stage.
That just made his job easier, though.
Beneath his sunglasses, Cysco's cyberoptic lit up in an infrared glow aimed solely at the cyborg.
From now on, his eye was on Zi.
'Showtime.'
On the opposite side of the hall was a steel door. The pair watched the door slide open before taking cover behind the edges. A pair of Inquisitor gangers unloaded their weapons at them, hurling jeers and derogatives simultaneously.
Zi looked at Cysco, who nodded.
The borg sprung into action the moment they gave a second of pause, much to the opposite solo's surprise.
Zi took aim and fired at the ganger on his left, splattering him with buckshot and spraying gore on the wall behind him. Without sparing a second, the borg unholstered his pistol and fired from the hip, perforating the second through the forehead.
They both went down simultaneously. Zi pumped the shotgun, and an empty shell left the gun, "Clear."
Cysco left his cover and followed after, his pace just a little slower than the borg, "The map's on my soft. We're on the ground floor right now, the rest of the building up is more office space."
"And beneath?"
"R&D. This company specs in cyberware, so this is the perfect place for these bozos to go full scrapheap heaven. If we're lucky, they won't have the brains to open up the damn place."
"They're paying extra for anything intact?"
"No, but it wouldn't hurt to leave with a souvenir or two. Got a problem with that?"
Zi looked at the man before turning away, "No. As long as the job's done, grab what you want."
"That's what I like to hear. Hey, maybe I might even owe you a fav–" Cysco fell before he could finish, landing on his back as gunfire echoed from within the cramped building.
The solo watched the borg take aim and fire back, listening to the sharp cry of pellets shredding flesh. One of the Inquisitors yelled something before firing back, bullets pelting off of Zi's armored form.
Or at least that's what he thought would happen.
Instead, the cyborg's armor lit up in a dim orange glow as the bullet ricocheted off and into a nearby wall. Zi pumped his shotgun and fired again, silencing the Inquisitor on the other side of the room.
'What the hell?' Cysco could only think through the ringing that rattled his skull. He looked back up to see Zi, his hand extended out to him.
"You good?"
The solo stared for longer than he intended before he shook his head and grabbed the borg's hand. The man was quickly pulled back to his feet, his Zhuo now in Zi's hands.
Upon closer inspection, the borg looked undamaged, not even a scratch on him.
"Don't lose your grip," he said before dropping the weapon into his hands.
Footsteps suddenly echoed from nearby. Three figures entered his line of sight, all armed to the teeth as they entered the solo's field of view.
This time, Cysco was prepared.
His cyberware activated before they could fire, and everything suddenly slowed to a crawl. His eyes lit up while his smart link synced with his gun, each calculation was run from the neuralware before his targets were selected.
Aiming wasn't necessary at that point, but old habits die hard.
He pulled the trigger, eight micro-missiles fired out from the Zhuo's multi-point barrel and honed in on their targets.
The three men ready to attack exploded into a shower of gore, heads reduced to stumps and chests caved in from the shrapnel tearing through their bodies.
Cysco's Sandevistan ran its course and time resumed once more. The solo let out a breath, still not used to using speedware in a while, "They called for backup. Let's make this quick."
"Copy."
They already cleared out the ground floor by that point, so the pair ascended up a pair of stairs. An elevator would've been more convenient, but it was easier for the enemy to plan ambushes that way.
For the most part, Cysco watched his partner tear through the enemy forces with what he could only describe as methodical mass murder.
The borg kept his distance and utilized his gear according to whatever the situation called for. Snapping between his shotgun and pistol for close to mid-range combat until both bandolier and shotgun alike ran dry of ammunition.
Zi dropped the empty weapon and unslung his Masamune, snapping the selector into semi-automatic and firing off into two remaining gangers.
Two solid thumps echoed, "Clear."
They ascended to the third floor, Cysco watched the borg go through the same motions. Aside from the occasional firing from his smart shotgun, the man kept an eye on the nearby elevators and previous entrances. Gunfire lit up the dim hallways in flashes, though the solo's night vision optic mod made this a nonissue.
A roar split the air and Cysco spun around, catching a fist to the gut when he tried to fire back at a massive seven-foot tall mass of muscle careening towards him.
His shotgun clicked empty. He hit the ground a second after.
A triple-round burst split the air and the steroid-pumped beast toppled backwards, dead.
"Ugh…" Cysco groaned before he was pulled off the ground and back to his feet by his partner.
"You good?" Zi asked.
"Uh? Yeah yeah, I'm good," the solo emptied his magazine and slotted another back into place.
"Good, this place is clear. Let's keep going."
"Right… right behind you."
The fourth floor, then the fifth.
Cysco's prediction came true: the elevator door dinged to life and four Inquisitor gangers piled out the door. Expecting this, the solo unloaded his shotgun's magazine into the packed space, reducing the men inside into paste straight out of a B-slasher flick.
"All dry!" he called out to Zi, who was currently engaged in a small hallway firefight, with every cubicle in between reduced to plastic waste and paper shreddings. Cysco dropped the shotgun, hands now reaching for the Overtures strapped to his belt.
A flash of light appeared from Cysco's peripherals. His Sandevistan kicked in as he managed to roll out of the way of buckshot tearing through the flooring he previously stood over.
Cysco unholstered his revolvers and took aim, watching several men pointing their guns at him from multiple different directions.
Time still slowed down, the man raised his arms at the two in front of him. A second later, his coat shifted and parted: a second pair of cyberarms unfurled from underneath, sporting two more revolvers in their own respective grips.
Four shots crackled through the air, the four aiming at him dropped dead.
Cysco's Sandevistan wore off again. Time resumed.
The room was silent.
"Clear," this time Cysco said. Zi stood up from behind him, pulling his dagger out from the newly deceased, "One more floor."
Their pace was slower this time. It was always something about the last part of the job that made every edgerunner jumpy. In gigs like these, the last part was often the most fortified, and they expected nothing to be different.
The steel door slid open and Zi stepped inside. Cysco watched the borg beckon to him a second later, so he followed behind him, all four revolvers in hand.
"It's quiet," Zi whispered.
Rather than cubicles, the room opened up to a massive meeting room, a large oval table was fixed into the middle while a set of a little over a dozen seats were neatly arranged at the table.
On the other end was a computer, still operational and awaiting a command prompt. Jackpot.
"What's this?"
Cysco popped his neck and stepped around the giant, "What we really came here for."
Zi's gaze snapped towards him, "What do you mean?"
"Welp, I guess it's time to spill the beans," the solo sighed, slotting himself in and turning back to the borg, "Corpos that hired us actually needed some… sensitive data that belonged to Cybermatrix. Providing the details, they zipped a shitton of eddies to an old hategang that needed an easy op to bounce back from."
"The Inquisitors," the borg muttered, "They were a smokescreen. This wasn't a Militech job."
"Bingo!" the solo smiled, "Your one and only pals up in Arasaka are looking into the newest line of FBCs that Cybermatrix's been cooking up. So what better way to get the info than old corporate espionage and sending the cheapest options into the fray. We nab the info for them, get rid of some ontologically evil gangoons that nobody'll miss, then go home just a little bit richer."
"And the people that worked here?" Zi's voice was composed, but expectant. Restrained.
If he didn't hear something he didn't like, things weren't going to look good for Cysco.
"Sent home after a bomb threat was called in," Cysco answered, "The Inquisitors were given the chance to move in between the time the company's employees were sent home and NCPD bomb disposal were supposed to be sent in. Of course, the latter never came and it's been that way since."
Cysco's eyes dimmed and the interface plug in his wrist disconnected from the computer, "Got all the info right here. I think our work's done, choom."
Zi stared the man down while Cysco leaned against the desk. Seconds passed before finally, "Fine. But after this, we're done."
Cysco smirked, "Hey, we're not called solos for no reason. I'm fine cutting ties here, but I'm still holding my end of the bargain. We walk out, 6th Street says I'm a hero, the eddies are yours. Deal?"
"...Deal."
"Good," Cysco slowly pulled off his shades, scanning the room with his Kiroshi before turning back to the man with a smirk.
"Clear."
-oOo-
The job was done, that's all the good news Voxel needed to hear.
[anymore work you got for me, vox?]
"For now, my friend? Nah, we good," the fixer noticed a change in the man's tone, "What about you? Something got you down in the dumps?"
[Im good. just feeling a little… off from the last gig.]
Voxel wasn't a therapist, nor was he paid extra to pretend to be one, so he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to pry.
"Thoughts on this Cysco guy? Man promised to put in a good fucking word with little miss Rogue down at the Afterlife. With a little bit more experience behind the wheels, you'll be in the big leagues in no time, my friend."
[good for you. as for this cysco? seemed like one of the typical vets you told me about working for 6th street. careful, knew how to check his corners, not a bad soldier.]
"But?"
[I dont appreciate being lied to. whole deal was for arasaka. he shoulda told me earlier at least, give me a heads up.]
"Saka? Shit… Welp, there's no point in throwing a fit about it. You know what they say: the rich get richer and the poor…"
[get crumbs as far as im aware.]
"Well, no one likes a stick in the mud. You mad about being lied to? Get an info broker, look for the man and get a little payback. Mad at Arasaka? Join the ranks with ol' Silverhand, that washed up has-been was mad enough to nuke their HQ to hell and back."
[huh… might just do that.]
"A… what?"
[try to look for this cysco guy. see what I can find out about him and maybe get a little bit of catharsis out of this. not gonna kill him though, Im better than that. what do you think I meant?]
"...Nothing," Voxel said, 'Prick.'
[alright then. you know any good brokers for that kind of deal?]
"I don't know any good ones. I usually do my research upfront, and that's usually for the jobs I give you. It's strict criteria for you, my guy, you don't make it easy."
[but I always deliver.]
"And goddamn, do you," Voxel whistled, "Never woulda made this many eddies before I met you. Shit, I was almost dead to rights in Dogtown before you showed up."
[not this again…]
"Hey hey, I'm just trying to gas you up, choom. No need to be so humble about it."
[right. if thats all, Ill talk to you later.]
"You got anything in mind to do?" Voxel asked, "You don't seem like the kind of guy with a lot of hobbies."
[hurtful. but Ill think of something.]
"Gotcha. If I got more work for ya, I'll let you know. Later."
The man hung up, leaving Voxel alone in his condo once more. His cigarettes all used up, the man swapped over to a glass of whiskey resting near his desk. The former netrunner was never able to afford these little luxuries back when he was with his old crew, but things were different now.
A few minutes passed, the man sipped slowly at his drink. The buzz was slow, but he didn't need a clear mind for now, just some R&R for little old him.
Or at least until he got another call, this time from an unknown number.
Voxel groaned and set his drink down, taking the call, "Ayo, who's this?"
[this Voxel? was told to call this number.]
"That depends on who yer talkin' to, choom," Voxel said, voice slightly slurred, but still decently coherent, "My services ain't free."
[fine. name's Maine. I wanna talk with the big guy you keep under l&k, y'hear?]
"Uh huh… what's in it for me?"
[heh, so we good to talk biz then?]
"Choomba, I am always good to talk business. Now then, mister Maine, whaddaya wanna know about Zi?"
-oOo-
[The Cybermatrix recording has been received, Kaede-san.]
"Good, I take it you've given it a once-over?"
[I shall soon. Given what you have told me, our potential asset did not take the news lightly when Arasaka was mentioned?]
"Not exactly. He didn't appreciate being screwed over by Cysco. Though this might not leave a lasting impression with the company either. Your thoughts?"
A pause, longer than the woman had expected.
[Cysco will no longer be necessary. Any further outreach from him will only get in the way. For now, allow the asset to remain as is, do not take further action until I give the word. I will be reviewing this footage you have given me, I trust you enough to know that this will prove useful.]
"Of course, Arasaka-sama."
[But what about you?]
"Excuse me?"
[What are your thoughts on this cyborg? You have reviewed the footage yourself as well, and you have a careful eye on these matters.]
The woman thought for a moment, parsing her thoughts for an appropriate answer, "The cyborg is practical, methodical, precise. Their armor serves as a protective barrier against small arms fire, with an additional unknown technology that allows for particles to further act as a layer of protection, which is why their armor will be seen as undamaged from the video you'll review."
[Interesting… I will take this into consideration. Your conclusion?]
Kaede's face bore no expression, though she did reach an answer, "He will suffice."