Bioware was preem. He had realized this immediately after the first hard drills exercise that Smasher put them through. It wasn't enough to pull out a gun and shoot a gonk, not for Smasher. They had to pull out a gun and shoot a gonk in the most efficient motion possible, and then practice that motion over and over until they were fast at it.
That seemed to be a theme with Smasher's training, he had come to realize. It was all the most basic stuff around, but practiced over and over until it was as good as it could be. Panzerfaust was just punching, kicking, and moving, but it was all done in the ways that maximized the end result. Each attack used every muscle that it could, all at once, to leverage every scrap of power. When no more power could be gained from the muscles, you added a rotation to it.
You twisted your body into the attack, letting you use the force of your twist to further increase the damage. When you couldn't increase the striking force any more that way, you let your chrome limbs vibrate as hard as they could, overclocking them to work like a jackhammer or chainsaw the moment the attack connects. When you couldn't get any more striking force from even all of that?
Then you used gravity too, and jumped into the attacks for even more damage. Panzerfaust was a style built from the ground up to let a superhuman hit something as hard as possible. It was a very simple goal taken as far as it could possibly go. That's how all of Adam's training was.
Even from the very beginning, when it was just him being quizzed on why Smasher flatlined gangers in a certain order or with a certain method. The core goal was to minimize the amount of potential harm to oneself, often the best way to do that was to kill the targets as fast as possible, with as few motions as possible, and targeting the most dangerous guys first. Smasher had been teaching him how to maximize his own chances of surviving any given fight.
A simple goal, taken to its utmost extreme. That's why the drills were particularly rough, because there was no strategy for training. It was just brute force, putting the hours in until the motions become burned into your mind. Kill the target as fast as possible, a simple goal. Thus he had to draw the gun, aim the shot, fire, and hit a lethal area. Before he could do most of that, Smasher wanted them to master drawing the guns. Do one thing, do it perfectly, do it perfectly every time.
Again and again, that's all they did, for a few hours. It would have been murder on his arms if they were meat. As it was, it was still murder on his back and shoulders. A distinct and horrible soreness that set in. A year ago he knew that something like that would have lasted days.
With these new nanosurgeons and enhanced antibodies, it would be gone by tomorrow morning, he would just be really hungry in the meantime. Fuck, bioware was so preem. The rustling of a bag caught his attention, he rolled his sore neck over to look across the table.
Katsuo was eating from a bulk-purchase bag of kibble, one mouthful munch at a time. He was rubbing his neck with his other hand, probably just as sore as he was.
…David didn't remember the last time he ate kibble right out of the bag like that. Normally he at least heated it up first. It was the cheapest food around that wasn't bug-based, so it wasn't too awful.
Rebecca groaned from her place on the floor. Her own body was equally affected. She had pushed herself as hard as Katsuo did, who himself was struggling to keep up with David. He had a lot of endurance for these sorts of things, and they didn't. His mother and Lucy didn't push themselves as hard, focused entirely on getting the motion down before any kind of speeding up. Smasher didn't have to correct them as often, but they also were much slower on the draw.
"...That kibs?" She asked, groaning through the pain.
"Yeah." Katsuo said through a mouthful of the staple food. Rebecca let out a tremendous groan and rolled once on the floor, to where she was on her back and her face was near his leg.
"Kib me." She said.
Katsuo grabbed the bag and held it over her head, pouring it about two feet above her. About half of the kibble fell into her open mouth, and the rest of it scattered across the floor around her.
"Thanshk." She muttered through a full mouth, beginning to crunch down. The cat chirped from its window-side perch and jumped down, dashing over to eat the kibble that was around her, tail waving in her face.
David watched the scene lazily, too tired to comment on it. After another few moments, Katsuo rolled his head and looked at the flatvid screen mounted on the wall. His eyes glowed as he requested it to turn on and search for a channel.
"You both fine with Ziggy Q?" He asked. David raised a brow.
"Didn't know you were a Night after Night kinda guy."
Katsuo shook his head. "I'm not, I hate it."
…Why was he putting it on then? David shrugged, he didn't care one way or the other. Katsuo looked down and gently kicked Rebecca in the arm. He got an unconcerned grunt and more chewing in reply. He turned back to the screen and it turned on.
A somewhat low-quality voice came through as the first thing, probably meaning some kind of remote call-in to the show from what he knew of it.
"...would you say the best way to kill a man is, or at least, the one you remember best?" He furrowed his brow at the sentence, wondering who was on that the question was suitable for. He was too lazy to turn his head though.
"A good question." He froze and turned to the screen, upon which was a very familiar figure on the other side of a table from a smiling Ziggy Q. He turned his head more to see Smasher, still seated on his bench as the other Smasher spoke on the screen.
"Typically speaking the best way to kill a man is with overwhelming force, whether that be from a very heavy gun with lots of recoil or from using the local scenery as an improvised bludgeon. One of my personal favorites was a mission back in the 2010s, a convoy hit. I used a stop sign like an axe to bisect one meatbag and then as an oversized nail to pin one to a truck during that one."
Smasher sounded downright nostalgic when answering that. "Which one I remember best is all of them. I record every kill I make to my blackbox, and play it back when I get some free time. It lets me dissect everything I did wrong, and relive particularly fun jobs at my leisure. I would recommend it as a hobby. Next question."
"...Heyya Smasher, I've been looking into getting one of those fancy gyrojet rifles. Have you ever used one and if so would you recommend one?"
Smasher grumbled for a second as he thought the question over. "I used one a couple of times, They're typically easy to maintain and repair, but with expensive ammunition. The actual damage is good once it gets up to speed, but it leaves you vulnerable to close-ranged attackers. If you are going to use one, get the biggest you can, because the ammo is already going to be expensive and the recoil is pitiful. Then, pick up some kind of close-ranged secondary weapon. Use the gun on distant targets, and the other weapon when things get within about three meters of you."
"It's a fine loadout for strictly business, but it's not particularly fun to shoot. Probably good for a meatbag. Next question."
"...Hey Adam, I've been wondering about chrome. See I got a choom who's been aching to get some arms. What would you consider the best custom set for general use?"
"The absolute first thing that a prospective chrome junkie should get is a quick-change mount. A quick-change mount allows you to have immediate repairs whenever you need it, as well as arms with different mission profiles. One arm could be your day-to-day utility, another could contain all your heavy weapons for jobs. This is a strong investment. Keeping a backup also lets you cycle through arms to maximize armor and structure longevity."
"The next things you should get is shielding, reinforced joints, and either thickened myomer or a weapon mount and link, in that order. The last depends on if you prefer to butcher in close range or carry additional firepower. As with all cybernetics, don't ever bother with chroming it, because that's stupid. Instead you should get it armored or with synthskinn. Armor to increase its durability and lower the cost of repairs, assuming you invest in regenerating armor paneling. Synthskinn if you want to potentially disguise the fact that your arm can punch through some meatbag's ribcage. Either option is viable.
"Next question."
David looked from the screen over to Smasher on the bench. He was nodding approvingly at the answers, although his glare was still on his face. Rebecca chimed up.
"Hey… Big Guy, you have a poser?"
Smasher nodded. "Remote-controlled. I was ordered to attend that." He growled out.
…He was doing that the entire time? David looked over to the second Smasher on the screen, seemingly responding in real time. He had seen Smasher do this before, but that was while in close proximity to the second frame both times. This was miles away currently.
He had improved a lot, but it seems like everytime he takes a step Smasher gets a little further away.
He breathed in, and breathed out.
That was fine, he had all the time in the world to catch up, and he was very good at running.
"Fast is what you do, right? Just keep running."
He turned to watch the vid, not looking away even when his mother and Lucy came out with food.
—
Yorinobu sat in a meeting room with one of his greatest potential threats. On the other side of the table sat a man with blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a clean-shaven face. He wore a suit and tie, minus the jacket, with the sleeves rolled up to his muscular and tanned forearms. His black pants were held up by suspenders, and his left arm was a clear and undisguised cybernetic, although not one with any visible weaponry.
Around his neck was a chain holding a golden cross and a set of dogtags. His jacket was military in nature, a leather bomber hanging off the back of his chair and bearing no less than three medals. The most unsubtle thing of all was a bandana wrapped around his right arm, a bandana that was a small NUSA flag.
Lucas Harford, the president of Militech, sipped from a cup of coffee as they put their talks on hold for a moment. Harford had requested this meeting to discuss the specifics of what aid Militech would give in terms of manpower, equipment, and supply. That meeting had gone almost suspiciously well thus far, although that was clearly due to Harford's desire to see this matter resolved without Militech suffering a massive loss in reputation. The man had a relatively good reputation, which meant that he was hiding something.
Their agreed upon break had come, and rather than leave the room both had stayed. Yorinobu didn't have any particular reason to leave, and it became clear that Harford didn't either about a minute later. Instead he requested a cup of coffee, something that Yorinobu sent an intern to go get.
He leaned back in his chair, their bodyguards staying silent and professional. Behind Yorinobu stood the towering forms of the DaiOni Jockeys, a clear message about what kind of threat that he considered the man on the other side of the table to be.
Harford had brought two guards of his own. A woman in a black bodysuit and opaque visored helmet, carrying a Malorian Arms Assault Cannon, and a black-armored Dragoon. Yorinobu was unfamiliar with the woman, but if she was here then it was clear that she was some manner of special operations soldier within Militech's control. The Dragoon was an obvious message of his own, that of having such cybernetic soldiers under his control.
There was an abundance of potential violence in the room. That kept both parties reasonable even beyond the threat of soft power.
Harford paused for a moment, and his left eye glowed white as he read through a message. He raised a brow and sipped his coffee before speaking. "You ordered the butcher to go onto a talk show?"
Yorinobu didn't let his reaction show, the depths of acceleration allowed him plenty of time to formulate a response. "Correct, to capitalize on his current public appeal." Give the other party something to work with, but that was completely obvious and meaningless to say. It forced either a response or silence, and thus allowed him to fish for more potential information from the other party with either outcome.
Harford raised a brow. "Well, you don't mind putting it on the screen, would you? I'm curious about what he has to say."
This would be public record later anyways, so doing him this favor cost him nothing and potentially earned more information. Information was the chiefest asset in conflict, and Militech was a dangerous opponent indeed.
They might try to absorb Arasaka instead of letting it be destroyed. That couldn't be allowed.
He connected to the screen on the wall, cycled through menus, and pulled up the streamed broadcast of the evening talk show.
"...cifica's development so far?"
"Pacifica has been the most tremendous pain in my ass that I've ever had to deal with. You fucking meatbags are infuriating on the best of days, and seem to exist to piss me off. It took months of me constantly patrolling or monitoring you fuckers before you learned to stop breaking the very simple rules I gave you."
"Throw your trash away, don't injure each other enough to require a med-tech, don't be naked in public, etc. Basic fucking rules that every functional adult should already be doing, especially with the arena right in the fucking middle of it all for you to murder eachother in to a live audience, and somehow it took months of me murdering rulebreakers before it fucking sank in your brain-damaged heads."
"I have executed no less than thirty-six of you fuckers for shitting in the middle of the street or in an alleyway. That's what the fucking toliets are for, use them you goddamn morons. Holy shit it isn't that difficult but somehow being people is an alien concept for you pissant vermin. I give you shelter, food, water, and a place to murder each other and you shit in my goddamn streets. Or you plug into automatic masturbators and put on a BD on the sidewalk, or you decide that the ground floor is a great place to dump a body."
"You fucking meatbags piss me the fuck off all the time. I don't regret killing a single one of you non-functioning, shit-filled, bags of meat and blood. Pacifica's development is going as fast as it can with me being forced to drag these blubbering retards behind me the whole time."
"Next question."
"...Hiya Adam~, I just wanted to ask if you were ever considering making an XBD? With your output recording it, that is, if you got one."
"I don't understand the appeal of a BD of any type. You interface with a fucking headset that renders you vulnerable to attack the entire time you are in it. It's practically asking for…"
Harford turned to Yorinobu with a half-grin on his face. "Murderous he may be, but your butcher is a riot to listen to. It's almost like listening to my drill sergeant again."
Yorinobu nodded sagely, privately making a note to watch the entire interview later. He had to make sure that the PR team didn't trim anything that might be potentially damaging to Arasaka's reputation, which meant he needed to see the unedited footage.
—
In a private estate on the western coast of Canada, an older-looking man read through the world news on a tablet while listening to a radio playing next to him. He was sitting on a balcony, watching the sunset through a layer of bulletproof glass.
You could never be too careful, even with all the defenses of the property in place. There shouldn't be anything to worry about, but he didn't make it to 106 by only relying on one plan. No, his property had at least five layers of defenses, the prime being that only a very select few actually knew it existed, or that he was alive.
He couldn't help the small grin on his face, even as he was looking through direct-to-buyer advertisements with his reading glasses on. The radio was playing a familiar old voice.
"...the worst part about that fucker was that refused to ever fight me properly, and the one time that he couldn't chicken out again we got interrupted by the fucking nuke he planted earlier going off at the bottom of the tower."
He replied to the borg he knew couldn't hear him. "Fighting you was a bad idea, Smasher. Why would I take a pointless risk?" He scrolled through to the next page, this one advertising a kibble chopper.
"...so do you think he died during the Night City Holocaust or not?"
"That fucking asshole went toe-to-toe with me in my strongest combat frame for a few minutes, most meatbags couldn't last more than half a second. There is no fucking chance in the world that he died, that smug asshole is probably in a Canadian beachfront manor, laughing at me and sleeping on a pile of eddies. He would've had multiple contingencies for that nuke going off on him prematurely."
He chuckled to himself. No, it was only the one that time. He was lucky that it ended up working out.
The door opened and he looked up to see a beautiful blonde woman walk in, carrying a tray of food and drink. A homemade hamburger, a bottle of scotch, and a caesar salad. He put the tablet to the side.
"Ah, thank you Cammy, you're a sweetheart." He said politely, accepting the food.
She smiled at him. "You want to send those regards to Coraline? She's the one who cooked for your old ass, after all."
"Ah, if you would be a dear and do that." He waited for her to turn around.
He pinched her cute butt with his black chrome arm. She jumped a bit and whirled around. She grumbled at him as she rubbed the spot.
"You're lucky you're old, otherwise I'd electrocute your ass."
He grinned like the bastard he was. "Stay beautiful darling, and tell Stevie to make sure the datawalls are up to date."
She grumbled her way out the door. He chuckled and turned to tuck into his delicious meal.
It wasn't easy being a winner, but he was managing. He focused once again on the radio.
"...It's frankly insulting how weak meatbags are these days…"
He grinned, that sounds exactly like his old fellow murderer.