Unknown
He was walking. The walls were made of meat and honey.
A thing leapt at him from the fog. His arms bit it in half.
He spat out its hair. He spat out its horns.
The stars were shaped like advertisements. They sang lies to the things.
"King, are you happy you are King?"
He leapt upon a thing in the fog. His arms devoured it, and spat out its hooves.
He ignored the one thing behind him. It was watching from around the corner.
He needed to leave this place. It smelled too much like music.
The light on his shoulders kept the fog back. He walked over the needles.
His skin was too tight. He needed to tear it off.
—
Victoria Armstrong
Separated by only a desk, two predators clashed. Their gazes were locked, the room was sealed, their respective pack members were ready to defend them at once. Green optics clashed with blue optics, neither backing down from their face-off.
Hackles raised, the predator with golden fur growled out first. "Pardon me. Would you please repeat yourself, Ms. Arasaka?"
"I believe I was quite clear, Ms. Armstrong. Arasaka no longer has need of your services. You are to vacate your company-provided spaces by the end of the day. West Arasaka wishes you luck in your future employment seeking endeavors." The predator with the black-blue fur responded in kind, a pleasant tone of voice disguising antipathy.
"This is in violation of contract clause 2-C, dictating the terms of my employment. Arasaka has no legal grounds to dismiss me, and my service is guaranteed in yearly periods at minimum."
"Contract clause 2-C is directly dependent on contract clause 2-A, which is presently inapplicable. Arasaka therefore has full legal right to dismiss you under the Night City labor sanction of 2027." The blue-black predator bore her teeth. "You have no case, Ms. Armstrong."
The golden-furred predator leaned back in her seat, inadvertently emphasizing her slightly swollen stomach. The black-blue furred predator twitched minutely at that. Armstrong glared at her fellow carnivore for a moment, before letting her features fall flat. "This has nothing to do with employment. You just wish to be rid of me."
Michiko Arasaka said nothing in reply, simply leaning on one hand and staring half-lidded at Victoria Armstrong. Victoria stared back for a moment longer, before giving a nasty smirk in reply. "I suppose it's natural for you to be resentful. I was able to accomplish what you couldn't even with your vastly greater experience."
Michiko's eyes narrowed into slits. "I suppose it's natural to expect you to be bold. With how brave you are for traveling Night City looking like you do."
Victoria gave a faux-sigh and trailed her hands over her body. "I know, at any moment I might be snatched up by a massive, powerful, experienced man with intense eyes and firm hands… Why, I couldn't imagine what he might do to me for many hours at a time…"
Her glare flickered up to Michiko again. "But I'm sure you could."
There was a long silence, tension in the room thick enough to suffocate lesser beasts.
"You have until the end of the day to vacate all company-provided facilities. You are now trespassing Western Arasaka property. Security will escort you out."
Victoria quietly snarled as she stood up and began to walk from the office. Her brother followed protectively behind her, making sure to be between her and the lone DangerGal operative that followed behind them.
After some time, marching through the halls, to the elevator (with a rather awkward ride down), and then outside of the Arasaka Tower, Arnold finally spoke to his sister. "You should not provoke her."
"I know! But baby is making me emotional! It is aggravating!" Victoria seethed back, continuing to march, being careful to account for her abdomen as she did so. She quickly turned on the spot and pointed an accusing finger at a nearby wall before shouting. "And this catslut is not helping in the slightest!"
A pause. The woman under smartcamo currently crouched at the spot shifted slightly, before replying with a husky voice that carried a hint of synthetic undercurrent. "I'm just following orders."
"I do not care! Leave at once!"
"...I'm not getting into an argument with a pregnant woman."
Arnold nudged his sister along and gave an apologetic nod. His sister let herself be pushed along for a moment with constrained fury on her face. She kept grumbling all the way to their waiting car, even after Arnold opened the passenger door for her to get in, even after he closed the door, even after he squeezed into the driver side and started the car.
As he started driving (carefully observing all traffic laws that he was aware of), she began to rant furiously. "Stupid, old, cunt-bitch, motherfucker, gonkgargler, idiot, smelly, unwashed, whore!"
"Use sentences sister." Arnold replied calmly as he pulled to a stop in front of the traffic sign and carefully looked both ways. "Define the reasons you are upset."
"Because that fucking shitlick-!"
"Breathe, then sentences."
Victoria seethed for a while longer, then breathed in and out deeply for exactly two minutes. After slightly calming herself down, she began to speak. "Because I have just lost my job due to no fault of my own, because of petty gonkshit!"
"Did you care for the job?" Arnold continued to be a bastion of calm as he clearly signaled his turn into the next lane and made sure no one was behind him.
"No, but it was principle of matter!" Victoria gnashed her teeth. "I lost what belonged to me because oldcunt was mad over nothing!"
"We know she cares for your chosen stud."
"If she wanted to get pregnant too, then all she needed to do was seduce him! It's not as if semen runs out! She is stupid! Mad over nothing!" Victoria hissed out.
"Is not how normal people think, Victoria." Arnold replied, pulling to a slow stop to let the police hurry down the road in front of him. "You know this."
"Normal people are short-sighted! If she wasn't stupid, then my baby and her baby would have siblings once hers was born, bigger family is stronger family! Instead she does this! Petty useless gonkshit!"
'You need to calm down Victoria. Anger not good for baby." Arnold chastised lightly as he continued to drive. "They are not Armstrong. They are others. Other people are greedy in different ways than us."
There was silence as Victoria tried her best to calm herself down at Arnold's advice.
"I don't want explanations. I want to rant."
"Too bad. I give explanations." Arnold put his metaphorical foot down. "Now, define your situation."
There was a period of silence before Victoria replied. "I have just lost my job, and thus financial stability."
"Now, what do you need to do because of that?"
"I need to get a new source of income to secure financial stability."
"Now, what ways can you achieve that?"
Victoria was silent for a moment as she worked through the problem as calmly as she could.
"...She said clause 2-A was not currently applicable. That means that Adam is currently not working for Arasaka."
Arnold pulled to a stop in front of the traffic light.
"Brother, you will pack our belongings as I make calls."
"Only me?" He frowned at her, but kept his eyes on the road. "That is not an even distribution of work."
"I am pregnant. I am exempt from all work."
Arnold huffed in reply, but said nothing, instead continuing to drive.
Victoria's eyes lit up as she made a call. She frowned when she received no answer, so she tried another number.
After a few rings, the number answered.
"...Victoria? What is it?" The voice of Ms. Martinez answered her.
"Glori. I need to talk to Adam and he is not answering. Do you know why?"
"...Ah… Could you come to the Ebunike? It's better to tell you in person."
Victoria's eyes narrowed in slight confusion. While she didn't admit it to herself, she was slightly worried now.
—
6th Street
ACPA were commonly deployed in squads of five. A unit originally set by Militech back in the day, chosen both for a balance of flexibility and firepower, and because the stars on the American flag all had five points. Uncreatively, a standard squad of ACPA were commonly referred to as a 'Star'. Over in Europe they were usually called a 'Lance' of ACPA, and over in Asia they were usually referred to as a 'Banner' of ACPA. All of these designations were a combination of practical and political reasons.
Each squad filled a specialist battlefield role, often determined by the type of ACPA being used by that squad. These ACPA squads were deployed alongside other squads as needed for the overall battlefield, with each fulfilling the objective their PA model was suited for.
The Wolfhound, as a heavy-light ACPA with generalist armament, was a rank-filler model. It was designed to be good enough for most situations and cheap enough for mass production for Militech to create vastly more of them than their competitors and thus field far more overall units than normal. All of its components were rugged and cheap to replace, making repairs and logistics easier. Its main gun, the 12.7mm machine gun, was just an M2 Browning with a drum magazine, a modified grip, and added stock for ACPA use.
A weapon more than a hundred years old at this point, with tactics and repair manuals so commonplace you could find them in museums and educational braindances. It wasn't broken, so Militech didn't try to fix it.
It had a basic onboard computer, a gas detection system, an environmental seal, mass-production armor, basic sensors, and basic thigh-mounted holsters for sidearms. It had a single weapon mount on the shoulder often used for grenade launchers. Nothing on it was fancy, nothing on it was special.
Nothing except the price tag. For the cost of one modern Militech Main Battle Tanks, you could field one-hundred and fifty Wolfhounds. It was good enough for most things, which was excellent. The low cost made it nearly perfect.
And 6th Street, a gang composed entirely of veterans, many of whom served in this exact model of ACPA, had just received 40 of them.That was around 65 million eurodollars worth of war material that had just 'fallen off' some trucks for them.
Morton didn't trust it a damn bit, but it was too good to pass up. Now the only issue was getting a plan together to take down the Butcher of Arasaka as fast as they could, drilling the boys in that plan, keeping it all hushed up until they were ready to execute it, and then actually pulling it off.
Watching the flatvid of what the Butcher had managed in just a Gemini a few days ago wasn't encouraging. He kept his chin resting on his fist as the video played over again, starting from the moment Smasher burst through the door in Arasaka Tower.
This flatvid had been broadcast to just about everyone in Night City, showing off the entirety of what corporate killborgs look like when they need to actually try to kill something. Most folks on the street didn't last long enough to see things like this.
But most people didn't know the difference between corporate killborgs, and what was going on in this fight.
"Fuckin' Jesus…" Curt muttered as the fight started up again, the Silverhand-poser exploding forwards with ridiculous speed even with the footage slowed to 25%, matched by the speed of the girlborg with the samurai sword. Their clash startin' to tear up the very surroundings everytime one of them dodged or parried.
Most folks didn't know the difference, but 6th Street did. Their most recent batch of recruits were all vets of the Unification Wars, just seven years ago. Corporate killborgs had been deployed in those fights too, and they were always dangerous. This flatvid did not show dangerous. This flatvid showed off certain death.
Everyone in this room right now had killed corporate killborgs before. These borgs were so much higher up on the ladder it wasn't funny anymore.
The Silverhand-poser stuck Ol' Arasaka with his fancy sword, and the flatvid was sped up to the next part.
Adam Smasher kicking in the door.
In a fucking Gemini.
Against a superborg that had just taken on three corporate killborgs at the same time and won after fighting through all of Arasaka Tower.
They already knew the conclusion of this fight.
Smasher is only stopped because of Netrunner support. He had effectively won, twice in a row.
Against that superborg.
In a Gemini.
Morton took a drag of his cigar, cursing internally. It would be possible…
But fuck it wouldn't be easy.
The flatvid eventually stopped again, and he clapped once to draw the attention of the other veterans of 6th Street. Most of them had just as much, if not more experience than him, all of them had survived at least two wars now. All of them knew just what they were up against.
"Alright men. We're up against Adam Smasher in an Alpha frame. He has demonstrated the ability to redirect and negate physical forms of damage in any of his frames, and carries some type of onboard AI that burns things alive for him. We have forty new Wolfhounds and full armament, the bounty of about six months of easy looting, reclaimed wraith vehicles, cheap chrome prices, and twenty-one hundred veterans with steady hands and willingness to shoot first and ask later."
He took another drag of the cigar, breathing the smoke out above his head and letting it filter through the vents above.
"I give us about 50-50 odds if we catch him on an off day."
He gave his fellow vets a hard look.
"Strategizing begins now, none of us are leaving this room until we're ready."