A/N: Salutations from the future (since I didn't post this yesterday)! So we ended last time on a little baby cliffhanger. I generally don't like ending on them but I felt that was minor enough it wouldn't be too egregious. We're moving forward though so let's get back to it. Leave a review if you're so inclined and, as always, enjoy!

Chapter 5: A New Solo

David wanted to say he was lucky enough he'd run into the big bastard by chance. That wasn't it. Nah, when Rico rang him up and said he saw the chromed-out asshole 6th Street sent his way the other day, David decided to see what the deal was.

He hadn't heard anything about the guy since they fought in the service hall. For a normal ganger, that wouldn'ta been anything to write home about.

This guy wasn't no normal ganger, and he sure as shit wasn't 6th Street. He wasn't their type, didn't feel like he belonged on the streets of Night City. Most guys, when you put iron in their faces, either freeze up or play tough. The borg had played tough, David guessed, but it wasn't the 'you get that gun outta my face or I'll kill you' tough. This crazy motherfucker didn't care. Not the normal bullshit, people trying to play like they're hard. He wasn't pretending.

Not many folks pull that off. David'd been in the game less than a year. He still met all types in that time. This guy couldn'ta felt more outta place.

So, when he got word he was heading toward the east Santo Domingo market, David hauled ass to get over there. He didn't know what he was gonna do, not for sure, but this guy was someone he wanted to scope out.

It wasn't a short trip, had to do a lot more than break the speed limit on the way. NCPD didn't care about that. If they weren't busy working one of the few dozen murder cases every day, they were too corrupt to bother with some street kid on a bike blazing through downtown.

He parked up down the street, hid his bike in an alley, and got to the front of the market just in time to see the guy walking out of a building right next to it. Borg was with a 6th Street ganger David didn't recognize.

Was he working with them? Was he wrong about that?

Nah. They didn't want anyone to know he hit that Maelstrom shipment for 'em. They wouldn'ta sent anyone in their org.

Then what was the big guy doing with one?

David started following, trying to stay far enough away they wouldn't see him through the crowd. Wasn't hard. The guy was tall enough to see over everyone no matter where David was.

So he hung back. He wasn't gonna lose someone like that.

This was a place David had been a couple times. They had a few good vendors for iron or blades. Rebecca got one of her favorite pieces in this place.

Every time they'd been there, the place was packed. Nothing changed there. David had to shoulder his way through the crowd, people shopping for whatever. Lot of 'em were strung out. Markets like this were good for dealers too.

They got about halfway through the market when the two he was following hooked a right past a noodle stall. David followed.

When they turned left a few stalls later, something felt off. Did they know he was following them? Neither turned back to look through the racks of clothes between him and them. Unless that borg had access to a feed somewhere or had a cam in the back of his head, there was no way. Hell, even with a cam, this place was so packed, unless he had some kinda recognition soft… nah.

Even so, as they neared the far end of the market, David took his hands out of his pockets. His piece was tucked in his belt. He didn't know if that or his launcher would down the borg but it felt better to have something like that available.

Then they took another left toward the market's exit. They weren't in a hurry, they just turned left behind a small group of street kids trying to look hard. One glared at the borg but he didn't have the balls to do anything else and the borg didn't pay him any mind.

But David still felt like something was wrong. His instincts were pretty good. Wouldn'ta made it this far without them.

Before he followed, he rang up Rebecca.

/ "'Sup David?" his partner's voice came over the link.

/ "Out at that market in Santo Domingo you like."

/ "Oooooooo pickin' me up some new toys?"

/ "Nah, not this time."

David reached the corner.

/ "That bigass borg I was talking about the other day. I'm tailing him right now."

/ "Yeah? Why?"

He grunted.

/ "He made an impression."

/ "So you want some help takin' his ass down?"

David turned the corner.

/ "No. Something doesn't feel right. Don't know if they caught onto me but I-"

The borg wasn't ahead of him. No way he lost him, not someone that big.

/ "David?"

/ "Yeah, they made me."

/ "Shit- I'm on my way."

David was just about to stop and head the other way when he felt someone behind him. He didn't have a chance to turn around before their hand clamped down on his left shoulder. Hard. Then he felt the unmistakable pressure of a piece jammed into his side.

"No words. No movements I don't tell you to do. That speed trick won't work so don't try it. Keep your hands at your side but away from your waist. I know about your arm cannon too. Keep your eyes straight ahead and follow me into the store on my right on my count. Nod if you understand."

The voice was deep and matter-of-fact. He had to admit, it did sound like some of the 6th Street guys: all information and direction, no pussyfooting around, and no jerking himself off.

Speed trick? His Sandevistan? What made this guy think he couldn't get the drop on him with that again?

Well… could he? David had gotten behind him but he wasn't stupid enough to miss the part where this guy was quick enough to block that punch. With a gun in his side, he wasn't gonna take that chance yet.

I'll let you get comfortable, like you told me last time.

/ "How long?"

David nodded.

/ "I dunno, 15 minutes if I go a little crazy?"

She sounded irritated.

/ "Well big guy has a gun in my side right now so you better haul ass."

There was a short pause and David knew exactly what was coming next.

/ "God fucking dammit, David. If he doesn't flatline your ass, I will."

Then the link went dead.

"Good", the borg said. "On my count. Three. Two. One. Now."

The hand on his shoulder pulled him sideways. He didn't think he coulda stayed outside that shop if he wanted to.

Once they were in, David got why this guy chose it. The shop was pretty much empty and he'd positioned them behind a shelf, out of the cashier's view.

"Why are you following me, David?"

David didn't really have a good explanation. Why did he come out here? Scouting competition? Nah… that wasn't right.

A smirk flickered across his face.

"'Cause something felt strange about you, choom", David replied. "Couldn't get the other day outta my head."

"Uh-huh. Care to expand on that?"

"Ya know. You ain't the normal street gangers around here. Part of me's wondering why 6th Street had you running errands for 'em. That chrome and how you handled yourself, seems like they mighta tried to hire you for that job instead 'a me."

The gun shifted. "You're assuming I was taking jobs."

"What, so you're walking around Night City looking like that carrying someone else's mail?" David laughed. "I don't buy that, choomba, sorry."

"That's fine, you don't have to. Beauty of me having a gun in your chest is I get to decide what's true and what isn't."

That got another chuckle out of him. It was a threat, sure, but even that was different. This guy's threats didn't feel like Night City streets threats.

"Alright, I gotcha. So you weren't taking jobs. The only thing I got is you don't strike me as someone who… belongs in Night City. Your act don't match the street life. You aren't a big enough asshole to be a corpo. Lotta weird shit in this place. I ignore most of it. You caught my attention is all."

The borg hummed and the hand on his shoulder shifted.

With most guys, a gun in his back meant he played hardball or fought 'em. Intimidation wouldn't work on his new chromed-out choom. David figured that out last time when he had the borg at gunpoint.

Then again, this guy didn't give off the same vibes as most other chrome jocks. He didn't seem like he'd pull the trigger off a whim. Then again, he'd met people who could flip that switch in no time flat.

This guy might be like that, but me asking him to let me go wouldn't do it.

David held his hands up. "Look man, I ain't here for a fight. So, you wanna take that gun out of my chest. I might be crazy but I ain't stupid. I don't got nothing on me that'll bust through whatever that shit is."

The borg grunted this time. Most guys on Night City's streets would laugh at, threaten, or shoot you for saying that. Mystery man let go of his shoulder, pulled the gun, and waited for David to turn around.

When he did, he looked up at the strange gold… faceplate? Visor? It was in a dark gray helmet that had a few white accents. The borg was just as massive as David remembered. Thick, gray metal plates were layered over some kinda black material. The same white accents on his helmet were on the rest of him.

The iron he was holding wasn't right either. It looked small in the borg's hand but it was large caliber. Even larger than his piece.

"So you're following me because I'm interesting?" the guy asked. "Seems like a good way to get killed in your line of work."

His voice was wrong too. It sounded… normal. Every borg he'd met had a synthesized voice. Not this guy.

David shrugged. "I got good instincts. Plus, didn't seem like you wanted to fight last time. Figured it would be the same way this time around."

"And you were willing to bet your life on that?"

The mystery man was fishing. Was he trying to get a feel for David? The gun was still pointed at him but letting him go said this guy wasn't worried about him. Choom didn't seem like the kinda guy who'd give up an advantage if he thought he could use it and that 'meeting' in the hallway told David he was always ready for a fight.

So, if he didn't want a fight, David wouldn't push it. A guy that armored up, he didn't wanna try his luck without more iron or backup.

"Yeah", David nodded. "Someone like you'd draw a lot of attention. You kill me in a place like this, NCPD would be all over you." He shrugged again. "You seem like a smart guy and that's something a gonk would do."

Something about the way the borg's head tilted to the side made David think he might have been amused.

"A lot of assumptions. Sometimes your instincts can get you into trouble in unfamiliar situations. There are more quiet ways to kill someone than with a gun. That being said", the borg lowered the large-caliber pistol. "No, I don't intend to kill you as long as you don't do anything stupid."

David smiled. "Preem. Glad you don't hold a grudge."

"Oh, I don't appreciate getting attacked out of nowhere but, if that's all it took for me to hold a grudge, my list would be too long to do anything with."

"So you get in fights a lot?"

The borg shrugged. "I'm guessing that's rhetorical."

"Yeah", David chuckled, "I already figured."

After a second, the borg placed his iron against his thigh. When he took his hand away, it stayed there. How the hell did that work? Magnets or some shit? "You really followed me because that fight stuck in your head? You're no stranger to a fight."

It was David's turn to shrug. "Sometimes things stick out, ya know? You don't seem like you belong here but I know you can kick some serious ass. Got me interested."

Another pause and David got the feeling this guy was sizing him up. It wasn't for a fight. He'd been right earlier: he was getting a feel for David.

"Alright", the borg said and nodded to the door. "Next time, just say 'hi'."

Before he went to leave, he had one more question. "What's your name? Your contact? Might have some biz you could use."

"James. And I'm not interested in anything exciting at the moment. I can get in touch with you if I need something. For now, let's stay long-distance friends."

For now, huh?

Maybe he was reading too far into that, but he got the impression this guy would be around.

"Fair enough, choom", David said. "See ya soon, then."

With that, he slipped out of the store and back into the crowd. He was smiling.

James… weird guy. Someone to watch out for. Hopefully, he could convince the borg to work with them sometime. Could be interesting.

Oh shit. Rebecca.

He glowered as he rang her. After the fourth tone, she answered.

/ "DAVID! YOU STILL GOT YOUR HEAD?"

He winced.

"/ Ye- yeah. I'm good. Walking back to my ride."

/ "Really? What happened?"

/ "Might be a new player in town. Someone to look out for."

/ "That good or bad?"

/ "I'm gonna go with 'good'."

X

Goddamn Night City. Guess there's really no escaping it.

She was watching the metropolis pass by the window, head held in her hand, elbow braced against the door. It wasn't a happy thought. Coming back… wasn't something she wanted. It was a hellhole. The place ate people for breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, and a midnight snack.

Especially for a midnight snack.

The sea of gleaming, stylized high-rise towers was what anyone saw on the net or when they first laid eyes on the place. Anything from modern Western design with its sharp edges and LED strips and boards to Arasaka's roots in Japanese construction. That wasn't for them. That was for the rich corpo assholes or cons who made it big. The rest of them got the streets, where you were as likely to be stabbed, shot, robbed, or hooked on whatever that corner was selling as you were to get to wherever you were going.

And yet, its call drew her back. The place promised you the chance to be anything or anyone you wanted.

As long as you were willing to con, steal, and kill for it.

Then again, it wasn't like most other big cities were any different. Maybe the crime wasn't quite as bad, maybe you didn't have to grab a second digit to count the daily murders, maybe they weren't run by megacorps that treated people just as bad as any gang.

But that didn't mean they were better.

The trip across the country had brought her through plenty of other cities. Phoenix, El Paso, Dallas, Houston, New Orleans… Atlanta.

She didn't find a fucking thing that made her want to stay in those places any more than Night City. Sure, she didn't have to be ready for some asshole with iron that was more likely to blow up in their hand as it was to fire, but that didn't mean those cities were any safer.

Those cities didn't offer her the chances Night City did. Not to strike it rich. Not to be known.

Most people weren't trying to make it big or become a legend. Most people weren't her.

So, as the city drew closer through the heavily tinted windows of the old Thorton, an old excitement clawed at her stomach.

The truck shuddered as it ran over some cracked and pitted concrete. Poor thing probably needed to be put to rest a decade ago, but the old man who agreed to take her from Phoenix to Night City kept it running and on the road.

Well "agreed to take her" with some eddies to grease things up. The old bastard was heading there anyway. Whatever, too late to do anything about it now. Robbing some ancient guy wasn't her style.

Driving through the Badlands was always so boring. Rocks, sand, some ugly plants, and more rocks. The sand blew across the road in some places and, if you didn't wanna get stuck, you had to go around. That was annoying. You could always find assholes who thought their lifted trucks would handle anything or clueless idiots who weren't paying attention when their shit was stuck in the sand.

Old Man… uh… Peter, that was it. Peter had been quiet for the last three hours. Apparently, his kids lived in Night City, which is why he was heading there. One of 'em was with Maelstrom and the other was dorphhead. It didn't surprise her to hear it.

Night City. If it didn't get to you, you were either lucky or young. Even the normies got their tastes of Night City. The folks walking around, pretending they lived a regular life, weren't innocent. Everyone took part in some way and most of the people who said they didn't were lying to you and themselves.

They'd almost reached the low-lying towns and wind farms that marked the outskirts of the city when Peter finally spoke up.

"Where you trying to get dropped off?" he asked in a voice that betrayed a lifetime of smoking.

She pulled her head away from her hand as a run-down motel and even worse gas station passed the window to look at the old man. "You know where the Glen's at?" Her voice was low, firm, and pointed. It almost sounded like she was biting off the end of each word, a habit formed by years of education on Night City's streets. You couldn't let people walk over you, that meant making sure you got your point across and whoever was trying something knew you were in charge. And that you weren't to be fucked with.

"That's where City Hall's at, right?"

"Yeah", she replied, nodding.

"Sure, I can do that."

"Thanks."

With that, they went back to the quiet they'd been sitting with for most of the day. It was all any of the few 'conversations' they'd had were. The only interruptions were the occasional squeak from the suspension, the rattles from the interior, and the obnoxious road noise that was just loud enough she couldn't quite get used to it. At least the view outside wasn't nothing but open fields and abandoned towns anymore.

Oh well, it was almost over and they'd go their separate ways. As much as she knew the guy's story was just another one in Night City, she couldn't help but feel for him. Driving all day just to not see two failures like his kids. Staying in Night City, for anyone who wasn't part of it, was hell, she knew that.

She hadn't made it this far by being a bleeding heart, though, and her feelings weren't gonna do him any good. What was she supposed to say? 'Sorry your kids are screwed and there's nothing you can do about it'?

That's life in Night City.

As the badlands passed and the city's endless maze of towers loomed over them, her anticipation soured even more. It'd been less than four months since she'd left this goddamn place. Was it that Night City had that much draw, or was it because she couldn't quit it? Like one of those damn junkies doing whatever they needed for another hit of glitter.

What am I? Some psychologist now? I don't know why I can't leave and brooding about it ain't gonna change anything.

She'd get there, hit up contacts, and get back to doing what she did. That's how you survive in Night City. If you stop to think about it, you die.

You see, you react, and you move. If you hesitate, you end up as a smear on the sidewalk or in the morgue with a bullet hole in your head. You ended up as a footnote in someone else's story.

And she wasn't about to be part of anyone's climb but her own.

X

"So who was following us?" Johnson asked as James met her outside of the market's west entrance. "Entrance" was probably too generous. The only thing that separated the market from the sidewalk and street was the stalls stopped. There were still plenty of people around, and he was still getting plenty of looks.

Cars were streaming past them. Several stopped to let people out. Some kept walking, others went into the market. It was the same eclectic collection of clothes from black to neon greens and blues. Same with their hair and cybernetics.

Chrome. These people had some interesting slang.

"David Martinez."

"No shit?" She cocked an eyebrow. "You sure the David Martinez was following us? You didn't run into him on accident?"

The opposite sidewalk was just as busy as the one they were on but, instead of another market, there was one of those 'Megabuildings'. The damn thing was as wide as a city block and tall enough Fourier couldn't figure out where it stopped. People were walking in and out of it just like H4, where he'd met Martinez.

Other people were loitering outside, glaring at anyone who came too close, just like H4.

"Yeah, I talked with him." A blind person could tell David had a reputation. Getting into a conversation about why he was following them would lead to questions Fourier didn't want to answer and he still didn't know enough to lie convincingly. Johnson wouldn't let it go because he said 'please', though.

"Reggie had me meet with Martinez a while back. We talked for a minute and he must have spotted me in the crowd."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You said Reggie did? About?"

James shrugged. "I don't know if he'd want me to tell anyone. He can verify what I'm saying."

His guide didn't respond immediately. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, watching him.

She must think a lot of Craig's opinion.

"Alright, Becca ain't far. Let's delta."

Fourier had heard that tone before. She wasn't satisfied, but she'd put the questions into the 'ask later' folder in her brain. Whether those questions would be for him or Reggie, James didn't know. Either way, he was happy to get away from that market.

Any time he looked at someone, they'd avert their eyes. Pretending they weren't watching him didn't work all that well. It was a lot like when he'd first met Martinez.

They might think I'm a corpo too.

If that was the case… would he have to worry about a corporation coming after him?

It was a question he could get an answer to once they weren't in the middle of the open.

"Lead the way", he said.

Johnson turned south and started away from the market. The further they walked, the fewer people there were to stare at him. That also meant there weren't as many things to distract from him or as much crowd to hide in. Well… as much as he can hide in a crowd, that is.

It also made tracking any potential tails easier. Without the mass of people playing hell with his motion tracker, anyone following them would be obvious.

Fourier was led to the end of the block before Trisha turned left and crossed the narrow, two-lane street. On the other side was a relatively short building, maybe 10 stories, with simple, concrete construction. There were no ground-floor windows and the ones on the second floor and up were narrow and barred.

They passed the building and continued west. Another two blocks, the passersby still stealing their glances at James, and Johnson turned down an alley almost as wide as the street they'd been walking along. Lining either side were more stores. Unlike the market, which was largely made up of stalls, these were vendors selling out of the buildings flanking the alley. Those buildings cast the area in a deep shadow, almost blocking the sun out entirely.

Bright LED signs blasted a multitude of colors into the alley, replacing the natural light and advertised the various goods and services available in each storefront. They ranged from adult entertainment to, unsurprisingly, firearms. One looked like a store full of cybernetics. That was something they sold on the streets?

"Hey! Borg!" someone from that shop shouted, running out of the front ahead of them. "I see you're a chrome fan! I've got some great new implants you'll be interested in!"

He stopped in front of James, a massive, lopsided smile on a face that was a little too large for his head. Both of the shorter man's eyes were cybernetic, along with his right arm and left hand. The guy looked old, with his wispy white hair, but it was hard to tell how old because of how much makeup he was wearing. And spray tan.

"Maybe later", James replied, stepping to his right, behind a pair of brightly dressed women walking out of the shop across the alley.

"No, I don't think you understand the deal I can offer someone like you."

Oh, I've heard this pitch before.

The salesman tried getting in front of Fourier again but two long strides carried him past his solicitor.

He was a determined bastard. Instead of taking the refusal, he tried to match James's pace, almost breaking into a jog to keep up.

"Whatever you want, you buy a full implant set, I'll throw in the install service for free."

Fourier shook his head. "I've got my own source."

Johnson noticed the loud, determined salesman as James caught back up with her and turned on him.

"Hey, fuck off", she snapped. "Got biz that ain't you."

The man's eyes narrowed. "6th Street? I've seen the sad excuse for chrome you run", he looked back up at Fourier. "If they're your supplier, my wares are-"

"Oh, you gotta be some kinda gonk-brain", Trish interrupted. "You think you're gonna insult 6th Street to my face?" She stepped forward and put her face a centimeter from his. Her hand was inside her jacket, no doubt on a sidearm.

"He ain't with us. I'm helpin' him out. It's what we do. If you think we got a bad supply chain, I can introduce you to a few of our borgs, see if you like their 'wares'."

She paused to let her threat hang in what little air there was between them. The shoppers around them continued on their way, squeezing to either side of the alley and deliberately looking away from the three of them.

"No?" Johnson barked after a few seconds without a response. "Nova, now fuck off and bother someone else who won't put iron down your throat and pull the trigger. Goddamn gonk."

Without waiting for another word, the woman turned and marched away from the near-catatonic shop owner. In his experience, the threat in front of someone like that was rarely what got them, it was the realization they'd just said something incredibly stupid. James had dealt with the colloquial 'used car salesman' before. Once they get talking, they'll say whatever comes to mind. Sometimes, that gets them in trouble.

An amused grin behind his visor, Fourier followed after the gang member.

Her stride was firm and purposeful now. James didn't think it was for show, she probably was irritated. Was that what David was talking about when he said it felt like James didn't belong? That he wouldn't threaten to shoot someone over an encounter like that?

Oh well. If I end up doing something like that to survive, I will. For now, I'll hold off. I think it might come off differently if it's a two-plus meter tall 'borg' doing the threatening.

A minute later, they'd passed out of the alley shopping center and back onto a sidewalk. The street on the other side was empty aside from a half-dozen parked cars. Two of them had their windows smashed out and a third was graffitied on.

To their left and right were more medium-sized buildings, between 8 and 12 stories. Across the street, the towers were taller. Directly ahead of them was one with at least 20 floors.

Johnson crossed the street and made straight for that building's entrance.

"Doubt anyone around here would fuck with someone like you", she said as they reached the front door. It was steel, down a short flight of stairs, set in a concrete frame. "Most gonks around here look for small fries and you look a little harder than they go for."

"Is that why everything looks like it was built for a war?"

She keyed a pad beside the door. "HA! Not even. You haven't seen the best partsa town. This ain't shit."

"Yeah… I figured."

"Biz?" a gruff voice came over the speaker.

"Looking for Becca. Stays in 1311. A friend sent me over to get someone some help."

"One sec."

The more he saw of this place, the more he preferred his own timeline, or universe, or whatever. It had its problems but the idea he was in a major metropolitan area and this wasn't that bad was concerning. Yes, he knew things would have to be bad for someone like him to be able to walk around without being stopped by anyone, worse to think he could work as a mercenary in a city.

Seeing an area that looked like it was about to get shelled while being told there was worse put it in a different perspective.

"She's gonna ask you a lotta questions", Johnson said. "It's normal for a fixer meeting new talent. Don't get your panties in a bunch if she asks you something you don't like."

"I'll do my best."

Before either of them could say anything else, the entrance clicked open.

"Head in", the voice came over the intercom.

Once they were through the door, it swung shut and latched behind them. The apartment building's interior wasn't much different from the one Craig lived in. Dark, dreary, and dirty. The lobby was wide with a low ceiling. Its light fixtures, struggling to provide illumination, only sometimes had functional LEDs. There was an elevator bank on the wall to the right, at the back was a hallway entrance, and on the right was a steel door with an illuminated 'stairs' sign beside it.

Fourier marched toward the stairs.

"Oh cmon…"

He glanced over his shoulder at Johnson. "You want to risk the elevator breaking?"

"Those elevators won't break."

"It's 13 stories, right? We'll be fine."

"Easy for you to say", she muttered. "Fuckin borg."

The stairway was exactly what James expected: poorly lit, and poorly maintained, with stains on the concrete steps and walls. He could both imagine what they were and not want to know.

A few minutes of climbing later, they emerged onto the 13th floor. Johnson wasn't quite breathing hard, but it was harder than it had been.

Thankfully, the hallway outside of the steel service door was clear. It was better lit than the staircase, not that it helped. The walls, floor, and ceiling were still bare concrete. The doors that lined either side of the corridor were, like the service door and the main entrance, steel set in steel frames. There was a light over each door and an access panel beside the frame. The hall ran for about 20 meters before it reached a 4-way intersection.

A placard over the door's access panel told James the door on his right was 1330. Right side was odd, left side was even. There were four on either side of the hall. That probably meant the four branches off of that intersection each had around eight apartments. Theirs would be… on whichever the second arm was.

Moving out of the staircase, James was careful to set his armored boots on the concrete as softly as he could. The impact damping soles helped.

Why? Why did he feel the need to be silent? They were in a residential building.

He didn't know. Something was telling him. To be quiet and cautious. He didn't make it through a decade of active service by ignoring his intuition.

So, as they made their way toward the intersection, the only noises were talking or music coming from the apartments, and Johnson's breathing.

At the intersection, he found the bank of elevators taking up the space that would have had two more rooms. That was the first 'arm' of the intersection, rooms one to six. Which meant…

He looked at the hall to his right.

1307.

Becca's room would be at the end of this hall on the left side.

James pointed at the door in question and motioned for Trisha to go ahead of him. She did and, a moment later, they were standing in front of the door.

While it probably shouldn't have surprised him, Johnson raised a closed fist and pounded the side of it on the door. It produced a muffled thud. Damn. That door wasn't solid steel, but it was thick.

"Becca", she called. "You around?"

There was shuffling behind the steel door and, after a few seconds, a latch clacked open from the other side.

When the door opened-

The barrel of a handgun was visible through the hand's-width crack.

Johnson froze. The muzzle was a few centimeters from her face. James checked his right hand as it went to his sidearm. The addition of another gun wouldn't improve the situation.

"Who's that with you?" a muffled voice came through the opening. Young.

"He's your new talent", his guide said, her voice rock-steady. "My name's Trisha Johnson. We're here for biz, should already have our detes."

Facing down the barrel of a gun is probably common practice around here.

There was a heartbeat of hesitation before the handgun disappeared and another click sounded from inside. Then the door swung all the way open.

Behind it was a woman, like James had thought, young. With her still soft features, thin frame, and long brown hair pulled back in a braid, she couldn't have been more than 22 or 23. Unlike almost everyone else James had seen, she didn't have any obvious implants or cybernetics.

She looked nervous too. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and the hand that still held the pistol was trembling ever so slightly.

James cocked an eyebrow behind his visor. This was who Craig thought would be a good match for him? No offense to the young woman, she wasn't exactly inspiring confidence.

Do I have another option?

He didn't but still…

Johnson trusted him enough to change her entire demeanor. Let's see where this goes.

"Lindsay Conklin?" Johnson asked.

Their host nodded. "Yeah, but no one calls me that." Her eyes shifted from Trisha to him. "Got a borg sent my way, huh? That's new."

After staring at James for a solid five seconds, Becca stepped away from the door.

The two of them stepped inside and Fourier swung the door shut. There were two locks on it. He wasn't sure whether it would be better to leave them undone or not. If someone tried to break in… he was pretty confident he could handle it. And she'd probably feel more comfortable if he didn't lock the door. He knew how that might look to the young 'fixer'.

So, instead, he stayed in front of the door while Becca marched to a desk that looked remarkably similar to the one in Craig's apartment. The major difference was she had one machine instead of an entire bank.

"Take a seat, if you want", she said as she dropped into the office chair and set her handgun on the desk. Their host motioned to the small table next to her, like with Craig, very clean kitchenette.

"I'll stand", Johnson said. "I'm just here long enough to make sure you two are gonna place nice."

Becca's eyes were locked on Fourier. "Craig said you were looking for someone you could trust and could get you some safe, low-level biz."

James nodded. "That's right."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "And what's your name?"

The young woman sounded… exhausted. Maybe 'resigned' was a better word. That seemed strange for someone as young as her.

"James Fourier."

"What's your skillset?" she asked.

Pretty wide. It had to be, considering his career to that point. Intel, counter intel, security, both quiet and loud combat operations, assassinations… he could keep going but there were only two things she needed to know, for now.

"I'm good at fighting and I'm good at keeping people from getting killed. Can even do it with some tact if the situation calls for it."

Becca drummed her fingers on her desk, chin in her other hand. "I could get you some security gigs. Nothing big, a few D-listers who wanna feel important." The drumming stopped. "You seem a little over-equipped for escort work."

"I'm new in town", he said. "I don't know my way around or who I can piss off without getting into trouble. Like Craig said, I'm looking for someone who knows the city and I can trust."

"Someone you can trust", she repeated quietly and blew a raspberry. "Sometimes I wish I was an asshole like everyone else in this goddamn city."

… Oh. Is that why she seems so resigned?

He held up a hand. "I'm not here to take advantage of you. Craig basically said I wouldn't do well without someone I could trust and who was a little too clean themselves." James shrugged. "He's probably right. A place like this will do whatever it can to exploit new blood, I know that much."

"Uh-huh." Becca started drumming her fingers again. "You're saying you want someone you can trust because you aren't a big enough asshole either?"

"No", James replied with a shake of his head. "I'm as big an asshole as anyone else. I just try to direct it at people who deserve it."

After another few seconds of drumming, Becca stopped and sat up in her chair. "You gotta know how this looks to me. A borg coming to someone like me, looking for low-rent work? Seems pretty suspicious."

She wasn't willing to trust him which was understandable. If she was the type of person Craig implied, she'd be very hesitant to trust anyone. She'd feel anyone she trusted would try to exploit it. He knew the feeling. The image that was being painted of Night City for him wasn't great and someone who knew a lot of things and people, but wasn't as conniving and underhanded as some of the less… moral parties around. Becca would be an easy target.

There's one thing I can do. What were the risks? He guessed it wasn't the end of the world if people found out he wasn't a cyborg. Reggie recognized he was wearing power armor almost immediately and it hadn't caused any issues with him.

Still probably a good idea to keep it as under wraps as possible.

What would be the effects of people learning about it?

I doubt it would change much. The more information I can keep to myself, the better.

The question he should be asking is did he trust someone he'd never met before enough to not spill that. And, if she did, what would the consequences be?

No but if the risk isn't high, what's the problem? The more she knows, the better she'll be able to work with me, too. Hopefully. As for the consequences… I don't know. If I'm just as hard to kill as I would be if I were a cyborg, would it matter?

He'd already taken enough leaps of faith to this point. Most people might ask 'what's one more?' The answer is 'another chance for something to go wrong.' This didn't seem like something that would have much backlash if it got out. Like most things he'd done since getting dropped here, it was fairly low risk compared with what he normally had to do.

"Johnson, I think I'm good here. I can find my way back if I need to."

The 6th Street gang member turned to him, eyebrow cocked. "You ain't even gotten through introductions."

He nodded. "I know. It'll be alright, you've helped enough."

As he spoke, he thought she'd continue protesting. She'd been… more cooperative than he thought she'd be after their visit with Craig.

Then he remembered how nonplussed she was to get stuck with him in the first place.

Sure enough, she nodded almost before he was done talking. "Preem. Good luck."

With that, she slipped past him, pulled the door open, and was gone. That left the two of them alone in the small apartment. Becca was watching him, eyes narrowed.

"I'm gonna trust you with something", James said after making sure the door was shut. "Hopefully it'll help you trust me."

He disengaged his armor's seal and lock with a thought. Once he heard the almost imperceptible hiss of escaping air, he reached up and pulled his helmet off.

"I'm not a borg." He lowered his helmet and held it between his arm and his side. "I'm a guy in powered armor. Kinda."

Becca's expression froze somewhere between wide-eyed surprise and a confused frown.

"Okay", she said quietly, "that isn't what I expected when you asked her to leave." The young woman recovered quickly, face sliding into a carefully neutral expression. Too neutral, like someone who was trying too hard to seem unconcerned by whatever they were dealing with.

"Alright, I'll give you the same consideration you're giving me." She turned to her computer and tapped something into the keyboard. "How soon are you looking for biz?"

Fourier frowned. "That depends. There are some things I need to know first if you don't mind."

"In for a penny… you said you're new in town. How new?"

"A few days."

She nodded. "Where are you from?"

"Midwest." His frown deepened. "Sorry, I'm not willing to get more specific than that yet. There's too much I don't know about my situation or this city."

"Fair", Becca replied with a shrug. "A few days ain't much time to get used to a shit-filled hellhole like Night City. And you were with 6th Street? Plus, you said you could find your way back if you needed. I'm guessing that means you don't got a place."

"That's right."

"Or eddies. Or food."

Eddies? What the hell are 'eddies'? James nodded. "Also right."

"Do you have experience?" she asked. She was starting to sound a little worried.

"I do. I've been- in my field for about a decade. I've run security for HVTs plenty. Same with things like surveillance."

"No one has gear like yours for low-rent shit like that."

James held up a hand again. "You're right, and I'm not gonna lie to you and say I don't have experience with more but, for now, that's the experience that matters."

"You sure about that?" Becca sat up straight in her desk chair. "Folks around here pay top rates for good work they know'll get done. If your game is as good as you say, I'm sure I could find you some serious biz."

I didn't say my game was good. You're assuming that. Or maybe 'hope' would be a better word.

That brought up a question: why? Sure, Craig said she mostly dealt in low-level operations, and she's young with relatively little experience. That wasn't all, though. What was he missing?

"Securing high-level jobs is sensitive work. It isn't just the job itself that's harder; it would expose both of us to higher risk and more notoriety if not handled correctly. Going out and looking for a difficult job is asking to be taken advantage of."

Becca frowned. "And you know that how?"

"I know enough about how this works." That wasn't entirely true. He didn't have to worry about being conned much considering who his bosses were, but he'd seen it happen. Mostly his bosses conning other people. The intelligence field is as cutthroat as any gang and mercenary-filled city. The rest he could intuit.

"This could be big. For both of us."

Fourier cocked his head at her. It was an unnecessary gesture without his helmet on but some habits don't turn off when out of his armor.

"Am I your only 'talent'?" he asked.

Becca's back went ramrod straight.

That would be a 'yes'.

"Why?" she demanded.

"You're too excited about pursuing high-level work with someone you just met. Speaks to inexperience in building working relationships. Generally, you want to be careful in a field like this, not go as high as possible. Especially early on." He shrugged. "So yeah, I want to stick with low level. Now about that stuff I wanted to ask…?"

His 'fixer' frowned. "What questions?"

"What kind of weapons and protection do most people here have?"

"It's Night City", she huffed. "You've heard of it, they got it. Any kinda regular, tech, or smart iron. People got all sorts of chrome too. If you don't mind what are you used to dealing with back where you're from? If they're still using powered armor, you might be a little behind the times."

Becca stood and paced to the kitchen.

"They haven't used that sort of gear around here since before I was born. Got a lot of full-bodies and borgs. Don't know if I've ever heard of someone running around in powered armor."

She swung the refrigerator open and pulled a bottle of beer- no. James squinted. It was… sparkling water?

The refrigerator door closed and Becca turned back to him. She noticed his expression.

"Yeah?" she snapped. "What? I don't like beer."

Fourier nodded. "Good. It'll save you money. Cybernetics aren't common where I'm from." That was true, they'd been replaced a long time ago with flash-cloned limb and organ replacements. Cybernetics require constant maintenance and you always run the risk of a severe autoimmune response. They may be used in extreme cases when cloning facilities weren't available, but it wasn't often.

"Figures." Becca popped the cap off of her drink and took a long swing. Once she swallowed, she looked down at the bottle, then at James. "Sorry, I didn't ask. Do you… need anything? If you've been staying with 6th Street, and you just showed up here, I'm guessing you don't have much."

As much as he didn't like taking offered food or water, he learned you had to put that pride away very early in his career. If it stops you from doing your job, you let it go.

"I'd appreciate some food and water. They gave me some but they didn't have much to go around."

Becca squinted. "Water's easy… how much do you eat? I don't got a lot."

James snorted a laugh. "I usually eat a lot. I can make do with a regular portion for now."

"Alright, I think there are some noodles left over from last night." She turned back to the refrigerator. "Lemme heat them up."

A minute later, Fourier was standing beside the table, helmet resting on it beside a large glass of water. He was holding a bowl of steaming noodles and, what Becca had called, synthetic meat.

That didn't sound appetizing. Food was food.

When Becca sat back at her desk, she was a lot more relaxed. She leaned back and tipped the bottle up again.

"The chrome can get pretty crazy", she said once the bottle was empty. "I'm sure you're familiar with some."

James shrugged and finished chewing. The noodles were mushy and way too salty. The meat… wasn't meat. He didn't know what it was but it didn't come back up when he swallowed.

"What I've seen here so far is new to me. Had a guy with a large-bore gun in his forearm shove it in my face."

"Oh yeah, that." Becca nodded. "Projectile Launch System. Basically a grenade launcher. That one's pretty nasty. It's limited, though. Usually only carries a few rounds."

Then there was the question of how David had moved that fast.

"Another one I saw was a guy moving a lot faster than an average person."

Becca leaned forward and put the empty bottle on her desk. "Around here, that's probably a Sandevistan. Uses tech I know nothing about to speed up people's reaction times and how fast signals move around their bodies."

So he'd been right, it was some kind of body augment. Forcing a regular person's body to move that fast would be enough strain. Forcing their minds to process information that quickly… that can't be good for long-term health.

He took another bite of noodles.

There were probably enough variations on their cybernetics for James to stand there asking questions all day. He could get that information out of a catalog.

"I'd like to stay off as many shit lists as I can for the time being", he said. "Sounds like anyone around here can get a gun for hire to go after someone. Anything in particular I need to look out for?"

The young woman cocked an eyebrow and the ghost of a smile flashed across her face. "You breathe someone else's air, you're gonna get on their shitlist. Good luck with that one."

Another mouthful of food.

Okay… so much for that.

"Then I need to stay as anonymous as possible."

"You're kinda strange for someone who's trying to do biz in the mercenary world", Becca said. "Most wanna get their names out there."

Fourier shrugged again. "Best case scenario for me would be to make enough to get by."

"Not how this game works." Becca shook her head. "Even if you're just taking on low-level jobs, people will learn about you. Reliability is everything in the world you're talking about."

That's unfortunate. "Then the next best thing would be getting known through you. Someone commissions you and your 'talent' does the job."

The fingers on her right hand went back to drumming on the desk. "Why do you wanna stay low profile so bad?"

"I'm doing this because I have to. I'm here for now so I have to make it work."

"Huh." She was studying him again. Her gaze was careful and attentive. The way her eyes slowly drifted from his face, across his armor, paused on the pistol on his hip, before coming back to his face was more deliberate than most people he'd encountered as young as her.

"Well, you're the first person who's come looking for me as a fixer so I guess I'll try to make that happen", she replied. "What other questions you got?"

They spent the next hour talking. It started with the types of threats James would come across: the average street thug, organized gangs, corporate agents, the police (which were incredibly corrupt according to her), other mercenaries, and 'cyberpsychos'.

That last one was interesting, people who apparently had enough implants to drive them insane. Fourier wasn't sure how that worked but this wasn't his area of expertise.

He got a little history from her too, different details than the book he'd read in the slums had given him. Seemed like the corporations in Night City were a lot more powerful than what he was used to. They were the defacto government, especially Arasaka, the most powerful corporation, and maybe single organization, in the world.

It wasn't until the conversation turned to him that Fourier started struggling. He was missing one thing that baffled Becca.

"You don't have a Link?" she exclaimed.

James, like all UNSC personnel, and especially Spartans, had neural networking hardware. It wasn't this world's version of it and he doubted it would be compatible. Even if it was, he had no interest in opening himself up to whatever their wireless network had in store. His armor had state-of-the-art security systems, including a stripped-down AI to perform active defense measures.

In his mind, the best way to prevent an intrusion was to shut wireless access off altogether. Then it didn't matter who tried to penetrate his systems.

"No", he said, shaking his head.

"That suit of yours doesn't either?"

"It does but it doesn't have the same security systems around here likely do. I don't take risks with my hardware so its wireless connection is off."

Becca frowned. "Well that'll make working around here hard. We could get you a Link pretty easy. Everyone has 'em."

James shook his head again. "I'm not comfortable with that. Are there any alternatives?"

"Datapads", the young woman said with a grimace. "If you wanna do everything old school. Like, early-century old school."

"Can they do what Links do without having something implanted in my head?"

"I guess… yeah. Well, except for taking calls. They have speakers and mics but you don't get the privacy of a Link."

James motioned to his helmet. "If I can get an earpiece, my armor is sound-proof. It'll work."

"Yeah, those are still around." She frowned. "Ya know, you don't seem like you'll be the easiest person to do biz with. There are a lot of things you don't know and the way you wanna do this is really weird."

"Oh yeah?" Fourier laughed. "Once I start working, I think that'll change."

"You do?"

He nodded. "I might not know a whole lot, but I know what I'm good at."

Becca blew a raspberry. "Alright 'Trooper'." She pushed herself away from her desk and stood. "I got a friend who should be able to hook you up with all this old shit. Let's head over so we can get some jobs rolling. I don't want you staying with me any longer than we need."

"Stay with you?" James asked, frowning.

"Well…" her eyes dropped to the floor for a heartbeat before she looked back at him. "It would be a little fucked up to make you stay on the street and you can't afford anything. And I can't afford to rent you anything." She turned and started toward the door, stride a little too hurried. "Don't make me second guess that call. You seem like an alright guy and I need some talent."

Fourier watched as she reached the door, undid the locks, and pulled it open.

She was letting him stay with her until he could get somewhere of his own?

Maybe Craig was right about her. She does seem a little too nice to be in this profession.

He picked his helmet up and slid it back into place.

I'll have to pay her back, I guess.

Next Chapter: 7/12, The Streets of Night City