Turbo's bar was pretty much exactly what David had expected it would be. The interior was an open-floor plan with a few tables lining the edges, a long bar that ran the entire length of one of the walls and a large parking lot outside where people often gathered to party and show off their custom-modified kitsch cars. It wasn't like the nightclubs on jig-jig street, where dancing, fancy cocktails, loud club music and prostitute-soliciting were the norms, but it still seemed prone to getting more than a little rowdy in its own way. Bar fights were probably fairly common here, given the kind of crowd this place seemed to attract.

"Kid!" Maine raised his beer in greeting, sitting on the hood of his Quadra. He had clearly outfitted the car with an incredibly strong suspension, given how little the front of the car sagged under his weight. "Over here!"

"Yo," he smiled, returning the greeting as he walked over. "Am I the last one here?"

"Just about, yeah. Lucy only got here a few minutes ago," Maine nodded. "What'd you think of the gig?"

"Hectic," he laughed. "Wasn't expecting to have to klep a corpo car my first day."

Maine chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. "Yeah, shit happens sometimes. Not every job goes smooth. Gotta learn to fly by the seat of your ass when shit hits the fan."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Maine nodded in acknowledgement, before turning and fishing around in a small duffel bag on his opposite side, fishing out a white paper bag that he had tucked away inside the duffel.

"Here," he said, offering him the bag. "Your cut."

David took it gingerly, thanking the man quietly, then peeked inside the sack. It was difficult to tell exactly how many eddies were inside without taking them out and counting them, but it looked to be a pretty significant amount; easily enough to survive on for another month, by his estimate.

All this for one job?

"Holy shit," he mumbled under his breath.

"Not bad, eh?" Maine smirked at him. "Everyone gets a fair cut. Only way I work."

"It's great," he answered honestly, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. The only time he'd ever seen more eddies in one place was in his mom's hidden savings account. If they made bank like this on the regular, he'd never have to worry about food or rent ever again. He could move out of that shitty megabuilding and get a real apartment.

Maybe I could move out of the city entirely.

Something to think about in the future. He couldn't leave just yet, unfortunately.

"Bar's open if you wanna grab yourself somethin'," Maine mentioned, pointing lazily toward the wide-open entrance. Pilar was standing just outside it, entertaining a small crowd with his augmented arms, balancing multiple sets of trays and beer bottles on each hand.

"Yeah, probably will," David nodded, slipping the bag of eddies into his jacket pocket. He'd probably ask if they sold food, as well. He had been especially hungry the past few days, and his food budget had been forced to expand to compensate.

Giving a small wave to Maine, he strolled into the bar, intent on asking the bartender what kinds of drinks they served, but before he could reach the counter, he was stopped by a smaller, red-eyed girl in a loose hoodie who had quickly sidled up beside him, a glass of some fizzy drink he didn't recognize in each hand. He was about to apologize for nearly bumping into her, but she got the first word in.

"Hey, hey, newbie! David, right? Heard this was your first job!" she greeted exuberantly, offering him one of the glasses, which he accepted more for politeness' sake than anything. He hoped it wasn't drugged. "What'd you think? Maine said you did pretty alright!"

David blinked, surprised by her forwardness. He'd never had any girls approach him so enthusiastically before. The only positive interactions he'd had with any girls were with his mother and Lucy, and given how things with Lucy had gone, he wasn't sure if she could actually be counted on that list.

Suffice it to say, he was immediately out of his depth.

"Uh, yeah," he answered awkwardly. "It wasn't bad, I guess. Got kinda crazy in the middle there, but I didn't get fired or killed, so…."

"Could be worse?" she finished for him, grinning knowingly.

"Yeah, basically," he shrugged, trying to remember her name. "…Rebecca, right? Don't know if I've got everyone's names down yet."

"Yep! That's me!" she smiled brightly, giving him a playful salute.

"Cool." He was honestly just glad he hadn't gotten her name wrong right in front of her. That would have probably killed their conversation then and there. "Anyone else in the crew I haven't met yet?"

Rebecca shrugged, taking a swig of her drink. "Who do you know so far?"

"Uh, Lucy, Maine, Dorio, Pilar, and you," he listed off. She nodded understandingly.

"Yeah, there's a couple more. We got another netrunner and a driver, Kiwi and Falco. Both of 'em were busy today, so I don't think they'll show up tonight, but I'm sure you'll meet 'em soon enough."

"Gotcha." He took a sip of the drink she'd handed him, and immediately had to suppress a coughing fit. The burn of the alcohol on its own wasn't bad, but carbonation had always tickled his throat in exactly the wrong way, and the heavy carbonation augmented the slow-building sting of the ethanol to the point where he felt like he was drinking liquid fireworks. The unrelentingly sharp sensations ran across his tongue and down his throat, not unlike the staticky feeling of a sleeping limb getting its circulation back. The drink otherwise wasn't bad, though it was incredibly sweet.

"A little much?" Rebecca teased, grinning at him. His reaction hadn't gone unnoticed, apparently. "It's a bit stronger than beer, yeah."

"What's in it?" he asked, unwilling to admit the real reason he'd reacted the way he had. Better to let her think the alcohol was what was bothering him—she'd probably make fun of him relentlessly if he told her the truth. His mother teasing him about his sensitivity to carbonation was one thing, but someone he'd only just met doing it was another entirely.

It was a stupid thing to get hung up on, he knew, but he'd been the but of enough jokes at school. He wasn't keen on repeating the experience.

"Oh, y'know, whiskey, pressurized cola, bit of beer," she listed off as he scrutinized the bubbling concoction closely. He'd never heard of pressurized cola—he could have sworn that cola was already pressurized—but that did explain why it fizzed so aggressively.

David muscled down another few swallows, trying to keep his discomfort from showing on his face. "It's not bad."

Rebecca laughed.

"You're kinda cute, y'know?" she teased him, poking his jaw with an index finger. He tried to come off as unaffected, but he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, all the way up to the tips of his ears. He turned his head away slightly, adjusting his jacket slightly and trying to downplay his embarrassment, but the way Rebecca's devilish grin widened even further told him she definitely noticed.

"Thanks, I guess," he mumbled, taking a conservative sip of his drink. She giggled at him.

"You know, from what Lucy mentioned—" she began, but the entire bar suddenly became dead quiet. Rebecca noticed it before he did, and immediately dropped whatever she was about to say in favor of looking around for the source of whatever had just killed the atmosphere.

Neither of them had to search for long. Just outside, a large, sleek black limousine with matching tinted windows had rolled up and parked itself right in front of the entrance, the streetlights behind it casting an imposing shadow onto the bar's entrance. After a few tense seconds, the rear door swung open on its own, and an imposingly well-dressed man with close-cropped silver hair and three mechanical eyes on one side of his face stepped out of the limo, each eye independently moving in their sockets, sweeping the area, before they paused for a second and turned, all of them locking onto Maine.

"Who the hell's that?" David whispered to Rebecca, trying not to speak so loudly as to accidently draw attention to himself.

"Faraday. Our fixer," she whispered back. "Come on, let's go see what he wants."

They stepped outside, falling in line with Dorio and Pilar on the sidewalk as Faraday approached. Even Maine stood up from his seat to greet the man, so David had to assume the man commanded a good deal of influence. From what little he knew of fixers, mercs usually had to call them to get jobs, since fixers usually had trustworthy reputations and high-paying jobs on offer, and mercenaries were rarely contacted by fixers in-person unless they were especially close. Unfortunately, Faraday didn't look like he came for a social visit. The man's expression was all business.

"Maine," Faraday greeted, his tone clipped, "I asked for the vehicle's navigational data, not the entire vehicle. I was under the impression that you could follow simple instructions."

Maine's brow dipped below the rim of his shades, forehead creasing. "Didn't have a choice. Situation changed, had to improvise. You know how it is. Least you got the car."

"The car is useless to me. Your improvisation has squandered any value that data may have had. The target's routes have changed, and he is now on high alert. As far as I am concerned, this job has been a failure, and I have wasted my money on you," Faraday sneered.

Maine snarled, incensed. "Well, maybe if you fuckin' told us what your plans were in the first place, we'd be able to do the fuckin' job better! How the hell're we supposed to do this shit right if you ain't even gonna tell us what your damn goals are?!"

"Get this through your skull," Faraday spat, eyes narrowed, voice dripping with derision. "I keep my plans from you because it is necessary for operational security. You are not meant to see the greater picture. You are meant to do the job I hire you to do, exactly how I want you to do it. Do you understand me?"

Maine clenched his fists, shoulders drawn taut. He looked like he was pondering whether or not it was worth it to sock the guy in the jaw. David half-expected him to, but after a couple seconds, Maine's hands unclenched, and his shoulders relaxed. He nodded slowly, just barely deep enough to be considered respectful.

"…Yeah, I getcha."

Faraday's lips thinned. "Good. As a token of goodwill, I will not request that you return your payment, despite your failure to deliver what I have asked you to. However, I expect real results from you the next time. Fail me again and you will receive nothing, and I will find a different crew to do business with."

"We'll get it done," Maine ground out.

"Good. I will be in touch," Faraday stated sharply, before he turned on his heel and strutted back to his limo, the door swinging open for him of its own volition. As soon as he sat down, the door shut itself behind him, and the limo wheeled itself onto the road and took off.

"Guy doesn't mince words, huh?" David muttered.

Rebecca laughed.

"Yeah, he's a hardass. You get used to it."

He opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by a loud yell from outside.

"Yo, Becca! Mood's trashed, let's delta," Pilar called out, leaning against a slightly worn, hot pink MaiMai that looked like it had been spraypainted by hand. Rebecca's entire demeanor apparently shifted on a dime, because when he glanced back at her, she was glaring daggers at the guy. The way her hand gravitated toward her hip told him she was seriously contemplating causing a scene.

"Fuck off, asswipe!" Rebecca shouted back, raising her hand high and flipping him off. "You wanna leave, then get your own damn ride!"

"Fine, whatever! Just don't lag around all night!" he complained dismissively, turning back to his tablet and taking a swig of beer.

David blinked. He hadn't realized the two were so familiar with each other—or that Rebecca owned her own car, which probably made her older than he'd initially thought she was. He'd assumed that she was probably older than him by a year or two, since she clearly wasn't a newbie like him, but if she made enough to own her own car, then she'd most likely been a merc for longer than he'd assumed. In her twenties, probably, but he doubted she was in her thirties. Looking that young for that long took an absurd amount of eddies.

"So, uh, are you two…?" David broached hesitantly, looking pointedly back and forth between her and Pilar.

"Together? Nah, we're related. He's my older brother," she explained.

"Huh." He took a sip of his drink. "Strong family resemblance."

She cracked a grin at that. "Right? Yeah, enough chrome'll do that to ya."

David nodded. That made sense, he supposed. Even in Night City, it was easy to sometimes forget just how extensively someone could alter themselves. The Academy had rules pertaining how far students could cosmetically modify their body, and while those rules didn't extend to the corporations themselves, a modicum of professionalism was still to be expected of their employees, so he wasn't too familiar with most of the more unconventional modifications. Hell, Maine was one of the first chrome junkies he'd ever seen up-close.

"No kidding. Whatcha got chipped?" he asked, giving her a once-over, looking for the signature seams of cyberware augmentation, but her oversized hoodie covered most of her torso, and he didn't see anything on her legs, aside from a half-covered pink tattoo. The only obvious cyberware he could see was her eyes, assuming that her skin and hair weren't augmentations of their own.

Rebecca shrugged, dramatically waving her fingers at her eyes as if she were in an eyeliner commercial. "Eyes, obviously. Also got some subdermal armor and a smart link. It ain't everything, but that's what I use most." She reached up and squeezed his free arm, grinning impishly as she felt up his muscles. "What about you, huh, big boy? Hiding some gorilla arms under that jacket?"

"Oh, uh…" he fumbled for a second, once again taken aback by her forwardness. "Mainly monowires and optical camo. Haven't had a chance to get much else."

"Seriously?" she asked, visibly surprised, still holding onto his arm. "No muscle reinforcements or anything? This all natural?"

"Uh, no, I've got a few reinforcements," he lied, probably unconvincingly. He was never all that good at lying to people's faces—least of all his mother—but there was no way she'd believe he was natural if she looked up his school ID and compared them, and neither would anyone else in Maine's crew. He had changed too much far too quickly. "Nothin' major, though."

"Gotcha," she replied, finally letting his arm go. "Alright, I should probably delta. Pilar's gonna start bitchin' again if I stick around much longer." Quickly chugging the rest of her drink, she tossed the now-empty cup irreverently behind her, causing it to clatter across the floor of the bar as and roll under one of the tables, splashing droplets of alcohol across the floor.

"Alright," he said hesitantly, still staring at the empty cup. Was that a normal thing to do here? "Drive safe, I guess."

"Yeah, sure," she waved him off, very clearly not planning on heeding his concern.

As she was walking out, she suddenly froze for a second, then turned around and trotted up to him as if she'd forgotten something important. "Ooh! Davey!"

"What?"

"Lemme get your number before I go!" she clapped her hands together emphatically.

"Uh, sure," he agreed hesitantly, before rattling off his number to her as she saved his contact information.

"Alright, thanks!" she grinned as soon as she had it down. "Later, Davey! I'll hit you up, see if we can't do a gig or two sometime!"

"Sounds good," he smiled back. "Get home safe!"

David could still hear her laughing at him as she sped off.

Well, then.

"I should probably head out, as well," he muttered to himself, watching as the crowd began to thin. Maine and Dorio were packing into his car, and he couldn't see Lucy anywhere, so she was probably already long gone. He would've stuck around to ask if they sold food here, but he didn't see anyone else eating anything, so they either didn't, or what they did sell was overpriced and terrible. Regardless, there was no reason for him to stick around.

His stomach growled, pestering him to eat again. David grimaced, pulling his earnings out of his pocket and peeking inside the bag.

If his appetite kept growing like this, his money wasn't going to last him as long as he'd initially hoped.


He'd chosen to walk home, despite the considerable distance between Japantown and his apartment in south Santo. He didn't sleep nearly as often anymore, so there wasn't a point in rushing home to get some rest, and it was a good idea for him to get a better understanding of Night City now that he was a full-fledged mercenary. He didn't know exactly what any of his future gigs would entail, but he figured he should learn to find his way around the streets and alleyways of the city in case he was chasing someone down through them or needed a quick escape from any potential pursuers. The teachers back in the academy had always stressed that knowledge was power, and while it sounded like corpo-brat propaganda, he couldn't honestly say they were wrong. So, he spent some time learning something he knew would prove to be very useful in the future.

Plus, learning what eateries were open late at night certainly couldn't hurt.

The highway above him hummed with traffic, despite the lateness of the hour. The noise only grew louder as he passed the nearby off-ramp, where he could see the various cars and motorcycles swerving off the highway up close. David watched out of the corner of his eye as various brightly stylized kitsch cars and old entropic vehicles rolled off the highway exit and into Westbrook proper, most of them likely coming from Rancho Coronado. Some of the flashier cars would even accelerate as they drove down the off-ramp, only to swing into a recklessly wide drift, kicking up smoke and causing their tires to squeal obnoxiously as they veered out onto the streets.

All of them were most likely looking for cheap thrills, he assumed. A few were probably heading to their workplace to start their shifts, but those two possibilities certainly weren't mutually exclusive—especially not in Night City. David had personally known a few people in his megabuilding that weren't afraid to risk being fired for a quick high while on the clock, but each of them were all financially destitute, and often worked in positions where almost nobody cared whether they were drunk or high on the job—a privilege only afforded to those on either extreme of the economic bell curve. He'd heard enough rumors in class about some of the real corpo bigwigs and their office parties to know.

He was just about to turn back around and continue walking, when he spotted it: a sleek, black, unmarked armored personnel carrier exiting the highway and turning slowly onto the road, driving steadily north. He quickly ducked behind a metal trash can on the sidewalk to hide, then after counting slowly to three in his head, peeked out from behind his cover to see where it was going. The vehicle hadn't noticed him, he assumed, since it hadn't turned around and charged him, but instead made an innocuous left turn and drove slowly around the corner of a large building, out of line of sight.

It was them. It had to be.

David hesitated for only a second, then quickly abandoned his cover in favor of chasing after them. He took off down the street at a dead sprint, his footsteps thundering loudly along the concrete as he raced after the vehicle.

Too loudly.

If he continued to run at such a pace, he'd be noticed long before he entered their line of sight. He was probably already causing a commotion, as it were. He needed to be a little more discrete; he wanted to catch the vehicle, not be caught by it.

David slowed down, trying not to make so much noise. He couldn't slow down too much, though, otherwise he'd lose the APC's trail entirely. He needed to run as fast as he could while still trying to keep his steps light. It proved to be trickier than he thought it'd be, but after a bit of adjusting, he eventually found an acceptable pace and stuck to it. He dashed breezily across the sidewalk until he rounded the corner of the building the vehicle had turned at, just in time to see the back half of the APC disappear down another corner onto a side street a few blocks away.

Damn.

He couldn't tail them down such a small street. It was too obvious. He'd be caught just as quickly if he tried to follow them down a small, presumably empty alleyway. He needed a better angle of attack.

David looked up at the rooftops.

That's an idea.

The climb wouldn't be an issue. Most of the structures in Japantown had been reinforced long after their initial construction, the faces of their buildings built over with exposed structural framework, making their walls both uneven and incredibly scalable, provided one could jump high enough to grab the various ledges and footholds available—which he had already proven he could do. As long as he could get up the side and make the jumps across the gaps separating the buildings, he'd have no problem tracking them anywhere in the city.

He took a quick look around to make sure that nobody was paying attention to him, then activated his optical camo and took a running start at the building, building up momentum, before swinging one leg up and leaping powerfully up the side of the massive building.

He knew he could jump higher than he used to, but he didn't expect to fling himself halfway up the building in a single bound.

In his shock, he nearly failed to grab on the massive metal reinforcement and almost fell all the way back down to the street. David realized he was falling just as his feet missed the nearest ledge and had to try and twist himself around in the air so that he would make contact with the building's surface. Contorting his body, he hit the steel reinforcement with a resounding thud and skidded down the colossal brace, slowing his fall just enough that he was able to grab onto the ledge. He could feel his fingers dig into the metal and the muscles in his arm and back strain as his momentum was suddenly arrested, and he found himself dangling dangerously off the side of the building by one hand.

…Holy shit.

David swallowed nervously, glancing down at the streets for just a second, before setting his jaw and swinging his other hand up to catch the ledge and pull himself up. He took a minute or so to look out at the view of the city from his private ledge as the electric pins and needles of adrenaline slowly faded from his system, before forcing himself to turn around and resume the climb. He was tailing a moving vehicle; the longer he stood still, the higher the chance he would lose them.

He kept moving, scaling the building with a series of shorter, more controlled jumps, using the segmented outcroppings of the building as ledges and footholds, and despite a couple of near-misses and slip-ups, he reached the roof of the building fairly quickly. David brushed off the dust and loose gravel from his hands as he stood, taking another quick survey of the cityscape. He wasn't especially familiar with Westbrook, but from this height, he could at least see his Megabuilding, which helped him orient himself: he was facing south, so he needed to go right to catch up with the APC.

Easier said than done, unfortunately. Even knowing how far he could jump, the massive gaps between Japantown's skyscrapers—both horizontal and vertical—were daunting.

David steeled took off, gathering speed as he ran, before reaching the lip of the building and launching himself up and over the gap between the skyscrapers. He soared through the air, the wind whipping wildly at his face, arms akimbo to try and better control his descent, before he landed gracelessly on the next rooftop, dropping into a roll to avoid faceplanting into the loose concrete gravel that covered the roof.

He quickly shook his jacket to remove any loose gravel, and he was on the move again. He'd already lost enough time scaling a skyscraper; he couldn't afford to waste any more.

West across two more buildings, then south. They can't have gotten far.

Unless they had ducked inside one of the buildings—in which case, his job had just gotten that much harder.

The second and third gaps were child's play, now that he knew he could make the jumps. David flung himself over both like a trapeze artist, rolling the landings a bit more gracefully, before peering over the lip of the fourth skyscraper. The black van wasn't anywhere in his direct line of sight, which was to be expected, but he did notice that a nearby side street broke off into an alleyway on the far side, two buildings down, about half again the width of the APC he'd been chasing.

He wasn't completely confident that they'd headed that way, but if they weren't on the main roads, it was the most logical path to take. He'd have to risk it.

David took a few steps backward to give him room to build up some momentum, then sprinted forward and flung himself over the gap, this time landing on his feet and using the momentum to propel himself up and over the next gap at a severe angle, landing on the edge of the next rooftop and springboarding off of it to the building beyond it. The frigid night air prickled against the palms of his hand as he flew, slipping between his fingertips and catching the lining of his jacket, causing it to billow out behind him. He nearly whooped in exhilaration as he soared, but the wind hit the back of his throat and stole his voice from him.

Unfortunately, that was probably for the best. The last thing he wanted was to tip the soldiers off that he was tailing them.

Due to the how much momentum he had built up, David had to make another jump to bleed off the excess kinetic energy, and came to a stop one building west of where he had originally planned to. After he landed, kicking up gravel and dust everywhere, he gave himself a final once-over to make sure his optical camo was still working, before peering over the ledge overlooking the alleyway, praying that the van was indeed there, as he'd predicted.

It was. The van had parked against the wall just below him; all of its driver's side doors open. David counted four people in the alley, all in full combat gear: one right next to the vehicle, one standing in the middle of the street, clearly acting as a lookout, and two more in the process of removing a large metal grate that presumably led down into Night City's sprawling sewer system. The last two were probably talking, by the way they kept looking up at each other, but he was too far away to hear whether they actually were.

The soldiers heaved, lifting the metal grate and shakily setting it off to the side, revealing the large, pitch-black sewer entrance. Turning on their weapon lights, they peered down into the darkness, their rifles pressed to their shoulders, aiming down cautiously into the darkness as they inspected it. What exactly they were searching for, he wasn't sure, but he doubted there was anything left alive down there. The sewer systems were notorious for being a death trap, from what his mother had told him. There weren't any ladders to get out, so the only way out was into the bay, and the whole system was essentially a maze, having been continuously modified and added to with little rhyme or reason as the city expanded. Given that this entrance wasn't very close to the harbor, anyone that might be found down there would have probably already died of either dehydration or infection, depending on whether or not they gave into their thirst and drank the sewer water.

The soldier by the car leaned back into a deep stretch, extending his arms high into the air as he arched his back so far that David could see the face of the man's helmet, clear as day. The black metal helm covered his face entirely. It looked to be made of one single piece of solid steel, a tinted piece of glass implanted into the helmet so that its wearer could still see. The uniform he wore looked to be tucked in at the bottom of the helmet and at the waist, likely making an airtight seal. He'd have to get closer to tell for sure, but he assumed so, because not an inch of exposed skin could be seen on the man. He was covered head to toe.

And he'd been looking up for far too long.

…Does he see me?

David glanced down at his hands to double-check, but he was still completely invisible. He'd been running his optical camo since before he had scaled the side of the skyscraper, and hadn't shut it off since, as far as he could tell. There was no way he'd been seen.

Right?

Slowly, one of the soldiers inspecting the sewers turned to look at him. It was subtle—he doubted he would have noticed had he not been searching for any tells—but it was there. The man had angled his head just enough to look up at him without being too obvious about it, and pulled his weapon closer to his shoulder, ready to aim and fire at a moment's notice.

Fuck. They totally see me.

David stepped away from the ledge, just out of their line of sight, and immediately heard someone barking orders from the alleyway below. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he didn't really need to; their tone conveyed everything he needed to know. His first instinct was to run away as fast as possible and hope that he was fast enough to lose them, but even if he managed to pull that off, the soldiers could just call from backup. He wasn't sure how many APCs and troops they had, but at worst, they had enough manpower that the city would be swarming with them, all of them on high alert looking for him. He could probably outrun one, but he heavily doubted he could outrun them all. He'd have to take out the squad below him before they could make that call if he wanted to make it out of this alive.

David quickly scanned the rooftop for anything he could use as a shield. He had already lost the advantage of stealth, and he wasn't nearly fast enough to dodge rifle rounds, so he needed something that could protect him while he closed the gap, at which point his monowires could take care of the rest. In a snap decision, he settled on the sheet metal covering of the rooftop air conditioning unit. Not exactly optimal, but it was easily removed and flexible enough to suit his purposes, and he didn't have the time to try and cobble together anything else.

David grabbed it by two sides and forcefully tore the steel housing out of the ground, stripping the screws bolting it into the roof before flipping it over and stomping on the sides to flatten them down until they became flush with the top, forming a decently thick steel panel that would serve as an improvised riot shield. It probably wouldn't last too long against the kind of weaponry that his enemies were packing, but it would hold up long enough to get him in close, which was all he needed it to do.

Using one of his monowires to lash the flattened sheet steel to his forearm, securing it in place as tightly as he could, he ran back to the side of the roof overlooking the alley, hooked his other monowire around part of an exposed steel beam where the building's concrete had weathered away, gave it a quick tug to make sure it would hold his weight, then threw himself off the building.

The soldiers were ready for him. David was barely able to get a look at them before their rifles all snapped up at him and he had to bring his makeshift shield up to his face and chest to block their concentrated fire. The sheet metal shuddered with the impact of each round, and he had to pull his arm back and brace the makeshift shield against his shoulder to keep it steady as he descended, his monowire rappel slowing his fall just enough to ensure he wouldn't break his legs as soon as he hit the pavement.

The steel held for most of the descent, but the small dents punched into it by their rifles quickly became larger dents, which then became holes. Apparently, his shield wasn't nearly as impact-resistant in close-range. David luckily hadn't been hit by any stray rounds that happened to make it though, however, so when he deemed himself close enough to the ground, he released his wire's hold on the roof and let himself freefall the rest of the way.

David hit the asphalt with a loud crash, sending chunks of pavement in all directions. Not hesitating for a second, he lunged forward at the four soldiers, monowire at the ready, hoping that he was fast enough to reach them before his shield failed on him entirely. He reached the first man with ease, knocking the man's gun aside with his shield before swinging a brutal left hook into the base of his skull. David could feel the man's spine shattering under his knuckles as the man died instantly, his body thrown sideways from the force of the impact.

Their helmets don't protect their necks. Not sure whether their hard body armor can deflect monofilament blades. Better to aim for the throat either way, just in case.

David quickly spun around to face the second man, swinging his monowire in a large arc aimed at the man's neck, but the soldier instantly flickered a few feet to the right, almost faster than he could even register, and snapped the end of his rifle up at David just as he realized that his left flank was now completely unprotected. David swung his arm back the other way, trying to catch the soldier with his wire on the backswing, but the soldier fired first, and searing pain erupted up David's side like wildfire as a slew of bullets tore into him. He let out a choked, agonized scream as he reflexively pulled his arm back to press down on his wounds. The monowire did still catch the soldier on the backswing, though, and the man was neatly decapitated as the monowire effortlessly cut through the suit and his neck in one fell swoop. He toppled over, blood pouring profusely out of his body and onto the asphalt.

David just barely managed to catch himself before he collapsed, arm still clutching at his side. The pain was intense, and a terrifying reminder of the last time he'd been shot, but…it hadn't crippled him. He was still standing, this time; he wasn't dragging himself along the ground, unable to even crawl. It still hurt like hell, certainly—but the pain only fueled his anger.

And his hunger.

He could feel the adrenaline kicking in. The pain slowly began to ebb as his senses sharpened. Time slowed. He could see the smoke wafting out of the rifle's barrel. He could hear the blood pounding in his head. His fingers flexed and tensed as he felt his nerves tingle in response. No twinges, no delays, no unresponsive muscles.

I can work with this.

He'd have to be fast, though. It was nothing short of miraculous that he was still alive with as many bullets in him as there were, and he wasn't eager to test how many more he could take.

The other two soldiers slowly approached him, weapons at the ready. David kept completely still, trying to act like the bullet wounds had properly debilitated him, as they probably should have. The men were still cautious, but he kept up the act, pretending he wasn't paying attention to either of them, too preoccupied with keeping pressure on his open wounds. He just had to wait for the right opportunity.

Eventually, one of the soldiers took one of his hands off of his rifle to reach for one of the pouches on his belt. The other one glanced over at him, only for maybe a quarter of a second, but it was enough. He recognized his chance and struck.

David immediately threw the improvised shield at the closest soldier, sending it spinning at his chest like a massive frisbee. It struck true, shattering his bones with a gruesome crunch and sent him crashing to the ground. Not wasting a second, David turned and sprinted at the last man, hoping to close the gap before he could bring his other hand back up to properly aim his rifle.

The soldier panicked, stepping back and letting loose a desperate, uncontrolled spray of bullets at David as he rushed him. A few rounds caught him solidly in the chest, sending spikes of red-hot agony through his nerves. He stumbled, nearly falling to the ground, but managed to keep himself upright and kept running. The pain flared throughout his body, vehemently protesting every movement he made, but his determination was stronger—as was his hunger.

David quickly closed the gap between them and lunged at the man's neck, arm outstretched, intent on grabbing him by the throat and crushing his neck like a grape. But before he could reach the soldier, the pain in his chest spiked again as a new sensation twisted up his spine, responding to the growling hunger growing deep within the pits of his stomach. The muscles in his back flexed, then began to thrash and twist uncontrollably, like they had suddenly taken on a mind of their own. Nerves pinched, muscles contorted, and a now-familiar electric current coursed through his body.

Then, his back exploded.

Four twisted, soot-black tendrils burst forth from his back, pulsing with glowing, vermillion veins, and stabbed into the soldier's sides like massive mandibles biting into prey, before dragging him back to David. His body shifted again, rearranging itself just under his skin, then forcibly segmented and opened up like a massive, grotesque alien maw, ready to receive its meal. Writhing black-and-crimson flesh reached out hungrily towards the terrified soldier as he was pressed into David's gaping, wound-riddled torso, and he watched incredulously as the man slowly withered and dissolved into him. He could feel the man's cells being individually ripped apart and absorbed into his flesh, until nothing remained but the inhuman black flesh.

The soldier screamed as David devoured him whole.