A Better Tomorrow

by DLTA-BOT

How can one man change a world ravaged by corruption, war, and poverty? And if that world isn't his own, why would he want to? In a life built out of discontent and fear, maybe the opportunity for change lies in a new place and a fresh start. A new beginning. And, maybe, he can look forward to a better tomorrow. - A companion story to Wrong Place, Right Time: A Hero's Story.

2. Chapter 2: Meet N Greet

A/N: Salutations to all who venture into the wasteland of an insane person's fantasy! I have decided to… attempt posting two chapters/month. It will be interesting considering I post a chapter of A Hero's Story every other week but I will endeavor to make it a reality. For those of you who read that's story, you know I'm pretty anal about my schedule and this will be the first time I've posted weekly in about a year. I may have to take a few 'skips' depending on how life goes but we'll burn that bridge when we get to it. For now, we're back with another chapter where everyone (mainly James) is trying to figure out just what the hell is happening to him. Anyway, leave a review if you're so inclined, the feedback is always appreciated and, as always, enjoy!

Chapter 2: Meet N Greet.

A notification tone sounded and the 'call' icon popped up in the center of his vision.

Kiwi… the hell you callin' this late for?

David opened his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position. It was cool in their apartment. Lucy liked it that way. With how much time she spent diving these days, he couldn't blame her. It didn't bother him none. One of the many perks of his chrome.

Yawning, David pushed the bed covers away and stood.

Lucy was still asleep so he slipped out of their room and answered the call.

/ What's up, Kiwi?

/ Got a weird contact. Whoever they are, they're looking for us, specifically.

/ … but…?

/ No details. Just a time and location.

/ A meet for details?

/ No indication from the message but it's the east side of Mega Building H4 at 5 this morning so that's a good bet.

H4? The hell? Someone from before all this? It could be a message. Or it could just be a good spot. Lotsa people, plenty of cover, and it ain't likely to be watched.

/ I'm guessin' you'd a told me if you had any ideas about who this is.

/ Nothing good enough to take seriously.

/ Gotcha.

David glanced at the clock in his display. 2:30. Wouldn't take him long to get to the spot. It'd be a bad idea to ride straight up. Park a ways out and walk in, draw as little attention as possible. He could turn it down… nah. If someone was lookin' for him, might as well show up and see what the deal was. Some folks might wanna take a shot but H4 would be a bad place to do it.

/ I'll head over and let you know what I find.

/ Alright. Talk to you in a while.

/ Later.

David disconnected the call and headed downstairs. He still had some time before he needed to leave. Might as well get a little food.

Their apartment was big, way bigger than they needed but, hey, they were doin' pretty good. No reason not to enjoy it. The floor-to-ceiling window looking over the city still gave him a small chill every time he took in the view. A few months ago, it was something he could never have imagined. Just like the rest of what his life had become.

He was still looking out at the city below, always alive, always moving, when he heard Lucy coming down the stairs.

"I was already awake", she said.

David's eyes were still fixed on the breathtaking view. "Oh yeah? What's goin' on this time?"

"Nothin' new." Lucy lowered herself into a chair beside him.

"Gotcha."

They shared their usual silence. It wasn't new, but Maine dyin' made it worse. No point in pushin' just for her to shut down again.

"I don't know how the people down there keep lying to themselves…" she muttered.

"'Cause it's easier than the truth."

Lucy scoffed. "Easier? Maybe. Until it's a gun in their face."

"You think we're better?" David asked, turning to her. She was slender and athletic, with multicolored, mostly white hair kept just past ear-length. She was still watching the city through the massive window.

Wonder what's got her thinkin' about it this time…

"Nah. We lie just as much. At least we don't fool ourselves about what we do, though."

"Yeah. Guess so." He frowned. "Talkin' about honest, you ever gonna tell me what these all-day dives are about?"

The ghost of a smile flashed across her pale face. "I'm not being dishonest, just not being forward."

"There a difference?"

Lucy nodded. "Yeah, I'm not telling you a lie."

"Right." He looked out the window again. The lights were so bright, it wasn't much darker than daytime out there. There were times he wished- David shook his head. Too late for that now. "So you ain't lying. That mean you're gonna tell me someday?"

"Yeah."

"That 'someday' today?"

"No."

He huffed. "Figures."

Silence drifted over their apartment again. There were times she opened up, it was just about getting to those times. Whatever she was up to, it was dangerous. Maybe he wasn't a net runner, but he could still help. Or- at least he could try to help.

After a few more minutes of quiet, David turned away from the window and headed for their kitchen. Didn't want to be late for his 'meeting'.

X

The four 'borgs' were as unusual up close as they had been from the top of the rock face. None of them were the same. They were all large, one taller than James by several centimeters. He looked like his head, or what was left of it, had been grafted on top of a power loader. His shoulders were broader than James's with bulky arms and legs that had steel plates welded over them to function as armor. He looked like he could take a pounding.

Two others were… more conventional? If that was the right word for it. Their bodies, while too large for their heads, just like the first guy, were more regularly proportioned.

As for the last one, it turned out he'd been wrong. The guy still had, what James assumed was, his original torso, but his legs and arms had all been replaced at some point. They had the strange, geometric light designs he'd seen on others during his observation.

All of them were studying him the same way he was them. It was just the five of them. After He'd walked back to the slums with Mark, James had been confronted by, for lack of a better word, a mob. There were more than a few seconds where he thought he'd have to retreat to avoid a fight.

Before it could escalate to that, these four had re-emerged from wherever they'd run off to. The head grafted to a power loader said, "Come with me", in a synthesized voice that belonged in the 21st century.

While he had no idea what to expect, he'd gone down there for information. It didn't take more than a moment of watching the four of them lumber around to know, even if he had to fight, he could take care of himself. James didn't know if they were stronger than him, but he knew he was a hell of a lot faster.

A crowd followed as his new friends led him through the camp. He'd been right about how cramped everything was. At some points, they had to narrow to single file to fit between buildings and, even then, James felt like his shoulders were scraping on both sides.

The buildings were even more cobbled together than he'd thought. It wouldn't take more than a stiff wind or hard knock to collapse many of them.

Maybe that failed engineering project wasn't an unusual sight around here.

His escorts were surprisingly unconcerned by his sudden appearance. It's possible this was a relatively common occurrence around here.

By the time they'd marched through half of the slums, the crowd had dispersed. Another oddity.

Probably the same reason these guys are treating this like a regular Friday night.

A few minutes of trudging through the slums later, the group led him out of the opposite side and toward a large apartment building. It wasn't in much better shape than the slums, with its siding in disrepair, graffiti sprayed on almost every available surface, and several windows broken out.

The front stairs groaned worryingly under James's boots but they held.

And then, a minute later, he ended up here: in the apartment's basement, the four of them staring at him.

The ceiling was low enough the power-loader guy had to stoop his head to avoid bouncing it off the concrete. James's helmet was almost brushing against it.

"What do you want?" the power-loader guy grumbled in his odd, synthetic voice.

… There were so many questions, he wasn't sure where to start. First thing's first, he wanted to try establishing good relations.

"Sorry", he said, "this is my first time in Night City. Mark said it's normal for 'borgs to come through here. I'm a little surprised."

"Borg? Who are you tryin' to lie to? I know it ain't me." He crossed his arms in an awkward-looking maneuver that involved his right elbow twisting in a direction that wasn't quite natural. "If this is your first time in Night City, Imma guess you don't know who 6th Street is."

Sounds like a gang. James shook his head. "I don't."

"Vets. Most of us, anyway. We know the kinda gear people use for full-bodies and whatever the hell you got ain't it. Didn't know they were still making powered armor. Can't be any of the old stuff. Looks completely different." He uncrossed his arms. "So I wanna know who you're workin' for and where you got that gear from. I don't like how you just tried to lie. And it was a real bad one too. You think we wouldn't notice?"

That had been a basic mistake. Rule number one in an unfamiliar situation is never assume anything.

James held his hands out to his sides. "It's powered armor, yeah. This might sound crazy but I just woke up on the dam back that way", he motioned toward the slums and the large dam beyond. "I'm a little disoriented right now. I don't know how I got here."

"Where were you last you remember?"

A different planet. That answer probably wouldn't fly here. He was in the United States, on one of the southern coasts. He had to keep it vague but far enough from here to be disconnected. Choosing a coast would be too risky, a 50/50 shot of saying somewhere nearby.

"Midwest."

The power loader guy grumbled. "Midwest, huh? The hell did you get a piece of kit like yours in that shithole?"

"That's information I'd rather keep to myself for now", James said. "Not trying to be difficult. Trusting anyone is hard at the moment."

Contrary to his expectations, the man's… shoulders jerked up and down in what he assumed was a shrug. "Got enough people around here to like their privacy. You don't know how you ended up on the other side of the country, huh? Gotta say, I'm a little suspicious."

"That makes two of us."

He turned to one of the others, the least modified guy, for a second and nodded. That one started marching back toward the staircase that led them down there.

"Seems to me you need some help figuring this out." There was something new in his voice. James wasn't sure he liked it.

"You're trusting my story awfully fast."

"I been around a looooong time. You're ain't close to the weirdest." He shrugged again. "Besides, you try something, you'll find out real quick why Militech and Arasaka left powered armor behind half a century ago. That shit might be top-of-the-line back in whatever hole you got drug out of in the Midwest, but this is Night City. We see, and fight, better on the daily."

I hope not… and if… wherever the hell I am is 2076, I seriously doubt it.

"Plus", his jaw tried to approximate a smile. It mostly worked. "We got something we could use a little help with and someone like you'd be perfect for it."

… Well that doesn't sound good. "Are you giving me a choice?"

"Sure we are. You don't have to do it but you won't survive long. We could turn you loose into the city and it would eat you alive." He laughed. It sounded strange, like the voice synthesizer wasn't quite sure how to make the right noise. "Wouldn't even have to get our hands dirty. Dirtier."

They were looking for a favor from someone they just met. Not only was it strange they didn't find it strange he was in power armor, but they didn't think it was odd he got dropped on top of a dam with no knowledge of how he got there.

Maybe this kind of thing isn't that unusual?

Weird thing to be accustomed to.

Mark thought it was normal to be kidnapped…

That was true. James didn't know what to expect. Rule one: don't assume anything.

Might as well see where this is going. "What's this thing you need help with?"

"Nothing big. We just need you to meet someone for us."

James frowned. "Meet someone? Weird 'favor' to ask a stranger."

"You said you're from the midwest, just woke up on the dam. You sound like the perfect guy for the job."

So that's what this was… "Oh, I get it. You need to meet this person without drawing attention to yourself. I'm unaffiliated with anyone. You don't want 6th Street's name to be on whatever's happening."

"Someone's got a head on their shoulders", power loader man said. "What's your name?"

"James."

"Mine's Reggie. Yeah, we want our names off this. Before you ask, it's 'cause things could get messy and we don't want it comin' back on our heads."

That was a lot of honesty. "If it's gonna get messy, I think I'd rather take my chances."

He laughed again. "Nah, your part ain't messy. You're just a messenger. We're hirin' an Edgerunner crew. All you gotta do is meet 'em, give 'em the job and cash, and come back here. You do that, we'll let you hang around, maybe show you how shit works in Night City."

Edgerunner crew?

Their intent was to take advantage of him being an unknown quantity. If this is a move against another gang they weren't trying to start a war with, that could be a reason…

That begged the question: did he want to get involved in this. James didn't have much experience in gang warfare, but this was a common tactic used by Innies and the UNSC. You use someone unaffiliated with minimal information as a messenger so if and when they're captured, you can claim innocence. If they flip on you, you can claim they're a 3rd party lying to try and deflect blame.

On top of that, taking in a stray wasn't something a gang (which is what he assumed 6th Street was) would do after just one job like this.

"... In exchange for more favors in the future, I assume", James muttered.

"You never know when an 'unaffiliated' guy might come in handy. 'Specially when they need help." Reggie's smile disappeared. "You get one warning, that's all. We'll be watchin'."

How had he gotten into a position where some cyborg gang member was asking him to run an errand? Every time he turned around, there was a new question and everything kept making less and less sense. All he wanted to do was figure out where the hell he was and what was happening. He's, apparently, 500 years in the past, on Earth, in territory that was formerly the USA now NUSA.

None of the things in that thought made any sense. The only thing he could imagine was he'd been dropped into, by an order of magnitude, the most realistic simulation he'd ever seen.

Problem with that was he'd used the best quality simulation programs humanity had available so, unless this was some Forerunner tech, that wasn't the answer either.

Just like before, standing around here won't make things make sense.

"This doesn't sound like a good deal for me", James said. "I don't know anything about you. If your solution here is to cut me loose if I don't help, what reason do I have to think that isn't a better option?"

One of the others took their turn to laugh. It was much more natural sounding.

"James", Reggie replied, smiling again, "this is Night City. I don't care how tough you are, it's tougher. If you don't know what you're getting into, you'll be dead before next week. Someone like you can't survive a normal life, not with that gear, and you don't know the ropes for surviving on the more exciting side of things 'round here."

"And if I think you're lying?"

The cyborg grunted. "I ain't. Call it a favor for a fellow vet. I can tell you were military." He raised a massive arm. "Don't worry, I'm not askin'. We know how that kinda secrecy works. But I know you were in and, usually, when someone gets dumped like you were, it means they ain't in no more."

A fellow vet, huh? A favor from a gang of former service members. This sounds promising…

What were his other options? Try to find some other source of info and risk setting off the wrong alarms. It seemed like these guys valued their privacy and, right now, he needed to leave as small a footprint as possible.

Plus, if Night City is as dangerous as this guy says, even if it wouldn't kill him, he might learn a few painful lessons that could be avoided with some help. Whether these guys are willing to help is a different story.

If things got bad, he could always leave. A city this size, sure, it might be dangerous, but he could disappear into it if need be. Wouldn't be the first time he's had to go to ground. Buying a little time and goodwill with these guys might buy him more information too. It might help him figure out what the hell is happening.

Potential risks?

Well, he didn't know who he was meeting, what he was delivering, or how things worked around here. Walking into a trap was unlikely. If they wanted to try something, they'd do it in this cramped basement with three of their best, he assumed, around him. No reason to bring him down here, then send him out just to try something in a different place. They had privacy and numbers here.

There were just… so many unknowns. Every option he had was a bad one.

At least this one might get me some answers. And I can improvise if it goes sideways.

James exhaled slowly. "Against my better judgment, who am I meeting, where, and when?"

"David Martinez. He heads an Edgerunner crew and been makin' a name for himself. Need a job done and they got a good rap. Meeting's in two hours on the east side of Megabuilding H4."

Edgerunner crew? Rap? A job done for a street gang? So that means mercenaries, most likely. Or the criminal-world equivalent.

Okay… so he's now a courier for a street gang likely putting a hit on someone in another street gang. Or maybe robbing someone. Could be anything.

Not like I haven't been part of criminal commissions before. Only difference now is hiring the criminals to do crimes isn't sanctioned by the UNSC.

James almost smiled.

That being said, this wasn't a military operation and, even if some of the activities they'd hired outside help for weren't exactly on the up and up, it's something he hasn't had to do since leaving the ODSTs. One of many things that he didn't have to worry about anymore. He wasn't eager to dive back into that world.

"What's the job?" he asked. "Getting involved in gang violence isn't high on my 'to-do' list."

Reggie grunted. "Doesn't seem like you have many options, James."

"Doesn't mean I can't choose the least bad one."

"Tellin' an errand boy what I'm up to ain't part of my MO", the cyborg said. "Information control, something I'm guessin' you have experience with."

James nodded. "I do. I've also been on the other side of this deal. The 'errand boy' doesn't always come out in one piece. I'm taking your word for a lot here, the least you could do is give me something to work with."

"You're the one on the end of a rope."

"And I'm willing to cut that rope and see where I land. If you got two hours between now and your meet-up, it doesn't sound like you have time for alternatives. I'm assuming you would have used someone from the slums", he jerked his head back toward the shanty town, "probably a kid." Mark said people 'kidnapped' him a lot. Maybe this is what that was for. "But that's someone anyone with half a brain could trace back to you. Eventually. If you're willing to send someone you met 10 minutes ago because you need discretion that bad, I think that's suspicious enough to warrant questioning."

The cyborg stared at him- or maybe glared, it was hard to tell with the mostly synthetic face- for a heartbeat before frowning. "Sounds like you think you have leverage." His voice had returned to the deadened drone it had when he'd given James his 'warning'.

Maybe that had been a little too much. He couldn't back off at this point. Looking weak and contrite in a 'negotiation' like this with a gang leader wasn't a good way to do business. Yes, he was in a vulnerable position without knowing… anything about his situation, but he'd be damned if he let that get the better of him.

"I don't have much." James shrugged. "I'll do what I can to keep myself breathing."

"You think threatening me is a good way to do that?"

Threatening? "No. You didn't give me enough information to threaten you. There are some things I won't do. I trust you can appreciate that." He hoped that 'old vet' status would help him out here.

"Hmm", Reggie hummed. "You done something like this before?" The harsh edge on his voice had gone.

James nodded. "Something like this."

"You're better than most strays that drop outta the sky. I won't go into specifics but ain't no innocents gonna get hurt. We don't operate like that. Far as we hear, neither does David's crew. Word is they can get a little wild, touchin' civilians is off-limits for them though."

His Edgerunner crew, they're probably hiring them because they need a small team that can't be traced back to do something an average gang member can't. Is there any way I can use that to get more info?

"One more question: do I need to worry about being caught up in this?"

Reggie grunted. "If you're askin' what the timeframe and scale is, it's far enough out and small enough you don't gotta concern yourself with that."

Small scale, relatively elite operation. Edgerunners definitely sounded like mercenaries. Or whatever this place's version of that is. Could be another good source of information, especially if they're tied in with multiple gangs. It's possible, if that sort of infrastructure exists around here, they're even in with whatever law enforcement this place has.

"Okay", James said, "let's do it."

Power loader man gave him that strange approximation of a smile again. "Greg, get him the package and you two get moving."

X

Gang courier wasn't a position James ever expected to fill. He'd done a lot of dubious things in his career, an occupational hazard of being in special forces for a decade. That had, at times, included hiring or supplying non-government actors. SpartanOps tended to forgo those sorts of tactics. Using their assets on operations like that was deemed an unforgivable waste. Not only did James agree but it was one less thing weighing on his conscience.

Now, considering his situation, involving himself with the 6th Street gang felt different. Not only was he not the one in command of the situation, he wasn't on the 'hiring' end. It wasn't like he had a choice, though.

With the number of unknowns at work, he needed someone to act as a chaperone and, sans going to law enforcement, his new friends were his best option at the moment. And as much as he might prefer to work with an official force, he had no clue what that 'official' force would be or what they'd do with him. This gang, at least, didn't seem to be concerned with who or what he was.

It was good enough for now.

So as he marched down the sidewalk, Greg shadowing him from a dozen meters away, he tried to build a picture of what the hell was going on.

There were a surprising number of people out at whatever time it was. James guessed sometime early in the morning. Aside from giving him space, the pedestrians around him barely spared a glance.

He was used to catching stares, especially from the civilian populace. It was almost disconcerting for that to be absent, after his experiences in the past few years.

There was something else that bothered him about it. Whether in UEG space or the outer colonies, people always stared. It might have been out of awe, or admiration, or hatred, but at least a few always stared.

Where the hell would he be where no one did? Where he could walk through a crowd and not get so much as a second glance? Were people around here that used to seeing cyborgs like Reggie and Greg? Mark had seemed the same way.

The longer this goes, the less sense it makes.

It had been about an hour since he accepted the 'job' from Reggie. That time had consisted of getting a 'package' (an envelope) from Greg, being given very rough directions to megabuilding H4 (whatever a 'megabuilding' was), and starting on their little field trip.

Once out of the slums, he understood why the directions were so rough: he could see Megabuilding H4 from anywhere. It towered over the other apartments, houses, and stores around it. The structure belonged in the massive downtown area, not standing on its own in what looked like a suburb.

As he walked, the same strange-looking cars trundled by on the street. None of them were as low, long, and exotic looking as the two that almost ran him over a few hours ago. They ranged from small commuters that were barely large enough for two seats to 10-meter-long box trucks. Most of them had some form of damage too. Broken windows that had been tarped over, dented, crumpled, or even entirely missing body panels.

The people weren't much better. That being said, none of them looked as rough as the inhabitants of the slums. Their clothes were ragged and most of them kept their eyes down and forward with the air of people who knew, if they kept to themselves and didn't draw attention, they'd probably be fine. Muggings were probably commonplace around here.

Many had cybernetics, just like the people in the slums. They weren't as obvious or grotesque-looking. He didn't see many of the strange light patterns on these people and it made the prosthetics harder to spot. As he walked through the crowd, he started noticing common trends, how most people who had some form of prosthetic leg had a gait that wasn't quite natural. Many were too precise and robotic. Those with implants were easier to spot.

It put him on edge. The uncertainty and lack of knowledge on his part and the nervousness on theirs.

They probably think I'm a threat. The only people I've seen they might think of when they see me are Reggie and his group. If it's only high-level gang members and, I'm guessing, military or private contractors that look like me… they might think I'm one of them.

As he came to a street crossing, the oncoming vehicles from the right stopped just before reaching the crosswalk. The driver in the closest car was doing her best to make it look like she wasn't watching him.

Were they… waiting for him? What the hell?

If this is SOP, it would draw more attention if I didn't cross.

He strode across the street, eyes fixed straight ahead as if he couldn't be bothered to give the stopped cars a second thought.

"If you're somewhere you know you aren't supposed to be and you're trying to not draw attention, act like you belong there and know exactly what you're doing." James didn't know who told him that, but it was advice he'd used on multiple occasions.

The thought these people were afraid he was some big shot, while clearly not knowing what he really was worried him. It didn't make sense. Maybe if he were in the outer colonies, this would be an understandable response… no, that's not right either. Even in the outer colonies, he'd have attracted a following. Even if that was some enterprising group of Innies trying to make their name on an isolated target.

No one, besides Greg, was following him through the crowd.

Megabuilding H4 loomed ahead of him, its base now visible. He was meeting David Martinez on this side. The only detail Reggie gave him was "bright yellow EMT jacket."

Hopefully that's enough description to ID him. James hadn't seen anyone with a jacket like that. He also assumed this guy would be modified, similar to his new friends in the 6th Street gang. Probably not as obvious. Not if he was going to operate in the general populace. It's one of the reasons James didn't do clandestine operations anymore. Hard to do when you stick out.

Nearing the massive tower, the concentration of people slowly began increasing. By the time he reached a block-wide set of stairs leading up to the building's entrance, it was almost a crowd. There were dozens of people flowing in and out of the tower.

He caught more people glowering at him: a group of young men and women sitting at the top of the stairs, 30 meters ahead and to the right. Two of the five had obvious cybernetic modifications he could see. All of them looked gaunt and strung out. James had been around enough to know what regular users looked like.

And the danger they posed if they thought they could get another hit from robbing someone. While he couldn't tell for sure, James thought he spotted at least three handguns between them. One tucked in a belt, another likely in a shoulder holster by how the one woman of the group had her hand under her jacket, and another poking out of the top of a boot. Not exactly how a hidden backup is supposed to work but maybe it was a style thing.

Unless this place had pistols an order of magnitude more powerful than what he was used to, those wouldn't be a threat. A fight out here when he's already trying to keep a low profile would be the issue.

There were a few other groups, one he saw sitting around a burn barrel with what he thought he recognized as several crack pipes, loitering around the building. There were several tents, chairs, and tables as if that's where they lived. Which, considering what he saw out in the slums, wasn't unlikely.

As it had then, seeing that confused him as much as anything else. This isn't something you see in UEG space, or even in the outer colonies…

He was at the rendezvous, surrounded by people who either looked like they wanted to turn invisible, or people who might steal from those people for another fix.

It was his imagination, James knew, but it felt like the air reeked of desperation. These people were, somehow, living in squalor and fear despite the shining metropolis just a few klicks away.

And, somehow, in all of that, the only people who looked in his direction were people from the second group.

James trudged up the stairs, careful to give the five staring at him from the top a wide berth. None of them moved, they just kept their eyes fixed on him as he climbed to the entrance. It was posturing. They probably felt they needed to act tough around the new guy who showed up looking like a 'borg or in 'powered armor'.

Usually, if one could survive long enough in conditions like that to look like they did, it meant they had some form of survival instinct. Even if it wasn't completely alien to see someone who looked like him, the way people had been avoiding him to that point suggested it wasn't common to mess with people who looked like him.

Once he reached the building, he turned so his back was against the wall and began searching for his 'contact'.

Yellow EMT jacket. How the hell did I end up here, again? It had only been a few hours since he woke up and was subsequently almost hit by what he assumed was a street race. Where he woke up and how he got there were two questions he couldn't even begin to answer.

His chest, ribs, and sternum still hurt like hell too.

James's eyes drifted down to the motion sensor in his HUD's lower left corner. Icons were everywhere, including the building behind him, moving in all directions. There was a five-meter radius of space around him.

Looking over the crowd and down the building's stairs, he watched as people continued to go along about their days- nights? He didn't know. Hell, maybe this place's day/night cycle was significantly longer than he was used to and it would be 'night' for 30 hours. There were probably between 75 and 100 people, including the loiterers, around him.

His newer, more combat-oriented instincts were clashing with his older ones. The parts of his brain telling him any person in the crowd could have a weapon and might be trying to kill him fought against the ones that told him that isn't (usually) how the civilian world worked.

When operating undercover, you have to assume danger could be anywhere, but you also have to prioritize where to look. Crowds weren't generally that place.

Those were old instincts, fostered during his time in the ODSTs when a covert operation here or there was necessary. Now, if he was deployed to a civilian setting, it was usually because that 'civilian setting' wasn't a civilian setting.

His eyes continued to scan, occasionally dropping back to his motion tracker. Anyone watching would know he's waiting to meet with someone. That wasn't a concern. Not yet, anyway. He had to worry about whatever this David Martinez did getting back to him at some point, which was one of the reasons why Reggie… requested his help in the first place. It was unlikely that would happen. Someone would have to recognize him, connect him to Martinez, know what Martinez is going to do, and put all the pieces together.

If Martinez wanted to meet here, and he was as good as Reggie seems to think (which is a good bet for anyone who survives in this environment as a mercenary), it's unlikely this area would be under surveillance.

Yellow.

James's eyes shot up from his motion tracker to a glimpse of vibrant yellow in the crowd.

A man, maybe a little taller than average, wearing a bright yellow and white jacket, hair short on the sides with a strange pattern cut into it, worn long on top. The jacket was closed and he had his hands in his pockets. Even through the jacket, James could tell he was fit and muscled. Or that could have been cybernetics, it was hard to tell.

Unlike everyone around him, this guy walked upright, eyes ahead, and confident.

Martinez started climbing the tower's stairs toward its entrance. Before he made it halfway up, his eyes were locked on James.

The two of them watched each other as David neared the eastern door.

A moment later, he passed out of sight and James started counting down from 30.

At 20, his hand found the pouch on his hip to make sure the old-fashioned white envelope was still there.

At 10, he pushed himself away from the wall and did another scan of his surroundings. Nothing new in the crowd, no one new watching him.

When the count reached zero he slipped over to the building's entrance and ducked inside.

Directly ahead was a bank of elevators set into the far wall of the massive room. It was large enough, and dark enough, if it weren't for the surprisingly low ceiling, it would have felt as if he were still outside. The space was, aside from the dozen or so people standing around its perimeter and the same number heading to or away from the elevators, bare.

His target was standing off to the left, leaning against the wall beside a steel door with the words 'service' stenciled on it. Martinez's eyes were locked on him.

James didn't realize outside, but this guy was young. Very young. He couldn't have been more than 18 years old. He was clean-shaven with a line on either side of his face running from his hairline down to his jaw.

"I have a job request for you", Fourier said as he came to a stop in front of the kid.

David's eyes narrowed and he jerked his head toward the door.

Without waiting for a response, he pulled it open and stepped inside.

Now the alarm bells Fourier had developed over the last four years were ringing and he didn't see any reason to ignore them. All he was doing was handing this guy an envelope. Why the hell did they need to be in a secluded area for that?

As he followed, his right hand drifted toward his sidearm.

Slow down. I don't know enough yet.

Pulling the door shut behind him, they were plunged into darkness. They were in a long, wide hallway, the only light coming from a junction up ahead.

David turned back to him-

James's arms reacted before he could tell them to. His 'contact' was bringing a handgun up. It was strange looking, something large, the front of its slide angular and sharp. Whatever it was, the thing was large caliber. Probably larger than his M6.

He wrapped his left hand around Martinez's forearm, wrenching it to the side and away from him. His right struck the hand wielding the gun hard enough to dislodge it from David's grip. It hit the concrete wall to his left with a clatter that sounded closer to a gunshot in what was, effectively, an echo chamber.

With his right arm still locked in Fourier's grasp, the kid launched a left hook up at his head. James leaned back, just out of the way of the strike. As Martinez's fist passed in front of his visor, Fourier noticed he wasn't wearing gloves; his hands and forearms had been replaced. Probably more.

Whatever was going on, he needed to take control of the situation.

Before Martinez could try another strike, James yanked him forward and drove a knee into his contact's stomach. It was hard enough to knock the wind out of someone, but not hard enough to damage anything.

That, apparently, was a mistake because, other than a sharp grunt, David didn't respond.

He tried to kick himself away from Fourier. It was a maneuver the much larger man was only too happy to help him with.

As Martinez brought a foot up, James released his arm and delivered a much more powerful forearm to his chest.

Between the force of the strike and having one foot in the air, David was sent tumbling a half-dozen meters down the hall.

He has to have other cybernetic enhancements. That knee to the stomach should have dropped him.

Fourier stepped forward-

Something changed. David shot to his feet and raced toward him. But… it wasn't right. It was too fast. Way too fast. The kid launched another fist at James's head. It was so quick, he might as well have been fighting one of his squadmates.

What the hell?

Just managing to shunt the attack aside, he was too surprised for a follow-up. David circled behind him and he heard a loud clack.

"You do anything but stand there, I blow your head off, choom", Martinez said. His voice sounded as young as he looked. "What the fuck are you and who's tryin' to set me up?"

What am I? What the fuck are you? That was a question that could wait. If whatever David had against the back of his helmet was the kid's backup, he'd be fine.

I still don't know what's happening here. He thinks this was an ambush. That isn't the case so, for now, don't escalate.

James held his arms out to his sides. "No one. I got sent to give you a job." He motioned to the pouch on his left hip. "Information's in there."

"I asked what you are."

"And I'm declining to answer."

"Don't think I won't zero your ass", Martinez growled. "There's a reason people hire me."

Zero? Is that slang for 'kill'?

Aside from the strange verbiage, that was a line so painfully generic, Fourier had to stop himself from laughing. This guy might be dangerous, but he isn't a veteran of the game.

Maybe I can play on that. If this kid thinks I'm someone sent to kill him, he might think I'm part of whatever game he's playing. James didn't have a lot of direct knowledge of this particular type of 'negotiation'. That doesn't mean he can't do a little improv. If he can trick David into thinking he is more experienced in the field, and can then convince him he's on his side, or at least not there to kill him, it might be a good way to de-escalate the situation.

He held up a finger on his right hand. "First, you were too quick on the draw. I was on guard when you wanted me to come in here. Talk first, figure out what you can without escalating. If you need to try intimidation, that will help you keep the other person off guard." James held up a second finger. "Second, leaning into a fight isn't always the right decision. You're assuming you have me cornered. Assumptions get people killed." He held up one more finger. "Third, telling someone you're going to kill them when you already have them at gunpoint is both corny and ineffective, especially if they aren't intimidated by the gun. It signals uncertainty and that gives your opponent leverage."

Fourier shrugged. "Like I said, I'm here to give you a job, not fight you. I don't want to fight you. Let's keep it that way, alright?"

There was a brief silence from behind him. That was promising.

"You ain't here to fight? The hell would your boss send some chromed-up asshole if they weren't lookin' for a fight?"

"That's another question I'm declining to answer", James said and slowly lowered his arms to his sides. "I'm going to turn around now. I'd prefer if you kept control of your trigger finger."

Before Martinez could reply, Fourier turned to face him-

… What… the fuck? It wasn't a gun David had aimed at him, it was his… arm. Sort of. His hand had hinged out of the way and there was a barrel sticking out from the top of his wrist.

Keep talking. "I'd like to give you said job and go."

David was trying to look stern and angry. His jaw was set and his eyes were narrowed. It was an expression James had seen on countless young soldiers, insurrectionists, and street thugs. His problem, like all the others, was it was too much. The muscles in his jaw were too strained, his eyes were too narrow. He was thinking.

"All I'm gonna do now", Fourier said, "is reach into the pouch on my left hip, take a white envelope out, and give it to you."

There was another brief pause before the kid's eyes flicked down to the aforementioned pouch and back to James.

"Do it."

He reached down, undid the pouch's clasp, pulled the envelope out, and offered it to the kid.

The barrel of his… arm gun still level at Fourier's head, David took the envelope and stuffed it inside his jacket.

"I'm gonna leave", David said, voice a little too firm. "You wait in here 'til I'm good and gone."

James nodded. "Loud and clear."

The Edgerunner knelt to pick up his discarded handgun, shoved it into its holster, and backed away toward the door. His steps were deliberate and light, he kept his legs flexed to avoid jostling his aim, and his eyes never left Fourier's head. This wasn't like his theatrics from earlier.

It wasn't until he reached the door and pushed it open that he lowered his arm and his hand snapped back into place.

Then he turned and was gone.

He said he wanted James to wait until he was gone. That was fine by Fourier. He needed a minute to figure out what the hell he just saw. This kid was as much a 'borg' as Reggie and his pals. Maybe more. On top of that, Fourier was familiar with every type of high-grade military prosthetic replacement. Even the most adventurous engineers wouldn't integrate a large-bore firearm into one. It's a structural liability anyone would deem unacceptable for a unit meant for combat. That's ignoring the fact it would be useless in most circumstances unless you went out of your way to use it like he had. That's what you bring guns for.

Then there was- how had he moved that fast? Sure, cybernetics can improve movement speed and, maybe, reaction time. Not to that level. Not fast enough to make it feel like he was fighting one of his squadmates. Even if it had only been for an instant. Considering David only did that once he was disarmed and at a disadvantage, it was likely a short-term or one-time use ability.

Which makes even less sense. Shifting a normal human's cognition into overdrive like that would cause some kind of damage. Right?

Who the hell would have the technology to do that?

No one he knew of. Maybe some skunkworks outfit in the UNSC had a competing enhancement program? There's no way something like that would find its way to the civilian market without him ever hearing about it.

Wheels continued turning in Fourier's head as he tried to make the pieces he had fit. What he was trying to fit them into, he didn't know, but none of what he'd learned since waking up made any sense. This little endeavor got him more information and, hopefully, a place to rest and recuperate for a bit. The problem is that information made just as much sense as everything else.

I better get outside before Greg gets suspicious.

James trudged to the service door and swung it open. Nothing new there; people were still loitering around the large room with more walking past, doing their best to ignore everyone else.

He slipped out of the hall and toward the front door-

"HEY!" someone shouted from his left. Fourier ignored it and continued-

"ASSHOLE! I SAID HEY! FUCKIN' BORG!"

That was definitely at him, then. Whoever that was came running from the left. James turned toward the new headache, his right hand going to his sidearm and his left held out in front of him.

The person was a young man, early-20s, with a shaved head and clothes that looked like they would have been better worn by someone several centimeters taller. He was pale as if he never went outside. Or maybe he only went outside at night.

And he didn't look happy.

It's possible if Fourier was in a more charitable mood, that might have concerned him. Right now, it did not.

"What?" he hissed.

The young man came to a stop a few meters away, eyes fixed on James's right hip. Or the M6I clamped in place there.

After a moment's silence, he looked up at Fourier's visor and crossed his arms. "The fuck you think you're doin', comin' in here like you own the place just 'cause you're some corpo. You think-"

Fucking- really?

James didn't bother dignifying the tirade with a response. The young man was still shouting when he resumed his march toward the door.

"HEY!"

His newest irritation stomped after him. James turned again just in time to see the guy reach for his right arm. Fourier snatched it away, the mounting frustration peaking.

"You don't-"

"I don't know who the fuck you think you're talking to", Fourier snapped, his voice drowning the other guy's out. "I don't give a fuck about your turf, or whatever stick you have crammed up your ass." He waved at the door he had been walking toward until this jackass decided to interrupt him. "I'm leaving, so go back to your friends and leave me alone."

The guy was wound so tight he looked like he was about to explode. He didn't have a gun Fourier could see but there was a knife on his right hip. That would be about as useful as spitting.

James turned, once again, and headed for the door. This time, he was allowed to leave unmolested. Outside, the crowd was still there, still flowing to and from the building. The same groups that had been lounging around the exterior were still there. As soon as he was in sight, the same ones who had been staring at him before were doing it again.

Maybe they were all like that idiot inside. They thought this was their turf and he was some 'corpo' (whatever that was) disrespecting it. Or something like that.

It was dumb gang nonsense. Fourier couldn't be bothered to worry about it. Not with as many questions as he had careening through his head.

No… it wasn't a bunch of different questions. There was just one: why doesn't anything make sense?

He spotted Greg straight ahead. He'd stayed out of the crowd, leaning against a building across the street from the tower.

I probably could have handled that better…

That was true, he could have. He let a little bit of his 'annoyed CO' side come out. That was something he tried to keep tamped down, especially considering his… particular subordinate, but sometimes he was an annoyed CO and that was just how it was gonna be.

Like they had on his way in, when Fourier started down the stairs, the crowd gave him ample room. If 'corpos' were something these people were afraid of or intimidated by, maybe they weren't just giving him space because he looked like a big robot. They might be doing it because they think he's a 'corpo' and didn't want to get in his way.

He'd have to ask what a 'corpo' is when he got back. A corporate agent? In Fourier's experience, corporate agents wore suits, not power armor.

A wry smile slipped across his face. Maybe that's an answer I can get that will make sense.

Once he reached the bottom of the staircase, James started back down the road toward the slums.

He needed time. Time to think and process.

A little food and water wouldn't hurt either. After getting into a fight with the guy he was just supposed to 'meet', it was the least they could do for him.

Next chapter: 5/17, A Whole New World