Chapter 6: The Streets of Night City
The datapad was odd-looking. Its bevel around the LED touchscreen was a lot larger than he'd expected. The thing looked like it could take a beating. This style of tablet was ancient two centuries before he was born.
They got it, along with an earpiece, from a guy named Jerome. It appeared the two were friends, based on the rail-thin man greeting her at the door to his apartment with a massive hug. When he looked at James, he looked confused before a wide smile spread across his face.
"Becca…" he said, voice a strange, drawling accent Fourier couldn't place, "did you finally get some talent?"
"More like he got me as a fixer", she mumbled in response. "Showed up at my door on a recommendation from Craig. We're just here for a 'pad. James doesn't have a Link and doesn't want one."
Jerome frowned. "No Link? With chrome like that?"
"It isn't-" Becca stopped herself before she could finish the rest of the sentence. Fourier didn't know if it would mean anything to this guy that he was in power armor and not a cyborg. That didn't mean he wanted to test it.
"He wants to keep his hardware offline. Security."
"Really?" Jerome cocked an eyebrow at him. "Alright. I'm sure I got something around here he can use. Anything else?"
Becca nodded. "Yeah. An earpiece."
The dark-skinned man turned and strode back into an apartment that looked a lot closer to the mess James would expect for a dilapidated apartment building. The couch was covered in clothes, there were so many food containers on the kitchen table they were stacked three deep, and the bed- well it was a bed, but the sheets were only half-on.
Despite all that, like Craig and Becca, he had a workstation completely free of clutter.
Sitting behind the desk, Jerome pulled a drawer open and produced the datapad and, after a moment of searching, a small earpiece.
"Gimme a minute to wipe these. Haven't used 'em in years, who knows what's on 'em."
He tapped at the screen and it illuminated in a dull red.
"So, talent, what's got you workin' with Becca", he asked, not looking up from the tablet. "Loooootsa fixers around Night City."
Becca frowned. She didn't say anything, though.
"She came recommended and I needed someone I could trust."
Jerome nodded, eyes still on the screen. "You went to the right person if you need that." He finally glanced up at James, if only for a heartbeat. "I'm gonna guess you ain't been around the city much. No Link and you ain't want one. Looking for a fixer and you start with someone young."
"That's right", James replied. "I've only been here for a few days."
"Makes sense. You work as a merc before now?"
"Not like this but I have a lot of similar experience."
Their host swiped his finger across the datapad's screen one more time and looked up. "Ah. Military, huh?"
"Sort of."
The man watched James for a few, quiet seconds before turning to Becca. "You sure you wanna take someone like this on?"
She squinted at him. "What do you mean?"
"Guy like this, gonna pull a lot of attention. Lotsa high-ticket jobs. That kinda biz can get ya flatlined."
"No", she replied, shaking her head. "He wants to start small."
Jerome laughed. "You can wanna start small, sure. Question is if the city gonna let you stay small."
Let me stay small? It's like that, huh? What's the saying? 'Up or out'?
"You spent enough time around Craig", Jerome continued. "You know when someone's name gets out there, people comin' in from everywhere. You'll get that one job and", he mimed an explosion with his hands, "it's over. Sorry girl, I don't think you got the experience to keep that from comin' down on your head. You ain't mean enough either."
So it was a game to keep things from blowing up.
"I can turn down biz I'm not comfortable with", she said.
"And how you gonna know what biz is good and what biz ain't? How you gonna know when someone's up to something? Or when a job sounds a little too good?"
Becca frowned. "Jerry, you're acting like I haven't been around. I don't got a lot of experience as a fixer but I know what a job that's gonna bite you in the ass looks like."
"I know you been around, girl", 'Jerry' said, nodding. "And I know you're smarter than me. All I'm saying is even the smartest people get had when they don't know what to look out for. Especially if you're too nice." He turned to James. "Speaking of. Becca here's the nicest fixer you gonna find in Night City. I better not hear you done something to her."
"She's one of three people I've had more than a five-minute conversation with", Fourier replied. "I'm not interested in getting on someone's bad side at the moment."
He didn't look convinced. "This is Night City, 'talent'. Rule number one is everyone's out for their own. You want someone to buy that, go spend your time with the softies over in Europe. You want your word to mean shit here, prove it."
Fair enough. "Understood."
"Good."
When he stood and offered James the tablet and earpiece, his eyes were back on Becca. "I known you too long to see something happen, girl. You need a deckhead, you come to me, not one of those bush league clowns running operations outta they mama's basement. Got me? Bad net-work is the second fastest way to get dead."
Becca smiled. "You've only told me fifty times."
"If you remember, it means I did my job. You'll give him the rundown?"
"Yeah, I got it", she said. "Not like it's hard."
"You need a little scratch to get by until the first payday?" He held up a hand. "I got more than enough rolling in to keep you from getting put on the streets. Can't run your rig on the sidewalk."
Becca glanced up at Fourier, something like shame in her reddening face. "I…"
Jerome's irises started glowing but, before James's surprise could set it, they faded back to a dark brown.
"Enough for a month or two", the man said. "Get you some food, you're looking a little skinny."
Becca snorted a laugh that was a little too loud to be genuine. "You're one to talk."
"I choose to look like this."
"I-" Becca cut herself off. She glanced at the tablet James was holding before turning back to Jerome. "You're literally the best person in Night City."
Jerome scoffed. "Nah, I'm a bastard like everyone else. Plenty a people who'll back me up on that. You're too good for this place. I'm just makin' sure you don't die cause a it."
He shot Fourier another look.
James wasn't one to cow back before he was in SpartanOps and, no matter how it might sound, that hasn't changed. The set jaw, narrow-eyed (that had been glowing a moment ago), and tight-lipped glare he got from the skinny, dark-skinned man was one of the best he'd seen this side of Amanda.
"You two take care."
"Thanks, Jerry", Becca said. "I'll be careful."
She turned for the door and James followed, taking one more look around the mess of an apartment. There were a lot of things to piece together from all this. Most consequential, for him, was Jerome wasn't a random guy who liked computers.
They left the apartment and started down the relatively well-lit hall toward the elevator. Becca had assured him it would hold. This building wasn't far from hers, a 10-minute walk, but between the uncluttered hallways, manned lobby, and lack of steel bars over the windows, James could guess it was more expensive.
Or, maybe, this place was better protected by non-government actors.
Fourier had heard the term "netrunner". It wasn't hard to guess that was someone who worked with online networks; either a programmer, computer scientist, engineer, or hacker. Maybe all four. Deckhead might have been synonymous with netrunner.
Someone walked by them in the hall as they waited for the elevator. He was a shorter man in a black shirt and shorts. His white prosthetic left arm shone bright in the glare of the corridor's lights. The passerby eyed James as he shimmed past, squeezing himself against the rear wall and as far away from them as he could.
Even if he hadn't spent much time here, James wasn't dumb enough to miss how network-integrated everything was. Something as simple as them being surprised he didn't have a Link was enough to figure that out. Everyone had one. If someone was a skilled programmer and hacker, that meant they could hack into anything or anyone. What the limits of that were, he didn't know. It wasn't something he was willing to risk.
The elevator dinged as the door slid open. A woman was leaning against the back wall, gripping the railing as if her life depended on it.
Fourier had to choke down a laugh. He'd seen that woozy, sweat-drenched picture before. He'd even been it once or twice during his college days. The woman's half-lidded eyes under the ridiculous pink mop she probably called hair were glassy and unfocused.
"Who'r y-" The rest of the question was lost in a moan.
Becca grunted. "It isn't even two and this dumb bitch is plastered", she mumbled.
Stepping forward, his fixer reached out and grabbed one of the drunk woman's arms.
"Come on, this ain't your apartment."
"I- I know that", the woman said, sounding as indignant as someone who wasn't able to put a sentence together could.
Becca wordlessly pulled her off the elevator. James stepped aside to allow them past.
Once she was safely leaned against the wall, Fourier stepped into the elevator, followed by Becca.
"Hey, bitch", Becca called as she keyed the door closed. "Next time you're gonna pickpocket someone, make sure there's something to steal."
Pickpocket? The elevator began its descent
James cocked his head at her. "She tried to rob you?"
"Yeah", Becca said, nodding. "Pretty common. It's why I don't carry anything." She tapped the side of her head. "That's what the Link's for. Be careful. Don't matter how big and scary you are, someone'll try to rob you too if they think they can get away with it or they're desperate enough. Especially if you look like you got something good to steal."
"Noted." He slid the small tablet into a pouch on his left thigh and secured the clasp.
"Jerome's a netrunner?" James asked.
Becca shrugged. "Kinda. He knows how, or so he tells me. He's got two other netrunners working for him."
"So he's a fixer."
"Uh… not really. Most fixers farm out jobs to whoever they think can get it done. He takes jobs and gives 'em to his deckheads."
That didn't make much sense. "He's a middleman between his netrunners and fixers?"
Becca nodded.
"That doesn't make much sense. Why wouldn't the netrunners work directly with a fixer? Jerome takes a cut from each job, right?"
"Yeah, he does. It lets his guys focus on what they wanna do: netrunning. He's protection for them, filters out all the bad biz, makes sure they stay safe."
"Which is why he was so concerned about you taking on bad jobs", James said as the elevator began slowing.
"Yeah. It's what he does best." She huffed. "I've heard stories about what he's done to people when they try to fuck with him. Or what he's paid to have done. From what I know, people don't try it anymore."
The elevator stopped and the door slid open with another chime.
Past it was the lobby which, while smaller than Becca's apartment building, was clean and had the same young woman standing at the desk who'd been there when they went up.
"What do you say to some food?" Becca asked once they were outside.
"I'd love some. Back at your apartment."
She looked up at him. "You're supposed to be a 'borg. Right." The shorter woman motioned for him to follow.
They turned and walked down the darkened street. It wasn't dark because the sun had gone down, it was because the buildings around them were both massive and had portions of their structure hanging over the street. Maybe they were trying to maximize their space usage. Maybe it was a stylistic choice.
Whichever it was, James thought the odd shapes protruding from the towers overhead were both ugly and unnecessary.
Then again, he wasn't the one who designed the city so whatever.
Becca led him back down the street and took a right, toward her apartment. Like seemingly every other time he'd been walking around, the sidewalks and roads seemed way too busy for the time of day. It was, like Becca has said, not even two. Shouldn't people be at work? Why were there so many walking or driving through the city?
Then again, maybe that was his paranoia. Even if it was a little less unusual to have a massive, armored man walking around downtown here than back home, it was still unusual and he was still drawing unwanted looks.
He did his best to ignore them. Returning those stares would only draw more attention. If the people wanted to think he was a corporate agent, however they felt about those, he'd let them. He was starting to think they might also take him for a mercenary. Which he was.
That's a weird thought.
When they were about halfway to her apartment building, Becca stopped in front of a small store.
"You can stay out here if you want. I'm gonna run in and grab some food for the next few days. Should only take-"
There was a shout from behind them before the roar of a car's engine drowned it out. Tires screeched against the pavement an instant later.
James pointed at the door.
He placed himself between the sounds of activity and Becca as they hurried inside.
Gunfire erupted. It was the short, relatively high-pitched pitched staccato pop of a small caliber weapon, probably a handgun or submachine gun.
Becca threw herself to the floor beside a display full of, what the label called, 'synthetic pork'.
James turned to the door and knelt, pulling his handgun from its magnetic clamp.
He could just hear bullets impacting the building's exterior under the roaring engine and gunfire. One slammed into the window to his left-
It stopped, sending a spider web of cracks through the pane with a sharp snap.
So this was common enough shop owners installed armored glass to protect against errant gunfire.
I couldn't have found myself in a better place.
A second later, the gunfire faded to nothing. The sounds of a roaring engine followed, the car heading east in the direction they'd been walking.
After another moment of relative quiet, Becca pushed herself to her feet.
"Fuck this city", she said under her breath. It was low enough he probably wasn't supposed to hear it so, instead of responding, he stood and placed his handgun back on his hip.
"Is everyone alright?" a woman called from further in the shop.
"Yeah", another voice replied. "Glass stopped it. Thanks for getting that put in, Luna."
"No problem", the first voice said. "Don't want the bullshit from outside coming in here."
"Is that normal?" James asked as he turned to study the small shop.
Becca nodded, her expression sour. "Yeah. It's Night City."
Johnson had said something similar that morning. Fourier was really looking forward to spending his time in a city where drive-by shootings were common.
The shop was very small, maybe 10 meters from front to back and a few wider. Rows of shelves were stacked with colorful packages, the closest ones in bright red and black advertising their contents as "Like the real thing!". The shop owner, James assumed, Luna, was behind the counter halfway down the store's east wall. The old, silver-haired woman was cradling a double-barrel shotgun, glaring at the front of the store.
As James stood, her eyes shifted to him.
Becca saw it and stepped between them.
"It wasn't him, Luna", she blurted. "He's with me. That was someone else's biz."
Luna's eyes narrowed but she nodded and set the shotgun back under the counter.
There were two other people in the store, both staring at him.
"Let's get some food and get outta here", Becca whispered.
James followed her down an aisle and she began pulling packages into her arms. Once they were full, she started loading him up with groceries. 'Synthetic meat', cereal, eggs, noodles, a few packages that looked like they might have had vegetables, and some fruit.
A few minutes later, they were at the counter unloading their arms.
Luna was staring at James the entire time. "This all, Becca?"
She nodded.
"Who's this chrome-head?"
"He's James. He'll be around for a while. Hopefully."
The store owner cocked an eyebrow. "Boyfriend?"
"Not my type", Becca said, laughing.
"Too many mods?" Luna asked as she pulled a pair of plastic bags out from under the counter.
"Yeah, let's go with that."
Luna shrugged and started bagging the groceries. "I'm the last person who gets to gossip about someone else's love life."
A practiced hand meant the bags were full in half the time it took them to place everything on the table. After an exchange that had both of their eyes glowing like Jerome's had been, they were leaving the store.
That glow must have been their Links activating.
James stopped Becca at the door. The danger had probably passed but carelessness wasn't part of a soldier's routine. Not a good one, anyway.
When he swung the door open and stepped into the street, Fourier expected to see a swarm of police investigating the scene, maybe EMTs and ambulances to treat any of the wounded.
That… wasn't what he saw.
Other than the startled citygoers who recoiled from the storefront as he stepped out, foot traffic had returned to normal.
I couldn't have been dropped somewhere better, huh?
Well, at least it wasn't another active warzone or some hellscape.
Not much better.
James held the door open and Becca emerged behind him.
After a few minutes of maneuvering through the again crowded sidewalks and towering buildings, Fourier's eyes never staying on anything longer than necessary to identify it as non-threatening, they were back at the apartment building.
He found himself taking a deep breath as the door swung shut and clicked behind them. It wasn't the first time he'd dealt with potentially hostile crowds and, every time he did, he spent the entire time anxious.
Combat was simpler, easier. You knew who was trying to kill you, and your job was to kill or neutralize them. Walking through a city full of people, half of them staring at you, all of which could have been armed, was a terrible experience. Even if, intellectually, he knew there weren't many man-portable weapons that could kill him.
What made it worse was the fact he had a much more vulnerable tag-along.
Again, not the first time, but that didn't make the experience of doing it in an alien environment any better.
Maybe it was the overhanging portions of the buildings above them. It made him feel closed off even though he knew those structures didn't make him any more unable to scale a sheer, vertical structure quickly.
Or maybe it was any of the other numerous things that had him on edge here.
Becca exhaled hard and slumped against the wall beside him.
"Doesn't matter how many times I see that", she muttered. He couldn't tell if that one was for him or not.
"I don't think that's something civilians are supposed to see much."
"Maybe", she said, voice as exhausted as she suddenly looked. "Let's get the food upstairs. I'm hungry."
They took the elevator this time and, while it groaned in protest at the half-ton of armor and Spartan, it carried them up to the 13th story without incident.
Back in Becca's well-kept studio apartment, James set his bag of groceries down on the table and pulled the tablet from the pouch on his hip.
"Mmm", Becca mumbled, waving at the datapad. "Food first, biz later. Not like we're in a hurry for that."
James cocked his head at her but did as he was told and set it on the table.
Five minutes later, the groceries were put away and James had his helmet off once again, holding a plate full of instant rice mixed with… what he guessed was supposed to be broccoli and teriyaki chicken.
It at least tasted… okay.
"Do you have anything to wear besides that armor?" Becca asked, sitting at her desk with her own, much smaller portion of the same thing.
"No", Fourier shook his head. "And I'm not sure if I'll be going anywhere without it after that."
Becca laughed. It wasn't a happy one. "Yeah, I get it. But you draw a lot of attention in that thing."
"... You know, normally, I would say 'better attention than a bullet'. Problem is, after what Jerome said, I'm not sure that's true."
"Welcome to Night City", Becca said through a mouthful of food. "The place where all your dreams can come true if you're willing to kill for 'em and are lucky enough to not get your number called."
"Which is why I want to keep a low profile."
She leaned forward in her chair and set her half-full plate on her desk. "Right. Low profile. Keep small." She tapped at her keyboard. "How soon you wanna start?"
He took another bite of his pretend teriyaki chicken.
That was a good question. He'd like some time scouting the city. Even if he couldn't comb the whole thing, which he sure as hell wouldn't be able to, it would give him a better feel for the place.
If it was local to this area, though… that might let him do both: scope out a smaller portion he can get familiar with and take on a job so he knew what that felt like.
"Day after tomorrow", James said. "I'd like a little time to get my bearings in the area and take on something that stays close to here."
Becca nodded. "Yeah, I can set something up like that. It would be simple, bouncer's a common one for low-level mercs, I hear. Those get run off all the time. Not a great job for long-term health. Would something like that work?"
A bouncer? Easy enough job. Threat identification and analysis, de-escalation, and neutralization. Those were all things he was already familiar with and it would be in a limited, controlled environment.
"That would be perfect."
"Great. You're enormous and intimidating. Should be easy to get you a gig."
The rest of the meal went by in silence. That was fine with James, he was still trying to process all the new information he'd been gathering over the last few days.
As he ate, his eyes dropped to the tablet sitting on the table. If it was connected to the network here, he could pull down a lot more data, and synthesize it much more effectively, than reading a book. What else would he be able to learn about this world?
"Question", James said once he'd finished his food, set the plate down, and grabbed the datapad. "Can this interface with the same things someone's Link can?"
Becca nodded. "Yep. Those things were how the original Links were designed. Everyone knew the GUI, interface, and functions so why break what ain't broken?"
"So you can teach me how to use this."
"It's really fuckin simple", she laughed. "If you can't figure it out, I don't know how long we'll be working together."
Waving him over, she sat up in her chair again.
X
She hadn't been lying when she said the datapad was simple to use. It wasn't that different from the interfaces he was used to. There were different apps he could use that all performed different functions. Some, Becca told him, were automated intrusion programs that could penetrate simple systems and networks. It would be something he used sparingly, if at all. That sounded like a good way for someone who didn't know what they were doing to get caught.
Over the course of half an hour, she set him up with a secure messaging app, a call function, a banking app (how she did that with almost no information made no sense to him), a tracking app so she could monitor him, and connected it with his earpiece. After testing to make sure everything was functional, she showed him how to access the net.
Which was where he proceeded to spend the rest of the day.
While James wasn't one to bury his head in a screen, reconnaissance and intel gathering were second nature. He had ready access to a world's worth of information and zero background knowledge. He needed to spend some time learning, internalizing, and synthesizing as much as he could.
A few things were missing. First and foremost was a notepad. Even other Spartans gave him shit about the habit but he always felt more comfortable putting something down on paper than recording it on a screen.
Becca squinted at him when James had asked like she wasn't sure if he was messing with her or not.
"I doubt there's a notepad anywhere in this building", she said.
So it was recording notes on an app he found on the device. Oh well, at least he could have them side-by-side on the screen so he didn't have to flip back and forth every time he wanted to write something.
The next thing that was missing was tea. Spiced black tea had been his go-to in college and remained that way during his time in the UNSC. They hadn't picked any up at the store and he doubted she'd keep that on hand, so he settled for more water.
Lastly, he didn't really have a comfortable place to sit but that wasn't as important as the first two. He ended up sitting against the wall beside the kitchen table. It was good enough.
And he began a process he'd undertaken countless times before: data mining.
If there was anything that could confirm wherever he was wasn't home, it was the six hours he spent looking through the last century and a half of history.
Unless he was part of the most elaborate setup of all time. If that was happening, he'd have to give whoever had done it credit.
Then punch them in the throat for wasting resources on a stupid joke.
Night City itself was a mess. He hadn't meant to look up crime statistics to start but, when he was browsing the news, almost every story had something to do with someone getting killed.
After a minute of searching, he figured out why.
"What the fuck?" Fourier muttered under his breath.
There were 8000 homicides in Night City in 2075. That was .1% of the city's population.
The violent crime rate was 100 times higher which meant, on average, 1 in every 10 people were assaulted or murdered.
No wonder that store had armored glass…
James just stopped himself from asking Becca about the crime rates. It was probably something someone who lived in the NUSA, even halfway across the country, should know.
As he learned more about his new home, Fourier was more and more convinced he needed to unass immediately.
This place was what people called a 'free city'. There was no government or overseeing body. Private corporations ran everything including, as of earlier that year, the police force. Little wonder why they were corrupt.
There were a lot of players in the city but the biggest one, by far, was the Arasaka Corporation. It was the largest private military corporation in the world and he spent an hour researching the exploits he could find. He knew from experience, with a corporation as powerful as that, the stuff you found was the nice stuff.
And a lot of it, things like the Fourth Corporate War, was in ONI's ballpark. Whistleblowers mysteriously dying was an ONI brass favorite.
As the day slid by, his research moved from Arasaka and other "official" entities to Night City's underworld, the place he'd be suffering through. There were eight large gangs in the city and pretty much always involved in some kind of war with each other.
He didn't need much background on them; from what he could tell, they operated like most gangs he knew of, historically.
Just… a lot more of it.
There were a few peculiarities. Each gang seemed to have its own thing: certain types of or emphasis on implants, 'netrunning', drugs, or aesthetics.
Most of his time on the gangs was spent researching how they operated and what areas they operated in. Two caught his attention.
The first, The Voodoo Boys, because it seemed like people weren't sure what to think of them. They were 'netrunners', something Becca had said, and that's about all anyone knew. They were trying to breach something called Blackwall which, he found out, was a firewall protecting the Net from the Old Net.
Apparently, that was bad because the Old Net was full of rogue AI.
While James was familiar with UNSC AI and what happened to them when Rampancy set it, this didn't seem like that.
There wasn't any information on why the Voodoo Boys wanted to breach Blackwall. Plenty of speculation and, while that could be educational on its own, he didn't have time to synthesize editorials. He had a world's worth of information to sift through.
The second gang that stood out was The Mox. The media coverage for them was entirely different than the others, at least in tone. Tone could tell you a lot about someone or something. New was generally more favorable to the Mox while describing them which, in an environment like Night City, spoke volumes.
"You want something to eat?"
Fourier bit down on the surprise as Becca's voice exploded into his world.
When James tore his eyes away from the screen, he had to blink away swirling sunspots.
"Sure", he replied. It had been six hours since he'd sat down. The time had vanished.
But he had something to show for it; the app he'd pulled up on his tablet had pages of notes. He hadn't had time to dig into specifics but there was enough information to have a rough working knowledge of his situation.
While that wasn't sufficient for any real operation, there was a reason he wanted to wait until the day after next to take any jobs. Taking some time to be in the city with the intent of scoping the place out would be important. A day wasn't enough. It was a start.
"Well", Becca said as she pulled three packages out of her refrigerator and set them on a plate. She did a terrible job of hiding her excitement. "Got a gig for you. It's technically not for two more days.
James climbed to his feet and cocked an eyebrow at her. "How early in the morning?"
"1:30. A bar's having a concert and they're looking for some hired help keeping everyone in line. You'll be on door security. All you gotta do is look intimidating and break up any fights that happen outside."
"... But…?"
Becca put the plate in her microwave and touched 'start'.
"But what?" she asked, frowning. "There's no catch."
Maybe I'm too paranoid from working with spooks who like drama. Fourier smiled. "Sorry, I'm just used to getting bad news."
His temporary roommate shook her head. "Nope, no bad news. It don't pay much, 1000 eddies. It ain't bad for your first real gig."
"It's a start", James agreed, nodding. "Is the bar close?"
"Yeah. Just down the street. I'll send the detes…" Becca smirked. "And I'll walk you through how to open and read them."
The microwave dinged and she pulled the plate back out. She took another one from the cupboard and placed two of the packages on it before handing it to him.
"So what's the plan for tomorrow?" she asked as she sat back at her desk.
"Spend time out in the city. Get a feel for it." James set the plate on the kitchen table and tugged one of the packages open.
A burrito.
I'm sure it's plenty nutritious. Microwaved burritos always are.
He wanted to say 'at least it would taste better than rations' but he wasn't sure that was true.
When he took a bite, his fears were confirmed.
Its only flavors were "salty" and "spicy". Whatever the contents were didn't seem to matter.
Oh well. I've done worse.
Was that really true? Even some of the things he's had to make in the field were better than this.
It's free food.
That was fair.
"You sure you wanna do that after earlier?"
James huffed. "If I'm gonna be working as a mercenary, I can't let something like that scare me."
"Does it scare you? she asked.
"Not really", Fourier replied, shrugging. "I've been shot at plenty of times by scarier things."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
While he wanted to say "aliens" since, he assumed, she'd take it as a joke, there was always the chance she wouldn't.
Maybe I should have looked up whether aliens are here or not.
A search for another time.
"I'll tell you after we get to know each other a little better."
Becca bit the inside of her lip and looked like she wanted to press the issue. She didn't. After a moment's quiet, she leaned back in her chair and took a bite from her burrito.
"Fair enough", she said through a mouthful of food.
As their conversation drifted while they ate, James tried to keep things from straying too far into his history. He didn't think Becca was trying to pry when she asked things like where he got his armor, it was a reasonable enough question. Then again, it was an innocuous enough question anyone would ask, it could have been an attempt to open that conversation.
What did interest him was her knowledge of body modifications and enhancements. Most were either conventional, like organ replacements, implants, and cybernetics, or ones he'd already encountered like the 'Sandevistan'.
Even the conventional implants and modifications had quirks. Some replacement organs could produce and introduce various drugs into someone's system. Limbs could house weapons and subdermal armor. Some people even had something she called 'cyberdecks' implanted which allowed them to infiltrate other computer systems, including other people's implants.
This place was so different from what he was used to, the more he learned about it, the less sure he was he'd be able to adapt quickly. Sure, survival was one thing. It was an entirely different question to integrate enough he wouldn't stand out.
Well… stand out more than he already would.
If his goal was to maintain a low profile, he'd have to figure out a way.
Once he'd finished his second burrito, Becca asked if he wanted anything else. While he would have liked something that tasted like real food, he wasn't there to impose any more than he needed.
Besides, he doubted anything there would qualify.
Instead, James elected to bury himself back in his search for information. His new 'partner' seemed nice enough. She was intelligent, knowledgeable, and friendly. It was easy to see she was also a little too trusting like Craig and Jerome had said. Not only was she letting a stranger stay with her, alone, on Craig's word, she was talking to James like they'd known each other longer than half a day.
At least, this time, it wasn't with someone who'd take advantage of that. Fourier found the implicit optimism… refreshing. He was so used to a world where everything was subterfuge and a lot of CYA, it was nice to be around something else, for once.
Especially when that 'something else' was in an environment that shouldn't allow for it.
All that being said, he wanted to take on something familiar. Research and data mining is something he knows, even if the thing he's researching is a different world. It kept him from dwelling on the same thoughts that had been bouncing around his head for the last few days: something very wrong had happened. He didn't know what it was, how it happened, or if he could fix it.
Even as someone who made a living out of diving into uncomfortable and dangerous situations, it put a lump in his throat.
But, as aggravating as it was, he couldn't get impatient. He couldn't force things to make sense and trying would only draw attention. He was doing the best thing he knew how. From there, it was about gathering as much information as he could while staying out of the way.
For as long as he could, anyway.
If Jerome was right, attention would come knocking eventually. He'd just have to be ready when it did. Part of that is gathering as much knowledge and experience as he could before he caught the wrong (or right) person's eye.
James took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the wall.
It had been another three hours of research and his notes had almost doubled in length.
His eyes were swimming from staring at the screen and he rubbed at them to massage away the strain.
Becca had gone to sleep about an hour ago. He didn't miss her taking a handgun with her as she slipped into her bed across the apartment from him.
Fair enough, he couldn't blame her for that. If anything, he'd be concerned if she hadn't thought to take precautions.
As he pulled himself out of the trench his head had been in while combing every source he could find, his mind drifted back to his team.
Amanda and Liam… whatever happened to him, those two would be able to finish the mission. They were massive pains in the ass outside of mission prep and execution, especially Amanda with her goddamn word games, but they were two of the best soldiers he'd ever worked with.
Then there was Damon. What happened to the kid? He'd been out front when whatever happened… happened. At least, James thought he'd been. He couldn't remember what was going on when this event took place.
Could he have been transported somewhere else? Maybe a different point in this timeline? Or maybe a different timeline altogether?
If he'd ended up here, though… on this version of Earth, on his own to survive the best way he knew how?
James ran a gauntleted hand down his face.
That kid was a monster in a fight. Not a surprise, considering ONI trained him from when he was barely out of diapers for almost as long as Fourier had been in the military. Plus, he had intuition, instinct, and a level-headedness in rough spots you couldn't teach or even engineer, in the Spartan program's case. If James was being honest with himself, he was more than a little jealous.
And Damon's own brand of preparation and creativity made it hard for anyone to predict exactly what he'd do. Indispensable in a fight, infuriating as a commanding officer.
All of that added to Fourier's own anxiety about his situation. Damon was great at one thing and terrible at everything else. A world like this one would reinforce that. The kid was smart and cautious, but he didn't have the experience or the social intelligence to avoid being taken advantage of, too.
James wanted to give him more credit but he was just starting to break through the meter-thick shell ONI had built around him. He had no idea what being in a place like this would do to Damon.
His eyes dropped back to the tablet in his lap.
If there was a way to find out where he was and get to him, James owed the kid to do it. And not just because he was Fourier's team member. The world had dealt him a shit hand. Someone had to try and balance that out.
X
While he wouldn't call the mass of people pushing to get into the bar/club combination a 'crowd', it wasn't small either. They were all craning to see inside the open door as music that was way too loud and way too 'metal' for James poured out.
The sky above was dark and the event had started 15 minutes ago. Becca told him this job began at 1:30 but that wasn't quite true. He had to get there an hour early to get a 'briefing' from the owner and head of security, and then his assignment.
Five other people showed up, all of them large and sporting heavy modifications. All of them had at least one extremity replaced, three of them had more than one.
During the 15-minute summary of their roles and responsibilities, James couldn't help but size up his 'coworkers' for the night. Two of them were new. The way they constantly shifted their weight from foot to foot and glanced around the dimly lit club said they were nervous.
Out of the other three, one looked like he'd been around the block and caught every stray punch someone wanted to throw. His jaw had been broken and wasn't reset correctly so, whenever he closed his mouth, it wasn't quite in line with his face. He was the most heavily modified, too. Both of his legs and his left arm below the elbow had been replaced. Dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, James could see the various scars on both his arms.
The other two weren't as experienced, or damaged, but they had seen action, it seemed.
The reaction Fourier had gotten when he walked in was becoming expected: the staff was dubious while the other 'mercs' eyed him with a mixture of suspicious glares and confused frowns. Judging by their modifications, these guys were, no doubt, familiar with implants, cyborgs, and maybe even power armor. He didn't look anything like what they were used to.
All that aside, the job itself was simple: don't let things get too rowdy.
If James were running security, he would have put the most imposing person, himself, inside in a visible location to act as a reminder for the customers. Running security was as much about deterrence as it was physical protection.
It wasn't the decision their boss made.
Instead, he found himself where he was, outside, watching the stream of people filing past to make sure they didn't start any fights before going into the club.
At the same time, that was fine by Fourier.
The music wasn't his taste and it would be way too crowded inside.
So he stood dutifully by the doorman, blue and pink light pouring off the sign over him, making sure the bargoers behaved themselves.
They were the usual mix of body modifications, LED lights of their own, and wild hair and clothes.
A lot of them stared at him as they went by and into the bar.
Maybe Frank put me out here to act as a deterrent before people go inside.
While that was a possibility, James didn't know if he bought that. The guy was just as large as any of the other people they hired for this job and looked like one of those people who spent as much time at the gym as they could just to show off. He was heavily muscled with a high-and-tight that also managed to be overstyled, odd patterns shaved into the sides of his head.
And he was wearing sunglasses in a dimly lit club. Always a red flag.
Cars were streaming by on the street to his right, their headlights adding to the mess of lights. It was an unpleasant place to be.
He didn't have much choice.
Well… he did. Choosing to leave wasn't a good choice, though. Not for what he was trying to accomplish.
Movement caught his attention about 20 meters back in line. For the most part, the crowd had been shuffling forward slowly. Sharp, fast motion was always a sign of trouble in a crowd like this.
Or that's what James's experience was. Then again, his experience wasn't the same as most people's.
Even so, he shifted to the right to get a better view of what had happened.
Another sharp motion. Someone shouted.
"Hold the line", he said just loud enough for the doorman to hear.
It wasn't strictly what he was supposed to do in case of a fight but he wasn't unaware of the fact some people used stunts like this as a distraction.
He had done it before though that moment wasn't the right time for a trip down memory lane.
Best thing to do in that case, if you don't have additional support, is to minimize the possibility of someone using a distraction to do something they aren't supposed to.
He could see over the crowd well enough to tell the scuffle was between two women near the back of the line. One had ahold of the other's bright blue hair as that one clawed at her captor's arm. Unfortunately for her, the first woman's arm was metallic.
From his brief tour through the facility, he knew there were three auxiliary entrances. One was a side door at the end of the building. It was electronically locked with a physical deadbolt. The other two were around back with the same security. The one at the front led to the VIP area, a discrete entrance and exit for the more affluent customers. The other two were service entrances.
If this was a distraction, it wouldn't make sense for anyone to try the rear entrances; this would be an attempt to get into the VIP area.
As he approached the two fighting women, he kept an eye on his motion tracker. Nothing.
Once he was within five meters, the crowd began to part in front of him until he was standing in front of the struggling pair. The one with her hair being pulled was screaming like she was being burned alive.
It can't hurt that bad.
They both noticed him a heartbeat later.
"GET THIS FUCKIN BITCH OFF ME!" the captive screamed.
James cocked an eyebrow behind his visor. It was an… aggressive response.
"Ma'am", he said calmly, "if you want to get inside, stop causing a scene."
She jerked at the other woman's hair with her bright silver arm. She was larger than her victim, taller and broader. Both of them looked young, maybe mid-20s. Both of them were wearing clothes that- well 'clothes' was generous. They were some kind of glossy polymer that barely covered them, stretched to the point of breaking.
"HA!", she barked a laugh. "Fuckin' 'borg over here talkin' like a goddamn robot." She pulled at the other woman's hair again. "What if I don't wanna get in this shitty club, huh!? What then?"
What then? "Then get out of line and pull her hair out somewhere else."
Motion on his tracker pulled his attention. The movement wasn't far… it might have been the end of the building.
Muting his helmet's external speakers, he said, "Voice comm", to activate his earpiece. "Call Frank."
There was a brief tone before the call connected.
/ James?
"Yeah. Two women are causing a scene out front. I'm handling it", he continued before the guy could say something stupid like 'handle it'. "There may be someone trying to use the distraction to get into the VIP lounge from the side entrance."
"What if I wanna do it here, chromejock!?" the woman screamed.
/ You sure?
James just stopped himself from rolling his eyes.
"Reasonably."
There was a brief pause, long enough for Fourier to unmute his external speakers.
"I'll remove you from line", he mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear. It wasn't to intimidate here. This was… not worth his time.
/ Chuck's heading over to check it out.
Muting his external speakers again, James nodded to himself. "Copy."
With that, the connection closed and he returned his attention to the two women and, for the second time, activated the speakers. "You have five seconds."
"Or what?"
"GET HER OFF ME YOU GIANT METAL DICK!"
"Three."
The larger woman's eyes narrowed and he watched her other arm tense.
"That's a bad idea", he said. "Two."
Before he could get to 'one', she let go and shrugged. "Fine."
"Thanks." Fourier looked at the other woman. "Are you alright?"
She hesitated, looking at the other woman and frowning. The larger woman's jaw tightened.
"YOU BITCH!" the former captive screamed. It was not convincing.
"You two are fine", he said and turned his attention to the side entrance. "Don't do anything else stupid."
No more motion detected. That might mean whoever went to the doors was still there.
He turned back to the doorman and waved to start letting people in again. No reason to hold the line up, he'd be able to watch it from the far end of the building if need be.
As it started moving, he strode toward the alley 20 meters away.
When he glanced back, the two women were looking at him.
They made this about as obvious as they could…
Hand drifting down to his sidearm, James neared the corner. He stayed wide and away from the side of the building. It wasn't a normal approach to clearing a corner, but he didn't think there would be an insurrectionist or Sangheili with a rifle waiting to shoot him.
… Well…
Sure enough, in the shadows cast by the alley, blocking the blue and pink glare from the bar's lights, were three others. They were all young, just like the two women in line. Two were men, the other was another woman. She was working on the deadbolt, trying to pick it open.
James liked to think of himself as a fairly non-judgemental person. In this case, the poorly styled hair, tacky clothes, and the fact they were trying to break in made him think they probably didn't belong there.
It only took another heartbeat for one of the men to notice him. The instant he did, he shouted, "Run!"
All three of them bolted from the alley and across the street, narrowly avoiding the traffic. Horns chased them onto and down the other sidewalk and James allowed himself a laugh.
In their hurry to get away, they'd run right in front of him. If he wanted to catch any of them, all he would have had to do was reach out and grab one.
They thought that distraction up front would last long enough to get in. Probably not the best planners.
Looking back to the line, the two women who had caused the scene were hurrying down the sidewalk, away from him.
After checking the alley to make sure there was nothing and no one left, he called Frank again.
"Three were trying to get in the VIP lounge", he said once the connection established. "Gone now."
/ Saw it on cams. Good job. Get back to the front.
"Copy."
The line went dead again.
This is gonna be a long and boring night…
At least it was money.
He started back to the club's entrance where the doorman was letting customers in. Everyone else seemed to be behaving themselves.
Once he was back at his post and watching the suddenly quiet and orderly patrons, he smiled to himself as a thought crossed his mind.
Wonder how many times Frank's said 'good job'. It sounded like he wasn't sure what tone he was supposed to use.
Unfortunately, James was right: the rest of the night was boring. Considering his career path through the military, he hadn't spent much time standing guard. The closest he came was running security for envoys.
He stayed outside the entire night, watching for potential intruders that never came. The patrons were all inside before 0200 and the stragglers were few enough for the doorman to handle on his own.
So James busied himself pacing the club's exterior. He couldn't get all the way around back since that would have meant using an adjacent street but the two entrances he was responsible for never saw anyone else who wanted to get inside without being welcome.
That meant four and a half hours passed without incident. The music started dying around 0600 and the customers began filing out 15 minutes later. Plenty of them were much more inebriated than they had been on the way in. One group in particular, three young men and four women, came stumbling out and the unmistakable stain of vomit was covering two of the men's pants.
He was glad he couldn't smell it.
"James", someone said as the last of the patrons left. Franks' voice.
Fourier turned to meet the security head's eyes.
"Good job. You need another gig, give me a ring. Eddies heading your way and your fixer's getting her fee. You can get outta here in 20."
"Thanks", James said with a nod. "Contact my fixer if you want me here again."
"Will do." With that, the man turned and marched back into the bar.
Maybe I can ask for a better rate next time. I'll have to talk with Becca about it.
A gentle ding sounded in his earpiece, notifying him of the fund transfer.
1000 'Eurodollars'. Enough for him to eat for a week, if he was frugal.
Frankly, food was one of the things James didn't like being frugal with. Not only did he generally need to eat a lot, he wanted to enjoy what he was eating.
… He'd need to find more work.
When his 20 minutes were up, James gave the front of the club one more check. He watched the morning crowd streaming by on the sidewalk and cars passing in the street, before stepping away from the front door. While he wasn't tired, he would like some time to think a little more. If this was what his life would be for the foreseeable future… maybe he'd rethink taking on some more exciting work. Provided it didn't put him on anyone's map.
Covert operations, they had to have something like that in the city, right? If people really were afraid of being caught in the spotlight and targeted for it, no doubt some of them would want to get shit done while avoiding that.
Becca's apartment was only a 10-minute walk away. He'd get some food and water and give some thought to the potential shift in his approach. That might be a good thing to run by Becca and get her thoughts.
And sleep would probably happen too.