So, someone hit me up in a DM – quite aggressively, actually – saying that I don't understand this world and how things work, etc. etc., because paper money isn't a thing and no-one should ever get hacked. Just telling you guys because it's proof that no-one needs to know much about this world to talk about it, so, submit a character!
I tried to write this as if it's all in the same day, but I'm not sure if that's come across... lemme know if that's obvious.
Oh, as for songs I listen to: for the first part of this, I listened to a lot of country. Lots of Shaken By a Low Sound (Crooked Still), and Age of Apathy (Aoife O'Donovan – particularly Stanley Park, Loretta, and B61).
After Vann et. al start to exit the building, I was blasting Black History Month by Death From Above 1979 – always imagined that music with a similar sequence.
The night sky stretched endlessly overhead, a canopy of stars twinkling against the deep indigo. The moon cast a silvery glow on the camp, nestled in the vast, rugged expanse of the desert. The warm, dry air carried the mingled scents of woodsmoke, sage, and the faint, tantalizing aroma of grilled meat. The soft hum of a generator powered the fairy lights strung between tents and trailers, casting a warm, inviting glow over the scene.
Music filled the air, a harmonious blend of guitar, banjo, fiddle, harmonica, and washboard. The musicians sat in a loose circle, their faces illuminated by the firelight. Isaiah, the old man with sun-weathered skin and a wide-brimmed hat tilted low over his eyes strummed a guitar, his fingers dancing across the strings. Beside him, Caroline wore a floral dress plucked a banjo, her eyes creased as she smiled broadly, showing her crooked teeth. Foxy was playing the fiddle – the best of the bunch – sawing at his instrument with a pout, trying to make sure Caroline was watching him as the notes soared and dipped like birds in flight. Axe had a simple harmonica, adding a soulful wail before they began singing. But the washboard, played by the wiry old man, Dead-Eye, was what everyone danced and clapped and tapped their feet to.
Vann wandered his way to the keg of lager, now they deemed him old enough to drink. Although, Abbie would always frown at him when he did so. He tapped his thighs as he glanced around the table and spied a half-full bottle of bourbon. He bit his lip and leant over to pick it up, but watched as a hand beat him there. Looking up, Vann found the glinting eyes of Lincoln, the old, dark-skinned man with a grizzly black scar on his cheek.
"Maybe next year, Vann. Stick with beer for now."
Vann grumbled and picked up one of the tin cups, handing it over to Will, a guy a few years older and already covered in tattoos from his wrists up to his shoulders, hidden by his Cut.
A loud thud was followed by a heavy cheer as Vann glanced over to see Abbie, into her thirties with a dirty-blonde ponytail, stand up and raise her hands in victory, while Deek, the skinny lad with a thick head of dark hair, clenched his jaw. Nitro was nearby, laughing loudly at Deek, sneering as he clapped the lad on the shoulder before sitting down at the makeshift table. He rolled up his sleeve and presented his hand. Deek took it and the two began to wrestle, grunting and straining, their faces a study in concentration and determination.
Near the fire behind the band, the handsome and young Tyler danced with his girlfriend, Lady – the graceful beauty that danced like no-one else in the clan. They twirled and swayed, their laughter mingling with the music. Coil, the resident greasemonkey, was wiping his oily hands on his pants as he reached for a piece of food, earning a sharp reprimand from Rach, who quickly swiped at him with the speed one didn't expect from a woman in her sixties.
The tents and trailers were a patchwork of bright colours and practical modifications. Dreamcatchers swayed gently in the breeze, their beads and feathers catching the light. Lanterns made from repurposed tin cans hung from poles, flickering with flames. The trailers, painted in cheerful hues, were adorned with handmade crafts and mementos.
Vann walked around one of the fires, closer to the music. He even found himself smiling – moments like these had become rarer than when he was younger, and now he hadn't really appreciated them as he had ought to. It was family, it was home.
As Vann finished his beer, Little Sarah came up to him, giving him a wink as she filled his cup with homemade liquor. Vann drank it, the taste burning as it went down. She filled it up again.
"No- Sarah, I don't-"
"We never do this," she insisted. Big Joe, a hulking figure with a booming laugh, call over Little Sarah. "Duty calls – don't rat me out to Lincoln."
"Would I ever?"
"Come find me later."
The night was alive with activity. Near one of the larger tents, Old Marge sat in a folding chair, her knitting needles clicking away even as she tapped her black-iron cyberfoot to the rhythm, while her wife, Clownie, swayed and sang, drunkenly swayed and danced. Dusty, a young boy of about ten, looked mortified while his grandmother pulled his arm. She was clumsy and uncoordinated but had the biggest smile on her face. Dusty's face turned bright red, his embarrassment palpable.
But Chip, ever the free spirit, laughed and clapped her hands, delighted by the old woman's antics. She danced over to her, taking Dusty's hand and joining in, her own movements graceful. Everyone clapping and cheered them on – Chip was an absolute menace at parties.
The firelight flickered on the faces of the clan. Vann saw the tents, some made of old, patched canvas, others of brightly coloured fabric. The trailers, some ancient and rusted, others more modern but just as weathered, formed a circle around the gathering.
Out of the dancing circle came Chip – she was lean and petite, standing almost a full head below him. Her light hazel eyes danced in the light, her cheeks flushed and glistening with sweat. Strands of her flaming hair stuck to her neck and brow. Something fluttered in his stomach.
She passed Vann and picked up a tin cup, passing it to Will.
"Careful, Marge might have a problem with you dancing with her woman," Will said.
"Just because you can't share, Will…" Chip replied. Her lips were always curled as if she were smiling at the time. She turned to Vann, shadows cast on her round face as she began to swat at flies. "Why aren't you dancing?"
"I'm dancing on the inside," Vann replied.
"Oh, do you ever- does he ever move his ass?" Chip turned from Vann to Will, who shook his head, a slight smile on his lips.
"Yeah, do you ever move your ass, Vann?"
"Move yours in a second…" Vann muttered into his cup. The music shifted to a slower song. Vann looked around to see people pairing off: Old Marge rose from her seat and hobbled over to Clownie, Tyler held Lady close, his hands on her hips, Abbie placed her hands on little Dusty's shoulders…
Chip took Vann's hand and led him to where the other couples were dancing. Vann's palms were sweaty, and his heart raced as he wrapped his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body against his. His eyes flickered around at everyone nearby – he could feel eyes on him.
"Looking for an escape?"
"Just… checking everything's working. Lights, music…"
They swayed gently to the music, the world around them fading into the background.
"You are nervous," Chip said, almost in awe, but mostly amused. "Am I scary?"
"Oh, yeah, please, don't get your freckles on me…"
Chip's brow crinkled. "Shut up. And I don't think anyone else wants to dance with a mopey boy like yourself. Unless, of course, we're talking about Lil' Sarah…"
Vann glanced around to see if he could find her. "What about Lil' Sarah?"
"Well, I'm asking if you'd want to dance with her."
Vann frowned. "Do you want me to dance with her?"
"Do you?" Chip asked. Vann gave a small laugh and Chip shrugged. "I dunno, you… you always just seem so… down."
Vann took a breath. Of course he felt 'down' most days. It still didn't feel right – to think of himself as an orphan. Orphans didn't have families like he did. He gave a small shrug to Chip, who mimicked him. It made him chuckle slightly.
"Oy vey, he smiled!" She said, gasping theatrically. "Look at that – it didn't kill you." She screwed her eyes shut and hung her head. "Sorry, I… that was kinda shitty."
"No, it's…" Vann paused to sigh. "Dead Kings never die, right?"
"That is right," Chip replied. "So, if you didn't want to dance with Little Sarah, who did you want to dance with?"
Vann's heart hammered as her arms wrapped around his neck.
"What makes you think I wanted to dance with anyone?"
"You mean those aren't your dancing boots?" Chip asked, glancing down. "Well, why else are you wearing them?"
Vann flicked his tongue across his teeth as he looked away, fighting a smile.
"Wow, twice in, like, a minute – maybe my name should be Clownie," she snickered.
"What kinda name is Chip, anyway?"
"Better than Vann. What are you, a car?" She rolled her eyes. "Come on, you wanted to dance with me, didn't you? You saw my moves with Clownie and liked what you saw!"
"Your moves?" Vann asked. "I thought your chrome had short-circ'd."
"Don't be jealous, Vann, I know you want me to teach you, all you need do is ask."
The song ended, Chip looked up at him, her eyes shining. Vann's mind raced with a thousand thoughts, but he was aware of time passing, the feeling of his thumb against the tough denim of her tattered shorts, the warmth of her breath on his neck, the soft glow of the fairy lights, the distant laughter and music. She leaned up and her lips touched his in a gentle, tentative kiss.
Vann was jolted awake by a sharp shake of his shoulder. His heart raced as he blinked, disoriented. No fairy lights, no tin cups, no music, no Chip. Seph was stood outside his Quadra, a black cropped top of fraying cotton showing healed scars and fading bruises.
She leant down to peer through the open door and raised a dark eyebrow at him, her braided black-and-phthalo-green hair fell from her back and swayed by her knee. Her shoulders flexed as she placed her other hand on the roof of the car.
"Sorry to wake you…"
"It's fine," Vann replied, rubbing his eyes.
There was a moment's silence as Seph stood there, still leaning down to examine him. She looked younger than her age – perhaps a woman only some years older than Vann. Her brow was creased, almost in worry, as she watched him.
"What?" Vann asked.
"You talk in your sleep," she said.
"Do I wanna know?" Vann asked.
The corner of Seph's lip curled. "Come on, we've got coffee." She straightened up and walked away.
06:40 25th April, 2090
Rattlesnake Ridge, Utah
In the early hours of the morning, the desert town of Rattlesnake Ridge lay still, a ghostly silhouette against the vast expanse of Utah. The horizon, a hazy line between the deep indigo sky and the jagged earth, was beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn. Rocky mesas, winding arroyos, and sprawling dunes that stretched endlessly under the fading night sky.
Rattlesnake Ridge, a forgotten settlement clinging to existence in the harsh desert, consisted of weather-beaten buildings that huddled together like survivors of a long-forgotten war. Dust and sand coated every surface, muting the remnants of once-vibrant paint and corroded metal. The narrow streets, little more than dusty tracks, meandered through the town, marked by the occasional tumbleweed that rolled lazily in the faint pre-dawn breeze.
The desert around the town was a vast, silent expanse, the stillness broken only by the distant call of a coyote and the soft rustle of the wind through the scrub. The rocky terrain was dotted with saguaro cacti, their tall, spindly forms reaching towards the sky like skeletal fingers. In the distance, the rugged outlines of mesas and buttes loomed against the slowly brightening sky, their shadows stretching long and dark across the arid ground.
The largest structure in town, a partially-ruined building, loomed over the other buildings like a sentinel of the past. Its massive walls, constructed of crumbling concrete and twisted steel, stood defiantly against the elements. The roof had collapsed in several places, and many of the windows were broken, their jagged edges catching the first light of dawn and reflecting it like shards of glass.
Vines and hardy desert plants had taken root in its cracks and crevices, their green tendrils crawling up the desolate facade. The graffiti that adorned its lower walls could only make Vann think of wanderers and drifters who had passed through, leaving their marks in vibrant splashes of colour and cryptic symbols.
The cars parked outside the building were a mix of heavily modified cars and rugged off-roaders, built to withstand the brutal desert conditions. Dust-covered and battle-scarred, the machines lay silent while Vann's hummed quietly, its engines cooling in the desert air.
Vann looked across to the passenger seat at his side, where his black leather Cut lay folded, showing the white crowned skull on the back. He leant over to pick it up, turning it over in his lap as he ran a thumb across the patch that read 'Morgan'. Everything he was was on that Cut: Morgan, second generation, unchipped… Dead King. But he wasn't that anymore… Dead Kings didn't exist anymore. Just Jodes. He wasn't even like the Dead Kings that walked away. And flying the colours – keeping the Cut – wasn't something one did after leaving the clan.
He picked up his black Tamayura from the dash and swung his legs out of his Type-66 and slid the copper-gold door behind him. He stuffed the pistol down the back of the waistband of his blue jeans and pulled on his Cut as he crossed the way to the Villefort Columbus: an armoured van, next to a Brennan motorbike that Seph leant against, holding two Styrofoam cups of coffee. She was speaking to Daisy, who sat in the back of the van, both doors wide open, next to a long, thick crate stamped with the Militech logo.
"Thought you might'a died in your ride," Seph said.
"Not yet…" Vann rubbed his sore neck.
"You good?" Daisy asked, steely monolid eyes glancing up at him. Her brow was perpetually furrowed in a straight line, the corners of her lips tugging her mouth down into a constant frown. She was a year or two older than Vann, and looked pretty – if in a severe way. 'Handsome' was likely the more apt word for her – even with the arm: a bolero jacket of umber synth-leather was laid out across Daisy's lap, and out of one of the straps of her grey cropped tank top was a steel prosthetic arm of a gun-metal grey that had been fused to the stump on her shoulder, with the wiring snaking out from beneath the metal like tendons. Vann tried to ignore it – if only because looking at it reminded him of Chip's leg.
"Vann?"
"Hmm?"
"She said if you're good," Seph said slowly.
Vann responded by reaching into his pocket and pulling up a crumpled carton and taking out a flattened cigarette and a lighter and giving a small shrug.
"You know that's bad for you?" Seph said, handing him a coffee.
"I know." Vann took a drag and then sipped the coffee. He immediately frowned: it was sweet, like hazelnut.
"What?"
"This doesn't taste shit."
"I can fix that if you want," Seph shrugged. "Come on, we're swapping stories: weirdest thing you smuggled across the border?"
Vann puffed out his cheeks and looked up at the clouds for a moment.
"Erm… Used panties."
"That's gross…." Seph turned to Daisy. "What was it with you? A head?"
"You smuggled a head?" Vann asked. She gave the smallest of nods as she sipped her coffee. "Why?"
"Had a chip – some valuable tech."
"So why the head?"
"It was hard to take out."
"Jesus…" Vann muttered, looking to Seph. "What about you?"
"Me? Nothing that exciting: some guns and cyberware up North."
"When you ran with Bearclaw, right?" Vann asked.
Seph frowned. "How'd you know that?"
"Your ink," Vann gestured to her shoulder with the coffee cup; he had seen the tattoo on her shoulderblade. He didn't know much about the Bearclaw Clan beyond their name. "You know you can get that shit removed, right?"
"You know you can take the vest off, right?" Daisy replied drolly, looking up at him. Vann clenched his jaw.
"I know."
There was a loud buzzing on the metal bed of the truck, and Daisy's hand swept down to pick it up, pressing it to her ear.
"Okay…" Daisy hung up on the phone and put down her coffee. "We're up."
Seph picked up her SOR-22: a titanium rifle that was awkwardly large and bulky. It was the type of iron that you couldn't use without some serious chrome. The weirdest thing about it, however, was the name.
"You got the case?" Seph asked as she leant the barrel of her rifle over her shoulder.
"You know I ain't got chrome, right? If you left the rifle, you could carry the case…"
"Ellie would feel left out," Seph said, slapping the stock of her rifle.
Vann rolled his eyes and leant into the van, grabbing the corners of the case and grunting as he slid it towards the doors. He cussed and grunted as he lifted it up.
"Okay- okay, stop before you do your back in…" Seph said, handing him her rifle and picking up the case with one hand. The rifle was heavy, but leaning it on his shoulder made it easier.
"Thanks…" Vann looked over to Daisy, who was a few metres away by this point. "Hey, what's her deal?"
"Daisy? What, you interested?"
"Nah, I mean… she doesn't exactly speak much, y'know?"
"Well, neither do you."
Vann cocked his head to the side. Seph was right – the only reason she and Vann spoke was because she kept making sure he'd eaten or drank or woken up. She had, after all, been the one to bring him into the Lost Ghosts: the small nomad pack of five.
"Raffen hit Daisy's clan about a year back. That's how she lost the arm, I think. But, y'know, who doesn't have a story like that?" She looked to Vann, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged. "You tense up every time I talk about 'em."
"Daisy?"
"Raffen."
Vann felt his jaw clench again. "Like you said, everyone's had a run-in. You too?"
"Well…" Seph breathed deeply, her head swaying from side to side before she looked over to him. "You live out in the shit, Raffen are gonna find you eventually. Try and strip you down for your ride, your chrome – your organs, even…"
"As far as I know, Raffen start shit just to start shit."
Seph let out a scoff, tarnished with mirth. "Yeah, well, you ain't wrong about that…"
The pre-dawn light cast long, eerie shadows across the ruined building as the Lost Ghosts approached. Daisy fell back and Seph led the way, her brown roper boots crunching on the dust and gravel that littered the ground. The barrel of Seph's gun, 'Ellie', glinted dully in the dim light.
The entrance to the building was a gaping maw, its doors long gone, leaving only twisted metal and splintered wood. As they stepped inside, the air changed, becoming cooler and thicker with the scents of oil, rust, and neglect. The inside of the building was a chaotic mess of debris and old machinery, scattered haphazardly as if a storm had torn through. Graffiti in vibrant hues adorned the walls, a riot of colour against the drab, blasted stone.
Their footsteps echoed hollowly as they made their way through the ground floor, the sound amplified in the cavernous space. Old, rusted vehicles lay abandoned, their metal carcasses stripped of anything useful.
"How come you ain't sportin' any chrome?" Seph asked Vann.
"My mom didn't like it."
Seph glanced over at him, her brow creased in thought for a moment. Her gold eyes dropped back down to the floor. "What, like, thought it was the work of the devil, or somethin'?"
"No, just… saw that it did shit to people."
"People?" Seph asked, raising an eyebrow.
"She steered clear of it, and so do I."
"Pure 'ganic too, huh?"
"That a problem?"
"No, not a problem, just… unusual. Thought it might be somethin' to do with Dead Kings. I heard they were kinda…" She trailed off, trying to find the right word.
"Kinda what?"
"Culty."
Vann frowned. He felt like she'd smacked him in the face. "That's just bullshit…"
They reached a stairwell, its metal steps corroded and uneven. The railing was a jagged line of rust, but it held as they ascended, the stairs groaning under their weight. The air grew more oppressive as they climbed, the scent of decay mingling with the faint, acrid smell of old electronics. Dim light filtered through broken windows, casting patterns on the walls that shifted with their movement.
On the second floor, the space opened up to what had once been offices or storage rooms. Now, it was a wasteland of broken furniture and shattered glass. The remnants of desks and chairs were scattered about, their wooden frames splintered and decaying. Papers, long yellowed and brittle, crunched underfoot. The flicker of LED lights, barely functional, cast an intermittent, sickly glow that made the shadows dance.
They pressed on, climbing the stairs. Large sections of the ceiling had collapsed, exposing the steel girders that held the structure together. Piles of rubble and twisted metal created obstacles Vann had to step over. The walls that still stood, were pocked with bullet holes and scorched by fire.
"So, who's Chip?" Seph asked, once Daisy had moved ahead. Vann turned to look at Seph, a frown across his face. "You talk in your sleep," she reminded him.
"Chip…" The name caught in Vann's throat. He could remember her face from the first night they kissed, from when she'd tease him, from when she'd been asleep as they removed her leg, the tears pooling in her light hazel eyes, sliding down her freckled cheeks, cleaning away the dust.
"It doesn't matter anymore," Vann said finally.
"Sore subject?"
Vann didn't reply.
Finally, they reached the top floor. The space was more open, but no less squalid. Makeshift partitions had been erected from sheets of metal and old tarps, creating a series of interconnected rooms. The floor was a patchwork of cracked tiles and bare concrete, with patches of sand and dust that had blown in through the broken windows. The smell of stale sweat and unwashed bodies permeated the air.
The tension was palpable as they entered the main room. The Liberty Saints were already there, their eyes narrowing as they watched the newcomers. The gang members were a rough-looking bunch, their cybernetics a patchwork of cheap, shoddy modifications.
Diego was stood at the end of a long metal table and a woman with a shorn head, dressed in what looked to be a straight-jacket, her shoulders studded with steel rivets. A skinny nylon bandolier of blue shotgun shells was strapped from shoulder-to-hip, but the most unsettling thing were her eyes: pale blue – almost bone-white, set against her dark, cacao-brown skin – fixed on Vann.
One man stood up and stretched out an arm of rusted metal, the joints squeaking with every movement. He looked Vann up and down, his eye glowing a dull red and flickering sporadically.
"Somethin' the matter?" Diego asked. He was not an exceptionally tall or muscular man, and with messy tousles of flowing brown hair and warm olive skin, he hardly looked to be an intimidating man. In fact, he was often smiling and cordial.
"Somethin' the matter?" Vann repeated Diego's question to the man before him.
"Why you got that rifle?"
"'Cos the case was too heavy."
"Hey, what's a bit of iron between friends?" Diego said, stretching out his arms and turning to the woman beside him. "Lots of matones lurking around, after the lunch eddies…"
"Chill, choombatta," said the woman beside Diego. "He's just a kid, aren't ya?"
"Yeah, chill, choom," Vann said quietly to the man. He clenched his jaw and stepped to the side, studying Vann as he walked forwards with Daisy and Seph.
It was a grim tableau of makeshift survival: Old, stained mattresses lay on the floor, surrounded by piles of scavenged goods. The walls were covered in graffiti, much of it obscene or threatening. A single, flickering halogen lamp hung from the ceiling, casting a harsh, uneven light that did little to dispel the gloom.
Vann set the crate down on a metal table beside Deigo and the Saint, its surface pitted and scarred. Seph did the same, her movements slow and deliberate. The Saints watched them with hawk-like intensity, their postures deceptively casual.
"As promised, Stitch."
The woman, stitch, walked over to the case, running a hand over the serial umber engraved onto the side in bright yellow metal. Vann's stomach twisted: why wasn't she opening the case?
"Something wrong?" Diego asked. He must have noticed as well.
Stitch's pale eyes flickered across from Seph to Daisy before she turned back to Diego, her fingers running across the case once more.
"Where's the other one?"
Seph's gold eyes flickered to Diego, who simply blinked and sighed.
"What other one?"
"The crazy bitch in the prison jumpsuit." The ganger with the rusty arm replied.
"Don't fuck with me, Stitch," Diego said, the smile vanishing from his face.
"You send some dopey motherfucker into my house to klep my iron, waltz in here with some… overpriced militech bullshit, and now you're gonna tell me not to fuck with you?" She kissed her teeth and shook her head. "Fuck yourself, Cabeza."
Vann's hand had tensed around the barrel of Seph's rifle, and slid down towards the trigger by an inch or so when Diego held out a hand, gesturing for him to stay still.
"If you're gonna accuse me of somethin'…" Diego said quietly, taking a small step towards Stitch, his shoulders squared to hers. "I'm gonna get offended."
"Oh, are you?"
"And if I get offended, you're gonna have a lot less chooms. So, how about you apologise, pay what you promised, and we both walk away without a few inches of lead in our skulls?"
Stitch stifled a giggle. Her lips pursed together and she held up a finger.
"Nah. See-"
A gunshot rang out. Vann turned to see Seph with her Malorian revolver drawn: her gloved hand wrapped around the handle as she moved with deft precision, moving from target to target. Vann rushed forwards and tackled the rusty-armed Saint to the floor, holding down his arm with all the weight of Seph's rifle. A gunshot rang out as Daisy drew her D5 revolver and emptied four rounds into the man's head, through his eye. A flurry of snaps came from Diego, who had grabbed Stitch's bullpup and turned it on her. Splashes of grey and magnolia-white fluids splurged out of her chest as she fell to the floor, shaking.
"The fuck was that?" Daisy asked, approaching Seph.
"They were onto us," Seph replied. "I shot first."
"Jesus, Seph…" Daisy cussed as the woman crossed to help Vann to his feet.
"You good?"
"No way they didn't hear that downstairs," Vann said.
He reached under his Cut to draw his black handgun, racked back the slide and looked over to Diego: his brown eyes were glowing a bright neon shade of blue as he glanced out of the broken windows to their cars and bikes below, where the Liberty Saints gangers began to gather.
"Mo, you there?" Diego turned back to face the rest of the pack. "Ramona? Any of you got her?"
"Mo ain't pickin' up?" Daisy frowned, and she pulled out her phone, pressing the loudspeaker icon. "She's on the line, but she ain't respondin'…"
"Oh, for- Dynamo," Seph said, her eyes shining bright gold.
"Hey, choomie, how's the date goin'?" Mo's voice crackled out of the phoen with the creaky, throaty jitter of a valley girl.
"We've gotta delta, need a hand with the exfil," Diego said as he marched towards the stairwell with Stitch's submachine gun in one hand.
"Yeesh, so, like, bad, then?" Mo asked.
"Pretty much."
"Okidoke, so, like, explosives?"
"My ride's out there," Vann said. His car was armoured, but 'explosives' sounded indiscriminate.
"Okay, so, I'm not super sure what you're trying to say right now…" Mo said.
"I'd like to keep it in one piece," Vann tersely clarified.
"Okay, so, like, what's the deets, are guns on the table, or…?"
"Is she high?" Daisy asked. Vann shrugged in response.
Shouting came from downstairs and Diego grunted, glancing over to Seph to gauge her opinion.
"We don't have time for this…" Seph murmured as she walked over to pick up her rifle from the body.
"Mo, we're moving out – north side of the building." Diego waved for Daisy and Vann to follow.
"So, like… the one with the cars, right?"
"Oh-" Diego began to hiss.
"Yes, Mo, the one with the cars and the angry gangers," Seph said quickly.
They hurried down the staircase together, rifles and handguns raised. Seph and Diego moved fluidly, covering each other, giving small nods or taps on the shoulders. Vann followed at the back, with his handgun low.
"Hey, Baby," Mo's voice came over Daisy's phone again, "like… how good's your car with, y'know, incendiaries?"
"Don't set fire to my car, Mo."
"Dy-na-mo," she drawled.
As they crossed the building, Seph peered out of the broken window, and leant out to pull back Vann by the collar of his Cut, moments before the few panes that still remained were shattered by gunfire.
Diego readied the bullpup, and Seph took a few deep breaths as she held her rifle, Ellie, aloft. They turned to fire back through the window, with Daisy pulling Vann along and down the wrought-iron staircase. Across the landing, they saw two man bounding up the stairs. Both Daisy and Vann raised their handguns to fire, plugging rounds into one man's chest. The body fell onto the man behind, who shrugged it over the railing, and Daisy's gun clicked empty. A bullet streaked by her head, and Vann emptied the last of his clip into the man.
"You good?" Vann asked Daisy, who had a streak of blood on her brow. She touched her fingers to the blood, then wiped with her hand and breathed a sigh of relief, giving him a nod.
Vann reached into his pocket and pulled out a second mag, reloading his pistol. Daisy did the same, punching the side of her fist onto the cartridge and knocking it loose. She held the pistol with her mouth and began to store her empty cartridge and search for a new one. Diego came down the stairs first, followed by Seph.
"Still alive?" Diego asked them.
"Just about," Daisy said, taking the revolver from her mouth and reloading it.
"Well, let's hope it stays that way…" Diego fired the last few rounds of the bullpup rifle into the bodies of the men at the stairwell before tossing it on the floor and drawing his Techtronika from his shoulder holster.
Bullets danced around the ground floor of the building, with Seph bringing her rifle up to her shoulder and firing, moving with an almost-mechanical precision as she stood up straight and turned in a fluid motion to shoot one ganger, then two, then three. The remaining ran back outside to their cars.
"Final stretch, Dynamo, where you at?" Seph asked loudly.
"Ooh, ooh, what about lasers?"
"The fuck are you gonna do?"
There was a loud whirring that echoed outside, followed by screams of panic. Through the entrance (a large hole, where a garage door once stood), bright red laser beams rotated, scorching the wall on the other side. Part of a head rolled through the entrance, black and smoking.
The gunfire ceased, the lasers faded and silence fell across Rattlesnake Ridge.
"Okay," Mo's voice came across the phone, "they're all dead now!"
The four nomads walked outside to see the cars that the Liberty Saints had converged at were now smoking wrecks. Body parts had been diced unevenly with clean, cauterising cuts. In the background, sat cross-legged on the bonnet of Vann's car was Mo: the twenty-something woman with platinum-blonde pigtails. Her full lips and countered cheeks were spread in a large, happy smile as she waved high at them, the sleeves of her bright orange jumpsuit rolled up to her elbow, revealing the various tattoos that wound down her forearm.
"See?" She called out to them. "Not to be all, like, 'I told you so,' but, like, I did tell ya so." She uncrossed her legs and hopped off Vann's car.
"Oh, for…" Daisy groaned. Vann looked over to see her van had been caught by the blast and was now a pile of sizzling metal plates and wheels. "You scorched my ride, Mo."
Mo looked over her shoulder at the wreckage and, after a moment of silence, turned back to Daisy, an innocent look on her face. "That was already like that when I got here."
"Ramona…" Seph said quietly.
"Persephone…" Mo mimicked her tone.
"I'm sure there's another ride around here somewhere, Daisy…" Diego said, rubbing his brow.
Daisy's brow furrowed and she licked her lips, as if she were readying herself to say something. Her nostrils flared and she chewed her tongue before scoffing.
"Fine, whatever…"
Seph gave Diego a stern look before calling out to her. "Daisy, wait, I'll help. There's something around here, somewhere. I saw a Mizutani missing the tires and a door, but I reckon we could find a good engine…" Seph's voice disappeared in the wind as she led Daisy around the building.
"Hey, keep your head on a swivel," Diego called out to them, "we don't know who's still about!"
Seph waved at him – an acknowledgement of his words.
Vann stowed his gun back in the waistband of his jeans, feeling the warm iron press against his skin.
"Handled yourself okay there," Diego said.
"Did I?" Vann replied.
"Well, you're still breathing, aren't ya?"
Vann shrugged. "So, what now, pick the place clean?"
Diego paused, as if he had not thought to consider this. "I… guess? Yeah, I mean… if there's anything we can use."
Vann gave a tentative nod – he wasn't sure if Diego had a problem with scavenging or looting the place, or if he was not used to people asking him questions.
"Okay, well… lemme know if you need a hand," Vann said as he made his way back to his car, paying no mind to Mo, who kicked apart the discarded limbs to examine the weapons. He pulled open the door to his Quadra and sat down, leaning back in his seat. He shuffled forwards and pulled out his Tamayura pistol, tossing it onto the passenger seat and opening the glovebox to stow his empty mag. Inside, his hazel eyes drifted to the silver necklace with the pendant of a thistle. He took it out of the glovebox and brushed a thumb over it. He could still remember every freckle on Chip's cheeks, the uneven gaps in her teeth, the dimples when she smiled. He took a long breath and looped the necklace around his wrist, pinching the pendant between his thumb and forefinger as he leant back, closing his eyes and hoping he would dream of her again.
So, this took ages to write. I was waiting for characters for the Lost Ghosts, and, well, here we are. I could've done this better if I'd waited, but… oh well. My Microsoft package also expired, so, I had to sort that stuff out, but we're moving forwards now!
Next chapter can only be one person, but yeah – here's the long chapter (long because there's lots of people to introduce). I hope you guys enjoyed, don't forget to review like a champion and I'll see you guys for the next one!