Friday - July 1st
"Move each finger. Touch each tip with your thumb."
One by one, V curled her fingers.
"Squeeze." Vik shoved a grip tester into her hand. Pulling the mechanism as hard as she could, she huffed upon letting go. Vik shifted around and typed on the console of his ripper gear as well as jotting notes down on physical paper. "Motor function's good. How's the feel?"
"Stiff." V grunted as she flexed her hand. She opened and closed her fist, wincing at the resistance.
It was like her fingers were being pulled back by elastic bands. Not that anything outright hurt. It was just difficult for her hand to keep up with the rest of her body.
Vik chuckled. "It's a temp arm so that's going to be normal. Too bad it's your shooting arm."
"Don't fucking remind me."
V glared at the slow reacting limb. Like Vik said, it was a temporary fit while Vik sourced her actual replacement. As well stocked as the old doc was, he didn't carry fully custom fitted chrome. Things like that had to be shipped directly from the supplier. So, for the next week, V was essentially out of commission. At least when it came to more complex Edgerunner gigs. She didn't even want to think about the Metaverse. That was a whole different game.
"I gotta ask, that cut was clean. Too clean. The fuck got you?"
"Long story. It was either the arm or the gonk I was saving." V's reply earned her a curious glance. This was the second time she had come to him with an otherworldly injury. Even still, it wasn't half as bad as pulling lead out of her head and essentially bringing her back to life.
"Well, good choice, I guess. Hope you picked up decent hazard pay."
That got a laugh out of V. The payday was just sitting in the movie theatre attic on the other side of the Metaverse.
That was to say no one even knew if it would be a payday. A quick scan of the briefcase showed that it was gold lined, so at least the case itself could sell decently. Whatever was inside would probably just be a bonus.
Even still, V didn't care either way. It was the kiddos' victory.
As she hauled herself off of the surgical chair, she grunted at how strange the temporary arm felt. Like she was wearing a shoe that was just a little too small. Only, it was her entire arm. The skin tone didn't even match!
"Your booster's on my desk. Remember the drill?"
Vik gestured over to the front of the makeshift ripper clinic. He casually approached his tinkering station and fiddled with an old Kiroshi. V nodded and picked up the inhaler. "Two whiffs now, one in an hour. I got it. Thanks Vik." With that, V was free and clear. At least for the time being. Getting used to the temporary arm would be annoying but she wouldn't need to wait long. For now, she had other work to do. Specifically, she needed to bring in some more eddies to cover the cost of the replacement.
What better way to do that than talk to her favourite fixer.
Sebastian Ibara.
V strode toward the old basketball court between Skyline and Hanford.
The short alley leading up to her destination was filled with the sound of kids, thumping balls and muffled music. The kids of Heywood were enjoying their youth in full swing, charging around the old court, throwing the ragged ball like it was the NBA. It all combined into a perfect encapsulation of Heywood living.
Many memories bubbled to the top of V's mind. Playing ball with Vince and Jackie. Scrapping with other kids. Watching the illicit fight club matches. Even participating in the illicit fight club matches.
The familiar figure of a certain Valentino caught V's eye for a brief moment. Cesar gave a friendly wave from the comfort of his gilded ride's bonnet. In his gold chromed arm, a bundle of blankets was gently cradled against his chest.
Baby Vicky.
The mother was likely working her day job.
Cesar, himself, had given up the fighting scene and had taken to working as a coach for Padre's flock of street kids. He would teach them basketball, practice boxing with them and generally act as a good influence. As Padre would describe it, he was keeping the mercy of God in their hearts and the evils of the streets away.
V had to smirk. The old fixer might have been a calculating gang boss, but he had a soft spot for the kids. Granted, if anyone made the mistake that he was soft, it would probably be the last mistake they ever made.
"V! You're home, my child."
Speaking of which, V beamed a wide smile. The old man had just emerged from a side entrance to his small chapple. He grinned and widened his arms. They embraced and he clapped a hand on V's shoulder.
"The lord smiles brightly, that he should send you across my path once more." He made a sweeping gesture toward the bleachers on one side of the court. The kids and adults sitting there quickly shifted along and made space for Padre and V to comfortably sit. Marcus - ever the loyal guard - stood at attention on the top row of the bleachers. "Your health is good? Viktor preaches miracles at the boxing club."
"In terms of the shit in my head, I'm good. You'll have to put up with me for a bit longer." They both laughed. "Things are… good. Which is a weird fucking feeling."
"Suffering is a test and you proved worthy."
"Pretty fucking long test."
Padre nodded solemnly. During the span of time Johnny was stuck in V's head, Padre was like an anchor. Much like Misty, Vik, Judy and everyone else, it was doubtful she would have made it through. She made sure Padre knew as much, yet he rarely took any credit. "The lord works through our love," he would say with a wry grin. Still, his small displays of concern said all V needed to know.
"So, what can this old man do for you?" He asked, watching over the kids playing basketball.
"I was about to ask you the same. Looking for work. Nothin' to fancy. My shooting arm's out of comish for a few days." She frowned at that. Yes, she could pull a trigger just fine, but her temporary arm wasn't precise enough or quick enough to work in a high stress conflict. Absentmindedly, she tightened her fist and grunted at the resistance. Still, Padre nodded in understanding and remained quiet for a few moments. His eyes followed a tall teenager leap into the air, ball in hand. The kid dunked the ball cleanly through the net and his teammates cheered.
"As it happens… I have something you would be perfect for." His grin was oddly mischievous. Uncharacteristically so.
That did not sit well for V.
"Why do I get the feeling I shouldn't take this gig?"
Padre waved his hand dismissively. "There comes a time when a sheep must leave its flock. Hm… maybe not. Forget that analogy." He chuckled at his own mistake. "A child of Heywood wishes to grow past his roots. Determined to become an Edgerunner, the boy is desperate to prove himself. I fear he will stand before the lord before his rightful time comes."
"... So… you want me to babysit?"
"That seems a bit harsh. I wish for you to guide this young soul in his journey." Padre paused, letting a frown tug his mustache. "So… yes, I suppose. Babysit. You said so yourself that your combat effectiveness is shitty for the time being. All I ask is that you keep this boy from messing up a simple job."
V rolled her eyes. Though she couldn't necessarily complain. After all, for the past few months, she had been doing this exact thing with the Thieves.
That said, Lynn's skill and developing leadership took care of most of it.
On the other hand, watching over a rookie Edgerunner was a whole different shitshow.
"Alright, what's the kid's name?" V relented after a few moments. A paycheck was a paycheck after all. And if she could help Padre out even just a little, that was good too.
"Enrique Montenegro. Or Monty as he likes to be called." The name didn't ring a bell. V frowned for a second. There was a time when she knew pretty much everyone in Heywood. At least vaguely. It was just that kind of town. As Jackie used to put it; "everyone in Heywood is like a brother or sister… or a distantly related cousin." However, with V's brief stint in Atlanta followed by the year from absolute hell, she had somewhat fallen out of the loop.
"'Kay. Spin the deets. He's got a gig, right?"
"A standard package retrieval. Valuable materials have been… misplaced. Logistics these days are enough to give an old man heartburn. Our package was coming through the Badlands, however…"
"Raffen?"
"Indeed."
V grunted in disgust. It was always the Raffen when it came to the Badlands. "Ignoring the subject of what this package is, do we know where it got taken?"
"I think I shall leave the explanation to Young Enrique. For now, head to El Coyote. I shall send our fledgling shortly. Bring a ride." That last one was obvious. Granted, V had come here on her favourite yellow Arch.
Thank modern technology for autopilot.
El Coyote Cojo was a welcome reprieve. It had been a while since V last swung by.
After her routine stop at Jackie's little memorial, the merc took her usual seat at the bar. However, Pepe was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Mama Wells. Unsurprising, it was the middle of the day. Pepe was off being a dad and Mama Wells was probably cooped up in her office fretting over the finances.
Still, the bar was manned by a young boy. Notably not Enrique, given the ID V's Kiroshis dragged up. A new hire. She grinned and made the gesture for a single tequila on the rocks.
The strange hand movement caught him up for a second. He closed his eyes and muttered something wordlessly to himself. Then, he got to work. Sliding a glass over to V, the boy looked for approval. Her grin widened and she nodded, sipping the liquor with satisfaction. New he might have been, but Mama Wells had at least taught him the basics.
"A bit quicker on the uptake, next time," she laughed and winked. "Here's a tip." She flicked a finger at the boy and their Kiroshis connected.
His eyes widened at the generous tip. "Yes ma'am!" He then scampered off to other customers.
Closing her eyes, V let the ambience of the Coyote wash over her. The scents, sounds and feelings came in a relaxing wave. Sure, the acrid smell of cigarette smoke and spilled beer was ever present, but it just added to the charm. It was like a little microcosm of Heywood. A few of the other patrons gave V a friendly nod, which she returned. These were her people. Her roots. And yet, at the pit of her stomach, she felt she no longer belonged.
Mama Wells would kill her if she caught her thinking that.
The thought gave V a grin. Then a wince. That woman was down right scary when she wanted to be.
Not many could scald Padre like he was a misbehaving child and get away with it.
After another ten minutes of taking in the nostalgia, a grunt forced her eyes open again. A kid no older than eighteen stood right next to her. A lanky frame was clad in syn-leather and denim. Patches of various bands were sewed crudely onto his jacket. Funnily enough, she couldn't see a Samurai patch. Johnny would be disgusted at the sheer sight of some of the kid's choices. His hair was a mop of green and red which drooped over one side of his face. The markings of facial cybernetics ran silver lines over the bridge of his nose and under his solid white eyes. No iris or pupil in sight.
"Enrique. Took your fuckin' time." V leaned back against her barstool and took the boy in. "Si'down." She gestured to the bartender for another two drinks. This time, he was as quick as a flash. Drinks in front of her within a few seconds.
"It's Monty."
"It's whatever the fuck I say it is." V snapped and glared daggers at him. His brow furrowed, but he did as he was told. She mentally gave him points. "So, you got the deets from Padre? Spin it."
She turned back toward the bar and threw back her drink. Gingerly, Monty sipped his own liquor. The small cough managed to make V grin a little. He was probably more accustomed to beer or light mixers. Not that there was anything wrong with that. "I have to go get stolen shit back from the Raffen. It's a milk run!"
Mentally, V deducted points.
"Rule one; nothing's a milk run. Got it?" She grumbled, taking another drink from the bartender. "Where was the target lost? Where was it taken? What are the Raffen numbers? How much iron are they packing? Entrances? Exits? Escape Plans? It all fucking adds up, kid. Sneaking into some dive run by a small gang of 'Tinos is one thing. Taking on the Raffen is another." The rapid fire questions overwhelmed Monty for a moment. Then, he scowled.
"I didn't ask for a washed up drunk to tag along."
"Careful who you talk to like that," V laughed, "you might end up face down in a fuckin' dumpster with your teeth smashed in." The kid had spunk, she had to give him that. Points. "Alright, let's take it back. Intros should do it. The name's V. Just V."
"Why does that sound familiar…" Monty muttered, earning him a wry grin. "Whatever. You clearly know who I am."
"Question; you got a reason for becoming an Edgerunner?"
"None of your biz."
V shrugged at that. "Alright, what's your chrome sitch? Your iron? Packing heat?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes. It fucking matters." V scowled, her temper flaring. She could only take so much 'tough guy' act before she lost her patience. "It matters a fucking lot." She reeled herself back in. Letting her shoulders relax, she had to remind herself that there was a time when she was exactly like this. Bratty, stubborn and naive. "I'll go first. Sandevistan with a Karenzikov booster. For my arms, I usually have Monowire chipped. However, I recently had to switch to a temporary limb," she raised the arm she had recently lost and squeezed her fist shut. "Stiff as a fuckin' two eddie scop-dog. Meaning that I can't shoot properly or use my right Monowire until I get my replacement chipped. I'm also packing sub-dermal armor, reinforced leg replacements, some syn-organs and a ballistics coprocessor."
"Am I supposed to be impressed?"
"No, you're supposed to god damn listen and take note. I just gave you some key intel that'll be vital when it comes to planning."
Monty looked on expectantly.
"What's one of the biggest drawbacks of a Sandevistan?" V asked, ordering her third drink of the afternoon. Monty's brow furrowed, but eventually answered.
"Uh… it puts a lot of pressure on the nervous system?"
Points.
"Yes. Overusing it could rip my nerves apart and kill me. Which means I have to be sparing with it. I can't just waltz into a compound, fire it up and zoom around zeroing fuckers for long stretches of time. That said, it can give me a huge edge when I use it in short bursts. Especially with the added Karenzikov. What does that tell you?"
"That you're useless in long shootouts."
That was partially correct. She had to give him points for that. However, she also took some away for missing something. "It gives you options on how to best use me. A leader needs to know their team's abilities."
"Wait… leader?" Monty looked genuinely surprised at that. Perhaps he wasn't expecting V to so willingly admit she wasn't actually in charge. It amused her, somewhat. Spending the last few months taking orders from Lynn had gotten her used to the idea of being under the command of someone a lot younger than her. Granted it probably helped that Lynn was a natural leader anyway.
Monty was less so.
But at least he had potential. Even if it was hidden beneath a crusty exterior of bravado and teen angst.
"This is your op. I'm just here to offer advice and lend an extra gun. Even if I can't shoot as well as I can normally, I'm still a deadly motherfucker." She finished her third drink, noting Monty had barely touched his first. "What's your poison? Beer?"
"Wine. Usually."
"Fancy pants. Whatever gets you there." Again, she shrugged. It was definitely not what she expected, given the outfit and general aesthetic. She made the gesture for a glass of wine and the young bartender procured the bottle from a hidden fridge. "So, I'll ask again, what are you packing?"
For a few seconds, Monty didn't respond. He instead drank his wine with a lot more enthusiasm than he did with the tequila. "A cyberdeck mainly." He lifted the shock of green and red hair up to reveal the metallic implant running along his skull just above his left ear. "I don't have much else. A few rib replacements and a smart link." It was expected he'd have the bare minimum. At least V could work with that.
"Iron?"
Monty opened one side of his denim jacket to reveal a holster strapped just under his armpit. The grip of a Lexington sat secured, ready to be pulled.
"Anything else?" He shook his head. Negative points. "Alright, we'll have to go shopping before we head out." She couldn't really blame him for the lack of iron either. At least he wasn't an entitled brat like the solo that tried swindling the Aldecaldos. "Don't worry, I'm buying. What Daemons are you running?" She tapped the side of her head where a cyberdeck would have been mounted.
"Overload, Ping and Optical Reboot."
They could work with that.
"Ever tried cracking through ICE?" He shook his head. Understandable. He didn't look like the full Netunner type. "Alright, I'll quit prodding you. Drink up, we've got work to do."
As they polished off their glasses, V tallied up his score. Monty was rough around the edges. Clearly, he had a few chips on his shoulder and probably had some romanticized notions of what Edgerunning actually was. Hopefully, V could stop him from making the same sort of mistakes she made. The disaster that was Atlanter flashed back into her mind. How she got everyone in her crew killed because she was too caught up in the idea of the Major Leagues.
Now the 'Major Leagues' had taken on a whole new meaning. Her thoughts briefly turned to Jackie and Vincent once again.
"Hey new kid! Tell Mama Wells and Pepe I said hey!" V addressed the young bartender and sent him another generous tip.
With that, Monty and V headed out into Heywood's streets.
The rest of the day was spent traipsing from gun store to gun store. Thanks to the 2nd Amendment chain of stores, there was a lot to choose from.
It made V laugh.
A normal shopping spree would probably involve clothing stores, BD stores and maybe a trip to the local Ripper. Not a spree that resulted in buying enough iron to outfit a small militia. Perhaps that may have been an exaggeration. The end result was an upgrade from Monty's Lexington to a Liberty - just like Seraph - a Copperhead, Kyubi, explosives, ammunition and a lot of Airhypos. A look at the haul sitting in the back of V's favourite Type-66, one could call it overkill. V merely called it insurance.
When she pulled up in the custom modified Type-66, she was amused by Monty's slack jawed awe. He studied the armoured plating, excited, but also confused. He asked why change the base design of the Quadra. V opened the passenger door, beckoned him inside and explained.
As it turned out, the kid had never been in the Badlands.
So he had no clue about the issues of driving through such dry and dusty terrain. It was a well known fact that regular city rides wouldn't last too long when slapped in the middle of the Badlands.
Heavier duty rides like Buttes fared better, but then again, they were designed with dust and dirt in mind.
However, when it came to quick, quiet travel across the Badlands, a Nomad ride was the best of the best. The fact V had chosen her 'Javelina' - which had been further customized with decals and armaments - came down to personal taste. There were other more durable rides at her disposal, but honestly, sometimes she just wanted to show off.
So, as the sky began to turn a shade of orange, the two cruised out into the Badlands. Armed, ready and determined.
First thing first, however. They had to track the package down.
After asking Monty again for more details - negative points - he said the delivery truck was hit just a few miles ahead of the main checkpoint that bordered the Badlands. Which was honestly ballsy of the Raffen. Hitting a mark so close to Border Control.
After the long drive, V pulled up to the side of the road. Immediately, an abandoned transport truck stuck out, left a few hundred feet from the road. Signs of the attack were apparent across the road and a short stretch of sand. Bullet casings. Blood. Oil. Debris. Fresh and had yet to be swept away by the wind and sands. On the approach to the truck, Monty grunted and stumbled over the uneven ground. His shoes were not cut out for the terrain.
The truck itself looked like it had been used as target practice. The trailer was filled with holes on one side. The cabin's windshield was smashed in and the two delivery drivers were still slumped on their seats. Dead.
V paced the scene carefully.
Her Kiroshis glowed as they scanned along the ground. Footprints were highlighted in the sand. Lots of them concentrated around the back of the trailer.
The trailer's door swung in the breeze and occasionally clanged against itself. The locking mechanism had been ripped off and the door bent outwards. With a length of grimey, heavy duty rope still hanging from a handle, V could deduce how the Raffen managed it. She spied tracks a few feet away along with kicked up sand.
Pointing and running her finger along the track, she called out to Monty.
"What happened here?" She asked, stepping back.
Monty's brow furrowed for a second. "What does it matter?" He grumbled. Negative points. He was met with an irritated glare. Once again, he grumbled. Relenting to whatever test V was giving him, he studied the scene. "The Raffen pulled the door open with a ride. Then they emptied the container." He looked inside the trailer. It wasn't completely empty. A few crates and other loose objects remained scattered inside.
V gave a satisfied nod. She then turned and paced back toward the truck's cabin.
The door swung open and the merc climbed up to the driver's side. The body still in the seat was - like the details of the gig suggested - only a few days old. The dried blood crusted from a single bullet hole to the side of his head. Small calibre. No exit wound.
With no other wounds on his person, V came to the conclusion that this was an execution. What was stranger was the fact the bullet hole was on the man's right side. Facing away from the door.
A single spent bullet casing was hidden near the gas pedal, just under the driver's foot.
The merc eyed the passenger sprawled on the other side of the cabin. However, his body was not only marred by a single gunshot. In fact, he hadn't been shot at all. According to the scan from her Kiroshis, he had died from blunt force trauma and several instances of internal hemorrhaging.
Judging from the way he was sprawled across the centre block of the cabin that separated driver from passenger, V guessed he had been beaten to death, then thrown back into the cabin.
She reached over to the dead passenger and unslotted a shard from his Biomon.
Perhaps it had something useful on it. If nothing else, it might explain what happened.
Once she was back on the dirt and sand, she quickly wiped the shard on her jacket before slotting it. A comms shard by first glance. A disposable means of quick communication. Futzing around with the minimal ICE, V opened the archives.
[DELETED USER]
[DELETED USER] - Where the fuck are you?
[STEVEN] - Border Control.
[STEVEN] - Where the fuck else? Fuckers are being their tight-fisted selves. Reckon we're smugglers or some shit.
[STEVEN] - Clancy's in the office talking it out.
[DELETED USER] - You know we don't like waiting.
[DELETED USER] - This better be fucking worth it. You promised eddies worth of cargo. So far, not a fuckin' enny.
[STEVEN] - Want me to shoot up the damn border crossing?
[STEVEN] - Just wait, for fuck sake.
[DELETED USER] - Tone.
[DELETED USER] - Fix it.
"Huh… well, well." V gave a smirk. Monty had rejoined her and gave a quizzical look. "Looks like a deal went wrong."
She delved deeper into the shard, looking for any more archives.
Her search bore fruit as another nugget of data popped across her retinas.
[DELETED USER]
[STEVEN] - What the fuck are you doing?
[STEVEN] - Stop fucking shooting!
[DELETED USER] - Your choom didn't want to play. Get him to stop and we'll hold fire.
[STEVEN] - You're insane! Fuck sake, stop shooting! You almost fucking hit me!
[STEVEN] - Fuck.
[STEVEN] - Stop! Fuck sake!
[STEVEN] - The truck stops, the shooting stops.
[STEVEN] - Fine.
[STEVEN] - There. The fucker's dead. Truck's stopped. So we good? Because it's a fucking miracle none of the cargo's been damaged. You promised me this was going to be quick, clean and painless. Can't speak for my partner, but this was pretty damn messy!
[STEVEN] - Hello?
[STEVEN] - What are you doing now?
[STEVEN] - Dempsey? Hello? I can see you, y'know.
[DELETED USER] - Biz is biz.
[DELETED USER] - We lied.
[STEVEN] - YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! YOU BETTER PAY UP OR I'LL END YOU!
[Error: Contact is no longer available.]
"So the gonk tried colluding with the Raffen and got himself flatlined for his troubles?" Monty's brow perked as he tried his best to surmise.
V gave a shrug. "That about sums it up." She chuckled at the stupidity. Anyone with half a brain cell would have been able to see this coming from a mile away. Sadly, when eddies came into the equation, most people dropped a few hundred IQ points. Why scrape by with a 9-to-5 when you can cash in for an easy score?
A long exhale emptied her lungs.
"Is the manifest in one piece?" She asked, nodding toward the other side of the truck. Quickly, the boy dashed around and looked for the small hatch usually affixed to the trailer.
His voice called out; "the hatch got shot off, but the console looks fine."
"Well, fucking jack in, then."
A minute passed. Enough time for V to spark up a smoke and take a few drags. Her time spent with Johnny gave her a few lasting effects. A mild craving for smoking was one of them. She was just glad she hadn't suddenly become addicted. It was more a recreational habit at this point. Thanks to her Syn-lungs, it was less of a health hazard, too.
"Ok, I got the manifest." Monty spoke up again, rounding the corner. In his fingers, a shard was glinting in the fading sunlight. "A general delivery. Ripper doc supplies mostly. Some ammunition for retail purposes too. Padre said the target would have special transport measures… didn't say what the target contained, though."
"It's none of our biz." V shrugged with a knowing grin. "Trust me, sometimes it's best not to know."
In the general area around the scene of the robbery, tire tracks littered the sand. Several sets at first glance.
The pattern of one particular set highlighted itself across V's Kiroshis. From the readouts and scan data, the tracks belonged to a large, custom tire. The size pointed toward a pick-up or similar ride. At a wild guess, a Mackinaw or retrofitted Mahir. "Ok boss, what's the play?" V asked, shooting Monty an expectant look.
"We follow the tracks? Find their base?" Monty replied.
"Are you asking me, or ordering me?"
That caught him up for a brief second. Then, as if he came to some internal decision, his expression suddenly hardened. "Ordering." He grunted. "Back to the ride and find these fuckers. Then we'll get a plan goin' from there."
Points.
"Alright, boss. You drive."
His little face lit up like Corpo Plaza.
"Yes, Ma'am!"
Even if the Javelina was literally designed for the Badlands, it didn't stop V from quietly grumbling at the scratches and fragments of desert vegetation stuck to the front bumpers.
Pam would probably laugh at her for even bringing it up.
Still, after following the trails, the two mercs eventually came upon a ridge that overlooked a small valley. In the near distance, an old relay station was planted among the dust and rock. Part of long distance communications systems. Unfortunately, it had been decommissioned for years and then taken over by the Raffen more recently. It wasn't as big as the station closer to the city, but it was defensible.
With an eye firmly planted in a Grad's scope, V studied what she could.
"I can see a few patrols," she muttered, laying flat on her stomach. Standing above her, hidden behind a rock, Monty observed V with intensity. She could practically feel his stare. Or perhaps he was ogling her. He was a teenager, after all. "Count five from out here. Probably more inside. Automated fucking turret set up on the main tower. Damn thing has a beat on most of the compound." She moved the rifle a few inches and hummed a brief tune. "Valley's a fucking barrel and we're the fish if we get caught sneaking up."
Monty let a huff loosen his posture. He peeked around his rock and studied the outpost.
Specifically, the central tower.
"The lights are on. Weird how a building all the way out here still has power." He grumbled.
"It wouldn't be connected to the city's main grid anymore. If it ever was. Most of the shit out here gets its power… from… huh. Y'know, kid? You might be onto something." V peered back down the scope and scanned the compound. This time, she was looking for something specific. "Bingo. External generators, south side. Jury rigged to suit the Raffen's needs if I had to guess. And look, there's their rides." She spied three vehicles parked around the compound. Two were small and lightly armoured Thorton Colby's. The third was a large blocky machine with a covered flatbed. A Mackinaw Larimore. "So, boss. Got a plan?"
"Obviously you have one. So just do what you want."
"Kid, it doesn't matter if I have a plan or not. I'm not the op leader." V rolled onto her back to look up at Monty. The late evening sky shrouded his figure in a silhouette. Even still, the whites of his eyes glinted with a mix of irritation and nerves. "Fucking hell…"
With a heave, V got up, slung the large Grad over her shoulder and stepped back toward her ride.
She lent against the hood and frowned, pinning Monty with a glare.
"Padre tells me you've always wanted to be a Solo. Question is; why?" V asked, earning a confused grunt. He made a broad gesture as if to ask how obvious the answer was.
"It's the NC Dream! To get your name in the history books, even if you have to shoot it in yourself! I grew up hearing about all the crazy shit mercs do. All the freedom they have. All the scratch they make. It's a fuckin' paradise."
This kid really was just like V when she was young.
Only, her idealistic naivete was curb stomped right out of her by the time she was twelve. Street kids really couldn't afford to be so filled with wanderlust.
That said, she didn't know the kid's story either.
Maybe he was the same as V. Raised by the street and just had yet to get slapped with true reality.
"Have you ever zeroed someone before?"
A brief pause. All the wind in his sails vanished. He tilted his head before sagging his shoulders. "No. But I'm not so gonk as to think I won't ever have to. I'm ready!"
"You're never ready." V looked toward Night City's distant skyline. Her eyes followed the holographic images that scrolled toward the sky. "You realise that most of us didn't actually choose this, right? You know why they call some of us 'Legends'? Because they're all fucking dead. The life of a Solo is to burn bright but burn short. As a fat asshole once asked me; would you rather go out in a blaze of glory without ever seeing your thirtieth? Or go quietly without a sound, smelling vaguely of piss and liquor?"
"Kind of question is that? Blaze of fucking glory! Who cares if I die carving my name? My mom's a strung up Joytoy and my dad is… fuck… I have no idea who he even is. Could be dead for all I know. Don't have any other family. My friends just want to shoot up 'Dorph and binge porn BD's all day. The fuck kind of life is that?"
And therein lay the heart of the matter.
V had misjudged him.
Under the false bravado and shallow boasts, he was just a kid who wanted to feel like he mattered. V could relate wholeheartedly to that.
"Why do you care, anyway?" He asked, scowling. "Sounds like you're only here to be an asshole and get paid for it."
"I care because I fuckin' said so." She flinched and let her tension out with a sigh. "Your mind's made up. You're set on this life, so I'll do everything I can to make fucking sure you don't get dropped the second shit hits the fan. The Afterlife doesn't need another menu item just yet."
Not that a kid like Monty just starting out would ever make a big enough impact to warrant it.
She left that part unsaid.
"So, let me ask you again; do you have a plan?"
After another few seconds of silence - broken only by the wind and very distant rumbling of NC - Monty turned his attention back to the small Raffen compound. "If I can get close enough, I can overload those generators. That should knock out the power and hopefully that machine gun too." Monty looked to the sky and hummed quietly. "We can use the dark, as long as they don't have spotlights set up."
"Didn't see any. Just construction lights pointing around the interior of the compound." V's lips thinned at a sudden thought. "That's probably by design. Mines around the perimeter, you can count on that."
"Ok…" Monty scratched his jaw and tapped a shoe into the dirt. "We picked up some pulse grenades, right? Wouldn't they short out the mines?"
"And force them to detonate, yeah."
"Even better. One of us draws their attention while the other sneaks through and grabs the target. The manifest said it's a silver briefcase sealed in a Militech security container." Monty explained, earning a quiet hum from V. The target was at least small and relatively easy to retrieve. Not to mention there weren't that many Raffen.
"I'll take the distraction duty. When you've got the target, overload the genny's and that'll be our signal to delta the fuck out."
With the attention mostly on V, she could at least make sure Monty got through this relatively unscathed.
V cursed under her breath.
Her stiff arm made it hard to properly hold the pulse grenade. Throwing it was going to be a pain. Thankfully, as long as one mine got hit, the rest would follow in a chain reaction. Failing that, even a single mine going off would have the same effect. So, she inched closer to the compound, using the night air and shrubbery as cover. Up on the tower which protruded from the centre of the compound, V spotted two Raffen stationed at opposite sides.
Next to the turret.
As quietly as she could, she spoke into her Holo. "You ready, Enrique?"
"Ready. And it's fucking Monty."
V smirked and held back a chuckle. As fun as teasing the kid turned out to be, she had to put her serious face on.
Her finger looped through the grenade's pin and on the count of three, she pulled, hucking the device toward the crumbling wall and fencing. It went slightly wide from her original target, but not by far. A few seconds later, a low thump ruptured the air as sparking energy swept out from the grenade. Multiple red lights blinked to life across the desert floor before a cacophony of explosions shook the earth and kicked dirt and rock into the air.
Within an instant, the Raffen inside the compound sprang to action.
Orders were called from atop the tower. The turret swept the area, clicking and beeping with lethal intent.
Using her left hand as a stabilizing brace, V tried aiming her Kyubi rifle at one of the two men on the tower. Her finger twitched against the trigger, but she just couldn't get a clear shot. Not without giving away her position to that damn turret. Instead, she shifted through the underbrush and used the kicked up dust and smoke from the exploded mines as cover. She slammed her back against solid stone and waited. Two men came rushing around the corner, armed with Copperheads. Before they saw V, she opened fire, the Kyubi rifle bellowing in the night. Usually, all it would take was a few well aimed shots to drop them. Her fingers, however, sometimes straight up refused to pull the trigger properly.
It made her look like a damn idiot as her opening salvo completely missed every single shot. Grumbling, she slung the rifle over her shoulder and charged.
Without missing a beat, the two Raffen took aim and returned fire.
Time slowed as her Sandevistan kicked in. She dipped low against the ground, dodging the incoming fire. Bracing her left arm, she ran straight into the closest Raffen. With the added kinetic energy from overdriven adrenaline and reinforced muscles, the tackle would have hit like a freight train. It sent the Raffen tumbling to the ground with a grunt. Shifting her weight, V drew Seraph in her left hand and emptied two rounds into the Raffen she didn't tackle.
This time, her shots struck true enough.
Granted, it was almost impossible to miss at point blank range.
By the time she pulled back her pistol, the Raffen she had tackled was scrambling back to his feet. He wheezed out a grunt and spat a thick globule of blood onto the ground.
Before he could fully recover, V lashed out with her knife. She slashed across his throat and kicked him in the chest. It sent him back to the ground. Only, this time, he writhed and gargled, choking until he slowly stopped moving.
Two down.
At least three more to go.
As she stepped around the wall and found the gate, a very distinct click caught her attention. She lunged back toward cover and watched as the turret roared to life. Bullets thudded against the dirt where V had stood a second ago.
"Fucking… turret. Hey, Monty; sitch?"
"I can see the Mackinaw, but there's a guard right next to it!"
"Then drop his ass!" V caught herself. The hesitance in Monty's voice struck a chord. She grunted with frustration. "Look, this is the life you're in for. Kill or be fucking killed. GAH! Fucking turret…" She rubbed her eyes clear of dust, backing away along the wall. "Zero him. I've got things covered here."
"Alright…"
The call went silent. Letting out a long exhale, V tried some mental math.
"Fuck it." She muttered, pulling out another pulse grenade. Mustering as much strength as she could, she threw the device over the wall. She listened and a moment later, she heard a metallic tang. Then came the thumping of the EMP pulse. Whirring machinery burst with sparks and the turret's gunfire wobbled erratically before stopping altogether.
She broke from the wall and ran into the compound.
They were ready for her.
Dodging to the left, she avoided rapid assault rifle fire. Kicking open an empty shipping container, she rushed through and out of the other end. A Raffen tried throwing a haymaker as she approached. The Karenzikov kicked in and with the astronomical boost to her speed, she slipped straight past the bandit.
Before the Karenzikov wore off, she planted a solid shot in the back of his head.
"Three seconds…" she muttered to herself. She bolted for the central tower the second her implant powered down. "Two." She grunted and kicked open the door to find three more Raffen rushing up a set of stairs toward the far end of the room. There was a basement. Go figure. "One…" she huffed and as if on cue, the turret a few floors above her sprang back to life.
She was clear of that threat, but who knew how many Raffen were hidden away downstairs.
One of the three called out and opened fire. A low calibre bullet hit her left shoulder, forcing her to spin and retreat behind an interior partition. Pain throbbed from the impact. "Kill the bitch!" A rough, raging voice growled. "It's just one gonk with a death wish!"
V grinned. At least they still didn't know about Monty.
"I got… I'm at the truck. The guard's dead… but that turret's still pinning us down!" Monty's voice shook, but the adrenaline was still pumping through his body. V could tell.
"Leave it to me." She whispered back before underhand throwing a flashbang across the floor.
Popping and bursting with light, the ground floor of the tower became a roaring, chaotic mess of gunfire. A few stray rounds caught V in different parts of her torso. Each one deflected by her subdermals.
She was thankful the Raffen weren't using anything with a higher calibre.
Quickly, she fought her way through the disoriented Raffen and charged up the tower onto a balcony. She narrowly avoided a heavy sniper round fired at close range. A Nekomata Tech Rifle. The coils along the rifle's barrel glowed as a second shot powered up. Shifting around the balcony, V and the two snipers started a dance. A second Nekomata shot burst through the central antenna, ricocheting off of the old metal.
Snipers at such close range never seemed to work. At least this time, V was the one who benefited. Not the other way around.
Then she saw the turret spinning on its mountings to aim directly at her.
"Aaaand… shit." Instead of trying to run away, the merc rushed directly toward the turret. As it was just about to open fire, she dashed around the mounting. Grabbing the manual trigger with one hand, she slammed the quick release on the mountings with the other. Sparks burst from the electronics as she ripped the HMG away.
"Oh fuck!" One of the Raffen snipers screamed before V opened fire. One of the two sniper's upper body was reduced to fine paste and chrome in a matter of seconds.
Heavy machine gun fire at such close range didn't particularly care about armor.
That said, V could feel her right arm getting stiffer under the heavy recoil. She could barely keep a hold of the damn thing.
In a second of distraction, she completely forgot about the second sniper on the balcony with her. That was until the man used he butt of his Nekomata to slam the HMG out of V's hands. The gun dropped down to the roof below with a heavy thud. The force staggered her and she felt cold metal press against the small of her back. Backed against the handrail, V glared down the barrel of the Tech sniper. The tip was almost pressing against her throat. Even an uncharged shot would kill her instantly at this range.
The man snarled and his finger twitched on the trigger. "The fuck are you doin' here? We got nothin' a gonk like you would want! Or are y' here for the shits and giggles? Death wish? That it?"
V didn't answer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Monty make a gesture down below. A pulling motion followed by an open fist.
He then disappeared into the shadows.
A grin crossed V's lips.
Then everything turned to chaos. A huge explosion tore the generators to shreds and sparks burst from overloaded lights and electrical outlets. The whole building was plunged into darkness. It gave V the opportunity to grab the sniper barrel, hook her right hand and slash the Raffen's throat with her knife. He gargled and pulled the trigger, only for the shot to harmlessly fire into the sky. V then finished the job with a shot from her own iron. Seraph's incendiary rounds burned two holes deep into the Raffen. One in his chest and the other through his left eye.
"We gotta delta, kid! You got our target, right!?"
"Of course! I'm not a gonk!"
With the exact number of Raffen unknown, it was possible reinforcements were on their way. So, without any more hesitation, V vaulted over the balcony's railing and landed heavily on the roof below. Just as a precaution, she also grabbed the HMG before jumping off of the roof onto the ground.
From there, both V and Monty bolted into the night, heading straight for V's ride.
"Holy shit, V! We did it!" Monty pumped his fist as V sped down the highway. Night City grew closer every second.
V, however, didn't share the same enthusiasm. She kept a solid eye on the cars behind, in front and to the side. The CrystalDome windshield proved invaluable for this kind of thing. Linking up to her Kiroshis, registrations and ID flashed above each car she focused on. There was no way their extraction was completely clean.
As if on cue, something caught her eye in the rearview mirror. Three modified rides bearing Raffen Shiv decals came thundering towards them.
The Kiroshi readouts told her they were being chased by two Quartz' and a Butte. All modified with armor and custom tires. Like custom engines, too.
"We're not out of the fucking woods yet, kid."
She slammed her foot down on the accelerator and the engine roared. The sudden change in thrust forced both V and Monty back against their seats. Then the shower of gunfire came, striking the heavy armor on the rear of V's Type-66. "The fuck!? How'd they know!?" Monty glared back at the pursuing vehicles. Despite their makes and models, they were still keeping pace with V's Type-66. Granted, V wasn't going full throttle just yet. Traffic was still littering the road in front of her.
"Check the security case," V ordered, glancing at the thick black box on Monty's lap, "there's gonna be a tracker on it. Rip it off and toss it!"
Confirming her suspicion, a very small device was attached to the Militech logo etched onto the case's side. It didn't take much to rip it off and quickly throw it out of the cracked open CrystalDome window, which Monty shut tight as soon as he was done.
The gunfire from the three pursuers continued. The bullets plinking against the armoured chassis of V's car. She scowled and eyed the leading vehicle. The Butte.
"No mounted guns. Just a gonk leaning out the passenger window."
She sighed.
"Hold onto somethin' kid. And don't fucking dare puke!" She locked the handbrake down, spun the steering wheel and forced the car to spin. She then slammed the gear into reverse. Tires screeched and smoke kicked up from the wheel arches. They were now facing their pursuers while still thundering down the stretch of road in full reverse.
Bullets peppered the front windshield, bouncing off of the armor plating. It didn't stop Monty from reflexively bracing his arm in front of him.
However, V ignored him.
She lined up the hood of her ride with the leading Butte.
A smile crossed her features.
Two hatches slid open on either side of her hood. From under the chassis, two guns popped up like toast in a toaster. Thumbing a button on the steering wheel, the mounted machine guns thundered, spitting a hail of high calibre fire back at the leading Raffen Butte.
The effect was immediate.
Bucking against the torrent of lead, the Thorton's engine block crumpled and began to violently smoke. The thug hanging out of the passenger window flailed in panic as the truck swerved violently to and fro. After another second of concentrated fire, the engine completely blew out and sent the truck spiraling into the air.
Monty gasped and recoiled at the sight of the passenger gunner getting flung to the ground at high speed.
Only to be crushed by the truck landing right on top of him.
The two other pursuing rides narrowly avoided colliding with their leader, screeching tires kicking up smoke. One swerved into the opposite side of the road and into oncoming traffic. Traffic that was quickly realising what was happening.
The resulting chaos forced civilian cars to veer onto the dirt banks on either side of the road. Desperately trying to get out of the way of the high speed shootout.
Taking out the leader had drained a lot of V's ammunition. She grumbled and spared a glance at the readout on the dashboard. The two guns on the hood didn't have enough left to take both of the remaining Raffen out. So, she forced her ride to line up with the pursuer still on the same side of the road as she was. Lead peppered the smaller, faster Quartz. To its credit, the driver was doing well to keep moving. Most of the bullets that hit only caused superficial damage.
The gunner leaning out of this car was using something heavier than a Copperhead.
V's eyes widened at the sight of a SOR-22.
"Fuck!" She roared before the sniper fired.
CrystalDome windshields were definitely tough. It could take a few rounds like that, but what V was yelling at was not the bullet striking the windshield. It was the bullet shearing one of the mounted guns into pieces.
Sparks flared from the impact and V's control almost went completely.
"Those are fucking expensive, asshole!" She growled, forcing the Type-66 to spin back to the right way round. "Monty, take the HMG and cut these fucking tails off!"
"Are you insane!?"
V let a growl rumble her throat. "Fine," she spat, "take the fucking wheel." Without getting any sort of acknowledgement, V hauled the HMG over her lap, lowered her window and lent out, taking aim.
The ride briefly drifted to one side but Monty quickly leant over and took the wheel.
She opened fire, snarling at the lack of recoil control. The volley went harmlessly wide. She lowered herself closer to the chassis as a heavy shot thudded against the roof. She needed to concentrate. Tensing the syn-muscle of her gun arm, she forced it to lock in place. Her next volley clipped the gunner and ripped his arm clean off. He screamed and toppled out of the Quartz and ragdolled into the distance.
V didn't let go of the trigger, though. Moving her firing line toward the Quartz' engine, the vehicle was quickly wrecked, forcing it to swerve into a sandbank and explode. Fuel ignited and leaked out across the road.
Bursting through the flame came the last pursuer. The other Archer Quartz.
The nimble ride swerved and dodged V's gunfire until the dreaded clicking signaled the mag was empty. "Shit… so much for that…" she muttered and quickly slid back into the driver's seat. "Out of lead." She growled at Monty. His eyes widened and instinctively gripped anything he could to stabilize himself. Now that V wasn't firing at them, the Quartz' passenger lent out and sprayed them with SMG fire. This time, a more concentrated burst aimed toward the bottom of the car. Specifically the rear left tire. "Hah! It'd take more than that peashooter to burst these puppies!"
Still, the constant impact against the wheel arch and the tire itself made it hard to keep the Type-66 under control.
Then, V had an idea.
The Quartz' armor looked fairly light. It had to be if the ride was able to keep up so well. With that in mind, she grinned. Without warning, she slammed the break and braced for impact.
The Type-66 screeched as smoke billowed from the locked tires.
Then, the Quartz collided with the back of the Type-66 at top speed. The Type-66's armour was heavier and bulkier than the Quartz. It anchored the ride to the ground as the smaller ride crumpled in on itself. It carried the momentum forward and the Quartz was soon flipping into the air just above them.
Meanwhile, both V and Monty were slammed forward. V braced herself against the steering wheel, but Monty wasn't so lucky. The crash almost forced him to slam his face into the dashboard. Stopped only by the security crate in his lap.
A second later, the Quartz hit the road in front of them, completely totaled.
There wasn't any time to check if the Raffen had survived. Instead, V hammered the accelerator and sped off toward Night City.
The trail of carnage they left behind was best left forgotten.
Entering Padre's little chapple offered a welcome sight.
The old man was seemingly praying to the small altar. His lips curled into a content smile. Eyes closed, he didn't move for a few seconds after hearing the doors open. Marcus was standing resolutely at one side of the main room. Ever the silent guard. Of course, V knew he was quite the chatterbox if anyone managed to get a few drinks in him.
The bulky man gave a curt nod, which V returned, smirking at him.
Sebastian Ibara then turned to face his visitors. Slowly, his eyes opened and a welcoming smile tugged at his mustache. "Welcome back. Welcome back!" He spread his arms wide. "It joys me to see both of you return safely. Promptly too. Though, I should expect nothing less from you, V."
Immediately, Monty burst forward with an excited grin covering his young jaw. "V was amazing! She said her arm was fucked… but she could'a fooled me! At first I thought she was just gonna be some useless, washed up drunk… but fuck, that was fan-fucking-tastic!" His outburst - though sudden - wasn't exactly a surprise. Ever since they re-entered the city, V was subjected to his excited praise. She certainly wasn't complaining, but she had to admit, it was getting a little awkward. Even Lynn wasn't this intense. "She took out… like six guys in under a minute! She was there then she was suddenly up there! I almost forgot what we were doing before… before… uh… right. Before…"
He trailed off and began to stare into the distance.
The adrenaline had finally worn off and the emotions were starting to crash through. His shoulders began to tremble.
Padre frowned at the sudden shift in tone.
Then, V placed a firm hand on Monty's shoulder. "You did great tonight, Monty. The first time is never easy and I'll be honest with you, neither is the second, third, forth, fifth and so on. Zeroing someone should never be something you get used to…"
She was one to talk. She had no right saying that.
She sighed and shook the self-doubt away.
"We got the package back safe. Can't ask for a better fuckin' outcome. Speaking of…" V held up the large black security case and handed it over to Padre, "one order of whatever-the-fuck-this-is."
"My thanks." He briefly turned and opened the case. From here, neither V nor Monty could actually see inside, but whatever it was, it earned a pleasant hum from Padre. He then closed it, turned back to the two mercs and gave Monty a studious look. "The Lord's work is never easy. Sacrifices must be made, both mentally and physically. This toll your actions are taking on your heart? You must hold onto it. Never let it go. It is a poison, but it is a poison we all share. You did good tonight. High praise, especially from V."
With that, eddies flowed into V's account. A sizable chunk of scratch at that.
The same went for Monty. Though still shaking, his face lit up as the blue glow scrolled over his eyes. The face of a first time successful Edgerunner. It brought back so many memories, it gave V a little chuckle.
She clapped a hand on his back with enough force to cause him to stumble forward a few steps.
"Listen, kid; if you want any advice or need help, just give me a call. Or zip me a message if I can't answer. Don't spend all that scratch on gonk shit, y'here? I made that mistake when I was younger." She grinned at the kid's perked eyebrow. She also had to grunt with amusement at herself. She sounded like some old woman nagging the youngster to death.
Then again, compared to most Solos, she pretty much was an old woman. One of the rare few to even approach the big Three-Oh. Even if it was still a couple years away.
"Thanks, V…"
Before they all departed on their separate ways, a familiar warm weight pressed against V's chest. A bubbling energy that she had grown pretty accustomed to.
I am thou, thou art I.
Thou hast acquired a new vow.
It shall become the wings of rebellion that breaketh thy chains of captivity.
With the birth of the The Chariot Persona, thou hast attained the winds of blessing that shall lead to freedom and new power.
Celine's voice echoed in her mind before fading into a serene stillness.
New power, indeed. Perhaps she would make a visit to a certain shooting range.
If she ever figured out how to actually do that on her own volition.