[The next morning - Mother Base]
The sky overhead was stained red with the blood of thousands, the clouds heavy with rumbling thunder. That could also have been the sound of far-off jets tearing apart the skies while artillery shook the already-shattered earth. All of it was distantly familiar to Jackson, although he hadn't been back here in years. He hadn't been back here since the War. So why now, of all days, did he find himself in Ridgecrest... still in uniform, still in one piece...?
All at once the ground turned the same sickly shade as the sky, rotted arms emerging from the quaking sand as they all reached for him. And each of them carried the voices of the lost, piercing his body and invading his very soul. He felt himself burning from the inside out as if he were blown in half all over again, every nerve ending smoldering and reminding him of what it felt like on that lonesome road eighteen years ago. And like the arms now greedily consuming and tearing him apart, he screamed with all of his might, blood pouring from his mouth and every hole in his face...
Jackson shot up straight with a shout, and a cold sweat had formed all over him as he gasped for air, holding his revolver out with the hammer cocked and eyes wide. It took several seconds to realize where he was; in his own bed, in his own room, and it was 2087... and there was an odd duck of a young girl with a recently shaved head sitting on the edge of the mattress, staring out the window like her life depended on it as she spoke softly, "You yell in your sleep..."
"So d'you...", Jackson fired back as he de-cocked the hammer on the revolver, dropping it on the side table next to him as he crashed back against his pillow and stared at the ceiling with a deep sigh, "...guess we's not so different after all."
"We've seen some shit...", Nel continued, looking down at her hands as she spread her fingers wide, "...never the same because of it."
There was a bit of poetry to Nel's words lately that Jackson couldn't quite put a finger on. She was more verbose, more upfront and direct in what she wanted to say, and she was actually going out of her way to engage the crew on her own... Jackson had to wonder if she really was improving, his point only proven as she looked to him and said, "T-Thank you... f-for last night."
The old cowboy lit his first cigarette of the morning as he sat up shirtless in the bed. His chest and stomach muscles flexed, the scars and a large tattoo of a skull with a Stetson hat and steer horns over his right shoulder showing in the morning sun as he played dumb, "Not entirely sure what for..."
"You came for me...", Nel confessed, "...you were kind, and gentle."
Jackson gave a half smile as he exhaled smoke and looked out the window, "You was in a bad spot... never should've been put in that position, but ya did what ya had to."
"I was in that spot my whole life before I came here...", Nel mused as her eyes looked up and around the room, "...every night, they came for me, one after the other... I never did what I did last night... I-I can't... why?"
"Askin' why ya never took 'em on like 'at kid last night...?", Jackson asked, to which Nel looked down and nodded. Jackson shrugged his shoulders, a little uneasy at playing shrink as he tried anyway, "You was raised your whole life out there 'at their word was law... they wasn't jus' men, they was gods."
"They're cowards...", Nel spat as she interrupted Jackson, curling her hand into a fist as she looked at her slotted knuckles, "If we ever had the chance to think for ourselves, they'd be dead."
"You said there was more o' ya, yeah?", Jackson asked, "Sisters... ever thought 'bout goin' back... gettin' 'em out?"
Nel suddenly looked ashamed as she turned away, not saying anything. Jackson leaned forward, stretching his back as he took another drag, "I-If... you knew where they was... an' you wanted to... we'd help ya. Y'know that, right? What they's doin' to you girls... ain't right."
Nel scoffed as she flashed her teeth, "Need a lot more than five bodies..."
"I reckon so...", Jackson conceded, "Still, offer's there."
Nel's grin turned to a softer and sincere smile as she nodded, "What you and Jayce have... I've never had that."
Another drag and exhale, and Jackson hypothesized, "The way they's movin' bodies... I'd imagine mos' of y'all was jus' 'napped kids once 'pon a time. Ain't nobody in their right mind'll give up their kid willin' to what you've seen."
"Y-You... think... maybe there's a family out there... still waiting for me?", Nel asked, her voice breaking and eyes clouding over. As much as Jackson didn't want to be the guy, he wasn't about to bullshit the girl as he shook his head, "Doc Strong figures ya for at leas' eighteen years old... if your clan even left 'em alive to begin wit'... 's likely they've given up hope by now..."
Nel nodded, disheartened and somewhat defeated, "Maybe a family just isn't in it for me...?"
Jackson threw the sheet off, scooting to the edge of the bed as he inched closer to Nel, taking a chance as he wrapped an arm around her and held her close, "Kid... family ain't always jus' your own blood. Sure, I got Jayce... but everyone here is my family. And now you's a part o' that."
There was a sniffle as Nel melted into Jackson's side, the wafting smoke offending her senses as she wrapped around him and repeated herself through forming tears, "T-Thank y-you..."
Jackson smiled, leaning down as he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of the girl's head, the prickly peach fuzz tickling his face as they looked out the window together in peace for a few minutes more... it was the little things.
They were both caught off-guard by someone standing in the door, a familiar wild mane of platinum blonde hair flowing free and loose as she smiled and leaned against the frame, "Well ain't this a touchin' sight... might shed a few tears me-self."
Jackson laughed as Nel shot away, standing up and turning to face Addie with a burn in her cheeks. She felt embarrassed at being caught like this in the open, even though she'd been held by Addie in the same way once before. She shook her head and quickly crossed Addie's path as she said, "I-I got... stuff to do..."
Addie smirked, her head turning to follow the girl as she whisked herself away and out of the room. She turned back once they were alone, leaning in further, "Mornin', Jax."
With another exhale of smoke, Jackson finally turned, pulling one leg up on the bed as he smiled and looked Addie up and down, "Mornin' back... Addie."
She cocked her head to the side as she entered the room, sauntering over to take a seat at the edge of the bed, careful to leave some space between them. She leaned back, propping herself up on one arm as she looked back toward the door again, "How's our li'l albatross doing?"
"Shook up a bit...", Jackson answered, trying not to distract himself in admiring the line of Addie's neck leading down to her low-cut tank top, "They uh... they really did a number on her... whoever they is."
"Panam's outlanders...?", Addie asked, turning back to Jackson who looked away, lest he be caught staring at his favorite Aussie fly-girl. He gave a nod, his eyes widening as he recalled the previous night's events... and the words said. He suddenly felt the same embarrassment Nel was fighting as he said, "H-Hey... about las' night, I uh..."
His brow furrowed as Addie giggled, "Jax, don't sweat it... emotions were high. I've gotten used to playing mama bird around here anyway, so I don't think anyone's dwelling on it."
He could tell there was more behind that glowing smile as she continued, her hand inching closer to his, "I can't say I didn't like it, though... kind of wished ya would've danced with me."
Jackson smiled, careful to behave himself as much as he didn't want to. Addie placed her hand over his, "Look... what we have, it's... special, yeah? No sense in denying it."
"You're a hell of a pilot, Addie...", Jackson missed the mark entirely, seemingly on purpose as he followed up, "...you've been a hell of a positive influence on Jayce, an' she loves you t'death... an' I..."
He caught himself on his own words as Addie's eyes lit up, waiting for whatever he said next. He cleared his throat and considered his answer, "I uh... shit, I've never been any good at this stuff..."
Addie laughed out loud as she looked down at their hands pressed against one another while Jackson shoved his foot further in his own mouth, "Even wit' my wife, I could never put my words together..."
And there it was... Addie couldn't blame him one bit for what he'd lost and how, but it never hurt any less to know she was still second in his mind after all the years. Still, she put her best foot forward as she had always done, squeezing his hand gently, "I get it, Jax... it's not like I don't know what it's like to lose someone I love... and it's unfair to spring this on ya before you've even had some coffee, but..."
Jackson laughed and smiled from ear to ear as he looked in Addie's eyes... those damn beautiful green eyes... and pulled himself together, "What you an' I have is special, and I'd be lyin' if I said it don't go both ways... I just..."
"Look, I'm not goin' anywhere...", Addie firmed herself and sat up straight, scooting in close to sit beside Jackson as she held his hand tighter, "...when you're ready, you know where to find me... babe."
Jackson's face twisted as he bit his bottom lip, Addie leaning in with unknown intent before she left him completely bricked up, grabbing his cigarette and hopping off the bed as she headed for the door before turning back, "Oh... Joshua says the old lady called, has a gig for you and Bison."
He gave no response outside of a subtle nod, leaving Addie to turn away before he called out to her, "Addie, I... thank you."
She took a drag of his cigarette with a wink, walking backwards as her footsteps trailed off and out of the room. He could feel the ache building in his gut as his chromed hand curled over it... time for yet another cold shower...
--
[Some time later...]
Nel was hard at work with Bison on cleaning their sizable array of small arms spread over several benches in the middle of the hangar. She had built her own muscle memory and assembly line over the last hour, now able to field-strip and lubricate any weapon in front of her in as little as a few minutes. Bison was impressed, letting her handle most of the dirty work while he stayed close by, categorizing and organizing the weapons back into their respective racks and ensuring each had a complement of loaded magazines ready to grab and go at a moment's notice.
Their attention was drawn to the sound of a howling motor approaching from the far end of the hangar, loose gravel crunching and flying free from a pair of single-file tires. The motorcycle shifted down, the bellowing revs of the engine echoing through the space as Jayce brought her new toy to a smooth roll before stopping altogether. She planted both feet on the concrete, leaning into the bike as she kicked down the stand.
Confident that the bike wouldn't keel over, she let it rest against its own weight as she sat up and stretched her back with a loud pop before killing the ignition. Her arms, shoulders, and neck were flushed and glowing from the morning sun, a light burn setting in as she reached up and pushed her mirrored wrap-around sunglasses down on the bridge of her nose. She was smiling wide as she pulled loose the bandana holding her hair back, a cloud of dust and sand falling as she shook her head back and forth.
Her back was arched as she sat comfortably on the seat, leaving Nel staring and almost drooling before Bison nudged her shoulder with a chuckle. She turned to him as he nodded towards Jayce and said quietly with a wink, "Go play, kid... I got it from here."
Nel looked down and smiled with a flush in her cheeks before she took Bison at his word, running from the workbenches as she met Addie halfway and they walked together.
Try as she might, Jayce couldn't wipe the goofy grin off her face as she looked to her two choombas and let loose a heavy sigh. Her thighs burned from handling the weight of the motorcycle between them, but the soreness was worth it. She finally had her own bike. She caught her old man walking the length of the hangar, smiling to her as he gave a wink and a nod, to which she reciprocated before spilling all the beans to Addie and Jayce, unable to keep her voice at an even level.
With a particularly sludgy cup of dark coffee and a fresh cigarette in hand, Jackson stepped into the open air under the overhead doors of the hangar as he breathed in deep and took a sip and a drag. It was time to call the old lady back. Even though they were all flush after the night's entertainment, he still had a reputation to maintain as one of Dakota's best Badlands crews.
Speaking of last night's events, he was still shaking his head at the absolute beatdown he watched a spunky streetkid deliver to someone quite literally twice her size; but, there was a reason they called her the Living Legend.
He shook the thoughts loose from his head as he pinged the holocall and put on his best face for someone who was absolutely not in the mood for his shit as she answered, "Bring in Bison before you start mouthing off, cowboy..."
Jackson obliged, pulling Bison into the call as he poked the angry lioness, "Sounds like you had 'bout as rough a night as we did..."
"Well at least you got paid for your time...", Dakota fired back as her tone shifted, "Morning, boys... how goes it?"
Bison stepped in, "Always a good day when our favorite old lady calls in. What can we do for ya?"
Dakota's face scrunched as she took her shot at the big beefcake, "You wash that leftover lipstick off your cock yet...?"
Jackson laughed out loud as Bison stumbled over his own words, "H-How could you pos—"
"I've been running this spit of land since before you were born, son...", Dakota chided Bison with all the mildly abusive motherly love she could muster, "...and I know you better than you think. Matter of fact, that reputation's exactly why I'm calling..."
Bison wasn't pulling his punches as he returned fire, "What, you already chew through all the twinks working in your garage...?"
It was Dakota's turn to laugh, "Keep dreaming, big boy... got a client that needs intel pulled from some high-brow consultant on Biotechnica's payroll. We're told he has intimate knowledge of moody drugs getting moved off-books across the Border."
Jackson took his turn to defend Bison's honor, "Hey 'Kota, uh... y'know Bison don't roll that way, yeah...?"
"Ya got a perdy mouf there, hoss...", Bison joked as they both laughed while Dakota tried to keep them on track, "In the time you're both standing there playing grab-ass, job could've been done and paid for, yeah?"
Jackson turned to Bison standing across the hangar, red in the face from laughing. He signaled a thumb across his neck to cut the shit as he apologized, "A'ight, a'ight... out wit' it, then..."
Dakota cleared her throat as she flashed them a dossier on the mark, "This is Charles Bishop. Career corpo, known for brokering deals for all the major players, corp or otherwise. On paper, he's squeaky clean..."
To the old lady's point, the man's headshot portrayed him as clean-cut and distinguished, a full head of sandy hair carefully coiffed and tapered on the sides, a unique gold threading pattern cutting through his scalp. He looked in his early 40s at most with barely noticeable crows' feet at the corners of his steely-blue eyes. His face was strong, a jaw cut from a block of stone and framed by a meticulously maintained mustache and goatee.
"Sounds like you know otherwise...", Jackson interjected with a smirk as Dakota confirmed, "He's rotten as an apple hanging from a tree in Reconciliation Park."
Bison's turn to ask the pertinent question as he perused the dossier, "Fella like that's going to have 'round-the-clock security detail... so how do we get to him?"
A second dossier crossed over of a woman appearing in her late 30s, striking and svelte with defined features and captivating bright brown eyes. Both of the boys were caught off-guard as Dakota egged them on, "Oh good, glad to see I have your attention... this is Charles' dutiful wife, Serena. Married fifteen years, no children. They live solely for each other..."
"And she's likely just as protected as he is...", Bison interjected, "They're a good-lookin' couple."
"Glad you think so...", Dakota chuckled, saving the best bit for last, "...they share a similar opinion of you."
One could almost hear the record scratch in the way Bison's face went blank, eyes wide. There was a confused look as his brain burned lean calories to try and get at what Dakota was saying as Jackson chimed in, "Mind uh... mind tellin' us simple desert folk what your play is here...?"
Dakota flashed her teeth in a rare smile as she filled them in, "Our squeaky-clean corpo power couple lives up in the clouds, but they like to play down in the dirt. They keep a room reserved at the Sunset Motel in Rocky Ridge, where they like to... entertain..."
Jackson blushed... hard... as the picture became clearer while Dakota continued, "Charles likes to watch, and Serena... well... she's a most gracious and accommodating host. Seems they're on the hunt for fresh talent, and on my good word, Noah handed them Bison's headshot. Needless to say, they were impressed..."
A clenched jaw and sheepish smile crossed Bison's face as he looked up and wondered who he had to thank for this blessing while Jackson tried to hold it together for both of them, "Y'know Bison's not just a piece of meat to hang up in the wind, right...?"
Dakota laughed again and nodded, "That's why you're going with him... separate vehicles. Gig's simple... entertain the husband, hold the wife once the opportunity presents itself, squeeze out what we need. No bodies, please... additional deets on the way. Client's paying ten each, call me when it's done."
She dropped off the call, maintaining her reputation as never one for idle small talk. Jackson and Bison were beside themselves, unsure of what to make of all of it. Jackson tossed his spent butt, gulping the last of his coffee before spitting some loose grounds into the sand as he turned to walk back inside. All three of his girls were carrying on about Jayce's motorcycle, checking oil, inspecting the engine, and otherwise just enjoying each other's company as the late morning shifted to early afternoon.
Jackson smiled to himself and left them be as he cleared the last few paces to where Bison was standing, still looking somewhat bewildered. He tried not to laugh as he said, "An' 'ere I's thinkin' the chance o' gettin' some pussy'd leave you happier 'an a kid at Christmas..."
"Don't get me wrong... I'm not complaining about getting my dick wet twice in twenty-four hours...", Bison exhaled sharply with a chuckle as he returned to the land of the coherent, "...but... I like it to be my idea... thrill of the hunt and all, ya dig?"
"You jus' don' like that the ol' lady's hangin' ya out to dry...", Jackson mused, "...hell, I can't blame ya... anyhow, go get cleaned up and let's head out. Meetin' in two hours..."
Jackson felt a nudge from Bison as the latter nodded and headed toward the showers. There wasn't much else to do for the moment, and so the former cowboy lit another cigarette and checked his revolver, slamming fresh rounds into each well-greased chamber before filling a cylindrical metal speedloader with three reloads' worth of rounds. Even if Bison didn't like condoms, sure as shit Jackson wouldn't be caught with his pants down and without protection if shit hit the fan...
--
[Two hours later - Sunset Motel, Rocky Ridge, the Badlands]
The boys had to admit, it felt weird not riding all together. Jackson was used to having his big lug riding shotgun and shooting the shit with the sand and wind in their hair. But the order of the day was for Bison to appear somewhat clean and groomed, especially for what was in store. Among other things, even for a rough and tumble nomad, this required a properly enclosed vehicle for him to drive on his own. In his absence, Jackson was joined by Doc Strong in the beloved rust-bucket rover, following a half-mile behind as they all trash-talked each other over a holocall. Strong didn't care about getting paid for this gig, but if their corpo mark was half as important as the Old Lady made him out to be, an extra bit of muscle probably wasn't a bad idea.
If the deets were accurate... and in Dakota's case they tended to be unusually so... the gig had to do with shipments of baloperidol slated for disposal going missing. These shipments had a habit of popping up outside Night City, mostly in the Wastelands where medical facilities and reliable drugs were scarce. On paper, it was a classic Robin Hood story where someone was ostensibly stealing from the rich to help the poor. Under the surface, it was anything but...
Baloperidol, or betahaloperidol... a highly advanced evolution of the once popular anti-schizophrenia drug haloperidol... was a powerful antipsychotic drug developed to combat cyberpsychosis, an affliction suffered by millions the world over. In a world where cyberware modification to one's own body was as common as installing aftermarket parts on a vehicle, humans often suffered a fate comparable to mechanical issues encountered with internal combustion engines.
Faulty implants, shoddy installation, or simple system overload were all contributing factors to the enigmatic but ubiquitous disease known as cyberpsychosis. In common cases, cybernetic implants were often rejected by the host body, leading to a multitude of health issues. If left unchecked, these issues would eventually compound into severe mental distress mimicking schizophrenia and extreme paranoia... not to mention the associated physical manifestations.
In more extreme cases, humans who exceeded their bodies' natural limits for cyberware modifications experienced increased episodes of emotional dissociation... losing their sense of humanity or otherwise exhibiting extreme apathy towards other humans to the point of unchecked aggression and, ultimately, extremely violent outbursts. It wasn't uncommon to hear in the Media about the NCPD's elite apex predator unit MAXTAC... often rumored to be high-functioning cyberpsychos themselves... cutting someone down in broad daylight after a killing spree.
There were those who believed cyberpsychosis could be treated, either through intense therapy and reintegration, or in extreme cases, heavy doses of antipsychotic to go along with the aforementioned rehabilitation. While society at large was happy to write off cyberpsychosis as a cancer to be excised by any means necessary, the more compassionate minority were devoted to properly studying the phenomenon and finding a more amiable and humanitarian approach. But like all things differing from the status quo established by the powers-that-be, their efforts largely went unrecognized and unappreciated.
The issue at hand was one very near and dear to Jackson's heart, having witnessed the effects of cyberpsychosis firsthand among the men and women he served with during the Unification War. Whether or not they wanted it, survival for the mass casualties usually meant emergency implant procedures; he knew that pain all too well. Were it not for his wife and daughter putting him back together, he feared he may have suffered a similar fate to his comrades. Even if his own post-traumatic stress still haunted him to this day, at least his mind was clear enough most days to keep functioning. Many of his own brothers and sisters weren't so lucky.
The truly evil thing about the background of their present job is that baloperidol was very expensive and very hard to get... and Biotechnica wanted it that way. They maintained strict quality control requirements, and even one small deviation in their established standards meant an entire batch was discarded and marked for disposal. While nobody could blame a shrewd operator for diverting those shipments elsewhere for their own profit and the perceived benefit of others, the truth all too often is that Biotechnica themselves were behind the grift, profiting both on the illicit sales and claiming the insurance losses every year. For the shipments that were actually contaminated, it was someone else's problem to deal with down the line. People in desperate need of help weren't looking closely, which often meant as many bad batches found their way into the black market as good batches.
Biotechnica controlled the supply and created the demand, uniquely positioned to dictate the price of legitimate sales. Jackson had to wonder how many of the soldiers under his watch could have benefitted from the black market stock, and his blood boiled because of it. In his mind, it was a blessing that Doc Strong came along, as he would be the only man capable of holding the cowboy back from tearing their target into pieces.
Despite the banter taking place, the whole situation weighed heavy on Jackson's mind, but he wasn't about to bring down the mood. Instead he focused on making sure they had all the angles covered. While a corpo husband and wife slummin' on the down-low likely didn't call for a security detail, Jackson would be damned if he let one of his crew walk into a compromising situation without a plan to get them out quickly. This is where Dakota's connections came in clutch.
Jackson really had no need for a netrunner, what with the type of work his crew handled for the old lady. But on the rare occasion when a techie set of eyes were needed, Dakota was happy to provide. In the time since they spoke, she was able dispatch one of her crew over to the Sunset Motel to provide some much needed eyes and ears in the form of a nano-drone hiding in the air conditioning vent feeding the room. The feed was tested and confirmed clear, the three boys treated to an early show in the form of Charles and Serena Bishop having themselves an appetizer while waiting for the main course to arrive.
"Tally-ho!", Bison called out as the motel came into view on their left, cresting the ridge of the highway as it baked in the afternoon sun. Jackson merged his vehicle to the right lane, passing by as Bison decelerated. It was tactically unwise to have two vehicles pulling in at the same time; it raised too many questions, and so Jackson and Doc Strong were content in driving a little further down the highway before doubling back.
They offered their best wishes, dropping off the call as Bison pulled in and parked in front of the old building. He killed the ignition, sitting for a moment and laughing to himself before he kicked open the door and stepped out of the vehicle. In only a few seconds, the brutal heat had him perspiring, small beads of sweat forming on his freshly shaved head. His wrap-around sunglasses sat snug as he wiped his forehead dry and started the long walk to the far end of the row. His hosts had the last room on the ground floor all to themselves, which boded well for him in case he ended up having to bring down the walls. He wasn't sure it would get that far, but he also wasn't above getting his dick sucked on the job before smacking someone around.
He elected to forgo his usual tactical attire, instead draping himself in a pair of syn-leather Solo pants, the crotch binding up something awful. He had a low-cut sleeveless shirt wrapped tight across his large torso, his bulging muscles and nomad ink pronounced in the sun. Given the lack of a jacket in this heat, and the conscious choice of advertising his physical attributes, he was also, for the first time in several years, not carrying any iron; it sent the wrong message.
He wouldn't say he felt vulnerable, as almost forty years living on the edge of civilization had left him more than capable of handling himself with his bare hands... but he did feel somewhat naked. Still, he could breathe easy knowing two of his best chooms had his back, come what may, and so he firmed himself and continued the walk toward his destination. He stopped a pace short, taking a deep breath and stifling a laugh at the absurdity of the situation, before he stood squarely in front of the door and delivered two heavy knocks.
In a spark of sheer cheesy genius, he casually leaned against the doorframe with his arm raised above his head, crossing his legs to resemble some type of John Wayne cowboy. He heard the shuffling of feet against the carpet inside, hushed voices conversing before the locks clicked and turned, the door sliding open by a few inches. He was met with Serena's striking face peeking out, framed by luxurious locks of heavy dark brown hair. She wore a devious smile as she spoke in a sultry and silky smooth voice with a hint of an Italian accent, "...Bison, I presume...?"
He smiled wide, flashing his teeth as he removed his sunglasses and tipped his head forward, "...howdy, Signora..."
The woman's eyes lit up as she bit her bottom lip, waving her hand behind the wall as the door slid fully open, revealing herself standing strong and upright in a sleek and skimpy sheer black negligee hugging every curve of her sculpted hourglass figure. Her toned and defined legs were concealed by lacey black stockings stopping at her thighs, her calves flexed from a pair of stiletto heels. There was a fruity aroma emanating from her, leaving Bison salivating as he looked her up and down. After several seconds, Serena spoke again, "Are you going to stand there all day and stare, Signore Bison... or would you like to come in and cool off?"
"I would like very much...", Bison answered, the woman moving back and beckoning him with a wiggle of her slender pointer finger. He checked both ways before locking eyes with the woman again as he stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him.
--
Jackson's rover rolled to a gentle stop at the three-way junction leading away from Medeski Fuel Station and onto I-9, the landfills disappearing behind them... although the stench remained. Lighting a fresh cigarette from a fresh carton purchased at the Station was Jackson's singular saving grace from the smell, and Doc Strong was almost tempted to light one up himself. They both figured a quick pitstop was enough time to allow Bison to work his magic so no suspicion arose when they pulled up.
Despite checking over his shoulder several times as he turned right and pulled out, a massive Chevillon Centurion still somehow managed to appear out of thin air, screeching over to the left lane as the driver laid on the horn and narrowly missed them, prompting Jackson to punch his steering wheel as he exclaimed, "Ass...HOLE!!!"
Regardless of the near-miss making him pucker up, Doc Strong laughed to himself as he said, "It never fails, boss... hey, maybe that's our one hitch for this gig, huh...?"
Jackson sighed with deep exhale of smoke as he tried to calm himself, "Yeah... if we's lucky... an' if Bison don't get lost in the mark's wife..."
"No-o-ow c'mon, Jax...", Strong chided his old choom, "...when's that boy ever done us wrong?"
The doc had a point, a smirk crossing Jackson's face as he laughed and nodded. He enjoyed Doc Strong in these moments, a little looser with his usual stoic demeanor and manner of speech. Still, he had to get his shots in as he fired back, "I'm jus' worried he'll bring somethin' back to the base and take us all down wit' him."
"Hey, unless you and he have some unspoken deal behind closed doors...", Strong joked, "I think we're all safe and sound."
Jackson punched Strong's arm as they both laughed. In no time at all, the motel was back in their sights as Jackson pulled off the highway and down-shifted, allowing the engine to howl as the car slowed on the approach. They rolled along gingerly, speed decreasing until Jackson engaged in second gear, giving the accelerator a little love tap with his boot to commit the final few feet as they turned into a parking space and stopped. He engaged the parking brake, shifting to neutral as he punched the button to kill the ignition. The rumbling engine ceased, leaving them in silence, save for the blowing winds and the faint music trailing out from the upstairs bar.
As Jackson and Strong both exited the vehicle, they looked to one another with a shrug of their shoulders and eyebrows. From the outside, you'd never know anything at all was going on. People were standing around and conversing with one another or otherwise going about their business. Strong looked to Jackson as he said, "Feed's looking clear to me... you?"
Jackson checked in his HUD for a brief moment before he nodded and they both approached the building. Not that he was one for frequenting the local watering holes, but he felt bad for not having been back since Noah's run-in with 6th Street. From what he could see as they climbed the stairs to the second floor, the bar didn't appear to be any worse for wear. Any damaged chairs or tables had been repaired or replaced, and everyone present seemed to be in good spirits, enjoying their spirits and each other's company.
Jackson paused for a moment in the doorway, surveying the situation with Strong at his side before they both crossed the threshold. Noah looked up from wiping down the bar, cool and casual as ever as he greeted both of them, "Alright, gentlemen...?"
As if he hadn't spoken to both of them over holocall only an hour before, Noah was no stranger to the intricacies of keeping a low profile, and Jackson answered nonchalantly, "Sorry to see your last run-in didn't leave you wit' a new face... damn shame, they couldn't 've done much worse."
Noah smirked as he reached down into a cooler, "Crack a few cold ones for ya?"
Jackson looked to Doc Strong, who nodded, and they both took their seats at the bar, settling into the comfortable vinyl as Noah passed them two already-perspiring cold bottles. Jackson took a small swig, Strong biding his time as he spun the bottle in place. Though they appeared to the casual observer to be watching the mounted panel TV or casually chatting with the bartender, both of them were focused on the live video feed in their HUDs. Neither of them were letting Bison out of their sight...
--
The inside of the motel room was unusually clean compared to the others Bison had seen. He was no stranger to a secretive romp at a shady location, but more often than not he was left with a sneaking suspicion that he'd pick something up from the unwashed sheets as opposed to whoever he was fucking on that particular day. Here, everything was tailored for an inviting experience. The lighting was set low for ambiance, providing an intimate and sensual mood as light jazz played faintly in the background.
Bison stood in the middle of room, leaning against a small credenza and looking somewhat bewildered and wild-eyed as he sipped from a glass, three fingers' worth of top-shelf whiskey with a large ice cube sloshing around, and watched Serena doing everything in her power to distract him while Charles made introductions from the comfort of a large lounge chair in the corner of the room. The collar of his pressed white shirt was ruffled, a necktie likely lost somewhere in the room prior to Bison's arrival, and his tailored black dress slacks were unbuttoned... although he hadn't yet exposed himself. His headshot didn't do him proper justice... the man was dashing, and if Bison rolled that way, he may have been tempted to try his luck. Instead, he observed Serena gracefully walking over and leaning against the arm of the chair, her legs folding up as she traced the line of her thigh through the stocking with one hand and wrapped around the shoulder of her husband with the other and said, "So... tell us about yourself... Signore Bison..."
He smiled as he took another small sip and answered, "There's uh... not much to tell, I'm afraid. Ink pretty much tells the story..."
It was Charles' turn, his voice strong and commanding, "Well... consider us... uninitiated..."
Damn, that's tasty stuff..., Bison thought as he took another sip and considered just how much truth to include in his lie. He wasn't stupid, and he knew his hosts weren't either by the air of authority they commanded from across the room. He knew his best bet was just telling them the truth about his background, and so he obliged them both with a sigh, "I'm a nomad... sure that much is obvious. Gunsmith by trade... was born and raised with the Aldecaldos in the Badlands before we settled on the outskirts of Night City."
"Have you ever been...?", Serena leaned forward and asked, delightfully curious of their new guest. Bison nodded and continued, "I broke away from the Family for a while... went looking for work in the City. It was just too tempting to pass up. Landed some security and enforcer gigs... it kept me pretty flush for a while."
"But you longed for home...", Serena seemed to read his mind, "...for the peace and quiet you've always known... away from the turmoil and turbulence."
"A firearms aficionado that doesn't carry...?", Charles interjected, "...that seems... counterintuitive."
Bison's eye twitched, a smirk crossing his face. The man was fishing, but for what... he cleared his throat as he spoke again, "It felt... inappropriate... for a first encounter."
Charles nodded a tentative approval as they sized each other up. What Bison failed to mention was during his stay in the City, he ran security and was personally responsible for the Living Legend herself... and working for her had its perks. Not the least of which was his Kiroshi cyberoptics had a modified scanner that could pick up, among other things, gunshot residue. He tagged some type of small iron, recently fired, in the small bedside table as soon as he walked in the room, and sent a silent message to both Jackson and Doc Strong to that effect. That could prove useful if push came to shove.
"So... how did you come to partake in the lifestyle?", Serena brought the focus back to her as she smiled. This was the most honest Bison could possibly be as he tested the waters, "Well, pretty simple... I'm a flesh-and-blood gonk with a high sex drive. And out here... that carries a reputation..."
"Yes, the concierge was quite... emphatic about you...", Charles interjected again as Serena left his side, moving over by the bed as she presented a hand to Bison and said, "Come to me..."
Bison noticed a minor detail he had missed before... under the sheer fabric of the negligee cutting just a little too short, one of the woman's ample ass cheeks had a tattoo of a paw print. It was small and innocuous, but the message was received all the same, and Bison grinned as he mused, "Seems you're no stranger to a needle, yourself..."
Serena was caught off guard, looking down as she perked her ass up and blushed, "A youthful reminder of rebellion... once upon a time. Now come."
Her voice shifted to a commanding tone not unlike her husband's, and Bison felt drawn to her as he finished the rest of his glass in a single gulp before crashing it on the table, the partially melted ice clinking around inside. He pushed off and away from the table as he approached carefully, step by step. When he was close enough, Serena reached out and grabbed for him, catching the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him close. They were mere inches from one another as he looked down, towering over her by several inches. She gently pulled at the tails of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head before tossing it away. She marveled at his muscular torso covered in ink, placing both of her slender and delicate hands firmly on his bare chest as she pressed against him, sniffing up and down like an animal picking up a scent. In a way, it reminded him of how Nel had Jayce pinned to his mats only a few days prior. Her feral approach awoke something in him, the blood flowing south as he leaned down, inhaling the sweet scent of the woman's perfume, his eyes occasionally darting over to the dutiful husband watching contently from his throne, a wicked smile on his face.
Serena stopped sniffing, her eyes closed as she released a shuddering exhale laced with a faint moan. The warmth of her breath against Bison's neck left him enthralled as she looked up and opened her expectant eyes. They stared at one another for what felt like a long time before she reached up, grabbing him by the neck as she pressed her lips against his. Her tongue shot forward, yearning to taste him as she moaned into his mouth. Bison gently rested one of his heavy hands on her hip, pulling her close as he lost himself. Finally, their lips parted, a shared breath and a string of saliva hanging between them before she looked back to Charles and said, "This is a wild and magnificent beast you've found for me... don't you think, darling...?"
Charles lit a cigar, taking a puff and exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air as he looked on with delight in his eyes and answered, "He's quite an impressive specimen... blow him."
Serena looked down as a smile crossed her face, "With pleasure, my love..."
She turned back to Bison, taking a step back as she reached up and brushed off the strings of the negligee from her shoulders. She shrugged, and the delicate fabric fell to the floor as she lifted her heels to free herself from it bunching around her ankles. She kicked it away before she knelt down, bent at the knees with her legs spread wide, her eyes never once leaving Bison's as she worked to undo his pants. Bison felt the knot building in his gut as he swelled, his breathing growing heavier as he watched the woman tease him.
Once she had his pants undone, she ripped them down his legs, revealing his bulge already half-hard and twitching. Her mouth was agape, a slight gasp escaping as she admired the girth hanging heavy in front of her face. She gently wrapped a hand around and stroked back and forth, delighted to see Bison fully erect and standing at attention from her delicate touch. She leaned in, pressing her face against his shaft as she rubbed up and down, breathing in his musk and exhaling against his stomach.
She pulled back as her long tongue shot from her mouth, running the wet end up and down the shaft. She tasted every inch and left a dribble of spit running down and tracing the line of his vein as she turned her attention to his swollen sack. She cupped Bison's balls in her hand as she suckled on one, and then the other... all the while the helpless nomad yelped and tried to contain himself.
Serena smiled and laughed at the reaction as she pulled away for only a moment. Her eyes crossed as she held the length of his cock straight out and stared, the engorged head pointing right at her. She looked in his eyes again as she opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around the head, her tongue washing along the underside as she moaned. With her free hand, she pulled her own hair back and up, silently signaling with her eyes for Bison to take charge. He gladly grabbed the fistful of hair by the roots, holding tight and pulling back as Serena braced both of her hands against his thighs and worked her mouth back and forth. Her throat opened as she accepted all of him with ease, barely even gagging against his size. He saw her neck visibly bulging as he hit the back of her throat again and again, but she took every inch of him in stride and begged for more, reaching down with one hand to massage the dripping mess between her legs
At this point, Bison wasn't sure he could actually finish the job without finishing his present task, the pressure building as he tried to stay focused. He knew he was enjoying himself entirely too much, and he knew he'd hear about it later... he'd cross that bridge when it comes, after he comes.
With one last push all the way to the base, Serena's nose pressed into Bison's stomach as she shut her eyes and choked slightly before releasing him from her throat. She pulled back, freeing his heavy cock and spitting on the head as she looked up to him, her once pristine black eyeliner ruined and running down her face. Bison let go of her hair, watching it fall gracefully down her back as he stroked her cheek and said softly, "...that's a good girl..."
Her demeanor shifted as she stood upright and pushed with both hands against his chest. The edge of the bed caught his legs and he clumsily fell back, bracing his arms to prop himself up. Serena leaned in, pressing a single finger against his forehead as she ordered him, "Lay flat on your back... it's my turn."
He obliged, feeling somewhat vulnerable as he reclined, his body sinking into the surprisingly washed sheets with a faint smell of detergent wafting up. Serena removed her stiletto heels, bending over in front and looking back to make sure he was watching her every move. She wiggled her hips back and forth, positioning her legs slightly spread to present both of her holes, the juices of her arousal already forming a drip down her inner thighs.
Bison was suddenly starving, a low growl emanating from his chest as he watched her turn and crawl onto the bed, running her hand from his stomach up to his chest before...
—SMACK—
He felt the sudden impact of her delicate hand against the meat of his cheek, his brain rattling in his head. As he shook his head, he looked down to the far corner of the room, finding Charles still watching, now with his pants around his knees, fully erect and stroking himself. Serena grabbed Bison by the jaw, pulling him to her as she asked, "Are you hungry... beast...?"
His eyes said it all, the growl resuming as he snapped his teeth at her. She positioned his arms out to the side and turned around, lifting one leg up as she positioned herself. She rested her legs on his arms, letting her full weight settle to pin him in place as she straddled him, sitting only a few inches over his face. She brought her hands back and spread her cheeks wide as she barked, "Eat me!"
Bison craned his neck up, straining to reach in this precarious position as his tongue shot out. He just barely grazed her wet lips, the taste lighting him up inside as he pushed further. He wanted to taste all of her, to drink her down his throat, and he tested himself as he wrapped his arms around her folded legs and forced himself in face first. His tongue pressed into her, his nose resting comfortably in her winking and lightly puckered rim as she let go of her cheeks, slamming her ass down on his face. She cried out and leaned forward, scratching her perfectly manicured nails up and down his chest as she bucked her hips, riding his tongue in and out as her slick ran down his chin and into his beard.
Serena rolled her shoulders and arched her back as her head sagged down, reaching for his cock standing straight up and begging to be handled. She wrapped her hand tight around the shaft, stroking roughly up and down as her moans turned to feral grunts and barks. She begged for Bison like a dog in heat, pleaded for his tongue in her ass, and he was happy to oblige as he pulled himself free from her frothing cunt and shifted up. He gently teased her at first, running his tongue up and down her crack as the warmth of her flesh caressed his face. When she could take no more, he worked himself inside, punching as far as her hole would allow and reveling in the sickly sweet and salty musk. With one hand stroking him, Serena brought her other hand up and bit her knuckle as she whimpered and locked eyes with her husband moaning in response, his own efforts seen and appreciated as he stroked himself into a frenzy...
--
Jackson nursed his beer sparingly, taking small swigs here and there. Not that he couldn't perform with a buzz, but considering one of his own was in the mix, it wasn't a chance he was willing to take. His crew deserved him at his best.
He turned to Doc Strong, concerned by the look on his face as he asked, "How's our boy doin'?"
"What, you ain't watching this...?", Strong laughed as he took a small sip of his beer while Jackson shrugged and shook his head, "Ah! ...I stopped once the signora started tearin' at 'is pants... like watchin' my own son."
Strong laughed again, "You'd be proud of him..."
"Yeah, prob'ly...", Jackson chuckled as he lit a fresh cigarette, "Le's jus' hope he don't forget why he's there..."
They clinked their bottles together and shared a laugh as the afternoon news flashed across the TV...
--
True to the paw print tattoo on her ass cheek, Serena was on all fours on the bed, her back arched beautifully as she gripped the sheets between her fingers and cried out in pleasure. Her eyes rolled back in her head as Bison held her from behind by the roots of her hair, his other hand roughly groping one of her bountiful breasts as he fucked her senseless, their bodies moving back and forth in a beautiful harmony. Every slam back of her hips and perfect heart-shaped ass was met with pressing himself deeper inside, spreading her further as his heavy sack slapped against her sweet spot with a delicious thwop. She was losing control of her faculties, her teeth gritted as drool ran down her chin and soaked the sheets. And all the while, Charles remained in his chair, drinking his scotch, puffing his cigar, and stroking himself as he called out to them.
Bison locked eyes with Charles as he flashed a devilish grin, "Yeah...? You like watching me fuck your wife?"
Charles' eyes narrowed as he smiled back while Bison continued with a rhythmic emphasis on every other word, "...fuck her better than you ever could..."
It didn't take the big beefcake long to figure out under the present circumstances that Serena's husband enjoyed being degraded... and likely it was the only time he allowed it, given his standing as a power broker in the City. Bison used that to his full advantage, taking his shots when and where he could as he railed the absolute beauty spread out before him.
Their bodies were covered in each other's dripping sweat, and Bison longed to feel her smooth and supple skin as he let go of her breast, pulling her up by her hair and back toward him. Her back arched almost unnaturally, their bodies pressed together as he growled in her ear, "You like getting fucked like an animal?!"
Serena couldn't even form words at this point, her loud and protracted moans serving as the answer. Bison laughed as he grabbed her by the jaw and ran his tongue up and down her cheek, forcing her to look in his eyes as he ruined her from the inside out.
Finally, when he could hold out no longer, his grunts raised in volume as his rhythm slowed, each shove becoming more forceful until at last, he slammed himself back in to the base and shouted, his pulsing cock releasing all of his load inside Serena's welcoming womb. She screamed to match his volume, reaching back with her hands as she tried to press him deeper inside.
As they both dwindled, melting into each other for this brief moment of ecstasy, Bison delivered his last words softly and tenderly into Serena's ear, "...go-o-o-od gi-i-i-irl...", and released her as she flopped forward, face-first into the now-soiled sheets. She was perfectly content to lay there for a while, heaving to catch her breath between moans as a flood of cum slowly leaked out of her.
Sweat gathered at the tip of Bison's nose as he tried to catch his own breath, a smile on his face as the deed was done. Before he could stop himself, he turned to Charles and said, "...always... w-wanted to... knock up a corpo cunt... now the fun begins..."
Charles' face twisted as he saw Bison's eyes flashing orange, ceasing his stroke as he jumped to his feet. Bison was quicker to the draw, having positioned himself advantageously right next to the small bedside table as he turned and pulled out the iron he tagged earlier. To his surprise, it was a chrome-plated Militech Omaha... a tiny little toy of a tech pistol compared to the hand cannons he was used to carrying... but it served a purpose nonetheless. What little light there was in the room reflected off the mirror finish, flashing back in Bison's eyes, though he didn't flinch. He reached forward, grabbing Serena by the back of the neck as he pressed down to hold her in place, his eyes not once leaving Charles unattended.
The dutiful husband stood in shock, pants at half-mast with a softening dick limping lower and lower every second as the blood rushed back to his brain and the realization set in. He carefully raised his hands as his voice shuddered, "I-I d-don't think y-you know w-who you're f-fucking with..."
"Oh, I got a pretty good idea...", Bison joked, finally able to breathe evenly as his face hardened, "You help Biotechnica sell tainted chems to those poor bastards in the Wastes... now, no sudden moves, or I'll end you where you stand. And you don't even want to think about what I can do to the missus..."
Charles' jaw clenched as his eyes dropped to the floor. The sound of heavy boots approaching outside caught his attention, though Bison didn't move an inch. Within a few seconds, the door to the motel room slid open, Jackson and Doc Strong pushing through and clearing the room with weapons drawn. When they were satisfied, they lowered their weapons as Jackson looked first at the near-comatose woman laying on the bed, and a fully-naked Bison holding her down as he smirked and joked, "Well... 's ain't the wors' position I ever caught you in..."
Bison gave a dry, "Ha!", as he released Serena and stood up straight, proud of his achievements. Strong tried to look anywhere else as he elected to focus his efforts on Charles, moving behind Jackson and across the room as he said calmly, "Dress yourself and sit the fuck down..."
The husband begrudgingly leaned over, pulling his pants up and buttoning them as he returned to his chair. His eyes darted between Jackson and Strong as he tried to maintain some form of his own authority, "You know whoever you are, we'll find you..."
"Son...", Jackson answered as he lit a fresh cigarette and took a drag before turning to the small bar and pouring himself a stiff drink, "...I'm thinkin' after today, ain't nobody goin'a want anythin' to do wit' ya..."
He turned, leaning back against the table as he took a nice sip of his three-finger pour before looking over to Bison, "Jus' couldn't help yourself...?"
Bison's eyes widened as he tried to defend himself, "Hey, boss... I did this for you... didn't want you to have to listen to me bitching about blue balls the whole way home."
Jackson shrugged his eyebrows and chuckled... the big lug had a point, and he kept going, "And if you two have things covered here, I think I'm going to shower... don't want to get cunny juice all over your car."
Strong shook his head while Jackson tried not to choke on his drink at the brass of Bison's choice of words. It wasn't often the three of them were alone and able to cut up like the teenage boys they were deep down inside. Still, to Bison's point, he'd made a mess, and he was kind enough to not want to bring any of it home. Jackson could respect that as he nodded toward the bathroom, "Make it quick... don' wan'a get caught here any longer 'an we have to."
Bison winked as he cross the room, not even trying to cover himself before he disappeared into the bathroom, his voice trailing off, "I love you, boss...!"
In a few seconds, the sound of running water trailed out, a cloud of steam following while Jackson turned his attention to their mark, took another sip, and said, "Quite an impressive specimen... ain't he?"
Charles rolled his eyes and barked, "What do you want?!"
Jackson's eyes narrowed as he reached behind his ear, pulling loose a shard from one of two slots. He held it up before tossing it at the man as he made his demands clear, "You broker shady deals for corpos... my client has a vested interest in one in particular."
"Baloperidol...", Charles read between the lines with a deep sigh as he picked up the shard and weighed his options, reading the sudden stiffness in Jackson's demeanor as he asked, "You've served, haven't you...?"
Jackson smirked, eyes cutting to Doc Strong before he locked in on Charles and obliged, "I did my part... him too."
"And I'm guessing that chromed left arm isn't all that you lost...", the man mused as he looked the cowboy up and down. Jackson took another sip and deflected the statement altogether, "Here's 'ow this works... you're goin'a give us what we's lookin' for, or I swear by the Almighty hi'self—"
"There's no need for idle threats...", Charles interrupted with a dismissive hand wave. Jackson's face hardened, gulping down the last of his whiskey before crashing the glass on the table as he marched a straight line over to the bed, cocked the hammer on his revolver, and took aim...
—BANG—
Charles screamed for his wife as he jumped from the chair. Strong was ready, kicking the man's legs out from under him and pressing the cold barrel into his temple. No words needed to be said.
The powder smoke cleared, carrying dust and downy feathers into the air from the fresh hole blown in the mattress as the woman jumped with a cry and scrambled into the corner, using her arms to try and cover herself.
The man's eyes clouded over as he looked at his terrified wife before cutting back to Jackson staring daggers. He plead with hands outstretched, "Please! ...I'll do as you ask, just please let her go..."
Completely unmoved by this sudden show of vulnerable affection, Jackson spoke firmly and frankly, "You do what we ask... now... and you'll both walk out o' here together. Have my word..."
Strong kept the barrel against Charles' head as he reached down carefully, picking up the shard and slotting it in the man's head.
Charles' eyes flashed blue for several seconds as he tried to reason with his captors, "I'm giving you what you want because I love my wife... but I cannot guarantee my people will be so forgiving... they will find you."
The blue glow receded as Jackson walked over, kneeling down in front of Charles as he reached for the shard and pulled it free. He gently rubbed the still-warm barrel of his revolver against the man's face and cautioned him, "Yeah... see... funny thing 'bout that is, we found you. We knew the angle to get to ya..."
He held the shard up for Strong, who took it and slotted it as he pinged a holocall to Dakota. Jackson's eyes never once broke from Charles' as he leaned in further, "If you're willin' to play that game... maybe Night City's a place you wan'a leave... soon."
He looked up to Strong, who nodded and said, "Old lady says it's clean. It's what we're looking for."
He looked back to Charles with a smirk and said, "Lights out, choom..."
Charles felt a heavy blow at the base of his skull as Doc Strong struck him with the heel of his iron. The man's body fell over, crashing into the carpet with a muted thud as his wife cried out for him. Jackson stood up and moved to the side as he turned toward the woman, giving a deep sigh as he said, "He's out cold, but he'll be fine... we're not animals."
"Speak for yourself, hoss...", Bison called out, standing dripping wet and still naked in the doorway of the bathroom with a shit-eating grin as he looked to the unconscious body on the floor, "...was it something he said...?"
Jackson smiled from ear to ear, rolled his eyes, and laughed before he looked back to the big beefcake and shouted, "WOULD YA PUT SOME FUCKIN' CLOTHES ON ALREADY?!"
...only if you ask me real nice-like, hoss...
--
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