More Questions Than Answers

["Abandoned" Airfield, North of Rocky Ridge, Badlands]

The dark of night was set, a calm and cool breeze carrying grains of sand as it traveled over the expanse. The moon was in cycle, invisible to the naked eye and blanketing the landscape in darkness. For a supposedly abandoned airfield, there were several exterior lights pockmarking the perimeter of the building and the surprisingly well-kept concrete runway.

To Jackson's earlier point, as much as Strong could make the best of a shitty situation in a dingy kitchen, there was no substitute for his own corner of their humble abode. Perks of a fairly lucrative smuggling operation, Strong had his choice of the best tools available, outfitting the crew's medical facilities better than even some corpo-run hospitals. Full body imaging and scanning, precise surgical equipment, and even automated assistant arms for the trickier operations; any way you paint it, Jackson's crew was well cared-for from a medical standpoint. He looked after his people, and they looked after each other, and him. Like all nomads it was a family built on trust, but even the strongest of these bonds could be tested by the crew's current predicament.

Strong hadn't left the hangar's infirmary since their earlier return with the doped-up girl left for dead outside Dakota Smith's garage. He had to administer another dose of tranquilizers to ensure an encore performance didn't take place while he performed a full physical over every nook and cranny of her body. He was consumed, and for all his efforts, he still had more questions than answers.

He was afforded a small reprieve from pouring over his computer screens as the doors to his clean corner of the world slid open, Jackson walking in with two fresh cups of coffee, the wafting stench of stale cigarette smoke trailing in behind him as the doors slid shut. He walked past the operating table on which the girl was situated, almost subconsciously quickening his pace in case she decided to wake up again. He placed one of the cups down next to Strong, leaning against the desk as he looked at his old choom, squinting his eyes to adjust to the fluorescent assault from overhead, and asked, "So... how 'bout it?"

Speaking for the first time in several hours, Strong cleared his throat and forced himself to look away from the monitors as he turned in his chair and scoffed, "Still have next to nothing to go on, boss."

He grabbed the cup, tilting it towards Jackson as he blew before taking a loud sip, Jackson following suit before asking, "I get it, she's a big ol' question mark through an' through... but do we know anythin' more now 'an we did earlier?"

Strong sucked his teeth and shrugged as he pointed to his array of wall-mounted terminal screens, "Ain't much to go on, but have a look."

Jackson turned, leaning over and peering into Strong's world with a curious wonder in his eyes. After nearly a minute in silence, Strong pre-empted the obvious questions, "Girl's not on anyone's radar. No eye-dent on record, no SID. She's not in any databases... not even a matching missing persons report..."

"So she ain't from 'round here...", Jackson interjected, jumping to the point on Strong's behalf, his fatigue wearing on his patience and causing him to speak a little looser, "So where the fuck is she from?"

Strong leaned forward, catching Jackson's line of sight and pressing his original point, "Nah, boss... she's not from anywhere. Girl's a ghost. Doesn't even have a holo... matter of fact, only neuralware she's got is the base coprocessor for installing implants. No holo, interface ports, shard slots, personal link... hell, she's as clean as it gets."

Jackson exhaled sharply and shook his head, "What else you got?"

"Well... she was tuned up something fierce when we found her...", Strong continued, switching windows to a collection of high resolution pictures and x-ray images, "She had deep, deep cuts all over, even a couple bullet wounds... small caliber... blunt force bruises, couple of fractured ribs, dislocated shoulder, although she might have done thatlast bit herself during her little episode..."

"Eh, she's got spirit...", Jackson chuckled and took another sip while Strong continued, "Epiphyseal plates in her arms and legs are fully fused... hip bone structure, gotta be at least 18, maybe 19 years old."

"Hell of a fight for a kid her age, don't ya think?", Jackson asked, to which Strong retorted, pointing to another set of pictures, "This isn't her first rodeo either. Look at these scars around her arms and torso... gotta be at least five, maybe six years old. Girl's been a contender for most of her adolescence. And there's something else..."

Strong swiped to another window as Jackson's eyes went wide, a horrified look on his face as Strong spoke the words, "She's a victim of abuse... repeated abuse. As recently as a few days... injuries are consistent with forced entry on both sides, but it doesn't look like she fought against it."

"Any identifyin' marks? Tattoos, anythin'?", Jackson pressed his old friend, his blood boiling over. Strong swiped again, bringing up the last of the images, "Few crude tattoos, but nothing of any significance. Only mark of interest is a brand on the back of her neck... it's old too, at least a decade or more. Looks Raffen, but no crew I'm familiar with..."

They both looked closely at the brand, a haunting visage of a skull inside a flaming ring. Jackson leaned back with a sigh, choosing his words carefully. It was his turn to impart some wisdom, "Before the War, back in New Mexico, Texas, Arizona... we had gangs in the far reaches of the desert that even gave the Raffen a run for their money. They were... possessed, almost cult-like. They were fanatical, an' they'd keep goin' 'til their bodies just gave out."

Strong had a curious look on his face, "You think those groups survived the war, maybe one of 'em making camp in NorCal?"

"Shit, I'm sure of it...", Jackson confirmed, "Groups like that goin' mad with the heat or whatever nasty shit they're pumpin' into their own veins... even cyberpsychosis. But what the fuck are they doin' here?! Groups like these don't deal wit' civilization. They're bottom feeders, preyin' on the weak out in the wastelands, on folk too stupid to stick to the main roads..."

Jackson's face twisted, not so much like he was recounting information from a book, but as if he were remembering... he turned away from Strong, walking toward the table on which the girl was laying. He looked her over, head to toe and back. She was of a medium stature, maybe five and a half feet standing upright. Her body was cut and lean, her muscle tone well defined with veins running up and down her arms and legs, and yet there was an undeniable feminine curvature to her body accented by flesh in all the right places. What really caught Jackson's attention right away was a nearly permanent bruising around her neck and wrists... ligature marks, he thought to himself. She was collared an' shackled like an animal...

All things considered, Doc Strong had done a hell of a job putting her back together, precise stitches and dressings adorning her body. He even went so far as to bathe her, rendering her clean from all the filth in which they'd found her covered. And yet there was a permanent layer of dirt under her fingernails, had probably been there her whole life. Were Jackson a betting man, he'd put good money away that she'd leave this Earth with her nails just as dirty. She was a fighter, ligature bruises aside. Despite her recent bath, her skin tone was still naturally swarthy, but her complexion was clean and clear. Her jet black hair was shaved high on both sides into a braided mohawk running into long dreadlocks down her back. Jackson had to guess she descended from one of the First Nations. Her face was sharp, her cheekbones high and her jaw defined. She was strong, she looked strong, and yet even her unconscious expression carried years of pain. There was a subtle beauty masked behind all of it; another place, another life, maybe.

A lightbulb went off in Jackson's head to a previous comment as he turned back to Doc Strong, "You said she was chipped wit' a coprocessor for chrome... she sportin' any?"

Strong snapped his fingers, "Now that's where it gets interesting..."

"What, 'cause it ain't already?", Jackson joked while Strong pulled up another series of x-rays and stifled a chuckle, "Like I already said, best guess is she's not yet out of her teens, but she's sporting Pre-Unification wolvers in each arm, twice as old as she is. Reinforced ligaments in her legs for increased foot speed, but nothing else that I can see..."

"An' you see all...", Jackson mused and turned back to the table again, observing the relatively clean threading along both of the girl's arms and hands, and noticing three individual notches on each hand between the knuckles. He could already picture the hands extending outward to accommodate three blades shooting forward for the sole purpose of delivering all manner of hate. And with the implanted ligaments, she'd be on her target before they ever had a chance to react. No doubt 'bout it..., Jackson thought as his chromed hand hovered over the holster strapped to his hip, ...girl's built for one thing, an' one thing only...

Strong reacted first, eyes wide as he saw the hand wrapping around the synthetic polymer grips; he jumped to his feet, catching Jackson's implanted arm in less than a second as he stared in his old friend's eyes and firmly shook his head, "It's not your way, Jax... I can't let you do it."

Jackson's eyes narrowed as he met the doctor's stare, "She's purpose-built, and she's feral, Joshua... you want to put all of us at risk for that?"

Strong firmed himself, standing up straight and taking his place between Jackson and the girl. Jackson nodded with a sense of disbelief and a dry smirk as he shrugged his eyebrows and stepped to the side, placing a cigarette between his lips, "First do no harm, I s'pose... a'ight, fine, if she goes apeshit an' kills us all in our sleep, 's on you."

Strong's jaw clenched as he turned and watched Jackson marching towards the doors. They'd been together since Ridgecrest, Strong himself having performed the operation that saved Jackson's life. He respected the man, and all that he had built, and he didn't like standing against him unless absolutely necessary. He didn't know if he'd made the right call in this moment, but his gut told him it was the right thing to do.

--

[The next morning]

The sun had crested over the mountains to the northeast, shining down on the airfield as the surrounding desert warmed. The ambient light peeked in through metal shutters, illuminating the spacious kitchen where Jackson had spent the entire night sitting at a small eat-in table, drinking cup after cup of coffee and smoking cigarette after cigarette, alone in his thoughts. The kitchen was nothing like Dakota's; it was meticulously clean and well maintained, the floors swept clean and the walls and counters wiped down. It was tidy.

Jackson considered it a small blessing that Doc Strong hadn't left the infirmary since their brief but impactful face-off. He didn't like his authority being challenged, but he knew better than anyone that Joshua Strong had everyone's best interests at heart. This wasn't a military unit, it was a family. And even being a father himself, he knew sometimes it was better to let the children rebel just a little bit; it was good for the soul. At the end of the day, he knew Strong was right in his decision to stand between them, but for as hard as he had fought to carve out this little corner of the world for his people, he'd do whatever was necessary to protect it... to protect those he loved most.

With somewhat whimsical timing, an effeminate voice trailed in sporting Jackson's signature drawl, breaking him out of his trance, "Mornin', Pa..."

Jackson smiled, exhaling smoke with a deep sigh as he looked up, "Mornin' kiddo, how'd ya sleep?"

The voice gave a noncommittal grunt before answering, "Heard you and Doc goin' back an' forth real late, but passed out after that. You slept yet?"

Jackson didn't answer, giving a shake of his head as he watched his own pride and joy sauntering over to the coffee pot and grabbing a cup. You could have knocked him over with a feather when his first and only child sat him down and came out with their intention to transition. It was a tough pill to swallow at first, but Jackson loved his daughter more than anything in the world, and so he committed himself to supporting her on this new path in any way he could. It had been a learning experience for the both of them, but he was happy to see her happier than he ever remembered... she was at peace with herself, and that was all that mattered.

To his surprise, unlike most kids her age, she wasn't rushing out to just chip in whatever she thought would make her happy with what she saw staring back in the mirror. Like he was committed to helping his daughter, she was committed to doing it the right way, the natural way. His present beef with the good doctor aside, Jackson could have kissed Strong on the lips in a manly fashion for using his connections in Night City to get her the right care, even so far out on the ragged edge of civilization as they were.

Jayce Calloway was a chip off the old block; strong-willed and strong just like her father, and just as beautiful and charming as her mother. While her defined jaw was the unfortunate gift from the old man that kept on giving, a blind man could see that Doc Strong's heartfelt clinical care had done its job; since embarking on this journey together, Jackson saw more and more of Jayce's mother in her every day. Even as a young teenager on the cusp of puberty, she always had a slight and smaller build; over the last three years, her hips had flared out, her chest taking on a more shapely form. She carried herself with a natural grace, and it warmed Jackson's heart to see the ever-building confidence in her sway; but she was by no means soft. She kept herself taut and in excellent physical shape just like the rest, the lines of her muscles clear and sculpted. She had her mother's naturally narrowed deep brown eyes and jet black hair, straight as an arrow. Her hair was wild like most kids her age, one entire side shaved up to the scalp, the other side hanging gently to frame her face, or hide it when necessary. Her complexion was a darker tan than her father's, likely on account of her mother's full-blooded First Nations heritage, but she had subtle freckles across her cheeks, nose, and her shoulders, chest, and back. She was tall like her father, but he still had a few inches on her. Her upper body was decorated in a wild display of tattoos, all with indigenous motifs, and all of them with a deeper meaning.

As she poured the cup and turned to take her seat, Jackson had a warm smile plastered on his face, causing her to stumble as she asked, "W-What is it?"

Jackson settled back in his chair, his eyes clouding over as he reached across and placed his hand over Jayce's, "Just... wish your mom could've seen how far you've come wit' her own eyes..."

Jayce smiled with a hint of sadness as she blew on the cup before taking a sip. As the liquid warmed her on its way down, she looked out the window longingly, but with hope in her eyes as she reassured her old man, "I think she's still out there. Her spirit's still guidin' us on the right path."

He smiled and gave an approving nod, "Then wherever she is, I'm sure she's proud of ya."

"Ma'd be proud of you too...", Jayce gripped his hand as she leaned in, "Ain't been easy, holdin' us all together after everythin' that's happened... but you pulled it off."

Jackson looked down, his head a swirl of thoughts and emotions. Jayce took advantage of the silence to snake a smoke from his pack, inhaling deep as she enjoyed the little head buzz first thing in the morning. Their happy moment in silence was cut short as a brash and ballsy female voice joined them with a heavy Australian accent, "Howdy howdy, hoss... how's it hangin'?"

A sudden blush crept on Jackson's face as his eyes turned and he asked with a sigh, "...mornin' Addie. Sleep well?"

Jayce's eyes lit up at seeing the not-so-subtle reaction on her old man's face before she quickly averted her eyes out the window so as not to draw suspicion.

"Like a viper in a cozy li'l hole in the ground...", the older woman answered as she leaned down and pecked the side of Jayce's head with all the sisterly affection she could muster, "Mmm... mornin' babe."

Jayce wrinkled her face with a light chuckle, always caught slightly by surprise in Adelaide Allen's forward demeanor. It was almost as untamed as her wild lioness mane of platinum blonde hair. She was not a subtle woman... but for the job for which Jackson had recruited her, subtle wasn't in the details. If it flew, Addie was at the helm, making whatever it was do unnatural things. Once upon a time during the Unification War, she was responsible for leading entire wings of AVs into the shit, dropping off reinforcements and ferrying out the wounded. She prided herself on never having lost a pilot in her command, and she had developed a bit of a complex as a result. She was heady and headstrong, but she looked after her own. And in Jackson's firmly unspoken opinion, she was a looker. For approaching forty, she didn't show her age at all. She had somewhat pale skin, almost permanently slightly sunburned on account of the constant abuse from life in the desert; her freckles ran deep in her face to accentuate her full lips, slightly upturned nose, and bright emerald green eyes. She was strong, but not without a full figure. She had an ample sway to her hips, amplified by the bunched-up excess of her jumpsuit tied around her waist with a simple white tanktop struggling to contain her bust or her toned arms. As if to wrap all of her in a pretty little bow, anywhere she went was followed by a persistent clink of her dogtags hanging loose around her neck.

Jackson would tell you Addie had been a good-natured pain in his ass for the last decade, but anyone could see the twinkle in his eye any time they were in the same room. Even now, Jayce had to gently kick her old man's foot under the table to shake his eyes loose from admiring Addie's backside as she poured a cup of coffee and blew gently before turning and leaning against the counter while she took a sip. She zeroed in on Jackson, in return admiring his rugged good looks and cheeky smile, although that didn't stop her from nagging him all the same as she poked and prodded, "So, I hear the ol' lady saddled you and the big boy with a stray, eh?"

"Talk to Doc 'bout it...", Jackson quickly dismissed her with a scoff, "...I'd rather jus' put the poor girl out of her misery for all she's been through..."

Addie's eyes narrowed as she saw the opening and took it, "How very American... come across something you don't fully understand, and your first instinct is to put a bullet in."

"Yeah...", Jackson sighed as he locked eyes, "So remind me which side you were on in that great unpleasantness?"

"Hey, fuck you Jax...", Addie snapped back with a smile that could melt steel as she turned to look out the window at the airfield. Jackson couldn't help but stare once again at the way her hair rested against her shoulders, covering a shaved scalp and masking her subtle face threading and implanted aero-control interface. Half of what made combat aviators good at their job were trained reflexes and good instincts; the other half, like all things in this brave new world, boiled down to good old-fashioned chrome.

By this point, Jayce was staring a hole through Jackson, and he didn't much care. Addie spoke again, resting a hand on Jayce's shoulder, "Hey, think you can give me a hand with Sheila's engines today, maybe we take her out for a spin after?"

Jayce's eyes lit up and she nearly jumped at the chance, "Yeah, nova! Always love flyin' 'round in that thing. I'll go wash up now!"

Jackson watched Jayce bounce out of the kitchen on the balls of her feet, happier than a kid at Christmas as he gently chided Addie, "Ya know, I haven't really said I'm okay with you callin' my war-bird Sheila..."

Addie's eyes narrowed as she crossed the table to lean down and press in toward Jackson while her voice lowered to a smooth purr, "And just what would you call her...? Screamin' Firehawk? Flyin' Alamo?!"

He laughed, smiling wide at the audacity of both of those names, but Addie jerked him back to focus as she grabbed the lit cigarette from his hand and continued with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, "She's not a warship, Jax... she's a graceful and elegant lady, and she ought'a be handled like one..."

In that moment, Jackson couldn't tell if she was talking about the aerodyne in their hangar or something else, and to be perfectly honest, he was fine with either option. As if to really drive the point home, Addie took a long and slow drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke in his face with a wink before she turned and left the kitchen with her coffee... and his cigarette.

Well... time for a cold shower..., he thought to himself as he stood up from the table and approached the doorway leading into the hangar. He leaned against the hollow metal frame, taking it all in with a smile as he watched Jayce cleaning her tools with a microfiber cloth. Addie had been a good mentor to the kid; if it had an engine, Jayce could pretty much tear it down and put it back together with her eyes closed. She was a wizard at squeezing every bit of power and torque out of machines, and it made him proud to see her finding her place among the crew. Even though they'd all been together for ten years or more at this point, it wasn't always easy to throw a kid into the middle of the shit with the rest of them. But as she had come of age, she threw herself in at the first chance. Jackson always worried about her wellbeing, but he also knew he couldn't shelter her from the world forever. Still, she was his world, and a promise was made to her mother that he intended to keep.

Good spirits aside, there was an eery calm in the air. Doc Strong wasn't known for stewing over a petty disagreement, but Jackson hadn't yet seen him leave the infirmary since earlier. He posed a loaded question to anyone within earshot, "Anyone seen the Doc?"

Jayce was the first to oblige, "Think he an' Bison went for a run, heard them talkin' on their way out a couple hours ago..."

While it wasn't uncommon for the two of them to work out together, it was without precedent for Strong to slink away without so much as a heads-up, especially when he had a patient on the table. Shit..., Jackson thought to himself.

As if to make his point for him, there was a sudden crash from behind the secured doors of the infirmary, and everyone present was suddenly on edge. Jackson's hand hovered over his holster as he carefully and quietly stepped forward. Jayce and Addie both were completely still, eyes wide and the hair standing up on the backs of their necks. Another crash sounded, the clatter of a metal tray and tools landing against the floor, followed by a frustrated shout. The animal was trying to get out of its cage.

Jackson cleared the distance across the hangar, approaching the double doors with his hand gripped around his iron. He gently placed his free hand against one of the doors, gauging for a response before he leaned in, inch by inch, to try and listen for whatever was going on. All had fallen quiet, leaving Jackson puzzled before three metal claws punched through the door mere inches in front of his face. He jumped back with a yell, stepping further back as he drew his sidearm and pointed it at the door. The claws retracted, disappearing with a metallic shink before punching through the door again, followed by another set of claws punching through the adjacent door. The claws disappeared again before breaking through, each barrage accompanied by panicked screams.

As the solid doors were rendered into scrap metal before Jackson's very eyes, he caught a glimpse of the girl peering through. Her teeth were gritted, the snarls growing louder before the claws retracted altogether. With her bare hands, she reached through the now gaping holes in each door, emitting a blood-curdling scream as she pried them open against their guide rails, the gears grinding and sparking against the resistance. When she made a big enough opening to comfortably walk through, she appeared before all of them, naked as Eve in the Garden of Eden, covered in sweat and bleeding profusely from her torn stitches. Her breathing was ragged, her entire body raising and lowering, each exhale carrying a low growl as she stared Jackson down. It wasn't hate in her eyes... it was something more primal. She didn't even appear to register her own reopened wounds, focusing only on the live body standing before her. She looked almost hungry as her freshly bruised hands curled into fists, the panels articulating as the claws appeared once again.

Jackson snapped himself out of the apparent shock, firing a single shot past the girl's head, leaving a round six-inch hole in the already ruined doors as the cylinder cycled the next loaded chamber. The girl's head turned in the direction of the bullet whizzing past, her eyes narrowing before she turned calmly back to Jackson. Now it was hate in her eyes as she took a single unsteady step forward, leaving a bare and bloody footprint on the cold concrete floor.

"D-Don't make me do it, kid...", Jackson spat with a trembling voice as he took a step back, keeping his gun at the ready. The girl tried to take another step with a snarl, her leg buckling as she fell to her knees. Her chromed claws crashed against the floor as she struggled to hold herself up on all fours, but her eyes never cut away from her target. She braced herself with a scream as she tried to crawl on all fours to close the distance, Jackson swearing to himself as his finger braced against the trigger.

Before he could fire, he felt his hand jerked upward as a massive arm crossed his body, knocking him on his back against the floor before a solid and heavy boot planted firmly in the middle of his chest. He looked up to a heavy and bearded face leaning over as a gruff and booming voice reprimanded him, "Now that's a bad move, hoss."

Jackson forced his head up to look past the hairy tree trunk of a leg holding him in place to a terrible sight. Doc Strong had the girl in a bear hug from behind, trying to restrain her as she screamed and fought for her life against him. She was nearly free of his hold, having squirmed her way down toward the floor before Jayce of all people appeared from the infirmary, holding a sedative gun. She delivered a restrained but decisive shot with her free hand to the girl's stomach, causing her to double over. Strong took advantage of the opening to rework his grip, securing the girl in his massive arms while Jayce jammed the sed-gun against her neck and pulled the trigger, trying her damndest to avoid the swinging claws slicing every which way with a fierceness. A quick hiss and a release of mist floated up into the air before the screams and flailing subsided. Jayce took several steps back, holding the gun down by her side as she watched the girl's strength waning while her claws instinctively retracted back into her arms. Only a few seconds passed and she fell limp and lifeless to the floor as Strong opened his grip. Even though she was out cold, her body convulsed a few times before finally settling.

Save for Jackson still flat on his back, everyone stood in shock of what had just transpired in as little as a minute and a half, the echoes of heavy breathing reverberating as they all tried to figure out what to do next. In Addie's ever-so-eloquent words, whatever the old lady saddled them with had just upset the entire peace of their home, leaving Jackson with the only appropriate words as he asked, "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"

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