The air was thick with the smell of sulfur and metal; spent shells, gunpowder, and blood. The smoke was finally clearing as the hail of gunfire had come to a halt, the echoes still resounding off into the distance. Piercing through the poor visibility, a pair of glowing red irises, the signature of Kiroshi combat-model cyberoptics, scanned from side to side with steadfast precision. No corner, nook, nor cranny was left unchecked, aided by rays of morning sunlight shining through broken windows and holes in the ceiling. The ping of a holocall rang through, answered, followed by a gruff voice with a hint of a charming southern drawl, "Catwalks and offices cleared, goods in-hand, how's things down there, Miz?"
The red glow subsided and the almond-shaped eyes returned to their "natural" shade of greyish-brown, though still alert and darting back and forth. A blink, another blink, organic vision came into focus, and Miz leaned back, still crouched on one knee with her Unity at the ready. With her free hand, she reached up to push back her hair, a dyed pink and black sideswept undercut, and wiped off the dirt and sweat from her face. Only 23 years old, her face carried with it a lifetime of hardship. She didn't look any worse for wear, but a keen eye saw that there was wisdom and experience beyond her years; but behind it all, anger and sadness.
Mizuki Hasegawa, aka "Miz", a "streetkid" from Watson. Hers was a dime-a-dozen story for young punks in Night City. Her mother was a "joytoy" operating out of the waterfront slums in Kabuki; her absent father was an overworked middle-manager for Arasaka, on assignment from Tokyo. Miz spent her childhood playing with friends and getting lost in the Kabuki market before graduating to pickpocketing and petty theft to earn enough scratch to keep her mother out of jail. She was a quick study, as she was only 14 when a budding Tyger Claw underboss approached her. Miz was headed down a dark path until a veritable saint entered her life two short years later.
"Hey, you alive over there, Mizzy?!", chimed the same gruff voice. Clearing her throat, Miz answered in a warm yet gravelly and stern tone, "Don't call me Mizzy."
"Yeah, well it got your attention now, didn't it? Come on, what's your sit-rep?!"
Miz could almost see the shit-eating grin on the other side of the call as she answered, "All clear. Gear and body check, let's delta."
The call ended with the sound of a racking slide and a cold barrel pressed into the crown of Miz's head followed by a wholly unsettling daemonic voice, "All clear, CUNT?!"
He had her. This chrome-domed monstrosity had a high-caliber hand-cannon pointed right at Miz's head. What remained of his mouth curled into a smile baring chrome teeth to match the high-profile optical and olfactory implants that sat snug where a sane person's eyes and nose would be. Standing there shirtless, his neck, arms, and torso were grotesque, with tubes, hoses, and valves jutting in and out of his skin, ragged piercings and bits of loose metal shoved everywhere. Remnants of pure black-ink tattoos were the last vestige of sanity compared to this unholy matrimony of man and machinery.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment as Miz considered her options before the sound of another racked slide followed by a much smoother organic voice, "Bad move, choom."
Chrome-dome's machined optics refocused to his left. It was enough. A single word rang in Miz's mind, "Now". In the blink of an eye, she dropped the Unity from her left hand, her nails protruding into mechanical claws. With an almost subconscious impulse, her right arm nearly exploded into a series of interconnected RealSkinn platelets as a long blade shot forward, the business end glowing bright red. With the grace of a ballerina, Miz turned to face her attacker, swinging her right arm out. The glowing blade caught his torso, searing flesh and metal as his stomach opened up, pouring blood and guts onto his lower extremities. The owner of the smoother voice knew well enough to get the fuck out of the way.
The air filled with the stench of burnt flesh and intestines; Chrome-dome was in shock, barely able to register what just happened. Miz stood to face him eye to eye as her right arm restored itself. Her irises again, and now the cyberware threading in her face, were glowing bright red as she wrapped her hand around Chrome-dome's neck and pushed him several paces back into a concrete pillar. No words, no sounds, save for his blood-curdling screams. As Miz stared him in the eyes, his numerous red optics changed to a shuttering blue; he was broadcasting. He regained his composure for one final gritty smile. Center optic still shuttering blue, the rest of his optics changed to bright red hearts and he licked his chops with a forked tongue before emitting his final words, "Be seein' ya... fuckmeat."
Miz plunged the claws on her left hand into the soft tissue surrounding Chrome-dome's facial implants. Her voice began a low rumble, then a growl, and finally a raw and feral scream as with a single motion, she gripped and ripped, separating machine from man in a spew of blood. Hand still around his neck, she felt his body go limp. As she released, the body crumpled to the floor, squirting and pooling blood onto the cold concrete.
Miz stared for a brief moment, covered in the remains of Chrome-dome's face, her mind blank before remembering there was someone standing 6 feet away, utterly horrified. Red irises receding once again, she looked up to meet the young man's eyes before he looked away. Her jaw clenched, she dropped the chrome from her left hand, the dull thud reverberating. Claws retracted, she reached up and wiped a bit of blood off her face with two fingers, looking at it dismissively as she sucked her teeth before flashing her eyes back to the young man. She asked dryly, "You got a towel, handsome?"
William Barrett, aka "Billy", another streetkid like Miz, but from Rancho Coronado. His father died during the building of the Laguna Bend Dam in 2062 when he was only 2 years old, but due to a loophole (of course), the corp was cleared of any obligations to provide compensation; his mother worked as a bartender to keep him fed and clothed, but considering his recent life choices, she might wonder why she even bothered. He was an attractive young male with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes, decently smart, always did well in school, and had an affinity for sports and physical fitness, contributing to his considerable physique. He was streetwise, albeit nervous, but anyone you ask from Rancho will tell you, "He's a good kid with a good heart." A rare thing to see in Night City.
Billy's eyes narrowed and focused past Miz as he aimed his Liberty, the sound of rapid footsteps approaching. Miz leapt to where she had dropped her Unity, scooping it up as she rolled over to her knees and turned to aim in the same direction. As the owner of the gruff voice rounded the corner, one-handed Malorian Overture at the ready, Miz decocked her weapon and signaled a wave with her free hand. With a heavy sigh of relief, the older man released the hammer and lowered his revolver. His eyes immediately focused on Chrome-dome's corpse before looking up at Miz covered in blood. A wary smile crossed his mustached face, his mind searching for the right words as he effortlessly holstered his revolver in his tac-vest, "Well... this is an unholy mess you made, Miz. Looks like y'all made out alright, though."
With a mixed sigh and a chuckle, Miz's hands dropped to her sides as she holstered her pistol on her thigh, spitting to keep the blood from entering her mouth. The older man turned and grabbed a canvas tarp off a nearby stack of crates before approaching Miz, cautiously holding it out to her. She grabbed the tarp with both hands and a smile, bringing it to her face and vigorously rubbing away the gore and claret as she spoke muffled through the cloth, "Thanks, Pops."
Phoenix Gray, aka "Pops". If there was such a thing as a "saint" in Night City, he was the closest thing to it; a steadfast anchor in Miz's life for the last 7 years. Born in Arizona during the Time of the Red, Phoenix was unironically not named for the city; he grew up on an Indian reservation outside Tucson. By his mid-teens, he was gunrunning for the Snake Nation, eventually rising through the ranks to become a respected enforcer and feared "gunslinger". A strong and imposing man at some six feet and several inches, everything about Phoenix was straight out of an old pre-Krash Western "cowboy" movie, right down to his preference for revolvers, particularly his old trusted Malorian Overture, and his patented mustache that would make a walrus weep in shame. Having "roamed" to Night City around 2070 following a rapid departure from the Snake Nation over a clash of ideals, Phoenix found himself offering his services as a hired gun, establishing a base of operations in the Kabuki Market before a charming, albeit troubled young joytoy and her equally troubled but resourceful daughter swept him off his feet. The rest, as they say, is history.
As Miz lowered the tarp, having dry-wiped as much as she could, Pops pulled a canteen from his belt and signaled to her to lean back as he poured a liberal amount of RealWater over her face, the carbonation fizzing against her skin and running through her hair, taking with it the bits of blood left over. Entirely unfazed, he took a swig with a refreshed sigh, eyes turning to Billy still processing the last few minutes. Miz whipped her water-logged hair back, the excess flying off and hitting Billy in the face, snapping him out of his trance. He looked over at Pops, who gave him an approving nod with raised eyebrows, "Good lookin' out, kid. Thanks for havin' her back."
Miz, hand raised halfway, approached Billy, who almost instinctively took a step back. She scoffed and patted him firmly on the chest as she walked by, her hand lingering for a second, "Relax, tiger." Her head turned to Pops, "Guess it wasn't such a bad idea to bring the fixer's pet after all."
Billy frowned, but his cheeks were flushed. Pops took notice, a gruff chuckle as his mustache flared in a smile. Miz continued a few paces before stopping. Her entire body went rigid, her fists clenched. Pops took notice of this with a raised eyebrow of concern, Billy turning to look as well. Had it been raining, you could likely see the steam irradiating off Miz's body. Her fists began to tremble lightly before her head turned towards Billy, rage in her eyes. Though not at him, but more his presence and what it represented. Her left hand opened, hovering over her holster for a second before snapping back into a fist as she swung around and marched straight for Billy, face threading pulsing. As before, he took a step back but was caught off-guard as Miz reached out with one hand, grabbing hold of his webbing and jerking him around. She slammed his back against the newly-christened "execution" pillar, and without taking a breath, she snapped, "How in the FUCK did your boss not know we'd be walking into a Maelstrom hit squad?!"
Billy was still staggered by the fact that some girl half his size could swing him around like a ragdoll. He couldn't help but notice staring death in the face a few inches away from his own, there was a soft and warm kindness beneath the tough exterior. A danger pretty here in Night City. Christ, she's beautiful...
The daydream was cut short by Miz slamming Billy into the pillar again and screaming, "Get the cum out of your ears! What the FUCK happened here?!"
Billy answered frantically, "I-I don't know what you're talking about! I slotted the same shards as you for this job! You think Tooley trusts me any more than he trusts you? I've only been on his crew for a month!"
Pops chimed in, "He's got a point, Em. We've been workin' with Tooley for over a year now. Inner circle or not, the kid's just a pup. Not likely he knows anythin' more'n we do."
Miz's hands began trembling again as she tried to restrain herself. She finally let Billy go, but not before giving him another push against the pillar with a quiet, "fuck!", as she walked off.
"Anyhow", Pops continued, his eyes following Miz, "We got the job done, got what we came for, and we made one hell of a racket doin' so. Fuzz's likely to be here soon, so best we make ourselves scarce. No sense in carryin' on. Check your gear, leave nothin' behind. Let's delta. Billy, grab the guns."
A holocall pinged between all the crew with Pops taking lead, "Max? Raise Ky. We're done here."
A second of silence before a heavily Haitian-accented female voice answered, "Wi, bosmang."
Miz was already on the other side of the warehouse and gave a half-hearted and dismissive wave.
--
Outside, the sun was cresting over the city skyline, shadows still bouncing here and there. The city's hustle and bustle had not yet broken the silence over this particular corner of Watson. Miz was already waiting with a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth, her hand still twitching over her holster. Pops appeared next to her, almost out of thin air. How the fuck did he always do that?
"Hey, bum one off ya?", he asked with a light smile. Without breaking her gaze, Miz took a drag before pulling the cigarette and answered, "Since when do you not have a pack on you?"
No answer; Miz finally broke and turned towards Pops, who just gave her a light elbow and a wink. Breaking into a slight smile herself, she pulled a crumpled softpack from an inner pocket of her bomber jacket and shook one loose. Pops leaned down to grab it between his lips before Miz playfully pulled the pack away from him. His eyes darted up at her with a raised eyebrow, and she giggled before placing the pack squarely in front of him. He grabbed the loose cigarette between his lips and sat back up. In her other hand she held up a lighter. Pops looked at her suspiciously before she smiled again and moved the lighter closer to his face. He leaned forward and lit the tip of his cigarette. Taking a long drag, he placed his arm around Miz and broke the silence as he exhaled smoke through his nostrils, "Alright, what's got you so riled up, kiddo?"
Miz took another drag before answering, "It's all wrong, Pops; the intel was wrong, the new guy is wrong, everything about this job is wrong. And it's not just this job. It's like every job we've had lately is just... off. It's like Tooley's trying to get rid of us."
"More like he doesn't want to pay us what we're worth. When you hold all the cards, you can engineer any outcome you want."
Another drag, "So then why don't we move up, Pops? We've got the rep at this point. Why are we still taking ten-enny gigs from some douchebag in a slum penthouse?"
"Well, it gets tricky Em, especially when he runs the megablock we all share as our base of operations for these dastardly deeds."
Miz frowned, her eyes dropping to the ground. Pops continued, "But hey, we play our cards right, we'll come out on top. We're comin' up in the world, kiddo. You can put money on that. And as for the pup, I'd say you got a fan alrea—"
Miz and Pops were interrupted by screeching tires approaching as a heavily modified Chevillon Emperor fishtailed through the gates of the warehouse property and stopped right in front of them. Driver-side window rolling down, a lean bearded male stuck his head out and shouted, "Man, I don't know what the fuck you guys did in there, but we got beaucoup five-oh banging this way."
He was right. The faint sound of sirens became clear; two miles away, give or take. Pops stood up to move out, Miz stepped forward and rebuked the driver, "Ky, if you'd taken any longer, I would have just cuffed myself, made it easy on them."
"Oh yeah, you looking for someone to cuff you, darlin'?!", Ky said as he flashed his signature smile. Miz flicked her butt at him with a middle finger and a wink, to which he reciprocated.
Kyle Lavey, aka "Ky". Former NUSA pilot, he did his time before and during the Unification War. A natural-born charmer and wise-ass, he often found himself at odds with his superiors because of this, but he always knew just how to get himself out of it, too. Standing at five feet and ten inches, he maintained a lean build; just enough muscle to show he meant business, but not to advertise. Where he joined up with pride and a sense of servitude in 2065, it only took 5 years to beat that out of him. One thing that always stuck with him was his signature mirrored aviators and his tapered crew cut, although as a civilian, he now took the liberty of maintaining a thick and full beard. Managing to escape (barely) with his life and his Militech reflex boosters, he found a home in Night City as a capable wheelman, adrenaline junkie, and notorious ladies' man. His laissez-faire attitude and lease on life could be chalked up to five words, "Just fly the damn plane".
While Ky laughed himself silly, a serious-looking woman with a dark complexion leaned forward in the passenger seat and shouted at Miz, "Oye! If ye done playin' gwab-ass, can ye gey'de fuck in de car and we roll?"
Ky turned to the woman and answered, "Yeah, love you too, boo-boo."
Pops shouted over Miz's shoulder, "We're workin' on it, hold your horses! Where's the new kid?"
Grunts and groans emanated from nearby as Billy exited the warehouse, dragging two full duffel bags along the ground, one in each hand. Pops chuckled to himself as he walked over and grabbed a bag from Billy. He slung it over his shoulder with no effort and hoofed it to the truck. Billy stood there, his jaw on the floor at what he'd just witnessed as Miz grabbed the other side of the remaining duffel bag and called out to him, "Hey, gonkbrain! TO-DAYYY!"
Billy focused up and matched pace with Miz, who had no trouble carrying her end of the bag. He finally found some courage and said, "You know, whatever your issue is with Tooley, I'm not him. You got an issue with me, you can square up with me. You got an issue with him, take it up with him."
"Oh I got some fucking issues with him alright, and a couple of hard questions", answered Miz, quickening her pace intentionally to throw Billy off his step as she continued, "And hey, as for you; first, you work for a fucking dumpster-fire of a human being, and you speak for his actions with this crew; second, you're the new guy, so knuckle up and take your licks like the rest of us."
Pops already had the trunk open and had chucked his bag in between the benches, making room for the second bag. With a combined effort, Miz and Billy lifted the bag up onto the fold-out tailgate before Pops pushed it into place next to the first. Nodding to the others, confirming the all-clear, Pops ushered Miz and Billy into the back of the truck before climbing in himself, pulling the split trunk doors shut behind him as he called out to Ky, "Let's go!"
Ky smiled in the rear-view mirror as he shifted the truck into gear and peeled out of the lot, careful to avoid any obstacles in his way. A swarm of Night City's finest arrived within 30 seconds of their departure.
A mile down the road, Billy spoke up, "So, as far as gigs go, this one could have gone worse, right? I think we did okay...?"
Nobody answered. Try again, "How did we do, h-how did I do?"
Miz smirked for a second before answering him, "Wait, is this your first job?! How old even are—".
Pops interrupted, "You do this job long enough, kid, you learn that kinda shit doesn't much matter. You watch your corner, you watch your crewmate's backs. You do that, and you done right."
Billy, clearly embarrassed, answered through gritted teeth, "I'm 25."
"Bullshit!", Miz didn't miss a beat as she laughed. Billy hadn't heard her laugh yet. It was... intoxicating, were he not being humiliated.
Another mile down the road, the voice from the passenger seat spoke up, her eyes flashing blue from a data stream, "Oye Miz, fwom you befo', 'im 19. Juvy record for vandalism, bu' only one prior as un add-ult. Look tey be a petty brawl be'ween chooms."
"That's just what he's been caught for", Miz said, surprising everyone as she leaned in closer to Billy with a devious smile and raised eyebrows, "So how 'bout it, new guy? You a cold-blooded killer?"
"I was ready to kill that Maelstrom psycho from earlier before you painted the warehouse with him", Billy answered, now visibly offended.
Sensing the tension, Pops interjected, "Yeah, you looked primed and ready for action, kid. For the count, you did good work today. Tooley'll be glad to know his newest pup can perform."
Billy took a chance and asked, "So, what do you plan to do about Tooley? What can you do?"
The cheeky smirk left Miz's face and she leaned back and crossed her arms, clenching her jaw and looking out the rear of the truck.
"Cross that bridge when we come to it", Pops answered calmly, looking out the window before leaning back and closing his eyes, "which in a literal sense could be any minute now."
As it so happened, the truck was crossing the bridge from Northside into Japantown. The radio was finishing up Artemis Delta's "Night City" before a hearty voice took over the airwaves with, "GOOOOOOD MORNING, NIGHT CITY!!!"
All in all, yes it was, Stan.
--