[16:00]
Sweat and heat, out of breath, gasping for air. Bodies moving in fluid motion, together and separate. Almost like dancing, music, keeping the rhythm steady and consistent.
Duck, weave, hook, jab; duck, weave, uppercut. Duck, weave, TAKEDOWN.
A body flipped over onto the mat, feet stuck in the air for a moment. Coach Fred rushed over, towel and water bottle in hand to check on the floored opponent as Miz stepped away, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms back. Her aramid-weave sports bra was losing the fight against the heat, sun directly overhead of the megablock and pouring in through the open roof. The smell of ammonia, sweat pouring, was pungent, but nobody took notice. They were here to train, to get better, faster, stronger. That was Coach Fred's mentality. You step into his ring, you fight clean; no cyberware. Just good old-fashioned meat and bones.
Miz stopped for a moment, tilting her head back with a deep breath, closing her eyes and feeling the sun bask on her face. In this moment, a light breeze swept through the megablock's atrium, a shiver rolling down her spine. Her back arched, chest pushing out, the sun illuminating the drops of sweat and the tattoos adorning her toned and fit upper body.
A lifetime ago, when Miz was still running with the Tyger Claws, she went the full monty on wanting to look like her fellow gangers. Chest, shoulders, upper back, and her right upper arm, were covered in Irezumi-style ink; where other gangers preferred the powerful tiger and bear motifs, or other Yōkai, Miz always preferred the kitsune ("the fox"). Crafty, swift, and clever. Woven in the wavy black patterns and abundance of lotus flowers and bamboo shoots was a large portrait of a kyūbi no kitsune ("nine-tailed fox"); its neck and head extended over her right shoulder to lay coyly on her right breast, its body following the line of her back down her right shoulder blade, its nine tails wrapping around her lower back to the left and ending on her stomach. The depiction resembled the animal hugging her entire body; one could argue it actually gave her a warm feeling. Over her heart was a small cleared patch of skin outlining in bold black ink the Japanese characters 母 ("mama").
This brief moment of peace was interrupted by Fred yelling over to Miz playfully, "Hey, you really got to stop beating the shit out of my guys, Miz! It's embarrassing."
A muffled voice came from the still-contorted body on the mat, "I'm actually okay with this Fred. It's kind of sexy."
Miz chuckled as her sparring partner rolled over onto his knees. Fred planted a smack on the back of his head, "Glad to see you got your priorities straight. BENCH!"
Miz smirked, "So who's up?"
Her previous partner was holding his gut as he made his way to the bench. Fred shook his head, "Miz, come on, you already beat up three of my guys, you've been here for two hours. Don't overdo it. You've done enough damage today."
Miz pouted, her shoulders sagging forward for a moment before Pops' voice trailed in from her left, "She's workin' through some shit from this mornin', needs to blow off steam. Here, I'll step in with her."
Miz's eyes grew wide with excitement and a smile stretched from ear to ear. Not that she was keen to beat up on Pops, but among everything else she'd learned from him over the last seven years, he was the one who taught her how to fight properly as opposed to just being scrappy. He showed her the broad strokes, but Fred had put a real good polish on it over the last 3 years. She looked over at Fred, who threw his hands up in surrender as everyone else sitting around the mat moved out the way, clearing equipment and benches to give ample room. Pops stepped into the ring, his organic muscles bulging out from a syn-cotton tanktop and matching gym shorts stopping just above his knees. Fred had to admire him, really. Probably the last guy alive in Night City with a fully-organic natural build. Everyone else took the easy route, be it cyberware implants or "juicing" like the Animals. Fred wished he'd had a chance to train a younger Pops. He would've been a champion in the ring, Fred thought to himself, dismissing the fantasy since he and Pops were around the same age anyway. He smiled and grabbed a pair of boxing gloves, tossing them over.
Pops swatted the gloves to the ground, a devilish smile and twinkle in his eyes, "No gloves. You good with that, Em?"
Miz smirked as her eyes narrowed before undoing both gloves with her teeth and in one fluid motion, she swung her arms down with enough force to send both gloves to the floor. Bare hands feeling the relief of open air, she curled them into fists and kicked the gloves off the mat as she stepped into a ready stance. Pops met her stance with a smile. Fred already regretted his actions as he stepped forward, placing his arm between them and said, "You all know the rules. Clean fight, no boosters, no stims, no cyberware, no shots to the face. Otherwise, anything goes. Just don't fucking kill each other, please?"
Both Pops and Miz chuckled and nodded towards Fred in agreement. Fred stalled for a second before swallowing. He swung his arm up as he shouted, "FIGHT!"
Miz and Pops stood still for a moment, eyes locked. She took the first step, keeping her distance and moving sideways around him, who turned to follow. Their footwork was meticulous, each poised to launch or recover effortlessly based on who threw the first punch. In or out of the ring, Miz was always the more impulsive of the two, but she restrained herself from launching first, wanting to wait out her opponent. Pops was impressed at her self-control considering he had to keep her from nearly tearing someone's head off less than eight hours ago. He feigned a step forward, extending his arms as if going for a swing; she took the bait, reaching out to deflect a fist that wasn't there. Pops took the opportunity and stepped in. In a single fluid motion, he grabbed Miz's wrist with his right hand and pulled in, delivering a blow to her ribs with his left elbow. In another seamless motion, he pushed down her arm and stepped forward, carefully but swiftly placing his right leg behind hers as he drove the full weight of his right elbow into her collarbone. She was knocked back and caught on his leg, losing her balance.
The next thing Miz knew, she was on her back staring up at Pops extending his hand out. She smiled and grabbed it, trying to pull him down as she swung her leg for his head, using the momentum to roll backwards over her shoulder. Pops barely caught her foot but was able to deflect as she recovered to one knee before launching a full-blown battery of precise punches and chops. Pops recognized the style and countered each blow while delivering his own; Miz caught each strike as they played off each other like a fight scene from an action movie.
Pops finally saw an opening, throwing a fake knee; Miz blocked with both hands, leaving her chest exposed. With the palm of his left hand, he delivered a decisive blow between her collarbones, knocking her back before following up with his right fist into her solar plexus. This brought her to her knees, fighting for air. Pops relented for a moment. Miz, eyes full of fury, lunged at him, jumping for an overhead strike. Big mistake, she already knew. Pops caught her around her waist over his shoulder, spinning around and slamming her down into the mat. She reeled upwards, arching her back with a loud groan.
Fred was beginning to worry, debating in his head whether or not to call the fight here and now. He surprised himself as he realized he was actually more afraid of what Miz would do to him if he did call the fight. He leaned back, keeping a wary eye on both contenders.
Pops cracked his knuckles individually as Miz was still trying to regain her composure. He walked a circle around her as he egged her on, "Come on! You want to tear Lex apart and you can't even land a hit on an old man?!"
That. Was. IT. Miz curled her back, bringing her legs up to her chest before launching them in the air, the rest of her body following the momentum. Firmly on her feet, she was ready to launch, but she stopped for a moment, remembering the first thing Pops ever taught her. Center yourself, she heard his voice in her head. She closed her eyes and relaxed her arms and legs, focusing on her breathing for what felt like an eternity. Quiet. Her left leg slid back and she took a defensive stance, hands at the ready. As she opened her eyes, Pops was already running at her for the killing blow. They met and exchanged strikes and blocks for a few turns, Miz finding her opening. She side-stepped a right hook and deflected Pops away, finding herself at his back. She readied her stance and launched a reverse roundhouse kick, looking for his head.
Pops corrected and turned just in time to see the bottom of a sneaker approaching his face. He barely dodged with a quick juke backwards, but the broken air from Miz's foot blew past his face. He tried to catch her foot, but she was ready. With her planted leg, she bent at the knee and sprung up. She caught her moment, free leg hooked around Pops' torso. With a controlled jerk of her core, her body spun towards the ground as she braced herself, his body lifting. In a perfectly timed motion, she released her grip on Pops as his body rolled in the air with him landing squarely on his back.
A loud and masculine grunt echoed through the atrium. Miz laid there for a moment, not noticing at first that Fred was standing over both of them, concerned frustration painted all over his face. He spoke up with two words, "You're. DONE."
Miz groaned and rolled over, picking herself up off the mat and regaining her balance. Walking over to Pops, she looked at Fred with disappointment and pouted, "Come on, man. We were just getting started."
Fred answered, unamused, "That's what I'm worried about."
Scoffing, Miz leaned over Pops and held out her hand. His eyes were closed. She called out to him, "Come on, you can't die yet."
Pops chuckled and answered, eyes still closed, "Mmm, just a few more minutes, Em. I had this weird dream that you were kicking my ass."
Another moment passed, and Pops grabbed Miz's arm. She huffed as she pulled him up to his feet. Suddenly, they both realized they weren't just fighting in front of Fred and his trainees. Half of the atrium had stopped in their tracks to watch. Fred had to be official about it, "Give me a clean break, now. Fight's over, show me there's no hard feelings."
Pops held out his hands in fists for a bump. Miz looked at him with a smirk before she buried herself in his torso and wrapped her arms tight around him. He smiled as he glanced over to Fred, "That good enough?"
Fred smiled back, "I guess it'll have to do."
Everyone took in the warmth before going about their business as Pops wrapped his arms around Miz to reciprocate the hug and whispered, "Good fight, kiddo."
After a few seconds, Pops and Miz let go of each other. As the crowd cleared, Miz caught Billy standing there between two other goons, jaw on the floor. Her eyes narrowed at him as she turned to grab her gloves and other items.
Billy broke his gaze and turned to Pops, "Uh, hey... Mr. Gray?..."
"Mr. Gray was my father, kid, and he's been dead a long time now", Pops said with a smirk and a firm tone, "Just call me 'Phoenix', or 'Pops'."
Billy was visibly uncomfortable calling someone he just met "Pops", but he continued anyway, "Uh, Phoenix... sir. Mr. Tooley wishes to know what your plan is for the job this evening?"
Using Tooley's verbiage, Pops answered, "Our methods are simply not his concern."
A few feet away, Miz was popping her piercings back in, trying her best to pay no heed to Billy. She sported two small silver hoops in each earlobe, with a silver cuff in each helix. Another small silver hoop went in her left nostril. In her navel, she had a simple metal bar with a ball at each end. Her piercings weren't flashy, but they sent a message.
Billy recovered, "Okay, so... what can I do?"
Pops looked down at Billy and pursed his lips with a sigh. This kid ain't goin' to give up, is he?
A holocall rang in Billy's head, followed by Pops' voice, "We got your number, so we got all we need for now. You got iron?"
Billy answered, "I have a Liberty."
"Good, bring it with you. Meet us down on P3 at 23:00 sharp. We won't wait, so no lollygaggin'."
The call ended and Pops turned to follow Miz through the Atrium. Billy watched them both for a moment before one of the other goons called out, "Hey, come on choom! Let's eat!"
--
[20:00]
Miz sat on a concrete bench next to one of four main atrium elevators for the entire complex. Despite being on Level 8, the apartments were numbered as "07", which never quite made sense. She stared intently at the door for apartment 0716 as if she were trying to see through the walls into what lay beyond.
A holocall rang, crew-wide, with Pops' voice speaking up first, "Hey Em, how're ya feeling?"
She chuckled, "Could ask you the same question, Pops."
Ky spoke up, "Oh yeah, I heard you two were beating the piss out of each other, why didn't anyone invite me?!"
Pops cut in, "Just blowin' off some steam. Miz was beatin' up pretty bad on Fred's boys, so I stepped in to give them a break."
"Ah yeah, that was fun to watch this morning, Miz", Ky joked, "Now, was that a special presentation for Max 'n Me, or is Tooley always like that?"
If you have to ask, Miz thought.
Pops answered, "Well, if ya got to ask."
Miz smiled as Pops continued, "Anyway, we clear for tonight?"
Ky took the lead, "Yeah, we're all set. We'll cut out of here at 23:00 as planned, ETA to job site is 23:30. Our target is a warehouse off Pershing Street. Shotgun style, front to back. Probably best we infil 2 blocks down, go in from the rear. Multiple buildings should provide perfect cover. Drone picked up an access point in a utilities outbuilding hooked into the hard line. Should be able to get in and out relatively unnoticed."
Pops interjected, "Should?"
Ky continued, "Yeah, well, we'd all be a lot richer if things always went according to plan, right? In case things go loud, I've prepped 3 matched M221s with red-dots and suppressors."
Pops interjected again, "What about the pup? And what's our body count?"
Ky fired back, "What are the chances you're going to ditch that old six-shooter if the shit goes down? I checked with shortwave IR and thermal imaging, couldn't count more than 15 bodies."
Miz couldn't help herself, "Meaning there are only 15, or you don't know how to count higher than 15 and we're just fucked?"
Everyone could almost see the middle finger Ky was throwing Miz's way. Pops stepped in, "Sounds like we got a solid plan. I dont know about the pup tagging along, but orders is orders. Somethin' ain't right about that... hey Miz, I stopped by but you weren't in?"
"In my usual spot before a gig", Miz answered as nonchalantly as possible.
Ky asked sincerely, "Hey, all joking aside, what's up with you and that apartment?"
Pops answered on Miz's behalf, "It's not the apartment, it's who used to live there."
Ky again, "And who was that?"
Max finally broke her silence, speaking with bittnerness in her voice, "Un legend."
--