[2069 - somewhere over Ridgecrest, South California]
The skies were a rare and beautiful shade of blue, hardly a cloud in sight as the sun shone brightly. Were it not for the protective visor inbuilt into First Lieutenant Kyle Lavey's flight helmet, he would likely have been blinded by how many times his maneuvers had pointed him directly at the sun. However, today, the sun in his eyes was the least of his worries as— OH SHIT!
Kyle swore to himself as he swerved hard to starboard, dodging yet another stream of cannon fire. You could have knocked him over with a feather, his LIDAR showing only friendlies. There were no 'tangos' in sight. He had to quickly make peace with his choices, seeing as his NUSAF superiors had just branded him an enemy of the state. If that was the price of admission for refusing a direct order to carpet-bomb civilian residential areas, Kyle could live with being called a traitor.
FuckfuckFuckFUCK!
Another hard bank to port, two separate streams of cannon fire converging on his previous position. They were ganging up on him, and he was running out of options. He could feel the pressure of each maneuver like someone was standing on his chest, but he would tell you sincerely and honestly that it was the greatest fucking feeling on God's green Earth. Were he not literally fighting for his life at the moment, he'd likely be smiling from ear to ear. Actually, that's a big fucking lie; he was smiling from ear to ear, pushing himself and his plane to the absolute edge. He refused to fire on his own section, despite them not sharing his ethical objections to this entire sortie, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun on his last joyride. He knew in his heart that he made the right call, never mind what his commanding officers thought about it. He wasn't going to be someone else's tool anymore. The last five years of his life had made damn sure of that.
COME ON, SUCKERS!!! HAHAHAHA!!!!
With a hard cut of thrust and a quick reverse pitch of his stick, Kyle went vertical, the tail of his jet actually swinging under and forward as if to pivot. He slammed to full throttle as he climbed, all of his pursuers having flown right by him and struggling to double back. He laughed loudly into his radio as he taunted them, receiving no response. They hadn't spoken a word to him in the last 15 minutes, but he also had to assume his radio had been cut off from the section's frequency. He spotted them approaching, climbing to get close enough; they weren't fucking around anymore, as his entire cockpit lit up red and sounded alarms. He was being painted by missile lock.
Shit shitshitshit SHIT!
He just needed to hold on a little longer... just... right... THERE!
Another thrust cut with a roll and reverse pitch sent his jet fishtailing before a nose dive. The two pursuers blew right past on their upward ascent before their engines flamed out. Kyle laughed again, his trick having worked. Their jets could only fly so high before the engines malfunctioned, so if you could stay out of range for a true missile lock just long enough, you could trick a pilot into tunnel-visioning right into a flameout. It was an old trick bestowed by his former flight lead, friend, and mentor, and had served him well on a few occasions. He took a deep breath with a sigh of— OH GOD DAMNIT!
His celebration was short-lived as a third jet from his section caught him off-guard in a game of chicken, managing to strafe him with cannon fire. His cockpit sounded again with master alarms, engine and oil pressure warnings, and he quickly felt his controlled descent turning into a dive-bomb as each of his jet's systems failed one after the other. While he'd grown attached to this plane, it was now little more than a metal coffin, and sure as shit wasn't going to be the end of him by a long shot. He made his choice, kissing the old gal goodbye and releasing the controls as he pulled the lever and watched the canopy blow away. Not long after, he felt the propulsion under his ass and watched as he and his seat blew out and away from the jet.
It was a hell of a thing to see, his own plane spiraling towards ground as he watched from mid-air. His awe was cut short by the third plane strafing him again. He could almost feel the high-caliber projectiles passing by. He was still a target as long as he was strapped to his seat, forcing him to make a very stupid decision... click.
He released the harness strapping him in, watching as he separated from the chair. He allowed himself to free-fall for several seconds, his own HUD reading an altitude of over 9,000 feet, as he smiled wide beneath his mask and admired the wind blasting in his ears. It was so calm this high up in the sky, and if not for the other jets trying to KILL him, it might almost be peaceful. He brought himself back on track as he forced his arms to his sides and led with his head down, reducing his drag and quickening his descent. 7,500 feet. He just had to hold on for a little bit longer. No chance they could hit him. He was too small for a weapons lock, if he even picked up on LIDAR at all. 6,000 feet. He'd made it this far, no way he was going to eat shit now. Especially not with these brain-dead cocksuckers at the stick. He had considered turning in his wings several times already, but always found a reason to stick around, never wanting to abandon his brothers. 4,500 feet. For the first time, he was at peace with making that choice. True brothers wouldn't fire on each other; they'd face the firing squad together if it came right down to it. 3,000 feet, alarm, alarm, alarm, deploy parachute now. Kyle wished so bad he could disable the voice tied to his HUD. He knew what he was doi— FUCK, THIS TOWN'S 2,300 FEET ABOVE SEA LEVEL GOD DAMNIT!
He quickly pulled the ripcord for his reserve parachute, praying it provided enough drag to stop him from becoming red paste on the sand dunes. He could feel the resistance as the shroud lines to the canopy pulled him upright, his feet dangling below. He felt himself slowing, but it wasn't enough. He tried to pull at the toggles to get himself some more hang time, bringing his legs up to his chest. It still wasn't enough. He braced himself and prayed again...
Shi-i-I-IT!
--
[Some time later - Somewhere outside Ridgecrest]
There was a dull rumble, everywhere and yet nowhere all at once. Everything was a blur, but senses were slowly sharpening, coming back into focus. As the sounds became clearer and took shape, the pleasant whistle of the wind cutting through wispy sands found itelf overwhelmed against the thundering boom of jets flying overhead, armor treading over the earth, and distant gunfire and explosions.
Kyle's eyes shot open and he gasped for breath. In an instant, he sat up with his sidearm unholstered and trained on nothing in particular, but his eyes were intent, breathing uneven. He craned his neck to check behind him, seeing only the stark white of his parachute. He let out a deep sigh, undoing the harness for his parachute and negotiating his way out from under the shroud and lines. After too long, he gained his balance and was able to stand on two feet as he looked up at the sky. His jaw clenched, watching jets in NUSAF livery flying overhead. He ducked as he watched bombs being dropped, impacting in the distance with bright flashes of fire and smoke.
It disgusted him to watch his comrades doing the one thing he refused to, blindly following their masters' bidding, and before long it overtook him and made physically ill as he retched his guts all over the sand dune in which he had landed ever so ungracefully. As he spat to clear the last vestiges of his breakfast from his mouth, he fought an overwhelming dizziness that landed him back on his ass in the sand. He took a moment, checking his own vitals in his HUD, making sure everything was in its proper place. He knew he already had some bumps and bruises, possibly a mild concussion, but he wanted to know for certain just how fucked he was.
To his surprise, he did not have a concussion, and nothing outside of some bruising from the impact. All things considered, he had fared fairly well. He looked up for a moment with a smile as he thought, Guess you were listening after all.
He had to fight his instincts to call in that he had crashed. His command had already chalked him up as a traitor, so what the fuck did they care that he was alive and well? If anything, he was a walking, talking liability. His best option would have been to just run, to get out of the area as soon as possible; but something was eating at him. He had to look his commanding officer in the face before he could just walk away. And so that's what he would do. He would blindly march through the now battle-ravaged town of Ridgecrest and find his way back to base.
You're a fucking idiot, he thought to himself as he started his march, stripping any gear he didn't need. He was coherent enough to stay away from the main road; there was nothing but trouble to be had there, between the companies of trigger-happy grunts on both sides and the multitude of mechanized armor in between. He would either run the risk of crossing his "enemy", or running into his own side with the chance they already had the "kill-on-sight" order for one First Lieutenant Kyle Lavey. He was in hot water either way unless he stayed out of sight. Stealth was the order of the day, which was fine by him as he didn't have enough ammunition for his standard-issue Militech Lexington to put up too much of a fight anyway. One live magazine, plus two in reserve, made for a quick solution to an 'oh shit' situation, but unless he procured some other type of weaponry, an all-out gun fight was out of the question.
Despite his infamous mouth, Kyle was good enough at not being seen when he wanted to be, but his olive-drab flight suit wasn't doing him any favors against the stark sands all around him. He stuck out like a sore thumb, and with the way the sun was beating down on him, he felt like he'd be leaving a snail trail of sweat for anyone to follow anyway. He reached for his canteen, disappointed to find it was gone. Must've lost it in the crash... fuck, he thought as he took inventory of everything else still attached to him. Sidearm, check. Reserve mags, check. Boots, check. Multi-tool, check. Protein bar, check. Testicles... check, thank God... Radio, nope...
He didn't mind as much having lost his radio. Nobody would listen to what he had to say, and he was done playing pet for someone else's agenda. Even though President Myers had resigned from her position as Militech's CEO with more enemies than friends, it was no mystery that she still held sway over the corporation's top leadership. Everything with her was a coldly calculated power play; while Kyle certainly wasn't alone in his low opinions of the commander-in-chief and her corpo benefactors, he and all the rest were certainly a minority in the grand scheme of things; and minorities like his kind had a tendency to be discarded like chaff from wheat when push came to shove...
No, Kyle knew he was making the right call. He knew in his heart when he refused to fire on civilians only a few hours prior, and the more he reflected on the past five years, there was no doubt in his mind; he was done. Now the question was what the fuck was he going to do once he was clear of it all? Hitch-hike back to Texas? There was nothing left for him there. He was an orphan at this point, and given Texas' current stance on the Unification War, his background as an NUSAF fighter pilot probably wouldn't garner him any favor. The Free States were always an option, but corpos were still swooping in like vultures to corpses to pick off whatever wasn't nailed down. And again, NUSAF fighter pilot; not a good mix.
He put his current existential crisis on the back burner as a pair of fighter jets boomed overhead at low altitude. He jumped down, flattening himself against the sand as he tracked them, making sure they didn't come around for another pass. A small miracle, he thought, as they either didn't see him or weren't interested, continuing on their current vector until they disappeared over the horizon. He could hear armor moving closer over the sand embankment, worn asphalt crushing beneath the treads. The sounds of roaring engines mixed with falling boots of soldiers marching in formation and chattering voices.
Kyle took his chance, climbing up just enough to peek over and see who he was dealing with. He gave a quick sigh of relief, it wasn't NUSA. It still wasn't a good idea to get caught by the enemy, but at least they weren't actively seeking him out. He counted his blessings and kept his mouth shut as he backed away and moved closer to the town. The airfield was on the other side, so he had a long way yet to go.
At least I still have my balls...
It was only a few minutes before he reached some type of outbuilding, a utility shed for a CHOOH2 station. He carefully flattened himself against it and surveyed his surroundings. The columns of infantry and armor had passed, and he appeared to be in the clear for now. The heat was unforgiving, the sun already having peaked and beginning its descent over the horizon. While Kyle found some comfort in the shade of the building, he wasn't thrilled to have been without water since he ejected several hours earlier. The city's utilities were one of the first targets when this clusterfuck fight started, so there was no running water or central power. His throat burned and his voice was nonexistent at this point.
The town itself was split down the middle on either side of Route 395. The NUSA occupied the former Naval Air Station in the east, whereas the Free States' forces, backed by Arasaka to nobody's surprise, had hunkered down in the residential areas to the west; civilians, if there were really such a thing at this point, were caught on either side, and little more than an afterthought.
Each side made little skirmishes all up and down the artificial 'border', trying like hell to gain ground wherever possible. The civilians had actually done a decent job of mounting guerilla counterattacks on both sides. Nobody wanted a war in their town, least of all fueled by corpo greed, although those seem to be the only kind of wars flaring up these days. Governments were broken, economies were collapsed, and laws didn't apply anymore; treaties were ironed out over boardroom conference tables, policy decided and issued as corporate memos. The old world of checks and balances was gone. There wasn't really a word for what took its place, but it was several steps beyond late-stage capitalism. The late stage had already come and gone. This was an entirely different fresh hell.
Kyle snapped back into focus and flattened himself against the outbuilding as a fireteam of soldiers in Arasaka-branded tac-gear passed by. They seemed to be rounding the corner, forcing him to slip around around to the other side to avoid being see— SHIT!
Kyle looked to his other side, meeting the end of barrel pressed gently into his cheek as he gave a low groan. Holding the iron was a young woman with medium-dark skin, freckles, and jet-black hair pulled into a braided ponytail reaching down her back. Her face was kind, but hardened, and she had a determination in her narrowed eyes. She wasn't someone you wanted to fuck with. Kyle observed good trigger discipline, the safety was off, and her hands didn't even shake. If she wasn't already a stone-cold killer, she at the very least was accustomed to pointing a gun at a live body and maintaining her composure. Kyle was impressed, to say the least.
As the fireteam moved away and back to the road, the young woman remained silent, but motioned with her iron for Kyle to move, directing him towards the larger building. He pulled away from the wall with his hands raised as he scoffed at the situation. He apparently wasn't moving fast enough, as the young woman pressed the barrel into his back with a shove. He took his chance, activating his reflex boosters as he tried to turn and counter. She suffered his nonsense with little ill effect as she effortlessly dodged his hands reaching out. She stepped forward, cracking the base of her handgun's grip against the side of Kyle's head before driving her shoulder into him. Before he knew it, he was flat on his back, the young woman standing over him with the barrel pointed in his face once again. She wasn't pleased.
Before Kyle could react or say anything, several more people appeared from the station with weapons in hand and trained their sights on him as they approached cautiously and formed a circle. The oldest of them had some of the young woman's features, including the steely and hardened stare. He had shoulder-length black hair framing his face along with a full beard. He was strong, but he carried some paunch in his midsection. He motioned to two younger men to move Kyle inside before calling to the rest to follow. The young woman planted her foot against Kyle's chest as she reached down and pulled the Lexington and both reserve mags from his shoulder holster; she had a smirk on her face as she locked eyes with him for several seconds, a hint of blush surfacing before her attention was called elsewhere.
His male escorts were not so kind; one of them kicked Kyle in his side to turn him over on his stomach, the other taking a chance to push his face in the sand, before they both grabbed him by his arms and dragged him toward the larger building. Both younger men shared the same features as the older man and young woman, but both also had shaved heads, though one of them kept a goatee. All four of his captors were dressed in faux-tactical gear; repurposed cargo pants, old surplus combat boots, belts and webbing kits, and the father sported an old-world field jacket.
The building was like any other CHOOH2 station he'd seen, except for the giant fucking hole in the roof, likely from a stray artillery strike. Otherwise, all things considered, the building had fared better than he would have expected. The entire storefront itself was blown out, but the back areas and garage were still intact. The garage showed signs of squatting; whoever these people were, they'd been here for a while, possibly even before the fighting broke out.
They propped Kyle up in a metal chair in the middle of the garage and loosely chained his hands together behind him. His body sagged forward, the full brunt of dehydration and exhaustion hitting full-force. His shoulders strained against it, and the pressure burned across his upper torso. He just wanted to lay down. He resigned himself to shifting forward so he could at least lean back in the chair, and he crashed against it as his eyes met the older man standing in front of him; the young woman dragged her own chair over as she spun it around and sat down backwards, her arms crossed and hanging over the back. She had both Kyle's Lexington and her own iron in her hands, a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth as she stared intently at their new prisoner. The blush was still there, but her smirk was replaced by something resembling a conflict between casual disregard and morbid curiosity. Her upper body was toned and tanned, even despite her darker complexion. She was no stranger to laboring in the sun, the tattered tanktop accenting her collarbones, shoulders, and abdomen. Kyle could feel his blood flowing elsewhere, surprised there was something besides sand left in his veins at this point.
After staring at each other for an eternity, Kyle wearing his usual unbothered smirk, the old man finally spoke in a thick accent, "What is your name?"
Kyle was preparing a smart-ass answer in his mind before he realized he couldn't vocalize anything beyond a scratchy rattle. It occurred to him now just how dehydrated he was, realizing the chap in his lips as his dry tongue scraped against them. The old man narrowed his eyes before nodding to one of the younger men standing to the side. The younger man stepped up, holding out a bottle of RealWater on front of Kyle's face. In this very moment, that was even more beautiful than the stone-cold bad-ass gun-girl sitting across from him. He had a hopeful look on his face as the young man tilted the bottle toward him. He strained himself to try and reach the bottle as he pulled forward, the young man teasing him and pulling the bottle back before the old man growled, "Mateo!"
The young man scoffed, placing the bottle squarely in front of Kyle's face. He grabbed it with his mouth, nearly sucking the bottle dry in a few seconds as some runoff poured down his face. He released the bottle as a cough set in, and he doubled over to try and pull himself together; but he could breathe easy again. He was able to swallow without feeling the sting of sand and whatever else. Finally, he raised his head as the old man asked, "Mmm... better?"
There was a sharp sigh of relief as Kyle nodded between subsiding coughs, "Name's... K-Kyle."
The older man grunted before speaking again, "I am Paulo, the two boys are my sons, Marco and Mateo, and the girl is Miriam, my daughter."
All good 'Christian' names...
They gave no response to Kyle's half smile and nod, big fucking surprise there. Paulo continued, motioning to the wings and patches on the young lieutenant's flight suit, "You're a pilot, yes?"
Kyle's eyes narrowed, but he nodded anyway. Apparently that was the wrong answer, as the burly older man approached him, tossing him and the chair with a single arm. Kyle landed on his back, the metal of the chair slamming against him as he groaned in pain. Paulo's foot stood firmly against his chest as Miriam knelt down and forced his own Lexington in his mouth, a burning hate in her eyes. They were joined by both sons training their own weapons at Kyle's head as Paulo leaned forward and asked, "You're the one who drops bombs on our women and children?"
His eyes widened as he fervently shook his head and tried to speak. Miriam was having none of it as she pulled the iron from his mouth before backhanding him across the jaw with a shout. She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up as she pressed the barrel against his bruising cheek and stared in his eyes. He could see the pain in her face; she had lost someone, they all had. Someone they loved. A single tear ran down his face for them and he said, "P-Please... I didn't drop any bombs... I r-refused to..."
Paulo placed a hand on Miriam's shoulder, his eyes softening as he leaned in, "You have one chance, so choose your words carefully."
Kyle didn't need to, he already knew where he stood on all of this as he blurted out, "My section was given the order to drop bombs on FSF-occupied areas, but they were all civilian homes. I refused the order, and was shot down by my own people because of it. Why else would a single stranded NUSAF pilot be walking the desert on this side of No Man's Land?"
The old man's eyes narrowed for several seconds. Finally, he spoke to all three of his children in a language Kyle couldn't make out. The two sons were first to withdraw, although they didn't want to. Miriam refused to let go, only burying the barrel further as she said, "You lie, and you'll answer for all of our families that died by your hands!"
There was no response at this point, which surprised the young woman. Kyle just looked away, his face wearing a mix of regret and disgust. If this was his fate, he'd face it with a clean conscience. Just another needless casualty in all the bullshit. Paulo took note of his lack of protest, and he urged his daughter back before pulling the chair upright, and Kyle with it. He leaned down as he looked in Kyle's eyes and said, "There's truth in your words, but these are untruthful times, so I'm sorry."
Before Kyle could register his confusion, he felt the full force of Paulo's fist across his jaw, sending him and the chair flying as he landed on his side, unconscious.
--
[Some time later]
There wasn't much noise around, but something was creating a dull rumble inside of Kyle's head as his eyes slowly opened. The sun had set, the twilight rapidly disappearing. As his eyes focused, Paulo came into view, sitting in a chair next to the cot flat on the floor. Kyle was startled to say the least, as he tried to move before realizing he was still bound. His eyes were alert, his jaw clenched. Finally, Paulo pointed to the name tape bearing 'LAVEY' and asked, "First Lieutenant Kyle Lavey?"
Kyle's eyes narrowed, but he nodded slowly. Paulo's hand opened, revealing a playback device of some type. He pressed a small button on the side, a garbled message playing through the tiny speaker:
"Effective immediately... kill-on-sight authorization for one Kyle Lavey, First Lieutenant, 8492nd Squadron... insubordination and refusal to carry out a fire order during combat air operations... good hunting..."
Kyle shut his eyes and his head fell against the cot as he gave a low groan. He had expected this at some point, but to actually hear the words spoken did him no favors, and made his self-imposed objective a whole hell of a lot more difficult. To his surprise, Paulo had a smirk on his face, not unlike the one given by his daughter earlier, but without the blush; a small miracle in Kyle's mind. The old man spoke again, "We snatched this off the airwaves while you were still out... sorry 'bout that, looks like you were telling the truth..."
"So...? Are these really necessary then?", Kyle scoffed as he tried to raise his bound hands. The older man's smirk disappeared, "I still have more questions."
Of course you do, Kyle thought to himself as he flexed his core and forced himself to sit up as he fired back, "Then let's get it over with."
"Your plane crashed on the western outskirts of the city, and yet you decided to walk right back in", Paulo's brow was furrowed in confusion, "You could have just as easily ran in the other direction. Why come back?"
It was a pointed question, and one Kyle hadn't really sorted through himself yet. He had to come up with something if he wanted any chance at getting to use his hands again. After several seconds, he shook his head, "I... I couldn't walk away until I look my commander in the eyes, find out if this was him or further up the chain. I-I had to know."
Paulo smiled, a twinkle in his eye as he said, "You couldn't walk away without one last act of defiance... don't fool yourself."
Kyle though for a moment before shrugging his eyebrows. Old man had a point. Boil it down, he was going to turn in his wings and walk away; no matter what answer his commander gave, that was the endgame... or his commander turns him over and he rots in a cell until someone decides to stand him up against a wall. Either way, Kyle gains nothing. Paulo chuckled as he continued, "I can smell your gears burning from here, choom. It's not like you to just walk away without getting your shots in, but you gain nothing by doing this..."
"So then what do I do?", Kyle asked sincerely, not really surprised this old man could read him like an open book. Without missing a beat, Paulo answered, "You made a choice to not participate in this war any longer. Keep to that choice, and get as fucking far away as you can."
He followed up, pointing his arm out, "Keep going west. There's a city on the coast, 'Night City'. It's truly free, and you can become whatever you want to be there..."
Kyle laughed loudly as he said, "Yeah, if I can survive in that hellhole... no, seriously, chains?"
Paulo obliged with a groan, leaning over to unlock and pull the chains loose. Kyle sighed with relief as he rubbed his wrists and stretched his shoulders. It wasn't long before Miriam appeared in the doorway, iron in-hand. She gave a smirk as Kyle scoffed and said, "Yeah, I get it. Just in case..."
A few heated words in their own language were shared between father and daughter, followed by Miriam stomping off with a disgusted groan. Paulo turned back to Kyle and said, "She's taken the death of her mother a bit harder than the rest of us..."
Kyle's eyes clouded over as he bowed his head, "I-I'm sorry... f-for your loss..."
The older man nodded. There was a conflict inside of him, Kyle could feel it rising; but the man nonetheless kept calm and collected on the outside as he spoke, "War will make corpses of us all. It's in our nature. My people's land was taken from them at the end of a gun. So now will our homes perish and our lives end in a similar manner."
It never clearer than this very moment just how disgusted Kyle was with himself, for the things he'd done over the last five years. He wanted to burn his flight suit, preferably while he was still wearing it. Paulo could see the guilt on his face, and offered a small reassurance, "You've killed before, I can see it in your eyes..."
Kyle nodded and the old man continued, "I can't speak to what you've done or what kind of man you were, but you made a choice today... the right choice."
A light smile broke on the young pilot's face. After several seconds of staring at the ground, Paulo resumed, "I won't help you walk back into the fire, but if you honor your choices and leave this life behind, I'll do what I can to give you a head-start on a new life."
He held up a key as Kyle's eyes went wide. He was amused at the kid's surprised look as he said, "This is my home, and we'll likely die here. But you can live on, forge your own path... might need to ditch the ODs though..."
He gave a low chuckle, to which Kyle reciprocated. He wanted nothing more than to never wear his flight suit ever again, and this was his chance. All he had heard of Night City was danger and decadence, and it nearly gave him a hard-on. His future was uncertain, but it was a start; it was a chance to live on his own terms.
--
Paulo disposed of Kyle's flight suit, pairing it with a dead body and placing it somewhere the NUSAF was guaranteed to find it. He genuinely hoped they didn't dig too deep and instead simply marked the kid as killed-in-action. He gifted Kyle a worn leather cut-off vest and some other nondescript road-ready clothing, as well as the key to a motorcycle to send him on his way. Kyle came to treasure the vest, adorning it in various patches and other livery as he found his way up in the world. It was almost as much a part of him as his implanted reflex boosters.
Upon arriving in the City of Dreams, he quickly found work as a wheelman for hire. His reflexes were unmatched, and his cool demeanor under pressure was a source of confidence that he could deliver for his clients; of course, that didn't stop him from blowing most of his scratch on booze, broads, and bets. He worked hard and partied harder, trying to find his way in the world but otherwise thoroughly enjoying himself and all that the City had to offer. But, as was always the case for Kyle Lavey, he wanted more. So he sought an audience, in his own charming way of course, with a notorious rockerboy fixer in the City Center...
[2072 - Electric Orgasm, Downtown, City Center]
Mounted lights flooded over the stage and crowd, illuminating the otherwise dark and dingy interior of the famed city-center rock bar. Everyone was shitfaced, including the band performing on the small stage; their instruments together were more a medley of offensively discordant noise than anything even remotely resembling actual music, but nobody really cared. Heads were banging as more and more booze, drugs, and cigarettes were consumed, draping the scenery in a pall of oblivious intoxication.
Kyle barely caught himself as he slammed against a small open space at the bar, nearly dropping the half-empty bottle of Broseph in his hand. His eyes bounced back and forth and everywhere in between as the full force of eight beers and almost as many tequila shots wreaked havoc in his bloodstream, but he managed to focus on the attractive bartender just long enough for her to notice him staring with a goofy smile as she said, "I think you're done, honey."
"W-Was it something I said?", Kyle asked with a slur and not-so-subtle tinge of sarcasm and charm, prompting the burly rockerboy next to him to turn and shove him by the shoulder, "Maybe you ought to watch where you step, gonkbrain!"
He turned to face his new best friend, "And maybe you ought to keep your dick out of this blossoming love affair between me and the sweet goddess of the golden lager, hmm?"
The words probably sounded more eloquent in his mind than whatever came flying out of his mouth, as the burly rocker simply grabbed him by the lapels of his cut-off jacket and raised him six inches off the floor with a heavy growl. The bartender laughed and turned away, her voice trailing off over the music, "Nice knowing ya, handsome!"
Kyle smiled as he stared the angry face a few inches from his own and said, "Is this where we kiss?"
Before the burly rocker could react, Kyle swung his head back and crashed forward, skull meeting skull as the larger man dropped him and staggered backwards. Before he could recover, Kyle grabbed the bottle off the bar top and swung it around, the glass shattering against the burly rocker's head as the small amount of liquid still inside flew out in a brilliantly dazzling display of reflected light.
The larger gonk collapsed to the ground, glass embedded in his face. Kyle felt a hand against his shoulder, causing him to spin around. He narrowly dodged a fist to the face as he returned the favor, meeting the ribcage of another gonk before grabbing him by the head and slamming him against the edge of the bar.
There was a swift jerk backwards as the bar's security grabbed Kyle by the collar of his jacket and pulled him through the crowd. He tried to fight before realizing it was actually two hired muscle dragging him by his arms as he kicked his feet in protest. Before long, he heard a door crashing open as the twilight of the setting sun outside poured in. A wave of hot air assaulted him as the two meat-heads threw him out onto the ground of the bar's back alley. He crashed onto his back, reeling with a groan as he stretched upwards.
To his surprise, both huscle remained on either side of him, one with a Militech Omaha trained on his head. He brought his hands up to shield his face, not that it would have done any good, before he said, "Don't y'know breaking up a good fight's almost as bad as cock-blocking someone?!"
He heard a low laugh from behind as a third man stepped up. He looked back, seeing the man upside-down before he realized he'd found his mark. He tried to quickly sit up before a boot pressed into his chest, forcing him on his back as one of the huscle yelled, "No sudden moves, fuck-face!"
Kyle chuckled and quipped back, "Fuck-face, I'll have to remember that one..."
The third man continued laughing as he cocked his head to observe this drunk gonk pinned to the ground. He had an infinitely cooler air around him than the other two. At first glance, he looked no different than any of the other rockerboys back inside, sporting a studded syn-leather cut-off jacket with dark jeans, chains hanging from both pockets. His left arm was covered in threaded seams with RealSkinn plates to match a jet black cyberware plate adorning the side of his head, including his entire left ear. He had a pair of aviator sunglasses hanging low on his nose, and his entire torso was covered in tattoos creeping up from a black tanktop. After a while, he lightly kicked Kyle's shoulder as he said, "So why's a dipshit like you got to come into my place of business and fuck things up, huh?"
Kyle smiled, "Heard you're looking for a driver... Dino."
Dino Dinovic was unsurprised that he was recognized, seeing as he was the go-to fixer for all business in the City Center district, but he had to admire the balls as he fired back, "Even if I was, fucked up as you are, you ain't driving anywhere but into the side of a building, maybe."
Kyle laughed out loud before he took his chance. He grabbed the boot on his chest with both hands, pushing it to the side before he recovered with an elbow to the knee of the huscle's opposite leg. There was a crunch of bone as the leg jutted out at an unnatural angle before the huscle screamed and fell. Within a second, Ky was back on his feet as he disarmed the larger man. He pressed the iron into the man's head as he locked eyes with the other huscle and said, "Back the fuck up right now..."
The other larger man grumbled, re-holstering his own iron and taking two steps back. Dino stepped in and shouted, "Just who the fuck are you?!"
Their eyes locked for a second before Kyle answered, "Let's have a drink and talk about that."
He pushed the injured man over, dropping the iron as he took a step back. Dino motioned to his other man to scrape his partner off the ground and disappear. Once they were gone, he took a step towards Kyle with a weapon drawn and said, "You have my attention. Now who the fuck are you?"
Kyle wore a cheeky smile as Dino inched closer and closer. Drunk as he was, in an instant he was able to reach out and effortlessly disarm Dino, turning the iron around on the fixer as he flashed his teeth. Dino wasn't one to cower, but he had to accept the gravity of the situation as he raised his hands and took a step back. He reasoned in his mind, if this drunk idiot was able to down a guy twice his size and disarm an experienced fixer in the blink of an eye, what was he capable of when sober?
The smile wore down to a smirk as Kyle ejected the magazine and cleared the chamber before offering the iron back to Dino as he said, "Name's Ky. Let's talk..."
Quick, smart, and cool under pressure. Maybe there's something to this gonk...
Dino smiled as he accepted the iron in one hand, reaching out for a handshake with the other, "So talk, choom..."
--
The time following this fateful meeting was a blur for both Ky and Dino. The fixer didn't know which impressed him more; either Ky's ability to drink him and most of his crew under the table, or his endless wit and precision in the jobs he worked for them. Either way, he was a welcome addition to the crew, even earning a spot on El Capitan's radar as a first-rate booster. If you needed a set of wheels klepped cleanly with no questions asked, Ky was your guy, as long as you could tolerate his penchant for not shutting the fuck up.
He had good money coming in, his rep was on the rise, and he was devilishly charming to be around. More than a few associates of the Electric Orgasm had a bone to pick with Ky, himself having thrown a bone to their girlfriends or sisters; he didn't discriminate, and he didn't much care. Free love was abound. Despite his trepidations, coming to Night City was the best decision he ever made, and it was only looking up from here...
[2076 - The Phoenix Club, Kabuki, Watson]
For all the time Ky had spent in and around Night City over the last several years, he hadn't had many chances to really take in all that Kabuki had to offer. It was crowded, no doubt, with tenements and ramshackle high-rises all crammed against each other choking for air, but it had an undeniable charm to it. It was almost like a little picturesque postcard of East Asian industrial megacity culture, only amplified by the presence of Japantown directly across the harbor.
For Ky, a trip to the Ho-Oh club and casino was a well-earned reward for the hard work he'd put in over the last several years. He'd managed to stash away enough scratch to buy a seat at a high-stakes poker table, and he had every intention of either growing that stash, or at the very least having himself a damned good time.
He was apprehensive as he approached the front double doors, guarded on either side by massive hulking Asian males resembling sumo wrestlers. Their tight-fitting and flashy suits did a terrible job of hiding their multitude of tattoos and cyberware; there was no doubt about it, this was definitely a Tyger Claws joint. Ky resolved to himself then and there that it might be in his best interests to actually watch his mouth until he'd made a few friends at the very least.
As he stood among a small crowd of people waiting to get in, something caught his eye from the side for reasons he couldn't explain. There was a young woman, looking barely out of her teens, leaning against the wall in a cropped syn-leather bomber and yoro-style denim cut-offs and having a smoke. She had a side-swept and dyed undercut, naturally narrowed eyes, and her arms sported threaded seams for some serious hardware hidden underneath. Ky couldn't bring himself to look away until it was too late; she caught him staring, giving a shake of her head with a 'what the fuck' look and a middle finger.
Right, message received, he thought as he averted his eyes anywhere else. Before long, he was ushered forward, the two hulking guards giving him a lackadaisical once-over scan before motioning him inside. The club was exactly what he expected; there was a dark ambiance despite blinding lights in all the colors of the neon rainbow. The interior was adorned in faux gold and wooden fixtures, like someone was trying to drape an upscale facade over a rundown pachinko parlor. There were tables dotted through the space hosting all sorts of games, likely every one of them rigged to cheat people out of their hard-earned money. Running length wise through the space were two long stages with poles at either end. There were several laced-out and scantily clad joytoys walking along, dancing on the poles, or otherwise finding ways to entertain the clientele. The entire space reeked of cheap cologne and fruity scented body glitter.
Ky brought himself to focus as he broke right towards the bar running the length of the wall. There were too many distractions already, so best to cool off with a beer... or maybe something harder. He found a small opening and excused himself as he squeezed in. In no time at all, a heavily-tattooed yet well-dressed young Japanese man greeted him, asking for his order in a thick accent. He thought for a moment before he said, "Moscow Mule."
The bartender gave a single raised eyebrow as he quickly went to work shoveling ice into a highball glass; Ky chuckled to himself, reasoning a place like this wouldn't stoop so low as to serve drinks in copper mugs. He flashed a transfer of eddies as the bartender returned, placing the drink down. He tipped the glass toward his host before taking a sip. Ah, that's tasty!
A tantalizing female voice came over a loud speaker with a ding, reminding Ky of the entire reason he was here. He and several others in the club moved quickly towards a cordoned off section near the back of the club containing several round tables, and guarded by the same massive motherfuckers he'd seen outside. He tripped over himself as he nearly forgot, he needed a credit chip to get in. He quickly reached for the inner pocket of his jacket, barely finding the card-shaped chip in time as he approached. He held it up without saying a word before one of the guards snatched it from his hand. The guard had a skeptical look of disregard as he very ungracefully slammed the chip into a handheld deck. He gave a grumble as the deck buzzed in protest, causing Ky to panic ever so slightly...
WHACK
The guard held the deck in one hand as he crashed his other hand against the side. The screen visibly distorted before restoring itself and flashing green with the credit transfer. He pulled the chip and handed it back to Ky as he said, "Table 3, enjoy."
What the fuck?!, Ky thought to himself as he stifled a laugh and made his way over. No way this outfit was that poorly held together, otherwise he was in trouble when it came time to cash in. He pushed the thought from his mind as he took a seat and realized something else: save for a single empty seat across from him, he was the only non-Japanese player at this table... Be it wannabe high-rollers or mid-level TC bosses, everyone at this table seemed to be a known quantity. Some were reserved, clean-shaven and clean-cut, while others were happy to advertise their TC ink and status, but all them wore flashy fitted suits, mirrored sunglasses, and had wild haircuts.
Ky didn't believe in coincidences, and some kind of itch in the back of his mind wasn't letting go that coming here may have been a bad idea. He took his seat anyway, keeping to himself as he took a large gulp of his drink. Before long, several young women in cocktail dresses arrived, sauntering single-file in between the tables. Each of them was carrying a small tray of poker chips, each stopping next to their respective guest. As they distributed the chips, they were also taking drink orders, a small miracle in Ky's mind, as he'd likely need at least another round to calm his nerves. This wasn't some one- or two-ennie game with Dino's crew or even his comrades back in the NUSAF; this was the real deal, real stakes, and with the likes of hardened TC high rollers at the table, the stakes could end up being life or death if he didn't step carefully.
He was given a small reprieve, nearly a miracle in his own mind, as the remaining seat was finally taken across from him. The occupant was an older half-white man, mid-40s, and massive. He was easily six-feet, six-inches tall, and easily pushing 250 pounds of lean, 'ganic muscle. Despite his imposing size, he put everyone at ease with a kind smile and general calm about him. His face was leathered and worn beyond his years, and his real age masked by a thick greying mustache. His shoulder length hair was pulled back into a short and tidy ponytail, and he was cleanly dressed like a cowboy from a bygone era with a brown-ish vest, white collared shirt with rolled up sleeves, and simple trousers with a plain belt. He wasn't too flashy, nor was he casual. He surveyed the table before catching Ky staring right through him as he spoke with a charming drawl, "Look elsewhere, son. Sure as shit you're not my type..."
Ky laughed as he watched the man sip on a glass of straight whiskey like it was nothing. After too long, he finally found some words as he tried not to stumble over them, "I-I'm sorry, I just didn't expect to—"
"Ya didn't expect you'd have anyone else to talk to", the man cut him off, "That about cover it?"
There were no words, but Ky laughed again as he nodded. The man smirked and said, "Well, at least we can cut-up with each other, and that ain't nothin'."
Their conversation was cut short as several of the young women returned, each serving their guests a fresh round of drinks. Most of the men didn't even acknowledge it, but both Ky and his new choom made a point to nod and thank their hostesses. As they departed, the man looked to Ky and said, "Ain't seen you around... you new in town?"
Ky shook his head. It'd already been six years; two on his own, four with Dino... and the fact that he'd survived this long was a miracle in and of itself. He chose his words carefully, "Don't spend much time north of City Center..."
There was a twinkle in the man's eyes, "So you're one of Dino's boys..."
What the fuck?! How does he—
The man flashed a genuine smile with a hint of sarcasm and said, "Things work a little differently up here. But follow my lead and you ought'a make out a'right."
Ky took his chance and put his hand as he said, "Name's Ky. What's yours?"
The man considered the gesture for a moment before he threw caution to the wind, grabbing Ky's hand firmly, "Phoenix... 's a pleasure."
Once again they were cut short, this time by an elderly man announcing loudly to all the tables in fluent Japanese. Phoenix was careful to speak softly, translating for Ky's sake. It was a kind gesture, one the young merc wouldn't take for granted. It was pretty typical stuff, the barker was thanking the Ho-Oh Club for hosting this event, singing the praises of the club's proprietors, and covering the particulars for the evening. Each table was hosting its own game, and the overall winners from each table would be invited back the following week to face each other. The game of the evening was no-limit Texas Hold'Em. Phoenix smirked at the notion, his mustache twitching. Ky wondered... remembering that even though he'd made a new friend, they were technically competing against each other from now on. Anything could be a tell. He'd have to watch carefully, all of them.
As the barker finished his introductions, the individual dealers at each table took over, explaining the particulars in plain English. One hundred eddies was the small blind, two hundred was the big blind. He briefly explained the hands, even though most of the players already knew by heart; can't argue with tradition, right? He wished them all good luck as the game began. The man to the dealer's left placed a single chip into the pot, followed by Phoenix with two chips. The dealer followed, the cards sliding out one at a time to each player at the table. They all took a moment, looking at their cards and trying their damndest to give no response of any kind. Some were better than others, and Ky could sense himself and Phoenix narrowing in on the first victims.
And so it goes, the player to Phoenix's left called, the next player also called, bringing the game around to Ky. He called with no hesitation, eyes locked across the table as Phoenix gave him a wink of affirmation with a smirk. The player to Ky's left folded, followed by another call, and another fold.
The dealer then burned the top card before placing down three 'flop' cards on the table. Ky watched closely for people's reactions, careful to not give any hints himself; he had an okay hand this round, but wasn't going to take any chances. The first player raised, tossing several chips into the pot. Phoenix called, tossing in his own chips to match. The next two players folded almost immediately, and Ky had to fight a chuckle as he called and tossed his chips in. The remaining player to his left made a sizable raise, sliding several stacks of chips into the pot; it had to be at least 3,000 eddies.
This particular high-roller seemed to have a very high opinion of himself. He was middle-aged, very obese, and carried his weight with all the confidence of the sveltest Jinguji models. His forehead was a stark white cyberware plate bearing an Arasaka logo and reflecting the glare of the overhead lights, and his top knot was shaved back to accommodate the implant. His face was clean-shaven, framed by flashy wrap-around sunglasses cutting into the sides of his massive head. Though some poor bastard had tried to tailor a suit to the hulking mass of flesh, it didn't fit well, but the man didn't seem to care. The jacket was rippled and pulling open between the buttons, the chest open to show a multitude of Irezumi-style tattoos running up his neck and down to his engorged hands and fingers. He had a smug grin on his face as he looked around the table.
The dealer cut to the small blind, who had already folded and tossed his cards away. Phoenix's eyes narrowed as he met the fat man's stare. After several seconds, he called the raise, pushing his own chips into the pot to match. Ky could see the writing on the wall, and so tossed his cards away as he sat back and took a sip of his drink to watch this cockfight unfold. The dealer stepped in, gathering the surrendered cards as he burned the top card again before placing a fourth down on the table. He cut to Phoenix who calmly answered, "Check."
The fat man laughed, "Always here to kill my fun, aren't you old man?"
Phoenix smirked with a slight bow of his head, "Pride goes before the fall, Mr. Omura."
Omura continued laughing as he shoved another pile of chips into the pot, indicating a 10,000-eddie raise. He followed up, "Maybe this will teach you to stop coming around here!"
Phoenix fired back unfazed, "Well, if you'd get smart and stop dealin' in drugged-up kids, I wouldn't be here in the first place..."
Ky nearly spat out his drink at the brass of that statement as the dealer interjected, "Gentlemen please, if we cou—"
Omura slammed his fists on the table, shaking the chips and cards as he stood up and barked at Phoenix, "You come into our house and treat us with such disrespect?!"
There several TC security moving in as Phoenix dodged a lunging attack from Omura. Two of the guards grabbed Phoenix on either side, trying to restrain him by his arms. It had little effect, and Ky watched in wonder as Phoenix stood tall and strong, effortlessly launching one of the guards through the air with a single swing of his arm. He followed up with a solid strike to the gut of the other guard, sending the smaller man flying back over the cordons and crashing into the stage.
The rest of the security saw what they were dealing with as they drew iron and approached. Ky had no time to think, and he broke past the table for the closest guard. He crashed into the man full force, both of them falling to the floor. He recovered quickly to his knees as he planted his fist against the guard's jaw. He wasted no time in moving to the next, taking a more tactful approach. The guard saw him approaching and turned to fire, but he was too late. Ky blocked his arms down as he grabbed hold of the weapon, following up with a rib shot as he disarmed the guard and disposed of him. He readied the weapon and trained quickly down the sights at two more approaching.
Phoenix turned to Omura trying to pull himself up, having trouble negotiating his own weight. He was given a helping hand as Phoenix grabbed him by the belt and threw him against the poker table. The man's sheer mass caused the table to tip over on its side, covering him in loose playing cards and poker chips. He managed to roll over only to find Phoenix towering over him before leaning down and grabbing him by the chin. He tried to throw a punch, which Phoenix caught before wrenching his wrist with a crunch of bones. Omura cried out in pain as Phoenix said, "Don't misbehave now...", and craned his head to the left, revealing his interface port and two shard slots, one occupied.
Omura grumbled something through the pained yells, to which Phoenix paid no heed as he popped out the shard and placed it in his pocket. As one last literal slap in the face, he forcefully planted his hand again the flesh of Omura's cheek as he smirked, "Play again real soon, choom."
He stood up before ducking instinctively at the sound of gunfire behind him. He turned to react before seeing Ky standing strong, smoke rising from the end of the barrel as two guards dropped. Their eyes narrowed as they stared at one another for several seconds before Phoenix grabbed the younger merc by the collar and said, "C'mon! Ain't got much time!"
Ky shook loose of the iron grip and turned, "I'll take point, grab a gun and cover my ass!"
Phoenix knelt down, quickly scooping up a flashy Tsunami Nue. It felt like a toy compared to his favored six-shooter, but he wasn't about to turn down a weapon to cover himself and his new choom. Where the fuck did this kid come from, he wondered as they pushed on.
Ky looked at the toppled table, groaning to himself at the lost scratch. Hardly what he needed to focus on here and now, but it was good money gone. He felt a heavy hand against his shoulder as Phoenix called out, "Eyes front, son! Pay attention!"
Ky looked up as two shots fired past his head from behind, downing another guard in front of them both. He swore at himself for losing his focus before noticing the precision double tap in the guard's chest. He had to question who he had just stuck out his neck to protect, and if the gonk even needed his help in the first place. No time to wonder, Ky trained down his sights and dropped another guard appearing from the back hallway. He motioned to Phoenix to follow, the older merc taking lead and stepping ahead quickly. Ky noticed his eyes were flashing orange; he was on holo with someone... Son of a bitch, he's on the clock...
He smiled to himself, admiring the cool demeanor with which Phoenix handled himself. As they approached the back hallway, Ky turned to cover their exit, firing two shots and dropping the last guard in sight. He whisked himself around the corner, finding Phoenix leaning against the wall and muttering profanity to himself as he struggled to slot the shard in his own head. Ky smirked as he reached up, "Need a hand, cochise?"
Phoenix swatted his hand away as he grumbled before an audible click and a sigh of relief as his eyes flashed blue. Ky chuckled and took point as he said, "C'mon, let's delta before more bad guys show up."
They turned a corner in the hallway, careful to check for any unwanted surprises; finding none, Ky continued down the path towards an outer door at the end of the hall. Phoenix tried to step up and speak before Ky insisted he stay on point. He didn't doubt the old man could handle himself from what he'd already seen, but tactical exfil was his arena. Phoenix shrugged and chuckled, letting Ky eat his own words as they approached the exit.
He readied his iron and braced himself as he pressed forward and kicked the door. It flew open with a loud crash, and he burst through to clear the immediate exterior. It was surprisingly quiet befo—
WHAM!
The door flew back, crashing into Ky and knocking him to the ground. He was quick to his knees as he met a small figure charging directly at him. His reflex boosters kicked in and he parried and countered strike after wild strike. Before long, his back was against the outer wall of the building. He saw an opening as he ducked to the right, causing his attacker to slam against the wall. He took the opportunity and tried to restrain them, pressing them further into the wall. It didn't take Ky long to recognize her... it was the same girl he'd seen earlier leaning against the front of the building, smoking with a casual disregard for anyone else around her.
Ky was in his own thoughts long enough for her to catch him with her head flying back. She tagged his chin, followed by a backwards elbow to his ribs. He tried to hold her, but she used him as leverage to run up the wall before leaping off. She back-flipped over him, landing and immediately pushing forward as her right arm exploded into a glowing red blade. She charged at him with a yell as she narrowly missed his head, the blade lodging itself into the painted concrete exterior. Before Ky could react, he felt a barrel pressing against his chin as he stared death in the face six inches from his own. Her eyes were glowing red, and the threading in her face was pulsing. He could hear the trigger tightening before Phoenix called out, "Let 'im go, Em..."
They both turned, finding the older merc leaning casually against the doorway with a smirk and a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. It took several seconds for the words to register as the young girl looked back to Ky. Slowly, the anger receded, as did the glow in her eyes. She begrudgingly pulled her blade from the wall and quietly shouted, "Fuck!", as she stepped back. Ky's eyes were wide as he pulled himself together and carefully stepped to the side and away from the wall, giving the girl a wide berth. Phoenix chuckled at the whole affair as he chided his new choom, "Maybe next time you'll let me clear the doors...?"
Ky chuckled nervously, his eyes locked on his attacker as he fired back, "Hey, what the fuck is a teenager doing sportin' hardware like that in her arm, man?!"
The girl turned to him, the anger returning as she took a step forward. Phoenix stepped up as he squared off, staring her down. Her jaw clenched as she fluffed the lapels of her jacket towards Ky with a sneer and stepped away, lighting her own cigarette as she scratched at the shaved side of her head. After several seconds, Phoenix turned to Ky, "She means well... in her own way."
Ky scoffed, "What the fuck, man... Hey, what happened back there?"
"Jus' a job", the older merc answered with a drag, "Sorry 'bout your buy-in. I'll get you squared once we're settled."
They shared a smirk before Ky said, "Heavy force like that, and on TC turf..."
Phoenix finished his sentence for him, "We're dead if we stick around much longer... hey Em, stay close!"
The girl turned, her ears perked to the conversation as Ky continued, "I've got wheels, follow me."
Phoenix held him off, "Nah, I appreciate you coverin' my ass in there, but we're better on our own."
"Drop the fucking gonk cowboy act, okay?!", Ky spat, "You're dead if you continue on foot, and I got to make sure you're good on gettin' me back for what I lost in there."
An eyebrow raised, Phoenix took a drag with a smile as he said, "Lead the way, fly-boy."
How the fu— nevermind.
The girl scoffed at the notion, keeping her distance as she walked along Phoenix's other side. He tried the break the tension as he said, "Oh, Ky, this is Miz. Miz, Ky."
Ky put his hand out before Miz said dryly, "Wan'a keep that hand?"
Phoenix rebuked her playfully, "C'mon Em, he saved my bacon in there."
Miz sighed and put her right hand out, causing Ky to retract slightly, "Eh-h-h... other hand please."
She smirked but tried to hide it as her eyes narrowed and they both settled on a fist bump, prompting a shrug and a, "Good 'nough", from Phoenix as they kept walking.
It was only a few blocks down to a small parking garage, and lucky for them they had only encountered one group of Tyger Claws out for blood; it was easy enough to divert and navigate around them, but their numbers on the street were growing. Soon the entire area would be flooded and locked down. Ky directed the duo to an inconspicuous rust-bucket of a Mizutani Hozuki hatchback parked in a dark corner, prompting a scoff from Miz as she took her shots, "Wha—, you drive around in this?! Does it even run? Are the body panels held together with chewing gum...?"
Ky rolled his eyes and snapped back, "Hey, look princess, you got any other options, I'm all ears. Otherwise, shut up and pile in."
Princess..., Miz felt her blood boiling at the nickname, and Phoenix saw it clear as day. Before she could launch, he grabbed her by the collar of her jacket and held on tight as she tried to reach and scrap her way to Ky with a slew of profanity. It was like watching a feral cat fighting for its life. Ky actually had to admire her spunk; kid had balls, and wasn't afraid to throw down.
Phoenix eventually wrangled her in as he opened the passenger door and pushed the seat forward to open the back row. Miz looked him like he was crazy and said, "How come I have to ride in the back?"
"Does it look like I'll fit back there?", Phoenix asked as he took the long last drag of his smoke, prompting a chuckle from Ky as Miz shot back, "Doesn't look like you'll fit at all unless we tie you to the roof, Pops..."
They cut the crap with a shared laugh and piled in as Ky turned over the ignition and the little car roared to life. It was a sleeper, Miz found out, as the engine purred smoothly with raw power. Ky flashed a smile before launching both of them back into their seats as he swiftly navigated the parking deck, banking the apex of each corner with grace and precision. While Miz flew from side to side in the back seat like a rag doll, because fuck seat belts, Pops merely swayed a little to each direction in the cramped passenger seat, his knees almost meeting his chest with only an inch of headroom between the crown of his head and the top of the hatchback. After a few more turns, they were met with the light pouring in from the garage's street-level entrance. Luck wasn't in their favor as several TC 'kamikrazies' had lined up on the sidewalk with weapons at the ready. Ky's face went stone-cold as he said, "Alright... let's dance, boys."
Both Phoenix and Miz felt their own sphincters tighten as Ky gunned the gas before jerking the handbrake. As he went idiot-sideways with the car, the driver-side window slid down and he was able to sweep 3 of the goons standing in their way with his own weapon; all of them head shots. He managed to send a fourth goon flying as the tail of the car slammed into him and they drifted out into the street. Ky recovered in no time at all, gunning the gas as they pulled away. Miz closed her eyes and scrunched her face, waiting for the sounds of tuned Yaibas to bellow through the streets as rocket-jockies would likely be in pursuit. To her surprise, as her eyes slowly opened, there was nothing. Ky was weaving in and out of traffic with a smirk on his face, the horns of oncoming traffic blaring as they blew past, but it was otherwise calm and quiet. Had they really gotten away that easy? No way this gonk was that good.
Her doubts aside, the look on Phoenix's face as he stared blankly at Ky said it all. After too long, their impromptu chauffeur said, "Well that was fun, right? Where to next?"
Phoenix spoke calmly, leaving Miz with wide eyes, "Kennedy and Duzois."
No fuckin' way!, she thought, wondering just why the fuck her gonk father-figure was giving a complete stranger a straight line to their hideout. Ky didn't seem fazed at all, and he asked a pertinent question, "So what's the story with you two?"
Miz answered first, "The fuck is it to you?"
"She always like this around handsome guys like me?", Ky asked without missing a beat.
NOPE I'M GOING TO FUCKIN' STRANGLE HIM!
Phoenix countered any such notion as he turned and reached back, giving her the look. Fuck, man! That's no fair!, she pouted and crossed her arms.
Turning back around, he answered naturally, "She's my daughter... it's complicated."
"Yeah, I'll bet", Ky quipped with a laugh, "Maybe one day I'll hear the rest of that story."
There was a flash of pain as Miz's eyes cut over to look out the window. She was fighting something, and Ky could see it in the rear-view mirror as he softened, "I-I guess it wasn't under the best of circumstances...?"
Their silence only confirmed his suspicions as he uttered a single and sincere, "...sorry..."
Miz's shoulders were sagged and her head sunk. Ky could only see her eyes at this point, watching as they softened and turned back to meet his. There was a pained kindness in them as she sat up with a light smile and said, "All shit aside, thanks for getting us out of there... and for havin' Pops' back."
Ky returned the smile, feeling a moment of warmth as he quickly killed the moment, "Was nothing... figured he was my best shot at getting my money back."
"...dickhead...", Miz scoffed as she looked back out the window, trying to curtail a smile creeping in. Though she'd never admit it, he was funny, even charming in his own annoying way.
Finally, they slowed to a crawl as Phoenix directed traffic, eyes flashing blue as a garage door opened on a nondescript building shielded by a walkway overpass. It was as inconspicuous as you could ask for. Ky carefully turned and pulled in, shifting the car to park before killing the ignition as the door closed behind them. There was an awkward moment of silence as he wondered how he was going to get the fuck out... or was there no out for him? Was he a loose end? Phoenix assuaged his anxieties as he held out a hand and said, "Phoenix Gray. Beer?"
Ky smiled and shook his hand with a nod, "Ky Lavey."
Miz rolled her eyes from the back seat and muttered to herself, "Fuckin' great, man..."
--
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