The one thing I hate about this place is the amount of sitting around. Do something, and wait. Do something, and wait. Rinse, repeat. It's been a few days since my job with Spot, and once again, I'm relegated to sitting around and helping Doc around the clinic. Not that he minds the help. I just think I'm slightly overqualified to run the mop, bucket, and dustpan.

My new commlink chirps with an incoming message, and I take it as an excuse to get myself outside, offering up a brief wave to the Doc on my way out the door. Up the stairs, straight into fresh air and clear skies above. There's something refreshing about being outside during the night. The place never actually sleeps, but the cool evening air helps.

I almost forget to check my messages because I'm too busy staring up at the glittering sky, dotted with stars. I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing this sight. I guess it's the same with seeing waves crashing in the ocean, if you've never been to a beach before. Not me, I've had more than enough salty breezes for a lifetime.

Checking my commlink. Thumbing through it clumsily. Still getting used to how this model works. Looks like it's from Springbok. I'm just assuming that means she wants to meet up at the garage, so for the third time in a few days, I head towards the garage.

I've gotten better at navigating the crowds and avoiding possible pickpockets. Once you get used to things, it's pretty much impossible to bump into someone. Unless they're a dumb newcomer like me, who had no idea how to move with the flow for far too long.

It doesn't take me long to get to where I need to be and—the music isn't blaring loud enough that you can hear it from a block away. Either something's up, or something is serious. I double-time it, making sure not to run in case it isn't urgent.

Once I close the distance, I can tell it's not all that urgent, considering I see a familiar blue-haired woman sitting on a lawn chair just in front of those two garage doors. Fuck. I hope Spot kept to his word and didn't tell her about the zappers.

“Lucas.”

“Springbok.”

“You got my wheelman shot.”

I pause. It's hard to tell if she's upset, angry, standoffish, or what. I've been having a hard time getting a read on her with the limited interactions we've had. She cracks a lopsided smirk as she lifts her lighter to stoke the ciggie dangling from her lips.

“Can't say he didn't deserve it for being a dumbass, from what he told me.” She half-laughs and pulls out another lawn chair from beside her. “Take a seat.”

I guess it isn't a bench at the clinic. I might as well oblige, despite it looking uncomfortable as all hell.

“Sorry about that. I figured if I was a little bit faster, he wouldn't have gotten skimmed.” I rub the back of my neck. Something about this reminds me of trying to smooth things over with the Chief, but at least she's… laughing?

“No. You know how much he was saying it wasn't your fault? I would swear you two had some weird couple dynamic thing going on.”

I exhale loudly. I really was getting ready to get my ass torn up, figuratively. Again, ringing back to talking to the Chief. I was never called up unless I did something wrong. Which was apparently a lot of the time. Because playing it by the book wasn't the way that they wanted you to play it in security. They just wanted every problem dealt with in the quickest and easiest manner possible. Which led to me not having too many friends on the force.

“I'm still going to take blame for it. I could've told him to wait outside.”

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“Oh, don't be so fuckin' dour. I'm in a good mood for once. Those pricks were a real thorn in the side. I would've been on deck to help, but you know what they say. Trouble comes in threes,” she says, before taking a drag from her ciggie. Clack-clack. The heels of her cyberlegs tap against the asphalt below. I wonder why she was in a good mood after having to deal with two other problems. “I'm hoping that's not what they taught you on the force. Acting like a beaten dog?”

“—You'd be surprised. Shit rolls downhill, so you end up taking the blame for something that your superior did. It ends up being a daisy chain of people lower and lower down the rung having to take blame for someone that they don't even remotely know.” I pause to hold out my hand. “Got a spare smoke?”

I get an incredulous look in return.

“I haven't even gotten to the job offer, and you're trying to bum smokes off of me,” that lopsided smirk returns as she ashes it onto the ground below, reaching into her coveralls with her free hand.

I try not to sputter at that. How the hell, or why the hell was she offering up a job after that showing? I guess Spot— Johnny— Whatever his name is, must've really sold me up. I guess I owe him in the future.

“It's been over a week since I've had my last smoke, but. I guess I can put that off for a little bit longer.”

She pulls out a pack of ciggies, flicking one out of the pack and offering it my way. I notice that they're High R0llers. Literally the brand that you're only going to see upper management of corporations smoking, because they're just that overpriced. Where the hell did—

“I know what you're thinking, but our procurement guy can get us anything. Not literally, but damn close.” I reach out to accept the offered smoke, before she continues on. “We need a shooter, and you fit the description. It can be temporary, permanent. Whatever. You are not signing a contract to hand over your soul, like you would be if you're working with some corpos.”

Well, that's reassuring, but the smooth practiced way she fired that off made it sound like it wasn't the first time she's made this offer to someone. It makes sense, though. I can't see being a shooter for a small group out here being a job that you last in. Unless you've got a few thou worth of augs jammed into your body, and then you can probably keep going until you decide it's time to retire. I guess I should ask about what this entails and the details. I don't want to be running head-first straight into my death.

“What sort of things are you dealing with that you need someone who is good with a gun? Things like the trio back in the warehouse?”

“Mostly. Outsiders get too big for their britches and think they can take over. Surprisingly, we aren't in the sights of any of the nearby gangs. There's too much nothing between us and everyone else for them to want to take us over. Closest we've got to us is the Screaming Banshees. We're on cordial terms with them. Well, all of them except Onigiri. Fuck Oni.” She ashes her ciggie again, this time a tad bit more aggressively. There's a story here, but I'm not exactly sure if right now is the best time to dig.

“So, low-rent scavs, and that's mostly it? Sounds like a walk in the park.”

“—Sometimes we have uppity corpos cutting through, given our location. If they cause shit, we cause shit back. There's mutual respect, in the sense that they've got a whole lot more to lose if they cause us problems than the other way around.” She stretches an arm above her head.

Simple enough, I think. It might actually be less risky than working with Black Wolf. People seem to take care of themselves out here, and Springbok's crew only cuts in when things get a little too heavy for the rest of the community.

“How about creds? There's no way you make enough from protection fees alone.”

“Odd jobs. Another surprising thing. The Slag takes, but also provides.” She gesticulates vaguely. “Deliveries to and from the metroplex is another good way. Hit a convoy. Scavvers get blamed instead of us, and we make off like fuckin' bandits.”

She pauses.

“We let the drivers walk, if that was making you worried. Ain't like they're a threat to us. I don't think they get paid enough to buy guns.”

I stare up to the sky above, thinking all of this over. It's really my best option at this point in time. There isn't much opportunity for me elsewhere here. I couldn't run a stall, and I don't think I'd make it far wandering into actual gangland if that's what would be waiting for me if I left town. I should stop thinking on it and just say—

“Yeah. Sure. I'll do it.”

Smooth.

She claps her hands together in response, pushing herself upright.

“Well, I suppose you should meet the people you're working with.”