Two weeks pass without much happening. Things resume as normal at the garage. Well, as normal as they can be for us. The only incident—that I can call an incident, but only just—is when a Jade Dragons killer stopped by a few days ago to drop a package off. I call myself lucky that I was the one to accept it, because it was specifically for me from Sister Leung. I had to hurry and bring it to my room, before Springbok or Magpie saw it. I don't need snide comments from either of them.

It's still sitting there unopened, right by the foot of my bed. Part of me is still curious what it might be, and the cautious little voice in the back of my head is losing out. Besides, it's already been a few days. What if it's perishable? Then I'd look real stupid. Ah, to hell with it. Let's just open it up.

I break the package's seal and tear off the top. It's a datachip, with a handwritten card sitting next to it.

‘Let me know when you've seen it, Luc.

—Yvonne’

That cautious voice in my head? It's back and screaming at the top of his lungs. This datachip could contain anything. It's probably unwise to slot it into my commlink. Right? I could ask Springbok for help with sweeping the thing, but then she'd know, and that defeats the purpose of me waiting a few days.

I also didn't know that Sister Leung and I were already on a first name basis. Now I wish the hand-off wasn't such a blur in my mind. I must have said something; I just want to remember what it was because that would explain why I'm getting all this.

Fuck it, no guts no glory. I grab my Orsa Ronin sitting on the bed and slot the chip into it. An ARO immediately pops up into my peripheral vision, displaying a sole folder called UPDATE. I touch the folder to open it, but my reflexes are primed to close it and yank the chip out the second I see anything fucked up.

My vision gets slammed with thumbnails of still images and videos. Tens of thousands of them. A spam attack? But for wha—

I focus on the thumbnails. The first five rows are just pictures of Empress Cupcake in near-identical poses. The next five rows under it are pictures of Empress Cupcake in a different outfit. I swipe my hand up to continue scrolling down the files list and open the first video I can see. Another ARO pops up and autoplays microdrone footage of Yvonne playing with Empress Cupcake, complete with that baby talk voice, which is just extra jarring because it's coming from her.

I swipe both AROs away, unslot the datachip from my commlink, and store everything away neatly. Including the handwritten card. I plant my ass on the edge of the bed and run my hands through my hair. Somehow, my big mouth manages to land me in the weird position of receiving cat pictures and videos from a Red Pole of the Jade Dragons.

There's a soft knock on my door. A courtesy gesture, because it swings open not a split second later before I could even respond. Springbok bursts into my room. “Saddle up, Luc. Business is knocking on our front door.”

I whip myself into double time and reach for my revolver.

“What are you doing?”

“You said business is knocking.”

“Oh. Yeah. Business as in business. Not business as in trouble.”

“That's not confusing at all.” I holster my Adjudicator. That's right, an actual holster. Real leather, custom made, perfect fit. Quickdrawing from this thing is buttery smooth.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“You'll pick up the lingo sooner or later. Now put a shirt on. Unless you like having older women asking for your commcode.” She grins in a shit-eating way.

“Shut it. I'll be out in a sec.”

----------------------------------------

After getting fully dressed, I join the crew at the mezzanine. I recognize the big hair just from catching a glimpse. It's almost funny seeing how starstruck Springbok and Magpie are. Maybe it's different when you see a legend sitting in your own house.

Morrigan nods at me after I take a seat. I nod in return. “Now that everyone's here, I'll cut to the chase. I'm giving your crew the first offer, because I know you and your quality.”

No one says a word. A rare display of caution.

Morrigan puts on a small smile and pulls out a glossy black cigarette pack from her pocket. Even the way she lights a cigarette oozes grace and refinement from underneath the tough and streetwise exterior. The scent of cloves mixed with menthol fills our surrounding air. She continues her pitch after taking a second drag. “The pay should be tempting, but I won't sugarcoat it, the risk is high. Real high.”

Flash, our dependable negotiator, takes the reins. “When you say high risk, how high exactly are we talking here?”

“Let's just say the risk of sustaining permanent expiration is there.”

“Alright. And how much is the offer if we're risking death to get it?”

“Twenty.”

Flash shakes his head. “We appreciate you giving us the first offer, Mor. But risking our necks for twenty-kay is—”

“Each.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Twenty each. Not total. Each.”

Flash doesn't say anything. From the look on his face, he's probably doing some counter-offer quick math right now.

Morrigan takes another drag from her cigarette. “I'm not entertaining any counter-offers. You already know I never lowball. The number I gave you is the best offer. The only question is, are you in or are you out?”

“Not without knowing what the job is. You already know we don't jump into fires blindly.” Nice response, Flash. That's half true, I guess.

“Good.” She lets that hang for just a second too long. “You kept your wits about you and didn't get tunnel vision on all that money. I'll lay down the overall gist of the job, hopefully enough to help you decide if you're in or out.”

We all nod and grunt in unison. A small part of me thinks this is just another dog and pony show, but it never hurts to pay attention.

“First things first, this is a sabotage job. Disable the objective in any way you see fit. Personally, considering the target, I prefer you to be as loud as possible.” She looks straight at me right after saying that last part. “Make a show of it. Send a message.”

“Who's the target?” I bite the bait so obviously laid out. I hope Flash doesn't mind that I stepped on his toes a bit.

“The megacorp that owns the facility where the objective is housed is of no consequence, no importance. But, you might be interested in taking this job when I tell you who they outsourced to be security.”

I clench and unclench my jaw; I have a feeling I know where this is going.

Flash gives me a pat on the shoulder and takes over. “So opposition would be better than your run-of-the-mill CorpSec team, huh? How reliable is your intel?”

“Like a well-maintained first generation Katana.” Morrigan looks almost amused by our collective caution.

“Well, when you put it like that—” Flash looks at us. I know that look. He wants to know what the consensus is.

Springbok shoots a thumbs up. Spot and Magpie nod. Flash looks at me now. I run a hand through my hair. “I'm down to send a message.”

Flash turns his eyes back to Morrigan. “Looks like you got yourself a team, Mor.”

“Looks like I did. Good choice, kids. Now that I know you're in, I'll send over a data packet containing details that should help you.” Flash's commlink dings. “No strict deadline, but it shouldn't need to be said that I expect good news as soon as possible.”