Cyberspace, the matrix, the waves. Whatever you want to call it. It was an escape from the mundane and otherwise, especially for Onigiri. She practically swam in the waves due to her connection with the Thread.
Though, unfortunately, she was jacked in today for the purposes of work instead of her usual matrix trolling or other gremlin-like behavior. Not that it meant that she strayed away from her usual stomping grounds, the CluBBS. A virtual club for those that generally don’t prefer the bustle of actual physical clubs. Amusingly, the place was actually much akin to a physical club, beyond the fantastical avatars that the users would throw on while in the place. Ranging from gaudy, all the way straight to the absurd. Giant spectacles of neon lights and tubing, disembodied talking heads, or floating cubes.
Onigiri, being who she is, of course went the route of being an eight foot tall muscle-bound demon in cyberspace. A habit that led to her unfortunate nickname that stuck more than her preferred handle.
The best part about the place was that most of the users were Novonachalsk natives, so it was easy to hear gossip from around the metroplex without having it framed through the lens of corporate media. Not that it wasn’t neat to hear things from beyond the complex, but it wasn’t useful to her at the moment.
With a confident stride that she rarely had in the real world, she made her way to her usual perch. A barstool right in the far corner of the drinking area. If you had the creds to get the right chrome, you could get drunk in cyberspace. Or if you were special like Oni, but she wasn’t here to drink tonight. She was here to see if she could find the infamous Carbon Cobra. Or as most in the community would refer to them, Conspiracy Cobra, for all of the harebrained things they tended to conjure up. They might not be on point all the time, but sometimes they can be a font of useful information. Debatably useful information.
She knew she should prod more people than Cobra, but it was a decent start. Besides, as they say, birds of the same feather. If Cobra knew something, it’s more than likely because one of their conspiracy nut friends told them something.
“Oni,” a voice spoke from the other side of the counter. It was the usual bartender, Montie. He had the old cowboy schtick going on with his avatar, with a black button-up vest, bushy mustache, and the trademark hat. “Drink?”
Onigiri shook her head, the towering frame of her avatar a stark contrast to the relatively normal looking cowboy standing before her. “What? Nah. I’m waitin’ for Cobra. You seen them around?”
“You’re saying that like there aren't four people minimum who use Cobra as part of their handle.” He chuckled, resting his elbows on the bar-counter. “If you’re meaning ole Conspiracy Kook? They jumped into the Effsee node after getting into an argument with some bozos over the usual junk.”
Oni cursed under her breath and stood up. The Effsee was the collective nickname for the adjacent Fight Club node. Secure nodes like the CluBBS made direct action against other users relatively difficult for most users, let alone for the fact that it was a good way to get yourself blacklisted if you tried to dataspike someone. Fight club nodes? They were unsecure and there were no qualms with slamming someone with as much feedback as they could handle before their rig started smoking and brain started boiling.
“You know, you never stick around to talk any more.”
“I will. When I stop bein’ so friggin’ busy,” Oni retorted as she quickly made her way back out. She wished she could’ve stayed in the comfort of the club, but if Cobra was dumb enough to get themselves cooked in the Effsee, she’d be looking for a different lead.
----------------------------------------
The Effsee wasn’t much of a club, to say the least. Whoever originally designed the node saw it fit to make the surroundings a disused warehouse filled with barrels, high shelves, and crates. It wasn’t anything to look at, but it wasn't the point. The entire place’s point was for a bunch of cyberspace nerds to digitally beat the crap out of each other whenever they disagreed with someone. Back in the day, there used to be rumors floating around that someone could end up dead over these quarrels, but the advent of inhibitors in the rigs supposedly stopped this. Supposedly, given that there were other rumors about people who have the know-how or talent to bypass them easily.
Oni didn’t have to trundle her way far into the node before she could hear Cobra’s distinct and grating voice echoing off of the digital walls.
“—n’t think it’s true? It’s all in the numbers.”
Another familiar voice piped up. Onigiri knew this one. Miter. He used to brag that he ran with operators in the past.
“Dude. Shut the fuck up. Those are completely unsubstantiated claims.”
Onigiri finally strode her way into view of the pair, with a mishmash of other hackers lingering about in a large circle; more than likely waiting for the fight to break out. It was pretty evident who was who, considering one avatar was a literal snake person, and the other looked like your stereotypical try-hard operator.
“Could you two hold off on your fight for just a minute? I gotta talk to Cobra,” Onigiri called out over the crowd, pushing her way past various characters, up to and including some creepy clowns.
Miter’s response was to flip Onigiri the bird. Bad decision on his end, given that Onigiri was anything but patient today. She immediately threw a right hook right into his balaclava-clad face, sending him spiraling to the ground in one fell swoop. The crowd let out a collective gasp. Not enough to disconnect him, but it’ll give him something to think about.
Normally digital combat isn’t as exciting, with a whole lot of code crunching and breaking ICE via the mundane methods, but being fully submerged? The digitalscape tries to render things in a way that the mind can properly conceive.
“Anyways. Now that’s all said and done. Cobr—”
Onigiri was caught off by a jab to her ribs. She doubled over, both in cyberspace and reality; feeling the onset of a nosebleed coming on in the real space. Miter might’ve been second rate, but he had a damn good rig, but Onigiri? She was built differently.
What followed was a series of barely cohesive cuss words as her towering avatar gripped Miter by the head and promptly slammed him into the ground. Hard. She was keen on returning the favor, and that much more. The digital space around her began to glitch and distort as she channeled her thread connection into one powerful blow. A curbstomp.
Thump.
What would’ve been a gory mess in reality, was a rather PG dissolution of code and avatar in the node as her heel traveled through a digital cranium. At minimum, that hit probably had Miter with a nosebleed in reality and a few hundred creds worth of repairs to his rig.
“Like I was friggin’ sayin’”—Onigiri turned back to the snakeman, who was busy staring in apparent anger—“if you’re gonna punch me, at least friggin’ wait until I ask my bloody question.”
“I had him h-a-n-d-l-e-d. You know he’s a crap cybersurfer who works for the moon-brain compu—”
“I don’t fuckin’ care, Cobra. Hosokawa-Hamada. What kinda dirt you got on them?” Onigiri cut in, obviously getting impatient. The crowd around them started to filter out given the lack of an upcoming fight, alongside the apparent incoming rant from Cobra.
“Hosokawa-Hamada? Emerald Meadows invading forces, black clad vans scooping up civilians. Even on their front lawns! Hardware corporations, setting up in Emerald Meadows to construct brain-wave thought controls to record your eyesight—”
“Shut up. This was a friggin’ mistake.” She rubbed at her temples and turned on a heel, only to be interrupted by one of the few people that hadn’t already left. An avatar of a nondescript man clad in a tweed suit and a bowler hat. On closer inspection, his tweed suit seemed to be composed completely of Primo Purchase patches.
“I do not mean to cut into anything that is not my business, but dare I say, a quarter of that has the distinct ringing of truth,” the overly sophisticated man said. Overly sophisticated, especially for someone covered in the logo of a corner store.
“The black vans?” Onigiri turned back around to regard this eyesore. It took a special kind of person to manage to create an avatar that gave everyone a migraine by looking at them, without resorting to bright flashing lights.
“Not just the black vans. Rumor has it that they are breaking ground in Serpents turf. Ah, not Hosokawa specifically, but it is being floated around that they are setting up resupply depots at minimum.” He gesticulated vaguely, as if he was trying to indicate a building. “Which is not exactly out of the norm? Just not on the scale that they are doing it. And apparently with regular scheduled patrols, alongside plainclothes.”
Onigiri exhaled sharply through her nose. “Are you lookin’ to get paid for that?”
“What? No, my dear. It is merely a rumor. I would not expect to be paid for something which is not concrete.” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder, pointing towards a small congregation of avatar's in similar levels of put-on sophistication. “My companions and I were just conversing about the matter before the Kook verbally exploded. Do feel free to query them.”
This elicited another tired sigh from Onigiri. It was going to be another long ass night. A recurring theme.
----------------------------------------
Smack dab in the middle of Wonderland, a neutral zone within The Slag. Three sport bikes sporting the matte black and purple of the Screaming Banshees screeched to a halt in front of a building that advertised itself as The Veil, if the currently unlit neon signage was anything to go by. The setting sun cast long shadows of the riders dismounting their bikes across the vacant parking lot. One by one, they took off their helmets. Viola, flanked by Growler and Melody. The small entourage approached the building, which looked like it underwent renovation in recent times, its exterior not showing any particular flaws aside from a light coating of grime and road dust.
The opaque black metal door was manned by an ork clad in an armored jacket that's standard for The Slag, a Krieger Jägerpistole visibly tucked into his waistband. He nodded off, seemingly gripped by drowsiness. The approaching thud of boots against plascrete snapped him awake, all tensed up, only to relax when he saw familiar and friendly faces. “Good afternoon, boss.”
“Good afternoon, Jimmy,” Viola replied in her sleek tone. “Need a cup of coffee? I'll get the staff to bring it out.”
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
“I'm alright, boss.”
“I insist.”
“Alright, boss.” Jimmy nodded and pushed the heavy door, holding it open for the girls to enter.
Viola shielded her eyes from the bright fluorescent lighting in the reception area and went behind the counter, grabbing a dataslate from one of the drawers. Her fingers immediately danced on the touchscreen, eyes staring off into space as multiple AROs popped up in her field of view.
“You girls go ahead and go in, I need to check tonight's staff and dancer roster first.”
“You got it, Vi.” Melody turned towards the opaque glass door leading into the club's interior, stopping halfway when she noticed Growler didn't follow. “Growls?”
The taller ork woman stared at Viola, only letting out a low, short grunt at her.
“Hm?” Viola tore her gaze away from the AROs and raised an eyebrow.
Growler grunted again.
“Oh, right. Thank you for the reminder, Growler. I'll shift into something else after you both go in.”
Seemingly satisfied by her response, Growler nodded and followed after Melody.
With no one watching her, Viola concentrated on her connection to the Thread, channeling the energy inward. She shuddered, a wave of warmth washing over her nerve endings and seeping under her skin. She kept concentrating, even as her skin tingled with pinpricks, even as her tusks shrank into normal-sized teeth, even as her bones rearranged themselves, even as her flowing dark locks shortened into her scalp. Minutes passed, spent on directing the mana to further sculpt her features. The warmth emanating from within her subsided, almost as soon as it came. She grabbed a compact mirror from her bag and flipped it open, the reflection of a smirking blue eyed blonde elf staring back at her.
Today did seem like the perfect day to channel her inner elven business owner.
She snapped the compact mirror shut and focused her attention on the AROs again, going over the staff on shift and stopping on Lulu's name. A quick gesture over the ARO to ping the girl's commlink, and she continued to go over pre-opening tasks until she heard the glass door sliding open, followed by the dulled click-clack of heels against rubberized floor.
“Hey, boss. You're early today. You called?”
“Yes, Lulu. Tell me some good news, is the interior all cleaned and prepared?”
“We finished polishing the glass tables fifteen minutes ago. All that's left to do is circulating the freshened air, once you've decided on a scent profile.”
“You already replaced the torn couch in VIP room 209?
“Yes, the movers said they will send you the invoice.”
“Excellent.” Viola dismissed a number of AROs. “Tell everyone to take a quick break. And get one of the new kids in the back to bring Jimmy a strong coffee.”
“Nothing for you, boss?”
“No, thank you. I'll fetch myself something from the bar later.”
“You got it.” Lulu bowed and took her leave, the click-clack of her heels receding towards the interior until it got swallowed by the closing glass doors.
Viola took one last look at her checklist AROs before dismissing them all, pulling out her personal commlink to browse the matrix. Halfway through skimming over a gossip article, the metallic groan of the front door being pushed open caught her attention. Walking past the threshold in all their long-legged glory, it was the main attraction of the club. The headliners. The Veil's very own piece de resistance: the dancers. Well, five of them, at the very least.
“Good early evening, boss. Back door's jammed.” The dark-haired elf covered in glowing bio-tattoos leaned against the counter. “Again.”
“Just like your back door, eh, Asphyxia?” the solidly built redhead of the group quipped before Viola could respond to the report.
“I'll show you jammed, you fuckin' slamazon.”
Viola smiled and shook her head. “Okay, girls, simmer down. Keep that energy for the stage, okay?”
The girls responded with a singsong chorus of ‘okay.’
“I'll get a technician to look at the back door. Might just need to replace the scanner or something.” A chirp came from her commlink. “—just one second.”
A message from Onigiri. What an eerie coincidence, right after mentioning technicians. She opened an ARO to display it.
«Sender: Onigiri»
«Viola. Wanna check in with your girls to see if they’ve caught anything out of the norm?»
A simple yet strange request. Good thing five of her girls happened to be here.
“For curiosity's sake,” she began, hushing the dancers chatting among themselves. “Have any of you seen or heard anything out of the ordinary?”
Asphyxia, still leaning against the counter, rested her chin on the back of her hand. “How much out of the ordinary? Because a few nights ago there was that group of people who were obviously not local.”
“Oh?” Viola raised an eyebrow. “Not local as in not from this part of the Slag, or…?”
“Not from the Slag, full stop. Big spenders, though. Spitfire there made a killing.”
The redhead called Spitfire scowled like she just stepped in a giant pile of mutant rat shit while wearing her designer shoes. “I did, but it wasn't worth it. They kept ignoring the ‘no touching’ rule and ended up getting kicked out by Growler and Cherry Pie.”
“Hm.” Viola leaned back in her chair. “And I wasn't informed of this incident, because…?”
Spitfire shrugged her shoulders. “I just figured the problem was resolved after that. They haven't come back, either.”
“Very well. If anything else like this comes up, tell me straight away. Even if you think it's something minor or inconsequential.”
The dancers looked at each other, varying degrees of concern crinkling their features. “Okay, boss. We'll do that,” Asphyxia said. “We'll pass this along to the other shifts.”
“Please do, and thank you.” Viola clapped her hands once as she stood up, as if dismissing the suddenly heavy mood. “Alright, enough of that. Let's get you all dolled up.”
Viola led the way inside, the dancers following behind her lighting up the place with their chattering. They soon parted ways, Viola making her way towards the currently unmanned downstairs bar. Right after she finished pouring herself a stiff drink, her commlink chirped once more. She brought up the message with an impatient upwards swipe.
«Sender: Double Dealer»
«Got some juicy tidbits you were asking for. Got time to meet?»
She clicked her tongue, mulling over her response.
«Recipient: Double Dealer»
«Club in fifteen minutes.»
An almost immediate response pinged her commlink, interrupting her first sip. She checked it.
«Sender: Double Dealer»
«I'm already out front. Bouncer isn't letting me in. Help?»
Groaning, she set her drink down and stomped her way towards the front, pulling the door open to find herself in the midst of Jimmy doing his job.
“—can't let you in, ma'am. Not yet.”
The woman he's barring from entry waved the tail of the neon pink feather boa around her neck at him. “I told you, your boss is expecting me.”
“I've heard that one too many times, ma'am. Please, be on your way and return when we—”
“It's fine, Jimmy. Let her in,” Viola interjected and fully opened the door.
The woman waved her feather boa in Jimmy's face one last time and walked past him. “I told you so.”
Jimmy said nothing, returning to his stone-faced standstill pose.
“Stop taunting my bouncer and get your skinny ass inside, Double Dealer.”
“Fuck, it's so weird hearing it actually said out loud. Just call me Dee Dee or something.”
“Very well.”
Viola led the way, gliding across the floor past the main stage and up the stairs where the VIP rooms were. With the fluorescent lights already switched off, soft ambient lighting washed the whole room in a soft purple glow. She beckoned Growler and Melody to follow inside the VIP hallway and entered the nearest room.
She plopped herself down onto the leather couch and cast her gaze upward towards the vents, noticing the unscented air. A quick NeuroLine command and the vents began pumping, filling the room with fresh Spring Rain.
A gesture almost made moot by her guest immediately lighting up a cigarette. “So.”
“So,” Viola repeated. “You said you had something juicy. It better be real juicy, seeing as it can't wait.”
“Nowhere near as juicy as you, girl, but you definitely won't regret hearing me out on this one.”
“Go on.”
“I'm sure you've been keeping yourself abreast”—the infobroker's gaze wandered down Viola's shirt—“of the sudden increase in corpo presence in our lovely yet forgotten district, yeah?”
“We have.”
“What if I told you I got my hands on the exact location of a safehouse?”
“I'd ask you whose it is, and why it concerns us.”
“A reliable source name-dropped Hosokawa-Hamada.”
Viola had no trouble keeping her face even, despite the value of info being presented to her. “And?”
Dee Dee seemed to keep her composure and pressed forward. “And, it's somewhere in the outskirts of Ashborne. I don't need to tell you whose turf that is.”
Not good. The prospect of the Red Gorgons aligning themselves with the corpos worried her, no matter how unlikely the odds.
“But wait, there's more. One of my matrix jockeys managed to lift something from their secure node. It has to be valuable, considering the level of encryption. I'm sure one of your techies will have a field day cracking it open.”
Viola looked straight at Dee Dee and tapped her manicured finger against the glass table. “And what is your asking price for this?”
The infobroker leaned back against the couch and crossed her legs, acting like someone who has the upper hand. “Five large, and—”
Viola scoffed at the amount. “Are you high?”
“I wasn't finished. Five large and two hours with one of your dancers. The fire-eating redhead.”
“Out of the question.” Viola narrowed her eyes, lips pursing. “My girls are not bargaining chips, you crude oaf.”
Her escorting sisters picked up on the shift in mood. Growler crossed her arms, tensing up the pythons she called biceps. Melody's chains rattled, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
“Damn, alright,” Dee Dee raised both her hands in alarm. “Tell your muscle to cool it.”
“One thousand and I'll overlook the insult this time.”
“Ah, come on, girl. That's primo info about the corpos and you're haggling for it?”
“Don't act like you weren't expecting me to.”
“Okay, fine. You got me. I'll lower it to four large.”
“I'll ask again, are you high? Two thousand.”
Dee Dee clicked her tongue and fiddled with her feather boa, staring at the wall while she was most likely doing some mental arithmetic. She sighed heavily, almost resigned. “Fuck, normally I'd ask to meet in the middle but I'd also like to walk away from this meet with my body intact. Two large it is.”
Viola plucked out a black credchit from her cleavage and tossed it across the table. “I'd say it's nice doing business with you, but I know you'll stay and spend your creds here.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dee Dee slips the chit into a pocket and sends the encrypted file to Viola's commlink. “I'm staying.”
“Good woman.” Viola rose from the leather couch, smoothing down her outfit and making her way towards the door. “Oh, and, if you're into Spitfire that much, book her like a normal customer, will you?”
Growler and Melody glowered at the moping infobroker before following Viola outside.
“So, another safehouse, huh? That makes two corp safehouses for us to raid,” Melody said once they were out in the hallway.
“That seems like it. I'd wait and see how Switch wants to play it out. But first, time for Oni to do her thing.”