So. Let's talk murder.
Shooting a man in this Walmart of a world isn't hard, and in Night City, a lot of barriers against that sort of thing have long since been eroded by the worsening crime and expanding influence of the Megacorporations and their security forces. If the body lotto was to be believed, a few hundred people died a day in Night City, and while homicides weren't even in the top five reasons for death, they were in the top ten.
Funnily enough, the numbers for suicide came just below homicide, which I'm pretty sure was the opposite case in my time-slash-world. Crazy, right? With everything visibly getting worse year after year, you'd think more people would be rushing to finish up their trip on this side of the mortal coil.
That being said, the introduction of the Braindance into the consumer market had made the wild pale yonder a much less tempting prospect than before. Though that resulted in a slew of health conditions getting an uptick in the charts that probably didn't represent the situation on the ground accurately. Malnourishment for one, hypothermia another. It felt insane finding out about that, like seeing a sci-fi try and teach you an aesop about the importance of touching grass and losing sight of what's important, disjointedly paired with the fact that you would see millions completely ignore the warnings so that they would spend more time being someone else-
Right, enough of the depressing yet fascinating tidbits. Anyways. Murder. Anybody can do it, right? True. Murdering the rich and powerful, on the other hand, was a good deal tougher than picking off the random gang patrol.
Even the upper-middle class could afford to install a home turret system, which were usually armored to protect against small arms fire. The rich and the powerful, the 0.01%, those guys had security better than the presidents of some countries. Security teams, bulletproof suits, armored personal transportation and so much more that I was only now barely scratching the surface of. I hadn't even known that his office was protected by a biometric scanner until a few hours ago.
I'd watched Faraday for all of five hours and I already knew he'd be a tough nut to crack. Tanaka was arguably a more dangerous target than Faraday had been, but as I'd mentioned before I'd had a step-by-step laid out for me to take advantage of, even if there had been kinks for me to iron out.
Faint memories of an attack and a close escape from him that I'd watched but never really analyzed or memorized filtered through my mind as I turned it over in my head again, trying to recall any useful missing details. He'd had a smartgun, I could vaguely recall. Whether it was his security or him didn't matter, that would be a factor to take into account. If I couldn't kill him quickly, I'd have to be ready to tank some rounds to the face. He'd also had some sort of ejection device too. Something that let him escape the destruction of his vehicle by launching him onto a staircase a few stories up.
I tried not to mythologize him, but the depths of my ignorance and the work I was putting into to make this the perfect, clean hit made it tough. I'd been bouncing from one research topic to another for the most part, finding out what I could do with civilian access with regard to things like the effectiveness of bulletproof glass and other such things, but more and more it felt like I was going to have to do my best to strike when his shiny toys and luxurious security were a non-factor.
The safest plan, as far as I could tell, was the John F. Kennedy classic. Figure out where he was going, and when his head wouldn't be protected by anything in particular. Set up at a good angle overlooking the point where he would be vulnerable, and then put a bullet in his brain from as far away as possible.
There were issues with this plan, of course. While my dexterity was supernatural, my skill with rifles was somewhat untested. I'd never done target practice at extreme distance, and most of the time I fought was spent in spitting distance where guns were concerned, and the few times I'd tried firing from a distance with the rifles I had earlier in my career, I'd managed to draw blood frequently, but only a few kills.
Most of the guns I had weren't meant for precision. The gangs of Night City were well-armed, sure. There were even specialized roles in their armed forces, like snipers and code specialists. Gang wars were very justified in being called wars, considering the fact that armored vehicles had made appearances in Night City's streets more than once during particularly dangerous times, such as the ones I was living in.
But the rank and file, the chaff that I'd been chewing through, were only sporadically equipped with military hardware. And even if they owned it, they didn't necessarily know how to maintain it. I had looted two sniper rifles over the course of my time in Night City. One was covered with so much spray paint that the safety was encrusted in its off setting. The other one may have been a functional sniper rifle once, but one of its previous owners, in some bizarre fit of genius, had its barrel sawn off.
Now, I might not be a gunsmith, but I was pretty sure the barrel was one of the parts of the gun you didn't fuck with unless you knew what you were doing. Or maybe that was just the coward in me talking, I dunno.
Point was, I had the beginnings of a plan, but nothing to make it actually work. In the ideal scenario, I'd have time to train my [Rifles] skill further, maybe a few more points in DEX, and a gun that could take advantage of all that. Honestly though, I was pretty confident in the first two.
The latter was what had brought me to the streets of Japantown, where I was staring at nothing while I watched what was possibly the most dangerous woman in Westbrook take a sip of tea through my mechanical eye.
With Regina still radio silent, I had to turn to alternative sources of hardware, which meant finding another Fixer. None of them had called me to line up any jobs like she had, so I decided to try giving one of them an experimental nudge, so to speak. I'd decided to simply make my way into Japantown, do nothing in particular, and wait to see how long it took for her to realize I was there.
Meanwhile, I was training with my Stand, trying to experiment with its abilities. In my eye, feeds for Faraday and Wakako warred for my focus, pushing their glitchy boundaries against each other. They easily fell apart, and it was a delicate balancing act that I was pretty sure was feeding into my INT. If I focused on one too much, the other feed would collapse. If I was paying too much attention to reality, both would collapse. If I didn't keep them separate, they'd meld into a dizzying, fractured sight that…
I bit back a curse as the brief trip down memory lane caused both feeds to vanish, and queried [Sorairo Days] for what the two of them were doing again, refocusing my attention on keeping the two separate images clear in my mind.
I didn't have perfect encyclopedic knowledge on every major player in Night City, and most were vague, fuzzy memories and faces that I wouldn't be able to place even if you held a gun to my head. That being said, even before coming here, I'd say that Regina was the one I knew best, with Wakako easily the runner-up.
The little old asian lady looked like your stereotypical nan, but I'd honestly argue for her being more dangerous than Faraday, at least when it came to being on the attack. She was the textbook definition of a black widow, a woman who'd gone through several husbands or so, and that wasn't concerning enough, she was also closely tied to the Tyger Claws, to the point that her sons were big shots in the organization.
From what I remembered she'd hire the mercenaries to weed out disruptive and subversive elements in the Tyger Claws just as quickly as she'd throw you at a rival gang butting its way into her "territory". Polite and warm on the outside, but coldly pragmatic, even when it came to those under her command.
…Now that I thought about it, I couldn't think of any Fixers in the game who had been rude or dismissive. Even Dexter Deshawn, the fat prick, would be jovial and philosophical, up until the moment he put a bullet in your head. Maybe charisma was a vital component of being a Fixer, whether it was the ability to make someone like working with you or give off the impression you weren't to be fucked with.
It was funny looking at the two of them side by side. One was a cold, callous and businesslike cyborg who truly belonged in the shark tank that was corporate politics, while the other was polite and courteous, quietly pulling strings behind the scenes of a glitzy tourist trap, but both were at their heart ruthless masterminds who would order a death without even a hint of hesitation. People who had the wealth to never have to dirty their hands ever again, caught in the invisible game that everyone on their level had to play. I didn't doubt that if one of them relaxed, the other would know about it within the day, and would have patsies rifling through their rival's affairs within two.
A ringtone caught my attention. Not mine, though, but Wakako's. I watched as she unhurriedly set her cup down, before she plucked her phone from her pocket. This had happened a few times already, but I had a good feeling about this time being the one. A feeling that might have something to do with the Tyger Claws squad standing half a block away to my right, one of their members on the phone. I resisted the urge to wave.
The feed for Faraday vanished again, but I let it lie for the time being, focusing on Wakako. I could only hear one half of the conversation, but I got the gist. Whatever they said had the Fixer reach into her desk and pull open a cabinet, her wrinkled fingers rifling through files until she pulled one out and flicked it open. She gave it a consideration before she announced her decision in a soft but certain tone. "Leave him alone for now."
She ended the call, and typed in a new number. Within moments, an alert popped up in the corner of my cyber-eye's vision. I couldn't help the little smile that made its way onto my face. I'd been waiting for maybe three-quarters of an hour, at most. I'd been close, but not that close to Wakako, for fear of tipping her off. I could almost see in real-time how the full-time members of the Tyger Claws had been tipped off to my presence by the locals, only for the info to be passed up the chain until it reached the desk of the big gig-giver herself.
She even knew my number. If that wasn't a sign I was getting a rep, I didn't know what was.
A placeholder picture of a serpent tattoo gave way to a virtual model of Wakako, and I straightened up. "Good afternoon." I said out loud as I stood up, making my way into a nearby alley for the sake of privacy.
"A fine afternoon to you as well. I presume I am speaking to the young man Regina speaks so highly of?" Wakako said, relaxing in her chair. I'll give her this, she was amazing at giving off the "friend's kindly grandmother" vibe. Two sentences in and I already felt like we were familiar. Almost comfortable, really.
"Probably. You're looking for a certain Razzle, right?" I say, stopping to glance around the alley.
"Indeed I am. I presume that you are interested in speaking with me." A lot went unsaid, such as how she knew that, or what it was Regina had said about me.
But for once, it wasn't quite as daunting. It felt like I was cheating on a test, almost. A devious feeling swelled in my chest, and I grinned. "Indeed indeed. I'm looking to purchase some… particularly effective hardware."
The Wakako in my feed narrowed her eyes just slightly, and her words grew just a fraction more stern. "Then it is best that we speak in a more private setting. I ask that you meet me in my office. You will find it in a pachinko parlor on Jig-Jig Street." The curtain of chips leading to her office parted, revealing a vicious looking woman with her hair tied up in a ponytail. She glanced in their direction briefly, "Let us speak in person later. I'm afraid there are others I must attend to."
I prepared to say a polite goodbye, only for the call to end before I could finish it. I paused for a moment, considering the area, before making my way to the nearest city terminal to "search" for Jig-Jig Street. I trusted my map, but I was also being watched, and I'd rather not give away how prepared I was.
The trip was relatively uneventful, considering the fact that I was walking through the heart of gang territory. Or maybe it was because I was walking through the heart of gang territory that things were so quiet. As far as I recall, the Tyger Claws weren't the type to hijack military convoys, instead their funding came from both legit, illegitimate and all the sources in between, from running casinos, dollhouses and other unsavory but legal businesses to hawking XBDs, illegal cyberware and narcotics.
And when you were in the heart of a gang's territory, there was far less likely to be any shootouts or violence, simply because everyone there was either on the same team or keeping their heads down.
That wasn't to say that there wasn't any hint of danger, of source. As I came to a crossing and scanned for cars, the woman talking to Wakako suddenly leaned in, slamming her hands on the desk. A short moment later, she seized up as a burst of sparks erupted from her head before suddenly going limp, trails of smoke rising through the air.
By the time I had crossed the road, the woman had been removed from Wakako's office and tossed into a dumpster.
Eventually I reached Wakako's location, a small, unassuming pachinko parlor. The arcade box tucked into a poorly-lit corner briefly held my attention, before I noticed the back door opening, revealing a heavyset man with obvious signs of cyberware across his body looking me in the eye.
Toro Kotaro
Bodyguard
Lvl 25
Str: 67
Vit: 89
Dex: 32
Int: 21
Tech: 34
Cha: 19
You can buy an hour easily. Buying a life is harder. Which makes one wonder, where on the scale does loyalty fall? Somewhere surprisingly affordable, judging by the man before you.
Notable Abilities: Sandevistan, Subdermal Armor, Gorilla Arms.
We didn't have to exchange a word. As I walked over, he jerked his head behind him, before taking up his position next to the curtain of chips, arms folded. I swept the curtain aside and stepped in, and couldn't help but take in the office for a moment.
Oriental art adorned the walls, depictions of dragons, birds, trees and flowers were either hung up or drawn into the walls themselves. The decor was also refined, with everything having it's clear place, whether it was the earthenware kettle and cups behind her, resting on the cabinet, the vases filled with what I assumed to be tea leaves, or the ashtray on the table, filled with stubs.
A boxy lamp radiated soft mist, one of the two dim light sources for the room that left it in a hypnotically warm and soft glow. Unlike most other places in Night City I'd seen, wood was the primary element for Wakako's office. Much of the walls, floor and decor was wood, whether it was the bonsai tree set behind her or the desk she sat behind. I could even smell the faint aroma of wood, earthy and reassuring, though I had trouble placing the particulars. I wasn't really a wood guy, and my nose wasn't particularly qualified.
It was almost like I'd stepped into another, more elegant time.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Almost. There was still a faint metallic tinge to the scents in the air, most likely from the woman who'd come before me, her cyberware frying her brain when Wakako's Netrunner had turned it against her.
Still, I appreciated the atmosphere. It was a shame that I had nowhere to sit. It was almost certainly an intentional thing, though what purpose it had, I wasn't sure.
As Wakako peered at me through round glasses without turning her head, I gave her a glance-over in turn, faintly surprised by the tattoos I could see on her legs. Didn't remember ever seeing that before, but it made sense, considering the fact that I could barely remember seeing her lower half at all. Another reminder to not rely too heavily on my little flash of the future.
"Razzle." She gave a polite, practiced smile that was both warm and faintly not in a way I couldn't put my finger on. "I assume you did not have any issue finding this place."
"None whatsoever." I forced a smile, giving her a thumbs up. "For all the faults I'll give Night City, their interactive maps are well kept. Even if they could include more pertinent information." After all, even if it was egg on the face of the police force, I'd like to know which gangs ran which parts of the city.
Though I supposed the tag on the side of the terminal in green and red had done that for me.
The feeble-looking old lady gave a slight hum, considering something, and I waited in silence for a brief spell before she spoke again. "This is not the first time your name has crossed my desk, you know." She reached into her desk, pulling out a small pack of cigarettes and a lighter. With a practiced hand, she lit the cigarette and set the lighter aside, taking a light puff before turning to look at me fully. "In the future, the Tyger Claws should not bother you on your outings. If anyone wearing their colors does so… then they are not my boys, do you understand?"
I kept my face neutral, even as I cast my mind back to consider what she was talking about, before it hit me. The outing with Becca. "Right. Got it." I give a firm nod. I assumed that this was her covering herself from being responsible for whatever the various members of her gang tried. And giving me a lot more freedom to handle the ones who did pose a problem in any way I saw fit. "Thanks for the clarification."
Wakako nodded, "Though, if I may ask, what is your relation to Maine's crew?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.
I paused. I don't think I'd actually been introduced to them, come to think of it. Neither Rebecca nor David had actually told me his name, so I squinted slightly, tilting my head as if confused. "I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate on that question."
Wakako turned her head to look at me directly, and the way her glasses reflected the light from her lamp obscuring her eyes, leaving me with nothing to go off of. I grew steadily more uncomfortable as the silence lingered, but [Covert Talent] kept me from speaking up again, a hum of warning in the back of my mind.
Whatever she saw seemed to be enough for her, and she turned away, adjusting her glasses. "I see. Think nothing of it, then." She took another puff from her cigarette, before tapping it and letting the grayed end crumble into the ashtray. "You mentioned you were seeking hardware, and by that I assume weapons. Tell me, what is it that you seek?"
I gave a grin as I dug into a pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. "Funny you should ask…"
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The sun blazed over him, and the horizon seemed to shimmer. The road ahead seems unending, but he was already so tired.
He couldn't even remember why he was running anymore. He was getting ready for something. Or he was doing it for someone. It all seemed so hazy, now.
The heat was almost certainly getting to him, but he just- couldn't- stop.
So he ran, like a man possessed. One foot in front of the other, over and over in an unsteady rhythm. Occasionally he felt the legs under him wobble, shake and shudder, almost like they were screaming for him to stop despite the fact that he couldn't feel them anymore. But if there wasn't any pain, any ache, then he could keep going.
Despite the fact that his limbs shone with sweat, he couldn't feel even the faintest bit of strain, not in his legs, nor his lungs, nor his heart. The only indication of exhaustion he noticed was the feeling of his head listing as it grew heavier and heavier, and his vision fading in and out.
How long had he been running? How much ground had he left behind? Would he even be able to turn back, even if he did so right this instant?
His head listened to the side for a brief moment, only to snap up as the sudden sensation of falling startled him into awareness once more.
Maybe he could stop. Maybe he could rest for a moment. Get some feeling back in his legs, see how far he had left to go.
Yeah, that seemed like a good idea.
Yet even as the idea ran through his brain, tossing and turning inside his unsteady head, his arms failed to stop. Like they'd never listened to him at all.
Oh well, it was only a little further away. And if it wasn't, then he'd be a little closer this way.
For a long while, he simply fought against the darkness, and the sweat flowing into the corners of his eyes. He still had more to give, he still had further to go-
One leg slammed into the other, and all of a sudden he was falling, arms outstretched.
It was like no fall he had ever experienced before, falls were supposed to be quick. This one was slow, heart-wrenching in a way he'd never felt before.
Ah. The end of the road. For him, at least.
He tried to make out what he was running towards, to at least comfort himself with the sight of the end, but there was only an indistinct blur, impossible to make out against the bright blue of the sky, the sandy yellow of the desert, and the black strip that grew larger and larger.
…He wanted to put out his arms to catch himself, but they refused to move, so he just waited for the ground to meet him. He felt something on the edge between sorrow and horror well up from within, but there was nothing to be done, so he just closed his eyes.
And he fell, and fell, and-
Maine snapped awake with a jolt, twisted up in his sheets. He laid there for a moment, letting his gut remember that it was on solid ground. Sweat was pouring out of him, soaking the sheets and the bed beneath him, like it was the middle of a hot summer day.
He glanced at the corner of his vision. Around nine-thirty, about time he was supposed to wake up, anyway. He swung his legs over to the side, only realizing his mistake too late. The bed creaked louder than he expected under his bulk, and he froze for a moment, hoping that he hadn't just woken his output.
A groan destroyed whatever budding hope he had. "Maine?" Dorio muttered. "Fuck, is it time already?"
He shook his head as he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Not yet. I'll wake you up when it's go time."
She shifted without replying, and Maine fetched an immunobooster from the drawer and jabbed it into his arm, feeling cool relief flow through him. Then, he stood up. He'd get started early, fix something for the two of them. It was a big occasion, after all. Despite his foul headache, he felt like celebrating anyway. A toast to the end of months of bullshit and mind games, or something like that. And he just wanted to do something nice for her.
Dorio emerged from their bedroom a few minutes later, and he fought a grimace as he tossed the leftover noodles and cloned shrimp in the pan, being careful not to grip too tightly. "Slept well?" He asked.
"Good enough." She deflected. Which was the best he was going to get, considering the circumstances. There weren't going to be any more delays, the op was happening today, short of the Fifth Corporate War kicking off.
He heard the shower run as the food began to steam. As he began to pour it out onto the plates, Dorio emerged from the shower, dressed and ready to go. She blinked in surprise as she looked at him, and Maine couldn't help but grin. "Special occasion. Eat up, we're gonna need it."
Dorio didn't answer, instead stepping over and running her hands through his hair. "Your hair's wet." She muttered, ignoring the meal. "You feel anything?"
"Just a bad dream or something, that's all." Maine said, taking her hand and holding it. "But nothing to worry about. No shakes, no nothing."
A worried look came over her face, one that made something ugly in his gut curl into knots. Something he ruthlessly crushed, he knew she wanted the best for him. He just had to tough it out a little bit longer. "Maine, if you feel sick or anything…" Her voice trailed off, before he shook his head.
"If there's any issues, I'll sleep it off after the mission." He gave her a grin, and her hand a reassuring squeeze. "C'mon. Let's eat, then link up with Kiwi. Maybe she's got some good news."
----------------------------------------
Kiwi watched quietly as the glowing yellow cobra twisted in midair, poison-green rays spraying from its mouth seemingly at random as it vainly attempted to attack the two of them as Lucy simply directed it's head away with a look of disdain on her face. The program mechanically repeated its attempts at escape, making the same repeating motions over and over, like a looped feed.
"Some 'premium' security." She couldn't help but scoff as she turned her head towards Lucy and arched an eyebrow. "Are you going to finish it off, or should I?"
Lucy looked impassive, but her eyes glittered with amusement. "Might as well let you get some practice in. I can't even remember the last time you've fought on the net." The younger netrunner gestured in her direction, and the Asp moved towards her, still seized and made harmless by the invisible force. Kiwi scoffed, but focused anyway, reaching out with her mind's eye to pull it apart, piece by piece.
The Asp continued to struggle, but it's futile attempts did nothing to stop her, and soon it faded away, leaving only a faint impression of a serpent on the net architecture around her, a shadow hovering in mid-air.
It wasn't gone, of course. Kiwi didn't bring the tools to destroy programs like these permanently, but it was hobbled to the point of uselessness, and that was good enough for her.
"Five seconds. You've been slowing down." Lucy sounded faintly smug.
Kiwi rolled her eyes and made a shooing gesture. "Go ahead and start looking for files, I'll finish up here." Kiwi stated, attention already focused on her task. As Lucy seemed to float away, she shook her head. What a precocious little protege she had.
She could still distinctly remember the fear in Lucy's eyes when she was showing her the ropes of exploring Net Architecture and fighting off programs. The hesitation she'd shown before she'd even attempt at zapping a wisp.
But getting her through whatever trauma she'd had was paying off well. With Lucy handling net combat in the rare cases they encountered it, she'd been able to adjust her loadout, carrying Boosters and Defenders instead of having Attackers taking up valuable slots. With a thought, her programs were rezzed, and she began dedicating them to covering their tracks.
It was surprising how rewarding joining Maine's crew had been. Back then, everyone had heard what had happened to their previous Netrunner, and the crew had been considered toxic in the circles she'd run in. It was only when she'd looked a little deeper into the incident that she'd realized the opportunity available to her.
Trawling the subnet for secrets and data was worthwhile, but the juiciest details were usually tightly secured in net architecture and data fortresses, places she simply wouldn't be allowed near, which meant that she needed people to get her close to the access points. Signing on as Maine's sole Netrunner had been a calculated risk that had borne dividends. On top of the generous signing bonus she'd managed to negotiate for, she'd also had the sole claim to whatever she found on the net, barring whatever clients had hired them to steal, of course.
And then Lucy had fallen onto her lap, and things had only gotten better from there. The girl wasn't just a natural, she had come pre-installed with gear far beyond what Kiwi had, even as a professional 'street' netrunner. Of course, Kiwi could connect the dots. That sort of gear required the resources only major corporate players could provide, and at her tender age, she doubted she'd ever known a life beyond what the corps had planned for her. One that undoubtedly had been spent mostly beyond the Blackwall, in the deathtraps and dungeons the DataKrash had left behind. A powerful ally, if properly managed.
So she'd taken the girl under her wing and taught her what she knew. Of course, there was only so much Kiwi could teach her, considering the difference in their abilities and gear. Lucy's cyberware had been incompatible with the boosters available on the streets, and when it came to interfacing with the net, Lucy could easily blow her out of the water.
But Kiwi had been in this game for a long, long time now. At least, long by Netrunner standards, and all the talent and cyberware in the world couldn't completely supplant experience.
As a false image of a glowing Asp appeared in the space the program had previously occupied, Lucy reappeared, bearing something that resembled a faintly gleaming jewel, wavering like it was composed of water. "Found the security logs and resident list, but something else, too." She held it up and tilted her head at it. "I can't make sense of it. I think it's encoded somehow."
Kiwi scanned the file with a critical eye, before giving a dismissive shake of her head a short while afterwards. "Just a dummy to waste our time. Don't bother with it."
Lucy blinked in slight surprise, probably because she tended to copy any file she couldn't identify. "What makes you think that?"
"Because the first three lines are the exact same as another file I found in a 3D printing design firm. And another at a Hydro plant." Kiwi tonelessly answered, derezzing her booster programs as she straightened up. "The resident list might be worth something, though." She stopped for a moment to consider her next line, before deciding to go ahead with it. "Good work."
Lucy twitched slightly, but gave no other discernible reaction, a far cry from her past reactions. Her previous corporate masters obviously hadn't treated her well. The first time Kiwi had congratulated her, the girl looked like she'd been physically struck.
Kiwi kept the impassive look in her eye as she looked around, the instinctual, vestigial attempt at a smile short-circuited by the utter lack of expressiveness in her cybernetic jaw.
"I'm not seeing any other levels." Lucy noted, folding her arms as she glided next to Kiwi. "Think there's a hidden branch?"
Kiwi shook her head. "Looks more like the end of the road. We've gotten as high up as we can and we're still nowhere near Tanaka's systems." She muttered. "Either they're air-gapped or just plain-old switched off. Still, the cameras are under our control. That'll do for now."
The digital void surrounding the two of them fell away, and Kiwi shook off the disorientation as she sat up, pulling her cord out of the access point. The two of them had done some searching, and had discovered an antenna close to their target on a nearby rooftop, likely meant to streamline traffic into and out of the subnet for the wealthy locals.
As always, she felt uncomfortably warm, but she couldn't exactly lug a tub filled with ice onto the rooftop of an office building without some awkward questions. She pulled her coat over her netrunning bodysuit and looked over to where Lucy was standing up, stretching. The younger netrunner looked none the worse for wear despite her more intense activity on the net, and for a moment she felt a pang of envy before shaking it off.
Rebecca and Pilar looked over from where they were watching the door. "You two done yet?" Rebecca yelled, kicking her legs. "I'm getting booored!" She dramatically leaned back, the only thing keeping her from falling off her seat being the weight of the Carnage she was bouncing on her lap.
Pilar wasn't even looking at the door, instead staring at a magazine that he still hadn't deigned to look away from, one leg folded over the other. "Can you try and keep your murder-boner in your pants? I mean, we are trying to keep a low profile here, right?" He said, tilting his head at the two of them as they approached.
Rebecca let out an aggravated, over-the-top sigh as she rolled her eyes. As Kiwi came closer, she took a bit of one of Rebecca's pigtails in hand, rubbing it between her fingers as she took on the tone of an overbearing mother. "Don't you worry, dearie. I'm sure there will be plenty of chances for our special little girl to do what she does best." She mockingly assured.
"Ack! Unhand me, witch!" Rebecca pulled away with an exaggerated look of distaste. And Kiwi's eyes crinkled in amusement as she watched the little blue Solo go off on some tirade. Bothering Rebecca was a remarkably fun pastime, she'd found. She was remarkably uncreative with her insults, and prone to flying into the extremes of emotion at the drop of a hat. Like poking a chihuahua.
Kiwi straightened slightly as an alert appeared in the corner of her vision, Rebecca cutting her tirade off at the same time as Pilar looked up from his magazine.
- - -
Maine: kiwi, what's the sitch-sitch? found any special netrunner backdoors or anything?
Kiwi: nope. lucy and I had a look around, but it looks like we're going to have to infiltrate to get-get a peek at what that mysterious jackass wants.
- - -
"I can handle searching through Tanaka's systems for what we need, if you want to handle the security." Lucy suddenly spoke up, looking Kiwi in the eye.
She considered the suggestion for a moment, as well as Lucy's unexpected boldness. Poking through the software of a corporate exec wasn't exactly safe, but it was also likely to be fruitful. In an ideal world, they'd be able to make off with everything important Tanaka had and sift through it together, but it would be safer to have someone keeping an eye out for intrusions into the net architecture of the building.
Kiwi looked Lucy in the eye, noting the firm look on her face and mentally re-evaluating some theories. She had been almost certain that Lucy was once an Arasaka asset, and this willful outburst just put another nail in the coffin as far as she was concerned. Lucy was usually the more hands-on of the two, but it was more a habit than a formal thing. This declaration seemed to her like old resentments kicking in, a chance to take revenge on the faceless conglomerate responsible for her past.
"If you're ready to share whatever you find, then sure." She agreed with a slight shrug. Lucy's face seemed to pinch for a moment, but she nodded, and Kiwi turned her attention back to the messages. If Lucy wanted to do what she would have suggested anyways, who was she to stop her?
- - -
Kiwi: good-good news is that we've taken down the net defenses. get me near an access point inside and I can handle cyberspace security myself so long as there's someone to keep an eye out in realspace for me. lucy can go with the infiltration team, in case you run into any extra automated security.
Maine: any info on any sort of special measures tanaka took?
Kiwi: 'fraid not. we-we're going to have to find out the old fashioned way.
Maine: looks like we're sticking with plan b, then. falco's driving me and dorio to the meeting point. we'll discuss any extra details and strike after. any problems?
Rebecca: I've got a problem. When am I gonna get to shoot something?!
Dorio: any problems we can solve without potentially compromising the mission?
Kiwi: yo-you're the boss. see you soon.
- - -
Rebecca let out a string of unintelligible grumblings as she hopped off her seat and slung the Carnage over her shoulder. "Whatever, let's just go already." She sulked, pulling the door open and making her way down the stairwell.
Kiwi watched her go, before glancing at Pilar. "She seems like she's on a shorter fuse than usual."
"Don't I know it." He sighed, wiping back his mohawk. "She's been antsy for the last few days. Not sure why."
She thought about it for a moment. "That stray of hers?" She suggested with raised eyebrow.
"Maybe." He shrugged. "Honestly, I wouldn't mind if a security guard walked in on us or something, just so that she'd cut down on the bitchin' a little."
"I HEARD THAT!" She heard Rebecca yell from downstairs. And as Pilar winced, Kiwi wouldn't help but snort, following the rest of the crew as they descended the stairwell.
Like poking a very, very loud chihuahua.