Sable

Thursday, 7th of January, 198 A.C, 15:26

“Of course laborers are upset at Shell’s latest price hikes! Veiled are too! These are the two groups with the highest injury rate we’re talking about. Until we get tighter safety regulations – and let’s face it, who’s expecting those any time soon – all those high-risk jobs, you know, your couriers and your manufacturers and all that, they’re dependent on the cybernetics industry as a lifeline. As for Veiled, the report last year was that as many as 1 in 3 Veiled sustain an injury that requires cybernetics over the course of their careers. With those kind of numbers, I say again: Of *course* they’re upset about it!” - Clip from “Lighting a Spark with Chris Donahue”

The shift in the roads from glass to asphalt made me pause at the best of times, so it was a small miracle I was able to pass the threshold at all today. There was a gem and a threat in my pockets, each seeming far heavier than they ought to. Delivery and deliverance.

I chuckled at the witticism. Our work was a strange cycle. Dragging things back to the very companies who wanted our heads. But how to break it? Impulse was treading water, everyone pulling in their own directions such that our total velocity was zero.

Our composition was certainly a starting point. Bridging the class divide and in some cases eschewing VA study. But focusing on that was risky. Veiled who went anti-corporate had a tendency to disappear overnight. Hence the letter in my pants. Many of us had a conflict of interest there as well.

How about our members’ reasons for joining? For Trevor and Yumi, being in the squad, and so having a place to belong, was reason enough to keep them in, unless something more attractive came along. Axel too, though he had a political side. That was the second group, come to think of it. Axel, Rebbecca, Sarie. All here for moralistic reasons, or at least they told themselves that. Maybe different flavors, but I could get them all on the same page easily enough – Rebbecca and Sarie especially, with their fast friendship. Then there were the escapists. Well, we were all escapists at the end of the day, but Kai, Casey, and Lillith were the most honest about it. They would come along for the ride as long as the ride was fun. And profitable, for the case of Kai and Casey.

Then there was Darren. Darren… well, he just wanted us all to stay alive. His sense of obligation made him loyal. As for me… hmm. What exactly *did* I want out of Impulse? Make it the best squad possible, help everyone reach their potential, right? Change the world? That was why we called it Impulse, after all. But then what was the end goal? Spite, I supposed. Being a thorn in the side of VA. How could that not be my aim with those five recycled Veils in our ranks?

Perhaps that was a good place to start then. VA and the Veiled they pumped out. That would hold something for everyone. Well, except for the money chasers. Hmmm…

I was brought out of my musings by a commotion across the street. A small group of Veiled were posturing in front of an older individual. They were standing on the steps of a store squeezed between a fast food chain and a pharmacy. The sign hanging over the door read “Passed Pawns” in a scratched, regal font.

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I took my Veil out and tied it around my head. As good a place to start as any. Shame that I didn’t have the rest of my gear with me. This was going to get messy.

***

The Pugilist

The group was too busy badgering the shopkeeper to notice me. The biggest of the group was taking the lead. A wall of a man with tan skin, he wore a stern black acrylic mask and what resembled a security officer’s uniform.

The man shoved the older individual. “I’m asking for the last time, Avery. Where’s Kelly?”

The shopkeeper – Avery, from the sounds of it, raised their lone arm in exasperation. “And I’ve *told* you for the last time, I don’t know where they are! Surely you can’t expect me to know the daily routines of everyone that comes through the door!”

A woman’s voice came from the tall suit of armor backing up the leader. “This would be so much easier for everyone if you would just help us out. The Bodyguard and I can’t be held accountable for what the Needler might do if we don’t make this quick.” She indicated to the third member of the group. “I *really* don’t enjoy cleaning up after it.” She was wearing full plate mail, complete with a visored helmet and a red, rug-like cape. The Zweihander slung across her back left no question as to her methods.

The last of the trio chimed in. “Oh, but I do love making a mess!” It turned to Avery. “Protection dues are coming up soon, by the way. Boss has a tendency to raise the rates suddenly, if you catch my drift.” The third Veiled’s raspy voice perfectly matched its outfit. Tattered clothes hung off its frame, every inch of its body covered save a chrome pair of cybernetic hands. The only splash of color was the Veil - a blue cloth over its face.

I decided to make my entrance. Interposing myself between the Veiled and their quarry, I spread my arms and said, “Sorry to butt in, but I noticed a fuss and couldn’t help myself.” I gave a pointed look. “I’m sure you three have more exciting things to be doing than extorting a shopkeeper. This can’t possibly be the reason you became Veiled.”

The Bodyguard’s swagger didn’t miss a beat. “Oh yeah? And how about you? Did you spend your nights at VA dreaming of a way to get your shit pushed in as often as possible?”

“This Veil wasn’t much of a choice, I’m afraid.” I said. “Though fittingly enough, you might have an opportunity to see exactly how much my shit has been pushed in over the years.” I addressed the one in armor. “But before all that, what’s your moniker? I never caught yours.”

“The Landsknecht,” said the woman, easing her sword out of its sheath. “You?”

“You can call me the Pugilist.”

The Bodyguard shared a look with his companions before bursting out into laughter. “You’re the Pugilist? Well isn’t that just perfect luck!” He cracked his knuckles. “Another one of our hits just decided to pick a fight!”

Hmm. I waved the shopkeeper, Avery, back. “Find some cover. This is going to get ugly.” I slipped my Veil down until it covered my eyes.

“Oh boy,” the Bodyguard quipped. “The little Pugilist is too scared to look at us while we beat him up!”

I squared my stance. “Mmmm, not quite. Trust me, this is for your own safety.”

I braced myself as best I could and activated my Veil. The pain came first, a full body ache accentuated by sharp lines which traced years-old channels. My sight would have been gone even without the blindfold, the gash over my eyes torn just as wide as the day it was first carved into me. The blood followed soon after, soothingly warm against my freshly old wounds.

I chuckled at the witticism. Then I struck.