Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sasha Yakovleva was the rarest type of person in 2075. One with a good heart.

Sure, her hands weren’t bloodless. No way they could be with her life as an Edgerunner after all. But she picked her targets carefully and demanded her crew do the same whenever she worked with them for larger scores. Always corpo offices with automated cleaners or gangs that were in it for their own pockets instead of keeping the hood safe from outside exploitation. And she made sure to give whatever she could do without to those in greater need.

She might not’ve been volunteering at soup kitchens but if she dropped off the odd pallet of ramen at one, or tweaked the net connection for some no-name inner city school because some of its students looked up to her, well, she wasn’t doing it for bragging rights. She wasn’t doing it for any reason really. It just felt good to do good, and her life- hard though it had been after losing her mother- gave her the strength and skill to do a lot of it. And she liked to think she’d gotten that good back.

Gotten it when one of her mother’s squadmates took her in like a daughter and gave her the skills to stand on her own two feet. Gotten it when his partner treated her like family just as readily and filled that void in her heart where her mama had been, if only a little. Gotten it from a friend that was too good for her. So full of life and energy that anyone could see it even if she didn’t have vibrant seafoam green hair and lovely pink tattoos.

And while she might not know it yet, pinned down by a hail of gunfire as she was, she’d gotten it tonight too.

She’d long had her suspicions about Biotechnica. More so than she had about any other shadowy AAA Corporation. Her mother had been a proud member of the Night City Militia back during the last Unification War. And while she might not have been full ganic, the strength she exhibited and the things she pulled off without half as much chrome as her peers was awe-inspiring. It had never made sense to her, especially when she was younger, how someone so strong could be brought so low by disease. And tonight she’d learned the truth. That her illness, while certainly severe, was pushed to the point of lethality by a faulty medicine sold by the soulless conglomerate she was currently having a shootout in. One that knew the side-effects and didn’t care because it only affected a certain percentage of users. One that reduced her mother- her hero- to a statistic in their bottom line.

It was in the midst of that horrifying discovery that she skimmed through a few other top-secret files in their mainframe. Briefly noting one that mentioned they’d obtained “a new specimen” and currently had them in storage. She initiated a program that’d wake them up from stasis and unlock their pod. She didn’t know who the poor soul was but she figured they deserved a chance to escape. And with her drawing all of security’s attention they’d have it.

Her file transfer to the city’s news network was nearly complete. She knew it wouldn’t amount to much. Knew that they’d bury the lead either with bribery or coercion. But at least someone else like her that’d been forced to grieve by their greed might find some sense of closure.

She winced as another bullet pinged off her dermal armor. She’d made peace with the fact she wasn’t getting out of this. Though her heart ached at the barrage of increasingly desperate messages Maine threw her way begging her to escape or at least survive until they could get to her. But she couldn’t do that to him. Corporate security forces had arrived on scene and they were much scarier than the walking tin-cans she’d been busying herself with. She wasn’t going to drag her family down with her. Not for a fight that wasn’t theirs.

Then all of a sudden she heard panicked cries. The crack of gunfire continued but no longer did bullets ping off the floor around her. Wet squelches and grinding steel rang out louder than the din of combat, and above even that came laughter. Crazed and cruel and utterly spine-chilling despite how boldly she’d been facing down her seeming demise until now.

An ear-splitting shriek of steel reverberated off the walls before a decidedly more human scream followed, a body being tossed over the desk she hid behind and slumping to the floor dead. The arms of one of the security bots rammed right through its armored chest like a makeshift spear. A few more controlled bursts of gunfire cracked, groans and cries following each until finally there was silence.

At least until the desk- the one made of metal and attached to the floor-was shoved aside. The suddenness and horrible noise it made as it ground against the tiles stunning her long enough for something to slam into her and pin her to the ground. A massive pale shadow loomed over her, like that of a man but impossibly large. Its whole body crisscrossed with scars and blue-inked tattoos.

The beast pinned her hands above her head by the wrists in a way that even if she unsheathed her claws they wouldn’t cause any harm. She met its gaze- its eyes a fierce and piercing blue not unlike her own but decidedly more bloodthirsty. Its mouth was curled in a barely suppressed snarl, two prominent teeth- tusks really- jutting out from the underbite of its broad and rocky chin. It raked its view across her up and down- and smiled. Less like a monster and more, well, goofily.

“You a computer gal?” He asked in a deep voice.

“H-huh!?”

“Computers. You a decker?”

Decker? That was old lingo from back when people still needed to carry around their netrunning gear instead of having it be a part of them.

“I-I’m a netrunner- a hacker.” She clarified, suddenly unsure just how old this… person… might be. He didn’t look much older than Maine but considering they had him locked in stasis and the lack of visible chrome, he could’ve been a man out of time. He could’ve been naturally big with some minor muscular enhancements and some exotics for the teeth.

“Netrunner? That’s a new one. Anyways you the one that sprung me from that jar they had me in?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, thank you!” He smiled, still a little intimidating given his size and tusks but also oddly endearing? He straightened his back and pulled her up with him, releasing his grip on her wrists and patting the dust off of her.

“Sorry about that girlie.” He grinned down at her, and holy shit this guy looked like he was a foot taller than Maine.

His whole form was bulky muscle, his skin almost bursting at how tightly packed it was underneath and decorated with intricately woven blue tattoos. The design reminded her of some documentary she’d watched one night when she was browsing the trid about barbarians of the past. Picts, maybe? Also of note now that she could see it was a sort of star-shaped blast scar dead-center in his chest, a bit smaller than her head. Not that that was saying much since she was pretty sure one of his biceps were bigger than her head. There was nothing small about him! And glancing a bit further down…

“Okay that just CAN’T be real.” She thought to herself.

“If I wake up buck naked in a place I don’t know and there’s not a pretty goblin lass with me it’s usually a bad sign. Had to go in swinging until I was sure, specially once I saw the security stiffs. But hey you know how it is. Guessing we uh, work the same sort of career?”

So this guy was a mercenary. She kind of figured. But what the hell was that about goblins? And also-

“Um I’m sorry but could you m-maybe put some pants on?” She asked, trying very hard not to glance back at the glaring distraction below his waistline. Less a matter of desire and more that it was hard to miss given the size.

“I’d strip one of the bodies but folks have a bad habit of shitting themselves when their heart stops beating. Plus I don’t think any of these fellas are in my size.” He turned to look, before glancing back at her with a quirked eyebrow. “How close are you to that jacket?”

The one she was wearing was one of her favorites but it didn’t hold particular sentimental value. That and it was riddled with holes and bloodstains so she doubted there was any saving it after tonight. Shucking it off she held it out to him while looking away. “H-here.”

“Aw thanks hon.” He smiled, taking it and tying it dutifully around his waist. The back thankfully large enough that it was able to cover his member and rear once he adjusted it a little.

“I’ll admit my rap-sheet’s longer than I’d like but no need to add public indecency in there, ya know?”

“Y-yeah, sure.”

“You uh, you doing okay? You seem a little shaken up.” He squinted down at her. “Come to think of it, how old are you?”

“Nineteen?”

“Shieeet, and you broke in here all yourself, killed half these thugs all by your lonesome and hacked their system? You got guts girlie, specially for a decker! Not to besmirch ya, s’one of the most important roles on a good team o’course. But usually not the most combat inclined.”

“I uh- this was kind of a last stand thing? I found out some of their products are why my mom got sick and it- um-“ She trailed off, the adrenaline of the last few minutes finally fading as her certainty in the face of death crumbled into aftershock and anxiety.

Her bizarre new acquaintance gently took her by the shoulders and steadied her.

“Oh, one of those. Well trust me the come down’s a bitch when you look your demise in the eye and manage to walk it off but hey, least you get to! Speaking of uh, usually where there’s a dozen goons there’s two more on the way. You got an escape route?”

That brought her back to reality. Well, that and the continued barrage of messages from Maine.

“Maine!” She shouted.

“Hm? UCAS huh? Don’t think I’m wanted there yet.”

“What? No, no my friend! Maine! He’s on my crew! We just need to get down to him and he can get us in the parking lot!”

“Ahhh okay! Say, that overpass out beyond the window. Can’t be more than, what, thirtyish feet down and ten out?”

“Um, looks like. Why?”

Instead of answering, the bizarre man walked over to the battered desk- a metallic block of a thing easily the size of a fridge and probably just as heavy- picked it up, and hurled it out the window in question. Sasha’s jaw dropped at the sight. Even with high-end bionics that’d be hard to pull off and he didn’t have any just by looking at him. She even risked a scan and saw only the barest bit of chrome in the form of what looked like low-end plating.

“You scared of heights?”

“Eh?”

“Hope that was a no!” He cheered, yanking her towards him and slinging her over his shoulder like a bag of rice. “Otherwise this next part’s gonna suck!”

“EH!?” Sasha panicked, realizing what he meant. “Wait wait even if you’re reinforced you can’t-!”

“HIYAAA!” He bellowed, surging forth from the shattered frame of the window and soaring high before gravity began to take its toll.

Sasha screamed as loud as she could. Dying in a shootout to avenge her mother was one thing, but dying because some roided-up science experiment thought he was Tarzan was NOT how she wanted to go!

She couldn’t see much with her head pointed in the opposite direction of her savior/abductor, but she heard stone crumble and felt his form jerk as they suddenly came to a stop. Then she was being tossed up and over with him following shortly after. Apparently they’d made it.

“Whew! Wasn’t sure that would work!”

“Then why did you do it???” Sasha wheezed as she leant on her knees and tried not to puke.

“Hey, it was this or taking our chances with the elevator. Might’ve been able to shrug off those 9 to 5 schmucks but anyone that got sent in after them would’ve had bigger badder boomsticks. Even I got my limits. Specially’ when I’m letting it all hang out. Damn perverts couldn’t even give me a medical cape before they put me in that pickle jar.”

“Who even are you, anyways?”

“Oh me? You can call me Orkland!” He smiled, thrusting his palm out for a shake.

“Like Oakland?”

“Uh, yeah? Nobody’s called it that for a couple decades though.”

“O…kay. And um. What are you?”

“I’m not following.”

“W-well you’re huge but you don’t seem to have any chrome. And then there’s your teeth.”

Orkland narrowed his eyes. “What about them?”

“Are you some kind of bio-engineered soldier or?”

“The hell? I get you computer geeks are a bit more sheltered but you’re talking like you’ve never seen an Ork before kid.”

“Like from Lord of the Rings?”

“Lord of the- Like from real life! The hell are you on about? We’re the second-most populous metahuman variant in the damn world! Shit, we’ll probably beat you humie’s in numbers despite your best efforts!”

“Metahuman?”

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” A new voice roared over the squeal of tires. Maine finally arriving on scene and bursting forth from the passenger seat of their van. Dorio leveling a pistol from the driver’s side window and Rebecca bursting out the sunroof with an SMG leveled his way.

“I swear it’s not what it looks like!” Orkland exclaimed a lot more calmly than anyone should with three guns pointed at them.

“It looks like some beefed up pervert’s looming over my runner with not a damn thing on him!”

Orkland glanced down to see the tattered jacket Sasha had lent him had fallen off, presumably when he grabbed the ledge of the highway’s concrete railing.

“…Okay it’s exactly what it looks like when you put it like that.” He conceded, leaping back as a shot went off at his feet and Rebecca began to cuss him out. Thankfully Sasha stepped between them and intervened.

“Maine, Becca chill! This guy saved my life! Biotechnica was holding him prisoner, I think he was some sort of experiment!”

“For fuck’s sake lady I told you I’m an Ork!”

“Like from nerd shit?” Rebecca asked, eyes further down than they should be.

“God-damn I’m glad I got sprung but you’re some racist bastards you know that?”

“How the hell can you be racist against something that don’t exist?” Maine asked.

Orkland snarled at that, marching towards the smaller man despite having a shotgun leveled at his torso.

“Listen here, friend, you’re sounding a lot like those Saito-simping cunts I killed by the hundreds. Telling me I shouldn't exist.”

“Who the fuck’s Saito?”

Anger gave way to confusion. “Saito. Colonel Saito. Racist prick what decided to play emperor? Marched his #$% ass out of San-Fran to take over damn near all of Cali?”

“Woah!”

“Dude.”

“Fuck’s sake man…”

“It’s 2075 choom, how are you gonna talk about racism and say shit like that?” Rebecca asked, her and the rest of the crew a little surprised by the antiquated term that slipped past his tusks.

“Well that bastard tried genociding me so… what the fuck did you just say?”

“Racism is ba-?”

“No not that! The other thing! What year is it?”

“2075?”

“2075… 2075!? It’s been twenty goddamn years!?” Orkland shouted. “How the fuck have they kept me on ice for so long!? What happened? Did we lose!?”

“Did who lose?” Sasha asked.

“Us! The People’s University, and the Meta Liberation Army and the California Free State!?”

“Choom… what the fuck are you talking about?” Maine asked.

“The fucking war man!”

“War? You mean the unification war? That was the last one we had here in California for ages.”

“Unification- what!? No, it was Saito’s invasion!”

“The Japanese showed up to help, and even then it was just their damn corps. It was the states that tried invading us. Night City’s the last place that’s free on the West Coast.”

“States? Wait where the hell’s night city?”

The Edgerunners glanced about each other, baffled. The guy clearly wasn’t sane just by looking at him but he seemed genuinely confused at their explanations.

“This is, choom.” Dorio said, stepping fully out of the vehicle.

“What? But-“ Orkland glanced behind him then all around at the towering spires of chrome and glass that stretched as far as the eye can see.

“This place is fucking huge- don’t tell me they built it in 20 years.”

“Twenty? Choom, this place as been around the better part of a century.”

The fire in Orkland’s eyes died out as he staggered on his feet a little. His mouth moving but making no noise as he tried to find the words.

“Is… is magic real?”

“Choom what the fuck are you-“

He surged forth- literally- appearing right in front of Rebecca despite having been a good 15 feet from her just a second ago. Not impossible, but the type of tech that could make it happen would’ve been much more visible on his bare frame. And the arcs of lightning he started shifting between his hands? Nobody had an explanation for that.”

“Magic! Metahumans! Orks, trolls, elves, fucking dragons! A-anything!?”

“I… no. Orkland we don’t know anything about any of that. As far as we can tell magic just… it’s like in fairytales and that’s it.” Sasha consoled, reaching out to touch him.

He fell back flat on his ass before she could. His crash making an audible thump as he sat jaw-slackened.

“I’m alone.” He wheezed. “Fought for fucking years to keep us all alive and I still wound up being the last damn trog breathing.”

The gang watched as he curled in on himself, his eyes glassy and distant as if somewhere else. Then they heard the oncoming rush of sirens and AVs in the distance. Still a few minutes out but rapidly closing.

“Hey.” Sasha called, grabbing his arm. “I’m sorry for whatever happened but this is no place to think about it, alright? We need to go before the cops show up. We can talk through this. We can help you. Er, I can help you.”

“We.” Maine corrected, resting his shotgun over his shoulder. “That was a damn fool thing you did tonight girl. Brave as hell, but don’t think I’m not pissed at you for nearly leaving us like you did. You’re the one that pulled her out of that mess.” He said, shifting his focus over to Orkland. “You saved my netrunner. My girl. I ain’t gonna let that slide without evening the score.”

He offered a partially metallic hand to the dazed Ork. Helping him up was a bit of a struggle. Damn this guy was built heavy.

“Think we can start with some clothes? I can deal with a bad situation a whole lot better when my balls aren’t freezing.”

“I could help with that!” Rebecca shouted. Dorio facepalming below her.

“How tall are you?” Orkland asked.

“5 foot even.”

“Yeah I think I’d split you in half girlie. Preciate’ the offer though.”

“Oh please. I’ve handled bigger!”

“Hon I’ve kept Troll gals happy, it doesn’t get bigger than me.”

“Rebecca stop trying to bang the alien. Sasha, grab your friend and get in the van. Dorio, turn the radio on. I need some music after a night like this.” Maine ordered.

“Alien? Boss I’m Californian born and bred!”

“Not any California I know choom.”

“Okay, real quick what the hell’s that mean?”

“What?”

“Choom.”

“S’like ‘dude’ or ‘friend’.” Rebecca answered.

“Oh, like chummer?”

“Chummer? That sounds like fish.” Sasha giggled.

“Yeah and choom sounds like what a five year old calls a vacuum. Ya ain’t got magic or bad bitches with horns and now you’re telling me you’ve got twenty years on my world and ya don’t even have better lingo? Did I die and go to hell? Get I shot a lot of people but I figured most of em’ being fascists would balance things out. You guys at least have good food here?”

“I know a good pizza place.” Dorio chimed in as the car began rumbling down the highway just in time for the first bits of law enforcement to start swarming the office. “They’ve got the best locust pepperoni.”

“…Locust?”

“Yeah, locust. What, you about to tell us you guys still eat pork and steak where you’re from?”

“I wanna go back.” The large ork sulked, Sasha gingerly patting her bizarre new friend on the arm.

Chapter Text

“Donald, please be reasonable about thi-“

“DON’T YOU TELL ME TO BE FUCKING REASONABLE!” The enraged Ork roared, spittle flying as he did and splattering the poor acolyte at the head of the group.

“Hestaby merely believes you can do more good elsewhere!”

“That’s a crock of shit and you know it! I fought for this place! I cleared out every skinhead thug what used to strut around and got our people fed, housed and armed so when those fucking knife-eared shits came stomping down from their pretty little forests they’d get a bullet between the eyes for thinking they could take it from us!”

“That right there is part of the problem. You fought alongside Elves, claim Elves as your friends and yet-“

“I wouldn’t use that word on them alright!? Fuck’s sake it’s different for Elves from Tir! They’re a goddamn ethnostate! Everyone that used to live where they do now got forced out or shot, my fucking family included!”

“Such righteous anger was good in times of war, but you’ve held onto it too long past that. Let it fester.”

“Held onto it? Are you listening to this hippie bullshit you’re spewing right now? I HAVE to carry it! Yeah we’ve got a dragon now, SO DO THEY! They’re waiting for an excuse for round two and that megalomaniacal bastard down in San Fran is pushing every Metahuman out of the place like it’s his playground. We aren’t safe yet!”

“All who embrace the teachings of our lady can find safety. Peace. A better way.”

“You tell that scaley cunt the only reason she has her better way is I fought a goddamn army and some fucked up spirits long enough for her to finish rolling her fat ass out of her thousand year power nap!” He shouted, looming over the congregation sent out to speak to him.

Their leader held his gaze for a while before responding.

“Tell her yourself.”

Donald stilled at that, some of the wind leaving his sails.

“Excuse me?”

“Tell her yourself.”

“Heh… hehehe, yeah. Yeah I’m sure that’d go real well. Let me just roll up into the lair of the fifty-foot skank that tells me I’m not a commander or a mayor no more and give her a piece of my mind. I’m sure she’d be willing to negotiate. I mean that’s why she sent a whole committee to tell me to pack my shit and fuck off!”

“Hestaby is wise beyond even her many years. She has seen the cycles of this world ebb and flow. Please, Mr. Mac Crom. She truly does believe that you are needed elsewhere in California.”

“If that were true she’d let me figure it out on my own time instead of stripping me of all I’ve earned.”

“You said it yourself. This land is still in danger.”

“So she sends me to put out fires by lighting one under me? How’s that fair?”

“Life hardly ever is.”

Donald- No, Orkland, leaned in close to be eye-level with the man- the human who thought to lecture him.

“Course it ain’t. I get kicked out of a place I thought I could call home for the third damn time but you could go just about anywhere in the world and be welcomed with open arms, round-ear.”

There was the briefest flash of something in his eyes. Not indignation or contempt but pity. Somehow that sickened Orkland even more.

“Stop trying to pour your fucking Kool-Aid down my throat, alright? She wins. Just like dragons always do. I’m gone. Me and all the shit I can carry will be out of this fuckin’ hellhole before the stars come out.” He grumbled, turning to leave before pausing to get one last barb in.

“But one of these days, you’re gonna need me. Gonna need something worse than you needed a damn savior from the Tir or the Native Californians or some whacked out shaman and his army. And Miss High-and-Mighty sitting pretty in her mountaintop won’t be enough. And when you do?” He asked.

“I hope you choke.”

----------

It was three days after Orkland had awoken in this world and he’d acclimated as best he could.

Apparently Biotechnica had him in storage for about a week before Sasha came along. Thankfully she crashed all their systems as part of her hack and, according to her at least, the data would’ve been too secretive to exchange between locations. So whatever they got from his literally inhuman physique went up in smoke, which was welcome news to him. If anyone was going to profit off of his blood, sweat and tears it’d be him. Not some triple-AAA conglomerate!

Well, unless them taking all the credit was previously agreed upon and included in his fee of course. Lonestar had “finally taken down” a few notorious criminals back home the few times he visited Seattle. Maybe he didn’t get the credit but he got double the bounty. And those that needed to know would’ve figured out it was actually him eventually. And it’s not like he could’ve played up the hero angle anyways. If a human or an elf shot up some mobster it was valiant. If he did it, well, hey, of course the Ork would make money through violence. It’s just another Tuesday for him.

He tried not to linger on that. Him being the only Ork. That he was in an entirely different dimension was actually a comfort to him rather than a source of worry. For all he knew, the mission he thought had cost him his life had finally ended that last and most terrible war he’d found himself in. His sacrifice hadn’t been in vain. Even if he didn’t quite have the peace he hoped might await him after such a thing.

His thoughts might have drifted down darker avenues the likes of which he hadn’t traveled since he was a younger, more fearful man yet to come into his strength. But Sasha had been a comforting presence in this alien yet uncannily familiar realm. Her like was similarly rare in his own and there too did he cherish any such friends he had the pleasure of knowing.

How many of them are in the grave, trog?

He scowled at the unbidden thought, shoving it toward the back of his skull where it’d hopefully wither and die. He’d given his all for the causes he championed, but he always denied being a good man. Being the best in the room didn’t make him one. It just meant everyone better had already paid their dues. Not that he deserved to be counted among their ranks.

Getting back to Sasha, she gave him what he needed the most then and there: Purpose. The kind lass had invited him into her home without a moment’s hesitation. Even offered him the bed while they got something more long-term worked out for him. He settled for a pillow and a clean patch of the floor. She was guilty at first, but when he pointed out he was too tall for the bed or the couch she relented. Regardless she’d granted him a roof to sleep under and a fridge to raid. And given his much larger stomach he plundered it for all it was worth.

He would’ve gotten back into his groove eventually. Built a name in the shadows, one to be feared by gutter-punks and desired by fixers. But with Sasha’s hospitality the timetable was moved up exponentially. Now he owed a debt (no matter how much she insisted otherwise) and it simply had to be repaid. Now he was a burden (despite her admitting she liked having a roommate) and thus he needed to spread his wings and fly. And that’s where Maine and Dorio came in.

The two were still newer to the Edgerunning scene but certainly not green. Maine had cut his teeth as a soldier in the Night City Militia while Dorio had been part of the “Animals”, one of the more prominent gangs in town. The former left the profession because there’s not much need for a militia without a war, its members either being laid off or folded into the ranks of the NCPD and MaxTac. Two organizations he wasn’t quite as thrilled about.

Dorio, meanwhile, explained that the culture of her old crew began to grate on her. While her current body certainly wasn’t natural, she at least pushed it as hard as she could before chroming up further and moving on to the next best implant she could afford. Not to mention pumping herself full of God knows what to make whatever meat she still had bulge, a habit more and more members were falling into no matter how grotesque it made them look. It was all too showy and she found herself seeking real strength. Her strength.

They were a power couple in every sense of the phrase and their record showed it, even if it was only about a year old. Thus they had reputation and connections he could leverage. Get his foot in the door with more serious gigs off the bat instead of having to go through the motions snuffing out wannabe gangbangers anyone with a half decent piece could pop off. Despite their gratitude even they would be hesitant to grant such a request. Rep was everything in this town after all. But part of Sasha’s haul included a few minutes of security cam footage that just happened to show exactly what he did to the goon squad that had the misfortune of getting in his way, and that was all the convincing they needed.

The little stove-top timer dinged and Orkland hummed in acknowledgement, turning off the burners and dumping out the synthetic eggs he’d fried onto two plates. Two for Sasha with a piece of bacon to make a smiley face, and the rest of the carton for him. Protein was power and he needed to amass as much as he could.

The netrunner in question came out of her room in an oversized sleepshirt with a loud yawn and a full-body stretch, making for a rather adorable sight. Orkland always repaid good turns no matter who gave them but Sasha being the cutest goddamn person he’d ever met didn’t harm matters any. In fact it just made him more determined. He had to test the limits of his newfound strength against this uncertain land to know he could keep her safe before this crapsack world did as hellholes often did and tried to destroy something good.

“Mornin’ Donald!” she greeted.

“Mornin’ lil missy. Breakfast is served!”

“Aw, a smiley! Just like mom used to make…” She grinned, her face going gradually more sullen as she poked at her food.

“Nuyen for your thoughts?”

“Huh?”

“Oh right, uh, ‘eddie’ for your thoughts? That’s what the money’s called here yeah?”

“Yeah.” She confirmed. “I guess I just don’t know how to feel. I was happy just doing gigs with Maine and the crew but then I was ready to throw that all away once I learned what really happened to my mother. And people have paid for it. The top execs are obviously fine but some of their direct subordinates and plenty of mid-level management got thrown to the wolves to appease the public. People that at least had some say, some chance at stopping what happened but didn’t got fired or even went to jail in some cases. It won’t bring her back, or the thousands that died like her. But it’s still some type of justice even if it’s weaker than it should be. You don’t really get that these days.”

“I can imagine.” He nodded.

“So now it’s like… what do I do? Avenging my mom, messing up a corp to the tune of millions in settlements and fines, this really feels like the peak. It’s more than a lot of people in my line of work can even dream of. Hehe, they actually joked that they’d start serving my own drink at the Afterlife even though I’m not gone yet. On the secret menu, of course.”

“Of course.” He smiled. From what little he’d been told of the club that was no small feat. And she wouldn’t be joining the ranks of its passed-tense members anytime soon if he could help it.

“The way I look at it,” he began “is that you’re not the type to rest on your laurels. You could easily roll up to a rival corp with those documents you held onto. Trade em’ for a cushy security gig that pays just enough to live the high life but doesn’t ask too much because they’re not willing to put you anywhere too critical in case ya decide to take a swing at them too. But that’s not you. No, what you did? I think it’s the end of a story aye, but only the first in a long and amazing series. So what do you think book 2 should be about?”

“From the few series I read that’s usually where I’d get shipped with whichever romantic interest the author whipped up for me. It’s either that or meet a long-lost sibling but I know I’m an only child.”

“Mayhaps a clone lies waiting in the dark?”

“My god you’re right.” She said, completely serious. “She’ll meet me in a dark alley one night, take me down using forbidden martial arts she learned during her troubled past, then pull back her cloak to reveal she has my face! But with a cyber-eye on one side and a Biotechnica barcode under the other!”

“…”

“…”

“…pft!”

“Heh… gehaHAHAHA! Ah hell! The damn death-stare you were giving me as you said all that was just- hoo!” Orkland guffawed, fighting down his giggles so he could keep devouring the small mountain of fried eggs he’d made himself.

“Maybe I can be an actor, hehe.”

“Maybe! Or maybe you could find that ‘love interest.’”

Sasha flushed a little at that, avoiding eye-contact while picking away at her plate.

“I was only joking.”

“Relax, that wasn’t a play. Trust me, I’m a lot less enjoyable when you have to deal with me longer than a week. Plus you’re too young for me. And short. And hornless.”

“Way to let a girl down gently.” She joked.

“I like my women like I like my trucks. Tough, reliable, and BIG. Honestly you probably saved my ass by clueing me into the fact Maine and Dorio were dating before I tried making a pass.”

“So she’d be your type then?”

“Close as I’m likely to get in this world. Granted if her teeth were just a bit sharper I’d be goin’ feral tryin’ ta win her over.” He said tapping his tusks.

“Tusks or bust huh?”

“They spice things up if ya use em’ right.” He smirked.

“How?”

“I’ll tell ya when you’re older.”

“I’m 19!” She pouted.

“Like I said, when you’re older.” He teased. “Unless…”

“Hm?”

“Perhaps information for information?”

“Oooh, exchange huh? Name your price!”

“I shall reveal to you the secrets of Ork lovin’- in a purely verbal manner of course- if youuu tell me why you get that sparkle in your eyes anytime our dear gun goblin comes waltzin’ up to ya.”

“R-rebecca?” Sasha asked, voice cracking a little. “She’s my friend- best friend! Very good friend, that’s all!”

“Oh is that so?”

“Yes, in fact it is!” She asserted.

“Riiight. Because the same girl that traded bullets with corporate security over a blood feud would get all weak in the knees just because her friend decided to visit.”

“Very. Good. Friend.” She seethed.

“Uh huh. And the rest of your face going as pink as your lips when she cuddled up with you on the couch last night for the movie marathon was just-“

“FRIENDSHIP!” She squawked.

“…”

“…”

“…?”

“…God I’m hopeless.” She groaned, slumping onto the breakfast table and moaning like a ghost. Orkland leaned forward to pat her on the back.

“There there, my poor lil’ lesbian-“

“Bi.”

“There there my poor lil’ bisexual. As part of the life debt I owe you, I shall help you score with the mint-haired munitions-gremlin.”

“Pleeeaaase don’t.” Sasha whined.

“Why ever not? If you’re worried about my skills then trust me, I’ve been around the block. And you meet some absolute wildcards running the shadows. Whatever she’s into, I can sniff it out and get you ready to deliver it to her. Silver platter and all!”

“But she’s my friend! And like yeah maybe it’d be, you know, nice if we could hold hands more. A-and maybe kiss. Just little ones! I-in the morning. Before we go on different gigs. And then again when we make it home. A-and maybe before be-“

“Sweetness I think I stumbled into Hell once and the hole you’re digging is getting damn near as deep.”

“Noooooo…”

“Yep. You’re down with a sickness hon. And her last name might as well be Feelgood cuz’ she’s the only one that can cure you at this point.” He joked, before growing serious. “Come to think of it what is Becca’s last name?”

“Oh it’s…” Sasha began, only to pause. “I… huh. Oh my god she never told me her last name.”

“It never came up?”

“I just… thought she didn’t have one.”

“What? That’s crazy. Everyone has a last name. I mean you’re telling me someone just forgot to give her one?”

“It is a little silly when you say it like that. I mean there’s no way ‘Rebecca’ is her whole name.”

“Shattering of the 4th wall aside, what’s the hang up?”

“The hang up is she really is my best friend. Has been for two years. I met her at Lizzie’s. Maine and Dorio were there for a gig, I can’t remember what about. One of the bouncers was giving them grief about me being with them because I was only 17 at the time. Rebecca shows up out of nowhere and tries to vouch for me. They still wouldn’t budge but she at least kept me company while I waited for them.”

“That was nice of her.”

“Kinda needed it too. The Mox might not take any shit but I wasn’t part of their crew, just visiting. And it was a BD club. Not exactly the nicest people hanging around. This one guy- he was so drunk I could smell him before he was even in scratching distance. Comes on over to me and tries some of the worst flirting I ever heard. And I’m uncomfortable because- well he looked maybe a decade older than you.”

“I assume dear lil’ Becca had some feelings about that?”

“Her exact words were “Fuck off mid-life crisis. She’s not interested.” And his reply to that was “Fuck off, jailbait.””

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah she didn’t take it well.”

“Scale of 1 to 10?”

“She pulped his legs with the bat she was holding.”

“Hm. Think that’d be a 12.”

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “When she was done- when the other bouncers dragged her off the guy, really- she looked over at me and got all nervous. Said she was sorry for freaking out and I just said she was a badass because, well, she was! Maine and Dorio always vouched for me but they’re like my parents. Someone closer to my age doing it just felt, I dunno, special. Like I had someone I could connect with.”

“Given you’re joined at the hip two years on I’d say you definitely connected.”

“Yeah. I spent the rest of the night listening to her time in the Mox. She’s a great storyteller when she gets into it. She gave me her number when Maine and Dorio came back out and, well, I had a gig or two I wasn’t technically allowed to take. Ones they thought I wasn’t ready for. But I proved them wrong by coming through with her watching my back while I was in the net.”

“They grounded you for that didn’t they?”

“Only the first two times. But they did admit Becca got me through safe. A few jobs together and they offered to let her join the crew officially. And she’s still here, watching my back.”

“Sweet story if I ever heard one. But I will admit I understand the hesitation. You got something that good you’d rather settle for good than risk losing it by going for great. Taking it to the next step.”

“That’s exactly it!” She nodded.

“Yup. And ya know what?”

“Hm?”

“That’s also a crock of shit.” Orkland deadpanned.

“But-“

“Ah-bup-bup. My turn to talk now. Embrace my wisdom for it flows freely. Life is short and messy and, in our line of work, brutal. You’re born, you breathe, you shit, you get a little tail if you’re lucky and then you die. Maybe old and washed up, maybe too damn young and in the back of some nameless alley with a higher lead content than you had the day before. But in the end we all face the same thing. You’re born. And you die. All we get is the blank space in-between. You owe it to yourself to fill it as much as you can.”

“But what if she says no?”

“Well considering she was copping a not-too-subtle feel every time I looked over at the two of you on the couch I think it’s safe to say it’s mutual.” He pointed out, Sasha burning brighter. “But even if it ain’t? You just told me how long you’ve been thick as thieves. She’ll still be your friend. If a firefight couldn’t break that up you asking to go out for coffee sometime hardly would.”

“I… do you really think so?”

“No I just gave you that whole dramatic spiel cuz’ I like the sound of my melodious drawl.”

“Donald.”

“Yeah, I think so kiddo. I really do. And given you’re asking instead of denying now, I get the feeling you’re starting to think the same way.”

Sasha stared down at her plate for a long while. Eventually gobbling up what remained of her breakfast and hopping off her stool to walk up to Orkland and wrap her arms around him.

“Thanks.”

“Just speaking the truth.” He said, a beep drawing his attention to the phone he’d been provided.

“Who’s that?”

Orkland read the message and smiled wide, the look in his eyes a bit more manic than it was before.

“That was Dorio giving me the exact news I wanted to hear. Remember how I said I’d make my name in this city?”

“Yeah?”

“Right, well I’m a firm believer in that uh, Occam’s Razor thing. Simplest solution is the best one. So instead of grinding my way up the ladder I figured I’d do something real damn big right out the gate. Burn my name into every book there is.”

“How’s that?” Sasha nervously asked.

“Oh nothing major. Just gonna take over a gang.”

“…howww?”

“I’m glad you asked!” He cheerily exclaimed. “Dear Dorio gave me the skinny on her old crew, those Animals fellas. Apparently they take might makes right to its extreme. They’re technically a bunch of loosely united squads with the whole body-building thing in common but they still got a biggest, baddest bitch that nobody risks fucking with.”

“You mean Sasquatch?”

“Yeah her! So all I gotta do to inherit a couple thousand roided up goons is splatter her skull like an overripe grape! Then just re-organize some assets, pull some of the members out of higher risk areas to shore up our holdings and stabilize my power base. You know, that sorta shit.”

“Donald wh- You can’t be serious. Sasquatch is one of the scariest people in night city. MaxTac has avoided confronting her by making bullshit excuses about her not being a cyberpsycho!”

“Exactly! It’s like prison rules. Slap around the meanest motherfucker there is and everyone knows you’re the new top dog!”

“Donald please-“

“Hush up lil’ netrunner.” He cut off, placing a finger as big as two of her own to her lips. “I’ve had whole militaries coming for me and I’ve punched out demons. Some fugley hammer-swingin’ broad ain’t gonna be what does me in. Believe it.”

“But what about-“

“Believe it!”

“Donald-“

“BELIEVE IT!” He roared, standing tall and flexing his muscles. Arcs of magical energy crackling about his form for added effect and high-octane music playing from… somewhere.

“…yeah okay. Just be home in time for dinner yeah? I was gonna get a pizza.”

“WE SHALL DINE UPON IT TO CELEBRATE MY VICTORY! AND CHEESY BREAD!”

“That was a limited-time item they don’t have it anymore.”

“Fuck.”

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

Matilda K. Rose was a larger-than-life individual. Of course a frankly staggering amount of enhancements tends to do that to a person. Her skin clung to her body as best it could, which was to say barely at all. Sections of partially exposed muscle and steel plating interspersed her grotesque form. And, presently, a whole lot of blood.

Not a drop of it was her own. No, it had belonged to the latest batch of challengers to her throne. Weaklings that thought they could usurp her seat of power. She showed them the error of their self-assurance. Fed their brains to her beloved hammer much to the applause of the assembled crowd.

She basked in their adulation, bathed in viscera and the glow of the floodlights that shone down upon her makeshift arena.

“WHO’S NEXT!?” She defiantly roared. “WHO THINKS THEY CAN BEAT ME!? WHO DARES CHALLENGE THE QUEEN!?”

None met her boasts, even the most gargantuan of the Animals shrinking back from her wild gaze.

“NOBODY!? Does NO ONE think they can give me a good show? A good FIGHT!? COME OOON! My hammer’s still hungry! So who’s willing to feed-!”

“Jesus you really like the sound of your own voice huh?”

From echoing roars to deathly silence, all of a sudden you could’ve heard a pin drop as Sasquatch and her queendom turned to see who could be stupid enough to say that in her own castle. Well, abandoned paint factory but you get the idea.

All eyes fell upon a hulking visage. Perhaps a smidge leaner than some present but taller than most by a good few inches. What they could see of his exposed musculature poking out from under his sleeves and the neckline of his shirt was like living marble. Warm and pale and practically pulsating with every slight movement. He was thick limbed and broad shouldered but, strangely enough, it appeared natural. Not like the abnormal bulk so common to the gang.

“My ring. I’ll be as loud as I fucking want. Unless you think you can change that, runt?”

Orkland merely smiled, squatting as he leapt up over the ropes and into the ring in one bound. Then his whole body tensed as a faint -riiip!- grew louder and louder. As it finally exploded off of him the increasingly perplexed onlookers realized he’d flexed his shirt off without so much as moving his arms.

“Think?” Orkland laughed. “Nah. I know I can plant your ass in the grave where it belongs.”

Sasquatch fumed, her eyes bulging out of her head as she white-knuckle gripped her hammer and brought it to bare.

“SMUG FUCKIN’ GONK!” She roared, raising it high and bringing it down hard enough to make the whole building rattle.

But Orkland was there one second and gone the next. Waiting until the last instant to sidestep and glance down at the embedded hammer.

He let out a low whistle as a smirk crept up his face.

“Gosh, that might’ve actually hurt. Not as much as lookin’ at you though. God DAMN but you’re busted!”

Sasquatch snarled further, her facial muscles straining and the veins along her forehead throbbing as though they were about to burst. With how hard she was suddenly pushing her cyber such a thing might’ve happened given a few more minutes. She wrenched her weapon out of the ring, a horrible grinding metal screech preceding a symphony of -whoosh-es as she pried it free and swung it like her life depended on it. Which it very much did, not that she understood such at the moment.

Orkland practically danced around each one. Ducking and weaving and side-stepping with the kind of ease that only came after a lifetime of experience. And custom-grown fast-twitch muscle enhancements but that was neither here nor there.

Again Sasquatch made the mistake of burying her hammer in the ring like she was trying to leave it for the next King of England to pull out. And if she was going to keep acting a fool then Orkland decided he was going to oblige her.

He placed his hands on the head of it, pushed off and twisted mid-air to bring his feet down on her head, then launched up and off her again to somersault on high before landing with an exaggerated flourish. While most were pissed at this outsider making a mockery of their strongest, some now dared to hoot and holler at his displays. He rewarded them with bows and waves, all smiley and cheerful.

Sasquatch, meanwhile, was growing so mind-meltingly furious that stars were pooling at the corner of her vision. Subconsciously she wondered if she was on the verge of a stroke.

“STAND STILLLLLL!!!” She frothed, prying her beloved smackin’ stick free once more only to lose her footing from the action.

“M’kay!” Orkland chirped.

“What!?”

“I said okay.” He clarified, voice suddenly devoid of any mirth. “I’m feeling a little generous so I’ll give you a choice. You can take a swing at me. I’ll stay put, right here. Won’t so much as lean. But if you do… well there goes your last chance. Or you could turn around. Walk away. Ain’t no shame in-“

“hrrrAAAAAARAHRAHRHAGUGH!” She bellowed as she bull rushed him, twisting on her heel as she began to swing again and again in heavier circles toward him.

“Running.” Orkland sighed, shifting his stance and simply waiting as a seemingly certain doom barreled towards him.

At the last and greatest arc of her swing she brought that hammer crashing down on him. That monstrous monolith of steel that had to have weighed more than the average adult in Night City.

He caught it.

With a sound like a thunderclap his hands sprung forth quick as blurs and caught it halfway between its zenith and the point where it should have impacted against his skull and splattered it like a can of off-brand pasta sauce. Sasquatch’s face gave way to dumbfounded confusion and, to those looking closely, a tinge of fear. The latter only became more visible as Orkland began to push. To mold the hammerhead with a horrid sound into a rounder shape with his bare and seemingly un-augmented hands. Finally gripping and wrenching it from her grasp.

Sasquatch just barely managed to keep her footing as the grip was torn from her, that too being bent and twisted until finally her once unstoppable tool of gonk-splatterin’ glory was remolded into a…

“A kettle bell!?” Someone from the audience incredulously asked, for indeed that’s what it now resembled.

Orkland cemented such an image by doing overhead presses with the thing while sporting the smuggest fucking grin imaginable.

“Hoo-ah! Sorry girlie, this just ain’t stimulating enough for me. I mean I’ve hardly broken a sweat! You don’t mind if I knock out a quick workout do ya? This type’a body takes some real effort! Not a trip to the cyberdoc.”

The thinly veiled insult was the final straw for the mockery she’d been subjected to. Sasquatch reared back and threw her arms wide as she HOWLED loud enough to crack the already battered windows of that long-abandoned and never-quite-repaired factory. Any semblance of skill or strategy went out the window in favor of a blind, animalistic rush. Arms outstretched to seize this upstart by the tusks and pry his fucking jaw off.

Orkland kept smiling, albeit it curled a little more cruelly as she came ever closer. He shifted his grip on his improvised weight and sidestepped her once more, letting momentum carry him into a 360-degree swing as he brought the metallic mass crashing against her knee. Audibly shattering it to the horror of the audience.

“GRAAGRHAGAAHHHHAH!” Sasquatch gargled as her obliterated leg sent her face-first down onto the ring. The pain making her eyes roll as she clutched at the now noodley appendage.

“Warned ya.” Was all Orkland told her before he smacked her across the cheek with it, catching it with his other hand for a second swing to the other side to even her out.

Sasquatch barely had a moment to experience the newfound agony of her shattered face before she felt Orkland swing a leg up and over one of her shoulders. Then he locked both around her head, the pressure against her freshest wounds sending a lance of white-hot agony through every iota of her being. Her screams muffled by his pantleg.

A horrid sound was born from the mixture of grinding bone, crumpling titanium skull-plating and primal shrieks of panic. Most watching with gobsmacked horror, others mute awe, as the queen of the Animal’s little kingdom had her noggin squeezed tighter and tighter until-

SQUELCH!

Orkland loosened his legs and let the crumpled remnants of her head, a gory, hairy, raisin-looking thing, thud unceremoniously onto the matt. He stood and rose to his full and towering height.

“…Ah hell. Forgot this was my only pair of pants! Looks like I shat myself, for chris’sake!” He loudly complained, glancing down at his gore-drenched grey sleeves and then out at the crowd.

They all took a step back.

“Alrighty! Who here cleans their ass!?”

“W-what?”

“The fuck!?”

“Yo is he about to go booty-warrior on us?” one of the smaller Animals in the back nervously asked his friend.

“Ahhh relax you little gob-shites! I ain’t tryin’ ta screw ya! You’re too damn ugly for that! Issa hygiene thing! So come on, who cleans their ass!?”

All assembled glanced at each other in fear and uncertainty until one of the newer members was shoved forth by his ‘friends.’

“You traitorous sacks of-!”

“BOAH!” Orkland bellowed at him, grabbing the ropes and frog-leaping a good few meters to land right before him. He glared down at the poor young man who he stood head and shoulders over.

“O-oh god.”

“You clean, boy?”

“L-like straight-edge?”

“Your blood could be 50% heroine for all I care long as ya shower properly. Do ya?”

The man gulped so hard it sounded like he was grinding pebbles in his throat. “y-yes???” He nervously affirmed.

“Alright.” Orkland nodded before putting out an open palm. “Hand em’ over.”

“H-hand what over?”

“Your pants! Britches! Pantaloons! I need em’! Can’t go traipsing home with a bunch of hair and guts smeared all over my crotch now can I!? Ma’ washing machine’s broken!” He explained.

(It was technically Sasha’s washer but they didn’t need that information.)

The man in question, so used to looming over the poor denizens of night city and getting what he could from them with just his mere presence, shakily slipped one leg and then the other out of his basketball shorts. Squatting to pick them up and gingerly present them to his new superior.

“Hmmm, nice color! Thank ya kindly chummer! What’s your name?”

“I-it’s uh-“

“Ah who am I kiddin’ I ain’t gonna remember. Here.” He said, tossing his old pair at his face, eliciting a muffled scream as the gore splattered across his cheeks.

“Oh and take this.” He continued, tossing a rolled-up wad of about 500 eddies at him. “Buy yourself somethin’ nice for smellin’ clean like a man should. It’s the 21st century. Got no excuse for stinkin’ in an age of indoor plumbing.”

“…w-whatthefuuuck…?” He wheezed, sliding onto his knees and trembling as the absurdity of the situation finally cooked his brain medium-well.

“Ah that’s better.” Orkland hummed as he stepped fully into his new pants and gave them an experimental hip swivel. “Now…”

“LISTEN UP!” he roared, so loud a thing it made those nearest wince.

“I’M THE NEW TOP DOG OF THIS KENNEL YOU CALL A GANG! WE’RE DOING THINGS MY WAY NOW! SO PUT THE FUCKIN’ WORD OUT! I WANT TO SEE EVERY SNIVELING, STEROID-SNORTIN’ SHITSTACK WHAT CALLS THEMSELVES A MEMBER RIGHT HERE ONE WEEK FROM NOW, 10 AM SHARP!”

“YOU WANNA JOIN UP WITH ANOTHER OUTFIT OR LEAVE THE LIFE BEHIND, THAT’S FINE. BUT ANYONE THINKS THEY CAN KEEP CALLING THEMSELVES AN ANIMAL WITHOUT KICKIN’ UP TO ME IS GONNA GET HUNTED LIKE ONE! N’ I AIN’T GONNA PLAY AROUND WITH MY MEAL NEXT TIME LIKE I DID WITH MACHO MA’AM OVER HERE!” He continued to bellow, kicking the still-twitching corpse of Sasquatch to emphasize his point.

“AM I UNDERSTOOD!?”

“Man, fuck you!” Some poor unfortunate soul thought it wise to say from the second-story rafters.

Orkland whirled on him in an instant, the evil eye narrowing its gaze at him as the kettlebell was grabbed once more and hurled like a throwing axe. Taking the insurrectionist’s head clean off as it collided with his face, those nearest letting out cries of shock.

“Anyone… ELSE~!?” He crooned, face split damn-near Glasgow by his wide and horrid smile.

Waved hands and frantic shakes of the head were the answers he received.

“So would that mean I’m understood?” He said, no longer yelling but still loud enough to be heard.

“YES BOSS!” Came the unanimous cry.

“Heh.” Orkland chuckled. “This king of the jungle shit ain’t too bad. ALRIGHT! SHOWS OVER! See you schmucks in a week. Don’t fuckin’ bother me until then!” He shouted as he began to leave.

“AND SOMEONE CLEAN UP THIS MESS!”

The humiliated animal that had been deprived of his pants now found a mop thrust into his hands just as his senses began returning to him. He was left alone in that formerly bustling warehouse save for the two bleeding-out bodies on either floor.

“…fuckin’ hate my life.” He groaned.

----------
Later…
----------

Orkland stepped as quietly into the apartment as he could manage. He’d noticed a robbery-in-progress along the way by some garishly dressed biker types and decided to do the right thing by painting the sidewalk with them. The money he got from their corpses (and the ‘saved’ stall-keeper who nervously thrust cash he wasn’t going to deny his way) was more than enough to splurge on a proper feast of deep-fried junk foods. He’d sent Sasha a text on the way back that he’d pick up the pizza so she didn’t have to pay but received no response.

When he finally got into the living room he saw her sitting on the couch. Along with Maine, Dorio, and Rebecca. All stared at him, pale as sheets and wide-eyed. Rebecca too, technically, but her skin always looked like that. And the fierce smile she wore marked her as excited as opposed to scared.

Listening to the TV over their uncomfortable silence, he made out the words of the newscaster.

“-at this time we’re uncertain who this new player on the scene may be. But NCPD warns that he is to be presumed heavily cybered and incredibly dangerous. No crimes have as of yet been attributed to this individual as gang-leader Matilda K. Rose had an outstanding bounty that has yet to be claimed and is, thus far, his only confirmed kill. We can only hope it stays that way.”

Orkland awkwardly set the chest-tall stack of pizza boxes down on the kitchen countertop he’d enjoyed breakfast at that very morning, their gazes not leaving him.

“Coming up next, the latest steamy celebrity gossip to come out the cast of Watson Whor-“

-click!- went the picture-box as Sasha finally turned it off.

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…!”

“…sooo turns out you were right about the cheesy bread… But they had stuffed cruuussst~!” he sing-songed.

“Donald how the FUCK-!?”

Chapter Text

“You don’t have to leave, Don.”

Orkland paused in his packing for just a moment at the sound of Rafik’s voice. He didn’t have siblings growing up, but what the two of them had was probably the closest to brotherhood he’d ever know.

“My face is the one plastered on the wanted posters. You got out of this better. This is just me keeping it that way.”

“We’re safer together-“

“You’re not.” He growled, not a hint of his usual mirth present.

“At least keep your share!”

“I am.”

“You gave damn near half of it to us!”

“Money to get records wiped, new ones made, transport handled safely and comfortably. I got you into this shitshow.”

“And you’ve more than gotten us out of it!” Rafik shouted, marching forward to grab him by the shoulder and twist him so they were staring each other down.

“I’m not going to sit here while you throw yourself to the wolves after everything you’ve been through!”

“You were on a hospital bed until a day ago. I got you there.” Orkland told him.

“The poison got me there. A buncha racist dwarven bastards got me there. A CORP got me there! Not you!”

“And I put us up against all of those!” He shouted. “Against a goddamn corp we could’ve kept takin’ paychecks from. Against those stunty shits. Against fuckin’ extinction!”

“So what, it would’ve been better if we sat back and let that shit get delivered!? You and me and every other goblinoid from here to Berlin would be choking on our own blood!”

“It would have been better if I did this alone!”

“So you didn’t need Kora and Sable’s help from the matrix? You didn’t need Persi to work her magic with the train? Fuck’s sake man how’s she gonna take it when she finds out you lef-“

“She knows.” Orkland said. The bite now replaced with resignation.

“What?”

“She knows I’m leaving. We talked about it.”

“…What did she say?”

“Hates it. But agrees with it. I’m the one on camera gunning down protectorate soldiers and corporate security alongside some known metahuman gang leader. Rest of the footage was easy enough to doctor to keep you guys from being implicated but I’m front-and-center fucked. We had fun together, and she was willing to stick with me through… whatever it is I walk into next. But she wasn’t about to argue too hard when I told her I had to do this alone.”

“Donald…” Rafik sighed.

“I spent a good chunk of my share on more bioware. New gun. Some preem clothes. Got myself a truck from a retired ranger too. Persi showed me how to keep it maintained. If anything can outrun those fascist stooges it’ll be one of those death machines.”

“…Kora wanted you around for the baby.”

That succeeded in making Orkland stop, if only for a moment.

“Didn’t know you had a chance to get her pregnant.”

“She’s not. She wants to be.”

“Even with everything going on?”

“She said the world’s always going to have problems. Can’t let them define our lives.”

“Yeah that’s great and all man but we’re dealing with an invasion by an empire that deports Metas. Might want to hold off until you can move somewhere else at least.”

“She doesn’t want to move either.”

“Christ.” Orkland groaned.

“See why I’d think we’re safer with you around? You’ve watched my back this long-“

“And problems still snuck through. Almost put us both in the grave.” He cut off. “The answer’s still no. At least now I know what I’ll be doing while I’m gone.”

“What’s that?”

“Raising enough hell to give you two some breathing room. Taking potshots at Saito’s boys takes the edge off anyways so I’ll be happy doing it.”

“Donald.”

“Raf I know, okay? I know this is a shit plan and I’m not taking things as seriously as I should and there’s a pretty good chance I wind up dead in a ditch somewhere, alright? I get that! But Cali’s fucked man. It’s not getting any better. Kora gets that, dunno how the hell she still thinks she can fix any of it but that’s why she’s a good person, why you fell for her.”

“…Yeah.” The thinner Ork sighed. “Heart’s bigger than her brain and she’s a damn college professor.”

“Yeah. Point is even if I could boot the dear colonel and his toadies back to weebland all by myself there’s still the Tir up north and the Azzies down south. Those paper shuffling jackasses in Sacramento aren’t gonna do a goddamn thing to protect people like us. I’ll… I dunno. See if I can take over the MLA now that Zielor’s dead. Maybe join up with Orion’s crew. Something. Just fight like hell.”

“Been doing that for a while now.”

“Only thing I haven’t managed to fuck up.” He mumbled. “If it ain’t broke.”

“You know there’s more you can do than that. More you’ve done.”

“Yeah… guess I’ve thrown some good parties.”

“That’s putting it mildly. I mean how the hell does someone set up a concert in the middle of a military occupation without it all going to shit?”

“Still trying to figure that out to be honest.” He answered, the faintest trace of a smile creeping back onto his features. “Could’ve done with more groupies though.”

“You literally just saved our whole damn species from extinction. You’re not gonna be hurting for tail when all this is over.”

“Hey, there’s something to look forward to.” Orkland chuckled. “I live long enough to get through this and I can make up for all those lost by repopulating up and down the whole state. Gonna be calling me Genghis by the time my balls finally dry out.”

The oppressive atmosphere shifted as Rafik laughed, Orkland joining him. But silence returned, wrapping them up as they, too, wrapped themselves in each other’s arms.

“I’m gonna miss you, brother.”

“Same to you chief.” Orkland murmured. “But hey. I’ll have some stories to tell that kid of yours if I ever manage to meet them. They’re gonna have the coolest fuckin’ uncle there ever was.”

“Better not die then.”

“No promises.” He answered as he slung his duffle-bag up and over his shoulder. “Cept’ that I’ll try.”

“That’s all anyone can do.”

And then he was out the door into the cool morning air, the sun still an hour away from poking up over the horizon.

Again the smile fell from his face once he was out of sight. Him, Rafik, Kora- they’d moved a few times since the start of all this but just being with them felt like its own sort of home. And there that went too. Another lost place of rest added to the world’s most miserable collection. He its unlucky holder.

There he went stomping down the road, his arsenal born upon his back and his future unwritten save for the promise of blood and war. His two foremost constants since youth. There he went wondering if it’d all swallow him up someday or if he’d finally- Finally- rise up past it and make it safely to something better. Something that would last long enough for him to grow fat and gray and content.

He knew he never would. Guys like him didn’t get their fairytale endings. The most he could hope for was a legacy burned into the history books. And if he used Saito’s marines as kindling, all the better.

--------------------
Present day…
--------------------

“Alright, so! First up I’d like to thank y’all for coming here today! I ain’t gonna pretend my time’s more valuable than yours. I might be the new top dog of this pack of ours, but it’s only gonna reach new heights if we all lift together. Good thing none of ya skimp on the bench ah?”

His joke succeeded in eliciting a few halfhearted chuckles at least, and Orkland supposed that was better than nothing. The group he was speaking to now numbered only a few dozen as opposed to the hundreds he’d addressed earlier. That went well enough, but riling up a crowd was easy. The folks in front of him now were the more well-to-do members of the gang. The ones with decent side-hustles, work ethics, etc. They’d be the linchpin of his vision.

“So, as you might’ve noticed our gang’s down by about a third. Between those of us that stuck around and the flood of new recruits we got from the footage of yours truly kicking ass and taking names there’s about 2,000 of us. And that’s a solid base to build from.”

“Build what, exactly?” Someone raised their hand to ask.

“Great question uh… Tim!”

“Terry.”

“Gesundheit. Anyways! I ain’t one for drug-slinging or shaking down good honest folk. Beating the ever-loving shit out of another gang and stealing all their stuff like a war chest, that’s perfectly fine. Great way to spend an afternoon! But we don’t need to crack our knuckles at some schmuck running a hotdog stand to show this town we’re the meanest motherfuckers there are.”

“So what, we gonna be a buncha boyscouts now?” Another animal asked.

“I’d appreciate if ya remembered to raise your hand like Tory here.”

“Terry…”

“But to answer your question, no. We’re still gonna be the brolic badasses this city knows and loves! We’re just gonna… tweak that image a bit as it were. Now, you here, Emerick right?”

“Yeah.” The man in question answered, already dressed in his nicer threads for his shift later at The Afterlife.

“What kinda scratch do you make just by being a doorman over at that bar of yours?”

“Monthly? ‘Least twenty thousand. Get bonuses here and there too if I gotta toss someone out on their ass.”

“Price of life might be too-damn-high in this city, but I’d say that sorta change nets you a cozy little home to retire to somewhere yeah? Enough to buy some proper protein for those muscles a’yours, save up for the future?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess.”

“Exactly! And you fellas sitting next to him, dressed all nice all the same. Would you say you make similar amounts?”

“Er, twelve.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten.”

“Bit of disparity there for sure,” Orkland observed “But even the least among ya’s walking away with six digits clean yearly. Now why is that?”

He was met with silence.

“Well don’t answer all at once.”

“…Because we’re strong?” One member raised their hand to offer.

“That’s a part of it! Anyone else?”

“They uh, wanna be on nice terms with our gang?”

“Close, but not quite. Anyone? No…? Alright, I’ll just come out and say it; Optics.”

The assembled conference glanced about each other uncertainly.

“A big bulky bastard blocking the door’s one thing. A fine suit is another. Put em’ both together and you ain’t just got intimidation, you got class. Folks walk up to an establishment and see someone like you out front and they think to themselves, “Man, this place has got protection. And with suits like that for the guys at the door, they gotta have edds to throw around too. This is a classy joint!” And THAT’S what we’re gonna make our specialty!”

“Suits?”

“No. Well, kind of. Any of you actually know a tailor?”

“Uh, there’s this Italian choom that works out of Megabuilding 12. Think all the guys at my club bought from him.”

“He do bulk orders?”

“He’s fuckin’ old but I think he’s got some grandkids that help him and they’re supposed to be just as good.”

“Follow up with that for me will ya? Tell him I’ll pay extra for exclusivity, see if we can’t get some brand magic going. But no we’re not getting into suits. We’re getting into the security business!”

“Like Militech?”

“No no no!” Orkland sing-songed with a wag of his finger. “See, Militech kicks in doors, shoots everyone inside and then tosses the fella that did it out on the streets instead of giving him the pension they promised. That’s why folks hate em’! What we’ll be doing is bodyguarding! And uh, asset protective services!”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that all ya gotta do is keep your physique up and have a nice closet and we can make even more money than those jackbooted schmucks for a whole lot less risk. Just having a guard can mitigate the chance of something happening to a place. Having ones as big as us? Even more so! And of course the price will reflect that.”

“So how’re we doing that at a gang level?” Emerick piped back up.

“Easy! Some of y’all might’ve heard I’ve been keeping busy this last week.”

“Didn’t you clear out like five Scav dens?”

“Russian guys with the holographic gimp masks?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah then yeah that was me. Cept’ it was six of them. Still pissed off I couldn’t manage one for every day buuut what’re ya gonna do? Point is it gave me some startup capital to work with and get some paperwork sorted. You’re looking at the new CEO of “Concrete Jungle Security Solutions!”

“The hell’s that?” Terry asked.

“It’s the new talent management agency y’all are gonna be signing with- if you’re willing that is. Basically we help coordinate and oversee your gigs and contracts for a cut. Either 5 or 10%, gotta work that detail out first. But that fee goes into a pool. Lets us maintain our own in-house ripperdocs, lawyers, tailors, transportation services even. And we’ll have some youngbloods waiting in the wings to fill in for you in the event of sudden emergencies or illness so you don’t gotta worry about losing your position.”

“How’s that different from what we’re doing by ourselves already?”

“Simple; organization! You’ll have branding associated with you as well as guaranteed insurance and support. I ain’t gonna pretend each and every member’s gonna get some premium coverage, but it’ll be enough to meet your needs and we’ll have our own team of bookies to handle this shit so you don’t have to fill out the paperwork. Plus if someone does try to start shit with you- another gang especially- they’re gonna realize they’re fucking with a whole company instead of just one guy, albeit a big n’ strong one.”

“None of this works without you guys, though.” Orkland said as he gestured out towards them. “Those friends of ours that were in the crowd in tank-tops and basketball shorts? They live off of gigs and cheap jobs. You gotta shepherd em’ down this new path. One of nice wardrobes and basic social etiquette. Maybe a bit of cologne too. Really help sell it. We’ll still have our gyms, and believe me I got plans for those too. But this’ll be the crux of our operation moving forward. We’ll add more pillars later on of course. Gotta diversify in this economy. But you start with a shrine before you go building a whole temple, if you’ll allow a metaphor. So who’s in?”

A general murmur of agreement met him. Again, it was more than he could ask for. The fact he wasn’t being challenged for such a radical shift in their structure was a testament to his abilities at bullshittery no doubt. That and the lingering fear from styling on their last boss like it was nothing.

“Alright! Now some associates of mine helped me find a few paper-pushers to start handling everything. They’re writing up the contracts and terms as we speak. Got some other folks retrofitting some of our locations with a fresh coat of paint and some new signage. Real preem shit, I assure you.”

“If it ain’t too much trouble I hope to see you all here same time next week so we can sit down for a pow-wow and make sure everything’s as it should be. Not to besmirch em’ but the more street-level guys don’t have an understanding of how more official business actually works like you do. Assuming all goes well we meet again the week after that for a big ol’ mass-signing and get this show started!”

“I got a question.”

“Yes, Terry?”

“Fuckin’ finally.” The man muttered before continuing. “About the rest of the guys that didn’t join up with us. I think we’re having some issues. There’ve already been some street-fights, think a few peeps got flatlined. Not a lot but like, some. How’re we resolving that?”

“Ain’t a ‘we’ to worry about choom.” Orkland waved away. “You just keep yourself safe and healthy until it’s time to work. I’ll take care of our… wayward members myself. Woulda preferred if they fell in line but the good news is they’re filling out that musclehead stereotype with how most of them are flailing around trying to find themselves right about now. There’s already thirty NCPD contracts out on splinters- and counting! Just like I’ll be counting eddies when I’m done mopping them up.”

The casual tone in which he expressed his intent to slaughter the breakaways unnerved most present. Specifically because they knew it was no idle boast. Details about his activity in the last week were sparse, but the odd bit of gossip had trickled down and the fact was each den raided had been destroyed single-handedly. At least a dozen occupants each time, if not two or three.

In summary? Their friends were fucked.

“Could we maybe try talking them down?” a member asked.

“Eh?” Orkland grunted in his direction.

“Just, you know. Maybe we could get any we know on the holo a-and uh… try and convince them to cut this shit out?”

“…tell ya what. Long as they haven’t hurt nobody too bad I’ll give them a second chance if any of you can guide em’ to the light. We’ll treat it as uh… leadership training. Yeah, that shit. Better start making calls though.” He sighed as he stepped towards the door, fixing them with one last manic, toothy grin.

“Because I’m hunting tonight.”

----------
Later...
----------

Kiwi could admit her trust issues had bitten her in the ass before.

The most prominent example- the ongoing one she currently found herself in- was the fact that not joining a team as a netrunner usually meant you were screwed the second you were found in meat-space.

For most gigs this wasn’t much of a problem. She would work remote, usually from halfway across the city. Get in an ice bath, hack the necessary data and delta. But she had bills to pay.

Other mercs, solos especially, might be fine saving their edds and making them last. Netrunners didn’t have that luxury. Either you had the latest gear or something damn near as good or you were asking to get traced and fried. Yesterday’s set-up wasn’t good enough for tomorrow either. You needed more server space, processing power, better security measures to avoid discovery and quicker failsafes to eject you from the net if things went wrong. The window of survival being measured in nanoseconds.

Sure you could stick to low-risk, low-reward gigs. Live your whole life as some half-ass. But nobody who risked their lives in Night City settled for “just enough.” Mercs wanted to be legends or at least the wealthy kind of anonymous. And even the more noble strugglers, the single parents doing dirty deeds on the side or the star-crossed lovers willing to risk it all for their output in a tight spot, wanted something long term. It was never enough to be set for tomorrow, you had to be set for life.

Kiwi didn’t think of herself as quite so greedy. But she could admit she wanted more than she’d had for most of her years. Better food, a softer bed. Maybe even a club or a store she could use as a base, retire to if she got old enough to do that sort of thing gracefully. Not that such a thing seemed too likely given the present.

As mentioned, she had bills to pay. That meant sometimes she had to settle for jobs outside her comfort zone when her usual racket was depleted. It didn’t help that the fixer she got the most work from was Faraday of all people, who might pay well but also gave the bare minimum when it came to details and got all pissy when you asked even the lightest of questions. Details like just how many Animals gangoons were going to be skulking around her target.

Everyone had seen the footage of one of Night City’s apex predators getting her skull splattered by some no-name out-of-towner like it was nothing. Or if they didn’t, they at least noticed more bullets flying than usual on account of all the cast-offs from the gang beating feet and spreading throughout the city in a mad scramble to set themselves up outside of the new guy’s control. Most still operated in or around Pacifica the same as Faraday. And from what little he opted to mention beyond her primary objective, it sounded like he was going to try and round up the splinters and remold them under his own banner.

It made sense, she supposed. Critical thinking might not be their strong suit but Animals at least realized it was better to milk a cash-cow instead of butcher it most of the time, hence why he’d had so many employed as hustle even before this. It was a reasonable assessment to say he was the largest single employer for them outside the gang itself so herding the castaways to his beck and call shouldn’t be too hard. And someone with even passing competence could get a lot done in this town with a few hundred musclebound thugs on their payroll.

But some were more independent than others. Had their own little schemes cooked up, pitiful though they might be. Her job was to sneak in and klep data from one such group’s hardware. Then, presumably (because of course he didn’t spell it out for her) Faraday could undermine them or offer to invest or what have you to bring them around to his side of things. A decent enough plan.

The problem was he failed to mention that there was as many as twenty-three of the bastards in this little den of theirs and some of them were decently chromed. Kiwi’s stealth skills were acceptable but certainly not for this much security. Desperation won out in the end, she tried her luck anyways and surprise-surprise it came up short. She’d downed about five of them scrambling from one bit of cover to the next only for her smart-gun to run dry just as one was bull-rushing her. Her RAM was still regenerating and even then it seemed like this one had decent ICE. Nothing that’d cause her problems in peak-form but spent as she was she couldn’t get through it in time.

The metal-plated musclehead raised his hammer on high, bringing it down in an arc that would’ve taken her head- or at least her jaw- clean off. If not for the hand that clasped around it midway.

Suddenly the weapon was yanked from the Animal’s grip then brought down on his own skull, so fast Kiwi thought it had to have been high-end speedware.

Glancing up revealed an imposing figure, just as tall if not taller than her assailant though of a slimmer build. Still intimidatingly large but of a decidedly more realistic bulk than the unsightly bulging the gangoons were characterized by.

Most of his frame was obscured by a high-collared combat jacket of plain color and seemingly sturdy material. An M251s Ajax rifle hung from a strap across its back, a machete beside it. Going lower revealed similar apparel. A tactical belt and many-pocketed cargo pants, ammo-pouches and a handful of grenades strewn about, and sturdy boots with what looked like inch-thick metallic soles. The barest scruff of blonde hair poked out from under a dark blue durag or bandana- she couldn’t tell which from her angle- that seemed to be stylized with a big black targeting symbol at its center.

He met her gaze with wild, icy blue eyes and an unnerving smirk. She reflexively tried to launch a quickhack his way only to notice there wasn’t the faintest bit of chrome on him. At least nothing she could pick up.

“Well hey there beautiful. Long day?” He asked with an outstretched hand.

She stared at the thing, musing that it was big enough to clasp around her skull and likely strong enough to crush it too, before he called out to her again.

“Not to rush you but I hear footsteps thunderin’ our way. Might wanna get up off your ass.”

She snapped out of her confusion and clasped her hand around his wrist, her arm getting yanked harshly as he pulled her up off the floor and against him. He felt as firm as a concrete pillar in the brief moment she was pressed up close before shoving off.

A pair of Animals poked their head around the corner just in time for him to unsling the gun from over his shoulder and hip-fire it at them, their heads blooming crimson in two short spurts.

“Watcha need here?” He asked, still looking at the bodies.

“Data. Supposed to be on a laptop.”

“Who’s it for?”

“Client confidentiality-“

“Is a crock of shit seeing as how I’m killing the defectors of my own gang right about now. Whatever you’re paying, I can match it.”

“Your own… Wait.” Kiwi paused, sizing him up anew. The realization finally hitting her as he flashed another signature smile her way.

“Oh fuck me standing you’re the new Animals boss.”

“Be happy to oblige but let’s maybe deal with these pricks first.” He shrugged, turning and resuming his work. “Oh and don’t go anywhere!” He called above the crack of his weapon. “Got a business proposition for ya! Real preem shit!”

Kiwi wanted to run. But assuming this guy didn’t chase her down (a big if) she’d still be going back to Faraday empty handed. She might be able to squeeze a gig out of him eventually but he’d make her bow and scrape for it. As though it was some honor to be contracted by him above any other fixer in Night City. She wasn’t dealing with that, wasn’t going to debase herself for his approval.

Not again.

So she hid around the corner while the murder-machine she’d just met did all the hard work, only popping out when he bellowed for her.

“Oy, you at least hooked into the building’s systems? See if anyone’s still kicking?”

“Gimme a minute… no. Looks like we’re all clear.”

“Let’s see, starting from when I parked that’s… Five minutes and twenty-four seconds! Decent time! I’ll have to see about beating it at the next place.”

His eyes fell upon a black and vaguely techy-looking rectangle of plastic and metal, which he inspected with an appreciative hum before lobbing her way. She caught the thing and barely managed to stay upright rather than falling flat on her ass from the sudden weight impacting against her.

“That what you’re looking for?”

“Should be.” She answered.

“Cool, let me know when you’re done. I’ll just be cleaning up in the meanwhile.” He hummed as he grabbed one of the larger corpses by the ankle and began dragging it towards the rear-wall of the building, the sight only worsening Kiwi’s desperation to leave.

The details she needed were easy enough to find, though the download of the data felt like the longest half-minute of her life. Again she considered just sneaking off but she only got caught in this mess because stealth wasn’t her forte. So she spoke up.

“D-done.” She quavered, hating the crack of her voice.

“Oh, good. Nice job.” He spoke as he continued to line the bodies up next to each other, checking their pockets before moving on to the next. “So, think it’s safe to say you’re a netrunner?”

“Yeah.”

“Name?”

“Kiwi.”

“Kiwi?” He asked, actually pausing to look at her. “Like the fruit or the bird?”

“Fruit. Like the taste. That and leet-speak never really appealed to me so I figured I might as well pick something unique for my handle.”

“As good a reason as any. But I asked for your name, not your handle.”

“We chooms all of a sudden?”

“Like to know who I might be working with in the future.” He answered, stepping up to her and putting his hand out anew.

Kiwi’s own height was rather respectable especially given it wasn’t augmented, but the two of them straight-backed before each other served to highlight the chasm between their sizes. He had to be a whole foot-and-a-half taller and twice as broad.

“Donald McKraken. Folks call me Orkland and so can you, least’ till we know each other well enough for you to give me yours.”

She shook his hand in a limp-wristed fashion, glancing up at him nervously.

“You said you wanted to work with me?”

“That’s right. Still new to the scene but I know I share Pacifica with some real unsavory types. You might’ve heard of them. Voodoo Boys.”

Kiwi suck in a breath and began walking away from him, consequences be damned.

“No, not happening! Every runner in town knows not to fuck with them!”

“Not even for ten grand a month and another ten any time you deal with attacks?”

That made her stop with a quickness.

“Bullshit.”

“I own a whole gang, and that gang owns Pacifica. Most of it anyways.” He drawled as he began stepping close to her again. “These VDB folks, they’re pretty small. Scary fuckin’ runners from what I hear and a good number of em’ too, but get em’ in meatspace and aside from one or two big bastards they ain’t worth shit. Especially if you got nothing for them to hack.”

“That’s even bigger bullshit! What you just did, what you’ve been doing since that night you took over, you’ve gotta have some type of chrome! Don’t matter how good your ICE is, they’ll find a way through it.”

“Nah sweetheart, all ganic’. Pure muscle, might and a little bit of magic. Wanna feel?”

“What?”

“Ah maybe another time. Look, I already got a runner. Trustworthy one too. But she’s like family to me. Wanna make sure she has the support she needs, so I’m branching out. Hiring folks with skills like hers. You ain’t gotta pick a fight with any net-nasties, no VDB’s or feds or what have you. Just help her keep the shields up while I go in and… unplug them.”

“The Voodoo’s have one of the most notorious reps in town- hell, in the world! You think they’ll just roll over and forget what you did to them?”

“No, I think they’ll rot in shallow graves. And whoever I don’t manage to find and snuff the life out of is gonna be too busy runnin’ for the hills and trying to re-establish themselves to hit back at me until I’ve got the kind of countermeasures that’d make a corporate techie cream their office slacks. Got big plans girlie, and believe you me I got the means and the drive to make them happen. Some schmuck grafted to his chair from sitting in it so long mucking it up by thinking into his power-cable would be a bit fuckin’ annoying, though.” He answered, mirth replaced with stone-faced seriousness.

Kiwi mulled the offer over. To be honest she didn’t want anything to do with this guy, but then she could say the same of Faraday and indeed most of her clients. He could have just as easily killed her, or forced her to hand over the data she acquired, but instead he was offering her work. Well-paying work. Not as good as gigs during more plentiful months, but given her dry-spot she could at least sign on for a time. It’d let her pay the rent and stock the fridge if nothing else.

“I need more details but I’m willing to listen. You got somewhere we can talk this out?”

“My place or yours?”

“’Scuse me?”

“You can talk to me at my HQ over in Pacifica, or I can meet somewhere you’re more comfortable with. Somewhere public, of course. Not about to walk down a dark alley with ya.”

“Weren’t you just trying to chat me up?”

“Weren’t you refusing to give me so much as a first-name?”

“Fair.” She nodded, going to flick him coordinates before realizing he didn’t even have a communicator. “You got a piece of paper?”

Orkland patted himself down before glancing at the wall and finding a relatively bloodless poster, tearing off the cleanest corner of it and rummaging through a nearby desk until he found a single pen.

“Here ya go.”

“Thanks…” She murmured as she jotted down the details. “Meet you there tomorrow at five?”

“Of course. You got a ride out of here?”

“Bike’s parked out back.”

“Good… so about that data. Really. Who’s it for?”

“Faraday.” She sighed. “Pacifica fixer.”

“Is he trying to undermine me, or just scoop up the cast-offs?”

“Think it’s the latter, can’t say for certain though. Bastard’s tight lipped even after years of working with him.”

And sleeping with him, not that he needed to know that. She wished she could forget herself to be honest.

“Hm, I’ll have to keep an eye on that. Thanks. Here.” He said as he tossed a wad of eddies her way. About five-thousand total. “Little advance for your honesty. Run that on back to him, he don’t need to know about our little talks. See ya soon, Kiwi.”

“Right, bye.” She nodded, watching him exit before beating her own hasty retreat. She was of the mind this night couldn’t end soon enough, until she remembered the longer she waited to turn in the data the pissier Faraday would be. Her stomach began to rumble too, though that reminded her of the fat wad of cash now in hand.

“…fuck it. Might as well treat myself before dealing with that jackass. Sushi-bar here I come.”

Chapter Text

Their skin is what he remembers the most vividly. Pallid, cracked and interwoven with wrought blue veins.

Rafik had looked like that when he was first hospitalized. The sight of strangers suffering from the same poison shouldn’t horrify him more, compared to that, but some of the bodies are simply too small. Tinier than even the few dwarves among them.

Genocide is one of those evils so inconceivable in its cruelty and its scale that the average person can’t truly comprehend it. Most live their whole lives with a sort of blissful ignorance as to just how utterly wrong things can get.

Donald wasn’t innocent. He’d seen things- horrible things- from a young age. But they were more personal, or random acts of cruelty. The sight of it all still shatters him. Turns his tongue to lead in his mouth, heavy and mute.

The piles of corpses all shapes and sizes arrayed before him and his team stood tall and proud. Like some grotesque monument to all the hatred heaped upon him ever since he sprouted tusks. The vitriol and utter fucking contempt brought down upon every goblinoid on the face of the Earth.

Some, he realizes, still breathe. Their eyes glassy and distant, if not rotted out entirely by the artificial viruses they were subjected to. And the empty pit of nothingness in him fills with a terror cold and paralyzing as he recognizes a handful of faces. The middle-aged hotdog vendor that never stopped talking. The kid who taught him how to play basketball just to be nice. The cantankerous old bat that had sent gangers running from her home with nothing but a broom.

“Donald.” A voice calls, its familiarity all the more sickening in a place like this.

Her hair is matted where it hasn’t fallen off entirely, her cheeks sunken in and her musculature reduced to wiry gray flesh. But he still recognizes Perci, much as the realization makes him ill.

“Why did you leave?” She rasps out. The space her sweet hazel eyes used to be now gaping dark holes.

“Orkland.” Another voice calls out, authoritative despite its haggard tone.

Proud Orion fixes him with an evil eye, the other rolled off to the side on account of the gaping bullet hole punched just slightly above it. Many more riddle his form, oozing blood and bile as he rises from the dead and shambles toward him.

“Why did you run?”

He wants to deny. To roar out that he didn’t. But he can’t while he’s backing away in stunned silence. Especially not when two massive arms wrap around him and squeeze the air from his lungs.

“Chummer,” A nasally voice hisses against his ear.

His neck can still twist just enough to recognize mottled green skin and unkempt ginger hair. And to notice the pried-off tusks and sawn-off horns that Dave used to wear with pride.

“Why did you hide?”

“Why couldn’t you save us?” Another voice calls. And another, and another until all around him the moans of those damned and dying enveloped that small, forsaken courtyard.

He began to panic- an alien thing for him given how unphased he often is. He broke free of Dave’s gargantuan grip and barreled through the thin-limbed crowd. Tossing husks out of his way as his ears rang and the world narrowed in around him.

His footing catches something small. He falls flat on his face and scrambles up to glance behind him, and the sight makes him freeze despite the urgency of his flight.

Two little forms, wrapped up in each other so tightly you’d think they were trying to fuse. A slender shape looming over them, trying and failing to shield them from the blaze that had claimed them. Their skin all blackened by the fires of their family home. The melted matriarch piercing his soul with her blazing sockets.

“Why weren’t you there?”

He screams- in rage, in grief and in fear, and the world shatters like glass around him.

And then he wakes up, slaked in sweat and gasping for air.

He immediately takes in his surroundings, his senses and his mind quickly recognizing his bedroom. His current one anyways.

He wouldn’t classify his new base as ‘home’ per se. And if he ever did that just meant there’d be some silent countdown to the place getting wiped off the map by fate, the capricious old bitch. Rather it’s one of the many properties owned under the decreasingly decentralized umbrella of the Animal’s gang.

Ever since his rebrand to the Concrete Jungle company, its official designation is as a lesser administrative office and supply depot. The ground floors home to some basic workout facilities, a sort of in-house cafeteria and a whole lot of storage. The second and third housing desks for newly hired paper-pushers to handle legal documentation, calls, so on and so forth. His current residence tucked towards the back adds up to little more than an oversized mattress capable of supporting his enlarged frame, a footlocker for his guns and a cheap, throw-down closet for the few clothes he bothers to avoid getting blood and bullet-holes in. A small personal bathroom off to the side.

His semi-nomadic lifestyle- on account of his profession and his rather poor luck- has trended him towards minimalism. So the fact he has all these things and there aren’t vermin crawling out of the floorboards is enough for him to regard it as almost palatial.

He fires up the laptop he has upon the cheap synth-plywood desk shoved against the front wall and goes through his messages. A dismissive hum escaping his lips at what greets him.

Firstly, a security summary. Sent by Kiwi and co-signed by Sasha. It’s the third-such he’s received now getting one every week. Still the worst they’ve had to contend with is some hacker-brats trying to peak into their systems for shits and giggles, none even from Pacifica let alone associated with the VDB’s.

The next are updates from his “Road Crews.” Pacifica’s status as an ‘independent district’ means they can’t rely on any Night City services aside from the odd MaxTac raid. That includes tow trucks to clear the ever-growing sprawl of wrecked and ruined vehicles. But there’s profit to be made from scrap, and a few-dozen low level recruits with enough body mass between them to haul the heaps from the roadways and onto larger trucks for transport to whoever’s willing to buy it. Mostly local junkyards and a handful of more random buyers, nomads and techies interested in harder to find parts even if they come with twin layers of rust and grime.

In some cases, particularly near underpasses, such wrecks served as makeshift homes for the local destitute. His instructions regarding them were to give them a hundred eddies and politely yet firmly tell them to fuck off. Cruel, perhaps, but at the end of the day they’re humans. And Orkland can’t find much love in his heart for their kind after a lifetime of living under their heel. Besides, he needs to clean the place up. The nascent branches of Concrete Jungle, from housing and real estate to goods and services, are finally being brought to fruition. While the main initial draw will be lower prices due to the lingering risk of the region, he’s still not going to be able to convince many to show up if the roadways are blocked every half-mile by some scrap shack that looks like a fortress from some c-list post apocalypse movie.

It's his town now. And he fully intends to do right by those living in it. But when you’re building a whole new neighborhood you can’t stop construction because of the odd bird’s nest. Besides, he still knows just from a glance that he’s better than that schmuck up in that black-glass tower over in “Dogtown.” How anyone could style themselves as a dictator with just half a city-district and not realize how sad such a miniscule territory is- well, it’s beyond his ability to understand.

Though he’s told his crew to give the place a wide berth for the time being. He fully intends to make all of Pacifica his at some point. And while slaughtering a gang-leader is one thing, toppling a tin-pot tyrant would definitely cement him as a dependable and formidable force in Night City. But Barghest didn’t survive the reprisals of several corporations and governments out of sheer dumb luck. Their defeat will be the crowning jewel of his conquests in this new world (aside from Kiwi, if he can manage) but it’s very much towards the end of his to-do list. His first goals being getting Concrete Jungle stable enough to float his army’s expenses and sending the Voodoo Boys off to meet the Loa gods they claim to have abandoned alongside their homeland.

The lingering unease of his nightmare festers into anger as he reads. He’s half tempted to go out head-hunting for any NCPD contracts on the gang in question until an incoming call takes his attention.

“Ringing to say ‘good morning’, gorgeous?” He drawls.

“Shut the fuck up and listen for a second.” Kiwi snaps back immediately.

“Nice to hear from you too…”

“Listen, I got a lead you might want to follow up on. For a netrunner.”

“Another runner? Why didn’t you mention it sooner?”

“Because I was trying to scout known quantities first. People with reps are easier to vet than out-of-towners or greenhorns.”

“Any luck on that front?”

“There’s this one choom I’ve gotten drinks with on occasion. T-Bug. She’s mostly a solo-act but her usual fixer got caught up in some nastiness and had to skip town. She’s open to negotiation. Plus she used to run with a member of your gang, apparently, so I tapped her friend to help me put the squeeze on her.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“Rhino. Think she’s an alpha for one of the gym-gangs.”

He was aware of the redhead in question. He was still on the fence about working his charm on her. She was cute, made not-so-subtle eyes at him more than once, and had the sort of heft he preferred in a partner. But the weird exo-skeletal plates she had running along her sternum and shoulders kinda freaked him out. Yeah his skin was tough enough to shrug off low-calibers but with the way he operated they’d probably scratch open a few gashes in him through sheer friction.

“Are you listening?”

“Hm? Sorry was thinking of… logistics. So she finally cave?”

“No, would’ve started with that if she did. Anyone that’s already got a name isn’t too interested in working with us. People are impressed by what Sasha pulled off but girl’s still laying relatively low and netrunners are more cautious than most. At least the ones that last long enough to earn a reputation. And the Animals aren’t really known for being an ideal group for us to hang around with. Even if you changed the name. Had a couple of keyboard kiddies blowing up my comms thinking we could be some stepping stone for their careers and surprise surprise out of the dozen of them 10 managed to get themselves fried. Other two are in lockup now.”

“When you say ‘kiddies’-“

“Twenty-somethings that think they’re better with tech than they actually are and so full of pride they wound up choking on it.”

“Dead-ends, got it. Long as they knew what they were getting into.”

“They did.”

“Good. Appreciate that. So, this lead?”

“Right. So a few months back I meet this kid. This time it’s a bit more literal. She’s closer to Rebecca and Sasha’s age by the look of her. Maybe a year or two younger. She’s wearing rags but she’s got some serious chrome chipped in. If it weren’t for the fact she was so coherent I might’ve thought she was a cyberpsycho.”

“Was she?”

“No, now listen. Apparently she’d been pestering any runner she could get her hands on to teach her the ropes. Some asshole I ghosted this one time decided to be petty and swore up and down I was the generous sort who’d help her if she showed up at my doorstep. Luckily for her I was bored as hell so I did anyways. Kid was already decent at quick-hacks and pick-socketing but where she really shined was deep-dives. Girl tore through the net like you wouldn’t believe. Sort of stuff I could only pull off on a good day.”

“That’s high praise.” He pondered aloud, knowing Kiwi to give out compliments sparingly in the short time he’d been acquainted with her.

“Having a deep-dive port makes that sort of thing easier.”

“Remember you mentioning that sort of thing is rare.”

“It is. Real specialized gear. Delicate. Finicky. Get knocked around too much and there goes a couple hundred thousand eddies. Doesn’t help much for quickhacks either, and you usually need a whole chair setup to make the most of it.”

“If I had to hazard a guess, even if you’re a whiz that’s not the sort of thing a corp would just give you for good employee performance at her age, right?”

“Ding-ding.” She monotoned. “My best guess is the kid’s the worst kind of unpaid intern. Probably scooped up from some slumtown shithole where they don’t even have records let alone people that would give a damn if she went missing. Which she did.”

“How so?”

“She used to pester me pretty regularly. Tapered off to about once a week when I told her to give me some space but the last messages I got from her seemed frantic. Kind of rushed. She felt like someone was tailing her.”

“So I hit the ground and find your elusive would-be apprentice, and get someone custom-built for sitting in the I-T chair and working tech support with you and Sasha?”

“Ideally. Worst case scenario you find her body. Bit grim but that sorta chrome would probably go for a fortune even if it got scratched up. Might be able to use it to bribe some other runner that’s on the fence.”

“A win either way.” Orkland said with a morbid sort of joviality given he’d just been discussing what amounted to organ harvesting. Potentially, at least.

“Isolated where she most likely was to a few city blocks. It’s over in Japantown. You been?”

“For a few dispatches. Mostly stick to the Chinese part of the district. Food’s better. N’I don’t have to hear #$%-speak neither.”

“Look I get you got fucked over by the Japanese at some point-“

“Try the better part of a decade, hon.“

“Right, I get that. Just saying even without the corps they’re a pretty big cultural presence in this city. Might want to ease up on that sort of thing if you ever plan on expanding outside of Pacifica.”

“Noted.” Orkland chirped, not at all intending to renege on what he deemed to be a perfectly reasonable blood-feud. “This girl I’ll be hunting for. She ever give you a name?”

“Yeah. Lucy.”

------------
Later…
------------

How long had she been running?

From daemons of binary for the profit of unseen masters? From the prison she’d known all her life? Her fellow inmates- her friends- being gunned down behind her for the crime of wanting to survive? From the slavedrivers that made her their wind-up doll, their child-soldier amidst battlefields even Netwatch dared not tread?

How long had she been running, only to wind up caught anyways?

Lucy was tired. She had been for a long, long time. But even the familiar ache that hollowed a home in her bones- carbon and chrome- paled in comparison to the all-consuming exhaustion that sucked her down towards the floor into gravity’s uncaring embrace.

When she first saw daylight upon her escape all those years ago she realized quickly she was in the desert. Night City was the only town for miles, especially since the last Unification War. She would’ve ran from Arasaka’s shadow as far-flung as she could manage, but that sort of thing cost money. At least to do right. She’d tried cheaping out and hitchhiking with a smaller nomad family a ways back. They were barely a mile out of the city limits before the Raffen Shiv were upon them, an empty account and a few new graze-wounds all she had to show for her efforts.

So she stayed in that place she hated, so close to those she feared, and struggled. Drifting between alleyways and trains scraping together whatever ill-gotten funds she could manage. When pick-socketing proved insufficient she tried creeping in on the edgerunning scene, all but begging her would-be seniors for any guidance they might give. Most wrote her off. Some demanded funds even a corpo would balk at. And others asked for things her dignity would not allow, however thoroughly Arasaka thought they might’ve beaten it out of her.

Her one glimmer of hope, a half-hearted mentor named Kiwi, had put increasing distance between them. She wasn’t much help to begin with, but even though she hated herself for feeling so Lucy couldn’t help but admit she needed the acknowledgement. The texts. The lessons. Even if it was cold and apathetic, it was the way people talked to each other. Not jailor and prisoner. Scientist and subject.

In another life, another time, perhaps she would’ve been there when she needed her to help throw the latest chase off her tail. Give her somewhere to crash long enough to regain sufficient strength to manage on her own. But Kiwi had landed some long-term gig. She didn’t have the time or the patience for her little wayward gutter-rat anymore. She’d gotten her use out of her and left her just like everyone else.

So poor little Lucy, sleep-deprived and underfed, tried to clamp down on whatever net chatter she could find about herself. Drawing yet more eyes to her in the process. She tried to sneak through alleyways only to fail to notice debris or vagabonds and stumble over them. Alerting her pursuers and being forced to sprint. And finally after what seemed like hours, her legs gave out and she spiraled onto the asphalt. Men and women with cruel masks and garish tattoos rushing up to her and yanking her up just as her vision blurred to black.

It was a secret known by everyone that the Tygers were an unofficial branch of Arasaka in Night City. The gang avoided corporate property and employees and got preference for any jobs sent off to fixers. Ones deemed beneath the notice of counterintelligence and their security forces. The fact irked her a bit. The implication that even after all they put her through she was such a non-threat to them they couldn’t even be bothered to send someone in a proper uniform after her.

More concerning was the rough treatment the gangoons proceeded to subject her to. It was hard to pick a “worst” breed of scum in this town, but the fact the Tygers could even be considered when their competition was organ-harvesters and satanic cyborg skinheads should speak volumes. They’d taken her to the basement of one of their clubs by the sound of the thumping music upstairs. She dangled painfully from her wrists, chained to the ceiling just high enough that she had to stand on her tiptoes to alleviate the strain.

Their lecherous leader had made his intentions apparent when he’d dropped his pants before her, a vulgar bit of cyber making it clear that Arasaka wanted her alive though not necessarily in good condition. Conveniently him listening to his lower head rather than his proper one meant he forgot to have any blockers placed on her own chrome. A targeted hack sending the phallic attachment sputtering, sizzling and finally bursting in a spray of shrapnel and fire as he squealed and shrieked.

His ‘friends’ merely laughed at his misfortune, similarly too distracted (or high) to recognize she could turn around and do the same to them. She’d only managed to burst another’s skull in a spray of sparks and smoke before they leapt up at her, striking her with clubs and pipes until she began coughing up blood and bile. Grimy fingers finding purchase and slotting a shard in her that immediately set hundreds of warning messages blaring across her internal security. Her quickhacks now denied to her, the pain of a migraine condensed in an instant surging through her grey matter when she tried to access them.

Their leader- their new one, at least. Some thug with an ocular visor and a tacky mohawk- began growling at her in Japanese. Her experience with the tongue rusty due to disuse since her time at the facility. It didn’t help that her auto-translator had also been shut down by the shard. He didn’t recognize that, or maybe just didn’t care, and took her lack of a response as further defiance. His slapping wasn’t nearly as harsh as the weapons before. Her body partially numbed by their brutal caress. But it stung all the same.

Lucy struggled to stay conscious. To endure despite the pain for fear of what they’d subject her to. As if being awake in her current state would be a deterrent to any further cruelties or perversions. She struggled harder not to cry. Weakness was something they’d leap upon like vultures to carrion. She knew this. She understood this…

…But she just couldn’t manage anymore.

She was tired of running, hurting, going hungry. But most of all she was tired of acting tough when all she’d wanted to do for the last nine years of her life was break down and sob. At the hurt. The cruelty. The pointlessness of it all.

She hadn’t caught a break. Even her ‘escape’ from the facility was just a long stretch of running and scavenging to stay ahead of Arasaka and above the point of starvation. The price-tag the few humans she might consider family.

She didn’t understand why life had singled her out to be a flagellant. Why it was so harsh even now at what seemed to be her end. Why everyone seemed dead set on hurting her. Grinding her into the dirt as though it was where she belonged.

Or who the hell was dumb enough to kick in doors at a Tyger base.

One minute the room was sealed off. The next the thumping beat of the techno music beyond suddenly grew louder after a resounding thud and screech saw the steel entryway blown clean off its hinges. It flew and slammed one of her captors between it and the wall they leant against. Not quite pulping them but indenting their skull and ribs to being about the same width as their shoulders.

A blur shot from an arm, a cry of alarm rang out and then another loud bang and a blinding white light. The dull ring of her ears gradually lessening to let in the sounds of shrieks, clangs and the crackle of gunfire. When her vision finally returned to her she saw a new figure, hulking and tall, ducking and weaving with grace that defied his size around the mohawked interrogator and his mantis-blades.

Another sidestep and suddenly his fist surged forth, striking his opponent in his ribs hard enough to leave a visible dent in the armor-plating and likely rupture the liver beneath. He seized the blades where they connected to their sheathes, twisting and grinding the metal until the sharpened ends snapped off like twigs that he promptly inserted into the still-screaming ganger’s skull.

Again all was quiet save for the distant din of music. The two now alone in a room of the slain. And then his gaze fell upon her and she felt her heart stop.

Blue, cold and icy. Analyzing her like another victim to be slaughtered. Looming well and far above her even elevated by her restraints as she was. Eash step towards her slow, measured and thunderous.

He placed one hand on the small of her back then retrieved a machete from his own with the other. Though calling it a claymore might’ve been more accurate given the size of the thing. He swung and shattered the chain connecting her to the ceiling, catching her and then pulling her yet-bound wrists forward to be freed as well.

He released his grip upon her, leaving her to stand by her own power only to watch her fall to the ground with a yelp as her legs- still spent and now beaten- gave out from under her. She glanced up at him from the ground and felt her stomach drop at the sight of him removing his jacket.

So this was it, then? Another sick twist of the knife just when she thought she couldn’t sink any lower? Her would-be rescuer wanted to see if she could put up a fight before claiming a reward from her?

As fabric gave way to thick veiny arms wrapped in blue ink she couldn’t help but let out a whimper. Why her? Why this? Why couldn’t he have just come to help or kill her quickly? Why did he have to grab her and… slide the jacket around her?

The apparently gentle giant slid her arms into the sleeves of his combat garment with a softness she couldn’t have imagined by his tattoos and his sharp teeth. After helping her sit up he turned to glance at the bodies around them. Grabbing a few by the ankles before grunting in satisfaction at a relatively bloodless pair of sandals worn by one that he proceeded to retrieve and help her slip into.

“W-what are you…?”

“Didn’t they tell ya, Cinderella?” He asked with a smile. A warmth to his oddly accented tone that further eroded her earlier terror. “I’m your ride to the ball. Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

He shifted his broad arms- damn near thick as her waist- under her in a bridal carry as he gingerly lifted her over massacred Tygers and up the steps into the club beyond. Equal parts awe and horror taking hold in her at the sight of many, MANY more fallen gangsters littered about the place. The blare of the speakers less a celebration now and more a eulogy for the throngs of fallen they passed in their departure.

He eased her into the passenger seat of a van. What little she saw of the space behind her positively overflowing with all manner of weapons and the odd cyberlimb stuffed into sacks. The vehicle slumped as he took his seat, the doors locking as he eased out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

“Your teeth okay?”

“H-huh?”

“Your teeth. Any of them cracked? Looks like they worked you over pretty good.”

“I… I don’t think so. I can’t tell.”

“Better not to find out the hard way, then. Soup it is. You got any allergies?”

“I uh, n-no?”

“Good, good.”

The rest of the ride went in relative silence beyond a comment from him that she could pick whatever she wanted on the radio. She settled on the first channel that didn’t hurt her ears and curled into her seat. The van eventually rolling to a stop in some drive-through long enough for him to grab a few plastic bowls from the window and hand one to her.

“Drink up.” He ordered. “Not sure what you liked so I got a few. They’re all yours.”

Lucy looked at him for a while. Trying to discern any hidden intention only to come up blank. The bizarre man devoid of any visible chrome merely focusing on the road ahead of him. Finally she caved and began gulping down the broth. Cheap, synthetic and processed and yet the most delicious thing she could remember drinking all the same. The first bowl disappeared fast enough for steam to erupt from her gasping lips. The second not much slower, and finally the third going in a few long, measured gulps.

“Whoof, guess you were as hungry as you looked. Want me to stop anywhere else along the way?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you… w-where are we going?”

“Pacifica.”

“Pacifica?” She asked with a bit of a quaver. “Why there?”

“Taking you to see a friend of yours.”

“Friend? I don’t have any…” She trailed off, before her eyes began to shine. “Kiwi?” She breathed out, so quiet as to go almost unheard.

Orkland merely nodded, smiling a bit more broadly at the sight of the grin that now graced his little rescue’s bruised face. Still she remained quiet though visibly less warry for the remainder of the ride. Albeit a hint of trepidation returning at the corporate look of the building he pulled into.

“Relax, you don’t have to worry about anyone hassling you here.”

“You sure?”

“S’ my building so yeah, pretty sure.”

That baffled her even more. Some corpos were a bit bulkier than others, sure. The odd suit enjoying the outline gorilla arms gave them without having to put in any proper work. But this guy was built like a fortress and had a casual demeanor to him that screamed someone from the streets. Not a business owner.

Her confusion was cut short at the sound of her door opening, Orkland again reaching under her.

“I-I’m fine!” She flushed, suddenly conscious about being carried again now that there were people about.

“Really?”

“Yes!” She huffed, taking one stop out of the van only for her ankle to tweak like a lightning bolt ripped through it.

“…?”

“…Fine.”

“Magic word?” He grinned, decidedly more smug than last time.

“…please.” She murmured.

“Of course hon.” He hummed as he picked her up again. He helped her upstairs into what looked like a server room, a familiar shock of blonde hair meeting her.

“This one yours?” He asked.

“Lucy? Fucking hell what happened to you?” Kiwi asked, genuine concern lacing her words.

“I got caught. Wouldn’t’ve happened if someone helped me.” She bit out.

“Yeah well I did, didn’t I?” She said gesturing to Orkland behind her.

“Technically I did.”

“Shut up…” She sighed.

“What’s going on in here?” A new voice, Sasha’s, interjected. The girl in question emerging from the bathroom attached to the Netrunner’s station in sweats and a loose t-shirt.

Orkland had spent the money on proper chairs with cooling systems to help offset the heat from long-term deep-diving, but they were still a few days out. So she and Kiwi had to make due with ice-baths and warm showers afterwards. He justified installing the facility by pointing out that nobody was all that fresh after a few hours in what amounted to a high-end gamer chair anyways, so they might as well have somewhere private to rinse off afterwards.

Sasha gasped at the sight of Lucy, rushing over to her quick as a flash and beginning to fret and fuss.

“Oh my gosh, what happened to you? You’re hurt and dirty, that won’t do at all! Orkland, help me get her in the tub! Hopefully none of these wounds are infected!”

“Th-that’s not-“

“Okay.” The man shrugged, following after her into the adjoining room and easing Lucy into the damp basin.

“Don’t have too much fun.” He tossed behind him before closing the door.

“Oh hush!” Sasha shouted after him. “Don’t worry sweetie, you’re safe now. I promise I’ll take good care of you. What’s your name?”

“L-Lucy?” She answered in a daze. “And it’s- it’s fine I can manage on my own- ah fuck!” She hissed, another bruised muscle betraying her by acting up at that exact moment.

“Nothing to be ashamed of. We all need a little help now and then. Your shirt’s in tatters. Is it sentimental at all?”

“No?”

“Oh, good. Between the grime and the blood this way will probably be a lot easier.” She observed before unsheathing her cyber claws, running one finger daintily down the center-line of her torso and opening the front, grabbing the back of her collar and yanking the rest of the garment up and over her arms in one smooth motion.

“Eep!”

“Now let’s help you feel nice, hm?” She purred, the small, honest smile she sent Lucy’s way making her face burn and her chest hurt.

Orkland, meanwhile, stood before Kiwi in the net room.

“We’re keeping her.”

“Already decided on that?” She asked.

“Yup.”

“You know she hasn’t agreed to anything yet.”

“She could never sit in this room for the rest of her life for all I care, but I ain’t leaving her to rot. You saw her. She needs help.”

“We a charity now?”

“She’s a kid.”

“She’s 18.”

“Yeah well compared to me she might as well be a zygote so I’m at least making sure she gets some meat back on her bones and a warm bed to sleep in until she’s in a position to decide what she wants to do.”

“Why the compassion, all of a sudden?” She asked, eyes narrowed.

“Why weren’t you there?”

“…I got my reasons.”

“That’s not-“

“It’s the answer you’re getting. I appreciate ya, gorgeous, but you don’t run things around here. Three weeks is a bit too soon to start forgetting that. I said she’s staying. She’s staying. You actually want her time here to be productive maybe tone down on the ice-queen shtick so she warms up to the idea. Now you got anything to add or will that be all?”

“…No sir.”

“Jesus, you don’t have to course correct that far. ‘Sir’, bleugh. Fuckin’ makes me sound old. Just quit pushing back like a lineman at every little decision I run by you.”

“Most of them sound insane.”

“Barely been in this town two months and I can already tell insane’s just another word for normal ‘round here! And it’s working out pretty well so far, ain’t it?”

“If you say so.”

“Well I mean I got you your own office with its own bathroom and a designated parking spot when this all used to be a gang-dive so…” He trailed off, leaning in and looking at her with an expectant grin.

“You’re doing… not terribly.”

“D’awww, you flatterer!”

“Can I get back to my ice-bath now?”

“Didn’t you just get out?”

“Feel warm all of a sudden. Don’t like it. Need to cool off.”

“Sure, sure. Knock yourself out… metaphorically, I mean. We’re still shortstaffed for runners so you dyin’ would really fuck me over-“

A quickhack saw the door lock behind him, shutting him out and up.

Orkland huffed as he descended down the stairs, the lingering adrenaline in his system and faded call of voices long-silenced gradually pulling his face back into a scowl. It was barely 2PM checking his watch. Plenty of time left in the day to make it someone else’s last. As good and profitable a way to blow off steam as any.

And gunshots were much quieter than ghosts anyways.