Ｕｎｄｅｒ Ｃｏｎｓｔｒｕｃｔｉｏｎ

*𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜, 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚘. 𝙾𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙳𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝙶𝙼 𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜.

---

---

---

EuroNet Global Network



𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂:
| Black Market Raid, 36 arrested, contraband worth 250,000cr confiscated |
| JPN-22 carrier corporation, Ori, launches in Europa |
| Hiro Ueno of Zero brings first stock rises in three years |
| Uneasy Nova-Solace ceasefire in place with talks in border districts imminent |

///

Hazy and blue. Those were the reflecting colors of the ever-glowing sky in the shattered windows. A strange time-worn figure stood between the wreckage of the vehicle and the crumbled wall. The oddly archaic clothing contrasted the retrofitted world around, the weathered frills and laces fluttering as she leaned down. She couldn't help but glance closer upon the unfortunate circumstance, though with a deeply troubled expression.

She had a terrible feeling about it.

The smoke and flames had long withered away by the congested slummy air, leaving only a mark-less black spotted shell behind. A package presented and preserved by the neglecting corporations themselves, funnily enough. For all the ideals they like to spout, they forget the very value of humanity itself.

Her eyes twinkled in both awe and revulsion when she pulled back the metal, and was met with a corpse. A pair of eyes stared right back at her. Between these deadened lenses, and that of her own, it was difficult to say whose was more real. The doll blinked once, reminding herself to recoil a bit. The massive weight around her neck, the hefty, bulky regulation device was a constant reminder of that fact. The failures of her emotional programming allowed her to be aware, but no longer instinctively react. So she needed to remind herself to act 'naturally', like a normal human would. And though she couldn't react in the same way, that didn't stop her from knowing it was probably 'odd' to be poking about.

Though she wanted to look away, Tink knew she must continue. If not her, then who? No one cares for the lowly people behind the city, not even themselves, ironically as it is.

As she looked on at the fatty, swollen face, it was clear this person had been left to reach bloated stages of bio decomposition. It was a pose of seizing desperation, their hands clutched at their chest and throat. Asphyxiation, no doubt, was what saved them from a suffering far worse. Even now, their soft eyes still captured the essence of entrapment and hopelessness. Despite her innocent look, Tink seemed completely uncaring of the grisly sight before her. Dimly glowing electronic eyes glanced around the darkness, leaving small purple rings as they scanned the interior for things. Well, to be more specific, each person carried about significant things. Whether in life or death, they would never dare stray away from them. And these items can be just about anything. And though this person and this scene were like many of the others she has come across, Tink made sure to note differences and set this one aside.

From the precious metal lighter, the stash of burnt photos in the ruptured compartment, and the morphed, semi-melted corporate nameplate, she witnessing a small glimpse into his life. Though it all intrigued her, she kept being drawn back to the staring eyes. They held the greatest measure of weight. A story that no object could ever tell. The story of a living being. Where once a soul existed within.

To her, looking into the eyes are like staring into a photo. So many things said without being said. A puzzling contrast.

Was there a tinge of regret and loneliness in those eyes? A broken heart? Perhaps suggesting an attempted suicide after a failed romance? A shattered dream, maybe. Such could break even the most resolved. Or was this an unfortunate accident that was never taken responsibility for, this victim only left to ponder and worry about a life left behind? There was no real evidence for any of these cases, but she liked to paint a grand narrative anyway.

"Poor soul..." Tink muttered as she turned to look around the crowded, neon-lit landscape, "Out of the millions and millions, not a single one to care for you..."

And though she felt sad, she made sure to smile. Perhaps a wrong contrast, but she wanted to show her determination. "Though I can never undo what has already become. Do not worry, poor lost soul. This one will make sure you are never forgotten."

The world outside of the palace was strange and painful, as she has come to learn. Tink has come across this kind of scene many times in the higher districts, in the slums. But each time, it still amazed her. In all sorts of ways. And it was the unnamed ones who experienced it the greatest. The ones who live day to day in this cold world, trying to do nothing more than to survive. In a way, strays and humans of this status are no different. Were they not? Never to be remembered, never to be acknowledged. Smashed underneath the relentlessness of human construct and idealism. Even now, at the abandoned edges of the city, she can hear the whirring of the corporate mechanisms and buzzing of the neon lights. How does one even cry above all the noise?

Her glimmering purple eyes narrowed and widened as the final scans were made. She had been carefully saving this 'image' into her own picture book, making sure not to miss any detail. She wanted this lonely far-cast soul to be remembered. So they can have a story too. Even in one so small and insignificant.

This was one of the perks of being not human. To remember everything. To make sure every moment meant something. But sometimes, she would have to admit, there were some things better off forgotten.

Though it seemed like a long while, in reality, she had only been there a few short moments. Maybe a minute or so. Most of the time had been spent prying than thinking. All of these introspective thoughts and observations had already happened before words were able to translate, such is the way of a cybernetic mainframe. Even regular brains worked faster than the words spoken from a mouth, or transcribed through writing. And in this way, a picture was indeed worth a thousand words.

As much as she wanted to do more, there was nothing more to do. Only the memory and promise would remain.

The porcelain doll quickly issued a small prayer, laying a dainty flower from her basket upon the car before going on her way. There were countless other memories to make. To save, and to discover.

And to think, this all started with her simply wanting to go out to pick some flowers.

"What a world we live in..."

///

The night was dark and wet, just the way Susie liked it. The darkness meant prying eyes couldn't see her, while the wetness meant there were far few idle eyes wandering the streets who might take note of the ragged street urchin making her way down the alley beside one of the district's larger data repositories. Not that there was anything they'd have to notice about the short girl tucked up in her warmest clothes, which still let in enough of the night's chill to have her shivering in her pale skin.

Stepping up to the ID reader Susie quickly glanced back down the alleyway, making sure the coast was clear before sending the signal down to her hand and watching as her finger curled back on itself to reveal the not entirely legal dataspike concealed within. Searching for a second the street girl found the data port on the side of the reader, designed to be used when uploading new firmware but with enough versatility to give her a little more than that.

Finding what she was looking for Susie swore under her breath. Non-standard fitting, what the hell? It was almost as if they didn't want people breaking into their data vaults or something. With a heavy sigh Susie quickly twisted her finger, reconfiguring her probe as she eyeballed the port. After a few long seconds she stuck what she thought would be a close enough approximation of the correct plug into the data socket and ducked under her coat.

Under the heavy fabric she glanced over the data displayed on arm, prodding the readouts as she rearranged the data flows and dropped some of her favourite bugs into the network. With a pleasant, welcome beep the door unlocked and slid aside. "Pleasure doing business with ya'," the scruffy girl said, throwing a mock salute at the reader before stepping inside the building.

She didn't have long to play around, according to her sources there were three guards working the building tonight. Usually it would be four, but someone had slipped one of the regulars a nasty little pill in his evening meal. Nothing fatal, but enough to give stomach cramps which would keep them off their feet for the night. Corporate cutbacks covered the rest, with the expense of hiring a substitute guard outweighing the risk o0f a potential breach due to the reduced security. Sometimes Susie loved the Corps, not often but sometimes.

Making her way through the building, following the map displayed on her arm, Susie watched carefully as the security cameras and surveillance gear along her path winked out one by one, giving her just long enough to dash past before blinking back on behind her. Hopefully whoever was in the security office wouldn't even notice the brief flickers in their coverage, and even if they did only the most hard-line guard would chalk the blips upto anything other than faulty equipment. Even though this was one of the larger repositories it was also one of the oldest, and Susie knew from her previous visits that some of their gear was older than she was, and old tech always tended to be a little glitchy when patched into newer hardware.

Getting closer, Susie carefully studied the intel she'd been given. Hopefully what she was after should be in vault Gamma-12-A, but nothing was certain in this game. Making her way to the vault entry she pulled out a datapad which had cost her more than a month's rations and quickly plugged it into the access panel. Normally she'd have just used her own probe, but the information she was after had been hardcoded by some of the best minds in their field, and even Susie knew that her own rig was hardly top-of-the-line.

With the pad in place, its internal processors and algorithms decoding the locking mechanisms, Susie wandered down the corridor a little, glancing each way as she checked to make sure none of the wetware security measures had decided to get creative in their patrol routes for the night. Things like that always annoyed her. Why couldn't people be as reliable and predictable as computers?

A patch on her arm suddenly began to glow brightly and turning away from the corridor Susie quickly stepped back to the access panel. Unhooking the datapad she quickly stowed it away back inside her coat before pressing her gloved finger to the ID scanner. A panel snapped open on the wall and a retinal scanner emerged, firing a bright beam of light out to read the presented eyeball. The fact that there was none to read didn't seem to concern the device at all and after a couple of second the display lit up bright green.

"𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖴𝖭𝖪𝖭𝖮𝖶𝖭 𝖴𝖲𝖤𝖱." The computer intoned as the data vault beside it unsealed with a hiss, the door cycling open and the computer terminal unfolding from the wall in what Susie presumed was supposed to make the place look modern and high tech. Ignoring all the fanfare, the cracker stepped up to the keyboard and quickly started to type in her data requests, pulling the information she needed from the yottabytes of drek passing through the repository's data banks every second.

"Okay, my friend," she said with a friendly smile, "Give me everything you have on 'Ori', and their associates."

Tip. Tip. Tip. The sound of dripping water woke him up before his alarm did. This was not uncommon for Vincent DeSilvio; he had stirred moments before the alarm sounded every day for the past six years. Whatever event had made him a light sleeper wasn’t in an easily accessible recess of his mind and honestly, he didn’t mind it. “Urgh,” he grunted, reaching a hairy arm over the naked torso of the female form lying next to him. She shifted as he moved his arm to turn off the alarm clock; but it was too late. The music began to loudly play before he could finger the snooze option on the holographic screen.



“Good morning sleepyhead,” the thick French accent of the woman greeted him as fought with the holo-screen. “You can keep the music on. I like this song.” Her t’s had a thick z sound with each one, stereotypical yes, but it was something about how she cheerfully spoke in that thick accent that struck Vincent to the core. It was silly, yes, but fuck it was sexy.

“I paid three hundred creds for the damn thing,” Vincent grumbled, moving his arm back as he slowly pushed himself upright onto the bed, “You’d think it would work.”

“It works fine for me.”

“You’re good with technology. I can barely use my datapad without breaking something.”

“You’re good with me.” Audra leaned over and grinned coquettishly, her bright purple irises illuminated by the dim holo-screen. She looked nearly indistinguishable from a normal human woman, but her eyes were a dead giveaway. Her eyes and several small ports on her upper back; which were usually hidden by high-collared shirts. She was designed to look and sound comforting to those around her. After all, she was a grief counselor. Her job and purpose was to help others and talk to them about grief. The fact that she was insatiable in bed and seemed to understand what Vincent said even when he himself struggled to understand his words made her the sole comfort in the man’s life.

“You’re not technology,” Vincent said abruptly,” trying to avert her eyes from her naked form. He didn’t have time to waste engaging in early morning coitus; he had to be at briefing in thirty minutes. He wanted to of course. In the two years of their relationship, sex was never an issue. Nor was communication. In the small handful of relationships he’d struggled with over his nearly 30 years of life, Audra was the first relationship that he’d felt comfortable in. Even fulfilled. The only glaring issue was the biological one; the fact that regardless of how soft her skin was, how warm her breath on the back of his neck could be, how deeply she could feel to him, she was at the end of the day: artificial.

It’s also why he hadn’t introduced her to his mother in the two year span. Ever since George’s death, she’d been inconsolable; and he’s put a lot of faith in the anti-aug movements. Hell; she’d always spat at the site of cyborgs and androids; even robots. But after George’s corpse came back in a box; she’d put everything of her person in religious fanaticism. That had led to him growing up also looking down on the augs. Classmates who had replacement limbs (and in district 15, missing limbs were the least of your fucking worries), kids with implants to help them see, or even help them breathe? They were sporco. Filthy. Perhaps that’s why he never really had friends growing up. He was afraid being near anyone different would make him filthy too.

Audra was not filthy. He’d seen filth, in District 10, in 12, all over 15. But in the district 7 bar where the two had met one night after Donlan Caul had taken him out for drinks in celebration of a large bust; he’d met her. They’d been living together for almost a year and a half now.

“You know what I mean,” she said, chuckling, and sat up on her side of the bed now. “Hurry up and take a shower. I know you’re already going to be late as it is.”

Vincent nodded and got up, walking through the small but modestly furnished apartment his salary afforded for himself and Audra (whilst also sending money back to 15 for his mother and Fiora), and looked out the orange holographic blinds of his window. Tip. Tip. Tip. Droplets of water. It reminded Vincent of other memories. Not just water. Blood. Synthetic blood. Android with his throat slit open. Bled dry, like a cow- He shook his head. Shower. Clothes. Breakfast. Work. He started in a pace that was almost robotic in his practiced motions. Exactly one minute thirty seconds for cleaning his entire body. Dressed in two point five minutes. Grabbing the steaming piece of toast Audra had been making at the end of those two-point-five minutes and tearing into it before giving her a long kiss, grabbing his case, and heading out the door.

The cheery mood he’d been in when around Audra immediately dissipated as he stepped out the door and into the cold air outside. District 7 was nice; crime wasn’t too high and it wasn’t a cesspool like 15 was. But it wasn’t district 2 or 3 either. But his price range was 7, and he had to deal with the people there until he could get to administration.

“Ey, you fuckin’ EPA dog,” a thick-accented man on the street yelled at him. Korporat accent. Refugee possibly? Why was he on the streets of seven? Usually, they’d be relegated to the higher number districts. “I know you’re with the EPA. How many more people are you gonna fuckin kill today?”

Vincent fixed the collar of his jacket and kept walking. Focus. Keep walking. Get to work. What new memories would he make today? Which junkies, corpses, whores and fucking psychos would he get to talk to today? What would he bring home with him, nestled comfortably in the back of his mind? What would wake him up tomorrow?

The rain.

The West districts always had the worst part of the storms, especially district sixteen.

It's where Adrian was, in the J.Russo Saviour Hospital where Maggie resided. He stood over his older sister, the woman in her thirties with dark brown and blue eyes laid in her hospital bed. A hospital gown covered her as she laid under the covers of the bed, the machines beeping and clicking as it monitored her vitals. She breathed slowly as her eyes were closed, her body in a deep sleep while her pale cold skin resonated the idea that she was sick. What the disease called again? It was named after someone in the old twenty-second - Meaford's disease named after The Agency CEO who first got it. The disease that turned skin into metal, a rare disease gained from cybernetics and Maggie was one of the "lucky" few to get it. There was hope, especially with the turn of the twenty-third, technology just seemed to get better by the minute - wasen't that the reason Maggie got in the first place? No matter, the treatment there was treatment but it's expensive, experimental in nature. In Europa, every choice is a russian roulette so pull the damn trigger and stop being a pussy about it. So Adrian did, that's why she's in various experimental studies.

Things seemed to get better, for Maggie atleast there was a chance of recovery for her. It could be reversed, but she'd need to be nursed and cared for the rest of her life. Nothing was ever perfect, there was always a possibility of her being completely fine like the rare 0.01% of Meaford survivors experience but luck never rubbed off well on the Steele family. Adrian reached down for Maggies cheek, he stroked her soft face only to feel the build up of metal and cybernetics growing under her face. He shuddered, retracting his hand in disgust how could this happen to Maggie? Why his family. While his mind raced with thoughts, he coulden't help but smile. Maggie looked so peaceful, it wasen't on purpose though as she is in a medically induced coma. Waking up, with what she has? It would be too painful, she might die from it. If she continues to stay asleep, she'll die. You can only be in a coma for so long, the doctor or - a nurse had said.

Thrud

---

She sighed, sitting upon the folding wall bed.

Gritting her teeth, she depressed a button upon her body, the damaged ballistic panels upon her body falling away to reveal the neat hole on her stomach. Armor piercing bullets, too fast to expand properly in her body to cause major damage, instead piercing through her body entirely. A wound taken from a recently completed run, from one of those crazy sams in red powered armor.

For Thrud, it had seemed like a simple run. Jack a van, run off with the goods, geek anyone that looks at them funny. Their Johnson forgot to mention however, that crazy red samurais in their tincans owned the van. Their designated jacker died almost instantly when she got cleaved from shoulder to groin with a large katana. Their own borg lost his arm just trying to keep them away long enough for Thrud to jack the vehicle herself. She herself did not escape unscathed; a bullet ripped through her, piercing both her usual baggy light armor and the ballistic plate mounted on her body directly.

Hissing as she applied some disinfectant to her wound, Thrud started wrapping it with some bandages. It should heal in due time. She could always find a street doc to patch her up if she needed it later.

The run was a success, though a few who ran it with her did not survive those crazy sams. Not that the deaths bothered her at all; people die all the time. For her, and most who lived like her, death wasn't uncommon. They may have died, but she still lived. If she had to spend her time on other people's death then she wouldn't have time to spend on herself in this world.

Finished patching herself up, she gave a sigh once more, looking around the cramped quarters of the truck's cargo area that she called her home. Tools, metallic odds and ends, and a few spare parts littered the area, with a pile of food on one end near the work table. Careful not to disturb her wounds too much, she put on spare balistic plates to cover herself, and set to putting away her weapons and gears, starting with first sliding the 20mm rifle onto the top shelf where she stored her weapons and ammo.

"Argh! Dammit!" Anya cursed, immediately dropping the tools and the small device she was messing with in the workbench in front of her, which was replete with weapon parts, ammunition, tools and electronic parts, as a powerful wave of interference sent a sharp wave of pain through her head.
Upon hitting the table, the small device started spinning, standing up and emitting a very, very faint glow. Anya was still recovering herself when she realized that the device was functioning again.

"Of course... Tricked once more... I'm going to have a talk with someone regarding selling me low quality circuit boards..." Anya said with an annoyed tone, stepping into the device, smashing it into a thousand little pieces.

"Ugh... I need a bath..." She said to herself, wiping her forehead with a towel, that by now was soaked with her sweat as she walked to the other side of the flat, leaving the small metal bits on the ground, near the workbench, on which a sniper rifle was carefully resting on.

The flat was... incredibly fitting with Anya's personality... Weapon parts, SMGs, ammunition, circuit boards, tools and tactical gear side by side with gaming devices, cute pillows in form of animals decorating the sofa and other things a normal teenager would have. It was almost like there were two different people living there. While the two sides of the flat were incredibly different from one another, the line separating them was hazy and almost nonexistent. Almost like if they were slowly, but surely fusing with one another.

The last weeks were unusually calm for Anya... While she didn't have that much problem with money, as her last job earned her quite a hefty amount, she didn't enjoy that much how boring things were. She wondered what happened for things to be so calm... Usually, there was always a job for her, bodyguard jobs, 'cleaning' jobs and even espionage... But without any mission, her routine basically resumed itself in waking up before the sun came up, training, cleaning and checking her rifle and Third Eyes, taking a bath and after that, playing games the entire day or listening to music. Even though she knew that she shouldn't attract that much attention to herself, she was getting sick of doing nothing all day...

Luckily, she had overheard some teenagers talking about a rave that would happen that night on a pretty famous club that evening, which she would obviously attend to. The clothes she had selected the previous evening were already on her bed: a pair of black boots with small metal decorations together with a cute gothic style mini dress, and of course, her SMG. If she could, she certainly would take her rifle with her, which she took care almost like if it was a part of her body, but it was obviously not an option...

At least some of her common sense still worked. Minus the homicidal tendencies, of course...

One of the things that Eurocorp loved to tout in their glittering self-promotional slideshows was their health care system. The ads loved to contrast Eurocorp's high quality low cost system, Euromed, with ramshackle systems in Nova and Korporat, sharing horror stories about incompetent doctors in dingy hospital rooms and plagues ripping through foreign slums like tornadoes, topped off with a sobbing mother talking about how the utopian Euromed facilities saved the lives of her and her family, and at such an affordable cost no less!

The unspoken truth is that Europa's best healthcare system ran on one simple rule: Don't get sick.

Okay, that is a bit unfair to EuroMed. After all, to the obscenely wealthy, Eurocorp's health care was perfectly serviceable, excellent even. For everyone else, if you got sick or injured, you went on the list, and when your name came up you had an appointment. Of course the waiting lists would last a month if you were lucky, but for a fee in the form of a Special Emergency Payment, or a SEP if you're in a hurry, you could always jump ahead in the list. Or get a decent doctor. Or get into a hospital in the district you lived in. Or getting the medicine and equipment on time, and in a decent enough condition that it might actually work. All easily payed for with SEPs, of course, for the full patient experience. Patient choice!

Suffice it to say, if you did not or could not get a SEP in, you waited, and when you finally got noticed you usually got stuck with the new doctors, such as fresh-faced immigrants from Korporat like-

"Doctor Hayes?" the receptionist called out. "Your patient is waiting for you."

"Coooooming!"

Ophelia Haye's singsong tone of voice jarred so much with the setting that it forced everyone to stare as she slid into the busy waiting room. One of the men waiting to be seen spotted the doctor leaving inky black footprints behind her and decided that he could have his throat checked some other time and all but ran out the door. The receptionist, a sleepy-eyed girl who largely went by Alex just a few years younger then Hayes, stared unblinking at her.

"What? Oh, this," Ophelia Hayes realized, gesturing towards the smock she had on, practically drenched with some foul-smelling black substance. "Had to run some repairs on an older Dorn model augment. Really ancient, really messy."

"I can...uh...see that," Alex remarked. She winced as the doctor pulled off her gloves with a snap, threatening to fleck the foul smelling liquid across her desk.

"Don't worry, it looks a lot more disgusting then it actually is," Ophelia Hayes ensured, taking off the smock and wrapping it up into a bundle with the gloves. "And admittedly it was pretty disgusting. Especially when the enemic valve came loose and this stuff just came gushing out of his-"

"DOCTOR, the next patient!"

"Crap, you're right! Gotta go!"

Ophelia Hayes left for the examination room, giving the receptionist time to rub her temples in frustration as she darted off into the back, in her enthusiasm nearly knocking over another doctor headed in the opposite direction.

EuroMed quality healthcare indeed.

Sinth lay on her bed, lost in thought. The experience was not new to her and yet it felt new every single time. It was one of the experiences of being corporeal she feared the most when she was offered this body for the first time. She was concerned that she would get lost in the pleasures of carnal sensations and would abandon the flights of the mind she'd so enjoyed while existing as code. And yet, here she lay, the battle battered body of Trill, sprawled across her own, and her mind was soaring, while her own flesh luxuriated in that sweet physical satisfaction. A slight smile played across her lips readily assaulted by inquisitive synthetic fingers.

"In times like these I regret not having nerve endings on this piece of junk." Trill murmured, her lips caressing Sinth's skin above her left breast. "You're lips are fucking gorgeous! I wish I could feel their warmth on my fingertips." She whispered wistfully, withdrawing her hand and straightening to a sitting position in the bed. She looked down at Sinth. Her still human eyes shining with a hidden emotion. Overcome she averted her gaze and made a move to get up.

"I never want you to leave." A quiet voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

"I know." Trill answered, a tremor in her voice. "And that is why I leave." She stood up. "I'm wrong for you on so many levels." The cyborg female quietly sobbed and quickly exited the room before she had time to reconsider.

---

Sinth sat in bed, pondering. Trill was a member of the Outfit, just like her, but operated mainly out of district 13. They both felt the attraction as soon as they'd met. And in the interest of working together on occasion, tried to fight it. But the body wanted what the body needed. One evening after a life or death situation they'd felt the age old need to reaffirm life through love. After that their relationship had progressed on an on again, off again basis. Their bodies spoke where their minds felt unable or unwilling. But whereas Sinth was at peace with herself and what she was, Trill suffered from unending internal turmoil. She could not forgive the injustice meted out against augments and androids, and yet she hated her own modifications for robing her of the senses she once possessed and could experience the world around her with.

The AI had tried a number of times to aid Trill in rediscovering her new senses. Teach her to experience the world as a cyborg, rather than as an un-augmented human, but the blocks the other woman had placed upon her consciousness were too strong. Not wanting to become a project for Sinth and risk the affection between them turning sour, Trill had decided for both of them to move on. Brake up. Stop! She'd requested one last night to end it all with a pleasant memory and Sinth had agreed, thinking she would have been able to dissuade Trill from her intentions. She was wrong. The AI sat in bed, unable to cry, but desperately wishing she could. She wondered if synthetic intelligence had no soul, why hers hurt so much. Her stark white eyes tracked to the end-table at the far side of the bedroom. The simple urn, placed in the middle, answering her question.

Sinth got up from the bed and walked to the urn. A silvery plaque read: 'Trill Sumner/2163-2200/Beloved'

A knock on the door pulled Sinth's attention from the urn. "Beloved." She whispered, grazing the plaque with the fingertips of her synthetic hand.

Cold!

The smell of smoke and blood which hung in the air was disgusting, though it might have also been the mix of urine and shit which was most prominent among the smells. The crowd gathered around kept on partying as a man slowly bled out around them, Spades watching as one of the grunts dragged him away. Most of them were took high or smart enough to know not to say anything, after all they could end up just like the poor fucker. The blue and pink lights kept flashing even as the splatter of blood coated them, the drinks kept coming, and Spades, well he did his job. The idiot who became a corpse was filching money, decided to keep a bit on the side rather than paying to his wonderful overlords.

And it was Spades job to take care of him, of course Jun may have meant in a more peaceful way since this meant they’d take a hit in having to get a new seller for the area. However, the cocky little shit wanted to believe he was hot shit so it was in Spades best interest to make him feel like hot shit. Feel was a loose word in this case since the idiot didn’t feel much after the hot lead tore through his head and left a mess on the ceiling. “Let’s get the fuck outta here boys, I’d rather get this shit’s blood off me and the smell of piss is only making it worse.” Spades turned as his two underlings, some low level grunts named Thomas and Ero, wandered towards the exit.

13 was always a hell hole of a place to be in, low class and poor fuckers everywhere, but also the perfect place for SinDicate to took root in. People needed a bit of organization in the chaos of the slums and, well, SinDicate was ever so willing to be their benevolent overlords. Of course, the small times fuckers in the area didn’t really like SinDicate being all feely-feely with their money but they fed them drugs and kept them safe, a fair trade since a twitcher could easily put a bullet in your head. Or, maybe they prefer to have EPA take ‘em on a date. But Spades was only in the hell of a district because it was business. It was all business, even if it meant killing someone.

He could barely hide the disgust as he walked through the streets, a few people here and there practically shitting themselves as they twitched out on drugs. The whole district wasn’t exactly a shit hole but places like the club, places where SinDicate was essentially the law, it was. They didn’t care about the trash on the streets or if that trash was their most recent sale, simply that the cash kept coming and the EPA kept their noses out. Luckily, both of those stayed true as long as nobody was fucking it up.

And where was Spades place in those two things? Well, Spades kept the dealers in line and occasionally brought some income in on the side, of course sometimes that meant stealing some shit from the Corps but that came with the job. It was better than being a fucking vegetable in some Corp hospital though so he had no qualms with it. However, it seemed Jun did have qualms with the way Spades had handled the last job, at least it seemed that way by the sympathetic looks of the SinDicate grunts as he walked into their club. It wasn’t until he heard the voice of Jun, obviously deep in a bottle of whiskey, from the back of the club. “Ah, Spades my good friend. We’ve got business to talk about,” He called with venom dripping from his voice.

Even drunk Jun was a sight to behold, barely even an adult and somehow the leader of SinDicate. Though, that seemed to be due to his credit as one hell of a decker, at least according to rumours. Truth likely was that Jun simply was a cold hearted bastard born and raised in District 13 who wanted to be something other than a dealer or a twitcher. “I heard you took care of Jeong for me. Very good however,” He said as he leaned forward and passed the bottle of whiskey to Spades, “It seems that I’m now out of a dealer for Jeong’s club. Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to dock a few credits from that mission but not a whole lot. You inspired fear in his men and that is good, now they know to never cross SinDicate.”

“So I hope,” Spades chimed in as he took a swing from the bottle. “To be fair, Jeong deserved it. This shit sits on his ass telling me about how the expenses have been for his ‘club’ cause of supposed damage caused by a twitcher last week but the only fucking thing in the club that looked like it was any different was his fucking hand at the shiny new ring he had.” Spades shook his head and passed the bottle to a few other people and looked over at Jun. “Either way, no hard feelings. Understandable loss about the money Jun. Now for the serious question. It has been a while since I’ve been able to really get outta here. Most of my work has been in the low districts and I want to get the hell out and see what it is like out there. So how about Jun, how about I have a bit of fun outside?”

Jun stared at the strobe light above him for a few minutes, seemingly lost in the pulsing blue and green color. “You’ll be free to leave soon but we got a big job for you, if you are willing,” Jun said with a smile as he took a swing from the bottle when offered. It was a chance for Spades to finally have time outside of District 10. But whatever they meant about a big job, he didn’t exactly have a good feeling about it.

Kira blew against the steaming hot tea in front of her. Her eyes were fixated across the street on a house a little too run down for District 10. According to the file that crossed her desk, the place was occupied by a lowly drug dealer. Said drug dealer apparently knew about a Blacklight safehouse in the district stocked with cash, IDs, weapons; all manner of things that nobody wanted in the hands of a street gang. She didn’t care about where the place was; that wasn’t part of her orders, nor did she have a need for anything there. Her task was not to find the physical goods, but to find out how a street dealer knew about this. The thug had the right idea keeping around a huge male with a big gun for protection, but speed, surprise, and fifty thousand volts would take care the would-be bodyguard handily.

She took a quick sip of her tea, stood, and walked out of the café patio across the street. A junkie was banging on the door, probably desperate for a fix. That had been the queue to move, just in case it spooked him. A hulking black figure opened the door and argued with the druggie. 10 had a fairly bad drug problem for its average wealth, but it did a good job of hiding it from view. A junkie on a crowded street in broad daylight wasn’t common here. Stepping back onto the sidewalk from the street, it was less than half a block to her target. She unbuttoned her jacket for quick access to her sidearm. Approach harmlessly, rush the guard with a baton, shock him, draw weapon and sweep the house, interrogate at gunpoint. She ran through her approach one more time in her mind. She never bothered anything more than a basic plan for something low-risk like this. After all, no plan survives contact with the enemy.

She was just two doors away and was about to reach for her stun baton, but her phone chimed. She slowed her pace slightly and clicked her earpiece. “Takeda.”
It was Mack at the most inconvenient time, “we need you to come in, priority assignment.”
“I’m a little busy Mack,” she answered curtly, “can it wait?”
“This takes precedence. We need you at HQ stat; wave off.”
Mack always had a funny way of pronouncing ‘H’ with his thick Bristol accent. Kira’s response was punctuated with a frustrated sigh, “fine. Are there travel arrangements?”
“First class train ticket at Central-West concierge, no questions asked. You leave in an hour.”

She clicked her earpiece again to hang up on Mack and kept walking. She gave a quick glance to the front door of the dealer’s hideout as she passed by, irritated that Mack would pull her off an assignment right before it was go-time. The com-van was a block down the street on the far side as she headed off towards the train station. She gave the van a quick glare in passing and kept moving.

---

As promised, there were zero questions asked at the train station. She was waved right past security and onto the train with barely a glance. The eggheads in C-war sure did good work with getting documents. The way things usually worked, a company car would be waiting for her when she made it to District 4.

EuroNet Global Network



𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂:
| Blacklight launchs deal with JPN-22 carrier corporation, Ori |
| NOW introduces New Lux to Market |
| Korporat18 invents new vodka serum |
| Uneasy Nova-Solace ceasefire in place with border implement regulations |

---

---

There were several public transportation methods in EuroCorp. The most popular was the EuroRail. It ran on time, all the time and ran through each and every district. Members of the riot had taken the train, apparently and gone unnoticed in their violent garb. A shock from citizens that such an occurrence could happen under the surveillance of Blacklight was prevalent, as usual. Citizens did not feel safe. Blacklight was integrating stricter methods, as always, but this time, they were pressed to react in a quicker manner. They had to implement measures NOW.

Business relations were being forced, and the leader in connecting relations was supposed to be NOW. However, with the new kid on the corporate block, Ori, in town, NOW was feeling a fold in their delivery system business. Blacklight did not care which company helped with the implementation, as long as it was soon. The top of EuroCorp was pushing for safer transportation, physically and digitally.

Exodus had been asked for help. However, they were caught in an event in Oshun, as usual. It was a typical excuse when Exodus was asked to exercise their national duty. They boasted that they were a diamond in the rough and the only corporation that did anything for Europa let alone Terra. Exodus never took full credit, but the CEO, Mister Xander Uthman, always held himself like the biggest man in town. It was hard for him not to do so. He was tall and large framed. His dark presence was intimidating enough, but his deep, low voice had such an authoritative tone, no one wanted to question the amount of social responsibility Exodus really did.

Ikon was reworking an image of Eva and Jakab for the media. A new story was going to be delivered. This time, the romance would be more gripping and tragic. The viewers needed to know how hard it was for Eva to leave Jakab, and instead of condemning and mocking Jakab, they wanted a finer, more graceful point of understanding as to why he did what he did in order to elicit less curiosity on his why and to pull more interest into the goddess’ why.

Mister Mak Møller had travelled to Korporat18 in order to experience a new scenery for the project. There are rumors shadier business had happened, but the guppy had too many good looks going his way for anyone to expect much more than he probably became very intoxicated and might have made a social fool of himself. He was also far too new to the industry for anyone to believe he had strings he could pull successfully.

Zero was venturing into EuroMed. It started with providing food and sympathetic attempts to help patients who were left in the hospital system for days at a time. Press believes Mister Ueno wants Zero’s social responsibility to begin helping Exodus save Terra. “One must learn to crawl before learning to walk, and walk before running,” Mister Xander Uthman was reported saying when compared to how minuscule providing special food for EuroMed patients was compared to what Exodus was doing for Terra. For this, both Exodus and Zero, both saw a rise in stock.

---

---

𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚖
I𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜.
𝙷𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚔,
W𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗.

---

Ｔｈｅ Ｓｈｉｎｉｇａｍｉ Ｐａｒｔｙ

𝙱𝚢 𝙾𝚛𝚒

Outlining the room’s perimeter, electronic strippers glittered their metal bodies along gleaming, flashing poles in rhythm to the digital light show that was grinding through the party. People were ushered around the show, giving themselves to the erotic nature with deep anticipation. The main attraction of the exhibit was positioned in the center of the vicinity. A sole, naked android was making a monologue of movements in the honorary Tachikata style for Eva. She was only at the beginning of her number and had not yet blossomed from her kimono, which indicated a great deal of intricacy in her response system as a robot. One lucky bidder would take her home tonight and do with her as he or she pleased while remaining completely anonymous. She was a gift from Ori, JPN-22’s first corporate venture into EuroCorp.

There was skepticism about Ori, and strangely enough, despite the suspicion, Ori went along with booking the location of the party at a place that was atypical for high society. In fact, it had been birthed in a warehouse of some beaten-up building that seemed to be a bit too rundown for this sort of operando. Crusted signs lined the walls with cracks and blisters from age old problems, and an animation of paint glowed purposefully in mock vandalization over the gaudy displays. Such a district number was running a little too high for so many high status individuals to be seen in it, but the attendees didn’t seem the mind, especially with the mechanical view arousing their interests. Ori was a company for everyone, JPN-22 boasted to EuroCorp. Ori would help EuroCorp unite Europa. However, despite any boasts Ori boasted, Europa and JPN-22 understood there would always be room for special treatment.

In a corner of the room, hidden by the metal columns that were used for sanctioning quarters of the party, cushioned lounges were set aside for special performances on translucent, neon tables. Several men and a few women were relaxing. Contraptions evolving with metal gears and pipes sat loyally by or on each guest. None of the contraptions looked identical and probably all had different riveting purposes with their flaunting lights. One of the occupants was breathing through one of the tubes, adding to the incense that pulled the party together. His eyes were fluttering red, underneath Oculus Glasses.

“So much life,” Mister Hiero Ueno commented off-handedly through the smoke that fogged the repository. Tilting his head upwards in a stiff gesture that sternly embraced a stoic amusement, Mister Ueno drew in a breath, strong in generosity of the bereavement of locale. He had spoken to no one in particular, but the persons around him acknowledged the CEO’s comment, nonetheless, pausing their own chatter to make wholesome mockery of his cunningness.

“I’m glad you think so,” Mister Mak Moller smirked heartlessly behind a sharp, clear looking liquor glass. His eyes gleamed with treacherous honesty at Mister Ueno, steadily watching the target’s dispassionate arousal. A compliment was a compliment, and Mister Moller had no qualms about pulling a tooth or two for more recognition. He had no use for Mister Ueno's vagueness. It was something he liked to call cowardly, “I designed them myself.” He lowered his glass, resting it in a gloating, naive grip as he looked over at the beautiful works of machinery, provided robust movements, he had only seen a handful of actually attractive humans be able to do.

The young CEO brought his attention back to Mister Ueno and smugly rested his frame into the back of the cushioned lounge chair. Both men met each other eye-to-eye. One had a youthful ease of arrogance, while the other had a conjecture of age. Despite the differences, there was mutual acknowledgement in each other’s eyes. The future was close and each man hoped he had the upper edge. Without much more thought, Mister Moller embraced the livelihood of the party and took another lustful sip of amber intoxication. His spare hand waved over a censor on the party-provided Oculus Dreamer Glasses (OD Glasses), fitted over his short, wispy hair. The gadgets shifted its gears and moved their arms to cover the young man’s eyes and let him indulge in the virtual illusions of the now.

Mister Ueno shifted his body by motioning his arm around the escort next to him. He was more concerned about the whereabouts of Ms. Irani Remes than to truly engaging in the pleasures around him. Ms. Remes had declined the invitation to the party assumedly out of caution or her biggest downfall — her vanity. However, he was not without suspecting she has most likely made her appearance in some way or another. There was too much advertisement from EuroCorp for someone like her to resist attending.

“A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Ueno?” Penny asked charily as her body eased into his austere grip. The linen on his suit was soft but stiff -- almost like Mister Ueno himself. She had a preference for his clothes over him, though. There was a deadness in him that smelled whenever he stirred his body. Thankfully, the thickness of fumes and smoke from the party’s aesthetics clouded out his piscine scent. Penny kept her breaths steady as Mister Ueno shifted his body to give her more counterfeit attention. She felt the satin of his suit caress against her cheek and a sweet smile tried to hide itself from cherrying. It was all a lie, though

Mister Ueno’s eyes widened as they could, staring down at the young woman with features that reminded him of his homeland, JPN-22. There was something cheap about her, as if he had abandoned her some traditional values of her heritage, but her juvenile appearance and vulnerable attire made up for allurement, “You have too much prettiness for an answer to such a question,” he replied. Someone had paid her to bide his time, and although he had some trust in her, he was not about to open up to her, especially, in front of such an audience.

Penny downcast her eyes. The buzzing from her drink was more interesting than him, but what did she care? “Your compliments are most caring, Mr. Ueno,” she gently stroked in exaggeration. He smelt better when she teased him with such compliments, and with his coyness, it seemed safer to follow her nose when taking action with the man. He was, after all, a EuroCorp fat cat. His presence should have a controlling atmosphere over the people around him, and she was no exception.

“There was an awful car crash today,” he mused. Their conversation sunk from the usual beat of the party and started twisting into something parabolic. When Mister Ueno’s mood softened into this zenith state, it would remind Penny of her father when, before the move to Europa. Her eyes closed, and she brought the buzzing drink to her mouth, letting the sounds surround her, especially the ones that came from Mister Ueno.

///

The difference between creatures of the dark is whether they hide or hunt. But even hunters are not all alike. Wolves hunted in numbers to prevent escape. This was like a small, organized gang. A tiger did not care for numbers, for they had power. This was like the Blacklight and their sects, who dominated this side of the world through sheer force. And mercenaries? They were like the resourceful and fierce hawk, though some more like the poaching vultures. What would that make Tink themself, then? Hm...

The porcelain doll watched as shadowed figures around her gathered towards the depths of the district, like moths drawn to an over-exposed lure. Though she can see them, they were unable to see her.

The doll walked in a place where no living thing would dare look. Nor would they even care to look. Surrounding her was the foulness of the outer districts, building and accumulating at such an express rate that they were constantly released from large exhaust pipes all around. What was the point in looking through the trash? This black smog was so thick and massive they would drift across for miles. And she found a way to drift between them. A hunter tries to get as close to their prey as possible, to ensure their success. This is what she learned from watching the strays, who must learn to avoid the hunter to survive. Though even the most desperate and hungry would not try this method. If not for her abnormal physicality, she would've succumb to the noxious fumes by now. For hours, this has gone on. This blind walk in the swirling darkness. This was as close as she could get to people without them realizing, standing only a few dozen meters away from the ground below as she deftly traced the awnings, arches, and bridges between towering structures. And even if they were to look, they would find nothing. She was holding her breath, so to speak, focusing all of her internal power reserves into the neck-bracing device. In this manner, her functions were reduced to their absolute minimum, this combined with the frequency jamming, essentially made the android 'silent'.

Eventually all the pitch nothing would reveal a dim light. And so she would follow.

Corporate parties were something that confounded the doll. Though they lay their intentions blatantly, they only do so to hide secrets in plain sight. Why? She often wondered. Her friends would tell her about the dangers of this world. People are like moths. They seek the light. They need it. But moths covet light so much that they forget to notice the flames. This party seemed to be different though. They held it in this rusted, abandoned place of all places. What was their intention? Tink only knew what she was told. Ori was a young venture in Europa. Yet already they claimed a foothold and seized a fistful of power. Ambition is easily misunderstood as war mongering to those who do not know the cause. Especially when the same powerful fist is waved around. They also promised change. Coming this close, she could feel it in the air. A huge tide waited in the shallows. If this change meant their benefit, it would drive a human to do almost anything. But whose change would this benefit? This was her purpose here. To ensure her clients that they would not be toppled by this power. Knowledge leads to the correct answer, and thusly, leads to peace. Correct?

She hoped so.

Tink pushed out of the smog and onto a precarious walkway, like brushing through smokey curtains, as she stepped towards the rotted steel edge of the overhanging beam. She hovered like a dangling flower above the shining, booming structure before her, the frilled dress swooshing like petals in the cold breeze. The dying smoke trailed behind her for a split second as she leaned down to gaze at the blinding lights of the warehouse converted nightclub. The whole rundown structure looked like the sort of place where only the self-dignified and overly important would claim to be classy and refined.

"All this pale glamour and glee..." she said softly, "What are you hoping to hide here?"

Though despite her excitement, with a sigh, Tink folded the dusk colored dress hollows and began to settle down. She laid atop the steel beam with both legs hanging over the side. Much like how a lady would sit upon a saddled horse. It was about a hundred meter drop towards the nearest rooftop from where she was, and the creaking metal and slight swing as she did this simple movement was not exactly comforting. But the doll did not think about the fact she might fall at any second. It wouldn't hurt that much, really. But rather, she was focused on how pleasant the feeling of the wind was this high up.

She wanted to bide her time in the least boring way possible, taking in the prospect of danger with a smile. She took this time to let her imagination run wild, all the while waiting for something. Anything. A moment of disruption, for her to slip through. Tink knew she was nowhere equipped to storm a party. Let alone not even knowing what kind of arms they were bearing in the security force. So, it was best to wait for someone who will. Correct? Surely.

This sort of gathering would surely attract all sorts of beings. Not only moths. Maybe there will be some hawks and vultures who will show their faces tonight? That would cause quite the uproar.

Though she did not condone violence, she could not stand in the way of two beasts fighting one another. She could only try to prevent their harming of the innocents around. But judging by the nature of this party, seeing glimpses of the 'show' being held through one of the roofside windows - Tink wasn't entirely convinced there were any innocent here.

///

The 12th district... A place teeming with blood, lies and money. Away from prying eyes, the 12th district was above everything else, a trading hub. Everything you might want, you could find it there... That is... if you had connections.
It's status as a 'neutral' district was... somewhat respected. No one wanted to draw the attention of both the underworld and the powerful companies that often were fishing either for information or for other things that were normally difficult to find.

Anya's flat was located on the most decent side of the 12th district, where the air was actually rather breathable. From the outside, it looked exactly like the other buildings, replete with small windows, each floor having many small rooms. But on the outside, it was completely different. Anya had bought the entire floor, making it just one big room.
Distant enough from the factories so the smoke didn't reach that part of the district, but close enough to the center where most of the things happened, it was a good location on that district, which wasn't saying much... Even though it was as comfortable as it could get on the 12th district, Anya hated that district... The air, although cleaner than the 13th and the 14th districts, was incredibly stagnant and heavy, and the distant sounds of heavy machinery were always there, like a silent reminder of where they were.

---

---

Black boots with small metal rivets, long black stockings, a black mini dress with red details and a big black bow on her head, making her hair cover part of her face, covering most of the peculiar tattoo on her face gave Anya a complete gothic look. While she hated many things on that district, it was undeniable that the punk/gothic style which was so popular on the lower districts was exactly the type of clothes she liked.

"Perfect." She said to herself, looking on the mirror after painting her nails with a deep black hue and putting on her make up. A deep violet lipstick made a beautiful contrast with her white skin. Taking a moment to strap her SMG on a small holster near her garters before leaving the bathroom, she headed towards the corner of the flat, where a small iron safe where. The lock was just an old biometric lock, but the fact that most of the actual lock was located inside the chest, only showing the touchpad outside made it incredibly hard to tamper with. It wasn't an overly complex lock, but it was enough to keep things safe, especially because it was highly unlikely that anyone invaded that cheap building.

Opening the safe without any ceremony, Anya was greeted by a bunch of small, portable data banks. The same type that most people used as temporary storage for their credits before they put them on their account. Each one of them had a number written on their cases, going from mere 400$ to others that had over 2500$. Grabbing one with just 400$, she slid it on a small pocket on the front of the holster where her SMG was.

"Let's just hope it doesn't turn out to be just a waste of my time..." Anya said, with an annoyed tone as she got out, heading where the party would be.
Even though it was on the 12th district, it was on the other side of the district, and it would take some time for Anya to get there, especially due to her wanting to avoid walking through the center of the district.

While walking towards the place where the party was happening, she would notice that she definitely wasn't the only one heading there. There was an unusual flux of people wearing fancy clothes there. Some even didn't look like they lived on the 12th district...

It would take longer than expected, since she was making sure no one saw her leaving her home or even could have the remote possibility to trace her back to where she was living. Besides that, there was another thing making Anya walk carefully. Even though she was hiding the part of her face with the tattoo with her hair, she still knew it wasn't a good idea to walk around showing herself to anyone. Even though in part she wanted to be seen, even if she wanted to show the clothes she was wearing, something on the back of her mind always made her be incredibly careful. It was almost like an instinct...
Inside the party, she knew no one would pay enough attention on her to notice her face, so she wasn't that preoccupied. The real problem was not being noticed while she was going there...

---

As she got closer to the warehouse where the party was happening, she noticed that many people there weren't really living on the 12th district. Even though on the outside the warehouse certainly seemed to be the perfect place for a rave with all the neon lights and the loud music, if one paid enough attention, it would realize that there was... something more happening...

Anya's instincts started to scream on her head. Why would those of the high society come to such a place? Something strange was happening... She needed to keep her eyes and ears open... That could be something worthy investigating... While Anya was smart enough to not ignore her instincts, she was already there, and she could possibly hear or discover something interesting. The real question was if it was worth the risk...
Guards on the entrance, bouncers... That really did seem to be a party only for those invited... Anya could get some information out of that if she was able to sneak in... And she was already there, she most certainly didn't want to get back home and waste all the time she took preparing herself.

In a party such as that, certainly there were some performers, dancers and servants. The back door would be Anya's best bet to get in the party. She could pass herself as a servant. Surely there were many servants and waitresses on a party for the rich ones.
Sadly, she didn't bring her equipment. Otherwise it would be much easier to sneak in... She had only her SMG and wasn't with her equipment. As much as she hated to admit, she was incredibly vulnerable...
She would have to be incredibly cautious... What was supposed to be a night of fun, turned into a mission. Something was happening inside that warehouse, and information was an incredibly valuable thing in the world she lived in...

Using the crowd to hide her movements, she quickly searched for a vent, back door or any other thing she could use to get in the building.
Part of Anya's brain was still screaming that it was incredibly dumb to try to do an infiltration without having any information or equipment, but her intuition told her that she wouldn't have another opportunity like that.

Sinth sat in the briefing room of Outfit's headquarters to district 10. Her AI processing capabilities allowing her to divide her attention between the presentation being held for her's and a couple of other teams and the still fresh in her mind and heart loss of Trill. Many of the android and AI haters out there claimed that synthetic intelligences were incapable of genuine human emotion. That they could only emulate them. Imitate. To her mind that was the ultimate of praises. Because in the end it was within her parameters and core ideas to do well in the imitation game. Because to successfully emulate or imitate emotion, one needed to understand emotion. And to understand emotion meant one was capable of it. Because it was in the nature of emotion to be understood by emotion.

The AI blinked once, twice and directed her full processing power towards the briefing. Kranz, one of the higher level Outfit commanders was just wrapping up his overview of executed missions, objectives achieved and final results. Kranz, like Sinth herself, was among the proponents for less destructive and violent methods, and he was happy to announce that the Outfit was slowly beginning to lose the stigma of terrorists. Well, at least among the ones it was actually trying to help. The Outfit would always be terrorists in the eyes of the Corporations. Sinth didn't really care what the Corps thought. As long as the people, organic and synthetic alike, didn't believe them some violent monsters out to prove their point at whatever cost. It was hard trying to save someone who looked upon you with abject horror.

"Sinth." Kranz addressed the AI. "I have a job for your team." The Outfit commander brought the AI's attention to himself. "I'm sure you've all heard by this point about Ori's party to be held in district 12." He looked over every member of Sinth's team. "Of course there's the PR info on the event. The introduction of Ori, JPN-22’s first corporate venture into EuroCorp. But we don't care about that. We've overheard chatter that an android, serving as the main attraction at the party, would be given off to some sleezer and be made to do the gods only know what."

Kranz looked at Sinth. He knew she had a soft spot for rescuing androids and shackled AIs. "This information hasn't been confirmed. So I need you guys to get your buts to District 12 and put your ears to the ground for a couple of days. Find out what's what. Report back so we can make a plan of action. We don't want no blood bath or war zones. If there's rescuing to be had I want this done clean and neat." He gave each and every person in the room a pointed look before nodding. "Right then, carry on." He dismissed the briefing and cyborgs, androids and organics alike began filing out.

---

Sinth was hunkered down on the roof top of a run down building with direct line of sight to the locale where the Ori party was being held right this very moment. Her team was situated at various key points according to the extraction plan. Their mission, to intercept the poor android who was to be given off into practical slavery upon exiting the building with their knew 'owner'. While her eyes observed and recorded from her high vantage point any pertinent visual information, Sinth's internal processor scoured the net for any and all information that could benefit the Outfit. One message in the public chats caught her attention. It read: "𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝑬𝒗𝒂, s𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗒𝖾𝗋 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁-𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒗𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒍 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖺 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔." It took the AI negligible amount of time and processing power to decrypt the message and find out its true meaning. Hmm, this looks interesting. A data grab right during Ori's party. Coincidence? Highly unlikely. Sinth alerted Kranz to the message's location and marked it as a point of interest. In the meantime she sent a response with coordinates where further instructions would be given so that the transaction could be completed.

This way, if it proved to be an elaborate trap, Sinth could prepare accordingly. And if not, the Outfit had staked their claim on the infocash for the time being. Nothing more could be done at the moment but sit and wait. On both accounts.

Thrud

---

She knew what it means.

All the guns, all these people. There was no real connection or similarities that connects the people riding in the vehicle; there was a borg, several fancy solos, what seemed to be street punks on berserkeroids, and even one battered looking red sam, probably exiled from his order. But one thing they all had was heavy duty gears, and she along with them.

All this people, riding in a speeding panzer of a truck.

It didn't take much for anyone, even Thrud, to figure out what they were.

The Mr. Johnson this time was just a voice on her comms, offering money to assault a certain building where a party was held, with the addendum that she would be paid extra if she corpsed a target, one for every name scratched off. It was quite odd for anyone to hire her like that, especially since she was in the middle of eating while listening to the radio. Usually she'd have to ask around.

But it didn't matter, the money was what matters. The wound still on her stomach was bandaged still, but the offer was too great to even consider refusing. Obviously their targets were some very important people. And it was very obvious that they weren't actually expected to kill them, but to just simply act as a distraction while the real assassins, who most likely had already infiltrated the party, take care of those big names.

Zipping up her clothes up to her neck, she checked the 20mm rifle, and shifted the large ballistic shield. She braced for impact as the truck crashed through the front of the building, and through a few walls before stopping. The doors had been opened, and the hodgepodge of criminals, solos, and mercenaries flooded out guns blazing. Most of them were of the same mind; crash through hard and fast to the target before the pigs or security could react. One of them had already jacked open a door, signalling a some of them towards it while the rest took care of any opposition.

Thrud did not make her way towards the lift however. Whatever sort of shin bean party that's going on here, she would rather stay near their escape plan to make sure no one gets it into their head to fuck it up some how.