It was high time Jarred headed out while the sun was still shining. Jared hopped from the bar and went to fetch his effects when a helmeted girl rushed by. He would think that it was odd that she still had a helmet on if it weren't for him always having his mask on. People like to hide things. The man who walked in while she was trying to leave, however, could use a mask himself. If it was anything Jarred had learned in his life, it was to never trust a person with face tattoos. What he said was interesting enough though. A large fight in the combat zone and a hardware spider....whatever that was. Still, it seemed best to keep an eye out as he left. He finished getting his things from the bouncer and holstering everything, once finished he looked just as he did a moment ago without weapons. Just then another girl flew by him, drawing a muffled curse as it nearly made him lose his balance. "What the hell?" he said as he slowly poked his head out the bar at a near horizontal angle. He withdrew it quickly when she turned and was on her way back. After being ripped off at the scrap dealer today, Jarred sensed a business opportunity. As Nina started to walk back into the bar, his suspicion was confirmed when she asked about a quiet place to interrogate the man. So, naturally, Jarred cut in.

"Hey speedy, need a hand," he asked, waving his stun arm even though it looks like a normal prosthetic hand, "For a few bucks I can really make sure its an 'enlightening' experience." He wasn't sure she would take him on his offer, so he tried to talk it up a bit more, noting her speed in the process, "How about it? You will have results faster than you can run a 5k."

"We'll see about the spider. I would prefer not to have to confront them in their murderweb den." Tracy replied dryly. "I should have all the info I need right here...hopefully. So let's get to work." He moved around the iron bed and opened the medical station and began pulling out injectors and bottles.

"In case it was not already apparent, this...place of business gets used for just a little bit more than what it advertises. There's a particular pack of, well, nevermind what they are, who use this place for...interviews." He turned back to the bed and neatly arranged a number of fluid bottles. They were all colored an unsettling dim brown, with crusty and faded warning labels stuck to them, as though they had been pulled out of some musty stockroom somewhere.

"By which I mean they use this place to torture people for information." Tracy clarified helpfully as he turned Golemeth over and started examining the back of what remained of his chassis. "One of those juices is used to suppressed aggressive tendencies and reduce belligerence. Another is used to make concentration more...difficult. The third is used to enhance recall, mostly to offset the one that bricks concentration. All combined, it should make Golemeth more responsive to questioning and make it difficult for him to lie if I can get the dosages right. We'll have to get how much of his biomass is left for me to figure that out. I've seen them all used enough that I can administer them with...well, an acceptable degree of risk."

As he looked over Golemeth's back, one hand over his mouth in concentration, Tracy looked the calmest he had been since Theron had first seen him. His whole body was still, not listless but not taut. As he finished speaking he produced an electronic syringe he had taken from the medical station, and connected its tip to a thin running tube that he then reached out to hook into a small bioport under Golemeth's left armpit.

"Of course, we need him conscious for all of that, and we need his hardware running for me to get his mass. Help a guy out, will you?" Tracy waved at Theron to assist with his free arm - free, in the sense that its hand was not holding anything. Tracy was still, quite awkwardly, trying to continue supporting his duffel bag with that arm. He clearly did not want to have to set it down for some reason. "Get him running again."

@The Harbinger of Ferocity

Her conspiring coworkers had become demons stranded in the depths of their own personal hell, giving her the briefest sense of self-satisfaction. Was this following queasy feeling in her stomach due to the sacrificial lambs she sought and salivated over? The sickness of seeing the same stretch of skyscrapers for scenery? Or simply scorn for the scumbags shtick? She continuously took deep breaths, refusing to black out on the asphalt. The screeching of tires and horns screaming into her ears, didn’t cease her reckless charge ahead. Scarlett blazed past a red light intersection, as respecting law and safety concerns of the aimless gatherings were the last things on her already overcrowded mind. From an outsider's perspective the quivering motorcycle appeared far more fearful than the driver. Fortunately, the overall decent road conditions were a literal saving grace, but the weather was irrelevant to her. She felt the overwhelming darkness stalking her from above, the dense atmosphere was still suffocating, like Scarlett was in the eye of the storm. She was exhausted after all the on-foot travel and the several fights for her life, but it wasn’t just her body that suffered a beating tonight. Her tight grasp of the motorbike’s handles were the only thing keeping herself upright, her determination in seeking her destination somehow overcame physical limitations. A flickering flame of straw trying to navigate through a hurricane.

Doubt striking her hard like lightning, the shock of revelations coursing through every beat of her pounding heart. The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel might not even exist, and the length seemed interminable. What if her report didn’t help locate anyone associated with Lieutenant Davison, would it actually get her any closer to achieving her revenge? Why was the information on that paper put there in the first place? Perhaps, it was a message left for another group or individual? Regardless, it was nearly guaranteed that hundreds of people had greater knowledge on this subject. It was a race against the clock that was off from the very beginning, she was running a fool's errand and lagging a thousand paces. Stopping was no longer possible, like the ground behind her was collapsing into the core of the planet.

“I’m not being followed by them. He didn’t have back-up and I’m not getting chased!” She repeatedly begged in her head, as if her thoughts could bend reality. But only two of these statements were true...

The Fortress was almost straight in sight. Impulse increasing her speed while sharply turning into a trap at a breakneck pace toward a barricade of black convertibles. How? Was her health monitor chip tracked? The break wasn’t slowing her down fast enough. Skidding sideways and sparking up the street as the motorcycle careened into the car, slamming with an abrupt impact. She violently sprung from her seat, tumbling across the hood of the convertible. Her instinctive training and helmet spared her from cracking her skull into the cracks of the sidewalk, as her body laid there bruised up yet unbroken. Her moment of weakness couldn’t have been sung any clearer than the whimpering cry of pain she let out from the sudden realization that you had nowhere further to fall. Her vision was blurry and her hearing was becoming muddled by footsteps, as she felt her helmet getting yanked off. Scarlett was hardly able to move an itch in retaliation, suddenly surrounded by sounds of quick chattering, then yelling and opening car doors, the clicking of guns and rapid-fire shots ringing out into the sky. Unbeknownst to her slipping out of consciousness, the clamor soon changed into an eerie calm as her guardian angel approached. Her master stepping over the scattered dead bodies with their heads splattered broadly like paint strokes upon a canvas that made a masterpiece of art.

“Worry not my pet, my all-seeing eye is always watching you and the hand of god swiftly brought judgement down on the blasphemous souls. How could one hurt such a loyal dog? So stunning in her broken beauty. No matter — you just need some rest. I’ll wrap you safely in my arms and take you back to Heaven…”

Well, even if she found Croaks to be a funny name, at least she didn't go about pestering him for the real name behind it all. "The other guy is Ribby, but that you already knew didn't you", Croaks would try and see if Nina caught on to where the names were coming from. After all, it should have been plenty clear by this point. For the info on the other names, she was quick to point out her trade. Yes, he knew. She was an info broker. And if she ever get to know the name Miquel Borges Mão de Ferro Santos, then she would soon find out that nobody would give a flying fuck about it. He was Croaks as through as anyone cared, other than maybe Trauma Team. But that gang wouldn't show up in these parts unless some hotshot got lost and scared.

Then things began moving fast. It got into a blur that was difficult to follow faster than SynthCoke ruined your life, and that was coming from a gangster of all people. People rushing in and out, the guard handing weapons back over to the ones making their exit faster than Croaks had ever seen anyone work around these parts, Nina making her own mad dash for whatever the fuck, the strange helmeted woman making her own rounds, his pager beeping as a message reached it just as well… Yeah, Croaks just gave up. The bouncer gave him an understanding look, shrugging and shaking his head. Whatever this was, he wasn't paid enough to care. And if the future of his gang wasn't possibly hanging on this case, Croaks knew he would have made his way back to the corner table and just called it a day.

But things finally began slowing down when Nina returned now with a… "If you make a habit of lugging corpses around on your shoulder I can see how you'd hear that chip joke often", Croaks sighed exasperatedly, taking a moment to rub his eyes and wave to the guard that it was okay to let her pass. Fuck, if he wasn't already buzzed he would have needed a drink. And though he'd love to just forget this mess of a night, getting absolutely fucking hammered was not looking like a smart thing to do. He groaned half in despair, half in annoyance and slowly made his way back in proper once more. At least this was going somewhere that could actually move them forward, if compared to the earlier plan the girl had had.

He caught up to the rushing gal, who now had a gun or two pointed at her by the inner guards of the bar. "It's fine, it's fine, we just finished picking this up from the gutter. Ain't one of us, go about your business", Croaks would announce out loud to have his men stand down. Once the guns were stashed away, he'd shoot a venomous glare at Nina. "You. Really. REALLY. Need those chips", he underlined his words with the heavy pauses. It had been this close that she hadn't just ended up as Swiss cheese on the dance floor.

The question she posed was something that Croaks knew the answer to, but would need Ribby to see it through. "Yeah, we'll just need to head on over to-", he began, getting interrupted by the approaching mound of assorted survival gear. The man gave him a glare and held his hands on his sides with their palms up. On his face, as clearly as possible, read the message 'could you fucking not?'. The last few moments had made his day bad enough as it stood right now. "And you know what I can do? I can make this block of town shoot you on sight, so if you wouldn't just waltz in to conversations that clearly don't concern you, that'd be great. Now scram, before I make that a reality", Croaks finally snapped, waving his arm dismissively at the freak. And he wasn't kidding. Two more sentences and he was giving the command. Hopefully the guy had enough of a brain in that fishbowl of his to realise that.

But with that, Croaks would take a few more steps onward, glancing back at Nina to see if she was still following or if she had gotten some bright idea to play nice with the intruding individual for who the fuck knows why. The gang members who had just put away their guns were eyeing the outsider with a dangerous look about them already. They would have the weapons at the ready. Croaks knew this. But his business was with his brother for now.

Ribby understood the matter. Having shared what he'd had, the other chief arranged a side room for a bit of a talk with the unconscious individual, once they would be coming to of course. The person wasn't wholly unfamiliar, sharing something in their form of dress with the ones Ribby had spoken about if Croaks had followed correctly. But now it would be up to waiting for the guy to come back to. Croaks took a look at Nina while he prepared his gun for a possible execution if the captive would turn out all too uncooperative. "So what you want to talk about with this guy? And do you want me to play the bad guy off you?" he'd check the basics before starting.

@13org@Jollan

Nina

---

^{@Hekazu @Jollan}

---

Nina knew she was taking too many liberties inside a strange guild's hideout, especially if she decided to drag in an unconscious man without any explanation. But she also knew that she was technically Croak and Ribby's... well... guest, partner, informant... Whatever you want to call it, the important thing was that as long as she kept providing them information, they would be her 'allies'. Which proved to be extremely useful on that exact moment...
The second she barged in with the unconscious man, almost immediately, quite a few guns pointed at her. Fortunately, Croak wasn't too far behind and soon came after her.

"Hey, could you not...? It's quite obvious that he's not one of yours... If he was I wouldn't have brought him inside..." Nina replied with a smirk and a snarky tone to her voice.

"Oh, there you are Croak." Nina said, as Croak walked towards her, once again mentioning the joke about the self preservation chip.

"Oh don't be so mad! You're the boss around here, aren't you?" Nina said, rolling her eyes as Croak dismissed the rest of the guards, once more mentioning how reckless she was being.

"But you know... There is a reason why people say I'm one of the best information runner and seller around... Others are too afraid to risk themselves a little bit. Also, I was counting on you to show up to stop them." she said, winking to Croak with a mischievous expression, not hiding at all the fact that she had just used him.

"Anyways... I don't think that it was merely a coincidence... those guys coming here and the girl with the weird helmet... This guy here was after her, so he should have some interesting information for us... Well... if not for you guys, it will certainly be for me." Nina said, with a chuckle.

"But I doubt you guys wouldn't be interested in that girl... After all, she and her friends have been sniffing around your area for quite a while according to the rumors... And searching for some very specific things..." Nina concluded, looking to Croak.

But before either she or Croak could say anything more, a weird guy wearing quite a lot of survival gear interrupted them, asking if they wanted any help. Quite a weird question to make to someone who earned money by selling information... She had just put her hands on a clue and that weird guy wanted to simply waltz in and expect to be welcomed with open arms? Either he was really... ingenuous or he was taking Nina for just an airheaded, dumb girl.

Before saying anything, Nina looked over to Croak with a confused expression, silently asking if the guy was one of his men. Upon hearing his answer though, it was clear that he wasn't.

"The Combat Zones isn't exactly one of the most friendly places around... Interrupting others' conversations can be a really quick way to get yourself killed..." Nina replied to the weird, survival gear guy, eyeing him up and down.

"If you were one of Croak's men, I would have accepted your help, but I don't know you, and I don't trust you. No offense, of course. I hope you understand... We're in the combat zones and everything..." Nina said, with a penetrating stare and a serious tone, evaluating the man. Even though he did cut them in a very strange manner, the man didn't seem to have any ill will towards them. Honestly, it was more probable that he wasn't even after information, and instead just wanted to hit on Nina.

Croaks, differently from Nina, obviously had enough from all that and was already walking away. Before following him, she turned to the survival gear guy, looking at him and shrugging with an expression that clearly meant 'he is right, you know?'

After Croak talked with Ribby, they took Nina and the unconscious guy to a side room to interrogate the man. As he started preparing his gun, Croaks looked to Nina, asking her if she wanted him to play the bad guy and what she wanted to talk about with the unconscious guy.

"Well... As a starting point, he is the only clue I have about the helmet girl, her friends and what exactly she was doing here and who exactly she is. I'm pretty sure this guy has some information about her... If he doesn't... well... then the trail will go cold and I'll need to wait for another incredible coincidence such as this to get more information about her..." Nina explained.

"Hm... you're undoubtedly more intimidating than I am... It would be really helpful if you did it, thanks!" Nina said, when Croak said about playing the bad guy.

"If he doesn't cooperate... I might know some ways of being more... persuasive..." she said.

"It's not something I'm really proud of, but being a bio-cybernetic scientist, I know how the human body works... And well... I do need to 'extract' information in my line of work... Sometimes a pretty face and a smile aren't that effective. Not my favorite job, but... I can deal with it." Nina said, unintentionally letting out some information about herself

At least it wasn't paranoia clawing at the back of his mind when the company started to describe the place. Really, the hunter was not uninitiated to the Combat Zone's "delights" as this, just the pleasure of having never needed to delve into one. That made the experience all a novelty for the better, rather than just some other plunge into nightmare waters of glowing, unidentifiable cybernetic horror; all the glitter and glamour of the actual city itself and its cheesy, corporate facade really hid the monster to anyone who never went outside the walls. God forbid someone went outside the Zone even into the wasteland, but the man couldn't help but think this was still worse, undefinable mysterious fluids and all.

As requested however, with a slight, almost sick laugh under his breath, not quite sure what he was even doing now with himself at this point, the gloved hands took up the near murky fluids in their containers. One by one he handed them to the overseer of this demented little experiment, who seemed to grasp them with a remarkable steadiness they had not shown before. Whoever they were, really whatever they were was the best way to describe anything in this pit now, was an entirely different person from what they were outside. Theron went with that, accepting it as the most reasonable mindset, observing carefully every port, connector, wire, and tap that hung limply out of Golemeth.

Kneeling down, giving a sidelong glance to Tracy, the hunter stayed to the side of the mauled frame, shaking his head as his fingers worked to remove some of the wiring that had been damaged, "Fortunate for us he ain't about to go anywhere fast with no limbs and only his essentials still kicking. So once he's on, shouldn't be too trying for you. You seem to know way too much for your own good on how to make a bot talk."

The exploratory prodding found one of the taps to Golemeth's spinal chord, the wiring laced deep into the nerve fibers, probably some mishmash of flesh and optics. Didn't matter now really, as the man booted the arm of his jacket; sure it wasn't meant to do this, jump starting an unconscious cyborg, but it would be good enough. Browsing the panel, he disabled it for the moment, opened the face plate, and ported him in.

"Whatever else you need plugged in to get him running now, your go, just hand me the connectors. No assurances this thing will work right to stabilize him either, best I can do is anything physical, this just being our medium." The man remarked as after all it was a monitor and if the components were not synchronizing right in it? Who knew? Tracy, presumably, this seemed to be his forte.

Worst thing otherwise was that they couldn't get him to sync and see his vitals, not wholly knowing then how to jump him; Theron wasn't a doc after all. If it had a hole in it? Sure, that can be patched. Forcing a boot on a wired up solo back to consciousness? Good luck, he hadn't been too sure how the gangers even took his wiring down. Presumably just too much catastrophic damage from being pieced out like some old junker.

@Terminal

As a law enforcement officer, my fundamental duty is to serve mankind; to safeguard lives and property; to protect the innocent against deception. I swear to protect the weak against oppression or intimidation, the peaceful against violence and disorder; and to respect the Constitutional rights of all men to liberty, equality and justice.

I will keep my private life unsullied as an example to all; maintain courageous calm in the face of danger, scorn or ridicule; develop self-restraint; and be constantly mindful of the welfare of others. Honest in thought and deed in both my personal and official life, I will be exemplary in obeying the laws of the land and regulations of my department. Whatever I see or hear of a confidential nature or that is confided to me in my official capacity will be kept ever secret unless revelation is necessary in the performance of my duty.

I will never act officiously or permit personal feelings, prejudices, animosities or friendships to influence my decisions. With no compromise for crime and with relentless prosecution of criminals, I will enforce the law courteously, without fear or favor, malice or ill will, never employing unnecessary force or violence and never accepting gratuities.

I recognize the badge of my office as a symbol of public faith, and I accept it as a public trust to be held so long as I am true to the ethics of the police service. I will constantly strive to achieve these objectives and ideals, dedicating myself before God to my chosen profession…

Samed stared into the bottom of the plastic cup. The remains of his coffee were cold and viscous like bog peat. The memory of his graduation played back in his head. It seemed like a ludicrous braindance, a cheesy flick that you could swear was a box office hit, but really never got past the producer’s desk. He glanced out the window as a carful of freaks barreled down the street, knocking down cans and mailboxes. The sleepy-eyed waitresses hissed to themselves, turning up the crooning chromer on the radio.

He wondered where the cops went wrong when building this massive institution. The gangs ruled the streets, and they were just there to pick up the corpses, dropping by Dunkin’s on the ride home.

Was corp-sec really better than this half-assed clean up job they were doing? He tried his hand at the CBD security for a while once. Had to transfer for pulling a knife on an acknowledged perp. Slid it right through the fabric of the perp's shirt, gliding the flat of the blade along the base of his neck, and pinned him to a warped and bubbled expanse of vinyl siding on the wall of the house that the perp was trying to break into. Thought it was a pretty righteous bust. But they fired him anyway because the perp turned out to be the son of some vice-chairman of a nameless subsidiary. Oh, the weasels had an excuse: said that the dagger was not on their Weapons Protocol. Said that he had violated the SPAC, the Suspected Perpetrator Apprehension Code. Said that the perp had suffered psychological trauma. He was afraid of butter knives now; he had to spread his jelly with the back of a teaspoon.

Long fingers looping up to his wrist, he found his pulse and pressed a sensor, the biomon lazily shifting under his skin and sculpting symbols. He thumbed them over like braille. 早上五点. He had no idea if this time could be called late or early. Tuning in to the police frequency, it was a lively buzz of murders, rapes and robberies, thefts and pursuits. 321, 21, 49... Numbers rattling off like gunfire, the avenues and streets reported flaring up like symptoms of a malignant tumor.

The whole night the service cars were there, speeding through the roads, following the braided filaments as they all fed into one superhighway crazier than the Ho Chi Minh trail. He didn’t even want to get started about the Combat Zone. Last days its’ inhabitants were rowdier than ever - practically tearing themselves apart, starting a gunfight bitchin’ even by Night City’s standards. Cops on the ground were calling at first calling in birds, then they called a dozen meatwagons to pick up the cold ones. In the Morgue he knew they’d run them through the registry, celebrating as a dozen wanted criminals were deleted from the database.

Nights like these were either like birthday parties or nightmares. Fellows from the office were always happy to juke the stats, but they needed to maintain a careful balance between saying “See? We can handle it.” and then tearing their hair out in tufts when crime spilled over where it shouldn’t. Bureaucrats always want to blow problems out of proportion to get more funding whilst still looking competent enough to deserve it. Samed knew all too well that when the paper-colossus fails to walk that tight-strung rope, it falls and everyone follows.

Maybe that’s why they’re calling me in. He thought with a scowl.

Samed pulled on his coat, flinging the coffee cup in the bin and missing by an inch or two. “Sorry.” He patted the janitor bot on its’ tinplate visor and walked out onto the street.

His Loafer stood parked on the curb, a myriad of scratches and nicks on the bumper and sides for him to see. Fucking punks. He closed the door and gripped the wheel. The beat sedan peeled out along the street as he took little-known shortcuts, the car’s trackfinding processors guiding him toward the epicentre of schizoidia.

The meatwagons were lined up in a crescent, folks from the Trauma Team milling about and inspecting the mangled up stiffs strewn around like broken toys. A few weren’t even covered with blankets, just circled off and surrounded by strange dudes in black and white suits. He flashed his badge and stepped over the perimeter, joining another detective as they squatted near a fried poser.

“What’s up, Mike?” He shook the thin Laotian’s hand, bending down to take a look.

“Just admiring some good handiwork.”

His sensors zoomed in on the tattoos to try and discern their gang affiliation. It was a punched through haze of flesh and gore. He gave up quick, lest he wanted to lose his lunch.

“You’re not too thorough,” Mikey quipped, adding; “Boss wants to see you.”

"I know."

Sam grimaced, throwing a glance over in the direction of the elongated, tipi-like portable strongholds. Admins and detectives on site would sometimes bunker down in these things to keep watch over crime scenes and have shelter from outside threats and hazards. A bizzare technological result of Big Pharma’s arrival in Central China’s cancer-infested industrial towns. The genius engineer who created this thing surely didn’t expect to be sponsored by the napthalene-soaked halls of pharmaceutical deities, but the invention gradually began to be used in a wider range of spheres. Police security protocols, for example. Sam dipped his head and went on in, not knowing what to expect.



If he ever was a beat cop, Frank Magnussen sure seemed like a shriveled up corpo more than anything. The man was shorter than Samed, yet stocky and wide in the shoulders. The Chief Superintendent kept a leveled gaze, cold eyes embedded with retinal upgrades tracking the smallest movement of facial muscle. Two gorillas fitted with pitch black arachnofiber weave stood by close, though Sam wasn’t sure why Frank needed them present for this sort of meet-up.

"So, you’ve seen the mess." Sam’s analyzer picked up on the fatigue in his chief’s tone.

"Yeah. You won’t be able to hold the media at bay much longer."

"Rub some more salt on my wound, would you? I called you here for a different reason." Frank lit a synthetic Bhutanese cigar. "Management needs us to look into a serious matter. You’re relatively off-the-radar, so I figured you could get a part in this."

One of the superintendent’s goons passed him an e-file. Plugging in for neural processing, the data was brief and precise. He diverted his attention away from it. Perhaps he didn’t feel at ease reading it right there and then. Perhaps he didn’t like what he saw.

Sgt. Richard Evans Morse, assistant deputy to the NCPD Armory, was last seen leaving the workplace on Thursday 5:23 PM. Approximately half an hour later his biomon went dark.

"What’s the catch with him?"

"Man’s in hot water with the department. No one’s seen him since the the start of the inquiry over his ties with the gangs.”

“You mean he bailed after you caught him red-handed. Why wasn’t there a tail?”

“There was. That’s what we’re asking you for. Either he skipped, or someone made sure he disappeared. We need you to make sense of this.” Frank’s gaze was unnerving.

This was a surreal request that Sam had not expected. He had a half-genuine hope that this was his chance. A big case. Yet he bore no illusions about the nature of Magnussen’s occupation - he was not a man particularly vested in doing real police work.

“I’d need a team. Zimin from the Weapons Division and Mike from Homicide.”

Frank made a stern face. “If you can vouch for them. We want this thing to be solved with a hush.” He puffed on the cigar as Sam turned to leave - “Don’t fuck up.”

He grimaced, finding the slim Laotian at a small ramen stand by the corner. The latter greedily sucked in the noodles, grinning as he saw Sam approach.

“What’s he say?” Mike asked, his tired eyes still twinkling with mischief even after a night of looking at corpses.

“That you’re a big pussy. Also you’re working with me now. You and Velimir.”

“Zimin? Not that freak. What are we up to?”

“He’s a good guy, give him a break." Sam frowned, continuing in a lazy tone, "I’ll need you to carve out the visual cortex off each dead punk’s neural processor from the scene. Bring it to the docs and try and make a picture out of it. Who these guys ran with, what started off the fight. Some of them must have survived and can spill more info. We just need to find and pinch them.”

“Aight. Love this necrophiliac business.” Mike sighed, beginning to dial up the morgue. His bald head glistened with sweat, vein-like cables connecting various compartments with elaborate, Singapore-made wiring.

Man loved his cyberware, and Sam couldn’t fault him for it.

“Good for you, Mikey. Hit me up when you find something interesting.”

The Turk patted him on the shoulder, shoving his hands in his pockets and briskly walking to his Loafer. He knew a case like this would have leads. Way too many to keep track of and sufficiently investigate each one, especially if there was only a three-man team to take action. He began to drive, his lights dimmed down in order to not attract undue attention, and his visual implants helped scan the road ahead. He was lost in thought.

Karga was baffled. Just what kind of bone were they tossing him? He didn’t need more than a few brain cells to put two and two together. Whoever this sergeant was, his absence ‘coincided’ with the surge of gang-related warfare creeping ever closer to city limits. Sam wasn’t sure about the others, but he had his suspicions for years that some folks from the armory were doing business with the underbelly.

If their source was gone, it made sense why they were so panicked as of late. Worst of all, someone would try to fill the vacuum. Maybe that's why management was so scared, too. Could be that the guy was an easy to control middleman. If someone more unpredictable would replace him, things could get out of hand. Fuck, I'm beginning to sound like a conspiracy nut.

He rubbed his eyes, nearly missing his stop. He looked around. Only the dark red tint of the neon sign illuminated the street. He walked inside the gym, the only place he knew he could find Zimin.

The morning bell tolled for the souls in Night City that arrived at Heaven’s gate. Madeleine sat in her pajamas on the front bench inside the Holy Angels Church. Saturday’s sermon was starting in about fifteen minutes, as the lonely and elderly couples sauntered in to keep the Holy Ghost company. The hushed exchanging of pleasantries of fellow strangers brought hope into their hearts, as the stained-glass windows bathed the whole room in an ethereal glow. She always thought that there was a strange comforting warmth that permeated the air. Maybe because it was the closest thing to a temporal home for more than just the orphans; a sought-after shelter from the nightmares that reality lurked beyond these walls. She overheard at least one joyous laugh everyday, a roundabout reassurance that every breath wouldn’t feel like their last. Rubbing the darkness underneath her eyelids, letting sleepiness escape her wide-open lips. Coming to the sudden realization that she’d be late, hastening her footsteps across the Cathedral, supposed to meet the youth pastor and her surrogate brother figure for her lessons. The calm before the fire and the flood...

Rushing upstairs and toward her shared space, grabbing the outfit neatly folded atop the wooden chest by her mattress, laced with the irony that she set everything out to remember to change. Quickly putting on a smile along with the rest of her clothes. Delaying her speed for the sake of the young woman’s polite words while gathering everybody's bed sheets in a laundry basket.

“Slow down dear, life isn’t a race.” Getting into a typical routine of loosening her knotted long hair with a comb like her untangling shoelaces, heading into havoc halfway into the hall in a half-hearted habit to look presentable.

“Stop running boy and come here!” Softly shouted by the old burly gentleman dressed in pristine white garb chasing the bare-chested boy wearing his shirt like a cape and snickering until he tripped, falling onto his knees and hopefully having enough time to pray before having his arm grabbed and himself yanked up. The bear had been poked, its grumpy snarl was terrifying to the other children. Except for this abnormal kid whose off-kilter stare seemed perpetually perplexed by the others existing around him.

“What happened?” Madeleine asked approaching them, interrupting the building steam spewing from the bear’s ears before his top blew off. The older man released his grip, sighing and straightening out his shirt’s collar. The boy darted behind Madeleine, curiously peeking out with a sly grin.

“He was caught kissing all the sick girls when they were sleeping, all the while he refuses to dress himself properly.” He answered sternly.

“But I was trying to make them feel better. That’s what kissing does right Maddie?” The boy argued with a tone reflecting his confused innocence, not so much that it was a sincere mistake but that he had no guilty feeling of wrongdoing. His gaze shifted toward her, as she rubbed the back of her neck and looked away. It was smarter and faster just to bite the bullet, as her awkward silence spoke clearly. He folded his arms and shook his head, seeming to be moments away from throwing his arms in the air.

“Well considering that he clearly listens to you. Perhaps, you can get him to behave and doesn’t cause more trouble today.” His lecture trailed off into muttering inaudibly, as he thoughtlessly sauntered through where the closest door happened to be, it was the same story as everyone else that had been actively keeping their distance from the boy since he was brought here. She nodded in response watching him leave, as the boy playfully mimicked her movements. But both of them knew that neither of them could perform such a miracle. She turned to look into his golden-eyes and without a word spoken, the boy start putting on his shirt and looked solemnly at the ceiling.

“What’s wrong with being an animal?” He suddenly asked, sounding somber and cold enough to chill her bones. He gently grabbed her shirt and stared up at her with a frown. A clinging sympathy that she couldn’t shake, becoming her cross to bear. Madeleine accepted that she was going to be late regardless, leaned down and kissed the air by his forehead. He reacted with a soft smile, patting her hair and speaking to her in a way she had learned to tolerate. “Good girl.”

Unbeknownst to her that encounter would be her last interaction with the boy excluding his parting words. But her following days weren’t any easier…

---

Madeleine caught a glimpse of an ever-expanding arsenal locked up the first time she was escorted up to the third floor. Comprised of many confiscated firearms from the homeless sheltered here, surrendering their property willingly as they were under the churches protection. To think she quivered from the mere sight of a firearm before her training. She knew this was going to be her final lesson. Her heart and hands were still, keeping the rifle aligned with the target, finger squeezing the trigger. The earbuds muffled each following bang, her results were nearly perfect.

Bam — Bam.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The next session was personal. Was he moving slower? Was something on his mind? Who cares! The only thing that mattered was victory. Her palms sweating underneath her boxing gloves, focused and dodging her trainer’s jab by ducking below, thinking a split-second before unleashing another flurry of blows. Watching his footwork very carefully like she was trained to — he misstepped and stumbled! She lunged forward and tackled his leg, knocking him on his back. He laid there in awe, looking at an ecstatic ear to ear smile. She clenched her fists victoriously and jumped in the air.

“Yes! I did it! I finally did it!” Her high-pitched squee almost left her embarrassed, but the sweetness of winning made her jittery she like devoured too much sugar. Having the faintest smile as he stood upright, the nearby window suddenly lighting his face juxtaposed by being in the darkest place imaginable. What glared before her was fear incarnate, his distraught voice wrought with pain. She hesitated to respond or react, had she hurt him?

“It’s been an incredible experience to watch you mature. I don’t know if when I’ve ever seen someone your age have such inner and outer strength. Nor, will I ever again I suspect.” His last sentence just loud enough to be understood. She often rolled her eyes at these talks, adults spoke in such confusingly abstract ways. But it still stuck her as abnormal behavior, merely nodding along to show she was listening. He turned his back to her. “I’ve always tried to save you and others. But know that in the end, only God can be your savior.”

“A-are you okay?” She blurted out, having no other way to phrase her blunt concern. Pausing for a few seconds, but answered with a question of his own.

“Have you ever felt the devil’s presence? Heard demons digging their sharp claws just beyond your vision every night?”

“No, because the devil and demons can’t go inside the church.” She replies dismissively, shaking her head so the idea couldn’t latch onto her mind. He suddenly gripped her shoulders which made her flinch, being briefly shook, it was rougher than he’d ever been to anyone let alone her.

“That’s wrong! The devil will go anywhere to get what he wants! Don’t you dare let their flames tempt you!” His voice spiraling into anger, spitting the very fire from hell he warned about. He then left go and stood there silently. Was this some cruel joke? She instinctively slugged his arm in retaliation and ran off, never getting the chance to see the stream of tears...

Later that night when she couldn’t sleep, she decided that she wanted to apologize and crept through the dark church. Finding herself underneath the attic and hearing a loud thud. Furniture falling down? She paused and wondered if it was her imagination, before investigating and climbing up and stared in horror. It was him...now a lifeless husk as his feet dangled in the air and lightly swaying like a puppet on a string. The sight, the strong smell, as tears and saliva began leaking from her. The atmosphere was the first time she’d truly felt the devil was near. The ground shook beneath her and collapsed like reality itself, as her silent scream went unheard as the scenery began crumbling away...

Splash!

She had fallen down into an unknown dark place, the tears wouldn’t stop coming down, becoming a puddle that reached her ankles. Her reflection showing her older self, long hair covering half her face. She closed and rubbed her eyes. Opening them to be waist deep and surrounded by an endless purple sea shrouded in nearly pitch-black darkness.



An echoed voice called out from a distance, wading deeper and deeper into the depths as she attempted to follow the sound. It soothed her like the freezing waves splashing in her face, noticing a few feet ahead that a dark, shadow-like body floated up to the surface and just kept being slightly further than her hand could easily touch before suddenly finding herself underwater. Thrashing to the surface and gasp for breath, feeling the blazing heat as the water’s surface had been surrounded by walls of intense fire. Her reflection now showing her horrible burned scars covering her flesh. The fire spread all around her a hand outstretched through the blazing wall, seemingly begging her to be pulled through.

“Do you want to live?” A familiar voice asked his familiar line.

“Yes…” Madeleine grabbed the hand tightly, subsequently yanked through as red fur began spouting from her arm’s open wounds and rapidly covered each inch until utterly changing into Scarlett.

---

Scarlett opened her eyes and sat up wrapped in white covers like a cocoon, not in any pain but feeling very numb. Inside her master’s bedroom, the decor was a bizarre mix between luxury and commonplace. Able to see her master’s face through the reflection of the mirror hanging up on the westward wall, seeing those golden irises staring back. But despite being stripped down to his boxers, he still had far too many layers to peel off. She hadn’t been exposed to the naked truth, looking for the chopped onions to explain his tears. In spite of their years of imitation intimacy, it was clear that she never understood anything about his feelings, motivations or history. Interrupting the silence by abrupt speaking up, though she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that, if you want to die on me. His delayed laughter only made it sound more serious. Letting out a sigh as she laid back down when he approached the bed. “Don’t expect me to be lenient to you when breaking my rules.”

“I apologize for my failure.” She said flatly while his knees leaned against the bed, resting his hands on her stomach and smiling.

“If you weren’t on the right track, you wouldn’t have been targeted by the payroll parasites foolish enough to double cross me.” He answered gently massaging her sides beneath the sheets, catching a whiff of his last smoked cigar in his breath. “I’ve always stated finding information on Davison has always been the top priority. But it’s only made everyone more desperate and cutthroat. Truth is, the only thing I’m aware of is how far behind I am in my pursuit. I waited too long to put somebody like you that I could rely on. Now I nearly suffered the ultimate price...” She didn’t dare speak or move, merely watching him draw closer sliding his caressing hands up. He whispered something softly in her ears, sounding like a child. “You scared me.”

She sat up and kissed his lips, their relationship as twisted as their tongues. He silently sat himself beside her and wrapped his arms around her when she attempted to move away from the bed. “No, you should rest at least for another 48 hours. It will give me enough time to ensure that I’ve eliminated all who try to fracture my fortress and murder my most prized possession. I will stop at nothing to get what I want.” His sinister tone only emboldened her.

(Music)

“Neither will I.” She answered sounding submissive, but her actions had become deliberate, slipping from his grasp and laying her head onto his lap. “Allow me find Lieutenant Davision for you. There’s someone I need to track down...please help me find her— master.” She begged.

He simply stroked her head, his touch as gentle as his response. “Anything for my pet...”

---

It was obvious to her that beggars couldn’t be choosers. Tracking time was less necessary than locating her newest target with whatever information she acquired. Her body still remained unbroken and Beretta’s tightly clenched, prepared to put a certain biker gang six feet deep in the concrete jungle. As one shattered psyche strolled through ramshackle streets, nothing would stop her from getting revenge. Despite the self-insistence of programmed instinctual fearlessness, each step closer to her destination was a place her nervously beating heart feared to tread. Unleashing the chains off the beast, untying her past like anchors dragging behind her embedded in her deepest subconscious. It was too heavy to carry that weight and needed to be left behind as it was only holding her back. Ignoring the disarraying flood of various lights and the sounds of strangers and cars became background static as she passed. The air was still and the bait had been cast out, mail was somehow inconspicuously delivered to the redhead, sprinklings of information to hook her in. But Scarlett had more prepared if she wouldn’t bite…

Continually breathing in and out deeply as she was finally here. Scanning her surroundings to make sure she couldn’t sense anyone stalking her. Proceeding to take several steps forward and putting her guns back into her holsters, since nobody else was around. Lifting her gaze straight ahead with both hands pressed upon upper-chest, never had utter emptiness fulfilled such a large void what remained of her soul.

Her old street address where her boyfriend’s old apartment complex that had previous stood and burned to a crisp, learning every life inside ended except for hers. It didn’t matter if it was luck, fate, God or something far more terrifying. It was now just a vacant plot of land forgotten by the rest of the world, only having a few fallen tears to remember it by. She moved on quickly, halfway to her scheduled meeting spot...

“I hope she won’t keep me waiting long...”

"Fortunate for us he ain't about to go anywhere fast with no limbs and only his essentials still kicking. So once he's on, shouldn't be too trying for you. You seem to know way too much for your own good on how to make a bot talk."

"Not bots, really. Just...in general. Probably not much better, but those are the breaks." Tracy muttered as he drew independent measures of all three substances via the electronic syringe, which with a quick press of its tactile interface sorted and stored all three separately within. He gestured for Theron to present his arm for better viewing of the small screen on the arm of his jacket. With his arms wrapped around Theron's as the two men sat on the edge of the bed, the Hunter's GENX Olfactory boosters let him get a real good - if not necessarily welcome - read on Tracy's biochemistry.

Whoever this guy was - corporate had run his face, optical data, and voiceprint through their database and come up with absolutely nothing when Theron had consulted them via the kiosk from earlier - he was clearly a lot more than just the homeless bum slash rock-bottom dreckhead ganger aestheric he was rocking. He had been wearing the same set of clothes for the last several days by the smell of them, and Theron's boosted metabolic genetic molecular identifiers let him individually sort and process each individual scent. Unlike a hardware booster, he couldn't identify any of what he smelled unless he had sniffed something similar previously, but binding enzymes in his nasal cavity and tongue could even retain samples of what he detected so corporate could identify anything he couldn't later. Which was great, because Tracy was giving off a lot of scents that Theron had never encountered before that were throwing up all sorts of warning bells. The few he did were already telling.

First and foremost, once Theron got past the thick musk of sebum cortisone Tracy exuded like an excess of cheap cologne, he smelled ionized air, the kind of dirty, polluted heavy murk thick with tension while a thunder-storm rolled by. He also smelled like a tremendously illegal military-grade category three broad-spectrum performance enhancing drug called Xcell, motor oil, a mixture of hydrogen peroxide and isopropyl alcohol, the process-oil whiff of plastic explosives, faint traces of some kind of perfume, and...

Bunched up with all the others was something particularly iffy. He had no idea what it was, but it actually stung his nose a little at some indiscernible level, whatever it was, even though he was only smelling remnants of it in the parts per million range. If nothing else, it might have even been distinctive enough to identify a specific locale, so it would definitely be worth running by corporate when he got back to them.

Beyond that, he could smell the cheap printed plastic replica uzi Tracy had obviously concealed in his overcoat, and he could smell the oils and smears left all over its grip and trigger that belonged to a completely different person. And then there was the duffel bag. Tracy was still awkwardly hoisting the bag around with both his hands on Theron's arm as though putting the thing down still simply had not occurred to him, despite the fact that it had to weigh a decent amount from the smell of all the spare clothes in it. Possibly even heavier, in fact - the clothes in the bag were so odoriferous that Theron could not actually tell if there was anything else concealed inside.

"Ok, I'm not exactly a wizard here," Tracy grunted. "...but all biomonitor hardware is required by Federal and Corporate law to use the same handshake protocols and conversion packets. So that competing corporate profit margins don't get in the way of triage and medical interventions, yeah? And his biomonitor should have his stats..."

He wrapped his fingers and thumbs around Theron's forearm awkwardly as he used the arm-mounted panel's switches to move through the plethora of corporate-aesthetic safe-mode desktop menus, muttering breathily as he went for several minutes while navigating the unwieldy designed-for-consumer plasticrap software. Eventually, he found what he was looking for - Golemeth's CABMI (Cybernetics Adjusted Body Mass Index).

"Good enough." Tracy said hoarsely as he picked up the electronic syringe again, and manipulated the injection measurements for all three separate fluids. He then flipped open the safety-slide for the mechanism and pushed down on the plunger, the device dispensing its contents with a mechanical hiss. Putting the syringe down again, Tracy then yanked on Theron's arm again - somewhat more insistently than was strictly necessary - and spent another minute or so just eyeballing Golemeth's rapidly fluttering vitals.

"Again, good enough. At least for now. Brain-blood toxicity may become a small issue in a day or so once all that gunk finally peels away from his axons, but your bosses can worry about that when they have him on the slab in a considerably more sterile environment. Let's see what he has to say." He spent another few moments navigating panels on Theron's arm-mounted control panel, and redirected power from the biomonitor in Theron's arm to the one in what remained of Golemeth's chest, and then set both to restore functionality to the wiring responsible for running Golemeth's higher autonomic functions. Golemeth's awakening was uneventful and anticlimatic. His eyes flickered open and his slackened jaw opened and closed a few times, his tongue rolling about in his mouth as his eyes blearily traced eddies in the ceiling.

_{"Hey there, we're here to help. You took it pretty bad, but you'll be fine."} Tracy subvocalized, leaning in close to Golemeth's head. _{"We need to ask a few questions to make sure you're alright. You ok with that?"}

"...Shure..." Golemeth slurred drearily.

_{"Ok. First, can you tell me what six times two is?"}

Golemeth's eyebrows knitted together slowly. For perhaps a full ten seconds he said nothing, but finally he seemed to work through the request.

"...Twelve."

_{"That's right, good answer. Now, can you tell us how long ago your last meal was?"}

"'Round fihve." Golemeth said instantly and easily, no sign of hesitation on his face.

_{"Cool. What'd you have?"}

"Meatballs withn' on-ons 'n garc." Golemeth sputtered a little, his lips flapping as though he were blowing a raspberry, but there was no sign of hesitation or confusion on his face. "...so had 'it wit a bunna yellow hots."

_{"Yellow hots?"}

"...yhello shots."

_{"Cool. Was it a party?"}

"Naw, waz a danse wifth a grill."

_{"Cool. Was Lieutenant Davidson there?"}

"No, saw him las'...lasterday. Fur days ago." Golemeth tripped over the words, but it was remarkable how coherent his answers were considered how his eyes appeared to be drifting in different directions. Tracy leaned back away from the side of Golemeth's head, pausing to wipe a single bead of sweat that was running down the side of his face before leaning back in.

_{"Ok. Was the address 5757 Babbage Cell?"}

"'Ink so. Yeah. Am I gunna be good?"

_{"Just checking out your autonomics now, hang with us here a bit please. How do you feel?"}

Golemeth's face was briefly wracked with indecision.

"Fffffffkin picksed." He settled on. "But I also don' eel car."

_{"That's the anesthetics taking off the edge. I'd be angry too, but we're patching you up right now so try and relax. Can you do that?}

"K."

_{"Was anybody else there with Davidson?"}

"Yesh. Nobtook."

_{"Sorry, did you say Nailtooth?"}

"Yeah."

Tracy leaned back upwards again briefly, letting out a long, deep breath of relief, as though he had been holding his breath the whole conversation. Theron could already see his eyes dilating faintly as he Tracy crossed over the threshold of some unknown mental checklist. He then slowly leaned back down and went back to his questions.

_{"Did you arrive with Nailtooth?"}

"Nah."

_{"So why were you there?"} Tracy flinched visibly as the last word left his lips, as though he had only just realized his mistake at the last second. Golemeth looked visibly confused now, his lips shuddering and his nostrils flaring as he tried to both simultaneously recall a memory while also trying to puzzle out his own, unspoken, abstract motivations from the day before. He eventually pulled together an answer, but his eyes were just a shade less cloudy now as well.

"Waz buyin'...and meetin' Nailtook. 'E was thinkin' about hirin' me." He rumbled.

Tracy brought a single finger up to his own brow in frustration, possibly with himself, before continuing.

_{"...Cool. Did Nailtooth have anything with him?"}

"Yeah. Suitcase."

_{"Was it chrome, with colors near the handle?"}

"Yeah. Hainbow 'heel thing. Eel 'iddly."

_{"Why did Nailto-"} Tracy stopped himself short as he almost led Golemeth into another question that was just a hair too complicated than was strictly advisable. He took a short breath and tried again.

_{"Did Nailtooth tell Davidson anything about the case?"}

"Yesh. 'Aid to hand it goff tub some guy, Hazy."

_{"Some guy named Hazy?"}

"'Racy." Golemeth snorted. He eyes both flittered in the same direction for the first time, in Tracy's direction. Ignoring the look, Tracy continued.

_{"Did he say where to hand it off at?"}

"...'Eeptower." Golemeth said. There had been a slight pause before he had answered, and he was now staring firmly in Tracy's direction, his eyes slowly roaming across the skittish man's face as Tracy steepled his hands together just over his nose, leaving his mouth uncovered to continue speaking to Golemeth.

_{"Did Davidson say anything about it?"}

"...Ouo a cup, pug?" Golemeth practically spat his own question in response. Tracy glanced away furiously, wiping at his mouth with his steepled palms before turning back to answer.

_{"Nah, ripperdoc. Gotta stay cool friend, your wetware's gettin' hot."} Golemeth did not say anything in response, but continued to stare at Tracy.

_{"Did Davisdon say anything about the case?"} Tracy repeated.

"...ouldn't do it himshelf." Golemeth slurred. "'Aid 'ed givit to a mug to do it."

_{"Cool. Did Davidson give it to anyone?"}

"'Unno." Golemeth paused, and after a moment actually craned his neck to get a better look at Tracy before speaking again.

"You ain't a hipperock, pug." He said in a flat, unimpressed tone. Tracy glanced at Theron before standing up.

"Well, I'm done here." He announced. "This is where I get off the Davidson ride. The big boy is all yours." He looked at Theron, his expression a carefully sculpted deadpan. "Are we done? You satisfied with that?" He demanded. The hand he had on the duffel-bag's strap began a staccato tap on the faded blue fabric.

"'Ou better lemme up." Rumbled Golemeth from the bed.

---

@The Harbinger of Ferocity

Croaks pulled in air through his teeth when Nina mentioned having expected him to step in. "It's Croaks, not just a croak", he corrected the info broker as he hurried her along. "And you counting on a gang boss that you've just met today isn't… who the fuck cares, you don't", he tried to speak sense to her for the one last time, but realised its futility halfway through. She took pride in dashing head first into a bog of bad circumstances, but there was also a point in it. That was how one got the info, by poking their head, ear or eye in a place it didn't belong in. And then kept their mouth shut until there was enough incentive to go on from that piece learnt on said little journey.

With the action figure of a man left behind, Croaks wasn't exactly in the mood for talking other than what was necessary. It was confirmed that he would be playing the 'bad cop' again, as was how the deal had been with Ribby earlier. But before they could even start, they would have to wait for the interrogatee to regains consciousness. Nina had let slip a few matters about herself. That she was somewhat of a bio-chrome expert. Great. That would come in handy to be sure. Wonder how long their roles would hold up after she started poking about their captive though. Croaks leaned back in the cushioned chair, his gun pointing at the floor next to him. Until the man woke up, there was no reason to aim at 'em. Only brought in accidents. They'd happened in the past, it had been a helluva mess to clean up, and as Nina had said they needed this one to get anywhere.

But nothing was happening. Just how long was this lad going to take? "Cool birthday you are having", Croaks commented to pass the time. "Running in and out of the bar somewhere in the combat zone, almost ending up wine shopping with an armed mountain of muscle but then returning to the old place to stare at an unconscious man and preparing to make his life hell once they are done with that nap they are taking." He shrugged, not particularly minding how that sounded. "Not that I'd actually celebrated since… ever", he reminisced, glancing upward at the ceiling as he tried to remember. "You seem like the sort that would care though."

He sighed. A dull bassline penetrated the door, the structure failing to stop the beat from reaching their ears despite Ribby having remotely turned off the speakers in the little room itself. After all, it was nothing more than a private lounge. A bit more bloody than usual, being their staple for this sort of little fun, but a little private lounge nonetheless. The song shifted. "Hell, you want a drink or someth-" Croaks was about to ask from Nina, but it was precisely then that the biker moved. "Well about fucking time!" Croaks rejoiced and raised his gun to chest level.

The first piece of noise their captive made was a groan of pain. Understandable. The second was drawing in a breath through his teeth. Even more so. Croaks rapped his fingers over the body of his gun once and drew a deep breath, sighing to mark that he was going to start this conversation off. "Yeah, you are in pretty deep shit pal", he offered the piece of information free of charge to the lad. "Didn't yo mama teach you not to go stirring up shit in the turf of other people? Look see, we eat here. We drink here. We live here. If I were to come to your house and shit on your carpet, you wouldn't like it any more than we did like just what you were up to out there."

Croaks saw how the man's eyes darted for the door, and before they had even realised they had moved towards the door the weapon in the room had been levelled on the path, the bead currently comfortably around the biker's shoulder. "Hold up now. I'm not asking you to clean your turd there mate. We've already seen to that. Just tickles me pink to not know why you'd go and do such a thing, hm? You wanna tell me and my friend here, or do I gotta get dirty with ya?"

Croaks gave Nina no sign to step in, but he had more or less said everything he had to say for himself. As the biker retracted back to their original spot, Croaks slowly lowered the gun just as well. The biker guy didn't seem convinced yet. But that was hardly the case when you only offered the stick, and the carrot wasn't anywhere to be seen. He was only looking for a way out here. Just on the foot they'd want him.

@13org

Aside from initially serving his duties the hunter kept to himself, somewhere between being part of the scenery and listening in and processing the totality of all that came to be. He quietly cataloged every element of the scent that clung around Tracy like an invisible field of data being blasted into air medium; it might as well have been broadcast here at full strength given the proximity and potency of some of it. Likewise, he did the same as the conversation plodded on, Golemeth behaving cooperatively for the time being just until he was able to get through the haze of irrationality he was fogged with. After all he could have handled only so many inconsistencies in his situation for so long before he realized something was off and the amount Tracy managed to ply from him with conversational navigating.

For not being a "wizard" this guy had helped provide him much more than he needed. So much so that it was going to be quite the story recounting, especially since it was "free". The Intellitron Corp would have plenty of avenues now to extract the bits they were looking for, gaining anything from grainy images to rough record from a scan once they got their hands on the junked cyborg. It wasn't fishing for and parting out everything now, it would go quite a bit faster. More accurate too, presumably, but who knew with these things? Tracy's little science experiment was proof enough he could at least get back up and going and that he wasn't just some insane rambling scav; some sort of street chemist and technician, although not the kind with all kinds of plugs and wires dangling about hiding in some bombed out basement vault or cooking the next batch of drugs that was about to blast the mind clean off some booster who knew too much.

"Well, I'm done here. This is where I get off the Davidson ride. The big boy is all yours." Tracy's eyes shooting to Theron and his stereotypical rhythm of agitation picking back up. "Are we done? You satisfied with that?"

"If you can get him to nap, we'll be done." The man's index and thumb ran over the stubble of his upper lip, knowing for a fact that even if Golemeth were limbless and immobilized as he was right now, getting him out without attracting too much more attention would be a superhuman feat. Golemeth wasn't the type of mechanical monstrosity to go quietly, he certainly didn't before when he had holes punched through his plate and was rolling down gangers with a machine gun.

Theron chewed his lip after, offering his arm again so the process could be assessed for reversal. Tranquing the solo out was going to be a lot easier than getting him restarted again but that was what the lab was for. The only other thing prowling his mind was the disk that was missing, courtesy of another freakshow, but at this point the chimeric gunslinger wasn't interested in going for the highscore. He still needed to seal the deal on what he was contracted to do in the first place. It all made him rub his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his palate, and swallow.

It was bad enough getting to smell them both but tasting them and having it committed to memory as easily as one could think back to any other image in their brain was at times more obnoxious than it needed to be. It took some serious sifting to part it all out rather than be one dose of industrial cocktail. Wherever Tracy liked to linger, roll himself in, or god knew whatever he did as a vagabond, Theron wasn't about to forget it. And that was to say nothing about Golemeth, as now some of those places mentioned, Theron knew and knew in-person. Between the combinations of memory and active stimuli, it was almost like reliving some of them. It made a lot more sense than it should have ever regularly.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on those and it got the man to adjust his glasses and swallow.

"And if there's anything going to be wrong with him other than fragile packaging without all his metal, a warning would be nice."

@Terminal

Nina

---

^@Hekazu

---

While both Nina and Croaks patiently waited for the biker to wake up, small talk was unavoidable. She couldn't help but laugh at Croaks mention about how her birthday was going. It has been a weird day indeed, but nothing Nina wasn't somewhat accustomed. Croaks also mentioned that he didn't commemorate his birthday. In fact, not many did... other than the big figures from megacorps who didn't need to worry about hiding their past or earning money to pay their life expenses. But since Nina was... somewhere between both worlds, she liked to at least remember and do a little something for herself on her birthday.

"As weird as it sounds, I'm already accustomed with these things." Nina said, with a giggle.

"You may think of me as a weird girl and even wonder how I'm alive till now by acting the way I do. Thing is, as someone who works with information, I pretty much need to take advantage of my inoffensive look and stick my nose in many... dangerous... places. It became somewhat of a habit to use every bit of advantage I can get... That includes being a guest of two heads of a certain gang..." Nina said, laughing.

"Just don't worry too much about me. I'm not as fragile or oblivious as I look. Oh, don't worry, I'm not offended if you thought that about me. It's exactly what I'm looking for when making business." Nina finished, with a mischievous expression, putting a finger over her mouth almost as if she was telling him a secret of her trade.

Just as Croaks was about to ask if she wanted a drink, the biker woke up with a groan of pain and breathing heavily. It seemed that the woman with the helmet gave him quite a trashing before she fled. It shouldn't be too hard to make him speak, seeing the state he already was.

Nina quietly watched as Croaks gave a step into the biker's direction, rapping his fingers on his gun's body. After Croaks threatened the guy, it became quite obvious when he started to stare to the door. Before the biker could do anything though, Croaks already moved himself to block any possible escape path, once again reiterating that the biker had no options beside speaking.

After Croaks finished talking and walked back, Nina went forward to ask what she wanted to the biker, which seemed to greatly calm down the biker.

"You heard him. There's no need for anyone to get hurt, right? I only want to ask a few questions..." Nina said, with a neutral expression.

"More specifically, questions about the one who well... left you in such a sorry state... I don't think you would disagree in making her life a bit more difficult, would you?" Nina asked, with a smirk.

"What's in for me?" the biker asked, looking back and forth from Nina to Croaks.

Nina blinked a few times, looking to the biker's face and trying to understand what he said. His raspy voice made it very difficult to understand, Nina only caught the first words he said.

"What...?" Nina asked, raising her eyebrows.

"WHAT'S. IN. FOR. ME?" the man asked, speaking louder. It was understandable now, albeit barely.

"Your life... your safety... your freedom... the choice is yours. Well... even if I say so... you don't have many choices you know?" Nina said, rolling her eyes as she waited for his answer. That man really didn't know how to read the situation...

"Scarlett. Reaper. Looking for Davison. Wants revenge. Works for big organization." The biker said, snarling still with the same hostile look despite the situation he was in.

Not only his voice, but the way he spoke also made it very, very hard to understand what he was saying. It was only with a lot of effort and concentration that Nina was able to put some sense in the chopped words he said.

The woman was called Scarlett, she was a reaper and the motive she was looking for Davison was for revenge. But that wasn't much. Revenge for what? It was Davison who did something to her or she was looking for him to get to the one she wanted? Who was she working for? And who was that guy who was speaking with Scarlett on the bar? Whatever he said to her seemed to be really important to make her run off like that.

"This does not help at all..." Nina said with a long sigh, shaking her head. What luck... The man she captured was just a thug and to make things even worse, couldn't even speak properly. The information the man gave her was basically nothing. A name was useless in a place such as the combat zones... The motive could potentially be of some use if Nina was able to find Scarlett...

"Who is she working for? Who was the man talking with her inside the bar?" Nina asked, looking to the biker with a serious stare and speaking with a firm tone.

"Speak clearly this time. Trying to decipher your growling is really counter productive..." Nina said, with a thoughtful expression.

If that man really didn't knew much, she was back to the beginning. Whoever that woman was, Nina had a feeling that she was worth investigating.

But unfortunately, it seemed like Nina struck a nerve when she mentioned the biker's voice as it became clear when he spat on her face, letting out a flurry of words, almost impossible to understand.

Wiping the spit off her face with a disgusted expression, Nina looked to the man with piercing eyes. He really didn't know the situation he was in...

In the blink of an eye, Nina spun around herself in a low kick, hitting both of the man's legs, making a loud and very unpleasant snapping noise echo through the room, shattering the man's knees and making him fall to the ground, groaning in pain.

"Sorry Croaks, I don't think being the good girl will work..." she said, looking back to Croaks.

"Answer. My. Questions." Nina said, looking to the man, now really threatening him.

"And if there's anything going to be wrong with him other than fragile packaging without all his metal, a warning would be nice."

"Like I said earlier. Once that gunk I just shot him up with finally starts peeling off from his neurons, his brain blood toxicity will skyrocket and he'll probably hemorrhage to death. That will happen in around a day, maybe. Probably a little less. Just get him to your people so they can put him on a slab, I'm sure they can do something for him." Tracy's entire body seemed to be distractedly shifting continually in the direction of the door, his eyes sliding across every surface of the room as he glanced around nervously.

"Wuh?" Golemeth managed.

"As for getting him to nap, just yank your coat's biomonitor feed. Once its source disconnects all of his autonomics will lose power again."

"Wuuuuugh?" Golemeth attempted, his eyes growing as wide as dinnerplates. From the way what remained of his neck muscles were shifting he was furiously struggling to move pieces of him that were no longer there.

"Now forgive me for saying I hope we never see each other again. If we do though, maybe we can try this again. The uh, helping each other thing, not the interrogating cyborgs in a sex dungeon thing. Bye." He turned and booked it out the room's door, the plastic-paneled door rocking against the opposite wall as it slammed open before starting to close again.

As Tracy was about to breeze by reception, the man in the wifebeater rapped on the glass divider to get his attention. Tracy stopped, clenched his fists, grit his teeth, and slowly turned his head to look at the man.

"What?!?"

"They might not have known something was wrong before." The receptionist said with a thin smile. "But they definitely do now."

"Do you even know who they is?" Tracy snapped back. The receptionist's eyes flicked down and to the left at the monitor on his side of the wall briefly in response.

"Yeah that's what I thought. Stick to your little niche and don't be such a smartass, you'll live longer." Tracy muttered as he hurried out the front door.

The brief exchange had been more valuable than the receptionist could have known. Tracy had been operating on the assumption the Phantasmagoria had already been en-route, but now it seemed more likely than not they had not been made aware of how Davidson's disappearance had fucked up their arrangement with him. Which meant Tracy might - might - have an extra day or two before the end of his world.

The next course of action was pretty clear. He had to head to Deeptower ASAP and try to start eliminating possibilities in the great chain of things that could have gone wrong. Maybe Davidson had never handed the case off to his proxy. Maybe he handed it off to the proxy but something happened to them. Maybe the proxy got the case and went to Deeptower but never checked in. All Tracy knew was that something tied to Davidson's appearance had prevented Tracy from being informed he had to go to Deeptower to pick up the case. But now he knew. In the best scenario, the proxy was still there with the briefcase wondering where the hell his contact was. Tracy doubted the reality of the situation was going to be that tidy, but assuming he managed to get in and out alive, hopefully he could at least pinpoint at what step things had gone wrong.

Even the small, simplistic chain of getting 'in' and 'out' of Deeptower alive was laughable on its own of course, and figuring out anything once he was inside was going to require a miracle. Deeptower had been architecturally inspired by the Kowloon Walled City, with the planners having more or less said: 'You know what would be great? This, but with a whole lot more verticality.' It was a hollow-interior tower nearly forty-stories in height above-ground and with nearly forty subterranean basement levels. It was made up as one massive empty shaft, with residential 'suites' built directly into the walls all the way up and down, all of them connected only by a tenuous network of rickety metal walkways and, nominally, by a pair of elevators that had likely never worked even when they had first been installed. The tower was rated for a presumed residential population of around two-thousand, assuming two people for each of the individual units on each floor of the building. In reality, Deeptower was presently home to well over ten-thousand people, if not more. Many of the individual residential units, already barely the size of broom-cupboards, had been converted into makeshift brothels, drug dens, ripperdoc sheds, and more. A thriving grey-and-black market industry flourished within Deeptower's internal shaft, with an entire working population being able to live their whole lives without setting foot outside or seeing the sun. And that was all without even touching upon the innumerable illegal tunnel networks below-ground that the residents had been carving out since forever. Even SWAT teams would not set foot in the place, and Corporate Security and Paramilitary firms rated the building as a 'Sextuple Hazard Pay Risk' area.

The entire place was a deathtrap and catastrophic public catastrophe waiting to happen. People in the surrounding neighborhoods took bets on when, exactly, the tower would collapse in on itself. It had already survived more than four historical fires that swept through every floor, and every layer of its structure had been punched through and riddled with unstable modifications by its residents. And Tracy was going to have to dive in, on his own, to look for a lead that may not even exist.

He hesitated. He had already poked around Babbage Cell earlier and had not found any trace of the case. That did not necessarily mean it was not there though. Davidson had a lot of high-security safes and storage units in there that Tracy had not been able to look in, conceivably it was just as likely the case was in one of them as opposed to the sprawling hell that was Deeptower. There was the small issue that those storage units possessed ultraviolet security ratings and that Tracy stood zero chance of getting inside them on his own of course, and time was a factor here. For a moment Tracy simply stood on the curb of the street, teetering at its edge as though he were standing atop a precipice in indecision of whether to fling himself off or not.

What he really needed right this second was more to go on. Another hint. Then it occurred to him.

Nailtooth was still in town. Alone. Without his crew. Probably without much in the way of backup. If Tracy could jump him, catch him by surprise...If he could even find him, of course. He could be anywhere in Night City, and Tracy had no decent means of tracking him down that would not also lead to him getting reduced to a black scorch-mark on the ground. Except...

He eyed the duffel-bag as inspiration struck. He had a time and place. He had something that had belonged to Nailtooth. What he needed was somebody who had top-shelf olfactory augs. He could hire them with a bluff, then have them track Nailtooth's location all the way from Babbage Cell to, hopefully, wherever he currently shacked up. The tricky part about that would just be finding somebody like that on such short notice.

Thus, Tracy began obliviously walking away from the parlor where he had just been working with Theron - who had the exact set of augs Tracy needed right that second.

As quick as he had come, the stranger was off like a shot with little more than another notice. Theron, in the meantime, took his own time in departing if only because two men leaving very suddenly right after one another was more than a bit suspicious. They might have came together, living scrapheap in tow, but the delay was more important at this point. After all for someone who wasn't directly linked to Davidson, this wasn't nearly as personal as it was for his brief cohort, who he still knew little actual about.

Theron shot a glance down to Golemeth, "Sorry friend, you need your rest."

The body before him seized briefly in what was bottled rage as the standing figure's fingers plied the plugs from the ports. The entire system deadlined in connection while the cyborg shuddered and soon went to the uncomfortably glazed stare someone with not enough processing power had. Theron couldn't stand the awkwardness of it and flicked the other's eyes shut with his fingers before bothering to close up the wrist mounted display, reattaching his own vitals. Unlike his mechanical counterpart, Theron wasn't lit up with glowing bits or shiny metal, and the bracelet that monitored his life was a wholly external thing... with a few more features that he knew existed earlier. Apparently it was pretty much a more useful little trinket than he thought and that amused him.

It was always a question of his why anyone would wedge so much cyber into themselves to well, end up a drooling mess like Golemeth if it went bad. People like Tracy confirmed that further, someone with as much knowledge as that and how to exploit vulnerabilities in hardware and software alike? It made him shudder as he tucked each piece back together and replaced the plate. On cue, the system was back to ready to read and with hard reset now to soft reset, it was as good as new. Theron tinkered with it a bit until he got the soft blue fringe ambient glow back to his coat, bits of the lighting not wanting to cooperate after being sheered off in the earlier shootout and panic of a rolling street battle.

That would be comped, anything lost or broken in the field generally was, assuming it was made worth it. And this all? This seemed pretty well worth it, but hey, who knew, right? So what came next, after straightening himself out fully in the mirror, be that brushing those last bits of pulverized concrete out of his hair or wiping down the shades, was getting Golemeth out. He removed the last bits of what was hanging loose, other than the wiring and harness that was a spiderweb of tangles, to hell with figuring those out, he'd let some tech junkie figure them out again, and crouched to shift the weight of his capture back on to a shoulder.

It all went so well that the impending bad news was nagging Theron at any moment as he hauled off with surprising subtlety down the stairwell and off out to the street. One arm slung over Golemeth, the man peered left and he peered right. It was as empty as expected to be and he wasted no time getting that terminal up and at'em with a few quick jabs on the brutalized board. Pecking away at the keys with the free hand, he paused now and then to shoot a glance here and there until he finished sending the signal.

Unsurprisingly the girl was someone you could just comfortably chew the fat with. It was one of the parts of being an info broker, being able to keep your clients and that meant making a positive impression on them. His remark was met with a laugh that he would like to chalk as genuine, but if money would have been at stake he would have gone for it being there for the sake of politeness thanks to the point he'd just gone over. Apparently she was used to stuff like that. "Well I should consider celebrating my birthdays then. If only I had the faintest idea when they are. If interesting stuff like this takes place often, I* wouldn't want to miss it all", he quipped, rubbing the underside of his nose with his knuckles.

Oddly enough, what followed was an explanation for why she acted like she was begging for a hail of bullets on herself. Apparently it was a trade secret or something like that, having to take the chances when possible. Croaks pushed air through his nose and gave a laugh at the whole shebang, catching the eyes of his accomplice for a brief second. "Yeah, but being a guest and taking your advantages don't include shaving off a whole grand total of nothing just for the opportunity to get shot if any gangster happens to have an itchy trigger finger. Look, if you are an info broker you can't be as innocent as you look. No matter what you look like. You ain't the first we run business with, and you wouldn't be the first that sold our info if you did. But that doesn't mean you can just rush into a bar full of armed people on who the fuck knows what drugs and pray their boss bails your ass out. It ain't gonna work out some time and you'll be sorry." He felt like a big brother or something saying all that. Not necessarily a good thing, considering she wasn't all that bad looking a chick. He sighed, letting the matter lay aside for now.

When it had finally turned out the guy they had caught wasn't braindead after all, Croaks had felt hope rise in his chest. Yet as soon as the biker had opened his lousy mouth, it had all collapsed onto an even lower level than before. Count the missteps: Thinking they have something to bargain with. Giving incomplete information. Being goddamn annoying to trying to make any sense out of. And as soon as that was pointed out, go on a fucking bender about who the fuck even knows at this point. And he physically inconvenienced his captors. But before he had put the gun singing, Nina had put her leg swinging. Double crack, kneecaps gone. Nice.

Though he approved of the return gesture, Croaks shook his head as he rose to his feet, speaking in a low volume possibly audible over the screams of bloody murder and agony coming from the near useless captive. "Hey, all you would have had to do was ask", he pointed out as he levelled his gun towards the broken knees and put a bullet through each for good measure, the shots of the weapon ringing way too loudly in the enclosed space. Though it was nothing Croaks wouldn't be used to by now. He didn't need to hear to get the next part out of his mouth, slamming the bottom of his foot on the hurting man's chest just to drive a point home and levelling his gun to point on the right side of the man's chest. His right, to be precise.

"ALL RIGHT FUCKO IN CASE I WASN'T CLEAR THIS STILL ISN'T YOUR GODDAMN WATER CLOSET!" he opened up with a strong statement and took his finger out from the trigger guard for just a second to remind the man that the other man with a gun, working legs and twice the muscle^{[citation needed]} had all this and wasn't afraid to put them into use. "SO UNLESS YOU ARE GOING TO START SINGING RIGHT ABOUT FUCKING NOW, LOUD AND CLEAR, YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BE SITTING IN THAT CHAIR FOR A MINUTE LONGER!"

The man wasn't still containing his screaming, so Croaks flicked his gun upwards and took a shot at the reinforced wall next to the man's head. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear what it was that you said. You about to talk or scream a bit more, huh!?" he required, now finally getting through to the snivelling oaf.

"Fortress! That's what she works for, Scarlett!" the man yelled over the ringing in their own ears, but what was that if not just names. And as far as names came in Night City, you might as well have given a password without a username associated with it.

Croaks wasn't fooled. This was worth fucking nothing, and he wasn't afraid to let the man know it. "That ain't worth shit and you know it! You aren't just not housebroken, but also take us for drooling imbeciles, huh!?" he yelled out, giving the man exactly one second to defend himself. Thankfully he actually made some use out of it.

"She's a sneaky bastard, and good at fighting okay? Dog like to her boss too, not allowed to drive anything, you get?" Well, it was something Croaks had to admit. But that wouldn't lead them anywhere. The 'was that all' look he gave the man apparently more fuel, and he soon continued: "I- I know where you can find her! I'll show you! Just…" he tried before ending up cut off by Croaks.

"No need lad. You ain't going far with those legs aaaaany time soon. Where are we going?" the bigger gangster asked. Two seconds passed. The gun in Croaks's hands cracked again, a bullet splatting clean through the captive's lung, causing another screaming fit. "Well this guy doesn't know shit… cover yo ears", Croaks lamented, taking aim again. One through the stomach. Two on the other side of his ribcage. And one through the cranium. "Wouldn't wanna be the guy to clean that up", he commented at the resulting mess, unable to hear himself over his ringing ears. But soon they began settling again. Good thing with these police force guns, partial suppression came built in. No idea why, but it was awfully convenient.

He sighed, snapping the safety back on and taking a look at Nina. "We got a bit carried away there huh? Want a drink now? Ain't got much leads to follow with this shitpickle knowing fucking nothing", he complained, turning for the door behind them and looking outside for a second. A couple gang members were already on their way with cleaning supplies, not looking all too happy about it.

@13org

Was there anything sadder than a stray without a home? Perhaps feeling a strong connection to a curled up animal wearing its worn collar, lying dead in an indoor parking lot. Pathetic to ideally consider that they’ve finally escaped this dark, cold space to sleep in a brighter and warmer shelter separating their poor soul from life’s storm. Moving forward with sluggish sauntering steps like what the cat dragged in — well — more accurately drugged in excessive amounts of pain medication meant to last longer than the paint chipping off the many abandoned cars stored here, hollow vessels crafted by somebody else’s hands to look aesthetically pleasing and used as tools to transport whatever they desire. Finding a strange solace in her isolation while pacing in a place forgotten and lost between the numerous cracks in the concrete. Bought and supposedly maintained by a subsidiary company of The Fortress years prior to obscure involvement, designated for meetings of this specific nature, not that Scarlett knew about their existence.

Her time was draining like every coin inside a gambler’s wallet, a commodity she had little of and couldn’t be reclaimed. But just like a fool and their money being soon departed, the slimmest chance of a promised success kept her mind trapped like the helmet covering her head assured that it was for her own well-being above the rest. Telling herself to remain calm and that the Runner received the message as planned and should be expected to be arrive shortly, but Scarlett's patience was probably left in her other holster. Casually counting the bullets in her Beretta’s clip to allow her to kill a few moments, instructed that her health monitoring chip was currently sending false information to lure the opposition tracking her out, meaning going AWOL and relying solely on her own wit. Bestial growls emitted from the pit of her stomach interrupting the bleakness, if only she’d brought lunch to satisfy her cravings...

Approaching the emergency exit toward rooftop staircase, sniffing the suffocating scent of oil thick enough to burn her nostrils as if it was dripping from the ceiling. Her arms swayed in motion like a pendulum, staying quiet if only to prevent the paranoia from echoing back as she exhaled to release the building tension from her lungs. However, the fact remained that she had no other outlook from her limited perspective. Deciding as her side pushed against the handle to peer out, sharp eyes immediately noticing the roof's cameras although they appeared inactive. She darted behind the door and clutched her racing chest.

“That’s what I needed. The additional concern others watching me...” Swallowing the lump in her throat and choked down determination to begin ascending higher, sparing one second thought on the third step before calmly climbing to the top, impossibly far from reaching the clouds. The chilling air caressing her face like the devil’s fingertips, stripped of her helmet, allowing the breeze through her fur. Cascaded with artificial light of the surrounding buildings highlighting the secluded rooftop from the blood and bullet drenched city that she desired so desperately to be cleansed in fire, instead of the heavens shedding their salty crocodile tears. Stepping near the ledge to view the streets below, guarded by a tall chain-link fence reminding her of a prison cell. Because this landscape wasn’t a display of this city’s beauty, but a constant reminder it’s pretentious wickedness. And trust me, she’s as sick of hearing her inner thoughts repeating as anyone else...

“You wanted my attention. Well you’ve all got what's coming to you...” Her bitter words spoke aloud to nobody, but it was effectively the final outward call refusing to be lied to and those that crossed her and lead her by a leash, would eat lead...

---

Meanwhile a mere half mile away, an assembly of armored security vehicles paraded across the Northside unprovoked, distancing themselves from their intended target. A scowling man suited up appropriately for someone ready for war, or maybe equipped to excuse fighting those who might mock his fluffy eyebrows and recently acquired eye-patch. Sitting in the driver’s seat with several muscle-bound thugs, chatting amongst themselves as they chuckle and clean their weaponry.

“Hey. Why aren’t we following the monitor?” The guy hunched over in the passenger side questioned while scarfing down tacos, his breath reeked of questionable meatiness, licking the grease from his fingers.

“Briefly turning offline and dramatically shifting location? It’s a tell...admittedly blatant if it's supposed to be a trap. Regardless, I’m picking my battles wisely. The Fortress is far too enigmatic for an small scale militia to easily eradicate. Scarlett is who I want, I won’t be satisfied until she becomes a pelt on my bathroom floor.” As they continued driving through the night, gripping the steering wheel like he wanted to strangle it.

“Yeah I get that.” The guy uttered, scratching his crotch carefree, muttering as his shoulder leaned on the door. “You never stop mentioning—” He stopped to unsubtly clear his throat to change the subject. “Don’t you think we’re also acting reckless hiding in plain sight with so much stolen police equipment? All to bring down a Reaper?”

“We’re not just after Scarlett.” He quickly corrected with a raised combative tone, biting his lower lip and changing to scheming calculation, “Davison is still everyone’s most important target. Yet, strangely no corporation or criminal organization has found him. At least according to the information we can find. So assuming he’s alive and hidden somewhere in the confounds of this city. Knowing he couldn’t be hidden this long absent help, could you hazard a guess who has immense resources and protection from surveillance and outside threats...with a non-profit motivation who also wouldn’t betray‘em in a heartbeat?”

The guy scoffed grabbing his last taco and rolled his eyes at the absurdity as he crammed it in. “Sounds like you’re talking about a gaggle of preachy religious yuppies…” He nearly spat everything out, fist covering his cough, looking grimly as the rest of the thugs growing eerily silent. “You ain’t suggesting that—”

The man smirked. “That we kill two birds with one stone? Precisely. We’ll storm the church and allow the brainless masses to meet their god. By splattering their innards across the stained glass of the cathedral. Eye for an eye, Scarlett.” He growled through clenched teeth. The hardened criminals had fear swept over their bones, unbeknownst to residents of Night City. The battle between beast and monster would soon arrive on Heaven's doorstep...

Nina

---

^@Hekazu

---

Nina could only chuckle as she heard Croaks talking that if he knew birthdays were so exciting, he would never have missed one, laughing as he heard her words.

"Oh, believe-me, I do seem to have a weird luck... My birthdays never go the way I planned...Something weird always happen..." she said, laughing.

Croaks was, surprisingly, a pretty good guy. Sure, he was one of the big boys of that gang, but he still was a guy with his head on his shoulders. Pretty amicable too. Nina didn't know exactly why, but he seemed to be... worried about her and her strategies to get information? He had commented a few times about her recklessness and was currently in the middle of a long lecture about taking risks & etc.
Nina couldn't help but laugh as she quietly listened to him. No matter how she looked at it, he looked more like a big brother or a paternal figure than a gangster at that moment.

"Okay, dad, I will behave, I promise..." Nina said, rolling her eyes as she listened to Croaks' lecture, laughing once more. She knew she took risks with Croaks and that gang, but they were calculated risks... For the most time... Sometimes...

"You make a surprisingly good paternal figure, did you know that?" she said, teasing him as she laughed.

In the blink of an eye though, he was looking much more like a gang member than before as he walked towards the biker, wanting to ask him some questions and soften up him a little to see if he would let something out. Nina could only sit down and appreciate the show he was putting. The biker was already terrified after having his two kneecaps busted after her kick and now when Croaks went nearby him, it looked almost like the man was about to piss himself.

Fortunately, the biker had more information to share. Even if it wasn't all that useful, it was still something.
According to his words, that 'Scarlett' worked to an organization called 'Fortress', experienced in stealth and a good fighter. Interestingly enough, she seemed to be treated pretty poorly by her boss too, 'dog like' by the biker's own words. But despite Croaks pressuring the man even more, when Nina heard he saying he could show them where to find her, she knew he didn't know anything more... That was a very old trick. Anyone who was used in dealing with information and interrogating others, knew best to lose their time and risk their safety letting a prisoner 'show them where to find X person'...

As soon as Croaks said for her to cover her ears, Nina did so, already knowing what was about to come. It wasn't clean neither quick, as Croaks didn't outright killed him, instead shooting him a few times in the chest, ribs, stomach and at last on his head. Definitely it wasn't the way Nina would do it, but it was already done, there was no use complaining now.

Looking at the mess that was the biker's corpse, Nina made a disgusted face after Croaks said he wouldn't like to be the one to clean that.
"Me neither... You made quite a mess, huh?" She asked, looking to him curiously. She still didn't know why he didn't simply shoot the man's head. It would be cleaner and quicker.

After that was done though, Croaks turned to her, asking if she wanted to go for a drink. After all, the information they got was very vague. It could still be useful, Nina had no doubts about that, especially the part about Scarlett being treated like a dog, but it would take some work and a good deal of luck.

"Sure. Some wine? Whiskey maybe? I wanted to go drink something a bit more fancy. It's my birthday after all..." she said, rolling her eyes on the last words. Really nice birthday she was having so far...

Sam wanted to get away from the cold, pawing his way through the plastic folds of the entrance. The building was once a meat warehouse, repurposed to be an underground gym for all the freakos on the street who sought to make dry fruit out of other dumbasses like them.

Coincidently, that's where Corporal Velimir Zimin liked to spend most of his time. As a child, the fellow was an unfortunate victim of a video-streaming service's playlist algorithms. Once left alone in his crib to watch 3D cartoons, they gradually switched to the animation of Hitler juggling plastic phalluses.

At least, that's what Sam presumed happened to him - because he should have been, by all standards, been considered clinically insane, which made him just the right fit for the job. They were old pals in the Psychosquad. You had to have something fucked up in your head if you wanted to make a living hunting coked-up cyborg cunts prowling NC. Now Sam knew he was doing his thing in the Weapons Division, a quiet and insignificant place for a man like Zimin. That ought to change.

He looked the hall over, unknown men viciously beating their fists and feet into each other's bodies, some hulking and heavy, some slight and speedy. It was no matter, he could recognize Velimir's own style anywhere. He took a sidestep to avoid a right hook, only to bring about his own clenched hand in a murderous arc that left the opponent reeling. Sam quietly approached from the back as the Slav turned about, throwing him a wet rag. He caught it with razor-sharp reflexes, his sensors instantly recognizing him.

"Hello." Zimin nodded, wiping his split brow and shaking Sam's hand with a steel grip.

"Still planning on staying in this hole, Vel? I've got a real punching bag sitting in the precinct for you. And maybe a dozen more if you're up for the job." He didn't want to beat around the bush. They were colleagues, not friends, he thought. It's not right to keep a man waiting whilst sweetening him up, Vel knew he wasn't more than just muscle, but he liked to stay that way.

"What job, Turk? You can't make a man talk without my help? I'm all tied down." Zimin playfully smacked Sam's cheek, going to pull on his shirt, wrapping a velvet scarf around his neck.

"Word's on the street-" He began, though one look at Velimir's face was enough to stop him in his tracks. The boxer knew well enough just what kind of nonsense was going down. Nevertheless, Sam cut to the chase. "I convinced management to distract you from all that bullshit in your division. We're on a special kind of case here, so I'm hoping you can lay down some firepower when needed.
You coming?"

Vel rode shotgun in Karga's old Loafer, quietly rolling himself a cigarette as Sam fiddled with the buttons on his display. Eventually, the crackling voice of Laotian Mike materialized, reverberating off the car interior.

"Hey Vel." He greeted him sourly, quickly getting on with what he found - "About the salvaged footage of the fight, there's nothing concrete, but these guys were from different gangs, teamed up or something. That's why we had so much trouble figuring out initially. Funny enough, from what I understand, they were after just one or two people. One of our ripperdocs tipped us off about one of the posers from the fight earlier, he came into his office decked out with some good shit he scavenged from the corpses. Well, we caught him hot, now he's sitting in the freezer. You want to come in and ask him some questions?"

"For sure." Samed grumbled anxiously, thumbing over the connected infopod and manually setting a route through the absurd maze of alleyways and tunnels. Fifty by fifty, he sometimes liked to break the cycle and stop trusting the trackfinding algorithms inside his smartcar software.

Velimir lit up the synthetic cig, pale smoke spilling out of his mouth, almost obnoxiously. Rolling down the window, Sam flapped at the air for a second, gritting his teeth and tolerating the man's behavior for now. They were almost there anyway.

Flashing badges at one of the side-entrances, their steps echoed in the long, winding corridors - the blinding light irritating the two detectives - they were more used to the dark, and their visual implants only seemed to worsen the effect that the dangling lightbulbs overhead had on their eyes.

Sam rubbed at his temple for a moment, finding a wire connecting to the dim-lite cyberbloc and turning it off. They could see Laotian Mike ahead, the grin on that bald fuck almost serving as a catalyst to all that pent-up anger they were about to let loose on the poor poser in the room.

The slim man clapped Sam on the shoulder, tactfully avoiding contact with Zimin - "He's all yours," He said, though one look at Vel's face was enough to have him let off one more detail: "Don't go all gung-ho on him. There's a pair of eyes on the other side of that mirror, Turk. Some young guy pulled in from another division, to act as oversight or something." Mikey quickly adjusted his tie and disappeared in the dazzling light of the corridors. Sam and Velimir shared a brief glance. The boxer stepped into the room first.

Taking a look around, Velimir didn't like the arrangement of the room already. Seated before him, the tattooed ganger looked like he was about to be interviewing him for a job. No, that won't do. The cop shook his head to himself, bringing up his foot and kicking the perp's chair, together with his lithe, bare frame, toward the corner.

"The fuck?" The poser growled, trying to surge up - his twisted, metallic mess of an arm confined to the chair awkwardly, cuffs grinding on the material noisily. "You pigs can't do shit like t-" He almost began, but he was cut off by a rough hand pressing up hard against his cheek, pushing his face against the wall. "Ok." He smiled a tad as the ganger tried to bite against his fingers, only to feel hard titanium fiber digits caressing his gums.

"Well, that was stupid of you, wasn't it?" He laughed now, letting go now as he was satisfied with the interior of the interrogation room. The suspect always had to feel small and backed into the corner. It was step one to getting good intel out of a punk. Pride and ego down approach.

"Fuck, man.. That was a bitch move." The fellow spit some blood into a plastic cup, just seconds before Vel deprived him of it, throwing it into a bin at the other side of the room. He was set on the path of total, relentless antagonization.

"You can call it whatever you want, my friend, but it doesn't take away from the fact that you're looking at a super-max facility in an offworld colony." The cop's words stung hard, dripping with venom.

"I told the guy before you. I don't know shit."

"I guess you didn't know that's where one of your slugs landed, huh?" He shoved a picture in his face. A gruesome close-up of one of the bodies.

The ganger bit on his lip, averting his eyes. He would've fidgeted his hands, if they weren't robotic appendages. "How you gonna prove it?" He hissed.

"I can read you like an open book, you dumbass. This is the easiest case I've done in my ten years of field work. It's fucking there." The corporal lit a cigarette, throwing another photo onto the table. "The guy's from a different gang, you were feuding - motives are clear as day."

"Hold up, god damn..." The perp grimaced, cold sweat dripping down his calibrators. "I didn't kill no one from that gang, we weren't-" He stopped himself short of letting on more info, only to groan out in pain as the corporal stomped the cigarette into his circuits, frying the neural connection controlling his cybernetic hand.

"Go on. You weren't what?"

"We weren't after them gangs that night, nah.." He breathed hard, his hand dripping motor oil onto the floor.

"Okay, that's better." Velimir offered him the crumpled up, still lit cigarette. The captive sucked in the smoke greedily, letting the butt fall to the floor. The detective waited for a moment before showing him a picture of Golemeth's heavyset frame contrasting against the gunfire.

"You were after this guy, right? We have enough evidence here to put you away for good, so you better start sucking up."

The ganger stared up in disbelief at him, blinking for a second as an expression of utter helplessness began to set in. "Yeah."

"... you gonna tell me his name?"

"Golem or whatever the fuck. Lit up a whole crew downtown."

"And you snatched those sweet implants outta him?" Vel leaned against the wall, crossing his hands. The suspect nodded.

"How'd you manage to do that, exactly?"

"I didn't do shit, man. It's that spider. Came out of nowhere and popped the guy's links. Dropped him like a sack of potatoes. I was just lucky, standing nearby. Swear to god, man, I didn't do shit."

Sam quietly slipped into the adjoining room, looking through the glass at the rough treatment of the gangbanger briefly, turning to acknowledge the younger detective standing at his side.

He saw him a few times here and there, but never really got the time to speak or introduce himself to him. Perhaps it was because the man seemed so... unremarkable. It was a laudable quality to have as an investigator, but it never helped in cross-department dynamics.

Certainly Velimir or Mike were more recognizable, like poster boys of their respective divisions. This Kraber guy made him a bit uneasy, almost at a molecular level. Still, they had to interact. It was Magnussen's decision to pull him into the case, something that Samed couldn't be happy for, but it was better to establish some contact instead of going in blind and trying to pull the blanket away from each other. At least that's what the Turk reasoned.

He offered the man a handshake. "You must be Kraber?" He gave a low murmur, absent-mindedly watching the interrogation - "Heard you're working with us now."

Interrogations were dull to behold. Not that Kraber ever had an issue with sitting behind a glass panel, but it did leave one with remarkably little to do. The reel onto which the audio was being recorded onto scrolled around in the background, and he tried to sip his coffee from a slightly cracked mug as quietly as possible, every now and again fidgeting or shifting about in his chair. He felt uncomfortable. He looked uncomfortable. Hell, he was uncomfortable. His tie wasn't fitting against his neck correctly, his eyes were dried out and tired, and his muscles ached like he had actually been using them.

He was pretty sure he was sick, but he had already had two weeks off, so what could you do. Stifling a yawn, he took another sip of his coffee- his third one in as many hours. With the other officer leaving the room, he straightened up, switching off the recording software so that they could have a conversation in peace.

A hand was offered, and a hand was taken. Sam was an interesting figure, he had to admit, but he hadn't taken much time to learn his character. After all, this investigation had been what he was assigned to, and until yesterday, Kraber had barely even known about it. Well, that was incorrect. He had known about it- nobody in the forces didn't at this point, but he hadn't 'known' about it, so to speak. Kraber squeezed down hard, and then cleared his throat slightly.

"Good work, I must say. Clean. But yes, the name's Kraber. Senior detective." A pause. "They decided that after my leave I should be in the deep end, it seems, so here I am."

Sam shrewdly sized up the fellow. Watching his mannerisms, the way he talked and observed the mental beatdown Velimir dished out onto the ganger, he had the realization that the man would be one excellent undercover operative. At the very least, his nature seemed to make him an excellent prop, the extra sipping coffee in the background. He was absolutely boring. Though Samed hoped to god that wasn't his only positive feature.

In a second, however, a third detective joined them in the room, watching the Russian rough up the criminal with a twisted curiousity.

Laotian Mike's processor was receiving the interrogation's transcription in real time. Deftly typing in the lines of code developing algorithms in the police search engine, he overtook camera footage in a three-pronged direction, trying to recognize the exact time and place when the cyberware spider arrived, and where it left. Twisting around a mysterious joystick in the tech-panel set up on the table, Mike gave them a nice showcase of the video feed from several cameras on site, hitting the jackpot.

Sam could only wonder how Kraber didn't stop sipping on the coffee as they watched the arachnocyborg crawling up and down the walls, sizing up the moment to pounce down on Golemeth down below.

"... hold up, pause for a sec." The Turk narrowed his eyes, his tech-savvy colleague playing back the footage frame by frame. "What's that in his hands, after he dealt with the big guy?"

Mike zoomed in on the grainy video, a flashing disk on the grip of the hardware spider. "So that's what he was after." He glanced at the youngest of the trio, interested in watching his reaction.

First, Kraber rubbed his chin, but the quick rub soon turned into a long scratch. Rather than giving him the look of someone deep in thought, he seemed distracted, even as his eyes remained focused on the 'spider as the information inside it was weaned out. As the footage played past, he frowned slightly, taking a long, slurping sip as ideas floated through his head. "Fast forward a bit. x4, so I can still see this." He indicated with his fingers, watching as the footage whirred past at quadruple the speed.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Those two jumped up gangbangers." He tapped on the screen twice, a little pleased with himself. "Corpse disposal's always a good place to start searching through. Maybe find something that'll give us a few more leads. Who knows." He set his mug down at last, the only thing left in it a few dregs. Adjusting his gloves, he arched his back until he heard a series of clicks, and then turned to the other agent.

"So, excuse my lack of experience in this case, but what would you do if you were in my unenviable position?" An innocent enough comment for one of the officers to make to the other, but Kraber's mind was always on information. Not to mention two weeks out had left him a little rusty, and there was never anything wrong with a refresher course.

"That's interesting." Sam raised a brow, almost disappointed that he hadn't thought to look for what remained of Golemeth after the spider was done with the guy. He certainly took note of the man's astuteness, even if he looked like a complete bore whilst rummaging through the heaps of intel laid out before them. NCPD had the toolset to work nigh every case that they had, just not enough clever folks to find ways to make use of it. He ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully. "Most jackals out there just took off with a bit of what Golemeth had, leaving him out on the street. The smart ones know that, to get the most worth out of him, they'd need to dismantle the entire core and motherboard." He gave Kraber a sly smile. "I think it's better to check some places nearby that they could have used as a shelter, slash warehouse. Velimir and I could go after the spider's trail."

"Sounds good to me." The agent nodded to himself. "No time like the present. I've been out of action for a little too long for my liking, and they always say there's no time like the present." Cracking his knuckles, the man began to make his way towards the door. "Good luck with your investigation I suppose."

Nina seemed amused enough by his anecdote. Feeling up for a bit more banter, Croaks detached the magazine of his gun for a split second to check if it was still as full as he suspected, snapping it back into place as he started his retort. "You say that as if any day in Night City went like it was planned." It was a fair point he figured, for at least here in the combat zone plans were a nice thing to have so that you knew what was expected to happen on any particular day. Never went just as 'on paper' like the archaic saying put it, but the goals were still something you could aim for.

Him being a paternal figure was met with a roll of his eyes, his will to banter evaporating in an instant. That was the kind of thing he had to handle. He had a gang full of loose cannons, and if nobody organised them or crammed some sense into their boosted up thicker than body armour skulls this little gang game would be over before they knew it. Not something everyone understood. And he'd just gone into full gang chief mode with the info broker working with him now. Given she was his key to finding anything that would allow his gang to stand though, he'd really much prefer for her to stay alive. If only for the matter of convenience. He didn't like people dying on him either, to be fair, but she was still taken in from the outside. She wouldn't be staying around, he figured. He'd need to think more about this. Man, he could really use Ribby's wits right about now. Least he could ask his brother later what he thought.

With the interrogation soon left behind them, any and all information they had actually managed to squeeze out of the gangbanger had been about as useful as a shot glass with a hole in the bottom. If not less so. The suggestion for getting something to drink was actually met with a positive response though, the two already making themselves scarce from the scene of the cold blooded murder that would now be cleaned up by those in the Amphibians that had to be reminded of their place in the gang. The gruesome scene should put the fear back into them.

Nina wanting to head off to some higher class place got the gangster by surprise. "Huh", was all he could say to begin with, taking a second to rub his chin as they headed for the exit for the second time tonight. Perhaps this time they wouldn't be making a running return with a corpse to be on the suicidal daredevil's shoulder. A man could dream. And sometimes dreams came true, the two soon finding themselves out of the alleyway, looking over the dirty river while trying to think of their next step.

"I'm not much of a wine drinker", Croaks finally went into more detail. "You get what you want, I'll take anything as long as its got a spike to it. I'm pretty fucking annoyed by that fuckwit of a booster we tried to make sense of." He reached for a lanky man that had been passing behind them, bumping against him briefly. He dragged the man before him and held a hand out, staring into the pickpocket's eyes with a glare that said it all. The small wallet was returned to the gang chief, and halfway through his apology the small timer was flung over the railing into a refreshing toxin laden bath. "Fuckers", Croaks added, making good progress at wearing out any impact that word and its derivatives had coming from his mouth.

With him not particularly caring about where they'd go, if they wanted to go to an actual establishment instead of just finding the nearest shop paying tribute to the Amphibians (and selling liquor of typical river level combat zone quality), their options were limited to climbing up in the levels. Croaks knew he could get to the second on the principle that nobody kept any watch on the rise between even if they should. Those people had a bit too high turnover rate due to exsanguination or acute increase in solid lead within their bodies. Often both. But for that reason the second level wasn't much better than that. Colonel's Corner sat comfortably on the fifth. He wouldn't be allowed up there even in company, and by that point the sec teams began to actually look formidable. Fifth level was often the place where rich folk came to drink in the violence of the zone, rather than any actual inhabitants living there. Such was life.

"If you've got any plan on going forward…" Croaks dropped an incomplete sentence as a hint for Nina to share. He didn't really expect there to be one. She had already disappointed him with lack of planning twice. In a single day. Under half a day, actually. Why did he take part in this headache again? Oh yeah. Lt. Davison was kind of important to find, or at least his stash of weapons. "Whether you do, it's up to you now. I ain't got no routes past second level in my repertoire."

@13org

Getting transport back was easy, they wee expecting the terminal's call now, it was all just a matter of how long it took to physically drive there. After all, normally an armored roller wasn't sent into the Zone, it wasn't like one of the tanked-out taxis or Doc Wagon vehicles. But tip off that you have your mark and finishing up business, business they have been waiting for? Rest assured most corps or their contacts were... eager, to put it kindly. The type of salivating, hungry for that next splash of credits, kind. It meant more tech for everyone, most everyone, anyone that had a hand in it; all the bureaucracy at its finest. It didn't matter if you were a suit sitting in the glitzy side of town who just happened to "okay" the entire ordeal of the security who were on a retrieval team, your hand was in the jar, and that meant more stuff for you. Not much, but when you're at that level? Anything you touch makes you money and without the risk of getting your shiny, upper crust chrome blasted into a million pieces like the scavs fighting in the slums were for a piece of that profit.

So Theron considered himself lucky, real, real lucky after everything he had dealt with. Not just Tracy or Golemeth or all else, no, he meant everything. It wasn't like he was praising high heaven for it either, just deep inside glad that they were so damn hungry for their cut of the pay that they weren't going to leave him out here waiting. Freaks, tweaks, tuners, boosters, whatever the hell else existed now legitimately lived here in the Combat Zone and knew it like the back of their hand, because there wasn't any escape; sure as hell not into the Wastes and their particular brand of freakshow wasn't going to make it far in anything but the slums. So whatever they could get, they wanted bad.

Not having tech, other than a coat, some glasses, gloves, and a gun, made that a whole hell of a lot easier, as did dragging around a bleeding, burnt heap of a broken down cyborg. It just still wasn't easy, nothing was for the man as he tucked himself there in the alley, eyes glancing from one side to the next. He could hear engines, here that wasn't all too rare given some things still were going combustion, but what Theron sure as hell hadn't heard yet was the whine of a hydrogen turbine. An armored transport was a big, beefy wall of plasteel and plain old heat and projectile resistant ceramic, and had no shortage of firepower. It also was a beast of a money sink considering it was a privately owned tank on wheels, but when you were a corp the rules changed. Want an auto-cannon that would put holes through wall after wall and had self loading magazines from its batteries of armament? Sure, sure, whatever you want, as long as the money was good.

Just another symptom of what had happened to everything, apparently back in the day, before it all that wasn't the case. But now? Now that sweet whine of industrial engines was somewhere not far, which meant whatever service they dispatched for a pick-up of corp business was getting closer.

That just meant the man's eyes sifted through the gloomy, old neon glow and stared long and hard at the problem bot-man. He was even more a mess just laying there on his side in a puddle, jaw limp and probably drooling on himself. Theron just couldn't get the attraction of it all into his head. He signed this deal for biotech expressly, god knows where it was coming from or why, but it still got into his nerves and made him uneasy he simultaneously didn't have that kind of staying power all the while the fact it made someone that vulnerable. Hell, someone like Tracy, some decker or ripperdoc, of even moderate skill could just slap some plugs into the ports and browse the brain like it was no issue from a sleazy thought-trip house. It got a huff out of him, a shake of his head and a slight nudge of his boot to the crumpled mess of somewhat person.

"Still not worth the envy..." The man muttered as he rubbed the back of a sleeve to his nose, displacing the discomfort with the gesture, and allowing his attuned hearing to pick up the closing sound. Again that just led him to looking up the alleyway and back, no visitors yet.