---

Location: Abandoned Warehouse, Northside, Offshore St, Watson
Mentions: @The Incredible John

A flick of a thought. Ten minutes til. Fine-chrome fingers beat a tempo against his thigh as he leaned against one of the walls, unconsciously meeting the tempo of the music blasting against the walls of the warehouse, and the guy leaned his head back against the cool metal. Seconds trickled through his fingers as Morris went over the plans, again and again, one corner of his mind paying attention to what was in front of him, the rest going over schematics and timetables and reports. Militech controlled a lot, sure, and Night Corp controlled a lot more, but no-one had complete control of the city, the cameras here and there, the lights. A twitchy landlord here or there, a few eddies into the right palms, and suddenly he had cameras for his tenants…one of which always looked out at a street. A down-on-his-luck city engineer here or there, and suddenly a traffic camera has a tiny bit more wiring than it should. Data to data to data, trickling about. It was amazing what you could do with a little misplaced compassion.

Three trucks, armored Milipigs with new chrome and suits inside, with a few armored truck escorts. They’d gotten nervous, hauling ass through the city as lights gave green to em, red to everyone else. Someone had picked up on the game, somewhere, though the Maelstromer knew that it just gave him a little advantage. They were predictable, bold as they were, and he just had to up the volatility to crack through. People don’t expect things to go south immediately. A glance at the positioning…everything was set and ready to go. Things were going just as planned, all things considered. There was a speck on the outside of his vision, red lights and black metal.

“Boss?” The voice was tinny, distorted just a little in the box with no jaw to go along with it. Alphonse, that’s who that was, bald-chrome man whose limbs were like spiders. Morris grunted his response, angling his head just a little in recognition as his optics brought the guy into focus in the bottom corner of his vision.

“James says they’re good to go. Waiting on you downstairs.”

“Good shit.”

He got up from the wall, rubbing the back of his neck as he made the short way down to the basement. There was still movement in the warehouse, cargo-movers shifting crates here and there, organizing some that were inbound, others that were going to the loaders to be shipped off to rippers throughout Watson and Japantown. Little lights were here and there, though, on the walls; laser-detectors, tracking all through little lasers outside the normal visual spectrum. Normal. That was a good enough joke if ever he’d thought of one.

A little metal key into a door and down stairs…there he was. The airlock hissed as it sucked-out the oxygen, a little notification at the top corner of Morris’s vision that an implant had started up. He hated outside visitors, especially ones who liked stealing bits of this, parts of that, wholes of data. The inner door opened to the hum of servers, a dead quiet compared to the thump-thump-thump of the bass you could still hear through the walls and floors, the room lit by nothing but green and red pinpricks of light, server status markers. More green than red, it was a good day. Netrunner chairs here, there in three of the four corners of the room, a plethora of screens hung from the ceiling that showed what he’d been looking at before.

James stared at the boss through spider-eye optics, blues and reds and greens, and the codefreak smiled his gold teeth smile, a spasm running through his arms. James was always a happy guy, it seemed. Not a thing brought him down. He spoke with a woman’s inflection, Haitian unless Morris was off it. “If it ain’t the majesty himself. Wanted to watch the party after all, yeah?”

“Fucking boring up there. Should’ve seen the guy upstairs. Keeps passing out. Sleepy, y’know.” They’d been getting information from him for days it seemed, where all his assets were. Another gonk who’d decided to get chrome too rich for his blood and needed to pay back. Morris wished they’d be smarter about it all but they never did learn. He shook his head dismissively at it all.

“Yeah, rich kids never do change. Well. He can’t be that rich.”

“Allowances and inflation. Killer these days.” They both laughed at the joke. In truth, the guy’d just been laid off from whatever-which corp he’d been a part of, something about a downsizing effort. Apparently the implants hadn’t gotten him on the stay side of the list. He was mentally a kid, though, got up to the position through pure favors and not much else. Who’d have thought that wasn’t keeper material. He turned to one of the already jacked-in runners as James got himself set-up in his chair.

“Truck’s all ready?”

“You’re goddamn right.”

“You can start that up…five, four, three, two, one, now. Hit it.”

“Gas, gas, gas.”

He watched the screens as, a few blocks away, one of the big industrial trucks started accelerating up. They’d gotten a hold of it a few days before, decoupled a bunch of the engine safety systems, speed limiters, things like that. It was already flying through traffic, shifting itself up and away like a rocket. Driver was already trying to regain control, sure, but that wasn’t going to happen. A smile crept up along the corners of Morris’s mouth.

“One-fifty.”

“Keep it there. Intercept…yeah looks good. Looks good.”

A few seconds passed, the netrunners busy away and away, busy with their daemons and subsystems and monitoring. Words were barely exchanged as numbers served the purpose well enough. Then it all happened at once.

Front of the Militech convoy, poor little armored car, got plowed right though by the truck at the intersection. Car crumpled like a tin can as the brakes on the truck slammed shut, her cargo suddenly turning volatile at the sudden motion. Grain feed and ignition, never a good combination as that blew out too, a fireball at the intersection. Trucks couldn’t even stop, the first of them slamming right into the burning remains and moving it forward a few yards. Next one slammed on the brakes hard, too, smoke pouring out from the wheels as it narrowly missed its friend on the turn. The third kept on going, swerving violently to one side and violently to the other as it tried to get past…before overturning by it all, skidding along its side onto the sidewalk. The escorting trucks in the back came to a stop a lot quicker, fanning out; less weight, Morris supposed.

Car doors swung open on the escorts, lead going in before the corpos even took a step out from them. Shmucks used rifles, Umbras and the like. Morris had Grads for his needs. Trucks drove up as dazed Militech drivers got out from their trucks, trying to move out to cover. Some of his drivers just let-loose with autogun fire, while another opted to drive through the corpo as it skidded to a halt. A big-muscle figure popped out from one of the vans, an enormous hydraulic ram in his arms as he went from one back of a truck to another, slamming the gear into the armor before widening the hole out. Their own mover truck came-up and, soon enough, Militech gear started getting shifted over.

James smiled through his connection, chuckling aloud. “And they said office life was boring. Idiots.”

Morris let the smile reach him, too, as his eyes were glued to the screens, his ear glued to the Militech report channel. They’d blasted away on jamming for a lot of the usual frequencies, burnt out a lot of the cameras that weren’t solely theirs, but there was always a chance.. Yeah, James was right. Idiots.

AAcademy

The eighteen-year-old now lived on the top floor of the New AAcademy building to save up on costs; this meant extra noise from the students and faculty below, but he can live with that. He can also live with the fact that the set of rooms reserved for his living space was not as luxurious as what he had been accustomed to in his childhood and early adolescence; it was servicible and that's what counted - This was a price that was worth it to earn his early independence.

His routine was simple: Wake up, take a shower, put on some proper clothes just in case he needed to do some teleconferencing, and take some time to sort through the news - Global, Local, and finally, what was relevant to himself and his institution of learning, an institution whose original domain name and intellectual property - Araska Academy - he had bought at great cost.

Ken Illustrious Ikari, the young headmaster of AAcademy, cared about his students; each of them had been chosen due to their raw talents and capacity for dilligence, and he saw in them the future of the nation, maybe even the world if he was lucky enough to live to see it. And Ken knew he should not count on luck, not when Arasaka was petty enough to sic the Tyger Claws on himself, the people he had hired to be his faculty, and of course, the teenagers, some only slightly younger than himself, who had trusted him with their education.

He was not going to stand for this, but the youth knew that the wrong move could get him and his students killed - Use too much force and the Tyger Claws would retaliate in kind, use too little and they'd think him easy pickings. Thankfully, Ken knew the right guy for the job; shame the guy did not like Corpos and he counted as one. So he was going to have to go through the offical Fixers to get Nikolai's Dragovich's services and pay extra for that. Speaking of which, he had to make sure that his sources of income hadn't dried up while he had been asleep; you never knew when you had enemies with a decent Netrunner on board.

His work computer did not seem like it had been tampered with; either physically or in the software world. Thank God for small favors. His investments in Africa also did not seem to be harmed much; even better, because he needed those to pay for hiring Mr. Dragovich.

Considering how one Hallelujah Pritchard had connections to the original Arasaka Academy, Ken thought he should also hire her, if only as a cheaper option if Nikolai was off the table for whatever reason. And if both of them were available, well... He can afford to splurge for the both of them.

Call from... Shinsei Ikari. Y/N?

Ken always had time for his parents. He loved them, they loved him, and they allowed him to pursue his dream despite their reservations. So he can afford to press the holographic, Y that appeared in his line of sight; that was the least he can do.

"Hello, Ken," Shinji Shinsei Ikari's voice sounded over the Cyberaudio implanted directly into Ken's head. "How are you doing? We miss you all the way from Hakone, you know. Your mother doesn't show it, but she's worried that you might be in danger; as it is, the higher-ups don't look too kindly on us allowing you to buy the Arasaka Academy name for your birthday that day - You know how paranoid they are; they think you knew the pullout was going to happen..."

Ken retorted, repeating this song and dance for any eavesdropper's benefit, "Even if I did, they wouldn't have believed me. I mean, I was... Fifteen or so when the calamity happened - No matter how high my IQ was, I couldn't have been taken seriously!"

Shinsei could not help but chuckle, before saying, "As I and Maki keep explaining to them; there was nothing we could have done."

Then his tone changed into a sigh, "Other people died, though; some of them, we even cared about. I won't begrudge you your secrets, but Ken... Dont cross Arasaka more than you already have - You're going to need some bridges with us if your dream is to come true."

Huh, Dad has a spine after all... Ken thought before Shinsei continued:

"That said, one or two local bands of Tyger Claws around your territory are expendable," Ken's father continued. "You're allowed to chase them off, but make sure your students do not antagonize them; any aggression or provocation on their part and their protection comes off - Got it?"

Ken's nod was audible.

"Good, now get back to hiring your Edgerunners; if you want to be independent, young man, you'd better do it right..." Shinsei trailed off before turning off the call.

@Thayr@Gisk@Deide

@Letter Bee@Deide

The night before, Hallelujah had been at Riot. She’d told herself it was to get her face out there(there are better clubs for it, but not nice ones), that people would see her checking her steel at the door, and wonder who she was. Important people go to bars, if they know her face, that can help, right? Maybe she would get into a little scrap, ask the poor gonk if they wanna take it outside?

That hadn’t happened. She had danced, drank a little, chatted some folks up, and just generally went through the motions of a night at the club. She didn’t even really enjoy herself. Instead of having fun memories with friends afterward(what she imagined the goal of a night out was), she woke up just before noon feeling vaguely silly. Pushing away both silk covers and nagging doubts, Hally got up out of bed and looked around at her spare studio apartment. She told herself she would use daddy’s credit only for emergencies and necessities(like going to the club to get your name out) and the studio’s emptiness made her feel like she was accomplishing that, if nothing else.

Her mattress is a nice memory foam one, but it is also on the floor. There’s a small closet on the other side of the room, which she is paying separate rent for. If her rent falls behind, they’ll lock it remotely, automatically dump the contents into a shoot down to the laundry facility, and sell it at a consignment shop. If her repoed possessions fetch enough to cover her rent and all applicable late fees, she can apply again to lease the closet, provided her credit has not been too badly affected by the eviction now on her record. The closet could only fit half of her wardrobe, the rest were presently still in shopping bags, neatly arrayed to the left of the closet door.

The bathroom was a kind of pod. Big enough to stand in, with a little alcove that the toilet sat in. Toilet tissue could be dispensed from a vending machine that sold it to her by the sheet, tallied up and added to her rent. Moreover, the paper was always water damaged from the shower, so she had just bought a pack and kept it nearby. No sucker, Hallelujah Pritchard(or so she thought, until her rent came due two weeks later, and she discovered that they’d charged her for the water damage to the rolls of paper in the machine anyway).

She stood in the pod, in nothing but the loose shirt she slept in, and looked at herself in the mirror built into the sidewall, just below the shower faucet, and just above the sink faucet. She still had her faux-makeup on from last night, and with a quick mental command to her integrated Agent, her chem-skin cleared immediately to the artfully freckled default she had set. She was just starting to wonder what she was going to even bother getting dressed for today when her holo rang. She answered it with another little mental “flick,” and Wakako Okada appeared in her vision, just up and to the left of centered. On the other end, Hally knew an equally false version of herself would appear for Wakako, stylishly dressed and carefully curated.

“Miss Pritchard, I hope that I am not interrupting important business.”

Hally Grimaced, and hoped that nothing of it showed on the holo, or in her voice, “Just finished brunch,” she answered, as brightly as she could. “Free now, h-how can I help you?” A bit of a lame finish, but how do you talk to a fixer? Wakako is a powerful woman, and one who might actually offer work, of the kind Hally wanted. She wanted to sound willing and ready, but was afraid she had already been too eager when asking after a job before.

“Good, I am hoping there is something you can help with. If, that is, you are still serious about doing merc work…”

Hally almost just shouted “Yes!” but kept her cool a moment longer. Don’t seem too eager, remember. “Might be, what’s the gig?”

“The new management for Arasaka Academy is having trouble with some Tyger Claws.”

“I went there,” Hally bleated stupidly, and thumped her fist against the sink, frustrated at her own slip. It turned out not to matter, as Wakako continued.

“I know this. I might have chosen you for the job for that reason, except the client already gave you the nod. Strange, do you know this Ken Illustrious Ikari?”

“Never heard of him,” Hally answered honestly, and the bare bewilderment in her voice made Wakako believe her. “He knows me, how?”

“Information is valuable,” she almost sounded like she was scolding a child with his hand in the cookie jar, and Hally sure felt like it, “You have no credit with me. Not yet. If you are truly set on this path, you must earn it.”

“I will,” she said in a voice both small and somber.

“We will see. Coordinates incoming.” The call disconnected.

~~~

Despite staring in the mirror for the entire conversation, Hally forgot to set her makeup, and ended up leaving her apartment with her hair in a messy bun. She threw on a crop top, black syn-leather jeans, some high-top sneakers, and a magenta pozer-jacket. She had a 2068 Archer Quartz, bought quietly with her secret credit line. She also owned a much newer Mizutani Shion, but was worried her father could track it. The yellow paint on the older car was faded, but she actually thought it was kind of cute. It certainly got her from A to B, anyway, and did so today.

Arasaka Academy was… not how she remembered. Of course, it wasn’t really the same school she had attended. It was just kind of wearing its namesakes’ clothes. The uniforms were a different color, but otherwise identical. Which was good in Hally’s mind, as the red and black motif had been an eyesore. She had expected a cold corpo secretary of a type she was fairly familiar with, but was instead greeted at the desk by a pleasant woman not much older than herself.

Hally was directed to the big boss’s office, and sat in a chair in the waiting area just outside. She unbuckled her sword, and held it in both hands between her knees, her chin resting on the pommel and its sheathed tip on the floor.

"Orbital Air welcomes you to NCX — Night City International and Translunar. Don't wait! Leave your earthly worries, ulcers, and tumors..."

The chirping feminine voice of the loudspeaker resonated through the dead empty gate of Terminal C, as the woman stepped through the jetway door and took in her first breath of the stale musk. Not even a second in and Kaleb Varsk was calling her on the Holo; his [REDACTED] light-blue ID card jumping up on the upper left side of her vision. She answered on the second ring, bracing herself for the harsh buzz of his vocoded voice.

"Report." Kaleb's voice growled.

"Arrived at Terminal Charlie. Place is a ghost town." Jennifer replied. Her own voice was soft spoken in contrast, dead and cold as the limbs which propelled her through the rows and rows of vacant rotted leather seats.

"Good. Exit at the right. A transport with your kit is waiting for you. Call me back once you're on the road." *ffzzswush*

The door to the outside of the terminal was merely a few meters away, sliding open with a soft hydraulic hiss. The air was notably better, yet now carried the sharp pungency of CHOOH-6A as tanker trucks pumped the stuff into the greedy bellies of waiting aircrafts. A quick glance to her left revealed an awaiting black taxi-like cab car, the trunk popped and illuminating her grey duffle in a faded orange-yellow interior light. As soon as she descended the stairs, the trunk slammed shut on its own as the the rear right passenger side door opened. Arching a brow, she climbed into the backseat and got herself buckled. She was able to spare a glance toward the driverless compartment as the car closed the open door, and turned itself on.

"Good evening, Miss Hudson." Came a posh British-European accented voice that rumbled through the cabin, seconds later materializing on the viewscreen on the back of the passenger seat. A torso-cropped male figure with warm amber eyes and slicked back black hair, dressed in a matching black butler's coat met her gaze. "I am a Raymond Autonomous Transport commercial shuttle. Your expenses for this visit have been graciously covered under our Onyx plan. Are you ready to proceed to your apartment?"

"Sure. Thank you.."

"Ray."

"Ray."

The car shifted into drive and lurched forward as it slowly turned to plot its course onto the exit. As soon as its wheels hit the pavement, Jennifer got back on the holo and shot a call over to Kaleb.

"..."

"On the road." Jennifer said, her gaze out the window of the car as she watched the scene of industrial plants, slow-moving blimps, and the rolling Badlands tundra pass her by.

"Excellent." Kaleb rasped a breath in, and continued on. "Given the nature and duration of your assignment, you have been provided with an apartment in the 'Corpo Plaza'. Your first task is to collect and compile any information you can on NightCorp that we do not already know. Leads, insights, floorplans, blueprints, anything you can and upload it to the terminal within the apartment. Then you will infiltrate the building how ever you can manage. Any accomplices you find to assist you will not know your identity, not must. You are a ghost. Beyond what we have provided you, you are alone. Should you come under serious injury and attempt exfil, we will not come for you and any involvement will be summarily dismissed and denied. Do I make myself clear, Jennifer?"

"Crystal. I understand completely."

Kaleb's tone softened, though his voice proved somehow more haunting with the added benevolence. "We are counting on you to see just what NightCorp is. We believe it is not an organization merely dedicated to NightCity's wellbeing- not anymore. Richard Night died in '98. His widow remade Night Industries into Night Foundation, which later became Night Corporation. Miriam steps down from CEO with her status still unknown to this day. Which begs the questions, who's running the company now? How many does it employ? Are they really the social welfare heroes keeping Night City aloft all this time? On one dead man's vision?"

The cab reached the exit, swerving left to turn off of Morrow Rock and onto the Interstate toward Night City; seamlessly merging into traffic and swiftly positioning to evade the worst of Night City's civilian drivers miles behind them. Kaleb continued on. "Arasaka may have pulled out of Night City, but Militech was all too eager to fill the void. You're in Free State territory, and there's no telling how they'll act, if they'll remember you on our previous op at all. Just be cautious. You're here for NightCorp, not them."

"-If I may, Sir.." Jennifer asked, able to find her break in the conversation.

"Go ahead."

"Why NightCorp?"

"Where else is NightCorp?" Kaleb countered. "Orbital Air, Arasaka, Biotechnica, Zetatech, Militech, Petrochem- every single one of these corporations, either founded in the Free States or within the NUS, sought to spread internationally or at the very least domestically across the country. You could say NightCorp, being solely for the sake of Richard Night's city, remained the way it did. Yet in this world? Everyone has to have a stake in something for their own gain or else there's nowhere to go. The fact that NightCorp is continuing to operate in such a contentious market not only with the means to sustain itself but without having to depend much at all on other organizations for its funding, is bizarre. Social welfare programs, wage standardization, education opportunities- all within the Worst Place to Live in America? You'd be hard pressed to see they're fighting a losing war, but they're not. They're thriving when they shouldn't be. That's what makes this so interesting to us."

Jennifer nodded to herself, looking down at her hand as she pivoted it around her wrist. Internal debate could wait for later. "I see why. I won't let you down, Kaleb."

"You won't. All goes well, you'll be back in Langley within the week. Your efforts will not go unrewarded. Good luck." The holo ended, leaving the ringing silence to float around the cab. Glancing out the window once more, Jennifer allowed herself a tiny moment to be starstruck at the towering monoliths that stretched into the neon sky. Ray's voice hummed in her ear. "We have arrived. Please watch your step, and collect your things from the back. Should you require pickup, feel free to call for a cab. Good luck, Miss Hudson." The door opened up as Jennifer stepped out, crossing the back of the cab and retrieving her duffle fron the trunk as she stepped onto the sidewalk to the apartment building. The cab gave a soft honk, before shutting its trunk and peeling away into the crowd of cars.

Jennifer blew out a sigh, turning to make her way into the building before anyone took to seeing her for too long. It wasn't that she was known, it was that she was nearly a Borg, and not quite by choice. The last thing she needed was a heckle or, god forbid, a catcall. Stepping into the apartment building, Jennifer glanced around its black abstract stone walls and floor, glistening red flora containers and plant life nestled in between the set of benches on either side. The Concierge to the left had caught her eye with a polite bow, clad in golden skin and wearing a maroon dress with gray trimmings. Approaching the counter, the elegantly dressed woman was the first to break the silence. "Ah, hello! You must be our newest tenant. Welcome!"

Jennifer paused, standing like a lightstricken deer as she awkwardly waved back. "Ah, yeah. This uh- 's my stuff. Do I need to run this through?" She'd had an easier time talking to the people at Richmond about her 'kit' then here already. The woman made a strange 'glu-glu' sounding chuckle and shook her head. "Your serials were scanned when you stepped inside. This scanner is purely biometric. Please head on through. Your room is Sixteen, second floor to the right." She blinked as a message materialized across her center screen.

[2F-R16 ACCESS_KEY_TRANSFER: COMPLETED.]

Jennifer dipped her head, moving quietly through the scanner as it unsurprisingly lit up and blared a gentle warning signal. "Hmm.. Wait a moment, Miss Hudson." Jennifer turned around. "Yeah?"

"The scan is showing abnormal weight ratios. You are measuring only 28 kilograms. Are you feeling well?" 'God-damn it all.'

"It's.. normal. I uh, got my legs and arms blown off. War mission went south." Jennifer sighed solemnly. The golden woman creased her shaved brow, an expression of pity on her features as she nodded. "I am sorry to hear that, Miss Hudson. War is Hell, as they say. My husband was a veteran of the Unity War. He took his life last December. Thank you for keeping in the fight." Jennifer stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. "My condolences, miss-"

"Ling. Xhao Ling."

"Miss Ling. As long as he remains in your memory, he'll never stop fighting for you. Even if he couldn't fight what was eatin' at him personally. He didn't fight 'cause he hated what was in front of him, but because he loved what was behind him." The woman pursed her lips and nodded; imperceptive movements suggesting she wanted to break into a hug. Instead, she nodded, stepping back with a hazy-eyed smile. "Thank you, Miss Hudson. It is rare to find someone who understands loss nowadays. Especially here."

Jennifer bobbed her head, nodding as she sighed, "Yeah. Be seein' you around, Xhao Ling. You're not alone." With a pivot, Jennifer turned back and slowed her pace as she entered into the hallway and took the stairs up to her room. Approaching the door, the verification panel on the wall blinked a bright green as the door slid open, revealing a neomilitaristic interior with beige hardwood floors. She stepped inside, almost in disbelief the FIA would spare her the degree of these luxuries. Then again, she'd never been away from Langley for more than a few weeks. Heading inside, Jennifer glanced around the apartment before settling her gaze on the stairwell to her bed. Ascending the staircase, Jennifer dropped her duffle at the foot of the bed as she sat at the edge. Deep within the back of her mind, she couldn't help but feel it was going to be a longer stay than normal.

The week was painfully slow for the repo men. The last job they had was going after a bunch of Raffans who were running Militech knock-offs through the border. It wasn’t even their jurisdiction but Moore took up the job because the team had no assignments for a few days prior. Moore and her team got to their hideout, expecting a fire fight at least but it was as silent as a graveyard. The rundown shack in the middle of nowhere revealed five nomads. Four were dead from overdosing on glitter. The last was barely alive and choking. Moore knew she couldn’t even book the bastard so she finished up tagging the contraband, loading them into their truck and then she rang NCPD to tell them about this particular Raffan hideout. That was yesterday. A lot could change in a day.

Two hours after Moore got off from work, one of their transport convoys in Watson got hit. From what Moore initially heard, it was bad. Murmurs from different department heads about the “great fuck up”. Apparently somebody in Internal Transportation was getting axed. Four other people were under internal investigation. While eating her breakfast, Moore tried to make sense of the flood of chatter going through the corp’s net. Apparently one of their convoys was hit last night. Somewhere in Watson. That was everything she was able to confirm. She called her sergeants and her analyst to their meeting room that morning. She wanted to know more about the incident.

Moore found herself waiting for everyone else at their meeting room. It was three minutes after 10 in the morning. Moore herself was sipping on a fresh brew of coffee while looking out at corporate plaza. It seemed like another bright and sunny day for Night city. Her eyes were fixed on the building opposite theirs. Arasaka Tower, or at least what used to be Arasaka Tower. Gleaming in the sunlight as it usually did. A monolith of glass, steel and concrete. For a while Moore wondered what her life would be like if she or her parents had joined Arasaka rather than Militech. Would there truly be a difference? Moore knew of a couple of new recruits who used to be Saka’. Maybe that's where she’d be now. Down 30 flights of stairs at the corporate barracks, starting out fresh working for the competition.

Her train of thought was interrupted when she heard the door behind her open. “Morning chief.” A voice greeted her. Before she even turned around to see who it was, she already knew his identity. Oliver Price, one of their division’s analysts. “Price.” Moore greeted back in her usual stern and rigid tone. What her subordinates called her ‘officer voice’. Price was followed by three other people. They wore combat fatigues which contrasted with the long sleeve shirt and slack that Price was wearing and the sleek, black dress that Moore had on. The first of the three to enter was a huge figure. One would easily mistake her for a member of the Animals gang if it weren't for the Militech uniform she was wearing. She was sergeant Alex Winters. The 6’8 leader of Alpha squad. She used to be her squad’s heavy weapon’s operator until their previous sergeant got flatlined in a shootout with the Tyger Claws. Moore knew she could take the initiative if left without a proper chain of command so she immediately promoted her. Winters gave Moore a casual and informal salute. Moore returned it. Next to follow her was a woman similar to Moore’s height and build. She had a grin on her face when she saw Moore. She didn't even bother with a salute. ‘Tenant’. She greeted Moore. Moore would match her grin with a smug smirk of her own. This was Bailey Kabinsky, the leader of Charlie squad. She was actually one of the 6th Street recruits that came in after Arasaka left Night City. At first Moore did not take a liking to her and she didn't hide it. However as time went on, she grew to like the spunky and quick witted street kid. The last to enter stood in attention and gave Moore a proper salute. Crisp and formal, as if he was in the NUSA army. Moore had no choice but to return the salute in a similar manner. This was sergeant Richard Chase, the leader of Bravo squad. He was infamously known behind his back as ‘sergeant killjoy’. However there was no denying that he was an effective operative and officer, even if he was inflexible and always adamant to follow everything by the books.

They all made their way to a table at the center of the room. Moore’s eyes glowed bright blue for a split second. Then the blinds at the windows activated and dropped down. Leaving the room devoid of natural light. Price placed four shards on the table and each one of the sergeants and Moore took one. Then they all slotted the shards in their necks. It only took a split second before their optical implants displayed the information for them.

“So no use in wasting time. Let's get to it. Yesterday at 20:37, one of our convoys in Watson was ambushed.” Price explained while the shards displayed the information for them visually. “They were passing through the junction between 32nd Offshore and 12th Goldsmith street when a truck crashed into the lead element of the convoy.” Their visual displays would present a truck ramming to the lead armored car of the convoy and exploding.

“Kaukaz Bratsk U42020.” Chase noted. Moore looked up the truck on her agent and found that it was the exact same. “Never knew you were into heavy machinery Rich.” Kabinsky would go on to say but it didn't elicit any response for her fellow officer. Price would continue with the presentation. The shard would then display three behemoth transport trucks. Chase didn’t have to name this vehicle. All of them were well aware of the behemoth. The standard cargo transport of Militech that’s been in service since 2070. The first truck crashed into the burning wreck, the second one pumped their brakes hard and just about almost hit the first and the third swerved into the sidewalk. After which a huge figure with some sort of hydraulic ram walked up to the first truck. It ripped apart the armored side like it was made of paper. Several containers poured out.

Kabinsky whistled. “Now that’s a jackpot. We could only dream of a score like that back when I was still on the streets.”

“Who’d be stupid enough to klep from us of all people?” Winters asked.

It would be the streetwise Kabinsky who would answer her question. “There’s only one gang in Watson that’s crazy enough to steal from us. Those psycho Maelstromers.”

Price zoomed in on one of the ambushers. Classic maelstrom implants on his face. His red visors were more than enough to clear up who they were. Recently it’s been the Tyger Claws that were giving Militech trouble. Over the past few years, it seemed like they went to war with just about everyone. A good number of Moore’s assignments had been locating and repossessing former Arasaka gear from Tyger Claw hideouts. It seems like Maelstrom wanted in on the action too. The rest of the presentation showed several Militech soldiers trying to dodge for cover and assemble into formations. However they were surprised, dazed and scattered. The gangoons picked them off easily enough. “A response team came in 20 minutes after. Not many of our guys made it out alive.”

There was a bitter ambience that lingered in the air. This didn’t seem like just another assignment now, it seemed like this was personal. A direct challenge not just to the company but to each of them individually. For a few seconds there was some silence in the room as they all digested what they just saw. It was Chase that broke the silence.

“Do we have the manifest for the convoy?” He asked. ‘A good question.’ Moore thought to herself. They needed to know what exactly was stolen. It could make tracking the people who stole from them that much easier to find. However, Price had some bad news for them.

“That’s the thing. Either the manifest got lost or somebody upstairs doesn’t want them released. I’ve been asking for it, people from Securities have been asking for it and I just walked past Cassey from Insurance who asked for it. Either Internal Investigation is keeping it for themselves or there’s something in those crates that cost a lot of eddies.”

Moore took out the shard in her neck. Her direct eyesight came back and he immediately pointed her gaze at Price. Giving him a look of intrigue and curiosity. Moore was no stranger to corporate politics and she knew there was something here that wasn’t quite right. Secrets within the company always piqued her curiosity. An itch that she desperately needed to scratch. The sergeants started to remove their shards too. Moore was quick to give them orders.

“Drill your teams in urban warfare training. Heavy emphasis on room to room clearing. When we go after Maelstrom, it’s probably going to be in a Northside neighborhood. No different than our Little China assignments. Expect us to be deployed soon. Dismissed.” All three of her sergeants gave proper salutes, even the occasionally insubordinate Kabinsky. They then exited the room in an orderly fashion.

Price stayed in the room. He sensed that Moore had something on her mind. As an analyst, he had more leeway to speak his mind. “What now?” He asked Moore who was deep in thought, staring at the shard she just took out of her neck.

Moore took a few moments to give an answer. “You keep finding out more about this. I’ll do the same. I’ll visit Wu at 88 and try to squeeze more information out of this.” Moore informed him. Jacquelin “Jackie” Wu was the head of Militech’s private net maintenance. That meant she had access to copies of data that may have been deleted. If there’s a copy of the manifest out there, it would be at Wu’s office.

AAcademy - Collab between @Gisk and @Letter Bee

Ken Illustrious Ikari was of the same age as the students he had under his wing, although very few people knew that. The diplomas - Actual paper ones as well as digital copies - pinned on wooden frames behind his chair, on the wall of his office, showed that he had the intellect to manage an Academy of his own, however. Well, technically.

Facing Hally, the young man - Barely out of boyhood - spoke to the would-be Edgerunner, "I won't beat around the bush; I bought Arasaka Academy's name, changed it to AAcademy, and now Arasaka is sending the Tyger Claws to mess with me and my students. No one has died yet, no one has gotten injured yet, but it's only a matter of time unless someone scares them off. That's where you come in; I need you to chase the Claws roaming around AAcademy grounds, beat up a few, but make sure they are scared, not dead. Can you do that?"

Hally stood when he approached, and almost made to shake his hand out of habit. She aborted the motion, and instead ran a nervous hand up the zipper of her jacket.

"From what I've heard, you should be happy they didn't send lawyers. Guess the climate ain't right for them at present. This is a little out of Claw stomping grounds, isn't it?" The barest thread of anxiety, as if she might betray unforgivable ignorance.

Ken gave Hally a half-glare at the allegation as he said, "I changed the name enough to avoid a watertight copyright case for them. As for this not being the usual Tyger stomping grounds... You'd be surprised; as a last gesture of spite, 'Saka fed those pricks enough to expand once more and wreak havoc."

He then mused, "So we need some of those pricks beaten. Not dead, beaten. If we kill them, they might descend on this Academy and my students in droves, and I do not want that..."

So she was gonna rough up some punks that were bothering school children... Big league job, that. When Hally thought of her last conversation with Wakako, though, she started to feel a lot like a beggar trying to choose. Still, if she could distinguish herself, that was street cred in the pocket. Something, anyway.

She tapped a manicured nail against the pommel of the sword in her grasp, thinking as she re-applied herself to the task. "Okay. Do we know a specific gangoon that causes the trouble? A head we can cut off the snake?" That was a cool fucking line, right? Then she ruined it, "Uh, so to speak. No, y'know, cutting."

"Not yet, sadly, but the Claws have been stalking the main approaches to the AAcademy building and grounds, robbing students, mugging them, and otherwise giving them a hard time - It's only a matter of time before someone gets killed."

"They like to pick on students who are alone?" She asked, thinking back to her own time in school. It wasn't Tyger Claws back then, just some older, richer girls. But that was how bullying was done, wasn't it?

"You got a uniform in my size?"

Ken smiled and said, "We do, actually. My policy towards uniforms is to pay for ruined ones personally when the student actually wants to study here..."

An indication of his sincerity and more than a little naivete. The two walked to a supply room. They found a fitting uniform, and Hally was given an unused room as a base of operations, and left to it. She didn’t have much in the way of operations that needed basing, but she left the clothes and her sword there for a few hours while she ran out and bought a more discrete weapon.

She got back in plenty of time, and got dressed in the AAcademy uniform. Looking at herself in the mirror was odd, she’d worn a very similar uniform for years, and truthfully had never had much of an opinion of it. Now it made her think of an old action flick. Cheerleader Panic, where a school girl went berserk(fan theories even insisted cyberpsychosis) and carved up her whole class. Not one of Hally’s favorites, but she was warming up to the aesthetic.

Hally pulled her hair loose, and redid it more carefully. A pair of space buns, straight bangs with face framing. She sent a command to her Agent that changed the color to a bright purple right before her eyes. Another mental command gave her glittering eye shadow and glossy pink lips. Was that trendy? Chipping in and moving out had distracted her pretty thoroughly from fashion for a few months. She hoped she looked enough like a teenager, but there was only so much she could do on the fly with tech hair and chem skin.

The sword was too obvious, so she left it with her street clothes; and she had to wear her own sneakers, but that wasn’t too out of the ordinary for the student body. Hally gathered they were largely what her father would call “underprivileged,” and most others would simply call “broke.” What were the Claws even mugging off these poor kids?

Hally made a point to be the first student out and walking down the street, ostensibly going home. If she hung back, she might have a better chance of fooling them. But then the thugs might harass some of the students first, and that’s exactly what she was trying to avoid. Being paid to avoid, in fact.

Tyger Claws actually aren’t all that hard to find, if you wanted to for some gonk reason. Hally already got from Mr. Ikari the streets that they were most commonly hanging out on, and from there she looked for the one that people were noticeably avoiding. Sure enough, a bunch of prototypical Claws were loitering in a stairwell that let off onto the sidewalk. Hally deliberately didn’t look at them any more than she had to. She put her eyes to the ground, angled slightly away and…

They took the bait.

She nearly ran into one of those big studded clubs they liked as it was thrust into her path to block her. The surprised look on her face was more real than she would ever admit, but of course she knew this would happen. There were two others flanking him, and one that Hally could just about feel leering behind her back. It would be fine. She had her own surprises.

“Chips, pretty girl. No need to reach, Ai will get them.”

The one behind came in closer, and Hally realized they must be a pick-socket. She couldn’t let them get her skill chips off of her, or she’d be useless in a fight. So she let the fight-soft kick in; a hand came up lightning quick and grabbed the club. The gangoon had a lax grip, trying to swagger as he was, and lost control of the weapon as Hally slammed it into his face. Blood flowed, and she yanked it out of his hand, spinning and dropping in a fluid motion. She jabbed the end of the club behind her, striking the pick-socket(a girl in athletic wear and a high pony) in the belly. She went down like a sack of potatoes.

Hally was standing again, and raising the club in a pre-programmed motion straight from a sword manual somewhere. But she held back. The gangoons were already cowering. The first guy was squatting on his heels, holding his face and sobbing, one of his chooms was backing away slowly, hands up and wide eyed, and the other was already gone. The girl behind her was whining like… well like a teenage girl who had just been jabbed in the gut by a cybernetically enhanced mercenary. And that’s exactly what she was, now that Hally stopped to examine the remaining “gangoons.” They couldn’t be any older than the kids they were mugging. Not a lick of chrome between them, either.

Hally pointed the commandeered weapon at the one who was still standing. He had a wispy mustache, and the kind of cheap wraparound mirrorshades you can get in a vending machine. He was still holding a knife, just a metal slab with an edge really, but he didn’t seem to even know he had it.

“Drop it,” he did, “Just what are you gonk kids playing at?”

The boy stared at her for just a second, before realizing he was the only one available to answer, then he explained himself all in a rush, “They just said - We were just getting chips, cards and shards and stuff!”

“Who ‘just said’?” Hally took a menacing step forward, brandishing the club. She didn’t think she could really hit him now that she’d gotten a better look at him, but he didn’t need to know that.

The kid glanced to her right, and Hally turned around in time to see the blade coming down. Later on, Hally would look back on this moment and feel like a goddamned action hero. In the moment, however, she mostly felt the tanto slicing into her left shoulder. It had been meant for her throat, but her fight-soft had kicked in again, and the stolen greatclub had moved against her will to strike the man’s forearm. His slash went wide, and cut into first jacket, then shirt, then Hally. Blood flowed, but her arm still moved, and she used it to palm strike his chest, sending him stumbling back.

He wasn’t some kid. This man was a Tyger Claw of the type Hally was used to seeing around Japantown. The type she saw people cross the street to avoid. Floppy neon green hair, a plasticky face plate with subdermal LEDs. A silk shirt and slacks, which was actually worrying. That was something someone in charge wore.

“If it isn’t Papa Tyger,” Hally tried to sound cool while she could feel her heart rate skyrocketing.

“[You may call me Daddy, if you like],” he spoke in Japanese, but her Agent translated it automatically. He was moving back toward her, holding the knife in front of him in a much more natural stance than the one Hally had adopted.

“Ew,” was all Hally said as she pulled her brand new collapsible baton from her pocket with her free hand. In one motion, she drew it, extended it, and smashed his knife arm at the wrist. He was looking at her more obvious weapon, and Hally was glad she had this one in reserve. His hand bent at a weird angle, and the fingers twitched oddly, but he just looked at it in mild surprise. She had broken chrome, not bone. There was an ominous ripping sound as the left sleeve of his nice shirt tore open, revealing a mantis blade that was slowly, almost theatrically, unfolding from his arm. He looked at her with a curiosity that set alarm bells ringing in Hally’s head.

Before he could take another dramatic step toward her, Hally triggered her Sandevistan. The world around her slowed, and Hally moved through it like a knife cutting the air, shoving the end of the club into his torso. He was no gonk kid, and Hally put more into the move than she had last time. She didn't stick around to see the effect, though. While her neurons were still burning on overdrive from the speedware, she turned and sprinted up the nearby stairs, fleeing on an upper pedestrian walkway.

The foot traffic was normal for this time of day, which is to say there was a steady stream of pedestrians on the catwalk. Hally weaved between them as they made their slow motion way with the herd. She was already almost a hundred meters from the stairs when the Sandy cut off. The world rubber-band snapped back into place, and Hally stumbled with an undignified yelp of surprise, trying not to topple forward.

It’s a testament to the temperament of NC citizenry that only a few passersby reacted to the sudden apparition of a bloody school girl with more than a moderate increase of walking pace. While her fellow man debated over whether or not she was “their problem,” Hally was trying to control a rampant twitch in her left forearm. She had the presence of mind to keep walking, and join the flow of traffic as she examined her arm. The baton almost slipped from her twitching grip, and she realized that there was blood on her hand. Her own blood, it had flowed down her arm from her shoulder, where the blade had cut her. With a mental command, Hally brought up a heads-up-display for her biomon onto her optics, and noted that her pain editor was doing a lot of work. All of the work, actually.

Her fingers fumbled the switch on her baton, and she had to cradle the Tyger Claw’s stolen club in her elbow so that she could work the catch with her right hand, collapse the baton, and put it back in her pocket. From a different pocket, she pulled out a slim pocket medkit and selected a compact airhypo. She pulled back her uniform jacket and shirt(a cumbersome task with the club still in her arms) and jabbed herself somewhere she guessed was near the wound. It was not lost on her that the task would have been easier if she had let herself feel the pain. Instead of doing that, she finally relented and looked over her shoulder, trying to peer past fellow pedestrians to see what was happening down on the street. The Tyger kids were nowhere to be seen, and she almost missed Papa Tyger, as he got into the passenger seat of a Mizutani Shion(she thought it might be the same model she owned). The car drove off, and Hally wondered if she had at least scared them off for the day.

She almost laughed as she turned to keep walking. The bleeding had at least stopped for now, and she would see a ripperdoc soon, but in the meantime she pulled a bandage from the same medpack and slapped it a little haphazardly over the wound. The techfabric of the bandage automatically formed a seal, and applied antiseptics to the wound. She had felt a little silly when she’d packed all her gear for this job. It had been a thoughtful mental list of things she thought she might need, and she had wondered all the while if Morgan Blackhand ever did anything that gonk. But her gear was right. She’d had what she needed, and had even acquired a weapon by disarming a mark in the field. The mark had been a child, and the weapon was, now she looked at it, a cheap thing of heavy 3D printed resin. But she hadn’t done too bad, really. And if the Tyger Claws really were leaving for the day, she’d even actually accomplished something. The kids were safe for a day, and a message had been sent that they weren’t unprotected.

But there was something else. Hally thought back to what they had wanted. They would surely have taken any money a student had, but that wasn’t what they’d actually asked for first. They had been after data. When she had been a student of the original Arasaka Academy, her father had warned her about schemes like this. Targeting the children of wealthy or influential people, collecting any and all raw data they can, picking through it to learn net architecture and encryption types, and try to find vulnerabilities to exploit. Except, of course, the kids going to the new and improved AAcademy didn’t have rich or influential parents to gain access to via netrunning shenanigans. So what was the game? And what was her next step? The solo would call their fixer, right? She opened her a message window in her optics display, and subvocalized a message to Ken.

“Mister Ikari, I have an update for you.”

As soon as she awoke the duffle bag was opened; its contents tenderly laid out on the outer spread of the bed as her eyes meticulously scrutinized each piece of hardware and its accompanying accessories: a custom built Ajax and Unity, both modified to accommodate their own optics and suppressors. Three loaded magazines for each weapon were laid out in a neat row underneath, approximately 90 and 32 rounds for the Ajax and Unity respectively. It wouldn't be hard to find a vendor to top up on ammo around here anyway. The frequency of crime in this city guaranteed no shortage of arms or ammo in circulation, either from corporate sales or the more commonly-sourced civilian markets, legal or otherwise. Jennifer stood up from her hunched posture over the bed, glancing over and out to the window overlooking the skyline just as a shrill whine emitted from a device on the kitchen countertop.

'Beep! Beep! Beep!'

She was halfway to the coffee machine before her display lit up with a call from Kaleb. She accepted the call, opening the cabinet door and retrieving a sterile white mug before placing it underneath the machine's catch. Vantablack liquid shot into the ceramic cup in a clean stream just as Kaleb spoke.

"Ever hear of the Peralezes?" Kaleb asked.

"Sure. Jefferson's the Mayor of Night City." Jennifer replied, reaching to bring the ornately engraved cup into her hands as she moved to sit in the luxury parlor. "What about him?"

"He was a law student with a full ride scholarship courtesy of NightCorp, marries his sweetheart and moves back to Night City to later become a Councilman. The incumbent Mayor at the time dies, and he campaigns in his place."

"Sounds typical."

"Right, but it gets weird. Some contact of Jefferson recommends he hire Secure Services Inc shortly after his mayoral campaign starts. SSI wasn't exactly well known, and still isn't to this day despite being founded in 2062. Point being that there are far more reliable security firms Jefferson could have hired, and didn't. A few weeks after he hires the firm, things start happening to him and his wife even the media couldn't hide on air. Changes in behavior, backpedals in policy pledges, irritability when confronted, the list goes on. It was almost as if he was wrestling with something inside his head he couldn't fully control, and his wife took the initiative to get help out of concern for his health. Some PI and their NCPD buddy detective enter the fray, the Peralezes fire SSI, and the rest is history." Kaleb paused, clearing his throat before continuing, "Except SSI is still in operation, and that NCPD detective did this off the books along with that investigator. Whatever they did prompted the Peralezes to fire SSI immediately, and those two left without a trace. Several months later Jefferson wins the election, seemingly symptom-free. Are we on the same page here?”

Jennifer took a ginger sip of the steaming coffee, swallowing as she made a musing guess. "NightCorp and SSI are in cahoots?"

"Bingo."

"...So where exactly should I start?"

"Integrate yourself. Fixers, gigs, connections- whatever it takes to net your gain to get into NightCorp to gather what we want to know. Get on it."

"I'll start there, then." Jennifer replied, placing the steaming empty mug back onto the countertop.

"Looking forward to it. Kaleb out."

After the Holocall disconnected, Jennifer released a tense sigh as she made her way over to the bed and secured her weapons' attachments onto them; loading and chambering fresh rounds into each. She had to get in network first. Contracts, connections, then she could advance up the ladder. A Fixer would be a great place to start.

Stepping out of the apartment room, Jennifer made her way to the elevator and took the car down to the lobby. Desolate and no Xhao Ling in sight, she made her way through the scanner and out the door as the device blared in a tinny alarm. She would have to explain it later, no doubt. Jennifer took the right corner and activated the Holo; ignoring the strange glances and gawks from passerbys as she spoke curtly to the materialized holocard of Ray.

"Hello, Miss Huds-"

"Ray, could you spare a ride?"

A pause.

"Of course, Miss Hudson. Why the rushed tone?"

"Just somewhere I need to be, I'm sure you know how it is. We'll talk more when you get here."

"I will be there momentarily."

Minutes passed as Jennifer leaned up against the sleek graphite-hued shell of the hotel's exterior. Wisps of neon danced and swirled around her vision as the giant corporate signs flashed within her peripherals. The people-watching of people people-watching her was an inescapable cycle that subconsciously made her want to hide from prying eyes; serving as a constant reminder of the ill-fated operation that gave her such a distinct appearance. Shaking herself from further thoughts was a distinct three-tone horn that came from her left as the same driverless cab pulled up to the curb and opened its back passenger door. Jennifer stepped inside as the door closed, and the rendered butler greeted her at the viewscreen with a courteous bow. "Welcome back, Miss Hudson."

"Ray.'

"Where would you like to go today? I hear Japantown has excellent Unagi." The butler chirped, the voice module struggling slightly with the Japanese pronunciation.

"Just a moment, Ray. Got some questions for you."

The car pulled off the curb, beginning to drive after the sound of honking horns had forced it to move. "Well then, I am listening."

"How's biz? I heard there was some similar autonomous taxi service that previously dominated this city, called Delamain. Are you doing well?"

The butler paused, clearly not expecting the hail of questions as the projection remained silent for far longer than she thought it would. Clearing its throat, the 3D model arched a brow as it spoke once more and gave a rather boilerplate response. "Since 2077 following Delamain's dissolution, the company Raymond Autonomous Transit has grown steadily in the following years as the premier autonomous taxi service. We have seen a tenfold surpass of Delamain's last annual growth in profits, though it has been three years since they went out of business. For your last inquiry, all systems are nominal in this car- if you are talking about me."

'Okay, time to try again.'

"Glad to hear you're doing well, Ray. Listen, would you know of any work? Fixers I could be connected with? I've got a job I need to do, but to do it I need to get in someone's good graces. Do you know any Fixers that have previously used your services I could get in contact with?"

The cab began driving around Night Ring; merging with and to the flow of traffic as it pondered further. "As I would have it, yes! There are three Fixers who have previously utilized my services. There's Rogue Amendiares of the Afterlife, Sebastian Ibarra or 'Padre', as he is known more commonly, and the rather mysterious Mister Hands. I assume you are familiar with, or have heard of them?" Ray asked, to which Jennifer shook her head in response. "I was born in DC. This is my first time here." The car hummed as it revved its engine, flipping its turnsigal to merge onto an exit as the Butler nodded. "Perhaps you may best be acquainted with the legendary Rogue. Shall I head to the Afterlife?"

"Lets."

---

The drive to the bar had been relatively smooth. There wasn't much to look at, save for the new introduction of Militech personnel and their various autonmous drones patrolling deeper into Watson. Militech were partially to blame for her state as well; having ordered a bombardment on an insurgent location her team had just infiltrated. Suppressing a scowl, she turned her attention back to Ray as the car pulled up to the curb. "Here we are!"

"Preem, thanks Ray."

"Just one moment. For your safety, I would advise leaving your weapons with me. They will be protected while I wait for your return. Is this acceptable?"

Jennifer shrugged as she brought her rifle over her head and lowered it into the adjacent seat, doing the same with her pistol. "Suits me fine, appreciate the concern." The butler clapped his hands together as her passenger side door opened. "Wonderful, Miss Hudson. I await your return. Good luck!" Stepping out of the cab, Jennifer waked toward the Afterlife nook as she descended the stairs and bladed her way through the patches of people loitering at the stairs and further into the building. Descending the stairs, Jennifer slowed her gait as she approached the titanic Animal. The giant's eyes narrowed as he silently held out a bear-sized hand at wrist length; stopping her a few inches back from the entrance. The man barely tilted his chin down at her as his eyes flicked over her extremities, finally he grumbled in the back of his throat. "Never seen chrome like yours before... what's your biz."

"Here to see Rogue." Jennifer responded, concealing her intimidated tone. The man's eyes illuminated a bright blue as he stifled a scoff.

"As everyone else is. Nobody bothers to come in for drinks much anymore. Get on, go on through." The hulk's eyes dimmed back to their original color as he stepped to the right and beckoned her inside, almost immediately signaled to accompany another massive brute as he grunted at her, turning on a pivot to head through the sea green illumination of the bar area as she followed behind. Through the dips and bobs of the man's shoulders, she could see the bright profile of a neon yellow cut-top jacket adorned by a woman with gray hair and matching eyes, tucked into a booth and surrounded by mountains of muscle. From the perpetually pissed expression she wore, Jennifer deduced that it would be rather wise to keep her conversation in brief.