[Undercity - No Man's Land]
Life in UnderCity was harsh. It was a fact, not a theory.
Even in the more fortified areas, your safety was purchased with contribution and sometimes the labor was harder than homelessness. Still... people of all walks found a way to thrive. The gangs in particular. JAHANNAM, and Halcyon Horde at least had rules you could follow; guidelines, really. You did your best not to borrow from JAHANNAM if you had a choice, and as long as you paid your taxes and didn't cause trouble, the Horde would mostly leave you alone.
The more esoteric groups like the Cult of Flesh seemed to operate without rhyme or reason; and then there were the Rippers. Psychotically obsessed Chrome junkies that would stop at nothing to get their next augment. They were feared for their unique brutality. Rippers were like cockroaches armed with rockets and lasers, that became aggressive when the lights came on instead of scattering. Where there was one, many were like to be nearby and disturbing them was trouble. They were prone to infectious bursts of psychotic rage that spread through the group at large and lingered long after the stone that struck their nest was thrown.
Like a peculiar hive-mind: stirring up the Rippers in one part of the UnderCity often set off a chain reaction that enraged all the Rippers in the region. Which is why (as a general rule of thumb) you just didn't fuck with Rippers. Like many things, however, there were... exceptions.
"Help... help me..."
The Heap. An enormous scrapyard some distance northwest of ShieldTown. Over the years it'd mostly been picked clean but you could sometimes find an odd spare part, and it was still a rich source of scrap-metal for patches and repairs. It was becoming a more common Ripper haunt as they filtered in to hunt for materials to maintain their cybernetics. Crude as it may be, not everyone had a fully kitted Chrome shop or cryptosleep surgery tank.
"Hey. Hear that?"
"Hear what? Cochlear implant's on the fritz again. Can't hear shit," muttered Grimm, as he hefted a piece of rusted steel. The electric servos in his shoulder and forearm whined as he flung it behind him to sift for the next piece of scrap. "Nothin' here but rust and garbage since those whores at The Den moved in."
"Someone... help me..."
"Hoohohoho, Grimm! That's a pristine Vox Encoder if I ever heard one! Bet me right eye," Slurm's wet, phlegm rattled chuckle scraped over the husks of skeletal cars and warped beams. Implant rejection had hit Slurm particularly hard. Grimm's steel digits snapped around Slurm's collar, pulling him roughly off the pile he was skittering over and throwing him to the dirt. "What gives??
"No fresh picks in the Heap, Slurm... or did ya forget? Den sluts scooped it all. It's a honey pot," Grimm warned as he returned to the up ended semi-tractor he was digging through. "Leave it alone," he ordered.
"Fine," Slurm spat, as he scrambled to his feet and moved back to his spot sullenly. "It'S a hOnEy PoT, he sneered quietly under his breath. "Old man's been a Ripper so long he don't know the taste of honey from that nutrient slop he guzzles down." Slurm continued to mutter as he picked sullenly through the refuse while the siren call of a premium Vox Encoder drifted tantalizingly over the Heap.
Eventually Slurm couldn't stand it any longer and scuttled away quietly while Grimm was occupied, trusting the man's damaged cochlear implants to hide his departure. Grimm had a singular focus when it came to sifting the Heap, and had a knack for consistently finding a good pick, scarce as they were nowadays. He'd be busy in that truck cab for a while and probably wouldn't notice if Slurm snuck away to have a peek.
A peek wouldn't hurt, would it?
"I'm stuck... is anyone there?"
There it was... Slurm peered cautiously from behind what probably used to be a diesel station overhang. Laying there, pinned beneath the the door of an old shipping container that had fallen open. Had to be careful around those: they could fall open at any time and they were heavy as fuck. Amateur.
"Hello?" She called, causing Slurm to flinch. One of the buttons on his worn denim Ripper cut had brushed against the overhang. Bitch had real sensitive hearing if she heard that. "Is someone there?" She called, struggling to look around. Something fluttered and chirped above him. A bat? Huge colonies of the pests weren't uncommon in certain parts of UnderCity, but they didn't usually wander out this far. Whatever.
"And what do we have here?" Rasped Slurm as he prowled out from behind his cover on all fours towards the container.
"This door fell on me, I think my leg is broken are you here to help?"
"Help? Yeah... help myself to that shiny voice of yours," he cackled as he loped over, letting his phlegm-slicked tongue loll out like a hungry dog. He'd only crossed half the distance when something weighty gently struck his back. Odd... though it wasn't nearly enough impact to even throw him off course, he crumpled listlessly and only just managed to keep his tongue intact as his chin painfully struck pavement.
The slither and chitter of shifting metal rose around him as the pinned figure shifted. Another thump: against his shoulder. This time it was accompanied by a searing heat and his scream was only muffled by the fact that he could no longer manipulate his jaw. The acrid stench of sizzling flesh and melted plasteel racked his lungs, and his arm slid foot by foot towards the container as her body bent and contorted unnaturally. Bladed digits with far too many articulations reached out from under the door far too smoothly; alloy plates and synthetic muscle slithered up the frame to her wrist as she twisted herself effortlessly out from under the weight and almost seemed to reconstruct back to her feet.
His arm slid towards her again, dragged by some kind of robotic drone or creature, grasped by far too long digits connected by some thin, leather-like membrane. It turned its singular, glowing red optical sensor towards him as it moved and the staccato shower of light and sparks from the arc-torch which made up what should have been the creature's mouth seared his retinas. A set of long, spindly digits reached into his vision over each eye and dragged his eyelids open, pinning his head back with surprising force.
"My... what shiny eyes you have," she noted, her vox encoded voice devoid of emotion as she reached down and picked up his arm. The limb jerked and shuddered as the drone that had been carrying it burrowed aggressively into the shoulder, and a worn out joint brace clattered to the ground from beneath her cloak. The metal and fiber slithered unnaturally, forming and optimizing new connections, repurposing wiring harnesses and synth-muscle. Threads of light weaved into the limb as she jammed it into her empty shoulder socket. Tactile plates and haptic feedback sensors re-oriented as the hand was forcibly converted from left to right.
She flexed her new hand and shook out the stiffness. Her neck and face were a perfect blend of synth and flesh with no signs of inflammation or rejection, though her mandible seemed to be missing, and her lipless maxilla curled into the simulacrum of a fanged skull.
"Should have listened to your friend. He gives good advice," she informed coolly, dead violet eyes spearing him with loathing and disdain. She twisted her new wrist in her hand as if trying to soothe the chafing of freshly removed handcuffs. Violet reached into her cloak, and withdrew her eyeless black and red kitsune mask. She brushed a few strands of straight black hair out of her face with her new appendage before pressing the mask to her face. A bat unfurled from her torso as she strode towards him and thumped to the ground, almost allowing him to look up into her exposed ribcage.
Slurm's muffled screams echoed quietly over the Heap as it charged him aggressively.
"It's Grimm... Slurm's dumb ass fell for a honey pot and he got nabbed. Need more bodies at the Heap: Chiroptera is out hunting..."
