Chapter Text
The battered Emperor jolted with the smallest bumps in the road; her suspension was shot from her ride to the Plaza, and the clash with a Militech AV. Her tires still held, and her cabin wasn't too full of holes to carry her driver and passenger through Downtown, gliding through side-streets as stealthily as a small tank could. The nuke-green stencil on her side was like a glowing target, but they'd been lucky; all eyes were on the action at the Plaza. No one above had seen them slip out of the underpass.
“Luck”, however, felt like the wrong word.
The driver held the wheel with his left hand. His right was shattered, useless, scraps shaking loose with every bounce. He was exhausted, having spent the last few hours trailing a fully-armed convoy out for blood, then holding off two separate corpo forces, then coming almost face-to-face with the deadliest borg in the city, maybe on Earth. Moreover, he knew all this happened because they had been crossed by someone he'd thought was a friend, and he had the bitter feeling he would never see her again.
When he glanced over his shoulder, and saw the girl in the back seat--filthy, splashed with blood, bent over the steel briefcase in her lap, letting out choking, agonized sobs whenever she caught her breath--he knew his feelings amounted to nothing compared to hers.
He bowed his head, and turned back to the road.
In-between jolts, a call rang in his periphery. When he checked the ID, he nearly swerved into a streetlight. He answered; muffled gunfire greeted him.
'Becca?! Holy shit, how'd ya--
No time, geezer! *prdrdr! prdrdr!* Dee's fadin' on me!
Ya got him out?!
*ptang!* I'M MAKIN' A CALL, DICKSHIT! *prdrdr! prdrdr! prdrdr!* Barely! We got streetside, but the fuckin' corpos spotted us! We're pinned in the plaza 'cross from Megabuilding H9! Get us an evac! *prdrdr! prdrdr!*
...alright, we're comin'. Give us a few, and hang tight, little one!
Fuck off! *ptong! ptang!* Oh, you motherFUCKERS! *prdrdr! prdrdr! prdr-
She hung up. The driver jerked the wheel into the nearest right turn.
“Luce, I need ya up here!”
The girl barely stirred.
“Lucy, he's alive!”
She sat upright. Her dirty face came back to life.
“God knows how, but 'Becca dragged him out. We're headin' back in fer a pick-up, and no way I'm gettin' us through that shitstorm alone.”
The girl raised her head. Her last fresh tears trickled down her face. She closed her eyes, and took a breath; when they opened, her sorrow was gone. She stood, tottering. Following the walls, she limped to the front and sat in the passenger seat, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Wind blew through the missing side window and dried what she'd missed.
“What do you need?” Her voice was cool and clinical; focused, though tired.
The driver half-smiled. “Attagirl. Just gimme a route, and keep 'Saka off our tail 'til we get there. After that...” He cut the wheel right again, and stomped on the accelerator.
“Start prayin' fer another miracle...”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Rebecca huddled behind the statue's base. A Nowaki under each arm, she fished out a pair of magazines, smacked them into each rifle. In unison she dropped and caught them both, cramming her fingers into the trigger guards. She slunk along the base and leapt around the corner. The three Arasaka troopers advancing on her position reacted too late.
She opened fire. One, furthest back, jumped behind the opposite side of the obsidian block. His comrades were left in the open. Burst after burst tore into them. As soon as they fell, Rebecca dived, snatched the spare mags from their belts, then rolled away as a hail of bullets meant for her shredded their corpses.
“Those don't count~!” She called from cover. “They were already dead!”
She blind-fired over the top, scurried to the other corner, fired again. As long as the two APCs were pinned on their side, she had time, until the next wave came down the street facing her. Then she'd be fucked. Rebecca risked a glance at the barely-moving torso she'd set in the middle of the block, and kept shooting. Once dry, she ducked, stowed her rifles, reached for more magazines. She heard more coming, splitting down both sides, heavy boots and rattling gear closing in. Rebecca grimaced; she might take a few rounds, but they'd be on the ground long before her.
She dropped her Nowakis onto the mags, took a breath, and slid out of cover.
Three troopers lay along the left side of the statue. The ground was clean, no blood, and the corpos seemed to be alive. All three twitched, like a nasty shock had struck them out of nowhere. The street was silent now, bar the chaos in Corpo Plaza due south. Rebecca crept along the base; she prodded the troopers as she passed. None of them reacted.
At the next corner, she poked her head into the open. By her count, eight to ten troopers were left from the squads that'd cornered her. As far as she could see, all of them were out cold. A boot or an arm jutted from behind a bench or a concrete planter, and since no helmets were visible over the tops, whoever she couldn't see must have been the same, all collapsed at once in less than a second.
“What the fuck...?” She peered further out. Her hands threatened to crush the Nowakis in her grip. She turned her head, tuned for the sound of an ambush, an elaborate, childish trick she'd somehow fallen for.
When she saw the figure standing by the APCs, facing the Plaza, she ducked into a firing position. Then she recognized it: the sleek body, the solid black sub-layer shielding his joints, the armor that glittered like an oil slick in the light. Cautiously, she straightened, kept her rifles aimed.
“Oh. You again...”
The borg smoothly turned to her. A thin black visor stared her down, unbothered by the twin weapons pointed at him. “Good evening,” he said in a calm voice; whatever synthesizer he used easily projected to the statue. “You're out of danger for now, but more are coming. Please, continue to evacuate.”
Rebecca gnashed her teeth at his tone, the same busy-body talk you heard from blues who wouldn't look the other way. “I've got a ride comin',” she called back dismissively. “We're nova over here.”
“Understood.” With a gait at once smooth and robotic, he walked towards her. “Is your friend alright?”
The Nowakis snapped up. “That's close enough!”
The borg stopped. “...affirmative.” He stepped back.
Rebecca looked him up and down. That thing he'd fought had torn David apart, but his armor was spotless, not as much as a fingerprint. “...so, that 'Saka borg...” She glanced south. “He dead?”
“Negative,” the borg replied; his voice rang with regret, anger. “Only disabled.”
“Good. Fucker broke my favorite gun. Can't let him get zeroed before I get another shot.”
“That's two of us, then. Remind me to bring you along next time. I'll let you finish him.” Under the hum of the synthesizer, she swore she heard a smile in his voice.
“Look,” Rebecca said after a pause, “the hell are you? You with a gang? You a corpo?”
“Negative,” the borg said simply. “I'm a cop.”
“Bullshit. Blues don't get chrome like that, and they deffo don't get into it with corpo troops.”
“Correct, they don't. But I'm still a cop.”
Rebecca blinked. “...whatever, choom. Just get ready for the full shitstorm. They'll prolly hit you harder than us for what you pulled.”
The borg turned south, to the ring of megabuildings at the heart of the city. “I know. I'm counting on it.”
Rebecca looked at him and huffed. “Crazy bastard...”
Between the chatter from the coms in the APCs, they became aware of something approaching from the northeast, large, heavy-sounding, scraping and rattling closer. Rebecca ducked down and crept back along the plinth. If it was her ride, she'd have nothing to worry about. If not...
Lights flashed onto the plaza, and a familiar hulk of a car, shot to hell and rocking side-to-side, barreled through the crosswalk sign, over the sidewalk, and came to a stop parallel to the statue. Rebecca eased up. “We're nova,” she said, turning over her shoulder, “it's just my ri--”
The borg was gone. Only the APCs and the short-circed troopers populated the plaza. The whining hatch of the Emperor distracted Rebecca before she could think. Rifles lowered, she walked out of cover as a slender young woman hobbled down the hatch. She slowed as she neared the statue, and the shape leaning on its base, and stopped completely when it was fully visible. Even in the poor light, Rebecca saw her grimy face turn paler, and her eyes go wide.
“I'm fine too, by the way,” Rebecca muttered.
Lucy dropped to her knees next to the body. David--what remained of him--was still unconscious. His chest spasmed. His head had begun to twitch. When his surviving eye winked open, it was rolled back, just whites and veins; the word “Kiroshi” peeked out from his lids. She reached out with a trembling hand and placed it on his chest.
“That junk he pumped himself with is wearin' off,” Rebecca said dismally. “Don't count on that trick you pulled workin' twice.”
Lucy took a breath. “We need to move him.”
“No shit, but good luck gettin' him in the cab with that still on him.” Rebecca jabbed at the vestigial frame of the cyberskeleton sewn into his back.
Lucy scanned his back. She winced at the spikes fastening the frame to his body, but she noticed a slim gap between them. An idea struck her. She sat on her heels and deftly pulled at a metal tab on her wrist. A length of gleaming wire flowed out.
“Stand back,” she said. Rebecca obeyed, watching closely. Looping the monowire around the frame, Lucy gingerly slipped it down to the base, rested it on the first spike she felt. Swiftly, she pulled the loop shut. It sheered through each spike; the metal block, the remains of his anti-grav thrusters, crashed down, and David slipped against the base, too dazed to notice. After steadying him, Lucy moved to his other side.
As she watched, Rebecca frowned. “Yeah,” she muttered dejectedly, “of course...” She straightened her posture and expression once Lucy had finished, and the other half of the frame was cut loose.
“Any idea where to take him?” Rebecca asked.
“I...don't know. He...tried to kill his doc the last time they met. No chance he'll help us after that.”
Rebecca flared. “Fuck's sake, really?! Were you gonna say anything about that?!” Lucy took the words like a slap; her head drooped.
“So,” Rebecca moved to set down her weapons, “what are we doin'?”
“Do you need assistance?”
“Fuck!” Rebecca jumped, jabbed both rifles toward the SUV, where the borg had suddenly appeared, holding a Nowaki of his own by the top rail. “Don't...fuckin' do that!”
“Sorry,” the borg replied, unphased, “but I know where you can take him.”
Lucy, who had thrown herself over David when Rebecca started, looked up at the stranger. She turned to Rebecca, baffled.
“Long story,” the little woman said, “no time. So,” she returned to the borg, “what kinda place we talkin'?”
At that moment, Falco jogged out of the cabin. “Why in hell ain't we--” He came face-to-face with the borg.
“Jesus!” His working hand reached for his iron.
“Chill, geezer,” Rebecca said. “This guy helped us out.”
The driver stared. The borg stared back. Falco turned to Rebecca and David and back. Then, slowly, he holstered his Burya. “Ya...ya have my thanks, then...” he said, rattled.
“Save them until you get away.” The borg set down his Nowaki and swiveled to Rebecca. “Hold on to those rifles. I'll carry him.”
“No fuckin' way! I'll take--!”
“'Becca.” Falco said warningly. “No time. Just let 'im do it.” His hand still rested on his revolver.
Rebecca grimaced, but reluctantly stepped back and walked to the Emperor. She passed the borg as he approached David. From the ground, Lucy watched him. Her breath quickened as he drew closer. When he stopped, she gripped David's chest, shielded him with her body.
“Luce, come on,” Falco called, calm but insistent.
The borg met her eyes; Lucy pulled closer.
The towering metal body, with human grace, bent down on one knee. He placed his hand over Lucy's.
“Don't worry, ma'am,” he said, and the electronic buzz in his voice was soft, almost warm. “I'm here to help.”
Lucy shrank back from the machine so close to her face. Almost imperceptibly, he squeezed her hand with the care of someone touching an infant. She looked at her hand, then at the black visor facing her. She blinked once, twice, then let her arms slide off of David's chest. She stood, not taking her eyes off the borg or the body.
The borg took the wrecked torso in his arms. Despite everything missing, he held him naturally, carefully, like a child. David was aware enough to feel unfamiliar, cold hands grabbing him. He began to choke. His head thrashed.
“It's alright, son,” the borg said; his voice lowered to a gentle drone. “If you can hear me, you're safe now.”
“...David...” Lucy added, weakly. “His name's David...”
The borg glanced at her, and nodded. “You'll be alright, David.”
He stood, marched to the SUV, up the ramp, and propped David in the closest seat, across from Rebecca. His head lolled to one side, then twitched again, flipping to the other. The little woman got up to carefully buckle him in.
“Take him to Watson.” The borg left the cab, picked up his Nowaki. “Head to Northside, the Industrial District.”
Falco shook his head. “That's Maelstrom turf. We'd be safer here. These bastards just wanna kill us!”
“They won't engage if you avoid their hideout.” While he spoke he swiftly mag-checked his weapon. “Find Warehouse 87 to the north. Tell the man named Mitchell I sent you. He'll take care of David.”
“Yeah? So, we givin' him a name or what?”
The borg turned his visor to Falco. “My name's Murphy.” He slapped the mag back into the rifle. “Give him that.”
“...and can we trust ya?”
“Murphy” glanced to Falco's left, at the road that curved around the rim of the Plaza. The wheelman didn't need enhanced senses to tell reinforcements would soon be here.
“What are your options?” Murphy said bluntly.
Falco took a few precious seconds to think. “Aw, hell,” he rumbled under his breath. He threw up his hand. “Fine, fine...” He said, exasperated. He turned on his heel and stomped to the cockpit. “Just head right into whatever, I guess. Might as well. This night's been goin' great so far...”
From her seat, Rebecca glared as Falco complained. She gave a look through the hatch, to Murphy. She was no closer now to understanding what the borg was than she'd been when he fell from Memorial Park, but she knew she wouldn't be here--David wouldn't be here, if he hadn't arrived in time. She gave him a curt, respectful nod, then settled into keeping an eye on her mangled friend.
Lucy entered last. She walked around Murphy, paid him no attention, climbed up the ramp. She stopped at the threshold. She saw David again, broken and seizing but...alive. Struggling to stay composed, she turned to the borg. He tilted his head up slightly, curiously. She looked down, held her hand the same way he'd held it.
“Thank you.” Her voice cracked. She took a breath, swallowed hard. “...thank you.”
Right then, the hatch groaned to life. Both stepped back as it closed. Lucy watched Murphy's face before it disappeared. His stern mouth had lightened, not smiling but forming a soft line, close to what she'd call relief. Just before the close, she heard him say, “I'll see you all later. Take care of him.”
The hatch locked into the roof, and he was gone.
“Luce,” Falco called from the front, “gonna need ya on lookout 'til we're in the clear.”
Lucy gave one more look to David, then faced Rebecca. Cross-legged in her seat, the little woman dismissively jerked her head to the cockpit. Lucy obeyed.
Falco was already backing out as she took the passenger seat. “I know time ain't with us, but we gotta take the long way through Westbrook. Keep 'em off our trail 'til we get north.”
Lucy nodded. As the SUV jostled them, she saw through the cracked windshield. Murphy was standing in the south road between the parked APCs, haloed by a streetlight, brandishing his Nowaki. He fired two bursts into the air, then lowered it, stood still, and waited. High-beams flashed onto his body. They grew brighter as the next wave closed in. Lucy saw the front end of another vehicle fly into sight in front of him. In one second, she opened her mouth to cry out.
In the next, the new APC smashed into one of the old. Half of its grill was caved in, before the impact. The Emperor backed away, and on the roof of the new wreck, she saw Murphy, unharmed, firing seemingly at random.
She recognized that speed immediately.
“Sandevistan...”
Falco had seen it as well. “Jesus, he's got one too?”
“Looked like some hardcore shit he had chipped,” Rebecca called from the back. “He sent that other borg flyin' with a kick.”
Falco shook his head, amazed. “Goddamn...whatever he is, I hope he can handle it. Let's roll out.”
The battered Emperor rocked as it thumped onto the road. Falco hit the gas, and the SUV, bearing precious cargo, rumbled east, away from the growing gunfight. As for what waited for them in Watson, they had few ideas, and fewer of them good. They could only hope this wasn't an elaborate setup.
But, at the very least, now they could hope. Until they knew for sure what was going on, it would have to do.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
SURVEY MODE:
CURRENT LOCATION: ARROYO, SANTO DOMINGO
ARASAKA FORCES DETECTED: NEGATIVE
PURSUIT EVADED
PROCEED TO NORTHSIDE INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT, WATSON
CALCULATING ROUTE...
ALERT:
CRIME IN PROGRESS: ROBBERY
LOCATION: ARROYO
CALCULATING ROUTE...
ARREST MODE:
EQUIPPING: JKE-X2 KENSHIN...
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
“...in what is already being compared to the 2022 terrorist attack against the corporation. Despite damage to corporate property and several reported casualties, the culprits evaded Arasaka Security and are currently presumed at large. An unknown, heavily augmented suspect was spotted fleeing the scene and was briefly pursued, but early reports say they utilized the NCART rails to escape, and their location is as of now unknown. Arasaka has yet to make an official statement on the attack. As always, NN54 will provide updates as the situation develops...”
The automatic door chimed.
“Evenin', Miguel!” One of a pair of well-chromed thugs greeted the cashier with a slanted grin and briskly crossed the floor. “It's that time again...”
Miguel rolled his eyes and, with rehearsed efficiency, flicked off the radio and raised his hands. “C'mon, guys,” he sighed. “Three times in two weeks? They'll take my license.”
The thug slapped his Unity on the counter. “And I care, really.” He slid a chip over to the cashier. “Now make the fuckin' transfer, gonk.”
Miguel quietly eyed the pistol pointed at him.
“Go ahead,” the thug leered, looking over the frame of his cheap sunglasses. “Try it...”
Miguel slowly lowered his hand. The thug tapped his trigger guard expectantly.
With a bitter look, the cashier picked up the chip, and slotted it under the counter.
“Smart boy, Miguel!” The thug grinned; he gestured to his partner, who took a position on the other side of the store, playing with the bolt on his Saratoga. “Y'see? With brains like that, you'll get another job, don't you worry! We'll make sure to visit ya there, too!”
If looks could kill, Miguel would've turned the pair to ash. It was the only weapon he had at hand, with the cops minutes away and company earnings being siphoned off, which would only see him blamed and punished.
So it went in Night City.
The door chimed again.
“Put your weapons down, you are under arrest!”
At the counter, the thug wheeled around, aimed his Unity at whatever blue was dumb enough to stride in. Staring back at him, he found...
“What the fuck...?”
He'd seen full-on borgs before, even in Arroyo, but this one...he was head-to-toe chrome, literally, with a lustrous cobalt tint. He looked elite, slim, corpo, but wore no logos or insignias like everything else the top dogs touched. His face was blocked by a steel helmet, his eyes were a thin visor, but its mouth was exposed and scowling. In his right hand, he carried a high-end 'Saka pistol, but longer, bulkier, with the company stamp scratched off. He took a few steps forward; he moved almost gracefully, rocking side to side.
“I said, drop it!” He ordered. The buzz in his voice set their teeth on edge.
The thug, without a word, glanced at his partner. The partner nodded. He aimed his Saratoga, and the world slowed. Kerenzikov thrumming at full power, he weaved around shelves, dashed for the borg, pointed the barrel dead center in his face.
He pulled the trigger.
A hail of bullets shattered the sliding doors. They perforated their car in the street, rattled against the opposite wall. His finger relaxed. The borg was gone.
“What the...?!” The partner spun to the back of the store...
...and met a stern, half-exposed face behind him.
“...holy shi--!”
The borg raised his left arm and smacked him aside. The partner sailed across the floor, crashed into a vending machine in the corner. He slid down its cracked front, unconscious. The machine sparked, flashed, churned out cans of NiCola. The partner whimpered as they thumped on his head.
The borg turned to the counter. Both the thug and Miguel were dumbstruck. He stepped forward like before, purposefully. The thug shakily thrust out his pistol; he was panting, and his sunglasses had slid down to the end of his nose. In response, the borg leveled his weapon, corporate iron modified beyond its limits.
No matter the force against him, no matter who stood in his way, he would not be intimidated.
He would not yield.
“Your move, creep.”