Argentorum
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Strong Enough 2.3
🕑 Added 2024-05-21 22:57:20 +0000 UTCPrevious chapters will be backposted later tonight, for best reading experience in the meantime, you can catch up on the story HERE or HERE
Gig Worker 2.3
Footsteps echo down the corridor.
Officer Gomez blinks off his program. “Kusaki?” He rubs his eyes; the old models ache over the night shift.
When no one replies, he levers himself out of the chair with a grunt. “Swear to fuck if ‘Saki’s sneaking his output again…” One hand scratches his ass as he meanders around the corner.
A woman in a white lab coat stands in the middle of the hall. The doorway frames her, head half-turned the other way, long hair billowing like a dark curtain.
Gomez rubs his eyes again, a spark of color jumping from her form. “Hey.” He clears his throat. “Hey, you’re not supposed—”
She vanishes. Gomez jerks, head spinning. The hall is empty. He blinks, turning around around twice more before he remembers that Kusaki should be on cameras. He calls the other officer who pulled the night shift, huffing when it takes almost a minute for the other man to pick up.
“What?”
“Check the feed.” Gomez says. “Thought I saw a woman.”
“On your BD?” Kusaki snorts. “Bet your eyes got hacked again.”
“Just check the fucking cams.”
“Sure, choom.”
Gomez can hear the eye roll.
“And zip up your damn pants.”
Kusaki laughs. “Kiss my ass. I—huh. There’s a glitch.”
Gomez spins back towards the door. “What’s wrong?”
“Quit your glitching, choom,” Kusaki replies. “I’m rebooting it now. Not gonna give you a fucking play by—”
The call cuts out.
“Eh?” Gomez tries to reconnect the call. “This a fucking joke?” From the corner of his eye, he sees the hall camera pan over to him. “Yeah, you’re so fucking funny, gonk. Fucking nova.” He flips it off. “Stop jerking me off.”
A rush of wind crashes over him. The woman appears close enough to touch, and Gomez blinks in surprise. “Uh.” He starts to lower his raised arm, staring into her pale face, and bright red eyes.
The bright red circles, too big, track down to Gomez’s neck. His gaze follows.
She has a gun, pressed right into the hollow of his throat. Right above where his body armor ends. Not that NCPD standard issue body armor has ever blocked a bullet, so Gomez isn’t really sure it matters.
“Huh,” he hears himself say. “Guess my eyes did get—”
The gunshot is the last sound he hears. Then he’s on the floor, choking, gasping. The white coat swishes as its owner steps over him. She leans down, fingers touching the side of his ruined neck.
His glitchy old eyes last longer than the rest of him.
~~~
The brass is warm in her fingers.
Taylor rolls the spent casing back and forth in her palm. Music blares across the patio, and Maine’s truck has its lights turned up. The high beams frame her calves from where Taylor perches on the hood. The ‘seat of honor,’ Maine calls it. Mostly it just hurts her ass.
“What’s got’chu all down, choomba?”
Taylor flinches. She glares over at Becca. The electric blue pixie giggles.
“Wooo, scary edgerunner here.” She holds out a cup.
“More NiCola?” Taylor asks.
“Nah, got you a Don Cervesa.” Becca winks. “Only the best for the crew. You and Sash really killed it today.”
“Killed someone today, more like.” Taylor takes a sip of the beer, pulling a face. More than one person. “Panicked after that first cop saw me.”
“Why you beating yourself up, girl?” Becca hops on the hood. “Not like the fixer cared bout a couple of pigs.”
Taylor hums. “I just…wanted to keep the streak.”
Becca laughs. “How many jobs you do without flatlining anyone? Five?”
Another sip of the beer does not improve the flavor. “This would’ve made seven.”
“Yikers.” Becca shrugs. “You two are supernova rn, choom. But ‘snot like you coulda kept that going forever.”
“Yeah.” She’s having trouble explaining that those two cops were the first people she killed that weren’t Maelstrom, and she thought she’d be more upset over it, but she’s not. Taylor thought, in the back of her head where the metal connects to her spine, that she could keep herself pure in her revenge. That she could kill the people responsible for her mother’s death without…
The line between Taylor and ‘Scarlet’ is thinner that she thought. Maybe it was never there at all.
“You’re pleased as punch you convinced Maine to take a chance on me, huh?” she asks.
Rebecca laughs again. “As punch? Yeah, granny, I was ‘utterly delighted’.” She cups her boobs. “Get it?”
“Ha ha.” The Taylor of two weeks ago would have blushed at that, or maybe just how little Becca’s top and jacket cover. She just so pretty; the skin and hair honestly remind her of an artwork. Taylor wants to get her in a dress and heels or something.
But as a member of Maine’s crew, Taylor’s seen and heard a lot worse by now. After the apartment job, Sasha’s brought Taylor along on every gig that came her way. Turns out Sasha and ‘Scarlet’ are a perfect match. They cut through half a dozen gigs with ease, the speed of Taylor’s Sandy letting her slip through any gap Sasha can find, and the runner is very good at finding gaps.
She hasn’t had to play Counter Intelligence since the first time, but Sasha bought her a sleek looking black bodysuit with red accents that goes perfectly with her lab coat. Taylor quietly thinks it’s Nova, even though she has to stash it in the vent at the penthouse. She’s well on the way to making her next semester’s tuition.
Taylor takes another sip of her beer. “Why do people drink this shit?”
Becca holds out the other cup, NiCola. “Trade ya.”
“How do you already have me pegged?”
“Pegging costs a bit more than that, Scar,” Becca says.
This time Taylor spits up her soda, coughing and pounding her chest as Becca gives a little victory smile.
The little gremlin sidles over on the hood, half leaning on Taylor’s arm. She walks her fingers up the taller woman’s shoulder. “If you wanted little ol’ me, you just…had to…ask…”
A braying laugh cuts off whatever Taylor might have said.
“As if anyone would pay for your flat little ass!”
Becca whips around. “Shut the fuck up, Pilar!” In a beat, she’s halfway across the courtyard, fingers locked around her brother’s neck.
Taylor lets out a breath. She sets the rest of her soda aside and rests her face in her hands. She ignores Maine’s laughter as well as she can; the man sounds like a loudspeaker.
She’d best not mention it to him, or he might actually chip in a new voice box.
The hood of the car dips slightly as someone else hops on top of it.
“They’re always a riot,” Sasha says. “Though, I am a bit surprised how well you and Becs get along.”
Taylor straightens, smoothing out her lab coat. “What’s so surprising?”
“You’ve got this air about you, Scarlet.” Sasha covers her smile with one hand. “Like you belong in some executive suite, not slumming it down here. Becca…really doesn’t.”
Taylor raises an eyebrow. “I think she’d do better than you think. A pinafore, with some cuffs maybe?” She sighs. “I’d love to do something better with her hair but—” Sasha’s giggle cuts her off. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing,” she waves a hand. “It’s just good that you’re getting on. She leans over her knees, arms crossed at the wrist. “Maine tries to keep on top of things, but Pilar doesn’t want his ‘kid sister’ running with the crew.”
“Didn’t think he was the protective type.” Taylor looks back over to see Pilar holding his sister back with one hand placed on her head. His absurdly long arm means that Becca can’t even kick him.
Sasha giggles again.
Taylor takes a breath. “…Did you—”
“Manage to look at the files yet?” Sasha pokes Taylor’s shoulder. “I’ve been here the whole time, same as you.”
“Yeah, right,” Taylor says. “It’s just…”
“Been hard to find anything on Maelstrom, last couple of weeks.” Sasha nods. Their most recent job had been to break into the police database and erase some priors—Sasha said it was common practice for gangs to keep their members out of MaxSec—but while they were there, Sasha also said she’d look for anything regarding Maelstrom.
The gang half cannibalized itself after Brick died. Taylor isn’t sure how to feel about that. On one hand, there’s a chance that the other three people on her list are already dead.
But…
“Take a breath, girl.” Sasha takes a sip of her drink. “When was the last time you took some R&R? Cause I know that you’ve got something going on for your day job.
Taylor shrugs. “We didn’t have a gig last weekend.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Sasha replies. She sighs. “Look, Imma tell you the same thing I tell Maine whenever he starts talking himself into an upgrade he doesn’t need: You need live off of the wire, too.”
Taylor blinks. “The wire?”
“Oh, right, haven’t told you the story yet.” Sasha waves a hand. “It’s just a piece of some old media I found. D’you know that people used to, like, hang wires between buildings and walk across them?”
“You mean, like what we did on the Ibilis Tower job?”
“For fun, choom!” Sasha pushes Taylor’s shoulder. “For fun. Also, where’d you think I got the idea?”
Taylor shrugs. With the Sandy, walking across a metal line had been easy enough. Each step, she had minutes of personal time before gravity started to tug her over, but she doesn’t get why something like that would be fun.
“One famous tightrope walker—that’s what they were called—said that ‘Life is on the wire, everything else is waiting’. Maybe that was fine for him.” Sasha shrugs. “But you’re an edgerunner. You can’t live your whole life up on that wire, Scar. You’ll slip, and fall right off the edge.”
“I thought that was in the job description.”
“Forgive me if some of us want to retire someday.” Sasha sniffs.
“What, you?”
“Not, me, silly.” Sasha grins, eyes sparkling. “But you know, some of us, hypothetically.”
“Sounds like you aren’t taking your own advice.”
“But I am though.” Sasha nods fervently. “I treat myself every weekend to a nice relaxing spa day. And my rig.” She giggles. “I can’t wait to install the new SQD I just bought. Believe me, Scar, I treat myself all the time.”
“What,” Taylor asks. “You’re saying I need to splurge on a mani-pedi and a BD wreath?”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Sasha replies. “You just have to do something. Or, y’know, go crazy. If that’s what you want.”
Taylor looks down, rubbing her wrists. Getting recoil compensators installed is maybe the only thing she’s done for herself since joining the crew, and that was when she was still technically a solo. She used to be able to relax. Even after Emma, it wasn’t like she turned into a robot.
Night City has a way of taking things from people.
“I’ll…try.” she says.
Her resolve lasts until noon the next day, when a girl dumps soda in her hair.
Because the City keeps the things it takes.
It happens in the canteen, in front of cameras and a hundred witnesses. One of Emma’s cronies comes right up to her, jerking into her path. Taylor dodged, but the other girl gave a weak attempt at a stagger and drenched her with a full cup of grape NiCola.
Taylor cannot taste the love.
“Oops?” The girl drops the cup so she can straighten the sleeves of her Arasaka Academy uniform. “My bad.”
Taylor’s hand jerks for a pistol she isn’t carrying. Because she’s an edgerunner, she has a crew. She’s pressed that gun against chromed up skulls and pulled the trigger until meat and metal came out the other side.
What’s one more girl in the middle of Arasaka Tower?
But Taylor doesn’t have the gun, because in Arasaka Tower, she is a law-abiding student with no priors, or she’s the newest test subject.
Bright purple droplets run down trembling fingers.
“Oh my god, Taylor!” Emma strides across the academy canteen. “Are you alright?” An arm wraps around Taylor’s elbow, even as the redhead gives her patsy a faux glare. “Be more careful!”
The other girl takes that chance to scurry away. She can’t even be bothered to hide her smirk.
The world flickers and slows to grey, eyes locked tight on those lips. At the edge of the canteen, Taylor can also see a security personal glancing over, boredom written clear on his face.
Time stutters back into motion.
“Here.” Emma’s grip is bruising, another added humiliation. “Let me help you clean up.”
Taylor’s eyes widen. The redhead pulls a Arasaka brand water bottle out of her blazer and flicks off the cap. Taylor twists, and if she doesn’t break Emma’s thumb, it’s a near thing. The other girl flinches, bottle half tipping over. Something that looks very much like water pours out of the mouth.
It bubbles and hisses when it hits the soda on the floor.
The soda that’s in Taylor’s hair.
It’s a surprise that Taylor’s still surprised.
“Do you really hate me that much?” she asks.
“What are you talking about, Taylor?” Emma simpers. “I’m just trying to make sure it doesn’t stain.”
Grey flashes, time slows down. But no, too fast. Taylor moves in real time, just fast enough to wrap her fingers around the top of the bottle. She pushes it back towards Emma. “Why don’t you take a drink then,” she replies. “I’m worried about you.”
Emma laughs. She steps back, tilting the bottle so the last drops spill out and mix with the soda on the floor. Even if it was toxic, how would you be able to tell at that point. She leaves the empty bottle hanging from Taylor’s fingers.
“Careful.” At last Emma drops the act. “Next time you won’t be so lucky.”
Taylor bristles. “Next time?”
“Did you really think you were welcome in my life?” Her green eyes flash, before she pastes back on that empty smile. “Don’t be late for class now!”
She turns and flounces off, sharing some joke with the security guard that leaves him laughing. Taylor remains standing in the middle of the canteen.
She doesn’t need a gun. The security guard has one, and it would be savagely sweet to turn that little assumption of safety around on Emma. No one would be able to stop her.
Instead, Taylor spins and stalks out of the other exit, fists clenched tight all the way to the nearest restroom. She strips off her blazer, dumping it under one tap. A quick eyeblink disables the mirror, and Taylor starts washing the worst of the soda from her hair.
Fortunately, it didn’t get the back, but her crown is already transforming into a sticky mess, and no amount of water and scrubbing is going to undo that.
Stills she scrubs and wrings and scrubs and wrings.
She’ll need to get a hotel room, because there is no world where Taylor will be returning to Emma’s home tonight, not after their tentative ceasefire was broken with this brutal salvo. If there’s one thing Emma has always excelled at, its driving home an advantage.
Then the door to the restroom opens and Taylor realizes that the harassment isn’t over yet.
It’s the same girl from before, wearing the same smirk. Her eyes are already recording. Something in Taylor snaps.
She throws her blazer.
It hits the other girl in the face; she staggers.
The mirror is off. No other cameras in the women’s restroom, too many HR complaints. The color drains out of the world as Taylor fires the Sandevistan. The rage stays.
She slides across the room, cinching the jacket tighter with a careless twist. Taylor’s other hand grabs a wrist, wrenching it behind the back. The moment time resumes the girl grunts, letting out a shocked shout. Taylor shoves. In two steps she’s flipping the other girl onto the sink, trapping her back against the lip.
Emma’s little crony kicks out, bet she wasn’t prepared for this. Taylor’s never fought back before, not physically. That’s changed.
She’s changed.
Scarlet tips the girl farther back, underneath the still running faucet, until the stream is right over her target’s mouth and nose.
The thrashing intensifies, but Scarlet has weight and leverage on her side. Funny thing about eyes, they can only record if they’re open. You might think that the girl’s medical implant would pick up on this, but that’s funny too.
Her system won’t notice anything until her oxygen levels start to dip into hypoxia, but the psychological effects of waterboarding come far before that.
The girl gasps coughing, clawing. Scarlet hauls her out just long enough to get one clean breath. Just long enough to grab both of her hands and shove her back beneath the water.
Scarlet can keep this up all day, and all the girl will have to show for it is some wet hair.
Scarlet thinks she just might.
The five-minute bell rings.
Taylor closes her eyes. She lets out a breath, before hauling the girl out from under the stream. She shoves her against the wall; the wet kitten kicks weakly a few times, but when Taylor pulls her blazer off she just sinks to the floor, gasping, looking up at Taylor like she’s never seen her before.
Taylor smiles. The girl flinches back, pressing herself half under the sinks with a whimper. Idiot somehow blinked off her recording software as well.
“Give me your jacket.”
It’s a bit tight, but Taylor just unbuttons the cuffs and dumps her soaked one into the incinerator chute right there in the restroom. Gotta dispose of those pesky tampons somehow.
The girl is still huddling under the sink when Taylor turns to face her.
“You won’t be telling anyone about this,” Taylor says. Her eyes flick back to the sink, and the other girl flinches. “I’m sure you know why.”
Somehow, Taylor goes back to class. The patsy does not.
The lessons blur past. At times, she can’t make out anything except Emma’s bright red hair.
Taylor sends one message to Sasha. It reads:
I need to steal a car.
