PRIVATE Echoes of the Neon Divide I: Catalyst

Lizaveta Isakova

delicate weapon
Lizaveta Isakova
Eddies
1,014
Character Bio


NIGHT CITY - WESTBROOK
POPLAR STREET - NEAR JIG-JIG STREET
2337 HOURS - THURSDAY​

Lizaveta Isakova didn't often work in the field. Her role as a fixer and information broker was usually more comfortable. She was more likely to get a tension headache from the repetitive beat of the music at the Afterlife as she held court at her booth, meeting with clients and mercs alike. It wasn't the usual 9-to-5, but she didn't love late nights. She wouldn't have been out -- particularly near the entrance to Jig-Jig street, which wasn't her stomping ground at all -- except that one of her gigs would be resolving here tonight, and it was convenient for Lizka to take delivery of the item and proceed back to her flat directly.

She stifled a yawn and glanced at her wristwatch. Where the hell were they? She glanced at her phone on the passenger seat of her Villefort Deleon V400 Coupé. Not the best car in the city, but it cut a rather sleek line and didn't break the bank. Lizaveta seldom drove herself, but were were times when she didn't want the bother -- or prying eyes -- of the organization's drivers. They were on her payroll, of course, but that didn't stop them from being on other peoples' payrolls, too.

The nature of Night City.

She picked up the phone and punched a number. Waited as it buzzed and buzzed and buzzed before -- "Arvin."

"It's me," said Lizka, her voice delicately spiced with her Russian accent. "What's going on?"

There was a pause, then a muffled sound as Arvin expectorated on the other end of the com line. Then: "Waiting for the courier."

Lizaveta took a breath through her nose, resisting the urge to shoot back that that was obvious and she wanted to know something she didn't already know. She pinched the bridge of her nose softly and then said: "Yes, but -- any updates from the courier? I've got the scanner on and I haven't heard anything more than the usual Night City nonsense." She reached for the pack of cigarettes on the passenger seat and, finding it empty, stifled a curse and began rummaging through her purse for a spare. "What about on your end? Nothing of note?"

She could almost hear Arvin's eyes roll. "Nothing of note."

Whether Arvin would be made aware of his error was a matter of some debate among scientists and spiritualists -- the debate raging as it always did -- whether someone experienced his sudden violent death or merely woke up dead. Foreshadowing. She was about to ask Arvin why he had chosen Jig-Jig Street as the site of the handover. The proximity to Wakako Okado's pachinko parlor made her a little nervous, but she suspected the choice was motivated by Arvin wanting to spend the eddies she was going to pay him for handing over the shard on one of the myriad of joytoys that walked Jig-Jig Street. Knowing what she knew about Arvin and his ability to interact with people of any gender...

Arvin grunted, interrupting her musings. "Think I have eyes on the courier. Stand by."

Finally, Lizaveta thought as she shook a cigarette loose of the new packet into her hand. She cracked the window and lit up, taking a deep drag before settling back, waiting to hear more from Arvin's side of things.


 


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The smallest twitch played at the corner of Nico's lips. Punctuality was a way of life, whether it was a verbal commitment he'd made or merely an internal timetable the wheelman set for himself. In this case, it was the latter. A glance down at his antique wristwatch informed the driver that he was running approximately ten minutes behind schedule. 2340. Pale eyes scanned the road ahead, neon glow emanating from everywhere. A sign hanging perilously above a rusted metal door. The bright lights of an Archer Hella headed in the opposite direction. Flashing red and blue from down an alleyway, the telltale presence of NCPD fading into his rearview.Two blocks. Vista Del Rey to Japantown. Left at the off ramp. Right, onto Jig-Jig.

He'd been this way before. There weren't many streets on this side of town that Nico was unfamiliar with. He might have been from Pacifica but most of his time was spent in the looming towers and grime coated gutters of Night City proper. Deft hands manipulated the steering wheel of the slate gray, Archer Quartz EC-T2 r660. It wasn't his car per se, but Nico was familiar with it. Though it only made up 2% of the vehicles registered in Night City, NCPD statistics pegged it at an astounding 17% when it came to vehicle accidents. It was perfect. No one would bat an eye at a Quartz with a few dings and scratches, dents, or - in the eventuality it found its way to a scrap heap. Nico couldn't help but feel it was a little bit of a waste. The EC-T2 boasted a significant horsepower boost above the base model, and to treat it as disposable didn't quite sit right with him. You can't put a price on anonymity. The words echoed in his mind. Reluctantly, he agreed.

As Nico eased his way onto Jig-Jig Street he surveyed the immediate area, slowing down as he made the turn. Streetwalkers. So many of them. It wasn't exactly anything new, but it seemed like there were more of them than usual. Odd. Another glance confirmed his suspicion. It was still early, too early for this many people to be out and about. People didn't start stumbling home for another few hours - if they did at all. He slipped the vehicle in behind a large lorry. Russian. Nico recognized the distinct shape of the Kaukaz Zeya. Quickly checking his surroundings, verifying that he was in fact parked where he was supposed to be. He was. He lowered the driver's side window a crack, the silent sign that he was ready to make the delivery - and that he hadn't been followed. His circuitous route had ensured that even had he been the victim of some corporate tail, he would have noticed.

Eyes honing on on his rear-view mirror, Nico reached into the pocket of his white bomber jacket and retrieved a burner phone he'd bought at a bodega in Santo Domingo the night before. Without taking his eye off the mirror, he punched in a few numbers, let it ring three times, then terminated the call. His part was almost done. Finish the drop off, collect his eddies, then find some hole to crawl into for a few days before emerging once again to seek out enough eddies for the next week. Of course there were other problems he needed to take care of, but everyone had problems. Now, certainly wasn't the time to get distracted.



 


NIGHT CITY - WESTBROOK
POPLAR STREET - NEAR JIG-JIG STREET
2337 HOURS - THURSDAY​

Lizaveta heard Arvin grunt and his breathing went distant as a buzz sounded on his side of the line. A moment later he said, "He is here. You saw the Quartz? Grey, the r660, yes? Is him. Wait." Lizka stifled an eyeroll and let her head come to rest against the soft leather of her steering wheel and listened. Around the corner, Arvin approached and put his hand on the top of the car. She could hear speaking but she couldn't make out the words.

"Here," Arvin said bluntly. He put a credit shard through the crack in the window, then made a pincer movement with that hand and a 'come on' gesture with his other. "Now the shard. Let's go, blondie, ain't got all -- "

Arvin didn't finish the sentence; Lizaveta jolted upright in her seat as she heard the telltale sound of gunshots, first through her cracked window and then, a split-second later, through the phone. She yelped and dropped the phone, bouncing it off her hands a few times before finally snagging it out of the air. "Fuck," she spat and jammed the phone into her breast pocket before reaching into her handbag for her gun. "Arvin? Arvin? Arvin, fucking answer me -- "

Lizka looked in her rear view mirror, squinting at the entrance to Jig-Jig Street. There was one way in, and one way out. Shit bit her bottom lip anxiously, waiting to see who would come out of there. And just who would have that shard...


 


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Nico saw the man coming in his side view mirror followed by the impatient rustle of fingers. Nico began rolling his eyes as he reached down into the center console to retrieve the shard - and that's when everything shattered. Literally. The man, mid-complaint, was silenced by a loud crack, the torrential rain of glass landing inside the vehicle as the window exploded. Nico felt the heat of the round fly past his head and bury itself in the dash. FUCK. Thankfully he'd had one hand on the wheel. With as much adrenaline driven strength he could muster he flung the wheel to the left, simultaneously pressing on the accelerator - to the floor.

A loud thump was drowned out in a second as Nico drove like a bat out of hell, gunshots ringing out and piercing the thin metal of vehicle's trunk. Wrenching himself into a seated position, Nico looked up just in time to turn the wheel the other way, narrowly missing a street post before evening out his trajectory. Fuck fuck FUUUCK. Forcing a deep breath of air into his lungs, the driver felt his heart beating in his neck, willing himself to calm as his hands nestled into their positions on the wheel. One way in. One way out. It was an unfortunate reality, that meant he hoped whomever had nearly unalived him wasn't smart enough to post a roadblock at the end of the street. The squeal of tires echoed against the narrow confines of the street, the upgraded horsepower now driving the vehicle at breakneck speed.

The several hundred feet to the end of the street had allowed Nico to take a moment - albeit a short one - to recollect himself. He had to ignore the blood splatter and the stinging on the left side of his face, he could deal with that later. A good thing too, ahead there would be a turn onto the main road. It would be bad enough if he was going any kind of reasonable speed. That wasn't the case now, and the Quartz he drove, being a rear wheel drive vehicle, risked fishtailing out of control if he didn't break into the turn at just the right moment. Eyes narrowing, he prepared for whatever lay ahead - be it roadblock or otherwise.



 


NIGHT CITY - WESTBROOK
POPLAR STREET - NEAR JIG-JIG STREET
2340 HOURS - THURSDAY​

As the Quartz erupted out of the dead-end that was Jig-Jig Street, it would be met without resistance -- at least, not from the front. In the moments it had taken Nico to slam his foot to the ground, the two gunmen -- having decided after a cursory examination of Arvin's hands that Nico must still have the shard -- hurled themselves back into the Chevillon Centurion they had emerged from only moments ago, joining the driver and a third gunman who were already in the front seat. A fourth man was in the rear bed of the truck with a heavier, mounted gun.

Lizaveta dropped into her seat, shielding herself from view in her own car as the Centurion bounded after the Quartz. Lizaveta barely caught a glimpse of the number plate of the Quartz, committing it to memory by repeating it over and over, talismanic. When the sound of the Centurion's roaring thousand horsepower engine faded, she heaved herself up on the wheel and peered around. She put her plan in motion. The sound of the squealing tires and the gurgling engines gave way to the distant sounds of wailing horns and sirens. The NCPD would be there soon, so Lizka had to move fast.

She hammed her hair under an old ballcap that Grigori had stashed in the car and hurried out of the vehicle, racing across the distance as fast as she could. Arvin's body was hard to miss, splayed as it was in a crowd of onlookers and in a growing pool of blood. Arvin himself was making gurgling noises, but Lizaveta knew a corpse when she saw one, and for Arvin it was only a matter of time. She didn't stop as she sprinted past, slowing only to scoop his now-cracked phone up before doubling back to the car, ignoring the cries of protestation from the civilians gathered around Arvin. She couldn't stop. She wouldn't.

Hurling herself back into the car, it had probably been a ninety seconds since the Quartz had torn out of Jig-Jig Street with the Centurion hot on its metaphorical heels. To Lizaveta, it felt like an eternity. She turned over the ignition on her own car and tore off down the street after them, hastily buckling herself in when she was half a mile down the road. She scrolled the chipped phone, grimaced, and wiped Arvin's blood off of it and onto her trousers, did the same with her thumb, and tried again. Finally, she tapped the number that had been an incoming call minutes ago.

It might have surprised Nico Sainz to get a phone call from a dead man, and even more when it was a completely different voice on the line. Ordinarily spiced gently with her Russian accent, now she was breathing heavily and impatient as she snapped: "Do you still have the shard?"


 
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