PRIVATE Love Lay Bleeding

[Emer Tor]

Club Nadir, Westbrook
0238, 2081-02-14

The wind was howling, because NC had shit weather most days. In fact, most everywhere had shit weather most days. Par for the course for '81. And '80. And '79, and—

She was nostalgic for the wilder pace of her youth. Again.

Used to be it was a common problem. Not as bad now, she'd thought. No; she knew. It was only when shit like this happened that she longed for those simpler times. Violence had a way of cutting through all the din and bluster, all the fine, soft things humans wove between each other to make the suffering easier, or worthwhile, or whatever purpose society was supposed to serve.

Expectations she had yet to meet hung above her like the clouds outside. Emer licked her teeth and breathed out her anger. "I want someone combing every nanosecond of that security footage."

"Tapan's already on it, boss."

"And get me that ripper, what's her face—"

"@Queenie?"

"—yeah, her. I want another set of eyes on this shit."

Two hours ago, Dima had been one of her most popular dancers. Now he was a bloody heap of bone and chrome on the floor. He was still twitching – probably all the stims he was always on – but the mysterious john had done a number on the poor guy.

Emer lit up as she stepped out of the noisy room. They'd shuttered the club, and the lights were dimmed down to a dull red glow. The cherry of her cigarette was the brightest thing in the corridor, her slow exhale the loudest.

Dima, Tapan, Aaron, Iris; they were her people. She'd promised to protect them, and she'd failed. Emer sneered and flicked her smoke over the railing, watching it fall until it disappeared amid Westbrook's many constellations.

 

[Queenie]

How easily she got dragged into the remnants of violence. Despite her own peaceful tendencies, she was never far behind the societal explosions that plagued the city like a foul odor. The call had come at an unprecedented hour, rousing the woman from her slumber. It wasn't necessarily the routine, but lately it had been happening more and more. First with @Amos, then with a rash of sudden malfunctions in her usual clientele, now this. She couldn't help but think back to her conversation with @Dr "Redeye" Sloaks and how despite the segregation of all instances, could they somehow be related?

She arrived to Club Nadir as quickly as public transportation allowed, but probably not as quickly as Emer would have preferred.

Large metallic suitcase in one hand and overside shoulder bag in the other, Queenie made her way inside the building and rode the lift up where she was greeted and let in by one of Emer's usual staff. There was no point in asking for forgiveness or saying she'd arrived as quickly as she could. She was here, so she pointedly asked to be lead to the patient and followed in subdued quiet. Upon seeing the mess that was once a dancer named Dima, she tried to school the grimace of shock on her face.

"How awful..." she murmured, feeling the tenseness of the air literally seep into her skin and draw stiffly across her body. A glance around gave her a path over that wasn't entirely slick with blood, so she carefully picked her way across and set her case and bag down. Even with a short survey of the scene, she knew that Dima was already lost.

"I'm afraid there's little I can do for him," Queenie offered quietly as she moved to close the one flesh eye remaining, "what..." but she was at a loss for words at such an atrocity. Such savagery. She couldn't finish the sentence.

 

[Emer Tor]

One of the bouncers pinged her when Queenie set foot into Nadir. Emer waited for the ripperdoc outside Dima's room, arms folded across her chest. With a nod of greeting, she followed her inside. She could've had one of her lieutenants handle it, head on to her flat to catch some shut-eye, but Emer preferred to take care of business personally.

Especially when the business was as gruesome as this.

The Flower worked quickly, efficiently – one of the many reasons Emer liked to employ her. The verdict wasn't surprising, but it still stung. She rubbed her brow and exhaled. "Anything you can give him for the pain?"

Emer had put down a fair few mangled soldiers in the past, but back then it had been a knife or a gun that did the job. Dima deserved better.

"Still trying to piece it together," she added after a beat, jerking her chin at the mess. "About to take a look at the cameras. Could use your eyes."

Ripperdocs were no netrunners, but they knew their way around cyberware. If the client's chrome had glitched, Queenie could clock it faster than any of Emer's techies.