PUBLIC What did this city do to us? {Open}

Michael West

"We all have to play the hand we're dealt."
Michael West
Eddies
313
Michael wasn't on duty today.

He didn't go back to work for two more days, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it. Michael had been on medical leave for the past four days after he'd been on the receiving end of an improvised explosive device that had been magnetically charged to the undercarriage of his patrol vehicle. The explosion wasn't bad for Michael. He hadn't been driving and had come out of the ordeal with a nasty cut over his left eye and a minor concussion from the flip. There had been some initial ringing in his ear but that had gone away in time too.

His partner? Johnson?

Dead.

The kind of death that most NCPD officers end up earning. One where your family doesn't have to bother with a funeral because there isn't enough of you left for a proper send off. They scrape you off the metal and concrete and what's left of you goes into the same compiler that yesterday's trash went into. Michael chuckled dryly at that thought. "Life's a bitch, huh Johnson?"

Michael was sitting on a balcony that overlooked Night City. He'd found a little dive, some club that he'd heard the Vice cops talking about, Single Circuit. It wasn't bad, had just about anything most men could want for a good evening. But Michael wasn't really interested in being around people. Large groups made him antsy, especially to be sat in the middle of them. So, he didn't dance or hold up the bar. Instead, he came out to the balcony that was half draped in darkness due to the exterior lighting being shit. He'd found a table in the corner of the balcony and was content to listen to the music play until the same came up over the horizon. He looked down at the partially scorched badge that sat on the table in front of him. Three letters were imprinted on the badge in tarnished silver.

793. The numbers belonging to officer Johnson. He stared at the badge for a minute before sweeping it into his pocket, no longer wanting to look at it. "Fuck." He muttered before he felt the soft buzz of the agent in his pocket. Michael let the buzzing go off for a moment before deciding against ignoring the device. He pulled the agent onto the table in front of him and breathed out. The form of a young girl, perhaps nine years old, came over the screen. She had smooth brown skin like Michael with bright hazel eyes and a smile that made the balcony seem just a bit brighter. Michael stared at the screen, unmoving until finally the notification died down and the call was dropped.

She should be in bed anyways. He thought to himself, trying to justify not answering the call from his daughter. "We'll talk tomorrow kid." He ran a hand across his low cropped hair before turning both eyes to the city before him. The cybernetic eye on the right side of his face gave out a faint blue glow as it worked to illuminate the darkness of the city. No matter how much the eye tried, it never seemed capable of making all the darkness go away.
 
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"So this stupid fuckin' gonk cop THINKS HE CAN JUST WALK AWAY!" Bits of spittle and spiced rum spat from the Maelstromer's ruined mouth with every syllable. "Like -... LIKE I'M SOME TWO-BIT BITCH!" The man, if one could still call him that, doubled over in hysterical laughter. He was a tiny slip of a thing, just barely five feet tall and probably a hundred pounds to him. His clothes were a mixmatch of discolored leather and gaudily spraypainted cybernetics. His face, what remained of it, was a mess of ocular implants, corded wires, and circuit boards. Only his mouth, blueish gray from lack of blood flow, was left unaugmented.

"We AIN'T having all that," the Maelstromer stood as tall as he could manage, though his body still swayed despite his best efforts. "Zero him, ex him, flatline him, spray his guts over the sidewalk!" He glanced around wildly with a dozen insect-like eyes. They were in an alleyway in one of the many boroughs that dotted the city's interior. The few dregs that passed by paid them no mind.

"Why not just do it yourself?" Vex asked, only the second time he'd spoken in this entire conversation.

"Got some scrap-code in my brain," the Maelstromer jabbed the point of one of the many knives that had replaced the fingers on his right hand into his temple. "NCPD nety bullshit. Brain's slow, but I got eddies. Lotta eddies."

"Forty-thousand, half up front."

"Fuck no, asshole! Fifteen tops!"

"Thirty."

"Eighteen."

"Twenty-five."

"Twenty, take it or leave it."

Vex cast his golden gaze off toward the road. His eyes darted from one sea of neon to the next, as if he might find his response hidden somewhere in the endless stimulae. Eventually his attention returned to the Maelstromer, his tone monotone and all business. "Ten now, Ten after." With a moment's hesitation, he offered a gloved hand.

The Maelstromer stared down at it, made a scoffing noise, and nodded. "Deal. You fuck me over and we'll skin you." He offered a wicked jovial grin but Vex knew that threat was perfectly genuine. A flashdrive dropped into his outstretched hand.

Vex keyed a verbal command for Nyx to run a preliminary scan. She chimed a positive note in the back of skull, and he slotted it. A poorly made dossier coalesced over his vision.

The officer was a man by the name of Michael West. Maelstrom didn't have much information on him, other than his badge number, his precinct, and the reasoning for the hit initial ordering. Mister West had made the misfortune of being an acquaintance of someone that had crossed Maelstrom and found the further bad luck of living through the assassination attempt. He'd probably come back for revenge, as NCPD so often did, and thus the ganger wanted him zeroed just like his partner.

Vex only paused to consider the morality of the situation for a handful of heartbeats. He had his own expenses; the kind that would decide whether he was still breathing this time next year, and NCPD were voluntary dogs of the state. Far as he was concerned, most of them didn't have souls.

"When?" His voice sounded far away and foreign as he blinked through the dossier.

"Tonight, soon, now!" The Maelstrom's chicken-scratch vox voice sputtered. "Just up the road!" The dozen bug-eyes lit a bright blue for a moment as ten-thousand eddies were transferred to Vex's account.

The runner cracked a small smile. "You'll hear from me shortly."


------

"We're this desperate?" Nyx's voice, the soft whisper of a middle-aged English woman, bubbled up into his mind like one of his own thoughts as he stepped out of the taxi. She'd been silent the entire trip and Vex had been waiting for the eventual questioning of his motives.

"Without Militech's support I can't afford to keep you properly maintained on my own. We're not having another episode." He responded non-verbally as his boots squelched over wet concrete. Nyx didn't need any further explanation: she recalled well enough the last time they'd gone without maintaining Vex's neural pathways. The degradation had taken weeks to repair, and even then, some of the damage still remained. They were permanent scars on Vex's brain, new canyons carved through his psyche that threatened to widen if left to their own devices.

The Single Circuit was a hole in the wall of a slightly larger hole. He was met with little more than a nod from the bouncer as he passed into a realm of dirt, drinks, and bad intentions. No one bothered to check him for weapons - half the patrons were still wearing their NCPD uniforms. No one would be gonk enough to start trouble here.

Well, no one except Vex. He approached the bar, quietly ordered a Moscow Mule, and fiddled with the umbrella included with it as he scanned the room. Nyx produced datafob info on pretty much anyone Vex set his eyes on. It was all simple public information: names, ages, occupations, criminal records. Nothing popped back of any note.

"You should have ordered a beer." Nyx's voice sounded like it was coming from his left. An older woman sat there talking to what he assumed to be her husband - Nyx often did this, making sound source from other individuals in his mind's eye to make the conversation feel more natural.

"Beer makes me sleepy," He responded under his breath.

"Beer makes you blend in. It's rough." She intoned as Vex began walking up the stairs. "Cute little umbrellas make a man stand out in a place like this."

Vex rolled his eyes as they crested the second floor. "Now is really not the time for you to be criticizing my masculinity." He chuckled as Nyx pinged a dozen new faces, and none returned anything of note. "We won't be here long."

Nyx made a noise that sounded like a scoff run through a dozen broken speakers and Vex felt his attentions drawn toward the balcony. It was not his own interest, but rather hers, manifesting as natural stimulus in his mind. Another discomforting aspect of their imperfect union.

The crisp winter air poked up goosebumps along his exposed skin as he passed out onto the balcony. It was relatively sparsely populated here and he -

"Found him. Three meters to the right at the table."

Vex's organic eye darted over to size up @Michael West. His internal HUD confirmed that this was indeed the officer they were looking for. He didn't look like too much trouble. A small slip of a smile graced Vex's otherwise unpleasant visage as he approached. He placed a hand on the back of the chair opposite Michael, sipped at his drink with the other, and inclined his head. "Evening Mister West," his tone bled pleasantry, "Heard you had a pretty bad day."
 
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Michael wanted the rain to return. The top of the night had been met with a constant spray, an easy kind of rain that when you closed your mind and focused hard enough you could fool yourself into believing it was the spray of the beach. Now it was dry, the last of the rains had come and gone before he even realized that he'd been enjoying them. He breathed out a sigh, trying to keep his mind moving, engaged on anything but the reality in front of him. So, he'd set his mind on a recent casefile he'd been reviewing. On his beat the drug problem had been increasing at alarming rates, alarming enough that his Captain had been driving the patrols hard to find the source.

What do I know? He mused.

Most of the street gangs in the area have been coming down harder on each other, the fighting suggests that this new supplier isn't interested in working with just one gang but multiple lines. They're pushing the drugs fast and its flooding the blocks so they aren't worried about rival gangs or the NCPD.

How does this help me? Again, he questioned himself.

The gangs are sloppy, and they only regard the NCPD when it is applying its full force...and even then, they will not all roll over easily. If they're riding this roughly then there have to be lower contacts Michael can push for more information. The skids will know. Fiends who live for the dope and would sell their own mothers for a taste of anything but the life they live in.

"Step on a skid. Find a supplier." He all but whispered the words to himself before he heard the door to the balcony slide open. Both Michael's eyes rose to see the man who'd stepped onto the balcony. His cybernetic eye gave another faint glow as it washed over the form before him. The traces of shadow were wiped away and he was given a clear picture of this man, this man he did not know. While the stranger stepped closer Michael placed a hand inside of his coat, his finger tapped the grip of his pistol hidden beneath the faux leather. A nervous habit he had that he did whenever he reached for his cigarettes. It was almost as if he was trying to remind himself that the weapon had not gone anywhere and left him behind. He pulled the pack from his breast pocket and set them on the table, all the while looking up to this man who had approached him.

"My old man is Mister West." He responded rather dryly as he pulled a cigarette from the pack, placing the tip of the cylinder to the bottom of the metallic case until a faint red spark turned to lit flame. He blew at the flame, causing it to disappear with only an orange hue left behind as he took a slow, paced drag, inhaling the synthesized tobacco.

He held it in his lungs for a moment before releasing the cloud into the air. While the spoke flowed up between them Michael's eyes glanced around carefully. He watched the door to the balcony, the ledges and balcony's nearby, and most cautiously he watched this man in front of him. When the man had said Michael had a bad day, he couldn't help but chuckle while shaking his head. "No. I just had another day. My partner? He had a really bad day. But now it's not bad anymore, is it? Not for him." Michael stared at this man without the politeness of hiding his confusion. He was on edge, and he projected it out. The way he fiddled with his cigarette between drags, the off rhythm taps of his foot that echoed out every few seconds, and the way he looked around the balcony as if it was filled with a boisterous crowd. He was on high alert, and he was sure not to hide it. "You don't look like one of the thugs my mother patched up and those cybernetics you have are way above my old man's skills. I've never arrested you before..."

"How do you know my name?" He asked forwardly.

@Vex Kiranova
 
"Minor dilation of pupils, anxious fidgeting, darting eyes, hand in pocket, open pores and suspected rise of cortisol levels. Mister West is paranoid, armed, and alone." Nyx's soft voice purred through the miasma of Vex's thoughts. His eternal companion was rarely off in her assessment and Vex had surmised the same.

West was alone looking for solace, he was grieving, and he needed a friend. Vex's smile melted into something effortlessly genuine, a hint of sympathy flashing in the depths of his organic eye. "Very bad," he agreed, making sure to pour his condolences into his tone. West needed to know that Vex was up to date with what had happened, understood, and pitied the dead man. That would open the door.

"Everyone knows the only way out of Night City's on a stretcher or in a body bag." The runner intoned as he welcomed himself to the chair. He slipped into it like he owned it, went fishing in his pocket, and produced a tiny little black pen. He brought it to his lips, took a deep drag to mirror his strange new companion, and let his gaze drift out toward the city. The smoke was far harsher than the tobacco and would have shredded organic lungs. It was a synthetic compound tailor made to Vex's own tastes, research chemicals as they'd be known on the street, minor psychedelia that was crafted by his own hand to fulfill his exact desires. The smoke expelled in a cloud of glittering silver, and he felt the flower of ecstacy budding in his chest. His pupil dilated as the chemicals hit his bloodstream, sound growing louder and reverbed, the world growing far more detailed, bits of color and tiny disfigurements becoming as easily noticeable as the neon signs outside.

The cold night air grew hot and humid as his pulse quickened in time. His easy smile grew wider, and he offered the vape pen to Michael.

"Okay Michael, my name's Vex." His voice was perfectly even despite the effects of the drug. "Those guys that killed your partner; I know them. Figured you might like too as well." The key to lying was simply to tell the bits of the truth that you could afford to let loose.

@Michael West
 
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Michael specifically hated the look that Vex gave him. Sympathy, whether it is falsified or true. He hated it. No one person went through life without some kind of hardship, so why did people think their sympathies were needed, why do they think they matter. The look prompted a scoff that just barely fell from Michael's lips. Still, the next words that this man spoke were true enough. Night City was a meat grinder, that was indiscriminate over its victims. In a way, this near ritualistic slaughter that seems targeted on those in the city was one of the most dependable services this city had. "We can all depend on this city to take everything and leave us fighting for the scraps. That's all life in this city is, choosing the shiniest piece of scrap and clinging to it like a wild beast."

Why did he say that?

He didn't understand why he was so free with his words around this man, but it made him uncomfortable. It was as if the usual walls around him had shown a crack in their design. This made him go silent once again.

So, he just stared at Vex as he lowered himself down into the seat in front of him.

For only a split-second Michael's eyes looked to the balcony behind Vex. A flash and he thought of pushing the man over, sending him tumbling to his death like a flightless bird. A half-second later the image disappeared from his mind as fast as it had come. Michael said nothing, he did nothing while Vex lit his own vice of choice and let fly the silverish smoke that was exhaled from his pull. A stray wisp of the glittering smoke arched to Michael, but with a single wave of his hand it was gone once again. When his hand came back down onto the table, he saw the man had offered him a drag from his pen. For a moment he actually considered it. He was curious as to what would expel such an unusually unique cloud. He chose not to respond to the offer. He didn't want to say anything to betray his interest in the vape pen.

He pulled from his cigarette once more, this time letting out another thin cloud between them.

Vex. He'd have to run that name through the city's civilian record database. It wasn't familiar to him, not even a little. But that was another matter.

He knew the people who had murdered his partner. Immediately Michael's eyes narrowed, and he gazed at the man. He was searching for any sign of dishonesty or nervousness. What sickened Michael most was this man was showing a very even keel temperment. This wasn't the kind of attitude that came when you were telling a cop about the murderer of their partner. So either he was lying or he was a man who already made his mind up on how this meeting would end. Either way, Michael would not know until he dug deeper into this burrow.

"Why?" He said to start. "Why would a man put himself in the kind of situation you're putting yourself in right now?"

Cash?

No, if the he wanted money, the price tag would have come with the intro.

Payback?

Kind of goes against the code of the streets doesn't it? Running to the cops to have them strike at someone who does you wrong? You can do it once, maybe twice, but the moment anyone finds out you talk to NCPD, you become a specter, a ghost who no one would even look at, and when that happens you become useless to the NCPD and also lose what protection they could offer. Not worth it.

Michael bit down on his cigarette to keep it steady in his mouth while resting a hand inside the pocket of his jacket. He didn't attempt to hide his intentions. His hand wrapped around his pistol before he breathed out another cloud of smoke.

"Maybe you're just here to fuck with me? Someone put you up to it? Some kind of fresh gang initiation? Keep pushing me until you get a few ribs broken then go back to your hood friends and tell them how you wise talked the NCPD?"

Michael was fishing. Vex wasn't some kid hot on the streets. His demeanor was more than that, more professional. Michael wasn't sure what it was, but this man gave him a bad feeling.
 
Minor complications in Vex's neural pathways had cropped up that Nyx was starting to find disconcerting. There were the usual fluctuations in hormone levels that accompanied the runner's drug use, but there was something else there too. It was synthetic in origin, that much she could tell from the taste of iron on her nonexistent tongue. Her artificial mind converted data into physical sensation: she might pull what appeared to be a physical lever coalescing in front of her, and in turn send a surge of scrap-code into another unfortunate soul's head.

Right now, as she saw the world through Vex's eyes, she was trying her damnedest to pull one of those levels that hung just over Michael's head. Usually, proximity was all that was required for Nyx to do her reaper's work. Vex only needed to get within arm's reach of someone for her noospheric nodes to interface with any open datafobs in their system. All she needed was an open connection, be it a phone call or a link with the net, and she would slip through their defenses like the parasite that she was. Then they were hers to do with as she pleased.

That'd been the initial plan with Michael. Get in close, get the cop's guard down. and fry whatever implants he might have chipped into his head. It would look strange enough that bystanders might attribute the death to a seizure. Any basic autopsy would reveal foul play but then Vex would be long gone.

"Hey Vex, got a problem. I can't zero him. Either he's got some serious ICE, no implants in his head, or we've got an internal problem. Leaning toward the latter. Trojan eddies from Maelstrom?" She muttered into his skull.

"Don't dump them. Even if they tagged a bug onto the eds, they're still good. Isolate any subroutines that interface with the bank account for now, no access. Don't let them hit any accounts until we're home. I can clean them." The conversation took place within a fraction of a second in Vex's head. It only registered in his face with the slightest sway of his gaze from Michael.

"I'm a concerned citizen." It felt strange to speak with his physical mouth after conversating with Nyx. Reminded him just how unreal most of his perceptions were. He would have to play this the old-fashioned way, and if Maelstrom really did try to fuck him? Maybe it was time to make friends with NCPD. "You might call me an information broker."

Vex took a short drag off his pen. He made sure to only inhale it for two seconds, just long enough to maintain his high and get that sweet chemical burn on his tongue. "I look like some hood to you?" Vex's chest rumbled with quiet laughter, genuine mirth coloring his features as he shook his head. "Ain't even from NC my choomba. Haven't been small time in a decade." Very much a lie, at least the latter portion.

"Look," he leaned forward, placing an elbow on the table, and resting his chin on its clenched fist. "You know how things go here. Nothing's free." His head tilted to the side as his 'ganic eye darted toward the lump of iron he suspected to be hiding in Michael's coat. "The guys that killed your buddy aren't finished. They don't like survivors, y'know, but like I said I know them. Know where they live. I'm willing to share that information with you as long as you're willing to share the contents of your pocketbook. It's the season of giving after all."

"Playing it too hot Vex. Just shoot him and book."

"I pull my gun, he's gonna pull his, and I can almost guarantee this NCPD flunkie's a quicker and better shot than me. No, Maelstrom wants to fuck us? Fuck 'em right back. I'm just checking our options."

@Michael West
 
A concerned citizen.

"There aren't any concerned citizens." The response came fast and was curt to boot. Michael continued to eye Vex closely, his hand still finding home on the grip of his pistol. With his free hand he took the cigarette from his lips and set it in the ash tray between them. As Vex leaned forward, Michael's movements flowed with his. He pulled the pistol from his holster and rested his wrist against the table, the barrel of the weapon aimed at Vex's chest. The exchange was smooth, to the point where it was damn near polite. "I'm looking." Michael returned to Vex.

Was that it? The cost? Michael paused for a moment to consider Vex's words. It could be bullshit or maybe there was something to it? He could feel the weight of the charred over badge in his pocket and he mentally groaned.

When Vex was finished speaking, Michael glanced past him to the cityscape behind him. He really hated it. No matter how he tried to get past it there was nothing about Night City that he could say was good or made him happy. He wasn't like other cops at the NCPD, he didn't love the city enough to die for it and he didn't hate it enough to make it worst. He was just another light in a city full of them.

"What's the price?" He demanded. As a Patrolman he wasn't exactly flowing in cash, but he had ways to make money appear when he needed it. As long as it wasn't used by him then he wouldn't be breaking any rules that weren't already being broken on a daily basis.

All it takes is a good bust. Most items confiscated by the NCPD are liquified or resold. Any offhand accounts? The patrol officer directly handles funding transfers. Sure, there was an audit, but that wouldn't be for a few months and by then Michael could have an explanation for some missing coin. "And I'm not giving you one sip until the information you give me is confirmed. It pans out to something, you get your money, and I handle my business. You agree to that...or you step off this balcony."

@Vex Kiranova
 
Ah, there it was. Vex did well to keep the satisfaction from bleeding into his features. The bait was set, and Michael was eyeing it intently. Now, Vex just needed to encourage the officer to go for the kill. "I'm the very image of concerned Michael." He took another long, melty drag off his pen as he pondered the truth behind those words. If Maelstrom had tagged a bug onto the eddies, they probably intended to fry Vex as soon as the job was done. It tracked given their current modus operandi, and moreover with Vex even being here in the first place. Say what you would about the chrome huffers but they knew how to tie up loose ends. Problem was they were used to dealing with local hoods, as Michael had called them.

Vex considered himself in an entirely different league.

"Tell you the truth they put out twenty stacks for your head, which is pretty close to what I need to get through this next month." He paused a moment to gauge the officer's reaction, though he didn't wait long enough for the man to speak. "I was gonna sit here, talk with you a bit, and fry your brain once my friend on the net had wormed her way into your neural port. It would have been quick, wouldn't have felt a thing. Promise." Vex took another huff, made sure to expel all the vapor from his nose, and grinned. "Thing is though, you don't seem like an asshole, and I think those dickheads intend on zeroing me as soon as I zero you, so..."

He waved away the thick cloud of glittering vapor that had coalesced around him like a gaudy aura. "I don't need eds, not from you. Do want a favor though, and I'd really appreciate it if you'd cool it with the piece." His 'ganic eye darted down toward Michael's midriff. "You stick one hand in your pocket when I walk up, and you think I'm gonk enough not to notice the gun pointed at me?"

"Playing it way too bold Vex. He's not that desperate. Prepping combat stims." Nyx noted in his brain.

"He is, and now isn't the time to fold. We're all in. He'll bring in the NCPD cavalry to wipe out their whole hideout, we keep their creds, and we klep whatever catches our eye amidst the carnage. We come out on top either way." He responded mentally.

"Still prepping stims."

@Michael West
 
He hated this feeling.

His pistol was aimed at Vex's chest. For all intents and purposes, he was in control of the situation. But whether he was keen to admit it or not, this man had something he wanted. A clear path to some good old-fashioned revenge. Vex certainly wasn't boring, if nothing else. Still when he spoke, Michael tapped the triggerguard of his pistol on the table to interrupt the man. "You didn't fry me because you couldn't fry me, don't talk me like you did me a favor. It also sounds like you went swimming in dirty water...now you wanting to clean up?" Michael sat back in his seat for another moment before taking his eyes off Vex, rolling them ever so briefly as he returned his pistol to his holster inside of his jacket.

"I buy it." No, he more than bought it. It made sense. Hits were expensive and on top of that they came with a risk. Its one thing to take a hit out on an officer, but outright wiping out a patrol? The two men teams were designed in such a way that they held miles and miles of the city together, in theory if not in practice. If gangs started making organized hits on the officers without some kind of backlash, then the system would fail and the NCPD would lose profit and purpose.

"So you don't want what I can give you, what are you after?" Michael asked.

He pulled the Agent from his pocket, setting it on the table between them as he tapped into the device. After a moment he pulled his cigarette pack from his pocket and bit another of the tobacco filled cylinders into his teeth.

"Give me what I need, and we'll settle up." He stated.

@Vex Kiranova
 
"I really hate it when your bullshit works."

"You hate to love it."

Michael was smarter than your average state dog. Vex supposed that much was obvious from the man's existence - you didn't get past twenty-five in NCPD if you were lacking wits. Still, as Vex watched the officer tap his triggerguard on the table, the runner realized he might have to change tact on the fly. He could only manipulate Michael's passions as far as the officer would let him. Best to pay attention when he was running out of rope.

"Now aren't you an astute public servant," Vex waved his pen toward the officer in a mock salute. "Just like you said, dirty water. They want you burned to tie up loose ends, and one of their more desperate gonks included me in that errand, thus making me another one of those loose ends." Vex held up a finger for pause, waved over a smartly dressed waitress, and ordered four tequila shots. "Now," he cleared his throat as he looked back to Michael. "I'm okay with that. They already paid me half, if they want to settle up and try to get that back, I'll send them swimming down the River Styx. That being said, I know you and your boys probably want some blood, which makes my position a bit less tenuous."

The waitress returned and set two of the shots before each man. They were little black cups made to look like obsidian, ostentatious LED lights flickering like neon veins throughout their surfaces when they were touched. Vex wasted little time in knocking one back, the sharp-sweet burn of high-quality tequila bringing a redness to his cheeks and sparking life to his exhausted spirit.

"Heta vas abudzić!" He hissed in his native tongue. "Much better! Now, this gonk wants to meet as soon as I leave here. Supposed to have proof of your passing. You come with me, bring any backup you can, we have a conversation with him. Maybe find out where his buddies live. I get you your killer," he waved the shot-glass at Michael, "And you owe me a favor, to be called in at my leisure, on your honor."

@Michael West
 
Vex was getting too comfortable for Michael's liking. At least on the outside. While Vex drank down his shots Michael watched him closely. He still couldn't see any sign of a lie. Dishonesty pretty much made the man before him, but it was a different kind of dishonesty. Michael hoped his gut was serving him right, because he wasn't keen on being gutted or even made to look like a turned trick. While Vex spoke his terms Michael paused for a moment to consider just what he'd be signing up for. Two fingers came out and pushed the shot glasses back to Vex. Not only was Michael not in the mood for drink, but tequila also made him sick to his stomach. "My honor?" He asked.

"Kind of quaint, don't you think? I'm a cop in Night City, I don't have the luxury of much "honor." Michael leaned back into his chair for a fraction of a moment before taking his agent into his hand. He tapped into the NCPD network, before loading his credentials in. The Agent gave a quick chime of acknowledgement before a synthetic voice spoke out from the device.

"13th precinct dispatch. Please identify."

"Officer Michael West, Three-Five-Four, Squad four-seven."

A moment of pause occurred before the device chimed once again.

"Vocal verification complete, credentials authorized, how may we help you, Officer West?"

Michael kept his eyes on Vex as he spoke into the agent. "Request dispatch, S-T-I team on standby, additional urban pacification and perimeter teams as available." The silence from the Agent was replaced with a low hum, perhaps meant to lull the individual waiting while their requests were transmitted. It only ever served Michael to raise his anxiety a bit more with the current situation. He eventually snorted out of his nose in frustration. As if in response the device would chime in.

"Dispatch formulated. Please confirm budget allocation for additional S-T-I usage."

"Confirm expenditure." Michael stated. Everything in Night City was about cash at the end of the day. Even the officers served only to enhance the income of the corporate entitiues that reigned over them. That is why regardless of how many men you put in prison, it never mattered, not truly. The only thing the Precinct responded to was how much money was fined, collected, and ticketed. Any overages in a patrol budget? Came directly out of the officers pay. Luckily Johnson had taught Michael how to use this system, while you couldn't pocket any of the excess money turned in during patrol, you could certainly reallocate it.

"Expenditure confirmed. S-T-I team has confirmed notice of deployment. No additional units available at this time." Michael looked to Vex and for the first time the faintest of smiles came over his lips.

"You got a deal. Let's crack some heads."

@Vex Kiranova
 
"Honor, integrity, and faith, the three things a good man will always have. Burn his house down, kill his family, strip him to his drawers and throw him out in the desert, he'll still have 'em. Only person that can take them away from him, is him." He eyed the rejected shots with a moment's displeasure, though he understood Michael's apprehension. Not one to waste eddies, Vex stood up a bit straighter, took in a lungful of air, exhaled slowly, and went to work. He downed one glass, hissed, snapped back another, fought back the gag, and downed the third.

He was coughing hard by the time he swallowed that last shot. His face was bright cherry red, tears poking at the corners of his eyes as Michael reached for his agent. "Odds are -" he paused for another coughing fit. "You've got at least one of those. NCPD's the biggest gang in town but if you just wanted to fuck with people there are more profitable routes. Gotta have one of the three." He fell silent as Michael reached for his agent.

"Officer Michael West, Three-Five-Four, Squad four-seven." The officer intoned.

Vex hadn't even formed the words in his mind before Nyx responded. "Recorded and archived for later use, though I'd recommend we refrain from doing so unless you want Mister West gunning for you. Impersonating an NCPD officer tends not to go over well with the officer in question."

He listened in silence as Michael waited for a response. The liquor was hitting his blood now, and it coupled with the river of other intoxicants flowing through his veins in a cocktail of euphoria. It was an old combination he made sure to imbibe just before he was going to get shot at. The psychs smoothed his mind, made data flow more efficient, helped him take note of all the tiny details he'd normally miss, and suppressed his pain inhibitors to the point of numbness. He'd been forced to modify the dose again after his body began to register pain as pleasure during his last bout, and he made a point to jab his fingernails into the side of his palm hard enough to leave ugly marks. No pain, just the dull feeling that something hard was pressing into his skin. The alcohol lowered his inhibitions and dulled the fear response, as well as heightening his spirits. If he wasn't enjoying the violence he was going to die, that much he'd learned quickly.

"I'm supposed to meet him at this junkyard just outside of Heywood. He's Maelstrom, so expect some crazy bullshit and likely a kill team of his closest chrome huffers. I'll need to approach alone so it doesn't announce suspicion." He paused then, his smile mirroring Michael's own, "Question is though, how do you wanna play it? This is revenge for your boy after all. You wanna look the guy in the eye or just zero him from a distance? Probably pay to catch him alive but then we have to worry about his friends too. Might be easier just to aim for the chest and rip whatever info we want out of his neuroport, assuming we get to the body before the brain dies completely. Up to you though."

@Michael West
 
Honor. Integrity. Faith.

Michael had none of those. At least he never actively tried to have those aspects. It was all a lot simpler than that to him. He did what he thought he was supposed to do. Not what he thought was right or what he thought fell inside some kind of moral compass. Even the thought of such things made his brain itch. He felt like people who actively worried about those kind of things were quaint dreamers at best and delusional idiots in the worst of cases. Once Vex had downed the last of his drink, Michael paused for a moment before gesturing for him to follow him off the balcony. Michael listened to what Vex said and nodded in silent understanding. Maelstrom. It made sense. Michael had busted a few of their dens in the past year. Mostly crazed lunatics with more cybernetics than flesh left to their bodies.

Maelstrom were the cyberheads who cared more about the net than their own mothers. Hell, if they had any. That being said Michael didn't think of them as much more than a bunch of cyber dopers. He didn't take them seriously and maybe this had been the backlash behind that mentality. As they moved through the club Michael often glanced back at Vex. Both to see how those shots of tequila were treating him and to make sure there wasn't a knife coming for his back. Once they'd waved through the crowd of the bar and found the quiet of the stairwell Michael spoke again. "You'll need some cover." He said, urging Vex past him while they stood outside of the door to the club.

Michael pulled his pistol and looked up to the stairwell above. He leaned to make sure there wasn't anyone above them before pulling out his pistol and aiming it at the concrete above. Three paced shots flew from his weapon, slamming through the concrete above and letting out a vicious echo in the stairwell.

In the club a mass of shouting could be heard and Michael pushed Vex's shoulder. "Let's not get caught up in this." He told the man. The two would find the exit out of the club and only seconds later a crowd of panicked patrons came barreling out of the stairwell. He expected Vex to question the action and he would only offer a knowing tilt of his head. "Can't have them thinking I was too easy to zero out." He said, before pulling his agent from his pocket. "Dispatch, Three-Five-Four we have multiple shots fired on Seventh and Crawford. Nightclub called The Single Circuit. Advisement possible officer down, request immediate backup."

"Maelstrom has been known to tap into our dispatch network. This will give them something to chatter about." He told Vex as he led them away from the club and across the street to the parking complex. "I'm not in the business of putting myself at risk if I don't need to. We'll pop him and I can have our analysts pull whatever info we need. These technofreaks make massive digital footprints. I'll be able to see everywhere he's stepped and burn it to the ground." Michael tapped the fob clipped to his belt and heard the distinct chirp of his Enforcer Unit. He went to the trunk and spoke plainly as he looked to Vex. Michael pulled his duty vest from the trunk, tossing off his leather jacket and holster for the deep azure vest.

"You get in close. I'll provide your cover. I can't have backup move in until after the shooting starts or they'll make you and I don't think you want a new hole to breathe out of. Once the shooting starts, we'll be on our own for roughly five minutes." Five minutes was a long time in a firefigfht. Even longer when you're dealing with cybernetic crackheads.
 
Vex followed after Michael like the drunkard that he was. He walked with a swagger he'd not been carrying when he entered the bar. His spirits were high, the first anticipatory shivers of adrenaline surging just beyond the dam of his psyche. All it would take was a simple nudge and that dam would break, and then he'd really be having a good time. He caught Michael taking note of him and paid the officer no mind - he was far more interested in the cocktail waitresses they passed by, making a point to maintain eye contact and smile just so he could ride a little higher on his overconfidence.

"Whatcha got in mind?" He asked absentmindedly as he clenched his pen between his teeth and took a hissing drag. The vapor expelled from his nostrils, making him look like a particularly deformed angry bull.

His eye went wide as he saw the glimmer of the piece. His left hand drove instinctively for the .50 at his belt, but Michael didn't aim the weapon at him. He watched with confusion as the officer spat a few shots back up into the ceiling, momentarily wondering if they had a tail that he'd missed. Michael spoke again and pushed past him and Vex could only blink away his displeasure as he followed. "Real smart Michael but warn me next time. Think I mighta' shit myself." He grunted. Privately, he was pleased to see his new companion had that kind of initiative and wits about him. He wasn't gonna tell the officer that though.

"Yeah, I can pretty much guarantee they heard that. Probably giggling their asses red." Not like they had anything better to do. "Long as I'm prepared, I should be okay up close." He drew up to the side of the car, making no effort to hide his admiration. NCPD didn't pay much but they had access to decent kit, better than anything Vex could get his hands on without great effort anyway. "You know I've never ridden in the front of one of these." He mused as he opened his coat. Half a dozen pockets had been sewn into its innards, and he fished through each of them in search of something.

He produced his .50, a dingy black little modified Militech PDW designed exclusively to punch through sub-dermal armor and find the meat beneath. It was as nearly as long as his forearm and incredibly heavy for a handgun, its barrel having been sawn so that it could be holstered properly. Point blank, there wasn't much that was going to stop the round other than the top-shelf kit that he knew Maelstrom could never get their hands on. Wasn't gonna be hitting shit past thirty meters though. His other weapon was a longsword covered in conduits and relays that hung from two straps at his midriff, its metal gleaming a murderous crimson. A simple flip of the activator switch on its pommel and the sword's energy field would cleave through steel with relative ease.

He double-checked to make sure the .50 had a round chambered, replaced it, and kicked his longsword to life. It sputtered like a bug-zapper as it was wreathed in crackling red electricity, casting the runner in its foreshadowing crimson.

"Everything's in working order," he noted as he clicked off the sword and returned it to its housing in his coat. Pleased, Vex took one last drag off his pen, set it in his pocket, and slipped into the passenger seat of the squad car. "You better have some good music. We're gonna get zeroed if you play some gonk shit, headspace is half the battle."

@Michael West
 
Michael didn't have much of a response for Vex's initial comment on his vehicle. After taking the bulletproof vest from the trunk, Michael stepped into the driver's side. He looked over to Vex as he climbed in and regarded him with an arched brow. He looked over the weapon the man carried. "That thing looks like it'll take an arm off someone in a minute." He muttered.

A small chime came from the console of Michael's patrol unit. He glanced over to the screen before speaking out while typing into the console. "S-T-I is going to be deploying in ten. I'm sending them the location now. We'll foot it a couple miles out and go from there." Michael would then turn the vehicle onto the main road and start the drive towards Maelstrom's junkyard. "There's a black case under your feet, open it up." If Vex followed through, the black case would contain two small transceivers. They were the around the size of a band aid, two thin strips of plastic that went behind the ear. Michael pulled one of the devices from the case and adhered it to the back of his ear.

"Put the other one just behind your ear. It will help us stay in contact." Michael pressed his hand against the strip and slowly the device began to change color until it was all but camouflaged into his skin. The devices were slightly retro, but they were cheaper than the latest tech that was being used by vice, much cheaper.

Michael drove until they found a point a few miles from the junkyard. He found a quiet place to park his patrol vehicle before tapped the divider in the center console. He'd run his finger along a hidden pad which let out an audible chime. Above the headrest, the guncase above the two of them would open and Michael reached for his Nokota Copperhead, the assault rifle was relatively light in his hands, sporting a 30-round magazine with a reflex sight it was a decent weapon for this situation. Michael collapsed the buttstock on the weapon before looking to Vex. "Ready?"
 
"I call him Lollipop, Lollipop oh woah baby - LOLIPOP" the borged-out ganger stuck a wiry finger between the chrome fangs hanging from his wreck of a mouth, plucking what was left of his jaw meat like a banjo string. The wet snap of the meaty fiber curled Riser's neck, and he rolled his shoulders to try and shake off the goosebumps crawling up his spine. Lollipop hardly seemed to notice from atop his makeshift throne of flat tires, bent axels and busted-in bumpers - some pre-Red slop song blasting from a handheld agent beside him.

"This is re-goddamn-diculous" the goosebumps were gone, replaced with the familiar warmth of anger that curled around the base of his skull. Raising a chrome arm, Risers scrapped the crimson fingers together in a high-pitched approximation of a snap, "back down here, Lollipop - stop jerking me around, asshole!"

Lolipop curled into himself, tucking spiked knees into the web of wires, tubes and loose skin that passed for his chest, and let out a howling, grinding laugh that sounded like a scream coming through a burning television set. Splashes of spiced rum added to the brown stains rippling down his chin as he nearly barreled off the twisted metal throne in laughter, knocking aside a mound of empty black-lace cannisters that crashed down over the piles of rusted cars and scattered throughout the junkyard.

"Risers! CHOOM! You have to fucking CHILL man! It's a fucking party! Don't fucking ruin my buzz with your goosestep shit right now!" Risers stopped an empty can of lace with a black boot, then sent it soaring through the junkyard with a swift kick. It landed with a sharp CRACK and an inorganic scream somewhere behind the piles of junk.

"This isn't about The Movement, Lolipop, this is about the fucking eddies! You have me haul our asses down here with these guns, now you tell me you don't even fucking remember asking?! This is why I told you to lay-off the psycho-shit when you were still laced-in!" Lolipop just laughed, nearly tipping over in his chair again. Risers felt the sudden urge to plant this fucker's teeth into the curb. He hated dealing with psychos, hated dealing with ex-chrome psychos even worse. He remembered this punk before he turned his own head into a ghetto lightshow, back when he was all boots, guts and red laces. Now the fucker probably couldn't remember his real name. Risers had to turn away to keep from blowing a circ', pinching his nose and walking steadily past Dust and the squad of C.D.S boys he'd brought in tow.

"Choom! Did you not fucking HEAR ME!? This is a FUCKING celebration man! Me and the boys just flatlined a couple-o' badges! Not ONE, but TWO!" Lollipop counted using his thumb and middle finger, driving them out as if that'd somehow make the pissed-off nazi in-front of him understand the cause for celebration. It didn't.

"That's the fucking problem, you dumb addict!" Risers was hot now, his red pupils glowing like hell's pits in the center of his black eyes as he spun and marched back up to the shit-throne, "you told me you wanted the guns FOR the fucking hit-gig!" suddenly the junkyard came alive, dozens of eyes attached to a handful of psychos emerging from behind the skeletons of cars and piles of rusted metal. A piece was racked somewhere. The C.D.S boys racked in kind. Risers didn't care.

"I don't give a fuck how many pigs you zero! I've zeroed badges, Dust has zeroed badges, my fucking grandmother probably has a pig buried in her garden! What I care about is you wasting my motherfuckin' time!"

Lollipop didn't laugh this time. Instead, he unfurled his knees and laid an arm over his lap. "I think you forgot where THE FUCK you are, Risers. I ain't no little two-bit BITCH who jerks you off because I want to fuck your girl - not anymore. Now I'll just zero you and fuck her anyway." Blue lips curled into a smile over fangs dripping with whatever substance could get a freak like this drunk, then the arm across his lap peeled open at the wrist and elbow - revealing a long black barrel that shifted out from underneath.

"I stomped bugs bigger than you down in Panama, fuckstick" Risers spat, unslinging the D5 Copperhead from over his shoulder. "So how about you act like you ever want Red Chrome to deal with your psychos again, and pay me what the fuck you owe me."

Chrome fangs bit through what little lip there was left hanging from Lolipop's face, "how about I bury you next to our runner when he gets back? I'll-

"-Sir!" one of Risers' men cut in, "I just got a call from Eight's, she picked up chatter on PD's net - they got something big heading our way." Even the psychos paused to chatter amongst themselves. They seemed confused somehow, almost as if they weren't concerned. Usually Maelstrom was pretty plugged into shit like this. What was going on?

Risers spun on heel, no longer concerned with the dipshit psychos behind him, "What?!" this fucking day, "Dust, get on with someone you know down at the pig farm and see what you can find out."

He turned back to Lolipop, still wanting to put one between the mess of lightbulbs he called eyes, but knew he had bigger problems now. "Looks like you should have hired a better pig-roaster you dipshit. You better pray to whatever fucked up God you worship that I don't die here." If he did, Harper bring Lolipop back from the dead just to kill him more brutally the second time. But with the van full of stolen iron, there was no way they could make a blind run for it and get away. They needed a proper exit plan.

Fuck this day. Fuck this no good, very bad, trash-fire fucking day.
 
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As she listened to the half-psycho ramble on and Risers became even more frustrated than he'd been that morning, Evi was beginning to wish she had driven by herself down to Vista instead. But this was on the way, and it saved her having to drive there and back again herself - but it sure as hell didn't save her the headache. She rolled her eyes when Lollipop boasted about flatlining two badges for what had to have been the eighth time since they got there, sighing as she adjusted the rifle slung over one shoulder. Fuckin' psychos. Risers had asked her earlier if she remembered this guy back when he was still laced, and she was beginning to wish she didn't.

It was the usual back-and-forth posturing up until Lollipop's arm opened up and the revealed barrel shifted just too far in their direction. Then everyone had a piece in their hands, her Sternmeyer M-04 at low-ready. It just wouldn't be a deal with Maelstrom if shit didn't go sideways somewhere in the middle, but she thought now that maybe she'd enjoy putting a bullet in Lollipop's head before this was done. She let the muzzle of her rifle drift just slightly in that general direction before one of the C.D.S interrupted.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." A trail of muttered curses would be left behind as Evi slung her rifle and pulled out her handheld burner to step away and make a call to one of the officers in her back pocket. She'd sooner see every badge dead, but some of them had their uses.

"Greaves," She didn't bother with a proper greeting, "Got something here about PD chatter, what the fuck's going on?"

There was the sound of rustling on the other end, and she heard a radio chirp and something garbled. She was about to ask what was taking him so fucking long when finally, "Got a call out for shots fired at a club downtown. Look, I'm en route, I can't really–"

Evi hung up before he could finish, snapping the burner in half and crushing it under her boot as she walked back toward the increasingly agitated crowd of psychos, pushing past a couple lacers before she was able to reach Risers where he was still bickering with Lollipop in between making plans with C.D.S. "Only thing they've got is someone getting trigger happy at some club, nothing on whatever the fuck Eights is talking about."
 
What they did to Reinhart. Unforgivable. Utter blasphemy!

Ogoun's fists clenched at his sides, the faint hum of his cybernetic arm rising in pitch with the pressure. The ghost of his choom's face flickered in his mind—a brother not by blood but by bond, twisted into something alien. Maelstrom's handy work. Their cruelty wasn't just chrome-deep; it was a poison that seeped into the soul, warping flesh and mind alike until what was left was neither human nor machine, but a mockery of both. Call it honor or loyalty, but this wasn't just about gang respect. This wasn't about turf or credits or who reigned over the chrome-drenched streets of Night City. This was about a blood Debt. Revenge!

Though it took much time and effort. Ogoun had tracked the trail. Natural instinct, patience and sources had led him here. The Maelstrom scum were sloppy, leaving behind breadcrumbs of chaos in their wake. A series of random attacks on the outskirts of Animal turf—civilians gutted, a cargo transports hit, and now his choom forcibly dragged into their sick fold, their body turned into a walking factory of Maelstrom chrome and psychosis. The bastards did their work and released a new abomination back into animal territory. A sick reminder and show of strength. The appearance of a friend and brother mutilated into a chrome domed fiend. Everything that they stood for defiled and stripped away. That day Reinhart was barely there. Whatever trace of him that was there, consumed by illness. My own brother killed two of his own, if he was aware I would of broke his heart and even more so for his brothers and sisters to watch MaxTec arrive and dispatch him in moments.

Im going to tear them apart. For what they did to "Rhino" Reinhart!

It had taken weeks of pounding the pavement, smashing skulls, and extracting answers from loose lips and trembling fledgling corpos too scared to look him in the eye. Even calling in a few favors with high end clients he worked for. The pieces fit together at last, forming a picture that led him to a junkyard and warehouse, teetering on the edge of Animal territory. For Reinhart it was all worth it. The man was one of the few he could trust amongst the Animals and had helped teach him the way of the body.

The place loomed in the dim of Night City's never ending twilight, the skyline of rusting junk and gutted industrial warehouses forming a shadowy silhouette of neglect. An acrid stench hung in the air, a mixture of rotting refuse, burning oil, and the faint, sickly tang of scorched chrome. Ogoun crouched behind the twisted remains of a cargo loader, its hydraulics frozen in place like a skeleton mid-collapse. He flexed his organic hand, the leather of his glove creaking under the strain. His other hand dipped into the pouch strapped to his belt, retrieving a compact injector, its metallic casing etched with deep grooves from frequent use.

Juice.

Ogoun stared at the vial for a moment, the murky liquid swirling within. This was not the kind of fight you walk away from clean. Maelstrom was cruel, sure, but they weren't stupid—they fought dirty, and they fought to kill. If he was going in, he'd need every edge he could get. He had seen what Juice did to those that abused it and this was what made Ogoun standout from his other brothers and sisters. A half. Only half.....for now. He loaded the injector, modified the dose settings and...

Michael West said:
Michael drove until they found a point a few miles from the junkyard. He found a quiet place to park his patrol vehicle before tapped the divider in the center console. He'd run his finger along a hidden pad which let out an audible chime. Above the headrest, the guncase above the two of them would open and Michael reached for his Nokota Copperhead, the assault rifle was relatively light in his hands, sporting a 30-round magazine with a reflex sight it was a decent weapon for this situation. Michael collapsed the buttstock on the weapon before looking to Vex. "Ready?"
Click to expand...

Hesitated. A massive figure rose from behind a wreckage covered position, drawing a Nomad .357 Magnum from its holster and slowly cocked back the firing pin. It sounded aloud with a distinct click! The barrel leveled on the first person the Ogoun saw. A man with an assault rifle in hand that was roughly 3 meters away. If the man did not hear the sound of the Nomad then he would hear what came next.

" Are you ready? Move another inch and I show you your god." A deep voice sound in a broken African accent. " Fucking Maelstrom dogs."
 
It was rare. Her being out, -here- of all places at this time of night. She knew better. Rule #1 - If you wanna survive, zippin into boostergang turf zeroes those odds a lot faster than her board could go. So why in the hell was she ripping thru The Streets on her hoverboard, dodging pedestrians and bullets the whole time. Oh, and some pretty constant prayin that her last round of tinkering with the board's propulsion system holds til she can get home. She zipped out her home grabbing only her board. Her bag with her gear and tools? Yeah, not tonight.

Dumbass​
Tonight, she had her board and her Agent

What could possibly go wrong...​

Thanks to updates displayed on her HUD via her cybereye, she wove her way thru the streets and alleys. The GPS took her into areas she noramlly would've skirted, being as empty as she was tonight. So why was she going any damn way? Cause even in The Streets, there was an economy. Oh yeah, Risers and Maelstrom gonna do what they do without a doubt. Last Omega checked, neither one was 100% self sufficient. She'd heard about the NCPD who got flatlined, too. To call things hot would be understatement of the year. And she, broke bitch she is, smelled a payday. From who, she cared not. Eddies were eddies.

At 6 blocks away, she slowed her speed to a crawl. Switching the HUD off, she muttered curses about the necessity of the low light and night vision upgrades to her eye she needed. Not that anyone needed or wanted to experience The Streets with any sharper sense. The ruin, depression and depravity was on display without shame. If you weren't convinced how bad things could get, come back when the sun's up and the kids are out. Seeing the sunken eyes glare back at you witha primal hunger...Unsettling.

Who was the old, smart dude who said If it can happen, it will? Yeah. Fuck him. Cause it was at this moment, the propulsion system in her board uttered its death scream. If the system was a banshee on meth. The death scream caused her head to flip round and look. Which meant she wasn't watching where she was going. Which would be right into the side of a building. Thankfully, the wall stopped her forward progress. She splattered to the ground, growling and cursing violently in Russian Streetslang. She spits a few times, couple bloody drops but no teeth. Score!

Unfortunately, her board did not fare so well. It was already a good 25 years past its prime, held together by spit, tape and sheer threats of violence. It had impacted with the wall, cracking the board at the nose. Thesplit ran all the way down the length of the board, and there was a chunk missing from one side. With a sigh, she squats down and digs the propulsion system off. Yanks and yoinks, scowling when it finally breaks free. Standing upright, she glanced in the vague direction of home.

That walk homes gonna suck...​
 
Location: Alcove in an alleyway a few blocks from the junkyard
Near: @Michael West, @Ogoun Dambe
Music




"More like a heartbeat." Vex snapped a quick chuckle. He quickly found himself extremely disappointed in Michael's choice of music, that choice being professional boring silence. Did cops just ride into a shootout stone-faced? Shitty culture if you asked him.

He obeyed with a hazy absentmindedness, only hesitating when the case popped open, and he set eyes on the retro tech. This was all quite the gamble. He was banking on Michael not screwing him over, and while he trusted his own intuition more than anything else, it would be a simple thing to slip a bug into his cyberware through such a device.

It seemed Nyx was thinking the same thing, "I think it's okay. I'll know for sure once you put it on. You trust him?" She muttered into his mind.

"No, but I trust he wants his revenge. I don't know where he draws his line though, might try something as soon as we're done with Maelstrom."

"Doesn't strike me as the Machiavellian type, and I think he respected our honesty."

"We'll play along. How are you feeling? Squash that bug?"

"Back in working order, and I'd like another shot after this is if you can manage."

"Behave and we just might."

The mental conversation took place in about half a minute. He and Nyx had the luxury of instantaneous communication, unfettered by flapping lips and straining ears. The ease of it so often made normal conversation feel glacial by comparison.

He set the ear-piece in place without complaint and sat in silent anticipation as they chewed asphalt toward Heywood. There were a dozen questions Vex wanted to ask the cop, but he took Michael for the type to prefer quiet before a storm. He instead turned his attentions out the window, toward the strobes of flickering neon and wandering souls that winked in and out of his life with each passing second. This was the first time he'd ridden in a car since coming to Night City, though he wouldn't admit it, and he had every intention of enjoying the sights. A bit of music would have made certainly enhanced the experience, but if that was the low point of his day after all this then he would have little to complain about.

They pulled into an alcove a few blocks off from the junkyard. It may as well have been part of it, for all the refuse and detritus that decorated the street. There were no souls as far as Vex could see, only flickering lights burning in spite of their decaying components.

The runner cocked a brow as a gun case he'd not noticed clicked open. The intoxicants flowing through his veins encouraged him to nod several times in appreciation. "Good choice. Probably gonna need it. I'm ready as I'm going to be, just hoping your buddies actually show up when the shooting starts." He paused for a moment as he opened the door, looking back to meet the cop's gaze. "I'm choosing to trust you. Watch my back and keep your word, and I'll afford you the same courtesy."

He scrambled up out of the passenger seat, felt his boots hit pavement, and went wide eyed as the giant presented himself. Vex's head cocked to the side, mouth open in confusion as he regarded the huge stranger and, more importantly, the .357 pointed at @Michael West's head.

"Hunting his neuroport - ten seconds, maybe twenty." Nyx sounded off in his skull.

For his part, Vex fought the urge to go for his pistol. He instead held both arms out in front of him, fingers splayed wide at @Ogoun Dambe to signal they meant no harm. "Hey big guy, think you're a little confused. He's NCPD," Vex jerked a thumb toward the big bright N.C.P.D letters emblazoned upon the police cruiser. "And I'm Vex. Definitely not Maelstrom." The runner cracked a smile that bled liquid courage. "Mind lowering your iron choom? Think we might be on the same wavelength here."

"Five seconds."
 
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