Chapter Five

You nurse your swollen right jaw with an ice pack; one of your eyes shut closed, though there are only minor signs of bruising surrounding it, enough that you feel more comfortable being one-eyed than your usual two.

Your left hand, free of any duty, moves to readjust your cap, which had been smacked off and crumpled in the fight; your eyes staring blankly into space, focused more on your Cybernetic HUD and the work clock in the uppermost right corner, than the world around you.

You hadn't received any cautions or reprimands after sending footage of the altercation to your superiors, regardless of how negatively the dealership staff took the fight; the tactic of restrained violence, wherein you pushed and shoved your attackers outside and into the waiting arms of a police cruiser, seemed to have been the most optimal path to take.

That little dickheads dad must really be someone important.

Letting out a disgruntled sigh, you count the minutes away until your break is over, your supervisor not even having the empathy to give you the day off after getting beat down by a bunch of drunken college students.

No, you got a work schedule, and he wants you to stick by it; well, let's see how he is when you refuse to be a stand-in for any no-shows next week.

When your shifts end, you're bruised, battered and exhausted; enough that you don't trust yourself to take the myriad of commutes from the local Arasaka office back home; you're going to shell out a few eddies for a taxi.

The ethnic man with a thick accent welcomes you without intelligible words, your cybernetics having already charted and booked the ride, leaving you with an opportunity to take a few short naps before you have to hand in your equipment and then make the journey home.

At the office, you're greeted with indifference, one of the receptionists warning you to write up a report on your bloodied uniform and to put it in the appropriate decontamination bins; before shooing you away into the bowels of the armoury.

You don't own any of your equipment; technically, you rent them from the Company, with no option of outright purchasing them; you are expendable, moreso than your equipment, in Arasaka's eyes, and they'd rather not have you disappear one day with it.

Shedding your uniform and putting on the roughspun garments that have seen one too many acid-rain; you greet a few of the incoming morning workers, one of them passing you a bottle of Gatorade, managing to squeeze a promise of getting them a sandwich when you come in for your next shift in the process.

Taking a deep gulp of the overly-sweetened energy drink, you drunkenly crawl into the waiting taxi, laying on the old vehicle's dirty and likely flee-ridden seats, welcoming their itchy embrace as you once again take another power nap