03: Ain't nothing personal, just Biz

"Tetsuo Tanaka. You're coming with me."

My deep rumbling voice brooks no argument. Despite the deathglare the Arasaka corpo is sending me, he obediently raises his hands, slowly moving out of the now thoroughly ruined Thrax Jefferson, coming face-to-barrel with Dominic's spooled up Satara.

"Stay your hand, mercenary. This is obviously about more than just money and you clearly need me alive. I am certain a deal can be reached. If you know who I am, you must know my resources are vast-"

"Shut the fuck up." I rumble deep in my chest as I hop down from the roof of the ruined Thrax, straightening from my crouch until I'm absolutely towering over the squat little man.

At the warning note in my voice and feeling dwarfed as I loom over him, Tanaka wisely shuts his trap with an audible click.

"Orders, Boss?" Dominic asks as he keeps his shotgun trained on the overweight 'Saka big shot.

"Stick to the plan. B-Team should be here any moment now for the pick-up. Keep the jammer up until then. Don't hurt him too much: guy like him is definitely covered by Trauma Plat, they'll come running if he so much as gets a nosebleed." I order as Dominic doesn't lower his shotgun or his guard for even as second while Tanaka keeps silently glaring at us.

The fat sack of shit might look like an average middle-aged, overweight dude, but given the subtlety of cyberware these days and the fact that he has access to Arasaka backing, that doesn't have to mean anything. Underneath the wrinkly cheeks and flabby belly, he might be running higher-end chrome than most merc crews put together.

You never know what kind of crazy shit these corpo cunts are hiding. Saw a BD of one once, years ago, who escaped a kidnapping attempt because he had turned his hands into grappling hooks.

No, really. Extended retractable cables and everything. Looked like some weird secret lovechild of Batman and Inspector Gadget when he fired those hands off, shooting up into the sky above.

Of course, he had misjudged the air traffic in Night City, and while pulling himself to the top of a skyscraper across the street, he flew face-first into an AV who had never been programmed to account for pedestrians a hundred meters up.

The real crazy part? That was the third mid-air AV accident caused by collision with a person on foot in NC this decade.

Thankfully, from my knowledge of the anime I know Tanaka isn't running anything that spectacular or unusual like grappling-hook hands. Just the usual chrome like cyberoptics to interface with the Arasaka net, a couple of improved synth-organs, perhaps a reflex enhancer or two and combat-oriented chipware, or wetware. Not really chrome, just an artificial facilitator for skills you don't want to grind for hours to obtain.

Just slot in a chip into your interface port, open your eyes and in your best Keanu voice say, "I know kung-fu".

In the gang we have noobies start off with the chipware while they're still getting used to the Juice to get 'em into fighting shape, so they get a feel for the battle, before moving onto heavier bioware and chrome and actual skill. In the old TTRPG back in my previous world, the amount of skills you could slot simultaneously was limited by your INT stat. Here that translated to frying your circs if you tried slotting more chips than your brain and chrome could handle.

I've seen it happen, it ain't pretty. Doesn't smell too good neither.

For most people, that meant you were limited to getting two or three skills of your choice you could have instant access to at will whenever you needed to and for many, that was enough. Slotting more was dangerous if you didn't know what you were doing and the skills weren't permanent, but that was hardly a concern for the majority of the people of NC, who were lazy to a fault.

And why wouldn't they be? Got your output coming over and want to cook a romantic dinner, but you're the type of guy who sets the cereal on fire just by pouring milk over it?

Slot a shard and boom, you can just sit back and watch your body run around your kitchen fully on auto-pilot. You won't be plating up any chef-quality dishes any time soon, but at least you won't accidentally poison your date now.

There were just two major setbacks with chipware: you lose the skill if you remove the memoryware (or the MRAM chip) from the neural processor at the base of the spine, since your reflex (or APTR) chips distributed throughout your wetware via interface sockets suddenly have no instructions to act on anymore. Which is also why the chips don't allow you to become better at the skill (and could even make you worse at it should your innate skill be better than the info on the shard) considering the APTR chips will always overwrite your body's natural impulse.

Chips are best used when you need to know a lot of things all at once, but not very well. With chips, you can become a limited martial artist, pilot, driver, marksman, you name it. You can know a little bit more than you did before about a variety of subjects, but nowhere near as much as you would if you'd hit the books and studied. Like a preview into the skill you're attempting to learn, a taste of the proficiency you'll gain after years of work.

This is NC though, ain't nobody got time for that, so most just slot one or two chips they might need on a daily basis and never bother growing further. Like Katsuo Tanaka, the kid of the corpo cunt I was kidnapping and who beat the shit out of pre-Sandy David Martinez. Sure, his shard had been high-end (because with the amount of eddies the kid was casually throwing around, of course it was), but he would never progress beyond what the chipware made him capable of and for him, that was sufficient.

I however, had been a dimensionally displaced child growing up in a hyper-violent boostergang that came from a world where even basic mastery of a skill could take you years. I took one look at this world's chipware and immediately got addicted and end ended up trying to slot near-everything that I could get my hands on. With the Animals being wetware smugglers and my Mom an Alpha who eagerly supported my growth (if for her own, delusional reasons), 'what I could get my grubby little hands on' turned out to be a lot.

There's what you'd expect. Combat chips and tutorials, like the Militech one V can run at the beginning of the game. But also chipware for driving, piloting, interrogation techniques. Most of it military, which is why having an in with the smuggling world had been so profitable. But there were also more common ones, like cooking or painting.

I managed to justify getting those by telling Ma the cooking skill was a great introduction for knife and sword related wetware in the future. The painting one I justified as wanting to improve our gang's graffiti all over town.

Sasquatch had looked so proud too, overjoyed that her son was finally attempting to improve himself as much as she was trying to.

I didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise.

By the time I was a teenager I had built up quite the collection of MRAMs, the shards getting increasingly better in quality, though the lack of transfer between the APTR chips and my natural muscle memory was incredibly frustrating.

One moment, I could drift a car to draw a perfect Fibonacci sequence in burnt rubber on the tarmac, but the moment I removed the shard, all of that skill was lost, even after having slotted the memoryware for months on end.

In the end, I found a (sort of) workaround by slotting an MRAM for a bit, feel out every part of the skill the shard had to offer, memorize it as best I could (aided by my increased awareness of my Juice-enhanced supersoldier body), remove the memoryware and slot a training sim instead. Training in VR had the added benefit of taking up just a fraction of realtime, leaving more room to watch instructional BD's.

With the focus on sex and entertainment these days, there weren't many such BD's just floating around NC and I actually had to approach a couple of people in person to ask if they were willing to scroll themselves during their profession, if said profession was specialized enough. Got some weird looks for that, especially since I was shit at virtu-editing anyways (ever since I hired him, I've put Vasili on braindance-duty) but the rawness of my virtus actually helped in training.

Really feeling like a pro racing driver while he was making his laps, experience the rumble of the car underneath my/his boots and the shaking of the wheel in my/his hands, feel my/his body move with the car, that was pure experience distilled into ones and zeroes right there.

Combined with the training sims and the MRAMs, I had a vast and varied collection of skills, though most of them centered around kidnapping, murder and torture. Still, it was nice knowing that I could make a Turducken out in the Badlands with nothing more than a skillet, an open fire, a turkey and a duck (though the turkey might be a bit difficult to get my hands on).

Useless, sure, but still nice.

In fact, I was toying with the idea of releasing even more positively oriented BDs like that onto the market with the nebulous hope of it counter-acting the rise of cyberpsychosis and overall defeatism and depression in Night City. There's a reason why cyberpunks like Maine, David and V care more about how they die than about how they live: for them, life was a meaningless, unremarkable slog of a shit-show with death being the only guarantee you got. Might as well make that death worth remembering. While they, and Edgerunners like them, took the mindset to the extreme, a large reason as to why NC's populace was so apathetic to the everyday suffering in their city was because they shared that same defeatist attitude.

Truth be told, most people don't consider their life worth living these days, caught between exploitation by the corps and the violence of the gangs and seeking escape in the vast ocean of entertainment the city offers as a distraction, a temporary numbing balm to all your hurting thoughts. Like braindances. Most people in NC chase sex and snuff XBD's in order to fulfill dark urges or chase away the gnawing emptiness of trying to get by in a city designed to hollow you out from the inside.

No wonder we have the poorest standard of living and some of the highest rates of cyberpsychos in the Free States.

But imagine someone suffering from intense loneliness who can just put on his BD wreath and experience what it's like to enter a warm home, being greeted by his wife and children. Imagine someone with severe anxiety finally knowing what it's like to be comforted by a loving parent or someone nearing a burnout what it's like to laze away in the sun at some luxury resort.

Escapism in its truest form: don't like your life? Live someone else's for an hour or two.

I had carefully broached the subject with Vasili, but the lunkhead had just blinked at me a couple of times before chuckling and reaching up to pat my shoulder.

"You've got some weird sense of humor there Boss."

And that was that. Maybe Sasha would feel more for it? Couldn't do any harm to see if we could scroll and virtu-edit together, right? Right…

… Oh yeah, anyways, dealing with a kidnapping here, definitely not thinking about the cute netrunner in my crew whilst on the job, no sir!

So, ahem, Tetsuo Tanaka. Looks like an old guy, thanks to cyberware might be anything but. But metaknowledge told me he was only running wetware. He had the same chip that his son Katsuo used to beat the crap out of pre-Sandy David.

A corpo exec like Tanaka doesn't want to risk cyberpsychosis by installing heavy chrome when he can have his security install it instead. The combat wetware is just there so he can fight off potential kidnappers long enough for said security to reach his position.

As he stares down the barrel of Dominic's Satara, his security already flatlined and with me looming over him as I step besides him, there's not much use in relying on the chipware anymore now.

Really, the only thing we'd need to watch out for are those needle shooters of his, but I have a plan to deal with those (rather permanently) once we get the exec to a more secure location. For now, I grab his arms and pull them roughly behind his back, slapping on some electronic shackles on his wrists so he can't aim them at my people.

Said people are arriving now, Rebecca jumping out of the Mahir minivan as B-Team rolls up in an old beat-up Thorton Colby C240t. Near-identical to its ubiquitous C125 station-wagon variant, I had Barrett klep this one instead because of its AWD feature.

B-Team should be able to make a smooth getaway now that C-Team had blocked the high-way with Shannon's klepped Kaukaz truck, but should someone come for our corpo piggie here I want B-Team in a vehicle that has a better chance escaping through Santo Domingo into the outskirts of the Badlands if need be.

A big guy (though not Animal-big) and a cyberpunk jump out of the Thorton, both in unmarked generic tracksuits instead of the usual lion-stamped tactical vests of my Predator pack.

Not much of a point in covering our faces if we broadcast our logo for all to see anyways.

While the big guy rushes over towards me and Tanaka, the cyberpunk remains alert and waiting by the driver's seat wielding a reliable Arasaka Nowaki held in a firing position, lined up perfectly with Tanaka's center mass.

The irony isn't lost on me.

The Nowaki might be an older gen weapon, offering a slower rate of fire than its successor and Arasaka's current flagship, the HJSH-18 Masamune, but in the hands of an experienced gunman, the assault rifle almost becomes a precision rifle instead.

You know, just one that can explode your head thrice in a single burst instead of merely once.

Which is why I had Faraday get me one for this gig. Old, so cheap enough we can justify ditching it after our biz is done, but reliable enough it won't fail us in the heat of the moment and my marksman had the experience needed so he could contend even next-gen 'Saka corpo-soldiers if need be.

Though I'm sure Tiny Mike (and he really was tiny when compared to most of my pack, with the exception of Rebecca) would rather be wielding his Iconic Hypercritical, a heavily modified Rostovic Kolac, than some old 'Saka workhorse.

Then again, he'd rather not torch and dump his modified baby anytime soon, so the old assault rifle it was. It didn't fire the special caliber Tiny had managed to fit on his Hypercritical, but from this distance, even the Nowaki's three-round burst would still punch a fist-sized hole right through Tanaka's torso, even if I had been the one doing the punching.

While he remains on the lookout by the getaway vehicle, one eye on Tanaka, the other on the road behind him wary for any intercepts, the bigger guy reaches the corpo exec and me, giving me a nod (and smiling behind his bandana I'm sure) while he slips a biomon-jammer into Tanaka's port.

Scav tech. Makes me slightly ill even using it, but its effectiveness couldn't be denied. Sandra Dorsett went missing for quite a while until V and Jackie saved her and during all that time Trauma Team hadn't even so much as heard a peep from the unfortunate woman's biomon, even though she had Platinum coverage like Tanaka here.

I'm just glad I had Faraday get the jammer instead of having to deal with the Scavs directly, for multiple reasons in fact.

Tanaka freezes up when the newcomer slots the chip in, very obviously restraining himself from reacting physically to the intrusion, the shotgun aimed at his face and the cooling corpses of his security in his car a grim reminder not to make any sudden movements around Animals on the hunt.

The second half of B-Team has a Crusher slung across his back, a couple of grenades hanging from a thick belt and a Nova on each hip. Heavily armed, but pretty light on the chrome compared to your average Animal. Then again, while he's definitely bulky, around Jackie's size if not slightly bigger, he's not actually an Animal either, just like Tiny Mike and 'Becca.

While Barrett, Dominic, Vasili and Shannon aren't the only Animals in my Predator pack, I had built it up by pulling from outside recourses as well and considering the nature of this gig, I had put most of them on the crews I was using for Faraday's biz.

While my Predators are definitely more low-key and capable of subtlety than other Animals, I wanted edgerunners with experience under their belt for this crew and that made this guy the perfect candidate. He's a former merc after all, one with experience in intercorporate extraction, neutralization and… well, "unfortunate accidents". Compared to the Animals in my Predator pack, Benedict McAdams might be on the physically weaker side (a novel experience for him I'm sure), but aside from me he's definitely the scariest motherfucker around.

It's how he can put a bullet in someone's head with a calm smile on his face that's so unsettling.

I mean, yeah, sure Rebecca's smiling whenever she does that too, but at least with her, her weird look and insane laughter puts it all into perspective, ya know? She's just crazy. Benedict is genuinely kind, even when flatlining you.

No wonder everyone at the Afterlife always says that, if anyone there was to zero 'em, they'd want it to be Benedict. At least he'd be nice about it.

It was at the Afterlife where I bumped into him and Tiny Mike (literally), now almost three years ago. I had just managed to convince Dominic and Vasili that Sasquatch was allowing me to build my own pack with her backing and so had gone down to the Afterlife to ask the Queen of Fixers if I could borrow her netrunner's brain. Or at least his chips on hacking and counter-intel.

Even though I was just barely seventeen at the time, Emeric let me through without much hassle. Part of that was because it was the Afterlife, they couldn't give two shits if you were underage; you threw up all over Rogue's floor, you'd be there the following morning on your knees scrubbing it all up, same as everyone else. The other part was because, even though I was just a teenager at the time, I still absolutely towered over the other Animal and the bouncer was very aware of the fact I had a decade of experience in our fighting rings under my belt at that point.

Pretty sure he's made more than just a handful of eddies by betting on a couple of those fights too. Meaning he knows exactly what I can do to him if he tries and stand in my way.

Which is why he stood aside and let me pass without giving me hassle.

Sure, he's more loyal to Rogue than to our gang (and considering how decentralized our gang is and how often we get used as bodyguards, nobody really holds it against him), but that loyalty only extends so far to the point he doesn't get his head shoved through the nearest wall.

Rogue hadn't been happy with either me or Emeric (and I didn't really wanna know what she ended up doing to her bouncer to get even, though these days the Animal flinches whenever he looks at me), but promising to take care of some of her biz in return for having Nix train my netrunner smoothed over her ruffled feathers at least.

Having Nix throw some training shards Vasili's way was no skin off Rogue's back (though Nix might disagree), while the backs I broke of whomever she pointed me at was very profitable for her in return.

I'm still not allowed to drink at the Afterlife though.

Visit and talk biz? Sure. Have myself a good time? Fuck no.

"Mercs only, and last time I checked, you classify as a gangoon, oh Prince." She'd say lazily, my 'title' pronounced in a slightly mocking tone, a not-quite smile on her lips as she'd stare me down and that was that.

Whatever. Don't much care for the drinks they serve there anyways. Just a reminder of how fucked up life on the Edge can get. Takes away a man's taste for drink is what it does, so visiting the Afterlife just for biz and not for pleasure suited me just fine.

Though considering Rogue was just fine throwing gigs my way like they're candy I'm pretty sure I counted as at least a semi-merc at this point.

After that first meeting, I had made to leave the Queen's booth, only to nearly bowl over Tiny Mike who had come up behind me, being next in line to talk biz with Rogue. Now, "Tiny" is more of a fun nickname than an accurate descriptor for the hardened merc, who has been part of the criminal life since he was eleven years old. When he sprung back to his feet, hands balled into fists and a gleam in his eye, he realized that, having to look up, up and then up some more to lock gazes with me, "Tiny" was simply nothing more than the cold honest truth.

Still, on the Edge, rep is everything and you just can't be seen used as a doormat by a teenager, even if said teenager is tall enough to rival two Maimai's stacked on top of each other.

So, Tiny Mike was rearing up for a fight against his better judgement, and I was contemplating how hard I should hit him to knock him out instead of turning him into paste, when Benedict, cool as a cucumber, came outta nowhere and simply stepped between the two of us, offering us both drinks with an easy smile on his face.

He later confided in me that he had been worried a brawl at the Afterlife would end up with people in bodybags (considering the crowd at the morgue-turned-bar an entirely valid point) and since he was very determined never to see the inside of one, he sorta reacted on part reflex and part panic to try and stop the fight before it started.

Like I said, Benedict is a nice guy for a merc. Especially for a merc.

Fight averted, I ended up doing some gigs for Rogue alongside the friendly solo (undoubtedly because the Queen of the Afterlife thought the merc reliable enough to order him to keep an eye on me) building enough of a rep with him that, after I finally managed to ditch Rogue, I managed to convince him to sign up for my Predators instead.

Having worked alongside them a couple of times in the past and liking me well enough (I tend to bribe him with melons and he doesn't mind), Benedict saw little issue in making the partnership more official-like, donning the lion-stamped flak jacket with ease.

Tiny Mike had been more difficult to convince, like Maine one who truly belonged to the solo life and not feeling much for sporting a gang's colors after leaving the Tyger Claws behind at the tender age of fifteen (ironically the same age as I was when Sasquatch finally allowed me to begin forming my own pack). In the end I won him over much like how I did Maine: by saving one of his people.

Big Pete, Mike's brother, was a Techie. A good one, but not a very nice one and more than a few people in NC took affront to his professional courtesy and work ethic. Enough people, or perhaps just one who was important enough, for the NC air to no longer agree with Pete. In the game, this would've meant leaving Night City for the Badlands, where he'd end up enslaved/employed by the Wraiths until V (on Dakota's orders) tracks him down to kill him.

Which was a waste of a perfectly good Techie (even if he's an annoying asshole) and, more importantly, a waste of perfectly good leverage against Tiny Mike.

All I had to do was swoop in, kill every Wraith in a five-mile radius of where Big Pete was being handed over to a pack of the rapists and then drop his ass off back with his brother, who wasn't entirely sure yet if he was all that pleased to see him again.

Considering both Kowalski brothers knew which way the wind was blowing, they realized the only place where Pete would be safe was under my caring wings and so they ended up approaching me with the request to join my Predators as well.

Tiny Mike had been frustrated in the beginning, but much like Rebecca, had warmed up significantly to our gang when his Techie brother got his asshole tendencies curbed. Being used to servicing vehicles, Pete had taken one look at a nearby Thorton Galena GA32t (the sport version of the standard Galena) and declared it an utter pile of shit held together by a ramshackle collection of bolts and copious amounts of spit.

Unfortunately for him, said GA32t belonged to Shannon, my ex-Nomad turned Animal and resident speed demon and hilariously for us, she was within earshot when he said it.

If I had an eddie everytime I had to order a replacement dick for the Techie brother of a merc I had join my Predators, I would have two ennies. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

Guess being an asshole to everything that moves and a dick to everything that doesn't is just part of the job description for being a Techie, apparently.

Seeing his brother getting shut up in the most satisfying way possible certainly did a lot to ease Tiny Mike's reluctance and he's been a valued member of my pack for close to two years now. It had been his endorsement of me which had made Benedict's transfer a few months ago go much smoother. Given their past familiarity and compatible skill sets, I tended to pair them up together often, in my mind designating them as the Tiny Mike and Lil' Dickie duo.

… Don't tell Benedict I call him that.

I had hoped to get the unusually friendly merc on board sooner by saving his life during one of our shared gigs, but unfortunately the guy was too much of a professional to have a gig go tits up on him and each one practically went baby smooth. I never even got the chance to jump in and save the guy's life: either we were never spotted, or he had zeroed all his bad guys by the time I had flatlined mine and made my way over to him.

It's surprisingly annoying trying to manipulate people when said people are competent enough they don't need your help.

Still, said competence, combined with how dependable he had proven himself to be, meant he still got picked first for the Faraday biz despite being the newest member of my pack.

Benedict presses on Tanaka's neck, eyes briefly glowing blue as he checks the Scav-built biomon jammer. After a second or two, the glow in his eyes dies down and, without even changing his expression, he pulls back a meaty fist and punches Tanaka square in the jaw.

The corpo briefly grunts in surprise before he crumples at my feet in an unconscious heap and I glance towards Benedict with a raised brow. The two of us then, almost on reflex, crane our necks and check the sky for the signature roar of an approaching Trauma Team AV. After a few tense seconds, the two of us relax with audible sighs. The merc then simply looks back towards me, giving me a nod.

"Jammer installed and working preem, Boss." He says blithely, displaying no hint of discomfort at calling me his superior after having been my partner/handler for a couple of years.

Like I said, Benedict is a professional. I can sorta get now why people at the Afterlife would prefer to be zeroed by him.

"Good." I rumble through gritted teeth, though before I can scold the ex-solo for not warning me he was about to test the biomon on the spot (not that it's a bad idea: better we find out here after all than at the safehouse, I'd just prefer a heads-up if he's about to call Trauma Team down on our ass is all), we're interrupted by the dismayed shouts of Rebecca as she joins us.

"Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait WAIT!"

Immediately on alert, my hand goes to the Burya strapped to the holster at my thigh, while Benedict pulls out his Novas and Dominic starts scanning our surroundings, Satara at the ready.

"What? What is it?" I immediately ask, all senses turned up to eleven to try and spot the threat Rebecca saw which I had missed-

"You already killed everyone!? And you didn't even wait for me?!"

… Wow, she actually sounds genuinely enraged and a little bit heartbroken at that. The three of us sigh as we straighten, returning our weapons to our holsters as we look at the tiny woman glaring up at us with a snarl on her face and her hands wringing the handle of her bright green-pink Guts.

With a shake of my head, I bend down, grab and lift Tanaka with one clawed hand, before casually tossing him over towards Benedict, who manages to catch the chubby exec with a muffled 'oomph!'.

"B-Team, fall back, switch vehicles, torch that Thorton and meet us at the rendezvous. If we or C-Team don't show up, fall back towards the safe-house in the Badlands and await further orders. Don't go leading corpo soldiers back to HQ." I instruct the melon-loving merc who quickly nods as he throws Tanaka over his shoulder before hurrying back towards the waiting Tiny Mike.

Throwing Tanaka in the back of the Colby, the Tiny Mike and Lil' Dickie duo jump in the Thorton and peel out of here with squealing tires and the smell of burning rubber.

"Wait! He was still alive! At least let me shoot him!" Rebecca yells out, wildly waving her arms at the retreating car.

"R. That was our target."

"At least let me shoot him a little!"

Shaking my head, I move away from the maniacal woman (I don't much care for how she's carelessly swinging that massive shotgun of hers around) and instead stalk over towards the ruined Thrax.

Seeing me move, Rebecca runs over as well, needing three hurried steps for each of my long strides. Reaching the vehicle, she almost leaps into the back, Guts first, her red-yellow eyes scanning the bloodied interior and the dead corpo guys.

"Ahw man, you really did kill everyone already…" she manages to pout through her mask, but I shake my head with a chuckle as I lean over the driver's side of the downed Chevillon limo.

"Well, not exactly. There's one guy still alive."

I tap the darkened glass with a curved claw.

"The driver."

"Really?! Can I shoot him? Please can I shoot him?" Rebecca excitedly cries out, clambering out of the Thrax and onto its crumpled hood.

My grin goes wider as I lean down so my face is level with the darkened window, oddly reminding myself of that scene in Jurassic Park where the T-Rex looks into the flipped Jeep. My wide smile shows off my large fangs, and the claw I had been tapping at the window with slowly slides down the hardened glass, digging a shallow groove.

"Oh, that won't be necessary."

"Oh come on! Ya blue-ballin' me here big guy!"

"… You know, part of me looks at you and wonders if you mean that literally. The rest of me wouldn't even be surprised."

"It sure feels like it's literally!"

"Be that as it may, we don't actually need to kill the driver."

"But whyyy?"

"Because the driver won't tell anyone what he saw here today."

"You don't know that for sure though. Which is why we should shoot him! In the face! Can't tell on us if he ain't got a face!"

"Oh, but I do know that for sure. Because the driver here knows that he's not going to tell anyone either. Isn't that right, Maxim Kuznetsov? You see, R, Kuznetsov here knows that if he does tell anyone, anyone at all… I will be able to hunt him. I will find him. After all, I know his name. I know his face. And I know he likes to bet on Animal boxing matches and goes to drown his sorrows in the Jacked and Coke whenever he inevitably ends up losing."

My claw reaches the bottom of the window and I withdraw it with a grin, my gaze locked with Maxim's even through the darkened glass, the long line etched in it slashing across my mirror image.

"I know everything worth knowing about Maxim Kuznetsov… and now he knows it too."

I remain in place for a moment longer before I straighten and move away from the driver's window.

"Let's delta the fuck outta here. I don't wanna spend the time needed to peel open that sardine can, we've already lingered longer than I'd like." I rumble, but as I stalk around the Thrax' long nose, I spot Rebecca giving me an odd look and she's unusually quiet.

Offering my hand to help her down from the Chevillon, Rebecca just grabs a hold of it and uses it to clamber onto my shoulder instead. Resisting the urge to yell out "I! AM! GROOT!" takes all of my willpower, but miraculously I manage it.

Making my way over to the waiting Supron, I shrug my shoulder, jostling the abnormally quiet woman.

"You good R?"

She doesn't immediately answer, hopping from my shoulder into the back of the van as I awkwardly clamber in after her, Dominic bringing up the rear and slamming the doors shut.

"B! Get us outta here!"

"On it Boss!"

As the Supron's tires squeal and its textile-plastic frame groans under the stress of our getaway, Rebecca finally speaks up after tugging the balaclava off her head with a huff.

"You know something Simba?"

I wince a bit at her using my nickname instead of the agreed upon code-names for the gig, but Tanaka is in another vehicle and neither MaxTac or Trauma Team has descended on our asses yet. We should be fine, so I decide to let it slide, trying to settle in better in the cramped van as I answer Rebecca's question.

"What?"

"You can get real scary when you wanna be."

I halt my movements, blinking my eyes in surprise at the little murder-gremlin at my side.

"This coming from the woman who not even five minutes ago was practically begging me to let her zero a goon."

"Look, I just wanna shoot guns and flatline gonks, if that scares people off then they're pussies anyways!" Rebecca defends herself hotly, pouting up at me as she places her hands on her hips.

She deflates somewhat as her red-yellow eyes go a bit distant, her voice more subdued.

"But you… man, you issue a death threat, you do it right. I got the shivers and it wasn't even me you were threatenin'! I'm telling ya Simba, when you flip a switch in those circs of yours, your voice changes and you get this look in your eyes and you just straight up become… intimidating… You kinda remind me of your Mom then."

"Oh come on, it wasn't that bad-" I try, but to my surprise find Dominic nodding along with Rebecca.

"What? You too?"

"Face it Boss, you can be one mean son of a bitch when ya wanna be." The Animal says gravely, getting a flat look in response.

"Gee, thanks, I'll be sure to let Ma know you said that."

Dominic blanches at that and can't quite keep from closing his legs a little further. Rebecca is ignoring the byplay, instead patting her Guts, the massive shotgun comically large as she lies it across her lap.

"Still tho, even if he crapped his pants - and you just know he totally did too! - I still say ya shoulda let me flatline him." She pouts.

"I agree with Rebecca." Dominic says out loud.

"Thanks, big guy!" Rebecca yells out with a smile, while I shoot the Animal a disgruntled look.

"So I've noticed." I grumble, but my heavy gunner (in both senses of the word) doesn't let up.

"He will talk. Not soon. Not willingly. But he will." The Animal warns, leaning a bit towards me as he locks gazes with me.

"I agree." I admitted easily to the two Predators' surprise.

"Arasaka counter-intel is good enough, they'll have him squealing the chipcode to his mom's bank account once they get their hands on him. If they even bother, instead of just ripping his memories straight onto a virtu instead, scroll our encounter for themselves to see first-hand."

"And that's bad. You can see how that's bad, right?" Rebecca presses, but I shrug.

"Suboptimal, sure, but it beats standing out there and trying to cut our way through those armor plates on that Thrax. And going through the opened interior would've likely taken just as long: the Jefferson version comes with a reinforced divide between the driver and passengers." I explain, but my pack still isn't convinced.

"That's what this crap was for! Do you even know how much of a bitch it was to get all this heavy shit into the van?!" Rebecca yells out, stomping her heel against the armored crate she's sitting on.

It's filled with welding tools and easily weighed ten times the small woman's bodyweight, a fact that hadn't stopped her from boasting she'd load in our gear before we even finished our Buck-A-Slice coffee. Which is why I give her a flat look.

"For you? Pretty easy since I imagine you bullied Barrett into lifting it in here for you."

At that Rebecca whirled around to glare daggers at the back of my driver's head, who, even without turning around, winces a bit behind the wheel.

"You promised you wouldn't tell!" Rebecca hisses through her fanged teeth.

"He didn't, but thank you for confirming it anyways."

"Oh. Oh, you're good. So good, you're evil." Rebecca muses, glaring up at me with a pout and narrowed eyes.

"Thank you for noticing. Anyways, that whole pile of crap was there for back-up and solely for getting Tanaka out if he tried holing up in his Jefferson. Using heavier ordnance to crack open the Thrax would've risked hurting him enough for Trauma Team to be alerted, so cutting through the plates would've been the only way. Slow though, way too slow, and it gives him and his security gonks too much time to work on a solution. 'Sides, the cutter is at risk too: the moment they make a hole through the Chevillon's bodywork, the bodyguard can stick a gun through and zero 'em on the spot. It was always meant as a back-up, one I hoped we wouldn't need to use. Hence, the EMPs."

"EMPs don't affect bodywork." Dominic interjects with a frown as a grin forms on my face.

"True, but it does affect the people inside said bodywork. Three chromed-out dudes, hit with one EMP after the other? The blood and corpse smell covered it, but the inside of that Thrax was covered with vomit. Makes sense they'd try and pull off an evac, instead of turtling down in their own sick."

Only reason why Tanaka wasn't covered in it was because he had anti-EMP lining installed (expensive, but common amongst people with his level of wealth) and the fact that his Neokitch style 'Saka suit was dirt repellant and hydrophobic. Though if it's that water-resistant, I wonder how he washes it?

Meh, knowing corpo cunts like him, he just buys a new one every day.

"Ahw man, that's just nasty. Sounds like a Maelstrom party I went to once. Sure, Totentanz is a totally nova bar, but you better shut off your sense of smell before going drinking with those 'borgheads."

Internally wincing at 'Becca's pronunciation of German, I instead call out to Vasili.

"V! How we lookin'?"

"Left range of jammer, contact with overwatch and B-Team and C-Team re-established. C-Team on way to rendezvous point, no reported issues. B-Team nearing fallback point, ready to make switch to getaway vehicle soon. No tails spotted."

"And us?"

"Nearing fallback point, ready to make switch to getaway vehicle as well. No tails spotted-"

My netrunner is interrupted when the Supron suddenly shakes, the unmistakable sound of gunfire coming from behind us as a few of the bullets tear through the top of the minivan's shoddy exterior.

"Correction, one tail spotted. … sorry 'bout that Boss." My netrunner speaks up somewhat sheepishly as a new hail of bullets tears into our minivan.

It's only after they've opened fire (twice!) that we hear the NCPD sirens start blaring.

"Typical." I grouse underneath my breath, inching closer towards the double doors.

I blindly reach behind me, grab a hold of 'Becca with one hand and plant her besides me, ignoring her startled 'eep!' as I nudge the doors open, glancing through the crack.

"Well then, you wanted to shoot some people?" I ask, before throwing the doors of the minivan wide open.

"Look what I got ya! Surprise!"

Immediately Rebecca lights up with a huge smile, Guts coming up in a secure grip at her side.

"Fuckin' nova! Ahwww, big guy, you shouldn't have! EAT LEAD FUCKERS! AHAHHAHAHAHA!"

As the bright green-pink shotgun barks out, a hail of gunfire shreds the top part of the Supron in return and Dominic steps closer towards me, flinching a bit as scraps of plastic and textile rain down on our broad shoulders, shielding the oblivious Rebecca below, who is clearly having the time of her life.

Reloading his grenade launcher, Dominic sends me a disgruntled look as we duck some more gunfire.

"You really shouldn't have. Really."

"Oh come off it, how was I supposed to know they'd be hanging around here?" I grouch back, before I reach towards the back of my belt, forgoing my trusty Burya for now.

Instead, I unclip one of the few Iconic weapons in my possession (the others difficult to track down two years in the past relative to the game). Considering all those Wraiths I've been murdering left and right, it only made sense the Problem Solver would end up falling into my oversized hands eventually.

It's a Militech M221 Saratoga, itself a perfectly fine submachine gun, but modified to increase its magazine size to a whopping 85 rounds and having an almost tripled fire rate. The downside was the extreme recoil and bulletspread, but against my ridiculous strength that hardly mattered.

It was the ultimate pray and spray gun for its size (though I really want to get my hands on the other Iconic Saratoga as well, the Maelstrom variant Fenrir, but with the push towards Pacifica we've been moving away from Watson so I haven't had a chance to track it down yet) and that makes the Problem Solver the perfect weapon for the job.

Switching to full-auto mode and letting the Wraith SMG (though I've removed their logo) rip to its heart's content, I call back towards the front of the Supron over my shoulder.

"V! Why the hell are they even hanging around here?! We tip 'em off?" I roar over the wind and bullet hail.

That shouldn't have been possible, that was what the jammer was for. Though I suppose C-Team's impromptu Kaukaz-barricade would've drawn the notice of even the notoriously heel-dragging NCPD officers.

"No Boss! Random patrol! Shit luck, I guess!"

"Figures!" I roar back in annoyance, swapping in a new clip for the Problem Solver.

For such a small gun (especially in my oversized paws) its firing rate is nothing short of amazing, but it just absolutely chews through ammo, even with its increased mag size.

"Well, at least this way we can draw the attention away from B- and C-Team. Make it loud boys!"

"Ahahahaha! As if there's any other way!" Rebecca shouts out with glee as Guts keeps barking in her hands.

Well, she's got a point: we are Animals after all…

I glance behind me towards the mess of equipment and crates we stuffed in the back of the Supron, before holstering my Problem Solver (netting me a "What the shit, big guy?! Keep shooting those gonks!" from Rebecca) and stepping closer to the large crate the tiny woman had been sitting on.

The lid of the crate is held shut by an old-fashioned padlock, so I engulf the lock in my massive paw, before tearing the buckle straight through the plastic lid it was fastened to. Dropping the lock to the floor, I throw open the top of the crate, before lifting the entire thing in a single smooth motion.

Barrett probably slaved and cursed away for 'Becca trying to lift this pile of junk into the minivan, but to me it was child's play.

"Sorry, coming through." I call out to the little murder-gremlin and my heavy gunner, who turn back towards me with baffled looks on their faces.

Said looks turn even more surprised when I heave the entire massive crate out of the Supron. Time seemingly slows down as I watch the crate tumble to the asphalt below, its contents almost gently falling out. A mass of hoses, the welding torch and no less than four cannisters of compressed CHOOH2 all come tumbling out of the crate on a collision course with the tarmac.

Behind them, an Archer Hella with the classic NCPD reinforcements and livery is in hot pursuit of our struggling Supron, a burly cop hanging out the passenger side window firing a Nokota D5 Copperhead with wild abandon.

As the corner of the crate slams into the asphalt, I pull my Burya from its holster, my cybernetic eyes transfixed on the CHOOH2 cannisters that get launched from the crate by the impact. They twist and tumble in the air as I line up my heavy Techtronika revolver, seemingly sailing gently on the winds in slow-motion. My gaze remains locked with my target and my arm is completely steady, even as the cop's wild hail of bullets fly around my ears.

I hold my breath, listen to the hammering of my heart and right between its beats, pull the trigger. My Burya barks only once… and its bullet tears right through the center CHOOH2 cannister. What follows is what almost looks like a brief miniature sun on the highway as the gas containers rapidly explode one after the other. The flames, tinted blue at the edges due to the ethanol combustion, expand and billow out in a literal flash and the resulting fireball engulfs the speeding Hella with a thundering roar.

"B! Delta the fuck outta here, right the fuck NOW!" I roar out over the booming noise of the explosion, getting a frantic "Yes Boss!" from my driver as he pushes the struggling Supron to beyond her limits.

Dominic is quiet as we stare at the NCPD patrol car, which wildly swerves before planting itself square in the guardrails with a tremendous crash, covered in smoke and soot.

Rebecca is rubbing her eyes, trying to get rid of the sudden spots following the glare of the explosion, blinking rapidly as she tries to stare up at me.

"Weren't you laughing your head off about how stupid Maelstrom was for using explosions for months?" She asks and I cough as I turn away from her with a shrug.

"They tried blowing up a bridge. I just blew up a car. Totally different thing."

"Won't that bring down heat on us? NCPD don't look kindly on cop killers." Dominic muses as he pulls the doors of the minivan shut (or tries to, at least, there's not much left of them to be honest).

"Eh, it's fine. That was the Enforcer variant of the Hella, special made according to NCPD specs. Armored body and, more importantly, fireproof glass. The cops will be fine."

"… wasn't one of them hanging out the window?" Rebecca muses and I still for a moment.

"The cops will be fine." I stress again and the tiny murder-gremlin holds up her hands in surrender.

"Well, if nothing else, investigations will look towards us first before focusing on B- and C-Team." Dominic agrees, sliding down the perforated wall of the Supron as he drags a huge hand down his craggy face with a sigh.

"I just hope it'll take some time for them to get to it. I get being the distraction, but this girl can't take much more punishment." Barrett warns us, turning down the twisting streets of Heywood on a labyrinthian pattern to where we stashed our getaway vehicle.

"V. Coordinate with overwatch. Try to scramble local netsecurity as best you can, keep any eyes off us. Just… don't go pissing off Netwatch? I want less eyes on us, not more."

"Will do Boss."

As Vasili's eyes light up blue as he communicates with Sasha, I keep my senses peeled for any more surprises, closing my eyes as I lean back against the ruined wall of the minivan.

My moment of quiet contemplation is shattered when I feel Rebecca approach my still form, sitting on her haunches besides me, a grin on her face.

"Hey, hey big guy. Think of the other teams, man! Poor Shannon, running out there in NC, all by her lonesome. And Tiny Mike and Ben! Forced to carry that corpo cunt around! C'mon Sim, let's do 'em a solid! Look, we want eyes on us, right? So, I say, we go back to that Hella you burnt, see if we can't lift their radio and send a message to all NCPD subcons on their comms to come and get us! And then, and then, when they show up, we shoot 'em all in the face! It's the perfect plan! They're just subcons, no need to worry about flatlining one of your buddies within NCPD's finest! Well? Waddaya say big guy?" the woman excitedly brabbles, and I just groan in defeat.

"Dominic?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"I swear on my Ma's hammer, you say you agree with 'Becca's plan again, so help me I will toss your ass outta this van."

"… fair enough."

"Oi! Where's the love man?!"

As Rebecca starts badgering Dominic, I let out a quiet sigh. Sure, the little murder-gremlin was right: we are Animals, this whole gig was bound to have an explosion or two occur somewhere down the line. But the entire point of forming my Predators was to subvert that! Move on targets with stealth, like a hunter! Why did things always turn out messy?!

Man, why couldn't I have been born into a corpo family or something? Some trustfund kid who didn't have to do jack shit but watch XBDs all damn day.

… well, if nothing else, while undeniably easier, that life certainly would've been far more boring too. Plus, I doubt I would've been in a position to actually help the people around me.

As we so clearly showed Tanaka today, having stacks of eddies doesn't solve everything.

Letting the bickering between 'Becca and Dominic wash over me, I keep my eyes closed as I lean the back of my head against the textile-plastic wall of the Supron, my mind on the people I've come in contact with during my life in this fucked up world.

Rebecca here. The rest of Maine's crew. Sasha…

Yeah, perhaps my life was shit, but at least I managed to use it to make the lives of a couple others better. As we make it towards our fallback point without further distractions, (finally!) torching the battered Supron and piling into a Villefort Cortes with a bit of difficulty before making our way over towards the rendezvous point with the other teams, I can't help but think that, honestly?

I'm okay with that.