KYBER-PUNK 22BBY [Inspired Inventor+]

Bass thrummed. Drinks flowed. People danced and mingled as if the night was to be their last. In that city, on that Smuggler's Moon… it very well might be. Still, the Afterlife was a bastion of good cheer and good times in the wretched, dangerous, and ever-volatile streets and levels of Night City, Nar Shaddaa. The club served a very particular set of clientele: the deadly, the infamous, and the powerful. Beneath its neon lights, the underworld's game played out every night.

Though Night City made up only a fraction of Nar Shaddaa's expansive ecumenopolis, everyone who was anyone on the Smuggler's Moon ended up at the Afterlife at least once. As long as someone was recognized or vouched for, the club's owner — Rogue Amendiares — would open her doors to them. Corpo enforcer, Hutt merc, Pyke spicer, Black Sun soldier, bounty hunter for hire, Night City ganger, or (relatively) free-standing Edgerunner — all were welcome at the Afterlife so long as they had the right kind of cred. Street cred, that is.

Throughout Afterlife, a trend emerged. The club catered to aliens just as readily as it catered to humans. But almost every human in attendance was a Night City native. The rest of Nar Shaddaa bore a non-human majority. Night City was the opposite, a safe haven of exception where almost all of Nar Shaddaa's 20% human population resided. Of course, being surrounded on all sides in such a charged environment inevitably brewed a culture of… eccentricity within Night City's borders. Even in an ever-varied galaxy, Night City and its natives were (in)famously unique.

As usual, Afterlife was bumping. There were plenty of movers and shakers with the right kind of cred — both in Nar Shaddaa as a whole and Night City in particular. It wasn't quite neutral ground, but its patrons could be relatively certain that they wouldn't lose their lives within its walls. Fights still broke out, and business was still discussed, but by and large, the Afterlife was a safe enough place for dangerous men and women.

The notorious bounty hunter Cad Bane leisurely sipped Corellian brandy at the club's bar. Sitting beside the legendary Duros hunter, an up-and-coming edgerunner by the name of Jackie Welles asked for his advice, eagerly hoping to learn from the legends of the game from Night City and beyond. He was small-time — despite his best efforts and dreams — and it showed. Cad Bane was amused enough to indulge the big brute from Night City but it was clear to anyone in the know that Jackie would never make it alone. He didn't have the 'it factor' that would see him made into a Night City Legend, much less make something of himself beyond that significant but relatively small sector of the galaxy's underworld. Attendance at the Afterlife was likely as high as Jackie Welles would ever rise in Cad Bane's experienced eyes.

In another section of Afterlife, a nameless Hutt indulged in its species' infamous hedonism. The 'venerable' slug popped squirming little creatures into its gaping maw. Each one was utterly soaked in CHOOH2. The volatile and caustic fuel would've blinded species of a lesser persuasion. To a Hutt, though, the CHOOH2 grubs were a great delicacy, one that could only be found in Night City. The grubs were provided to the Hutt — bought like a round of drinks — by Kerry Eurodyne, Night City native and music legend, who raised a glass to the Hutt from across the club.

And tucked away in a corner of it all, a crew of four sat around and shot the shit, having claimed a booth for themselves. Technically, there was nothing special about the crew. They were Night City natives, and like so many others, they'd likely never make it off the Smuggler's Moon. By that same logic, they were Night City natives… and so, could never be considered normal by the rest of the galaxy's standards.

The crew's leader was a dark-skinned man called Maine. He was massive, of a size to rival even a Wookie, if not in height than in width. He and his crew had a reputation for competence. Nothing particularly exceptional, but often more than enough to get the job done. It took true exceptionalism — and a one-in-a-million shot — to break free from the shackles of Nar Shaddaa and Night City. Still, Maine and his crew made the most of what they had.

With him tonight were three women, only one of whom was claimed by Maine himself. His partner Dorio was a woman who nearly matched Maine's size. The third woman in the booth occupied the opposite end of the size spectrum. She was tiny, with unnaturally pale skin and pink tattoos. Despite her size, people didn't often get the chance to underestimate Becca twice. And that was if her pre-existing reputation failed her in the first place… Those who lived to tell the tale made damn sure that Night City's Chaos Gremlin was well-known (and well-feared).

The last woman in the booth was neither massive nor tiny. At least, not tiny to Becca's extent. She was slim — petite and pleasantly curvy — but of an average height. Black hair cut in a short bob, a cute face and expressions reminiscent of a feline, and plenty of pretty colors made her pop in anyone's eyes. She wouldn't have looked out of place on a pleasure planet. But like Becca, Sasha wasn't to be underestimated. The party girl had hidden claws.

"Alright, guys, I think this is me done in for the night," Sasha said, stretching her arms over her head. "Business calls, ya know~?"

A wicked feline grin came over her face with the last line. It was matched by her friends and crew in the booth. Maine chuckled, "We'll hold down the fort for you, cool cat. You good for everything on your end?"

"Oh, you know me, Maine-y~," Sasha purred, standing with a peppy pop to her steps that drew eyes to her body. "The suits won't know what hit 'em. Just worry about my delta, wakarimasu-ka~?"

"Wakatta, we gotcha," Dorio nodded, smirking.

"Give 'em Hell, choom!" Becca shouted encouragement with a wild grin. "Shame ya don't want a few big irons with ya~!"

"Ah, geez, Becks," Sasha giggled, rolling her eyes and turning to leave as she waved back at them. "It's just a quick in-and-out. I've done it a hundred times. Nothing more to it."

IIIII

— Sasha —

'Quick in-and-out'… 'Nothing more to it'… Then, why… Why did it feel like there was permaglass cutting into Sasha's chest…? Why were there tears in her eyes? Why was there durasteel in her spine?

Sasha knew the answer. And she knew it would be the death of her. The job had gotten personal. Any edgerunner or merc worth the creds knew that was a death sentence, a flatline in the making. But it was impossible to turn away when it happened to her personally.

The gig should've been easy. Simple. A datasteal and nothing more. It certainly started out that way. The crew arranged for an extract, put up a jammer, and all Sasha had to do was slice the paydata herself. She didn't have a shred of investment in the fate of CAP-com. Like so many other galactic corps, they had an unofficial official office on Nar Shaddaa where they did their dirty work outside the regulations of the Republic. That meant juicy data, ripe for the taking, and more than enough clients willing to fork over creds for jobs just like that.

Chiewab Amalgamated Pharmaceuticals Company wasn't special. Sasha all but strolled past their security after hours. Getting the paydata was easy. She'd barely even needed to jack in. Then… Then things went to kriffing shit in a meat basket.

Sasha stumbled upon something in CAP-com's system. It was marked confidential and so not in the job description. But in an instant, Sasha was ten again. Ten and standing by her mom's hospital bed. Ten and powerless to do anything to stop her from wasting away…

Mom's memory slipped through her fingertips and Sasha couldn't stop herself from looking. Cracking the encryption set off an alarm that the jammer couldn't stop. Sasha didn't care. The data she found was the only thing that mattered in her world. 'Gradual neurodegeneration'. 'Side effects will not be disclosed'. 'Product will not be pulled from the market'. She remembered CAP-com's brand on Mom's pill bottle. She remembered every second of her 'gradual neurodegeneration'. Every missed word. Every stutter and stumble. Every memory lost until Mom didn't recognize her own daughter, even as Sasha cried by her bedside. She remembered the moment that flatline hit for real — that brutally dull continuous beep… — and she was left all alone in a cruel galaxy.

Maine's voice came over her comm, "Jammer's down! Get outta there! We already got what we need!"

Sasha didn't respond. She felt herself moving robotically. Preparing. Already bagged and tagged, but just needing to buy a little more time. An upload was going out to the Hypernet. CAP-com's secrets would be public. Mom would have justice and Sasha would have vengeance, even if she had to join Mom to get it.

"Shit-! Sasha, where are you?!"

Maine's shout over the comm was frantic. Sasha gave him only one word before cutting the connection completely, "Sorry."

She could hear the heavy clanking footsteps of security droids rushing to gun her down. Sasha hid herself behind the desk, blaster pistol drawn and tears streaking down her face. It hurt. Everything fraggin' hurt. But if Sasha was going down, she was taking the corpo bloodsuckers down with her. The crew would be fine without her. They would… They had to be…

The door to the penthouse suite office slammed open, its hydraulics overloaded by the security droids. Those damned clanking feet sounded like a death march now to Sasha's ears. They could be nothing else. The droids didn't say a single word between them. Maybe if they weren't on Nar Shaddaa, Sasha would've had the choice to come peacefully. She wouldn't have. But it would've been nice to have the chance.

Instead, the droids opened fire as soon as their sights targeted the desk Sasha hid behind. The whine of plasma bolts, the smell of ozone, and the sound of bubbling, boiling metal filled the room. Still, the corpos did something right, for the desk held.

Sasha's eyes snapped closed. As they did, she pitched the flasher grenade in her hand up and over. One… Two… Ignition. The brightness of a mini-sun filled the dark office, accompanied by a deafening bang. For a few precious moments, the droids' sensors were overloaded. And Sasha was ready and waiting to capitalize.

She leaped out from behind the desk at the closest droid. Mono-edged cyber claws extended from her fingertips in mid-air. A battle cry — raw and ragged with righteous rage — left her lips. The 'security' droids sent after her were glorified battle droids. In the core, they would've been illegal in the extreme. But this was Nar Shaddaa. This was Night City… Nothing was truly against the rules in the cruel world Sasha had been born to.

Her claws carved through durasteel armor like butter. The first droid went down in a shower of sparks, very much missing a head. Before it could get up anyway, Sasha shoved her claws into its torso, making sure to shred any control mechanism that might've lingered. Another leap and two acrobatic steps took her across the shoulders of the other two droids.

She landed in a crouch, heedless of the blaster bolts flying around her head. Her cyberdeck flickered up in her vision. One of the unique advantages of Night City's natives, slicing tools that weren't chrome were looked down upon. Chrome was king, necessity was the mother of invention, and Night City's inherent competition kept its edgerunners, deckjockeys/slicers/netrunners, and mercs on the razor's edge of progress. Even the Techno Union wasn't above taking notes from Night City's significant influence in all things prosthetic and chrome.

Brute forcing a connection to the second droid's systems was the work of a moment for Sasha's skill. It was shoddy work. It wouldn't last. But cyberpsychosis didn't have to last long to be devastating to friend and foe alike. The second droid turned on the third, its blaster chewing chunks out of its ally's back.

In a matter of moments, the third droid was barely standing upright. Sasha lunged forward to put the second out of its misery. Cyberpsychosis was a double-edged vibrosword, and she didn't need it running wild now that it'd served its purpose. Orange spark-blood flew. Another droid fell silent. Sasha knew half a dozen more were already on their way. Her life expectancy was counted in seconds.

Served her right, Sasha knew. She got in over her head. No, more importantly, she got invested. In Night City, no one had the liberty to get invested. Once things got personal, runners got dead. But frak if Sasha didn't hope her mom was proud of her anyway… She hoped 10-year-old Sasha knew she was doing right by them too… If she was going to be brought down by ghosts of her past, she at least wanted them to be proud of her.

The last droid was barely holding itself together. Sasha thought its melted chassis had to be functioning on robotic spite alone. Still, it turned its blaster on her. Sasha stared down a glowing barrel of superheated plasma. She flung herself backward, springing into an acrobatic cartwheel that sent her leaping back over the desk.

The world slowed to a crawl as if Sasha was caught in the midst of a preem Sandie. Her blaster pistol came up, brought to bear in mid-air. The last droid found the strength to depress its trigger. Sasha gave as good as she got. Bolts of superheated plasma flew hot and heavy between them. With its damage, the droid didn't land a single shot. Sasha didn't miss.

Her vision blurred with tears in the corners of her eyes. Her trigger finger never wavered. But her end was near, she knew. Only seconds away. Even if the droid couldn't aim to save its life, Sasha's path was set. A hole had been melted in the window behind her by the droid's missed shots. All that awaited her was a multi-story drop and the last surprise she'd be leaving behind. Even as the last droid fell in a shower of sparks and melted metal and reinforcements poured through the door, Sasha accepted her fate.

In her last moments, she simply let herself fly. Out through the window, over the drop below, Sasha… let go. Her death was far from pointless. She'd gotten her victory, her vengeance. The galaxy would know CAP-com's deception. It would remember Sasha's story. Mom's death wouldn't go unanswered. Maine, Becks, Mom… Sasha could only beg for forgiveness as she began to fall.

An explosion rocked the CAP-com office. Sasha's last surprise went off without a hitch. A shockwave of heat and force licked at Sasha's body but she was already falling, falling, falling… Nar Shaddaa's night sky greeted her fall. Pure black, light pollution blocking out every single star. In that darkness, she saw her 10-year-old self. She saw the tears of a girl who watched her mom die an ignoble, impotent death, forgetting her daughter and even herself at the end of it all. Sasha opened her arms to her younger self. Together, they cried tears for what could've — should've — been.

That vision in the blackness was the last thing she would see. She accepted that. She let the pain come. It… wasn't as bad as she imagined it would be. Sasha felt herself fracture… but not break, not shatter, not yet.

The afterlife came to her like a dream. Her mom, the ghost of a Sasha who no longer was — both cried for her. Both welcomed her with open arms. In a kaleidoscope of psychedelic colors, Sasha made peace with her past. Yet her present never came to join them. And eventually, Sasha woke again.

Her mind was hazy. Fractured but not broken. Kind but firm hands tended to her. Her vision came and went with time. A hundred little flashes of recovery. The pain… left her steadily. True consciousness wasn't forthcoming. But she wasn't dead. Somehow…? She'd been… saved…?

The stars shined upon her for the first time in her life. Under watchful eyes and laid upon hands, Sasha healed. She couldn't move. Couldn't even cry. Thankfully, she was already out of tears. She'd made her peace. Mom was proud of her. She remembered that most of all from her dream of death. Mom hadn't forgotten her. Somehow, Sasha knew that dream was more real than she could ever express. Mom was proud, she remembered, and she loved Sasha even more in death.

It was enough to put Sasha's heart and soul at ease. Fractured as she was, Sasha was at peace. She could focus on healing — on her present and future — content knowing that she was loved from beyond the veil.

She never saw her savior in any of the hundred little flashes of recovery. She felt them though. Their hands — healing, feeding, and encouraging her to get better. They were warm and kind. Strong and firm. Real. They wouldn't let her slip away. Sasha was safe to entrust herself to them. Even in the dreams of her recovery, those hands were there. As the only things Sasha knew to be real, to be strong, to be kind… was it any wonder that she came to love and crave their touch?

She held them in her healing dreams. She dreamed of their touch all over her body. Not just healing or putting her back together piece by piece, but lingering afterward in sweet caresses too. She imagined that she came to know them better than she knew herself. Every crease and wrinkle of those palms was like a map in Sasha's mind, leading her back to the present.

How long Sasha spent healing, she couldn't know. She almost didn't realize when reality and true consciousness returned to her. But they did in due time. Sasha found herself in a dimly lit room, lying on a bed that didn't seem to match the rest of her surroundings. It was lush, soft, and comfortable. Everything else was dark and dilapidated. Not dirty, but that was clearly only because of much hard work.

She reached out for those now-familiar hands to anchor herself in reality. It came as a surprise when she could actually move her own hands to do so. The movement was stiff and difficult. But miraculously, not painful in the slightest. A dry tongue tried and failed to wet equally dry lips.

"W-Wat'r-…?" Sasha croaked.

As always, those healing hands were quick to tend to her. Sasha felt her heart almost burst with relief. For a long, blissful moment, they were all that mattered. Then, they helped her sit up and brought a glass to her lips. Sasha gulped greedily at thin air.

"Slowly," A stern, masculine voice chided.

Only then did those hands tilt the glass enough for water to wet Sasha's lips. She followed the instructions like they were scripture. Coming from those hands, they might as well have been… Even just a trickle of cool water was like a flood to Sasha's parched throat. But she drank slowly. As she did, the rest of reality settled into her waking mind.

Sasha was almost surprised to find that those hands belonged to someone. The feeling passed quickly. Of course, they would belong to someone. They belonged to her savior. Whoever they-… he was… Slowly, Sasha's eyes adjusted and focused in the darkness. She found the hands first and foremost. They were flesh, large, strong, and just as perfect as Sasha knew them to be. Only then did she follow them up corded forearms to rolled-up sleeves and on to the rest of her savior.

In the darkness, Sasha's savior seemed to glow. She committed everything to memory. Broad shoulders under a shimmery, reflective jacket. Unmarred pale skin up his neck. A strong, sharp, and clean-shaven jaw. Full lips set in a naturally grim line. A straight nose, piercing blue eyes, and a backdrop of messy, golden-blond hair. It was a stern, serious, and sober face, one that looked utterly unused to laughter and joy. At that moment, Sasha wanted nothing more than to make her savior smile.

"W-What's-… your name…?" Sasha asked — her voice was still a weak, croaking mess that left her flustered and just about mortified.

The suddenly haunted look in his eyes at her question made Sasha's heartache for her savior, "… I had another name once. It's lost to me now. These days… These days, I'm going by Atom."

"Thank… you, Atom. Y-You saved me… You were my only… hope…"

For some reason, her thanks brought a small smile to Atom's face. More a crinkle of his eyes than an upturning of his lips. Yet… Sasha had never seen anything more perfect than that tiny shift of expression. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to see it again and again until she finally did bite her flatline. Sasha's savior… Atom… deserved nothing less than the entire galaxy in her mind. She'd be damned and doomed if she didn't help him get it. Besides… think of the parties they could have with the galaxy at their fingertips~!

So, Sasha vowed, if Atom didn't smile much, Sasha's would just have to be bright enough for both of them.