I got washed up in the bathroom of a diner on the way home, but decided to change out of my super-expensive corpo suit and back into my Arasaka uniform sans blazer before heading home.

The sun was shining sharply, and my head felt light. Symptoms of sleep deprivation. I knew those well.

I recalled a time, back when Nanny still tried to kill me every night, where I’d challenge myself to stay awake for as long as possible. You’d have the ‘high’ periods, and the ‘low’ periods, each one extreme.

Very pleasant.

Or extremely unpleasant. Taking turns between those two states like a pendulum. Insomnia was a bitch.

I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy…

Wait, no. I totally would.

Once I reached the apartment, I opened the door with my e-key, and found Lucy sprawled out over the thick window-sill, a half-empty bottle of vodka on the floor, along with some paper wraps that once contained food. She was facing the window, looking at the city blankly.

“I won’t party for another year, at least,” she said, utterly deadpan.

I chuckled. “Any word from Maine and the others?”

“Call them yourself, gonk. I can’t handle that insanity right now.”

I snorted, and called him up.

Maine: D, my guy! You watched the news yet?! We’re all they’re talking about! Hahahah! Fuck yeeeeeah! Whoooohoooo! Boy, your fam’s fuckin’ preem! The hell were you hidin’ them all this time for?!

I was starting to see Lucy’s point.

D: Glad to hear everyone’s having fun.

Maine: You comin’ back?

I blinked. What?

D: I mean—I’m real busy, Maine.

Maine: Aight, killjoy. Don’t nobody want you here anyway.

D: Sorry, man. By the way, you really should tell granny to end the party soon. They’ve been doing this since Saturday.

Maine: Yeah, we’re bout to take a six hour sleep-break and continue after, real soon. Turns out, they got a second wind from entertaining us, their guests.

D: Don’t take advantage of that.

Maine: I can’t tell this old woman shit. She won’t hear it. And hey! I’m not about to turn down free booze.

D: You’re a multi-millionaire. Shouldn’t you be paying?

Maine: Signal’s breaking up. Can’t hear you. Bye, bitch!

I chuckled. That was… somewhat surreal.

“I’m headed to bed,” I said to Lucy.

“Waiwait,” she said, slowly getting off the window sill and to her feet. Then she walked up to me, wearing a cute pout. “If you’re not too tired,” she said as she reached for my chest with her index finger and traced a line downwards. “Why don’t I tucker you out first?”

My eyes widened at her overtness. “Hangover’s got you feeling down bad, huh?”

She narrowed her eyes at me. She folded her arms and turned away from me. “Nevermind, then.”

“Waitwaitwait—I’m down! I’m totally down!”

She giggled beautifully.

000

“So, how’d it go?” Lucy asked me, her body clinging onto mine as we cooled down in the afterglow of our session.

“He’s… a real piece of work,” I said.

“What happened?”

“Had me… fighting some goons of his. Low-level enforcers. New hires. Testing my skill. I was careful not to go overboard.”

“Were you… ever in danger?”

I sighed. “He… EMP’d me at first. Knocked me out, had some asshole jack into me and get my data. Dummy data, though—nothing real. But, yeah.” At that moment, while I was utterly defenseless, I truly could have died.

“Holy shit,” Lucy clung onto me more tightly. “You think they might have installed any viruses, too?”

I shook my head. “Nah. Nanny would have seen it by now if so.”

“The fuck was his problem?”

“Nothing,” I said. “He wasn’t actually mad at me, even though that’s what he told me he was, because, and I quote, ‘hesitated to comply’ or whatever. It was operant conditioning, nothing else,” I said. “He puts me on the backfoot from the get-go for the purpose of having me fight tooth and nail to win his approval doing… impossible jobs for him. And Jin’s playing good cop so I don’t hate my fucking life.” I rolled my eyes. “They weren’t exactly being subtle. Real father and son circus act, those two.”

“Don’t take them lightly,” Lucy said. “What was the impossible gig?”

“Finding Tanaka’s killer,” I chuckled.

Lucy froze.

“He doesn’t know,” I told her.

“How do you know?”

“If he knew, he’d nail me. Or hold it over my head.”

“How do you know he won’t do that at a certain point? Once you step out of line or start getting lippy?”

I took a deep breath and sighed. “I’ll behave. For the time being.”

“That also means not digging around for ways to nail him,” Lucy warned. “Cuz the moment you try, and he notices…”

“I already have a way,” I said. “Use Jin as a virus mule, infect his household network, send Jin to the hospital—“

“And what if Masaru doesn’t go?”

He would be that cold-blooded. “Boost his ride, mine the nav-data, and get out quick n’ easy. The Faraday method.”

“Do you even fucking remember how that went the last time around?”

“It failed because I fucked up,” I said. “But… you’re right. There are bound to be better ways. But one thing’s for certain: simple is the way to go. No elaborate hacking or viruses or cloak and dagger. Just… find out where he goes, go there, fucking kill him.”

“It’s in the act of finding out his movements where he will nail you. And you can’t clock him without getting close enough for him to notice.”

I took Lucy’s hand in mine, and I met her eyes. “You’re right. I appreciate the caution, Luce.”

Lucy frowned sadly, looking away from my eyes. “This is Arasaka, David. I don’t…”

She didn’t say anything else. I tried to nudge her forward. “Don’t what?”

She sighed.

“Talk to me, Lucy.”

“Arasaka is the most dangerous company on the planet,” she said. “And Night City is one of the most dangerous cities on the planet.”

That wasn’t it, though. That wasn’t what she was burdened by. “You can tell me anything, Lucy.”

“I know,” she said. “David, I know. Just… not right now, please?”

I sighed, but nodded. “I just want to help you.”

“I know. And I love you for that. And David… please…”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t stop. Wanting to help.”

I grinned. “Never.”

I closed my eyes, and went to sleep.

000

Maine awoke with a start as one of the Martinezes turned on the loudspeakers again, blaring out Mariachi tunes and sending a spiking headache through his skull.

He woke face-first on a grass lawn that looked beaten to absolute shit. More dirt and upturned grass than anything else. Dorio was right next to him. Updates are released by novelꞁire.net

Someone poked him on the shoulder. He turned to look at who it was.

Some… kid. A girl, only eight years old. She carried a basket filled to the brim with MaxDoc inhalers. “Granny said you should take this for the pain,” the girl said in Spanish. Maine barely had the mental wherewithal to read the subtitles provided by his optics. Instead, he relied on his innate choppy grasp of the language—picked up from years spent in Central America as a NUSA spec-op.

“Gracias,” he muttered as he took two. One for him and one for Dorio, who was just starting to stir awake.

He flipped to his back, inhaled the MaxDoc, and sighed in relief as he looked up at the starless night.

Holy shit.

“What time is it?” Dorio moaned. Though he couldn’t see her from this angle, he could hear the hiss of the aerosolized painkiller, and her moan of relief. “Holy fuck. It’s nine.”

Maine felt like the last thing he wanted to do on Earth was to party more. He was all partied out for at least one more week.

Then he recalled the events of… yesterday? Was it yesterday? What even was time?

A dumb illusion.

And to prove that point, he spied around for a bottle of beer or tequila, and found one only a few feet away.

A ‘Broskiño’. The Mexican brand name for Broseph, produced by Broseph brewing.

Tasted better than a regular Broseph, too. Turns out, you had to be rich to afford these fuckers if you lived in Tijuana, and rich people didn’t appreciate corner-cutting slop. As such, these ones were made from real wheat and barley—not the stuff produced for CHOOH2 synthesis.

He poured half the bottle down his gullet and sighed contentedly.

“Let’s dance the Cumbia!” Maine heard someone shout.

“Fuck yeah! Wake the fuck up, people! It’s party tiiiiime!”

“I’m fucking hungry! Someone start up the grill again!”

“Fucking kill me right now.”

Maine handed the remainder of the bottle to Dorio and waited patiently for the alcohol to chase away the all-encompassing ennui cocooning him in place, preventing him from mustering the will to even stand on his feet.

“Fuck it,” Dorio said as she downed the bottle. Then Maine heard a woosh, and saw Dorio’s head hovering above his. “Get up, old-timer.”

“Just give me a second, you old hag.”

Dorio stomped him right on his face.

OW.

He was most certainly awake now.

She gave him a hand, and he pulled himself up to his feet.

He looked around and saw that practically everyone were on their feet now, all surrounding the grill in a mosh pit of anticipation, waiting for the food to arrive. Maine would be damned if his stomach wasn’t actually touching his back right now. He was starving for some grub. And these fuckers could cook, too!

He never wanted to leave.

“Enjoying yourself, Maine?” he heard an old voice behind him. He turned around to look at the Martinez matriarch. Donna Martinez.

As far as old ladies went, she was actually quite the looker. She and Rogue weren’t that different, in a sense. Though Donna dressed more conservatively, wearing a long and traditional ceremonial dress that reached her ankles, colored red, orange, yellow and green. She wore necklaces and rings that all seemed to refer to some occult crap, and on her face, right below her right eye, were two ruby implants.

Right where Gloria’s used to be.

Her hair was ruby red, too, keeping with that same style. Lots of red-headed people around, too, though it probably was all tech hair.

“Absolutely, ma’am!” Maine laughed. “I haven’t had this much fun in years!” He threw a hand around Dorio’s shoulder and pulled her in for a one-armed hug. He smelled meat burning in the air, and like a stray dog, he immediately turned to the source—the grill.

Donna just giggled. “Between you and me,” she said quietly. Maine turned to her, and she leaned forward conspiratorially. “I have some leftover chili stashed away. Why don’t you two share a meal with me?”

000

It wasn’t even five minutes until the five gallon cooking pot was almost completely polished off. Maine and Dorio went for firsts, seconds and thirds, while the old lady still hadn’t finished her first bowl.

No surprise, considering just how big they were in comparison to her. But it was a good chili. Good food, made with real meat from the taste of it, and with a dash of a little something that Maine couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Maybe it was love? Heh. He hadn’t tasted that sort of thing since his mom kicked it.

After he finished his third bowl, he leaned back on the chair in the expansive and well-decorated dining room with a contented sigh. Really nice digs. Maine could barely even believe that not even three months ago, these people were living in the slums, barely scraping by.

“Please, please,” granny chuckled. “You can only flatter me so much with your boundless enthusiasm for my food.”

“No way,” Maine chuckled. “This was good grub. Don’t be modest.”

“You’re incredible, Donna,” Dorio complimented, grinning ear-to-ear at her.

Donna chuckled, shaking her head. “I just do what I can to preserve some old tricks. Nowadays, everything’s synth and ready-made. People value speed over quality.”

Speed was its own brand of quality. But when it came to food… nah. There was no real substitute for the good shit.

“Tell me,” Donna said. “How is David doing?”

Maine frowned pensively, looking up at the ceiling. “Good enough, I’d say.” He was… Well. The last two days said it all, pretty much. He was itching to do something, and he was doing it. While that was all well and good, he might benefit from a break. All of them could, really.“He handles himself well. Still goes to school every day. Still—“

Dorio put a hand on Maine’s shoulder. Maine closed his mouth and looked at her, raising an eyebrow as she did. She just spoke to Donna. “Truth is, we aren’t his keepers. We work with him. Hang out occasionally. He does jobs with us, and he pulls his weight fair and square. But we didn’t exactly adopt him. He’s on his own, for the most part.”

Donna nodded, not betraying a hint of dissatisfaction at the news. Maine felt slightly awkward in this situation, wondering if his words had maybe implied the opposite of what Dorio had just said. “He flies off the handle sometimes,” Maine said. “Fucks up occasionally. But always makes things right. Always eager to learn, that kid. He’s itching to become a man. I figure he already is.” Not just because he was strong. He took care of his shit. That was manhood right there.

“That’s good to hear,” Donna said. “Yes… his mother’s death forced him to grow quickly. And I can only thank the heavens that you found him when you did. You gave him a nice cushion to land on. Gave him a chance to get his bearings so that he could learn to stand on his own, and then fly. And I… am just a shameless beneficiary of his genius.”

The silence would have been deafening if not for the hum of mariachi music playing from the backyard.

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“We used to be great, this family,” Donna went on. “At the peak of Tijuana’s underworld. The biggest shareholders of the cartel. David never even knew about that birthright of his—that’s how long ago since we fell. How long since we went from having it all, to having nothing. Losing our best guns and our best minds. So many of my children. And their children,” she wore a sad smile as she spoke, staring into space, travelling back in time mentally. “Gone.”

Maine hummed in understanding. “Then David came through,” Maine said, recalling the story. One of the older Martinezes had relayed it to him—a guy by the name of Alex. “Took out the cartel on his own. And gave you guys the scratch to start over.”

She nodded. “Indeed.”

“Merc biz,” Maine said. “And you partnered up with Militech, too. Smart. They’ll set you up with everything you need.”

Donna nodded. “In time, we will have the expertise necessary to take out jobs with them. But I would like to ask you a question: how well do you imagine we would rate compared to the edgerunners from your city?”

“Eh,” Maine shrugged. “Haven’t really seen you guys in action for real, but judging from the chrome, and some of your boxing skills, I’d say… average. But an average edgerunner is a piece of shit. Meat for the grinder.”

Donna nodded. “Thank you. That’s very helpful.”

Dorio then said, “The average edgerunner don’t got the same resources for training that you do, though. The ex-military and ex-corp enforcer types only get the same thing everybody does: basic training and standard-issue chrome and weapons. Your training’s lacking, but you look like you got enough money to turn your people into a crack team, with just the right gear and chrome that is.”

Maine snorted. “But nothing beats good training. Nothing. I’ll tell you that much for free so you don’t get any of your kids killed.”

Donna chuckled. “I admire your honesty. Brutal as it is.”

Maine shrugged. “Only way I operate.” He reached for the ladle on the pot to scrape up a tiny bit more chili from the bottom, all the while thinking about this budding merc corp, and what exactly… the point was. “I gotta be brutally honest again, though, and ask: what’s the point of all this? Doing merc work again? David hooked you up with enough scratch to sit pretty for years without doin’ anything. You could have moved up north to NUSA, leased yourself a ranch from Biotechnica or something.”

“Well,” Donna nodded. “There was always that option, but…” she shrugged. “My people are a little… special. They’re… well, like you. Why don’t you simply move into a ranch with your bounty?”

Maine grinned and leaned forward. “What makes you think I won’t?”

“Will you?”

No.

He wasn’t going to move into a ranch, but…

Wait.

What the fuck am I supposed to do, now?

He wanted to work. But not like this. He needed a reward proportional to the risk he was taking. But now, that simply wasn’t possible anymore, unless he burned all of his cash at once and started over.

Without a reward that made the work worth it, there was no point anymore.

No reason beyond… ideals. Beliefs.

And mercs, as a rule, didn’t have those. They were married to the concept of money. And now that he had money, could he still even be a merc?

“Difficult question, no?” Donna grinned. “Don’t worry, I understand all too well. We’re all a little sick in the head, here. While a few of us would perhaps prefer to live more peaceful lives, the majority prefer this sort of thing, and every single one of us prefer to support the family, through thick and through thin.”

Maine nodded. “And… what about David?”

“He has supported us the most.”

Maine knew that. “I’m asking… what are you doing to support him?”

Donna looked down at the table with a sigh. “I would do anything to be able to support him. Though I’m painfully aware that right now, we aren’t able to. Only you are.”

“You know he’s trying to become a corpo, right?” Maine said. “And not just any corpo. An Arasaka executive. He keeps harping on about it, and honestly, I do think he’s got what it takes. Only problem is, he just doesn’t have the huscle for it. He’s strong, he can handle himself, but he’s just one person. And he’s only got so many options while he’s working, pretending like he ain’t the baddest mercenary in town.”

“Look around, Maine,” Donna said. “No one here is ready to support him.”

Maine… finally saw it.

A chance.

A chance to keep working. A chance to gain an ideal, a belief, that wasn’t just money.

A chance to keep being in the game.

Maine took Dorio’s hand in his. “Hire us.”

Dorio swung her head at him in shock. Donna gaped. “We—I—I can’t afford you.”

“Don’t care,” Maine said. “Listen—I’ve made all the money I’ll ever want. Only thing left for me to do is to help out a choom that helped me out. Pay the debt I owe to D. And if that involves joining you guys, training you up, teaching you how they do it in the Special Forces, and getting you up to speed, then so be it. Not like I’ve got anything better to do.” Maine turned to Dorio. “Do you?”

Dorio closed her mouth, and shook her head. “I’ll go where you’ll go, babe. Always. But—,” she looked at Donna. “Is this even fine? I mean, we don’t mean to muscle in on your set-up, granny.”

Donna slowly regained her composure, and giggled. Her giggle turned into a hearty laughter as she shook her head. “You… you would really do this? For David’s sake?”

“Like I said, I owe him.”

“Don’t we all?” Donna giggled. “Ahhh… this is a strange day indeed.” She stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“To get the tequila, of course,” she said. “Then we can have a discussion about how your… employment will look like. Hopefully, if we are on the same page, then… you can count yourselves as a part of the family.”

Maybe it was all the booze and the hangover talking, and maybe it was still having a hold on him, because right now, Maine felt more fired up than he even thought possible, outside of a fight.

000

Once more unto Beaverville.

This time, wearing an even pricier suit, and driving an even pricier car.

Nanny materialized next to me on the driver’s seat of the Aerondight, the CrystalCoat set to a nice, glossy purple. Up ahead was the stark boundary line between Japantown and North Oak, where the endless asphalt and buildings made way for thousands of acres of verdant green turf, artsy buildings and celebrity mansions.

Nanny reached over to the radio and turned it on, though really, she was interfacing with the car through the link I had with it.

“—authorities have yet to find this menace that goes by the name of D, though it has been revealed that he is actually an independent creator of XBDs. Yes, you heard this right: he scrolls every gig and puts them out for people’s viewing pleasure. They can be found on the Net and in the assorted boostergang bars across town—”

Nanny sighed.

“What?”

[I want to do more bio research.]

Oof. “Well—when I have free time.”

[What’s our plan for Biotechnica?]

We never really had a plan to begin with. I always just figured that we’d sneak in somehow, go to the runner room, kill them all, get the data and delta. That was still pretty much what I was going to do, barring any better ideas. Until then, “Wait to figure out our sitch. Or at least wait until these assholes,” I gestured at the radio, still going on and on about me, “Shut up and find something new to fixate on.”

Nanny grinned at me. [You love this. Admit it.]

I grinned toothily. “Of course I do.”

A bit after I reached the street that Jin’s mansion was located in, I started speeding up. [By the way, EMP-shielding your cyberware will require a bit more material than I first anticipated.]

I grimaced in agony.

“More metal-munching? Fuck.”

[I’ll sketch a list of materials that we might need. Don’t worry. We likely won’t need to ingest anything more than a kilogram at the most.]

Fuck me.

[The problematic part will be procuring the materials. My ability to synthesize alloys within your body is, of course, quite limited. We will need to consult the Net for more information on where to acquire the correct nanolaminate alloys and assorted metamaterials for effective EMP-shielding.]

Ugh. Hard work just to once again go through the agony of eating granulated metals. “I hate this.”

Jin called me.

[Speaking of hatred.]

Jin: Yo, where you at?

David: Two minutes out. What’s up?

Jin: You ready for a chill first day of Memorial Week where we drink and relax and we have fun, go hit up some Irish pubs and play darts, and maybe go bowling?

I groaned.

Jin: Sorry! We ain’t doing any of that. Yeah—I hope you brought some MaxDocs. You might end up scrapping.

David: Fuck off, dude.

Jin: Thems the breaks, choom. I’ve got a full-house of corpo brat royalty here, and you’re the best flying monkey I’ve got in my zoo.

David: Names?

Jin: Same ones from Saturday, plus a few others.

David: Alessandro, too?

Jin: Yeh—

David: And if I break every twig bone in his body and throw his ass into an alleyway in Arroyo so a bunch of scavs can klep his shoes, his clothes, and his fucking chrome, what happens then?

Jin: Holy shit. David! That’s the sort of psycho energy I live for! Hell yeeeeeah brother!

David: Alright then. Tell me. What’s the game?

Jin: The game? You mean your game? Alright. Pay attention: here’s the play.

000

Varian Freeman tapped his knee as he sat on the backseat of a Militech Hellhound, a six-wheeled five-seater truck. A street-legal mobile weapon of war, really. One of the fastest of its kind on the open market, too.

Next to him, and in the front seats, were his enforcers. Every one of them over six feet tall, built like human battering rams, muscle stacked on chrome. Recent graduates of the elite junior security enforcer program based out of Langley itself, stamped and blessed by Militech’s elites.

He watched them as they jostled, laughed, cracked dumb jokes. Militech’s inner ranks rarely abided the vampiric soullessness that the Asian corps tended to cultivate in their employees.

More importantly…

His enforcers were full-fledged corp muscle that were loyal to him alone. They were new to the corpo life, true, but he had picked each of them individually for a reason: he knew them all firsthand. They would follow him to the gates of hell if he gave them the right words.

Varian raised a hand and the chatter died. He let the silence in the Hellhound’s cabin gather for a moment. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping into something heavier than the usual cocky drawl he reserved for his enemies.

“You boys know why we’re rolling in like this?” Nods answered him from throughout the Hellhound. “It ain’t ‘cause we’re scared of some dickless, peacocking chinks, or wannabe samurai japs strolling around in their daddy’s slippers. It ain’t even about me flexing Militech muscle on some rich kids’ turf.” He paused, eyes sweeping across them. “It’s about what we stand for. What Militech stands for in Night City.”

He nodded to the biggest of his boys. “From the heart,” Varian ordered, and he sucked in a deep breath and began to recite the oath all Militech enforcers knew by heart. The rest of his boys joined in, their voices rising in unison, the cadence somewhere between a church chorus and a battle hymn:

“We pledge to the spirits of the founding fathers,

And to the glory of the realm our mother.

That we shall be the shields that defend our New United States,

And the swords to strike down those who would harm America!”

The Hellhound’s cabin echoed with the thunder of the NUSA, something which never failed to cheer Varian up. And when the singing died down, he slapped both of his nearest boys on the back. “Good shit, top class! That’s the spirit!”

It was important to keep his boys motivated, remind them of what they were all fighting for tonight.

Because someday, when the fifth corporate war finally started—soon, hopefully—they would have to be ready to follow him into hell.

Still...

Varian looked out the window, at the rolling green hills of North Oak after the chatter died down, and scoffed internally.

They weren’t, strictly speaking, headed to hell tonight. Let alone a place where all this muscle was warranted

.

There would be no shooting where they were headed. Only posturing. Only showing those uppity Asians the truth that they always conveniently tried to forget: that on North American soil, Militech called the shots.

This might have been a ‘free city’, their one and only refuge on the entire continent, but even here, Militech could win if push came to shove.

And if they could win here in California, then Arasaka would have to accept that if they were to even step a single foot outside the city limits, Militech had H-bombs with their Kanji on it.

They actually did, too. He’d seen them himself.

Varian’s job was a simple one. Simply remind them that Militech was here. And that they were better. Stronger. Bigger.

He put a mental pin on that subject to revisit an even more important task.

The nutjob.

Meredith didn’t really expect any results from Varian. She was too paralyzed by his standing to really press him the way he wanted to be pressed. No, she simply treated him like a child, and told him to do what he could, like he hadn’t lived in this city for years already, or hired his own fair share of Afterlife nutjobs for random tasks.

Speaking of. He called one of his pet nutjobs. A corpo wannabe with three stacked cyber-eyes on the right side, and only one natural eye on the left. He was a proper freak, and somehow had it in his head that he’d one day become a true-blue corpo and not just another expendable, bottom-feeding cat’s paw.

4EyedScumfuck: How can I help you?

Varian: You know how.

4EyedScumfuck: I don’t know what to say. It just isn’t tenable at the moment to dig deeper. You need to give me—

Ahhh, this fucking guy.

Varian: I know all about that fuckin, uhhh, code of silence bullshit that old hag from a bygone era is trying to impose on your fellowship of wannabe-corpos and suicidal death cult cyborgs. And I’m telling you to cut the bullshit and give me the data, or you ain’t seein’ a nickel from Militech anymore.

4EyedScumfuck: No need to be hasty, Varian. I’m telling you that this operation is highly sensitive.

Varian: How sensitive? What, what the fuck are you talking about? If you can’t give it to me, pay some asshole to do it. You dipshits all want money. This isn’t rocket science. It’s barely even manipulation. Just get it done, for fuck’s sake.

4EyedScumfuck: Here’s the situation: I don’t have the data that you’re looking for. I’m searching for ways to acquire the data—

Varian: Fuck D, you stupid old bastard. Tell me the names of his chooms.

4EyedScumfuck: And risk them going to ground once you begin hunting them down? If they disappear, your search is over. These people have made off with incredible sums of cash as it is from their psychotic rampage. They would have no reason to resurface for work if they believed their lives to be in danger. This calls for a subtle touch.

Varian winced. Damn.

He almost didn’t want to risk it. If the old bastard was right, and they managed to avoid getting hunted, only to disappear, he’ll have spoiled the hunt for D for everyone.

But if he didn’t provide this singular bit of data, Militech would be behind on the hunt, and that was unacceptable.

He’d be leaving it to some other corp to initiate the hunt. And if they succeeded where Militech could have done just that…

…and if that corp happened to be Arasaka…

Unacceptable.

Varian: How long do you need?

4EyedScumfuck: Two days. Just give me two days.

Varian: If someone else beats you to the punch, you’re cut.

4EyedScumfuck: Two days. Have faith.

Varian: Fuck off.

He hung up immediately after, just as they began to pull up in front of a huge mansion built on the side of a small cliff, right next to more turf.

His driver drove the car into the turf next to the driveway and just parked there. The whole street was littered with cars, and the driver knew that Varian would hate to hike a mile just to get to his car when it became time to delta.

This, too, was a part of the power play. A bit of light vandalism that Jin would be forced to ignore, else look like a bitch.

They exited the car. His boys flanked or stood behind him while he took the lead, walking forward. He wore a simple tactical business suit, black as night, with voluminous inner pockets and hidden compartments on his sleeves for where he hid a variety of weapons. Knives, two M-76e Omaha tech pistols, and a grenade in case he needed it.

He’d left his cowboy boots and hat at home. He only wore those for smaller events, when he wasn’t afraid to look stupid to a handful of assholes, as long as he could keep reminding them of what country they were currently occupying.

He walked past a group of people loitering outside the front yard, standing around the expansive pool, but conspicuously not swimming. Of course they wouldn’t.

It was goddamned NC fashion week here. Memorial Week had got all these kids maxing out their credit cards just to show out, dressing up like peacocks and wearing fur-coats so fucking huge that they bore the silhouette of some kind of monster from a children’s book. The sight was rather comical. Like they were playing superhero, and their capes were entire shag carpets.

Varian absorbed all the sights without turning his head appreciably, simply proceeding into the main entrance, and the living room, the beating heart of this gathering.

And true to form, he found him, leaned up against a kitchen island, covered with an assortment of drinks. Jin Ryuzaki, now dressed in a red haori with black floral patterns on their hems, wearing a black cotton shirt and baggy Japanese-style pants, the kind that were tied tightly at the ankles. For shoes, he wore a pair of wooden slippers with two blocks underneath. Geta, they were called.

The high school boy had a head of shoulder-length black hair, was too young to drink any of the booze on his own table, and when their eyes met, his expression bent into pure amusement. “Look what the all-American mountain lion dragged in. The Funky Four plus one more!”

“Real fucking funny, Crouching Tiger,” Varian scoffed.

Ryuzaki’s expression immediately twisted into a scowl. “Bitch, that’s from China.”

Hong Kong, actually. So fucking easy to piss off these Asians. “Whatever you say, soyboy. Now tell me. What’s a brother gotta do to get a brew in this bitch?”

Jin reached behind himself, to some pricy-looking bottle of foreign booze, and threw it at Varian, who caught it easily, uncapped it and took a long swig.

He hissed in disgust. Vodka was vodka, no matter how expensive. “Tastes cheap,” he spat.

“I can assure you that nothing in this house is cheap, Constitution Boy.”

“The bitch doth protest too much,” Varian snorted, looked around. “Do you motherfuckers really not have a barbeque going? What kind of a sad excuse for a party is this?”

“The ‘Saka kind,” Jin grinned, “where we don’t lower ourselves to eating that burnt-up peasant SCOP shit you dare call food.”

“Is that a challenge?” Varian grinned. “I’m always for a good ol’ Texas steak cookoff. Matter of fact—“

“David, my man!” Jin shouted, looking over Varian’s shoulder. Varian turned to see DavidMartinez arrive, wearing a tactical luxury suit as well. Pretty high-grade to boot. Even considering his unexpected win in the Nightmare Rally, it must have cost his Santo ass a pretty penny. Or maybe it was Jin who played the sugar daddy and paid for everything.

“What’s up?” David said, then looked at Varian. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Ah, Militech.” Martinez didn’t flinch at the stares from Varian’s wall of muscle and chrome standing behind him. He just stuck out a hand like they were equals. “Varian Freeman, right? Sorry, didn’t really get your name last time.”

Varian thought about it for a moment, about how Martinez had brushed off his earlier offer of recruitment, shrugged internally. Nightmare Rally winner, no reason to burn bridges.

“David Martinez,” Varian gave the kid the easy grin he reserved for people he might, hopefully wouldn’t have to hurt later. “Now I remember. Santo boy with a lucky streak.” He took the handshake and squeezed, not hard enough to break bones, just enough to get the kid’s measure... and the kid’s grip barely gave a millimeter.

Huh. It certainly wasn’t like shaking hands with a borg, and not like finer hand replacement or reinforcement chrome, either. It’s all actual ‘ganic grip strength, Varian was almost certain.

“Luck?” Martinez scoffed, but all the same. “All skill, man.”

Varian looked him up and down again. Let go of the kid’s hand, and his internal respect-o-meter went up a few notches.

Under the kid’s suit, there was scaffolding of the sort that might have come from actual training. Winner of a Nightmare Rally at age 17, and already good enough with his hands to put down some junior Kang Tao muscle.

I really should try to poach this kid from Arasaka. He’d be wasted on those vampires.

The more Varian thought about that idea, the more he liked it.

Heck, he’s a Mexican from Cali. Halfway to being a red-blooded American already.

“Why don’t we head upstairs?” Jin grinned. “You’re just in time for my announcement.”

What announcement? Varian narrowed his eyes at the kid, wondering what he had in store.

Guess they’d have to go up to find out.