Cruise didn't need
to ask why, nor how, or even who (hacking, big fucking gun, and an
Imperatel hitman, respectively). The only thing she needed to do was
run, and finally her legs obeyed, carrying her down the hallway
towards the stairwell. Yes, they still have stairs in the future;
they didn't stop being cheaper than elevation systems. Anyway, she
was fully intending to use said stairs, but she ran into a bit of a
problem in the form of an Imperatel clean-up squad. Clearly, this was
not going to be Cruise's day.
With the stairs down
out of the question, and the stairs up just being stupid, she took
the only sensible route and smashed through the wall. I know how that
sounds; how can she have the plants to smash through a wall,
but not fight some hired goons? Well, smartass, the Bleaker Cities
are generally constructed from shitty scrap parts by the lowest
bidder to fulfill Antares' promise of 'a roof for every head,' a key
point in their bullshit propaganda that more or less permeates the
core of the city. We may or may not get to that part. Also, the
Imperatel goons have way, way better plants. Suffice to say
Cruise is not a high enough level to deal with them. Anyway, now you
know why she jumped through the wall, so if we could get to the part
where you stop asking stupid questions, that would be great.
Bits of scrap metal
and, like, super shitty carbon framing flew out into the night, the
dim, depressing Bleaker lights giving away to the neon ocean that was
Antares' outer city, a holy promise of booze, sex, stims, and a bunch
of other Cyberpunk cliches that Cruise didn't have time to think
about. She landed with a roll and a grunt on the roof of the shorter
Bleakers, breaking immediately into a sprint. Her work as a Runner
meant she was used to roof travel, and her horror faded a bit into
relief; the clean-up squad would be more worried about the apartment,
and they were likely too heavy to follow her anyway.
Of course, that
relief was quickly squashed by the sight of an Imperatel hoverjet
rising to her level, spotlight shining and spinny guns spinning.
Cruise said something along the lines of 'fuck' or 'shit' or 'if my
heart were a cannon.' She was going too fast to stop, the ledge being
just a stride away. Once again, she was left with only the one real
option, so she lept from the ledge onto the jet, her
traction-enhanced Scuds letting her sprint across the craft and leap
to the next rooftop (Remind me to tell you about the whole AST thing
later; it'll explain her quick decision making, as well as a few
other things).
Right. So we did the
apartment, the roof, and the jet. Now the chase was on, and Cruise
went full Runner. She zigged and zagged with impressive agility,
which is handy when a hoverjet is shooting spinny guns at you. Chunks
of rounded metal smashed into the roofs as she ran along, and she
briefly felt sorry for anyone who had a top-story Bleaker apartment.
Getting tired of all the railgun rounds, she shorted her next jump,
falling below the skyline. She made contact with the wall of the next
building, her Scuds and electromag implants making her stick, sliding briskly
down the side of the building towards the busy street.
She swore again,
when the spotlight of the hoverjet arced over the previous rooftop,
the craft zeroing in on her. The hydraulic reinforcements in her legs
had her off the wall just in time for it to basically explode into
little bits of futuristic debris, and she fell another twenty feet or
so before she was able to stick to the other wall. She wasn't able
to stay long, the automated murder machine having her well in her
sights. She leaped again, despite knowing full well there wasn't enough
height left to make it across. At this point she was just hoping the
damage wouldn't be too bad.
Chrysander makes a
reliable grid-car, affordable and sturdy, which were the traits most
important for the Outer City. Never knew when a gunfight would break
out, or a building might explode, or, say, an Enhanced Runner girl
fell onto your roof. Cruise grunted heavily, the wind knocked out of
her as she landed on the roof of an R5, and promptly bounced off. The
good news was that she was alive. The bad news was that the HJ's
spinnies had her dead to rights.
The best news,
however, was that the denizens of the Outer City fuckin' hated
those damned things, and as soon as they realized what was happening,
which was fairly quick, no fewer than a dozen Bouncers, Scuzzies, and
Runners had their pieces pulled, sending varying chunks of metal with
all sorts of fun properties (lightning!) into the craft, basically
shredding it before it could get a shot off. Cruise gasped heavily,
both because she was finally able to breathe, and because she
couldn't believe that she was still kickin'. She'd always assumed the
day Jenk got blanked would be the day she was done as well. Of
course, the day wasn't done just yet.
She rose to her feet
perhaps surprisingly quick for someone who'd just fallen onto a car
(Seriously, if you make it to the future, look into those
enhancements. They're pretty badass like that). While those around
her had been quick to blow the shit out of the jet, they weren't
overly interested in giving her much sympathy. She couldn't blame
them much; most people simply didn't have time to give a shit. She
would have done the same in their place (The future's kind of sad
like that. I'm sure the present is fine, though.)
After making sure
her leg bits were still working, she jogged along the street. The
destruction of the HJ only meant that two more were on their way,
after all, so she only had a small window in which to get out of
sight. In an instant, she figured out where she was (Mapping programs
come standard on all MarkNetTM BrainComp(R) implants; buy yours
today!), and jogged south along the gridway, pulling up her DuraWeave
hoodie, for all the good it would do against spinny guns. The hoodie
had been a gift from Jenk. She tried desperately not to think about
that.
Machina's was the
destination, about half a click away. She picked up her pace when she
could, but open spaces were hard to find on gridways. She guessed it
would take about six minutes for the jets to find their fallen buddy,
which meant she about two to get to the Runner Den. It vaguely
occurred to her that maybe leading Imperatel right to her
supposed-to-be-hidden-employer was a bad idea, but you know how it is
when you're panicked. That kind of forethought is usually the first
thing to go. She made it in a minute twenty-seven, clearing the
stairwell into the alley and punching the appropriate brick
combination to open the composter decoy.
Coming into the Den
always made her feel safe, even if only for a little while. She kept
her head down as she made her way through the bar, and then the
playroom, occasionally returning a nod or waving at a 'Yo Cruise!'
(Yes, they still have friends in the future. Just not as many.).
Machina's office was behind an old Jackson blast door, purely for
cosmetic purposes. The Jackson series had long been obsolete, and it
had this really ugly, bulky aesthetic that didn't mesh at all with
the world around it. 'Old school,' Machina liked to call it. Cruise
felt like it was old for a reason.
It took a
frustrating full second for the door to slide open, which didn't
usually annoy Cruise so much, but, shit, things were goin' down. She
needed Machina's help, and she needed it without waiting for a shitty
old door to open. Anyway, she stepped in quickly.
"Cruise! I
wasn't expecting you until tomorrow," greeted Machina, an older
woman who still had visible chrome and shit. More Old School stuff.
Cruise had always felt that it was a miracle she hadn't died of
infection or rejection by now. Of course, she also had a suspicion
that Machina was immortal, so she never said anything about it.
"Shit
happened," Cruise muttered quickly.
"Which kind of
shit?"
"The
Imperatel-exploded-Jenk's-head kind."
Machina simply
stared, her visage slipping into one of deep sympathy that always
unnerved Cruise. It was like the woman was in her head, which she
probably was; despite her preference for Chrome, she was an expert on
all the modern biotech and hybrids, and had in fact been the one to
install her latest BrainComp(R) (MarkNetTM has stopped supporting the
2.0 models, which was bullshit, as they'd yet to make an equally
reliable implant since that one.), so she had in fact literally been
inside Cruise's head.
"I'm so sorry,"
Machina offered, bringing the first tears of grief to Cruise's eyes,
which she wiped quickly on the sleeve of her hoodie.
"I need to
disappear," she replied. Machina nodded, and began rummaging
through her desk instantly, pulling out a bunch of old shit; a map, a
butterfly knife, a stack of coins (fuckin' seriously?), and an old
mechanical P12. Cruise froze a bit as she realized what they all had
in common.
"You're taking
me offline?!" she asked, more than a little trepidation in her
voice.
"You need to
disappear," Machina stated simply. "They'll track you
through your BrainComp(R), so it needs to be shut off."
This was easier said
than done, of course. Not quite believing any of this was actually
happening (it wouldn't be the first time Jenk had slipped an AR
module into her jack [wink]), Cruise obediently sat in a chair while
Machina retrieved another device, a simple directed EMP emitter with
a drill attachment, as the BrainComp(R)'s casing had to be breached
first.
"Um, Boss?"
called a disembodied voice.
"I'm busy
Rollo," Machina called, putting the device in place.
"Yeah, uh... we
got an Imperatel bus rolling up on us," informed Rollo. Both
Machina and Cruise froze.
"Fuck,"
muttered Cruise.
"Well... yeah,
fuck," said Machina. Cruise was somewhat surprised that Machina
hadn't flipped her shit at her stupidity in leading Imperatel there.
"Tell everyone
to bug out," the Chromed woman instructed.
"Got it,"
replied Rollo. Cruise didn't have time to add anything as the drill
began its work, tearing through her synflesh and starting to grind
against the durstic casing to the BrainComp(R). It only took a few
seconds, and suddenly Cruise's world turned black. Metaphorically,
anyway. She was still conscious, but her connection to the network
was gone, which was a fuckin' trip. She suddenly didn't know the
layout of the building, what street she was one, or whether there was
a sale on Breaker Chips (she also couldn't find out the score of the
Castle game, but that was neigher here nor there). It was like her
connection to the whole world was gone, and there was nothing to stop
the sudden wave of loneliness she felt.
While Cruise cried
softly and held a bit of gauze against her synflesh, Machina was
moving, grabbing an old duffel bag from a nearby locker (Like, a
present-day locker, only in the future, which was weird) and shoving
the items she'd previously retrieved into it, as well as a couple
extra clips for the 12mm. She stood before Cruise, who looked up at
her, suddenly a mess. Machina only smiled at her, holding out her
hand.
"Let's go."
