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The two-car convoy streaked down the highway, leaving the neon-soaked skyline behind for the jagged, industrial sprawl of the outskirts.
Jax sat in the passenger seat of the trailing car, the hum of the engine vibrating through his boots. Pilar was at the wheel, his long, gaunt fingers tapping an erratic rhythm on the steering column. In the back, the space was cramped. Rebecca sat in the middle, leaning back with her hands behind her head, chewing a piece of bubblegum with a loud, rhythmic pop. A Shingen V submachine gun and an Omaha tech pistol rested on her thighs, looking like oversized toys against her small frame.
The Omaha was a standard street-mod, lacking the custom pastel accents of Jax's Lizzie, but it still looked lethal in her grip. To her left and right, the two netrunners were already diving into the local architecture of the net. Sasha had her specialized laptop balanced on her knees, a glowing data cable snaking from her wrist into the port. Beside her, Kiwi had pulled her red trench coat open to vent heat, her eyes closed as she navigated the deeper layers of the CityNet.
Jax kept his eyes on the road, listening to Maine's voice crackle through the shared comms.
"Jax, Sasha gave you the brief, right?"
"Find the guy, get him out," Jax replied. "One-twenty if he's breathing, fifty if he's a bag of meat. Simple math."
Maine's laugh rumbled through the speakers. "That's the spirit. If the stars align, we'll be back at the bar before the ice in my drink melts."
"Take it easy, Maine," Dorio interjected, her voice tight with professional paranoia. "This is 6th Street territory. Snatching a body from Rancho Coronado is like kicking a hornet's nest. They care about 'face' almost as much as they care about their old military ranks. They won't just let us walk."
Dorio knew the score. As a former Animal, she understood that gang pride was a volatile fuel. The 6th Street Gang wasn't just a bunch of thugs; they were two thousand strong, mostly veterans of the Fourth Corporate War. They were organized, militarized, and currently holding their own against the Valentinos. They weren't just a gang; they were a small army.
"We're just the help, Dorio," Maine countered. "The Fixer deals with the politics. We just deal with the target."
Dorio went silent, but her skepticism hung heavy in the air.
"Approaching the perimeter," Sasha clipped. "Take the next turn. We have to ditch the cars here; there's a camera grid covering the main approach."
The two cars veered off the asphalt, kicking up dust as they pulled behind a cluster of rusted shipping containers. The crew piled out, the air smelling of dry dirt and old oil. Up ahead, perched on a low rise, was a dilapidated auto-repair shop. A flickering sign displayed a skull with a golden '6' and six stars.
Maine lit a cigarette, the cherry glowing bright in the afternoon shade. "Fixer said the hand-off is at a bar in Heywood. We drop the package, call the number, and get paid."
"Heywood?" Pilar's voice climbed an octave. "You didn't say anything about Heywood yesterday, Maine. Running into 6th Street territory to snatch a guy and then dumping him in Valentino land? This is a gang war in the making, damn it."
"That's enough," Maine rolled his eyes. "We've hit corporate labs. Are we really going to shake over some veterans in star-spangled vests? Pilar, get the gear."
Pilar grumbled but moved to the trunk, pulling out two black equipment tubes. Maine turned his attention back to the crew. "Kiwi, you're the new blood. Sit this one out and get a feel for how we move. You still get your cut."
Kiwi's eyes flickered behind her mask. "I get paid for doing nothing?"
"Why not?" Rebecca chirped, patting Kiwi's waist.
Kiwi went silent, her gaze drifting to Jax. She'd scanned him the moment they met—a total natural, barely a scrap of chrome in his system. And Maine was giving him the lead on the infiltration? She looked at Rebecca, wondering if she'd joined a team of lunatics. But no one else questioned it. Not even Pilar, who usually had something to say about Jax, raised an objection. They all trusted the "natural."
"Alright," Jax nodded.
[Detected Bounty Mission: Deals Always Come with Surprises] [Accept / Decline]
Jax felt the familiar tingle of the system. He tapped accept, his frown deepening as he read the description. Variables again. It seemed Maine's crew had a permanent debuff for "straightforward" jobs.
"Sasha, you're on the eyes," Maine ordered. "Infiltrate and clear a path for Jax. Once he's got the package, Dorio and I drive in and provide the loud distraction."
"Ready?" Sasha asked, shedding her jacket to reveal her sleek bodysuit.
"Mhm."
Jax didn't wait. He moved.
He was a blur, a streak of organic power that covered the distance to the road barrier in a matter of seconds. He moved with a predatory grace that made the air whistle.
"He's damn fast, Maine," Dorio whispered, watching Jax scale the slope. "I still don't believe those legs are stock. No way he doesn't have a Sandevistan tucked in there somewhere."
"Fast?" Pilar snorted. "You haven't seen him jump from the fourteenth floor."
Beside Rebecca, who was checking the magazine on her Shingen, Kiwi's cigarette fell from her fingers. She stared blankly at the spot where Jax had been. The math didn't add up. No Sandevistan, no reinforced tendons, no chrome. Just meat and bone moving at speeds that should have been impossible.
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