I groaned and creaked awake, my head throbbing and my eyes feeling several sizes too large all of a sudden. No Jackie today, must’ve gone out for some food. Nevertheless, this was troubling – it didn’t feel like an injury, at least none I could see, and my last job was 2 days ago… did I pick up some sort of virus when I plugged into Sandra Dorsett? That strange jammer chip, maybe? Fuck… Right, let’s run a system diagnostic and see what’s going on…

  Let’s see… microrotors are fine, no muscle strand rejection, hormone levels equalized, wouldn’t be any of that, this is ocular or neurological… Maybe my eyes are just that out of date that they’re no longer syncing up to modern tech? But most stuff still supports legacy equipment, even smart contact lenses. Hm… System compatibility’s at 76.4%, yeah, I know, you piece of shit… Ah. Firmw – wait, firmware intrusion? Fucking hell, I’ve been bugged… God damn scavs. Or, well… Nah, fuck that, I don’t buy that scavs did that. Probably some sort of fucked-up virus she already had, then got transferred to me. Whatever, fine, doesn’t seem to be affecting me anyway. Perks of being mostly-natural – good luck fucking up nanites that don’t exist. All these things do is give me headaches.

  First thing’s first. Do my daily routine. Stretching, yoga, workout routines – I kept mine relatively consistent. Mostly down to about 20 minutes of aerobic exercise followed by drinks, then swordfighting training for an hour if it’s a day like today with no job on the horizon. I kept a nice, clean part of my apartment clear of debris so I don’t accidentally chop up some clothes or food or a wall, speaking from experience. Not that my sword seems to care; perks of an ultra-dense monomolecular blade.

  I didn’t really change anything about the apartment, though I probably should. The previous owner didn’t really account for taste. But I guess that’s what you get for living in a megabuilding. Places like this were built upon tastes built upon tastes. I have no doubt that if I was to excavate this floor, I’d probably find three or four layers of linoleum tile underneath because nobody really gives enough of a fuck about shitholes like this to actually remodel anything.

  Yeah, what the hell, might as well change it up. Let's go order something nicer.

  With that done, off to brush my teeth. Fuck, I should really cut my hair at some point, I muttered to myself in the mirror. My particular hair model grows slightly faster than natural hair, about 6cm per month, give or take. It quickly becomes a tangled mess, and the shampoo is a bitch to get sometimes, but generally it’s not too bad, and I can grow it out with special chemicals and a bit of electricity. Most kids where I grew up developed alopecia, so hair implants became far too common among my generation. Same with vitiligo – skin patches. Had those as well until that was corrected at infancy – thanks, Mom and Dad.

  Wait-wait. Vik texted me – my eyes came in today! Fucking finally! Okay, this just went from a shit day to a red-letter day. Finally I’ll have natural eyes again; I’ve waited for 14 fucking years for this! I cannot wait to get them put in. I naturally have heterochromia, along with many other kids from around my neighborhood. Hope that pigmentation comes out right. Sure, I won’t be able to view shards, but if my fixers don’t like it they can go fuck themselves.

  I’m too much of a lazy and impatient fuck to bother getting dressed properly, so I just threw on a bra, jeans, and some accessories before strapping on my sword and heading out the door with an extra pep in my step.

  Probably the single most dreaded part of my day was leaving my room, if only because of the smell. Fuck me, does this place reek in certain corners. I live on the 27th floor; every 10 floors is a marketplace that’s pretty much always bustling no matter what hour it was. But there were little nooks, if one were to look hard enough. And every floor had a little character as well – for instance, one time I found a room with like a dozen SCSM vending machines all lined-up on floor 22, and… that’s it. Just a shit-ton of vending machines for whatever the fuck reason.

  It’s not a particularly bad place to live, per se. Megabuildings are effectively just vertically-oriented mini-cities unto themselves, after all, each one built to house up to 168,000 residents in emergencies. I mainly selected it because it afforded me plenty of places to hide if I needed one. Not to mention that no one of my social stature would be caught dead in a concrete asshole like this if they could help it. One might argue that my self-imposed exile here is a step down, an offense to my nature. I respectfully disagree. I’ve never listened to more interesting tales of courage, loss, and love than when I lived in the Concrete River in Tokyo. Everything was so densely-packed down there that we only ever received direct sunlight for maybe 20 minutes through a brief crack in the buildings, and only once a year. Some people used to mount mirrors onto the walls to shine the light down, which is pretty ingenious now that I think about it.

  “Ey, V!” Coach Fred called out while I was lifting some weights, “Check out the new bot!”

  “Huh, thrashed your sparring partner too hard again?” I joked. Fred laughed and explained how he got this little bastard, finding it in the middle of some junk heap out in the landfill due-east of the city. He was always full of random tidbits, taught me quite a few moves as well. 'There’s no better time to train than when you’re feeling like crap,' he used to say, a sentiment my mother and father shared. Gave me a pang of anxiety whenever he said it.

  I’ve never been much of a fighter, at least not hand-to-hand, a gripe that followed me all the way back to when I was a lowly private. I can dodge and parry without any issues, but I lack any real power behind my punches. When I was growing up, I was taught that martial arts was a meditative skill, meant to help bring balance to my body. My sword – well, that’s another story. Naturally I took the latter far more seriously and didn’t really do the whole “punching” thing too well. What’s the point when I’m punching someone with a titanium-reinforced skull when I have regular hands?

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I headed back up to my apartment and collected my backpack and other effects, Jackie calling me on the holo just before I left. “Hey, chica!” he exclaimed, “Wanna come on down, get some grub? Got some good news to tell you!”

  “Oh? What?”

  “Ohh nah. No no, you’re comin’ down and eatin’ with me first.”

  “Hah, alright, man, be right there. And I got some news as well,” I smiled and hung up, pocketing my car keys and heading out the door. Supposed to be a pleasant, warm day as well, could definitely use a good outdoors meal with my brother.

  –

  “Asian food, eh?” I giggled as I approached him from behind, “Wanted a taste of my home for a change?”

  “Eeyyy, say what? Mamá raised a foodie, I’ll have you know,” he pointed his chopsticks at me as I sat down, “Gotta expand my horizons a little. ‘Sides, this is some good shit, gotta try the chow mein here.”

  “Bah, here, you first, what’s up?"

  “Okay, two things. First-off, you hear that ‘Saka docked a supercarrier in the Bay? The Kujira.”

  “What…?” I recoiled back, “Again?” It's the same damn one they parked outside the bay that ended the Unification War. What're they up to now…

  “Nah, not like the War, this is different,” he pondered, “It’s just sittin’ there. No one knows why apart from it’s got som’n to do with an upcoming parade.”

  “Hm, strange,” I thought, “So is that why Watson’s on lockdown? That doesn’t make any sense, why would they put Watson on lockdown for that?”

  “I got no idea. No one really knows outside ‘Saka, and they ain’t sayin’ shit. What the fuck's Kujira mean, anyway…”

  “Whale,” I replied in English, “Huh. Well who knows, maybe Saburo just wanted to get some fresh air for a change,” I laughed, “Alright, my turn.”

  “Oh, right, whatcha got?”

  “So you remember how I always wanted natural eyes?”

  “Yeah?”

  “He’s got ‘em!” I stomped my feet with glee, “I can’t wait!”

  “Vik?! Oh fuck yeah, that’s awesome!” he shouted excitedly, “Love to see how they’re gonna turn out!” Jackie paused for a brief moment before laughing to himself, “Heh, ‘see.’ Man, I’m… eh, nevermind.”

  “Pff, alright, man, anyway – same over here, sir. Hold the spicy sauce, please,” I ordered from the roadside scop stand. “So your turn, what’s this news you got for me?”

  “Ah…” he nodded before quickly swallowing a load of noodles, “Well, think I might’ve bagged us a capital J-O-B. I’m talkin’ big-time.”

  “Jackie, you know how I feel about that,” I frowned, referring to the fact that we’ve been on the down-low very much on-purpose for over a year and a half now. “You do realize that we go big, we might as well be signing our own death warrants, man.”

  “Oh please, V. ‘Saka’s been off our case for ages now. Don’tcha think it’s time to move past that?”

  “I dunno, I… Alright, look, fine,” I sighed, not quite getting what the huge rush was all of a sudden. But I guess I can’t blame the guy for wanting to do a little more. “Admittedly things have been slow. I just… I-”

  “Hey, I get it,” Jackie put down his food for a second and put his hand on my shoulder, “But I’m a big boy, okay?”

  “Yeah, I know you are. I dunno, sorry, it’s been a rough morning and I got a headache… ugh,” I rolled my eyes, “Right, well, let’s hear whatcha got.”

  “Right, right, so here’s the deal,” he leaned forward, “Little job came in, fronted by a little-known someone named Dexter DeShawn…” he grinned and stirred his food before picking it back up and having another bite. “Only the top fuckin’ fixer in Night City! Fat-assed black Jesus of the Afterlife, three hundred pounds of gold-plated cool.” He was practically bouncing off his bar stool, I hadn’t seen him this animated since I left Arasaka.

  “Dexter DeShawn… I feel like I recognize the name, uh…” I scratched my head, “Wait, I think I remember something about him disappearing for a while? I dunno, the name crossed my desk a couple times a while back, something about a job in Pacifica, I think?”

  “Mhmm, been off-grid for two years. Word on the street’s he took a little vacay,” he corrected.

  “That long without a peep? That’s not a vacay, that’s exile. What the hell did he do?”

  “Ahh, guessin’ he was shovelin’ pizzas in his mouth while watchin’ hardcore virtus. Important thing is he needs a new crew and found us.”

  “What? No, I mean what did he do to get exiled, man.”

  “I dunno, some people just need some time off, ya dig?”

  “Not really, dude,” I frowned, “But okay, so he’s looking for a new crew. Guessing he found us, what, through Padre?”

  “Naaah, through T-Bug.”

  “T-Bug? What’d she do?”

  “Hooked me up with Dex, in the flesh. Got us talkin’. Knew we were the right ones the moment he laid eyes on me,” Jackie bit his lower lip with anticipation at spilling the detes of the job, “I mean come on, who can resist all this, am I right?”

  “Hah, well you got me there,” I chuckled, “Right, so, what’s this gig? We meant to come out in one piece, or are we just the ‘help’ or something?”

  “Well our savior wants to tell you face-to-face. Whole deal’s ridin’ on you, chica, no pressure,” he explained.

  “Wait, why me? Didn’t you and T-Bug already talk to him?”

  “T-Bug and Dex go way back, so she’s on-board with or without us,” he scratched his head, “And my face is yesterday’s news, le’s be real. Dex says he needs to talk to you, check with you.”

  “Yeah, but why?”

  “Look, it’s his job, his rules, ‘kay? Can’t blame ‘im for takin’ a personal approach. Wantin’ to get to know everyone he’s workin’ with, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Hm, guess I got no choice, then,” I mumbled.

  “Trust me, Dex is the real deal.”

  “Jackie, we’ve been working with the ‘real deal’ for years.”

  “Yeah, Regina, Wakako, Padre – but Dex’s in a league of his own, know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Not really, Jackie,” I leveled with him, “Come on, we’ve been through this song and dance before, man. We know fixers. They find the cheapest gonks they can who can get the job done, then dump their corpses in a landfill.”

  “Shit, hit the nail on the head, huh,” he muttered while chewing his food. I didn’t even realize that mine had been sitting next to me for however-long.

  “We don’t work with new blood, Jack. You know that. Too risky.”

  “Nah, V, maybe too risky for you but if this gig plays out right? Man, we’re in for a show,” he smiled, “Don’t worry, have a little faith in your brother, okay?”

  “I do, I just don’t have faith in other people, man.”

  “Fair, fair. Look, go put on som’n nice, okay? Wants to meet with you this weekend.”

  “Alright, fine… Gotta recover first, probably gonna be a few days anyway.”

  “Sure, I’ll call Dex and tell ‘im you’re in, okay?”

  “Mm,” I nodded and headed back up top to change into something less tacky for my appointment. I can’t wait… God, I’m so excited.

  ---

  Arasaka ranking systems largely mirror that of the Imperial Japanese Army, owing to Saburo Arasaka's own military career. When V first joined at 17, she was given the rank of Private, then promoted three times: first to Private Second Class, then Private First Class finally to Superior Private in training. Owing to a shortage in manpower within the Free States, V was almost immediately deployed to a dangerous operation that lasted two years, seeing her rank shoot up to Corporal. Finally, instructing a number of cadets for the Free States military (The "Indies") saw her promoted to Sergeant just before war broke out.