The smell was worse up close, blood and burnt skin mixing into something thick and heavy. I went through their pockets with gloves on, careful not to step in the pools. They were nobodies. No chrome worth keeping. One had a modded Unity, barely fired. Another had a worn-out Lexington and two half-empty mags.
They were all skinny, malnourished. Junkies, most of them. Didn't even look like real mercs, more like a grab bag of desperate idiots.
I stacked their guns by the door, seven bodies, eight pieces total — one guy dual-wielded. I remembered him dying first. Tried to go all cowboy. Got a bullet through his visor for the effort.
A guy lying on the road was still there untouched, but I bet if I didn't take his things someone else would in an instant.
Scanned their faces one by one. Bounties popped up. Petty theft. Drug dealing. Armed robbery. Low numbers. The kind of guys who live paycheck to paycheck and die for fifty eddies. Two of them were brothers.
Still, seven bodies meant seven payouts. I'd take it. Stashed the guns in an old duffel, wrapped it in a rag, and slipped out the back. Dumped it in the bottom of a decrepit dumpster. Nobody checks trash in this one as far as I know.
Came back, wiped my hands on my jacket, and began tidying up just a little bit while trying to make sense of the latest events. But my mind was falling asleep as nothing concrete made sense.
Tech Ortodoxy could've held me in place and prepared this, but why would they even bother with a person they just suspect of spying? They've got deep pockets and bigger problems, so any plans involving them are off the board for now.
Also could be mercs affiliated with Scavs, who might've caught me and sold me for parts. But I heard no reports of anything like that in the area. And this mess was loud enough to be heard across the block.
Militech's out. They'd go in direct, not like this.
Even checked nearby nodes that aren't supposed to be affiliated — nothing. Cameras did a better job. One shop nearby had a low-grade one pointed toward the road. I did find footage of a black truck passing by once in our direction, then back. No plate. Finding it would be impossible. I'd need access to security grids all over the city just to track it.
I spent the whole damn night waiting for NCPD, and morning came before they did. Figures. If there's no active shooting, they don't give a shit. The shop was quiet. No alarms, no sirens, no drones. Just the hum of busted equipment and the stink of blood already going sour when the morning fog rolled in.
I leaned on the counter, looking at the bodies sprawled across the floor. Didn't even bother moving them. Police would handle it.
Drank what was left of some caf drink, black sludge pretending to be coffee, and sat there.
Sprocket came in around seven, half-awake, hoodie up, eyes red. She froze in the doorway, took one long look around, and sighed.
"You couldn't keep the place clean for one night, huh?"
Didn't even look surprised. Just tired. She stepped over rubble and casings, rubbing her temple like she had a hangover. Looked at the walls, the blood, the holes.
"You know how much bullet marks cost to fix?" she said.
I shrugged. "You got insurance, right?"
"Yeah," she said, half-smiling. "Lucky me. But my premium doesn't cover this kind of mess. Paid a shit-ton for it too."
She crouched beside one of the bodies and poked it with her boot. "Guess you handled it."
"Guess so."
Sprocket was the kind of person who could see a corpse and think about the paperwork first. Professional to the bone, too used to this city to care anymore. It almost made me feel bad for not feeling bad.
While she made a call to some insurance rep, I got to thinking.
I should've left one alive. Could've squeezed info out. But in that moment? Didn't even think about it. Didn't really have a way to disarm them anyway. Even hacks didn't guarantee they'd stay down.
Now it was quiet, and I hated that quiet more than the noise. Every corpse looked the same — glassy eyes, empty stares, mouths frozen mid-word. I couldn't tell if it was pity or disgust crawling up my throat, so I swallowed it and moved on.
Sprocket broke the silence by slapping a shard down next to me. "You done staring? Good. Here."
It was a list. Customer names, numbers, repair IDs.
"You're calling them," she said. "Tell them their cars are fine mostly, insurance covers the small stuff, and we're totally open for business."
Then she looked over at the one car I'd hacked to go haywire. "Except that guy. He's on his own."
"Right," I said.
"Get to it."
She turned away and started calling cleanup crews. Said she'd have a team by noon. "Can't have blood all over the floor. People start thinking we're an illegal clinic."
I smirked. "Could expand the business model."
She gave me a look sharp enough to melt chrome. The one she gives when she's one second from lighting up her torch implant.
I sat with the list, calling them one by one, getting mostly panicked responses. One guy even had a breakdown on the call. Like yeah, man, my shop got shredded too, calm down.
I leaned against the counter, half-asleep, chewing a nutrient bar.
"Maybe we should up security," I said, mostly to fill the silence. "New cams. Maybe even a turret."
Sprocket looked up like I'd just suggested buying an orbital cannon. "A turret?"
"Yeah. Stick it on the roof. Motion tracking, auto-fire. Scare off freeloaders."
"You trying to scare customers now?"
"You already do that with your reviews."
She didn't laugh, didn't even smile. Just sighed. "I'll think about it," she said, but I could tell she actually might.
After a while, she pulled her bandana down, scratched her chin, and went quiet. "Maybe you should find a place," she said. "A proper one. Not here."
I blinked. "What?"
"You've been sleeping in my shop for weeks, Cael. You use my gear. You stink. And now I wake up to corpses."
"Hey, I handled it."
"Yeah, you handled it. But maybe handle it somewhere else. You got enough cash to rent a cube nearby. Be an adult."
I stared. "You kicking me out?"
"Just suggesting you start paying for your own roof."
Didn't argue. She wasn't wrong. But the shop was convenient. No travel, no wasted eddies on rent. Everything I needed right there.
Still, I could tell she wasn't bluffing. "I'll think about it," I muttered.
"Good," she said, leaving it there.
Morning dragged on forever as we waited for NCPD. The street outside woke up slow — loud bikes, humming AVs, people yelling about nothing. Usual morning soundtrack.
I stretched, tried sitting, forgot about the hole in my ass, and immediately regretted life. The pain pulsed with my heartbeat. I hissed, stood up again.
Sprocket was outside arguing with a contractor about fixing bullet holes. I could tell by her gestures she was getting ripped off.
When she came back, she looked at me. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just fine."
"Good. NCPD's on the way. Said they're coming soon."
"Now?"
"Within the hour."
"Great. About time."
"Don't get excited," she said. "They'll probably charge us for stepping on shell casings."
They showed up two hours later.
A fat short cop and a scary buff lady cop. Yin and yang.
The fat one's vest was two sizes too small, coffee glued to his hand like a life support system. The woman had a neat ponytail, sharp eyes, and the kind of vibe that said she almost made corpo.
They strolled in casual as hell. The fat one sipped. The girl started scanning bodies.
Sprocket waved. "Took your time."
"Traffic," the guy grunted.
The girl crouched, waved her scanner. "Confirmed dead by gunshot. Property damage. You the owner?"
Sprocket nodded. "I am."
He pointed at me. "And you?"
Sprocket didn't blink. "He's the one you want. I wasn't even here."
Great.
The questioning dragged on. Officer Stone, his badge said. Asked the same thing in five ways like I'd eventually trip.
"So they came in before you?"
"Pretty much."
"You saw them pull guns?"
"Yeah."
"All of them?"
"Yeah."
He grunted. "And they wrecked the place?"
"Probably."
He didn't like my answers. Noted something down that probably said useless witness.
The woman was scanning the walls. "No security footage?"
Sprocket jumped in. "Cameras got wrecked. So did the computer."
The woman clenched her jaw. "Of course they did."
Officer Stone closed his pad. "Corpse collectors will be here soon. Stay put."
He turned back to me. "Name?"
I handed him my shard, already running a silent hack on his reader. Fake ID slid into place, Caelen Smith, 23.
He nodded. "Alright, says here you neutralized all seven. Self-defense. Lucky day for you. Bounty payout in a few business days."
"How much?"
He grinned. "You'll see. Don't spend it all on BDs."
The woman glared. "You're just gonna let him go?"
He shrugged. "Case is cold. Nobody left to arrest."
Then she turned to me, showing the pad. "This one outside was shot in the back. That self-defense too?"
Her partner stepped in. "Maybe he ran backwards while shooting. We don't fuckin' know."
She muttered something about incompetence and walked off.
By the time the corpse collectors zipped up the last body, it was noon. The medtech drones beeped as they loaded them up. Sprocket stood off to the side, arms crossed, spaced out.
The woman cop prowled the shop, scanning walls and fried consoles. "Every cam, every backup, gone. Convenient."
Sprocket glared. "You think I did that?"
"I think someone did," she said, bored.
When the drones left, the cops followed, leaving a cup of cold coffee on the counter. Typical.
Sprocket threw me a mop. "Clean up."
I stared at the mop, then the floor. "You're kidding."
She wasn't.
"You want the place open again? Start scrubbing."
I looked down at the puddle that used to be a man. "We should hire pros. This shit is biohazard."
She didn't even look up. "You volunteering? How much?"
"I got shot in the ass, Sprocket."
She blinked. "You what?"
"Yeah. Right in my buttcheek."
"You said you weren't hit."
"Not by this."
She squinted. "You serious?"
"Dead serious."
"How bad?"
"Hurts like a bitch."
"Go see a doc. I'm not patching your ass."
"Was planning to," I said. "But someone handed me a mop."
"Get out."
I grabbed my jacket and the duffel. My stash was two blocks down. Seven bodies' worth of loot wrapped in a blanket. Not prime storage, but it'd do.
As I reached the door, Sprocket called, "If you were shot in the ass, how come you're not bleeding everywhere?"
"I'm clenching really, really hard."
That got a laugh. "Fine. I'll call real cleaners. Place needed it anyway."
Outside, the sun hit hard. Too bright for the kind of night I'd had. My back hurt, my ass hurt, my head rang, but I was alive.
Halfway down the block, some suit came rushing toward the garage waving a tablet. Insurance agents behind him.
"Where's the mechanic? My car—"
I slowed down just to see Sprocket's face when he stormed in. Worth it.
She looked ready to kill him with a wrench.
"The car's fine," she said.
He didn't stop yelling.
"They'll email you the report," I said as I walked off.
"Wait—EMAIL!?"
"Yeah. Wait for it."
"WHAT THE FUCK IS EMAIL!?"
Last thing I heard was him screaming about compensation.
The bus was nearly empty. Just a few commuters, one drunk, one bored security guard. I climbed on with my duffel. Guns clinking faintly.
I stood the whole ride. Too sore to sit. The bag leaned against my leg, tapping every bump.
Halfway to Little China, the security guy asked, "What's in the bag?"
"Guns," I said.
He stared, then grunted. "Go on then."
Night City for you.
I texted Vik on the way.
"yo, need a quick fix. bullet in the ass, some glass shards too. not bleeding."
Message sat for a few minutes before he replied.
"you serious? again?"
"yeah."
"fine, come by. was about to go boxing, but I can fit you in."
Good guy. Always is.
Bus hissed to a stop near Jig Jig street. I stepped off and the heat hit like a wall. Street smelled of frying noodles and body luquids. Normal city perfume.
I checked around out of habit, making sure no one tailed me. Who knows now.
Misty's shop was closed when I passed it. Curtains down, lights off. Guess she slept in for once. I had to go through the alley, down the side stairs to Vik's clinic.
Halfway down, a cat jumped out of nowhere, nearly making me drop the bag. I crouched to pet it, but it sniffed my glove, hissed, and ran. Guess I still smelled like blood and gunpowder.
Clinic door opened before I could knock. Voices came from inside.
Vik's voice first, calm and dry. Then Jackie's deep laugh shaking the walls. Misty's lighter tone between them.
"I'm telling you," Jackie said, "the guy had a stash of human teeth."
Misty sounded half-grossed, half-amused. "Why would anyone keep that?"
"I dunno, hermana. Maybe a lucky charm?"
Vik's voice came next. "Lucky? A trunk full of molars doesn't scream luck to me, chump."
I stepped in, and all three turned toward me.
Vik raised a brow. "You look better than usual."
"Feel like it," I said, dropping the bag near the door.
Jackie grinned wide. "Who's this choom?"
"Patient," Vik said. "One with bad luck."
Misty smiled softly. "Hey. You alright?"
"Could be worse," I said, and nodded toward Jackie. "Heard you're into collecting teeth?"
Jackie burst out laughing. "Ah, hombre, don't start that rumor!" He held out a big hand. "Name's Jackie."
"Caelen. Nice to meet you big man." I shook his hand, my arm almost swallowed in his grip.
Jackie grinned. "Caelen, huh? You hitting on me, hermano?"
"Not today," I said.
"Good," he said quickly, glancing at Misty. "I don't swing that way."
I guess they haven't got together yet.
Vik cut in before it could go further. "Alright, comedians, clear the stage. He's got a wound in his behind. Give the man some privacy."
"Hey!" I said, but Jackie was already laughing his way toward the door.
Misty covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. "We'll be in the shop."
As soon as the door shut, Vik rolled over in his chair, scanning me with his datapad. "Take it off."
"Yeah, yeah."
He worked quick. Hands steady, eyes tired. Tools hummed, light glowed over my side. I could feel the buzz of the scanner going through the muscle.
Thirty minutes later he was done, pulling out a pair of tweezers holding a glass splinter. "Lucky. Most of these didn't go far."
I glanced back. "What about the bullet?"
"Grazed, mostly fat tissue. You'll live."
"Wont they cause infection?"
He smirked. "Not with the drugs you're already on. Just don't sit too long."
"Can I try sitting up?"
"If I did my job right, you can. Go ahead."
I sat up carefully. The pain was still there, dull but manageable.
"You're a wizard."
He chuckled. "Nah. Just been patching idiots longer than I care to admit."
He leaned back, wiped his gloves. "By the way, remember that sample you let me run a while back?"
"Yeah?"
"My friend from France, real biotech guy, reached out. He wants you in his lab. Said your neurons behaved weird in culture. Hyperactive. Even isolated."
"And that means?"
"That's why he wants you there. Said you are an interesting case. Could teach them something about hybrid sync with tech."
"Tell him I'm good. I'm not flying out just to be a lab rat."
Vik nodded. "Didn't think you would. But listen, good news: your aging markers look solid. Telomeres are long, metabolism steady. You're built tougher than I thought."
"Finally, some good news."
"Bad news is that you really adapted fast to the cyberdeck, but look." Vik pulled up the datapad with the scans of the area of my skull where my cyberdeck slot was. "Your tissue grew over some of the parts, where it should have shown a less active reaction if you took your medication."
"Absolutely."
"It may be benign. Lets see how you feel in a month or so."
I stood up and got dressed up. It was already getting somewhat late. Worrying does not help.
He unplugged the tools and pushed back. "Alright. Two hundred will do"
"You're too nice, Vik."
"Yeah, yeah. Be careful out there."
I paid and grabbed the duffel. Time to visit Roffman.
His shop looked worse than usual. Crates everywhere, stacked to the ceiling. Could barely squeeze in. Smelled like gun oil and sweat.
"Look who it is!" Roffman's voice came from behind a pile. Thick New York accent, full of fake cheer. "Where's my review?"
"I was thinking four stars," I said, dropping the bag on a crate. "Help me out and it'll be five."
He popped out, crowbar in hand. "You bribing me with reviews now?"
"Depends. You buying or not?"
He eyed the bag. "Looted?"
"Yeah. Didn't even get to use 'em."
"See, you got a big problem right here." Roffman said and pointed to the gun, it was a liberty.
"Sure its scratched up, but I'm sure its good enough."
"Zoom in fella. Still have blood on it." he said as he angled it so I saw the handle better.
And turns out it had small amount of dried blood on the handle between the textured bumps.
"I said it was looted. How is supposed to be."
Roffman dug through the magazines and the rest of the runs, looking over them briefly. "There a cleaning fee for the guns, there is a cleaning fee for you, if you get what I say."
"All right. What about 600?"
He raised his eyebrows in thought.
"If you want to haggle you better pick a more reasonable price. 300 is good price."
"8 guns for 300? I can get a better price in a Budget Arms vending machines."
"You know what. A repeat customer is a good customer. Lets settle on 350, magazines and ammunition are sure a nice addition but its still dirty."
"You counted the magazines? Oh no, now its better be no less than 500."
Roffman tapped his finger on his arm with clanking sound as he crossed his arms.
"You know what. Write a review right now. If its good I will do 425."
In 5 seconds I pasted a prepared review where I wrote how Roffman was a real tough fella with a straight edge to him and how he knows his shit. 5 stars.
He seemingly received the notification and smiled and laughed heartily.
"You got me. Now get out. For this price I'm also getting the bag."
I smiled in response and got the transaction and walked out. This bag was used for shit close to radioactive waste along with being inside trash.
Next stop: Afterlife.
I checked the time. Almost 3 PM. Texted Sasha.
"sorry about yesterday. all good now. when we meeting?"
"help me pick a dress," she replied instantly. Followed by twenty photos in different poses. Tight fits, every color. Blurred background. Security is security.
I sat on a bench scrolling through them one by one. Settled on a short white one, matte fabric with those weirdly intricate embedded lines. She looked smug in that one.
"This," I sent back.
"good taste," she replied. "now get something equally good. my associate can't look like a bum."
Oh great. My hard-earned money.
Maybe something white too. Wouldn't last a day with me though. Maybe a netrunner suit disguised as normal clothes. Light, functional, still stylish.
Couple hours later I had it sorted. Bought a heated burrito from a vending machine while wearing it. The thing hugged like armor but felt cold, cool on the skin. My jacket over it, holster just peeking out.
Checking my internal temperature revealed it lower by a degree or two. But it main power should the dissipation of heat. And even in hot weather I felt great.
Just to test it out I decided to ran towards Afterlife, but as soon as I got near a road, a car crashed into a concrete beam under the bridge a few hundred feet next to me. I'll take the bus.
When I got there sunset and the sky got a rare warm and pleasant color. And I felt myself wanting to lie down and sleep in those clouds.
The entrance was really just to an old remodeled morgue, which was metal but they still kept the body fridge and shit like that.
As I stood there waiting a car pulled up wildly burning the rubber, which was a muscle car with a few modifications, out came Rebecca as the driver, and Maine, Dorio and Sasha followed out.
All of them looked almost identical to the Anime. Fuck. Something is surely wrong with V.
Sasha on the other hand wore the dress that I said was nice. She did add to it, having her a pink strap with a pistol. A merc is a merc.
I walked up and Rebecca screamed at me.
"The fuck you need?"
"Thats the guy, Becca." said Dorio as she adjusted her jacket and brushed the dust off Maine.
"Oh, so you are her servant! Are you into femdom?" Rebecca asked loudly as people outside started staring
"Well, I also want to know about that." said Sasha.
"Fuck off."
Maine interrupted as he spoke in a deep voice. "Lets just go in. Don't cause shit."
Probably a good idea. But he doesn't look like he is here to have fun. I walked behind and we got in without problem.
Rebecca looked around wildly and headed straight for the bar, ordering bottles and carrying them to the our reserved booth.
Inside were a lot of grizzled people who carried big guns and were chromed out their fucking dome. Music playing was a pretty standard techno, but the volume was really low for a club. Its a place of business.
As we poured drinks I stayed mostly quiet, until Sasha talked to me.
"Looking good. Whats the conduction rating?"
"6.2"
She almost choked on her drink.
Rebecca turned and asked her "Sasha, is this bad. Should I laugh at him?"
Sasha wiped her mouth and said "Yeah."
Rebecca pointed a finger at me and laughed and made a L on her forehead. "Loser! Losers drink."
Maine and Dorio shaked their heads in agreement. "Yes, losers drink."
They poured shot after shot and told me to drink. I'm on medication...
After some time I got expectantly drunk. Maine and Dorio were chatting only to each other, hugging intimately and eventually wandered together towards a bathroom. And I was left with Rebecca and Sasha.
Rebecca, almost completely wasted, yelled at me.
"WHATS YOUR NAMEE CHOOM?"
"It's- a... Caelen."
"LETS DRINK, WE ARE IN THE FUCKING AFTERLIFE BABY!"
Sasha laughed and raised a toast. "To Afterlife."
"FUCK YEAH!" yelled Rebecca and picked up a halfway empty bottle of whiskey and forced it into my mouth, I tried not drinking but it was pouring out of nostrils.
Oh no.