Chapter 5 — Rebecca
The shipping container smelled like engine oil, old bubblegum, and the kind of sweat that had no apologies. Light leaked in through the rusted seams, slashing the cramped space into bands of glare and shadow. Adrian woke to a thicket of green hair and a pair of eyes like coals—red-rimmed whites and irises that glowed a small ring of yellow-green. For a second his brain took the wrong exit and offered surprise instead of alarm.
Then he realized his palm was resting on a thigh.
He jerked awake and his hand skidded off soft fabric. Laughter filled the container—high, bright, and laced with mischief.
Rebecca's laugh sounded like somebody snapping glow-sticks in the dark. She sat on the opposite couch, hair a long, glossy cascade dyed a tone of electric green that made Neon District signs look shy. Her face was round, almost childlike, but there was steel in the way she watched the world—a cat waiting to pounce, teeth bared with a grin. She could've been a cosplay of some virtual idol—if cyber-idols had been engineered to be dangerous.
"You finally come to," she chirped, eyes bright. "Where you from, pretty boy? Mann said you were the guy he hired to babysit Sasha's ghost. What's your name?"
Adrian pushed himself up on one elbow, clearing the fog of too-little sleep and too-much adrenaline. Memory slid back into place: last night's tour of Night City with Mann's crew, a near-gunfight in Santo Domingo, tequila that tasted like battery acid, and way too many promises whispered under street lamps.
"Adrian," he said. He sounded hoarse to his own ears. He tried to move his hand away, embarrassed, but Rebecca only grinned wider like she hadn't noticed at all.
"Oh my god—you're adorable," she declared, leaning forward until her face was inches from his. Up close her eyes were uneven, one slightly bigger than the other, which only made her expression more alive. The top of her jacket hung loose over her thighs; green skin showed where the fabric rode up. She reached and poked the slot at the back of his neck like she expected a panel to pop open.
"You got any work tools?" she asked, curiosity uncaged. Her fingers were quick and bold—the kind that didn't ask permission to prod the world.
Adrian ducked the poke and laughed despite himself. "Not a hacker," he said. "Bodyguard, mostly. Mann hired me to watch over people like Sasha."
Sasha, at the far corner, twitched a finger at her keyboard and blew a little smoke from the vents in her cheeks. The girl—small, pale, and impossibly focused—lifted her head long enough to wave before sinking back into lines of code. Her laptop screen threw ghostly maps across her face; she was the crew's shadow operator, the kind of netrunner that could make corporate security look like a polite suggestion.
Dolio stirred, a mountain of a woman whose features softened when she smiled. She yawned and stretched, popping a knuckle loudly like a pistol. Pyrrha—somewhere beyond the container walls, probably asleep on the hood of some stolen car—was absent. The topic set off a wave of jokes and grumbles.
"Where'd that bastard go?" Rebecca pouted, crossing her arms, then immediately rolling her eyes at herself. "He always pulls that stunt. Leaves before breakfast. Men are trash."
Mann sat up slowly, sunglasses still perched across his brow even though the light was a gangly thing at this hour. He was two meters of grin and scar and a voice that could make a gutter sound like a cathedral. "Breakfast, then the afterlife," he said in a voice that was part joke, part plan. "Sasha, give us a window. We can't live on glory and talk."
Adrian swung his legs off the couch and shouldered the small duffel he kept for nights like this—light, clipped, full of essentials. This was Team Mann's temporary base: a repurposed shipping container shoved into a vacant lot that smelled like old rain. When you lived in Night City, you found home inside motion and noise. Containers were portable little universes where rules got rewritten nightly.
Rebecca had a thousand questions and no patience for small talk. "So—no cyber-eyes? You're natural?" she demanded, leaning into the mirror by the sink while Adrian fished for his toothbrush.
A smile twisted at his mouth. "One prosthetic eye, nothing fancy. Hands upgraded with a little shock absorption. That's about it."
Rebecca stared at him like he'd confessed a crime and a miracle at the same time. She grabbed a piece of gum with an exaggerated snap and popped it into her mouth like punctuation. "You're raw. That's weirdly…cute. How did Mann even find you?"
"Word gets around," Adrian said. It wasn't a lie. Pila and others watched Lizzie's for weeks. People like Mann didn't hire on charisma alone. They hired the kind of people who had a quiet edge—who could look like nothing and be everything when the city needed a blade.
"Cute's annoying," Rebecca hissed, but the edge in her voice had melted into something else—interest, or maybe protection. She hopped up and bounced across the container to the small vanity mirror. "Show me your work," she taunted, poking at his reflection.
Adrian rinsed his face and toothbrushed, watching the crew move like a body of many arms. They were a satellite of personalities: Mann's bluster, Sasha's smoke-and-code, Dolio's blunt warmth, Rebecca's hyperactive brightness, Pyrrha's absence like a loose tooth. They were a dangerous family, and Adrian was now part of their orbit.
Mann clapped his hands. "Eat, then we make plans. You're officially on the roster, Adrian. Don't be a stranger."
They moved out like a weird, loud parade. Mann's car smelled like oil; the radio played static and remixes. Rebecca chattered nonstop about netruns and bubblegum aesthetics, and Sasha thumbed coordinates into a portable rig that looked like a brick and a prayer. Dolio drove like the lanes were suggestions, the city's rules optional. Pyrrha was nowhere to be found, likely nursing some private grudge or a bottle of night.
The group stop was a greasy spoon joint that served ramen thick with sodium and hope. The food felt sacred—hot and bad and the kind of thing you didn't waste a second judgment on. Conversation cracked between bites: small talk about targets, positioning, and who could climb vents without dying of shame. Mann sketched schematics on a napkin in the way captains drew maps before a storm.
"Sasha will get you the primary vectors," Mann said, leaning over the table. "Doors, patrol windows, camera blind spots. Pila outfits you with the gear. You need to be quiet and quick. In and out. Don't get clever. Get the data, get out."
Adrian nodded. The plan was a patient thing—biotech jobs weren't quick smash-and-grab affairs. They were slow-dance with a shark. "What's the split?"
Mann's grin was a teeth-flash. "Two-fifty K eddies. Split four ways after expenses. You'll get a cut, live a month like real money, maybe two." Sasha smirked and tapped something on her tablet that only she understood.
Rebecca chewed the last of her ramen with theatrical satisfaction. "So many eddies. I wanna buy green hair extensions—better ones than mine."
Dolio laughed like it was the best bad joke. "You can buy a whole new head if you want. Just don't steal mine."
Between sips and bites the crew felt real. It was a mosaic of needs and skills making a whole that could punch above its weight. Adrian fit in the margins, his silence a kind of promise. He watched them—saw how Sasha's fingers twitched when she thought about firewalls, the way Mann's voice softened when he spoke about contingency. Seeing them, Adrian felt the odd reassurance that, even in the teeth of Night City, allies were worth the risk.
The morning dissolved into practicalities. Pila would come by later with the rig. Recon times were set. They'd wait for a gap in Biotech's patrols and then slip inside like insects under a door. Sasha's eyes gleamed at the idea of turning corporate defenses into poems of error.
By noon they packed the container down into an organized mess: tools into pouches, gear into boxes, circuits wrapped like small talismans. Rebecca danced around with bubblegum in her cheek, her hyperactive energy anchoring them in unpredictable ways. Pyrrha still didn't show, and the gap gnawed. Mann shrugged it off, a man whose appetite for risk often came with a side of optimism.
"You nervous?" Rebecca asked Adrian as he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the exit.
"A little," he admitted. "But not scared. It's a different kind of pressure when you know Pila's wiring the rig."
Rebecca smiled like she knew a secret. "That's the right kind. Fear makes you stall. Nerves make you sharp." She tapped his cheek with two fingers like a benediction. "Don't be a gonk, Adrian. Be useful."
He laughed at the word. "Gonk," he repeated. It felt good—an insult and a blessing all at once.
Outside, Night City glowed like a wound stitched with neon. The crew piled into the vehicle and rolled out, engines laughing at the dusk. Mann's laugh filled the cab as he shifted lanes like a man rearranging fate.
Adrian let himself breathe in the city's noise. The plan would start tonight. He thought of Susan's warning, Rita's quiet blessing, and Korna's unwavering faith. Then he thought of Shanna and the girls at Lizzie's—the families that made the Mox more than a gang. There were debts and choices braided tight.
He had stepped into a life that was fast and hungry. Mann's team would teach him how to move on the edges. Rebecca would make him laugh until it hurt. Sasha would bend security to her will. And Pyrrha—wherever she was—would likely show up when the real noise started.
As they drove through the city, Adrian's HUD ticked another silent note: Mission: Recon — Team Mann. He tucked the notification away like a coin and looked out at the city that had swallowed him and somehow given him back a life worth living.
The container behind them grew small. The city ahead of them spread wide and sharp. He had a role now—guardian, runner, instrument. Whether it would be enough to keep anyone alive was something the city would answer in its own time.
Tonight, they'd plan. Tomorrow, they'd move. And somewhere between those two moments, Adrian felt the tug of fate and choice pull him further into the merc world, where money, danger, and loyalty mixed in a cup you drank down fast.
He didn't know how the story would end. All he knew was the crew at his side and the green glare of Rebecca's eyes, and that, for now, it was enough.
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System Log — Quick Notes
Location: Team Mann container/base (temporary)
Status: Integrated into Team Mann roster (bodyguard/infil support)
Primary Contacts: Mann (leader), Sasha (hacker), Pila (tech), Dolio (muscle), Rebecca (recon), Pyrrha (absent)
Current Objective: Recon & preparation for Biotech data extraction (primary job window scheduled)
Inventory: Basic pistol (Lizzie's), light armor, duffel with essentials.
Mental: Nerves present; confidence measured. Family obligations noted (Mox). Mission accepted.