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"Phew—"
Jax picked up a bullet-riddled scrap of cloth from the grease-stained floor and meticulously wiped the blood from his new Katana. He looked at the blade with a gaze usually reserved for high-end pre-war memorabilia.
This weapon... it was a masterpiece. Every time he swung it, he felt the hum of the thermal energy vibrating in the hilt, a silent promise of lethality. It was worlds apart from the crude daggers he'd been making do with.
However, he knew there was a catch to owning such a refined instrument. If he'd had this monowire thermal blade at Biotechnica, the "gentle" descent with Sasha might have turned into a literal slice-of-life tragedy. The blade didn't just cut; it erased resistance. It was Arasaka engineering at its most unapologetic.
"Stop staring at your toy and lead the way. We're sitting ducks here," Maine barked, though there was more stress than genuine anger in his voice.
Jax snapped out of it, sheathing the blade where his dagger used to sit, and led the crew through the back of the shop. They reached the repair bay, where Rebecca practically teleported to the storage cabinet.
"Shingen, Tamayura... and real blockers!" she shrieked, her small hands sweeping the loot into her bag. "We're gonna be filthy rich!"
Maine stepped up, his cybernetic eye whirring as he scanned the crates. A slow, hungry grin spread across his face. "Six hundred thousand. Maybe more. This gear is worth a goddamn king's ransom on the black market." He turned to Jax, his expression turning grave. "Load it up. Pilar's jammer is on its last legs. Once 6th Street realizes their backyard is on fire, this place is going to crawl with stars and stripes."
"Let's move, let's move!" Rebecca chirped, her bag bulging with hardware. Dorio just rolled her eyes; she knew Rebecca's obsession with guns was a cocktail of professional necessity and a deep-seated lack of security.
Kiwi stood to the side, her breath hitching. Six hundred thousand. In her mind, that wasn't just money; it was a penthouse in a quiet district and a life where she didn't have to smell burnt ozone every morning.
"Let's go tell Pilar the good news!" Maine waved them out.
Jax glanced back at Sasha. She was still in the hacker's chair, her fingers flying across a virtual interface. Their eyes met, and the "little cat" offered a sly, squinting smile.
"What are you looking at?" she teased.
"Just making sure you're coming."
"Destroying the digital footprints, Jax. Can't leave a trail for the bloodhounds," she said, hopping down and tiptoeing past him with her hands behind her back.
The scene back at the cars was a reality check.
"SHIT! My car!"
Maine looked at the purple Thrax, his face twisted in a mask of pure agony. The front end was crumpled, the paint was scorched, and it had more holes than a piece of Swiss cheese. It had been pristine ten hours ago; now it looked like it had been through the Unification War.
They piled in—Maine driving, Jax squeezed in the back between Sasha and Kiwi. Because the car's frame was slightly warped from the impact, the interior was even tighter. Jax had to lean forward, gripping the headrests of Maine and Dorio's seats, just to keep from being crushed between the two netrunners.
As the car roared onto the highway toward the Afterlife, the celebratory mood cooled. The profit was high, but the price of failure was higher.
"This isn't over," Maine said, his voice dropping into a professional chill. "We need to find the Fixer—Multiverse Kerfu. He set us up for a wipe. If we were a standard crew, we'd be body-bags right now. He's got our data. When the Corps start asking questions, he'll sell us for a pack of cigarettes."
"The job's done, and now you're getting cold feet?" Kiwi asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Maine's eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. He'd tolerated Kiwi's attitude because her hacking at the auto shop had been flawless, but the "new girl" act was wearing thin. "If you don't have a better plan, Kiwi, shut it. We're in the same boat now. If it sinks, you drown too."
Kiwi went silent, looking out the window.
"Jax," Maine said, "I need a favor. We can't reach Kerfu on our own. He's ghosted us."
"You want me to ask Susan," Jax finished for him.
"She's a gang leader, Jax. Even a 'weak' gang like the Moxes has a reach we don't. They have the eyes and ears of the street."
Maine wasn't wrong. The Moxes might be ridiculed as a "doll mutual aid society," but they were an established power with territory. Maine was a top-tier merc, but he was still just a guy in a car. Compared to someone like Anna Nox, the Moxes' legendary enforcer, Maine was an amateur.
Jax thought of Anna. In the game, she was a nightmare for players—Electric Mantis Blades, Sandevistan, and enough trauma to fuel a cyberpsychotic break. But in this world, with Jax around to shoulder the burden, she was just an overworked "older sister" figure.
Jax initiated the call.
"Hello?"
"Spit it out, Jax," Susan's face appeared on his display, looking as impatient as ever.
"I need a lead. A Fixer named Multiverse Kerfu. He burned my crew on a job that smells like Arasaka and Militech."
Susan paused, the corporate names clearly carrying weight even for her. "Location? I'll send Anna and Rita to pick you up..."
"No, I'm fine," Jax said, a flash of confidence in his eyes. "I'm stronger than you think, Susan. Honestly? I'm the biggest gun you've got now. Just find me the Fixer."
"I'll call you back," she said, her tone softening just a fraction before she hung up.
Maine watched Jax through the mirror. "I gotta ask, kid... what exactly is the deal between you and Susan? That didn't sound like a boss and an ex-member."
Jax shrugged, leaning back as much as the cramped car allowed. "She's got a sharp tongue, but she's family. Even when she's kicking me out, she's looking for a way to keep me breathing."
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