The House of the Reapr welcomes the following Novices: TheRealPenguintrooper754, Gabriel Daniels, Jermaine Key, and Dividente Serital to its ranks.
We also welcome Operative Kitsune01 to our ranks. Their contributions and dedication to our cause will be honored through the Net and through the Stars.
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"To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering."
- Friedrich Nietzsche
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Without any warning, everything faded, the raw data streams of the bioengineering module dissolving into the dark of my own eyelids before blinding me with a fuckton of white flashes. No matter how many times I used my BD wreath, the ending was always the same, and I could never get used to it. Whoever created such a shitty design deserved to be castrated.
I reached up and pulled the silver halo of the BD wreath from my temples. I sat on the cold concrete floor of the garage, my chest heaving as my Neural Link slowly detached from the simulated environment and re-anchored my consciousness to the meatspace. My brain was buzzing, hot and saturated with thousands of pages of medical schematics, cybernetic installation parameters, and advanced neurobiology.
If you could ignore the straight-up cocksucking, bending over backwards, and straight-up indoctrinations to the megacorps, the corporate educational BDs were actually a goldmine. The module I had just scrubbed through was a high-tier surgical guide meant for Biotechnica field medics and Arasaka ripperdocs.
But every ten fucking minutes, the raw data flow would be interrupted by subliminal, aggressively encoded propaganda bullshit. It was either "Biotechnica's proprietary immunosuppressants are the only guarantee against cyberpsychosis," or some other stupid shit like "Militech combat chrome offers a 15% faster synaptic response time than gray-market competitors."
As far as I knew, I couldn't trust either one as far as I could throw them. The shit was annoying in every definition of the word. Having to mentally filter the corporate static to extract the actual science was a pain in the ass, but the science itself was preem. I had just spent the last three hours mapping the exact methodology of splicing a Synaptic Accelerator into the peripheral nervous system without triggering a massive histamine response from the body's white blood cells.
The module broke down the specific surgical pathways for integrating a Sandevistan operating system, detailing how a Bioconductor bridges the circulatory system to handle the massive heat output, and how to properly anchor Bionic Joints, Dense Marrow, and Subdermal Armor to the skeleton without the meat rejecting the metal.
I was learning how the body worked under the hood. After what had happened to Leo, I realized I needed to understand exactly how the human body failed, and how it could be upgraded, especially if I was going to forge myself into a weapon.
I wiped a layer of cold sweat from my forehead, checking the faint, translucent digital clock that my Neural Link overlaid directly onto my vision. It was just past 10:00 AM. Mid-January, 2067.
I stood up, my joints popping in the freezing air of the detached garage, and walked back inside the house. The heating was acting up again, leaving the air inside almost as cold as the smog outside. I stripped off my sweat-dampened workout gear and threw on some comfortable clothes. A thick, dark grey hoodie, a pair of heavy cargo pants, and a pair of scuffed boots.
I needed a break from all that data, or I'd really end up going loco. My mind was sharp, but the isolation of the garage was beginning to create a localized echo chamber in my head. With Leo gone, the old pack had been fractured. But Jax and Maya were still here. I still had chooms to kick the shit with as long as they were willing to.
I zipped my jacket, stepped out the front door, and locked the deadbolt behind me.
The morning air of Rancho Coronado was a bitter, damp cold, the kind that seeped right through all of the synthetic fabrics and nested in your bones. The sky was gray, threatening to rain but holding it back in a state of suspension.
I walked down the cracked sidewalk of the street, my hands shoved deep into my pockets. An empty, crushed NiCola can sat in my path, so I kicked it, sending a hollow sound rattling against the rusted chain-link fences of the decaying tract homes. I kept kicking it, letting the mindless, repetitive action ground my thoughts as I made my way toward Crestmont Street.
I reached Jax's house, which looked just like mine. It was a dilapidated, single-story box of rotting wood and stained brick. I walked up the steps, avoiding the one that I knew was rusted through, and knocked on the door.
I waited as the wind howled down the street, kicking up a miniature cyclone of dust and synthetic wrappers.
I knocked again, louder this time, and tuned my focus, listening for the heavy, shuffling footsteps of the sixteen-year-old boy, or the sharp, exhausted voice of his mother, Anaya. There was nothing. Just the low, ambient hum of the city's distant power grid.
After a few minutes of standing on the freezing porch, I sighed, my breath pluming in the air. I turned around and walked back down the steps. Jax was probably sleeping off a stim-hangover or out running some low-level errand for the 6th Street lieutenants.
I left the yard and headed over to Maya's house.
Her place was marginally better, mostly because her grandparents practically lived on the porch with a shotgun to keep the gangoons away. I walked up and knocked a quick pattern on the door.
A few seconds later, the deadbolt clicked, and the door swung inward. Maya stood in the threshold, shivering as the freezing air hit her. She was wearing an oversized hoodie that swallowed her body, and a pair of faded, plaid pajama pants. Her dark hair was a messy, tangled up into a bird's nest, and she was rubbing her eyes, clearly having just woken up.
"Christ, Santi, it's freezing," she mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself. "What time is it?"
"A little past ten," I said, offering a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"
"Yeah, but it's fine," she yawned, leaning against the doorframe. She looked me up and down, taking in my layered winter gear. "You look like you're going on a hike. What's up? You need me to help you with something?"
"No, I don't need any help," I replied, shaking my head. "Just wanted to get out of the house. The servers were cooking my brain. I went by Jax's place, but he didn't answer. You know where he's at?"
Maya frowned, her sleepy demeanor fading slightly as her brow furrowed. She dropped her arms, leaning out the door to look down the street. "Jax? No... I haven't seen him since yesterday afternoon. He said he was going to hang at his place and wait for his mom to get off shift."
"That's weird," I muttered, my internal logic gates immediately flagging the anomaly. "Jax always answers his door, even if he's zeroed out on sleep. If he's waiting for his mom, he should be there."
"Maybe he went to get some grub?" Maya suggested, shrugging, though she didn't look entirely convinced.
As we stood there talking, I caught movement at the far end of the block. I squinted through the gray morning light, my eyes straining against the smog. I still didn't have the scratch for some Kiroshi Optics, meaning I couldn't physically zoom in on the figure. But what I did have was a Neural Link. I let my Neural Link bring up a faint, translucent targeting overlay across my vision, running a posture-recognition algorithm over the distant silhouette.
It was Jax.
He was walking from the direction of the Crestmont intersection, making his way toward his house. But the way he was walking was weird. He was a heavy-set kid who usually walked with a slow, deliberate stomp that no one could convince me wasn't heavily influenced by the 6th Street swagger he had been trying to adopt.
But right now, he looked like a marionette with half its strings cut. He was stumbling, his head darting back and forth, his shoulders hunched inward as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible.
"Maya," I said, pointing down the street. "I think I found him."
Maya leaned out, squinting alongside me, and her breath hitched. "He looks completely out of it. Hold on, let me grab my boots."
She vanished into her house for ten seconds, reappearing as she kicked her heels into a pair of scuffed combat boots. She didn't even bother tying the laces before she pulled the door shut, and the two of us jogged down the sidewalk to intercept him before he reached his house.
"Jax!" I called out as we closed the distance.
He flinched at the sound of his name, spinning around in search of the source. When he finally saw us, the panic written across his face made my stomach drop. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and frantic, and he was shivering. He didn't have a jacket on either, just a thin t-shirt that offered zero protection from the cold.
I walked right up to him. Even without a built-in Biomon scan, I could see his chest heaving. His heart was probably hammering right out of his ribs.
"Jax, hey, choom," I said, keeping my voice low and steady, trying to anchor him. "Is everything alright? You look like you just ran into a cyberpsycho."
"No," Jax gasped out, his voice cracking. He ran a trembling hand over his face. "No, man. Nothing is alright."
"What happened?" Maya asked, stepping up beside me, her arms crossed tight against the cold. "Did the 6th Street boys jump you? Are you in trouble with one of the Lieutenants?"
"It's my mom," Jax said, struggling to pull oxygen into his lungs. "She... she didn't come home last night."
My mind immediately began processing the variables. Anaya Reinoso worked grueling, soul-crushing shifts at a chemical processing factory deep in Arroyo. She was a woman entirely dedicated to keeping her son fed, even through the times when she was coughing up blood. She wasn't the type to just up and disappear.
"Okay, let's look at things logically," I said, trying to provide a structured path through his panic. "Did she maybe have to pick up another shift? I mean, the factories are notorious for mandatory overtime without prior notice. If the production went down, they might have locked the doors until the quota was met."
"Yeah, Santi's right," Maya chimed in, nodding eagerly. "You know how the corpos are. They probably just kept her on the line to cover a shortage."
"No!" Jax yelled, his voice echoing off the walls of the nearby houses. He immediately looked down, tears welling in his frantic eyes. "No, you don't understand. If they kept her over, she would've at least hit my Agent. She would have sent a text, a voice ping, something. I've been calling her all night, over fifty times, Santi. It just goes straight to the automated voicemail. She's not answering."
"Okay," I said gently, reaching out and gripping his thick forearm. "We'll figure this out. I can run a trace on her Agent's MAC address and find out what cell tower she pinged last. Let's just go to your place first, alright? It's freezing out here."
Jax nodded numbly, a single tear slipping down his cheek. He let me guide him, and the three of us began walking the half-block toward his house.
We were still a few yards away when an armored vehicle turned onto the street. The flashing red and blue lights of an NCPD cruiser cut through the gray morning gloom, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement.
Jax stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body going rigid, thinking they were here to arrest him for the shit the 6th street gonks had him pull last week.
The cruiser rolled slowly down the street, its tires splashing through the freezing puddles, and pulled to a halt directly in front of Jax's house. Two officers stepped out wearing standard-issue municipal armor, their duty belts heavy with gear. The younger officer looked annoyed, while the older officer, a man with graying hair at his temples and deep lines etched into his face, looked tired.
They walked up the cracked path and stood on Jax's porch. The younger cop raised a gloved fist and hammered it against the door.
Jax let out a small, terrified whimper, but instead of running away, he stumbled forward, driven by a desperate, agonizing need to know if they were there for him or if something had happened to his mother. Maya and I were by his side, walking quickly up the sidewalk until we were standing at the base of his driveway.
The cops heard our approach and turned around on the porch, their hands instinctively dropping toward the pistols on their belts.
"Hey," the younger cop barked, his voice dripping with aggressive authority. "Get lost, street-rats. This is official NCPD business."
"I live here," Jax said, his voice shaking so badly the words were barely intelligible. He took a step onto his own walkway. "This is my house."
The older officer's hand moved away from his gun, and he took a look at Jax's heavy build, his frantic, tear-streaked face, and the thin t-shirt he was freezing in. The annoyance vanished from the man's expression, replaced by a grim resignation.
"You the son of Anaya Reinoso?" the older officer asked, his voice dropping to a low, somber tone.
Jax swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He nodded once. "Yes. I'm Jax. Did something happen to my mom?"
The two officers exchanged a glance that was quickly broken. The younger one suddenly found the cracked pavement incredibly interesting, shifting his weight uncomfortably. The older officer took a slow breath, stepping down off the porch to stand a few feet away from us.
He looked at Jax with a pitiful expression. It was the look of a man who had delivered this exact speech a thousand times to a thousand different kids in Night City.
"Son," the older officer began gently. "I am so sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but your mother passed away yesterday evening."
The words hung in the freezing air.
Jax stared at the cop, his mouth opening, but no sound came out. His eyes darted back and forth as if searching the empty space for a punchline to a terrible joke.
"No," Jax finally whispered, shaking his head. "No, she... she just went to work. She works at the processing plant. She just went to work."
"Unfortunately, there was an accident at the plant she worked at in Arroyo," the officer continued, maintaining a steady, compassionate tone, something that was rarely, if ever, demonstrated by anyone in the NCPD, even while completely ignoring Jax's denial. It was the protocol for breaking bad news: don't let the victim negotiate with the facts. "We were notified by corporate liaisons early this morning."
I watched the exact moment the reality fractured Jax's mind, and denial short-circuited. His shoulders instantly collapsed inward, all the tension draining from his muscles as a wail that reminded me of the one I had let out for my father all those years ago, ripped from his throat.
His knees buckled, and I stepped forward instantly, wrapping my arms around his chest to try and hold him up. But I was fourteen, five-foot-eight, and had wiry from training while Jax was a heavy-set sixteen-year-old. The dead weight of his collapsing body was too much for me to handle by myself. My boots slid on the frozen concrete, my own knees bending under the strain.
I couldn't hold him, but I couldn't let him fall hard. I strained my muscles, grunting with the effort of gently setting him down until we were both kneeling on the freezing pavement. Jax folded completely in half, burying his face in his hands, his body shaking with violent, uncontrollable sobs.
Maya stood frozen beside us, her hands covering her mouth as tears silently streamed down her face while she stared at the officers. I kept one arm wrapped around Jax's shaking shoulders, keeping him on the ground, and looked up at the older officer, my mind demanding to know more.
"Do you know what happened?" I asked, my voice cold and devoid of the tears that were choking my friends. "What caused the accident?"
The younger cop scoffed quietly. "What does it matter, kid? She's zeroed."
"I hope they say the same shit about when you get flatlined," I snapped, my eyes locking onto the younger cop with a sudden threat that made the man take a half-step back. I looked back at the older officer. "Please. Tell me what happened."
The older officer sighed, looking down at the sobbing boy in my arms. "The corporate incident report stated she was working the line near the heavy chemical vats. They think she fell unconscious... either from extreme fatigue, or she inhaled a concentrated pocket of the processing chemicals. She collapsed forward onto the conveyor track."
The cop paused and swallowed hard, clearly hating the fact that he had to say the next part out loud.
"Her clothing caught in the primary automated stamping machine," he finished quietly. "By the time the emergency shut-off registered the biological blockage, the machine had already cycled and lobbed her head clean off her body. Hopefully, you can take some solace, if any, in the fact that it was instantaneous, meaning she didn't suffer."
The graphic horror of the image flashed in my mind. A woman I had known for the past 4 years of my life, a woman who had given me synthetic treats when I visited Jax, had been decapitated by a mindless corporate machine because she was too exhausted to stand upright. I felt a murderous rage spark deep in my chest, a hatred for the city that treated human lives as disposable lubricant for its gears.
"Thank you, officer," I said numbly, turning my attention completely back to Jax. I tightened my grip on his shoulder, pulling him tighter against my side.
The older officer looked at Jax's decaying house, noting the rusted solar panels and the peeling paint. He let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Son," the officer asked gently, looking down at Jax's trembling back. "Do you... do you have the means for a funeral? Any savings? A corporate life insurance policy?"
But Jax didn't answer. How could he? He had just found out that the worst possible worry that crossed a son's mind when his mother wasn't home by a certain hour had become reality. So he could only keep sobbing into the concrete.
The officer nodded slowly, as if he had expected that exact answer. "Alright. The city will handle it. Her remains will be processed and cremated at the municipal facility, and her ashes will be delivered to this address in a standard municipal container in a few days."
The younger officer was already turning around, walking back toward the cruiser, but the older officer lingered for a second longer. He looked down at Jax, genuine sorrow etched into his weary features.
"I am so sorry for your loss, son," the officer said softly.
He turned and walked back to the car. The heavy doors slammed shut, the engine roared to life, and the cruiser pulled away, taking the flashing lights with it, leaving the three of us kneeling in front of Jax's house.
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You lose a stone my way?
The infamous P@treon exists for those of you who want to read ahead.
patreon .com/Crimson_Reapr (Don't be a gonk, remove the space)
They get around 3 long-form weekly chapters (4.5-6k words each).