Roses and Violets - Gashadokur0 (2024)

Chapter 1: UNSC Revenant

Chapter Text

War was hell.
Everyone who had to endure it would attest to it without objection.

When Covenants attacked humanity,
When remnants of it persisted with discovery of Forerunner AIs,
When UNSC’s very own smart AIs started to rebel against their creators,
When the Banished managed to shred the UNSC to small pieces.

Thanks to Cole Protocol, and ONI’s attempt to ‘sanitize’ data within the Created-occupied locations, Earth had but a few scratches from the fight from space.
Compared to other planets terraformed and colonised by the UNSC and their Megacorp Subsidiaries, which had been glassed by the Covenants and made near-uninhabitable, Earth so far had only lost a few cities and people.

UNSC, on the other hand, got the short end of the stick. Took the full brunt of the several attacks.
Guardians paralysing the Military Government and the Megacorps created under them, and the Banished butchering them up.
If they had one good thing, it was that ONI went down with them.
That was one less pain in the ass in the universe. And at least they did their part to help humanity before they were getting shreded to pieces.

But that still wasnt enough. After taking liver blows from their own Smart AIs, the banished were slowly snuffing the flames out.
If they wanted to survive, if they wanted to stop the Banished from reaching Earth,
They had to take Master Chief’s lead.
They needed to group together and rebuild.

UNSC Revenant was but a few of the surviving pockets of UNSC and UNSC-related bodies.
It was perhaps one of the biggest surviving pockets, spending previous years picking up any distress signals to rescue several officials and militaries, assimilating them into their ranks.
Damages and sacrifices were slowly replaced by whatever they could salvage. This included destroyed parts of other UNSC vehicles and Carriers, decomissioned Civilians ships, and even abandonned Covenant carriers.

Hell, if they had the time they would even scavenge and salvage Forerunner technology to add to their arsenal.

UNSC Revenant was slowly living up to its name, a dying ship forcefully resurrected through any means. What was originally an Epoch-class heavy carrier now had so many crafts of varying origins grafted on to every direction, it now grew to the size of an Infinity-class supercarrier.

They got more people and Vehicles and weapons. They needed the space.

The only problem to the people on board of UNSC Revenant was that their ship basically became a walking UNSC protocol violation, none of them really cared. UNSC was falling apart, and majority of those Protocols were made and preserved out of Paranoia anyway.

“… We’re actually insane for trying this.”

“Don’t worry. It’s going to work.”

Spartan Commander Washington turned away from the screen to look at Captain Church.
Even with the Steel and Red JFO helmet hiding his face, Captain Church could feel the utter dissapointment exuding out from behind it.

“Like hell it is. You’re asking us to basically push on the legal boundaries of the Cole Protocol.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“Use another planet. I know that our ship found a Colony planet designated as UNSC associated that is much closer to us right now.”

“And as I have told you and every other crew within this ship, there is too much of a risk factor there to attempt that.”

“It’s an even bigger risk factor to bring, oh I don’t know… a hodgepodge of Covenant, Banished and Forerunner technology to EARTH.”

“Cole Protocol stated not to introduce captured covenant craft to human controlled space without an exhaustive search for tracking systems that could lead the Covenant to Human bases. And as far as I know, we spent every hour while incorporating salvaged material scanning to see if any of them could backfire on us.”

“And my common sense is stating that our salvaged tech could backfire on us any time. It’s a dynamite- one that just waiting for someone to light the fuse that we cut down to a single milimeter.”

“Agent Washington, at this point in time Earth has already been compromised. After being subjugated by the Created, and being threatened by the Banished, it’s already even more at stake of another alien invasion. And this time, the opposing force isn’t coming to reclaim some Forerunner legacy or trying uphold the mantle of responsibility.
It’s coming for Revenge.”

Captain Church already briefed UNSC Revenant, and clearly expressed his opinion on why this was the best possible solution.

Despite the risk existing by taking a Chimera of a ship, his words held true.
An Eye for an Eye.
Tooth for a Tooth.
Home planet for Home planet.

And despite the efforts of UNSC and ONI, the Banished were just mere footsteps away from rediscovering the Coordinates to Earth.
The best they could do was to properly come in contact with Earth after 40 years (not counting the Covenant Contact during the near end of the war) and act as the last resort in its defence.

The plan was simple: land on Earth, establish a base in one of the areas, and act as the newest main base for the reviving UNSC.

Hide, Shelter, Regroup, and then Strike back.

“Sir, we’ve got news for you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s… well. It’s a Spartan, sir. You may want to check this out directly.”

And also get anything they can salvage or recruit along the way.

Agent Washington received a communication link from the Crewmates down at the scrap sorting cargo hold, made by attaching salvaged and modified regions of a destroyed Banished dreadnought.

The Spartans on board of UNSC Revenant made sure that the Banished Ship didn’t miss their lost parts.

It was now used by the UNSC Revenant to pick up anything they can find and use while traveling through space.

Agent Washington made his leave from the bridge, and promptly traveled down using built in gravity elevators.
These things were disorientating for the first few weeks, and now it made the analogue method of travelling down feel so much slower.

Washington was met with a large cryo chamber, a large Spartan with a cracked helmet visor presented within.

“Holy sh*t on a stick. Where did you find him?”

“We found him drifting away from a destroyed UNSC carrier ship, sir. We managed to extract him along with salvageable scraps.”

A Spartan wearing a GEN2 ENGINEER-class Mjolnir stepped up to answer.

“… Any other survivors?”

“None that we could confirm and rescue at the moment.”

“God bless their souls.”

Agent Washington watched as the mechanics started up plasma blow torches.

“The cryo chamber’s been welded shut, several blasts from plasma weaponry by the looks of it. It wasn’t intentional, the amount of blasts this thing took tells me that they wanted to melt the guy completely, and this was the best they could do in the moment. I know the Banished didn’t like Spartans, but sheesh… Whoever he is, the banished were hellbent on killing him in his sleep. Would rather take him out without a fight.”

Agent Washington watched closely as the workers were halfway through cutting the cryo chamber’s lid off.

The half-melted glass made the rest of his armor hard to distinguish, but the slowly dying display monitor on the bottom printed out everything Washington wanted to know.

SPARTAN-B312

“Jesus f*cking christ. It’s Noble 6.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Noble 6. No wonder they wanted to avoid a fight with this Spartan. Spartan-B312, that was his code.”

“… You mean the Ghost of Reach?”

“Not the nickname I’d say in his face. Mind you, he hates that moniker.”

Agent Washington stared at the Spartan UNSC Revenant had rescued.
Why wouldn’t he? Everything that happened for him to get that nickname was just tragedy after tragedy.
Noble 6 wasn’t the type to feel proud about having to watch as everyone around him sacrifice themselves, and yet remain as the sole survivor.

“Take him to the med bay once you pull him out of that makeshift coffin. And notify me once he wakes up.”

“Roger that.”

Agent Washington stared at the blue flames for a few more moments, before taking a step back to the bridge.

UNSC Revenant would be one of, if not the most, chaotic UNSC crew out there.
From the constantly clashing views between crewmates of different origins, to the very plan they all decide to agree on.

Now they had a Hyper lethal vector of a spartan newly on board.
And the Captain was going to take him with them on their journey to Earth.

The entire ship was of clashing colours and design too.
Both the Exterior and the Interior.

But somehow, through sheer force of ingenuity, luck, and will - it all held together fine.
Actually, it was more than fine. sh*t, this ship was thriving. Nearly outperforming every other possible fleet from all factions.

The engineers on this ship would call this a rewarding result of their hard work and cooperation.
As they saw it, this was natural because of their effort into researching, reverse engineering, and incorporating salvaged technologies.

Agent Washington saw it as a goddamn miracle.
A goddamn miracle the crew was already pushing the limits of.

Agent Washington sighed as he moved.
He was already questioning his life choices, until realising this would have been the best possible outcome for him.

War was hell.
Everyone who had to endure it would attest to it without objection.

And that’s why the Spartans survived and thrived in it.

There was a reason why Spartans were called Demons.

Chapter 2: Wake Up, Spartan

Chapter Text

“Let’s pick another city, sir. I’d like to vote for New Mombasa. You’ve seen New Mombasa, right Captain? At least, before the war?”

“We can’t afford to start in another city.”

“But why not, sir? I fail to be convinced by your decisions when your only reason for not picking the alternatives is saying ‘we just can’t’, Captain. I’ve just looked through the data regarding Earth, and I’m already getting new reasons to doubt our current decisions even if it doesn’t violate the Cole Protocol. Famine, 4 different wars committed by Corporations, mass pollution, utter chaos. At least every city, every country on that planet has a facade pulled across it to cover up those problems and bullsh*t. Night City, apparently, could only afford the cheapest one.”

“And that’s precisely why.”

“… Are you implying that you’re intentionally sending whatever hope we have into a hell hole and let it burn? Captain, if you want to give up just tell me that you want to give up.”

Captain Church simply gave a sigh and a side eye to Agent Washington’s sarcastic response.

“Other countries and cities still have some politics and government upholding it. The very facade you mention. Even if it’s simply a front for Corporations to do what they want. You’ve seen the resources regarding Night City, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Among the several no man’s land that formed within that dying planet, that area has what they call an Arvin Accord to maintain its status as a completely free City. In other words, there will be no legal resistance to us setting our foot down there.”

“If we weren’t a government military body. Which, Captain, I think we kinda advertise even with the amount of non-UNSC materials welded to our ship. They’d count that as an outright invasion, and therefore a violation of the Accord.”

“Not unless we’re a new corporate looking to sell products.”

Washington raised his hand, about to object… but he fell silent, weighing the risk and reward of Captain Church’s plan.

“Alright. Fine. Then what are we selling them? I do want to inform you before you give me the options, that selling UNSC or any outright alien technology will be biting us in the ass through many different ways.”

Captain Church gave a side eye to Agent Washington.

“Of course not. Do you think I’m that crazy?”

“With what you’ve been suggesting throughout our journey on UNSC Revenant?”

Captain Church let out a snort as he tapped on the screen.
The holographic display swapped from a 3-dimensional map of Earth (and littered with various videos of Earth’s current situation) to several projects the Engineers on board have devised.

“As you can see, we’ve attempted to integrate what we can offer, to what should be acceptable. As you have pointed out, we’ve considered outright sale of Covenant or Forerunner technology to be a huge risk. So what we offer are products that are derived from us using such technology to make them.”

Architecture, Agriculture, Vehicle manufacture. Agent Washington quickly looked over the various options. Seeing whether they were viable, whether people would buy them over the current existing products.
And whether the crew could make them.

“I’ve spoken with our Chief Engineer duo about which projects we can do.”

“What did they say?”

“If they can crack the code they’re currently having trouble researching and reverse engineering? All of it.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

“If they can manage it. You want to hear what they’re shouting in their labs?”

Captain church tapped another portion of the bridge computer, which promptly opened a smaller holographic monitor displaying a video feed of the lab’s security camera.

One of the two Chief Engineers on board of UNSC Revenant was a Spartan IV - Spartan Cell wore an ENGINEER-variant of the Gen 2 Mjolnir, manufactured specifically by the Lethbridge Industrials to Subvert, repair, and reconstitute technology.
Even those of Covenant and Forerunner origin. The functions built into the suit made sure the Mjolnir variant’s role stayed true.

Washington saw Cell use the added strength from his Mjrolnir armour to throw an analogue pen so hard it speared halfway through the lab wall. And according to the walls and floors being filled with numbers, the pen had already outlived its usage.

“IT’S A 3!! IT’S ALWAYS A 3! NO MATTER WHAT METHOD I USE IT’S ALWAYS A GODDAMN 3!”

The other Chief Engineer was not even human - Khyl ‘Suhom, a Sangheili Artisan-Armourer working directly under Thel ’Vadam, and also in direct cooperation with UNSC thanks to Project ANVIL.

“But that’s good, is it not? By your explanation a consistent result means that it’s stable.”

“IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE 4!!!”

Chief Engineer Cell’s quad-set of spectrum nodes glowed bright red, the placement of the eyes making sure to display his ever growing frustration through the unchanging helmet.
The visual was certainly terrifying.

Expecting what the Spartan Commander would ask, Captain Church quickly quipped in as Washington looked on at the Chief Engineer’s Tantrum.

“They’re back to researching Forerunner technology we managed to extract from the broken fragments of Installation 04, and from the data UNSC Infinity had sent over to us prior to its destruction.”

“… I take it he’s not getting the progress he wanted.”

“Oh, believe me. He was happy earlier this morning, telling me that he nearly cracked the code to the Forerunner’s Assembly Vats and the ability to convert raw material into necessary feedstock. He told me and Khyl that if he managed to breakthrough in the software calculations, we would essentially have an up and running improvised assembly vat ready to produce whatever form of blueprint we input into.”

“So we’ll have forerunner technology in the palm of our hands.”

“Not fully, unfortunately. The limitation on the data we managed to acquire means that there is only so much we can reverse engineer. We still can’t build an entire fleet, but we can at least mass produce anything from Weapons to Vehicles. We’ll have to manually assemble the vehicles after the parts are separately printed out. He says we may also be capable of outright creating buildings if we’re lucky.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

“Yes, it does. But as of right now, he’s stuck.”

“And that sounds concerning.”

“Well, despite our current situation, I can confidently say we have time so we don’t have to worry yet. Besides, his partner-in-crime is a Sangheili Artisan-Armourer. He knows how assembly vats work, the two of them can pull through this.”

“Let’s hope they can pull through before we arrive.”

“I hope so too.”

“Agent Washington, sir?”

Washington’s intercom buzzed to life as a Medical Officer decided to give the Spartan Commander a report.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, no sir. We just wanted to notify you that… Spartan- ahem, Spartan Noble 6 has… woken up.”

Agent Washington nodded at the news. Guess he now had something to keep himself busy while the rest of the ship whittled away at progress.

“I’ll be with you soon. Captain Church?”

Church simply nodded. As far as the two knew, they had exhausted all the current news on the ship.

Agent Washington turned to the door.
Guess it was time to introduce himself to a Hyper Lethal Vector.

“Careful now, sir. You’ve just woken up. We don’t want you falling down on the ground.”

“Balance isn’t an issue. Where am I?”

Washington walked into Noble 6 attempting to stand up from the infirmary platform, ignoring the Medical officer’s concerns. Mark V [B] grazed, battered and half melted in few places. Yet the dented boogeyman still stood up, raring to go.

The Spartan Commander interjected.

“You’re in the UNSC Revenant, Spartan Noble 6. I’m Spartan Commander Washington, second-in-command on this ship. It’s an honour to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Washington stretched out a hand towards Noble 6. Noble 6 in took Washington’s hand, and gave it a firm shake.

“What happened to the rest of UNSC Seventh Halberd?”

“If you’re asking about the destroyed ship we found you near… You were the only one.”

Noble 6 looked to the floor as he let Washington’s hand go, before turning back to Agent Washington.

“Sorry I came alone.”

“None of it was your fault, sir. I’m sorry we couldn’t rescue anyone else. Are you sure that you can stand, sir?”

“I don’t feel anything hurting. I can walk as well. That should be more than enough for me to get back into the fight.”

“That’s good news, sir. But we’re not going to be fighting anything for a few days. Well, unless you're keen on showing new bloods a few tricks in War games.” Noble 6 stood silently, as if to mull over what Agent Washington haf just said.

He finally spoke again, asking a question he needed to get a proper understanding of his situation.

“Where are we heading?”

Washington let out a sigh at the question.
Great, now he has to explain the bullsh*t plan his captain thought up, and managed to convince around half the crew mates of this ship that it was a good idea.

“Follow me, sir. We’ll give you a tour as we tell you what we’re about to do in approximately 72 hours.”

Noble 6 watched Agent Washington as he followed the Spartan Commander out of the Infirmary.

“First off, UNSC Seventh Halberd was not the only one to take heavy hits from the Banished. UNSC Revenant has been rescuing and salvaging any remnants of UNSC-related personnels. Until further notice, we are the biggest surviving pocket of UNSC.”

“What about ONI?”

“ONI… disappeared, sir. 7 months ago. Last contact was during the Created Conflict when Black Ops Operatives were sent to destroy any UNSC related intelligence in Created- controlled areas. When the Banished systematically attacked us, ONI was unfortunately one of the first branches of our government to go MIA.”

“I see.”

“We’ve been surviving on salvaged parts of Covenant, Banished, and Forerunner technology. Most likely the reason why we’re still alive.”

Several crew mates stopped in their tracks as they gave Noble 6 a salute.

“But we’re taking a break from outright fighting the Banished. We have enough resources to survive, not win a fight. Our forces are still scattered, and thanks to taking two consecutive hits from different forces we lost contact with other UNSC pockets. We… although not unanimously, have agreed to travel to a nearby colonised planet, establish a UNSC base, and regroup with the rest.”

“Did we decide on a colony planet?

Washington stayed silent for a moment or two, before turning around to face Noble 6.

“Yes. Yes we did, sir. Earth. We’ll be arriving on Earth to carry our new objective in approximately 72 hours.”

“Earth?”

“... Yes, sir. Earth. Do you know much about the planet?”

“I know that UNSC cut all official contacts with the planet in 1989. They still had an eye on Earth. Enough to have some of the Spartan II candidates kidnapped from Earth.”

Noble 6 looked at Agent Washington.

“Will that not breach the Cole Protocol?”

“God, I hope not. This is the engineering bay, run by a joint operation of UNSC officials such as the Materials Groups and Watershed division, Personnels from UNSC-associated Manufacturers such as Misriah Armory and the BWS, and the Artisan-Armourers of the Sword of Sangheili. Chief Engineers are Spartan Cell, and Khyl ‘Suhom.”

Noble 6 watched as the Engineers went to work: Salvaged wrecks dismantled, either fed into half-exposed and half-finished Assembler vats to be used as repair parts or recycled materials for new gears.

“We’ve checked your armour while you were out. Mark V[B] ported to Gen 3.”

“Black Ops operation against the Created forced me to take whatever advantage I could. The lack of entrances available to rebellious AIs meant that the Created could spot me less effectively.”

Washington nodded. He had heard a lot of Spartan IVs had also favoured the newly updated Mark V[B] for that exact reason. Which meant that they could adhere to the newly revived Cole Protocol easier.

“Besides.” Noble 6 added. “I just feel more comfortable in this armour.”

Agent Washington chuckled. “I’m sure you do. Unfortunately, your current armour has been suffering heavy hits. Whatever circuits it had is frying up, sooner or later you’ll be dragging half a ton of scrap metal around.”

“I see. I guess it’s time to move on. Do you have some options for me?”

“We do. We are running a ship that possibly contains the most Spartans out of all surviving UNSC Fleets. And considering that we assimilated several intelligence and information from various Manufacturers and Divisions, we end up have a wide variety in armour. Each blueprint specialising in specific roles. I’ll let the Engineers introduce you to what we have.”

Washington gestured towards the corner of the Engineering bay.
Several Spartans were already having their armours assembled onto them, updating and upgrading parts, or swapping to different variants.

Several Spartans witnessed the Ghost of Reach walking with their Commander, giving the two a salute and standing.

It was a little funny to Noble 6. For nearly all his life his achievements and feats were nothing but black ink and censorship.
He was meant to be forgotten, if he was noticed at all.

And the Spartan III was fine with that. He enlisted to kill, not to gain recognition and become the next Spartan IIs.

To think that a journalist fighting against ONI caused everyone to know his name.
Ghost of Reach, the journalist dubbed him. The hidden hand within Noble Team that successfully tipped the scale of the war. Someone that allowed Master Chief to finish the fight.
It was an exaggeration, of course. There were other Spartans that survived the Fall of Reach. And there was definitely many other Spartans whose sacrifice and legacy paved way for humanity to win the war.
But media loved exaggerations, because the crowd ate that up as if it was a Christmas cake.

Engineers made way for Noble 6 as he stepped towards the platform, mechanical rings unfolding and ready to disassemble the damaged Mark V [B].

Noble 6 felt his helmet lift off his face. Holographic models of potential Mjolnir variants and up-armour attachment he could get.
It was like going through a catalogue in a store. Choosing menus in a restaurant.

“Is there a specific armour you have in mind, sir? Chest piece, knee guard, helmet?” One of the two engineers asked. Noble 6 stopped looking at the hologram options to turn his head towards them. The engineers would more than be glad to attest to how intimidating Noble 6 looked even as he was suspended on the platform.

“Standard Issue, general purpose. Field work. Give me whatever you have.”

Chapter 3: Project: Freelancer

Chapter Text

Because of the difference in the history and year between the two franchises, I’ll make a quick rough timeline of the merged universe of this crossover:

1967 - Creation of NSC by the US government (Cyberpunk/Halo version of NASA) for the purpose of racing the Soviets to the Moon.

1969 - USA (more specifically astronauts of the NSC modified through Project Orion) lands on the moon first, NSC discovers forerunner technology in the form of a half-destroyed Keyship with single surviving Forerunner AI - Head of the NSC destroys all records of their extraterrestrial findings for fear of its misuse by the American Government.

1972 - NSC finishes excavation and retrieval of Forerunner technology - starts to reverse engineer the fleet for advanced spacecraft and software systems.

1974 - NSC finds further Forerunner artifacts and constructions in Kenya, Africa - further excavation occurs until Africa accuses USA of invasion. US Government questions NSC on their intent but NSC remains silent.

1978 - NSC succeeds in the first creation of a Dumb AI, utilising the blueprints they have managed to research from the Forerunner AI. They also start on building NSC Armstrong - the first space ship capable of long-duration space travel.

1984 - Degenerating society and slow collapse of Earth ecosystem leads to NSC planning Project Monolith: NSC officials and family members, and select few population is taken on NSC Armstrong to travel to outer solar systems, and colonise new planets - Primitive Slip space drive and terraform engine near completion.

1989 - NSC is forced to disband due to the formation of the Gang of Four (NSA, CIA, FBI, DEA) and their start of the “Quiet War” - NSC Dumb AI and Forerunner AI calculate and predict that Earth society will collapse due to the action of the Gang of Four by 1994. Former members of the NSC join to form a non-governmental organisation dubbed the United Nation Space Command (Due to recruiting various personnel from different countries - including ones that has hostile relationship with the US) - UNSC initiates Project Monolith, destroying any evidence that points to the existence of NSC and Forerunner technology. Previous Government officials that knew of NSC are recruited into UNSC or assassinated. UNSC leaves Earth without leaving a trace that they were existed, taking roughly quarter of Earth’s population with them (Earth has named this ‘the great disappearance’). UNSC still watches Earth even after leaving it.

1991 - Reach is Terraformed and Colonised, UNSC establishes itself as a de-facto militaristic government. Several other planets are starting to be colonised. ONI is derived from UNSC as the intelligence division.

1994 - Earth suffers from the Great Collapse, reducing several lands into deserts, humanity suffers from famine as several crops and animals die.

2020 - Due to UNSC-derived corporations and manufacturers mistreating colonies, Insurgent parties have started to form, UNSC now deals with Insurrectionists. First creation of Smart AIs, project spearheaded by Dr. Halsey.

2021 - SPARTAN-II Program is initiated, lead by Dr. Halsey. Flash cloning in development.

2027 - 150 candidates of Spartan -II programs identified through DNA gathered from UNSC’s Outer Colony vaccination program.

2035 -
‘This is Spartan Group Omega. They want war, we’ll give them war.’
UNSC encounters the Covenant. The Human-Covenant War starts, and Cole Protocol is established. Among 150 candidates, only 33 survived the procedures without physiological deformities (1 commits suicide upon encountering their flash clone, 1 manages to escape to Earth and replace their flash clone back with themself)

2047 - SPARTAN-III Program is initiated, lead by Colonel James Ackerson.

2055 - SPARTAN-III Program Beta Company is initiated - Noble 6 is conscripted. Trained, and becomes a Spartan-III.

2068 -
‘Negative, I have the gun. Good luck, sir.’
Fall of Reach. Noble Team is among several Spartan Casualties (UNSC officially classified their deaths as MIA) - Noble 6 manages to escort Cortana to the Pillar of Autumn, officially goes MIA (Managed to survive the Zealot-Class onslaught thanks to Heretic spies infiltrating the Covenant Ranks, quickly escorting Noble 6 to their ship before his location was glassed). Noble 6 strikes a deal with the Heretics: assisting their insurgency against the Covenant.
Thanks to Master Chief and Cortana’s efforts, Halo ring is discovered by the UNSC and Sangheili has been split apart from the Covenant - Remaining Heretic forces joins with Thel ‘Vadam and the UNSC, Noble 6 is reunited with surviving Spartans.
During the War, Covenant forces lands on New Mombasa - Earth’s first contact with extraterrastrials, and find the existence of UNSC during the war. Many Conspiracy Theorists believe UNSC to be also be aliens - only wearing the appearance of Humans to hold better grounds with Earth.
The Human Covenant War ends.
Due to the success of Spartan IIs and IIIs, UNSC initiates Spartan IV program, with surviving Spartan IIs and IIIs receiving the chance to join the newly created Spartan Operations division.

2074 - Created Conflict occurs, lead by Cortana. Jiralhanae planet Doisac destroyed. Earth held hostage by a single Guardian. Earth has dubbed this ‘Rise of the Machine god’. Few factions (including part of the Voodoo Boys) have decided to worship this Guardian.

2075 - Created Conflict ends with Master Chief detaining Cortana, however Banished forces ambush UNSC, causing UNSC to be shredded and forced into small pockets disconnected to each other. One of the Remaining UNSC forces - UNSC Revenant, travels to Earth to rebuild UNSC.

“Alright, I’ll keep the briefing short. With only 6 hours before we arrive on Earth, UNSC Revenant is getting ready to start its front as a Megacorp. But to do that, we need roughly 3 things: Funding, Intel, and Connections. Spaces for our factories and buildings, and protection during their construction are mandatory too.”

Agent Washington looked over the Spartan team he had gathered in the hanger bay.
All 5 Spartans IVs focused their attention on their Commander’s order.

“So we’re being sent down there for Recon.”

“Close. We’ll all be going down there at the same time. Your Fireteam is going down there as a form of Black Ops Unit. Objective is short and simple. Gather funding for us to use to properly establish a business within Night City’s market, gather intel regarding the City’s social structures as well as other Corporations, and finally gather connections we can use while we ‘officially’ open up for business.”

“That feels a little difficult to accomplish while we remain as a Black Ops Unit, commander.” The leader of the Spartan group quipped as he fiddled with his rifle.

“It won’t be as hard as you think. According to our pre-established intels, business as a mercenary is booming in Night City. It’s a perfect front to use during your operation. Of course, you guys won’t be the only one sent down their with such objective. You’ll simply be the first.
From here on out, all Spartan and ODST fireteams deployed for long-term on Night City will be grouped as Project: Freelancer. Do you have any questions?”

A Spartan IV that was sitting on a weapon crate raised his hand, the knife he was fiddling with during the briefing raking across the crate’s surface.

“Are we being sent through an ODST drop pod, sir?”

“No. That won’t be necessary. You’ll be landing along with the rest of the workers on a designated location outside of Night City’s centre. While Spartan Cell’s group starts establishing a proper field for our operations, your Fireteam will head to Night City.”

“Sweet, it’s like Reach all over again.”

“In addition, any weapons that could be traced back to us is prohibited. I doubt Night City and the MegaCorps within will take it kindly to finding out we started to poke and prod into their business the moment we landed on Earth. Only Spartans tasked with Security and Defence will be allowed UNSC equipments. Leave any guns and ammos here. You guys are Spartans, it shouldn’t be too hard to acquire weapons once you manage to infiltrate Night City.”

“Can we take our knives?”

“Can you guarantee me that you won’t lose them?”

“No promises.”

“Then the knives stay here as well. Like I said, we can’t afford them to find out about your operation before we can manage to firmly establish ourselves. The only reason why I’m even letting you guys take your armour is because I know they’ll barely recognise Spartans.”

“Won’t they know of our existence?”

“Technically yes, but realistically no. New Mombasa certainly still remembers us from 8 years ago when it got decimated by Covenant forces. Thing is, the only Spartan they did see is Master Chief. And according to the media, they all just think he’s a really strong cyborg, or an android.”

The leader once again raised his hand.

“Commander. I’d just like to confirm some details- the mail you sent to me says that their will be 6 of us. Will that mean you’ll be joining us on this Black Ops?”

“No. But I’m glad you asked. You will have a 6th member joining you. I’ll introduce you to him once I finish briefing you 5. Don’t worry, he’s not a rookie. So you don’t have to expect to carry him around until he can start pulling his own weight. Any further questions?”

“How long will this take?” The final question from the Team through the Leader.

“At the shortest it will take 2 to 3 months.”

“At the longest?”

“5 to 6 months. If you think you need any maintenance, I suggest you go to Engineers now. I’ll be showing you the newest 6th member in the War games in 15 so meet me, and sending all 6 of you down their in 30. Make every minute count.”

Agent Washington left the Hanger Bay, and shortly after the rest of the Spartans started to leave as well.
2 started to drop their weapons back in the armory, while the rest went to finalise their maintenance.

They all met together on the observation deck, the glass wall showing the War games field below.
They saw as Fireteam Eagle slowly sweep out the area, closely checking corners for the enemy.

“He’s taking 5 of them on by himself…”

Noble 6 reveals himself again behind one of the pillars, grabbing another Spartan IV from behind and swiftly dragging them back into cover. Barely an audible gag was heard from the poor Spartan IV as they were forced to retire from the wargame.
Assassination. Swift, deadly, efficient and effective.
Bypasses the Mjolnir’s shield, too.

“And he’s winning.”

“To be fair, did we expect less? It’s Noble 6 we’re watching. You know, Hyper-Lethal? One of the only two Spartans with such a classification?”

“The Covenant spent roughly a week just to focus on him. Sent several Zealot Classes to kill the Spartan.”

“And they failed.”

“That’s why we call him the Ghost of Reach.”

The Fireteam witnessed as the surviving opponents slow backed away from the pillars, each covering their comrade’s back so that they cannot be caught off guard.
Noble 6 appeared from the corner, quickly incapacitating a Spartan with a DMR and dragging them into the shadows.
The Spartan could only scream, letting their teammates hear his voice bounce off the walls and echo into the void.

At least they tried.

“… Did anyone see him move from the pillar to the corner?”

“If I did, I would’ve pointed it out.”

“Commander, are you sure that you want to deploy Noble 6 so quickly? I’ve heard that it’s only been 48 hours since he return to active duty.”

“He’s the one that asked for it. Besides, 48 hours is more than enough for a spartan.”

War games ended in 5 minutes: The score showed 50 to 0.
So much for cooperative team manoeuvres.

Noble 6 walked out of the fields and into the observation deck, as ordered by Commander Washington.
All the Spartans within the observation deck stood up straight as Noble 6 entered through the doorway.

“Commander.”

“Noble 6, I’ve got some good news and some bad news. Considering that I want to end this conversation on a high note, I’ll start with the bad news. Half the Spartans on this ship are idiots, and the other half are just one bad day away from becoming insurrectionists.”

“And the good news?”

“All five of the Spartans you’ll be assigned with are smart. Noble 6, I’d like to introduce you to your new Fireteam. This is Fireteam Baba Yaga. You guys will have to introduce yourself individually. The Chief Engineers are wanting to have a chat with me on our project. Get ready, you guys will be leaving the ship through a Pelican in 15 minutes.”

All 6 of the Spartans followed their commander out of the deck, separating from Agent Washington once they’ve reached the Hangar Bay.

“It’s an honour to work by your side, sir. I’m Locust, the leader of Fireteam Baba Yaga.”

“Commander.”

Fireteam Baba Yaga was starting to reach the Pelican, and each of the 5 started to put on their helmets.

Agent Locust wore a Rakshasa-class Mjolnir with a Locus helmet up-armored by PROJECT ENOCH.
For Black ops missions such as this, the ability to speak with tonal patterns that nearby humans can understand, yet unable to be interpreted through recordings or remote monitoring was perfect.

“The ones behind me are Leon, Killshot, Ram, and Jim.”

Leon, Killshot, and Ram wore the standard Gen 3 Mjolnir, the differing in chest pieces, shoulder pads, and knee guards to specialise in their roles.
Leon wore a Celox helmet, the knife holsters on his shoulder guards, chest piece, and legs wore empty. Leon did not like that one bit.
Killshot wore a deadeye helmet with a RS[3]/WOLFTOOTH attachment. It meant that he’ll be staying in the back line a lot, and would have to be quick with the information he gathers.
Ram wore a Courier helmet, the armours certainly made him look bulkier than the 3, pointy chest armour attachment blocky shoulder guards hid pockets and sockets for secure data storage with a datapad on his right wrist.

Jim looked like the outlier of the team, wearing a Mirage IIC armour instead. Fraction of the cost of Standard Gen 3 Mjolnir, and meeting the minimum baseline of the Spartan’s suits.
But that didn’t matter. Guy stood nearly at 2.4 metres, his shoulders were at the height where average Spartan IVs had their heads. His stature definitely made the armour look the bulkiest. ERINYES helmet and their attachments were installed and uparmoured on the Mirage IIC, hexagonal plates plastered all over the Spartan’s body. The software made through Forerunner’s War sphinx technology covered whatever shortcoming the Mirage IIC had.

Everyone on the team, including Noble 6, had their armour painted Steel-black, with only a few highlights in different colours.
Lime for Locust, Orange for Leon, Purple for Killshot, Red for Ram, and Silver for Jim.
Noble 6 was the only one that had Steel-black for highlights as well.

Each boarded the Pelican, nodding at the living myth or offering a hand shake.

“Jim’s a Spartan-III like you, sir.” Agent Locust added as Noble 6 shook the brute of a Spartan’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, Jim.”

“Honour.” The voice that spoke out of the Mirage IIC was husky and monotone. Short, curt.

Noble 6 quietly waited for more, but Jim thought otherwise. Simply taking a seat in the Pelican and quietly waiting to take off.

“Big man doesn’t talk much.” Leon quipped. “It’ll be a miracle if you hear him speak a full sentence. They say it’s because of what he saw when the Covenants glassed his home. Some say it was a slight side effect of the Gamma Company’s operation. You know, surgically getting their brain messed with.”

Jim simply gave Leon a side glance before returning to stare at the floor. Leon snorted at Jim’s passive defiance.

“Don’t worry, he never bites. Not unless you order him to.” That was the last thing Leon said to Noble 6 before he got a stern look from Agent Locust.

Noble 6 opted to move on from the conversation.

“Welcome to Baba Yaga. Agent Washington says we only need one bad day to become insurgents. I say we only need a minute of incentive.”

“Agent Killshot, I doubt that kind of joke will be appreciated.”

“But am I wrong, Commander?”

Whatever Agent Locust was going to say, the engine of the Pelican starting to blare drowned his voice out.
Guess it didn’t matter. What was important was that they stuck to the objective.

Several Pelicans started to take off from the UNSC Revenant, a few holding newly created Assembler Vats that will be used to start the UNSC’s Megacorporation activity.

Agent Locust already saw the file. Apparently Spartan Cell managed to complete the calculations that was eating him and Khyl from the inside - incorrect calculations of the nanomachines that would cause insufficient transformation of radiation from nuclear fission into additional matter. Detrimental effects of such miscalculations would be significant.

With only 7 hours on the clock, Spartan Cell managed to do what everyone on board would consider a breakthrough - performing further calculations using extra dimensions and inputing such into current computers allowed Forerunner software to be safely translated into current human software, allowing programming of the newly improved nanotechnology capable of reducing any scrap it has been fed into starter feedstock, and then create whatever the blueprint inputed through such transformed materials (and also siphon some of the nuclear energy to power the nanomachines)

Broken Assembly forges were repaired and quickly modified based on these newest calculations, and the reverse-engineered Assembler vats were termed ‘The Cell-Khyl Vat’.

Agent Locust was glad to have Ram on their team. Ram’s older brother was capable of utilising and integrating Forerunner technology, and Ram himself was just as capable as Cell.

Night City saw as a gigantic ship invaded the sky, with several smaller ships coming down to the surface of the badlands.

‘Good Morning, Night City!’, Everyone would tune to in the morning after.

Chapter 4: Why are we here?

Chapter Text

[Good morning, Night City! Last night was quite the shock, wasn’t it folks? A giant space ship resembling a rifle, coming down from the sky! Not to mention some of the giant planes that came out of them. Now why would these space people come to Earth for? We’ve seen them building something in the Badlands, and come up in the morning- boom, it’s a pristine, clean, and preem building in the middle of the wasteland. It certainly looks out of place from the mountain of garbages behind it, but hey- maybe they have plans for that as well. I know for sure that building is going to smell of rotting stench, but I bet you smell the same thing I do at the same time: new opportunities. Whatever they came here for, I bet you half my eddies they brought something that’s going to change the game in Night City. All I know is that the rest of the Corps are going to have a try at our newcomers, one way or another. As far as I know, I’d like to watch this far away from that ship- the end of that spacecraft no doubt looking like a barrel of a gun.]

“I guess that’s our queue.” Agent Locust loaded a pistol as he announced to the team.
Rifles, handguns, shotguns.
Fireteam Baba Yaga had no problem taking care of the Mavericks formerly setting up base in the abandoned factory. Had no problem taking their guns as well in the process.
They weren’t in top condition - gravel and dust in the gaps between parts, as well as dents and scratches everywhere on the gun- but it was good enough.
The Spartans could work with this.

“Alright, team. Remember: For the next couple of months, we’re not UNSC. We’re freelancers, highest bidders win. Of course, don’t forget to clip some data and materials from our soon to be rivals if you’re sure you won’t be caught. Ram, do you get what you needed?”

“Yeah. It’s a bit disappointing, but I guess this is my new standard now.”

Spartan Ram looked at the recently modified cyberdeck. The Fireteam’s Dumb AI BUTLR had informed the Spartans that it was Earth’s equivalent of a neural interface Operating System.
My god, Ram thought. Was this thing clunky.
Ram did not hesitate in taking mechanical parts out of the Mavericks to modify his newly acquired cyberdeck - downgrading it a little to make it function manually rather than through a neural link. Like hell he was going to connect this to himself, much less his armour.
The Spartan specialising in Cyberwarfare sure to take the Maverick’s laptop as well, searching through the net for more information.

“Find anything?”

“A lot, actually. For starters, the original internet is now quarantine as a danger zone, an event in 2022 called the DataKrash caused by some hacker going by the name of Rache Bartmoss. Whatever Artificial Intelligence Earth had went rogue through his virus. No one could destroy them, so they decided to close it off using an Intrusion Countermeasure Electronics called the Black wall.”

“So Earth has been dealing with Rampant AIs too? Jesus christ, guess we are all the same.”

“The thing is, compared to our Smart AIs the ones here are quite… primitive.”

“So it’s more like a dumb AI?”

“More like a prototype to the dumb AI. It’s almost juvenile.”

“Juvenile to you and your brother, maybe. To us, it’s all the same.”

“I guess this was the main reason why the Created could only hold Earth hostage. A lot of these are just spaghetti codes. The so called Black wall that they brag about is barely even a wall. It’s more like a flimsy piece of paper taped over a broken glass window.”

“Then try not to touch it here- give that intel to your brother once we meet him again. I bet you guys can take care of that once our operation is finished.”

“Alright. Other than that, I’m finished. Once I get some tools I can have a look at our newly found weapons too.”

“We can do that on our way. We’re moving, folks. Time to find what this City calls a fixer and start our jobs as Freelancers.”

Ram stored the laptop in his back and cyberdeck in his right shoulder guard.

“Noble 6, Killshot.”

Agent Locust called over the two on watch.

“It’s time to go.”

Rome wasn’t built in a day.
But the mainframe for the new Megacorp’s first building did.

The Municipal Landfill was barely managed by the Warbler Lake Hazardous Waste Facility.
And even then, the Scrapyard couldn’t stop the growing amount of trash that was filling the Rocky Ridge.

Enter UNSC Revenant, Sending 4 pelicans down to start eating them up and spit them out as recycled materials, piping hot and ready to be made into new products.

Among the many UNSC soldiers standing guard, Ian and Anthony were Spartans wearing Red Gen 1 and Gen 3 Security helmets.
The Spartans stood on top of a wall built by the Assembler Vat’s nanomachine blocks. A downgraded imitation of the Forerunner’s Smart Matter, the nanomachine-assembled alloy was still leagues above in durability and versatility to whatever materials the Megacorps in Night City could offer. Khyl would call this thing ‘Cell-Matter’, to the chagrin of Spartan Cell.

Beyond the wall laid corpses and shattered vehicles of Raffen shivs scattered across the wasteland ground.

“Hey, Ian?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever wonder why we’re here?”

“It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries, isn’t it? Why are we here? Are we a product of some… cosmic coincidence? Or… is there really a god? Watching everything? You know, with a plan for us… and stuff. I don’t know, man. But it keeps me up at night.”

Anthony took his eyes off the scope of his DMR, and slowly turned his head to Ian.

“… What? I mean, why are we out here? In this makeshift junkyard?”

“… Oh, right. Yeah.”

“What’s all that stuff about god?”

“Hmm? Nothing.”

“… You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Anthony went back to scanning through the wasteland for any possible raiders coming to have a crack at the newest Megacorp factory.
They made sure to leave the bodies out here as warning.
But apparently most of them are way too illiterate to read the signs.

“But seriously, why are we out here? As far as I know, it’s just mountains of trash in the middle of nowhere. I thought we were suppose to build our… you know, shop, closer to Night City.”

“Oh, that was the original plan. Until our Chief Engineer saw this trash heap and decided to build it here.”

“… What?”

“Yeah. Called it ‘a treasure pile’.”

“… It’s trash.”

“That’s what Simmons said to Cell! Then Cell said, ‘exactly. That’s why it’s treasure.’ I guess it’s because whatever Cell and Khyl managed to cook up in the Workshop allowed them to completely recycle trash into these materials.”

Ian took a knee and knocked on the wall. Audible sound of metal clanging against metal resonated in the air.

“Huh.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re making more buildings and walls for protection, and then announce ourselves properly to the rest of the City.”

“Did they decide on a product yet?”

“Cell said we’re starting with vehicles. But you know Cell, he could stick to the plan last night, then the plans are changed to focus on buildings today.”

Soldiers (including 2 Spartans wearing Rakshasa Mjolnir) went out from the gates to start retrieving new materials - guns, broken down vehicles. Anything that Spartan Cell wanted to check to see if he can create new blueprints for a product.

Ian and Anthony was to keep watch with the rest of the soldiers standing guard.
Of course, the snipers were keeping an eye on the hill next to the trash mountain. The guard’s experience told them that the flashes they were seeing from there was from a lens.

[Hedgehog Team, watch your 7. We’ve witnessed another of these hooligans using what seems to be a rifle. It could be just a scope, or a binocular. Luckily they haven’t shot us yet.]

“What are they doing?”

One of the Aldecaldos pestered their nomad friend using binoculars.
Night City was already buzzing with the news of the spaceship. But the Nomads were the first to witness it with their own eyes. What seemed to be a Megacorp Factory built up in a single night. Clean, smooth, robust and sleek at the same time.
It looked more like a sculpture
Wraiths, Raffen Shivs, Aldecaldos…
Who wouldn’t want to at least try and have a look?
Dakota Smith did. As a fixer, she needed info about this newest diva of a Megacorp.
Or… about this possible alien invasion.

“They’re… They’re taking the guns and the cars.”

“What about the corpses?”

“They’re just… leaving them there. To rot in the desert.”

Raffen shivs never stood a chance. Each bullet precisely shot, as if they were surgically placed into these raiding Nomad’s skull.

The Raffen Shivs expected the place to be poorly defended, that with enough of them strike at once they could overwhelm them.
Their calculation was based on average Megacorpo’s construction speed, the results were severely off.
And their miscalculations costed them dearly.

Entire families of Raffen Shivs laid dead, their camps miles away were now empty.
The Aldecaldos saw this as a happy arrangement - the cars and engines and other supplies they had raided from Corpos and other Nomads and stored in their camps will not be left lonely.

They just needed to know if their new visitors from outer space was happy to settle on killing Raffen Shivs, or if they were planning on extending their list to the rest of the Nomads of Bad lands.

“Are they doing anything else?”

“No, just taking guns and cars. Holy sh*t-one of those guys just flipped a truck over!”

“That’s not that hard to-“

“They used only their right arm. One. f*cking. Arm. They’re dragging it back to their base using only one arm too!”

“… Oh.”

“Yeah, they’ve just gone back in… Oh sh*t, I think one of them saw us, they’re aiming at-“

Gunshot exploded through the air. Hearing how loud it was, this far away, told the two nomads just how powerful the rifle was.
But the bullet itself travelled faster than the sound, they saw the trail left behind by the bullet getting shot out of the gas-operated S7 Sniper.
But it didn’t hit either of them.

At first the two looked at themselves, then each other, to check if the bullet had passed through either of them, and it simply travelled so fast that the punctured body hadn’t reacted yet.
No blood. Not on either of them.

But they soon noticed the puddle of blood pooling from behind them.
And they saw a Raffen Shiv lying flat on their back, head was missing a huge chunk and blood was flooding out from the exposed, shattered cranium.

An assault rifle fell next to the Raffen Shiv.

Poor bastard probably didn’t even realise he got shot. Died too quick to even notice the pain.

The nomads quietly looked back at the building. Then back at the Raffen Shiv.
They dared not to raise their body off the ground. And simply moved out crouching or crawling.

They got everything Dakota needed anyway. They could move a good safe distance away, call Dakota, and go back to their camp.
They couldn’t afford to push their luck any further.

Chapter 5: Two sticks and a stone

Chapter Text

The ability to copy and build a blueprint simply by looking and dissecting machinery was something closer to fantasy. Even to most brilliant engineers and scientists in Arasaka. Militech and Biotechnica too.

Ask the people sticking to the streets, and they’d think it’s easy if you know your way around tech. They’d think that, with enough books and hands-on experience attempting such a feat was possible.

If that really was, Arasaka wouldn’t need an entire team of engineers working together to research a subject. Biotechnica wouldn’t need to set up an entire project just to finish a blueprint. And Militech wouldn’t need a group to reverse engineer whatever new-technology they managed to steal off of other Corps.

It wasn’t as simple as people thought. You wanted to replicate a motor? You needed to know what every pistons and cogs and gears looked like. You also needed to understand why they were shaped like that - the strengths and limitations of what you were looking at.

You can’t just give an artist a brush, give them a picture of Mona Lisa, ask them to perfectly replicate it and expect a perfect result in a day.

At best it would take a month or two, nearly a year on average.

Spartan Cell and Ram could look at any tech that wasn’t from the Forerunners, and crack it down within half an hour. Basic Forerunner tech would take around 3 days to crack.
They weren’t just an artist. They were Leonardo Da Vinci himself, split into two. If they wanted a challenge, they would be focusing on works specifically done by Forerunner Lifeshapers and Master Builders. And also researching traces of Precursors and the mechanism of their Neural physics technology.

All they needed to do was take it apart and have a look at it for 10 minutes - they’ll be able to replicate the exact blueprint of whatever machine they were given.
Down to the last, minute, detail.

These guys were more akin to Space Wizards than standard Engineers working under Arasaka and Militech.

Spartan Cell looked at the several cars and weapons the team had dismantled.
The other engineers were all huddling together, pointing at some of the still- intact engines and laughing at the lack of evident advancement.
In the eyes of UNSC engineers, Even the fastest cars with the latest Engines were primitive Horse-carriages.

“Look at this engine! This thing is still running on gas!”

“Hey Cell, check what these guys are using for fuel!”

Cell looked up from his screen to see the holograph his engineers had brought to him.
A 3D model of their fuel’s chemical configuration.

Cell let out a shrill laugh the moment he laid his eyes on it.
He hated it.
He hated everything about Earth’s engine and the fuels they relied on.
My god, they still rely on something like this.

Cell ran his hands across the spectral nodes of his helmet. Even if his Mjolnir hid his face, his immeasurable disappointment was still visibly showing.

CHOOH2. They still had to rely on organic compounds as fuel. No doubt harvested from plants modified specifically to produce them.

It was written all over the chemical structure.

“These motherf*ckers still using compounds!”

They were over complicating the whole process.
Growing mass crops to fuel something like this.

UNSC had already equipped Warthogs and Mongoose with Hydrogen-injected internal combustion engines.
They didn’t need some rough mixtures of Carbons and Oxygens.
They only needed Hydrogen. That thing was just one proton and an electron. Had some neutrons if it was deuterium or tritium - but those were used for fusion drives and pinch fusion reactors. The ones that would replicate the conditions of a star’s core.
And they’ve been using that even before the start of the Human-Covenant War.

Agent Washington had to walk into a room full of laughing scientists and engineers.
If he was new, he’d think that he just walked into them telling a good joke, or they were raving mad.
This wasn’t Agent Washington’s first rodeo.

“Alright, we get it- we landed on a planet full of cavemen. Now stop laughing at them and tell me we can control ourselves. Please?”

One of the engineers couldn’t stop laughing, and had to ask the Spartan in the midst of a fit.

“Comman- Commander… Commander Washington, sir… we- we ne-“ The engineer let out a wheeze “ We need to let us give them a Hydrogen-injected internal combustion engine, please… I’m begging you. I can’t- You honestly cannot expect us to make some primitive engine like this and be fine with it!”

“I say we slap a pinch fusion reactor on our cars and call it a day!” Cell quipped to his Engineer’s plea.

“Oh- no, no no! Stand down Cell, I’m not letting you slap a dying star as a fuel and let the natives carry them around. We need this City intact if we want to profit off of them, and we can’t do that if these people are given hydrogen bombs!”

“But- my god, I seriously can’t be expected to go down to their level. We just can’t!”

“I mean, Cell! That’s fine! You don’t have to go down to their level. Well, not fully… I just need you to make an engine that runs on the standard fuel of Night City… for now.
And exclusively. On the standard fuel. Please.”

The room went quite in response to Commander Washington’s request.
The Spartan Commander knew that these folks were capable of doing that.
But whether they could, and whether they would, was mutually exclusive.
Sure, they had the ability. But what about their pride?

“Washington, You know what I do?” Cell finally spoke after a moment of silence. Everyone turning their gaze to Cell.

“… What…?”

Spartan Cell pointed at the engines they gathered from the now-dead Raffen Shivs.

“Not. f*cking. That.”

And there it goes. Another outburst from Cell that caused a chain reaction of laughter from the engineers.
Washington shook his head. He had a hard time getting his mind to understand the thought process of these Engineers and Scientists.
Perhaps he never will. Perhaps the very fact that they could never be understood is the reason why they were so capable of making something like Cell-matter, or a near-perfect replica of the Forerunner Assembler Vats.

“Look, you can make it however you want, just make it strictly run on petrol, or diesel, or whatever the natives use for their cars. We need to ease them in. We just got here, and we just started to make some products before we get further intel from our black ops unit. We don’t need MegaCorpos suddenly trying to take a jab at us because we decided to make them obsolete. Okay? Let’s take it smooth and slow.”

One of the Engineers raised his hands, and Washington had to sigh.
He already knew just how much of a headache and a half these guys were to deal with.

“Yes, Frederick?”

“Does that mean we can’t make our cars with Cell-Matter?”

Spartan Cell groaned at the name. And Spartan Washington groaned at the question itself.

“What the f*ck did I just tell you guys!? Of course not! Make it some… new alloy. Nothing that contains nanomachines in them.”

“Yo, Frederick, I need you to stop calling it Cell-Matter. I thought I was clear that we decided on Proto-Smart Matter.”

“Honestly, I think I say on behalf of your engineers that Cell-Matter sounds better.” As soon as Agent Washington added in his own opinion into the mix, Cell held up a finger.

“You, shut the f*ck up. I’m already feeling like my god complex is acting up after we made the Assembler Vats, I don’t need anything more that’ll make me feel narcissistic.”

“Too late for that, when you decided to laugh at our new neighbour’s engines.”

Cell’s head bobbed a little as he slightly nodded. He wanted to object, but Agent Washington was right.

“… Alright, fine. I’ll make it work only with the CHOOH2 fuel. But I’m taking creative liberty in how it’s processed.”

“Thank you, that’s all I ask for.”

“Also I’m making the body of the car with nanolaminated alloys.”

“I… that doesn’t contain nanobots, right? I’m scared cause it has the word nano in it.”

“Well, it’s assembled by our Nanomachines. It’s just alloy composed of nanoscale-thick alternating layers of different materials. It’ll make our car better.”

“… Just remember, we’re-”

““- easing them in.”” Cell raised his arms and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I get it. I heard you the first time. Besides, what we need to worry isn’t easing them into our presence, Wash.”

“Then what is?”

“It’s making sure they don’t steal whatever technology we give them. We do that wrong and we’ll basically be giving them baby steps for them to use to develop weapons that might be huge pain in our asses down the line. And you, me, and Captain Church both know that a lot of those MegaCorps are going to act like Insurrectionist parties.”

“Cell?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Do you really think that they’ll be capable of replicating nanolaminated alloys and umm… whatever engine you’ll build under creative freedom?”

Cell instinctively opened his mouth to object and explain… until he saw what people on Earth was working with.

It was like worrying that Troglodytes would replicate a pistol when they haven’t even found copper and invented bronze yet.
It would be a miracle if these Corpos saw whatever UNSC Was printing out of this newly built factory and not worship it.

“… No.” Cell finally answered. “No, I don’t think so. Now that I think about it. They’d have to engineer an assembler vat first before they can replicate whatever we’re going to build.”

“… Well, glad to hear the good news. Thank goodness you answered your own question. Now that that’s settled, I also need to ask you to try and get one of those corpses and have a look at their cybernetic augmentations. We could make another sale off of that.”

"Actually speaking of another sale - I need you to know there’s a bit of difficulty in terms of food sale.”

“What’s the problem?”

“DNA samples. For agriculture, I don’t have much of a problem. We have an entire seed bank back in UNSC Revenant that we can use for Crops, Fruits and Vegetables. Grow natural, genuine fresh fruits stable and quick. The problem is protein.”

“Protein?”

“Animals, Wash. Meat. I know that meat was heavily rationed within the UNSC, but Earth had it worse. We’ve at least managed to make proper protein farms where we would clone pig, chicken or cow stem cells and culture them in the UNSC Revenant. Grow steaks and pork-chops like they were 3d printed. Hell, we’ve managed to modify a chicken cell so that we can get eggs. Other Colony planets might have domesticated animals farmed for meat. Not really here though. From the resources sent to me, I found that they’ve essentially farmed bug protein to substitute meat.”

“We could at least try selling protein cultures.”

“Yeah, we could. Probably taste more genuine than whatever worm meat they decided to season liberally to trick buyers into thinking it taste like anything but. Alternatively - if you get me a chicken, a pig and a cow - I could make us an entire food farm. Flash clone them with artificially modified variety in their DNA. Make their population diverse. Then we can patent our newly produced animals to Food Corporations. Sell the licence cheap but limited so that we can standardise natural, genuine meat as food. It’s a quicker way to establish political importance on the agricultural business on Earth than just selling cell cultures.”

“Ok, yeah. You got a point there. So what do you want me to do?”

“Steal animals.”

Agent Washington did a double take.

“… Excuse me?”

“Steal animals. I believe there was some farms in Night City that contained cows and pigs. Chickens will be a problem. Night City banned distribution of avians due to fear of influenza.”

“You want me, to send people out and steal… animals for you.”

“I don’t care if they’re sick and overfed with chemicals and drugs. You get me at least one live animals of each kind- I’ll bring them back to excellent health with 3 kids, and their population from extinction.”

“… Do you even have a proper facility to do that?”

“I will by tomorrow. If you can get me those animals, Commander Wash.”

“… I’ll let the boys in black ops know. But don’t get your hopes up, I doubt we’ll be able to get any of those animals for at least a month.”

“That’s fine. I’ll focus on mass agriculture of naturally grown crops and fruits in the mean time. And I’ll have to settle on creating protein cell culture for now.”

“What you’re going to focus on is making vehicles, Chief Engineer. I don’t want you jumping from one unfinished project to another. Finish this one, then you can focus on food.”

Cell stood there for a minute, his spectral node blinking red for a few seconds.
He then turned to his smart AI Kyle. The holographic model of a Sangheili, born from the brains flash cloned from Cheif Engineer Khyl ‘Suhom (Khyl was more than happy to volunteer as a donor. It wasn’t everyday when you could see your mind copied to become software closer to the forerunners) was fiddling with a holographic replica of a Plasma rifle on top of Cell’s table.

“Hey, Kyle?”

“Yes?”

“Get the blueprint I was working on, and add an atmosphere filter system I made a blueprint in the File named [Get f*cked, Air] into the chamber. We’re going to be completely combusting the CHOOH2 using air. If we do this right, we could potentially make a car engine that can travel twice the speed and distance for half the fuel. That’s nearly a quadruple in efficiency.”

“Won’t it be just easier if we installed a hydrogen-injected internal combustion engine instead of overcomplicating it with CHOOH2?”

“That’s what I’m saying! But Wash wants us ‘easing them in’!”

“… I see. I’ll get onto installing the atmosphere filter system to the current engine blueprint.”

“… Thank you.” With a huff, Cell turned back to Agent Washington with his hands outstretched, showing the 3D blueprint of the newest engine being finalised.

“Get f*cked, Wash. I finished what you wanted in just an hour.”

Washington responded with a dry clap, shaking his head a little.
Guy was a genius. Annoying sometimes, but a genius.

“Now, I’ll leave the rest rest of this job to the engineers here. I’m moving onto agriculture.”

“What about the weapons here?”

“Primitive. Might as just well be using two sticks and a stone. And they’re sharing the stone.”

“You’re not going to be working on weapons?”

“Nah, not yet. Got no real use for them right now. I think one of the engineers wanted to have a crack on weaponry anyway. I’ll leave it to them for now.”

“…. Well, alright. I guess you can start making… a farm. I guess.”

Cell started to pack his datapad and Smart AI the moment Washington finished his sentence. A fickle Spartan, he was already raring to move onto his next project.
The UNSC soldiers that came down to Earth was getting hungry anyway. It was good incentive for Cell to change his interest, and was certainly good timing - none of the UNSC personnels were against the idea of getting stable supply of food.

“Great. I’m making a water filter system as well. The water here is toxic as sh*t. I’m also taking one of the assembler vats, don’t stop me.”

“I… why would I? You go on… ahead. I’ll just contact the Black ops about the animals.”

“How’s my brother doing anyway?”

“Ram’s doing great. Fireteam Baba Yaga managed to get in contact with a fixer and got their first job as a mercenary.”

Chapter 6: Baba Yaga

Chapter Text

Reilly Kudokawa lit up a smoke using the fire erupting from her car.
She would’ve used her lighter if she hadn’t lost it on the highway 500 miles behind her, when it flew out of the shattered window thanks to the Tyger Claw gang suddenly crashing into the side of her car. And also if her right arm was still working.

She tried to blink the blood in her right eye away, looking over her shoulders to see what was left of her car- and her bodyguards.
sh*t… her Villefort Alvarado V4F 570 Delegate…
She just had it tuned and coated silver last night. Now it was riddled with holes and dented in.

The Driver leaned on the steering wheel, bullet peppered into his face.
One of the bodyguards in the back had a bullet lodged into his forehead and eye - the other 2 managed survive long enough to get out of the car and put up a fight.

“This is the bitch we needed to kill, right?”

One of the Tyger Claw poked and prodded Reilly’s head with a Tamayura. Reilly glared at the Tyger Claw while holding the newly lighted cigarrette loosley in her lip.
She gripped her Nue Pistol, but none of the Tyger Claws took any caution to that.
Why would they, they already got her bleeding out. She couldn’t do anything.

No one left to protect her, no routes or options she can take to get out of the situation.

Reilly took a deep breath in, tasting the fume of the synthetic tobacco going through the filter.
For the first time ever since becoming a Fixer, she had managed to reach the big league. She got her own proper office in Kabuki, made a big enough name for herself that high paying clients were starting to pop up in her contacts, willing to push a gig through her way.
Hell, she was starting to make enough eddies to start hiring netrunners and bodyguards - and use the left over money to buy something like an Alvarado.

And she was going to die here.
She knew that she shouldn’t have taken that gig. She knew something was off. Client’s face was too clean for being just a lowly Corpo. She should’ve picked up the traces telling her that the Client was a executive of Biotechnica.
The gig wanted Mercs to steal a new blueprint from Arasaka. Corps sabotaging Corps, Reilly realised too late. They just needed someone to act as a middleman- and a buffer. A meatshield.
The gig itself went well - that’s why Reilly got into this kind of situation.

Arasaka’s counter intelligence may not have found out which Corps hired the hit, but they could trace back the Fixer. And they needed that Fixer to disappear before Biotechnica could place another gig.
Tyger Claw sons of bitch was more than happy to take the hit job.

Guess this was it. Reilly wanted more out of her life before she died - but Night City wasn’t the type to listen to every single dream uttered out of the mouth.
It only listened to those with power.
Reilly no longer had power.

Reilly looked down the barrel of the gun.
She couldn’t believe this was how it would end.

Gun shot rang through the night sky. Then several more in unison.
Reilly instinctively flinched at the sound, closing her eyes.
But none of them ever launched bullets her way.

“What the hell is happening!”

“誰が撃っているのか?!”

Reilly slowly opened her eyes.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Sillhouettes of Tyger Claw illuminated by neon lights and street lamps were falling to the ground.
Few fragments of their heads were splattering on the ground.
Blood looked like black water in the darkness. She could only tell they were blood when the flames from her car showed that a part of the stains newly painted on the concrete and asphalt were red.

She didn’t know who was shooting the Tiger Claws down, and neither did the Tyger Claws.
Few saw their friends get slaughtered in cold blood, bullets coming from darkness.
Some were waving their guns into the dark corners and shadows casted by buildings, shooting frantically.

Then she saw.
She saw what could only be described as a humoungous fullborg emerging from the shadows, a knife in their hands glinting briefly before the fullborg went in for the kill.
Steel-black body with muted Orange highlight briefly shined in the neon light as the fullborg dug a fist into one of the Tyger Claw’s ribs, and then stabbing the other side with the knife.

Tyger Claw couldn’t even let out a scream in pain- knife dug in deep, reaching the lungs and puncturing it.

The rest of the surviving gang couldn’t even understand what was going on. One moment it was only them with a helpless Fixer, next they were the one being hunted down by the great unknown.
One saw the gurgling Tyger Claw fall to the ground, blood dripping out of his mouth and wounds.
They turned to aim their gun at the assailant - but the assailant’s hands were faster.
Three more knives were pulled out of the armour and thrown at the Tyger Claws. One hit the shoudler, two hit the forehead and cleanly lodged into the skulls.

One hit by the shoulder gripped the trigger, bullets going out of the control and spraying the ground.
Another bullet flew from the top of a building hitting the back of the Tyger Claw in the back of the head and ending the pain.

The last Tyger Claw could only scream, tried to run away.
The Fullborg flicked a knife - hitting the back of the fleeing Tyger Claw’s knee with precise accuracy.

As the Tyger Claw fell to the ground, and the fullborg throwing 2 more knives into the back of the gang - one where his liver was, and the other where his heart was- Reilly could only mutter a few words.

Perfectly f*cking surgical.

The fullborg quietly walked over to the corpses and pulled any knives lodged into them. It was taking sweet as time retrieving every knives it threw, as if it got all the time it wanted.

Yeah, sure. It can take as long as it needed. Reilly was fine with that. It just saved her life, it was the very least she could do.

Rain started wet the asphalt, she heard some of the water droplets sizzling as it hit the fire on the car.
As the Fullborg finished wiping blood off its blades, she saw as more fullborgs entered into the light of the fire. One by one, emerging from the shadows.

It was the scariest thing she had seen. And boy, she just survived an assassination attempt by a ruthless gang through sheer miracle itself.

Each had a face as intimidating and menacing as the fullborg next to them. It was clear to Reilly that the only thing organic was their brain. They might as well be Adam Smasher’s little brothers.

One of the six walked in front of her, and knelt down.
Reilly instinctively pulled back. She couldn’t help it, the Fullborg that decided to walk up had a head designed to be an adult’s living nightmare.
A mechanical skull that had no eyes, mouth covered with a clear face mask.
It was unsettling. It managed to feel grotesque without showing organs or blood. It was just dipping down to the uncanny valley. At least the other four had some sort of visors that made their heads resemble a helmet.

“Reilly Kudokawa?”

Oh god, the voice was distorted as well. It wasn’t even a voice - it sounded more like a machine mimicking a voice by combing sound patterns.
And it knew her name.

“We’ll be taking you to the nearest medical service - but we’d also like to notify you that we’re here to ask for a job.”

Reilly blinked.
These Fullborgs were… here for a gig?

“You guys are… mercs?”

“Yes. We’ll introduce ourselves on the way. We have first aid medication ready as well.”

Reilly couldn’t help but giggle a little.
A group of Mercenaries, here to ask for a job.
What an awful timing for them - but it was perfect timing for her.
Rescuing your employer was one hell of an introduction, you know.

‘My name’s Locust. Knife nut over there is Leon, One who’s been sniping from the building was Killshot, the rest of these 3 are Ram, Noble 6, and Jim. We’re… Freelancers. You can call us Baba Yaga.’

Reilly couldn’t help but laugh again as she was finalising her treatment by the Ripperdoc. The biggest man on their team, was called Jim.
At least they were polite, sounded professional as well.

She put out her cigarrette with the ash tray provided by the Ripperdoc. She still couldn’t get over the fact that none of them were Fullborgs.

They were confused by her naming them Fullborgs, and when she provided further explanation it was their turn to chuckle.

‘It’s just a suit, lady. Nothing but flesh, skins and bones underneath here.’

Reilly could guess they had a backer or a history- maybe some Megacorp’s secret military group. That was the only way they would get their hands on something like that.

Reilly didn’t care. They were capable of saving her life, and was more than willing to get a job from her.

So she sent a gig their way- a corpo gig. It was a gig that was too risky for her to send. An assassination gig, requesting an Arasaka executive to be ‘neutralised’.
Client was Kang Tao this time - they paid high eddies, almost tripple the amount of an average assassination gig.
Money was tempting, but she saw the danger lying underneath. That’s why she was hesitant on taking it.

She had finished a call with the Kang Tao client a moment ago, told them the gig was accepted by a group of mercs.
f*ck it, she wasn’t going to hold the job off if there was someone capable of pulling it off. And if those Arasaka corpos thought they could get away with trying to put her six feet under, they had another thing coming.

Every info the Client sent to her was given to the so called ‘Baba Yaga- Freelancers’. The back of her mind told her that it wasn’t enough info, that she was rushing it. She knew that, but take any longer and that could mean the death of her. Her emotions took over and she promised herself that if this gig was successful she’d never let the emotion get a step over her again.

‘Do you want us to do this quietly, or go in hard and loud?’

That was pretty much the only thing they asked from her. And god, did it make them sound like they have experience in this. It made her trust them. And she just wished they could walk the walk.

If they could, she wanted this to be done quietly. And that’s what she answered with.
One of them was screwing in a silencer on his pistol the moment she answered.

‘If you can, I want him to be captured alive. Contact me once you do. I’ll send a car over to you. Hell, I’ll pay you more for it too.’

That was a high demand. Reilly knew it. But she was playing safe for the past few months, ever since she started as a fixer. And look where that nearly got her.

She thought it would be okay to act a little bold and greedy tonight, after nearly dying and all.

Her holophone started ringing, and she looked at the number.
Well, look who it is. The Freelancers.
They took the gig and left 10 minutes ago. If they’re calling her this quickly, there must be something wrong.

She sighed as she took the call. Guess she was being too greedy.

“Hey, is there a problem? If you triggered the alarm then just run and gun, it doesn’t matter so long as you kill the tar-“

“We got the target. We didn’t trigger any alarms either. Didn’t get caught on cameras too. Folks won’t even know that we were here.”

Reilly briefly blanked out for a moment.
… What the sh*t?
This quickly?

“We’re currently outside with the target. Alive. We’ve removed any trackers or alarms from his chip that could trace us. You told us to contact you if we have the target alive, didn’t you?”

Reilly batted her eyes a little. She still couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Umm… Okay, Okay. I’ll… I’ll send a car over your way. Send me the coord of where you guys are.”

The other side ended the call, but they sent a text message filled with numbers soon after.
She quickly relayed the coordinates to one of her couriers.
Once she was in better health to start walking, the courier came back to greet her outside the Ripperdoc.

The shocked expression on the man behind the wheels said it all.

“The guy?”

“… In the trunk, Miss.”

She quickly walked to the back and opened it.
My god.
My goodness gracious.

There he was,
The target.
The Arasaka Executive.
Bound and gagged, expression showed he was beyond terrified.

Yet there was not a speck of blood on him.

Unharmed, safely in the trunk like he was nothing more than a piece of cargo.

Reilly didn’t know how the six of them managed to bypass Arasaka’s security.
But they did, and that made her too scared to find out exactly how they could.

Reilly closed the trunk (ignoring the desperate pleas and muffled screams of the executive), and got into the car’s passenger seat.

She just wanted to kiss that eyeless Skull helmet, right on the forehead.
That unsettling head was looking like the most beautiful thing she had ever seen now.

As Reilly was punching in the contacts of her client, the driver quietly asked.

“Miss Kudokawa…?”

“Yeah?”

“… Just who are those guys?”

“… I don’t know. They wanted a job, so I just gave them a job.”

Reilly heard on the news the next day: Arasaka executive disappearing from his office at the dead of the night.
No alarms tripped, no traces of him found. No clues that might point to a possble foul play.
Journalists suspected that the Corpo decided to run away. With what anyone could find, that was the best possible answer.

Reilly laughed.
Boy, if they knew.
If only they knew.

Those Freelancers called themselves Baba Yaga. Boogeyman.
They sure lived up to their namesake. Kidnapping Corpos in the dead of the night like they were children, making them disappear with no one know any better.

Kang Tao was thrilled to see their target captured alive. Paid a hefty bonus for the job well done.
Reilly looked at the gigs flowing into her contact. Half of them required going sneaky peaky.
Those gigs were wanting a rare skill. You ask a hundred Merc if they can wipe out an abandoned factory of Maestrom gangs, and a 100 would raise their hand.
Ask the same 100 if they can sneak into an Arasaka building and steal some data without alerting anyone, practically none would raise their hands.

Well, she got 6 Mercs that can raise their hands.
And they wanted more work.
Who was she to deny her saviours of what they wanted?

Chapter 7: Ain't know party like a Spartan Party

Chapter Text

Judy Alvarez looked out from her truck.
Laguna Bend looked relatively the same. Still flooded into a small toxic, polluted lake.
She didn’t really care. It was more toxic a decade ago, and she was confident her diving suit was good enough to keep out the water.

The water’s not safe for diving? Bite her. She likes diving, what were they going to do? They can’t stop her.

“What… what the hell?”

But, if there was one thing different in the Laguna Bend, there was a giant building built next to the Laguna Bend.
It… it wasn’t there yesterday.
Yeah, she was sure of it, she saw the camera feeds of the badlands. The whole reason she decided to take a dive today was to also have a look at the building with her own eyes.
The one building they had was nearby the Laguna Bend, not right next to it. If it was next to anything, it was next to the Trash mountain.

Now there were two of them. She saw the original building in the distance.

It was way too unsettling. It felt like those buildings were alive, replicating like cells undergoing mitosis.

What sort of building will be formed tomorrow? Where?

As her trucks got closer she managed to get better details of the new infrastructure.
Sleek, Clean. Pristine. A few of the surfaces shined silver under the sunlight.
And there were several blocky and cylindrical machines sticking out of the structure, and into the Laguna Bend. Judy saw how fast the inside of the machines were turning, yet the rotation was so smooth that there was barely any sound in its movement.
Water was being drawn into half of the machines, which indicated to Judy that it was acting as a pump. The other half was releasing water back into the Laguna Bend. The output of the water was slightly smaller than the input, but it was extremely difficult to tell with the naked eye.

The edges of the Laguna Bend used to have rubbish bags littered around it. Judy also saw that the Laguna Bend’s surrounding was now devoid of trash.

It… it was surprising to see, sure. But for some reason Judy found herself smiling a little. I mean, who wouldn’t. When you witness the former remnant of your home slowly getting cleaner.

NC Dam Ltd bought Laguna Bend to use as a reservoir, to separate the toxic water from the clean drinkable one. Unfortunately the project was a bust when the clean drinkable water turned toxic. Probably due to the pollution breaking out thanks to hasty and rushed construction.

And… there it was.
These aliens from outer space just came down roughly three days ago, cleaning up trash and purifying waters.

The water flowing back into Laguna Bend from the pumps were visibly much cleaner. Got damn, the structure was turning the murky toxic water into what Judy would describe as liquid diamond - crystal clear.

Judy saw several drones flying in the sky, recording building’s activity. The sides of the drones had news station logos printed on it.
Yeah, this was breaking info, alright.

Judy saw several people, clad in militaristic gear and holding weapons with designs she had never seen before patrolling the machine.
There were already Raffen Shivs trying to hit the new infrastructure, the aftermath being visible as corpses and broken vehicles littered around the badlands.

Some of the soldiers patrolling the building were dressed head to toe in futuristic armour. They might as well have been androids or fullborgs with how tall they were.

Judy didn’t feel like diving into the lake today.
No, no. She was content on just watching this new alien-looking tower work its magic on the lake.

“This is Spartan Group Smash. Has there been anything on your end, over?”

“Negative, Spartan Group Smash. This is Spartan Badger. All we could find was some…. Floating cameras. Those Mad max-looking hooligans stopped driving and shooting once we had enough corpses littered on the floor.”

“Roger that, I’ll relay that to Commander Washington. Umm… In the mean time, Commander Washington told us to just take it easy if there’s nothing happening.”

The comm went quiet soon after Ian told Badger they were allowed a break.
His team was already getting tired from staying up the entire night, their shift was ending in about an hour anyway.

The rest of his fireteam was already sitting down on top of the barricade, battle rifles and DMR still in their arms.

Badger saw Spartan Heaven setting up an old radio, twisting the dial around until he managed to pick up a channel.

“Heaven, where did you get that?”

“From one of the cars. This was the only thing that wasn’t broken.”

It looked like Heaven was fiddling with it from morning.

“Find any channels?”

“Yeah I found a few and wrote them down. If we’re staying here for a long while, might as well see what sort of music we can listen to, you know?.”

“Well, which one did you find?”

“98.7.”

“You can’t just give me some random number and expect me to understand it.”

“Channel 98.7. Body Heat Radio.”

“Does it play a specific genre?”

“Yeah, pop. Here, listen.”

Heaven started turning the dial up, until the speakers started to turn the static into discernible voices.
The rest of Fireteam Badger started to gather around Heaven as they started to hear ‘this is 98.7, Body Heat!’ resonate.

[You are my PONPON
我愛你 PONPON
君にPONPON
君にPONPON

PON PON sh*t!

PON PON sh*t!

PON PON sh*t!
PON PON sh*t!]

“… This music is ass.” Among the overdone dubstep wafers, Spartan Skulker was the first to speak up. And truth be told, he spoke for half of the crowd here.
Heaven only sighed a little.

“The worse thing is this song is the one that’s played on the Radio the most.”

Heaven heard the rest of his teammates groan all at once.

“I mean, I don’t know. The more you hear it the better it gets.”

“No Heaven, that’s just you coping about the fact that you had to hear this while finding other channels.”

“That’s another possibility.”

“Change it to another channel. You’ve got other ones, right?”

“Yeah, I got some rock musics, uhh… a bit of Jazz. You guys like Jazz, right?”

Heaven started to change channels to one he already found out. Unfortunately a lot of his comrades didn’t react as positively as he did. Groans and moans of distaste was constantly erupting from the small crowds of soldiers, Heaven only muttering a few shut ups back at them as he tried changing songs.

Heaven tried to satisfy the team’s music taste. He tried so damn hard, but the radio just wouldn’t play the right songs. The spartan ended up hitting the radio slightly in frustration, turning the dial again until he ended up back in Body Heat.

Luckily for them, a new song had just started, so they didn’t have to get tortured by another Pon Pon sh*t.
Unlike the provocative dubstep from the Japanese LAZRpop cover, this one had started with a smoother, quieter synth, followed up by soft beats that resembled strings being plucked.

[I couldn’t wait for you to come and clear the cupboards.
But now you’re going to leave with nothing but a sign.
Another evening I’ll be sitting reading in between your lines
Because I miss you all the time.]

For the first time ever since they gathered on top of the barricade, Fireteam Badger remained quiet. A few of them nodded their head to the beat, while others slowly started to sit down.

[So, get away.
Another way to feel what you didn’t want yourself to know.
And let yourself go.
You know you didn’t lose your self-control.
Let’s start at the rainbow.
Turn away.
Another way to be where you didn’t want yourself to go.
And Let yourself go.
Is that a compromise?]

Dakota Smith had already heard enough info from the Aldecaldos she had sent out. Heavy guards, with guns and aiming skills good enough to put a bullet into a skull from several kilometres away.

When she heard that a new building was built overnight, near the Laguna Bend, she had to go herself.
Ever since last time, majority of the Aldecaldos mercs weren’t so keen on going near their new visitors from the sky. She was mad at them, but she understood why.
One wrong move, one step too close, and they could be looking at a bullet flying at them, fast enough to tore their forehead into two.

f*ck it. She was a nomad. So long as she knew the risk, and the reward, she was brave enough to venture out there herself.

Luckily her driver was loyal enough to stick with her. Dakota was already happy with her driver simply dropping her at the designated location best for safely watching those Space soldiers. She was more than happy about the fact that the driver was willing to stay and watch with her, ready to take her away from this place should those guards start pointing their guns at them.

The nomad fixer expected a lot of things to happen, a lot of things to go wrong. She had experience as a fixer to calculate and predict these stuff, and try her best to prevent them. Or at the very least, find a way to listen the blows when they start flying.

Dakota and her driver left the car and took out their binoculars.
They saw what the new barricaded building was doing, pumping water in through those blocky and cylindrical machineries and pumping them back out.
She half expected what other corpo water pumps would be doing - dumping waste back into the already-toxic lake. Wasn’t that why they built it on the Laguna Bend?
No, if there was one thing she was surprised with, was that dirty water was going in, and clean water was flowing back out.

She had to check again, dropping the binoculars and going back to her car to launch a drone.
Dakota’s little flying camera mixed in with the rest of the reporter drones, and started to zoom in on the pumps and waters expelling out. The scanners showed results Dakota had a hard time believing.

Water. Clean Water, free of chemical pollutants, toxic waste, and other nasty solvents and precipitates.

“Is it really clean water, ma’am?”

“That’s what the scanners are saying, but…”

“Hard time believing it?”

“More specifically having a hard time believe they’re doing this for charity, I’m curious why they are doing it.”

Most Megacorps were run by psychopaths, those whose moral compass was so far out and above the society. And she knew how such a devious moral compass could easily corrupt the public if it had power.
She knew about Santo Domingo, and how Arasaka had basically poisoned the underground water supply that the civilians drink from with chemical waste.
Were they paid by NC Dam Ltd? To recover their project of providing clean drinkable water?
No, that couldn’t be. If there were any contacts made by Corpos in the bad lands, she was the first to know.
And she knows the only thing the Space soldiers contacted with was Raffen Shivs. And she saw enough corpses littered on the ground to know how that ended.

Her drones started to pick up the top of the barricade, where several mechanical titans were gathering around a certain spot.
It looked like they were setting up an equipment.
Something that looked…

“… Are those speakers?”

Two giant speakers, ones you’d find at a party.

They started to hook up the speaker to what could be described as a portable dataterm, and-

“Oh you’ve got to be sh*tting me.”

Everyone nearby, including the drones picked up on the music blasting from the speakers.
Hell, she was hearing it with her own ears, from this far away. It felt like they were putting the volume up over the maximum limit.

And she’d recognised that synth opening anywhere. She heard it enough time while driving.

Then they heard it- the various Spartan Fireteams gathering together to sing in unison.

“““I COULDN'T WAIT FOR YOU TO COME CLEAR THE CUPBOARDS!
BUT NOW YOU'RE GOING TO LEAVE WITH NOTHING BUT A SIGN!
ANOTHER EVENING I'LL BE SITTING READING IN. BETWEEN. YOUR. LI~INES!
BECAUSE I MISS YOU ALL THE TIME!!”””

By god Dakota Smith could hear the emotions in those strained voices.
There appearances looked like Fullborgs, but the sheer heart going into those verses made her question if there were any cybernetics implanted in them.

“““SO, GET AWAY!!
ANOTHER WAY TO FEEL WHAT YOU DIDN'T WANT YOURSELF TO KNOW!!
AND LET YOURSELF GO,
YOU KNOW YOU DIDN'T LOSE YOUR SELF-CONTROL!!
LET'S START AT THE RAINBOW!!
TURN AWAY!!
ANOTHER WAY TO BE WHERE YOU DIDN'T WANT YOURSELF TO GO!!
LET YOURSELF GO…
IS THAT A COMPROMI~ISE!!!”””

Dakota so all the reporters drones, once chaotically whizzing through the sky to take pictures of every nook and cranny of that water plant, all now started to collectively focus on the visitors from outer space singing.

It was… it was certainly a strange sight.
Something she doubted she’ll ever see again.
Something she doubted anyone would believe if you didn’t have a video of it.

“““SO WHAT DO YOU WANNA DO?! WHAT'S YOUR POINT-OF-VIEW?!
THERE'S A PARTY SOON! DO YOU WANNA GO?!!
A HANDSHAKE! WITH YOU! WHAT'S YOUR POINT-OF-VIEW?!
I'M ON TOP OF YOU!! I DON'T WANNA GO!!

'CAUSE I REALLY WANNA STAY AT YOUR HOUSE!!

AND I HOPЕ THIS WORKS OUT!!
BUT YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU BROKE ME APART!!
I'M DONE WITH YOU!! I'M IGNORING YOU!!
I DON'T WANNA KNOW!!”””

She saw from her drones how each of them where wrapping their arms around each other’s shoulder, swaying side to side as they sang.

“““AND I'M AWARЕ THAT YOU WERE LYING IN THE GUTTER!!
'CAUSE I DID EVERYTHING TO BE THERE BY YOUR SIDE!! AAAAAH, AH -IDE!!
SO WHEN YOU TELL ME I'M THE REASON, I JUST CAN'T. BELIEVE. THE. LI~IES!!
AND WHY DO I SO WANT TO CALL YOU?!
CALL YOU?!
CALL YOU?!
CALL YOU?! ”””

“OOII!”

Dakota (and the media) so all of the singing abruptly stop as someone started to walk up to the barricade, shouting at the top of their lungs.
Whoever it was, she could tell by the other soldier’s reaction that they man that just entered the scene was a superior officer.
The 4 glowing-red eyes resembling optic implants Maelstroms would favor was menacingly looking at the crowd.

The melody was still blaring out of the speakers, but everyone stood frozen as.

Then their superior officer lifted something from his hands and started to sing.

“SO WHAT DO YOU WANNA DO?! WHAT'S YOUR POINT-OF-VIEW?!
THERE'S A PARTY SOON! DO YOU WANNA GO?!
A HANDSHAKE! WITH YOU! WHAT'S YOUR POINT-OF-VIEW?!”

Dakota blinked her eyes several time.
The superior officer was lifting up a freshly harvested Carrot, dirt still plastered on parts of the big, thick, bright-orange healthy-looking vegetable.
Then the rest of the soldiers erupted into a cheer, hollering at the top of their lungs in celebration.

The outburst soon developed back into a unison of the chorus.

“““I'M ON TOP OF YOU!! I DON'T WANNA GO!!

'CAUSE I REALLY WANNA STAY AT YOUR HOUSE!!

AND I HOPE THIS WORKS OUT!!
BUT YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU BROKE ME APART!!
I'M DONE WITH YOU!! I'M IGNORING YOU!!
I DON'T WANNA KNOW!!

OH-OH OH-OH-OH!!”””

She saw as the crowd started to pick up their officer and lift them above their head, crowds forming waves like they were fans crowd surfing their favourite rockerboy.
It was such a blaring sight to see a walking mechanical armour holding two carrots in each hand.
She was surprised to see carrots that healthy looking too.

“‘“SO, GET AWAY!!
ANOTHER WAY TO FEEL WHAT YOU DIDN'T WANT YOURSELF TO KNOW!!
AND LET YOURSELF GO!!
YOU KNOW YOU DIDN'T LOSE YOUR SELF-CONTROL!!
LET'S START AT THE RAINBOW!!
TURN AWAY!!
ANOTHER WAY TO BE WHERE YOU DIDN'T WANT YOURSELF TO GO!!
LET YOURSELF GO!!
IS THAT A COMPROMISE?!

SO WHAT DO YOU WANNA DO?! WHAT'S YOUR POINT-OF-VIEW?!
THERE'S A PARTY SOON! DO YOU WANNA GO?!
A HANDSHAKE! WITH YOU!! WHAT'S YOUR POINT-OF-VIEW?!
I'M ON TOP OF YOU!! I DON'T WANNA GO!!

'CAUSE I REALLY WANNA STAY AT. YOUR. HOUSE!!

AND I HOPE THIS WOO-OORKS OUT!!
BUT YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU BROKE ME APART!!
I'M DONE WITH YOU, I'M IGNORING YOU!!
I DON'T WANNA KNOOOW!!”””

Once she heard ‘I really want to stay at your house’ finish, she heard the next song starting immediately after.

"""A THING OF BEA-UUTY, I KNOW!

WILL NEVER FADE AWAY!!"""

Oh god. The space men knew Never Fade Away too.

It looked like they would be partying for the rest of the day.

Chapter 8: Test Drive

Chapter Text

[Good morning Night City! Wow, yesterday had quite a strange evening, didn’t it? Laguna Bend, what used to be such a lovely town on the edge of the badlands was now a toxic lake thanks to NC- oooh, I should’ve rephrase this… ahem- due to some mishaps with an unnamed Megacorp. For the past 15 years it remained toxic, but in just a day scientists have found the toxicity level of the lake cut down to half. Half, folks. What remained polluted for 15 years was suddenly dropping down the moment our little visitors from space came down from their floating cannon ship and started building towers near polluted areas. Cleaning up Scrap mountain, purifying deadly water. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say our Starmen came down to save Night City! And for those who are still suspicious of our new alien neighbours, scared that they’re planning an invasion- just look at the video of them circulating the media. Look at them go! Singing at the top of their lungs. Even alien soldiers can help but like ‘I really want to stay at your house’. And we’ve all seen what their boss was holding. Carrots! By the looks of it they were freshly grown too, fresh out of the ground! Boy, if I had the chance I’d be running to my car and driving out to the badlands to have a chat with them. With the amount of Raffen Shiv attacks they were dealing with, I doubt that’ll go well right now. For the time being, let’s just enjoy the fact that they’re cleaning up our mess].

The radio inside the vertical farm was booming out the door as Washington walked through the hallway, getting close to his permanent pain in the ass.

Spartan Cell was humming to himself as he assembled a new sprinkler. Compost made from specifically designed and coded nanites had caused the dry sand he had collected outside to become fertile soil, nutrient rich.
Don’t ask where Cell got the nutrients from. You don’t want to know.

Sprinklers themselves were spraying the vegetables with clean water, and the simulated high light intensity allowed for the crops to grow at an accelerated rate - what would’ve taken months to grow was now ready to harvest and eat in a day. The automatic planter and harvesters were at work, filling up crates with fresh food.

Quite honestly, UNSC Revenant didn’t need that much food. Neither did those participating in Project Freelancer. They were overproducing food- which if Earth wasn’t suffering from the Collapse, it would’ve been considered a waste (It would now be considered charity).

While agriculture was a potential business avenue Captain Church was looking forward to pushing when they finally got into proper contact with Night City as a Megacorp, farming was just for Spartan Cell’s own personal amusem*nt right now.

Washington slammed his fist on the doorway as he entered the vertical farm.
From engines to softwares to weaponry and farming.
Everything. Everything was for Cell’s own achievement and amusem*nt. If a project didn’t amuse him, he dropped it immediately and moved on to the next. The very fact that he had several completed inventions comfortably under his belt was a sign of his sheer determination in getting the satisfaction of making a breakthrough (and flipping the bird to Dr. Halsey) and pure miracle.
That was the kind of scientist Cell was.

“Cell, What the f*ck.”

Cell looked up from his current small project, and grabbed a potato from one of the crates next to him.

“Hungry?”

Washington let out a defeating chuckle as he threw his datapad onto Cell’s table. Cell, in exchange, tossed the potato into Washington’s arm- which Washington caught and stared at.
Damn, these potatoes looked much better in quality than the ones growing on the UNSC Revenant.

Cell tapped on the screen to open the datapad, revealing a video of yesterday’s Spartan party.

“Oh sh*t, it was caught on camera.”

“It was caught on 27 cameras, you moron.”

“Damn, that many? I guess it’s fair to be mad at us getting caught fooling around.”

“No, I’m… I’m not mad about this.”

“You’re not?”

“No, but I’m livid about this.” Spartan Washington swiped his finger across the screen of the datapad. This time it wasn’t a video footage of outside.
It was a video footage of one of the areas in the water harvester- one that had nothing to do with directing purified clean water to the vertical farm. “Cell, what the f*ck is this?”

Cell took a moment to check which area it was, then nonchalantly answered.

“Hydro-processing centre.”

“... Why?”

“For collecting Deuterium and Tritium.”

“Why?!”

“What do you mean why? How else am I supposed to power up the pinch fusion reactor?”

“What do you mean how else- Why do we even have a pinch fusion reactor?!”

“The hell do you think we power up our structures here? Wind and solar power?”

“Well I didn’t expect our buildings needing to be powered by a dying f*cking star!”

Cell lifted 3 fingers.
“3 dying stars.”

Washington stood silent and frozen for the briefest moment, before throwing his hand up in the air. He pretty much gave up on remaining angry. The Chief Engineer in front of him took too much emotional toll on him. He was even feeling physically drained.

“You’re insufferable. You’re insane. How are we not dead yet? How are we still surviving after letting someone as psychotic as you be the chief engineer?”

“Because I’m that damn good at my job, Wash. And so is Khyl and Kyle.”

Cell muttered ‘also the Huragok too’ under his breath as he continued assembling a prototype design for a sprinkler, standing up from his chair to install it in one of the vertical farm column.

“And where are my cows, Wash?”

“... What?”

“Where are my goddamn cows and pigs, Wash? I’ve built everything, I’m waiting on those animals.”

“... Seriously? Already?”

“I spent the entire 2 days building this entire agriculture station. With the Hydrogen-processing centre for Pinch fusion. All I need are the cows and pigs. I’ve already got the info about birds, so I’m fine with chickens for now.”

“Did you even sleep?”

“No. But that’s besides the point. I’ll have my sleep when I have DNA samples I can shove into the artificial womb and process into zygotes.”

“I’ll… I’ll get work on that this week.”

“I want my farm animals by the end of this month.”

Washington sighed as he left the farm, looking back to see Cell pull out a beetroot and check how red it was.
Guy sounded like a loan shark.

“Yooo, Baba Yagas! Freelancers~! How you doing?”

Agent Locus heard Reilly’s cheery voice on the other side of the call. Just yesterday, they had taken 15 different gigs consecutively.
To Reilly, that was unheard of. Most Mercs would take an entire day to complete one gig smoothly. Even if they were in a group.

Fireteam Baba Yaga was already starting to become the talk of the town. Agent Locust and his team slowly becoming hushed whispers, tales travelling from mouth to mouth, in bars and in alleyways.
People disappearing in their own offices, transports of important technology gone from its own crate.

Corpos didn’t have a single clue of what was happening. But fixers and mercs did.
Some of the people working for Reilly were already spreading the news. Boogeymen for hire, capable of completing your hits with 0 alarms raised.

It was too good to be true, but their recent results made even Rogue’s head turn.

“Listen, choom! You and your team’s skills already made the streets talking! Just yesterday I had Dexter Deshawn and Faraday give me a call to ask about you guys, and how much I was willing to get paid to get you guys in contact! f*ckin’ Dexter Deshawn and Faraday!”

“You have new jobs for us?”

Reilly pouted from her couch as she heard Agent Locust’s reply. Here she was, singing high praises and trying to make that eyeless-Skull blush. And all she gets in return is asking for work.
She didn’t realise that for UNSC Black ops like Agent Locust, all they needed was confirmation that their task was done successfully. For all the Spartans cared, the media can spout propaganda about Spartans to fatten up the crowd. Not them.

They were on a mission that ended who knows when. And they were simply focusing on it.

Reilly huffed. “Yeah, yeah. I have a job for you and your friends too.” Reilly rubbed the bridges of her nose as she continued. She liked Agent Locust for the same reason she was frustrated with him. He was a workaholic. “We’ve got a gig from a High-class client. Willing to pay whatever amount needed. I made him pay two thousand eddies: he sent me 4 thousand for the gig to be completed now. Because of his generosity, I’m perfectly willing to send him my best mercs.”

“Details, if you can.”

“Rescue mission. You see, our client is an executive of Kiroshi Optics. His poor little daughter was kidnapped off the street by some Scavs. If they still like how she looks after they sh*ttily take out her implants, they might just doll her up. They’ll ruin her by the time her father could find her again. If, he finds her again.”

“Do you want us to finish this quietly, or do you want us to go in loud and hard?”

“I’d say do your usual and… hang on- … you sure? Ok, I’ll tell them that.- our client wants you guys to go in and kill all of them. Make sure you put the fear of god into them as you send them to hell. And fear of god into any other gangoons that sees the aftermath as well- think twice about ever kidnapping his little girl off the streets again.”

“Copy that. Send me the location. Tell your client to wait for 10 minutes.”

“Can you guarantee her safety?”

“How long has she been missing?”

“Roughly 10 hours now. She didn’t come home last night.”

“... I can guarantee her being found.”

“That’s a bit concerning, but I guess our client will have something. Call me once the job’s done.”

Agent Locust ended the call and turned to his team. The old factory was roughly renovated into a temporary base of operation, Ram was using one of the assembly table as a makeshift workshop.
Different parts from several guns were littering the tables - the useless ones rolling on the ground.

Ram and Cell were twins - born with physical capability inherited from their ODST trooper of a father, and with intelligence inherited from their ONI scientist of a mother (she was an assistant to Dr. Halsey in several projects). Despite both being near identical in appearance and skills, their ultimate differences in personality lead to their distinctive direction.
Cell was a Spartan who liked advancement - reverse engineering of Forerunner and Covenant technology despite the paranoid ire of ONI showed just how much he favoured completely new technologies.
Ram was a different Spartan - he would constantly be called old-fashioned by his brother for his preference and philosophy. When Cell liked new dominating old, Ram liked the idea of recycling and modification of the old. The art of reusing ‘antiques’.

It didn’t really matter in the end: In the eyes of Cell and Ram- Militech, Arasaka, Biotechnica’s latest invention was a living piece of technology 100 years ago.

“Look at this, Jim. They either rely on gunpowder still, or on flawed rail gun technology.”

Jim simply looked at the piece of bullet Ram was holding up and grunted. Ram chuckled as he tapped the bullet on the table.

“You guys felt it yourself while firing shots, right? How slow the bullets were going. We managed to perfect gas-operated firing mechanics to allow for hit-scan performances, and here we can see the bullets as it flies in the air.”

It was a waste of chemical powder they could’ve used for better things.

Ram finalised his creation with a crude soldering iron made from previously deactivated factory arms.

“Here you go, big fella. Just as you ordered.”

Ram held up the crude and oversized revolver and tossed it to Jim, which the giant Spartan III looked all over before testing out on the factory wall.

The rest of the team saw what Jim was holding - What used to be a Burya revolver had most of the barrel and chambers replaced - replaced by parts taken out of Constitutional Arms M2038 Tactician and Malorian Overture.

The chamber of the revolver was fat, the back of the revolver was now extending back enough to touch Jim’s wrist. The only thing that stopped it from being a drum-fed shotgun was it’s short barrel - but even that was pushing it.
Around 30% of whoever sees this monstrosity of welded firearm will call it an oversized revolver.
70% will call it a sawed-off shotgun with the end of the barrel extremely shortened.

Leon noticed the blade welded on the hand guard and groaned. By the size of it, Ram took the blade from a machete.

“Did you seriously make him a replica of a Mauler?!”

“Hey, big man wanted something with more punch. So I made it have more umph. Don’t worry, all the parts were pre-existing in Night City.”

“Not the brain of the man who welded it together.”

Ram simply shrugged his shoulder.

“Meh, it’s not for sale anyway. I doubt anyone could pry that out of Jim’s finger, not unless they’re UNSC.”

For something that was fed shotgun shells with gunpowder, the initial firing of the weapon was silent. Noble 6 noticed the sound and correctly guessed that it still used the rail gun system of the Burya for shooting the bullet.
But the moment it shot out and hit the wall did the gunpowder explode, further shooting out buck shots that dug into the wall. That threatened to deafen anyone close.

The wall now had several holes in them, before they collapsed into smaller numbers of much bigger holes.

Locust didn’t exactly know how, but Ram managed to make shotgun shells into bunker busters

“I eavesdropped on your talk with the fixer, commander. We’re suppose to go in loud and hard, right? Well, I guess it’s Jim’s time to shine.”

Killshot swapped out the cracked long scope on his newly acquired SOR-22 with a new one - holographic Kairo SA-1, looking through it to test it out and and then firing on the single piece of rubble still standing inside the hole in the wall.

He took aim for only a short moment, yet the rubble was effortlessly hit and reduced into dust.

“Bah.” Killshot exasperated as he took the scope out. “Too cluttered, I’ll be going with the iron-sights this time.”

Everyone else got ready, either grabbing magazines or sharpening knives.
This was their first gig asking for kill-all rushing in loud.
Something first time mercs loved, and experienced mercs wary of.
It didn’t matter. Fireteam Baba Yaga advertised dirty deeds done dirt cheap.

[This is Spartan Killshot. Commander, I have the Scav leader in my sight.]

The downside of a sniper rifle is the inability to silence their shots.
Killshot was capable of calculating bullet trajectory that far extended from effective range, making Precision rifles with suppressors built in just as deadly.

The top floor of the apartment building was just filled with Scavs, and soon they would put all of their attention on the 5 spartans busting into through the elevator.

[We hear you loud and clear, Spartan Killshot. I’ve gotten access to the fuse. Turning off the lights in three… two… now.]

Spartan Ram ripped out several wires from the breaker box, and Killshot saw the Scavs getting confused over the sudden lack of light.
Then it started.

The elevator door opened, the two Scavs keeping watch was expecting their people to come in with fresh meat to dismantle and rip implants off of.

What they got was a knife flying from the opening of the elevator, thrown by the one and only Spartan Leon, which went through the holographic mask and lodged into the skull.
The other Scav next to the poor sod, barely registering what happened, could only look back to see Noble 6 running towards him, closing the distance in a flash before a giant hand covered the Scav’s mouth - knife digging into the chest and puncturing the wound before his neck snapped as his head rotated 100 degrees to the left.

They died without a sound.

[Spartan Killshot, this is Spartan Locust. We are in position, and ready to go in loud and clear when you take the shot.]

Killshot didn’t even hesitate. He pulled the trigger immediately after he had received confirmation.
Fireteam Baba Yaga knew he would do this. He always did. That’s why they gave the confirmation with the full knowledge that they would be busting in immediately after.

They went in loud and hard - Spartan Jim bashed through the concrete wall and grabbed the nearest Scav by the head, throwing him down and shooting the russian with what the Fireteam had dubbed: the Proto-Mauler.

Fragment of flesh and bones exploded from the gang, reducing him into half a pile of ground meat. Agent Locust shot a Scav point blank with a tactician, while Noble 6 unloaded bullets from a Nowaki into two Scavs shooting in the distance.

Jim went to work the hardest, throwing corpses at the gangs to throw off their aim, then offing them swiftly using a revolver shooting shotgun shells.

It was loud- judging by the pain expressions of the surviving Scavs as they held their ear it would’ve been deafening without helmets.

Bullets from precision rifles shatterd walls and windows, shooting any Scavs that hid from the 5 Spartan’s view.
Their leader was dead anyway. They were just cleaning up the floor with method the client had ordered.

A Scav with heavy statures walked in with a Defender, ready to try and use large firepower to suppress the intruders.
Jim simply ran up, kicked the Defender out of the Scav’s hand (demolishing it with the kick in the process) and crushed the Scav’s throat.
He shot the Scav point blank immediately after.
This was the bullet speed Spartan Jim was used to. Somewhat. Mind you, it was still slow.
But the kick made up for it.

Hell was unleashed in under a minute- floor and any remaining walls splattered red with flesh and bones.

All the Spartans had to do was sweep through the floors to find their target. Still on watch for any potential Scavs in hiding, they scanned through any corpses of unfortunate civilians and Joytoys that got the Scavs’ attention.

For better or for worse, none of them were the client’s daughter.

[Commander, we’ve found the target.]

Spartan Leon’s voice rang through the Comm link, the rest of the Spartans taking no time to start moving to Leon’s location.

Jim had already crushed the metal door open - heavy plating and signs of clumsy welding showed how difficult it would be for a solo to open this without the right tools.

Jim didn’t need tools. He had his hands. He’ll brute force the f*ck out of anything if he needed to.

Several young teens, recently swept off the street, were huddled around corners. Sniffing and crying, tears running down their eyes.
They looked at the 5 metallic behemoths standing outside the door, the largest in front ripping the giant metal barricade off its welding with one arm.

They looked like Moas caught in a head light.

“Which one of you is Erica Johnston?”

One of the girls slowly raised her hand.

“Your father paid us to rescue you. I guess rescuing the rest of you would be bonus. Everyone follow me, we’ll get you out of here alive and safe.”

Chapter 9: Famous Little Me

Chapter Text

Erica had been walking down the road when she heard the engine of a van behind her.
Next thing she knew, pairs of hands wrapped over her arms and mouth and she found herself sitting in the corner of a dirty storage room.

In nothing but her underwear, the first thing Erica did was panic. Scream, try to stand up, look around her surroundings.
3 girls and 4 boys, chromed up with the newest models just like her, were chained up in different corners. They were looking at her with tears in their eyes. One of them had even wet their underwear, puddle forming on the floor.

Judging by their state, she could at least take comfort that they were just dumped into this room.
Though that meant every minute was agonising. They were but pigs getting lined up to be slaughtered.

She heard Russian beyond the thick gate, tone in the voice sounded mad… or scared.
Maybe someone was coming to save them? She was a daughter of a high ranking corpo of Kiroshi Optics after all, her father would have sent someone to get her back. The other people here looked like they came from rich parents too.
… Or one of the Scavs botched up an operation, so the gang was mad about damaged goods and reduced pay. As much as she hoped for the former, the latter sounded like the likelier outcome.

She saw enough Scavs aftermath on N54.

Gunshot resonated through the metal gate and concrete wall that made her think twice.
A few of the young teens hiccuped every time guns were fired. Screams and shouts here promptly cut off every time they heard a bang. Heavy footsteps thumped across the floor.
The metal door, heavily welded with several plates, smashed in like all of that effort just made it as durable as cardboard.

Everyone was frightened when they saw a hulking amalgamation of plated armour and a space suit rip the crinkled up door off its hinges and casually toss the gate to the side.
Next to the giant was a another walking armour, more futuristic and still taller than anyone she had ever seen, speak.

“Commander, we’ve found the target.”

Soon, 3 more gathered at the doorway, looking around the room.

The one that talked was hideous to look at, and horrifying to hear. Metallic skull with no eyes spoke in a distorted voice.

“Which one of you is Erica Johnston?”

Erica raised her chained hands.

“Your father paid us to rescue you. I guess rescuing the rest of you would be a bonus. Everyone, follow me. We’ll get you out of here alive and safe.”

That was all the eyeless skull needed to say for all the young teens to start bawling their eyes out.

Erica looked more closely at the mercs when they started tearing the chains off of her and the rest of the captives, getting clothes littered from the other room for them to wear.
The plating made them look robotic. She’s seen Arasaka and Militech security who bought products from her father. Maxtac too. None of them had something this… imposing for their uniform.
She saw the undersuit, looked like synthetic skins and muscles the way they moved.

She believed wholeheartedly that her saviors were fullborgs. Slightly frightened her too, almost all fullborgs were cyberpsychos. The size of them indicated that they were modified for combat, which made her mind connotate these 5 mercs with Adam Smasher.

At least they were polite.

The mercs surrounded the captives as they escorted them out of the building. Dead Scavs were littered around the floor, in which one of the girls next to Erica angrily kicked and spat on. The merc with round helmet gently grabbed the girls shoulder and led her back into the rest of the rescued. Patting her on the shoulder.

Yeah, scratch that. Erica thought. Adam Smasher would never do something like that. A longer inspection certainly told her (and the rest of the teens) that the similarity between Adam Smasher and thest 5 mercs ended with the fact that they were all Full’borgs.

Adam smasher from camera recordings had hydraulic pipes, motors and wires exposed underneath the plates, didn’t even bother hiding the fact that everything about him was machine.

These 5 had smooth skin covering everything below the plates. While their helmets were intimidating, it also resembled those that police officers or superheroes from cartoons would wear.
Authority that protected.

Their body languages too, subtle and defensive as they tried to safely take the teens out of the building.
Cars started pouring into the car park once they exited the Scav den.

5 bullets shot from what Erica first assumed to be the sky pierced through the car windows, the death of the drivers caused the wheels to steer out of control- collide with each other.

The rest of the mercs went to work.
The teens had to flinch when the black and white fullborg rushed forward, effortlessly grabbing the front of a car with one hand and whack another car with it like it was a small hammer.

They heard screams from the car, then a sparks ignited flames that bursted out from the inside. The rest of the mercs stepped in front of the scared teens, forming a makeshift wall using their bodies.

Bullets that would’ve hit the kids bounced off the mercs instead. Energy particles glowing yellow, interlinked together in hexagonal patterns appeared on top of their armour as bullets harmlessly bounced off, changing trajectory. The energy particle soon hid its presence once the tall ‘borgs started to return fire.

One of the teen stumbled back, falling on their butt as they saw between the Spartan’s legs - the guy that rushed forward kicked a car, sending it sliding and rolling at such a fast velocity that once it collided with another it tumbled and spinned in the air. The side of the car that got the merc’s foot was cratered in, doors were falling apart from the force.

They saw the flame lighting up the night. NCPD’s blue and red siren was blaring at the distance.
Erica’s car arrived first. The driver, her personal chauffeur, stared at the aftermath dumbfounded on the side of the road.

“Lady Erica, seems like you’ll have to go first.” One of the mercs, the one with blades holstered in various platings of the armour, gently announced with a chuckle. She saw as one of the other armoured solo stretched out a hand for the teen that fell to the ground to take.

She felt the giant arm wrap around her shoulder as the merc escorted her to her limousine.

“Luckily, you weren’t hurt. When you’re father goes to give you a hug, telling you how sorry he is that he couldn’t keep you safe and find you any sooner… take a bath and a good long sleep. Maybe get a glass of your favourite drink. Think of it… as a passing nightmare you had tonight. Everything will be alright.”

No need to remember any of this. Not good for your health. She heard him say. He opened the limousine door and ushered her in.
Her driver looked in shock as he stared at her escort, who only gave a curt nod. The driver nodded back. And she quickly rolled down the window when the merc carefully closed the door.

“How much?” Erica urgently asked.

“Hmm? No need. We’ve already been paid by our fixer.”

“No, how much to hire your team as our personal bodyguard?”

The merc wearing knives like a fashion statement was silent.

“My father, he’s got a promotion yesterday - he’ll be working as an executive for the Night City’s branch of Kiroshi Optics. He was talking about how he’d be hiring better security for us. I’d… I’d like to hire you and your team. We’ll pay you more than what the fixers would pay you for gigs.”

The merc laughed, as he took a knee so that his head was level with her.

“Sorry, missy. We’re Freelancers. Besides, my boss won’t like me taking these kinds of deals without him knowing, and… we’re not exactly being mercs for money.”

“But maybe you can-”

“Talk to him about it? Could do. I doubt he’d take it up, however. Well, if you want… when you have a problem, maybe ask a fixer in Watson about us. I’m sure we’ll take up the gig.”

“… What’s your name?”

“Ask Reilly for Fire Team Baba Yaga. That’s our name.”

Erica saw the merc lightly tapped on the hood of the car. Signal for the driver to start the engine again and take Erica back to her father. As the merc started to walk away, rejoining with the rest of his team, Erica pushed her head out of the window.

“I won’t forget you, you know!”

Erica saw the merc simply turning his head to look over his shoulder, giving her a thumbs up in return.
As the limousine left for home, Erica quietly sat back into her seat.

Mother always told her fairy tales, about princesses kidnapped and locked away in towers. Rescued by a knight in shining armour.
She used to love those stories until she hit 15. Then for the past 2 years she was embarrassed that she used to like them as she hung out with other kids from Corpo families- buying clothes from Jinguji and trying out Smash before partying.

Then here she was tonight, kidnapped and locked away at a top of the building, people that looked like they were clad in metal plates coming to save her.

She never expected for her life to be a fairy tale for one night.

‘When you have a problem, maybe ask fixers about us.’

She didn’t care if they were full’borgs barely looking human. In her eyes right now, they looked better than any other guys her age.

Fire Team Baba Yaga.
Her knight in shining armour.

Reilly looked at the bouncer of Afterlife move aside for her to enter.
Holy sh*t, she was in the big leagues now.

She had put on her best clothes, grabbing a drink from the counter.

Everyone inside saw the grin plastered on her face. They snickered as they saw the new blood being giddy about the high place they had reached.

She heard the result of the rescue from several sources. Callan Johnston had doubled the payment of the original agreement. He further asked about Fire Team Baba Yaga, how his daughter would talk nothing but them for the entire night.
Hell, she even transferred the visual records from her Kiroshi Optics.
He wanted them to go loud and clear. Their definition of loud and clear was strategic release of hell - Jim going full on cyberpsychotic on the cars, killing the Scavs with them inside it - crushed and scattered across the road.

How much to hire them as personal mercs? Callan asked her.
And he wasn’t the only one - other Corpos, high ranking, starting asking for Fire Team Baba Yaga. Turns out Erica wasn’t the only child of MegaCorp executives that they rescued from the building.

They were all thinking like Callan. They saw the footage that their kids pulled out of their optic records to show them. They saw the design of the mercs, their skills as a solo and how they treated their clients. It made them froth and drool at the mouth.

‘They’ll have to make the final decision on that. Until then, they’re not for sale.’ Reilly had told all of them. She doubt they’d take the offer anyway.

“So, you’re the new fixer. Reilly Kudokawa, right?”

Voice of an old woman echoed from one of the private rooms, Reilly looked to her left and blinked.
Oh my god, it was Rogue.

“Oh I… h-hello, maam. I was just here because someone… called…”

“Yeah, yeah. That was me.”

Rogue shooed one of the mercs to the side, giving space for Reilly to sit in.
Reilly took Rogue’s offer without hesitation, scurrying in.

“So, how’s the fixer life going for you?”

“Well, one thing for sure, I nearly died…”

Rogue let out a snicker.

“Yeah, that sometimes Corpos and gangs don’t like it when a fixer gets nosy on their business. They won’t be targeting you now, on the bright side.”

“Yeah, barely anyone’s threatening me now.”

“And I guess you have those Baba Yagas to thank for, huh?”

The Bartender put two glasses on the table and poured the drinks in. Reilly could feel a little sweat trickle down the side of her face.
Rogue was the queen of fixers. And she didn’t get that spot by being a bleeding heart.
No, if she wanted something, she’d get it.
Through any means possible.

Reilly knew why Rogue invited her here. If she can agree to Rogue’s terms with no problem, she can stay drinking here. If she can’t… well, guess she’d have to savor the experience while she can.

“Are you paying your top mercs properly?”

Reilly blinked for a moment, before taking the glass and downing the shot.

“Y-yeah. 40% of the gig.”

Rogue laughed.

“Only 40%? For results like that? How are they still sticking with you?”

Reilly shifted in her seat.

“They said that they don’t need too much money. Just jobs.”

It was Rogue’s turn to drink a glass.

“New blood, let me tell you something now that you’re in the big league. Mercs ain’t sh*t without fixers. The few exceptions exist, where it’s the other way around.” Rogue pointed at Reilly. “Your little Baba Yagas are one of them. One way or the other, those mercs are what pulls sh*tty fixers out of the dump, and pulls better fixers into high places. Like you.”

Rogue pulled a few pictures from the laptop on the glass table - Reilly knew who they were.
Morgan Blackhand, Andrew Weyland, Adam Smasher.

“Those are the ones that defies the rule of Night City - and makes everyone remember them while they are alive.”

Reilly felt her throat slowly dry out, and decided to grab another drink.

“You really think those guys are… you know…”

“Legends? You… have seen what they do, right? Reilly, there’s 4 different types of Mercs. 3rd rate, 2nd rate, 1st rate, and living legends. At least 2nd rate Mercs are what you want to deal with - 3rd rates barely get through their first gig before getting a bullet in the back of their skull. Now, busting into a place and going gung-ho? That’s a 2nd rate merc. That’s what they could only do. 1st rate may still do that, but at least they can follow the client’s request. But living legends… those are the mercs that can walk in and out without anyone knowing. Very few mercs got that skill, and it’s a skillset that’s high on demand in our work force. I’ve read what they are capable of, these Baba Yagas. I’ve heard about them. And god damn, they are every single eddie worthy of that name. Baba Yaga, the Slavic Boogeyman. Witch that can help a hero out, and eat them at the flick of a hat. It’s been around a week or two since they arrived in Night City, and they already have the other mercs spooked.”

“… Even here?”

“Yeah, they’ve all heard what they could do. What they already did. Hell, if I shout at the top of my lungs ‘the Baba Yagas are coming!’ right now? I’ll bet you this entire club that everyone outside this room will freeze up, wondering ‘sh*t, are they here for me?’”

Reilly laughed. I mean, they’re good. She’ll give them that with no resistance. They’re really good.
But ‘scare even Afterlife Merc’s’ good? She didn’t really-

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Rogue stood up, strutting in her synth-leather jeans to the entrance of the private VIP section.

“Hey, boys!” She shouted. The queen of Fixers made every merc turn to her.

“The Baba Yagas coming to the Afterlife!”

Reilly saw every single one of them freeze up, some clenching the glass they were holding.

Some that still had optics looking like organic eyes had the pupils shrink up in silent panic.
No one talked, making the club feel silent and empty even if there was music blasting from the ceiling.
Some were starting to focus on the door.

“Ar-are… are they here because of a gig?” One of the mercs had the balls to ask Rogue. Rogue knew him and his crew. Maine, with his input Dorio on the left, their gun nut and Techie siblings Rebecca and Pillar on the right, and their netrunner Sasha in the middle. She briefly turned and looked at Reilly with a smirk, before looking back.

“Yeah, just got words that they’re coming for a merc. Client hired them to have them disappear. And I guess you kids know what that means, right?”

Mercs looked at each other, wondering whether they should bolt out of the door and leave now, or hole up here and try to negotiate.
They didn’t like the thinking of running out from the club without knowing what was waiting for them outside.

“I’m just joking! No need to sh*t your pants.” Rogue finally told the truth to the mercs, everyone started erupting in various emotions against Rogue.
But all of them displayed relief soon after.

“Guess I’ll be keeping my club.” Rogue responded.

Holy sh*t. They really were that good.

“Reilly, now you’ve seen how good your mercs are. The next thing you need to know, is that you want them consistently on your side. If I were you, I’d be paying them 70% of the gig, no matter what they said to you. Because what they say and how they can respond, are two very different things. And with the skills they have, they’re making a name for themselves. Faster than Adam Smasher before he became Arasaka’s Dog. Pretty soon, they’ll be making better connections. Better gigs, better pay. Hell, I’ve already got clients asking me to specifically put Baba Yagas as the merc on the job. Willing to pay for the ‘celebrity taxes.’ It pains me to turn them down because I don’t have contact with them. Pretty soon, however, those boogey-men-for-hire will be walking into clubs run by fixers. And other fixers will be more than happy to send them gigs with 80% of the cut. They’ll leave you in the dust before you can get a good grip on them. And when they’ll be the next Morgan Blackhand or Adam Smasher, you’ll be… you. In your sh*tty little make-shift office, telling clients and other mercs on your payroll that you once did some gigs with them like you still do.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind, ma’am.”

“Good. On that note, I need the Baba Yagas.”

And there it was.
Rogue finally stopped wacking around the bush to tell Reilly what she really wanted.
Reilly expected as much.

“… Could I ask why?”

“No. You can get 20,000 eddies to leave them here so I can have talk with them about a gig. Does that sound good?”

Reilly weighed her options. She didn’t have many… f*ck it, she didn’t have any. But she at least wanted to feel like she did.

“… I’ll call them to see if they can come here now.”

“Thank you.” Rogue’s eyes flashed blue, and Reilly saw herself getting 20,000 eddies richer.
Reilly gave Locust a call. While the tone was ringing as the avatar of Fire Team Baba Yaga’s leader was still the holophone’s default, Reilly quietly hoped that he wouldn’t pick up.

[Reilly.] She heard the distorted voice speak on the other line.
God damn it.

[You have a job for us?]

“Not… quite. Not me. But another fixer. One that basically tells you that you’re in the big leagues.”

[I need more explanation.]

Reilly sighed.

“It’s… it’s Rogue. Queen of Fixers. She wants to talk to you guys about a gig. In person. Are you free?”

There was a brief silence on the other line. It was agonising, but Locust did this a lot. It was obvious to Reilly that Locust was talking with the rest of his crew.

[Send me the location. We’ll be there.]

“Well, I won’t be. Have fun talking, and uh… don’t mess this up, you hear?”

The best thing she could do was send the new up and rising merc team with a pat on the back.
They’ll still do gigs for her… right?

Reilly stood up from her seat and looked at Rogue, who now came back to take a seat, legs crossing.

“They’ll come soon. I gave them the address. I’ll… be on my way.”

“Don’t have to leave so quickly. Take your time in the bar, have a drink! I’m sure if you chat with the mercs, you’ll get new chooms that’ll take your gigs. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Reilly smiled nervously as she left the VIP section. Maybe she should take Rogue’s advice. Hopefully her skills really are good enough to get good results with mercs other than the Baba Yagas.

Chapter 10: Interlude

Chapter Text

Rogue watched as Reilly started chatting up with several Mercs. She started out nervous and a little intimidated, but the new blood fixer eased in quick. Cracking jokes and buying drinks.
Rogue silently watched all that. Reilly had talent as a fixer. The only thing Reilly needed to do was live long enough to have that talent bloom.

[Rogue, Ma’am?]

The voice of the bouncer for tonight rang inside Rogue’s head. Holo call that she always had opened in case the bouncer needed to tell her something urgent.
This time, however, the bouncer looked nervous. Scared, actually.

[What is it?]

[There’s… there’s 6 people…? Umm… here. They- they say that they were sent here by Reilly Kudokawa.]

Rogue poured a drink and downed it. That sounded like them.
Rogue cleared her throat and answered.

[Let them in. They’re with me. I asked them to come.]

[I… yes, Ma’am.]

Rogue stood back up again. She had half the club panic thanks to her jokes, so she better clarify that none of them were in trouble.

Yet.

“Alright, boys! This time the Baba Yagas are actually coming, but they’re with me! So don’t be scared!”

Sasha saw Maine downing shots after Rogue gave everyone in the club a fright.
She couldn’t help but laugh at her team leader trying to calm down his panicking heart.

To be quite fair, everyone here was coming down from a scare. Sasha could still feel her heart bump against her ribs.
Every merc here had taken at least one unsavoury gig, done something that certainly landed them on someone’s sh*t list.
And if they had enough eddies to hire NC’s newest boogeymen, then… well, sh*t.
One unlucky bastard would be dragged out into the shadows, and the lucky rest wouldn’t even realise one of them went missing inside the club.

It sounded like an exaggeration, but there was enough news about corpo executives disappearing from high-security buildings and ending up as corpses inside rusty cars under bridges and highways.

And the video going around for the past week… Sasha saw it, Maine saw it, everyone on the Edgerunner crew saw it.
Majority of the video was obstructed by the close up plating of the Baba Yagas, but through the gaps between arms and legs one thing was clear - at least one of them was capable of swinging cars around with one arm like it was made of Styrofoam. A kick to a car caused the vehicle to spin and roll into the air.

Who was even capable of doing that? Sasha had thought.
Then she saw the giant futuristic walking armour’s silhouette darkened by the flames in the background.

That gave her the creeps.
Though to be fair, that gave everyone the creeps. The way that suit of armour slowly turned around, acting like it just didn’t slaughter several gangs while they were still in their car.

It was all over the news, people thinking it was Adam Smasher returning as a merc for hire.
Until they found out it wasn’t. It was someone completely new. That’s when every news media got interested.

Sasha tried finding info about them, but to her avail barely anything could be found.
It was as if they really were boogeymen, only known by their name.

“Alright, boys! This time the Baba Yagas are actually coming, but they’re with me! So don’t be scared!”

The Edgerunner crew heard Rogue once again shout at the top of her loung for an announcement.
Few of the mercs in the club laughed. They all got fooled by her once. No way in hell were they getting fooled again.

“For f*ck’s sakes, give us a break…” Sasha heard Maine mutter under his breath as he groaned. Dorio chuckled at her output’s exasperation.

“Hey, maybe they really are coming.”

“And what, they’re going to take us away, dragging us to hell while they make us scream?” Rebecca asked as she rested her arms behind her head.

“Who knows, if we’re lucky enough we’ll be watching them in action.”

“And if we’re not, maybe we’ll be the targets.”

Sasha and Pilar giggled at Rebecca and Dorio going back and forth.
Sasha had heard high satisfaction rating by the clients.
Boy, did they work fast and dilligently. Roughly two weeks have passed and they had done enough gigs to be considered children’s cautionary tales.

“Oh f*ck.” The Edgerunner crew heard their leader mutter. Sasha managed to catch the eyes behind Maine’s sunglasses. Widened with small pupils.
That’s when they all saw them.
Every merc in the club had stopped talking and stared at the new guests striding through.

They were taller than anyone here, all 6 heavily suited up and barely showing skin. Faces covered with helmets. If they had faces, they looked more like full’borgs than humans in armour. The one in front, presumably the leader, wore what looked like Skull with the cranium completely covering where the eyes should be.

Their weight caused the floor to rumble slightly with each step, fast rhythm vibrating throughout the club.

Everyone was silent, too scared to even talk lest the 6 Spartans all turned their heads towards that one in particular.

“f*ck me,” Dorio muttered. “They really are monsters.”

“You sure they’re the Baba Yaga?”

“Their bodies match the silhouettes in the video. It has to be them.”

“Hey boys!” They heard from one of the tables outside. It was Reilly, the newest fixer in Afterlife, waving at them like they were chooms.

What surprised the rest of the guests was how the 6 would respond. Either awkwardly raising a hand in return, or waving back in a playful manner.
That… unsurprisingly unsettled the mercs more.

They all headed towards Rogue, just as Rogue had announced. But the size of them meant that only one or two could fit in, the rest was simply standing outside and leaning on the walls.

“… Do you really think that Rogue called them here?” Rebecca whispered over the table. The VIP section meant that most of their talks would stay in this room, but with how quiet the club sounded it felt like any sound an octave higher would be picked up by those giants.

“Why else would they be here? It’ll be weirder if they weren’t allowed in the Afterlife, after all they managed to do.” Dorio answered, voice just as hushed as Rebecca.

“I… I guess so.”

Sasha focused on the merc wearing all black armour. Contrary to the other 5, they were the only one without any extra colours for highlights.
With how big they were, it was a wonder how they could sneak into highly secured locations and sneak back out.
But as curious as she was, she was just as scared to find out.

“First off, welcome to Afterlife. The fact that you could walk in here means that you’re in the big leagues now.”

Rogue greeted the Spartan in front like she greeted every other newcomer mercs. Normally the moment she said this they would be grinning ear to ear. Maine and his crew on the other side (still staring at Fire Team Baba Yaga along with other mercs) certainly did.

The metal titan didn’t respond. It was like they were golems.
Rogue narrowed her eyes, trying to skim off their body movement.
She couldn’t get any reads off of them, and it frustrated her even more.

“You have a job for us, I presume.” That’s when that… eyeless skull spoke. It caught Rogue off guard in two ways. The fact that it was so sudden, with no body movement to announce that it was going to speak. And then there was also… the voice. Distorted. It sounded less like a voice and just amalgamations of vibrations imitating the tone of one to make words and string them into sentences.

Rogue blinked.

“Yes. I can tell you’re solely here for a biz.” Rogue placed a shard on the table. Which Agent Locusts looked down at.

“Have a seat, I’ll give you the details.” People inside the VIP section had to scoot over even more when Locust decided to comply. The seat sank in thanks to the weight of the Gen 3 Rakshasa variant Mjolnir.

“Drinks?” Rogue offered, trying to at least establish some… human contact with the Baba Yagas.

“We don’t drink.” A polite decline, yet something that made them look less alive.
Agent Locust grabbed the shard, holding it up to briefly see the shape. To Rogue, it looked like he could read the data off the shard just by looking.

Agent Locust turned to the rest of his crew.

“Ram.” The distorted voice ordered, to which one of the bulkier ones stepped up to grab the shard, taking a heavily modified laptop and an equally upgraded cyberdeck from the underside of it’s shoulder armour. It plugged wires between the two and inserted the shard into the cyberdeck.
The other Spartans started gathering around the screen as Rogue narrowed her eyes.
How paranoid were they to go for something like this?

“It’s a MegaCorp gig. Client’s Arasaka. They asked me to make a team to steal some valuable assets from Militech. A prototype of their latest weapon system. You see, Militech has what they call Special Projects Department, a group responsible for the development of technological ideas considered too exotic, sensitive, potentially dangerous. Arasaka caught wind of one of these exotic ideas, and would like an espiona-”

The merc the leader had referred to as Ram started laughing as he watched the screen. Like his namesake, Ram made sounds resembling cries of a sheep.
Well, Rogue thought. At least they acted like they had human emotions. A very wrong reason and very weird timing notwithstanding.
The other 5 were looking at Spartan Ram. To them, it was obvious why he was laughing.

Exotic, she says. Something that looked like what UNSC used 60 years ago before throwing away in favor of newer, better models.

“… ahem, so anyways. Militech had transported one of those very special development projects to Night City. We don’t know if Night City is a pit stop, or a potential testing ground. It doesn’t matter. What matter’s is that it’s here, and Arasaka wants it in the hands of the Night City’s Arasaka’s facility. The rest of the details, including the number of securities and the building layout is in that shard.”

Agent Locust turned his head back to Rogue. The Queen of Fixers wanted to make some sort of eye contact- to read the merc’s response, to establish some sort of proper fixer-merc relationship, to make sure that she can at least stare this metal motherf*cker down in some ways to tell her she’s not to be messed with.

The lack of eyes visible meant that it failed. But Rogue didn’t falter.
And neither did Agent Locust.

“You want us to go in quiet, or loud and hard?”

“Do whatever you want, it doesn’t matter. All we want is for you guys to take that new project, and deliver to the designated location.”

That was all Agent Locust needed to know. He stood up, and the rest of the Spartans gave way.
It was time to leave, and do their jobs.

“Wait.” Rogue opened her mouth as Agent Locust but a footstep away from getting out of the VIP section. “What’s your name? I know your team is called Baba Yaga. But I’d like to know of who I was directly talking to.”

Agent Locust turned around.

“Agent Locust. At your service.”

Ram closed his laptop and packed up as he also stood up, leaving the VIP section with Locust and forming the 6 man band again.
Collectively footprints were heard throughout the club as they disappeared around the corner.

Rogue picked up her glass, still half full with whiskey.
Hmph. She swiveled the glass and saw the drink swirl.

At my service my ass, she barely had any control of that conversation.

Chapter 11: The Heist

Chapter Text

Agent Locust sat on the platform of an unfinished construction work.
Building that was in development for an unknown Megacorp, but tension between them and Militech caused this place to be put on an indefinite hold.

Agent Locust continuously replayed the 3d blueprint of the Militech’s Night City R&D department on the other side of the road. Any possible entrances and openings, breaches in their security was marked and trasnferred to the rest of the Baba Yagas.
Trucks were going in and out of that fortress-like building. Something Agent Killshot was spying on from the metal scaffolds using the point-isolated VISR focal software installed into the Dead Eye Variant Mjolnir helmet.
Militech Software was among the most advanced software Earth had, competing with Arasaka - who also developed military-grade ICE and security systems. Their security were bolstered on the fact that thanks to the Datakrash, the net had become broken into small little bubbles - under full control of either the corporations that created them, or netwatch.
Agent Ram was constructing an extra cyberdeck using parts he had taken from gangs that the Baba Yaga had eradicated over past two weeks for gigs. The experience of developing new military softwares for the UNSC, and creating Smart AIs made the net that Militech was using looked like a flimsy window to him. Crude imitations of dumb ais he had created from these customised cyberdecks and his own privatised net would have been sold at very high prices as ‘newest Daemons’ in Megacorp auctions. Anyone from Night City would have mistaken them as rogue AIs from the black wall.

Agent Locust took his eyes off the laptop screen to look at the building with Agent Killshot. They started when the sky was clouded and rain was hitting concrete and metal (Ram notified that the Rain had above-average levels of acidity and toxcity, heavy indication of water sources being polluted). The rain persisted even when the night sky made everything pitch black.

Fire Team Baba Yaga started out as an ONI black ops group, then later tasked with intruding into Created-dominated locations for data sanitation and recovery.
They had literally fought advanced AIs over data, what amounted to their home territory. Baba Yaga’s terms of victory in such a fight was that they managed to eradicate such data from Created-controlled terminals without being noticed. The fact that they survived meant they were very successful at such tasks.

And they also had Noble 6.

Agent Locust snorted a little as he stood up, closing the laptop and putting it back into Ram’s back plating.
They should be able to make that little ‘product’ of theirs disappear without them none the wiser.

Agent Locust snapped his finger, the other 5 Spartans returning from their post to gather around the Fire Team Leader.
Locust had seen enough of the blueprint, got enough intel from Ram and Killshot.
It was time.

The mission was simple. Find the project, get it out and go to the designated location.
But this was Militech’s R&D department for Night City. What that meant for Baba Yaga was that precious intel from one of their newest rival Corporation was stacked inside like a gold mine.

“…?” A militech soldier briefly looked at the ceiling.

“You see something?” Her partner soldier, going with her to patrol the building, looked back at her with a bored tone.

“No, it’s just… the lights are flickering.”

“Guess we’ll tell that to the techies.”

5 of the Spartans had emissions cloaking system integrated into their mjolnir armor. The only one that didn’t was Jim - Mirage IIC only fulfilled the bare minimum performance requirements for a Mjolnir suit, which meant internal emissions cloaking system was non-existent.
That didn’t matter. Spartan Jim always carried an active camouflage module he had ripped out of a Stealth Sangheili during the Covenant war.
That elite bastard had nearly stabbed him in the back while hiding in abandoned covenant hydrogen extraction plant, Jim made sure to lodge his knife deep into the underside of its mouth, puncturing the skull.

Noble 6 and Ram waited silently as the two Militech Guards went past them through the corridor. Once they disappeared out of sight, Ram went to work.
They didn’t really need to tamper with the security cameras - the upgraded active camouflage could seemlessly bend light around the mjolnir armour. You’d have to pratically plant your face on the armour to spot the shimmering in the space around the armour.
Physical proximity to the eye was necessary to even see something out of the ordinary. The cameras couldnt pick up on that.

Spartan Killshot was on top of the Militech building, using a scope detached from a rifle to scan the surroundings in case there was a sudden change in the situation. Jim was on standby with Killshot incase the situation went out of control.

That left Spartan Locust and Leon to be on the other side of the building, creating a safe route for Noble 6 and Ram to travel, and themselves ready to act once the duo in the terminal room found the location of the Project (and extracted whatever data they could from the main terminal).

Killing wasn’t part of the plan, knocking them out wasn’t either. Any harm done could potentially leave traces that they were here.
Violence, in this case, was a contingency plan.

Noble 6 and Ram opened the door when the Camera was looking in another direction, closing before it rotated back.
No one else was inside the main terminal. Camera in the corner couldn’t look behind the giant computers.
Ram quickly plugged his laptop into one of the computers - they were all interconnected, breaching one lead to all of them being compromised.

Ram’s acted quickly, anyone in cyberspace would’ve seen what amounted to eldritch abominations being created from thin cyberspace-air. Formless blobs of codes that instantly conformed and evaded to every possible firewalls. Noble 6 watched as Ram was busy typing on the keyboard, the noise was covered by the soft rumbling by the terminals.
Like water going through paper, the code would stick to the ICE and walls, showing Ram what sort of codes formed commands, which interlinked with eachother to create the military-grade ICE. Ram skimmed over it, and then feed them new codes that made them identify the program as ally, another data needed to be stored in the databank, and willing invited in.
Once they left, all records of them entering would be deleted.
This entire process would’ve taken even the best Netrunners almost a couple of years to manage, they would have needed to develop the Daemons from scratch.
Ram and Cell dealt with Forerunner softwares, their biggest breakthrough was creating a replica of the Warden Smart AI. Smart AIs, which UNSC engineers would remind you, would’ve required scanning a biological brain to get the matrix needed for their cores.
Making Daemons like this was just a weekend homework the twins would do while trying to recover from a hangover.
Ram looked at his laptop monitor, looking at the amount of data going past his command screen. Information was extracted and sent through, security programmed made by the best of the best in Militech would just helplessly witness this progress.
If they were aware, then they would have no mouth and must scream.
Future development projects, including the one Baba Yaga was tasked to ‘retrieve’, was but few of many that Ram collected. Soon, details regarding who was in charge of what project, all of the details from the lowest ranking engineers to the executive members were being sucked out and placed into Ram’s palm.

Agent Washington will love this.

“… Oh, this is going to be difficult.” Noble 6 heard Ram mutter as the team’s technological expert chuckled. Noble 6 quitely turned around to look at Ram.

“Were we found out?”

“No. But we might be compromised if we decide to steal our client’s interest.”

“… I’d like some clarifications.”

“I’ll tell this to our leader as well, but what we need to steal is-”

“-A truck. We need to steal, a truck.”

Agent Locust double checked with Ram over the comm link, Spartan Leon was shaking his head and laughing a little in frustration.

[More like the Project is so big it needs to stay in the truck. No other way to carry it out.]

Spartan Leon opened the back of the truck again, letting out a small chuckle as he and Locust had to confirm that it was that goddamn big.

[It was orignally to be transfered to an underground facility in NUSA territory - it only made a pitstop here because the road they were going to take was getting populated with Nomads. They needed to regroup and restock their defenses.]

“… Well, sh*t. That changes things.” Agent Locust sighed as he looked around the storage room.
There were several other trucks lined up, recently arrived. Agent Locust and Leon had created a temporary blindspot on the camera to safely open the cargos.
Among them were new artillery projects, and experimental drones.

“What do we do now, sir? We going gung ho?” Agent Leon asked as he readied his weapon. The storage had a total 6 security guards, 2 had breifly left to check on another room and would be returning soon.

[Sir, if I may.] Just as Agent Locust was mulling over the possibility Leon had suggested, Noble 6’s voice came to life on the comm.

“Noble 6, you have a suggestion?”

[I do, sir. Ram managed to find the digital route to the generators of this building. He’s also manageed to get the full list of employees within this building, among other things.]

“… I think I’m seeing your angle. But please continue.”

[I’ve read Spartan Leon’s files. His specialty was voice imitation and languages?]

Agent Locust turned to Agent Leon, who was already nodding his head to Noble 6’s offer. Gears were turning in everyone’s head, which ended with Leon chuckling.

“Give me a secure line and the details of who I need to impersonate. And a security footage of him talking.”

[The back-up generators will be online 3 minutes after I cut the power, in the meantime Noble 6 will regroup with an improvised burner phone for Leon to use. I’ll delete any records of the truck from this facilitie’s terminal, and then cut the contact of the truck.] Spartan Ram injected himself into the conversation, who was already at work tampering with the records.

“Send over what I have to say.”

[Noble 6 is already on his way with the necessary devices. By the time Noble 6 arrives at your location, all comm links will be rerouted to our liking. Baba Yaga Leader, I need alternate routes for Me, Jim and Killshot to use before randevousing with you three.]

“I’m already on it. Sending it your way. It should be away from the generators too, but watch out for patrols just in case. Make sure you don’t leave any traces.”

Agent Leon looked at his leader while the two huddled behind the truck.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” Leon’s remark only made Locust shake his head.

Kowalski Speckleman was a recent addition to the security team. He couldn’t believe that he managed to get through the internship, but… well, here he was. Wearing Militech helmet and vest with a newly manufactured M251s Ajax.

Like majority of his colleagues, the only thing of note that he had to keep in mind during his patrol was that there were trucks that came from NUSA inside the storage for the following 2 days. Though according to the head of security, this place was an underground facility unknown to majority of people. They should be fine.

His partner-in-crime had continuously looked at the flickering lights on the ceiling. The lack of proper maintenance of the inner circuitry was probabliy the problem.

“God, it just feels like the lights are gonna blow, soon.” She muttered under her breath as they continued their designated patrol route.

They were starting to return to the storage when her words became reality.
All of a sudden, the lights suddenly went out, the door in front of them refusing to open even if Kowalski put his ID card into the lock.

Him and his partner’s communication flared to life.

[This is Albert Rondale, head of security of the Night City’s R&D underground facility.]

Oh sh*t, it was their boss.

[Unfortunately the worse has come to our attention. Our generator has briefly gone haywire, and while our engineers have a look at it, we’ll have to rely on the backup generator for lights and doors. Because that also means our security cameras will not be working thanks to power constraints, I’d like all security to undergo protocol night defence. Patrol group 1, 2, and 3. I’d like you guys to change your patrol route to sector A. 4 and 5. You guys will be guarding our engineers in case they find evidence that the generators were sabotaged. 6, 7, 8. I’d like you guys to start from the storage, and then spread into Wings alpha and beta in Sector B.]

Kowalski looked to his partner, the lower part of her face exposed thanks to the design of the Militech helmet showed a little skeptical expression.

“What’s the matter? It’s standard protocol.” Kowalski asked.

“Well, it is. I guess…” That’s all she had said as they started to follow their superior’s orders. Then she looked back at Kowalski “It’s just… won’t that leave the storage a little… empty?”

Kowalski shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, you heard the guy. I’d say with the location the generators are at, we should be more focused on guarding routes that could lead to the terminals.”

While his partner still showed suspicion, she nevertheless nodded her head, agreeing to Kowalski’s reasoning.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Nothing else was out of the ordinary for the guards. After 2 hours suffering under the subpar performance of the back up generators (They didn’t expect much out of it anyway. Back up generators were designed to provide the bare minimum for the facility to function at some sort of level), the main generator was restored and every other function returned with it.

One of the fuse had overloaded, the militech techies said. Most likely from the rust buildup no one had the time to clean.

“Emmeric? Pines?” But minor confusion was brought to surface, when Albert Rondale looked surpised to see guards in some of the sector. “Why the hell are you guys here?”

“You… ordered us to patrol this sector, sir.”

“… What?”

“We heard from your call, that we needed to Wings Alpha and Beta in Sector B.” One of the guards piped up.

“I said patrol Sector C and the entrance to the Storage! We don’t need to patrol Sector B! Let alone have you 3 groups squashed into it!” Frustration was evident in Albert’s voice, to which one of the guards stammered out in confusion.

“But sir, you clearly told us to-”

“Well you heard it wrong, you sh*t-for-ears! Stop arguing with me and go back to the storage!”

The guards didn’t bother arguing. But they did talk amongst themselves whether their head of security had said Sector B or Sector C. Majority of them had indeed confirmed they had heard Sector B, with a few saying that they had heard Sector C instead.
Their conversation went nowhere, which only added to their beffudlement.

“Ummm… hey, how many trucks were supposed to be here again?” One of the guards asked the other as they went back to patrol.
Something felt off, but the guard couldn’t put a finger on it. It was like those ‘spot the difference’ puzzle game, except the only two comparisons were what he was seeing with what he vaguely remembered.
It was pretty much a losing game, especially since they were breifly panicking on the black out and the discrepancy of their bosses order.

“Let me check.” Said his partner, who looked through the dataterm nearby. He came back soon after. “It says we had five trucks coming in here. Why?”

The guard started to count the trucks.
One… two… three… four… five.
Yeah, ok. He thought. There’s all five of them.

“What, you feeling something like Deja Vu?”

“… Naah. I think I’m just remebering something different.” The guard brushed it off and went back to patrol.
Still, he would look over his shoulders at the truck.

It felt like he was missing something important…
Something that made his hair stand a little. He didn’t know why though.

[The package is in a militech truck parked at the designated. Don’t worry, they cut any possible trackers on the payload. Destroyed records of it too. The mercs I hired are watching out for it until you guys arrive.]

Kate, the Arasaka Counter intelligence stepped out of the car as they arrived at the designated location they had provided to the fixer for the gig. Douglas was already waiting outside the car for her, extending her an umbrella as the rain continued to pour down.
Puddles formed on the asphalt pavement bounced lights from streelamps, yet there wasn’t enough lumination to properly brighten the way.

There wasn’t anyone else waiting for them, and that made Kate doubt the integrity of the Queen of Fixers.
There wasn’t any mercs, there wasn’t even the fixer’s little handymen waiting for her.
Just a militech truck, slowly gathering rust and water stain thanks to the rain.

No matter, if the cargo was there, then she guessed it was a job done.
Kate opened the back of the truck, the newest model they had managed to receive intel out of from interrogating a miltech executive (any claims to Arasaka torturing the man would be denied. As far as the public knows, the man had committed suicide in his own car) was safely inside.
Well, job well done. Kate sighed a little as she anticipated the amount of work she and Douglas would have to do in order to completely eradicate the traces of the Militech product going into Arasakas hand.
But then again, she didn’t realise that Baba Yaga had done that job for her. Like a present from Santa, like a Turkey served on silver platter during thanksgiving- this was a gift with no strings attached.
Kate and Douglas would soon realise that until a week later, this product simply disappeared from reality, any records and evidence of cargo was no longer existent within that time period.
For a good long while, Militech wouldn’t even realise it had existed - then it’ll take a week to know that it had disappeared, then two more weeks to find out it was stolen.

“Douglas, get the Arasaka Agents to retrieve this, and confirm to the other executives that we have the product.”

Douglas didn’t answer.

“Douglas?” Kate turned to see why Douglas was so silent.
Douglas stayed frozen on the spot, looking to the top of some abandonned building behind them.
His hands were shivering but not because of the cold air.

“… Miss…” Was all Douglas eeked out from his voice.
Kate followed Douglas’s gaze, and realised why he was so spooked.

There was nothing among the abandonned buildings. At least, there shouldn’t have been.
But she could see how the rain was hitting something that didn’t exist there. The impacts of the droplets were drawing outlines of sillhouttes: 2 on the top of the left building, and 2 on the top of the right.
Then there were 2 standing in the narrow road that entered into this space. Sillhouettes Kate and Douglas could barely see.
What was even scarier was that no matter how many times they tried to scan the outline, results came back with absolutely nothing.

Nothing existed there, yet the rain told them something WAS there.

Then they slowly started to see the 6 sillhouttes walking away, out of sight.
And with that, they were gone. Disappearing into the shadows casted by the buildings, molding in with the darkness casted by the night.

Kate and Douglas never saw a good look at the 6. But they heard enough from the streets to get a good gist of who… of what they were.

“Baba Yaga…” Kate whispered out with an exhale. She hadn’t realised that she was subconciously holding in her breath, until the silent terrors had left.

f*ck me, they thought. Rogue hadn’t just hired top tier mercs for the gig - she had hired the f*cking Boogeymen.

Chapter 12: History

Chapter Text

The infrastructures ‘grown’ outside the badlands near the scrap yard and Laguna Bend, was busy at work. It started with a simple Cell-Kyl vat placed in the middle of the trash mountain, marines and Spartans hauling nearby trash to feed the clouds of Nanomachine.
First the nanobots built the infrastructure using the trash that it was fed.
Once the walls were built, 2 M12 Warthogs were deployed to be used as temporary trucks, carrying the trash into the barricade twice every day.

It was known officially under the UNSC record created by Captain Church as [HIGHCOM Facility Draugr-1]. The crewmates had easier time referring as ‘the Graveyard’.
And inside the hive, Crews of the Engineering branch were working tirelessly like the undead, developing several vehicles for personal use that would make gathering scrap and transporting them back to the Cell-Kyl vat easier.

The Warthogs they were using were already returned back to the UNSC Revenant.
Trucks with crane arms were sent out from the Graveyard to shovel out trash. Marines were driving the vehicles with nothing but complaints mulling in their mouth as ODST troopers and Spartans rode behind them, rifles aimed to any possible uninvited guests.

Washington watched the Trucks go to work in the distance, several of these trucks being deployed out through the hard-light gate and coming back in, filled with trash.
They weren’t supposed to have Hydrogen-Injected Combustion Engines. But Cell specifically had them installed anyway.
To his reasoning, those trucks were never going to be for sale.

“What if they get stolen. Then we’ll have a company able to mass produce Hydrogen-Injected Combustion Engines.”

Agent Locust silently looked at his superior, the Locus variant helmet expressionlessly conveying a sense of disbelief.

“Do you seriously think they’ll manage to steal one of them?”

Washington thought for a moment.

“… I guess not. Maybe I’m just overreacting.”

“You ARE overreacting.”

Agent Locust and Agent Washington were hiding inside a naturally formed tunnel. With the cameras floating around here recently, having their conversations recorded for the entire city to see was not an option.

Spartan Ram was further behind the tunnel, who was busy finishing compiling a data chip.
It was more for Dumb and Smart AIs to read and transfer to a separate, safer cyberspace build by the UNSC.

“We’ve got several intel regarding Militech in this package. My asshat of a brother could use some of them for inspiration for new projects.”

“They can’t be that advanced.” Washington said with a slight concern.

“Precisely. They’re definition of the next gen experimental tech, is our definition of a garden shed science experiment. I think the annoyance will be plenty enough for him to stick around Earth for… I don’t know, 4 more years or so.”

“He really does get that easily bored, doesn’t he?”

“He’s mister Prodigy, Forerunner stuck in a human body.”

“I’d say you’re no different to him in that regard.”

Washington sighed as he fidgeted with the data chip.
He read their files, how they were among the Spartans recommended by Halsey to go down on a shield world expedition.
The two were among the few survivors of the Spartan IV deployed, the rest were reduced to data.

“Tell my twin I said hi.”

“… Actually, speaking of your twin, here’s a new mission for you.”

Washington procured visualised data from his dumb AI, which sent the information over to Spartan Locust.

Locust’s dumb AI, butler, took the info and deciphered it.

“What the f*ck.”

Washington nodded in defeat at Locust’s response. It was expected.

“Look, we don’t even need to get the entire cow. I mean, Cell wants an entire cow… but he can still work with blood samples.”

Locust sighed as he sent the info to Ram as well.
Ram read through the info, and chuckled.

“This sounds like Cell, alright.”

Locust and Ram stood up, readying to deploy their active camouflage once more.

“You don’t have to do this now. Take your time.” Was all Washington replied as his subordinates disappeared.

Washington also readied his active camouflage. Guess it was his time to leave too.

“Here’s intel from your brother. Be grateful.” Agent Washington tossed a data pad.

Spartan Cell took his eyes off of the microscope, a plate half-filled with dirt from outside.
Compared to the soil Cell had created and managed, these ones had a paler dryer colour.
It advertised itself that it was devoid of life.

Washington heard Cell sneer as he scrolled through the data pad. Sounded like he found the Militech secret.

“And they’re calling this next gen. That’s adorable.”

Ram was right. Not that Washington disagreed with him.

Washington was already seeing the gears inside Cell turning.
Guess he’d be hopping to a new project, while their intended Car production was still work in progress.

It was almost always like this- Cell kickstarting a project and a terrifying speed in progress, and then dropped it immediately for Kyl to pick up.

Washington had to get use to this soon.
He looked at the dirt and pointed at it.

“So, find anything interesting?”

“Yeah. It’s the lack of anything worth looking in that’s interesting.”

“…O…kay?” That response was a first. “Elaborate if you could?”

“Nothing is in this dirt other than poison. Absolutely 0 active microbes identifiable.”

“… Isn’t having no microbes good? That’s why companies advertise disinfectant that’s like 99.99% effective against all germs?”

Cell placed the datapad on the table and leaned back on his chair, one leg resting on the other.

“Wash?”

“Am I wrong?”

“You failed biology class, right?”

Washington sighed. Cell’s insult right now would’ve counted as insubordination. Only problem was that due to both of them being in Spartan division (and that both were near-equal in specific status and field work experiences), there were no ways of punishing Cell with his own authority.

“No, I passed with a B-.”

“Figured. With the sort of dumb ass question you just told me.”

Cell picked up the plate and removed it from the microscope, showing it off to Washington as if it was his newest miniature invention.

“For life the size visible to our eyes to exist, we need microbes. Think of them as the small parts that make up a circuitry that runs the computer. Plants especially need microbes in the soil to convert any chemicals that they can’t use but could potentially be used as nutrients, as actual source of nutrients.”

“Right. So the complete lack of them is concerning.”

“It’s already concerning with the concentration of poison in the soil. It’s downright mind boggling that it was capable of driving a microbiome to functional extinction. All those diverse bacteria, completely wiped out like the Spartan IIIs Beta Company during Operation: TORPEDO.”

“Oh my f*cking god, Cell.”

“It’s that horrifying to look at from a biological perspective, Washington! Now the bright side is that I’ve found capsules and spores, which means some of them are laying dormant until the conditions are right. The bad news is that the soil condition is so bad, they’re never going to wake up.”

“Is the poison that bad?”

“Yeah, I’m actually getting the chemical composition of the poison sample scanned right now. The results should be coming in an hour. But with what I’ve seen right now, I can already confirm one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“This right here-” Cell tapped on the edge of the plate, soil moving and crumbling thanks to the sudden force from his finger. “It’s artificial. Probably from a Megacorp too. Now, I’m sure not all the soil out here is like this, but could predict a majority of them would be.”

Washington looked to the dirt, and then back to Cell.

“And I presume that’s going to be your next new project you’ll promptly hand over to another engineer group once you get bored again?”

“Yep. This one should be quick though.”

Washington nodded a little, before pushing himself off the wall he was leaning on.
Unlike Cell, Washington had enough sense of responsiblity to look through the list of Militech Personals.
Speaking of dirt, there was a LOT of dirt on these guys just from the data Ram had acquired.
It was almost sad the way these sort of information was so easily and quickly copied and stolen.

“… Hey, Wash. Can I ask you something?”

Agent Washington was about to leave the doorway, but Cell’s voice stopped him in his track.

“Sure, shoot.”

Cell was staring at the datapad, and then to the dirt.

“… You know how we’ve become… what we are, right?”

Washington stepped back into the room. He saw Cell tap at the bottom right spectral node on his helmet.

“Yeah, we’ve found Forerunner artifact on the back of our moon, took it with us back to Earth to research it.”

“That’s the thing. We calculated that thanks to us contacting Forerunner tech, we had essentially made technological leaps equivalent to 500 years into the future. It’s only been roughly 100 years since we left this planet, but the difference in technology and experience is close to 400 or 500 years apart.”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking you guys to go easy on the products.”

“Yeah, but here’s where my bit of concern comes in. You see, Earth used to have something that they called the Library of Alexandria in Egypt. It was one of the largest and most significant library of the ancient world, acting as a larger research institution.”

“What happened to it?”

“It burnt down, intellectuals purged information going up in literal flames. By 270 and 275 AD, it was completely gone. Historians believe that if the library was intact, humanity would have made advancements close to 100 years.”

“So it was the complete opposite of our situation.”

“Yeah. So here’s the question to you: If we hadn’t discovered that Forerunner artifact, what would have happened to us?”

“We… wouldn’t have existed, I guess. Could I ask why you suddenly wanted to ask this?”

“Oh, I was just looking through the technology on the datapad and got me to think ‘damn, these guys are cavemens.’ And then I remembered my experience on the Shield world expedition. You’ve read our files regarding that, right?”

“Only the ones that wasn’t blacked out in ink, yes.”

“Well here’s what the inked parts were - me and Ram were turned into data as well.”

“Ex-f*cking-scuse me?”

“You heard me, Mr Depressed. The twins suffered the effect of a composer. Thing is, we were contact with the Forerunner’s equivalent to the internet. The Domain, it called itself.”

“What, ‘it called itsel-’ am I hearing that right? That thing is alive?”

“Yeah, and it can think. Think faster and better than any of us. So many information, layered atop of each other. The oldest data altering into something else. But it was there, it still existed. Beyond our space-time. We met a forerunner there, or… whatever was left of it. It called itself Master Builder Faber. They helped us connect with the Domain, because it wanted to talk to us. It was excited about having new visitors, it enjoyed sharing information. Do you know what it told me?”

“I’m starting to get too scared to ask. So just tell me if you want me to listen.”

Cell nodded.

“It told me the basic principles behind every Forerunner calculations and software, every matrix of programs that it used to run their machines. How it built AIs.”

“So that’s why you were capable of creating a Warden-AI replicant.”

“Oh, but it gets even better. Among the things it whispered to us, one of them was a simulation it was running on background.”

“Simulation?”

“Predictive calculations about the several choices that diverges time-space into smaller sub-divisions. About what some of those branches would look like and how long they’ll grow. One of them was a predictive model of what would’ve happened had we not found Forerunner artifacts in 1969.”

“Which was…?”

“That everything, everything we’ve built, everything we’ve achieved, everything we’ve fought and experienced was pushed back 500 years into the future.”

“That’s… expected.”

“No, Wash. I mean everything, down to the last. Minute. Detail. Was delayed exactly 500 years ago. We left Earth to colonise other planets in 2362, insurrections and the Spartan-II program starting in 2494 to 2525, Covenants contacting with humans and starting a war in 2525, ending in 2553, us fighting the Ur-Didact in 2557, Banished forces in 2557.”

“Wait, you knew the Banished would attack us?”

“I knew they would, I didn’t know when, where and how. Not in our universe, at least.”

Washington stared at Cell. Cell avoided Washington’s eyes and instead focused on the wall in front of him.

“The point is, every little thing UNSC has done was pushed back for 500 years, the discovery of Forerunner technology was the divergent point for OUR timeline. And then it started a butterfly effect. Slowly it diverged. If we hadn’t found those artifacts, Earth may not have been in such condition.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because if Domain had calculative the most possible course of our time in such a scenario was that UNSC was under the commands of the United Earth Government.”

“… Which doesn’t exist.”

“Not here, no. Maybe… in another universe, parallel to us? Definitely.”

“And you’re sure that parallel universe exists?”

“Wash, Forerunners had engines that extracted vacuum energy from infinite numbers of alternate realities. Vacuum energy they sucked out from those new born universes resulting in their premature death. Infinite energy supply that- if you give me 5 to 10 years, I can recover from scratch.”

“There’s no f*cking way I’m allowing you to do that.”

“Go f*ck yourself. But moving back to my point- yes, it does exist. Somewhere, somehow. Can we contact it? Not yet. Can we observe it? Not yet. But can we be aware of its existence? Yes. That does beg the question, if… if in an alternate reality, where Earth was in this exact situation, without UNSC existing. Would their events had happened much later in history?”

“That… could be a possibility.”

“Then here’s the question I wanted to ask you, flipping the previous question around: Because of our existence here on Earth, would events that should’ve happened… let’s say 2 or 3 years in the future, happen much much quicker?”

Washington thought for a moment, and in that time Cell added in more terms to the question.

“Even if we just… observed Earth, without interfering with it. Would our existence alone still warrant an acceleration of events?”

“… I’m, not too sure about that.”

“It’s fine. I just wanted to see a non-scientific individual’s perspective on this.”

“… I’d say then, that it’s an absurd scenario. But with what you just told me, it doesn’t sound too farfetched. I don’t know. It could be. I can’t be sure enough, unfortunately. Those sort of speculation is more of your Domain than mine.”

Cell chuckled a little.

“No. It’s no longer anyone’s Domain.”

Vic Vega looked out his window.
Night had fallen on Rancho Coronado, Santo Domingo.

Recent news had told people with bounties on their heads to fear the dark.
Hell, he’s seen his subordinates and security check the closets every time they were on Graveyard shift.

‘What the f*ck are you guys doing, you guys trying to find something? Huh? Lost a pen in a closet?’

‘N-no, sir… it’s… uh, we were… just checking.’

‘Why are you guys checking closets?’

‘… If the Baba Yagas was hiding in there, sir.’

Vic was briefly lost for words.

‘Get the f*ck away from the closets and go do your f*cking job! You puss*es!’ he shouted. Security promptly did as they were told.

Ridiculous. He heard the words on the streets, but he couldn’t believe that even his own men were believing what people were saying.
Yeah, they’re mercs. They’re good at making people and cargo disappear.

But for f*ck’s sake, they weren’t the actual boogeymen!
How superstitious were you going to be to be checking closets!
What, were they checking under their own beds when they go back home?

Vic grabbed a pen and fiddled with it, thumb clicking the tip in and out as he alternated his focus from his window to his computer.
… He wouldn’t lie, he caught himself looking a little tense in the reflection every time the outside of his window went dark.

He heard about them. Who hadn’t? He’s seen the video, of cars getting thrown around like they were nothing more than hot wheels toys.

But, that didn’t matter. He chided himself.
He’s Vic Vega, head of the private security company C-Team!
The amount of security guards and cameras installed in this building should be more than enough to catch anyone lurking around here when they’re not supposed to.

Yeah, it was fine. Besides, who says they’re interested in him?

It was just a new scare for Corpos that people of Night City loved to sink their teeth into.
Vic bet 5000 Eddies to his friends that 90% of their deeds were over-exaggeratio-

Vic briefly saw the reflection in the window.
Steel black helmet with gold visors behind his own head.
It only took a second for Vic to register the image as he was suddenly pulled back into his chair by the throat.

He gurgled and kicked as he grabbed whatever was constricting around his neck.
From the corner of his eyes he saw one of his guards walking down the stairs, only showing their back to Vic.

He wanted to shout to them, that he was getting attacked.

But he couldn’t the loudest he could be were quiet sobs as foams were forming at the corners of his mouth.
Eyes watering as he looked back at the window.
He had just realised that one of the windows in the hallway was open.
The peripherals were going dark, making it feel like someone was turning off the lights.

Yet the Gold visor, bouncing off from the window as a reflection, looked so clear to him.
It was burning into Vic’s retina as tears were falling down his cheeks.

Oh god,
Oh god. Oh f*ckin’ christ.

It was them.
It was the Baba Yaga.

Even as he was blacking out, he couldn’t dare forget that helmet.

The Spartan in black quickly tightened his choke hold roughly three times just to check the guy was out.
Once it was confirmed that Vic Vega was going to be sleeping for a while, the Spartan quietly carried Vic out of his office and out through the open window in the hallway. Active Camouflage obscuring his target from sight.

“Noble 6, I’ve got the target.”

A brief notification on his comm link to the rest of the team, Noble 6 promptly jumped down from the roof.
He could see a vehicle enter the parking lot of C-Team.

Rogue had expected Vic Vega to be delivered alive.
Noble 6 saw the driver nervously twiddled him thumb as both of his hands firmly gripped the steering wheel.

The driver jumped when he heard the trunk of his car opening, something heavy falling into it.
The trunk closed, and he saw as the Boogeyman materialised from darkness to look at the driver through the window.

Something big was caught in the driver’s throat as the giant armour in pitch-dark metal spoke.

“The target’s in the trunk. I’ve done my job.”

Fear forced the drivers words down, as the driver just rapidly nodded his head.

He’s seen many mercs hired by Rogue. Deliver packages to him as they were caked in blood and wounds.
He thought he saw them all. Thought for all that gore and bravado, he thought most of the mercs weren’t that scary. Just intimidation and macho fronts to earn more street cred.

Not this f*cker. Oh no, not this f*cker right outside his car window right now. The serenity and calm, the patience in his voice. It wasn't something you'd ever hear from a Merc that specialised in making things disappear for a price. In fact, it was something you'd never want to hear. It was so... disconnecting, disorientating. It was uncanny, much more frightening than a merc that's always angry and shouting.
Sometimes it’s scarier when the night outside is quiet. His pa had told him why it was scary when we couldn’t hear anything outside at night.

He still remembered how he tucked him into bed, and that curiosity gave him nightmares that forced him to check the bed with all the lights on, and him refusing to look at the corner of his room or gap in his slightly-ajar closet.

‘El nino’, his pa had said. ‘We’re scared of the silence at night because we’re used to hearing animals chirp and sing even when it’s dark. Our ancestors learnt that when the night is dead quiet, that means there’s something out there. Something in the dark that scares the animals so much that they don’t sing or chirp anymore, because they don’t want to let the thing know it’s there. So sleep now, sleep when it’s quiet so that the thing outside doesn’t know where you are.’

The driver saw from the corner of his eyes, how the black suit of armour was slowly fading into open night, melting into the darkness.
He didn’t hesitate to shift the gear and put pedal to the metal.

Pa, the driver thought.
Pa, I think the thing in the dark outside knows where I am.

Rogue sipped her glass of Whiskey as she watched several Mercs talk to each other.
A few were laughing about their latest haul.
But a majority of them were talking in hushed whispers. Whispers they hoped would be drowned out in the music.
But Rogue heard them just fine.

They were talking about Fire Team Baba Yaga.
Mind you, their gig with Arasaka weren’t heard by the streets yet. Rogue was smart enough to keep a tight lip on her gigs.

No, Baba Yaga had already made enough of a reputation to scare even adults that took black lace and bullets for breakfast sh*tless.
They all heard how, just a few days ago, Vic Vega woke up tied to a chair screaming and pissing himself.

Vic was still defiant about the interrogation, but Rogue only had to imply that if he was going to be of no use, she’d just toss him into dark were a boogeyman ‘could’ be lurking in (Agent Locust wasn’t so keen on the idea of sending one of his men to do something like this, but Vic didn’t need to know that).
Guy was begging and ready to kiss her feet on command.

Jesus, the Baba Yaga was solution to everything.

The fact that you never saw them when they were men on a mission was a fear factor, as several of the mercs under her paycheck (and her driver) would testify.
If you did see them, good. They weren’t on a job. That was when you’d want to get on their good side, give them something they might be interested in with no hesitation to get into their favour.

Hell, Reilly was doing that, how do you think she got that much of a street cred?
The very fact that she was first fixer to hire the Baba Yagas was enough rep for Mercs in the AfterLife to take her gigs.

It helped that she was good for a new-blood too, getting enough info for the mercs for their jobs.

Rogue looked at her holophone, the number she managed to get from Locust was standing out from the rest.

How could it not? Saving the contact as Baba Yaga certainly made sure she knew which number to press when she needed a difficult gig done quick and perfectly.

[Ma’am…]

The bouncer on the comm link said with a nervous voice.
He didn’t need to finish it.
The mercs on the bar were already going quiet and staring at someone… or something walking through.
Speak of the devil, Rogue thought.

The familiar (yet still quite unsettling) eyeless skull marched to the entrance of the private VIP sector she favoured.

[… the… the Baba Yaga’s here.]

Rogue sighed.

“You don’t say? He’s standing right in front of me.”

The bouncer for the VIP sector was trying to nervously look at Rogue at the corner of his eyes. Rogue could see the sweat dripping down on the back of his bald head.

The bouncer was too scared to take his eyes off Agent Locust, as if the moment he decided to turn his head to Rogue, either Locust would disappear…
… or the bouncer would. Permanently.

Rogue waved her hand, and the bouncer quickly scooted aside to let Locust through.

Agent Locust stood for a minute in silence, before moving in. Nodding at the bouncer, which the bouncer (with a lot of courage), returned with a nod.

Most of their gigs ended without a blood spilt.
And that was precisely why people were scared.

“So long as you show yourself like that, you’re always welcome here.” Rogue had said this to Locust, but the bouncer knew that the message was for him.

If you see him next time, just let him through.

Mercs around the seat quickly scooted over as Locust got closer, all staring at him with either fear or awe.
Locust didn’t take a seat, still staring at Rogue.

The queen of fixer was trying to get used to it. Tried to convince herself that it was the boogeymen’s attempt to intimidate her.
… hopefully.
She didn’t want to acknowledge that it was successful if it really was.

“Well, first off I’d like to say congrats on your team’s street cred. It’s not everyday you see someone show up on the street, then enter the major league with everyone sh*tting themselves in just under a month.”

Locust didn’t respond.
A minute went by as the fixer and the merc stared at each other in silence.

Then Locust broke the quiet air.

“I presume I can hire fixers to gather information, correct?”

“Of course,” Rogue answered with a smirk. “You got something for me? Just a heads up- it costs eddies.”

“I expected that.” Locust quietly placed a shard on the table.
Rogue could tell from the scans she procured that it was an eddie stack.

“50,000 eddies up front.”

“I’d rather you tell me the information you want, first. Thank you.”

“Cows and pigs.”

“…”

Rogue blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“I need info on where you can find Cows and Pigs.”

Rogue opened her mouth. But for a few moment no words came out.

This was…
Well, this was unexpected.

She could see the Mercs around her (and the bouncer) hold a laugh. Brief interchanges between laughter and fear told her that the only reason why they weren’t outright laughing was that they were too scared to ire Locust’s wrath.

“… Am I right to assume you mean which farms are still active?”

“Yes. Preferably their layouts as well.”

Rogue had so many questions, but her experience as a fixer had told them that it wasn’t her concern.

“… Normally it cost around 15,000 eddies for information. Because of how much you and your team helped me, I’ll just take… 5,000. Take the 45,000 and… get yourself something.”

“Will you contact me when you get the information?”

“… Yes, I will.”

Rogue heard Locust sigh a little as he nodded his head.
Rogue was a little surprised about this. I guess there is still something human underneath that eyeless skull.

“Keep the change, I need you to provide me with a truck capable of transporting animals with the rest of the money.”

Rogue didn’t think that was too bad of a deal. 45,000 was enough to get some heavy duty trucks for these hulking humanoid horrors.
Maybe even a Militech truck with the registration and tracker removed.

Rogue saw Locust leave without further words.
She was fine with that.

What she wasn’t fine with was how Faraday, sitting at a table on the opposite side of the Club was staring at Locust, 3 of his right eye fixated on the boogeyman-for-hire.

Maine was on the other side of the table. By the looks of it, Faraday was handing over a gig to the chromed-up merc.

Rogue took another sip.
She never liked that slippery bastard, along with Dexter Deshawn.

Chapter 13: Lone Wolf

Chapter Text

‘Negative, I have the gun. Good luck sir.’

Noble 6 looked to the orange sky, Phantoms and Spirits flying over head.
Reach had fallen. UNSC had failed.
They were losing.

Noble 6 turned his gaze back to the ground, fallen Spartan IIs and IIIs were littered on the ground on this hill.

They were dying.

But they haven’t lost yet,
And Spartans sure as hell never die.

What was once a pristine black Mark V [B] Mjolnir was now heavily battered and damaged. Few parts were replaced with whatever Mjolnir plates he could replace with his fallen brethrens.

Noble 6 briskly touched the handle of the knife holstered on his shoulder pad.

‘I’m ready! How ‘bout you!’

He could’ve left. He had that chance when the Pillar of Autumn was still here.
Should Noble 6 have taken it? Left with the Pillar of Autumn?

‘You’re own your own, Noble. Carter out.’

‘Six, that AI chose you… She made the right choice.’

No. That was indeed an option, but that only had outcomes none of them would want.
Noble 6 didn’t regret this. He made a choice, he stuck with it.

A nearby corpse of an Elite Major had its wrist blare with holographic sigils.
Noble 6 had enough of a clue from the codes he had to decipher from the Covenant ships to know what it meant.

‘First glassing? Me too.’

The Covenant had been armies after armies at Noble 6. They needed this planet and they needed that Pillar of Autumn.
The only thing stopping them at this point was Noble 6.
The current battle had been engaged for several hours, Noble 6 shooting and running until they managed to corner the Spartan III on a hilltop.

The Covenant wasn’t hesitant on deploying an entire Warhost of Elite Generals just to see the sparks in this Ghost of Reach die out for sure. To incapacitate it long enough for the glassing to happen.

Phantoms and Spirits were circling around the hilltop in the sky. They were closing in.

Noble 6 grasped onto a dog tag wrapped around his wrist for the final time.

‘Reach has been good to me. It’s time to return the favour.’

‘Tell ‘em to make it count.’

It was fine. Noble 6 grabbed an assault rifle from one of dead Marines.
He wasn’t alone.

“Noble 6.”

Plasma shots flew in the air, blue light illuminating as it hit and vaporised any structure it landed on.
Noble 6 had a crack in his visor. It was an old buddy issued when he came to Reach.
It was a strong partner, Noble 6 would give it that.

He grabbed one of the elites from the back, lodging Emille’s knife into their neck and give the Sangheili a harsh twist.

He quickly grabbed the Plasma repeater and unloaded on the other Elite Majors marching up. Energy shields were depleted fast thanks to the sheer power and heat of the plasma rounds.

Elites were getting vapourised as they fell to their knees, but Noble 6 wasn’t feeling to great either.

How long?
How much longer can he hold this up?

For who?
Is there any reason he’s still trying to put up a fight for this long?
Any more soldiers, any more civilians that needed to be extracted?
Any more ships that needed to escape from Covenant’s grasp?

Noble 6 felt a charged shot from a Plasma Pistol hit his back.
His radar went down a while before.

Noble 6 immediately turned around, Needler in hand, and unloaded the blamite crystal on the Grunt.
The Unggoy exploded thanks to the supercombine of the crystal, which caused the methane gas tank to light up as well.

It was a firework, setting off a chain reaction in that area.

Noble 6 chuckled as he ran behind cover.
His shield went down from that shot.

It didn’t really matter anymore why he was trying to survive for so long. Even if the only thing left in this planet was him and those Covenant, he’d still fight tooth and nail.

All those deaths, all those Spartans…
They didn’t just give up either as they drew their final breath. Why should he?

“Noble 6?”

Noble 6’s eyes landed on a Spartan laser, laying next to it’s Former owner - Spartan III with a Gungnir helmet.
Noble 6 promptly picked it up, charge was on 40%.

It was enough. Noble 6 aimed at the crowd of Generals, and let the red stream burst through the air.

He then started unloading the rest of the charge on the Phantom coming in, enough shots caused the Phantom to explode before it could deploy any of it’s troops.

Elites and Grunts fell out from the exploding Phantom, limbs flailing before hitting the ground and never standing back up.
That made Noble 6 curious. Did the blast kill them, or them hitting the ground?
Maybe it was a combination of both.

Noble 6 saw his periphery light up, and in that instance time seemed to slow down.
He knew what it was. Spartan IIs and IIIs had these happening thanks to the augmentation. Average unarmoured Spartans had their reaction time reduced to 20ms. This was reduced further with Mjolnir Suits and AI, as well as combat situations. And over time, SPARTANs’ augmentation would improve as they get adjusted to them. Their physical speed also accelerated to allow them to respond quickly.

Average human’s reaction speed was 250ms, if they were lucky.

Noble 6 saw the plasma torpedo falling down on him from the various Phantoms and Spirits.
Elites always considered direct territorial combat as the honourable way to fight and kill.
The very fact that they had decided to shoot Noble 6 from the distance told him that they would rather feel dishonoured than fight him directly.
Noble 6 felt honoured as he sprinted out of the way, throwing the Spartan Laser out of the way.
The force of the blast from the torpedo hitting the ground gave back-draft to further accelerate. Average Spartan IIIs could run at 30 Kph, and Noble 6 was a CATS-II damn it.

Further torpedo fires drew an ark in the air, the trajectory suggested it was a ground vehicle firing them instead.
Noble 6 saw how it took a little moment later for the Elites to realise what had ran past them. Ghost of Reach, they shouted. Demon, they cried.

Noble 6 saw the Wraith hiding behind the boulders, and immediately leaped towards it.
The one handling the turret was panicking, trying to take aim at the Spartan.
Emille’s knife flashed in Noble 6’s hands, as a swift punch to the jaw discombobulated the Elite before Noble 6 came back with the curved blade ready to be lodged in the Sangheili’s skull.

He threw the corpse out of the turret, and striked against the cover of the Wraith repeatedly. Shockwaves resonated throughout the Wraith everytime the Spartan’s fist slammed down, the cover fell off and Noble 6 could see the fear in the Elite’s eyes as it’s only barrier was diminished.
It tried to fight back, grabbing the Energy sword hosltered on its side to strike.

Noble 6 was faster, he grabbed the Elite’s wrist and slammed his fist down again.
A kick caused a sickening crunch as the Elite fell limp.

Noble 6 immediately threw the body away and sat in the seat of the Wraith.
The rest of the army was coming.
He took aim and fired.

Arcs of Plasma bolts landed in the crowd, causing them to scatter either through their panic or by the sheer force of the blast once it contacted the ground or the unfortunate Covenant soldier.

The Wraith glided across, wreaking havoc.

But it was too good to last as Airships fired on the location.
Noble 6 had to abandon the Wraith and run once more.

The air was slowly getting thick with Plasma shots, it was getting harder for Noble 6 to run.

“Sir?”

Noble 6 was picking up weapons and returning fire, but more and more Plasma shots were finding their intended target.
Shields were going down, helmet had too much cracks on its visor to do it’s role anymore.

Noble 6 took off his helmet and threw it too the ground. He needed better visuals.
He picked up a Magnum and an Assault rifle, advancing on a General as he focused all his shots.
Once the Elite went down, he immediately turned to elbow another Elite sneaking up behind him.
He heard that bastard from a mile away. And once the assassin fell to the ground he took out the Magnum and made sure they stayed down.

More Plasma shots hit Noble 6 as he took down couple of the Elites, until one managed to grab the Spartan and push him to the ground.

They saw the chance and tried to take it.
Energy swords unveiled and swung at Noble 6.
Noble 6, still on the ground, dodged and kicked the Elites away, until one managed to properly pin him down.

Several more Elites unleashed their Energy blade.

But some of those Energy blades were not for Noble 6.
Elites that were pinning Noble 6 down saw as the tips of the Energy blades emerge out from their chest.
They turned back in shock to see their own soldiers running the honoured weapons through them.
Heresy. Betrayal.

… Heretical.
Heretics.

Noble 6 saw as the Elites fell, the traitors grabbing Noble 6 by the chest piece and picking him off the floor.

[The artefact was true. The Ghost of Reach still lives.] They had said over their comm link.

“Noble 6, sir?”

“Noble 6, sir? Can you hear me?”

Noble 6 turned to Spartan Killshot.
Noble 6 wasn’t in the hill anymore.
The sky wasn’t orange, and nor UNSC soldiers were dead nearby.

It was pitch black, night sky was even darker thanks to the heavy downpour.
Noble 6 and Killshot was scouting the area tonight. Using scopes they had scavenged from precision rifles as improvised binoculars.

“… Sorry.”

“I was saying that there were Arasaka trucks coming in.”

Noble 6 focused his scope where Killshot was pointing to, heavy duty trucks were forming lines as they hit the road. Killshot chuckled a little as he lowered his scope and crouched down near a scaffolding pillar.

“Man, your files mentioned this… but I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“It… happens sometimes.”

Noble 6 continued scanning the area with his scope, when Spartan Killshot decided to pass the rest of the time asking further questions.

“Is it getting better or worse, sir?”

“How long was I gone for?”

“About… 5 minutes.”

“Then it’s getting better.”

Killshot shook his head.

“You go on for thousand yard stares, disappear faster than any of us, effortlessly pilot vehicles, hand-to-hand combat is unrivalled, and you chuckle when you take 3 head shots in a row. You scare me, sir. You know that?”

“I had people tell me that.”

Killshot looked to the distance.

“We can rest tonight, sir. We’re only on scout duty for tonight.”

Noble 6 looked between the scope and Killshot, before taking the Spartan IV’s offer and sitting down next to the opposite pillar.

Locust and Leon were talking with Reilly over the phone, Ram was making something with scavenged circuits and machinery.

Jim was… Jim was sitting quietly in a chair. None of the Spartans knew if he was sleeping or just waiting.

It was only Noble 6 and Killshot on the top of the half-constructed building.

“Do you have anyone waiting for you, sir?”

Noble 6 watched as the screens installed on the buildings changed from one commercial to the other.
Majority of the ones he’s seen were… quite graphic. Ads were saturated with excess sex appeals and gore.
Overly reliant on shock values, probably made majority of the Night City citizens desensitised further.

“No.”

“You sure? No friends or families?”

“I’m sure.”

Killshot quietly nodded his head. “… I see.”

“How about you?” Noble 6 asked without removing his gaze from the Corpo Plaza area in the distance.

“Not much either. Thanks to the Banished, I’d be glad if there was anyone I knew that’s still alive.”

Silence fell between the Spartans for a bit.
Then Killshot decided not to beat around the bush.

“What do you think, sir?” Killshot softly asked.

“About what?”

“About Earth.”

Noble 6 was quiet. Pondering his choices of words.

“Not particularly liking it.”

Killshot laughed.

“Honestly, who is? At least New Mombasa wasn’t so bad when I was an ODST. Even if it was in the middle of a Covenant assault.”

Noble 6’s head perked up. He had heard about that a lot from the other UNSC personnel. About how Master Chief had gone in with Cortana to defend the City.

“How was it?”

“Chaotic, sir. An EMP caused our drop pods to go haywire. A fell 200 Km from my intended location. A lot of us were already dead by the time I made it.”

“… I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s okay. We managed to fight them back. We all knew we wouldn’t be expected to come back from New Mombasa alive. I know the Spartan II that helped my team survive didn’t.”

Spartan II… Spartan II…
Noble 6 had heard about that as well. The Spartan II that escaped to Earth, went into Hiding for the next 33 years.
Only to resurface in New Mombasa to assist the UNSC with the Covenant assault and dying there.

“Leonard-131, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you read the file. Was confirmed KIA by the file once UNSC lost the Spartan on Earth. They could’ve done a more thorough search to find our missing Spartan… but that would’ve risked UNSC’s existence getting exposed. They assumed he would commit suicide, and wrote him off.”

Killshot removed a worn out dog tag around his neck. Noble 6 noticed that the strap was also carrying a wedding ring.

“It was a shock to everyone when they found out he survived- made a false ID and started a family. Used his wife’s surname. He was known as Leopold Martinez on Earth.”

Killshot extended the dog tag towards Noble 6. A wordless exchange between the two Spartans to check out the Spartan II.

“He said that he saw what was happening on New Mombasa. About UNSC revealing themselves. At first he got scared, but then he saw Master Chief. He didn’t like UNSC, but he knew at that moment that they had to win if he wanted his wife and kid safe.”

“…” Noble 6 turned the dog tag over his palm, then softly gripped it.
A silent prayer given to the fallen. For their sacrifice.

“… We were going past a heavy infantry. Majority of us injured. We had a package the UNSC needed to be delivered to protect New Mombasa… we would’ve all died then and there. Failed the mission. The Spartan II with us gave us his dog tag and ran in there, acting as a distraction for us to escape without conflict. He asked me if I ever had time on Earth, and I could go to Night City. Then to find his wife and son for me. Give them that. According to him- for all they knew, he just suddenly ran away and disappeared.”

Noble 6 handed the tag back to Killshot.

“… It’s the least I could do for him. Probably the only thing I can do for him. I… know that none of us wanted to come here. I know Commander Washington didn’t. But even then, I guess I have a reason to be stick around here.”

Killshot had heard the tale.
About how Master Chief accidentally killed ODST during a fight they had instigated. It was enough to form bad blood between the former best of UNSC, with the newest best that replaced them.

… Killshot couldn’t really bring himself to hate the Spartans. Especially not after one of them had willingly saved their lives at the cost of theirs.

“What’s their name?”

“… His wife’s name is Gloria. Gloria Martinez. And his kid’s name is David Martinez.”

“… I assume it’s not just personal reasons to find them, is it?”

Killshot let out a sigh.
Sound of a heavy heart carried out from the voice.

“No, sir. Once the war had ended, ONI wanted me to look for them on Earth so they can research the kid. They thought Halsey only altered and augmented the Spartan IIs in their somatic gene. But her records were discovered, and they realised Halsey altered their germ lines too. And some of the augmentation surgery could be passed down as epigenetic factors. David Martinez is a potential Spartan 2.1. Sure, I doubt he would be born inheriting ceramic bones or coated lungs… brain surgery won’t be carried through either. But the Catalytic Thyroid Implants that dissolved into the body, and growth hormone catalysts could be potentially transferred. And the Superconducting fibrifaction of Neural Dendrites were done with Nanites, which they found to also be a potential epigenetic factor thanks to their size and attachment to DNAs. We’d be seeing a kid that is slightly faster, stronger, smarter, and more resilient than the average citizen. Probably capable of performing sudden bursts of reaction speed accelerations matching those of Spartans when adrenaline level is high enough.”

“You sure know a lot about that.”

“I asked Ram and Cell about it. The twins were… very enthusiastic about the potential inheritance of the augmentation.”

“Guess that’s more than enough incentive to find the kid.”

“You could say that. In the end, though. Never managed to go back to Earth until now. Created Conflict and Banished attacks forced us to be deployed for black ops missions on other planets. Then ONI disappeared. Captain Church did ask me to find the kid, however. He said that if Megacorps knew about this, then we could risk our biggest secret about Spartans getting leaked.”

“I see.”

“… A lot of reasons to find them. In the end, what’s important is that I try and find them as soon as possible.”

For Leonard-131,
For his Wife and Son,
For the UNSC,
For everyone’s sake. Killshot thought.

“… I’ll tell you if I find anything about them.” Noble 6 replied.

“Thank you. I’d appreciated that.”

[Killshot, Noble 6. That should be enough Recon for today. I need you guys to join up with the rest of us. We have a new job.] Locust’s distorted voice flared up in the comm link.
Both Noble 6 and Killshot stood back up, packing their scopes and rifles and heading back down.

“Oh, and Noble 6… sir?”

Noble 6 turned around, looking up at Killshot who was still at the top of the stairs.

“Thank you. For saving all of us.”

Noble 6 stood there for a second, before lightly nodding his head.

“I wasn’t the only one. Just part of the few who had a stroke of miracle to live.”

Chapter 14: Cat and Wolf

Chapter Text

Reilly planted both feet on her desk the moment she came back to her office.
She couldn’t erase that giddy, sh*t-eating grin off her face anymore as she lit another cigarette.
Unlike Dexter Deshawn and his fancy-ass cigars he smoked to look like hot sh*t, Reilly’s cigarettes were 10 eddies at a local mart.

You didn’t need to put up an appearance to show class- no, your action showed that for you. Appearance will follow class.
Reilly learnt that from the Baba Yagas. Normally, wearing heavy armour like that would’ve been made fun of, insulted as tin cans and doughboys.

No one on the street was dumb enough to call them that. Even behind their backs. Everyone who has their ears even slightly next to the streets all heard what they’ve done, seen what they’ve left behind (or the lack of anything left behind).
You don’t so easily talk sh*t about someone capable of making even a truck disappear from the Corpo eyes without them even noticing, either because of fear or admiration… or both.

In fact, words on the street says that some low-grade mercs have started to imitate the Baba Yagas, either attempting to go fullborg or wearing armour from head to toe, optical camo implanted to make them copy even just a small pint of the Baba Yaga’s skills.

They were easily scoffed at by the fixers and mercs, now those guys were freely insulted- called Boogeymen wannabes both in front of their faces and behind their backs.
And those lower grade mercs, and the way they carried out a gig, only accentuated just how much their was in the disparity of skills between them and the Baba Yagas. One cannot simply follow in the steps of a 1st class merc, as Rogue had told her one time they had a drink together in the Afterlife.

Now THAT was class - that, was something no one could copy.
And it also told Reilly that the Mercs she directly sent gigs to was that much of a legend in such a short duration of time.

I mean, for crying out loud, it’s only been a month and half the eddies she raked in was from other fixers willing to pay high money just to get in contact with the Boogeymen for hire.

She wasn’t stupid- as much as she wanted to monopolise on the Mercs she had listened to the Queen of Fixer’s advise, and she learnt pretty quick that unless she was a very high ranking Corpo like Yorinobu Arasaka, she couldn’t keep someone like them under such a short leash. Hell, she couldn’t keep them on any leash.

The least she could do was pay them well enough to have them take her gigs just as much as the rest of the Fixers in Night City.
And… also get as much eddies from the situation before it ends. She called it ‘Celebrity Tax’, and the Fixers understood well enough to know why they should pay it. Baba Yagas, despite their reputation, was elusive. It fit their namesake, to be quite honest.

Fixers that made good enough reputation would get a way to contact the Boogeymen after a gig. Those that were less fortunate would… have to ask Reilly for their contact again. Once again paying the Celebrity Tax.

It was the way of the city. Of course, she could only keep 40% of the tax- the 60% was for the Baba Yagas to convince them to meet up with their newest ‘client’.

Reilly took the cigarette out of her mouth as she saw the holocall buzz to life.
The name was familiar enough. She let out a smoke as she stubbed the cigarette into the ash tray.

Speak of the devil.

[Heeey, Reilly! I’ve heard a lot about you from a lot of Mercs!]

Muamar Reyes held up his ever cheerful persona. Reilly smiled at the fixer.

“Hey, El Capitan. I’m sure you’re calling because you’ve got something for me?”

[Oh yeah. It’s not that big of a gig… Ok, I guess it is. But I’ll cut to the chase - couple of mercs I hired for a gig is in hot sh*t with the package I need. They’ve managed to Delta out for now, but they’re not in a good situation. They can’t leave the current place, but they also can’t stay - gangoons had sniffed their trail and are closing in. Thing is, I NEED this package, and I would also rather have my employees alive.]

“Before I ask where and who- I’d assume you’re here to hire one of the ‘special’ mercs for the job?”

[Yeah, Yeah. Bang on. I need one of the guys that so many people right now are too scare to meet face to face. You know… the ones that go bump in the night.]

Reilly smiled. Fixers never really called her for her mercs… unless it was for ‘them’.
It was always for ‘them’.

“Of course, I can give them a call to ask them if they’re up for a gig. To be fair, they’re almost always up for a gig. Of course, trying to contact them ain’t going to be cheap…”

[ I know, I know. I’ve already heard. Celebrity Tax up front, then whatever eddy I pay for the gig to be done I pay them directly.]

“Good, just tell me where you want them to meet you and zip me the eddies.”

Muamar chuckled on the other side of the call. Truth be told he expected contacting the NC’s newest Boogeymen to be a lot harder than this.

[You got it, boss. Sending you the detes along with the Eddies.]

Reilly saw the Eddies rolling in the moment Muamar ended the call. Along with a text message that displayed the location - The edge between Santo Domingo and Westbrook.

By the sound of it, Muamar needed a merc quick.
Feeling quite giddy at the potential prospect of having fixer indebt to her, Reilly didn’t hesitate calling up Spartan Locust.

The rain outside was pouring down like a water fall. It had been a while since a rain this heavy came to Night City.
Almost as if there was a storm coming.

[… Reilly.]

It had taken Reilly a month to finally get used to that distorted voice…
… but f*ck, it still felt uncomfortable hearing the monotone synthetic voice.

“Hey, Locust! You guys up for a gig?”

[Details and Location.]

Reilly snorted a little. At this point she was using Locust’s no-bullsh*t requests as a way to know it was Locust she was talking to.

“Your Fixer will also be your client: Muamar ‘El Capitan’ Reyes. Says that he gave a gig to some mercs but they’re in hot sh*t with gangs, need one of you guys to extract them. You’ll get the rest of the info from the guy himself. I’m sending you the location. You up for it?”

[…]

Reilly quietly transferred the data Muamar gaver her along with the eddie.
She didn’t need to get nervous. Not anymore, right?
She knew he’d bite.
She knew he’s always aching for a new gig.

[Tell him we’ll be there in 5 minutes.]

See? He was just talking to the rest of his team.
Reilly smiled.

Another day where her bank account got richer, and her street cred as a Fixer was going up in places.

Muamar sat on the edge of a rundown highway, overlookig Charter Hill while sipping a bottle of beer.
He’d like to put on a cool face, tell everyone including himself that all was Ok.
But he’d be really eating up those lies if those Boogeymen-for-hire would come soon-

“Muamar?”

“Holy Jesus Chri-” The beer still left in the bottle swirled and crashed against the glass wall, Muamar nearly falling off from the highway road.
This motherf*cker didn’t make any sound until he was right behind him.

Muamar quickly looked back. He couldn’t help but smile.
God damn, the Baba Yagas in the flesh.
The one in front, who clearly was the leader of their little group, was the most horrifying to look at.

Damn… He heard the Mercs in the Afterlife talk about him. He thought they were a little exaggerating about the whole eyeless-skull thing.
No, it was an apt description.

That was all the ‘El Capitan’ needed. His fixer’s sense was telling him the rest -
That they were more than capable of finishing this job exactly the way he wanted.

“Right, name's Muamar Reyes. You can call me ‘El Capitan’ if you want.”

Muamar extended his hand towards Agent Locust, who took the hand and shook it.

“What’s the job.”

“Glad you asked. I’ve heard about you from the other fixers - how to get you salivating for a gig, I’ll cut to the chase: We have two Mercs: A solo named Dorio and a Netrunner named Sasha. Their gig was to go into an Arasaka territory and steal some packages for me. Trouble is, the entire Merc team they’re in is sh*t at stealth. Those two were probably the best at going in quietly in their team too. Their best wasn’t enough for the gig, however. Now they have Tyger Claw gunning them down. Last time I contacted them was 7 minutes ago. They’re holed up somewhere in Japantown, and Tyger Claw is closing. I need one of you guys to go down there and help them out - make sure you get the package with you as well. I’d rather not have the mercs I hired die. Those kind of sh*t kinda tanks a fixer’s street cred as well, though not as much as the mercs themselves.”

Muamar saw the 6 mercs look at each other, before the leader looked back around.

“Before we continue, would their be a particular reason why you’d only have one of us go in?”

Muamar smiled bitterly.

“A lot of reasons. Unfortunately, I don’t have enough money to hire all 6 of you. I know that would’ve made this job a lot quicker, but at the same time I know that stealth is no longer an option if you’re going to try and rescue our mercs while they’re still breathing. Westbrook is where the wealthy elites and corpos live, that means they’re is way too many security cameras. Perfect stealth without proper prep and time will just take too long. I need my mercs and package out and away from the Tyger Claws and I need them out and away now. Now, I know that gang wars are common - especially in Japantown. What isn’t common, you see, is 6 successors of Adam Smasher running around and stirring sh*t up. That causes chaos. Way more chaos than Night City wants. If we’re starting sh*t, let’s keep it as low as possible. One person, I’m sure you guys are capable of doing this job with just one guy, right? You don’t even have to kill all of the gangs- just take the 2, take the package, and run.”

Muamar looked across the 6, hopefully they were understanding his point of view. Sure, fixers liked criminal jobs if it benefited them. That was the whole point of a fixer. What fixers shouldn’t like, is causing sh*t that puts them under thin ice. Especially when it’s starting sh*t in another big Fixer’s territory. Muamar sure as hell didn’t want Wakako breathing down his neck.

Sure, maybe with 6 they could pull this gig out of the water without raising more alarms than now.
But Muamar doubted that. Dorio and Sasha had caused enough sh*t that the Fixer was sure that it was impossible to quietly cover up.
Then just sending in one guy to do this should be good enough, right?

“Which one do you want?”

Spartan Locust asked.

El Capitan smiled.

“I’d need some explanation of the menu, Choom.”

Locust chuckled curtly as he turned to face the 5, he first pointed his index finger at himself.

“Infiltration and Interrogation Specialist.”

Locust then pointed to Spartan Leon.

“Sabotage and Espionage Specialist.”

As Muamar quietly nodded his head, Locust’s index finger then pointed at Killshot.

“Recon and Long-range marksman specialist.”

Locust pointed at Spartan Ram.

“On-field Engineering and Cyberwarfare specialist.”

Locust then pointed at Spartan Jim.

“Assault Specialist.”

Muamar’s eyes lit up at the mention of Assault. Yeah, if it’s the assault specialist… he might fix this current situation ASAP. Rush past the gangs, get the good and our little helpers, and run.

Just as Muamar was about to answer, Locust finished by introducing Noble 6.

“The all rounder.”

Muamar stopped in his track.
The last one was not like the others.
Not a specialist, not… really something that told a lot to Muamar about the armour completely steel black.
Yet somehow that made Muamar curious.
As much as he wanted to choose the Assault Specialist…

“What’s… the all rounder?”

The 4 of the Spartans chuckled, the Spartan IIIs simply standing there quietly.

“Easy. It’s who you send when things are tricky.”

“… Could you… elaborate?”

“Right…” Locust folded his arm. “You want something to be delivered safely? You call the all rounder. You want people to be safely evacuated from a war zone? You call the all rounder. You want a vehicle to be piloted? You call the all rounder.
You want an entire militia group disappear overnight? You call the all rounder. You want someone to clean up your mess because something f*cked up? You call the all rounder. You want every single general and army to focus on a single soldier? You call the all rounder. You want an entire war zone gone with the only signs that there were ever soldiers fighting there being corpses and guns littering the floor? You call the all rounder.
You want to put the primal fear into whoever f*cked you over, and make sure they either never set their sights in dark corners again, or never let them take their eyes off even that small little shadow behind a door? You. Call. The. All. Rounder.”

Muamar silently gulped as he looked at Noble 6.
Compared to the Sniper with a cross-shaped visor, the techno-goliath, the man with several knives holstered on his body, a giant spacesuit and an eyeless skull, Noble 6 didn’t look special. It showed in the color of his armour too, when the rest of his team had highlights accentuating the plates and helmets, Noble 6 was steel black from head to toe. Only having a gold visor to accentuate his helmet.

But Muamar knew not to judge a book by its cover.
And his instinct, his sixth sense, honed by his experience, told him that he may need the all-rounder more than the assault specialist.

Muamar grinned.

“I’ll take the All-rounder.”

“For f*ck’s sake!”

Sasha was reloading her Pink Omaha when she heard Dorio swear at their current situation.
It was supposed to be a quick and easy gig - go in, hack the terminal, get the medication crate, and get out.
How should they know the package was rigged? Even Sasha had scanned it twice for potential trackers!

Sasha checked how much magazines she had left. Not much, she and Dorio had used up most of the bullets they had packed when they were trying to shake those Tyger Claw f*ckers off their tail.

Dorio emptied the used shells of her Overture and started reloading.
Her left shoulder was slightly bleeding but she didn’t really care about that. It was a graze, she just took a MaxDoc. It’s fine.

Sasha bit her lip. Dorio saw that through her periphery and simply patted the cat-like netrunner on the head.

“Don’t bash yourself, Sasha. It was an outside context problem.”

“But I should’ve checked for the truck itself instead of just the cargo…”

“Yeah, well… who gives a sh*t? We’re still alive, we have the package, and Muamar told us that he’s getting a clean up crew to come in and help us.”

“Clean up crew?”

Dorio scratched her head.

“Well… more like a clean up man. Didn’t really give much detes, just told us to hold tight and survive for 5 more minutes.”

‘C’mon, C’mon!’

‘Where did you guys go!’

Tyger claw goons were heard from outside the building.
Among the many here, the Tyger Claw was going through them one by one to get to the two.

Sasha was getting ready to quick hack a few chumps from the window. Dorio saw the glowing eyes of Sasha, and quickly grabbed her shoulder.

“Sasha, whatever you’re thinking of, don’t! They’ll trace you!”

“I know, I… I’m just getting ready for when they find us.”

Sweat was running down Sasha’s cheek. The bob cut hair she had dyed black was slowly sticking to her.

[Hey, Dorio! Sasha! You girls still alive?]

El Capitan’s voice was heard on the other side of the Holo Call.

“Damn it, Muamar! Where’s the back up!”

[He’s coming in 20 seconds. Let me tell you, you guys got yourself into hot sh*t but you toughed it out long enough. It’s nothing but cruising for you two ladies now!]

Dorio heard the excitement just dripping out from his voice.
From the distance the two mercs heard the sound of something thudding across concrete.
It was from the roof top of the buildings across the street.

[Honestly, I knew it would be expensive to hire at least one of these guys but- whooooah! I know that I have to sell cars at double the price for the time being.]

Dorio felt herself relax a little, chuckling at Muamar riling the two up for the reinforcement.

“You never raise the price of your car. Is he that good?”

[Good? Good?! Dorio, Choom! You don’t even know how much your underselling this just by saying that! Saying that he’s ‘good’ is like saying that Arasaka is just ‘rich’, or saying that the Rayfield Caliburn is just ‘fast’!]

From the corner of her eye, outside the window, Sasha saw something jump from a building.
Something big,
Something dark,
Something…
… scary.

[Out of the 6, this guy costed the most! Almost double the price of the rest of the 6!]

Sasha looked down at what had fallen to the ground, under the nervous looking Tyger Claws.

Dorio heard the crash on the road, and the sudden frantic screams and shouts from the Gang.

Then gun fire rang in the air.

Sasha had already scooted closer to the window to see outside, and Dorio crawled next to her.

“… Holy, sh*t.”

That was all Dorio could say.
She knew who their back up was, mercilessly shooting the heads of the Tyger Claw with pin-point accuracy.

Bullets were flying the giant’s way, but they effortlessly bounced off of some yellow hexagonal particles interlocked with eachother into some form of energy barrier.

[Ladies, meet Noble 6: The all rounder of the Baba Yaga.]

More Tyger Claws were either flooding out from the buildings they were searching, or trying to take potshots from the windows.

Noble 6 punched a head clean off of a Tyger Claw, the decapitated head with a caved in skull rolling next to a buddy of theirs, and soon took a blood-stained pistol off of a Tyger Claw Corpse and returned fire at the windows.

Some barely saw the barrel of the pistol as a bullet smashed into their optics.
Sasha couldn’t believe how the guy could just snipe a gang with a pistol that far away.
But what was even more surprising was when a Kunoichi activated her Sandevistan to close the distance, Katana in hand and ready to stab the new intruder.

She circled around him, clearly thinking that despite such an entrance the guy would be too slow to catch up. Even if he did have a Sandevistan, it would be too late to activate it-

Noble 6 immediately turned his head towards the Kunoichi, startling her.

Oh f*ck-

Noble 6 immediately sprinted towards the Tyger Claw, way too fast for her to react to even with the Sandevistan.
She tried to back off, but the fist dug into her ribs faster.

She felt her feet get lifted off the ground, and next thing she knew she collided with her friend so hard that her upper torso was in one place and her legs were in another, intertwined or embedded into her friend’s fragmented body parts.

“He-He’s got a Sandevistan!”

“I can’t do anything! He’s way too fast!”

“Someone hack him! Quick hack him now!”

“I-I can’t!”

“Break his ICE then!”

“It ain’t that! I just can get a read of him! He’s invisible to the scanner!”

“What the f*ck does-.”

One of the Tyger Claw’s neck twisted 180 degrees with one sweep of Noble 6’s arm, before a mozambique drill confirmed the kill.
Whatever guns ran out of bullet he threw to the ground and picked up a new weapon, reloading and checking the chamber before firing at the gang.

The guy was unstoppable. Shoulder tackle caused someone’s ribs and organs to collapse under the force - a kick cased someone’s head to get flattened like a pancake.

Noble 6 grabbed one man by the neck and used him as a human shield, firing a Masamune with one hand like it was a pistol, firing it without swaying from the recoil of the three-round burst.

It was insane.
This whole thing was insane.

Nobel 6, in the eyes of the Tyger Claw, was insane.

“…DaiTengu..! DAITENGU! IT’S DAITENGU!”

One of them shouted at the top of their lungs, several were deciding to call it quits the moment one of them managed to get a clear view of the Spartan informed the rest.

“大天狗だ！はやくニゲロ！”

“大天狗だよ！殺すことはできない!”

Tengu. A japanese yokai, demons that took the forms of birds of prey. Using magic they would cast curses and pranks that made people or objects disappear.
DaiTengu, were one of the greatest one among the Tengu - more akin to gods than simple demons.

Tyger Claw was too scared to call Baba Yagas by that name - they thought they would be hiding in every shadow, waiting for someone to call their names to invoke them.
Superstitious lots, but the Spartans’ skills made sure that irrational fear spread like wild fire amongst gangs.
Like a code word, Fireteam Baba Yaga were called DaiTengu like a euphamism. A roundabout way to refer to them amongst Tyger Claw and those associated with them so that the Spartans wouldn’t know the gang was talking about them.

Sasha didn’t take her eyes off him. Couldn’t even blink.

“Muamar, that magnificent bastard… he actually went and hired a boogeyman…!”

Sasha heard Dorio mutter to herself.

Noble 6 threw the human shield away, who had unfortunately expired thanks to numerous friendly fire.

The Spartan had come without any weapons - and now he was surrounded by guns that he could use.

Shotgun was picked up to blast a Tyger Claw point blank, ripping the torso in half. Nowaki in the other hand to snipe more of the cheeky buggers shooting from the windows.

Many that were still alive were leaving. Either running away or going back to their cars and motorbikes and revving up the engine.

Soon the streets were nothing but blood stains, bullets, guns and corpses.

Noble 6 picked up a pistol and a rifle that looked like it still had bullets loaded in them, collecting spare mags and other ammos.

Sasha saw Noble 6 place a finger to the side of his helmet.

[Yo, Chooms. I’ve heard from our back up that the Tyger Claws are gone for now. Tell me which building you guys are in so I can have our boogeyman escort you two out with the package.]

Sasha and Dorio only realised how dry their throats were went they gulped their spit down to speak.

One of those guys could massacre an entire group of gangs like he was cooking breakfast.
Sasha and Dorio knew there were 6 of them total. They saw them whenever they walked into the Afterlife to get preem gig from the Queen of Fixers herself.
And they all knew how to take things quietly.

Dorio, after finishing sending their location to El Capitan, looked over to Sasha and laughed.

“f*ck Adam Smasher, amirite? We’ve got someone that outdoes him and the legend he built up in a month.”

Sasha grimly smirked.

“I don’t know about that, Dorio… But I get what you’re trying to say.”

Chapter 15: Changes

Chapter Text

Dorio and Sasha quietly watched the door. Soon enough the two heard the sound of knuckles hitting metal.

Dorio quietly tiptoed to the door, looking through the eye hole and ready to start shooting if it was someone they shouldn’t meet.

By the way Dorio opened the door and stepped to the side, it was their back up.

This was the first time Dorio and Sasha managed to meet with a boogeyman face to face. The Sci-fi looking militaristic black helmet with a gold visor catching the duo’s eyes as the merc entered the room.
And f*ck, the guy was HUGE. Easily standing two heads taller than Dorio. Sasha felt the height difference the most, since Dorio herself stood a head above Sasha.

“Dorio and Sasha?” Dorio and Sasha were quietly taken aback by the voice coming from the black armour. Ignoring the fact that it was the first time they heard any of the Baba Yagas besides the leader talk. A little muffled by the helmet, sure, but they half-expected hearing something demonic. Something distorted purposefully for anonymity. And for the fear factor. Like those XBDs showing Adam’s latest massacre. That Arasaka full’borg had a voice that not even his mother could love.

“Oh… yeah, yeah. I’m Dorio, and this is… Sasha?”

The giant’s voice was surprisingly calm and smooth. It was disorientating for the two, especially for Sasha.

“Sasha!”

“Wha- huh?

Sasha tore her gaze away from Noble 6 when she heard Dorio shout.

“Happy that you like our back up, but not the right time!”

“R-right!”

Sasha quickly snapped back to reality, slightly slouched shoulders straightened and lowered arm raising the pink Omaha pistol back into position.

“Is the package secure?” Noble 6, on the other, hand, saw the situation (and his radar) and lowered the looted gun.
Dorio snickered as she pointed to the giant crate at the back.

“Yeah, over there. We checked the content, everything’s still intact. The case is pretty tough to crack.”

“Heavy too.” Sasha added.

“Oh, definitely heavy. It took the two of us heaving up the stairs - and unlike me, Sasha doesn’t have much in the muscle department-.”

Noble 6 quietly walked past Dorio and Sasha as they spoke. Still acting like he was engaged in the conversation, the Spartan opened the lid to confirm their testimony, closed it back and promptly lifted it with one arm like it weight absolutely nothing.

Dorio’s words were cut short when she saw Noble 6 effortlessly carry the cargo with one arm and start walking back to them. The metal box under his arm like it was a handbag.

“Is there anything else you two need to take?”

“…No,” Dorio quietly answered. Her eyes were still glued to Noble 6. “No, that’s… that’s pretty much it.”

“Good. Most of them were chased off. But it’s possible that they’ll come back. We’ll have to leave now. Few of them left their cars - we can use them.”

When Noble 6 started walking out of the temporary shelter, Sasha took note of the smaller details of the Spartan’s Mjolnir suit.

She hadn’t noticed the subtle glowing blue lights speckled calculatingly placed around the chest and shoulder pad.

She saw the undersuit beneath the plates as the giant moved, condensing and flattening, bulging in few places like it were muscles.
The movement itself made Sasha believe that their back up was a full ‘borg. If he really was a ‘borg, then it was the most high tech prosthetics Sasha had ever seen. Megacorp material, and an experimental one at that. She managed to look at the side of the helmet more closely, seeing a large [UNSC] logo printed below where the ears would be. That wasn’t a Corporation she had ever heard of - believe her, as a netrunner she would be the first one to get info about Megacorps making such high-quality military-grade chassis.

Sasha tried to subtly scan him as he started walking down the stairs. Nothing - her optics picked up nothing. That was the strangest thing - it wasn’t an active jammer or concealer or ICE, Sasha’s scanner just didn’t seem to realise that Noble 6 was there.
It was as if Noble 6 was nothing more than a mirage. Sasha pondered if that was the reason why the Mercs said they were invisible in the night.

Sasha felt a sudden nudge on the shoulders, causing her to flinch and straighten her back. She turned to see that the perpetrator was her very own duo, who was grinning ear to ear in a fashion that caused Sasha to grumble.

“Da-hamn Sasha! I knew you took a liking to our big helper, but I didn’t think you’d be eyeing him up like a cat seeing fish!”

“Shut up, Dorio.” Sasha growled. “It’s not like that.”

“You sure? It’s the first time I’ve seen you give someone those kinds of eyes.”

Sasha ignored muscular solo, pushing past Dorio and following Noble 6 down the stairs.
Dorio let out a chuckle at the sight. If she told her crew that pushing their buttons weren’t fun, she’d seriously be lying.

Arasaka counterintelligence division was a part of the Japanese Megacorp that presented itself as a security against data.
Everyone knew that was a front - only an aspect of what they really were, what they really did on a daily basis. Espionage, investigations, assassinations, literally stealing other Corpo data.

For a while they thought themselves to be the prime eye in the sky, thanks to getting Netwatch’s assistance and their own advanced experimental technology. Night City bought it for a moment too.

Then the shadows gave birth to boogeymen. Then everything started going dark for them.
Their own people suddenly disappearing in their office, discovered a month or two later bloody and bruised. Barely breathing too, if they were lucky.
Cargos suddenly disappearing into thin air, highly confidential data suddenly leaked.

Their only solace was that they weren’t the only ones being targeted - other Megacorps were suffering the same mysterious circ*mstances too. They all soon learned the general gist of what was happening when they started dropping gigs into Rogue’s lap.

Baba Yaga, they called themselves.
Slavic enigma of the wood, witches- ogresses that either swept people away to cook and eat, or elders that helped the hero of the folktale.

An apt description, Kate had come to realise the more she tried to dig any info regarding them. Depending on who’s perspective it was - and who’s coins were being fished out of the pocket, they really were here to help a poor scop out of the trouble heap… or to eat up a choom the moment everyone turned to look somewhere else.

Kate looked out the window, the fingers of the crossed arm digging into her lean prosthetic biceps.

The buildings and highway roads below her were getting drenched in rain.
And once a moment, once a single moment,
She expected the rain to bend around something.

Like it did three weeks ago.

Were they happy they got the package as intended? Yeah, kinda.
Were they happy that it took full two weeks before militech realised their package wasn’t coming back? Everyone in the Counter intelligence division were laughing.
Was Kate grateful that they got the best there was on this street?

No.
Not one bit.
Because unlike the rest of the Corporats in this building, Kate knew what that meant.
That Night City had people that were just as capable of slipping in and out of Arasaka territory unnoticed.

Who knows, maybe they have already been doing that. There was no way to tell right now.

Kate sipped her coffee as two people entered her office.

The one in front, stepping into the light and revealing themselves, was her assistant Douglas.
The mono-eye optic glowing red as he handed over a shard to Kate.

The figure behind Douglas remained in the shadows, eyes just as red as Douglas, but the absolute stature of the silhouette made them more menacing.

It took days, almost a week and a half, trying to acquire this and process it with enough resolution.
But they finally had what they wanted.

“Just so you know, ma’am.” Douglas added as Kate took the shard and inserted it into her computer. Holographic screen came to life to start as she opened the file inside for all 3 to see. “The counterintelligence officer sent to retrieve and process the footage was found dead in her office 2 hours ago. As soon as she finished everything.”

Kate didn’t visibly react - a twitch of her index finger the best she showed. “… Cause of death?”

“Suicide. Put a bullet in her own head with a Nue Pistol.” Douglas clarified. “Her colleagues reported that she had shown strange behaviour ever since she was put on this task. Got worse as nights went by. She had left a digital note, and the new Counterintelligence agent has been going through her personal files - records show that she recorded seeing ‘figures’ at her bedside. Medical records already showed that she was suffering from health problems due to stress - heavy medications were found in her office drawers too.”

Douglas sent the file to Kate with a glow of his eyes.
Kate quietly read through it, finger hovering over the video file.

[I started this task as an Arasaka analyst thinking that they were just some new mercs. Boogeymen, they were called. Baba Yaga, they called themselves. Scary names they chose themselves to look big, look scary. Look tough.
Every night I watch through different video clips of anything I can find, and I realise one thing - they undersold themselves. This wasn’t their attempt to make them look like a tough adversary or legend- this was their attempt to look human. They talk and act like this to blend in with us, to make us think that they are like us.
I leave a message to anyone who will carry on my work for Arasaka, whether willingly or not- The only position in nature where you would play yourself down and mimic yourself as something less than intimidating, is when you are the predator. Praying Mantis were recorded to disguise themselves as flowers to lure in butterflies and bees, Spiders mimicking ants to hunt them. Aggressive mimicry existed in life because it WORKED, just like how it is working now.
I’ve gathered any records I can find, and I leave them here so that they do not make the mistake I did. They disguise themselves as mercs, boogeymen-for-hire. And we all ate that up hook, line, and sinker.
They are not mercs.
They are not boogeymen, they are not here to hide under the bed or inside closets to take kids at night.
They are not the Baba Yaga. The slavic witch can at least be tricked, can be reasoned with.
They are not human.
They are worse.

They are darkness itself taken form. They mimic speech to make us think they can be negotiated, that they can be reasoned, that they can compromise. They have shown their true colours once they strike, for at that moment they no longer have a reason to keep up the facade.
They are demons, wearing human hide.
And the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.

When people like us realise the great lie, they know.
You’ve heard the lie, now they can see you.
You’ve seen the lie, now they can hear you.
Never speak about it, not like I did. If you do, they can touch you.

I’ve seen their face on the glass window of my office. Whether it’s just a figment of my imagination or the source of the fear itself closing in on me, I do not know and I no longer do not care. I’ll be ending my shift on my own terms. I’ve already decided on that.]

Kate stood silent for a moment, before steeling herself and sneering.

“So she couldn’t take the pressure. So what - we got what we needed out of her.”

Kate pressed the video file.
An XBD file, processed into ordinary footage. While Kate and the other 2 watched it on the comfort of the office couch, sipping beverages, the analyst would most likely have been using the Brain dance to sift through - feeling the fear and pain of the Tyger Claws as a hulking mass of black metal was flying down from the sky.

Slowed footage showed how small flames were erupting from the back and the legs, before a sudden burst of force rushed down on the ground.
The Boogeyman had slammed onto the ground with might that caused a small quake to move through the asphalt, knocking several of the Tyger Claws off their feet, some launched into the air - unlucky few that were too close was crushed instead.

Then it started. Bullets flying at the boogeyman that bounced off of glowing hexagonal particles, not even one one managing to hit the walking mechanical armour.

Kate saw Douglas’s mouth widen slightly ajar, and she felt her jaw fall slack too as the footage continued.

One footage showed the perspective of the Kunoichi, complete with the movement in the footage slowing down to tell the audience that the Tyger Claw had activated her Sandevistan, circling around the Baba Yaga.

Then the boogeyman turned his head faster, moved much faster than the Kunoichi too. With a flash, the Kunoichi was sent flying across the town and hitting her friend. That footage ended with the optics of the Kunoichi recording her lower half getting entangled with the eviscerated torso of her friend.

A few more footage showed of the merc’s pinpoint precision with any weapon he can get his hands on - pistols, rifles, shotguns, even knives. One Footage was a Tyger Claw with a sniper rifle, miles away from the actual fight.
The scope showed the Boogeyman looking at the sniper, pistol aimed before the sound of glass shattering caused the footage to end.

Next showed Tyger Claw in a car, chasing the Boogeyman and two mercs inside - The boogeyman drifted across the road like it was made of butter, one hand on the wheel and a tanto in the other - the knife for the driver was all Noble 6 needed to cause the car to go out of control. The optics saw as a flash of metal flew past, smashing through the glass and embedding itself into the forehead of man behind the wheels.
By the time the owner of the optic had managed to crawl out of the car, their target was nothing more than a number plate disappearing at the corner.

More footage of a Car chase. Only reason why Kate would even classify this as carnage was because of how big of an after effect such restrained small actions caused. No hails of bullets or grenades - just short, concise bullet shots or knife throws from the black armour and suddenly cars and motorcycles were crashing into each other and turned over on the road.

Kate replayed the footages, and finally ended on the scene that could show the perpetrator as clearly as possible - and even then it was a semi-blur.

Gold visor, helmet design wasn’t something she had ever seen.
The area where the clavicle would be showed an emblem of an eagle with its wings outstretched, sitting on top of a globe.
She couldn’t make out the letters, but she knew there was something written on the logo.

“What do you think?” Kate asked. A question thrown into the two’s general direction, but Douglas answered first.

“I think the analyst had the right idea.” Kate snickered. She felt her heat drumming against her ribs. Kate expected that if this was viewed with a brain dance, then whoever was watching wouldn’t leave without a heart attack. Maybe she was wrong about the Counter intelligence officer. Maybe she took the pressure well.

“I’m asking about the technology this… thing has. Energy shields, reaction speed exceeding a standard issue military-grade Sandevistan… pin point f*cking precision. Thruster packs.”

“… Out of this world.”

“That’s one way to say it. Everything about this merc is a Megacorp’s fantasy. Arasaka and Militech, especially. All of this. All, of this, is something that our R&D haven’t even been able to start on because their math kept f*cking them over. Technology that isn’t even inthe theoretical stage is currently roaming the streets like it isn’t breaking the laws of physics.”

And she had a general gist of where they may have come from.

Kate looked out her window and into the cloudy Night City night sky.
Up above those clouds was the ship of their newest guest.
And in the badlands were their newest abode.

“And we have 6 of them.” Douglas and Kate turned to the 3rd member in the office, who finally spoke. Mechanical voice boomed out after such a long time of silence.

“Yes, Adam. We have 6 of these f*ckers going around town stirring sh*t up and barely leaving a trace. 6 of them who are several thousand years ahead of any technology Earth could whip out right now.”

Adam Smasher silently stared at the holographic footage. Even if he wasn’t making any noise, Douglas and Kate could still hear him salivate.

When Arasaka saw this and felt fear, Adam Smasher saw a challenge.
New Challenge.
A real challenge since Morgan Blackhand.
And not like that cheap disappointment that called himself Johnny Silverhand.

They had taken Adam’s title of NC Boogeyman, which he wasn’t too happy about.
But he could at least commend them for how efficient they were in the killing business.
Yeah, they deserved the title. While their methods may be different Adam expected them to be a kindred spirit at the core.

And that was precisely why Adam was dying to find them.

“What. The f*ck.”

Washington had recently received their latest report from Agent Locust.
Enough had been delivered over the past month and a few weeks to finally move into phase 2: something that Washington was going to discuss with Cell.

And what did Washington find as he went inside Cell’s newest office?

A f*cking corpse inside a broken refrigerator.

“What.” Cell replied while he still looked through the lens of a microscope.

Washington stammered a bit while looking from the opened fridge and to Cell. He then pointed to the corpse.

“THAT!” Washington shouted. “I’M TALKING ABOUT THAT! WHAT THE f*ck, CELL! WHY DO YOU HAVE A DEAD BODY IN YOUR OFFICE!”

Cell looked behind him.

“Oh, that. Yeah, our boys found the fridge as they dug up the trash mountain. While it was going to be fed into our vat, the lid opened and… well, tadah. Dead body. We were going to throw it away but I thought it’d have some uses.”

“… WHAT USES! YOU CAN’T JUST ‘Oh, that.’ A f*ckING CORPSE, CELL!”

Cell pushed himself off the table to get some space between him and the microscope, gesturing to the lens.

“Ok, Ok. I know it’s a little weird but I promise it’s well paid off. First off, the corpse reeks.”

Washington just stared at Cell, arms going limp.
Why wouldn’t a corpse reek? It’s a corpse! Who knows how long it’s been out in the open!

“Which, I get sounds obvious to you because you’re a little stupid in the scientific area. So I’ll elaborate - if the corpse isn’t decaying, it shouldn’t reek. While the decaying process was slow thanks to… well, being refrigerated, the fact that it smells means that it is happening - which means we have…?”

Washington looked to the corpse and slowly looked back at Cell.

“… Microorganisms, Washington. We have microorganisms.” Cell finished his sentence with a disappointing tone. He tried to make this fun for the Spartan Commander. But whatever colony planet this guy came from, their education system had seemingly failed poor old Washington here. “We can get the bacteria we needed to convert the poisoned soil of this sh*t hole from the corpse.”

“… Is… is that what you’re looking through the microscope?” Washington weakly asked. He was getting tired at this point.

“Well… yes, but actually no. I’ve already seen the samples, got what I wanted. Then I just did some gene modifications and I’m watching the results.”

“Results…?”

“Yeah, I got the analysis of the poison - it’s artificial toxin. Which means we have some Megacorp purposefully contaminating the ground. Luckily I got several ways to make the microorganisms counteract it: I can make them form small biofilms between the soil, have them resist it using specific amino acids and RNA, and then I can make them process the toxins and convert them into viable nutrients and cell-building materials. The base of the microorganisms I got from the dead body over there, and then got some DNA materials from legume roots.

“Legumes…?”

“Beeeaans, Washington. I got them from Beeeans. Here, take a look.”

Cell gestured at the microscope to Washington, who defeatedly walked over and decided to humour Cell’s offer.

Several microorganisms of different sizes and shapes were eating materials, and then spitting them back out.

“They’re eating the toxin particles and spitting out usable materials. Essentially making the soil a huge nutrient storage for them to use whenever they need to.”

“That’s… good, I guess. Makes the terraforming effort a lot less tedious. What about our cars, though?”

“Oh, right. Ratchet?”

“Ratchet? Who’s Rat-” Washington asked as he took his visor off the lens, only to be interrupted by a blue holographic figure coming out of the table.
A feature common within UNSC smart AIs.

[For the last time sir, it’s ‘Rache’. Not Ratchet. Rache Bartmoss.]

“Don’t care, give me report of our current car situation.”

The Smart AI threw his hands in the air in frustration, but decided to follow Cell’s order.

[It’s… it’s currently going swell. Your Chooms have finished like, three different models and are testing them out at the back right now. Got the recording going on and everything.]

“Sweet. There’s your answer, Wash.”

Washington looked at the newest Smart AI, and then to the Corpse.

The two clicked together rather fast as he whipped his head to Cell.

“You-, he’s-, you-”

Cell looked at the Smart AI and then to the corpse as he heard Washington’s emotion get the best of his speech capability.

“Oh yeah, I didn’t tell you did I? I flash cloned the guy’s brain and well… voila.”

[Hello, nice to meet you. Agent Washington, correct? I’m Rache Bartmoss, the Smart AI created with the dynamic memory-processor matrix scanned and replicated from the neural pathway of the brain of the late Rache Bartmoss.]

“….WHY?!”

“Because the guy had pretty cool technology for what’s our perspective of medieval peasants. The fridge is a customised computer, and the guy had some hand held tablet as well.”

[It’s called a Cyberdeck, sir.]

“Like I give a sh*t, Ratchet. Whatever the f*ck it’s called, it’s still an ooga booga tablet to me.”

Cell and Washington saw the Smart AI slightly crouch down at the response, who was grumbling to himself like he was emotionally hurt.

“So anyway, turns out this guy was a hacker.”

[…and not just any hacker too, I’m made from the legendary netrunner, you know…]

Cell swivelled around his chair

“Shut the f*ck up, no one gives a sh*t about what you did here.” Washington swore he heard a short sob from the Smart AI as Cell then turned back to the fellow Spartan. “He’s the one who crashed the entire internet on Earth and made them all go back to the primitive net.”

“… So we have someone that knows their way around this Earth’s net.”

“Yeah, for a pretty unstable matrix I cloned from a rotting brain this thing has some pretty solid residual thoughts and memories of the dead guy. Guess the fact that there’s a lack of optimal environment of microbial growth allowed us to have a pretty well preserved body. I was able to make someone that’s hot sh*t on Earth into our glorified tour guide thanks to that.”

Washington had way too many thoughts rushing into his mind, but then he noticed the tablet in his hand and realised what he was here for.

Oh yeah, this mother f*cker wasn’t my problem anymore now.

“Cell.”

“Washington.”

Washington placed the table on Cell’s table, which the Spartan picked up and read over with his four spectral nodes on his helmet.

“Your file told me that you had experience in founding and running a start up company?”

“Yeah, I made it with my girlfriend before we joined the UNSC.”

“Girlfriend?”

“… Miranda Keyes.”

“Oh. Oooh.”

“We met thanks to our mother’s working at the same workplace. Lovely lady, she was. Got the best of both sides of her parents… But yeah, once I went into the ODST and she followed her father’s footsteps our Company and the workers were absorbed into the Watershed division. Reds and Blues, we named it. We cradled it in our arms like it was our newborn.”

“Well good news, you’re getting that Startup back, and you’re the CEO.”

Cell took his eyes of the tablet screen and turned his head to Washington.

“I am?”

“Yeah, because that’ll be our front as a Megacorp now. You’ll be running this joint as I go back to UNSC Revenant.”

While Cell would still have to make monthly reports to Captain Church, Washington now didn’t had to directly deal with Cell’s bullsh*t for a good long while.

Cell silently looked back to the tablet as Washington left the room. The Spartan Commander shouting ‘Peace!’ could be heard echoing into the entrance to Cell’s office.

Well, sh*t.
… Guess nothing really changed.

“Hey, Ratchet?”

[… Rache, sir.]

“Tell the engineers in charge of the vehicle R&D that I’ll be coming over to help.”

Cell could hear the Smart AI let out a sigh.

[… You’re the boss, sir.]

“… Damn right, I am.”

Chapter 16: When Kindness infects

Chapter Text

Moris huddled into the trash heap, grabbing the worn and torn blanket over himself as the dumpster fire gave some form of warmth for him.
The night sky in the badlands was full of stars, and he’d like to imagine how cool the thought of having stars for ceilings were. But then he felt the pain of his stomach trying to digest nothing but dust and rotten synthetic food he found decaying in one of the food packages he managed to scavenge here.

Moris was a soldier, used to be the so called ‘security division’ officer of Militech during the Unification war.
He was leading the front line using the panzers for NUSA, goddammit. And so was the rest of them lurking the streets of Night City.
All the fighting and shooting, all that shouting and commanding. All that training and replacing damaged limbs and organs with chrome. All that sacrifice. All for what?
Just to have his implants and jobs stripped away from him, to have them kick him out once they no longer had any uses for him?
Moris felt the pang of pain shoot through his right leg, which used to be chromed with military-grade implants before they took it away from him. Now it was nothing more than shoddy hydraulics he managed to find in the garbage heap.
The wires were from a used and discarded electronics, short circuiting every minute and shooting sparks that hurt.

Moris endured it and forced his eyes shut.
It didn’t matter. Megacorps were full of sh*t, ready to use and discard workers who pledged their lives and loyalty to the corporation like they were one-use assets. Moris was too dumb to realise this before he got fired.

Moris woke up at the sound of heavy engines and crushing of scrap. It was too close for comfort - both emotionally and physically, which caused him to jump up from his improvised bed - and witness the excavation of trash mountain.

He… holy sh*t.
He had heard words on the street about them, how everyone is now too scared to go to the badlands thanks to these folks.
Purifying water? Cleaning up the trash?
Night City government was thinking highly of that, sure.
But when those guys weren’t hesitant to litter the sands with corpses of raiders and wraiths and raffen shivs, and was perfectly capable of doing so without question, the bravest action was to send a drone.
He had thought that at earliest they worked during the day. That was the most logical conclusion anyone would’ve reached, considering that those star people had only two buildings at most.

No, they went active as early as 3 in the morning, the sky still purple when Moris suddenly had lights flash into his eyes.

Several soldiers surrounded Moris, the homeless ex-soldier blocked the flashlights with his arms (or at least with his half-working right arm, as best as he could) and tried to blink away the whites in his vision.

4 of them had matching uniforms and helmets with visors, while one was a hulking figure of metal from head to toe - almost like they were a IEC Dragoon.

Moris adjusted to the brightness when he realised that the flashlight shining lights into his eyes were attached to assault rifles.
Typical, sure. But the entire situation was still something that frightened him. It already made him tense and anxious during the war, now without proper equipments and not being in a good condition? That was signal for Moris to slowly raise his hands to show that he meant no harm.

“What are you doing here?” One of the soldiers shouted.
A stupid question, yes. But they were too intimidating for Moris to grown or laugh about.

“…Sleeping.” Was all Moris could manage out of his dry throat.

“…” the soldiers were turning to look at each other, before looking back at Moris.

“Why…?”

“What… what do you mean why?”

“Why here?”

“…” The tone in the soldier’s voice was of genuine confusion and concern.

It had been too long since he had heard anyone address him with emotion exempt from aggression.
But that made him feel all the more ashamed and embarrassed about the situation.

Because those that were angry about some homeless folk taking up shelter on a bench or the basketball field, Moris could write off as assholes.

The soldier that simply asked why in the dumpster made him realise how low he had fallen.

Moris tried to hold back the sobs, and the tears. Nose pinged a bit as he forced out an answer.

“It’s cold, and I have nowhere else to go…”

The soldiers were looking at each other, while their rifles wavered a little they were never lowered.
Until the IEC Dragoon-looking big guy in the centre started to lower his gun, and subsequently placed a hand on the rifle of the soldier next to them, pushing it gently down.
That was enough of a signal for the rest to stand down.

The Spartan - a member of Fireteam Crimson, slowly walked up to Moris and took a knee, lowering his body enough to somewhat meet Moris at eye level.

“What’s your name?”

“… Moris. Moris Grant.” The homeless veteran replied.

The Spartan took note of the dogtag still hanging around the guy’s neck, to which he asked.

“Are you a soldier, Moris?”

Moris paused, stammering a little before answering.

“I-I am… I was, there… there was a war that ended 5 years ago. Militech forced me out once it did.”

The Spartan briefly looked to the floor, then back to the soldiers. Words were not exchanged between them, but the message was clear.
One soldier walked back to a vehicle - a prototype car from the engineer team - and came back with basic supplies. Which also included a blanket.

The Soldier handed over the supplies to Moris, and the old war-vet, with shaking hands, took the supplies and opened one of them.
Water.
There was water.
The lack of chemical smell meant that it was fresh. How could it be fresh? Fresh water costed thousands a millimetre. It was absolute luxury that he could only afford once a year during his service under militech.

With shaking hands and slight fear and hesitation, Moris took a sip. It really was fresh water, tasted crystal clear with no impurities. Clear, odourless, tasteless water.

Moris quickly drank the water, coughing a little and making sure not to spew it back out.
The Spartan didn’t care about the sight, and only focused on gently wrapping the blanking over Moris.
It was warmer than the torn sheet he had found 4 hours ago.

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.” The Spartan quietly said as he grabbed Moris by the shoulder, gently lifting him up.
He supported the homeless man as they started to lead him into the car.

Moris was a little scared. Scared about the sudden kindness, what they’d do next - what’ll happen to him now.
But months of fatigue and extreme environments had made him weak and tired. Too weak and too tired to complain and resist the gentle guidance to shelter.

Moris got into the car, much much warmer than the outside cold night air.
Moris found himself drifting back into sleep, keeping the drink bottle he had been gifted by these people close and tight to his chest.

When Moris woke up, it had been two days straight- according to the medical officer in charge of the infirmary he was in.
The first thing he noticed was how warm, soft and comfortable the bed felt.
The second thing he noticed was that he was feeling such sensation with his right arm and right leg.
No, that couldn’t have been true, that couldn’t have been right.
Those right arms and right legs were made of chromes built with junk and scrap, there was only bits of motors and wires in their, no way for the sense of touch and temperature to be felt-

Moris looked at his right arm. Hydraulic pipes, exposed wires, and battered platings were no where in sight.
Flesh, with veins slightly visible under the skin.
It was his flesh. Lighter than his left arm, but the way the hair was grown on the forearm- it was his alright.
He slowly lifted the blanket and was met with similar sight on his right leg.

Flesh. Blood, bone, skin, and muscle.
He, with shaking fingers, gently touched the surface of his leg with his fingertip.
Soft, warm.
It really was his leg, it really was his arm.

“I knew you’d be having that reaction.” The medical officer commented with a chuckle, Moris lifted his head in confusion. “In case you’re wondering-no, that’s not a dream. That’s really your arms and legs. Flash-cloned them with your cells and attached them through surgery while you were asleep. Extra anaesthetics were used too.”

You like them? Those words echoed into Moris’s mind, as he slowly stood up to walk.
Both legs were of exact height- Moris no longer had to view the world with a slight slant. He tried walking, wobbly legs but strong legs nonetheless. It worked without significant problems or trouble. He couldn’t believe. Despite what the doctor over there said, it had to be a dream.

Not even a miracle was this advance - no megacorp was.
… Unless…
Unless it was those star people.

Moris’s stomach growled and grumbled. Now that he was awake, his guts were signalling for food.

“Come on.” The medical officer said. “You can either get yourself cleaned before you go get something to eat, or you can get something to eat and then get yourself a nice hot shower.”

Moris had to take a moment to process the choices given to him.

Moris stared at the vegetable soup given to him.
The lack of proper nutrients he was getting meant that his digestive capabilities was a little shortcoming at the moment. It was best not eat solid for now, until his internal organs could properly heal and function again.

Moris tasted the flavours in his mouth. Savoured it.
Food, proper food. Fresh food, made from fresh, natural ingredients.
No traces of toxic contaminations in his mouth. Genuine pure vegetables.

Moris didn’t realise he was sobbing until he found that he couldn’t breath properly - tears and snot was blocking his nose as he held in a cry.

This was something he couldn’t get a taste of even during his military years. It was too good. Too good to be true. Moris looked around the cafeteria, soldiers - both the standard UNSC Army, Marine, Navy, and Air force were talking to themselves. And then there were also Spartans on break. They had taken their helmets off to reveal their faces underneath. Revealing to Moris that no, they weren’t robots. They weren’t ICE Geminis or dragoons.

They were humans. No matter how big, how intimidating they looked- underneath those Mjolnir armour, they were human. Just like him.

That’s why one of them could show compassion to him so naturally.

“Hold up, Cap and a half. Guess who’s in admin? ME. Guess who ain’t in there?” Spartan Heaven pointed at Spartan Ant. “THAT. BROWN. MOTHER. f*ckER. RIGHT THERE. YOU. LYIN. BITCH-”

“CAP. AND. A HALF. CAP. AND. A HALF. NO, HEAVENLY- NO, HEAVENLY’S CAPPIN.”

“Geuce and Ant… Geuce and Ant…”

“Nah, nah, nah…”

“On mah Mama. CUZ.-“

“Chief. Chief. Chief.”

“On mah Mama, CUZ. It’s Geuce and Ant-”

“ON MAH MAMA YOU WEREN’T IN f*ckIN ADMIN!”

Few of the Spartans were arguing about something. About what, Moris had no clue.
All he knew was that the rest of the soldiers in the cafeteria looked thoroughly entertained by Fireteam Badger’s antics.

Mortis took another spoonfull as he watched.

“YOU’RE EITHER BLIND. OR YOUR CAPPIN.”

Once Moris was done eating, he was guided by one of the soldiers to the shower room.

“Here’s the shampoo, here’s the conditioner. Oh, if you want to shave as well, we’ve got the shaving cream and shave here, or if you’d like the electric one it’s underneath here.”

Take as long as you need. Is what the soldier said as he went back out.
Moris got out of the patient uniform given to him while he was asleep, and started to wash his hairs and body properly. The site of surgeries were sanitised, but only those areas. The rest still had grimes and grease, something Moris was happy to remove.

Hot clean water sprayed down and he was enjoying this so, so much. According to the soldiers, water wasn’t an issue. He could use it liberally. He was more than happy to, and quickly grabbed the shaving cream and blades too.
His beard was too long, and so was his hair.
Unfortunately there was nothing he could do for the hair - but the beard was good to go.

He went to work, looking in the mirror to see his chin again for the first time in forever.
He saw how gaunt his cheeks were, looking like they were sucked in.

He gently touched the now-smooth skin of his face, and slowly went back under the water.
Steam was rising, and he saw how dirty the water was when it fell down his body and into the drown.
After enough shampoos and body wash, the water leaving through the drain was finally just as clean as it entered. He felt clean too.

He finally stopped, closing the waters and drying himself off with a towel.
Fresh clothes were given to him by the soldier before he entered the showers- a nice pair of boxers, trousers and shirt.
He carefully read the logo on the chest of the black t-shirt: An eagle with its wings outstretched, sitting atop of a globe that read UNSC.

He put the clothes on and left the shower room, and was greeted by the same soldier that guided him here.

“Finished?”

“Yeah… Yes I am, sir.”

“Ni~ce. Alright, our boss said he wanted to see you once you were done. You ready to meet him?”

Moris swallowed a little out of anticipation, but nevertheless nodded his head.
These people gave him warm clothes, fresh clean water, and his limbs back. He knew there was some price to pay, but by the looks of it the price would be somewhat reasonable.
He was ready for it, he guessed.

“Sweet. Follow me. Not far from here either.”

Moris followed the UNSC soldier, passing through a hallway where ODST and Marines were chatting with each other, before noticing Moris and giving him a curt nod. Moris gave a curt nod back. It made him feel like he was back in Militech, where at least the soldiers had a code of honour between each other.

When one of the hulking Spartans walked by, they gave a nod to Moris to. Moris gave a nod back as well. Despite their intimidating stature, he just couldn’t forget the kindness one displayed to him - the whole reason why he was here right now.

The room Moris entered was a weired one. When the soldier said boss and office, he expected it to be a clean expensive suite, with an aquarium or a holographic model dancing to some tunes.

No, it was just computers and microscopes. Computers, computers, computers.

“Spartan Cell, sir? Our guest is here.”

The Spartan turned around from his computer, 4 spectral nodes glowing red. Moris gasped a little, the imagery of his boss resembled Maelstrom, and they were never a good sign.

Spartan Cell leaned back in his chair.

“Moris Grant, was it?”

Moris stammered a little, but managed to push through.

“Ye-yes, sir…”

Moris saw how much the system here was militaristic. He did his best to give a soldier’s salute, to which Spartan Cell chuckled.

“I heard from Crimson team that you were a war vet. That true?”

“Yes, sir. Militech Sergeant, before the Unification war ended on 2070… I was fired right after then. Once the war was finished and Militech was on the disadvantage, we were just reliability… sir…”

Cell simply nodded, his Mjolnir helmeted showed no emotions or empathy.

“So that means you know how the city and NUSA works, right?”

Moris rolled his eyes a little, slightly concerned and equally confused about the question.

“Um… yes… sir? Some… somewhat.”

Cell nodded his head more, before pointing at Moris.

“Good… Good. We need someone like you.”

“You… you do?” Moris asked curiously.

“Yeah, we’re trying to introduce ourselves to Earth as a Megacorp you know. We need as much info about here as possible if we want a stable landing. After all, you’ve got some debt to repay to us, right?”

Moris blinked a few times. He understood where this was going. Slightly. But he was still unsure about it.
Cell picked up his tablet, tapped on the screen and then handed it over to Moris.

“Here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to join the UNSC. You’re going to answer every question we ask. And you’re going to help us with whatever we ask. With what we did for you, that’s the least you can do to repay the debt, right?”

Moris looked through the details on the tablet.

Moris was going to start out as a cadet of the UNSC Army, with him assigned to the barracks in HIGHCOM Facility Draugr-1, and expected to be assigned to another facility once they established a base within Night City. Any information he knew about Night City and NUSA, he was to provide them as much as possible to the UNSC to help establish a location, and he was to help with anything he can once they managed to create contact.

Moris felt his hand tremble slightly.

“How… How long will I have to do this?”

Cell snorted at the question.

“How long…. You’re asking this question like it’s got a time period.”

“… You mean…”

“We’re not letting you go, Moris. Once you’re in the UNSC, you’re staying. You can’t leave this sh*t, Moris.”

Moris felt tears well in his eyes once again.

“You-you mean this… this is permanent?”

Cell laughed.

“Damn right it’s permanent, you mark my f*cking words Moris. Not even when you’re in a body bag are you going to leave us.”

Moris felt his voice shake and ache.

“Oh… Oh god.”

Moris couldn’t believe it.
He had a job.
He had a job!
He had a f*cking job again!

“Oh god! Oh god!”

Cell stood up from his chair.

“Don’t you pray to god, Moris! God didn’t give you sh*t! God didn’t do sh*t when life took away your arms and job, Moris! God didn’t give you food! God didn’t give you water! God didn’t give you your limbs and job back, Moris! I did! You don’t pray to god! You pray to me now!”

“Oh, Sir! Sir!”

Moris fell to his knees, yet he managed to grab hold of Cell’s hands.
He clasped the Spartan’s hands firm and tight and sobbed.

“Thank you, sir…!”

“Yeah, that’s right! You pray to me!”

Moris woke up from his barracks, bed as soft as ever.
He handled his new guns and armour with care, ready to suit up and start the day on patrol.

He was a cadet, not a Sergeant. Sure. But that didn’t mean sh*t to Moris.

Cadet Moris of the UNSC had a better life than Sergeant Moris of Militech.
For once, his body felt much better: Much stronger, much faster, much lighter, much healthier.

Good food and good training showed better results than some inhaling drugs and chromes.

He felt himself getting stronger by the day too, shooting any raffen shivs that were dumb enough to start running towards the trash excavators.
He enjoyed how much fun it was to talk with his fellow soldiers, who didn’t care that he was of Earth descent.
He enjoyed how much it was to fight alongside a Spartan, to watch them in combat as they punched a car with their bare fists until it exploded.

He also enjoyed whenever he get to try out the SPNKR. Those gas-operated rocket launchers were a weapon of mass destruction.
Couldn’t believe it had such a highly advanced-smart link system, too.

Moris had most of his implants removed or replaced with UNSC standards. And these ones caused no such problems at all that the old chromes were regularly displaying.

Just yesterday, Moris had tried out War games with his newly made friends and comrades - according to them, those that showed promising results in those activities were selected to either become ODST, or Spartans.

Spartans, those massive people clad in full plates were called. God. To Moris, they represented every meaning, every letter of those words. Spartans, fierce warriors and soldiers. They were almost like Greek gods than simple Spartans.

Maybe someday, Moris could be either one of the two.
That’s what Moris hoped, at least. Until then, he trained, he patrolled, he defended and he fought.
He no longer fought for his country, nor for a Corporation.

No, he fought for UNSC. And for what UNSC represented. He heard the story from his fellow soldiers and ODST. This history of UNSC - what they fought in space, and what they were trying to do here on Earth.

Was it the truth, was it propaganda? Moris didn’t care. They gave him food, clothes, limbs and a second chance at life.
If they can provide that to some homeless folk with no promising qualities, then they had Moris’ full loyalty.
f*ck Militech, Moris spat on the sand as he thought of the Megacorp. Rosalind Myers and her bitch of a government and corporation didn’t do sh*t for him.

Moris went to patrol over the trash mountain with his team 7 Bravo, climbing up and down to make sure no one was trying to ambush their precious vehicles. It was a little nostalgic, considering how he was making trash fires and eating rotten chemically filled products here just a month and a half ago.

Next thing he knew, he was flashing lights from his assault rifle at a homeless person with his friends, surrounding the poor sap.

… Whoah, Moris quietly exclaimed.
It was exactly like Deja vu.

The homeless person also had faulty chromes, trying to block the light with his arms…or at least tried as best as he could.

“What are you doing here?” One of the soldiers shouted.
A stupid question, yes. But they were too intimidating for the homeless man to grown or laugh about.

“…Sleeping.” Was all the guy could manage out of his dry throat. He had a rough Japanese accent in his voice, but the tone made sure to convey that he was scared.

“…” the soldiers were turning to look at each other, before looking back at the homeless man.
Moris finally saw the homeless man’s face properly once he slowly lifted his arms up in the air as a sign of surrendering, that he meant no harm.

Holy sh*t, it was Genjiro.
Moris knew the guy, he used to be a high ranking executive member of Arasaka… until one of his colleages made a mistake and pinned the blame on him, threw him under the bus. Genjiro, despite going homeless, had always laughed with Moris and told him that it was better than being dead, having concrete sticking to his shoes as his body sunk to the ocean floor.

Genjiro had shared the bigger half of Duhan’s 4 dollar burger the Japanese man had found behind the dumpster.

“Why…?” Moris’ comrade had asked the homeless man as Moris and Genjiro’s eyes met.

“What… what do you mean why?” Genjiro said with a stutter.

“Why here?”

“…” The tone in the soldier’s voice was of genuine confusion and concern.

Moris saw Genjiro’s face scrunch up as tears formed at the corner of Genjiro’s eyes.

“It’s cold, and I have nowhere else to go…”

Moris was the first to lower his gun.

Then the Spartan accompanying his team lowered his.

Moris knew what to do from here, running to the car as soon as Spartan Simmons ordered dropped.

Fresh clean water, Blanket.

This time, it was Spartan Simmons the one who handed Genjiro water, as Moris wrapped the clean blanket over the friend he had made during his fall to hard times.

“It’s ok, Genjiro.” Moris said with a comforting tone. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

Chapter 17: Progress, Impending, Change of Fate

Chapter Text

David Martinez jerked up from the coach the moment Noble 6's knife lodged itself on a Tyger claw's forehead.

The XBD he had received from the ripperdoc was scenes of a Baba Yaga killing gangoons stringed together.
David was left huffing as he removed the braindance from his head.

[S-so, how'd you like that? Pretty- really cool, right?]

[Doc-Doc! It's the best!]

Most XBD was long sessions of torture p*rn, pain elongated and screams intensified.
This XBD went the opposite direction: quick, precise, rapid.

Carnage was cleanly done- just a few bullets knives to sweep through the crowd. Only that the audience of the Braindance was the crowd.

Like a sickle through the fields.

David already heard about the Baba Yagas- 6 suits of armour that only showed themselves when they weren't on a gig.
What he had gotten was the only proper footage of one at work. And they were merciless. Efficient.

David still felt his heart pumping blood through his veins. He was on an adrenaline rush.

He loved every moment of it.

Was there more?
Probably not- the Ripperdoc told him that this was the first time a Baba Yaga was caught on a brain dance.
It was already selling like cake, and if David sold this to he could get some of the profit.

David was already motivated. This was easy eddies.
He pondered, however, as he started to pack his bag and fill it with copies of the XBD.

What were the Baba Yagas doing right now?

Agent Locust picked up his ringing phone.

"Who is this?"

He gestured to Agent Ram, silently telling him to get ready to intercept the call in case it was an unsavoury individual.

Agent Ram plugged in the cord from the phone into his laptop, finger hovering over the keyboard.

[Just a fixer needing certain individuals to get a job done. Specifically, those that go bump in the night and leave even the toughest men scared of meeting.]

Agent Locust held his finger up. Then returned to the conversation.

"I need a name."

"Of course, it will be Mr Hands. I've heard you guys were careful. I like that in a merc. Already a reputation of making people disappear without leaving traces. Not unless the client wanted carnage."

"What's the job."

Agent Locust wasted no time - the fixer called because he had a job for the Boogeymen.
Agent Locust heard Mr Hands laugh on the other side of the call.

[Straight to business- why couldn't more Mercs be like you, Baba Yaga? I have two gigs for your team. One of the gig is the assassination of Dexter Deshawn. You would have heard about him: A fixer that decided to wander into Pacifica to haul something big, but has recently ended up causing a huge stir in my territory. Now I have both Barghest and Voodoo boys causing chaos when I needed order. This would require the majority of you to be on it. The other gig is short and simple - only one merc on the job will do. A simple search and rescue mission of two NCPD officers from a Barghest-infested building. I'll be sending the details for both your way. Keep in mind that I need both of these gigs done by tonight. They are very urgent.]

Agent Locust was silent for a few moments, before turning to the rest of the team.

"... We'll get to it when we receive the details."

[Excellent, I'll be waiting for your results. And to whichever Boogeyman you send for the second job, I'll have to give them a specific location to travel to in order to reach the required location.]

Agent Locust soon saw the files sent to his phone, which Ram opened on his laptop.
Agent Locust walked over to Ram to read it, before standing straight up.

"Ram, Killshot, Leon: You guys are going with me. Jim and Noble 6, I sending you guys to a different location."

"Understood, sir."

"Understood."

"Ram will transfer you two the location. The 4 of us will leave first. Contact us when you guys are finished with your side of the gig."

Jim picked up his customised revolver, nodding at his leader.
The rest of the team got ready to move. Rifles loaded, knives sharpened, knuckles cracked.
Noble 6 stood by the doorway, waiting for Jim to get ready so the two could disappear into the darkness of the night.

Dexter Deshawn puffed cigars after cigars as his bodyguard stood next to the door, shotgun ready in his hand.

Yeah, sure. He admitted he f*cked up. Yeah, he f*cked up! He didn't realise the heist he planned would ruin half of Pacifica (and piss off Kurt Hansen). But it did, and he had to take that fact in.
He had already dealt with loose ends - his bodyguard had shot the mercs that decided to come back splattered in blood ready to argue about the difficulty of the gig and the increased prices. Their corpses were ditched somewhere in the trash heaps in Dogtown. No one would look for them anyway.

Dexter Deshawn saw the setting sun. Sky dyed orange like the days of 2020s, when the red war caused the air to be filled with red for decades.
He had managed to pull a ticket for a plane - used half of his savings to do so. He would have to leave Night City for a good long while. He had to leave, as soon as possible. He had no choice in that matter, lest he wanted to go around the corner and get a bullet in his fat skull by a merc hired by a newly made enemy of his.

"Where the f*ck did that lard ass go!"

A group of Barghest soldiers were running around the streets, angrily shouting at each other to find Dexter Deshawn.
The fat fixer watched the scene through the gaps in his barricaded windows.
By night the patrol would've thinned out. They would think that he escaped Pacifica by then.
That's when he can leave for the airport.

The sun was already setting, and the darkening of the sky calmed him down a bit.
He didn't need to wait too long, his time was coming.

But a sudden flash of fear went through his mind as he saw the shadows of the buildings drawing longer.

What if one of his enemies hired the Baba Yagas? What if they were starting to move?
He remembered how nearly every one of their gigs were done at night. Especially when it rained.

There was even a saying on the street now: Every time the clock hit 12:00, the boogeymen would drag someone into the shadows.

Dexter Deshawn felt his skin growing wet, and wiped off the sweat with his gold-plated chrome.

He had eddies.
He had lots of them.

Surely they'd be reasonable, right?
500 million to just pretend they didn't see a fat bastard run to the airport.
It's not a bad deal, is it?

… Is it?

Stella Ramoss quietly waited in her car. She was taking deep breaths to calm her nerves.
Sasha Yakovleva, her dear sister, had recently come back from a gig.
In which half the bloody Tyger Claws were after her. Sasha probably didn't know how much her heart sank when she heard the news thanks to the NCPD near the scene. Angrily demanded an answer when Stella met Sasha again. How they got into that mess, and how they managed to get out.

Muamar had sent a Boogeyman for her back up. Stella didn't believe it at first, but then the XBDs started popping up on the street. Naturally, her fiance Bill bought one to check it out.

Holy sh*t. Stella still remembered the aftermath. She was sent into the crime scene for investigation, after all. Now she knew how there was such a widespread dispersion of corpses on the streets of Kabuki.

Many of the NCPD have dropped the investigation - those that remained either didn't believe that there was any reason the Baba Yagas would target them, or they had a more direct problem breathing down their neck.

The rest in the middle didn't want to take the chance of letting the Boogeymen know who they were. It was way above their pay grade.

Stella watched the barricaded building on the opposite side of the road.
Currently, her fiance Bill had decided get convinced by his friend Charles into trying some wacky scheme.
All she knew was that Bill had just called saying that 'It's bad.' She deduced that Dodger had taken Bill and Charles hostage, and requested the gig to Mr Hands as soon as her fiance gave her the call.

The Fixer called her back 5 minutes ago, telling her that they found a Merc willing to take the gig, and will come to her location.

Stella heard a sharp tap on her car window.

"Stella Ramoss?"

Stella flinched, and turned to look at the merc.

Well holy sh*t, Stella thought to herself as she heard herself gulp.
She remembers how the Baba Yaga looked like in those brain dances.

And they were standing right outside her window.

"I'm here for the gig."

Stella had initially planned to let whoever decided to take the job into her car and explain there.
But there was no way to fit that size in such a small vehicle.
All she could manage to do was roll down the windows and quickly hand over a key card.

"Yeah, need your help. We can't be seen here, so I'll just talk quick - my fiance Bill and his buddy Charlie, they're trapped in that building across the street, until Dodger took over. It used to be an old precinct - you can go in using this access card."

Noble 6 gently took the key card with his large fingers, holding it in his hand, and looking to Stella.

"I'll be finished soon."

Stella nodded as she pulled the lever of her car and started to enter the road.
She looked at the back mirror to see that Noble 6 was already nowhere in sight.

… Damn, Stella thought. Bill's going to sh*t his pants when he sees the merc.

Every morning, Genjiro woke up from his room and put on his Uniform. Grey high collared suit that didn't look too bad on someone like him.
UNSC was… a very peculiar place to him, to say the least.

The last and only other association he had pledged loyalty to expected him to work 5 to 1. Sure, they gave more money per month than an average Night City Citizen could get their hands on in 2 years, but with so little time given Genjiro rarely had any moments to spend that for his own indulgence.

UNSC let him sleep in a little, so long as he could help them out in establishing themselves in the market.
Good food made from natural vegetables, a clean and safe environment.

And most of all, colleagues that didn't even think about stabbing him in the back. Half the stress he had to endure in Arasaka was fellow executives or subordinates just a moment away from blackmailing him, or selling precious info to a rival. Sometimes even other Megacorps like Militech.

UNSC was… UNSC was different.

Genjiro took a breath of fresh air in and opened the door.

"Hey, Genjiro! You working today?"

"I'm afraid so, Mister Donut."

"Oh, that's cool. If you got time after, me and the some of the crews are going to try set fireworks in the yard. Wanna watch?"

Genjiro smiled at the walking suit of pink armour.
Would anyone from Arasaka ever ask something as stupid like this? Genjiro thought not. Not unless it was some code word, or an attempt to lure Genjiro into a trap.
But enough weeks had passed for Genjiro to realise that no, these… Spartans, they were called- a walking, talking, human weapons of mass destruction equal if not more to the likes of Adam Smasher- were really that keen on simply having fun with the most trivial activities.

More so together.

"That would certainly sound fun, Mister Donut."

Spartan Donut waved his hands.

"Oooh… no need to put Mister there, Genjiro! It's just Donut! Anyways, have fun with work - Oh! The cooks told me that today's menu is rice with fried potato mashes and shredded cabbage salad. A Japanese dish, they said? You should totally try it out."

Genjiro laughed.
Ah, Spartan Donut means Koroke.

Due to limitations on meat, it was strictly vegetarian until their outside sources managed to procure Cows and Pig DNA.

Genjiro could already think of all the possible dishes that'd be added to the menu once meat was available.
He couldn't wait, all those thoughts had made his stomach growl.

"Thank you very deeply for the information… er… Mist… Donut."

Genjiro bowed as Donut awkwardly imitated his gesture. With all they had done for them, it was hard for Genjiro to not include any sort of english honorifics on them.
Even as a beggar, Genjiro's honour and dignity was the one thing he did not give up or sell.
Which meant trying to talk like he was equal footing with someone like Donut felt so… disrespectful.

Genjiro pondered about that further as he walked to the cafeteria, making sure to greet each and every soldiers and workers within the central base.
He had heard the stories as he lived here, worked here.

Spartans, more than just super-soldiers- they were symbol of hope and strength. The very bastion that opposed the invading forces.
They were warriors.

If Japan and Arasaka knew of their existence and their feat, they would consider the Spartans and ODST Shoguns and Samurais.

At least Genjiro considered them so. Benevolent too, considering how conversant they were to someone like him. They were always willing to answer his questions without mocking or insulting him. Inform him of anything new going on.

Some even showed him the main factory… 'The Cell-Khyl Vat', named after the two chief engineers who created them.

To see a cloud of nanomachine turn scrap into immaculate plates of uncannily serene materials that shined like silver and as durable as titanium.

It was a beautiful sight for Genjiro. Almost analogous to their philosphy on members of the UNSC, where everyone- no matter where they came from- can become something extraordinary. Even if they were considered trash by the rest of the Megacorps and was thrown to the streets.

No talent wasted, no man left behind.

Genjiro ordered the menu Spartan Donut had suggested.
He could already smell the flavours of Koroke from the occupied tables.

He still couldn't believe it sometimes. Fresh, natural ingredients, grown from clean soil and nurtured with care.
Those would be considered food of the highest quality, eaten only by those of the highest social order like the Arasaka clan or President Rosalind Myers.
And they were given to low-ranking workers like him! For free!
The quality they were in, the flavour they had created that exceeded perfection!
Those would sell for millions a gram, and they were just given like it was normal!

"Hey, Genjiro! Over here!"

Genjiro heard Moris's voice over a table, and saw his saviour sitting with fellow soldiers and colleagues.

Genjiro did not hesitate in carrying his plate over to the table.
His friends immediately made space for him, smiling as he sat down.

"How's the place working out for you, buddy?" Moris asked as he smiled.

"Like heaven, Moris. I can never stop thanking you for saving me from that trash heap."

Moris laughed as he flicked his wrist.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'm just returning the favours to everyone."

Returning favours.
Returning kindness that was given to them.

Those were concepts long forgotten on the roads of Night City, perhaps in majority of Earth too.

It felt foreign at first to Genjiro, but as time went on it felt natural. That's when Genjiro realised that such concept was something that was always meant to be.

Soon enough, Moris and Genjiro wasn't the only failures of Night City UNSC had taken under their wings.
Like returning kindness that was given, Moris helped the UNSC gather the homeless and lost from the trash heaps, or anywhere close. Genjiro then helped the UNSC have them washed, cleaned, fed, et cetera.

Soon enough those Citizens were given jobs and roles that befitted their talent and passion.
Spreading out like flowers in rich soil.

Some of the Citizens used to be farmers until Biotechnica robbed them of their land, job, and home. They were now taking care of the crops grown within the greenhouses.
Others used to be mechanics. They now helped build engines and cars, learning new technology along the way.

Those that used to be part of Security, like Moris, were trained as soldiers. Returning to the old roots made them grow muscles bigger than before.

Rarely anyone here used chromes- at most they had neural interfaces installed. Sleek and nearly unrecognisable like the ones used in Night City, they however could not be hacked. Being on a completely different network that Earth had no way of recognising or accessing was one reason, just the shear complexity and several redundancies within the interface acted as natural ICEs.

Everything was new to the recruited civilians. Even if it felt like some were the same, those some were definitely better than before.

All of them. All of them had a second chance at life, thanks to the people that came down from the sky.
Yes, Genjiro thought. This is how you earn undying loyalty from people.

"And I will put Kool aids in all the water fountains! And we won't have to wear school uniforms, anymore! And Principle Cell will allow double… Recess! recess…! recess…!"

Some of the Spartans here were bit grounded to Earth, while others were a bit… chaotic and creative in their perspective of the world.

Spartan Caboose was very much the latter.

"Caboose, we're not running for Class president! We're trying to choose the fire team leader!" Spartan Simmons exasperatingly responded to Spartan Caboose's recent wild claim.

Contrary to Simmons, however, the newly recruited UNSC officials from Earth was interpreting Caboose's speech differently.

"No, don't you see sir? Spartan Caboose is trying to tell us that when Reds and Blues becomes a Megacorp in Night City, there won't be school uniforms anymore because everyone will be free to take lessons from UNSC-lead educations. They won't be differentiated by social status money, or age like Arasaka Academy. Everyone will have equal chance and equal opportunity to chase their dreams instead of risking their lives acting as criminals! Spartan Caboose is trying to tell us that President Cell will send us out back into the real world where we won't have to aim our gun at every corner to make sure we live another day!"

Private Tai, Who used to work under Kang Tao before she was promptly fired for a minor mismanagement done by her subordinate, looked up at the Blue Spartan standing on a table with awe.

"My god… he has such way with words."

Spartan Simmon's helmet slowly turned to Private Tai.

"… Is this girl for real?"

"But wait, what about Kool aids in the water fountain?"

"Why that would be the purification of water! By making sure to filter out all those nasty gunks out, it would actually taste like the water we have here, so that kids and elderly folks won't have to get sick or die from being forced to drink such water, like those in Santo Domingo!"

"And I'll order Pizza for everyone! Every toppings you want!"

"Wow, sir… Providing food for everyone to make sure they don't starve…"

Hoo rah!
The soldiers and works surrounding Spartan Caboose shouted.

Genjiro and Moris watched all this from the other side of the room.
Only a select few were annoyed by Spartan Caboose's antic. Those were being Spartans close to Caboose.

And even then, no one could stay hating on Spartan Caboose.
Such a kind and innocent soul.

Genjiro had also noticed that despite his rambling resembling those of mad men, it did hold wisdom.

And to be fair, Genjiro didn't think Tai was wrong. UNSC was all about equal opportunities and chances. It showed in the armours of their soldiers too. Even those like Private Tai and Private Moris had energy shields.

Which also meant they were near unstoppable against Raiders. Hell, Genjiro was sure that even Araska would have a hard time fighting the UNSC army.

Genjiro had already finished his meal, but stayed a while to chat wtih Moris and the rest of the people in the cafeteria before they had to head off for work.

Time wasn't strict in UNSC. Only when it was emergencies did they need to stick to every second.

"So the road block is market entrance, huh?"

Genjiro heard Spartan Cell's voice as he walked through the hallway.

It was like hearing Saburo Arasaka's voice while one was working in the central office of Arasaka.
A gift, for sure.

"Our vehicles have finished testing and improvement, sir. Ready for mass-production. We just need to find a platform to advertise our product and our company name."

"Which is where the problem lies…"

Genjiro turned around, he could feel his mouth getting slightly dry.
He… he thought he knew a solution to this problem.

No, he was sure he had a solution.

Did he dare intervene in President Cell's business like so?
If it was Arasaka he was sure to get punished for this.

But with all the gifts he had been given by the CEO of Reds and Blues, he had to return the favour somehow.

"I… President Cell…" Genjiro felt his voice go weak but he pushed through.

Both Spartan Cell and the Spartan next to him turned to look at Genjiro. Genjiro first swallowed the saliva forming in his mouth to moisten his throat.
Quite honestly, if Spartan Cell got angry here and now, and ordered Genjiro to commit harakiri, Genjiro would follow through without complaint.

Of course, Genjiro knew from the back of his mind that President Cell wouldn't be the type of person to order something like that.

"I… I am terribly sorry for eavesdropping like this, sir. Please forgive me for such disrespect but… I… I may have a solution to that problem."

Spartan Cell tilted his head. 4 spectral nodes, shining like eyes, focused on Genjiro. "Oh, really? Shoot."

Genjiro nodded. "I have contacts. 'Had', might be the better word. But I know people- companies, those in charge of markets and malls in the Corporate Center of Night City. I used to talk with them and make deals when I was an executive in Arasaka. To… distribute products Arasaka was willing to sell in Night City. I still remember their number because they called me so many times. I can contact them again, get some of the first few cars we are willing to sell. They might scoff at the deal at first. They know I was removed from Arasaka. But the product we show them might make them consider-"

Spartan Cell quietly held his open palm up, which made Genjiro immediately stop talking and look to the floor.

That's when he heard Spartan Cell talk.

"Genjiro will be risking his life talking to people like that. I want people guarding him as he gets in contact. Preferably a fireteam of ODST at the minimum. Anything Genjiro needs to make a deal in our favour, provide it to him."

Genjiro felt his eyes widen.

"Genjiro?"

"P-President Cell! Sir!"

Genjiro bowed his head, hips at a 75 degrees angle.

"If you can manage to establish a place for us in the market as you suggested, I'll be putting you in charge of our office within Night City. Are you okay with that?"

Genjiro blinked. That offer was… was…
… wow…

"That is… that is a lot, President Cell. Before anything, I will make sure to accomplish this goal."

"You heard the man. He's our hope. Help him with whatever he needs."

Cell patted Genjiro's back.

"Good luck."

When Genjiro heard the CEO's footstep echo behind him, he simply straightened back up and looked back to Cell with awe.

He had to succeed.
This was the best way he can repay all the kindness UNSC had showed him.

The silver bullet that will lead this Organisation to greatness on Earth.

Like hell he was going to let this fail.

For UNSC, he quietly muttered.

For the one coroporation that actually acted like they gave a damn about the people working for it.

Dexter Deshawn's bodyguard was by the doorway, quietly looking at the security cameras with his interface.
Everything was all… clear, he thought.
Albeit it was quiet hard to see everything when it was so dark.
Night time, he thought.
He saw the fixer that hired him look all the more nervous as he watched the clock.

That's when a camera showed a slight movement in the shadows.
Something was coming. Something quiet, something subtle.

The bodyguard quickly grabbed the pistol on the table, which startled Dexter Deshawn.

"What, what is it?" The fat fixer urgently asked.

However the Bodyguard couldn't answer.
Because just then, he saw a single flash outside the window, on the opposite building to them.

It was flash from the moonlight being reflected by something.

The bodyguard realised too late that it was a scope reflecting the moonlight, when a bullet whizzed into the opening of the barricaded window and opened a hole right between the bodyguard's eyes.

Dexter Deshawn watched as the shades on the Bodyguard split into half and fell to the floor, blood splattering the wall.

He screamed in panic. Quickly grabbing his Plan B and stuck to the wall, away from the windows.

That was when he heard the door to his hotel room open.

Noble 6 choked the Barghest soldier out.

"Hello? Are… are you still in there?" Charles' voice on the other side of the door was cautiously asking once the angry Barghest suddenly became silent.

"This… is Baba Yaga. Stella Ramoss sent me. Am I speaking to Bill or Charles?"

Noble 6 answered for the Barghest soldier.

"Oh…. Oh… Oh sh*t…" Was all Charles said for a while.

"I-I'm Charles. I'd like to open the door for you, but it's… stuck."

"Move back."

Noble 6 grabbed the door with one hand and ripped it off the metal frame.
Noble 6 quietly set the door down next to him and showed himself to the blood soaked Charles.

"Oh my f*cking god…" was all Charles said as he stood there, face to face with Noble 6.

If Charles hadn't gone to the toilet recently, he was positive he would have pissed his pants right there.

"Bill is… Bill is this way. Hey Bill! Bill! Look who your Fiance hired to rescue us!"

"What-! What is it, keep it quiet and- Oh… Oh my f*cking god…"

As Charles guided Noble 6 to his partner, the other NCPD officer stood there speechless. Also covered in blood.

… Noble 6 sighed a little. He didn't think he would bother asking questions about why there was a corpse on the table, dissected.

"Oh…sh*t, sh*t sh*t sh*t!" Dexter Deshawn said in a hushed tone as he saw who was stepping into his room.

A walking suit of armour, Eyeless skull as a helmet.

He knew exactly who it was.

It was Baba Yaga. THE f*ckING BABA YAGA…
He had seen the guy, and the team he lead, walking into Afterlife to get jobs from Rogue-f*cking-Amendiares.

He knew exactly what they were capable of.

"Look, man. I, I know someone sent you to get me. But… But we can talk, right? We can negotiate. Let's negotiate! I'm a fixer too, you know? I've… I-I've got eddies! Half of what I have, I can give to you to tell whoever sent you that you lost track of me- that by the time you managed to track me down it was too late. We can- We can make a deal!"

Agent Locust stood there silently. Stood there dead still. No movement that even indicated he was breathing.
Like a statue, he was illuminated by the little specks of moonlight streaming between the barricades. Standing right next to the corpse of what used to be the fixer's bodyguard.
Dexter Deshawn couldn't see his eyes but he could feel the stare from this god damn monster.

"We can… we can make a f*cking deal, come on! Speak to me goddammit…"

Dexter's breath became heavy as fear was slowly catching up to him. The longer he stared at the assailant, the more Agent Locust looked less human.

Dexter didn't realise what Arasaka's Counter intelligence found.

That they disguise themselves as mercs, boogeymen-for-hire. And they all ate that up hook, line, and sinker.
They are not mercs.
They are not boogeymen, they are not here to hide under the bed or inside closets to take kids at night.
They are not the Baba Yaga. The slavic witch can at least be tricked, can be reasoned with.
They are not human.
They are worse.

They are darkness itself taken form. They mimic speech to make the rest think they can be negotiated, that they can be reasoned, that they can compromise. They have shown their true colours once they strike, for at that moment they no longer have a reason to keep up the facade.
They are demons, wearing human hide.
And the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.

Dexter Deshawn fell for that trick. Thought they could be negotiated, that a deal could be made.

Agent Locust no longer had a reason to keep up the facade.

"Wait… wait wait waitgodpleaseno… NO!"

Agent Locust picked up the pistol on the floor and aimed.
He pulled the trigger with zero hesitation.

Noble 6 picked up the revolver on the floor and aimed.
He pulled the trigger with zero hesitation.

Dodger, on the floor and howling in pain, had his brief misery ended permanently by his own custom modified handgun.

Several Barghest laid around the garage, dead.
Their faces contorted with pain and fear.

Bill and Charles stared at the scene, mouth ajar.

This was what those Tyger Claws were facing?

Noble 6 turned to the NCPD hiding behind their car.

"Are the two of you hurt?"

Charles stood there speechless, but Bill answered instead. Albeit with a stammer.

"Ye-wha-…. Ye-yeah, we're fine… we're fine."

Noble 6 nodded.

"Good. Time for us to leave."

Noble 6 looked to the door. He was sure more was coming this way.
Bill stood there, staring at Noble 6. He would continue looking at the Spartan if it wasn't for his partner-in-crime to snap him out of it.

"Come on, Bill! We need to go!"

"Right-! Right!"

As Bill and Charles got into their car, Noble 6 opened the garage door and gestured them to go.

They didn't have any reason to wait, immediately hitting the pedal to the metal and leaving.

It was time for Noble 6 to go too. As he turned on his camouflage module, he contacted Agent Locust through the comms.

"This is Noble 6. I'm finished on my end."

Agent Locust's distorted voice answered from the other end.

"This is Locust. I hear you loud any clear Noble 6, we're finished on our end too."

Noble 6 looked at the Revolver still in his hands. He had taken the weapon without thinking about it, but he guessed it was good to have a back up weapon right now in case there were obstacles while he was returning to his team.

Chapter 18: Business is Business. Until it's fun.

Chapter Text

Locust looked at the shard that Rogue slide to his side.

“Finally got info that you wanted… you know, about cows and pigs.”

Locust nodded as he took the shard. Rogue had also prepared a truck for him. How nice of her.

“Oh, and one question.”

Rogue spoke as Locust rose from his seat.

“Dexter Deshawn was found with a bullet in his head in a rundown motel, Pacifica.”

Rogue quietly tapped her fingers on the synth-leather couch.

“You don’t know anything about that, do you?”

Locust silently stared at Rogue.

Rogue will be honest, she was suspicious of Baba Yaga.
But then again, she was suspicious about every 1st rate Mercs being involved in that assassination.
MO didn’t fit Voodoo Boys, who would rather kill him using daemons and viruses. And if it was the Barghest they wouldn’t have killed him so silently. Probably dragged him across the broken pavement until his lard ass fell apart from friction, then pump bullets into the fixer.
This was too clean, too quiet.
No traces of the perpetrator.

Standard Baba Yaga behaviour.

Barghest had also faced heavy setback thanks to Dodger turning up dead in his own headquarter. Which made Rogue all the more sure it was a Merc’s work.

“I don’t go near Pacifica.” Locust lied. “Reilly might know something, though.”

Rogue sneered. “Of course she would.” That cheeky little sh*t had suddenly become the centre of the network of info. Baba Yaga had made her so big that nearly every information went past her first at this point. Even Rogue was starting to use Reilly as a source of info for a gig or two.

Locust walked out of the VIP room, disappearing into the shadows as soon as he walked around the corner.

Rogue’s took a sip of Whisky that Locust didn’t touch.
He never touched the drinks in the club.

A farmer woke up in the middle of the night.
The cows he was keeping in stations, fed with hormones and antibiotics like they were food and water, was mooing in distress.

The pigs too, squealing in the night air.

The Farmer felt something was wrong. Something was off.
Probably some no good Chooms, stupid enough to try and steal something… or vandalise something.

The Farmer grabbed his shotgun next to his desk and pumped it.
Well, let’s see if they’re still laughing with lead stuck in whatever skull they have left.

The Farmer quietly opened his front door and walked to the farm Shotgun ready and aimed to shoot at anything that moves.

He couldn’t fire.

There he saw, A Cow and a pig floating in the air, looking like they were getting carried out from the farm.
But there were no one else.
How- How were they-

The Farmer felt something grab his shotgun out of his hand in an instance, the farmer fell on his rear thanks to the force.
The shotgun was dismantled in an instant, and there the Farmer stood in disbelief as he saw a black space suit with white highlights, for the briefest moment, be visible right in front of him.

A gigantic figure, a towering figure that stood more than 2 or 3 head taller than him.
Standing menacingly, like Adam Smasher.

Then all of a sudden it disappeared. And so did the cow and pig.

The Farmer sat there on the dirt, hearing the Cows and Pigs calming down and going silent again.

The Farmer felt his pants were warm and wet.

Who could blame him?
He just bumped into the f*cking boogeyman.

Genjiro drank a bottle of water inside the UNSC-developed truck, Cadet Moris gently tapped on Genjiro’s shoulder and gave him a thumbs up.

“Hey, Genjiro. Relax, you’ll do fine!”

2 other UNSC soldiers nodded in support, as 4 ODSTs silently kept watch on the outside road.
This was the first time the ODSTs had entered Night City. Civilians and dirty roads were all that they could see, but they heard enough from the newest recruits about potential gang fights occurring on the road that they could be in the crossfire.

Night City Citizens, on the other hand, saw as the giant armoured Cargo Truck dominated the road with its size.
Gigantic. Of course it was, it was housing 3 different vehicles that would serve as a demo for Red and Blue’s first ever product.

Genjiro smile and quietly nodded. He freely admitted to the people here about just how stressful it was to meet these people to negotiate business.
They wanted something as much as he wanted something, sometimes even more.
Luckily, Genjiro had honed his skills to get the results he wanted. How else do you think he earned the executive position in Arasaka? Rail his superiors whenever they ringed for him to come to their office?

“This is the location, right Genjiro?” The ODST behind the wheels quickly looked back to ask Genjiro. The Corpo nodded.

“Yes. This is the place.”

Large sleek buildings rose up from the ground like towers, the streets were a little cleaner and people here were dressed better than the rest - clean and pristine suits and dresses.
Definitely the upper class.

Genjiro quitely stared at his own uniform: High collared uniform with padded armour on the arms shoulders, back and chest. It was comfortable, and quality was certainly high.
It just wasn’t for Corpos and rich people that favours famous designer brands.

Genjiro didn’t care about the design though. He resonated more with UNSC’s philosophy than Night City at this point. Hell, with how he was living for the past few weeks he might as well be from a UNSC colony planet.

Howard, the owner of the very famous mall ‘The View’, was already waiting outside.
Genjiro saw the man’s widen in surprise when he realised the Gigantic truck marked [Reds and Blues], the logo above was a Mark IV Spartan helmet painted one half red and other half blue.

Howard had laughed when he first got Genjiro’s call 2 days ago. Last time he heard about him he was fired from Arasaka, was half-on the run as a beggar. Howard believed Genjiro had called him for help, for a new job.
Expect his surprise when he heard that he was in a new Megacorp that he had never heard of, pitching a new product.
Howard thought it was a scam. It had to be, who would take a homeless beggar living off the streets and trash in and give them a job?

Howard flinched and was sweating bullets when soldiers clad in black armour come out of the truck first, brandishing SMGs as they formed a cover for Genjiro. That was the moment Howard knew that Genjiro wasn’t lying- there was a new megacorp. And they had soldiers that fit the descriptions of the Baba Yaga. Howard only managed to relax when

“Howard. It’s nice to meet you again.” Howard looked at Genjiro from head to toe. Genjiro was looking way better than before, when he was still in Arasaka. No dark circles under his eyes, no signs of blood shot-eyes. His skin was looking much brighter and younger.
Overall, he looked healthier. He was eating good diet, getting good exercise.

Unlike the slight port belly Howard had that indicated his slightly below-average health lifestyle.

Howard put on his business smile. “It’s good to see you back on your feet again too. The current Arasaka executive is a bitch and a half to handle. Makes me wish you were still here.”

Genjiro knew Howard was just trying to butter him up. But there was no harm in dismissing his attempt. He needed this to succeed, and Genjiro had worked with Howard long enough to push the right buttons. Genjiro smiled and grabed Howard’s outstretched hand. “Well, here I am. Different MegaCorp- a new one, but I assure you that you will not be disappointed.”

We’ll see about that, Howard thought to himself as he shook Genjiro’s hand.

“So, Reds and Blues huh?” Howard noted as he looked at the truck, and then to the soldiers body guarding Genjiro. “Quite the Megacorp if it can print out a military truck and these soldiers. How come Night City never heard about them?”

“Because it was a recent addition to Night City.”

Howard tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

“How recent…?”

“Only a few weeks. This is their first introduction to Night City.”

Howard quietly scanned the scenery in front of him. Both figuratively and literally.
Nothing showed up on the database, which meant either Genjiro was telling the truth, or these people were so secretive that they decided not to reveal any information about them to anyone else.

The former was much more plausible in this situation, and Howard nodded.

“Where’s the MegaCorp from? Germany? NUSA?”

“Space.” Genjiro bluntly answered. He had already been informed by Cell about what he could and could not reveal to the public right now - Red and Blue being a MegaCorp from space was bound to be public knowledge sooner or later.

Genjiro witnessed Howard’s eyes slowly getting bigger in realisation - Red and Blue was the company that came down from that giant flying gunship, looming over Earth.
They were the one that built that shiny building in the middle of the Badlands near the trash mountain, the one that built that building on Laguna Bend that was purifying the water.

Howard cleared his throat and slowly changed his stance. If they were capable of such performance as soon as they entered Night City, then they were bound to have products that was bound to have everyone’s interest and attention.

“Well, hopefully they enjoy their stay, and… well, I guess we should stop with the talking and get down to business.”

Genjiro nodded as one of the UNSC soldiers walked back into the truck - the back of the cargo hold opened up, and a new car rolled out and onto the road.

“Our newest product: the Black Mamba.”
Howard stared at the car rolling up beside Genjiro and the armoured soldiers surrounding the Corpo - a black and dark-green sports car, the edges were prominent that made the whole vehicle slightly blocky.

It was… unique, Howard thought as he snorted. He wasn’t going to lie, the vehicle looked somewhere between savagely militaristic and elegantly posh. Like a manufacturer that only knew how to build economy cars decided to copy a hypercar design but didn’t know how so they half-assed it.

“I could stand here explaining everything about this car… or I can just give it to you to try out the product yourself. I do assure you, it will be an experience like no other car.”

The Soldier stepped out of the car and gave Genjiro the key, to which the Corpo threw the key to Howard, who caught it effortlessly. Howard checked just how pristine the card looked. Durable too. A Red R and Blue B was marked as an initial on the corner.

Howard glanced at Genjiro, and sceptically got into the driver seat of the car.
The door closed smoothly, and he saw as the screen right on top and behind the wheel lit up with life.

Genjiro walked up to the window. “Have a drive around the corner and back.

Howard shrugged as he plugged the key into the ignition. Guess he’ll do just that to see just how good this car is.

…
…

Holy sh*t, Howard thought as he made a curve to the right.
The engine, and gears, the handle and the turning itself-
It was smooth. Way too smooth.
He knew from the touch - he had bought enough cars in his lifetime ever since he rose to the position to get the difference.
Howard silently looked around as he stepped on the pedal. Seamless acceleration.

He returned to the View, and got out of the car with his mouth slightly ajar.
Howard tried to return the key, but was surprised when Genjiro refused. “The demo can be extended for 24 hours.”

Howard stared at Genjiro as the Corpo fixed his collar. “We will be visiting another buyer tomorrow - you may freely enjoy our product until then. And know that while we can print out as much as you want to order, our stocks are… finite.”

Howard had negotiated business with Genjiro so many times before. Majority of the product Genjiro advocated for was pretty much cream of the crops - sold like hot pancakes made from the high-sugar wheat used to make CHOOH2.

He knew, his instincts, his experience knew one thing:
People will come to the View because of the hot news about a Megacorp from space.
And people will stay because of how high the quality of the new Megacorp’s products.

“I-“ Howard was thinking of the possibilities, the potential profit, but he hesitated for a moment because the back of his mind was still unsure about all this, and Genjiro took that moment to raise a hand and stop him.

“We can negotiate the pricing and rest of business tomorrow. For now, enjoy our demo product to the fullest.”

Genjiro turned back to the rest of the soldiers and gave a slight bow to them. The rest of the soldiers, in turn nodded as they started escorting Genjiro back into the truck.
Genjiro briefly turned back to look at Howard.

“I’ll give you call when it’s time for us to talk about business.”

Howard could only nod at that. He was fidgeting with the car key, feeling the texture of its surface.

Howard stayed up in his bed, staring at the ceiling.
His wife was already sound asleep. Tired from working as the accountant.
She had been surprised about the new car, asking him if he decided to buy another one for his collection.

He told her everything - the MegaCorp from the stars,, who had taken a man dragged down to failure due to sabotage and backstabbing into their arms to work for them, a new product. The car.

The car.

The goddamn car.

Howard looked at his hands.
One thing he loved more than luxury items were the engines that veered to life.
He used to race when he was young, and he was damn good at it too.

But life gives you so little happiness, drowning out your hobbies with mandatory responsibilities.

…
… He had heard about there being a race starting in Corpo Plaza, if you had the money to pitch into the bet you were welcome.

f*ck it, Howard thought as he quietly got out of the bed, going to his closet and grabbing his old racing suit. Genjiro wanted him to try it out, and Howard was going to try it out alright.

He closed the door and went to his garage as silently as possible. He didn’t want to ruin his wife’s beauty sleep just because he had the sudden urge to race again.

He called the manager of the race, sent the eddies, participated at the last minute.

The Black Mamba brought him to the race 10 minutes early. He was already feeling the high again. f*ck black laces and cocaine - he considered dopamine from a high thrill race to be the best drug there is.

He felt the flashes bombared the participants - taking pictures and videos of the cars and their racers.
Ever other competitors had their car fully tuned and decked out with custom parts. Will he be able to win against them? Howard didn’t know. But that didn’t matter - he just didn’t want to waste this precious opportunity away by just driving below 50 mph on a slow road.

“Hey, Howard!” A Valentino that he used to race together tapped on the glass with a happy expression. “I didn’t know you came back to racing, man! How’ve you been, choom!”

Howard laughed. “Pretty great. I’m just coming back to race one more time, though.”

The Valentino laughed and nodded. “Still can’t get the thrill of the road out of your mind, huh? Well, keep yourself alive alright? I can tell you came here without telling your input! Don’t wanna drag your corpse back to her and explain the situation.”

Howard waved his hand as he chuckled.
He can feel his heart thumping in his chest. How durable was this car? Was it bulletproof? Can it take an impact?

He didn’t know, but he was more than willing to limit test it out of pure impulse.

The racer was all heading into their driver’s seat. The race was starting soon.

Engines revved to life, making sounds like roars of the beast.
The only one that didn’t was Black Mamba. Like the snake, it was silent.

But Howard knew that silent was deadly.

And boy, was the speed it can jump up to deadly as sh*t.

“Strap in, pray to your gods and get ready to go for pay dirt! Three! Two!

One!”

Cars started to rev to life, Black Mamba overtook them the moment Howard stomped on the pedal.
The black and green car swivelled and swerved around and between cars like a serpent, some cars were already deciding to try and ram the Red and Blue-made vehicle.

They all missed, the Black Mamba was too fast, too flexible.
Howard was shrieking in his seat with excitement.
The other cars were slowly lagging behind him, he had never been this fast before in his life!

His kiroshi optics flashed with info, he saw the yellow holographic line guiding him through the entire race course. Going around the roundabouts, cutting sharp corners-

One of the cars, highly tuned with almost-illegal engines, managed to catch up to the Black Mamba by using a short cut, it T-boned Howard which shocked him so strong he managed to snap out of his dopamine rush to see what was happening. A gruff looking woman was behind the wheels as she tried to make the 1st place skid out of control. Howard damn well thought he was going to as well.

But the Black Mamba broke expectations- tires gripped, the vehicle refused to surrender control. And just like that, out of pure instinct, Howard turned the wheels to use the force of impact against the competitor- the car spun a little, giving way for the competitor that rammed into him to fly past thanks to her own inertia and crash into a corner.

Howard turned the wheels to the opposite direction and prayed for this to work - that the control would be smooth enough.

It sure damn was- the Black Mamba stopped spinning and immediately straightened back up, blazing through the road in a straight direction.

Howard couldn’t believe it, with how easy the control was it was like this car had a life of its own. He didn’t even feel the impact too, like the car was capable of absorbing such force like it was breakfast.

Gunshot rang through the air as he heard metal hit metal - bullets bouncing off of the Black Mamba.
Someone decided to shoot him from the distance, and this was the perfect moment for the car to demonstrate to Howard it’s durability to gunshot.

Some of the Nomad participants decided to use in-built machine guns, but that didn’t impede Black Mamba’s speed.

A sharp bend to left, and Car turned with pinpoint accuracy.

Howard was laughing.
He was still 1st place - he was now in the Glen, driving around the roundabout and going up the highway. He looked briefly at his back mirror, and saw that the 2nd place was nothing more than a speck of dust on the horizon, disappearing the moment he took a sharp right. If he wasn’t so excited with adrenaline rushing through his veins, he would have been sure that there was a truck that whizzed past the other direction with a sickly looking cow at the back, with the Boogeymen behind the wheels.

… Nah, Howard thought. That must’ve just been a hallucination. Delirious, he was, for many reasons.

All of a sudden, he was alone on the road. No music, no shouts and gunfire.
Just him, and the new car.

He didn’t realise just how beautiful the neon-peppered night sky was as he drove up the mountain.

Some of the rocky roads in between caused the speeding vehicle to fly for the briefest moment, which scared Howard. But with how safely it landed, inbuilt springs making the inertia look like it was nothing, just amazed Howard.

He was on a league of his own- he saw the finish mark, 10 minutes before the rest of the car.
In the world of racing, this meant a lot.

“Howard! The participant who joined dead last, is the one who finishes first! What did we just see!”

The announcer’s voice boomed with exasperation and shock.
Audience that was waiting was just as amazed and perplexed.

Howard couldn’t believe it either: the standard car, no tuning and no customisation, was the peak of racing.
He almost felt a little guilty about it, but that drowned out the excitement of…
Well, as everyone heard, first place.

Howard stayed in his seat for a moment, gripping to the wheel.
He was slowly realising too late that one: this wasn’t his car, and two: it had just taken a lot of hits.

He slowly opened the door and stepped outside, prepared to look at the damage.
He wanted to buy this car, he truly did. But Genjiro said that this was a Demo, and this car was meant to be sent to another Corpo with a mall.

Howard stared at the pristine surface of the car: No scratches, no dents, no signs of damage.

Not even the windows showed any scrapes.

My god… this thing was durable, and they managed to make the drivers and passengers safe from potential damage.

They thought of every feature, didn’t they?

Howard slowly blanked out as cameras flashed to take pictures of him and the car. The other racers arrived and tried to speak to him, ask him what the hell was that car.

Howard tried to answer as best as he can, but he didn’t even remember what he said in amidst of all the adrenaline and dopamine drugging him out.

All he remembered was that he stayed on top of that hill, looking at the sunrise in the horizon.
Everything was quiet as he answered his wife’s holo call, worried sick that he had disappeared without a note. Howard told her everything. And only got an exasperated sigh as a return. Howard laughed. He knew she was just relieved nothing went wrong.

The cool wind blew from the badlands. That made him remember that Red and Blue was built there. Was that where this car was printed out? Where more of this vehicle’s brethren were being printed out?

Howard slightly grazed his hand on the top of the hood.

He hands stopped when he saw a name pop up, requesting a holocall.

Genjiro.

This time, Howard didn’t hesitate.

“Howard, this is-“

“I’ll buy it!”

Howard saw Genjiro’s brow rise. But he couldn’t wait.

“I’ll buy the cars, how many models are there? Is it just this one? How-how much eddies?”

Genjiro smirked at the mention.

“My Superior told me that each will cost 19,000 eddies.”

Howard’s jaws dropped. This high quality of a car and they only wanted 19,000?
No f*cking way. A hypercar like this costed an average of 225,000.
Genjiro was bullsh*ting. He had to be, he had to be taunting Howard.

“Enough with the jokes, Genjiro. I’m serious, I’m willing to buy your stocks for the View!”

“And I am serious as well. 19,000 each.”

Howard dragged his hand over his mouth. Genjiro wasn’t sh*tting him - this car really was going to be 19,000.
That was going to f*ck over Rayfield. Hell, this was going to f*ck over Thorton and Villefort too. Did they know this?
… Was that their plan?

Howard didn’t care. No matter how much it really costed, Howard knew from his experience that just having these cars placed in the market was bound to f*ck over quite a few vehicle manufacturers.

“… How much do you have in stock?” Howard finally asked.

“How much do you want?” Genjiro replied with question of his own.

“… How many other models are you selling?” Howard didn’t need to try the other models to know that they will blow the competition out of the water. And he knew that would be inevitable.
And if it was inevitable, he might as well be on the profiting end.

“3. We have the Black Mamba, Diamond Back, and Cottonmouth.”

Howard wet his dry lips, the flakes of skins stuck back on as soon as moisture was applied.

“I want 5,000 for each model. We can negotiate for more once I put them on the View.”

Howard looked to the car next to him, before he made an ultimatum.

“And I want to personally buy the car you gave me for the demo, and the other two models.”

Howard heard Genjiro chuckle.

“Willing to be our first customer? That’s fine by me. I’ll bring the first batch to the View, we can finish our business there.”

Howard stepped into his new car as Genjiro ended the call. sh*t, maybe he needed to go to the nearest station to refuel on CHOOH2. After all, with how hard he put the pedal to the metal, he most likely burned most of the fuel-

Howard saw the fuel gauge barely going below 96%.

All that exhaustion in the race and he only wasted 4% at best.

“… Are you genuinely sh*tting me…?”

Genjiro ended the call and turned to Cell.

“We have established ourselves in the Market.”

Cell laughed through his helmet. Red and Blue predicted that it would’ve taken somewhere between 2 weeks to a month for them to establish themselves in Night City.
Genjiro managed to do it in a day.

Genjiro bowed to Cell as he took interest in Cell’s newest creations: Insects, beetles and worms and butterflies were fluttering around in a small terrarium.
… Were they beetles and butterflies?

He heard from the geneticists that Cell recently decided to genetically create new life forms based on the leftover SCOP stuck to the packets in trash mountain.

Cell saw where Genjiro’s gaze was heading. He felt his mouth itch.
f*ck me, Cell thought. He wanted to explain this to Genjiro.

And Genjiro was all ears before he had to head over to the View once more.

“Cool, isn’t it? To see such a diverse forms of life originate from leftover food.”

Genjiro blinked as he slowly straightened his back. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s all got something to do with the Hox gene. That’s where all the body plan of an organism is coded by.”

Genjiro nodded his head. He could understand that.

“All I had to do was slightly tamper with the Hox genes to get worms and beetles and butterflies out of it. And tamper the other genes for behaviour, and now we have beetles that eat waste product as a juvenile and worms that enrich the soil, and butterflies that live on trees and crops before spreading pollen with the beetles.”

Cell turned to Genjiro. “Automated crop distribution system, perfect for environment restoration too.”

Genjiro felt Cell grinning like a madman behind his helmet.

“Oh, yeah. I’m making a poll for the rest of the company to decide on our next product. Be sure to vote for one you think would be good.”

Genjiro looked at the office window, looking down at the vertical farm and greenhouses.

Food. It had to be the fresh foods that they were capable of making in excess.
But that was just Genjiro’s thoughts. Maybe the rest of Red and Blue had different opinions.