Strong Enough 4.1

4.1 Shot Caller

Lucy’s voice buzzes in Taylor’s ear. <I h-have cameras>.

Taylor rises, pulling her lab coat snug over her shoulders. “We’re in. Becca on me.”

“You got it, boss!”

Over her agent, Taylor adds, “David, you’re on the back door.”

<Got it,> he replies.

They exit the bombed-out store front in outer Watson, Becca leading. She has a too-big gun to match her too-big grin.

“Any issues?” Taylor asks. They speed up across the broken pavement.

A drugged out looking scav blinks at them from a chair next to the door he’s guarding in a big concrete prefab building. All shot out windows and grey square walls. “Heyyyy…” He tilts his head, looking between his gun and Becca’s. “You two..”

Taylor cuts the distance between them and blows his brains out of the back of his skull. “Entrance secure.”

<Th-they’ve started recording.>

“Fuck!” Becca kicks the door open. Sprays down the front room with a stream of lead. “That’ll buy us some time. You go gett’em, Scar!”

Taylor blinks, but there’s no time to process that. They’re hitting a scav den, and there’s only one type of thing they record in a place like this.

<Doors are open> Lucy says. <Hallway on the right, yooouuuuuuu—>

Her words blur away as Taylor races down the corridor. The door is open – two men pin a woman down on a thin white tarp; the third man has a gun. Each of them stands frozen, heads craned towards the entrance, towards the gunfire.

Taylor brings up her pistol and squeezes the trigger. Her Burya sparks; she can almost see the arc of lightning jump through the air as it kicks the primer. She crashes back into real time with a gunshot. One of the scavs head’s snap back, spraying blood and brain across the tarp.

The girl screams.

“Sandy!” The man with the gun fires back.

Taylor slips behind him. She watches, detached, as bullets part the air behind her. Again, she reverts to form just in time for a bullet to fire. Then—

Her eyes catch something, a motion, an impression. She activates the Sandevistan before the thought even registers.

The third scav comes back into focus, extended mantis blades an inch from her shoulder.

Taylor moves, feet skating across the rough concrete. One blade flexes further from his distended forearms, catching Taylor’s sleeve. Her coat is cut resistant, acid resistant, bullet resistant even. But at these speeds, the mantis blade knifes through it like paper, the tip digging hot and sharp into Taylor’s skin.

Pain radiates slowly upward, a spatter of droplets moving oh so slightly through the air before resistance steals their momentum and renders them inert as the rest of the world.  All that moves is Taylor and the Scav.

She’s faster.

Taylor brings the gun up, pulls the trigger. Sparks, but no fire. The chambers haven’t cycled. Even in this infinite moment, she can see his face stretch into a wide grin, showing off too white, too sharp teeth. He can’t catch her, but she can already feel the burn spreading up her spine. She paces back, building distance step by step. The barrel of her revolver creaks like a snail through the air, fraction by fraction of a degree in each relative second. But Speedware can only push so far, for so long.

It wouldn’t matter anyway; the trigger will take longer to reset than the barrel.

She reaches the door, throwing herself down the hallway. She lets go.

The trigger clicks back. Taylor shoots three times, fast as she can. She buys herself another breath, and a brutal cut down her leg to go with it. She screams, she hits the concrete, rolls once. Comes back up. One round in the chamber.

On the other side of the door, the scav twitches, mantis blades shivering in the air, slick with Taylor’s blood. His breath comes heavy, but his eyes are bright and wide. She didn’t hit him once.

Must have gotten close enough that he worried about his own Sandevistan dropping him right in the path of a bullet.

“Go on, pretty bird.” He laughs once. “Pull that trigger. Pull it!”

Taylor holds her arm straight. They both know she’s faster, but faster doesn’t mean much with only one leg. A hiss of cold runs up Taylor’s back, resetting her, driving a lance of pure focus up into her brain.

He’s fast enough to dodge bullets, but maybe not one fired by someone who can see him move. The burya in her grip has a lot of kick, and that means a lot of muzzle velocity. If she times it just right, maybe she can put the gun against his skin and kill him in the time it takes to cut her open.

Maybe.

Scavs are cowards, bullies. He doesn’t want to take the risk. But he’s working himself up for it, Taylor can see.

Then a spray of sparks erupt from the back of his neck. Taylor pulses her Sandy, letting the world freeze, letting her opponent freeze, mid stagger. She shifts her aim, then pulls the trigger.

Time snaps back as the scav’s head does, fast and sharp. He hits the ground with a wet thump just as Becca comes jogging up the corner.

“Holy shit, Scar!” Becca slides to a stop next to her, rifle pointed at the room. She yanks a medispray from her jacket. Just some coagulant and something antibacterial.

“Give it.” Taylor holds out her hand. “There’s more of them.”

“Which is why I’m not leaving you here, dummy!” Becca presses the spray into Taylor’s hands all the same. She keeps her gun trained on the open room, ignored the woman still sitting on the white tarp.

Their target from this mission looks like she’s having a panic attack. Taylor sprays and bandages her own leg, before slapping a patch on her arm. It hurts to move, but she forces herself to reload her revolver.

“I can stand.” She forces that truth onto the world. “Lucy, what do we have on the rest?”

<Two more grabbed the other hostages. Fleeing towards the back exit. I’m moving to—>

Another gunshot splits the air. Echoing down the empty corridors. Return fire follows. Becca curses. She makes it two steps into the next room.

<Got em.> David takes a shuddering breath. <I g-got em. Uh. The…girls are okay. Could use a hand.>

Taylor levers herself off the wall. “Beccs, go. I’ll stay with number one.”

Rebecca nods before darting off into the building. Taylor makes her way over to the first girl, who’s pushed herself up against the wall, knees pulled up to her chest.

She glares at Taylor, fingers squeezing around the handle of a pistol she must have gotten from the first scav.

“You can keep that,” Taylor says. “Just don’t pull it on anyone. We’re here to get you out of here.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes narrow suspiciously, blue-green sparks dancing around the iris: a virtu recorder. The scavs were going to force her to record her death and dismemberment for sale. “I don’t have the scratch for some bigshot merc team.”

“The Mox sent us.” Taylor shrugs.

The girl blinks. “I don’t have the scratch for them, neither.”

“First time’s free,” Taylor replies. “Can you walk?”

She shakes her head. “Did something to my knees. Joints won’t—” She shivers, legs flopping once, useless. Her hips still work, enough for her to struggle, to feel like she’s struggling, without getting in the way.

“Wish I could’ve killed them slower,” Taylor says. “Our runner will look you over.”

The girl’s suspicious glare only deepens.

Taylor sighs. “Yes, that’s also free.”

“Nothing’s free in this town,” she replies.

“If it makes you feel better,” Taylor says. “I can threaten you to stay still while she does it.”

That does not, in fact, make the woman feel better.

| - |

“I sent you for three of my girls; you come back with two.”

Taylor doesn’t like Suzie “Q”. Only part of that is the leftover pain from her injuries. The rest comes honest.

“You sent us to save three joytoys from some scavs, and we did.” Emma smiles, folding her fingers under her chin. Her elbows rest lightly on Suzie’s desk, just enough to provoke a frown. “If you want, we can shoot the girl that isn’t part of your gang. Will that make you feel better?”

Suzie rolls her eyes. “Bloodthirsty little bitch.”

Emma’s smile widens.

The two form a sharp contrast. Suzie is older, with a smooth and shiny two-part faceplate. She has obviously modded in cyber arms, exposed articulated joints in the wrist, spikes that run up to her elbow, and nails just as sharp. Suzie wears clothes that display her body with pride, but she is not for touching.

Emma is younger, with just as smooth biosculpted cheek bones that appear artfully natural. She styles her hair loose and long, in defiance of popular trends. Her only visible piece of chrome is her prosthetic leg. She looks inviting, almost within reach. It’s a look Taylor knows that Emma has spent years on.

To be a woman in Night City is to be a display. Both Taylor’s…friend and their current employer understand that. It makes the negotiating easier.

Which is good, because Suzie does not respect their kiddy crew, and Taylor does not have the energy to deal with it. Her leg throbs, her shoulder aches, she wonders if she can get away with canceling their usual after-gig celebration.

She wishes Suzie would stop yanking them around and pay already.

“I don’t care about that other girl. Shoot her, charge her, sell her back to the scavs.” Suzie brushes the third, not Mox affiliated, girl off of her two inch nails. “I don’t pay for unfinished work.”

“You’re going to pay for this work, because you couldn’t do it on your own,” Emma replies. “We tracked those scavs; we saved those girls. Pay us what you owe, or it won’t just be random joytoys on the street who complain that the Mox doesn’t care anymore.”

Suzie glowers for a moment, before waving her hand. “Fine. Get out of my bar.”

Emma smiles as the transaction clears. “Always a pleasure, Suze.”

Suzie spins her chair back to her monitors. “Next time I won’t be so nice.” She’s a businesswoman, and she has work to do. A part of Taylor hoped that maybe things would be different on the ground, without the oppressive weight of a corp crushing you down into paste. But Suzie “Q” runs her bars and her brothels like almost every other business in Night City.

Taylor assumes that you don’t have to fuck your boss while he’s fucking you over, at least.

Emma stands. “Let’s delta. Others are already on the way?”

Taylor heads up the stairs, letting Emma fall into place at her side. “Yeah. David just texted me. Somehow he convinced Luce to show up.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“He offered to comp her food,” Taylor says.

Emma laughs. “How’s she that hard up?”

Taylor shrugs one shoulder. “Probably the same way we are.”

“Well, hopefully this new revenue stream will pull her out of the hole as well.” Emma looks pleased with the job, not least because she didn’t have to get her hands dirty this time. Still, they need someone to work their other contacts. Wakako pays well, but she calls you, not the other way around.

“Thank Becca for getting us an in with the Mox,” Taylor says.

“Believe me, I did.” Emma’s smile turns a bit wry. “After I salvaged that first mess of a job she got us into.”

“She’s too nice sometimes,” Taylor says.

“Part of her charm.” Emma tosses her head, letting her fiery red hair splay across the club lights as they exit Lizzie’s. “Not everyone can ace upper-level marketing courses as a second year.”

Taylor hums. “Play nice at the shop,” she says.

“Ugh. Fine.” Emma doesn’t even sound upset as they slip into the car. When the doors close she turns her attention fully on Taylor. “How’d you get so cut up? I thought you were basically untouchable.”

Taylor grunts as Emma pulls their first aid kit out of the glovebox. She puts their destination into the auto pilot, and doesn’t fuss as Emma rolls her lab coat off of her shoulders. The car pulls onto the highway.

“One of the scavs had a Sandy. Not as good as mine, but I don’t have good options up close,” Taylor says.

“No way mantis blades will get through the metal detectors at the Tower.” Emma frowns. She chews on that while she changes the dressing. “Lucy has a monowire, think that’ll work?”

“Have you seen her use it?” Taylor shakes her head. “I’d probably kill myself.”

“Why didn’t you just shoot the guy with your gun, anyway?”

“He caught me while the chamber was spinning,” Taylor says. “Bad luck.”

Emma pauses, eyebrow raised. “Maybe you should switch guns.”

“Anything with a receiver will cycle even slower,” Taylor replies. She pulls out her Burya, it’s unloaded from after the job.

“Mmm.” Emma’s eyes flick towards Taylor’s battlescorched Burya. “I see what you mean…” Her gaze shifts to Taylor’s calf. “I can’t reach that from here.”

“It’s fine. I used the spray.” Taylor waved a hand. “It’s not bleeding.”

Emma bites her lip, but puts the kit away. “You better get something for close range. I don’t like seeing you…torn up.”

Taylor snorts. “Worried about your meal ticket?”

“Worried about my only friend.”

Taylor stills, gaze frozen out of the window.

Emma slumps back into her own chair, arm tossed over her head. “Sorry it’s just…” She shakes her head. “You don’t take care of yourself…Taylor.”

A week ago, something more cutting would have slipped out of her lips. Now, instead, she says, “I used to have you for that.”

Emma pauses, swallows, then says. “You have me again. Just…just use your resources.”

Taylor looks at her. Emma looks away.

“Fine” Taylor shifts, letting her head thump back against the headrest. “Find me some options.”

Emma squawks, dramatically overwrought. “What, I’m not your secretary!” Then she leans back in her seat with a pleased smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

They both let the moment sit there, in its entirety. Neither of them pretends that this little bit of trust is something special, is something even worth remarking upon.

But it is something.

“…I don’t want to go to Pilar though,” Emma says.

Taylor nods. Becca’s older brother is…not part of their crew. The only reason the decision wasn’t unanimous was because Rebecca abstained due to ‘interest in conflict.’ Taylor pretended not when Becca egged her to kick Pilar down a flight of stairs.

Their relationship makes Emma and Taylor’s look almost healthy. But that does also leave them short a techie when they need bespoke weapons, or even sources of anything you can’t get out of a local gun shop.

“Ask David,” Taylor says.

“What’s our favorite little guttersnipe gonna do?” Emma asks.

“Don’t know. But he’s been trying to…find a spot. Role fill,” Taylor says. “Plus…he could use something to distract him today.”

“Right.” Emma’s eyes flick to the side. “He shot someone?”

“Two someones,” Taylor replies. “Was acting tough after, but at least he didn’t vomit on my shoes again.”

Emma hums again, distractedly. She hasn’t zeroed a person yet, the only one on the crew with her cherry. Neither of them mentions that, either.

“I’ll see if David has some magic idea.” Emma shrugs.

David puts in the work. Just like her and Emma he slogs through Arasaka Academy’s absurd courseload and still makes time for self-study, for the gun range. At the start of this gig, she even saw him chatting up the bartender about distributing some BDs because of his ‘connect’ at the Academy.

Really, the most impressive part is how he’s getting better grades than most of his peers. The school work is not easy. Emma, now that she’s reestablished herself as the head of their cohort, has helpers for that. Taylor cheats with her speedware—to Kikiyo’s continuing dismay. David just clenches and grinds. Somehow, it looks like he might keep up anyway.

The worst part is that without Taylor and Emma running interference, all that intelligence wouldn’t matter. Some of the other kids in his year already pegged him as a ‘threat.’ Why cultivate someone who could outshine you?

Why help people, when you could exploit them instead?

Just like Suzie “Q” who’s almost finished turning the Moxes into just another gang.

It’s that kind of mindset that begins to grate upon Taylor where the edges of her steel spine meet her soft and impressionable skin. A lie. That way of looking at the world has always grated, ever since Taylor first realized that Arasaka Academy deemed her expendable, ever since she realized that no one in that tower or in this city would help her. Now that she has her own crew, it aggravates her even more.

The car pulls up to their spot, and she double parks Dorio’s—now Becca’s—massive CHOOH2 guzzling jeep into the alley.

“I still can’t believe you found this place,” Emma says. She slips out of the car before Taylor can respond, joining the rest of the crew on the metal stools bolted into the pavement.

Taylor joins them a moment later, taking the stool in the middle like she always does.

“Already ordered for yah, choom!” Becca bumps her shoulder. “Cookie’s almost done.”

“Perfect.” Taylor stretches her back. “I’m starving. First round’s on me.” That gets a cheer from David and Rebecca. Then the older man who runs this literal hole in the wall noodle stand comes out with their bowls. The chopsticks are cheap plastic, the bowls even cheaper. But the noodles are real. Real dough that stretches and chews just right. The onion is real, even the eggs are real—contraband.

The meat is scop, but the meat is always scop.

Taylor savors her first bite, and remembers when Dorio drove her out to this place. She never asked how the woman found it either. Maybe someone else brought her here once. Taylor will never know.

Maine loved rolling up to a little concrete plaza by his housing block after a gig. He’d pop the doors of the jeep open, turn on the lights, crank the music, have a block party. But that’s never been Taylor’s scene. Instead, there’s this, five people on bent metal stools eating some of the best food you can find in Night City. They come here after gigs instead, to laugh, eat, cool off.

They plan their next move, as a crew.

It’s different and it’s hers.

That thought settles inside of her, and everything is just about preem until Becca leans over.

“Say, Scar.” She wiggles her cyan eyebrows. “Yah never did tell us why you chose that handle.”

Taylor jolts, she can’t help herself. Her eyes dart over to Emma.

Rebecca sees it. Rebecca grins. Her hands wind around Taylor’s arm. There is no escape.