After finishing the protein bar—another 40 grams of protein, 350 calories—I washed it down with my electrolyte drink. Mostly sodium, zero cals, just enough flavor to make it feel earned. I was halfway through it when Rebecca pinged me.
[Rebecca: "Hey, wanna meet up?"]
I smirked and texted back.
[Me: "For sure. Give me like half an hour to get ready—just got back from the gym."]
[Rebecca: "Oh really? You got sweaty for me? ;)"]
[Me: "Nope, but I can show you."]
I lifted my shirt, snapped a shot with my Kiroshi optics—angled it with some good lighting, abs slick with sweat—and sent it.
[Rebecca: 🤤]
[Me: "Let's meet up at Lizzie's, cool?"]
[Rebecca: "I guess, yeah sure? Just don't freak out if they don't let me in."]
[Me: "I won't. Meet you there in an hour?"]
[Rebecca: "For sure, I'll be there."]
I hit the shower, scrubbed off the day's grind, and stepped out feeling brand new. Threw on matte black pants, a plain white tee, and a black zip-up hoodie. Holstered my satara, slung the bat over my back, clipped a knife to my waistband, and laced up white combat boots. Double-checked my weapon access—clean and quick.
Took a glance at my cyberware: 230 potential space, 80 filled. Basic subdermal armor, Kiroshi optics, and a smartlink implant for weapon tracking. Not bad, but upgrades were due soon.
Locked up with a mental command and stepped out into the street. Right away, I spotted some pissed-off Tyger Claws asking questions nearby—clearly still sniffing around after last night's incident.
I strolled past, hoodie pulled low, and said, "Saw the guy run off that way. Think he ducked into one of those buildings."
They bought it. Started fanning out, asking around. I turned, grinning, and headed for the Metro. Alert, but vibing. Opened up my HUD's playlist and started scrolling.
Then it hit me—The Ghost in the shell. A legend in some of the old world fanfics. I looked her up.
Bingo. Covers of old-world tracks. I grinned like a kid at Christmas.
"FUCK YES!" I shouted way too loud, uncaring, as All They Fear Is You blasted in my ears as I jammed out for the 8 minutes of awesome, Smells Like Teen Spirit rolled in, and I was jamming all the way to the stop near Lizzie's.
While riding, I found her social page and sent a holo request—why not?
As I neared the club after turning a couple of streets, I turned the music down just in time to catch shouting outside. Looked up. Short, neon green-haired girl arguing with none other than Rita, Lizzie's iconic bouncer.
Rebecca.
Before I walked up behind her a quest popped up saying [Ask rebecca to join your crew] as I accepted it and grabbed her shoulder. She spun, biting my arm in reflex—hard.
"Who the hell is this… punk—oh."
Recognition flickered. She went a little pink.
"It is I," I said, bowing dramatically for the crowd.
I turned to Rita. "Hey, I wanted to hang out here with Rebecca—is that cool?"
She looked me over, deadpan as ever. "Let me get management."
Evelyn and Suzie Q appeared moments later.
Evelyn glanced over. "What's going on?" Her eyes landed on Rebecca. "Oh, you came back?"
Rebecca crossed her arms. "Yeah. I wanted to hang with this stud here at the bar. That a problem?"
Suzie Q rolled her eyes and turned back inside, yelling at the dancers to get back to work.
Evelyn just sighed. "Sure. Just don't fight the bartender when he cuts you off, and pay your tab."
Rebecca laughed, pulling me inside. "Of course. I'd never leave my tab unpaid again. You guys nearly beat my ass last time."
We slipped into the bar and grabbed seats. She ordered some kind of mint-spiced rum concoction. I went for a Johnny Silverhand—because what else would I drink here?
As we started sipping, Rebecca leaned in, cheeks still faintly pink.
"So… that was awkward."
I chuckled, resting my drink on the bar. "Yeah, but not horrible. We're in, and now we can actually talk."
Night had fallen hard over Lizzie's, its glow pulsing like a neon heartbeat in the heart of Watson. Inside, the synthwave bass thrummed underfoot, drinks flowed like oil through a bad pipeline, and the Mox ran the floor like queens of a buzzing hive.
I sat at the bar, sipping on my Johnny Silverhand, the smoky bite of the drink settling into my chest. Beside me, Rebecca leaned into her stool, short and fierce, sipping her minty spiced rum. The lighting cast a flicker across her neon green hair, making her look every bit the chaotic gremlin she was known to be.
I glanced at her, smirking. "So, you have quite the history here at Lizzie's—or the Mox?"
She turned toward me, eyes shifting from playful to thoughtful. "Yeah... I have a bit of history. The Mox took me in when it was just me and my brother left. I had a botched subdermal armor implant that stunted my growth. And alot of people are freaks always trying to be a pedo"
She gestured to her petite frame with a casual shrug. I pulled her into a quick half-hug and grinned. "Flat is justice," I said, nodding sagely.
Before I could even blink, her fist cracked across my jaw.
The world spun sideways as I hit the floor, the bass still rumbling in my ears. I gave a thumbs-up to both the bartender and Rebecca from the ground, dazed but grinning.
"Damn," I said, climbing back into my stool and rubbing my jaw. "What was that for?"
She huffed, still a bit red-faced. "For calling me flat, jackass."
I chuckled through the pain. "Alright, alright. No more flat or short jokes tonight. You're clearly packing power where it counts."
She smirked and lifted her drink. "Damn right."
I leaned in slightly after a couple more sips of my drink, my voice dropping. "Anyway, Rebecca—would you be willing to join me and start running gigs?"
Her expression shifted. She finished her drink, tracing a slow circle around the rim of her glass with one finger as she thought it over. "Let me think on it, yeah? I mean... we just met the other day. I'm not about to trust my back to someone I just met. But maybe... maybe we can test the waters. Do a couple small things for my crew. Build some trust."
I nodded, finishing my drink as well. "That's cool. I'll do whatever. Honestly, I think you could be more than just an extra in some crew. I'm thinking about bringing on a runner, too. You got a connect? Someone you already trust?"
Rebecca's smirk softened into something more complicated. "Yeah, I do... but she's hard for me to get along with sometimes."
I tilted my head. "So you're saying there's a chance—if we set some boundaries and keep the respect up?"
She nodded slowly. "Yeah... I think she'd be okay with it. I'll talk to her first, then send you her holo."
Without missing a beat, she flagged the bartender and ordered another round. I grabbed mine and took a few bigger sips, the warmth of the liquor finally starting to fog the edges of my mind. A slight buzz danced along my senses.
Whatever came next—it was starting to feel real.
As I think that I get a quest update saying [do 10 small tasks or 1 large task for Rebeccas crew and make a good impression] and 500 exp for asking her to join your crew
[1250/1584 EXP — Level 2]
Just as the quest confirmation prompt faded from my HUD, a wave of commotion cut through the bar like a monowire slash. The music died. The neon flickered to brighter, blinding white lights. Suzie Q's voice echoed over the mic, sharp and commanding: "Clear out. Everyone who ain't Mox or a girl who works here—leave. Now."
Rebecca and I exchanged a glance. We both knew something big had just walked in.
We moved through the shifting crowd toward the front, slipping past girls grabbing their gear and patrons stumbling out. When we got there, the source of the chaos was clear.
Maelstrom.
About fifteen of them stood in front of Lizzie's, dressed in ragged leathers and patchwork metal, implants humming and eyes glowing with unstable fury. Civilians slipped past them, watched closely but not touched. They weren't here for random bloodshed. They were here for something—or someone.
Mox girls had already lined the door, weapons not yet drawn, but ready.
Two leaders stepped forward. One Mox rep, clad in chrome heels and attitude. One Maelstromer, sneering through half a rusted-out cyber jaw. They talked, civil at first. The tension was a taut wire.
Then the Maelstromer said something—too low to catch, but loaded enough for the Mox rep to slap him hard across the face.
Weapons came out like teeth.
Rebecca and I ducked behind a dumpster without a word, instinct syncing like we'd been doing this forever. She drew her bubblegum-pink pistols, fingers steady.
I checked my Satara, thumbed the safety, and exhaled slowly. "Looks like we're in it now."
She grinned. "Dibs on the chrome-head with the shotgun."
"Deal. Let's flank 'em."
The night was about to turn red.