As guns were lowered, I could get to like this DigitalScribe, and Preacher's bullet-riddled body came bounding for the car, Spiff shifted out of the way for the doc to get to work and grabbed Peacekeeper by the arm. "My phone milady."

--assuming he gets it--

Spiff first called his ol' cop pal from the campaign trail. Who better to take down the Wild Things than someone who's name recognition could well put Spiff in a better place to get back into politics. He dialed and pressed send. If things keep going this way, tonight could really pay off for me. Spiffs thoughts rushed across the next series of hills he had to pass. He checked his datawatch for the time. He'd have to make this phone call brief so he could get the drop-off location.

--we should probably do this via private message, I got a lot of calls to make--

Once again a client ruled over his advice. Common sense was pushed aside and trust was exchanged for a few kind words. Trust. Gets you killed. Frank didn't put too much weight on anyone's promises, including his own. Sure, while working, he did everything in his power to honor the contract - to keep the client unharmed. But that was business. Outside the life of a bodyguard, trust had very little meaning in the world today - especially so in NC. At least that was the case with trusting others. Hell, when it came to trusting himself and his own skills to survive, Frank was the first one preach about it. That's what had kept him alive through the years - himself... Or so the big man kept telling himself, but deep inside he knew it wasn't the whole truth.

Guardian turned his eyes towards DigitalScribe and locked his gaze with Frankie's. A second later, when he was sure the media meant what he had said, the bald bodyguard swung the big handgun away from Spiff and towards the Hole. No nods, no shrugs, no nothing. Employer's call. Like it always was. Didn't make Frank a happy boy, but kept him in the money and so far had kept the customer's alive.

Fortunately for him and for all - especially the rest of the Wild Things - there were no bad guys still up and shooting. There'd be more, lot's more, and soon. But before that, they'd be flying away through the streets of the Night City. Frank stood guard while the rest of their recently born - however fragile it was - team made their way to the escape wheels. Soon the wounded solo was in the back along with Peacekeeper and her input. They were ready to leave. Taking a final look at the Hole, Guardian got inside the wan too and closed doors. "Burn rubber, brother!"

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am
As Croaker, Preacher, Jaimy and Firewind all reached the van the Nomad saw that everyone except for the dead Coyote had made it back in one piece, though for some it was not without pain.
Looking forward to the front of the van he saw BullsEye looking back seemingly awaiting orders.

“BullsEye everyone’s on board get us the hell outta here. For now head downtown and get us 'lost' in traffic.” With the van moving Croaker turned to Spiff who had just retrieved his phone from Jaimy.

“Ok Spiff make your call let our ‘Johnson’ know we have the package and are on the way to the meet.” Next he turned to Frankie and Guardian.

“Guess I owe you a thank you Guardian for keeping one of my team alive back there on those stairs when Spiffie here bugged out.”
A cold glare was sent towards the fixer but that was all for the moment. Croaker knew that now was not the time to pursue his anger toward the A**hole sitting across from him, but once the run was over they would have a long talk.

“So thank you.” Croaker said his right hand held out
Then with a deep sigh he turned to Digital Scribe.

“Ok Frankie I guess its time you and I settle our disagreement. We were told and I told you that we were not to have any media coverage of the event but you tried to get this all on the evening news anyway, and well that just pissed me off. Then your last two ’bodyguards’ exchanged bullets with us and that just made things worse. But like Guardian here I owe ya a thank you for what ya did at the Hole, so thanks.
Look Frankie you know me and I know you we’ve been friends a long time and I should have known that somehow, some way you’d try to get this story so I also owe you an apology for not trusting you, but a few things happened tonight I did not expect”

A quick look towards Jaimy as these words were said revealed perhaps to no one but Croaker himself what one of those was.

“So I got a deal for you, you take your media footage, edit it by taking all of our faces out, not mention the package and keeping the action parts you report it as a ‘turf war’ of some type between the Wild Things and some unknown gangers. This way you get your story, we stay unknown, and we put this behind us and carry on like before. You take the deal we drop you and Guardian off with your camara and we meet back at my place. You decline the deal we drop you and Guardian off but the camara stays with me till into the river it goes. No story, no evening news no money for you. So what ya say Frankie, Deal or no Deal.”.......

I just had to use that

“BullsEye everyone’s on board get us the hell outta here. For now head downtown and get us 'lost' in traffic.” He hears Croaker say.

Bullseye having been given the go to get moving, spins in his seat and barks out, "Make sure that back door stays down." as he hammers the gas peddle to the floor board. "Hang on tight, this is gonna be a bit of a rough ride for a few minutes." he says again as he approaches the gate, this time slowing down long enough to let the gate raise to avoid setting off any alarms. Once on the streets, he takes the fastest route into downtown while not being to reckless thus drawing unwanted attention.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am
DigitalScribe raised his eyebrows for a bit during Croaker’s discourse, but that was the only change to his placid expression as he lay back against the vibrating wall of the van Bull’s Eye was taking out of the lot. He was still working the camera free of its bindings and as the nomad finished up, the media started to place the camera in his bag.

“All right, Choomba,” Frankie gave his friend a cock-eyed grin that oozed charisma. “We’ll play the game your way. Only, if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep me and Guardian around for a bit. You know, after the bullets started flying we found something vested in this morning’s activities.”

The van slowed at the gate. In the distance—barely audible over the rumble of the van and the raging storm—came the sound of sirens. The gate opened as though the mechanism controlling it were too weak to move fast, and then Bull’s Eye was gunning the engine again and shifting gears while spinning the oversized wheel to the right, away from the Hole.

Preacher gingerly lifted his hat from his head and studied the holes through the metal plating on the inside. “Damn…” he muttered as Peacekeeper bent and somewhat distractedly began to probe at the painful rivets in his temple. “Careful, Woman,” The solo growled as he moved to bat her hand away. “That’s a bit tender right now. I ‘ppreciate your attention, but ain’t Firewind a medic?”

Bull’s Eye hadn’t had to wait for traffic to hit the concrete, and he wasn’t paying much mind to the speed limits for the moment. Lightning flashed across the windscreen causing all of the rolling droplets of rain to momentarily light up with brilliance usually reserved for diamonds. The van rocked from a rather ferocious gust of wind worming its way through two buildings, and then the nomad was turning onto a one-way lane heading south.

By this time, Spiff’s conversation was over and the fixer—apparently oblivious to Croaker’s displeasure—was now using his phone to text while Firewind was getting into the nitty-gritty of aiding the wounded team member.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:55am

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:55am
As Croaker listened to Frankie’s response he could not help but hope for a good ending. Frankie and he had been friends as he had said a long time and even though Frankie's actions could have gotten him killed by the Nomad but his actions at the Hole had shown Croaker just how bullheaded he himself was being.

“All right, Choomba,” Frankie gave his friend a cock-eyed grin that oozed charisma.
“We’ll play the game your way. Only, if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep me and Guardian around for a bit. You know, after the bullets started flying we found something vested in this morning’s activities.”

For a moment Croaker had thought he had misheard, but no Frankie had said just that.

“Ok Frankie you need to ‘enlighten’ me as to this ‘vested interest’ as I am sure that Guardian here wants to know the same. Remember its his job to ’keep’ you out of danger not help you get in to it.
Plus you’re a media, mayhap not the best known, but still a media and for me to bring you anywhere near this meet would be stupid. If even one of the people spot you and recoginize you for what you are all hell will break loose and that would be bad for business. So spill it.”....

The phone rings and rings, seemingly destined for voicemail. Then, at the last second, there’s an audible click and a groggy voice says, “This better be a beautiful woman wanting to hook up, or I’m gonna commit a crime.”

Spiff spat into the phone, rushing the conversation to keep yet another call from ending in a hang-up. "Dave, it's Jason! Don't hang up, you want in on this. This could mean a promotion and much more for you...And promotions mean beautiful women!"

"Frack, Jason! It's one-frackin' thirty in the morning! This couldn't have waited until tomorrow?"

"Sorry, but it couldn't. Some gang bangers pulled a hit on the Wild Things, and they're a mess. If you get down there now, you will be the man to take down the Wild Things. There's not much left from the looks of it. You will be the man credited with getting one of the biggest gangs in Night City behind bars. I owe you big from all the help you've given me, so this is my way of saying thank you. I know it's late, but I figured this was worth it."

"You're frackin' kiddin' me! Well, Jason, I guess there's thanks to be given. I'll catch you on the other side of that news report... unless you got something you want from me in return."

"No worries man, like I said, I owe you. Get out there and take 'em down. I hope to see good news about you tomorrow. Call me if you need anything."

Jason hung up the phone and dialed another number. When the anonymous voice picked up at the other end, he spoke clearly and briefly, "The bird is caged." and waited for further instruction.

"There's a warehouse on the docks, Dock 15 t' be exact. Warehouse 15C." The voice was definitely Celtic in nature, dry and slightly bemused. There was no room for continued conversation however, as the line went dead the instant the instructions were given.

--The above is posted in close collaboration with Bromern Sal, much if it is his words--

Spiff started picking at his phone, typing something. He spoke up, to Bullseye this time, leaning toward the front seats from his seated position, still favoring his wounded leg. "Hey, after you shake any chasers, we're going to Dock 15, Warehouse 15C". His voice was a bit hoarse. It could've just been the rain, but Spiff's leg was really starting to bother him.

"Firewind, hurry up so you can get to work on the rest of us." He muttered vaguely, staring at his phone, and typing intensely.

Preacher gingerly lifted his hat from his head and studied the holes through the metal plating on the inside. “Damn…” he muttered as Peacekeeper bent and somewhat distractedly began to probe at the painful rivets in his temple. “Careful, Woman,” The solo growled as he moved to bat her hand away. “That’s a bit tender right now. I ‘ppreciate your attention, but ain’t Firewind a medic?”

The man's words had caught her attention and she backed away slightly "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I simply wanted the mission to succeed with as little losses as possible. We have all survived." she crept near Croaker and smiled warmly to him. The woman's leg was filled with pain now that the adrenaline had worn off. She sat near enough to Croaker that she could hear some of what was said, but far enough away to not get in the way. She tore a piece of cloth from her attire and unwrapped her injured leg, wincing in pain she wrapped the clean cloth onto the wound and she bit her lip hard in pain as she tightened the cloth in place over the wound.

"Hey, after you shake any chasers, we're going to Dock 15, Warehouse 15C". His voice was a bit hoarse, but she had heard properly and her mind began to wander. Why were we going to the warehouse? Was there already another mission for which she was unaware? The bounty hunter glanced towards Preacher and Firewind,before returning her gaze towards Croaker and she asked "Well?" her gaze demanding to know what he was thinking about, and what they were doing. The woman watched everyone in turn, before turning to look out the front window while waiting for Croaker's reply.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:55am
“…so spill it.”

DigitalScribe took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the cockney smile on his face never fading as he considered how best to rephrase what had obviously been misunderstood. After a moment of silently bouncing about in the back of the van, the media shrugged and finished putting his camera into his duffle.

“It doesn’t mean anything underhanded, sneaky, or covert, Choomba. All I was getting at is that I’ve been shot at—I’ve had friends shot at—and I’m not one to just shrug that sort of thing off. There’s a reason behind all of this, and until I know what it is, I’m not so sure I can let go of it. That’s all. You know how things eat at ya until you can’t sleep? Well, this is likely to be one of those things.

“Now, as far as people recognizing me is concerned, that’s not wholly likely since I’m rarely in front of the camera—that’s for higher paid desk jockeys, not us combat reporters. At least, not until we get a network job—“ Frankie held up a hand to forestall any sudden outburst from the big nomad, or any of the others listening in. “—Not that I want a network job. They fraq with the news more than deliver it.”

Firewind, having been listening to the media’s explanation and vaguely wondering how their next meeting would go (he had never met Springed-Heel Jack, though he’d heard of the man), suddenly had his attention drawn to Merry Deth where she lay against the wall of the van. He’d thought he’d seen her arm twitch, but that couldn’t be with the sedative he’d given her, she should be in a completely relaxed state. But there it was, none-the-less, as he watched her hand twitched, and not due to the jarring ride that Bullseye was giving them. Brow furrowed, the medtech shifted to one knee, and leaned over the young woman. Just as he did so, here eyes opened wide and she drew in a sharp breath. Then, her body began shaking violently, arms and legs thrashing about as though being convulsed by huge amounts of electricity.

“Fraq!” Preacher—who had been lying fairly close—gingerly scrambled out of the way. “She possessed?”

Keahi grabbed his bag while he tried to fend off the blows from her arms and legs. Her eyes were rolled up into her head, showing only the whites, and her mouth was slightly open. It was obvious to him that she’d bit her tongue as a little bit of blood-flecked spittle foamed at the corners of her mouth. Securing patients weren’t supposed to be restrained, but in this case, where there were so many sharp metal pieces about, it was in her best interest.

“Hold her still!” he barked as he snatched his medscanner from the bag. Peacekeeper grabbed at the girl’s arms, taking two tries to catch them in their wild spasms while Guardian threw himself over her legs.
Firewind quickly activated the device, running it about six inches over her head and chest in a couple of seconds. The display readout flashed to life showing immense brain activity and a buildup of pressure in her frontal lobe. Possible causes for the seizures were listed down the left hand side, near the display of the bulging artery beneath the skull. Keahi’s training kicked in and he knew what had to be done. The problem was, that even with his surgical kit, he didn’t have the tools to do it. Then more problems began to rise. The medscanner beeped again, indicating the discovery of another artery bulge near the first, and then a third. They were growing at an alarming rate, far quicker than was natural, and certainly quicker than any surgery could combat.

“What the devil is goin’ on?” Preacher growled as they all watched blood begin to drip from her ears with Firewind sitting completely still, a sick look on his tattooed face.

“She’s having multiple brain aneurysms,” the medtech said in a tone just barely heard above the van’s engine and the storm.

“Multiple?” DigitalScribe queried. “But, isn’t that unlikely?”

“Yes!” Keahi practically yelled his frustration. “One is tough enough to combat, and requires invasive surgery, or tools we don’t have on hand. Three—“ his medscanner beeped again and again showing two more growths. “—Five, and in this timespan… it is unnatural…and there isn’t anything I can do.”

“So she’s…” The media began but was interrupted when the medscanner beeped in one, solid line: the sound of a flat-line, and Merry Deth’s body stopped convulsing while blood poured from her ears to pool across the floor of the van.

“Dead.” Keahi replied solemnly, the medscanner dropping into his lap.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:56am

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:55am
CROAKER
“Ok Frankie you need to ‘enlighten’ me as to this ‘vested interest’ as I am sure that Guardian here wants to know the same. Remember it’s his job to ’keep’ you out of danger not help you get in to it.
Plus you’re a media, mayhap not the best known, but still a media and for me to bring you anywhere near this meet would be stupid. If even one of the people spot you and recoginize you for what you are all hell will break loose and that would be bad for business. So spill it.”

Croaker waited for Frankie’s reply which with a heavy sounding sigh the media did give him.

DIGITALSCRIBE
“It doesn’t mean anything underhanded, sneaky, or covert, Choomba. All I was getting at is that I’ve been shot at—I’ve had friends shot at—and I’m not one to just shrug that sort of thing off. There’s a reason behind all of this, and until I know what it is, I’m not so sure I can let go of it. That’s all. You know how things eat at ya until you can’t sleep? Well, this is likely to be one of those things.”

CROAKER
“Yeah I do but that’s not the point say what you will Frankie, but your still a media and I am not sure that you ‘tagging’ along is a good thing.”

DIGITALSCRIBE
“Now, as far as people recognizing me is concerned, that’s not wholly likely since I’m rarely in front of the camera—that’s for higher paid desk jockeys, not us combat reporters. At least, not until we get a network job. Not that I want a network job. They fraq with the news more than deliver it.”

As Croaker was about to reply to his friend/ex-friend/friend things inside the van started getting crazy as Mery Deth’s eyes opened wide and she drew in a sharp breath. Then, her body began shaking violently, arms and legs thrashing about as though being convulsed by huge amounts of electricity. As Firewind learned over her Preacher moved himself quickly away

"Fraq! She possessed?” yelled the Solo

“Hold her still!”

Firewind screamed as he snatched his med scanner from the bag. Peacekeeper and Guardian moved first, the Bounty Hunter grabbing at the girl’s arms, while Frankie’s Bodyguard threw himself over her legs.
Firewind quickly activated the device, running it about six inches over her head and chest in a couple of seconds. Before Croaker could even ask what the hell was going on Preacher again beat him to the punch.

“What the devil is goin’ on?” Preacher yelled

“She’s having multiple brain aneurysms” Replied the medtech said in a tone just barely heard above the van’s engine and the storm.

“Multiple? But, isn’t that unlikely?” DigitalScribe queried

“Yes!, one is tough enough to combat, and requires invasive surgery, or tools we don’t have on hand. Three—“ his med scanner beeped again and again showing two more growths. “—Five, and in this time span… it is unnatural…and there isn’t anything I can do.”

“So she’s…” The media began but was interrupted when the med scanner beeped in one, solid line: the sound of a flat-line, and Merry Deth’s body stopped convulsing while blood poured from her ears to pool across the floor of the van.

“Dead.” Keahi replied solemnly, the med scanner dropping into his lap.

Croaker was stunned at Firewind’s annoucement of the package’s death; this was something he had definitely not expected to happen once they had gained the van.
Regaining his composure he knew there was only one thing they could do but first step was to bring everyone back to the here and now.

“Ok listen up she’s dead and clearly with the blood leaking from her ears there is nothing we can do to bring her back. So we head to that warehouse as planned and deal with whoever is there to meet us. Only we will treat it as a ‘hostile meet’ and take precautions.”

With that still having Peacekeeper’s cell phone he opened it, found Spring Heeled Jack’s number and dialed.

“Hello? Its Croaker we have the package but there‘s been a complication… reply from listener..She’s dead…reply… multiple brain aneurysms…reply…still headed for the meet as we were told at this time, any new instructions“…..

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:57am

(OOC: Ok I am assuming that since way back in the beginning of the game you posted in game play that Peacekeeper had Jack’s number it would be on her speed dial as he was a source of hers. If I made a mistake let me know and I will edit the post accordingly.
As you can see Brom I left openings for your replies to my words to whoever answered be it Jack or his bodyguard. Now as for Spiffs call I do not know who he called but am once again assuming it was Jack.)

Spiff noticed the girl twitching and heard the medtech muttering something, but he wasn't a medic, and he couldn't do anything to help, so he focused on the screen in front of him. If he could keep the heat of their back, maybe they could deal with the heat ahead. He heard Croaker speak, and knew it would be important enough to listen, so he did, still poking at his phone, just about done (right Brom?).

“Ok listen up she’s dead and clearly with the blood leaking from her ears there is nothing we can do to bring her back. So we head to that warehouse as planned and deal with whoever is there to meet us. Only we will treat it as a ‘hostile meet’ and take precautions.”

"Fine with me." Spiff muttered over his phone, not caring if anyone could hear him. He tried to focus on the good news, and the task at hand.

Jaimy sat in the van near enough to their package, but also close to Croaker. Silently she watched the man when he shot her a look, she tilted her head to the man she loved. Listening to his words as he spoke to others, until she too noticed the 'package' begin to twitch. Her eyes suddenly shot towards her and she noticed her eyes having rolled back into her head. Shocked at how things had gone so well from having everyone working as a team and saving each other, to going terribly wrong with what appeared to be a seizure. Jaimy didn't need to be convinced about helping to restrain their package. The moment she heard the words, she attempted to restrain the woman's arms. The first try failed, and so she tried again before she could manage to take control of the woman's flailing arms. Applying pressure to her wrist so they would hurt her, in order to keep her calm against the van.

The storm continued to rage outside, venting its anger. The van roaring seemingly in competition with the storm. When anyone spoke in the van, they would nearly have to yell in order to be heard over the storm and the van. And to finish off the night, she noticed the woman quit moving, and she shook her head softly muttering words unheard to all. The bounty hunter removed her tight grasp from around the womans arms and shifted back to sit beside Croaker. She listened to him speak on her phone, and she smiled to him as thoughts ran through her mind that amused her. She decided to check out the wound she had managed to acquire much earlier in their mission. She unwrapped her injured leg, and decided to clean up the wound before returning pressure to it. Taking a damp piece of cloth laying around, she began cleaning the wound of dried blood. When finished she wrapped it back up tightly, not once wincing in pain. Listening to Croaker's words she spoke to him "I'm sorry" it was all she said, and she spoke softly, her gaze meeting his as she had spoken the words. The bounty hunter bit her lip gently as she watched the love of her life, waiting for a reply. She felt bad for putting everyone in danger. In a flash she turned to the bodyguard and she nodded softly "Thank you" was all she said. It seemed as if the bounty hunter was a woman of few words. She hated apologizing, and hated thanking people for their help. Jaimy was one who, until she met Croaker, would generally be lurking alone. Fending for herself, never having to really work as a team. Though this mission was so important they had called more people in than she could deal with. She hated being cooped up inside the van full of people, especially a corpse which bled everywhere. The blood mixing with mud, and water from the storm which seeped in when they were loading into the vehicle. Soundlessly she sat beside Croaker leaning her head upon his shoulder and closing her eyes, she wouldn't sleep, but she could surely pretend.

For a moment everything seemed to be sweet. Croaker and Scribe had agreed on a truce and they were now officially on the same side - whatever that side might be. As far as he was concerned, the night had so far been a success. Guardian had been able to keep his employer... well if not completely out of harm's way... then at least alive. Spiff's shot was one thing, but that was now all old news - even if not really that old.

Croaker's team had lost one man and two others were slightly hurt, but their mission seemed like a success too. For a microsec or so it did. Then suddenly, as the van was speeding through the streets, the chica with a doll face started banging her head, arms and legs hard on the metal floor. It wasn't voluntary, that much was clear to Guardian right away even without any medical background. It was as if the babe was having a seizure or an epileptic fit - the slender body was convulsing with strength way beyond her frail frame.

Peacekeeper beat him to it. Damned the girl had good reflexes. Guardian was a boosted himself and with the chip plugged into the back of his skull he could outdo almost any man in the NC... Any man. Suddenly - even though Merry Deth wasn't doing great in the meanwhile - suddenly Guardian felt good about having Peacekeeper on his (and DS's) side and not looking at him down the barrel of her gun. The big black man threw himself on the trashing chica's lower part and held her tight. The convulsions were powerful, but not too much for his trained muscles to overcome.

And he didn't have to hold on for long before the Medic gave his call. The flatline said it all too. The girl Croaker had been hired (or so Frank assumed) to pick up was gone. And that would certainly change things a bit. Guardian pushed himself back up sitting and leaned against the side of the van. There was no shaking of his head, no words, not even a shrug. The corpse didn't touch the bodyguard in any way. He hadn't known the chica or her motives and had no money invested in her. Sure, it was a shame to see a young life wasted, always was. But this one wasn't any different from the Wild Things he'd shot - not really.

After the initial shock Croaker didn't seem to care any more about Merry Deth than Guardian did. And that was good. Whatever happened next, the explosion in the girl's brain (whatever had caused it) wouldn't make the man hesitate or act in anger if and when the time to act would come. And apparently - from Croaker's words - such a time would come. Would, if Guardian and his boss were still going to go with the mixed bunch, like he presumed they would. Just to make sure, Frank looked DS in the eye to get the little nod he knew would come.

That's when Peacekeeper's words nearly caught him by surprise. Or in fact did. Turning his deep brown augmented eyes at the killer in a babe disguise, Guardian gave his new best friend a slight smile and a nod.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:55am
Croaker’s orders spilled into the van’s cavernous cargo hold as liquidly as the blood flowing from the head of the dead girl to the floor. Firewind had overcome his initial bout of shock at the sudden turn of events and was now adjusting his MedScanner to see if he couldn’t determine what had caused the aneurisms. It was just too…impossible for him to accept as a result of excessive drug abuse. No documentation he’d ever read about (and he often kept himself up to date on medical blogs and journals) detailed multiple aneurisms with a birth-to-death rate of a few seconds. Hell! For that matter, none described any patients with that many aneurisms. With his jaw set, the medtech studied the readouts of his scanner while he passed it over the head, heart, and vital organs of the victim and the nomad jumped onto Peacekeeper’s cell.

“Hello? It’s Croaker. We have the package, but there’s been a complication…”

”An’ wot might that be?”
“She’s dead.”

”Hmm. Thought the deal was, no ‘arm t’ the bird, an’ the lot o’ ya get paid. If ya go’ the bird shot—“
“Multiple brain aneurisms.”

”You don’ say…”
“Still headed for the meet as we were told at this time. Any new instructions?”

There was momentary silence on the other end, then, “No. Keep on, lad. We’ll meet.”

The line went dead at that point leaving the sounds of the storm to dominate the minds of everyone inside.

Minutes later, Bullseye turned the van onto the cement tarmac of the docks. The bay was being tossed about like black oil being carried about by a drunk. Huge waves crashed against the bulwark sending sprays of heavy water over the retaining wall twenty to thirty feet onto the docks. The van was hit by this spray more than once, and the electrical display of lightning against the backdrop of the bridge was like something from one of those holographically-enhanced operas corporates enjoyed so much. One could almost see the fat soprano standing in her valkyrie costume, spear raised to the heavens as she delivered that piercing high note.

Finding the warehouse where they were to meet wasn’t difficult. The large loading bay door was open, light spilling into the storm. Four men in long, black armored trench coats carrying heavy submachine guns stood at the mouth and as Bullseye pulled the vehicle up to them, three slivers of red laser lights passed through the windshield and found a home as dots of red light on the nomad’s chest and forehead. The fourth man walked calmly up to the driver’s side window and motioned for Bullseye to lower it. Before the man could say anything, Croaker stepped to the front, hands in plain view.

“We’re here with the bird.”

The trenchcoated man was thick through the jaw, mustached with a thick rake of black hair beneath his nose, and narrow, beady eyes. His head was bald and currently receiving a pelting massage from the rain. He eyed Croaker for a minute, tiny digital readouts running across his left eye for a moment and then nodded as he stepped back and motioned the van inside.

The interior of the warehouse was stacked with crates and steel shipping containers. Every so often another of these black-clad soldiers motioned the van down another aisle, or around a corner, until they were well within the belly of the structure. The overhead lights were hung by twenty-foot stretches of long inch-thick chain—large upside down troughs of fluorescent lights that cast a sickly yellow glow over the valley that lay hidden within the mountains of crates. Within that valley rested three vehicles: a large, black, SUV with tinted windows, and two black sedans the type very wealthy individuals have chauffeured. There were ten more of these black-clad soldiers with their submachine guns waiting in a semi-circle in front of the vehicles, and as the van slowed to a stop just inside the clearing, the door to one of the sedans opened.

The man who stepped out wore a ratty old fedora hat, a leather jacket with an American Flag on the shoulder, and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He stepped aside just enough to allow an equally domineering figure to rise from the back seat wearing jeans and a bomber’s jacket—completely out of place with the luxury and high-class of the vehicles and soldiery.

The Piper (for that was the fellow in the fedora) and Springed-Heel Jack waited for Croaker and Peacekeeper to drop from the side door and step forward before they broke the circle of watchers and strode forward to meet.

“Where’s the bird?” Springed-Heel Jack went straight for the throat and Croaker motioned towards the van. The four made their way over to it with an air of confidence that spoke volumes for The Piper’s ability. At a motion from the infamous fixer, Croaker lifted the back door and sent it rolling upward, revealing the bloody scene to his employer for the first time.

Jack took in the new faces, the blood-covered floor, and the corpse without expression. “Brain aneurisms?”

“Yes.”

Firewind turned and peered at the man he knew was Springed-Heel Jack for the first time. He was an impressive figure to the islander, but Keahi had dealt with impressive before and now he was the man with the answers; what little answers there were.

“That’s not normal.”

“No s***?”

Keahi frowned a little at the man’s response, but continued none-the-less, “The sedatives that I gave her have no known side effects, and especially wouldn’t have set off the clots, so I’m fairly confident her death wasn’t caused by our actions.”

“Fairly?”

“I can’t be certain until bloodwork is done, and I’d need a full lab for that.”

Jack gave the faintest of nods, though Firewind didn’t really know what that meant and the man continued to stand there, staring at the inert form of the dead girl. Shifting his weight, the medtech waited for any further instructions or questions. His last round of scanning had been inconclusive and he was really hoping he’d have the chance to solve this mystery.

“A lab…” Jack scratched at his chin and glanced at the tattooed face of the medtech. “Like at a hospital?”

Keahi nodded, and then added, “Or the University.”

“You ‘ave access t’ either of those, Lad?”

Firewind shook his head a little sadly.

“Right, then.” With nothing more said, Springed-Heel Jack turned from the van and began to walk over towards his cars, his hand going to his pocket and retrieving a cell phone. The Piper stepped back just a little so he could keep everyone in sight. The fixer’s walk took him far enough away that he was able to mask his conversation from even those with enhanced hearing. It was a tense while, a number of minutes, a number of phone calls, and then the phone went back into his pocket and Springed-Heel Jack returned to the rear of the van.

“You’ll be followin’ us.” That was all he said as he collected The Piper and returned to their vehicles. It was with precision that the ten soldiers moved away, vanishing amongst the cargo rails and shipping containers leaving just the vehicles. The headlights switched on, and the sleek, black machines rolled out and past the van. It took Bullseye a two point turn to roll the van around and follow into the storm once again.

Their trip took them across town to the college campus where they road up the deserted streets and down some service alleys to the back of a large, looming structure made of red brick and white cement blocks. There was a loading bay nearby with a ramp and a side door. As the black vehicles rolled to a stop, their lights shut off and the doors swung open. Once again, the Piper was the first out, scanning their surroundings before allowing Springed-Heel Jack to step into the rain. Two men in black trenchcoats made their way to the back of the van and said nothing as they rolled a blanket out and made to move Merry Deth’s corpse onto the rough wool. All the while, those in the van could see Springed-Heel Jack and The Piper make their way to the service door, knock, and then knock again.

The door opened to reveal a man wearing the coveralls of a janitorial staffer. There was brief conversation before the man stepped aside, holding the door open for Springed-Heel and The Piper. The rest of the crew followed, including the two men who now carried the covered body of the bird between them wrapped in the blanket. Most of her blood had drained onto the floor of the van and the bleeding had subsided.

Almost immediately upon entering the yawning halls of the building the smell of cleaning supplies overruns the odor of the storm. Firewind immediately recalled his days at college and the types of rooms they’d all be encountering in this building. The fixer had arranged for him to be able to find the answers. Within short order they were being admitted to a room that required a security card access that the janitor provided. Everyone filed in: Springed-Heel Jack, The Piper, Croaker, Peacekeeper, Bullseye, Firewind, Preacher, DigitalScribe, Guardian, Spiff, and the two men carrying Merry Deth. These two set her on the floor behind the central counter, out of sight from anyone coming to the door. The janitor politely excused himself (or was it smartly), and Springed-Heel Jack turned to Firewind, spreading his arms wide.

“Have at it, Lad. The world is your oyster.”

The medtech immediately stepped to action. First, finding a syringe and drawing some of the blood from the victim’s body, and then moving to the back counter where vials stood waiting and he could fill various vials with small amounts of the blood as well as a Petri dish, or two. While Firewind worked, Springed-Heel excused himself and stepped out into the hall, cell phone to his ear the moment it closed, The Piper on his heel. This left the group alone with the two soldiers.

Needless to say, a number of looks were shared amongst the group, but little was spoken. DigitalScribe had managed to stay near the back of the crowd, probably as a favor to Croaker and to reduce the chance that he’d be recognized. Guardian, of course, stayed close by. Peacekeeper had made it publicly known (not that many didn’t already figure it) that she and Croaker were an item, and now the two stood close to each other near the door watching Firewind move excitedly about the room, peering through microscopes, typing away on a computer keyboard, checking chemical reactions within vials and on Petri dishes. Preacher found a three-legged stool and planted himself on it, while Spiff and Bullseye found out of the way places to seat themselves as well. The two guards Springed-Heel Jack had left with them remained watchful, but silent and time passed.

It was nearly an hour and a half later when Springed-Heel Jack returned with The Piper in tow. By that time, Firewind had been at the computer for close to fifteen minutes, apparently finished with the work involving the lab equipment.

“Well?”

“I was right,” Keahi began. “It wasn’t the sedative that acted as the catalyst. There was definitely a foreign drug in her system though. I won’t bore you with the breakdown, but this is something that hasn’t hit the market yet.”

“Designer?”

“No. More like a combat drug, though it doesn’t effect the nervous system so much as the synaptic relay.” The tattooed face of the Hawaiian wore a quizzical expression. “Have you heard of the drugs Sixgun, or Boost? Well, amplify the effects those two drugs would have and focus it on the logic center of the brain, the problem-solving center, and the comprehension center, then as near as I can tell, you’ve got this system enhancer.”

“You figured tha’ out in an’ hour’s time usin’ college equipment, Lad? What in the Hell are you doin’ edgerunnin’?”

Firewind paused for a moment, his mouth slightly open before he continued. “Look, it isn’t difficult to tell where the drugs focus lay once I was able to combine the results of my scans with the bloodwork. The downside is that I only have half the equation. I can tell what the sum of it all is, but I don’t know what made it all work—I don’t have the equation, if you will.”

“But this drug killed the lass, no?”

“Or a combination of drugs; yes.” Keahi glanced at the body for a moment. “Though, like I said, this isn’t something that’s on the street as near as I can tell—“

“No,” Springed-Heel Jack and Spiff both spoke up at the same time, but it was the more prominent fixer that continued, with a glance at the other man. “I’d ‘ave ‘eard of it had it been available on the streets.”

That said, Springed-Heel Jack turned and began a slow pace of his end of the room, all eyes on him. Tapping his chin, arm folded across his chest, he was nodding slowly as he began to talk.

“So, we’ve go’ ourselves a bit o’ a predicamen’. The contract said t’ deliver the bird by three in the mornin’ unharmed, bu’ the drug—or drugs—she was takin’ killed her ‘fore we could deliver.”

“Hey,” Preacher growled from his perch. “If that cocktail made a person smarter, more capable of solving problems, an’ better able t’ comprehend problems; would it make them smart enough t’ the point of organizing the Wild Things t’ where they’d become a problem for megacorps?”

Keahi nodded, slowly at first, then more assuredly. Springed-Heel Jack paused as he considered this, then turned and faced the lot of them, his brow creasing in sudden anger.

“Folks,” he said in a low voice. “We’re the fall guys now, an’ I donna like being the fall guy.”

The statement caused the room to fall silent or a moment before DigitalScribe spoke up using a tone of dawning realization. “The package was supposed to be delivered unharmed, and instead, she dies of an overdose from an experimental drug. Let me guess; the contract was initiated through crystal palaces and glass buildings? Well, I might be pissing into the wind, but I think ol’ Springed-Heel Jack is onto something here. This is a megacorp trying to get something back and we’ve just stepped into the frackin’ grave they’re going to bury us in to cover this up.”

The fixer stared at the media with narrowed eyes for a moment as though considering him in more detail for the first time, then he turned to Croaker, “Yer friend has hit the proverbial nail upon the head, Lad. I’m thinkin’ that we’re about t’ be fracked from behind without no Vaseline unless we do somethin’ about it first hand. I’m also thinkin’ that we’re no’ about t’ get paid on this one.” With a sigh, Springed-Heel Jack looked down at his boots and swore silently to himself before looking up at everyone again. “Every one o’ you are targets now. There’s no doubt about it. I donna know the lot o’ ya as it seems tha’ Croaker and Peacekeeper ‘ad t’ pick up some additional meat t’ replace some that was lost, but the storm ain’t the only thing blowin’ tonight. I’m afraid tha’ unless we take action, we’re all dead.”

“What kind of action?” Keahi said in a voice so low it was barely heard. His eyes were wide, and his mouth dry. This was what he wanted; to take on the megacorps, to bring down their tyrannical rule on society, but up to this point in his life, he’d been handling odd jobs that remotely affected them. Now, he was looking down the barrel of a gun, and it was held by a full-fledged corporation from what he was gathering.

“Who is it?” DigitalScribe asked. “Who’s the employer? Arasaka? Biotechnica?”

“Biotechnica is who the man works for as near as my sources can tell.” Jack was taking notice of Scribe’s intuition. “Now, we can still hold the meet with the contractor as he’s expecting us t’ deliver in…” Jack glanced at the clock on the wall. “…thirty minutes a live package. We haven’ relayed the fact tha’ she’s flatlined yet. Tha’ might give us the opportunity t’ grab the bastard an’ figure a way t’ deal with this mess if’n the lot o’ you want a piece o’ that action.”

“Finesse,” Scribe countered. “Yeah, that has finesse written all over it. Look, no offense Mr. Jack, but your organization against Biotechnica? I’m sorry, but isn’t that a bit like you taking on the Mob? If this is a leak—if this is a Biotechnica operation—this corpo has a lot to lose. You think he’ll just roll over and hand you your out? I don’t.”

Night City University, Medical Education Laboratory, Science Labs Building – Lower West Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 2:35am

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:55am
“Hello? It’s Croaker. We have the package, but there’s been a complication…”

”An’ wot might that be?”
“She’s dead.”

”Hmm. Thought the deal was, no ‘arm t’ the bird, an’ the lot o’ ya get paid. If ya go’ the bird shot—“
“Multiple brain aneurisms.”

”You don’ say…”
“Still headed for the meet as we were told at this time. Any new instructions?”

There was momentary silence on the other end, then,

“No. Keep on, lad. We’ll meet.”
the line went dead at that point leaving the sounds of the storm to dominate the minds of everyone inside. Closing the cell phone he gave it back to Peacekeeper and knowing it was pretty obvious to all that he and Jaimy were a couple he wrapped her into his arms for a quick hug.

“Ok the meet is still on but not sure if we are gonna be welcomed or taken out so here’s how we play it.
Preacher, Guardian your gonna be fire support with Peacekeeper and myself going out to parley. You’ll be using the Grenade launcher Smg’s from her and I, I have 2 Concussion grens left, she has 3. Once we are out of the van, cover us and if things go bad left’em fly as we will for damn sure be outnumbered.
BullsEye same as before keep the engine running and be ready for a fast exit if needed and keep an eye out for any hidden hostiles.
Spiff, Scribe all I need from you two is to stay out of the way and once at the meet stay quiet. Keep your guns handy for we may need them but overall just stay chill.
Now Firewind as the ‘Package’ is dead I need you to forget about her for the moment and start medicating us, worst to least wounded. Let’s play this out and see what happens next.”

As Firewind tended to their wounds Croaker for the moment leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Feeling Jaimy’s head on his shoulder for a moment, the adrenalin died down, he tried to catch a few moments of sleep.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, The Meet, 1:10am
Finding the warehouse where they were to meet wasn’t difficult. The large loading bay door was open, light spilling into the storm. Four men in long, black armored trench coats carrying heavy submachine guns stood at the mouth and as BullsEye slowly pulled the vehicle up to them Croaker moved to the front and he let all the others in the van know what was up.

“Four men, armored, heavy Smg’s”

It was then that all in the van could clearly see three slivers of red laser lights passing through the windshield and finding a home as dots of red light on BullsEyes chest and forehead. Then the fourth man detached himself from the other three and calmly walked up to the driver’s side window and motioned for BullsEye to lower it. Before the man could say anything, Croaker moved quickly, placing himself as much as possible between BullsEye and the laser sights, with his hands in plain view.

“We’re here with the bird.”

The trench coated man was thick through the jaw, mustached with a thick rake of black hair beneath his nose, and narrow, beady eyes. His head was bald and currently receiving a pelting massage from the rain. As he eyed Croaker the nomad could tell he was cybered at least in the left eye as tiny digital readouts ran across it for a quick moment, it was a good bet that was not the only cyber the guy had installed. A moment later the guy then nodded as he stepped back and motioned the van inside.

As Croaker now in the passenger seat watched he saw that interior of the warehouse was stacked with crates and steel shipping containers. Every so often another of these black-clad soldiers motioned the van down another aisle, or around a corner, until they were well within the belly of the structure. The overhead lights were hung by twenty-foot stretches of long inch-thick chain—large upside down troughs of fluorescent lights that cast a sickly yellow glow over the valley that lay hidden within the mountains of crates. Within that valley rested three vehicles: a large, black, SUV with tinted windows, and two black sedans the type very wealthy individuals have chauffeured. There were ten more of these black-clad soldiers with their submachine guns waiting in a semi-circle in front of the vehicles, and as the van slowed to a stop just inside the clearing. Croaker turned his head so his voice would carry into the back

“Ok looks like we got anywhere from 15 to 20 armored guns inside, and the 4 outside by the entrance. Preacher, Guardian as discussed keep eyes open, we may need the cover fire.”

He turned back as BullsEye came to a stop and saw the doors of one of the sedans open
and out stepped Piper still wearing his ratty old fedora hat, a leather jacket with an American Flag on the shoulder, and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He stepped aside just enough to allow the equally domineering Springed-Heel Jack to rise from the back seat wearing jeans and a bomber’s jacket—completely out of place with the luxury and high-class of the vehicles and soldiery.
Croaker and Peacekeeper as per the plan both moved out of the van from its side door, and headed towards the two men, with Preacher up to take his place in the passenger seat.

“Where’s the bird?”

“In the back, this way.”

Croaker motioned towards the van. The four made their way over to it with an air of confidence that spoke volumes for The Piper’s ability. At a motion from the infamous fixer, Croaker lifted the back door and sent it rolling upward, revealing the bloody scene to his employer for the first time.

The next few minutes went by quickly and it became clear that they were at the moment in no danger of an ambush. With Spring-Heeled Jack and Firewind in discussion it was decided that they all would follow the fixer to a new location.
With everyone again in the van and the rest of Spring-Heeled Jack’s muscle fading into the back ground BullsEye followed the black sedan.

The trip took them across town to the city’s college district where they followed Spring-Heeled Jack up the deserted streets and down some service alleys to the back of a large, looming structure made of red brick and white cement blocks. Finally the two vehicles stopped at a loading dock with a ramp and a side door. Once again, the Piper was the first out, scanning their surroundings before allowing Springed-Heel Jack to step into the rain. Two men in black trench coats made their way to the back of the van and said nothing as they rolled a blanket out and made to move Merry Deth’s corpse onto the rough wool. All the while, those in the van could see Springed-Heel Jack and The Piper make their way to the service door, knock, and then knock again.

The door opened to reveal a man wearing the coveralls of a janitorial staffer. There was brief conversation before the man stepped aside, holding the door open for Springed-Heel and The Piper. The rest of the crew followed, including the two men who now carried the covered body of the bird between them wrapped in the blanket. Most of her blood had drained onto the floor of the van and the bleeding had subsided.

Almost immediately upon entering the yawning halls of the building the smell of cleaning supplies overruns the odor of the storm. Firewind immediately recalled his days at college and the types of rooms they’d all be encountering in this building. The fixer had arranged for him to be able to find the answers. Within short order they were being admitted to a room that required a security card access that the janitor provided. Everyone filed in: Springed-Heel Jack, The Piper, Croaker, Peacekeeper, BullsEye, Firewind, Preacher, DigitalScribe, Guardian, Spiff, and the two men carrying Merry Deth. Though Croaker thought of posting Preacher outside as cover but it was clear that job was taken care of by Jack’s muscle boys. Then they arrived at some type of lab area and the janitor politely excused himself. Springed-Heel Jack turned to Firewind, spreading his arms wide.

“Have at it, Lad. The world is your oyster.”

Firewind like a kid in a candy store went to work on Mery Deth with no hesitation and in just a little over 60 minutes had a verdict of death.

“I was right; it wasn’t the sedative that acted as the catalyst. There was definitely a foreign drug in her system though. I won’t bore you with the breakdown, but this is something that hasn’t hit the market yet.”

“Designer?”

“No. More like a combat drug, though it doesn’t effect the nervous system so much as the synaptic relay.” The tattooed face of the Hawaiian wore a quizzical expression. “Have you heard of the drugs Sixgun, or Boost? Well, amplify the effects those two drugs would have and focus it on the logic center of the brain, the problem-solving center, and the comprehension center, then as near as I can tell, you’ve got this system enhancer.”

“You figured tha’ out in an’ hour’s time usin’ college equipment, Lad? What in the Hell are you doin’ edgerunnin’?”

Firewind paused for a moment, his mouth slightly open before he continued. “Look, it isn’t difficult to tell where the drugs focus lay once I was able to combine the results of my scans with the blood work. The downside is that I only have half the equation. I can tell what the sum of it all is, but I don’t know what made it all work—I don’t have the equation, if you will.”

“But this drug killed the lass, no?”

“Or a combination of drugs yes.” Firewind glanced at the body for a moment. “Though, like I said, this isn’t something that’s on the street as near as I can tell“

“Hey,” Preacher growled from his perch. “If that cocktail made a person smarter, more capable of solving problems, an’ better able t’ comprehend problems; would it make them smart enough t’ the point of organizing the Wild Things t’ where they’d become a problem for megacorps?”

Firewind nodded, slowly at first, then more assuredly. Springed-Heel Jack paused as he considered this, then turned and faced the lot of them, his brow creasing in sudden anger.

So, we’ve go’ ourselves a bit o’ a predicamen’. The contract said t’ deliver the bird by three in the mornin’ unharmed, bu’ the drug—or drugs—she was takin’ killed her ‘fore we could deliver. Folks, we’re the fall guys now, an’ I donna like being the fall guy.”

The statement caused the room to fall silent or a moment before DigitalScribe spoke up using a tone of dawning realization.
“The package was supposed to be delivered unharmed, and instead, she dies of an overdose from an experimental drug. Let me guess; the contract was initiated through crystal palaces and glass buildings? Well, I might be pissing into the wind, but I think ol’ Springed-Heel Jack is onto something here. This is a megacorp trying to get something back and we’ve just stepped into the frackin’ grave they’re going to bury us in to cover this up.”

And with that said here it was that Croaker having dealt with the corporations before in his many years in the shadows, for the first time realized just what they had gotten themselves into.

“S*** you thinking what I am Jack” Croaker asked knowing the answer before it was given.

“Yer friend has hit the proverbial nail upon the head, Lad. I’m thinkin’ that we’re about t’ be fracked from behind without no Vaseline unless we do somethin’ about it first hand. I’m also thinkin’ that we’re no’ about t’ get paid on this one.”
With a sigh, Springed-Heel Jack looked down at his boots and swore silently to himself before looking up at everyone again.
“Every one o’ you are targets now. There’s no doubt about it. I donna know the lot o’ ya as it seems tha’ Croaker and Peacekeeper ‘ad t’ pick up some additional meat t’ replace some that was lost, but the storm ain’t the only thing blowin’ tonight. I’m afraid tha’ unless we take action, we’re all dead.”

“What kind of action?” This from Firewind

“Who is it?” DigitalScribe asked. “Who’s the employer? Arasaka? Biotechnica?”

Biotechnica is who the man works for as near as my sources can tell.”
Jack was taking notice of Scribe’s intuition.
“Now, we can still hold the meet with the contractor as he’s expecting us t’ deliver in…”
Jack glanced at the clock on the wall.
“…thirty minutes a live package. We haven’ relayed the fact tha’ she’s flat lined yet. Tha’ might give us the opportunity t’ grab the bastard an’ figure a way t’ deal with this mess if’n the lot o’ you want a piece o’ that action.”

“Finesse,” Scribe countered. “Yeah, that has finesse written all over it. Look, no offense Mr. Jack, but your organization against Biotechnica? I’m sorry, but isn’t that a bit like you taking on the Mob? If this is a leak—if this is a Biotechnica operation—this corpo has a lot to lose. You think he’ll just roll over and hand you your out? I don’t.”

Croaker’s mind racing a new fact reemerged from the evenings earlier events.

“Ok not sure if this is connected but we had a run in with a pair of cops earlier tonight. They had a warrant out for Peacekeeper on their mobile digireader and it had been placed with them by this Biotechnica place. Now why would they want her?”
Croaker paused
“Ok Jack Peacekeeper and I are in but as I see it we have 3 options open to us after we grab your buyer.
1st we combine forces and take them head on and try to destroy the corp, but that’s a big order and really depends on what type of force multiplier you got Jack with all your connections. The people here in this room, you included Jack, haven’t got the firepower to take a corp head on.
2nd we find something they want more then our heads, we get it and trade it for our lives but again we have to find that something before they find us. For that we gonna need a damn good net runner but I am sure you know more then one.
3rd we all separate, head to new city’s, take what we got and just disappear but in my experience that never works out very well and to be honest I really do not like this option as its harder for 2 people to hide then just one.”
A quick look to Jaimy to let her know he would go nowhere without her by his side.
“So Jack what do ya bring to the table as like you said we are all in this together and we are gonna have to share and share alike....”

Night City University, Medical Education Laboratory, Science Labs Building – Lower West Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 2:37am