Enoch's Lucky Day
It was Enoch's lucky day. Two years of doing nothing but petty "trash cleanup" gigs as a mercenary in Eden. After handling his usual load of garbage, Enoch stumbled upon a body dumped near an abandoned factory. Corpses turned up dozens of times a day in Southpeak Sector 11, but finding one belonging to a somewhat notable merc? That was far from commonplace. He couldn't just walk past it.
Robbing the dead was scavenger trash. But returning a body to its family? That was a job only a fellow merc could pull off. With practiced efficiency, Enoch was loading the corpse into the trunk when he spotted a data shard clutched tight in the dead man's hand.
Curiosity killed the cat. A saying every merc knew all too well. Don't read shards lying around in the dirt. You never knew when you'd get tangled up with a corp. But how could you not glance at the mark etched on its surface? Especially when it was staring you right in the face. And even more so if it was a mark you recognized—one that carried weight.
Calchas Adler. Any merc working Southpeak knew that connector's sigil; nine out of ten did. Three in ten up-and-coming guns-for-hire owed their break to one of his jobs. No need to belabor how much trust and heft his name held.
Enoch's heart swelled as he tracked down Calchas. A shard gripped like that in a merc's fist meant the job went south. If luck held, maybe Enoch could take it on himself.
Meeting Calchas later, Enoch learned the shard held a commission that had to be wrapped up that very day. Twelve hours left on the clock. Sounded straightforward enough. Even a no-name like him could knock it out in ten, tops.
"Hand it over. I'll get it done."
"Tch... Hah, fine. No choice. Give it a shot."
Calchas reluctantly passed the job. Enoch tamped down his excitement and set out. He nailed it clean—no hitches. No one spotted him. No leaks. Just as the brief demanded: stealthy, silent, zero casualties. Smooth and safe all the way.
Now, link up with the connector, hand off the goods, collect pay. One more step, and a fat line would grace his resume. Time to make a name. Leap into the deep end, chase Eden's moonlight instead of downtown neon.
Revenge for his family.
The family dream.
The moment to claim it all.
Bang.
One gunshot, and it all vanished.
Who? Whom? Why?
Calchas. No—Calchas's bodyguard. He fired on Enoch.
No clue why. The second Enoch showed to deliver, the guard unloaded without warning. A big name in security, ex-merc. Another who'd climbed thanks to Calchas. The face of his network.
Alexon Zellinger. He pulled the trigger on Enoch.
"...What the."
Blood sprayed. Searing pain ripped through him. His cheap vest couldn't stop that heavy round—shattered innocent ribs instead.
Not skimping to save cash. He just had none. Constant lead baths left no room for premium armor.
"You fucking—"
Bang.
Second shot. Enoch crumpled.
First to the gut, second to his right knee.
No reason given, but Calchas wasn't gunning for a quick kill. Headshot skipped proved it.
Opportunity, then.
"—bastard..."
Blood bubbling from his lips, Enoch drew his pistol. Whatever. Calchas just cackled, strolling closer casual as you please.
"Curiosity killed the cat. Never heard that one? See nothing, know nothing. Merc 101. Name was... Eric? Whatever. You couldn't even stick to basics, trash."
Calchas didn't even remember Enoch's name. Why would he? No idiot names and memorizes disposable gloves.
One-wears for dirty jobs you ditch post-use. That was Calchas's take on low-rent merc Enoch.
"Trash belongs in the dump. Can't go expanding the landfill myself—Eden's model citizen and all. Right, Eric?"
Bang.
Enoch fired without hesitation. But the bullet never tagged Calchas. Alexon was there in a blink, swatting it aside like a bug.
Neural accel, reinforced tendons. Dodge-glove implants. Enoch's peashooter couldn't scratch him.
Still, Enoch kept firing. Not pointless thrashing. Gauging Alexon's speed, plotting escape windows.
Nothing. That damn neural implant sealed every out.
Bang.
Third round punched his left arm. He bit back the scream, teeth grinding tongue.
Pride forbade it.
"Wonder why no insta-kill?"
Calchas tapped his temple, giggling low.
"Even trash like you cashes out dying good. Thrashing, screaming, pissing scared, begging... All that garbage gold."
Crazy world bred crazies. Plenty got off on death throes, twisted tastes.
This whole rig? For them.
Enoch starred in a snuff flick now. His handsome face, fierce glare? Rich housewives would cream.
Fourth slug to right arm. Fifth bored into shoulder. Sixth shredded left thigh.
"You dog..."
"Kahahahaha! Perfect. Won't break. Pricey trash, you."
"I'll... kill you... You, at least, I'll..."
Bang.
Seventh grazed his cheek. Overflow blood cut him off.
No scream still. Calchas snorted, bored, and backed off.
"Enough. Finish it."
Alexon aimed. Barrel—smoke still curling—kissed Enoch's forehead. Not hot. Enoch's rage burned hotter.
Kill them. Must kill them.
He'd keep that vow.
For moments like this, he'd always packed a body bomb.
Now, detonation time.
Fingers twitched. Palm button popped.
No warning. No "die" yells. No threats.
Waste of breath on trash.
Like stamping a form, Enoch dryly pressed—
Crunch.
"Hi."
A clear voice rang. Light footsteps whispered past.
Thud.
Man pulped before his eyes.
"I'm Soo."
Through rippling silver-gray, thick blood and chunks flew. But no stain.
Weird wind whisked it clean.
*****
I mulled helping or not. Canon had Enoch surviving anyway. Right on cue for his one true ally-slash-heroine to swoop in—the sole soul he could trust.
Even clocked her nearby.
Still, Soo stepped up herself. Not the heroine, but she'd stick by him to the end.
And above all.
Daring to touch my character.
This was the character I'd just queued to play. Couldn't stomach it anymore.
"...What?"
Dazed voice from behind. Alexon was paste, so Calchas.
"Y-you... You fucking... What the fu-fu-fu-what are you?!"
Normally: "Hi, I'm Soo." Not today.
Ignoring him, Soo eyed Enoch, murmuring.
"Can you move?"
"...Who the hell are you."
"I'm Soo."
"That's not what I—"
Cough. Blood erupted from Enoch.
"Oops."
Not mobile, then. Soo snagged a "blood pump" by the corpse, jabbed his neck.
HP potion in game terms. Real world? Who knew. Pain eased, though—that much sure. Enoch's face softened proof.
"Better? Can you take him?"
"Still don't know who you—urgh..."
No more blood this time. Not wariness.
He got she was friendly, whatever she was.
But he trailed off spotting Calchas dialing, fleeing.
"Shit..."
Shaking hands groped for the dropped pistol. Failed.
Fingers numb. Upgrade implants if I survive, he vowed, straining.
Soo scooped it instead, beaming.
"Whoa."
Enoch's starter pistol from day one! Crap stats, but iconic gear!
Moonlight!!
"Don't... gurgle... watch... Shoot... him!"
"Loaded?"
Enoch nodded weakly.
"Heh."
Grin bursting, Soo aimed, squeezed.
Bang.
Long echo. Long shot.
"You, wh-what..."
"Oops."
Really long. Missed Calchas wide, veered random.
"Yup..."
Pouty, Soo pocketed Moonlight safe, flicked empty air.
Too late to yell "run"—
Enoch's eyes bulged.
Far off. 300m out.
Calchas's head exploded.
"You... What are you?"
"I'm Soo."
Beaming, Soo reached out.
"A dragon in cyberpunk."
Her tail swayed, glinting in Eden's moonlight.