Borderline Joke (4)
Static crackled...! The power cut plunged everything into darkness, but when the lights flickered back on, they weren't the usual bright white—they were ominous red warning lights. The shop interior, which I'd grown somewhat familiar with, suddenly overlapped in my vision with the lab strewn with shattered test tube tiles. My breathing grew ragged, and my hand instinctively groped my thigh for the pistol... only to belatedly fish it out from inside my jacket. I'd hidden it away to avoid suspicious stares from customers, but screwing up when I actually needed it? What the hell was I doing...!
"Hah... haaah...!"
I caught my breath and ducked behind the massive procedure chair-bed. There was still an assault rifle in the room—one I hadn't sold—but I was terrified of moving for it. If enemies burst in mid-stride, I'd be gunned down or subdued before I could mount any real resistance.
......To shake off the tension, I fiddled with the pistol's bumpy grip. It had been at least two minutes since the power went out. The shop walls weren't specially soundproofed, and the door wasn't locked. They weren't scanning the building interior either, apparently. Who the hell would approach this cautiously?
I'd prefer it to just be a simple blackout. Without a single body-enhancement implant, fighting corporate hounds again in this cramped space would leave me way too short-handed.
Beep!
I kept my ears wide open for ambient sounds while slipping into the settlement's resident-only network. Not to beg for help—I wasn't affiliated here, even if I'd shown my face lately, so I had no right. What I needed was info. Even petty complaints would do. Whether Paradise Corp was really chasing traces, or it was just a wiring glitch in the settlement's grid. These rebellious folks would have spat out at least one curse.
And... that hunch hit the mark perfectly.
"Black Society? Gang?"
No mention of corps, so maybe the worst-case was averted, but what the fuck was going on...?
......Ah, shit. I remembered. Neo Haven had random events where outlying settlements or city gates got raided by nearby outlaws. Not pre-registered gigs—you helped repel them on the spot and haggled rewards. Success meant wiping out or driving off the invaders. It wasn't mandatory, no penalties, so if it didn't involve me, no need to stick my neck out.
Nope, none at all.
...But then, what about the old man who'd unluckily stepped out? What happens to him if the quest fails?
Drag!...
The door flew open roughly. If it was Gramps back, I'd hunker down quietly till the storm passed. But if not...
"Hoo. Fuck!! The hovercraft the boss wants—isn't it in that junk shop? Hooo...! Why the hell do we gotta comb through every shithole like this?"
"Ugh, you moron! You think after this shitshow, these locals'll keep dealing with us? Might as well scrape every damn thing we can while we're at it! Got it? While I'm flipping the neighbor's, you wrap this up quick."
Rough talk flew back and forth. Hovercraft...? No way.
No fucking way... That junk shop owner. He hadn't scrapped it yet...?
And now the gang found out? Whatever was churning in my head, the guy with the grating gas mask voice strode right into the room.
"...Hah. What a scavenger's life... Hooo...!"
Just like on the monitor. True to desert nomad psychos basing out in the wasteland somewhere, his getup screamed sand-proof: protective gear and coat sealed tighter than a needle's eye, his bulk looming even larger as I crouched low. Intimidating as hell.
But... how strong could some lowlife outskirts crook really be?
Proof: he didn't spot me while slapping sand off his clothes onto my freshly cleaned floor.
......Fuck me. Plus, cyberware scan showed no ballistic rating on that outfit.
Right now, while he was oblivious, I could drop him clean with the pistol. But then I'd have to face the other outlaw he'd been chatting with head-on...
Thud... thud...!!
"Hm... batteries are always in short supply..."
"......"
Watching him ransack the place like it was his, my dilemma deepened. How to silence this bastard with a suppressor-less pistol without a hitch? No way to bait a gap, lure carelessness?
Clatter clatter...... crash...!
"Fucking ow...!"
His hefty frame bumped the table mid-turn, sending dishes and cutlery shattering to the floor. Sharp plate shards caught my eye first.
And next to them... a steak knife for slicing synth-meat, ten times sharper than the broken china.
'If the enemy has a weakness and you an advantage, don't hesitate to exploit it.'
"......"
I glanced at him, then down at myself. Petite maybe, but a body most would call stunningly attractive. Pure white treasure enough to stir any straight guy's lust.
But...... for real? This was too sleazy, too blatant...
That weird advice from earlier must've addled my brain. Better to stay calm, assess than rely on extreme improv...
The fresh network post sealed my resolve.
......Ah!! Gramps! If you're hurt when you get back after I pull this shit...!!
While the outlaw rummaged my room and found the rifle, I darted, snatched the steak knife, and hid it up my sleeve. I boldly unzipped the front of my jacket. Hell, I shrugged it loose off my shoulders for a full view, letting sleeves droop to conceal the blade perfectly.
Next: hardcore mind control. I'm just a clueless girl... a pitiful one hiding in fear... a lone maiden...!
Thud!
"?! Who's there...!!"
My deliberate noise finally got his attention, eyes locking on. And there he was, aiming my rifle at me. Worthless prick.
"P-please... spare me...! Please, I beg you...!"
"......"
Voice trembling just right. Posture... straight out of a hostage flick: ass-scooting backward on the floor, limbs groping blindly.
A dank, filthy, sticky gaze raked me from toes to scalp. So thorough you'd think he had tactical scanners in his eyes—hilarious after his sloppy room-trashing.
"Hoo... hoo... snff...!"
Breathing roughened behind the mask, barrel dipping toward the floor.
...Didn't wanna know, but my old healthy adult male instincts screamed it. He was aroused, but not enough to lose reason yet.
Waiting it out wasn't on my side time-wise. Recite some 'Kuh... kill me...' line...?
"A-anything... I'll do whatever you say......?"
"Hoo!! Hoo...!!"
The gun hit the dirt without hesitation, followed by his glove thudding roughly.
Coarse, careless hands groped my bare belly outright.
"Eek?!"
"Where'd... a slut like you come from...! Hooo!"
Dunno what fortress he thought it was, but he kept kneading and pressing my hips and gut hard. Way grosser than I'd braced for, revulsion churning my guts, yet...
My sensitive body leaked moans like added seasoning. Fuck...!! Hold it together, my willpower...!!
The hand climbed my waist, yanking up my top. As the small mound finally bared, he ducked his head... then suddenly fumbled his mask lock, shoving gear aside.
"You... I'll take you back and raise you goo—"
"Eat shit and die, you fuck—!!"
Squelch—!!
Short end to the messy ordeal. Human vitals way softer than synth-meat. Reverse-grip steak knife plunged full-force into the filthy bastard's nape.
"Grk?!"
Grating tear through something, blood fountaining with the horrific feel. Thrashing hands smeared crimson streaks like flung paint in a desperate life-grab.
"...!! ......Grrgle!!"
Gruesome scene. And not with machine or gun—raw, primitive murder tool—so the shock should've been incalculable...
But my heart, having weighed one precious life before, didn't waver. Choose, and never look back.
Ever.
Click!
Grabbed the floor assault rifle, checked the chamber. Good thing I'd ditched it early—no blood splatter.
...Deep breath, faced front, roared battle cry. Fire!
"KyaAaAaK.....!!"
"?! What? A chick hiding?? This fucker hogging the fun while leaving bro— wha—...?"
The other trash barreled in frantic, freezing dumbstruck at my unflinching barrel. You're next, fucker.
Bangbangbang—!!