2195 Apartheid (12): Sharing My Luck
There might be folks who'd just say it was bad luck and tell them to resign themselves to it. Hell, maybe their luck had run out right here—climbing to top-tier mercenary status at a young age, taking gigs from mega corps despite starting from rock bottom with nothing.
But if there's one thing my 21st-century world shared with this barren 22nd century, it's that some lives are more equal, more valuable than others. I'd already spotted their spark, their potential. No turning a blind eye now.
...So this time, I'll share a bit of my luck.
"A-Asha sis...?!"
I ignored the squeezed-out voice in my ear. Right now, the only one with say here was the one holding the gun.
"You're awfully invested in that ragtag team..."
"...Invested? First time meeting these kids today. Makes switching sides a real bitch."
I tightened my finger on the trigger as he glared at the three sprawled bodies like he was about to fire. Sure, I'd exposed a glaring weak spot, but so had they. No backing out now—the fire was on our feet, and the tension ratcheted up by the second.
See? The other mercs, who'd been silently obeying their boss, were getting fidgety, murmuring about my offer. Take them. No, cut 'em loose and stick with Paradise. Hide that EMP bomb first. Things get messy, we fail...
"Shut your fucking mouths, you idiots...!!"
Clang!
He snarled viciously and slammed his night-vision goggles to the floor. Sweat dripping down rough skin, bloodshot eyes, Adam's apple bobbing like his mouth was bone-dry. Finally, a face fitting a trash leader with zero credit or skill.
"...You smartass fucking bitch...! We don't even know if that doll-head of yours still has the data or not—why the hell should we risk keeping witnesses alive?!"
"......"
My brow furrowed. Technically, the storage was in my implants, not my actual brain... but that wasn't the point.
What they feared was uncertainty. To cover it, I could give them certainty right now... or dangle a big, beautiful prize in front of them, like clever old Enama had done.
"What're you doing...?"
"...Anyone got a holographic scanner, tactical scanner, or ocular scan? Check my citizen ID first."
I slowly extended my arm with the barcode implant. Manipulated my cyberware to pull up the submerged data and make it readable.
One merc stepped forward at the boss's suspicious nod, scanned my citizen info... and froze like stone.
"......"
"Spit it out, asshole! We're on a clock—"
"Blue grade! Enama affiliate!"
"...Huh?"
All eyes locked on me. In desperate straits, even wild coincidences feel fated. Posing as an insider from their prime recovery team? Instant trust boost.
"Enama Corporation Delta Lab, chief researcher Anastasia Makarovich. ...Dunno which department hired you clowns, but shouldn't we get moving already?"
"Ugh...!"
No order from the boss, but guns trained on our group swung skyward. The moment it worked, I'd hopped on the tiger's back. If real Enama staff showed, the lab's sole survivor like me? Straight to detention, endless questions and probes. One slip exposing my test-subject origins? Game over.
...So what?
'Hang in there. Just a bit longer.'
I glanced back, giving my idiot trio a private goodbye. Dropped the pointless suicide bluff.
Shook the outstretched hand offered politely in place of gun barrels, and we exited the hatch.
Shallow pricks.
Clunk!Thud!!Screech... screech...
Floor chains, syringe guns—all packed neatly into crates, special measures for the recovery team. Pathetic, packing excitedly like a rosy future awaited. I'd trust Paradise or Exatech with their legit fronts over Enama any day... wait, Enama was a medical services mega corp on paper too.
Sigh...
Just when I thought the clumsy threat was gone, I'd let my guard down too much.
"Researcher...? Why'd you insist on sparing them...?"
"......Can't help mishaps from poor info sharing, but deliberately killing mercs I hired? Not my style."
I stammered a decent cover. Or so I thought.
But the leader—wary, suspicious amid the derailed plan—wouldn't tolerate loose ends.
"...Won't work."
Crack!!
"Guhk?!"
Fiery pain twisted my guts. Thought I'd been shot, ducked my head—but it was his fist in my gut.
This fucking asshole, to the bitter end...!
"Boss?!"
"...Kill the Daredevil team. True or not, fewer who know our little detour, the better. Quick evac...!"
My feet left the ground, body slung over his shoulder. Can't... breathe. Brain screamed to draw my gun, but arms wouldn't obey. Wanted to yell for them to run in that cold, dark hall... but no voice.
Tried shocking him on contact... too weak. Didn't wanna learn this way that body condition nerfs my traits' output.
...Stuck.
Even with cards left, they'd be executed before I could play them. Resignation's tears rolled down my cheeks.
...And since ancient times, a heroine's tears were the ultimate distress call.
Thud... thud... thud...
Footsteps—not from stairs or hatch, but building stairs. Mercs whipped around. Just one set.
But if that one was a Paradise fighter reporting the anomaly? No guarantees.
They tensed, guarding the rear after losing high ground.
The freeze passed... and traitors sighed in relief at the intruder.
"Ha... for fuck's sake...!"
"...You spooked too?"
"...Orders to narrow the control line and pinpoint unauthorized EMP origin. Any additional cooperation?"
Just a beat cop. Lone, easy to silence or bribe—society's lapdog. Plus, still technically on Paradise's op, alibis galore.
"...All good here. 'Cept some Yellow Sector trash below still kicking. Oh, this woman's no civvie—our team merc. Badly hurt, gotta evac her quick."
"I see... one of your team's mercs..."
She nodded like full understanding. Mercs took it as agreement... but I swear, through her thick visor, our eyes met.
...Wanted to beg for help. But was adding another sacrifice right?
As I pondered, her shield lifted from her mouth. Cherry lips—prettier than I'd imagined—mouthed words.
Close... your... eyes...?
Slash---!!
"......?"
No warning—a head flew. Staring blankly at whose, another followed the boss's.
Lights swung on the long curved blade glinting. Thought it was a riot baton... sheath?
"Fuck this!!"
"We're screwe—gurk?!"
No hesitation. Blade ruled all moving traitors as enemies, a gale unleashed. Like a wolf amid sheep?
Swept katana shears blocking arms. Slams gut, rips side on pull—no time wasted.
"Kek...!"
Rat-tat-tat---!!Shing...! Clang!!
One gunner drops trigger-happy, lines scramble. Shields with headless corpse, slides forward. Dodges bullets through blind spots like nothing.
...Dropped ballistic shields from dead guys?
Boom!! Crack!!
"?!"
Even kicked those into weapons. Merc fumbling chest shield... went quiet.
Not the time for serial-killer compliments, but her dance was beautiful. Ruthless hands and judgment mere steps—the valor was the core.
Cops suppressing criminals? Duty. But how'd she know? Why so fervent? No clue.
"Grk... grrrk..."
Thud!
Last foe clutches throat, drops. Fine forming encirclement on recovery team—but never dreamed a psycho cop on their six.
Regret in hell, assholes.
"...Thank you for the help."
"......"
Rubbed my still-sore gut and bruised ass from the fall. She approached, observed me quietly, then offered a generous proposal.
"...Shall I call an ambulance?"
"!! Yes, please...!!"
Clunk!
Heavy ambulance doors shut. Staff wobbled aboard after loading three criticals, limbs spent.
...Don't crash on the way, please.
Turned—Brightside Boulevard blazed brighter than pre-EMP.
...Why? Building lights dead, but turret-mounted floods all on. And second...
"Well, your precious mercs made it out alive... Ready to hand over the data now, Ivory Hacker?"
"......"
Wrinkle-free smile, slitted eyes chilled me. Road choked with combat bots and Paradise direct-response troops—all led by this guy. Human-like android at his side screamed high-up.
...No game memory. Paradise HQ was Harvest Planet; game only showed branches and chairman.
"......Ho ho?"
Submitted memory card: pristine Dusk data, documented traitor testimonies. Watched my smooth work like he saw it, intrigued.
From rescuing wounded to rerouting traitors' pay to victims—I'd leveraged drug data generously. No more delays, mission done. But flashing skill to this dangerous fucker? Mistake maybe.
"The intel you fed us on purpose... Quite the rare talent. How about it? Work for Paradise?"
"...Sorry, not interes—?!"
Shff!
Before refusal finished, business card forced into my hand.
Old-school in this era, nostalgic whiff.
Aaron Dreyfus
"...This psycho."
"Rare item, y'know? Register the one-time contact on back, and I'll give you a lift?"
Weird slogan aside, no small fry. Strategic Planning Director at a top-five mega corp HQ? Peak non-royal-blood career.
...Lucky he took my sass kindly, or I'd be dead after surviving.
"Th-thank you...?"
"......"
Top-five city powerbroker leaves. Legs buckled, about to ass-plant on road—hand steadied me.
Unnaturally kind, strong, trustworthy combat cop. Thanks barely covered it.
But alone now, her hands got weird.
"?????"
Pat pat. Squish. Rub rub.
Thick-gloved fingers poked forehead, stretched cheeks, mussed hair. Savior of life and dreams—no fight in me, but... too chummy?
After toying awhile, she whispered nonsense in my ear, skipped back to her squad.
"......Can't leave you this defenseless. ...Sis'll pick you up ASAP after shift, got it...?"
"...Huh? What???"
In the rattling ambulance, quiet Horatio spoke.
"......Hey. Ever had someone risk their life for trash like us?"
"First time...?"
"...This is insane. Heart's gonna burst...!"
He rubbed aching arm over teary eyes.
"So... team hacker bows to sis?"
"......No, we level up first!"
Omen low-key advised the chuckling pair, sore or not.
"...Mysterious woman. You'll regret it."
"Only want Asha sis now... You against?"
"......Best decision of your life."
All three laughed this time.