Paranormal Link-19
A few days ago, word got out about a massive dump of corporate-discarded cyberware in the Iron Valley. The tip came from a fixer offering top cred for anyone who hauled back implants from the Valley. The guy didn't have the best rep, so at first, everyone kept it hush-hush. At least the mercs with any real cred did.
But the ones who bit were the bottom-feeders straddling the line between merc and criminal. Mercs are already the city's gutter-dwellers, scarfing down its endless problems for a living—but even among them, there were the lowest of the low. Basically gang trash, treated like problem children even by other mercs.
Back then, it was just barroom fodder: those losers were gonna get played by the fixer. Until someone actually found implants.
The find was by a notorious scavenger-turned-merc, who couldn't shut up about the implants he'd scored and the fat payout from the fixer. Word spread like wildfire among the mercs, of course. Rumor had it, these were implants never seen on the market, and the fixer dropped 10,000 creds on the spot.
10k creds for implants? Whatever they were, if you could use 'em, great—if not, flip 'em to the fixer for a windfall. 10k creds don't grow on trees? Bullshit! Mercs raced to Iron Valley, and cat-eared Bail was one of them.
He should've come sooner with Dex's crew, but Dex had tangled with that freak who'd just joined the Guild, delaying them.
"……."
He'd worked at the Guild for years, knew all the faces, but as a merc, he was still a newbie in the crew. Glancing at Dex striding ahead, Bail checked his mood.
Dex, the real boss of this crew, stormed forward with heavy steps, clearly pissed.
"…Hah, fuck…."
Dex halted abruptly, muttering a curse and shaking his head. He still looked dizzy, the shock lingering. Bail spoke up without thinking.
"If you're still dizzy, maybe take a break…."
"Shut your hole!"
Dex snapped, grinding his teeth as he grabbed Bail's collar. His forehead had a fresh lump from the table smash, bruising purple already.
"You think I look like a pussy 'cause that fucker got one hit in?"
"…No. Just worried."
"Guild shit's kid games. Don't get it twisted. That ain't what makes a merc. Got it?"
Dex shook his metal right arm in Bail's face threateningly. It packed plenty punch as a club, but its real power was elsewhere. Knowing that, Bail kept quiet, just nodding through the obvious vent.
"Don't take it out on the kid. Cool off."
One of the crew watching spoke up, half trying to intervene.
"…Keep acting like a brat, go back to the Guild and suck your sister's tit."
"……."
Bail glared at Dex's back after he released him with a shove. Noticing eyes on him, he followed silently.
Guild mercs knew his grandma and sister, so most treated him like a kid. They didn't loop him into jobs much. This crew was the best offer, but it started rough. He'd known Dex and his boys eyed his sister more than him….
"Spread out, find something. Don't hog it—radio if you hit. Get caught holding out, you're dead."
At Iron Valley, Dex barked orders, staring hard at Bail.
"…Yeah."
Bail muttered and moved off reluctantly.
The outer scrapyard was bum territory for junk peddlers—his first time. Surveying the heaps of maxed-out junk, Bail noticed something: old scrap mixed with fresh, touched by human hands.
No expert training or knowledge, but he could tell someone had rummaged through. Lifting a relatively intact toaster nearby, he saw all valuable parts stripped. Confirmed.
Bums, scavs chasing e-narc creds, or both—whatever, if they'd scoured this thoroughly, those implants would've been long gone.
So the scav's find was a lucky miss, and the rest corporate-hidden deep. Made sense.
Glancing around, Bail pretended to dig scrap while jacking into the Guild's info channel. He'd lied to Dex about no access—his old employee account, hacked on the sly, still worked. His sister hadn't caught it.
…Or maybe she knew and let it slide.
……
……
Not a high-level account—no premium intel—but crew chatter sketched the picture. From his server days peeking at job progress, he was sharp at piecing it together.
Scanning, no finds yet. Cut connection. Hundreds digging half a day, zilch? Proved his theory.
Meant they were hidden tricky….
Dig recent dumps? Or separate yard?
Pondering, his eyes caught an unfinished concrete husk in the corner. Worth a shot—he ducked in, spotting manmade work.
Junk metal welded into a door. Sloppy for corp standards, but perfect to hide pricey unknown implants.
Wishful? Maybe. Still, he radioed Dex's crew. They trickled to the door.
"Password lock?"
"…Hack it?"
"Nah, power's cut. Gotta force it."
"…What ya think?"
Bail eased in cautiously as they buzzed.
"Huh? Yeah, good find, kid."
Token praise, but Dex seemed less sour, waving him off and stepping up.
"Just smash it then?"
"Yeah. No e-traps. No power arms here—you're best."
"Hurry and split the haul. Container like this? Party for months."
"Bet it's one or two inside."
"…Pray you're wrong. Yours first if so."
"Newbies first, right?"
They cackled at Bail.
"……."
Dex eyed silent Bail, then the door-watchers.
"This the spot?"
"Seems so."
"Corps lock dumps too?"
"Hate us scavenging. Clear out."
Crew backed, Dex raised his fist.
Whirr. Gears whined, arm cocking like a bow, then launched.
BOOM!! Fist cratered the thick welds, thunder echoing.
Bail clutched ears, retreating. Crew grimaced, blocking noise too.
"Agh~ ears."
"Bounce?"
"Fuck, tough bastard!"
Dex rotated wrist, cocked again—BOOM!! Harder smash.
> […Ah…!]
The voice from inside—crew drew weapons in sync.
"…! Shit, someone's in! Early birds?!"
"Fuck! Open fast!"
"Blast it! Won't shatter all!"
> [W-Wait…!]
"…Wait…!"
Bail tried reining them, but thud!
"……!!"
Something leaped in—no prior sense. Bail yanked pistol, spun, aimed—slash! Gun severed pre-trigger. Stunned, he gawked.
A statue-still, snow-white face stared. Amber eyes filled vision—crack! Jaw spun.
"Wh-what?!"
The intruder: sleek beauty in faded, glowing-white dress in the dark. Eerily pristine skin, arms sprouting scythes like silver sickles. Sculpted inhuman grace—like a white ghost.
Crew whirled at Bail's fall. She charged.
Whoosh! Front guy's knee-spikes launched, auto-aim true. Pre-hit, they froze midair.
Not frozen—slow. Spikes crawled. Crew slo-mo posed.
"Nuuuh, guuuuh, nyaaaah…!!"
Yawns stretched. All lagged but her. Not time-stop—her acceleration. N.ACC implant plus full-body enhancers firing.
Spikes shattered in two passes. Low glide, she sliced the shooter's implant in one.
Shing. Clean metal cut, no sparks—effortless. Onto next.
Split SMG fingers vertical; next, severed wrist pre-monofil cutter draw.
Finally, before burly leader, she decelerated.
"…?!!"
What'd he see? Silver streak, crew crumpling screaming? Or just those staring amber eyes?
"Gah!"
"Aaaargh!!"
Legless merc fell; wrist-slashed netrunner screamed. That, at least, pierced.
"Wh-what?! Who?!"
Dex backed, panicked, gaping.
"……."
She stared blankly, silent.
"…Fuck!!"
Dex flailed arm up. Wrist flipped, barrel exposed: WolfTech basic Handcannon. High-explosive to face—slash!
"……!!"
Elbow-down gone.
"No boom?"
"……!!"
Distracted blink—barrel to his face. Eyes bugged, trembling at her.
She aimed his severed arm at him, smiling.
"…F-fu… you…."
"Shh."
Grinning, finger to lips. He glimpsed his terrified mug in her blade-glow.
One last time.
Crack! Out cold.