Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Night City, a city of dreams. Or is it nightmares? Regardless, this place has no stories to tell, only legends. One in particular had changed it forever, which is why you’re here. Apparently the city’s top fixer, Rogue Amendiares has decided to enlist our services. Yes, hire us. Not regulate a contract to Biotechnica, if we were interested, on behalf of someone else. But ‘interested’, we certainly are. She’s her own client this time, so you know something big is brewing in that cesspool. Especially so, since she, a well known anti-corporate reprobate, came to us.

Good luck, Gabriel. We will be watching.

…

The field looked like bandages on a vast, dead, corpse. Or rather, Gabriel March decided as he stood at the top of the ‘Biotechnica 1’ sign, an arid lot of a thousand white sarcophagi.

“So,” Hoyt Khvicha’s remark shattered the silence. His fingers fiddled with cables and other innards of the busted fuse-box that controlled the sign’s lighting.

Gabriel, who had been blankly looking off into the distance, burning cigarette in hand, waited for his best friend to continue.

“You finally decided to hop the pond, and experience what is left of the American dream.”

Gabriel took another drag of his cigarette, tasting the strawberry flavor, saying nothing as his eyes locked with that damned eyesore that was Night City. From the many, many, stories of the City of Dreams he had heard, he saw the skyscrapers as nothing more than devil horns jutting out of the crusted, dead earth. He closed his eyes as he let out a long slow breath of smoke, contemplating how to answer. He then felt Hoyt’s fist lightly punch him in the calf.

“Ey, Gabe,” the older techie said, grime smeared over his grinning face as the two exchanged looks. “Yeah, you’re taking it all in by the looks of it.”

Gabriel sighed before letting out a faint smile as he looked back to the city. “Just another job, as usual,” he finally answered, tossing the half-finished cig over the railing.

He heard Hoyt let out a burst of sarcastic laughter as the latter continued working on the circuitry. “Good to know you’re still a horrible fucking liar, Gabe.”

Gabriel looked over his shoulder, eyebrow raised.

“My Kiroshi tagged you as a ‘Prospektor’ when you arrived, along with the usual Biotechnica markers,” Hyot continued, his head buried behind the wires. “And you better believe the rumor mill runs like clock-work in this town.” He popped his head out, a genuine, warm, smile gleamed in the afternoon sun as did his black goggles. “Never misses a beat.”

Gabriel felt a hot-cold sensation go through his head and neck. He quickly took out another cigarette from the pack and lit it. The packaging in his hand, reading ‘Fields of Green’, had been crushed hours earlier, with only three or four sticks left inside. To think, he had just bought the damned thing not sooner than morning!

“Mind if I klep one off of ya?” Hyot asked before closing the fuse-box and standing up straight. He pulled back his goggles to let in the natural light in his eyes.

Gabriel nodded as he gave one.

“Muchas gracias.” Hoyt used the internal lighter in his left rusting cybernetic arm’s thumb before taking a deep long drag and joining the young German at the railings.

The two said nothing as the winds blew across their faces, small dust clouds skirting the asphalt on the ground below, and the monolithic adverts ascended from Night City into the heavens.

“Looks like my fellow conspiracy theorists were right,” Hoyt finally spoke, breaking the silence like he always does. “Biotechnica really is trying to expand their portfolio.” He took another drag before tapping off the burnt end.

“Isn’t everyone?” Gabriel asked, pressing his arms onto the railing, interlacing his fingers.

“Sure,” Hoyt replied. “But to create a whole new class of agent?” He glanced at the medtech. “BT is taking that mission pretty seriously.”

“You know I can’t talk about it,” Gabriel muttered.

Hoyt gave a light, warm, smile. “And you know I won’t push.”

The two paused their conversation as they continued watching the world around them.

“When I got the assignment to Night City,” Gabriel finally spoke up, “first thing I wanted to do was come visit. Have a familiar face and someone I can trust while here.”

Hoyt grinned. “Well, I’m touched.” He then giggled for a bit before his smile died. “But seriously, it was thoughtful of you. Just please be careful, man, this fucking city will either eat you up, or spit you out in a bodybag.”

Gabriel said nothing, his expression gloom as he nodded and taking another drag. “And it’s a long way from home too.”

Hoyt hummed an agreeing tone.

“Hey, watch out!” Someone from below shouted. “Stop the fucking truck!”

The two leaned over the railing, observing the commotion below with great interest. Just in time, as they saw one of their Behemoth vehicles swerve out of the way of something before gently hitting a pole.

“Was zur Hölle?” Gabriel asked out loud.

Hoyt grabbed his radio from his vest. “Yo, what the hell’s going on down there?” He asked for anyone to answer.

“You guys ain’t gonna believe this!” One of the ‘farmers’ shouted up to them. “A fucking iguana!”

The mention of fauna made Gabriel’s head recoil. He turned to Hoyt, eyebrow raised. “I thought animals went extinct,” he remarked.

Hoyt’s eyes squinted, still fixed on the commotion on the road. “For the most part,” he replied. He led Gabriel to the ladder. “Let’s get down there.”

The two got to ground level within a minute, and already a small crowd was forming. Gently pushing their way forward, they saw one of the other ‘farmers’ crouching with his arms wide, slowly stepping side to side as if to intercept it.

Looking over the man’s shoulder, Gabriel noticed the tropic green reptilian that looked right out of the per-historic age. It was flicking its head left and right, eyeing all the giant humans surrounding it.

Gabriel had never seen such a giant critter before, and it made him pause as he stared at the creature.

“C’mere ya little fuck bunny,” the man in front of Gabriel muttered, his arms still wide. He then lunged at the iguana. “C’mere!”

The iguana, with elegant grace, dodged the man and immediately made a run for it. So much so that it got on its hind legs as it made its escape.

Gabriel could hear some of the guys laughing their asses off as the man on the ground grumbled.

“Somebody get that thing!” One of the other farmers shouted, laughing.

Gabriel wasn’t sure why he didn’t hesitate when his legs started moving him forward, leading him after this rare creature.

Gabriel felt his feet pound on the asphalt and sand as he made chase. He watched the iguana run through several farmers, some of whom quickly stepped aside from both of them. As Gabriel continued, he watched it get on all fours and slither past a moving forklift. His instincts taking over, Gabriel quickly jumped over the truck’s fork. He could hear the driver shouting to him, asking what the hell.

The iguana made a sharp turn around the corner to one of the large farm tents, Gabriel still not letting up.

The German medtech made the same turn just in time to see the iguana barge into the tent itself and Gabriel followed. He chased the large reptile across the soil that was home to thousands upon thousands of little worms meant for processing, so caught up in his chase that he didn’t even hear the farmers shouting at him asking what the hell he was doing.

He was so close now, Gabriel thought, reaching his hand out to the reptilian that was just out of reach. He then dove, reaching for the exotic animal, barely grabbing its wildly wagging tail with one hand and rolled over to his back, getting his radio with the other. “I got it!” He shouted into the radio, not feeling the grin grow on his face. “Holy crap, I got it!”

Then the weight of the reptilian’s pull ceased after a single tug.

Gabriel looked forward, his grin wiped away, replaced with wide eyes and a growing expression of horror as he stood up.

The iguana had turned around, staring up at the monstrous human looking down at it. The tail had been detached.

Looking down at his fist, Gabriel stared at the tail left in his hand, before looking at the iguana, their eyes locking. For a split second, everything was still. Then, the iguana took one glance at its tail left behind with the human and almost seamlessly, slipped away, running off to the exit on the opposite end. The tail was still wagging by itself as the iguana made its great escape.

Gabriel's eyes locked onto the tail, his breaths deepened and his heart beat faster.

It stared at its own tail, he thought. It saw the death of its own limb, its own flesh and blood.

Flesh and blood.

The smell of both returned to his nostrils. He found himself there, back in Frankfurt, on a late Friday night at the end of 2076. The call to scramble, save the client, kill everyone in the way. It was just that, even if it came with the job, his twin brother shouldn’t have died to Arasaka agents just so some corpo would live.

“Damn you, Gabriel…” David’s voice rang in his head once more. “Only one of us has to get out alive!”

Gabriel didn’t feel the tail getting squeezed in his tightened fist as he remembered how it all went down.

‘Seven minutes, or a refund’. What a fucking joke that turned out to be for people like Gabriel and his twin.

“Gabriel!” Someone’s shout ripped him from the inside his mind. It was Hoyt. “Gabe! You alright, man?”

By the time Gabriel came back to his senses, the iguana was long gone, the crushed tail being the sole reminder of its existence.

Hoyt and some of the other farmers had finally caught up with him, most of them sweating and exhausted.

“You get the sonofabitch?” One of the farmers asked, panting.

Gabriel said nothing, only staring down at the tail in his hand, the detached appendage no longer twitching between his fingers. He finally looked back to the others, seeing most of them disappointing or even straight up angry.

“Well that’s just fucking preem,” one of the farmers muttered.

“What the hell happened?” Another asked as he approached.

“The fucking gonk here let the thing escape!”

“You kidding?!”

“Does this Eurotrash have any fucking idea how much a live animal is worth these days?!”

“Man, I just wanted to try some real meat for once, ya know?”

The farmers were all still grumbling amongst themselves, disappointed to no end as they exited the tent.

Hoyt stayed behind with Gabriel. Placing his hand on the German’s shoulder, Hoyt gestured towards the doors as they too left.

“Don’t mind ‘em,” the techie said to Gabriel while they walked. “Iguana was probably just some lab-grown gomi.”

Gabriel said nothing, keeping his head down, when they got to the one of the main roads.

“Ah fuck!” Someone called out, pointing at the sky.

Everyone looked up to see a corporate AV with the Biotechnica seal gleaming on the side. Once it landed, a small squad of plain-suit corporate security personnel got out and approached Gabriel. The one leading the squad, a tall buff man in his early forties quickly made his way to the German.

Face to face with the man, Gabriel couldn’t help but feel intimidated as the security officer towered over him.

“Prospektor March!” The man said, his voice raised over the sound of the running AV engines. “Director Ashford has ordered for your immediate dispatch into Night City. She wants to see you.”

Gabriel could only look at the man, feeling the gust of wind being blown his direction from the engines. He then felt a gentle nudge coming from Hoyt.

The techie walked around him, keeping their glances exchanged. “C’mon, choom, best not to keep Assford waiting.”

Gabriel finally nodded and followed the security team into the AV, seeing the angered or worried expressions of the farmers as he did. As the AV took off, Gabriel took one more look out into the Biotechnica Flats before the cityscape became all consuming.

Chapter Text

Welcome to the sandbox, Gabe. City of Dreams and all that. Christ, it’s amazing how much things changed in two years. Long story short, a single broad kicked down the front door to Arasaka HQ, went to town and all hell broke loose. While I personally prefer Militech over Arasaka, seeing the scumbags from the latter retreat after the ‘Night of the Reaper’, doesn’t give me a whole lotta comfort. With Militech more or less left unopposed in this city… Well, let’s just say there’s a reason competition is important in this trade. Fuck whatever Assford says, Arasaka was needed so that all the major players would keep each other in check. With that gone…simply put it's a mess that’s gonna get a whole lot worse.

…

The office of Dame Gori Ashford, Director of Acquisitions for Biotechnica, was just as utilitarian as the rest of the corporate world.

Behind the woman herself was the typical floor-to-ceiling panoramic view of the corporate plaza in City Center. Despite the larger than life view of the city center, seeing the other corporate offices right across the street came off as a massive eye-sore, one that could easily be mistaken for the fourth metal wall rather than a glass one.

Against the wall, to the office’s left wing, were large classical-looking bookcases. They mostly contained the usual array of literature expected of a corpo executive: business strategies, management tips, the self-helps, a few internal journals from Biotechnica scientists and officials discussing new developments, a couple on biographies of business leaders, too. There were even books on military history, relevant strategy and the like. However, if one were to take a closer look, they’d be perplexed to find works of fiction on the shelves as well. ‘The Catcher in the Rye’, ‘War and Peace’, ‘Les Misérables’, and the complete collection of ‘Sherlock Holmes’ to boot.

The black and green color palette that splashed across the seats, tables, bookcases, even the window blinds, had allowed for the numerous potted plants to not be seen out of place. No one could tell if the leaves and branches were real, or just very convincing plastic.

Then there was the center piece of the office: large and sleek, made of finely polished black synthwood with gold-veined inlays, her desk, her workstation, her battle-map. Sparse of personal effects, Ashford’s desk would seem it had a single purpose: get the job done.

And yet, the human factor had always found a way to rear its head. A single picture frame with a digital photo of Director Ashford and her parents stood next to the computer screen. To her left, in the corner of the desk, on display only to herself, were a medal and a rank insignia: The Victoria Cross, and a uniform shoulder patch with a crown and an ‘R.M’ directly underneath.

To her right was a holographic display of various Biotechnica personnel. Organized in a six by five grid, totaling thirty-one, each profile held the head-shot of some of the company’s best Netrunners, Techies, contract Solos, two or three high-level counterintelligence officers, and a small handful of Medtechs. Originally, the grid made a perfect thirty profiles, carefully hand-picked for Ashford’s new pilot program: The Prospektors, men and women tasked with hunting down emerging technologies relevant to Biotechnica’s industry.

The thirty-first, and final, belonged to one Gabriel March, Medtech. It was added only two days prior.

The man in question sat silently on the large black couch in the office’s private lounge of to the right side of the large, mostly empty, room. Gabriel was hunched over, tightly embracing his hoodie while his brown satchel bag, with a faded red Trauma Team logo printed on the front, was laying next to him. Gabriel couldn’t help but feel some sort of anxiety. For the last ten or so minutes, he had been sitting there, out of Director Ashford’s eyesight, waiting for the woman to reprimand him, scold him, mock him, insult him, something, anything, than just silence.

The clacking from her keyboard, being the only sound breaking the white noise, was becoming unbearable. It made Gabriel think back to the reptilian at the Flats. He had never seen much in the way of wildlife growing up. Far too exotic, far too expensive, for the average layman. Seeing those Biotechnica farmers ogle and stare in awe of such a scaly thing made him realize just how rare fauna was: like a unicorn. And how that thing dropped its own tail, just to survive…

Much like how David forced Gabriel to leave him behind, just so one twin brother can make it to tomorrow.

The clacking continued.

“You froze up, March,” Ashford finally spoke, her British accent apparent, and her eyes never leaving the screen. Her fingers continued their intricate dance over the keyboard, the clacking of the mechanical keys echoing throughout the black marbled-walled room.

Gabriel tightened his arms around his hoodie as he kept his eyes glued to the carpet on the floor. The tone in Ashford’s voice was neutral, almost nonchalant, uncaring even.

“It was an iguana,” Gabriel replied, his own voice feeling detached from his own body, his eyes still locked onto the floor before him and his fingers tightly interlaced over his hoodie. Even after seeing it with his own eyes, he somehow didn’t believe what he actually saw.

‘Clack’ ‘Clack’ ‘Clack’….

“Yes, indeed,” Ashford remarked, still typing away, “a very peculiar creature, that.” Her eyes finally rolled to Gabriel, seeing him sitting so far away. They did not exchange looks, as Gabriel’s eyes were still locked onto the floor. “We never had iguanas back in Europe, if I recall.”

‘Clack’ ‘Clack’ ‘Clack’….

“No.”

‘Clack’ ‘Clack’ ‘Clack’….

“How old are you, March?”

“Twenty-four, ma’am.”

‘Clack’ ‘Clack’ ‘Clack’….

“Awfully young for someone to participate in this pilot program,” Ashford replied, “wouldn’t you agree?”

‘Clack’ ‘Clack’ ‘Clack’….

Gabriel didn’t reply, no words, no nods, no shaking of the head. Just silence, keeping his unsure words at bay as his eyes continued focusing on the floor. Instead, he felt his hands grip his bag and hoodie tighter, as if it could protect him from whatever wrath Ashford might have in store. Had he had a stronger spine, or even half the wit of Hoyt, he might’ve made a rather smart-ass remark. Then again, he didn’t even have a good answer to work with anyway. Not like he needed one.

Both he and Ashford knew exactly why he was all the way out here, in Night City, so far away from home in Berlin.

The keyboard’s clacking suddenly ceased. A single sigh from Ashford’s mouth and the sound of a moving chair, the woman had gotten up and casually walked over, her footsteps echoing.

She stepped past Gabriel, reaching for two snifters before pouring Louis XIII Cognac in both. She then, with tongs, dropped two ice blocks in each. With both glasses in hand, plus coasters, Ashford spun on her heel and stepped over to Gabriel.

She placed one glass on the table in front of Gabriel.

“Here,” she said before walking around the table and sat in the comfortable couch chair across from the medtech. She sat back, crossing her leg, clearly comfortable in her seat.

Gabriel picked up his glass, his fingers tightly gripping, and took a single sip. He felt the burning sensation, and coughed as he gently set it back down.

“Not a fan of brandy, I take it?” Ashford’s, smile, words and expression was that of bemusement rather than insult.

“I prefer something akin to a Moscow Mule,” Gabriel replied as he reached into his pocket.

“I don’t blame you,” Ashford replied, swirling the glass in her hand. “I’m more of a spiced rum woman myself.”

Gabriel said nothing as he pulled out his crumpled pack of cigarettes from the satchel and took out one of three left before lighting it between his lips. He then began fidgeting with his fingers, only occasionally pausing to take out his cigarette to exhale the smoke.

Ashford watched him, scrunching her nose with that concerned look in her eyes. She ended up taking a slightly larger sip from her brandy than intended.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” She asked.

Gabriel nodded without hesitation, keeping his eyes glued to the floor.

Ashford adjusted herself in her seat, before scratching the tip of her nose before shaking her head. “You didn’t have to volunteer for this job, Gabriel.” She turned her head towards the window. “There’s no guarantee we’ll find anything usable to bring back David.”

“I have to try,” Gabriel said, finally raising his head to meet Ashford’s. The cigarette between his lips was nearly burnt to the stub.

Ashford turned her head back to the young medtech, that concerned expression still there. Taking a deep sigh, she shook her head before downing the rest of her cognac. “Alright then.”

She stood up and took Gabriel’s snifter off the table before walking back to the liquor stand, and pouring the cognac back into the original bottle.

As she walked past him on the way back to her desk, Ashford quickly took out a fresh unopened pack of cigarettes. It was labeled ‘Fields of Green’.

“Strawberry flavor, right?” Ashford asked Gabriel, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Before the man could answer, she gently tossed the pack onto the glass table.

Gabriel eyed the new pack still wrapped in thin plastic, not saying anything.

“Rogue Amendiares will be calling you soon, setting up a meeting at the Afterlife in Watson,” Ashford stated as she continued on, hand now in pocket. “And for fuck’s sake, take a bloody shower! You reek of scop.”

Gabriel hesitated to say anything, watching Ashford already moving on, and the moment quickly passes. Taking another glance at the pack of cigarettes, he quickly snatched it in his hand, got up, and briskly walked out of the large office room.

The clacking had already started up again.

…

Wonderwall – Oasis; (What’s The Story) Morning Glory? (1995)

Chapter Text

So, Assford hadn’t tore you a new one. It may not look like it, but I’d say that’s a good omen. People like her aren’t the kind to tolerate incompetence. Still though, she’s the devil we know. Now, Rogue Amendiares, The Queen Bitch of Fixers? Yeah no. I can tell you a million stories of THE Fixer and, even if they were all true, it’d still make her the X factor in all this. But it’s worse for people like you, Gabe. See, her name, and her bar, the Afterlife, are known far and wide...in North America. Euro folks like you couldn’t tell her apart in a PD line-up. But you’re entering her house now, boy-oh, making YOU who she couldn’t pick out of a crowd. Remember that when you meet her.

…

Gabriel lost track of time, standing in the running shower. The hot water, along with soap and shampoo/conditioner, peeled away the dirt, grime, sand, and smell, of his visit to the Flats.

Just not what he felt.

He did one more round of shampoo and conditioner over his hair, it turning from greasy oily-black to his natural light brown, before rinsing and shutting off the water. Hot went cold in an instant as he stepped out, towel around his waist.

As he approached the nearest sink, the mirror’s frame above it lit up, and the glass turned from a blank grey slate into a perfect reflection of not only the shower-room, but also Gabriel himself.

He hated what he saw. Well, just a detail or two.

The scaring around his right eye, forming a jagged line past the socket, was the first problem. His right eye. Shit, it wasn’t even his anymore.

That fucking Kiroshi trash was the second. A mix of blue and green in the ‘iris’, with a small yet still legible ‘Kiroshi’ name going around it. The vibrant colors and matte metal was an affront to his other, organic, hazel eye.

Gabriel closed his eyes and took a breath. Okay, maybe calling his ‘eye’ trash might be too far, considering that the manufacturer is top-of-line.

Still, just a wish that it didn’t have to replace his once dominant eye, accident or no.

Gabriel reached for the hanging hair-dryer next to him, turned it on, and waved it over his head. It went from black, wet and slick to brown, silky and wavy despite the short length. Satisfied with the dryness, Gabriel did the rest of his body with his towel, finishing by combing his hair.

Once he was done with all the drying, he stepped over to his temporary locker and quickly got dressed. By sheer luck, the clothes he brought on his back allowed him to blend into the city: grey combat hoodie, insulated, with a brown graphene-weave pozer-jacket that had a large logo of a face of a Eurasian Brown Bear, black Phantom tough-lined cargo pants, along with black combat boots that were his standard issue from his German ‘Heer’ days.

No flash, not even style, only substance and necessity.

Gabriel finished dressing by putting on red and black armored gloves: Trauma Team, security specialist, standard issue. As he stared at his hands, he eyed the initials carved into the side of the left glove’s armor: D.M.

“Davy.” Gabriel could only close his eyes, and take a deep breath.

It ate away at him, thinking, imagining: waking up one morning, believing today was going to yet another tough, but maybe rewarding, day saving lives. Yeah, their clients typically were that of corporate or celebrity nature...but it was something, and they did save a small number of working men. And yet, half-way through your shift, you get a call from dispatch: a platinum card holder, high-level corpo, top priority, middle of Frankfurt, surrounded by heavily-armed and armored Arasaka security personnel looking to gun down the client. Of course expectations of survival for Delta Team was…slim. And yet, you went on anyway, only to die in your brother’s arms and his obscured, helmeted, face the last thing you see before the Grim Reaper comes dragging you, kicking and screaming. You never go back to your bed, resting up before doing it all over again.

No goodbyes. David March took all the bullets meant for Gabriel, and couldn’t even be allowed to die a hero. Not even an occupied casket to be buried, just another corpse somewhere along the highway as the world moved on, as it always had. Perhaps that might have been a good thing, that David was MIA, as Gabriel would only see his own face on a dead man who saved his life.

Gabriel looked down at his now gloved hands. The fact that David’s hands had been right where his hands currently were, inside those gloves, it was like Gabriel was seeing the world through his brother. For a split second, it was like David was the one alive, not him, that David didn’t need to sacrifice himself so that only one twin could make it home. But that wasn’t reality, David was gone, his bed empty, his room still the way he left it when he left for work that day with Gabriel. If only Gabriel had taken the bullet, if only David survived, if only Gabriel did something differently, if only things were done differently. Just one more second to say goodbye...just one more fucking day...

Gabriel sprinted towards the sink, feeling his insides about pump itself out of his mouth. He only felt the hotness in his stomach and throat for a split second before he puked into the sink. Before he could process what just happened, he gagged again and felt his innards ignite as more bile came out of his mouth.

“Verdammt…” he groaned.

As he reached for the faucet to wash away the vomit, he heard a call inside his head, and the profile picture representing his family ‘crest’ appeared in the corner of his right eye.

His parents.

Answering, he was met with an older woman, greying brown hair and wrinkles. The moment their eyes locked, the woman exhaled a sigh a relief.

“Oh thank God you answered, Gabi.” The woman spoke to him in their native tongue.

“H-hey, mom,” Gabriel replied, unable to smile.

“ My God, Gabi, are you okay? You look horrid!”

Gabriel breathed, still tasting that bile in his mouth and throat. “Uh, y-yeah,” he stammered through the nausea, “I, uh, just puked. Um, stress stuff, you know.”

His mother was absolutely unconvinced, her shaking head showed as much. “Where are you, anyway?”

“I –”

“ When you didn’t come home last night, I tried calling everyone! Coworkers, your supervisor , even Renate! It’s either no one knows or is not telling! ”

Gabriel felt his shoulders slump, trying to keep himself steady. He should’ve said something to them before he just up and left. Other than the clothes on his back, he had nothing on him.

“Your father and I have been worried sick!”

“I’m out of the country,” Gabriel finally spoke.

His mother’s eyes briefly went wide. “W-wha...where, exactly?”

“Night City, out in North America.”

“ W- what ?!”

“I know, I should’ve said something bu–”

“But Night City?! Good lord, Gabriel, have you lost your head? !”

“Hey, what’s with all the commotion?” Gabriel’s father. He sounded like he had just gotten home. Another late shift at EBM, probably.

“Can you believe it, Thomas?!” His mother turned away from the camera to face his dad. “Gabi just told me he’s in Night City!”

“Wait?” His father entered the picture, wet from the rain. He had that look of concern in his eyes. “Gabi, what are you doing all the way out there? Without even telling us until now.”

Classified, Gabriel told himself, and they’d absolutely go insane if they found out why he was truly there.

“Work,” was all he could muster as he tightened his grip on the sink, hanging his head.

He heard his mother curse under her breath. “Damn it, Gabi.”

“It’s important,” Gabriel tried to reason. “I swear it is!”

“It’s a deathtrap, Gabi!” His mother covered her face with her hand as she quietly turned away and cried. “Crime everywhere! Gangs on every street corner!”

“Sophie…” His father softly spoke, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Gabriel’s an adult, and he’s been in bad spots before. He can handle it.”

Gabriel’s mother shot a look at his father. “Say that to David!”

The conversation grinded to a halt. Gabriel’s mother turned away again, quietly sulking. Gabriel simply turned his head, avoiding eye contact. A grim expression grew on his face, with a hint of immense guilt. He should’ve said something back home.

“Please don’t say that,” his father replied to his mother, his voice soft. “Not in front of Gabriel.” His father then looked at the camera, minding the medtech’s presence. “Whatever it is that Biotechnica is having you do,” his father continued, “just promise us you’ll be careful, okay?”

Gabriel, with all his strength, forced a smile “I will dad, I promise.”

His father stared at him for what felt like forever, as if looking down at him through an electron microscope.

“And please, for the love of God, call us!” His father added. “Once a week at the very least!”

Suddenly, he heard the metal door to the locker room slide open.

“I will, dad,” Gabriel quickly said, repeating himself, “I promise.” He ended the call before his father could speak, and let out a long and slow breath. The retched guilt in his chest…he can promise all he wants, it just becomes more and more of a lie.

“I’m telling you, Jim,” someone was speaking as footsteps approached, “something’s big is happening!”

“Man, you say that every other week,” another voice spoke.

Two men entered the locker room, carrying duffle bags, walking past Gabriel. He watched them walk on by.

“Yeah, but this time, people are talking!” The first man said as he changed out of his street clothes. “Not on the Net, I mean here!”

The second man was already in nothing but a towel, ready for his shower. “Wait, you talking ‘bout that weird English Muffin’s new program or whatever, Ashford something or other?”

Gabriel’s ears perked up, and found himself looking at the men’s direction through the mirror.

The first man slammed his locker shut, grinning. “Exactly!”

The second man shrugged. “I mean I guess it makes some sense.” He stepped into the shower. “BT’s been in the shitter for a while. All we got going for us right now is the CHOOH2 re-ups and some of the Bio shit that Akaromi hadn’t stolen from us yet.”

“Damn straight! That Bri’ish Bitch, at the very least, has got the right idea to klep some of the good stuff from our competitors. Maybe we’ll grab something out of Arasaka’s dead rotting corpse too.” He was quietly laughing when he saw Gabriel’s face looking at him in the mirror. The smugness turned skittish, before heading into the showers as well. “Hey, let’s pick this up later, yeah? You never know if someone’s listening in.”

When the man was out of view, and the shower faucets turned on, Gabriel sighed, shaking his head. He’d better get moving.

Gabriel returned to his locker, and grabbed his satchel, an old beaten up bag made of synthetic canvas. He turned it’s face up towards him, seeing a faded out blood red logo of Trauma Team International. He pulled off the snapped cover, double checked its contents, closed it, and then headed out.

The hallways of Biotechnica Night City HQ was spacious. Much like Ashford’s office, the same black and green color scheme spread along the corridors and glass-walled offices. Exactly like how roots and weeds burrow their way through wherever they pleased.

Gabriel navigated through the labyrinth of synthetic carpets, metal floors, couches, and the various office workers and executives that populated this place.

It was noon, so Gabriel wasn’t surprised to see some of the people up and about from their work stations. They seemed relaxed, or maybe hiding their tension behind cigarette smoke, as they conversed with each other over anything and everything but the mundane. The word ‘Prospektor’ had been thrown around, with some of the people making it out to be some super secret elite group of enforcers. If they knew who Gabriel was, that façade would crack instantly. Good.

As he walked by, he saw two employees talking amongst themselves to his left. One of them glanced at him.

“Hey, don’t look,” one of the Biotechnica workers, a woman, whispered to the other, “but it’s that guy from Germany.”

“Which one?” The other, a man, asked. “We got like sixty on this floor alone.”

The woman tried to subtly point Gabriel out, turning her back to the German. “That one. Heard he was ex-Trauma Team out in Frankfurt a couple years back, now works at the Berlin office.”

“Wonder what he’s doing all the way out here.”

“Probably Ashford’s new joytoy.”

“Not her type.”

“I dunno, he’s kinda cute.”

“Pfft, with that assessment, no wonder BT’s getting fucked.”

Gabriel ignored them, or at least he tried. Not like anyone could tune people out in a place like this.

Gabriel was grateful that he didn’t have to stand long at the elevators, waiting for one to arrive. As soon as the doors slid open, he hurried inside, pressing the ground floor button before jabbing his finger over another to close the doors.

On the way down, Gabriel could see the cityscape out through the glass walls. He watched with a blank expression as Night City rose up to meet him, like Hell coming to grab him.

His thoughts were interrupted when his internal phone began ringing. In the corner of his eye, he saw the logo for what he assumed to be the Afterlife bar.

Gabriel stiffened himself. This must be Rogue Amendiares.

Moment of truth.

Upon answering the call via his personal link, he was met with a woman with white hair swept to her side and a permanent scowl over quite a few wrinkles. Her expression was that of both impatience and disinterest.

“Hello, Prospektor.” Even if the call had no video-feed, it was clear the tone was anything but friendly. The way she would only glance at him once or twice, arms crossed, made Gabriel uneasy.

He forced a smile, putting on the best polite and friendly face he could, as Night City was closing in on him. “Frau Amendiares, I was wondering when you’d call.”

The woman shot a look right back at Gabriel, her gray eyes piercing into his soul. “And I was wondering when you’d show up.” There was only a hint of elevation in her voice, but it may as well have been so much more.

Gabriel cleared his throat, his smile fading fast. “Apologies,” he replied, a hint of fear slipping through his voice, “there was a personal matter that needed to be attended to once I had arrived in Night City.”

“And?” the woman, Rogue, had that look when she made the hand gesture for him to hurry up. “Are you done with that now?”

“I am.”

“Preem,” Rogue spoke with a flat tone, turning slightly away again, “there’s a car waiting for you on the roundabout just below the front entrance to the Biotechnica building.” She looked at him one last time. “Don’t keep me waiting, Prospektor.”

Gabriel couldn’t get a single word in before line went dead. Sighing, he waited for the elevator to arrive at ground level. With a single ‘ding’, the doors retracted open and out he went.

The lobby was massive. A large open space with trees of all kinds sprinkled in each direction. Almost like a little forest.

A little forest of plastic, dirt, marble, and glass. And promotional adverts of the company itself playing in the background.

Once across the lobby, the automatic entrance doors to the outside world retracted open, assaulting Gabriel with the sounds, sights, and smells that was Night City.

Outside, he made his way across the skybridge, hands in pockets, the scents of garbage and piss, even out here in City Center, intruded into Gabriel’s nostrils. He considered breathing with his mouth to mitigate the obscene sense, but somehow he figured breathing would’ve been more toxic.

As he walked on, he couldn’t help but watch the busy roundabout below him, through the thick glass, seeing so many vehicles of all types honk at each other through the slow moving gridlock.

Looking up, Gabriel saw the corporate megabuildings towering over him.

Militech.

Petrochem.

Kang Tao.

Biotechnica.

All looking down at him like the little cockroach they wouldn’t even bother comparing him to. If Arasaka was still around, they’d probably laugh at him, if even that.

Gabriel couldn’t help but frown at these monstrosities of glass and steel. At least the giant holographic blue and orange fish swimming in circles, midair, were nice to look at.

Across the bridge, Gabriel eyed a line of food kiosks with seats. He saw the standard range of foods: Japanese, Chinese, American. All of it synthetic. Still, the place would be something to fall back on in case he can’t find a place to buy groceries. God only knew his room at the Biotechnica Hotel would needed to be stocked.

Turning to his left, he was immediately met with an older woman sitting on the floor, beating drums with her palms. In front of her was a small wooden box with two cups. A sign leaned on them both.

‘Spare Change or Ammo Plz!’

Gabriel was taken aback. Ammo?! Really? He ever so slightly shook his head. He could understand money, but what the hell would someone do with a bullet when you need bread? Then again, several ideas popped up.

Americans, he didn’t dare say out loud. Next thing he’ll see is that ammunition will be equivalent to Eurodollars, perhaps when everyone is living down in the metro or something.

At least the woman was in good spirits. Has to count for something.

Gabriel slipped her a hundred into the corresponding cup, seeing the woman’s expression not change whatsoever. It didn’t particularly bother him, not anymore. Minimum, she can get herself a decent meal or two.

As he walked along the platform above the roundabout, he shifted left and made his way toward the flight of stairs that would take him down to street level.

On ground level, he looked around, his confusion clear as day. Turning on his heel, about to start taking laps along the roundabout, Gabriel heard a honk from a nearby vehicle. He snapped to attention, seeing a boxy vehicle with a checkers-esque black and white pattern on the side. Seeing the car flash its lights, Gabriel realized this was his ride. He sped walked along the curb, seeing the car’s rear door open for him. Throwing his bag into the seat next to his, Gabriel boarded the vehicle.

Sitting in the backseat, Gabriel found that there was no driver in this rather elegant vehicle. He couldn’t help but grunt at this. “I’m being punked, aren’t I?”

“Welcome on board this Delamain service,” someone spoke with a British accent.

Glancing at the driver’s seat, and then the passenger one, Gabriel confirmed there was no one there. Then, he finally saw the screen on the back of the passenger seat in front of him. A man, whiter than snow, no hair, and that unsettling smile.

“With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door.”

“Was zur Hölle ist das?” Gabriel muttered to himself.

“Delamain is an automated transportation service, where you are taken to and from anywhere in Night City.”

“A Cabbie?” Gabriel asked, unsure if this ‘man’ could even answer him.

“A far higher quality of transport than the usual taxi fare in Night City.”

That response, any response really, made Gabriel’s skin crawl.

“Before we begin our journey,” the ‘man’, continued. “I must verify the identities of all customers. Please proceed to connect your personal links.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure what exactly to do next. The instructions were clear, but just the realization that an AI was driving him just didn’t sit well at all.

The honking behind the vehicle threw him out of his thoughts.

“Um, s-sure,” Gabriel replied. Turning his left hand to face him, Gabriel peeled away the synth-skin that covered his retractable PL cable in his wrist. His was the standard issue of all German Army soldiers, thus universal. He could even feel the wire spool underneath his flesh as he tugged it and inserted the end into the port just below the screen. His Kiroshi eye showed him the process of data transfer with verification being near instantaneous.

The ‘man’ smiled in satisfaction.

“Thank you,” he said, “‘Excelsior’ package activated.”

Before Gabriel could speak, the vehicle took off.

This taxi, this ‘Delamain’, effortlessly navigated through the heavy Night City traffic, from the City Center, northbound to the Watson district.

Gabriel took in the inside of the taxi. “Never been inside an automated vehicle before,” he remarked, mostly to himself.

The ‘man’ smiled at this. “Well then, Mister March, I hope my services will leave a positive impression.”

“Ja, hopefully,” Gabriel replied. “Speaking of, what exactly is this ‘Excelsior’ package you mentioned earlier? Sounds something premium.”

“You are correct, Mister March, the Excelsior package offers everything in the standard package as well as complete health coverage, medical scanning of passengers, combat mode in case of trouble, and free corpse disposal in the ev–” This caught Gabriel’s attention.

“Stop, stop…” he took a breath. “Disposal? Has anyone…died during your rendering of services?”

“Many, Mister March, but not because of any negligence on my part. Part of my clientele are involved in rather...unsavory activities, both legal and otherwise.”

Gabriel grunted, his expression dark. “Sounds expensive, this package of yours.”

“Indeed it is.”

“How much will this package cost me?”

“You needn’t worry, Mister March. The package has been purchased on your behalf of both Miss Amendiares, the proprietor of the Afterlife establishment, as well as Miss Ashford, your supervisor at Biotechnica.”

“They split the cost? Why?”

“That, I do not know,” Delamain answered. “However, it would very much indicate at least a financial investment in your safety. I should also advise you, we can not divert from this pre-arranged route for any reason. Apologies in advance.”

Gabriel grumbled. He understood the reasoning, but wished he had some autonomy.

Rather than complain, he simply slumped back in his seat, and watched the world that was Night City pass him by.

Through the Center, the streets were bustling with people, both corporate and the average citizen of a slightly upper crust. The sidewalks were kept clean, despite the occasional loose paper skirting the asphalt. Colors of adverts popped out from their spinning holographic signs above the road, complimenting the lush green palm trees that sparsely spread across the many plazas. Beyond that, were high towers of both residential and offices of smaller companies. Even the roads had waist high barricades to protect pedestrians from the rare runaway car. To his right, he also saw numerous strange stone pillars behind a concrete wall about six meters high. The whole thing was in disrepair, as if abandoned one morning and no one bothered to check. Then it hit him: this was the Arasaka Memorial, commemorating the lives lost during the Night City Holocaust, where a single nuclear device destroyed this entire area. Even when the yield was less than half a kiloton, the radiation and other after effects had decimated millions of lives and cost billions of dollars in property damages. For what, exactly?

Then he saw it: an AV bearing the Trauma Team logo, coming in hot. It didn’t even land before the two security specialists stormed out of the aircraft, guns aimed. Not that they’d need to in a place like this. Pretty much not one person even looked their way as the squad’s lead EMT, and their assistant, got to work on the patient. Even as the Delamain drove by, Gabriel could tell the patient had suffered from what appeared to be a stroke. Lucky for everyone involved, they weren’t exactly in a hostile environment.

Then again, Frankfurt was supposed to be the same…

Frankfurt…

David…

“Mister March, are you alright?” Delamain asked. “You seem distressed and I have noticed a spike in your vitals.”

Gabriel’s eyes, glued to the Trauma Team unit, widened for a split second before coughing and shaking his head back to his senses. “I-I’m fine, Delamain,” he replied. “Please, just keep driving.”

The ‘man’, Delamain, didn’t immediately respond, and yet there was that brief flicker of concern on its face as the cab continued driving. “Understood, Mister March.”

Gabriel couldn’t help but go as far as straining his neck, looking over his shoulder watching the Trauma Team unit rescue the patient with ease. It made him envious.

“Your records state that you are from Germany,” Delamain noted. “Shall I speak to you in German for the duration?” Delamain asked. “Clients tend to become more relaxed when speaking in their native language.”

Gabriel was still eyeing the unit up until the cab had turned a corner. “Nein…no, Delamain, thank you,” he replied, making his tone as thankful as he could as he repositioned himself in his seat. “It’s the lingua franca of this place. May as well get used to it.”

“Understood, Mister March.”

The scenery changed almost instantly once they were across the bridge. The pristine and elegance of City Center would’ve given any tourist the impression that the city itself was some utopic urban sprawl of industrial and economic might. Across the river, that lie fell flat on its face.

From clean, shining, towers of glass and steel, the streets became more impoverished, more grim. Trash bags piled up on street corners, roads in disrepair, walls marked with graffiti freshly sprayed in various colors of black, red, yellow, and so forth.

Through that still, Gabriel, from his seat, saw group of people, young and old, of various backgrounds dining outside one of the sushi places, apparently having a good time. Then gunshots rang out. Some of them flinched and took a few paces away, as Gabriel turned to the other side of the cab to watch a random merc gun down a bunch of Japanese-esque hoodlums harassing some shop owner.

Then, there was this poor bastard on the sidewalk nearby, stumbling as he fell over. His body twitched a few times while people walked past him. God, if only Gabriel had a fucking med-kit for once, at least try to stabilize the guy…

Gabriel is now regretting ever letting Hoyt talk him into watching Robocop once upon a time.

The young medtech wasn’t able to dwell much longer as the Delamain turned one more corner.

“We have arrived,” Delamain reported. The vehicle smoothly came to a stop and parked.

Looking out the window from the backseat, Gabriel took in the surroundings: they had stopped at a rather nondescript building, in a nondescript parking lot in some nondescript back alley. The only thing that gave away the destination’s existence was a single, stylized, ‘A’, above the entrance. He glanced over to the screen on the back of the passenger seat. The pale bald man with a stoic, yet faintly friendly, expression staring right at him.

“This is it?”

“That is correct, Mister March,” Delamain replied.

Gabriel sighed. “Alright, then,” he said to the AI, “danke schön.”

“Auf Wiedersehen, Herr March,” Delamain said with a smile, wishing him a farewell.

Gabriel opened the cab door and stepped out, throwing his messenger bag over his shoulder as the cool air blew against him. The smell of garbage and decay got into his nose and made his mildly queasy. He then heard the taxi gently pulling away, leaving him behind, realizing that he is now on his own.

Welcome to Night City proper, Gabriel imagined Hoyt saying to him.

…

It’s a Jungle Out There – Bonnie Tyler; Faster Than the Speed of Night (1983)

It's a Jungle Out There - Randy Newman; Dark Matter (2017)

Chapter Text

You know that one quote from that one movie? Something about a wretched hive of scum and villainy? Place certainly fits that. No idea what that fixer broad’s got in store for you. Only thing I can imagine is that she thinks we have something she wants, and is willing to give everything ‘we’ want. Normally, I wouldn’t have a problem with that, but you don’t get to be the best without stomping on a few toes. That goes for fixers, and people like us. Just watch ‘your’ step, Gabe, and keep your wits about you.

…

Gabriel looked over his shoulder, watching the Delamain cab drive off. While it did seem he was being left behind, Gabriel tried to see it as a helicopter dropping off troops only to return later.

No, that didn’t really help.

Turning around, he saw some of the people nearby simply staring at him, murmuring amongst themselves with looks of suspicion. He felt a sudden spark of discomfort, and quickly flipped the hood of his hoodie over his head before hurrying inside. He could’ve sworn that someone breathed the word “poser” as he passed by.

Gabriel’s boots squeaked as he made his way downstairs, glancing at the filthy walls and graffiti. One stood out: ‘Burn Corpo Shit!’. Turning to his right at the bottom of the stairs, he passed through a retracting door. And just like that, there it was.

Down several steps had led Gabriel into a short industrial hallway of brick walls plastered with pipes, vending machines, and posters. Other potential patrons of the Afterlife loitered on both sides, chatting amongst themselves. The bright stylized neon sign to the bar was positioned right above what appeared to be a large metal detector flanked by metal bars, in the center of the hall that split it in two halves. ‘Afterlife’, Gabriel read silently, staring up at the word, hands in pockets. On the metal floor before the sign read: ‘Caution: Wear Protective Equipment’. What an odd detail, Gabriel admitted to himself with a raised eyebrow. Then again, it must be some kind of American humor he wasn’t privy to.

As Gabriel passed by the metal detector, he didn’t hear it beep or ring and figured it to be either inactive, or simply part of the décor. Either way, he wasn’t going to complain, especially considering what he had in his satchel. Continuing, he quickly saw a large man with a stern look and cyberware on his nose, jaw, and the sides of his head. As Gabriel neared the man, the latter simply raised a hand to signal Gabriel to stop.

Gabriel inhaled through his nose. “I’m here to meet with Rogue Amendiares,” he said to the larger man. “I’m being expected.”

The bouncer simply raised an eyebrow as he towered over Gabriel. “You? Never seen your gonk-ass before.”

“No, you haven’t,” Gabriel admitted, feeling his heart beat faster. “Please just tell Rogue that Gabriel March is here to see her.”

The man’s stoic expression didn’t change. “And I should do that because…?”

“Because, if I were in your position, I would not want to have to explain to my boss why the person she had explicitly asked for was turned away.” Gabriel immediately felt hot and cold at the sudden burst of pushback he gave. He could've sworn the man was going to pummel him, if not straight up throw him out.

The two men said nothing for a few moments, heavy synth music pounding through the walls and the doors, before the bouncer snorted. His cybernetic eyes flickered blue for a few seconds as he made the call.

“Miss Amendiares? Yeah, got some Kraut-gonk here saying he’s here to see you…as a matter of fact, it is…” The man squinted his eyes at Gabriel as he listened to whoever it was on the other end. “Understood.” The man’s expression made no change as he stepped aside. “Go on through.” He motioned for Gabriel to continue past the doors. “She’ll need a second or two. Go grab a drink or somethin’.”

Gabriel nodded at the man before proceeding. “Danke.”

The moment Gabriel stepped through the doors into Afterlife proper, the senses of sight, sound and smell all came at him at once. The loud electronic dance music beating in his head and bones, the smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and sweat bringing nausea, the flashing colors of yellow, pink, red, blue and so many others nearly blinding him.

He felt his teeth vibrate from the pounding music as he made a few steps further into the bar, eyeing his surroundings. He recalled a single night he spent in a goth club back in Berlin that shared this sort of controlled chaos. Simply put, if it weren't for this ‘job’, such an excursion would've never been repeated.

As he explored the bar, he looked on from a distance at the various mercs who populated this place. Big, small, wide, thin, all heavily armed with both chrome and iron. Compared to them, he knew damned well he wouldn't hold his own in a fight. Between his one Kiroshi, a few biomods, his Tsunami Nue pistol, and a physique required in the Army and Trauma Team, he had nothing.

Gabriel's eyes went wide as he noticed two full vat tanks full of red fluid with people inside each one. They were dancing!

Then other details started to not go unnoticed.

A few more steps to the bar, he saw tables extending out of open holes in the walls, with people sitting at the over hard liquor. ‘No, wait a moment,’ he thought to himself. Those weren't holes, those were ‘shelves’. The ‘tables’...‘Holy shit’, Gabriel realized, those were slabs!

It finally struck him as obvious.

A mortuary, Gabriel realized, the truth now looming over him like a cloud on a crappy day, this place used to be a goddamned, motherfucking, mortuary. Now understanding the context, he couldn’t help but feel sick to his stomach. The idea of corpses on slabs didn’t bother him, Lord only knew he had seen his fair share.

No, it was the fact that people were sitting at them, so casually enjoying themselves in camaraderie, or talking business.

‘Do these people have no fucking respect?!’ Gabriel grumbled to himself as he sat at the bar. ‘Forget it’, he knew he had no business telling others what to do, no matter how much he hated it. And this was Night City, complaining wouldn't help, it'd just get him into the ground that much faster.

“Hey there, choom!” He heard someone say to him.

Turning to look across the bar table, he saw the bartender leaning over. She had long hair, tied into a loose ponytail, a couple of necklaces, a satchel bag over her back, and a waist-apron. She had a warm smile, the kind that clashed with the present environment.

“What can I get ‘cha?”

Gabriel looked at her like a deer in headlights. “I, uh, um…” he wasn't expecting to be approached so casually. “W-what do you have?”

The woman shrugged. “If you can think it, I'm sure I can make it.”

Gabriel pondered for a moment. Looking at the table as he scratched his chin. He then looked up to the woman. “You wouldn't happen to have Bärenjäger, would you?”

The woman squinted and made a smirk. “Now that's a first.”

Gabriel swallowed. “Uh, if that's not doable, I don't mind getting something else.”

The woman chuckled. “Relax, I like making new drinks. Keeps things from going stale. Now…” She bent down and collected a glass for Gabriel, still smirking. “Walk me through this one.”

Gabriel thought for a moment before explaining: “Iced vodka, two squirts of lime juice, three shots of carbonated water, and a small spoon of honey mixed in.”

The woman thought for a moment, before smiling and getting to work. In less than a minute, the woman made the drink. “Have at it,” she said, grinning.

The liquor sparkled in the light from the carbonated water, and was dark yellow from the use of honey. That surprised Gabriel, he didn’t think honey would be available in a place like this. Not that he was going to complain.

Gabriel took a gulp. It tasted different from what he was used to. Good, but different. He said as much to the bartender.

The woman grinned. “Thanks, choom. Wouldn't be working here if I couldn't make something out of nothing.”

“Danke schön,” Gabriel said to her, smiling back before scratching the back of his head. “I'm sorry, I should've said hello.” He extended his hand to her. “I'm Gabriel.”

The woman burst out laughing, with hands on her hips. “Holy shit, that's honestly the most polite thing anyone has done all week.”

Gabriel looked at her funny, eyebrow raised as he slightly lowered his hand.

The woman took a breath from laughing, wiping a tear off her eye. “Yeah, you’re definitely not from around here.”

Gabriel felt his cheeks go red as he sheepishly looked away. “That obvious?”

The woman grinned. “Very.” She finally shook hands with Gabriel. “Name’s Claire.”

Gabriel could feel the tight grip in the woman’s hand just as she let go. “How'd you know I'm new?”

Claire grinned as she cleaned another glass. “Other than the fact I never saw you before?” There was a mischievous but well-intentioned glint in her eyes. “You have that look, the kind that says you never seen a place quite like this. That, and your accent.” She cupped her chin with her hand, thinking. “German, by the sound of it.”

Gabriel was slightly taken aback, suddenly self-conscious of his own voice. “Ja, that's a good guess,” he said, rubbing the front of his neck. “Berlin, specifically.”

Claire wiped down the bar. “Explains the politeness.”

“That won't be a problem, will it?”

Claire laughed again. “Not with me, it won't.” She threw her hand towel over her shoulder. “But don't be surprised if other mercs here are thrown a bit off.” She looked around for a moment. “Everyone's got an ego. And someone being polite might be seen as a sycophant."

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind.” Gabriel said.

Claire nodded just before she looked to her right, seeing a large merc signal her. She turned to Gabriel, still smiling. “Speaking of, looks like Rogue’s ready for ya.”

Gabriel's gaze followed Claire's, seeing, in front of a private booth, a large, muscular, mercenary with a large cybernetic plate over his eyes. Eyes staring at him.

He turned to Claire, who was still smiling. “Moment of truth,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“Break a leg, choom,” Claire said, nodding to him.

Gabriel finished his drink in one gulp, feeling the burning sensation in his throat. Setting down the glass, he stood up and reached into his pocket. He took out a hundred-Eurodollar bill, and slid it across the table. “To cover you humoring me about my drink.”

Claire made a warm smile before sliding the bill back. “First drink’s on me, considering I've never even heard of a Bärenjäger.”

“In that case,” Gabriel replied, leaning forward, pushing the bill once more to the bartender, “I insist.” He backed up from the bar before Claire could react, and walked over to the booth where the merc was beckoning him to.

The merc’s cybernetics consisted of a red-orange square where his left eye should’ve been with the right being a tri-optical sight. The man himself smirked at Gabriel, but there was a sense of mild annoyance, and bemusement, in his tone as he spoke. “You done flirting with the barmaid, mahn?” He had a Jamaican accent.

Gabriel was taken off guard by the question. “W-wh…I, uh, wasn't…”

The merc laughed. “I'm only fucking with you, little ‘Hun’.” He nudged his head to the booth behind him. “Go on, don't keep the woman waiting.”

Gabriel swallowed hard before he felt his heart beat faster, his palms sweating. “Yes, sir.” He slowly stepped past the merc, slightly shuddering.

The merc let out a single laugh. “Never heard anyone call me ‘sir’ before,” he muttered to himself, clearly amused.

Gabriel only ignored him because his attention had been captured elsewhere.

The booth was spacious despite being walled off in three directions. A long burgundy hued synth-leather couch snaked around a piano-black knee-high table. Sitting on the far end of the booth, in Gabriel’s direction, was a much older woman with grey hair swept to the side.

From where Gabriel stood, he saw her wearing a yellow crop-top, the word ‘Survive’ stitched to the front in white against a black rectangular background. Brand or message, Gabriel wasn’t sure. The woman seemed preoccupied, sitting back in her seat with cool authority, with a drink in one hand and a tablet in the other.

Gabriel wasn’t exactly sure if he was supposed to say something, or wait for her. He took a step forward, standing up straight with hands behind his back as if addressing a superior officer from his ‘Heer’ days. He cleared his throat, though the sound was drowned out by the pulsing music.

“Frau Amendiares?” He asked.

“Sit.” The woman didn’t even look up with that tense look on her face.

The command, while not unexpected, was sudden and powerful enough that Gabriel immediately sat adjacent to the woman he identified as Rogue Amendiares.

Gabriel didn't know Rogue, just what he read and what he was told. Even without the reputation or the legends, Gabriel could tell Rogue wasn't some dotting grandmother from a by-gone era. She had two strips of some sort of cybernetics on both of her cheekbones. But that wasn't it: Even with her shirt covering most of it, Gabriel could easily tell she had work done on her chest and stomach, the metallic cyberware telling a story, one that might have involved her torso being torn open at one point, and not surgically.

Gabriel then pondered about the woman’s age. Her file said she was no younger than around 85, but here she didn't look a day over a stressed out 65 year old, with hair dyed white.

Anti-aging meds, he figured. Top shelf, not the kind you'd find in some back alleyway.

“So, you’re the Biotechnica kid.” Rogue’s sudden words ripped Gabriel from his thoughts.

“Ja,” he replied, and felt himself unwittingly bowing his head, “and you’re the Queen of Fixers, I’ve been told.”

Rogue didn't look up from her screen, her eyes showed no subtlety in indifference. “You don’t look the corpo type,” she stated, swiping on her tablet with her thumb. “I was half expecting you to show up dressed for a job interview.”

Gabriel frowned. “I’m not the kind to wear suits and ties, Frau,” he answered. “Last time I did was at my brother’s wedding, and I hated it even then.”

Rogue’s eyebrows briefly shifted without her eyes leaving the tablet. “I see.”

Gabriel shifted in his seat as he took off his jacket, an old Relic from his Trauma Team days much like his satchel.

“So, March,” Rogue began, “what do you know about this job that made Biotechnica drag your sorry ass all the way out here?”

“Actually, I volunteered, insisted, really.”

“Doesn’t answer my question, March,” Rogue replied.

Gabriel sighed. “Not a whole lot,” he answered, a half-truth. “I was told there was someone you wanted tracked down and brought back here,” he continued, “and you want this done with discretion. That’s really it.”

Rogue looked at him funny before her face grew a frown. “So what I'm hearing is that some German moron decided to uproot himself out of Berlin, travel halfway across the world, to do a job he knows virtually nothing about,” Rogue looked over to Gabriel, a clear look of condescension on her face.

“I was part of Trauma Team, Frau Amendiares,” Gabriel replied, “the vast majority of our dispatches were sudden with no information provided. Just a name, face, and location.” He turned away, feeling his body heating and cooling. “Oftentimes we wouldn't know if we'd get shot at the moment we dropped into the field.”

Rogue snorted at this, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, I'm well aware of your stint with TT.”

Gabriel did his best to hide his hard swallow. He expected a woman like this to know a thing or two, yes, but it didn’t dull the sting whatsoever. “I never said I was from Berlin.”

“I’m going to be frank with you, March,” Rogue went on, ignoring him. “I wasn’t exactly expecting Biotechnica to send me some kid who's probably not even old enough to wipe his own ass. Let alone be a good bullshitter.” She then tossed her tablet on to the table, the device sliding across the surface and stopping near Gabriel.

He saw his own face, in all its stoic fashion, staring up into the ceiling from the tablet. His Prospketor dossier, an exact copy from Ashford’s terminal, provided by the woman herself no doubt.

“Yet your boss seems to think otherwise.”

“You know Director Ashford?”

“Not until recently, no.”

Gabriel grunted. “Frau Amend–”

“Stop with the ‘Frau’ bullshit, March,” Rogue interrupted, briefly raising her hand at him. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “I get it, you’re polite. But maybe show some spine, too?”

Gabriel sighed, hanging his head. He felt his own skin double in weight as he felt himself as if under a microscope.

“If you're thinking of backing out, don't,” Rogue stated, very pointedly. “Choose now to either leave or stay. Do not waste my time pussy-footing around this job.”

Gabriel, shaking his head to get himself out of it, took a breath. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he stated. He looked out into the bar, watching the patrons enjoy themselves. “As someone who had dealt with death, watched families identify their loved ones, and prepare for proper burials, I find this establishment of yours to be rather,” he turned back to the Queen of Fixers, his eyes squinting at her, “tasteless.”

Rouge’s expression did not change. Instead she adjusted herself before leaning over the table to pick up her drink. “You know the concept of a word being used over and over again to the point it becomes meaningless?” She asked, taking a sip.

Gabriel didn’t answer.

Rogue snorted to herself. “Death has a funny way of doing the same thing in this town.”

“That would explain the dancing over where corpses once lay.”

“You really do take death seriously, don’t you, March?”

“The Spanish Army has a hymn that pays tribute to its fallen soldiers: ‘La Muerte No Es El Final’, ‘Death Is Not The End’.” Gabriel shivered ever so slightly. “I tend to disagree: death truly is the end. Which is why I try to heal the sick, dying and wounded, to keep them here just a little while longer.” He sniffed while he kept a stern face. “Yet, when it mattered the most, I failed, miserably.”

“And what if I told you, that under the right conditions, you had one more chance to make things right.”

Gabriel looked at her funny. “You mean like resurrection? Reanimation?”

Rogue simply gestured with her hand, as if saying ‘yeah, sure’.

“Because the Arasaka Corporation had already tried that, what with their ‘Secure Your Soul’ program,” Gabriel continued. “The ‘Relic’, if I recall. A fitting name, considering what happened to them after the ‘Night of the Reaper’ two years ago.”

“So, you know your history.”

“As the saying goes, we were all living in interesting times back then.”

“And we still might be.”

Gabriel looked at her with suspicion. “What are you implying?”

Rogue cocked her head at him, her expression faintly showed annoyance. “You know damned well what I’m getting at.”

Gabriel felt his jaw tightened. She knows, he realized, about David. She has to, right?

“So, March,” Rogue continued, “I’ll ask you again: why did you –?”

“Revenge.”

Rogue cocked her head with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m not doing this Biotechnica, I’m not doing this out of pride either. I’m not doing this for power, not money, not for some bullshit future they want to sell us on. I’m not even doing this out of justice, love, or even peace.” His fists tightened on his jacket, the faux leather creaking in his hands. “Revenge, Fraulein Amendiares, that is all I’m after.”

Rogue said nothing for a moment. The music kept on blaring outside the booth, lights kept flashing, people kept dancing and chatting. She then rested her hand on her fist against her cushion. Her eyes flickered a spark of red inside her retinas.

“Revenge against who, exactly?”

Gabriel’s expression didn’t loosen at this question. He simply looked away, watching the movements and colors in the background. The woman had a point, he conceded to himself.

“You still want my honesty? I’m not entirely sure myself.” He turned back to Rogue. “Revenge on Arasaka, on Trauma Team, fate, God? Everything, if that means I can get my brother out of Hell’s clutches.”

Rogue’s eyes squinted, but she said nothing. She made a sigh before shaking her head. She leaned over to the table, grabbing her drink. Sitting back in her seat, she took a large gulp, emptying more than half of whatever it was inside that glass.

Gabriel breathed heavily through his nostrils, closing his eyes tight, figuring he just blew his only chance to prove himself. Again. His thoughts were disrupted when Rogue spoke.

“See, I probably tuned out about halfway through whatever spiel you were just spewing,” she stated, looking back out into the club. “Quite frankly, March, I really don’t give a shit.”

Gabriel looked at her with apprehensive curiosity. He chose to say nothing, wanting to hear her out.

“But then, all of a sudden, you say your brother is dead.” Rogue turns her head back to Gabriel, casting a condescending look his way. “And you want him back. Bad.”

Gabriel said nothing yet felt a moment of latent rage.

“Could’ve saved yourself several minutes by just cutting the shit and saying that from the start. Your brother? That alone said everything.”

Gabriel wanted to speak, but his instincts told him to keep quiet.

Rogue took another sip from her glass. “So, like me, you experienced loss.” She then let out scoff. “Figures a kid like you thinks replacing that pain with hatred to fuel whatever revenge plot you have, will maybe, just maybe, bring some peace of mind.” It was clear that there was mockery in this statement.

Gabriel tightened his jaw.

“Sorry kid, ain’t gonna happen. Not in this life, or the next.”

Gabriel dropped his head in defeat. No, he knew, there was no chance after all.

“Still though.”

Gabriel looked back up, seeing Rogue staring down into her half-empty glass.

“Despite your sheer stupidity, lack of any real-world tact, thinking with your heart and not your head, you weren’t the only one.” She raised her head to the German medtech, that ever eternal look of disappointment and annoyance.

Before Gabriel could ask what she meant, Rogue turned her head to the side, as if eyeing someone nearby, and then gave the faintest nod.

Gabriel followed Rogue’s gaze, tracing it to a man leaning against the wall nearby. A man with round sunglasses and blonde buzz-cut, wearing an orange Netrunner suit under a puffy vest and camo cargo pants.

This man nodded back before heading behind the door behind him. He reemerged a moment later, carrying a small metal case the size of his palm. He walked over to Rogue, handing her the case before stepping away.

“I heard you Euros don’t exactly like chrome of the ‘mechanical’ kind, too grotesque for your kind of sensibilities,” Rogue said, examining the case in her hands. She looked at Gabriel, as if studying him. “Tell me, do you people use neural ports over there?”

“Same as anywhere else.”

“Good.” Rogue extended her hand to Gabriel, the one holding the case. “Slot this in, then we’ll talk.”

Gabriel hesitated. He then took out the shard and slotted it inside his head.

The effects were instantaneous. From the outside, Gabriel's right eye lit up with flickers of blue as the Datashard poured its information into the Kiroshi's HUD.

Names, places, dates rolled down like credits to a movie.

V, Jackie Welles, Dexter DeShawn, T-Bug, Evelyn Parker, Judy Álvarez, Yorinobu Arasaka, Saburo Arasaka, Johnny Silverhand, Altiera Cunningham, Samurai, Konpeki Plaza, Arasaka Tower, Mikoshi, and the Day of The Reaper where a sole female mercenary stormed the heart of Arasaka Night City.

Then, in the center of this data dump, a single text file popped open. It was written in plain text and formatted to resemble what seemed to be a transcript. Each line in the document was numbered, each speaker clearly labeled by first and last name. Only three names kept repeating: V, Johnny Silverhand, and Alt Cunningham.

The only name Gabriel knew, other than Saburo Arasaka, was Silverhand, a famous rockerboy turned terrorist back in the 2010s and early 20s. From what Gabriel remembered, Silverhand disappeared in the wake of the Night City Holocaust, assumed dead among the millions of others when the half-kiloton warhead went off inside Arasaka Tower, on August 20th, 2023.

Some of the words in the transcript stood out, however:

‘DNA reconfiguration’, ‘Construct’, ‘Blackwall’, ‘Six Months’…‘A Happy Ending? For folks like us? Wrong city, wrong people’.

Gabriel winced the further he read. With his eyes shut hard, he firmly yet gently pulled the Datashard out of his neck, and took a deep breath. He saw that Rogue had been studying him the entire time.

“You got all that, Prospektor?”

Gabriel barely managed to make a nod. “More or less,” he answered, placing the shard back in its case. “I will need to actually sit down and read everything in there,” he pointed to the container. He pressed his hand over his neural ports, trying to dull an ache that wasn’t quite there. “So, the Relic worked.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

Gabriel nodded. “Okay, this is good,” he said, standing up, a bit too enthuastic even for his own liking. “I’ll be heading to the Biotechnica hotel right away to give this a proper study.” He leaned over to take the case.

Rogue grabbed his wrist and the two exchanged long looks. “The fuck you are,” she hissed at him.

Gabriel looked at her, his eye widened with anxiety. “B-b…” he tried to speak. “Why bring me here if you’re not going to –”

“That shard does not leave the Afterlife, March, ever,” Rogue growled. “Too fucking valuable to just let some kid hold onto it.”

Gabriel then flopped back onto his couch, slumping into cushion against his back. “So, what am I supposed to do?”

Rogue said nothing at first. “Can’t take it with you, that’s non-negotiable,” she said, mostly to herself.

“Well, I suppose I could commute back and for–”

“Out of the question,” Rogue immediately countered. “First day in Night City, and if people see you, a fucking suit, coming and going from here, of all places? Yeah, no, they will absolutely see that something is up.”

“So,” Gabriel asked, “what then?”

Rogue smirked at him. “You stay and live here,” she stated, almost as if rehearsed, “in the Afterlife. Already set up your own private little ‘corpo paradise’ in the backrooms of this place.” The way she said it was as if a sack of acidic venom just burst in her mouth.

Gabriel cocked his head, eyebrow raised and jaw slightly ajar. “What are you talking about?”

“Like I said, March,” Rogue continued. “These deets?” She tapped on the case. “Worth more than all of the fucking CHOOH2 the world could ever make.” She smirked at him. “Problem is, you still need to read all of it.”

Gabriel understood the implication, grunting out a breath. “Director Ashford isn’t going to like this, not at all.”

“That’s her problem.”

“Okay, fine, you want me to stay and study this information here. I should at least tell Director Ashford that I’ll not be using the hotel. But something tells me that even if Ashford herself said yes, Biotechnica would not.”

“You let me worry about BT, March. I’ll keep them on a tight leash. As of right now, you work for me.”

Gabriel simply stared at the Queen of Fixers, perplexed at her last words. Only his blinking eyes gave any sign of life. Sighing, he nodded his head. “Alright, where will I be staying then?”

“A couple halls down in the backrooms. You’ll have everything you need.” Rogue looked over to the bar. “Claire will get you settled.” She then looked back to Gabriel. “Don’t disappoint me, March.”

Gabriel nodded again before slowly reaching for the shard case. When Rogue made no movement, he gently pocketed the case in his cargo pants. The case probably weighed less than half a kilogram, it may as well had been sixteen tons. Unsure of what else to do or say, Gabriel cleared his throat and headed back to the bar, feeling as if Rogue’s gaze was shooting him in the back.

Claire grinned when she saw Gabriel return to the bar. “So, Rogue told you about room-and-board?”

Gabriel was caught off guard, nearly slipping off his seat as he tried to sit. “You knew?”

Claire shrugged, a casual smile now on her lips. “Among other things.”

Gabriel sighed. “Yeah, she told me everything.”

Claire crossed her arms, still smiling. “Follow me then.” She knelt behind the counter to grab something before ducking under the counter’s flap door. That something was a keycard.

Gabriel walked with Claire into the backrooms of the Afterlife, the pulsing sound of music muffled behind the walls.

“So,” Claire began as the two turned a corner, “thoughts on the Queen?”

Gabriel grunted, adjusting his satchel. “I hate to say it,” he replied, “but she does remind me of my boss in some ways.”

Claire chuckled. “Well, don’t let her hear that.” She led Gabriel down the hall, an upbeat motion in her step.

“I just hope she treats her employees nicer.” Gabriel glanced at his escort.

“Ehh,” Claire replied, waving her hand, dismissive, “I wouldn’t take it too personally, choom.” She saw Gabriel looking away, seemingly ashamed of himself, and gently slapped him on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “Almost every megacorp took a turn screwing her, so she’s got a reason to have her guard up. Especially with this gig she set you up with.”

Gabriel nodded as they kept walking.

To the medtech, it was obvious that this area of the bar was never meant to be seen by the regulars outside. It was far more utilitarian: virtually no decorations except for the odd graffiti or poster of some band. Then there was a couple of ventilation fans lazily spinning in one corner. Even a couple of vending machines dispensing soda or junk food.

“May I ask something, Frau?” Gabriel asked.

“Please, Gabe,” his guide replied, “it’s just ‘Claire’.” She looked over her shoulder, smiling. “No need to be so formal. Ya gotta relax sometimes, ya know.”

Gabriel sighed as he hunched over as they walked. “I’ll try.”

“You wanted to ask something?”

“Ja.” Gabriel cleared his throat. “If you knew about my…sudden arrangements, then you must have known who I work for, before I even walked in.”

“You work for Rogue now, right?”

“I was referring to the fact I work for a major corporation.”

Claire glanced at him, still smiling. “Yeah, I know, Gabe, you’re BT, no need to beat around the bush on that.”

“Right,” Gabriel grumbled, feeling his shoulders tighten. “But from what I gathered from the few minutes here, is that people who work for whichever company aren’t exactly the welcomed sort of lot.”

Claire shook her head. “That they aren’t. Even when this place is like Switzerland, company mercs still get the stink eye.”

Gabriel turned to her, confused and worried as they walked. “So why–”

“Aren’t I treating you like shit?” Claire didn’t even look over her shoulder.

Gabriel adjusted the strap to his satchel. “Not the wording I’d use, but yes, let’s go with that.”

“You seem like a nice enough guy, especially for a suit.”

Gabriel adjusted the strap to his satchel before cocking his head to the side. He squinted his eyes at the bartender. “Isn’t ‘niceness’ just basic common decency?”

Claire chuckled harder than before, though Gabriel could tell it wasn’t the mocking kind. She looked over her shoulder, a twinkle in her eye. “Choom, what planet are you from?”

Gabriel got the message, and simply said nothing.

Claire looked back forward as they continued. “Another reason is that I empathize with you.” This time her face softened.

Gabriel rasied an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Used to be Militech,” Claire answered, almost too casually.

Gabriel shot a look at her, wide-eyed. “You, in Militech?” He shook his head, trying to reconcile that image, picturing her in combat fatigues and an Ajax assault rifle.

“Worked as a mechanic,” Claire explained, “fixing up their tanks, APCs, IFVs, trucks, you name it.”

“I see.” Gabriel felt discomfort, feeling as if he was intruding, despite that it was Claire who offered those details. “Did you like it?”

“Actually, yeah,” Claire replied, not looking back at him. “Well, not the ‘working for Mili’ bit, but I liked the actual job of fixing things.”

“Obviously you left.”

“Yup. Opened up a shop down in Arroyo, Santo Domingo district.” She turned around, walking backwards, smiling at Gabriel. “Stop by sometime, if you’re ever interested in getting bored to death when I talk your ear off about car engines. Or you need someone to fix up your ride for a few eddies.”

Gabriel couldn’t help but smile as he looked away. “If Rogue lets me leave.”

Claire still kept her smile as she spun again and walked normally as they turned the corner one more time.

To the left, Gabriel saw a sealed door that Claire approached. Taking out the keycard she placed it over a reader next to the door. With a simple beep, the door unlocked and slid open.

Claire looked at Gabriel, stepping aside at the door. “Come on in.”

Gabriel didn’t say anything as he took a reluctant step forward, into this room, his boots walking against the metallic texture of the flooring.

It was rather spacious, Gabriel admited to himself, though pretty ugly all things considered. The piss-yellow wallpaper had been peeling away for what seemed like a couple of years, metal cables that were part of the eletrical system snaked their way across the walls. Several posters from the Bushidōfilms were plastered where the paper hadn’t crumbled yet.

He saw what would be his bed against the wall right across him from the doorway. A cheap pillow only matched by an even cheaper green synthetic wool blanket. A small night stand, made of flimsy wood, stood at the head of the bed.

To his right, Gabriel saw a single server tower was against the wall, lights flickering across the machinery. It was all locked up, of course. He then noticed a sturdy metal desk with a desktop terminal, the monitors attatched to arms coming out of the walls. To Gabriel’s surprise, he saw just how organized and pristine the desk was, blank sheets of paper neatly stacked, a vast array of pencils and pens. Even the desk lamp looked brand new.

It almost felt like basic training back during his Heer days. Almost. Though, Gabriel admitted to himself, he could do without the sidewall, to his left, being stocked up with barrels of alcohol, which made up the Afterlife's stock. Next to the shelves of booze, was a fully stocked vending machine of synthetic foods and soft drinks.

Gabriel unstrapped his satchel as he walked over to the desk. Setting down his bag, he sat on the chair, the seat’s cushion hard against his rear as he adjusted himself.

“Yeah, sorry about the mess,” Claire stated, gesturing to the wall of booze. “Only so many spare rooms we got around here.”

Gabriel sighed, closing his eyes as he let out a deep breath. “It’s alright,” he said, using his feet to spin himself back and forth in his seat, “I’m used to accommodations like these, the Heer wasn’t so different.”

Claire had her arms crossed, and eyebrow rasied. “Heer?”

“German Army,” Gabriel clairfied, still kept his chair spinning. Stopping the chair, Gabriel dug into his satchel, and pulled out a few items.

The first was his Tsunami Nue, recently serviced and blued to perfection. Non-standard issue, however, for Trauma Team Europe; used as a backup when Smart-Gun technology failed.

“Nice iron,” Claire remarked, smirking.

Gabriel briefly looked at her, confused. “Oh, thank you?” He continued unpacking. "It's nothing special, but this one was issued to me in the Hee...er, Army. It got me my marksmanship awards and..." He trailed off, stopping himself from talking, before clearing his throat.

The next item was a plastic/ceramic hybrid figurine of a familiar duck-like creature that fit snugly in his palms, its wide-eyed, hands-clenching-its-forhead pose brought a smile to Gabriel’s face.

“Wait,” Claire said, excitement brewing. She looked over his shoulder, a grin forming. “Holy shit! Is that what I think it is?”

Gabriel made a sheepish smile, his cheeks blushing as he looked away. “Y-yeah, it’s Psyduck.”

Claire grinned. “Mind if I take a look?” She offered her hand.

Gabriel was taken aback, his fingers on the figurine slightly tightening. He then loosened his grip and smiled at Claire. “Sure.” He gently handed the figurine to the bartender.

Claire carefully examined the toy in her hands. “Holy crap, I haven’t seen anything Pokémon related in ages.” Claire brought the toy closer to her eyes. “Aww, he’s so fucking cute.” She turned to Gabriel, still smiling as she returned the figure. “Where’d you find this little guy?”

Gabriel’s smile died a bit. “A friend of mine, from the Biotechnica Flats, got it for me for my birthday last year. Loves old movies and television. He kept telling me that I reminded him of a certain duck.” A part of Gabriel’s smile returned. “Of course he meant one with a constant headache.” He sat back in his seat, rolling his eyes with his smile now back.

Claire was still grinning when she returned the figurine to Gabriel, and then placed her hands on her hips. “Your choom definitely has good taste, Gabe.”

Gabriel kept his smile as it started to decay. His only reply was a nod as he kept looking at the Psyduck.

Claire kept her grin as she took a deep breath and made a nod of her own. “I’ll leave you to it to get settled, alright?”

Gabriel looked up to her, his smile returning. “Yes, thank you, Claire.”

Claire clicked her tongue as she gave a thumbs up and a wink before heading back to the door. At the doorway, she looked over her shoulder. “Welcome home, Gabe,” she said to him. With that, Claire stepped out, the door closing behind her.

Gabriel slumped into his seat, the smile faded completely as he cradled the figurine in his hands.

Home, Gabriel echoed Claire’s word in his head as he looked into the Psyduck’s eyes. Didn’t seem real, not at all. With a deep breath, he spun the chair to face the back of the room, seeing everything sorted, just for him. Less than a day in Night City, he realized, and already he was starting to regret all of his life choices. Again. 

...

People Are Strange - The Doors; Strange Days (1967)

Chapter Text

Jeez Louise, Gabe. I know there’s ‘sleeping with the enemy’, but this? A corporate guy ‘living’ in The Afterlife, THE legendary watering hole? Not on my 2079 bingo card. Which means I need to buy a new one, maybe two. Seriously, man, most legend wannabes often spend their whole ‘careers’ trying to even start a tab in that place, and The Boss just gave you an immediate thumbs up. But I wouldn’t get too cozy in that ‘Dead House’. Remember, she might’ve let you in, but those mercs who hang out there busted their asses getting through the front door. Which means you got no clout down there, so your word means shit unless you provide results. So be careful choom, just because some gonk spray-painted ‘burn corpo shit’ on the wall doesn’t mean they won’t burn you. Oh, and give that gal-pal of yours, Renate, a call, will ya? I may be an ex-husband to some gonk-headed choombata, but I know a girl who loves you when I see one.
…

Gabriel’s last snore woke him up with a grunt and a cough. Opening his eyes only to be blinded by the overhead lights, didn’t help.

"Gott steh mir bei,” he muttered, dropping his left arm over his face.

Suddenly, he felt it.

On his chest.

Crawling upwards.

Gabriel lifted his head up, only to be met with the face of a white furless cat with a black face and large orange feline eyes staring right at his. He merely blinked a few times, seeing this cat resting on his chest.

The cat simply cocked its head with a curious expression, tail slowly waggling.

“Uh,” Gabriel tried to speak, slowly raising his left hand. “Hi?”

“Meow…”

The cat then simply turned and gently hopped off Gabriel’s chest and onto the metal floor, walking away as if nothing happened.

Gabriel watched, utterly confused, as the cat exited through the doorway, turning the corner and disappearing. With the cat gone, he simply sat up and placed his feet onto the floor, the boots gently brushing against the metal. Even groggy, Gabriel was quick to realize he was still in his clothes from yesterday, and not erven remembering going to bed.

Yawning, Gabriel reached for his phone on the nightstand next to his cot and unlocked it.

06:21.

The time on the screen had reflected off his cybernetic eye and he felt his organic one twitch. Gabriel then glanced at the upper right corner of the screen: no signal.

Gabriel grumbled as he lowered the phone onto his lap before standing up and stretching.

He immediately felt pain spike through his back as he hunched over to compensate. Great, he thought to himself, a fucking backache, an expected result from a cheap bed.

Once the pain had subsided, Gabriel walked over back to the desk and took a closer look at the terminal provided to him. Standard model, he noted, while not top of the line, it was more than enough for research purposes. Even the Datashard had its own docking port, the cable snaking into the terminal’s tower under the desk.

As Gabriel’s eyes followed the wires, he couldn’t help but notice a rusty grey filing cabinet next to the desk. The place was looking more and more like a private office, Gabriel decided, as well as a dorm. A gentle smile crept onto his lips as he placed his hands on his hips. That smile died the second he turned around, only to find the alcohol barrels still there on the opposite wall. A wave of blue, Gabriel silently remarked, his lips now pursed in disappointment, how quaint.

It didn't take a genius to know that Claire would need to stop by to get a barrel every once in a while, disrupting his research on the Datashard, wittingly or otherwise.

This was all either planned this way by Rogue, as an excuse to have a body in the room to watch him, or this new dorm was so 'impromptu', that ‘planning’ wasn’t a factor. After a moment, he dropped his hands off his hips and began walking towards the doorway, hoping to get a cell signal and report to Ashford, and maybe call his parents. As he walked, he then noticed a written note on the table. He gently picked it up and read the contents:

'Give my regards to the Queen Bitch, my good chap, and call me as soon as able. ~ G.A'.

G.A, Gabriel saw. Director Gori Ashford. Was she here?

Setting the note back down, Gabriel looked back to the table wanting to see if his boss left anything else.

A quick onceover proved fruitless. However, it did produce one good result, albeit unintentional.

The Psyduck was still standing on the top of the monitor, in all of its grabbing-its-head glory, right where the now smiling Gabriel left him.

"Good morning, Herr Doktor 'Bones' McCoy,” he said, his voice both soft and jolly, gently taking the figurine in his hands, “slept better than me, I hope."

As he turned the duck in his hands, Gabriel felt a subtle gulp go through his throat.

Streaking down his left forearm, Gabriel traced saw that old, deep scar all the way just shy of his wrist. Closing his eyes, Gabriel took a deep breath with closed eyes before looking back at the Psyduck.

"I estimated exsanguination to be about, what, five, six minutes, Herr Doktor?” Gabriel spoke out loud. “EMTs got to me within half that time." He scoffed to himself. "All that planning, all that heartache and drama, over failing the Fachsprachenprüfung the third and final time.” Gabriel sighed, eyes closed, feeling his fists lightly tap his forehead. “You selfish, brain-dead, bastard, you."

Reopening his eyes, he saw his scarred hands gripping the poor Psyduck even harder. The scaring over his fingers and knuckles and the rest of his hands had created a pattern not too dissimilar from a broken mirror. Much like the one he spent two minutes destroying with his fists before the left forearm followed.

'You never could take failure with grace, could ya, Gabi,' was David's opening line when he finally got to see Gabriel in the hospital after the attempt in 2075.

Gabriel remembered the gentle smile of a brother who almost lost his inferior half. It should not have been 'almost', Gabriel noted. God, he thought, he couldn't even do that properly. Funny how fate instead decided to do that 'good-ole switcheroo', on that fateful night in Frankfurt: November 1^st 2076.

Clearing his throat, Gabriel gently set back down the Psyduck and patted the Pokémon on the head.

These ‘inconvenient blemishes’ would look so faux pas if you just left them for the world to see, Gabriel didn’t say out loud, especially for those here at The Afterlife. With a cough, he walked over to his backpack and pulled out a flannel shirt, pulling it over his t-shirt, making sure the sleeves were all the way down. He then grabbed his brother's Trauma Team gloves off the table and put them on as well before heading out.

The backrooms were quiet. Only the sounds of ventilations and Gabriel’s boots gave the place any form of life.

Out in the main bar area, Gabriel was taken aback at just how eerily silent the place was without patrons or music. Looking around the room, Gabriel spotted Claire. She was behind the bar, going over inventory on a checklist for the upcoming night.

She looked up and grinned the moment her eyes met Gabriel’s. "Morning, sleeping beauty!"

Gabriel yawned as he approached the bar. "Guten Morgen, Claire." He sat on the seat closest to the bartender, ready to drop his head on the table to take yet another nap.

Claire made a warm smile. "Sleep well?" She asked as she set down the list.

Gabriel could tell from the light sarcasm in her voice that she wasn't trying to be hostile, unlike a certain ‘Queen’.

"Yes and no,” Gabriel replied, rubbing his organic eye. “The bed's…‘fine’, and I can sleep through muffled music, but I think I have sleep apnea or something."

Claire laughed. "Yeah, you were snoring like a truck when we checked up on you an hour ago."

Gabriel blinked. "‘We’?"

Claire hummed in the affirmative as she picked up the list again. "Me, Rogue, and your boss, amazingly."

Gabriel blinked again, now his lips slightly split. "Wait, Director Ashford stopped by?"

"Amazingly," Claire repeated, briefly widening her eyes for emphasis as she kept reading her list.

Gabriel looked down at the bar, scratching the side of his head. "I thought corporate people weren't welcomed here."

Claire shrugged. "Well, it helped that we aren't open yet. No one to get an aneurysm at the sight of a suit." She then glanced at him with a playful smirk. “Present company excluded, of course.”

"Right..."

"Rogue offered to stomp you in the back while you slept to get you up and about. The suit didn’t seem to take kindly to that suggestion."

Gabriel felt his head tilt, his expression blank. "Oh, that's good. I think?"

"Your boss was none too happy about you cooped up in here, nearly got into a shouting match with Rogue over it."

Gabriel sheepishly turned away. "I'm sorry you guys had to put up with that."

"Nah, ain't your fault, choom. Your boss lady was calling you like crazy, apparently, and cell signal is utter shit down here if your chrome isn’t up to snuff."

Gabriel, adjusting his gloves, couldn’t help but smile in embarrassment. “Yeah, I never got the cellular repeaters installed in my neural CWs.” He then went wide-eyed for a brief second before looking at Claire. “Oh, speaking of, I was actually going to ask about that, the lack of signal, I mean,” Gabriel quickly said. He raised his phone to view. “I have no reception."

"You and me both." Claire nudged to the exit. "We got an elevator right outside the front and to the left that'll take you to the roof if you need to make any calls."

Gabriel nodded. "I'll need to do that, thank you."

"Any time," Claire replied before going back to work.

As Gabriel stood up from his stool, he quickly turned back to Claire. "Oh, um, there's a cat walking around here," he said. "Is it yours?"

Claire giggled. "Ah, you met Nibbles, I take it."

Gabriel simply blinked at her. "Uh, y-yeah." He then heard a meowing coming from below him. Looking down, he saw the cat, Nibbles, staring up at him, as if the cat wanted Gabriel to give it a proper introduction.

Claire was grinning, stifling a laugh. "She was V's cat, before she disappeared. Rogue took the little rascal in, along with V's pet iguana."

Gabriel shot Claire a look at this. "Iguana?" For a brief moment, he found himself back at the Biotechnica Flats, with the iguana tail in his hand, and how it reminded him of David.

"Yup. He's crawling around somewhere. I'm sure you'll bump into him later. If you do, say hi for me, will ya?"

"R-right, sure."

Claire nudged her head towards the entrance up front. "Go on, you probably need to make a few calls."

"That I do." Gabriel continued on, only realizing too late, after the elevator doors closed, that the cat, Nibbles, had followed him.

The ride up the elevator was uneventful, but once he stepped out, his nostrils were reminded of the city. The smell of rotten trash and piss reached all the way up here, as if no matter how high Gabriel went, that stench would follow.

As he approached the edge of the roof, Gabriel felt his phone blow up with vibrations from queued messages and missed calls.

Eleven missed calls from Gori Ashford.

Thirteen missed calls from his parents.

Twenty-three unread text messages from Renate Lischka, his former assistant EMT from his Trauma Team days. And the closest thing to a lover he could ever have.

After collapsing on the nearest plastic chair, he skimmed through Renate's texts, each one more desperate for an answer than the last.

The final message: 'Please text me when you get this! I miss you.'

He immediately called her. The phone only rang once before an answer and the voice a younger German woman.

"Gabi?! Gabi! My God, you answered!" Renate's normally soft voice was overridden with exclamation and relief.

Gabriel could see the relief on her face through his right Kiroshi's HUD as Renate covered her mouth with her trying to hold back tears.

"Holy shit, you have no idea how scared I was when your parents told me you were in Night City, and you stopped answering ."

"Oh God," Gabriel answered, burying his face in his arms as he hunched over the chair. He felt Nibbles curl up against his leg while he sat on the plastic chair. "I'm really sorry. I just woke up, and I didn't have signal and I –"

"It's okay, Gabi, it’s really okay,” Renate quickly spoke up, “I'm just glad you're okay."

Neither of the two said anything for a moment.

"What’s it like, Gabe?" Renate finally spoke up. "Night City, I mean."

Gabriel looked out into the neon and gunmetal skyline that surrounded him, watching advertisements echo through the city and hearing sounds of cars and shouting and the occasional gunshot aggressively play around him. "It hasn't been 24 hours since I landed, and I hate it already."

"I can imagine," Renate replied. "I was surprised when your parents told me where you went yesterday."

"It's for work." A lie, Gabriel knew. Okay, maybe not a complete lie, but a lie nonetheless, and he was sure Renate knew as well.

"Well, sure," Renate replied, oblivious, "but I can't believe your boss just threw you into that place without letting you so much as pack a few things."

"You're Trauma Team, still, Renate," Gabriel reminded her. "They sent us everywhere, no matter how dangerous."

"Well, yeah." Renate pursed her lips, her expression now sheepish. "But Biotechnica isn’t Trauma Team." She sighed on the other end. "Speaking of which,” a small smile crept on her lips, “everyone back here are still asking about you, wanting to make sure that the 'Goliath', of the 'David and Goliath' duo hasn't been brought down by the 'office' people."

Gabriel couldn’t help but smile in embarrassment, feeling his cheeks heat up. He only tolerated the nickname because it was used endearingly by his teammates, in reference to both him and his brother. "Thanks, it means a lot." Gabriel then sighed.

Nibbles then purred, loudly.

Gabriel saw Renate perk up and her eyes briefly wide.

"Did I hear a cat just now?" Renate asked.

Gabriel looked down to see the Sphynx cat purring as it rubbed its head against Gabriel's sneaker. "Yeah," he replied, not realizing that there was now a gentle smile on his lips. "One of those naked ones, you know, that look like aliens."

Renate giggled. "Still the same Gabriel," she mused, "making all sorts of friends no matter where you go."

"Yeah..."

Renate sighed. "I just wish I can kiss your cheek," she said, looking away from the camera. "Remind you that people still really care about you back here."

Gabriel kept his smile as he petted the cat. "Tell you what," he replied. "When I get back, we'll marathon all of the Bushidō movies again."

He saw a part of Renate's smile through her hair as it obstructed most of her face while she placed her hand over her other shoulder.

"As long as we still cuddle like last time," she added.

Gabriel knew it was a simple platonic gesture: two lonely people who just wanted to be held. Nothing more, even if one of them wanted something beyond that.

Gabriel smiled regardless. "It wouldn't be the same if we wouldn’t."

Renate looked back at the camera with a smile of her own.

"Listen, I need to call my boss," Gabriel added, "fill her in on my current situation."

Renate's smile changed to that of a concerned look. "Everything okay?"

"It's Night City, Reni, I don't think anything in this fucking place is supposed to be 'okay'."

"I suppose that's fair. Just promise me you'll take care of yourself, okay?"

Gabriel hesitated to speak for a moment, before forcing a warm smile for Renate. "I promise."

He then hung up before Renate could say anything else.

Right then and there, he wished he could shove his own head into a wall for lying through his teeth to the few people that still cared about him, and he them. Renate didn't deserve it, his parents didn't deserve it. No one did. He clenched his fist, wanting to drive it right through his skull. A far too kind of a punishment for lying to one of the last people who gave a damn.

"You stupid, fucking liar," Gabriel muttered to himself. Just as his fist began trembling from the pressure, he stops himself. "Focus...help the others first, then you can break, you bloody weichei."

Catching his breath, Gabriel went into his phone's contact list, and selected Ashford’s number. The call placed through his Kiroshi's eye's holo-call, allowing him to see Director Ashford through his right eye. To his surprise, she answered quickly.

Ashford, ever the busy woman, was typing away at her terminal in her office over in City Center. The daylight from the rising sun was slowly beginning to bring her office to light, just enough for Gabriel to see that Ashford's normally tidy hair has some strands loose and a pencil between her lips.

"Good morning, Director Ashford," Gabriel spoke. "I, um, I didn't realize you were up this early."

Ashford didn't look away from her terminal as she kept typing, taking the pencil out of her teeth. "No thanks to you," she said, her voice flat, though not angry.

"I apologize for not telling you of this sudden change in...housing, I suppose is the word."

Ashford grumbled to herself. "No, it's my fault for not following up with you after the Delamain cab dropped you off." She stopped typing to take a sip of her synthetic tea. "And I should've known that anti-corporate reprobate was going to pull something like this."

Gabriel still felt guilty. "Even so, I should've reported it."

"Indeed," Ashford replied. She stopped typing and turned to the camera, leaning over her desk. "No matter, you're alive and not held hostage. That's all that concerns me right now."

"Claire – the uh, bartender – here at The Afterlife, said you stopped by."

"Ah, Miss Russell, a lovely woman , that one. She told you, I take it ?"

"Apparently you almost got into a screaming match with Frau Amendiares about me being here."

Ashford rolled her eyes. "I wouldn’t use such 'kind' words, but that is the essence of it, yes."

"I'm surprised no one woke me up."

"You hadn't slept in more than a day," Ashford reminded him. "And I'd rather you take some time to recuperate rather than drop your head on your work and muck everything up. Rogue seemed to agree, even if she'd sooner blow her own brains out than openly admit to such a 'ghastly' sentiment."

"I see."

"ARE you alright, Gabriel?" Ashford's head slowly turned to the camera's direction.

"I feel like I'm out of place, in this city."

"Good," Ashford replied, "see to it that it doesn't change. At least one person in this trade ought to keep their soul."

"Speaking of," Gabriel continued. "I would be right to assume that the Board of Directors aren't happy with me in the Afterlife, correct?"

Ashford continued typing. "Very," she concurred. "A corporate employee kept on a tight leash by Rouge Amendiares, THE anti-corporate authority in Night City? And said employee's loyalty having been in question from the very start of his employment? Yes, Gabriel, they're right to worry that you might become a turncoat."

"I'm not going to betray the company, Director Ashford," Gabriel shot back, his voice filled with pleading and desperation, "I swear to it –"

"Swear to ME, Gabriel," Ashford countered, her words cutting right into him.

After a deep breath, she shook her head.

"We both know you are loyal to the mission, your ultimate goal, not Biotechnica nor Rogue Amendiares."

"What about you? Where do you stand in all this?"

For a split second, Ashford’s expression softened before hardening.

"My intention with all of my subordinates is to instill absolute, unquestionable, loyalty to me. But I'm not going to demand it, not least of which from you. Like you, I try to earn my keep."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll keep Biotechnica from interfering with your work. Won't be too much of a challenge. After all, your success is their success. Good luck, Gabriel. We...will be watching."

The call then ended, leaving Gabriel alone on the roof with a gentle foul breeze flowing through his hair. Tightening his jaw as he dropped his head, Gabriel took a moment to pet Nibbles before getting back up and returning to the elevator. As the elevator descended back to the Afterlife, Gabriel felt his body fully waking up. Knowing he won't be able to sleep, he decided to get to work.
…

Jet Lag (feat. Natasha Bedingfield) – Simple Plan; Get Your Heart On! (2011)

Chapter Text

I still got some reservations about you working with the likes of Miss Fixer Queen. Not because I don’t think she’s trustworthy, she ain’t, but because the Afterlife IS the primo place for answers. Look, choom, I know you think this Relic thing could be the ticket to getting David back. And while I respect the tenacity of you flying all the way out from Germany for this gig, there is a reason Night City is called ‘City of Dreams’. Cause it’s all a lie, an illusion, the sort of thing you gotta be asleep to believe it. I’m not saying it’s impossible, assuming what ‘they’ told you was true, but I don’t want you setting yourself up for the kind of disappointment that tends to be…permanent.

…

Gabriel marched back into his ‘dorm’ in the backrooms of the Afterlife, determination now etched on his weary face. He hadn’t realized that Nibbles was still following him, looking up at this giant German gonk. Reentering his room, Gabriel positioned himself in the middle for the best vantage point, wanting to take stock of everything he has and would need. He looked around, turning on the balls of his feet left and right, right and left, mentally picturing how to set up, his finger pointing at phantom furnishing.

Nibbles simply stared up at him from the floor, cocking her head as she watched with wide-eyed confusion.

After several minutes, Gabriel made a soft smile to himself. “Perfekt,” he muttered. He stepped over to his desk and grabbed a blank piece of paper before making a list of things he'd need. Satisfied, he petted the Psyduck figurine before heading back to the main Afterlife floor, Nibbles still following him.

The main floor remained as empty, and as eerily quiet, as Gabriel discovered earlier. He found Claire still behind the counter, now on a step-stool taking stock of bottles inside one of the former morgue slabs. He felt his eye twitch, suddenly reminded of why he hated this place: throw away the dead and place bottles of champagne in their stead.

He clenched his gloved fists at the thought, but refused to say anything. This is Rogue’s turf and if Gabriel learned anything growing up, it’s that one doesn’t disrespect people in their own home. Besides, he noted, Claire’s also been very nice to him, relatively speaking.

“Hey, uh, Claire,” Gabriel said to the bartender.

Nibbles looked up at the counter before jumping all the way up with feline grace and precision.

Claire looked down over her shoulder from the upper shelf, a curious look on her face. “Yeah, choom?”

“Do you know where I can find Rogue?” Gabriel made an uneasy cough. “Is she even awake at this hour?”

Claire thought for a moment before nodding. “She’s probably back in her room, going over the operational costs.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “She does accounting?” He asked. He then cocked his head to the side. “And she lives here too?”

Claire made a sly smile. “Among other things,” she answered, returning her head back to the shelf. “She likes to be hands-on when it comes to the day-to-day ops for the Afterlife,” she added, reorganizing some of the bottles.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow as he couldn’t help but ponder at the image as he absentmindedly sat at the counter. “I see.” He then saw Nibbles sniffing his gloves before he gently, and sheepishly, began petting the sphinx between the ears. The cat purred in delight as she leaned into his hand.

One of the bottles of Conine cognac nearly rolled off the slab before Claire caught it with a slight grunt. “You want to see her about something?”

“Huh?” Gabriel blinked before remembering. “Oh, yes.” He looked down at his list in his other hand as he kept petting Nibbles. “It’s just a few things I’d like her to get for me.”

“Let me guess.” Claire carefully stepped down from the stepladder and looked at Gabriel with a playful grin. “You want some BDs to entertain yourself while you do the job.”

Gabriel looked at her funny for a few seconds before shuddering. “Never bothered with one before,” he remarked, “I saw too many BD addicts during my volunteer days at the Charité. It’s nowhere near as bad as here, I’ve been told, but treating them was a nightmare all the same.”

Claire raised an eyebrow, smiling. “The what now?”

“The Charité?” Gabriel’s eyes widened when he realized… “OH! Ja, JA, the Berlin University of Medicine!” A grin emerged on his face. “Largest university hospital in all of the European Union.” Even he could admit he sounded a bit too proud of that fact, his fingers petting Nibbles a bit harder than earlier.

Claire seemed impressed as she crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. “You have an MD or something?”

Gabriel felt his expression suddenly loosen into nothingness, remembering how it didn’t get that far, and never would. “Nein...no,” he replied. He gently retracted his hand off of Nibbles, the hand now holding onto his left arm as he turned away in his seat, taking a deep breath as his right thumb pressed harder into the sleeve of his flannel shirt, feeling the scarred skin on his left forearm. “I only volunteered there during my secondary schooling,” he answered. “It was what convinced me to enlist in the German Army as a medic, rather than be conscripted and…” He paused before clearing his throat. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

Claire smiled. “Hardly,” she replied. She then looked to the side of the bar, arms still crossed. “Would you rather I talk to Rogue for ya, get you whatever it is you need?”

“N-nein, err, uh, no, but thank you,” Gabriel replied, “this is something I’d rather talk to her myself about.” He instinctively scratched the side of his jaw. “Besides, I think me asking someone else to do this for me would just insult her further.”

Claire smiled as she shrugged. “Fair enough.” She then returned to her set-up duties. “But don’t disturb her right now. She gets real pissy when her work is interrupted.”

“Of course,” Gabriel replied as he watched Claire work. “When do you think should I talk to her?”

“‘bout what, March?” It was Rogue.

Gabriel quickly spun on his heel, not realizing he was too fast, and slipped onto the floor. His right hand barely catching onto the counter, keeping him from hitting his head on the metal. Nibbles flinched as she watched with those feline eyes at the ‘stunt-work’

Through the commotion, Rogue just simply stood there, hands on hips with that stoic expression of hers.

Gabriel grunted as he got his footing back. “Sorry about that,” he muttered. He looked at the cat, halfheartedly waving at her as an apology. “Sorry.”

Nibbles purred as she sat on her hind legs.

Rogue rolled her eyes, her hands still on her hips. “What do you need, March?” She asked again.

Gabriel hesitated. He wasn’t prepared, at least mentally. Even Director Gori Ashford wasn’t this intimidating. Usually.

He didn’t notice Rogue scoff and roll her eyes as she stepped past him and taking a seat next to him at the counter. “Three espressos, Claire,” the Queen said to the bartender, giving three fingers before pulling out her smartphone from one of the pockets to her black skin-tight pants.

Claire smiled as she got to work on the coffee. “Long night?” she asked.

Rogue didn’t look up from her phone as she scrolled quickly through some of the digital screamsheets. It was the usual array of gossip, business, and world news. She had that look on her face that said that everything and nothing was of any actual interest.

“Two of them are for our German ‘friend’ here,” she flatly stated, still not taking her eyes off the phone. She then slowly looked over her shoulder, her eyes staring at Gabriel.

Gabriel, still staring at the floor, deep in thought, shook his head and spun around, only for his eyes to meet Rogue’s. He felt his face flush as he looked away, crossing his arms. He heard, and then felt, the piece of paper crumpling in his grip.

When he found that Rogue’s eyes were still staring, Gabriel felt his own instinctively look elsewhere. They drifted towards the Queen’s phone, finding an article, that involved Biotechnica. He felt his heart skip a beat when he saw the word ‘Prospektor’ in the title on the screen.

His heart skipped again at the sight of Director Ashford in a candid photo from a passionate speech she made to investors in London the month before. The one where she revealed her Prospektor Program to the world. It was an elegantly made address of taking the initiative to bring in new talent and technology, especially from the now collapsing Arasaka Corporation, to a group of worried businessmen and stakeholders who thought Biotechnica was, themselves, on the verge of solvency.

Instead, her speech to the rest of the world could be summed up in one sentence:

‘There are a lot of newly unemployed Arasaka employees looking for work, and we’re taking them, and their new toys, for ourselves!’

The other mega-corporations reacted accordingly.

Rogue snorted as her eyes then moved down to his hands. “You wear gloves, March?” she asked.

Before Gabriel could answer, Rogue waved him off dismissively before returning her view to the phone.

“You’re a corporate medtech,” she remarked as Claire set down two polystyrene cups on the counter, “figures you’d rather not get our germs on your hands.”

Gabriel’s face showed grim irritation. That’s not fair, he nearly spoke out loud. “These were my brother’s,” he blurted instead, before he could stop himself. He then turned away again just as Rogue looked over her shoulder again. Why the hell would someone like her care, anyhow? He asked himself.

Rogue said nothing, but her eyes squinted at him for a moment before her eyes went down to the list still in his hand.

“A piece of paper,” she remarked out loud, her expression completely unreadable but her tone showed that of being unimpressed, “how quaint.”

Gabriel’s eyes briefly widened as he placed the paper in his grip. “It’s a list,” he clarified, extending the sheet towards her with both hands, “and I didn’t want to shove a tablet in your face.” He cleared his throat as he awkwardly placed his other hand into his pocket.

Rogue, with her thumb and index finger, snatched the sheet out of Gabriel’s hands. “And you thought a thin piece of paper was better?” She asked as she looked at the list. She took a long breath before turning her back to him. “Fine, let’s see here…” She began reading.

Gabriel felt his knees tremble a few times before his legs took him of his chair, feeling his body getting warmer with anticipation, and not the good kind. He walked around the Queen only to take another seat next to her. He glanced at one of the coffee cups before looking at Claire, the latter smiled before gesturing for him to take one. The medtech nodded before doing so, and sipping it a little too quickly. He nearly spat out the contents, feeling more of a ‘hot dirty water’ texture than the actual thickness of cream or whatever passed for milk. He set the cup back down and watched Rogue instead, resting his right arm on the counter.

The lower Rogue read down the list of things Gabriel wanted, the higher her left eyebrow raised before she finally looked up at him. “A little old-fashioned, don’t you think?” she asked, briefly raising the paper.

Gabriel shrugged. “I prefer to keep my things more…was lautet das Wort, was lautet das Wort…?” he trailed off, snapping his fingers trying to find the right word. “‘Tactile’.”

“Uh huh…” Rogue sipped on her own coffee before setting down the paper. “You know this isn’t going to come chea-”

“Done.”

With a flick of his fingers, Gabriel watched through his Kiroshi eye as he transferred five-thousand Eurodollars to the Fixer Queen. He could feel the cybernetic eye briefly warm up inside his right socket. There was then a short blue flickering inside both Rogue’s eyes as her expression still didn’t change.
“That’s a lot more than you needed, March.”

“To compensate for any delivery fees,” Gabriel quickly stated, not feeling his own back straighten up a bit too fast until it was too late. He grunted at the pain as he slumped back. “And for you putting up with my,” he cleared his throat, “neuroticism.”

“‘Eccentricism’, March,” Rogue corrected him, taking another sip. She then crumpled the sheet of paper in her fist and then gently tossed it at Gabriel, it hitting him on the nose before landing on the counter. “This is you being eccentric.”

Gabriel took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down as he reached for the ball of paper only for Nibbles to start playing with it by smacking her paws at it. “That as well, Frau Amendiares.”

Rogue sighed, shaking her head. “Fine.”

Gabriel then saw her eyes glow orange as he watched the feline on the table wrestle with her new toy.

“Yeah, I got a few things that need to be sent down here when the bar opens,” Rogue spoke to someone on the other end of her holo-call. “I’ll flick you the deets in a milisec. Good, see you in a few.”

The orange in her eyes then faded.

“You’ll have your ‘office supplies’ delivered in a couple of hours,” she said to Gabriel.

Gabriel felt himself force his enthusiastic smile to temper. “U-uh, yes, t-thank you! This means a lot!” He quickly spun on his heel and headed back to his ‘dorm’ in the backrooms, a bit too much eagerness in his step, not seeing Rogue make a faint smile as she shook her head.

“Cute…” she mumbled to herself with an eyeroll.

Nibbles kept playing with the ball of paper, fully disengaged from the conversations the humans were having.

Claire, from the other side of the counter, chuckled as she threw her hand towel over her shoulder. “God he’s adorable when he’s stammering.”

Rogue raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the subtle smile creeping up on the corners of her lips. “You got really weird tastes, you know that?”

Before Claire could say anything, Gabriel quickly returned, looking at the two cups of coffee on the counter. “I shouldn’t forget these, thank you both,” he stated before gesturing at the two women with the coffee. “Damen.” He then retreated once more.

“Yup,” Rogue deadpanned, “way too polite for his own good.”

Nibbles stopped playing with the ball as she watched Gabriel leave, only to jump off the counter and follow him.

…

Gabriel wasn’t sure where this burst of energy came from. Maybe it was the coffee, which he had been drinking from both hands. Maybe it was the excitement to get things started. It didn’t matter. He felt that excitement for something new.

Setting down the now empty cups, Gabriel reached into his satchel, pulling out a rolled up concert poster. It was two feet by three feet and, despite the glossiness, had been well-worn with the edges already creased and bent. Most people wouldn’t even look at this thing, let alone even offer any Eurodollars for it, yet it was worth far more than all the gold, chrome, and iron the world could ever give. And more. Gabriel’s growing smile proved it.

The poster depicted the three chromed out bandmembers looking up at the sky with their robot heads with the year 2073 labeled at the bottom in Techpulse font. In the lower center of the artwork was a list of cities across the European Union, including Berlin for April Thirteenth of that year. Above the heads of the group was the name ‘Perilous Futur’. It was minimalist in its design but, God, for Gabriel it may as well have been a vivid canvas of memories from an era that truly was ‘better days’.

Gabriel felt his smile contort as a few tears rolled down his eyes, replaying the songs in his head. He remembered the taste of the over-priced drinks and cigarettes in that hot, overcrowded, Eisbären Arena. He saw that gleeful look on David’s sweaty face, and felt that euphoria from being someone else. It was the last good moment for the future medtech because, two days later, the brothers, along with millions of other young Germans at eighteen, were to report for mandatory service in the Bundeswehr. It’s amazing how much can change in only six years, or even six minutes.

He didn’t notice Nibbles was sitting next to him until she rubbed her head against his knee, purring. Gabriel looked down, petted her, before standing and walking up next to his computer on the desk. He got some tape from the dispenser, the cheap crappy kind, and used at least a dozen strips on all four sides. When he finished, he looked up at the aging poster before taking a deep breath.

That burst of energy suddenly burned out and Gabriel slumped onto his chair, burying his face in his hands. “God, I hope I can bring you home, Davy…”

He then looked up from his hands, finding Nibbles on the table in front of him, sniffing the Psyduck figurine before pushing it on its face.

…

It wasn’t until he basically had his face in his satchel when Gabriel finally realized he didn’t have spare clothes. He sat up straight in his chair, his satchel now over his head, cursing under his breath. The young medtech made a long sigh before pulling the satchel off and staring at the ceiling.

“Were you expecting to find Wonderland in there, choom?” Someone’s voice came from the entrance to the dorm.

Gabriel quickly spun in his chair to find a man with a white buzzcut and glasses leaning against the doorway, arms crossed with that smirk.

Gabriel recognized him as one of Rogue’s staff from the day before. Even with a bulky sleeveless puffed out vest, he saw the orange Netrunner suit the man was wearing underneath.

“You saw that?” Gabriel asked.

The man shrugged, still smirking. “Not the weirdest thing I’ve seen, but certainty…‘juvenile’.”

Gabriel sighed before gently tossing the satchel onto his cot. He turned again back to the entrance, watching the man slowly enter. “You’re one of Rogue’s people, the one who handed her the shard yesterday.”

“That I am,” the man replied. He stopped a couple of paces from Gabriel, resting his hands at his hips as he looked around. “Heh, Claire really went all out fixing up this place.”

Gabriel looked around, still seeing the same rotted wallpaper and rusted desk. And the blue wall of liquor.

“You ought to buy that woman a drink,” the man added, “not everyday the bartender works outside of her job description.”

Gabriel spun the chair back to the man, placing his hands between his thighs as he swiveled side to side. “I’ll be sure to do that, Herr…” Gabriel extended his hand to the man.

The man stared at Gabriel’s hand, eyebrow raised with an amused look. “Nix,” the man finally answered, shaking hands with Gabriel as he eyed the Perilous Futur poster above the computer. “Call me Nix.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Okay…Nix.”

The two men let go.

“I’ve got two mercs coming down in a few minutes with the stuff you need.” Nix took the remaining paces needed to stand over him before motioning his hands at him to scoot over. “A few last-second touches I need to make to this terminal of yours,” he said, leaning over Gabriel’s side as he reached for the keyboard. “Want to make sure it’s ‘secure’, if you catch my meaning.”

Gabriel slid out of his seat. “Of course.” He then quickly stepped over to the wall of alcohol and leaned against one of the barrels, watching Nix at the keyboard.

Gabriel then took out his pack of cigarettes and lit himself one. “Am I right to assume you don’t trust me.”

“You assume a lot, ‘Doctor Worm’,” Nix replied, typing. He then looked over his shoulder. “And rightly so.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a doct…‘worm’?” He felt his shoulders slouch as he sighed. “I…I’m not sure if you’re serious or being facetious.”

Nix chuckled. “It’s a good one, ain’t it?” It came off more as a statement than a question. “Had been cooking that one up since I read your file. One, long, string of failure after failure, and yet, here you are, still back for more.” He clicked his tongue. “Even after that ‘attempt’ of yours, a few years back, you’re still standing.”

Gabriel felt his body go cold as he dropped his hand that held the cigarette to his side, and his heartbeat quicken and tighten all at the same time. He was about to ask how the hell this man even knew that! But, with a grumble, said nothing, realizing that information was business for these people. But God, he didn’t need to be reminded. Reminded just how ‘right on the money’ this ‘Nix’ man was. It dawned on Gabriel that maybe he shouldn’t be here, that he shouldn’t have begged Director Ashford for this assignment. He shouldn’t have taken this gig from one of her ‘chosen ones’. He shouldn’t have opened that fucking email that provided ‘irrefutable’ evidence, from an unknown sender, that David March was Soulkilled, rather than killed outright, on that rainy night in Frankfurt.

Instead: He did read that email, and bought into its promises. He did beg Director Ashford to allow him, some stupid child who couldn’t even get into med-school, to take this highly important mission over someone more experienced. And yes: here he was: tasked with tracking down a Night City legend.

Gabriel’s eyes were staring into the floor before him, still inside his own head, cigarette burning closer to his fingers. With a single blink, he came to his senses, and cleared his throat. “I have to ask, Herr Nix,” he finally spoke, looking up from the floor. He took a quick drag.

“Hmm?” The Netrunner’s back was still to him.

“The Datashard that was given to Rogue. It’s very large to comb through, yes? And you’re her Netrunner, I assume?”

“Sure,” Nix replied, the keyboard clacking under his fingertips, “and I assume there’s a follow-up to that follow-up?”

Gabriel nodded as he tapped on his cigarette onto a second ashtray on the bedside table. “Why is Rogue hiring an outsider, a corporate outsider, like me, to read through all this information when she has people like you?”

“Only so many hours in the day, choom,” Nix replied, shrugging. “And I’m only one man, having to run cyber-security nearly twenty-four seven.”

“Must be a very good netrunner,” Gabriel remarked, “I mean, if Rogue hired you.”

“One of the best in this business,” Nix stated. “Won’t say who I worked for before, in case you’re wondering, but let’s just say you’re in a better position than me: at least you’re allowed to get some fresh air from time to time.”

“I see.” Gabriel scratched his chin, pondering. Then it occurred to him. “Ex-corporate techie, ex-corporate netrunner…” he then trailed off for a second. “I’m sensing a pattern here.”

Nix chuckled, as he finished up on the terminal itself. “I wouldn’t read too much into it, choom,” he said, grinning. “I doubt you have anything that Rogue would need.”

Gabriel thought for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, I suppose not.”

“But on the topic,” Nix added as he stepped over to the server tower next to the desk. He opened the glass cover and plugged his personal link into the top port. His eyes glowed blue as he worked. “What exactly do you do at Biotechnica?”

Gabriel leaned harder against the wall of alcohol barrels, taking out another cigarette as he stared back down at the floor. “Clinical Assistant,” he answered, crossing his arms, his fingers holding onto the cig. He felt his stomach tighten, expecting ridicule.

Nix laughed as he ran diagnostics on the server.

Gabriel looked away, his hands gripping his elbows tightly. Of course he’d laugh at such a pathetic position. “Ja,” he muttered, “I’m just another braindead drone.”

“Nah, I’m more curious as to why a former Trauma Team EMT, a lead EMT mind you, chose to give up such a preem gig.” Nix unplugged his cable from the server before closing the glass cover. “From what I understand,” he added, turning around and sitting on the table, “you completed a hundred and eight sorties in the single year you were with them.” He crossed his legs and rested his arms on his knees. “A bona-fide Maverick. A real hot-shot.”

Gabriel was still staring into the floor as he took another drag. “Hot shit, actually,” he muttered, letting out the smoke, “in the literal sense.” He finally looked up at Nix, frowning as he watched the man take a cigarette out of Gabriel’s pack on the table. “My twin brother died on the one-oh-eighth,” he said, walking over to Nix and lighting the cigarette for him, “saving a client in Frankfurt.”

There was a twitch on Nix’s cheek. “So I’ve read in your psych profile,” he finally replied as Gabriel returned to the alcohol wall. “You saved the client, and Trauma Team gave you the boot instead of a medal.” Nix took a drag. “You let them have it, from what I understand.”

Gabriel closed his eyes as he took a long whiff of the smoky air. “Let’s just say stress and anger can make almost anyone honest,” he replied, breathing out and opening his eyes, “no truth serum needed when you have nothing to lose.”

“You must have spoke up an uncomfortable truth, for them to kick you out.”

Gabriel nodded, mindlessly placing the lit cig back between his lips. He still remembered all the EEG and EKG wires hooked up to the leads on his head and chest. as that ‘psychoanalyst’ spoke with him. He remembered just how barely functional he was for a week after the final op. To think how, even after all that time of borderline catatonia, sitting at his desk in the apartment he and his brother shared, they still had the gall to bring him in for questioning.

‘Evaluation’, that fucking white-haired Neo-Soviet hag called it. There was no evaluation, it was a questioning, clear and simple.

Hell, it couldn’t even count as a ‘questioning’ either, when all she did was lecture him. How, it didn’t matter if it was the mission or family, the client comes first, always. Everyone else is expendable.

Then what’s the point of saving anyone?! Were his last words to that woman before the sea of red monitor lights drowned him out. All because he dared to answer a simple question in choosing family, or the client: he was loyal to his patients, period.

Subject unfit for further service.

Gabriel flinched hard enough that his cigarette flew off his lips. The embers flicking off the burnt end as it struck the floor.

“You alright there, ‘Doctor’?”

Gabriel said nothing at first, still reliving that moment. He then noticed the cigarette on the floor, still lit. “Scheiße,” he muttered as he quickly reached down before quietly walking over to the table and stubbing the cigarette onto the ashtray.

Nix watched in silent amusement as Gabriel leaned over the desk, took a breath and turned to the netrunner.

“If I come across anything that may require your skills, like hacking,” Gabriel asked, “would I be able to call upon your services?”

“Don’t see why not, choom,” Nix replied. “If Rogue’s cool with you, then you’re cool with me.”

Gabriel couldn’t help but snort. “Somehow I doubt Rogue is ‘cool with me’, as you say.”

Nix shrugged. “Maybe not in the traditional sense, no, but you wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t convinced.”

“Perhaps.” Gabriel dropped his head for a second before looking back to Nix. “I should probably expect to pay you a lot of Eurodollars each time.”

Nix shrugged. “Rogue said there’s no need but…” He smirked as he got up from the desk. “I would be interested in learning more about this Prospektor Initative that British boss of yours has you in.”

Gabriel nearly choked on his breath as he watched the netrunner make his exit.

“Think on it, ‘Doctor Worm’,” Nix said, waving over his shoulder. “From a former corporate man to a current one: keeping their secrets isn’t worth the soul you give them.”

With that, Nix was out of sight.

Gabriel said nothing, scratching the back of his head as he paced towards his bed.

“Oh, and have this,” Nix said from the outside, tossing something through the doorway.

Gabriel had just turned to find the object smacking him right in the face before it dropped into his hands. It was a pre-made burrito.

“Breakfast,” Nix called from the hallway. “Gotta eat something, choom.”

Gabriel stared at the burrito for a few seconds as Nix’s footsteps faded. He took one sniff, and nearly puked.

…

Gabriel was about halfway through the burrito, sitting at his desk with a clothespin pinching his nose, when he heard the door from around the corner in the hallway slide open.

“Yo, he’s here right?” It was a woman’s voice. It sounded hearty, and a bit high-pitched. “Tell me he’s here! Ohmygodohmygod, I never met a fucking Joyman before!”

There was another voice, male. It was lower, gruff, but more impartial. “Nix said the guy was still in the room,” this voice replied, “so dial the excitement back, will ya? You’re gonna scare him.”

“Pffft, fine, fine. But I’m shaking his hand!”

“Uh huh.”

Two chromed mercs entered the dorm without knocking. Each carried a large metal crate in their hands.

“You that March guy?” One of them, the man, asked. He had black hair that was side-swept, revealing cybernetics on the side of his head, along with fully black mechanical eyes that gave off that feeling that there was no soul behind them.

Gabriel, still chewing, slowly turned his head to them, like a deer in headlights. When deer still existed, anyway.

“J-ja?” he said with a full mouth, some of the foodstuff flying, his eyes flicking between the two mercs.

“Awesome,” the man deadpanned as he bent his knees to set down the create in his hands. He was wearing a well-worn, patch-worked, military field jacket that covered his cybernetic arms. Arms that looked right out of the Terminator films, Gabriel noticed. On the man’s jacket sleeve was a unit patch depicting a barking dog that simply read: BARGHEST.

The second, a woman, was far more chromed. Both of her legs, up to the knees, weren’t even covered by clothing, showing off just how mechanical they were. The legs made clear mechanical noises as she sidestepped the man to face Gabriel, a large grin on her face.

“Bro, no fucking way!” The woman exclaimed. She quickly set down her box. “So you’re the new guy Gory Gori was talking about?!” She rushed up to him and extended her hand.

Gabriel felt his jaw slack a bit at all this ‘excitement’. After swallowing his burrito, he slowly reached out to shake hands with this woman, before she grabbed his hand with her cybernetic ones and shook his almost violently.

“This is so fucking awesome!” She said, her glee clear as day.

Gabriel felt his whole world shake. “U-u-u-u-uh,” he tried to say as she kept shaking his hand, “n-n-n-n-nice t-t-t-to m-e-e-e-e-t-t-t y-you t-t-t-o-o-o.”

“Saint!” The male merc nearly shouted. “You’re gonna rip his fucking arm off!”

The female merc, Saint, quickly stopped before looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry.”

Gabriel still felt his body shaking as he struggled to sit back down. “It’s…fine.” With a deep breath and holding onto his arm, he then recalled what Saint said, and looked at her. “Gory…Gori?” He asked. “You mean Director Ashford?”

Saint grinned while the man behind her simply crossed his arms. “Fuck yeah, choom! Recruited us for that scavenger thing she got going.”

Gabriel looked at her funny before nodding. “You guys are Prospektors too.”

Saint gave a massive thumb up with her metal right hand, connected to a cyber arm that had ‘Arasaka’ stamped into the side. “That we are, choomba.” She then pointed her thumb to the man behind her. “The soldier-boy with the stick up his snatch is Brightside,” she added. “Don’t mind him, he’s really cool when you get to know the guy.”

The man, Brightside, simply rolled his eyes. “Gori Ashford brought us up to speed on you being the new addition to the Prospektor program,” he stated, his tone formal, befitting a career soldier. “She didn’t tell us what exactly your assignment is, other than Rogue Amendiares being the one who reached out to her.” Brightside rolled his shoulder. “That, and to get you all this crap."

“Speaking of,” Saint butted in, “we got all the cool shit you wanted!”

Gabriel forced a smile. “G-great!”

Saint quickly squatted down in front of her box, opened it, and pulled out a smaller box that had the name ‘Zetatech’ printed on the packaging. “You got good fucking taste man,” Saint exclaimed as she tossed the box to Gabriel. “Zetatech ZT-51b External ShardReader, Gen 13.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow as he examined the box. “I requested a ZT-60,” he remarked.

Saint stuck her tongue out. “Bleh, the 60 series is utter crap,” she replied. “the 51b is still the fastest reader on the market. Don’t know what the suits in Zeta were smoking, but I want none of that if this is what they –”

“Saint,” Brightside spoke up behind her. “The kid’s gotta set up for whatever it is he’s looking into.” He then pointed over his shoulder with his mechanical thumb. “Besides, we still need to follow up on that lead from yesterday.”

Saint smiled as she rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright, B-Man.” She turned to Gabriel one last time. “Welcome to the Big Leagues, choom.” With a wink, a click of her tongue, and a thumb up, Saint followed Brightside out, hopping and skipping as she did.

Gabriel felt his shoulders slouch as he gripped the ShardReader box in his hands. While he grabbed the half-eaten burrito and shoved it into his mouth, he heard Saint’s voice babble on about him to Brightside before the voice faded behind a sliding door.

Big Leagues, Gabriel pondered Saint’s words as he chewed, what the hell is even that?

Sighing, Gabriel set the box down on the desk as he walked over to the creates. He knelt down next to the nearest and opened it. When he saw what was inside, he couldn’t help himself but grin, with some of the mush in his mouth pushing past his teeth. There was no time to waste, and he got to work setting everything up. It was time to find this legendary merc of Rogue’s.

…

This Is Not a Love Song – Public Image Ltd.; This Is What You Want…This Is What You Get (1984)