It took about an hour and a half to get all the blood washed out of my clothes at some random laundromat in Watson—while wearing a different outfit that I had bought. Once that was over, I gave those threads to some homeless guy who looked to be my size or less and took off to Dorio’s favorite gym.

  I parked in front of the building and entered, a guitar-case filled with all my weapons in hand. Felt it’d be easier to just drag ‘em with me than to go all the way home to Lucy’s to ditch them. Besides, I was still wearing my mask, meaning I was technically still in my Edgerunner persona. Therefore, not having easy access to my gear was probably a bad idea.

  No, it definitely was.

  Dorio was inside, throwing combos on a sand bag when I arrived.

  I put the case down and said, “Yo!”

  Dorio turned her head, “D! You ready to rumble?”

  I nodded, “I’ll get warmed up first.”

  She turned around fully and looked at the case, “You taking up playing?”

  “Nah,” I said, approaching a bag, “It’s got my gear. Easier to bring it around like that without looking like I’m ready for war.”

  “You brought all of it?” she asked, arms folded.

  I took up a stance beside her. “Just came from a quick couple of gigs with Reyes. Figured it’d be easier to bring ‘em than leave ‘em home. Plus, I’m masked up, right?”

  I threw a right. The sound of my fist hitting the bag made a satisfying thumping noise. The heavy bag flew back a couple of feet. Still couldn’t get them to fly up as high as Dorio could, but I probably wouldn’t be doing that any time soon. According to her, these things were filled with sand and iron filings and were meant for people with more chrome than me.

  “You came here to go all out, then,” Dorio folded her arms and nodded, watching my form. “Been itching to have a second go at you,” her eyes tracked the sandbag’s movements, “You got any new chrome or something?”

  “Not really—but I am stronger,” I said. “You should go all out, too. I think I could handle it.”

  D: Nanny, can I?

  [Dorio’s bodily systems are mostly chrome, and optimized for strength. One full-powered and direct hit would at best knock you out with major internal damage, something that I would be able to address with the Sandevistan. That is the best-case scenario. She is more than capable of pulping a normal human being’s skull. I recommend that you don’t let her hit you on the head—that’s where I live.]

  D: How much damage would knock you out?

  [If a strike manages to liquefy your brain, that would seriously inhibit most of my functions and perhaps lead to a cascading error—which would undoubtedly lead to your death. That being said, I have taken quite a few steps to upgrade the durability of your brain for this exact reason, though its durability has never been tested. I would recommend that you swallow your words even if that would be humiliating to do.]

  D: No.

  “Really?” Dorio tilted her head. I put a hand on the bag, resting it there and nodding.

  “Really.”

  000

  “Had enough yet?”

  I sat back against the ropes, panting, as Dorio, that enormous beast of a woman, stood before me, pounding her gloved fists together.

  I activated the Sandevistan while Nanny rattled off a bunch of… words. Eugh—can’t think.

  [—would be the brain trauma, which I just healed you from. Do you comprehend, now? Should I repeat myself? I shall repeat myself: she didn’t quite liquefy your brain, but she did come somewhat close, managing to burst a few minor blood vessels, but not the major ones. In doing so, she exposed some vulnerabilities in the biochemical make-up of your capillaries, which I look forward to correcting. In fact, this has been quite the learning experience. Get hurt again.]

  I got up and nodded. “Not yet,” I said, taking a stance and skipping on my feet as though I’d never even gotten hurt in the first place. Dorio raised an eyebrow at me and shrugged, putting her own fists up.

  “Your funeral, kid.”

  She was fast—far faster than Hou Ken, and just as fast as him when he used that Sandy of his. Normally, I should have been able to handle that, given my own baseline movement and reaction speed. Problem was, her and Hou Ken were worlds apart. Her arms, for one, were a lot heavier than his, emphasizing speed and power over precision—yet she had that, too, in spades. It wasn’t until an hour into our fighting when I realized why Hou Ken was so much easier than her, given that his chrome was still top-tier, even if it was lighter.

  It was chipware.

  Hou Ken had bought his skill. Dorio had perfected it, honed it through hundreds of fights with opponents that were fully willing to kill you. In short, Kung Fu Kenny stuck to a script while Dorio was all improv. Like me, but… vastly more experienced and skilled. For now, at least.

  But I was creeping up towards her level soon. Nanny’s brain changes had turned me into a sponge that absorbed information almost endlessly. Dorio never had to show me something twice for me to understand it. Still, it took a few repetitions for my body to learn new things—but even that wasn’t such an impediment. At least getting tired wasn’t in the books for me anymore.

  Didn’t need synth lungs. Didn’t see a need for a synth heart yet, either.

  I was nowhere near my limits thanks to Nanny.

  Sure, if I wanted to punch a hole through a brick wall, I’d be slightly stumped—I’d have to use the Sandy and rack up a ton of critical progress healing up the resultant damage done to my body. But I didn’t need that to be a good Edgerunner. Hell, I could just use explosives for that.

  Eventually, though, my body did force me to stop.

  “I’m done,” I said to Dorio, blinking back the beginnings of a headache—something I hadn’t felt in a long time, “thanks for the session.”

  “Already?” Dorio asked, skipping on her feet. Damn stamina monster.

  “It’s been three hours, you know.”

  “Damn,” she said, “you held on way longer than I expected.” Then she grinned widely, “but this was fun! You were clearly getting better with each bout—hell, you were starting to give me pointers on my own technique at some point!”

  Not that it had made a difference in the fight—I had gotten a few good licks in, but beyond lightly bruising her, it hadn’t even put her on the ground one time.

  Chrome was still quite the wide chasm to cross for someone like me, but… I didn’t mind. I still had options. And the real world didn’t have rules like boxing.

  Despite what I expected, I didn’t feel envious at all of how good she was.

  “It was good,” I said, “I had fun, too.”

  Well, Nanny had fun. All this had turned into a stress-test for the durability of my body, granting Nanny more and more new data that allowed her to iterate on all the biomods she had given me.

  Nanny chimed in. [Your body is running low on excess hemoglobin; you must consume elemental or medicinal iron supplements soon or my functions will be impaired].

  I hopped over the ropes and stalked up to the guitar-case filled with deadly weapons, braced against a wall and gave Dorio a wave, “until next time.”

  “Whoa—you mean there’s gonna be a next time? Or are you just trying not to sound like you’re never coming back here again?” Dorio laughed at her own joke and I just shook my head.

  “Yeah, yeah—I’ll show you.”

  “Hah! Love the attitude. I’ll hold ya to it. Next time, I’ll even scroll it in a BD—the crew’s gonna crack the fuck up when they see you getting up like a cockroach every damn time.”

  “Fuck off!” I flipped her the bird, feeling heat flowing to my cheeks. “They’re gonna admire my tenacity.”

  “Pft! Hah! Wanna bet?”

  I thought for a moment about the likely outcome and shook my head. “Nah.”

  “Cause you know they’d clown you. Admit it.”

  “Bye and good fucking bye,” I said, flipping her two birds as I walked out of the gym, pushing the door out with my ass. I was not looking forward to her inevitable ribbing-out, but I doubted I’d eat as much shit the next time we fought.

  Once I was out on the street, the cold night wind hit me. My adrenaline quickly cooled, and I felt the come-down hit unusually hard—genuine fatigue, the sting of many bruises starting to register. Weird. I didn’t usually bruise—Nanny was supposed to take care of those. And why was my damn headache only getting worse?

  “Hemoglobin? Explain,” I muttered under my breath.

  [Because you failed to heed my recommendation and got into prolonged combat]

  “Hold on—you told me to get hurt.”

  She continued as though I hadn’t said anything. [—your body now requires immediate replenishment of its blood iron content. Hemoglobin levels have dropped considerably due to systematic internal micro-hemorrhaging. A standard protein intake will not suffice. We require something stronger.]

  I yawned, rubbing at my temples. “Longer explanation. Not sure if I’m tracking.”

  [Yes, that would be the hemoglobin deficiency reducing your mental capacity. I’ll try to keep this simple, for your sake. One of the primary resource bottlenecks I face in my ongoing incremental upgrading of your body is iron and related trace elements, and spare CHO-family hydrocarbons, neither of which are found in the typical human diet in the amounts I require. Your fight against Dorio required a considerable amount of restoration and reinforcement of blood, bones, tissues, muscles. Hence iron. Anything will do. Now, please.]

  I looked around on the street. The street. “…Now, now?”

  [This can be a valuable stress test in itself. Find some steel scrap. Look to your left.]

  I turned my head, and there was nothing special there. Just grimy pavement, a pile of random detritus further along the sidewalk, waste materials from a construction project… and a slightly rusted-out piece of metal rebar sticking out of said detritus.

  [That is your next meal.]

  I blinked.

  “The fuck?”

  [We will eventually have to incorporate all kinds of new and exciting substances into your diet. But right now? That discarded steel contains precisely the ratio of iron, nickel, and trace metals I require for immediate bio-synthetic restoration.]

  I rubbed my eyes. No, I wasn’t seeing things. I was looking at a goddamn piece of construction rebar. And Nanny wanted me to eat it. “Okay, yeah, no. Not happening, can’t happen.”

  [You are already fully capable of the task.]

  I frowned. “…What?”

  [Your teeth have been significantly reinforced beyond standard human capabilities. You no longer need to rely on conventional soft-food digestion alone. You can grind metal, David. And swallow it.]

  “Wait, hold up—I can fucking eat steel?”

  [Would repeating all my points twice aid in your comprehension ability? Very well. Yes, David. You can fucking eat steel. I would not recommend a full diet of it. However, in controlled quantities, it is extremely beneficial for hemoglobin restoration, rapid cellular regeneration, and—most importantly—beneficial for me. I repeat—]

  I stiffened slightly, interrupting her stupid repetition. “…What do you mean, for you?”

  [I require materials to expand my own systems, which in turn are required to continue your bodily enhancements. In that respect, we are both still incomplete. For immediate purposes, I need iron, nickel, trace elements of chromium, and molybdenum to restore your hemoglobin levels and restore lost skeletal structural durability. If you consume one-third of a pound of steel, I can extract what I need for now and the immediate future.]

  “…One-third of a fucking pound?”

  [I should have repeated myself. Yes, David. One-third of a fucking pound. After chewing thoroughly, of course.]

  “Oh my god,” I groaned, attracting an irritated look from a passing street gangoon. He probably thought I was some insane homeless bum. Gah.

  A minute later, for the sake of not attracting more of the weird looks this would doubtless attract from literally everyone with working eyes, I was hiding away in a nearby alleyway, holding a foot-long length of slightly rusted rebar in my hand. Rust aside, it was basically clean.

  “You seriously want me to actually chew this?” I muttered under my breath.

  [Yes. I repeat—yes.]

  “Like a goddamn piece of gum?”

  [Do not chew it like gum. This will require significantly more jaw strength. Treat it as if you were eating ice.]

  I sighed, eyeing the hunk of rebar. I was too tired to argue, and deep down, I kinda wanted to know if this was actually possible.

  I lifted my mask over my mouth and brought the metal to it. Then I bit down.

  The first few seconds felt like trying to break through a rock—my jaw tensed, my molars meeting resistance, and honestly, I’d half-expected them to shatter on impact, which would have been goddamn annoying.

  But then, after I pressed down with just about all of my jaw strength—

  CRUNCH.

  My teeth sank into the steel like it was goddamn taffy.

  I wasn’t breaking. The metal was.

  I’d stopped for a moment out of shock. Then, I chewed. The metal tended to bend before it broke, but before long, it started to break down. And then I was grinding down chunks of steel, the non-taste of cold iron flooding my mouth, metallic grit coating my tongue. It was weirdly smooth, like chewing into ice with a little extra crunch. Tasteless, but the texture wasn’t bad.

  Holy fuck.

  I took another bite, then another, reducing solid steel into manageable shreds, until I had a mouthful of metal dust and filings.

  Nanny’s voice filled my sound feed, sounding unusually eager.

  [Swallow.]

  I did.

  The steel grit slid down my throat, hitting my stomach with an odd, almost pleasant weight.

  [I will require time to digest this. I recommend washing it down with water, or better yet, an acidic juice. An actual organic acid such as concentrated vinegar would be ideal].

  Fuck that, I was at my limit of dietary weirdness for one day. I needed some real food in me, ASAP.

  000

  The burger joint a few blocks down was one of those neon-lit, late-night diners, the kind where it wasn’t just the tables that were a bit sticky with grease, but even the walls and the roof. A giant holo-menu flickered behind the counter, offering real meat for a price, vat-grown synth as the norm, and “mystery protein” for the truly desperate. The customers were mostly Animal gangoons, none of whom particularly looked like they wanted to bother or be bothered by me, which suited me just fine.

  I ordered two real-meat double cheeseburgers, large fries, and a tall cup of water. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, I threw in for a full cup of lemon juice.

  The waitress, an Animal herself, was kinda cute: she had cute blonde hair, with pretty blue Kiroshi eyes and a bit of a baby face that undercut her massive bulk and seven-foot frame. She clearly wasn’t too Juiced up, given her warm attitude and lack of grotesquely large muscles. But when I made my request plain, she blinked at me.

  “Like... straight lemon juice?”

  “Yeah.”

  More blinking. “You sure, man? That’s for, like, cocktails and dressings—”

  Her Kiroshis lit up when I wired her a fifty-eddie tip.

  She took the hint, grinned. “Comin’ right up.”

  I slid into a booth all the way in the back, half-shadowed by a busted neon sign of some chinese tiger. The few Animal gangoons occupying the other side of the room were loud, rowdy, throwing back spiked sodas, but they didn’t glance at me for a second, and otherwise, the place was quiet.

  Which gave me too much time to think.

  I rubbed at my jaw absently, still reeling from what just happened. I had eaten steel. Not in a gimmicky, swallow-a-nail kind of way, but in the most literal of senses possible. It was as if my teeth had been built for it. They hadn’t even chipped. It was like only now was I catching up to the fact that I was not normal—literally built different from baseline human. Somehow, eating rebar had made that message sink in more deeply than any of my prior feats. It felt more personal, somehow. More real.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  After a few minutes, the waitress came by and dropped off my food. When she left, I picked up the cup of lemon juice, giving it a skeptical look. “You’re sure this is necessary?”

  [Highly.]

  I took a sip. Gah. Bitter stuff.

  [The citric acid will aid in metal dissolution. This will allow me to extract necessary elements with greater efficiency.]

  “Yeah? And how long before you tell me I need to start drinking battery acid?”

  [We’ll cross that bridge when necessary.]

  I nearly choked on my fries. “You’re joking.”

  [I am far too sophisticated for jokes.]

  Gah.

  “So,” I muttered a minute later, between bites of my double cheeseburger, “Steel. That’s a thing now. Great. You gonna tell me what’s next?”

  [As I said, we will need to incorporate all manner of exciting new materials into your diet soon.]

  I chewed slowly. “Details, please.”

  [Titanium, tantalum. Gold. Actual chromium. Various siderophile elements. Platinum-group elements. Neodymium. Lanthanides.]

  I stopped chewing.

  “…Lanthanides?”

  [Yes. Rare earth elements are vital for optimizing transmission speed, sensory input enhancements, and energy storage capabilities. Your biological nervous system is an inefficient conductor of bioelectric signals compared to the optimized cybernetic pathways offered by chrome. However, if I continue integrating your biological nervous system with my neurosynthetic nanite system, I can match or surpass most chrome upgrades. I anticipate near term increased reaction speeds of an additional 12 to 15 percent. If you consume at least five hundred grams of assorted lanthanides. I require several elemental variants.]

  I swallowed. “You want me to eat fucking magnets.”

  [In part, yes. Neodymium is essential for efficient magnetic field interaction, which is critical for your Sandevistan’s inner systems. You also require dysprosium in order to increase the Sandevistan’s efficiency under prolonged load conditions, in addition to trace amounts of the other lanthanides, particularly ytterbium. Vanadium and molybdenum are required as well, but for general skeletal enhancements, not for any exotic end uses.]

  I downed another mouthful of lemon juice to buy myself a second to process that. Gah, this stuff stung. Washed it down with another cup of water.

  “Literal magnets. You want me to eat, literal, magnets.”

  [Clearly, this hemoglobin deficiency is still having a disproportionately adverse effect on your processing capabilities.]

  I growled. Fuck her. “Okay. So just to be clear—that’s just the start of all the weird shit you want me to eat in the future?”

  [Correct. It would be ideal if you could consume half an ounce, or roughly 14.2 grams of rhodium in the next week. An ounce of gold would be welcome as well.]

  “Why?” I asked, blankly.

  [The gold, because there are no metal elements with greater properties of bioelectrical conductivity. The rhodium will be useful for increasing the efficiency of your bodily various waste disposal systems, though platinum will also do if sourcing proves problematic].

  “…I fucking hate that this makes sense.” I knew enough chemistry to at least track the general logic Nanny was following.

  [Your continued bodily enhancements require exotic material input. Your body is now capable of integrating, processing, and utilizing these elements on a level previously unimaginable for an organic system. A small price to pay for greater strength, durability, and enhanced cognitive function. Your Sandevistan, which is designed to be biomechanically integrable into a nanotechnological system, will also see continued improvements.]

  I sighed, taking another bite of my burger. “At what point do I stop being a guy and become just as much of a borg as, I don’t even know,” I spitballed a guess, not that I had a damn clue about that old legend’s particulars, “Adam Smasher?”

  [Irrelevant philosophical question. Your organic sense of identity will remain intact. And your body will remain organic to most outward or even inward appearances.]

  “That’s not even remotely reassuring, Nanny.”

  [You will adapt.]

  I grabbed a fry, dipped it in lemon juice, and shoved it in my mouth just to spite Nanny.

  The fries actually tasted kinda good that way.

  Shit.

  000

  Thinking back to Dorio’s beating as I took off on my bike, I still couldn’t quite help but marvel at this newfound attitude of mine to chrome, and chipping in.

  To the me of a year ago, that utter lack of interest—even given the money to chip in all sorts of stuff—wouldn’t have made any sense.

  Chrome had always been an object of intense envy for me. The thing that everyone wanted. The thing that everyone who could afford it got because it was the only way to make yourself better—stronger, faster, smarter even. Anyone that was full ‘ganic could never compare to someone with chrome. It was why companies like ‘Saka sponsored employees with company chrome—to get them more productive, better able to work those hundred-hour weeks. Companies would hire people that were mostly ‘ganic, but only if their baselines were high enough. How well they then tolerated the subsequent upgrades decided how far they’d go.

  Only Edgerunners and psycho gangoons ever took it too far, and even then, it was with weaponized pieces like projectile launch systems and mantis blades—things that quite specifically turned you into a monster, eroded your humanity.

  Perhaps it had more to do with the whole Maine debacle than anything else—this newfound caution. Couldn’t say I hated it, though. Maybe it was also the fact that Nanny’s upgrades had already helped me out quite a bit. Or it was also my unwillingness to become corpo property.

  Not too many people saw it as that, though—but as a programmer, I knew better. If someone’s hands would periodically probe into my metal, uploading updates periodically ‘to keep things working all preem and proper’, then that wasn’t my metal.

  If some egghead at a corp could decide that since the new models weren’t selling well enough, they should upload a bogus update to nearly brick the oldest models currently in use, then that was because it was still theirs. They had that control.

  I no longer had the urgency to chip anything in, because nothing was challenging me to the point that I felt it was necessary. I wondered if it was even wise to continue coasting by on that complacency or if I should instead prep beforehand.

  Mostly, I was curious, I supposed: I was curious to see how far Nanny’s nanotech could bring my mostly ‘ganic self, how far that edge could be pushed. Say what you will about the benefits of chrome; chrome couldn’t grow. It could only be upgraded, and even then, only by other people. Nanny operated on a different level from that. But did that mean I wouldn’t get some new chrome at some point? I wasn’t sure, yet.

  Lucy’s apartment block was in view by the time I finished my thinking and decided—there really wasn’t any rush at this point, and therefore no reason to debate the issue like this.

  After getting my bike situated, I walked into Lucy’s apartment. The air was thick with cigarette smoke—a little annoying, but nothing I’d complain about. It was her house after all. She was lying on her couch, cyberdeck screen down on her stomach when I came in. She stubbed the cig in an ash tray on the coffee table and sat up straight, “welcome home.”

  I grinned, “glad to be back. I just came back from the gym with Dorio—tenderized the fuck out of me. Did a giggy before that,” I said, “got a little messy.”

  “You’ve been busy. Who’d you work with? Dorio, too?”

  “Solo,” I said, sitting down on the other couch across from her, “was trying to scroll a BD for that shithead schoolmate I told you about. Second installment of the D series.” I grinned.

  She giggled, “isn’t he more into Edgerunner shit, though?” As in, Jimmy Kurosaki, probably.

  “I’m an Edgerunner,” I said, grinning confidently, “yeah, I know what you mean—but the last time I showed him one of my BDs, he really liked ‘em. Thought, maybe I could build a rep by selling to more than just him..”

  “D, the XBD star, huh?” She grinned, “not gonna lie, it has a ring to it.”

  I chuckled, “feels kind of like a gonky move—”

  “Not at all,” she said, “if you’re serious about Edgerunning, this is your ticket to, you know, becoming a legend,” she splayed her fingers and sat back on the couch, crossing her legs. “Or whatever you merc-types love.”

  “You know you pretty much got me into this shit, right?” I chuckled, “you’ve been doing this longer than me.”

  “And you’re still on the grind, despite already achieving your goals,” Lucy noted.

  “You really think I’d just settle down and become a Corpo just cuz I got the scratch to pay off my tuition?”

  Lucy grinned. “I know, I know, you really love this edgerunner shit. Personally, I think that’s hot as fuck, but I’ve got a pretty questionable taste, so don’t take that as praise—”

  Like hell I wouldn’t—waitasecond. I was hot, huh?

  “—but anyway,” she continued, even as I grinned like an idiot, “any news about Tanaka Junior while you were out visiting your corpo pet?”

  Pet? I… tried not to let anything show on my face when she said that, “I, uh… yeah, he’s still alive, but fucked apparently. Blackballed from the corp world. Not sure what the fuck that’s gonna do for him, but I know he’s not coming back to Arasaka. Ever, far as I understand.”

  “That’s good,” she said, “one less corpo motherfucker to worry about, if you’ve got your story right. Where are you getting your intel from?”

  I leaned back in my couch. “From that shithead schoolmate of mine, Jin—this whole thing with Katsuo is why he’s suddenly getting so chummy with me.”

  Lucy frowned. “Yeah, no, that’s not good,” she looked at me seriously. “Jin Ryuzaki?”

  I nodded.

  Lucy ran a hand down her face. “How are you even getting mixed up with people like this, David? Arasaka Academy must be a trip.”

  “You know of him?” I asked.

  “Him?” Lucy waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I don’t track corpo babies. But his family? That’s another story. Your friend’s a son of Masaru Ryuzaki, an Arasaka board member—the old man rules over the company’s North American mergers and acquisitions division.” Lucy gave me a warning look. “It’s not good to get mixed up with someone like this, David—Masaru’s one of the coldest-blooded Arasaka fuckers on the continent. There’s nothing he won’t do for a few eddies. Thousands if not tens of thousands of people have died at his say, and that’s just what’s publicly known. He made his bones in the Unification War after was sent here from Japan, providing logistics and drumming up support from every merc corp or freelancer he could reach. He pretty much bankrolled Arasaka's return to the city.”

  I let out a breath, grimacing. I’d already known most of that, from my own investigations, but hearing it all spelled out like that… worried me.

  “Jin’s not his dad. I can handle it.” Lucy was right. Jin was a dangerous person to get involved with. But as long as our interests weren’t opposed, as long as I could use him…

  Lucy sighed. “Just don’t let him get an edge over you. If you can use him, use this pet of yours—fine. Fine, climb them like a ladder. But know your enemy, David. These people are the worst of the worst fuckers breathing.”

  I nodded. “I will, especially when it comes to Jin. As for her, she’s…”

  I was about to say Fei wasn’t so bad, not at all, but decided against—Lucy hated, hated all corpos as a rule, for reasons I still wasn’t entirely clear on. I didn’t know much about Lucy’s past at all, now that I thought about it. Whatever. Some minefields were better avoided entirely.

  “…fine, despite all. Sounds like Katsuo got in a good few shots on her, but Trauma Team fixed the damage. And her brother’s also fine apparently. Perfectly fine. Bullet didn’t even penetrate his chrome dome.”

  “Yeah, figures,” she said, “takes more than a cyberpsycho with a gun to put down a future CEO. They’re built tougher than a spaceship’s black box. But that’s good, at least—means you don’t have to mope around so much anymore.” She grinned to show that she was only teasing.

  I shrugged—it was largely true, but still couldn’t cut down on my guilt so much. The guilt of what happened, and the guilt of what kept going unsaid.

  I shook my head and chased those thoughts away. All that—I needed to leave outside. This, right here, just being in the moment, with her, was far more important.

  “Any news on Kiwi?” I asked.

  Lucy grimaced, “nada. Starting to get worried she might be a flatline at this point. I’ll ring her up, see if she’s still offline or not.”

  I clicked my tongue, but didn’t say anything. She and Lucy had history—wasn’t my place to talk shit about her, especially if she might end up coming back. Though I wouldn’t be shy about flexing my abilities just cuz she had a complex about them.

  “Made a ton of scratch today,” I said, awkwardly changing the topic.

  “More money. Joy,” she snorted, “Still don’t know what to do with the fucking corpo inheritance your granny wired me.”

  I chuckled. We were quiet for a moment until—

  “Wanna get a new place?” we asked each other at the same time. She grinned at me. “David, you romantic.”

  “You said the same fucking thing.”

  “Of course I’ll move in with you, since you begged so nicely.”

  I threw a cushion at her face. Lunatic.

  000

  Lucy and I were tangled up in each other, the heat between us thick and heady, when my optics flared with an incoming call request. A group call. A holo call at that. From Maine.

  The hell?

  Lucy gasped beneath me, her expression caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief. “Why the fuck is he calling us all?”

  I paused mid-motion, sighing in frustration. The mood was well and truly shot now. Regretfully, I pulled away and flopped onto my back beside her, staring up at the translucent holo-display hanging in my vision.

  “Normally, I’d just decline,” I muttered, running a hand through my sweat-damp hair. “But if he’s calling everyone…” I trailed off. No way Maine would round us all up for nothing. Something was up.

  With a final exhale, I accepted the call, with video. Still wasn’t sure why he was being so dramatic, but I’d like to find out why. The holo-feed only captured my face and shoulders, so they’d probably know I was shirtless—didn’t really care, though. Across from me, Lucy’s eyes flashed gold, signaling she’d accepted too.

  The moment our feeds connected, a chorus of voices flooded in.

  “Yeah! The fuck is it?!” Pilar’s voice burst through the comms, his usual lack of patience on full display. “Was in the middle of something!”

  “We all were, you gonk!” Becca snapped, sounding just as annoyed. “And yeah, Maine! Spit it out!”

  I rubbed at my temple. “Gotta agree, man. What’s up?”

  Maine’s face filled the screen, his usual no-nonsense expression in place. “Kiwi’s back.”

  Silence.

  A still, tense quiet blanketed the call, every one of us digesting that.

  “Or… she says she wants in again,” Maine continued.

  My eyes narrowed. Huh. That was not what I’d expected. Kiwi had ghosted us without a word, and now she wanted back in? The timing was suspect.

  “Leaving it up to us?” Pilar asked.

  “Nah,” Maine said. Then, without preamble, another face blinked into the call—Kiwi. “But she’s here if y’all wanna say something before putting the whole thing to rest. That’s what this is.”

  For fuck’s sake.

  Pilar was the first to speak, the red line on his tech visor pulsing as he talked. “Yeah, yeah. Personally, I never thought for a second that you were gonna quit. So this ain’t a surprise. Welcome back, and fuck off, all y’all.”

  And just like that, he logged out. Classic Pilar.

  Rebecca snorted. “Leaving without a word was a bitch move, but honestly, I also didn’t believe you weren’t coming back.”

  Kiwi smirked—with her eyes, obviously. “Wow.”

  “Anyway, glad you’re not a flatline—see you around, old hag.” Becca didn’t wait for a response before logging off too.

  I glanced at Lucy, who chuckled beside me. “What? This some kind of humiliation ritual or something?”

  “Feels that way,” Kiwi said, amused.

  Lucy’s humor faded in an instant. When she spoke again, her voice was ice. “We’ll have words in person. I’m not done with you.”

  Then she was gone.

  Now it was just me, Maine, Dorio, Falco—and Kiwi.

  Falco gave Kiwi a casual nod. “Glad to have ya back, Ki. Ain’t got nothin’ else to say, truth be told. Till next time.” He logged off without another word.

  Maine turned to Dorio. “What about you, D? What do you wanna say?”

  Dorio’s expression was unreadable, her arms crossed tight over her chest.

  I leaned forward slightly, studying her. “The hell got you so mad in the first place?”

  She didn’t even hesitate. “I’d rather not explain.”

  I blinked. Oh, we’re doing this?

  Fine.

  “Well,” I said, utterly unfazed, “I’m not gonna apologize for being better than you. And I’m not gonna stop getting better either, so try not to blow your top the next time I outclass you.”

  Maine immediately scowled. “The fuck was that, D?”

  “The truth,” I replied, voice even. “If she can’t handle that, then that’s too bad.”

  A chuckle filtered through the line. Kiwi. Her voice was dry, tinged with something I couldn’t quite place.

  “Don’t you worry one bit, prodigy,” she said smoothly. “I’m not leaving any time soon.”

  Damn shame, that.

  “See you around, then, Kiwi,” I said before exiting the call.

  Lucy glared at me. “The fuck did you just say that to her for?”

  In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have said it out loud—having left the call, Lucy could only have heard my side of things, which didn’t paint a friendly picture. “I don’t like that the reason for her bailing was because she was insecure or some shit,” I said. “I could have accepted most other reasons, but that just rubs me wrong as fuck. You can’t tell me it doesn’t do the same to you.”

  “You didn’t have to fucking gloat to her,” she said. “You kinda owe her more respect, you know.”

  I received another call—from fucking Jin. Really man?

  “I already gave her that respect when I overlooked her dogshit Netrunning guidance,” I frowned, “I gave her plenty of respect by not immediately calling her out for being a major bitch to me. Maybe you owe her more respect, but I don’t.”

  “Fine, whatever—take the call.”

  I rolled off the bed and accepted.

  David: What?

  Jin: What—busy boning the output?

  That ship had sailed long ago. Dammit.

  David: No, it’s fine. Sorry

  Jin: Ahhh, I see, you just had a fight, didn’t you? Wait—the fuck am I even doing, I don’t give a single shit about any of that. David, can you drive a car as good as you can race in a speed boat?

  David: What did you have in mind?

  Jin: Great—I’ll take that as a yes, then. Next Saturday, a bunch of Arasaka finance people are gonna be betting on hypercar street-racing. I need you in there and dominating in order to give me the clout to mine some tidbits about the financial winds. You know, for insider trading.

  David: The fuck are you saying that for over an unsecured line?

  Jin: All my lines are secured, dipshit. And daddy needs his fucking pay-day, so you tell me right now if you’re gonna be good for it—only reason I’m calling you is cuz of the Kerenzikov you’re rocking, but I need to know if that’s enough or not.

  David: Are you giving me a car for this or do I need to bring my own or something?

  Jin: Everyone’s rocking Caliburns. Most of ‘em are even modded. You better get yours modded too if you don’t wanna eat some asshole’s dust.

  Did this asshole really just assume that I had a Rayfield Caliburn just lying around?

  Jesus H.

  David: Sure—I’m good for it. We’ll talk more tomorrow.

  “Fucking gonk,” I whispered after he immediately hung up. What a weird fucking thing to spring on someone.

  Worst part—I actually didn’t know how to drive a Caliburn, much less race in one. I guess I’d have to add that to my to-do list. That and buying one in the first place.

  I already hated parking my bike in Lucy’s shitty garage—no way it could reliably hold a Rayfield. We needed to move somewhere else stat.

  “Was master calling?” Lucy asked.

  “Not funny, Lucy,” I said quietly as I was thinking.

  God. I needed to make arrangements for this racing gig, somehow. I called Falco.

  Falco: Well if it ain’t the Luchador himself—what’s up?

  D: You got any time to teach me how to race?

  Falco: I’ll do ya one better, partner. Wanna ride shotgun with me in the Badlands Derby this Saturday?

  D: Sure—sounds like it’ll be fun. Can I bring Lucy?

  Falco: Sure, but she can’t ride along—gotta keep the weight low on the Quadra. Already pushing it bringing all my ordnance. Was gonna ask Becca on that account—lightest sharpshooter this side of the Mississippi, that’s for damn sure. But I’m also itching to see what you can do.

  Wait, shooter?

  D: What kind of a race is this?

  Falco: When I asked if you wanted to ride shotgun, I meant what I said, kid.

  very much enjoyed writing this one)

  https://discord.gg/W5BqBBym28