#albert murphy

Machines humming quietly and the low sound of radio PEBKAC tunes filled the sterile space of the ripperdoc clinic. Tools scattered on the tray by the chair, antiseptic haphazardly set on the stool, and a cord that was a surefire trip hazard running across the room. You'd know it was your brother's space even if you'd never set foot in here before. Swine.

"What the ever loving fuck happened?" You asked into the seemingly empty space, as you eyed the thin blood splatter across the back wall and a barrel of discarded cyberware parts.

Your brother's head of unruly hair popped up from behind a crate.

"Some walk-in woke up mid anesthesia and flipped his shit." He said with a laugh. Dropping your Barghest jacket on the chair, you walked around it and leaned onto the crate to find him on his hands and knees, mopping up some kind of bloody puddle with a rag.

"You alright?" You asked, face screwed up in disgust at the dripping hazmat hazard.

"Yeah," he paused, dropping the sopping rag in a bucket of similar color as the puddle. Getting up, he hauled it to the small bathroom in the back, behind one of the server machines. "I had to wrestle him back into the chair and readminister some, but he was pretty weak given he'd just woken up." He called out over the sound of flushing and pouring fresh water into the bucket. Walking back out to face you, with his hands on his hips, you took in the filthy state of him.

"Did he pay extra for...this?" You waved your hand at him and the wall, bracelets clanking.

"Oh you bet your ass he did." He grinned, wiping his hands on a worse for wear apron. "How was your day?"

Pursing your lips, you stared at him, leaning on the crate, arms crossed over your little black criss cross top.

"What?" He pushed, half reaching into the bathroom to turn off the tap and haul out the bucket.

"You fuckin' left me at the Black Sapphire, you gonk." She replied, though her tone told him she wasn't nearly as mad as she could be.

"Oh yeah, sorry about that. I kinda got caught up with Savannah-" he huffed out, hauling the bucket back near the puddle, that had by now soaked a nice dark stain into the concrete floor.

"You can't just up and leave me in this creepy town whenever you feel like it, asshole." She ground out, genuinely frustrated now.

He paused, looking up at her from sitting on his haunches, expression shifting into slight guilt.

"I'm sorry, okay? I was kinda buzzed and one thing led to another-"

"Whatever." You replied, sauntering to the reclined chair and laying on it, propping your feet on the stabilizer extension.

After a couple more scrubs, he gave up on the stain, rising to walk over to the wheelie chair, sinking on it with a groan.

"So, how did you get by?" He asked, sanitizing his hands with handgel on the equally cluttered desk.

"Barghest personally delivered me home." She said laconically, lacing her hands behind her head.

"Yeah yeah, seriously though-"

"I am serious."

That had him pausing.

"Did you do something? Y/N I swear to God, I need their business-"

"If I had done something bad I'd be in a ditch right now, not in this bum ass clinic. Thanks for not checking the ditches after not hearing from me in 16 hours, by the way." She shot back, leaving him even more perplexed.

"Fine, don't tell me. But did you check the order I asked you? The one in the terra cognita market-"

"Yes, it looked solid. I'd say the price is a little steep, especially for the titanium spines, but I guess the custom made design leaves room for the creator to demand more." She thought back to the grumpy black guy that sat on the stool behind the collection of cyberware, spread out on a red fabric, and the nosy questions he kept asking her. He had the wits, just not the ability to shut the fuck up and use them to his benefit quietly.

"So," your brother initiated with a raise of his eyebrows and a wise man hand gesture that meant nothing good.

"Don't." You quietly threatened, making him raise his hands.

"I didn't even ask yet!" he defended.

"I'm not doing your bidding, I'm unemployed, not desperate."

"WOW."

"We've had this conversation before. I'll gladly check the product, help you pick out chrome, even negotiate, but I won't get involved in any shady shit, and I know it's shady cause this town is the capital of Shadystan." You argued back, craning your neck to look him in the eye, to drive your point home.

"It's not like I'm sending you to barter with Scavs-" he scoffed.

"Like hell you could. Check yo self."

"Fine, whatever. I was gonna give you a cut too." He whined, petulant as ever, despite his grown age. Mama's boy.

"Yeah I'm sure the cut would cover a can of synthmeat." You bantered, knowing fully well that your brother may be a handful, but he'd never let you starve. The whole reason why you were here was that he refused to let you roam about jobless and homeless, even if Dogtown was worse than whatever couch you surfed back in the Sprawl, where you worked for a corporation in Boston. What a can of worms that was.

"Well fine, I don't need your nerdy ass anyways." He huffed, wheeling across the room to a laptop propped on some old ripperdoc shelving full of medical books and physical records, an archaic system of storing information in this day and age; but not to your brother, never.

"I rubbed elbows with a couple of patrons at the Sapphire, but none seemed interested in a strange engineer who got dropped by a mid-tier corp." You changed the subject, shifting on the chair to fully face him, legs dangling on the side of it now.

"Can't say I blame them," he mused while typing away, "people in Night City are as wary as it gets."

"Maybe I should just switch it up and go into cybersecurity. How hard can becoming a netrunner be?" You joked, knowing you'd rather die than sit in cyberspace for longer than 10 minutes, tops.

"Well, what about Barghest?" He suddenly piped up, exiting his file and turning to her.

"What about them?" She asked back, hands twisting the Barghest jacket she was sitting on absent-mindedly.

"They always look for new recruits, it probably applies to engineers, too. They modify any cyberware and weapons they get." He suggested, now standing and stretching his sore back.

"I'm not gonna work for a government branch." His sister's scoff had him looking at her funny.

"They're not government, not really, not anymore. They're independent, remember? Think mutiny."

"They're still military. They don't change." Came the counter.

"They're no different than any other gang out here."

"Real reassuring that."

He looked around once more, then sighed theatrically.

"Okay, I'll go change out of these filthy ass clothes real quick, and then we can go get some late lunch, yeah?" With that, he stalked off to the bathroom, groaning when he saw the mess he almost forgot about. "Nevermind, I'll need some more time, I gotta wipe everything down in here too, ugh."

Meanwhile, his sister was a tad preoccupied herself, as she felt a lump in the breast pocket of the Barghest jacket she decided to pull on.

"Sure." She vaguely replied, fishing out a shard. She held it up under the chair lamp light. Faint green veins run across the datashard, the Militech logo printed in discreet pixels on the broad left side.

Shit.

Had Jago accidentally left it in the pocket? Was it important? Time sensitive?

Surely he'd have contacted her by now if it were. Hell, he probably didn't even know she had it. Curiosity overwhelmed her, crashing through her systems like a shot of adrenaline. She knew better than to insert random shards. Could be anything between a virus and some kind of insane top secret schematic that could put her on a kill list.

She stared at the shard, holding her breath. She glanced back at the corner the bathroom was around.

Just as she thumbed the shard one more time, the sound of the door opening had her scrambling to put it back in the pocket. Why the fuck did she worry about her brother seeing it of all people, anyway?

"Okay, let's go stuff our faces." he called out as he rounded the corner, streetwear on and a stupid hot pink Us Cracks baseball cap like a cherry on top.

"I'm feeling wonton's-" you exclaimed, jumping off the chair and making for the door, mercifully ignoring his hideous hat.

"Oh hell yea, I was craving that fried tofu shit Wu sells all day-" he agreed following after her as he turned off lights along the way, machines left on for easier upkeep. Locking the door, he turned to see his sister stretching her arms over her head in the noon sun, when suddenly he peeped the yellow Barghest patches on the sleeves.

"Holy shit you DID get picked up by Barghest!" He practically accused in the middle of the luckily empty alley.

"Why the fuck would I lie??" She incredulously shot back, pushing the slightly long sleeves back on her forearms.

"Who the fuck gave you this?? And why???"

He proceeded to (unsuccessfully) interrogate her on the way to Wu's little hole-in-the-wall chinese restaurant two streets away.

She gave up nothing.

Shit, maybe she would make a good Barghest recruit.

.

.

"Y'all just tryin' to piss me the fuck off-" Bennett huffed now, not nearly so much under his breath as he should be, throwing his hands up in discontent.

"You can't just do as you please, there's quotas to meet, you can't operate this way unless you have indefinite funds we don't know about." Jago countered briskly, fingers pressing into his temples, already nursing a migraine.

"We can argue about this all day. The point is we need to move funds around and prioritize the missions that are most time sensitive right now." Albert calmly reiterated, trying to placate Bennett.

"Murphy all I'm hearing is you agree with this weasel, and frankly I ain't gon let y'all kill my projects to fund some self serving nonsense." Bennett shot back, making Jago roll his eyes again.

"Look, I don't like this either, my own stuff is gonna get shoved on the back burner, but at this point, what else is there? Just take it for what it is, man." Ulmer cut in, though it was hard to take him seriously with his feet propped up on the table.

"Easy for you to say, the colonel will put you in charge of the tunnel and call it a day. What about my guys, huh? I have promises to fulfill, obligations-"

"You shouldn't have made them. That is entirely on you." Jago spoke up, no longer holding back in grinding Bennett's gears. Not that Bennett had seen it as him suing for peace this whole time, anyway.

"And where's your part of the job, huh?? All these talks with Militech, why aren't you delivering on your promises, Jago?" Bennett pushed back, accusatory finger pointed at Jago, and with Jago's patience wearing thin, he was already fantasizing about the way he'd twist it back and snap it off.

"I upheld mine. Militech will deliver the cargo by the end of the week."

"That ain't enough time!"

"I don't control delivery." Jago coldly replied, pushing his chair back loudly. "I'm done with this meeting. See amongst yourselves who will concede to what. If you have any issues with the arrangement, feel free to take it up with Colonel Hansen." Pushing off the table, he walked out of Bennett's disgruntled mutters and Murphy's placating.

"Hold up, Szabó." Ulmer called out as he followed.

"Yes?" Jago retorted, somewhat annoyed, albeit displeasure misplaced.

"Look I uh, I just wanted to let you know I spoke with my guys and we will change priorities if needed, but we do ask that we don't get paycuts. We're already the worst paid amongst the top brass squads-" he ushered as they walked down the corridor to the elevator. Jago paused as he pressed the button, and faced him.

"That's something I can look into, but I cannot make empty promises." The jab at Bennett was light but evident.

"That's all we ask." Ross said, shifting on his feet.

"I'll keep you posted." Jago concluded as the elevator arrived, leaving Ulmer in the corridor. He had a painkiller to take, and phonecalls to make. God this migraine wouldn't leave him. He knew the risk when he omitted sleep completely, but he did not know he'd be pulled into an emergency meeting with the top brass. Handling Bennett required steroids sometimes, for real.

Stopping on his floor, he found Charles by his door.

"I'll take a couple of hours to sleep off this migraine. Don't wake me up unless the rapture happens. Or Hansen himself summons all hands on deck. I don't know, just, don't wake me up."

The guard simply nodded, and Jago went in armed with the fury of a sleep deprived man. Lowering the blinds, turning off all big lights save for the bedside lamp, he stripped down to his boxers, took two painkillers, then crawled into bed.

Swiping his messages open, he checked to see the level of emergency each contained. Moderate to low, all of them. They could wait.

Part of him scanned again for your name, but of course, saw none. He knew better, you had only parted this morning, and you did say you'd be busy today. Still, he couldn't help the disappointment that creeped in. This foolish insecurity always gnawed at him, silently prowling in the corners of his mind, whenever silence took over for more than 10 minutes. Laid on his stomach, he groaned into his pillow. His eyes burned. Surely as soon as the pain relief kicks in, he'll doze off.

They did not pay him enough to deal with these military knuckleheads.

.

.

The sound of a message woke him up from his slumber. Bleary-eyed, he turned on the screen to see it had been far more than 2 hours since he'd laid down. Pushing himself up, he leaned against the headboard. Six new messages. All moderate to low importance. Taking a sip of water from the bottle by the bed, he watched the light dots of golden hour seep through the blinds and fall on the wall to his left. The color reminded him of your clothes last night.

He knew he shouldn't crowd you. You'd just met. He needed to let it marinate for a little while, a day at least. He wondered what you may be up to, if you'd thought about him at all.

With a sigh, he got up and washed up in the bathroom, applied moisturizer, then got to making the long awaited calls he'd avoided. Clean black shirt on, he holocalled the first three message senders, in urgency order.

A knock on the door made him pause by the time he was texting a reply to the fifth.

"Rise and shine sleeping beauty."

Hansen's large frame filled the doorway upon opening the door. Jago welcomed him in, raising the blinds as the boss made himself comfortable on the couch adjacent.

"I hope you didn't look for me long. I told Charles that he could wake me if you needed me." Jago started, pouring whiskey into two glasses from the little bar he had on a table in the far corner.

"Not at all. I decided to come down to see you for a change of scenery. Got a lot on my mind and a walk helps." Hansen took the drink eagerly, waiting for Jago to sit across him.

"Something troubling you?" Jago coaxed.

"Not quite. The Militech guy, what'd you make of him?" Hansen prompted, straight to business as usual.

Jago took a second to think. "He was very lax, perhaps too lax. He agreed with most of the points, counteroffered those he didn't, pretty decent changes we could comfortably accept, save for one I drew a hard line for. That was cargo no. 7."

"He wanted to skim on it?" Hansen guessed.

"He wanted to omit it entirely."

Hansen hummed, deep in thought.

"I pushed for a later delivery, but with a guarantee of cargo 7." Jago added, earning himself a satisfied nod from Hansen.

"To tight, efficient work." He replied, raising his glass. Jago mirrored him.

"Crack the chessboard?" Hansen added after a sip, and Jago obliged him. He'd gifted him the chess set three months in, when he'd finally earned his trust. Chess was a mutual interest of theirs, and Hansen appreciated a good opponent.

As he set up the digital board on the coffee table, Hansen spoke up, "this delivery is very delicate. I hope you kept it under wraps."

"Of course. Discretion was of utmost importance, so I made sure nobody knew." Jago moved his pawn. Hansen followed after a beat.

"Good. I appreciate Bennett and Yuri, but I can't have them huffing and puffing over who gets the loot. I need them focused, and the gift will only distract instead of inspire.

As Jago contemplated the board, Hansen spoke up again, "I heard you took a girl up here last night."

He paused, waiting for Jago's reaction, but all the accountant did was move another pawn. His face was schooled into a blank expression.

"Yes. It was a... nice... encounter."

"Jeez, that it?" Hansen laughed, retaliating by claiming one of his pawns.

"She was charming." He added, carefully measuring the board again before he moved and claimed one of Hansen's pawns in turn.

"She gonna be a repeat offender or?" Hansen knowingly asked. Jago raised his gaze to meet his.

"I don't know. I suppose it depends on her." He vaguely replied.

Hansen frowned a little.

"You ask her out?"

"I... I told her I'd like to see her again."

"That ain't a set date though, is it." Hansen retorted, claiming another pawn.

"I didn't want to be pushy. I tried the whole brief encounter thing Yuri suggested, but honestly? It's not me. I need more than just a body, if that makes sense." He moved a pawn across the word, checking the colonel.

"You should do what feels right, not what others tell you to. Well, unless it's me." He laughed, claiming another pawn.

"And what are you telling me?" Jago sheepishly asked, and Hansen shook his head good naturedly.

"Ask her out to dinner, probably somewhere out of this shithole though."

"So soon?" Jago pressed, moving another pawn.

"You already slept with her, doesn't get faster than that." He chuckled, checking Jago.

Pausing to figure a way out, Jago drew a blank.

"I'm afraid of coming on too strong." He admitted, knocking his rook flat on the board.

"Don't go pulling a Jago."

"I hate when you call it that." Jago groaned, finishing off his whiskey. Hansen only regarded him, hands pressed together in his lap.

"Your self sabotage skills towards the fairer sex are a legend amongst the high ranks."

"The local horror kind, I'm sure." Jago huffed, and Hansen smirked.

"Well, you can reverse this reputation, you know."

He watched Hansen walk up to the little bar, and grab the whiskey decanter for a refill.

"She local?"

"No," Jago admitted, "she's visiting her brother. He works here."

"Works as?" Hansen turned to him, eyebrow raised.

"Ripperdoc, apparently Dodger has business with him."

Hansen walked over, topping up Jago's empty glass.

"Spinner."

Jago looked up at him in confusion.

"His name, or rather, what they call him. Spinner. He's from Atlanta, he's got that stupid accent. He came to Night city a while back, worked for Trauma for like, three months, then decided to park his ass in Dogtown, make a quick, by far safer eddie."

"I wasn't aware I was associating with celebrities." Jago joked, taking a sip. Hansen corked the decanter, and turned to look out the large windows.

"They call him Spinner cause he spins a good story. He's got that silver tongue, sweet talking anybody, from corpos to scavs. He's good at his work, for sure, but he's better at getting exactly what he wants, all the while making you think it was your idea to begin with."

Jago felt his own shoulders tense.

"He's not bad, by any means." Hansen turned to face him. But the unspoken warning was there: make sure this woman isn't out to get something more than what you're offering, too.

"Right." Jago simply concluded, throwing back the rest of his drink.

.

.

.

The next two days were busy, a fury of preparations for some kind of holiday. Dogtown was abuzz, and so was Barghest. When people got in high spirits, things tended to get out of hand, and the more prepared they were, the better.

You had only been here for a week now, so the excitement the residents carried surprised you pleasantly. It was... refreshing, somehow.

"Stop the car for a mandatory scan."

The voice sounded distorted from the old ass speakers, probably installed before you were even born.

Keeping your hands on the wheel, tapping your nails to the rythm of one of Vexelstrom radio's songs, you waited for the all clear on your brother's Mizutani Shion MZ2. Well, you had to be fair, it was a damn cute car, but it was an older model, and the paint was fading on the hood and roof. Still, it had character. The electric yellow color, blended with custom black stripes on the hood, and lightning bolts on the sides, made it look like an old-school movie racecar, which it kinda was.

Pacifica was not a place you wanted to linger in. You'd gone out, picked up the new parts your brother requested from two shady ass Animals, and swiftly turned back towards Dogtown. Passing the inspection, you drove out of the checkpoint.

Barghest was swarming. Every corner had a couple of beefed up soldiers, decked out in tactical. Kinda overkill, but it's not your place to question security protocols in Night city of all places.

You glanced at the Barghest jacket, haphazardly thrown on the back seat in a spur of aggression from overheating. He'd messaged you the next day after your "sleepover", offering dinner on Thursday, some obscure fancy little place atop a skyscraper in Night City that you could only assume was lux AF. Luckily this little venture outside Dogtown allowed for a shopping stop, too.

Abruptly, you swerved to the side of the road, parking a few paces short of Longshore Stacks. Any other city would be on your ass about that traffic violation, but aside from a spooked junkie, nobody else paid you any mind. Pulling out your phone, a burner you'd bought upon entering the Night city border, you stepped out of the car and leaned against the door.

The Militech shard had been on the back of your mind for days now.

You knew Barghest was into some shady shit, nobody stays on top of the food chain like this without dirty work. Spinning the smartphone pinched between your forefinger and thumb, you squinted at the bright, hot, rundown street you were currently at. Your other hand played with the datashard in the left pocket of your jeans.

Decisions, decisions.

"Fuck it."

Dialing a number you'd memorized by heart, you waited as it wrung, looking around as inconspicuously as possible.

"Hello?" The voice at the other end hesitantly answered, evidently spooked by the lack of holocall feats, let alone caller ID.

"Hey, it's me." You unceremoniously stated, propping the phone between your ear and bare shoulder.

"Good God, I thought I was done for. Couldn't call me from a familiar device?" Yevgeny half chuckled, half scolded. The sound of a drill could be heard in the back.

"Yeah because that would make this call so secure." You replied scoffing.

"What's up?"

"I was thinking. What do you know about Barghest and Militech?"

His pause had you straightening up a little, but you quickly found out he was just juggling the call and whatever the fuck he was doing in his lab, based on the clanking of a knocked over instrument.

"Shit! Sorry-" you'd laugh if you weren't paranoid out in the open. You should've taken this in the car.

"So, they're not on particularly good terms, given how Kurt Hansen fucked them over and carved a nice Dogtown shaped piece of territory for himself. But they do occasionally delegate merc work to them. On the DL, of course-" Yevgeny rambled. No news there.

"I was hoping for a better scoop." You casually said, pulling the car door open and sitting back inside, one foot on the dusty road.

"Sorry to disappoint," he replied, amused, "but I'm not the one in Dogtown right now."

Touché.

"I met a guy that works in Barghest the other night." You nonchalantly said, but his chuckle made you groan internally.

"Good lay? They're all jacked apparently-" he teased, screwing on some kind of component on the other side of the phonecall, a loud squeak making you cringe.

"He asked me out. Tonight." You plainly offered.

"The plot thickens."

"He's an accountant." This seemed to make him pause whatever ear splitting task he was doing.

".... You're going out with Szabó??" He incredulously asked.

"You know him?" You asked, perking up.

"Who doesn't??" He shot back, voice an octave higher. "He's one of Hansen's direct subordinates??"

"And that's bad because-?"

"Not...bad. Just... daunting."

He didn't seem that daunting to you the other night when he'd railed you within an inch of your life. Attentive in aftercare, too.

"So I shouldn't go?" You pressed. Though, deep down, you knew you would, anyway.

"I mean, he's not a random gonk off the street, you know? He's a bigshot in Barghest. Did you know he's been to prison?" He rambled on, back to presumably setting up some kind of component on a circuit board.

"You don't say..." You hummed, eyeing a Barghest soldier surveying the entrance to Longshore Stacks. His heavy rifle hung on his shoulder, a warning to civilians.

"I mean, it was for like, fraud, or money laundering, or some other white collar shit, nothing bloody. But you know. Prison." He said, using the scary voice he'd use when he'd tell scary stories to freshmen.

"Somehow that makes him hotter." You laughed, fingers finding the shape of the datashard through your pants again.

"Your funeral. At least it'll be classy." Yevgeny retorted. "Have you considered my offer?" He asked, changing the subject.

You sighed, pulling the car door closed, both feet safely in the car. Locks automatically clicking. You weren't born yesterday.

"I don't know. I really don't want to get into this mess."

"Money is really good, and fast. We don't get our hands dirty, that's all on the Scavs." He urged, but your gut said otherwise. You liked Yevgeny, you really did. He was nice and sincere, even when he had something to gain. He was your brother's friend since college. While he studied to be a ripper, Yevgeny was acing cyberware design, a couple of years your senior, and cooky to boot. But hey, he was ambitious, resourceful and helpful. They'd come to Night city together. He'd come home with your brother for the holidays. He was the cool adoptive brother you'd bum cigarettes off of, and ask for notes so you'd scrape together a passing grade in Cybernetics 101.

The Scavengers, however, you had no interest in getting buddy buddy with. You've seen what they do, and the horrifying industries they supply. All Scavs are bad. You swore by it. Yevgeny often worked with them, through this back alley corp he was head engineer for. Sketchy shit for good scratch.

Hard pass.

You had no issue with dirty money. They problem was when the dirt on them was innocent blood. Stealing from a corp was fine, the government even, but gutting people like fish for parts? Kidnapping kids for XBDs? Miss me with that shit. You'd stumbled across a Scav website once, dangerously close to the wall. Cyberspace was scary, but what you saw on that website was beyond horror comprehension. Just seeing them on the streets made your insides churn.

"Still there?" His voice rang, pulling you back to the present. You simply hummed.

"Sorry, I know I'm not a good conversational partner right now, but I have big order of custom parts shipping out tonight."

"No worries." You mumbled.

"Look, let me get this order out tonight, and I'll call a couple of acquaintances tomorrow. If I hear about any good jobs, I'll let you know. No shady shit, promise." He sounded sincere. You hoped he was.

"I appreciate it, really." You offered, a small smile tugging at your painted lips.

"You got it, don't worry about a thing. Over and out!" He cheerfully said, dropping the call.

Pocketing the phone, you put the car in gear and started for the clinic. The shard felt lighter in your pocket, somehow. You'd decided.

.

.

Jago shuffled for what felt like the millionth time in his seat, the car at a standstill on the crossroads before the Dogtown border gate. The armored car was quietly purring, the engine running. He kept his eyes on the Barghest soldier cluster across the street, joking around while they patrolled. Night had barely fallen, street lights on.

He had offered to pick her up, but she'd kindly refused. Something about not wanting her brother on her case. After a bit of back n forth, she's accepted for him to pick her up at the border. He smoothed down the black button down he wore again, imaginary wrinkles ticking him off. Charles alternated between looking around for imminent threats, and through the car mirror, back to his nervous boss. It was kinda funny, seeing Jago all on edge like this, over a chick no less. Driver had no interest in chatting, thank god.

The knock that came from the other tinted window had them both jumping comically.

Charles slid out the passenger seat, rounding to her side to open the door. A quick scan showed no weapons on her person. She thanked him kindly, and slipped inside. The driver silently put the car into gear, and as soon as Charles was also inside, they sped off.

Leading her up the upscale building on corporate street, Jago took the chance to drink in her outfit and the way it hugged her body. It was sleek, dark in colors and most importantly, tastefully bold in cleavage depth. As they stood in the elevator they measured each other up, anticipation somehow higher than the night they slept together.

"You look lovely." He humbly offered, and the beautiful smile she graced him with almost had him melting.

"That makes two of us." She shot back with a wink, sauntering out of the elevator as they arrived at the rooftop.

Charles cringed at the exchange internally, stone faced as ever, leading the way and scoping out any threats. He opted for a spot to stand a pace away from their intimate table by the windows.

After a bit of smalltalk and a wine selection she let Jago deal with, the two fell into a nice conversation about Europe. She'd never been, so hearing about Hungary was interesting to her.

After the appetizers appeared, she took the chance to speak up.

"I think I should return this to you."

Jago looked up from his glass, as she set the Militech datashard between them. He paused. His discussion with Hansen came to mind.

"It was in the jacket pocket. I think you forgot to take it out when you lent it to me the other day." She added, his silence unnerving her a little.

"Thank you." He only said, picking it up.

"I didn't peek." She interjected. "I was tempted to, but didn't." She humorously added, and his lips finally curled a little.

"I appreciate that."

"I won't lie, my professional curiosity was pushing me hard. But I know better than to touch things that don't belong to me. All the more if they belong to a corp."

He regarded her for a second. Then he spoke up again.

"It's nothing special, really. Just a proposal draft for a collaboration project." He technically wasn't lying.

"I assume its confidential, so I won't ask." She hummed, picking up a bite of the appetizer. It felt as close to real ingredients as she'd ever tasted.

"It's a bonus for the top brass, that's all." He offered, closer to the truth this time. She nodded, taking a sip of the dry red he had chosen.

"Sometimes, my work can be a lot." He started, unsure where he was going with this himself.

"But I hope that won't deter you from our... entanglement."

"Entanglement ?" You laughed a little at the choice of the word, cocking your head to the side good naturedly.

He felt his cheeks redden.

"I.. don't know how to label this, yet. But I suppose I don't have to, not right now. What I want to say is, I understand how my job looks, and I hope it won't get in the way."

"The way of what? What are your intentions?" You teased now, propping your chin on your hand on the table.

"I like you, Y/N. You have a keen mind, a way with words, and you're beautiful. I would like to get to know each other more." He carefully said, eyes lowered. You watched his long eyelashes contrast against his pale skin, his silver hair neatly pushed back, and the top button of his shirt undone. He looked extra handsome under this lighting.

"Bet it's all a ploy to steal my virtue-" you joked, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"I guess that makes my cover blown."

"So, I have a very personal question you may not want to answer." You said carefully, and watched him straighten up a little.

"You can ask me just about anything." He said, with less bravado than he hoped for. You noticed.

"You didn't mention you were trans when we met." You offhandedly stated before a sip of wine. He braced himself.

"I may have hoped you wouldn't notice." He replied sheepishly, picking at his plate.

"I barely did, to be fair."

He looked up at you, gray eyes filled with an inexplicable sadness.

"Is that something that bothers you?" He carefully inquired, almost as if fearing the answer.

You took a split second, to reach your hand over the table, fingers softly tracing his knuckle. He could pull away, if he wanted to.

"No, not at all. I was just curious as to why you didn't say anything about it."

He exhaled, pressing his lips together in a line. He eyed her pretty, manicured hand, then boldly decided to take it in his. Man up, or whatever his father would say.

"I don't like talking about it. Not that I'm ashamed. I just... don't like advertising it. It may be part of who I am but, I don't like being defined by it."

You listened quietly, watching him tenderly swipe his thumb over the back of your hand.

"The only reason I know is because of the faint scarring, you know. I may not be a ripperdoc, but I do design and create all kinds of cyberware. I merely recognized the metalwork placement and the healed incision scars." You offered gently. "You don't owe me an explanation, or anybody else for that matter."

He met your gaze.

"I only ask because it seems like a pretty big part of you, and I'd like to know as much as you want to share with me."

"I transitioned a few years after my family moved to Night city. Seeing how people modified themselves to achieve their dream physiques made me realize that what I wanted wasn't as untouchable as I thought."

You watched him for a moment, the sharp bone structure, the curve of his brow.

"I bet the premium hottie package cost like hell" you jested, and he shared the laugh easily.

"Oddly cheaper than half the things people subject their bodies to here."

"I'll bet."

The main course arrived, making you pause to admire some extremely pretty plating.

After a bit of more wine and casual conversation, you decided to dip into the awkward topics segment again.

"Are you close with your family?"

"I'm on speaking terms with my mother. My father, not so much." He replied, setting his utensils crossed. "It has nothing to do with my transition, though."

"Clash of characters?" You offered, taking a bite.

"He doesn't like criminals." Jago flat out said, making you snort lightly. He grinned.

"My father was a civil worker before he retired a couple of years ago. Hard, honest work. I went to prison at around 24 years old. Embezzling."

"Classy crime." You joked, and he nodded.

"I was young and didn't know better. I'd like to say I was set up but...I simply took a risk and paid the price. I did make really good connections though."

"I can imagine. Night city seems like the kind of place that opens doors."

He leaned back, swirling his wine a little.

"Was prison scary?" You continued prying, clearly invested.

"It was less daunting than you'd think. I was well behaved, so I was released earlier. They have much bigger fish to fry."

"I bet orange suited you." You teased, but he actually seemed pleased.

"My hair was brown back then. So, yes."

You laughed, clearly entertained by his now loosened up demeanor.

"I can't believe I missed that hot brunet piece of ass, devastating." You said, biting your lip. He shook his head with a chuckle.

"I don't think the stubble suited me, but it definitely had a bad boy appeal. Jumpsuit did nothing for my ass though, I'll tell you that."

"That where you built those massive arms, prison?" You goaded him now, tipsy on your third glass of wine, and the appeal of his open vulnerability.

Discreetly flexing his left arm, he offered a cocky grimace.

"Can't say it was a disservice. No better place to build muscle and knowledge than a prison where your time and options are limited." He humored. "I certainly bulked up a little there."

After a pause for the waiter to clear the table, he went on the offensive.

"So, Y/N. I suppose it's my turn to grill you a bit." He said setting down his napkin.

"Grill away."

"For an engineer, you have very little chrome, that I'm aware of, at least. How come?"

"The boring truth is I like being organic. I studied cyberware related things so much in college that it put me off of complicated procedures. I always wanted some convenient add-ons, but other than that? I'm happy the way I am."

"I think that's nice. In a world where everyone chases the next new thing, it takes self assurance to be content in who you are."

It might have been the wine, or even the worries that weighed you down, but your tongue loosened.

"I also have this kinda new...fear. I stumbled across a spare parts market online once a while back and...it spooked me straight off cyberware modifications for a good while."

Jago watched you for a bit, as you toyed with your cigarette case, childlike almost.

"It...took me a while to trust ripperdocs again, mostly opting for my brother, who I knew would never risk my life, or my body parts for that matter." You laughed with the last words, but there was no humor in it. Jago felt some primal part of him shift protectively.

"Did something happen to you?" He asked, cautiously.

"No, thank God no. But I couldn't stop thinking about the people that it did. And the dreadful conditions the black market keeps these poor souls in. It made me all unsettled inside. I... that's why I lost my job back in the Sprawl. I just... couldn't work for a while. Just looking at those cyberware parts had me reeling. I took a lot of time off. Mental health day my ass. It still got used against me." You huffed.

"I'm really sorry." He offered genuinely, hand finding yours over the table.

"It's stupid, I know. I had no reason to take it that hard. But I've always been this way. My parents say I'm too sensitive, and how I always put up an unnecessary fight over things that are unfair even though that's just the way it is." You rambled. "I love creating things that help people. The mere idea that someone could end up on a slab over my creation, then discarded like the only worthy part were my chrome made me angry. How couldn't it?"

He knew this topic was tough, but he couldn't help but admire the determined scowl on your sweet features.

"You have a kind heart." He said suddenly, after you paused. You met his eyes. "It can get you in trouble here, if you aren't careful." He concluded.

"Not that kind." You joked. "I can bite, too."

His mouth quirked upwards.

"I vaguely recall."

"Vaguely? Now that's just disrespectful."

.

.

The rest of the night was a wine enhanced blur. From table banter to stolen kisses in the back of the armored car under Charles' poor attempt at ignoring you, to getting bent over several pieces of furniture in Jago's quarters, you'd say it was a successful date all things considered. You couldn't remember when exactly you'd fallen asleep, but you'd done it in his shirt, tucked to his side.

Your holocall woke you up.

"What?" You sharply groaned, unaware of who was calling this early. All you wanted was for the ringing to stop.

"Where the fuck are you?" Your brother's angry tone had you bolting upright.

"Huh?"

"The meeting, Y/N. It's in five minutes." He groaned at the state of you, bleary eyed, hair a mess.

"I forgot." You said, rubbing your eyes.

"Seriously. I need you here man." He complained, fully facing the fact he'd be bargaining over those custom parts alone.

"I can be there in like...15'." you rasped, slipping out of the bed, hunting for your dress and undergarments. Jago watched you from the headboard, slowly propping up.

"No forget about it. I'll do this on my own."

"Just fuckin' wait for me, it's not like they book appointments in a row." You bit back, trying to keep your voice quiet.

"Whatever."

You stood in the middle of the room, vexed over being hung up on. What a dickhead.

"Everything okay?" Jago finally asked. You just threw your hands exasperated.

"Fuck if I know. Always something with him."

"Your brother?"

"The one and only. His Majesty wanted to check some Cyberware on the market today, I forgot I was supposed to meet him there." Dropping your clothes on the back of the couch, you stalked to the bathroom to wash up.

"I can call for a car if you'd like?" He called from the bed, but you politely declined.

"He doesn't need me. It's fine." You finally reemerged, and climbed back in bed with him.

"No work today?" You asked eyeing the digital clock. 11:55. Okay, so it was not early. But still.

"Not until the afternoon." Jago said with a yawn. He'd been up for a while, watching you snug against his side.

Slotting yourself under his arm, you threw a leg over him.

"Then no rush."

"No rush." He agreed, nuzzling into your shampoo and perfume scented hair. You ran your hand over his abdomen, eyes drooping closed, content.

You could get used to this.

Days passed by uneventful. Jago had been in this work flow where all work got done swiftly, with little to no hitches - which he knew better than to acknowledge out loud, and jinx it.

The Militech cargo arrived on time, Bennett took his setback with more grace than he'd expected -and the gift helped-, and Y/N...had been a more present form in his life. She'd still disappear every other day, making him temp his messages. He knew this phase all too well. Fragile, yet exciting. Easy to ruin. He had to reel in his own eagerness more often than he'd like (or expect), refrain from reaching out constantly, and when he did, he'd write, and rewrite...Still, she'd saunter into his life, often.

"It's not her." Matty shot from her desk, caged between dossiers and screens. She'd caught him checking his messages again after he heard his phone buzz.

"How would you know?" He sheepishly said back, knowing well she's right.

She groaned, battling with the obvious.

"She's never texted you back before at least noon. She's clearly a night owl."

One can hope, he thought bitterly, but agreed with her. Not that he'd give her the satisfaction of telling her so.

His text today had been a sunrise picture of the skyline, camera aimed towards the Pacifica sea's horizon. All he'd followed it up with was "I hope one of us is getting sleep. Have a good day today."

He thought it was sincere and proof enough he'd been thinking about her. Matty had told him he sounds like an old, try-hard man.

He'd seen her twice since they had had dinner. She had graced him with her presence once for drinks at the Heavy Hearts, though they arguably spent most of their time in each other's personal space in a booth in VIP, where she'd tested his resolve with a cocky grin all night. He'd barely managed to get out, Barghest's affairs had had him overworked, albeit handsomely paid, therefore he'd welcomed the distraction of being dragged out of the office to play her mind games. The other time they'd met up, was an odd thing he couldn't stop thinking about since.

She'd asked him to meet her at Longshore Stacks, of all places. He'd obliged, assuming she'd get in the car and go someplace nice. That had not, in fact, happened. Instead, she dragged him to the very center, where a tree sat. Surrounded in candles and offerings, he watched the shadows cast a play of somberness on the pictures and notes of people lost. He stood next to her, hands in his pockets, watching her. She swayed to the soft sound of someone playing a hang drum nearby, arms loosely crossed, hands cradling her elbows. Her eyes were closed, in the heart of Dogtown, vulnerable in her immersion of someone else's shrine. He wondered if she felt safe because the people here were too focused on grieving to hurt others, or perhaps, as a naive and selfish part of him hoped, because she knew he'd protect her. It was funny, how fond of her he'd become, so quickly. Usually guarded to the teeth, he'd found himself easily leaning into her energy, craving it, even.

Eventually, the song ended, and she slipped her hand around his elbow, quietly leading him to a seedy little stand nearby. It seemed comical, surely, how he sat perched on the stool next to hers, in threads that cost more than everyone in a one mile radius earns combined, with Charles silently towering over them a few feet away, scanning menacingly the passerbys.

"My brother told me this place has the best okonomiyaki in town-" she'd promised as she cut into the meal, sauce swirling almost as pretty on the vegetable pancake as the pattern she'd done on her nails. She wore some kind of dress he'd never seen before, certainly not in Night City. It felt kind of European, come to think of it. Floral pattern, seemed like cotton, which is rare nowadays, with a slit on the side. It all looked... ethereal, like an old time fairytale creature had settled next to humble little him. He'd offered her his jacket, to ward off the night chill, but she'd waved him off, thankful but eager to embrace the cool breeze.

"He was certainly not wrong." He praised, bringing a bite to his mouth. He'd listened to her talk animatedly about her brother constantly sending her on "quests", salvaging parts and fixing Cyberware as if she were on his payroll (which she technically was, but not really).

"I don't understand the appeal of this lifestyle, sometimes." She huffed, picking up her soft drink can.

"I know what you mean. I often question the way Night City people live, but at some point I decided it was more reasonable to take some risks for high reward instead of endlessly fending for myself, letting life pass me by in a pointless, minimum wage 9-5." Jago let his gaze drag across the ghetto that Longshore Stacks was, around them.

"I don't think federal prison is a reasonable risk, babe." She laughed after a sip of the drink.

Jago's ears buzzed at the term of endearment, his ears tipped pink.

If she noticed, she made no mention of it.

"I wanna ask something, but don't feel obligated to do something about it," she eventually started, and he forced himself to tune back in.

She watched him for a second, in his expensive quarter zip sweater and slacks, perched on a street stall stool, broad shoulders hunched towards her. He seemed so jarringly different from their surroundings, yet so fitting beside her, eager to be in her orbit even outside his element.

She hesitated.

"Go on," he urged softly, his hand shuffling closer on the counter towards hers, subconsciously. "I'm sure we can figure it out."

She smiled at him softly, averting her eyes as she finally spoke up.

"I have been offered a job by a smaller corp as an associate engineer for custom cyberware." She paused, and he could tell by the way she bit the inside of her cheek it wasn't something to celebrate.

"But?" He nudged, eyes flicking between the chain dangling from her neck, and her face.

"They operate with Scavs. Often." She said with a grimace. He recalled her trepidation towards the gang, the unease she'd expressed on their date.

"I don't think I should take the gig. But, I've been here for nearly a month now, and I'm starting to run out of options." She sighed, finishing her drink and unceremoniously crushing the can into a disc.

"If it's out of your comfort zone, you shouldn't have to do it. You're capable, sociable, and qualified for better." He offered simply, one of his hands settling atop her fidgeting ones. She finally looked him in the eye, sporting a tired expression on her features.

"My brother once suggested I look into if Barghest needed any cyberware engineers. And I really wouldn't, I don't like working with the military, not to mention the conflict of interest-"

"What conflict?" He cut in with a chuckle, fingers gently running his fingers over her knuckles, feather light.

"Well...this." she shot back with a small smirk, leaning in to peck his lips.

She laughed at the way he chased after her for more, taking in the shy smile he offered in turn.

"I don't wanna put you in a tight spot-"

"You're not. You couldn't possibly." He interrupted, leaning back in his seat.

"Do you think you guys have any openings?"

"I'll ask. Murphy should know." He mused, fishing out his phone.

"Well not right now!" She laughed, pushing his phone down and leaning into his space again, one foot resting on the stool bar between his. The air shifted immediately, as he glanced down at her exposed leg, the slit of the dress, the bust of it, the curve of her chest peeking from the fabric-

"Hasn't even hired me yet and he's already committing sexual harassment." She teased, cocking her head. He groaned good-naturedly, eyes finally finding their way back to hers.

"One could argue I'm merely conducting a thorough investigation-"

"Wow," She laughed in faux disbelief, "I'm telling Hansen his finest are corrupt AND lecherous."

"...He'd probably agree." He replied with a wince, but quickly straightened up as she slid from her chair and into him, now in her full height and leaning on him. Cradling her in his arms, he stared down at her, as she pressed the side of her face into his shoulder.

She smelled sweet and floral, just like her dress.

"I believe this is straight up bribery." He whispered quietly, and felt his heart swell as her chest vibrated with a rich laugh, right against his own.

"I still feel inclined to say you don't need to look too seriously into it, if there's nothing that's fine, I'll find something else." She finally said, pulling back a bit to look him in the face.

He simply nodded.

"So...how about I compensate you for that misconduct with some dessert?" He added after a beat, sliding off the seat and into his full height.

"Who's bribing whom now?" She cheekily said, pulling him by the hand towards one of the other stalls down the street.

.

.

"I don't know what else you want me to say." Spinner huffed, arms crossed and stance far less friendly (as if he wanted to be friendly with these butchers) than when he had arrived that evening, which had been a reoccurring situation since the day you had blown him off to hang out with what he could only assume was an output.

Fuck this gig and fuck that gonk Ilya for making him forego a middleman, that he statistically always had less problems with. Not looking at these Scav fucks also helped.

"Ma Cyka, don't tell me you don't know!" The angry scav he'd had the displeasure of dealing with for the third time this week had little patience and a whole lotta slur in his thick Ukrainian accent. Him reeking of booze didn't exactly help, either. Shit, he'd probably interrupted his extensive binge drinking time with the other two loud Scavs in the next room.

"I've never worked with this kind of cyberware before. Why would I know what's wrong with it??" He replied exasperated, shifty as he noticed the other, main Scav watch the interaction from the doorway of this cursed construction site.

"Attitude don't help nobody." He finally spoke up, pushing off the chipped, bare door frame. Your brother didn't shrink as the man entered his personal space, voice low and intimidating. "You said chrome is good. Why make problem? You buy, your problem now."

"I'm not the one causing problems choom, you don't even have schematics for half of this shit, I'm figuring this out as I go." His exasperated tone just earned him a shake of the head. "You can't sell me gonked out chrome man. It's just not how it goes. All I want is what I paid for. We've been doing business together for a year now, have some appreciation for customer loyalty man."

The Scav sucked his teeth, measuring him up as if he had half a mind to hack him to pieces, too. The perspiration on Spinner's brow did not help his case.

"Look," Spinner said, grabbing the limp cyber arm he'd brought back in, "I cannot fix something I don't know the original function of. You want me to reinvent it? You have to at least give me working cyberware, man. I don't think I'm unreasonable here. This is the third piece of cyberware this week. That's 3 out of 10."

The Scav pulled a cigarette out of his pack, letting it hang off his lips. He took his time looking for a lighter, feeling up his pockets languidly.

"Ilya say you have good engineer. Why not show?"

Your brother swallowed dryly at the prospect. He knew where you stood about this, about the Scavengers. He also knew you'd bust his head open if you knew he was actively collaborating with them at this point.

"I shouldn't HAVE to fix your busted chrome choom. Not when I paid a literal arm and leg for it. Would you like it if someone told you he was selling you a working arm, then gave you scraps?"

"Next time, bring engineer."

Next time?? There won't be a next time, you Scav piece of-

Spinner exhaled through his nose aggressively. Pacing, he glanced back at the red faced Ukrainian, who'd been mumbling under his sour breath. He looked back at the arm.

"No engineer, no Ilya. You have me, and we know each other by now. That should be enough. You need to honor your end of the deal."

"This look like corporation to you?" The Scav shot back, accent deep and rough, blowing smoke in his face to make a point. "Don't piss me off Mudak."

Spinner knew where this was going, and he had to think fast.

"Okay, you know what? How about this. why don't you let me take this arm, show it to my engineer, and if they know how to fix it, I will bring the notes back so we can apply it to the rest, how about that? That way your guys can fix the rest of the faulty chrome, and I can have choose from the next batch to make up for the unusable ones you sold me."

The Scav just regarded him, frown on his mouth and contemplation in his eyes. The drunk Ukrainian mumbled something rude from the corner where he was now leaning, probably about how Spinner's engineer ain't shit, but neither paid him any mind. He was supposedly an engineer, too, only difference was he was a complete gonk.

The Scav in charge sighed, nodding at the floor.

"Take, and bring back. We have new cargo tomorrow. We cut out, and you check and choose on Monday. Bring back arm, fixed."

No room for argument, not that Spinner wanted it. He looked at the arm on the workbench. It still had caked blood on it, as if whoever they had taken it from had been hacked to pieces so savagely, that the blood had stained permanently; a token of sin.

It would be a bitch to clean before he'd present it to you. Still, better that, than to lose 7 thou eddies.

The construction site the Scavengers had their base of operations in was big and ugly, walls torn, windows broken, and the suspicious blood smears in every other room were enough to have your brother booking it out of there, cyber arm wrapped in newspaper, tucked under his own, 'ganic arm.

Yeah, you'd definitely beat his ass for this.

.

.

.

"Can you pass me that cartridge?" You mumbled, screwing in a base component on the board of what would, upon closing and screwing everything back on, be a cybernetic arm with a jagged retractable blade.

It was some weird, Syrian design, simultaneously primitive and brand new to your NUSA-based eyes. It'd taken you two days scourging the Net with your funky little cybermodem to get any info on the origin, and a few hours to figure out what this design was meant to be based on. Still, it was more work than it was worth, but your brother's insistence had you putting in the work and hours.

Speak of the gonk, your brother absent-mindedly passed you the still-in-wrapping cartridge you'd ordered expedited from some middle eastern dealer out of Dogtown, left hand holding a tablet he was a little too immersed in if you had something to say about it.

The sound of Growl FM was filling the comfortable silence just fine, so you chose not to pry. He'd been acting weird for a while, ever so secretive and serious. It was unlike him, to keep so quiet.

Your house growing up had always been this space of chaotic intellectual energy. Between your father's unpublished story drafts and insurance company documents scattered across the desk and dresser, your tablets and shards on cyber-anything adorning every surface you could (in)conveniently drop it on to get back to later, and your brother's perpetual fascination with the human body, an array of old anatomy books, schematics and hand drawn designs, always crowded your poor mother's space. Still, the shuffle of papers, the tapping on the pad, and the scent of coffee all reminded you of home.

The loud stomping of boots down your brother's stairs, not so much.

You both whipped your heads up from your work as his entrance coms rang, shrill over the hum of the servers and the not-so-approved pirate radio of Growl FM that you'd found out the speaker, Ash, ran from a van in the area. Ballsy, that chick. Glancing at your brother, you found his eyes glued to the blurry figures behind his bulletproof glass door. The screen suspended over the ripper chair now showed three Barghest soldiers, decked out in gear, right as rain. Not something a ripperdoc wants on his doorstep.

"Sit there and be quiet, no smartass comments okay?" He quietly warned, pressing the lock release button under his desk.

They swaggered in, scanning the room mechanically. Their faces were all covered, one with a chunky helmet that's seen better days, and the other two with balaclavas, black eye paint smudged underneath.

"How can I help, guys?" Your brother offered when he realized they weren't going to speak first, standing before them in the middle of the space, wringing his hands.

The one who stood in middle settled his pixelated eyes on you, and you did your best to pretend you didn't notice under the tint of your welding glasses, as you continued hot glueing the cartridge as if it were your best work yet. You were almost done, anyway.

"We're here on official business, sent by the lieutenant." was all he offered, voice like gravel. He sounded almost robotic, and you couldn't help but wonder if he'd injured his vocal cords and had them replaced with chrome.

"The lieutenant himself? Well, consider our humble establishment honored," your brother said with a nervous chuckle. "What can I do for you?" He asked again.

The other balaclava poked around casually, glancing around the cement pillars, tilting their copperhead rifle up and down as they pace slowly, the neon color somewhat menacing even with the safety on, in these close quarters.

"We're not here for you." The front soldier finally said. He offered no explanation, but your stomach dropped all the same. You risked a second glance at them, eyes meeting the ones of the woman's in the helmet. Smart and quick, they scanned you top to bottom, probably for weapons, or to measure the worth of you. She wore a cyberdeck on the arm that held her neon green kyubi.

There was no malice, nor hostility in her eyes.

"Huh?" Your brother seemed to have short circuited, because who else would they be here for-

"Wait. No. No, no." He quickly pushed back, holding up his index fingers, panic hardly contained into a grimace pretending to be a smile, as he took an unconscious step forward that the rifle guy did not appreciate. "There's some misunderstanding here, I cleared my sister's permit with Dodger months ago. She's registered in my shop as an attending engineer, she's got all her licenses and credentials up to date, you can find it all on the registry. She's had an entry pass since-"

He was spiraling hard, and the other two armed soldiers were visibly tensing.

The loud scraping of the chair you sat on resounded over the noise, and everyone seemed to pause. Slowly removing your welding glasses, you stretched your neck and arms, as if to show you were no threat.

"Okay. Is this some kind of overnight bag thing, or do I come as I am?" You finally inquired in faux jest, voice far calmer than your racing heart felt.

"No, all you need to bring is your personal engineering kit, if you own one. If not, one will be provided to you before your interview and trial." The woman replied, as the frontman seemed to weigh you and your reactions in turn.

"What is the charge- wait. Did you say trial? Are you... recruiting my sister?" Your brother incredulously deadpanned, going through every emotion in the book in the span of seconds.

"That's yet to be determined." the frontman stated, eyes finally leaving you to look down at him from his towering height.

Your brother would sigh in relief if it didn't sound as ominous as a Barghest visit itself could be.

Turning to you, he tried to meet your eyes, as if to reassure you, though it felt like he needed the reassurance more. You gave him a weak, uptight smile, right hand blindly rolling up your engineering kit. Pulling on your cropped jacket, you took your kit under your arm and finally looked at the woman, as if your shared gender would offer some solace.

There was none.

"Shall we delta?"

.

.

.

The ride had been quiet, the early morning streets desolate, as is customary for Dogtown. You'd been ushered into the back of an armored Barghest vehicle you'd never seen before, probably meant for squad transport. A soldier on each side of you on the bench, the frontman across. He hadn't said a word the entire time, until you stood at a standstill before the Black Sapphire garage gate. This looked nothing like the fancy entrance they'd welcomed guests for the party back then. On the way in, he'd explained gruffly you'd have to put your kit through another scanner, and leave any weapons or flammable objects behind for safekeeping. You'd just nodded mechanically, being lead to a compliant process that ultimately brought you before this guy you vaguely remembered Jago mentioning.

"How's your day been?" He'd asked, adorning you your last name with a 'Miss'.

"That's Doctor, actually." You'd instinctively replied, and felt like biting off your own tongue as soon as it flew out of your arrogant little system.

Luckily, he just laughed good-naturedly.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were only an engineer, I wasn't aware you were also a ripperdoc?" Murphy said with an unexpectedly friendly demeanor that did not match a man of his profession.

"I'm not. But I have a doctorate in bioengineering. I got it a year ago." You plainly offered. He hummed, swiping through a tablet that presumably held your extensive dossier.

"Ah, there it is, my bad, I haven't done my homework well. So Doc, you worked last for a mid tier corp back in Boston, what happened there?" He dove into your work history instead.

You shuffled in your surprisingly comfortable chair. This conference room was quite pleasant for a military organization, all things considered.

"We had a disagreement in what constitutes as human rights." You offered, as short and vague as possible.

"Your dismissal says you "abused time off". Do you often require leave from work?" His voice held no judgement. It felt... refreshing. God, the bar was in hell.

"I took mental time off, which was supposed to be my right within the contract." You started, but paused to reign in the bitterness. It wasn't like you didn't know they'd boot you for being human. That's what all corps do, if they could they'd round you all up and shoot you in the back of the head, and hire tireless AI instead.

Murphy hummed.

"I understand. Barghest takes mental health seriously. We have many fine men and women that have served and were rewarded for their bravery with no benefits, nor grace when they fell short. We don't have that problem. We offer support, and reasonable leave."

That seemed nice, all things considered. Again, low bar, but you could live with it.

"I have no qualms about working. I love my job. I just needed a chance to breathe, which I knew they wouldn't grant me. So I took a leap, and paid the accounted price." You told him, leaning back in the chair, arms folding over your chest. Resolute. He liked that.

"Alright. I won't lie," he concluded, setting down the tablet. "I have received a lot of positive information regarding you and your work when I dug a little. Which makes this a hell of a lot easier."

You wondered if that came from a very biased Jago, or elsewhere. He knew fuckall about your work, so all he could be is a very biased judge of character.

"As far as I'm concerned, I see a reliable, agreeable engineer, who had a bit of a rough patch. We don't care about your past here. What we do care about," Murphy said, putting his interlocked, cybernetic fingers on the table, "is that you'll be able to deliver projects on time, communicate with adjacent departments, and make concessions whenever needed, because we all work as a team, to keep this town up and running."

So far so good.

"Do you have any questions for me, or rather, Barghest?" He concluded with a small smile.

"Sure, what's the pay like here?" You bluntly asked, and his laugh seemed genuine, easing your worries of coming across as rude.

"Good question. Once you clear our trial, we will give you a proper sum offer, but you can count on our paycheck at least matching your previous, plus the percentage we'll add upon verifying your speed and problem solving ability. There's also full coverage on medical. We offer room and board for nonresidents, though you can choose for yourself if you wish to reside with us or your brother." Pausing at the mention, he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"Hope we didn't stress him out too much with our unscheduled visit today. I would've reached out to book a meet with you but, we're a bit pressed with other tasks right now so..."

This had you perking up. Was there such a need for an engineer, or was there something stirring up Barghest? You wondered if this would keep Jago busy, too busy for you. Not that he hadn't been prompt and responsive each time you two spoke or made plans. He was clearly into you enough. Hell, he even found you a gig. You'd have to come up with a way thank him, no matter how this trial were to go.

"He'll live." You retored with a little more mirth.

"Preem, shall we get to the trial, then?"

A small, self assured smile curled at your lips.

.

.

"Thanks, I appreciate the swiftness." Jago said, taking the new folder off Matty's hands, as she speedwalked back to the office, and he went for the elevator. God if he had to take another meeting with these meatheads, he'd implode.

"Charles, let's head down to conference." He simply threw at the soldier, as he came up to his burly frame where he stood at the end of the hallway, listening to some bullshit story about a joytoy and a foldable spine. Charles jumped at the opportunity to escape these gonk ass recruits that immediately stood in attention at Jago's brief appearance. His boss waved them off without a glance.

"I thought you were done with meetings today." He mused, more than asked, when they were alone in the elevator. Jago sighed, loudly.

"You and me both."

The elevator ding was followed by Jago and Charles stepping onto floor 37. Scrolling through his messages on his vision screen, Jago automatically, blindly turned a corner towards conference room 4, slamming right into someone.

"A mindenit-!" he huffed under his breath, subconsciously grabbing onto the person, stabilizing them both, as Charles definitely didn't overreact and whipped out his gun.

"Already up and running with that harassment charge!" She laughed, her hands finding purchase on his forearms where they peeked from his rolled up sleeves.

"Y/N!" Jago exclaimed, half in surprise, half in delight. Murphy did a once over at the interaction, glancing at Charles with a sharp nod to put the damn iron away, he'd scare the chick.

"Are you coming or going?" Jago inquired, distracted by the way your hands slid to take hold of his.

"I'm done with the trial." You informed him, as if he were supposed to know what that meant. He raised a neat eyebrow at Albert, who stood behind her with his arms crossed, a small smirk that promised nothing good on his lips.

"Doctor L/N apparently dazzled the test runners, though I'm not supposed to tell y'all that." He offered conspiratorially, showing some teeth. You simply smirked back, eyes darting from him to Jago, a sliver of pride under the facade.

Jago simply nodded, eyes softening upon falling back on you.

"That's good to hear. You should get the final decision quickly, then."

"That folder for me? Aw Jago, you shouldn't have." Murphy joked, grabbing the manila folder Charles had picked up off the floor where it had flown to in the crash.

"It's the quotas you all badgered me for." Jago groaned, eyes rolling. You kinda liked this no bullshit version of him.

"Delightful, I'm sure Bennett will piss his big boy pants over this." Albert replied while glancing at the contents of the file. You merely watched the interaction with curious eyes. Albert looked impressed with whatever was on those documents.

"I'll...walk her to the elevator." Jago offered, suddenly shy. Albert looked up over the frame of his sunglasses, a knowing smirk on his lips, eyebrows drawing close.

"Don't keep us waiting, Szabó. You know I don't like the suspense of an incoming, juicy Bennett crashout." He laughed, turning back towards the hallway he'd brought you through earlier.

"It was a pleasure meeting you Dr. L/N," he finally threw over his chrome shoulder to you, "I hope we'll see you around some more."

"Likewise, see you, lieutenant." You bid farewell with a cheeky salute that earned you a bark of a laugh.

Okay maybe not all military folk were as you thought.

Jago gently ushered you back to the elevator, hand on the small of your back, his warm skin a shock to your AC kissed one.

"How was everything?" He paused to ask as he pressed the call button for her. She just regarded him for a second.

"They scared the hell out of my brother at pickup," you laughed, partly at the fact that somebody had managed to put the fear of God in your deviant brother, and partly at the shadow that crossed Jago's face. "Murphy was nice. You guys friends?"

"Not exactly, but we are on friendly terms." He offered quickly, "did something happen? I'm really sorry, sometimes the soldiers get carried away with their arrogance-"

Your soft hand smoothing down the front of his olive green quarter zip had him trailing off, as it stopped to splay over his heart.

"Don't worry, they were just doing their job. Nobody roughed us up or anything." you reassured, "A call in advance would've been nice, though." You pointedly added, the teasing in your voice clearly relaxing his posture.

"I'm sorry, I was drowning all day yesterday and today. I wanted to call this morning, but I figured you'd be asleep when he told me over breakfast at the mess hall he'd reach out, then I forgot to text you-" his ramble was cute, the fluster on his words and cheeks was endearing. You simply took his left hand in both of yours.

"It's fine. I get it, you guys are in an uproar, probably over the festival thing. Also, I never got to thank you properly for the flowers."

He paused, recalling the synthetic tropic begonias he'd had delivered to your brother's apartment in the city center. A fury of orange, red and pink.

"The selfie was more than enough." He quietly replied, keeping to himself the amount of times he'd gone back to look at you, in your cute pajama top and shorts and beautiful eyes looking up at the camera, flowerpot in your arms cradled like precious cargo.

You'd made your brother take the picture, grumbling the whole time, but he'd angled the phone over your forehead for a comically cute effect perfectly, like you'd asked. He then proceeded to try and interrogate you about your mystery output, but tougher (your mother) have tried and failed to make you crack.

"Am I your phone background yet? Be honest." She joked, and, had he not been paranoid about someone at work seeing, he definitely would be doing that. For now, he'd have to settle for looking at the picture every chance he got.

"I was thinking of putting it on a billboard, for better visibility. I'd hate to share the picture with anyone else, though."

You snorted at his statement, and so did Charles as he cringed a pace away, awkwardly looking away.

"Didn't peg you for the jealous type." You teased, letting go of his hands to rest them on your engineering kit, now strapped to your hip harness.

"I'm not jealous, I just prefer to keep what's mine safe and far from the wrong eyes."

"Oh is that what I am, yours?" You egged on, voice suddenly serious. Jago flushed a nice shade of peach. You couldn't stifle the laugh that bubbled out of you.

"Well, I'd like you to be." He bashfully retorted when you'd stopped, gaze lowered, long lashes brushing his face. Something warm cracked inside your ribcage, like honey poured out of a squeezed honeycomb.

"I'd like that, too." You found yourself quietly saying, faster than you could second guess it. The brilliant smile he rewarded you with did away with any traces of doubt left.

Tenderly, he took your right hand, and gently brought it to his lips. He planted soft, haphazard kisses across your knuckles, gray eyes on you the entire time.

Now it was your turn to feel shy.

"Charles will take you home. I'd rather you don't have to repeat the earlier experience with the soldiers." He said pulling away after a beat, hand migrating for a thumb to draw circles on your free hip, oozing of protective, yet comforting masculinity.

It was funny, how some people were born a certain way, with the advantage of its standard socialization and privileges, yet they never managed to figure it out just right; while others had to go through throes of trials and processes to become the very same thing, and they wound up doing it so well, to the point of putting those born to it to shame. You often wondered if a genius without nurture could still surpass those born with all the commodities to excel. Seeing someone like Jago, who had to go the extra mile to be his true, authentic self, and he does it not only effortlessly, but also well, had you thinking the genius would at the end of the day still be a genius, even if they got a late start.

There's always time, contrary to popular belief.

Night city suffocated you with its need for speed; faster, harder, better, all needed right here and now. Humanity is impatient, and the commodities of today have dulled us and our need for going through the motions. Instant results took something fundamental from us. Metamorphosis does not happen overnight. The cocoon takes time to transform us, because it must take us apart first. What a privilege it is, to be able to reinvent yourself, to start anew, as your true, real self.

You gently slid into his space again, nose bumping his softly. Letting your eyes flutter closed, you pressed your mouth to his, reveling in the way his breath hitched and then released with a soft sigh. The elevator finally dinged, but you paid it no mind, as your hands came to wrap around his neck loosely, fingers scratching at his nape. The kiss deepened, suddenly making you both aware of the closeness, both physically and mentally.

His hand instinctively shot out to grab the closing elevator door as it dinged again, the force of his slam vibrating through his bones. The other hand that had wrapped around your waist squeezed the flesh reassuringly.

Charles cleared his throat, still facing away. Jago took the hint; he was running late.

"I'll uh, I'll see you soon." He offered, pulling away hesitantly. You let one of your hands caress his cheek, slipping away slowly and into the elevator. Leaning back against the opposite wall, you nodded at him. Charles sauntered in, body rigid and flush against the side of the shaft, by the panel.

"Make sure she makes it to wherever she needs to go safely, and I'll see you downstairs after I'm done here." Jago ordered, firm and levelled. You could definitely get used to this.

"Later, handsome." You shot as the doors closed, and the wink you threw him hit him like a bullet.