A Rainy Day In Night City

**A Rainy Day In Night City** was a series of short stories all set on the 18th of October of 2077 in the *Dark Skies* timeline that function as set up and prologue for a number of stories.

### Clandestine Meetings

Rain beats down on the asphalt and the heavy clouds make shadows of the skyline. The gentle hum of the car engine nearby and its parking lights give a trace of warmth to the abandoned parking lot at the Tama Viewpoint. On one side of the Badlands Dam, the city and Rancho Cordova district hundreds of feet below. On the other, a sea of trash for as far as the eye could see. Not exactly a place anyone wanted to be, but the homeless people hiding away from the stresses of the city in the wreckage of fifty year old cars seemed to be doing just fine. Well, that is, until he showed up here. Their lifeless corpses staring up at the cold, uncaring gray sky with a perfectly placed Militech Avenger bullet hole in their foreheads.

The corpo prick stands there near his car, arms crossed, cigarette burning held to one side defiant of the rain. A hand pushes back his long wet hair from his face as headlights shine upon him. A sleek silver Rayfield Caliburn pulls up alongside him. From the passenger side emerges a woman in neomilitaristic fashion, bright blonde hair, and a body that would snap necks on any street in Night City. The driver is out in a flash, umbrella snapping open and held over her with seemingly not a drop touching her. The clop of her heels as she approaches is rhythmic, almost intentionally so, and the sway of her hips is like something out of a heavily doctored BD. "Helluva place to meet, Vernon," she calls after him.

He puts the smoke to his lips, taking a long draw before replying, "Only place to meet. I need something from you. You need something from me. Your bosses can't know. My bosses can't know." She smiles as she pulls a cigarette from an elegant silver case. Her driver's thumb snaps backwards in half, producing a flame from the digit to light her smoke. "News had some interesting pictures of a Militech full 'borg body running around the South..."

He cuts her off angrily, "Stuffit, Melissa. Know already. Top brass is really pissed about it. Put responsibility for the Myers and Cynosure debacle squarely in my lap, too. Have so many fucking problems to chew on I might as well go pro. Shit isn't why we're here," finishing his sentence with a focused pull on his cigarette before discarding it.

"Fine. You want Meagan. I want my fighter back. I can loan her out to you for what you took..." she says, Vernon cutting her off again, "...reclaimed." Her face twists hateful with her reply, "You killed a Kang Tao pilot, you stole a Kang Tao asset. Don't give me a fucking single problem regarding the drone interlinking soft. Just because you can't keep a hold of your best programmers ain't my problem. We paid for it, fair's fair. And if you're not willing to come clean off the entire fucking program, then you go beg another corp for a perfect killer. Sure Arasaka would be more than happy to toss you Adam Smasher."

Vernon lowers his head, shaking it with a smile on his face and a laugh on his lips. "Very fucking funny. Fine. I'll pull the soft and ship you the craft. Forward the drop off location to me backwall." She nods and replies, "Sure. And once that's back with us, I'll set up the meet for you to talk to Meagan."

"Fine," Vernon says through gritted teeth. Content with the deal, Melissa turns back to her car, her driver following close behind. She turns back to Vernon as the driver opens her door and says, "Is this about that Biotechnica woman?" Vernon crosses his arms, "None of your fucking business...but no. Hoping to deal with her rather than get my hands dirty on that. She likes getting in bed with us based on what I've seen so far, so that'll be my play there. Got a bigger problem." Melissa nods in reply and slips into her insanely expensive car before the driver gets in and takes them away.

Alone with his thoughts, the corpo prick pulls out another cigarette and lights it.

### Broken Promises

Rain smashing against the window like pained souls jumping off the highest building. Lights of the city blurred against the dark grays and blacks of the tempestuous sky. The glass is cold against his forehead, but not as cold as the picture in his hand. He stares down at it, a girl he couldn't die for. Blackening on the edges of the photo a testament to a failed foolish attempt to go out being a hero. A few weeks ago, he couldn't stop himself crying looking at the picture. Now, he couldn't make himself start.

Images and moments from the Reaper program flashed in his memory. He watched the horror of her broken interlaced with moments of her being happy with him from her view. He felt her love and her joy like a sick BD mirroring himself and chippin' in perfect with what he remembered. She loved him. No question. But now the memory of it was a hot slick knife sitting in his skull. After a fashion, you get used to a foreign object stuck in you. You learn how to move not to upset it. You learn how to survive.

Regi knew that survival wasn't really his choice anymore. The game was too hot now and he was a valued piece. Wasn't about what he wanted. Was all about what the corp wanted. The glow from his agent illuminated his stone cold face against the glass as he looked down, swiping and tapping to bring up Hungry. Without thinking, he brought Hungry up on the holo. Phone rang, dull buzzes and beeps. No answer but the offer to leave a message. Regi breathed out, fogging up the glass. Almost looked like a hamburger.

Radio had been a bit of background noise of ads and news that Regi had forgotten was on. At some point, the radio DJ had put on "Night City" and it made it to the chorus.

She pulls my trigger

Got me up alright

It's a danger pretty here in Night City

Message after the beep. "Hungry. Wanted to let you know I'm going full time looking for Gabby's killer. Got some help from Trauma Team. I'll be going dark for a while. Let Chino know this time I'm going to make it right with God. Don't care how many of 'em there are, I'm zeroing 'em all. And Hungry...thanks. For everything. Know you're busy being the kingpin of the Glen, but you always had time for me, for Gabby...for friends." Click.

Song had switched somewhere in the quieted thunder and pounding of rain.Major Crimes, another 98.7 Body Heat Radio regular.

Is there no way out?

Is there no way out?

Is there no way out now?

And it's hard to know

Is there no way out?

Life's short

Why does it take so long?

We're only here once

Why blame yourself?

You never know what's going to make you cry through all the pain, through all the trauma. Regi's eyes became as wet and blurry as the skyline.

### Unlucky At Best

Rain beats down just as hard in the middle of nowhere as anywhere else. The Northside canal wasn't full up enough to block Mortar's @Andy M car from driving to the spot. He gave his passenger a nod as he pulled up along the unassuming trash pile. Asuras @xixo, or more honestly Sumaiyah, looked over at him from the passenger seat with a nod in return, quickly opening the car door and stepping out. With purpose, she stepped over to a tin panel and slid it aside to reveal an old maintenance access door. She took her time cracking her own codes to disarm the security measures. Soon enough, she was out from the weather, making sure to shut everything up behind her just as she found it. Mortar had long since left back into the city.

She sat down on the old netrunner chair and started smashing the keys on her deck and the chair's onboard computer, syncing the deck, computer, chair, and soon herself to link directly to the hard tether she'd maintained to what used to be the NorCal Military Base but was now the Arasaka Waterfront. Wire doesn't care whose using it and Arasaka isn't going to redo all the infrastructure unless some psychotic rockerboy blows it all up with a dirty bomb. And that meant it was hers, too. Splice held throughout the past few decades. She was ready to chip in and see if the Reaper had made its way into Arasaka.

Soft slide of metal into the ports on the mostly metal back of her head, interface plugs locked in place, netrunner suit ready, air conditioner unit pumping so hard its fogging up the small industrial space. And with that, she slipped out of Night City with the reality transfer and was standing in her own BBS. A quick check of the firmware, the ICE in place to keep her meat location off the grid, the daemons ready to run forward position to help smash through 'Saka's back door. Her virtual self pushed on, moving her in net space to the Waterfront.

Hours passed as the hard work of data conversion and slow entry tactics became everything she knew. A slip here, an erasor there, and she was finally in to start the real work of looking for the rogue AI. Documents regarding Adam Smasher rose to the top, confirming the rumors on the streets that Arasaka's solo of legend had indeed bit the bullet. From whatever happened over the summer, Mikoshi was left wide open for her. Old access plus the right false clearances and she was able to check data flows in and out. Department notes showing an AI dubbed Shinigami had in fact been acquired and confined in Mikoshi.

Easy enough. She entered into the secure connection and uploaded her own program she constructed to deal with the Reaper's copies. Next few minutes had her pleasantly surprised with everything and how it went so smoothly with deleting the AI and smashing all traces of it throughout Arasaka's systems without a lot of bells and whistles or optics on the matter. Pulling everything back out to ensure no traces of her were left behind and then...Snap. Rush of cold air, boring cement ceiling, the tingling left over through the body and mind after being digitized for nearly the whole day. Sumaiyah cleaned up the space, shutting everything down, taking care to leave everything as she left it. No alarm notices up, cameras didn't show anyone outside waiting, all clear.

After shuffling up the canal and a short hike down the road through the rain, Sumaiyah found comparatively more comfort in the old bus stop. According to her schedule, in fifteen minutes a bus heading north on the 101 up to Cayucos and then onward north towards Monterey Bay. Her ticket was purchased weeks ago and she had everything on her that she'd need for a new life. Not the first time she'd escaped Night City under the radar. Luck had been on her side through her entire life.

Then it all happened in a flash. Two cars rushing eastbound on Industrial with music blaring and guns popping. Not an uncommon sound in Night City. Sumaiyah was out of the box and in cover in a heartbeat and GNMM, her custom Nova Model 757 Cityhunter, was in her hands. Engines became louder, cracks of gunfire filling the empty space around the bus stop out there in the oil fields, the insane laughing, and cacophonous music. One car seemed to have Maelstrom gangers and the other was full of Bozos. Some of them were wounded, some dead in their respective seats. But the drivers drove on, the fighting continued, and the sounds became hushed as they followed the curve of the road back into Night City. Quiet except for the din of rain fall.

Lying on the ground outside a bus stop full of bullet holes, an old netrunner with half her face blown off and splattered all over the dirt and concrete. Her trusty pistol locked in a death grip in her hand. Her heartbeat contingencies sieging her soft. And the rain falling washed away the horror show of her tragic and unlucky end.

### Crimson-Tinted Hindsight

Lola hated rainy days. Reminded her of shitty weather during the Time of the Red, scrounging through the wreckage of the city center, fighting freaks and geeks, all to find an accessory or dress from long forgotten street fashion to add to her co-ord. The fashions of yesteryear drove her back then because the fashions of the time then were hideous. And her fellow gangers, Angelic Petty, were some of her closest friends. But things got weird with the other girls. Missy quit and joined a pop band, Tsundere lost her fucking mind, Soldier got a boyfriend, and a lot of the others started to splinter off. Barbie had had enough. She broke off from the fashion and got a gig with the security firm Danger Gal. Worked with 'em through the 50's until they went underground. Took the name Lola soon after.

And here she stood, in a high class gallery filled with her own designs. She moved from lolita and other street styles that were prized by Angelic Petty into more modern fashion. She'd styled some fits for clients as far out of Night City as Japan, including the music group Us Cracks. Her work was prolific. Appel de Paris was responsible for this current pop up in the City Center. The runway show went off great, sales were insane, and she just...stared out the window at the City Center. The looming shadows of the big corporation's tower all brought back from the skeletons standing dead under a chaotic red sky. She hated them, but she knew their employees were her customers. Her fashion wasn't for the street punks like her and there was no scavenging adventures for a group of young girls to bound into to find it.

Then, like a gunshot, she was snapped right out of her daydream by her old name being called out, "Barbie?" Lola turned, her gorgeous dress's skirt lifting up like a princess in an old flat screen flick as she turned. And there before her was Missy. Dressed for the occassion in some sleek neokitsch filled with bright yellows and reds. Her hair was done up, poofed out curls. A big man in a slick suit stood behind her. She knew him by his rep, he was Calvin Gibson, current head of the Gibson Nomad Pack. She stared with her mouth agape for a second before replying, "Not my name anymore." She gave a pompous point of her slender finger towards a marquee poster for the event, her face, her name, the name of her business. Lola of Boutique Angelique. Missy nodded, "Of course. Lola. How rude of me." Lola waited a second, trying to maintain her composure, but she stepped forward and hugged Missy who reciprocated. "Damn, I thought this was gonna be tense the whole way through," said Missy, squeezing her old friend.

Pleasantries and the show had finished up. Her employees would handle the shop for the rest of the day. Lola slipped away with Missy to a small cafe on the 17th floor of the same building. Calvin said he'd be waiting for her in the car. The two ordered the cutest drinks and cakes they could find on the menu and sat in silence other than small jokes and giggles as they basked in each other's company. Finally, Missy got to business. "I hear you're a fixer now." Lola nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Well, I've got a gig I need some help finding a crew for..."

### Big Business

Rain pattered across the window of the high rise office. Sitting at a luxurious desk was a man that few people had seen in recent years, but many knew the name of. One of the Three of Westbrook, the fixer named Zigzag. One man who had seen him every day was his bodyguard, a hardened solo named Salt. The red lighting and dark shiny walls gave the room an almost villainous air, but the brightly dressed fixer and the equally urban flash solo popped against the high class and modern fashion decor. Zigzag's finger idly flipped through screamsheets on his personal device, a mash up of old tech from the Time of the Red with a fusion of a personal assistant AI and the destroyed psyche of the ghost of a netrunner who crossed him acting as intuitive aid and the height of net and electronic security.

The sheets were dull, so he flipped to his texts and emails to see if anyone interesting was reaching out to him. Message from Mortar asking to go out for a drink sometime, text from Asuras with an update on her efforts regarding the Reaper and plan moving forward, a reply regarding an information request the new mayor Jefferson Peralez, and updated information regarding Carbon's activities. The loud slam of his door being flung open snapped him up from his monitor and forced his hand on his Malorian Arms 3516. Salt's swordGeom was out, shining red in the room light. Both looked at the door to watch as a ghost walked in. Confused, Salt looked to Zigzag for instruction and took the fixer's hand coming off his pistol as an at ease. Zigzag smiled and laughed, "Was pretty sure you were dead. How did you get past security?"

The woman sat down across from Zigzag, her heavy leather duster coat rustling and guns in holsters shifting about her as she settled. She was quiet, not saying anything for a few moments letting the tense air linger. "You're more concerned with how I got up here than how I survived the dam? Ha... None of your employees were hurt, nothing in the building was broken," she finally replied.

Zigzag's mind flashed to his closest ever brush with death at the woman's hands. Oddly, the grim memory just reminded him of his old office and how much he missed it now. He thought on Mortar's @Andy M's accounting of his duel with this woman up on the Badlands Dam and its explosive conclusion. He ignored the thought of it, then followed up, "Right, and if you wanted me dead, I'd already be dead and all that..." Zigzag said, bored with the edginess already. A cigarette to hand, a thumb to flame, and he was taking a long drag of the CBD-infused banana creme-flavored cigarette. "I'll be honest, the security you have here in the office makes me doubt that..." she said, looking back to Salt. He gave a nod, she reciprocated. The bodyguard then said, "You still owe me for my car." The statement forced a smile on the woman's face as she turned back to the fixer. "I have a job for you," she said.

Zigzag felt comfortable with Salt still seeming ready to pounce, so he said, "If it involves your ex-husband, you can forget it."

She shook her head and smiled, "It doesn't unless you hire him for the job." Over the next hour, the two discussed the gig...

### Settling With Mistakes

Rain and filth mixed outside, the unwashed vagrants of Dogtown trudging about while Barghest soldiers stood on street corners. Armed to the teeth and keeping company with a fully loaded Militech Minotaur spraypainted bright yellow and green, the Barghest "soldiers" watched the cars pass by on the main road and gave a thorough check to the ones that pulled off and up to the Heavy Hearts club. A red flare burned bright in the wreckage across the street as one of the regular unscheduled and highly illegal airdrops landed to a waiting war over the contents.

Inside was a completely different world. Somber lighting, intense music, flowing drinks from the tippity top of shelves, the varitable who's-who of Night City and some movers and shakers from SoCal and other Free States. The security here wore the cleanest suits with gear right out of an old timey action flick. Most were ex-Military or PMC who found good pay working for the combat zone's most mysterious fixer.

In a private room sat a cartel man with high fashion threads holding a data tablet and a cocktail, sipping from the drink while intensely focused on the screen. Across from him was a grizzled old netrunner, pale bluish green hair done up in a mohawk that drooped to one side. Next to the hacker was a massive old cyberdeck that had leather covering and a shoulder strap. He scratched at his chin and lip, a piercing there was giving him some apparent discomfort. "Need me to clarify anything there, or got it?" said the runner, shuffling through his coat to grab a cigarette. The man across from him smiled and sipped his drink as he set the tablet down on the table between them.\* "Oh, I understand completely. And the information is well worth the cost."

The deal was simple. The netrunner, an old dog from the Red named Carbon, had extracted information regarding Cartel movements into Dogtown and across the SoCal/Night City border. Everything on full display, every single last detail, weights and prices, where they were ripped from, and confirmation they were fully expunged from their origin systems. Eduardo was sent to finalize the deal with Carbon. He stood up, which caught Carbon off guard for just a blink of an eye, giving Eduardo time to draw his pistol from his coat and point it at Carbon. The click of the trigger and nothing. Eduardo's face twisted into frustration and he tried again and again. "Should probably take after Agular a bit more if you're gonna try and scoop a guy who had access to the room before you did."

Eduardo understood his cybernetics had been hacked and his smartgun wasn't going to work. He lunged across the table and pistol whipped Carbon right in the mouth. Old runner splashed into the couch, coming up with blood pouring from the now extracted piercing on his lip. His mangled lips twisted into a smile. "Thanks. Saves me the trouble..." he said as his eyes met Eduardo's. The cartel man's eyes widened in horror as Carbon's eyes flashed blue, then bright hellish red. Eduardo's cyberarm twisted the gun up to his temple.

"What do you want?" Eduardo yelled in panic, "The money? Take it!" Carbon stood up and kept his flaring red eyes locked with the scared cartel man's. He made sure that Eduardo's HUD showed that Carbon had taken his processor over completely and now had control of his cyberlegs, cyberarms, biomon, you name it. Only thing he couldn't control was Eduardo's bladder as his slick high dollar black pants became darker around the crotch.

This wasn't the new fashionable quickhacks that Eduardo had contingencies against. Hell no, Carbon was old school. He genuinely hacked the poor man's shit through a direct connect with the tablet that had touch point linking. Then went up through the gun. Pretty shitty Arasaka smart gun. Brand new, high dollar, extremely exploitable. "We're well past the part of this where paying me makes me happy. Couple weeks back. Need all the cartel's movements inside of Night City and gigs for the time frame." Eduardo's face became panicked, "Ya, ya! I can get you the info!" Carbon walked around the table, pulling his personal link from his wrist. "For sure," Carbon replied, shoving his link into the man's neck.

Automatic door to the private room slid open, Carbon walking out with his cyberdeck, headphones on, wiping his hands on his bloody t-shirt with a manga depiction of a woman coming to climax on it. Behind him, Eduardo stood in the center of the room. Only thing that kept him standing was his cyberlegs. Blood, smoke, and vomit spilled out of everywhere on his head. As Carbon got into the elevator to head downstairs, he played with his torn lip with his tongue. It wasn't the cartel... he thought to himself, the image of Comfort's broken body on the waterfront flashing into his mind again.

I'm on a walk of shame and I feel no shame.