Chapter 105: Bones Chris's Lucky Break
Rhys wasn't an idiot.
Lucy's behavior reminded him of something he'd seen on a net-vid once. It was about the sanctity of the passenger seat.
Apparently, the passenger seat is a sacred space reserved for a man's significant other. A symbol of "exclusivity."
A woman sitting there without being the partner could trigger relationship drama. It sounded like pop-psych bullshit, but looking at his crew... it was kind of true.
When Maine or Dorio drove, the other was always shotgun. Even Rebecca, their surrogate gremlin daughter, rarely sat up front.
And Pilar? The only person who ever sat in his passenger seat was Rebecca.
Before Jackie got his own wheels, he'd sometimes ride shotgun with Pilar, but once he got his bike and truck? Pilar's passenger seat was a ghost town, even when the back was packed.
Rhys glanced sideways at Lucy. She was leaning forward, oblivious to how the seatbelt was accentuating her curves.
Rhys respectfully took a second look. Hmm... Lucy seems a bit bigger than Sasha in that department.
Wonder if those are real or synth-skin...
Rhys shook his head, mentally slapping himself.
Dammit, Sasha. Turning me into a pervert with all that 'riding'. I used to be a pure-hearted boy from the Mox!
"You know... this is gonna cause trouble later," Rhys said, watching Lucy peel the backing off a thumb-sized moon sticker.
"Trouble? Like what?" Lucy turned to him, blinking innocently. "It's just a couple of stickers. How is that trouble?"
"?"
Playing dumb, huh?
You know exactly what kind of trouble!
Seeing Lucy stare at him with wide, innocent eyes, Rhys almost laughed.
He didn't expect the ice queen to have a manipulative streak.
Does she think I'm stupid? 'Big brother, I just put a sticker on your dash, why is big sister Sasha so mad? Is she crazy?'
Rhys shivered. He wasn't getting involved in the war between Lucy and Sasha. Both women were smarter than him. He still hadn't figured out how Sasha had maneuvered him into bed so easily. Lucy would be the same.
Never try to outsmart a woman who eats data for breakfast. When they act dumb or cute, they either want something or they're plotting something. But if they actually start acting stupid? That's... the power of love! Or something.
"Fine. I don't care anymore," Rhys sighed. Let the cats fight. The dog stays out of it.
Seeing him give up, Lucy turned back to her task. She didn't put the stickers in obvious places. But inside the glove box? She plastered several.
When that cutesy cat tries to claim her territory next time she rides shotgun... she opens the glove box and finds Lucy's lipstick, mascara, hair clips, and stickers. What kind of face will she make then?
Lucy grinned to herself.
It was childish, like two kids fighting over a toy. But... she enjoyed it.
Not just because it would piss off Sasha, but because Rhys let her do it. Her relationship with Rhys was slow. She still wasn't sure what she felt.
She only knew that being with him made her relax. The weight on her shoulders lifted. The dark clouds of her past cleared up.
So... she didn't know her own heart yet, but she knew she was happy with him. And she wasn't going to let that cat have him all to herself.
Fifteen minutes later.
Cruising through Heywood in the high-end car, the radio was playing a sentimental track. "I Really Want to Stay at Your House."
Lucy noticed Rhys swaying slightly to the beat. As the chorus hit, he even started humming along.
Rhys: "So, get away..."
Lucy smiled, about to tease him for being off-key, but instead asked, "How much longer?"
"About an hour and a half," Rhys replied.
"You really like this song?"
"Yeah... I do." Rhys nodded, glancing at her.
The Widow's Song. Any Cyberpunk 2077 player or Edgerunners fan knew this track. It hit different.
"I listen to it sometimes when I run at night."
"You run at night?"
"Staying fit is important. People think chrome solves everything, but I disagree. I found a shard back in Europe... said exercise releases chemicals that are good for the brain. So I run," Lucy said, stretching.
"Plus, I need to be able to run faster than everyone else."
She paused. "Does Sasha exercise?"
"Her..." Rhys hesitated. He didn't know about before, but he knew exactly how she'd been exercising lately.
"Sasha's combat skills are high. Her body control is excellent. I've seen footage of her gigs. If I didn't know she was a netrunner, I'd think she was a spec-ops agent," Lucy observed.
Rhys chuckled. "You might be disappointed. Truth is... she exercises, sure. But mostly? She's a shut-in who plays games all day. Sasha is a standard-issue otaku."
Lucy stared at Rhys幽ly. "..."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just thinking about decorating my room," she murmured, turning away.
Standard-issue otaku... my ass.
Sasha only acted cute and clumsy in front of Rhys. To Lucy and the rest of the crew, that cat showed a very different face.
Scheming little feline!
Meanwhile. Watson Slums.
Bones Chris woke up and reached for the bottle by his bed. Empty.
He threw it at the wall. Thud. It didn't even break.
He got up, washed, dressed, and started cleaning his weapons. He disassembled his pistol, oiled it, and reassembled it with practiced ease.
Click.
He holstered the pistol and slung an SMG across his chest.
Pushing open his door, Chris walked down the smoky, stinking hallway towards the cage-lift.
"Cage-lift." That's what people in the slums called the elevator. A rusty metal platform surrounded by rebar.
Safety? In a place like this? Forget it. Stairs?
Even worse. The stairwells were Scavenger hunting grounds, reeking of piss, shit, and dried blood. Even a veteran merc like Chris avoided them if he could.
The cage-lift had a "manager" and a camera linked to the NCPD grid. The cops wouldn't come if there was a murder, but the camera deterred the casual criminals who didn't want a warrant.
"Chris, working again? You're diligent."
At the lift, Chris turned to see the local gun shop owner smirking at him.
Chris scowled. "None of your business."
"Heh. None of my business? You haven't forgotten the tab for those bullets, have you?" the owner sneered.
Chris took a deep breath, suppressing his rage.
These people used to respect him.
But after the stunt at the Afterlife, leading the charge against the cops... a lot of people in the slums had followed him, hoping to stick it to the corps.
The result?
Nothing changed. They got beat up, arrested, or fined. Chris himself almost went to prison.
The people blamed him. They put in the effort and got nothing but trouble.
Chris realized then that he couldn't expect slum rats to understand rebellion. Most of them were criminals, working with Scavs, doing dirtier deeds than Chris ever did. Expecting them to understand punk spirit? He was the idiot.
"Careful out there. Don't die in some gutter before you pay me back," the owner taunted when Chris didn't respond.
Chris ignored him, waiting for the lift.
The owner mistook silence for fear. He used to defer to Chris, a merc who got gigs from big fixers. But now?
Chris still went to the Afterlife, but he got no work. Fixers blacklisted him. Too much trouble. He was forced to take odd jobs just to eat.
That's why mercs kept their heads down. The ones who defied fixers and survived, like Maine's crew, were rare legends.
Clank. The lift arrived.
Just as Chris was about to step in, he heard a grumbling voice.
"Damn, this place is hard to find. Maine, you sure about this guy? This looks like Scav territory."
"Scavs don't have territory, Jackie. Stop complaining and think about dinner."
Two massive figures stepped out of the cage. They were huge, bigger than Emmerick at the Afterlife.
Chris looked up and froze.
"Holy shit! First try?"
The lift gate opened. Maine grinned when he saw Chris. "Bones Chris, right?"
"Y-yeah..." Chris was bewildered. Why were they here? Maine's Crew!
Jackie looked Chris over. Skinny, like David. But... intense.
His gear was old and worn, he looked like he hadn't eaten well in weeks, but his aura... Jackie knew the streets. This guy was a pro.
A veteran merc living in a dump like this?
Ah, right. Because of us.
Remembering Rogue's words, Jackie rubbed the back of his head, feeling guilty.
"It's you. We need to talk. You got time?"
"I do," Chris nodded dumbly.
Behind him, the gun shop owner saw Chris cornered by two giants and laughed. "Hey! Did he stiff you guys too? Get in line!"
Maine pushed his sunglasses down, glaring at the shop owner. Then he looked at Chris, eyes sharp. "That guy giving you trouble?"
Chris shook his head.
Maine didn't press it. He shouted back at the owner, "We're here to invite Chris to join our crew! Owe money? Who does he owe?"
The owner shut his mouth instantly, turning back to his wares and pretending he didn't exist.
Chris's jaw dropped. "Wait... what did you say?"
"Invite me?"
"Yeah. We're here to recruit you. We asked Rogue, she said you're... a good guy," Jackie winked. "How about it, choom? Think about it?"
Maine threw an arm around Chris's shoulders, steering him back into the lift.
"This place is shit for talking. Let's find a bar. Nothing we can't settle over a drink."
Chris was dazed as Maine guided him. It wasn't until they walked out of the crumbling building onto the street that reality hit him.
Holy shit!
Maine's Crew is recruiting me?
For real?
The crew of the guy I idolize... wants me to join them?
Chris's face flushed red, his heart pounding in his chest.
Is my luck...
Is my luck finally turning?