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The Thrax sat idling in the dust of Santo Domingo, parked in the shadow of a rusted shipping container. Inside the metal box, the overhead incandescent lights hummed with a yellow, sickly flicker, casting long shadows over haphazardly piled food bags and discarded clothes.
Maine sat heavily on the sofa, his massive hands resting on his thighs, leaning forward to loom over Jax and Sasha. Pilar sat beside him, his long, spindly frame uncharacteristically still, his gaze darting between the two survivors with a gravity that didn't fit his usual clownish persona.
Sasha had already patched herself up. The bullet had been a clean through-and-through, missing the bone and vital clusters. She could have gone to a Ripperdoc, but for a high-end Netrunner, paying a professional to swap out a minor shoulder sub-assembly was a waste of eddies. She'd handled the hardware swap herself, her fingers steady despite the lingering adrenaline.
From the outside, the mission was a success. But every time Maine replayed the image of them plummeting from the fourteenth floor, he felt a cold hand squeeze his heart. If he hadn't hired Jax... if Jax hadn't been fast enough to catch her...
Maine preached "family" to his crew. In Night City, that word was usually a con, a way to get people to die for you for free. But Maine meant it. In a city where death was as common as a glitch in the neon, he refused to accept it for his own.
"Alright," Maine said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Which of you two is going to tell me what the hell happened in there?" He fixed his eyes on Sasha. "And Sasha, you can start with a sincere apology."
They had driven in silence from the City Center, Maine only breaking it once to call Dorio. He'd told her they hit a snag but were breathing, and to bring Rebecca to the safehouse.
Sasha nodded, her gaze dropping to her lap. She looked smaller without her jacket, the white steam-vents on her face still venting the last of the heat. "I made a mistake," she said, her voice quiet but clear. "I let a variable in. I let personal history override the mission. I'm forfeiting my share of the reward."
Maine's jaw tightened. "You think I give a damn about the eddies right now?"
"I..." Sasha glanced at Jax, then looked away. "I shouldn't have cut the link. I should have waited for a coordinated extraction instead of... instead of choosing to die."
"Sasha, you're the most principled person I know," Maine said, his tone softening but remaining firm. "But rules exist to keep us alive. Whatever you found in that office, you should have brought it to us. We share the wealth, we share the hits, and we face the fire together. We've been a crew for six months. Do you still not trust me?"
Six months wasn't a lifetime, but in the mercenary world, it was long enough to see a dozen teams burn out. Sasha stayed silent. She couldn't explain—not with Jax sitting right there. Not after she had spent the afternoon lecturing him on being a professional only to be saved by him hours later. A girl has her pride, even at the end of the world.
"I won't push for the why," Maine sighed, leaning back. "But reflect on it. Properly. I need to know your head is back in the game."
"Thank you, Maine," Sasha whispered.
"Scolding over," Maine announced, his grin returning with a flash of teeth. "The job is done. Data is transmitted. We split the payout four ways. Equal shares for the people who went into the fire."
Usually, the whole crew would get a cut, but with only four on the clock, the math was simpler. Though, in reality, Maine's share was Dorio's, and Pilar's was Rebecca's—it all stayed in the families.
"Maine, about my share..." Sasha raised her hand. She hesitated, her usual "cold professional" persona warring with a new, nagging impulse. "Give it to Jax."
Maine frowned. "Sasha, that's not how we do things. Jax was hired to protect you. That was his job, and his rate is already the highest on the sheet."
"It's different," she insisted, feigning a look of boredom. "I caused the variable. The danger wasn't part of the contract; I created it. He risked his life to fix my mess. I pay for my mistakes." She turned to Jax, her cat-like lips curling into a wink. "Consider it a bonus for a job well done."
Jax didn't refuse. He gave her a silent thumbs-up. He knew the reality of the Moxes—they were always one bad week away from bankruptcy—and he needed to get out of this container and into an actual apartment. Sentiment didn't pay the security deposit.
Suddenly, the container's heavy door rumbled open, letting in the predawn smog of Santo Domingo.
"How bad is it?" Dorio's voice boomed as she stepped inside, Rebecca trailing behind her like a coiled spring.
Maine leaned back and smiled. "Everything's handled, beautiful."
"Then why didn't you meet us at the Afterlife?" Rebecca demanded, her red-yellow eyes darting around the room. "I wanted a drink and a story!"
"Escaping a corporate hit-squad takes the appetite out of you," Maine joked. "Besides, we almost got clipped by an Arasaka AV. We need to find a real wheelman soon."
Sasha stood up before the conversation could spiral. She looked at Jax, her arms crossed over her bandaged shoulder. "Come outside. I need a word."
"I'm coming too!" Pilar shouted, his long arms flailing.
Rebecca narrowed her eyes, sniffing the air. She smelled something more interesting than gun oil and exhaust. Her brother was clearly on high alert, but she saw the way Sasha was looking at the "natural."
"Sit down, Pilar," Maine commanded, grabbing the techie by his collar before he could move. He looked at Jax. "Jax, it's bad manners to keep a lady waiting."
Maine watched them leave, his eyes holding a glimmer of triumph. Witnessing Jax's raw power had only hardened his resolve: he was going to recruit this kid if it was the last thing he did. A man who could jump from the fourteenth floor and walk away was a lucky charm he wasn't letting go.
Jax stood and followed Sasha out into the cool, biting air of the wasteland.
"What's the play?" Dorio asked, sliding into the seat next to Maine.
Maine grinned, pulling her close and planting a kiss on her cheek. "Just a little... subtle shift in the winds." He laughed. "Kinda like you and me when we started."
Dorio didn't pull away. She understood. The oldest story in Night City—a hero, a beauty, and a miracle in the middle of a graveyard. It was cheesy, it was dangerous, and it was the only thing that kept the dark at bay.
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