The House of the Reapr welcomes a new Novice, along with the OperativeAndrea Latson, to its ranks. Their contributions and dedication to our cause will be honored through the Net and through the Stars.
---
"Guess I meant… a happier ending… for everyone involved."
- V
---
June 3rd, 2063
A relentless, acidic downpour battered the reinforced glass of the Militech tower. The storm drowned Corpo Plaza in a suffocating gray wash, turning the sprawling metropolis into a blurred, weeping smear of neon and shadows.
Alejandro Reyes sat at his workstation in the mid-level management sector, staring blindly at the scrolling data feeds on his monitor. He was running entirely on fumes and black-market stims. There was a bone-deep fatigue that had settled into his marrow over the past few months, slowly rotting his focus from the inside out.
His nights were spent locked in his home office, diving into the corrupted, encrypted telemetry he had pulled from the data shard. At this point, he was chasing ghosts in the static, searching for the digital signature of the things the entity that lurked beyond the Blackwall had dragged with it. But the current hunt was yielding nothing but fragmented data, and whatever luck he used to possess during his initial dives had completely abandoned him.
His work performance at the corporation had inevitably slipped, and the razor-sharp instincts and meticulous efficiency that had defined his long career were dulling to a dangerous degree. He was beginning to miss vital operational deadlines, overlooking minor security flaws in the subnets he managed, and allowing low-level runner trash to probe the outer defenses of Militech's local servers.
The digital abyss was consuming his waking thoughts, leaving only a hollow shell to clock in at the tower every morning. He tasted synth-caf and metallic blood on his tongue, his organic hand trembling slightly as he reached for a datapad when his Agent vibrated against the desk, breaking the monotonous hum of the office. An incoming message flashed on the screen with a high-priority corporate sigil. It was a direct summons to the sixtieth floor.
Alejandro rubbed his tired hazel eyes, letting out a slow breath as he stood up and adjusted the collar of his tailored suit. He ran a quick internal diagnostic on his combat chrome, ensuring his matte-black chromed right arm was fully responsive. He checked his concealed Lexington pistol, confirming it rested securely in its shoulder holster before walking to the executive elevator.
The sixtieth floor was filled with hushed opulence, and the air smelled of expensive air purifiers and genuine leather. The solid mahogany door at the end of the hall slid open smoothly as Alejnadro approached, revealing the expansive corner office of Benedict Miller.
Benedict was a sharply groomed man in his mid-forties. He wore a bespoke suit that cost more eddies than a Watson street-rat would see in a lifetime. His silver-flecked hair was perfectly styled, and his eyes held the cold, calculating emptiness of a man who measured human lives strictly in profit margins.
"Ah, Mr. Reyes," Benedict said smoothly, gesturing to the plush leather chairs positioned opposite his massive desk. "Take a seat. Would you like a drink?"
"I'll take one, sir," Alejandro replied, maintaining his professional facade as he sat down, keeping his posture relaxed but his awareness fully engaged. He scanned the room instinctively, noting the reinforced security cameras and the subtle automated defense turrets hidden in the ceiling corners.
Benedict walked over to a crystal decanter and poured two generous measures of real, aged scotch into polished glasses. He handed one to Alejandro before taking a seat behind his own desk and taking a slow sip, his eyes studying Alejandro over the rim of the glass.
"How are things at home?" Benedict asked, his tone deceptively casual. "How is Julia? And the boy... Santi, right? He must be about ten now."
"He's doing great, Mr. Miller," Alejandro answered easily, taking a sip of the burning liquor. He carefully guarded the truth, knowing any slip could put a target on his son's back. "He's a smart kid, doing well with his private tutor and all. Just a normal boy, really. If anything, he's spending too much time watching old cartoons and drawing pictures. You know how it is."
"I do," Benedict smiled thinly, setting his glass down. "Children are quite a significant investment. They require a stable environment to yield a positive return. We pour resources into them, expecting loyalty and competence in the future, wanting them to carry our legacy forward... Speaking of returns, Alejandro... your recent quarterly metrics have been brought to my attention. You're slipping. Badly."
Alejandro set his glass down on the desk, keeping his expression neutral while suppressing the sudden spike in his heart rate. "I know my numbers have dropped recently. I've just been dealing with some added responsibilities at home, and as of late, my family has required more of my attention. It has left me a bit distracted, but I assure you, it's a temporary dip. I'll pick up the slack by the end of the week."
Benedict laid his hands flat against his desk and nodded his head. He then stood up, walking slowly over to the floor-to-ceiling window, his hand clasped behind his back, staring out at the rain-slicked skyscrapers of the city. He let out a long sigh that echoed in the quiet office.
"You know... I liked you, Alejandro," Benedict said softly, addressing his reflection in the glass. "You were one exceptional asset, a worker who did exactly what he was told to do, executing orders without any questions. You were a remarkably reliable instrument for Militech."
Alejandro frowned as he felt a cold knot forming in his stomach. The fact that there had been a sudden shift in Benedict's tone and that he was referring to him in the past tense sent an unconscious signal to his combat implants, which flooded his system with a micro-dose of adrenaline, preparing his muscles for sudden violence. "I still am that asset, Mr. Miller. I just need a week to balance my schedule."
Benedict turned around slowly, his face was devoid of any former warmth.
"Did you really think we wouldn't find out?" Benedict asked, his voice tinged with disappointment.
Alejandro maintained a blank expression, trying to play dumb. "Find out about what, exactly?"
Benedict sneered as he walked back to his desk. "Please do not insult my intelligence. A week ago, our internal NetWatch division caught a ping that was highly encrypted, masked through a dozen proxy servers, stripped of local routing data, and scrubbed of nearly all identifying markers. It was, quite honestly, a masterpiece of digital camouflage, one we wished wasn't true. We spent days trying to verify the origin point and tracing the breadcrumbs through the dark subnets."
Benedict leaned forward, planting his hands on the desk once again. "You were diving behind the Blackwall from a terminal registered to your residential grid. Just why would you do that, Alejandro? Even after the events that went down ten years ago... events you were directly involved in and responsible for. You executed every single person involved in that op to bury the secret on Militech's behalf. You washed the blood from your hands and took a desk job to hide in plain sight. So tell me, why risk the wrath of this corporation to poke the hornets' nest again?"
The air in the office turned to ice. The jig was up, and Militech knew everything.
But Alejandro didn't waste his breath on an answer or a defense as his instincts screamed at him. He threw himself sideways out of the leather chair and dove hard for the cover of a thick marble structural pillar in the center of the office.
While he was doing so, the mahogany doors slid open, and a blonde-haired woman in a corporate skirt suit strode through the doorway. She raised a Militech pistol and opened fire the second she cleared the threshold.
Alejandro was fast, but he couldn't outrun a wall of lead. As he launched himself through the air, a high-caliber round caught him in the left bicep. The brutal impact spun him mid-dive, tearing through muscle tissue and spraying hot blood across the pristine carpet. Before he even hit the floor, a second bullet punched through his side, glancing off his subdermal armor, but still managing to fracture one of his ribs, sending pain through him.
He grunted in agony, hitting the ground hard, and rolling frantically behind the marble pillar as a hail of armor-piercing rounds shredded the leather chair he had occupied a fraction of a second earlier. The air filled with deafening gunfire, pulverized leather padding, and the acrid stench of cordite.
"Watch the fucking leather!" Benedict's angry shout came a second later as four fully armored Militech spec-ops soldiers flooded into the room behind the woman. They wore matte-black tactical gear and full-face visors, carrying high-capacity assault rifles.
Alejandro ignored the screaming pain in his side and the blood pouring down his left arm. He drew his Lexington from the shoulder holster in a single fluid motion. He popped out from the left side of the marble pillar, locking onto the lead spec-ops soldier and squeezing the trigger twice. Two rounds punched perfectly through the soldier's visor, dropping the man instantly as a spray of red mist exited the back of his head.
"Suppressing fire!" the woman barked, ducking behind the oak doorframe.
Alejandro recognized her voice immediately, after all, he had trained her. It was none other than twenty-eight-year-old Meredith Stout, one of Militech's rising agents.
The remaining soldiers unleashed a barrage of rounds toward Alejandro, the marble pillar chipping and sparking, showering Alejandro in sharp fragments of stone. He pressed his back flat against the cover. He had 18 rounds left in his magazine. He hadn't expected a full hit squad to try and whack him in the middle of the management sector.
Another soldier tried to flank him from the right, moving quickly across the open floor. Alejandro shifted his weight, swung his weapon around, and shot multiple times, one of the rounds impacting the man directly in the throat. The soldier collapsed, clutching his neck as blood poured freely through his fingers and onto the expensive carpet.
Two more armed troops immediately rushed through the doorway to replace the fallen. Alejandro cursed under his breath. He was shot and trapped in a highly structured kill box. He needed to somehow break their formation.
"Why fight it, Reyes?" Meredith called out from her cover, her voice dripping with venomous arrogance. "There is no way out of this room! You're dead meat!"
Her arrogant taunt gave him the exact opening he needed. She had leaned out slightly to yell the words, exposing her midsection.
Alejandro whipped around the right side of the pillar and opened fire. He hit two of the spec-ops soldiers, though their armor caught the bullets. But they couldn't do anything as one of the rounds made its way toward the blonde corporate rising star.
The stray bullet caught Meredith Stout squarely in the stomach, causing her to let out a shocked gasp that sent her pistol clattering to the floor. She collapsed against the doorframe, clutching her bleeding abdomen, her face turning pale.
"Kill that fucker!" Meredith screamed through her teeth, sliding behind the wall and into cover.
Alejandro pulled back into cover, his HUD flashing a critical warning. He was down to a single bullet in the Lexington's chamber.
He was cornered and bleeding profusely from multiple gunshot wounds as spec-ops soldiers slowly moved his way in a tight tactical formation to sweep the pillar. He had a few seconds before they rounded the marble and filled his body with lead.
Alejandro looked across the room toward Benedict Miller, who was standing calmly near the back wall, observing the execution of his former asset with more annoyance over the ruined furniture than interest. The executive hadn't even drawn a weapon, assuming his soldiers would finish the job.
Alejandro gritted his teeth, furiously cursing himself for his own idiotic mistakes. How could he slip up so badly? How could he let his obsession blind him enough to let them track his dive? He had put Julia and Santi in extreme danger. If he was going down, he was taking the arrogant bastard with him.
He lunged out from the left side of the pillar, exposing himself to the advancing soldiers. He ignored the rifles tracking his movement and raised his pistol, perfectly lining up the iron sights with Benedict's smug face before pulling the trigger.
The final round left the chamber with a deafening crack, traveling across the office and striking Benedict precisely between the eyes. The man's skull erupted in a shower of bone fragments, brain matter, and blood, the gore blasting against the wall behind him. Benedict's corpse crumpled to the floor, his head striking his own knees before slamming backward onto the floor, spilling the parts of his brain matter out of the hole.
A rifle round slammed into Alejandro's thigh, almost dropping him to one knee, and another round grazed his cheek, tearing the skin away. But he kept his momentum as the spec-ops soldiers closed in, their rifles raised to deliver the killing blow, and grabbed the steel-framed executive chair sitting near the pillar, hurling the furniture with every ounce of strength he had left toward the floor-to-ceiling window.
The glass was reinforced, but it was only reinforced from the outside-in, meaning that the impact of the steel frame shattered the pane completely with ease. A massive gust of howling wind and freezing rain blasted into the opulent office, scattering confidential paperwork into the storm.
Before the Militech soldiers could realize what he was doing, Alejandro dropped out of the gaping hole, falling out of the sixtieth-floor window into the gray, churning sky of Night City.
The wind roared fiercely in his ears, and the rain whipped his face. He watched as the concrete streets of Corpo Plaza rushed up to meet him and twisted his body mid-air, swinging his fully chromed arm and driving his metal fingers directly into the exterior glass and steel framework of the Militech tower.
The friction was agonizing, his chrome shrieking against the building, protesting the immense strain and pulling at the connection by his shoulder. Sparks flew in a blinding shower, mingling with the rain. The drag threatened to rip his arm directly from his shoulder socket, tearing the artificial muscles and straining the mounting brackets. As he went down, he left a deep, jagged, hand-sized scar tearing down the facade of the skyscraper.
Sixty floors above, Meredith Stout dragged herself to the broken window, clutching her bleeding stomach with one hand. She raised a pistol with her other hand, leaning dangerously over the edge, and fired wildly down into the storm.
The bullets sliced through the rain. One managed to catch Alejandro in the calf, punching clean through the meat, while another skipped off his chromed shoulder plate, jarring his grip. He gritted his teeth against the pain, continuing his screeching, sparking descent.
Eventually, he hit the ground hard. His knees buckled under the force, and a sharp crack echoed from his ribs as he rolled to disperse the landing, tumbling into a pile of discarded trash bags.
He lay in the rain for a moment, his body broken and bleeding from half a dozen wounds, but he forced himself up. He was running purely on combat stims and sheer willpower, limping into the labyrinth of side streets, desperately seeking the shadows to hide from the corporate security drones that would surely be swarming the plaza within a few minutes.
He navigated the twisting alleys, leaving a trail of diluted blood in the puddles as he made his way toward Mbole Ebunike St, moving away from the prying optics of the corporate center. The rain washed the grime and blood from his face.
Once he thought he was reasonably safe, he stopped for a moment, leaning against a damp brick wall, gasping for air. His lungs burned, but he still needed to warn his family before Militech dispatched a squad to Charter Hill.
Alejandro accessed his internal interface, bypassing his damaged optic sensors, and compiled a highly encrypted, priority-one ping, routing it directly to Julia's personal Agent in their apartment.
Julia. They found out. Get the data chip from the office, hit the EMP to fry the servers and the terminals. Grab Santi and run. Don't look back, I'll contact you when it's safe. I love you both. This message will delete within a minute of you opening it.
He authorized the transmission and sent the ping successfully.
Alejandro let out a ragged breath, thinking he was safe for the moment. He thought he had bought enough time to find an underground ripperdoc, patch his bleeding wounds, and disappear into the badlands to meet up with them later.
---
I like shiny things!
The infamous P@treon exists for those of you who want to read ahead.
patreon .com/Crimson_Reapr (Don't be a gonk, remove the space)
They get around 3 long-form weekly chapters (4.5-6k words each).