Hot Neon - Segment 01.4

I tangle my fingers in her hair, tugging, roughly making out with her, as I pound into her, fucking her hard and fast. Friends for the moment. Just for now, just for however long it takes for us to make one another cum good and hard. Her tongue plunges past my lips, and I suckle it hungrily, not particularly caring that her breath stinks of alcohol.

The only thing more intense than the pounding of my hips is the feeling of her clutching me, squeezing me tightly. She's grunting now, loud cries escaping her throat as she rides the waves of her orgasm, gripping me with her pussy muscles, trying to milk me for everything I'm worth.

I keep pumping her, and her nails dig deep into my flesh. Ouch. Probably going to have a scraped shoulder tomorrow. Whatever. I'm more concerned about the milkshake-thick ropes I'm about to spurt into Drift's depths. As if there were any doubt, my balls clench, and I know I couldn't pull out now, even if I wanted to for some reason.

The kiss breaks roughly, and our dirty groans and grunts fill the space between us. My orgasm hammers through my entire body, and I release into her. Over and over and over again. Spurt after thick spurt of cum is forced out by my desperate jerking movements. I shudder and grunt and writhe, sweat dripping onto her naked skin as I hold myself up atop her, buried to the hilt, my dick bucking violently and spurting its contents into her womb.

I don't know how much hot-white, gluey mess I just autographed her interior walls with, but I know that blowing my load in this smug hacker's moist little cookie feels fucking incredible. As does being held up by a leg wrapped around my hip, and having a woman who's not really a friend at all hug me tight as my dick unloads inside her. My favorite way ever to earn a favor, regardless of personal disposition.

***

Afternoon rains come down outside the window, beating down upon the sodden earth below. I shrug up my Wardruna nanoweave jacket, a steaming mug of dark-black caffeine simmering away on the table, and sit back in my chair.

The caff smells fantastic. Like burnt sugar and caramelized nuts, and I take a sip. Mmm. Perfect. No need to ruin the natural balance with heaps of sugar and cream, so far as I'm concerned.

My direct supervisor, my personal coordinator, has arranged some time out of her busy schedule to meet with me and go over the findings from that database dump Drift pulled a few days prior - coincidentally, while I busy dumping her database full of warm gunk.

Coordinators usually hang tough on the back lines, planning and arranging jobs, making contracts available for a la carte selection. But when you've got something special in your pocket, they'll show themselves.

I've only met Sparrow in passing; more times than not, she's just some voice or some block of text on my comm, rather than someone I can directly interact with.

When I see her step into the coffee shop, eyes scanning the room with practiced quickness to find my booth, I'm reminded that her appearance always catches me by surprise.

I mean, yeah, it's just another woman wearing businesswear, except that her eyes are jet black, and her hair is pure white. Not white blond, white gray, but white like snow and ice. It probably speaks to a more rough-and-tumble past, where those exceedingly-unnatural perma-colorations are more common.

Or maybe it's just the way she dresses, which makes her look a little more like an executive than most. It creates a clash, a bit of a cognitive dissonance that tends to disarm. She's got a short, all-biz crop, swept into neat, smart order. This woman minds her particulars.

Sparrow walks briskly towards the booth, smoothing out a long pencil skirt that, near as I can tell, has never even heard of a wrinkle. So fastidious. If not for the wild eyes and hair, she'd cut the perfect picture of a straight corpo rep, an exec who runs things, rather than a woman pulling strings for dirty syndicate work.

Blank Card probably does have a board of directors, some upper structure that isn't too far removed from what a corporation would be, but the fact remains that it's still a bunch of criminals wrecking the city for their own profit.

"Afternoon, miss Pepper," she opens, those elegant, classical good looks of hers cutting through my thoughts. Pretty sure I can count on one hand the times I've been addressed as 'miss' anything.

That glossy, ruddy brown lipstick of hers just makes her seem older than she actually is, and gives her a kind of predatory air. Tastefully augged; I couldn't venture a guess as to her age, but I suspect that late-twenties look belies her true age.

"There are some most interesting findings we've made from the Halex database, so I felt it more pertinent to discuss these matters in person."

I nod, feeling out of league already as I snatch up my mug, putting it to my mouth like it's a security gesture. A long sip refocuses my mind, somewhat. "Yeah? What's the good news, then? Halex holding on to something juicy for us?"

Sparrow smiles tightly. "More than likely. In particular, their listing of asset holdings within the corporate security vaults at the central branch of First Union Bank. There are quite a few assets listed there, including two very valuable pieces: a pair of Class-6 AI cores, both test environments for experimental neural network upgrades and hardware modifications. They're both locked down pretty tight, but I suspect that Halex is soon to suffer a grievous asset loss."

As I listen to Sparrow speak, I can almost hear my brain working behind her words. A bank job. Jeez, talk about swinging for the fences. In terms of potential to go south, it's hard to imagine a bigger risk.

Even with a solid hacker at the helm, the odds of an SCPD response, let alone an ICRS strike team, is high enough that any decent thief will avoid this like the plague. But if it pays off...

A class six AI core. Tradable commodities are rarer than gold, and cores with that level of juice are worth their weight in platinum. One could make millions selling them off to the highest bidder, and with some trade-secret Halex firmware knocking around under the hood, they could even double their money.

I ponder all of this. It's a big stretch for any of the crew that I know personally, but I can feel myself being drawn in anyway. Maybe it's because I've had a taste of how easy it is to get rich lately. Maybe it's because I don't have much else going right now, or maybe I just want to try my luck at hitting the jackpot.

I wish I'd taken a little longer to think before I spoke, though. Because when I open my mouth next, I realize that Sparrow's just gotten me hooked.

***

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! I do have to announce that you're all about to be part of a robbery. I suggest you remain calm and orderly, get down on the floor, and place your hands over your head until further notice." I clear my throat, looking from eye to bewildered eye. No, most of these citizens didn't expect an armed entourage to burst into the bank.

The lobby was packed at this time of day. I didn't cut a very imposing figure, but Nero is, of course, one hefty son of a bitch. Rhino is too, and I don't want to own up to the amount of coaxing and wheedling it took to get her to come along as backup. I pulled out as many of the stops as I could, using every bit of charm I've got to convince her that I needed the lady who taught me everything I knew to be by my side.

I got some others on detail, too - Tigress is a bit older, but she's still a rambunctious little shit and a worryingly good demolitions expert, a wiry redhead with prominent scarring and augs for her left arm and leg. Jackal's helping me with crowd control, mostly looking for anyone to act up so he can fire a slug into their brainstem. He's one of those little guys, all scruff and sharp edges. Quiet, like a lot of those guys who do contract hits. Rhino and her gregarious nature are something of an oddity in that position.

It's tense work. I need to keep control of this crowd. "All right, everybody. What's important here is that we're going after corporate assets held in the vault. We're not after your creds, so no one here is going to lose their savings. You keep calm and quiet, stay where you're at and don't move, and you'll be back home to your families before nightfall."

They were listening to me. Mostly. There were some muttering here and there, some people talking amongst themselves, but overall they seemed content to follow orders. Good. If they start getting antsy, this whole ordeal is likely to go sideways.

Rhino's barking instructions from the sidelines. "Keep 'em moving, boys. Keep 'em moving. Move it, move it!" She's running interference with the front desk clerks. Alerts are bound to be going out, but Drift is in the back of the van, probably sat in a Zen pose, with at least five or six displays scrolling information through her eyes. The only way we're going to pull this off is with maximum precision.

The siege shields are already lowering over the lobby windows, quickly blocking out the view of the outside world. As the last shield drops, I glance out the glass doors to see what's happening outside. My eyes widen at the heavily armored units beginning to converge on the building. My blood is already running cold when our comm channel chirps.

"Oh, shit, guys... there's a Storm Team heading your way," says Drift. Her voice is tight and strained, full of tension. This might be the only time I've heard the ever-confident nerd sound scared.

I glance out the door again. Sure enough, two squads of heavy-duty armor are making their way up the sidewalk toward us. They're carrying rifles, plasma-kickers to punch through ballistic plating. Heavy duty riot gear, and they're coming straight for the building.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Strikers coming in hot! Nero, Rhino, you two hold the line," I manage with heavy breath. She nods, and he says nothing as his heavy augmented arms rack the double-barrel plasmacore shotgun he holds.

I heighten my voice, flipping some now-sweat-damp purple hair away from my mask. "Okay, change of plans. Jackal, Tigress, you're with me. Let's just push back to the vault, blow it open, and then we can all make a break for it. No more waiting around. Got it?"

She nods and keeps pace beside me, and Tigress doesn't waste any time answering. "Whatever," she growls. We push through the halls in a haphazard line as riotous fire erupts from back in the lobby, round after round pumping off in concussive blasts.

It quickens my pulse, my pace. There are shouts behind me. Someone must have fired first. I hear the thunder of a weapon firing, and a man screams in pain. Nice. Not one of ours.

We have hardly a moment to spare as we muscle back into Corporate Assets, and I scan furiously for the Halex deposit area. Tigress all but muscles me out of the way and palm-slams a heavy-class breaching charge against the wall. Forget the door.

It'd take too long, and we need to bag those cores and book it, sooner than later. A second blast knocks the wall aside and the three of us slip inside the vault.

There, in solid lead-insulated cases, are the precious cores. Tradable, valuable, worth a fortune. I snatch up a case by the handle, and Jackal grabs for the other. Heavy, but so worth it. Time to make a break for it.

When we get back to the lobby, it's chaos. Dead bodies aplenty, civilian and Storm Team alike. Nero bought it, too, the big lug splayed out on the tile, head blown wide open like a watermelon. Rhino's trading shots with a Striker, too, and definitely earning some scars in the process.

I draw my plasmacore pistol, single-handed, and lay a shot through the guy's lower back, a bolt of hot green energy lancing right through his body, in one side and out the other. He drops without even a whimper, already fighting to upright himself as my weapon snarls up another shot.

Rhino whistles low, her organic eye clenched tight and looking like a bloodied mess. "Damn, girly. You've changed."

My expression remains flat. "Aww. For the better?" I snip back as I blast the Striker right through the face, painting the lobby floor with his memories. I cock my head to one of the siege shields, torn through with gunfire. "We're pushing out. Now."

***

The hovervan is fucking full of holes.

Displays shattered, Drift is sprawled dead in the back, with a bullet hole punched clean through her skull. Blood everywhere, leaking down the seat.

I can't say I'll miss her, but I will miss her skills... and, yes, I'll miss boning her on a somewhat regular basis.

Tigress pushes into the driver's seat and brings us up to the sky with sickening speed. I am so glad I haven't eaten today, or else I would have barfed. I look across to where Tigress sits. The girl looks pale as hell.

She's got her helmet tucked under an arm, and she's holding it tightly between herself and the steering throttle. She hadn't the time to strap it on, but now, I'm betting that she wishes she had, more than anything. It doesn't matter, at least, if we can just get the fuck out of here.

For a brief, merciful moment, I think we're going to make it. That we're going to live.

Then the van spins out of control. My back whips against the wall, shoulders screaming in sudden agony as I flail like a fish pulled from the waters, scrabbling for steadier footing only to find none at all.

It happens in slow motion. First the van swerves, then it wobbles sideways, then the back end lifts up as it pitches over on its side.

"Shit! Engine caught an EMP wave! Hold on to something!" Tigress yells, yanking at the controls. Her eyes go wide and she pulls harder. The city streets below come rushing up to greet us at high speeds. Then, finally, there's nothing left to do but let gravity take its course.

"I think we're going down! I'm trying-" she almost screams, though the throttle is becoming increasingly unresponsive, no matter how roughly she's jostling it, enough that I'm worried she'll break off the damn stick with her forcible, desperate yanking.

It all hits me like a bucket of cold water to the face, all at once. I'm about to die.

I suppose I should be happy that I won't ever have to see this city again. But what good does death bring? None at all.

So I brace myself as the vehicle flips end over end, spinning wildly out of control until it comes crashing down, as the world seems to crash down around us.

With a coming, fatal impact a heartbeat away, I try to find the time to make whatever peace I can with any and all deities out there, major and minor alike, hoping for a reprieve.

A last look around. Tigress, teeth gritted, lips drawn back in a tense snarl as she wrestles fruitlessly with the throttle, knuckles in a white death-grip on the stick. Jackal with his arms almost comically out to the sides, trying in vain to brace against the inner walls of the hovervan. Rhino's metal arm pounding its way through a sidewall, fighting for purchase to find something steadier to hold onto.

The back door flies open, displays hurtling out into the air, Drift's mangled body spilling out, a last look at her as her hair whips in the rushing wind, before she's gone too. Lost in the moments before the earth-shattering impact, and me with nothing to hold onto except these cores.

It's deafening when we hit, my entire body erupting in a symphony of pain as we're brought to an immediate halt against the pavement. Maybe I should think it lucky that the heavy casing of the core careens off my head, probably splitting me open, but battering me right out of consciousness. My eyelids barely have the time to flutter before the entire world just fades away.

Passing on impact is a lot more peaceful than living through it and choking out my last breaths in the wreckage, anyway. Maybe it's for the better.

***

"Cart her off to Trauma. She's too roughed up for transit in this condition," some modulated voice drones over my head. My poor, aching head. "Our team needs a new field tech."

Someone's dragging me onto a gurney, and I squirm in protest. The last thing I feel like doing is being wheeled away. I try to pick out the rest as I can. Casualties? What about the others who were here with me? Did they manage to escape? Are they alive?

My comm buzzes loudly, inner ear implant beeping on. Sparrow sounds as gravely concerned as she should be. Any good coordinator would be losing their shit right about now. "Rhino got out. She has the cores. Sad to say that Jackal and Tigress aren't responding to pings. I think they didn't make it. As for you, I'll think of something. I'll get you out. It might just take a few days, with an arrest of this magnitude. And don't worry; you'll be well cared for. Don't give them any trouble."

I stare numbly ahead. I feel like I shouldn't care if I live or die anymore. In the back of the Trauma vehicle, they start wrenching the shrapnel from my leg. A nurse places a needle against my neck. An injection.

I'm already barely feeling anything. Maybe it's the shock. Or maybe the drugs are working faster than they should. Either way, it doesn't matter. Not really.

They load me into the back of an ambulance and haul me out. There's no need for restraints, and I sit still as they take me to wherever they're taking me. I presume they're just going to patch me up enough to drop off at high-sec, and from there I've got at least a bit of a prison stint waiting for me while Sparrow pulls strings to get me released.

That's how things work nowadays. With the right transfer of credits to the right hands, a lot of syndicate workers don't see much time inside, if at all. If they're lucky. The ones who get stuck to rot in there are usually freelancers, or those few whose syndicate decided to abandon them when it was convenient. That's the life, though.

There's always someone willing to take your place.

So I wait. I watch the lights flash by outside. Watch the buildings slide by outside. Feel in my bones that we're drawing nearer to lockup. Somewhere cold and dark. Where the guards are rough and mean, and the prisoners are broken, if not just as hard and mean as those who guard them.

As I drift deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, I wonder if I'll be left behind, too. Just like so many others, waiting for a favor that never comes.

***

When I wake up, I realize I've been stripped naked. I sit up on an exam table, the paper clinging to my bare, pert ass as I try to will my shaky legs to find the floor.

The room smells sickly and sterile, and the walls are lined with medical equipment and machines that hum and whine softly. Everything feels surreal as I struggle to focus through the fog in my head.

A man walks toward me, wearing scrubs, his hair clipped short. Behind the facemask, his eyes go up a bit, and he only peripherally seems to take note of my firm nipples and flopping prick. He glances briefly at my groin, before looking up to my face. His eyes narrow slightly, then soften. "Ah, you're up and at them now. Good. How are you feeling?"

"Awful, thanks," I groan, putting my palm on the wall to steady myself as he turns, picks up a water bottle, flips the straw out for me.

"Drink. It'll help. They'd like me to get you to Intake as soon as you're mobile, but I don't think the world's going to end if you spend a few minutes more recovering. You seem to have had a bad day. But you'll recover." He puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "Don't worry. We'll get you sorted out. Soon as possible."

It almost makes me want to laugh. I'm about to get locked up, and here's this guy, treating me with a dignity and decency I'm simply not going to see again for years, if ever - unless Sparrow really is a miracle worker.

When I finally do get out of here, it's likely I'll be transferred to a maximum security facility where I'll get beat up and abused until I either break, or kill one of the guards, or another inmate.