Thanks to all the groundwork we'd done beforehand, getting out of the crime scene was a breeze. Within half an hour, we were already en route back to camp, using a drone to scout a safe path. I hadn't expected Kang Tao to react that fast, but better safe than sorry. After all, we'd just hit a military convoy — not exactly small potatoes, even for a major nomad clan.
The Bakkers would need to lay low for a while, but the haul was well worth a few months of avoiding high-profile jobs. Just the tech alone was pushing a hundred million eddies on the black market, and, thankfully, no one in our crew was dumb enough to rush a sale. Offloading that kind of hardware was a risky game, and everyone knew it. But nothing was stopping us from keeping the armored vehicles for ourselves — just needed a little rework to stay off corpo radars.
"Shit, never thought I'd see a Basilisk in our clan," John chuckled after a long stretch of silence. Looked like he was finally starting to relax.
"Well, we've technically got three. Though one's good for parts at best."
"Fair enough," O'Brien nodded, squinting in satisfaction. "Alex, you're a goddamn Santa Claus."
"More like Jack Frost, but sure," I smirked, shaking my head as I turned back to the drone feed, scanning the area.
"You sticking around, or heading back?"
"I'll stay. Need to run a few sparring sessions with Vi to calibrate some systems. That's not exactly a quick job."
John shook his head, smirking. "Turned my kid into a Terminator."
"Like you're complaining," I shot him a skeptical look. "And honestly, do you even have the right to?"
"Can't even grumble in peace. Kids these days," he sighed theatrically, though the grin never left his face.
"When all this is done, I'm gonna need people I can trust to help me deal with the shitstorm coming my way."
"You recruiting me already?"
"More like giving you a heads-up. Trust is a rare commodity these days. Outside of our clan, I can count on one hand the people I wouldn't think twice about showing something… extra."
That made him pause, mulling it over.
"You're not wrong," John finally nodded. "But you can't forget — not everyone adapts as fast as you. You young folks roll with the punches. Us old-timers? Not so much. Life's already knocked us around plenty."
"Never thought about it like that," I admitted, shaking my head. "Still, I've got someone who can handle the rough patches for me. That's all I really need."
O'Brien let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Damn, you've got a sharp tongue. Alright, you win." His amusement was contagious, and I felt the corners of my mouth twitch despite myself.
Then, completely out of nowhere, he hit me with: "So… how're things with Inga? No baby on the way yet?"
I inhaled wrong and nearly choked on air.
"You were just waiting for the perfect moment, weren't you?"
"Couldn't pass up the chance," he admitted with a smirk. "But I'm serious, Alex."
"We've talked about it," I exhaled. "Thought about it. But… there's too much at play right now. I don't think I'm ready to take that step yet. Maybe in a couple of years." I shrugged, not entirely sure if I was convincing him or myself.
"I get that. To an extent," John said, pausing for dramatic effect, a glint of mischief in his eye. "But you know, Susan and I — same deal at first. Had our own plans. And, well… life had other ideas."
"Alright, alright. Message received," I sighed, giving him a mock salute. "I'll stay on my toes."
John grinned. "You better, lover boy. Don't screw this up — she's one of a kind. You won't find another like her, trust me."
"I know, no need to state the obvious." I hesitated. "But, uh… there's a bit of a situation."
The moment the words left my mouth, the air inside the vehicle thickened. Silence stretched out, heavy and expectant.
O'Brien cleared his throat. "Ahem. Gonna need some details on that."
"Well… let's just say things took an interesting turn…"
***
September 8, 2067
Sasha Yakovleva POV
Sasha scrolled through the endless news feed, her expression sour. Lately, every channel had been fixated on the same story — another high-profile murder, another corporate big shot from Biotechnica taken out. On some level, she couldn't say she was upset about it. But the way the media was blowing it up, the sheer weight they were giving this one death, irritated her. It felt like misdirection, like they were using it to keep the public's attention off something else.
"Sash, give me a hand!" Galina's voice rang out from the other room.
"Coming, Mom," Sasha called back, exhaling sharply as she pushed herself to her feet. "What do you need?"
"Can you help with dinner?" Her mother smiled, motioning toward the stove.
"You heading out?" Sasha asked immediately, already piecing it together.
"Emergency call at work. Some Maelstrom mess down by the docks. They're calling in everyone they've got."
"Mom, are you sure you should be going?" Sasha frowned, disapproval creeping into her tone. "You're not even in the field anymore."
"There's a serious manpower shortage," Galina said with a shrug. "Don't worry, kitten. I'll just be holding the perimeter, nowhere near the action. No need to stress." She ruffled Sasha's hair with an affectionate swipe.
"Had to mess up my hair, didn't you?" Sasha grumbled but made no real move to stop her.
"Sorry, couldn't help myself," Galina chuckled. "Anyway, make sure we don't starve while I'm gone. I'll be back before you even have time to miss me. And don't forget — I got some solid gear from that kid recently." Her tone carried a pointed hint.
"Just go already," Sasha huffed, rolling her eyes in exaggerated suffering.
"Try not to miss me too much." Galina shot her a playful wink before grabbing her gear and heading out the door.
Sasha watched her mother leave, her gaze lingering on the door for a long moment before she let out another sigh. The sharp scent of spices drifted through the air, reminding her that dinner still needed tending.
"She'll be fine," she muttered, turning back to the stove.
An hour later, dinner was done, and Sasha found herself with nothing to do. Boredom crept in fast, so she grabbed the remote and flicked through the news channels, letting the evening broadcasts drone in the background. Eventually, she landed on the city's biggest news portal.
She hesitated.
Something about the broadcast caught her attention, though she wasn't sure what — just that, for some reason, she couldn't look away.
"This is Nancy Hartley, bringing you a live report from the scene. About ten minutes ago, several armed thugs — confirmed members of the Maelstrom gang — opened fire on a police containment unit near the docks. Multiple officers sustained injuries, but law enforcement managed to repel the attack and neutralize the assailants. Now, I'll attempt to get a statement from one of the officers on-site."
The dark-skinned reporter moved quickly toward a cluster of bullet-riddled police cruisers, their exteriors pockmarked with fresh debris. Near one of them, a battered-looking officer was finishing up a field dressing on an injured comrade.
Sasha recognized her instantly.
A cold shiver ran down her spine.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she forced herself to keep watching, her eyes locked on the screen as the reporter approached.
"Ma'am, could you state your name for the viewers?" Nancy held the mic out toward Galina.
"This area is classified as a high-threat zone," the officer responded, fixing the reporter with a hard glare. "Civilians and press are advised to leave immediately." The tone alone was a warning — one that clearly said, Get the hell out while you still can.
"I just need a few minutes of your time. A couple of questions, that's all." Hartley pushed forward, undeterred.
Galina's jaw tightened. "Listen to me, and listen carefully. This is an active combat zone. You're putting both your life and mine at risk. Leave now, or I'll be forced to—" She never got to finish.
A deafening explosion ripped through the air, sending shards of stone and debris flying in all directions.
The camera jerked wildly before locking onto the source of the blast.
Live on air, viewers watched as a figure was thrown from the wreckage of a nearby building, crashing to the ground before rolling to his feet with a string of curses in every language under the sun.
For a few seconds, dust and flickering flames obscured his face. Then the camera lens adjusted, pulling him into sharp focus.
Sasha froze.
"What the hell is going on over there?!" she blurted, staring in disbelief.
She knew that face. Even with the modifications — the altered features, the barely recognizable structure — there was no mistaking him.
Alex.
"Damn pyromaniacs," the man grumbled, brushing soot off his scorched coat like the explosion had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience. Then he turned toward the wreckage and waved.
"Alright, you're clear! Get your asses out here!"
A group of officers staggered from the gaping hole in the building.
Some looked worse for wear — burned, bloodied, and bruised. One of them was missing an arm.
Sasha let out a sharp breath, her pulse hammering in her ears.
Things had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.
"Sir, can I get a few words from you?"
Nancy Hartley was on him in an instant, shoving a microphone straight into the stunned face of the mercenary.
"In your next life, maybe." Alex snorted, turning away with deliberate indifference. "Look, I pulled your asses out of the fire. That's where my job ends. I'm not your babysitter, and you're not helpless children. Figure it out without me."
With that, he pivoted smoothly and strode toward the police vehicles. Reaching the transport, he stopped in front of Galina, showing not the slightest hint that he knew her.
"I called in an ambulance. Medics should be here in about ten minutes. The building's clear, but you'll want to send in a bomb squad — it's rigged to hell with mines."
"Sir, wait a second—" Nancy made one last attempt, but Alex didn't even acknowledge her. Instead, he dug a finger absently into his ear, treating her presence like background noise.
The second she stepped a little too close, he blurred out of existence, leaving behind only a faint afterimage.
Incoming Message – Alex Mitchell (Charming Bastard)
"Hey, kiddo. Your mom ran into some bad company, but lucky for her, I was in the neighborhood and decided to lend a hand. No need to stress — she's fine, just a couple of scratches. So yeah, you can stop freaking out. Oh, and swing by my workshop sometime this week. I've got some merc contacts looking for a solid netrunner. If you're interested, you could make some serious eddies.
One more thing — tell Galina to be a good girl and keep her gorgeous ass out of trouble. I'd be real pissed if all my hard work went to waste. You can quote me on that.
P.S. Got a stash of chips I acquired from some now-former tech-junkies. If you feel like sharpening your skills, you know where to find me."
Sasha snorted, barely holding back a grin as the tips of her ears burned.
"Damn show-off."
Flipping back to Channel 54's live feed, she scrolled through the flood of chat messages dissecting the mercenary's latest stunt. Some of the theories people were throwing around had her on the verge of laughing out loud. Others? They made her face heat up. And a few — yeah, those were just straight-up revolting.
Nothing new.
Before she could dive any deeper into the chaos, her mother's voice rang through the apartment.
"Sweetheart, I'm home!"
Sasha snapped out of her trance, glancing toward the entrance.
"Mom, you don't have anything you want to tell me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at the battered officer who was very much pretending nothing had happened.
"Is dinner ready?"
"Mom!"
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