Strong Enough 2.1 (Patreon)

Gig Worker 2.1

Taylor savors every moment of frozen silence as the car speeds down the highway.

With the passenger seat of Emma’s souped-up G-whatever leaned back as far as it can go, and the towers of Night City whizzing by in the window, she can almost imagine there’s no one else in the car, just her and the engine thrumming against the soles of her feet.

“I can’t believe you.” Emma breaks that illusion like glass. “I just can’t believe you. Did you think I was being serious, or did those new eyes of yours fry your brain?!”

Taylor hums. Her duffle sits in her lap, and she has new pictures saved of Emma standing on a beat-up old sidewalk in the ghetto, red hair a bright splash against stained concrete. She can’t wait to disseminate it on Academy networks. All Emma's anger is just bonus eddies.

“I swear to god I’ll kick you out and make you walk.”

Taylor turns her head. “Bet that’ll look good after I edit the footage and send it off to Daddy dearest.”

Emma growls, pressing down on the gas and swerving between cars. It would be more impressive if the auto-pilot wasn’t engaged. “If you think you can just butt into my life and Dad will ever pick you over—”

“Ems. We all know he doesn’t give two shits about you.” She tilts her head back to the window. “Shut up and drive already.”

“I’ll make your life a living hell,” Emma mutters.

“We were driving down this road, when the car got shot to bits by Maelstrom,” Taylor says. “I watched my mother get ripped apart by HMG rounds right in front of me, and then the car flipped.” She stares at the buildings, the stairway to heaven rising up into the clouds. “What the fuck do you think you can do to me?”

Thankfully, Emma shuts up until they pull into the parking garage.

Taylor’s apartment is—was now—perched on the edge of The Glen in south Heywood, just across the bridge from Pacifica, with all that entails. The Barnes’s unit is also technically in Heywood, but in the upscale Vista Del Rey. It says a lot about Night City, that two different worlds can exist so close to each other, none of it good.

Emma gets out of the car without a word, Taylor follows, throwing her bag over her shoulder and following behind as both girls get into the lift. She hums an off-key tune, enjoying the way it makes Emma’s shoulders tighten. She has to find that spark of joy wherever she can.

The redhead holds her tongue until they get to the apartment.

The Barnes live in a two-story unit midway up Nerono Place mega-scraper. Taylor’s been before, but not recently, and she’s a bit surprised to find the dining table changed during her absence. She trails along behind Emma, fingers curling around a familiar banister to the second story. Emma slaps a door panel, opening a decent sized room with an already made twin bed. Taylor sees a chair, and enough space for the desk and workbench.

All she needs.

Emma ruins her moment of contemplation by throwing a datashard at her face. Taylor snatches it with a raised eyebrow.

“This is your room, that’s your key pass.” She crosses her arms. “I don’t know what you think you were going to get for moving in with me, but if you think for a second that this changes anything between us, you are sorely mistaken.”

Taylor sets the duffle on her bed and pulls out her white lab coat.

“I don’t care what Daddy says, next year you’ll be on the fucking streets you—The fuck is that!?”

“Hm?” Taylor glances up for a second, before turning her attention back to her revolver. “It’s an Overture revolver; what does it look like, Emma? Nail polish remover?”

“Why do you have a gun?” Emma takes a step forward, filling Taylor’s doorway, but the apprehension on her face is clear as day. “You don’t get to have a gun, I won’t let you have a gun in—”

“Night City is dangerous.” Taylor settles her holsters low on her hips.

Emma makes a strangled sound the sight of the unity. “Why do you have two guns.”

“One is for bigger problems.” Taylors’s fingers trail down the grip of her revolver, ghosting over the cylinder. Click, click. “A girl’s gotta take care of herself.”

Emma scoffs. “Well, you can keep your protection somewhere else.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Taylor shrugs on the lab coat. She thinks it goes well with her red, sleeveless sweater. If everyone already calls her ‘Scarlet’, she might as well lean into the skid. “Before you say something, consider this.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “What nonsense have you cooked up this time?”

“It’s easy to get guns in Night City.” Taylor turns to face the shorter girl. She takes a step forward, and, unbidden, Emma takes one back. “I’d be very upset if I had to get rid of them, but I can always buy more.” She takes another step. “Understand?”

Emma glares. “Are you threatening me?”

“No.”

She takes another step forward, and this time Emma’s resolve falters again. Then Taylor is past her, walking down the hall towards the elevator.

“Where are you going?”

“Well, if I don’t want to end up on the streets, I need a part time job.” She turns to face Emma as the Elevator doors slide shut. “See you later, bestie.”

Emma glares in impotent rage.

Taylor allows herself a smile as she exits the building. Living together will be a battle that Taylor intends to win. Hopefully, Emma won’t get her balance back until next week, allowing Taylor plenty of time to focus on her first gig with Maine’s crew. She really needs this part time job.

It’s the only reason she’s going to see Sasha.

One good thing about her move is that she’s much closer to Watson. Sasha lives perilously close to the badlands, enough that she has a view of the nothingness that stretches away to the north. It’s the first thing Taylor notices when she shows up at Sash's apartment.

Besides the location, though, the place is pure Sasha. RBG lighting on the ceiling, pink sheets, and metal posters on the walls. A study in contrasts, just like the netrunner who lives in it.

“Kinda wondered if you’d show.”

Taylort shrugs.” “I—”

The door slides open again. “Momma got burritos!” Rebecca waves her spoils over her head, before blinking. Her grin returns even wider a second later. “Oh, choomba! Ya finally made it!”

“Hey… Beccs.”

“Don’t be like that, Scar.” Becca gives a little hop to slap Taylor’s shoulder as she flounces into the room.

Sasha catches the tossed burrito out of the air with aplomb, but Taylor needs a quick burst from the Sandevistan to avoid fumbling hers.

“Did you seriously use speedware to catch something?” Sasha shakes her head, spinning in her high-backed chair towards her desk. “You’ll fit right in with the rest of us nutcases.”

“Guilty as charged.” Becca giggles, flopping back on Sasha’s bed.

Taylor stands near the entrance of the room, foil wrapped backage in hand. “I thought this would be more of a one-on-one thing.” She flicks a glance towards Rebecca. “No offense, but I’m not in a hurry to share what’s in my points.”

“I’m just a gonk.” Beccs knocks two knuckles against her head. “Not like I’m gonna make heads or tails of whatever ICE Sasha winds up chippin’ in.”

“I thought having a familiar face might help,” Sasha says. “Reassurance that I won’t do anything funny.”

Taylor grumbles. “She just said she wouldn’t even notice if you did.” All the same, she sits down in the netrunning chair next to the desk. It has a good view of the window, and her eyes trace the remarkably clean line where Night City just… ends.

“Never been past the edge, huh?” Sasha asks.

“I’ve lived in NC my entire life,” Taylor replies. The thought leaves a sour taste on her lips, and she turns away.

“Woot, woot!” Becca pumps a fist. “NC represent!”

Taylor laughs along despite herself. “Okay, I guess the company isn’t … all bad.” She turns back to Sasha. “So, how’s this go?”

“Got some prepped ICE on my machine and ready to go, but for bespoke work like this, I usually like to get a look at the ‘ware you got. Let’s me know what needs protecting.”

Taylor’s fingers come up to trace the back of her neck, lingering on the cool metal of her spine. “I think what needs protecting is pretty obvious.”

“Sometimes.” Sasha smiles, eyes crinkling. “But you’d be surprised what slips through the cracks. If everyone did ICE the right way, netrunners like me wouldn’t exist.” She pulls a jack from the side of her computer, holding it out wordlessly for Taylor to take.

Taylor eyes the wire warily, like it might reach out and wrap around her neck, unbidden. She is new once more to the idea of trust, her once large circle whittled down to nothing through chance and choice combined. She found herself alone so suddenly, the bite of loss still catches her unawares, and now to be asked to open up again, on the most literal level, causes aches deep within her breast.

But she really needs this part time job.

Taylor jerks the wire from Sasha’s unresisting fingers and connects it to her port before she can think better of it. Her optics beep, icons flashing in warning of the hack—for a second, anyway, before her paltry ICE shatters into pieces.

The ICE pick finishes its work before Sasha even has her headset on, almost before she could have yanked the jack loose from her neck.

Well, maybe not with the Sandevistan.

Sasha settles the pink visor over her eyes, holographic interface showing an emoji of a cat, before filling up with data streams Taylor can’t make heads or tails of.

“Oooh!” Sasha’s lips curl up into a catlike smirk. “So it is your spine. Roomy, too, lots of space to play around with.”

Taylor cocks her head. “So…do I just sit here?”

“Yeah mostly.” Becca rolls over on the bed, head overhanging the edge so her twin ponytails can trail across the floor. “Oh, and she probably can’t hear you. Sash gets super hyper focused on stuff like this. More than yer average chromehead, I mean.”

Taylor glances towards the desk. Sasha’s feet swing in the air, and the woman giggles to herself once, hands manipulating interfaces that only she can see.

“Um.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Becca waves her hand. “She’s nova. Just a little screwy in the dome. Y’know, like most netrunners.”

“You calling someone else screwy isn’t exactly filling me with confidence,” Taylor mutters.

Rebecca sniffs. “Rude! And after I came all this way to keep you company.” She points towards Sasha. “Just think’a what you’d be left with if not for me!”

Taylor glances black to the screen. It shows part of Sasha’s view, currently digging deep into the design of her Sandevistan. Arasaka Academy taught her just enough about implants and nerve-join theory for her to know she can’t make heads or tails of the diagrams.

Kikiyo has impeccable cable management though.

“Sorry,” Taylor shrugs.

“Ah, just yanking your slide.” Becca rolls right side up. “So why’d you decide to go full cyberpunk?”

Taylor looks over at Rebecca’s red and gold eyes. “I told you already, didn’t I?”

The other girl blows a raspberry. “Vengeance? Come on, choom! It can’t be as simple as that?”

“What do you want me to say?” Taylor glares. “That I was driving home with my Mom when some ‘strommers lit up our car and killed her, all because they wanted the transport next to us? Want me to tell you about how it felt ‘n shit.”

“Fuck, jeez.” Becca holds up her hands. “Didn’t mean to push the trauma button.”

“Everyone has trauma.” Taylor folds her arms, turning her gaze to the window. “Or did you just decide one day that you wanted electric-alice skin because you’re a well adjusted individual.”

“What this?” Suddenly, the girl is all smiles again. “Nah, I got the skin mod ‘cause I was a whore.”

Taylor coughs, half doubling over.

Sasha pokes her once in the side, but otherwise barely seems to notice.

“Is that—” Taylor blushes. “Is that legal?”

Becca rolls her eyes. “Choomba, I know I look like a petite little cutie, but some of us are just born short. Policing other people’s body types is glitched as fuck. Why is it my fucking problem if I don’t want to chip in longer legs and fake boobs so that I look like your idea of an adult.”

Taylor’s blush deepens, only out of shame this time. “Sorry.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Becca waves it off. “Also…I may have picked this skin mod because my gonk-head brother hated the color and told me I should look more adult instead.”

“Sorry,” Taylor says again. “For hitting the trauma button.”

“Everyone has trauma, right?” Becca grins. “I’m just a well-adjusted individual!”

Taylor gives a tentative smile back. She opens her mouth, when a jolt of electricity runs down her back. She jerks in the chair, arms clenching.

“Whoops.” Sasha pulls off her headset for a moment. “Sorry about that, misread a connector.”

Taylor grunts, massaging the back of her neck. “Misread what?”

Sasha waves a hand as she slips out of the chair. “Half of the ports aren’t properly labeled, and the rest are in Japanese, but it’s short hand.” She peruses through a neatly organized shelf. “Where’d I put that translation shard?”

Taylor pushes herself upright, still rubbing her implant. It feels tingly, liked bottled sparks. “You don’t keep it downloaded?”

“I like fiddling with my loadout. Translation programs, the good ones, are kinda heavy. I keep backups instead!”

Taylor flicks a glance at Rebecca, but the shorter woman just shrugs, folding her hands behind her head. “Told ya she was screwy.”

Sasha giggles, cocking her head back. “Means a lot, from you, Beccs.”

Taylor ignores the byplay, except for a small flare of vindication, and leans over to look at the monitor. “Which one, the axiom…integration array, or something else?”

Sasha glances over, eyebrow raised. “I didn’t see a translation program in your setup.”

Taylor shuffles in her chair. “I learned Japanese in school.” Arasaka Academy offers the class as part of the company’s heritage, not that many bother to take it atop their normal courseload. Taylor just appreciates some time to herself. “And I don’t like…having too many mods.” Not that most translation programs would work with her old ‘ganic eyes.

Sasha walks back over, plopping down in her chair. “Going from nothing to a military grade spine replacement? That’s some change, choom.”

Taylor hunches defensively. “Have a problem with my motivation too?”

“Revenge, huh?” Sasha tilts her head, silky black strands bobbing around her cheeks.

“So you were listening.” Taylor’s lips pull into a wry smile. “Gonna try to talk me out of it?”

Sasha’s answering smile is soft. She spins in her chair, turning back to face her computer. “Of course not.” She looks at Taylor out of the corner of her eye, blue iris shimmering in the evening light that pours through her window. “My mother was a soldier, you know.”

Taylor squeezes her eyes shut. “The corporate wars were hell, not even Arasaka tries to deny it anymore.”

Sasha nods, her affect flat, fingers resting gently on her keyboard. “She came back, but not all of her. Not enough of her.” She sighs. “So, no. I’m not gonna try to talk you out of vengeance, because if I was in your spot, I’d do the same thing.”

Taylor swallows, letting herself lean back into the chair’s embrace. The next words that come out of her mouth are heavy, but they burst from her lips all the same. “Have you tracked down the people who…”

“Who wounded her in action?” Sasha’s fingers click away at the keyboard. She’s labled the port Taylor mentioned. “Who approved her care? Who signed off on the orders? Of course I have.” She leans forward against her desk, one arm bent at the elbow, fingers twitching above her head. “War is bigger than any one person. In a way, I almost envy you.”

“Why?”

Sasha smiles. “Because you have an enemy to fight. I think a lot of us would like to have that sort of clarity.” She taps her metal finger tips against the screen. “The type of clarity that lets you put something like this in your back.”

Taylor swallows. “My ripper said it was a brutal piece of metal.”

“Maybe it is.” Sasha slips her headset back on. “It’s certainly not a nice implant. But neither are my fingers. It fits you, direct, impatient, almost. I can see how the programs are designed to activate at the slightest thought.” Lines of code in a language Taylor hasn’t seen before scrawl across her visor. “Everything other than brutal efficiency has been cut away, leaving behind something that’s almost elegant. Same as your eyes, actually.”

Taylor blinks, a hand going to her brow. “My eyes?”

Sasha nods. “I can see bits of the same language in their code. Programmers leave their fingerprints on things, once they develop a style. I can see the same marks on both.”

Taylor’s hand slips from her eyes, to the metal band sitting at the back of her neck. The metal warms beneath her touch, whirring gently beneath the tips of her fingers.

“I thought…” Taylor shakes her head. “I didn’t know she worked on this as well.”

“Your mother?” Sasha asks.

Taylor barely manages to nod.

“Maybe that’s why it fits you so well.” The woman’s words are gentle. “Or maybe you’re just lucky. Either way, people like us live short and brutal lives anyway.” Sasha smiles. “So you and that implant fit right in.”

“This is…” Taylor’s words fail her.

Sasha continues to smile, pulling off her visor. “A bit heavier than expected? Well, either way, I’m done with your ICE. Let me upload it, and then…”

Taylor’s eyes flick up. “Then?”

“Let’s see what you can really do with it.”