2004-12-31 - 12:36 a.m.

Its almost over.

Chapter 8: Good Night Missy

Not surprisingly, they ended up in bed, at his place. J.C. had a place in City Center, in a condoplex fringing the corporate core. Had she been paying attention, Missy might have noticed the barely lived-in look of the place. But from the moment she walked in she attacked J.C., pushing him up against a wall and thrusting her tongue into his mouth. She ground her body up against his, feeling him. She moved her lips from his and kissed her way to his ear. “I may be blond like her, but I promise you, I’m not a boring fuck.”

They moved into the bedroom, collapsing down on the bed. J.C. moved slow, taking his time as if he were gauging her reactions. Missy decided to give him a sign. She pulled back from their embrace and stood up, looking him in the eye all the while. She grabbed her blouse and tore it open, revealing her breasts in their lacy Victoria’s Secret wrapping. The light from the room’s lamp glinted off of the small gold crucifix that she wore. Her hands moved down to her skirt and undid it, letting drop to the floor. She rand her hads over her abdomen and across the silk covered mound between her thighs. She walked back to J.C. and straddled him.

“I want you to fuck my brains out.”

5 minutes, 47 seconds, and 25 orgasms later, Missy lay unconscious on the bed. J.C. stood up, adjusted his tie and walked out of the room. He hadn’t even taken off his clothes.

***

Chapter 9: Night City Moves (Or: Another Excuse to Tease Ves)

“It’s tonight, Yannah. Yes, tonight. I don’t know, around midnight. Yes, the money’s been credited to your account. 10 grand. Good. No, thank you. Padriag told me you were a pro. See you tonight.”

Actionhero hung up the phone as he walked into his base, his real base, somewhere in the barrens of Night City. Night City was the ugly underbelly of the city, a cancerous outgrowth from the fringes of Old Downtown to the ancient industrial core along the coast ports. A region of smashed together industry in various states of repair, toxic dumps where the swamps still barely existed, and of course, the neighborhood hells of urban war zones. City PD and the Corporate Security Forces barely bothered to police the area, preferring to keep the rot contained to the region. It was all violence in Night City, and not the glitzy kind you saw in Little Chiba or the weird you saw in the Hunting Grounds. Night City ran the guntlet from primeval to the post-Apocalyptic. Gangs warred constantly, with everything from milispec lasers and CyberWear to sticks and shivs. Aside from getting tired of killing people ever day every now and then, Actionhero loved the place.

His base was an old factory he’d taken over in the Night City way: he’d found the gang who ran that turf and killed members until they got the idea that he owned the building. Ever magnanimous, he then paid them off to keep people away from the building. It worked like a charm.

Who he was and what exactly he did inside the factory had pretty much become part of Night City lore. Rumors circulated: he was a company spook setting up a corp, black ops nest. No, someone else said. He was a merc and the warehouse was the place he used as a safe house for shifting extracted scientist. Bullshit, others said. He was some kind of wizard and he was setting up a temple. It was a new drug lab. A black market gun bazaar. A new puppet house. A friend chicken and sushi franchise. The stories became such apart of the culture the gang guarding the warehouse (and never even thinking about taking a step inside) had even gotten a new name: the Storytellers and a new sideline as infomerchants and intel. mongers.

The truth of the matter was that it was pretty much a place for the ‘Hero to store his stuff. Years on the freelance adventurer and ace troubleshooter circuit netted a guy a lot of stuff (providing he wasn’t killed). This warehouse provided him with a place to stash it all. He walked to what served as clothes closet and stripped out of his “Well Spoken Asian Boy” outfit.

Damn, he thought. I hate these dual identity ops. I don’t know how Simone can juggles all of her personas. Fucking gives me a headache. I hope I don’t have to be that guy for a while.

Pulling on a more comfortable outfit of black jeans and a t-shirt, topped off by his long coat, he walked over to a worktable littered with gear. On it was the featureless box that Jack had couriered to the prearranged drop area. He opened it. Inside was something that looked like a Nintendo cartridge on crack. He sighed and took it out.

Fucking ‘80s geek sense of humor. On it was a sticky.

Trust me asshole.

Actionhero shrugged and pocketed the cartridge. He hoped Jack had used his week well because other wise all of his prep, from the Empress on down to ninja extermination was going to be worth a fart in the night. He grabbed a few more choice pieces of gear, tucking them away in the folds of his coat. Lastly he cued the micro-cellphone on his SmartShades.

“Hello, sir, this is Mona Luvzit, from Imperiatrix Holdings, LTD. I’m to be your uplink liaison.”

“Hello Mona. Still making a mean cup of coffee?”

“No sir, I’m British. We don’t understand the concept of coffee. But if you come around the office tomorrow, I could offer you a tasty bit of crumpet.”

“Ah British humor. Patch me through to the Empress.”

“I’m on-line ‘Hero.”

“Tell your employees to stop talking dirty to me.”

“Tell me you don’t love it.”

“I do. But its kind of hard to hack a zero zone data core when you’ve got a boner from talking dirty. Not that I haven’t done it before, but you know how it goes. Is the set up ready to go?”

“It was a pain in my royal ass. Zabini broke down three times. THREE TIMES. By the end we were giving the poor boy oxygen and we couldn’t take his teddy bear from him with a death spell. And I now have to pay the psychotherapy bills of my Tokyo, Hong Kong, Cape Town AND Avalon offices. Mind you the faerie boys were always on the loopy side but still.”

“Hey that’s why you get the big bucks and Sting. Tell you what, I pull this off, I’ll throw in dinner with a celebrity of your choice. How about that Gary Sinese guy? He owes me a favor.”

“Gary Sinese?”

“Yeah. Needed to do historical research for a part. I had a time machine. Or at least access to one. What do you say?”

“~uh sure.~”

“Are you okay? Your voice sounded, I dunno, wibbly.”

“I’M FINE!!! THE EMPRESS DOES NOT HAVE A WIBBLY VOICE!!! AND I SEE THAT SMIRK OVER THERE BASTIAN!!! YOU WANT A TRANSFER TO THE GHENNA OFFICE??!! AND DON’T THINK I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU, ANNIKA AND BOB THE TROLL HAVE BEEN DOING IN THE BROOM CLOSET DOWNSTAIRS!!!! Ahem…Sorry, where was I? Oh yes the set up. It’s fine. Do you have the first virtual account number?”

“Yup. And I’m on my way to the site now. I’ll link in when I’m at the core.”

“Mona will be ready and waiting for you.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

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