Chapter Text
“Raaaaargh!”
A surprisingly powerful roar erupted from the lithe and thrashing form of a young woman. Blue eyes flashed with feral intensity, and she elbowed viciously at the nondescript man that had her pinned against the rough cement floor. He held her down with one forearm and punched repeatedly against her sides.
“Don’t think... I can’t... take it!” she growled laboriously and, inch by inch, regained her footing, grappling and pushing back against her opponent until she was standing equal with him once more.
With a second mighty roar and a flourish of her arms she flung him backward to the ground. He tumbled over his shoulder into a tense crouch — poised like a viper about to uncoil into a strike.
For a moment there was nothing but him and her, the surrounding distractions disintegrating into dust around her. Only he remained against the gray-black canvas of her focus. She fell into a lazy stance, arms hanging limply in front of her, and her chest heaved with each breath. Her eyes locked with his, unblinking.
He sprang into motion and came at her with his fist drawn back. She slid her foot around to reinforce her position and raised her hands into tight fists. The man grunted as he threw his punch squarely into the young woman’s face. She teetered, stumbling back half a step and swallowing the pain before she could succumb to screaming it out. Her vision flickered to black before returning in the form of a kaleidoscopic blur.
“I told ya’,” she said through gritted teeth. As her balance returned she pulled back her own fist. She didn’t need any extra momentum. “I... can...” she delivered the punch right back to the startled man, “take IT!!!” His nose made a sickening crunch, and he went sailing in the opposite direction.
He slammed into the cement, flat on his back, and curled into a ball to cradle his face. He did not try to get back up.
Suddenly, the whole world came rushing back to her senses. Fresh, warm blood trickled down her face over crusty, blackened blood and she could feel bruises blooming over her eye and across her cheeks. Her dark hair was plastered with sweat against her forehead, and her sports bra was soaked through. Perspiration ran along her bare back, leaving trails through dirt as it dribbled. The ring of people surrounding her and her knocked out opponent were cheering unintelligibly as money was exchanged.
As she pushed past the throngs of people and jeering faces she felt someone clap her on the back.
“Hey, Ryuuko! Well done in there,” he said jovially, but in such a way that it lacked sincerity. “You sure know how to take a punch.”
“Yeah, yeah. Where’s my money?” Ryuuko asked, her vision blurry and head throbbing.
The stout man ran his hand through greasy hair. He wore gentlemen’s clothing in an attempt to come across as suave. The flamboyant, purple vest was ill fitting over his bulky frame and bulging belly. His white collared shirt beneath was crumpled and dark stains of sweat collected at the pits of his arms. Ronnie Conrad seemed to be the man running the show here, organizing the fights, and distributing the wealth. But little was as it seemed in the shadows and she suspected he was merely a puppet playing the part for a far more capable and formidable Mr. Johnson.
“About that, Ryuuko.”
Ryuuko stepped in and grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling him close. “You better have it.”
“Of course, of course,” he stammered. “I’ve got the sticks in my office.”
‘The office’ was actually a dingy storage closet built into dilapidated remains of the parking garage the fights were hosted in. It was well within one of the many degenerate urban sprawls; often overlooked by the authorities, and kept a safe distance from by the more savory folks. But Ryuuko had no issues traveling between the shadowy ghetto sprawls and the high-class corporate zones.
A fussy, flickering lightbulb hung above their heads in the cramped storage room, harshly illuminating a rusty metal desk. Ronnie made his way around the desk and unlocked the topmost right drawer with a subtle motion of his hand. An implant in his wrist, no doubt. Credsticks jostled and clattered against each other.
Ronnie moved slowly and methodically as he loaded each credstick and repeatedly checked numbers against his commlink, muttering to himself all the while. Finally, he looked up and gazed past Ryuuko at the open doorway. “Sorry about this.”
“Sorry…?” She spun around to face the doorway where a shadowy figure stood, blocking the entrance. “What’re you doing here?”
An electric current surged through her and she convulsed until Ronnie pulled his taser away from the back of her neck. Her vision went dark and she collapsed into the strong arms of the newcomer.
“Thank you,” the mysterious man said in a rough, deep voice. He hoisted Ryuuko over one shoulder and deposited a single credstick onto the desk.
Ronnie snatched up the stick and scanned the balance with his commlink. “Of course, Mr. Johnson. But please… She is one of my best fighters. I hope you will not harm… or maim… her.” He licked his lips nervously. Business was business and questions were best left unasked.
The tall middle-aged man stared silently through Ronnie, before turning and exiting the storage unit.
Ryuuko’s eyes struggled to open against a heavy haze. They fluttered, the blue hues muddled and cloudy from sleepiness. Or was it weariness? Had she been drugged? She shot up into a sitting position and grimaced. Everything hurt. Literally. Everything. Her head exploded in pain, every discernible muscle ached, and her stomach burned. Even her bones, if that was even possible, were sore.
“Ouch ouch ouch,” she grumbled and realized the makeshift pallet bed she woke up on was not one she recognized.
It was obvious to her that she was squatting somewhere in the slums, judging by the creaky, rotting attic she found herself in. A single broken window — barred from the outside — revealed it was still nighttime, but the warm misty air was not as pleasant as she recalled it being earlier. Neon glows of red, blue, and green seeped into the room and she heard the general bustle of busy streets below.
What a beating I took, Ryuuko thought as she stood weakly, nearly bumping her head on the slanted ceiling. Her nose crinkled at the musty environment. Dust floated around her, clogging the small space. She sat once more on the wooden frame. What… happened?
“I kicked his ass,” she murmured, mentally reliving the knockout punch she’d delivered to her opponent earlier in the night. And then… It came back to her and she bobbed her head in a nod. Ronnie had paid her and she fainted on her way out of the parking garage arena. Exhausted after a long night of competing with her fists.
Ryuuko got to her feet again and drunkenly staggered towards the only door in the attic. She gripped the broken and splintery handrail, supporting herself against it as she tripped her way down the stairs. An audible click sounded at the bottom, where a heavy door stood between her and the outside. The click, she knew, was the locking mechanism unbolting itself at her approach. Some kind of motion sensor, if she had to guess. She shoved her shoulder against the door and it swung open.
Intense street lights and neon billboards slammed against her sensitive vision. She lifted an arm against the invasion. Ryuuko’s head was buzzing with pain at the sights and sounds that overwhelmed her senses. There were few powered vehicles due to the poorly kept roads here, but plenty of people trod about on foot, and some pushed carts along the narrow street to sell the wares they had to offer. The clinking, clattering, and indistinct hum of chatter was maddening. A whiff of urine and spicy street food filled her nostrils and she braced herself against the building — retching and dry heaving onto the dirty wall. There was nothing for her to expel but stomach acid and bile.
From the outside, it became clear her shelter was sandwiched between two and three story buildings on a narrow street — alive with nightlife and shady dealings. Every which way she looked the bright signs advertised bars and strip clubs. The door she had come from had slammed shut and was barricaded with rebar. Upon inspection, she realized that there was no apparent handle for reentry. It was oddly out of place and reinforced for such a tiny, slanted wooden building that leaned so heavily against its brick neighbors.
The waves of staggering nausea ebbed as Ryuuko became adjusted to the stark lighting and city sounds. She regained her bearings slowly. This particular sprawl she didn’t recognize exactly, but it had a vibe that was familiar to her and she intuitively knew that many black market dealers called it home.
With a groan she pushed off and joined the crowds. She assimilated seamlessly, no one paying her any heed. Discarded takeout containers and faded papers littered the streets. A common sight in most of the sprawls she’d been through. Alright. Where am I? She reached into the pocket of her jeans for her commlink and instead found nothing.
“Urgh…” she growled, having frantically patted at and reached into each one of her pockets and came up empty.
Without her commlink, she was essentially nothing. It contained her identification, money, and means of navigation. She didn’t even have a credstick with her to scrape by on. “Shit."
Of course. Who wouldn’t rob a passed out young woman in the slums? But then… Where did this jacket come from? And why put me up in a safe house? Had Ronnie been decent enough to stow her in one his places? But enough of a slimeball to rob her blind?
The sudden flood of lucidity and impossible to answer questions dizzied Ryuuko. As she examined the sleeves of her mysterious new white and black bomber jacket she noticed, quite belatedly, something unusual about her hands. Coming to a halt among the milling people she lifted her hands to eye level and was simultaneously shocked and impressed by how immaculate they were. She curled her fingers tentatively. Once, twice, three times — as if to make sure the way they felt matched the way they looked.
They should be bruised and scraped after tonight. Broken, even.
They were perfect. Her nails had a healthy shine and were clipped neatly. Hah!
Ryuuko touched one hand to the side of her face, braced for the tender soreness and a jolt of pain. A good beatdown always stung afterward and the resulting bruising and swelling were none too pretty. Her nose had been broken so many times she had eventually stopped getting it cosmetically repaired to save the nuyen it cost. But now, instead of pain and swelling, she felt smooth skin beneath her fingertips and a straightened nose.
Ryuuko snagged the arm of the nearest passerby and brought the woman to a sudden stop. “‘Ey. What’s the time?”
Bewilderment was written plainly across the lady’s face. Although Ryuuko couldn’t tell if it was the unwarranted physical contact or the unusual need to be told the time. Everyone was connected to the system in some form or another, constantly brushing against the Matrix and intermingling with AR.
“Eleven twenty-seven,” she said curtly, knowing simply by virtue of being connected to her commlink, and continued hurriedly away.
Ryuuko stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and studied the poorly paved street as she meandered along aimlessly. In that case, her fights had been last night. She had been out cold nearly a whole day.
As she planned her next move a faint nagging sensation quietly chewed at the back of her mind. Nothing felt right. Especially her stomach, which was churning and growling aggressively in hungry protest. Nausea rolled over her in waves and she thought she might be sick again. The overwhelming scents had slowly dissipated around her until she could just barely catch the delicious aroma of street taco here and a hint of tare yakitori there. Almost single-mindedly she became fixated on her need to acquire and devour food.
Without any nuyen the ways to obtain food became significantly more limited. Ronnie you good for nothin’ two faced bastard. I’ll kill ya’, she grumbled as she passed by yet another questionable alleyway. Stealing was always an option, albeit a risky one. Bartering was the more noble approach but few in the sprawls were willing to part with their goods or services for anything less than money.
This was adequately made clear after being dismissed from the fourth food stand with no food given. “Sir,” she had politely begun. “I lost my commlink and can’t pay. Could I trade work for—”
The broad, towering man had grunted and folded his arms across his chest.
“I’ll help clean up, wash dishes. Leftovers are fine, doesn’t have to be fresh, ya’ know.” Ryuuko bargained.
His response had merely been to level a large butcher knife at her and grunt again.
Dejectedly she slumped against the grimy wall of an alley and wrapped her arms around her aching abdomen. Never before had she felt this kind of hunger, especially not after a mere single day of hibernating.
“Young miss…” A weak old voice came from beside her.
Some distant part of Ryuuko had noticed his approach. Heard his shuffling steps, smelt his thick body odor, and detected his wheezing breathing. She was not surprised when he appeared from the shadows of the alley next to her.
He held out a gelatinous blob of half-eaten soy product. Most food shared a base of soy and could be shaped and seasoned convincingly into just about anything. But this was akin to plain tofu, soy product in its most basic and unpalatable form. His gnarled hands were layered with dirt, disgusting palms offering the pitiful morsel of food, which had absorbed some of the dirt and was now discolored.
Ryuuko eyed the morsel hungrily before flickering strong blue eyes to his pale, faded gaze. Behind the oppression, she saw the slightest spark of vitality. That brightness behind his eyes, she knew, was what drove him to part with what she suspected was the only food he’d had in a long while. His gaunt and frail figure confirmed as much.
“Please,” he insisted and thrust the soy cube closer. “I saw you looking for food. Take it.”
Ryuuko’s lips twitched into a vague smile and she shook her head, sending her night-sky hair swishing around her perfect face. She was not above eating the dirty leftovers of a beggar. Yet… the maddening hunger that gnawed viciously at her subsided ever so slightly at the sight of this hunched over old man. She reached out and curled her pristine fingers over his, closing his hand around the food.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, old man,” she said, the smile blossoming into a crooked grin. “I’ve hardly had to skip a meal in all my life. I’ll live through this.”
He seemed disheartened by her refusal. Ryuuko knew this kindness was rare.
“Wait,” Ryuuko called as he turned to shuffle his way back down the alley. Presumably to the poor excuse of a shelter he called home. She knew that, beyond the name he called himself, he had no identity. To the rest of the world and the system, he was literally no one. He didn’t exist. “Could you tell me where this is?” she asked with a broad gesture around them.
The old man faced her once more and beheld her with a look of pity. Was she also no one? Yet so young, it would be a shame for her to be blank. “This is Eastpointe. Are you lost, young miss?” he asked.
“Ah...haha,” Ryuuko rubbed the back of her neck and gave a disarming smile. “A bit. Do you know the way to Brightmoor neighborhood?”
He nodded slowly and provided her the clearest directions he could muster from his aging memory. “It’s not what it used to be, you know,” he said, rapping his knuckles against the side of his head. His patchy, gray hair did little to cover up the dark liver spots that blotched his skin.
“Thanks,” she said and pushed off from the wall she’d been leaning against.
The old man hesitated as if thinking something over carefully. Or perhaps simply trying to recall words that evaded his tired mind. “Miss. It’s an awful long way to go on an empty stomach,” he started. “I suggest… if you won’t take free food… going to a vendor I know. They… well, they’re willing to take services in exchange for goods.” The old man paused and added knowingly, “they even deal in credsticks. That’ll get you a bus fare.”
With sincere thanks given she was on her way. Ryuuko wove through the labyrinth of streets, each one just as filthy as the last and poorly lit with the occasional flickering street lamp or the harsh splash of neon signs. Together the streets formed a network of tightly packed and rundown neighborhoods composed haphazardly of stone, rotting wood, and rusty wrought iron.
Instinctively she avoided the worst parts, where the shadows were dense and intimidating. In Detroit, the shadows concealed the back room deals and criminal underworld that lurked within. She was no stranger to these parts, yet she was in no shape now to get caught off guard lingering. Ryuuko was cranky from an empty stomach, baffled by her predicament, and without any weapons to fight with or funds to bargain with.
Fortunately, it wasn’t very long before she came to the neighborhood the old man had directed her to. Almost immediately, as she slid inconspicuously through the crowds, she perceived the change in atmosphere. Her attention focused on a small group of people chatting urgently within their clique, then shifted to a young man busily tapping away at his commlink with purpose, before observing a pair who were directly exchanging goods outside of an exceptionally loud club. The booming vibrations that shuddered from it seeped into Ryuuko and she flinched, repulsed by the racket. The heavy black door and dark tinted windows kept only the goings-on out of sight, but the music’s bass blasted through without regard. She quickened her pace and moved along without a second glance at the two who were handling affairs nearby.
Altogether, she realized, this neighborhood seemed alive. There was something fundamentally different here from the other slums she’d been through. It was subtle, yet obvious to her keen observations. Perhaps, she mused, because this sprawl was just on the outskirts of a thriving corporate zone.
Ryuuko stood within the confines of a cramped back alley, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket, her eyes easily adjusting to the muted lighting. The fact it was lit at all was peculiar and the source even more so. A giant, crooked neon sign hung over a disproportionately small shack. The shack was propped against the interior corner of the alley where two multi-story brick buildings joined.
“Back Alley Trade Company,” Ryuuko read out loud with more than a hint of skepticism.
She picked her way through the heaps of junk that were scattered around the shop and nudged the door open with the sole of her raised foot, hands still comfortably tucked away. “Oi!” Ryuuko called. “Anyone here?”
The merchandise inside the store had only slightly more order than the junk outside of it. Gadgets and gizmos and derelict tech lay strewn about. Dull yellow light washed over the room from bulbs that hung from the ceiling by bare wiring.
“Ooooo! A customer!” a disembodied and cheerful voice came from somewhere within the stacks of… stuff .
Ryuuko stood on her tippy-toes, peering about for the mysterious voice. “Uhm, yeah. Kinda.”
“What can I get for ya’?!” the voice exclaimed.
“Where are you?” Ryuuko asked, stepping further into the shack.
The voice came again, alarmingly close, and sickly sweet in tone. “Behind you, silly!”
Ryuuko spun around, her senses sharpening, and just as her combat instincts came alive they were simultaneously quelled by the sight of a short young woman setting down a box of machine parts that were stacked higher than she was tall. She stepped around it and put her hands on her hips.
“The name’s Mako! Welcome to the Back Alley Trade Company. Would you be interested in a micro-transceiver? Oooorrr, maybe a holo projector?” She shuffled various parts procured from her box and showed them off.
“Uh, no, actually…” She started to say but found herself quickly stepping out of Mako’s way as she dragged her box towards the back. Ryuuko nearly crashed into another stack of memorabilia, barely managing to steady it and catching the dislodged… thing… that dropped from it.
As she set the part back onto its precarious home she regarded the shop owner wearily. This Mako wore a black newsboy cap with a crescent moon pendant pinned to it. Beneath it, her messy brown hair framed her gentle, childish face. Her look was decisively casual with a sleeveless hoodie layered over a v-neck shirt and paired with faded dark jeans. Three leather bands studded with red spikes encircled her left wrist. Draped across her waist was a functional utility belt laden with small hand tools and pouches concealing who knew what.
Ryuuko quickly assessed that Mako wasn’t a physical threat and couldn’t detect any notable weapons on her person unless pliers and screwdrivers counted. “I heard you’re willing to barter with customers?”
“Sure! Sometimes,” Mako said, leaning her entire upper body into a crate, feet dangling above the ground, as she rummaged around.
“I have nuyen, honest, but I lost my commlink. If you give me a burner I can pay you for it after and buy goods.”
Mako stood and leaned forward to peer closely at her patron. “So you want me to give you a commlink before you pay for it?”
“Well… yes,” Ryuuko said hopelessly. No one was generous enough to do—
“Okay!” Mako beamed.
Within a few minutes Mako had produced a cheap burner commlink from her inventory and handed it to Ryuuko. “Wow. Thanks! Just give me a sec here and I’ll get my SIN loaded up to pay ya’.”
“Mmhmm,” Mako agreed, idly juggling electronic components.
Ryuuko entered one of her throwaway identities she had been holding onto for such an occasion as this, but the commlink’s indicator flashed red and it made an unhappy beeping sound at her. Sometimes cheap SINs weren’t credible, so she wasn’t exactly surprised it had been flagged as invalid.
“Alright, maybe this one.” Ryuuko tried her trusty day-to-day fake SIN. It was an expensive and pristine identity she used for all of her simple legal dealings and purchases. While not her real SIN issued at birth, it was nearly as good.
Beeeeep. The commlink flashed red again, rejecting her SIN.
“Ya’ gotta be kiddin’ me…”
Ryuuko re-entered the same SIN twice more before giving up on it. She reluctantly input her true SIN. This was the system identification number that legitimately made her a citizen and it was reserved for only the most official of business.
Her heart hitched as the commlink beeped and flashed red once more.
“What the hell. This thing doesn’t even work. Cheap crap,” She thrust it towards Mako in aggravation. No way.
Mako took the device and lightning fast input a valid SIN, causing it to flash green and bring her to the default home screen. “Sure it does!” she chimed and held the commlink up for Ryuuko to see.
Ryuuko’s eyes went wide. “That date… isn’t right, is it?”
“Sure is!” Mako confirmed. “Why, what’s wrong?” Her brow knitted in concern at the expression that her customer wore.
“It’s been a month,” she said softly. “Yesterday was May 3rd. Today is June 5th.”
I’ve been out… for a month? And my SINs are gone. Erased.
“Yesterday was June 4th,” Mako clarified, frowning at Ryuuko. She could sense the sudden distress rolling off of her. Glancing down she fidgeted with the activated commlink before pushing it towards the downtrodden patron. “Here. It’s a throwaway SIN.”
Ryuuko eyed the gift suspiciously. “You’re giving it to me?”
Mako scoffed. “Of course not, silly! I’m trading it to you.”
“For what? I have nothing.” Literally nothing save for the clothes on her back. Clothes she didn't even recognize! Even her identity, her true identity, had been stripped away from her so suddenly. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She still had her hideouts and some stashed credsticks. She just needed the means to get there.
“Well… you seeeee,” Mako said jubilantly. “I kinda maybe made some people upset and they’re-on-their-way-here-now,” she said, words pouring out increasingly quickly as she showed Ryuuko the security feed on her personal commlink. “Could you deal with them, please?”
Sure enough, she watched as three figures stalked through the connecting alleyway, each one carrying an improvised weapon of some sort and looking pretty peeved.
“I’ll need a weapon,” Ryuuko assessed, accepting the burner commlink and casting about for something to fight with.
“This!” Mako dug into a pile without even having to look and out came a stun baton that appeared to be two models behind the latest release. Clearly confiscated or looted from a government official. She didn’t want to know how Mako came into possession of it.
“They’re here,” Mako squeaked.
“MANKANSHOKU!” A deep man’s voice growled from outside. There was a crash of parts being kicked over. Metal clanged and scraped against the cement.
Ryuuko ground her teeth together. “Stay hidden.”
It didn’t matter who these guys were, what they wanted, or what Mako did to piss them off. Ryuuko wasn’t about to lose an in with the only person willing to help someone broke and SINless. She knew these blokes wouldn’t be so charitable even if she helped them get to Mako.
A surge of adrenaline rushed through Ryuuko and she barrelled out of the shack with her stun baton brandished. She glided effortlessly across the distance between her and the man kicking at piles of merchandise. The baton rapped against his ribs and he shook with a violent jolt of electricity that dropped him among the scattered parts.
“Who the hell?” The second thug tensed into a defensive pose, raising his heavy lead pipe.
The third goon came to his side, lowering the spiked bat from her shoulder to point it directly at Ryuuko. “Where’s the Mankanshoku girl? We’ve some business to settle!”
Ryuuko didn’t answer or even pause to give them an opening. Something within her ate the information her senses passed to her brain, parsed through it swiftly, and sent her whirling into motion. She flung herself forward with surprising force and ducked under the raised bat, connecting her baton with the outstretched arm of the woman. There was a vicious crack on contact. The bat clattered to the ground and the woman yelped in literal shock.
The hefty whoosh of the lead pipe swinging through the air alerted Ryuuko of its approach. She pivoted and leapt back out of range of the strike. He followed up immediately with an overhead chop and Ryuuko blocked it with her upstretched right arm. The metal rang loudly, bent at the place of impact, and sent spikes of pain through her. She dropped the baton from her right hand, caught it in her left, and pushed through the hurt. Using the surprise of her opponent as an opening she thrust her stun baton into his abdomen. He writhed on the cement, lead pipe discarded and misshapen.
Duck. An unfamiliar sense told Ryuuko, even though she had no visual cues. She obeyed her instincts just as the spiked bat swung across the space where her head had been mere seconds ago. Spinning around Ryuuko faced the remaining woman, who now wielded her bat left handed. The adversary opened her mouth to say something snarky but in the same moment Ryuuko threw the baton and nailed the woman in her face. She crumpled and convulsed before going still like the other two.
The rush left her system and everything slowed, including Ryuuko’s heartbeat. She flexed the fingers on her right hand and tested the pain that shot up and down her bruised arm. The bones should have been shattered from the force of the pipe, she knew. Yet pain was the only price paid and it was only a distant, dull pulse.
“Wow, you sure took care of them!” Mako cheered, coming out of the shack and stepping nimbly over the unconscious assailants. “I knew you could do it, uh... erm… I don’t actually know your name?”
There was a moment of contemplative silence as Ryuuko considered that question. Yesterday I was Matoi Ryuuko. But today… I am no one. She buried that thought and scratched the back of her head, giving a lopsided grin. “I’m Ryuuko.”