#i say as i spent another day of my spring break rotting in frustration and not accomplishing anything

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Sometimes I start writing fics I'll never finish because what I really want is to wax poetic about death and dying

[realm-sweet-realm]

A Worthwhile Investment, chapter 3

Please enjoy this Grant x Shawn story. Yes, I split it into two short chapters. Apparently I can’t be succinct with these two... hopefully I made the right choice!

Next is Thomas x Allison!

Time went by. The studio worsened in most respects. Though its installation was nothing out of the ordinary, it felt as though the ink machine was creeping through the halls, its long pipes growing into new areas. Wherever it went, it left the scent of sickly rubber ink and stained through the walls, like a creeping, musty black mold. That alone would have brought down morale, but it was nothing compared to the financial crisis. Every department was operating on a slashed budget, and yet Joey refused to lower his demands on any of them. Whenever someone quit out of anger, there was relief- it meant that those who remained would be less likely to be laid off. The studio was a rotting body, ravaged by the parasite of the ink machine and struggling to move its massive weight now that so many of its workers were gone.

Grant was not handling it well. His department understood that it the studio’s financial problems weren’t his fault, but he didn’t blame anyone else for hating the man who had decided how much to slash their budget, or who told them, while they were already underpaid, that their paycheck would be late because there simply was no money to pay them. It was his job to prevent this from happening. But with Joey spending more and more on Bendyland and the ink machine, and refusing to downsize anything when it was really overdue to do so, it was proving impossible. It was soul-crushing.

Things weren’t easy on Shawn, either. Fewer staff for the same amount of plushes meant having to work longer and faster, and making plushes out of cheaper materials meant that there was less room for error before the cheap, delicate things they’d been reduced to selling simply fell apart. Shawn was getting screamed at more than usual nowadays.

At least they had each other. During better times, their relationship had been on and off. There were periods when one of them just couldn’t handle the other’s issues or couldn’t handle being in a relationship at the moment, and they’d break up, only to get back together after a while. Shawn had even dated other people during their temporary breaks. Neither of them were especially serious about their relationship, so it worked for them. Now, they were together for the foreseeable future. There was little time or energy for romance anymore, but they stole the moments they could and hoped that things would eventually improve. Shawn had even moved into Grant’s house at the time. This was good for both of them- living with someone else made things easier domestically during this busy time, and it was good to come home from a difficult day at work and meet up with someone who loved you and brightened your mood.

“Ah think we should quit,” Shawn said one day over dinner. “None-a this is healthy. I’m sick of it, you certainly ain’t yourself, and anyhow, yer always saying the company won’t last another year.” Shawn saw Grant hesitate. “Well, Ah’m quitting. Join me or don’t, Ah don’t care.”

“I have a feeling that things will improve once Bendyland opens. It’s supposed to open in three months,” well, it was supposed to open over a year ago, but hopefully they could reach the new deadline, “so, let’s see where the studio is in five months. If we’re not having a much better time at work by then, let’s do it. Or you can quit sooner- please, don’t let me hold you back. But that’s when I’m doing it.”

“Five months sounds great! I’ll mark it on the calendar. To a chance at a better life!”

Grant forced a smile. “To a chance at a better life.” He honestly wished Shawn would just quit so that he didn’t feel like he was holding him back.

There were a few reasons that Grant didn’t want to quit. It wasn’t about money (he had some saved up), or fear that he couldn’t get another job (he had the experience to land another). Mostly, it was about pride. Grant might be the financial manager of a failing massive company, but still, he was the finances manager of a massive company- with a department working under him and his own secretary. This could be the highest-profile job he would ever have. He also worried that the next job would be just as miserable. He recognized, though, that he couldn’t stay in an awful work environment for those reasons, let alone keep Shawn in one. And no matter what, the studio would be dead in a few years, so he’d have to leave it eventually. And heck- maybe Shawn was right. Maybe it would be better.

---

It was while Grant was walking down one of the Joey Drew Studios hallways that it happened, though it had seemed rather insignificant at the time. A burly, blond GENT worker deliberately loosened a bolt on one of the ink pipes as he passed, spraying a cloud of ink fumes into his face.

“That’s for getting my buddy laid off,” the man grumbled as Grant coughed on the fumes.

“Hey!” another GENT worker, shouted, “pull another stunt like that, and you’ll be the one leaving for good!” The GENT worker ran over to Grant. “You alright, sir? I can pay for the dry cleaning if you want.”

“Don’t bother,” Grant snapped, “just teach your men some respect.”

Grant looked down at his thoroughly stained suit and dress shirt and weighed whether to arrive at his next meeting late or drenched. He decided on the former and turned for the exit. As he left, he heard one of the GENT men telling the other, “that’s how you get our budget cut even more!” It was rather strange to be such a frightening creature nowadays.

By evening, Grant was feeling sick- as though he had a flu coming on. He spent a few days laying around before returning to work, feeling just as badly. He couldn’t afford more time off if he didn’t want to end up entirely buried by work. Shawn was mildly concerned when it was a few weeks in and the illness didn’t seem to be going away- and that Grant was intent on working through it- but all he could do was support Grant through it and give him the space he needed. Even in the beginning, it was extremely frustrating that his boyfriend was suffering and unable to do much of anything outside of work, but to an extent it was nothing Shawn wasn’t used to- Grant had had bouts of depression nearly as bad as this. As time went on, Shawn noticed some more disturbing changes.

It was about two weeks in that the voice emerged and the hallucinations began. Grant had been in his office when he’d heard a pained scream- seemingly from right outside of it. He rushed out, expecting to see an injured person or an emergency of some sort. Instead, he found only his secretary, perfectly calm and looking at him as though he was an alien. “Do you know where that came from?” Grant asked.

“Where what came from?” Oh, that judgmental stare.

“The scream? You heard the scream, right?”

“No.”

Grant cringed and closed the door to his office.

The headaches, the brain fog, the fatigue, and now the hallucinations, a voice said. It was a voice that sounded as real as the scream had, but it wasn’t one he’d heard before. Do you want to know what’s causing it? There was a pause, as though Grant would answer and let his secretary think even worse of him. You’re losing your mind. You know what they do with crazy people, right? An image of an electric chair flashed through Grant’s mind, followed by an image of locked insane asylum doors and tools used for a lobotomy. Just carry on. Try to act normal, and don’t let anyone know about this. I’ll be here when you need me. Grant sat back down at his desk, taking a look around the room as though he could find where the voice was coming from. Finding nothing, he returned to his paperwork.

A few weeks later, Grant decided to coax some answers from the voice. It was absurd- if it was right, and it probably was, the voice came from him, and couldn’t know anything he didn’t. But he had few options. His symptoms were becoming glaringly obvious. Shawn had noticed that he was spacing out during conversations, and his department was noticing that he couldn’t keep track of time and was making mathematical errors he never would have before. Shawn had even seen him react to hallucinations a couple times, and it frightened him. Grant knew he needed to figure this out before it hurt his professional life, or hurt his relationship any further.

It was a cold winter’s night. Grant returned home after work- thankfully Shawn wasn’t home yet- and went to his room to interrogate.

“Alright,” he said, facing the wall. “Tell me what I have. If there’s a way to fix it, I’m going to.”

Shawn had been unable to sleep that night, so he heard Grant’s voice. It didn’t bother him, though, until Grant started yelling. Shawn got up and went to investigate. The house was totally dark except for the light coming from Grant’s room. Shawn creaked open the door. Grant was facing a wall, shifting his weight as though he might spring on his invisible adversary if it proved necessary.

[jaalismyhusband]

Magical apple

Title: Magical apple

Pairings: Chris Evans x f!reader

Warnings: RPF, tooth-rotting, cheesy stuff, me not knowing where to put commas (yikes XD)

Wordcount: 1.7k

A/N: Hi, everyone! *ehm* this was supposed to be a drabble, but I snapped. Thanks to my brain for the prompt, this was a very pleasant dream to dream, buddy. Anyways! Hope you enjoy this floofy piece, because I’ve got a hella angsty WiP series about Geralt a.k.a. the butcher of my heart. Thanks for reading!!  

beta’d by @6crazyboutcruise9​

Masterlist

You were working as a professor at the local university. You always knew, that forcing students to attend your classes was no way to make them like you and actually listen. No, you had to engage with them outside of the class too. So, you focused not only on the lectures, but on the out-of-school activities as well. That meant organizing some charity work, workshops, debates with interesting people and so on.

To say you were shocked when you booked Chris Evans for one of the debates, would be an understatement. You were even more nervous than your students, but you couldn’t let it show.  Being the ever-supporting professor, you reassured them that they will do just fine, because they were your smart students after all. They seemed to relax a bit at that.

Encouraged, you all went to greet Mr. Evans and you offered him a coffee, which he was quick to accept. You could sense he was upset about something, but it wasn’t your place to ask him what’s wrong. Soon after your interaction, he was ushered on the stage by another professor, who shoved a microphone in his hand, wishing him good luck.

The lecture went splendidly, now it was time for an autograph session, where students could get their own three minutes with Mr. Evans. One of your colleagues announced it and students were quick to form a line.

It seemed like it went on and on for hours, but Mr. Evans was somehow still polite to every single person. Even if the questions were repetitive, he answered them with patience. You were near him, just in case he needed something. However, you were a single woman as well, so from time to time your eyes may or may not have lingered on him longer, than they should’ve.

You mentally scolded yourself and focused on the actual questions he was being asked. You were proud of your students for coming up with the interesting, difficult, philosophical and even some weird questions. Thankfully, they hadn’t asked about personal things, until they did. The line was coming to an end and now it was mostly students from other classes, even other schools. You could tell those questions were bothering Mr. Evans and it was only adding to his frustration.

“Next!” you called. There was only one person left, a young girl.

“Finally!” she huffed as she came up to Mr. Evans. “So, I don’t have time for you, I only want you to give my number to Tom Holland.” With that she dropped a piece of paper on the table in front of him, turned on her heels and left. Without saying hi, please or bye. He looked almost frozen as he tried to take in what had just happened. You wanted to comfort him somehow, but his manager had already asked to follow him. You watched them leave next door, where you had previously set up a kind of a break room for him.

An idea popped up in your mind. You went to your cabinet and made him a fresh coffee. You were impatient and excited to have only as much as five minutes alone with him. You poured the coffee in the take-it-to-go cup and hurried to the next room. Just as you neared the door, they opened and you saw his manager leave, meaning you would, indeed, be alone with him. Perfect, you thought as you entered.

He was leaning back in the chair, with his hair all fluffy. Your eyes ran over his face, finding his brows adorably scrunched above his closed eyes, his beard trimmed neatly. A cozy looking blue sweater hid his muscled torso and the dark jeans hugged his thighs, rushing bunch of sinful thoughts through your mind.

“Are you going to say something or just keep staring?” his deep voice startled you from your daydream. You mumbled a quick apology and tried to hide the creeping blush on your face.

“Mr. Evans, I noticed your first coffee went cold, so I thought I’d make you a fresh one.” You offered him a warm smile along with the cup.

“Y/N, right? Thanks, that’s very considerate of you. And, please, call me Chris.” You swore he winked at you just before bringing the cup to his mouth, taking a sip of the steamy beverage. You felt your face heating up again and you squirmed under his gaze.

Leaning on the wall, you let him enjoy his coffee in silence. You used the moment to gather all molecules of bravery in you to ask him: “I don’t mean to be nosy, but you seemed distressed earlier…”

“You mean even before that cherry on top of the autograph session? I guess, I’m not as good of an actor as I thought I was.” You appreciated him trying to lift the mood, but something about his face expression told you, he didn’t want you to let it go.

“No need to put on a brave face, here. I’ll tell you what, Chris. There’s a really nice park near here. Aaand I’ve been told I’m a good listener. So, what do you say to a walk? If you don’t mind me being so forward, of course.” You seemed to realize your words too late, as they already hung heavy in the air. You just asked THE Chris Evans out. An unnerving silence occurred as you awaited his answer.

“Why the hell not,” he sighed.

“Perfect,” you smiled at him. “Let me just get my things and I’ll meet you outside in 5.” With that you left, still unable to believe you were about to hang out with literally a man of your dreams.

As promised, you joined him in front of the building and led him to the park. You spent those few minutes getting to know each other a little bit and, if you weren’t any wiser, you would have said that Chris was flirting with you.  

You arrived to the park, taking a stroll, admiring the blooming flowers. It was a warm spring afternoon, summer was just around the corner. You arrived to a small secluded spot with a table and benches on either side.

“This is where I spend my lunch breaks. It’s my special place.” You smiled, reminiscing of all the times you got lost in a book, ate your favourite food, hell, even cried over bad days in this very spot.

“I’m honoured,” joked Chris. You playfully smacked his arm and ordered him to sit down. He caught you off guard when he chose a seat next to you, rather than the opposite one.

“I can’t tell you how many bad days have been eliminated here. This place is indeed magical. You wanna try?”

“Sure.” He proceeded to tell you about his rough past days. As you were listening, you found yourself hanging on every word he said, you seemed almost bewitched by his soothing voice. You didn’t have to force yourself to listen, you simply did. It was so easy to get lost in the conversation with him, even though it wasn’t about pleasant topic.

“Sometimes, I just want to be an ordinary person like everyone else and not have to deal with people like that girl, for example. Gosh, I don’t know why, but that really got under my skin.” He finished his rant and you reassured, that it’s fine to feel that way.

“That girl was probably just the breaking point, I wouldn’t fuss ‘bout her. Here,” you reached into your bag and pulled out an apple, “this will make you feel better.” You placed it in front of him, and nudged him to take a bite.

“An apple?” he burst out laughing. Your cheeks were hot by now, no doubt.

“It’s a… Magical apple?” that only seemed to make him laugh more, as he leaned back in his seat, touching his chest. If you weren’t upset about him laughing at your offering, you would’ve found the gesture cute.

It was a yummy looking apple, though. If he isn’t going to eat it, then I will, you thought as you reached for the apple. However, he must’ve changed his mind, because he, too, reached for it, making your hands touch. You felt like in a scene from a romcom, as you felt a spark when your fingers brushed against each other.

You were too flustered to say anything, when he gave you a heart-melting smile. He seemed to lean in. When did he get so close?!

“Chris…” you whispered, your mouth dry, all of a sudden. He shushed you and pecked your lips, leaving you even more flustered. Your ears were burning, and you immediately pulled your hands to cover your face, leaving the apple unguarded.

“Got it!” he triumphantly said and took a bite of the apple, exaggerating the moans: “Mhm, you said this was magical?”

“Not fair, sir! You used your charm to distract me!” you played along, pouting.

“Hm, you think I’m charming?” he seemed amused by how shy you were and how easy it was to get you flustered.

“Shut up, you know what I meant.” You huffed in defeat as you crossed your arms on your chest. Chris only smirked as he finished the apple.

After a while you shivered, the warm afternoon turned into a chilly night. Neither of you noticed, too enthralled in each other.

Chris didn’t miss how you hugged your arms, desperately trying to warm yourself up.

“You’re cold?” It was more a statement, than a question, but you still nodded, anyway. He took off his sweater, leaving him only in a plain white short-sleeve.

“Here, put it on.” He grabbed your arms, to pull them up, in order to dress you.

“No, really, it’s fine. You don’t have to do this.” You whined, but it fell on deaf ears. Chris dressed you in his sweater and you had no say in it. To be honest, you weren’t about to complain. Musky smell with hints of cedarwood engulfed you and you almost snuggled into the sweater more, but stopped yourself at the last moment, not wanting to be weird.

“Thanks,” you shyly said, as you took in his broad shoulders and big arms. Arms, that were totally bare, because of you.

“Ohmygod! You’ll get cold!” Without thinking you hugged him tightly, only for him to wrap his arms around your small frame.

“As long as you’re with me, I’ll never get cold,” he whispered into your hair, after he left a small kiss on your temple.

[ghost-train-hunters]

End Results

Scratch reflects on the aftermath of a difficult run involving Humanis. Unlike the rest of her team, she lost a lot more than she gained…

An Orichalcum and Silicon short story by BrossUno

——

Scratch had heard that any run you would walk away from was a successful one. Even if things went south. Even if a runner didn’t get exactly what they were hoping for, they could always try again. Slowly but surely they could claw their way out of whatever hole had tripped them up. The dead never had that luxury. If the hole turned out to be a grave that was their lot in life. They were just another runner fading away in the shadows the world would never know or care about. 

But the old adage and philosophy bullshit didn’t help her in the least. She felt the anger and frustration simmering beneath her skin as she drove through downtown Seattle in her Americar. She had no idea where she was going. She already missed the days of heading down to the local junkyard with a sledgehammer and venting her rage on derelict machines left to rot.

Somehow she found her way down to a bar known as the Defiler Lounge. The clock read one in the morning but she was in no mood to sleep with a scrapped roto drone back at the garage. The entrance to the bar sat in a narrow alley that didn’t provide room for more than a motorcycle. She parked around the corner and made sure her medical mask and flat cap was on tight. 

It wasn’t hard to find a reinforced door that had enough dents and burn patterns to show it had been put through the paces. A small neon sign next to it had not been so lucky and barely functioned. It looked like it had been broken and repaired a dozen times. Occasionally with a flicker it would display the name of the bar as all the letters lit up. Defiler Lounge.

Scratch had visited a few times before. The door wasn’t locked as she found a staircase on the other side of the threshold. It took her down to a basement area where she found another reinforced door and a forest of utility pipes servicing the buildings above. A human bouncer stood watch that she knew as Shorts. Everyone called him that on account he didn’t wear much else to show off his cyberlegs and what he considered muscles. 

His lithe build didn’t fit the traditional image of a bouncer, but the shotguns built into his thighs loaded with non-lethal rounds allegedly helped him get around it. Or so he said. He also bragged he practiced Muay Thai, not that Scratch had ever seen him do anything more than mouth off when she visited. The sight of his black matted hair and broad smile didn’t help her mood at all.

“Ayyy, Scratch! Living the dream yet?” Shorts pointed.

He heaped on as much sarcasm as he could the moment he picked up on her sour mood. His raw confidence pissed her off.

“Eat shit.” She responded dryly.

“Oh yeah. You’ve come to the right place. Get in there!”

He ushered her inside even though she didn’t need the invitation. The fast talking little shit made motions like he was bringing in a plane to land. Luckily he didn’t say anything more. After the last job she wasn’t in the mood to put up with anyone. Despite her temperament she had forgotten to leave her weapons at the garage. She had a Scorpion holstered in her jacket and an Ingram Smartgun stashed in the smuggling compartment of her left cyberleg. Most of the bar’s patrons came armed so it wasn’t unheard of. She just had to worry about controlling herself. Part of her didn’t care.

The floor space for the bar made her think they had stolen it from some other business. The room had high ceilings but made up for it with a cluttered layout. Support pillars stood in awkward places that kept the tables too close to each other. Scratch guessed it might have been a small office before. The bar where the drinks were made ran along the left wall, which is where she headed right away. Otherwise the Defiler Lounge wasn’t the kind of place she normally hung out. Shit hole bars were everywhere and once you saw one you had seen them all.

The only point of interest to her was a large troll who worked as a bartender. People called him Lefty, mostly since his left hook could flatten even the bulkiest drunks. Despite the ‘hole in the wall’ ambience, he dressed somewhat presentable. He regularly wore a pair of brown pants and a dress shirt that had clearly been to the cleaners a few times. The two horns on his head were chipped in a few places, which suggested he was more than a pretty face. Scratch had never seen him step out from behind the bar. If there was trouble all he had to do was raise his voice and customers got the message. His actual bartending was average at best and what he really excelled in was keeping an ear to the ground. 

Things made more sense when Scratch learned that Lefty and Rosselott did business with each other on a somewhat regular basis. Whatever he actually did or wherever he had come from, he had been a gateway to Shadowrunning in Seattle. She picked up on it right away that between him and Rosselott they had their hands in a fair amount of money.

The moment Scratch sat down at the bar Lefty made his way over. She didn’t normally drink in public, or drink much at all, since alcohol messed with the senses. Also her tolerance was so high she rarely got to enjoy the buzz. But all the anger and frustration bred enough indifference that she didn’t care that night. Even Lefty had to raise an eyebrow when she ordered what passed for vodka at the Defiler Lounge. He poured her a drink, but only after an amused grunt. It didn’t have to taste good. It just had to burn. 

“You’re drinking tonight? Rough job?”

“One in broad daylight, actually.” She answered flatly.

“Sounds like someone screwed the poor little pooch.”

Scratch pulled up her mask and took a big swig of her drink and nearly choked on it.

“Yeah,” she said after clearing her throat. “You can say that. I’ve never worked so hard for such a small amount of money in my entire life.”

Lefty smiled with interest. “What’d you get up to?”

She squeezed the glass in anger. She knew she didn’t have enough strength to break it. Part of her didn’t want to think about it anymore. Then she realized she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to be a sad sap at the bar. She deserved it after her performance. They had a shootout in broad daylight so there wasn’t much secrecy involved in the first place.

“Some street doc hired our little group to play neighborhood watch. Someone was going around Bellevue targeting meta-humans,” she said.

“Yeah. Heard a little about that.”

“And it wasn’t a bunch of go-gangers with steel pipes and peashooters either. We got  into it with Humanis.”

Lefty gave a cold smile. “Proper drek, aren’t they?”

Scratch had never run into Humanis before, even though she heard plenty about them. They were like any supremacy group that thought their ilk were at the center of the universe and spent a lot of time and energy trying to force that idea on everyone else. In her eyes they were like any criminal outfit with the exception that they had ‘a cause’ to fight for. And ‘a cause’ was just a clever way to get people to work for you without paying them very much. They attracted a lot of suckers as a result. Scratch had already found assholes in all walks of life in every shape and form. The idea that humans were more special or more deserving had been destroyed a long time ago.

Not that the street doc could offer much either other than the warm tingly sense of doing the right thing. Scratch had reservations about the job, but she didn’t have many options to choose from. She sucked it up like Rosselott suggested and went along with the good feelings Hollowpoint and the others were fishing for. She brought her GMC Bulldog for transportation and hoped deep down they’d rough up a few punks and call it a day. They weren’t even close to being that lucky.

“A recent victim, some jumpy dwarf, pointed us toward a courier outfit running supplies into the Barrens. We met up with another team of runners and almost got in a shootout when our mage tried to peek inside their truck. Astral projection or whatever that crap is.”

Mantis got busted by another mage and almost got punted out of the astral plane as a result. Scratch was amazed they didn’t have a shoot out right then and there. But through some quick talking they passed it off as a rookie mistake and managed to join on as hired guns for protection. They almost had to make good on their ruse when some gang tried the old toll booth extortion racket when they headed out to the drop off. Mantis managed to redeem herself by locating all the gang members waiting to spring an ambush. The leader trying to shake them down felt a lot less bold when their positions were exposed and decided to back off.

“We made it to the drop but no one was there. The other runners started to get antsy.”

“Let me guess. The couriers were mostly meta-humans,” Lefty said.

“Meta-humans got stiffed. Humans got recruited. At least that’s the way I saw it.”

They got tired of waiting and hatched a plan with some RFID tags. They’d leave the cargo behind, mark them, and wait for them to move. It didn’t take long before someone came to collect. A truck had picked up all the crates and headed off toward a building in the distance. They gave chase in the van. That’s when Hollowpoint pulled off another crack shot out of nowhere. He leaned out the passenger side window, took aim at the truck trying to get away with the cargo, and sniped a tire with a handgun. 

The resulting crash could only be described as spectacular. The driver overcorrected and sent the vehicle tumbling end over end revealing the cargo as some kind of canisters as it spilled all over the place. Then the truck smashed into a loading dock and burst into flames.

Scratch had to admit, in another life Hollowpoint would have been an assassin in high demand with his dead aim.

“With the commotion of the sudden car crash, we climbed onto the roof and snuck into the building through a skylight.”

Lefty gave an amused smile. “I’m trying to picture you climbing. I’m not seeing it.”

Scratch shot a glare. “Once we got inside we had the place to ourselves minus a few cameras our Decker took care of. The car crash made a good distraction. That’s where we confirmed who we were dealing with.”

A derelict building in the Barrens served as a Humanis base. They had been there for awhile judging by the computer room, bunk beds, and the main attraction in the form of a secure vault. Much as they wanted to see what was on the other side of the door they couldn’t get past it. Even Bast, their resident thief, couldn’t crack the maglock despite her best efforts. 

They tossed a few bunks and wandered around a ramshackle cafeteria. It didn’t take long before they heard voices coming from the loading dock. Everyone in the building must have run out to attend to the smoking wreck of the truck. They were on their way back.

“We set up an ambush and took out five or six of them. I don’t remember the exact numbers. All I remember is that one of them got knocked out. Some woman. Then came the bright idea to bring the unconscious Humanis thug with us for a chat later. We took off when our courier friends warned us that more people were closing in on the building.”

Lefty nodded his head with an understanding. “You didn’t get all of them, did you?”

“Give me another drink.” Scratch demanded angrily.

Hindsight stung more than any alcohol as much as Scratch tried. Thinking back on it, she knew they had made all sorts of mistakes. The only thing she was really good at was killing people and driving. She never had to consider so many angles before. But the second they heard more were on the way they assumed the worst. 

They left the canisters the truck was carrying and cleared out of the Humanis base without looking too closely at their computers. The job had already spun out of control from patrolling the streets to trading shots with human supremacists. No way the street doc could compensate them for that.

“We took our Humanis friend to a quiet spot. I could tell right away no one in our group had tortured anyone before. They didn’t know what was going to happen going in, but I did.”

“Oh yeah?”

“We had a bunch of meta-humans, a member of Humanis, and no one had any contacts that were cleaners. It went about as well as you’d think.”

“You record any highlights?” Lefty asked with anticipation.

“No. I watched the perimeter incase anyone followed us.”

“You didn’t join in on the fun?” The disappointment was palpable.

From what Scratch heard Hollowpoint tried to play the good cop like he usually did. Mantis, Merc, and Bast had the most fun with their Humanis guest. It involved clipping ears to look like an elf and then burying the lady alive with an earth spirit. That did make clean-up very quick and easy. As bubbly as Mantis tried to present herself, she was shaping up into a real gravedigger. There was real potential.

Scratch shook her head. “Once you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. Besides I always got stuck with clean up. Not this time.”

The Humanis thug gave them only a few pieces of information for the trouble. Her outfit had plans to hit a homeless shelter in Bellevue sometime in the afternoon. Oz had some data to crunch off the lady’s commlink as far as possible connections and collaborators went. But as far as timetables and how exactly they were going to do it, they had nothing. 

They went back to the Humanis compound to find it cleaned out except for a busted canister left behind with a label that warned about the contents under pressure causing increased aggression. It didn’t take much to figure out Humanis were going to launch some gas attack and frame meta-humans as monsters.

“We warned our client, the street doc, about everything that had happened. He wanted to know why we left the canisters behind, how many members were still out there, or why we ditched the compound without clearing it out. I reminded him he only hired us to play the part of neighborhood watch. Not deal with chemical attacks.”

“I’m going to guess he didn’t like that.” Lefty grinned.

“Hollowpoint didn’t like it either. It looked like he was going to drop off the face of the earth. He probably would have buried himself next to the Humanis thug we tortured out in the Barrens. But we weren’t getting paid shit in the first place. So screw the lot of them.”

Scratch started to feel the alcohol get on top of her. The idea was sobering enough on its own. She slid the glass back and waved off Lefty before he could pour her another. Everyone had ideas. Oz wanted to drop the matter entirely considering what little information they had. But Hollowpoint and his infallible conscience decided he was going to take it head on even if it killed him. Scratch couldn’t afford to let the idiot die yet. They still had an arrangement in place. The others eventually followed suit and they were on the hook for damage control.

“The shelter was a shit show as you probably heard from the news. Hollowpoint went inside and volunteered as a janitor. Bast snuck in through a window. The rest of us were nearby in the van. We looked at possible entry points for the gas. The roof. The air conditioner. The food. Some delivery man came by to drop off chicken and got clocked by Bast and Hollowpoint for the trouble. In the end, Humanis just lobbed some gas grenades in the middle of the dining area like real masterminds.”

It could have been so much worse. Oz had control of the shelter AC unit after hacking it and vented as much as he could. A cloud still managed to reach a few people, including Bast and Hollowpoint themselves. The inside of the shelter fell into a melee. Mantis rushed in with potions to counteract the effect but it didn’t help as much as they all wanted. Hollowpoint faded into his own little world, pulled a pair of pistols hidden on slide holsters, and opened up on a crowd of people. 

By some miracle he only managed to shoot and kill a Humanis plant before Oz ejected the magazines in his guns. By then Merc had arrived equipped with an internal air tank and they engaged in a fist fight that would have been right at home in any kung-fu trid. A man the size of a stick and an orc the size of a fridge going blow for blow and keeping up with each other on equal footing.

“Where were you in all this?” Lefty finally asked.

“Me? I was outside, fending off a van full of Humanis enforcers properly armored and equipped with AP rounds. All by myself!”

The minute the gas attack started Scratch brought the van in front of the shelter to provide cover. On the way in Merc had to pulverize a Humanis thug disguised as homeless and must have sent a message that things weren’t going to plan. So they brought a van full of armed soldiers either as a back-up plan or some attempt to play the hero gunning down meta-humans run amok. It was Scratch and her two roto-drones, Garland and Lockjoy, against the world while everyone else fragged around inside the shelter.

“Everyone was having such a good time while Humanis took out one of my drones. 16,500 nuyen. Just scrap now. A nice old gunfight in broad daylight. All for nothing!”

Scratch’s hands started to shake as she felt like exploding. She had plans to carry that drone to the ends of the earth. Her current lifestyle didn’t afford her parts much less a whole new drone. Garland was a lost cause. All the time and effort and she lost it for some nobodies at a homeless shelter. Thanks to Hollowpoint’s crippling need to make a difference. She took out her anger on the Humanis attack team. She gave them a double tap twice over. It helped a little.

The anger amplified by the alcohol died down. She always did have a high tolerance. Chip truth she wasn’t alone outside. Oz had her back from the safety of her armored van, doing his work in the Matrix. Humanis had plans to use their van as cover, but once Oz got control he did a donut with it and left them separated without anything to hide behind. He screwed with their guns, ejected their magazines in the shootout. She never expected that she’d be so thankful for a Decker on her side.

Bast and Mantis came along a little later to help out but Scratch was too mad to admit any of it to Lefty. She barely wanted to admit Mantis using the earth spirit to conceal their van on the way out that saved them a lot of trouble with the police arriving on the scene.

“I think… I’ve had enough for tonight.” She muttered.

“Maybe.” Lefty smiled. “Even still, I hear no one at the shelter died. The police found a lot of incriminating evidence on some dead Humanis members. A couple of homeless beat each other up after being gassed… but they’ll survive.”

A lot of good feelings never fixed Scratch’s problems. They certainly weren’t going to fix Garland either. She had half a mind to shake down Hollowpoint for dragging them into such a mess. Their community service cost her a drone and nearly put her in the hole after rent was due. Her plans were slipping through her fingers into some dirty drain on a Seattle corner. 

At this rate she’d wind up dead in a ditch somewhere if she was lucky. But as angry as she felt, she needed Hollowpoint. She didn’t exactly know any other private detectives who would work pro-bono, especially considering her past. Also he wasn’t some out of shape security guard. He could take on an orc hand-to-hand while high out of his mind. Not to mention his stellar aim.

Then she remembered she still had to pay for drinks. Lefty waved her off much to her surprise. He wasn’t known for his generosity.

“These are on the house.” He explained.

“Great. Thanks Lefty. It’s nice to know I look as poor as I feel.”

“The street doc paid you, didn’t he? How much was all that trouble worth, by the way? Just curious.”

Scratch shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “A measly 2k.”

It felt so awful to say that she felt like spitting on the floor. But the last time a man spit on the floor Lefty put them through a table. He found her payment something to chuckle at.

“For a chance to make a mess of Humanis? Any price is right in my book,” he grinned.

Scratch felt like saying something. Her face scrunched up into an awful scowl. Eventually she let out a deep sigh as she stood up to leave.

“Yeah? Well next time my crew digs up another sob story I’ll let you know. See how you like contending with gas attacks for less than the cost of my fragging leg.” She angrily slapped her cyberleg.

“Good night, Scratch.” Lefty waved.

The alcohol had already worn off and she dreaded heading back to the garage. The sight of Garland in a pile of smoking scrap in the back of her van sucked the energy right out of her. She would have to figure out something soon. The other members of her team might be satisfied with good feelings, but she had more pressing issues. She wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever. Before she got back in her car she looked over her shoulder. Maybe she could find a scrapyard in the city to vent her frustration before going back. She had to get it all out somehow so she could keep it as professional as she could.