Teo lay on the scorched metal floor, the inferno's heat slapping his face like a physical hand. Silence enveloped him, a ringing void within the roaring flames. He was bloody, beaten, and irrevocably down a limb.
He reached up with his left hand to wipe a smear of grime from his cheek, only for his right stump to instinctively twitch, a ghost limb responding to a command it could no longer fulfill. His right arm... lay a few feet away, a grotesque, detached limb, Bon Bon Mark 2 still clutched in its lifeless grasp.
The silence began to fray, the crackling of the warehouse fire and the popping of exploding rounds and chemical containers growing louder, closer. Fucker's voice cut through it all, sharp as a monowire blade in his skull. "Teo! Get up! We have to go! You are bleeding out! Exsanguination is at 37% and accelerating!" Fucker's voice, usually laced with sass, was now pure, unadulterated concern, a frantic plea.
Teo grunted, pushing himself into a shaky sitting position. His vision swam. He fumbled through his torn jacket with his left hand, his fingers finding the final remaining med stim. He ripped off the cap with his teeth, his jaw clenching against the pain, and jammed the needle directly into the spurting stump of his right shoulder.
He screamed, a raw, animal sound, as the nanites went to work, searing his flesh closed, cauterizing the wounds, and beginning the agonizing process of cellular repair. His stump immediately stopped bleeding, the hot, chemical burn of the stim a fresh agony, but he knew he needed to get to a ripperdoc. Now.
He pushed himself to his feet, his legs shaking like pistons running on fumes. He strode, a desperate limp, over to his detached arm. The arm lay there, looking unnervingly lifelike, a testament to the chrome that had been part of him.
With his left hand, he bent down, grabbed Bon Bon Mark 2 from its severed grip, and stuffed the weapon into his waistband. He glanced down at Pilot Guy, his face frozen in that chilling, triumphant grin even in death. The orange glow of the raging fire danced across his grotesque features, making him look relieved, like Teo had released him from some unseen burden. Teo scanned the body, his optics highlighting high grade military components woven throughout the exosuit.
He bent down, a grim determination in his eyes, taking his boot knife with his left hand and cutting out what components he could with practiced ease, despite the blood and the searing pain in his shoulder.
As he worked, his gaze fell on Pilot Guy's neck. A dull, metallic dog tag, unnoticed before, hung loosely around it. On the dog tag, NUSA was carved in bold, stark lettering. He picked up the tag, the metal cool against his bloodied fingers, and turned it over.
On it, in crisp, engraved letters, it read, Lieutenant Pilot Guy, Barghest Unit 501st. Militech Military Academy. He snatched the dog tag, its weight surprisingly heavy, and stuffed it into his pocket. He was going to remember this man. He hated him, yes, for what he'd done, for the price he'd exacted. He beat him. This was his fucking prize.
Just as he stuffed the tag into his pocket, a massive explosion sounded nearby, shaking the entire warehouse to its foundations, sending a fresh shower of sparks and debris raining down. Teo looked up, scanning his surroundings. Flames erupted everywhere, consuming the towering shelves of illicit goods.
His gaze came across a smoky opening, a collapsed section of wall. He gripped his stump, a fresh wave of pain making him gasp, and started to move through the smoky opening. He stumbled over a fallen metal beam, his legs giving out, and fell to the ground with a grunt. He coughed, smoke filling his lungs, acrid and burning.
"Teo! Get up! We have to move! The structural integrity of this facility is rapidly degrading! Recommend immediate egress!" Fucker's voice was a frantic, strained shriek in his head.
He grunted, pushing himself back to his feet once again, and started to move quicker through the smoky aisles, using his left hand to bat away falling debris. He walked for a while, the heat growing more intense, until he came across a patched sheet metal wall, a desperate, flimsy barrier Maelstrom had thrown up.
He unholstered Bon Bon Mark 2, its green glow a beacon in the smoke, and fired a precise burst at the metal, making deep, ragged holes. He raised his foot and kicked, the scattered remains of the wall exploding outwards.
BAM! Another massive explosion, bigger than the last, rocked Teo forward, propelling him through the hole as he flopped out the other side, landing hard on the cold, unforgiving asphalt of the outer compound.
He heard the screaming of remaining Maelstrom patrols on the outside, moving towards the main entrance of the now collapsing warehouse. He climbed to his feet, coughing, and looked around, noticing the blessed lack of enemy presence in this part of the outer compound.
He stalked his way towards the open trash chute he'd crawled in from earlier, a grotesque symbol of his entry and escape. He climbed through, pushing through the last of the foul smelling refuse, and started to run from the exploding inferno.
He sprinted down an alley, the Kusanagi CT-3X parked just a block away. The air here was cooler, though still thick with the city's usual blend of exhaust fumes, stale synth food, and damp concrete.
His blood began to drip from the bullet wounds in his shoulder and chest, leaving small, dark trails on the grimy pavement. He exited the alley into a bustling main plaza in the northern part of Watson, seeing a main road across the plaza.
Street vendors hawked their wares under flickering holographic ads, and people walked about, buying goods and eating food from glowing stands, oblivious to the carnage he had just escaped.
He stalked through the crowd of people, a bloody phantom. He gripped his stump, the pain a dull roar, his entire form caked head to toe in gore. People glanced at him, their faces a mix of shock and quick understanding, and parted, the crowd parting like the Red Sea, creating an unnatural lane for him.
People avoided his gaze, some staring, others quickly looking away. As he passed, conversations died, replaced by a tense, nervous silence. The only noise was the distant, muffled pulse of music from the plaza speakers. Everyone knew. Mercs were dangerous, unpredictable. Don't fuck with edgerunners, especially bloody ones.
He walked towards a bench on the other side of the plaza, calling his bike via his comm. He sat heavily on the bench under a synth cherry tree, its plastic blossoms glowing with a soft, artificial light.
As he waited, a man and a small child, a girl with wide, curious eyes, walked up to Teo. The man, a tired looking but kind faced individual, sat next to him, and the child, clutching a stick of synthetic takoyaki, walked directly in front of Teo, staring up at him with innocent wonder. Offering one.
Teo, surprisingly, reached out his left hand, gently took a stick of the food, and stuffed it into his mouth. The man shifted next to him, reaching into his pocket and taking out a small pack of cigarettes. He slid one out and offered it to Teo, who Teo graciously accepted, even though he'd never smoked in his life.
Teo swallowed the processed seafood, its artificial flavor a jolt to his senses, and stuck the cigarette in his mouth. The man lifted a worn zippo lighter, lighting it for him with a practiced flick.
Teo took a deep puff, the harsh tobacco entering his already raw throat, and exhaled with a plume of acrid smoke. The man relaxed as the child climbed into her father's lap, seemingly unbothered by the bloody figure next to them. The man spoke up, his voice soft. "Long day?" he said, glancing at Teo with a knowing, weary look.
Teo nodded, not speaking. Just silent. His stump pulsed with a dull, throbbing pain, making his face contort slightly. The man looked at Teo's stump, his gaze lingering with understanding. "Ah. Been there before. Not fun, is it? You a merc?" he asked, tapping his own metal arm with his other hand, a faint, almost invisible seam showing where the chrome met flesh.
Teo looked up, truly looked at the man. Heavy chrome pieces adorned his body, hinting at a past life of danger. "Yeah… Big fuckery op." He stared at the man, a silent question in his eyes. "Were you a merc?"
"Yeah, ten years back, before I had this little one," he replied, patting the girl on the head who shied away from her father's smoke. "Yucky!" she said, wrinkling her nose. Teo chuckled, a rough, smoke-filled cough shaking his body.
Then he heard the familiar roar of his bike coming down the street. He stood up, his legs still shaky. "Well, Mr… I didn't catch your name. Thanks for the cig, it was nice talking, if only for a brief moment." Teo said as the man stood up with the child in one arm, holding out his left hand for Teo to shake, which he did.
"Names Brim. And yours?" he said as their hands met, a firm, calloused grip.
Teo smiled, a genuine, tired smile. "Teo."
The Kusanagi CT-3X came to a stop in front of them, its engine purring. Teo shifted over to the bike and swung his left leg over the side. "Fucker, set cords to Vik's shop," he thought, the command a silent line in his mind. The bike roared to life, a deep, guttural growl, and took off down the street, Teo gripping the bike handles with one arm and balancing with his core, a testament to instinct and cybernetics.
The Night City lights blitzed by his face, a blur of frantic color. His stump ached, a constant throb, and he was tired, the cigarette he lit long gone, its ashes carried away by the wind. He sent a message to Wakako, detailing he had completed the gig and was heavily injured, getting treated now.
He pulled into Misty's shop, the familiar incense laden air a strange comfort as he barreled through the door. Misty, who was lighting some fresh incense in the corner, turned around to greet her guest, only to see Teo's blood soaked form, his missing arm, and the raw exhaustion etched on his face.
She didn't say any words. Her face, usually serene, contorted in immediate concern. She rushed over to Teo, putting his left arm around her shoulder and helping him out the back and into Vik's clinic.
Viktor had been watching a boxing match on a worn old monitor, a half empty bottle of synth beer in hand, when he heard the familiar footsteps coming down his steps. His door slid open, revealing Teo, propped up by Misty.
Vik put down his beer with a heavy sigh and rushed over to Teo, grabbing his other side and helping him into the battered ripperdoc chair. "Jeez, kid, you get run over by a train?" he grumbled, already prepping his gleaming tools, his voice laced with his usual gruff concern.
Teo grunted, shifting in the ripper chair. "Just zeroed some crazy Militech Agent in an exosuit… no big deal."
Misty backed up and crossed her arms, her foot tapping impatiently. "No big deal? You lost your arm, Teo!" she snapped, going over to a chair in the back, sitting down with an annoyed look. "I'm informing Jackie right now." Her eyes glowed with her comm implant as she sent the urgent message.
Teo looked up, grimacing. "Fuck, not yet, Misty. Don't sick big bro on me." he pleaded as Vik finished preparing his tools. Vik looked over Teo, his experienced eyes assessing the damage. "Alright, kid. Let's start with those bullet wounds, repair your weave, then we'll end with an arm implant socket to prep for a new cyberarm... if that's your plan anyway." He said, already beginning to stitch the gaping gash on Teo's shoulder.
"Sure is hermano, you got an arm that you can install?" Teo asked, wincing as the thread pulled tight, making his weave spark against the exposed wound.
Vik spoke up, his voice a low, steady rumble. "Unless you want some bottom of the barrel, shitty, second hand arm, probably bugged and with a half life of a street rat… nah. We'll have to order you a fresh one. Custom fit. It'll take time, and eddies, a lot of eddies."
Teo closed his eyes, the words echoing in his mind. A lot of eddies. Time. A custom fit. A new arm. He felt the ghost of his right arm throb, a phantom weight still clutching Bon Bon Mark 2.
Everything was just… fucked. The gig, the money, the bloody clothes, the new dog, the random hookup, NetWatch watching him, the glowing green ghost he and Fucker had made, the brutal taste of combat, the way Pilot Guy had died, the sheer, unimaginable pain.
He was alive, yes. He was winning, maybe. But at what cost? His body was a roadmap of Night City's cruelty, and his mind felt like a constantly rewritten shard.
The city was chewing him up and spitting him out, stronger, faster, but less… whole. This was the price he knew it. He's always known it ever sense he got shot out the woom. The never ending, escalating price of becoming someone in Night City.
And he was so, so tired.
A/N: Finished lost limbs!