[u][h2]INTERMISSION[/h2][/u] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N9jYZrnk19k] Keah found that the body was a more complicated and ill-tempered machine than any piece of cyberware or car. Metal didn’t feel pain. Metal didn’t bleed. Metal didn’t think. Machines had one singular purpose and were laser-focused on achieving that aim in the most efficient way possible. [/url] At least, that was what he tried to tell himself as he stared solemnly at the cracked headlights of the Jury-Rigg, which were blinking spastically in chromatic seizures. He dropped the voltage torch onto the ground and limped away, eventually resting his body against a collapsed filing cabinet. The abandoned building was bare-bones in terms of spaces to park his ride but the Pirates had helpfully provided him with an empty refrigeration unit for him to rest in. The Reclaim Zone, like always, provided its usual din of rain that sloughed through the gutters with its petrichor aroma. Keah glanced at the wet patch on the left side of his T-Shirt and sighed. No use putting it off now. Grasping the tweezer in his hand, he lifted the hem of his shirt and stared down at the left side of his stomach where a piece of jagged laminate was stuck in, about the size of a grape. Sucking in a breath, he pinched it with the tongs and began the arduous process of pulling it out. The advantage of using the Octo-Dactyl was that he could shut off the impulses that his brain was screaming towards his hands, to let go, to stop. Bit by bit, he gritted through the agony as his right hand calmly pulled the shrapnel out with a wet squelch. He popped the cap off the toti-thrombin hypo and punctured it into the skin above where the blood oozed out, feeling his flesh boil as the cocktail of stem cells and steroids began to kick his metabolism into overdrive. His Iconoclast, laid on the ground next to the Jury Rigg, began to beep urgently with an alarm just as he slapped a kera-patch on the now sealed wound. “ Shit, Demon.” A coarse, smoky voice, like burning exhaust, came out from his helmet. “ How’d you get a beaut like this totaled?” “ Mdakwe.” He crouched next to the helmet, placing the gel cryo-pack on his bruised forehead with a wince. Staying silent, he waited as the South African dove into the Matrix and sifted through what was left of the Jury Rigg’s custom OS to inspect the damage. Every so often, there would be an unintelligible swear in Afrikaans followed by a vaguely patronising sigh and a snort. “ So, what’s the bill?” “ Well…..let’s start with what’s not damaged, ja? You’re so goddamn lucky that your drive shaft and engine managed to survive a hail of EP rounds. They’re perfectly intact. Surprising for someone with your reputation.” Keah ignored the biting sarcasm at the end, inwardly relieved that all the rudiments which made the Jury Rigg run were still okay. He took the cryo-pack off and replied back as he picked up the voltage torch again and strode to the back to inspect more of the damage. The bullet holes made for a nice background against the scratches and nicks that left strips of metal peeling off like pencil shavings. Was it even salvageable at this point? “ I’m not hearing the downsides yet.” “ Where to begin? Your fuel-tank ruptured. All but one of your mag-wheels have been completely disconnected from your drive assembly. The smart circuitry inlaid into your sub-systems also melted like ice cream. We’ll disregard most of your cosmetics. Better less said about them.” Mdekwe paused. Keah could make out the sound of her clicking her teeth in disapproval. “ You turboblazers….Always the sentimental type, aren’t you? Are you trying to repair this hunk of junk?” “ Say, I wanted to.” Keah traced a finger on the windshield and examined where the loose flakes of paint stained his skin. “ How much would it take.” “You’ll have to stick with the subpar stuff for now. Oly-laminate plating’s rare as a non-myco steak on the black market. My supply of mag wheels went dry as well. I can send you the schematics for how to repair them but you might have to stick with the old frictions for now. Probably.” There was a pause whilst Keah poked around under the Jury Rigg’s belly with a flashlight. “ I hate to tell you this but it’s going to bankrupt you to try and make another one from scratch. Sure, your ride was impressive but this isn’t Detroit. There is no gearhead in a thousand miles of the Reclaim Zone that’d be willing to refurbish your ride.” “You don’t know that.” Keah replied weakly, wriggling his fingers out from a bullet hole and wiping off the brown coolant that leaked from it like a faucet. Looking at his car this way was like dissecting a dead animal. Any repair he could have done was the equivalent of taxidermy. As hard as it was to accept, the Jury Rigg was gone. Dead. “ Look. Keah.” Mdeke’s voice took on a gentler tone as she said his real name, like she was tip-toeing over landmines. “I’m willing to loan you a new set of wheels. Me and da boys can come over here later to scrap it after the press conference.” “ Fine.” Keah grumbled, tossing away the voltage torch in frustration. “ At least tell me it doesn’t have one of those stupid fucking spoilers.” Mdekwe’s silence was damning. “ Shit.” [hr] “ And that is all?” “ Yes.” “ Good. The sooner we help Petrukov with this farce of an election, the sooner we can crack open Amalgmation’s closet of skeletons. Keep doing what you’re doing.” “ Is that all you called me for?” “ What? Did you think this would be enough to get back into our good graces, Kaito? I do not care what these *outsiders* call you. We all know your real names. To them, you might be a legend, but to us, you’re just a lost little fool who ran away who was tempted by the ideals of these mainlanders.” “We have always been lost ever since Hawaii sunk, brother.” “ Do not ever call me brother. You have your orders. Complete them this time without causing a scene.” “ You know me. I can’t help but make one.”