Going on the NCRT was like buying a lottery ticket. 

Some days were crowded with mid-level corpos and commuters struggling to make it out from the city centers to the monolithic hab blocks. Some days were sparse whenever NCPD or MAX-TAC decided to do a district lockdown.

Today was annoyingly the former for Connie. The hydraulics in her left arm were becoming stiff from the firefights that she’d become involved in all week. The cramped moulded plastic seats in the mono-rail didn’t make things better. If she had a half a mind, she’d suspect that the city council was trying to prevent vagrants from sleeping on them if the automated security drones on the bus didn’t dispose of them first. The sun was smoldering red by the time she was five minutes away from the nearest stop in Watson. She was tired as fuck and wanted to get boozed up in her bed as soon as possible. Jone’s little gig had taken so much out of her that all she wanted was a good night’s rest that was followed up with an appetizer of sake. 

Unfortunately, Night City had other plans. Muffled yelling and shouting filled the train car. Connie blearily opened one eye as she observed what was happening. The other passengers in the car began filing to the other side of the rail car, forming two crowds at the end. The newcomers were dressed in thick garish neo-kitsch jackets with diodes and canyons of circuitry running from head to toe and across their tanned cheeks. The smell of Pacifica’s briny waters was stuck to their glistening open chests which were entangled with gauche chained necklaces. Their chrome was Scandinavian quality and the iron was street level, nothing of a mil-spec quality that Connie saw in her TT days. They didn’t have the colors of the Valentinos or Tyger Claws on them. They were most likely a minor gang that rose up in the wake of the second Arasaka Tower Fire. 

Please don’t look at me. Please don’t look at me. 

They looked at her.

Shit. 

Connie signed internally as she heard footsteps coming closer.

Couldn’t Night City just give her one hour where she didn’t have to kill someone? 

“ Hey there, babe.”

 One scav was leaning  over, an acrid cologne of CHOO making Connie’s nose curl. He pushed his body close to Connie, pressing against her parka uncomfortably. His crew occupied the other side of the rail car. Most were just keeping silent to themselves, whilst a few others were egging him on. From this close, Connie could see the chipped jags of yellow teeth and blood-burst eyes that were the signs of synth-coke addiction. “ How’s ‘bout we get out of here and you be my output for the evening?” 

“ Here’s an idea. Piss. Off, “  Connie hissed in disgust, desperately focusing her attention on the blurred skyline outside the window as the monorail cruised above the smoky streets. Hopefully, the druggie could take a hint and move on for his sake. 

“ Aw, come on. Don’t be so shy. “  Connie’s fist, flesh and bone, clenched as fingers danced around her chin, making her skin crawl, as he wrenched her face forward to look at his own. “ Can’t we have a little fun - “ 

The scav then squealed and looked down at Connie’s fist, currently buried in his pants. 2000 newtons of force was currently pressing down around his crotch in a vice-like grip. In any other situation, this would have been considered some fucked up version of foreplay in her bathroom with someone she wanted to stuff it with. The scav tried to worm out of her grip as if he’d been caught in a mouse-trap. Meanwhile, Connie hadn’t even moved from her position, still sitting down as she stared daggers at him. 

 “ I can’t be an output if you don’t have any input, jackass,” Connie growled impatiently, squeezing harder as the scav’s face turned a cherry red, pointing his finger out at her face. 

“ You bitch, I’ll -”  

Wrong answer. A thought was all it took for the gangoon’s crotch to turn into a misshapen mess of mince meat. His lungs then proceeded to explore every pitch known to mankind. Eyes squinted in deleterious pain, the scav’s hands pawed in between his legs, frantically trying to fix what remained of his mangled manhood together. He eventually gave up, knees falling first, before his head slammed against the floor of the train. 

She turned her head lazily over towards the other gangoons who were flicking out switchblades, batons, all the usual blinged crap that scavs carried. 

“ I’ve got five minutes.” Connie cracked her neck, yawning. “ Try not to waste your time with me.”