[img]https://i.ibb.co/kxPvVz1/cp-qiara-decoded-animated-text.gif[/img]
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[sub]collab with
[@Ruby][/sub]
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Early mornings in Night City meant you could actually hear beyond the typical chaotic noises of people and industry; past the thick residue of a society choking on its own vomit. And even in a place such as that, sunrises still had the tendency to elicit feelings of a [i]rebirth[/i], whether for the city itself, or the people trying to make a living within its many folds. 

Qiara stood on the balcony of her fifteenth floor Heywood apartment, steaming cup of coffee in hand, and dressed in nothing but a long, black tee which hit about mid-thigh, and a simple rainbow graphic of a retro and distressed “Apple” branding on the chest. The shirt had been one of her favorite pieces of clothing, being a gift from her father, Lucian, back when she first began exploring her chosen profession. One of the few reminders of a time before the accident, when life just felt simpler and made sense. The cold breeze felt good on her fair skin, and disheveled dark hair, which seemed to rarely see a brush these days. But what did it matter? She had been out of work for almost two weeks, and while she wasn’t hurting for eddies due to a fair savings account, the anxiety of not having a steady stream of solid work or income couldn’t be ignored for long. [i]Fuck this medical leave…[/i]

The light of the new dawn peeked from behind the massive cityscape, between the cluster of corporate-owned skyscrapers and atmospheric congestion. “Today is the day, then?” She whispered to herself with eyes closed, as though her words would be carried off with the passing wind into an unknown realm of opportunity. 

Perhaps.

It was late morning by the time an unexpected encrypted holo-call came through, which used a set of datakeys she had not seen in quite some time, but a sequence which bore a resemblance to a known contact. After a few seconds of unraveling the string, she noticed the call was coming from someone she had not heard from in a couple of years. 

“Hello Nix.” She gave the slightly distorted holographic upper body of the dark-skinned Netrunner a half smile. “Long time.”

“Indeed.” The other nodded in agreement, still sporting his signature round shades that felt like they’d gone out of style ages ago. “I won’t take up much of your time, Q, but there’s someone you might want to meet who has access to intel regarding a certain [i]person of interest[/i] that no one else in Night City has managed to gain.” 

The woman arched an eyebrow, knowing who this “person of interest” Nix spoke of was, but at the same time curious as to who would be on his radar. And while she doesn’t quite trust the Netrunner, Qiara also knows he has proven legit on past dealings, and his intel and instinct about certain contacts and data has allowed him to stay at the top of his game for years, especially matters concerning the Old Net.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Q couldn’t help it really. She had been looking for her grandmother -Vivian Rhyne- for several years, hitting one deadend after another. “Can this contact be trusted? Have you worked with them before? Who are they?”

There was a few seconds of silence from Nix, mostly avoiding the barrage of questions that seemed irrelevant considering the source. “Someone who can help.” He finally responded.

“Fine.” She sighed, not wanting to get caught up in twenty questions with a guy who barely spoke in full sentences to begin with. “Send me the deets.”

“No need, choom. They’re waiting in the lobby.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Qiara’s heart jumped a few beats and she almost lost a handle on the orange juice she’d been nursing for awhile, spilling a bit on her desk in the excitement. “Please tell me you’re fucking around?”

Nix was silent.

“Of course you’re not.” She sighed, quickly pulling up camera feeds to the ground floor lobby, front entry, and parking garage. A smartly dressed woman in white attire was sitting in one of the many chairs that lined the elevator walls in the main lobby.

“How did she get-” The woman stopped herself, knowing full well how this stranger gained access. “Forget it. I just wish there could have been more advanced warning.”

“Mhm.” Nix nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose where his sunglasses sat. “Prob’ly don’t wanna keep her waiting.” Nix said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Anyway, I’m out. Just be cool.” And with that, the call ended and the holo image dissipated into digital dust. 

“Great.”

[hr]
She took less than five minutes to change into something appropriate enough for an initial meeting with someone she had never spoken to in her life. Which meant at least a nice ivory blouse with lace sleeves, a pair of black jeans, and dark close-toed wedges. Her short hair was manageable, she figured, not the typical wind-blown mess she was accustomed to, but more tamed. As the elevator doors opened into the lobby, Qiara let go of a breath she’d been holding pretty much the whole way down. She moved her powered wheelchair out onto the freshly polished marble floor, the rubber tires making a bit of a [i]squeak[/i] as they turned slightly to face the blonde woman in the very well-tailored pant suit.

“Hi.” She smiled, her fingers on the chair’s control console a bit fidgety. “I-um, was told you wanted to see me?”

Waiting hadn’t been the difficult part for Eddie. She wasn’t fond of this arrangement; there was a reason she had taken the alias she had when she arrived in Night City. People wanted a leg up in the crushing life that was society and culture of 2077. It wasn’t great deeds, it wasn’t great works, it wasn’t how virtuous you were, or how many lives you affected for the better that meant anything in 2077. It was money, eddies, and that was the cleanest way to operate as a Fixer that she knew. 

Trading information and favors could be a dangerous game. At its very core it made Eddie anxious, this entire situation she found herself in. She had spoken with the client about it, but the client was brief and dismissive. 

“I don’t have the information,” she had told the client, close to stubborn. 

For the first time ever, the client sounded almost…confused at her. [b]I do. It will be given to you at the appropriate time. For now, secure her efforts in the overlying goal. The data she seeks is located in remnants of the Old Net, we know where, we know how to get to it, it is complete as it can be. I recruited you to manage this effort, Etta Elizabeth Autry, you will do what is necessary.[/b]

She might as well have been Dorothy, trying to argue with the Wizard of Oz, for all the good it did her. The information was sent over, she went over some of it with Nix, who was fascinated by it. That was a plus, he was too distracted to realize just what he was really looking at; payment. All Nix knew was that it was a window into the kind of data fortress people in 2077 were arguing about whether it even still existed, or not.

Or if it had ever existed, in truth, in the first place. Oh, she now knew and had known before, it existed. She wasn’t so sure about the story of it’s creation, let alone how it maintained through the years, but for sure it existed. White seemed appropriate for the meeting, even though it was Heywood, and somehow white and luxury seemed more apropos to Charter Hill than Heywood, but her initial instinct was something she typically followed, so white it was. 

The entire pants suit was ballistic silk, thick with an almost sand silk quality to it, but supple and shimmery in the light of the lobby. Getting in hadn’t been that difficult, Nix offered help, but she preferred to do it herself. If she gave up on her Edgerunner skills, they might decay, and that was the quickest path to death in her mind. 

Her top was sleeveless, and her shoulders were touched with a slight chill, but it would do no good to show it as Nix gave her the word that he had talked to the woman, so eyes would be on Eddie now. She stood when the elevator hummed to life, arms laced behind her back casually, left hand holding her right wrist, a faint smile frozen on her red painted lips and brows perked just enough to express openness and warmth on a wavelength distinctive to body language. 

She thought back to Alice at seeing the chair, to highschool, to Pine Trees and the giggle fits of girls. The memory was brief, and so far away she had to remind herself that, yes, that had once long ago been her life. Very, very long ago. 

“A source at NightCorp told me one of their best netrunners was on long term medical leave. Thought they might need some work. Given your merc-like history as a netrunner in the past, it inspired the idea you might want a job. This will be a very involved job, and last longer than the average kleptopunk gig…but the payment is ample, and in your case, unique. In addition to monetary, I offer information on where to find and how to access the digitized psyche of your paternal grandmother.”

Blunt cards on the proverbial table.

“I can give a few minutes, if you want to think it over,” through the entire speech, the smile remained frozen; neither diminishing, nor growing, so much as a shade on the ruby red painted and glossed lips of the Fixer. Never did she so much as move, or take her eyes off the woman’s line of sight.

And as it turned out, she thought…the doing of the meeting and proposal was, in fact, worse than the actual dread of doing it when she spoke to the client.

[i]A few minutes…wow, that’s generous.[/i] Qiara mused, although said nothing for a few moments, as the woman’s words swirled around in her head, and the promise of information to her grandmother’s data could not be overlooked. How much did this person actually know? Maybe she had some ties to NightCorp, or perhaps has done contractual work for them in the past. Or maybe still is? The endless questions came at lightning speed, giving her neural implants a run for their money in the process, and causing a bit of anxiety to well up. But, the young woman simply smiled in response to the other who stood patiently awaiting. 

“I accept.” She said rather flatly, surprising herself at such a prompt response to a job offer she barely knew anything about, but appealing to the curiosity within regardless. However, she needed some assurance of that carrot dangling from the string. 

“Under one condition, though.” She caught herself biting her lip out of nervousness. Unsure if this was even the right time to ask. “Do you at least have a single shred of proof to your claims of information regarding Vivian Rhyne?”  Eh, [i]yeah[/i], that sounded a lot less confrontational in her head. “I mean…I’d like to know that you’re good on your word, considering the key stipulation of this agreement weighs heavily on such information.”

“Alt Cunningham helped her escape to a Ghost City. I could tell you where, and you could be distracted trying to get to her yourself, but my contact is absolute beyond certain you’re not unlocking the right doors without being the best Netrunner there ever was, or will be…and I could really use you not distracted while my life and the lives of others will depend on you being at the very top of your game, so let’s just say you’re not getting to her without the map, the keys, and a little help.”

Eddie’s smile had vanished, a right eyebrow curiously perking above the left instead, “Fair?”

“Fair.”