Emma's only moment of feeling truly alive each week was the drive to the club.
The upheaval and plummeting status had made her wonder if she'd ever fit back into the city's "upper circles."
She maintained her poise while craving acceptance.
Hands had been a corporate executive. As his wife, Emma knew all about "status."
Those days had felt like a dream. She loved freedom, and Hands had given her exactly that.
But now? Freedom had nothing to do with her. She lived in the cage Hands had carefully constructed—guarding against his enemies, guarding against everything.
Westbrook was the ideal choice for a "fallen" wife like her. The elites of Charter Hill and North Oak still considered Westbrook the perfect destination—in other words, an acceptable substitute for Corporate Plaza.
The Quadra Type-66 CTHULHU—or Cthulhu for short—in shimmering gold. Emma loved this color.
The car crossed the bridge from Kabuki, then turned onto Jig-Jig Street. Traffic slowed. Emma fixed her hair, ensuring no flaws.
Hands' business was booming now. Pacifica and Dogtown both gave him face. But financial pressure wasn't what irked Emma—it was the status.
A fixer, no matter how big, was just a job broker. Nothing respectable.
"Ma'am, we're almost there."
The bodyguard watched the road. The car had slowed considerably once they entered Japantown due to foot traffic.
Emma nodded. "As long as we're on time."
She enjoyed the attention her car drew. Corporate dogs and businesspeople liked showing off nice wheels in Westbrook—provided you could afford guards to keep the Mox and Tyger Claws from tagging your paint.
Screech—
Emma swayed slightly. The bodyguard glanced at her through the rearview mirror—expressionless as always.
"Ma'am, some idiot kid ran in front of us. Son of a—"
Emma made a silencing gesture. She hated profanity.
Through the one-way bulletproof glass, a young man in an oversized leather jacket stood outside. A large gun in a bag slung over his back. He ducked his head apologetically, flashing a warm smile.
Emma rested her chin on her hand. Red light anyway—she didn't mind watching handsome men.
Emma knew ripperdocs could give you any face you wanted these days. But most people went bold and edgy—prominent optics, half-mechanical faces with strange patterns. This one had deep-set eyes, well-defined features, and tastefully subtle cyberware lines. Quite her type.
"Hm. Looks like Japantown's finally developing some aesthetic sense."
The bodyguard kept his mouth shut. First day on the job, he'd been told: don't engage the madam.
The young man vanished around a corner. Emma withdrew her gaze.
"How are you, dear?"
Emma switched to fluent, proper French for the caller.
"Things aren't exactly calm lately. You shouldn't be out."
Emma scoffed. "Oh? Did I personally offend some young hothead? Mr. Hands—dear—your problems aren't mine."
"Remember, the lab-grown child was my biggest concession."
"I'm a non-marriage believer."
The other end sighed. "Alright, alright. Enjoy yourself. But I'm sending extra guards. Nothing matters more than your safety."
Emma hung up, feeling even more irritated.
A proper, traditional German living with another proper, traditional German—life was like unseasoned Italian stew. Colorful but bland.
She sometimes fantasized about being roughly kidnapped by some merc (unspeakable things), so Hands would have to send people to rescue her.
At least she'd get a change of scenery.
As for the braindance club—just going through the motions. Showing everyone she was still energetic, still fine.
Japantown's only skyscraper—Arasaka liked hosting events here. High security.
The BD club was on the top floor. Emma waited for her guard to open the door, then stepped out, holding her thigh-high slit dress. A Corporate Plaza exclusive. Very flattering.
"Tell Hands' people not to hover around the elevator upstairs like idiots."
Emma decided: tonight, she'd get properly wasted.
She looked up at the building. Nearby, a flashy sports car deposited an entertainment star—Lizzy Wizzy. Her cyberware was anything but subtle.
Stage fairy. Performances that defied imagination. Deeply creative.
Dogtown money had backed this rising star before. As the wife of Dogtown's mysterious figure, Lizzy knew how to flatter women.
"Ma'am, your dress is simply stunning."
Emma raised her "social shield," switched to her flawless smile, and walked into the club amid chatter and laughter.
The bodyguard relaxed his tense shoulders, drove to the rear entrance—Emma would leave this way—and parked.
"Shit. Bitch. Docked again this month."
All because of that moron!
The guard fumed internally.
That woman had stared at the idiot like her soul left her body. Definitely a sl—
Couldn't be helped. The madam held grudges. One hard brake meant 300 eddies docked. Had to suck it up.
Wait—isn't that the same punk?
In the distance, the young man crouched by a steaming manhole cover. The bodyguard's lips curved cruelly. Getting his 300 back would be easy.
Ethan watched the guard exit the car from the corner of his eye. Camera coverage over there—not a good spot to make a move.
Come on, a little closer.
Ethan watched with interest as the guard stomped toward him, fists clenched.
Perfect. Let's test the new chrome. Dogtown hand-to-hand training wasn't for nothing.
"Hey, asshole. Hold it."
Ethan stood, hands spread innocently. A powerful grip yanked his collar.
"You piece of shit—know how much you cost me?"
"Huh? I don't know you."
Ethan slowly backed up, stalling. His optics confirmed: camera blind spot reached.
"One thousand eddies. Cough it up. If you want to call the cops, I guarantee you'll be on the ground before NCPD arrives."
The guard snarled.
Ethan's hand clamped onto the guard's wrist.
"Hey, relax."
A surge of force. The guard's expression shifted—this guy was strong. His hand moved toward his waist.
Too bad. Ethan pinned that hand too.
Why am I finding this so easy? Maybe the chrome Vik installed was better than expected?
Must be. This guy was just trash. Definitely that.
A knee strike. An elbow to the side of the skull.
Crack. The would-be extortionist dropped.
Ethan dragged him into a nearby alley, swapped into the guy's suit, fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then considerately covered the poor bastard with some newspaper.
To the cameras: a head-down, smoking bodyguard walked to Emma's car, opened the door, and climbed inside. Nothing unusual. Lens swiveled elsewhere.
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.
300 , 500 , 1000 for each milestone 1 Bonus Chapter.