And me's back bozos! Now that I fucked that teacher's paper to high heaven (got meself an A-!), we can now get back to transin' this bitch.
On with the chapy!
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Gunfire split the air in jagged pulses as Carl sprinted down the alley behind the convenience store. He wasn't surprised to hear it—but the sound still curdled something deep in his gut. The moment that first sharp blast rang out, he knew exactly what it was.
A PLS.
[PLS: Projectile Launch System]:
A cybernetic launcher installed in the forearm—turning a person's arm into a portable mortar system. When activated, it extends like a miniature turret and fires grenades or micro-missiles depending on the payload.
Carl had considered getting one once. Spent hours poring over specs at a ripper clinic, comparing upgrades and cost. But he never pulled the trigger. The implant itself wasn't the issue—it was the ammo. High-grade, hard to find, expensive as hell, and single use. One micro-rocket could cost more than a month's rent in Watson. After one shot, you'd better have the creds for a reload—or you were just carrying dead weight in your arm.
But the attackers now? They weren't sparing expenses. Grenades and micro-missiles? They were blowing through eddies like it was confetti at a corpo gala. This wasn't just a hit—this was overkill. Precision overkill.
And that made it all the weirder.
If they were this flush with hardware, why weren't they using RPGs again? Earlier, they'd been throwing rockets around like candy on Dia de los Muertos. The damage potential was far higher. A few hits could've flattened the whole damn corner store. Why hold back now?
He thought back—none of the previous rockets had aimed directly at the target's car either. Not one had tried to land a kill shot.
Maybe they didn't want the target intact.
Maybe they just needed her breathing. As long as her heart kept pumping, the test—the "trial"—could go on. A mangled heir could still serve a legacy, Carl figured. Cold logic.
Corpo logic.
His thoughts spun faster than his legs. And his legs? They were already burning.
No leg implants. No hydraulic boosters or shock absorbers. Just flesh and blood pounding the cracked concrete. In 2075, that made you a dinosaur.
When he finally reached the back entrance of the store, he braced for a fight… and found nothing.
Empty.
No guards. No ambush. No overwatch.
Weird.
Any halfway competent security team should've left a rear guard. Even during a scramble, you watched the back door—especially when the client was inside. What were they thinking? Were they thinking?
Carl stepped inside, scanning quickly.
And that's when he saw her.
The target.
She was on the floor, backed into a corner of the store. Surrounded by Arasaka security. Their stances were rigid—more statues than men. Not one of them touched her. Not one even knelt beside her.
The girl sat slumped, her cherry blossom-pink kimono saturated with blood. Her hands pressed tightly against her abdomen. Through her fingers, crimson welled in slow, pulsing waves.
Her face was porcelain pale. Her breaths were shallow. And her eyes…
Carl froze. Even through the chaos, those eyes stopped him cold.
Deep, shimmering orbs—like stars had drowned in pools of black silk. The kind of eyes you never forget. The kind artists fail to paint.
Not that he had time to admire them.
She was dying.
The moment Carl stepped in, one of the guards flinched and raised a weapon. Reflex. Carl raised his hands instantly.
"It's me. Merc. Contracted in. You saw me back there."
Recognition clicked into the guard's eyes. He slowly lowered his weapon.
"You're… one of ours. The hired help."
The girl turned her gaze toward Carl, her posture eerily composed despite the blood loss.
She looked his age—maybe younger. Thin, graceful, hair like black silk trailing down her back. A delicate jawline, soft features… and eyes that could haunt anyone.
But Carl's focus dropped immediately to her abdomen.
Bright blood soaked through her kimono and pooled at her waist. Her breathing was getting ragged.
He looked up sharply at the guards. "She's bleeding out. Why isn't anyone helping her?!"
One of the guards twitched. "We… we're not allowed to touch the lady. If we lay hands on her body, our families… they'll be punished."
Carl stared at him like he'd just grown an extra head.
"You're serious?"
The guard swallowed. "If I fail, I die. If I break the rule… they die."
Carl wanted to scream. "Jesus, what is this, medieval Japan? You corpos really went all-in on feudal cosplay, huh?"
He'd heard the stories. He thought they were bullshit. Apparently not.
The girl spoke quietly, but clearly. "My great-grandfather's order. Don't blame them. They cannot disobey."
Her voice was low and musical, too serene for someone actively dying.
"I failed to dodge the bullet when exiting the car. I brought shame upon myself and the trial. But the test must continue. Even if I die."
She glanced up at him with those haunting eyes. "I apologize for the trouble I've caused… you and your comrades."
Carl's blood boiled.
This wasn't just another corpo test. This was a damn meat grinder. Dozens were dying for some executive sadist's test of character. She'd just accepted it like a footnote.
His friends could die out there. Jackie. Maine. Oliver. Even Brown.
And she was ready to die for a game.
Carl snapped.
"Get out of my way."
He shoved the security guards aside. They stumbled back without resisting.
Carl knelt beside her and pried her hand from the wound. "Target's coming with me. Anyone got Trauma Team coverage on her?"
The guards blinked. One finally whispered, "No…"
Carl narrowed his eyes. "Speak louder."
"No," the guard repeated. "She had membership. It was canceled at the start of the trial. To prove her bloodline was… worthy."
Of course it was. Some corpo logic so twisted it looped back into absurdity.
"What about the Konpeki Plaza? You got medics?"
"Yes. Outside. Female-only team. For… contingencies."
"Great. So gender-restricted care, too. You ever heard of LGBT?"
The guard blinked. "Is that a weapon?"
"Forget it," Carl growled. "Just cover the front. Keep the bastards off me. I'm getting her help."
Still no one moved to stop him. The girl was already cradled in his arms before anyone remembered how to blink.
Moments later, the guards finally lifted their guns again. Training kicked back in. But they still looked… lost.
Carl was halfway down the alley when the girl stirred again.
"You're saving me… is it just to finish the mission?"
Carl kept moving, fast. "No. I'm saving people. My crew. You. Even if you're a corpo brat. Even if I hate everything this test stands for."
He looked down at her.
"But those eyes? They're beautiful. So beautiful they bought you one percent of my sympathy. That's more than most get."
She laughed softly, colorless lips barely moving.
"I heard you in the car. You hated people like me. Why feel pity?"
"I told you. It's your eyes. Pretty things mess with your head. Make you hesitate. Can't explain it."
He stared ahead at the looming tower of Konpeki Plaza.
"One cherry blossom falls off a tree," he murmured. "And just happens to land in my hands."
He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight.
"That's all. I was just here."
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Side notes: The Arasaka Family Tree in this fic is kinda different. So just follow through and don't get yer head in a spin, ya?