The night was dark, but the neon lights of the city were blazing bright as always. The smell of exhaust, smoke, and street food filled the air.

Rebecca wasn't paying attention to any of it though as she sprinted down the sidewalk, dodging and weaving through legs and bodies alike. She looked behind her and saw the very big man about forty feet back.

"Pendejo!" She shouted, looking back at the man as he thudded after her, "give it a rest, Choom!"

"I'm gonna snap you in half, you fuckin' midget bitch!" He yelled back, his voice deep and extremely angry.

Rebecca hadn't done anything wrong! She had only climbed him for a better vantage point. She thought he was a statue! The guy had to be at least seven feet tall.

"Gonna have to catch me first!" She cackled, and turned at a staircase. Up one flight, then the next, then the third. She tried several doors, all locked, before one opened. She went inside, slammed the door and locked it.

She immediately walked over to the couch and acted like she owned the place without even looking if anyone was home. She shouted, "Hey, any chooms in here got some liquor?"

She flopped heavily onto the couch and just breathed for a moment.

Rebecca was in bad shape, limping heavily down a random hallway. Her breathing came in labored rasps as she dragged a hand along the wall to steady herself, leaving a streak of blood against it.

She'd taken two rounds in the back of the leg, two in the center of her back, and one straight through her shoulder-that one had passed clean through without hitting anything vital, but it still hurt like a bitch. Honestly, the only reason she wasn't a corpse was the sonic dampening metamaterial pulling double-duty as her bra.

Adrenaline had carried her this far, but the rush was fading, replaced by the heavy drag of blood loss. She didn't have trauma coverage, so no evac. Routing to the nearest ripperdoc was a bust-too far, and she'd rather die than walk into a hospital with active warrants.

Reaching the first door she could find, she pounded weakly against the metal before leaning heavily against the frame.

When the door finally opened, she caught a brief flash of feet, the ground, and then... nothing.

Rebecca spun in a few circles on the barstool, snatched up her shot glass, and downed it before slamming it back onto the counter. "Another shot!"

She sat in The Maroon Sky, a joint on the "nicer" side of Night City that still smelled like cheap alcohol and desperation. The bartender poured, and she took the next shot just as fast, ordering another.

She was only here because one of her contacts had promised to "hook her up," swearing it would be worth it.

Scowling, she inspected the other patrons, wondering who it was and what they could possibly "hook her up" with. If this is some kind of trick to get me to go on a date, I'm going to find them and strangle them with their own intestines.

She grabbed her fresh shot, gulped it down, and waited to see who, or what, was going to show up.

Rebecca pounded on the door. About eight seconds later, it opened to reveal a man with more chrome than sense.

"Aywatchuwantchoom?" he rattled off rapidly, the faint whir of his irises audible as he visibly zoomed in on her face. "I didn't know they were sending garden gnomes to do business." He cackled.

Rebecca scowled slightly. "Listen up, pendejo. I'm just here for the package. Are you gonna fuckin' give it or not?"

The man grinned. "And a feisty little one too, huh, choom?" He turned his back to her. "Keep your panties on, I'm gettin' it." He approached a shelf and began rummaging around, the sound of circuits and metal shifting out of the way.

Rebecca's scowl deepened. Usually, she didn't mind short jokes, but something about this guy was grating on her nerves. She peeked past the doorframe. The apartment was an absolute sty.

"You know, choom, if you cleaned your apartment, maybe you'd be gettin' it too instead of having to use that fuckin' toy you got over there in the corner," she said with devastating nonchalance.

The rummaging stopped.

He whipped around, pointing a gun right in her face. "The fuck did you just say to me, you little midget bitch?"

Rebecca grinned. Oh... now this is fun.

She brought her hand up, pressing her palm flat against the barrel and spreading her small fingers wide.

"I said, fuck you-"

BAM. The cheap gun exploded backwards. The bullet impacted the non-Newtonian fluid in her palm, leaving the pressure nowhere to go but out and back. The man screamed as shrapnel shredded his hand and face, collapsing to the floor and clutching his head.

From deeper inside the apartment, several people shouted. Rebecca snatched the package he had dropped, stomped on his face with a loud crunch, and whipped around as the first bullet whizzed past her.

She exited the apartment to a chorus of yelling and gunfire, cackling wildly as she ran down the hallway. Doors opened along the way. She pulled out her own pistol from her thigh holster, shooting two people in the head the second they aimed at her.

She began to run in an S pattern to dodge the incoming fire, cackling like a maniac. She burst into the main gangway of the building, didn't even slow down, and leaped straight over the low barrier wall, falling twenty-plus feet to the ground.

She rolled and dialed her contact.

"Ay, choom! I got your package," she shouted as she kept running. "But things went a little sideways, and I'm being shot at." The gunfire had stopped, but she could still hear yelling.

She glanced behind her for just a moment-and didn't have time to correct as she looked forward and collided with someone.

Rebecca had been in the holding cell for six god damn hours. It was boring. And she was hungry. It smelled like desperation, vomit, and sweat. It made her nose itch. The cell was also crowded, it was stuffy.

She currently sat on a bench next to a hulking woman who hadn't said a single thing the entire time despite Rebecca's non-stop onslaught of word-vomit. Usually people got upset by now and tried to kill her, or walked away. She was mildly impressed and concerned for the woman's mental health.

"-so, like I was saying. All I did was kick the tire! I didn't hurt nothin'!" She gestured wildly, throwing her arms in the air. Several of the other holding cell people flinched at her volume level. The woman next to her said nothing.

"Officer Stalin, they should call him." She grumbled, uncaring, "bitched at me about my warrants and about being trash, and going on about life." She scoffed. "As if I give a shit."

She continued to talk, heedless if anyone was listening.

Rebecca was busy arguing with Thomas in the middle of their apartment. "Thomas, I told you, the job is good! The eddies are great! Why shouldn't I take it?"

Thomas shook his head. "¡Mierda, Rebecca, te lo dije, esta chamba me da mala espina!"

She scoffed, "¡Ay, te preocupas demasiado, llorón! Voy a estar bien. ¿O me muero? ¡Me vale madre!" Though she understood he was just worried about her, she wasn't a kid anymore. Besides... "I've saved your ass more times than I can count, Thomas," she said, a bit petulant.

But before Thomas could respond, the doorbell rang. She had ordered pizza.

The conversation instantly dropped from her mind as she bolted to the door in a heartbeat. Grinning wildly, she threw the door open, leveling her pistol right between the eyes of whoever was standing there.

"You better have my pizza, choom, or you're gonna need a ripperdoc."