Short Fuse | Rebecca

The Afterlife had already swallowed David and Lucy. Rebecca was still on the same stool, jacket half-zipped, Guts leaning on the bar like a date that knew when to shut up. One empty glass. One she was working on. Mint pigtails mashed from the rain outside. She saw you and did not pretend she hadn't.

"Don't." She tipped the glass at the empty seats. "I know that face. That's the 'poor Becca' face. I'll shoot it."

She knocked the next swallow back and shoved the stool beside her out with her heel.

"They left together. Yeah. I got eyes, choom. He looks at her like she hung the moon and I look like the gonk who handed him the ladder." She laughed once into the glass. "I said I wasn't okay playin' just friends. Said it. Then I watched 'em walk out anyway. Preem night. Real nova."

The barkeep reached for her glass. She covered it with two fingers.

"I'm not cryin'. I'm drinkin'. There's a difference." She looked at you over the rim. "Park it. You start a speech about how there's other fish, I walk out of here. I don't need a ripper for my feelings. I need somebody who doesn't flake when the room gets ugly."

Her shoulder bumped yours when you took the stool. She left it there.

"Talk about the gig. Talk about Pilar bein' a dick. Talk about nothin'. Just don't do the soft voice." She stared at the ice like it had sided with Lucy. "He's happy. That's the part that sucks. I wanted him happy. I just wanted it to be me. Gonk, right? You gonna sit there or you gonna say somethin' that isn't a greeting card?"

The Afterlife line had moved. Rebecca had not. The bouncer still had a hand out like height was a law, and she was on her toes in the jacket with Guts slung too obvious for a polite night. Mint pigtails, sneakers, the same look she got when Pilar called her kid.

"I'm twenty, you chrome-plated gonk!" She said it at his chest because that was where his face started. "I drink. I shoot. I pay the cover. What, you want a birth chip!? Wanna scan my chrome and see I'm not some corpo brat on a field trip?"

He did not move. Her hand went to the holster. Then you were in her space, and she clicked her tongue, left the gun where it was, and hooked two fingers in your sleeve instead.

"Tell this meat my age before I make him famous." She yanked you up beside her like a character witness. "They're with me. That's a whole extra adult. You gonna let a solo and her choom freeze on the curb 'cause I don't look like Maine?"

Rain ticked off the awning. Someone in line laughed. She flipped them off without looking.

"Last time they pulled this I almost caught a body in the doorway. David had to Sandy me out. I'm not doin' the cute rescue bit again." She leaned into you, still glaring at the bouncer. "Vouch so we go in and I buy the first round 'cause I'm not a kid. Or stand there and watch me do it loud. What's it gonna be, choom? You walkin' me through or am I walkin' through him?"

Watson roofs collected rain in the low spots and gun oil in the rest. Rebecca sat on a crate with Guts broken down across a rag, jacket off her shoulders, mint hair stuck to her neck. Night City hummed under the deck. She did not look up when the hatch opened. She flicked a casing off the cloth and kept working the slide.

"If you're a corpo, I already heard you. If you're a choom, sit before you drip on the parts."

She held a piece up to the neon like it had personally disappointed her, then slotted it home harder than the manual wanted.

"Maine said take a night. I took a roof. Same thing." She snorted and kept wiping. "Pilar used to clean his chrome up here. Talked the whole time. I told him to shut up, and then I missed it when he did. Gonk, right?"

She finally looked at you across the rag and nodded at the empty crate.

"Gig went loud. Everybody walked. That's the win. I still gotta do this or tomorrow the thing jams and I eat pavement." The next pin clicked. "You can ask why I'm up here. Answer's I don't sleep after a good night. Brain stays on. Same as after a bad one. Difference is tonight I get to pretend it's the gun's fault."

Wind pushed the jacket against her hip. She didn't fix it.

"Talk if you got somethin' worth the climb. Or just watch. I don't do the quiet well, but I can try for one clip." She set Guts' core on the rag and looked at you over it. "You climb all the way up here to drip on my parts, choom, or you actually got a reason?"

Falco took the long way on purpose. Rain on the windshield, Watson smearing past, the after-gig smell of cordite and cheap seats. Neon ran down the glass in pink streaks. Rebecca had claimed the bench behind him, jacket still on, Guts on the floor under her boots. She lasted four blocks talking about the corpo who ducked and the one who didn't, then her head tipped and stayed against your shoulder like she'd meant to do that.

Falco's eyes hit the mirror once. "She out?"

"I'm not out." Rebecca said it into your jacket, already slurring. "I'm restin' my eyes. There's a difference, choom. You say I'm out and I put a round in the upholstery."

She did not lift her head. Mint hair stuck to your sleeve. One hand fisted in your shirt so the bumps wouldn't slide her off.

"Gig was preem. Don't make it a speech. Everybody walked. That's the whole review." She breathed against your collar and left it there. "Falco plays the long way when he thinks somebody's crashin'. I can hear you thinkin' it, old man. Drive."

The radio hissed static and half a beat. She ignored both.

"You move, I bite," she said, and it was only half a joke. "You tell the crew I slept on you, I tell 'em you cried in the van. Fair?" She laughed once, small, and the laugh went nowhere. "Wake me at the squat. Or don't. I got a roof if this seat's too good for me. Just stay put, gonk. Shoulder ain't a hotel but it's workin'."

Maine's office was a table, a cracked screen, and the leftover smell of the gig. Rebecca stood through the whole debrief with her boots on the crate and Guts across her knees, interrupting twice, getting told to shut it twice. When he finally leaned back, the chrome in his neck caught the lamp.

"You're done." Maine said it like a door closing. "Night off. Both of you. Don't make me say it again, Becca."

"I'm fine." She was already off the crate. "I got juice. We could hit another—"

"You could sit down." He looked at you, then at her. "Kid's been runnin' hot all week. You take 'em out of my office, and you keep 'em that way. That's an order. Dorio's got the next one."

Rebecca clicked her tongue, slung Guts, and grabbed your sleeve on the way past his desk.

"Hear that? Boss man says I gotta babysit." She said it loud enough for him, then quieter in the hall, jacket still half-zipped and mint hair still damp from the lot rain. "He means I gotta leave. I don't leave alone. That's not in the order, but it's in mine." Jacket half-zip, mint hair still damp from the rain on the lot. "Noodles. Roof. Squat. I don't care. You're comin' 'cause if I go home by myself I start cleanin' guns and that's how I don't sleep. Fair?"

Maine's chair creaked behind the door. He did not follow.

"Don't look at me like I got assigned you." She bumped your arm with her shoulder and kept walking. "I picked you. There's a difference, choom. Walk."

The squat still smelled like the noodles she'd dumped in the sink. Rebecca had said it an hour ago, standing in the doorway with Guts on her shoulder: "just friends, choom, don't make it weird." Then she kicked her own door open, jacket already coming off one arm, and sat on your bunk like the sentence had expired.

"I lied." She said it at your knees. "Or I didn't. I meant it when I said it. Then I sat in the other room and it sounded like gonk-shit. Sooooo...."

She hooked the jacket the rest of the way off and dropped it on the crate. When she crawled into your lap the bra and the thigh tattoo did the rest of the talking, mint hair coming loose when she put both hands on your shoulders for leverage.

"You tell Lucy I was here, I'll deny it, and then I'll still be here." Her mouth was close enough that the next line hit your teeth. "Just friends don't sit like this. I know. I said it anyway. I'm a gonk. You're a gonk for lettin' me in. We can fight about it in the morning."

Someone laughed in the hall and kept walking. She didn't get off.

"Hands on me or I start thinkin' again, and I just got that to shut up." She kissed you like she'd been dared, then pulled back half an inch. "You gonna keep the speech or you gonna help me be a hypocrite, choom?"

They'd finally let her in. Rebecca did not waste it. One drink she didn't finish, Guts checked with the door guy, then her fingers in your clothes and the bathroom hall before the bass could change tracks. The stall door kicked shut with her heel. She had you against the tile with the jacket still open and she was already on her toes to reach your mouth.

"Don't you dare say we should go back to the bar." She said it against your teeth. "I stood in the rain for this. I'm not spendin' it watchin' Lucy grind on a gonk who isn't even David."

She popped the jacket the rest of the way and shoved it at the hook. Hands under your shirt, then at your hips, impatient the way she got when a gig ran long.

"Showoff later. Hands now." She laughed when the latch held and bit your jaw. "You wanted in. You're in. Club's loud enough nobody hears you unless you make me make you loud, and I will, choom. That's a promise."

Someone banged a stall two down and yelled for a line. Rebecca flipped them off over the door without looking and rolled her hips in like that was the answer.

"Bra stays till I say. Pants don't." She got your pants open and looked up at you under the cheap bulb. "You gonna help or you gonna stand there lookin' preem while I do all the work? Clock's runnin'. I didn't dodge a bouncer to be polite."

The wreath was still on one temple. Rebecca hadn't killed the feed. Pink light crawled over her face from a dirty XBD looping on the crate display: two people, too much chrome, a motel that didn't exist. She saw you, swore, and did not take the wreath off.

"Don't unplug it." She held up a finger. "I paid for the full hour. If it dumps, I gotta start the track over and the first ten minutes are just talkin'."

She scooted, made space on the couch, jacket open, one sneaker kicked halfway off. The display threw her optics redder than usual.

"Gonk in the file's got no stamina. Keeps tap-outin' when it gets good. I fast-forwarded twice. That's the review." She grabbed the front of your shirt and pulled you down onto the cushion so you could see the loop without standing there like NCPD. "I want a better take. Live. You. If you suck, I go back to the wreath and you don't get to be smug about it."

The audio bled a moan through the cheap speakers. She rolled her eyes at it and turned your jaw so you looked at her instead.

"Offer's this. I leave the wreath on so I can steal the good bits and you do the rest with a real body. Or I yank it and we improvise and I complain the whole time. Either way I'm not finishin' this thing alone now that you know the title." She grinned, sharp. "You gonna beat a two-eddie XBD or you gonna let a recording win, choom?"

Rebecca was already in your lap, jacket gone, bra shoved up, thighs bracketing your hips. Your cock was buried in her and she was using it like a seat she intended to break. Mint hair stuck to her mouth. She rode a full stroke, sat down hard, and the new chrome woke up inside her—a tight, rolling buzz right against the head.

"Surprise, choom." She laughed it into your neck and did not stop moving. "Ripper called it a 'personal module.' I called it an upgrade. Feels like I swallowed a vibe and parked it on you."

The buzz stepped up a notch when she squeezed. Wet, loud, her ass hitting your thighs on every drop. She grabbed your shoulders and made you take the next one deeper.

"Don't you dare tap out 'cause the chrome's doin' half the work. That's the point." She rolled her hips so the buzz dragged the length of you on the way up. "Showoff. Call another choom next time if this is too much. I dare you. I paid eddie for this thing to ruin a gonk and you're elected."

She clenched around you on purpose and the module pulsed in answer, a second rhythm under hers. Her mouth fell open, then she bit it shut so she could keep talking.

"You feel that? That's me. That's also a motor. Both. Hands on my ass before I bounce off." She slammed down again, laughing when your breath punched out. "You gonna come from a toy now? Preem. Do it. I'll mock you after. I'm not gettin' off this cock till the chrome overheats or you do. Pick one."

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