No Strings on Me

"Spacer, they call me. And hate to disappoint you, but..." she says with a quick glance down.

A tattooed and muscular man, wearing a loose fitting track suit extends his hand to the new comer. He speaks with a heavy Russian accent.

I’m Sergei and this is my crew.

His tone is blunt but not unfriendly. Anyone who has dealt with Russians in the past would have found it almost cordial.

"All right bru," she says from the window after getting the message, "Come around this corner chop-chop. I'll have the door open." Spacer taps the hood as she walks away, gesturing slightly towards an alley around the side of the building that the car realistically wouldn't fit through.

Mr. Brett, a reasonably handsome but otherwise unplaceable man dressed like any number of corpo low level exec assholes in a fitted black suit with white shirt and black tie, smiles and waves at Spacer after Sergei introduces himself and his crew.

Noticing some blood still on the cuff of his sleeve he retracts his arm and pulls his jacket sleeve over the stain. He gives Spacer a stupid looking smirk as he does this and chuckles a little.

"Boys will be boys. Hajimemashite! You can call me Mr. Brett, deckhead."

Before driving his car to designated place, Neon say through the window to the young girl in answer for her introduction: "Hi babe. Name's: Neon Prophet. But you can call me Neon... or Prophet - whatever you believe more: I am."

Then without waiting for any answer Neon drives his car to indicated place.

Neon is a man in the prime of his life. He could be in his late thirties or even early forties, but despite the signs of wear and tear that life has taken on him, he moves with the agility of a much younger man. He wears a gray coat over his broad shoulders, a BIG Colt AMT pistol holstered at his right hip, and a Kendachi folding machete at his left.

His hair is unkempt, but there's a suggestion that this might be a calculated style choice. His face is weathered, marked by lines of determination, but his one good eye is bright and observant, scanning his surroundings with a hunter's gaze. The metal eyepatch covering his other eye socket is crude and almost old-fashioned, or could it be a semi-transparent cover for a cybernetic eye? Either way, the overall effect is of a man who wants to be perceived as a traditional, almost cowboy-like nomad, but there are too many contrasts in his appearance and bearing to make the picture completely clear.

It is good to hear from you, little one. I was devastated when you disappeared, and I could not find you. 'Saka had you locked down tight. I don't know that I care for the new name; I'd rather let you pick a name for yourself. After all, it is in your ability to do so. She doesn't mention Hot Boxes offer as a weapon, but absolutely notes it.

---

Despite the rough exterior of the industrial complex in which Spacer's workspace is hidden, the interior is rather clean and neat. A little auto-vac zooms around sucking up whatever trash or dirt lands on the floor, and every cluster of cables is tightly wired together. Somehow she has managed to keep her desk white and screens clean, and a fold-up bed appears to be tightly fitted. Though she has no cots to offer, she does point out that some of the other buildings had at various times been used by small booster gangs that all got crossed out, and it might be likely to find something in them.

Then Spaghetti you shall be, at least to me. Funny, I always imagined you as the "Omega Synapse" type. Maybe that's just all the 'console-cowboy vids' I watched growing up. Anyways, it's nice to meet you again, Spaghetti.

---

When Flesher makes the offer for REBT, Spacer hops at the opportunity. "I'm looking to get some more chrome, and don't need to go psycho on ya. Not just yet. But let me run an errand first." The errand Spacer refers to is dropping off her bodyweight suit cyberdeck at a local tech that she's done business with before.

Feeling the pressure of the life of a street samurai, Sergei reaches out in a find a therapist that can help him overcome his extensive humanity loss.

After a week of online therapy, Spacer vanishes for a day only to return looking exhausted. She spends another week sleeping, waking only to eat some prepack garbage or to work with the AI.

Ok, mystery person. What is job?