Chapter 13 - First Job

Rozeree's screams filled the modder's clinic. Raw and unrestrained. Clawing at the white walls as if they could somehow tear through the agony. The clinic's sterile air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and antiseptic. Mingling with the harsh, synthetic glow of machines that buzzed and whirred above her. Strapped down to the surgical table, her bare skin marked with thick, dark lines for each incision, Rozeree lay helpless. Stripped down to her undergarments and trembling as every nerve screamed.

To her right, an array of tools lay ready, scalpels, clamps, and crystalline metics glinting under the harsh lights. All designed to tear her apart and piece her back together as something else entirely. The modder, Knuckles, his white coat marred with streaks of blood, shoved a steel bite bar between her teeth.

"Bite down and stay still!" he snarled, his hands already slick with her blood. 

Without hesitation, he continued, the scalpel slicing through her skin and carving across every inch of her body. Blood pooled, trickling down, staining the table as her skin peeled back. Exposing muscle, sinew, and then the bones beneath. Her vision blurring as he worked. 

Tearing. Cutting. Prying. He implanted cold metal and crystalline enhancements along her entire skeleton. Every bone—arms, legs, ribs, spine—was brutally fortified. Each implant fusing to her frame in a flash of searing heat. It felt as if her very bones were being reshaped from the inside out.

She gasped for air, her body convulsing against the restraints as he installed layer upon layer of metics. Drilling them into her joints, wiring enhancers into her tendons, sealing her spine in an armored cage. The pain was overwhelming. Her vision slipping in and out. But she fought to stay conscious. Forcing herself to stare at the cold ceiling. She recited her mantra over and over, the words becoming a drumbeat to drown out the agony: I will be the greatest. This is what it takes to be free, to be powerful.

Knuckles exposed her organs in glistening red and purple, replacing and reinforcing each one with metic counterparts. Her lungs, her heart, her very eyes were replaced with crystalline structures. With each piece, her humanity ebbed away, leaving only the brutal, unstoppable machine she would become. Endure. Endure. Endure. The thought pounded through her, matching the rhythm of Knuckles. 

Slice. Clamp. Seal. Slice. Clamp. Seal. Every piece of her body, every bone, every inch of muscle and flesh, had been transformed. She could feel it. The weight of the metics pressing down on her, the alien strength coursing through her like an infection.

When Knuckles finally stepped back, Rozeree lay reborn. Her skin slick with blood, her face wet with countless tears, her body screaming from every fiber. But beneath the raw, throbbing pain, she felt it.

A vicious power coiled like a beast inside her, ready to be unleashed. 

"I… I…did it…," she breathed, her voice raw and broken, thick with blood from where her teeth had bitten down. A cough rattled through her, flecks of red spraying from her lips as she struggled for air. Her gaze was still glued on the clinic's cold, unyielding ceiling. The stark tiles above seemed to sway, blurring as her vision wavered. For a brief, flickering moment, the sterile brightness softened, the relentless pain dulled, and her mind fell backward.

"How'd you get a metic foot?" Her voice had been small then, curious, as she traced a finger along the shining metal of her father's prosthetic. They had been sitting on the floor, just the two of them, in a rare moment of peace. Between them, a simple game of knucklebones lay scattered.

Koshu chuckled, low and warm, as he tossed a bone high into the air, snatching two up before it hit the ground. "I got hurt in the war," he explained, his voice soft. "It wasn't too bad at first, but infection set in and they had to amputate."

Rozeree nodded, her small face scrunched up in concentration as she tossed her own bone, watching it arc through the air. She picked up three pieces just before it hit the ground, her eyes lighting up with pride. Koshu laughed, ruffling her hair, his metal foot catching the dim light. 

From the kitchen, Silvas's voice rang out, teasing and full of warmth. "And just who carried your stubborn hide off the battlefield when that infection finally took hold?"

Koshu sighed, rolling his eyes with a groan that made Rozeree giggle. "That would have been your mother," he admitted, his voice softening as his gaze wandered. "You remind me so much of her…" But then— 

The blinding lights of the clinic assaulted Rozeree's senses as she regained consciousness, forced to squint and throw a trembling hand over her eyes. The stark, sterile environment felt suffocating.

In the corner, Knuckles sat hunched over a computer, a cigarette dangling precariously from the corner of his mouth. Realizing she stirred, he stopped typing and leveled his gaze at her, taking a long, scrutinizing drag before speaking.

"How ya feelin'?"

Rozeree winced as she tried to shift her weight on the surgical table. Every movement sent shockwaves of searing, throbbing pain through her ravaged body. "Not great..." she admitted, her voice raw and cracked, thick with the coppery tang of blood.

Knuckles nodded, as he continued to appraise her, quickly rising from his chair, moving closer to the surgical table. "The metics have bonded. You're gonna be one tough bitch to kill when it's all said and done." 

He then held up a small syringe-like device, the ethereal blue liquid within casting a mesmerizing glow. "Ever use one of these before?" Knuckles asked, his weathered features illuminated by the eerie luminescence. Rozeree shook her head weakly, her entire body trembling with each ragged breath. 

"It's called a bioinjector," his gaze never left Rozeree's face, as if still gauging her. "It'll nullify pain and amp your regenerative abilities, for a short time. Basically it'll be the difference in a life or death situation. Or in a case like now, get you up and moving if you need a kick."

With a quick thrust, he jabbed the needle point into her thigh and pressed a small button on the side. Immediately, Rozeree felt a jolt of electric energy surge through her veins. It was like a lightning bolt had been injected straight into her bloodstream, sending tingles racing across her skin and through her limbs.

Her senses heightened to an almost overwhelming degree - colors seemed brighter, sounds crisper, and the rhythmic beeping of the machines around her pounded in her ears like the beat of her own heart. A euphoric rush of power and clarity consumed her as if every cell in her body had been supercharged, brimming with limitless potential.

"Now that's only gonna last around an hour, so get going." He said taking another long drag from his cigarette before tossing her clothes over.

"So what did you choose?" Vilrux asked as they made their way back to his car. Long gone was the vicious vehicle they had gotten from the Ironsides. Instead, Vilrux's current ride was a sleek black marvel of engineering, all smooth curves and polished surfaces. The vehicle exuded an aura of pure luxury, from its pristine chrome accents to the soft purr of an engine that promised raw power beneath its refined exterior. It reminded her of Vilrux turned machine.

"Survivex like you. Some bone, muscle, and hearing enhancements..." Rozeree's fingers traced the fresh scars that mapped her body like tattoos. The raised lines still tender and pink against her skin. Each mark told the story of her metamorphosis, a permanent reminder of the brutal process she had endured. "Oh and Visionis. He said it would give me a targeting system in my eyes and make me a better shot."

As she spoke, her vision automatically adjusted, targeting crosshairs flickering at the edges of her sight. The world before her sharpened into crystalline focus, every detail razor-edged and precise. Through the windshield, neon signs miles down the road burned with perfect clarity. Her eyes picking out the ant-like flow of distant pedestrians on elevated walkways. Her vision sliced through the city's perpetual haze, rendering everything in perfect detail.

"Good choices, and do you have any money left?"

"Only a few hundred gild," she said shyly, the coins clinking softly against each other as she held out a small leather pouch. 

"That's alright, keep it," he said, pushing her hand away with a casual gesture. "More instinctive to get some jobs under your belt." The luxury vehicle glided through the citadel streets, its quiet hum a stark contrast to the bustling chaos outside. Through the tinted windows, her new Visionis enhancements automatically tracked and tagged passing vehicles, presenting her with an overwhelming array of data she couldn't fully process.

"There's a Seeker I want you to meet," Vilrux said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Maven. She operates out of a club called the Pulse. She's got connections throughout the whole district, perfect for someone just starting out."

In no time the Pulse towered over them, an imposing black monolith streaked with veins of neon that pulsed in hypnotic patterns. The entrance was packed with clubgoers, their augmented bodies gleaming under the street lights. Some with chrome-plated limbs, others with bioluminescent tattoos.

"Go inside, find Maven. She'll be in the private booths near the back." Was all he said. 

The bass hit her before she even reached the door, a heavy throb that seemed to sync with her heartbeat. Through the massive windows, she caught glimpses of holographic dancers floating above the crowd, their forms dissolving and reforming in time with the music. Green and blue light spilled onto the rain-slicked street, turning puddles into mirrors of liquid neon.

The moment Rozeree stepped through the doors of the Pulse, the bass slammed into her like a physical force. It wasn't just sound. It was a presence that invaded her bones and seized her lungs, making each breath feel like she was drinking in pure electricity. The club sprawled before her, a cavern of shifting shadows and piercing light that made her eyes water as they struggled to adjust.

On an elevated stage, a band thrashed against their instruments. The lead singer's voice, raw and primal, tore at the mic with lyrics about breaking chains and burning the world. The sound system transformed each word into a wall of pressure that seemed to push against her chest.

The press of bodies around her sent her pulse racing. Back home, a crowd meant maybe thirty people. Here hundreds of figures writhed and swayed in a drug-fueled dance. Their modified bodies caught the light in ways that made her dizzy. Some had skin that rippled with holographic patterns. Others bore crystalline implants that pulsed in time with the music.

Fighting down a surge of panic, Rozeree pushed her way toward the bar that jutted out from the wall. Behind it, bartenders moved with inhuman speed, their augmented arms blurring as they mixed drinks and passed glowing cocktails. Overseeing them was a mountain of a man, his chrome jaw catching the strobing lights. His appearance contrasted sharply with his carefully maintained mustache, which curled at the ends with an almost comical precision.

His eyes locked onto her and he immediately made his way to her. "New here, girly?" His voice rolled out smooth as aged whiskey. Rozeree felt heat rise to her cheeks and immediately cursed herself for it. She forced her spine straight, ignoring the protest of her newly reinforced vertebrae.

Vilrux's words echoed in her mind: Nothing makes you stand out more than staring like a tourist. She squared her shoulders, feeling a new confidence she wasn't quite sure she'd earned.

"I'm here for business," she said, proud that her voice didn't waver despite the sensory overload threatening to overwhelm her.

The chrome-jawed giant's laugh was barely audible over the music, his mustache bouncing with amusement. "So is everyone else." He leaned forward, massive hands braced against the bar. "What can I get you?"

"Information," she said, meeting the bartender's gaze with determination. "Where are the private booths?" He gave another barely audible laugh, pointing toward a corner of the club. Though through the dense crowd, Rozeree couldn't quite see where he was indicating.

"Watch yourself, little shadowcat. All these witnesses?" His chrome jaw caught a flash of light as he nodded toward the pulsing crowd. "Just means more people to step over your body if things go south." And with that he stepped away, immediately returning to barking orders at his workers.

Rozeree returned to pushing her way through the crowd, letting herself be swept along by the raw energy of the place. The band on stage led her attention, a mess of flashing gear and thrashing limbs, their music heavy and gritty. The lead singer, a wiry figure with a shaved head, was belting out lyrics that clawed through the air. She caught herself staring as she moved, her lips twitching at the wildness of it all. Back home, music was little more than background noise, an instrument to learn. Nothing like this fierce, relentless rhythm that seemed to shake the floor beneath her.

The crowd thinned as Rozeree approached the private booths, the thundering bass becoming slightly more bearable. Through gaps between dancing bodies, she caught glimpses of an elevated section. A series of curved alcoves carved into the wall, each draped in shadows despite the club's frenetic lights. The contrast was jarring– while the main floor churned with barely controlled chaos, the booths seemed to exist in their own pocket of calculated stillness.

As the last dancers parted before her, Rozeree found herself at the foot of a short staircase. The nearest booth commanded attention, larger than the others and flanked by two guards who might as well have been carved from steel. Their augmentations were all clean lines and matte black finishes that absorbed the strobing lights. Their presence alone created a bubble of empty space that even the most intoxicated clubgoers instinctively avoided.

But all thoughts of the guards vanished when she met the gaze of the woman lounging in the booth's center. Feline eyes with vertical pupils locked onto her. They seemed to pin her in place with predatory intensity. The woman was reclined with casual grace, one arm stretched along the booth's back while vicious claws tapped an idle rhythm against the polished wood.

The woman's features were striking, sharp cheekbones and a knowing smirk framed by a wild mane of blood-red hair that seemed to catch and hold every flash of light. Her skin was a deep emerald that somehow made her appear both beautiful and deadly, like some toxic jungle flower. With deliberate slowness, she lifted one clawed hand and blew a kiss in Rozeree's direction, then patted the empty space beside her in clear invitation.

Rozeree glanced around, certain the gesture must have been meant for someone else. But no one else was looking in the booth's direction. The sea of dancers continued their frenzied movements as if the predator in their midst didn't exist. When she turned back, those feline eyes were still fixed on her, glinting with something between amusement and hunger.

Rozeree forced herself to climb the steps to the predator's den, the guards moving with practiced efficiency. One relieved her of her pistol while the other's hands moved methodically across her body, checking for hidden weapons. Their touch was impersonal, professional, but it did nothing to ease the tension coiling in her stomach.

"Well well well." Her voice flowed like dark velvet, words caressing the air with a deliberate slowness that made Rozeree's skin prickle. Those predatory eyes tracked her every movement, lingering in ways that sent uncomfortable heat flooding to her cheeks. "I'm so happy to finally meet the lovely little lady Vilrux has been chauffeuring around town."

Fighting against her burning face, Rozeree settled into the plush seat beside her. She mimicked the woman's relaxed posture, draping her arm along the booth's back. The seat was butter-soft beneath her, but she couldn't shake the feeling she was sinking into quicksand.

The woman leaned closer, her presence overwhelming in the confined space. "But aren't you a bit far apart in age?" A musical giggle followed, sharp as razorblades. "Not that it's any of my business."

"I take it you're Maven then?" Rozeree tried to keep her voice steady, professional, anything to redirect away from the woman's insinuations. The bass from the club seemed to pound in time with her quickening pulse.

"The one and only." Maven's smile was all teeth. "So how did you two meet?"

"He's just introducing me to fixing." Rozeree kept her response clipped, fighting the urge to edge away from Maven's proximity. Her mind raced, What is wrong with this woman?!

"Alright." Maven's theatrical sigh was followed by her combat boots hitting the table with dull thuds. The contrast was jarring, her elegant, predatory features and sharp wit paired with an oversized hoodie that swallowed her frame and shorts that barely peeked out beneath it. The well-worn boots completed the puzzling image, scuffed and practical against the booth's polished surface."But I'll tell you one thing. You won't get anywhere around here playing hard to get." 

 Maven's voice dropped lower, intimate despite the pounding music. "So look, I've got a rat problem that needs an exterminator."

Maven's talon-like claws disappeared behind the booth for a moment before emerging with a thick manila envelope. She held it out to Rozeree, dangling it like bait before a trap. Inside, Rozeree found several high-quality photographs of a man. Short black hair matted with what looked like weeks of neglect, bright green eyes that held a haunted desperation, and a patchy beard that spoke of someone who'd abandoned all pretense of civilization. Another page had methodically typed details listing everything from his body weight to the specific shade of his eyes. A small map had been attached, a red circle drawn around what she assumed was his last known location.

"You up for the job?" Maven's question hung in the air between them. Something electric surged through Rozeree's veins, a cocktail of fear and excitement that made her fingers tingle. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out even the club's relentless bass. Yet outwardly, she did everything in her power to maintain her carefully constructed calm. This is it. This is where I start my legacy.

"The pay?" 

"Seven hundred gil."

"Then I'll take it." The words came out steady, hard.

Maven's hand extended across the space between them, her movements fluid and predatory. A smile curled across her face that belonged more to a demon than a woman. "And what do I call you, beautiful?"

"Mute."