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Bunkerkampf (Mortuus Orbis Part Two)	By : Sparrow & InBrightestDay Category: -Misc Video Games/RPGs > Crossovers Views: 1830 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the franchises, characters, or anything else from the settings in this collection. These include Street Fighter, Marvel, Sailor Moon, Kill La Kill, and others. I made no money from this work.

Chapter List
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Several hours later, Isabeau found herself on the surface.
Above the access door was a simple two story building. The inhabitants of the bunker had decided not to use it for much, as the noise and light from people inside the building would draw far too much attention, but it did serve other purposes. Its primary function at the moment was to serve as their lookout post, from which they could hopefully spot approaching threats or maybe signs of life the search and rescue teams could investigate.
Isabeau and Erzsebet were positioned on the upper floor of the building. Isabeau was actually somewhat glad of it, as sharing this job with Erzsebet was preferable to a tense shift with Chun-Li or a less lively, if more tolerable, one passed with Kyle or Spinneret.
“Well,” Erzsebet said, leaning forwards in the chair she had pulled up next to the window, “this is quite the view.” Isabeau smiled. The relatively low position they were in meant that they couldn’t see terribly far before larger buildings blocked their view, but they had a good view of the road the building looked out onto, in both directions. At present, not much was happening aside from the zombies wandering slowly up and down the street, their shadows growing ever longer. Daylight, or what passed for it here, was fading quickly, the dead city growing darker by the minute.
“It may not be much to look at,” Isabeau said, “but at least it’s a change of pace.” That actually prompted a laugh. Just a week ago, Erzsebet wouldn’t have been doing this sort of thing, instead remaining in medical, but with the number of people they had lost, the doctor had now been assigned to duties she would not normally have.
“I may find the inhabitants of this world fascinating,” Ezesbet said, “but this isn’t the way to truly experience them, looking out through the scope on this,” she raised the sniper rifle she was holding, its barrel sticking out of the open window, “rather than being able to peer into their inner workings.” She gestured with her hands, almost as if prying something apart.
“Well,” Isabeau said. “I’m… glad you enjoy your work.” That prompted a small laugh from both of them.
“Oh, it is most stimulating,” Erzsebet said. “What of your work? You seem to have become quite popular here.”
Isabeau sighed. “I don’t really know what I am supposed to be doing here. I’ve been all over the world, fought in so many wars, learned at the feet of some of the great masters, and none of it prepared me for this.” They were quiet for a while, until Erzsebet spoke up again.
“What does ‘kaasan’ mean?” she asked, and Isabeau frowned, thinking for a moment.
“‘Kaasan’ or ‘okaasan’ is Japanese,” she said. “It means ‘mother.’ Why do you ask?”
“I think I heard Makoto say it once,” the doctor said with a shrug. When Isabeau turned away and sighed, she placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sure she’s just wandered off into one of those tunnels somewhere. She’ll turn up eventually.”
“I do hope so,” Isabeau said. Not really wanting to talk about the missing girl anymore, she changed the subject to something more mundane.
“How is Satsuki faring?” she asked. Erzsebet chuckled a little.
“She’s doing well enough. The fever is quite unpleasant, but given the drugs I have her on, I don’t doubt she’ll come through it soon enough.”
“Good to hear.”
“We’ve had to keep that uniform of hers in storage, of course. She hasn’t seemed particularly keen on putting it back on.”
“Given what she told us concerning its true nature, I’d imagine not.”
“It is fascinating, though, is it not, an organism made of living fibers, woven into clothing?” Erzsebet looked away, grinning. “I’d love to get a sample of it for study, just a little piece. I tried, in fact.” Isabeau raised a brow.
“And how did that go?” she asked.
“I broke two pairs of scissors trying to cut it.” Isabeau couldn’t hold back a little smile of her own. “As far as I can see it's completely indestructible to anything I can get my hands on. I’m sure that black sword of hers could cut through it, but she never lets me anywhere near it. Never lets it out of her sight. She even sleeps with it, can you imagine?”
Isabeau shook her head. “I’ve known people with much stranger habits. People in positions like hers seem to collect them.” A small smile crossed her face. “Remind me to tell you about the time I met Grace o'Malley when I was a little girl.”
“Who?”
“She was… ah, I’ll tell you later. At any rate, it is good to know Miss Kiryuin is recovering…” She opened her mouth, and then shut it, ending the sentence there, and stood silent for a moment more, looking out into the mounting gloom.
“Is something bothering you?” Erzsebet asked. “Something about her?” Isabeau frowned.
“It’s simply that…” she hesitated for a moment. “When we needed to hunt and kill that creature, she took the lead most impressively, and there can be no denying her results. However, now it seems a number of the others assume she will remain in a leadership position, likely including Satsuki herself. Even I’ve fallen into the habit of talking to her as I would a superior officer.”
“Admittedly,” Erzsebet said, “she is rather young for the job.”
“She claims to have been preparing herself for such a role since childhood, but the fact remains that she is barely out of childhood. Beyond that, while some of her claims about her world are clearly true, given the uniform and the sword she carries, we ultimately have only her word on her capacity for leadership outside of battle.” Erzsebet nodded.
“Do you think there’s someone else better qualified? I somehow doubt you’re expecting Spinneret or Reese to take the role.” The doctor grinned. “Maybe April has what it takes.”
Both women laughed at that.
“There was a time,” Isabeau said, “when I was actually thinking of myself. I have taken orders, of course, but I have also been in charge on multiple missions with the Order. I have far more experience than Satsuki does with the wider responsibilities of leadership, and I have been on the battlefield longer than she has been alive.” She looked at Erzsebet. “None of this is to downplay Miss Kiryuin’s accomplishments, but at the end of it all, she is still a girl.”
“I can certainly see your point,” Erzsebet said, nodding, “but you said ‘there was a time’ when you were thinking of yourself. Did something happen to change your opinion?” Isabeau frowned, thinking for a while before answering.
“She knows people,” she said. “I’m not simply speaking of being acquainted with the other survivors; I know all of them in that manner as well. Rather, she seems to have an impressive ability to quickly take the measure of their abilities, and of their character as well.” Erzsebet chuckled softly, and Isabeau frowned.
“Did I say something amusing?” she asked, and Erzsebet shook her head.
“No,” the doctor said. “I was thinking of something from a while ago. There must be more to your reluctance to step into the role of commander than Satsuki’s ability to read people. What other qualifying ability does she have?” Isabeau looked away from her for a moment, staring off into the distance, but not truly watching anything.
“It’s not something she has,” the knight finally said, her voice quiet, “but something I lack.” She paused again, trying to find the words, before she finally met Erzsebet’s eyes again and continued.
“When I was… home, when I was with the Order, there was a kinship with others. I’m not only speaking of the bond with my brothers and sisters in arms, but of the simple commonality that comes from living in the same world. That isn’t something I share with the others here. For as different as they all are from one another, their worlds are all a century or more from mine. Miss O’Neill and the late Miss Moon… they spoke to one another of ‘movies’ at one point. Those seem to be something most of the others know about, but are beyond my experience. That’s the most cutting part of all of this.” She shook her head, sighing. “I may live and fight alongside all of these people, but I feel as if I will always be, well, apart from them.”
Looking back at Báthory, she managed a smile. “It has made me grateful for your friendship, if I may be so bold as to say so.”
“Yes, well,” Erzsebet said, “there’s a frightful lack of discipline in this group, and you certainly have that. My options for conversation are rather limited, but I suppose you will suffice.” The statement made both women chuckle, and Isabeau turned back to the window.
Returning her gaze to the outside world, she found herself looking out amongst the buildings they could see, watching the subtleties of movement in the deepening shadows, growing more and more accustomed to the slow shuffle of the walking corpses in the street.
It was what made the sudden flash of light, and the accompanying echoing gunshot, so striking.
Out there in the gathering darkness, one flash was followed by another, and then another, moving between the buildings. The flashes were gunshots, the sound left no doubt of that, but the source was too far away for her to get a good idea of exactly what was going on.
She peered forwards, on the verge of pushing open the window and leaning out.
“Can you see anything?” Isabeau asked Erzsebet, who was still sitting down.
Scooching forwards in her chair, Báthory lifted up the rifle and peered through the scope.
“Not much light,” she said, smoothing her hair back out of her face with her free hand. “I’m not sure if… ah.”
The shooter had abruptly run out onto the far end of the street, a young brunette with her hair in a bob, wearing a white tank top and green shorts, the outfit baring her toned midriff and legs, and molding closely to generous breasts. An attractive little thing, Báthory thought, noting the curious tattoo on the woman’s left breast, an empty heart-shape.
That outfit isn’t going to do you much good in the cold, dear, Báthory thought with a little smile, much less for protecting you from the locals.
The woman had panic written on her face, and was using the pump action shotgun in her hands to blast every zombie that got anywhere close to her, not that that was going to last.
“What do you see?” Isabeau asked, more urgently, reminding Báthory why she was watching this little show in the first place.
“Our new arrival is a young woman,” she replied. “She’s putting up an impressive fight at the moment, but given how rapidly she’s using her ammunition, she’ll be out soon, and the racket she’s making is just drawing more of the zombies to her.” She heard a creak as Isabeau stood up, leaning against the window and trying to see for herself.
“Could we reach her?”
Báthory scoffed quietly and shook her head.
“There’s no point,” she said. “She’ll be out of shells in a second, and…” The woman on the street took aim at the nearest zombie and blew its head apart, targeted another one, and nothing happened. Judging by the way she looked down at the shotgun and the heightened fear in her expression, Báthory’s prediction had just come true.
“There we are,” she said. “Her weapon is useless and she’s too far from us. We never could have reached her anyw-”
She looked up, only to find Isabeau had vanished. A breeze blew in from the open window across the room, and Báthory heard the clattering of boots on the fire escape, someone descending it at full speed.
For a moment she stared at the open window, blinking in uncomprehension.
Then Báthory dropped the rifle and threw the window in front of herself open, leaning out of it as Isabeau vaulted from the fire escape’s last landing onto the road, rolling to her feet.
“What are you doing!?” she screeched at the knight as Isabeau ran down the street towards the other woman. “You’ll lead them all back here!”
“Cover me!” Isabeau shouted back over her shoulder, before tucking her head down and breaking into a full sprint.
Still half-out of the window, Báthory stared out of her, seething and confused, before snatching the rifle back up.
She trained the scope on Isabeau, settling the crosshair over the back of her head as she weaved through abandoned cars toward the younger woman. Her finger hovered over the trigger, she doubted that any of the Britishwoman’s strange powers or skills would allow her to survive a .303 bullet to the brain.
Then she sighed.
“Mutter Gottes.”
Much as she wanted to eliminate even the slightest possibility that Isabeau’s foolishness would draw the zombies back to her, Isabeau seemed to like her, and that made her a useful asset. For now.
Taking her finger off the trigger, Báthory lifted the scope slightly until she saw the young woman again. The brunette was still fleeing, but her options for escape were narrowing by the moment.
She cracked one zombie over the head with the stock of her shotgun and ducked away from another two, but then was forced to change her course as a large group, perhaps a dozen or so, emerged from an alley ahead of her, homing in on the noise she had been making. Then she tried to run down what looked like a side street, only to discover the city’s deranged layout had turned it into an alcove instead. Báthory watched as she attempted to climb the wall, but was unable to find any purchase and just slid back down the sheer surface. Turning around, she found her exit from the alley cut off by the advancing zombies, and raised her shotgun like a club, her breasts heaving with adrenaline-fueled breath. When the walking corpses got close enough, she started swinging.
There was something… captivating about watching it, the struggle for survival. It was as if in moments like this Báthory could see past the veneer of civilization, witnessing humanity in its original state. One zombie fell, then another, but the group closed in. The shotgun was ripped from the woman’s hands, and rotting fingers grabbed hold of her top, the white fabric stretching and then ripping, one heavy breast bared to the cold air, and then to the touch of the undead as they dragged the woman to the ground, her screams audible even from this distance as they closed in over her.
No matter what grand pretensions people may have about human nobility, Báthory thought, in the end, that all falls away. When faced with death, they are all just frightened animals.
As Isabeau reached the entrance to the alley, she was confronted with two of the ghouls, a gaunt female whose sunken cheeks were missing a strip of flesh, allowing for some of its molars to be seen, and a tall male missing one of its arms, the other one mangled at the hand, bare bones protruding from where the tips of its fingers seemed to have been chewed off.
Isabeau took the female first, darting in under its outstretched arms to drive an elbow into its stomach, knocking it over. Before the frail creature could rise, Isabeau brought her boot down onto its neck, snapping it, and then evaded the grasping, bony fingers of the male’s sole remaining hand to move around to its other side, where the arm was missing. Unsheathing the shortsword from its scabbard on her back, she stepped in and drove the point of the blade through its right eye and into its brain, yanking it free as he collapsed to the street.
Entering the alley, she could see more than a dozen of the zombies clustered together at the far end, trying to shove each other aside to reach the fresh meat. From within the group, the young woman’s muffled cries of fear and pain could be heard.
Báthory was probably right. The woman was as good as dead. Isabeau couldn’t save her.
The 10mm was heavy in her hand, and she brought it up, bracing her gun hand over the one holding her sword, the world crawled to a stop. Each of the 10mm’s magazines held twelve bullets. She had emptied nearly the whole thing into the crowd by the time the Blacksight faded, and time resumed its normal speed. Each bullet found a head. As the remaining two or three peeled themselves away from the struggling flesh beneath them, she cut them down with her sword.
As the undead fell to the ground, now truly dead, the woman began feebly moving, crawling toward the end of the alley. Her clothes had been torn away, only a few scraps of fabric left, and her body was covered with grime and the fluids seeping from the ghouls’ rotting bodies. Globs of foul, greyish ejaculate oozed from between her legs, and more of it slid horribly from her partly open mouth. Tears ran down the woman’s cheeks.
“Be still,” Isabeau said, keeping her voice gentle. The woman flinched momentarily, as if she hadn’t realized Isabeau was there, and then choked back a sob as she curled in on herself, trying to cover her nakedness. As she did so, Isabeau saw the massive bite wound on her arm, the pale gleam of bone showing amidst the blood squirting from the chunk missing from her thigh, and the awful, ragged hole where her right nipple had been bitten off, blood and yellowish fat seeping out.
Isabeau wasn’t sure if the reproductive fluids of these monsters was infectious, but a bite was, beyond the shadow of a doubt.
“What… what’s going on?” The woman whimpered, looking around in a daze. “Where am I?”
“What’s your name?” Isabeau said, again speaking softly. She at least deserved to be calm. Sitting up, the nude, defiled woman shivered.
“A...Anne,” she said, and then looked down at her arm, at the bleeding wound where she had been bitten. Her lip quivered, and she covered her mouth, taking her hand away to look at Isabeau again. “Where am I? What’s going on?” She asked again.
Isabeau paused for a moment, swallowed, and then said “You’re having a bad dream. That’s all. In a minute you’ll wake up in your bed and laugh at how silly you feel.”
“O-oh…” Anne said, before chuckling weakly to herself, a greyish pallor already starting to spread across her tanned features. “Yeah, that makes sense…”
She squinted up at Isabeau through the eye that wasn’t glued shut by god-only-knew-what.
“Can I wake up now?”
“Of course,” Isabeau said soothingly, hoping Anne couldn’t hear the lump in her throat. “Come here,” she leant down, helping Anne sit up against the wall of the alleyway. The younger woman’s breathing was coming more slowly now, the blood pumping from her wounds slowing down.
“Shut your eyes and count to five,” Isabeau said once Anne was settled. “And when you get to five, you’ll wake up. Simple as that.”
“One…” Anne said out loud, as Isabeau stood up. “Two. Three. Four. Fiv-
The gunshot echoed in the confined space, loud enough that even Isabeau’s ears stung. Anne slid down the wall, leaving a wet smear on the brickwork behind her, and lay still. Smoke rose from the muzzle of Isabeau’s pistol for a moment, before she ejected the spent magazine and reloaded it, hands moving mechanically as she continued to stare at the empty space where Anne had sat. When she blinked, she saw for a split second the bullethole that had appeared in Anne’s forehead.
Isabeau took in a long, deep breath and released it slowly. Turning back, she was at the mouth of the alleyway when the radio strapped to her shoulder squawked.
“I trust that means you were unable to save her?” Báthory’s voice crackled out of the little box. “I told you so. Going out there just put us-”
Isabeau switched the small radio off without bothering to reply. Báthory had been right from the start, and for a moment Isabeau found she didn’t like the other woman at all, but then she quashed that thought. She was a doctor, of course, not a soldier. Of course she would’ve been afraid.
Of course she didn’t understand what she had asked Isabeau to do.
She began making her way back toward the bunker entrance, navigating through the odd few zombies still wandering in to investigate all the noise from earlier, killing them when she had to.
She hated this city.
****
Johnny wasn’t sure exactly when he’d started playing. It might have been halfway through the first bottle, or it might have been a little later.
It had been a hell of a day, to say the least, walking out of the club and into all of this, but he’d handled it. Being brought back to this shelter and meeting this group had been pretty strange too, but again, he’d handled it. In a way, it had actually been pretty exciting, different, but almost reminiscent of folks he’d hung out with back home.
Back home.
He felt silly for making the assumption now, but whatever the reason, he’d still assumed that, as messed up as things had gotten on the streets, he had still been in Night City. This was all a freaky little side-trip, and after it was over, he could track down the corpos who’d worked up those dogs and figure out what the hell they thought they were doing. Either someone was running a sick test, releasing their new weapons right onto the street, or Arasaka was still after him over the Industrial Park fiasco, and they’d gotten way more creative in how they were going to try killing him. Whatever the case, he could sort things out; make things right.
Except that wasn’t what was going on at all.
They’d all left the room eventually, but Johnny had stayed, just… thinking. Thinking about things he shouldn’t have done; about the shit he couldn’t change now.
About Alt.
That was not something he was prepared to put up with sober, and as there had been a large wooden crate with some half-decent booze inside, Johnny had helped himself, grabbing a bottle and taking a seat on another crate. He was definitely feeling the effects, at least partly, and at some point his hands had found their way to the guitar, and he’d begun to play.
The sound wasn’t great without an amp, lacking the power he was used to, but evidently it was quiet enough down here that the sound carried a-ways. Either that or the listener had very good hearing. Maybe both.
Whatever the reason was, at some point, Johnny was made aware he wasn’t alone.
“For just the guitar, that sounds pretty good.”
The voice made him stop, fingers going still on the strings for a moment. Looking to the doorway, he found Copperhead leaning against the closed door. All the doors in here were on some kind of timer, so she must have opened it without him noticing.
Shit. He might have been more out of it than he thought.
“Thanks,” he said, gesturing to the instrument. “Usually sounds better than this, but this place doesn’t exactly have a great setup for throwing out the sound we make.”
“That’s true. And you’re drunk,” Copperhead added, her full lips turning up at the corners ever so slightly.
“Nah. Not nearly drunk enough,” Johnny said, gradually standing back up to head for the crate of alcohol. Copperhead waved him off, leaving the doorway and moving over to the crate to fetch another bottle herself. Even this casual movement was fluid; lithe. That snake comparison was pretty appropriate.
“They say you should never do this alone,” she said with another little smile, pulling the bottle out of the crate. She made her way to Johnny’s position and took a seat next to him. “And we new arrivals gotta stick together.” Opening the bottle up, she put the end to her lips and tilted it back, grimacing slightly as the strong liquid hit her throat. She coughed slightly, and then took a moment to look at the label and see what she’d just drunk. Nodding approvingly, she handed the bottle over to Johnny.
“Want to play some more?” she asked. “You might not have an amp or anything, but it’s the first music I’ve heard since I got here, so I’m not about to be picky.” Johnny took a swallow, feeling the liquid fire pour down his throat, and then sighed.
“Well,” he said, managing a little smile of his own, “what do you want to hear? Band I was in, Samurai, our first album had all the hits: Chippin’ In, Out of the City, Dancing with My Axe…” Copperhead snorted a little at the last one.
“What about the one you were playing when I came in?” He knew she didn’t mean anything by it, but his smile disappeared.
“Oh, that one,” he said. “That’s Never Fade Away. Wasn’t exactly playin’ that one for fun.”
“Hm… so it’s off limits?” she asked. Copperhead leaned forward to a little, resting her elbows on her knees. This close, he could see the way her eyes caught the light, a hint of reflective glow coming from within. If those weren’t optical implants, it was one hell of a surgical job. It was pretty damn striking, the eye contact intense but pleasant.
He broke it anyway, exhaling and handing the bottle back to her.
“Didn’t say it was off limits,” he said, “but there’s some stuff… some memories that aren’t exactly pleasant.”
“Because you miss home?” she asked.
“No, I mean that not all the stuff back home is stuff I’d like to remember.” Copperhead nodded.
“Mm-hm,” she said. “I get that. You see the ink?” She leaned back and pulled open the lapels of her tiny jacket, only an inch of zip keeping it from completely baring her upper torso as she gestured at the intricate tattoos around her neck and upper chest. “Not that I don’t like how it looks, but that’s not what it was for originally. It’s ID; let’s people know what gang you’re with.” She took another drink. “I was practically born into it. When you’re growing up in Guate,” she began and then looked over at him and grinned. “Don’t tell me I just used a word you didn’t know.”
“No, I know,” Johnny said. “Guatemala City, right? That’s just what the locals call it.” She nodded in appreciation.
“Right. Well, when you’re born there and your family’s not exactly swimming in money, there are a few good ways to make that situation better… and most of those involve drugs: making them, moving them, or working for the people who do. Get in with the right crew, and you’re set. At least that’s the idea…”
“Not everything you’d imagined it to be?” Johnny asked. Copperhead chuckled.
“Oh, it was everything I imagined it would be,” she said, “but that’s not exactly a good thing. Decided to try and make something of myself, won a scholarship, went to a university in the states. That didn't exactly pan out, but I found out that there were a few places where a woman with my… skill set could find work.” She was quiet for a moment, and then looked back to him. “How’d you know about the local name for the city?”
“I’ve been there,” Johnny said.
“Playing with your band or something?”
“Not exactly. I was in the army and we invaded.” Copperhead blinked.
“You invaded Guatemala?”
“No. We invaded Honduras. I think Guatemala was one of the only places in Central America we didn’t invade. The fighting went south pretty hard, though, and my unit got pushed back into Guatemala. It didn’t make a big difference, since at that point the whole damn region was turning into enemy territory; I’m pretty sure the Central American Union was either forming at that point, or it already had. For people like me, the cybergrunts on the ground, it was all pretty much the same.” He looked over at Copperhead, and she passed him the bottle again.
“It was all bullshit anyway,” he said after another drink. “It was supposed to be about communism or drugs or something, and it’s not like that wasn’t happening, but it was really all because them in the Gang of Four wanted to hang onto Panama, the enemy fought a guerilla war from Honduras and Nicaragua and the war just fucking grew and…” He looked at her. “You don’t need a goddamn history lesson. Point is, a lot of us got chewed up for no good fucking reason. If we hadn’t had pieces of us replaced before we went in there, we needed new parts after, all because some piece of dirt meant a lot to someone thousands of miles away.” Johnny brought the Hand up, opening and closing it, listening to the servos whir. “The chrome’s new, like I said to the others, but I only needed the Hand after our Hummer got flipped and landed on my old one.”
They were both quiet for a while, the bottle getting passed back and forth between them.
“So, is that what the song was about?” Copperhead finally asked.
“Part of it,” Johnny said, holding the guitar again. “Not all of it, though.” Handing the bottle back to Copperhead, he picked up the guitar again and began to play.
"I saw in you what life was missing.
You lit a flame that consumed my hate.
I’m not one for reminiscing, but
I’d trade it all for your sweet embrace.
…
That one thing that changed it all
That one sin that caused the fall
A thing of beauty — I know
Will never fade away."
Before when he played it, it was usually at full power, screaming into the mike, Hand a blur on the strings. But now he did it quietly. Slower. Not even singing the whole song, just pieces of it, and a part of him wondered why. Maybe the alcohol had loosened him up enough that on some level, he wanted to talk about this stuff, enough so that he was spilling his guts to this woman, one who…
Johnny laughed a little.
“What?” Copperhead asked. Johnny shook his head.
“I was thinking for a minute that I shouldn’t be uploading to a Solo who kills people for money,” he said, “but then I remembered that I’ve fuckin’ worked with Solos. I even used to have one as my input, Rogue.”
“Your input?” Copperhead asked with a little smile. “I’m guessing that means your girl.” The smile disappeared. “Is that who the song is about?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m glad to know you associate with us outlaws,” she said, taking another drink. “The cops, the politicians, none of ‘em ever done shit for me, so why should I care about following their rules?”
“I hear you. Back home, everything’s run by the corpos. Folks with enough money own the city, the police, pretty much everything. You're not one of them and you want to get something done, the law is not your friend.”
“Johnny, if you had another bottle I would fucking toast you on that one.” Maybe he was just drunk enough, but Johnny held up the Hand, and Copperhead brought the bottle over and clinked it against the chrome fist, grinning all the while. “That works too,” she said, giggling a little. Copperhead leaned back, stretching, the motion thrusting her breasts up and showing off just how flexible her toned body was. When Johnny finally looked back up at her face he saw she’d been watching the whole time; might have even done that on purpose. Whatever the case, she wasn’t mad. The blonde assassin wore a mischievous little smile as she settled back into her former position, her own eyes unashamedly taking in all of Johnny. He swallowed.
“So,” she said, “since you’re ‘uploading’, who is the song about?”
“Alt,” he said, “my inp—...my girlfriend.” He sighed. “It was different with her than with Rogue. Rogue and I weren’t really any good for each other, but with Alt it was… it was real. Life doesn’t let anything like that last, though. One day a couple of goons come after us and they take Alt. Alt was a Netrunner, uh, like a programmer, a hacker. And it turns out Arasaka—big security corpo—they want Alt to make something for them, and she’s not exactly going to get to say no.” His gaze drifted down to the floor. “So I go out, find Rogue and we throw together a crew for a good old fashioned rescue mission.” He looked back at Copperhead, who just nodded, understanding.
“Didn’t work out, did it?” she asked. “For people like us, it never fucking does.”
“No,” Johnny said. “We plan the job out best we can, but things go bad, and… I don’t know if I was just too late, or if we made too much noise breaking into the Arasaka building, or if the explosives we set off… it could have been a million damn things, but by the time I get to the room where they’re keeping her, Alt is…”
“I get it,” she said. There was another brief silence.
“Nice of you to write a song for her, though,” Copperhead said at last. Johnny laughed bitterly.
“Yeah,” he said. “Couldn’t save her, but at least it’s a nice song. Doesn’t really make me feel better, but if I’m going to keep thinking about it, might as well vent this shit somehow.”
They drank for a while more, but after the bottle was empty Johnny found himself staring at it.
“Want me to get another one?” Copperhead asked. Johnny half-smiled, shaking his head a little.
“I was just thinking that getting so drunk I passed out in this room would be a pretty bad look. Funny thing is, that was probably what I was originally hoping would happen.” Copperhead chuckled.
“And that’s why you’re not supposed to do this alone,” she said.
“Yeah. I guess it’s just… it would have been nice not to think about home, about the people I can’t get back to.”
“Well, maybe you can’t get back for now, but for the moment, you got people here.” Johnny looked at her, and Copperhead shrugged. “One person, anyway.”
“Thanks,” Johnny said, and made to stand up, only to discover when he did that his legs felt like they were made of rubber. He had to grab the crate he’d been sitting on to keep from falling over.
Evidently he hadn’t had too much to drink, but he’d had enough.
Copperhead grabbed his other arm and helped him up.
“Come on, rockstar…”
“Rockerboy.”
Copperhead blinked.
“Okay, well, whatever you call it, let’s get you to a bed somewhere.”
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Bunkerkampf (Mortuus Orbis Part Two)