Genos Harker
The Glen, Heywood, Night City
Jackie Welles was a loud character. I don't know how to describe it without sounding like a complete stan, but the best word I could probably use was likeable. Charismatic, maybe? There was just something about him that was difficult to put into words, but I'm sure most people have experienced it at some point, one way or another.
That kind of person who seemed to make everyone want to like them once they actually got to know them. Somebody who could be loud, a little ridiculous, maybe even a pain in the ass sometimes, but somehow still managed to make you enjoy having them around.
[TRANSMISSION OVERRIDE: MANUAL CONTROL ENGAGED.]
[ALL-WHEEL DRIVE STABILITY: ACTIVE.]
Jackie burst into a roaring laugh as he slammed his heavy boot down on the accelerator, dropping the clutch like he'd driven the car a hundred times before. The high-tread off-road tires bit into the rain-slicked asphalt with a fierce, metallic screech, throwing the five-hundred-horsepower machine forward into the late afternoon gloom.
"Man, this really is a hell of a ride!" Jackie shouted over the sudden whine of the custom turbochargers. He gripped the steering wheel, his gold jewelry catching the flashing crimson neon of a passing store. "I can see why you'd be anxious to get it back in working order, hermano. Rides like this don't come easy in the city."
"I think it's more about who you know," I replied, my voice maintaining its flat, level mechanical pitch even as the inertia of the acceleration pressed my chassis into the passenger seat padding. "It's not like I bought the thing. Like I mentioned earlier, a bunch of Raffen Shiv were holding someone up out past the city limits. I stopped them and took the car for good measure. Then I headed toward a fixer I know out near the Badlands. She runs a garage, so she was more than happy to scrub it clean for me, for a price."
Jackie shifted gears smoothly, navigating a tight corner by the highway overpass with surprising finesse. "Raffen Shiv? That some sorta nomad gang?"
"Exiles," I said, my gold optics panning across the city projected through the crystaldome. "Even among the nomad nations. They're the scum who got kicked out or fled from their clans for doing them wrong. The worst of the worst. Rapists, murderers, thieves and worse."
Jackie flicked his eyes toward me for a split second, adjusting himself against the headrest. "What's worse than that?"
"To nomads? Traitors," I said deadpan. "They spend their whole lives traveling from place to place, so nothing to them is ever permanent, not even the wheels they love so much. The only thing they actually rely on is the clan. Family. You rat that out, then you're lower than the irradiated dirt under their tires. If you ever meet a nomad who's a verified traitor to their family, just know the only reason they aren't currently buried in a shallow grave out in the desert is because their original clan is already dead. They don't take shit like that lying down."
"Oh shit, yeah. I can get that," Jackie muttered, his expression shifting into something more somber as his grip tightened on the steering wheel and the Shion rumbled beneath the shadow of the highway structure. "Familia is an ironclad bond down here in Heywood too, you know? It's the exact same rule for the Valentinos. You mess with someone's blood, you cross the neighborhood elders, and you aren't a human being anymore, you're a target. I guess that's true wherever you go... doesn't matter if you run on sand or asphalt." He let out a low hum before glancing toward me again. "Raffen, huh? I'll remember that. To us city folk, usually a nomad's just a nomad. Didn't even know there was so much politics to 'em. How do you know so much about 'em anyway, Genos? You used to run with a clan when you left?"
"Nothing like that," I said, looking out at traffic. "I was usually on my own, that didn't change much, no matter the location, but I guess I just admire them, you know? That way of life. Raging against the machine in your own way. Seeing the world for what it is and deciding to let it tear itself apart, then swooping in to take your pound of flesh whenever you can."
"Ahh, I'm starting to get you, I think," Jackie said, shifting gears as the Shion growled beneath us.
"Yeah? What'd you figure out?" I asked, turning toward him.
"The Samurai song on the radio, the jacket, the way you were just talking right now," Jackie said, flashing me a crooked grin. "You think the world is fucked and you wanna tear it all down, huh? Stick it to the corpo cunts?"
I laughed at that for a moment, the sound coming out a bit dry. "Well, you're half right. I do think the world is fucked, just not so much on the tear-it-down part. Fact of the matter is, shit's too far gone. We've given them too much power, too much time to dig their roots in and build the entire world to rely on them. It's not even like we can just blame capitalism for it. It's not like the Soviets are any better, hell, from the logs I've been reading, it might be even worse. It's just human nature to take and step on whoever is in the way, just like it's human nature to let them take and step on you if it means another day of living. The way I see it, the best you can do is either wipe your hands of it or carve up a piece of it for you and yours, like that Dicktator in Pacifica."
"...Damn, choom. That's a shitty way of looking at everything," Jackie said, navigating a wide sweep onto the highway ramp, "but you aren't all wrong. Especially about cutting yourself a piece of the pie. It's a big city, and an even bigger world, and ol' Jackie wants himself a slice."
I chuckled at that. "And how are you gonna cut it? Edgerunning?"
"Hell yeah! What else is a kid from the streets gonna do to get to the table? Sell out to Militech? Arasaka? Die fighting their wars while some fucker in Zurich or Tokyo or wherever the fuck can make another billion eddies while getting his dick sucked by a hundred-thousand-enny joytoy? No, hombre. I'm gonna get there the same way the legends did. Weyland 'Boa' Senior, Santiago Aldecaldo, Rache Bartmoss... shit, even Johnny Silverhand."
"Not to rain on your parade or nothin'," I said, my gold optics fixing on him deadpan, "but you do realize most of those guys have one thing in common, right?"
Jackie glanced over, a confident grin still on his face. "Yeah? What's that, choom? Creative vision? Ironclad cojones so hefty they gotta squat to walk?"
"They're all fucking dead, Jackie," I said, my deadpan sterile enough to cut straight through the cabin's engine growl. "Silverhand is dead, Bartmoss is dead, and the rest are either dead or long gone into legend. In this town, you don't become a legend by surviving. You become a legend by checking out in a spectacular enough fuck-up that people drink to your ghost."
Jackie went quiet for a second, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel as he pushed the Shion through the lower highway lanes. The grin slipped into something a bit tighter, a bit more stubborn, but it was still there.
"Yeah, well," Jackie muttered, his eyes locked on the road ahead as headlights washed across his face. "Then they better make sure my drinks got a splash of real tequila, hermano. Look, you only die once, right? But giving up on a dream, backing away from the table without ever taking your shot... a regret like that is a thousand deaths. Every day you'd look at the towers downtown knowing you let the city scare you into staying small, a little piece of you would rot away. I'd rather go out fighting for that dream at thirty than spend eighty years suffocating on the street scraps they throw out."
I let the engine drone fill the silence of the cabin for a moment, processing his words. Nihilism and Night City seemed to go hand in hand. When the system is entirely rigged against you from birth, when the megacorporations control the very air you breathe and the concrete beneath your boots, the average street kid has two choices: accept the slow, suffocating decay of poverty, or burn bright enough to force the world to look at you, even if it's only for a split second before the flame eats you alive.
"I think I got you figured out too," I said, turning my gold eyes back toward his profile.
Jackie cracked a smirk, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror as he handled a smooth lane change. "Oh yeah? What you got, choom?"
"You're a dreamer," I stated flatly. "And for better or worse, you're also stubborn enough to try and see 'em through. In a city where most people are just trying to survive the next ten minutes, that's either the bravest thing I've heard or the stupidest."
He let out a loud, booming laugh at that, slapping his palm against the steering wheel as he swerved slightly onto the exit ramp. "Anyone who knows me could've told you that, hombre! Now look lively, eh? Rico's shop is just round the bend."
Rico's Autobody shop was more put together than I expected. Not that I knew what I was expecting, but a shop that was going to repair a car that had just been through a shootout would have to be well-equipped. Tucked under the heavy concrete of the highway overpass, the garage was a cavernous space lit by industrial lamps that cast long shadows over diagnostic rigs, overhead hydraulic lifts, and rows of pristine, tool-laden workbenches.
Rico himself was a stocky dude. He wasn't quite as big as his cousin, but the frame was definitely there. He had grease-stained forearms thick as tree trunks, bright yellow-dyed hair, and a face that looked like it had survived its fair share of street brawls. He wore a heavy rubber mechanic's apron over a grease-burned jumpsuit, and from what I'd seen of him so far, he was a straight-to-business sort of person.
He finished checking the condition of the engine bay, slamming the Shion's heavy, reinforced hood shut with a solid, echoing metallic thud. He wiped his hands on a shop rag and tossed it over his shoulder, his eyes evaluating the scarred quarter panels.
"Yeah, the damage is mostly superficial," Rico muttered, his deep voice carrying a raspy but light edge. "Solid set of wheels you've got there. Only thing that'll take up any real time is beating that front fender back into shape and fixing up the scuff marks, but it should be easy enough, especially since your car's got actual paint and not that CrystalCoat bullshit."
"What's wrong with CrystalCoat?" Jackie asked, leaning against a nearby hydraulic lift pillar with a genuinely curious look.
"That bullshit?" Rico scoffed as he dug into his back pocket for a cigarette, brought it to his lips, and lit it. "You know how much one of those digital colour-shifting panels costs to source legally? Don't even get me started on how much of a bitch it is to rewire 'em if some street gonk clips it with a kinetic round and scrambles the software. One stray bullet and your high-end luxury paint job starts throwing error codes and flashing neon pink like a broken vending machine."
He blew out a cloud of smoke and stepped up to the front driver-side wheel well, tapping the crumpled reinforcement bars with a heavy steel wrench.
"Anyways, back to what I was saying. Most of your problem comes from the left fender. It's a custom fab, heavy-duty gauge steel, built to survive the desert. But if I call my boys in on the night shift, we could bang it back into perfect shape and match the matte black in about two days."
"That sounds like it might come with a hefty price tag," I said, my gold optics tracking the calculated way he was sizing up the vehicle. "How much is it going to cost me?"
Rico didn't answer immediately. He looked at Jackie, who smiled, cracked a familiar wide toothed grin, and gave him a deliberate nod as he chuckled. "Don't rake him over the coals, primo. He's a choom, yeah?"
Rico grunted, running a calloused thumb over the jagged edge of a kinetic bullet gouge on the door panel. "Alright... let's call it a favour then?"
"A favour?" I asked, my voice flattening out with immediate suspicion. In Night City, a favour was usually a lot more expensive than eddies.
"Yeah, you're a solid-looking dude," Rico said, his eyes flicking down toward the heavy sleeves of my edgerunner jacket and the parts of my neck he could see, likely estimating what types of chrome could be hidden underneath. "And if your car is any clue, you can survive a shootout and keep your head straight. You're a merc, right?"
"You trying to hire me for a job?" I asked him.
"Nah, nothing like that. Not today, anyway," Rico said, tossing the steel wrench onto a tool cart with a sharp metallic clatter. "Just saying, in a neighbourhood like this, you never know when you might need a serious merc to balance the scales. Think of it like me holding onto it for a rainy day. You get a clean, matte-black ride back, and I get a number I can dial when shit hits the fan."
Jackie chimed in, crossing his arms over his chest with a theatrical pout. "What, I'm not good enough for ya?"
"Don't even start," Rico snapped back, giving his cousin a completely unimpressed look. "You think I'm not keeping score on all the favours I've done for ya over the years? You're the first person I'm calling, you gonk. This is just extra hustle."
I listened to them bicker. It was refreshing, honestly. It was one of the things I felt had been missing since I got here, not having to watch whatever I said around someone. This just felt like family looking out for family and throwing an outsider a bone because a trusted friend vouched for him.
"Alright, yeah. Seems benign enough," I said when they stopped bickering with each other, offering a small shrug. "As long as you don't ask me to zero a cheating ex or something, yeah, you got yourself a deal."
I reached out, and Rico gripped my hand in a firm handshake. His grip was solid, but my sensors adjusted instantly, keeping me from accidentally crushing his fingers with my pneumatic joints. Jackie suddenly stood up straight and clapped his hands together.
"Alright! Glad that all worked out! Genos! Come on, choom, the night's still young, huh? Let's hit a club, I got shit to celebrate! Rico, let me borrow a set of wheels, yeah?"
Rico sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked over to a key rack mounted near the terminal. "Yeah, can't have you walking out of here, can I? Got a set of wheels out back, but I'mma need it back in one piece, Jack! None of that bullshit from last time."
"Come on, primo, that wasn't on me," Jackie said, throwing his hands up defensively with a booming laugh. "How was I supposed to know those Maelstrom gonks would try and jack it? I got it back, didn't I?"
"Yeah, with synthetic blood all over the seats," Rico countered, shooting him a flat, deeply unamused look as he unhooked a plain key ring. "That shit stains, vato."
"Chill, we'll keep an eye on it, huh," Jackie grinned, nudging my shoulder with his elbow.
"No, you ain't driving my beauty, vato. You're a magnet for trouble. I'll lend you the courtesy car, it's parked out back," Rico grunted, tossing the keys.
"Ha! Yeah! C'mon, Genos, night's not getting any younger!" Jackie caught them out of the air, already turning toward the side exit with an energetic bounce in his step that made it look like the fight with Camilla hadn't even happened.
"Thanks, Rico," I said.
"Yeah, just take care of the wheels, yeah?"
I followed Jackie out into the alleyway behind the shop, the cool, damp air hitting my face as the low hum of the overpass traffic rumbled above us.
Sitting under a flickering floodlight next to a pristine, high-gloss Herrera Riptide was a completely ordinary, dark-grey Thorton Galena. It wasn't a junker or anything, but it definitely didn't have the heavy-duty Nomad armour or the raw, five-hundred-horsepower bite of my Shion. It was just a clean, practical city hatchback, the perfect kind of car for blending straight into the Night City grid.
"You wanna drive?" he asked me.
"Nah, I don't know where we're going. Better you take the wheel."
"Alright, Genos, shotgun's yours," Jackie said, popping the locks.
We climbed in, and the car immediately dropped an inch or two on its springs as our combined weight settled into the cabin. Between Jackie's broad frame and my heavy, full-conversion chassis, the interior felt tight enough to make a claustrophobic pass out. I had to manually adjust my posture, pulling my knees up slightly so my leg plates wouldn't jam against the glovebox dashboard. But the seats were comfortable, and the engine purred to life with a quiet, reliable hum the second Jackie turned the ignition.
He pulled the shifter into gear and rolled us out of the alley, the Galena's tires humming softly against the street as we headed into the city.
"Your cousin's cool."
"Cool?" Jackie answered, casting a brief, puzzled glance over at me.
Shit. I mentally kicked myself. My twentieth-century vocabulary kept slipping out. "Nova, I mean. You get along. Most extended families aren't like that."
"Yeah, Rico's rock steady," Jackie said with a smile, his posture relaxing as he leaned one elbow against the door frame. "He'll give you shit about it, but he always comes through. That's family, you know? You don't walk away from it. Though he must think you're serious hustle if he agreed to do it for a favour. I thought he'd just cut you a deal."
"You won't see me complain about having a mechanic in the city on call. Dakota -- my Badlands fixer -- is good, but I get the feeling I'd have to fight tooth and fist not to pay eddies out the nose for her work. Anyways, where are we headed? It doesn't seem like we're heading back to Heywood."
"It's not like I can get wasted in my mom's place," Jackie said with a booming laugh as he steered us toward the highway ramp leading north. "You set down in Watson, right? Let's hit up Lizzie's Bar! Though we should probably get a bite to eat first. You know a place?"
"Two, actually, but the street vendor is probably closed by now. You know Tom's Diner? Right near Megabuilding H10?"
"Nah, choom, never had much reason to wander around those parts," Jackie said, flicking his indicators as we merged onto the fast lane. "Send me the location details, yeah?"
"On the way, just let it through," I said, settling back into the passenger seat while the Galena merged cleanly into the stream of traffic. I flicked my eyes toward the edge of my vision and sent the request through the newly installed neural interface. 'MK, send him the location for Tom's Diner.'
A brief pulse of data moved through the virtual layer as MK pulled the address from the local map database, packaged it into a standard location packet, and transmitted it through the Galena's onboard wireless system.
[LOCATION DATA COMPILED.]
[DESTINATION: TOM'S DINER.]
[ADDRESS CONFIRMED.]
[NAVIGATION DATA TRANSMITTED TO: JACKIE WELLES.]
Jackie's eyes lit up as he accepted the incoming packet, although he kept his attention on the road, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel.
"Got it," he said with a grin, tapping the contact prompt with his thumb. "Nice. I'll save this place while I'm at it. Never know when a good diner is gonna come in handy."
Another notification appeared in my vision as the system registered his request.
[CONTACT INFORMATION SHARED.]
[NEW CONTACT CREATED: JACKIE WELLES.]
[LOCATION SAVED TO USER CONTACT PROFILE.]
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Jackie Welles
Tom's Diner, Little China, Watson, Night City
Genos Harker was a bit of a weird choom. Not in a bad way, nah, just something about the guy didn't fit neatly into the little boxes most people you meet in this city fall into. He had this way of looking at you -- well, not looking exactly, since those gold optics didn't blink or give away a damn thing -- but you could still feel him watching, sizing you up like he was running the numbers in his head.
Before he pulled that collar down back at the bar, he gave off this vibe that was real hard to put into words. It was like standing next to a loaded gun without the safety on, just this heavy, quiet feeling that put the hairs up on your arms. Then he showed me his chrome, and suddenly the whole picture made a hell of a lot more sense. The guy was packed with some serious, cyberware.
Still, I've always been pretty good at reading people. You survive on the streets of Night City long enough, you learn to get a feel for somebody before they even open their mouth. And underneath all that heavy metal, I could tell Genos was good people. A little gloomy, sure, like life had personally kicked him in the teeth a few too many times, but he was straight with me. He didn't pull some corpo bullshit, or put on a fake street tough act, he wasn't the type to try too hard to look dangerous, I had a pretty strong feeling me and the little guy were going to get along just fine.
"This is a good spot," I said, looking around the booth before taking a huge bite out of my burger. "I'm kinda pissed I've never heard about this place before, actually. You wouldn't believe the absolute scop I've had to choke down in some of the joints I've bar-crawled through. How'd you find it?"
He sat perfectly still across from me, chewing into his second burger before swallowing and answering in that flat mechanical voice of his. "I actually live in the megabuilding. I was bored of vending machine burritos, so I took a walk. I saw a bunch of cop cars parked out front and I figured it had to be at least edible. This is actually the third time I've been here in two weeks."
I let out a laugh, wiping a stray drop of sauce from my cheek before settling back into the booth. "Ha! The badge radar. Never fails, hombre. If the cops are eating here enough to make it her spot, it's practically a five-star joint." I rested one arm along the top of the booth and gave him another look. "You new around the neighborhood, then? Why Little China instead of Arroyo or somewhere down south?"
"I had a... problem with 6th Street, on my way into the city," Genos said, his eyes drifting toward the window. "It would have made life very irritating if I moved about on their turf."
I gave him a sympathetic grimace and reached for another fry. "Damn, man. Sorry to hear that. Anything you need a hand with?"
"Nah, I took care of it. It's why my car's fucked, actually. Just that by the time I did, I'd rented my apartment already."
Now this sounds like a story worth hearing.
"What happened, anyway?" I asked with a grin, trying to take some of the weight out of the room. "You go making moves on the wrong gangoon's girl?"
"Worse... I killed a lieutenant's little brother."
I sat up straight at that, the burger halfway to my mouth suddenly feeling a whole lot heavier. The noise of the diner seemed to fall away for a second. Killing some gang heavy's blood was the sort of thing that turned into a ticking time bomb with your name printed right on the side, but looking at Genos, seeing how calm the guy was, I told myself not to jump to conclusions. He didn't look like some sloppy psycho. I'd already sussed that out back at the Coyote, and I sure as hell wouldn't have gotten into a car with him if I'd thought otherwise. Vik had vouched for him too. There had to be more to it.
"Oh shit, choom," I said, setting my food down and leaning forward across the table. "What happened?"
Genos stopped eating and lowered his burger back onto the plate before leaning into the booth, those gold eyes fixing straight onto mine. "A series of fuck ups," he said, his voice completely smooth, like he was talking about somebody else's bad day.
"It ain't as bad as what you're probably thinking," he continued, folding his forearms against the edge of the table. "Happened on my first night in. I came in through the Badlands, had plans to settle into Arroyo or Santo Domingo. Found this isolated spot just off the main road to get my bearings, you know? See where I was gonna crash. Walked away for a bit to backdoor an access point, came back, and found my car was being broken into. Two gonks who probably thought it was an easy score."
Good ol' Night City, I thought, shaking my head. Welcome to the jungle, hermano.
"I did what anyone would do in that situation," Genos continued, leaning his forearms against the edge of the table. "I pulled out my gun and put it to the back of one of 'em."
"And you killed 'em?" I asked, staring at him.
"Nah, I let them go with a warning," he said, and there was something almost annoyed in that flat voice, like even he wasn't happy with the decision anymore. "They were just a bunch of gonks. Thought I could scare them off. Of course, I pulled an equally dumb move and turned my back on them. Then this kid tries to sneak up on me from behind with a Slaught-O-Matic of all things... that's when I killed him. Him and his cousin both."
I lowered my burger slightly and narrowed my eyes at him. "How old were they?"
"Twenty? Twenty-one? Around there, I don't remember."
"Then he ain't no kid," I said, waving one hand dismissively as some of the tension finally left my shoulders. "A gonk is what he was, hermano. Most people wouldn't have even let 'em walk away the first time. You roll up on someone's ride, you get a new hole in your face. That's just street math."
"Yeah... too bad his brother didn't see it that way," Genos muttered.
Then he laid it all out for me, keeping his voice low enough that the badges around the diner wouldn't overhear the whole thing. He told me about some 6th Street heavy named Rex who went completely off the rails looking for payback. The guy tracked Genos down, a bunch of gangers cornered him on the road, and tried to turn him and that Shion into swiss cheese. Genos walked me through the whole ugly mess of turning the tables, hunting Rex right back to a secured hideout, and flatlining him along with the entire squad just to finally put the beef to bed.
I just sat there listening, my burger completely forgotten on the plate. The way he told it was the strangest part. He wasn't bragging, or shaking hands with himself over what he'd done. He sounded like he was reading a fucking screamsheet instead of describing a small-scale gang war he'd fought almost entirely by himself.
"So what'd you do with the netrunner?" I asked, leaning a little closer across the table. "0J0 or whatever her handle was?"
"I let her go," Genos said, setting his hands flat on the table. "My beef was with Rex. Everything else was collateral. Figured I'd already flatlined more people than I wanted to. I scared her first, though. Made sure she knew what would happen if she ever stirred up some bullshit."
I blinked, and suddenly a little spark went off in the back of my brain as scraps of local street gossip started clicking into place. My eyes widened, and I nearly choked on the breath I'd just taken.
"Wait..." I whispered, leaning halfway across the table and pointing at his chest. "This happened at that warehouse on the canal? The one that got completely iced and left 6th Street scrambling for answers? ¡Fuego de Dios, choom! That was you?! People thought it was some high-end corpo hit squad or something!"
Genos looked genuinely surprised by that. "People have been talking about it? I didn't hear anything other than on the evening lottery broadcast."
"Yeah, well, the Sixers have been keeping that shit quiet because it makes 'em look soft," I said, dropping my voice to almost nothing while glancing toward the badges at the counter. "Only reason I know is because they tried blaming it on the Tinos at first. I still got some connections with the guys back home, and the block was on high alert for a couple of days." I looked back at him and shook my head. "Man, you cleared out a whole cell by yourself."
"Yeah, well," Genos muttered, his voice perfectly level as he set his food down. "That was my first week back in Night City."
I grinned, shaking my head at the sheer fucking absurdity of it. "Well, hermano, you sure know how to make an entrance." I picked my burger back up and took another bite before gesturing toward him with it. "Come on, let's finish up, huh? If you can handle a warehouse full of pissed-off jarheads, you might even survive the bouncers at Lizzie's."
He smirked faintly and reached toward his food. "Yeah, lemme just pay for the meal, pay you back for the bee--"
He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes suddenly going out of focus as he stared straight through me like he was reading a newsfeed scrolling across the back of my skull.
"Yo, gimme a sec," Genos muttered, barely moving as his attention shifted somewhere I couldn't see. "Fixer's calling."
I watched him go completely still while he took the call. From my side, it was a one-sided conversation, but I could piece together most of it from his reactions.
"Regina, always happy to hear from you," Genos said, his head tilted slightly as he listened. "You got work for me? I hope it's something a bit heftier than stealing something from someone?"
Another stretch of silence followed.
I grabbed a stray fry and chewed lazily while I watched him stare into empty space.
"No, I ain't scared of getting on the wrong side of those cyberpsychos," he said, sounding about as bothered as if she had told him it might rain tomorrow.
My ears perked up at that.
Cyberpsychos? Maelstrom maybe?
Now that was real business.
Genos listened for another long moment, the faintest shift in his expression suggesting he was getting the full brief dumped straight down his neural line. Then his gold optics suddenly shifted focus, snapping back onto me. He stared for three seconds before his eyes glazed over again.
"Is it cool if I bring someone else in on the gig?" Genos asked, his head angling slightly as though he were listening to her answer. There was another long pause, probably Regina asking whether he was bringing along some street gonk who'd get himself flatlined. "Nah, he ain't an amateur. He's solid. Name?"
He looked directly at me and raised an eyebrow. I didn't even need a second to think about it. I cracked a wide, toothy grin and gave him a thumbs-up across the table.
"Jackie Welles," Genos said into the link.
He listened for another couple of moments, nodding once or twice to whatever Regina was saying on the other end. "Yeah. Good. Thanks, we'll get it done."
The strange light disappeared from his eyes, and his attention finally came fully back to the table. He leaned forward over his empty plate, resting one forearm against the edge.
"Job just came up," Genos said, his mechanical voice smoothing the words out. "You got your iron on you?"
I let out a low, dangerous chuckle, my hand instinctively dropping toward the heavy pistol tucked securely into the holster on my pants. I leaned across the table, my grin widening as I looked him dead in the eyes.
"Genos, choom," I laughed, "I'm insulted you even asked."
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Authors Note: That's it for Chapter 20, The Three of Pentacles!
In Tarot, the Three of Pentacles represents teamwork, collaboration, craftsmanship, and the idea of combining different skills to build something meaningful. It's about learning from others, working toward a shared goal, and creating something better together.
I'm curious what you guys think about where the story is heading from here, especially with Genos and Jackie becoming partners. What do you think is coming next Is there anything you'd like to see?
As always, thanks for reading, and thanks for all the comments, suggestions, and theories. I really do appreciate them.
See you guys in the next chapter!