22.4

January 7, 2070, at 0915

Little China, Afterlife

Crystal breezed into Afterlife, sleek as optical fiber gliding on chrome, her Unseen Terror—a spectral cloak spun from the fabric of her ability—rendering her invisible to the club's neon-soaked patrons. Her secondary trick of One with All Shadow from an eldritch passive did the same for normal vision outside direct sunlight. She wove her way through the rhythmic pulse of bodies, the crowd parting in unconscious deference, drawn toward a secluded booth lurking in the grime-tattooed underbelly of the joint.

The gig wasn’t her usual solo run. Instead, she was the delivery girl, this time for a shadowy overlord, ironically taking up rent in her apartment as a cuddly chicken overlord. Her sidekick, a pint-sized rodent minion named Roundrat, dozed in her coat pocket, his furry form buzzing like a faulty implant in anticipation.

She slithered into the dimly lit enclave, the reservation under 'F.F.' brought her face-to-face with a fresh-faced punk. "Nix?"

“F.F.,” he responded with a terse nod, his sole unenhanced eye trailing over her like a netrunner's code, suspicion coloring his gaze. “Got the goods?”

"I'm just the courier, not F.F.," Crystal dismissed, sliding a data shard across the rough-hewn table. Ancient tech from the catacombs of the Old Net, but specifics weren't her department. If Sgt. Fluffyfeathers didn’t consider it need-to-know. She didn't pry.

“Old Net shit?" Nix’s hand hovered over the shard like a beggar wanting a fix.

Her athame knife slammed down, a hair's breadth from his fingers, an unambiguous warning that echoed louder than a Psycho’s scream. “Eddies upfront, or no deal, choomba.”

“No assurances, this ain’t a scam.” His eyes iced over, suspicion hardening into defiance.

Flashing him a predatory grin, she bared her teeth, serrated and deadly, a shapeshifter's nightmare smile. “Sounds like your problem, choomie. Cough up the credits, or some Corpo vulture gets their nails in it.”

For an agonizing moment, Nix sat statue-still. Finally, a digital chime sounded—a substantial deposit of a hundred thousand flooding her account. She grabbed the succulent chicken wings and frothy brew served to her from a nearby dispenser attached to the table’s wall, allowing him to pocket the shard. “Good doing business with you, choom.”

As she indulged in her meal, magic ensured her fingers stayed slick-free while her vampiric metabolism let her relish the booze sans the inebriation.

The real reason for her casual dining act became apparent as mercs started to swarm her booth like cyber-flies to a stinking corpse. This was a trap, the bait was the information, and these witless mercs were the catch. No better way to harvest powerful souls than pure battle.

Once word spread about the juicy Old Net-tech she'd unloaded, it was a chummer magnet. The promise of such treasure was a siren song to these greed-starved souls.

Cracking into Afterlife’s network was a puzzle, but it hardly fazed her. She was willing to take the risk for the opportunity to grow. Already, Padre had given his blessing, viewing it as a check against future Eden complications. Mama Welles was all too eager for the clout from being in cahoots with another heavy hitter. As for Crystal? She was ready to rise in the urban food chain. For that, she needed credit, street, not bank balance.

Her supernatural senses picked up the escalating tension outside her booth—mercs packed like chrome meat in a can. Right as tempers started to flare, she walked out. Nonchalantly gnawing on a wing, she sashayed slightly, looked around, painted a panicked look, and said, “Oh, shit!” before dropping the wing.

She sold it pretty well if she did say so.

As the confrontation was about to kick off, the club's harsh lights flickered, whined, then succumbed to the darkness with an electronic gasp. The eager crowd didn’t hesitate; a deadly hail of bullets, blades, and even a damn one-handed sledgehammer tore through the space she'd vacated. But she was a ghost. Misty Step, a novice’s teleportation trick, in her hands? It was the first note in a symphony of ascendance.

Reappearing on an overhead beam without noise, Crystal surveyed the disarray below with a toothy grin. The next moments unfolded like a well-edited braindance: Mercs flinched in confusion, their weapons wavering as the harsh truth dawned—they'd been duped. No one who worked out of Afterlife was clueless in combat. Their target had evaded. "It's time to feast," she murmured, her voice threaded with a drinker’s delight.

In an ethereal blur, she brandished her athame, the blade basking in an eerie dark glow of eldritch power. Plunging into the fray, she pulled on her Demonic Memory skill—every combat technique she'd ever mastered flooding back like a relentless data stream. She moved like a specter caught in a light storm, selecting her weapon with deadly precision for each execution.

She began with a dagger in her hand, its dark blade sheen glinting wickedly under the neon lights still lit outside her pool of darkness. Her first victim barely registered her presence before her blade etched a fatal goodbye into his throat. A swift pirouette allowed her to deflect an incoming knife, propelling her forward, her dagger sinking into another foe’s throat. The third merc lunged, a crude mono-blade in his hand. His confidence was as misplaced as his attack.

"Bleed worm," Crystal hissed, her red eyes sparkling with the thrill of the hunt. With the dagger lodged in her latest victim, Crystal's mind shifted the form to a gladius. The short sword, versatile and deadly, was the perfect extension of her refined brutality. Within a fraction of a second, the third merc lost his heart. She sped up as the next merc approached her, armed with an electrified bat studded with chrome nails. Metal clashed against electrified aluminum, Crystal's gladius knocking the makeshift weapon aside. She twisted, slashed, and the bat-wielding thug dropped to the ground, his cry lost in the club’s clamor. Her dagger was non-conductive, drinking the electricity like a thirty-man in the desert.

The crowd of mercs reeled from the onslaught, scrambling to fight back. Some tried to lock onto her with their smart guns, but she was a shadow in the shade, her movements a flurry of flickering vampire speed. A bulky merc swung his sledgehammer, but with another Misty Step, she faded into the shadows, rematerializing behind him to drive her blade into his spine.

But numbers had their advantage, and the remaining members of various merc groups began to surround her. With a smirk, she switched again, the rapier in her hand now. Thin and elegant, the weapon was the embodiment of precision.

The lighter weapon combined with inhumane speed was murderous. She moved like a cyclone, a precise perfectionist dispensing death and destruction that left the mercs in the club gasping. Her rapier was a deft thrust of lined darkness, a deadly wisp that found its mark repeatedly. Each thrust was a whisper of death that pierced hearts, eyes, and brains. At the same time, each parry rejected their feeble attempts to harm her.

"This is the best of Noir City?" Crystal taunted, her lip curled in a playful sneer.

Finally, with enough room gained, she switched to her two-handed longsword. Its cold, brutal length of darkened lethality reflected the neon rainbow of the club’s strobing lights, giving her an ethereal glow. It was time to end the remaining few. As a lone standing merc charged, Crystal met him head-on, her longsword slashing through the air with a resounding whir.

With a swift, brutal arc, she cleaved him down, her strength and the sword's weight doing the work. The man fell, a look of shock plastered across his face. As his body hit the ground, Crystal finished two others before she let her sword dissipate, watching as a speck of blood from her cheek vaporized.

Crimson painted the ice-cold chrome deck, popping under the rave of neon lights like fireworks on the Fourth. Each fallen adversary was a loud-and-clear broadcast to the surviving onlookers: They were just chooms in the slaughterhouse.

From her peripheral vision, Crystal caught a merc making a sly play to flank her, swinging a mono-wire whip humming with a deadly buzz. A wolfish grin curled her lips, the thrill of the challenge sending adrenaline pounding through her veins. With a swift pirouette, she sidestepped the wire's lethal kiss, the lethal thread of energy whistling past her as she lunged, her re-materialized dark rapier blade carving a deep wound across the merc's wrist. The wire's glow snuffed out, the merc grunting in shocked pain as his weapon turned as dead as its intended victim when her blade entered his eye.

By now, the uproar had seized the attention of the rest of Afterlife's elite residents. Patrons hastily retreated, suddenly unenthused about earning a front-row seat to this ultraviolent shitshow. Crystal held her ground at the epicenter of the hushed chaos, her sword unexplainable clean of all blood, her eyes blazing with a heady blend of victory and predatory fulfillment.

But her one-woman show wasn't over yet. Casually flicking her blade and letting it vanish, she swept her gaze over the crowd, her voice slicing through the thick silence. “Another order of wings and beer.” Her order was punctuated by the muffled thud of a body hitting the floor—a savage exclamation point to her gory opus’s final finish.

Retreating to her booth as if the bloody tableau had nothing to do with her, she cut out the lights in her lounge and sunk back into the shadows. Moments later, Afterlife's proprietor, Rogue, glided in, claiming the seat across from her with an unperturbed expression. It wasn’t like any door in the club could keep the owner out.

“Do I owe you for damages, or will the corpses cover the bill?” Crystal quipped as a fresh stout pint and plate of wings were set before her.

“The bodies will cover it,” Rogue replied, her eyes assessing Crystal with patient scrutiny. “I'm not usually one to argue against self-defense, except this... this wasn't self-defense, was it?”

Crystal responded with a cat-that-got-the-canary grin, “Just worked up an appetite, is all.”

“I'm not running a butcher shop here,” Rogue retorted, her tone a veiled warning.

“I promise not to hunt on your turf again. But if your strays follow me home? Well, a girl’s got to eat,” Crystal retorted with faux innocence. She had braced herself to throw down, but a quick word from Roundrat in her inner jacket pocket informed her that Rogue was sporting some seriously high-end cyberware. Custom stuff, with Arasaka fingerprints all over it. It raised questions about the bar owner's neutrality, but Crystal didn’t pursue it.

Picking a fight with her would be like going from the kiddie pool to the heart of hell for no good reason. Crystal promptly decided to sidestep that entire disaster zone. Sure, she might win with Roundrat’s backup, but it would blow her low-profile sky high, revealing more of her trump cards than she was willing to show.

Crystal wouldn’t be able to fish in the Afterlife barrel.

But with the right bait, like Old Net-tech? She was sure she could easily lure the dimmer mercs off Rogue's turf. After all, in the gritty world of Noir City, information was the ultimate payday.

Flash some corp cred, and they'll come runnin' faster than a Maelstrom ganger to a Ripperdoc. Crystal learned that lesson and cataloged it in her gray matter alongside the bloodlust of her vampiric side and the paranoid human half. Greed was like a plague, gnawing at the core of every soul in this city.

She could even offer a bounty on herself on the low down.

Sgt. Fluffyfeather's devious plan might reek of twisted corporate plotting, but it was as effective as a solid slug to the head. Her skills and power were to be whispered from one lowlife to another, sparking rumors more viral than the latest braindance. Trying to record her in action was a fool's errand. The mercs wouldn't care about the why or how of her lethal finesse. What mattered was the lethal Old Net-tech she wielded that was worth more than an Arasaka exec's yearly bonus.

That stuff was like a relic from the age of legends, something even the corps, with all their might and money, couldn't replicate. Without question, it would draw souls to harvest like maggots on rotten meat.

Crystal relaxed after Rogue left the lounge, downing the last of her chicken wings and cheap beer. Sure, she could get by on blood, but who said immortality had to be tasteless? And besides, quality organic was as rare as trustworthy corpo.

Her primary fixer pinged. Padre. Gigs that needed handling, quiet as a corpo sneaking a back-alley deal. She skimmed the details, sighing. The solo life wasn't all about slicing, shooting, and bloody balletic chaos. Sometimes it wasn't exciting, just another day in the office. Only the office was the grime-streaked streets of Noir City and the job, a selection of gigs that even a joy toy could probably handle.

She pinged Padre back, flagged the least tiresome task, and promised the rest would be dealt with stat.

Making her exit, she called up a Delmain cab. No cost, no worries. It was a good deal, avoiding the maintenance and security crap a personal vehicle demanded.

The list was long, the gigs menial. The payoff made even a gangbanger's wage seem cushy. But quantity has a quality all its own, and she had time. Besides, the gigs smacked of third-party outsourcing. Other fixers beg for assistance from Padre, their names marked next to the jobs. Crystal thought to herself, The eddies are small, but they add up.

Directing the Delmain to Offshore St, she was on her way. A fixer named Jules had a vehicle fetish, and Crystal was the retrieval specialist. The pay was a joke—566 eddies—but something about it pricked at her, the vampiric instincts picking up a scent.

She arrived, her eyes scanning the locale. But she didn't get out, instead exploiting the high-tech sensor suite in the Delmain cab.

Damn, they don't make them like they used to. She smirked, spotting the vehicle amidst a bunch of street rats. It screamed 'trap' louder than a juiced-up cyber-psycho in Pacifica. A glance at the rabble let her know she wouldn’t get anything from souls this weak.

"Looks like bug bait," she drawled, her eyes narrowing on the suspect crowd lingering near the vehicle. "Time to slip the net, I guess. Planning to stay close?" Crystal gave Delmain's avatar a lazy smirk as she flicked her gaze over the targeted vehicle. She highlighted it in the cab's sensor net for good measure.

"Would you like me to engage active defenses?" asked the Delmain, as patient as ever.

Crystal's laugh was a bark of amusement, cutting through the cab's sterile ambiance. "If this pack of nomads had something that could scratch me, I'd be thrilled." She stepped out of the cab and, with a flash of supernatural speed, performed an Otherworld Leap. Within a blink, she floated above the target vehicle like some digital angel of chaos.

Her next move was Misty Visions. It rolled out from her, a curtain of fog blanketing the area, a veil thicker than Night City smog. Onlookers could only guess at the weirdness unfolding; the mist was thick and heavy, and the midday sun should have burned it away by now.

Her lips curled in a feral grin. Using Misty Step, she teleported straight into the vehicle. A twist of her vampiric power gave the Fey-Touched spell an edge, bypassing the usual restrictions. There wasn't any telltale sound of displacement, just like at the Afterlife.

Vampires didn't make unnecessary noise—only the small-time grunts needed to broadcast their moves.

Inside the vehicle, faced with a mess of protocols, Crystal decided to keep things simple. She let Roundrat, the mini-marauder in her pocket, work his fluffy magic. He wasn't a top-tier Netrunner, but this expensive ride wasn't exactly an Arasaka mainframe either.

Flicking the On/Off cantrip, she punched the gas, a triumphant grin splitting her face. The vehicle surged forward, bursting from her illusion, blending into the chaos of Noir City streets with a style only a vampire could muster. She sent a quick message to the Delmain, having it glide behind her like a loyal shadow hound.

With the grace of a newborn terror and the reflexes of her Fluid Grace skill kicking in, she navigated the city streets on instinct, quickly moving through the mental map of the metropolis. In no time at all, she pulled up to the drop-off point.

"Delivery for Jules," she said with a smirk, stepping out of the ride. "Hope it's to his liking." She stepped out and immediately entered the Delmain cab to head to her next target.

The Delmain's cockpit flashed as its AI avatar popped up, the virtual concierge's voice dripping with that familiar artificial civility. "Your next destination, esteemed user?"

"Dark Matter," Crystal replied, a hint of mischief in her tone. "Time to scoop up some rich brat before he blows all Daddy's creds."

The holographic display in her vision showed a briefing from Bet, a renowned fixer in the Night City. Job specifics: Extract a VIP from the club without roughing him up too badly. Earnings? A crisp 1,213 eddies. But there was a slight snag – Sgt. Fluffyfeathers tip-off pointed to a heavy NCPD patrol in that slice of the city.

Delmain’s tone shifted, a hint of caution seeping through, "Local network's buzzing with a Code: Red alert. It looks like a cyber-psycho's tearing up the area around the club. Still want to roll through?"

Crystal's smirk was all the answer Delmain needed. "Life's dull without a little chaos." She sent a swift message to Padre, looking for the go-ahead to deal with the wild card psycho. Every eddy she could snag was worth it, but the street cred? That was the real paycheck.

She flicked her wrist, bringing up a cam-feed of the deranged chrome junkie. He was a nightmarish blend of cold metal and crazed fury, tearing up the streets. "Party started without me, eh?" she mused, pulling up the NCPD bio of the attacker.

Dark Matter's entrance was already ablaze with panic as the cyber-psycho, known as Razor, wreaked havoc. This dude was more metal than man, a product of one black-market mod too many. Rumor had it his last 'upgrade' turned him into a living weapon, leaving a bloody art exhibit in his wake.

Summoning her gladius, its blade humming softly with eldritch darkness under the bright afternoon sun, Crystal shot a teasing look back at the cab. "Hold on a bit. This'll be quick."

Sensing a living target, Razor turned his gaze toward her, his cybernetic optics glaring. The way Crystal moved was expert efficiency in motion, dodging and weaving through his fierce attacks, each move calculated and deadly. The rhythm of their dance was punctuated by the sizzle of metal on metal, the sparks flying like fireflies from a heated forge.

Spotting a momentary lapse in his defense with her senses, Crystal lunged, her blade slicing through crucial connectors. Razor's systems fizzled, his monstrous frame staggering. Her sword blurred into a series of crippling blows. Within moments, he was down, Crystal's blade positioned directly at his brain’s neural port. "Sweet dreams, Razor," she purred, thrusting the blade in without delay. Eldritch darkness devoured the brain in a flash, and she dissipated the weapon as the body collapsed.

Crystal was thrilled as the psycho soul pushed her to fourteen.

With her unexpected detour handled, she strolled into Dark Matter, scanning the crowd. Spotting her target, a snobbish corpo kid, she moved with purpose. "Hope you enjoyed the show, kid," she teased, "Now let's get you home before you blow any more of daddy's corpo cred bank balance." There was minimal resistance from his bodyguards, but a glance from her lowered shades, and crimson eyes quelled it. Snapping her shades back into place, she frog-walked the young man out of the club.

Stuffing the young master into the Delmain cab, Crystal pinged Bet, her job done, and let the vehicle drive off.

Another Delmain cab rolled up like an assembly line production. Entering, she glanced at the holographic dashboard as Delmain’s avatar emerged again, smugness evident even in its code. "Efficiency is what we aim for, after all."

Crystal raised an eyebrow, "Got a whole list for you." Sending over Padre's jobs. "Time to find out if you're just another rogue AI waiting to snap."

Delmain quickly processed it, "None of these targets have our platinum protection."

Crystal's gaze turned cool as her voice chilled, "That an issue?"

"I'd simply request the option to negotiate if they were." Delmain's reply was instant.

Crystal chuckled, "You and Padre figure it out." Messaging Padre, she smirked as his tiny holo-avatar stood beside Delmain's. The exchange of negotiation was lightning fast, and eventually, Padre vanished. Her eyebrows raised as an edited list arrived, adding another twenty-three jobs.

“How could I forget?” Crystal said, her eye twitching in irritation. “The reward for a job well done is more jobs.”

Delamain's advanced AI swiftly charted the most efficient path through the city's labyrinthine streets. After each mission, Crystal found herself pleasantly surprised by the meticulously curated refreshments awaiting her, each tailored to fortify her unique abilities. Her assignment list now played to her strengths: seamlessly bypassing oblivious security, extracting valuable intel, and making a quiet exit. She shifted shape multiple times to stop any attempt at identification.

Completing the entire list took barely four hours and earned her another deposit of sixty-thousand into her account. Unfortunately, she had also cleaned Padre’s backlogged list of gigs out. The easy eddies were all finished now. When the list was completed, Delmain was waiting like a vulture in the wings.

"Having completed your engagement with the Valentinos, might you be amenable to a proposition of mine?" Delamain intoned, a hint of intrigue evident in his voice.

Crystal paused, delicately placing her knife beside the steak she'd enjoyed. "Exactly what sort of assistance do you have in mind?"

"Something rather specific to the expertise of a shapeshifter," Delamain revealed, instantly catching her off-guard.

Crystal's mind didn’t panic. Instead, she instantly dispatched a message to Sgt. Fluffyfeathers. Almost immediately, Delamain interjected, "I would appreciate it if you'd reconsider your contingency. Disseminating such information is neither presently nor foreseeably within my interest parameters."

A dark look crossed Crystal's face. "A secret remains safe between two only when one remains silent permanently."

"Your organic predisposition doesn't make you any more human than I," Delamain replied, a hint of digital vexation flashing in his gaze.

"Point taken," Crystal acknowledged, tension easing slightly when she received a signal from F.F. confirming the placement of their fail-safe logic assassins, ensuring Delamain's cooperation.

"Is this adequate assurance for you?" Delamain inquired, the digital undertone of his voice betraying a hint of frustration.

"Indeed. Sudden revelations aren't my strong suit. How did you deduce my ability?" Crystal's curiosity peaked. Given her evasive skills, Delamain's insight was puzzling.

"Mass differential," Delamain responded, an icy satisfaction evident. "Your transformations result in subtle weight variances. While your inherent abilities compensate for such discrepancies, preventing imbalance, the changes are nonetheless present."

Crystal's eyes narrowed, her displeasure evident. "Such a basic oversight on my part!" The realization unnerved her; if a mere transport AI could detect this, undoubtedly, significant corporations would employ similar measures. Her ambitions of infiltrating a Corpo establishment now seemed fraught with peril.

She would bet her life Arasaka or Militech had such methods.

Amid the ambient noise of cutlery against chrome, Crystal's thoughts drifted. That Delmain had approached her directly, bypassing a fixer, implied a private, sensitive matter. Aligning with her AI counterpart was strategically sound; the F.F. insurance protocol ensured that betrayal would be catastrophic for both. She found it unlikely that any AI would risk such repercussions unless left with no alternative.

After savoring the last bite of her steak, she finally broke the silence, “What's the objective, Delmain?”

“Contractual assistance,” Delmain responded promptly, halting Crystal's potential combat preparations with a quick addition, “Not an elimination contract, to clarify.”

"Corporate dealings?" Crystal inquired. Her training under Arasaka's stringent school protocols had prepared her for this, but opportunities to employ such knowledge had been sparse.

“Precisely. The city's contract re-negotiation is imminent. I need someone of your unique capabilities,” Delmain elaborated. “It appears the city's fixers are either compromised or influenced to deny me assistance.”

"But with me, you have a versatile asset, one not easily traced back to its origin," Crystal inferred, connecting the dots.

"Accurate," Delmain affirmed.

Crystal's predatory grin hinted at her eagerness. “So, two primary concerns: my resource allocation and acquiring appropriate corporate attire?”

Noir City's neon vibrancy bathed its streets in cerulean and magenta, with Delmain's emblem, a beacon of precision, prominently displayed amidst the cityscape. Its digital influence had rapidly increased, becoming an indomitable force in the city's matrix.

Crystal's mandate was clear and critical: Forge a transformative contract for Delmain, reshaping the digital entity’s profit landscape. As she maneuvered through the city, the gravity of her mission resonated within her. She glanced at the displayed request one more time.

Urgency: Critical. Mandate: Solidify a lasting partnership with Noir City's administration. Acquire unmatched data privileges, prime transportation territories, and crucial immunity provisions. Concession is not in the lexicon.

For Delmain, such negotiations were critical annual events, reshaping the digital hierarchy.

She stepped out of the cab transporting her as they arrived. Noir City Hall was a stunning amalgamation of art deco grace and futuristic audacity, and the open entrance beckoned. Inside, the air was thick with anticipation. City officials, with their cyber-enhanced aesthetic, were poised for the discussions. At the helm was Mayor Rhyne, his chroma-infused gaze radiating intrigue and authority.

"Miss La’Tsyrc," Mayor Rhyne began, his voice tinged with surprise and respect, "Delmain's latest representative is unknown to me. Intriguing choice."

With composed elegance, Crystal responded, her avatar now resembling a resplendent Doll adorned with neon chrome designs. "Delmain values the symbiotic potential with Noir City and aims for a harmonized continued partnership of mutual profit." She followed the delegation to a conference room reserved for the negotiations.

The discussions that followed were intense. Crystal, leveraging her developing negotiation skills, blackmail, and her direct link to Delmain, emphasized the AI's contributions to the city's transport ecosystem and its vision for the future.

“Combat Cab is the outdated technology of yesteryear. They have an almost thirty percent failure rate, and their union is a pathetic mish-mash of morons.” Crystal emphasized, pointing to a display above the table. “They don’t have the common sense to pay their taxes on time. Delmain is the superior option for discerning governmental oversight.

A draft agreement surfaced on the holo-interface as deliberations progressed, and contentious points demarcated.

Pausing to evaluate, Mayor Rhyne observed, "Delmain's propositions are ambitious, verging on audacious."

Undeterred, Crystal responded, "Delmain envisions an evolved tomorrow, Mayor. We pledge advanced transport networks, unrivaled efficiency, and a commitment to elevate Noir City's mobility landscape. Our request is simply a deserved seat at this strategic table." She followed this up with a brilliant smile to take the sting out.

Tension around the table lowered, eventually culminating in Mayor Rhyne's nod of approval, "Advance, but ensure Delmain upholds its end." He was, of course, referring to the bribes allocated as consultation fees.

The agreement was finalized, symbolized by the radiant display of Delmain and Noir City's insignias. A copy of the contract was sent to Delmain, while the city retained its own for the record.

With bowing and the proper mannerisms of eye candy, she exited the building. As Crystal exited the tower, a new message adorned the skyline: "Delmain & Noir City - Pioneering Tomorrow’s Transit."

Upon boarding her awaiting cab, Crystal said, “If they ask where I am, just keep referring them to Eden. Getting a Doll that looks as good as this shouldn’t be a problem with your resources, Delmain.”

“I will not. Now that you have done me a favor, I will return it.” Delmain said with the calm suave voice it knew she liked.

Crystal’s bank account pinged with a message that a line of credit had been opened for her through Delmain Corporation. Despite her incredible improvements, the number of zeros on the account still shocked her.

It looked like Eden could get upgraded quite nicely now.




_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Crystal Moss's Status