Private Bank Statement

[Hacks]

Plastic eyes carefully followed Johnny as he propped himself up onto a crate, smoked from his cigarra and began to boast. The more he talked the deeper her frown grew across her face, four hands crossed tight against her chest as he continued to talk, uninterrupted as she begrudging listened.

There was a deep silence once he had finished talking, Hacks' ears would have grown red had she any under those dome implants. "Bloody hell," she said, uncrossing her arms and forming a cylindrical grip with one hand and held it over her forehead, and then jerked it back and forth as she mockingly groaned, "Ugh ugh ugh," she dropped her hand, "Fucking dickhead, trust a dude to turn that into an ego competition of who's better."

She understood just why Daiya didn't like her, Hacks just couldn't stop herself from being rude to people, it was always in her nature. It's why she had few friends. Her eyes watching Johnnys cigarra, then his smile, he was probably getting high as a kite. "Let's get this straight," she pointed an index finger down onto the table beside her to emphasise her point, "You haven't the balls to try anything big yet and ask me to hold your hand, but you're also trying to convince me you've sliced through the most elite networks in the Core, easy as pie, all the while I haven't heard a peep of this supposed super-slicer - Then you threaten to have killed me if I had not of said no to your offer?"

Hacks wagged a finger at the cigarra, "Shit's getting to your head." She couldn't talk, she was an addict, but her stimulants were an altogether different type of spice than what she imagined Johnny was smoking. She stood, turned her back to him and walked towards her kitchen, a metal hand ran over her head to comb down her hair, muttering something unintelligible under her breath as she went.

She had spent years of her life securing dominion of the Corporate Authorities over Denon and its neighbouring systems, relieved worlds of their sovereignty. The last of the original three Darkwire Shadowrunners. Dead senators from the Confederacy in the Outer Rim to the Alliance in the Deep Core had been in her crosshairs, she had worked for and against the Maw, for and against the Jedi, for and against the Hutts. Daughter of an Empire, raised by Ravens.

How far had all that gotten her? Nowhere. She opened the fridge door, the light came on and her eyes searched for a bottle. She was running out. Metal fingers gently plucked the last beer out of the fridge, flicked the cap off and brought it to her lips. Her eyes closed for a moment as she savoured the flavour. Then her eyes peeled back open, shut the fridge door and turned to Johnny, "Don't talk shit to me mate, I don't like it."

She tilted her head in a shrug, leaned back against the kitchen counter, "I explained why I don't do partnerships with strangers, I wasn't measuring my dick for you to compare." Blood rushed plastic veins. "I'll do a job with you, see how we go, if we work well together, fifty-fifty, but.." she paused, brought the beer to her lips again and began to scull until there was nothing left to drink, "If you fucking threaten me again like that, I'll fucking kill you," she swore, suddenly the bottle spun in her hand, neck pinched, and a cybernetic arm hurled the glass bottle at breakneck speed towards the wall beside Johnny.

 

[Johnny Diamonds]

He wasn't going to tell her, not now, anyhow. What was he going to do, just come right out and blurt 'Hey, I'm a former karking Jedi Knight, and used to slice my way into the Jedi Archives and the Senate's fething secure subnet for fun as a Padawan'? Yeah, that'd go over about as well as if she told him she was secretly some sort of corpo living a double life down here in the force-dammed skid rows of the vertical city. What a way to ruin a perfectly good high. And give him a flipping headache the size of a quasar. Wonder-fething-ful, Johnny, you dipchit he thought to himself as she turned a corner, going into her kitchen. He could distinctly hear the pop of a bottle. Yet, she was going to give him chit? Ok, calm down, Johnny. You are still riding the crimson wave, and you most likely came off in a way you didn't mean to. And she responded in kind. There were only two ways this was going to go down.

"Who's talking shit, choomba? I was identifying, not trying to measure wiggle sticks. Like, I know you've got more metal than flesh, but are you that thick? I'm crazy, not karking stupid..." he said, volume dropping off and trailing away. What's the use? He most likely just ruined the one damn opportunity he had to make a friend here. He just sighed, lightly. Sure, a job, why not. At least he could make some credits off this fething disaster he'd created, show a little something for this maglev-wreck of a meet. He reached up, and pulled his hood back up, hopping off the crate he'd been perched on. He lifted his boot, and stubbed the cigarra out, not even interested in it anymore. Chit had that kind of effect on Johnny, you see? Mood would swing like a twi'lek dancer at a strip club when he was ripping the ryll-ride.

And then, just as he was about to open his mouth again and say something, a bottle flew toward his head. Like, directly, at his fething braincase. Maybe it was the Force trying to aid him, maybe it was the cybernetic eye of his giving him advanced warning, or maybe it was just pure, dumb luck, but as soon as that bottle got within millimeters of his head, it was already being grabbed by his off-hand. Running off a combination of ryll-induced emotional mish-mash and his own anger at himself, the bottle soon found itself being whipped directly at the floor, shattering into a thousand little pieces. The dim light of her monitors would bounce off, as the neon waves filtered through them that had been coming in through her window. The resulting prismatic light-show would make the metal bits and bobs on his clothing shine like gemstones, and his left eye would almost appear to glow a bright neon turquoise.

His face was wearing a look of anger and frustration, but not with Hacks, no. With himself. Just as fast as he'd caught and whipped that bottle, his shoulders slumped, and he shook his head, looking down.

"Sorry, Hacks. Wasn't meant as a threat, but it don't matter much now, I'd wager." came from the Corellian youth, a tinge of depression and more than a hint of remorse in his now slightly shaky voice. He didn't even try to look up, let alone meet her gaze eye to eye. He wasn't sure what he felt, but he had a feeling it was in his best interests to just leave. And so he began to turn slowly toward the door, unsure of what to do next.

 

[Hacks]

Johnny deflated. His energetic demeanour soured, but it did little to sway Hacks into sympathy. She stared at him, frown creasing her forehead. "Oh c'mon," she whined, "Untwist your panties, Johnny."

He was not the first to be the target of her bouts of anger and frustration, nor would he be the last. The lad had picked himself up and was halfway to the door when she said, "I'll call you when I've lined up a gig."

She made no move to stop him, nor to persuade him from leaving. She wanted to leave too, except only to buy more beer. Instead of awkwardly walking out with him, she let him go first. For now she retreated over to her computer, her back to the door and Johnny, and continued writing the SlaveNet code.