Bio Weapon Dystopia

Two weeks have passed since Vomi chipped the basics of Chrome, got her ID—this time as Vomi Kurosaki—stacked a few more Eurodollars in her bank, and, unsurprisingly, was still driving around in the same battered Galena. The dusty wastelands of the N.U.S.A. stretched endlessly before her, and she had to admit, leaving LA was kind of a relief. Breathing in that toxic soup for so long almost made her forget what real desert air felt like. It was dry, harsh, and—yeah—still full of sand, but better than the smog.

A few extra eddies were enough to keep the Galena chugging along with CHOOH2, but the car was definitely on its last legs, or wheels, really. The thing hated the desert even more than she did.

"C'mon, buddy," Vomi muttered, patting the speedometer like that would somehow help, "Just a few more kilometers, miles, yards, or whatever you’re coded with."

"This trip is proving to be quite… involved," the symbiote remarked, gazing into the cracked rearview mirror. “I’ll calculate for future long-distance expeditions.”

“We need to calculate a new fucking car,” she snapped, spitting out the gritty taste of sand from her mouth. “These tires are almost not bad. They’re terrible.”

“Weren’t you just comforting the vehicle a moment ago?” the symbiote teased, his tone smug, like he could grin if he had lips.

“That’s—” Vomi scowled, glaring at him in the mirror. “That’s not the point!”

The Galena's engine popped as a way of protest. It was either great timing or the car just talked.

“Sorry,” She whispered but refocused on the road ahead, the Galena creaking in response at every bump. “We need an actual Nomad vehicle. The Galena did its job, but it’s about ready for retirement.”

“And where do you propose we find such a vehicle?” the symbiote asked, bemused.

“Hunting Nomads, duh.” Vomi rolled her eyes like it was the most obvious thing ever. She squinted into the distance, a satisfied grin forming. “Nova.”

The symbiote, ever observant, noticed how her vocabulary had been filling up with more street slang lately, but chose not to comment on it, instead merging back into her, their thoughts becoming one. How are we going to do this?

Easy, she thought back, running a finger over the shard slots in her neck. “We’ll just need to jack a shard from one of their rides, then klep it. Once we’ve got that, it’s ours. Hopefully, we’ll score a decent wheel or something sturdy enough to handle the sand.”

They drove in silence for a moment, her eyes scanning the horizon. Soon enough, she spotted what she was looking for: a small cluster of tents from an unknown Nomad clan. The perfect target.

Vomi pulled the Galena to the side of the road, killing the engine. She narrowed her eyes, zooming in on the camp up ahead. Her enhanced vision, a blend of her natural abilities and new chrome, sharpened everything. Who knew cyberware would make her a predator this efficient?

“I see the vehicles,” she muttered, focusing on the cluster of rides parked near the tents. One in particular—a Colby—caught her eye. It looked like it could bulldoze through the worst the desert had to offer.

“Looks promising,” the symbiote chimed in. “What’s the plan?”

“Same as always,” Vomi smirked, pulling a small iron from its holster. “We move fast, we move quiet, and we don’t stop until we get what we want.”

She held a piece of iron. It was a simple Nue. Fast and compact, no difficulty using it.

Practicality over style.

She stepped out of the car, this time actually dressed for the occasion. Gone were the medical scrubs and crunches she’d been rocking. Now, she sported a full white coat—not the lab kind, but one of those faux-leather materials that tried way too hard to look like the real deal. Real leather? Way out of her budget. She’d rolled the sleeves up to her elbows, showing off a long-sleeve undershirt that stretched over her hands, with holes for her fingers so she could still feel her surroundings. Camo cargo pants that shifted patterns when the light hit them right and boots that were ridiculously high-heeled, but practical.

Her glasses were still there too, despite them being completely unnecessary with her bioware and cyberware now. Two reasons she shouldn’t wear them, and yet, here she was.

And as always, everything was black—except for that white coat.

“There are seven of them,” she commented as the door clicked shut behind her.

“Lethal or non-lethal?” the symbiote asked, much calmer than it had been during their first run-in with the Militech drone.

“No deaths, please,” Vomi sighed, glancing at the camp again. “We just want the car, not their lives.”

“Understood,” it replied, its tone light but focused.

Vomi cracked her neck, feeling the slight hum of her upgrades kick in. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Vomi moved swiftly across the sand, her enhanced vision tracking every movement from the camp. The symbiote’s awareness synced with her own, feeding her details about the nomads' positioning, the distance between her and the Colby, and the wind direction.

“They seem relaxed,” the symbiote observed. “No one’s patrolling.”

“Good,” Vomi whispered, ducking behind a low dune. “Less hassle for us.”

The nomads looked like they’d been out in the desert for a while—dusty, sunburnt, and probably tired. They were huddled near a fire, talking and laughing, completely unaware of her creeping presence. Vomi paused, crouching low as she scanned their setup again.

The Colby was parked closest to the edge of the camp. It was big, rugged, and definitely looked modified enough to survive the harsh terrain. She could almost taste the freedom it promised. The rider of the car was peacefully sleeping inside it, a quick snap of the symbiote’s tendril was enough to hinder the future threat. Not dead, but asleep for a good while.

“Get ready,” Vomi whispered, adjusting her grip on the Nue. “I’m going for the shard. You watch my back.”

The symbiote's voice echoed in her mind. “Acknowledged.”

Vomi sneaked silently around the Colby, her boots making barely a sound in the sand. She slid behind the vehicle, her heart racing as she crouched near the driver’s side door. The shard was still in the nomad's neck, of course, but putting her personal chord on his Biomon was enough for her to get some valuable data.

“Quick hack?” the symbiote suggested, already prepping its system.

“No cyberdeck, so we will do it the long way,” Vomi muttered. The firewall wasn't as good as she expected, even more thanks to it belonging to a person. But then again, who would steal a car shard out of a nomad? “Old-school chrome. Gotta love it.”

Once inside, she wasted no time. She reached under the dashboard, her fingers inserting the shard slot. With a quick tug, the engine came to life.

“Got it,” she whispered, excitement taking over her.

Suddenly, a shout echoed from the camp. Vomi froze, her heart skipping a beat.

“They heard us,” the symbiote warned, its voice tense. “Two of them are heading this way.”

“Shit,” she hissed, putting the car's gear to drive. “Time to move.”

The engine roared dangerously, already making it way better than the Galena, giving a satisfying growl. Vomi grinned, adrenaline pumping through her veins.

“Let’s go!” she yelled, slamming the gas pedal just as two nomads came running toward her. The Colby shot forward, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake. The nomads yelled something unintelligible as they dove out of the way, but Vomi didn’t stick around to hear it.

The symbiote chimed in as they sped away, “That went smoother than expected.”

Vomi laughed, adrenaline still coursing through her. “Yeah, well, I’m getting good at this.”

As the desert stretched out ahead of them, Vomi glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the camp shrink into the distance. The Colby handled like a dream compared to the Galena, its suspension absorbing every bump and dip in the rough terrain.

She exhaled, finally relaxing into the seat. “Looks like we’re moving up in the world.”

“Indeed,” the symbiote agreed, its tone pleased. “No more limping around in that old Galena.”

Vomi smirked. “Now we just need a name for this beast.”

“Please, no,” the symbiote groaned, but Vomi could feel its amusement beneath the protest.

“Oh, come on. How about something fitting for our new ride? ‘Sandstorm’? ‘Dust Devil’?” she teased, her fingers tapping the steering wheel.

“Your creativity is truly boundless,” the symbiote replied dryly.

“Alright, fine,” she said, laughing. “I’ll think about it. But first, let’s see how far this baby can—”

The windshield was immediately destroyed as bullets came from their pursuers.

“I should have expected that.”

“Me too.”, The symbiote agreed, “I drive.”

As soon as he said that, tendrils and appendages came out of her arms and body, leaving enough room so she could pick up the iron to shoot back. Of course she needed to aim at the drivers, because these tires of nomad vehicles are way too sturdier for a pea shooter to do any damage.

Oh well, it is what it is.

“I was trying to be nice!”, The scientist said as she shot the windshield of the cars.

Bullets did make the drivers flinch, but equal amount of fire returned. After all, they had four door cars, while Vomi was only one. Can't out-gun people with more iron than you.

“Zero her! She klepped Bernard's ride!”, One of the drivers yelled as he tried his best to not get shot.

“What do you think I am doing, pendejo?!”

Good thing they didn't have a good chemistry as Vomi and the symbiote.

“Rocky road ahead.”, The alien said as he drove past a few holes on the pavement, the Colby bumping bit, but nowhere near what the Galena felt.

“We need to delta, like, right now!”, Vomi yelped as she tried to fire only for the bumps to make her miss, “Can't you drive?!”

“I am driving,” the symbiote responded with mock indignation, swerving the Colby to avoid a patch of jagged rocks. “Perhaps you should focus on shooting instead of criticizing.”

Vomi gritted her teeth, squinting through the shattered windshield. The nomads weren’t backing down. Two of them flanked her on either side, their guns spitting fire as they closed the gap.

“I’m trying!” she snapped, steadying herself against the dashboard. She took a breath and squeezed off another shot, this time nailing one of the pursuing drivers in the shoulder. His car jerked to the side, careening off the road and into a ditch.

“One down,” the symbiote remarked calmly, even as the Colby’s rear window shattered under more gunfire.

“Yeah, but we’ve still got company!” Vomi yelled, ducking as bullets whizzed past her head. She cursed under her breath. “We need to lose them!”

“Suggestions?” the symbiote asked, ever-so-slightly impatient now.

Vomi quickly scanned the horizon. Up ahead, the road split—one path led toward a canyon, the other into the open desert.

“The canyon!” she shouted. “It’s narrow—they won’t be able to follow us through!”

“Hold on, then.”

Without another word, the symbiote yanked the steering wheel, sending the Colby screeching down the canyon path. The terrain quickly became rougher, the walls of the canyon closing in on either side. The nomads hesitated, clearly not thrilled about navigating the tight space at high speeds.

“They’re slowing down,” the symbiote noted, a hint of satisfaction in its voice.

“Good,” Vomi muttered, her pulse still racing. She turned in her seat, firing one last shot at the remaining nomad vehicle, which skidded to a halt as its driver lost control, unable to handle the rocky canyon trail.

With a final burst of speed, Vomi and the symbiote left their pursuers behind, the sound of gunfire fading into the distance.

Vomi exhaled sharply, finally relaxing back into her seat. “Well, that was fun.”

“If your definition of fun includes almost getting killed,” the symbiote quipped.

She smirked, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Eh, keeps things interesting.”

As they sped through the canyon, the dust swirling around them, Vomi felt a strange sense of exhilaration. She glanced down at her hands, feeling the symbiote’s presence hum just beneath her skin.

“Guess we make a good team after all, huh?”

The symbiote’s voice echoed in her mind, soft and amused. “It would appear so.”

Vomi chuckled, adjusting her grip on the Nue. “Alright, choom. Let’s see where this road takes us.”

The tendrils merged again as Vomi took control of the wheels. A few minutes later, she apologized to the Colby as its new owner wasn't as careful as it needed to be, the chassis being more like a cheese than anything else. A sign showed that there was a road to San Francisco, meaning that despite the unusual detour, they were still in the right direction.

Vomi settled back into the driver’s seat, glancing at the battered chassis of the Colby. "Poor baby. Got you all shot up already, huh?" she muttered, patting the dashboard like she was consoling an old friend. "I’ll patch you up when we hit San Francisco."

“That’s assuming you don’t run us into another firefight before then,” the symbiote remarked dryly, its voice buzzing lightly in her head.

Vomi rolled her eyes. "Don’t jinx it."

As the road signs blurred past, a familiar static settled into the air. The desert gave way to cracked highways, and in the distance, the faint outline of San Francisco began to rise on the horizon. The city was still a ways off, but it was the closest thing to civilization they’d seen in days.

“Think we’ll find a ripperdoc there?” Vomi asked, idly tapping the steering wheel.

“Almost certainly,” the symbiote replied. “Though they may not operate under legal means.”

“Yeah, well, legal’s never really been their thing anyway,” she said with a smirk.

As they drove, the adrenaline began to wear off, leaving her with the familiar hum of post-action fatigue. She shifted in her seat, wincing slightly as the soreness in her body caught up with her. “Could use a break,” she mumbled.

“The city isn’t far,” the symbiote said. “We’ll find rest soon.”

Vomi grinned. “You’re starting to sound like a real travel companion, you know that?”

“I’m adaptable,” it responded.

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the sun beginning its descent behind them, casting long shadows over the road. Vomi’s eyes scanned the horizon as the faint glimmer of neon lights became visible in the distance. The radio picked up a signal and the first thing that started playing was Never Fade Away.

“No shit!”, Vomi beamed up, “We've lost everything!”

She started singing along with the song, the lyrics confusing the shit out of the symbiote.

As the iconic guitar riff of Never Fade Away blared through the speakers, Vomi couldn’t help but grin wide. She tapped the beat on the steering wheel, bobbing her head in time with the music.

"We've had to pay the price!" she sang out, not caring if the symbiote didn’t quite get it. This was a piece of history, something that connected her to a world she’d never fully been a part of, but somehow understood.

The symbiote’s voice cut in, slightly bemused. “I assume this is a... cultural artifact of some importance?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” Vomi replied, still lost in the song. “This is what Night City used to be. Before it turned into the corpo hellhole it is now. I mean, it was always a corpo hellhole, Samurai were made as a protest, but…” Her voice softened as she sang along with the chorus. “It’s a reminder of how things were, you know?”

The symbiote seemed to process that for a moment before responding. “So, you relate to this song? Despite its age?”

Vomi laughed. “It’s not about the age. It’s about the feeling—the rebellion, the defiance.” She turned the volume up, feeling the hum of the music vibrate through her bones. “It’s about fighting for something, even when everything’s stacked against you.”

“Ah,” the symbiote mused. “Then it mirrors your current situation.”

“Damn straight,” Vomi said with a smirk. “We're not just surviving out here—we’re fighting.”

As the city skyline came closer, the neon lights grew more defined. San Francisco wasn’t the same as it used to be either, but it was still standing. Like her. Like Johnny Silverhand’s voice echoing through the Colby’s speakers, it was a reminder that nothing really fades away. It just evolves.

“Alright,” Vomi muttered, lowering the music as they hit the city’s outskirts. “First stop: garage. Gotta get patched up and check on this car. Register to myself and get a new paint job.”

The symbiote’s voice was calm. “Agreed. Let’s not forget to refuel while we’re at it. The Colby is running low.”

Vomi rolled her eyes. “Always thinking ahead, huh?”

“One of us has to,” it replied dryly.

“Fuck you.”

They both snickered.

The Colby, despite still being a Nomad vehicle and drawing a lot of attention, was now fully fixed and with a good paint job, the matte black that Vomi mentioned when she told what she'd do with the Mizutani Shion MZ2. Her bank account was drained out, meaning that gigs were underway, but for now, she used the last bit to buy a noodle bowl, enough that she could satisfy her mental need of food. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good. Bittersweet? Bland? Hard to say. For now she just slurped the whole thing before checking her Agent's GPS system and look for local deetes.

San Francisco was boring.

The outline of the city from the wasteland would make you think that the neon and advertising made the city a real treat to look at, or in the case of comparison to the New York City, a real eyesore, again, thanks to the amount of ads there were on Times Square. However, something that did exist in San Fran was the uncountable amount of SFPD requests for solos and mercs, basically hiring every huscle they can go help with the increasing crime rate the city was having. Since no major corps are here, Arasaka not finding anything worth keeping or taking, Petrochem far away with their development and whatever they do in their buildings and Militech not being seen, this place was bound to have crime.

The minor corps that were here, KanedaCorp and M-Tech didn't really do much to the local populace. Why would they? It's not like they will gain from protecting the civilians, unless they themselves hunt down the gangs and wannabes.

“You a Beenie?”, The Noodle stand owner asked, “You seem lost ‘round here.”

“I am South American, I am a Beenie to everyone here.”, She replied, her eyes still shining blue as she checked the files of SFPD.

“You a refugee? Came from the mob war?”, He asked as he served another customer.

“No. I was born there, but lived outside of that continent for years now.”, Vomi replied as she finally chose what to do next.

“Well, suit yourself. Don't get flatlined. Things aren't good around here.”

“Sure thing, choom.”

Vomi was just about to enter her Colby when the symbiote spoke, “You are a Latina?”

“In my last life, yes.”, She nodded as she sat at the drivers seat, “I will keep this story if people ask me where I came from.”

“Fair enough.”

Vomi settled into the driver’s seat of the freshly painted Colby, her hand resting lightly on the steering wheel as the engine hummed to life beneath her. She let out a small sigh, feeling the tension of the last few days slowly release from her shoulders.

"San Francisco might be boring, but at least it's a place to catch my breath," she muttered, her gaze flicking to the neon-lit streets in front of her.

The symbiote's voice chimed in. "For now, at least. But I sense that the peace won’t last long. Too many variables at play.”

Vomi grinned slightly, her eyes reflecting the neon glow. "Always the pessimist, huh?"

"Realist," the symbiote corrected. "I just don't want us getting caught off guard."

She chuckled, tapping the screen of her agent to pull up the SFPD's gig listings. The interface flickered for a moment before populating with a long list of requests—gang cleanups, smuggling busts, missing persons. It was clear the city's law enforcement was stretched thin, which meant plenty of opportunities for mercs like her.

Her eyes scanned over the listings until one caught her attention: a high-paying gig to track down a missing corporate exec. The payout was generous, but the risk was equally high—getting tangled in corpo affairs always came with strings attached. Still, eddies were eddies.

"Looks like we’ve got our next move," she said, locking the details into her agent.

"And what might that be?" the symbiote asked, a tinge of curiosity in its voice.

"Some corpo suit went missing. SFPD wants someone to track him down. Could lead to more than a few eurodollars in our pocket," Vomi explained, pulling the Colby out of the parking spot and onto the main road.

The symbiote remained silent for a moment, before replying, "You sure this won’t lead us into more trouble than it’s worth?"

Vomi smirked, shifting gears as the city lights blurred by. "It always does.”

They cruised through the streets, the familiar mix of grime and neon painting the landscape around them. Despite the chaotic energy of the city, Vomi felt a strange sense of calm. She had a plan, she had her chrome, and she had the Colby purring beneath her. Not to mention the symbiote.

“By the way, I know the name was Project Klyntar, but do you have a name?”, Vomi commented as she saw a notification on the SFPD screen.

The symbiote seemed deep in thought, something that was easy to catch since they shared the same brain. They couldn't read each other's thoughts, but they can feel the emotions, or something similar to it.

The symbiote’s presence pulsed quietly, contemplative. Vomi could feel it shifting within her, like it was mulling over her question. Finally, it spoke.

“I’ve never needed one before,” it admitted. “Names were for... individuals. I was just a part of something bigger.”

Vomi nodded, her eyes still on the road. “Yeah, well, you’re your own thing now. We’re a team, remember? Feels right for you to have a name.”

The symbiote considered her words. “I suppose… If I were to choose, it should reflect both of us, something that resonates with what we’ve become together.”

She grinned. “Getting all poetic on me now?”

“I learn quickly,” it replied, a faint hint of amusement in its tone. “What would you suggest?”

Vomi bit her lip, thinking. “Hmm, something strong. Something that says you don’t back down, no matter what. ‘Venom’ would’ve been too obvious. But we’re not just toxic—we’re... adaptive.”

The symbiote hummed in agreement. “I like the sound of that. Something that evolves.”

“How about... Vanguard?” Vomi suggested, glancing down at her hands, watching the tendrils slightly ripple beneath her skin. “It means leading the way, adapting to whatever comes at you.”

There was a pause, a quiet connection forming between them as the symbiote mulled over the name. Then, a soft pulse of approval.

“Vanguard,” it echoed. “I can work with that.”

His voice was way softer than before. Like the identity he was given lifted a big weight out of his metaphorical shoulders.

Vomi smiled, her fingers tapping the wheel. “Alright, Vanguard it is. Welcome to the world.”

Vanguard’s presence seemed to settle within her, a newfound sense of identity shaping their bond. For the first time, it felt more like a partnership than a parasitic relationship. They were moving forward, sorta off.

The notification popped up again, “I guess we will need to make a quick stop, choom.”

“Why?”

She inspected the file that just got updated on the platform, a shootout literally just a few blocks away, “We can help some cops nearby us. Make some honest cash.”

“Elaborate.”, Vanguard spoke with interest, the symbiote tendrils finally retracting beneath Vomi's skin.

Jacob Fry

To be honest, the job in the police force sucks. Jacob could say that first hand, as his second fucking day in the law was enough to get him into a shootout. It was supposed to be a normal pull over drill, check the car and ID the driver, but apparently he was carrying chemo and wasn't really in the mood to talk either. The guy wasn't a Borg, but could be considered to be one. Because who the hell, in their common sense, has both arms to shoot .50 Cals??? The police patrol wasn't equipped to have this kind of defense against that and MaxTac would take hours to arrive here, so his only way to survive was to call back up in the HustleNet.

A contract with a few thousand of Eddies should attract someone to face this psycho, right?

Right?

Jacob Fry crouched behind his cruiser, trying to catch his breath as more rounds from the .50 cal ricocheted off the street, sending chunks of asphalt flying. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the noise of the city. The air was thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder and burnt rubber. This was supposed to be a routine stop, maybe a ticket at worst, but instead, he was caught in a firefight with some kind of chromed-out psychopath. His partner was already down, bleeding out in the driver’s seat.

Damn it. This isn’t what I signed up for.

He peeked around the cruiser, catching a glimpse of the shooter. The guy was a monster—chrome arms and an ugly sneer as he unloaded round after round with those damn twin .50 cals. The nomad had taken cover behind his car, using the heavy vehicle like a bunker. Jacob’s service revolver felt like a water gun in comparison.

Where the hell is backup?

His only hope was that someone picked up the HustleNet contract he sent out. Maybe a merc, maybe some cybered-up solo with enough firepower to match this psycho. It was a long shot, but in this city, it was his only shot.

Another barrage hit the side of the cruiser, shattering what was left of the windows. Jacob ducked low again, feeling his heart rate spike. He’d already called for MaxTac, but they weren’t coming anytime soon.

“I’m gonna die out here,” he muttered to himself, trying to calm the rising panic. His hands were shaking, adrenaline pumping through his veins in a way he’d never felt before. He wasn’t cut out for this—he didn’t have the experience, the chrome, or the nerve.

And then, out of nowhere, the roar of an engine filled the street.

Jacob looked up just in time to see a sleek, matte-black Colby come barreling down the road, skidding to a halt in a cloud of dust and exhaust. The car was imposing, a beast on wheels, and as the door opened, a woman in a white coat stepped out—looking completely unfazed by the chaos around her.

The woman casually adjusted her glasses, her eyes glowing faintly red with cyberware, scanning the scene with disinterest. She wasn’t wearing much armor, just a sleek outfit under that coat, but Jacob had seen enough solos to recognize the real danger wasn’t in the gear—it was in the attitude.

A merc, definitely.

“Who the hell…?” Jacob muttered, pushing himself back up against the cruiser.

Whoever she was, she ignored the officer as she pointed a Nue against the maniac.

A Nue? A simple pistol?

That was enough to make Jacob question if this wasn't just another psycho.

Jacob’s heart pounded as he watched Vomi raise the Nue, the sleek pistol glinting in the dim light of the city. His first instinct was disbelief—a pistol against a guy with twin .50 cal arms? He almost wanted to yell at her to take cover or call for more backup, but something in her expression, the calm confidence she exuded, made him hesitate.

She wasn’t just another psycho. She was something else.

The nomad spotted her immediately, his chromed-out face twisting into a sneer. “You think a peashooter like that’s gonna do anything, chica?” he growled, lifting one of his massive, cybernetic arms, the barrel of his weapon gleaming in the streetlight.

Vomi didn’t respond. She just moved.

In a blur of motion, faster than Jacob’s eyes could follow, she darted to the side, evading the first round of gunfire with almost inhuman grace. The nomad’s bullets tore into the pavement where she had stood moments ago, sending chunks of concrete flying.

Then, with a series of quick, precise movements, Vomi returned fire. The Nue barked, three rounds shot in rapid succession. Each bullet found its mark—weak points in the nomad’s cyberware that Jacob hadn’t even noticed. Sparks flew as the rounds hit, forcing the nomad back, his left arm seizing up from the damage.

She was definitely a Sandy user. No way someone without it could move like that without one.

“What the fuck…” the nomad snarled, clearly not expecting someone with a simple pistol to be this much of a threat.

But Vomi wasn’t done.

She got close again, a blip in their vision as the white coat was the only thing they could register, a punch that had way more force than it had any right to have connected to the nomad's face, the whiplash actually sending the guy back enough he took a few steps back. The Nue was again aimed at him, shooting even more weak point, but the nomad probably has subdermal armor, because that didn't stop the gonk to pull the .50 cal and shoot where she stood.

Whatever Sandy she has, saved her ass from getting flatlined, because the ground again was destroyed.

Jacob could barely keep up with the chaos unfolding in front of him. The nomad, despite taking several hits, was still on his feet, and his subdermal armor was doing its job, absorbing most of the damage. But Vomi wasn’t backing down. She moved like a ghost, vanishing from one spot and reappearing in another, evading the heavy fire from the nomad’s .50 cal with ease.

“She’s definitely running some high-end chrome,” Jacob muttered to himself. A Sandy—no doubt. He’d seen netrunners with reflex boosters, but this was something else. Her movements were almost… unnatural.

The ground exploded where Vomi had stood just seconds ago, chunks of asphalt flying into the air as the nomad’s weapon roared. The shockwave made Jacob’s ears ring, but when the dust settled, she was already gone—appearing on the nomad’s flank with a speed that defied logic.

Vomi’s eyes flashed red again as she holstered the Nue, her stance shifting. This time, she didn’t need bullets. She rushed in close, her body low and fast, and Jacob barely registered the movement before she connected with the nomad again—a palm strike aimed at his ribcage, right between the gaps in his armor.

The nomad grunted, the wind knocked out of him, but Vomi didn’t stop. She followed up with a brutal kick to his knee, sending him off balance. The symbiote flickered into existence for a brief second, enhancing her movements, giving her blows more force than a normal human could muster.

The nomad stumbled, his massive arms flailing as he tried to regain his footing, but Vomi was already behind him. A blur of white coat and dark tendrils, she struck again, this time targeting the back of his neck—another weak point in his cyberware. The impact sent a cascade of sparks shooting out as the nomad’s systems glitched.

"Flatline this bitch!" he roared, wildly swinging his arm around, but Vomi was already gone, ducking under the blow and sidestepping out of reach.

Jacob couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The nomad was twice her size, loaded with top-tier chrome, and yet Vomi was dismantling him like a damn machine.

“She’s not just a merc,” Jacob muttered under his breath, gripping his pistol tighter. “She’s something else.”

The nomad, now disoriented and on the verge of collapsing, let out a furious growl and pulled the trigger on his remaining arm. The .50 cal barked, the recoil shaking his entire body as another deafening round was fired.

But Vomi was already in motion. She slid to the side, the bullet missing her by inches, and before the nomad could react, she closed the distance one final time.

Her hand lashed out, fingers extended in a precise strike. The symbiote surged forward with her, reinforcing her arm as it drove into the exposed circuitry at the back of the nomad’s neck. With a flick of her wrist, she severed a key connection.

The nomad froze, his body locking up as his systems overloaded. The glow in his cybernetic eyes flickered and died.

He collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud, his massive frame hitting the pavement like a falling building.

Vomi straightened, her expression as calm and composed as ever, despite the chaos she’d just endured. She glanced down at the nomad’s unconscious form and holstered the Nue again, her fingers brushing against her coat as the tendrils retracted back into her skin.

Jacob just stood there, staring at the wreckage of the nomad, his heart pounding in his chest. “What the hell are you?” he finally asked, his voice hoarse.

“Just another merc trying to get paid, choom.”, Vomi didn’t look at him as she replied, “Oh look! Free Eddie shards!”

She said as she collected the shard, transferring the EuroDollars to her account.

The complete contrast of her previous professional persona. She was almost like a kid now.

“You good?”, She asked as she finally looked at him.

“I ain't dead.”, He quipped, “That's a start.”

“Nova.”, The woman nodded with a smile, “What about the eddies tho?”

Jacob blinked, “Oh, yeah. The PD will pay after I confirm the contract. MaxTac should take care of the rest.”

“Then I'm off.”, She said, going back to her Colby.

“W-wait!”, He called, “I… uh… thanks. The PD could use someone like you in the ranks.”

She seemed to consider it before readjusting her glasses, “Nope. I'm better off as a solo.”

“Worth trying.”

Jacob watched as Vomi casually got back into her Colby, the door closing with a solid thunk. Her laid-back attitude, after just dismantling a fully chromed-out nomad, was jarring. The whole situation still didn’t feel real. The way she switched between being a deadly merc and, well, someone who saw everything as a joke left him more than a little unsettled.

He jogged up to the car window as she started the engine. “Hey, before you go,” Jacob said, still catching his breath. “That black thing… whatever you did back there. You saved my life.”

Vomi raised an eyebrow, her hand still on the steering wheel. “You mean the monowire? Don’t sweat it. Just another day, another Eddie.”

Jacob nodded slowly, trying to process that. “Still, you could’ve let me get flatlined, but you didn’t.”

Vomi shrugged, her smile returning. “True. But where’s the fun in that?”

The cop let out a short laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “You should leave. Let me handle the bureaucracy.”

Vomi smirked, then revved the engine. “See you around, choom. Maybe don’t get into another shootout so soon, yeah?”

With that, she peeled out, the Colby roaring as it sped down the street, leaving Jacob standing in the glow of the city’s neon lights.

As the sound of her car faded into the distance, Jacob let out a long breath. He reached for his radio, calling in to HQ.

“Yeah, this is Officer Fry. Incident contained. The nomad’s down, and… well, let’s just say we had some help.”

He glanced in the direction Vomi had driven off, shaking his head. “Better send a cleanup crew. And tell MaxTac to stand down—they missed all the fun.”

Inside the Colby, Vomi glanced at the Eurodollars in her account. Not bad for a quick job. “What do you think, Vanguard? Easy eddies?”

The symbiote’s voice hummed within her mind. “Simple, but effective. Though the human's gratitude was… amusing.”

Vomi chuckled. “Yeah, well, cops like him don’t last long in cities like this unless they get a little help.”

“And yet, you refuse to join them.”

Vomi grinned, her eyes catching the neon reflection in the rearview mirror. “What can I say? I’m not really the authority type.”

Vanguard’s voice echoed softly in her mind. “We make our own rules, then.”

“Damn right we do,” Vomi replied, the grin never leaving her face as the Colby sped into the night.