The codefreak seems to process what I just said for a second and proceeds to completely disregard it. She gets up, knees buckling and legs wobbling in a distinctly post-climax way (and they fucking better! Fifteen full minutes in snuff doll heaven, cunt), and goes to peer down through the window blinds. Fucking cyberschizo. I wonder how I keep getting into these sorts of messes time and again as I watch her struggle getting her crusty synleather pants on. They do go on the right way, unlike her band T-shirt, the logo (a nuclear symbol with wings sandwiched between the name "NUKLEAR ANGEL") now proudly displayed on her back. Any possible symbolism completely wasted on the company present. At least the boots go on the right feet.
Once she's done with this gangly contortionist act she starts to pace around the room, twitching and mumbling something bout a "delta vector". I turn to peek at her half-closed laptop, still on the bed. The angled and distorted webcam view shows her chooms having an argument, unsurprisingly. One of them is brandishing a big ugly meat cleaver and emoting with it wildly enough to soon cut indiscriminately. The codefreak obscures the view by sitting down and grabbing the laptop, straightening the display and booting up.. a satellite view? The view quickly settles on what is unmistakably the very motel we're currently in. Fuck me. I have to try and knock some sense into her before it's too late.
"Hello? Do you mean your chooms are going to burst through that door any second now and you're looking for route info from the Net?", I offer, a lifeline out of whatever bog her brains are sinking into. I mean, I could just leave, bluff or rat her out to get out of here before borg shit starts hitting the industrial fan, but I'd like to not have to walk past Mister Meat Cleaver. The netfreak bites at her scabbed lips, a tiny drip of pale liquid oozing out of them, still looking at the now zoomed-in top-down view. "I'm not looking at route info", she starts, her voice a croaking monotone. "I checked the distance between the building edge and the parking garage next to us. We're going to the rooftop and we're jumping over to there. Coming?"
Fuck. That's... Actually a decent idea? I'm in disbelief actually, and would like to argue out of principle if I wasn't still hung up on Mister Meat Cleaver. I mean, where the fuck does one procure a meat cleaver from in Night City in 2077? Animal meat's practically extinct here, you hardly need a cleaver to cut up single-cell organic proteins. So it's a statement piece, and he's going to use it to cut up Miss Freak here, and more importantly me if I'm caught with her. So we better actually utilize the "delta vector" she's figured out for us here, before we end up as filler in a Maelstrom scop-factory.
I grab my dress and start putting it on, noticing Miss Freak twitch when I move. Once I'm done I grab my stilettoes (sharp enough to use as a weapon of my own, if it gets to it) and get my stupid hair out of my eyes. Such a fucking bother. I notice she has had her optics very obviously trained on me the whole time and wonder if she has a thing for people dressing up. Some are wired so that nudity is almost boringly transparent and need a little left to the imagination. And this dress does make me look downright dreamy. Be that as it may, she needs to get a grip. "Keep staring and I'll charge you by the second. We delta or what?" I ask her, and her slack jaw snaps shut almost in step with her laptop folding shut.
She lurches down towards one of her black duffel bags. It's obvious whatever's in those is extremely connected to her imminent fate of becoming minced meat. She puts the laptop into one of them and picks them both up, hoisting the heavy one to her left side with the long carrying strap going diagonally onto her right shoulder, and carrying the lighter one under her left arm, the powerful yet compact 'Saka arm motors whirring in delighted effort while her core muscles clearly struggle. I take the lead and unlock the room's sliding door, opening it manually to take a peek through the crack. "They're still down, but they're going to start going room to room any second now", Miss Freak hisses, probably tuned into their communications frequency. I open the door fully, and slip into the corridor, freakazoid in tow.
We sneak up the stairs, past the vending machines and some loitering guests, and we reach the roof entrance as we start hearing distant screaming and yelling. Thankfully any cleaving noises don't travel this far. I try the door handle and it doesn't budge. The pad next to the door lets out an annoying "de-denk!" noise and flashes a red "NO ENTRY - KEYCARD REQUIRED" on the display. Fuck. I turn to Miss Freak, and she wordlessly shunts the lighter duffel bag to my arms. It reeks of mildew and piss, and then she fucking opens it to fish the laptop out. I gag. She holds the laptop on one hand and rummages around her pockets for something and produces a cable attached to what I deduce to be a programmable keycard. She connects the cable end to the laptop and types a few lines into her console and holds the keycard to the pad. The pad goes "d-d-d-d-de-den-d-de-denk-de-denk" very annoyingly and then lets out a happy "didiu!" and the door opens. Not very subtle or elegant, this getaway of ours.
An AV flies over us as we get on the slippery roof. The thinnest sheet of rain bears down upon us and I shiver, having left my jacket in Henry's car the night before. I look at the garage looming next to us, several stories taller than this motel, and I look as Miss Freak grabs the duffel bag from my arms, shoves her laptop inside it, walks up to the edge, and meekly throws the bag towards the parking garage. It hits the concrete guard railing's edge and bounces off, falling down into the alley below. "FUCK! FUCKING FUCK! FUCKING! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!", she laments. "FUCKING SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING GONK!", I comfort her, knowing how much the loss of all her worldly possessions including her dear old laptop with all the cute stickers probably stings.
I drop my stilettoes and walk up to her peering down into the alley. I grab a hold of the duffel bag still on her, half to get her attention and half out of not wanting her to follow the other bag down. She turns to me, full-body trembling, the red glow of her optics pulsing and flickering in the foggy drizzle. She looks absolutely fucking miserable. "This is the one that has the shit you klepped from the gang, right?" I say firmly but softly, her instantly verifying my intuition by twitching like she was hit. "So, we're gonna throw this one over together, okay? Get the strap off, yes, okay, so let's swing it like this, and on three, okay? Ooone, twooo, THREE!" We throw the bag, her letting go slightly after me, and the bag sails through the air, veering to the right, hits the guard rail's edge (Miss Freak lets out a sharp hiss and does a full-body clench) but falls to the parking garage side. It's the little victories.
Okay, now comes the actually scary part. Considering Miss Freak's extreme ineptitude in everything meatspace-related, I elect to jump first. It's a meager six, maybe seven feet gap, with a slight drop from the motel roof edge to the garage's guard railing, but the drop down into the alley, and the slippery roof... Better not think about it. I hop towards the entrance to get a running start, and onetwothreefourfive JUMP! I fly throught the air, hit the railing side and grab a hold of it, and pull myself over. I get up and steady myself with the railing. "Your turn, I'll catch you", I lie through my teeth. No way I'm letting this gonk literally pull me down to my grave, but she's already hurtling towards me before I finish the thought. She leaps over the gap and her cyberarms find firm purchase in the concrete, and she pulls herself over the railing. It's like her arms move and the rest of her body follows, like an amoeba following its pseudopods. She falls to the concrete with a dull thud and gasps for air.
While the freakazoid lays on her back for a bit catching her breath, I move to secure the package, like the mercs say. Seems like the zipper has opened up and some of the contents have spilled out. Metal cylinders, like thermos bottles, maybe half a liter in volume. Curiosity, adrenaline, and entitlement to knowing what the fuck I'm risking my life for get combined into a powerful drive and I hold up one of them, and seeing the seam in the middle, twist it. It lets out a muffled hydraulic noise as the mechanism opens up. The metal cylinder reveals an oval glass object, and in the liquid inside is suspended an entire human eyeball, with the optic nerve stretching into the depths of the cylinder base. I turn to the codefreak with the container open in my hands. She's sitting, back against the railing, not moving but with her optics fixed on me. I stare back into the red glow.
I blink first.