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Strong Enough 3.2
🕑 Added 2025-09-17 04:00:07 +0000 UTCRefugee 3.2
“Get the fuck out.”
Maine sits hunched forward, fists clenched tight.
“I—” The words tie knots in Taylor’s throat.
Maine stands, couch tipping backwards, fists trembling. “I said get the FUCK OUT!”
His roar sends Taylor flying backwards in null time. She slips out the door, into the hallway leading to the rest of the building. They’re at Dorio’s apartment.
They’re at…what used to be Dorio’s apartment.
They don’t have her body, probably never well. A quarter of downtown is quarantined by Arasaka and MaxTac. Maelstrom is gone, pulled out root and stem, purged from their diaspora in the docks and burned out of the old industrial district with fire and blood.
But Maelstrom still made it to the doorstep of Arasaka tower before Saburo Arasaka himself gave the order to unleash the company’s personal boogie man: Adam Smasher.
He tore through Maelstrom’s twisted borgs like paper, and if Taylor and the others had stayed and waited instead of breaking out, he would have shredded them as well. The justification can’t force the bile back down Taylor’s throat, but they’re probably the only reason Maine hasn’t crushed her head in between his massive fingers.
But he doesn’t forgive her.
“You made the call,” he said. “This is your fuck up. Get outta my fucking crew.”
She leans against the wall, hand pressed tight against her throbbing temple as Maine flips the table behind her. She’s running on bounce-back and shock. Dorio dead, Sasha in the hospital. Becca got shot once in the gut and tore that wound open wider when she hauled Taylor out of the water.
All of this so that Emma Barnes can get the best medical treatment that Night City can offer.
The door in front of her hisses open, and Pilar comes in supporting his sister. Hospitals in Night City are running short on beds, after the Storm. It already has a name, a day and a half later.
Becca takes one look at Taylor and slips out of Pilar’s grip. “Scar!” She glomps Taylor around the middle. “Are you…”
She doesn’t ask if she’s okay. Taylor looks down, blinking slowly. She’s not okay.
“I’m off the team,” she says.
“What?” Becca steps back, frowning. “No fuckin’ way. We wouldn’t ‘a made it out without you!”
“Wouldn’t have been there without her either,” Pilar says. Taylor winces.
Becca kicks him in the shin. “Shut the fuck up!”
“Don’t shoot the messenger, bitch,” Pilar says. Taylor slumps back against the wall and ignores Becca’s worried glance, ignores the hand squeezing her elbow.
“You did what you could,” Becca says.
Taylor laughs once, but Becca shakes her head, expression firming. “You know what? Fuck that!” She stomps a foot. “You were there, the whole fuckin’ way, cutting through gangers like monowire. If Maine can’t respect that, he needs to hear about himself!”
Taylor raises a hand. “Don’t, for me.”
Becca growls. “You don’t just toss someone out on the fuckin—” She shakes her head again, stomping past them.
Taylor snags her by the shoulder. “I said it’s not worth it.”
“Dorio’s dead,” Becca says.
Taylor flinches back.
“We’re not in the biz to retire, choom.” Becca meets Taylor’s eyes. “And I know Dorio would cap a bitch before she kicked anyone out on the streets over a job gone wrong.”
Pilar gives a wry laugh, lips twisting into a too-long smirk. “Specially one this big.”
“It’s not about the eddies, gonk!” Becca glares, before stomping into the room. “Maine!”
It takes about two seconds for the shouting to start.
Pilar flexes his long, chromed-out fingers. “You did get the money though, right?” he asks.
Taylor wants to slap him. Instead, she slumps back against the wall. “Yeah.” It really is a lot of eddies. At the time, she was just being spiteful, but then Dorio died. Each time Taylor remembers that Emma didn’t die too, a guttering ember of relief flares up in her breast, and she hates herself a little more.
Pilar whistles. “Then shit, don’t sweat so much!” He slinks next to her on the wall. “Maine’ll come round. It’s hard, but—” One of his long arms starts to wind up and around Taylor’s shoulders.
Before he can touch her, she fires the Sandevistan. Her hand snaps tight around his wrist, glaring. The implant burns hot in her back still, a warmth that sinks deep into her bones and fills her sagging resolve.
“Dorio’s dead, fuckhead!” She shoves him away.
Pilar stumbles back, rubbing his wrist. “Yeah?” He puffs up, like Taylor didn’t just manhandle him. “Want me to side with Maine? Maybe you should be off the crew.”
Taylor’s about to yell something at him that will ensure he’s on Maine’s side, but then Becca comes flying back down the hall. She hits the far wall hard enough to crack the cheap plaster before falling to the ground in a heap.
“The FUCK out of here!” Maine roars. “ALL of your asses!”
The three of them can’t get out of the apartment fast enough.
Outside, on the concrete landing, Taylor helps check Becca’s back. Just a bruise, no broken bones, so no second trip to the chop doc. Becca half slumps into Taylor’s arms, frustration scrunching her face.
“Maine kicked me off the crew,” she says.
Taylor swears softly.
“It’s…it’s no big deal. I was solo before.” Becca sniffs, curling her shoulders. “We’ll…we’ll figure it out, right, Scar?”
Taylor jolts. “I. Yeah.” She finally manages to swallow. “I’ve got you.”
Becca hugs her again.
Pilar huffs. “The fuck am I?”
Becca buries her face in Taylor’s stomach. “Don’t see you goin’ in there to defend me.”
“Yeah, cause I don’t want Maine to rip my arms off.” He sighs, rubbing the side of his vizor. “Look, you two should probably delta. I’ll try ‘n talk to him after he comes down.”
There’s a crash from inside the apartment. Pilar takes a step away. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Taylor and Becca share a glance.
Taylor sighs and tries to swallow the self-loathing. “…How’s Sasha?”
Becca takes a step back, and a deep breath. “Not great, choom. She ripped that runner’s guts out, but hers were pretty charred, according to the doc.”
A lance of ice runs through Taylor’s core. “Is she—?”
“She’ll live, don’t you worry.” Pilar tries a reassuring grin. It falls flat, and Taylor hasn’t forgotten him hitting on her five minutes ago. “But it’ll take some serious juice to get her back on her feet.” Drugs mean money, and probably a longer hospital stay as well.
“Fuck.” Taylor rubs her face. “I…I’ll transfer the funds from the gig. Maine…can have my share.”
Becca huffs. “Well, he can’t fucking have mine!”
Taylor transfers the eddies to the remains of the crew without responding. It does a little to lift Becca and Pilar’s moods, at least. “I’m gonna go see Sasha,” she says.
“Mmm.” Becca nods quietly. “Mind…mind some company?”
“Sure,” Taylor whispers.
Pilar does, at least, stick with his sister back to the clinic. Even if they’re both acting out, the shock, the surprise slips through. It ties Taylor’s stomach into knots. Out of the window of the NCART, Taylor can see a ripped-up west end, smoke still rising from city center. The news put some big number she doesn’t care to remember on the amount of damage Maelstrom did in their dying gasp.
And, of course, they’re talking about Deadman. She tried really hard to forget, but right now she can barely bring herself to care.
While the Storm tore through the southwest part of Night City, everything east of the canal remains untouched. Turns out Sasha is picky about her health coverage, and managed to secure a spot at a relatively good clinic in Arroyo. Burned up or not, she still had the RAM to hack her way through the waiting list.
Sasha’s blue-pink eyes blink tiredly when the three of them shuffle into her hospital room.
“Hey, chooms—” She coughs once, monitor next to the bed beeping angrily.
Taylor takes a step forward, unsure, but Sasha gets her breathing back under control on her own.
Still useless.
“N-nice of you to check in,” Sasha whispers.
“Shit, we couldn’t just leave you here.” Becca shrugs. “Specially not after…”
Sasha nods silently. Her eyes go to Taylor. “How’re you holding up?”
“Does it matter?” Taylor asks. “It’s my fault anyway.”
Sasha sighs. She lifts a hand towards Taylor before letting it fall back to the bed. Even that effort exhausts her. “Don’t…” she starts. “Don’t wanna lose two friends.”
Taylor jerks once. “I won’t—”
Sasha flashes a weak smile. “Girl’s gotta make sure.”
Taylor shakes her head. “Not your job to worry about me anymore.”
Sasha makes a confused sound. Taylor doesn’t want to get into it, so in the end Becca steps up and explains how Maine kicked them both off the crew.
“Oh Becs,” Sasha sighs. “Did you really think yelling at him was gonna…” she stops, coughing again.
“You shouldn’t be talking,” Taylor says. “Look just…Becca and I’ll be fine. Worry about getting better.”
Sasha gives her a searching look before reaching out her hand once again. This time, Taylor takes it, squeezing lightly.
“I’ll be fine,” Taylor says again.
“Hold you to it,” Sasha whispers. She tightens her fingers once more before slumping back on the bed. Taylor catches the faint sheen of sweat on her brow.
“Will you be okay?” Taylor asks.
Sasha nods, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “Going over treatment plans.”
Taylor works her mouth uselessly.
Sasha laughs silently, mouth closed. “Here.” She pulls a contact wire out of her wrist. Taylor takes it, surprised, but still slots it for Sasha to transfer a small data packet.
“What?”
“That car.” Sasha’s wire snaps back into her wrist. “Records, autopilot code.”
Taylor laughs once, even as Becca ribs her playfully. Steal a girl’s car and then save her life. “…Thanks.”
“Glad we got our spa day,” Sasha says. That takes the last of her energy, and the three of them step out as an exhausted and stimmed-up nurse comes in to check on Sasha.
Outside the hospital, Taylor takes in the people crowding the street. If they live and work on the east side of Night City, the Storm was just another act of senseless gang violence in the annals of history, not as bad as the Pacifica collapse.
Here and there, she picks faces out of the crowd that shuffle along, sallow and drawn. People who lost someone on the other side of the canal but can’t stop coming to work just because of something as mundane as death.
That realization sits in her palm like a stone.
“Gonna jet, choom,” Becca says.
Taylor looks up, reaching out a hand. She wraps it around Becca’s shoulders, pulling the smaller woman close. Becca collapses into the hug, while Pilar does the nicest thing he’s done all day and pretends to be really interested in the hospital’s architecture.
“I’ll call you.”
“You better, girl.” Becca sniffles. “And hey, you got Maelstrom, yeah?”
Taylor jolts, arms tightening around Becca. She hadn’t even thought about it.
“We met on that Maelstrom job, yeah?” Becca rubs at her eyes. “Full…full circle.”
“Full circle,” Taylor whispers.
The hug lasts a few moments longer, before Taylor pushes Becca back towards Pilar. She watches them slip back into the churn of people in Night City.
Becca’s right; Taylor’s revenge is complete. Maelstrom is no more. Even if she didn’t pull the trigger herself, every single person involved in her mother’s murder is dead. Fuck, if she goes to the NCPD’s site, they’ll start releasing lists of the dead criminals. Their faces will be there, greyed out, with the same date of death.
But she didn’t have anything to do with it.
Taylor starts back through the city, towards the penthouse. A growing kernel of discontent unfurls inside her breast. Her mother’s killers are dead, but the city doesn’t care. Every person she passes is either happy this most recent tragedy missed them, or grieving the wreckage of their own life.
None of them find much solace in the death of one gang. Tomorrow, there will be another gang moving into bombed-out buildings and painting over Maelstrom tags. Tomorrow, the Animals might shoot up another family on the highway.
What did Taylor gain from her revenge, except another dead friend that she traded to save Emma?
Taylor stops at a police line, the bright holotape flashing caution signs a block from her building. She blinks, looking up. In the distance, she can barely make out the Barnes’s building. It looks like the façade fell off.
Right, they lived in Watson. Watson got hit hardest by the one-day gang war.
Taylor looks back down and realizes she’s got about a dozen missed calls from Alan Barnes. Some short, just asking Taylor to call, some worried, some relieved about Emma, still thanking her yet again. It washes over her in a breaking wave.
Taylor blinks through her interface to the most recent message. Alan’s voice is calmer, but tired, just like Taylor is tired.
She stands there, next to the police line, and listens.
“Taylor, I…” A sigh. “I know I told you to call me, but that’s not an option. Legal is in full crunch right now, after the Maelstrom Riot. I’ve been pulled in, off of my leave, rotated and it…it doesn’t matter. It’s a mess and a half. I’m drafting docs as we speak.
“You should know that our building is two steps from condemned. I don’t have time to deal with it, legal legally, but I pulled the emergency escape clause in the lease. Half of this month’s rent back and seventy-five percent of the deposit. It’s…I know it’s a big ask, but I need you to handle that for the next month or so. It’s…” A laugh, tight. “I might not even be in Night City until January.”
Taylor’s mouth drops open.
“Oh, right. I’m not kicking you out, I wouldn’t do that. Especially not after, you know…” Alan coughs. “Ah, I don’t have much time left. Gotta run these up the chain. Working with Abernathy’s division is always a—anyway. I’m gonna be on base for the foreseeable future. I’ll wire you that deposit money; let me know when you need more. Just…take care of Emma, okay? She’ll be out of the hospital soon, and I can’t…I can’t be there right now.
“I’d push harder, but my leverage is maxed out. You know why. It’s…This is the best I can do. Best I could have hoped for, really. Thank you, again, really, really thank you. I don’t know what you did or who you talked to, and I don’t want to know. I’ll send you a link; managed to bang out a quickclaim contract, nice and legal way for me to wire you some rent money. Any more than that is…
Alan sighs, at once relieved and exhausted. “I should be able to talk again next week. I’ve already called Emma, so she’ll be expecting you.”
The message clicks off. Taylor follows the attached link, and sure enough, it downloads an agreement for Alan to ‘hire on’ Taylor as a caretaker for Emma, payment in one lump sum up front. She presses her face into her hands. Fuck but this is so in character for Alan it hurts.
Taylor is still muttering to herself and thinking of ways to turn him down when she realizes that she’s already on her way to Emma’s hospital. She didn’t even pause, can’t really even consider walking away.
She can tell herself all kinds of reasons why this is the right move. One month of rent is one month of rent. She didn’t go through all this trouble to leave Emma on the streets until her absent father realizes Taylor never responded. Emma and Alan both know too much for Taylor to up and vanish. There are good reasons to stick around.
But the one that blooms inside her is more simple and more true.
Taylor is tired of losing things, even bad things, to this hell of a city.
Emma’s room is bigger than Sasha’s, cleaner, white floor and polished medical equipment. Trauma Team earns their overinflated prices by catering to the healthcare ‘experience’ of the uberwealthy. Emma sits in the middle of that clean, bright opulence, just as homeless as Taylor was during her last hospital stay.
The door slides open with a soft hiss. Taylor leans against the frame, still in the same labcoat and charred undersuit she last saw Emma in. All of her other clothes are in a condemned building.
Emma turns, red hair falling around her pale face like a veil. Her hands sit folded in her lap, over a thin white sheet. You can trace where her leg ends beneath the fabric.
Emma wets her lips. “…Hey.”
Taylor doesn’t speak.
“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Emma says. “I tried to tell Daddy, not that he listened. He never listens.” She looks down, shaking her head. “Sorry, I…it’s not important. I…” she stumbles to a stop.
“Not what I thought you’d say.” Taylor crosses her arms.
Emma nods. “Yeah, I’m a real bitch, aren’t I?”
Taylor huffs. “You admitting it doesn’t change anything.”
“No,” Emma replies. “It doesn’t. I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.”
Emma looks back at her, green eyes tired. “What do you want me to say?”
Taylor shakes her head. “Forget it, let’s delta.”
Emma points. “I’m…gonna need help getting into my chair.”
Taylor stares.
Emma shrugs. “My plan doesn’t cover the prosthetic.”
“Welcome to Night City,” Taylor says.
“Don’t enjoy your stay,” Emma replies.
Taylor snorts at the familiar refrain despite herself. She pulls the wheelchair over while Emma shifts over to the edge of the bed.
Taylor pauses at the sight of the smooth chrome cap at the bottom of Emma’s thigh. The glossy black metal shimmers like oilslick in the overhead lights. Emma shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the hem of her hospital gown, but otherwise sits silently.
With a huff, Taylor sets up the chair next to the bed. It’s high enough that Emma can slip over the backrest and into the wheelchair.
Taylor leans forward, gazing resolutely over Emma’s shoulder as Emma places her arms around Taylor’s neck.
“Ready,” she whispers.
Taylor lifts in time with Emma. The chair rolls away from the bed.
With a muffled curse, Taylor blurs into motion. She stops the chair, lowers Emma into it as slowly as she can. This time, her head doesn’t throb, even as the warmth from the Sandevistan lingers along the hollow spaces of her bones even after she returns to real time.
Emma stares up at her, gasping, pupils dilated.
Taylor pulls back, but Emma snags her wrist once again.
Taylor glares. “What.”
Emma peeks up at Taylor through her fringe. “Thank you,” she says. “Whatever…happens from now. Thank you, and…I’m sorry.”
Taylor looks away. “I stole your car.”
The admission startles a laugh from Emma. It’s so strange, hearing Emma laugh, but not at her. The redhead squeezed Taylor’s wrist one more time.
And then she lets go.
