Chapter 0 - CyberPunk 2042: Yokogawa

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INCOMING TRANSMISSION.
 
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Employer Codename: Odin
 
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Target: Yokogawa Yakuza Family head, Yokogawa Himari.
Eyes: Brown Height: 5’5” Age: 41
Bounty: 150,000 USD (see further details)
Target Acquisition Difficulty: Difficult
Dead or Alive: 150,000 USD DEAD/200,000 USD ALIVE (50,000 USD Bonus)
 
…
 
LOADING, PLEASE BE PATIENT. 
 
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Mercenary Codename: “Salty & Sweet”
Specialty: Acquisitions/High-Risk Smash & Grab
 
…
 
TARGET ACCEPTED!
HAPPY HUNTING!
 
~

Dim. Did the people below ever notice; that beyond the neon lights and holographic displays there was only darkness. No more natural lights in the sky. He never liked that; what was it that made the stars go out so long ago? Light pollution. Tara had taught him that, yes, light pollution. In fact, she had taught him a great deal of things. Like how to dress for starters; body armor beneath the jacket. Never let them know your padded up she would say. Oh, and use your arms, dumbass! They’re nitinol for a reason. The imposing mercenary examined his augmented digits with care and attention; they were indeed made of the incredibly flexible and strong alloy. It was the first gift she’d ever given him, almost making him feel something for an instant: gratitude? The elevator shifted, quickly snapping him back to attention; he was on the clock.
 
Carlyle racked the Bushmaster DP-16 auto-shotgun, firmly securing a 24-shell magazine into the magwell. Loaded with 12g 00 buck, a telescopic stock, ViroTek heartbeat detector, and his own lucky dinosaur key chain. The boomstick was his favorite firearm, a preferred tool of the trade. Tara told him not to have favorites. It would be his secret, as what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. 
 
He’d be on the 62nd floor soon, and if her intel was correct, the target would be expecting him. The Yakuza head was likely to have plenty of fire power and disposable foot soldiers, short delays. Dealing with grunts was his least favorite part, as their reliance on firearms lessened the experience, he preferred a more “hands-on” approach; shotguns being the next best thing, this would have to do.
 
“You read me, you big hunk”? His handler and partner gleefully questioned over closed communications. Carlyle could hear the wind in the background; she was exposed, but no doubt at a safe distance.
 
“Yes”.
 
“Excellent! Now you know you’re late to the party, right? You have exactly…gimme a sec…17 guests waiting to meet you”! The younger mercenary lived for nights like this, to toy with her stoic pet. “Alright sweetheart, you know the deal, systems check if you would please”. 
 
“Understood”. He tapped the side of his motorcycle helmet, also a combination on nitinol and beta-c titanium, fitted with a built in 3AA communication system and AIMTECH heads up display. 
 
“Party hat”?
 
“Check”.
 
“Rental tux”?
 
The hitman firmly patted his jacket, a red satin bomber with an oni skull embroidered on the back; she’d picked it out just for this mission; XL, to fit his bulky 6’4” frame. Beneath it an IBA vest made of synthetic weave and Kevlar, as his chest was his least protected area; many augmentations here were largely internal. 
 
“Check”.
 
“Last but not least, did you zip up your fly”?
 
 Carlyle looked down; he would always forget during prep.
 
“You looked didn’t you”, she chuckled, “Alright, enough games, you’re good to go sweet stuff”. She plugged her thermal scope’s auxiliary cord into the neural port in the back of her neck. She was on overwatch, shouldering her favorite rifle, a purple surplus BMG-50A chambered in .50 caliber, tweaked to her own specifications. The hitwoman was of diminutive stature at 5’1”, by her own design, blond hair tucked into a bun. Pale lavender eyes flashed with incoming data, augments chosen for information and data management. A necessity for her role. As her partner’s handler it wasn’t required that she be near, and in this case, was positioned a fair distance from the Yokogawa high-rise; nestled in another skyscraper just down the street, currently under construction. The ultimate vantage point. “Sushi later tonight”?
 
“We’ll see”. The elevator reached its destination, grinding to a halt; floor 62. He tucked himself as closely as he could to the elevator’s right wall; this wasn’t his first rodeo. 
 
Yakuza hitmen began yelling in their foreign tongue, spraying small arms down the corridor; hoping that the hail of bullets would kill whatever was inside. He took note of the damage; nothing too serious yet. Small arms fire, no serious hardware yet. Several bullets ricocheted into his arms, doing little damage to the composite metal; 9x19mm, hollow points, meant for human flesh. They clearly hadn’t done their research. Still, their tenacity was noted, engaging even without a clear line of sight.
 
“Need a gift to steal the show”? Tara grew “excited” at the prospect of getting her hands dirty, this was her favorite part of an operation. The “exchange”, as she referred to it.
 
“No”. His partner didn’t need to draw attention to herself, even if the little imp was nearly a mile away. 
 
The gunfire stopped, one of them yelling in Japanese. Yamete. His built-in language translator quickly displayed a result. Stop. Good enough for him.
 
He lunged from hiding, eyes quickly making a target risk analysis. 12 visible targets. 6 lightly augmented. 2 heavily augmented. 4 pistols, Daewoo 32J’s chambered in 9x19mm. Korean, ironic. 6 SMGs, SolTech K3, Alpha series, also chambered in 9x19mm. 2 katanas, traditionally forged, classic design. Disappointing. With skill and speed Carlyle dispatched several members; a short burst of the DP-16 did a lot of damage, especially in tight corridors, large pellets ripping through flesh and bone. One of the augmented members charged forward, faster than Carlyle could react, quickly hacking with his Japanese longsword. This one attacked with reckless abandon, most likely hopped up on combat drugs. Instinctively the mercenary used his shotgun as a shield; a major regret, as the blade was now deeply lodged in the chamber of his favorite weapon. It had sliced into the ejection port; it was broken now… The mercenary looked up, matching his gaze with the Yakuza’s, “that wasn’t a good idea”.
 
Relinquishing his damaged shotgun, he advanced, closing the short distance with a mighty blow. The enhanced yakuza member was launched several feet down the hall way, colliding with two other unfortunate souls. His immensely strong mechanical punch obliterated the man’s nose and jaw, an arch of blood spraying from his shattered face. This would be interesting. Another advanced, wildly slashing with a short dagger, a tanto; this one was bald. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t as fast as his comrade, and the augmented mercenary had little problem lifting the smaller Asian man off the ground and with a swift motion, flinging him through the large glass window to his left. He screamed as he descended to the busy neon streets below, plummeting for god knows how long. This was the good part. Another, and then another approached, yet for lack of a better expression he admired their “warrior spirit”. He knew little of samurai, but this is what it must’ve been like in feudal Japan. Minus the cybernetic element. The snap of an arm, the shattering of skulls; Fighting foes of this caliber was a disappointing match up. Cybernetic lungs and heart made feats such as this unbearably easy; the bounty was too high for this difficulty rating, he’d have to tell Tara when they were finished. 
 
“How come you have all the fun”? She was pouting now. Lyle got to do everything! While she did the planning, handled the contracts, the research… but she also handled the money. There was an obvious power gap in their relationship, and she pulled the strings. She calmed herself, no need to get too upset, Tara needed him for ops like this. Plus, she enjoyed the show, as the woman could feel the growing warmth between her legs. Watching him work like this struck a chord within her, what a man. 
 
“I don’t know”, he replied while rhythmically snapping the second to last man’s neck, they were light work; not much fun. He reached down and pried a katana from one of the corpses. Neat. He was still bothered by the damage dealt to his weapon, but it couldn’t be helped, and his handler would fix it up later anyways. The last yakuza member left in the hallway was cowering behind the reception desk, he could hear his exaggerated breathing. Carlyle examined him blankly, taking note of his youth. Perhaps he thought this would’ve been an easy assignment, softened by years of inactivity and decadence; maybe he was family, and didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Shame. Perhaps he could let this one go, there wasn’t much fun in hacking up some kid. Decisi-
 
The young Japanese mobster’s head exploded almost instantaneously, blood and bone fragments painting the muralled walls, and the katana wielding mercenary knew why. 
 
“Sorry”, Tara was blushing now, to behave inappropriately was her forte.
 
“I had it”, he didn’t like when she unnecessarily got involved. 
 
“I like you moody! Oh, come on thunder thighs, let’s just wrap it up ok”? She understood that he liked things a certain way, but the temptation was just too powerful. 
 
“Ok”, he pushed forward, “how many left”. He was now holding sword with both hands; using it would be fun.
 
“5 heat signatures, remember to take the birthday girl with you”, she was ready to go home: to lay down in a big bed of cash and treat herself. A new toy for him, six for her. 
 
He pushed open the tatami doors, ready to jump into the fray.
 
 The scene was off-putting. Himari was with her family. 3 children, a boy and two girls. Her husband. A middle-aged man, seemingly unaffiliated. His entrance failed to phase any of them, the entire family seeming so calm and collected; as if a blood bath hadn’t ensued outside. They shared a simple meal in peace, unaware or unaccepting that their entire world was about to be irrevocably changed. He would need to change his tactics. 
 
Yokogawa Himari was clearly in control, of her family, of her business, and as far as she believed: this situation. The matron proudly removed herself from the table, gracefully placing her sidearm on the table. She was dressed casually in a western business woman’s attire, the garb of a no-nonsense matriarch. Himari’s hair had been fashioned into a short bob, leaving her face largely exposed. She appeared young for her age; easily passible for a woman in her early to mid-thirties. Conventionally attractive in most regards.
 
“There will be no need for violence here”, she spoke sincerely and with composure. 
 
“What”? That’s all he could think of. What. Perhaps it was arrogance. 
 
“My husband and my children understand the line of work of our bloodline, and unfortunately, I made the grave mistake of underestimating you”, she glanced downward with a tinge of shame, “I should’ve taken the threat more seriously”.
 
“I’m not killing you in front of them”. He stood rigid, but internally was laxer, holding the sword loosely by his side. “Just come with me”.
 
“No”, she paused, “I can’t do that, as it would disgrace my lineage”. She was of the Yokogawa clan, traced back to the lineage of the great samurai Yokogawa Tutsumori. To be taken by captors when given the choice was entirely out of the question. “Death would be a more suitable fate”.
 
“No”. He stepped forward. “Or I kill everyone in this room”. 
 
Her family paused for a moment before resuming, nearing the end of their meals. The air grew thick with tension, a deadly game of chicken. Neither the target nor the hunter knew what the other was capable of. There was a long silence. 
 
“Did you pick up the prize”?
 
He remained quiet. He needed to wait this out. 
 
The mob boss literally swallowed in fear, and then swallowed her pride. “I’ll go”, she gave her quiet family a slight look of reassurance, “as long as my children remain unharmed”. She straightened her blouse and brushed her suit pants, there was still some honor to be had in surrendering. 
 
“Ok”, he was slightly relieved by her decision, as he had never had to kill children. Strangely, the bruiser didn’t know if he’d be able to or not, he tended not to dwell on such questions. Carlyle let his partner make such decisions regardless of his feelings anyways. The wife and mother looked to her family before heading through the door, certain she’d never see them again, and gave a small smile.
 
~
 
“Hello”, she didn’t like to wait, “I don’t have a clear line of sight, but do I need to hand out some presents”? Tara reluctantly tapped her finger against the rifle’s trigger. 
 
“No”, Carlyle escorted the target through the doorway, “Awaiting extraction”. They would need a way down, and fast, the authorities could be here any minute; for a myriad of reasons. 
 
“Bird is on the way”, Tara began packing up her equipment, “See you soon big bear”. 
 
Himari chimed in, “Who are you talking to”? It seemed she still didn’t understand the severity of her situation. “I should at least know who my captors are, I deserve that much”.
 
“No, you don’t”. They could both hear low hum of the air transport approaching; it was almost over. 
 
“I always believed that I would fall on my own blade before surrendering to a foe”, she stood still next to Carlyle, her arms crossed. “What we love winds up changing us in a sense, at least a part of us, washing away our old selves”. The woman knew not of her fate, but accepted it, as she had condemned men to all manner of torture and slow deaths. 
 
He grunted; there was no need to make small talk. She would be out of their hands soon, but there was always the “debriefing”.
 
~
 
The sadistic hitwoman unzipped her body suit, playfully squirming out of it before gently tossing it into a corner. She liked to unwind after a long day, and regardless of the mission would fully undress once they reached shelter; luckily, she had a reason now. It was true that Tara had the body of a fourteen-year-old girl, having purposefully altered her body via hormone blockers and various cosmetic surgeries; her “off the clock hobby” was Lolita fashion, to look the part was a necessity, at least in her mind. The mercenary’s appearance was a tool, a cloak, something to mask her dark intentions; what little help it did. 
 
The three of them were in a safehouse, more so a loft sized apartment built for laying low after operations. For the duo it was a place of recuperation, for their captives, the beginning of the end. Carlyle removed his torn and stained bomber, gently folding it before placing it in a storage container. He would let his partner have her alone time, preferring just to spend the night repairing his equipment; until he was needed. 
 
The room was dark and quiet, the Japanese business woman struggled to find her bearings as she had been blindfolded; she could feel the horror swelling up inside of her. Wrist and ankles bound, spread to four different corners. A bed? Yes, she was on a mattress. This place was cold, freezing, as she could now feel her nipples perking up. What? Was she, naked? The little deviant chuckled to herself, quietly pacing along the edge of the bed, examining her catch with pride and lust. Women were her favorite. 
 
Her partner called from the back room, “Is Odin going to be ok with this”? He cared little for the quarry but rather their own safety. 
 
“He said alive”, she responded innocently, “Plus, he knows us, he wouldn’t have allowed me to take the job if he cared so much about how she got back”.  She was now hovering just over Himari’s abdomen, appreciating all that she had to work with. For an older woman she looked good, hell, great. Her body had recovered well from three pregnancies; oh, the miracles of modern medicine, and a good diet.
 
The captive held her composure, as panic would do her little good now. 
 
Tara climbed onto the bed, skillfully straddling over the older woman. “Now, in a moment you’re going to get a mouthful of something soft and warm, tongue in and suck”, violet eyes shimmered in the darkness. “If you bite, or refuse, I’m going to send the big guy back for everyone you’ve ever met”. The business woman’s breathing was beginning to become labored in panic, this couldn’t be happening. 
 
“That’s it, good girl”, She began grinding her small pussy into Hirami’s agape mouth; she did as she was told. Tara grabbed thick handfuls of her captive’s hair, nearly suffocating her between her legs, attempting to force a more “enthused” response. It was working, as the bound woman began to pick up the pace, furiously searching for and flicking her assailant’s clit; it was survival by this point, anything to not invoke the ire of the psychotic nympho. She hungry swallowed Tara’s juices in the effort to hurry the process along; the mercenary held her head firmly in place, to ensure that she would be serviced appropriately. “What a dirty little pussy eater”, she laughed in between her gasp, “I should’ve snatched up some Japanese bitch a long time ago”. Her legs convulsed, tightly squeezing poor Hirami’s temples, she had climaxed. 
 
She removed her throbbing vagina from the woman’s mouth before descending for a sloppy kiss, she appreciated a job well done. Her “pet” was in the doorway, watching as she dismantled the nearly sobbing woman. “How long have you been there”, Tara asked, still coming down from that sweet release. 
 
“Not long”. He was lying, it wasn’t long after he left that he came back out to watch, exposed circuits still hanging from the half-repaired right arm. 
 
She glanced down at his junk; nothing. “How come you watch but never get it up”? It was an honest question, as he’d watched her have her way with captives dozens of times, yet never been visibly turned on. “Don’t say you’re not ok with it”. 
 
“No”, it wasn’t that, “I don’t feel much down there”. 
 
“Now that’s a lie, big hunk”, she quickly closed the distance and ran her tiny hand down his jeans. Unbeknownst to even himself she’d had some work done down there, for her own personal preferences; he was hung. She lightly gripped his thick shaft, augmented eyes matching his own; he still hadn’t taken the helmet off. “Nothing”?
 
Lyle could feel his body getting excited, the male mercenary’s veiny cock slowly expanding in her tiny hand, but remained emotionally detached. “Something, but nothing”. 
 
She frowned for but a moment, and then glanced back at the hostage; a sick idea came to mind. “Sweet stuff, I want you to go over there and fuck Mrs. Yokogawa’s brains out; for me”, Tara’s eyes flickered with depravity and lust, never satisfied by the torment she inflicted. It wasn’t a question, but a command, and she knew it.
 
“Ok”. The act wasn’t beyond him, as he’d crossed that line with his partner a long time ago, but never by his own volition. Carlyle was the tool, his handler, was the carpenter. 
 
He approached the bed, snapping the ends of the rope that bound her legs with ease. Hirami had calmed down, only to be startled once again by the weight shift of the mattress; Good god what now? She could feel something metallic yet warm gently run up her outer thigh, nothing good she presumed. This was utter insanity to a woman of such esteem; to be molested by thugs. In one swift motion her lower half was rolled on its side, the business woman’s pale rear end now exposed. 
 
Carlyle removed the growing cock from his jeans, Tara still behind him stroking its shaft; at full length he was close to 8.5”. As per her specifications. He placed his right hand on the woman’s ass, grabbing a fist full of meat before readying himself for insertion; his handler stopped him. 
 
“I want to put it in”, her mouth parted in anticipation, eyes wide in excitement and awe. With Tara’s guidance and force he slammed his member in Yokogawa’s pussy. She nearly screaming in confusion and pain as the augmented merc filled the entirety of her walls with his meaty cock. It was too much for her to bear, for any woman for that matter! He began to pick up the pace, rhythmically thrusting into the poor woman’s cervix; the deviant behind him was enthralled by the rape, arms wrapped around his midsection to “participate” in her own way. Tears streamed down the once dignified woman’s cheeks, a proud mother now subjected to all manner of unspeakable acts. Himari tried position herself in any way that would make taking such a monstrous member more bearable, but to no avail. 
 
“Slip a thumb in, hon”, Tara’s own breathing was becoming sporadic as she grinded into Carlyle’s back, if he couldn’t enjoy it she would for him. He obliged, forcing a thick metal thumb into the older woman’s anus. She bit her lip in pain, but was humiliated even further when she noticed she was beginning to moan in pain and pleasure. Her own body betrayed her, no longer trying to lessen the pain or resist her captors, rather welcoming the rigorous fucking by her augmented assailant. It had been a long while since she had the time or energy to do anything with her husband and she’d given up flings on the side for quite some time; now this. The merc had stretched her out in all the right ways, digging along her clit with the tip of his cock with every thrust; she submitted. The yakuza family head lie on the mattress pitifully, eyes closed as she let out short gasp and long moans of pleasure; it wouldn’t be much longer now. Hirami’s legs twitched and shivered as she came, her walls tightening, milking him of anything he could spare. Yet he held out, stopping his thrust midway.
 
Tara had nearly cum herself, just now noticing that she’d slipped a couple fingers down low; she placed them in her mouth, an elated expression on her face. 
 
“No, no, no sweetheart”, she approached Hirami’s face, squatting to eye level. “That’s my man, no happy ending for you”. 
 
“That’s racist”, Carlyle pulled out of the exhausted woman and put his dick away. 
 
“I thought that was a Thai thing, she’s Japanese right”?
~
 
Five Years Prior
 
~
 
The Caspian War, what a shit show. Western vs Eastern hemisphere feud. No one wanted to call it what it really was, World War 3, but maybe that was because no nukes ever flew. Shame really. People had been afraid of the atom for nearly a century, but when the time came? Nothing. What a fucking let down. I was eighteen by the time the whole shebang was over and done. An 8-year cock measuring contest between the US, the revitalized USSR, and their underlings. All I got out of it was a dead dad. Not being sentimental, he was a piece of shit mercenary who had backstabbed more people than he could count, but it left me with not much else besides a small fortune and a family trade. War? Am I right. 
 
Anyways, what did come from the Caspian War was fresh tech. High quality shit. As he Chinese, Americans, Russians, and Japanese began pumping out the stuff like rabbits in heat; Mostly new weapons platforms and neural tech, and let’s not forget cybernetics, but what really mattered was the surplus. In various regards. You see, the United States Military lacked the fucking foresight to wonder: Is shoving this experimental cerebral technology in augmented soldiers’ spinal columns a good idea? No. It wasn’t, but the war doesn’t stall for the concern of morality and responsibility. So, by the time these vets reached the end of their tour there was a tiny little problem. To remove that expensive tech was essentially a guaranteed and glorified lobotomy. Too bad, that quality gear cost more than those men any day in their eyes. Now, while it was only a small portion of soldiers that really got screwed over the government now had just under 400 vets in a near vegetative state. Talk about a PR nightmare. So, word is, they started scrapping them in various ways; many which, not so legal or ethical. Who knows what was going on in Russia, crazy commies. 
 
Organ harvesting. Augmenting them even further with even more dangerous tech. R&D. All of it possible just by lying to their families. KIA. MIA. Whatever they needed to say to make people think they died for that big ol’ bald eagle; goddamn it was funny. Anyways, while shopping through “the markets” with daddy’s stack of money I find this adorable big lug. Can’t even spell his own name, it was precious really, and I decided that day; he’d be my partner. Of course, he’d be a resource and time sink, but what project wasn’t. Plus, I realized that there was a great deal of assignments I couldn’t take due to sheer lack of force; I’m a great markswoman, but sometimes you need a big fucking hammer to get the job done.
 
Enter Lyle.
 
, Tara Eckhart 
 
~
