Warm air hit your face as you walked down the helicopters hanger, your (H/C) hair tousled by the wind and dust on your black military uniform.

The glare of the high sun blinded you, but you didn't react, letting it burn until the mechanisms of your implants automatically dimmed.

Noise filled the air. The helicopter had landed at an NUSA base, not far from the battles currently raging in the streets of Pacifica. If you strained your hearing you could even pick up gunfire, the screams of people bleeding out like dogs in the dirt.

"Will someone report to me or do I have to do everything myself?", you asked, hands on your hips as a group of well decorated soldiers gathered for your arrival.

Most of them were young men, between their mid-twenties and early thirties. A few women were also present, equipped as befitted supply and intelligence investigators.

Good chrome, you thought to yourself at the sight of the metal on their faces.

Under rolled up sleeves you could see more cyberware, gorilla hands and reinforced arms and legs. If there was one thing the NUSA didn't skimp on, it was the military. A wise thing, considering who they were trying to fight.

"Ma'am, yes ma'am!", a soldier stepped forward from the line and saluted.

The group followed suit. Bored, you waved it off.

"Save the formalities, soldier.", you let your gaze wander around the base. "Report."

"I think that's my honour.", General Roberts appeared next to you.

Lost, the soldier looked between you and the general. You still looked at him full of expectation and a spark of impatience.

"Soldier. Did they tape your mouth shut?", you asked demandingly.

Roberts frowned.

"I'm afraid my authority here exceeds that of a phantom.", he said and showed the soldier a badge, presumably his service card.

The young man briefly looked at the digital document before nodding and apologising. Bored, you rolled your eyes, crossed your arms in front of your chest and looked around.

The heat was already rising in every inch of your body. Black combat fatigues and laced boots with steel toecaps were not good equipment for weather like this.

The metallic fabric clung to your body like a second skin and warmed up. It was perfect for rendering bullets almost useless. But in moments like these, comfort was not a hobbyhorse.

While you listened with half an ear as the soldier described the situation of the war, your attention was caught by a group of soldiers.

At the other end of the base, in the cool shade of the high walls of abandoned buildings, they had gathered in a circle. Their laughter erected your ears even without the cyberware.

Curious, you smirk.

"The situation is a bit tricky at the moment.", you heard the soldier talking in the back of your head. "The three largest factions fighting for the territory are the corporations Militech and Arasaka, as well as the NUSA. Arasaka has already withdrawn at noon and left a small part of Pacifica to us. Militech is working tirelessly to recapture the lost territories. There are also other fringe groups such as gangs and bosses."

"A kindergarten...", you muttered with a sour smile and jumped off the ramp.

Dust swirled up under you. Robert's gaze dug through your back. Even through screws, cables and several layers of metal, you could clearly feel it.

How much he already loathed you, even though you'd only spent one flight together.

"Whistler!", he called after you, displeasure resonating in his voice. "I have been instructed to inform you that the cargo has arrived intact. It's is in Camp D."

Satisfaction filled you. You paused briefly, gave him a smile and bowed playfully. Then you turned on your heel and headed for the round of soldiers.

They had really strong voices for the fact that there were no more than three dozen of them. Roaring and cheering made your skin tingle. Prancing with each step, you approached until the reason for the excitement came into your field of vision.

"Ah.", you leaned with a grin over the shoulder of a soldier sitting on a crate with a notepad and a pile of Eddies between his legs. "I haven't seen cash in a long time. But that... looks very familiar."

With two fingers you tapped the sheet of paper between his legs. The words Winner and Loser were written in black letters. Next to each box were names and numbers. Underneath was a list of names, each with a sum of money.

Snorting, the man cast a quick glance over his shoulder.

"New here?", he asked, lighting a cigarette. "We certainly have room for one more."

He tapped the paper with his pen. You shrugged and smirked.

"I'm a bit rusty.", you admitted modestly and glanced at the centre of the group, where two men were rolling around in the dirt. "Who's your best fighter?"

The man grunted, crossed something off his list and accepted a purple note from another soldier. Roaring cheers made him look up from the paper, and the next moment he was swearing like the devil.

"Damn, Miller won?!", he shouted into the crowd with a red head. "Miller never wins!"

Offended, he handed out money by the handful to all those who had probably bet on the man called Miller and then accepted a new round.

Dozens of pairs of eyes fell on you, briefly surveying all the chrome that stood out in polished silver and gold against your (S/C) skin.

But nobody said anything. Or they just didn't know. Both came in handy.

As he counted the money, the soldier glanced over his shoulder. This time he examined you a little longer, a hint of a hunch shining in his brown eyes. But he didn't say anything either.

You smiled sweetly, bending down to him. A shadow of fear chased across his face. He leant back.

"You didn't answer my question, soldier.", you chirped, giving him a knowing smile.

He swallowed hard, his eyes travelling through the crowd. Everyone seemed to ignore you.

Wise men. They were easiest that way, silent and obedient.

"Uh, our best... I... with full respect.", he shook his head, looking you up and down. "I don't think that's a good idea."

An annoyed sigh made you roll your eyes.

"Just answer.", the sweetness had gone from your voice, now there was only sharpness.

His eyes jumped around restlessly again.

"That would be me.", a rough voice cut through the air like a knife through juicy meat.

You smirked with satisfaction. Your eyes followed the direction from which you had been answered.

"And the name?", you asked, again as sweet as honey.

"Hansen.", the soldier returned the smirk, confident yet challenging. "Pleasure."