Juxtaposed between the shops made from used tires and the faux mud-brick houses, young city hoodlums strutted like peacocks down the dirt streets. In the HUD in my right eye, would be Street Samurai, and small-time gang bangers pinged my threat advisory warnings as they did their best to intimidate Scavengers. All the while Skinny Outlanders scrapped what they could off the bottom picking through trash, or waiting for someone to mug.

“It’s a ridiculous fashion, dear. The neon light on their collars makes the shadows of their facial features obscure their identity but any basic recognition software will see right through the façade. But I suppose it looks cool enough,” Jessica said eyes flicking to a punk dressed in a synth leather jack, the neckline glowing a soft amber.

Tire house was an odd mix of the old and new, a Louis L’Amour town with a Blade Runner population. Everywhere I looked there were contrasts and divisions, but one thing almost everyone had in common was the slug throwers on full display. Once more my HUD pinged on each one, identifying it by make and model.

“Sure is a lot of Vision Dynamics hardware around here,” I said nodding in the punk’s direction carrying a Modern VD-14 Assault rifle. “I don’t even see this much in the city on the high-level hustlers.”

“Astute observation, darling, but let’s keep those observations discrete,” she suggested.

“Where are we going?” I asked as my glance skipped from street to street.

“The Jacked Rabbit Saloon. We need to meet up with Mark, he’s an ass, but he knows me,” a knowing smirk crossed her lips.

“He will know where your people are, and what the current situation is here,” she said as a pair of low lives walked past, one with fresh augmentation wounds still healing on around his eyes.

“I have been visiting out here on monthly runs for a while and this,” her fingers moved in a casual circle even though her eyes stayed on the surrounding street, “isn’t normal.”

I’d been in a lot of occupied camps over the years, and I knew a patrol when I saw one. Those guys were clearly on patrol.

The Jacked Rabbit. The windows were decorated with antique LED lights in red and green rotated around the wooden frame. The clearly repurposed Christmas lights threw shadows under the feet of a Cybernetic version of an Alice in Wonderland like rabbit.

The whole place was makeshift décor disguised by dirty neon lighting. Inside, people moved around the tables, kicking up dust that gave the whole room a mild haze. I wasn’t surprised at the familiar smell of home brewed booze and body fluids.

“No one interesting in there,” said a gorilla looking man, with a helmet that left on his lower jaw exposed.

"It's a standard helmet, optical enhancement, full spectrum, and ballistic certified," Mogwai reported, with a slightly bored tone in her voice.

“Wonderful! I’ve had my fill of colorful individuals today,” Jessica said and pushed her way inside.

Following close behind, I got the impression that the goon was watching me, but through the helmet’s opaque visor I couldn’t be sure. There was a menace in how he held himself, or perhaps it was just the attitude of Tire House.

At the bar, several figures leaned over tall mugs or leaned in close to talk over the din. My frame whirred and clumped as I pushed my way in, making a few heads turn, but their attention didn’t linger.

Feminine servers wandered from table to table, their attire a confusion of mixed signals. Each wore skintight clothing that seemed to invite attention, then envenomated skirts that discouraged that attention from drifting to exploration, or so my HUD identified them.

Each one also wore a complex yet individualized mask that gave them a robotic look. If the intention was to sexualize them but keep them anonymous, it worked. But I had the feeling they were more than just sexy purveyor of cocktails and desires. Each one of them was too graceful, slightly too muscular, and evenly placed.

“Stop gawking at the servers, dear, you’re making them blush. Come along, lets get a drink,” Jessica said, and we moved toward the bar.

The bartender wasn’t as preoccupied, and his eyes stayed fixed on us as we moved up to where he stood under an old school style painting of a beautiful woman.

The women in the picture were wearing goggles like the ones I used to own before I got the neuro-lenses. Somehow, she made the headset look exciting and new. Sex oozed off her playful grin.

Maybe it was her bright pink lipstick, the exceptional cleavage she had on displayed, or the Desert Eagle fifty caliber handgun she was holding in a high ready configuration. Regardless, she was jacked in and ready for war, if only she wasn’t dressed as a stripper in a rabbit outfit.

“We don’t carry posh wines, Grandma Rabbit. So, unless you brought your own again, I have bathtub gin and freezer brandy,” he said, and it was clear they’d had conversations before.

“Sugar wine frozen and skimmed, sounds simply delightful, but we will pass, thank you. I suppose next you’ll be offering us unsalted saltine crackers and some nice dust water popsicle’s, along with your insults,” Jessica added a contemptuous brow raised.

“No insult intended,” the man put his hands up, but his charming smile never faded, “I back sweeten the brandy, this current batch I used the juice from fruit cocktail cups. It’s not as full-bodied or tannin rich as you might like, but it gives you a serving of fruits and veggies, along with one hell of a buzz,” he said and grabbed a glass and poured out some of the rancid yellow looking booze.

As bad as it smelled and looked, my addiction pulled at my will. I was anxious to taste it and disgusted by my desire.

“Anti-anxiety measures underway, that should help Abby. Re-myelinization is at 65%” Mogwai reported, and in the side of my vision I could see my vital signs stabilize and heart rate drop.

Jessica eyed the piss yellow concoction, then lifted it to her nose for a sniff. Immediately, her eyes flickered involuntarily, and her lips pulled back into a grimace. “You’ve done better love,” she remarked, but took a tentative sip, anyway.

“Did you catch the aftertaste of despair, with just a hint of surrender? I call it, ‘Romantically Apocalyptic Brandy.’ You’ll only find it here,” Mark quipped as Jessica sat down the glass and run her tongue over the back of her dirty sleeve, apparently preparing the taste of dust.

“I’ll drink the RAB,” bellowed a loud voice from behind. A large metallic arm shot between us, grabbing the drink, and pushing us both to the side.

My frame compensated a little later, leaving me grabbing for the bar to remain upright. The movement jostled something, and pain shot down my right leg in a flash. I hissed as the lighten of agony coursed through me, leaving me disoriented and sick.

“Adjusting the nerve inductor device. No damage was received, but the jostling won’t help with the myelinization efforts,” Mogwai warned.

Jessica’s perfectly sculpted brow rose once more just as her eyes flicked to the bartender. “Mark, dear, I see your clients are like your booze,” she offered as she adjusted herself on her stool, “raw, astringent, and uncultured.”

Mark laughed a bit, but the big man merely sneered as he gulped down the booze like he’d been dared. Then, theatrically, he tossed the glass on the ground, the pieces shattering, the edges catching the neon lights.

I’d see his kind before. A guy that grew up stuffing firecrackers inside small aquatic animals for kicks. He was a big guy, so it was easier to laugh along with him than stand up to him. But, like every big bully eventually finds out there is always someone bigger and meaner.

“Oh great, one of those posh bitches from the city who think they can hide behind a big vocabulary,” the bully snorted.

“My dear, that is a normal vocabulary, which you’d know if you read books,” Jessica replied in a tone that was both disinterested and yet dripping with distaste. I had to give it to her, she was cool as hell, but I was pretty sure messing with this guy was a mistake.

The big man looked at Mark, then at Jessica and sneered just as Mark cut him off. “Hey, Russell, she’s just fooling around. Go on back to your table and I’ll buy you all around on the house,” Mark said with an affable smile.

“I’m not opposed to teaching a senior citizen a lesson in manners if she needs one,” Russell growled.

“The irony of that statement is thick enough to trap the flies in that empty skull of yours, Russell. And why does everyone keep talking about my age? I don’t look a day over thirty-nine,” she said as a little smile touched her lips.

Russell looked outraged for a moment, and the room went silent as the two glared at each other.

A soft whirring sound came from the floor. Whether activated by the new detritus on the floor, or part of its routine, a small disk-shaped robot, painted neon yellow and pink scooted out between the pair.

“Pardon me, good patron, I will be out of your way momentarily,” It said and Russell took a step back in automatically. “Thank you, good patron, cleanliness is a hallmark of this establishment,” it continued and sucked up the glass. As we all watched as it smeared what remained of the stick yellow liquid over the dusty floor as it did.

“Cleanliness is a hallmark of this establishment?” Russell crocked and eye at Mark. Mark shrugged, “I sounded good in my head, what do you want?”

A huge grin broke over his features and a loud laugh burst from his lips. Turning back to us he looked at Jessica, “Gods damn, Jessica, you’re a firecracker in a hot sauce bottle, you know that?”

“I’d say I still haven’t lost my touch,” Jessica responded and swung around on her stool before grabbing Russell around the neck and pulling him down into a hug.

“Just don’t fast draw your ERoC, I’ve I can’t take that kind of beating today,” Russell said.

“What’s and E Rock?” I asked still confused.

Russell turned his full attention on me, appraising me like something he was considering purchasing, but found some kind of a terminal flaw.

“Who is the cop?” he asked and suddenly I felt the weight of the attention from the whole bar.

“Cop?” I asked dumbly.

“She’s no cop, Russell dear. This is Abby Emerson, Professional Tactical Solutions, I vouch for her,” Jessica said with an admonishing tone that completely missed Russell.

“There are cops out here?” I asked, knowing I was just making myself look naïve.

I’d done several missions out into the Out Lands, but I’d never spent a lot of time in settlement towns. The Idea that there was some sort of sheriff or city cop was mind blowing.

“He means VD, er Vision Dynamics muscle, love,” Mark interjected.

“VD, fucking right they’re venereal disease. Those assholes city gang bangers come in with their high-tech augs, and play tough guy with the locals. They got no authority out here, but they got the firepower, so I guess that’s all the authority they think they need. Well, let me tell you something tick tock girl, your fucking powered frame doesn’t mean-”

“That is quite enough, Russell! Abby is an old friend of mine and her war injuries are not something you or anyone else is going to mock in my presence! Now you apologize to my guest before I get ugly, and you know I don’t enjoy getting ugly,” She demanded and shockingly Russell seemed to have shrunk to half his own size.

“Yes Ma`am. Sorry Miss Abby, I didn’t know you was a vet,” Russell apologized but there was an edge still in his voice.

“Very good,” Jessica sniffed and looked around the bar, seeming to count the patrons.

“Mark, please provide all these sophisticated patrons a glass of your,” her eyes went to the piss yellow wine, “Whatever that is, on me.”

Russell’s growl became a goofy grin, I realized Jessica was just as well known here as she was at The Range.

“A round on the Rabbit!” Russell yelled, and the bar erupted in cheers. Jessica stood and gave a slight bow, then turned to face Mark once more.

“Jessica Rabbit?” I said dumbly, and both Mark and Jessica laughed at my expression as once more I looked at the image behind the bar.

“I had to do something once I got out of the service, and someone needed to class this place up,” Jessica quipped, “and before I knew it, I was laughing right along with them.

“You were an entertainer?” I grinned and took her in once more. Like I said before Jessica was lean and cut quite a figure in her combat fatigues, but now that I was paying attention, she’d cut quite a figure in anything, or nothing.

“Like I said, I haven’t lost my touch. Besides, sixty is the new thirty these days,” she flashed her pearly whites at us, and I believed her completely.

“So, what’s an E Rock” I asked just dying to know.

“It’s E RoC,” Mark spelled it out, “The infamous Eye Roll of Contempt. Jessica has destroyed a thousand egos with that weapon,” Mark chuckled.

“Only weak ones, my dear, now be a nice boy and bring something we can actually drink to my table,” she said.

Swallowing, I felt that craving, that anxious need come back.

Mark cocked his head to the side in a way that I knew meant he was hearing a conversation other than ours.

“I am not here to tell you nothing about where take your refreshment, “Mark said mocking Jessica’s tone, “But seems some VD assholes are headed this way,” Mark said, dramatically he suddenly stood tall and dropped his bar towel over his arm.

“Might I interest you in a table on the balcony?” He asked, and Jessica smiled wryly at his attempt and inclined her head.