As night fell upon Chicago, another swell of thunderclouds smothered the city. The torrential rain was warm, even and made a pleasing sound against the pavement. A welcome distraction from the afternoon's carnage.

Amber watched from under an awning across the street. Her Bratva comrades would point and laugh as firefighters covered the burning building with minty-green foam. Medics with stretchers scampered about, carting off anyone who might've been alive. The rest would be lazily swept into the cleaner's robotic bin, ground to chunks and recycled for biomass.

She witnessed the cleaner approach a twitching, crawling torso with one arm and a bloodied head. He prodded it with his rake, drawing a loud groan. With a shake of his head, into to the grinder it went.

"Ain't a pretty sight, eh?" Dutchko sighed, standing beside her, "You get used to it."

"That coulda been us..."

Dutchko peered down at her, tried to find something to say. When nothing came, he let the drunken Bratva taint their silence, and excuse himself with a long drag of his cig.

The first responders had done all they could. Paying the gangers a tacit nod, an armored police officer called off the medics and dismissed the firefighters. The cleaner was corpo - couldn't care less. But even he cast longing glances at his work van, and trudged through the typical documents in [[Brainwave#Hyper Reality|hyperreality]].

Amber was winding down, too. She flicked through articles on the Hypernet, especially intrigued by an unusual meteorite fallen west of Boston. Just as she began to read however, a splash of something hit her on the side of the face. Her right eye sizzled, teeth grit. She whipped around to see the Bratva sizing her up, smiling as they poured themselves more vodka.

"You, ah, mind explainin' what that's about?" Amber seethed, clutching her temper.

"You no drink!" said a Bratva through a thick Russian accent, "We make you loose!"

Their captain intervened. He was a younger man, mid-twenties, obviously the son of a very rich man. His fine suit was fitted around flawless skin, unnaturally pale. His quad blue optics regarded Amber with disdain.

"What Dimitri means is you're a stick in the mud," he spoke cooly, coldly. "Can't say I blame ya. Chinks never hold their booze well."

Amber staggered at his remark. Her fists clenched, eyes flitted between faces.

"It'd be real nice if ya didn't call me that," she practically stammered.

"Yeah? What if? You gonna bite me like some fuckin' animal?"

"I got somethin' she can bite, alright..." slurred a Bratva behind him.

"Get outta my face. Ge-, Get the fuck outta my face!" Amber shouted as the Bratva captain grabbed hold of her ursine ears.

"Who the hell gets this stuff, anyway? You fucking Zoo!"

Amber pushed against the man's shoulders, crying out in pain. Just as Dutchko socked him right in the jaw.

Things happened quick. The captain fell like a sack of hammers, and the other two goons shot up from their chairs. Amber barely had time to cover her eyes as a glass shattered against her head. Meanwhile the pervy Bratva launched a punch at Dutchko, only to be met with a steel baton to the braincase. The final goon met a similar fate, leaving him crumpled and groaning on the floor.

Dutchko stowed his baton, spat on the captain's fancy suit. Then he dragged Amber to his car and locked the doors.

"Fuckin' hell... You got great taste in company, little bear."

"Yeah? Ya see what I deal with day-to-day?" Amber growled.

"You actually take it?"

"How else is a gal s'posd'da move up in the world?"

Dutchko scoffed. "Easy, just shake your ass on every pole that offers you a job. That'll getcha far."

"Fuck you."

That characteristic bitterness again inflected Amber's voice. As Dutchko offered peace over two cigars, he'd wonder if she revealed it around anyone else.

Raindrops fell, thunder roared. All while Amber peered quietly into the neon night. The three Bratva hobbled to their van and drove off. Once they were gone, Amber sat up and rubbed her temples. Dutchko flicked the last of his cigar into the overflowing ashtray.

"Maybe you're right, man... Maybe this shit ain't workin' out..." she confessed.

"You said it yourself, 'What's a gal supposed to do?'. Sounds like ya don't got much hope." Dutchko replied.

"I've been tryin' for a year..."

"Yeh, I saw. You could bullseye a brainpan from fitty yards. That don't mean jack to the Russians."

"Who else is gonna hire me, though?" Amber sighed, checking her features in sunshade's mirror. "Big, fuzzy ears. Strong bite and sharp teeth. This is who I am. This is who I wanna be. But ain't no one who wants me for it."

"You ever think about goin' solo?"

Amber looked at Dutchko like he'd suggested they frolic in the rain.

"Are you serious? You know what the turnover rate is for independents?"

Dutchko knit his hairless brows. "Sure do. Know what the pay's like, too."

"Where'd we even get a fixer?"

"I know a guy. Northside. Keeps his ear to the ground for me. Ya game for a quick smash-'n-grab?"

> [!mythic] Mythic

> **Question:** Is Amber open to working with Dutchko? > *Yes.*

Amber laid back, kept awake only by nicotine and nice company. "Suppose that's better than Mafiya work... Punch my place in the nav, I wanna go home."

As the car passed a nearby convenience store, Amber checked the Cryptos in her bank account.

"... Aw yeah. The fuckers never paid me."