This is part of a series of short stories I did based on a Cyberpunk RED character I played who over time morphed into a character that will be part of the Ebon Reach setting when I get to her. In the meantime, enjoy some disaster-lesbian tension.

Art by Dmitry Savin

A long day at work. A hard day. Sohn was up her ass. A promotion was brewing, so things were getting uncomfortable between the two. One of them would be a Team Manager soon, and Londyn was getting desperate. She was sick of merc wrangling. Thankless work that didn’t pay well enough. But hey, she got a house out of it. A nicer one than most of the merc wranglers, on account of her brother Lito.

She exited the taxi and looked at her house. Elegant, beautiful. Better than that cargo container she and Bri had all those years ago. Better than the shitty studio that she, Ali, and Lito shared out of college. She’d gone up in the world. A house. Sometimes, she had to remember that. Keep it in mind.

Two stories, windows, fake lawn, fence, garage, the works. She walked in, smelling the sweet, sweet smell of Pork Souvlaki hit her in the face as Cassius Melakis, her beautiful, fabulous, delicious boyfriend turned to smile at her. She hung her coat in the entryway, and walked through the open kitchen to give him a kiss.

“Good evening, gorgeous.”

“Good evening yourself. Food smells great.”

“Thank you. My dear mother’s recipe. Sounded like you had a long day.”

“I did,” she sighed and started over to the couch.

“I made you an Ouzo Coke to help you unwind.”

“You’re a god.” She kissed him on the back of the neck and grabbed the glass of boozified soda and took it to the couch.

“By the way, Miss Sabrina is in her room gaming.”

“What? What’s Sabby doing here?”

“Ali had something come up.”

“And she didn’t text me?”

“No, went straight for your secretary.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Nah, Sabby just showed up and told me the situation. Don’t know what Ali’s doing.”

“We never do.” She took a sip, letting the bubbles run down her throat, tasting the long extinct flavors of the cola nut mixed with Cass’ fabulous Greek liqueur with flavors of licorice and anise. She smiled and relaxed into her couch. The living room was large, comparatively. Carpet, coffee table, couch, chairs, fake fireplace, open to the kitchen with long steel counters and an island.

Cass owned a Nightclub not too far away, Essence. A dance club, drum & bass, heavy beats, lots of dancing. Her other boyfriend, Vic, ran Prophecy, a kind-of-competing nightclub of trance musics with slow, inebriated dancings. The two got along surprisingly well, for how she expected. The two had their calendars synched so they could swap off dinner duties at her place. God forbid she have to cook something herself.

She stared at him, his dark olive skin, his black hair slicked back, barely licking his shoulders, his exceptionally-well-trimmed goatee with tactical shadow up his jawline. He had his signature sports-jacket hung up, his white button-up open five buttons down, showing off his just stunning, statuesque chest, though it was slightly covered up by his black apron. Comfy slacks gripped his ass so well Londyn barely thought she could grip it better herself.

A glowing green hand manifested in the air and mimed squeezing it. She rolled her eyes and muttered “No molesting my boyfriend, Derbi.”

A voice in her head responded with “Of course, Miss de Villiers. No molesting.” And a green woman manifested, made of strange holographic fibers like a wireframe model with filled-in green skin, thin, attractive, with a sensible bun and bright green eyes, a fitted skirt suit, and high heels. She appeared in the kitchen, crouched down in a squat, hand contemplatively on her jaw, staring intently at Cass’ backside.

She laughed, and glanced at a wall across from the couch. “Could you bring up my newsfeeds?”

“Of course.” Several columns of text appeared before her, rising up from nowhere and floating in front of her like green, semi-translucent paper, slowly scrolling news. She reached up, touched a particular headline, and a person’s upper half manifested as the sheets parted to either side, and the person in a suit began reading the news regarding the headline.

She reached out, pinched her fingers to shrink the figure, moved him higher up, and brought the feeds together, and started to browse.

“The saga in MarsCity3 continues as tensions rise between the Inmate’s Union and the MarsCity3 Enforcement Division. The issue stems from the Inmate’s Union requesting ‘improved living conditions, more regular meals, and greater nutrients in their provided meals,’ while the Enforcement Division seems reluctant to give into their demands, claiming their budget is stretched thin enough as it is.”

“Ugh, not more Three-er bullshit, Dyn,” Cass whinged from the stove.

“Sorry!” Dyn swiped at the news anchor, who digitally dissipated from her vision like ashes on the wind. “Didn’t realize my audio was synched.”

“Don’t unsync,” he turned, smiling. “I’m just sick of hearing about City 3. Just put on some fiction.”

“Let’s see,” Dyn made a finger motion, pulling up a holographic filing cabinet, flipped through several files, and pulled out a list of shows. “Seems we’re watching Vanity, Time of Ill, First Tower, Killers…”

“Time of Ill?”

“Sure. Derbi?”

A window cut itself out of reality against the wall, making the wall’s decor disappear, and began to show another reality, like it was simply in the other room. An open sea, crashing waves, and a ship on the horizon. Old Earth, ancient times. 1800’s. It was a period in time she was interested in. It just so happened that Cass enjoyed the drama of her Shows.

She watched from the couch until Cass appeared with a plate of delicious pork, and the two cuddled up and watched for a while. Couple of episodes. By then, she was nodding off in his arms, so the two disappeared to the bedroom. She knocked on Sabrina’s door and reminded her of the time, and that she had school tomorrow, and her daughter made a sound of confirmation. The two retired to bed.

“Amma?” She woke up to her daughter poking her arm. Twelve years old, and the spitting image of Dyn herself. Medium-dark skin, east-Indian heritage and appearance with a hint of Greek in her skin tone, the most stunning bright amber eyes that shone through the darkness, with long, straight black hair. But tall, like Ali, already putting on some good muscle tone. She wore a simple long tee shirt, still seeming to rub the sleep out of her eyes.

“Mm? Oui, oui, yeah, ma choupinette. Ça va?” Dyn sat up, covering herself securely in blankets.

“There’s… someone on the couch.”

Dyn suddenly became alert. “Who?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know her.”

“What’s she look like?”

“Some white girl. White hair. She’s… bleeding. A lot.”

“Shit.” She sat up and as Cass stirred, she put a hand on his chest. “Go back to sleep, babe, no big deal.” He shrugged and obeyed. “Baby girl, can you grab my gown over there?”

Sabrina grabbed a white nightgown/robe combo, and Dyn threw it on quickly. She grabbed a cigarette off the nightstand, and told her daughter to go back to sleep.

Londyn walked out of the bedroom, and Sabrina followed, ducking off into her room as they passed it. Dyn ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to comb it hastily. As she hit the bottom stair, she surveyed the living room and, indeed, found a white girl with white hair bleeding on her couch.

Spiky bleach white hair with dark roots, light skin, glowing eyes implying some tech at work, with a cybernetic right arm currently holding onto her belly. She wore a black button-up with a white trenchcoat over top and black pants. The shirt and coat were both stained red.

A small translucent green box glowed in the night above the woman’s head, but Dyn already knew who it was. The text read…

Johanika “Jo” van der Feyst AKA, Ghost DangerGirl Covert Operative

“Jo.”

The woman coughed and sat up. “Hello, boss. Apologies about the blood. I’ll pay for it.”

“Mon Dieu, mon ange, what happened to you?”

“Didn’t know where else to go,” she coughed again, then pulled out and lit a lighter, holding it out with an arm outstretched. “A job fell apart.” Dyn leaned in to light the cigarette hanging from her mouth.

“The Systech job?”

“Systech Nogromics, over in C-Center.”

“Here, get up.” Dyn helped her up and moved her to a chair at the table, and Ghost grabbed a bottle of wine off the counter. “That was supposed to be an easy job. Surveillance.”

“Yes it was.” Jo sat backwards on the chair with an arm up on the back as Dyn sat on the table behind her with a medkit to her side.

“Derbi, highlight what I need and bring me up instructions.”

“AIMD loading.”

“Take off the shirt.”

Jo obliged, doffing her coat and shirt, revealing a black bra, the rest of her cyberarm that went up all the way to her shoulder and integrated with a cybernetic shoulderblade and some artificial spine-work. A tattoo of a briar vine wrapped up her left arm, and tattoo of a King Protea flower bloomed on her left shoulderblade, with the stem going down her spine. She leaned forward onto the chair and took a swig.

“The premises was already under surveillance.”

“By who?” Dyn scooted herself around and glanced at the medkit, which was full of vials, pills, needles, and bandages. Specific vials were highlighted with green numbers manifested on the side of the vial numbering 1, 2, 3, and so on. She grabbed the “1” vial, and installed it into a syringe holster as text instructions appears on the left side of her vision.

“Arasaka goons.”

“Christ.” Dyn flicked the needle, and injected it into Jo’s left shoulder. “How’d you get caught?”

“I wasn’t hiding, it was simple surveillance. I walked in with my standard routine. The goons saw me, grabbed me, and…” Jo took a swig of wine, then gestured at her body. “This.”

“God damn it.” Dyn muttered, drawing on her cigarette, installing the next vial, and injecting it into her left arm. “What did I tell you about pre-surveillance?”

“I know. I’m sorry, boss.”

“Don’t call me boss,” she chastised, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the cupboard. She sat behind Jo again, and her light, lacy robe fell off her shoulder. Londyn failed to notice. “I’m Dyn. I’m always Dyn outside the office. Now tense.” She poured the vodka on a gaping wound on Jo’s ribs, and wiped at it with a small cloth. Jo flinched, but didn’t make a sound.

“Sorry, Dyn.”

“What the hell were you doing, just waltzing into the joint without a spec glance first?”

“Not sure. It felt like no big deal, I suppose.”

“Always scope it out before walking in. Come on. That’s duckling shit, Jo.”

“I know.”

She grabbed a cybernetic patch of some kind and slapped it on Jo’s ribs, covering the wound. It immediately began to glow. Dyn looked at the open wound on her mid-back, and unhooked Jo’s bra to get a better look.

“How bad’s it look,” Jo asked, tense.

“Bad,” Dyn muttered through her cigarette. “Shit, Jo, some of this is beyond my repair. You’ll need to go in, get new dermis.”

“I was afraid of that.”

Dyn pulled back the skin a bit to reveal dark metal plates underneath. She tapped it absentmindedly, poured some more vodka on it, and began to wipe at the edges. “I’ll do my best, but there’s pieces missing.”

“Likely on an Arasaka boot, somewhere,” Jo took a quick swig from the wine bottle.

“Christ,” Dyn muttered. “It’s not like Arasaka to just yank someone out of a building and beat them. What did you do?”

Jo sighed, took another long swig from the bottle, and leaned on the chair heavier. Dyn grabbed a needle and synthread, starting to sew the wound. “Maybe I was running on autopilot, and didn’t use my words right. Maybe I stuck to the script a little too hard, didn’t improv. Maybe one of the goons caught my script, had a conversation with me… Maybe… Maybe one of them blew my cover.”

“How? Did they recognize you?”

“Oh no. My facing helps that. It was…”

“What are you not telling me, Jo?”

“What do you— Ah!” She winced as Dyn took a heatgun to her back, sealing the stitching closed.

“Jo.” She turned to look at Dyn as she set the heatgun down, and Dyn’s glowing amber cybereyes pierced Jo’s dark blackened cybereyes. Jo broke the gaze and looked away, putting her left arm on the back of the chair again.

“They were talking about you.”

“About me?”

“Yeah.”

“How the fuck did they know me?”

“They were pushing me around, asking questions, trying to come up with who I worked for. One said DangerGirl, and the rest laughed. One mentioned they took a job there, seems like you handled their cases. They… had unkind things to say about their ‘Wrangler.’ Called you names. Slurs. Said things about you.”

“So you attacked them? Your job is not to defend my honor.”

“My job is to defend you.”

“No, Jo, it’s not. It’s to help me scout out missions.”

“And if we’re both in the field? I defend you. It’s in my job description.” She cracked her shoulders and turned, re-clasping her bra as she did, sitting in the chair properly now with Dyn’s foot resting between their legs. “I’m not going to listen to Arasaka asswipes talk shit about you. You’re better than that.” She looked down. “I don’t want your name in their mouth without them thinking twice.”

Dyn took a long drag from her cigarette, pushed it into an ashtray, and smiled. “You sweet, precious fool. Give me a swig of that.” She grabbed the wine bottle from Jo’s hand and took a drink. “I can’t have you going into the shop to get repaired every time someone talks shit about me.”

“And I can’t abide anyone talking shit about you.”

Dyn lowered her head, put it against Jo’s, and closed her eyes. “You’re going to have to sometimes, Jo. That’s life. If I punched every asshole who called me a tranny in my early days, I’d be dead or in Three. I don’t need you to defend me at every turn.”

Jo nodded quietly.

“Now turn around, I’m not done yet.” Jo swivelled to her previous position and sat tensed. “Hold still.” She grabbed the bra-strap, pulled it back, and ran the heatgun along the stitching again. “You take tomorrow off, okay?”

“Alright,” Jo nodded absentmindedly.

“Hang out at home, relax, have some food. I’ll give you some cash to buy some food.”

“You don’t have to do that, Dyn.”

“No, I don’t. Now hold still.” She injected another vial into her shoulder. “Cass made some pork. It’s delicious. I’m gonna give you some, you’re gonna eat it, drink some water, and go to sleep. I’ll let the other two know you’re here so they don’t bother you. But tomorrow…” She injected the last vial into her arm and slapped a glowing patch on the injection sight, “you go home, and you relax. Okay?”

Jo breathed out slowly, and nodded. “Yeah. Alright.”

Dyn got up, pulled the leftovers from the fridge, and put them under the heatplates. “Hey,” she shot a look at Jo, putting her shirt back on. “That’s covered in blood. Let me wash it.”

“Are you sure you want your daughter seeing some... stranger on the couch with their tits out?”

“You can borrow something.”

“I’m not wearing something like that,” she gestured at the flowy nightgown Dyn was wearing. “Hardly leaves much to the imagination.”

“What do you mean? It’s flowy, loose.”

“Well, let’s just say I didn’t know you had piercings there.”

Dyn blushed and crossed her arms. “No, I only have the one very comfortable and perfectly covering nightgown. I have nightshirts that you can use.”

“Sounds good, bo—” Jo caught themself. “Dyn.”

Dyn nodded at her. “I’ll go get you one.” She slunk upstairs and caught Sabrina’s door open. She peeked her head in and saw the mattress bouncing slightly and the covers settling. A sigh escaped her lips. “How much did you see?”

An awkward silence followed. “...All of it?” She sighed again and sat on the bed as Sabrina popped out from the covers. “Who is she? Jo, right?”

“...You should call them Ghost. It’s what they prefer.”

“Them.” Sabrina nodded her head. “Why can you call them Jo?”

“Because we’re very close. Ghost is a friend of mine, and a work colleague. They work for DangerGirl.”

“Are they a security goon?”

Dyn laughed. “No, no. Covert Ops. They handle surveillance, stealth, information.”

“...Sabotage, thievery, sniping—”

“Well, sometimes, but mostly sneaking in to survey a scene before a team gets there so they know what they’re getting into.”

“They’re pretty auged up.”

“Well, they haven’t had an easy life.”

“Are you dating them?”

“Hah! Oh. No, no no no no no.” She laughed, blushing. “No, I’m only seeing Cass and Vic.”

“Why not?”

“What— What do you mean, ‘why not?’ Because we’re not. Our relationship isn’t like that.”

“You’re clearly into each other, Amma.”

“No, we aren’t. We’re very close friends. They’re like my little sister.”

“How often do you detach your little sister’s bra with a blush on your face?”

“Hey! You weren’t supposed to— I was cleaning their wound, and had to— Wait a second, I have nothing to prove to you! You’re my daughter, I can just tell you to be quiet and to respect your elders!”

“Sure, Amma.” Sabrina sunk into her pillows with a smug grin.

“Now… be nice to Ghost. They had a hard night. And no...” Dyn pet her hair gently. “No more of that talk with Ghost, alright? I promise you it’s not like that, and I don’t want them getting the wrong impression, making them uncomfortable.”

“Ghost clearly likes you too—”

“I said no more, Sabby.” She sighed. “I promise you, it’s not like that. They’re my coworker. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Amma.”

“Now go to sleep. Ghost might be gone in the morning, but if they’re not, let them sleep. If you make coffee, make a little for them.”

“Okay, Amma.”

“And don’t stay up. Go to sleep. You have school tomorrow.”

“Okay, Amma.”

“And don’t forget—”

“Amma.”

“... sorry,” Dyn smiled. “Bonne nuit, ma choupinette. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she muttered as she rolled over. Dyn slowly closed the door and drew a cigarette, lit it, and slunk into her room. Cass was passed out, so she grabbed a sleeping shirt, slunk out, and went downstairs. Jo was cleaning the couch with a rag.

“I can get that.”

“It’s my blood, I’ll get it.”

“Fine. Got you a shirt.”

“Thanks. Don’t want your daughter getting the wrong impression.”

“She already did. She was hiding in the stairwell.”

“I know. I saw her.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m not a narc,” they smirked up at her as they stood. Dyn rolled her eyes as they put the rag in the dirty laundry. “Does your daughter think something’s up?”

“She’s shipping us, Jo.”

She laughed. “Wouldn’t that be a sight? Dyn and Jo. The beautiful, tall, rich, put-together exec shacked up with a beaten, gritty, meathead cov-op girl from the Crates that can’t afford a medkit.”

“Don’t do that. You’re beautiful, and you’re not a meathead. You’re plenty smart. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“Not PhD smart. Not DangerGirl exec smart. Not smart enough to be anything but a cov-op expendable for the rest of her life.” She slicked back her hair.

“Not everyone needs a degree and a fancy chair to make it, Jo. A cov-op girl from the Crates can earn a promotion and a salary just fine. In fact, you probably have a higher salary-ceiling than I do.”

“Yeah, if I start killing presidents,” she laughed as she donned the sleep-shirt. She glanced down at it, reading the upside-down band logo. “Who’s Cutter-Dry?”

“Some under-radio punk-caller band on the off-feeds that Sabrina likes. They’re alright.”

Jo laughed, and sat down on the couch. “Well. Have a good night, Dyn.”

“Bonne nuit, mon ange.”

Jo smiled awkwardly at her, and she walked off, stopping before ascending the staircase to look back at her. She was cuddled up in a blanket on the couch, face in the cushions. Dyn smiled and walked to her bedroom.

Doffing her nightgown, she crawled into bed and cuddled up to Cass, who grumbled and put an arm around her. “Who is it?”

“Ghost.”

“The dude with the white hair?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s he want?”

“... he had a rough night and needed some help, so I’m letting him sleep on the couch.”

“He gonna want breakfast?”

“Maybe, maybe not. But you should make him eat breakfast anyway.

“Heard.” He pulled her in tighter and rested his hand on her chest. Dyn just smiled, wiggled as close as she could do him, and rested her eyes. Tomorrow was gonna be a rough one. As the blankets warmed her, and she nestled into position for maximum comfyness, a small text scrawl appeared, as if being typed, in her vision.

She ran her hands through Jo’s spiky white hair, gripping the back of her head tightly. Her pert and perky breasts heaved as her alert nipples rose to attention. Jo’s fingers danced up her spine, and she shivered with a shot of pleasure with her delicate touch, like the kiss of a ghost up her back.

She opened her eyes long enough to throw a pillow at the glowing green hologram with a typewriter sitting against the wall.

“Fuck off, Derbi.”