Category: Episodes

The oppressive desert heat seeps through the cracks in the insulation of the downtown Oasis apartments as the sun rises on the first day of the Wave.

Each member of our group has isol>ated in their room, struggling (with various degrees of success) to find comfort from their recently-installed CallumTech Airfresh Window Units.

ISO lies motionless in Mavis’ crudely constructed recovery ward, his recording chip tucked safely away, back into the camera in his shoulder.

ISO’s ragged breathing fills the empty silence in Reed’s apartment as the phonecall with Medtech concludes.
Sedoy cracks a slight smile to herself, satisfied with her work. She nods towards Mavis, who returns a frustrated scowl. Sedoy averts her eyes, and turns to give Mavis some space – immediately making plans…

The skyline of the Oasis burns, as the Trauma Team Heavy Aerial Assault Vehicle slices through the chaos. Within the vehicle, the relative silence weighs heavy on the party.

Mavis cradles her broken arm, struggling for each breath, and wincing as their vehicle is battered by the high wind.
She stares out the window, her eyes unfocused, as she recalls the events of the past hour in her head…

In the dimly lit dining area of Oscar Christiansan’s heavily fortified penthouse, Mavis and ISO stand wearily in front of a cold metal blast door, their bodies battered, bruised, and creaking from over-exertion.

Mavis steadies herself against the polished metal of Oscar’s safe room, her breath ragged and adrenaline still coursing through her veins. The sharp smell of gunpowder and blood fills her nose as she takes a deep breath, and the sensory reminders kick-start something inside Mavis’ memory…

High above the smoke and flames of the Oasis corpo housing district, Reed sits in the pilot seat of a Trauma Team Heavy Aerial Assault vehicle.

He closes his eyes, and steadies his breath, focusing on the datastream flooding his neural link. The advanced thermal cameras run a full sweep, peeling back the walls of their client Oscar Christiansan’s penthouse apartment, and feeding that data directly into Reed’s sensory inputs.
Reed feels his neural implant getting warmer – something under his scalp begins to itch.

8 targets.
Two with military cyberwear.
Readying weapons.

‘…You best pick up the phone when I call, or you should lose this number’.

The words from Nico, their Fixer, bounce around in ISO’s head, as Sedoy gathers up the last of her things. She flits around her desk, organizing and arranging her workbench with near-manic energy from her recently injested Synth***. ISO rolls his eyes, he glances at his agent, checking the time.

Their last gig from Nico didn’t go as well as it could have, so he waits patiently for Sedoy to finish up… whatever she’s doing.

While Mavis and Reed fight through the crowds of desperate people searching for Cyberwear parts… Our story today starts on a much quieter scene – in the apartment of Sedoy.

ISO, growing increasingly starved for interaction, lounges on Sedoy’s couch scrolling through the datapools on his Agent.

There isn’t much to look at. His usual Night City datapools are inaccessible today for ‘maintanence’, and his Oasis datapool collection is still frustratingly slim.

Sedoy flexes her arm, testing out the new addition of her invention – the Cyberian Cooler. She glances at Mavis, a concerned look crossing her stern face for a brief moment – and then instructs her base-level internal operating system to power up the cooling equipment.

As the fans in her arm begin to lightly hum, she watches as the Environment Temperature Differential on her Biomon and her Central Nervous Thermoregulation signals begin to drop slowly, each in sync with the other.

She sighs a heavy exhale of relief – the cyberwear seems to be functioning within expected parameters.

The borrowed Vidscreen goes dark in Mavis’ apartment.

Sedoy flinches in her chair, as Mavis moves involuntarily – forgetting for a moment about the surgery she was performing just a few minutes ago.

Mavis clears her throat, breaching the awkward silence:
“I… operated on Lexi Patel yesterday.”

Mavis gingerly taps the side of her apartment vidscreen – and then presses a few of the faceplate buttons for good measure.

Unfortunately, her ability to mend flesh and cybernetics doesn’t extend to vidscreens, and the electronics whine painfully before clicking off. 

Mavis sighs, and makes a mental note to order a replacement screen on Reed’s tab before collapsing back onto the couch.