The coppery taste of blood filled Maeve's mouth as she was dragged along through some damp but brightly lit corridor. Her vision was still quite blurry, but she could at least make out the brick walls that were passing her by on either side; they were old - obviously, bricks were a thing of the past - and covered in graffiti, most of it faded with only a few pieces retaining the vibrant colors that marked them as relatively recent. Round neon lamps hung from a high ceiling nearly three twenty feet high, filling the passageway in a sterile white light. They had to be newly installed, Maeve decided, since not a single one was burned out or flickering. She managed to piece together that she was underground in some ancient part of the city which had been built over, and that somebody was using it as some sort of hideout or place where they could conduct their dirty work in private, but none of that was particularly helpful.
On top of that, there were so many people that didn't like her that it was impossible to even guess who'd sent their goons after her. There was Chen, who owned a well known poker club in the red light district where Maeve had gotten into a fistfight over sketchy sleight of hand move that she was convinced the dealer had pulled. The situation escalated pretty quickly, and by the end of it half of the club had been torn apart, not to mention that she'd put most of the bouncers out of commission for at least the foreseeable future. It was worth the beating that Maeve herself had taken in the process. Nobody cheated her, ever. Then there was that shootout at Mick's bar, although she'd been too hammered to remember what it was even all about. Oh, and don't forget those street samurai in that alley near Fixer street, they wore Gravelord colors...
All of that was just in the last five days, and it wasn't even including Maeve's shadowruns, so trying to figure out who would want to exact their revenge upon her was like trying to find a black cat in a coal cellar. The hallway ended soon enough, at which point she was shoved through a doorway so roughly that she stumbled and fell to one knee. Groaning, Maeve ran a hand over her face and brushed away the strands of violet and scarlet hair from over her eyes before cumbersomely betting back up to her feet. The bruised ribs on her right side made her wince, but that wasn't half as bad as the feeling that she got when she laid eyes on the person sitting behind the simple stainless steel table in front of her. She'd sobered up enough by then to recognize Alora Corporation's 'business consultant', although Maeve knew the woman by her true title of shadowrun orchestrator. There wasn't any love lost between the two of them.
"Huh, I knew I could smell cunt
around here somewhere." Maeve spoke first.
Mrs. Carlson didn't even deign to reply, preferring instead to signal the two brutes standing behind Maeve with a simple wave from two of her fingers. She braced herself for what she knew was coming and winced preemptively in anticipation of the blow which followed about half a second later. The back of at armored glove smashed into the side of the shadowrunner's face, knocking her right off of her feet yet again. Maeve landed heavily on her side, blood flowing out of her lower lip where the impact had split it, her head ringing and her ear feeling like somebody had just stuck a hot poker into it. She lamented herself with a long, drawn out moan, but eventually struggled up to her feet yet again. She smiled with the corner of her mouth, looking rather wild with the blood dripping down from her chin and the random lengths of colorful hair hanging over her face.
"I missed you too," Maeve added with no shortage of sarcasm.
"Did you think that you could just get three of my men killed and just walk away Scott-free, you little delinquent slut?" The tall blonde in the fitted white business suit with a plunging neckline fired back, getting right down to business.
"Me?" Maeve chuckled, "Your intel was and we got jumped, you're lucky that any of us got out at all. What, did you get spanked by your boss or something so now you're looking for somebody to take it out on? Maybe you should just go get yourself laid instead you frigid bitch. I know these two Swedish brothers who could blow your mind, I can give you their number if you want." The offer had been meant as an insult at first, but the more that she thought of it, the more that it seemed like a good idea. Maybe getting banged silly was just what Carlson needed to dislodge that broomstick from up her ass.
Another wave and again the hired muscle was on top of her, both of them this time. One of them grabbed Maeve's forearms and pinned them against the small of her back while the other one treated himself to a fistful of her hair, jerking her forwards before pushing her down so that she was bent over the cold table.
"You should really learn when to shut that nasty mouth of yours," Carlson stated casually while pulling a silver handgun with a white marble grip out from somewhere. "Don't worry, I'll teach you." The woman's hand closed around Maeve's jaw, squeezing it with so much power courtesy of what could only be augmentations that she immediately forced her mouth open. The ornate pistol's barrel stuffed her mouth before she could get another word out. Its wielder cocked it with a loud click, at which point Maeve began to actually feel worried for the first time. She still didn't think that Carlson would have gone through all of this trouble just to put a bullet into her head, but it was still a very unsettling situation.
"Mmm, much better, I'd say. Those lips were clearly made for sucking," the blonde taunted.
Her nostrils flaring with anger, Maeve grunted and struggled to move, but the pair of goons holding her pinned down were even more heavily augmented than their employer, making it an entirely futile endeavor.
"Settle down if you want to live long enough to hear what I'm about to offer. It's more than you deserve. Good. Now, although I would love nothing more than to splatter your brain all over these walls, an...acquaintance of mine has insisted on covering the losses that you
caused us in exchange for your services. I tried to convince him that your sorry ass wasn't worth it and that he'd be better off hiring some common rabble from off the streets, but unfortunately he insisted."
Maeve tried to speak, but she could only manage several unintelligible sounds thanks to the gun in her mouth.
"What's that? Oh, you want to know what will happen if you refuse? Well..." Carlson unrolled the old leather carrying roll which was placed at the corner of the table with her free hand, revealing a set of shoddy looking surgical tools. "I hear those eyes of yours are worth a small fortune. They're this year's most recent model, aren't they? Now, I'm no surgeon, but I'm sure that I could carve them out of you - eventually. So, what'll it be?" Carlson pulled out a phone from the pocket of her jacket and placed it on the side of the table opposite from the scalpels.
As much as Maeve loathed being forced into doing anything against her will, she swallowed her pride and moved her eyes towards the phone, widening them to show that she was choosing that.
"What's that? The knives, you say?" the blonde asked coyly while reaching over for one of her torture instruments.She wants me to beg
, Maeve realized as her blood boiled inside of her veins. "Mmmm...mmmppphhhhh!!" she moaned, giving Carlson what she wanted since it was still a more appealing option than getting her eyes removed, although just barely.
Instead of letting her go just yet, Carlson shoved the barrel of her pistol further into Maeve's mouth until it was all the way in her throat, making her gag and twitch violently. The sadistic megacorp employee kept it up until Maeve's face had turned almost as purple as her hair, only releasing her after she'd already blacked out.
She didn't know how much time had gone by before she finally woke up, but Carlson and her lapdogs were gone, leaving nothing but the phone behind. There was nothing but a vague message about a job recorded on it; no contact information, no details for a meeting or anything like that, so she figured that her mysterious new employer and perhaps savior would contact her when he was ready. Feeling a lot more sore now that all of the alcohol had left her system, Maeve snatched the phone up and trudged her way back home to her crappy apartment where she could lick her wounds and find another bottle or six.