With how much time she'd spent on the one merc, I was honestly starting to wonder if Amelia could actually finish all the surgeries within Patch's three-hour limit.

I shouldn't have worried.

Now that she was over the initial hesitation about what she was attempting, her pace picked up considerably. I mean, she definitely wasn't one hundred percent fine with the mind-warping, but she knew she could do it. Now it was simply a matter of replication.

"I can do it more easily now," she said as she rooted around in the second merc's head, having already given him a new arm. "It's a bit like muscle memory, but not really. I haven't had the time or practice required to form muscle memory, you know? But, it's almost like there's a… blueprint? Sure, that. I have a blueprint saved up inside my mind now."

She finally sighed and stepped away, her eyes and arms losing the green glow that always accompanied her use of Essence. I stepped up and dabbed away the sweat that had gathered on her brow, using a towel placed there for that exact purpose.

"It's still exhausting, though." I wasn't asking.

"It is," she admitted, sagging a little more. "It's like… it's more intense than anything else I can do with my arms. Takes a lot out of me very quickly."

"Well… I suppose the effect's on par with its cost." I glanced at the first merc. He was standing in a corner, staring off into nothing, without even blinking. "Um… maybe tell him he can blink when he feels the need to?"

I tried to pitch my voice in a way that wouldn't inspire guilt. Seeing as Amelia flinched, I failed miserably.

"Oh for fuck's sake… You! Close your eyes or something until I need you." She snapped off the order, realizing at the same time I did that she didn't know the guy's name. At least his eyes slammed shut immediately, so there was that.

Grumbling, she sent the second merc over to stand in the same corner and moved on to her next victim/patient. She paused briefly when she realized it was the woman who had kept her eyes covered. Apparently, the glasses were concealing more than just damage. There was a thin, inflamed burn wound stretching over her eyes. Amelia gently pried the lids open to reveal half-melted cybernetic eyes.

"Fuck, what happened to her? Do those even still work?" I hissed, feeling a pang of sympathy and phantom pain.

"Barely? It looks like enough survived to give her very screwed-up vision. Just enough not to stumble into things. I'm more worried about how some of this stuff melted and… eh, 'merged' with her flesh. I seriously doubt she could even twitch these eyes around."

I shuddered and backed up, leaving my girlfriend to her work. At least she had the advantage of her arms, which spared her a ton of effort and the merc a ton of pain. It was simply a matter of literally scooping out the metal bits while urging flesh to part around them, and then coaxing that flesh into the right shape. She even smoothed out and erased the scars as she worked.

I couldn't stop myself from glancing her way, despite the nausea, disgust, and pangs of anxiety this particular surgery inspired in me. Just imagining myself as the party laid out on the table sent actual shudders wracking my body.

Eventually, though, the two remaining surgeries and accompanying brain fuckery were over and done with. Amelia pumped both mercs full of the cocktail of drugs meant to bring them back to full awareness.

Just like the first two, they were disoriented when they woke up, until they spotted Amelia and snapped into obedience mode. Once the guys in the corner were called over, it was time to do what we had taken the risk for in the first place.

"Okay, okay. Just give your zombies their orders," Amelia mumbled quietly to herself. Then she shook her head and narrowed her eyes at the four. "Here's how this is going to work. You will act the way you always have around everyone that's not me and Adrian here. If questioned, you'll also claim that your surgeries went just fine, that you saw no one other than ripper Melania, and that you feel great."

Amelia paused for a second, like she was waiting for confirmation, but they simply continued to watch her blankly. She shook her head in exasperation. "However, you will stay in contact with me secretly, through this number." She rattled off the digits. "Repeat it to me."

They did, in horribly eerie sync.

"Good. I want you to make sure no one ever catches you contacting me. Not your captain, not your friends, and definitely not your fucking netrunner, if you have one. Do you have one? You, tell me."

She pointed at the woman who had needed eye surgery. The merc immediately spoke.

"We have two. A real runner, and their apprentice."

"Hrm. We'll put together some plans for that. Mark that down, Adrian." I rolled my eyes at her, but did do it. "You'll contact me every twenty-four hours at midnight, if possible. If someone's around, or the risk of getting caught is too high, delay by a day. I'll have tasks for you to complete in the future, but for now, just don't get caught. Now, off you go. You'll start to behave normally the second you walk through those doors."

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

They turned as one and started walking, with as much emotion as they'd shown thus far. Meaning, none. The second they passed through the doors, however, their transformation was complete. From empty drones, they turned into… well, quiet and tense mercs. Still, at least they acted like actual human beings, rather than marionettes on invisible strings.

As soon as they were gone, Amelia sagged. I could feel her body sucking down Essence, and I could see exhaustion in every line of her face. Before she could protest, I swept her off her feet, icky clothes and all.

I'll admit, I was kind of proud of how far my stats had gone. I could now do this kind of stuff with relative ease. Starving slum rat I was not. I'd evolved into an illegal inner district resident! Progress!

"Adrian!" she half-shouted, half-giggled, flushing as I pressed her against my chest.

"I'm getting you to a shower, and then to the cuddle pit. We're relaxing for the rest of the day."

"You can't do that. What if we get patients?"

"The mercs have this place for the day. No one else is on your schedule."

"But someone could show up."

"And if they do, Melania can handle them just fine."

"She can't work on my level," Amelia grumbled huffily, but I could see those lips twitching towards a smile.

I would just need to kiss them into the right shape later.

"They'll live. Literally. Now, let's get you out of those clothes."

"Oh, I bet you're eager to do that. I see how it is. Fine, let's see this 'shower and cuddles.'"

I sighed and rolled my eyes, but I couldn't resist a smile of my own.

—

It happened gradually, but Amelia slowly got the pep back in her step. I could see that something about what she'd done was still bothering her, but I couldn't tell if it was the thought of the moral implications, or that she'd had to 'fight her arms' to twist the mercs the way we wanted to.

I didn't push the subject. I saw the way she tensed every time we got close to it for the rest of the day. So I simply hugged her, kissed her, and tried to help her get past it. I did quietly let her know she could tell me whatever she wanted, though. I would never judge or leave her.

She seemed to appreciate that. Especially with how hands-on our cuddle session got afterwards.

No discomfort or hesitation could erase the sheer utility of what she'd done, though. We literally had four sleeper agents in the mercenaries' ranks now. That started to pay off right from day one. The four contacted us in a group chat, and then spilled all about the current situation the mercenaries were facing.

Predictably, they were in a ton of shit.

That's just what happens when you ditch your very own neighborhood and hide from a rampaging cyberpsycho, particularly after tooting your own horn for as long as they'd done it. We were not the only business they'd not-so-politely shaken down for benefits. A ton of those businesses were now pushing back, both in the form of renegotiated rates and outright refusing to work with them.

The funny thing was, the mercs couldn't retaliate.

In the wake of the incident, security had been upped in the neighborhood. Peacekeeper units were patrolling in numbers larger than ever. You couldn't look at the street outside your window without seeing at least two right there at the edge of your vision.

That made any threats of violence quite ineffective. I mean, the mercs hadn't wanted to fight one insane, aging individual. Androids specialized for violent suppression of unrest? Forget it. The Peacekeepers weren't slum children, after all, so why would Patch ever be brave enough to rush them?

That did make for a very amusing relationship between the mercs and the other locals, of course. The mercs were pissed, the locals were angry, and both parties were too cautious to really do anything about it anymore. That first wave of discontent could have swelled into an actual confrontation, but the Peacekeepers had easily put a stop to that.

Still, I was happy, Amelia was getting happier, and Melania's job satisfaction was through the roof.

Amelia had sat the woman down, doubled her pay, and then promised her fifty percent of whatever number she got the mercs to agree to pay in the future for any cybernetics they got from us. Oh, and of the surgery costs, obviously. Which were going up, no matter what Patch said.

Our front ripper had grinned like a shark at that promise, then chatted Tirgo's ear off about all the wonderful things she'd be able to do for her family. The man had endured her with a smile, but only because he'd gotten his own raise, humbler though it was.

But despite all our success so far, neither Amelia nor I wanted to wait and rest on our laurels. As such, our subverted mercs were given a brand new set of instructions: to carefully observe and catalogue the habits of their fellows.

If anyone showed a tendency to wander off on their own, like Rafe and Olivia, they were to let us know immediately. If the mercs were planning a big operation, they were to let us know immediately. If a major shift in the leadership or attitude of the company happened, they were to let us know immediately. Basically, if someone so much as started to take bathroom breaks at 'irregular' intervals, we'd hear about it.

From there, we did have a Cunning PlanTM brewing.

Basically? Kidnapping.

If our subverted mercs managed to catch one of their fellows alone, and knew that one wouldn't be missed for a while, they'd contact us. If we gave the go-ahead, they were to bag 'em, tag 'em, and roll 'em up to our back door as stealthily as they could manage.

From there, our numbers would only grow!

I could already picture the perfect resolution to the whole mess: we'd take over the entire operation, with minimal fuss and extremely few lives lost, which would let us work towards setting up the perfect trap for Amelia's father.

Not that I'd be very sad if we were forced to slaughter them all, including our puppets. Some of the information they fed us included their mission logs and previous 'achievements', and… Well. It wasn't as bad as we thought.

It was worse.

The entire mercenary company was literally built around hunting down and exploiting vulnerable individuals. All the bragging? The training? The equipment? It helped keep things working smoothly, but they honestly didn't need it. None of their typical victims could put up any kind of fight against them at all.

Which meant the world was their oyster to commit horrific acts in.

Illegal slavery? Check. Providing underground prostitution rings with fresh meat? Check. Selling people to evil scientists? Double fucking check. If there was someone in the city who wanted to benefit from human trafficking, the mercs sold their 'product' to that someone. Really, the only thing that stopped me from telling Amelia to order them to kill themselves was the fact that we needed them.

Oh, and that they could fix my ID problem. That was a pretty fucking big sticking point!

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