Chapter 1: Rogues Always Get The Job Done

Sev did not want to be here.

She downed the rest of her drink, her throat burning. It was stupid to come here. Rylee had dragged her along, as he always did when he knew she wasn't doing well. And lately, that was often.

"Damn, Sev. That's a sippin' whiskey. You in a hurry to get spaced?" Rylee said with a chuckle. He was dressed in his finest club outfit, a pair of grey trousers and a black button-up shirt with a silver, glittery shine to it. He had unbuttoned just enough of the top buttons to fit in with this crowd without losing his signature posh style. He’d parted his short, wavy blonde hair all to one side to finish the effect. She had to admit, it worked for him.

"I'm in a hurry to leave," Sev shot back. They were in the quiet section of the nightclub, that is to say, the section where the pounding music and the raucous of the crowd was only a dull roar. Her eyes stung. The lights were radiant, vibrant, harsh. All around her, the arcology's rowdy, disenfranchised, and reckless danced and drank the night away.

Well, she assumed it was night, anyway. The arcology-city ran on a stringent schedule, and nobody had seen the sky in over a generation, Seven included. She'd grown up here, an orphan of District B5; 50 meters underground, trapped under the weight of every mistake her forebears had ever made. No known family, no guardians, no education, no skills, no future. Not even a name. Sev had to fight for every scrap she could, often literally.

Soon, it would be different. She was, coincidentally, the seventh in the crew. Now that she was good enough to run ops, she could turn her life around. No—she was better than good enough. She would show them. She would show all of them.

"Aw, quit your brooding. Look, there's your favorite girl," Rylee nudged her and motioned toward the back. A familiar woman in a black minidress grabbed a drink from the synth behind the bar, slipping it two coins in return. The machine gave her a semblance of a nod before rolling to the other side of the bar to take another order. The woman sipped at her drink with a bamboo straw before her eyes settled on Sev from across the room. Sev covered her face with her hand and hoped Felicity hadn’t seen her.

A devilish smile crawled along Felicity’s lips. She strode toward the two rogues, the sway of her hips catching Sev’s eyes despite it all. Sev bit her lip and wished she had another drink. “Seven!” the woman shouted. She was a slip of a thing. Her dress left nothing to the imagination. Her makeup was even more bold than usual, her fox-shaped eyeliner extending all the way to the ends of her eyebrows and her lips black to match her dress. Her black hair was tied in two circular braids that flanked the sides of her head, a style Sev herself had shown her. She was stunning, drunk, and liked to be thrown around. Exactly the kind of girl the people who frequented places like this liked to see. Everyone but Sev.

“Hello, Felicity.” Sev said, meeting the woman’s gaze. “Let me guess. You’re here to be taken home by a stranger who looks just dangerous enough to make it a bad idea, but not dangerous enough to get scolded by daddy dearest?”

Felicity barked a laugh. “As if I care what you think I’m here for.”

Rylee cocked his head. “Wait, you two aren’t together anymore?”

“Me? With that deck rat?” Felicity smiled venomously. “I’d rather go home with the synth.”

Sev didn’t care what Felicity thought, but flinched all the same. To hear that coming from the woman who used to grace Sev’s pillow every other night…it didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

“Ah,” Rylee said, turning back to Sev. “Well then. That explains your mood.”

“Don’t start with me,” Sev said. She’d already gotten the third degree from two of her crew, she didn’t need it from her best friend, too.

“Aw, is Seven in a sour mood? What’s the matter? Miss me already?” Felicity mocked in a singsong voice.

Rylee cut her off before she could continue. “Oh, are you still here?” That was enough to take the woman aback. The mood chilled around them. Felicity hung her mouth open for a moment, trying to recover, before rolling her eyes and walking away. It was clear she was going for I’m too good for this conversation, but instead her stomping off came across juvenile and pathetic, which was exactly what she was. “Sheesh, I didn’t think things were that bad between you. Oh well. Fuck her, then,” he added once she was out of earshot.

And that’s why Sev rolled with Rylee Ferriss. If you were friends with Rylee, the second someone crossed you, they were dead to him. And when he wanted to ice someone out, it was genuinely unsettling. But in this case, it made Sev smile. She had good friends. “Yeah, well, fucking her was the problem in the first place.” She sighed and tapped her fingertips on the table idly. “Hell of a lay, though.”

“They always are. Speaking of which,” Rylee replied, then waved to somebody in the distance. Sev turned and spotted a man striding towards them—a tall, handsome man with warm brown skin, short-cropped hair, and ink running down his arms. He wore black jeans and a black leather jacket over absolutely nothing else. He was precisely Rylee’s type. “Glad you could make it,” Rylee called out over the music. “Sev, this is Killian Jones. Killian, this is my sister, Seven.”

“Seven? I’ve heard of you,” The man said. His voice was softer than expected, given his muscled build and his stature. “You’re the Rogue who ran hardwire for the Seung Op last cycle, yeah?”

Sev nodded. She hadn’t done much, truth be told. It was all a test to begin with. She’d been on standby while the rest of the crew tapped the old Seung Psychometrics facility on Deck 4. But they tripped the alarm on purpose, just to see how well Seven operated. She’d shut down their security in a matter of seconds. Their ICE was old; several cycles outdated and simple enough to deframe without alerting any sysops. The Op was a huge success—not just for their fixer, but for Sev herself. Now she’d proven herself. Now she was a member of the crew in earnest. And apparently, word had gotten out.

“Pretty slick. Didn’t know you hung with Rogues, Ryles,” Killian said, grinning.

“Just the one,” Rylee said. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Ah yes. Corpo understudy,” the man said with a chuckle. “If only they knew.”

“If they knew, I’d have to kill them,” Rylee responded under his breath as he took a sip of his drink. He wasn’t kidding, either. It was a risk just being here together. But only a small one—nobody here held any particular love for the upsiders, and no self-respecting Corpo would find themselves in a dive like this. Those who knew Rylee’s background also knew he held no love for his Corpo masters. He was an insider, an informant—he fed information to Rogues like Sev and her crew in exchange for cash and favors, and he made a damn good living for himself doing it. 

Sev was terrified he might one day be caught. Gunned down by some faceless kill squad. And it would probably all get pinned on B-deckers like her. It’s how it always went. The “criminals” get bodybagged while the real criminals make bank. That’s why Rogues existed. To upset the balance. To reclaim a piece of the proverbial pie. To make life better for the people the Corps left behind when the world ended. 

Killian put a hand on Rylee’s shoulder and gave him a wink. “Well, Ryles, what do you say you and me get outta here?”

Rylee threw up his arms in fake capitulation. “I suppose I could take this drink to go and be carried off somewhere by a gorgeous fellow to be ravished, yes. You don’t mind, do you Sev?”

Sev shrugged in earnest. “I don’t blame you. I’ll just replace you with drink number four. Drink number four sounds like very good company.”

Rylee shook his head exaggeratedly and leaned in close. “No, no, no, Sev, Seven, my girl. Here’s what you’re going to do.”

The Rogue rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”

“First, you’re going to—one sec,” he fumbled over the table, grabbed the strings on the sides of her corset, and pulled it tighter, causing her breasts to swell and practically spill over the top.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Ry.” This was a too-common occurrence. But she also trusted Rylee like a brother, so he got away with shit like this. Anyone else would be on the floor with their hands behind their back right now. Instead, she just stared at him and adjusted her breasts so she wasn’t flashing the whole damn place. She had to admit, they did look better with the corset a little tighter.

“Next, you’re gonna get down to that dance floor down there and shake that perky ass of yours until one of those hotties decides their night won’t be complete without a dance with you. I give it…twenty minutes, tops. Then you take them home and forget all about that bitch. Got it sis?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know what I’m doing,” she shouted back, though her traitorous lips curved into a smile all the same. She couldn’t help it. Ry was family. She stood up, gave him a hug, and gave his new boy toy a light punch to his burly chest. “You take good care of him.”

“Oh, trust me, only the best,” Killian replied. He slung Rylee’s arm over his shoulder and escorted—or practically carried—him out of the establishment.

Sev let out a sigh she had been holding for too long. She knew Rylee’s new boyfriend would be swinging by at some point, but she didn’t expect it this early. It was barely even midnight, let alone their usual 4 o’clock bedtime on nights like this. Typically they’d stumble back to Rylee’s place together and she’d crash on his couch, only to be kicked out the next morning by 8 at the latest. How Rylee operated on such a schedule, she’d never know. But now she was without her literal partner-in-crime and stuck in a club with her ex for the next few hours.

Oh well. She had no better options other than to follow Ry’s advice, so she did exactly that, stopping first at the restroom to adjust her outfit further. She’d worn one of her favorites, a black leather corset and a matching miniskirt that showed off all of her best assets. A pair of ragged fishnets laced down her pale legs, and her arms and shoulders were bare other than her tattoos—her most prominent being the roman numeral VII on her left shoulder. A symbol from her brief stint at the orphanage; one she had embraced rather than spurned despite the hard memories it sometimes brought her. Her red hair was parted down the middle, her bangs covering her left eye, the right side pulled behind her ear.

Then it was off to the dance floor. The music pounded in Sev’s skull as she descended the carpeted steps down into the vast ocean of dancers and lovers. Many were solo dancers, some taking the dancing seriously, others there as an excuse to find someone to hook up with. There were also larger groups of friends all dancing together, and some in pairs or triads doing more making out than dancing, which was typical for this place on a Saturday night. On the stage, several scantily-clad pole dancers were doing their thing, drawing eyes and watering mouths alike.

Sev found a secluded spot, closed her eyes, and let the music move through her. It was heavy, bass rumbling through her body, the beat hypnotic. She lifted her arms into the air and began to move from side to side. Soon there was nothing left in her mind but the music and her body. Sev didn’t have any moves or style, but what she did have was a shit ton of pent-up feminine energy just waiting for a chance to come bursting out. She twirled, played with her hair, swayed her hips, let her hands move enticingly up and down her body.

And just as Sev was beginning to wonder if there were any eyes on her, a girl in fishnets and a black vest appeared, like magic. She wore no skirt or pants at all, leaving her fishnet-covered panties tantalizingly exposed. Tall, wavy blonde hair, bright blue eyes, mesmerizing smile. “You dancing alone?” She asked. Sev nodded, a smirk gracing the edge of her lips. “Do you want to dance with me?”

Mission accomplished, as usual. Sev was a Rogue, and Rogues always got the job done.

Eat your heart out, Felicity.

---

Next Chapter!