Cyberpunk - The Fall of Icarus

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September 9, 2066

Alex Mitchell (Volkov) POV

I hadn't even fully woken up or gotten myself together when a notification pinged on my private email. Groaning, I checked it and found a message from Marco:

Hey Alex, thanks to you, I managed to successfully complete the mission. Not sure if this will make the news, but our work was appreciated where it counts. Also, my fixer wants to talk to you and has a job offer that fits your skill set. If you're interested, call this number.

P.S. Your implants are the best I've ever had!

"Something up?" Vega's muffled voice drifted from the bed as she peeked at me lazily, clearly in no rush to leave the warmth of the covers.

"Marco sent me a message. He's bragging about his mission success and gave a special shoutout for those shiny new implants," I said, throwing a wink at the blonde who'd been instrumental in crafting the mercenary's augmentations. "I'm going to make breakfast. Any requests?"

"Coffee and ham sandwiches," Vega answered after a brief pause.

"And you, Kiwi?"

"The same," came the sleepy mumble from the other side of the bed, accompanied by a half-hearted wave but no sign of movement.

Breakfast unfolded like clockwork, wrapped in the cozy routine of our little household. Lucy animatedly gushed about some newly formed band to Roxy, who offered the occasional nod of approval. Kiwi and Vega exchanged their usual curt remarks over bites of food, both half-distracted by the news scrolling on their devices. Meanwhile, I basked in the rare tranquility, soaking in the domestic rhythm. Days like this, however fleeting, gave me a sense of normalcy I didn't know I needed.

Once the workshop opened, we all settled into our respective roles. I dove into fine-tuning a prototype set of armor, putting its systems through the wringer with Vega's occasional help. Kiwi buried herself in her research, as usual. Mornings tended to be slow — real customer traffic picked up after lunch. Most jobs involved diagnostics or swapping out worn-out implants, though every now and then, we handled complex surgeries for severely injured clients.

This Thursday felt no different from countless others — until she showed up.

Standing at the workshop door was a woman whose presence all but screamed that my day was about to take a sharp detour. Michiko Sanderson — formerly Michiko Arasaka — was here, and she was insistent on meeting me in person.

At my request, Vega was doing her best to stall her. Unfortunately, my assistant was far too polite to keep the increasingly irate woman at bay for long. Michiko's growing irritation at what she clearly perceived as disrespect wasn't making the situation any easier. One thing was clear: my uneventful day had just been canceled.

"Breaking into someone else's space uninvited is hardly polite, wouldn't you agree?" I said, arching an eyebrow with exaggerated aristocratic flair as I locked eyes with my unexpectedly arrived aunt.

One thought hammered relentlessly in my head: What the hell is she even doing here?!

"Miss, I'll have to use force if you don't leave," Vega warned, her tone cold and laced with menace as she stood behind the woman, her expression sharp and unyielding.

"It's fine. Return to your station," I said, waving a hand to dismiss the android. My attention shifted fully to my "guest."

"Apologies for the inconvenience, but I needed to meet with you," Michiko said with a brief, formal bow, her sharp eyes continuing to analyze my face as though searching for something.

"And what's the purpose of this meeting? What could someone as influential as you possibly want from my humble, godforsaken workshop?" I asked, meeting her gaze. I made no effort to hide the deliberate slowness of my tone. Honestly, the last thing I wanted was to entertain anyone from the Arasaka family.

"I need your services as a promising mercenary," she replied, her arms folding over her chest in a calm, composed manner.

"Not interested," I said bluntly, the dismissal in my tone leaving no room for misinterpretation.

"You haven't even heard my offer," she countered, irritation slipping through the cracks of her otherwise flawless demeanor.

"Michiko-san, I'm not taking on that kind of work at the moment. If you need a competent operative, hire a well-connected fixer — they'll find someone for you," I said, my frustration simmering just below the surface. I couldn't fathom why this aristocrat was so eager to hire me of all people, but the conversation was already wearing thin.

"I know who was behind the attack at the restaurant," Michiko said, dropping her trump card with calculated precision, clearly expecting this revelation to shift my interest.

"And what do you want from me?" I sighed involuntarily, the exhaustion clear in my voice.

"An exchange of favors," she said smoothly. "I'll give you the opportunity to settle the score with that person, and in return, you'll handle a few delicate missions for me — aligned with your expertise, of course. And I'll ensure you're well compensated," she added with a slight smile, patiently awaiting my response.

"I decline," I said firmly, locking eyes with her. Her expression faltered for the briefest moment, betraying her shock — clearly, she wasn't used to being turned down.

"Are you certain about your decision?"

"Absolutely."

Michiko's composure returned, but her gaze intensified. "In that case, I have one last question," she said, her voice softer now, almost hesitant, as though weighing her words carefully.

"A-chan, do you remember me?" she asked suddenly, switching to flawless Japanese.

"Excuse me?" I tilted my head slightly, feigning confusion, all while doing my best to suppress the fact that I understood her perfectly.

"Apologies, it seems I was mistaken," Michiko said, shaking her head lightly. Her tone shifted back to its composed cadence. "I hope my persistence hasn't offended you. May I ask one more thing?"

"If it's within my ability," I replied, closing my eyes briefly in a gesture of reluctant agreement.

"May I take your hand?" she asked, stepping closer, just enough to stand within arm's reach.

"Ahem, that's… unexpected," I said, extending my hand. The moment her slender fingers wrapped around mine, a strange sense of familiarity washed over me. Memories from my childhood surged forward — vivid, almost overwhelming — flashes of a moment just like this. The flood of emotions caught me off guard, and I couldn't help but flinch ever so slightly.

"Thank you for your time," Michiko said softly, her lips curling into a faint smile. Her fingers lingered on mine for a moment longer than expected before she released her grip. Taking a step back, she added, "Could I ask for a pen and some paper?"

"Second drawer by the coffee table," I said, gesturing toward the far corner of the workshop. My attention shifted momentarily to the computer screen, where a notification flashed, indicating the successful completion of a simulation.

"Just a moment… Here are my contact details," she said, pulling my focus back to her as she placed a business card in my hand. "I hope I wasn't too intrusive."

"Not at all," I replied smoothly, glancing briefly at the card.

"In that case, I'll take my leave. Until we meet again," Michiko said with a graceful bow before turning toward the exit.

"Would you like me to escort you out?"

"There's no need to trouble yourself."

As soon as she was gone, I exhaled deeply, finally letting my shoulders relax. The encounter had been anything but easy, but I believed I'd managed to keep my composure intact, avoiding any suspicion. Still, guilt gnawed at me. Lying to my own aunt — a woman who clearly hoped to reconnect with family — left a bitter taste. But I knew exactly where such a reunion could lead.

The Arasaka family was conservative and ruthless, and I wasn't in any position to take them on — not yet, anyway.

"Well, at least it's over," I muttered, smirking as I moved toward the table where I'd left an empty coffee cup earlier. Somewhere between the conversation and her departure, I'd completely forgotten about it.

"Huh, I'm sure I left it here," I murmured, noticing faint coffee stains on the surface. "Did she… take it? But why?"

I stared at the table, my thoughts spinning, until a realization struck me like a lightning bolt.

"Of course," I thought, a grin slowly spreading across my face. "She thinks she's clever, huh? Fine, Michiko, let's see what your DNA test has to say."

A dark chuckle escaped my lips as I imagined the surprise waiting for her on the other side of that test.

***

September 9, 2066

Michiko Arasaka (Sanderson) POV

Outgoing Call – Genetic Testing Department

"How can I assist you, ma'am?" a woman's voice answered briskly.

"Sara, I need to conduct a genetic analysis," Michiko said, her tone calm but deliberate.

"Understood. My lab is at your disposal," Sara replied.

"One more thing — I'd like this test to remain completely confidential. Everything you see will stay strictly between us. Can you guarantee that?" Michiko's voice sharpened, firm and demanding.

"In that case, your personal presence will be required," Sara said after a brief pause, her tone careful.

"That's fine. I'll be there in an hour," Michiko replied curtly.

Connection terminated – Call ended

Lowering her phone, Michiko's gaze drifted back to the coffee cup in her hand. Nestled inside were a few eyelashes and strands of hair she had meticulously collected. It was more than enough for a genetic analysis — an analysis that she hoped would finally provide answers to the storm of questions swirling in her mind.

If Alex truly turned out to be her sister's long-missing son, then she would have no choice but to confront him again.

"Perhaps this time," she thought, her expression softening slightly, "he'll be willing to hear me out…"