dude i don't normally like to dig at peoples fun i generally think people having fun is good but it is slightly disheartening when there's a really really good story about a strong platonic relationship and then the only thing the fans can do is ship the characters or worse make a crack ship with an unrelated character from another media because it's like they can't STAND a lack of romance in media like they absolutely must try to insert romance where it is absolutely not needed or relevant and honestly sours the story/media a lot more for me or they'll Die because they can't just be happy with a really good platonic relationship. it makes me very sad as a demiromantic girlie.
I think about The Man of the Hole so often. 27 years alone. 27 years with no one to speak to but strangers to wave to. Survived a genocide, a massacre that killed everyone he had ever known and later, an assassination attempt. He still tried to warn researches about the traps he built. He was only about 60 when he died in 2022. The people who tormented him in life later desecrated his grave.
I do think it is important to share the stories of the Lone Woman of San Nicolas Island and Ishi and the countless other indigenous people who experienced the profound trauma of being the last survivor but it is important to remember that the last Aboriginal families in Australia to be contacted by Europeans were resettled in the 1980s and the Indian government has proposed a plan that will mean total genocide for the Shompen people. The total eradication of indigenous peoples, their cultures, their languages, their ways of life, is not something which occurred in a distant ugly past but an ongoing process.
🛞Summary: Speed is running Santo Domingo's motorcycle scene, and Muamar Reyes digs a professional merc who pulled themselves by the bootstraps. After a year of good (and anonymous) collaboration, it's time for a mutual public service run - only for it to crack masks and jeopardize lives. Still, Muamar cannot help but gravitate towards Speed's mysterious class act, no matter who they may be under the helmet.
🛞A/N: No name use, referred to as Speed. TW mentions of blood and injury, car crash. Misgendering but not malicious. Implied pansexual El Capitan. Yet another multichapter because I have zero self control and a lot to say. Photomode scene shot in the end for pizzazz. Pre 2077 canon storyline, Daniels' salty ass is also here!
Viva la Santo Domingo!
🛞Word count: 4.2K.
Next Chapter
A cacophony of speeding cars roaring in the searing haze of the open road, the smell of burning tire (or perhaps the tonnes of garbage Night City expels daily), alongside the blaring bass spilling out of the open windows of a glossy electric blue Quadra, all counted as things that made a successful Saturday morning. This car carried incredible amounts of memories, and today, thousands of eurodollars worth of klepped sound system parts, snug as a bug in the back. Unfortunately for the person behind the wheel, the badges also seemed to have sensed that.
The engine roared as the driver pressed on the gas, putting the car into fourth gear. Glancing through the rearview mirror, they noted two cop cars tailing them now. The illegal police scanner mounted under the glove box repeated, cutting through a Konrad Oldmoney verse-
[All vehicles in the area, we have a high speed car chase on Highway 101, suspect is evading a mandatory traffic stop in a customized Quadra Turbo-R V-Tech with obscured license plates. Proceed with caution, suspect may be armed.]
The radio frequency chimed, and they snorted at the next words that crackled over the comms, fingers drumming on the wheel.
[Copy that dispatch, I sure hope they're armed because you'd have to be real stupid to let an armless person drive off on you, over.]
[Fuck off Brooks, over.]
[Boys, keep it civil or switch to a private channel.]
[Sorry dispatch.]
One of the cop cars accelerated in an effort to run them off the road and into the guardrail, but the driver simply switched to third gear, car slowing sharply, making the badges swerve across the suspect's path and off the other side of the highway, crashing into the barricade.
"This piggy went to the dam." They mumbled with a cocky quirk of their mouth, popping the gum they'd been chewing since pick-up.
The other cop car finally caught up enough for the sirens to be heard, just barely over the boosted bass of their preem little sound system. The cop's siren whooped in useless warning.
"Kiss my ass!" The driver whooped back, accelerating again, just in time for another cop car from the opposite direction to notice the wanted vehicle and try to box them in, only for them to take a sharp right exit, toeing into the edge of Arroyo, leaving the two cop cars to crash into one another in the middle of the highway. The undignified snort that escaped the driver luckily had no audience as they entered the residential area.
Another siren resounded somewhere in the distance, and, fed up at this point, the driver switched off their music and took the next left, weaving through Santo Domingo blocks they knew like the back of their hand. After a few sharp turns, they slid rather than parked the sportscar in one parallel move, using the handbrake to perfectly slide between two storage unit rows of buildings. They watched the cop car shoot past them full speed, not even sparing a glance. They couldn't help but laugh at the affair, swiping through the console screen to check their unopened message of a status inquiry from the fixer.
Once the sirens had completely faded, they snuck back into the now quiet backstreets, driving leisurely with the radio back on, just in time for some quirky one-liner from the Hispanic guy on radio Principales.
Reaching the heart of San Domo, they stopped at a traffic light, ever the dutiful driver. As if jerked awake from the adrenaline crash, they reached under the passenger seat to pull riding gloves and their signature slick black motorcycle helmet, and slipped it all on as if on autopilot. The aggressive honk behind them elicited a knee jerk reaction of a hand out the cracked open window to flip the guy off, while they put the car into gear to move on.
The light had barely turned green, asshole. Where do you need to be at 5pm on a Saturday, anyway?
Only one of us has serious plans today.
Finally steering into a downward slope, they pulled into a lot that looked more like a junkyard rather than an auto-repair shop. The more inconspicuous, the better.
Killing the engine, they stepped out of the haphazardly parked custom vehicle in the middle of the lot, flicking the small mechanism concealed under their motorcycle jacket's collar on.
"Well, well. I see the Asphalt King has thrown off the entourage and made it to the keep. Hopefully my subwoofers are in one piece, too." El Capitan joked, leaning on a car they'd only brought in for him yesterday, that already looked gutted - literally. The engine and the majority of elements gone. Clearly they'd both had a busy day.
"Speed is of the essence, and I always deliver." The voice changer sounded through the helmet, melodically robotic. Cap could only laugh at the wordplay.
"Pepito, go grab the parts from the car while I talk to Speed." Capitan motioned to his associate, a burly latino guy that meekly nodded in acknowledgement as he caught the plaque carkey that Speed chucked at him in passing. Routine for everyone involved, at this point.
The garage inside was a stark contrast of the yard outside. Organized, clean with a narrow but fully utilized space, that was exactly how Speed knew Muamar Reyes; the real El Capitan. Frivolous and unserious on the outside, a tactical nuke that if you dared to underestimate would cost you dearly on the inside.
"Have a seat, Eddie and Daniels are gonna be here soon."
Casually dipping into the couch stached in the back, Speed crossed one leg over the other loosely, ankle resting on the knee. Luckily, the helmet's glass was enhanced with a perfect two way mirror, letting them see everything in a normal light despite the tinted black exterior. Eyeing El Capitan in his dark green tracksuit, they allowed their eyes to wander across the expanse of his broad shoulders as he bent towards the mini fridge tucked in the corner, wifebeater teasing a corner preview of a tattoo on his muscular back.
"Want a drink? Don't worry, I won't peek." Muamar joked, but an easy wave of the hand had him returning to them with one Broseph for himself alone.
"As always, I'm on time and they're late." Speed complained through the voice changer, and Muamar could almost hear them rolling their eyes along with it. A charming smirk played on his features.
"Sorry man, you know how they are. Eddie is always on some paranoid shit after his gigs, and Daniels...well."
"Daniels just doesn't give a fuck about anyone else's time." Speed concluded, though the robotic voice carried amusement, rather than displeasure.
"Exactly. But hey," Muamar started, raising, then taking a sip out of his bottle, "that leaves more time for the two of us to go over the new route, iron out the juicy details." he said tapping with one of his heavy rings the map sprawled on the makeshift table between them.
"Careful now, Cap, or I'm gonna start thinking you wanted this one on one sesh just to get into my riding pants." Speed teased, gloved hands on the back of the couch motioning in a 'come hither' challenge. Muamar simply laughed, hearty and genuine. Speed supposed if the circumstances were different, they'd be gravitating towards the fixer's charms, but the fact was - Muamar didn't know who they actually were. And so far it was for the best. Can't go mixing work and personal, no matter how closely intertwined those two actually were. Still, there's no harm in horsing around.
"Don't threaten me with a good time." The fixer shot back, a flirty smirk etched on his features as he leaned forward to set his beer bottle on the table, next to what little space the map yielded, chains chiming in the air as they dangled from his bared neck.
Speed cocked their head, eyeing Capitan's sliver of skin.
"Ugh, you two need to stop, it's gross." Daniels, who had somehow silently materialized from thin air, suddenly walked in dressed in low-key, civilian clothes, and a fresh set of braids.
"Ah, calling us gay to deflect from the fact he was late getting his hair done, classic." Speed wittily noted, causing Muamar to laugh as he glanced back, and making Daniels groan.
"Shut the fuck up, Speed." He said with moderate bite, and Speed couldn't help but smirk, knowing they managed to get under his thick San Domo skin.
Before either could continue the bickering, the sound of Eddie's bike outside made them all pause. Everyone was now present, and it was time to talk biz.
.
.
"Hey Speed, wait up." Eddie called out as the rider walked towards the now neatly backed and parked sportscar - courtesy of good old Pepe. Turning lightly to face him, they tilted their head to the side to indicate they're listening.
"Hey so, I know you don't wanna hear it-"
"But you're gonna make me hear it." Speed concluded for him, the voice modifier effortlessly transferring both the sarcasm and the jest.
"I know you want to lead this thing to make sure it goes without a hitch. I won't try to change your mind but," Eddie paused, hands on his hips and face screwed up in something akin to worry, "I just really think you'd be better off using a double decoy, just in case, you know?"
Speed contemplated, or at least, Eddie hoped they did as they stood silently before him, their shorter stature making them tilt upward to look at him.
"It's...not a bad idea." They finally concurred. Eddie seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. This anxious pit in the bottom of his stomach just wouldn't close up no matter how much he knew they had prepped fully. The week leading up to this gig had him a nervous wreck.
"I'll uh...see you later? At Marisol's?" He quietly and vaguely inquired, glancing over his shoulder as Daniels and Muamar walked out of the garage door, still in some kind of debate about the gig.
"Yeah, later." Speed simply confirmed, not wanting to divulge more as they clocked Pepe squatted by the gutted car nearby, quietly unscrewing one of the tires' covers. Guy never spoke, but that doesn't mean he couldn't; the less he knew, the better. What would be the point of this whole nameless charade, otherwise?
Starting the engine, the smooth purr made Muamar look Speed's way. With a playful flicker of the headlights, Speed bid them goodbye, and Muamar waved back. The reverberation of the bass as music started to spill through the custom made speakers and tinted windows made El Capitan's hair stand; or maybe that was just the effect of Speed.
"Muamar this better go well, I cannot have the department on my ass if we're gonna be doing those car smugglings man." Daniels pestered again, as they both watched Speed's car and Eddie's bike drive off. The Arroyo air smelled like pollution with a hint of incoming rain.
"Relax," Muamar replied, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it before continuing yet another placation, "Speed and his guys are the best at what they do. We do our part, they do theirs, we all get some eddies and San Domo gets a leg up. Everybody happy." He drawled, yet Daniels simply stood there, staring at his profile.
"How many times has Speed failed us, dude?" Muamar pressed. Daniels shifted on his feet.
"None, yet. But I don't like the secrecy, if we're all in this together, why the fuck does he need to hide his face, huh? It's been almost a year y'all been working together."
"You're too damn paranoid. Eddie says he's good for it, and he has, for all intended purposes, proven himself to me as a reliable merc."
"The head he must've given you to defend him like that cannot be that good-" Daniels poked fun, and Muamar simply laughed again, unbothered.
"You keep saying shit like that and he might just shoot you one day."
"I don't think either of you takes the gay jokes personal," Daniels replied, stealing Muamar's cigarette and bumming off a drag, "-no matter how hard I try."
Capitan simply tsk'd with a playful smile.
"Besides, I've never seen him carry."
"Just because you don't see his iron doesn't mean he's not strapped." Muamar reasoned, stealing his cigarette back for the final drag.
"Maybe," Daniels muttered, stretching his sore back, "all I know about that guy is that he's good behind any wheel, bad at sharing fun, or rather any facts about himself, and that you two have some weird unspoken chemistry that's bordering an HR violation."
"What can I say, I feel special kinship with people who rake in eddies and know how to keep up with my jokes."
Walking Daniels to his squad car, he mused. Speed had the right reputation and personal references to trust him almost blindly. He'd known about this motorist that led a band of easy riders for about 5 years now, establishing his motorcycle gang before they'd started running gigs together. Speed vehemently refused to call it a gang, and somehow that added to Muamar's fondness of the guy - a simple Santo Domingo streetkid that wanted to see this area do better, even if they had to do it themselves. Sure he'd never seen the guy's face, nor heard his real, unmodified voice, but he had this unmistakable aura that exuded professionalism, and an unexpected horde of motorcyclists that swore allegiance to him. And if there was anything El Capitan appreciated, it was a grade A merc.
The fact that Speed was witty enough to keep up with him wasn't lost on him, either.
.
.
.
The rain had drenched the streets all night, leaving Night City all humid and slippery in the morning. The gig was big but simple: Speed and their possy of easy riders would flank a Zetatech convoy, that would be forced to stray from its assigned route due to an unexpected police blockade over an "accidental oil spill". They'd take out the escorting trucks driven by guards, transfer the cargo onto mounts on the array of their yaiba motorcycles, one package each, while the most important one would go to Speed, and an identical decoy to another trustworthy, baby-faced rider Speed had introduced to the fixer as Jesper once.
All had gone well so far; the Zetatech trucks drove by on the dot as El Capitan's source said they would; Daniels had blocked off the road and redirected them off to the conveniently nearest highway exit.
The motorcycles shadowed the convoys, and finally swarmed them as they were forced to stop at the roadblock-truck Eddie had strategically parked as 'broken down', just crooked enough to look natural, but far enough from the sides of the barricades so the motorists could drive off and escape the crime scene if botched.
Then, the big charge happened.
The handful of armed riders easily took out the baffled guards, while the others made a beeline for the main truck. Murray and Bonnie placed the controlled explosives on the truck lock, and quickly blew it open. The unharmed cargo almost smiled at them, like the merciless morning sun did through the dissipating rainclouds. Quick and efficient, the two bomb planters got on and started handing off caches upon chaches until they were all distributed to the swarm of Speed's 24 riders.
Jesper and Speed exchanged packages, unaware of whose was the decoy and whose the real thing - though Speed knew, because theirs was slightly heavier.
Eye of the corpo.
In reality, they were glad to oversee the important package themselves, as it guaranteed Jesper's safer escape; they didn't exactly plan on putting a 19 year old streetkid in a conundrum in case it went sideways, not after his repeatedly proven loyalty to Speed. Responsibility always weighed heavy on them, especially towards the other members of their motorcycle club.
As soon as everyone had secured their assigned package, they all prepared to depart in an air buzzing with self assured victory. That was, until El Capitan's voice rang through Speed's helmet, alarming.
"You've got company. Coming up from behind, two more Zeta trucks. Time to ghost."
Quickly calling out through the comms, Speed ordered them all to drive off and scatter in the Arroyo and Northside backstreets.
"You know where each of you is meant to drop off. Be quick and discreet. Ride safe!" Speed called out through the voice modifier, concern seeping through enough for them all to delta.
Eddie, who had already made himself and the borrowed truck scarce, spoke up through the comms, too, "I've got another Zetatech truck coming from my direction, this is not looking good. Mierda-"
Speed climbed onto their custom black and red painted Kusanagi CT-3X, a motorcycle so fast it seemed like it could transcend light speed. Today they hoped it would. Waiting for the last rider to peel off the highway exit, they finally also did, making a split decision to head towards Northside instead of Arroyo. Gripping the bike handles tightly, they cautiously drove through what felt like an awfully quiet stretch, until they finally came to a bit of traffic, breathing a sigh of relief.
And then, the truck almost rammed into them from the side, guards yelling profanities from its open windows.
"Speed! Book it straight ahead, then take the left on the next traffic light!" El Capitan guided through the eagle's eye of his drone. Speed had no intention of letting that nugget of knowledge go unused, revving up the engine like no tomorrow, as shots fired and passerbys ran screaming.
"Fuck, I think it's chipped." Speed called out unnecessarily loudly through the comms, sharply turning left yet seeing the truck drive after them by completely switching into the opposite lane.
"Cap I need a little help here-"
"At the roundabout, take the second exit, and drive until you see the big Buck-a-slice." His calm voice certainly helped ground Speed, who for the first time in their relatively short merc career had taken a risk that proved to be the wrong one. So much for the gift of calculated foresight.
"I've got you, don't worry." The fixer reassured, as if sensing their unease through the charged silence.
Another shot wheezed past Speed, barely clipping their jacket's shoulder pad, flying above the right handle and wedging itself in the front bender of the bike.
"I can't shake them off, this fuckin' thing is definitely bugged with a tracker!" They bristled as they decelerated to navigate the smaller streets of Northside, trying to divert back to Arroyo. For every turn they took, the truck persisted.
"Drop it."
"What?" Speed cried, briefly wondering if they'd taken a bullet that had fucked with the comms in the helmet. 'Cause there's no way, he's got to be joking.
"It ain't worth your life, Speed. Let em have it."
"Are you out of your damn mind? The whole thing was for this-"
"We have the supplies, and the other machine."
"I can't. The whole point-"
"Drop the package Speed!" Eddie suddenly cut through the conversation, instilling a brand new fear into Speed.
"Why the fuck are you close enough to connect? You're supposed to head back to Cap-"
"I'm gonna meet you halfway, try and ward them off."
"No, this isn't part of the plan!"
"You don't get to make this call!" Eddie clipped, uncharacteristic frustration coloring his voice, coming off almost protective. They'd have to scold him later.
"Eddie-" the counterpoint was cut off as they finally came out to an open road that would lead straight to Arroyo. Accelerating, they peeled off with a screeching sound that made pedestrians around cringe.
"I can make it, go back." Speed insisted, leaning closer onto the motorcycle and over the strapped package. The roar of the engine and the burst of the exhaust system whined under the aggressive acceleration as Speed made the corner, eager to prove its worth to its creator and rider. The accelerator screeched as it prepared to pull the speed record of its life.
"¡Hostia!" Eddie suddenly called out, and for a second Speed feared they'd somehow gotten him; only to get rammed from the back, and feel in real time as they lost control of the lurching motorcycle, crashing with it as it dragged them down, sliding right in the middle of the crossroads.
.
.
.
"¡Chingada Madre!" Eddie cried out, amped with both fear and the wrath of God himself as he watched Speed roll like a ragdoll across the asphalt, so he went swerving from a side street over a parking lot to ram straight into the driver's side of the Zetatech truck that had just wiped Speed. The impact was so strong from the weight of the much bigger truck he drove, that the guards inside either flatlined on impact, or were severely concussed as they laid there unmoving, one having flown through the windshield and sprawled on the tarmac.
Eddie jumped quickly out of the vehicle and ran to Speed, whose body had skipped upon hitting the ground, paces away from the bike, unmoving.
"Shit shit shit-" he helplessly fumbled with the riding gear to reach the neck, to feel for a pulse. The jet black helmet, that was meant to withstand insane collisions despite its glass exterior, had cracked almost like a spiderweb, the frontal glass where the visor would be flashing code in green across it.
All he could hear was the pounding pulse in his own ears, until a sudden grab of his shoulder had him crying out loud, finally registering the sound of the police siren.
"Get him in the damn shop!" Daniels, Eddie finally recognized his face as he went around, grabbing Speed by the feet. "Come on get a move on, there's more coming!!"
Eddie somehow snapped back into function, grabbing Speed under the arms, and carefully pulling them into the back of the cop car, half watching Daniels run back around and into the driver's seat, half dreading to look down at Speed, knowing full well that the wetness on their neck as he held them was blood seeping through the helmet. Praying to himself quietly, he held back tears behind his tinted glasses.
"I got 'em." Daniels spoke from the front as he drove off, Eddie assumed to Muamar. "Where do we go? What's clear?"
"Take the next street left, then the long way around the plant and come down to north San Domo. Flicking you the coords now."
The silence of the drive was deafening. Static was now consuming Eddie's hearing as he held Speed's limp body, eyes unfocused lest he started noticing every patch of leather that had been scuffed during the crash and painted red.
He knew it would go to shit, these kinds of gigs always do. He fuckin' knew. He shouldn't have let-
"Is he alive?" Muamar broke the silence through the comms, which Eddie forgot he was even connected to. He almost felt embarrassed because he knew he was sniffling. Machismo will kill you all, Speed would often say. What Eddie wouldn't give to have them teasing him right then.
"I...yes. I think so. The chest...is rising and falling... weakly." He finally exhaled as if punched, playing out every way in which he'd have to live with knowing he did nothing to prevent this. That he was too late.
"It's gonna be okay, Ed." Muamar offered sympathetically, voice oddly serious for such an easy going jokester like him.
"Maybe save that promise for when the ripper actually tells us they're not brain dead from that tumble." Daniels suddenly spoke up from the front of the shop, and Eddie felt a choked sob try to crawl out of him, catching it just in time to sound like a gasp. If either of them heard, they pretended not to notice.
Though they did.
.
.
The ripper had been waiting outside with El Capitan when they pulled up, the sirens informing them of their arrival. Carefully carrying Speed's body inside, Eddie looked distraught as he held them in his arms. Daniels stood by the door as he watched the ripper help settle Speed in the chair, eyes full of some inexplicable regret he wasn't sure why he harbored, hands sticky with Speed's blood. He didn't exactly dislike Speed, just mistrusted him, but he absolutely understood why Muamar liked him. He had fire, and the guts to do something for San Domo, as they did. Eduardo's violent distress was confusing, though.
"Do you know how to remove the helmet? Latch?" The ripper spoke up, his Hispanic accent filling the silence and humming of the machines. His visor mirrored on Speed's cracked helmet in the darkness of the clinic, a hundred reflections of red on black.
"Yeah...on the left side...of the jaw." Eddie feebly showed, not trusting his voice that sounded suspiciously watery. Daniels couldn't understand why he was so disarmingly distressed, dude had done countless of runs for gigs that turned bloody. Hell, they'd all lost friends to both illness and gang violence through the years. Sure, Daniels could tell they were close, but-
As the helmet hissed in its retraction, Daniels could not help the involuntary gasp that escaped him, when the ripper carefully pried it open to connect Speed to the chair for the vitals check. Muamar, who had been hovering by the chair watched in world shattering shock as the helmet revealed a bloody, but very recognizable face.
Speed wasn't some broke Santo Domingo streetkid playing at tipping scales.
She was Eddie's cousin and a pretty established corpo.
and if i said nolan's odyssey starring no greek actors and with no recognizable aspects of greek culture or involvement by greeks, is the direct legacy of white supremacist colonialism that treated ancient greece as not just the pinnacle of ancient culture, but of an artificially created "european" culture, which white western europeans and their settler descendants, as the new pinnacle of culture, were the sole spiritual inheritors of.
This is exactly the thing that jingles my Greek bells. Sick n tired of being a concept and a one dimensional blueprint yet never an equal. Colonization 101, but sure, ask me again if I thought they did a great job as a Greek.
Another design is using 2 20x25x1 filters, taping them to the sides of the box fan and then to each other so they sort of make a triangle, then cutting cardboard to make a top and bottom to the triangle.
This was discovered as a more effective design during the 2020 US west coast fires.
Writing an abstract for my research paper for an Italian conference and it's like throwing spaghetti at the wall to see if it sticks, and the fact that the Italians would abhor this American cooking hack and the way this is written is not lost on me
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