Tony Stark.
“You know, this doesn’t feel much like a date,” Eva Barnes greeted him as he left Susanna’s office.
She stood leaning against the club wall, tapping her foot impatiently, her arms folded beneath her imposing bosom.
It wasn’t an attempt to accentuate her impressive assets; it was simply that due to their size, her arms felt awkward and couldn’t quite close comfortably.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Eva pressed, tired of waiting for an answer from Stark, who had been lost in an extremely engaging mental process.
“Sorry, sorry,” Stark smiled guiltily, raising his hands in surrender.
“I just couldn’t pass up such a chance to improve my position; you have to understand that yourself.”
“Acting like a self-confident jerk in front of my boss—that’s what you call ‘improving your position’?” she asked, arching a pink eyebrow skeptically.
“Everyone has their own methods; mine are just more original,” Tony grinned confidently.
Even though he hadn’t yet been accepted into the gang in a leading role, Stark had managed to earn a certain amount of credit, and strangely enough, his interactions with Thor and his ilk had helped him here.
Being a highly educated man, Stark knew history well, and by befriending its living artifacts—like Thor and Captain America—he had inevitably come to understand the importance of the environment in which an individual is raised.
What did Thor have to do with it?
Yes, behind his ego, his penchant for referring to himself in the third person, and his generally wild behavior, one could forget that Odinson was a prince of an intergalactic empire of space Vikings.
But a smart person who spends a lot of time talking to the God of Thunder eventually notices his character traits, if only to understand the interlocutor.
It becomes quite simple to understand him if you look at the history of Earth itself, when ALL aristocrats of the early era were descendants of clever gang leaders who began to “protect” neighboring lands, providing them with security from wild beasts and outsider thieves in return.
Such people value very different things than the average person of the twenty-first century; for them, gold is valued far less than good-quality steel in the hand.
This applies to people as well.
A world-renowned writer, a scientist who discovered a new type of clean energy, a doctor who saved hundreds of lives—all are valued less by such people than a warrior…or a mediocre blacksmith capable of making a sword.
Why?
Because in the mind of an aristocrat—a real one, protecting his lands and subjects with weapon in hand—all those things are the result of the security that he and his retinue provide.
To continue doing so, they need swords forged by a blacksmith.
The Moxes, in this regard, were as close as possible to the first aristocrats of humanity, who held their own lands, protected them from external threats, handled internal problems manually, and held together through external pressure and close, almost familial, ties.
And Stark, knowing what buttons to push, positioned himself as that very blacksmith capable of providing a lord’s retinue with swords and armor.
And that lord, under constant external pressure, having few warriors and an eternal shortage of equipment, wouldn’t give a damn about the blacksmith’s true skill—no matter how much he boasted—as long as he forged swords that, even if poor and prone to breaking, were at least swords.
Of course, modern times imposed their own specifics, and Tony wasn’t aiming for the role of an important but simple blacksmith, but rather a full-fledged gang leader.
That’s why he had to show his utility immediately, significantly boosting the lord’s and the retinue’s prosperity in one fell swoop.
And what is valued by all warriors in all eras?
Aside from weapons and armor?
Booze!
And that was exactly what Stark planned to give the Moxes—booze that would boost their wealth quite well… with his participation and cut.
“Fine,” Eva said, pushing off the wall and approaching Tony.
Being a girl from the streets of Night City, she could perfectly understand her savior’s position, so she couldn’t bring herself to be angry.
In her world, this kind of prioritization was the only “correct” one, and getting angry at a logical action…just didn’t happen.
“So, what exactly did you agree on?”
“For starters, I’m going to supply you with liquor,” her companion smirked.
“Liquor?” she asked, unable to believe her ears.
“Not just liquor, but elite liquor!” he assured her, narrowing his eyes.
As a seasoned alcoholic with billions in the bank and high-ranking friends, Tony had tried every type of alcohol in his time.
He liked some, some were for certain moods, others he wouldn’t recommend even to a homeless drunk, and some were only found in Asgard.
So, he understood alcohol, not just as a consumer, but as a producer.
Alcohol production is primarily chemistry, not art, and with the right laboratory, one can replicate even the most elite vintages that have aged for hundreds of years.
‘But for now, something decent will do,’ the future alcohol mogul thought, remembering the local swill that couldn’t be called anything but slop.
And for that, his filter, just slightly modified—he knew exactly where to find the parts—would be enough.
“Want to participate?”
“In brewing?” Eva seemed to have reached a new level of skepticism.
“Shootouts, thefts, and possibly chases—only then ‘brewing’,” he corrected her.
“Hmm. That sounds more interesting,” Eva agreed.
“Great,” Stark smirked.
“Then let’s go, we’ll get dressed, get some suitable transport, and hit the road.”
“You’ll see. You’ll like it,” Tony promised.
Stepping outside, Eva saw Stark’s red-and-gold car, still riddled with bullet holes, pulling into the Lizzie’s parking lot.
Tony immediately walked to the car, opened the trunk, and pulled out two suitcases, placing them on the already closed hood.
Driven by curiosity, Eva peeked over Stark’s shoulder, her eyes darting to the contents, and…she saw a rather interesting sight.
Tony, not being an idiot, tried not to show off the gear he had used to storm the Arasaka base.
Even in the modern world, a solo decked out from head to toe, armed with a light machine gun and a strange, all-crushing hammer, was an extremely colorful and recognizable image, so Tony had to abandon such an interesting concept.
In principle, it wasn’t a tragedy; the hammer could be replaced with vibro-gloves, which were even more efficient, and every third solo aimed to turn themselves into a walking machine-gun nest.
But Tony wouldn’t be himself if he hadn’t learned from the assault and worked on his mistakes.
His previous combat kit had been…frankly sloppy.
By his standards, at least.
The only things worth noting were the ammo and the kinetic energy distribution system, which protected perfectly against blunt-force trauma behind the armor.
But due to the materials and their layout, even though Tony had excellent protection, he suffered a serious loss in maneuverability.
And Stark had always relied more on maneuver in combat, simply because many of his enemies could easily punch through his suit with him inside.
So, armed with his requirements, his past experience, and his genius brain, Stark began creating new armor for himself.
He had sketched out the concept back with the Aldecaldos on the way to Night City, along with the project’s general milestones, finally realizing it once in the city.
It wasn’t his best incarnation—a lot was missing, and even more simply wouldn’t fit—but he achieved his goal by creating a new type of fabric that didn’t restrict movement and held up against damage no worse than the previous version of the armor, even without the damage compensation system.
But that was a matter for a future implant, whose unfinished blueprint was currently stored on Tony’s computer.
“Are these…latex suits from a sex shop?” Eva asked, glancing doubtfully at her companion, clearly questioning his mental health.
And yes, the suits looked similar.
The resulting fabric was extremely elastic and fit the body tightly, outlining the wearer’s curves quite clearly, but comparing them to latex suits was still a stretch.
They looked more like leotards, leggings, and other types of sportswear.
“…” Instead of answering, Tony pulled out a shapeless suit with one hand, pressed his revolver against it with the other, fired…and showed the absolute integrity of his creation, with the bullet crumpled against it.
“Wow,” was all Eva could comment.
Returning her gaze to the boxes, she saw face masks that looked somewhat like open petals with their segmented edges.
The young Mox had never seen such head protection, but being smart and well-versed in military gear, she realized it was a segmented helmet, and the petals were the edges of a full-fledged helmet’s parts.
“That’s powerful.”
“They aren’t finished, but after yesterday, I decided it’s better to have them,” Tony honestly admitted, casting a bored glance at the helmets.
No electronics, just good old Kevlar with bulletproof glass in place of lenses.
You could say it was a modern knight’s helmet—just as bulky, uncomfortable, and vision-obstructing, but protective.
And the suits themselves were only the foundation for full-fledged combat gear designed to protect against much more powerful weapons than those available to the street trash of Night City…even if they did encounter full military-grade hardware among them.
“Still cool,” Eva honestly shared her impressions, undressing right on the street without embarrassment.
She just stepped back to the club wall, hiding behind the car, where she started pulling on Stark’s creation with the most focused expression she could muster.
‘Cute,’ Stark thought, but with a sad sigh, he decided to change too.
In the car, though.
Once dressed, they looked like a couple of freaks who had donned BDSM gear…that is, perfectly acceptable for Night City.
That was true if you removed the combat helmets, the webbing with full magazines, the belt with grenades, the leg holster, and the rifle in hand.
Then the image changed drastically to that of cool pros clad in high-tech gear.
The only problem…
‘Good thing I kept my underwear on,’ Tony thought, feeling a certain problem below the waist.
Eva had breathtaking curves, so much so that many would have thought them artificial.
And that made their naturalness even more amazing.
And well…
Tony, having a perfectly healthy libido, reacted to them accordingly, even before changing; now, with Eva dressed in his creation…let’s just say the foundation for Stark’s fantasies had become more than firm and reliable.
“Hmm,” came a satisfied grunt from under her helmet as she folded her arms under her chest, but this time intentionally lifting it, making the twins even larger.
Yes, the fabric Tony created was extremely tight, but due to the size of Barnes’ upper assets and the fabric’s properties, it hugged them almost individually, perfectly highlighting both shape and size.
‘And still, Natasha’s were smaller,’ Stark decided, remembering the former Soviet spy.
‘Alright, enough contemplating the beautiful,’ he shook his head, intentionally ignoring another satisfied grunt from under her helmet.
“Let’s go.”
“And where are we going?” Eva asked, having already sat in the car and dutifully buckled up…literally sinking the belt between her breasts, highlighting them even more (though you’d think, how could they be highlighted more!?).
“To the parking lot,” Tony replied, shaking his head again and averting his eyes, clearly audible in his own head as the creaking of rusty hinges.
“And what’s wrong with this one?”
“Trucks…what?”
Eva Barnes.
Surveying the surroundings with a look of pure satisfaction, breathing in the smell of gunpowder and blood, the Mox purred quietly under her breath.
If there was one thing Eva Barnes truly loved in this life, it was a good shootout.
Actually, the Mox hadn’t expected anything good from this “date” with her savior.
She understood that he was simply using her, albeit without any consequences and generally treating her considerately.
That meeting with Jackie was just a pretext to get contacts for a good ripperdoc she could trust, nothing more.
Perhaps to tie up connections with the Valentinos through Jackie, but no more.
Even then, during the dialogue with Vic, Eva realized that Stark was trying to squeeze the most out of yesterday’s situation, and their date was the last thing on his mind.
Was Barnes sad about that?
Well…a little.
Not like from betrayal or disappointment; she had grown up in Night City and perfectly understood the norms of this city, being an extremely down-to-earth person who preferred as gifts not useless flowers or jewelry, but a good gun, a box of ammo for it, and a vest.
Stark was just hustling as best he could, trying to build connections in a new place, get settled, and provide for his people—she understood that.
Moreover, with this, her new acquaintance earned a few extra points in the eyes of the Mox fighter.
The ability to extract benefits in any situation was valued in Night City.
But there was a slight disappointment; after all, she had gone on her first date to have fun, finally find herself a guy, and who knows, maybe even finally lose her virginity.
Eva…wasn’t entirely normal, she understood that.
A combat maniac with gunshots, explosions, and cannons in her head, an adrenaline junkie, someone who didn’t just easily but gladly threw herself under bullets—that’s who she was.
Is that bad?
Eva Barnes didn’t think so.
Yes, she became interested in guys late and even thought she was into girls for a while, but most likely there just hadn’t been anyone worthy.
While all her peers had either ended up on drugs, become whores, or married and were sitting with their second or third child, enduring beatings from an alcoholic husband, Eva had become a fighter, protecting the lives of simple, unfortunate girls who hadn’t gone into sex work for a good life, and cleaning the dirty streets of the Dream City of scavengers—the worst scum of that cursed city.
And all because of her character and love for fighting.
Eva didn’t possess a strong, incredible willpower to ignore the dark pleasures of the city, or any awareness that gave an understanding of the ruinous and base nature of such a path.
No. She was just…not…in-ter-est-ed.
Drugs, alcohol, partying with guys, and orgies—she didn’t understand what was special about them.
She had grown up among the Moxes; for her, all this was just a normal part of life that…didn’t please anyone who participated in it.
The girls in the Lizzie’s club weren’t gang members, none of the prostitutes were.
The gang members were only the fighters and the rare valuable specialists who brought value to the Moxes through their labor.
But that didn’t mean the employees of their establishment couldn’t have friendly ties with the gang, especially in such an establishment as Lizzie’s—the main and first club that the Mox gang had taken over.
And Eva, growing up right in front of them, was “one of their own,” a younger comrade who needed to be educated, raised, protected from the dark horrors of this world…and prepared for them.
Therefore, she saw that everything that so interested her peers was repulsive to her seniors.
Unlike them, she saw behind the sparkle of cheap rhinestones, the fake elitism of drugs, and the beauty of alcohol bottles, empty, burned-out souls with ruined lives, not signs of “coolness” and “adulthood.”
And because of those same seniors, for her, “cool” was a new gun modified by a street handyman, and the sign of “adulthood” was a bullet scar, a personal graveyard behind her back, and the graves of friends.
If someone older had been in Eva’s place, they might have broken, but as you know, the child’s psyche is extremely plastic, which is why she adapted, becoming who she was—a combat maniac who loved shooting at society’s dregs, inhaling the smell of gunpowder and blood, living for the day.
Why was she thinking about all this?
Because she was suddenly starting to enjoy the date!
“This one will do,” Stark said, critically examining a massive truck with a high suspension, reinforced armored plates on the wheels, bars on the windows, and a strengthened frame, patting the vehicle, which was painted in the characteristic colors of the Animals gang.
And naturally, they were in their parking lot, where steroid-filled meatheads with hormones instead of blood and rage instead of brains kept their best cars.
The fight itself wasn’t anything outstanding; they just burst in, got out of the car, and shot the bandits who were shocked by such impudence.
Of course, some managed to react, but the suits protected well against wounds, even when hit by something more serious than a nine-millimeter, though it did leave them with bruises as a souvenir.
“Ten corpses will fit,” Eva declared, walking to the car’s trunk and nodding approvingly.
“Plus the back seats.”
“Yeah. It’s a shame we can’t properly shake down this treasure trove of automotive industry,” Stark sighed sadly.
Even without seeing his eyes behind the helmet, Barnes felt the sadness of a true car enthusiast unable to take all the toys he liked.
Taking one more look around the parking lot, Eva was forced to share Tony’s sadness.
There were dozens of cars here, modified for the gang’s needs, which would have been very useful to the Moxes.
Alas, although the Animals didn’t have their own territory, just like the Moxes, due to less scrupulousness in recruiting, their numbers reached several thousand.
How many exactly, no one could say for sure—not even they themselves—but it didn’t make it any easier for the small Mox gang.
While hiding who exactly had broken into their parking lot wouldn’t be a problem, doing the same while driving around in cars stolen from them wouldn’t work.