I woke up to the sound of static crackling through my earpiece. A familiar voice cut through the noise: "I've got a job for you, 621."
"What is it, Walter?" I asked.
"The job's from Balam. They need you to infiltrate Grid 135 and destroy their artillery installations."
Suddenly, my device pinged with an incoming Discord call. It was G7 Hackra, along with someone called Volta—and what appeared to be an iguana.
"Oi, Raven," hackra said. "Thanks for saving me the other day, even though your buddy—who I won't prod about—caused that damage."
"Why are you thanking this freelancer?" the iguana-like figure growled.
"Chill, Iguazu," said a gruff voice.
I rubbed my temples in frustration. "It's fucking 3 AM. I need to prepare for a job for the corps you work for. And how the hell are you even calling me?"
"Don't worry about it," they replied in unison.
"And why is there an iguana in the call?"
"I am NOT an iguana!" the figure protested.
A young voice—G6—chimed in. "Bro, calm down."
"Shut up, kid," I snapped. "I normally don't care about this stuff, but interrupting me before a job—"
"Oi, kiddos and G13," G1 Michigan cut in.
"Who the hell is G13?" I demanded.
"You," Michigan shot back. "And your friends are G15, G14, and G12."
618's voice crackled through the channel. "Yeah, I'm here, but what the hell? These guys remind me of military cadets and their drill sergeant."
"Yeah, whatever," I muttered, disconnecting from the call.