Winding Roads: Tourists 2.2 (ch. 5) (Patreon)

“Hey there, choomba! Lookin’ for some iron? Got the preemest stuff on the West Coast!” Herold Lowe, the gun runner of Dogtown, greeted me. He was a bit tough to look at, honestly. He wasn’t Maelstrom, but he was just shy of being a borg and an ugly one at that. Prosthetic arms, no jaw, no nose, his eyes were implants as were his legs, while wires wove in and out of his torso. Which made his chipper voice stand out that much more. “Got your pistols, sub-machine guns, assault guns, heavy weapons, snipers! We have your power guns, your tech guns, and those smart guns if you can’t be bothered to aim!”

I looked at the wide variety of weapons on display on what had once been a meat rack, I think. “Looking for a sniper and an upgrade from my Copperhead. Oh, and some hand grenades.” 

“Love a man who knows what he wants!” Herold proclaimed, his optics flashing before the gun racks spun. “Got something special if you got the eddies -- a Tsunami Nekomata! All power and sleek beauty! Put a tungsten spike through armor, concrete, and the poor sorry bastard standing behind him! And, as a first time customer bonus, I’ll toss in a smart scope! Just jack in, point, and watch all your problems get turned into red mist! All for the low, low, low price of twenty-three thousand eddies!”

The Nekomata. My beloved. It was the stealth archers of sniper rifles. It didn’t matter how much I tried to resist; I always came back to it. 

“Toss in an extra magazine, and you have a deal.” I couldn’t resist, but I didn’t want to. Nekomata was the definition of overkill, and when average bullets might just bounce off some chromed idiot’s skull? Overkill was exactly my kind of style. 

Herold spun on his needle-tipped feet, doing the wave while letting out a, “Whoo! Big spender, baby! I’ll throw in two, just because Herold likes the look of you!” The Nekomata was passed to me in a gun case, and it was heavy. “Assault rifles? We have variety! Copperheads are nice and dandy, but you cannot go wrong with the Militech Ajax! Especially when it’s tricked out by yours truly!” 

He grabbed the assault rifle off the rack after it spun once more. It was the gun of choice for Barghest, likely dating back to their days as a NUSA army. “Extended mag for a maximum capacity of forty bullets, choke muzzle to take the edge off that recoil, with a reflex sight! More power! More accuracy! This here is death incarnate for two thousand eddies!” 

“I’ll take it,” I said. I had already been eying the weapon. Unlike the Nekomata, which was a black market item only, the Ajax was far more common on the streets. I could go to any gun vendor, and odds are they would stock at least one. Which made it both cheaper and more convenient. “Got any explosive rounds? Two boxes,” I added when they dropped from the ceiling as if summoned from the ether. 

Herold was either having a seizure or he was dancing. The latter, given he let out another, “Whoo!” The Ajax was passed over to me in another gun case, this one also carrying a half dozen grenades. “Happy hunting!” 

I offered a wave over my shoulder, feeling a bit more confident with the gig now that I had some better-than-average hardware. Wakako had been thorough in the briefing. Deadmuse used to be a Scav Baron in Dogtown. A made-up title for a made-up position, but it had very real power. Owned a building, had his fingers in a lot of pies, and raked in the eddies hand over fist. 

As it was with most stories in Cyberpunk, he got greedy. Bit the hand that fed him, which put a chink in his armor that others exploited ruthlessly. A few failed assassinations, a few assaults on his holdings, and a couple of betrayals later, and Deadmuse fled Dogtown with his tail tucked between his legs. 

He landed on his feet, though. He lacked the resources and manpower that he had in Dogtown, but he still had connections that his Scav cousins in Night City proper lacked. Over the course of a year, he started building himself back up. Took over the Food Processing plant, recruited, made a couple of smart plays, and all signs pointed to him gearing up to take back his spot in Dogtown. 

It couldn’t be denied that his group were a cut above the average Scav. Raul had been an idiot and he still had a projectile launcher for an arm, and the implants I sold to Vik were all high quality. So, I wasn’t taking any risks. I didn’t want to kick down the front door to find the second coming of Adam Smasher, with all my bullets and quickhacks bouncing off him before he ripped me in two. 

Thus, the sniper rifle that could punch through just about anything and an assault rifle that shot bullets tipped with an explosive charge. 

It was also the cause for another shopping trip.

“Aha, Donquixote-san,” Yoko greeted me with a small smile. “You have returned. I have not heard about your gig, so I trust that it all went well?” 

Better than I could have dreamed of, honestly. I would have to pace myself in offloading the cars, but it meant I wouldn’t have to fret over money. Something I couldn’t say, of course. “Got the job done and didn’t die, so it went as well as it could have.”

“Good. Then shall I take it as a sign you have developed a taste for netrunning?” Yoko questioned, eyeing the cyberdeck on my hip. I had already gotten used to it. I would need to look into getting a bulletproof case for it, though. 

“More than a taste,” I admitted, “but I’m restrained by practicality. Not going to become a top-tier runner overnight, so in the meantime, it means shopping my options.” I looked into it while I mused on what I would need for the gig. Becoming a netrunner required not just dedicated tech, but skills I simply didn’t have and wouldn’t be able to get easily. I would need to know how to program, interface with tech, and a strong general systems knowledge. 

That required a significant investment in time and resources. 

“Ah. A spell-flinger,” Yoko deduced what I was getting at, though she sounded vaguely disappointed I wouldn’t be jumping into netrunning headfirst. “It is less common these days. It was much more common back during the twenties and thirties, but with the rise of integrated cyberdecks, most felt that handhelds were too much of a disadvantage.” That also reflected what I had learned. 

Handheld cyberdecks fell out of fashion for good reason. Internal cyberdecks had better reactivity as a general rule, and a fight was often decided by who shot first. Then there was the fact that in netrunning, there was a high ceiling for skill and tech. A dedicated runner could get a back implant, giving them enough RAM that they could give God cyberpsychosis, complete with regulatory cooling and so on. 

A handheld had a much lower ceiling.

So, the pipeline was: First you get Baby’s First Handheld. Then you decide netrunning is totally nova, and upgrade to an integrated cyberdeck. Then you upgrade that cyberdeck. Then you upgrade it again. But then you need cyberware to upgrade any further, so you replace a chunk of your spine with a cooling system. And so on and so on, until you end up in a So Mi situation where eighty-five percent of your body is dedicated to netrunning. 

But while the highest levels of netrunning weren’t worth the investment in resources or time, it didn’t mean I needed to entirely abandon it either. 

At least not until I found someone to serve as a dedicated netrunner. 

“I see. I see, Donquixote-san. Very interesting,” Yoko said, and I realized she saw through my plan. So, I offered a thin smile. 

“Think it’ll work?” I asked her, earning a chuckle before her eyes flashed blue. She was receiving a message from someone. 

“Not without preparation. Your personal ICE is still subpar, and even the smallest of opportunities would be enough to spell your doom if you connect to a net with an active runner,” Yoko ventured, brightening as she spoke. “My recommendation would be a stopgap. Purchase ICE for yourself, then upgrade your cyberdeck with it as well. Space and heating will be the defining factors for its quality, but the air gap of your systems will keep out most.”

I nodded, showing I was following along. “Leaving me free to fling a spell, disconnect, then tap back in to fling another.” Thus undoing whatever progress a netrunner managed to make in cracking my ICE. I’m sure that it wasn’t anything that could stop someone like So Mi, much less an AI like Alt. But if I was picking a cyberfight with either of them, then I deserved to have my brain liquified. The goal wasn’t to be the best. 

It was to be able to protect myself from 99.999% of netrunners. 

“But first, you must have spells,” Yoko commended, approving of the direction I was taking. “I offer a collection. Some my own work. Others are collaborations. While external cyberdecks do come with their downsides, they do have one unique advantage over their integrated kin -- plug and play.”

With the Requiem Cyberdeck, I had enough storage for six programs. Two of them were already occupied by Ping and Breach. The selection was far larger than what had been available in the game, several times so. However, for now, I stuck with what I knew: Short Circuit, Cyberware Malfunction, Reboot Optics, and Synapse Burnout. Mostly non-lethal, but the option was available if needed. 

Accepting the shards with the programs on them, slotting them in place in my Cyberdeck, I placed the one left over in my pocket. Thankfully, it wasn’t as expensive as I had prepared myself for. It was just a gameism that had quickhacks costing as much as high-rise apartments or supercars. They still weren’t exactly cheap though, with each one costing me north of two thousand eddies. 

I did have one stop left before the gig, but before I went there, I made my way back home. Unlike V, I couldn’t effortlessly lug around a dozen weapons in my back pocket. When the door to my apartment slid open, I saw Avallac'h seated on the ground with his legs crossed. He made no outward movement that he noticed my arrival, but I had no doubt he was watching me. 

Ciri was passed out on my bed, one leg dangling off, and snoring softly. Paying her no mind, I went to the storage room that had been outfitted as an armory, just like V would have in the game. Rocinante had been halfway done setting it up when he died -- the foam padding, the workbench, the crates for ammo and parts, and so on. Immediately, I began to familiarize myself with the weapons I had purchased. Weight, how they felt in my hands, loading and unloading. 

The Ajax could be used at the gun range on the floor below. The Nekomata… Well, I would be giving Herold the most trust I had extended to anyone in Night City outside of Vik, because it could only be tested in the field. 

Adorning myself with a bulletproof vest and a flak jacket, I emerged from the armory with my sniper over my shoulder and the Ajax in hand. It wasn’t a surprise to see Ciri had woken up, seated on the bed and looking like she hadn’t been dead asleep a minute ago. She raised a deliberate eyebrow at my new weapons, and I shrugged. 

“I got a gig. But first, I’m heading to Viks to get some upgrades. He’s my ripperdoc- that's a surgeon who puts in the cyberware,” I corrected when she wouldn’t have the context for that. 

“Mind if I tag along?” She asked, getting up and grabbing her jacket, the decision already made. 

“To Vik’s or the gig?” 

She answered that with a smile, “Why not both?”

I didn’t have any reason to argue. The opposite, really. It would be good for Ciri to get a front row seat to how powerful some of the weapons from this world were. That, and if I didn’t fuck up, I could show off a little to start making a compelling case for her to let me tag along when she jumped to a new world. There was one issue. 

“Don’t mind if you come as backup, but it’s a try-out for a fixer. I’ll explain that on the way. Just don’t expect to do much unless I manage to horribly fuck things up.” Ciri nodded, understanding that much, and with a quick bye to the motionless Avallac'h we left. 

After a quick trip on the metrorail, something Ciri seemed to enjoy even if her gaze bounced around from face to face the entire time, we made our way to Vik’s. Misty had already gone in for the night, which was a shame. I wanted to see what Ciri had to say about her mystical abilities. Maybe get a solid answer on what Misty’s mojo was. 

Vik greeted me with a grin before his gaze slid to Ciri. “Huh. A pure ‘ganic?” There was some confusion but it was muddled with amusement. Ciri shifted, not entirely sure how to reply, leaving it to me. 

“Not even a neural port, but she’s solid. Here to see if this whole edgerunner thing is for her,” I said, sliding into Vik’s operating chair. 

“Always happy to show off,” Vik said, inclining his head to her. “Let me know if you have any questions. Happy to answer ‘em,” he said, earning a faint smile from Ciri as she realized what most people did after meeting Vik -- that he was good people. “As for you, Roc, how's that Monowire and Reflex Tuner settling?”

“Like a dream,” I answered. “Spent the first day tripping over my own feet. Now it feels like I’ve always been this way.” Vik wasn’t one to avoid his due diligence, so he connected me to the diagnostic, giving a readout a look with Ciri curiously reading over his shoulder, though how much she understood was in the air. 

He made a small humming sound, “You took to it fast.” He observed, sounding faintly surprised. “Did you take any medications? Air-hypo?” He asked, sending me a disappointed dad look over his sunglasses. 

“Only what you gave me, doc. Is something wrong?” I asked, not entirely sure what to make of the reaction. 

“Not so much wrong, as unexpected. At three days, I would expect to see residual swelling. Maybe some soreness. If I didn’t put the Reflex Tuner in you, I’d say that you had it for a month rather than three days.” Vik didn’t seem to know what to make of it, and he saw by my expression that I was similarly clueless. 

Or was I? I had taken to the cyberarm pretty well. Well enough that it was suspicious now that I thought about it. The lack of fine sensation didn’t bother me at all. It barely registered at this point. Not to mention, there was that whole ‘regrowing my lungs and liver after they were harvested by Scavs’ bit to consider. Did I have some kind of healing factor?

“In that case, would I be good for some new hardware? Minimal upgrades,” I added when Vik immediately started to shut me down. “I bought a sniper so I can deal with my problems from far away and I saw a mod for my optic in your inventory. And, if you don’t mind a Ballistic Palm for my assault rifle…?”

Vik made a face that told me he didn’t like the idea, but he spared one more glance at the monitor, as if looking for a reason to deny me. I knew his answer with a small breath, “I’ll do it. But, after this, you’re done for the rest of the month. Let your body adjust.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, Vik,” I replied, earning a rueful chuckle from the ripperdoc. All the same, he grabbed an injection to steady his hands and went to work. Ciri stood off to the side, watching the entire process with an expression of rapt interest and disturbed disgust. 

“I’m guessing everything went alright on your gig?” Vik questioned, popping out my optic so he could slot in the mod I purchased. One to predict the bullet trajectory. Very useful for a sniper. Ciri made an amused sound, earning a glance from him. “That good, huh?”

“My day is as good as his was bad. And he had a real bad day,” I admitted. There was a part of me that wanted to brag. What I managed was incredible. However, that path led to ‘saka ninjas dropping from the ceiling to assassinate me. Even if Katsuo was an idiot, his dad was well-connected, and I didn’t need some kiss-ass intern trying to curry favor by coming after me. “And I know you said no more cyberware, but how are you feeling about bioware? Not now, but I want Skinweave sooner than later.”

The mod in my optic clicked into place, and Vik began putting it back in my head. “I’d tell you to pace yourself, but… in your line of work, Skinweave can be the difference between life and death.” He acknowledged. “The procedure is simple. I inject the lattice across your body, then send you out the door. The issue is recovery time. It won’t hurt, but your skin will itch like a bad rash for about three days. So, I’d let your fixer know ahead of time.”

My optic was back in my head, and suddenly I could see again. “How big is the difference in quality?” I asked him, and he seemed relieved I was taking my survival seriously. 

“The difference between bottom and top shelf Skinweave is night and day,” Vik informed, rolling his chair to the other side of the table, and lifting up what amounted to a 3D printer for me to stick my hand under. “Even trash-tier stuff will block small-caliber bullets. Top shelf stuff can deflect a bullet from that Ajax you’re lugging around- course, it won’t do a damn thing for everything underneath the weave. But you’d at least die pretty.”

The 3D printer began to hum to life, stabbing into the flesh of my palm. Ciri’s face twisted, fascination warring with the urge to look away. All the while, Vik continued, “The difference in price isn’t anything to scoff at. Basic Skinweave will run you a thousand five hundred. The expensive stuff is closer to thirty thousand.” 

Vik tilted his head at the lack of visceral disappointment with the number. “Huh. That gig really did go well. Want me to shop around for some of the good stuff?”

“I’d appreciate it,” I agreed. “Any side effects I need to worry about?”

“Not these days. There used to be a loss of sensation, and if you got cut bigger than an inch, you’d need special maintenance to stitch it back up. Now, after the injections, outside of a bad reaction, you’re golden. Course, it makes my job a bit harder cutting you open, but I don’t mind a challenge,” he said with a grin. The 3D printer came to a stop, and when he pulled it back, I looked at my palm. 

It was covered in a layer of soft plastic with two thick bands running across my palm. Opening and closing it a few time, I gave Vik a nod and passed him a cash shard. He accepted it, ran it, and handed it back. “I’ll give you a ring when I find something, but it shouldn’t take me more than a few weeks.”

“You’re the best, Vik,” I said, standing up and accepting the immunosuppressants. Ciri followed me out of the ripperdoc office, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Not a fan, I take it?”

“No- well, I’m not. I think you might be a little crazy,” Ciri admitted, glancing at my palm. I didn’t make an effort to hide it, letting her inspect it, even if she eyed it like a hand grenade that might go off. “It’s more… that it took ten minutes. I thought it would be more… complicated.”

Understandable, given that the only frame of reference she had was the Witcher Trials. Trials that boasted a ninety percent failure rate. 

“Some cyberware is more invasive than others. You might like bioware a bit more.” Though I did wonder what effect her Elder Blood would have on that. So, it might not be in the cards. It might not be in the first place, given the obvious doubt Ciri wore on her face. 

“What is the job?” Ciri asked in a deliberate effort to change the topic. I let her with a chuckle. 

“Recovery and elimination. Scavs got their hands on sensitive data. We’re to recover it and kill anyone who might have seen it.” I answered as we started making our way to All Foods. Wakako hadn’t given me a deadline on completing the gig when I asked. Just a vague answer of ‘sooner than later.’ 

Ciri nodded, her expression pinching ever so slightly, “What’s on the shard?” She asked, earning a raised brow from me. “You really didn’t ask?”

“I know enough. Whoever hired Wakako is willing to drop bodies to keep whatever it is a secret. I don’t plan to be one of those bodies. Especially since she doesn’t like me enough to not send another merc to tie off my loose end.” It was obvious that Ciri understood; she just didn’t like it. To be fair, neither did I. “That’s the job, Ciri. Mercs that ask too many questions don’t tend to last long.”

“So, you’ll do any job that comes your way?” She challenged, an edge in her tone that said there was a correct answer to that question. 

I gave it. “Fuck no. There are a lot of lines I’m not willing to cross, much less for something like money. Wakako is party to some of ‘em.” Human trafficking and generally any other garbage thing the Tyger Claws did. “I just can’t afford to be dumb. Night City has chewed up and spat out mercs a thousand times better than me.”

She wavered before nodding, accepting that answer for what it was -- an honest one. 

The conversation lapsed on the way to All Foods, and when we arrived, it was more or less exactly as I recalled from the game. A two-story warehouse building, a half dozen shipping containers out front, surrounded by a razor wire chain-link fence. There were no lights on within the building, but when I connected to my cyberdeck, I saw that it was alive inside. 

My optic glowed in the dark as I spent a long ten seconds breaching the aging facilities' ICE to tap into the camera network. The video feed came to life in my eye. I had about a dozen cameras to choose from, which I cycled through until I found a group of Scavs. Twelve of them in total, all gathered up in a single room. A quick Ping confirmed that eighteen of them were in the building. Of the remaining six, three seemed to be on guard duty while the other three were asleep. 

I knew who Deadmuse was even before I scanned him. The meeting was arranged around him, and he spoke clearly with a hint of an accent that sounded vaguely Russian. “-all he has is the Monowire and Reflex Tuner, and he’s dropped seven of us. It ain’t personal. It’s just biz, and he’s bad for the biz. That’s all there is to it. We get the drop on him? Sure, I’ll scrap ‘em myself. This vengeance shit is pure scop.”

“So, we let him walk?” One of the Scavs demanded, not sounding too happy about it. All the while, I maneuvered myself into position. I knew where they were. I knew where they weren’t too. 

“Didn’t say that. I say we stop throwing bodies at a problem that throwing bodies at hasn’t solved,” Deadmuse corrected, an edge of irritation in his voice. He was used to a higher-quality Scav. Apparently, their cousins in Dogtown were more… professional. “We lost a stash. Eddies. Money. Let's recoup our losses, get ourselves right, before we take another swing at him. By then, his guard will have dropped. Hit him fast and hard.”

I stepped inside of All Foods, my nose curling at the scent of rot and blood that permeated throughout the processing plant. My finger curled around the Ajax, just in case of any unexpected surprises. Moving through the halls unseen, maneuvering myself around the camera's blind spots, I laid my traps. 

There were few surprises quite like a surprise hand grenade at your feet. 

“That sounds like some real pussy shit. He dropped us. We drop him. That’s how we’ve always done biz,” another Scav challenged. 

“Our biz is making money. Monowire ain’t worth much. Cool twenty thousand. What else does he have? Easier pickings elsewhere with less danger,” Deadmuse stressed. It was darkly amusing that he was attempting to de-escalate. Maybe not forever, but the point remained. All the while, I listened in and laid my trap. 

According to Blackhand, when hitting a secure position solo, there were two schools of thought. Pure stealth being his preference -- if the enemy ever knew he was there in the first place, then it was after he had picked them off one by one. The other was using sheer unrelenting, overwhelming force to kill as many of the enemy as fast as possible, so that when they did regroup, they wouldn’t outnumber you so badly. 

I was going for the latter option. Hit them hard and fast. From where they were, there were only so many paths that they could take. A hidden fragmine or hand grenade would complicate their rush to my position. 

“It’s more than just eddies! It’s about respect! How is anyone supposed to take us seriously-” There was a loud bang that echoed through the halls, only I wasn’t the source. Through my camera view, I saw Deadmuse holding a gun. 

“Enough about this ganger shit. This here is a. Fucking. Business. Eddies in the account- that’s all that matters. That’s what none of you gutter trash seem to get!” He started, apparently reaching his breaking point. Just in time too, as I left the building and headed to where I left the Nekomata. Setting myself up, I jacked into the scope. 

Between my cyberdeck and the smart scope, I had everything in position to pick the fight. My finger curled around the trigger, the scope predicting the path of the bullet… 

Then I pulled the trigger. 

A tungsten spike punched through reinforced concrete like it was wet tissue paper, continuing through walls and empty space until it reached Deadmuse. Though not before punching through the back of the head of the Scav unfortunate enough to be sitting in front of him. Through the cameras, I saw Deadmuse’s chest erupt in gore while he spun off his feet. 

“Fuck!” Someone shouted, and if there was one downside about my Beloved, it was the slow fire rate. Each shot took a full second to charge up, while there was a two-second cooldown. That, and the quite limited ammo capacity with three shots per magazine. However, I wasn’t idle in that time. 

Another added benefit of a handheld cyberdeck was more RAM. Quickhacks were quickly uploaded into my chosen targets. Those who had the related cyberware so the hacks would be most effective. Those with two optics had them rebooted, leaving them blind. Cyberware Malfunction caused men to drop when their legs suddenly stopped functioning, while Static Shock caused the most damage to those with large amounts of cyberware. 

Some managed to scramble away, but I still saw them. Pulling the trigger again, I took out the most armored up Scav, who had subdermal plating so thick it wasn’t really subdermal anymore. He dropped, then another did when I used Synapse Burnout on a Scav that was going a direction I didn’t want him to. 

“Fucker’s out front!” One shouted, grabbing his gun. “Bet it’s that merc! Dibs on his Monowire!” He shouted, leading the charge. The Scavs in bed were waking up, while the first of the ones on guard were responding. Toggling a new camera, I sent a command to a grenade I planted just as he was running past it down the hall. A sharp explosion rang out, shrapnel tearing through him and half painting him on the opposing wall. 

Four joined the leader, who rushed towards my direction. Which was something of a pain -- I had mostly planned on them fleeing like they had earlier. Still, it wasn’t a complete waste. Pulling the trigger one more time, I caught two of the five with a double kill through their chests. Another dropped to a Synapse Burnout when he tried to flee after waking up. 

The other two guards were making their way on the second floor, while the remaining three made their way to the front door. The rest were still on the ground where they dropped, trying to get their limbs functioning again or recovering from the aftereffects. 

Slamming another magazine in the Nekomata, I shot the second guard on the second story from below. The other guard arrived at the window, peaking out in search of me, and he looked out just in time for me to catch him in the head. 

By that point, the three reached the front door, slamming it open to spray and pray; in their haste, they didn’t notice the hand grenade hidden underneath an old piece of cardboard. It exploded, tearing through the three of them and leaving me free to approach. 

Unhooking from my Nekomata, I emerged from my position behind a shipping container, the Ajax braced against my shoulder. Ignoring the gore at the front, I maintained a connection to the cameras. Of the eighteen Scavs, five were left, and they were grouping together where I dropped Deadmuse. Two of the sleeping Scavs had joined up with them, but one didn’t have much cyberware for me to hack. 

I hit another with a Synapse Burnout, his brain fried, and he dropped where he stood. The remaining four panicked, and only then did they think to shoot the camera overhead. Not that it mattered much, as I could see them through the walls. Walking around one of my undetonated hand grenades, I took a path that would give me a vantage on the four before I revealed myself. 

The Ajax bucked against my shoulder, bullets tearing through the air along with a quickhack. The first man dropped fast, blood spurting from his chest alongside sparks. One, I hit with a Reboot Optics, and another dropped with Static Shock. Not dead, but out of the fight-

I felt an impact in my chest, and it felt like I had been kicked by a horse. I had no idea how I didn’t fly back and slam into the wall- that’s how hard the impact hit. The source was the one I blinded, who had blind fired in my direction and got a lucky hit. Dipping low, I dropped the fourth Scav before finishing off the one I hit with Static Shock. Then, with deliberate intent, I fired a single round into the one who’d blind fired until his gun was empty. 

My guard didn’t drop. I scanned the video feeds, looking for any activity. All I found was Ciri ignoring instructions and entering the building, expecting a fight. What she found instead was me standing in the middle of what I could only describe as hell, but with the prize in hand. 

Ciri erupted into the room, just as I did, though from a different door. A will to fight blazed in her eyes -- I was starting to think the joke about there never being a fight she didn’t want to be in wasn’t a joke. She faltered first when she saw the fighting was done. Then again when she saw what the Scavs used as decoration for their conversation. 

“This is…” There was genuine horror in her voice, and she didn’t seem to know what disgusted her more. Unfortunately, she was spoiled for choice. There was a pile of corpses gathered up around a rubbish bin, so thoroughly ravaged I could barely tell they were human. Others hung on meathooks, waiting for their eventual turn. 

“Yeah,” I agreed wholeheartedly, tucking the shard into a case for delivery. “Not sure if I believe in God, but I sure do hope there is a Hell.”

“I’ve seen monsters’ lairs better than this. To them- to them, humans are just food,” Ciri muttered, a burning anger growing in her voice. She made her choice, gazing upon the ravaged corpses tossed away like trash. She visibly regretted not being the one to put them down. “And to them, these people were just… what?”

“Money,” I answered, knowing it wouldn’t be any comfort to her. “Lives are cheap. Cyberware less so. So, Scavs harvest them for parts. The lucky ones who fall into their hands are already dead. The ones that aren’t…” Ciri wasn’t ready to learn about snuff XBD’s yet. There was irredeemable evil in Night City, and the Scavs were the face of it. “I-”

I cut myself off when the eye I had on the front door caught activity, just to make sure there weren’t reinforcements while we were looting. What I saw was a Chevillon Centurion and Emperor drive into the front lot, only they weren’t Scavs. Though they weren’t far removed. 

In the back of the Centurion, I saw six men jump out of the oversized truck. Red glowing face plates, scarred flesh pulled over dozens of implants that they had shoved into themselves with tubes and wires flowing in a tangled mess at first glance. 

“Maelstrom, shit,” I cursed. A lot of them. Sixteen, with a third truck arriving behind them. I had a millisecond to make a decision -- fight or flight. And if I had any faith at all that we would be able to escape, I would have picked flight. But we didn’t. Not when Maelstrom had the building surrounded. 

The Emperor exploded without any warning, catching six Maelstrom inside the explosion. However, one survived, ripping the door off the car even as his body burned. Right. Scary. Meaning there were still eleven left. I was down to two bullets left in the Nekomata, but I still had my explosive rounds. 

Ripping the cord out of my socket so I couldn’t get hacked, I looked to Ciri. “Maelstrom are coming. Mostly cyberware. Very dangerous. How good is that sword?”

Ciri drew it with confidence I wasn't sure she could afford, “Good enough.” 

“Stay close,” I commanded, a plan forming as I knocked out the magazine of regular bullets in the Ajax. Ciri offered a curt nod, following in step behind me with the Nekomata slung over one shoulder. They were coming from two directions primarily, but they were separate. Barely. Squad of six and five. 

Reaching the door, I grabbed a grenade from my belt and as soon as it opened, I threw it in. Didn’t know if anyone was coming that way, but I was proven right when there was a short-lived scream.

After that? 

Just noise. Gunfire erupted down the hall as I found the squad of five. Bullets slammed into the concrete, taking out chunks of it, and while my cover wouldn’t last long, it did last long enough. My return fire hit them harder, explosions punching through concrete in short order before hitting the man behind it down the hall. The explosive bullets tore him apart in a spray of white blood. 

A bullet struck my shoulder, hitting my implant, but nothing felt broken, leaving me free to keep shooting. Another one dropped down the hall, prompting one of the Maelstrom to move over, so I couldn’t be able to get a bead on him. 

“The Nekomata,” I instructed with as much calmness as I could muster. Ciri slid it over to me, and I took aim. My optic predicted the path, and when I pulled the trigger, two of the Maelstrom dropped. Though only one of them died. The other flopped on the ground, his chest a mess of sparking wires and frothing white blood, but he was still alive, and he fired in our direction. 

I started to drop the Nekomata to use my Ajax, only for something to hit me in the ribs. I thought it was a bullet, only to realize it was Ciri's boot a split second before she blocked a swing that would have taken my head off by a mantis blade wielding woman. 

‘They're behind us.’ I didn't see the others, so maybe she ran ahead. With a glance, I could tell she had Lynx Paw legs. Mostly because her legs were stripped of any flesh or meat. 

The Maelstrom woman didn't have a Sandevistan, but she had some kind of speedware. Maybe a Kerenzikov. And that was the only reason why she survived two heartbeats against Ciri. 

Since I chipped in the Reflex Tuner, I’d gained what felt like a supernatural grace. I hadn’t been clumsy before, but I might as well have been because the difference was that stark. Ciri moved with a fluid grace beyond anything that I had seen, and it was coupled with a lifetime of training that most people couldn't survive. 

The Maelstrom woman fought with a savage intensity, lashing out with the intent of brutal carnage. Her mantis blades lashed out, attempting to tear Ciri apart, only for the blade to be deflected before Ciri pivoted, her sword flashing out. The Maelstrom woman started to react, which was what told me she had some kind of speedware. If it was a Kerenzikov, then she saw her death coming for her in slow motion when Ciri's blade struck her neck, tearing through metal and plastic rather than cutting it. 

Ciri ended the fight with a single brutal swing that took the Maelstrom's head off. However, the fight was far from done. 

I needed to know where the rest of the Maelstrom were, so with a single deft motion, I connected to my cyberdeck despite the risk. In a half second, I flickered through the cameras, seeing that the rest of the squad was moving up. Military tactics. 

The command came a half-second too late, but the tail end of the squad moved past the grenade I used to boobytrap the exit I thought the Scavs would use. Detonating it, I only managed to take out the one at the very back. He flew forward, the shrapnel ripping apart his prosthetic legs. 

“Fucker!” The borged out leader shouted out, flames still licking at his body. He hefted a lump of metal that I only just now recognized as a heavy machine gun- 

[Warnin-]

I unplugged the cyberdeck and screamed, “Get down!” Ciri dove for the floor, and not a second too late. Bullets tore through everything standing between us and the Borg. I chose the location because we were in a blind spot after the Scav's shot out the camera, so he didn't know where we were. He just had enough bullets to find out. 

Lying flat on my back, bullets screaming overhead and striking concrete with devastating force. Rubble and dust rained down upon me, but with nerves of steel I didn't know I had, I traced the trajectory with my optic. He was strafing the heavy machine gun back and forth, giving me a bead on him. From the corner of my eye, I saw the last remaining member of the first squad get struck by friendly fire in the middle of his attempt to rush us. 

Hefting my Nekomata once more, I pulled the trigger at the point of origin for the shots. Instantly, the shots stopped. Dropping my sniper, I grabbed the Ajax and pushed forward. Ciri was right on my heels while I connected myself to the cyberdeck once more to deliver a Ping to get a bead on the remaining Maelstrom. 

“They got Royce!” I heard Maelstrom shout through the holes Royce had put in the walls. Suppressing my surprise that I had apparently killed the future leader of Maelstrom, however temporarily, I uploaded Reboot Optics and Cyberware Malfunction in the seconds I had. There wasn’t a warning that someone was trying to find my location again, but I wasn’t sure what that meant. 

Bursting into the room, I unloaded into the remaining Maelstrom while their limbs spazzed out or their face plate optics went black. Taking a half second, I surveyed the three dead Maelstrom for a moment and scanned the facility once more. In the wake of the conflict, the silence that followed was outright unsettling. 

“What was that?” Ciri finally explained, lowering her sword and I saw she had scooped up a pistol from somewhere. 

I took in a slow breath, asking myself that very same question. “Bad luck,” I realized, my brow furrowing. “Maelstrom… they’re not much better than Scavs. Worse in some ways. I’m guessing that they aimed to take this place, and whatever cyberware Deadmuse had.” It was just a guess, but it fit. 

By 2077, Maelstrom would have set up shop in All Foods. This could have been the raid that saw them claim it. Or maybe they knew Deadmuse had been taking some losses, and they wanted to hit him while he was weak. I’m not really sure it mattered anymore. It was kind of a moot point since everyone involved was dead. 

“Are all your jobs like this?” Ciri asked me, glancing at her blade and frowning when she saw it was nicked. It was a sword made for cutting into monsters, but those were still made of flesh and blood. Usually. 

I had no idea, but I thought about the various gigs that V went through in the game. “Most of ‘em,” I reasoned, earning a small huff of laughter from Ciri. “I have to drop this off, but would you mind staying here-”

“And looting the place down to the floorboards?” Ciri cut me off with a lopsided grin. “I’m well familiar with it. I’ll start with the guns. Especially that big one. Not sure about anything else, though.” Offering a nod at that, I broke off from Ciri as she began the time-honored Witcher tradition of taking everything not nailed down. 

The drop-off point wasn’t far away. Leaving the building and passing the still burning wreckage of a car I exploded, I headed just up the street. The moment I placed the shard case inside it, Wakako gave me a ring. “Any complications I should know of, Donquixote-san?”

“None related to the gig,” I answered. Maelstrom hitting the All Foods was a whole ass problem, but it had been my problem. Thus, I sincerely doubted Wakako would care. 

Wakako chuckled, “How professional. The Maelstrom raid was an unexpected deviation from a prepared test, but you handled it well.” Of course, she had been watching. My guess was to evaluate my performance firsthand. “Though I was under the impression netrunning was not one of your skills.”

“It’s not. Work in progress,” I said, sparing a glance at the drop-box, realizing that whatever was on the shard probably wasn’t worth a thing. The whole raid was just a test to see what I was made of. That way, if I screwed up, it wouldn’t have any blowback on her. 

“I will be in touch, Donquixote-san. Forwarding your eddies now.” Wakako decided, ending the call. My phone vibrated sharply. Pulling it back, I saw the payout -- two thousand eddies. 

“Ha…” I sighed, pocketing my phone and making my way back to All Foods. While money wasn’t a looming concern, it did seem that most of a mercenary's income came from looting. 

Ciri had gotten a head start on it by the time I got back. The guns were gathered up in a pile near the door. Once I hacked the Centurion, we were able to load them all up since the loot was beyond anything we could carry. 

Once we started looting the other pieces of tech, Ciri watching with a keen eye, no doubt filing away what was worth taking and what wasn't. We found a stash of cash shards, taken from the Scav victims but there were a few on the bodies as well. Wouldn't know how much was on them until we went back to the megabuilding and I could send them to my account. 

In terms of cyberware, I didn't find a convenient inventory this time. What I did find was several pieces of chrome -- arms, eyes, legs, and plenty of internalware. With no way to identify it or its value, we loaded it up on the truck all the same. Maybe Vik would want some of it. If not, I could offload it in Dogtown.

Once the trunk was full of loot, I sent it off to the garage, thinking it was as safe of a place as any in Night City. Though, given it was covered in Maelstrom markings, I sure wasn't going to drive it. Autopilot saw the oversized truck off, and as Ciri watched it drive away, she spoke. 

“Now what?” She prompted, and I could only shrug. 

“Go home. Take a shower and a nap?” I ventured, not really sure what she was looking for. 

“Surviving something like that deserves celebration! And you haven't celebrated your heist yet, have you? We can do both,” Ciri decided all on her lonesome with a nod. “Is there something like a tavern where we can get a pint?” 

I opened my mouth to refuse, but curiosity got the better of me. “Might know one place.” 

She brightened, “What's it called?” 

“Lizzies. Home of the Mox.” 

…

It was a bit of an assumption that I wouldn't be able to bring my Nekomata and Ajax into the nightclub, so we swung by the apartment to drop off some of our hardware. Ciri left her sword behind with the greatest of reluctance, but accepted a holster for a pistol. 

Avallac'h hadn't even deigned to respond to the offer to come with us, simply sitting on my floor unmoving. 

Leaving me and Ciri to approach Lizzies at two in the morning. “The Mox are a gang, but they're mostly cut from a different cloth than most. I'm sure they have their share of skeletons in the closet, but they're a protection gang for sex workers first and foremost. Dancers, joyto- er, prostitutes, and so on.” 

Ciri listened with rapt attention as we approached the club. She was mesmerized by the flashing lights and the music that escaped through the front door when it opened. Synthwave wasn't my favorite genre of music, but it wasn't too bad. 

“And Lizzy is the founder?” Ciri ventured, her gaze landing on the bouncer. Rita.

“More of a martyr. Told the Tyger Claws to get fucked, so they killed her and some others about a decade ago. That pissed off her friends, and the Mox formed by tearing a chunk out of the Claw's ass.” That earned a smile from Ciri. She didn't know what a Tyger Claw was, and she already didn't like them. Which meant she was an excellent judge of character. 

“Took more than a chunk,” Rita spoke up, revealing she overheard me, while resting her studded baseball bat on her shoulders. She didn't appear as she did in the game -- neon blue and pink Mohawk, but the Moxes tattoo was displayed with pride on her plastic flesh across her cleavage. “I don't know either of you. What brings you to Lizzies?” 

“Celebration. Mercenaries,” I added when Rita raised an eyebrow. Her gaze flickered to my prosthetic, noting the scrape where it had gotten grazed. 

“Who'd you flatline?” Rita questioned, and that sounded like a deciding factor of entry. 

“Scavs and Maelstrom,” I answered. 

“The city could always do with a few less of them. How many did you drop?” Rota asked, and it felt less like an interrogation and more genuine interest.

Thirty five. 

“A few,” I said instead, the real number rolling in my guts like a stone that hadn't yet settled. Ciri shot me a sharp glance, something that Rita clearly picked up on. 

“Modest, eh? Don't see I've seen a merc that doesn't brag before,” Rita noted. “Or a pure ‘ganic. Nova. Well, you're clear to go. Just keep the iron where it belongs.” She warned, stepping out of our way and letting us enter the bar. 

Inside Lizzie's was a lot. The dance floor was full to the brim with people, though I would hesitate to call what they were doing dancing. Twerking would be more dignified, and I'm pretty sure some of them were having seizures instead of dancing. Framed around the dance floor was the bar and booths for Brain Dances. 

Ciri dragged her feet to the bar, drinking it all in. I imagine it had to be quite the departure from the modest medieval fantasy world she was from. Her gaze lingered on the holographic dancers over the floor, who were wearing tape and not much else. She didn't look away even when we reached the bar. 

“I'll have whatever doesn't taste like alcohol. Ciri?” I asked, only then breaking the spell. The bartender noticed and chuckled, making a flush rise up her neck. 

“Can't go wrong with a beer, right?” Ciri ventured, looking at the wall of bottles behind the bartender, realizing she didn't recognize any of them. 

“A sarsaparilla sunrise and a beer coming up- your orders have already been paid for,” the bartender informed when I slid a cash shard to him. At my puzzled expression, he made a gesture, directing me to the booths on the elevated floor. There, I saw Jackie seated with a woman I didn't recognize. He wore an easy smile, making a gesture for me to come over. 

We obliged him after getting our drinks. 

Jackie's eyebrows rose, “Hermano- what the hell did I pay for?” He asked, looking at my cocktail that was giving its best shot at being every color of the rainbow. 

My taste in alcohol hadn't changed with a new body. “No idea. Sweet, though,” I said, shaking his hand before taking a seat at the table. “Ciri, this is Jackie. Friend of Vik’s, so he's good people. Jackie, Ciri. She's a merc but new to Night City.” 

“Camila, my input,” Jackie introduced the woman to us. Dark hair, dark eyes, with cyberlines around her cheekbones and framing her jaw. She was a bombshell, but in an artificial way. Post-touch-up model kind of looks that didn't happen naturally. “This is the merc I mentioned-” 

“The one putting ideas in your head about raiding Scav nests?” Camila asked sharply, and I got the distinct impression she was less than my biggest fan. “You're kicking the nest, choom. Everyone hates Scavs, but they do alotta biz in this city. You start fucking with people’s eddies, and they'll find you at the bottom of the river.” 

Ciri paused bringing the beer to her lips, “People work with those animals?” She asked sharply, shooting me a glance that demanded an explanation. 

Jackie was the one who answered, “Most rippers in the city, chica. Maybe not direct, like Vik, but when you buy secondhand cyberware, it's usually because a Scav tore it out of the first guy to buy it.” Then his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, “Sounds you got a look at how they work firsthand.” 

“Did a gig. Trial run for Wakako,” I admitted. I wasn't sure what kind of reaction to expect, given that he put me in contact with Wakako, but he just smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. 

“Moving on up, eh? Good on you,” Jackie replied, raising his own cocktail for a toast. “You two a duo?” He asked, glancing at Ciri. 

“Something like that,” Ciri said, giving an evasive answer. “You’re a mercenary too, then?” 

“Been in the game since I left the ‘tinnos, ‘bout nine years ago,” Jackie admitted. “Mostly solo, but I've worked a few gigs with partners. Smuggling, gun running, klepping -- not much I haven't done yet.” I only heard it because I was listening for it, but there was an underlying frustration in his voice. Nine years was a long time. Maybe he wasn't a bottom-rung merc, but the major leagues still escaped him. And I knew nothing would change in another two years. 

Then he laughed, “Saw the payday you got after that raid, cabron. Major leagues means major hardware, and that is pricey. But my girl has been twisting my ear about it.” 

“Beating sense into your gonk ass brain, more like it,” Camila corrected, making Jackie laugh again. “I keep telling you, you're taking too many risks. Keep it up, the only memorial you'll get is, ‘Jackie Welles, gonk who fucked with the wrong people.’” 

There was a tightening in Jackie's eyes, but his smile didn't fall. “I'm chasing immortality, baby. Night City's special brand. If being a Legend was easy, then any gonk could manage it.” 

I think I found the cause of their future breakup. Before Camila could reply, there was a loud scream nearby. In an instant, my hand was on my pistol, but when I looked over, I saw it wasn't the kind of trouble I was getting used to-

“FUUUUUUUCK! I don't care!” A small woman that I recognized on sight shouted up at a woman that took me a moment to place. Susie "Q”, leader of the Mox, who stared down at the woman screaming at her with cold eyes. “Kick me out then! Like I give a shit! Fuck you, you fucking corpo sellout!” 

Rebecca gave Susie Q a pair of birds before turning on her heel and marching for the floor, her expression a furious snarl. She didn't hesitate to kick the legs out from underneath a guy who started to back up into her when she stormed out.

“Ah. Looks like we can't all be having a good day,” Jackie remarked. 

Maybe. 

Maybe not.