I rode over to Rancho Coronado and parked in front of a dilapidated building that looked like it housed some kind of garage or offices. I couldn’t rightly tell. There were a few people hanging around the front of it, and just by their looks they seemed to be union workers. They all looked like they worked a blue-collar job, and that meant I was in the right spot.

It took some doing, but Albert had finally managed to secure a meeting with a guy he had heard about when he worked for Arasaka: Ivan Vassiliev.

Ivan was the President of Rancho Coronado Workers United. It was as close to a union that you could get in Night City. When you work for a corporation that boasts a private military force on speed dial, you need to be a little cagey about calling for strikes and pay raises.

I strode into the building and spotted Albert waiting for me in the lobby. He gave me a brief nod, stood, and headed for the office of Ivan Vassiliev.

Ivan was a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a slightly paunchy build. What muscles he boasted in his youth had become somewhat soft, but despite age having weakened him somewhat, he still looked like someone I didn’t want to fight. His nose was slightly off-center, as if it had been broken multiple times in fist fights, and his arms were nothing but corded muscle. He had a paunch, but he still seemed like a man who could move quickly when he needed. All told, he set me on edge. This was a guy who had built a union in a city where union was a bad word.

Albert and I took the seats in front of Ivan’s desk. His only greeting was to glance up at us, lean back in his chair, light a cigar, and take a few puffs.

“Never heard of either of you. That means you’re not a known quantity in the city. So, tell me what you want.”

Albert looked my way as if to say, ‘I got this,’ before turning to Ivan. “We represent a small but growing organization based in Watson. We have a solid network of information gatherers who operate throughout the city, and that can be useful to someone of your stature. We have also started recruiting muscle in the form of former mercs and private security. All told, we are in an explosive phase of growth, but to become truly powerful we require the political leverage you represent.”

“So, you want me to use my magic to get some city councilors in your corner, is that it? And what’s in it for me and mine?”

“If we managed to get a few councilors elected, won’t they be in your pocket? Aren’t we strengthening your bargaining position when you go to them and ask for something?”

Ivan blew out a cloud of smoke, studying us through narrowed eyes. “Nah, not really. I don’t think you two understand what goes into getting these assholes elected. Politicians only care about two things in this world: votes and money. You don’t got nearly enough numbers to sway an election. And if you had the money, your people wouldn’t be homeless.”

I rocked back in my seat. He knew our ‘information network’ as Albert called it, was made up entirely of homeless people. He’d been checking up on us, and I wondered what would happen if he let that information out into the world.

Ivan seemed to catch my concern and he simply smirked at me. “You’re playing with the big boys now, kid. There’s a lot to lose at this level.”

“Who’s our best shot at getting someone on our side?” I asked, ignoring his taunts and insinuations that we were out of our depth.

He shrugged. “Probably Brad Norwood. He’s a dirty little shit that I wouldn’t trust further than I could throw him.”

“Why would we want to work with him then?” asked Albert.

“Because you’re desperate. And because if you can prove you’re useful, he’ll look out for your interests too. He’s the most mercenary of the city councilors up for grabs this year. Plus, he’s in a tight race right now, and it looks like he’s gonna lose. He’s never been the most charismatic of politicians, relying more on wheeling and dealing than on shaking babies and kissing hands.” He grinned as I got ready to correct him but thought better of it.

“Polling shows his opponent out way ahead in the race.” He took another puff of his cigar and leaned back in his chair. “You pull his ass out of the fire and he’ll reward you with a couple votes. But good luck getting a meeting. You ain’t got much he wants.”

“Who’s he running against?” I asked.

“Some asshole named James Franley. Positions himself as a crusader for the city. Claims to want to fight corruption and take on the corporations.”

He sounded exactly like the kind of politician I wanted The Pack to be in bed with, but Ivan held up a hand to stop the question he knew was coming.

“You’ll never get him on your side. That would go against everything he believes in. He wants to end gangs and monied interests, not help build a new power in the city. You want my advice? Brad’s your guy on this.”

“Why doesn’t Brad just…deal with this James Franley?” asked Albert. Ivan just gave him a disappointed look.

“That would make the asshole into a martyr and whoever takes up his mantle gets a free ride onto the city council and then becomes mayor a few years later. Also, good luck getting near the asshole. He’s got his own private security firm that surrounds him at all times.”

I stood and moved toward the office door. As I opened the door I looked back at Ivan. “Get in touch with Mr. Norwood. Let him know that we’re going to deal with this Mr. Franley, and we expect his support when he wins re-election.”

&&&

Despite all the violence that plagued Night City, you could find a few spots that were safe and inviting to the average person. The Tyger Claws made sure that Japantown, despite its seedy underbelly, was safe to tourists and locals alike. Corpo Center was worth checking out as long as you ignored all the corporate skullduggery that went on. And Night City University was a relatively quiet and protected area in a boisterous and dangerous city.

Nestled in a small and quiet subsection of The Glen, NCU was one of the few areas of the city I’d never visited in the game. Hell, I don’t think CD Projekt Red even bothered rendering it. There wasn’t anything important there, no missions that took you to the university, no characters that taught classes, and nothing of interest in that section of the city.

The reason NCU was considered so safe and protected was because it had a far different attitude than most of the rest of the city. Whereas somewhere like Watson had an almost laissez-faire attitude towards people hanging around and doing their own thing on the streets – leading to open-air drug markets and homeless people congregating on street corners – Night City University was pure authoritarian.

The whole campus was packed with armed security guards, cameras, and electronic locks. The only way to get inside any of the buildings was to swipe a key fob they only gave to professors and students. No key fob, no entrance. The key fob was such a specialized piece of tech that not even Yoko or any of the Kabuki wizards I knew could get their hands on one.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

But that didn’t mean the place was impenetrable. All I needed was an NCU shirt from the campus bookstore, a big pile of books, and something in my hand that looked like a student key fob.

I sat myself on a bench in front of one of the student centers of NCU and scanned the area for a likely target. When I finally spotted someone – a student with their key fob in hand approaching the student center – I grabbed my books and set off for the door. I got there a few moments before my target, my books balanced precariously in my arms, and a key fob in my right hand. I “fumbled” the key fob as I reached out to swipe myself into the student center, allowing both the key fob and the stack of books to tumble to the ground in a chaotic mess. I let out an exasperated sigh, my face a mask of frazzled frustration.

“Damn it,” I muttered, kneeling to gather all the books I’d dropped. My heart was racing but I kept my face and movements controlled. I made sure my eyes were downcast in an imitation of despair while I started grabbing all my books. Damn, I’m an amazing actor.

My target had seen the whole thing and seemed to have pulled up short after I dropped all my books. Finally, I heard a “Need a hand?” from behind me.

I looked up and fixed an expression of relief and embarrassment on my face. “Thanks. I’m an idiot,” I replied, flashing a sheepish grin.

He chucked and shot me a “no problem” as we both started picking up my books. Nobody else was paying attention to us, and that’s exactly how I liked it. I glanced around, checking to ensure no security was running towards me to ask for my ID or anything.

Don’t worry everyone. I’m just a clutz who was overburdened by all the books I was carrying for the classes I’m obviously enrolled in here at Night City University. Yep…nothing to see here.

With my books back in my arms, my target stood up and swiped his own key fob against the sensor. The door beeped in acknowledgement and slid open, and I followed him inside, careful to maintain a harried demeanor.

And with that, I had successfully broken into one of the most prestigious institutes in Night City.

I left my target to go on his merry way and glanced around the student center. It was filled with bright lights that created an inviting space. Students were scattered around in threes and fours, engrossed in their studies or socializing in small groups. The air was filled with the soft hum of conversations, and it reminded me of college in my past life. I half expected to see a crusty-looking dude with a frisbee wandering around, inserting himself into conversations and asking people if they wanted to “toss the bee around before getting some za.” The normalness of everything was surprising considering that only a few blocks away people were in constant danger of cyberpsychos or getting caught in rolling street battles between armed gangs and cops.

I shook my head, snapping myself back to the present, and started walking. While Yoko might not have been able to get me a key fob for NCU, she did have access to the architectural plans for the place and was willing to let me have a peak. That meant I knew exactly where to go.

I strolled down a hallway and eventually came across one of the computer labs the University had boasted about in all their pamphlets and flyers to prospective students. Barely anyone used it, especially since most NCU kids were from relatively wealthy families who could purchase their kids a laptop or terminal of their own. But a few poorer kids who didn’t have access to computers still needed to email their professors and the like, so NCU stocked the room with terminals.

They were placed on desks all around the outer walls of the room, and in the middle was a conference table for students to sit and study. I dropped my books at the table and checked to make sure the coast was clear before getting down to work. It was still relatively early in the day and the computer lab didn’t have anyone else inside, so I waltzed over to a terminal, popped in a keylogger shard I bought from Yoko, made sure everything was working, and then went back to the conference table and cracked a book.

I had a plan for how I was going to torpedo James Franley’s city council campaign, but I couldn’t pull it off as Noah Batty, random merc on the street. I needed to be Noah Batty, student at NCU and future media who is looking for his big break. To be able to doctor a student ID, I first needed to break into the Night City University computer system. And that was easier said than done.

The NETArch that secured all the computers on the NCU campus was pretty vicious. I knew that if I tried to hack into any computer on campus, the NETArch would instantly notice my intrusion and send a whole bunch of daemons my way to fry my brain and kill me. That was standard procedure against netrunners in Night City, and I highly doubted my netrunning skills were up to fighting university-backed daemons.

Instead, I was going to use one of the old hacking tricks I learned in my previous life: a reverse shell.

I sat at the central table in the computer lab, a book cracked open while I pretended to read and waited for the next steps of my plan. It took three hours of waiting before the computer lab slowly filled and a student sat down at the terminal where I’d installed the keylogger.

I jiggled my legs in excitement and allowed myself a little smile. I connected to the keylogger with my cyberdeck and watched as the student typed in his credentials to unlock the terminal. I quickly jotted down his student ID and password and went back to reading one of the books I brought while he worked. When he finally finished sending out emails and typing documents and doing whatever else he needed to do, he left the lab and I went over to the terminal, uninstalled the keylogger, and signed in using his credentials.

The first thing I did was connect my personal link to the terminal and drop a payload that Sandra Dorsett helped me craft. It was a reverse shell script, a piece of code that, when executed on a targeted machine, would establish a connection back to the terminal I was using. That connection would give me remote control over whatever system connected to me.

I spoofed an email address to make it look like I was with the University’s IT department and tossed in a link to my reverse shell script, disguising it as a critical security update. Then, I emailed two separate administrators, telling them there had been a possible security breach and they needed to download the patch to update their security.

Why couldn’t I spoof an IT department email from outside the campus? That’s simple. The NCU NETArch was a tough nut to crack, and I had no confidence in my ability to do so. But the good thing about a NETArch is that it’s a firewall. And a firewall only stops attacks that originate outside the firewall. It didn’t do shit when a student terminal, using student credentials, sends out a cyberattack.

The call was coming from inside the house!

The minutes ticked by slowly and I tapped my fingers nervously on the desk, waiting for the alert that would tell me someone had made a connection to my machine. When I finally got it, I wanted to punch the air in excitement but there were still a bunch of people in the computer lab.

With my new administrator access, I dove into the directory where all the student files were stored and opened a file at random. I found a name, student ID, major and graduation status of a student.

Michael Dowell

566533

Political Science

Graduated

A quick few bits of edits changed it to read Noah Batty / 566533 / Journalism / Enrolled. I saved the changes, closed the file, and then deleted all my access logs before signing out and leaving the computer lab.

I walked across campus to the admissions office and spoke with a nice young woman at the ID counter. I told her I’d been out drinking last night and had accidentally lost my ID, would it be a bother to grab a new one? Ten minutes later, I was off campus with a student ID from NCU that had my picture on it, and I didn’t even need to pay tuition.

&&&

I walked through the bustling campaign office of James Franley, my nerves threatening to get the better of me. I’d grown used to carrying a weapon over the past few months, and now that I didn’t have one on hand, I felt naked. But a journalism student at NCU wasn’t the type of person who’d carry around a Kenshin in the inner holster of a solo jacket.

I headed over to the receptionist in the office and introduced myself, explaining that I had a meeting with Mr. Franley’s campaign manager. The receptionist led me to a glass-walled office where Rebecca Martinez, the campaign manager, sat surrounded by computer screens, tablets, and stacks of paper. She looked up at me, her expression one of bewilderment that she was being interrupted.

“Ms. Martinez, thanks for meeting with me,” I began, extending my hand. “I’m Noah Batty. We spoke on the phone earlier.”

“The underground screamsheet editor, right?” she asked, shaking my hand.

I nodded and sat on the chair in front of her desk. When I had called to set up this meeting, I claimed I was a student at NCU and was running an underground newspaper that had a devoted following among the student body. She was hesitant to let me interview her candidate until I mentioned that I’d already spoken with Brad Norwood and wanted to get Mr. Franley’s take on the race. That seemed to change her mind.

Taking a deep breath, acting like this whole thing was a big deal, I launched into my pitch. “As I told you on the phone, I previously interviewed Mr. Norwood about this race for Night City councilor. The thing is…my audience is much more interested in Mr. Franley.”

“And why is that?”

I gave her a look that seemed to scream, ‘how could you not know?’ “He’s the first principled candidate my generation has seen in Night City politics. He’s standing up to gangs and corporations and he’s tackling corruption. For many of us, we’re just beginning to learn how dire life can be in Night City. I think we’re all looking for a bit of hope or something. We want a candidate who can be…better.” I looked down sheepishly, as if I had said too much.

“There’s been a lot of interest from the larger news media companies about our campaign. As you can see, I’m really busy. And it’s worse for the candidate. So, why should we give you the interview?” she asked.

“It’s true. Our circulation is a bit smaller compared to the more “prestigious” outlets,” I said, making air quotes around the word prestigious. “But think about those outlets. N54 is pro-Militech, while WNS has an Arasaka bent to it. Neither of them wants a candidate who is going to hold the corporations accountable. And there aren’t a whole lot of other news organizations around.”

I could tell I had scored a point with that, so I continued. “Our readers are active. They’re young, yes, and we don’t have as many readers as some of these other groups. But what we lack in numbers, we more than make up in our readers. They’re the kinds of people who talk to their friends, their family, and their friends’ families. Our people want to get involved in local politics. They want to volunteer for campaigns and spread the word about the candidates they support. You’re not going to get that kind of readership with any other organization.”

Rebecca studied me for a moment, then nodded and sighed. “Okay, you’ll get your interview. But I can’t promise you’ll get much time with the candidate.”

My face lit up and I almost jumped out of the chair in gratitude. “Thank you so much, Ms. Martinez. This means a lot to us.”

I waited in the campaign office for about an hour, waiting for James Franley to finish whatever his tasks before our interview. Eventually, Rebecca guided me to a small room in the back where I finally met the candidate who was giving Brad Norwood such fits.

He was relatively young for Night City politics, probably only 35 or so. He wasn’t conventionally handsome, didn’t exude extreme charisma, and didn’t seem independently wealthy. But his campaign, centered around cleaning up corruption and working for the average citizen, had struck a nerve in Night City, placing him at the top of the polls.

He approached me and shook my hand before taking a seat. “Sorry for making you wait. Things are pretty hectic around here.”

I smiled and shook my head. “No, please. You’re doing me a favor by agreeing to this. I’m more than willing to work around your schedule.”

Rebecca interjected, saying the interview could only last twenty minutes as they were already far behind schedule.

I simply gave them a smile and activated my behavioral imprint faceplate scanner and focused on Mr. Farnley. “Oh, that’s plenty of time for me to get what I need.”