“You’ve gotta see it, Noah,” said Fred, his voice a mix of pride and exhaustion as we threaded our way through the crowded Kabuki Roundabout. “John’s been helping out, and we’ve almost got the place livable now. We’re putting up a small wall, you know? Just to section off our little spot and give us some privacy.”
I glanced over at John who was shuffling along beside us, his eyes staring down at his feet. He still seemed nervous around me and I hadn’t figured out how to put him at ease. Fred had mentioned that John was better when it was just the two of them working on the camp in Arroyo, but around me, he was like a skittish cat.
“Sounds great,” I replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. I was tired, having been up late the night before, coding at Yoko’s café until my eyes felt burned out, but I still wanted to support Fred in building his little haven out in Arroyo.
“Oh, it is,” Fred continued, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “John’s been looking into getting us some used shipping containers. We’ll set them up around the place, give everyone their own space. It’s gonna be luxurious compared to what we’ve got now.”
“And how’s security looking?” I asked, the thought of Fred being so far from Lizzie’s gnawing at me. Arroyo might be safer than Watson, but that didn’t make it safe.
Fred’s grin widened. “You worrying about me, kid? I’m not the one out there poking gangs every other day. We don’t have Scavs hunting us out in Arroyo. Plus,” he leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I’ve still got some of that money left from the van thing. Zion says he can source some turrets for me and help with the install.”
“Turrets?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“Ceiling-mounted,” Fred nodded. “Should keep anyone from getting any bright ideas.”
We kept walking, leaving behind the chaos of the market as we turned into one of the quieter alleys. I glanced over at John to ask him a question.
“What’s our money situation like? I know we’ve been spending a lot for this election, and we haven’t been pulling many gigs lately. But do we have anything left to help out Fred?”
“Not great,” John muttered, barely looking up. His voice was so quiet I almost missed it. I waited for him to elaborate, but he just kept walking, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
Fred cut in. “Don’t worry about me, kid. I’ve still got enough to make things work. But, you know, if you’re worried about eddies maybe you should think about moving some of those burner Agent’s you’ve been sitting on.”
I shot him a quizzical glance, but Fred just chuckled.
“What? I’m out in Arroyo, not dead. I still keep up with the news around here.”
“Yea,” I shrugged. “We’ve been focused on this whole election business. Once it’s wrapped up, the crew will get back to making eddies. As for the burner Agents…that’s what we’re handling today.”
Fred gave me a curious look, his eyebrows lifting as he waited for more. I simply pointed ahead to the stall we were approaching. “We’re talking to Frank.”
When we reached Frank’s spot, tucked away in a small nook that was almost hidden from the bustling main paths, he was already there, leaning back in his crappy folding chair with a self-satisfied grin on his face. It’d been a while since I last deal with Frank. Back when I was still scrounging through Night City’s trash heaps, he’d been one of the first people I sold all my junk to. He had a knack for rebuilding any tech he could get his hands on, making him my go-to guy whenever I needed someone to tinker with something.
Fred and Frank exchanged greetings, diving into small talk about the latest market gossip while I let my eyes wander over all the items in Frank’s stall. The place was cluttered with all manner of gadgets, from old holo-projectors to refurbished tablets. Eventually, Frank turned his attention back to me and reached under a small table to pull out a box, setting it down with a flourish. I lifted the lid of the box to reveal the burner Agents I’d asked him to modify.
“Key fobs are all good to go,” Frank explained. “There’s a small slip of tape on each Agent to let you know which key fob they correspond to.”
I picked up one of the phones and ran my fingers over it. The craftsmanship was solid – no one would notice the small ridge on the back where the RFID chip was held. Satisfied, I flicked Fred a few of my dwindling eddies.
After placing the Agent back in the box, I handed John a shard with several names on it. “These are the people I want the guards to sell the phones to. Make up a story that’ll sell. Tell the guards it’s a marketing scheme or something; some way to get all the prisoners talking and buying more Agents from us. Doesn’t matter what you say, just make sure these phones end up in the hands of those fifteen names.”
John took the shark and inserted it into his neuroport where he began running through the list. “Okay.”
“Once those fifteen have their Agents, you can start selling the rest of the burners to whoever will pay.”
He continued nodding, lost in the details of the shard. I looked over at Fred, who gave me a casual shrug and wry grin. “You’ll see him back to the alcove?” I asked.
Fred nodded confidently, “Yea, I got it.”
With everything set, I excused myself and headed out of the Roundabout.
&&&
I shifted the small plastic bags to my left hand as I knocked on the door to Sandra Dorsett’s apartment. Her building was one of those upscale ones that screamed money, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much she raked in working for Night Corp.
The door creaked open, and Sandra peeked out, her eyes narrowing at the sight of me before her eyes dropped to the bags in my hand.
“I brought snacks,” I said, holding up the bags as if they were some kind of grand offering.
She looked at them, then back to me, and snorted before opening the door wider. “Snack, huh?”
Before I could say anything, she pulled me inside and shut the door behind her. The apartment was as fancy as I remembered from when I visited in the game – fancy bookcases, chrome accents, and a view of the city that left my mouth hanging open. But what caught my attention wasn’t the décor; it was the trip of netrunners sprawled out in her living room.
Noticing my gaze, Sandra gave me a small shrug. “Most of my crew have their rigs networked together and are working remotely. These three decided to come here. We’re all set.”
I set the bags down on the counter and took a closer look at the netrunners. They weren’t paying me any attention, their focus entirely on the work in front of them. Each one was deeply involved in the phishing campaign we were running, and they were all plugged into their laptops, focusing on their work.
Our phishing campaign was simple – spoof emails from Ziggurat, the megacorp that held a stranglehold on the market for computer infrastructure services in Night City. Everyone knew Ziggurat, and more importantly, they trusted them. It would make it easier for our emails to be accepted if we were piggybacking off their “good” name. Our targets were the politicians and their staff, particularly those involved in the upcoming election.
The first wave of phishing emails had already been sent, targeting secretaries, interns, and other low-level staffers. The emails were spoofed to look like they came straight from Ziggurat’s cybersecurity team. Thanks to one of Sandra’s netrunners, we had login credentials to make it look legit. The email was simple: your account may have been compromised. Please update your password using the link below.
Stolen story; please report.
Of course, the link led to an exact replica of Ziggurat’s login page, designed to capture their credentials the moment they typed them in. Sandra and I hovered behind the three netrunners, watching the data streams as the first responses trickled in. Every time a username, password, or email addressed appeared on the screen, my pulse quickened.
“Looks like we’re in,” said Sandra. “We’ve already hooked a couple dozen.”
The hours blurred as we sifted through the data, cross-referencing credentials with our targets and preparing for the next phase. Eventually, we had enough information to start crafting the second wave of emails. These would be aimed directly at the higher-ups – the political consultants, campaign managers, and candidates themselves.
We’d pulled contact details from the low-level staffers, including several nonpublic addresses that only the most trusted insiders had access to. The new phishing emails were even more sophisticated, each one tailored to its recipient. They referenced ongoing projects, internal memos, and even private conversations to give the illusion of legitimacy. As the second wave of emails went out, the air in the apartment was buzzing with anticipation.
Minutes turned into hours as we watched the results roll in, first trickling, then pouring in like a flood. What started with a few responses soon became an avalanche. The sheer volume of information was staggering. We gained thousands of emails, usernames, passwords, and other sensitive information. Each new piece of information sent a thrill through the room that was met with a cheer.
The haul was massive. Among the flood of data were the login credentials for some of the most powerful people in Night City. We had detailed campaign strategies, internal polling data, and private communications between candidates and their advisors.
As the flow of data finally slowed, I stood up and addressed the netrunners. There wasn’t any time to celebrate, as I knew that the longer the data sat in our systems, the higher the risk of someone tracing it back to us.
“Alright, time to clean up. I want every access log deleted, and all traces of our activities wiped from their systems. Make it look like we were never there.”
Sandra didn’t miss a beat, immediately getting down to the gritty details of covering our tracks. While the netrunners all worked on erasing our footprints, I focused on the data. “Sandra,” I called out. “We need to split this up. Three shards. Bundle up the information on the campaigns going against Eva Cole, Brad Norwood, and Emilio Gutierrez.”
The netrunners worked quickly, parsing the data and dividing it into three separate shards. My netrunning skills were still slightly rudimentary compared to theirs, but I still kept a close eye on the process, ensuring nothing was overlooked. Once everything was neatly packaged and secured, I pulled Sandra aside, stepping away from the others.
“How’s everything going with the prison SCADA system?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“We’re getting there,” she replied, a faint smile of satisfaction on her lips. “It’s a mess of code, but we’re figuring it out. We should be ready for whatever you need us to do.”
I nodded, but Sandra wasn’t done. Her expression became more serious as she continued. “But…how are we gaining access to the SCADA? We can’t just walk into the prison and start typing away at it.”
“I’ve got a couple ideas and I’ve got some of my people working on it right now. I’ll give you a heads up a day or so before we hit it. Just keep working on the SCADA so you can take it over when the time comes,” I said. “When the time comes…plan for only about three minutes of access, tops.”
&&&
Regina’s voice crackled through the line, laced with an unusual amount of curiosity. It wasn’t like her to question the requests I made. I figured she was way too professional for that, so this caught me off guard. “You need what now?”
“An engineer who works at the Night City power plant,” I repeated, dismounting my Kusanagi as I pulled into the parking lot of the Gold Beach Marina. “Someone with clearance to come and go as they please. Just a name and address will do.”
There was a brief pause on her end. I could almost hear the gears turning in her mind, trying to piece together what I was up to. “I’ll see what I can dig up. I’ll send the deets your way when I’ve got them.”
“Thanks, Regina,” I replied, ending the call as I made my way towards the rows of yachts docked at the marina.
Gold Beach Marina was a world apart from the rest of Night City. It was a spot where the rich and powerful docked their toys, miles away from the chaos and grime of the city. It was my first time seeing the place in person; having only visited there a few times in the game. There was one job – something about stealing data from a computer – that took place at the Marine. The details of the gig were hazy, and despite the clean, orderly spot that exuded wealth, the Marina didn’t stick out in my mind.
As I neared the entrance, I spotted Anna standing near a sleek black and gold Caliburn parked in the lot. She was eyeing the car with a mix of awe and longing, a look familiar to anyone who spent their life far from the wealth of the corpo lifestyle that could buy something so luxurious. When she noticed me approaching, she gave the car one last glance before straightening and meeting me halfway.
“Not bad, right?” I said with a smirk. “I always bring you to the nicest places.”
She managed a small smile, her eyes flicking back to the Caliburn. “I wouldn’t mind a ride like that. So…what’s the plan?”
“Meeting with Albert, Ivan, and Christian Cole – he’s the cousin of one of the candidates we’re backing,” I explained. “But before we get into that, I need you to pick four names from the top 20 bounties in Night City’s prison. Get your contacts in the NCPD to whip up some evidence on them. I want those four, plus a prisoner named Dario Sanchez, all charged with the same crime.”
Anna raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the odd request. “What the hell’s the point of framing someone already in jail?”
“Just need them all charged with the same crime,” I said. “Make up a story. Say they were running an illegal gambling ring or something. I don’t even care if the evidence sticks; we just need them charged together.”
She shrugged, falling into step beside me as we walked deeper into the Marina. “Alright. Can’t say I get it, but consider it done. Anything else?”
I paused, weighing my options. “Yea, one more thing. Ask around with the Mox if they know a defense lawyer. Someone they wouldn’t mind seeing disappear.”
“Why the Mox? Don’t you have your own contacts for that?”
“Who talks to more people than joytoys? Clients are always buying them drinks, trying to show off. Sooner or later, some lawyer’s bound to have bragged about their cases, thinking it’d earn them a good time.”
Anna considered this for a moment before giving a slow nod. She understood what it meant when I asked for someone who wouldn’t be missed. “I’ll take care of it. You sure about this?”
I let out a sigh and turned to Anna. “It sorta feels like I’m charging down a path and I can’t stop. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or if it’s going to lead us all off a cliff. The plan’s solid in theory. But that’s the problem, isn’t it. It’s all theory until the shit hits the fan. There’s just so much that can go wrong, and if it does you all get caught up in it.”
The admission hung in the air between us. It wasn’t just the risk of failure that gnawed at me, or the thought that I was missing something critical with all my plans – it was the idea that I’d be dragging everyone else down with me if shit went sideways.
“We all know what we’re getting into,” said Anna. “We chose to follow you. And it hasn’t backfired yet.”
I looked at her for a second before nodding and continuing towards the yachts.
As we reached the end of the dock, a massive boat came into view. It was named Boaty McBoatface Junior, a name that seemed to mock the very idea of subtlety. The yacht was a ridiculous display of wealth and opulence. The name alone was a joke, a wink at the world saying that Christian Cole had enough wealth he could name his yacht anything and no one would dare say a word.
Christian Cole was the man I was here to meet, cousin to Eva Cole, one of the candidates I was working on getting elected. Christian wasn’t known for his political savvy. His reputation was built more on lavish parties and indulgence. He was the kind of guy more comfortable leading festivities than leading a board room.
As Anna and I stepped onto the deck, we were greeted by the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses. Christian was already there, holding court with Albert and Ivan, both of whom were lounging in deck chairs, drinks in hand. Christian was in the middle of some story while Albert was doubled over with laugher and Ivan smirked, swirling his drink in the glass.
Christian was the picture of excess – a man in his element. Dressed in a loud, patterned shirt that probably cost more than the crew made in a month, he oozed a kind of carefree arrogance. His tan was perfect, his skin glowing in the late afternoon sun, and his hair was slicked back with a shine that likely came from some product that probably consisted of the blood of endangered animals. He seemed completely at ease on the yacht, oblivious to the world outside his bubble of luxury.
When Christian spotted us, his face lit up with a broad, welcoming smile, as if we were old friends dropping by for a casual visit. He waved us over, his glass of whisky sloshing slightly as he did.
Albert barely acknowledged us, offering only a curt nod. His frosty demeanor wasn’t unexpected; Ivan had mentioned that Albert was feeling out of the loop lately, frustrated that I hadn’t been keeping him in the know about all the jobs I’d been pulling off to help get the candidates elected. He wasn’t thrilled about being left out, and it showed.
“Glad you could finally join us,” said Albert, swirling the wine in his glass.
“Haven’t seen you in a while. What’ve you been up to?” asked Ivan, his voice carrying a warmth that Albert’s didn’t.
I gave the three men a brief nod and sank into one of the plush deck couches. The upholstery was a little too clean for my liking – no doubt freshly scrubbed of whatever excess had been spilled on it. I tried to push those thoughts aside and focus on the men in front of me.
I tossed three shards onto the table, motioning for them to take a look. Albert and Ivan reached out to grab a shard each, while Christian, knowing his role was more about family connections than any real involvement, simply leaned back in his chair.
“Each of those has login credentials, campaign strategies, and other juicy details for the campaigns targeting Eva, Brad, and Emilio,” I explained. “I need you to get these into their hands and tell them to start setting aside campaign funds for private security.”
Ivan’s eyes lit up as he scanned the data on the shard, but Albert frowned. “They’ve already got their own private security. Why do they need more?”
“In about four days, each of the campaigns will need to hire The Pack. John’s already working on pulling people from the alcove and the other homeless camps. Anna’s got contacts with some badges who can take time off and pull a few jobs for us. Albert, you can keep hiring the former mercs and corpo security. We’ll pool our resources, but the campaigns need to foot the bill.”
Albert exchanged a glance with Christian before turning back to me. “What’s the angle here? You’re keeping us all in the dark, and that’s not how a partnership works.”
I could hear the frustration in his voice, and I knew he felt like I was cutting him out. But there were parts of my plan I wasn’t ready to share with everyone – too many moving pieces, too many risks of a leak. Whether that was the right call, I didn’t know, but it felt safer this way.
“You’re right, but trust me on this,” I replied. “In four or five days, the campaigns are going to be grateful they hired us for protection. Something’s coming, and they’ll be glad they’ve got a bunch of guys with guns when it hits.”
Ivan and Albert exchanged another look. They weren’t thrilled about how much I was holding back, but they decided to keep their doubts to themselves for now.
“You also need to convince the candidates to hammer their opponents on cuts to the NCPD,” I continued. “Every speech, every interview, make it clear that their opponents are dropping the ball on security.”
Ivan looked at me with skepticism. “Kid, you’ve done great work so far, and this info you’ve collected is gold. But I’m not sure pushing the crime angle is the right move.”
Albert nodded in agreement. “The NCPD’s been doctoring reports to show a drop in crime. If Eva, or Emilio, or Brad start talking about how dangerous the city is, when all the official numbers say otherwise, they’re going to look ridiculous. It’ll blow up in their faces.”
“You’re right,” I said, leaning forward. “The NCPD has been fudging the numbers, and that’s exactly why you need to push this angle. When the shit hits the fan, those fake stats will be the first thing the media exposes. It’ll make the candidates look like they were ahead of the curve, the only ones telling the truth.”
Albert’s frown deepened, but Ivan seemed to be considering my words. “So, you’re saying this is about setting up a narrative?”
“Exactly,” I nodded. “When we pull off what we’re working on, people will be looking for someone to blame. If the three candidates are out there hammering this message now, they’ll be seen as the ones who had the guts to call it out before anyone else.”
Albert crossed his arms, still not entirely convinced. “You’re asking us to put a lot of faith in something we can’t see yet. We’ve got campaigns on the line here. If this blows up, it’s all on you.”
Just then, my internal Agent buzzed with a text from Regina: Michael Cassidy, 1976 Almunecar Street.
I met Albert’s gaze, holding it steady. “I know what I’m doing. If we stick to the plan, everything will work out. Just make sure the campaigns are ready to pivot when the time comes.”
Standing up, I waved to the three men and caught them off guard. Christian called after me as I started walking away. “Where are you going?”
I turned back to him, offering a slight grin. “I’ve still got some work to do. Nice meeting you, Christian.”
With that, I headed off the yacht with Anna, leaving the men to ponder the shit storm that was already set in motion.