Pacifica was barely recognizable as part of Night City, even by the city’s rough standards. The place was a ghost town of failed dreams and forgotten projects. Streetlamps hung dead and dark along cracked sidewalks; billboards and ad panels were blank; crumbling reminders of someone’s failed plans to sell the district to rich corpos. Trash piled up in the gutters, too far off the city’s radar to ever get cleared out. Nobody sane wanted to be in Pacifica after dusk. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it myself, but work is work, and it had to be done.

There was a makeshift homeless camp at the edge of the district that sprawled out under the shadows, stitched together with tarps, rusted-out metal scraps, and worn tents. I parked my Kusanagi on the outskirts, the bike’s engine cutting off like a final warning for me to get out of there. Stepping into the camp, I nodded to a few folks on my way through, catching a few glances of appreciation. Barrel fires cast flickering light over the faces of the homeless in the camp, shadows deepening the lines that had seen more than their fair share of hardship. Even the homeless of Pacifica were more rundown than elsewhere in the city.

I spotted John and Deng at the far end of the camp, under the dim glow of one of the few street lamps that wasn’t burnt out. Keeping my head steady, I clocked a lone working camera across the street, probably the only set of eyes out here that hadn’t died along with the streetlights. I didn’t look at it directly. Didn’t give away the fact I’d spotted it; if the Voodoo Boys were watching, I wanted to keep them guessing.

When I finally reached John and Deng, I nodded my greetings to them before shifting my attention to the man they were speaking with.

“This is Jacob,” said Deng by way of introduction. “Runs things around here.”

Jacob’s eyes scanned me with practiced ease, evaluating me in the way people who run things tend to do. I could see a quiet strength under his worn exterior – a guy who knew the ins and outs of Pacifica better than anyone else in Night City. His voice came out rough, worn, and assured. “Got the information you were asking for. Biggest Scav den is in the southern part of Pacifica at an old motel – Los Osos. They’re led by this butcher named Slava and his enforcer Yasha. Slava’s got a reputation. He’s a twisted shit. And Yasha…well, think an Animal, but worse. Built like a tank.”

“Sounds charming,” I muttered. “Any other groups worth noting?”

“There’s a big camp set up by that rusted-out Ferris wheel. Last count, thirty or forty of them. A few smaller bands have been cropping up all over, too. Then there’s a woman leading a Scav group who’s in tight with Barghest. She runs guns to a few other Scav spots around town. Name’s Anna or Anya or something.”

I took a second to think it over. “We’ll leave the one working with Barghest out of it, for now. But all the others are fair game. If you can pinpoint the smaller camps, we’ll handle them.”

As Jacob gave a nod and wandered off to join the others, John turned to me, an eyebrow raised. I could tell he wanted to ask me a whole bunch of questions but he’d refrained while Jacob was still around.

“Noah. Why Pacifica? I thought you didn’t want us in Pacifica? You said we weren’t going to mess with the VDB here.”

I met his gaze, keeping my voice low. “I don’t want us here. And we’re still steering clear of the VDB. But the Scavs? That’s another story. They’re a menace. Think about who they target the most.” I nodded back toward the camp. “They see these folks as parts and meat for the black market. They’re an…existential threat. We can’t let that keep going. The Pack’s going to hit Scav holes all across Night City – Watson, Heywood, Santo Domingo. Pacifica is just one piece.”

Deng, always skeptical, chimed in. “And what about the VBD? You’re not worried they’re gonna take us moving into Pacifica as an insult? I mean, we’re talking about carving up their backyard.”

I exhaled. “As long as we keep is surgical and make sure our guys know the boundaries, I don’t think the VDB will get in our way. We’re here to clear out the Scavs, not move in on their turf. Just make sure everyone sticks to the plan. I’ve got no interest in kicking off another gang war anytime soon.”

&&&&&

A few hours later, I was tucked into the shadows of an alley downtown, waiting. The pulse of Night City throbbed around me – flashes of neon, distant basslines, the low hum of corpo drones sweeping overhead. Leaning back against a cracked brick wall, I kept my eyes on the street, waiting for my ride.

Headlights washed over me and Anna’s car slid up to the curb. I slipped into the backseat, the door barely clicking shut before she pulled back into the flow of late-night traffic.

“Alright,” I said, settling into the seat. “What did you find?”

Deng glanced back at me from his spot in the passenger seat. The glow from the dash lit up his face, showing the same laser focus he always wore when discussing intel. “I had people in Pacifica all day, doing a sweep,” he said. “Just like you said – VDB is thickest around Batty’s Hotel and the Pacifica Serenity Bible Church. But they’re spread out in smaller clusters too. We’ve clocked them at a garage, a few shops scattered around the neighborhood – a ripperdoc, a gun store, even a clothing join. From what we’ve seen, the gang’s not more than five hundred strong.”

“Sounds about right,” I nodded. “It’s not the numbers that makes them dangerous, though. Most of the VDB aren’t brawlers. They’re netrunners, and that makes this a different beast. Going after them isn’t like hitting Maelstrom or 6th Street.”

Deng frowned, processing everything. “You mentioned they have a setup under that church?”

“Yea. Big one,” I replied. “There’s an old maglev tunnel that runs right beneath the building. They’ve turned it into a nest for their main network. Deep dive rigs, servers…everything they need for the NET.”

Deng was quiet for a second, then nodded, something brewing behind his eyes. “I get the intel gathering, but why the cloak-and-dagger? Why not tell John and Jacob what’s really going down?”

I leaned forward, keeping my voice low. “The VDB don’t have around on stret corners like every other gang. They’re listening. Every conversation, every single bit of data that passes through Pacifica is a blip on their radar. If we’re serious about challenging them, I don’t want to give them any sort of advanced notice. Right now, I’m baking on them thinking we’re just going after Scavs. By the time they realize we’re hunting them, we’re already going to be shooting.”

Deng turned back to the front, running a hand over his jaw, his expression thoughtful. Silence settled in the car for a beat, the streetlights washing over us in bursts. Then Anna spoke up, breaking the quiet.

“So…how dangerous are the Voodoo Boys?” she asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “Compared to Maelstrom or the Claws?”

I gave a small shrug. “In terms of muscle? They’re nowhere close. Hell, even the Mox probably have more shooters than they do. But they’re the best netrunners in the city. One unsecured line, one slip-up, and they’d know more about us than we could ever know about them.”

Anna mulled that over, her silence stretching a little longer this time as the streetlights cast patterns across her face. Finally, she broke it again, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “So, why go after the VDB now? Thought you didn’t want another gang war so soon after the last one.”

I let out a slow breath, piecing together the thoughts that had been gnawing at me, sorting through all the reasons I had for going after the VDB. “Every major gang in this city’s got their turf. Maelstrom has locked down Northside. The Tyger Claws own Westbrook and most of the rest of Watson. The Valentinos have Heywood. 6th Street? They’ve still got Rancho Coronado. But us? Sure, the Pack’s been doing better than simply getting by, but if we’re ever gonna be anything more than just another small-time gang occasionally punching above its weight, we need to grow.”

Deng and Anna nodded, clearly following my reasoning.

“The VDB is siting on prime real estate. Pacifica was supposed to be the new playground for the rich and famous of Night City. Then the Unification War hit, and the funding just…evaporated. Since then, people have tried to revive Pacifica, thrown some eddies in and slap on a fresh coat of paint, but every time, it flops.”

Deng shifted in the passenger seat. “Yea, well, if the corpos couldn’t make it work, how the hell are we supposed to?”

“The difference is that the corpos were all trying to fix Pacifica from the outside. They threw eddies at it, expecting it to pay off fast, and ran for the hills when it didn’t. They don’t live there, and they sure as hell don’t care. But us? We’re already dug into Night City. We’ve got some political sway. We got three councilors in our pocket who owe us a few favors. If we take out the Scavs and the VDB, we’re sitting pretty on a potential gold mine.”

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

I watched Deng as his skepticism started to soften, and pushed the point home. “If we pull this off, Pacifica’s ours to shape. If we can make it safe, get investment flowing, people will follow. And The Pack would get a piece of every new biz that sets up there. We’d be more than just a gang. We’d have influence in every deal and a steady stream of eddies coming in.”

I kept my other reason to myself. Since my first playthrough of the game, I’d made it a point to wipe out Placide, Maman Brigitte, and every VDB enforcer they threw at me. No gang in Night City pissed me off like the Voodoo Boys. They betray V no matter what, and it felt personal.

In the rearview, Anna caught my eye, a slight smile creeping up on her lips. “Sounds like you’ve thought this through. Also, it sounds incredibly dangerous.”

“Yea,” I said, nodding. “Which is why we need a few more allies lined up. This isn’t a job for solo heroes.”

&&&&

Down the stairs, through a crowd of curious onlookers, past the towering doorman, and I found myself in the Afterlife. The familiar throb of bass echoed along the concrete walls, each beat a punch in the gut, while the cold industrial glow of fluorescent bulbs bathed every corner in yellowish light. It was only my second time here in person, but after countless hours spent roaming the place in-game, it almost felt like home.

Rogue was exactly where I expected her to be, perched like a hawk in her booth, surveying a cluster of hopeful mercs vying for her attention. I drifted towards her, but as I approached, her watchdog Crispin “Squama” Weyland stepped in, blocking my path with one broad, muscled arm. Palm up, face set in a firm expression – no words needed. Message clear. I had to wait.

I shrugged and pulled up short. Roge knew I was here, no doubt. She likely knew the second I walked in. The woman ran Night City’s most exclusive merc bar, and making me wait was her way of reminding me that she was the queen bitch in charge. I drifted over to the bar and took a seat, letting the slight scuff of the worn leather mold to me.

Claire noticed me and flashed me a warm smile. “Hey, what can I get ya?” she asked, walking over.

“A Johnny Silverhand,” I replied. I’d never been a big fan of tequila or old-fashioneds, but here? A drink was more than that. It was a tribute. You drank to one of the legends. Claire fixed up my rocks glass and slid it across the bar where I took a slow sip, letting the bitters cut through the tequila’s burn.

I gave Claire a nod of appreciation and let my eyes lose focus, settling into the real reason I’d come here. The Pack was rebuilding itself. We’d fought hard through the gang wars with 6th Street and the Animals, clawing our way up from nothing. But if we wanted to be an actual force in this city, we needed more firepower, more people, and a hell of a plan.

Panam’s voice from the game came back to me, her triple-A method of planning echoing clear: assess, assemble, action. It was the approach she’d used to take down the Kang Tao AV and help V to capture Helman. If it worked against a corpo militia, maybe it’d give me a way to drive The Pack’s influence deeper into Night City’s heart.

Assess: The Pack was in a solid position. I’d built an army out of the city’s forgotten – people who blended in so well they might as well have been invisible. Our homeless network knew Night City’s streets better than anyone. They moved in plain sight, were overlooked by everyone, saw everything, heard everything, and had eyes where no one else dared to tread.

On top of that, I had vets like Diego, Zion, and Deng. They’d taken any Pack member willing to learn and transformed them from raw street brawlers into a small guerilla force. My vets had been through real combat with corpo armies, and now they were turning out Pack members who could hold their ground in a firefight, not just spray and pray.

We also had our ex-cops, led by Anna. They knew the city nearly as well as the homeless, understanding its rhythms and secrets from the other side of the law. They brought in another level of tactical experience, plus an inside-out understanding of how the city’s pieces fit together – and how to break them apart.

Our newest muscle were the small-time merc teams that I’d managed to pull into our orbit. I’d put work out to the city’s pawnshops that I was on the lookout for fresh talent, young guns who needed work and wanted to prove themselves. It wasn’t long before names started filtering in, and soon I had a roster of green but eager crews ready to work under our banner. They had the drive, the ambition, and the hunger for something bigger than themselves. They wanted to leave their mark on this city, and I was willing to give them that opportunity.

And finally, we had Sandra’s netrunner crew. Most gangs in the city had netrunners who worked for them – most often doing contract work but a few as gang members. Sandra was different. She’d been trained by Night Corp itself, one of the heaviest hitting corps in the city. Her team was top-notch, and every day we were pulling in more freelancers to expand our digital presence. But even with all that firepower, we were still second in the city to the Voodoo Boys. They were the true sharks in Night City’s deep web, their netrunners holding Pacifica in a digital stranglehold. To make The Pace a force to be feared and respected, we needed to bridge that gap.

Assembly: You need to get all the pieces together. No room for error, no room for loose ends.

First, I needed Rogue on board. She had access to mercs who were sharp, seasoned, and fearless – perfect for tough targets I didn’t want my own people hitting. I would need to hammer out details on numbers and costs to get her to work for me. It would take a good chunk of eddies, but Rogue had connections that ran deeper than most gangs could ever hope for.

I also needed to fortify our netrunning force. The VDB might be a small gang in terms of numbers, but their power wasn’t about bodies. Nearly all of them were netrunners, and good ones at that. Finding a way to bridge that gap would be critical. It would take either new talent or a bunch of tech that could give us an edge. There had to be a way to stack the odds in our favor, and I’d make sure we found it.

And then there was information. John had finally finished up his surgery after taking that hit from the Animals at the Columbarium. He was close to being fully back in action, which meant soon we’d be able to run point on a few deeper ops. If we were going to stand any chance at taking out the VDB, I needed John to know every back alley and hidden exit in the district.

With the vets and ex-cops training our people, with Sandra’s netrunners targeting the VDB where they lived, with Rogue’s crew hitting a few hard targets in the district, I figured that The Pack was pretty close to becoming a true power in the city.

I drained the last of my drink, tossed a handful of eddies on the counter, and gave Claire a nod of thanks. Across the room, Rogue was still in her booth, all business, making me wait and proving her point. She could have her throne and her games – I wasn’t here to grovel. With a shrug, I turned toward the exit, figuring there were plenty of fixers in the city. If she didn’t want to talk, I’d find mercs elsewhere.

Just as I reached the club’s entrance, a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder. Instinct took over, and I had my Kenshin drawn, its barrel just under Emmerick Bronson’s chin before I even registered it was him. Emmerick – massive and solid, like he was made of rebar and steel – held his hands up, eyebrows raised but unshaken.

“Easy there, choom,” he said, his voice calm. “Rogues’ ready for you now.”

I didn’t lower my Kenshin. “Is that right?” I replied coolly. “Problem is…I’ve got a meeting lined up. Maybe I’ll swing by tomorrow.”

He stayed calm, barely moving a muscle, though his mouth quirked slightly. “She’s ready now. You can see her in private. She’s interested in what business you’re bringing to her door.”

I held his gaze a second longer, gauging if he’d make a move. But he stayed as steady as a wall. I finally reholstered my Kenshin and took a step back. “Like I said, I’ve got another meeting.”

Without another look, I turned and slipped past the crowd at the Afterlife’s entrance, stepping out into the cool Night City air. Rogue could wait.

&&&&

The ride through Night City on my Kusanagi felt smooth and freeing. With everything going on lately, I hadn’t had much time to just be out there, slicing through the neon-drenched streets of the city. Between overseeing the training of the new recruits, organizing all our different crews, checking up on all our money-making schemes, and making sure everything was running smoothly, it was like I’d forgotten how the city felt on two wheels. Riding kept my mind sharp and helped me not dwell on what Night City had taken from me. Instead, I focused on what The Pack could become – something Fred and Mor would have been proud of. I couldn’t protect them, but I could give the people they looked out for a shot at a better life.

Charter Hill was different from my usual haunts. It gleamed with a corporate shine, all glossy surfaces and bright colors, worlds away from the grit of Watson or Pacifica. When I finally pulled up outside Au Cabanon, the place caught me off guard. There was something about it that tugged at my memory, a sense of déjà vu I couldn’t quite pin down.

The restaurant radiated that sleek, high-end look tailored for Night City’s top one percent. As I made my way up the polished steps and through the gleaming glass doors, I caught a few curious glances, corpo types in suits and a couple half-familiar faces that I figured were minor celebrities. Their eyes slid over me, and just as quickly, they were back to their carefully plated salads and overpriced cocktails.

I scanned the room and found who I was looking for rather quickly – a familiar face tucked away in a dim corner booth, sipping from a glass of water. It was Real Water, which ran at about 100 eddies per gallon, so either he was splurging, or Netwatch had deep pockets.

It hadn’t been easy to get this meeting. It took several calls, a lot of persistence, and no small number of favors to get Netwatch to take me seriously. They didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat for gang leaders.

Before I could make it to the man I was supposed to see, a guy in a plain gray suit stepped into my path, extending a hand. He looked about as exciting as stale bread, like he belonged in some corporate cubicle fielding endless data dumps.

“Bryce Mosley.” He introduced himself, flashing a businesslike smile. “I’m assuming you’re Mr. Batty? My office has been in touch with you.”

I glanced at his outstretched hand, gave him a small shrug, and sidestepped right past him, making my way to the guy seated in the booth. He was older, grizzled, with a full tier-5 netrunner setup strapped to him. His hair was silvered, his suit just pricy enough to blend into this place, and his gear was beyond state-of-the-art. It’d let him dive deep into the NET without any of the usual setup: no ice baths, no special recliners that did…something for netrunners. Sandra would’ve killed for that kind of setup.

I slid into the seat across from him, taking him in. He looked exactly as he did in the game – sharp, seasoned, charismatic, and all business.

“I’m here for our meeting,” I said, pouring myself a glass from the water pitcher the waiter had left on the table, feeling his steady gaze sizing me up.

The older man’s brows lifted, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He glanced around the restaurant, maybe searching for a waiter to explain what was going on. “Uh, I’m sorry…do I know you?” he asked, looking slightly flustered. “I’m here for a date…must be some sort of mix-up.” His voice held a trace of polite uncertainty, like he couldn’t quite work out how I knew him.

I kept my expression flat, unamused. “Let’s skip all the secret squirrel shit, Mr. Mosley. You know who I am, and I know exactly who you are. Let’s get to why we’re both here.”

The confusion drained from his face, and he straightened up, slipping into a sharper, more alert version of himself. His gaze hardened, dropping the feigned cluelessness.

“Alright, then,” he said, his voice now steady, each word measured. “Tell me, Mr. Batty – what exactly do you want?”

I leaned back in my chair, watching his reaction as I chose my words. “I want The Pack and Netwatch to work together. Temporarily, of course. We’ve got a shared interest.”

One of his eyebrows arched slightly, his corporate mask still in place, though a hint of genuine curiosity crept into his eyes. “And what interest would that be?”

“Rezo Agwe.”

That one hit home. The mere mention of the Voodoo Boys’ private subnet – the thorn in Netwatch’s side for years – instantly shifted his demeaner. Mosley leaned forward, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table. “Where’d you hear about that?”

“Here and there,” I shrugged. “I know you’ve got your eyes on the VDB, and I know why. They’re skirting the Blackwall, aren’t they? And while I’m not much for all the politics in the NET, I’ve got zero interest in seeing the Blackwall collapse and letting those AI loose in Night City.”

Mosley’s eyes narrowed. “And what do you think you can do about it?”

I felt a smirk creeping in. “I can offer you something you’re not going to get anywhere else – a deal to take Rezo Agwe off the board. You get a promotion for taking down the last free subnet on the west coast, the VDB no longer pokes at the Blackwall, and I get what I want in return. But to make it happen, I need a few things, starting with access to some top-tier netrunners.”

Mosley took a sip of his water, considering. “From what I hear, you’ve already got a team. Ms. Dorsett has quite the reputation herself, and she’s been recruiting on your behalf, hasn’t she?”

“Sure, but going up against a gang whose whole game is netrunning requires more than just a good crew. I need backup – and some equipment, which I imagine Netwatch can help with.”

He gave a dry chuckle. “Not as much as you’d think. We’re not exactly swimming in eddies these days.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Mosley. We both know Netwatch is corpo-funded. They’re not giving you nothing.”

He leaned back, his expression turning contemplative as he weighed his options. I could almost see him running the numbers in his head, calculating risk, reward, and what Netwatch might stand to gain. “Humor me: how much are we talking here?”

“That depends,” I replied, letting the words hang just long enough to sing in. “What’s Netwatch willing to pay to take Rezo Agwe down for good?”

He didn’t answer right away, but the glint in his eyes told me he was listening and he was intrigued.