The one thing nobody ever warns you about when you become a gang leader is the obscene amount of admin work you end up doing. The sun was barely peaking above the horizon, casting long, golden shadows across the wreckage we’d carved into Pacifica. We’d won. The district was ours now. But instead of celebrating and soaking in that hard-won victory, I was already knee-deep in ensuring that all the loose threads were tied up.
I made my way toward the Pacifica Serenity Bible Church, nodding greetings to a few Pack members I passed along the way. Diego had insisted on sending two guards to shadow me. He called them ‘precautions,’ but I couldn’t help but think of them more as leashes – taking away what limited freedom I still had left.
As we approached the church entrance, I noticed Deng propped against the cracked and weathered wall, a cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. Wisps of smoke curled upwards into the pale morning light. His eyes were fixed on the broken district before him as he slowly took the occasional puffs from his cigarette.
“Hey,” I called, breaking his trance. “She still down there?”
He nodded slowly, flicking the half-smoked cigarette to the ground where it smoldered briefly before dying. “Yea. Hasn’t come up for air yet. She’s in deep.”
“Well, Diego’s got the Batty on lockdown. Can you keep some of your people here to hold the place steady and then send a few down to sweep the old scav nests? There’s all sorts of gear and cyberware and other shit just lying around there without any owners. We need it moved to the GIM for sorting.”
Deng’s mouth curled into an amused grin. I spotted an almost paternal look in his eyes when he looked at me. “You remember when I used to be the one giving you orders?” he said, an eyebrow quirking up.
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. “You want the reins, they’re all yours. I would love to go back to riding my Kusanagi and not worrying about anything.”
“Nah, kid,” he laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You’re doing just fine.” He turned to the nearby guards hanging around the church and barked off a few commands. Within moments, half of them broke away and started moving south to gather up the spoils of our war.
I stepped inside the church and made my way down into the catacombs and the abandoned maglev tunnel. The bodies of the VDB we’d killed had all been cleared out, leaving only splashes of blood still staining the ground and the lingering scent of death.
I found Sandra hunched over a terminal, her eyes darting between lines of code as if she was reading scripture. The glow of the screens painted her face, and her fingers danced across the keyboard.
“Talk to me,” I said as I approached.
She didn’t look up, just tilted her head slightly toward the streaming data filling the monitors. “We’ve made some progress. I’ve got people diving into the deep end of the servers, picking apart what the VDB left behind. We’re pulling everything we can.”
“Good,” I said, glancing at her terminal that was displaying scrolling lines of code. “I need a team sent to the Batty. There’s a cluster of servers up there that got severed from the main Rezo Agwe NET. Get your people on it, crack it open, and make sure everything is documented.”
Sandra nodded, her eyes glowing yellow for a moment – signifying she was on a call – before she turned back to me. “Consider it done.”
“Perfect. And Sandra, I want everything documented. “I leaned forward, resting a hand on the back of a nearby chair. “I mean everything. I need a full inventory of what the VDB were storing. Files, data shards, blackmail material – anything we can use as leverage. Tag everything useful and flag it for me.”
A small smile pulled at her lips, the kind that said she was already ten steps ahead. “Already started on that. You’re not going to believe some of the things we’ve found. There’s intel on corps, gangs, even a few city officials. At first glance, I’d say there’s enough here to make us millions of eddies if we play our cards right.”
My pulse quickened at that. I figured that the VDB would have a bunch of loot for us once we fully cracked Rezo Agwe. They might have been fanatics trying to start the robot apocalypse, but they knew the value of secrets. “Millions, huh?” I kept my voice even, but inside, gears were already turning. We were potentially sitting on an empire’s worth of leverage and eddies.
She gave a quick nod, almost mechanical, before her fingers resumed their staccato on the keys. Then, with a spark in her eyes, she turned back to me. “You know, this subnet the VDB built…it’s prime real estate. If we can clean it up, lock it down tight, we could make it ours. The Pack’s subnet. Independent netrunners from all over would flock to us. We could rent storage, set up encryption nodes, maybe even make some private access tunnels. It could be a massive stream of eddies for us. Potentially more than what we’d get for everything we’re pulling off the servers now.”
The idea had merit. At least on the surface. A network like Rezo Agwe wasn’t just a tool that could be discarded. If we could prove we had the only subnet in Night City that Netwatch wasn’t keeping a close watch on, we’d have something valuable. “Sounds interesting,” I said, letting the thought simmer. “But let’s be real here – Netwatch isn’t going to just look the other way. They barely tolerated the VDB running an independent network. Why would they give us a free pass?”
Sandra’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “Because we’re not the Voodoo Boys,” she said. “We explain to Netwatch we’re not interested in the Blackwall, that we’re not in the business of poking at whatever might tear us apart.” Her gaze dropped back to the terminal, eyes flicking through the lines of encrypted code. “And if we play it smart, we feed them bits of intel now and then – trade data they want for tech, protection, favors. Whatever it takes to keep them looking the other way.”
I scanned the room, taking in the hum of servers and the glow of monitors as her words settled in my mind. “Alright,” I sighed. “Put together a rundown on how you see this playing out. But first, catalog everything we pull off the servers. Contacts, contracts, all the dirt the VDB hoarded – I want to know what we got here.”
Sandra nodded and her focus returned fully back to her work. I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “One more thing. If you come across anything labeled ‘relic,’ ‘soulkiller,’ ‘Alt,’ or marked with ‘Project Cynosure,’ set it aside and tell me directly. No one else.”
She went still for a moment, her eyes meeting mine with a flicker of apprehension. “Is this…is it Peralez stuff?” she whispered, the hesitation in her voice betraying her memory of our late-night talk about Night Corp and the dark specters that lurked behind Night City’s neon lights.
I let the pause hang between us. “Not exactly. But it’s in the same ballpark. We’re playing this one safe. If you want to know more, I’ll fill you in.”
Sandra’s focus lingered on me, as if weighing my words. She turned back to the terminal, fingers resuming their tapping on the keys. A beat of silence played before she spoke, her voice cautious. “Maybe later,” she said as she dove back into the data.
&&&
The GIM was no longer the hollow, abandoned shell I’d found it when first stepping into Pacifica. Chaos had taken over, but it was the productive kind of chaos – mercs, homeless drifters, and Pack members moved about in a frenetic dance, weaving between makeshift stations set up throughout the sprawling interior. What had once been a crumbling eyesore in the heart of Pacifica had rapidly started evolving into the nerve center of The Pack’s budding empire.
I pushed my way through the crowd, my bodyguards flanking me like shadows. The hum of conversations and shouts and curses filled the air, punctuated by the occasional bark of laughter or shouted order. Makeshift workstations dotted the space, each one a hub of activity. John had claimed an old food kiosk as his temporary home. The one-grease-stained counter was now cluttered with tablets, laptops, and a chaotic sprawl of notes. A few Pack sentries stood guard, keeping anyone uninvited at bay. He barely noticed me as I walked past, his attention flitting between his screens and Angelica, standing off to the side.
She was a ways away from John, standing with a few former Animals, hulking figures who’d followed her when the gang had been fractured and broken. I watched as they moved with purpose, unloading crates of gear and stacking them in rough order as she watched over them like a hawk. When she spotted me approaching, she gave me a brief nod before turning back to shout more orders.
“I’ve tasked Deng with gathering everything the mercs lifted from the former Scav strongholds,” I said, stopping in front of her. “But we’re gonna need more hands. I want everything from the hotel down south and the Ferris wheel brought back here before someone decides to get greedy.”
Angelica nodded, a hard glint in her eyes. “Already on it. We’re clearing out some of the storefronts in here so we can use them as storage. We’ll toss everything we gather in there.” She shot a look to one of her muscle-bound crew members who rushed off to carry out her orders.
“I’m gonna need an inventory. Guns, cyberware, tech – whatever they scavenged. Try to give me an estimate on what we’re looking at in terms of resale value. I need to know what we can flip and what we might want to keep for ourselves.”
Her eyes flickered with interest as she ran through what I’d just said. “Are you planning on moving it through the night markets?” she asked, her attention drifting back to her crew as they hefted crates and moved them around.
“That’s one possibility,” I said, letting the idea hang for a moment. “Another is to turn the GIM into our own night market. People will visit to watch some cage matches, gamble, and buy whatever gear or tech they need, all under one roof.” I saw a slow smile form at the corner of her lips, a spark of nostalgia for when she was running with the Animals.
I knew Angelica’s loyalty was practical. She still clung to the dream of rebranding the Animals, turning them from a fractured memory back into a formidable force. Rebuilding the GIM as a hub where they could brawl for sport and draw Night City’s adrenaline-seeking crowds, that was her shot at solidifying the former Animals’ place within The Pack.
“But that’s a plan for later,” I said, drawing her focus back to the now. “First, we need all the shit we gained from this war to be brought here.”
She nodded and turned back to organizing her people. I watched her for a beat longer and then turned and made my way to John.
He’d carved out his own corner in the chaos of the GIM, setting up shop in what used to be a food stand. It was a war room now, cluttered with tablets, laptops, and a jumble of notes. John glanced up when I approached, then quickly averted his eyes. He shifted in his seat, fingers tapping erratically at the edge of a keyboard before he forced them still. He’d recuperated fairly well from the gunshot wound he’d gotten at the Columbarium, but I could tell the memory of it still hadn’t worn away yet. I could see it in the way his shoulders tensed when Angelica or her crew moved into his line of sight.
“John,” I said, and his fingers froze mid-tap. He nodded without quite meeting my gaze, his eyes flicking nervously to the data feed on his screens. “How goes it?”
“Going through Hands’ files,” he muttered, his words quick and clipped. “There’s more here than we thought – contracts, corpo ties, everything. Hands…he knew where the bodies were buried, so to speak. There’s, uh, leverage here. Companies secretly operating in Dogtown, names we could approach if we, uh, if we wanted to.”
I tried to put him at ease. It wasn’t me he was scared of, exactly, but he always seemed skittish during our talks. He was better with Cyndi. John swallowed, his eyes darted up, barely brushing past my face before dropping back to the streams of data.
“I’m thinking about setting you up as Pacifica’s main fixer,” I said, letting the statement settle between us. He shifted in his seat again, fingers flexing. “You’d be the go-to for outside contacts, gigs, all of it. I’ll likely put you in touch with Rogue, too. We’re gonna need her to fence most of what we’ve gathered. But for now, I want you coordinating with Sandra, Deng, and Angelica. We’re stockpiling everything at the GIM, and I want an update on everything we’ve earned from this little action of ours.
John’s mouth opened, then closed, like he wasn’t sure if he should protest or thank me. Finally, he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing, if only slightly. “Understood,” he said, his voice a little more sure this time. His eyes strayed briefly to Angelica’s crew – a slight bit of unease – before returning back to the notes and laptops in front of him.
&&&&
The sun had fully risen by now, spilling its harsh light over Pacifica’s broken streets and bullet-riddled buildings. But the parking deck across from the Batty still clung to the last shreds of night, its far corners drenched in shadows that refused to surrender to the morning.
I made my way through the maze of rusted-out vehicles, their bodies pockmarked and decaying as if they’d been left to rot there since before the Unification War. Streaks of rust bled down from the cracked concrete pillars, mingling with layers of graffiti that told stories of the city’s countless forgotten struggles.
Zion was leaning against the hood of a black, dented van, staring out at the Batty and Pacifica in general, watching out for anything that might threaten The Pack as we worked to clean up the spoils from the recent war. Reed was only a few paces away, arms folded over his chest. He shifted slightly when he saw me approach, impatience etched into the tight lines of his face. “When are we going to get what Songbird needs?” he asked, his words clipped.
“Soon,” I said, stepping up beside Zion who gave me a brief nod without looking away from his vigil. “We need to put together a…spelunking team to grab it. It’s not exactly in a store window. But if you’re itching for something to do, talk to Diego. He’s got a few hands down at the Batty just standing around. Put them to work; we can’t afford idle bodies.”
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Reed’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the stubble on his cheek. Fucking Idris Elba and his handsomeness. He probably hadn’t slept for a day, and he looked like an action figure starring in a blockbuster movie instead of what I looked like, which was probably some disheveled gonk who nobody would look twice at. “And what do you want me to do with them?”
“South of here,” I began, eyes narrowing as I pictured the forgotten spot at the edge of our new territory, “right at the border between Pacifica and Dogtown, there’s a door. A bunker entrance. No one’s breached it yet – hell, most people probably don’t even know it’s there. But that’s where we’ll find what Songbird needs.”
Reed’s eyebrows lifted slightly, a rare crack in his disciplined demeanor. “A bunker? Just sitting there?” His tone turned skeptical. “I’m not like thins. It’s exposed. A target for anyone who wants to make a move.”
“Relax,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s locked up tight. Been that way since before the Unification War. Nobody’s cracked it, and anyone with half a mind has moved on. It’s not common knowledge that there’s an old Militech bunker sitting under Pacifica.”
I took a moment to think it over before adding, “you know, there is another entrance. It’ll take some muscle, though.” I pointed down the main drag of Pacifica to a retaining wall. “We could blast through the wall by that old clothing store. Or, if subtlety’s off the table, we could ram a truck into it. The wall is ancient; it’ll crumble and give us an entrance to climb through.”
Zion followed the point of my finger to the wall I mentioned, did a quick calculation and then shot me a confused look. “Wait, you said there’s a bunker under Pacifica…and it stretches from the south all the way up to that wall?”
“Yea,” I nodded. “It’s a big ass bunker.”
Reed’s gaze shifted between me and the horizon like he was already thinking through the logistics of everything. With a sharp nod, he pivoted and strode out of the parking deck.
Zion watched him leave, a smirk spreading across his face. Once Reed was out of earshot, he turned to me, chuckling. “Man’s got a massive stick up his ass,” he said, shaking his head.
“Yea, well, he’s got a complicated past with the chick he’s trying to save,” I replied. The air around us stilled as we stood in the shadowed silence, the expanse of Pacifica stretching out below us. I let the moment hang for a second before shifting gears. “So, we should be making a pile of eddies after all this is done. What’re your plans for afterwards?”
Zion’s grin widened as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Trying to get rid of me? I could hang up the gear, buy a place somewhere warm where the sun doesn’t quit. But where’s the fun in that?” He looked back out to the city, thoughtful now. “Nah, the eddies are nice, but that’s not why I do it. Stop moving and you start rusting.” He raised one of his cybernetic arms, the metal fingers clinking softly as he flexed them.
I nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Fair enough. We’re always gonna have more work to do.” I paused, then added, “speaking of, I need you to move some of your snipers. Cyndi’s crew is holding down the ripperdoc and gun store to the south. I want more eyes on them for overwatch – just in case someone starts getting greedy. And we need scouts posted around the borders. I want to know about trouble before it even thinks about showing up.”
Zion’s eyes narrowed slightly, a thoughtful nod following. “Consider it done. We’ll know before anything sneezes too loud.”
My internal Agent buzzed and drew my attention. Glancing at the message, I felt my stomach tighten.
Anna: so…we might have a problem.
&&&
I leaned back in the cracked leather chair behind what must have once been a sergeant’s desk. The pleather, worn and neglected over the years, groaned in protest beneath me. The chair’s metal arms, chipped and dulled by countless shifts, hinted at a long line of weary shifts. The desk itself was a relic of past lives – scratched and scarred and carved with initials and crude drawings left by whoever had taken up space in this forgotten precinct after the NCPD’s exodus from Pacifica.
We were stationed in the old NCPD offices, perched just outside the entrance to Dogtown. It was the same spot where, in the game, Hands sends V to handle a synth-coke deal gone sour between a pair of bumbling NCPD officers and Dodger, one of Hansen’s high-ranking Barghest lieutenants.
After receiving Anna’s urgent messages, I had Diego round up a few trusted hands to secure the building. It was the ideal spot for a meeting – strategically close, familiar, and with enough spots for cover that if a shootout occurred, we’d be protected.
Diego stood guard by the door, fingers drumming an uneven rhythm on the stock of his rifle. He was staring out the grime-coated window, scanning for any hint of trouble. Cyndi was nearby, half-slouched on a bench, one foot propped up while her Satara lay across her lap, ready to snap into action. Outside, Zion and his snipers were perched on the upper floors of nearby buildings, ready to turn the precinct into a fortress at my signal. But that was the last resort – only if Kurt Hansen couldn’t be reasoned with.
Anna’s messages played on a loop in my mind. Last night, while the rest of us were taking over the church and the Batty, her team had launched an assault on the Dogtown Voodoo Boys. Wilky “Slider” LaGuerre and his faction of breakaway loyalists had all holed up in a section of Dogtown. Gunfire had snapped through the streets, mixed with the ragged shouts of VDB scrambling to mount a defense. Resistance was a given, and casualties came with the job – corpses cooling on the cracked pavement. But eventually, Anna’s team pushed through and swept Wilky’s people out of Dogtown.
As the echoes of the battle faded, Anna’s crew moved fast, sweeping up whatever tech and cyberware and equipment that wasn’t bolted down, cramming it into battered vans and hoping to get out before Barghest could close the place down. But Dogtown had eyes and ears everywhere. Barghest patrols were alerted, and they rushed to the scene before Anna’s team could disappear into the labyrinth of decaying towers and shadowed alleys to the south.
That’s when Anna made a risky move. Holed up in what had just been a VDB stronghold, she reached out to the Barghest lieutenant on the scene and dropped my name. She told him she was with The Pack and suggested that Kurt Hansen might want to hear what I had to say.
It was something we’d talked about as a last resort if things took a turn. It would have been better if Barghest never knew we were the ones who killed the VDB in his territory. But Hansen wasn’t a fool – he knew when the pieces on the board had shifted in unexpected ways. He called off his troops but kept a wary cordon around the former VDB fortress, and then sent word to me that he wanted a meeting. Now, we waited.
The low rumble of engines outside reached my ear, a deep growl that snapped everyone’s attention to the cracked, grime-streaked windows. A message from Zion confirmed it: Barghest had arrived. I nodded to Diego and Cyndi, letting them know to get ready. Diego’s restless tapping ceased as he shifted, positioning himself in a corner with a clear view of the entirety of the room. Cyndi, still slouched on the bench behind me, subtly readied herself, eyes sharp and alert.
I moved to the table and set of chairs I’d arranged earlier – where Hansen and I would discuss the future of Pacifica and Dogtown.
A few moments later, the precinct door creaked open, and Barghest guards stormed in, bristling with weapons and the sweagger of predators. They moved with the kind of overconfidence that came from being the top dogs in Dogtown, rarely challenge by anyone. Their chins were lifted defiantly, their chests were puffed out as if to convince themselves they were in charge here. But this wasn’t Dogtown. This part of Pacifica was The Pack’s territory.
The first notable figure through the door was Leon Rinder. A jolt of recognition shot through me as he walked in. In the game, Rinder was a shadow of himself when he met V; reduced to selling off his cyberware to the Scavs. His gaunt face, hollow cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and scarred body told a grim story of desperation and too many surgeries. If The Pack hadn’t intervened, Rinder would have ended up in that same hotel in the south of Pacifica, the one we’d recently cleared of Scavs.
But this Leon was different. Gone were the scars on his body, showing the many surgeries the Scavs put him through. Now, he wore sleek, polished cyberarms with pride. He was healthier, muscles filling out his frame, eyes sharp and vigilant. He was Kurt Hansen’s junkyard dog, and he wore that reputation like a badge of honor. He scanned the room, taking in the dusty desks, the broken furniture, and the stoic faces of The Pack standing guard. His eyes landed on Diego, picking him out as the most dangerous person in the room, and he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin as if he expected Diego to flinch.
Diego didn’t so much as blink. He met Leon’s stare with an impassive expression, the kind of look that could make a man question his own footing. Leon’s lips twitched, a hint of irritation crossing his face, but he quickly moved past it, signaling an all-clear to the people behind him.
Albert Murphy stepped in next, eyes darting around as he assessed the room. Albert was smarter than most of Barghest’s lieutenants. He was the one who guided V and Alex through the stadium to the meeting with Kurt Hansen in the game, and I imagined his role in Barghest was comparable to Angelica’s. He was clever, business-saavy, and carried a disarming geniality. He was the polished face of Barghest, the one who could smile while making deals.
Finally, Kurt Hansen swanned in like he owned the precinct. He was a mountain of a man, broad shoulders straining against the seams of his plain t-shirt. His presence seemed to press down on the room, making the air feel…tighter, somehow. I knew that members of both Barghest and The Pack would be measuring us against each other, gauging which leader exuded more strength, more authority. I remembered Reed’s description of Hansen in the game – a man who routinely told both Militech and the NUSA to fuck off.
Hansen’s gaze landed on me, and for a moment, he stood there, motionless. Then, with deliberate slowness, he lowered himself into the plastic chair across from me. The legs creaked under his weight, protesting in sharp groans. I let the silence stretch, just long enough to make him wonder, and then I stood up.
I could feel every pair of eyes in the room follow me as I walked over to a vending machine. The thing was a rusted relic, coated in layers of grime, splashed with faded graffiti. Despite its battered state, it still let out a low, persistent hum.
A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth as I keyed in a hack I hadn’t used since my early days in Night City. The ICE on vending machines was a joke, barely more than a formality. In seconds, a soft beep confirmed the override, and two cans of NiCola dropped into the tray below with a metallic thud. I grabbed them, turned around, and found Hansen’s eyes locked on me, his expression a mix of curiosity and irritation.
He stayed silent as I walked back to the table. The room seemed smaller now, his imposing presence swallowing the space. I placed one of the cans in front of him, the clang cutting through the thick silence. His eyes flicked to the can and then back to me, one eyebrow lifting slightly. I took my seat, cracked open my own can, and took a slow, deliberate sip.
Hansen leaned back in his chair and measured me. When he finally spoke, his voice held an undertone of threat and menage. “So, why does The Pack think they can waltz into my house and track mud across my floor?”
I let the silence stretch as I took another sip, the carbonation biting at my tongue. Finally, I set the can down and met his stare with one of my own.
“Going into Dogtown wasn’t exactly Plan A,” I began. “But it was a necessity. An unfortunate one, sure, but I’m not the kind to let something rot while I sit back and watch from the sidelines. The Voodoo Boys needed to be ripped out of Night City, root and stem. If I left them unchecked after clearing out Pacifica, my people would never be safe.”
A shadow of confusion passed over Hansen’s face. “And you think that explanation makes it okay? You march into my turf, start a war, and pretend it’s business as usual?” He was growling now, each word out of his mouth a challenge. “You know I’ve got a swarm of my men surrounding yours right now. So tell me, Noah Batty – why are you so cavalier with their lives? I’ve seen plenty of leaders who don’t care about their people. Are you one of them? Because if you think I’m not going to make an example out of them, you’re mistaken.”
I let a half-smile cross my face. Bluffing was an old habit for me by now. It was one of the only ways I’d been able to survive in Night City up until now. But…I wasn’t the same person I’d been when I first came to the city. I was no longer just a man posturing with bravado and knowledge I shouldn’t have. Now, I had a gang that had fought in multiple wars backing me up. I had a seat at the table.
“That,” I said quietly, “would be horribly short-sighted.”
He blinked, a slow, deliberate movement. “Oh?” His tone was flat, tinged with irritation rather than surprise. He clearly wasn’t accustomed to people standing up to him. He was used to fear, the way it bent people to do what he wanted them to do.
“6th Street didn’t take us seriously. Now, look at them – pushed back, licking their wounds while the Valentinos sift through their old turf like vultures. The Animals?” I let a dry chuckle escape. “They’re not even a gang anymore. And the Voodoo Boys?” I leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, my voice dropping to a low murmur. “One day of fighting was all it took.”
A shadow crossed Hansen’s eyes. He wasn’t stupid; he caught the implication. He raised his chin defiantly. “Barghest isn’t some half-cocked gang bangers. My men are veterans – hardened, disciplined. They know war. They know how to fight, how to hold a line.”
“I think you’re giving them too much credit,” I said evenly, slipping a tablet from my jacket. I placed it on the table and nudged it toward him while taking another sip of my NiCola. “Maybe you should have a talk with Ross Ulmer. Turns out, one of your ‘trusted subordinates’ has been busy. Smuggling people in and out of Dogtown, skimming profits, selling Barghest’s gear to the highest bidder.”
The muscles in Hansen’s jaws flexed, a spark of fury flashing in his eyes before he was able to tamp it down. He flipped through the images on the tablet. It was all there – evidence meticulously gathered from Hands’ files, handed to me by John, packaged neatly as leverage.
“I used his services myself,” I continued. “Once upon a time. Needed to come to Dogtown and I didn’t want to leave a name on any visitor logs. And if I did, who else has slipped through?”
I reached into my jacket once more and pulled out a shard. Hansen’s eyes followed it as I placed it on the table and slid it across. He didn’t move to take it. Instead, Albert Murphy stepped forward, smooth as a shadow. He snatched up the shard and slotted it into his port. His eyes unfocused for a moment as he scanned the data, face tightening with each second that passed.
“Ross Ulmer isn’t the only one profiting off your blind spots,” I said, letting the words settle into the cracks of the room. “Turns out Hands, the former Dogtown fixer, had a mole in your crew. Guy named Chester Bennett. One of your top guys, isn’t he? Funny, because he’s been feeding intel to Hands for a long while – details about your operations, right under your nose.”
I watched Murphy’s face morph from shock to barely contained rage, confirming I’d struck gold.
“That shard’s got everything you need,” I continued, almost bored. “My people dug up the full correspondence – emails, recorded calls, documents. A tidy bundle of proof showing just how far the rot goes.”
Hansen’s eyes flicked to Murphy, doubt beginning to creep into the creases of his stern expression. I could almost hear the questions swirling in his head, his once unshakeable confidence starting to buckle.
“As for Hands, you don’t have to worry about him. I dealt with that problem a while back. He tried to have me killed, and I took offense,” I let a tinge of amusement creep into my voice. “Had to slip into Dogtown again, just to kill the guy. And guess what? Not a trace of me on any visitor logs. And I didn’t even use Mr. Ulmer’s services that time.”
The weight of the implication hit like a silent explosion. Murphy’s eyes darted to Hansen, looking for guidance, while Hansen’s shoulders tensed, the smallest tell of unease. I let the silence hang for a moment longer.
“So, if you think I’m here gambling with the lives of my people, think again. The fact you’re sitting there, and not ripping your way through my crew, tells me you’re smart enough to realize that shit has changed in this city. And now you know that I can bypass Dogtown’s security anytime I want.”
Hansen’s nostrils flared, his breath a controlled exhale as he steeled himself, no doubt readying some threat or proclamation of Barghest’s power. I didn’t give him the chance.
“You know…I liked Hands. He was amiable, polite even. But he threatened me and mine.” I put my NiCola down on the table and folded my hands together, meeting Hansen’s eyes with a look that I hoped said that there was no bluff here, only hard truth. “So, yea, I took out the guy who planted a mole in your organization and was setting up to replace you. The least you could do is show me a little goddamn gratitude.”
Hansen’s eyes narrowed at my words, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. The temperature of the room ratcheted up briefly. And then, he reassessed. Sure, I might look like a kid. But he had to have information on what I’ve done in my time in the city. I was making a name for myself, and that had to have filtered to him, even if he was stuck in Dogtown. He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair before cracking a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The metal tab of the NiCola can I’d handed him snapped open with a sharp pop.
“Alright,” he said, taking a sip of the NiCola. He placed the can back on the table, fingers tapping a steady rhythm on its surface – a signal for us to get down to business.
“The way I see it, Barghest has two choices moving forward. My people killed plenty of your clients in the Scavs. They were running your weapons across the city, delivering them to…whomever. And we also dealt with your IT support. So, sure, you could decide to start a war with The Pack, angry about our actions in Pacifica. But where does that get you?”
Hansen’s grin faltered, the edges of his mouth tightening into a thin line. I pressed on. “War doesn’t mesh well with business. 6th Street, the Animals, the VDB…they’re not doing brisk business anymore.”
He tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Why the Voodoo Boys? 6th Street came after you, probing to see if you were weak. I can understand you fending them off. The Animals probably figured they could muscle in and take you out while you were licking your wounds from the last war. But why did you start shit with the VDB?”
I let out a sigh. How much did I want to reveal? Did I want to tell him that I wanted an entire district of Night City to myself? Did I want to explain that the VDB were the weakest of the Night City gangs that I believed The Pack could challenge?
“There was a guy named Placide that worked for the VDB,” I said, the name tasting bitter on my tongue. “I didn’t like him.”
Hansen’s look told me he knew there was more to it.
“Plus, they were fucking with the Blackwall. Frankly, I deserve a medal from every major power for putting an end to that. I might run a gang, and I’m not a saint, but I’m not trying to kick off a terminator apocalypse.”
I waved my hand as if brushing the whole question of ‘why the VDB’ away. “The second choice you’ve got, is a partnership. Barghest and The Pack, working together. I’m trying to rebuild Pacifica and turn it into what it was meant to be: a shining jewel where corpos come to blow their eddies by the boatload. And when they’re done indulging in the clean, polished side, they’ll crave the real thrill – the black market deals, the under-the-table chaos that only Dogtown can deliver.”
Hansen’s fingers stilled on the table. I had his full attention.
“Beyond simply having a nicer district next to you,” I pressed on, “we can help move your weapons across Night City. You used the Scavs before, but do people really want to deal with those bottom feeders? Have you ever broken bread with the Valentinos? The Tyger Claws? I can deal with them. And I can open doors you’ve only just managed to crack.”
Hansen shifted slightly, the creak of his chair underscoring the room’s silence. His lack of response was telling – he was listening, getting into my vision and weighing my words.
“You’ve just lost your IT support. That’s a hell of a vulnerability when your clients expect you to guard their secrets.”
A flicker of interest passed across his face, so subtle that most would miss it.
“As it so happens,” I continued, “The Pack has recently come into possession of some of the finest netrunner tech in the city. Real state-of-the-art gear. If you need someone to keep all that intel under lock and key, I can make it happen.”
Hansen’s expression remained a carved mask of stone. His eyes never left mine, searching for any kind of tell or something that might betray a weakness. I waited, letting him chew on the offer.
Finally, he shifted in his seat. “Is that all?” He was trying to test my resolve.
I smiled. “Almost. You know as well as I do that your two biggest threats aren’t the gangs in Night City. It’s Militech and the NUSA. Both would pay good money to see your head mounted on a wall. And there’re two ways they can go about doing it: slip a hitter into Dogtown, maybe using Hands as a middleman, or roll in with an invasion force.”
Hansen’s jaw clenched, but I kept going. “Militech’s already got two members of the Night City council in their pocket. It’s leverage they’d use to try and squeeze you out. But The Pack has three. With me standing in the way, there’s no chance the council greenlights Militech or NUSA parking an invasion force outside Dogtown. The Voodoo Boys never had the muscle to make Militech hesitate to roll some tanks into Pacifica and rush your defenses. They couldn’t keep an army from massing at your gates. But I can. I’ve got both the political clout and the force to stop them in their tracks.”
Hansen’s eyes narrowed again, calculating. “And what is it you’re asking for in return?”
I leaned back, showing just enough nonchalance. “Not much. My people could use some extra firepower to hold Pacifica if and when the big players come sniffing around. And we can work out an arrangement on shipping and distribution for all the stuff you’re going to be selling throughout Night City – standard shipping costs, fees, commissions. Details we can iron out later.”
The room seemed to hold its breath as my proposal finished. Hansen’s gaze flicked to Albert Murphy, then back to me. Without a word, he grabbed his NiCola, drained it in one long pull, and crushed the can in his hand before standing up.
“Tell your people they’re free to leave Dogtown. Albert will be in touch to sort out the finer points of the deal.”