Honestly, I don't get all the complaints about Night City.
...Well, I obviously did. The rampant crime. The corrupt politicians. The economic downturn as a result of the Fourth Corporate War. How vulnerable people were to being exploited, whether it was by massive mega-corps and their higher-ups, who would, could and have killed to keep their positions, or by massive organised gangs filled with psychopaths and run by worse. The slow, painful death of the idea that things could ever change, that the mega corps or the gangs would ever be held to account for their actions. I could probably have gone on for hours about how fucked Night City was before I even got dragged and dropped here, and two weeks living here certainly didn't exactly change my mind, though in a strange way, I'd grown a little fond of it. Just a little.
It helps that I had some things going for me that made Night City was a hell of a lot more palatable than it normally would be, perks of being a Catalogue beneficiary. The first was a steady stream of Eurodollars. Not enough to really live it up like celebrities could back at home, and only a trickle compared to the exorbitant wealth owned by the continually more detached upper-class of the future. Not enough to buy Cyberware implants, that I definitely wanted, or Skill Chips, which I thought about and thought better of, but enough to rent a place that I could safely sleep, and to stock up on the vital preparations for my now-daily outings. Bullets, medicines, grenades, and guns.
And the second was the template I had been so generously allowed to stack, which made Night City remarkably habitable for the deteriorating yet glittering deathtrap that it was. A power that grew stronger the more I practiced, the more I learned, and the more I killed. A levelling system that made my existence like that of a video game character's, making me tougher, stronger, faster, better. The original "Gamer" system from the Korean Manhwa of the same name. It manifested somewhat differently according to my tastes, but the fundamentals were the same. Over the course of my second week in Night City, I'd been slowly and carefully pushing myself further, only ever targeting small groups of gang members that I could pick off from a distance, or on rare occasions taking the opportunity to mop up weakened and wounded survivors of gang skirmishes, which were more common than you'd think, in the poorer areas of Night City.
Fact of the matter was, in Night City, life was cheap.
The casual attitude this city had to violence worked in my favour though, in all sorts of ways. Shootouts started seemingly at a drop of a hat. Nobody bothered you when you rifled through the pockets of the dead, so long as you were out of the way. There were shooting ranges in every gun store, which you could just use for free. And when you asked questions about whether or not a specific guns could actually get through a Borg's cranial plating, the shop owners were surprisingly helpful, though of course, they were cyberpunk future capitalists, so I made sure to take things with a grain of salt.
And, best of all, walking into all hideouts and cleaning them of all sorts of scum was considered a viable profession, rather than the actions of a complete lunatic. Which was part of the reason why I found myself pacing through the Northside Industrial District of Watson, keeping my head on a swivel as I made my way to a specific abandoned warehouse as the sun slowly made it's way towards the horizon.
As far as I knew, Watson was one of the poorest districts in Night City. And when you took into account that Night City was voted to be the worse place to live in a Post-Apocalyptic America... it probably said something about how desperate people were that they still even came to work here for pennies. And the Northside Industrial District was the worst place in Watson to be, except maybe inside the Arasaka Waterfront without a damn good reason. The streets were nearly empty, and the few people I saw were either workers eking out the barest hints of a living or the utterly deprived, wandering around seemingly aimlessly.
Apparently this had been a thriving industrial centre of Night City once. Thousands were employed in factories, churning out goods and bringing in eddies. Japanese Zaibatsu, business conglomerates of incredible influence and size, had invested billions into Watson. They'd built factories, and had hoped to turn Watson into a self-sufficient and profitable district of Night City. That changed when Arasaka returned to Night City. The japanese mega-corporation simply swept aside it's competition, crushing the local production under the weight of their industrial output and deep pockets. And as the factories shut down, unable to compete with the economic giant and putting thousands out of work, Arasaka bought up the now-worthless real estate. A city district, ruined for port-access. I couldn't help but be somewhat impressed with the how casual ruining thousands upon thousands of lives had been, though to be fair, I could easily see myself making things worse for a lot more people in the long run when I got around to actually doing the job I was paid to do.
Shaking my thoughts of the future aside and looking back to the industrial centre, I could barely find it in myself to consider the place deteriorating, simply because that suggested that there was any lower it could get. I had once heard of the term, "Entropism". The idea of necessity over style. The style of poverty. Old, crude, decrepit and durable, and it fit the Northside of Watson to a tee. It was honestly depressing to look at, and worse to visit.
But I was here today for a reason. The first real test of my accrued skills and practiced power. I'd dipped in my toes a few times after the past two weeks, now I was going to wade a bit. Get the real Night City experience ™ .
The warehouse looked abandoned from the outside, but there were signs of the gang who had set up shop inside. Graffiti of human skulls, sometimes hybridised with guns, cyberware or spiders, or just all of the above. Maelstrom graffiti.
It looked cool as fuck. I considered taking a picture of it all for a moment, before shaking that thought out of my head. Later, I decided, when I was clear.
For all their sick-ass graffiti, Maelstrom weren't anything to gush over. They were one of the largest gangs in Night City, with the highest headcount being either them or the Scavs, depending on the season, and they were considered one of the most extreme and violent gangs as well, which said something, considering that it was Night fucking City. As an organisation, they were known for their obsession with the Net and cybertechnology, and their beliefs about such blended with and bordered on the occult, not that such things actually existed here. Their transhuman philosophy made their members mutilate their bodies with drastic cybernetic modifications, and they had a reputation for picking people off the streets and shoving chrome in them until they snapped.
And that wasn't even getting into the brutal and bizarre hit jobs. Or their maniac fighting style. To put it simply, they were monsters that nobody would miss, though if word got out about me doing this, the rest of them would probably try to hunt me down and skin me alive.
There were sounds of talking coming upstairs, only slightly audible over the sound of television programs. Some of the voices sounded unmodified, but others had a synthesised quality to them, signs of the cybernetic augmentation that Maelstrom loved so much. Slowly, I crept up to the door, the voices growing louder.
Quest Created!
Reap the Whirlwind
Details: Maelstrom. Nobody likes them. Nobody wants them. Nobody will miss them. Except Maelstrom, but that just means more borgs coming your way, right?
Reward: 4000 EXP
I took a deep breath, and did the last bits of set-up in my inventory. Normally, I kept a DR-5 Nova Revolver on my holster, visible at all times, to try and keep gang members from seeing me as an easy mark. It mostly worked. And sometimes I had even used it, too. But as cool as revolvers were, they just weren't good for shootouts. With some regret, I relegated it to the inventory, swapping my loadout for a pump-action shotgun. The M2038 Tactician, much like the Nova, was affordable. Gangs used them. Cops used them. I'd even seen shop owners pull them out, the one time I had witnessed an armed robbery. It was reliable, and much more suited to what I needed than a Nova. Unlike the Nova however, people didn't just walk around holding them, so most of the time, it stayed in the inventory.
I glanced it over, making sure that the safety was off. And then I swapped out to my other guns in sequence, checking each one as I went along. Several other Tacticians, so that I wasn't stuck reloading in the middle of a firefight. A few Copperheads, reliable and practical assault rifles, for volume of fire. And just in case, a single Defender Light Machine Gun. I'd never used it in an actual shootout. It was simply too heavy to lug around in a firefight, but if I ever ran head first into something nastier than a bunch of street toughs, hopefully this would keep it at bay.
Prep done. Now the last step. Buff stacking. I pulled a Bounce Back inhaler from my inventory, and took a deep pull.
[Buff Gained: Bounce Back Mk.1 - Minor Health Regeneration]
Then, I concentrated, shaping the internal wellspring of my energy, letting it flow through me, into my body, pooling in my mind.
[Buff Gained: Iron Skin - Minor Armour Stack]
[Buff Gained: Concentration - Minor DEX Multiplier]
Ever so slightly, my muscles seemed to tense on their own as my sense of touch seemed to deaden, and the hallway came into focus. I briefly considered going further, using my more obviously supernatural abilities to stack the deck further in my favour, before the sound of the doorknob turning made me freeze.
"-fuck you guys!" A man yelled back over his shoulder as he pulled the door open. "See for yourself if I-" That was as far as he got before a shot from the Tactician turned his half-meat, half-metal face to a mess of gore and scrap, sending white synthetic blood splattering through the air.
[+600 EXP]
Things rapidly devolved from there.
I ran into the room, shoving past the still falling body as another one of the Maelstrom gang members stood up, shouting. "Fucking-"/"SHIT!"/"BLOOD!" I raised my gun at one of them the moment I noticed he was already holding a gun, blasting him in the chest once, then twice, sending him right back into his seat as he began to choke, white blood staining the couch.
[+750 EXP]
The second I took aim at was the one closest to me, seated on a box and quickly wheeling around as his hands went to his side, "-Solo!" He yelled out, pulling the pistol out. On one hand, it was dope as fuck to hear someone call me a hired gun. On the other, it was slightly awkward, considering that this was literally my first real go at things and that I hadn't even been hired for this. On the third, cybernetic arm, I really should kill him before he shot me. Before he could point the gun at me, I pumped the shotgun before shoving him back with the stopping power of a shotgun in close quarters. He swayed, but his arm was relatively steady as he pointed his pistol at my chest and began unloading, signs of a pain editor keeping him cognisant. A few shots hit me in the chest as I charged, there wasn't enough time to pump the gun and no cover besides the doorway behind me, so I used the shotgun the only other way I could. [Power Strike]
A empowered swing of the shotgun slammed directly into his head, sending him reeling and causing the stock to crack as substandard materials were subjected to forces they weren't built to withstand. I flung the gun at the third guy, and inwardly swore as I missed by a country mile. I hadn't practiced throwing my gun at all in the two weeks of practice I'd had, and it showed. [Inventory]
A third man grinned as he crouched, Mantis Blades unfolding from slots in his arm. His eyes had been replaced with red street mod optics, and his forehead had a headplate installed, Maelstrom's signature look. "Stupid meat!" He crowed, jumping at me. I aborted my attempt to grab at my inventory window and instead charged into him, hoping that he wouldn't expect it, but he cut into my shoulders as I punched him directly in the ribs with another [Power Strike], sending him to the ground while I flinched from the cut.
[Debuff Gained: Minor Bleeding]
More shots slammed into me, the man that I had smashed with my tactician raising his gun at me again, but I fought through the dulled pain, ripping my second tactician out of my inventory and blasting him with it, disintegrating the meat parts of his neck and mangling his lower jaw as he fell limp, the pistol hitting the ground.
[+700 EXP]
[Health: 563/640]
I re-aimed my Tactician at the close-combat borg as he lunged at me, but I had forgotten to pump the gun, and I realised it only as his blades slammed into the gaps in my ribs. His red optics drew close to my face as he leered. "Feeeeel your meat lungs filling up with blood, worthless-" A shotgun blast to the chest left him gasping for air, and as I quickly pumped the gun and blasted him one more time for good measure. Without time for finesse, I ripped myself off of his arm blades, sending blood splattering everywhere as two more members charged into the room, holding assault rifles.
[+800 EXP]
[Debuff Gained: Major Internal Bleeding]
[Health: 458/640]
Okay, fuck subtlety. [Mana Barrier]. I punched the ground in a completely pointless gesture, and several layers of translucent blue spheres snapped into existence around me. "Waste him!" One yelled, and the two opened fire, trying to fill me with lead and instead only causing the first barrier to develop cracks and holes. The combined barriers wouldn't last for long, but all I needed was a few seconds, I scrambled for the inventory again, ripping a Maxdoc inhaler out of the window before taking a puff.
[Health: 586/640]
My wounds reknit themselves in an instant, and I pumped the Tactician right as the second mana barrier shattered, before juking to the side and dismissing the cracked third and final barrier. I fired immediately, blasting one in the shoulder and causing him to drop his Copperhead. The other one peppered me in the moment, but the shields reappeared for a split second as I pumped the gun. He dove to the ground, trying to get out of the way, but I tracked him mid-flight, the shotgun pellets outright ripping through his side. I pumped once, finishing off the one I had shot first as he tried to wield his assault rifle with his other arm, before quickly stepping up to the other as he writhed on the ground. In some far-off corner of my mind, I noted that he was the first one I had seen without a pain editor before the next shot outright decapitated him.
[+650 EXP]
[+500 EXP]
I took another Maxdoc Puff as my mind worked furiously. I had taken out five thus far, but I had noticed at least seven coming in and out over the course of my short stakeout a few days before. Maybe some were out, but it wouldn't hurt to act like that wasn't the case. More mana barriers snapped up as I swapped to a fresh Tactician, before I swept aside the bead curtains leading to the second room.
The television was still blaring, and some chairs had been obviously repurposed as cover for the two visible Maelstrom members behind them. Bullets deflected off of the shields as the pistols they wielded failed to penetrate. "Fuck kinda chrome is that?!" One of them yelled as he dove back behind cover. "Just keep fucking shooting- SHIT!" The other one screamed as I rushed forward, dropping the shield as I flanked her cover and blasted her directly in the exposed third boob.
I blinked incredulously, my mind doing a double-take as I watched her fall to the ground, clutching at her chest as it spouted red blood and strange blue fluid I couldn't even guess at identifying. The shield layers sprang back up around us as the man tried ineffectually to break through my shields with his peashooter. "Three boobs? Really?" I couldn't help but ask, as I cocked the gun. She didn't manage to answer before I reduced her lower jaw to paste.
[+600 EXP]
I turned to the last man, who seemed to be fumbling with a grenade, but before he could throw it, I blasted him right in the stomach, winding him and causing the armed bomb to drop to his feet. I immediately dove for cover, slamming as many mana barriers between me and the outside world as I could. The explosion was deafening, but after a moment I grit my teeth and got up, ignoring the ringing in my ears.
It turned out that I hadn't needed to do anything. The cover the man was hiding behind caught the worst of the damage, as did the man. His legs were disabled, having been shredded by the blast. The metal bones still worked, but his muscles were too torn up to move properly, causing him to stumble and brace himself on the couch he was using for cover. His head snapped up right as I pointed the Tactician at him, and before he could say or do anything, I blasted him directly in his face, sending him back into the wall as a hole was gouged out of his metal forehead. His body slid down, and I stared at him for a short moment, pumping the Tactician on reflex.
For moment, there was silence. And then, the system pinged me.
Quest Completed!
Gained 4000 EXP
Level Up! You are now Level 11.
You gained 5 stat points.
I let out a sigh of relief, relaxing slightly as I turned around, returning to the first room. Well, that could have gone better. I closed the door to the hideout, before starting to methodically double-tap and loot the maelstrom members I had faced. I ran out of shells on the Tactician after only clearing the first room, forcing me to swap to one of the Copperheads instead to finish double-checking. Maybe it was paranoid, but I wanted to make sure that no knowledge of how I had accomplished this got out. It seemed unlikely, but I sure as fuck didn't want people coming after me assuming I had experimental cyberwar implants or anything along those lines. The rooms didn't have windows, and I didn't find any cameras, so I was pretty sure nobody from the outside could have seen anything, but I was still worried.
But eventually, once I was satisfied, I sat back on the non-destroyed couch, taking a moment to relax. I began to reload the guns I had used throughout the fight, with the exception of the damaged Tactician that I had used first. Then, once that was done, I started to look over the loot that I had.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Most were in worrying condition, with damage numbers on them that looked somewhat below my current kit, and what wasn't was too small to be of any use. A few Unity pistols and other small arms with limited stopping power was laid out in front of me. And the only thing I considered keeping was a Unity with a paint job that I liked, and eventually, I dropped it into my inventory with a grin on my face. The rest was shoved into my inventory to sell at a later date.
My first big (little) job. Could have gone worse, could have gone better, but I had a pretty good idea of what my baseline was. And it had just gotten higher.
[Status].
Ron "Razzle" Robinson
Level 11
Cred 1
Title: Bottom Feeder
XP: 1300/6000
HP: 640
MP: 221/400
STR: 38
VIT: 46
DEX: 41
INT: 42
TECH: 22
CHA: 11
Unspent Points: 55
My mana was low, but that was to be expected of me spamming mana shields like I had. Individually, they simply didn't have enough strength to do anything but deflect small caliber fire, but together, it took several shotgun blasts to get through them all. Testing that had been a pain, and training it's durability and efficiency even more so, but the lifeline was worth it.
The only drawback was that a translucent energy barrier would raise questions. Questions that I couldn't afford as I currently was, so generally I kept it in my back pocket, a pocket ace for if I was in real trouble. I hadn't even used it in combat, until now. Maybe it was a bit cowardly to pull it out after only going down a quarter of my health, but being a bit of a wuss didn't seem like that much of an issue to me.
My mana regeneration was slow, but a few things could speed it up. Rest. Meditation. Some energy drinks. Mental stimulants. I glanced to the side of the room, where a mini-fridge sat in the corner, and smiled. "Well." I muttered to myself. "Not like they're using it, right?"
I pulled it open, expecting some cans. Maybe it'd be filled with dodgy beer. Or even more dodgy energy drinks.
[Bonus Objective Completed: Find the Hostage.]
What I didn't expect was a tied up, royally pissed-off pale-blue shorty glaring right back at me. Without even consciously thinking about it, I looked her up and down. [Observe]
Rebecca
Edgerunner
Lvl 23
Short, Sharp, and Seriously pissed off. Part of Maine's crew, working as a Solo. Has a tendency to get carried away in gunfights.
I thought about saying something. Then, because I had no brain-to-mouth-filter, I said it. "So, what brings you here this fine evening?"
The look that she gave me was as flat as she was.
Her eyes narrowed further, as if she had insight into my very thoughts. Or maybe because I was just kinda blankly looking at her. "Well! Guess we better get you outta this." I clapped my hands, distracting myself from my own tactless sense of humour before grabbing her by her ropes and yanking her out of the fridge. I positioned myself behind her out of her line of sight before pulling a knife out of my inventory and sawing through some of the rope after a couple of seconds of effort.
With a little work and a little help, she shook off the rest of the ropes, and tore the tape from her mouth. I winced at the sight, and the two of us stared at each other for a moment.
Eventually, she clears her throat awkwardly. "Uh... thanks, pal. So... you... you saved me?"
I tilted my head to the side for a moment, before looking back at her. "I think so, yeah."
A complicated expression appears on her face as I give the obvious answer to her obvious question. "Hm. Well... I appreciate it, I guess." She offered, looking around the room at the bodies of the gang members. "So... Uh... do I owe you anything? I don't really have much in the way of reward, but I could see if the crew could spare a few eddies if tha's what you want."
"...I mean, I'm not gonna turn down a reward..."I trail off, before shaking my head. This was getting way too awkward, even for me. "Actually, you know what? Screw it. Reset." I held out my hand for a shake. "Hey. The name's Razzle."
Rebecca stares at my hand for a moment, before grinning a bit. "Razzle? Heh. That's not the most preem name I've ever heard, but hey, I've heard worse." She accepts the shake, and I offhandedly note that she hasn't got the red and blue cybernetic arms yet. I thought she had smaller ones to help her handle her guns early in the series given her size, but her hands seem like the ones that she was born with, discounting her entire body being blue and all. "Y'can just call me Becca. And, y'know, thanks again for the help there."
"No prob. Didn't expect to find you here, I'll admit." I said, scratching my head. "Sounds like there's a story there."
"It's... kind of a long story." She muttered, scratching her head. "But hey, long story short, I got kidnapped by some ratty-ass Maelstrom gonks, and they were goin' to use me as bait for my crew. Glad you showed up when you did."
I winced slightly. "Okay, please slow down with the gratitude. I think I'm going to combust out of shame." I muttered, avoiding eye contact. Partially out of embarrassment. Partially because I had no trust in my ability to look at her without my gaze roaming. Rebecca was dressed in jacket and little else, with only some underwear to cover up. No shirt, no skirt, nothing. It showed off how total her skin mods were, and pretty much every tattoo she had. I had only barely caught myself from staring at the tattoos on her collar before I decided the better course of action was to look away.
"Hey, hey, don't be weird about it!" Rebecca said, smacking my shoulder. "Trust me, you're a preem guy for doin' me a solid."
I took a deep breath. "Right. Sure." I muttered. "Well, all that aside, what now? You mentioned a crew?" I probed.
She perked up at that. "Oh right, yeah." Her eyes began to grow bright gold, indicating that she was giving somebody a call on her cyberware. I took a moment to consider her. I'd been busy over the course of the last two weeks, but one of the big things that I had yet to test was the Hypnosis App. Just hadn't found a good opportunity or reason to use it, when I had a thousand other skills and stats to grind and develop, but now that Rebecca was here in front of me... the idea turned itself over in my mind as I watched her make her call.
...It was risky. Too risky, I eventually decided. So I wasn't going to do it. Not yet, at least. Maybe later. I looked back into the fridge, pulling out a bottle. "...The hell?" I muttered, looking it over.
Maelstrom Mix
Just the thing after a long day of blasting fleshbags and screaming into the void of cyberspace.
-5 Health/Sec
+1 Mana/Sec
Effect Duration: 20 Secs.
I briefly considered it, checking the expiry date before shrugging. Better than nothing. I twisted off the cap, giving it a quick sniff before putting it to my lips and tilting my head all the way back. Slowly, it poured down my throat. It far too sweet, and it had a somehow powdery aftertaste to it. I grimaced, but kept chugging.
"Razzle, what the hell are you doing?" Rebecca asked, her eyes still glowing gold.
I blinked, looking at her, then looking at the bottle, then looking at her again. "I was thirsty?" I offered as an explanation.
"...Jeez, you got no chill, you know that?" She sighed. "You know Maelstrom puts motor oil in their booze, right?"
I stopped and stared, before looking at the bottle. "Ah." Then, I shrugged and took another swig. Body Defence could probably handle it.
----------------------------------------
The ride over to Watson was unusually quiet. Normally, Pilar and Rebecca would have been at each other's throats, or Pilar would have at least been loudly showing off his sense of humour, but instead Pilar was uncharacteristically quiet, just looking out the window at the streets grew progressively more dilapidated. Lucy had a cold look on her face that had grown worse when Maine had told the rest of the crew the plan, and to say that Maine and Dorio looked murderous was an understatement. Kiwi seemed like her usual stoic self, but had stamped out her cig as soon as she heard what was up.
And David was on edge. Maelstrom. He'd done jobs going up against Arasaka and Scavs before, but Maelstrom had a special kind of rep, the kind you got for cutting people to bits and leaving them staining the streets. Not that he was scared of them or anything, but over the course of the two weeks he'd spent with the crew, he'd felt a growing camaraderie. Now, that had given way to a lump of concern and caution. What if, when they got there, the gangoons showed off pieces of the small solo who'd tried to teach him how to shoot?
He hated this feeling of powerlessness. Waiting. It reminded him of his mom. Of the crash. Of the news afterwards.
David grit his teeth, looking at the iron in his hands as he checked it over. He'd need it. He'd use it. Maine had wanted him to act as rescue, using his relative anonymity and lack of rep to as well as his Sandevistan as an ace, and hadn't really given him any instructions for the fight that would inevitably ensue afterwards, but Maine's training and advice stuck in his mind. The only problem was, his hand just wouldn't stop fucking shaking.
"Got a call." Maine's curt voice suddenly cut in, jolting David out of his headspace. "It's Rebecca. She's fine."
The tension on the car relaxed a little, "What happened?" Dorio asked.
"Somebody showed up and handled Maelstrom for us. Found her and cut her loose." He snorted. "Apparently a solo Solo."
"What's the read?" Kiwi asked.
Maine paused, his eyes glowing gold from where David could see in the rear view mirror. "...New guy trying to make something of himself. New guns. New gear. Not just some streetkid wannabe, but still completely green."
Kiwi leaned back in her seat. "Hm. Anything else?"
"Apparently he chugged a bottle of Maelstrom booze and didn't even know what was in it." Maine muttered.
There was disbelieving snort from Kiwi. "Just some gonk trying to build a rep." She shook her head. "Only in Night City."
There was a brief cackle from Pilar. "Wait, so what you're saying is that Becca got her ass pulled out of the fire by a civvie playing at street samurai?" He shook his head with a snort. "Man, why the hell am I even cooped up back here? We coulda' just had David walk in and klep her." He jabbed a gold-plated, many jointed finger at the boy as he mentioned him. "Well... Maybe not, considering the scav bust."
David couldn't help but wince, the scav bust hadn't been his best moment, a week of training and hyping himself up for his second job, just to get his nose bloodied by a bottom feeder with a baseball bat while the rest of the gang did all the work, Pilar still couldn't help but bring it up every time they met. "Hey, c'mon." He protested. "It was one time."
"How are we approaching this, then?" Dorio spoke up, cutting off the ribbing Pilar was about to deliver. He gave the muscular woman in the front an affronted look that she readily ignored. "Strong front?"
Maine just shook his head. "Nah, we've got nothing to prove here. We walk in, pick up Rebecca, walk out. No need to get complicated."
"And if the idiot who just walked into a Strom den all by his lonesome tries to further his rep once he realises he's talking to an Edgerunner crew?" Kiwi raised an eyebrow.
"Do you really need to ask?" David caught a flash of a grin on Maine's face in the rear view mirror.
"Wait." David muttered, looking between Kiwi and Maine. "Nobody's gonna be dumb enough to look at the rest of us and think they can take us, right?" Then he stopped, and thought about what he just said. He sighed. "Nevermind."
"There's all kinds of people in Night City, David." Lucy sighed. "And there's plenty of them with something to prove. To the city or themselves."
"It's a common story." Dorio said. "Somebody reads the Enforcer's Handbook, tries out a few too many Solo braindances and all of a sudden they think they're the next Morgan Blackhand. They pick up a gun, walk into gang territory and make themselves a headline."
"Bunch of boosters high on fumes from the real legends of Night City." Pilar gave a bit of a wave. "You'll run into a few of them as an Edgerunner, kid. Just don't take any shit and shoot out their kneecaps and you'll be fine." He gave a snort. "Most of the gonks don't even have any chrome. Not even a pain editor. You ain't lived till you see some 'ronin'," He said with air quotes. "Curled up on the ground and crying for mama."
David tried to laugh. It came out a little awkward.
"We're here." Maine said, and as the car stopped. He opened the door. "Look alive."
They filed out of the car, David gave a brief look of interest at the graffiti covering the inside of the warehouse as they entered, but decided not to comment. Maine's finger tapped his shoulder, and David nodded, going with Lucy and walking around the building.
He positioned himself behind a garage door, and Lucy's eyes briefly flashed gold as they waited. Eventually, the door opened and she gave him a nod, and he went in.
As he walked up the stairs, he heard Rebecca talking to someone. "-If you really want a proper street sweeper, don't bother with a Tactician, just get your hands on a Carnage. Now that's a gun that won't break when you swing it at a guy's faceplate."
"I asked about that. Apparently, they're pretty much impossible to reload in the middle of a fight." The other voice said. He sounded pleasant. There was an appealing quality to his voice, which made David wonder if it was chipped.
"Pfft. Whoever said that only said it 'cause they don't sell Carnages." Rebecca waved him off.
"...And the whole breaking my arms when I fire it, thing?" The man asked, his hesitance jiving poorly with his smooth tone. "Actually, wait a sec. Have you ever fired a Carnage before?"
"Sure I have!" She bragged. "It's all in the wrist. You gotta be limber, y' know what I'm saying? Let the gun go where it wants."
There was silence, and David could almost see the look on the man's face as he imagined Rebecca firing a Carnage. David had seen her try it at the gun range. It generally resulted in the recoil sending her to the wall behind her with peals of laughter.
David and Lucy came in from the back right as the rest of Maine's crew entered from the front. Surrounding the other party was just another piece of Night City diplomacy, a tool in the belt. Or at least, that's what he'd been taught by Maine.
The guy sitting in the middle of the room definitely looked green. His new jacket had obvious plates underneath, jutting out in places, and the Tactician he had looked almost factory new, except for the massive crack running down the stock. He had blonde hair, and a thoughtful look on his face as he took another swig from the bottle. He perked up as he saw Maine enter, and David could have sworn there was a brief glint in his eye as he turned around to regard David. The way his eyes lingered on Lucy made him straighten up, but before David said anything, the man winced and tore his eyes away from her, looking back at Maine.
"Ladies, gentlemen. May I present to you..." He gestured towards Rebecca, but then seemed to visibly cut himself off, an awkward look crossing his face.
"...Your lost Solo?" Rebecca offered with a sardonic grin, to which the man nodded.
"Yeah. That. And nothing else." He said, taking the out that was presented to him.
Maine just gave a grunt. "Well, if that'll be all, we'll be taking 'our lost solo' and splitting." He said, his arms folded.
The guy just shrugged. Rebecca gave him a clap on the back as she walked over to Maine. "Chin up, Raz. Just keep doin' what you're doin'. You'll be picking up jobs and raking in eddies in no time!"
Raz blinked, before thinking for a moment. "Right. Sure. See you later then, I guess." He got up off the couch, and seemed to consider placing the bottle on the fridge, before he seemed to think better of it and kept it on him. He regarded the entrance that Maine had come in from, before turning around and walking towards David, obviously intimidated by Maine's stature. "S'cuse me." He said, quietly.
"Sure." David muttered back as he stepped to the side.
The guy blinked and focused on David for a moment. "Wait, Aether?" David just stared at him in confusion as he shook his head. "Actually, never mind." He stepped past him, walking down the metal stairs.
As he got further away, Lucy sent him a message as her eyes flashed gold. 'he reacted to your voice. what-what's up with that?'
'no idea-idea. never seen him before in my life.' He sent back. 'and I never did any voice gigs. don't have the talent or the time.'
Lucy's eyes narrowed slightly, but she seemed to let it go, turning back to the rest of the crew.
"So..." Rebecca started off.
"We're not taking in another stray." Maine's tone brokered no argument. "Training David's already cutting into our time enough."
"I'm not thinking of adding to the crew, just keeping tabs!" Rebecca waved him off. "In case we ever need someone without any ties or rep to help out a little, 's all."
"If he lasts another month." Kiwi said, sarcastically. "Did you see how he looked at us? He was barely even on his guard. No plan. No fallback." She took a drag on her cig. "No idea what he's doing."
"Aw, can it, Kiwi. Trust me, it'll be the next big thing to sweep Night City." Pilar said as he threw his hand over Rebecca's shoulder and waved the other in front of him, acting as if he were surveying a majestic view. "The middle-class office drones, all picking up Carnages and somehow not breaking their backs trying to lift 'em. You're just not seeing it, Kiwi. But I do, legions of former corp fodder washing over Watson, flushing Maelstrom out of the district for good." He nodded sagely. "And we'll be picking up gigs from them to steal black market paint for their new concrete cubicles."
"Suck a dick, Pilar." Rebecca groused.
"Wait a sec." Lucy spoke up. "Where are all the guns?"
There was a pause as the group took in her words, before looking at the bodies. David ignored the feeling in his gut as he looked closer at the shot up bodies of the gangoons. Lucy was right. None of them had any iron on them.
"Guess he musta klepped it all?" Pilar offered with a shrug.
"With what? I didn't see a bag on him." Lucy said with a serious look on her face.
"Then he took it downstairs before we got here." Pilar waved her off. "It's not rocket science."
Rebecca frowned, looking like she was thinking, but before anyone could say anything, Pilar dug his cyberhands into her hair and started ruffling it. "So, how'd these maelstrom gonks manage to bag you, if they all got wiped out by some nobody, eh? Ehhh?" He leered, an easygoing grin on his face.
Rebecca whirled around with a wrathful look on hers, and things rapidly devolved from there.