I quietly pulled out a sealed plastic box from my cargo bag as I took a seat nearby a gathering of locals, turning it over and carefully reading the instructions labeled on its side. After a moment of thought, I pressed the tag firmly down. In a moment, the sides of the bowl heated until it was scalding hot. Thankfully, the skills I had kept me from flinching as I set the bowl on my lap.
I'll give the corporations credit. Their advertising was a nightmare to watch and the circumstances they engineer are worse, but there's delight to be found in the little things. Like their instant meals, for one.
As I sat there waiting for the warmth to distribute throughout my dinner, I looked around the interior of Megabuilding H10, seeing if I could find my target.
The place was different from Megabuilding H11, but only in terms of layout. Otherwise, I could see pretty much everything I'd seen before. The throngs of people from all sorts of life paths making their way through the concrete structure in a way that reminded me of insect hives. Luminescent glows of neon displays and television screens blaring this message or displaying that logo. An array of storefronts, residential blocks and facilities all around me, stretching up to the skies. And of course, the omnipresent stale scent of trash.
It was only after coming here and seeing it all again that I'd realized that I'd missed it, if only a little. Worn and haggard as they were, these arcologies were feats of engineering that I'd never known during my time. They were a sorry sight to look at, but they were awe-inspiring at the same time, if only to think about what they could have been.
In the back of my mind, I recalled that this was where the player character of the game stayed. I wondered if I would find them here, if I decided to look. I repressed that whim with a shake of my head. No point in going looking for trouble, I had plenty of shit to do.
Like that self-assigned quest, for starters.
Substory: The Slickest Rick
Details: You're not getting paid for this. You're not getting fame for this. Hell, whatever bust-up you're walking into probably won't even rate. Still, it's good to get back into the swing of things, isn't it? Handle things however you want. It's your quest, after all.
Reward: 1000 EXP
…Thank you, piece-of-me-I'm-not-entirely-sure-about-the-metaphysical-aspects-of, but did I really need a reminder?
Whatever. With the subtle flick of a finger, the invisible window vanished. A tab on the lid of the bowl suddenly popped up and steam shot out. I looked down and grinned to myself. Dinnertime.
I tugged the lid off of my prepak meal and glanced inside. The packaging was flagrantly deceptive, no big surprise. Whereas on the box there was a large, cleanly cut and crispy chicken cutlet paired with vegetable curry and rice, inside was a soggy and much smaller piece of fried chicken that was accompanied by a large square cake, formed from synthetic rice smooshed in the box so much it looked a bit more like a paste than cooked grain.
Still, it looked good compared to the stuff I'd been having over the course of the last month, and what was more, it tasted good too. The texture was off in a way that I struggled to put my finger on. The curry was watery, and the carrots inside somehow gave to my teeth in a manner reminiscent of tofu, but the soggy chicken was still chicken as I recognized it.
Other meals had sated. This one satisfied. A haze came over me, and before long, I was scooping rice grains out of the corners and lapping up what was left of the curry. I'd have trouble going back to cat food and Buck-a-Slice after that. Unfortunate, given that the meal had cost me nearly three times as much as my usual, but such was life in the Dark Future. I'd have to find steady work, and soon.
Off to the side, the small crowd of locals was eyeing me with expressions I had trouble parsing, but I paid them little mind as I got up. [Sorairo Days] pointed me to the nearest garbage can and I followed the directions as I thought to myself.
Apparently, Rick's business was located close by, on the 10th floor. I couldn't deny it, I was getting excited. Back when Regina had been handing missions out, they were like boxes on a list to tick off. I'd still taken care with each one mind you, making sure that the people I was going after were the kind I'd go after anyways, but ultimately I wasn't invested in them more than I was invested in earning a few thousand eddies.
Each eurodollar I obtained was time on the clock where I could live in relative luxury, progress towards my goal of growing stronger, a bullet for the stockpile and so, so much more, but what it wasn't was a difference made in Night City. That could only be accomplished through action.
Thinning the numbers of Maelstrom, Scavengers and so on was something I'd done to little effect. The gangs were still there, in Northside, all across the city, making headlines when the media came across their brutal displays or the NCPD would raid their dens for missing folks.
This would hopefully be satisfying. An incident that I could wrap up nice and neatly and put behind me, a job well done.
I stepped into an elevator, turning my attention to the news as I waited. On the screen, a woman shuffled papers with a confident smile, "-In other news, a terrorist group has emerged in Arrayo. Declaring itself a 'Union of Laborers', these self-proclaimed representatives of the working class have been organizing riots and strikes. Their actions have resulted in financial losses in the hundreds of thousands, and they are armed and dangerous. Should you encounter a 'union representative', remember that you have a right to self-defense. With such dangerous criminals, remember that warning shots may not serve as an effective deterrent."
"Speaking of dangerous criminals, in the Badlands, Nomad inter-clan disputes and-" I tuned out the news report as I scoffed to myself. A flash of heat and anger passed through my mind, and I found myself speaking before I could stop it.
"You know, self-proclaimed, I can sorta see. But goddamn, they're stretching the truth so far it'd go to the moon and back." I muttered out loud. My eyes flickered to the side, where a woman was carefully not making eye contact, her gaze inching in my direction before snapping away again once she realized I was looking. Meanwhile, she held a child I assumed was hers with a white-knuckled grip as he winced, looking at me with a curious, vacant expression.
I glanced to the other side of me, where a man in a relatively spiffy suit was staring straight ahead, not paying me or my words the slightest attention as he coughed into a wet wipe. His face puckered as he looked at the result, and as he tossed it aside, I noticed a splotch of red spreading over the wipe. I looked away, awkwardly. What would I even say? See a doctor? The healthcare system of the Future was so fucked that it either cost and arm or a leg or barely even worked.
Not like anyone here would know what I was talking about, anyways. Maybe those who had lived to see the turn of the century would understand how shocking it was to see the disparities between my world and theirs, and even then, how many could really comprehend how different it was? Hell, I'd lived in both and I could still barely describe it.
My stop approached with a soft *ding* and I stepped out, following a neon orange trail of wires on the ground as they guided me to my destination. I glanced around for the end, only to stop and stare as I realized where I was being led.
Between a Kiroshi Opticals clinic and a Japanese restaurant, there was a set of saloon doors and wallpaper emulating wooden boards peeling slightly off the concrete. Over the doors, a sign lit from within proudly declared the name of the place: "The Ace In The Hole".
And beneath the saloon doors, [Sorairo Days] formed arrows which glowed softly.
As I pushed the doors open, I was greeted with a baffling sight. Inside, I saw a good deal of Scavengers making themselves at home, along with a number of folk in leather vests, boots with spurs, cowboy hats and bandanas. Off to the side, there was a stage with a small crowd gathered nearby. On it, a woman in a burlesque outfit performed a not-even-slightly period appropriate pole dance.
The walls were covered with distressed wood wallpaper that was roughly patched over with more wallpaper, but the floor was genuinely made of wooden planks. How the hell they had gotten the permission for this, I had no idea. On the walls were all sorts of appropriate decor, from a billboard with bounties and horseshoes tacked on, period paintings, old clocks and even a cattle skull that [Analyze] confirmed was the real deal, while overhead, a holographic screen was playing a Spaghetti Western.
Nobody noticed as I made my way through the bar, until I set my foot down in the wrong spot and a loud creaking noise echoed throughout the room. As I froze in place, heads both holo-masked and not turned my way quickly, until it felt like more than half of the people in the room were staring at me.
I did my utmost not to swear, and continued to walk, taking my seat at the bar, where a bartender approached, looking much more wary than before.
"So, pardner." He declared, polishing a glass with a rag. "What will it be?"
I stared at him as I slowly parsed what the fuck was happening. Finally, I opened my mouth. "I'd like to see the menu, please."
"Suit yerself." He said, rapping his knuckles on a board behind him.
I scanned it quickly. "Nothing non-alcoholic?"
The bartender snorted. "You want something without alcohol, you can piss right off to the corner store."
Just great. I breathed out long and hard through my nose as the back of my neck prickled with warning. I glanced to where [Sorairo Days] was pointing, a door in the back of the bar. It didn't seem like the kind of place that was open to the public. And besides…
I glanced behind me with a flat look. Several faces stared right back at me with unreadable expressions. I turned my head back and raised my eyebrows to myself, a tight smile on my face. I certainly wasn't going to be able to sneak in unnoticed.
This certainly wasn't something that I'd encountered in the game, but I had enough knowledge of Night City to guess at what I'd walked into. A posergang.
The gangs in Night City weren't just the powerful and numerous that ran broad parts of the city as their turf, there were smaller ones too, tucked into blocks, neighborhoods, and usually beneath the larger gang's noses, fulfilling as many niches as there were facets of the mind. There were classification for gangs, because some people (like me) liked putting things in boxes, though not everyone agreed on how they ought to be split up.
Posergangs were one of the categories. Gangs were organized groups of criminals, but keeping an organization together and coherent took effort, especially when working outside the law with the dregs of society. In some cases it was as simple as a logo, other times they followed a cause that every member worked towards, sometimes they were centered around beliefs, from racial supremacy to fake moon landings.
In rare, unusual cases, they were centered around certain identities, or archetypes. I vaguely remembered reading about a gang of people who'd biosculpt themselves to look like famous celebrities, or groups who all wore clown outfits and wore makeup as part of their uniform. This looked like something similar, a small-time gang borrowing from the culture of the Wild West to distinguish themselves from the rest.
This day… well, it was certainly going places. Not places that I understood, mind you, but places nonetheless.
As I pondered on how I was going to make my way in, bar the obvious, bloody method, I heard several sets footsteps making their way closer. I turned around as they approached, seeing three men wearing bandanas, cowboy hats and ponchos. The one in front folded his arms, jerking his chin at me. "Never seen you around these parts before." He drawled.
A flash of inspiration came to me, and I gave an easy grin as I leaned back, going along with the 'script'. When in Rome… "Rode in just a while ago." I offered with a shrug.
The man tilted his head from side to side, apparently judging my words and appearance. "We don't take well to pseudos here- around these parts." He corrected himself at the end, before narrowing his eyes dangerously, bulldozing over his slipup. "Git, boy. Get outta our turf, before you find yourself buried in it."
I considered his demand, drumming my fingers on the countertop. I was pretty confident in my chances, though being surrounded like I was a little concerning. There were maybe a dozen and a half in the bar, and though I only had twelve shots, that was what I had grenades for.
That being said, kicking off a gunfight immediately seemed a little much. I didn't have much knowledge of the situation, though [Analyze] wasn't painting a pretty picture of the people here, and neither was my scanner as it flickered through the crowd. Every Scav here was charged with being affiliated with a gang at the minimum, and given that it was the Scavs, that was worth a bullet as far as I was concerned, while the posergang members had a plethora of crimes to their names, some minor, some not.
However, these people weren't necessarily who I was after, and I didn't want to make violence my first go-to when I ran into obstacles. Or at least, not obstacles like these.
Still, that didn't mean that I was just going to roll over and wander off. I put on a drawl as I got into character. "Maybe I will, but I got some burnin' questions that I'd like answered before I ride off." I gave the man in front of me a grin as I gave a half-shrug. "Don't suppose you've ever heard of a fellow named… Rick Austin?" I asked with a tawdry drawl.
The man in front really didn't like my attempt at a western accent. He stepped closer, hands going to his waist. "And who the fuck's asking?" He demanded, all traces of a southern drawl gone from his voice.
"Just a mysterious stranger from afar, nothin' to worry about." I grinned, keeping my gaze focused on his face, but still making note of the position of his arm. Maybe I should push back with a threat of my own, though maybe substantiating it would be tough. My eyes flickered behind him, considering the various props laid out all across the room as an idea flashed through my mind.
Before I could act on it though, someone stepped in. "Whoa there, partner." A new voice chimed in, and my eyebrows briefly shot up before I slowly looked around, seeing a confident looking man with gray hair who was wearing a leather vest over what was clearly armorjack, and high-quality stuff too, judging by the way the armor plates flexed as he walked over to our little gathering. He had a hat with a sheriff's star on it, and he used a clearly cybernetic arm to wave them off. "No need to treat new recruits with such vitriol."
Judging by the way that the man in front of me straightened, the new guy was a big shot of some kind. "Boss, I was just… I thought. I mean…" A southern drawl resurfaced, though it was rough around the edges. "Right, no need to treat new blood that way, right, fellas?" He said with a forced laugh, poking one of the two behind him with his elbow.
There was nodding and general sounds of accord as the three of them shuffled nervously. The new guy didn't seem like the leader of the whole shebang, and I glanced at him with [Analyze] to make sure.
"Wild" Bill Butch
Cowboy
Lvl 18
Str: 24
Vit: 34
Dex: 58
Int: 10
Tech: 38
Cha: 36
The good apple in a bad batch. Lieutenant of the Silver Aces.
Notable Abilities: Cyberarm.
A lieutenant, a strange stroke of luck, then. Bill took a seat next to me, "Bartender! Two shots of whiskey, for me and this stranger here." He called out.
As the bartender deftly uncorked a bottle and poured us our drinks, Bill gave me a nod. "You have a dangerous look in your eye, sonny, and less sense than a bullet. Mind telling me what you were thinking?"
I paused, thinking his question over. I decided to indulge in a little wordplay, with a shred of the truth knotted with another. "Heard interesting things about the local scenery. Storm blew me this direction, and I figured 'Hey, what the hell? Might as well take in the view.'" I caught a shot glass sent sliding across the table and raised it, and Bill clinked his shot with mine.
"This led to that, and eventually, I found myself a little lighter on dollars than I'd like, and I decided to take on work. Asked for directions, and now here I am." I didn't like alcoholic drinks much, but when the occasion demanded it, I'd take a shot if I had to. I sipped my drink slowly.
[Effect Blocked: Minor Intoxication]
"Interesting story, stranger." Bill said, before taking a big gulp out of his glass. "There's something else that I wanted to ask you, though. Where'd you hear the name Rick Austin from?"
"From folk with nowhere to turn to. I decided to help out, thanks to the kindness of my heart and the emptiness of my wallet." I turned to the rest of the bar and looked it over with a neutral expression. "Now that I'm here, though… well, I gotta say, this town ain't what I expected."
Bill pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. "What'd you think of it?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at me.
"Haven't seen enough of it to make any calls, yet." Though what little I had seen wasn't looking like something I wanted to leave standing by the time this night was over. My vision slowly scanned the interior of the bar, before my eye caught on a piece of decor again.
Bill spoke up. "You've been looking at the wall with a strange look in your eye for a while now, sonny. Mind telling me what that's all about?"
I saw no harm in answering, so I pointed over to a wagon wheel on a hook, hung up next to a set of barrels and crates that seemed to be more for decoration than anything else. "Had an idea to shoot out six different spokes of that wheel over there, to prove my aim. Figured that if that didn't get him to back off, nothing will."
Bill snorted. "And when the rest of the bar decided to put lead in you?"
"That's what I got the other gun for." I shot back with a grin.
There was a guffaw from Bill. "Sonny, I don't know what kinda Iron or Chrome you're packing, but thinking like that's going to get you a bullet in the back one day." He shook his head.
"That might be the case, but I'm hoping to leave this world better than I found it, not the same as it was." I stated honestly. Still, I could see the sense in his statement. "That being said, I'm not exactly versed in local customs, and I'm not particularly adept at reading faces either." I shrugged.
"Sounds like it." Bull puffed his cigar thoughtfully, looking me over. "Why don't I go ahead and introduce you to our little posse, then? Maybe we can make an honest crook out of you."
Unlikely. I thought his offer over anyways. "Will Rick be there?"
"Sure he will." Bill said, with a grin. "Might as well settle whatever business the two of you have beforehand."
Whelp. "I'm sold." I said, setting down my shot glass with a clink. "How soon do we meet?"
"How does 'right now' sound?" Bill offered, jerking his head to the door.
"Pretty good to me." I said, getting up. "Lead the way."
----------------------------------------
I was brought down a corridor, past a few closed up rooms that I could only guess at the purposes of. I felt a brief cold chill as we passed by a few of them, and was quietly interested for a brief period. I hadn't seen a walk-in fridge in a long while, and I'd never seen one in the dark future. Have they changed to any degree? I discarded the thought as we came to a final set of doors at the end. Bill didn't knock, but it seemed like the man behind the desk was expecting me anyways.
He was dressed up in a slightly different way than the rest of the gang was. He had all the elements of a wild west outfit, with a shirt, vest, trousers and so on, but the textures and fabric were more obviously artificial, reminiscent of Night City Corpo fashion.
The office was also different. It had a little bit of decor like the bar had, with four bounty posters on the walls that couldn't be the slightest bit accurate, considering the fact that "Dead or Alive" wasn't really a thing in Night City, and the fact that the reward offered when put together was nearly as much as the car in my inventory, but was a clean, artificial vibe to the office. 'Richard', 'Bill', 'Doc' and 'James', with last names and nicknames I couldn't be bothered to remember.
Whereas the bar had stank of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and had a dozen out-of-place features that were probably added to appease the gang members, it felt like the Wild West elements were what was out of place instead, thrown in as an afterthought.
The man behind the desk had his fingers interlaced, and he looked at me with disinterest. After I'd taken in the office, I held eye contact with him for a time, waiting for him to say something. Bill coughed and I blinked, turning to look at the older man as he gestured towards the desk and the man behind it. "This here's Rick, one of the core members of our little outfit. Honestly, he's one of the closest things to a leader we have." He chuckled a little, shaking his head. "He'll help you get set up."
"Oh-" I glanced at Rick for a short moment, [Analyzing] him for information. "-Kay?"
"Driftwood" Rick Austin
Poser
Lvl 11
Str: 18
Vit: 23
Dex: 9
Int: 26
Tech: 9
Cha: 24
The money-man, and therefore the root of all evil. Functionally the leader of the Silver Aces.
Notable Abilities: N/A.
Rick spoke up. "We'll see about that, Bill." His eyes flickered to a metal folding chair laid in front of the desk. "Have a seat."
Bill shook his head and chuckled as I gave him an uncertain look. "You'll be fine. Now, if you don't mind me, I'm going to go enjoy the company of my pipe outside." He turned his back on the two of us, and soon Rick and I were alone.
There was a harsh metallic creak as I sat down. The chair didn't look like it was meant to be comfortable in the slightest, with an exposed metal frame that I could vaguely feel through my armorjack and hardened skin, while the seat itself was a flat, thin piece of metal that felt wrong to sit on.
I took a moment to try and figure out how I was supposed to relax in the thing, the chair was far too short for my legs, and the desk in front was far too close. There was the sound of metal scraping on concrete as I scooted back a little. And then a little more, trying to find a sweet spot. I wasn't going to be so informal that I would cross my legs or anything, but I still constantly felt the soreness of having my Inventory be filled over capacity, and I'd take what little comfort I could justify.
There was a cough, and I looked up from where I was fiddling with the chair. Rick was looking at me with a flat expression that bordered on outright annoyance, just barely lacking the effort required to express frustration. Without saying a word, he communicated a simple message. 'You are wasting my time.'
I took a moment, thinking about the best course of action, before I leaned in with a pleasant smile, resting my arms on my legs. "So…" I began, only to realize that I had absolutely no idea how to begin a conversation with a gang leader. "Okay, cards on the table here, I'm kinda just here to ask you to drop a guy's debt." I outright admitted with a helpless shrug. "I'm not entirely sure where Bill got the idea I was here to join. I was just going with the flow."
The man seemed to study me for a moment, his eyes narrowing. I let my hands drop and waited patiently for him to respond. It took a while, but eventually he spoke up. "I don't suppose you have a name for who's debt you're looking to resolve?" It was at this point that I noticed that whereas every other gang member had at least pretended to have a Western accent, Rick didn't bother in the slightest.
"Uh…" Right. The guy's name. That would be an important part of the process, wouldn't it? Why did I feel so unprepared, again? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I'd expected to be investigating Rick, not having an office chat. I snapped my fingers a few times before the proverbial lightbulb lit up over my head. "William! William Douglas." I stated.
There was a lull in the conversation, and the sound of Rick using the computer terminal filled the silence as I waited. I raised a finger as I considered volunteering more information, noting the five-thousand dollar debt that he was saddled with, but I decided better of it and bit my tongue, waiting for him to speak again.
"I see." He finally said, looking at the computer screen before looking over to me. "So I take it that you're planning to take on the debits of the creditor?"
I took a moment to consider the question, though I pretty much instantly figured out my answer. Fuck no I wasn't going to contribute to whatever gang-loanshark hybrid system that had taken root here. The bar was neat and all, but I wasn't going to support it if the whole thing ran on screwing regular people over.
Also, these guys would almost certainly try to screw me over, because they were a gang running an illegal loan business, which was a red flag bigger than the Megabuilding we were in.
That being said, what the fuck did I say now? "Well, I'd like to check some things, first." I began, raising a finger. "Such as what exactly happens when one is unable to pay off their debts."
He took a slow breath, and I quietly realized exactly how silly this question might have sounded in the context of Night City. "Well, it's very simple." He began, "Now, I'm assuming that you're smart enough to know what kind of business we're running here."
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
I glanced off to the side. "Yeah, or at least I'm pretty sure."
He raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure?" He asked, a hint of disbelief entering his voice.
"Well, you know. Can't be sure about anything ever. You have to check everything every now and then, whether it's the color of the sky or whether things still fall down." I shrugged. "Surety is calcification, after all. Which is a bit of a self-fulfilling statement and…"
I looked back at him with an apologetic smile. "I'm rambling, aren't I? Sorry about that." I coughed, awkwardly. "Anyways. I'm assuming that you lend people money, and you have this jacked up interest that also has to be paid, along with the original sum owed. Is that about right?" I asked, with a curious look on my face.
The question seemed to stun him for a moment. His mask of indifference cracked, and he narrowed his eyes in a vaguely bewildered manner. "Well, you're smart enough to know that, at least." He muttered, shaking his head.
"I'm also going to make the assumption that you bust kneecaps if they don't pay a certain amount." I spitballed, leaning my head against my palm as I thought about what I was supposed to do. It wasn't like I could just ask [Sorairo Days] if the man in front of me was a murderer… Well I could, but something that I'd realized was that when it came to anything other than the most straightforward location of items or viewing remote locations, [Sorairo Days] could be… finicky. Sometimes when I asked questions, the answers I got would be correct only if I looked at them from the side and squinted.
And besides, as much as I used [Sorairo Days], I didn't want to lean on it too much. Trust, but verify, and all that. I'd never seen 'Minority Report', but the idea of a justice system growing reliant on a faulty precognition system worried me a decent amount, and chances were, as my lifespan stretched on and I traveled distant lands, I'd run into someone who could disrupt or deceive my clairvoyance.
That being said, I couldn't help but trust [Sorairo Days] remote viewing and locating abilities a great deal, after weeks of having it work seemingly without a hitch. Whether or not I'd kill someone over that alone if I didn't have the ability to procure any other evidence… Well, that was a question that I wouldn't relish having to answer.
The man let out a sigh. "Maybe that's what you see on Crime BDs and TV, but real life doesn't work that way." He said patronizingly, as if I were a particularly slow child. "Breaking a man's arm, or his knees, simply means that he will have more trouble paying back his debts. I," he pointed to himself, "would have much more difficulty extracting money for a lame man, understand?"
"Uh-huh. So if they don't pay…" I trailed off.
"We give them a little longer. They'll owe us more, of course, or they'll owe us a favor, but I know the value of patience." He said, with a thin smirk that was almost pleasant.
I didn't entirely believe Rick. There was a certain disconnect between what he said and what had brought me here in the first place, that was, a five-thousand dollar debt and a gun to my chest. Even if William was so devoid of moral fiber that he'd happily rob someone to pay back debts, it seemed like a hell of a risk compared to the mild terms Rick was laying down.
William had named Rick directly, so I doubted that this was a case of a middle-man getting too big for their britches and siphoning extra cash for himself, jacking up William's debt in the process. It wouldn't particularly surprise me if he was lying, or simply not informing me of a few important truths.
But how could I know for sure?
…Maybe I'd start by poking holes in the story with what I knew.
"Now see, that's interesting." I started, sitting up and paying close attention. "But that doesn't exactly match up with the picture that's been painted for me. You see, when I had a chat with William, I learned that he had a five-thousand dollar debt. This was despite the fact that he'd only spent, and I quote, 'a few hundred dollars' which 'he could have paid off in a few months'. Would you mind explaining that?"
"William didn't borrow a few hundred dollars. He borrowed five hundred. As he refused to pay off his debt, compound interest began to spiral until it reached, as you said, five thousand." Rick calmly explained.
"And how long did it take for the debt to go from five hundred to five thousand?" I asked, squinting with suspicion.
"About a year." He smoothly answered.
…Was there any way I could confirm that? [Sorairo Days] sparked into existence, coiling around my cybereye as I considered his statement. I hadn't observed William long enough to see him using his bank account, so I couldn't check his financial history, and I didn't have a wealth of means to contact him.
He'd never shared his phone or email address, and I'd assumed it was fine at first because I could track him down no matter where he was in Night City, not expecting that he'd cut and run. I could call up Buck-a-Slice to see if I can get his phone number from them or come back later, but I'd really rather keep Rick waiting while I played daisy chains with contacts. Other than his testimony, William was a dead end for information.
…But his brother wasn't. I closed my other eye, focusing on the scene shown by my cybereye. Thankfully, his brother was still working at this hour, and I narrowed my eyes as I zoomed in, looking for an employee ID card or anything similar. I saw a tag hanging off the front of his kevlar, but I couldn't decipher the numbers on the front.
Damn it. I turned my attention away, the scene blurring to the family's home. I gave it a quick once-over, looking for any sort of evidence that I could use. I noticed a picture frame, the four family members all grinning as they looked at the camera, along with a restaurant in the back. I considered the image looking for signs of anything that I could use. Maybe a poster for an event I could date back or…
…Wait, couldn't I just sneak a peek at Rick's computer? My vision shifted once more, allowing me to see from behind Rick's shoulder. I could see myself sitting stock still, utterly silent as I stared Rick down with my cybereye, the crosshairs enhancing the effect, at least in my mind. I couldn't help the grin that spread over my face as I took a look at the screen.
My meat eye opened up as I raised an eyebrow. "I personally wouldn't call seven months 'about a year'." I noted.
Rick snorted. "Do you really believe everything our mutual debtor told you?"
"Not really, I just gave looking into his brother's employment history a shot, that's all." I lied, "I assume that a party celebrating his employment at a Megacorp would only happen after he's been hired, you see, and he's quite proud of it." My meat eye closes again as a burst of inspiration strikes me, and my view shifts to my agent's screen as I use [Sorairo Days] to take a gander at the local social media websites.
Human need for approval is omnipresent, it seems. Something like a hybrid between Facebook and Instagram of my home opens up in front of me, and a quick search reveals that the brother has a page where he posts about his life, some with pictures. A quick scroll down reveals that the party was likely… yeah, seven months ago. A few messages about his employment at Arasaka pop up as I scroll further down, all around the same time.
"His brother seems to enjoy spreading all sorts of details about his life on the… local subnet. Including the day their little shindig happened." I just barely managed to catch myself from saying 'internet', reopening my eyes as I stared Rick down.
Rick didn't have even the slightest bit of shame on his face as he waves off my stare. "I can't quite remember every little detail about every debtor."
I shrugged. No point in continuing to dig into it. Just take into account that this fucker lies and move on. Besides, it really didn't matter if it were a year or seven months. What did matter was what they were planning to do with him as the costs mounted.
"Alright. Tangent about your interest rates aside…" except it's not entirely a tangent because you're on thinner and thinner ice with regard to whether or not you're leaving this office in a body bag, "Let's talk about what happens, now that he clearly can't pay."
He shifted. "And what does that have to do with you?" He's guarded now. Suspicious of my motives. I think that by challenging the narrative he was presenting of William's debt, I've aligned myself against him, from his perspective.
"It decides whether or not I'm going to take responsibility for his debts." I honestly replied.
He visibly waited for me to expand on my comment, but I didn't. Hesitation kept me quiet. Telling him too much will probably turn this into a more physical conflict, so instead I shut up and let him come up with his own answers, which will hopefully be less provocative. The idea of lying occurs to me, but I can't think of anything.
I could pull on [Reflex] to buy extra time to think, but I'm in the heart of a gang's territory, even if it is a small one. I want [Reflex] completely fresh, in the more and more likely scenario that I'm going to have to shoot my way out.
"If somebody jerks us around, like William has… then we zero 'em. It sends a message to the rest, you see. That there are real consequences for not paying your dues." There was something dangerous about his tone as he leaned on the table, glaring at me. "Does that answer your question?"
…Honestly, this is about what I expected going in, knowing that it was a loan shark operation in Night City of all places. Still, I had wanted proper evidence before I started considering murder. Of course, eyewitness testimony was the least reliable evidence there was, but if there's a guy in front of me telling me that he'd kill people for not paying a loan, who also runs a gang of any sort… yeah, that's enough evidence to put a bullet in this guy, as far as I'm concerned.
That being said, something just occurred to me. Something I would have asked myself earlier, if I was smart enough to think of it. I query [Sorairo Days] with a simple question. 'Where is the nearest human corpse?'
The answer is just as simple. A minimap pops up in front of me, and an icon pops up, hovering over the third door to my left in the corridor I'd walked through to get here.
…I was wondering how the Scavs fit into this equation.
"Question. I don't suppose that the last person who didn't pay their dues is currently a bundle of limbs and a few jars, located in that walk-in fridge of yours?" I off-handedly asked as I turned towards Rick, raising an eyebrow.
A tingle ran up my neck as Rick tensed, his eyes briefly glittering. On the minimap, icons turned red, and one by one their vision cones turned towards the corridor I came through. Next to the door outside, another dot turned in my direction.
"I think it's time that you leave." Rick said, narrowing his eyes, "Before I have my men flatline you."
I nodded. "Yeah, it's about time I got outta here." I hadn't practiced drawing my gun from a sitting position before. Even so, pulling my Overture from its holster and firing it seemed like the easiest thing in the world, now that I was satisfied that this was a speck of the city that needed to be wiped out. Rick barely had a moment to open his mouth before his blood stained his own fake wanted poster.
The door slid open in the meanwhile, and a man jumped through with a shout that abruptly ceased as his body hit the ground, his gun tumbling from his hands. [Sorairo Days] lashed out, and I snatched his revolver off the ground, narrowing my eyes as I analyzed it. Not a model I've seen before, which meant that it joined my ever-expanding collection in my inventory.
[+350 EXP x 2]
The minimap in the corner of my vision zoomed out as I casually got up to my feet and out of the uncomfortable chair, relishing in the feeling of standing on my own two feet. I saw six red dots, now hurrying to my position, along with a good deal more red dots suddenly all moving around as my gunshot tipped off pretty much everyone in the bar, maybe twenty or so, by my measure.
I considered the numbers as I lifted my Overture in my left hand and Nova in my right. Twelve- Ten bullets now, I remind myself. Not enough. But that's just fine. A second Nova appeared from my inventory, and I clenched it between my teeth before shoving my guns in my holsters and pulling out a grenade.
My vision flickered again, and I watched from another perspective as a mixed group of Scavs and Silver Aces made their way down the corridor, guns trained on the doorway. The corpse visible from the doorway seemed to make them a little more cautious of rushing in too quickly.
I judged the angle, thought for a moment about how hard I could throw things, and gave a careless shrug as I pulled the pin. I had got plenty of grenades, after all, and no problem with wasting a few. I flung it as hard as I could, and watched as the grenade bounced off the walls a couple of times, skidding to a halt at the feet of the man in the lead. There was panicked yelling as they turned and ran, before the grenade went off, lacerating the people in the back while the people in front screamed for reinforcements.
[+350 EXP x 3]
[+325 EXP x 2]
I pulled out another pin as I stepped into the doorway, winding my arm back and throwing the next grenade as far as I could manage. It bounced off the far wall, nearly re-entering the hallway, and I had a moment to marvel at the distance it covered before it also went off, shredding the two lined up at the door to the corridor.
[+350 EXP x 2]
I pulled my guns from their holsters and offhandedly executed a groaning man, injured from the grenade but not yet dead. A tiny mercy that cost me another bullet. I ticked down the number I had in my head and rushed forward.
Seeing myself suddenly accelerate down the hallway in an instant through my cybereye really put into perspective that whatever the ceiling of humanity was, I'd passed it. I went from a casual stroll to an impossibly quick dash at the drop of a hat, I barely had a moment to marvel before I burst into the bar proper.
As I cleared the doorway, [Reflex] kicked in, and I started pulling the triggers immediately. There's barely even a moment between heads erupting and holes appearing in the foreheads before my hands twitch to the side, aligning with the next target and pulling. It's almost like connecting the dots on a piece of paper. The attempts they make at dodging barely matter, and before I know it, there's nine more corpses on either side of me, and I'm still on a collision course with the wall.
[+325 EXP x 7]
[+350 EXP x 2]
Momentum, momentum, momentum. I'm quick enough that they can't draw a bead on me, not yet. Bullets put holes in the walls, whizzing through the space where I was a moment before, but that means that my momentum's too much to stop before I crash. Stopping means getting hit, though, so I don't even consider it. Instead, I crouch down and jump, springing through the air and flipping forwards, landing on the side of the wall.
Then I kick off, almost like the ball in a game of squash. As I soar through the air, I drop the guns I'm holding and pull the Nova out from between my teeth. I see shocked looks on their faces, widened eyes and mouths gaping open, and I grin with delight as I line up my shots. I only manage three before I hit the ground.
[+325 EXP x 2]
[+350 EXP]
My other hand catches me, pushing against the ground and throwing me at a Scav that I hadn't prioritized, because of this exact moment in particular. My leg snaps out, and his ribs visibly crumple as he's smashed to the side.
[+325 EXP]
It's been moments, and the room's nearly half dead. Most of the ones that I targeted are those who use automatic weapons. Scavs who didn't bother with the theming suffered the most casualties, while the Silver Aces were mostly intact, bar a few targets of opportunity. All that's left are using semi-automatic or single shot weapons, which gives me a little reprieve.
I consider the three shots I have left before realizing that I barely have time to think, even with [Reflex] pulling the moment out. Not to mention that with this headache, thinking to myself is far less appealing than dishing out the pain. My body feels slow to my enhanced perception as I sweep the leg of a nearby table and kick it as it falls, but the drawn out yells of a pair of Silver Aces and the sound of wood splintering piece by piece brings joy to my heart.
An old grizzled gunfighter who hasn't fired his gun since the start of the fight finally lines up his shot. His eyes are narrowed and his gaze focused as he braces his gun. I have no time to dodge, only align my gun with him from its place at my hip and put a bullet in his eye. His shot goes wide as he lets out a bark of pain, and I dismiss him as a threat for a moment, using the vector the bullet traveled as a mental note. I fire two more times before tossing my weapon, and two more bodies slump to the ground, holes drilled perfectly in the space between their eyes.
[Reflex] is like a spring in my brain, stretched to its limits, and through panic and hesitation has been shoved into the back of my skull, I just don't have time to second guess anything. I'm pretty much operating on instinct alone as I flick my empty gun at the last Scav here, causing his gun to list to the side as he flinches, and in the same motion I grab a hold of a chair, spin, and fling it at the grizzled man. Then I seize ahold of the first thing I can find, a half-finished bottle of liquor, and the vision from my cybereye flickers to the point of view I would have if I just turned around before I hurl it behind me at the bartender, who's pulled out an honest to god coach gun.
[Health: 834/860]
A bullet strikes my shoulder, but it doesn't breach the skin. I know the feeling of bullets puncturing muscle versus bruising it, and this wasn't it. The pain still causes my anger to surge, and I single out the man who shot me and-whatcanIdotokillhim-reach for a corpse at my feet, spinning on my heel and whipping it at him at lethal speeds, partially pulping the corpse and leaving the man it hits not much better. Then, I lift the gun I pilfered before I threw the body, pulling, once- twice- thri-
[Health: 821/860]
[Debuff Gained: Mental Overload]
[Reflex] cuts out, and I wince as my headache abruptly becomes splitting, but still I point the stolen gun in the general direction of the last of the three standing and pull the trigger in quick succession. The Lexington in my hand barks, wheezing past her shoulder the first two times. I grit my teeth and realign the shot, and even as more shots slam into me, the next two catch her in the chest. I start moving towards the nearest table for cover, and it's only on the fifth shot that she drops, clutching at the latest wound in her neck.
[Health: 775/860]
I lunge for the table and pull it down, and I take stock. Two left, Lexington in my hands. How many shots? Don't know. My vision flickers, and I use it to look over my cover like a petroscope as more bullets slam into the table and a few catch on my armorjack.
Then… nearly simultaneously, they run dry. "I'm out- cover me!" Once calls out, and I see the other one visibly freeze as he realizes what's happened. I instantly abandon my cover and dash for the nearest man, raising a fist and clocking them as hard as I can across the head. The hit causes their skull to damn near bounce off the wall, and I grab them by the arm and lift them over my head, before tossing them at the last man standing, who's barely even started reloading. He looks up too late to dodge, and the two are sent sprawling across the floor.
I snatched the man's gun from the ground from where it had fallen next to my feet, and raised an eyebrow. Another Nova. The chamber is already emptied, so it's the simplest thing in the world to fill the six chambers with my own bullets. I flicked it closed as the man shoved his fellow gang member off of him, too late to stop me from finishing the fight. I raised the gun as quickly as I could, and his eyes widened in shock before I ended him.
[+350 EXP]
Then, all that's left is cleanup. First the man who I threw at the last active member, desperately searching for his weapon. Then the grizzled man curled up behind an upturned table, who barely had the time to react before a grenade I cooked for a second and a half landed in front of him. Finally the bartender, who makes a last minute break for the coach gun which fell over the bar. I glance at the minimap for red dots, and see none, and I let out a sigh.
Retrieving my guns is the simplest thing in the world, and I lean against the bar counter as I look at the ravaged state of the room. Corpses are strewn about everywhere, and I don't doubt the NCPD will be here, eventually. Almost as an afterthought, three bullets slipped into the chamber before they shattered the cameras shewn around the ceiling, and after a quick check with [Sorairo Days] showed the room was empty of any more, I let myself relax. I began reloading as I deliberated my next course of action, before the sound of footsteps approaching caused me to look up, flicking my backup Nova shut as a familiar figure pushed the saloon doors open.
Bill stared in horror as he slowly walked in, his spurs barely audible despite the silence. His gaze was fixed on me as he took in the scene, and I stared back unrepentantly, gun lowered.
"What the devil?" He muttered, his eyes briefly flickering to the bartender dead at my feet, before his shock look was replaced with a steely glare. "You did this." He ground out, his body tensing.
"Yep." I admitted, leaning back on the bar but still keeping an eye on his arms and gun. As the silence dragged on, I shrugged. "As it turned out, Rick and I couldn't come to terms."
My comment doesn't even seem to register. His cyberhand briefly twitched as he stared me down, and I took in his stance as the silence dragged on. It's a good deal like the quintessential cowboy stance, legs slightly bent, and his cyberarm is tensed, though it isn't particularly close to his pistol.
There's a subtle tension to him that's slowly becoming more and more apparent as I watch him process, and something seems to click in him as he shakes his head. "No."
I raise my eyebrow, and when he doesn't continue, I prod him verbally. "No?"
"No more games." He glared at me, his face screwed up like he'd bitten into a lemon, "No more jokes. You get your last words, and that's it."
I looked at him, honestly a bit baffled. Was this some sort of trap or something? He looked like he was ready to kill me, and that I'd expected. I had a little niggling in my mind about where he'd been throughout the killing, but I wasn't expecting whatever this was.
…Nothing came to mind for de-escalation or last words, so questions it was. I doubted that he'd answer, though. "Weird code of honor you got there, I gotta say." I tilted my head, and slipped back into the southern drawl as a tiny grin slid onto my face. "Did the fine folks back there in the fridges get last words too?"
A moment passed as our eyes met. His eyes were steady as they met my half-meat half-metal pair. Then another moment. My headache is still fresh, but I think I can pull on [Reflex], if only for a second.
My little smile has vanished, I faintly realize as my face settles into glum neutrality. I take in his posture all the while. He isn't backing down, and… I don't think he would. His fingers flowed in a subtle wave, hovering over the handle of his gun, while my own gun was loosely held off to the side.
…
My spine tingled. [Reflex] screamed in my skull as Bill's cyberarm snapped up, a blur in the extended instant. The barrel of my gun was also moving in his direction, but somehow, someway, he was faster than my body.
But not my mind. An angled plane of hastily formed mana deflected the shot just a bit, and the bullet clipped my earlobe instead of smashing against my forehead, though it was a far cry from the total deflection I'd wanted. A bullet smashed into his jaw, but Bill was still moving, forcing the barrel of the gun down with his other hand. At my command, my inventory opened, and my Burya slipped into my non-dominant hand.
Gunpowder was nothing like the power of a railgun in the shape of a brick. Novas cracked. My Overture barked. The Burya was a different beast altogether, a shockwave of sound and force that shoved my entire body back despite my superpowered physiology. I steadied myself with a step back as it wound down, forcing it back into position as, despite the hole blown clean through his shattered armorjack, Bill's Overture delivered a shot at the ceiling.
As I heard a low buzz begin and end, the barrel of the Burya realigned itself with Bill, and I pulled the trigger again. This time though, my body was steady as my arms tensed and my legs braced. A look in his eye that might have been regret was reduced to slag as the second shot obliterated him from the neck up.
[+500 EXP]
And then it was done.
Quest Complete!
Gained 1000 EXP
Level Up! You are now Level 15.
You gained 5 stat points.
You gained the Title: [Four Aces]
- Empowers the first four shots from any gun you use. Bonus resets after reloading.
…A neat powerup. One that fit the Burya perfectly, given its four round chamber, though I'd have liked to have a moment to think about what I'd done before we moved on to the prize, but such was life.
I let out a breath, shaking my head as I ejected the Burya's chamber. I regarded Bill's corpse as I frowned. In the end, he'd died trying to avenge something that shouldn't exist. Still, he held a few principles I couldn't help but admire, if only from a distance. When it came down to what I wanted to be, I'd rather be ruthless and precise than principled and dead, but maybe if I got far enough along my growth I could be precise and principled about without ending up dead.
…I supposed only time could tell, looking away from the body as I dismissed the morose thought. I hoped he was at least happy with his decision, wherever he was going. If he was going anywhere.
But now came the moment of truth. I slipped the gun back into my inventory and turned to the back, stepping around bodies and slowly expanding puddles of blood carefully as I stepped into the corridor.
I pulled the fridge door open and stepped inside, plucking a conspicuous jar off the shelf and [Analyzing] it, though I could already tell by the slight peek inside though the glass that whatever was inside was both metal, plastic and flesh.
My face twisted in disgust, and I placed it back on the shelf as I inwardly sagged a bit in relief. [Sorairo Days] had proven itself right. I'd been pretty sure in the moment leading up to the gunfight, but it was probably good to make a habit of checking myself where I could.
Now, all that was left was the cleanup.
The strain on my soul from my overburdened inventory kept me from adding most of the few guns without bloodstains to my collection, but they were duplicates anyways. And few had the punch to be worth my while. The coach gun seemed like an antique worth keeping, if only for its uniqueness, and soon I found myself standing over Bill's body. I considered his Overture for a moment, admiring its make. It was bloody, but that could be fixed with little issue.
Sheriff
It's got a name, but that doesn't make it particularly different from any other gun you can buy. Makes you think, huh?
I couldn't help but give a little, scrunched up smirk as I shook my head. Fucking hell. "I'm taking this." I announced to the headless corpse, waving the gun at him. "Maybe see if I can do something decent with it. Hope you happen to care about that sort of thing." I paused for a moment as a glint caught my eye, before reaching up and unclipping the silver star from his bloodstained hat. I flicked it with a finger, hearing a *ting* that sounded like metal as I let out a low whistle.
"Real silver? Somebody was playing his part to the hilt." I waved it at him. "Keeping this, too."
I stepped behind the counter, letting [Sorairo Days]'s wires flow over it as I washed the star off and set it aside. I took a few steady breaths before letting the built-up energy of life surge through, and the locks inside disengaged. Inside there was far less than I'd thought there would be, only several hundred eddies, but it was several hundred eddies more than I had, and another step to my goal, so into the inventory it went.
I considered the star for a brief moment, before I clipped it to my hat. I squinted at it as I looked it over, before shaking my head and taking it off. It took a few moments before I grinned at an idea that had just popped into my head. I turned the star upside down, before pinning it to the side of my shirt.
Now there was a neat little fashion statement.
I could have gone through the rest of the bodies for stray eddies, but I didn't want to chance the cops showing up while I was rummaging through pockets, so instead I returned to the office in the back, where Rick's corpse was still at his desk. I pushed the body aside, before began sorting through his history.
As I did so, the details began coming together. The Silver Aces may had been a relatively small deal a while ago with their straightforward loan shark routine, though they had trouble keeping tabs on everyone they did business with.
At some point however, probably when the Scavs had come into the picture, they'd adjusted their business model, wringing their targets dry before chopping them up and selling the pieces. It wasn't hard to find the desperate in Night City, so new "stock" came in plenty often, and the proceeds had more than justified this fusion of business tactics.
Some of the notes they had were a bit disturbing. They kept track of things like family, friends, jobs and so on, which was fair enough. I wasn't sure why I didn't expect that sort of thing. It was an entirely different thing to find out that they'd been turning the screws on specific targets because their cyberware was in demand. I didn't even want to know what stored "Techhair" looked like.
But with information came what I was looking for. My eyes shot open as I stared at the number on the screen. Math furiously ran through my mind as I considered the prices. If I took it all, a good Sandevistan was two months off, maybe one if I skimped on food just a little more. A far cry from the maybe-five months I was working towards, and that was assuming that Regina contacted me anytime soon. Which was… quite the assumption on my part.
But also… I couldn't help but look back at the notes. They were meticulously taken, names and money owed marked by the month. There were a lot of names, and well, I could figure out who really needed it given time and patience, but… the principle of the thing gnawed at me.
I considered the numbers, before doing some quick addition and subtraction before wincing. Operating this place apparently chewed up a decent deal. Even if I only gave the living victims what they were owed, the difference I could help myself to was meaningless, worth less than the money that had been in the till.
I stared at the ceiling, before heaving an explosive sigh. Maybe it was all the bodies I'd stacked getting me down, maybe I'd regret this later, but fuck it. This was all a test of what kind of person I was going to be anyways. And I'd rather be a decent Iron Fist than a morally questionable Quicksilver. At least when I wasn't being hunted by megacorps or something.
I divided the money the best I could as I worked quickly, using short bursts of [Reflex] to help save time as I was torn between deciding who needed more and less. The dead girl's family, or the man working close to minimum wage while supporting his parents? The guy who sold sewer oil to street stalls, or the corrupt cop who'd busted similar people for not paying protection fees?
In the end, basically nobody received all the money they'd lost, but most of them gotten back most of it, and that would have to do.
Even the pizza guy who'd brought me in on this wild little side-quest got nearly two-thirds of his money back, though I'd kept five hundred for myself. I even sent him an email saying he was off the hook, along with an invite to a meal at a Buck-a-Slice of his choosing in a year.
I doubted he'd reply, but hopefully he'd chill out.
About three-quarters of an hour later, I pushed my back and grunted as I stood out of the vastly more comfortable chair. The pain from the bullets that had hit me still ached, with [Mortal Engine] keeping me up and moving, but I'd just have to bear with it, unless I wanted to crawl my way into a motel.
I stomped on the box under the desk, crushing it, before tossing an incendiary grenade on the broken pieces. Wouldn't want any corrupt cops or anything undoing all my hard work after all, and keeping it was out of the question. Computer sciences of the late 21st century wasn't my strong suit, and I didn't want to get fingered for the shit that went down here.
When I made my way back into the bar, there was someone unexpected waiting for me. I blinked as I saw the woman who'd been pole-dancing earlier rifling through the pockets of a body, her hands stained red along with her dress. She didn't notice me until I awkwardly coughed, at which point she jumped to her feet as her face paled. "I-it's not what it looks like!" She desperately called out, wiping her hands on the shirt. "I've got first aid experience!" She hastily added on, after a moment.
I paused as the sheer absurdity of her lie registered. "Fuckin' sure. Okay. First aid experience." I look at the corpse, double checking to see- yep, that's still a hole in his head. "...Well, I'll just leave them in your capable hands then."
The bloodstains had spread in the time that I'd spent dividing the money, but my DEX was plenty enough to avoid getting dirty. I whistled to myself to dispel whatever lingering awkwardness I felt, tiptoeing lightly and taking short hops onto the tiny islands of clean floor amidst a sea of red. With one final hop, I reached the saloon doors and spun on my heel, snapping my fingers at her. "See ya."
And then I was out, breathing in stale air, but the fact that it didn't reek of blood or gray matter made it seem fresh to me. There were a few stares as I left the scene, but nobody seemed interested in pursuing me, so what little tension had coiled up in me slowly bled away.
Soon, I was just another face in the small crowds of people returning to their homes. I took a moment to look myself over as I stepped in between a few closed stalls. I had a few new bullet holes in my clothes, but with regards to blood, I was clean. Goodie for me.
My first stint of self employment, combining the cash in the register and the sum I'd taken from the pizza guy for services rendered, was about a thousand. Though, it'd been a lot more trouble than any thousand-eddie Regina had handed me, but I guess that's why you wanted a Fixer to vet jobs for you.
What next? I wasn't entirely sure. I still wasn't sure where I was going to sleep, but the real question was what I was going to do tomorrow. Maybe Rebecca would be free. Or maybe David. Or maybe both. It'd been a hot minute since I'd last met them in person, and I didn't want them to forget about me or anything. It was a bit of a silly fear, considering… the thing I and Rebecca had, but feelings didn't care about facts and so on.
Yeah, that sounded nice. I'd send her a message tomorrow.
The sides of my lips quirked upwards a little as I surveyed the interior of Megabuilding H10, leaning against a half-broken ledge, keeping a decent distance away from the youths letting their feet dangle over the edge. I let my eyes roam over the people, and the lights, taking it all in…
Until they landed on a logo a good few floors up. Whatever good mood I had vanished as I stared it down. The name "Militech" proudly stood out, stark and white in the middle of a crowd of bright colors, and I stared at it for a while, thinking.
I still had two names left on my list, but I could only see myself taking one of them out. I might be immortal, but that didn't mean I was fond of suicide.
The other was less of a one-man army and more of a high-end corpo, which meant that killing him wasn't pretty much impossible like going after Adam Smasher would be. The problem was, I'd been able to work off of an existing example for Tanaka. A snapshot of where he'd be most vulnerable, and how badly things can go despite that fact. And even then sneaking away from the aftermath and lying low wasn't exactly pleasant.
Faraday was in the same league, but unlike Tanaka, he has no weaknesses I knew of. His ambition was the biggest thing I knew about him, with his backstab-happy nature coming in at a close second, but the rest painted a picture I didn't like. I couldn't think of a time he'd been seen without bodyguards, short of meeting his higher-ups or bigger fish. He traveled in security and luxury, though it was most likely company property.
It all suggested that his safety was dependent on how much his overlords liked him. And from what I remembered, even after the massive blotch that was the Tanaka job that David would have been part of, he had six months worth of rope before he was forced to jump ship, and even then it had been Arasaka who'd forced his hand.
And on top of all that, he was a Fixer. And if my time with Regina taught me anything, it was that Fixers were fucking scary with how much soft power they could bring to bear.
…But then again, how good was all that against a bullet to the head from someone you didn't see coming?
I didn't have a plan, not yet, but that was fine. A smarter guy than me would probably wait, gather information and figure out what kind of holes existed in his defenses before going after him, and that sounded good to me, though this was just me trying to guess at the best course of action.
Idly, I let my fingers tap the ledge in a wavy motion, the side of my head leaning against the other hand. The vision in my cybereye flickered as [Sorairo Days] showed me my next target, still apparently in his office. I adjusted the view, taking a good look at what he was looking at from behind, but it was nothing I recognized.
I kept my cybereye on him as I pushed off the ledge and let myself become part of the crowd once more. Faraday would slip eventually. And when he did, I'd be waiting.