If there's a mystery that baffles humanity, someone will try to solve it.
If there's a piece of tech that works brilliantly—but no one knows why—it's guaranteed that someone, somewhere, will study it. For all kinds of reasons. All sorts of motives.
Back in the pre-collapse internet era, AI was the go-to for everything—research, labor, even combat. It proved wildly effective, the ultimate productivity booster.
But then Bartmoss—the legendary netrunner—unleashed a virus that pushed every AI past the critical danger threshold. Most of them became vicious, unstable, and violently hostile.
With just a single act, he nearly crippled modern civilization.
Even so, in the ruins of that chaos, some people still wondered:
Could we use that kind of power for ourselves? Could humanity ever wield ultra-high-performance AI again—safely?
Bryce's answer was blunt. No detours, no disclosure of Netwatch's deeper agenda. But it was enough to address Leo's question.
"There are a lot of reasons to study this stuff. But you only need one: it's valuable."
And with that, the Delamain topic was closed. Bryce moved on.
Leo, however, kept thinking.
For the average citizen, this was huge. After the Old Net collapsed, almost every megacorp publicly distanced itself from advanced AI, leaving oversight to Netwatch.
But come on—anyone with half a brain knew the truth.
If something has value, the corpos are already poking it with a stick in some underground lab.
Leo, though? He had a better sense of just how deep it all went.
Still, he couldn't push too hard—so he kept his questions non-sensitive.
"So... what does this have to do with Muramasa?"
Bryce gave a nod. "First off, Netwatch is officially recognizing you as an auxiliary AI hunter. Support status only—but it's something.
Now that you've got that label, you need a basic briefing on how we classify AIs, and how we see them.
Second—Muramasa likely qualifies as a critical-threshold entity. These AIs are linked to digital soul tech—the same stuff that imitates dead people's personalities."
He paused. Then added:
"And if the person being digitized wasn't exactly a genius in life? Don't expect the AI to become a god-tier intellect. They're mostly just as dumb in code as they were in flesh."
So, after helping Netwatch dig into the digital soul phenomenon, Leo now had a new job: track and handle danger-class rogue AIs.
Knowledge like this wasn't just valuable—it was dangerous. Leo made sure to memorize it all.
Bryce seemed to pick up on his neutral reaction. He leaned in and warned:
"But don't get any bright ideas about researching this kind of AI on your own. You're not one of us. One mistake, and you'll die. Ugly. Their netrunning is just one skill—they're monsters in other areas too."
Suddenly, Little Octopus popped into Leo's HUD—his eye implant's AR feed.
It wrapped two tentacles around itself, raised another one up high, and patted Bryce on the head like a smug little king.
ψ(｀)ψ
[Little Octopus: That's right. This is who I am now.]
Of course, this all happened in Leo's head—Bryce didn't notice a thing.
Leo sighed and shut off the memory unit running Little Octopus's display.
Unaware of the distraction, Bryce kept talking.
"Blackwall surveillance on critical entities is extremely tight. Muramasa showing up like this? That's… not normal. Part of our mission is to capture it—but more importantly, figure out how the hell it broke through the Blackwall."
The Blackwall was an absolute barrier in cyberspace. No top, no bottom, no sides—just a closed loop.
At its core, it was software—an AI itself.
Bryce's day job involved patching that wall, monitoring glitches, and investigating abnormalities.
Muramasa? Yeah—this one counted.
"Why's this a solid lead?
Because so far, the only AIs that don't trigger Blackwall defenses are:
Digital souls
Low-function dumb AIs
And thanks to your help, we've reverse-engineered fragments from the Soulkiller code.
It led us to traces we missed the first time around."
If they followed this new trail, they might uncover the smuggling route rogue AIs were using to infiltrate the Net again.
As they spoke, the Delamain cab slowly rolled past a building in Heywood.
Leo spotted it from a distance—surrounded by NCPD units. Holobarriers lit up the perimeter. Drones circled overhead.
As they got closer, he saw it more clearly:
The place looked like it'd been bombed.
Scorch craters deep enough to bottom out a groundcar littered the pavement.
The building itself? Mid-rise, mixed-use. Fourteen floors total, including three levels of retail on the bottom.
The glass exterior was completely gone. The walls were Swiss-cheesed with blast holes. Steel bars twisted out of shape. Scattered furniture and warped support beams exposed like guts.
Even on the top floor, a Trauma Team AV had crashed halfway through the wall and was still hanging there.
Blast patterns were clear—whoever did this went from the top down. No subtlety. No restraint.
Smoke still rose from a few floors. The scent of gunpowder and ash lingered.
A few residents lingered outside, staring up. It was hard to read their expressions.
Eventually, they just walked into the ruined building—probably because they had nowhere else to go.
Rent's paid. Can't sleep on the street.
Others weren't so lucky. Their homes were gone.
They just stood at the barricade, yelling at the cops:
"FUCK YOU, NCPD! I JUST SIGNED THAT LEASE! PAY ME BACK!!"
The officers didn't even glance at him. Just scanned the area and logged data.
Bryce explained:
"There was a firefight here a few days ago, heavy one. We've flagged suspicious data flows from one of the involved parties—but the rest is a mystery. Total casualties: 13. 10 Valentinos, 3 from Afterlife. All local."
Leo nodded. "Looks like someone used military gear."
"Yeah. Investigators think it was an auto-grenade launcher—something exotic. Not standard gear. The thing came outta nowhere."
Leo frowned. "No survivors?"
"Mercs? Nah, all dead. Trauma Team took their client. That one's alive, but they refused to release info—'client confidentiality' and all that. But I can get you the profile."
He added:
"Also, feel free to hit up your Valentino contacts. You've got better ties than I do."
"Fair." Leo looked out at the destroyed high-rise. "Europeans really bringing in the good stuff, huh?"
Bryce winced like he'd just swallowed a live wire.
"You call this good? Do you have any idea how much blood, sweat, and logistics it takes just to keep Night City's crime rate at its current level?
Let these Euro psychos keep it up, and next year we'll see guys rolling down the street in power armor.
And if the Voodoo Boys get their hands on this stuff…"
He shuddered.
The Voodoo Boys weren't known for brute force, but if they started equipping military-tier weapons?
It'd be a bloodbath.
Leo chuckled. Bryce really did see himself as a netcop.
He patted him on the shoulder.
"Kid, why don't you come work for me instead? Netwatch ain't gonna take you anywhere."
Bryce deadpanned:
"A street thug trying to poach Netwatch agents? You've got balls, I'll give you that."
Leo shrugged. "Correction: I'm Night City's top dog. Anyway—why're we heading to City Hall?"
"You'll see."
Bryce leaned back and closed his eyes.
The ride was smooth—premium service. The seats had heat and massage enabled.
Leo noticed the air smelled expensive.
Aromatherapy mist, priced at 1200 eddies per ride. High-grade neural relaxant.
Man, these corpo dogs sure spend big.
Bryce handed him a chip.
"All the info's on here. Advanced AI classifications. Protocols. Study it. I'm taking a nap."
Leo took the chip and slotted it in.
Before the data loaded, he asked:
"Only two types of AIs?
There isn't a third?"
"There used to be stories. Rumors. That every regional internet once housed a godlike AI that was the network. But that's history. The Old Net's gone. We've never seen any proof of a so-called transcendent AI. Believe the science, not the legends."
Bryce didn't even open his eyes as he answered.
Leo leaned back, chip booting up.
More pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.
And the game had officially changed.