Night.
Night City's sky is dim and starless. The neon and dazzle of the nightlife drown out any glimmer above, and the quiet sky is anything but calm: AVs come and go like owls circling the dark, their engines buzzing like dragonflies with torn wings—noisy and unruly.
A mirror-slick AV, spotless and gleaming, dropped soundlessly onto the Moore Technologies tower near the corporate plaza.
Its navy-blue shell all but vanished in the gloom; in older times, this was the shade for ninja garb and night-running gear. Against true black, gray and dark blue hide better after dark.
Even the exhaust plumes were faint and pale, looking from afar like four dim stars pushing an unseen shape through the night.
A Rayfield Caliburn, bespoke edition—one of the most elite AVs in the world.
A "regular" Caliburn already screams near-bottomless bank account. Night City skies are thick with corporate AVs, which gives the false impression that "damn, everyone's rich." In reality, most are company-issued rides for execs; the corporation still holds the title.
Owning your own AV puts you among the planet's true elite, with enough wealth for several lifetimes. A custom Caliburn? That's the rich among the rich.
On a motor show floor it would bulldoze everything else, and no muted paint could hide its price. Tonight, though, it was a king-owl disguised as a crow, gliding in and settling on the indoor pad without stirring a soul.
The entire parking level had been cleared. Not a car in sight. Rows of hostesses in light, breezy uniforms stood ready; a draft drifting in teased their skirts like rippling water over polished columns, smooth legs below and willow waists above. The outfits were so airy you almost worried they'd catch a chill.
The door lifted.
A man in his late thirties or early forties stepped out unhurriedly. The posture of high office gave him a domineering, top-down aura.
A fitted white suit showed a solid frame; he was nearly one-ninety tall. His face was handsome, the kind of sculpted planes you see in Europeans.
The woman leading the line—immaculate business attire—hurried forward, deferential:
"Mr. Roy Levaque, welcome to the Night City branch."
In chorus behind her:
"Welcome, Chief Technology Officer Roy Levaque, to the Night City branch!"
He didn't so much as twitch at the pomp. His calm gaze swept the hostesses, impassive and severe, like an emperor choosing consorts.
"That one. That one. And that one. I'll take them."
His tone was flat, as if stating a simple fact. He was giving orders to the woman beside him.
"Of course, Mr. Levaque," she said, fawning smile in place.
Roy nodded faintly and flicked his hand, shooing the air with open disgust. "The rest can get out. Don't stain my eyes."
At once, everyone not selected showed a flash of disappointment, then scurried off at the businesswoman's barked command.
The vast pad fell quiet.
"I don't want anyone knowing I arrived in Night City a few days early," Roy added after a few steps, as if remembering. "You did well to bring some toys, but the more people, the more mouths. Shut the ones that just left."
"There will be no leaks about your arrival, sir," she said with an easy smile.
She'd done her homework for tonight: the Moore CTO liked his amusements; despite being sixty-five, he kept a "young" palate. With that training, lining them up to greet him would never offend.
Roy nodded, satisfied. "Lead on. First time here in a year. Curious if anything's changed since last."
"Your floor is ready. We'll go straight up. Seventy-second floor—perfect view over the plaza and the coastline," she said, elegance drilled into every step, the picture of a protocol instructor.
They entered the elevator; she pressed the button and the car rose.
The chosen hostesses were ushered into other lifts by other staff, destined for less public spaces.
Inside: silence. She stood by the panel, eyes on the buttons, avoiding his. She hadn't felt this nervous in a long time. Since becoming head of logistics she'd mostly inspired nerves, not suffered them. Now, facing a CTO from the European HQ, it felt like her first day again: servile, afraid of a misstep that would end her career. Powerful as she was in NC, for him she was a guppy. One line from him and she'd be packing a box.
Because he was HQ—a true heavy, with near-infinite assets.
May nothing go wrong tonight…
The man broke the silence:
"I hear that kid Goodwin's dead. True?"
She flinched, answered softly, "Our apologies, sir. We're doing everything we can to catch the killer. We expect results soon."
"Spare me," Roy snorted. "I don't come often, but I know what this place is."
The doors opened onto the designated floor. He said nothing more and walked into his office with a cold face.
Calling it an office was generous; it was a gallery.
Walls of specialty glass held back a sheet of arctic-blue water, with schools of fish drifting by: an aquarium hallway to receive him.
Beyond that, plinths with cyberware components; plaques with specifications at each base. From front to back: Moore's flagship products over the years. A museum of cybernetics, all opulent sheen.
At the end, a door. Roy reached it without hurry; the wooden-looking leaves opened at his approach.
Inside: tasteful and aristocratic. Silver candelabra, gilt chandeliers, a thick-pile carpet, damask walls, a plush king bed in one corner, and a bar opposite with bottles shining like mirrors.
More a European aristocrat's bedroom than an office.
He glanced around and nodded. "Well put together."
He dropped into the desk chair and looked at the woman lingering at the threshold, a touch tense.
"Let's hear it. How did Goodwin die? I only got the word a few days ago. As his mentor, I have to know."
She nodded and approached, recounting the events at a measured pace.
Roy pinched his chin, listening. When she finished, he let out a small sigh. "Of course. That's the Night City I know: prosperity up front, sin in the name of freedom behind it."
She kept her head down and held her tongue. Leaders talk; you don't.
"How's intel doing? Let me guess: nothing solid," he asked, casual.
"We do have a rough profile," she said, serious. "The assailant carried a katana and ran a Sandevistan. Likely Tyger Claws or a new edgerunner. Of course, it may be a disguise, since Director Goodwin died of gunshot."
"In other words, nothing," Roy concluded, unsurprised, eyes on the night skyline.
"Forgive us. Give us time and we'll deliver," she said, anxiety creeping in.
In NC's stew of humanity, even with a face it's hard to find someone. And even then, a quick trip to a ripper for a face refit and your case file goes in the bin. Morgan Blackhand, the "missing" legend? Not a hair found.
Sure, if they torched every resource in the city they might find him. But a mid-tier director isn't worth that.
Roy smiled thinly. "This place calls itself the freest city in the world. Do you know how I understand it so well without coming much?"
"No, sir," she said, prudently playing dumb.
"Because in this world, governments lie, corporations lie—markets don't." He spoke evenly. "Do you know what industry grows here every year at a steady clip?"
"No."
"Funeral services. In Night City, that's the shadow 'growth sector,' expanding steadily." He added, "The living lie. The dead don't. The business of the dead doesn't either."
She stayed quiet. No need to spell the subtext out.
"It's chaotic. So I know finding someone isn't easy," he went on. "But chaos is good for technology. War drove cybernetics; people claim war is the catalyst. In truth, the core is profit."
"This city is perfect for combat cyberware R&D. Goodwin did well—tackled cyberpsychosis and pushed Berserk Type-3 early. Shame he didn't live to see his day."
He sighed with regret, face free of grief.
He studied her properly for the first time. The tight Moore uniform drew a tempting silhouette; her looks, past fresh-faced, had a polished, mature charm—likely some body refinement along the way.
"You know I didn't come early because of that kid," he said coolly.
She nodded.
"You want to cut the deal with Arasaka yourself—use Berserk T3 as leverage and codevelop later models."
"That's one goal. I have another," Roy said.
"I'm listening, sir."
"Kang-Tao stock has jumped strangely. HQ thinks the issue starts here, in NC. You know their subsidiary, Qianti."
"Yes."
"Qianti isn't public, so there's little on it. But we do know it handles Kang-Tao's dirty work, including non-smart-gun cyberware R&D."
"My intel says Qianti has already prototyped Sandevistan Type-4," Roy said, calm.
Her eyes widened. "Impossible. No prior experience—how could they leap past the three current types to a Type-4?"
Roy snorted. "Nothing's impossible. Arasaka, Militech, and the upstart Kang-Tao of the last fifteen years—true titans have deeper reserves than you can imagine. No experience? Poach it. Qianti's the black-glove for their ugly business. Don't underestimate giants: if they want to, they can spin up a new generation fast."
"I see…" she murmured. "So HQ wants us to codevelop later Berserks with Arasaka."
Roy gave her a surprised glance and smiled. "Exactly. Give a giant the core of a rival's specialty, and they can climb to the next generation quickly. The T3 Goodwin bled for—put it in Arasaka's hands and they could be at T5 in two years."
"Then what's the point of our cooperation?" she asked.
He looked her over, a crooked smile on his mouth, gaze roaming. "If you want to know, we can discuss it in detail tonight. Interested?"
Her face tightened. She looked up, saw he wasn't joking, and forced a smile. "If you don't mind me being a bother, I'm willing."
"Smart. Good. The project's yours as of tomorrow. By the way, do we have an open VP seat here?"
"We have two VPs currently. No vacancies."
Roy nodded, flicked a datachip her way. "Fine. Talk to the local head. Have them free one up. It's yours."
"Thank you, Mr. Levaque!"
She hadn't expected the "surprise."
Roy looked at her again. "About your earlier question—our team's found a pattern. For nervous-system implants like Sandevistan and Berserk, from Type-3 up, sales get… difficult."
She frowned, puzzled. Shouldn't later models be better?
He cleared it up. "Even for capable mercs, T3's side effects are brutal. For the bandwagon crowd? Forget it. As for T4, T5—unless you're world-class or elite military, a single activation breaks you. What's there to sell?"
She nodded, then another question: "So why develop T4 with Arasaka?"
"That can wait till tonight. For now, a question." He looked her up and down like a connoisseur admiring a delicate piece. "You understand how much a Sandevistan T4 rollout would hurt our Berserk T3, right?"
"I do."
Most don't know the truth about side effects. If T4 drops, it will hammer T3 sales: the herd chases "higher number," not value.
"I need you to handle something. We have intel that Qianti's Night City VP is Xu Wanxue—the lead on Sandevistan T4. Handle it," Roy said, flat.
"Xu… as in the Xu family?" She froze, reluctant to accept.
Roy's glance was ice. "I know what worries you. Don't. She's collateral, not Xu Shiming's direct line. Otherwise, why would she be stuck in Night City? If something happens to her—if we delay T4—every day we push it back saves us tens of millions. You know what to do."
She steadied herself and answered with feigned calm, "Understood."
"Good. That's all. Ah—my stretch limo hasn't been flown in yet. My favorite. It'll arrive in a few days. See to it," Roy said, smiling.
"Yes, sir."
He smiled, stood, slipped an arm around her waist, and murmured, "All this talk's made me thirsty. Have the ladies sent up."
"At once," she said softly. After a brief exchange of warmth, she left.
Roy walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He drew a steaming coffee from the machine, took a slow sip, and braced for a long night.
He glanced outside—and paused.
At some point, a fine rain had started to fall. Faint lightning pulsed in the black sky, like pale serpents twisting.
"Rain, huh…" he murmured, sipping again as the warmth slid down his throat.
-
-
-
-
-
MY CYBERPUNK 2077 SIMULATOR
🧠💻 MY CYBERPUNK 2077 SIMULATOR 💻🧠
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
📢 SYSTEM ONLINE! 📢
My Cyberpunk 2077 Simulator has 100+ chapters ahead available on Patreon! 💾🔥
Enter Night City with a simulator, a system, and the kind of advantage most mercs would kill for.
But this is still Night City.
And in a world ruled by corpos, bullets, chrome, gangs, and cyberpsychos, even a cheat-like power doesn't guarantee survival.
⚙️ Level up.🔫 Fight harder.🌃 Stay alive.💀 Or get swallowed by the city.
Read ahead now before the public readers catch up!
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
🛑 ALSO AVAILABLE ON PATREON:
🌃 Cyberpunk: Dogtown Legend🔥 Cyberpunk: The Relentless👩👦 Cyberpunk: Lucy Adopted Me and I Got a System🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?🛡️ Star Wars: The Rise of Mandalore🌌 Star Wars: Relics of the Past🏰 Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort⚡ The Rebirth of Harry Potter🌹 R18: Reincarnated in Her World
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
🔗 Patreon: www.patreon.com/c/MrMagnus👤 Patreon Name: SrMagnus🐦 X / Twitter: https://x.com/SrMagnusBook
⚠️ Power Stones determine which novel gets priority!
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━