Inside Cyberspace
"Huh? What the hell is going on?"
Mosley snapped out of his thoughts about Alt Cunningham when the Voodoo Boys' former data fortress began to tremble. His digital instincts kicked in immediately. An attack?
"Are they crazy? Don't they know this is Netwatch property?" he growled and directed his avatar to fly out of the fortress.
But what he saw left him frozen in shock.
A grotesque, dark red structure writhed outside the fortress—an anomaly that didn't belong in this space.
"The Hell Factory…" Mosley muttered grimly.
He had read case files and legends about this digital monstrosity—an entity that moved like a living organism through Cyberspace, impossible to classify with standard data analysis tools. While most constructs in Cyberspace followed a predictable algorithmic form, this one defied logic.
Under normal circumstances, the Hell Factory didn't do anything. It would lurk, like a ticking time bomb of corrupted code. But when it moved?
That meant danger—catastrophic danger.
"Damn it, how could I forget this thing?" Mosley cursed and deployed the fortress's limited defense protocols. Cannons mounted on data spires launched bursts of corrupted code, hoping to repel the invader.
Unfortunately, the fortress hadn't been fully integrated into Netwatch systems yet. Mosley was still using what remained of the Voodoo Boys' scavenged tools—data viruses, decoders, and trojan payloads. It wasn't nearly enough.
The crimson construct rippled like muscle tissue, absorbing the attacks with little effect. Then, dozens of tentacles erupted from its surface—writhing, hissing strings of corrupted code that latched onto the fortress walls like monstrous serpents.
Within moments, the fortress began to disintegrate. Its signature blue-white glow dimmed as data integrity collapsed under the assault.
Alarms flared. Firewalls cracked. Gigabytes of valuable intelligence—the Voodoo Boys' secrets—bled away.
Mosley gritted his teeth. "I'm not letting this freak show eat my work."
He pinged Netwatch.
Within seconds, reinforcements arrived—dozens of data streams converging as Netwatch's best digital enforcers appeared in full gear.
"What the hell is that?!" shouted Allen Noel, one of Mosley's colleagues, materializing beside him.
"Network warfare," Mosley snapped. "Haven't you fought one before?"
"Sure, but never against something this messed up," Allen muttered. "You really drew the short straw."
That was putting it mildly. Mosley had just cleaned up the Voodoo Boys' operation. He hadn't even finished cataloging their data. And now this monster wanted to take it all?
He shook off the frustration. "We need to salvage what we can. The fortress won't last long."
With a nod, Allen raised his weapon—an elegant code injector designed to counter rogue AIs. Along with other agents, he fired wave after wave of anti-virus code and patch deployments.
It worked.
The Hell Factory flinched. Tentacles burst into binary flame, dissolving into static as Netwatch's weapons found their mark.
After absorbing a few more hits, the Hell Factory began to retreat, slithering backward into the shadows of Cyberspace. It didn't seem wounded—just irritated.
"Should we chase it?" Mosley asked, uncertain.
There was silence. No one wanted to voice it, but they all felt it. This thing wasn't just another rogue AI. It was… wrong.
But one hacker—brash and reckless—decided to be a hero.
Without warning, he surged forward, diving into the Factory's retreating form, weapon drawn.
"Hey! Get back here!" Allen shouted. "That's suicide!"
It was too late.
The hacker vanished into a pulsing red wall of data. Within moments, a notification appeared in Mosley's HUD:
"Connection Terminated. Subject unresponsive. Status: Vegetative."
Along with it came an image—inside the crimson expanse floated a lone blue figure.
Mosley stood from his hacking chair and cursed. "Idiot…"
---
Back in the Real World
"Beep-beep… you bastard… Woo woo woo~"
The artificial voice of Delamain Unit Three glitched and crackled as V's car collided violently with it on the highway. The rogue cab AI, part of Delamain's fragmented network of sub-personalities, had gone berserk and launched a head-on collision with her vehicle.
Fortunately, Old Delamain, the primary AI back at headquarters, took control again mid-crash.
"Good luck today," it said calmly, transferring another 10,000 credits to V's account.
Not bad. That brought her payout for the day to over 20K, considering Delamain Two had already offed itself earlier by jumping off a bridge.
V hadn't even had to fight that one.
"Four units left. Please maintain progress," Old Delamain added before signing off.
"Right," V muttered, rolling her eyes.
She was beat. In the past 24 hours, she had:
Traveled out of the city
Met a sexy, hot-tempered nomad
Recovered a stolen vehicle
Guarded a client
Fought Maelstrom thugs
Now gotten into a brawl with a suicidal AI cab
No wonder her nerves were frayed.
Finding a cheap restaurant, she plopped into a booth and ordered the strongest synthetic coffee they had.
She leaned back, organizing her thoughts.
Panam Palmer.
A fiercely independent nomad from the Adocado family, she'd left her tribe after a fallout with the elders. She now made ends meet through smuggling gigs and transport runs.
A few days ago, she had planned a big job. But her partner, Nash, had betrayed her—stealing her ride and product to sell privately.
Fuming, she'd been plotting revenge when V showed up.
To get Panam's help with taking down an AV, V had agreed to help her first.
The two had visited Panam's old crew, including her friends Mitch and Scorpion. Though unwilling to join the fight directly, they gave her guns and support.
Then, in a remote ghost town, Panam and V set up an ambush.
That night, Nash and his crew rolled in. There was no need for negotiation—just a straight-up firefight.
V took out the goons, Panam executed Nash, and together they recovered the stolen goods and car.
Afterward, they met up with the Sixth Street Gang at Sunset Motel, the original buyers. Deal done, trust established.
Panam was now a reliable ally—but for now, they had gone their separate ways while V prepared for the next phase: intercepting the AV.
That was this morning.
Since then, she'd been rammed by a rogue cab and somehow completed three different tasks in one go.
And despite all that…
She was still broke.
Well—not broke—but deep enough in debt that buying decent cyberware on her own was impossible.
She'd need to borrow, hustle, or start cashing in on favors.
V took another sip of her drink and sighed.
Plan: survive, kill corpo scum, get rich. Repeat.
---
Suddenly, the restaurant door burst open with a bang.
V didn't even flinch...
Five men stormed in—bandanas over their faces, pistols and rifles drawn.
"Nobody fucking move! This is a robbery!"
V calmly sipped her drink and turned her head, her eyes already scanning for exit points and cover.
"Night City," she muttered under her breath. "Always full of surprises."
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