While Leon Black was busy playing life mentor, a darker scene unfolded at the Death Dance Bar.
The lights were dim, the bass-heavy music shook the walls, and sweaty, restless youths filled the dance floor. The air was thick with a dizzying cocktail of perfume, smoke, and adrenaline. That intoxicating aroma was enough to overstimulate the nerves. A few collapsed from the high, yet grinned even as they passed out.
That's when the Vortex Gang stepped in—posing as bartenders, waiters, or janitors. One by one, they carried away the fainted partygoers like clockwork.
A quick scan determined your fate: if you had connections, you were quietly released. If not… your organs were harvested. Heart, liver, kidneys, lungs—each piece a treasure on the black market.
Strange, isn't it? In a world flooded with cybernetic augmentations, it was the rich who desired pure, organic flesh the most.
---
Johnny stepped into the bar.
His sharp eyes scanned the chaos like an eagle hunting prey. He wasn't here to party.
"Hey! No weapons inside!" barked the bouncer behind the bar—a towering Black man clutching an M2038 shotgun.
"Relax, pal," Johnny grinned, placing his pistol on the counter, "I'm just here to have a good time."
The bouncer narrowed his eyes, not buying it, but nodded after seeing the weapon handed over. "Tag for it," he grunted, tossing over a claim token. "Don't forget it when you leave."
Johnny smirked, pocketed the tag, and melted into the crowd, using the flashing lights to mask his movements. His enhanced eye implants whirred quietly as he scanned the club's internal layout.
"That's the surveillance room," said V, the voice in his head, noting the converging power lines leading to a black steel door on the upper floor.
"Baby, no need to remind me," Johnny licked the corner of his mouth and moved in.
"Sir! That area's restricted!" a security guard called out as Johnny approached the upstairs door.
Johnny stopped, pretending to squirm. "Sorry, where's the restroom?"
"Down the hall to the right," the guard said casually.
Too easy.
In an instant, Johnny grabbed the guard's wrist, twisted it behind his back, and delivered a swift, calculated strike to the neck. The man crumpled, unconscious.
"You move fast," V muttered dryly.
"No alarms, no problem," Johnny replied, glancing at the camera above the steel door. No red light—no one was watching.
This was their style—Johnny handled the brute work, V handled the net.
---
Two months ago, V was just a rookie, barely understanding the net. Now, with a few implants and some trial by fire, she could disable basic surveillance and assist in real-time combat scenarios.
But she wasn't top-tier—not yet.
"Real pros could cook these guys alive with one malware loop," Johnny said as he picked up the guard's gun. "You've still got a long way to go."
"That's why I keep pushing," V said. She wasn't planning to stay at this level. The investigation into the mayoral candidate had been a wake-up call. She needed more upgrades—more firepower. War was on the horizon, and only power kept you alive.
"Just don't die before then."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
---
Johnny kicked open the door to the surveillance room.
The operator inside barely got out a word before Johnny's fist silenced him. With the man out cold, Johnny's fingers flew across the terminal. The screens flickered blue, displaying every corner of the club.
In one corner of screen fourteen—third floor—a grotesque, crater-faced man lounged on a sofa.
"That's Royce," V whispered, "current boss of the Vortex Gang."
As if sensing the intrusion, Royce turned, looked directly at the camera, and grinned.
"Creepy bastard," Johnny muttered.
Royce wasn't stupid. He'd already received word that someone had breached the club. The gang's in-house netrunner had traced Johnny's actions and cut all external signals. Royce stood, stretched lazily, and gave the order.
"No one walks out of here alive."
---
Just then, the door behind Johnny creaked.
Without hesitation, he spun and emptied half a magazine. The thug who'd entered collapsed instantly, his gun still holstered.
Alarms blared. On the floor below, panic erupted. Some ran screaming for the exits. Others—used to chaos—dropped to the ground, covering their heads.
Gang wars weren't new here. Most knew the unspoken rule: civilians weren't targets—today.
"Second level stairway, now!" V barked.
Johnny dashed forward, exchanging fire with enemies on every side. His borrowed Z21-Dread pistol whined from the heat, but he pressed on, kicking down a rusted door at the top of the stairs.
Inside stood Royce, seething with rage.
"You little shit. You're dead."
"Let them go!" Johnny shouted, raising his pistol.
"Go to hell!" Royce barked, and the firefight began.
---
The room exploded into chaos.
Bullets tore through the air. Johnny dodged expertly, returning fire with lethal precision. Each kill was clean—two shots to the chest, one to the head. His pistol flickered with blue fire, overheating with each burst.
"Too many!" he growled, ducking behind cover.
Suddenly, two shadows launched into the room.
Boom. Boom.
Dust and debris filled the air.
Johnny looked up, coughing. "What now?!"
"Help I called in," V said smugly.
From the smoke emerged River Ward, twin light machine guns in hand.
"A little warning would've been nice!" Johnny roared, diving for cover as River mowed down enemies like grass.
"Hey! V!" River shouted, tossing a machine gun.
Johnny caught it mid-air, dropped his empty pistol, and smiled. "Now this is more like it!"
Back to back, Johnny and River rained down bullets, reducing Royce's squad to a bloodied mess. The tide was turning—until Royce himself entered the fray.
---
With a deafening roar, Royce opened fire with a heavy hand cannon. The massive rounds cracked the concrete walls and forced Johnny and River to split.
"Damn!" Johnny cursed, rolling aside.
"Can't hold him back!" River shouted, his shoulder torn by a graze.
Royce laughed, dropping his cannon. He charged Johnny like a cybernetic bull. "Let's dance!"
Johnny raised his gun but was too slow. Royce slammed a reinforced arm into his face, sending him flying across the room. He crashed into the wall, slumping down, bleeding and still.
"Johnny!" River screamed.
Furious, River unloaded on Royce, but the gang leader barely flinched. He stormed forward, smashing River's weapon into pieces and grabbing him by the head.
"Let's see what's inside that brain," Royce growled.
Just then—
"Die!"
Johnny, blood dripping from his brow, rose behind Royce. With all his strength, he thrust a jagged iron pipe through Royce's throat.
"Gurgh…!"
Blood gushed from Royce's neck like a fountain.
"You…" Royce turned in disbelief.
Johnny grinned, face smeared with blood. "You thought you killed me?"
He picked up the dropped cannon, aimed at Royce's head.
"In your next life, be a better person."
Boom.
Royce's body crumpled, lifeless.
---
The room fell into eerie silence.
River slowly stood, coughing. "You good?"
Johnny nodded, then collapsed, breathing heavily.
V's voice was soft now, solemn. "We survived."
"Barely."
---
Outside, the Death Dance Bar was already surrounded by flickering neon and curious onlookers. Sirens approached in the distance.
Johnny closed his eyes, letting the thump of techno music fade.
He knew this was just one battle. The war had only begun.
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