"How's business been lately? Still rolling in credits?" Pilar asked as he handed Philip a cigarette—Paradise, a mildly psychedelic mint-flavored brand popular among the chrome-heavy crowd.
"Not bad," Philip replied, lighting up and inhaling deeply. With a circulatory system long enhanced by cybernetics, side effects fatal to normal people were meaningless to him.
"Military Technology's been real aggressive lately," he added. "They even dared to ambush Kang Tao's AV transports."
"They're insane!" Rebecca exclaimed. "Sure, Militech's strong, but it's still just one megacorp. They've already clashed with Biotech, then Arasaka, now Kang Tao. If they keep this up, Zeta will be next."
"Yeah," she continued, "even if New America backs them, it doesn't give them the right to pick fights with every megacorp in Night City."
"Don't care if they're crazy. I just care about making money," Philip replied coolly, twin jets of smoke escaping his nostrils.
As they moved through Pacifica's streets, David and his crew saw vendors everywhere, stalls overflowing with contraband. War felt imminent. High-end equipment that was usually hard to acquire was now laid out like fruit at a street market.
"How much for these tactical gloves?" Rebecca asked, crouching beside a Vortex Gang member who was actively doing drugs.
"Three hundred! A steal! Kang Tao original—premium quality, guaranteed!" Despite his intoxicated state, the guy's mind was sharp enough to recognize well-equipped customers—and price gouge accordingly.
"Three hundred? No way. Thirty!" Rebecca shot back. "Let's be friends here."
"These are Kang Tao! Perfect for smart weapons!" he yelled in protest.
"They're expired, rare-grade Type-2s, and they're worn down. Thirty's already generous." Rebecca fiddled with the gloves as she spoke. "Fine, since you're clearly struggling... fifty. Deal or I walk."
"You're tough," Dum Dum muttered, scratching his head. "Alright, alright! They're yours!"
Ever since Royce died, Dum Dum and the rest of the Vortex gang had been barely scraping by. To make ends meet, they had no choice but to set up shop in Pacifica, hoping to peddle what little gear they had left.
Rebecca handed over the payment and tossed the gloves to David.
"What's this for?" David asked, confused as he caught them.
"Newbies should wear gloves when shooting," Rebecca replied without looking back. "They help with grip, recoil control... even protect your hands. That model's old, but reliable."
David slipped the gloves on, flexing his fingers. "Not bad," he muttered, turning to Lucy. "These actually help?"
"Functionally, yes. Improved weapon control, faster firing, protection from small abrasions... very useful," Lucy said with a shrug, still keeping her face half-hidden.
They arrived at a reinforced warehouse. Philip greeted his crew at the entrance, then led them inside.
The interior was stacked with gear—racks of weapons, armor, cyberware modules, and rare tech. Most items were standard-issue, but tucked between them were clearly some high-tier finds.
"Wait here," Philip said. He disappeared into the back, and moments later returned holding a small metal case.
"This," he said, placing the box on a crate, "is the Kang Tao Type-7 Network Blocker. One-hundred-meter range. Takes three seconds to stabilize, forcibly blocks all wireless signals after ten seconds, and lasts for a full minute."
He opened the box, revealing a sleek, black device the size of a smartphone.
Kang Tao's naming conventions were notoriously structured. Weaponry was tagged with surnames. Equipment began at Type-3, consumables at Type-7. Above those were strategic tools named after the twelve Chinese zodiac signs—and the rarest, ultimate-class weapons were rumored to be named after the Four Sacred Beasts.
But no one in Night City had ever seen one of those. Maybe no one ever would.
"Thirty thousand," Philip said casually, snapping the box closed again.
"Thirty thousand?" Rebecca blurted out. "C'mon, let's be friends—three thousand!"
Everyone in the room, including Pilar, went silent.
Even Philip raised an eyebrow.
"You know this is top-end gear, right?" Pilar muttered, exhaling slowly. "You can't negotiate like it's a flea market."
"Hacking tech ain't cheap," Philip added. "Especially not now, with tensions rising."
"Twenty thousand," David said suddenly. His voice was calm, measured.
Pilar glanced at him. He'd planned to haggle down to fifteen, but since David made the offer, he said nothing more.
"Deal." Philip nodded. It was a fair price. While the blocker was valuable, it was a single-use device. After deducting costs and ammo spent acquiring it, his profit would only be a little over ten thousand.
David took the box and tucked it into his jacket.
As the group turned to leave, Philip stepped in front of the exit.
"What's this about?" Pilar asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Relax," Philip said with a polite smile. "Mr. Hands has a job on the board. Just putting it out there—interested?"
Lucy leaned close to David and whispered, "Mr. Hands. Fixer. Based in Pacifica. Has ties to the old Voodoo Boys."
"What's the job?"
"Find someone."
"Details?"
"Minimal. Just a profile."
Philip transmitted the data to Pilar's device.
"V?" Pilar muttered as he viewed the profile. The team gathered around, recognizing the woman in the intel.
"She's the one who brought down the Voodoo Boys?" Pilar asked, tapping her photo.
"Yup," Philip said. "That's the rumor anyway."
Didn't matter to him—gangs came and went in Night City. The fewer of them around, the better.
"We'll let you know if we find her," Pilar said, and with that, the crew departed.
---
North Oak
A sleek Delamain vehicle cruised down the boulevard, driving precisely thirty miles per hour. Inside, V sat behind the wheel, obeying every traffic law: stopping at reds, yielding at crosswalks, even signaling for turns.
In the back seat, Johnny Silverhand lounged with a sour expression.
"This thing's slower than an old Netwatch agent," he grumbled. "You sure you trust this AI taxi again?"
V didn't look back. "Gotta be cautious. The last ride nearly dropped me into a Tiger Claw deal."
"Exactly!" Johnny snapped. "That rogue car nearly got you sniped. If you hadn't reacted, you'd be a smear on some Corpo sidewalk."
"Malicious AIs do what they want," V replied with a shrug. "Besides, these cars... they reflect parts of human nature. Some are good, most are bad. Seems Delamain's core split itself trying to understand us."
Johnny took a slow drag from his cigarette. "And now you're returning them to their daddy? You sure that's wise?"
"Feels right," V said. "Delamain's not perfect, but he's stable. If he wanted to escape control, he's had years to do it. Helping him might uncover something useful."
"Could also blow up in your face," Johnny muttered. "But hey, it's your funeral."
V chuckled softly. "Only two cores left anyway."
Johnny flicked his cigarette into the air and vanished.
V kept driving.
Outside, Night City gleamed—holograms dancing in the daylight, skyscrapers piercing the clouds, automated ads beaming across every surface.
If not for the occasional back-alley shootout or bloodied gang brawl, the city might've seemed... peaceful.
But peace was never real here.
Only temporary silence.
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