Her movements were so precise it was almost painful to watch.
This was Night City—the city of dreams. But no one wanted to wake up listed on tomorrow's Body Lotto.
On the empty street, the dark blue van lay crumpled against a wall, white smoke pouring from its crushed hood.
"There should've been more than six..."
The thought barely formed in Arthur's mind when the van's back door was kicked open from the inside.
Two survivors stumbled out, eyes instantly locking onto him. A man and a woman. The man looked mostly human, at least in shape. The woman, though—her lower legs had been completely replaced with chrome.
Mantis Blades. Her legs tapered into vicious, blade-like extensions, edges gleaming, built for speed and violence.
The thought had barely registered when she lunged, launching herself high and aiming a lethal kick straight at Arthur's face.
The motion caught the streetlights, scattering sparks of cold steel.
That speed... she was running a Sandevistan.
Arthur snatched Jessica by the collar, flinging her backward, then rolled aside himself.
In midair, he raised the Frontier and fired three quick shots—abdomen, right arm, left thigh—cutting off every escape route.
She twisted away at the last second, forced to dodge, glaring at Arthur as he landed.
Not that her expression could really be read—her eyes were no longer human. In their place, a pair of crimson optics glowed bright, protruding unnaturally from their sockets, whirring like camera lenses.
Lowering her stance, she drew a long blade, holding it low at her side.
A cruel grin spread across her face—made all the more grotesque by the jagged steel teeth bared.
She bolted again, this time swinging the blade in a wide arc.
Freed from relying on her legs, her movements grew even faster.
But once more, Arthur's three bullets sealed off her path.
This time she didn't dodge. Her body twisted unnaturally in the air, shouldering through the pain as one round slammed into her left shoulder.
She closed the distance, blade raised high above his head.
But before her vicious smile could fully bloom, it froze stiff on her face.
Unlike her silver blade flashing with cold light, the Swallow seemed to drink in the glow around it, slicing clean through her neck.
Like its namesake, it arrived with the whisper of wind—silent, unstoppable.
Her glowing eyes widened in shock, a wet gurgle rising in her throat as she collapsed to the ground.
Arthur crouched, gripped the Swallow's hilt, and wrenched it free.
He wiped it across her body, then slid it back into its sheath.
When he looked up, the man was holding his pistol—not at Arthur, but to his own head.
"Fucking bitch! Get out of my head!
Get out!"
His roar was desperate, his hand steady. He pulled the trigger without hesitation.
A crimson mist burst into the air. He was dead before he hit the ground.
"Hmm...
Interesting. What kind of trick is that? Seems to work."
Arthur exhaled, eyeing the scene with detached curiosity before giving a small nod of approval.
"I'm a netrunner, after all."
Jessica clearly wasn't taking it well. She didn't vomit, but she staggered back, turning her head away in disgust.
"This looks like some witch shit... the kind they'd burn at the stake."
Arthur shook his head, lowering his gaze to the fallen Maelstrom. The bullet wound was clean—finger-thick, straight through. Nothing unusual at first glance.
But the entry wound shimmered faintly with metallic sheen, arcs of electricity snapping from beneath the skin. Subdermal armor.
No wonder he'd tanked the bullets head-on.
Arthur tilted his head, then noticed a glint in the man's chest pocket. Leaning down, he pulled out a chip.
"A shard... like a sealed envelope. Secure."
Jessica, circling wide around the corpse, called out from a distance.
Arthur shook his head and casually tossed it aside.
You don't stick random loot from a corpse into your head. Into your mouth, maybe—but not your head.
"Just another gang vendetta..."
Nothing out of the ordinary. It had been a while, but Arthur knew the pattern.
Stepping over the body, he motioned to Jessica.
"Come on. Before the cops sniff around."
Their silhouettes vanished down the street.
The NCPD wouldn't touch this. Not with gangs involved. They always kept their distance.
...
While Arthur searched for Jessica's new place, something else was unfolding across Night City.
Pacifica, Westwind Estate.
This was Voodoo Boys turf, though not everyone here flew their flag.
One house, mostly intact, stood out. From the outside, it was just crumbling plaster and shabby walls—a façade of completeness.
But anyone trying to step inside would find resistance—stronger than expected.
Clearly, the home of someone who valued discretion.
Inside, the décor wasn't gaudy, but it was certainly expensive. Luxurious without being ostentatious.
Kirk sat slouched on the sofa, eyes fixed coldly on the doorway.
He wore a bathrobe, but his muscles were tight, not relaxed.
"Maybe when you pay a visit, you should start with an invitation."
A Braindance rig hung over his eyes, its red light pulsing rhythmically.
"My friend, this is a critical time. You'd better pay attention."
The voice drifted in from the doorway—Faraday.
He always spoke low, deliberate, trying to project mystery.
"What we agreed on, I'll handle. Don't see what else there is to talk about."
Kirk's hand had already found the pistol on the table. He wasn't the type for games—a gun in hand was better than any bluff.
"Heh... friend... no need to get worked up. I'm only here to talk about our future."
The four cybereyes on Faraday's face twitched faintly, as though straining to contain something.
He stepped inside, dropped into a chair without asking, and smiled broadly at Kirk across from him.
...
(70 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser