Chapter 71: The Animals
Rebecca's high-octane excitement deflated. She ran her hands through her hair in frustration. "Scrap, you're right. So what about our safehouse? All our gear is still there! My collection!"
She was talking about the massive, eclectic stash of weapons and ammo she had hidden at their old base.
Kiwi also looked up, this being her most pressing concern. Her voice was urgent. "My rig. My servers, all my backup data... it's all in the city. Without it, I'm... I'm crippled." For a netrunner, her custom rig and data-archives were her lifeblood.
Pilar let out a groan. "My tools! All my rare parts! That's eddies, man, a lotta eddies!"
The practical problems were piling up. The "glory" of pissing off a mega-corp came with the very real, very immediate crisis of being dispossessed.
Maine looked at his crew. "We have to go back. We have to get our stuff. That's years of our lives, and it's what we need to keep operating. But walking in the front door now? That's just suicide."
He looked at Falco. "You got any lines? Anyone you trust who can run a high-risk transport?"
Falco shook his head, his expression grim. "Tough. Right now, anyone who helps us is declaring war on the corps. No regular transport-jock will touch it. And our real friends... can't drag 'em into this kind of heat."
Dorio, who had been silent, finally spoke, her voice calm and solid. "Maybe... we can ask the Animals."
"The Animals?" Maine looked at her, as did the others.
"Yeah." Dorio nodded, explaining with the certainty of experience. "I know some of their shot-callers from my old days. They're not like the city's fixers, just out for eddies, or corpo-rats waiting to stab you. The Animals... they run on their own logic."
She organized her thoughts. "They worship pure, 'meat' strength. They think over-relying on chrome is weak. In their crew, your rank is based on your muscle, your combat-prowess. Because of that, they value strength and rep above all else. If you prove you're strong, earn their respect, they treat you right. A deal is a deal, as long as it doesn't violate their 'power-is-everything' philosophy. They've got more street-honor than a slippery-shit-fixer like Faraday."
Rebecca's eyes lit up. "Yeah! Dorio, you're a beast now! You could probably tear a mech apart with your bare hands! They'll have to respect that!"
But Dorio wasn't so optimistic. "I can make contact. With my new... condition... I should get their attention. And..."
She paused, choosing her words carefully. "If we give them a little 'sweetener'... hint that the Boss has tech that can make them stronger, without all the chrome... the whole damn gang would probably be willing to work for us."
She knew that for a crew of fanatics obsessed with pushing the limits of the human body, a method to bypass those limits without sacrificing their flesh would be a fatal, irresistible lure.
Maine, however, shot down the idea almost instantly, his voice a hard negative. "Shut that down. Now, Dorio. The Boss's tech is not for trading. He's upgrading us because we swore fealty. Because we're useful to him. And the price..." He glanced at Dorio's new, powerful arms, at Rebecca's plasma pistol. "...we're already paying for it, and we'll be paying a lot more. He will never agree to just hand out his secrets to an entire gang. He doesn't need their muscle, it's worthless to him, and it's a massive risk. Don't even think about it."
Maine understood Joric's cold, transactional logic. Technology, resources... these were assets to be hoarded, measured, and dispensed, not bartered for the loyalty of a street gang.
Dorio fell silent for a moment, then nodded. She knew Maine was right. Her idea was based on street-logic. The "Boss's" logic was from another world.
"Understood," she said, shifting her plan. "No tech. Just a clean deal. I'll go in, use my new strength and my old rep to get a sit-down. We'll pay them, in hard eddies, to extract our gear and Kiwi's rig and transport it here. For the right price, the Animals will do it. And they're strong enough to pull it off."
Maine thought for a moment. It was the most viable plan they had. "How big's the risk?"
Dorio replied, "I'll be smart. I'll contact only the ones I trust. The Animals and the corps hate each other anyway. They're not likely to sell us out to Militech, especially for a straight cash-in-hand gig."
"Good," Maine finally made the call. "Do it. Make contact, get the details, get a price. We'll pool our eddies."
No one else objected.
"On it. I'll reach out soon," Dorio said.
With a clear path forward, the mood in the room lifted, slightly, though the grim shadow of their new reality remained. They had a temporary roof over their heads, but this ruin was far from the life and opportunities of Night City. Their entire future was now tied to the mysterious, alien entity in the sanctum next door.
Rebecca fiddled with her pistol, muttering, "Wonder how long the Boss is gonna be 'researching'... what's so special about that corpo-soldier he's got on his slab anyway..."
At the mention of the captive, Kiwi instinctively shrank deeper into the shadows, the memory of Joric's cold, digital "Purge" command making her shiver. She just prayed her choice hadn't led her into an even deeper abyss.
Maine stared in the direction of the manufactorum, his expression unreadable. He knew the corps wouldn't stop. They had to get stronger, fast, just to survive under Joric's command... and to face the unknown, and undoubtedly more dangerous, "missions" he had planned for them.
This... this was just the beginning.
(End of Chapter)