Gloria Martinez will live. I'm not sure if it will be a long and happy life, but significantly longer than it could have been.
— That's all for today. Drop me off at home, — I said to Lucas, sitting in the car and looking through the window at the ill-fated clinic.
The next day, I had an operational deployment for once. The Wraiths had torn apart a convoy too important for the corporation and hadn't bothered to remove one of the trackers on the cargo. May they rest in pieces.
All the action took place at an abandoned factory ten kilometers outside the city. A building in the middle of the Badlands, the roads to which were almost covered in dust and sand. A squad of operatives, covered by drones, disembarked from four AVs. More than thirty specialists. I was attached to them as an investigator, a bit of a negotiator, and an interrogation expert. The task was simple: once the gang was rooted out, find out how they got the convoy data. Was it a rat, a corporate network hack, or a random "lucky break" for the Wraiths, for which they would now pay with their heads. It didn't matter. The Wraiths are outcasts even among Nomads. Those who were driven out of their clans for particularly nasty antics. Psychopathic killers, rapists, thieves who stole from their own. Something between the American biker gangs of my original world and post-apocalyptic Raiders.
Action in the Badlands seemed more interesting than sitting in the office. However, I also needed to push my own plans forward in parallel.
The sun beat down mercilessly. I stood behind a heavy troop transport AV in the company of Lucas. One hundred and fifty meters to the building that our operatives were currently assaulting. Gunshots and explosions were already rattling in the background, and I was on a call with Wakako Okada.
— I understand that Santo Domingo is El Capitan's territory, but he's not very fond of suits, and I'm currently wearing a suit despite the heat, — I chuckled. — Just surveillance. And I need pros. The guy himself is a nobody, but he'll cross paths with an experienced runner. A simple tail will be noticed, and she'll get suspicious. We can't spook her...
I paused because Lucas dragged me down onto the dust and sand. Bullets rattled across the AV hull over our heads. What the hell?! Are our specialists catching flies?
— Mr. Price? — Wakako clarified. — Are you still there?
— Still here, — I replied, lying under the bulk of the Brazilian. — I'm transferring the money now. I'm paying more than the usual rate, but the job must be done perfectly. Transferring eight thousand.
— Quite generous for surveillance. Are you sure nothing more is required?
— The rest later. Talk to you soon, Ms. Okada.
— They got reinforcements, — the Brazilian yelled in my ear, drowning out the gunfire. — We need to go.
He was right. While our specialists were storming the factory, four Wraith combat vehicles, painted with skulls, had pulled up from the other side of the Badlands. Powerful off-roaders with mounted weapons. They had machine guns and even one rocket launcher system. Our squad, which had just been in an advantageous position, was now caught between two fires.
We had, of course, already called for backup, but when would it arrive? Ten minutes? Twenty? In that time, we could be flatlined several times over.
Lucas acted quickly and decisively. Scooping me up like a rag doll, he tossed my body into the AV. He jumped in after me, getting behind the mounted machine gun. The four barrels of the minigun barked a short burst of fire toward the Wraiths.
The AV pilot in a closed black helmet frantically swiveled his head, then yanked the lever to his right. The heavy transport vehicle lurched. It began to take off.
I pulled out the Yukimura, wanting to fire a few symbolic shots toward the Wraiths, but Lucas roughly pushed me away from the doors. Telling me, basically, to sit still, suit, and not interfere with the pros fighting.
The AV was gaining altitude. Using my deck, I connected to its external surveillance cameras. Holy shit. Four of our AVs had simultaneously decided to haul ass. Meanwhile, the assault team was still resisting. Some of the spec-ops guys had already breached the factory premises. five others were covering them from the Wraith reinforcements, laying down suppressive fire. Not all was lost yet.
The Wraiths were pushing their combat vehicles closer. The degenerates in leather jackets and crudely painted helmets were cheering themselves on with war cries. I saw one of the Nomad renegades lean out of a window, aiming some kind of makeshift grenade launcher toward the factory. Was the distance suitable for me? Yes. I could clip him at the very edge. I poured all my available memory into quickhacks aimed at him. Optic Jammer, Short Circuit, Contagion, Overheat.
The AV climbed higher. The engines roared. From time to time, the minigun rattled, with Lucas working quite precisely against the enemies he deemed dangerous. I glanced at the factory roof. Pretty flat. There were two enemy shooters up there: a sniper and a machine gunner.
— Take out the ones on the roof! — I yelled to Lucas, breaking the connection with the camera, and then rushed toward the pilot. — Land the AV on the roof! — I shouted into his ear, hidden somewhere beneath the flight helmet. — We have to cover the team! They still have a chance!
— We're leaving! — the pilot replied. — I have the right to follow protocol!
He did. Without a clear order from a superior, the pilot's priority was to save the valuable transport. Paradox. There weren't many more Wraiths than us. They were worse armed, but they had one common goal: to crush the enemy. And what about us? What about the pride of Arasaka? The pilots are saving the AVs, Lucas is saving me, the commander is nowhere to be found, and the assault team is fighting on its own. A goddamn circus.
I jumped back toward the pilot, firing the Yukimura at the AV ceiling. Thankfully, the bullets from my little pop-gun wouldn't seriously damage anything here or ricochet. Then I pressed the Yukimura to the pilot's head and bellowed into his ear:
— Land the AV on the roof or I'll blow your brains out!
Time to play Imperial Guard Commissar for a bit. The main thing was that Lucas didn't decide to calm down his overly rowdy charge with a pistol whip to the back of the head. But he was busy with the minigun right now.
— Land it, or I'll kill you and land it myself!
I'm not a great pilot, but I can manage a hard landing of this tub on the roof. Especially since the vehicle has an autopilot. It would be more agreeable than the meatbag pilot.
— I'll file a complaint! — the live pilot declared.
— You will! — I agreed. — If you survive. So, land this bucket, you bastard!
The AV began to descend. Lucas had already gunned down one of the Wraiths on the roof. I helped him with the second by hitting the enemy with Short Circuit.
Three AVs had already ascended about two hundred-something meters, while ours set down on the roof, turning its machine gun toward the Wraith reinforcements. I switched back to the surveillance camera. This time, I used a surviving one on the factory wall.
While Lucas fired the minigun, I handed out quickhacks to the most brazen enemies and especially the vehicle drivers. Too bad I can't blow up vehicles yet. At the same time, my deck's ICE detected an attack from an enemy netrunner. Well, good luck to him and may the wind be at his back, as they say.
I loudly hiccupped from a Short Circuit. I didn't feel Contagion at all. Only the Synapse Burnout caused a dull ache in my head and a bout of nausea. A combination of combat quickhacks that would be fatal to many people broke against my inhuman essence. The scripts, upon reaching their target, didn't understand what the hell I was or how to kill it.
Then the enemy runner switched to easier targets. First, Lucas flinched from the combination of Optic Jammer and Short Circuit. The minigun fell silent for a moment. The Wraiths by the cars took advantage, opening heavy fire on us and the assault team. Several light homing rockets struck the AV's roof. We were shaken. An emergency alarm wailed. The pilot shrieked curses.
Damn. I need to take out the enemy netrunner. In the Net, I could easily kill the bastard. Tear his essence apart and devour it.
I had long since pinpointed the runner's location. He was hiding behind a car and working through several cameras. A thread of virtual connection stretched between us. It seemed like the enemy was right there—reach out and kill—but his ICE was quite good. My deck's memory was only enough for one Contagion. He would easily survive that and recover quickly. What should I do...
I remembered the journey to the Crystal Palace. How predatory tentacles burst out through the thin human shell of my informational body. If only I could create one now. Just one! I imagined it sliding along the virtual connection thread between us, searching for a vulnerability in the enemy's ICE and...
For a second, my perception changed. A blue ripple flashed before my eyes. I seemed to leave my body and indeed slid along the virtual thread to the enemy's informational essence. I tore a piece from it, forcing the runner to writhe in agony. At the same time, I suddenly felt so good and pleasant.
Satiation.
The satiation of a hunger unknown to living people.
The damage went through!
The runner's resistance stats dropped. I tried to repeat the trick. Again, the damage went through, euphoria washed over me, but at the same time, my hands grew cold. Stop. Slow down. Especially since my cyberdeck's memory was suddenly full. It recovered quickly. Following the virtual tentacle attack, I hit the runner with my usual combat quickhacks. Mostly Overheat. Now it worked quite well, considering how weakened the enemy's ICE was. The runner was failing. His defenses crumbled, and his life hung by a thread.
It was foolish, but I couldn't resist. I finished the opponent off using the virtual tentacle, once again feeling the intoxicating, wicked euphoria. Some images flashed before my eyes. A shootout during a race. Drunken sex in a motel. Memory! I ripped several memory images from him and absorbed them. Now chunks of the enemy's informational essence, fragments of an alien soul, were being digested inside me. This is what I lived on in the Net. Or rather, existed. I wandered and hunted to snatch a bigger piece.
An incredible feeling.
But simultaneously, my physical condition sharply deteriorated. My head was spinning, my fingers were numb, and my legs barely obeyed me. Was the new body... rejecting me?!
I needed to calm down.
I crawled into the corner of the AV and, to the roar of the minigun, pulled out a tablet of a mild stim that also relieved spasms, with trembling hands. I chewed it without washing it down. The feeling started to ease. My head cleared, and sensitivity returned to my fingers. However, the coldness of death still gripped my throat with icy fingers. Calmly. We'll survive the fight and sort everything out.
I used the camera as a proxy again. Left without a netrunner, the Wraiths grew disheartened. I threw a few more malicious quickhacks at the most aggressive enemies, and then decided I had done enough. Now all that remained was to hope that the assault team would capture the factory from within.
I lay there, breathing heavily. My head ached. My body felt alien and ready to throw me back into the Net Abyss at any moment. This lasted for another seven minutes, and then it got easier. All that remained was fatigue and nausea, similar to the aftermath of the Kerenzikov. A set of symptoms that would be lethal to many people broke against my inhuman nature.
I checked the hardware menu of my deck.
A new "embedded" quickhack appeared there, which didn't occupy any slots. Though it was embedded not so much in the deck as directly into my demonic essence. The implant just analyzed it and added a description.
Essence Rip
Description: "Damages the target's nervous system, provoking an internal collapse. Steals random chains of information, transferring them to the user and processing them into cyberdeck memory."
-Lethal
-Deals damage that increases proportionally to lost health. Ineffective against drones, robots, and vehicles.
-Damages enemy ICE.
-When an enemy is affected by this quickhack, it restores cyberdeck memory proportional to the damage dealt.
-Can cause disorientation, derealization, panic, and inflict long-term harm to the enemy's mental stability.
-Increases your desynchronization with the body.
Increases desynchronization with the body? So that's what I felt. This isn't a quickhack in the usual sense, but simply an algorithm of my inhuman essence's actions. In moments of its use, I partially transform, as I did in cyberspace. I lose my humanity, returning to the existence of a Net Demon. It makes sense why the body would start rejecting such an unsuitable essence. But the desynchronization passes on its own over time. That means I can use my demonic powers sparingly. The main thing is to know my limits. I wonder what other tricks my inhuman side is capable of, and if the desynchronization problems can be mitigated?
While I was thinking and recovering, the fight for the factory ended. The remnants of the Wraith reinforcements sped away in their cars into the Badlands. Those who had barricaded themselves inside the factory were killed or neutralized. The cargo was secured.
— I am obligated to note, Mr. Price, that some of your actions are contrary to corporate charter, — Lucas stated to me. — However, you acted in the corporation's interest. I will also note that in my report.
The pilot remained silent. He was probably afraid that I would snap and finally blow his brains out. After some time, one of the surviving assault team commanders contacted me. He thanked me for the help, albeit without much enthusiasm. And it was time for me to start my direct work task—the investigation.
We messed around at the factory until evening. It seemed the Wraiths had just been "lucky" with the convoy. Greed killed those fools.
The investigation took the entire daylight. Never mind. I still have time. Theoretically, David will only learn about his mother's "death" today and will go to install the Sandevistan in the evening. However, I should speed up preparations.
Jenkins called, who seemed to be praising me again, yet also giving me shit.
— From my perspective, V, they would all be dead without you. However, the operatives can't admit that an office sitter saved their asses. So, all the glory and a hundred thousand eurodollar bonus go to some Hugh Robbins. You get twenty grand and a letter of appreciation. I suggest you print that little note, wipe your ass with it, and use the money to go to a decent bar a couple of times.
Well, twenty grand is not bad either. It covered the costs of Gloria's treatment and surveillance on David.
— And I'll be honest with you, V, you shouldn't have gotten involved, — Arthur continued. — Arasaka is not the kind of company where you play cowboy. They won't appreciate it. We were lucky it all ended in our favor. Otherwise, those scumbags would have blamed you for violating regulations instead of thanking you. Next time, just haul ass.
In essence, Jenkins was right. I acted rashly, risking my own skin for people who would gladly sell me out. That's how this corporation works. However, in the fight with the Wraiths, I unlocked a new ability. I gained valuable experience.
— I'll keep that in mind next time. It was just sickening to run away from a bunch of degenerates who watched too much Mad Max. But never mind... Forget about that skirmish. Arthur, I need to go on an operational job tomorrow or the day after. I have one potentially interesting lead.
— Something important? — Jenkins became interested.
— No. Not your caliber, but it might be useful to me.
— V... — Jenkins said disapprovingly. — Did you see our backlog on the October incident? It's about to stink, and Abernathy will sniff it out.
— I'll work overtime.
— Of course, you will, V. Saturday night into Sunday morning. You can sleep in the morning. You'll have to push hard next week too. Get a room at a hotel near work or sleep in the rest area. I'll tell the security guys not to bother you.
Oh, for fuck's sake. I'd pay for one field trip with several days of office crunch. Unequal exchange. Another couple of months of this grind, and I'll come to work in a Samurai t-shirt with a nuclear bomb in my bag. However, I need the position too much right now. I'll have to endure it and only then sail into the open sea.
Returning to the city, I made a couple of calls. First, the easiest and most pleasant one—Jackie.
— Whoa, look who it is! — the mercenary greeted me kindly. — Miss the shooting range?
— Unfortunately, I won't be at the range anytime soon. My personal life is too hectic. The corporation is screwing me without lube, so much so that the gigolos on Jig-Jig Street would be jealous.
— You chose this yourself, amigo.
— Yeah, yeah. And I'm calling about this business... Soon I need to go and pick up a kid. You could call it a good deed. The pay is five thousand.
— Judging by the pay, there's gonna be trouble.
— Maybe there will be, or maybe everything will go smoothly.
— Should I bring more guys?
— No. I'll bring the "guys" ourselves.
— Oh, I really don't want to work with your people. Allergic to gonks. Forgive my frankness, camarada.
— That's exactly why I need you there. You can defuse the situation if needed. Talk to the street punks in their language. Ease the tension, in short.
— Am I supposed to tell jokes or pull a rabbit out of a hat there? — the mercenary smirked.
— If you deem it necessary. The mission is essentially diplomatic. But if diplomacy fails, there could be a big pile of corpses. You dig?
— It's always like this with you, choom. Five, but if it comes to shooting, then seven and a half. More expensive because I'll have to deal with your people.
— Deal. Seven and a half? The same rate as Evelyn Parker.
— Hey! — Jackie playfully protested. — Are you comparing me to some of your putas?
— Not mine. Forget it and good luck. I'll call you when and where you need to meet me.
"My putas?" I silently smirked after the call.
If we don't change the events of '77, that puta will be the one screwing you, Jackie. Seven and a half thousand won't cover it.
Next was another call. Much less pleasant. I spent a long time thinking about who I could enlist for the upcoming operation as muscle. Arasaka Security? I could probably get five specialists from them for free. However, each of them would then write a report that would inevitably end up on Abernathy's desk. It's not worth attracting Arasaka's unnecessary attention to Lucy. She must belong to me and only me.
So, screw Security. I'll have to hire the Claws again. Among the Tiger Claws bosses was one with a terrifying and repulsive reputation, yet capable of keeping his people in check. Jotaro Shobo. A psychopath, a maniac, a director of black braindances. He knew how to enforce a discipline unheard of for this gang among his Claws.
The call with him went smoothly. Like many Tiger Claws bosses, he regularly fed from the hand of our corporation. So, the request for five fighters didn't surprise him. Given my high demands, I had to fork over twenty-five thousand. However, two of them would supposedly have a Sandevistan. That's powerful.
Today turned out to be as long as the list of overdue loans of a typical Heywood family. Overall, though, I was satisfied. I mastered a new ability and was ready for the next stage of the plan.
Before bed, I took a couple of tranquilizers, as my nerves refused to lose their tension. Burning out slowly. Never mind. Eventually, I'll say goodbye to the corporation and start climbing to the top of Night City myself. With these thoughts, I drifted off to sleep.