The fast moving tires of a beat up Cortes make their way through the Glen. The low level corpo rat behind the wheel is busy running his mouth with a loud, obnoxious tone in his voice matching that of the busy traffic. The car was littered with paperwork, disposable coffee cups and various items that scream degenerate. His stress levels are peaking as he, the corporate glue of the operation, frantically talks on the phone with a contact while they try to piece together leads and events sending waves through the streets of Santo Domingo. Its clear some of the moves being made on the block are happening outside of him and his associates control… and seemingly all at once out of nowhere.
His shit driving and blathering mouth are too busy to recognize the blue and red lights of an NCPD squad car tailing behind him. His car suddenly begins to slow and pull itself over.. the corpo rat so self involved doesn't even notice it as he carelessly reaches into the backseat to fish for some paperwork. The car comes to a slow stop in front of a high traffic business front.. a budget friendly clinic with scores of people flooding in and out.
The badge hops out of his squad car. A young, well built stud with blonde hair slicked back similar to Brian's style takes a deep breath and stretches his neck. Overworked on a double shift has him ready to snarf a couple scop dogs before calling it quits right in the cruiser. Under the hot beaming sun, he knocks a couple of times on the rat's rolled up window.. barely able to see him. He notices the corpo still fishing around in his car… completely detached from everything going on. The badge clicks his teeth.. removing his sunglasses before knocking again on the window even harder. This causes the corpo to finally look up at the road and realize the car has stopped. He looks down at the gas pedal before finally glancing at the cop and rolling his window down.. still blathering away on the phone without missing a beat. The cop mutters in a tired monotone.
"Hey how ya doin' license and registration."
The corpo glances at the cop again and hands over his documents while still running his mouth on the phone at an obnoxiously high volume… sounding like nails on a chalkboard to the officer.
"There was a bolo put out on these wheels not too long ago. Know anything about that?" The cop says while squinting... checking over the rat's registration.
The corpo who hasn't stopped talking on the phone at all doesn't even respond let alone hear him.
"Yo. This is expired. "The cop says raising the document up as well as his free hand.
The corpo continues to run his big mouth on and on and on the phone obnoxiously.
"HEY!!!!" The cop yells forcefully over mid day traffic and a barking corpo rat.
"WHAT!!!" The corpo yells back finally lowering the phone as he looks up at the cop.
"I SAID this is EXPIRED!! ASSHOLE!!"
*BOOOOOOMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*
The Cortes suddenly explodes in a fiery inferno sending a booming shockwave through the clinic, blowing out its windows. The NCPD badge is sent flying while the flames engulf the dead corpo rat to the sounds of civilians screaming and scattering through the streets in terror. Babies cry as mothers scream and parked car alarms ring throughout the block to distant approaching sirens...
Later that night.. the sound of a holo buzz ringing idle fades in alongside the idle sounds of a quieted Night City.
The call is answered.
=Wakkako... always so nice to hear from you.=
=Rogue my dear.. Its been too long. Far far too long. How is business.=
=To say 'busy' wouldn't really cut it... A lot of moving parts seem to be stacking up with not much sign of slowing down these days. To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise check up.=
=I'm sure you've heard by now. The rumblings coming out of Santo? Serious. Heavy dealings. Much much too heavy for the area.=
=Mm... i've been given the jist. Eyes and ears on my end tend to... wander the deeper one ventures into there.=
=Messy business... Scattered skirmishes. Power. A power grab to be sure. My contacts inform me... Perhaps a new player on the field.=
=Hm... power grab in Santo Domingo. What power..? The little thats there isn't worth a full blown street war... and from what i'm being told source is a woman going by the alias 'Mama' Rogue rolls her orange glowing eyes while flipping her short, white hair.
=Yes. 'Mama'. I too have heard this name. More than once now. Reckless movements. Currently unpredictable.=
=Shit being done down there just doesn't track for me... Too much money being effortlessly shoveled around... Buying loyalty isn't uncommon sure... but this rate of turnaround is strange... and the moves even stranger... No territory claims, trafficking distribution changes... but what's most interesting to me- no collateral damage on the local populace... Hm... Now THAT one is impossible. You know as well as I do something this clean... this pointed... can only really be one thing:
=Corpo.= The women conclude simultaneously... a flat monotone.
= I'll be sure to do some digging. Much Much to learn at a time like this. = Wakkako responds
= Whoever this is... they're currently not on my fuck around and find out list... and I plan on keeping it that way. =Rogue claims in a tired tone.
=Best to stay clear. For now.=
=Mmhm.= Rogue responds before both women end the holo call.
The light tappings of little boots walking on the sidewalk fade in carrying the same pace that a busy corpo CEO would have. Since all the major and abrupt changes on the block, the kid Molly initially met in the neighborhood has been a busy little guy. Sporting some brand new jet black, varnished Rocker Shorty boots, he walks with confidence but a fatigued stride. Kids so young are normally meant to be little wired up balls of energy… however, with a schedule this busy, he's lucky to lay his head on a pillow when the sun goes down. It's the late evening as hes finishing his rounds. He makes his way to one of the countless dilapidated duplexes on a block and is met out front by a grown man sat next to a small, dirty metal tray. The kid lays a dollar on the tray and begins to walk up the stairs. The man sat counting his money does a double take.
"Hey.." The street tough says in a flat tone. The kid ignores him and continues up the stairs.
"HEY!" He shouts at the kid... making him reluctantly stop and look back at the man over his shoulder impatient.
"New rate.." He demands flatly. The kid reluctantly walks back down the stairs and lays a stack of bills equaling a hundred Eurodollars into the tray before continuing back up the stairs.
The kid makes his way down a long hall in the top duplex, using the sparse late evening light to navigate his way to a back room shrouded in darkness. He removes a trap trigger at the base of the door disarming a Militech proximity mine before unlocking and opening the door in a unique way. He enters the room, closing the door and locking it behind him. Its pitch black with the only light being the dim evening bleeding through the cracked closet door. He steps into the closet and closes it.
He takes a seat in the middle of the pitch black closet with evening light bleeding in through a small hole leading to outside. The closet sits across from the rooftop of a neighboring duplex… close enough to spit at but completely hidden from view. Working almost like a 2way mirror but in a project. The kid silently listens on to the dealings and affairs of a group of glitter dealers sat in a meeting with some 6th street gangers. Knocking back beers and talking about current events and politics on the block, debts and income being generated, as well as various rival disputes and information being passed around.