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While the itinerary data for Director Tanaka had been successfully lifted, the kidnapping itself hit a wall.
The man was a ghost of corporate paranoia. He lived behind layers of reinforced glass and elite security details, leaving the Maine crew with zero openings. Maine, usually a hammer-first kind of guy, was forced to play the long game. He tasked Sasha and the others to dig for a leverage point—a crack in the executive's armor.
Kiwi eventually cracked Tanaka's private, off-grid server. She expected corporate secrets or blackmail material; instead, she found a digital cesspool.
"It's all black braindances. Gore, high-velocity violence, and... experimental cyberpsychosis loops," Kiwi said, her lip curling in a scowl. Even by Night City's depraved standards, Tanaka's "private collection" was stomach-turning. "A huge chunk of the files are signed by someone named JK."
In the world of 2077, a raw braindance (BD) is a chaotic flood of sensory data. To make it marketable, a BD editor has to trim the fat, dampening the physical pain and psychological trauma so the user doesn't end up with permanent brain fry. It's an art form of sensory manipulation.
Black braindances are the raw, jagged edges of that art. They are unedited, dangerous, and often lethal.
"Lucy, don't you use BDs for your moon-sims?" Kiwi asked, looking over at her.
"I don't touch the black market stuff," Lucy replied coldly. She sought the Moon for peace, not for the jagged thrills of someone else's death.
"I know a contact at Lizzie's Bar who might know our editor," Kael interjected, leaning back. He remembered Rita, the Mox bouncer. If anyone knew the underbelly of the BD scene, it was the Moxes.
"Lizzie's? I heard the hottest dolls in Watson operate there. You've got quite the social calendar, Kael," Maine teased, flashing a knowing grin.
Lucy and Sasha's expressions instantly dropped a few degrees.
"Business only, Maine. I've never hired a doll in my life," Kael stated firmly. It was the truth, but in Night City, the truth rarely stopped a jealous Netrunner.
"Tonight, we hit Lizzie's. My treat!" Maine roared, his shiny new chrome catching the light. Pilar started hooting in the background, already thinking about the "scenery."
The neon glow of the bar was thick with the scent of synthetic perfume and electric bass.
"Black BDs?" Rita's eyes narrowed when Kael pulled her aside. She glanced at Jackie and the others, who were already lost to the rhythm of the dance floor. "Why is a high-flyer like you looking for filth?"
"I need to find a ghost named JK. Jimmy Kurosaki."
"Kurosaki? He's a legend in the snuff-scene. A real piece of work." Rita didn't look impressed. "I'm a bouncer, Kael, not a techie. But I can introduce you to our best editor. She's the heart of our BD tech."
Rita didn't waste time. She led Kael away from the noise, through a series of reinforced doors to a studio hidden in the basement of Lizzie's.
"Hey! Judy! You got a visitor," Rita barked, knocking on the heavy door.
A woman stepped out. She had short, vibrant purple-and-green hair, wearing a white tank top and industrial overalls. Intricate rose tattoos climbed her arms, and her gaze was sharp, punk, and deeply suspicious.
When she saw Kael, her eyes traveled up and down. She partially closed the door, waiting for an explanation.
"Relax, Judy. This is BT."
"BT?" Judy's posture relaxed, if only by an inch. Rumors of Kael's work for the Moxes had been the talk of the locker rooms for weeks. In the eyes of the gang, he was one of the few "decent" men in Watson.
"Expected you to look... different," Judy muttered. She stepped back, allowing him into the dim, equipment-heavy studio. It wasn't tidy, but it was a temple of high-fidelity hardware.
"Keep it brief. Custom work or repairs? I don't do much else for strangers," Judy said. Her voice was cold. Judy Alvarez didn't have a high tolerance for men.
"I'm not here for a fix, Judy. I need a lead on Jimmy Kurosaki. I heard he does private custom work for the corporate elite. I'm guessing he's working for Tanaka."
Judy's expression soured. "Kurosaki is a pervert. He doesn't just edit BDs; he engineers suffering. Erotic stuff is one thing, but he's obsessed with the 'Cyberpsycho perspective'."
She leaned against a workbench. "He doesn't have an office. He only works through referrals, and he keeps his studio mobile. But I have his digital signature and a few old identity tags. If you have a Netrunner, it'll be enough to bait him."
"I appreciate it," Kael smiled. "I owe you one."
"In Night City, favors are better than Eddies," Judy said directly. She helped him because she respected his reputation, but she was a realist.
Kael's gaze drifted to the shelves of BD shards. "You have anything on Moon-sims? High fidelity?"
"Why?"
"My girl. She has a thing for the Moon."
Judy's gaze softened. Just a fraction, but it was there. A man who cared about his girl's peace of mind was a rare breed in Watson. "I don't have anything retail-grade that's worth your time. I'll edit a high-res lunar cycle for you later. No charge."
"I'll look forward to it." Kael flashed a bright smile that actually made Judy pause.
Why is this guy so damn handsome? she thought. She quickly shook the thought away, mentally chanting her girlfriend Evelyn's name like a mantra.
"I gave you the info. Now get out, I have work to do," Judy said, though her tone was no longer biting.
"Let's exchange links first," Kael suggested. Judy accepted.
Kael returned to the main hall. Jackie was mid-shuffle on the dance floor, looking like a man with zero worries. Kael recorded a few seconds of the "performance." Blackmail material for the Misty-fund, he thought with a smirk.
By the next day, Sasha had used Judy's data to pinpoint Kurosaki. The man was a regular at the Embers club—the most exclusive, members-only haunt in the city.
Waiting for a braindance editor was easier than a corpo. Kurosaki had no security detail; he relied on his anonymity and a hidden EMP device to keep people away.
Kael waited outside in the shadows as a sleek Rayfield Caliburn pulled up. Jimmy Kurosaki stepped out, draped in an expensive coat, his face adorned with gold-plated cyber-optics.
"Jimmy Kurosaki?"
"That's me. Who's asking?" Jimmy's eyes, hidden behind golden lenses, scanned Kael suspiciously.
"Get in the car, Jimmy. We need to talk." Kael gripped the door of the Caliburn, preventing the editor from closing it.
"Why should I go anywhere with you? I have business—"
"My name is BT. Does that ring a bell?"
Jimmy's face went pale. He hadn't just heard the name; he had seen Kael. Jimmy had acquired the raw BD from Mark's ocular implants after Kael zeroed him. He had watched Kael move in high-definition, unedited glory. He was one of the few people who knew exactly how fast Kael really was.
Jimmy submissively sat in the passenger seat.
Kael reached over and pulled a miniature EMP burst-emitter from Jimmy's pocket. "This is a nasty little toy. If I were made of chrome, you might have had a chance."
Jimmy swallowed hard. The legends were wrong—this guy wasn't just a merc. He was a force of nature. "What do you want, BT?"
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