Today is Ya boy's birthday, I'm turning big unc 23, so I'm posting an additional chapter for my current works!
The House of the Reaper has opened its arms to welcome:
Novices Edward Brian and Instep.
Operatives SocialSystem[zf], Robert Downey, and Will.
Their contributions and dedication to our cause will be honored through the Net and through the Stars.
---
Sasha dropped onto a crate and started organising the scan files into encrypted packets, tagging, sorting, and compressing them.
Santi sat on a different crate, near the Mustang, as he ate the arroz con frijoles his mother had brought him, and ran numbers the same way other people bounced their legs or picked at their nails.
Julia watched her son with an expression that was mostly pride.
After eleven minutes, Santi's Agent chimed with an unknown number from a signal that had been routed through enough relays to strip it of origin data, meaning it was corporate-grade scrubbing, a kind of anonymisation that cost real money.
He accepted the call as voice only.
"You must be a kid, Ghost," The voice on the other end was female with no warmth. "After all, only children or people who want to pretend to be somebody call themselves by such names... though from what I've heard, you've gained a reputation that supports the moniker. The name is Meredith Stout. Operations manager, Militech procurement division. I understand you have merchandise that might interest my employer."
Of all people, Santi expected to receive a call from someone from Militech was the last of them.
"You heard right," Santi said in a calm tone, giving nothing away, not even addressing her claim of his age. "What caught your eye?"
"Several pieces," Meredith said. "The Edo-period katana is the centrepiece. My employer has a particular appreciation for Japanese antiquities. I'm also interested in three oil paintings, the larger Ming vase, and a handful of authenticated secondaries. Call it a package deal."
Santi said nothing, creating a deliberate silence for a few seconds to show his lack of amusement at the number of items she would buy.
"For the paintings, the vase, the secondaries, and all authentication documentation," Meredith continued, "I'm prepared to offer three hundred and fifty-seven thousand eurodollars."
Santi nodded to himself. After all, it was a good amount of scratch he would be getting from this one transaction alone.
"And the sword?"
"That'll be a separate arrangement," Meredith said, pausing momentarily. "Given the blade's provenance, my employer is willing to cover its cost through a trade. They are willing to offer a pair of Higurashi 20-13 Mantis Blades. As you know, these are quite rare to obtain and are simply unavailable on the civilian market."
That was an offer that really drew his interest. He'd wanted a set of mantis blades since he was fourteen because of how badass they seemed. However, their only manufacturer was Arasaka, and he didn't quite have the way to get a pair from overseas yet, and he was sure Vik wouldn't dare install them until he was eighteen, at the very least.
As for the name, Higurashi 20-13, it was a designation he didn't recognise. Which meant it was either bleeding-edge, classified, or both, and any of those options made a smirk spread across his face. But he couldn't let his desire for them be known, so he calmed himself down.
"It's an alright offer," he said, after a pause long enough to communicate consideration and short enough to avoid the appearance of being impressed. "But the cash number is about fifty large south of what those items are worth at authenticated market value. You're undercutting me, Miss Stout."
The temperature of Meredith's voice dropped about three degrees as she replied. "Don't play games with me, kid. I didn't climb the ladder at Militech by overpaying for merchandise. That number is fair, and you know it."
Santi didn't say anything and let the silence hang for ten seconds, setting the tone before he talked.
"If you can find any authenticated, museum-grade Edo-period katanas, pre-Krash oil paintings, and Ming Dynasty ceramics anywhere else on the Night City black market," he said without any hurry, "then by all means, Ms. Stout. I encourage you to go shopping."
He let three seconds pass before speaking once again. "Have a pleasant evening."
"-Wait," Meredith called out faster than she intended.
Santi tilted his head as he waited for Meredith to continue speaking.
"Thirty thousand more," Meredith said. The words came through her teeth like each one owed her money. "Three eighty-seven total. Plus the Mantis Blades. That's as high as I'm willing to go. Not a single eddie above it."
Santi's smirk spread even more, and without any hesitation, he replied. "I'm not too greedy, Miss Stout. You've got yourself a deal."
A beat of silence from the other end, and when Meredith's voice returned, it held a hint of professional acknowledgment.
"Logistics," she said. "I need a secure drop point in a private location, away from cameras and third-party foot traffic."
"There's a decommissioned freight terminal off San Amaro Street, Northside of Rancho Coronado, by Stateline 5," he said, having scouted it months ago. "Used to be a Petrochem fueling station before they pulled out of the district. It's off-grid and has no active surveillance. Should be accessible from the service road. You'll find your goods staged inside by 10 pm tomorrow night. Do not come before that time."
"San Amarro Street, by Stateline 5," Meredith repeated once. "My team will arrive at 10 o'clock sharp. Two armoured escorts and a cargo handler. No iron drawn unless your side gets creative. The Mantis Blades will be delivered in a sealed Militech hardcase at the point of exchange."
"Don't worry, I won't try anything, unless your men get any funny ideas... and I really wouldn't recommend doing so," he said, dropping an underlying threat that showed he wasn't to be played with. "One more thing, half the eddies upfront. Transferred before the merch moves."
Another pause occurred, longer than her others. He could hear her weighing it simply due to the precedent. Paying half upfront meant trust, and trust was currency you hardly ever came across in Night City.
"Done," she said. "Check your accounts."
The transfer pinged his Neural Link. Two hundred thousand eddies sat in a raw transit buffer that could be traced and stream his who he was to anyone with a half-decent sniffer program.
He engaged his Aiden protocol, fragmenting the sum, blasting it through proxy accounts across three continents and two orbital banking satellites, shattering it into micro-transactions too small and too numerous to flag, scattered through financial architecture so layered that reconstructing the original sum would take a team three months and still leave them guessing.
"Received," Santi said. "Pleasure doing biz, Ms. Stout. Final confirmation on the drop window within four hours before the meet."
"Don't be late," Meredith gave a final warning weighted with something that might have been a warning and might have been respect and was probably both. "And Ghost? If you play me, I'll make sure they never find your body."
The line cut after that, and Santi looked over at his mother and Sasha with his smirk turning into a smile. "We're in the black."
Sasha let out a sound that was half-breath, half-laugh as she slumped against the workbench and pressed both palms over her face.
"Dios mío," Julia said softly.
Santi exhaled and let the tension leave through his shoulders, his jaw, the muscles in his forearms that had been clenched since Meredith Stout said she was part of Militech. He pulled up his internal ledger and did the math.
Three eighty-seven in confirmed cash. The Higurashi Blades were unpriced on any civilian market, but conservatively worth eighty to a hundred thousand based on comparable mil-spec chrome. The total deal value was north of four hundred thousand eddies.
Twenty percent of four hundred was ninety-three-four, and ten was forty-six-seven.
He opened the transfer interface and routed eighty thousand eddies to Sasha's account with the Aiden protocol handling the scrub automatically. Then he sent forty thousand to Regina's registered line.
"Regina gets her ten," he said. "Done tonight. I don't want to be calculating who I owe what in three weeks when the memory's gotten imprecise."
As soon as he finished speaking, Sasha's Agent chimed, and she looked down. For a long moment, she didn't move and just stared at the screen.
"Santi," She said, her voice devoid of any previous professionalism and overtaken by the excitement of a seventeen-year-old. "You just sent me ninety-three thousand eddies."
"Well, you did say twenty percent," Santi said. "That's your twenty."
She stared at it. She had made ninety-three thousand eddies in a single evening.
That was the biggest payday she had ever pulled. Before this, the one she still thought about sometimes before falling asleep was twenty-eight thousand, extracted from a Kang Tao subsidiary's personnel database. She'd spent nine hours on that run, triggered a daemon on the way out that had sent a feedback spike through her deck and into her skull hard enough to give her a three-day migraine.
Her hands were trembling, and before she could process what she was doing, she crossed the distance between them and put her arms around him.
Every muscle in Santi's body locked up as his weight shifted to his back foot. He let his shoulders drop, and his arms settle, not quite returning the embrace, though he didn't refuse it either.
"Thank you," Sasha said. Muffled against his chest. She was shorter by enough that her forehead sat level with his pecs, and he could feel her breath through the fabric of his shirt. "Doing biz with you is preem, Santi. Seriously. Preem."
Over her head, he made eye contact with his mother, who was at the workbench with an expression that was attempting composure with the structural integrity of wet cardboard.
The corners of her mouth were twitching, and not subtly. Her eyes carried the unmistakable gleam of a woman who had heard "female friend" on a holo call earlier that evening and had been silently running calculations ever since.
Santi looked at her with a warning, a threat, a plea, and the absolute certainty that none of them would work.
'Do not. Say. A word,' Santi mouthed.
Julia raised both hands in innocence. The body language of someone who had never had a thought in her life and certainly wasn't having seven of them right now. She pressed her lips together and picked up Santi's food, and took a single bite of his food while grinning around the fork.
Sasha stepped back, cleared her throat, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture that didn't serve any practical purpose and was therefore, as Santi noted, purely human.
"So," she said, almost all business. "What's left?"
"About four hundred and eighty thousand in remaining inventory," Santi said. "Combustion-era firearms, smaller ceramics, pre-Krash timepieces, vintage books, jewellery. Mid-tier collector's circuit. Things that are easier to move in smaller batches."
He turned to her. "I'll handle the rest through my own contacts in Watson and Kabuki. The smaller pieces don't need any more outsourcing, they'd eat into the margins more than they're worth."
Sasha nodded. "Makes sense. Watch the firearms, though. Pre-Krash combustion guns draw badge-adjacent collectors who ask provenance questions you don't want to answer."
"Yeah, yeah, timepieces and books first," Santi said with a mock dismissal. "Low heat, high demand. The iron moves last, through someone who specialises."
Sasha pulled on her jacket. Settled it over her shoulders with a shrug that seated the collar against the back of her neck and zipped it halfway.
"Remember to get the Kiroshis tomorrow," she said. "First thing in the morning. Get a ripper you trust."
She pointed at him with a steady finger. "I mean it, choom."
Santi nodded at her as he let out a yawn. "I said I would."
She walked to the door and paused.
"Tonight was nova, Santi," she said. "Really nova."
Santi smiled as he replied. "Making eddies is always nova. See you around, Sasha."
She punched the code, and the door unsealed, being greeted by the damp air of the Santo Domingo night as she stepped through.
Julia sealed the remainder of the food in its container. The click of the lid was louder than it should have been since the silence had made everything louder. She stood up and walked over to her son, putting her hand on his arm.
"She's a good one, mijo," Julia said softly. "And she clearly cares about you. Cybereyes or not."
Santi looked down at his mother and nodded. "Yeah, she really is."
Julia squeezed his arm and patted his back. "Come on. You've got a full day tomorrow, and you need to get some rest."
He took one last look, his eyes moving across the warehouse at the remaining crates, the Mustang, and the empty foam cradle where the katana had rested.
Tomorrow, the katana would hang on a wall in some Militech executive's penthouse in City Center or Charter Hill, along with the paintings to be admired by people who would never know the name of the kid from Arroyo who pulled them, or the shitstorm that surrounded their procurement.
He killed the lights, sealed the access panel, and heard the magnetic lock engage, feeling the fine mist against his skin as he walked out of the warehouse, as his mother rode out of the warehouse in the G240 and stopped a few feet away.
---
Mine... the stones are all mine!
The infamous P@treon exists for those of you who want to read ahead.
patreon .com/Crimson_Reapr (Don't be a gonk, remove the space)
They get around 3 long-form weekly chapters (4.5-6k words each).