Jackie left in high spirits.
After sending the big oaf off, Vash's smile faded into something more careful.
Dexter DeShawn stepping onto the board meant one thing: the game main plot was starting to move. The next stretch — dealing with Maelstrom — wasn't a simple gig like rescuing someone from Scavs. It was closer to pulling a tiger's teeth.
Vash didn't waste time worrying in circles. He called Viktor.
Vash: "Old Vik. Got a minute?"
Viktor: "V, huh? I got time. Clinic's quiet — just me."
Vash: "You got any high-end chrome in stock?"
Viktor: "High-end cyberware? You finally thinking about going under the knife?"
Vash: "Not for me. Jack's hooked up with Dexter DeShawn. Next job's gonna be spicy. He'll come see you sooner or later — so if you can upgrade him, do it. If you've got something worth installing… even better."
Viktor: "Dexter DeShawn's a heavyweight fixer. If he's involved, it's big eddies and bigger risk."
He didn't drag it out.
"Alright. Straight answer: I've got one piece of military-grade chrome. Gorilla Arms. But it's expensive."
Vash: "How expensive?"
Viktor: "After what you already left with me… you're still short close to 100,000 eddies."
In 2077, €$100,000 wasn't "a lot". It was the kind of number that separated people who survived from people who got sold in pieces.
Most top-tier cyberware and smart weapons started in that range, and only a small handful could afford them without signing their life away.
For Vash, though, it was just another problem to solve.
"Old Vik." He said, "Hold those Gorilla Arms. I'll bring the eddies later today."
He ended the call.
Now that Dexter was in play, the next step was wading into Maelstrom's mud.
Maelstrom was one of Night City's seven major gangs, squatting over Watson's industrial zones like a rusted crown. They weren't just violent — they were chromed to hell. The most heavily augmented psychos you'd ever see, the kind who treated their own bodies like scrap metal to be rebuilt, again and again.
And their combat power wasn't comparable to some small-time street crew.
Going there meant dealing with the first real wall: Royce — real name Simon Randall.
Negotiating with him was like stepping into a tiger's den and trying not to smell like prey. The risk was a whole level above Sandra Dorsett's rescue.
Two pistols wouldn't cut it. He needed more prep.
And as Vash was thinking through how to pull together that 100K without tipping off anyone… A red skull icon flared on the monitor.
Danger… Approaching Sunshine Estate.
"Friday." Vash said, thoughts snapping back to the room, "What is it?"
「Mr. Vash, a large convoy has appeared ten kilometers south of the residence. Based on your parameters, the vehicles are equipped with heavy weapons and exhibit significant combat capability.」
Vash took control of the feed. Surveillance views tiled across the monitors.
Less than ten klicks out, a convoy tore toward Sunshine Estate, throwing up a restless cloud of dust.
He zoomed in. Identical open-top off-roaders. Musclebound men packed into the beds — bodies bulging with chrome. And on every vehicle, the same emblem.
Maelstrom!
Sunshine Estate sat in a lawless gap — exactly the kind of place Maelstrom liked to use as a testing ground for new implants.
Those bastards didn't just love augmentation. They loved what came with it: the power to butcher people who couldn't fight back.
If Vash wasn't here, ten minutes from now this neighborhood would be fire and rubble, and the residents would be turned into raw material for someone's sick bragging rights.
Vash's mouth curled into something cold.
"I was just wondering where to get materials…" He murmured, "And Maelstrom shows up. Perfect timing."
He headed for the rooftop. Up there, he could already see the dust cloud moving like a bruise across the horizon.
"Friday…" Vash said, "Time to stretch."
He double-tapped the triangular pendant, and nanites poured out like liquid mercury, sealing over him — Mark L, lockstep and seamless.
Thrusters flared, and he shot into the sky and flew straight toward the convoy!
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Meanwhile, the Maelstrom convoy stopped not far from Sunshine Estate.
The gangers lounged in their off-roaders, caressing weapons and flexing cybernetic fingers, already itchy for blood.
One of the bigger ones spoke up, voice buzzing with cheap distortion.
"Brothers, rollin' in and flatlining everyone's boring." He grinned, "This place is full of old folks, sick people, kids. There's no thrill in killing parents in front of children, or beheading kids in front of their parents. Where's the fun in that?"
His grin widened, ugly.
"Tell you what. Let's make it a contest. Who drops the most, fastest — wins." He lifted two fingers, "Prize: 2,000 eddies."
The others lit up instantly.
A killing competition… Now that sounded entertaining to them!
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T/N: Comment, give me Power Stones, like and favorite, it all supports me and makes me go foward with this. Appreciate my other stories as well, I guarantee the good work!
If you want 20 chapters ahead, smut chapters or spicy images of this novel for just $5, or enjoy a large catalog of good novels with excellent translations (free or starting at $1.5): MrBlackWing (you know where to search)
That's it and happy reading! (-‿◦)