Half an hour later, the firefight finally petered out, the echoes of gunfire swallowed by the cavernous halls of All Foods.
Vash and Jackie stepped out of the workshop into the stinking corridors of the plant. The Maelstrom gangers who'd tried to box them in were all down — every last one of them.
Jackie's Kiroshi optics swept the area in quick, practiced arcs, cataloging the spoils: stacks of Militech hardware, crates of ammo, cases of gear, and a scatter of cyberware parts and finished pieces — most of it clearly taken off someone else's corpse.
"Holy shit… this is preem chrome." His gaze snagged on a box marked with Cyberware Mods, the label "Animals Knuckles" stamped across the side.
A Mod built for Gorilla Arms — exactly the kind of brutal enhancement that turned a punch into a demolition charge.
"Would be criminal to waste an opportunity like this." Jackie said, already grinning, "I'm helping myself." He hoisted the box as if it belonged to him.
Cyberware Mods weren't cheap, and nobody in Night City said no to free loot.
Vash didn't argue. If he didn't have his system backing him, he'd probably be stuffing his pockets with half the factory.
They moved toward the exit at an unhurried pace, like they owned the place. On the way, Vash grabbed two studded leather jackets — old Maelstrom colors, the gang's jagged insignia still loud against the worn black.
"V, you into clothes now?" Jackie asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Walking out empty-handed feels like we did nothing." Vash replied, slinging the jackets with casual ease, "Call it a trophy."
As they passed a particular section of the plant, Vash's eyes flicked toward it — brief, measured. He knew Maelstrom's former boss, Brick, wasn't actually dead. Royce had him kept here, under lock and chain. In the game, you could choose to drag him out.
But this wasn't a game. Brick might not be the backstabbing type like Royce, but Maelstrom's long tradition of savage, reckless chrome-modding and slaughter had his fingerprints all over it.
A man like that didn't deserve sympathy.
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The moment they cleared the All Foods plant and got out, they walked straight into a Militech cordon.
A convoy had the street locked down — armored transports, tactical rigs, and overhead, aerial gunships hovering like steel vultures. Barrels tracked them from every angle, red targeting dots dancing across their bodies.
At the front, in the harsh glare of an armored vehicle's headlights, a figure stood with the composure of someone used to giving orders.
Meredith Stout.
"V… did we just jump out of the frying pan and into the fire?" Jackie murmured, voice tight.
He didn't know about Vash's arrangement with her, and Militech didn't exactly show up for autographs.
"Relax, Jack." Vash's tone stayed even, "If they wanted us flatlined, we'd already be meat." He passed Jackie the box containing the Flathead, then walked forward alone, "Good evening, Ms. Stout."
Meredith stood with arms crossed, eyes raking over him — stopping on the Maelstrom jacket like it was a personal insult, "Job done?"
Vash gave a small nod.
She made a curt gesture. One of the trucks rolled closer, tires crunching over debris.
"This transport is loaded with materials for manufacturing Cyberware Mods." Meredith said, voice cool and precise, "Per our agreement, you hand over the Flathead."
Vash glanced at the cargo hold — packed tight with components, alloys, and sealed cases. Corporate efficiency, right down to the timing.
"Efficient as always, Ms. Stout." He said, "But I'm afraid I can't give you the Flathead. My client requested it."
The air tightened. Militech soldiers shifted, rifles rising in a smooth, well-rehearsed motion. One word from Meredith and he'd be ventilated into swiss cheese.
Meredith's expression sharpened, but she didn't give the order. Instead, she studied him, "And you think you can break our agreement… surrounded like this?"
"Commander Stout, let me put this punk down — one shot." A burly trooper barked, stepping forward with his pistol half-raised.
"Stand down." Meredith's glare was ice. The man froze, swallowed his pride, and backed off.
"I said I prefer working with smart people." Vash continued, unbothered, "The Flathead is prototype tech — valuable, sure, but not the only thing that matters here. Even if you retrieve it, your superiors will still see a failure: Militech cargo intercepted under your watch."
Meredith didn't interrupt. Her eyes narrowed slightly. She understood exactly where he was going.
"However…" Vash said, "If we change the story, the outcome changes. Maelstrom intercepted Militech goods. Commander Stout personally stormed their nest and put their leader — Royce — down on the spot. That kind of result makes people forget the details. And if that's not enough…" He pointed back toward the All Foods entrance, "Brick is inside. Declan Griffin. You know the name."
He let the words hang, then drove the nail in.
"Eliminate Maelstrom at the root, clean up a cyberpsycho infestation, and turn a botched transfer into a decisive operation. Is that enough to outweigh one missing Flathead?"
Meredith's eyes widened — just a fraction, but enough. That was worth more than the robot. Maybe worth ten of them.
This wasn't the first time Maelstrom had hit Militech shipments. If she could use this moment to wipe the gang's leadership and take Brick off the board, she'd have a victory big enough to bury the entire mess — and maybe buy herself a rung higher on the corporate ladder.
Her gaze locked onto Vash, "Go on."
Vash didn't smile. He didn't need to, "You get your operation. You get your headline. And you get to walk into the debrief holding a solution, not an excuse."
Meredith exhaled slowly, then made her decision, "Mr. V. The Flathead is yours." She paused, then added, "And from today forward, you'll receive special discounts on all Militech products."
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