JohnnyZ
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[Demons of NC] Chapter 55
🕑 Added 2024-12-19 20:32:22 +0000 UTCThe burning message hung before David’s eyes for four seconds. Long enough for him to read and understand. Martinez paled slightly. His face showed a mix of confusion, quickly masked by a facade of forced calm. He struggled to pull himself together, pushing the sudden emotions deep into the mass of chrome and muscle his body had become.
“When they fired you, they tried to kill you… why?” Martinez asked.
Time to tread carefully. Couldn’t let my simmering hatred for Abernathy show too much, or the kid might start drawing some dangerous conclusions about that attempt on my life.
“It’s hard to leave counterintelligence in one piece,” I said with a dry chuckle. “Too many trade secrets that could leak out. But I got lucky. My ex-boss—now late—didn’t see me as too much of a threat. She didn’t put me on Arasaka’s kill list. My elimination was outsourced, so to speak. Private contractors. Mercs.”
“Like someone from Maine’s crew?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Like I said, not the worst-case scenario. The Security Bureau wasn’t after me as a deserter. They didn’t hand my info to the cops.”
“And that’s worse than mercs?”
“Way worse. But even mercs can be sent after you in those cases, adding more fuel to an already burning pyre. If you’re that high up on the list, the hunt becomes total.”
“What about corporate implants? Did they disable yours?”
“Of course. But there are ways around that. Plus, as you can see, I’ve got a lot of new chrome since then. No complaints about my upgrades.”
I said all that aloud, while another message flashed before David’s eyes:
“You’re valuable to them both as a soldier and a research subject. Your genetics? Perfect for testing new implants. If you try to run, they’ll hunt you relentlessly, and they won’t hesitate to get their hands dirty.”
David nodded. He was deep in thought about his future. If he actually tried to leave the corp, it’d be a hell of a mess for everyone involved. His mom would be a prime target. Vik, probably, too. Hell, even I might get dragged into it.
That’s if it happened now. Down the line, things might shift in Martinez’s favor.
I’m betting Arasaka will be in deep shit by ’77, especially if Yorinobu manages to take out his old man.
“So…” I drew a line under the conversation. “We’ve talked about the negatives of working for corps. But there are positives, too. Can you name any for yourself?”
“Mom’s happy.”
“For yourself,” I repeated. “Just for you.
“Two things. First, the paycheck. Second…” Martinez’s face darkened.His youthful, almost boyish features twisted into something that would make most people in this city shit their pants. “… when the shooting starts, I don’t have to think about anything else.”
Surprisingly, it seems like he's still got both a good guy trying to listen to his mom and a cold-blooded killer coexisting in him. Then again, who am I to be surprised? Mass media loves to sell us these so-called turning points. You know, the character experiences some shit, slaughters a bunch of younglings, or pulls some other moral 180, and boom—they’re a villain now. The old self is supposedly gone, like flipping a switch. Best-case scenario, years down the line, a redemptive death might dredge up some faint ghost of who they were before.
But in real life, I think people are way more complex. Otherwise, catching psychos and murderers would be easy—just listen to their creepy laughs or watch how the light dramatically gleams off their glasses. But that’s not how it works.
“When the shots start flying? Yeah, not much else to think about. Gotta fight. But the shooting always stops eventually. And then the thoughts come. All kinds of thoughts.”
“So just keep shooting more. My job kinda makes that possible.”
Oh, really?
“Smells like bullshit—hot and fresh! Like enthusiasm,” I nodded. “Alright, burn bright while you can, but maybe try not to burn out entirely.”
“Enthusiasm?” David echoed, like he was tasting the word. “I don’t know. Not sure. It’s just… everything else sucks even more. I need to walk. Clear my head.”
“If you need anything, hit me up through Vik,” I sent him as I closed the channel.
David nodded, got up from the table, gave me a handshake—no hard squeezing or macho gonk shit—and disappeared into the dark streets, lit up by neon and scattered with the shadows of folks heading home.
Alright, kid. Think it through. You've still got some time. Mine’s running out fast. Time to dig into my own skeleton closet before they crawl out and strangle me.
I wanted to prep for the talk with Lucy. Not just plan my words and moves, but set the mood—remind her of what connects us. Stir up some of those old emotions. I figured the best way to do that wasn’t with some cliche romantic dinner or whatever, but a heist.
The target? An underground casino run by the Tyger Claws.
Mausser had once taken out a Tyger bigshot there, so I had a decent idea of the layout—or at least what it looked like six months ago.
Nice little spot. Basement-level in the Piers Loop area of Kabuki. Three entry points, including two sewer tunnels, though those might’ve been welded shut since Mausser’s raid.
“Why the hell do you care about this hole, V?” Lucy asked, perched on the back of the couch as I browsed schematics on my laptop. “You’re a big shot now.”
“That ‘hole’ holds at least a few dozen thousand eddies, minimum. And it’s just the way we like it: cash, shards, easily accessible accounts. Plus, there’s a pawn storage there. Jewelry, weapons, tech. Unlike the cash, they rarely empty it. And word is they just brought in something real valuable—a corp key. You know what that is, right?”
“A skeleton key for unlocking corp protection on implants and tech.”
“Bingo. If I’d had one back in the day, I wouldn’t’ve needed to swap out all my chrome before quitting. It’s a rare piece. Could help someone escape a corp—or sell for a pretty penny.”
Hell knows if that thing would even work on David’s implants. Arasaka has a special interest in him, so they’re probably using some non-standard control and protection methods.
“Fine, casino it is,” Lucy agreed, though her voice didn’t carry much excitement.
I couldn’t shake the feeling something was eating away at her. The air in our apartment had been… dead, for lack of a better word. We’d talk, drink coffee, even laugh sometimes, but I kept catching myself thinking that we were avoiding each other. We both felt it, and both pretended not to.
Some relief came out of nowhere, though. A day before the casino job, Falco showed up.
No heads-up—just knocked on the door and strolled in like he owned the place.
“Fate’s brought us together again,” he said with a dramatic nod. “Good to see you, friends.”
He was tanned and somehow looked older, even though it had only been a few months.
“Hey,” Lucy said, hugging him before giving him a wry look. “What, took you this long to haggle over a car?”
“If only…” Falco sighed, shaking my hand. “Got dragged into someone else’s mess. Helped out with what seemed like a simple job after selling the ride, and then…”
He paused, lighting a cigarette and sitting on a bar stool.
“And then everything went to shit?” I guessed.
“Pretty much,” Falco nodded. “Only a few months passed, but it feels like I lived a whole life—and died at the end.”
“Got roughed up that bad?” Lucy asked.
“Five stab wounds, two clinical deaths, a few weeks in the shack of some back-alley ripper so high I was betting who’d croak first—me or him. First time I woke up after surgery, he begged me to jab him with Naloxone so he wouldn’t OD. Afterward, I just lay there on a dirty mat, staring at the gorgeous southern sky through a hole in the roof, thinking about how little money really matters—and how much blood it costs. Take care of each other.”
Damn, that hit deep. Maybe it was for the best, though. His little epiphany seemed to thaw the icy tension hanging between us.
“Mind if I pour?” Falco asked, finishing his smoke and grabbing a bottle of whiskey.
“Go ahead,” I said.
“And you two?” He looked at me and Lucy with a mix of concern and curiosity. “Seems like you’re not strapped for cash, but you both look pretty grim.”
“A lot’s happened,” Lucy said vaguely.
“Bad stuff?” Falco pressed. “Everyone still breathing?”
We both nodded in sync.
“Then it’s not that bad,” he said, pulling out a small metal case and setting it on the bar. “Payment’s in here. Weird form of currency, but it’s legit—I checked.”
I popped it open. Inside were a handful of antique gold coins and some shiny black spheres with a faint metallic sheen.
What the hell was this?
"Cortez's Pearls," Falco explained. "Not that they actually belonged to him, just that they’re black. That’s what they call them in Cuba—Cortez's Pearls. Altogether, they should be worth anywhere from a hundred and fifty to three hundred thousand. The range depends on the coins and jewelry. A corner dealer will try to lowball you, but someone who knows their stuff will pay a hell of a lot more."
"Shit..." I muttered, examining a gold coin with an eagle on one side and a rising sun on the other. "That’s a doubloon, right? Didn’t bring anything else? Paintings? Statues? Muskets? A pirate’s skeleton?"
"Nope. That stuff’s too hard to get across borders," the nomad replied with absolute seriousness.
"The more you talk, the more questions I have," Lucy commented.
"It’s fine. I’ll tell you everything. And you can fill me in on what’s been going on. We’re not in a rush, are we?"
"We were planning to hit the Claws' casino tomorrow," I said. "You up for it, or need more time?"
"I’m ready. The question is—are you?" Falco shook his head. "Jumping into a firefight just to forget shit... that’s not the move."
David’s words flashed in my mind.
"…When the shots start flying, you don’t have to think about anything else."
"Come on," Lucy smirked, but it wasn’t the good kind of smirk. "Sometimes, bullets are just what you need to clear your head."
"Yeah, until the wind starts whistling through your new holes," Falco quipped grimly. "It’s your call. But you’re already one foot, maybe two, into the Big Leagues. Rebecca paid me back and kept ranting about some corp exec you took out for a million. I figured she was exaggerating..."
"Nope. A mil," Lucy corrected. "Plus another hundred for prep."
"Damn," Falco nodded. "So, how’s it feel after a mil? All good now?"
Subtle, trying to hint we shouldn’t chase cash so hard. But the problem wasn’t greed.
"In some ways, it’s harder," Lucy said coolly, staring out the window. "It’s not just the money. This fucking city feels like it was built to crush happiness."
"But people are built for it," Falco countered. "Don’t let the roadside block your view of the road ahead."
We talked for hours until Falco finally admitted he hadn’t slept in over a day and wanted to "get a feel for Night City streets again" before the heist.
I took his return as a good omen. Felt like a mini-remake of our old smuggling job with Hohré. Different target, same crew.
The next day was all prep.
We had to take it seriously. Sure, we’d done crazier jobs, but mental state is a fragile thing. Falco wasn’t wrong. If you try to drown bad feelings in violence, you might end up taking one too many risks. As Hash once said, "Had a lot of chooms back in the day. Great guys. They’re all dead now. Most of ’em over shit so dumb it’s embarrassing to talk about."
That’s how it is sometimes—jump a fence and trip over a curb so bad even the medtechs can’t piece you back together.
"What about Becca?" Falco asked. "You could use a shooter. Plus, she wouldn’t shut up about her new chrome."
Shit. I’d wanted this to be just me and Lucy. Becca’d pull attention and ruin my chance to break the ice. But, damn it, Falco was right again. That casino had a dozen, maybe fifteen, thugs. Not the Claws’ best fighters, but they’d have firepower. Probably a couple heavily-chromed yakuzas too.
"Fine," I grumbled. "We’ll try to keep it quiet. Becca can back you up. She’ll probably bitch about not getting to shoot."
"Better that than needing firepower and not having it," Falco said reasonably.
Fair point, but damn, I was tired of being reasonable. I wanted the blood and chaos of a good fight. Was my chrome messing with my head?
Maybe.
I was getting more and more of it. My cyberlimb felt completely natural now, like a real part of me. Hard to believe it used to be just a weak, flesh-and-blood arm. Right now, I was itching to tear someone apart with my metal claws.
Deep breath. In, out.
I couldn’t let the chrome get to me. I had to remember who I was, how I used to beat stronger, more chromed-out enemies even with a vulnerable, human body. No unnecessary risks. Don’t make the same mistakes as my dead enemies.
Here’s the plan: Lucy and I would sneak into the casino through a service tunnel. No messing around with the gambling floor—just the security office and the vault. First step was to cut the Claws’ comms. Calls and messages would vanish into the void. By the time they figured it out, the guards at the vault would already be neutralized. Then we’d upload a virus to transfer their virtual funds to us while we cleaned out the physical valuables. We’d exit through a different tunnel, where the car would be waiting.
Should take fifteen, twenty minutes tops.
For gear, I packed my Kenshin "Apparition," tanto monoblades, a monokatana, grenades, and a bag with two powerful EMPs and two explosives. Simple to use: pull the pin, throw or stick it to a surface, then hit the detonator. The bag was lined with insulation to keep everything from blowing up accidentally.
Lucy kept it light—just a pistol, her monowire, and a suite of scripts. She also brought portable cameras, electronic lockpicks, and a couple of repeaters.
"Three a.m., Saturday," I muttered, staring into the dark void of the manhole we were about to descend. "I bet the place was packed a couple hours ago. Now people are heading out, leaving their cash behind. Time to reap the harvest."
"Let’s go," Lucy said, focused. She slipped into the hole without hesitation.
She jumped halfway down the ladder, landing lightly on the concrete below. I climbed down the old-fashioned way. Inside, it was dark, hot, and damp, with heat pipes running alongside us.
We moved quickly, dodging the worst of the heat. Along the way, we passed two plastic chairs and a pile of empty beer bottles. Someone—maybe locals, maybe squatters—had probably been using the place as a makeshift sauna.
Soon we hit a metal grate. Rusted from the moisture, but thick and sturdy. No door.
"Shine a light," I asked Lucy.
In the dim beam of her pocket flashlight, the monoblade tanto looked like a weapon forged from ghostly energy. Alright, the key here is not to break it. The hand has to move firm and steady. No sideways motions, just forward with a slight up-and-down for a clean cut.
The Dynalar-Kendachi cyberlimb didn’t let me down. My hand didn’t waver. One by one, the segments of the grate were severed. I caught it to keep it from crashing loudly, and we moved on into a relatively clean tunnel, apart from the dust. No signs of recent human activity.
It got cooler as we moved away from the heating pipes and closer to the casino. Ahead, faint fluorescent symbols painted on the wall glowed dimly. They read:
"If you’re reading this, asshole, you’ve taken a wrong turn. If you want your guts, eyes, and dick to stay where they belong—turn around. Tigers prowl here."
The text was accompanied by menacing doodles of blood-soaked Japanese blades and skulls.
“Real scary,” I chuckled.
“They put some effort into it,” Lucy replied. “Probably made some poor sap paint it. We’re probably the first to admire the masterpiece.”
Thanks for the heads-up, Claws. At least now we knew we had to tread carefully, and that they were well aware of this tunnel. For a moment, I worried they might’ve bricked it up or sealed it with slabs. That’d take forever to cut through, and the blade wouldn’t survive. But instead, they’d opted for another grate, this one wired to an alarm, with a pair of magnetic mines waiting behind it. It stalled us for about five minutes.
Beyond that was a door leading into the casino’s utility areas. It was locked up tight—a magnetic lock paired with a manual latch. The latch was a smart choice, but the monoblade sliced through it without much trouble. We stepped into a dimly lit storage room crammed with broken or decommissioned slot machines and poker tables.
No cameras here. Guess the Claws figured the previous security measures were enough. From the storage, one door led out, faint purple and pink light seeping in from beneath it. Beyond, I could hear Japanese music that reminded me of my first meeting with Lucy at the Ho-Oh bar. Felt like a lifetime ago.
Lucy crouched and slid a flexible camera cable under the door. After a few seconds, she whispered:
“Camera to the right. I’ll take care of it. There’s one guy on the left, standing by a closed door.”
If Mauser’s notes were accurate, that door led to the security office. That’s where we needed to cut off the signals.
“Got it,” I nodded, testing the door. “Give me access to the feed. Alright… expand the scan range, I’m missing a bit. Perfect. And… one, two… three!”
I hit the guard with two back-to-back memory wipes, and as soon as they landed, I lunged through the door.
This time, I didn’t go for the throat. Instead, I drove the blade into his eye—less blood that way—and shoved the dying body forward to open the security office door. Inside, loud music was playing. A Claw with bright red-and-green hair sat with his back to me. He noticed the sound of the door opening and reached for his pistol, but I put two bullets in his head before he could grab it. Blood splattered the consoles. Good thing the music was blasting throughout the casino, drowning out the noise.
I shoved the body inside. Lucy joined me shortly after, stepping over the dead guard and getting to work on the computers.
“They’ve got a netrunner,” she whispered.
They didn’t before. Must’ve brought one in after Mauser’s visit. I could guess a few places where their chair might be set up, but nothing certain.
“Take them out or start the op as is?” I asked.
“I can isolate the system even with them alive, but the Claws will swarm us. The netrunner will direct them.”
“Hm. That might actually work in our favor. Buy me a few minutes.”
I stepped back into the corridor, figuring out where to lay traps. I adjusted the settings on the detonator so the charges could go off one by one instead of all at once. Then I rigged both approaches to the security room with mines and set up five spy cameras in spots safe from the blasts.
Traps set, cameras online, control of the security systems imminent. I went back into the office.
“There are twelve left, not counting the netrunner. He’s one floor below us. No cameras there, but I can track him by his signal.”
“Good. I’m ready. Block their comms and seal the doors.”
Lucy’s eyes glowed blue in the darkness. I switched to the casino’s surveillance cameras. There they were—the guards. Five were lounging in what looked like a break room, drinking. Two were in the main hall with the guests, the rest scattered around. And just like that, they got spooked. Must’ve been the netrunner warning them about the outgoing signal block. Five of them made a beeline for us. The others scrambled in different directions.
I focused on one of the most heavily chromed Claws, hitting him with an overheat, soul-rip, short-circuit, and synapse burnout combo. That used up nearly half my memory capacity, but it was enough to take him out of commission.
I switched to our spy cams. The five heading our way were almost on us when—
Two explosions rocked the corridor. One EMP further out, and a regular charge nearby. The advancing Claws were thrown into disarray. I hit two survivors with optical resets before switching back to my body and stepping into the hallway to finish the job. Three shots from the Apparition, three strikes with the monoblade. Done.
So far, so good, but it was too soon to relax. Six Claws still standing, plus the netrunner. Judging by the way they moved, we’d already taken out their leader. The rest scattered. Two tried forcing open the blocked emergency exit. One vanished. Two more took positions in the hallway leading to the vault. They’d have to be dealt with.
I toyed with the idea of taking them down the old-fashioned way—shooting—but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Lucy and I fried their implants with scripts instead.
We could’ve gone straight for the vault then, but the netrunner was still a problem. That’s when my comm buzzed—Falco was calling through the emergency channel I’d set to bypass our signal jammer.
"Bad news, folks. Someone showed up," Jago’s voice was calm but grim as he drove.
"Reinforcements from the Claws?" I asked, surprised.
We’d jammed the signal good and proper.
"Worse. Cops. Four squad cars, real pissed. Even a tactical van with SWAT."
Fuck. Just our luck.
Seemed like the cops had a snitch inside the gang we were ripping off.
