JohnnyZ
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[Demons of NC] Chapter 65
🕑 Added 2025-01-19 03:24:21 +0000 UTC“I think it is time for our relationship to move to the next level,” I said slowly, leaning on the table in Lizzie’s private booth. “We need to make it official. Safer for both of us that way.”
“Shit…” Frank Nostra replied with a smirk. “I’d love to hear something like that from a beautiful girl one day, but no—it’s always you. Spit it out, V. What do you want?”
“Add me to the database as an informant.”
“Really? Should I start sending you payouts too?”
“Yep! Exactly how we’ve done it before. Let’s not break tradition. And hey, a free informant raises suspicions. Don’t sweat it—you can pocket the eddies yourself.”
“Damn the money. You’re not seriously gonna feed me intel on Barghest, are you? And if you start dropping fake shit…”
“Relax. No disinfo. I’ll throw you real bites now and then. Just not about Barghest. Like… there’s a deal between the Voodoo Boys and some asshole from Bulgaria. Interested?”
“Sure, but what’s in it for you besides covering our tracks? Oh… wait. You’re gonna use this to offload your problems, aren’t you? Let others clean up your mess?”
“Wow. Rational thinking. What, you start reading books or quit drugs?”
“Funny. I’ll send you the agent profile tonight. Fill it out yourself.”
“You’re just too lazy to do it, huh?”
“That too. Between gunfights and banging hookers, take some time for paperwork. Won’t kill you. Remember how it was when you had a ‘real’ job?”
“Banging hookers was my ‘real’ job,” I shot back, recalling my visit to Clouds. “No time for anything else. If I told you what I’ve been up to lately, you’d get jealous and relapse into whatever chemical shit you’re on. Speaking of which—what about those files I asked for?”
“Here…” Frank slid a small chip case across the table. “Fixer data’s all there, but the other stuff? Surprised me. You going into the hotel business?”
“Just exploring where to stash stolen cash.”
The chip contained data on various hotels, but my real target was Konpeki Plaza. To keep Frank in the dark, I padded the request with info on other properties.
“So, how’s the new boss situation? Still infighting?” I asked.
“No, it’s calmed down. Rumor is they’re sending someone in from Tokyo. That’s both reassuring and nerve-wracking. On the one hand, the department needs structure. Right now, counterintel’s like a bunch of grade schoolers without a teacher—someone’s gonna shit themselves soon. On the other hand, a competent boss might uncover… our little arrangements.”
“Which is why I want you to register me as an agent. Worst case, they’ll think you lost control of an informant. Trust me, after I toss them a couple of juicy intel bites, they’ll forget all about it and probably pat you on the back.”
“God, I hope you’re right, V,” Frank muttered, visibly uneasy.
Once I left the booth, I scanned the chip for malware, then loaded the data into my implants. All clear? Yep. Filter out the fluff.
First up: the fixers. Dexter DeShawn had rolled back into town about two days ago. Wheels were starting to turn. Good. I had the rest of ’76, at least.
I stared out the cab window, watching the crowds—some sharply dressed, others outrageously tacky—waiting to cross the street. Winter in California barely felt like winter. Fewer sunny days, maybe, but the remaining ones cooked the city through its thinning ozone layer like it was still midsummer.
Dex is here. Evelyn too, most likely. And if the rumors are true, Yorinobu had passed through Night City recently. He’d already flown back to Tokyo, but…
“He’ll be back,” I muttered in Russian, smirking.
The players were gathering for the coming tragedy. I just needed to confirm whether Yorinobu and Evelyn had already crossed paths—and if she’d sold herself out to the Voodoo Boys yet. It was a shame the connections between their branches in Night City and Dogtown had weakened over the years. Wilky LaGuerre’s memory held nothing useful; he’d only cared about exploiting the Wild Net’s dangerous secrets for profit. Meanwhile, Maman Brigitte remained focused on prepping for some digital apocalypse.
I cracked my neck, shaking off those thoughts. The booster from Angie had almost worn off, leaving just a faint buzz of good mood and memories of a wild night. I’d agreed to help her with the athlete sabotage issue, earning a promised payout of 25k—and maybe a slice of the fixed-match racket, if it stabilized. That last part intrigued me more than the one-time paycheck. Plus, I was considering stocking up on her "magic shots." Officially, they cost 17k a pop if imported from Europe. Angie, though, could hook me up for 3.5k each, thanks to some off-the-books lab shifts churning out unregistered batches.
I opened a compact laptop and pulled up the city map. A red marker blinked near Pacifica. It was the biomonitor of Travis Gede, a runner who’d lost a triathlon recently thanks to a muscle cramp. Poor guy seized up 30 meters from the finish line. Went from first place to "fuck this."
Something felt off about his location—a shantytown made of containers and scrap. Definitely not his apartment. I grabbed my gear: a tanto, a monokatana strapped blade-up, and two pistols—smart and electromagnetic.
Calling Becca as backup? Nah. The cameras showed no major threats—just a few shady types who wouldn’t even qualify for the Minor League, let alone Pro. Still, never hurts to stay sharp.
Stepping out of the cab, I made my way under a bridge to the container. Two scruffy guys stood guard—one with rusty machete, the other with a jury-rigged shotgun. Both looked like a mix of sunburned and filthy. Their "arsenal" wasn’t much, but at point-blank, that shotgun could ruin my day.
“Travis Gede here?” I asked.
“You with the Scavs?” one of them shot back.
Interesting question. Unexpected.
“Want me to show you a Soviet passport?” I replied in Russian.
“Choom, I don’t fucking understand a word of that,” shotgun guy grunted. “Think we got chrome translators or somethin’?”
“All we got’s chrome dicks,” his buddy added. “And those barely work. If you’re Scavs, cough up ten grand and take this loser.”
Ah, now it made sense. Classic chrome-and-organ sale.
“Why’s he on your chopping block? Did he fuck you over, or is this just for kicks?” I stalled, scanning the area.
“Runner owes our buddy the pusher twenty grand.”
“Yeah, and we’re fuckin’ debt collectors,” the other one sneered, flashing a toothless grin. “He showed up again yesterday beggin’ for shine. Said he couldn’t take it no more.”
There were three of them. Two out front, while the third lurked behind a black plastic curtain inside. He thought he wasn’t visible. I could just pay and walk away, avoid a bloodbath. But… ten grand’s still ten grand. And besides…
Becca’s fiery red eyes popped into my mind.
"Do it! Do it right now! Gotta test that chrome!"
“Wanna see a trick?” I said with a smile, switching to Russian.
“Man, I told you, we don’t under—”
Shotgun Bum didn’t finish. Power surged through me like a tidal wave, that familiar shock of plunging into freezing water, instantly boiling hot. Time slowed. The world turned fragile.
In a single fluid motion, I drew my katana and struck. True iaido. Shotgun Bum didn’t even flinch before I severed his spinal cord and slashed his throat. That’s a wrap for him, even with top-grade chrome.
With both hands gripping the katana now, I pivoted and swung, slicing the second guy’s neck cleanly from left to right. One step forward, a sharp lunge, and the blade sank into the gut of the third goon behind the plastic curtain. I drove it through his solar plexus, dragging it downward as I pulled back, carving him open.
The monokatana sliced through flesh like a hot knife through butter. Blood spattered everywhere, but the adrenaline pumping through me dulled the smell.
In the final seconds of my Sandivistan’s burst, I leapt backward, shaking blood off the blade with a sharp cyberlimb sweep. My right hand drew a pistol in one smooth motion.
Time snapped back to normal. The bodies hit the ground, lifeless. My heart pounded like a war drum as I scanned for more threats. Nothing. Just a couple of hobos bolting like their lives depended on it.
“Ta-da,” I muttered, sliding the katana back into its sheath with precision. “Poof, you’re gone.”
I rushed into the container, pistol raised. The stench hit me like a freight train. Inside, the third one I killed—a chubby, filthy woman—lay sprawled with a disposable pistol nearby. Her guts and organs were splayed across the rusty floor from my not-so-consensual vertical seppuku.
On a piss-stained mattress in the corner, Travis Gede writhed, his body convulsing. Guy was wrecked, but at least he wasn’t dead. Yet.
“Get up. Move!” I hissed, hoisting him up with my cyberlimb. “Scavs could show up any second. I’m from Angie.”
“Y-yeah… yeah…” he stammered through cracked, bloodied lips.
Dragging him out of the hovel, I threw him into the car.
“Life really fucks you over, doesn’t it?” I mused, shoving the former athlete into the backseat. “One moment, you’re touching a hottie, trying to help her out. Next thing, you’re hauling some piss-stained—hey! No puking! Inhale this. Come on. Breathe.”
I handed him an inhaler, and he finally started to calm down. The cab pulled away from the scene, carrying us toward safer ground.
“Y-you’re from Angie?” he asked through chattering teeth. “She got work for me?”
“Work? Not in your condition. She wants me to scan you. Figure out what’s causing your cramps.”
“Oh…” His tone dropped, disappointment oozing out. “They scanned me already. Found nothing. But I… I wasn’t on shit then! I was clean, man! Training every—”
“Shut up. Hand me your arm. Got a port?” I found it.
His implants were still decent, but judging by how fast his life was spiraling, they wouldn’t stay that way. I initiated a scan. Thanks to what I’d learned from the Slider’s memories, I could dig pretty deep into implant tampering. Five minutes later? Nothing.
“Gonna take you to a ripperdoc,” I said.
“No! Don’t! I’ll pay you, I swear—”
“Don’t need your shitty chrome. I’ll take you to someone decent. My treat.”
We reached Vik’s clinic quickly. Travis’s stench and disheveled state clearly disgusted the doc, but he didn’t turn him away. Vik just threw a plastic sheet over his chair before getting to work.
After a thorough scan, he rubbed his chin, frowning. “Yeah… hmm… okay.”
“What is it, Vik?”
“If there was tampering, they wiped the evidence clean. Could’ve been a remote hack or a self-erasing neurovirus. Probably a virus. At events like these, there’s usually a netrunner on site, especially near the finish line. But the virus? That could’ve been planted earlier.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
Damn. I thought this would be a simple gig, something I could knock out with my skills. Yet here I was, neck-deep in some netrunner’s dirty work. Someone with chops comparable to the best in Night City. Maybe even better. Fine. I’d handle it as a side project. The biochip remained my main focus.
I dropped Travis off closer to downtown so he wouldn’t get whacked right away. He looked better after Vik’s treatment, but the withdrawal still had its claws in him.
“Here’s some advice,” I said before letting him go. “Join a gang, the army, a cult—anywhere that’ll take you. Odds are you’ll still die there, but it’s better than dying alone with zero shot at survival.”
“O-okay… I’ll try,” he muttered. “Tell Angie I’ll get back in shape. Maybe not this month…”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. Get lost,” I said, waving him off.
He was lying. Even he didn’t believe that bullshit. Whatever. Not my problem.
Finally heading home, I found Lucy sprawled on the couch, lost in some braindance. She must’ve set an alarm because she slipped the wreath off as soon as I walked in.
“How’s Dogtown?” she asked, reclining lazily.
“Same old. Corpses, dust, and despair. I want to move.”
“Missing a jacuzzi? Or expecting company with guns?”
“Neither. I’m buying a place above the club. What do you think? Few minutes on the elevator, and you’re in one of Night City’s best worst clubs.”
“Sounds cool, but you’ll need good soundproofing. And bulletproofing.”
“Obviously. Oh, and Lucy… something big’s coming.”
“Oooh…” She got up, sniffing my neck. “You smell like blood. Serious?”
“Nothing major.”
“How big, V? Like that mess with Sue?”
“No, this is real insanity. Hard to even explain without sounding like a complete psycho. Dark secrets, digital immortality. Soon, something priceless will hit Night City, and I want to steal it. There’s just one problem—others want it too. First step? Taking out the competition.”
“Gonna zero some merc or fixer?”
“Hopefully not. Just need to temporarily remove someone from the equation. Kidnap her, basically. Her name’s Evelyn Parker.”
“This a real kidnapping? Or are you trying to hit on her?” Lucy teased.
“Legit kidnapping,” I assured her. “She’s got a doll chip. I can tweak it, no need for a basement or ropes. No harm to her. Just a little time as a mannequin.”
“Wow. What else?”
“When you hear the full story, you’ll see we’re doing Evelyn a huge favor. Keeping her from wrecking herself and a whole lot of others.”
“Damn…” Lucy leaned in and whispered, “V, you’re the kindest, most thoughtful psychopath I’ve ever met.”
Huh. She wasn’t entirely wrong. Other guys find girlfriends through childhood friendships like Jackie, or work like David—though his colleague didn’t survive. And me? Lucy? I stalked her and arranged a kidnapping. Evelyn Parker? First a brothel, now surveillance and planning an abduction. Angie? Staged a spectacle with Adam Smasher.
Maybe Vik’s right. That empathy booster might not be such a bad idea.
One thing I know for sure: kidnapping Parker is a deeply humane move. I remember all too well what happens if I don’t. Rape, torture, suicide. Someone might argue you could just warn her or scare her off. Not gonna work here. Evelyn’s too confident in her own sharp mind, too stubborn. Even if you carefully laid out how suicidal her plan is, she’d just rework it and still dive smiling into the abyss. So, yeah…
My closed comm channel suddenly pinged. Frank? Sure sounded like him.
“Go ahead,” I answered.
“V, we’ve got a problem,” Nostra said, his voice tight with nerves. “They sent in the new boss from Tokyo.”
“Okay. And the problem is?”
“Michiko arrived,” he hissed, almost panicking. “You know how fucked this is, right?”
“Calm the fuck down,” I tried to steady my double agent. “Don’t jump out of your skin—or the window—just yet. I doubt it’ll be worse than it was with Susan. We’ll handle it. Are you even sure it's Michiko? I thought she was on the Board of Directors.”
“She is. But she’s temporarily heading our division. They suspect something. Get those papers to register you as an informant, and fast.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll send them today. Don’t lose your shit.”
The call ended.
“Trouble with your old job?” Lucy asked.
“Something like that. Mark my words: soon there’ll be more people with the last name Arasaka in Night City than in all of Japan.”
