JohnnyZ
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[Demons of NC] Chapter 63
🕑 Added 2025-01-14 19:12:09 +0000 UTC“No Sandevistan, no Kerenzikov,” Smasher announced. “Otherwise, it’s too fucking easy. But no other limits. Feet, elbows, knives, teeth—use it all. Last one standing wins!”
The Maelstrom crowd went wild with hoots and applause.
“Fuck me…” Vic and Jackie murmured in nearly perfect sync.
David didn’t even look at the onlookers. He just stood there, drilling his eyes into Logan. Seemed like Garcia was hesitating. He looked up, searching the “stands” for support, then said pretty loudly: “This is a gym, not a back-alley. We’ve got rules here.”
Oh, how fast that flip-flop happened. Maybe you wanna toss in a speech on sportsmanship?
Logan’s words got cut off by a shot. A smart-round bullet zipped through the air on some weird arc. It didn’t do major damage, but carved a long slice across those roided-up shoulders.
“Here’s your new rule,” Smasher declared. “You listen, or I smash your face in. I’ll shoot you dead and send someone else from your crew into the pit.”
None of the Animals stuck their neck out for Logan. They knew damn well the odds were not in their favor. Smasher alone would be enough. Behind him was a swarm of psycho blood-junkies from Maelstrom, itching for chaos.
“So it’s to the death, then…” Logan said through gritted teeth, turning back to David.
David’s response was to switch into a karate stance. Logan’s fists changed—metal pieces protruded through the skin over his knuckles, forming castet-like protrusions.
“Fuck, put on some epic music!” one of the Maelstromers shouted.
Might’ve been Dum-Dum. But no one rushed to blast any tunes. Instead, the backdrop to this killmatch was nervous muttering, panicked gasps, and Maelstrom’s bloodthirsty howling.
“Kill! Kill! Fuck him up!”
Logan rushed in first. You could tell his nerves were fraying. The boxer, used to mid-range, tried to close distance, only to catch a brutal front kick right into his solar plexus. Logan tried blocking with his arms, but he’d never dealt with that style. For the first time, he backed off, shifting from a forward stance to a sideways one—left hand out, right hand guarding his chin. Blood from a deep scratch stained the back of his T-shirt. No wonder he belonged to the Animals. He really did look like a wounded, cornered beast. All that cocky hostility switched to survival mode. That might actually make him even more dangerous.
Logan didn’t throw himself into it again. He stayed still, rotating in place as David paced right and left, sizing him up.
Martinez suddenly closed the gap, hitting two kicks in a row with stunning speed—front kick for Logan’s head, then a side kick near the ribs. He didn’t even drop his leg between strikes. David’s control over his center of gravity was on point. But Logan had been fighting his whole damn life, in and out of the ring. He dodged the first kick and ducked into David after the second, going for a counter with swing after swing. David answered with an elbow, then a knee to Logan’s torso, but eventually he had to pull back. A few strong hits landed on him, splitting his brow. Not much blood leaked, likely thanks to some Arasaka implant sealing those vessels.
David shook his head. That exchange didn’t go his way.
Logan waited, eyes scanning. He was red in the face and dripping from a fresh cut on his forehead, but thick brow ridges kept blood from trickling into his eye.
“Kill! Kill! Blood and chrome!” Maelstrom kept chanting.
Some of the Animals were yelling too, apparently swept up by the spectacle. Even their fear of Smasher had dialed back for a moment. Meanwhile, Angie looked tense as hell, flicking glances from me to the Maelstrom “stands,” seemingly forgetting the pit altogether.
David attacked again, more cautiously now—more feints, more sidestepping. If this were a bigger ring, I think he might’ve just worn out the older, battered ex-champion. They circled each other for about a minute, trading strikes at mid range. David’s expression started to shift. Where he’d been cold and focused, now there was a flicker of excitement. He was getting into the fight.
‘When the shots ring out, there’s nothing else to think about,’ I recalled him saying at the diner once.
He was probably feeling that vibe right now, forgetting all his baggage—no observers, no stress. Some twisted version of Bushido hammered into a kid who’d had to kill too soon taught him that. Made him into one of the city’s top killers.
Logan rushed in again, letting loose a flurry that would’ve dropped a pro in seconds. But this time, David didn’t dodge. He crouched low, covering up, and slammed into his opponent. He shoved him, making Logan turn. Garcia hit his back against the pit’s wall. David crouched even lower. Logan tried hammering him from above, but those punches lacked the weight of his full body behind them. Off-balance, Logan lost his footing. David yanked him by the knees, hoisting him a bit before executing a simple takedown. Logan smashed onto his back.
Before the ex-champ could get up, David tagged him with the first punch. Then he dropped onto him, taking mount. He clamped Logan’s torso between his knees and rained down blow after blow. Logan tried to fight back at first, then just guarded his face. David hammered from top to bottom like a fucking meat tenderizer, never easing up. The floor around Logan’s head splattered with blood, and the pit crowd roared and jeered. Ten seconds… fifteen… twenty…
Logan’s face turned to pulp, not a single patch of flesh unscathed. Finally, David paused a second, then grabbed the battered guy under the chin and around the back of the skull, twisting with difficulty. You could practically hear the reinforced vertebrae give out. Logan’s head ended up in a position that basically read “Sure as shit dead.”
“Fucking hell…” Vic muttered again.
“C’mon,” I shrugged. “He basically does the same shit at work—just with more guns and explosions.”
“Exactly, V! I was hoping you’d talk him out of it, not toss him more of the same,” Vic complained.
The crowd hushed as Adam spoke once more:
“What a load of bullshit,” he declared. “But it’s better than last time. Grayson, hand him that gun.”
Apparently done with it, Smasher turned to leave the gym. Jeremiah Grayson didn’t follow right away. He hopped across some scaffolding down to the edge of the pit, shrugged off a black bag, and unzipped it.
“The model’s a bit dated,” Grayson smirked, looking down at David from above, “but nothing better’s come out since. Try not to get too busy jerking off over it tonight.”
He pulled out a big heavy smart shotgun—likely a Ba Xing Chong—and chucked it into the pit. David silently caught it one-handed, his entire fist and half his forearm slick with blood. That monster of a piece was now his, the dream of every solo.
Grayson darted off after Smasher like the jackal chasing a wounded tiger. Meanwhile, Maelstrom started clearing out.
“I never gave a fuck about your ‘sport,’” Royce declared on his way out. “But that was fun to watch. Money on the ticket was worth it. Later, assholes.”
“I’ll go see if he’s all right,” Vic said, handing Falco his revolver back.
“I’m going too,” Jackie said with a disapproving shake of his head. “Gotta talk to him. V, you never should’ve dragged him here.”
Falco kept quiet, not too thrilled by a Smasher feature.
“Eh, lighten up,” I smirked. “Went pretty damn well overall, yeah? Becca, at least you’re on my side?”
“Hell yeah, I loved it,” she answered, still buzzing. “Agreed with the red-eyed fucks from Maelstrom—straight-up rules aren’t my thing, but tonight was awesome. We gotta do this more often.”
As people trickled out, David climbed out of the pit, chatting with Vic. A couple Animals hopped down to haul off what was left of Logan. Angie, now the top-dog among them, headed toward me.
“Let’s talk,” she suggested. “Someplace quieter. Let’s go up to the office.”
“Sure,” I nodded.
Revenge for Logan? Not likely yet. Even if shit popped off, David was still down below, plus that brand-new gun of his. We’d manage.
I ended up again in Logan’s office, but instead of a lumbering gorilla in a shitty mood, there was a tense woman in glittery clothes.
“Let’s set the record straight,” I said. “Adam Smasher’s little cameo wasn’t my plan. He works with David, got a wind of this fight, decided to drop in. That’s it. I’ve run some ops with him myself. He’s just like that—a wildcard, loves to show up and do shit his own way. No hard feelings, alright?”
I kept a polite tone, though it was obviously rhetorical. Angie was clearly rattled. She’d dug up some intel on me, but none of it prepared her for me pulling two Arasaka top dogs into the ring. No way a disgraced ex-employee had that pull—unless, she might now suspect, I’d really become a covert agent or middleman between Arasaka and Dogtown.
“No hard feelings,” she forced a little smile, flicking a thin cigarette from a gold case engraved with a running cheetah. “I tried to warn Logan, but he is a stubborn asshole... well, was.”
“We’d made a bet, by the way. That was the whole reason for this fight.”
“A contract revision, yeah.” She nodded. “We’ll settle it. But first, I gotta calm the waters. Talk with Matilda. She’s gotta decide who’ll be alpha in this pack now.”
“I get it,” I said with a conciliatory grin. “In-house conflicts can be worse than outside pressure.”
“How about we meet at the ‘Black Sapphire’ tomorrow?”
Interesting choice, but suits me fine. Hansen’s got plenty of security there. And if it’s a trap on the way, I can always bring backup or ring up Panam.
“Works for me. I’m free in the evening.”
“Then see you tomorrow.”
She headed to Logan’s computer and plopped down rather boldly in his chair. I didn’t leave yet. A second later, she glanced at me
“Seems like you might be able to help,” she said.
“Maybe so.”
I stepped over and looked at the screen. Password locked. A quick personal port connection and I bypassed that crap in ten seconds. Basic shit. No viruses either—that can wait, done more discreetly.
“I heard you’re a netrunner,” Angie said. “But if we’re talking in sports terms… where’d you put yourself? A newbie, an amateur, or a pro?”
A monster from another world, basically. Among swimmers, I’m a fucking vampire shark.
“Pro,” I nodded. “Not the champ of the Night City, but a mean contender.”
“Interesting… very interesting. See you tomorrow, Vincent. Too bad your boy’s stuck in Arasaka; he coulda been a sports star.”
“Nah, he’s turning into a different kind of star,” I said, heading out.
“And burn all the brighter for it,” Angie quipped. “See you tomorrow.”
Downstairs, the place was almost empty. I waved to David, busy wiping off blood and talking with Vic, Jackie and some female Animal—some big sweaty “moose lady”. Seemed civil enough.
After the Triple Extreme, I headed home, giving Lucy the whole blow-by-blow of the night’s events.
“So that kid’s turned into some kind of Arasaka monster?” she asked, sounding a bit bummed.
“Yeah, and a big one. Smasher’s paying attention… that’s like as if some rookie rocker got invited to jam with Eurodyne. Except it’s not about music, it’s about killing.”
“Adam Smasher… bet those muscleheads got freaked out.”
“Sure did. Forgot all their usual bullshit in a hurry.”
“They’re gonna leave us alone now?”
“Looks that way. After that show, they’ll think I’m hooked up with Arasaka’s top brass and not worth messing with. If Smasher showed up to one of my scuffles, who’s to say he won’t show up again? That kind of surprise could wipe out the Animals. They know after tangling with Adam, they’d be on the brink of extinction.
“Next few days I’ll swap the club’s bouncers entirely, so we can chill there. They’ll probably offer me some terms tomorrow. I figure, keep one or two big guys for show, keep a toe in with that Zoo. After all, we’re not at war, so it's good to have some connection. During the hit on Abernathy’s tower, they did well. Maybe use them again once or twice as decoys.
“For real security, I’d bring on folks actually loyal to me,” I added. “Three or four, well armed. Bet I can find some jobless vets in Night City. Main thing is to make sure they’re not rolling with the 6th Street.”
Next morning, I headed for Dogtown in Panam’s truck. She was in high spirits. Thanks to that huge payday for whacking Abernathy, she could skip all the “shifty bullshit” gigs.
“More free time, fewer bullet holes in my ride,” she said. “Looks like you’re living large too.”
“Yeah, not complaining.”
The Sapphire greeted me with its usual vibe of sinful opulence. A waiter said Ms. Willan had rented out a luxury suite for us—wasn’t expecting that.
“She’s alone?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Well, I’m armed, I got my Sandevistan. If yesterday’s question was just her fishing for my capabilities and to see what implants I’ve got, she might get a surprise. But I doubt the Animals will try anything in Hansen’s fancy hotel. They’d have to face a shit-ton of trouble in Dogtown.
Riding the elevator up, I strolled down a long hallway over lush green carpet, feigning deep thought. In reality, I was messing with the cameras: scanning the feed showing Angie entering the room—yep, she was alone. Good.
I knocked, then opened the door without waiting. She was perched on the couch, laptop in hand, legs drawn up. Setting the device aside, she greeted me:
“Hey. Check those papers on the side table.”
After locking the door, I obliged. It was a fresh security contract for the ‘7th Hell.’ Rate cut by a quarter, full control of guard numbers, freedom to rotate them, plus liability if they bust my shit. Looked damn good. I read it over two, three times, searching for hidden catches. Zilch. Nada. Wording was straightforward, even included a four-month discount period to compensate my prior losses.
“All so simple?” I said, surprised. “Figured we’d haggle a bit, at least for show.”
“I decided to set a speed record,” Angie joked in kind. “You in a rush?”
“Not particularly.”
I glanced around. Didn’t see anything obviously suspicious—though Angie’s friendlier vibe kind of was. Then again, Smasher’s cameo can bond people, I guess.
“That club’s not about profit, right?” she asked.
“More like a forward base. But sure, a bit of eddies wouldn’t hurt, and I don’t need a pigsty in my place either.”
“Everything’s gotta be perfect, huh?” she said with a hint of mischief, getting up and pacing barefoot on the plush white rug.
“Perfection’s unattainable, but we should all try.”
“Is that a quote?”
“Probably. Kinda obvious though, maybe I just came up with it. By the way, let me ask you something: what exactly do your people want hacked?”
“Not hacked,” she corrected. “We need a hacker found.”
Ah. They want a top netrunner unaligned with the cops or the Voodoo Boys.
“High stakes, I assume?”
“High enough we had to call you.”
“You’re not worried I’ll hand your secrets to Arasaka?”
“Your bosses don’t give a damn about our level of ‘secrets.’ But let’s not jump to business yet—unless you’re in a hurry?”
Without waiting for my answer, Angie crossed to a small dresser where a slim, expensive case lay. She popped it open to reveal several glass-metal syringes filled with variously colored fluids.
“Drugs?”
“No,” she answered, “legit pharma. I’m serious.”
“Even got a prescription?”
“I do, yeah. Did a sports nurse course. Let’s me ‘experiment’ like this.”
She grabbed one of the syringes and smoothly injected it into a vein on her forearm—looked like a patch of Realskin with a built-in port. She shut her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and turned that gaze back on me. Something flickered in her eyes, bright new sparks.
“Feels good?” I asked.
“Why don’t you try it?” she purred, stepping closer.
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Saw that coming,” she said. “Alright, let me tell you what you’re turning down first.”
“I’m listening.”
“You know what happiness is?”
“A philosophical question?”
“No, purely medical,” she explained. “I got into pharma and biochem. That’s my business, my hobby.” She rested a hand on my shoulder, voice low, alluring and not at all unpleasant. This was already borderline shameless flirting, but I kept a businesslike tone—no telling what else she’d pull.
“So I’m in for a lecture on biochem?”
“Biochem and psychology,” she corrected. “Lecture and demonstration. Sit.”
“Alright,” I said, dropping onto the couch. “Let’s hear it.”
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