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[Demons of NC] Chapter 33
🕑 Added 2024-11-14 17:29:19 +0000 UTCSomehow I skipped Ch.33 when I was uploading and no one said anything. Welp, here it is:
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Linda Sherman: corp contract
Linda Sherman: if you don’t take corp jobs, say so now and don’t waste my time
Nash Bane: whatever, let’s hear it
Linda Sherman: target's an escaped corp
Linda Sherman: forty-five grand for the job
Nash Bane: I’m in
Nash Bane: where do I find them?
Linda Sherman: I’ll send you an email with full instructions
Nash Bane: is this job mine exclusively?
Linda Sherman: no
Linda Sherman: other teams will be involved
Nash Bane: five grand out of the forty-five for you to back off the others?
Linda Sherman: no
Nash Bane: seven?
Linda Sherman: not up for negotiation
Linda Sherman: do the job or back off
He hadn’t downloaded the actual email. Kept a printed copy on him. Though some of the pages with instructions were probably missing. Nash didn’t want the other mercs seeing this info. So, we’d either have to find his computer or go after Linda directly. That last option seemed more promising to me.
We left Panam's car by Jackie’s garage. The thing was too flashy and too easy to spot. Took a cab to the ripper, who set my broken arm and patched up the bullet wounds. I passed out during the procedure.
The ripper woke me up with a question:
"Rough night, huh? Another fifteen hundred and I’ll flush your blood too."
"Fine," I mumbled, just wanting a little more shut-eye.
I felt like hell. Every high comes with a crash. And this long stretch of wakefulness packed with so many events, so many bursts of hyper-focus… it was all taking its toll.
"Feeling any better?" the ripper woke me again.
"A little," I grudgingly admitted, realizing I needed to get out of the chair.
"Come on, buddy. Guy out there stuffed a couple toys way too deep. He’s up next."
I wanted to say that was more info than I needed, but didn’t have the energy to get snarky. Stumbled over to the robo-taxi, where Lucy was already asleep. Trying not to wake her, I climbed in and keyed in the address on the console. My right arm was still out of commission, but it barely hurt anymore.
Delamain eased off in silence. Didn't want to wake Lucy either. Perfect, I thought—two AIs showing some damn empathy for a worn-out netrunner.
I tried to doze off too but had caught enough sleep in the chair. Altogether, I’d shelled out about seven grand to Vik and the other ripper. Decent deal.
We got to Becky's place pretty quickly. Lucy woke up even before we arrived. A shadow of fear passed over her peaceful face, and she jerked awake, her eyes wide open, quickly shaking off whatever nightmare had come over her.
"You alright?" I asked.
"Nothing," she brushed it off.
"Bad dream?"
In her light-violet eyes, I saw a refusal to admit to any kind of weakness or vulnerability. Here in the real world, she wanted to be grown-up, strong, untouchable. And yeah, she was. But we’re all vulnerable behind that edge of wakefulness. Especially when your past hasn't gone easy on you. What could she have dreamed about? The secret Arasaka bunkers where they trained her and other kids to dive into the Old Net? Or maybe that haunted manor illusion, with rotten walls where ghostly hands reach out, and the monster emerges to terrorize the frightened little girl? Or perhaps the "Ho-Oh" club? Dreamed of regaining consciousness, helpless, doomed, with enemies’ shadows looming above. I’d been to two out of three of those potential nightmares.
The cab stopped.
"How about we do absolutely nothing for a couple days?" I suggested. "Like, nothing at all. I’m too wiped to even think about getting hammered."
Lucy smirked as we got out of the cab. We headed up. Tired but not entirely drained, we collapsed into the apartment. Rebecca instantly got the sense we'd been through some shit.
“What the hell happened to you chooms?” she asked, poking her head out of her room.
"Long story. To sum it up, we scored a bunch of eddies easily, then got the shit kicked out of us for free."
Well, not entirely free. We got some valuable intel, though it’d be nice to get it without so much drama.
For a few seconds, Rebecca just stared at me, and then her face suddenly lit up in absolute outrage.
"Aw hell no! Why didn’t you call me?! What? I miss all the fun⁉"
I was a bit taken aback by her energy. She jumped toward me, but then changed her mind and leaped over to the couch, grabbed a gun from somewhere, and unloaded a clip into an old pizza box where I'd once thrown darts. Between every couple of shots, she yelled one word.
"CALL! — bang — ME! — bang — TO! — bang — SHOOTOUTS! — bang — EVERY! — bang — TIME! — bang, bang, bang!"
"We didn’t plan a shootout," I assured her, sinking into the couch. "It just happened."
"It just happened, my ass…" Rebecca pouted, crossing her legs on a round bar stool. "Even the old man’s got something going on, and here I am, no eddies, no action, no fun. Fine. Let’s hit a club or something?"
"No!" Lucy and I answered in unison.
"Don’t worry," I reassured her. "We’ve got plenty of shootouts lined up. I'll let you know more soon."
Once I crack into Linda Sherman's computer.
Despite Rebecca’s objections, we went to sleep. About five and a half hours later, I was woken up by a call. I stepped out into the hallway to answer.
"Hey," a voice on the line said. "It’s Panam. Remember me?"
"How could I forget," I chuckled.
"The ripper gave me this number. Thanks. I have two questions. How much do I owe you, and what about my car?"
"Car’s fine. I'll send the coordinates later. For the ripper, it’s five grand, but if things are tight, there’s no rush."
I was, of course, speaking Russian.
"Forget the communism, comrade," she laughed. "Doesn’t work here in this city. I’ll send it over now. But yeah, money’s always tight, and I think I just lost my partner. It’s kind of a hint. If you ever need a driver with some serious firepower or something transported..."
"Hint taken. And Nash? You’re sure he’s out?"
“You’re seriously asking me that? After that shithead screwed us over and left us hanging?”
“Well… he didn’t seem completely off his rocker. You know, for a Shiv.”
Silence took over for a few seconds. Then Panam’s voice came back, sharper.
“You saying that just off a hunch, or you got proof?”
“You want info? You’ll get it.”
“And what’s that gonna cost me?”
“Just a little camaraderie. And that corpo guy gig?”
“Fuck that!” she shot back, irritated. “That job’s definitely from some corp. The moment Nash mentioned it, I had a bad feeling. Then add the clusterfuck at the club… You don’t mess with your principles. Figured that out after catching a couple of bullets.”
“Guess… that’s the right call. Rest up, and we’ll check in again soon.”
Lucy was asleep, Beks was busy with some brain dance. Everyone was tied up. So, after a shower, I decided to catch up with Jackie. Hit up the bar.
“New look, mano?” the merc smirked, eyeing my new buzzcut. “I’d say it suits you, but lying to friends isn’t cool.”
“Temporary measure,” I replied, ordering a plate of snacks.
My stomach was gnawing at me.
“You got a way to trace a nomad through Padre?” I asked. “I got a gut feeling he’s a Shiv.”
"Well, if it’s that kind of gut feeling, that’s some serious evidence."
“Wow, hilarious. You should’ve seen him, Jackie. Guy’s face practically screams, ‘Stay the fuck away.’ And when he got wasted, turned into a damn murder machine.”
“Then I’m guessing you didn’t stay away. Is this that chungo who started the shootout in the club?”
“Yep. And we got caught up in it, too. And then he took off, ditching us—and his partner.”
“Man, not very nomad-like. But, hey, every family’s got its black sheep.”
“Yeah. And some families are mostly black sheep,” I muttered, chewing on chips and strips.
“You talking Arasaka?” Jackie chuckled, taking a big swig from his pint.
“Fair point, but I meant Scavs.”
“So why’d you get tangled up with him anyway?”
“Needed some intel. This guy was hired to hit a Vincent Price. Got this fixer named Linda Sherman tailing me. Know her?”
“First I’m hearing.”
Nothing shocking about that. Wako, Regina, Muamar—all the big fixers, they’re just the tip of the iceberg. Or maybe the flashy storefront of Night City’s merc trade. Behind them are dozens, even hundreds of lesser-known names, people who stay under the radar by choice.
We started actively hunting for Linda Sherman the next day. I told Lucy to take it easy, but she said she didn’t plan on doing anything too intense.
We split the cash we’d found on Fujioka. With that, I hit a solid 751k. Not bad at all. Plus, there’d be more from selling the car, jewelry, and whatever we could pull from accounts.
Then we cruised around the city, busting up some public and private relays.
“She’s using a basic but annoying protection scheme,” Lucy explained.
“Signal bouncing between a ton of relays? And doubling up every so often?”
“Smart boy. Didn’t skip class at the Academy. This Linda—or whoever Linda is—isn’t a netrunner herself. Just paid someone off and gets to use it.”
“Another club shootout, another nomad crime,” I read aloud from a newsfeed as we drove to the next point. “A group of four nomads opened fire after a verbal altercation with two patrons at the club 7th Hell. Despite aggressive police action, which killed at least two suspects, the others managed to escape. Blah blah, then some long-winded political rant about Lucius Rhyne. Real half-assed reporting,” I concluded.
All in all, the relay raid was pretty smooth. No hardcore action. One relay had a couple of Tiger Claws as guards, but we just shut them down with quickhacks.
Lucy loaded the data from the relays into her small laptop, then issued the final verdict:
“Our fixer’s working out of a diner in Little China.”
“You serious?” I asked, surprised. “Taking out rogue corpos over a bowl of noodles?”
“Let’s check it out. Look your enemy in the eye,” Kusinada suggested.
“All right.”
The diner was one of those dime-a-dozen spots. Small place with a handful of tables in a rundown space plastered with old posters. We parked a little ways off and started scanning through street cameras. One woman inside caught our attention fast. Mid-thirties, Chinese, wearing a light windbreaker, a pale yellow shirt, and round glasses. Skinny, quick, with sharp features. She sat in a corner with a laptop, sipping from a plastic cup now and then.
“I’ll put a grand on her being the one,” Lucy offered.
“That’s her, all right,” I agreed. “No point betting on it.”
After running her through some databases, I found her ID: Lin Dalin. Right, so that’s where “Linda” came from.
Strange. I expected some corpo field operative or a big-shot fixer like Faraday. Instead, we’ve got someone who looks like a frazzled housewife. Then again, appearances can lie, and blending in is its own kind of art.
“There you go, facing your doom,” Lucy whispered playfully. “What’s next, V? What’s the plan?”
“We go quiet. Find out where she lives. Break into her place. No need to take her out. She’s just a middleman.”
Take down “Linda,” and Abernathy will just stick another pawn on the board—or maybe several. At least this way, we can keep tabs on the enemy.
Linda stayed in the diner until eight that night, then packed up her laptop and headed out on foot. We tailed her. First, she went to a locker where she picked up some package. Then, she ducked into a public bathroom. In there, she changed. Ditched the low-profile outfit for… a business suit? Odd. Off to see her boss? But why keep the suit in a locker?
Too many questions, not enough answers.
We tracked “Linda” to a regular apartment building. She headed up to the third floor.
“She’s renting the place in her name,” Lucy noted, sifting through some leaked data. “Plus, she’s got two kids listed there. Guess where her older daughter goes to school?”
“No way!” I chuckled. “Arasaka Academy?”
“Bullseye, Mr. Price. Should we break in tonight?”
“After Jorge’s place, you’re still up for breaking in without any recon?”
“You’re right. This is a single mom’s three-bedroom apartment. What do you think, a dozen gangers in her kid’s room, or maybe just the kitchen?”
“Careful, Lucy, they’ll hear you and bolt. Why not just swing by tomorrow?”
"She carries that damn laptop in her bag. I’m willing to bet two grand everything’s on there and there’s not a single shady file left at home.”
“Wanna make it a bet?” I offered. “If you’re right, I’ll give you two, and you can sneak into Linda’s place tomorrow night.”
Lucy was right.
The next day, we got into Linda’s apartment while she and the kids were out.
“V, this place is a goddamn corporate shrine,” Lucy muttered dryly, looking around the walls.
Posters, pamphlets, souvenirs—every bit of corpo merch from the last few years. Biotechnica, Kang Tao, Arasaka.
“Whoa, she’s even got this junk!” I chuckled, looking over a collectible figure of young Saburo Arasaka in a flight suit. “Always wondered who buys these…”
“Look,” Lucy pointed to a photo of a smiling Linda in a business suit against a Biotechnica office backdrop.
Nearby, a few certificates from the higher-ups were framed on the wall. Clearly, she valued these more than the photos of a thin teenage girl and a seven-year-old boy. Now it was clear why she changed into a suit before going home.
“She lies to her kids about being in corpo and is pushing them towards it,” Lucy said, disgust obvious in her tone. “How does she even live like that? A whole life built on lies.”
“She probably got canned,” I said. “Thrown out, and she never told her kids. Pretends she still goes to an office, but she’s actually taking out contract hits from a noodle shop.”
The apartment search turned up nothing. Lin Dalin was living her entire second life as “Linda Sherman” from her bag.
“Let’s check out the kitchen,” I suggested.
“Not giving up, huh?” Lucy asked with a smirk. “You lost the bet, V.”
“Conceding. Just sizing up what they’ll be eating or drinking tonight. Let’s throw in a bit of tranquilizer to give the family a nice, deep sleep.”
“Now that’s an idea.”
So we spiked the sugar substitute and drinks with a mild dose of tranqs. Not enough to overdose, but they’d sleep more soundly than usual.
Lucy’s night op went off perfectly. Then again, Lin hadn’t set up any traps or alarms. The laptop was just stashed in a bag under her bed. Within a few minutes, all the data was copied, and half an hour later, we were digging through the files.
“She’s working for Biotechnica, Arasaka, and a bit for Zetatech,” I said, scrolling through the files on our laptop in the car. “Mostly hits. Oh, here’s some messages from Miriam, and here…”
I focused on the details of her instructions regarding my own takedown. Damn. The specifics weren’t pretty.
“What’s up, V?”
“For proof, they need either my whole body or the head. Shit. There’s no faking that. They can check everything: DNA, implant records. Faking my own death is not gonna be easy.”
“Can’t they, like…grow a head? Some kind of bioprinter?”
“Possible. But there are ways to tell. Alright, let’s see who Linda’s already sent the contract to.”
The list wasn’t huge, but it was interesting.
“Jack Mauser
Nash Bane
Els Sapley
Benedict McAdams (?)
Taki Kenmoti
Wesley Hunt
Simon Randall (?)”
Quite a lineup. She even tried to rope in old Royce from Maelstrom. Next to him and another fixer, though, there were question marks. Maybe they didn’t give a firm yes yet. Forty-five grand is a decent price for offing a rogue corpo, but without a location or good leads, the job’s more like a high-stakes investigation with pretty foggy prospects.
In theory, if I lay low enough, it might not be worth their time and cash to hunt me down. They’d have to burn through too much money and effort just to find me.
Then again…
There’s a temptation to strike first. To hunt the hunters.
