JohnnyZ
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[Demons of NC] Chapter 34
🕑 Added 2024-11-07 23:31:01 +0000 UTC“Linda’s laptop’s got a virus now,” Lucy said, satisfied. “Until her next full cleanup, all her traffic through relays will bounce to us.”
“Perfect.”
It’d be a good idea to dig up info on my potential killers. Simon Randall was Royce from Maelstrom. He wasn’t their leader yet, but he was already a big shot among the cyberpsychos. Els? Isn’t he that black cowboy I hired a few times with Miriam?
Jack Mauser? The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I’ll dig around, maybe jog my memory.
Alright. I’ll gather info on all of them bit by bit and then decide what to do.
The next day, I had another operation lined up. This time, I could finally visit Vik’s clinic in peace. I’d swapped my face, freshened up my look, gotten rid of Fujioka, and even Abernathy’s mercs were under some surveillance.
Up next were subdermal body armor, reinforced rib cage, and a blood pump. The pump was especially useful. It helped prevent death from bleeding out and could inject stabilizing drugs directly into my bloodstream. With it, I wouldn’t have to rely as much on injections if I got carved up again like after my encounter with Miriam. It’d be hell, but I could stay conscious and crawl toward a ripper.
The operation cost fifteen grand.
“Well, there you go. No need to rush it; the chrome’s coming along,” Vik said calmly as I came out of anesthesia.
“Hm. What about something heavier? Sandevistan? Berserk?”
“Then first answer: are you planning to ditch your deck, or run everything at once?”
“No way I’m giving up the deck.”
“V…” Viktor shook his head disapprovingly. “Guys like you think a ripper can just install you a new nervous system. Maybe even an extra life. Sorry, but medicine isn’t quite there yet.”
“Alright. Let’s come at this from another angle. Can a deck and Sandevistan even go together?”
“There are some who can manage. But all current implant protocols strongly discourage or outright forbid the combination. That’s more Net Watch territory, but you know, they’re working with a whole different tech level. And the good knights of the Net aren’t exactly keen on sharing it with common folks.”
“What about the Voodoo Boys?”
“They’re even less interested in sharing,” Vik chuckled. “When I hear ‘Voodoo Boys’ and ‘implants’ in the same sentence, the words ‘hacking,’ ‘blackmail,’ and ‘theft’ are usually nearby. Never ‘selling top-shelf chrome.’”
"Hm. I've got some particular connections with the Voodoo Boys. But dealing with them isn’t like dancing with wolves; it’s more like breakdancing with rabid jackals. The moment I get close, they’ll bite. Sooner or later, one way or another. Unless I find a way to really keep them by the throat."
“And even if you brought me a nice compatibility recipe in a bag that works for a standard deck and heavy chrome,” Vic went on, “you’re still not ready. You don’t jump from the junior leagues to the heavyweights. Walk the path, step by step, V.”
“Yeah, I get it,” I replied, feeling my ribs.
Didn’t feel much different, except the skin seemed just a little tougher. Reminded me a bit of Lucy’s skin… not as smooth, though.
Guess my next step to nirvana is subdermal armor on the limbs. Then full bone and tendon reinforcement, maybe even some bone marrow implants. After that, you can start layering, upgrading, adding special coatings.
When I left Vic’s, Jackie forwarded what Padre had dug up on Nash. No deep dive needed—we hit bodies right away. A lot of bodies. No honorary Tiger Claw ID for “Nash Bane,” of course, but there’s an old saying: if it walks like a Tiger, hangs with Tigers, and takes contracts from Tigers, then guess what?
I sent all that info to Panam. Her response was a brief but telling, “Shit.” Then she followed up with more colorful commentary.
“You know what’s the worst part? Rogue put us together. My fixer. But she didn’t bother telling me who he really was.”
“Happens. Rogue isn’t the only fixer in the city.”
“Is there anyone better? Like the fuckin’ ‘Honest Fixer of Night City’ award winner? Everything here’s a mess!”
I didn’t respond, and a few minutes later, more messages came through.
“Sorry for the vent. Not aimed at you, obviously. I just can’t cool off. I actually owe you.”
“You do? If it’s about the info, don’t sweat it; I got paid for the ripper’s work.”
“Yeah, right. When I woke up in that ripper’s chair, I almost bolted. No offense to you and your girl, but I was sure that was the end of the line. Thought you’d toss me in a junk pile somewhere or maybe even splurge on a budget cremation if I really left a good impression. Watching from the heavens or wherever I’d end up, I wouldn’t have blamed you. Seriously. I was nearly dead, and I was nobody to you. Cops on your tail, you guys got hit hard, and my ride alone costs more than any corp info payoff. It’s a miracle. I haven’t typed this many words at once since I was a kid. Anyway, we gotta meet up sometime. Maybe I can buy you a round, start chipping away at this moral debt.”
“Cool. We’ll meet up sometime,” I replied.
Looks like this is going even better than I expected. Now we can actually get to know each other. Panam’s turned down the hit on me and even feels like she owes me. No way she’s running off to sell me out to her old crew.
I headed back to Rebecca’s place; for now, it was just her. Lucy was working on Fujioka’s accounts and checking out some new apartment options. Falko was still tangled up with Rainfield. He’d sent an intriguing message:
“This is gonna be good, but it’s gonna take a while.”
Rebecca was busy tinkering with a trophy revolver, either fixing it or modding it. She was in a cropped black shirt that was a size too big and short khaki shorts.
“Hey, Becca… We’ve been working together for a while now, huh?”
“Yup,” she nodded, still focused on tweaking the revolver with a screwdriver.
“And we’re gonna keep working together.”
“Yup.”
“So I was thinking… Lucy’s out till late tonight. Falko too. Just you and me. We could do something… interesting. Something the others don’t need to know about.”
That got her attention. She looked up at me, wiping her hands off, a mix of curiosity and suspicion on her face, while I kept talking:
“You know, we both take a lot of risks. Makes you think about how fragile life is,” I said, stepping closer. “And how important it is not to waste time.”
She spun around on her stool to face me halfway.
“Choom, what are you hinting at?”
“Remember when we first met?”
“Yeah… We were even…”
“You asked me back then if I left my chrome somewhere. So here,” I held out my hand.
She grabbed it, grinning.
“Yeah. You got your armor.”
“When was the last time you got yourself something?”
“Hmm…” Becca thought for a second, letting go of my hand. “Dunno. Four months ago? Maybe even longer. Been a while, actually.”
“Then maybe it’s time for an upgrade? We’ve got big plans, and I need you in peak form.”
“Oh! So you mean chrome? Nah, choom,” she shrugged. “I’m broke. You know that better than anyone. Right now, I’m just out of work.”
“I’ll cover it. But the chrome might be a little… secondhand. That okay?”
“Your old stuff or from some dead guys?”
“Option two. I know where we can get good, affordable used stuff. But if you’re not comfortable, no pressure. I get it.”
“Shit…” she sighed. “We’re not gonna off anyone for it, right? I mean, I’m always down to off someone, but for chrome… feels kinda wrong. Hard to explain!”
“No need to explain. I get it. No, they were offed without our help.”
“Then I don’t care. You’re hooking up with Scavengers?”
“I’ve come across a few useful contacts. So? Want the upgrade?”
“Falko really doesn’t need to know about this. He’d chew our ears off with his crap about karma and morals.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I smirked. “One little secret and a bit of black-market chrome won’t hurt the friendship. Might even save our hides one day.”
“Gotcha! Gotcha!” she practically bounced in place. “You’re paying, so I’m in. What’s the plan, choom? Hands?”
“Hm. I think there are more important things to get first.”
In about thirty minutes, we threw together a list of the stuff that’d fit nicely in Becca. Then I started dialing up the supplier. It was a fresh contact, and I knew exactly what to say.
"Hello?" came a voice on the other end, and on the video feed, the shaved head of some dude with the most jacked-up bangs I'd ever seen popped up.
To fit the part, I’d put on some mirrored shades.
(the following conversation is in Russian)
"Hey there," I answered back. "Need some chrome for a punk."
"Uh-huh. Who sent ya? Who gave ya my digits?"
"The guy hustling under Damir. Said you had a big supply line."
"Shuster? That bastard’s still breathing?!"
"Yeah, he was kicking around yesterday."
"Alright, lemme transfer you to the doc. Give me five."
A few seconds later, the screen switched, showing some big dude in a surgical mask, welding goggles, and a medical cap.
“What’re we lookin’ at?” asked "Doc."
I rattled off the list of implants. He nodded, then assured me, “Got it all. Even some extras. Fresh ones, too. Still warm.”
“Organs? Nah, don’t need ‘em. Not planning a BBQ.”
The scav chuckled, but I wanted to get a little customer service out of this.
“All the chrome needs to be clean and in decent shape. I’ll be checking.”
“Clean?” he scoffed. “Brother, we’re Scavs. Want chrome with all the papers? Head to a ripper and pay two, three times as much.”
“Clean, as in hygiene, not paperwork,” I said. “I’m not digging guts out of some implant.”
“Ah. Sure thing. We’ll give it a wipe just for you. I’ll send the coordinates in about twenty. Cash only.”
“Fine. But no abandoned shitholes or shady meet-ups. Find somewhere decent in the burbs or Northside.”
“Relax. We don’t mess with clients. Cross my grandma.”
Yeah, right. I totally believe you.
In fifteen minutes, he sent the coordinates. The spot was halfway decent, a little clearing off a main road. Good enough.
Becca geared up like she was heading to war. Pistols, shotguns, grenades—all packed into a bag, with some weapons stashed under her black jacket.
“It’s Scavs,” she explained. “They talk real nice, but you let your guard down, choom, and they’ll have you on ice for spare parts by tomorrow.”
“I know. We won’t be letting our guard down.”
We rented a car, and I drove us to the meet-up. Waiting there was a dude in a black leather jacket, cap, and a gold chain. Looked like a straight 90s movie extra, minus the holographic mask that all Scavs wore these days.
The guy stood by his car, with the trunk facing the road. Guessing that’s where the goods were.
I got out. Becca stayed in the car, ready to cover me, but we stayed linked.
“Sergio,” he introduced himself, reaching out his hand.
I shook it.
“Call me V.”
“Well, then… call me S.”
“Cool. So, S, let’s grab the rest of the alphabet and start teaching grammar, huh?”
“Yeah. And I see you already got one school girl in your posse,” the scav smirked.
“Tell that prick I’ll blow his damn head off,” Becca muttered.
“Let’s get to it. Show me what you got,” I said, getting down to business.
The Scav popped the trunk, showing me a lineup of vacuum-sealed implant packages and spare parts. There were also some cold storage containers for various injectable compounds, and—
“I told you, no organs.”
“Oh, those aren’t for you. We’ve got, let’s say, a highly organized supply chain.”
I glanced over the implants. Got it. Kerenzikov, a stim system, a blood pump, emergency accelerator, pain modulator, reinforced bio-plastic joints…
“What’s that?” I pointed to a weird-looking piece with a black stripe on the bag.
“Vintage. Kerenzikov model, forty-seventh edition.”
“Did he snatch it from his grandma or something?” Becca quipped, but Sergio couldn’t hear her.
“What’s the difference?” I asked.
“The current Kerenz slows everything around you real quick. You know how it works. This old-timer keeps you amped up at a low level all the time.”
“Interesting. How much for that antique?”
“Seven hundred. Shocking, but that’s what the doc says it’s worth. It’s like communism came to NUSA.”
Right. Those prices only make sense when the warranty comes with an undisclosed murder.
“Alright. We’ll take it,” I nodded.
Becca’s chrome loadout cost me around fifteen grand. A regular ripper would’ve charged thirty-five to forty for the same. Now we just had to find a doc who wasn’t too picky to install all this. Not Doc, and definitely not that hack, Fingers. Faraday’s files had a few good leads.
Finding a ripper was easy enough. We arranged seven grand in cash for the whole operation, but I insisted it be spread out over three sessions. Becca may handle chrome well, but no point pushing it.
“Oh, come on, choom. You could pack a ton more into me and still have room to spare,” she assured me, but I replied:
“Nope. I heard about what happened to Maine. We don’t need that kinda story in this gang.”
After the op, Becca was feeling pretty good. We got her set up with a standard Kerenzikov, stim system, and blood pump.
Back in the car, she downed some ChroManticore tablets and asked, “Guess I owe you a fortune now. What’s the total?”
“Twenty-two grand.”
“Aw, hell.”
“Don’t sweat it. First, it’s not urgent. Second, it was my idea, so I’ll knock it down to eighteen.”
“Oh, nice, choom,” she said, patting my knee.
We didn’t even get back to the apartment before Lucy called me, and I didn’t like her tone right away.
“Everything okay?”
“Not exactly,” she answered. “Linda sent out fresh job offers to mercs today. She’s demanding faster results and… they upped the reward from forty-five to sixty.”
Ah, fuck.
Sixty. That’s a whole different ballgame. Now they can easily throw ten or fifteen grand at this job and still be taking home a nice payday.
"That's not all," my friend continued to ‘cheer me up.’ "Now, reliable info on you can score up to ten grand upfront."
Even "better." If Abernathy’s willing to pay for information now, then maybe she’s got some security squad or mercs close at hand. At this rate, the contract won’t just be sent to solos; it’ll go to journalists, detectives, anyone who’s good at finding people. Shit. The gears are turning, the noose tightening, and Arasaka just won’t let me go.
“Lucy, I need to set up a really secure channel. Proxies, encryption, relays. Will you help?”
“For what?”
“I’m gonna try talking to that bitch.”
“Why the hell? You think it’ll work?”
“Who the hell knows. But… if it doesn’t, I’d better either get out of the city or take her down.”
“V…” Lucy’s voice shook, filled with worry. “I’ll help with the channel, but… this is a bad idea. You can’t make deals with Arasaka.”
“I want to try dealing with Abernathy. It’s not the corp hunting me; it’s one specific cunt. If she backs off, I’m free.”
“You’re already free, V. If you don’t want to hide, let’s leave the city or even the country. With half a mil, starting fresh isn’t that hard.”
Funny thing is, I already have that money. But to just quit? Disappear? Fade away completely in this chemical-soaked world?
I know what’s coming in Night City when 2077 rolls around. This place always has another victim lined up. Nope. I’m not backing down.
