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Chapter 58: Recruiting a New Netrunner
🕑 Added 2025-11-01 10:56:14 +0000 UTCChapter 58: Recruiting a New Netrunner
While Joric was deep in the desert, immersed in his grand plans, the atmosphere in the crew's old warehouse safehouse in Watson was heavy enough to wring water from.
Sasha's absence wasn't just a missing teammate. She was the crew's netrunner – their eyes and ears, responsible for intel, system-cracking, electronic warfare, and, most critically, covering their exfiltration.
Now she was lying in the "Boss's" sanctum, and it was clear she wouldn't be running with them anytime soon. This left a gaping, critical hole in the crew's operational capability. Many gigs that required technical infiltration were now completely off the table.
The crew had just pledged themselves to Joric. This was supposed to be their big break, a new turn that meant better gear, preem tech support, and a real chance to climb out of the gutter. But before they could even cash in on that new relationship, the reality of their core-member's injury had crippled their ability to function, and the pressure was palpable.
The warehouse was dim, lit only by a few flickering, jury-rigged fluorescent tubes that cast a pale, sick light over the stacked junk and modified gear. The crew sat around a scarred metal table, the mood stagnant.
Maine was slumped in an old, groaning chair, his massive frame looking too heavy for it. His augmetic arm rested on his knee, his metal fingers tapping an unconscious, dull rhythm.
"Everyone's here," Maine finally said, his voice low.
Falco, without a word, pulled several beers from a cooler at his feet. He tossed one to Maine, who caught it with a solid thwack. He threw the rest to the others.
"We all know the score with Sasha." Maine popped the can and took a long pull. "She's on ice at the Boss's place. We can't count on her for the foreseeable future."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over each of them. "That leaves a real problem: no 'runner, half our gigs are dead in the water. We can't just shoot our way through every job for the Boss. Who handles intel? Who cracks the locks? Who deals with the ice and the security nets? We can't just expect the Boss to do it himself, or rely on his pet-skulls to hack every system. Even for our own side-gigs, we're blind without her."
Falco took a drink. "Maine's right. Without a 'runner, we're exposed. Intel, infiltration, ECM... we're weak. Especially now, with the Boss. The kind of heat we'll be facing won't be street-level gangoons. We need to plug this hole. Fast."
Pilar nervously ran his metal fingertips over the cold can. "I know we need someone!" he snapped, taking a hard swig. "But Sasha's been with us for how long? We bled together! Where the hell are we gonna find someone trustworthy on short notice? What if we bring in a corpo-rat? Or some eddy-hungry gonk who'll flatline us for a bonus? We'd be fucked!"
He ran his augmetic hand through his hair, the metal scraping his scalp.
"So what, we just sit here and die?!" Rebecca slammed her beer down on a crate, sloshing foam. "Just 'cause we're scared? Wait 'til the next gig needs a door cracked and just tell 'em 'sorry'? Sasha's one of a kind, but Night City is full of 'runners! Bitching about it won't fix anything! We gotta look!"
Her green cyber-eye flashed, her agitation born more from the crew's vulnerability than anger at Pilar.
Dorio held up a hand, her voice calm and steadying. "Pilar's got a point about trust. Rebecca's right about the reality. We don't need a replacement for Sasha right now—that's not possible. We need a temp. Someone reliable, low-risk, who can get us through the next few jobs. The priority is plugging the gap without bringing the house down on us."
Rebecca took a breath, as if making a decision. "Back when I used to hang at Lizzie's... I heard about this solo 'runner. S'posed to be good. Kinda weird, keeps to herself, doesn't like crews. I can try to put a feeler out, see if she's interested. Probably won't join, but maybe we can hire her gig-to-gig."
It was a thin lead, but it was the only one they had.
Maine's gaze settled on Rebecca, his expression thoughtful, weighing the risk. The only sound in the warehouse was the faint buzz of the lights.
"...Alright," he finally said, his voice firm. "Rebecca, you follow that lead. But clean. No noise, I don't want this all over the Net. Feel her out, check her rep, see what trouble she's in. We're..."
He paused, looking at each of them, his voice hardening. "...we're newly pledged. Sasha's on ice. We got Biotechnica bounties on our heads. We cannot afford any more complications. You hear any whispers, any static at all, you report to me first. No one makes contact without my say-so. We clear?"
The directive was set. The heavy, anxious mood in the warehouse didn't lift, but the aimless frustration was gone. They had a path.
Rebecca nodded sharply, finishing her beer in one go. Pilar slumped, sighing, but didn't argue. Falco was already tapping at his terminal, running searches. Dorio, her arms crossed, gave a silent nod of approval.
They had bet their future on Joric to save Sasha. Now, before they could truly begin to work for their inscrutable new boss, they had to patch the hole in their own armor.
