IDKjust
patreon
Chapter 338 c
🕑 Added 2025-08-01 15:04:00 +0000 UTCChapter 338 c
2-in-1-chapter
----------------
Compared to that, paying out a hundred thousand didn’t seem impossible at all.
“Don’t worry, Vik. You really think I can’t afford to pay you a hundred thousand eurodollars in salary? I’m the one running this show, so leave the money‑making to me. You don’t need to stress about it, alright?”
Vik nodded. “Alright. If you say so, I won’t worry.”
He stood up.
“Let’s go upstairs. I should say goodbye to Misty. Today’s the last day I’ll be renting her basement.”
...........................
.........
.
A few days later.
River came to Rocky Ridge.
Randy’s condition had improved noticeably, and his sister Joss no longer spent every hour at the hospital, now visiting only once a day.
Leo had originally wanted River to take a few days to rest, but River himself brought up the matter of Gale—the one they had stumbled across while digging through Randy’s computer for Harris’s trail, the one who sold Randy the Glitter.
Since River raised it, Leo dropped the idea of insisting on rest.
“What do you know about Gale?”
“From what Randy said, the guy’s just a dealer. At best, a middleman. There’s someone above him.”
“Then let’s pull them all out, roots and all.”
If Leo hadn’t known about this Glitter supply network, he could have ignored it. But now that he did, and had the means to wipe it out, he didn’t mind taking out the trash in plain sight.
He wasn’t a Haywood native, but he lived in The Glen. Cleaning up his own streets was only right.
“Where does this guy live?”
“East Wellsprings.”
The Wellsprings coast was the safest, liveliest, and most densely populated part of Haywood. You could think of it as Night City’s own Venice Beach.
Regular folks came here hoping to run into celebrities, while celebrities came here for the exposure.
Alongside affordable soy‑dogs, one could also buy organic seafood that cost a fortune.
Kitsch aesthetics were everywhere—oversized mascots, billboards as tall as buildings—anything that grabbed attention was fair game.
The buildings in Wellsprings had a casual look, though not rundown, with the vibe of a weathered port district. Luxury yachts at the pier and massive condo units in the high‑rises flaunted wealth.
But that was the coastline. The east was another story entirely.
In an instant, the scenery shifted—you’d find yourself surrounded by Night City’s rarest species: the middle class.
Medium‑priced apartment blocks, streets lined with movie theaters, gas stations, and drive‑thru espresso chains. Without the hovering cars and cyberware, you might mistake it for a mid‑American city from the early 21st century.
But further east, Wellsprings revealed its true face.
East Wellsprings, bordering The Glen, was no different from Night City’s poorer districts—full of the unemployed, shabby shantytowns, and gang activity.
Leo drove the armored SUV into a neighborhood in East Wellsprings, bringing River, Mitch, and Scorpion with him.
He hadn’t bothered to bring V or Lucy—this was beneath them in the first place. He also wanted to see how these three would fare in a real-world operation. He knew they could handle it, given that Mitch and Scorpion were former soldiers and River was a detective. But it was still best to check them out and see where they could improve.
Here they passed rundown housing, many half‑abandoned. Roofs sagged, windows were shattered, graffiti stained the walls.
The residents lacked the money to maintain their homes—or the public facilities around them. Streets and sidewalks were cracked and full of potholes.
There were barely any normal pedestrians. The people wandering about looked like the walking dead—clothes in tatters, stumbling as they walked. Trash and filth littered the ground. Used syringes glinted underfoot.
Anyone who knew, knew exactly what those were for. Touch that shit, and your life was practically over.
Not that quitting was impossible—but it was damn near.
There had even been a movie, Breaking the Limit, based on a true story. Its Polish protagonist clawed his way up from being an addict to a world champion in triathlon. But that kind of willpower and ascetic devotion was one in a million. Most never made it.
Best not to touch it at all.
The scene disgusted not only Leo, but also Mitch and Scorpion in the back seat.
To them, even if life was hard, being born in the city was already better than living out in the Badlands scraping for survival.
Why throw it all away like this?
Night City was unfair, sure—but that wasn’t an excuse for Glitter.
Hell, if they could afford Glitter, that already meant they weren’t at rock bottom. So why give up on themselves?
The group checked their gear one last time in the SUV, then stepped out and walked toward Gale’s place.
At the door, River stopped Leo. “Let me knock.”
Mitch and Scorpion, seeing River step up, were content to watch the flanks and rear, trusting Leo and River to take point.
River moved forward, switched places with Leo, and knocked hard on the door.
Very soon, a hoarse voice came through the speaker by the door.
“Who are you looking for?”
“Is Gael here? Heard he’s got some good stuff—we came to score a deal.”
The voice on the speaker immediately shot down River’s request.
“You’ve got the wrong place. No one by that name here.”
“Don’t bullshit me, man. Randy sent me.”
“Randy?”
“Yeah. Randy Kutcher. He told me you’d sold him some solid gear before. Said you were reliable.”
The voice on the other end suddenly grew louder.
“You’re lying! That kid Randy cut me off a long time ago. Won’t answer calls, won’t reply to mails. Trying to play it straight—no way he sent you here.”
River stayed calm.
“Hey, relax, alright? You don’t follow the news? Randy got kidnapped by Anthony Harris. That’s why he hasn’t been in touch.”
On hearing River’s words, the voice grew hesitant.
“Anthony Harris? You mean that guy they call Peter Pan?”
“Yeah.”
This time, silence lingered on the other side.
Through his tactical goggles, Leo could see the men inside. They were huddled, whispering. One pulled out a laptop and began checking the news River mentioned.
It didn’t take long—they found it. After all, this was one of the rare major cases the NCPD had solved in recent years, plastered all over the feeds.
Once they confirmed River was telling the truth, the speaker finally came alive again.
“I’ll open the door. But first, put your guns in the donation box by the side.”
River glanced to his left. Two or three meters from the entrance stood a green donation bin—the type usually seen on the street, meant for dropping off clothes and blankets for the poor. These guys had repurposed it into a weapons locker.
Instead of moving right away, River spoke into the comm channel:
“Boss, what’s the play?”
Leo scanned the room through his goggles. Only four men inside. One each would be enough.
He gave a nod and answered on the channel:
“Long guns go in. Keep your pistols.”
With the order given, River, Mitch, and Scorpion quietly placed their rifles into the donation box without protest.
But the speaker’s voice came again, insistent.
“Hand over your handguns too.”
Leo shot River a look, and River instantly caught on.
“Don’t push it, alright? We’ve already shown good faith. I get that you don’t trust us, but we don’t trust you either. What if you’re planning to double‑cross us?”
“You can’t come in armed. That’s the rule.”
“Rules are made by people. People change, so do rules. If you’re dead set on keeping them, fine—we’ll walk. Not like you’re the only ones selling in Night City.”
Saying that, River reached back into the donation box and retrieved the rifles, handing them out again. His body language screamed: If not here, then somewhere else.
This time, the men inside started to panic.
“Wait, hold on…”
A quick huddle later, they finally relented.
“Fine. You can come in. But no funny business—this is our turf. The whole block belongs to us.”
The door creaked open. A Latino man stood in the frame, clutching a Copperhead kinetic assault rifle.
The Copperhead was Night City’s AK‑47—nothing flashy, no genius design, but reliable, powerful, and brutally functional. That was why it was so popular.
River led the way inside, with Leo right behind him. Mitch and Scorpion followed.
As soon as they were in, the man at the door slammed it shut hard, dimming the already cramped room even more.
In the center stood a large couch, occupied by a single man. Behind him loomed two more Latinos.
One gripped a Budget Arms Carnage kinetic shotgun.
The other held a Darra Polytechnic DS1 Pulsar kinetic SMG.
The moment Leo saw their setup, he knew these guys were amateurs.
First off, their positioning was a mess. One behind the group, three in front. On paper, it looked like they had set up a pincer.
But in reality, their firing arcs overlapped—they’d end up hitting each other the moment shooting started.
Second, the Carnage shotgun was notorious for its insane recoil, the worst in its entire class.
Because the manufacturer of the Carnage, Budget Arms, followed one simple principle: the bigger, the better.
And the result?
The Carnage was massive, its destructive power absurd, and its recoil strong enough to dislocate your shoulder.
Unless you had the right cyberware installed—like an internal exoskeleton or carbon‑fiber muscle implants—you were better off sticking with a more conventional weapon.
On top of that, the Carnage wasn’t particularly reliable: it broke easily, and its balance was poor.
But as insiders from Budget Arms liked to say—people who chose this gun usually weren’t the kind to notice such details.
That kind of showy stance, paired with deliberately using oversized and clumsy weapons, might be enough to scare off small‑time punks, but in the eyes of professionals, it was laughable—full of openings.
Of course, Leo had no intention of kindly pointing this out.
