Very sorry for the lack of updates! I had to scrap the next chapter of A Devil In The Dungeon and restart from scratch. That chapter should be out by tomorrow but for now, here is something that's been sitting finished in my Docs since last year. Not much of a consolation, I know, but hopefully you'll enjoy it regardless!
Night City, The City Of Dreams. If there ever was an Eden for narcissists and egomaniacs, it was nestled snugly on the outer edge of what was once known as California. People arrived desiring fame and all the glory that came with it, but few ever managed to leave.
Cast in chrome and greased with the blood of people who thought they were special, Night City was a meat grinder, stripping your humanity apart piece by piece until you were just another nameless husk tossed into a morgue. Assuming you were lucky enough not to just be left where you fell.
But there was a process to the carnage.
If you could endure the grinding gears without breaking, if you could let the city chew on you and find that your core is made of something harder than its teeth, you gained a rare opportunity.
A place like this didn't offer happy endings, but for the survivors, the ones who could look into the abyss and demand a paycheck, it offered a chance to burn. To survive the process is to be refined, to be spat out is to be reborn. And in a city where everything is disposable, the only thing that sticks is a name that people whisper in the dark. You don't just live in Night City; you outlast it. And if you outlast it long enough, you'll get the fame you desired and so much more
And maybe, if you aren't blinded by the lights and the chrome and the fame, you'll be one of the few who manages to leave it all behind.
~~~
Deep in the bowels of an ancient packing plant, the hum of old data-centers was the only sign of life.
Weiss Schnee sat behind the desk of the Tyger Claw sub boss, the synth-weave leather chair creaking in the way all cheap furniture tended to do. Around her, the office was a mess of clutter. Food, drinks, and the occasional needle were scattered across the form in a disorganized pattern, most of it focused on the desk she had commandeered.
It could be worse. The woman mused to herself as she glanced behind her. At least I'm not dealing with Scavs. The smell is ten times worse than the mess.
Three Claws were slumped around the entrance to the office, twitching periodically as their cyberware struggled to reboot itself. Black market tech was notoriously slow to start when it was forcibly shut down. By the time they were up, she'd be long gone.
Disregarding them, she extended her personal link from her wrist and plugged it into the mainframe. The silver cable slid into place with a satisfying click, and the woman leaned back in the chair as her eyes slipped shut.
Her vision flickered, the physical space dissolving into the neon-blue architecture of the local network. It was amateur hour. To Weiss, who had been toying with the ICE of the SDC’s servers since she was a child, the Tyger Claw security was less than a joke.
”Pitiful,” she murmured as she scanned the digital void for her target. A red flare signaled an automated counter-measure which she recognized at a glance. It was a simple Blackout script designed to fry the optics of any unauthorized user, with maybe a little extra on the back end to heat the meat as well.
Dangerous. Assuming you'd only done something like this once or twice.
Weiss didn't even break her stride. With a flick of her digital wrist, she deployed a custom coded shield. The malware hit her ICE and shattered like a paintball against a diamond wall, dissipating into harmless code that scattered into the net as ones and zeroes. Two more countermeasures followed, but they were dealt with just as easily.
Amateur hour, Weiss thought as she found the encrypted files her Fixer had asked for and began the transfer. As the progress bar ticked upward, she wasted time by taking a quick dive into the local subnet to see what she could dig up.
“Ooh, what do we have here?” A mental flex brought up a directory of hidden paths, all stemming from the same mainframe she just jacked into. Bank accounts, personal credentials, smuggling routes…
”If you're going to be this careless with your data,” Weiss whispered, her eyes glowing a faint, icy blue in the real world, “you don't deserve the eddies. I'll be more than happy to take it off your hands though.”
She spun a quick line of code and initiated a secondary siphon. It was a clean sweep, another thirty-two thousand eddies drained from a dozen offshore accounts and funneled through three layers of careful laundering before settling in her private account. And look at that; it was just in time for the download to finish
With a satisfied smirk, Weiss pulled the link, the cable retracting into her forearm. She leaned back, stretching her arms to the sky in a victorious stretch, and reached for her internal comms to ping her Fixer, when she paused.
The sound was almost silent in the noise of the server room, merely the friction of a rubber sole against a spilled puddle of something caught alcohol. Weiss glanced to her right, spying her reflection in a nearby bottle, alongside that of a Tyger Claw, creeping towards her with a knife in hand. Upon scrutiny, Weiss noticed that hsi tech looked fresher than his chooms. That explained why he recovered so quickly
Weiss tilted her head just a fraction, eyes flashing as she locked gazes with the surprised man and sent a single data packet streaming into his skull His body jerked violently. Blue sparks erupted from his neural ports, his eyes rolling back as his brain was cooked from the inside out. The smell of fried pork and burnt-out chrome filled the small office and as he collapsed, Weiss swiveled the chair and drew her Kenshin from her thigh holster in a smooth motion.
Phut
A single, muffled shot through the forehead ensured he wouldn't be getting back up, and Weiss slowly rose from the chair, her pretty face marred by a deep frown.
”Sloppy," she scolded herself. “I should have checked them all.”
To ensure no more unwelcome surprises were to come, Weiss turned her weapon to the remaining Claws, executing them without remorse. She then holstered the sleek tech pistol and strode from the room as blood soaked into the dirty tile.
As she stepped into a dingy hallway, she sent out a call on an encrypted channel. It was answered instantly, as always.
“The data is secure, Enstein,” she said aloud, “I'm sending it over now.”
The Fixer’s voice crackled into her ear, alongside a small portrait of the man himself flickering into view in the top of her vision.
Enstein was a man in the loosest sense of the term. He had more in common with a high-ranking Maelstromer than someone you'd see on the street. His body was a patchwork quilt of chrome and scarred flesh that suggested cyberpsychosis was one bad day away, but he was one of the few who treated Weiss with professionalism rather than predatory interest.
”Clean as always, Ice Queen,” Enstein rasped. “Data’s hitting my server now. I’ve just authorized your fee, plus a little extra on top. You do good work. Your name's starting to get around.”
”I aim for perfection,” Weiss replied, stepping over a body as she made for the exit. “If I'm not the best at what I do, what's the point?”
“Ha! Keep holding onto that attitude; you're gonna need it,” There was a pause, the sound of a heavy sigh on the other end. “I'm gonna miss you, kid.”
Weiss frowned. “So you haven't changed your mind? You're still leaving Night City?”
“I'm getting a little too old for this life. I'm almost eighty, you know? You might not be able to tell with all these patched ‘ganic parts attached to my face, but if this was my skin? Wrinkle city,” he chuckled, and Weiss's lips twitched despite herself. “I'm no Saburo Arasaka. Probably best to get while the getting’s good.”
“Somehow, I don't think retirement will suit you,” Weiss joked, though her voice was soft. “You'll keep in touch?”
“I'll send you pictures from whatever sunny beach I end up on,” Enstein replied, “But I don't think we'll be sharing any drinks anytime soon. In the meantime, you’ll have to find yourself another Fixer that can handle all that raw talent you've got. I’ve got a couple of chooms that might be interested in your unique skills; sending you their deets now.”
Weiss pulled up the list of names that her friend sent over her. She recognized a few of them, but most were unknown to her, and none of them were Enstein.
Still, it was more than most Fixers would do when cutting their mercs loose. At the very least, it was better than a bullet to the back of the head. “Thank you, Enstein.”
“It's no trouble. Take care kid, and if you ever wise up enough to leave this place, come see me. I’ll be out of the game, but I’ll always have a few jobs for my favorite solo.”
The link went dead, leaving Weiss alone in her head once again. She stared at the wall for a long moment, before slowly continuing her journey.
The heavy doors of the packing plant hissed open, venting a cloud of musty air into the damp Night City night. Weiss stepped out, the heels of her boots clicking sharply against the wet pavement.
Above, the sky was a bruised purple, choked by smog and illuminated by the garish holograms of megastructures that pierced the clouds like neon headstones. Rain had begun to fall, a drizzle falling upon a city that never washed its sins away.
Standing on the street, Weiss should have felt a rush. Behind her lay a den of Tyger Claws, over a dozen hardened gangers neutralized without a single alarm being tripped. It would have been impressive for most veterans edgerunners, and once she uploaded the edited footage to the underground boards—face blurred and digital signature scrubbed, of course—her credibility would increase. And with Enstein gone, hers would be the name on every Fixer’s tongue.
Yet, as she adjusted the collar of her spotless white coat, she felt nothing but a gnawing emptiness.
She watched a pair of NCPD sirens scream past in the distance, followed shortly by the booming of a heavy machine gun somewhere in the depths of Watson. People were dreaming, killing, and dying all around her, bodies throwing themselves into the grinder in hopes they might make a big enough stain to be noticed.
Weiss had risen above most of them, but she was still one of them regardless. She fought so hard to escape the cage her father put her in, only to find herself lured into another one.
Weiss looked at the encrypted list Enstein had sent. Her eyes hovered over the first name, before she slowly looked away .
"Not tonight," she whispered to the rain. She turned away from the shimmering lights of the city and the promises it always failed to keep.
~~~
The next day found Weiss was reclined on a plush leather couch that cost more than most people earned in a year. She wore a simple silk robe and nothing else her long white hair cascading over her shoulder as she cradled a chilled glass of amber liquid.
She took a slow sip, relishing the bitter flavor. The whiskey was cold, sharp, and ludicrously expensive. Exactly how she liked it.
“..and in the latest news, SDC CEO Winter Schnee claims once again, that the company's sudden interest in buying up property just outside of Night City is not related to their recent partnership with Petrochem, despite public beliefs.”
Weiss paused, her glass halfway to her lips as the reporter on her large television continued, “As I'm sure all of our loyal viewers know, this partnership has been in the making for several years and has only further cemented the Schnee name as one of the true heavy hitters in the industry, even despite the disowning of their youngest daughter just a few years ago which certainly cast a stain on the company's public image.”
Weiss's lips curled downwards, “Is that what they call it?” She huffed, taking another ginger sip of her drink as an image appeared on screen. A woman dressed in a sharp white suit and even sharper features stepped up to a podium, addressing the crowd of reporters before her.
She was the spitting image of Weiss herself, yet somehow carried herself with even more refinement. If one could animate a statue and place it on a podium, it would still pale in comparison.
Weiss hadn't seen Winter's face in person for nearly three years, but the woman hadn't aged a day. Her skin was still flawless, marred only by the thin strip of silver cyberware sliding down from her hairline, though most would argue that it only added to her perfection.
Her eyes were the same too, cold chips of ice that held only the barest amount of compassion for the people in front of her. The high-definition cameras couldn't quite capture it, but Weiss was sure there was nothing but loathing in those icy orbs as she gazed upon the reporters.
She remembered the look well.
Weiss watched as she spun some story about the SDC’s recent actions in Night City, growing more and more incensed with each word her sister spoke. She finished her drink and poured another, eyes burning into the display before her.
The conference lasted maybe twenty minutes before Winter began to speak her closing statements, promising that Night City had much to look forward to now that the SDC was making its way into the market…
All the while, Weiss's name never touched her lips.
With a snarl, Weiss swiped a hand through the air, removing her sister's perfect face from her screen. She stared at the space where it had been for several long moments, before turning away before raising her glass and drinking down the rest of her whiskey.
Weiss's hand trembled slightly as she set her empty glass on the crystal coaster with a sharp clack. The silence left in the wake of the broadcast weighed heavily on her mind, and she stared at the wall in complete stillness.
She didn't want to think about the SDC and the world she ran from. She closed her eyes to calm herself, but that only brought the memories into stark focus. Sterile white halls and empty promises were painted on the inside of her eyelids, carrying a tinge of nostalgia and an overwhelming anxiety.
Weiss had only stayed in that place as long as she had because of Winter. Her sister had been the one thing keeping her there, whispering promises of reform in the quiet corners of their mansion. She promised that once their father was gone, things would get better for everyone, and Weiss held onto those promises when things were at their darkest.
But Jacques had been in the ground for years now, and every single one of those ideas had fallen flat. The SDC’s ledgers were still stained with blood; Winter had simply made it more efficient, stripping away the last vestiges of sentimentality to create a corporate entity that was as cold and flawless as she was, as if she had completely forgotten the words that Weiss held onto like a lifeline.
That particular betrayal stung worse than the disowning ever could.
Weiss took a deep, shuddering breath and downed her s comd drink She needed a distraction.
Reaching into the back of her mind, she interfaced with the projector on the table in front of her. A series of holographic windows hovered in the air in front of her. It was time to vet Enstein’s parting gift.
Her Fixer had been more connected than even she realized. The list was a veritable Who’s Who of the Night City underworld and Weiss's eyes flickered over the entries, pulling up dossiers for each.
The list was full of names she didn't recognize, and many she did. Her eyes roved over the digital text, picking out several that interested her and discarding the ones that didn't.
“Faraday…” Weiss's eyes narrowed as the Fixer’s dossier crossed her vision. She had heard of him long before she came to Night City. Militech was a long-standing rival of the SDC, and everything about the man's activities indicated he was firmly in their pocket. Why he was on this list, she didn't know, but she had no interest in seeking him out. With a sharp, disgusted flick of her fingers, she swiped the profile into the digital incinerator.
”I didn't leave one corpo hellhole just to get dragged into another,” she muttered, watching the data dissolve into pixels.
She turned her attention back to the remaining names. She needed someone who could offer a job that actually required her specific skillset. Infiltration was her specialty, noise was not.
As she scrolled, a new notification pinged on the corner of her vision. A message from an unknown sender, routed through one of Enstein’s old secure relays.
S. Ibarra: Child of the cold, I have heard your shepherd has left the flock. If you seek purpose and a fair wage, meet me at the El Coyote Cojo. We have much to discuss.
Weiss slowly lowered her glass, studying the message with interest. Sebastian Ibarra, better known as Padre. He was a known entity in Night City, a Fixer who ruled Heywood with a Bible in one hand and a hit-list in the other. Well respected, not inclined to fuck her over, and most importantly, he had enough connections to know what kind of jobs she was liable to take.
If he was reaching out, he likely had need of her specific skills. And even better, he'd probably pay a premium to acquire them…
Weiss studied the message for a long moment before typing her reply. She then leaned back in her chair, watching the city move outside of her window as she awaited the response.
~~~
As Weiss stepped out of her Delamain cab in front of the bar, she felt the eyes of a dozen Valentinos on her, sizing her up. She knew that they knew she didn't belong here. She dressed like a corpo and carried herself like one as well, a stark difference to how the people in this district behaved. And different was the last thing you wanted to be in Night City.
Luckily, it seemed that none of them thought she was an intruder or worse, an easy mark. They gave her looks as she passed them by and entered the El Coyote, but none made comments or moved to stop her. Clearly Padre had already informed them of this meeting.
She found him in a back booth, the light from a nearby neon crucifix casting flickering shadows across his weathered face. Sebastian Ibarra looked more like a priest than a crime lord, his hands folded neatly on the table and a Bible sitting close nearby.
"Daughter," Padre greeted. "You look as though you carry the weight of the world on those narrow shoulders. Sit."
Weiss sat, keeping her expression neutral. “You have a job, Padre? Enstein spoke highly of your... ‘moral clarity.’”
”Enstein is a man of many parts, most of them metal,” Padre remarked with a ghost of a smile. “But he was right about one thing: Night City is a test of spirit. And right now, the Maelstrom are failing that test. They have stolen something that does not belong to them. Data containing the personal records of several families under my protection. They intend to use it for blackmail, or worse. That cannot happen.”
He slid a small datashard across the table and Weiss slotted it without hesitation. A screen flickered into her vision, displaying an image of an old warehouse in the Northside.
“Descretion is key,” Padre spoke as she examined the data he sent, “I will make an example of these fools soon enough, but I do not want a massacre. If Maelstrom see a drop of blood, they will scrub the drive before you can blink. I need someone who can walk through their doors, take what is mine, and leave them wondering if the wind itself robbed them."
Weiss looked at the blueprints, picking out the traps around practically every corner, “Completely silent?”
“Not a single alarm, at least until the data is in hand,” Padre confirmed. “You will be fairly compensated, of course. But more importantly, you would be doing a service for people who cannot defend themselves.”
Weiss studied the map, cataloguing entrances and possible choke points. The building was big and in the middle of Maelstrom turf so it was probably crawling with borgs strung out on whatever drug they could get their hands on. On top of the usual security that came inherent with the gang, Weiss was in for something that she hadn't had in a long time. A challenge.
“Are you up to the task?” Padre asked after an extended silence. Weiss pulled out the shard, feeling the beginnings of a familiar excited thrum echo in her veins. She gave the Fixer a confident smile.
“I'll have it back to you by sunrise.”
~~~
Rebecca sprawled haphazardly across her stained sofa, her boots resting on a coffee table cluttered with empty cans of beer and half-eaten cartons of cheap lo mien as she watched the TV with lidded eyes.
“...and in Northside, three more suspected Maelstrom bodies were found stripped of their cyberware. The NCPD is calling it a targeted hit, though no witnesses have come forward…”
“Gonks,” Rebecca muttered. “If you’re stupid enough to stand in the street with that much chrome, you’re just asking for some Scavs to drag you off and put a bullet in your dome.”
She reached for a lukewarm beer, but her hand froze halfway as a rhythmic thudding started up against the thin drywall behind her, accompanied by the unmistakable, high-pitched moaning of some joytoy and the grunts of the person she hated the most in the world.
“Yeah! Take it, bitch! Who’s the man? Who’s the man?!”
Rebecca’s eye twitched. He still wasn't done?. She grabbed the remote and slammed the volume button until the speakers distorted the noise. It helped a little, but it still wasn't enough. Another moan broke through the noise, followed by an obnoxious laugh.
“Shut the fuck up, Pilar!” she bellowed, her voice loud enough to rattle the windowpanes. “Some of us are trying to enjoy our misery in peace!”
“Blow me, Becca!” Pilar’s muffled voice fired back through the wall, followed by a wet slapping sound that made Rebecca want to scrub her own brain with industrial bleach. “Don’t be jealous ‘cause I’m getting my ‘ganics serviced and you’ve been dry for a week!”
“I hope she bites your fucking micro-dick off!” she screamed back, then turned the TV up even further. A commercial for Milfguard blared through the speakers, the jingle competing with the sounds of her brother’s laughter, and Becca groaned, sinking deeper into the sofa.
She needed to get the fuck out of here. If she spent one more night listening to her brother fuck some whore, she was gonna say screw it and see how many bullets it took to actually get through his thick skull.
She stared at the ceiling where a water stain had been slowly growing for the past six months, then turned her eyes to the dirty window that barely let any light in—not that there was much of a view outside their apartment anyway.
She’d been eyeing some units in the nearby megabuilding, higher up, better security, and most importantly, away from her brother and the incestuous-adjacent trauma she'd been enduring since Pilar started making enough to pay for some action
But megabuildings cost a shitload of eddies and Maine had been pretty stingy with jobs lately. After that shit with Sasha, it was like he pulled the brake on all their gigs and now it was taking forever to save up. She needed to earn some extra scratch before she lost her mind.
Her holo suddenly buzzed with an unknown number, the black image blinking in her vision. She declined it, closing her eyes again, only to snap them open as the call came back a moment later.
Fuckin’ marketers… She stared at the call for ten seconds before picking up, knowing they’d probably call back anyway. “If you don't stop blowing me up I'm gonna find where you live and hang your nuts on the wall!”
“Woah, choom!” Becca's eyes widened at the familiar voice, “I see you haven't chilled at all. At least your deets are still the same.”
“Junior!?” She shot up on the couch, glaring into space, “The hell you calling me for? Thought you were too busy with that shitty bar to work with 'small fry' like me.”
“Don't be like that, Becca. Biz is biz; nothing personal, you know that.” She could practically hear his smirk and wished she was there to cut it off, "Speaking of biz, I've got some if you're looking to make some scratch.”
Becca’s interest flared. Junior was a Fixer she worked for for a little while before he decided she was too small time for him. He was a snake, the kind of man who’d sell his own grandmother if the price was right, but he wouldn't fuck over a score just to screw her out of some eddies.
"I'm listening," Rebecca muttered, standing up and kicking a beer can across the room.
“Alright, well get this. Maelstrom hit an Arasaka transport last night and klepped a bunch of tech they were hauling. Good shit too, the borgs don't even know what they have yet, but Arasaka isn't happy about it. Their ninjas will be there before tomorrow to turn everyone in that place into sashimi.”
”And let me guess,” Rebecca sat up a bit straighter. “You want whatever they have in your hands first.”
”Got it in one. Grab the tech, bring it to me, and we share a very generous finders fee. It’s a lot of eddies for a very short walk and a few hundred bullets, but I know how much you and your brother love spending those. Think you two can handle it?”
Becca glanced towards her brother's room and sneered. “I can handle it I'm running this solo.”
“You sure? This isn't jumping cars in Watson, kid. You could get flatlined if you aren't careful.”
Because snorted, “Damn, choom, you almost sound like you care. I can handle this shit in my sleep, Junior. I'll get the junk for you by myself. Don't call me again unless it’s to tell me my payment went through.”
Junior laughed, “It’s your funeral. Just remember, Arasaka doesn't like to share, and Maelstrom doesn't like to lose. Have it to me by tomorrow morning, or don't bother coming back at all.”
“Yeah, yeah, keep your skirt on.”
Rebecca swiped her thumb across the air, killing the call. She stared at the darkened screen for a moment, a manic grin slowly spreading across her face at the upcoming payday. He said a generous fee, and Junior didn't just spew shit just to spew it. She'd have at least a couple thousand eddies coming her way if she managed this, and she wouldn't have to share a single cent.
And after that, I'm out of here. Becca stood up, sliding on her jacket and slipping into her room to grab some iron. Since she was running solo, she was gonna need stopping power.
“Hello baby…” she whispered, caressing the thick, beautiful barrel of her favorite shotgun. The heavy clack of the slide as she checked the chamber sounded like music to her ears, before it was ruined by another noise from her least favorite shit-stain.
Thud. Thud. Thud. “OH YEAH! WHO’S YOUR—!”
“PILAR, SHUT THE FUCK UP BEFORE I COME IN THERE AND CHOP YOUR DICK OFF!” Becca screamed.
The thumping stopped instantly. A stunned silence followed, “Damn sis, take a chill pill! If you’re that hard up I can give you some scratch to buy an input!”
“Go to hell!” she barked, grabbing her ammo and slamming the front door so hard the frame cracked