What is the fastest way of growth in terms of power and influence? Extreme environments and conditions. That carries a great risk in itself, where immediate death would be a nicer option. But those corporations that survived the corporate wars emerged far more powerful, and in a world that was conquered by them, you learn from them.
I could try to solo raid a warehouse for quick starting cash, but there is an infinitely high chance I die even if I succeed initially, because I don't have a way to make sure there will be no backup.
You won't catch me like that.
You could go extreme and be smart about it at the same time. I'm currently in the process of locating an opportunity with conditions that are just right. And I just got my first major clue.
There are plenty of groups within Night City. Corpos, nomads, gangs, mercenaries and so on. But those are the major ones, ones that have enough to remain even after decades. I need something that won't be missed.
I researched many possibilities, but those required a great deal of violence I am not capable of dishing out on my own to secure.
A few days back, a man dressed in a semi-religious outfit made out of old electronics came to preach "Tech Orthodoxy" among the food vendors where I usually ate my cheap slop. Spoke about the truth, that new technology is bringing ruin, only fools would trust it, and tried to convert us into using the most rudimentary of tools. Some hot-headed person pulled a gun on him, but the religious fanatic made sure to leave us plenty of handmade cards with detailed information on how to contact them.
This may be the reverse magician of false power Misty talked about, but I made sure to check every source on them using the computer Sprocket lent me.
They surprisingly had a website of all things, VERY simple even by my standards, equivalent to paintings on cave walls in current standards of security. Just a simple message board where they preached which frequencies were holy and which were devilish, who is not to be trusted, how to create your own religious attire and, most importantly, their location. Hacking it wasn't even a problem because you just could inspect code and get most of the information that was supposed to be private.
They preach how to properly replace their chips with analogs that can do the most basic things, cutting 95% of the functions. Also how to properly bury a body according to their religion. The rest of it was crazy ramblings about how technology is made by the devil to make us his servant. They craved the certainty of steel, not chrome.
Their internal chats reveal that they have multiple safehouses in the sewers, hiding from 6G waves mostly. The main location was some squatted underground building in Japantown. And their main activity was recruiting new members, replacing them with steel, and then making them mass-produce EMPs that would bring down the current world order.
Also, internal communications revealed their number was close to 50 people, which was good for a cult that was created relatively recently as it seems. My estimation is that they are 3-4 years old. Their leader identified himself as Wig Firth, which was surprisingly the real name of a real person that was an established mechanical engineer from Germany who stopped being employed about 15 years ago. Last job was working for International Electric Corporation (IEC), which is a corporation of an insane scale based in Europe.
I could not find any further details in public sources about Wig, but it seems working there drove him insane enough to create a cult all the way here in Night City.
Otherwise, they are run down, but seem to have resources. The preacher that came by had a working prosthetic leg that was not that much more noticeable by the way he walked. What gave it away was the clunking sound and hydraulics when he walked. That is some peak homeless engineering, does not match anything I could find on the Net. Probably created by Wig Firth himself.
That meant they had some resources and self-imposed limitations by not using anything more advanced than a toaster. Which was convenient if I were to, let's say, overtake their facilities.
My options were plenty, from simple sweeps that would require me to hire mercs, that would work for a promise of future payment, which was highly unlikely to work in my favor even in the short term, to infiltration and ideological usurpation. Aforementioned were too timely, considering my limited time of life.
My very distinct lack of cybernetics was a huge upside this time, allowing me to forge my identity as a believer of a similar religion or even their lost brother in faith. I would continue monitoring their chats, in hopes of revealing the more vital information that would allow me to make my cover perfect.
Then the garage doors started to open as Sprocket walked in, waving her car keys in hand.
"Caelen, get to work. Prepare the tools, rush job again, at least this time shithead called beforehand."
It was already morning, it seems. Sprocket came to the shop and seemed really unhappy, even more than usual. But the rush job from that dangerous man means I get way more money. I love money.
Not even 5 minutes later, a heavily damaged futuristic sports car rolled up into the garage, shortly after cameras turned off like the last time.
Huge bullet holes, like 50-caliber huge, like you can stick your fingers in huge. And the car still ran somewhat fine as it rolled in without much trouble.
The familiar client quickly hopped out of the car and rushed to the car's trunk, picking up a case of unknown origin, and checked it before even looking at me or Sprocket.
This time he was sporting some visible damage, his coat riddled with holes and covered in blood, probably his own. He did seem to make a face when moving, suggesting that he is indeed hurt.
Sprocket was really pissed off. She began shouting, louder than ever before.
"NICK, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! YOU KNEW THE RULES. YOU KNEW THAT I WON'T HELP YOU IF YOU ARE HOT!"
'Nick' closed the case and smiled wryly. He seemed relieved. Case is important, huh.
I just stepped to the back of the shop, picking up some tools for the job in the special cabinet that became my own.
Sprocket was livid. Seems like he really got into some deep shit.
"Caelen, don't do shit. This one is leaving."
But the guy was weirdly relaxed. And dropped a bomb.
"I will pay 5 thousand eddies. Get rid of the car and I stay for a few days. You will never see me ever again after that. They won't find this place, I promise. Deal?"
Holy mother of Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Five thousand? That's a shitload. Yeah, this job is shady as shit. Nothing easy pays this well.
Seems like he did a big job and has enough to retire, throwing money like that.
"...I won't believe shit like this again."
Sprocket took out a gun and aimed at the man's head from half the shop. Nick himself just slowly dropped the case and raised his hands slightly.
"This isn't like that time, besides a few bullet-shaped nuances this gig went perfectly. I covered everything, even—"
Sprocket got really, really pissed. She ripped off the bandana that was always tightly covering her mouth.
Instead of a semi-normal organic mouth or a slightly modified one, there was a total replacement, which was quite unusual, but it seemed expensive, seeing as it was chromed out but had perfect articulation and I didn't even suspect it until now.
Situation is getting heated. I once again backed off looking scared and got into my position.
"DO YOU REMEMBER HOW I GOT THIS?"
"Don't be like that. New one suits you better any—"
He fucked up.
"IT WAS WHEN YOU SAID EVERYTHING WAS FUCKING PREEM YEARS AGO."
"You can get a new one. Relax. Just install some RealSkinn… Okay enough chat, we do the deal or not?"
Okay, he is just doing it on purpose now.
"NICK. YOU KILLED MY HUSBAND! PROMISED THAT EVERYTHING WOULD BE OKAY IF WE HELPED."
Sprocket let out a deep uneven breath.
Okay, so dude went to a merc job for quick cash and got flatlined a while ago. Common story around here. But I don't like where this is going. Luckily Nick is injured, which means he is not an Adam Smasher or anything close to that, seeing that he still has blood and is visibly unwell.
"Fuck your promises. I helped out because we were friends once. You lied and got Wires killed and me injured because you made some 'minor mistakes' in doing your part of the job. Get the fuck out and never come back."
Gun in her hand trembled in rage. Nick stayed calm as he tried to bargain. Ignoring her emotions entirely.
"... You won't help? For 6 thousand? I can do 6 and a half. No more."
Sprocket was enraged beyond belief, and her finger pulled the trigger.
"FUCK N— AGH!"
But before she could finish, she collapsed as she convulsed and electricity jumped through her body. Hacked. He was prepared. As was I.
I made a terrified face as I stepped to lean my back against a wall, getting my foot ready right below the hidden switch I made just for this occasion. It was mounted under a small rusty cabinet on wheels. I forced some tears and small weeps—a year of theatre classes pays off. No need to piss myself for now.
He glanced at me but otherwise ignored me. Scan me all you want, shitface.
His face was full of poorly masked joy, crazy-ass motherfucker. As he slowly placed down the case with one hand and took out a good-ass gun out of his coat with the other. Then Nick walked to Sprocket, who was still convulsing, and began delivering a speech, making sure I was hearing.
"You tried calling the NCPD already? Bad girl, won't work. You could have taken the money and split it with your little fucktoy over there. So you got over your husband after all? And you are still bitching?"
He walked around her twitching body as he talked. I just need to time it right. But the gun in his hand wasn't something I can deal with at a distance. It could be a smart gun that can shoot me even if I'm behind his back. Not the time to test it.
He gave me another quick glance as he shifted his attention fully to Sprocket, looking at her twitching body on the floor.
"You had every chance to fix your sad life and you fuck it up even further the last twelve years. You see, money doesn't solve problems, it makes other people solve them for you. Cooperating with you was just a matter of convenience. I will stay here regardless. And you will obey."
He began slowly walking to the backroom as the garage door began closing and cameras lit up. It seemed like he was not fully immersed in the real world.
With each slow step he took, I became more anxious. My heart is racing, and it's around 250 bpm by a quick count. Feels like I'm cocaine itself.
Nick holstered his gun back in his ruined coat and began opening the door to the office.
Now or never.
I flipped the switch by bumping it with my foot and then pushed the drawer with all my might toward the intruder, then rushed toward him, trying to close the distance as quickly as possible.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The drawer trap spat its load, cheap shotgun shells ripping through the air. One tore through Nick's thigh, the other punched into his ribs, and the third caught his shoulder. Synthetic muscle split like cooked meat. He staggered, grunted, and dropped the case.
I charged. No hesitation.
He was already going for the gun under his coat.
I didn't let him.
I slammed into him with everything I had, driving us both to the ground. He was heavier, with augmented limbs, dermal plating, but the pain from the buckshot slowed him just enough.
He hit the floor hard. I scrambled up, straddling his chest, knees pinning his arms. His fists tried to come up, hydraulic tendons whirring loudly, but the damage made his strikes slow. I hissed through clenched teeth, locking his wrists under my knees.
He struggled. Cyber-muscle fought against my weight, but I kept pressure on the right spots. He couldn't torque his torso, couldn't throw me. One wrong move and his damaged joints would blow out.
I saw his eyes light up. Maybe call in backup. Maybe trigger something in the shop, but this place didn't have anything to help him. And he would be dead before anyone could save him.
Too late.
He opened his mouth, maybe to say something smug. He thought this was it—me restraining him.
I didn't let him.
I lunged down and sank my teeth into his throat.
The taste was plastic and oily. His synthetic skin split, then gave way to cable and meat. I bit harder. He thrashed, eyes wide, arms flexing desperately under my knees. Blood and some mechanical fluids sprayed onto my face in uneven spurts.
"AAAAARGHHHHH!"
He screamed, but it turned into a gurgle. He thrashed his entire body, trying to throw me off, but his shoulder cyberware snapped from the pressure.
I didn't stop. I ripped with my jaw, pulling back like an animal. Part of his reinforced trachea tore free with a wet, sinewy snap. I spat it to the side, feeling myself choking on his disgusting blood.
Nick jerked violently, one hand spasming hard enough to crack the concrete floor, but unable to reach me.
Still trying to fight.
Still alive.
I just had to wait.
Then the gun went off.
BOOM.
The first shot punched into his ribcage. Just between my legs.
I glanced backward.
Sprocket recovered. Flat on her stomach, half-paralyzed, but her hands held steady as she aimed.
BOOM.
Second shot, to the center mass. Cybernetics sparked and shorted. He twitched. The twitching slowed as I held his body with my own. A huge pool of blood spread around us.
One last breath escaped Nick's throat, whistling through the torn mess I left behind.
Then silence.
I sat there for a moment. Panting. Face wet with blood and whatever the hell was inside his neck. Pain was slowly coming in.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve. Gritty. Sticky. I didn't care.
I climbed off him, muscles burning. Fingers numb.
Sprocket groaned, finally sitting upright. Still pale, eyes unfocused. It was new seeing her mouth.
"You good?" I asked, voice hoarse.
"Fuck, do you think?... Jesus, Caelen. You bit his throat out."
"Yeah." I looked down at Nick. "Worked, didn't it?"
She gave a weak, bitter laugh. "You're insane."
"Desperate," I corrected. "Difference."
I picked up the Midas pistol with a cloth. Then checked the case. Still locked. No trap visible. I'd crack it later.
I leaned down, checked Nick's pockets. Pulled every chip, drive, credstick. Wiped them clean of blood. Tossed his broken holster aside. Basically everything that could be worth money.
"We need to get rid of the body," I said.
She nodded. No hesitation. Then kicked Nick's corpse in the head. It bobbled like a toy, his bloodshot eyes staring into nothingness.
"Fuck you," Sprocket muttered. "Wires says hello."
She looked happy, little smile as she looked at the bloody corpse.
I looked down at the twitching chrome firing off in his neck. "Maybe sell to the scavs?"
"He deserves worse. I have a couple of ideas prepared. Get me my bandana."
We had a body and a car to get rid of. A shop to clean. And in my hands, a case that could change everything, if I lived long enough to use it.
Okay, pain is really kicking in. Gotta go to Vik.