Chapter 18 (Part 3)

"Welcome, gentlemen," a voice rang out as several figures stepped out of a vehicle, their weapons instantly aimed at the mercenaries.

"Um, is there a way to," Marco began, cautiously eyeing the gun barrels pointed his way, "approach this more gently?"

"My apologies, merely a precaution," Zorge said, gesturing for his subordinates to lower their arms.

"And the payment?" The young man didn't hesitate to remind the client of his primary motive for accepting the job.

"Ten chips, 5,000 eddies each." The man revealed a case, its contents on display. "Now, let's see the data."

"Right here." Hesitantly, the young man produced a chip from his pocket, reluctant to hand it over.

"Let's verify our exchange. Sych, give our 'friends' their payment." The guard named Sych skillfully caught the case and walked over to the mercenaries. He carefully handed over the container while securely receiving a chip in return.

"The chips are authentic, the payment is complete." Jeremy quickly verified the chips, then closed the case with a snap, looking back at the employer.

"No issues from your side, I presume." Zorge smiled, beginning to walk away from the meeting spot, causing Martinez to become alert.

"Anything else?" The ex-head of security reached for his revolver, watching the departing client closely.

"How would you feel about working for Sovoil?" The fixer's unexpected proposition caught everyone off guard.

"What do you mean?" Marco asked, trying to understand Zorge's intentions.

"Maybe it's time I showed my hand." With a snap of his fingers, an electronic ID appeared in Zorge's hand, making Jeremy visibly nervous.

"It seems we've made a deal with ourselves..." Martinez connected the dots, coming to a realization.

"Exactly. It appears our former security chief hasn't lost his touch," Zorge said, turning to Martinez with a smirk. "Your profile caught our management's attention, and your recent work confirmed their decision."

"Do we have any choice?" Marco sighed heavily, his mind racing for any possible escape.

"Absolutely, you do. We're not monsters," Zorge chuckled, his laughter stirring a faint unease among his listeners. "Besides, if you decline, we don't lose out. Though the mission was somewhat fabricated, our company stands to gain either way. If you could so easily abscond with the data, then surely other, more seasoned teams could replicate your success." Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a cigarette pack, extracted one, and lit it, inhaling deeply to appreciate the artificial blend's unexpectedly rich aroma.

"Could we perhaps stay on as freelance mercenaries, taking on jobs from you on occasion?" Marco ventured, his suggestion giving Zorge pause.

"That's a feasible route, albeit riskier for us," Zorge mused, contemplating the proposal. "However, having a few reputable mercenaries under our banner does seem appealing... I'm amenable to that arrangement." He took another drag, casually flicking ash to the ground. "Jobs will come sporadically, so you'll largely be on your own. But I have a solid reputation in the city and could vouch for you to my contacts. In Night City, competent mercenaries are in high demand."

"It looks like we're in agreement," Jeremy, having been quiet, now placed a reassuring hand on his partner's shoulder. "Are we free to go?"

"Sure," Zorge said, deftly throwing the cigarette butt into a nearby bin. "Enjoy your downtime..."

***

An hour later

Marco and Jeremy found themselves nursing lackluster beers in a bar nestled within the towering architecture of the fourth megatower. The day had seen them flirting dangerously with disaster, yet, through sheer luck, they had navigated through the perilous waters unscathed, escaping with nothing but a brief jolt of fear.

Jeremy, in his interactions with Mikhail Volkov, a relic from the Soviet era with whom he once collaborated, had gleaned a bit about the mindset that pervaded the USSR. Volkov's tales of his homeland had painted a vivid picture for Jeremy, highlighting the stark contrasts between the American way of life and that of the Soviet Union, often leading to misleading first impressions. And regarding individuals from the East, Jeremy found their tendency towards extreme fluctuations in behavior unsettling, despite having worked with them more frequently than he cared to admit.

"What's our next move?" Marco queried, turning to Jeremy, seeking guidance from his more seasoned counterpart.

"To keep living and stay out of the power plays," Jeremy replied with a sardonic smile, emphatically placing his mug on the counter. "Let's have another." The bartender promptly attended to them, refilling their drinks without delay.

"You think we're overthinking it?" Marco echoed his friend's sentiment, signaling for another round himself.

"Hardly. I've been through similar scenarios a few times. Usually, it's some high-level exec pulling the strings, aiming to sharpen their security detail. Zetatech, for instance, runs these drills quarterly to keep their team on their toes."

"That's a bit much," Marco exhaled deeply, his mug hitting the counter with a thud. "I'm done." He gestured for no more, to which the bartender simply nodded in acknowledgment.

"And here I thought the big payouts were for nothing more than just showing up," Jeremy commented with a smirk, leisurely savoring his drink.

"Considering the circus that Militech runs, I wouldn't have been surprised," Marco retorted.

"Thinking about their convoys?" Jeremy grinned at Marco's confirming nod. "Such maneuvers are never without a helping hand from the inside. No one's looking to come out at a loss."

"Guess that ship has sailed," Marco concluded, a wave of sleepiness washing over him.

"Feeling the strain?" Jeremy steadied his friend, offering support. "After a day like today, a good rest is exactly what you need."

"That'd be, hic, great," Marco agreed, his eyes fluttering shut.

***

April 15, 2065

Alex Mitchell (Volkov)

Arriving back at the camp always felt like a return to some semblance of home. Though calling these temporary halts 'home' was a bit of a stretch, over time, I'd come to view each stop of the clan as a welcoming haven. As soon as we entered the camp, John was caught off guard by his daughter's exuberant scream. Like a shot, Rachel raced towards her father, embodying the vivacity that children her age often do, perhaps even a bit too much at times. Her incessant curiosity and rapid-fire questions about my activities were testament to her burgeoning love for technology—a passion likely inherited from her mother, who had made significant strides in the tech field.

"You're back!" Kiwi, her excitement more contained but no less genuine, eventually gave in to her feelings and hugged me tightly, burying my head against her chest.

"I'm happy to see you too." I gently pried the overly emotional blonde away, looking into her eyes sparkling with eagerness. "What's been happening while we were gone?"

"There was an attack on a Militech convoy..."

"And that's supposed to surprise me?" I raised an eyebrow, adjusting Kiwi's weight against me more comfortably.

"I haven't mentioned where it happened yet." Kiwi teased with a knowing smile, squirming slightly in my embrace.

"Then spill it." I sighed, amused by her attempt at intrigue.

"It was in Pacifica. Militech's convoy was ambushed by the Animal gang, heavily armed. The raid was a success, though what they were transporting is still a mystery. Seems like we'll never know." She shrugged nonchalantly, arms still looped around my neck.

"And where did you hear about this? The corps wouldn't let news of such a debacle spread easily." I smirked, coaxing information from her as if it were a secretive operation.

"Someone caught a part of the attack on camera and put it online. It went viral, sparking all sorts of theories."

"Typical. Someone else's misfortune turns into the net's latest spectacle." I rolled my eyes, ignoring Rick's amused glance. "And how much longer do you plan to hang on me?" I inquired, arching an eyebrow at her suddenly sheepish look.

"Just carry me, big turtle," she challenged, tightening her grip and ensuring my resignation to playing her temporary steed.

"In that case, let's change our setup." With a swift adjustment, I repositioned the blonde so that she was now perched securely on my back, significantly easing my burden.

"So, what's our plan?" Settling on the idea of grabbing some food before heading over to the workshop, I shared my grievances about the challenges of my life with this audacious companion.

"I think that's a great plan," Kiwi agreed with an air of significance, her legs swinging energetically. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's move."

"Just remember, if you don't quiet down, you'll be hitting the pavement," I half-threatened with a slight shake of my head, and began navigating our way to the mobile dining hall, offering greetings to fellow campers along the route.

Arriving at our intended location, Rosie caught my eye, evidently caught in the grips of boredom as she absentmindedly stirred something in her bowl, her attention firmly glued to her tablet screen. Opting not to delve into whatever current drama she was entangled in, I decided to leave well enough alone.

"Thanks for the lift." Kiwi gracefully disembarked from my makeshift transport and sidled up to the bar counter. "Got any specific requests?" she asked, leaning forward on the counter with her hands clasped in front of her.

"Just make sure there's plenty of meat," I answered, my attention momentarily captured by an incoming message on my device.

"Consider it done," she affirmed, already getting to work.

Incoming message - "The best hacker in the universe"

"Hello my young padawan... Sorry, couldn't resist... Anyway, to the point," the message began in a manner that was both familiar and immediately captivating.

"Recently, my system detected unusual activity within the remnants of the old net. Someone's been diligently sifting through the scattered data there, stirring the curiosity of AIs long sealed away. I've tracked the signal back to its source and it's urgent you know that Arasaka is behind it. The Japanese conglomerate hasn't abandoned their quest to retrieve valuable data lost during the fourth corporate war. The trail leads to a dump, hinting at a secret lab possibly hidden there. The area was once riddled with a network of clandestine bunkers, one of which I managed to deceive, drawing an orbital strike upon it. But, I digress, assuming my past exploits are of little interest to you...

What truly concerns me is the potential for these corporate endeavors to puncture the defenses and unleash the AIs that lurk in the shadows of cyberspace, beyond the black wall. The R.A.B.I.D.S. program was designed to eradicate rogue AI, yet it fell short, leaving threats unneutralized. These AIs have mastered the art of human manipulation, reducing individuals to mere puppets. Although the methods of control vary, the outcome remains constant: a person stripped of their will, mistaking foreign impulses for their own. Spotting someone under AI dominion used to be straightforward—dilated pupils were a telltale sign. Nowadays, with the proliferation of optical enhancements, detection is more challenging. However, I've developed a new software capable of identifying potential victims with unerring accuracy by monitoring suspicious network activity.

I propose we investigate the dump to pinpoint the hidden bunker's location. We cannot afford to let the AIs find a way past the barrier autonomously—if they do, no network collapse will save humanity. I need to delve deeper into this matter, so I'll be out of contact for a bit. Give me 4-5 days to gather more information; use this time to prepare thoroughly.

Talk to you later.

P.S. - Leviathan's completion is imminent. Be ready."

Rey's messages were always a mix of intrigue and the weight of impending tasks. Wild AIs, covert corporate machinations—such narratives made one almost long for the blissful ignorance of the uninitiated, those who lived unburdened by the complexities of a world teetering on the brink of digital chaos.

"Lunch is ready!" Kiwi's voice abruptly pulled me from my thoughts, back to the immediate and comforting reality.

"Thanks..." My response was automatic, but my mind was already racing, planning, pondering our next move in a game much larger than any of us.

***

Kiwi Engel

Kiwi's frustration was palpable as she struggled with Alex's apparent obliviousness to her advances. It seemed no amount of flirting or change in behavior could pierce the shield of detachment he maintained around himself. Her infatuation with him was clear, yet her efforts seemed to only cement his stance of benign neglect.

"Alex is a fool..." Kiwi muttered under her breath, her mood souring as she aimlessly moved her food around her plate.

"Thanks for the meal, I'm off to the workshop." The brunette quickly finished his portion and, while Kiwi was distracted by her inner turmoil, swiftly vanished from her sight.

"He's gone," The blonde stated matter-of-factly, taking a deep breath. Kiwi was so immersed in her thoughts that she didn't notice Susan's arrival, who had decided to check on her protégée's progress.

"How's the romance brewing?" Susan inquired with a lightness that contrasted sharply with Kiwi's mood.

"Are all guys this clueless?" Kiwi responded, barely concealing her frustration as she turned to face Susan.

"Some might set a new standard for it," Susan replied with a fleeting smile, quickly gauging her protégée's state of mind.

"Is it me? Am I the problem?" Kiwi probed further, seeking insight.

"The issue lies with Alex, or more precisely, his perception shaped by his role in your life. He's mature beyond his years, viewing himself as a guardian rather than a potential partner. You're akin to a sibling in his eyes," Susan explained, offering her perspective based on years of observation and experience.

"How did you come to that conclusion?" Kiwi asked, taken aback by this interpretation.

"A combination of age and experience," Susan said casually, helping herself to Kiwi's meal with an air of nonchalance.

"Is there any way to shift his view of me?" Kiwi asked earnestly, searching for a strategy.

"Perhaps, becoming more forthright might draw his attention. Despite his resistance, it's not entirely futile to try," Susan suggested, contemplating her advice with a thoughtful twist of her fork.

"But will that really change how he sees me?" Kiwi doubted, seeking assurance.

"Transforming your behavior overnight won't suddenly alter his perception, but subtlety isn't your ally here. You need to be direct; subtlety often goes unnoticed by men. Ultimately, the effort has to come from you," Susan counseled, emphasizing the need for persistence over subtlety.

"I'm not sure I can," Kiwi admitted, her confidence waning.

"If you hesitate, someone else might decide for you," Susan warned, her casual theft of another bite underscoring her point. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"

(⇀‸↼‶) The embarrassed blonde shook her head negatively.

"Then it's time to take a stand. Act on your feelings," Susan encouraged, watching as Kiwi gathered her resolve and made her way toward the workshop. "Perhaps it's time for a little push," she mused, pondering the potential consequences of her advice.