Chapter 38

"Pull over now," a Barghest voice barked over a speaker, doing its best police impression, and then in a more menacing tone added, "Stop the fuckin' car!"

Of course, none of us were planning on following that order. So, we've got two Barghest SUVs on our tail. Armored combat transports, decently anti-hack, windows fully plated up. But every net security pro knows the system's weakest link: the user.

Some dude in a black-and-green helmet pops out of the SUV, trying to mow us down with a light machine gun. Naturally, he gets hit with optic reboot, cyberware malfunction, and an overheat from me, plus a contagion and short-circuit zap from Lucy.

Lucy and I had already sorted out who'd use which scripts when we hit the field. My territory? Optic resets, implant failures, and heating glitches.

The Barghest gunner spasmed, lost control of his fried cyberlimbs, and spilled out onto the road. The other SUV swerved to dodge him but managed to keep on us, falling back just a bit.

One of the SUVs deployed a mounted turret, firing at us.

At that point, another Barghest car appeared ahead. A Mahir Supron, armored up. Looks like they had a secondary ambush ready outside Dogtown in case we got suspicious.

Lucy synced up with the turret on the SUV roof. Five shots in, she silenced their machine gun.

"Hold tight!" Panam called out.

The Supron didn't try to ram us; it just braced with its reinforced side. We slammed into it hard, nearly flipping the damn thing. We'd have crushed a regular Supron like a tin can, but this one's reinforced frame and back-alley Dogtown mods held up.

Meanwhile, the cars trailing us closed in. Their turret kept firing, sparking against the armor. I didn't have much to do just yet, but I got an idea. Gripping the door with my cyberlimb, I cracked it open just enough to lob a grenade back.

Didn't land right under their SUV, but it blew right between them. With armor or not, I bet some of them caught a few shards.

We broke out of their clutches and sped up, veering right. Hit the shoulder to take another road, leaving the pack of hunting dogs from Barghest snarling at each other.

"Drop me and Becca off under that bridge!" I yelled to Panam. "Then book it, let them catch you."

Panam didn't argue. She pulled over in the shadow of a bridge, right where there were shanties packed with the homeless.

"Hell yeah!" Becca grinned as she hopped out, heavy bag slung over her shoulder.

We dashed into the stinking gloom, piles of trash all around us.

"I've got nothing, I've got nothing…" muttered a dark-skinned guy in a shredded jacket, hands raised in some panicked mantra. "Nothing, I got nothing."

"Scram," I whispered roughly, raising my Crusher.

"I've got nothing, nothing…" the guy babbled on.

Becca pulled two crumpled bills from her pocket and shoved them in his face.

"Now you got cash, choom. Take it and bounce," she ordered.

Surprisingly, that got through to him. Grabbing the eurodollars, he scrambled away, leaving us to set up for our ambush.

Meanwhile, the Barghest cars sorted themselves out and continued the chase. Panam played it up, faking a collision with a concrete post and trying to back out like she was panicking.

The hounds couldn't resist a bait like that. Their cars surged forward, zooming past me and Becca, the turret firing off rounds and blocking T-Bone from all sides. Then, all their doors flew open, unleashing a dog pack on us. Eleven of them, so a full dozen if we count the guy who ate asphalt.

They were about forty meters off now. I stepped forward, triggering Kerenzikov. Both hands gripping the railgun as tight as I could. Time to go. My minimum goal: deploy scripts and drop one or two while the implant's active. Max goal? Same, just with a bigger body count.

Alright…

I took the right, Becca took the left.

Optic jam, two shots in the back. The rifle kicked like a beast, but under Kerenzikov, I could steady it somehow. The first two shots hit, though probably didn't kill. Barghest goons were armored to the teeth, helmets and all.

Fine. Let's switch it up. Jammed the optics on two more. Loaded a shot. The rifle bucked even harder, kicking out bullets at top speed. Damn thing was like a wild stallion, but it had enough stopping power to blow a hole in a tank. One Barghest head popped like a watermelon. Green on the outside, red inside—fitting image.

I didn't have time to line up another target. Burned my last few seconds dishing out three more scripts. Luckily, the optic jam needed little memory. And thanks to the infection node I added, the script spread to nearby fighters if their ice was weak.

Becca took down two herself with her assault rifle.

It took the Barghest crew a second to figure out they were getting shot from behind. They tried to push forward, aiming to get close enough to dodge the turret's shots. Meanwhile, we kept picking them off from behind as most of their vision was still scrambled.

We took down five without a hitch, the rest forced to take cover, weakened by the quickhacks. Lucy hit them with her own viruses.

"Forward! Let's finish 'em!" Becca yelled, charging in to make good on her words.

"Hold up…" I tried, but it was too late.

Pinned down, the Barghest crew was stuck hiding behind their cars, still trying to shoot back. Someone lobbed a grenade at Becca, but she used her Kerenzikov to blow it up mid-air. Too close, though—a few shards caught her.

I fired at anything that peeked out, though they were popping up less and less.

"V, camera," came Lucy's voice over the link.

I switched to one of our spy cams. Lucy had mounted it under Warhorse's roof so it could catch the few enemies left standing.

Contagion, short-circuit on one. Same on another. Then a couple of bio-grenades landed, Becca's handiwork—spoils from Nash.

It was all over within a minute. I took out one of the dazed goons staggering out of the toxic green cloud. Another one tried to run on his Sandevistan but dropped in his tracks from the contagion. The rest got picked off with scripts or turret fire.

Their plan wasn't half bad, but the goons themselves blew it. The Barghest killers acted too predictable, fell for the oldest tricks, didn't even leave anyone to cover.

"We need to loot fast and scram," I said, joining the others at the cars.

"I'll just move this junk out of the way," Panam replied, nudging the Barghest transport. "Don't want to scratch up Warhorse more than I have to."

We spent three minutes tops looting the defeated crew. I managed to pull info from two of the better-geared, unconscious goons. Becca was more into grabbing weapons and grenades. Lucy…

"V!"

I'd already noticed the threat. A big guy with dark skin tried to sneak up on me with a machete. I whipped around, pointing my Kenshin right at him. He started to charge, then froze, even taking a step back. Behind him, five more Voodoo boys and girls appeared.

Guess they decided not to miss the action in their own turf.

"Drop the weapons. Now," said a woman with a netrunner visor, aiming a smart shotgun at us with that thick accent of theirs.

I glanced over to check on Panam. She was creeping back toward the car. Guess I just needed to stall them a bit while she took control of the turret.

"Oh, sure, sure," I replied through my helmet's voice amp. "We just took down a dozen Barghest mutts, and we're gonna scatter for a crew half that size? Maman Brigitte never taught you math, huh?"

"Oh, look at that. Some punk who knows names. But he don't know squat else," the priestess sneered.

"Easy now, easy!" said a new voice, as a tall guy with dark skin, long dreads, and a silver cyber-limb for a right hand appeared out of nowhere. "No need to rush into things. These folks," he gestured at us with a smoking hand-roll in his left, "just came to see someone important in Dogtown. Bit of a misunderstanding, a little shootout — no big deal. No need for you all to get involved. Best y'all just head on home."

Who the hell is this peacekeeper now?

The priestess shot a question his way in some Creole dialect.

"I'm Malcolm, sister," the man answered, taking a drag. "I bounce back and forth past the wall. Trade, help folks out. I'm here to help you, too. Here, let me whisper a few things to you."

Looked like he'd sent her some encrypted data, 'cause she lowered her weapon after a moment, even though I was still holding mine steady.

Panam had control of the turret by now, but we didn't fire on the retreating Voodooists.

"No idea who you are, or why you think we need your help," I said to the big guy. "But we don't. You leave; we leave. Chao."

"Hold up, bro. Boss's gonna call you in a sec. Then you can decide if you need my help or not."

Sure enough, my comm lit up. Linked through Malcolm, a vid call was incoming. And there he was, someone I knew all too well from another life — a silhouette, face obscured in shadow, only his hands visible, fingers glinting with metal.

"Mister Hands, I presume."

"That's right."

"To what do I owe the honor?"

"Credit that to Chester Bennett. Quite a stir you're causing over one guest, and no one seems to know much about him. Funny thing, though — lieutenant didn't even bother reaching out to command or allies. Tried to keep it all in-house. Intriguing."

"So, you're offering services? A pass through Dogtown?"

"Right. And I suspect a pass is not the only thing you might be interested in. My intuition says your visit's about more than just a deal or escaping Night City."

"Maybe. But what guarantee do I have that you won't hand me over to Bennett?"

"You've got that corporate caution, don't you? Why would I hand you over? If my rep as a fixer isn't enough of a guarantee, trust my curiosity and sense of profit. Or… you could give me a glimpse of what's really behind your visit. You got dirt on Bennett?"

"Yeah, but I don't care about Bennett. Not planning to take him down or zero him out. I'm after the people behind him, the ones gunning to control Dogtown. I know how to stop them. I've got evidence. Just need a buyer and some support. If it all lines up, this is gonna be a big job."

"Well, that gives me a solid reason not to sell you out. I'm offering you a pass through the western gate. Today. Alongside three nomad cars. Your Thornton should blend right in with them."

"Names and deets on the nomads? Aldecaldos? Don't wanna get lumped in with Raffen."

"No problem. I'll send the info over now; let me know what you think."

We pulled off the road toward the west. Malcolm followed on his bike, but I didn't see a reason to run him off just yet.

"I know this guy," Panam said when I showed her the list. "He's Dakota's crew. Shady as hell, but not a total scumbag."

Fine. The whole setup looked solid enough. Hands was a cautious, calculating fixer. Bennett wouldn't pay much for my head. Blackmail on a colonel was worth way more. So yeah, Mister Hands would probably see us through to Dogtown without screwing us. What happens after that? We'll see.

"All right. Let's go roll with the nomads. How's it looking, Becca?"

"Fine, fine. Just scratches," she assured me.

That grenade did nick her with a few shrapnel bits, but nothing serious.

Half an hour later, we were at the western gate, where three nomad cars were waiting for us. A heavy-set Latino in a road jacket climbed out of one.

"Well damn, if it isn't Panam!" he boomed. "What the hell brings you here?!"

The nomads stepped aside for a bit to chat about clan matters and wasteland news. Then, our little convoy lined up and headed to the west gate.

"All good?" I asked Panam.

"Yeah. Our…well, the Aldecaldos supply Dogtown with odds and ends. Nothing serious, but parts, tools, oil — Hansen's factories eat it up. Air-drops are way too pricey."

Getting through the gate took about ten minutes. The guards knew our convoy lead well. Minimal scans, a few handshakes, and Dogtown finally opened its grim heart to us.

Luxury and ambition gone to waste, now just decay and despair. Corpses dangled from roadside posts, dried up by the hot sun, almost like mummies.

Dust, ruins, scattered remnants of past glory, old military tech.

We rolled into the city, parting ways with the nomads at the first intersection. They drove off, and Malcolm strolled over to me.

"Well, brother. Time to meet the boss," he said with a grin.

Something about him set me on edge. That smile? Or maybe the way he was so careful about that sleeve covering his flesh arm. He even had the cuff buttoned. A tiny detail that didn't fit the casual look of this streetwise operator.

"So, the boss wants to see me?" I smirked back. "Let's take a walk over there, Malcolm," I told him, then threw over my shoulder, "Everything's fine."

Lucy nodded silently, watching me as I headed thirty meters down the street into the shadow of an abandoned building with him.

"Everything good, brother?"

"Show me your left arm, Malcolm. Roll up that sleeve."

And then I got another video call. It was Hands. Guess Malcolm ran off to complain to the boss about me being suspicious.

"You passed the gates, as we agreed," said the fixer. "Now…"

"Now we're on our own," I grinned, pressing Apparition to Malcolm's chin. "Cut the act already."

With my cyberlimb, I yanked up Malcolm's sleeve. There it was—a white tattoo of a skull and some witchy symbols.

The image of "Hands" flickered and transformed into a black netrunner with pure white eyes and long fingernails. Wilky LaGuerre, also known as "Slider." One of the leaders of the Voodoo Boys. Blind fury in the Cyberspace.

"How'd you guess?" the netrunner asked with a hoarse grin.

"Hands doesn't do meetings. He rarely contacts anyone in person."

"For a big deal, one might take a risk," the voodoo boy countered.

"So you're gonna argue now? You guys didn't manage to form a cohesive cover. One sign can be ignored, but there were too many."

"Fine. So what's next, V? I can call you that, yeah?"

"Yeah. What's next? We'll go about our business, as planned. The data fortress can wait. Right now, there are bigger issues. They matter to you too. If Arasaka takes over Dogtown, they'll have you by the tentacles too."

"Then let's talk, V. Face to face," the blind man laughed roughly.

"I have a real bad feeling about this meeting."

"You need us; we need you. If we get on each other's bad side, we're only helping out our enemies. And how about your friends? You've gathered quite the group of pretty women. Do they know who you really are?"

Ah, there it is. A veiled threat. Fine.

"As if you know who I really am," I replied with a smirk. "You call all of us spirits, demons, barely noticing the difference. You don't know our distinctions or our limits."

Here's your subtle threat, too, wizard.

"Alright. We can meet in person. On your terms. See how generous I'm feeling today. But first, take the gun away from Malcolm. He's a good boy; he won't try anything."

"Alright. First, I…"

I didn't get to finish. Something shifted in the ruins nearby. Dust moved too quickly, like something was shaking it up. Following my gut, I activated Kerenzikov. Just in time. Blood sprayed in my face. Malcolm, who was standing closer to the building, was split diagonally from his left shoulder. The wind of death had arrived.