Chapter 39

The wind of death cut Malcolm in two. The poor guy didn't even realize he was dead. A dumb little half-smile froze on his face, a smoldering joint falling from his lips.

I was next.

I had mere fractions of a second, stretched by Kerenzikov, to try to figure out what I was dealing with. I had to read the shape of the blood droplets. A blade? Yes! Malcolm was cut with a blade weapon. I'd seen something like it in an alley near Vic's clinic…

Optical camouflage!

And Sandevistan. Shit.

I bolted backward, though it did little good. At least Apparition was in my hand. I'll try to fire a charged shot at the outlines of the enemy.

Deploy the script? No time. With the camo, it was harder to start a cyberattack.

And then, as Malcolm was still splitting apart, the wind of death bore down on me. I tried to block the enemy's attacks with my cyberlimb. But fencing with an invisible, super-fast opponent is a real damn nightmare.

Kerenzikov ran out. My cyberlimb took one blow. I felt a flash of unpleasant sensation, the cyberware equivalent of pain. Sparks flew. The enemy's blade met reinforced materials. But the next blows landed on my body.

Now, the pain was real. The vest and subdermal armor held off the strikes as best they could. I tried to use my cyberlimb to cover at least one potential attack angle. Protect my neck.

The air in front of me shimmered, twisted. In it danced the vague figure of a bloodthirsty ghost. The optical camouflage field wavered and sparked when the blade clashed with my armor. In those moments, I could see two burning orange dots from the enemy's optics.

The killer was working my torso. I was sure the blade was leaving nasty wounds, but it couldn't slice through me or my armor.

Flash!

The enemy tried to split my helmet, only managing to damage the cameras. Interference filled my view.

Apparition was recharged, and the first hyper-accelerated tungsten bullets shot out. The enemy shifted sideways, then back. Now I wasn't the only one firing. My allies came to my aid. Perfect!

For a moment, the enemy's camouflage flickered, either from a hit or on its own. Out of a burst of blue sparks, a tall Black man appeared, wearing dark glasses through which orange optics glowed. In his hands, a katana, its blade chipped in places. The samurai's sword had broken against my armor plates.

Soul rip, almost...

I didn't manage to deploy the second script. A white flash filled my vision, completely blinding me. The blast pounded my ears even through the helmet. Flashbangs. At least two of them. Timed for almost zero delay.

I pulled back, and when the light cleared, I only caught a glimpse of a dark figure vanishing deeper into the building. The enemy retreated. He didn't use Sandevistan to get out; just a normal sprint. The guy's chrome was maxed out. Even had camo. And I'd bet he's got special optics to handle his own flashbangs. It's a honed tactic: pop out in camo and with Sandevistan, shred the target, throw flashbangs, disappear under their cover. Enough to take down even a heavily guarded target and make a clean exit.

The whole fight lasted six or seven seconds, but it caused more trouble than three squads of Barghest.

"V, you okay?" Lucy's voice reached me nearby.

My helmet was glitching worse and worse. The image flickered and shook.

"Get him in the car. We'll sort it out there," that was Panam.

According to my biomonitor, I wasn't critical. Four hits to the torso, a scrape on the left leg, and deep scratches on the cyberlimb.

I managed to throw one soul rip in there. I didn't push back the foreign memories captured in the attack and absorbed them while they patched me up, taking off the damaged armor.

A sharp pain shot through my head. Night. Dogtown, the outskirts, slums. Flashes of light alternating with pitch darkness. The blade slicing through Scavs, Voodoo Boys, Barghest soldiers, mercenaries, and Dogtown's visitors. Scenes of carnage mixed with insane parties. Drugs, music pounding through chemically-charged brains, synapses lighting up with fireworks of extreme sensations.

I came to, shuddering. I almost screamed.

"V, what's happening to you?! Is it poison?!"

"No," I told Lucy. "It'll pass, just give it time."

This was new. Those foreign memories hit me like a black braindance. That bastard with the katana was halfway to cyberpsychosis, but he didn't seem to care—might even enjoy it.

"What was with that transparent asshole?" Rebecca asked.

"Wesley Hunt," I answered. "The one from the list. Lucy knows what I'm talking about."

Someone on Abernathy's side, handling my case, must've backed up Barghest's squad with that damn merc. They'd tracked our vehicle and sicced Hunt on us.

"We gotta delta," I summed up.

"Agreed," Panam nodded. "And you need a straight trip to the ripper."

As we drove, Slider called again.

"I was so worried," the netrunner sneered. "Too bad about Malcolm. He always did his jobs without question. Obedient boy."

"Wesley Hunt?" I asked. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Nasty guy. Can't be negotiated, bribed, or intimidated."

"That principled?"

"More like narrow-minded. People compare guys like him to attack dogs, but Hunt's more like a reptile or an insect. One-track mind, as rigid as the Wall. They tried to recruit him once—no use. A lone wolf and a paranoid, skittering along the edge. Dangerously vile. Head to Luxor Peak, V. You'll be safe with us."

"Appreciate the offer, but not now. Still, I'll check out that digital fortress after I deal with things in Dogtown."

Had to throw them a bone. The last thing we needed was voodooists chasing us too, especially with their tight connections to Barghest. No need to piss them off yet; we'd get to that later.

"Looks like Mr. V is feeling cooperative," the netrunner chuckled darkly. "Good, good! I always thought you types were beyond humanity. To you, we're just crooked chunks of meaningless code. Ravèt. Cockroaches."

"Spend less time on stuff you don't understand; you'll make fewer mistakes," I shot back.

Bold? Yeah. But I was still bluffing, making it hard for Slider to read my limits. Hopefully, he'd think twice before messing with me again.

"Later," I ended the call.

I didn't want more offers from Slider. I'd reach out to Jago myself, without middlemen. He handled customs in Dogtown, even did some inspections himself. Barghest wasn't huge, especially on the bureaucratic side, so even lower-level staff had contacts with the Hungarian.

After a quick visit to a ripper in the coastal slums, we drove to the quiet side of Dogtown, far from Barghest and Voodoo turf. Nothing but dust, desolation, homeless drifters, and shady armed folks rummaging through construction debris. Post-apocalypse in full swing.

"So we're just gonna sit here?" Rebecca asked, sounding disappointed.

"Best to camp here in the car," I said. "We'll handle the rest tomorrow."

Sleeping in the Thorton's cabin wasn't comfortable, but it was safe. We took turns on watch. Around 4 a.m., Panam shook us awake.

"Visitors."

Our guests turned out to be seven raider-looking assholes sneaking up to the car, which was parked out in the open.

It was quick and easy. A few turret bursts, some scripts, and a sprinkle of bullets. The flashes briefly pushed back the oppressive darkness of these dead ruins. The visitors bolted almost immediately; only two out of seven got away.

"Sure this is safe?" Panam asked.

"Better these punks than Barghest or the Voodooists."

"Can't argue with that."

In the morning, we parked near the north gate and positioned ourselves to intercept data. Pretty soon, we caught a few low-encryption messages: cargo lists. We added some high-value weaponry to one of them.

"High-value cargo like this? Our potential client might show up in person."

And he did. Soon enough, a black luxury car pulled up to the north gate, flanked by two armored red Barghest escort vehicles.

"That him?" Lucy asked, watching through binoculars as people stepped out of the car.

"Yeah. Jago Szabo. Let's scan him and send the message."

I'd already prepared the message: an apology for the fake cargo trick but explaining the need for direct contact.

"I'm a former counter-intel agent for Arasaka, and I have evidence Chester Bennett is working with them. Circumstantial, but credible. As a teaser, I'm attaching a recording of Bennett's underlings trying to block me from entering Dogtown. They did it without clearing it with your customs guys. Suspicious, isn't it? That's just the tip of the iceberg. Want the full picture and take down the plot against you? Name the place, but keep in mind I need to stay away from Bennett's loyalists."

I sent him the recording I'd made at the checkpoint using a spy mic, catching Bennett's people discussing our car.

We didn't wait long for a reply. The Hungarian arranged a meeting near the Terra Cognita tech park. Within minutes, we were on our way there. Perfect place, if by "perfect" you mean "shit," but that's the point. Even Barghest barely touches it.

Ruins of a high-tech park, abandoned dreams of innovation, a junkyard of the future crawling with junkies and a couple of Scavenger outposts. Lucky for us, we didn't need to go deep. Jago picked the dome to the right of the main entrance for the meet. I'd grabbed a secondhand vest and helmet in the coastal slums, worn and patched. Looked just like a typical Dogtown local. Lucy and Panam stayed in the car. Rebecca came with me, her D5 Copperhead rifle in hand, making it clear no one should mess with us. I brought the Widow Maker for the same reason. Thankfully, it wasn't far to go.

"Looks like they're expecting us," she nodded toward two Barghest soldiers in red armor guarding the dome's entrance.

"Fifth Symphony," I said, giving the code phrase I'd sent to Jago.

"Only one, and no iron," one guard warned.

I handed my rifle to Becca, and the guard pressed something. The door creaked as it lifted. Inside was dark, barely lit by emergency lights. I went in, taking off my helmet. The main path was blocked, leaving just a small side room where Jago Szabo and his bodyguard, Charles Graham, were waiting. Charles looked like a wall with military-grade cyberlimbs, while Szabo himself was nothing impressive—dressed in a black coat with a hint of camo, but he looked about as military as a worm looks like an anaconda. People like him are usually called a "slippery type." His voice completed the image too, like someone with a chronic illness or a load of hormone treatments.

"Good evening, Mister…" Szabo said politely, as if inviting me to introduce myself.

"Vincent Price. Good evening."

"You don't mind if Charlie stays with us, do you?" Szabo asked calmly, nodding at his bodyguard.

"Not at all. If you trust him, that is?"

"I trust him completely," Szabo confirmed. "Now, with you, I need to be a bit critical. I assume you understand the need for caution in our line of work."

"Of course. My job today is to get your interest, to tell you who I am and what I'm offering. With proof, naturally," I looked around at the gloomy ruins and grinned. "Not exactly a prime venue, but I'll do my best to give you a presentation fit for corporate standards. So, let's start with who I am…"

Using my laptop, I began showing pre-prepared files. I started with proof of my time at Arasaka: contract copies, staff lists, and files I snatched from the database during my stint as an office drone. Even threw in a photo of me giving a talk at the Academy. Some of the info could be checked through open sources or fixers. I figured Szabo would do his homework soon enough.

"The information here obviously needs verification," Szabo said, "but I have no doubts about your corporate background."

Yeah, my corpo speak probably gave that away. Corporate culture, damn it.

"Now, on to the second point: what do I know?"

I played Szabo the recording of my conversation with Abernathy and replayed what I'd overheard from Bennett's guys at the gate.

"Not a ton of facts, maybe," I preempted his unspoken criticism, "but you get what they imply. Your closest competitor in the organizational hierarchy has made a powerful ally—Arasaka and Director Abernathy herself. Even if Bennett isn't fully in on it, Susan wants to clear his path to the throne. But I assume you'll want more proof of the Bennett-Arasaka alliance."

"Well, that's where you got lucky, Mr. Price," Jago replied. "I had my suspicions for a while. Your data just confirmed how serious it is. So, what do you propose?"

"On to the third point," I continued. "I'm being hunted. My choices are to fight or vanish. But I know Abernathy is a complicated, high-stakes target. But with the right funding, the situation shifts. Then I'd be ready to take on Susan Abernathy myself. You might ask why her specifically—why not Bennett? Collect dirt on him, make it subtle. But Bennett's just a puppet. Susan will keep digging your grave. Dogtown is too tempting of a prize for her. I'm sure there are plenty of other agents too, of smaller caliber. Shell companies, soldiers, gang members. Arasaka has massive influence in Night City. You'd think that makes Militech your ally, but Susan Abernathy isn't someone to negotiate with. On the other hand…"

I went on to explain Szabo about the internal situation in counterintelligence, Abernathy's leadership style, and her one-woman show setup, where her death would throw the entire department into temporary chaos.

"Right now, Susan's the axle holding it all together," I explained. "She's been building a structure to make herself indispensable. If you take her out, the whole thing collapses. You and Dogtown would get some breathing room."

It looked like I'd piqued Jago's interest. I figured doubt, checks, and haggling were still to come, but the big fish had taken the bait. Now, I just had to reel it in carefully.

"And what kind of payment are we talking about, Mr. Price?"

"A million eddies clean reward, plus a hundred thousand for prep. All needs to go through trusted intermediaries. You get how tough a task I'm looking at here. If you're not interested, just see this info as a gesture of goodwill."

"I'll need time," Jago replied predictably. "That's not the kind of sum you part with easily. But I'll see if I can split the cost with other interested parties—find some additional investors for your… project."

Not a surprise. I'm not killing Abernathy for free, and Jago doesn't want to foot the whole bill alone. That's business for you.

With Sue's reputation, we could probably crowdfund this. Bet we'd make more than that damn Star Citizen game.

"For now…" Szabo pointed to a small case on the table. "Consider this a gesture of goodwill too."

I opened it. Twenty thousand on credit chips. Perfect. The project was already starting to pay off, but the main show was still ahead.

Overall, the meeting went smoothly. Now, it was time to lie low for a few days, avoiding both Barghest and the Voodoo Boys.

"Anywhere to chill around here?" Becca asked.

"Hate to disappoint, but we need to stay off everyone's radar," I answered.

We could theoretically crash at The Moth bar that Alex runs, but… our ride stands out too much. The safest option? Avoid everyone.

We spent the night in a deserted area. Not even a single mugging attempt. The next morning, Szabo texted me, inviting me to meet at the Heavy Hearts club. Said he'd found sponsors ready to fund my services and that Bennett was forced to recall his trackers.

Interesting…

This could either go very badly or very well.

Alright. Let's risk it. I'll trust in my lucky star and Abernathy's knack for pissing off the world.

"Well then…" I said. "Becca, I've got great news. We're hitting a club, and you're getting a drink there. Either for our success or for the peace of my soul."

"Heavy Hearts" was like Dogtown's own version of "Afterlife." It's the spot where the big players who come through the Dogtown handle business too low-key for a place like "Black Sapphire." Fixers, mercs, black marketeers, info dealers, even a few lawmen — a full roster of folks who matter. Only thing missing? Me. And we're about to change that tonight.

The club itself looked like a glittering pyramid in the middle of the ruins.

Becca and I got in without any trouble. Lucy stayed in the car, linked up to me to cover us through the Net if anything went down.

We went straight to the VIP level. A couple of Barghest thugs let us through without a word about our weapons. Impressive. Then, a particularly polite attendant led us to a circular room. It was all fancy — looked like a palace compared to the decaying Dogtown outside. Leather couches, shiny ice buckets cradling premium booze, cigars, artwork on the walls, crystal glasses.

"Wooow!" Becca squealed, jumping onto one of the couches. "This place is nova! We staying here, right?"

"I don't know. Just…"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll keep my mouth shut. Better listen to some tunes than hear your bor…"

She didn't finish. The doors opened. First came Jago's bodyguard, then the man himself, and finally, two Barghest mercs. Both looked vaguely familiar. They stepped aside, and up front walked…

Now I got it — Jago found himself a real sponsor, and the Bennett problem's basically gone. Kurt Hansen himself had entered the room.

Well then… my take so far? This is either really good, or a total shitshow.