January 30, 2069
Megabuilding H4
Alex Mitchell (Volkov)
My morning started like any other. I woke up, carefully untangled myself from the pile of gorgeous women sleeping on top of me, and hit the shower for a quick blast of hot and cold water to shake off the last traces of sleep and get my head in the game.
We'd all gotten to bed pretty late – not even Vega was an exception. Since our little heart-to-heart, her behavior hadn't changed dramatically, but the shifts were there if you knew what to look for. They were almost invisible at first, but compared to how she'd been before, it was clear Vega was becoming more… human. Her expressions, her gestures, the way she'd jump into conversations – all the little details of life were starting to come to her more naturally.
I liked watching it happen. But you can't pay the bills by admiring the scenery, and the world wasn't about to pause just for my sentimental bullshit. Trouble found me first thing.
Incoming Call – Gloria Martinez
Call Accepted – Establishing Connection
"You've never called this early," I said, my brow furrowing at the sight of her face on the holo-display. She looked way too tense for my liking. "What's wrong?"
"It's Marco," Gloria said, her voice betraying more worry than she probably wanted to show. "He's in deep. Some merc jumped him, and from the sound of it, this guy is the real deal – Marco couldn't handle him alone. Jeremy went to back him up, but I… I've got a bad feeling about this."
"Typical. That overgrown idiot always manages to stick his nose where it doesn't belong," I sighed, feeling her exasperation through the connection. "Alright. I'll do what I can."
"Thanks, Alex."
Connection Terminated – Call Ended
The second Gloria hung up, I tried pinging Jeremy, but he was unreachable. Figures. He must be in a comms dead zone. That meant I had no choice but to wait. Tearing across the city looking for two mercs was a fool's errand. The best I could do was monitor the newsfeeds and wait for them to surface.
What if… The thought hit me like a jolt. I quickly pulled up Marco's contact and sent a ping to his comm.
He had a squad of mercs on his tail and was still taking calls. Unbelievable. At least he was smart enough to use an encrypted channel. In this city, intercepting an unprotected frequency wasn't exactly child's play, but with the firewall I'd installed on his comms? Not a chance in hell anyone was cracking it.
So, I waited. It didn't take long – ten minutes later, Jeremy finally came back online. I didn't waste a second, firing off a secure message that got straight to the point.
"Jeremy. Alex. What's the sitrep?"
"We ran into a killer with military-grade chrome. I managed to drive her off, but we got lucky she was alone. If things had gone sideways, we would've had to punch out."
"You need backup?" Sometimes the simplest questions were the most important.
"Couldn't hurt. I managed to take her arm – fully cybernetic. You and I both know you can pull a lot of data from implants. There's no way she's just some freelancer. A regular merc couldn't get their hands on military-spec mods like that, not even with serious connections. She's gotta be corporate."
"Alright, we'll figure it out when you get here. Bring me the arm – and bring me Marco. Leave that guy alone for five minutes and he'll find a fresh pile of shit to step in."
"Ten minutes out."
"Good. Head to the workshop. I'll meet you there."
I ended the call, got dressed in record time, and headed straight for my workspace. On the way, I fired off a quick message to Kiwi, telling her to give the others a heads-up. Even if I was trying to be discreet, my movements wouldn't go unnoticed, and just walking out without a word was a rookie mistake.
Technically, today was my one hard-earned day off – a rare moment I'd planned to spend in a state of pure, blissful laziness. But of course, the universe had other plans.
Jeremy and Marco weren't just contacts. They were… closer than that. Friends, if you could even use that word. In Night City, friendship is a luxury most people can't afford. Around here, the only creed is immediate profit. A guy could shield you from a bullet or slip you enough eddies to keep you from starving one second, then cut your throat for a better deal the next.
That's why I usually kept my relationships strictly transactional. Over the years we'd been in business, we'd built up a solid base of regular clients. Some of them even seemed like "good people" on the surface, but we kept it professional. Always.
Marco and Jeremy were different. I'd known Marco since my first days in this world. Ramirez had literally pulled me off the street and helped me get my footing, teaching me the bare minimum every gutter punk needed to survive in Night City. As for Jeremy, he'd helped my parents escape – his efforts tipped the scales, turning what should have been a doomed run into a long shot. A chance.
They'd both done things most people here wouldn't do for their own blood. To pretend that didn't mean something would have been… cheap. Ugly. So yeah, where we stood now wasn't some accident. It was built on choices, effort, and loyalty from both sides.
By the time I finished clearing yesterday's clutter from the workshop, my two favorite disaster magnets showed up right on schedule. The pair of mercs lingered awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before my voice cut through the silence. Only then did they push inside, trying a little too hard to look confident.
"Don't give me that look, like I'm personally responsible for every single problem on the planet," Marco grumbled, catching my expression.
"Not every problem," Jeremy cut in with a short laugh. "Just, you know… at least half."
Ramirez, standing stiffly beside him, looked like a fish out of water, practically gulping for air as he tried to figure out how to jump in without losing what little dignity he had left.
"Alright, that's enough from the comedy duo." I turned to Jeremy, who was still holding the severed cybernetic arm like some grim trophy. "The arm – any surprises?"
"I gave it a once-over, but I wouldn't bet my life on it," he said with a shrug.
"Right…" I shook my head with a wry smile. "Well, guess I'm glad my workshop's buried deep in a megabuilding. Trying to track a beacon in these concrete jungles? Good luck." I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder.
"Let's take a look at your 'trophy.' Maybe we can dig something useful out of it."
***
Breaking down the limb they'd brought me didn't take long. I secured the severed arm in the diagnostic rig and began methodically dismantling it. The implant was clearly custom work, built for a specific user – too many micro-adjustments, too many delicate components. It felt less like a prosthetic and more like one of those intricate, high-end collectibles. The kind of "toy" that probably cost more than my entire workshop.
To my surprise, Jeremy had actually handled it with care. For once. I'll give him that. He hadn't just crushed it like an empty beer can.
As I worked my way through the inner layers, something on the palm caught my eye: faint, almost invisible markings etched into the synthetic skin. Tattoos? Frowning, I scanned them into the holo-display, tweaking the angle and lighting until the details snapped into focus.
There it was.
On the inner palm was a single Chinese character: "四". The number four. On the back of the hand, a bird that looked a lot like a swan. The tattoos blended so seamlessly with the synthetic texture they'd be impossible to spot with the naked eye.
"Interesting," I muttered, drumming my fingers on the table as I pieced it together.
"You find something?" Jeremy finally asked, leaning in to study the neatly disassembled arm parts strewn across my workbench.
"A little. Here, check this out." With a mental command, I pushed a 3D hologram of the markings into the center of the room, simplifying the image for clarity. "See these?"
Martinez nodded silently.
"This one's the number four. In Chinese culture, it's their version of our number thirteen. A bad omen – unlucky, associated with death, the whole deal."
"Charming," Marco snorted, shooting a wry glance at the digit. "And the bird?" he asked, jabbing a finger at the other image.
"Closest match I can find is the 'Lone Goose.' Symbolically, it can mean a solitary wanderer… or a messenger."
"So, in plain English," Jeremy said, folding his arms, "a harbinger of death."
"Pretty much," I agreed with a slight nod, collapsing the hologram with a thought. "Looks like you've got an assassin on your trail, someone with ties to the Triads. I can't tell you which family you pissed off, but this wasn't random."
"And here I was hoping it was just some low-level Tyger Claw scum," Ramirez sighed, shaking his head.
"You could try talking to Wakako. She might know something."
"Thanks. We'll do that," Martinez said with a grateful nod. Then he added, "Oh, one more thing…"
"Hm?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Could you run a diagnostic on me? I had to redline my booster during the fight. That merc was – if I'd been a hair slower, I wouldn't have a head on my shoulders right now."
"So you pushed it too hard," I murmured, giving my friend a quick, appraising look. "Alright. You first, then Marco." I clapped my hands together and turned toward a sealed container near the fabrication unit.
"What are you planning?" Marco asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Nothing that'll hurt," I smirked, patting the diagnostic chair. "Well, nothing you won't get used to. Sit."