After slipping into the server room, I shut the door behind me and took a moment to scan the place. Empty. Good. Still, I kept my cloaking a
After slipping into the server room, I shut the door behind me and took a moment to scan the place.
Empty. Good.
Still, I kept my cloaking active – no sense taking chances. The room reminded me of my old netrunner workspace: sterile, quiet, humming with heat and hidden data. At the center stood the primary console, flanked on both sides by tall racks of data banks – sleek towers constantly swallowing and storing terabytes of information every second.
Without wasting time, I moved to the terminal. A quick diagnostic confirmed what I'd hoped: no alarms, no security tripwires. Clean. I jacked in and unleashed the payload – an elegant little infection that gave me full access and scrubbed every trace of my intrusion on the way out.
Seconds later, my pocket AI pinged confirmation: full access granted.
I double-checked the hallway cam feeds. Still clear. Then I slipped out of the room like I'd never been there.
"Access secured. What's your status?" I asked over the encrypted voice line, patching through to Jeremy.
"All quiet so far," Martinez replied, his voice tinged with fatigue. "We got into the Watson feeds yesterday, but none of our targets have shown up yet."
"Either way, all we can do now is wait and hope. Trying to find someone manually…"
I trailed off mid-sentence as a sudden alert pinged across my interface – someone was trying to brute-force their way into Night City's police database, and they weren't being subtle about it.
"Alex, you good over there?" Jeremy's voice echoed at the edge of my awareness.
"Looks like our East Asian friends decided they're the smartest fish in this pond," I said, a grin creeping across my face before I could stop it. "I need to check something."
I cut the connection without waiting for a reply and dove straight into the NCPD's internal network through a backdoor Galina and I had planted weeks ago.
The hacker was good. Not great – just good enough to be overconfident. I quickly locked onto their signal. Now I could see exactly what they were digging through in real time. And a few minutes later, I hit the jackpot.
Whoever it was – using a Chinese tag – was combing the department's databases, looking for two very familiar faces.
That confirmed it.
Without wasting a second, I launched a subtle counterattack. Nothing flashy – just a low-profile intrusion disguised to look like a hiccup in the system's own defensive ICE (Intrusion Countermeasure Electronics). Beneath that noise, I slipped in a tracker and tagged the intruder's physical rig. The netrunner's ICE wasn't strong enough to sniff it out fast enough, which worked out nicely for me.
I wasn't worried they'd actually uncover my friends' locations. That data was fake. Months ago, the guys had wiped their real trails clean, greased the right palms in the department, and bought themselves new identities. The price wasn't outrageous by Night City standards – but it bought safety, and that's what mattered.
As soon as the hacker bit the bait and the beacon locked onto their rig, I smoothly exited the police system, wiped my traces, and rejoined the previously interrupted call.
"Jeremy, looks like Lady Luck just bought us a round. Someone's poking around the NCPD databases looking for info on you and your crew. Our netrunner friend's hooked – I tagged him, and we can track his location."
"That's music to my ears. Now we just need a spot to intercept him without attracting every pair of eyes in a ten-block radius."
"Exactly. The beacon's stealthy, but it won't hold forever. ICE will sniff it out eventually, which means we have to act fast. Hitting them on the move isn't ideal. So here's the plan – split up. You and your partner take Watson, I'll stick around Japantown. Odds are, their crew's holed up somewhere they're comfortable. And let's be real – this city's Asian sector is the perfect hideaway for people like them. Big enough to disappear into without triggering gang territory alarms. All in all, an ideal nest for our Chinese friends."
After briefly going over the rest of the plan – nothing worth writing home about – we settled in and waited patiently for the beacon to hit the target location.
It didn't take long. Ten minutes later, our mystery hacker exited the NCPD building and made a beeline for the metro station over at Corporation Square. I traced their route through the city and confirmed it intersected with Monroe Station. Sure, there was always the chance they'd ride past it and get off at Charter Hill instead – but that station gave them fewer options to vanish.
Monroe, on the other hand, was the main hub in Japantown. Packed shoulder-to-shoulder, wall-to-wall, all hours of the day. Not even the recent terrorist attacks had managed to dent the constant flow of warm bodies through that place.
"Looks like the target's heading my way. I'll try to intercept at Monroe."
"Copy that – we're en route."
I reached the station well before the train pulled in. Leaning back against one of the support columns, I kept my breathing steady, counting down the seconds until the target stepped into view.
And then the doors hissed open.
My eye twitched.
Waltzing out of the car like she owned the damn city was none other than the blue-haired girl who jumped Marco yesterday morning. Either she had no clue she was being hunted, or she didn't give a damn.
No disguise, no change in look. Ballsy – or stupid.
Then again, that kind of arrogance was common among low- to mid-tier mercs. Especially the ones who made their living spilling blood and starting trouble. They liked having a face people remembered. It was their calling card – part advertisement, part intimidation tactic. Trouble is, those types never lasted long. Not in Night City.
People love easy money. And ever since the NCPD and city council greenlit the bounty initiative, anyone with a gun and a chip on their shoulder could legally bag someone off the "special list" and cash in their corpse. Sure, dropping a seasoned solo in broad daylight wasn't exactly a walk in the park – but the idea that killing someone could make you rich? That alone was enough to make most mercs tone down the theatrics and keep a low profile.
This girl, clearly, hadn't gotten the memo.
Now wasn't the time to make a move. Way too many eyes around. One wrong move – one quick knockout in the middle of a packed platform – and I'd be on every cam and face-scanner in the district within minutes.
So I hung back. Trailed her at a careful distance. Kept myself in the crowd's blind spots.
She was heading toward the lower levels of the Redwood Market, buried beneath one of the massive residential sectors in the eastern wing of Japantown. The place was a maze – towering concrete corridors stacked on top of each other, all connected by rickety skybridges teeming with foot traffic.
If there's a place in this city where someone can vanish into thin air, it's there.
At some point, my target veered off toward one of the elevators leading to the upper floors, forcing me to pick up the pace. I slipped in just as the doors were closing, flashing an apologetic smile as I quickly pressed the button for the twelfth floor.
"Sorry – kind of in a rush."
I silently prayed that my half-baked acting skills would be enough to keep me off her radar. At the very least, she didn't react. Not outwardly.
As the elevator began its climb, I casually leaned against the left wall, keeping at least an arm's length of space between us. Slowly, I slipped my left hand into my pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes – borrowed from Jeremy earlier – and slid one out under her quiet gaze. Bringing the synthetic tobacco to my lips, I offered the open pack to the girl in a subtle gesture of peace.
Statistically speaking, one in every two Night City residents smokes. Honestly, it's not surprising. Cigarettes are one of the cheapest, easiest ways to take the edge off – especially when you live at the bottom of the food chain.
"As an apology," I said, answering the silent question behind her steady, pink-eyed stare.
She regarded me with an unreadable look, then slowly reached out for the offered cigarette.
That was my cue.
In an instant, I kicked my awareness into overdrive. The world slowed as my senses surged – muscles tightening, breath controlled. Everything snapped into sharp focus.
With a subtle shift in posture, I lunged forward.
A clean strike like that is almost impossible to dodge – unless your body instinctively flinches away to protect the head. And that's exactly what she tried to do. The only problem?
I wasn't aiming for her head.
My fingers brushed the neural port at the base of her neck, and I discharged a focused jolt straight into it. The effect was immediate – her body stiffened, then collapsed like a marionette with cut strings.
The neural port: one of the most vulnerable points on the modern human body. I've made a habit of exploiting it any time I need to drop someone fast.
I caught her before she hit the floor. One quick check of her pulse confirmed she was still alive – out cold, but alive. Hoisting her up, I slung her over my shoulder, adjusting her limbs just enough so it looked like I was dragging a drunk girlfriend home from a bender.
Convincing enough, hopefully, to pass through a crowded building without raising too many eyebrows.
"Jeremy, it's Alex. Target secured."
"Need backup?"
"Negative. Heading back to the megatower."
I adjusted the girl on my shoulder – she'd started to slip – and timed it just right as the elevator doors slid open to release us into the hallway. Without missing a beat, I jabbed the touchscreen and selected the highest floor still accessible to me.
Trying to reach Arroyo by ground transport during rush hour? Bad idea. I had a better plan.
Delamain had recently expanded its premium service options for gold-tier clients and above. Civilian AV transport wasn't cheap – not by a long shot – but right now, I couldn't think of a faster or cleaner way to get back to the tower.
Almost every residential rooftop in Night City had a pad for vertical takeoffs – usually used by trash drones for waste collection, and only occasionally repurposed for human transit. Still, it would do.
Delamain didn't make me wait long. Barely five minutes passed before the AV swooped in over the rooftop of the tagged building, descending with surgical precision. I climbed aboard, feeling the insulated calm of the cabin envelope me as the doors sealed shut with a low hydraulic hiss, muting the chaos outside.
"Welcome aboard, Alex," the AI greeted in its usual clipped, polite tone. "Would you like to update your destination?"
"No. Megabuilding H4. And make it quick."
I secured my unconscious passenger in the seat across from me, keeping one eye on her while answering the taxi's query.
"Confirmed. Estimated arrival: two minutes and four seconds. Enjoy your flight."