The first thing Jackie saw was a hand—Carter's, still twitching on the floor, chrome fingers spasming as sparks hissed from severed wires. The rest of him wasn't far. His body lay slumped in a broken chair, eyes wide open but glassy, implants fried black around the sockets. His crew didn't fare better—one still clutching a pistol jammed under his chin, another sprawled across the pool table with his chest caved in, ribs jutting like broken rebar.
Jackie froze, lowering his gun a little. "Dios mío… You did all this, eh?"
Max didn't answer immediately. He just stepped over one of the corpses, crouched beside Carter, and plucked a shard from the man's neural port. Sliding it into his pocket, he finally spoke, voice low through the mask."Don't ask stupid questions, hermano. You already know the answer."
Jackie shook his head slowly, crossing himself before muttering, "Padre wasn't kidding when he said he wanted Carter erased… but cabrón, you erased his whole damn existence."
Max stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. "Message needed to be clear. Nobody touches Padre's people. Nobody touches V. Sixth Street thinks they're untouchable?" He gestured at the bodies. "This is what untouchable looks like when the system decides otherwise."
Jackie gave a low whistle, holstering his gun. "Madre santa… you're a ghost, choom. A walking demon in chrome."
Max's smirk returned, faint under the mask. "Demon, angel, doesn't matter. What matters is results. Padre wanted Carter gone—Carter's gone. Clean. No witnesses, no trails. Only bodies."
Jackie looked around once more, then back at Max. "You're crazy, hermano. Crazy and dangerous. But I'll be honest…" He tapped his chest with a fist. "You just won me over. I'll run with you."
Max tilted his head, optics dimming slightly as if studying him. "So, you're mine then?"
Jackie smirked, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "Chingón. I'm in. Whatever you're building… count me."
Max's grin widened just a hair as he stepped past him toward the door. "Good. Because this?" He jerked his chin toward the corpses. "This is only the beginning."
Jackie followed, shaking his head, muttering under his breath, "Only the beginning, huh? Dios nos ayude…"
Outside, the Murkmobile's engine growled awake as Max slid into the passenger seat. Jackie dropped behind the wheel, hands still tight on the grip, adrenaline buzzing through him.
Jackie glanced at Max, his voice low."Alright, jefe… I'll tell Padre. He'll be happy—Coyote gets his respect back, maybe even some eddies flow our way. But then what? What do we do after that?"
His eyes narrowed, studying Max in a different light now. He had seen the way Carter and his crew went down, how Max killed without even lifting a hand. Cold, efficient, powerful. More like a boss than any street gonko Jackie ever met.
Jackie hesitated, then smirked faintly."And oye… that chica, V. The one Carter messed with. Who is she, ah? She looked like trouble waiting to happen."
Max's optics flickered, a sharp grin tugging at his lips."V, huh? Interesting." He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but edged with purpose. "Give me her coordinates. If she's still breathing, I want her. She's joining my team."
Jackie raised a brow, half-grinning, half-wary. "Heh… you don't waste no time, cabrón. You're really building somethin', huh?"
Max leaned back, smirk never fading. "Not building. Recruiting."
The Murkmobile slid back into the narrow side streets of Heywood, neon signs flickering against the windshield as the car purred past half-shuttered tiendas and corner bars. Jackie guided the wheel with the easy confidence of someone who'd grown up knowing every cracked curb and faded mural.
El Coyote Cojo loomed ahead, its familiar glow spilling onto the street. Jackie slowed as they passed, glancing at the cantina.
"Padre'll hear the news soon enough. Sixth Street ain't gonna be a problem no more." He smirked, then shot Max a sidelong look. "But you ain't here to drink or celebrate, verdad? You want that chica."
Max's gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead, optics faintly pulsing. "V first. Everything else later."
Jackie huffed out a chuckle, shaking his head. "You move fast, hermano. Don't even know if she wants to be part of your crew yet. She's tough, but…" He trailed off, turning down another street. "She lives in those busted apartments by Watson. Real basura, but she makes it work."
The Murkmobile's engine growled deeper as Max tapped the dash, urging more speed. "Then we go now."
Minutes later, the car rolled to a stop outside a cracked old megablock, the kind of place where half the windows were covered in duct tape and the elevator had been broken since before anyone remembered. Faded graffiti smeared the walls, and the faint hum of braindance addicts drifted from a nearby alley.
Jackie killed the engine, eyeing the place with a grimace. "Here we are. Home sweet hogar, eh? Told you—bad spot, bad neighbors. But she's alive, and that's what counts."
Max stepped out, scanning the building with a faint smile. "Alive is enough. Let's meet her."
The smell of cheap synth-oil and fried noodles clung to the stairwell as Max and Jackie made their way up the cracked concrete steps. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered, buzzing like they were on their last days.
From the third floor, raised voices echoed down the hall. A man's nasal, irritated tone carried first:
"—already two weeks late, chica. You think this block runs on good intentions? No eddies, no apartment. Simple as that."
Jackie shot Max a look and smirked knowingly. "Guess we found her."
They rounded the corner. At the end of the hall, a tall, skinny landlord with greasy hair was blocking the doorway of a cluttered apartment. Facing him was a girl in her early twenties—short black bobbed hair, arms crossed tight, chin lifted in defiance. Her jacket looked worn but patched with care, and her eyes burned with stubborn fire.
"Relax, viejo," V snapped, her voice sharp but steady. "I told you, I got work lined up. You'll get your rent. You always do."
The landlord sneered, shaking his head. "Promises don't pay the bills, sweetheart. Either you cough it up tomorrow or I find someone else to fill this hole."
Max stopped a few paces away, studying her. Even in the middle of a shouting match, V didn't flinch, didn't back down. There was a steel there—raw, unrefined, but real.
Jackie grinned and nudged Max with his elbow. "That's her. Told you, chica's got guts."
The landlord noticed them then, his expression souring further. "Eh, this your backup now? What, you bring muscle to cover your tabs?"
V's eyes flicked over, narrowing as she sized Max and Jackie up. For a moment, suspicion and curiosity warred across her face.
Max stepped forward, voice calm but edged with authority.
"Problem here?"
***
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