The Militech grunt's finger hovered on the trigger, eyes wide under his visor.
Max tilted his head slightly, optics flaring blue. A thin stream of code hissed across his HUD, the daemon sliding into the soldier's neuralware like a knife through wet paper. The man's pupils dilated, then shrank. His breathing hitched.
"Execute."
The command echoed only in the soldier's mind.
A moment later, his rifle clattered to the concrete as his own hand ripped off his helmet. His face was pale, veins darkening from a surge of corrupted signals. A strangled scream tore free—and then he slammed his head against the pillar hard enough to break his skull.
The slums went silent.
Max straightened, scanning the area. Drones offline. Soldiers down. No more movement in his immediate radius.
He tapped his wristdeck, pulling up his probability tracker. Target: Lucy. Status: Unconfirmed. Chance of encounter within AO: 11%... 24%... recalculating… 53%.
His optics flickered as the system mapped trajectories, scanning thermal echoes in nearby shelters. Most were civilians—starved, half-cybered, too weak to run. But one signal spiked different. Moving cautious. Slender frame. High neural activity.
Max moved toward it.
At the edge of the ruined bridge, a shelter's ragged curtain lifted. She stepped out.
Pale skin. White hair. Tired violet eyes. Her jacket was patched a dozen times over, her legs thin but steady. Even here, even at this stage, Lucy carried the aura of someone not meant for these streets, yet forged by them.
She froze when she saw the masked figure standing over a pile of corpses.
Max's system pinged again—Lucy. Probability: 72% → 89% → 96%.
He forced himself to stay still, to keep the mask in place. No rushing forward. No revealing he already knew her.
"…You killed them," she said finally, voice steady but low. Not thanks. Not relief. Just observation.
"They were killing your people," Max replied flatly, tone mechanical. "Cleaning the city, they called it. You'd be next."
Her eyes narrowed. She wasn't afraid, not yet. But wary. Studying him the way a netrunner studies an untrusted line of code.
"You don't sound like a saint," she said. "So why are you here?"
Max tilted his head, letting the neon glint off his mask. "Doesn't matter who I am. What matters is—this place isn't safe anymore."
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them. Fires burned in the background, shadows dancing across the concrete.
Lucy's gaze flicked to the corpses, then back to him. She didn't thank him. She didn't smile. But she didn't walk away either.
Max inclined his head, his voice calm but sharp.
"You're a netrunner, right? Want to join my crew? No pressure—you can back out anytime you want. I'm just a masked stranger, after all. As for why I'm here… I took a gig to kill some corpo scum who think murdering people in the name of 'making the city better' is a good idea."
Lucy's eyes flickered, the faint glow of her neuralware catching the firelight. She didn't answer immediately. Her fingers tightened on the strap of the satchel slung across her shoulder, weighing his words.
"…A crew?" she asked cautiously.
"Yeah," Max said. "We take jobs. Not saints, not psychos. Just… cleaning out trash that needs cleaning." He gestured with one gloved hand at the corpses sprawled around the bridge. "Sometimes the corpos. Sometimes gangs. Doesn't matter. What matters is we get it done."
Lucy studied him for a long moment. "And you just… invite strangers to join you?"
"Not strangers," Max replied, his tone even. "You're good. I can see it. You survived here, didn't break, didn't fold. That tells me more than any résumé."
She tilted her head, skepticism in her gaze. "What makes you think I'll trust you?"
Max shrugged lightly. "You don't have to. Trust can come later. Right now, it's just an offer. You walk away, I don't chase. You stay… maybe you'll find something better than running alone."
The fire crackled between them. Lucy's jaw tightened. For a second, she looked like she might turn and vanish back into the ruins. But then she exhaled softly, her shoulders dropping just enough to betray the weariness she carried.
"…Fine," she said quietly. "But I'm not promising anything."
Max gave a small nod. No smile, no victory in his voice—just the same cold calm. "That's enough. You'll see for yourself."
Max didn't celebrate. He just turned toward the shadows of Night City, his mask catching the neon glow. "Come on. Time to see what you're really capable of."
Lucy hesitated one last moment… then followed.
Inside the car, Max finally broke the silence.
"So," he asked, eyes still on the road, "what's your name?"
"Lucy," she replied after a pause. "And you?"
"Max."
She gave the faintest smirk. "Straight to the point, huh?"
"Always," Max said flatly.
The ride stayed quiet for a bit, broken only by the hum of the engine and the neon bleeding through the windows. Lucy leaned back, staring out at the city with tired eyes. She didn't give much away, but Max didn't push. He didn't need her whole story—just enough to know she wasn't another corpo pawn.
When they finally pulled up near the hideout, Max guided her inside. V was already there, leaning against the counter in the small kitchen space.
"Picked someone up," Max said simply, gesturing toward Lucy.
V arched an eyebrow, scanning the new face. "Where'd you find her?"
"On a gig. She was in the middle of it when I ran into her. She was alone, so I figured she could be useful."
V studied Lucy for a moment longer before giving a small nod. "Your call."
Lucy glanced between them, then smirked a little. "So… is she your girl?" she asked, tilting her head toward V.
Max shook his head immediately. "Crew member," he said flatly. "Not my girl."
V chuckled softly, pushing off the counter. "Good to clear that up fast."
Lucy's eyes lingered on Max for a second, unreadable, before she turned away, letting the subject drop.
***
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