Chapter 9: Sasha
By the time morning sunlight filtered through the smog and neon haze, the hideout buzzed with life.
Despite working all night, Riko Vega and the rest of the crew looked energized—especially under the doting eyes of the doll-like girls they'd rescued. Their cheers, playful flirtations, and gratitude charged the air with a strange kind of warmth.
Kay emerged from the mechanical workshop, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Sleep still clung to him, but the sight before him snapped him fully awake.
The garage had transformed.
Rows of workbenches were lined neatly with tools. Surgical stations glowed with diagnostic scans. Monitors blinked with static and system readouts. Even the old couches and stools had been brought back and set up. The nomads had outdone themselves.
A grin spread across Kay's face.
"Alright, everyone—good work. Take the day to rest. We'll sort the rest tonight."
He raised a fist.
"Tonight, we celebrate!"
"Woohoo!"
"Long live Kay!"
"I'll always love you, boss!"
Laughter echoed through the hall.
---
That night, moonlight painted the River Valley District silver. The crew from the Wild Coyote Bar lit up a bonfire outside the hideout, the smoke mingling with the scent of grilled meat and cheap liquor. Some sang, some danced, some simply vibed to the beats thumping from the makeshift speakers.
Kay led Riko Vega to the rooftop.
The River Valley buildings weren't tall—no corpo towers here—so they climbed easily. The wind was cooler up there. Below, the distant neon lights of City Center shimmered like synthetic stars.
Kay pointed toward the pulsing brilliance of Corpo Plaza.
"What do you think of that place?"
Riko looked hesitant, his eyes locked on the horizon.
"It's beautiful," he admitted. "But people like me? Bottom feeders? We don't belong there."
Kay turned slightly, his eyes glinting.
"I didn't expect you to say that. So… what do you think your role is in Night City?"
Riko paused. His fingers fidgeted. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"...An ant, I guess. I dunno. Sometimes it feels impossible to leave a mark in this city."
Kay nodded thoughtfully. He then pointed at the vast shadows stretching across the outskirts—far from the neon, where the alleys swallowed the weak.
"What about those places? What do they mean to you?"
Riko tried to reason it out. "Scavs? Gangs? Maybe mercs? The predators of the city?"
Kay clapped him on the shoulder.
"You see it clearly. You've already separated the greedy corpos from the gang rats… the power-hungry warlords from the street leeches."
Riko stared, eyes wide.
Kay turned to face the skyline, his voice steady.
"If the darkness is ruled by those street kings, then what's all that neon? All those lights?"
He paused. Then softly said:
"It's the system. The machinery of control. A ladder built to keep ants like us crawling at the bottom."
"One person's strength means nothing. You can't break the system solo. That's why I still believe this: it's better to be infamous in the shadows… than invisible in the lights."
Riko's breath caught. Something deep within him stirred—a feverish, dangerous clarity.
"That's why you said you want to stay unknown," he whispered. "That's what you meant."
In the short time he'd known Kay, Riko felt like his old beliefs—his old limitations—had been smashed to pieces.
Kay wasn't aiming for fame. He was aiming for change. Something bigger. Something wild.
A fire lit in Riko's chest.
I want to follow you... Kay. I want to witness your rise. Follow you to the end. Even if the whole world burns.
---
"Let's go," Kay said. "If we're staking our claim in River Valley, we'll have to deal with the Six Street Gang eventually. And we need to get in touch with 'Old Captain' Muamar Reyes."
He smirked.
"By the way, guess how much last night's haul is worth?"
Riko blinked, then said, "Oh—right. The priest sent me 2,000 euros this morning. Said it was from the families of those Valentinos we rescued. I was gonna give it to you—"
Kay waved him off. "No need. You earned that. You're the face of the Destiny Church, aren't you?"
Riko scratched his head.
Kay continued, "We pulled in 7,000 euros in hard cash. Twenty brain-computer interfaces—we'll need a skilled netrunner to decrypt them. Once we crack those, we could net another 20,000 easy."
"And then there's the cyberware," he added, grinning. "At least 40,000 euros, maybe more if I mod and resell."
Riko let out a low whistle.
Kay leaned back, thoughtful. "It'll hold us over for now. But we need something sustainable. You'll still need to run merc jobs. I'll brew and sell street meds on the side—cheap painkillers, synth-stims, maybe some chrome enhancers."
He locked eyes with Riko.
"And remember, you're the leader of the Destiny Church. I'm just your financial advisor... and your exclusive ripperdoc."
Riko grinned, punching his fist into his palm. "You're the boss. You say the word—I'll burn the city down if I have to."
Kay chuckled. "That's what I like to hear."
He knew the risks. Knew that stepping too far into the light would invite bullets.
If someday they ended up facing monsters like Adam Smasher, Morgan Blackhand, or that icy bastard Mr. Blue Eyes...
Kay already had an excuse ready:
"You've got the wrong guy. I'm just the doc. The guy you're looking for is Riko Vega, leader of the Destiny Church."
Then boom—let the bullets fly while he sat back with a bag of popcorn and a cold synth-cola.
---
Once Riko headed down to drink and party with the others, Kay smiled and slipped out.
He tapped a message into his neural feed.
> Kay: "Hacker sis, got a gig for you. Meet me at Puff Bar. I'll buy the first round."
> Sasha: "(●'◡'●) Be there in 20 mins~!"
---
Later, Kay sat at the bar, sipping a flaming cocktail dubbed Explosive Ember—brandy, chili extract, sparkling water, and iced black tea. Courtesy of Luo Ji, the rugged bartender who ran Puff Bar.
His daughter—a rebellious punkette with a cherry-red mohawk—floated through the bar taking orders. Kay quietly judged her taste in fashion but said nothing.
He scrolled through NightCorp's contractor portal using his Kiroshi optics, planning to book a refurb crew for his workshop.
NightCorp's AI-run remodel teams were expensive but precise. Efficient. Flawless.
But the estimate made him choke.
"150,000 euros for a 120-square-meter overhaul?!" he muttered. "Might as well rob me at gunpoint—it'd be cheaper."
Then a voice spoke beside him.
"Hey, handsome. I'll take a vodka on the rocks—half a spoon of celery salt, thirty mils of tomato juice. No chili water. And put it on the tab of the little brother next to me."
Kay turned slowly.
Sasha had arrived.