Chapter 20 – This Is Not Over Yet
> "You guys are absolutely crazy!"
Kiwi's voice cut through the squad comms like a whip. Her usual calm, calculated tone was gone—replaced by disbelief and restrained fury. Static crackled around her words, but the message was clear.
> "We're not just poking a gang nest anymore, Maine. You realize this is corpo business? We should've pulled out the second we saw the Arata logo!"
From her position in the second car, Kiwi's pale face was lit by the glow of holographic code racing down her neural HUD. Her cigarette trembled slightly between her fingers.
They were all insane.
She'd seen plenty of reckless crews before—runners who thought they were invincible. But Maine's crew? They were professionals. Veterans. They weren't supposed to be this stupid.
> "Crazy?"
Maine's deep voice came through, crackling with that unshakable confidence that made people follow him into hell.
"Kiwi, you're already in this business. What are you afraid of? You wanna live forever?"
He laughed—a deep, rolling laugh that felt like it could drown out gunfire.
> "If you don't take risks and go after the big corps, you think your life's gonna get better here? Nah. You either get crushed under the wheels or grab the steering column and drive."
Rebecca barked out a loud laugh in the background.
> "Don't worry, Kiwi! I'll protect you!"
"Protect me?" Kiwi muttered, eyes narrowing. "You'll probably get us all killed first."
Still, she didn't disconnect. She could've. But she didn't.
Because Maine was right about one thing: in Night City, doing nothing was just a slower way to die.
---
Adrian sat quietly in the back of the car, fingers brushing over the hilt of the Arata nanothermal katana resting against his thigh. The blade hummed faintly even through its sheath, radiating subtle heat. It was a thing of beauty and horror—sleek, lethal, impossibly sharp.
When he swung it earlier, it had sliced through steel like air.
He hadn't felt fear then—only focus.
But now, with Kiwi's voice echoing in his ears and the city lights blurring past, he felt something else creeping in.
Unease.
This wasn't a simple gig anymore. They were deep in corporate territory now, and corps didn't forgive mistakes.
His gaze drifted toward Maine, sitting up front, broad shoulders filling half the driver's seat.
Even in chaos, Maine looked invincible—half man, half tank, chrome arms gleaming under the dashboard lights. He was a walking statement of defiance.
And yet, Adrian could see it—the microtwitches in Maine's jaw, the tension behind the bravado.
He was forcing it.
They all were.
---
> Maine: "Alright, chooms, time to make some noise. We're getting close."
Adrian: "Noise?"
Maine: "Yeah. Let 'em know we're here."
Adrian exhaled, reached into the weapons cabinet, and pulled out the Masamune rifle—Arata's top-shelf black ops firearm. It was brutal and elegant, shaped like a parallelogram of death, all sharp edges and quiet menace.
He admired it briefly, fingers brushing the trigger guard.
> "No way this came off the black market," he muttered.
Sasha: "Focus. You're not window-shopping."
He smirked, slinging the rifle over his shoulder, then strapped the katana to his back. The juxtaposition of high-tech steel and ancient form fit perfectly in his hands.
"Alright," Adrian said into the comms. "Let's start the show."
---
> Sasha: "Here's your layout. There are five in the main garage, seven outside by the fuel yard. They're coordinating with an auxiliary feed, so once I kill their net connection, you'll have sixty seconds before they switch to local comms."
Maine: "Copy. Dorio and I breach through the main gate. Adrian, you slip in first. Draw their eyes. Make it messy."
Rebecca: "Heheh, messy's my middle name."
Kiwi: "Rebecca, please don't—"
Rebecca: "Already loaded, baby!"
The plan was insane. It was suicide.
And it was perfect.
---
Adrian stepped out of the car and into the night. The air was thick with the smell of oil, smoke, and ozone. Far in the distance, thunder rolled over Santo Domingo's skyline—a synthetic storm generated by weather drones. The neon shimmered on puddles of rain-slick asphalt.
He crouched low and moved along the wall toward the garage, Sasha feeding him a digital overlay of the compound through his HUD.
Every enemy position pulsed as a red silhouette.
Every camera sweep was mapped in real time.
> Sasha: "Alright, kid. You're live. Have fun."
He smirked. "Define fun."
Then he moved.
---
The first kill was clean.
A guard leaned against the wall, smoking, humming some old pre-war tune.
The nanothermal blade whispered through the air—hiss—and the man was gone before his cigarette hit the ground.
The smell of scorched flesh filled the air.
> Rebecca (over comms): "Ooooh! That sounded juicy!"
Dorio: "Rebecca, mute your mic."
Adrian didn't stop. He slipped deeper into the repair bay, shadows clinging to him like armor.
Voices echoed from within—Sixth Street members joking, cursing, complaining about missed parties. Their laughter was cut short by the metallic shriek of Adrian's blade slicing through steel and bone.
Blood sprayed across a chrome bumper, steam rising where it hit the heated blade.
"Enemy attack!" someone screamed.
Then hell broke loose.
---
Gunfire erupted. The repair bay became a storm of noise—bullets ricocheting off concrete, sparks flying as rounds clanged against car frames.
Adrian dove behind a reinforced truck chassis, the impact of bullets rattling through the metal like thunder.
He exhaled, counted beats in his head. Wait for reload… wait… now.
He rolled out, rifle snapping up, bursts of precise fire cutting through two silhouettes at once. His thermal vision painted the scene in shades of red and blue—the heat signatures of bodies, the cold outlines of weapons.
> Sasha: "Three down. Two moving left flank."
Adrian: "On it."
He darted sideways, grabbed a wrench from a tool cart, and hurled it at the ceiling light. The flash disoriented the enemies long enough for him to close the gap.
One swing—headless.
Two swings—bisected at the waist.
The katana sang in his hands, and for a fleeting second, Adrian felt alive. Every movement was pure instinct, every strike perfect synchronization between man and machine.
But the euphoria didn't last.
---
The roar of an engine shattered the gunfire.
"Boom!"
A car smashed through the side wall, scattering debris and blood. Concrete dust filled the air as headlights flared through the smoke.
> Rebecca: "Surprise, motherfuckers!"
The door burst open, and Maine charged out—massive chrome arms glinting like molten metal. He grabbed the nearest gang member by the face and slammed him into the wall hard enough to leave an imprint.
"Sixth Street my ass!" he roared, ripping the man's head clean off.
Rebecca leaned out the car window, twin submachine guns blazing, giggling as bullets chewed through metal and flesh. "Bang bang, baby! Who's next?!"
Adrian ducked just as a grenade detonated near the entrance, the blast flinging two bodies across the room. Dorio's voice thundered in the comms:
> "Push forward! Don't let them regroup!"
The Sixth Street soldiers moved with terrifying coordination—ducking, flanking, communicating with coded clicks and gestures. Their discipline was military, their tactics sharp. But Maine's team was faster, deadlier, hungrier.
Maine charged through the crossfire, bullets sparking harmlessly off his reinforced chestplate. Dorio covered him from behind, precision bursts cutting down stragglers.
"Rebecca! Watch the top gantry!" Dorio shouted.
> "Already did!"
The upper walkway exploded, sending a sniper tumbling in a shower of sparks.
---
Adrian spun as a shadow lunged behind him. He barely blocked the strike—a cybernetic arm gleamed in the dim light. The Sixth Street enforcer grinned, eyes glowing orange. "Nice toy, choom. Let's see how it fares against chrome."
Adrian didn't answer. He parried, pivoted, sliced through the man's arm, then drove his blade through his chest.
"Guess it fares fine," Adrian muttered.
> Kiwi: "Focus. You're not done yet."
The tone in her voice snapped him back.
She was monitoring their battle remotely, intercepting gang comms, cutting off reinforcements. Sweat dripped down her temple as she worked.
> "They've got backup mobilizing from the north alley. Twenty seconds out."
Maine: "Then we finish this in nineteen!"
The floor trembled as Maine charged another wave, crushing a man's skull with a single punch.
Adrian leapt atop a car hood, bullets slicing past his legs, and hurled a grenade through the open doorway. The explosion was deafening—metal shrapnel whirling through the smoke like razors.
Screams followed. Then silence.
---
When the dust cleared, the repair bay was a massacre of glowing embers and shattered chrome.
Rebecca stood panting beside the car, laughing breathlessly.
"Holy shit, that was beautiful!"
Sasha slumped against the dashboard, eyes glowing faintly from neural feedback. Her skin steamed. "Remind me… next time… to bring a cooling unit."
Kiwi's voice came through, quieter now.
> "You're clear. Perimeter's cold. But you better move—reinforcements will swarm the block in under five minutes."
Maine cracked his neck, wiping blood from his prosthetic knuckles.
"Alright. Grab everything worth stealing and haul ass."
Rebecca whooped, diving into the nearest weapons locker like a kid in a candy store. "Ohhh, jackpot! Shingens, Tamakis, smart rounds, and—holy chrome tits—look at these mods!"
Dorio shot her a look. "Grab, don't gawk."
Adrian approached another locker and opened it—rows of rifles, ammo crates, and high-grade cybernetic implants glinting under dim lights.
> Maine: "Load it all. Fast."
The team worked quickly, hands slick with oil and blood, adrenaline still surging through their veins.
Kiwi monitored from afar, guiding them through the clean-up. "Two blocks over, I see patrol pings. You've got maybe three minutes before the scanners sweep the grid."
"Then we're done here," Adrian said.
---
They loaded the last crate into the car. Maine turned, taking one last look at the burning garage.
His beloved purple car was wrecked—its front end crumpled, bullet holes peppering its hood. He muttered a curse. "That was a new damn paint job…"
Rebecca climbed into the passenger seat, still laughing. "Hey, boss, look at it this way—adds character."
"Yeah? You want me to add character to your face, too?" Maine grumbled, sliding behind the wheel.
---
As they sped away, the neon lights of Santo Domingo streaked past like comets. The team sat in silence for a few moments, the high of battle fading into the heavy quiet of realization.
The air smelled like gunpowder and burnt plastic.
> Maine: "Alright, crew. Let's call it. We find that fixer—Koff—and make him talk. He set us up, sold us into a corpo job without warning."
Dorio: "You think he's still breathing after that?"
Maine: "If he is, I'll fix that mistake."
Kiwi's voice crackled through the comms, weary but controlled.
> "Maine, this isn't over yet. You realize you've just raided an Arata facility. Even if they use gangs as fronts, they'll trace the breach. You'll be on someone's hitlist before the sun's up."
Maine grinned, teeth flashing gold in the mirror. "Then they better send their best."
Rebecca punched the air, giggling. "Hell yeah! Bring it on!"
Sasha groaned softly, resting her head against the window. "You people are insane."
Adrian sat in silence, watching the city blur past.
Night City looked beautiful from here—like a dream made of neon and blood.
But beneath that beauty, he saw the same truth reflected in every puddle and holo-sign.
This city didn't let go of anyone.
> System Prompt: [Mission Complete – "Unexpected Events in Buying and Selling"]
[New Objective: Track Down Fixer "Koff"]
[Note: "There are no clean jobs in Night City. Only unfinished ones."]
Adrian's fingers tightened on the katana hilt. The blade hummed faintly, as if it understood.
He looked up at Maine. "What's next?"
Maine exhaled smoke, eyes hard but burning with purpose.
"We find Koff," he said. "And then… we remind the city who the fuck we are."
The car roared down the highway toward Afterlife, leaving behind a trail of smoke and fire..
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