A The Afterlife's thick soundproof glass barely contained the roar of the bar, but in the Maine Team's usual booth, the atmosphere was a supernova—hot, loud, and full of sparks.
"Ha! You should've seen those Corp gonks' faces!" Pilar waved his newly optimized arm, spittle flying near Rebecca, while he twirled an empty glass like a magician. "Their escort vehicle had just raised its interception field when Maine hit them with the EMP—zzzzzt! The whole convoy's electronics went flatline! Like a bunch of choked chickens, they couldn't even twitch!"
Rebecca gave Pilar a sharp kick to the shin to shut him up, but her own cheeks were flushed with hype, her green cyber-eyes shining bright in the dim, smoky light. "My plasma iron hadn't even warmed up, and Dorio had already smashed the last idiot trying to resist, armor and all, into the pavement! Biotechnica's security? Not even a preem speed bump!"
Maine was deeply ensconced in the large sofa, a satisfied smirk etched on his face. His fingers unconsciously caressed the heavy metal case at his feet. This case held the crucial haul: not only the batch of rare two-wheat seeds worth a mountain of Eddies on the black market, but also the specific catalysts and gene-modifying serum concentrates listed on Osiris's manifest for Dorio's deep biochemical overhaul.
This successful gig—an outright attack on a major corporate convoy—had secured the payment for their "boss" in one go, boosting their crew's street cred higher than ever. The confidence fueled by their recent tune-ups surged through every member. Even the usually composed Falco had a sharper glint in his eyes.
"With this haul, the boss will deliver on his promise," Maine's low voice was filled with triumph. "Once Dorio's chrome is optimized, we'll be zeroing far tougher gigs and cement our status in Night City."
Dorio said little, simply tilting her head back and taking a long swig of her drink, pure, potential power flowing beneath her bronzed skin. She was ready for the upgrade—it meant protecting her team and crushing obstacles more efficiently.
However, amidst the rising wave of aggression and excitement, Sasha in the corner seemed completely disconnected. The drink in front of her was untouched, her hood pulled low, hiding her tightly pressed, bloodless lips.
Her fingers unconsciously traced the cold glass, her gaze distant, lost somewhere in her own wetware. When Pilar described how they burned the Biotechnica marked goods, her body stiffened imperceptibly.
Just then, Maine's private comm channel flickered. It was Faraday, a fixer known for his slick corporate infiltration work.
"Hey, Maine. I hear you are making noise lately," Faraday's smooth cadence chimed in. "I've got a small gig; don't know if you're too big-time now. It's some research data from inside Biotechnica—needs to be extracted quietly. Payment, as usual."
In the past, Maine would've taken the job. But now, it felt beneath them.
"Biotechnica? Why them again?" Maine's tone held a hint of impatience. "Faraday, we've got bigger fish to fry. This sneaking around..."
"I'll take it." A cool, precise voice interrupted him.
It was Sasha. She looked up, her amber eyes fixed on Maine, her gaze calm but undeniably firm: "I can handle this gig solo."
Maine paused, and the rest of the crew looked at Sasha in surprise. Core members didn't run solo, especially for infiltration.
"Sasha, you sure?" Maine frowned. "Even for data theft, Biotechnica's internal ICE is no joke."
"I'm aware," Sasha's voice remained steady, overly calm. "Precisely because we just hit their convoy, their external defenses are focused on retaliation. Their internal security will be spread thin. Alone, I'm a smaller target, more flexible."
Her reasons were logical, but Maine's gut told him something was off. He scrutinized Sasha, but her eyes gave away nothing.
"Alright," Maine finally conceded, his vigilance dulled by the recent victory. "Since you insist. What support do you need?"
"None. Just give me the target data and access point information." Sasha stood up, her movements light and silent. "I'll move tonight."
Sasha left the booth and walked toward the exit. Rebecca, frowning and clutching her massive plasma pistol, quickly followed her out.
"Hey! Sasha!" Rebecca called out at the bar entrance.
Sasha stopped and turned, her face hidden in the neon-drenched shadow. "Rebecca?"
"Are you preem?" Rebecca asked directly, her green optics scrutinizing her friend. "You've been acting weird since we got here. Is this... something about Biotechnica?"
Sasha was silent for a moment, the Night City wind rustling her hair. She shook her head gently. "I'm fine. Just tired."
"Don't give me that malarkey!" Rebecca snapped. "We just pulled a heavy gig; you should be as hyped as that gonk Pilar. Do you have some past beef with Biotechnica?" She tried to soften her tone, her eyes showing genuine concern.
Sasha's lips trembled slightly, but she shook her head again. "I'm fine, Rebecca. Don't worry about me. It's just a simple data theft."
Knowing further questions were useless, Rebecca sighed and pressed her heavy, warm plasma pistol into Sasha's hand: "Here. Take this. Even if you're a stealth slick, just in case... I mean, in case you run into something heavy, this iron is way better than your pocket piece. And don't you dare lose it, you hear?"
Sasha looked down at the rugged, destructive weapon, then met Rebecca's fiercely protective gaze. A faint ripple of emotion seemed to disturb the cold surface of her focus. She nodded softly, carefully tucking the pistol inside her ballistic jacket: "Thank you, choom."
"Buy me a stiff drink when you get back!" Rebecca patted her arm firmly, watching her turn and dissolve into the deep shadows of the City.
When Rebecca returned to the booth, Maine had already stood up. "Alright, we should roll. The sooner we deliver the goods to the Boss, the sooner Dorio's modifications can begin." He picked up the metal case, anticipation returning to his face.
Rebecca looked at the elated Pilar, the steady Falco, and the focused Dorio and Maine. Her vague worry about Sasha was temporarily suppressed by the team's high morale. Maybe Sasha was just tired.
The team left the Afterlife, driving towards the familiar, secretive desert wasteland. Meanwhile, Sasha, the quiet netrunner, was moving alone, a singular, desperate resolve burning in her eyes, unrelated to the team's mission, as she infiltrated the cold steel jungle of the Biotechnica Tower. Rebecca's plasma pistol rested heavily against her chest, a warm and restless heartbeat.