"Hmm… this..." Biersen paused, the cigarette dangling between his fingers.
As an information officer, his daily workload wasn't as glamorous or exhausting as people believed. He wasn't hammering away at a keyboard like in those holovids. With AI doing most of the heavy lifting, his job mostly involved sorting through data flagged for manual review, monitoring local surveillance feeds, and watching out for intrusions or unauthorized access.
On slow days, he smoked, played games, and occasionally bantered with his coworkers.
It was a simple life—not particularly exciting, but peaceful enough. Still, the pay wasn't great. Four thousand eurodollars a month might seem decent, but for someone supporting a pregnant wife and a sick mother, it barely scratched the surface. If he lost his job, his entire family would collapse into ruin. There was no backup plan. No safety net.
His wife used to work, helping support the household, but now that her belly had grown too large, she couldn't hold a job. Biersen was desperate for side income.
That was why Leon Black's offer stuck with him.
He'd heard whispers—colleagues who'd done similar things. They passed along seemingly harmless internal data to certain security units in exchange for "service bonuses." Nothing earth-shattering. No classified documents. Just enough intelligence to be useful but low-risk. Most importantly, it paid. Over time, those bonuses added up.
"You hate those gangs, don't you?" Leon's voice broke his thoughts. "They don't work. They don't build anything. They just extort, steal, and live off others. I'm guessing you've paid their protection fees before, right?"
Biersen didn't respond, but the flicker in his eyes gave Leon his answer.
"Then let us clean them out. You help us with the intel, we'll do the dirty work."
Leon threw an arm around Biersen's shoulder and pointed toward the towering skyline of Night City. Skyscrapers stretched into the heavens, their chrome skins flashing in the morning sun. Below them, a river of workers bustled across the bridges, weaving through vendors and neon-lit alleys.
In Night City, owning a small apartment in a public housing block meant you were climbing up. It wasn't much, but it was better than the gutter.
All around them, people were off to grueling jobs at cyberware factories, agro-tech labs, and auto plants. All of it to bring home barely enough to survive.
"Help us out," Leon said smoothly. "We clean up the trash, make the streets safer, and you get paid on the side. Everyone wins. That's killing two birds with one stone. Why not?"
Biersen stared at the skyline, and something clicked in him.
He hated the city. Hated its decay, its cruelty. But he had learned to live with it—what choice did he have?
Still… maybe he didn't have to just live with it. Maybe there was something he could do.
He clenched his jaw, flicked his cigarette to the pavement, and crushed it beneath his scuffed boot.
"What do you need me to do?"
Leon grinned. He pulled a pen and a small notepad from his jacket, scribbled a series of numbers, and handed it to him.
"It's not about what I need. We'll act on the info you provide, Boss."
The term "Boss" always worked on Night City natives. It gave them a brief illusion of power, a moment to rise above the grind.
Biersen stood straighter, brushed off his collar, and took the note with both hands.
"I'll call you soon," he said, walking off with an air of purpose.
He didn't ask for Leon's name. He knew how security departments worked—aliases were standard. Leon didn't ask Biersen's name either. He didn't need to.
Getting information on lower-tier employees in a megacorp was child's play. Spend a little money, and you could get an entire dossier. After all, corporations rarely valued their foot soldiers.
Leaning on the railing of the cross-sea bridge, the sunrise glinting off the waves, Leon exhaled and murmured, "What a truly free city."
---
Elsewhere, in a safehouse, V slowly stirred from unconsciousness. Her face was pale, her injuries severe, but she was alive. She sat up, chewing food with her left hand while listening to Viktor's update.
"You said someone contacted you to come save us?" she asked groggily.
"Yeah," Viktor replied, eyes on his cyberware scanner. "But I couldn't trace who it was. They rerouted Delamain's system remotely. That's some high-level netrunning."
Delamain, the AI driver system, was notoriously rigid. It followed its programmed routes without deviation, no matter how dire the circumstances. Back when V begged it to take them to Viktor's clinic, it refused. She'd been furious—wanted to rip out its neural core. But now, someone had hacked it mid-mission and forced a stop.
Who could've done that?
T-Bug? No, unlikely. She flatlined the moment she went dark. V had believed she was an elite netrunner, but she didn't even survive long enough to breach Arasaka's inner systems.
V and Jackie had been left to fight their way out. Jackie had taken the worst of it.
Her mind drifted to the mission's root.
Afterlife.
The dimly lit bar of legends. That's where it began.
"Hello, my name is Evelyn Parker." The woman had sat beside her, legs crossed, blue hair shimmering under neon light, voice sultry and smooth.
V had barely lifted her gaze, slurping beer. "You need something?"
"You're taking the job to hit Konpeki Plaza, right?"
That snapped V to attention. Her right hand drifted toward her waistband, fingers brushing the grip of her pistol.
"How do you know that?"
"It was my commission." Evelyn exhaled smoke from her cigarette. "Mind if we talk?"
They moved to a private booth.
"I'll be direct," Evelyn began. "I don't want you to give the item to Dexter Deshawn once you have it. Bring it to me."
V frowned. "Why?"
"Because I don't like giving Deshawn a cut that big. You give it to me, I'll pay you 30% more than what he offered. Win-win."
V hesitated. The mercenary code was clear—don't bypass the fixer. If you do, your name spreads fast, and nobody wants to work with a disloyal runner. Still, Evelyn's offer was tempting.
"And if you have... other needs," Evelyn purred, sliding her finger up V's thigh, "I can fulfill those too."
Night City didn't judge. It only asked if you could pay.
V leaned back. "Let me get the chip first."
"Smart girl." Evelyn slid her number into V's palm before disappearing into the crowd.
Now, back in the present, V shook off the memory and stared down at the chip she had hidden away. Its design looked like one of Arasaka's original Relics, but something about it felt outdated—like a prototype or forgotten version.
"Is this thing even worth anything?" she mumbled.
Whatever it was, it had caused this whole mess.
She tucked it away again and turned to Viktor. "How's Jack?"
"I spoke to his mother. He's on ice in a biopod. But whether he recovers depends on luck and treatment."
V's heart sank.
Jackie had been her rock. Her friend. Loyal, brave, larger than life. His dream was to become a legend at Afterlife—and now he was comatose, teetering on the edge of death.
"But there's a chance," Viktor added. "If you can get your hands on advanced neural repair fluid from Biotech, he might pull through."
V's eyes lit up. "You serious?"
Viktor nodded. "It's rare. But it exists."
V clenched her fists. "Hang in there, Jack. I'll find it—whatever it takes."
---
Meanwhile, Leon Black lounged on a high-end sofa, puffing on a cigar in Dexter Deshawn's lavish apartment. The fixer sat across from him, thick fingers wrapped around a whiskey glass.
"Have you heard anything lately about Konpeki Plaza?" Leon asked, flicking ash off his cigar.
Dexter narrowed his eyes. "And if I have?"
"Relax," Leon said with a chuckle. "I'm not here to pry. Just doing my job. You know Arasaka's got its hands full right now. The suits are scrambling. They want those intruders found. And I've been... encouraged to assist in gathering leads."
Dexter relaxed slightly, but tension lingered in his shoulders.
Shit. He hadn't expected the job to blow up like that. It was just supposed to be a quick grab—a smooth gig. Instead, Arasaka went full lockdown, and now his name might be tied to it.
He had to find V. Had to clean this mess up before it got worse.
Leon leaned back, watching the fixer carefully.
He could tell.
Dexter was sweating. And that meant opportunity.
pàtreøn (Gk31)