Yogan was back in that apartment building again. Only this time, he didn't scale the outside walls to enter — he took the elevator.
Even though he had a badass-looking female mercenary by his side, the thought of facing those organ-harvesting Scavs again made him sick to his stomach.
"Miss, I don't think I explained it properly earlier…"
"I know. 'There are at least three Scavs in this building, not just three.' You've been muttering it since we got in the elevator."
"Right… but look at it now. You've only got one gun. I really think—"
"I know what I'm doing. Besides, I've got a job to finish, haven't I?"
"No, no, you misunderstood. What I mean is — I'm still young, haven't lived my life yet. How about… letting me off the hook?"
"Let you off? Buddy, I hope you understand, this job might be a little... sensitive."
"I swear I'm not a Scav…"
"I know. But sometimes a good kid from a decent family can turn into a Scav for a few bundles of eurodollars and the right pitch."
At this point, Yogan knew there was no turning back. He had to go all the way.
The woman sighed. "I know what you're worried about. If you really have nothing to do with the Scavs, when you see a familiar face in there — just hit the deck and find cover."
"What about you?"
"Ha, are you stupid or just playing dumb?"
Yogan understood. In Night City, a mercenary either walks away with the cash… or ends up in a grave.
After a short silence, the woman pulled out a sleek pendant from who-knows-where and stuffed it into his chest pocket. "If things go completely sideways, deliver this to the Wild Wolf Bar in Heywood. Give it to someone named Jackie Welles."
"You trust me that much? Aren't you worried I'll just make off with it?"
"Woman's intuition. Besides, I already gave it to you. What are you gonna do now, huh?" She twirled a strand of red hair around her finger. "I know dragging you into this mess was a dick move. But trust me, just yesterday we let some random guy walk away. The bastard turned around and called in an entire crew of kidney thieves to ambush us."
"Wait — we?"
"Yeah. There was someone else on this job with me. He's already dead thanks to those butchers. Took four or five civilians with him too. So don't blame me for keeping you around." She sighed again and muttered, "Knew I'd get screwed over by that asshole."
"Who?"
"Not your business. Just deliver the damn thing."
"Well, what do I call you? I've gotta prove someone gave me this — not that I stole it."
"Tell them Valeria Victorino Bichinia sent you."
"That's too long. I'll never remember it."
She was starting to lose patience. "Fine. Just say V sent you. You can remember V, right?"
Yogan felt a jolt of dread. He realized he'd crossed paths with a cyberpunk grim reaper. Based on his past life gaming experience, he knew what was coming — a bloodbath.
"V?"
"Hmm?"
"How many bullets do you have?"
"You sure ask a lot of questions!"
Right then, the ancient, barely-functioning elevator finally creaked to a stop. V racked the slide of her pistol, checking the mechanism.
"Listen, kid — keep your eyes sharp. I still need you to deliver that pendant."
V stepped out. Yogan quickly followed. Based on his gaming instincts, the place was likely crawling with Scavs already. Ironically, sticking with the protagonist might be his best shot at survival.
"I've got another question." Yogan glanced at V's exasperated expression. "How do you know I'm not a Scav?"
V slowed down a bit, letting him catch up. "This Scav crew is led by someone known on the streets as Hyena — Fabio Domenic. His cousin got iced by the Tyger Claws. Those maniacs not only killed him, they buried him face-down, chopped his hands off, and stuffed them in the coffin."
"Hyena" went ballistic. The Asian lackeys in his crew got torn apart, piece by piece — who knows where the parts ended up. "And stop asking questions."
They arrived at the Scavs' hideout. Shouts and the sounds of fists pounding flesh echoed from inside. V's expression hardened, and she slipped beside the door. Yogan crouched on the other side.
A blue glint flashed in V's eyes — the door silently cracked open. She slipped inside like a shadow. Yogan tiptoed in behind her.
Inside, two Scavs were working someone over — a man tied to a chair. His face was a swollen mess, barely recognizable, but Yogan realized it was the same Scav he'd seen earlier rummaging through a backpack. The louder of the two was clearly the "boss."
Yogan whispered this to V, who nodded and gave him a signal. She moved silently toward a pile of crates, likely trying to squeeze more intel from the Scavs.
The "boss" punched a few more times, then flopped onto the couch, panting. He cracked open a drink and snarled, "Ben, you ungrateful piece of trash. You deserve to get swiss-cheesed by a cyberpsycho. I treated you fair — and you stab me in the back?!"
The man in the chair groaned something unintelligible.
The "boss" popped another drink and barked, "What's this dumbass mumbling about?"
The flunky leaned in, then stood upright and shouted, "Boss! He said: 'I always do the dirty work, but you take the biggest cut. Last time it was your sloppy ass that drew the NCPD, but you threw me under the bus to take the blame!'"
The boss exploded with rage and lunged again, but tired quickly. Just a few more punches before he had to stop and breathe.
The tied-up man mumbled something else.
"What was that? Speak up!" the boss demanded, grabbing him by the hair.
The flunky leaned close again. "Boss… he says he told Hyena about the corporate guy we chopped up — and how we didn't pay the gang's cut."
"What?! Shit!"
The boss jumped to his feet, eyes darting toward the door.
"Wait — Roy, did you close the door?!"
That's when V sprang up from behind the crates — her Nova revolver spitting flame.
The boss reached for his gun but caught a few rounds to the chest, stumbling back over the coffee table. Bottles shattered everywhere. His lackey didn't even turn around before dropping dead.
V dropped her empty mag with a flick, slapped in a new one, and chambered a round in a single fluid motion.
She moved in fast. Yogan followed, scooping up a shotgun and ammo belt before ducking behind a nearby bar counter — remembering V's advice: If you see anyone you recognize, hide.
Once the room was clear, V grabbed the beaten man's collar. "Where's that corpo dog you mentioned?!"
The man groaned something, barely coherent.
"What? Backpack? Which backpack?" "Ugh, fine."
His head drooped.
"Hey! Don't die yet!" V shook him violently.
"Only one corpo killed recently?"
The man nodded faintly… then slumped again.
"Shit! When did you kill him?!"
No answer.
"Damn it." V jabbed a pneumatic stim into his chest.
The stim kicked in — the man lurched upright, coughing violently.
"When did you kill the corpo?! Speak!"
But all he could do was cough. Blood oozed from his mouth and nose.
V swore in Spanish and rammed in another stim.
The man convulsed violently, blood spurting from every orifice.
V shook him even harder. "Damn it! Old Amuedo died for that corpo! Tell me WHEN you killed him!"
"Say it! Say it! Say it!"
His bloodshot eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. Then, through a final scream:
"Friday! April 13th! Friday! April 13th!"
He kept repeating it — over and over — blood pouring from his mouth, nose, ears, and eyes… until finally, silence.