Night City's neon lights spread like some proliferating virus beneath heavy pollution clouds, dyeing the entire sky a sickly purple-red.
Acid rain intermittently pelted the car windows, leaving murky traces.
Rebecca gripped the steering wheel tightly. This patched-up Goodwood at least no longer spewed black smoke, but driving it still felt like it could fall apart any moment.
Tires crushed through puddles, splashing up dirty water reflecting chaotic advertising light pollution like an overturned paint palette.
Pilar fidgeted in the passenger seat, metal fingers repeatedly rubbing the just-"optimized" left shoulder interface. Synthetic skin and mechanical parts grinding made teeth-grinding sounds.
The car rushed across an overpass, its body covered in corporate advertisements like some visual plague.
The barren wasteland was gradually swallowed by chaotic mega-structures.
Holographic billboards showed virtual idols blowing kisses to traffic streams while alleys below reeked of burning garbage and chemicals.
The air mixed with exhaust's pungency, cooking oil's greasiness, and that never-dissipating burnt electronic component smell—this was Night City's fucking smell.
"Feels like a century passed." Rebecca muttered quietly.
Her newly installed optic implant automatically adjusted aperture, neon streaming light floating on her green iris.
Optical components silently focused, pulling details of a gang firefight several blocks away into view—bullet trajectories, concrete fragments, a figure staggering to the ground.
She quickly looked away. Now wasn't the time to find trouble.
"Like we took a trip to hell." Pilar adjusted his flashy fluorescent goggles, sighing. "Still gotta make up a story to feed Maine... I keep feeling uneasy, sis. That 'red robe freak'... that thing he installed..."
He unconsciously touched the back of his neck where only a barely visible minimally invasive scar remained.
"Shut up, Pilar!" Rebecca hissed quietly, like an agitated wildcat. "Unified story! We just ran into some tech solo in the desert! Weird as hell, but his craft was fucking amazing!
He fixed the car, healed your busted shoulder, upgraded my eyes—price was just helping him get some 'special goods'! That simple!"
"What robe, skulls, those... tentacle-like things... keep it all buried in your stomach!"
She paused, tone softening slightly: "Not forever hiding from Maine... just can't say now. That stuff's too weird—if we tell him, Maine will definitely think our brains fried.
Wait till we get what he wants, complete the first transaction, let him see with his own eyes the benefits of the real thing... then come clean."
"Fine fine fine..." Pilar raised both hands in surrender. "But Maine's not that easy to fool."
"Which is why we stick to the story!" Rebecca irritably slapped the steering wheel. The horn wheezed like an asthmatic. "Think about what he gave us! Think about the high-grade stuff he promised! Think about us not getting chopped up and fed to garbage compactors by Maelstrom! This little risk is nothing!"
She flashed a cunning smile, showing sharp canines. "We didn't completely lie, just didn't tell the whole truth, get it? Once the deal's done and Maine sees the benefits with his own eyes, explaining then will be easier. Say it now, he'll definitely think it's too risky and cut this connection."
Pilar helplessly shook his head but his gaze gradually became resolute.
In Night City, power and opportunity were oxygen, and that mysterious "red robe freak" had given them both.
Keep secrets? Just the price of survival.
The car crushed over broken asphalt, driving into Watson District's northern industrial park.
Rusted pipes twisted and coiled overhead like a monster's blood vessels.
They turned into a warehouse with an abandoned logistics company sign. Tires pressed over years of accumulated grease.
Maine's crew's temporary base was here.
Engine killed, the warehouse silence was broken by familiar footsteps.
Dorio's tall figure first emerged from shadows. Her sharp gaze swept over the vehicle and the two, face mixing worry and suppressed fury.
"You two little shits!" She strode close, voice containing thunder. "Four whole days! Not a word! We thought Maelstrom dismantled you for scrap parts!"
Rebecca and Pilar hastily got out.
"Hey, Dorio! Relax!" Pilar tried covering nervousness with his usual flippant manner. "We made it back in one piece!"
"One piece?" Maine's deep voice came from deeper shadows.
He paced out, massive frame carrying invisible oppression. Cyberoptic eyes flickered with cold scanning light, carefully scrutinizing them both. "Your car doesn't look 'one piece.'"
His gaze lingered on Rebecca's abnormally clear optic implant and Pilar's freely moving left shoulder. "And... you two look 'upgraded.'"
Rebecca's heartbeat skipped, but she quickly put on an expression mixing pride and lingering fear: "Fuck, don't even mention it! Almost really didn't make it back! Those Maelstrom cyber psychos chased us till we were out of ammo, car nearly became Swiss cheese!"
"So how'd you get away?" Falco's voice drifted down from the second floor platform's metal stairway.
He leaned on the rusty railing, holding a data pad, eyes sharp as crosshairs.
Pilar took over, beginning to recite their carefully rehearsed story: desperate flight through the desert, stumbling by accident into a half-buried repair shop, running into a reclusive, technically brilliant but temperamental tech solo.
They carefully filtered out all supernatural and bizarre details, packaging him as a typical cyberpunk world freak.
"He was incredible!" Rebecca interjected on cue, exaggeratedly demonstrating her new optic implant functions. "Look! He swapped these for me! Clear enough to count how many eyes flies have five hundred meters away! Pilar's short-circuiting busted shoulder—he fixed that too in passing!"
"As for the price..." She shrugged, pointing to the chip in the car containing his supply list and data collection requirements. "Just help him get some tough stuff—military-grade battery cores, specific frequency neural interface prototypes, some restricted alloys.
Also wants us to record some street 'market whispers' and 'gang gossip.' Said he needs 'research material,' and only wants 'right flavor' goods."
Maine listened silently, face unreadable.
Dorio crossed her arms, brow furrowing tighter.
Falco silently recorded something on his data pad.
"A tech solo? In that kind of place? Wanting these things?" Maine finally spoke, tone steady yet heavy with pressure. "What name? Who'd he work for before?"
"He didn't say," Rebecca shook her head, working to make her expression natural. "Looked like one of those old-school hard cases who hates corps and just wants to tinker alone. Shack was broke as hell, but tools top-notch, craft impeccable!"
"Said these things are hard to get but crucial for his 'project,' willing to trade better tech." She silently added to herself: Wait till you see what he gives us with your own eyes, then explaining the weird parts won't be late.
Maine's gaze swept back and forth over them like a searchlight, enhanced perception capturing every subtle physiological reaction.
Rebecca felt the implant point on her neck faintly burning, as if she'd be exposed the next second.
Pilar unconsciously avoided direct eye contact.
The warehouse fell into brief silence, only distant street sirens and overhead fluorescent tube current noise.
Finally, Maine seemed to temporarily accept this explanation.
He nodded slightly: "Good you're both okay. Next job, get the full picture."
"Falco, verify their list."
"Dorio, get them some food."
Crisis seemingly temporarily averted.
Rebecca and Pilar quietly exhaled in relief, but knew this was just the beginning.
Maine's doubts hadn't completely dissipated, and the secret they were hiding was like a bomb planted in their bodies, ticking away.
The siblings exchanged a glance, both seeing tension and determination in each other's eyes.
This secret must remain buried in their hearts for now.