Meanwhile, on the street leading to Biotechnica Tower, a heavily modified Goodwood SUV roared like a beast, weaving madly through traffic.
Falco gripped the steering wheel tight, knuckles slightly white from the pressure.
Every shift, every sharp turn—precise and brutal—showcasing Night City's top driving skills.
The vehicle practically kissed other cars' edges as it tore past, wind rattling holographic billboards, triggering a symphony of horns and angry shouts.
"Faster! Falco! What the hell's wrong with you?! Sasha can't wait forever!" Rebecca squirmed in the passenger seat, small fists pounding the vibrating dashboard.
Her green hair practically stood on end from agitation, optic implants locked on their destination ahead—Biotechnica Tower, lit bright under night sky yet radiating invisible oppression, like she could burn through it with her glare alone.
"Rebecca, cool it! This heap's already maxed out!" Falco growled, fine sweat beading his forehead and sliding down to his brow.
Like he wasn't panicking? Sasha had been out of contact way past any infiltration mission's safety threshold. Never a good sign.
In the back seat, Maine's brow was knotted tight.
He tried calling Sasha's encrypted channel again and again, but only got disturbing static and occasional jarring connection failure tones.
"Damn it! Biotechnica's internal jamming field is stronger than we thought!"
Beside him, Pilar nervously fiddled with that "Test Subject One" imitation servo-skull Cairo had lent them.
The modified skull's eye sockets flickered ghostly blue light, hovering quietly in the cabin, radiating an eerie neither-living-nor-dead vibe.
"Hey, boss," Pilar's voice carried desperate hope, "that thing the boss gave us... besides scanning and recording, think it's got other tricks? Like... punching through jamming maybe?"
He clutched at that straw, fingers unconsciously rubbing the skull's cold, smooth metal surface.
Before Maine could answer, Rebecca whipped around, bloodshot optics glaring at Pilar. "Then what the fuck are you waiting for? Try it! Ask that metal head if it can reach Sasha!"
Pilar flinched at her shout, almost instinctively stammering at Test Subject One: "Uh... 'Test Subject One'? Can you... try contacting Sasha? She's our netrunner—might be in deep shit at Biotechnica Tower right now!"
Test Subject One's blue eye sockets immediately brightened and focused. Its mandible clicked faintly, like running internal logic processes.
After brief silence, a voice devoid of emotion filled the tense cabin: "Target identified: Sasha. Cross-referencing communication protocols... Attempting connection... High-intensity corporate-grade signal jamming network detected."
Everyone's hearts sank.
But Test Subject One didn't stop analyzing. It continued in that steady cadence: "Analyzing jamming network vulnerabilities... Attempting non-standard data packet injection and frequency-hopping protocols... Bypassing main gateway... Establishing connection..."
Seconds later, under the crew's disbelieving stares, a weak voice mixed with heavy interference and ragged breathing actually transmitted through Test Subject One's built-in speakers!
"...Pilar? Is... is that you guys? How's that possible..." Sasha's voice, filled with shock and undeniable weakness.
"Sasha! What's your status?!" Pilar shouted excitedly, leaning forward, nearly lunging at the floating skull.
"I'm... trapped... Biotechnica Tower... twenty-seventh floor... east side office area..." Sasha's voice came in fragments, explosions and metal tearing clearly audible in the background. "They're breaking through! How... how did you reach me?"
"Boss's new toy!" Rebecca snatched the conversation, voice rising with excitement, almost cracking. "Sasha! Listen! We're almost there! Hold on! Don't do anything stupid! Find somewhere solid and hide!"
On the other end, Sasha went silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her tone turned urgently resolute: "No! Don't come! This time's different! It's my personal business! I can't drag you into this! Biotechnica's on full alert! You'll just be throwing your lives away!"
"Fuck that noise!" Rebecca exploded instantly, roaring at the skull. "What do you mean 'personal business'?! You're one of ours! Family! Get it?! Family! Shove that 'don't drag you down' bullshit right back where it came from!
Sit tight and wait! We're coming to get you! You borrowed my plasma pistol! And you owe me a drink! You die before paying up, I'll dig you out of your grave just to kick your ass!"
Rebecca's roar blasted through the comm link like a scorching metal storm—pure stubborn concern burning beneath the fury—hammering into Sasha on the other end.
"...Rebecca..." Sasha's voice carried barely suppressed emotion, but was immediately cut off by intensifying, closer gunfire.
The signal violently fluctuated, her voice becoming garbled: "...They're coming in!... Plasma gun overheated... I have to..."
Bzzzzt—!
Communication abruptly severed. Only heart-wrenching dead tone filled the cabin.
"Sasha! Sasha! Fuck!" Rebecca frantically pounded Test Subject One's cold shell like that could reconnect that lifeline.
"We're here!" Falco slammed the brakes. The Goodwood's tires screamed against pavement in ear-splitting friction, finally stopping one block from Biotechnica Tower's main entrance.
They couldn't go further—the airspace around the tower was completely sealed by hovercars flashing blinding emergency lights. Low altitude swarmed with reconnaissance drones buzzing like bloodthirsty locusts.
At ground entrances, heavy blast gates thundered down. Fully armed security personnel in standard Biotechnica armor had constructed tight defensive lines, muzzles coldly trained outward.
"Shit! Too late!" Maine slammed his fist against the door with a dull boom, face ashen.
This response level far exceeded a blown infiltration job. Biotechnica clearly considered Sasha a major threat requiring elimination.
Rebecca stared at the fortress-like defenses, eyes instantly bloodshot.
"Screw it! We're going in! Getting Sasha out!" She screamed and grabbed the door handle, but Maine's strong arm pinned her down.
"Rebecca! Get a grip! Look outside! That's corporate security forces! Not street punks! You charge in there, you'll be swiss cheese in one second! Won't save Sasha, just get us all killed!" Maine's roar was like ice water, trying to douse Rebecca's near-suicidal impulse—though his own arm restraining her trembled faintly.
Storming a corporate stronghold head-on was a death sentence universally acknowledged by Night City mercs. No one could handle those consequences.
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