Chapter 19: This Gig is Going to Shit
As one of Night City's oldest districts, Santo Domingo had witnessed countless chapters of the city's history, changing with the times. During the last Corporate War, its location spared it from the worst of the fighting, leading to a massive influx of refugees. It became a cultural melting pot—which, in Night City, meant a perfect breeding ground for a cheap and desperate labor force.
But the factories that sprang up didn't bring wealth or happiness. The people began to find their own ways to survive, and places like Coronado Ranch became more common. Bars, shops, schools, parks, diners, chop shops... the district even had its own metro line.
And right now, Rhys was inside one of those "chop shops." With Sasha's help, a section of the chain-link fence had been de-powered. A nearby camera, now under her control, swiveled away, becoming her eyes.
Rhys vaulted the fence, dropping into a crouch behind a low, old-fashioned brick building, its paint peeling. From his position, he could see two 6th Street gangers chatting by a rusted oil drum. A heavy machine gun turret was positioned just in front of them.
Listening to the chatter on the crew's comms and looking at the mission details on his internal interface, Rhys realized his system had another useful feature: it could predict the "danger level" of a situation, helping him make better decisions. Still, he had to wonder, who the hell puts a heavy-ordnance weapon in a simple chop shop?
He didn't doubt 6th Street had the hardware, but why here? Santo Domingo was their backyard. What was this thing for? Deterrence?
If you asked Rhys about the merc biz, he might not have much to say. But if you asked him about the street, he could talk for days. Since '73, 6th Street had been constantly clashing with the Valentinos and the Tyger Claws. Why would they keep a weapon like this in their rear echelon instead of on the front lines? The Mox didn't have anything close to this kind of firepower.
And Sasha had said there were four netrunners here. Was this a joke? Was this level of security really just for a chop shop?
Rhys waited for Sasha's signal, listening to the two netrunners coordinate.
Sasha: "Kiwi, you ready?"
Kiwi: "I'm in. Camera three... I've got it. Two netrunners in the maintenance bay, jacked in, correct? I'll try to crack the local network firewall, stand by..."
A moment later, Kiwi: "Okay, I'm through. What's the play?"
Sasha: "Not bad. I was worried you'd get hit with a counter-ICE," Sasha's voice held a note of genuine surprise. "Link to the interface I'm sending you. Got it? See? Those two are our primary targets. If we don't take them out first, we risk getting our location traced the moment we breach. They could spot Rhys."
Sasha: "Remember the objective. We need him alive."
Kiwi: "Understood," she said, her tone professional.
Rhys listened, a strange feeling creeping over him. The Kiwi from the anime was professional, capable, but also cold, selfish, and taciturn. This Kiwi, however, was showing a clear respect for Sasha.
Sasha: "Alright... let's dance!"
Sasha was a pro. And unlike the deckheads who spent their lives strapped into a netrunning chair, she was an excellent operative in the field. She made the call instantly.
Sasha: "Rhys, you have twenty seconds. The moment Pilar hits the signal jammer, Kiwi and I will cut all cameras and alarms. We'll also disrupt the connection of the two netrunners in the office. You need to get into the maintenance bay and neutralize the two deckheads jacked into the external net. Now."
Rhys: "Twenty seconds?"
Sasha: "Not enough?"
Rhys: "More than enough," he said, looking up at the ventilation shaft above.
Sasha: "Good. Kiwi, Rhys, on my mark..."
Three seconds later, her voice was sharp and clear. Sasha: "Go!"
BZZT—
Rhys saw the camera in the distance droop. In the same instant, he pushed off, launching himself nearly three meters into the air. His hands caught the edge of the roof, and he vaulted up, landing silently before sprinting towards the ventilation duct. Two cameras and an automated turret on the roof powered down simultaneously.
CRUNCH!
He ripped the vent cover off and slid inside.
Sasha: "Left!"
The voice echoed in his head. The moment he dropped into the building's interior, he darted left, a combat knife already in his hand.
"Huh?"
A 6th Street ganger by a kitchen replicator heard the sound and turned, but his world immediately went black. A large hand clamped over his face, blinding him. As terror seized him, he opened his mouth to scream, but a sudden coldness at his throat turned it into a choked gurgle. The last thing he felt was a warm gush between his fingers as he clawed at his neck. The last thing he saw was a black-haired young man grabbing his legs.
Sasha: "Seventeen seconds!"
Rhys gently lowered the body into a corner. A camera behind him swiveled to watch his position—Sasha, keeping an eye on him.
Sasha: "Kiwi, now!"
As Rhys crept out of the kitchen, he saw through a glass window into an office. A man and a woman in 6th Street gear, both wearing netrunner optics, went limp in their chairs as the smell of burnt chrome and ozone filled the air.
He slipped into the maintenance bay and saw them—two more netrunners, slumped in their chairs, full headsets on. They were jacked into a network, and from the look of their rigs, it wasn't the city's public net. That made things easier.
He moved forward, two swift, silent cuts.
Then, he turned to a row of lockers. He opened one, and his jaw tightened.
"He's already dead," Rhys said to the whole crew. "And Maine... this guy's not going to be easy to transport."
Maine: "What do you mean?"
Rhys: "I mean our target is in three pieces. Looks like a head, a torso, and a leg. Which one do you want?"
He crouched down, disgustedly prodding a chrome leg with the tip of his knife. He was about to take a picture for Maine when he moved the leg aside and froze. The dismembered head in the locker was Asian. Not Mexican, like Pilar had guessed.
Rhys: "We've got a huge problem, Maine!"
Maine: "What?"
Rhys shot up, yanked open another locker, and found... a stash of high-grade weapons. Several SMGs, a few assault rifles, two sniper rifles, and a case full of top-shelf grenades. Two black-steel katanas were even hanging on the inside of the door.
He immediately went to a nearby terminal, pulled the data cable from his left wrist, and jacked in.
[AUTHENTICATION FAILED—]
Shit, it's encrypted!
"Sasha, I need a password crack," Rhys said, feeding her the data stream. "Now."
Maine: "Hold on, Rhys, what are you doing?"
But Sasha was already in. This was her specialty. If a mega-corp like Biotechnica couldn't keep her out, 6th Street's shitty ICE stood no chance. Three seconds later, the terminal in front of Rhys lit up. He opened the most recent emails, and his face went pale.
[Cpt. Rollins: The lieutenant said to keep a close watch on this guy. Don't let anyone find him. But the stuff in his head is still useful to us. You know what I mean, right?]
[Barris: Understood. But Lieutenant, are we sure we can't keep some of these weapons?]
[Cpt. Rollins: Keep your ass! That hardware goes straight to the Captain!]
[Cpt. Rollins: The eddies from Militech were just for grabbing the corpo-dog. It didn't say anything about us touching the gear. Especially that assault rifle. The corps specifically want that one. Don't be a fucking gonk, Barris. You trying to ruin me?]
[Barris: My mistake, Lieutenant.]
[Cpt. Rollins: Good. Secure the location. The Captain says the Tyger Claws have definitely reported this to Arasaka. This isn't over. But don't worry too much. They won't let it escalate.]
[Barris: Yes, Lieutenant!]
"This is..."
Rhys felt a curse rising in his throat, but as Rita had observed, when he was truly angry, he couldn't swear.
This gig was completely fucked.
Did Maine's crew have some kind of protagonist debuff? How could a simple snatch-and-grab turn into a corporate proxy war? Then again, he thought about V and Jackie stealing a simple data shard and ending up as the assassins of Saburo Arasaka. He thought about Takemura becoming Arasaka's most wanted fugitive over a misunderstanding. The thought was so absurd it was almost funny. He was simultaneously furious and amused.
Maine: "What the hell is going on?"
Rhys copied the emails. He might not be a top-tier netrunner, but five years running with the Mox had taught him a thing or two.
Maine: "That motherfucking fixer!" Maine's voice exploded over the comms after he read the files. "He called this a small job?!" Rhys could hear him smashing something against the car.
Maine: "Pilar, didn't you just say this was gang shit?"
Pilar: "How was I supposed to know?! Anyone would have thought this was between 6th Street and the Valentinos! Who the hell knew the Tyger Claws were involved, let alone..." Pilar didn't even dare to say the names of the two corporations.
Kiwi: "So what's the plan now?" Her voice was ice-cold again. She might have been impressed by Rhys and Sasha, but getting caught in the crossfire between Arasaka and Militech? Not a chance. She wasn't getting zeroed for this.
Maine hesitated. For a hundred and twenty thousand... no, for fifty thousand eddies... this gig was a total loss. But they'd already killed 6th Street gangers, they'd already found the body. The risk was already taken. It felt wrong to walk away with nothing. But the more he thought about it, the more pissed he got. The Biotechnica gig had paid out hundreds of thousands. Fifty K? Was he a fucking beggar?
But then, Rhys sent a picture of the weapons in the locker. A low growl rumbled in Maine's throat.
"Fuck it. We're doing it."
"The email said they won't let it escalate. He means the corps. And Night Corp, they won't let another war break out either. Besides, it's just one unimportant suit and some hardware. The Arasaka branch in Night City won't give a shit about this! This was obviously meant for the Tyger Claws. Everyone knows they're Arasaka's black-ops crew in the city. Worst case, we report this to Rogue. She won't let that gonk fixer get away with screwing us over. He broke the code!"
Maine's rapid-fire rationalizations ended with a single, decisive statement.
"We're comin' in hot, Rhys! Let's fuckin' do this!"