Chapter 5: Resting in Peace

Pain.

That's it. That's the only word I can possibly use to describe the feeling of being hit by a speeding vehicle at a hundred miles an hour. The end result of bruising almost every single organ in my entire body, breaking half my ribs, puncturing one of my lungs, breaking my left arm, my right leg, fracturing my pelvis and inducing a concussion.

Searing, burning, unimaginable pain.

And I could end it all with the press of a button. Specifically, the one on the drip machine next to my bed, which had slowly been feeding morphine into my bloodstream for the past forty-eight hours. That's right, morphine, because in spite of it's supposedly miraculous properties, I didn't trust the new-age drugs of this world one bit. I remembered the story of Thalidomide from my old world, and I wanted to keep all of my limbs, thank you very much, never mind the possibility of a deliberately contaminated dose. If I was going to receive chemical pain relief, I would get it from a good old-fashioned opiate, and I had left instructions to that effect years ago, alongside a hand-picked dosage that I knew hadn't been tampered with.

I had thought it to be a tad paranoid at the time, but after the attempt during my speech, I felt confident in saying it wasn't nearly paranoid enough.

Even with that being the case, I still couldn't take any of the substance, in spite of my shaking hands and burning insides. No, I needed a clear head.

Because I had work to do. A lot of work.

You see, my security team, in a state of panic, had taken a pre-emptive measure to prevent another attempt.

They'd had me declared dead, the fucking morons. And even worse, fearing the presence of a traitor in our ranks, they'd only told the bare-minimum number of people the truth regarding my condition.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciated the sentiment. And the logic behind the strategy was clearly sound. People don't send assassins after dead people, after all. But for fuck's sake, they didn't seem to realise the sheer extent of the damage they had done to my cause by issuing such a statement. Even when I had been alive, the vultures had been circling almost constantly, waiting for a single moment of weakness to come swooping down and go in for the kill. Thus far, I had been there to keep such attempts at bay, but now that I was squirrelled away in a safe-house at the edge of the city, away from all the action, there was no telling what would happen.

I had no doubt that Biotechnica, at the very least, had been enjoying themselves the past few days.

And there was the problem of the fact that my little power-bloc was built atop a house of cards. Dealing with 6th Street alone was like herding cats, and now, without my immediate leadership, who knows what they would do? Undoubtedly, without me to continue to finance them, at least some of them would have returned to their prior lives of crime. That alone wasn't an insurmountable challenge. If, however, they had fractured in half, torn between my vision of the gang and the desire amongst some to return to their criminal roots, then my powerbase would have suffered a significant blow in size and strength both. Still, Gunner was tough, and I didn't doubt he could keep the gang together for a few more days, making 6th Street the least of my worries.

For one thing, Panam was now officially in the wind, and any chances I may have had of getting the Aldecaldos to join ranks with me went with her. And to think, all the effort it took to cosy up with her, all wasted.

For another, my company was supposedly in the midst of a great deal of turmoil. Without me to head it up, essentially the entire operation had basically ground to a halt; shipping orders weren't being filled, crops were being left to rot on their shelves, and workers neglected to come to work, as apparently some moron had suggested the notion of observing a mourning period for the loss of their esteemed founder.

If I weren't so annoyed at the lost revenue, I'd be touched by the gesture.

There was also the little problem of deciphering who or what had wanted me dead so badly as to be so simultaneously brazen and subtle in their approach. The usage of a Delamain, in retrospect, was a stroke of genius that seemed to suggest that my opponent was far smarter than the nature of the attempt appeared to indicate. That combination of brutality and intelligence was not one I envied the prospect of facing off against at any time in the near future.

In addition, the news was currently stuffed to the brim with footage of my supposed assassination, and I appeared to have become more popular than ever as a result. Unfortunately, in the eyes of the public, I was too dead to enjoy the fruits of my newfound ascent into super-stardom.

Still, every setback presented an opportunity, and this was one I had been hoping for for a while now. You see, now that I was dead, someone needed to perform my last rites in accordance with my faith. And though I wasn't Christian, and never had been, I had somehow managed to convince the world that I was because, under the watchful eye of the members of my security team, a very special priest was making his way to my safehouse.

Once he got here, it would by my duty to convince him to join ranks with me. Now, this may not have been such a difficult thing, had my stunt with 6th Street not soured my relations with the man and his faction: the Valentinos. I may have had the edge with the man before, on account of so many of my employees coming from his territory, and yet, I had not, till now, been able to secure any facetime with him. And now I had to achieve the feat of getting him to abandon his feud with 6th Street and of deferring to me, all whilst wracked with all-consuming pain and unable to move my legs.

No pressure.

Still, if the game was accurate, and so far it had been, Ibarra was one of the most reasonable gang leaders in the entirety of Night City. Theoretically, he should be the easiest of the lot to find common ground with. In addition, as far as I was concerned, the Valentinos were the second-best gang to have on your side after 6th Street, because whilst they weren't nearly as useful as 6th Street in a fight, once earned, their loyalty was far more reliable. However, dealing with the man came with it's own risks.

For one thing, whilst he held a lot of influence with the Valentinos and in Heywood in general, he held no official power. He was a fixer, not a leader, and sure, people feared and respected him in abundance, and there was little doubt in my mind that if he truly wanted to, he could bring the Valentinos around to his way of thinking. Still, the fact that he wasn't officially the leader of the gang seemed to me like a definite liability. If ever Campo Orta got out, then it could lead to internal strife within the gang, especially if they didn't see eye-to-eye with regards to working for me.

For another, the man had an ongoing feud with 6th Street, so much so that had it not been for my timely intervention, I was pretty sure that he would have had Sam Carter, Gunner's main deputy, killed. Needless to say, if I was going to make this work, first and foremost, I would have to smooth things over between the two men. The risk of infighting was already too high, and any more could prove fatal to me. To that effect, I was prepared to cede nominal 6th Street control of Heywood and the Glen back to the Valentinos in order to get them on side. In return, I would direct 6th Street's attention into either Animal, Tyger Claws or Maelstrom territory, and placate the egos that would inevitably flare at such a deferent move with the consolation prize of acquiring Watson.

However, all these doubts were swiftly sidelined when the Padre arrived. He wasn't the scariest person I had ever met, by far, and yet he seemed to possess a sense of dignified authority as he walked through my front door and followed my guards to my room. In some sense, the polite sophistication he demonstrated in spite of his background was more intimidating than the hyper-violent persona employed by many of his counterparts.

Seeing him approach, I swiftly shut off the TV broadcasting the feed from the security cameras into my room, and leaned back in my bed, attempting to present the most pitiful image possible. When he walked in, spotting me very much alive, with bloodshot eyes, and an oxygen mask strapped around my face with a mess of wires surrounding my bed, his face seemed to struggle to decide whether to settle on rage at the deception or understanding of why it was necessary. Oh, make no mistake, I knew that Ibarra was a ruthless man when pushed, and yet once again, my reputation paid dividends, because apparently he had heard of me, and as a result he was at least willing to hear me out.

He sat down on the chair beside my bed, and began to speak, "I was told you had passed."

I directed my gaze at him, taking a purposefully long moment to appraise him, before making a show of struggling to pull my oxygen mask off. In fairness, it was difficult, given that I had broken several of my fingers, but it was nowhere near the struggle I made it out to be. When I finally spoke, my voice came out in hoarse whispers, presenting the image of wounded frailty, "Look at me. The way I am right now, I think I would prefer it that way."

He sized me up with a hard stare, "Why, exactly, am I here? Your men were all too polite when they approached me, and yet, when we got here, they seemed all too eager to hold their guns at my back."

I attempted to extract some sympathy from the man, "You must understand, Padre, that my men have become a little jumpy following the events of my speech a couple of nights ago. Don't worry though, I'll have a chat with them." He nodded and sat in silence, and frankly, I was at a loss at how to proceed. Gunner had been an open book, and Rogue was someone I had a clear advantage on, Ibarra, on the other hand, was not a character who could be so easily manipulated or blackmailed.

Finally, he elected to proceed for me, breaking the silence, "I notice you haven't answered my question."

I smiled as much as I dared, making sure to continue the ruse of my supposed frailty, "Ah, yes. Well, the reason you are here today, Padre, is because I have a proposal for you."

His left eyebrow began a slow ascent, "Oh? And what kind of proposal is this?"

"The mutually beneficial kind."

"And if I'm not feeling cooperative?"

It appears my first instinct was correct after all, this was, in fact, going to be an uphill battle. "Then, Padre, you are free to leave."

His face betrayed no change in his emotional state, and yet he made no move to stand from his seat. If nothing else, he was curious. Knowing this, I opted to expedite the discussion, "So, shall I?"

He nodded, "You shall."

"Very well. You see, Sebastian, if I may call you that?"

He shook his head, "Padre, if you would please."

I nodded, "Ah, Padre it is then. You see, Padre, I believe that we find ourselves in a curious position, as of late. Our interests seem to simultaneously conflict and coincide. I propose to see that problem rectified."

His expression remained impassive, "And how, exactly, would you see that happen?"

In spite of my exhaustion, I attempted to inject some degree of passion into my words, "It would be inaccurate to call us both men of God, because you are, and I'm not. However, I do not believe that it would be inaccurate to state that we are both men of faith. Like you, I have faith, in a world of ideas that appear to have been lost. Ideas of honour, of family, of right and wrong. We have common ground, Padre, and because of it, we needn't be adversaries."

The corners of the Padre's lips twitched upwards, almost as if he found the statement to be humorous. Even still, he remained a closed book, "Oh? Is that so?"

"Yes, that is. The mere fact that we can sit here, and engage in pleasant conversation without attempting to blow each other's heads off is a testament to that."

"And what of our conflicts?"

I dismissed his concerns with a fairly pathetic wave of my arm, "Mere trivialities, I assure you. In fact, that was what I was hoping to see addressed today."

"Oh, really?" He appeared almost charmed at my assertion, "Please, enlighten me as to this miraculous solution to our problems."

Okay, the bastard was definitely mocking me now. In-game he had been polite, but never to this extent. In spite of myself, I felt a touch of irritation creep into my tone, much to the well-hidden amusement of the Padre, "You see, Padre, our conflicts happen to be primarily territorial in nature. I can imagine you might be upset at the burgeoning influence of 6th Street in Heywood, which is traditionally your territory, or so I'm told. I would be willing, should an agreement be reached between the two of us, to completely withdraw the 6th Street presence from your district."

He nodded and hummed, making a show of mulling the offer over, "An enticing prospect, to be sure, but at what price? It is not difficult to notice that the black market seems conspicuously smaller in 6th Street territory that it was just a few months ago, and in spite of your considerable prowess, I doubt you have the eddies to cut us the same kind of deal to replace the lost revenue from such a move, especially given that we are six-thousand members strong, rather than a mere twenty-five-hundred. What, exactly, do you want? And what, exactly, do you have to offer in return?"

At his question, I feigned indecision, freezing up for a moment and staring at the Padre's face in what I hoped to appear to be an almost pleading manner. After a brief moment, I began my speech, the heat building in my voice as I went on, "What I want, Padre, is a better world. A world free of needless violence, of pointless suffering. A world in which people like the poor Mrs Welles needn't suffer the tragic loss of her son before his time. A world in which her son wouldn't have felt the need to put himself in such a position, in the first place. In that, I don't believe, we are much different, you and I. And believe me, I am trying. And yet, in spite of all my efforts, I can't do it alone."

After a moment of silence in which the Padre closed his eyes, sighed and scratched his brow with his thumb, the humour draining from his expression at the mention of Jackie, he finally spoke, "You want my help."

I nodded as earnestly as I could manage, "I do."

He looked sceptical, "And your plan to make the world a better place begins with putting Heywood back in the hand of criminals?"

"I may be an optimist, Padre, but I'm no fool. In the cesspit that is Night City, crime will always be a reality. No, instead, I wish to supplant the more violent, dangerous parts of your criminal enterprise, with something far better."

"How?"

I smiled. Like Gunner, the Padre seemed almost desperate to believe that someone was willing to share his worldview, though he hid his desperation far better than Gunner ever had. "I am aware that in spite of it's more nefarious activities, the Valentinos operate a number of more legitimate businesses as well?"

"That they do."

"Well, that's an obvious avenue of expansion. There are a number of local businesses in 6th Street territory seeking investment, and I don't see why that can't be you. There is also no reason that you can't partake in the benefits of the 6th Street franchise model of security. All of the pre-existing subscription revenue from Heywood and the Glen could be redirected towards you alongside control of those districts, so long as you provide the same level of service to our customers that we currently do. Working under the same banner, 6th Street and the Valentinos could do a lot more good and make a lot more money than they ever made on their own. And naturally, I would be willing to bankroll the purchase of any new equipment needed to ensure an adequate delivery of such services. In return, the more violent sides of your business ought to be abandoned. All things considered, I believe that to be a very good offer."

He tilted his head to the side in a show of consideration, "It is, and yet in spite of the merits of such an offer, there still remains one hurdle to our cooperation: 6th Street. Neither I, nor any member of the Valentinos has any lost love for those pendejos."

I nodded, "And they don't have any lost love for you lot, either. Nevertheless, they understand that there is something bigger than all of us at stake. I can't imagine that such a historic move won't create some friction, but the problems that come may from peace will be far lesser than the problems that will come from continuing your feud with each other. We have a chance, Padre, to stop the bloodshed now, to make sure that another Moto Cielo never happens again. I say we take it."

The scepticism in his tone returned in full force at my attempt at playing off his emotions, "And you can convince 6th Street of this?"

I nodded, "I can. In the same manner in which the Valentinos admire you, they admire me, and whilst I may not officially be a leader among them, I do hold a certain degree of authority. Provided they saw a similar attitude amongst the opposing side, it ought not to be overly difficult to get them to buy in."

After a moment of legitimate consideration, the Padre sighed and nodded, "Okay. I can't believe it'll last, but it's worth trying."

I smiled and extended my hand as much as I could for him to shake, "To peace and new friendships, Padre."

He shook it, albeit with a doubtful look on his face, "To peace."

With our agreement struck, the Padre stood from his seat, and taking one last look at me, swiftly departed from the room. Once he was gone, I took a moment to ponder the implications that my move would have on the climate in Night City. As of right now, when it came to making a move, I had the upper hand, on account of nobody else knowing that I was still playing. Once, however, news of my new agreement with the Padre got out, which it inevitably would, it would change the power dynamic of the city considerably.

Firstly, with the combined might of 6th Street and the Valentinos, my faction would become by far the most powerful gang in the city. As enticing as that prospect was, I knew that it may also cause me problems down the line. The possibility of the other gangs finding common cause in seeing me removed was a distinct possibility, and one that would increase with each additional piece of territory I controlled.

Though Brigitte and the Voodoo Boys would leave me alone so long as I didn't touch Pacifica, and the Mox remained largely irrelevant in power terms, I was keenly aware of the fact that Maelstrom, the Tyger Claws and the Animals could yet still find common ground. Watson was disputed territory between the three, and my upcoming seizure of it would not play well with any of them. That could cause problems, especially given that collectively, they were more than ninety-five-hundred members strong, far more than me, even with the Valentinos on side. Of course, numbers weren't everything, and my side would have the better men and weapons, but it still put me at a something of a disadvantage should a full-scale gang war break out.

Furthermore, there were also the problems caused by 6th Street in the first place. Gunner, I didn't doubt, could be convinced of the utility of making common cause with the Valentinos, but getting the rest of the gang to even work with me had been a tough sell. Now, I was making common cause with one of their fiercest enemies. That was only going to exacerbate the tension further within 6th Street, and stretch the patience of some of the members of the gang even further than it already was.

And then there was the current turmoil that my company was undergoing. First and foremost, upon having achieved a partial recovery, I would have to restore order within the corporate ranks, and resume full-scale operation. Doubtlessly, I would also have to fend off any attempts at acquisition or espionage from corporate raiders, specifically Biotechnica.

And finally, there was the pesky problem of further attempts on my life. A full recovery, even with the advanced medicine of this world, would still take months. If I was to preserve my interests, I would have to emerge far sooner than that. That meant that my mobility, and consequently, my survivability, would be significantly impaired. I had yet to discern the identity or motives of my assailant, and the possibility of a repeat performance lingered at the back of my mind as I formulated my plans.

All in all, I had my work cut out for me.

Turns out, there really was no rest for the dead.

And so, having survived, the protagonist plots his grand revival...

Feel free to comment and let me know what you think.

Hope you guys are enjoying the story thus far!