Johnny's eyes flicked open as he groaned, sitting up on the hard leather seat of his car. He'd reached the rendezvous point for Vik's helper a bit early and had treated himself to a little siesta. Northwestern Watson was a mess of shipping containers, docks, and a pipework zoo of underdeveloped housing. Maelstrom territory had a tendency to repel most citizens of Night City, leaving only the deranged and desperate.

Peeking out the window, Johnny noticed the street lights begin to turn on. The sun was setting, reflecting a vivid menagerie of colors off the oily sea water beyond the docks. Down the street resting against a street lamp Johnny spotted a pale girl pretending to nod away. The iron on her hip told another story.

"Probably hanging out for a drug deal," Johnny grumbled as he shifted his weight.

The door to his Quadra swung open and he planted his boots on the ground with a satisfactory thud. The slam of the car door managed to pique the girl's attention. Johnny pretended to not notice the girl flip out a phone and check something fervently, casting a few rapid glances back while trying to be discreet.

Johnny pointed down the street. "The orphanage is that way."

Becca blinked and then squinted. "Yeah, and so is the lumberjack gay bar. Get moving, gonk."

What in the goddamn.

Johnny felt his jaw drop, only for a moment before he recomposed himself. "I highly doubt you own this strip of turf, kid. What are you, ten?"

"Fuck you, I'm twenty-three!"

"Ahuh. And I'm eighty-six."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Whatever, gonk. I'm waiting on someone… ah, fuck." She checked her phone one last time before letting out a defeated sigh. "Vik didn't tell me you'd be some country bumpkin fuck."

Johnny lowered his shades, his eyes wide and incredulous. "Now, I gotta say, that's a new one. Didn't think Vik would make me babysit."

"Careful, or I'll shoot your dick off."

"With that peashooter?" Johnny scoffed. "A Unity pistol would barely put a dent in me. But this," Johnny unsheathed his Malorian Arms power pistol, "is what you need for firepower."

"Compensating much?"

Johnny smirked. "I feel anything smaller would be misleading."

"God, I'm going to hate working with you. What's your name? That way I know what to write on your grave when I'm done filling you with lead after this mission."

"Just call me Johnny. Yourself?"

"Becca."

The sound of a pistol shot rang out in the distance, yet neither Becca nor Johnny flinched. Johnny watched Becca's body language closely; despite being dressed in hand-me-down clothing, she had the decency to wear a bit of body armor underneath her t-shirt. Her arm cyberware looked mundane, but it was an aesthetic choice many runners went for. For her being as slight as she was, Johnny surmised that it was a way to lure in unsuspecting people for a honeypot kind of trap. Something that had gotten the better of him more than once in the past. Not that he would admit it ever.

"Well, squirt," Johnny holstered his pistol, "we're going to go takedown a cyberpsycho. Are you gonna be good, or do you just want to watch the grown-up work?"

"You're not half as funny as you think you are," Becca retorted. "I'll be fine. Just getting ready to pick up the slack when all this big talk ends up biting you in the ass. I've seen a lot of runners talk big and get fucking destroyed."

"I'm starting to see it," Johnny mused. He rubbed his chin, eyeing Becca up and down. "Yup. Surprised I didn't see it before."

"Oh, another gonk idea out of that rust bucket you call a brain? Or are you just being a pervert?"

"Just wondering how a ripperdoc managed to fit so much mid-life crisis into a child-sized doll mod." Becca whipped out her pistol and Johnny rolled his eyes. "There it is."

Becca white knuckled the grip of her pistol. "What is there? You're about two seconds from being red paste."

"Your nerves." Johnny tapped the side of his head, and then began walking down the street. Becca tilted her head and let out a sound of confusion. "It's deflection, kid. We're about to walk into a shitstorm and I need you not quaking in your boots. Still not convinced you're a rook. Get that blood pumping. Be angry yet focused. We'll need it."

Johnny paved the way down to the docks, slipping through a few crevices in between shipping containers while Becca quietly seethed. He could feel the heat coming off the shortstack as they breached the edge of the upper railing that oversaw a wide swath of shipping docs.

Cybernetic eyes had a bevy of options, and Johnny found himself once more silently thankful V had decided that magnification was a top priority. With vision most eagles would be green with envy over, Johnny scanned several piers until his attention settled on a dock about a eighth of a mile South of his position.

"What do you see?" Becca grumbled.

"Maelstrom looking motherfucker. By the looks of him, bone lacing with a sigma linear frame exo. Probably hopped up on black lace too by how twitchy they are." Johnny paused, looking at the materials of the surrounding dock. "Crane above with a cargo container. Looks shaky as fuck. Few other piles of metal scrap that could be cover. And a fishing shack. Probably where the guy is camped out."

Becca leaned over into Johnny's magnified view, her face thoroughly unimpressed. "You gonna tell me his fortune now? Birthday? Favorite color? Let's waste this fool already."

Johnny canceled his magnification, blinking a few times. "Scoping out a situation is important, kid. Have you considered I'm not as suicidal as yourself?"

"We're both hunting borg'd up assholes. Neither of us have room to talk."

Johnny sighed and nodded. She had him there. Not a lot of other work paid as well with so few questions asked. Hunting cyberpsychos paid well for a damn good reason. Playing a gig as himself now wouldn't get him the eddies quick enough with winter coming. With Saburo on the horizon the candle wasn't burning at both ends, it was firmly inside the furnace.

"Here's the plan," Johnny started, "I'll draw his attention while you sneak up to the crane. You'll need to shoot out the support cable to the shipping container. We drop it on him and he shouldn't be able to move. We then disable him from there."

Becca raised an eyebrow. "I don't think my pistol will clip through a large metal link like that. You gonna give me your iron?"

"Very funny. You don't need to shoot through the cable. Just at the top notch where it's restrained at the fulcrum. It'll drop from there. Just try not to miss."

"Oh, I won't. But you won't die in the meantime?" Becca gave Johnny a skeptical once over. "I don't have a lot of faith in some farmer that has a few pieces of chrome. You're gonna get zeroed."

Johnny rolled his shoulders and began walking down the pier, Becca close behind. "You let me worry about that. You just do your part."

Becca rolled her eyes but offered no other retort as the pair crept carefully down the shaded docks. The maelstrom individual in the distance continued to putter around on his dock, sifting through several crates of scrap. Johnny gave a quick hand sign to Becca pointing toward the crane, and the nimble solo nodded and began to quietly scale the shipping containers lining the edge of the tall concrete embankment that bordered the upper streets.

No louder than a whisper, Johnny managed to creep close enough to the chrome'd out man. The cyberpsycho muttered harshly to himself in jerking intervals, like a piece of code that had become corrupted. Perched behind one of the large scrap crates Johnny waited patiently for the man to turn his back.

While V had managed to get their hands on some of the best cybernetics in their short climb to fame, you still didn't want to be bullrushing someone that had all their gear overclocked. Especially when that gear included a gatling gun that made up their left forearm and a linear frame that gave them the punching power of an actual dump truck. Didn't matter how much high tech chrome you had, eventually that shit would crumple and be a waste of eddies because you thought you were a bit more bad-ass than you actually were. More than a few competent runners had been zero'd by a psycho in NC by pushing their luck just a bit too far.

Johnny activated his cyberdeck and the cyberpsycho's live data came to life in his left eye; a waterfall of greenish data clumped together inside their frame. Some netrunners were clever enough to pick apart strands of code within a second or two, even during a firefight. Neither V nor Johnny were that savvy, and instead preferred to go with the tried and true method of 'cook the motherfucker with Overheat'.

The program was launched and immediately the cyberpsycho began to squirm and writhe. "The fuck!?" He shouted as he scanned the area, flailing around his gatling gun arm. "Show yourself you pussy fuck!"

Next one, Johnny scrolled through his mental library of quick hacks, settling for the next one in Cyberware Malfunction. He queued it up, yet the barrel he had perched behind slammed into his chest as the cyberpsycho continued to throw their deadly tantrum.

"Found you now, fucker!"

Johnny heard the plodding footsteps race toward his position and he tried to regain his footing. He stepped to the side as the psycho brought their gatling arm down like a sledgehammer, leaving a crater in the concrete part of the dock.

"Well, shit," Johnny muttered as he squared up with his opponent.

Johnny drew his heavy pistol and aimed at the man's head. He clicked the trigger and he could feel the ring in his ears as the gun thundered, but the shot went wide left as the psycho twitched and darted around the bullet. It wasn't quick enough to be Sandevistan; he'd be already flat on his ass and possibly a stain on the ground if that were the case, not to mention it would have been hard to miss the spinal graft. Which meant the guy was rocking either a shitty downgrade, or had just popped his Kerenzikof.

You ain't the only one with top shelf chrome, choom. Johnny triggered his own Kerenzikof just in time to dodge a meaty uppercut. He slid his monowire from his left and wrapped it around the gatling gun while taking aim at the psycho's kneecap with his Malorian Arms pistol. Dodge this one asshole.

Johnny fired twice more, this time his shots finding their mark as the psycho screamed out in pain as his left knee exploded into a thin red mist and bits of twisted metal. He swung his arms out quickly with monstrous strength; enough to send Johnny flying backward toward some of the shipping containers haphazardly stacked near the storm wall. He bounced on the ground once with a dull thud before rolling to a stop.

"Fuck," Johnny coughed out as he tried to catch his breath. He could feel the auto injectors for morphine beginning to work their magic as his pain began to ablate. He forced himself upright just in time to see the cyberpsycho clawing along the ground with a manic smile that forced what little meat was left of their face stretched to the maximum.

"I'm going to tear you a new asshole! And then another asshole in your asshole!"

The psycho pounced into the air, but missed as Johnny rolled to the side and caught the man's gatling arm. He planted his boots against the man's linear framed torso and used all his strength and mental capacity to pull the weaponized arm into an arm bar. He tilted his head to the side as the psycho screamed and bullets poured from the end of the gatling gun.

Big talk about not being suicidal earlier. Here I am wrestling a dude twice my size and four times the fucking chrome.

A gunshot fired off above Johnny and he heard something metal and heavy above him lurch. He quickly abandoned the submission of trying to disjoint the man's arm and kicked off of him. The psycho in turn tried to follow him but only managed to turn around fast enough to eat another high caliber round, breaking through his metal teeth and jawline. He howled in pain as he tried to hold together his flimsy jaw.

That moment of hesitation was just enough for the crane arm to come crashing down, cleaving off the rest of the cyber psycho's lower half. Without any pain killers or other juice to subside the system shock, the metallic mess of a man was good as comatose. A bit like a dead fish flopping around in a boat, except the flopping here included a fully loaded gatling gun that went off in unpredictable spurts.

Johnny dusted off his pants, and then inspected his flannel, and not to his surprise at all, the man had managed to get a hand on him and nearly tear off his jacket. He ripped what little shreds clung to him, leaving him in a white cotton tank top. He slipped his Malorian Arms back into its holster and then looked up. Becca was making her way down from the shipping containers, so he took the moment of respite to light himself a cigarette.

"You are one ballsy motherfucker," Becca said as she bounded up the scene. She poked at the psycho with her foot, inspecting his hardware. "Barely believe this guy could form words."

"Well, Maelstrom isn't known for their extensive vocabulary," Johnny took a heavy drag from his cigarette, "do me a favor and disable his systems while I text Regina that we handled biz."

"Do I look like a techie or netrunner? You seem to have plenty of tech to do the job. Not everyone is running around with monowire like that."

"You have tiny hands to get into his neural port, so quit your bitching and do your part," Johnny huffed as he walked down the dock. "I'm on a smoke break."

Becca flared her nostrils at Johnny and flipped him off. "Yeah, yeah, whatever farmer John. Just give me a tick."

Johnny ignored the thinly veiled threats that Becca said underneath her breath as she began to pick apart the psycho's head cavity. He pulled out his phone and sent off the text to Regina, and immediately got a response. He eyed the message and flowery language she'd often use when 'saving' a psycho for the therapy program she supported, but the end had the most important bit. The eddies included, and already 5K had been wired to his account. He hadn't seen that kinda liquid cash since… well, since V had been around.

"I got the shit disabled," Becca shouted. "We done here?"

"Yeah, Gina is gonna come by with a clean up crew," Johnny replied.

Becca walked up to Johnny and held out her hand, her eyes looking up to him expectantly. "Well, gimme my cut."

Johnny pulled the cigarette from his mouth and couldn't help but smile. "Excuse me?"

"My cut, ya gonk. Vik said it was five large, so I want my two point five."

Johnny blinked and then lowered his shades. "You think you deserve half the credit? Who are you, fucking Kerry?"

"I'm not whatever ex you are mumbling about," Becca spat back. She tapped the gun tucked into her waistband. "Just front it so we can be done. I've got more work I'm needing to find."

"Now, wait-"

Johny paused and considered her words. She needed work, and by the looks of her clothes and lack of medical chrome, he reckoned it was a fair amount. And he was on the other side of the spectrum with a dire need for competent bodies, and Becca had proved to be nimble and accurate enough to bring down the crane. Despite the sass, she carried out the task without any hassle and didn't crush him in the process, showing a smidgen of patience with her timing.

"I've got an idea."

"Oh?" Becca said with mock surprise. "Does it involve paying me?"

"Here's the deal, I hold onto the money," He held up a finger as Becca began to protest, lowering his voice a bit, "and I get you a deal with Vik for some better chrome. We go way back. Plus, if you want some eddies, I've got a job for you."

Becca planted her hands on her hips. "How do you know I'm gonna spend it on chrome, huh?"

"Cause nobody runs around with medical ware doing this shit. And you don't seem like the type to blow it all on black lace or hookers."

"I could get drugs or a hooker if I wanted too!"

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Sure, kid. Pretty sure you'd be the reason why they whip out one of those carnival signs that says 'you have to be this tall to go on this ride'."

Becca bit her lip, forming a bitter frown. "Yeah, I'm tiny. I fucking get it, you dick. You're about as clever as your sense in fashion. Clueless."

Fuck, I hate being the adult. Johnny ran a hand through his hair; it felt vaguely oily, like he'd sweat a bunch and then it'd dried.

"Look, How about I give you half and get you a deal with Vik, but only if you join the crew I'm putting together."

"Us?" Becce gestured between herself and Johnny. "Continue this? You some kinda masochist."

Johnny groaned. At this point, might as well be.

"Look, just take the cash and then meet me at the Afterlife tomorrow evening. I'll explain the deets."

"Why not now?"

"Because I've got some other shit to iron out between now and then to see if it'll work," Johnny replied with a hint of irritation. "Worst case scenario, we get some tequila and drink. Otherwise, we can talk about how we're going to fuck 'Saka in the ass."

Becca remained still for a moment, avoiding eye contact. "Arasaka, huh?"

"Yeah. Now, I get why you might-"

"I'm in," Becca quickly replied. "Whatever it is. I'm in."

Johnny smiled, showing a bit of teeth. "Just like that, huh? I like it."

"Fuck those corpo pigs. I've got a score to settle with 'em." Becca began to walk down the docks, waving behind her as she passed by. "See ya later, choom. Send me the eddies and I'mma get chromed the fuck up."

Johnny stuck his cigarette back in his mouth and watched Becca disappear into the distance. He waited until the sound of Trauma Team sirens rolled up before hiking back to his car, blasting the radio of an old, memorable Samurai track. One thing about Night City he liked was how little it changed when it came to hating on the corps. It fueled the fire inside his rebel soul, and it felt good to know that others had inherited that fighting spirit.