Semper Vigiles
Chapter 4
Chamber was quiet.
That was a rare and concerning notion for Cyrus.
Whatever she found inside the Maelstrom Sanctuary rendered her…occupied.
He wasn't entirely sure what Chamber was cooking up in that brain of hers, but whatever it was, he did not doubt it would involve him soon enough.
So, while Chamber was distant, Cyrus stood atop the high roof of an abandoned apartment block, watching the denizens below.
Night City.
A sprawling city of pure steel with soaring edifices reaching for the heavens like a shining beacon of evolution and technology.
Known to many as the city of angels.
A place where dreams were said to take flight, even if the gravel under one's feet seemed to suggest otherwise.
A place where the glorious aura of lit skyscrapers suppressed the bleakness of its rampant dystopia.
A place that housed not just technological advancement but also thriving corruption.
The city is a dark reflection of the image Cyrus believed Earth to be, but in the same breath, this wasn't his Earth nor his humanity.
Not in the traditional sense, at least.
Much like his life now, Night City was a multi-layered paradox, a city of angels and devils all rolled into one.
To survive and thrive, they would have to accept that they were now as much a part of this chaotic megacity as anyone else.
"Time to get a lay of the land," Cyrus murmured. He climbed down his brooding perch, allowing his armored boots to scrape against the concrete as he cleared the distance.
Swiftly, the Spartan clasped the coarse fabric of his cloak, and with a brisk motion, he slipped the cloak around his modulated frame; the deep chestnut material billowed over his blackened armor, concealing the intricate machinery beneath its humble expanse.
Descending from the balcony he had taken as his fortress, Cyrus merged into the flurry of moving bodies. He found himself lost amidst the diversity of the sea of people.
The labyrinthine streets of Night City swallowed the Spartan whole. Each breath of the city's stale air pulsated with electronic thrums of cybernetic life.
Draping the hood of his cloak over the glinting shell of his helmet rendered him another silhouette walking in the stream of neon-tinted shadows. In this shrouded form, he transformed into a faceless ghost wandering the urban jungle.
His disguise, however, could only achieve so much. The cloak rippled and ruffled to conceal his form, but it did little to hide his imposing stature. Towering over seven feet, Cyrus brought curious glances that bounced off his hidden figure like pricks to a fortress.
For the most part, he replaced evasion with distraction by immersing himself in the seething throngs of humanity.
He plunged deeper, navigating between the flurry of bodies as he mediated his footfall, careful not to bowl over the more diminutive citizens hustling through their steel maze.
Parallelly, Chamber moved her digital consciousness through the crowded streets, flickering and phasing at the edge of Cyrus's vision.
She withdrew chunks of data from their cybernetic implants and devices, siphoning information from every nook and corner of their technostained lives— reconstructing the city while melting into it.
"Two O'clock," Chamber's voice was a whisper in his ear, a warning that blared louder than any alarm in Cypress's head.
His eyes flitted in response, subtly scanning the crowd, while his fingers tightened around the grip of his Nue.
"Verify," Cyrus countered Chamber's warning, his eyes still refusing to find the threat amongst the throng of lives.
Almost instantaneously, a red silhouette blinked onto his HUD, highlighting an unassuming man standing by a pedestrian crossing. The man appeared entirely mundane, middle-aged with thinning hair combed neatly to one side and wearing a simple black coat, staring into the distance with an air of patient resignation as he waited for the traffic light to change.
Cyrus looked at the red line curling around the man's form.
He found nothing that warranted his attention.
"Chamber?" his question reverberated through their private comms link.
"Follow him," Chamber's voice was firm and imperative, leaving no room for refusal.
Cyrus paused before pivoting on his heel and merging into the tide of bodies bedecking the crowded city life.
The middle-aged man, painted in lurid red by his AI partner, had veered off the main street and headed towards a tram station.
"Chamber, details," Cyrus voiced his confusion, his steps measured to keep a conducted distance as he weaved through the crowd.
An uncomfortable silence lingered before she responded, her usually lucid voice wavering with restrained anger. "I found a data link inside that Temple…and it…it led to something monstrous."
As Chamber confessed, Cyrus turned the corner with agility, making his towering form barely noticeable, his narrowed gaze locked onto the man—the architect of the data link that had unsettled Chamber.
"Show me," Cyrus commanded, his voice a deathly calm in the otherwise bustling city.
Immediately, a file appeared on his HUD, flashing a prominent label: 'Arlo Harmon.'
The file expanded into an intricate latticework of Arlo's life. Hovering at the precipice of middle age, Arlo was just another miserable speck in a city teeming with them: an individual merely trying to survive, to exist within the city's tight iron fist.
It did little to justify the horrors Cyrus siphoned from Arlo's file.
Arlo had a sickening vice collecting XBDs. These XBDs weren't innocent films or documentaries, though, as he indulged in tapes revolving across the vilest subject matter imaginable.
The exploitation of humanity's most precious resource.
Children.
There was no greater sin in Cyrus' mind than stripping the innocence of a child.
And Arlo had made a hobby out of doing exactly that.
After digesting every damning piece of information, Cyrus's footsteps took on a more deliberate rhythm.
Arlo was no longer just a consumer of the horror.
Tonight, he was stepping out of his closeted indulgence, ready to take his hands dirty and contribute his monstrosity to the infamous Red Room's depthless vault of perversity.
Ahead in the pulsating crowd, Arlo paused. His gaze strayed from the tram station's digital panel and latched onto a bundle of vibrant blonde strands of hair bobbing among the flux of bodies like a golden beacon.
This sprite-like creature was scarcely six years of age, her tiny form dwarfed by her surroundings. Sophia dressed in a jumble of bubble gum pink and sunny yellow, her clothes washed with the juvenile joy that came with choosing one's outfits.
With a shock of golden curls performing a riotous dance around her chubby face, her twinkling azure eyes spoke of laughter and unabashed curiosity.
Sophia was the embodiment of childhood wonder and warmth, her bubbling laughter readily spilling around each time she looked at the flickering BD hooked into her palm.
The woman holding her hand was called Veronica Vargas, and she defined the meaning of 'City mom.' A balance of grace and strength, her visage was all business yet gentled by the tender warmth that only a mother could possess.
Her formerly long chestnut locks, a mirror image of her daughter's vibrant golden curls, were now meticulously chopped to a shoulder-length bob.
She stood, dressed in her office attire – a crisp white blouse and a modest pencil skirt, a look efficiently balanced on the fine edge between motherhood and the demanding struggles of being a corporate employee.
A pair of custom spectacles sat perched perfectly on the bridge of her nose, displaying a holographic sidebar where she continued her day job.
The static buzz of an outgoing call was broadcasted on Cyrus's HUD by Chamber.
"Michael," Veronica initiated, her voice a harmonious accompaniment to the station's music of reality, "My cousin is coming over this weekend. We need to shuffle some things to make room for her."
"Oh great," Michael sneered, the roll in his eyes figuratively sweeping across the distance separating the two.
"Michael, don't start," Veronica's voice held a note of admonishment, just stern enough to chide him into better behavior. "I haven't seen her in months; just try to be... nice."
"I always try to be nice, Veronica," Michael's retort held a mock outrage, a playful hint coloring his voice. "I just... look, your cousin can be a bit... difficult."
"Difficult? You groped her, Michael!"
"Hey, in my defense, your cousin looks like your bloody doppelganger from behind," Michael argued. "It was an honest mistake."
Cyrus's focus never strayed from Arlo as he closed the distance. His body's subtle signals were like screaming alarms against his practiced observation. The faint sheen of nervous sweat collecting across his forehead, the predatory fixation of his gaze on Sophia, and the way his hand clenched and unclenched – each detail painting a vivid image of what he intended to do.
He considered any violation against a child as a personal affront, a sickening act that went contrary to the Spartan code he had been raised on.
And he couldn't - wouldn't - let it happen, not under his watch.
Suddenly, the PA systems blared, washing over the incessant chatter engulfing the station.
"Tram Number 32 to Penthouse District will arrive at platform 3 in one minute. Please stand behind the yellow line."
Arlo's figure stiffened, registering the announcement. His fingers slipped into his pocket, and when they emerged, they were holding a small injector. He gripped the sedative tightly in his right hand, positioning himself for the impending strike.
Every minute movement was visible to Cyrus. Time dilated as he watched Arlo inch closer to Sophia and her mother, their lives teetering on the fringe of a terrifying abyss, suspended by a single thread that hinged on Cyrus's intervention.
In a blink and a fleeting rustle of motion, Cyrus was right behind Arlo.
The subtle sound of his approach was drowned by the rambunctious crowd, encapsulating them in a bubble far detached from the flurry of the station. The world zeroed into this corner of the universe, whirling around the duo unnoticed by the blissfully ignorant crowd around them.
With fluid precision, Cyrus's left arm swept up, wrapping around Arlo like an iron vice. His fingers clasped down upon Arlo's windpipe, less with anger and more with a cruel, detached resolution.
No sound escaped Arlo's lips when the Spartan's fingers tightened, applying just the right amount of pressure to crush his windpipe. His initial surprise morphed into wide-eyed terror, mirroring the realization of his impending death reflected onto Cyrus's faceless helmet. His hand spasmed before dropping the sieved injector onto the grimy concrete.
The snap was almost inaudible amidst the noise.
Quick. Efficient. Lethal.
Just like Kurt taught him.
In death, Arlo's limbs went slack, sagging against the towering forge of Cyrus's form. Rigidity drained from the husk of his body, leaving him to crumple in a humiliating display of defeat, leaning against Cyrus.
His head lolled backward, revealing the vacant stare robbed of its insidious gleam, reduced to a disconcerting sight that would haunt any onlooker.
But before anyone could notice the grim spectacle, Cyrus turned slightly, just enough to shield Arlo's face from probing eyes.
At that exact moment, Sophia turned towards them, a cheerful innocence in her eyes. Seeing her glance, Cyrus smiled at her through the ambient LEDs illuminating the intricate designs on his helmet, the glow simulating a gentle digital smile.
The Spartan lifted his free hand, curling his armored fingers into a solemn wave for the little girl. Then, he brought his index finger up, pressing it in against the flat of his helmet in the universal gesture of silence.
"My friend is tired," Cyrus murmured, his modulated voice piercing the wall of ambient noise reverberating through the station as he motioned towards the slack form draped against him, "He needs some sleep."
The words hung in the air, bouncing off the hollow shell of her laughter. The girl giggled, the joyous sound forming a stark contrast to the grim reality behind Cyrus's statement.
Sophia regarded Cyrus's overwhelming stature curiously before shaping her tiny hand into a 'zip-the-lip' gesture. Her innocent acquiescence served as a grounding reminder of just how oblivious she was to the sinister narrative that had come to pass so close to her.
The tram doors slid open with a hiss, urging forth a cool blast of air. Veronica, engrossed in her conversation with Micheal, pulled Sophia onto the departing tram, her laughter fizzling out amidst the ensuing motion.
Sophia turned to catch one last glance at Cyrus. Meeting his gaze, she waved an enthusiastic goodbye, the sight of her retreating silhouette a phantom warmth spreading through his cold, mechanical core.
The tram hummed to life before whisking away the mother-daughter duo towards a safer horizon.
Slowly, with an air of dismissal, Cyrus allowed Arlo's limp body to slip from his grasp. The dead man tumbled lifelessly, rolling over the platform's edge and into the tracks.
On cue, another tram roared towards the station, its screaming approach blending into the swelling noise of the station.
Before any effort could be mustered for the unfortunate man on the tracks, it was too late. The tram screamed into the station, an iron beast bound by its tracks, unable to deviate or come to a stop sooner. The deafening screech of grinding metal echoed through the station as the tram fought against its momentum, trying to halt its inevitable conclusion.
Chaos erupted amidst the crowd as the spectacle unfolded.
"Hey! Someone's on the track!" a woman's voice sliced through the cacophony. Her desperate plea was drowned amidst the rising panic, the frantic yells of the crowd piling onto the dissonance echoing around them.
Across the platform, devices were whipped out, either seeking immediate help or attempting to capture the grisly scene for digital posterity.
The furious rush of the oncoming tram met the lifeless obstacle with a chilling inevitability. The collision didn't so much resemble a crash but rather an erasure .
Arlo's form was swallowed by the monstrous bulk of the incoming tram, the ground beneath its screeching, relentless wheels. A gruesome ballet of metal against flesh and bone, the spectacle was sickeningly quick, leaving nothing but a smear that would soon blend with the grimy underbelly of the metro station.
Cyrus faded into the station's fabric, his tall silhouette merging with the crowd.
The sea of distressed bodies closed around him, and like a ghost, he vanished into the crowd.
With a fluid movement, he slipped into the shadows of a grungy alleyway, the stench of decay wafting through the stagnant air.
He walked in silence for a time, mulling over a question before finally, his tongue let it loose.
"Are there more like him?" Cyrus glanced back, his eyes catching the sight of Night City Police Department officers rushing toward the train station.
Chamber's laughter rang through his neural link, a spontaneous, electric sound that echoed hauntingly through his mind.
Suddenly, a torrent of data inundated his HUD. An overhead map of Night City materialized before his eyes, and a single red dot flared into existence.
Before he could process the information, a second red dot blinked into existence in a nearby residential building, and within mere seconds, the number swelled to well over a hundred.
"There's always more," Chamber commented, her tone an eerie echo of their shared sentiment.
Cyrus watched as the cityscape flooded with more dots, painting a picture of the sprawling megacity's underbelly.
"Where do we go first?" Chamber inquired as Cyrus glanced at the city before them, then at the solitary red dot that had wandered close to his alley.
His gaze hardened.
ONI would have balked at the mere notion that one of a Headhunter was taking part in...vigilante justice.
But they weren't here.
Cyrus was.
And that would have to be enough.
I==I
The mark went by Kendall Gravet, a name as seemingly common as the man himself.
Kendall's was your average corporate drone with a perpetually tired gaze, a suit tailored to near perfection, and an air of conceited arrogance typical of corporate ties.
By daylight, Kendall Gravet took the form of an unassuming corporate operative. His role was deeply entwined within the complex web of Biotechnica - a megacorporation boasting a sleek visage of technological marvels.
Known for spearheading a revolution in the field of biotechnology, Biotechnica was a titan among corporate empires, always at the forefront of scientific discovery. Its glossy exterior presented a future-forward façade, whispering promises of catapulting humanity into a new era.
However, underneath its impeccable shiny veneer, Biotechnica housed a predatory underbelly. Much like Night City, Biotechnica possessed a dual nature that bred unethical procedures that nurtured the ambitions of opportunistic minds.
While its skyscraping towers and luminescent billboards proclaimed scientific advancement, its shadowy corners were playgrounds for those hungry for power and meticulous in disregarding morals.
Kendall Gravet belonged unmistakably to the latter category of operatives.
The cornerstones of Kendall's fortune were rooted in the city's most depraved shadows.
Chamber's findings were detailed and demented. Kendall's services ranged from murder-for-hire to extortion rackets, human trafficking, and simple kidnapping. You name it, he's done it.
Cyrus didn't know if Kendall was worse than the people he catered to. He didn't revel in debauchery like most of his clientele. To him, these heinous acts were transactional differences, a means to a significantly profitable end.
Cyrus gave Kendall the same indifference he'd shown so many of his victims.
There was no loud noise, no thrilling clash of steel, only the quiet sizzle of plasma meeting flesh as Cyrus's energy dagger found its final destination in Kendall's throat.
With swift precision, Cyrus twisted the energy dagger free, pulling it from its meaty sheath. The light within Kendall's eyes faded, mirroring the speedy departure of the dagger's hum as Cyrus shut it down.
He stood over Kendall's now lifeless form sprawled across the luxurious décor of his high-rise apartment. Red slowly bloomed over the plush carpet, merging with the hue of wealth and greed.
After safely withdrawing his energy dagger, Cyrus turned away, leaving Kendall's corpse to rot.
For three days, Cyrus and Chamber managed to shut down numerous proxy locations previously operating under the Red Rooms banner.
Their collective diligence pruned substantial networks, scattering associated personnel into panicked disarray. Each operation carried out was surgical and quick, as one by one, certain 'individuals' were coerced into a permanent and bloody exile.
Despite the visible disruption they managed to induce, Cyrus and Chamber realized they were barely scratching the surface.
The Red Room's operations were larger more deep-seated than they had initially anticipated, its roots sinking far deeper into the city's thumbnail than anticipated.
Every target neutralized, every operation prematurely ended, merely fell as a single leaf in the dense canopy of the Red Room. The effect was, at best, momentarily disruptive, but their actions barely caused the Red Room to falter.
With a teeming crowd of over ten million, the prospect of sanitizing the city was a Herculean task.
Cyrus understood the limitations before him - chasing after these heathens would hardly make a dent in the colossal cesspool Night City had become.
So, Cyrus changed his approach.
Instead of the soldiers, he decided to go after the Kingdom itself.
The source of all this rampant filth - the crucial nerve center that sucked in Kendall Gravet and Arlo Harmon, feeding their cravings for cash and twisted pleasure.
The Red Room itself.
From what Chamber had told him, the Red Room was an infamous server buried deep in the cryptic layers of Cyberspace, and only a select group of individuals could access its detestable contents.
The Night City Police Department's cyber division had once come close to tracing the server's location last fall. Their efforts, unfortunately, were undermined when an unknown cyberattack obliterated their leads, flushing away any hope of shutting down this illicit operation.
The Red Room escaped the law once, but Cyrus was no NCPD tech officer.
And it wasn't going to escape this time.
Shrouded behind layers of elusive codes and digital parallax, the Red Room server existed in an uncharted realm. It was a ghost within the vast ether of the cyber network, unseen and unreachable.
Or so it had been previously thought.
Kendall Gravett was the final key to unlocking the Red Room's location.
Chamber worked through the labyrinth of intricate hidden passages and encrypted firewalls until a small blip of innocuous data caught her attention.
She followed the sudden flare of data to a downtrodden district better known for its gangs of delinquents than the glittering glamor dominating the rest of Night City.
A place called Pacifica.
The Red Room thrived in this underbelly of chaos, taking shelter within a nondescript location hidden amidst the ruins and graffiti of the district.
There, Cyrus found an unremarkable warehouse that barely stood out amidst the decaying urbanity.
"The apex of all evil," Chamber muttered, her tone deceptively casual. "Tucked away in a decaying building forgotten by everyone but the rats."
"And the damned," Cyrus interjected, observing the perimeter defenses around the humble structure. His helmet's enhanced visual sensors zoomed in, focusing on a trio of freelance mercenaries idling about the entrance. No uniform, no badges, just an air of alarm seeping out of them like a chilling winter draft. "Do you think they know what they're guarding?"
"Probably not." Chamber's robotic voice resounded through his HUD. "Mercs are paid not to ask questions. This server's astronomical profit can buy willful ignorance."
His hand moved to his weapon, gripping the textured polymer of a Copperhead Assault Rifle. He checked the ammo counter embedded within, the neon digits glowing against shadows.
"Rules of Engagement?" Cyrus casually inquired, his fingers expertly dancing over the rifle's body.
Chamber barely took a moment to respond, "That depends on how much you believe ignorance is an excuse. We don't need to drop bodies on this one, for what it's worth."
"Understood."
Cyrus briskly holstered his Copperhead, the magnetic clamp on his back securing it snugly in place. From his sidearm holster, he drew out a sleek weapon that contrasted starkly against the Nue's clamped to his armored thighs.
The JKE-X2 Kenshin.
A high-tech pistol boasting a non-lethal mode, designed to incapacitate rather than eliminate. It functioned like a remote taser, sending a surge of electricity strong enough to incapacitate any target in a split second.
Quiet, discreet, and perfect for this job.
"Let's get to work."
I==I
Leaning against the rust-eaten metal door, Greyson, an Afterlife merc, was well into the grueling fifth hour of his return watch. His trademark Cyberware eyes blankly stared into the pitiless horizon of Pacifica.
The job was a cakewalk by merc standards - guard the door, keep anyone from entering, and dispose of any curious imbeciles who dared interlope.
No glorified gun thunder or heroic stand-offs, just grunt work under the cold, unforgiving neon's of Night City's rotten heart.
But by god, did the job pay well!
Several weeks of mind-numbing boredom funneled a steady flow of Eddies into his once dwindling pockets; a hero's pay for standing around a door in the city's ass end, shooting any hapless gonk asking for a bullet in their skull.
Accompanying Greyson were a pair of mercs he's had dealings. Heinrich, a muscle-bound German tech whiz, maintained the combat mechs and automated turrets assigned to the site.
Then there was Isabella, their resident edgerunner, to who Rogue had taken a liking for some fucking reason. Greyson wasn't keen on giving her this gig, but Isabella needed the eddies, and he owed Rogue more than enough favors.
Still, Greyson could hardly ask for a better set of circumstances.
But he did crave one thing that this job didn't allow.
"A cold beer would be fan-fucking-tastic right about now," Greyson grumbled to no one in particular, his boots mindlessly tracing noncommittal disturbances into the dust that had made a permanent home on the cracked concrete.
Isabella let out a long-suffering sigh. "You've been moaning about that cold beer every night for the past week. Buy a cooler or stop yer whining."
"Grey's right, Izzy. I could use a frothy Rostovic with a side of Kabayan Grain Vodka. Now, that's a juicy thought," Heinrich responded from his post, a half-submerged control booth packed with all sorts of cybernetic modifications.
"Not much for beer, are ya Heinrich?" Isabella's voice came from the entryway, where she was conducting her rounds. "Ya always did strike me as the harder stuff kind of guy."
Heinrich chuckled, the raspy sound grating through their comm links. "The harder, the better," he replied, humor seeping through his accented voice. His fingers continued to thump on the control panel, keeping a rhythmic beat that aided his sanity in the overwhelming monotony.
Suddenly, teasing laughter floated from Isabella's end, and she said, "You keep drinking that petrol. You'll end up pissing engine oil for the rest of your natural life!"
Their laughter wrung out, temporarily filling the stony silence around them.
Anything to keep them awake, Greyson thought wistfully, his gaze drifting back to the door he was guarding.
The faint echo of falling metal reached Grayson's ears. His attention broke from the jovial distractions filtered through the comm link, and his gaze moved, instinct tingling as he attempted to locate the source.
His surroundings mocked him with silence and darkness, revealing nothing to his Cyberware eyes. Isabella's voice flowed, teasing Heinrich about his penchant for German beer, but the words were lost to him.
A momentary lapse, he convinced himself, turning back to his neglected post.
No sooner had he shifted focus a surge of movement exploded from his peripheral. A metallic punch rocketed into his face, carrying the force of a freight train.
For a dreaded moment, his world swirled into a disorienting mess of stars and static before pitching him unconscious.
Having intercepted the merc's fall, Cyrus gripped the front of the merc's uniform, preventing Grayson's crumpled form from crashing against the dust-covered ground. Grayson had been a rambling nuisance moments ago; now, he was a pitiful weight sagging lifelessly in his grip.
"Grey, what do you think?" Heinrich's voice queried in their comm, laced with concern.
Confused silence echoed back.
"Grey, do you copy?" Isabella's voice rang out again, sharp with escalating worry.
Nothing.
"Heinrich, find him."
"Perimeter cameras are down," Heinrich reported hastily, anxiety bleeding through his stoic professionalism. "I'm activating the mechs."
Immediately, he pushed out a signal from his workstation. An encoded message, zipping across the frequency like an emergency flare, found its way to the resting frames of a dozen combat mechs. Their eerie existence of dormant, skeletal giants ended abruptly, vital systems springing to life with a hum that resonated through the silent night.
Leaving her post to embark on a rapid recon mission, Isabella maneuvered the junk-lined pathways leading to the main entrance. The moment her feet found purchase on cracked yellow cement, an overwhelming barrage of metallic stridor seized the air.
"Target located."
A deafening roar echoed in tandem with the combat mech's inhumanly modulated voice. A lethal barrage of falling lead tore through the gloomy interior, shredding abandoned manufacturing equipment and rusting cargo trucks with the savagery of a Category 5 hurricane.
Whorls of scorching red traces streaked the area just shy of Isabella's left, pulling her into an involuntary crouch where she wondered if bravery could withstand a bullet to the head.
"Heinrich, who the hell are they shooting at!?" Isabella screeched into her comm over the cacophony of gunfire.
Heinrich's tight response traveled across the shared frequency, "No idea, but whatever it is, it's fast."
The assail of bullets continued unabated. The combat mechs navigated their complete 360-degree sweep, methodically recoiling and firing rounds in sync, chips of concrete and plumes of dust rising in protest. The cascading hailstorm of bullets peeled the moss-ridden surfaces bare, turning serene stagnation into a grotesque warzone.
A sudden blur of motion caught Isabella's attention. Through the acrid haze of gun smoke and dusty ricochet, her eyes narrowed on a massive shape hurdling right toward them.
It was a roughly cast chunk of iron rebar, umbraed and rusty. The deformed cylinder, weighing at least a ton and nearing ten feet, hurtled through the air with alarming alacrity like a savage comet. It was a blurry spear screaming through the reddish illumination of the gunfire, hell-bent on destruction.
"Oh, SHIT!" Isabella barely managed a curse as she fell flat against the gravel.
The hulking piece of rebar whirred overhead with a looming sense of doom. The inhuman speed made it whistle ominously – the grim soundtrack to their impending disaster.
And then, all hell broke loose.
The collision was a symphony of sparks and shrieking metal. The three combat mechs nearest Isabella took the brunt of the attack - their hefty frames crumpled under the unanticipated impact like tin cans beneath a sludge hammer.
Isabella tried to track the unholy being annihilating their defense line through the foggy curtains of smoke and dust.
She could barely distinguish a colossal shadow swathed in what looked like a tattered brown cloak. As soon as she managed to pin a crude silhouette, it... vanished, swallowed by the acrid fumes that now conquered the interior.
Isabella was no rookie to the merc game. Her augmentations boasted the most advanced optical systems money could buy. Yet she found herself slipping against the disorienting expanse of the vast warehouse, her gaze straining to keep up with the chaos unfurling at a frightening pace.
Half a dozen more combat mechs crashed to the ground one by one, sickening thuds of metal and machinery reverberating eerily through the sprawling space. The shadowy figure continued its devastating dance among the torrents of gunfire, slicing through the opposition with a brutal efficiency that was horrifying to behold.
Shock swept over Heinrich's voice over the intercom. "Izzy, get the hell out of there!"
His words echoed within the frantic confines of her mind. There was no questioning it; retreat was the only sane option now.
"You don't need to tell me twice, cowboy," Isabella spat out, adding an edge to her voice. "No job is worth flatlining in this shithole."
Cocking her weapon, she lined the shadowy figure in her sights. Her adrenaline rushed to a powerful crescendo, kicking in her combat reflexes. Without a second thought, she emptied rounds into the ill-defined figure.
The expulsion of ammunition resonated in a deadly symphony with the echo of her loud heartbeat. Near-invisible ricochet sparks offset the dimly lit chaos. Each bullet discarded from her weapon was a hopeful plea for survival.
But there was no hope.
The very rounds meant for piercing through the toughest armors bounced off the massive shadow that took every shot like a champ, harmlessly ricocheting into oblivion on impact.
Salt was added to her growing despair as she watched this ominous figure charge into the line of fire, mowing down the pair of combat mechs that were her last stand.
The industrial titans were reduced to nothing more than a child's discarded toy. With great swings from its monstrous fists, the mechs were ripped apart bit by bit, their robotic screams of malfunction drowned out by grinding metal.
The steel Giants crumpled under the onslaught, their metallic husks sent skidding across the warehouse floor, sparks flying into the static-filled air.
Fuck this.
Her decision was easy.
"Heinrich! We're done here! Light up the rest of the tin cans and scrape up Greyson."
There was a moment's pause before Heinrich responded, his voice crackling haggardly, "What about the job?!"
"Job be damned!" Isabella retorted, her desperation finally gleaming through her faux calm exterior. "I ain't about to be a grease spot on the garage floor, and neither are you! Get to Grey, now!"
"On it!" Heinrich confirmed, abandoning the safety of his control booth to sprint toward their fallen comrade.
With grit and desperation, Isabella's Umbra offered covering fire alongside a pair of faithfully operating mechs as the rest joined the fray.
She watched Heinrich's thick figure dart from his post and rush towards the front entrance, where Greyson's limp form awaited. Heinrich scooped Grey off the floor and made a beeline for their ride out of this shithole.
"Fuck this place," she muttered under her breath, emptying her ammunition into the chaotic firefight before joining Heinrich's hasty retreat.
Isabella spun on her heel and followed Heinrich, leaving behind a warehouse echoing with guttural roars of mechs and the haunting void swallowing the remnants of their disastrous stand.
I==I
With barely concealed disdain, Cyrus terminated the feeble struggle of a combat mech, his armored foot effortlessly pulverizing its pleading grasp towards a discarded rifle.
"Mercs are in the wind," Chamber intervened, her projection oscillating alongside Cyrus, observing the stark aftermath strewn around them.
"Oh, I've noticed," Cyrus responded, uncompromised focus manifesting as he lined up a shot with an almost casual ease. The whir of his tech pistol reverberated through the hollow warehouse before a neat gunshot punctuated the silence and burrowed into another mech's metal skull.
"Is that the last of them?"
"At least on the ground floor," Chamber replied, her holographic form veering around the warehouse as if taking a silent inventory of the chaos around them. "You really did a number on that merc. I'll be surprised if he doesn't spend at least a week in the Trauma Team's care."
Cyrus merely shrugged, hefting aside a pair of heavy metal doors leading to the structure's underground depths. "He'll be fine," he said dismissively, his hulking form silhouetted against the stark artificial lighting of the downward spiral.
"How many are there?"
His query hung mid-air as he descended into the hidden stronghold beneath the facility, each deliberate footfall punctuating the eerie stillness. As Cyrus turned the final bend, a flicker of movement seized his focus.
"I would say there are about-" Chamber was interrupted mid-sentence as an aggressive flare of growing light pierced the stillness.
A rocket burst forward on a hell-bent path and whizzed past Cyrus, missing his colossal silhouette by the slimmest of margins before detonating behind him.
Without missing a beat or losing an ounce of composure, Cyrus charged forward. His powerful strides ate up the distance, his tech pistol hastily making way for his Copperhead assault rifle.
The pathway culminated into a more expansive enclosure, revealing four combat mechs strategically ensconced behind pre-installed barricades.
Their focus was singularly trained on his advancing presence—three of them discharging a volley of automatic rifle fire as the fourth hastily reloaded its rocket launcher for another round amid the staccato of incoming gunfire.
Bullet trails stung the air as Cyrus covered the last stretch of distance with a powerful leap and pivoted in mid-air with a deceptive grace that belied his enormous armored frame.
The rapid-fire hailstorm of bullets flew toward him, ricocheting off his MJOLNIR's energy shield and turning into a light display of harmless sparks.
The spectacle ended as Cyrus landed with frightening quickness right in the midst of the drone squadron.
His massive silhouette was absorbed against a backdrop of splintering machinery and bright muzzle flashes.
With no delay, he brought his Copperhead assault rifle to bear. Its thunderous retort resounded as a spray of armor-piercing rounds pierced the air, churning into the Mech, reloading its rocket launcher. The rapid discharge of puncturing bullets eviscerated the robotic assailant with lethal precision, the mechanical death rattle echoing within the confines of the area.
In the ensuing chaos, a notch-like hum spiraled from Cyrus's left gauntlet, followed by the radiant manifestation of his energy dagger. Light, almost ethereal, danced along its razor-sharp edge as Cyrus turned towards his next target, slicing into a second Mech with brutal precision.
Molten metal oozed from the bisected torso, spraying in all directions. The chaotic disconnection between its torso and legs sent the Mech spiraling to the ground, its red eyes flickering before dimming out in relucent defeat.
Cyrus seized the lapse of misdirected focus, rolling away from the blaring muzzle flash of the third Mech. With a teeth-rattling growl of servos, he pivoted towards the remaining ensemble.
His energy shield whined in protest as it absorbed cracking bursts of firepower. The Mechs were helplessly flailing their arms toward Cyrus, unleashing waves of gunfire as he weaved around their fire patterns. The edges of his Copperhead flickered red, signaling an imminent ammunition depletion.
But there was no hesitation.
In sweeping arcs punctuated by the pulsating discharge of bullets, Cyrus scored an equalizing blow – a round that fragmented into a shrapnel cascade on impact, effortlessly dismantling the third Mech into a crumbled heap of sparking circuitry and stripped gears.
A minatory beep echoed through Cyrus's helmet.
The Spartan side-stepped a pile of burning scrap, his eyes darting to the familiar blue blip on the corner of his HUD.
Four warring Mechs rounded the corner and unleashed with a sudden eruption of gunfire. Cyrus was sliding between the legs of one Mech before their processors had time to even track him.
Outstretching his energy dagger, Cyrus severed through the Mech's midsection, cleaving a smoking rift between its bulky torso and legs. The sundered Mech shuddered to a grinding halt, its halves collapsing onto the cold concrete with an echoing thud.
The remaining trio, undeterred by their fallen comrade, closed in on the Spartan with a synchronized formation of rapid-fire suppression. Cyrus sprang forward, his shield absorbing the converging torrent of projectiles, the fiery plume of bullets enveloping his armored form in a dazzling flash of light. His assault rifle belched out a gluttonous mouthful of armor-piercing rounds, systematically cracking the facade of the Mech to his right.
By the time the rightmost Mech dwindled to a smoking monument of defeat, Cyrus was already in motion. Sparks flew as the edge of his energy dagger carved through the air, its predatory hiss echoing in perfect harmony with the shrill overture of screeching metal and shattered machinery.
Within mere moments, the remaining Mechs crumbled to a hapless spectacle of deformed metal and spent bullet casings.
Cyrus rose from his crouch, energy dagger dissipating into sparse ions around his gauntlet. His shoulders lifted as he took a deep breath, steadying his heart pounded fiercely against his ribs from the adrenaline-prompted exertion.
His steely gaze swept the wide expanse of the underground stronghold, parsing every nook, every pit of shadow for latent threats. Stillness reclaimed the environment – the fallen Mechs' remaining discharges of electric currents replaced the concert of gunfire and crunching metal.
"Chamber?" Cyrus's deep voice echoed through the demolished enclosure, bouncing off molten remnants and pitted walls. His MJOLNIR suit's sensors scanned the area, filtering through the mechanized debris for signs of remaining adversaries.
"All clear," Chamber's pristine voice responded amidst the lull in the battle, her holographic form shimmering back into existence beside him. "We're almost done here."
As the stillness sank deeper into the desolated stronghold, Cyrus found his bearings once more.
"How far are we?" His question was layered with anticipatory tension, echoing in the vast emptiness surrounding them.
Chamber's holographic form cast a holographic light onto the bleak surroundings, her auburn gaze focusing on a specific point within the sprawling labyrinth. "Not far," she reassured him, a note of undisguised determination coloring her tone.
"You see those landlines flashing with a pulsating red light?" Chamber pointed towards a cluster of data cables running along the battered wall — a throbbing lifeline in the otherwise lifeless facility.
Cyrus nodded, taking a step towards the indicated direction, the red illumination reflecting off the polished exterior of his MJOLNIR visor.
"Yes," he confirmed, his armored hand gently grazing the warm surface of the cables.
"Follow them. They should lead us to the Red Room's central node," Chamber advised, her figure oscillating along the length of the wires, providing a guiding beacon in the gloom.
Cyrus pursued the path lit by the feeble red glow.
His steps were largely unhindered by the sporadic chunks of debris strewn across the passageways. The haunting terror of this place seemed to hold its breath as he moved, the inconsistent flicker of dying overheads casting long, creeping shadows across his trail.
The corridor was a relentless maze of winding corridors, unraveled gradually in sparsely lit increments of red as he followed the network of humming wires. His heightened senses picked up the distant hum of active machinery haunted by whispers of data streams flowing in the digital veins of the ancient infrastructure.
Eventually, the sprawling maze of cybernetic trees funneled him into a large, armored door. The looming gateway glowered in the cold luminescence of numerous active terminals, devoid of life but bristling with the pure energy of raw information pulsating through its veins.
Cyrus approached, his massive figure dwarfed by the formidable portal to the main server room. "This is it," he muttered, a quiet human sound against the unending digital hum of the facility.
With the measured intensity of the UNSC's finest coursing through his veins, Cyrus lunged at the armored gate, his energy shield absorbing the impact with a pressurized hiss. As the massive barrier splintered under his forceful entrance, debris caught in the momentum of his invasion, Cyrus's form stormed into the room, his Copperhead trained onto the yawning darkness. His gaze, relentless and alert, swept across the room, hunting for hidden threats.
But there were none.
The whirring sea of complex electronic architecture stood mute before Cyrus, cowering in their silent labyrinth of mechanical forests. His MJOLNIR sensors pierced the unbroken darkness, but the device picked up no signs of life, only the hum of machinery and the whisper of pulsating data.
"Central terminal," Chamber suddenly called out, her voice pulling him from the stunning vista of high-tech deities. "Get me there."
Cyrus cast a piercing glance over the room before his attention quickly narrowed on the pulsating heart of the sprawling space. A massive central terminal stood amidst a sea of servers, its surface glowing with life in stark contrast to the rest of the room.
The server room was an ethereal entity suspended out of space and time; only neon backlights breathed a semblance of soul into the lifeless expanse. Above, the vast archaic canopy frowned down upon him, while beneath his armored boots lay ill-maintained concrete floors.
In the distance, endless rows of rigid black pedestals harboring the ancient sleeping minds of digital titans stood tall – their mechanical dreadnoughts piercing through the subtle neon haze. The artificial hum, a consistent pulsar, thrummed dreamy dash-dots into the thick suffocation, threatening the enormity of the space.
With his eyes always vigilant, Cyrus strode across the room, navigating through the choreographed chaos of humming wires and walls of translucent data-encrusted terminals. The gentle glow of the central terminal grew harsher, irritation seeping into the cold calculations of its blue embers as he approached it.
"Prepare for interface," Chamber instructed, her projection shimmering and pulsing with digital anticipation. Pivoting sharply towards the central terminal, she extended a slender hand, fingers spreading apart as a vivid stream of bright teal code spooled from her palm.
Cyrus watched, maintaining an alert posture as Chamber's holographic form began to fragment, pixelating into a score of smaller, angular specters of fluctuating light. Recognizable figures gave way to a graceful tide of rippling code fragments, her concentrated identity liquefying into a data stream humming with feral energy.
The physical transition took a matter of seconds.
Her digital presence flowed forward, rushing towards the terminal, where it collided with an almost physical impact. The sterilized blue glow of the mainframe blazed into a kaleidoscope of colors as spectrum hues bled into one another like an elaborate digital ballet.
Cyberspace was a world in itself, an infinite expanse of data flowing within the veiled realm of the virtual domain. It was unseen, unheard, untouched by our physical senses - it only existed in consequence, dimmed into obscure matter by the neon glare of reality.
But the signal Chamber had pulsed through the central terminal and tore open a veil, wrenching the room down into the hidden reality of Cyberspace. Trapped within this isolated kernel of the digital landscape, Chamber was a tempest, an incandescent beacon of binary authority hurling herself against the rigid defenses of the Red Room's servers.
Her form fluctuated, dissolved into streams of liquid cyan light pulsing against the binary parameters. With an aggressive pulsating burst, she became a devastating whirlwind of information, scattering the confines of Cyberspace as her presence surged along the interconnected placid nerve of the Red Room's main source.
"No time for countermeasures," Chamber's voice echoed, a monstrous wave beneath the shrill screech of screaming data. Her digital specter began to pulse more violently as she started tearing down the carefully erected firewalls.
Red alerts flared up as the defensive cyber protocol recognized the sudden avalanche of intrusion. However, Chamber was relentless, a tidal wave crashing against the rising fortifications—a blaze of reciprocating code assured a dance of escalating complexity unfolded.
The Red Room was disintegrating, disassembling into panicking clusters of equations and alerts. In the face of the devastating onslaught, the sleekness of the server room melted into the rampant chaos of the encroached world within.
"Shutting down primary feeds," Chamber announced, her voice overlapping with the cacophony of alarms. Light and sound fused into a colossal tsunami, crashing down the corridors of information and overloading the servers beyond capacity.
Beside him, the server goliaths crumbled, their silent screams echoing as bright arc streams of electromagnetism birthed from Chamber's irradiating entity pierced through them.
"Almost done," Chamber's voice shrilled against the crashing dissonance, an ominous backdrop to the visual apocalypse as her torrent of data manipulation spiraled into oblivion. The formidable Cyberspace capitulated beneath her destructive reign, leaving behind the skeletons of dismantled information architectures.
Watching Chamber decimate the seeming invincibility wired into the mainframe, Cyrus realized how quickly the tide of dominance could shift.
Just as Cyrus was a Spartan in the world of flesh and blood, Chamber was the same in Cyberspace, if not more so.
Data nodded, bowed, and dispersed at Chamber's command, going to war against their very purpose, obliterating the reality they were coded to protect.
A final sigh of transmission signaled Chamber's triumph.
The code-infused cyclone abruptly calmed, drained of its tormenting energy. The seething blue interface of Chamber phased back out of the disintegrated central terminal, materializing into her familiar humanistic hologram.
"Are we good?" Cyrus's query, a baritone rumble against the buzz of dying machinery, echoes across the caged darkness that nips at their sanctuary of light. His armored gaze traverses the routed expanse of the server room for residual threats, ivory-blue eyes beaconing beneath the shadowed brim of his Spartan helmet.
"We're good," Chamber confirms, the affirmation delivered with such somber finality. The once-pervasive glow of server cores fades into oblivion, each light blinking out in acceptance, dying like pinned fireflies.
The once incandescent frames of servers shed their last flares of dying brilliance, each melancholic blink succumbing to the shadows around them.
Within the bleak heart of the Red Room, where data trails once danced in resplendent networks, the titanic server banks stood as silent tombstones, pillaged and abandoned beneath the graceless shroud of cyber oblivion.
A halo of light wreathing Cyrus slackened until it exploded in a final death rattle of electricity.
And only darkness remained.
I==I
Cyrus observed the turmoil from afar. His darkened visor mirrored the frenzy of NCPD's tactical squad storming an apartment building in Santo Domingo.
It was hard not to watch as Chamber leaked the location of every individual in the city who had even remote access to the Red Room servers.
Over three thousand arrests followed in the span of three hours.
Inevitably, names surfaced of those who indulged in the Red Room's services.
The families of those who were sacrificed in the Red Rooms name were notified, and debts were being settled in blood across Night City.
Cyrus doubted many of them would see the coming sunrise.
"All's well that ends well," Chamber's soft note was a whisper in his ears.
A noncommittal grunt escaped Cyrus.
The eve of this mess had receded, ushering in a night laden with contemplation. He stepped off the roof and rerturned to the vibrant streets of Night City, immersing him amidst the urban deception.
Chamber breached the silence. "We did good work here, Cyrus. For that, you should be proud."
His taciturn reply echoed his grim demeanor, "I don't doubt it, Chamber."
"Then what's the problem?"
"This was a temporary distraction," Cyrus answered. "One I have no regrets in falling for, but it still leaves us without the answers I'm looking for."
And there was only one question that stood out above anything else in Cyrus's mind.
Chamber didn't have to ask what he was talking about.
They weren't the only Headhunter caught in the blast at the Forerunner Installation.
Cyrus kept his query simple, "Did you ever find what I asked for?"
As they waged their relentless war against the Red Room, Chamber had become an omnipotent force coursing through the blackened arteries of Night City's digital domain. Her enhanced capabilities resonated through every data stream, every echo of binary information, every coded whisper wrapped in the bowels of the city's complex circuitry.
Chamber embraced this luxury of unrestricted access like a sorceress wielding the winds of chaos. Her presence ebbed and flowed through the city's complex web of networks, relentlessly scouring the cyber landscape for anything capable of breaking through the shrouded iceberg of mystery surrounding Eliza.
Her search was both systematic and chaotic, branching into sparking tributaries of data streams, breaking into encrypted silos of files, and haunting every byte and fragment of information that dared hide from her voracious algorithmic gaze.
This was not a crusade; it was a frenzied hunt through the cyber wilderness borne of fierce desperation and a whispered promise.
Chamber marauded through the city's veins, dismantling firewalls, evading trace, and security protocols to unearth what had been deemed unreachable.
Yet, despite the depth and breadth of her search, the silence of failure remained her only companion for a time.
That was until now.
"Yes."
A pang of hope resonated through Cryus once Chamber's words coursed through his audio receptors. Yet, there was something hesitant about it, a lingering uncertainty that puzzled Cyrus.
"Chamber?"
Eventually, after a painful stretch of silence, she replied, "I found…something."
Cyrus studied the file that surfaced on his HUD, a digital reproduction of an age-old piece of data pulled from the Red Room servers.
A confluence of data points, entwining the most chilling – and downright disreputable conspiracy theories in history, lay sprawled across the infamous database.
Amongst the fabric of legends and myths, one photograph stood out, a faded relic but a key nonetheless.
In this photograph, he saw a silhouette of Morgan Blackhand, an elusive figurehead from Night City's past who had disappeared into rumpuses of folklore, legends, and speculations. Cyrus, however, was indifferent to the foreground figures captured in the ancient snapshot.
His sole focus remained transfixed on the MJOLNIR Mk. V armor relegated to the photograph's backdrop. The armor was all too familiar, its golden visor a beacon guiding his focus.
"Timestamp?" Cyrus asked. A faint hope flickered in his voice.
October 15th, 2023.
The silence that followed was palpable.
Chamber, perceptive as ever, let him grasp onto the thread of discovery, understanding that the implications were as unsettling as they were profound.
"Can anyone verify this photo?" Cyrus's voice resonated through the quiet, a query swept up against the gravity of revelations.
"Only one." Chamber's soft affirmation was punctuated by a face flashing across his HUD.
Rogue Amendiares.
Her image held a flame that had not paled. A combat-hardened veteran who had lived through Night City's ruthless legacy long enough to become an emblem herself.
Chamber's circuitry buzzed as she uploaded the location of a renowned bar.
The Afterlife.