He hadn't been expecting the breach in the Blackwall. He was already halfway to Night City when he got the news of it happening. It was… potentially very problematic for him, but was overall a neutral event. Good and bad came from it. He knew Silverhand didn't have the means or will to cause such an event, so that left him with a bit of a mystery.

On one hand, that gave him a good opportunity to activate Falco, on the other hand, the whole city would be alerted for a while. An hour later he arrived, checking the local radio frequencies for anything to note.

Adam Smasher was back from Japan more than a week early. That was a distinct problem, and it shortened his window of opportunity by six solid hours. Still within manageable levels, but he would have to adjust some variables and orders to compensate. Namely, this meant scattering five trucks, not four, and the most armored one heading for the Metacorp Bore Blacksite. That wouldn't kill Smasher, not by any reasonable expectation, but it would slow him down for as long as he wasn't recalled to Night City.

Then he got reports that the Kujira was moving from Japan to Night City, and Saburo never moves without a very firm reason. It was almost impossible for him to know where the chip was, so that left… Ceremony for victory against the Breach? That lined up. It also meant that Smasher would be back in NC for the celebration in a minimum of five days, which meant Vincent had another time limitation.

Then, reports from his camera-watchers. Smasher could control five bodies at once.

It's always something, isn't it? Five bodies at once… Assuming they operated with equal efficacy to the original, that meant… two of them, the Samson and the Gemini, were going to be destroyed at the Metacorp Bore Blacksite. That left three to search afterwards, which was thankfully more than long enough for his plan. Or, it would have been, if it wasn't assured that Saburo was going to recall Smasher within five days.

No wait, he checked the time. A little more than four days now.

He stepped out from the tunnel into an abandoned building, then moved up the stairs, pulling a large suitcase on wheels behind him. It was a bit bumpy, but the inside was more than insulated enough to prevent any damages. Stepping out of the sewer tunnel, he emerged onto the streets of Night City right between Watson and Pacifica.

Doing all this in Pacifica was much too obvious, so he began walking to Watson, where one of his agents and a few technomancers were waiting. He moved through the streets, head held high but looking busy and knowing exactly where to go. If you act like you belong, people don't tend to stop you, a basic psychological trick.

There weren't any more bodies on the streets, not down here where the fighting wasn't so bad. The bloodstains would still be here for a while though. The streets were usually cleaned by the good nature of the people in Watson.

They were very rarely clean.

The recent violence has made everyone much more reluctant to start anything, and the police patrolled in swarms of helicopters, AVs, and the occasional linear frame. They were out for blood tonight, but so long as he didn't look suspicious, they wouldn't stop him.

Maelstrom didn't have the capabilities to take down the Blackwall in a localized area like this. Unless they had outside help, they couldn't have done that part. The real question was who benefited, and Vincent didn't know anyone who would gain something here. That meant that this was done by someone who was motivated by non-material things. Those were always a bit trickier to figure out.

It was too early to guess, and Vincent wouldn't have time to assemble a working theory regardless. It was merely speculation on his part, and it would stay that way.

Someone glanced his way, a quick alteration in his expression and a downwards tilt of his head conveyed that he was unfocused, and mourning. They turned away, assuming that he just lost someone today and was going home to an empty house. He knew that with absolute surety, just from the subtle twitches in their posture and immediate motion. He knew what that stranger was thinking better than they did.

He knew that, even as much as he wished he didn't.

Now, with Adam Smasher going after the Metacorp Blacksite, that left four locations and four teams. He only got word of how many after the fact, and was lucky to have just enough trucks to handle them all. One more and he might have a problem. Adam Smasher assembling such a group was expected of him, beyond normal actions, which meant that Vincent's model was off again.

Four teams. Arasaka sent 2 professionals and 3 rookies. That meant that Saburo was using his standard model of letting fate remove the chaff from the recruiting pool, but leaving just enough veterans in the group to ensure mission success. If he had to guess, Arasaka team was going to take on Petrochem due to potential legal troubles that required corporate protection to sweep aside. From what he knew of the rookies (which wasn't as much as he would like) only one had a chance of dying on these missions, and that was only if they took the mission against Petrochem. Yuri, the drone operator, had limited self-preservation measures while in the field.

100% chance of death against Metacorp. 34% chance of death against Petrochem. 0% chance of death against anything else. The rest of the Arasaka team was too well armored and had good enough speedware to ensure survival against anything except Metacorp. 100% chance of death against Metacorp, again.

There was a ganger, low-level, not affiliated with anyone major in front of him. They thought they were subtle halfway behind the garbage disposal on the side of the thrift store they leaned against.

He adjusted his walking and expression, and kept moving forwards.

The small-fry moved forwards to get in front of him, and brandished his gun, about to say something cocky.

Vincent looked at him with a despairing expression. The ganger paused slightly when he looked at him. Vincent sighed, and looked as exhausted as possible.

"Choom… just… just not today choom…" He spoke, just barely above a whisper, staring straight at the small fry. Eyes locked. The small fry stared at him for a moment, before lowering his gun and stepping back to the side of the building.

"Yeah… alright choom, just-just keep walking…" The small-fry did his best to avoid eye contact.

"Thanks…" Vincent nodded tiredly, and kept walking forwards. He made sure to keep up the act until he was firmly beyond the awareness of the ganger, and then sped up again.

The next team comprised of David's crew and Gloria. That and the borg Saburo sent over to serve as Smasher's spare parts. They were probably going to be sent to the ghost town. There was nothing in particular there that anyone knew about, so to maximize their chances of survival Adam Smasher would assign them to that. Unknown to Smasher, of course, was that the ghost town was the homebase of a raffen shiv group these days. He had been starving them out for a few weeks now, so they'd be hungry and desperate.

…14% chance of casualties among this group if they went there. It was low enough to be acceptable, and they'd be at much higher risk anywhere else. 43-72% chance of a fatality at any other site, 100% chance of 100% casualties against Metacorp.

Vincent hated himself. 14% should be absolutely unacceptable.

He came up to a police checkpoint in the road, he kept moving forwards, looking distracted, until they held up a baton to stop him with a firm poke. He shook like he had been drawn from his thoughts and looked up, brows furrowed and face fallen.

"Oi, creep, where you going huh?!" The woman shouted at him firmly, riot gear on and other officers watching carefully.

He paused, taking in a breath and seemingly struggling to find the words. It couldn't be a lie, Voice stress analyzers were standard issue in NCPD.

"I-I… was coming back from out of town… My input was here and then… the Maelstrom…" His voice choked up with deliberate tension, and his eyes were roaming as if he was trying to find something. Looking down, not up, and right, not left. It wasn't a commonly known fact, but the direction one looks when speaking indicates whether one is constructing a thought or remembering one. Another simple trick to convey the truth to those in the know.

Even if the truth was another lie.

The woman's eyes softened, and she glanced to see if the body language checked out with the other officers. They gave a subtle nod, and she clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Head home and get some sleep, alright civvie?"

He tried his best to smile, but it came out as a pained grimace. She flinched a bit from the expression. "I-I'll try…" He weakly replied.

With that, she let him pass, and he kept moving along, dragging the large suitcase behind him on the sidewalk.

It was the last two teams he wasn't sure of. Two locations, two teams. They could go either way really. One team was composed of a couple star-rookie edgerunners (a redundant statement, edgerunners never live longer than about five years). And the other was a motley group of professionals from various walks of life.

The edgerunners were simple enough. Smasher had asked Rogue to send him some mercs she didn't mind dying, and she called up the leader of their little crew. They heard the chance for eddies calling, and hopped right on. Assuming they were as good as the average edgerunner crew, about half of them would die on either the NUSA weapons depot or the Snake Nation nomads. Both groups had enough firepower and weapons to handle most, but edgerunners were usually a different breed of fighter to last more than a year with their professions.

That weapons depot was supposed to be abandoned, but that was only the story that the NUSA was willing to tell. Their operating AI for the facility went rogue some decades back, and if word got out their rep would be ruined. If the edgerunners survived, the official story would be that they left the facility long before any AI got there.

Which was good, as the Technomancers wanted something out of that place's basement, and he wasn't sure what. This was his payment to them for their services, getting a team of elites to soften their target up for them.

It was cheap to him, other people's lives. So frustratingly cheap.

If they went to the Snake Nations camp… No casualties. 100% casualties against Metacorp. The professionals wouldn't suffer casualties to anything except Metacorp, where they would suffer at least 2 deaths before managing to run. The optimal outcome would be that the professionals go to the weapons depot, and the edgerunners go to the Snake Nation camp. In either case, that Snake Nation camp would go down, and there would be one less competitor in the western half of the NUSA for the United Nomads.

By now, Falco should have told them about him, and be furious with him for the chip. He would likely go with one of the teams to assuage his guilt over a perceived betrayal against David. The best case scenario had him with David's crew. The second-best case had him with the… edgerunners, probably. That would reduce their casualties down to a 45% percent chance of a single death at the weapons depot, and no deaths still at the Snake Nations camp.

If Falco goes to the Snake Nations camp, he tells them the situation, and they support him in a bid for power within the United Nomads later on. He knew how Dogbreath, their local leader, operated. With that, Falco would have majority approval within the United Nomads.

He paused, and looked both ways before crossing the street quickly as reasonable, ready to throw the suitcase away if he needed to. Getting hit by a car was always a risk, and not one he was willing to let happen. Unacceptable outcome.

Soon enough, it was in front of his agent's hideout.

A plain looking ripperdoc shop front. He walked in, and waved a hello at the fellow in front. A ripperdoc had recently moved in, on the run from Moore Technologies. The previous ripperdoc had been calmly evicted. Vincent did him a favor or three, and the fellow acts as his ears in the city. One of many.

His specialty was the nervous system. Deep-tissue integration, titanium skull reinforcement, spine replacements… that sorta thing.

"Oh hey, you're here for your appointment then? Come on to the back, let's get you arranged." The young ripperdoc with the monovisor spoke. Both of them knew he had no appointments today, Vincent had purchased his shop for the entire week for this.

Vincent nodded, and descended into the basement. The ripperdoc closed up the shop behind him, locked the door, and followed behind him.

Vincent descended to the medical chamber.

Inside, six technomancers, a full portable machining table, all the supplies they could need in crates around them, and an operating table next to a large cabinet of fresh medical supplies.

They stared at him silently as he approached, reaching down to unzip the suitcase.

Inside, his son was unconscious and curled up, still affected by the gene-tailored sleeping gas that filled Falco's car earlier. He reached down, and carefully lifted his son to set him on the table.

He grunted as his spine popped a bit. Geez kid, could you be a bit lighter? Your old man doesn't appreciate the weight you put on.

At once, the technomancers surrounded the kid, plugging in IVs to his few remaining bits of flesh, and installing a breathing mask to keep him unconscious. He sighed when he saw how much chrome David had. Another year and he'd be too late.

"How long till you're done?" He asked aloud, needing a solid time frame.

"We'll need to do a full DNA mapping, and then begin frame construction. The mapping will take at least one day. The frame construction will take at least three days. The modified biosystem will take around six hours." One of the Technomancers idly answered, already beginning the process of reading his son's DNA.

102 hours. He had to make sure they weren't interrupted for at least 102 hours, while ensuring the finale ended exactly as he needed it to for everything to work.

He breathed in, held it for a moment, then breathed out.

He pulled out his phone and sent a message to the Nomads that were in and around Night City that they could take breaks in shifts, enjoy themselves in the city for the next day. That would keep them content long enough to get everything in place. He ordered one group to bring him his gear from the truck in the southern badlands first.

He checked the time again.

…Smasher would be back in Night City in at least 97 hours. There wasn't any way he could hold him off for 5 more hours than that. That meant resorting to distraction and misdirection tactics. He made a note to start setting that up in twenty-five hours.

Silverhand should've already been attacking Arasaka by now. Where the hell was he? There shouldn't be any reason for him to be holding back right now. He was distinctly displeased that the 3% divergence occurred in that way, a way he wasn't prepared for.

He looked back to his son, more machine than man right now.

He frowned.

He knew what happened to people who get too much chrome.

They end up like Adam Smasher.

They end up as slaves.

Like hell he was going to let that happen to his son.

102 hours.

Piece of cake.

Adam Smasher wouldn't be back for at least 97 hours. Metacorp's little projects would ensure that. He had until then to get ready for the finale.

…He already knew what he had to tell Gloria when she got here. It would be better for her if she moved on without regrets.

His logic demanded no other path. He ignored his hate and fear. They were never useful.

He only feared for others.

He only hated himself.