David opened the nondescript door and stepped into the bar.
Yeah, this is the place.
He wouldn't quite call the bar run-down, but it had definitely seen better days. Old fluorescent bulbs hung from the ceiling, casting the room in an orangish hue, discoloring the various Valentino murals lining the walls. A few tables were strewn about the floor, surrounding two frayed and battered pool tables, only one of which was seeing any use. The stainless steel-topped counter was the only thing that looked well-kept; the shelves behind it were stocked with a variety of beers and spirits, and the stools lining it looked recently refurbished. The barkeep himself was restocking his glassware, likely preparing for a larger crowd later tonight.
The man gave him a suspicious look as he stepped inside, but he was too busy scanning the rest of the bar to pay the man much attention. According to that tip he'd found online, an up-and-coming fixer frequented this bar, and he was hoping to meet the guy. At a glance, none of the patrons immediately stuck out to him as what he imagined a fixer would look like, but he could see a couple tables on the other end of the bar, past the central counter, so it was possible that he was just sitting at one of those.
David casually strode up to the bar, one hand with his thumb hooked in his jacket pocket and the other at his side, intentionally displaying both hands. He half-sat on one of the stools lining the counter, acknowledging the tattooed barkeeper with a nod.
The man eyed him suspiciously.
"You look like you're lookin' for trouble, amigo."
David snorted. "Nah. Not tonight."
The barkeep raised an eyebrow at him. "You sure about that?"
"Pretty sure," he shrugged.
The bartender frowned, discontented, setting his palms on the counter and leaning in. "Listen, morro. I've seen a lot of guys like you. Young hotshots thinkin' they're bigger than they really are. But if you come into my bar and try and start some shit, you won't be walkin' out in one piece. Comprendes?"
David heard the men behind him distinctly set down their pool cues.
He sighed, raising his right hand. "I promise I have no plans to fight or flatline anyone tonight. Por mi madre."
The barkeep stared at him intently, judging his sincerity with narrowed eyes, before nodding and stepping back. "What can I get for you, then?"
"Tequila, on the rocks."
"Any preference?" the bartender asked, turning to pick up a rocks glass.
He shrugged. "Nothing too expensive, nothin' too watery."
The man nodded, picking a bottle off the shelf and gently placing two large, clear ice cubes into the glass before filling it to about halfway with a faintly gold-tinted spirit.
"Reposado. Bit spicy. Let me know if you want a refill, choom," the bartender nodded at him.
"Thanks," he said, taking the glass and paying for his drink before standing up and heading over to one of the tables at the far side of the bar.
Sitting down at a corner table, David began profiling the various patrons at the far tables. A trio of heavily tattooed Valentinos sat at another table, making snide comments in Spanish about someone that wasn't there, while a short man drowned his sorrows at the far end of the counter. A woman wearing a lot of makeup and a lot less clothing sat alone, staring interestedly at the short man's back while she stirred her cocktail—though he couldn't tell whether she was interested in something about him or just saw him as an easy mark.
And all the way in the back, a woman with cybernetic arms in a sleeveless denim jacket was arguing in hushed tones with a very large, scarred man in a flamboyant suit.
Well, if I had to guess….
David quickly downed the rest of his drink, then activated his optical camo and snuck across the bar to listen in on the pair.
"—Do you mean, 'I'm not the discrete type?' I can totally be discrete!" the woman hissed across the table.
The large man leaned back, giving her a wry look. "Liv, your type o' discretion is makin' sure nobody lives to tell the tale. This ain't that kinda gig."
"Try me. I'll be in and out before anyone knows it. No one's even gonna know I'm there," she protested.
"Uh-huh," the man replied, giving her a flat stare. "Listen, Liv, if I send you over and you do your usual thing, my client's gonna have my ass. I just can't afford the risk, ya get me?"
Liv scowled. "Bullshit. You just don't want me on because of that last job. I told you that wasn't my fault."
"Naw, that ain't it," the man shook his head. "You're just not the kinda gal I need for this one. Tell you what, though: come back next week, and I'll have somethin' lined up just for you. Sound like a deal?"
Her expression remained unchanged as she stood up, forcefully pushing her chair backwards as she did. The loud scrape of the chair's feet echoed through the bar, prompting a few patrons to glance curiously in her direction—which she didn't notice at all. "Fine," she spat. "But I'm gonna hold you to that."
She stomped off angrily, not bothering to pay for her drink. The scarred man stared at the empty glass, sighing. Poor guy had probably just realized that he'd have to pick up her tab, as well.
Maybe he could use that as a starting point. Grease the wheels a little.
David slid into the chair that the angry woman had just vacated, his optical camo still active, and stayed silent for a few seconds, letting the man across from him mull over whatever was going on in his head for another minute or two before he eventually lost patience and decided to pick up the glass, just to see how the guy would react.
The large man startled, immediately leaning back in his chair, hand reaching into his waistline for what David assumed to be iron, so he decided to stop with the antics and de-escalate the situation before he got himself shot again.
"Hey, relax," he said placatingly, deactivating his camo, rendering himself visible once again. "I ain't here to kill ya or anything. Just thought it was kinda rude that she left you to pick up her tab."
"And who're you supposed to be?" the man eyed him suspiciously, one hand still below the table.
David gently set the glass back down, making sure to keep both hands visible. "You're a fixer, right? Heard you were lookin' for someone discrete."
The man raised an eyebrow—suspicious, but clearly intrigued—and carefully brought his other hand back above the table. "And if I am?"
"Then I'm offering my services," David flickered his camo for effect.
The man smirked, the curl of his lips stretching the scar that ran down his cheek. "You think you're up for it? This ain't a gig you can afford to make any mistakes on. One slip-up and the whole party's over."
The guy's voice sounded kind of like Maine's, if Maine had grown up drinking snake oil his entire life.
David grinned confidently, slinging an arm over the back of his chair. "They won't even know I'm there."
"That's what I like to hear," the fixer answered sticking his hand out. "Name's Cormac."
"David," he answered, taking Cormac's hand and shaking it firmly.
"Pay's thirty thousand. Classic bag job. Everything you need to know's on this shard. Get the data and bring it back to me. Don't let anyone see you, and try not to zero anyone," he explained briefly, sliding a shard across the table with his middle finger.
David picked it up and slotted the shard into his neck without hesitation, quickly skimming through the mission parameters. In short, the Voodoo Boys had been working with the Valentinos to create some kind of specialized virus, and they had its prototype locked up on a computer in one of the Valentino-controlled buildings near Wellsprings. The client wanted a copy, and they wanted it to look like it had to have been an inside job in case someone found out it had leaked. The place had guards and guns, but no specialized netrunners or specialized chrome to worry about—which he found odd, but he wasn't going to question the inner dealings of gangoons. Maybe the Valentinos didn't think the VDB would hold up their end of the bargain or something. Either way, wasn't his problem. Just meant it'd be a cakewalk for him as long as he kept up his camo and exercised a little patience.
Shouldn't be too hard.
"I'll be back before this place closes," he said confidently, standing up and tapping the rim of Liv's empty glass. "Feel free to put this on my tab."
Cormac didn't say anything, but David could feel the man's gaze on his back as he exited the bar.
Night City's rooftops were officially David's new favorite way to travel. Running and clambering up towering walls, leaping from building to building, and finding outcroppings and connecting structures with which to smoothly control his descent was all incredibly exhilarating. He didn't think he'd ever had this much fun in his life.
If he ever moved out of Night City, he'd have to find another metropolitan to make his home, just so he wouldn't have to give it all up.
He made short work of the distance, and soon was balanced on a structural support beam under a highway pass, scoping out the Valentino safehouse he'd been tasked with infiltrating. A few gangoons hung around the building, talking and drinking on the hood of a car parked just outside the front entrance, blasting music from the vehicle's speakers, their pistols visibly tucked into their waists. One or two more guys kept coming and going through the front door, bringing various snacks and drinks for the group, who as a whole seemed more concerned with messing around rather than guarding the front entrance.
The one side door he had seen was guarded by a lone woman who looked like she took her job far more seriously than the other guards. Her bare arms had visible seams running down them, displaying a pretty hefty amount of chrome, and a small rifle or submachine gun was printing through the side of her sleeveless jacket. Finally, a man with a long rifle was posted up on the rooftop, keeping an eye on the streets below through his scope. He didn't have any idea as to how many were inside, but he did see a few people pass by the windows, so security inside was presumably heavier than it was outside.
Won't be able to get in through the roof or side entrance without alerting anyone. But if that one guy keeps goin' through the front, I could probably sneak in behind him when he goes back inside.
All he had to do was get into position and wait.
David dropped down from the support beam, using his monowire to control his descent. Landing softly on the concrete walkway, David unhooked his wire from the beam and retracted it before sneaking down the street and positioning himself near the front of the building, just close enough that he could sneak in if one of the guards retreated back into the building, and hunkered down by another parked car, waiting for his opportunity to strike. The guards were all still slacking off, bragging about their latest new toys and ribbing and making fun of each other. None of them seemed particularly keen on heading back inside anytime soon.
Just my fuckin' luck.
Apparently, he had missed the guards' last trip inside, because half an hour later, none of them had looked remotely like they were planning to head back indoors, even to use the bathroom. At this rate, he'd be stuck outside all night waiting for them. Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do about it, so he settled in and made himself comfortable, prepared to sit and watch the guard for as long as he needed until he got his opportunity.
And just as he settled down, four sharp, loud cracks echoed through the air.
Gunfire inside the building.
The guards sprang into action, drawing their pistols and rushing inside. David quickly followed, using the sudden commotion as cover to catch up to them and slip through the door just before it slammed shut behind them.
The entire place looked like a warzone. Corpses littered the ground, blood pouring out of them and covering the floor. Bullet holes dotted every wall, and spent casings were scattered all over the place. It was impossible to tell who had even fought who.
The outdoor guards looked just as baffled as he was.
More gunfire emanated from further inside—upstairs, maybe. The four guards ran in without hesitation, leaving David alone in the lobby.
He took a moment to study his surroundings. Given that every corpse in the room was sporting a bullet wound, he had to guess that the assailant used guns. He couldn't get an exact read on how many assailants there were, but given the lack of non-Valentino corpses and how fast they were moving through the building, he couldn't imagine there were more than three attackers. Too big of a group and they'd have been too slowed down by their own numbers to cause this much damage this quickly.
Hopefully, none of them had thermal vision. It'd be annoying if they did.
Scooping up two pistols off the floor, he checked both of their mags to confirm that they weren't empty before tucking one into his waistband and heading up the stairs to the second floor, trying to follow the intermittent cracks of gunfire that echoed throughout the complex.
The second floor was just as littered with bodies as the first, but had a far less open floor plan: long, forked hallways lined with doors leading to various small dead-end rooms that reminded him of some of the private offices he'd seen in the corpo towers back when they did that tour in the academy. Granted, the corpo offices there weren't filled with blood and gore, but at least the trail of bodies here let him know that he was still probably on the right path. He just had to avoid stepping in the blood so that he didn't make any fresh tracks while still invisible.
The gunfire was waning, now, and he still hadn't caught up to the attacker. If he continued to prioritize not getting caught, there'd be no one left in the building to hide from, and the attacker would make off with the virus before he ever even caught a glimpse of them. He needed to move faster if he didn't want to lose them.
Abandoning the stealthy approach, he took off towards the sound of the shooting, determined to catch up to whoever was slaughtering everyone in the building before they potentially made off with the virus and left him empty-handed. If he was lucky enough, his optical camo would be enough to get the drop on them.
The trail of bodies ended in front of one of the doors at the far end of the building, up a set of stairs behind the fire escape door, which itself was held open by a fresh body. Corpses were strewn all over the hallway, covering the floor in pulverized flesh and blood that poured out of them and coalesced into trickling streams that slowly flowed down the hall. Smoke emanated from some of their heads (primarily the bloodiest ones) and there were so many bullet holes in the walls and doors that he was confident a few of them could be legally classified as windows now.
The door had somehow been off of its hinges, and blasted chunks of material out of the doorframe in the process. Whatever had done so had seemingly only damaged the frame, though. The door itself was still mostly intact, bearing only two large burn marks covering its face and a slight bow at its outer end. The inside of the room was practically untouched, though. Pieces of the broken doorframe littered the floor, but there was no other evidence that any of the violence that had just taken place had ever reached this room. No blood, no bullet holes, just plain white walls and cheap synthetic carpet.
And sitting innocuously at the back was the computer he'd been looking for—as well as the assailant.
She was imposingly tall, David noticed; her height only further emphasized by her bright red trench coat. Her pale blonde hair was cut short just below the chin, and she wore a ventilated pink metal mask on the lower half of her face that undoubtedly filtered out all kinds of dangerous chemicals. Her sharp eyes were laser-focused on the monitor, scanning through line after line of text in search of her objective.
That also meant that she had stopped focusing on her surroundings.
All the better for him.
David stepped silently over the fallen door and around the large desk, positioning himself just outside the woman's line of sight, before raising the muzzle of his stolen pistol to her head and cocking the hammer.
"Yo," he greeted amicably, still invisible. "Hell of a scene you made out there."
She froze. Her eyes flicked side to side like a trapped rat, searching desperately for a way out, but she stayed still as stone, trying not to give him the impression that she was about to try something stupid.
"…Thanks," she strained out, barely audible. "What do you want?"
"Same as you, probably," he answered, shrugging, despite the fact that she couldn't see him.
"What, everything on this computer?" she huffed sarcastically.
"Just one thing. You can have the rest."
She tilted her head towards my direction, narrowing her eyes. "The virus."
It wasn't a question.
"The virus," he confirmed. "I was supposed to get it quietly, but, uh…" he trailed off, gesturing uselessly at the door with his free hand.
"…Ah. Yeah, I—" she cut herself off as panic slowly contorted her expression. "What the hell?"
"What?"
David kept his pistol trained on her. He wasn't sure if she was running some kind of ploy, or stalling for time, but he wasn't about to be fooled by such a basic trick. He used to pull shit like that on other kids back in elementary school; there was no chance it was working on him.
"Where the hell are you?" she asked shakily. "I can't find…."
Find?
Obviously, she wasn't talking about him being invisible. She clearly wasn't stupid. Did she have some kind of other way of sensing people? Some kind of cyber-sense, maybe—
Oh, right.
"You're a netrunner, right?" he guessed. "Yeah, someone already tried that. Doesn't really work on me, apparently. Sorry."
If so, it made sense how she had managed to cause so much damage without any visible weapons, though.
"How the…" she whispered under her breath, eyebrows furrowing as she trailed off. He was tempted to ask her what she was talking about, but she probably wouldn't have been honest anyway, so he just decided to continue his little speach
"Alright, listen. You've already fucked up my whole gig here, so I really wanna just salvage what I can and then get the hell outta here. So, I'd really appreciate it if you just gave me the virus, so that I don't—"
"…Martinez?" the woman cut him off, her tone slightly hesitant.
He stopped talking immediately.
What?
How the hell did she know? Didn't she just imply she couldn't sense him?
"…What?" he asked her, trying (and failing) to keep his voice even.
"You're David Martinez, yeah? We're part of the same crew," she asserted, still keeping her hands in full view and deliberately not making any sudden moves. She had to know how badly this gambit could potentially backfire on her if he determined she was lying. "Lucy mentioned you."
Well, that certainly got his attention.
"No shit?" David breathed out, partially to himself, before he lowered his pistol and deactivated his optical camo.
She gave him a cold once-over with her eyes, her gaze lingering on his EMT jacket. "Yeah. She mentioned how she couldn't hack you. Said you had some crazy kinda ghost security system, like she couldn't even interface with it."
Huh.
If he were being honest, he hadn't really thought about it all that much, but knowing what he knew now, it made a lot more sense. It was a little difficult to hack a purely biological being.
…Then again, didn't Lucy scan him back when they first met? He could've sworn that she'd pulled his Arasaka ID from him on the NCART. If runners couldn't interface with him, then how'd she mange to pull that off?
"Lucy managed to pull my ID, though. Wouldn't that count as interfacing with my system?" he asked.
"Not quite, but that's still more than I can do. My system can't detect you at all," she shrugged.
Huh. Weird.
"Maybe your shit's bugged?" he guessed. He wasn't exactly a netrunner himself, so he wasn't sure how their systems worked. Maybe Lucy just had a way better cyberdeck. "Your guess is as good as mine."
She shook her head, bringing one hand up to the back of her head. "Nah, I'd know if it had any issues. It's usually pretty obvious—" she started to explain, but then suddenly stopped. "Huh."
"What is it?" he asked.
"Your ID frequency's visible now."
He furrowed his brow. "No shit?"
"Yeah. Wasn't before," she nodded. "Strange."
He was about to ask another follow-up question, but was interrupted by the loud screech of a vehicle pulling up to the front of the building. David glanced out the window, and though he couldn't see anything from his vantage point, the distinct barking of orders from below was unmistakable. They didn't have much time if they still wanted to get out without being seen.
"Shit," he cursed under his breath, turning to his supposed partner. "Hey, you need the virus too, right? How long would it take to make a copy?"
She turned back to the monitor and quickly typed a few commands into the keyboard before pulling out a second shard, inserting it into the tower and hitting enter. "Already done. But if I give this to you, you can't tell anyone I was here."
"Cross my heart," he promised quickly, taking the offered shard.
"I'll know if you do," she warned.
"I won't."
"I'll hold you to that."
The sound of a door being kicked in somewhere downstairs echoed faintly through the building. They both glanced at the open doorway, then back at each other.
"Guess that's our cue," he quipped, turning towards the large window opposite the desk, shattering it with a powerful kick, causing thousands of broken shards of glass to rain down onto the sidewalk below. A couple quick swipes of his monowire cleaned up the remaining pieces still clinging to the windowsill. Setting one foot on the ledge, he turned back to his supposed crew member. "You coming?"
She snorted, giving him a disbelieving side-eye. "Out a third story window? You're insane."
"We'll be fine," he waved her off. "I've fallen from higher."
"Sure you have."
"What, don't believe me?"
"Take a guess, Bartmoss."
Rude.
"Alright," he shrugged. "If you wanna take your chances with the backup brigade downstairs, I'm not gonna stop you. But the 'Tinos weren't the only ones involved in this, so if they have backup…" he trailed off, shaking the shard between his fingers.
She blinked, before glancing back at the door and cursing under her breath. As he thought, she'd forgotten about the Voodoo Boys. He couldn't blame her, either. He'd nearly forgotten about them for a while, as well. It was an easy mistake to make, especially since the only people guarding the building were Valentinos. He wasn't sure why they didn't have any VDB goons guarding the building in the first place, but he wasn't willing to stick around and find out if they were kept in reserve.
She glanced back and forth between the door and the window, clearly deep in thought. Another loud crash reverberated from below, causing her to tense up. He could feel the frustration emanating off her as she debated whether or not to take her chances.
"…You sure you can get us down safely?" she finally asked him, forcing out the words like each one was a dent in her pride.
"Hundred percent," he replied easily.
She hesitated for another second before finally clicking her tongue—or whatever mechanical equivalent she had—in annoyance. "Fine. Get us out of here."
David pulled her close, looking for anything he could anchor his monowire to. There were a plethora of beams and support structures around, but all of them were a little too far, or at an awkward enough angle that trying to use them as an anchor point would probably just cause them to swing off in an unintended direction and crash into a building or something. The only viable choice he could see were the odd cylindrical protrusions lining the ledges of the floors above him, but he wasn't sure how structurally sound they were. He doubted they were designed to hold anyone's weight, let alone two people's, but this was Heywood, and these buildings were originally intended for the megacorps, so they were probably more stable than most of the shit in this city.
Besides, if it couldn't hold them, so be it. He'd still be fine. He could walk off rifle rounds; a three-story fall wouldn't do shit. He just had to make sure he was the one who hit the ground to absorb the shock. Didn't want his passenger turning to paste just for trusting him.
"Hold on and don't let go," he told her, flicking his hand skyward and casting his monowire into the air, manipulating it like an extended limb so that it wrapped around the outcropping and tied itself off so that it wouldn't come undone. After pulling on it a couple times to make sure it was taut, he held her close, jumped out the window and rappelled down to the sidewalk, using the monowire to control his fall.
A short scream escaped her just as he jumped, loud enough that it was distorted by whatever voice mods she had, but she quickly clamped down on it and instead held him tighter as they fell. He was about to tell her it was fine, but just as he opened his mouth, he felt their anchor point start to buckle under their weight as they descended, so he decided to not say anything and just hope for the best. Worst case, he could take the brunt of the impact; he'd just have to come up with an excuse as to why his legs hadn't turned to paste when they hit the pavement.
Luckily, the outcropping managed to hold out long enough for them to reach the ground safely—without forcing him to do anything that would've made him look more suspicious than he probably already did.
Thank God.
"Fuck," the blonde woman—whose name he still didn't know—cursed under her breath, disentangling herself from him and brushing off and adjusting her coat in an attempt to regain her composure. "I'm never doing that again."
"I'll try and keep that in mind," David acquiesced, trying to sound more relaxed than he actually felt as he dislodged his wire from the ledge and retracted it back into the housing before pulling the sleeve of his jacket back up over his wrist. "But we should probably get out of here first."
"Sure," she agreed, setting off at a brusque pace. After a few steps, though, she noticed that he wasn't following her, so she stopped and turned to pin him with a deliberate look.
"Oi. My car's down this way. Keep up."
She was heading in the opposite direction David needed to go, but he supposed it was better to stick with his teammate for now. Cormac would still be there when he got back, he supposed, and he had some questions he wanted to ask her.
He jogged for a few quick steps to catch up with her before falling in stride as she led him across an intersection and around a corner, out of view of the window they'd escaped from. She looked to be heading towards the waterfront, though they were still a little too far out for him to assume she'd parked right on the beach. That would've been a hell of a walk if she were.
"Hey, uh…I never actually got your name," David broached, breaking the silence after a minute or so. The woman turned and raised an eyebrow at him, before pausing, clearly having realized that she actually hadn't introduced herself.
She snorted—the sound heavily distorted by her mechanical voice box—before nodding in acknowledgement.
"Kiwi."
He smiled. Now that he thought about it, Rebecca had mentioned there was a Kiwi in their crew, hadn't she? He probably should have remembered that.
"David," he returned. "But you already knew that."
Kiwi gave him an amused look, but didn't say anything else.
"So, what's this thing do, anyway?" he asked after another short stretch of silence, holding up the shard containing the spare copy of the virus. "And why'd the Valentinos have it? They don't a have a ton of runners, far as I know."
Kiwi shrugged, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from her coat pocket and lighting one. "I haven't looked through all the code yet, but the Valentinos apparently paid the VDB a lot of eddies to make it for them, so they probably had somethin' planned for it."
He frowned, stuffing the shard back in his pocket. "I always thought the Valentinos were like, barely a gang, to be honest. Like, most of 'em just hang around and drink or play ball, y'know? What changed?"
"Not a lot, honestly. Valentinos used to be some real killers back in the Red. They had some brother-sister pair that tore through a couple corpo soldier battalions, apparently. Racked up a pretty crazy body count between 'em," Kiwi told him. "Forgot their names, though. Something Spanish."
"Damn, never knew that. They still around?" he asked.
Kiwi exhaled a large puff of smoke through her vents. "Hell no. They disappeared a long-ass time ago. Gang's mostly been layin' low ever since."
"But now they're up to somethin'."
"Looks like it," Kiwi drawled.
"Great," he frowned. "No info on what they had planned for it on the computer?"
She shrugged, taking another hit of her cigarette. "Dunno. Didn't bother to check."
"What? Why not?" he asked, surprised.
"Not my job." She dropped the butt of her cig on the ground and stomped on it, grinding it into the asphalt. "'Sides, we already fucked up their plans, and they know someone else has the virus now. They won't be using it anytime soon."
David huffed, disappointed. He'd hoped there was more to it, but she was ultimately right. He wasn't being paid to find out why they'd made it or where they planned to use it. He was only being paid to klep it and bring it back to the client. Any extra effort that he spent on random gigs was effort not being spent on investigating Blackwatch.
Keep your priorities straight.
"Yeah, probably," he conceded. "Any chance they'll trace it back to us?"
"Nah. They'll know a netrunner did it, but they won't know where to start. They'll probably assume it was some corpo or NetWatch and leave it alone."
"They won't hack the security cameras to see who stole it?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Disabled those like an hour ago. They'll be out until the city can get off its ass and send someone to reset them all."
He whistled, impressed. "How long'll that take?"
"Over here?" she asked. "Probably like a day or two."
"Sucks for them."
"We're here, by the way," she drawled, pointing to a red motorcycle with an aggressive flair parked near the edge of the parking lot of a different, smaller office building. "Don't know how you plan on getting outta here. Kinda hard to seat two on this thing."
"It's fine. I'll find my own way," he waved her off, unworried. It wouldn't take him too long to get back to the bar as long as he traveled by rooftop. Night City was far easier to traverse when one didn't have to worry about the godawful road systems, he'd learned. "One question, though. Who hired you for this?"
Kiwi snorted. "Never ask anyone that question. Even your friends. If they answer, they can't keep a secret, and if they can, they won't trust you with theirs."
David frowned. He hadn't thought about it like that. "Mm. You're probably right. My bad. Just wanted to know who all was after this thing."
"If a fixer doesn't tell us who the client is, then the client doesn't want us to know," she shrugged, knocking the kickstand back and revving the engine. "So don't push it. It won't get you anywhere."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Make sure you do," she advised. "See you 'round."
"Yeah, you too," he nodded.
She gave him one last nod before hitting the throttle and taking off, smoke peeling from her tires as she accelerated. She was gone in no time, only leaving behind the skid marks on the asphalt and the distant echo of her engine. He stared off after her, belatedly realizing that she'd never given him her contact info.
Whatever. He could always ask Maine for it later. Kiwi had already given him something far more valuable: an inside view on how Night City operated on a mercenary level.
And it wasn't like anything he was used to.
From what he'd seen of Blackwatch, they operated as a single, cohesive unit. All of them had been specially trained to work together. Even if they didn't know the name of the soldier next to them, each and every one of them wholeheartedly believed that the guy next to them had their back. Betrayal was unthinkable. And while Maine's crew was no Blackwatch, David got the sense that everyone there still had a great sense of camaraderie. They were actual chooms, not just temporary allies only in working together because it was lucrative.
The rest of Night City didn't work that way.
Most people in the freelance business was untrustworthy. They would stab him in the back without a second thought if it gained them something. Some were, but he wouldn't find out who was trustworthy and who wasn't without working with them. There were very few people in Night City who had garnered a reputation for being trustworthy, and all of them were not only notably expensive, but they only worked with those who had also established a good reputation. Given that he was hoping to lay low and not attract too much attention, that was gonna be a pretty big obstacle for him—especially if he wanted to rub shoulders with the best. More attention meant more attention from the wrong people, and he was hoping to keep Blackwatch off his ass for as long as possible, but if his name started making the rounds, then they might end up finding him far sooner than he hoped.
Hell, he was kinda surprised that they hadn't already. They'd already managed to track down his mother, so why hadn't they kicked down their apartment door yet? He would've figured that was the next logical step, but he hadn't seen Blackwatch anywhere near his megabuilding. Did they not know about the apartment? Or had the doctor declared her legally dead, so they hadn't bothered to check?
He doubted it, but he didn't have any better reasons.
David frowned, trying to come up with other possibilities, but he couldn't think of anything. Even Cooper's memories hadn't told him anything new. They had his mother's name, and believed her to be the primary suspect, so why wouldn't they bother looking for him personally? Had his mom falsely filed her address or something?
And if she had, then what else had she been hiding?
Definitely something to think about, but it was getting dark, and he still needed to head back and collect his paycheck.
The question still ruminating in the back of his mind, David took to the rooftops and silently made his way back to the bar.
Fifteen minutes later, he dropped down onto the sidewalk in front of the door, brushed himself off, wiped down the blood on his shoes and stepped inside. Cormac was still in the same spot he was when he'd left, sporting a fresh cigar and a new drink. The bar had become much livelier, now: a small crowd of people had gathered around the pool tables, raucously egging on the players while various patrons lined the bar and filled the tables, most either drowning their sorrows alone or chatting each other up in hopes of getting lucky. Cormac was still sitting alone in the back, seemingly undisturbed by the party that had invaded the place.
David strolled across the bar, giving the bartender a quick nod before dropping down into the seat opposing Cormac and setting the datashard down on the table. "Hey. Does it get this loud every night?"
"Somethin' like that, yeah. Got what I asked for?" Cormac asked, raising an eyebrow.
"See for yourself," he gestured. The fixer swiped the datashard off the table and slotted it without hesitation, his eyes running back and forth along invisible strings of code. After about a minute spent verifying that David brought him what he wanted, Cormac eventually nodded and ejected the shard before pocketing it.
"Yeah, looks like it," he said, taking another puff of his cigar. "D'you have to zero anyone?"
David grimaced. This was where the game began.
"They were all zeroed when I arrived. Someone else got there first."
"Fuck," Cormac cursed, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to nearly spill his drink. "Did you see who it was?"
David shook his head, shrugging helplessly. "Sorry."
A man was standing above him. His hands and feet were tied to the chair, and the bright floodlight pointed at his face rendered him unable to see anything but the man's silhouette. "If you're ever being questioned, try to avoid answering them directly if you can. Imply, be vague, avoid making concrete statements unless you absolutely have to to sell the lie, don't exaggerate your tone or body language, and let them come to their own conclusions."
Cooper was trained well—and David was more than willing to use that to his advantage.
"Fuckin' great. Client's gonna be on my balls now," the large man complained, lightly tapping the end of his cigar to knock off the ashes.
"Well, look at it this way: we were hoping to make the 'Tinos and VDB think that someone on the inside sold them out, right? If we don't know who else knew about the virus, then maybe someone actually did sell them out," he proposed.
"Try to avoid spinning narratives. Anyone worth their weight in shit can tell when you're tryin' to sell them something, and the more lies you spout, the harder they are to keep track of," the silhouette told him, leaning in enough to block most of the blinding light, allowing him to see part of the man's face. He hadn't shaved in at least a few days, if his scratchy stubble were any indication. Hard, deep creases looked like they had been carved under his eyes, which were accentuated by his thick eyebrows. His mouth was set in a hard line, and his dark hair was accentuated by a thin streak of white cutting a path right through the middle. "They'll be more suspicious of you, and once they start pressing you for details, your little story'll fall apart, and they'll kill you for lyin' to 'em. Got that, soldier?"
Well, he apparently wasn't following all of Cooper's training.
It may not have been the truth, but Kiwi hadn't told him who had hired her, so it could've been true. He doubted it, but he was happy to use plausible deniability to his advantage.
He didn't really think Cormac would buy his story, though. It was incredibly optimistic at best, and a shit cover at worst, but his fixer clearly saw him as just some cocky kid with a neat piece of chrome, not a veteran mercenary, so he'd probably assume David was just trying to cover his ass.
Cormac nodded his head side to side, obviously not convinced. "That, or the client's double-dipping," he growled. "Gonna have to have a word with them."
David nodded hesitantly, not trusting himself to say anything else. He didn't exactly know the client, but hiring multiple fixers for the same job did sound like a pretty shitty thing to do, so if that was indeed what had happened, then he couldn't say they didn't deserve what was coming to them.
Luckily, that wasn't his problem anymore.
"So, uh…" he began, interrupting Cormac's grumbling. He didn't want to be rude, but he also didn't want to be screwed out of his paycheck after still technically having done his job.
"Hm? Oh—right, your payment. Yeah, just give me your contact and I'll send it over."
One quick exchange later, a cool thirty thousand Eurodollars were deposited into his account.
"Thanks," he grinned. "Gimme a call if you get any new gigs in the future."
Cormac snorted, before downing the rest of his drink. "We'll see."
With nothing more to say, David stood up, exited the bar and set off toward Santo, pulling up Lucy's contact on his neural link.
He still had one more job to do today.