FOURTH_TIMER: 5%
[IMAGE OF A HAND REACHING OUT TO THE SUN DISPLAYED]
CURRENT_STATUS: "Willingness To Be Bought"
ENTRY_DATA:
Some familiar faces. Some owed favours. You're calling them all in.
Putting an actual crew together means showing some real vulnerability, which goes against your very nature, but you have no choice in the matter. It's what the client demands, and they're hanging your own life above your head, like a carrot on a stick. Still, learning to truly trust your chooms and have them by your side for this new job...may just be what you need to succeed. It won't be the worst thing to happen to you.
Your choice of a client, however...
A sea of sand swirled into the air as a Porsche blazed along the desolate roads of the Badlands.
The car's engine roared furiously, its harsh growls echoing across the vast expanse of the desert night. Cold winds whipped in the open landscape, but the Porsche cut through them with relentless speed, with soft, gentle moonlight bathing the car's metallic exterior, casting a silvery lustre that gleamed under the night sky. The headlights pierced the darkness, illuminating the long road that extended far past the borders of Night City.
V rested behind the wheel, subtly nodding his head to a thunderous rock song by the defunct Samurai booming from the vehicle's radio, sitting in a seat that possessed even the logo of the late band plastered right on the back of it.
Chilling wind blew pleasingly through the merc's hair as it entered the car's open windows, though it failed to breeze through the hair of Johnny Silverhand, the illusory phantom that sat in the passenger seat, gazing listlessly at the thick cloak of night.
"Eddie for your thoughts…?" V finally interrupted the silence between them, keeping his eyes on the road.
The phantom took far too long to respond. "Hm? Nothing."
The mercenary was not remotely fooled. Johnny, the digital construct that adored mouthing off incessantly inside V's mind, had suddenly fallen strangely silent ever since their encounter with a particular Cyberpsycho only a few hours prior. V, too, was in deep thought regarding the abrupt incident. Through his many encounters with people who had lost their self control, attempting to subdue them by Regina's behest, V had hardly struggled against any of them. Nadya Petrova had been a surprising exception, equipped with an unrivalled fervour and a strange energy that seemed completely foreign to everything that the mercenary had been familiar with. He only wished he could have learnt more about her at the time, but the appearance of an accompanying MaxTac squad made that impossible.
And though V had seen enough of the gruesome images that Night City could offer—enough for an entire lifetime—the sight of watching the young woman be torn limb from limb by a hail of bullets, and her frozen expression of petrified horror, had been permanently seared into his retinas.
Still, it did not explain why the event had affected Johnny to such a degree, and the mercenary had an inkling of an idea as to the reason.
"Back there…what that Cyberpsycho zapped us with…" V whispered as the song on the radio came to a close. "...you said you recognized it?"
The rockerboy continued staring out of the window. "Don't worry about it."
"Come on, Johnny. Spill."
"Just a hunch I got, that's all—something my gut's telling me." Johnny responded reluctantly.
"Uh-huh…and does your gut wanna share?" V persisted.
The phantom rockerboy reached into his pockets, retrieving a cigarette and a lighter. With a flick of his metal wrist, he ignited the cigarette, taking a deep, desperate inhale, then leaned out of the window and exhaled a stream of digital smoke, the dancing wisps trailing behind them.
"Remember our trip down to Pacifica? Our stint with those Voodoo pricks?" Johnny posed a question of his own instead.
V was quick to respond. "Yeah…whole fucking thing went haywire, but we got to chat with Alt, at least."
"That's what it felt like, V." the rockerboy stated firmly.
The mercenary frowned, failing to understand the trail of the conversation. "Huh? I ain't following."
"Down there with Alt—down there in fucking cyberspace, V." Johnny growled as his patience gradually ticked away. "When you touched the Blackwall…I still remember how it felt."
"Woah, woah…" V swiftly interrupted his partner, nearly haphazardly taking his eyes off of the road. "Slow down—you felt the Blackwall? The hell's that even mean...?"
In a rare instance, Johnny seemed struck with genuine surprise as he turned to look at V. "You didn't feel anything?"
"No?" V answered inquisitively. "I remember touching it and feeling…uh…nothing. Maybe…you gotta be a construct to feel it?"
"Hm." Johnny simply hummed, not nearly knowledgeable enough to confirm or disprove the mercenary's guess.
"...so?"
"So, what." Johnny replied monotonously.
"So tell me what the Blackwall 'feels' like!" V demanded with a groan, his own share of patience beginning to expire. "You can't just say some shit like that then go quiet. Gimme the deets, I wanna hear what you felt."
Johnny shook his head and folded his arms. "If you didn't feel it too, then forget it. It's not a feeling anyone can put into words. Point is, that chick-"
"Nadya." V informed the phantom.
"Nadya." Johnny haughtily accepted the mercenary's correction. "Whatever she hit us with, it felt like something…from beyond the Blackwall."
V's eyes widened, struggling against his instincts to keep his focus on the road instead of turning to gape at Johnny in disbelief.
"The Blackwall…? The fucking Blackwall?" the mercenary could not help but repeat the words he had heard. "That's…I mean—no way, nah…not even the fucking Voodoo boys managed to break past the Blackwall and make it back out without flatlining. It just ain't possible."
"Mhm…" Johnny hummed in agreement.
"I mean, shit—Netwatch wouldn't let something that gonk happen either. They've always got people watching the Blackwall, nobody can just slip in and out without them knowing about it. They would've been all over Nadya way before she ever hit the streets." V continued with uncertainty plaguing his voice.
"Yeah…" the digital phantom simply nodded his head once more, with no sign of raising any arguments to the contrary.
Johnny's lifeless responses only fueled V's growing anxiety. The phantom's lack of rebuttal suggested he knew the hunch was illogical, possibly completely wrong, and yet it gnawed at V's mind all the same.
The merc stared through the windshield, the car's tires kicking up clouds of sand as they sped across the Badlands. He fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of Johnny's words settling heavily on him. The idea of a roaming Cyberpsycho in Night City afflicted with rogue data from beyond the Blackwall was utterly unbelievable, and yet, V couldn't shake the feeling that Johnny might be right. Against his better judgement, the mercenary usually found himself trusting the rockerboy's instincts.
He almost wished Johnny had not shared his gut feeling. The notion was terrifying, and something he did not know what to do about. Whatever lies beyond the Blackwall was supposed to be contained, a remnant of the digital past, not something prowling around in realspace.
As the Porsche galloped through the desert night, V tried to push his encounter with Nadya Petrova out of his thoughts for good. Her strength, her madness, the strange dark electricity—it all seemed a part of a much larger mess, one that he was not involved in, nor could he afford to be. He had his own personal mess he had to settle.
Breathing deeply, V tightened his grip on the steering wheel, determination mixing with fading dread.
"Thought about what you're going to say?" Johnny sifted to a more pressing topic.
"What—to Panam?" V snapped out of his trance. "Dunno…probably gotta tell her I'm sorry, right? I've missed a couple of her calls…"
It had been a long time since V had last spoken to Panam. After his health had nearly reached a breaking point during his tense meeting with Hanako Arasaka at Embers, he had retreated into the confines of his apartment, for far too long. Paralyzed by fear of his impending fate, he had ignored countless calls on his holo, shutting out the world for a time, knowing that he would eventually have to make amends with several of his contacts.
"You missed her calls?" the phantom repeated slowly, then followed with a sigh. "She's gonna hit you."
V theatrically rolled his eyes. "Fuck off, Johnny. She ain't gonna hit me, especially not over something like that."
"Uh-huh, how many calls? Two or three?" Johnny asked calmly, still staring out the passenger-side window, the desert landscape whizzing past.
"Well, uh…let's see." V mumbled as his optics kicked in to display the records on his holo.
The numbers flashed before his eyes, and his heart dropped. Blood went cold in his veins. With a nervous chuckle and an unsteady smile, he reluctantly shared the figure with the phantom rockerboy.
"Um…sixteen."
Johnny's head snapped towards V, his expression one of incredulity. He pulled his large red shades off his face, giving the mercenary a disapproving shake of his head.
"She's gonna hit you." Johnny stated again, this time with absolute certainty. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he were internally debating whether to laugh at V or be responsible and continue scolding him.
As an even more nervous smile crept along V's face, he stared forward at the sandy road ahead, the outlines of the Aldecaldos' camp beginning to peer over the horizon, the camp's flickering fires and sporadic lights painting a picture of temporary refuge amid the wilderness. The mercenary gave an audible gulp.
"N-Nah…she's…she ain't gonna hit me. Right…?"
"Ow!" V yelped as Panam hit him with a balled up fist into the side of his arm.
Across the disorganised sprawl of the Aldecaldos camp, laughter erupted like wildfire, nomads sipping ice-cold bottles of beer as they watched the mercenary recoil from the punch he received. The camp's makeshift lights cast a warm, flickering glow and illuminated the amusing scene.
Mitch, perched atop a large, sturdy crate filled with liberated goods of questionable origin, howled the loudest. His laughter was deep, booming, nearly hysterical. He raised his half-empty bottle in a mock toast, his eyes twinkling as he pointed it at the merc.
"Don't go complaining, V! That's Panam going easy on you!" he cheered, his voice carrying over the thunderous laughter of his family.
V grunted softly and rubbed the side of his arm. Somehow, despite the extensive chrome that covered nearly every inch of his body, the punch still managed to leave a throbbing sting.
"Ugh…that's going easy, huh…?" he grumbled.
"Before you arrived, she promised all of us she was going to tear you into so many pieces, not even a hundred ripperdocs could put you back together again…" Scorpion chimed in, leaning against the same metallic crate that Mitch was sitting on, the faintest glimmer of a grin on his face. "You should be thanking your lucky stars."
V sighed, then turned to look at Panam properly, his expression a mix of sheepishness and embarrassment.
Panam Palmer stood right in front of him. Her hands, dressed with fingerless gloves, rested firmly on her hips, accentuating her formidable presence and the scowl plastered on her face, a raging fire highlighting her dark eyes. Her thick, chestnut hair was tied back in a practical ponytail, the loose strands framing her upset face. Her skin, bronzed by the relentless desert sun, had a natural glow, marred only by a few battle scars that she doubtless picked up on her many escapades, and she was fitted in a crimson bomber jacket adorned with patches and insignias.
The jacket was partially unzipped, revealing a green crop top underneath that clung to her athletic frame, and her pants, made of sturdy, worn leather were tucked into combat boots that were caked in grime.
But despite the scowl, there was an undeniable warmth in her eyes, a hint of the deep-seated care she had for the hapless mercenary still shining through. As V met her gaze, he only felt increasingly more guilty.
"I think you've got something to say to me." Panam whispered, her bottom lip subtly quivering.
V knew he had to apologise immediately. "I'm sorry, Panam—I swear it."
"Sixteen times!" Her voice abruptly boomed, causing the mercenary to recoil again as she raised one foot and kicked the dirt beneath her. The impact sent a small cloud of dust swirling around her boots. "Sixteen fucking times, V! I had no clue what happened to you—how could I?! I don't even have an address to check on you with… you could've been dead for all I knew!"
"I know, I-I'm sorry! Didn't mean to ghost you, promise!" V spoke ashamedly, defensively raising his hands in front of him, worried that she would punch him again.
Panam's eyes burned with a mix of anger and hurt. "You wanna tell me what the hell you were thinking?" she hissed, her fists clenched at her sides.
"Panam… I…" V struggled to get the words out with so many eyes locked onto him, his voice weak and defeated. He glanced around, feeling the weight of the stares from the Aldecaldos, the tension in the air suddenly growing palpable. "Remember that… thing we talked about? The thing… I'm going through…?"
Panam raised an eyebrow, her expression softening slightly but still guarded. "Yeah?"
"It… got a lot worse." he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I really did almost flatline."
Panam's stern facade finally cracked, revealing a flash of concern in her eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to process his words, tapping one boot on the soil.
The mercenary had already opened up to her long ago, sharing a precious secret with her in a moment of weakness. The story of the mercenary's encounter with Arasaka and the failed heist of Konpeki Plaza was one that had already been recounted to her, and while she self-admittedly could not fathom exactly what was happening to V, she understood fully well that a slow death was slowly encroaching on him. It seemed that, knowing this, she could not bring herself to be as furious with the merc as she wanted to be.
The nomad gave a prolonged sigh, her shoulders rising and falling with the weight of it, then finally stopped tapping her foot. Wary of the onlookers, she turned around and motioned for the mercenary to follow behind her.
"Come on…" she commanded.
V slowly trailed behind Panam as she led him away from the gaggle of intoxicated nomads. The raucous laughter and clinking of bottles faded into the background, the wafts of alcohol growing weaker with each step. They walked in silence, the ambient sounds of the campfire and the desert night skipping around them.
As they reached the very edge of the camp, Panam finally took refuge in a large, tattered tent that housed the Basilisk. The tent stood solemn, its fabric flapping gently in the cool night breeze. Inside, the air was still, almost lifeless. The metal plating of the massive hovertank, which the merc had assisted the Aldecaldos with liberating from the grasp of Militech in the past, still shimmered beautifully even in the dead of night. The moonlight filtering through the tent's openings cast a silvery glow on the Basilisk, a proud spotlight for its sleek contours.
Panam stopped in front of the hovertank, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of a panel. She seemed to gain solace from its presence, her posture straightening slightly.
Her eyes blinked slowly, as if she had finally calmed down. When she turned to look at V again with her beautiful, dark eyes, the furious scowl had completely dissipated, replaced by a look of genuine concern. It was a look she was likely embarrassed to show in front of her fellow nomads, but here, in the quiet of the tent, she allowed her guard to fall.
Unprompted, she took a few steps closer to V, her movements deliberate. She placed a reassuring hand on his left arm, right where she had punched him earlier. But now, her touch was comforting, not painful, her fingers warm against his skin.
"Tell me what happened—exactly." she spoke softly, her gaze unwavering. "Did you…blackout again?"
V could feel the weight of her concern, the sincerity in her eyes cutting through the layers of bravado he usually wore. As tight-lipped as he usually was about his affairs, he could not keep it bottled up inside when faced with an actual friend.
"Yeah…" he began, his voice low and strained. "Just a little while back, I…uh, got in touch…with someone from Arasaka. They wanted to meet at this corpo club. I went there…to talk about a deal."
The expression on Panam's face shifted from concern for V's health to alarm at what he was saying.
"A name, V?" she demanded, her voice tight with urgency.
"Huh? It's a place called Embers—" V started, not understanding.
"I'm not asking about the fucking club!" she growled, frustration evident in her tone. "Who did you meet?!"
"Oh!" V nearly jumped with realisation but still hesitated, knowing how difficult it would be to believe. "You ain't gonna buy it."
"You don't trust me?"
"Of course I tru—" V desperately tried to respond, but the impatient nomad cut him off once more.
"Then tell me who it was!" she roared, her voice echoing off the walls of the tent.
V felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He knew he couldn't hold back any longer, not with Panam's fierce determination digging deep into him. Her eyes, blazing with a mix of anger and concern, demanded the truth.
"Hanako Arasaka." he finally confessed solemnly, the name hanging heavily in the air.
A long stretch of pure silence followed. Panam folded her arms, becoming as still as a statue, motionless while staring daggers into the mercenary. The tension was too thick, the silence dragging on to the point where V could not bear it anymore.
"So...uh...do you believe me?" he asked, his voice hesitant.
Panam raised her head in response, glaring at the ceiling of the tent for a moment before she met his gaze again, biting her lip in contemplation.
"I'm…trying to." she eventually responded. "That…woman, she's…"
"Daughter of the Emperor, yeah." V interjected, hoping to fill the awkward void.
Panam's temper quickly flared up again. "And you wanted to make a deal with them? Are you out of your fucking mind?!"
"Well, yeah, I did." V reluctantly admitted. "The thing in my head… the biochip… it's their tech. Doesn't matter though, I blacked out before we agreed on anything."
"That's where it happened?" Panam's voice softened slightly.
V gave a nod. "Yup. Scared the crap outta a choom—might've scared my ripperdoc too. They, uh, took care of me… and also told me time's running out."
The nomad nearly lost her balance as her face became petrified with horror. "What…? Then, are you…?"
"No, no!" the merc quickly reacted and tried to reassure Panam. "I, uh, bought myself some more time. It ain't with Arasaka…but I still cut a deal."
Panam continued to look afraid, her eyes frantically darting back and forth. "You did?"
"Yeah, that's…actually why I'm here."
V backed away slightly and leaned on the hovertank next to Panam, feeling its cold, metallic touch on his back. He knew he had to tell her about the new lead he had regarding the biochip, about his encounter with an elusive, blue-eyed man, but hesitation still gripped his heart firmly. A simple request for help and asking someone to commit to being in a crew were vastly different things, especially from Panam—a woman already so deeply tied to a crew and family of her own. V himself was still plagued with doubts, a man too determined to brave the veins of Night City alone, unprepared to have other mercenaries by his side after working in solitude for so long.
The cold wind outside the tent rustled its flaps, bringing with it the distant sounds of the Aldecaldos' camp—a reminder of the life Panam had built here, and the one he would be asking her to leave behind, at least for a time.
V's train of thought was interrupted as Johnny materialised, lounging atop the hovertank and taking deep draws from his virtual cigarette. An amused grin spread across his face, clearly relishing the sight of the merc squirming uncomfortably.
"Oh, just grow a pair and ask her already. This is fucking embarrassing." he chided, nonchalantly swaying his feet above the military-grade vehicle. "Didn't come all this way just to watch you piss your pants in front of this chick."
Johnny's irreverent demeanour only added to V's frustration, causing him to shoot the rockerboy with a deathly glare, but the phantom's grin only widened as he leaned back, exhaling a long plume of digital smoke that dissipated into the night air
V took a deep breath, steeling himself as he turned his attention back to Panam. The nomad was still watching him, her eyes filled with anticipation. There was no point in hesitating any longer.
"Panam…" he spoke, his voice firm but earnest. "I…need your help."
The shine of the glimmering moon was blotted out with the terrible hand of a sweeping darkness.
A woman laid flat in the unending sea of darkness, drifting and sifting through its vast expanse, not yet conscious or aware of her surroundings. Her eyes were sealed firmly shut, her magenta coloured hair matted to her forehead, and her entire body was limp as tides of the darkness carried her across the void.
Consciousness finally reached her when a terrifyingly inhuman voice echoed throughout the infinite darkness.
"Song…bird…"
The netrunner tried to gasp in horror, but it was to no avail, nor could she open her eyes. In the endless void, she had no control over her own body. The only thing she could do was lay in the darkness and leave herself subject to its whims, a hostage locked tightly inside her prison of flesh, no escape to be found. A single tear rolled down her paralysed cheek as she sensed the darkness around her morphing into a sea of monstrous hands, coiling around her body and beginning to drag her under the blanket of black.
The prisoner began to drown as darkness, twisted and broken in its grasp, forced to remain frozen as the void swallowed her whole. The grip of death was immutable—ironclad with those whose time had finally run out, and it had found its next victim. Even if she could struggle, there would be no point to the effort. Death had chosen her.
Songbird woke up screaming.
"Fuck! Fuck!" she yelped, her voice raw with unfiltered fear, her body drenched in sweat.
The terrified netrunner panted heavily, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she frantically touched the soft fabric of the bed beneath her, desperate to assure herself she was no longer dreaming. Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest, the rapid thudding reverberating in her ears. Her mouth was dry, and it took several agonising moments for her vision to clear, the blur of sleep slowly lifting. The grogginess began to fade, but the lingering terror clung to her like a second skin.
She sat up, her hands still trembling as they gripped the sheets. The room around her was dimly lit, shadows dancing in the corners, with only the television on the other side of the room lending any light. She could make out a female reporter making stoic announcements on the large screen, though not much else; the disorientation needed a little more time to fully wear off.
"Another nightmare, huh?" a feminine voice echoed from across the room.
Songbird slowly turned her head toward the source. A young woman, short in stature and clad in reinforced protective gear from head to toe, sat in a sleek, black chair opposite the bed. Despite the late hour and the likely discomfort of her attire, she remained vigilant, her posture relaxed but ready. The dim blue light of the television illuminated her, casting sharp shadows across her face as she leaned back, eyes fixed on the flickering news channel. It was Lina Wei Zhang—Songbird's bodyguard and overseer.
"Yeah…" Songbird's weak voice croaked in response.
The netrunner was still under constant surveillance while owned by Kang Tao. Cameras tracked her every move, and a bodyguard was always to be stationed by her side, even as she slept. As disturbing as it once was, however, she had grown accustomed to being watched while she was in bed. Unbelievably, she even felt a twinge of pity for Lina, who had to spend her nights observing someone else at rest.
"Sorry." Lina spoke softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, her eyes never leaving the television screen. "Thought I could at least watch the news while I'm here…I tried to keep the volume down. It didn't wake you up, did it?"
"No, no…" Songbird replied honestly, shaking her head as she cradled it in her hands. "...even if you had, I…would've thanked you for it."
Lina chuckled dryly. "You sure do have a lot of nightmares."
They were more than just nightmares, but only Songbird knew that. Something insidious coiled within her, corrupted and devastating in its unknown nature, and somehow completely undetectable unless it chose to reveal itself.
The terror of having something so alien prowling her system was beyond measure, yet she knew she had no one to blame but herself. The malignant presence was the result of her own foolish actions in the past—actions she never wanted to reminisce about, the shamefulness of it all would be too much to bear.
Songbird slowly turned her head away from Lina and stared at the glowing television, where familiar images flickered across the screen. It was tuned to News Network 54, displaying footage of a high-rise she recognized all too well. That building had been where she had stayed, the Kang Tao facility she occupied until the attack. The bloody assault by chromed-up Arasaka assassins had forced them to temporarily relocate, seeking the safety of a more inconspicuous area for her protection.
However, that was hardly a real solution, and Kang Tao had already devised a more permanent one. In just three days, they planned to smuggle Songbird out of the country, leaving both Night City and the NUSA far behind. They aimed to find a place where Arasaka's influence was at least somewhat weaker, somewhere she could disappear. But they had not shared the destination with her. Officially, the megacorporation's executives claimed they had not yet decided where to take her.
Songbird was not nearly foolish enough to take their official statements as gospel. Perhaps Kang Tao had already chosen her new location and decided she did not deserve to know. To them, she was merely property—an asset—unworthy of explanations or solace.
The netrunner began to properly listen to the news channel, catching a blonde-haired, elegantly dressed woman in the midst of her report.
"...bringing you a breaking story from the heart of central Plaza, where a devastating attack took place at a Kang Tao corporate building, leaving several employees dead, and others injured." Gillean Jordan, a reporter, spoke monotonously.
The footage of the aftermath played on the screen, consisting of shattered glass, bloodstains, and emergency responders at the scene, painting an image of chaos.
"The attackers, whose identities remain unknown, managed to infiltrate the heavily guarded building and unleash a brutal assault on the unsuspecting Kang Tao staff." Gillean Jordan continued. "The motive behind this attack is still unclear. Meanwhile, Kang Tao has not minced words, directly implicating Arasaka as the orchestrators of the attack. However, when approached for a statement, Arasaka declined to comment on the accusations."
Songbird's hands instinctively clenched into fists, frustration culminating as she listened.
"Furthermore, the NCPD has announced that they will not be filing any charges against Arasaka, citing a severe lack of evidence at this time. We will continue to bring you the latest updates as this story develops. In other news…" the female reporter concluded, before transitioning to the next pertinent story.
Too irritated to keep watching, Songbird averted her eyes from the television and tried to tune out the audio. Her time with Arasaka had already taught her of the megacorporation's indomitable strength and influence, capable of slithering their way out of accountability for any of their myriad of crimes, but having to endure the continuous attempts on her life while they suffered no repercussions still angered her to no end.
Lina observed the netrunner's demeanour and quickly discerned what she was thinking.
"That's just how things are, Songbird." she sighed. "Nothing we can do to them…Arasaka owns this city—they're untouchable. The only way to keep you safe is to get you far, far away from all this."
"Right…" Songbird muttered in stoic agreement, her head hanging low.
Lina finally tore her gaze from the flashing screen and focused on the quiet netrunner. She stared at Songbird intently, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. The bodyguard's piercing stare had become a recurring one since the incident at the Corpo Plaza.
Ever since Songbird had somehow managed to sap the life out of the Arasaka assassins with a simple flick of her wrist, Lina's eyes had held a mixture of fear and awe, as did many of her peers. The shift in Lina's gaze had not gone unnoticed by Songbird; she could feel the weight of the bodyguard's lingering, scrutinising glances, a fear born of the unknown. Despite their many efforts, they could not discover what was lurking within Songbird.
"Do you…uh…feel alright?" Lina questioned hesitantly. "We can…run diagnostics on you again, if you want."
Songbird shook her head in refusal.
She knew they would find nothing—again.
Leaning against the cold wall beside her bed, Songbird stared out to the clouded night sky through her window, and she watched the shimmering light of the moon swim valiantly through the clouds to show its opulence. Since childhood, she had always gazed at the beautiful moon hanging above the world during the most terrifying of nights, letting her mind drift away from the horrors of reality.
But reality would not be denied. Something inside of Songbird—something that no one understood—was gradually choking the life out of her, and it struck more fear into her heart than Arasaka or any other megacorporation could ever hope to. She would not go along with Kang Tao's plans any longer. She could not leave until she found a cure—a cure she believed she already knew where to find. Night City held the key.
Songbird would have to rely on her new business partners proving themselves to be useful, including a well-renowned mercenary that had agreed to break her out of Kang Tao's clutches. She had been keeping a close watch on this particular mercenary-for-hire for a fair amount of time, for a large array of reasons, and believed she held the ultimate leverage over him.
She could only hope his abilities lived up to his reputation.
"So…yeah, I got a gig. Now…I just need some chooms." V finished explaining.
The air had been stifling as V had recounted what had happened to him in recent memory to Panam, predominantly regarding his encounter with a peculiar, corporate man that had promised him a solution for his otherwise inevitable death. The only thing he had chosen to not yet divulge was the actual details of the job and what it required, hesitating to share that information before seeing any sign of willingness from the nomad.
Panam had been deathly silent throughout, merely listening to the mercenary with no emotions written on her face for once. When V had finally finished, she slowly nodded her head, stopped leaning on the Basilisk, and startled the mercenary by raising her voice.
"Saul! Get in here!" Panam turned her head to the entrance of the tent and bellowed.
V stood in bewildered anticipation, the tension palpable as he waited for a response. Moments later, the sound of heavy footsteps approached, echoing ominously outside the tent. The flaps of the entrance were pulled back by two thick, burly arms, revealing Saul, the rugged leader of the Aldecaldos. His face was a canvas of weariness etched with deep lines of fatigue, yet the slight influence of alcohol had softened his usually stern features.
Saul stepped inside, his presence commanding despite his evident exhaustion. His beard was unkempt, and his eyes, though tired, held a flicker of curiosity. He nodded politely at V, acknowledging the mercenary's presence with a brief gesture, before turning his full attention to Panam.
"What's going on?" he asked, his voice gruff but laced with concern.
Panam's expression soured as she reluctantly confessed the truth. "You were right."
Despite his typically stoic demeanour, Saul's face immediately lit up with a grin of pride.
"I told you it had to do with V." he chuckled, tossing an empty beer bottle to the dirt. "Wherever he goes, the strangest things follow. I only wonder when you'll learn to stop second-guessing me."
"Oh, screw you…" Panam sighed, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
"Huh? What the hell's going on?" V quickly interjected, his confusion evident. "Did you…did you know I was coming?"
Saul's grin widened as he turned to V. "About a week ago, we got a big payout wired to us. It came through to an account that Panam has in the city, for no reason that we can tell."
"Who from?" the merc questioned.
"No idea." the gruff man answered V along with the shaking of his head. "We tried to get Carol and Dakota to trace the account that sent it, but it seems like the account doesn't exist—not anymore."
"Someone just decided to throw eddies our way and then fucked off." Panam added her own comment with a groan. "It made no sense…but Saul said it might have something to do with you, and I guess he was right."
"Mr. Blue Eyes…" V muttered quietly, his voice still uncertain. "He did say he'd pay the chooms I picked…I guess this is him putting some of the eddies up front…"
"But why all the secrecy?" Panam asked with a raised eyebrow.
V shrugged. "Only met him once, but I think that's just how he likes to play it—loves that air of mystery or some shit…"
The air grew thick as V paused, a frown spreading across his face as a sudden realisation struck him. His gaze dropped to the ground, then darted back to Panam and Saul, a cold sensation creeping through his body.
"Wait… did you say he flicked you eddies a week ago?" V whispered, his eyes frantically shifting as his mind struggled to piece together the implications.
Saul's expression darkened as he noticed the change in V's voice. Concern etched deeper lines into his rugged face.
"Yeah, why?" he responded cautiously, his eyes narrowing.
V's heart pounded in his chest as the pieces started to align. He had only just met the elusive Mr. Blue Eyes earlier today and accepted the job proposal; there had been no time at all yet for V to have shared his choices for a suitable crew.
If the money was indeed from Mr. Blue Eyes or his associated corporation, it would mean that they already knew which people V would choose to confide in, all before he had even agreed to take the job. The very thought of it was absurd, as well as concerning beyond belief, and it made V wonder just how many of his decisions had already been predicted and pre-determined by his new client.
His mind raced, replaying every detail of his brief interaction with Mr. Blue Eyes. The man's calm, knowing smile, the way he had seemed almost too confident. It was a confidence that was ever growing in justification.
"V? Are you alright?" Panam's voice broke through his thoughts, softening the edge of his anxiety. She brushed a strand of hair out of her face, her head tilted to one side in worry.
"Y-Yeah…I'm nova." V lied, turning his gaze away to avoid her penetrating eyes. His voice wavered slightly, betraying the fear inside him.
The mercenary knew he couldn't afford to get distracted; he still had to pose the ultimate question to Panam about joining him for the job. But images of the strange man in the sleek suit kept flashing through his mind, unsettling him to no end. How did Mr. Blue Eyes and his organisation know so much about him, to the extent that it almost felt like they were reading his very thoughts? The level of information they seemed to have on him felt impossible.
The realisation gnawed at him. In his willingness and desperation to cut a deal and save his own life, he had been bought, and thrown into a corporation's intricate web, his every move being calculated and anticipated before he even made them.
Just how much was V being watched?