So, I figured this would be the best way to drum up some interest. I wrote this prologue a while back and... here we go! I wanna encourage as many new readers as possible to hit me up with an idea for a character and join this lil' community!
05:08 1st March, 2090
CyberMatrix Container Yard, Northside, Watson
The container yard that was nestled away between Cordwainer St. and Pinewood St. lay shrouded in perpetual twilight, a bleak symphony of neon lights and megabuildings. The district was a grim maze of soft green containers, cornered by steel lampposts that shone warm light into the darkness, already illuminated by the distant glow of advertisements for Eji, Maxiwear, Zetatech, Cirrus…
Robbie didn't care for brands. He had when he was younger, but he'd outgrown flights of fancy. Unlike Dwayne.
Sure, Northside was home to the Barrett's, but it was also the dumping ground for all the trash in Night City. It was where the roar of the city never truly quieted, and it was here that Robbie Barrett waited, in the part of Watson no-one with money went.
He usually preferred the Cargo Bay. It was the closest thing to Dogtown outside of Dogtown itself, except without the toy soldiers. Stacks of cargo containers, emblazoned with fading corporate logos, the relics of forgotten promises. Robbie remembered playing in them as a kid with Dwayne. The nearby market was a dance of the desperate and the disillusioned, the hum of the city's pulse reverberating in every footstep. There was a sense of entropy in this place, where the boundaries between what was legal and lost blurred into a comfortable grey.
Robbie Barrett cut a stark figure amidst the chaotic canvas of dancers that flailed their arms and jumped around, dancing to the music blaring out of a trunk. Scavs were prowling – it was how they abducted their prey, to strip them of all their chrome.
He turned up the lapels of his tailored black overcoat, sharp enough to cut the apathy of the cold, damp air. There was something to the way that he walked that made him hard to ignore. His raven-black hair was meticulously styled, and his eyes, all black and cold like that of a shark, seemed deep and heavy with memories and secrets. His sharp jawline flexed as his thin lips parted to hold his smouldering cigarette.
The ember of Robbie's cigarette cast a faint, ethereal glow on the stark, angular lines of his face. For a man yet to hit his thirties, Robbie did not exude youthfulness. He inhaled deeply, letting the acrid smoke infiltrate his senses. He felt relief. In satisfaction, there was a fleeting solace from the relentless demands of Northside: the world he ruled.
Robbie's shoes thudded against the wrought-iron staircase that wound around the pale-steel fuel tank, one of many in Northside. He had always come here when he was younger and look south to the skyline of behind the H11 megabuilding – buildings climbing up on each other, trying to get above the smog as if they were fighting to breathe. And in the centre of it all, between the smokestacks and highways and the HVACs, he could make out the red mon of Arasaka, looking down on them like the eye of God.
Robbie's brow had the slightest crease to it – one that people often mistook for deep thought, but for once, his brow bore the wrinkles of frustration. Since his return from Chicago, he's taken over his sister's business, and brought his brother's gang, the Edge, into the fold. Cutters, thugs, scop-vendors, and glitter-slingers, but none of them were in charge. To Robbie, only someone called 'Barrett' could have a seat at the table.
His sister was smart, but she'd not run her businesses right. She lacked ambition, imagination, and had no authority. The cutters would walk right over her, and drag their knives behind their feet as they did so. But she couldn't follow through.
Dwayne, on the other hand, could be brash, but he was loyal. It might have been the rarest commodity in Night City – Robbie had never been able to find a vendor to sell it, no matter the district. That was why, on that Tuesday, Robbie was heading to see his brother. It was annoying – he had intended to meet with Regina Jones, a Watson fixer. But Dwayne made the matter seem urgent – he was not panicked or flustered; he just spoke quietly without any glib remarks.
Robbie took another drag of the cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a long, exasperated sigh. Dwayne was a handful, reckless and headstrong – he'd been that way since they were kids. But, after Chicago, Robbie had learnt to grow up. He had vision, and playing around with guns and petty theft wasn't going to be enough. Now, with the backing of his brother's gang, the Edge, Robbie's had formed a group of cutters, drug-pushers, and ex-dock workers that were more than happy for work. It was a functioning machine of Northside locals that formed a functioning, profiting Syndicate.
Robbie paused as he looked down at the mint-green neon sign of CyberMatrix – the factory that produced much of the cyberware distributed to the dockworkers that worked on the Arasaka Waterfront that bordered on Northside. He'd have to move the Syndicate into that market soon enough – imports would only get them so far.
He leaned against the rusty iron railing, lost in thought, his finger tapping against the cigarette. The hum of distant hovercars and the occasional blaring of sirens was the symphony of Northside. He used to flinch at the gunshots when he was a kid.
"Robbie!" A voice, accompanied by hurried footsteps up the stairs, disrupted his reverie. It was Dwayne, dishevelled and out of breath. He sported a wine-red denim jacket, with the sleeves bunched up around his elbows, revealing the scars of asterisks and tallies that littered him like tattoos. Robbie never understood that. Still, it helped make him seem intimidating from time to time, which is what they needed.
"Nice place to meet…" Dwayne continued, glancing around the container yard below. "This is where Zhao used to sell 'dorphs. Remember?"
Robbie remembered the nights going hungry. The daring thefts of dealers. Sometimes they made it out with eddies – and sometimes they weren't chased. Robbie remembered those eddies going out as quickly as they came in. That was back when the three Barrett siblings would sleep in the Sunset Motel, over on Martin St. He'd always hated it there.
"I remember," Robbie answered.
Dwayne chuckled slightly. "You remember when-"
"What do you want, Dwayne?" Robbie asked tersely before taking a drag of his cigarette. Dwayne's grin faded and he cleared his throat of laughter.
"Yeah, erm… we were doin' the racket. Makin' the rounds…" Dwayne began. Robbie kept his dark eyes on the skyline, listening intently for Dwayne to arrive at the point. "Well, we… you remember Jia Yun? Her brother, Wao, used to box in Kabuki? She hit us up about a job…"
"What job?"
"It didn't seem that important – an easy pay, well within our wheelhouse…" Dwayne trailed off, pacing across the width of the walkway, scratching the back of his ear while Robbie remained completely still, his cigarette wafting up smoke between the two of them, which would slowly get lost in the fog of fumes that lingered over the northern-most district of Night City.
"What job, Dwayne?"
"There's a clinic – run by a fella called Wang?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well, Yun tells us Wang's looking for some protection – and we go back with 'em, so I say 'sure'. But when it's time to pay up, well, you know how folks can get. I mean – these are dirty gonks, Rob. Absolute scum, y'know?" Dwayne held out a hand, waiting to see if his brother would reply. Once he saw that he wouldn't, Dwayne continued. "And, so, we took a couple of boys and… repossessed some product."
"And why are you telling me this?" Robbie asked with a slight frown. Dwayne swallowed and gripped the railing, turning around to lean against it, facing away from the skyline.
"Because the product… we thought it'd just be small stuff, y'know, synthcoke 'n' stims but… Rob, we found a full crate of black fuckin' lace."
Robbie's brain began to flicker and buzz as neurons fired. Black Lace was one of the most expensive products in NC. Something that was always in high demand amongst a certain base of consumers. The only problem was that most of them bought it from Maelstrom. And crates of product didn't just sprout up in clinics in Northside – especially not ones in Maelstrom turf. It meant that his brother, Dwayne, had robbed the biggest gang north of the Afterlife. But Robbie did not break stride. He took another drag of his cigarette as he began to play out all the various possibilities in his head.
"So, there."
"There, what, Dwayne?" Robbie asked.
"Well… do what you do."
"Do what I do?" Robbie asked. "And what's that?"
Dwayne let out a small chuckle and shook his head. "Maelstrom control drugs in Watson. If Dogface or his goons find out we're kleppin' their product, then… well…" He shrugged.
The cigarette dangled precariously between Robbie's lips, the ember flickering with his growing irritation. He exhaled a cloud of smoke in a silent attempt to keep his composure.
"So, what do I do, Dwayne?" His voice grew curt.
"Fuck's sake, Rob…" Dwayne rubbed his chin and gave the smallest of chuckles. "Fine, okay I get it. Would you please help me return the drugs so that Dogface and his chrome-sucking psychos don't flatline me and my chooms. Pretty please…"
Robbie leaned in close, his voice a low, dangerous murmur, "This is your business, Dwayne. You can't come running to me every time one of you makes a mistake."
"Okay, yeah, I know, Rob," Dwayne's bravado seemed to waver as he met his brother's stern gaze. Dwayne averted his eyes, guilt washing over his features. "I'll… make it up to you, just... okay?"
Robbie swallowed, glancing back across the container yard, to the figures that hopped up and down, shuffling from side to side to the music. Maelstrom had more men, bigger guns, better chrome, and they were all maniacs to boot. Robbie had a ragtag group of tradesmen and thugs that cut themselves.
His family, the Syndicate, Northside – they were all bound together like a tangled web of wires. Robbie knew he had to do everything himself, to keep all of it from crumbling into chaos. Something clicked within his mind. An opportunity. And from that, more would grow. With the clearing of his throat, Robbie settled on a decision.
"You should talk to Jess about this."
Dwayne frowned. "What… why would she wanna talk to me?"
"Because she doesn't fucking hate you," Robbie flicked his cigarette over the railing and walked around his brother to descend the stairs.
"Rob?" Dwayne asked, leaning over the railing to look at him. "Where're ya goin'?"
"To do what I do, Dwayne."
Robbie briskly descended back into the labyrinthine streets and alleys and highways of Northside. The Syndicate was on the rise, and Robbie was determined to make sure it stayed that way.
Well, there we go - short but sweet. These chapters are refreshingly short after Clash of Crowns. I can't imagining the chapters being insanely long, and with any luck, this means we'll be flying through this instalment.