I was already on the road out of Night City, headed south to the border, minutes after touching base with Maine and the others.

“What? Tijuana?!” Maine roared in shock.

“Lots of shit went down there, last time I went,” I said. “The cartel was breathing down my neck after I slaughtered the gang that kept fucking with my family. They gave me an ultimatum. Do a gig for free or die. I went for the third option—hack them and get Militech to take them out for me. And they did. But I guess I didn’t go far enough. Only went after the cartel. Not Green Farm, their owners.”

“Look—how the fuck are we gonna sort the border passes for all these assholes?”

“Buy ‘em,” I said. “On my dime. I don’t really give a shit. I just want these fuckers dead.”

“And what if they say no?” Maine yelled. “Who the fuck wants to cross the border like that anyway?”

“They won’t say no,” I said. “Not if we tell ‘em what the prize is. Physical assets worth millions. Weapons, vehicles, the nine yards.”

I was racing down towards the border precisely to find out what the prize was.

I knew the broad strokes. Green Farm’s armory was in the books. Their security division had hit us, no doubt. Or their in-house military, or whatever the fuck they wanted to call the department in charge of violence.

Take them out, and we’d have a run of their guns.

And the corp. If they no longer had security, who the fuck would stop anyone from just coming in there and robbing them blind?

Nothing.

That was why I was going down first—to check whatever data GSS already had, and formulate a plan around that.

I called grandma on the way, while my bike was skirting five hundred kilometers an hour.

Abuela: David! How are you doing?

David: Fine, Abuela. You?

Abuela: I’m doing good, of course! Better after I saw you win yesterday in that race! Why didn’t you tell me about it?

I groaned.

David: Didn’t think it was gonna be such a big deal.

Abuela: Not a big deal? Boy, you’ve made us cry with pride. We haven’t stopped celebrating since yesterday!

No way.

David: That’s nice to hear, really. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it. I was so focused on preparing that I never quite wrapped my head around how big the event was. All I tried to do was figure out how to win.

Abuela: Was that Caliburn yours, by the way? My goodness, you’re driving around a Caliburn, now! You know how expensive those cars are? I’m so proud of you! Night City has done well by you. I’m so glad, grandson. You cannot believe how happy I am.

David: That’s—that’s nice to hear.

Abuela: The way you shook hands with that runner-up was very kind, too. You’re a sportsman. So noble, so kind. I’m very proud of you. Did you make friends with that boy? I think you should! He seems like a decent boy.

David: That’s nice—

Abuela: Ah! Wait! Wait, WHAT IN GOD’S NAME, CALM DOWN! GET OFF THE TABLE, AND STOP JUGGLING THOSE GRENADES, YOU’RE GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOURSELF. Ah, I’m sorry, grandson. My idiot children are playing around too much.

Shit!

David: Are you all drunk?!

Abuela: Of course! As I said, we are still celebrating after that amazing victory of yours yesterday! I haven’t had a wink of sleep all day.

David: Granny, I’m sorry, but… I actually called for business, not pleasure.

Abuela: Ah. I understand.

She switched to English. Was she upset?

Abuela: How can I help, nieto?

David: I should have called you guys, but… I’ve had quite a bit on my plate. Which is why I’m on my way to Tijuana right now. A Gonzalez has reared his head.

Abuela: I understand.

I explained to her the situation quickly. How that bastard shot my friends up, what we had done to them in turn, and how we intended on ending this threat once and for all.

Abuela: You needed data? I have all the data you could ask for regarding this matter. Just come. Don’t worry about the celebrations—you can join us after the job is done. Just make sure your… friends don’t grab the choicest cuts of the carcass before you can have your fill. There’s keeping an army happy, and then there’s letting them take advantage of you. Always remember who comes first: you.

David: Of course, abuela. And provided we don’t have to delta too quickly after all this is said and done, I can see the family, too. I’m glad you’re all so happy on my account.

Abuela: Of course we would be—you’re family.

000

I was a shitty fucking grandson.

On the one hand, I had a lot on my plate.

But on the other hand—did I really fucking forget that I had a whole clan of people rooting for me and me alone with no expectation of anything in return? Why hadn’t I let them know about my win? Why hadn’t I told them about any of this stuff?

Abuela and I met in a dank alleyway. I’d driven in with my bike, while she had arrived with a big black SUV, chauffeured by a very drunk Tio Alex, and an aunt of mine that I remembered was called Tia Selina.

The difference between them now and them when I had first found them was like night and day. Tio Alex had been, quite frankly, not the best looking guy, and he’d had only one leg, while Selina had said nothing the entire time I was there. Our eyes had met only once, too, and then she had looked away quickly.

Later, as grandmother told me the story, I surmised that she, too, had been sexually assaulted by Gonzalez’s people.

But she looked better now. She smiled. She met my eyes.

As they all got out, they hugged me one after another. Granny first. Then Tio Alex, who was now far taller than before, a lot wider, and a lot better looking. Then Tia Selina, who wrapped her arms around me, lifted me off my feet and waved me about. “You’re a superhero, nephew. You know that? You’re our suuuuperhero, ehehehehe!”

I tried to gently extricate myself from her hold. “Thank you, auntie. Thank you.”

She let go of me.

Then she planted an uncomfortable kiss on my forehead. My head was unmasked, and there was just way too much wet in that kiss. She then patted both my shoulders and gave me a nod. “Join us for drinks after you take care of business. We won’t take no for an answer.”

Oh god.

The switch-up was stark, but… I couldn’t deny that it was a welcome sight, to what I’d seen of her before. What I’d seen from them all. Defeat and misery. I wondered if abuela had maybe bought the worst victims therapeutic braindances to get over the worst of their experiences. If so, I counted that as an excellent use of money.

Abuela got in-between my aunt and I, thankfully enough, and handed me a shard. “This is all the data you’ll likely need.”

Abuela hadn’t modded her face very much, but her body had changed. She wasn’t taller, but she stood straighter. Her body moved more nimbly. If I had to compare her to someone, it’d be Rogue, but she still wore a long and colorful dress, and she was still festooned with witchy and occult accessories. And she did still look twenty years older than Rogue did. But she moved like someone half her age. Biomods for sure.

I slotted in the data, and saw it.

Images of every ingress point of Green Farm’s military outpost in Tijuana. Vulnerabilities. Personnel numbers. The likely cyberware loadouts of said personnel. Everything.

Eight hundred gonks all in all, though, within an entrenched position. Eight hundred against my less-than-two hundred chromed up assholes.

Guess I did show up earlier for a reason.

I’d have to get my hands dirty by myself.

Soften up the target and present it to my newfound friends on a silver platter. Do some of my own heavy lifting, let them do the rest.

[Why even recruit them if we were going to do the hard part ourselves anyway? What good are they if we can’t rely on them for this shit?]

D: Cuz one day, we might need them to do the hard part, too.

This was all just a part of a greater plan to one day do something even greater, even more impactful than just taking out one belligerent corp.

Even more impactful than rooting out all the scavs, exterminating the Maelstrom, and chasing out the Tyger Claws.

Night City could actually be a good place to live in, some day.

As long as I stayed the course.

As long as I fed—and tamed

—the monster that was Night City’s edgerunner community.

I gave abuela a nod. “Thank you. We’ll meet again, later. If we’re lucky, I may introduce you to my crew.”

Abuela grinned widely. “Great! Now!” She whirled on her feet to her children. “Back to the partying!”

Jesus H.

I shook my head in mild amusement. Was I really the only person in the world that didn’t see the sense in so much ceaseless partying?

Wasn’t like I was going to get in the way of that.

Once I put a bullet in Augustus’ forehead, I’d be partying with the rest of them. After all the stress of today, I deserved as much.

000

“For the last fuckin’ time, D’s clearin’ the path ahead! That’s what we’re waitin’ on! His word!” Maine roared. “Now if I hear even another fuckin’ complaint comin’ out that gray-ass mouth of yours, I’mma roll your ass into a ball and shot put you into the desert and leave you there, Becca! Got it?!”

He was sitting in the passenger’s seat of Falco’s Emperor Chevilon as they cruised towards Tijuana, the sun having set in the west coast already, to their right. It was night now. He had spied a few convoys of nomads trying to follow them along the road, until they had caught sight of the true breadth of the fleet following behind him.

No less than ninety-four cars of varying sizes, ranging from big to fucking huge, all jam-packed with two-hundred and thirteen of the meanest mercs that Night City had to offer. A warband of the most eclectic warriors of the city, all united towards one purpose.

The scouting nomads had turned tail almost immediately.

Even hearing that this journey would take them down the border hadn’t cowed these edgerunners. They’d answered the call of the Sunday Butcher—one of the many nicknames that the media had given to the perpetrator of the massive gangoon massacre that had occurred today. Over a hundred scavs dead, and not an hour later, a similar number of Tyger Claws had gone the way of the dodo, this time in only one place.

D had challenged them to show up, to represent their city in a war that was about identity.

Night City is our home, and our only oppressor. You wanna let those out-of-towners add to our troubles, considering all the shit we got to deal with?

That was what they had heard.

And their emphatic—and collective—answer was fuck no.

Turns out, all a Night Citizen needed to get along with their neighbor was the promise of a common enemy—a surmountable one at that. The people feared the megacorps of Night City.

But a megacorp’s subsidiary based out of Mexico?

Maine saw D’s vision. He saw it, and saw where it would lead these people.

One victory might lead to another, and then… shit.

The sky was the limit.

“Aight, then,” Rebecca muttered. “How about a round of ‘I Spy’? I spy… something sandy, and dry.”

“The badlands,” Lucy muttered.

“Ding ding ding! Alright, your turn.”

“Heh. Sure. I spy, with my little eye, something that looks like a dildo.”

“That rock thing over there?”

“Yup.”

“Winner-winner.”

Lucy… actually indulged in the game. Damn. D must have done a number on that girl. He’d been good for her after all. That was always nice to see.

While more and more of the people in the back joined in on that inane game, Falco just kept grinning as he steered their emperor towards the Mexico border. “You lookin’ happy,” Maine bumped Falco’s arm slightly.

“Hell yeah, boss,” Falco nodded. “Guess I won big, too.”

D came through then. Good.

“Don’t feel like I deserved it,” Falco said. “At least, not at first. But… D’s a good kid. Loyal kid. Someone worth goin’ to war for, I reckon.”

Maine could only agree. “And after this?”

Falco clicked his tongue slightly and gave an awkward grin. “Lot o’ scratch means less need. Feel me?”

Maine sighed quietly, understandingly. Though he felt like he had sounded too sad at that moment. Dammit. “Yeah, this gig’s fucked. You gotta really like it to stay in it.”

If Maine had wanted to retire, he very well could have. At one point, he had saved upwards to a million eddies, only to spend it all on chrome or weapons—or a nice house, and a modded out ride that he could take pride in.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

He never cared to save. Only spend. Spend until it was no longer his problem. Until he finally went out in that blaze of glory that was promised to him once he fell in love with this line of work.

Five fuckin’ years in this gig.

And he had finally seen what he was searching for today.

A light at the end of this impossibly long tunnel of darkness and strife.

And the light wasn’t death, like he had expected for so long.

It was D.

“Shit, Maine,” Falco chuckled. “You ain’t gotta look so disappointed, you know.”

“I’ll miss you, Falc. You know I will,” Maine said. “But your choice is yours. And I won’t disrespect it, either.”

“You know, I never officially joined your crew,” Falco chuckled.

Maine laughed. Yeah, right. “Getaway drivin’s crew-work enough for me, Falco. Always has been.”

“Always appreciated that about you, boss,” Falco said. “Killin’ for money ain’t never been my style. Never really will be. But you know I’m always just a ring away. You ever need to take out a favor with me, I’ll keep an ear open. Ain’t guaranteed I’ll say yes, but it’s a damn sight better than lettin’ y’all drive half-cocked.”

“Appreciate it, Falco,” Maine nodded respectfully. He wouldn’t abuse that favor.

“What about you?” Falco asked. “What comes next?”

Maine looked ahead, towards the south, towards Mexico, where David was busy preparing an entrance.

“There’s… power, you know, in dreams,” Maine said.

Cyberware had given him the dream of overcoming the limits of his flesh. The limits that had kept him in a chokehold for all his childhood—rendered him the weakest piece of meat in a pool of weak meat.

Cyberware had taken him to the heights of power, made him a NUSA Special Operator. He could never have imagined getting so far as a child.

But NUSA had betrayed him, led him down a path that he hated. A path that entailed only destruction, carnage, and death that helped no one but his masters. He had been expected to destroy at the behest of those on high.

His dream had taken him to Night City, where it had promptly… mutated. Devolved, more like it.

His imagination had failed him. His ability to formulate a dream that felt right for him had left him by the time he had entrenched himself in the city, mastered it, made it unlikely to kill him.

But D seemed to have an idea of where to go. An idea that made sense. An idea that could change things.

“Cryptic bastard,” Falco laughed. “Aight then, I’ll bite. What’s your dream?”

Maine didn’t know anymore.

A good fight and a better tomorrow?

Seemed solid enough for now.

He didn’t mind that his vision was hazy. That he couldn’t see further than an arm’s length into his future.

He trusted D.

000

I had sent Maine the message, after I had confirmed our likely loot. The other edgerunners were gung ho from then on. They’d be arriving after another hour and a half, on account of the fact that they weren’t driving all the way through so-cal on a modded Yaiba that could rival a Caliburn for speed.

That let me set up my own pieces.

A large van loaded with ten thousand eddies worth of high explosives, my entire guitar-case of weaponry strapped to my back, and a wide, but dark alleyway only a few blocks from the main ingress point of Green Farm.

And once I had gotten said pieces all set up, I waited as I sat on top of the aforementioned van, hugging one knee, and my other foot beating a rhythm on the roof of the car to vent some nervous energy.

I took care of some minor concerns. Fei was texting me, asking me if I was okay. I lied to her and told her that I had gone to the Med-Center after all, and that I was on my way to being fully healed. I wouldn’t be missing school tomorrow anyway, so she’d see that fact for herself.

Jin had reached out as well, with more pointed queries. ‘You went into the QianT family’s manor. Why?’

‘Don’t ignore me, David. It’s not good for your health.’

‘You better have a damn good reason for this radio silence.’

The last message was six hours ago.

I texted him back. ‘Had a day, you know. Money is responsibility.’

Jin called me seconds afterwards.

Jin: I’ll acknowledge I was being a little hasty, yesterday. I get it. You want big things. And you think you won’t have that if you’re on my team. Top of Arasaka tower, like you said. That it, right? But I’m gonna be real with you, David—that isn’t your destination. It never will be. You’re not even… remotely related to any of the big powers in Arasaka—you think that shit won’t matter cuz you’ll have eddies, then boy do I got a bridge to sell you. The truth is, you’ll never be in pissing distance of that C-suite. Unless you roll with me

.

David: Goddammit, Jin.

Jin: Let me finish, David. I’m not trying to convince you, here. I’m telling it like it is. This is how Arasaka works. How it’s always worked. We’ll talk later, because of course we will, but right now, I’m just giving you the lowdown.

Fucking hell.

David: Alright. Thanks, Jin.

Jin: My father wants to see you, by the way. Be worried about that, and I mean it. Dress code’s on, and… try not to be yourself around him. He will zero you, and I’m not even joking.

David: Why did I even accept this call.

Jin: Cuz you don’t want to be a fucking flatline after hitting a jackpot? David, you’re in a good fucking spot, and you just can’t see it. I ain’t gonna lie, I fucking pity that. I pity you for having all that self-destructive ambition. It’s gonna fucking kill you. I’ll ask my dad to take it easy on you. He still needs you, after all. But you pull that unbending attitude of yours on him, and he’ll take you at your word. And if he can’t have you… you know the rest.

My, how reasonable.

David: So just bend over?

Jin: Slot in a doll-chip and think of England, or whatever the fuck they say. But yes. Bend over. Let it happen. Come out the other end, and be fucking grateful. When it comes to dear old pops, it’s no longer just us two boys fucking around, rubbing shit in the faces of our rivals. It’s life or death. I can’t stress this enough: he will flatline you if you fuck with him.

David: That… wasn’t my plan. I know who your father is. I know how fucked I am. You think I’d pick a fight with the guy who controls Saka’s fucking wallet? How stupid do you think I am, Jin? I’m just pissed is all. I’m pissed at you, at him, and shit, at myself for being so fucking naïve. But what I ain’t gonna do is die on that account.

Jin: Imma be honest, I didn’t close you nicely. Not my best work. Should have approached the matter with more sympathy. Pretended like I gave more of a shit about how you felt.

David: Saying the quiet part loud, you know.

Jin: But live and learn. You’re too tough to say yes right off the bat, and I respect the fuck out of that. I’d be shitting bricks if I ever kept my old man waiting for even one goddamned second too long, and you’ve kept him wondering for twenty-four hours. That’s insane. So you’re saying yes, though, right?

David: Do I have another choice, Jin?

Jin: …Yes with conditions?

I nodded.

Conditions. A long leash, for one.

Long as hell.

No intrusive cyberware. Actually, none whatsoever. I wasn’t taking on company chrome for his sake. I’d sooner declare an all-out war between myself and Ryuzaki if that was non-negotiable.

There was the question of how Ryuzaki would ensure my loyalty using certain levers. We’d have to hash that out during our negotiations.

And I did have leverage. I was… well, me. Insanely talented in so many different ways. Ryuzaki’s greed could potentially allow me to come out of our talks better off than before.

Or worse off as he sought to bind me in chains of company cyberware that he could turn off at will, and use to spy on me.

Then I’d kill him, and go D full-time.

I thought of mom, then, and felt a newfound surge of hot rage.

I fucking told you this would happen, mom. No gutter rat from Santo ever makes it without some big fucking caveats.

David: Alright. See you tomorrow, Jin.

Jin: Pull up on an Aerondight if you got balls. I know your ass can afford one.

David: The day I give edds to Rayfield is the day I truly lost all my balls.

Jin: The fuck? What about that Caliburn of yours?

David: Bought it second-hand.

Jin: PFFBWAHAHAHAHA! CHOOM!

David: What?

Jin: You beat the Nightmare Rally on a second-hand hunk of junk is what!

David: Second-hand doesn’t mean junk, Jin.

Jin: That’s brokie-talk. You gotta shed that shit like a snake molts its skin. Second-hand means junk, always. But for real, don’t tell anyone else this: that shit’s embarrassing. Buy something from them directly.

David: I can’t. They disrespected me.

Jin: Don’t be a bitch, dude. It’s Rayfield.

David: They disrespected me.

Jin: They wouldn’t do that again. Shit, they really might jump you up the waiting list and give you that Aerondight tonight after what you did with their car yesterday. Trust me—they love racers.

David: See ya, Jin.

Jin: And bro—really, don’t stick your dick in QianT, it’s fucking stupid. I’m telling you this man-to-man.

David: Get the fuck off my line, Jin.

Jin: I thought you were scamming her. If this is what it looks like, man I don’t know what to tell you but—

I hung up.

Fucking disrespectful brat. So fucking annoying.

Fei had texted me back.

‘Oh thank god. That’s amazing to hear. See you tomorrow then.’

‘Are you busy at the moment?’

I debated the pros and cons of calling her, and decided… against it.

I had thought about how this would eventually become a problem, our proximity. While I could tell myself that we would just be friends over and over again, I also had to act accordingly.

Which meant not getting into long and sentimental late-night calls with a girl that wasn’t my output. And… I hoped that she could benefit from that distance as well. Wean herself off her feelings for me little by little, so to speak.

Maybe I was being a douchebag.

D: Nanny, am I a douchebag?

She manifested before me, wearing her red-and-white fireman jacket and pants that looked like mine, and she folded her arms and looked up at the night sky, nestled between the two buildings we were in.

[You almost got her and her brother killed—I don’t know how this rates in comparison.]

…

D: Fucking hell, Nanny.

She looked down at me with widened eyes. [What was I supposed to say, ‘of course not, my sweet special boy. You’re perfect.’] She shook her head and rolled her eyes. [I don’t have the best grasp of right and wrong, but even I know that I shouldn’t be feeding your ego in such a way.]

I looked down at the roof of the van forlornly, feeling myself grow weary with hopelessness for my own goodness. If I couldn’t be good to the people I cared about then… what good was I?

[Now that I’ve thought about it,] Nanny continued, [Do keep your distance. You made Lucy quite happy when you proclaimed your faithfulness, and Fei seemed to appreciate your honesty. She called you a good man, didn’t she? Irrespective of her own desires, isn’t that what you want to be?]

I sighed, nodded, and sent her a text.

‘A lil busy, yeah. I’m sorry. Let’s talk in school tomorrow.’

‘Okay! Get well soon!’

She answered about three seconds after I had sent my message.

I tried not to read into that too closely.

Maine sent me a text a second after.

‘Border in sight. ETA, fifteen minutes.’

Alright. Better get started.

[Ignore that budding feeling in your chest, David. That crushing loneliness of being at the top, with no one to share the pinnacle with.] Nanny said to me. [I know it’s draining, not being able to rely on anyone else to have your back. Except me, of course. Your best friend.]

I didn’t have the mental energy to decipher the mind games that she was playing. From what I could tell, she was doing a bit to try and lift my mood after the hour or so I had spent in the dark, just waiting, and having one rather unpleasant conversation.

But… “Appreciate it, Nanny—always.”

She was right, as sad as that was to consider up closer. No one else was going to have my back while I did this but her.

But in the end… that wasn’t a bad place to be. I didn’t want to rely on others.

Having others rely on me was… it was good. It should feel better than it did feel.

One day, it might.

[On us,] she patted my chest and gestured between us. [Rely on us!]

I rolled my eyes as I grinned. “Sure.”

[Why don’t we come up with a handshake?]

Huh?

“Nanny, they’re fifteen minutes out. We need to get this thing,” I gestured at the van, but she interrupted me.

[Fifteen minutes, ten minutes, doesn’t matter. We’ll get it done. We always do.]

“You’re not gonna let this go?”

She shook her head slowly, pursing her lips.

Fucking gonk. I dragged my hand down my masked face and nodded. “Alright, first we do this—handshake. Drag the hands back, interlock the fingers, pull mutually, rub our thumbs together. Let go. Fist-bump. Then you go up, I go down. Boom. I go up, you go down. Boom. No, scratch the last three steps. Lock your fist, but you go up, I go down, then the opposite, then the fist-bump. Then, explosion,” I wiggled my fingers as I retracted my hand from her.

She nodded. [Again.]

Handshake. Finger-interlock. Pull closer, thumb-rub. Fist-lock, she went up, I went down and we collided. Then the opposite. Then a fist-bump, then the explosion.

Then I snapped my fingers.

She snapped it a split second later, almost seamlessly following my improvisation.

“Let’s also never do this in front of anyone.”

[Seconded.]

Enough bullshit.

I started the car up and drove it out the alleyway while I still stood on the roof. I looked over myself. I’d brought everything for this. The DS1 Pulsar, the D5 Copperhead, the Techtronika RT-46 Burya, the Militech M-179 Achilles, M-10AF Lexington, bandoliers of ammo criss-crossing my chest, and a belt wrapped around my waist for more. Eiko was strapped to my left as well.

The only weapon I had left behind was my overpowered scav bat, which I really needed to investigate at some point because I didn’t have a clue what it was made of. Problem was, it just wasn’t lethal enough for my purposes. And I didn’t intend to let anyone I faced leave this place alive.

As I drove the van through the streets, I actually pulled away from Green Farm, so that I could get to a wider road that would still lead me to my destination. And with added distance, I had more time to build up velocity.

And with more velocity, I might not even need the initial explosion.

Once I pulled up on the right street, and resigned myself to having to bulldozer past half a dozen cars tightly parked around the curb, I blasted the horn for all it was worth, and shot a few bullets into the sky. The pedestrians scattered. Perfect. This would alert the facility three hundred meters ahead, but that didn’t matter.

They were out of time.

I was already here.

I stepped on the gas.

Well, the input of the gas, from where I stood on its roof. The car obeyed and I kept my profile low as it built up speed. Overheat was already loaded into the van, and only required that I activate it.

Armed security guards poured out from the gate, armed with assault rifles, raining holy hellfire on the van. I laid flat on my back as some of the bullets clipped me in my armored clothes. None of them could even scratch my armored clothing, however. Power-types. Maybe even Copperheads.

Once the gate was only ten meters away from impact, I activated the Sandevistan, got on my feet, and ran ahead, bolting off the tip of the van’s roof, way over the security gate, landing well into the driveway.

I deactivated the Sandevistan.

BANG.

That was just the crash. I sprinted towards an entryway, ripping my personal link from my wrist and looking for a place around the electronic lock to jack into. I ripped the plastic casing off, found an inlet, and jacked in.

Ah. Almost forgot.

I looked over my shoulder to find a massive number of security guards congregating around the wrecked gate and the smoking car. Once six others got in closer, I finally triggered it.

Overheat.

The door unlocked in the nick of time, and I slid in, closed the door, and avoided the explosion entirely.

D: You keep count?

[Seventeen Green Farm mooks dead. Congrats.]

A tally appeared in my vision. It ticked up from 593 to 610.

593. 593. Hadn’t even stopped to consider that number, yet.

That had to have been the scavs and the Tygers. And the other Green Farm guys. The first ones.

Those were good numbers. They told me I was making a real difference.

I took my DS1 Pulsar SMG and my DS5 in both hands, and stalked through the hallways of the inside of Green Farm’s facility.

Each time someone reared his head, I shot. And I killed.

Each time a group got too close to me, I filled the air with bullets, striking at weak points—optics, ear canals, open mouths. As long as they showed me so much as a crack of vulnerability, I’d take advantage of it.

And I could, quite easily. Even without the Sandevistan’s active effects, I experienced time differently from everyone else. The brain changes that Nanny had done for me post-data fortress fiasco, and all the other stuff that had followed once she’d gotten into the swing of bio-experimentation, had rendered my mind a different machine from regular humanity.

Something as simple as pointing and shooting became uplifted into an artform because I was the one doing it.

The kill-count rose.

Nanny had fun with the visuals, too. She even put up an arbitrary score-count. The more people I killed within a quick succession, the higher the multiplier of my base score would be. Twenty dead became twenty-five. Thirty.

The occasional Borg, I’d either take out with my Burya, or the tried and tested Blackwall Gateway. Either way, they’d die the same.

Once I ran out of bullets—and all the other extra bullets—on my high-velocity peashooters, the DS1 and the D5, I switched to the Achilles, and tried to chain multi-kills.

Double kill.

Triple kill.

Quadruple kill.

Before I could try for a penta, mercilessly enough, I had reached my destination, the place I had been crawling towards since the beginning. The Netrunner den.

It was a blast-proof room where the Netrunners of the facility could work in peace. Annoyingly enough, it had a Faraday cage shielding surrounding it, meaning I couldn’t even EMP them even if I had the option.

Didn’t matter. Most people would have avoided directly quickhacking their room.

Most people didn’t have an overpowered Sword program.

I jacked into the electronic lock, stabbed it with Excalibur, and waited.

Ten seconds. Twenty seconds.

A minute.

Fuck, how long was this gonna take?

A few guards had caught up to me, and I had to spray them down like bugs before refocusing my attention on the gate.

The gate slid open in a near instant, revealing five scared-shitless Netrunners, wielding guns way too big for them. I recognized their makes almost immediately: the Rostović DB-2 Satara.

I had heard good things about those—while they didn’t follow the same design principles as the Burya, they hit fucking hard. Hardest hitting shotgun on the open market, in fact.

The Satara was… practically synonymous with the very concept of a tech shotgun. No other company had come close to making the concept work as well as Rostović had. I had even considered getting one for myself—get myself the trifecta of tech weapons: a precision rifle, a revolver, and a shotgun.

Guess I’d finally be able to, by taking it off their corpses.

With the Sandevistan active, I got away from their nine barrels pointed at the entrance, waited for them to blast the hallway up, and then ducked back in to deliver simple and clean bullets to each of their heads, one after another.

Once they were all dead, I beheld my score.

The multiplier was gone.

[Doesn’t count if you’re using the Sandy!]

Dammit.

Wait, why did I even care?

I closed the door behind me, jacked into the system, and continued twisting Excalibur through the network’s guts mercilessly.

The multi-tool of a program mined data, destroyed cyber-defenses, and gave me immediate control of the facility sequentially. I locked the doors further behind me to prevent more of the guards from hunting me down, and started searching for goodies.

Military trucks, convoys — the kind you only see moving VIPs or enormous stacks of cash.

Crates stenciled in faded Cyrillic, hazard stripes painted over three times. Pallets of polymer cases with tamper seals still intact.

Racks of power cells, some standard Militech issue, others marked with serials I didn’t recognize. I quickly shot Pilar a text, sending him the stills taken from my Kiroshis as I did.

Chrome limb kits — unopened, all heavy-combat spec. Didn’t have to be a techie to know that those would definitely pay off.

A rack of sealed combat helmets with integrated HUDs, maybe two generations ahead of street-issue, based on all that Pilar had taught me about street samurai gear.

Ammo—not just 5.56 or 12-gauge, but smart rounds, smart grenades, even a few crates of milspec flechettes, all with homing capabilities.

A couple of transport drones folded up like sleeping insects. Field medkits in ruggedized shells. Premium stuff, with autodocs and re-gen stims. And, tucked away in a locked wire cage, three matte-black cases that practically screamed “open me and you’ll have fun.”

I had all the coordinates for all the choicest cuts, too. While the rest of the edgerunners squabbled for the scraps, we would feast.

I disabled all the gate security, opening the gates, and enabling the turrets, letting them mow down every single corpo in sight.

Maine and the others were five minutes away. I wrote a line of code to disable the turrets once they were here.

Until then, I would just watch as my kill-count rose and rose and rose.

The security guards fell as easily as the limp-dick suits did under the relentless machine-gun fire. I could sense several intrusions through the Localnet: disparate Netrunners trying to retake control.

I smited them through my Sword program, jolting their brains. A few managed to survive the attack, unfocused as it was, but I doubted that they’d be able to eat solid food for the rest of their lives, provided they even got to leave this place alive.

Pilar shot me another text.

‘Ooooohohohohohohohoooo choom! What the fuck! That’s the good shit right there!’

I laughed.

‘Come and get it, choom.’