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"You guys are absolutely out of your minds!"
Kiwi's voice hissed through the comms, cold and sharp. Getting tangled in a local gang war was one thing, but knowingly stepping onto a megacorp's toes was a death sentence. To her, this wasn't bravery; it was a lack of basic survival instinct.
As her voice faded, Maine let out a booming, jagged laugh. "Girl, look at where you are. This is Night City. You think life gets better by playing it safe? If we want to reach the big leagues, we have to dance with the giants eventually. This is just our dress rehearsal!"
"Don't worry, Kiwi! I've got your back!" Rebecca chimed in, her voice manic and high-pitched over the line.
Kiwi remained silent, leaning against the car as she lit another cigarette with a flick of her finger. She hated Maine's reckless optimism, but she couldn't deny the logic. In this city, the only way up was over the bodies of those who thought they were untouchable.
"Hey, Jax!" Maine barked. "Make some noise! We're coming in hot!"
Jax didn't answer with words. He looked at the weapon locker, his hand hovering over the spoils. He reached in and gripped the hilt of a pitch-black Katana. As his fingers closed around it, the blade hummed, a subtle red glow bleeding along the edge.
It was an Arasaka monowire thermal Katana—no fluff, no unnecessary chrome, just a surgical edge designed to part atoms. He strapped it to his back, replacing his combat dagger, and reached for the second prize: a Jinchu-Maru. The parallelogram-shaped assault rifle felt heavy and precise in his hands, an upgraded 'Yofune' model usually reserved for Arasaka's elite internal security.
"Sasha, give me the map," Jax whispered into the link.
"Got you," Sasha replied, her voice steady. "Five in the garage, seven outside the perimeter. They're distracted. Maine's about to hit the front gate, so you move now. Create the chaos, and we'll handle the rest. Be careful, Jax."
"Copy."
Jax moved. He didn't run; he flowed. He slipped through the back room and into the main garage, staying low behind the heavy machinery.
"...totally screwed my plans for the night," one 6th Street guard was saying, lounging on a stool. "Marton found a dozen dolls for the party, and I'm stuck guarding a bunch of junk."
"Quit complaining," another grunted. "The pay from this hit will buy you three dolls of your own."
"Yeah, but the last one I had was so fragile, she broke in an hour. Pointless—"
The man's sentence ended in a wet thud. His head didn't just snap back; it disintegrated under the kinetic impact of a high-velocity slug from the Jinchu-Maru. Red and white spray painted his companions as two pieces of skull shrapnel whistled through the air.
"CONTACT! ENEMY ATTACK!"
The garage erupted. Red lights flared, sirens howled, and the veterans of 6th Street snapped into a combat formation they'd practiced a thousand times.
A redneck guard dived behind a rusted sedan, pulling a heavy-duty revolver. He turned to signal his teammate, but all he saw was a blur of black and a streak of thermal red.
BANG.
He fired blindly. The bullet hit the Katana, splitting into two whistling fragments that embedded themselves in the wall behind him. His pupils shrank to pinpricks. The blade should have been on his right, but it was suddenly center-mass.
He didn't even feel the heat as the monowire edge passed through his sternum. He looked down, confused, as his body slid into two cauterized halves. Electricity sparked from his internal cyberware—standard military-grade stuff.
"HE'S OVER THERE! GET HIM!"
A wall of lead slammed into the car Jax was using for cover. The heavy, bulletproof chassis of the 6th Street gang car groaned under the impact but held firm. Jax stayed low, waiting for the rhythm of their reload.
Then, the world shattered.
BOOM.
A van thundered through the side wall, pulverized brick and mortar burying a guard in an instant. Maine leaped from the driver's side before the vehicle had even stopped, his massive frame hurtling toward the nearest shooter.
"SCREW YOU, 6TH STREET!" Maine roared. His iron fist collided with a guard's jaw, the force of the blow driving the man's head into the concrete wall with a sickening crunch.
Rebecca popped up through the sunroof, her crimson eyes wide and wild as she let out a shrill laugh, spraying her Shingen in a wide, lethal arc.
A 6th Street veteran raised his submachine gun to take a shot at Maine's back, but his finger froze. His eyes rolled back, and his weapon turned—firing into his own squad.
Inside the van, Sasha was hunched over her deck, steam venting furiously from her neck ports. She was pushing her hardware to the limit, her skin burning hot. I just want to go home and sit in an ice bath, she thought.
Kiwi watched from the passenger seat, her eyes fixed on the chaos. She saw Jax leap from behind the sedan—a three-meter vertical jump that shouldn't have been possible for a natural. He descended like a falling star, the thermal Katana trailing a line of red fire through another guard's shoulder.
He was a ghost in the machine, moving at speeds that made Kiwi's head spin.
"This isn't over," Kiwi whispered, her own optics beginning to glow with a cold, predatory light. She tapped into the local sub-net, targeting a panicked guard trying to call for backup.
His brain fried before he could even press the button. Kiwi had finally made her move.
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