Night City Border. Four Months Later
"It took forever," Tony commented for the umpteenth time, tinkering with the engine of his new vehicle—a patchwork of various scrap parts.
"Omnissia's going to grumble," Lucy agreed. Unlike Tony, she was working on the vehicle's computer, scanning it for viruses and errors. Unfortunately, worn-out hardware had its own rules, and the accumulating errors in the machine were far from the worst that could happen. Thanks to Tony's and Lucy's skills, their transport was already better than many modern cars fresh off the assembly line. "We should've traveled officially."
"Who could've predicted such a force majeure?" Tony shrugged. "But at least we've covered our tracks. And the Aldecaldos turned out to be good people."
"Yeah," Lucy agreed. "It was fun." She smiled.
Initially, Tony had planned to reach Night City by public transport, but he fatally underestimated several aspects of the USA. First, fragmentation. While Militech and the NUSA had brought a significant percentage of the former U.S. states under their wing, not all had joined, creating palpable tension at the borders and annexed territories. Tony would have risked it if he knew where the next bullet might come from, but even the locals didn't know what might snap in the head of the next "patriot," malcontent, or psycho. That left transportation... and here, things got bleak. Washington was at one end of the country, Night City at the other. It seemed simple enough—hop on an orbital shuttle and you'd be in the City of Dreams in a mere couple of hours, or even sooner. But alas, security in the aerospace sector was truly paranoid, and slipping unnoticed past the guard posts was out of the question. Buying tickets? Expensive, and Tony didn't want to hand his location to Arasaka on a silver platter. There was no doubt they'd find out—transport corporations were more than happy to sell their clients' movement data for the right price. That left the old railway network, or, in better times, the good old planes... and driving. Tony chose driving—it had the best survival odds. He found a wrecked car, rented a garage, modified it for desert conditions, increased its autonomy, and meanwhile, Lucy searched for a nomad clan that fit their needs.
The task was non-trivial. As one might guess, nomad clans weren't eager to expose their inner workings to the public. Quite the opposite—they tried to reveal as little as possible about their family affairs. Still, the little girl excelled, crossing three clans off the list of seven within their reach. The rest was simple: get in the car, stock up on provisions and water, and finally catch up with the right nomad clan. They chose the Aldecaldos—these folks adhered to honest dealings and turned out to be decent people, disdaining dirty money-making methods like slave trading, drug production, and the like.
The journey itself was, in some ways, even educational—good for personal growth—but most importantly, it allowed Lucy to clear her head. She finally accepted that she would never see Poland or her home again, never hug her mother, never lounge in her own bed, never visit her favorite ice cream café. The little girl endured this realization painfully but without hysterics, quickly accepting her new situation and that the year-long nightmare was behind her, trying to find something good in today and cautiously peeking into tomorrow. Tony, meanwhile, genuinely relaxed in the Aldecaldo clan, working with his hands. As a brilliant engineer, he often helped the clan's mechanics with repairs, suggested a couple of interesting modifications, and drew up several blueprints. The Aldecaldos especially appreciated his design for an atmospheric water filter, which was two and a half times more efficient than existing models at the same cost. And he visited the lovely ladies, enjoying their company. Their journey was delayed due to hurricanes, breakdowns of vital machines like the mobile medical unit, and the Maelstrom gang, who managed to piss off Biotechnica so badly that the corporation blocked almost all exits from the state where the clan was located. They had to wait until the blockade was lifted. During this time, Lucy also got involved, helping the nomads with the software of their vehicles—often equipped with guns—updating some programs, and replacing homemade models with more advanced ones. And Tony got his face punched for his escapades, and not always just for womanizing. Tony had a sharp tongue, and during his four months with the clan, he thoroughly annoyed all the mechanics and engineers, trampling their self-esteem into the ground with his words. Nomads were simple folk, and when they couldn't out-argue someone, they resorted to fisticuffs.
"Maybe you'll see them again," Tony said, ruffling Lucy's hair. "I heard the Aldecaldos are thinking of settling permanently near some city and taking up transport, security, and smuggling. Night City is perfect for that."
"As long as they live that long," Lucy disagreed.
The Aldecaldos were nomad traders. Go to one city, buy what's cheap there, go to another and sell it for more, repeat. They rarely stayed in one place for long—it was simply convenient. Moving between cities, they didn't make enemies, could afford to be bolder with state elites without worrying about consequences, and in case of serious conflict, they could simply flee without any losses. So Lucy seriously doubted the nomad clan would change their lifestyle without truly serious reasons, and Tony didn't try to convince her otherwise. Time would tell who was right.
"Alright, I'm done," Tony said, closing the car's hood and wiping his hands on a plain T-shirt. "The engine's on its last legs, but it'll last another couple hundred kilometers. After that, metal fatigue will kick in, and it'll fall apart. How about you?"
"All done," Lucy reported happily. "Don't use autopilot, but the guidance system, radio, and GPS will work."
"Then let's go see where Omnissia's settled us," Tony said, getting behind the wheel.
Back in Poland, he had sent Omnissia ahead to Night City to prepare the ground for their move. As a robot, she didn't need to breathe and had easily reached the city in the cargo hold of an atmospheric shuttle in just an hour after Lucy's liberation. From there, it was a matter of technique: hacking the city network, scouting the chosen district, and searching for real estate within it. And his robot girl had handled the task... while also taking out almost all the gangsters, drug addicts, and criminal elements in the N10 megabuilding. The poor local cops learned the hard way that taking bribes could cost them their testicles if they didn't do their jobs properly in one particular district.
At first glance, Omnissia's choice might seem strange. Knowing Tony and Lucy, they would definitely try to get their own workshop, and they'd need space—otherwise, hello clutter and creative chaos in their living quarters. But the smart AI had thought ahead, buying six apartments on the top floor of the tower and already doing some renovations: replacing the wiring with higher-quality cables, installing a couple of automatic turrets, and new doors that couldn't be hacked with a calculator. The tower itself was chosen based on several criteria. First and foremost, across the street was a café frequented by the district's police officers. Second, the proximity of a medical center where, with good insurance, they could get back on their feet no matter the injury—just as long as the brain was intact. Third, the Kabuki Market, where netrunners liked to shop. And fourth, the relatively weak gang influence in the megabuilding's area and its surroundings. The district was in the same area as the Afterlife club, a gathering place for Night City's elite solos and neutral territory where you could negotiate even with your worst enemy and be sure you wouldn't be ambushed (at least not inside the club—what happened outside was another matter). And, as one might guess, these elite mercenaries were proud and hot-headed, so their conversations with gang scum were short, ending fatally. Thus, local enforcers were forced to maintain some order among their people, not letting them run wild. A definite plus. Then there was Kabuki itself. The market meant money, and the market for viruses, combat programs, and guns was a profitable business. Money loved silence, so gangs there also tried to keep themselves in check and not stand out, maintaining order with a velvet glove or an iron fist where necessary. The other two neighboring districts held no interest for the gangs. Watson was a poor district, except for the docks, and theoretically, there should be big money there, but the problem was the last district... where Kompeki Plaza was located, and Arasaka corporates roamed everywhere. Their conversation with troublemakers was short, so only the most desperate Maelstrom gangs dared to act up, and even then, they didn't live long—either their own killed them out of fear of consequences, or mercenaries were sicced on them with bags of money. In short, Omnissia had gathered a lot of information before deciding where they would live. It would have been better to live in the Corporate Center, but there was too much corporate attention there, and unwanted attention from them was undesirable, even when you didn't have a target on your back for derailing a strategic program and sharing it with third parties.
"So this is our new home?" Lucy asked as they pulled up to the massive concrete box—a city within a city, compact, without cars or shopping centers.
"Temporary, most likely," Tony noted. He currently had just over half a million Eurodollars in his pocket. A substantial sum that could last for years, but renting a place in the Corporate Center could easily eat up ninety to a hundred and fifty thousand eddies, depending on what you rented. Not to mention the simple fact that Tony had no idea what to do next, where or how to move, and most importantly, toward what.
In reality, Stark currently had exactly two paths: claw his way to the top, carving his own path through mountains of corpses, or simply flee to Mars, whose colonization with the technologies he knew wasn't particularly difficult. The first colonies could be built underground, protected from temperatures and radiation. The main thing was to find underground water and build a filtration system. Both options were equally interesting and had their pros and cons, but the problem was capital. He didn't care about personnel and the first colonists—cloning hadn't been canceled—but assembling a full-fledged space expedition with all the necessary equipment cost a fortune, which Tony didn't have, and he couldn't earn it honestly. Or rather, he wouldn't be allowed to.
"But that's future Tony's problem," Stark thought as he parked his jalopy.
"Well, it's... nice here," Lucy said, looking through the elevator's grate, beyond which the neon signs of various establishments flickered. She cheered herself up.
Tony remained silent. His attention was more drawn to the soot stains and old blood that no one had bothered to clean. And the trash—tons of trash that apparently wasn't being removed and had already begun to block the staircases, making the elevators the only guaranteed way to reach the desired floor.
Tony shook his head in disappointment. The local residents lived in an engineering marvel, a building with full social security, whose population was so vast that the authority of its managers could be safely compared to that of a mayor. And what did he see? Dirt, decay, and degradation. On one hand, it was expected; on the other, he had still hoped for a better sight. After all, people who lived in such places weren't the poorest—they had good incomes. The one-room apartments were more than spacious, had their own bathrooms, and could easily be converted into small two-room apartments.
Eva Barnes. Night City. A Few Weeks Later
The old warehouse district. Semi-abandoned, left to the gangs, it had become a natural breeding ground for crime, drug addiction, and a safe place to stash anything, even a nuclear bomb. You could bring one here, and no one would find it.
All the gangs of Night City loved such places, but this particular spot was favored by the Scavengers—the most despised gang of all, the worst of the worst, yet also the most resilient. Lacking a patron above, having no unified leadership or rules, the Scavengers were more a type of small gangs than a full-fledged OCG, engaging in kidnapping and butchering people. In an era of advanced medicine and widespread poverty, many found it easier to pay for a stolen spinal cord than to replace it with a much more reliable implant that carried no risk of rejection. Young solos, lacking enough money for licensed implants, were quite willing to turn to the Scavengers, sometimes even maintaining contact with them and occasionally tossing them fresh meat for dissection, for a small percentage. After all, if you needed to eliminate a target, why not do it with a little extra profit, earning money not just from the job but from the corpse? And alas, Eva Barnes had fallen into the clutches of these very monsters.
Eva was born and raised in Night City. She never knew her father, but her mother was a Mox, working for the gang and in good standing, which allowed her to take her daughter to work and ask the other girls to look after her. Not the best place for a child? But safe. The Moxes, though not part of the criminal elite—even lacking their own turf to milk—held their establishments tightly, fought fiercely for their own, and were desperately loyal. Finding a traitor among them was a real challenge due to their high cohesion. Yes, against real gangs with corporate patronage or cartel connections, they wouldn't stand a chance, but being tough enough that others didn't want to mess with them wasn't a problem. It was a situation where the game wasn't worth the candle—the hypothetical losses simply didn't justify the potential profits. And Eva might have become one of the Moxes' working girls, but two things in her biography prevented that. The first was the girl's fierce temper. She could still restrain herself with her own, but with outsiders, no matter how hard she tried, she always bared her teeth and showed her claws, constantly demonstrating her strength. And Eva had a lot of strength—proper training, good genetics, no bad habits, and growing up among bandits who were happy to teach the little one a couple of tricks had done their job, turning the whore's daughter into a little killing machine that needed to be handled carefully and gently... like a grenade with a damaged fuse. The second was the death of her beloved mother at the hands of one of the clients—an event that completely severed any hypothetical desire Eva might have had to become a whore, no matter how well they were paid. And so, little Eva became a Mox enforcer, performing well in shootouts, unafraid of blood, and not shying away from fights. It took Eva only six months to earn the nickname Mad Bitch Barnes for her eagerness to reach for a gun, her love of heavy weaponry, and her complete disregard for consequences. Bring a 40mm grenade launcher to a shootout in the city center, in a residential area? Why not? Empty an entire extended magazine of a light machine gun into a group that might want trouble? No questions asked! And she had an incredible combat sense, managing to push herself to the limit in every fight, making her a valuable enforcer for the gang even without top-tier chrome. In general, if not for her age and character, she would already have had every chance to become a captain, but as it was... apparently, she never would.
"God, if I survive, I swear I'll find the bastard who sold me out, cut off his balls, and make him eat them," Eva thought, lying motionless like a doll with a viral chip in her port. She didn't have much hope, though—she had fallen into the hands of particularly deranged Scavengers. How did she know? They weren't using her. The girls from the gang often told her about the nuances of the shadow life of Night City's gangs, paying special attention to the Scavengers, since they often clashed with them—protecting, avenging, and rescuing their girls from their greedy claws. And if you skipped a lot of unpleasant details, unflattering specifics, and just nauseating moments, the victims of these scumbags could hope for only two fates. The first: they'd extract all their chrome, then disassemble them for organs, maybe record a black brain first. The fate of ninety percent of their victims. The second, "luckier" option, available only to pretty girls, was that they'd be used for a long time, giving their friends a chance to rescue them. A frankly bad, disgusting prospect, and no one with a normal psyche would want that, but for the Moxes, it was a real chance to survive in such a shitty situation. After all, the Moxes really fought tooth and nail for their own, especially when it came to scum like the Scavengers. And Eva, by the way, didn't wear bras—not because she was some kind of pervert or flat-chested, but because standard sizes simply couldn't contain her little ones! And custom-made ones were expensive! The Moxes paid better than the rank-and-file fighters of other gangs, but not that much! And it wasn't like she was ugly or fat—her waist could be spanned with her hands (physical exertion and a forced diet worked wonders), and her face was cute and didn't even need makeup—it was just very beautiful and attractive. And because of that, she had only two options: either the Scavengers who kidnapped her were all impotent, or they had sunk so deep into their work that they no longer saw their victims as people. A kind of professional deformation—sooner or later, the roof started to leak like some kind of cyberpsychosis, and the people on the dissection tables began to be perceived as something like livestock. And this little bell told her that the girls would almost certainly not be able to rescue her, no matter how hard they tried, and the promising Mox had no hope.
Bang! A shot rang out somewhere in the neighboring room.
Or did it?
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100 power stones= 1 Bonus Chapte
advanced chapters available on{P@treon/Anna_N1}