Maelstrom were Night City's true chromed-out fanatics — zealots of cybernetic body modification. By 2077, cyberware had already reached its fourth generation, yet "full conversion" remained a technical impossibility.
Even Arasaka couldn't pull it off. Maelstrom, however, didn't care about limits. They stripped away flesh and conscience alike, chasing augmentation the way others chased a high. Every so often they'd bolt together a new implant, and the quickest way to "field-test" it was simple: kill someone and see what broke.
Night City's districts belonged to different gangs, while corps carved out their own enclaves like fortified islands. So Maelstrom preferred the lawless edges — places where screams vanished into neon and gunfire drew no badge. Ordinary people became their test subjects.
Sometimes, the thrill-seekers went further and tore through the streets for fun. People had a name for that kind of spree.
Cyberpsychos.
For psychopaths like them, the only thing that mattered was the rush. So when the big one proposed a "killing contest", the whole pack lit up. If they couldn't get satisfaction from picking off the old, the sick, or the helpless anymore, they might as well make the act itself entertaining.
The brute straightened, metal joints whining, and raised his arm. The "hand" had been replaced by an iron claw — something that could punch through a human chest like it was wet paper.
"If it's a game, it needs rules." He said, "If we rush in and start spraying bodies, we won't know who got what. So we set a limit — ten minutes per person."
"Perfect!" Someone howled, "If they're still breathing after ten, they get to die knowing it!"
"Brilliant…"
Laughter rolled through the group as one. A ten-minute killing contest — what a wonderful idea.
"As the one who suggested it, I'll go first. Any objections?" The big guy flexed, servos clicking.
"Do it already!"
The countdown began.
The iron-clawed brute gave a cold chuckle and broke into a sprint toward the bright, cozy lights of Sunshine Estate. That little pocket of peace was about to end.
He'd barely covered a few steps when a sharp whoosh cut the air overhead.
He looked up. A dark silhouette was dropping out of the sky.
Vash hit like a falling blade. In full view of the Maelstrom squad, a Mantis Blade snapped out from his right forearm. He used the momentum of the dive to carve straight at the charging brute.
The Mantis Blade's flurry left no room for an intact corpse inside its reach.
Slash!
The brute's prized cybernetic claw flew first — cleanly severed. He managed to suck in a breath to protest… and then his world spun. From the moment he started running to the moment he came apart, less than ten seconds had passed.
The remaining Maelstrom gaped.
A black-and-gold mechanized figure stood where their champion had been, streamlined plating catching the streetlight. The Mantis Blade extended from its arm like a predator's talon.
"Shit — he dropped our guy!"
Someone's shout snapped the others awake. Weapons came up in a hurry.
A thick-necked bruiser yanked a Constitutional Arms M2067 Defender from an SUV and opened fire, "You think you can mess with Maelstrom in Watson? Whoever you are, you're dead!"
Bullets poured toward Vash in a dense curtain.
They might as well have been rain… The rounds couldn't even scratch the nanomolecular shell. Vash simply walked through the storm — one figure punching forward through their entire line of fire.
"Tough plating, huh?" Another roared, "I'll carve you open!"
A Maelstromer with a cyberarm refitted into a crude blade charged in, eyes wild.
Vash turned his head. A Monowire flicked out, spearing the man's chest. He gave a hard yank. Molecular filament bit deeper than any knife, and the attacker came apart in chunks.
Vash showed them no mercy. Every one of them had blood on their hands.
"The first step to burning this city to ash…" He said, voice sharpened with killing intent, "Is scraping away the scum."
Mantis Blade in his right, Monowire in his left — Vash surged into the rest of them.
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Moments later, the Maelstrom squad was gone.
Vash deactivated the suit and began gathering the scattered cyberware components.
Chrome was money in Night City. The haul from this crew alone would fetch at least €$100,000. He loaded the parts into an SUV, then torched the other vehicles — erasing evidence, reducing bodies to ash and twisted metal.
With the goods secured, he drove them over to Viktor's.
What happened to the materials after that wasn't his problem.
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The next day, Vash met Jackie at his old apartment building.
"V." Jackie greeted him beside a chinese food stall, "'Bout time, choom."
"Jack — do you always need to be eating when we meet?" Vash asked.
Jackie grinned, "Easier to work with a full stomach, right, choom? Oh — almost forgot. Dexter DeShawn pinged me."
"Hm." Vash's reply was calm, "And what are you thinking?"
"Ain't about what I'm thinkin'." Jackie said, lowering his voice, "He wants to see you, V."
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