Cyberpunk 2077: Demons of Night City

"Do you hang out with the mayor often?" I asked as Angie and I stepped into a private room inside that same underground club.

The place was dimly lit, the air thick with some kind of vanilla-scented haze.

"Hang out?" she raised an eyebrow. "Never. I just handle business. Rhyne doesn't spend more time on us than what we can afford to pay for."

Above me, a soft purple-pink glow flickered to life, giving the room a sultry, almost suggestive ambiance.

"Rhyne puts a lot of effort into keeping the city's power balance in check," Angie continued, activating the ambient music and swirling neon projections. "The Brazilians fucked that up. Came in quiet and started fucking with people's business. Tried to keep it under wraps, but you flushed them out."

Tried to keep it quiet… That was probably why they didn't want to kill me outright.

Like Angie, they might've thought I was some high-level Arasaka asset. If that were the case, my death would've drawn unnecessary attention to their op. Their plan was likely to neutralize me, take me somewhere quiet, and flip me. Offer me more money—or use blackmail if I refused. Plenty of ways to get someone on a leash.

With me under their thumb, they could've crushed the betting racket and left for their sunny little homeland without a hitch.

Didn't work out for them.

"What's next? You still need my help?"

"Of course," she nodded, slipping off her shades and casually strolling around the stage with the pole. "But don't worry, V. You're almost at the finish line. Just find them. Find them and send me the address."

"And then your crew of bruisers rolls in?" I smirked. "Careful, Angie. These aren't your average gangoons or some deadbeat debtors. They've got chrome, training, tactics—top-tier corpo squad-level shit."

"Pfft," Angie scoffed, tossing her shiny jacket onto a chair. "Sweet of you to worry about us, but we can handle it. Or what?" She winked, stepping closer. "You suggesting I should hire your guys? Maybe even Smasher?"

She thought I was trying to push Arasaka's services. Cute.

I let the silence linger for a moment before asking, "Say I do find them, and I decide I want to settle the score myself—for my busted optics. What then? Your guys are loud. They might scare off our little spies."

"Oh? Got a taste for blood now?" Angie murmured, wrapping an arm around my neck. "I thought you were colder than that. Or is there another motive?"

Motive?

Well, for one, I'd like to see what's rattling around in the head of a high-level foreign operative. And two, I wanted to talk to Lucy about Kiwi first. Decide what to do together instead of just throwing the problem at the Animals.

"What do you really want?" I asked, meeting her gaze.

"I want my business problems to disappear—along with the people causing them."

"Alright," I nodded. "I'll see what I can do. If I find them, I'll either call your guys or handle it myself."

"Suit yourself, V. The reward's the same either way," she shrugged. "Though there is one little exception… If you do take them out yourself, I'd love a working copy of that nasty little virus."

Netrunner malware. Got it.

A small device on the wall beeped before a polite voice came through the speaker:

"Good evening, valued guests. Would you like some dancers, a massage, or any other… services?"

"Thanks," Angie replied, "but I can handle everything myself."

While she was waving off the staff, a message popped up from Lucy.

"Got intel."

Only meant one thing—the Militech rat's negotiations with Maelstrom had been intercepted. We knew when and where the convoy was rolling.

"Want a little pick-me-up?" Angie asked.

"Not tonight. I need every bit of my dopamine and paranoia in the next few days," I replied. "A lot to do."

"Suit yourself. Guess we'll have to relax you some other way."

Angie kicked off her shoes and hopped onto the platform with the pole, gripping it smoothly before executing a move straight out of a professional strip routine. It was impressive, but she didn't seem satisfied.

"Jeans are too tight," she muttered. "Can't move properly."

She casually undid her belt with one hand and started sliding out of her crocodile-skin pants.

"Hold up," I said.

"What's wrong, V?"

"Answer something for me first. You source hormones and pharma from Europe, which means you've got access to their labs. I'm interested in biomods. They've been drying up in Night City lately. What's the supply like over there?"

Angie sat on the edge of the platform, finally stepping out of her jeans and crossing her legs.

"Yeah. You won't find biomods in Night City anymore. We've switched almost entirely to cyberware. You know why?"

"I have a feeling you're about to tell me. If I don't get too distracted."

She smirked. "I'm sure you can multitask."

She pulled her white tank up just a little.

"You always strip during your lectures?" I joked, leaning back into the couch.

"Nope. This one's exclusive," she teased, standing up and gripping the pole again. "Biomods used to compete with chrome, but cyberware won. Easier to install, easier to replace.

"Why spend years engineering a biological equivalent to a weapon when you can just install one? The chrome world won. Metal was stronger. But the bio-labs didn't just vanish," Angie continued, hooking her leg over the pole. "They're still working. Still experimenting. Torturing lab rats and guinea pigs."

The tiny gems on her minimalist lingerie sparkled under the lewd pink glow. The music slowed, the bass pulsing softer.

"Most of the useful advancements got absorbed into medicine—healing gels, nanomachines, stem cells, hormone therapy. Every ripperdoc's got something. But pure biomods? Those are for purists, fetishists, and people whose bodies reject chrome."

"Your athletes dabble in them?"

"Of course," Angie leaned in, squeezing her chest with both hands. "Chrome restrictions exist in sports, and every fraction of a second counts."

"Same goes for a fight," I replied. "Think you could send me a list of the biomods that aren't available in Night City?"

"You want me to bring you some fancy brochures from Europe?" she teased, pulling her tank top higher. "Fine. Any more questions before your private dance?"

"Nope. You can start," I nodded.

The night was shaping up to be a good one. Thanks to Rhyne, who let us use one of the club's private rooms. I'd say I'd vote for him, but I doubted he'd live long enough to see election day. And when his career ends, it'd probably be in a place just like this. But that was another story. Not sure if I should even bother getting involved. Peralez was a puppet—one being played by some shadowy group with bleeding-edge tech. He didn't even know he was being controlled, and that's exactly what made the whole setup so effective. No bribes, no negotiations. Just equipment that rewrote his damn personality.

I stayed with Angie until almost sunrise. When I got home, Lucy was gone. Crashed for a couple of hours before she came back and shook me awake. Apparently, she'd spent the morning checking a few more relays and was back on the Brazilians' trail.

That trip to the abandoned house got us more than just our asses handed to us—it gave us a new piece of the puzzle. Time to start unraveling the web of this little spy game.

"They've got a solid crew," Lucy muttered as I chugged my coffee, trying to shake off the exhaustion. "Which means we need to move fast. Otherwise, they'll erase their tracks or skip town."

"I met Lucius Rhyne last night."

"And?" she raised an eyebrow. "Is he as greedy a bastard in person as he looks on TV?"

"He wears leopard-print briefs and wants us to wipe out Kiwi's whole team."

"All of them?"

"Yup. Angie said we could just find them and send their location. Then the Animals will do the rest."

Lucy gave me a quiet nod and handed me an inhaler with a smug-looking businessman on the label. Caffeine, nicotine, and God knows what else. I took a deep hit, feeling the artificial rush surge through me.

"We need to hit a server farm," Lucy said. "But it's got security."

"Brazilians?"

"No. Tyger Claws. But it's best to take them out quietly."

Which meant if we were bringing Becca, it'd only be as backup. Still, after the mess with the Brazilians, I wanted maximum security. So we decided to bring both Becca and Falco. They could sit in the car and wait in case shit hit the fan.

The target was Mega Building H11, down by the southern border of Northside, right next to Trauma Team's med center in Little China. The Tygers had set up a heavily secured server farm there—part for their own use, the rest rented out. Looked like our friends from Brazil had been using their services.

Sitting in the car outside the tower, I asked, "Listen, do we have to kill everyone? Couldn't we just buy some server space, upload a virus, and—"

"They set the minimum buy-in at twenty grand," Lucy said flatly.

"Jesus," I sighed. "Well, fuck them, then."

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that Lucy wanted to kill someone. Let off some steam. Probably because of the whole Kiwi situation looming over her.

Falco and Becca waited for us in another car. Backup was in place—time to move.

We entered the tower smoothly, took an elevator, then locked it between floors. Lucy jacked in to give us access to the off-limits sections. Her eyes flickered, digital grids reflecting in them as she worked. And yet, she still had the focus to talk to me at the same time.

"Power went out here five days ago. Tygers called in workers. Threatened to break a few legs over it," she said. "Of course, the problem's with their shitty infrastructure. They cut corners on cooling. I'll overload the circuits. Kill the power and their comms. We do this in the dark."

"You know, I prefer working with the lights on, but for you, I'll make an exception."

Lucy didn't react to the joke. She was too on edge. The elevator moved again. I switched my Oracle to max scan mode. The world around me shifted instantly, revealing faint outlines of equipment and people behind the walls as we passed different floors.

I wasn't used to this yet. Could almost feel my brain stretching to process the extra data.

The elevator stopped. Doors opened. The lights died.

A few meters ahead, a voice swore in Japanese, cursing out the "shitty wiring" and "dumbass technicians."

My new optics adjusted instantly. Lucy pointed ahead, held up two fingers. Then gestured right and held up three more.

I shook my head and held up four fingers. My Oracle showed me four silhouettes, minimum.

Lucy shrugged. Then motioned for us to move.

Time to play boogeyman.

I quietly unsheathed my monokatana. Still hadn't made it to Dogtown for new tantos, so I'd have to use the bigger blade this time.

I adjusted my cyberlimb wrist in a specific way, resting the katana flat against my shoulder. The implant's mechanism built up potential energy in its artificial tendons—one good strike, even in these cramped quarters.

In my right hand, I held a Unity pistol with a suppressor. Finally, Falco's dream came true—his silencers were actually getting used. Still, the gun was a last resort. Even Night City silencers weren't truly silent. Ideally, tonight would be all about scripts and cold steel.

We moved through the dark. Hunters in the night, in a city that never slept. The sun might've still been shining outside, but we made sure our targets had a little taste of darkness.

I lightly tapped Lucy's shoulder and pointed ahead. Two fingers—then added a third. She nodded and moved in, unwinding that deadly monowire. I veered right.

Up ahead, a flicker of light.

One of the Tygers was coming my way with a flashlight. I immediately ducked behind a rack of equipment.

Step. Another step.

With Oracle, I saw his every move before he made it. The guy was careless, mumbling something under his breath. When he passed my hiding spot, I was already set. He didn't even register the katana's swing.

Half a second later, his flashlight hit the floor. And something else was about to follow.

Come on, come on, I mentally urged, stepping back to avoid the spray.

There it was.

The last sliver of skin tore, and his head dropped to the ground with a dull thud. The flashlight's beam dimmed, turning red—lens coated in blood.

Shit. Should've set my implant to record. My kendo instructor, Hash, would've loved this, and Becca? She'd lose her damn mind.

Oh well. I'd get them some content next time.

Flicking the blood off my blade, I moved on. Through the walls, I saw two more outlines stagger, choking on their own blood. Their forms flickered red, then dimmed. That was Lucy handling business.

Up ahead, I heard someone call out in Japanese:

"Yo, Saito?! You fall asleep or what?!"

Yeah. Forever.

Unfortunately, I couldn't behead this one as easily—he was standing too close to a wall, and I wasn't about to risk snapping my blade. Instead, I hit him with a Memory Wipe. While he was still dazed, I smoothly slit his throat.

That left two.

They were standing together. Hm. I could rush them and rely on surprise. Or go full Sandie. Or…

I went with or.

Slowly, carefully, I pulled out a small night-vision camera and peered around the corner. Scanned them.

One was heavily chromed. The other? A basic street thug. Ice installed? Something cheap from Kabuki. Perfect.

I hit him with a Puppet script. A second, two—and my mind jumped into his body.

"—so this bitch tells me she needs another week. A week, can you believe—"

His partner stopped mid-rant when I didn't respond. Annoyed, he slapped my hijacked body upside the head.

"Oi! You listening to me?!"

"Hai!" I responded with a short bow.

That meant "yes." One of the few Japanese words I actually knew.

Not that there'd be much more talking. The grenade I slipped from my host's belt was about to go off. And my real body? Safely behind cover.

I bailed from the Puppet right before the blast.

Boom.

A scream—full of pain.

The chromed-up Tyger survived. I peeked around the corner and put three rounds in his skull before he could react. His chrome didn't mean shit against three well-placed shots to the head.

Unity. Becca had picked it out and modded it for me. Reliable little thing.

Seconds later, Lucy was at my side, scanning for survivors. Not finding any, she shot me a look.

"V! What the fuck?!"

"Relax. Nobody's left." I holstered the pistol. "Doubt the neighbors will call the cops over a little noise from the Claws. Let's turn the lights back on and dig through their files."

She nodded but stayed distant, detached. Her usual defense mechanism.

Me? I stepped over the blood pooling on the floor and got to work. Lucy was focused on the Brazilians. I was more interested in the Tygers and their clients. Blackmail material, shady deals, financial records—anything I could sell for some extra eddies. Coffee wasn't gonna buy itself, and I'd been drinking a lot of it lately.

As I combed through their servers, my comm buzzed with an incoming call—from a familiar secure channel.

I answered.

"Hey, Frank. Not the best time."

"V, there's… a problem at work."

"What, someone microwaved fish in the breakroom?"

"Jesus fuck, V, this isn't a joke. Listen… At first, your intel was great. Got me a fucking bonus. But then…" He hesitated. "Remember when I told you I met Michiko?"

"Yeah. I could practically hear your balls shriveling through the phone."

"Yeah, well, guess what? She's been calling people back for round two. Not everyone. Just some. Including me. And you know what? She had a lot of questions about you. About Jenkins. And then about you again."

Ah. There it is.

"Not exactly shocking. My history with Arasaka's murky as fuck. If Michiko's cleaning up Susan's mess, makes sense she'd dig into this mess too."

"She wants to meet you, V. I told her meeting an informant so openly wasn't smart. She insisted. Said she could guarantee secrecy."

And there it was. That's why Frank sounded like he was about to piss himself.

"Either show up, or get the fuck out of town and stay out. That's my advice. You're slippery as hell, but not even you can wiggle out of this one. Make your call, V. You don't have much time."