Cyberpunk 2077: Demons of Night City

"No chance at all?" I asked from the passenger seat.

"None," Panam answered, irritation creeping into her voice. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't have even bothered asking. Aldecaldos have new rules now—no hitting corps, just kissing their ass. For some reason, Saul decided that'll fix the clan's reputation. Like if we act all nice and polite, people won't see us as dangerous trash anymore."

"Naive," I replied. "At best, they'll see you as harmless trash. And that's way worse."

"Exactly! The guy's old as dirt, but now he thinks he's some kind of visionary. How many cities have we helped rebuild? How many buildings did we pull out of radioactive ruins? Think anyone gives a shit? No, of course not. Whatever. The more I talk about it, the angrier I get."

So, Aldecaldos were out. That meant I needed to find someone else for the convoy raid—or handle it ourselves. According to the intel Lucy intercepted, the convoy had a forty-one-man security detail. Twenty-five guards, sixteen drivers and techs, all armed. Plus drones. Maybe combat bots. That was serious muscle. Even with the element of surprise, hitting them with just five people was a lot.

But the more people I brought in, the higher the risk of leaks. Aldecaldos would've been the ideal pick—tight-knit, isolated from Night City's usual bullshit—but with Panam saying they weren't pulling that kind of work anymore, I had to look elsewhere.

Didn't want to pull in Jackie, either. DeShawn had already told him about looking into buying the bot. Plus, one Wells wasn't shifting the balance much.

That left hiring outside help. Valentinos? Animals? Getting big gangs involved was another risk—loose lips, power struggles. Bring in too many big players, and suddenly you're not the one calling the shots.

Maybe freelancers? Build my own team from scratch?

Damn. Starting to think I got rid of Mauser too soon. This was exactly his kind of gig. But he was long gone—no bringing him back from the other side. Only one guy I could drag back from the void, and that was Johnny. But that was a problem for after Konpeki.

For now, I worked with what I had. Needed at least five to seven mercs. Not just any randoms—good mix of skill and implants. Enough firepower to rip through the convoy's guards in a decisive first strike.

And then, there was the meeting with Michiko. And tracking down the Brazilian operatives. I had too much shit on my plate, and all I could do was hope I didn't burn out before I finished.

"Fine. I'll find the crew myself," I told Panam after a long moment, running through my options. "That means you're handling weapons, explosives, and setting up the ambush. Here—sixty grand in cash. Get whatever you need. If you need anything specific for firearms, talk to Becca."

"Sure, I'll call her, so the little gremlin doesn't feel left out. But, V… sixty thousand? You sure?"

"Yeah."

For the first time in a long time, my cash reserves dipped below a million. 967,800 left. If I counted my banked assets, I still had over a mil, but the upcoming expenses would keep draining that fast.

Still, I was confident that aside from grabbing several bots, we'd be able to snatch some extra hardware. Whole convoy was out of the question—sixteen trucks were too much—but picking up additional loot was definitely in the cards.

The rest of my night was spent combing through everything. Data pulled from Faraday's memories, his files, Mauser's files, Arasaka counterintelligence reports, even fragments from my deep-dive into the Voodoo Boys' network.

I was looking for the perfect candidates. People who wouldn't hesitate to take on a major corp, but also wouldn't run their mouths about it afterward.

Of course, there was always another option—hire them, then wipe them out when the job was done. But go down that road too often, and people stop wanting to work with you.

"Good evening," I greeted, dialing yet another number. "Is this Chris Cuomo? No? His mother? Oh… he got shot in a firefight? My condolences."

Hung up. Back to searching.

"William Hare…" Ex-military. Early signs of cyberpsychosis. Had the right augments, solid experience… but too much time in a Militech division. No telling how a former corporal with a shaky psyche would react to gunning down Militech soldiers. Too risky. Next.

Lucy, meanwhile, was busy hunting down the Brazilian safehouse. Work never stopped in our apartment. Evelyn barely had time to bring us coffee before one of us needed another cup.

Eventually, I narrowed the list down to six. Made calls. Set meetings. These were all mercs—folks from Afterlife and Electric Orgasm. Freelancers. No tight gang ties. Exactly what I needed.

Then, I called Falco and told him to meet them tomorrow.

"Wouldn't it be better if you did?" he asked.

"I got another meeting at that time. One I can't reschedule. You're good at reading people. I trust your judgment."

"Well, I try to see the best in people… sometimes that bites me in the ass. But alright, I'll talk to them. See what makes them tick."

"Perfect. See you tomorrow."

Michiko set the meeting for eleven in the morning. Was I nervous?

A little.

I didn't think she'd have me shot on sight or thrown into a blacksite—didn't fit her usual MO. She didn't strike me as the type to make rash decisions. Measure seven times, shoot once—something like that.

But I couldn't afford to relax, either.

If I wasn't getting killed today, that didn't mean I wouldn't tomorrow. Michiko was digging deep into the old Arasaka division I used to work in. She might eventually stumble across some of the… artistic liberties I took with my assignments.

For the meeting, I went as low-profile as possible. Minimal weapons, minimal flash.

Sharp blazer, white dress shirt, dry-cleaned slacks. Looked like a young corpo trying to build his career—except for my expression and my cyberarm. Those definitely didn't fit the image. Face had the look of a guy life had kicked the shit out of. The combat-grade Dylar-Kendachi arm hidden under my sleeve? That would be a dead giveaway if anyone got a close look.

I had been promised anonymity as an informant—none of my new "friends" were supposed to know where I was going. So, the first stop on my morning trip was a nondescript alleyway.

A black car with tinted windows was already waiting. The door swung open invitingly. Inside, there was only a driver—not security, judging by his gear and demeanor.

He drove toward the Corpo Plaza but didn't stop to park. Instead, we entered one of the unmarked service tunnels. The gleaming skyscrapers bathed in morning light faded behind dull concrete walls. After the open sky, the cramped, dimly lit ceiling felt oppressive, the red emergency lights flickering overhead like a warning.

It felt like being swallowed by some great beast—a beast I was all too familiar with. I'd crawled out of its belly once. And now, I was stepping right back in.

We arrived at an underground garage guarded by five armed agents and automated turrets. From there, we took an elevator—three, actually—ascending higher and higher until we reached the 76th floor, the so-called "jungle."

The place lived up to its name. Real trees grew here, while the offices were built like platforms scattered throughout the artificial forest. It was a quiet place, reserved for high-level negotiations. Only senior executives, security, and maintenance staff were allowed here, their conversations drowned out by recorded sounds of extinct birds playing over the speakers.

The driver gestured toward a narrow "path" leading deeper into the forest—a suspended walkway weaving through the trees. As I walked, I passed silent guards and netrunners dressed in immaculate white uniforms. They stood still as statues, blank expressions giving nothing away. Wouldn't surprise me if they were doped up on something to suppress emotions during their shifts.

Two of those ghost-white guards relieved me of my pistol and knife before I passed under an arch of interwoven branches leading to a hexagonal platform. A transparent dome covered it, shielding it from any prying eyes.

Michiko was already there, seated at a sleek, high-tech table emblazoned with the Arasaka crest.

She looked exactly as she did on TV—polished, composed, and radiating a carefully curated aura of authority. Her chrome enhancements were subtle but effective, striking a balance between understated elegance and modern power. A deliberate middle ground. And if her appearance reflected her politics, then she was all about compromise.

"It is a great honor to meet you, Michiko-san," I said, giving a formal Japanese bow. "May I take a seat?"

"Please, let's not stand on ceremony," she replied with a warm smile. "We're in Night City, not Tokyo. And there are no cameras watching us here. Sit, Mr. Price. Or… do you prefer V?"

There was something about her tone—just the right amount of hesitation, a carefully placed hint of uncertainty. Some leaders press down hard, making sure their authority is felt. Others use the opposite approach, making themselves seem just vulnerable enough to appear relatable.

With Michiko, it was an act.

She already knew my name, my alias, and a whole lot more. Otherwise, she wouldn't have bothered with this meeting.

"Whichever you prefer," I answered smoothly.

"You have lived a difficult life, V," she continued with a note of sympathy. "Assassination attempts, unemployment… I don't often speak with former employees, but I have my reasons for making an exception.

"I have not spent much time in Night City over the past year. Aside from brief visits, I have been occupied with diplomacy and international matters." She waved a hand as if brushing the whole subject aside. "A tiresome duty, but I was preparing to return when suddenly—"

She paused, letting me finish her thought.

"Susan Abernathy's death."

"Yes," she nodded. "A most unusual crime. The terrorists claimed responsibility, but I know their type too well. They'd take credit for the 2023 bombing, Lincoln's assassination, and the sinking of the Titanic if they thought anyone would believe them."

Just as I expected—officially, the story remained unchanged. But behind closed doors, a different investigation was already underway.

"I want to understand," Michiko said. "Not just the circumstances of Susan's death, but her life as well. You are part of that story, V. Which brings us to my first question: What do you think happened to Arthur Jenkins?"

I exhaled slowly.

"Well, I don't know the exact method… but I assume he was eliminated on Abernathy's orders."

"You're certain?"

"Yes," I said after a brief pause. "I'm certain."

The less I lied today, the better.

"I see…" Michiko murmured, folding her arms across her chest. "Their conflict must have escalated significantly in my absence. You were one of the last people to see Arthur alive. Can you recall the details of that meeting?"

"Of course. Hard to forget. Mr. Jenkins was giving me an assignment."

"And what kind of assignment?"

My biomonitor pinged an elevated heart rate. I had prepared for this conversation—had anticipated this exact question—but even so, my system hit me with a sharp spike of adrenaline and cortisol.

"Arthur Jenkins wanted me to find contractors to eliminate Susan Abernathy," I admitted. "Their conflict had gone too far."

"And how did you plan to act on that?" Michiko asked, before adding, "Do not worry, V. No one is going to charge you with anything. The matter is closed. I simply want to understand what really happened."

"I was going to run," I answered honestly. "I didn't believe we could actually go against Susan Abernathy, and frankly, I wanted no part in that level of corporate warfare."

"You managed to escape, but I imagine it wasn't easy?"

"No," I admitted, offering a small, rueful smile. "She sent mercs after me. I had to go underground. Took small jobs, kept my head down. Then I heard Susan was killed in an attack. I reached out to Frank to see if it was safe to stop hiding, and next thing I knew, he was recruiting me as an informant."

"Our language is a fascinating thing," Michiko mused, voice drifting into a near-dreamlike tone. "So many emotions, so much risk and history… all condensed into just a few measured words."

"Well, I doubt you'd be interested in my misadventures scraping the bottom of Night City," I replied dryly.

"You are far too modest, Vincent. Misadventures in the gutter don't usually end with someone buying a club. It seems fortune has favored you. Or was it more than just luck? After all, even before your departure, you weren't exactly a stranger to the city's underbelly.

"Take, for instance, your assignments from Mr. Tanaka."

Ah. So she knew about that too.

"I did handle a few problems for him," I admitted.

"You assisted in the 'Cyberskeleton' project, correct?"

Shit. Careful now. That's a trap. I wasn't supposed to know those details.

Time to sidestep.

"I don't know what project it was," I said evenly. "Mr. Tanaka presented me with problems, and I solved them. Seemed like he was satisfied with the results."

"Indeed. You eliminated a fixer hired by Militech," Michiko nodded, giving me a knowing smile. "I watched the braindance. You looked much more… imposing. Aggressive. Almost sinister. Something about a dream, a room, and a monster. I don't quite remember the exact phrasing, but it was quite poetic. A quote from something?"

"Don't recall," I replied, playing it off. "That was mostly Jotaro Shobo's idea—one of the Tiger Claws. I just figured… well, a little spectacle wouldn't hurt. Faraday overstepped, going after a classified project."

"I understand," she nodded. "Unfortunately, in Night City, brute force is often the only language people respond to. I read the reports—Faraday was an unpleasant man. Regularly betrayed his own mercs and even clients. But that wasn't your first interaction with Tanaka, was it?"

Interesting… We were drifting further away from the subject of Susan's death. Where was Michiko going with this? Was she just testing me, or was there something specific she wanted?

"Yeah," I nodded. "I gave a lecture at the Arasaka Academy."

"And before that?"

"I helped out a student—David Martinez. He had trouble with a merc crew over a stolen implant."

"David Martinez…" Michiko repeated thoughtfully. "When I saw his name pop up in documents connected to you, I realized I'd heard it before. I have an old friend in Security. A dinosaur from the old days, like me. He writes to me sometimes. Lately, he's mentioned that name more than once."

I knew exactly who she meant. And she knew that I knew.

"David climbed the ranks fast," I said carefully.

"He even worked security for Susan Abernathy," Michiko nodded, and something cold flickered in her eyes.

Fuck.

V, dodging Abernathy's mercs. Meanwhile, the kid I once saved ends up guarding her. And not long after, Susan dies under mysterious circumstances.

Hell of a coincidence, isn't it?

Shit. I hadn't even considered that angle before.

"David told me his girlfriend died in the attack," I offered.

A small alibi for Martinez. If he had been involved—if he'd helped me—he wouldn't have let his girl get caught in the crossfire.

"Yes," Michiko shook her head slightly. "A tragic loss. In Japanese tradition, dying in service to one's duty is an honor, but to me, such deaths are first and foremost tragedies. You and David are still on good terms, aren't you? He even helped you deal with those athlete-gangsters."

"Yeah. There were problems when I bought the club. David helped me out. I figured he owed me, after helping him once."

"That's quite the inspiring story," Michiko nodded. "It almost sounds like the perfect PR campaign. A talented counterintel agent rescues a troubled but gifted street kid. Inspired by his mentor, he rises up and becomes a defender against terrorism. Actually… why stop at a book? That's a movie-worthy story. Just needs a dramatic love subplot to round it out. What do you think?"

Shit. Heart rate spiking again.

Did she know about Lucy? Was she fishing for something, or just talking out of her ass?

I deflected with humor.

"A dramatic love subplot? Just as long as it's not between me and David."

Michiko chuckled.

"Yes, that would distort the noble message of the film a bit too much. Love is… a tricky substance. Add just a drop in the wrong place, and suddenly it overshadows everything else.

"Still, I'm sure the fans would write that love story for you in their little fiction circles."

"Yeah, well," I shrugged. "Fangirls love to turn male friendship into… well, you know."

"Indeed," she smirked. "In any case, thank you, V, for helping David. I even considered issuing you a post-factum bonus.

"But there's one little detail I just can't quite wrap my head around. It's been bothering me."

Her expression darkened slightly.

"Why were you interested in David Martinez in the first place? It was you who approached Tanaka with an offer to help—not the other way around."

"Yeah," I nodded. "I randomly came across a video. A high school kid using a Sandevistan to kick the shit out of a classmate. He should've burned out after something like that, but he didn't. That kind of implant resistance caught my interest, and, well… things just rolled from there."

"A random video…" Michiko sighed. "V, you're being modest again. Because you were looking into Gloria Martinez long before David's Sandevistan incident at school. And I just can't figure out why.

"Maybe you'd like to explain it yourself?"

Fuck.