January 16th, 2069 – 8:08 PM
Watson – Docks
Getting to the location of my assignment required the help of a Delamain cab. Unfortunately, the Watson dockyard didn't have a metro line, and walking there would've been a trek. Sure, I could have used my abilities and sprinted the whole way — but honestly, I just couldn't be bothered.
The western part of the city was almost entirely handed over to industry and storage. Whatever factories didn't fit into Arroyo ended up crammed into this distant corner of Night City. Gangs didn't mess around here too much — they knew better than to provoke the kinds of people who could afford proper security to guard their turf.
To my surprise, Michiko actually shared some intel about the zone where the Ebunike was docked. After the renegade Maelstrom crew got wiped out, the gang's other leaders arranged a quiet sit-down with corporate reps. They hammered out a deal that worked pretty damn well for both sides: Arasaka got a slice of land where they could stash things away from prying eyes, and Maelstrom got the resources they needed in return.
The site where the ship sat wasn't exactly Fort Knox. I had no trouble slipping in — even without using my mimicry system. All it took was looping the perimeter cams and weaving between a few bored sentries drifting among the endless stacks of rusted-out cargo containers.
Getting on the deck was just as painless. One leap onto the bow with mimicry mode active, and I was in. Still, I armored up in advance — just in case. If anyone was aboard, I couldn't risk being identified. Mimicry isn't foolproof. Some borgs have optic gear that can cut right through stealth mode, and my system's just an upgraded version of a standard stealth rig. Even with my mods, I wasn't exactly invisible to the right eyes. Better to play it smart than get cocky.
First stop: the hold. That's usually where people stash the good stuff — hidden deep in the most inconvenient corner for outsiders to reach. I bypassed the lock on one of the sealed doors and started combing through every inch, room by room. Crew quarters, utility closets — nothing was off the list. But cracking every door took time, way more than I expected. Good thing Vega was watching the perimeter. If anything weird happened topside, she'd let me know right away.
"Over an hour, and still nothing." I grumbled silently to my assistant, who was tuned into the same comm channel with me.
"Maybe the stash is in the captain's cabin? Or one of the containers topside?" the android suggested — logically enough.
"That'd be way too easy. And dumb. Hiding anything in plain sight in this city? Not exactly a winning strategy."
"And yet," she replied in that patient, machine-precise voice of hers, "many potential thieves would think the exact same thing. Meaning, from a purely human logic standpoint, the move would be perfectly justified."
"Touche." I didn't argue. She had a point. Didn't make me any less annoyed about all the time I'd already wasted on this glorified scavenger hunt.
I'd already swept every inch of the Ebunike's interior — top to bottom, stem to stern. But I wasn't calling it quits just yet. Climbing back onto the upper deck, I decided to stop procrastinating and start a new sweep, this time from the aft section.
And wouldn't you know it — almost immediately, I spotted an armored door tucked away behind a stack of crates. Sleek plating. High-end electronic lock. My gut told me this was it. Whatever I was looking for, it was behind that door.
Unfortunately, the door came with a surprise — and not the good kind. There was no way to crack it open without a special access card. And if I tried to force it? The system would ping whatever core terminal it was connected to. Jammer or not, the alert would still get through. The software had a failsafe, and I wasn't stupid enough to trigger it.
"I see two possible solutions," Vega said suddenly, her voice cutting in like a scalpel.
"Let's hear it."
"One: delay the signal transmission for a couple of minutes using a dual protocol — daemon and jammer in tandem. Two: bypass the door entirely — go in from above, or breach from below."
"So basically: long live vandalism," I muttered. Vega didn't dignify that with a response. She preferred to observe in silence.
I gave the door another ten minutes of my life, poking, probing, trying to finesse it. In the end, subtlety took a backseat. I used the repulsor glove on my arm to punch a hole up from the cargo hold. The heat output was just enough to melt through the lower panel. After that, it was a simple hop through the breach.
Now that's what I call a hidden stash. I stepped inside, impressed by the sheer volume of weaponry and gear piled on the shelves. Guns, mods, tech — everything carefully arranged like a collector's private showroom.
As I walked past the racks, one item stood out: an exoskeleton, center stage, looming over the rest like a war god on a throne. Its placement said a lot about the guy who owned this place — but interior design wasn't my priority. I was here for something specific. And lucky for me, the owner had a textbook case of perfectionist syndrome. Everything was labeled, sorted, easy to find.
"There you are." Behind reinforced glass sat a silver cybernetic arm — polished, pristine, and tagged with a very clear note about its previous owner.
ARROGANT PIECE OF SHIT
The name matched the contract. But it wasn't the arm that made me pause. It was the half-ruined implant beside it. No tag. Didn't need one. I knew exactly who it belonged to the second I saw it.
The image that surfaced in my mind was of a smiling man — the one who'd once pretended to be my father.
"Vega, kill the trackers. I need to do something. Time to leave a mark."
"Done," the AI replied without hesitation.
My suit shimmered as the cloaking dropped, revealing my face in the reflection — no mask, no filter.
Maximum power…
Mars's synthesized voice echoed through my mind a moment before the adrenaline kicked in, lighting every nerve like a fuse.
"This doesn't belong to him."
With every ounce of strength I could channel, I drove my fist into the reinforced glass. The impact cracked the surface with a sickening crunch, spiderwebbing outward before it finally gave way — shattering into a thousand jagged pieces.
***
"Alex, the signal's been sent. Move."
"Just a sec — I've got a few souvenirs to leave behind."
I planted the last mine, grinned to myself, and dropped through the hole I'd blown in the floor.
I made it off the ship just in time to catch sight of the Avi slicing across the sky toward the docks. Slipping into the maze of shipping yards nearby, I found a good perch to enjoy the show up close.
They didn't even bother landing. Smasher — of course — just launched himself out of the belly of the Avi from several dozen meters up. I had to admit, I was impressed. His exosuit ate the landing like it was nothing.
The concrete wasn't so lucky. It cracked open under the impact, chunks flying like confetti at a warzone wedding.
I figured, why not record the whole thing? Shows like this don't come around often, and our mystery stash's owner was about to give one hell of a performance.
"Oh, here we go," I muttered, smirking as Smasher approached the door.
He struggled with it — not by accident. I'd done a bit of... tweaking. Let's just say the lock wasn't feeling cooperative tonight.
A few seconds later, he forced it open — only to immediately dive for cover as the room exploded in his face. Glass shattered, debris flew, and the shockwave rattled the yard.
Shame I couldn't see his face. Judging by the creative string of curses echoing off the steel containers, "happy" wasn't the vibe.
I stopped the recording, dropped off the container I'd been perched on, and strolled out like I'd just finished grocery shopping.
"Nothing hits quite like a well-timed middle finger."
The walk back to Afterlife took longer than I expected. I let myself drift, letting Night City's cold air soak into my skin.
By the time I hit the Watson residential block, the city felt... different. After dark, people moved like nothing could touch them. No fear. Like death wasn't just one bad decision away.
Even the kids. Street rats, no doubt. Living the only way they knew how.
I watched a pack of them swarm some poor bastard passed out on a busted mattress. Within seconds, they stripped him clean — no shame, no second thoughts.
I flinched. Just a little. Reflex. It brought back things I hadn't thought about in a while. My time in the gutters. I got lucky — ran into Marco and his crew. That kind of luck? One in a million.
In a place like this, holding onto your humanity is a daily battle. And most people lose.
The kids? They're not broken. They're just following the rules this city handed them.
Truth is, what I saw tonight is Night City. Some folks try to live with dignity. Most? They climb over corpses like rungs on a ladder. And trust me — there's a hell of a lot more of the second kind.
In some ways, Night City reminded me of a massive hive — every person locked into their role, molded to fit the ecosystem like they were born for it.
Back in my old world, the system was there too — it just wasn't as loud. Or as proud. Here, the machinery didn't bother hiding. It was all out in the open.
At some point — without even realizing — I'd wandered straight back to the club. About four hours had passed since I'd taken the job, and the place had filled up nicely. Only then did it hit me: I hadn't checked in with Rogue.
Too late now.
This time, the bouncer didn't even blink — just gave a nod and let me through. No questions, no pat-down. I headed straight for the bar, where the queen of Afterlife herself was propped against the counter, clearly bored out of her skull.
"Back already?" Amendiares glanced up, mildly intrigued. The second our eyes met, the rest of the mercs turned to look too.
For a second, I felt like some exotic creature at the zoo.
"Didn't take long." I slipped the nanomachine-molded pack off my shoulder and unzipped it, pulling out a silver cybernetic arm — light rust curling around the edges like old blood.
"As requested." I set it on the bar and took the stool beside her.
"Didn't expect you to jump on the job that fast," she said, turning the implant over in her hands.
"No question — that's his." A second later, a hefty payout hit my account.
"And that," I added, "is a little something extra."
I sent over a video file — clear footage of the stash going up just as Smasher tried to breach the place.
"Damn," she said, grinning. "Wish I could've seen his face."
The kind of smirk she gave me was all sharp edges — satisfaction dipped in spite.
"So… that makes it official?"
"One hundred percent. The rumors about you? Turns out they're not just hot air. I'm looking forward to working together again."
She offered her hand — old-school. A gesture meant to seal the deal.
"I'm more into low-risk ventures," I said, giving her fair warning. "Don't expect a yes every time."
"So this is more of a side gig for you?"
"Let's just say I'm here to meet the right people."
"You remind me of someone I used to know," she said, tone shifting.
"Someone I'd recognize?"
"You might've heard the name — Alt Cunningham."
"Didn't expect that one."
"Just a gut feeling. Doesn't mean I'm right."
"Then let's leave it at that." I grabbed the pack, slung it over my shoulder, and started for the exit.
"Drop by when you've got time. There's always work for someone like you," she called after me.
"I'll keep that in mind…"
***
January 17th, 2069 — 12:28 AM
I barely made it to the base of the fourth megatower before Michiko's messages started flooding in.
Honestly? I had zero interest in replying. But apparently, ignoring her wasn't going to fly this time.
Incoming Call — Michiko
Establishing secure channel
Call accepted — Connection established
"Hey. You need something?" I tilted my head like I didn't have a clue, playing just dumb enough to get under her skin.
"A-chan, was that your doing?"
"You'll have to narrow that down." I lobbed the question back, curious what she thought she'd caught me for.
"The docks. The ones you were asking about the other day."
"And if it was me?" I raised an eyebrow, just enough to make it a challenge.
"Very few people even knew about that stash. I just want to know who sent you. No way you found it and blew it up on your own." Auntie Michiko never missed a beat.
"I'm not dropping any names. What I can tell you is he's not directly tied to Arasaka. As for how he got the location? Your guess is as good as mine."
"Stubborn. Just like your father." She let out a slow breath. Her voice softened, eyes losing some of their sharpness.
"I just needed to know you were okay."
"Don't worry. Compared to what I've got lined up next, that little stunt was nothing."
"And that's exactly what worries me."
Michiko's face tightened, her disapproval plain as day.
"Just... be careful, alright? And if you need help — ask. That's all I'm saying."
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