Cyberpunk 2077: Demons of Night City

As I stepped into the room, I heard Michiko speaking, her voice smooth and controlled.

"If you ever wish to see the city, dear uncle, I'd be happy to give you a tour. Night City may be rough in places, but among the slums, its heart beats with a mesmerizing rhythm."

She gestured for me to wait, so I leaned against the wall of the safehouse, eyeing the bronze incense burners on sleek designer shelves. Michiko was using an implant for the call, so I couldn't hear the other side, but one word was enough to clue me in—uncle. Yorinobu had arrived in our lovely little city.

"As you wish, uncle. But if you need anything… Oh. He hung up. Probably in a restaurant, dining with some beauty. Or two." She turned her gaze toward me with a slight smile. "Good evening, Mr. Price. How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?"

"Not great, to be honest," I replied, stepping closer.

"I see," she nodded. "Just a word of advice—perhaps you'll find it useful. I assume you got rid of the bruises from—what, ten hickeys?—with a mix of anticoagulants and vascular tonics. But many scans can still detect micro-traces on the skin. Add in some proper agents, or better yet, invest in durable, elastic Realskin. No journalist has ever caught anything on me."

"Noted," I said as I took the seat across from her.

I was eager to know what my former—now current—employer wanted from me and how much it would interfere with my own plans. Thankfully, Michiko didn't beat around the bush.

"You remember I told you that time moves fast? Especially in Night City."

"Michiko-san," I said in my most polite tone, "I assure you, every word from our last conversation has been burned into my memory for eternity."

"Glad to hear it. I'll say it again—time is fleeting. Opportunities fly by as fast as bullets. You either catch them—or dodge them."

Yeah. Or get perforated.

"Militech's situation in California has been… difficult lately. They've lost a lot of cargo. Just yesterday, a major convoy was taken apart."

Keep a straight face. Keep a straight face.

"Of course, bad times are followed by good ones. Militech has enough resources to weather the storm. However, we should take advantage of this moment. Here."

A small case slid out from the table in front of me. I picked it up carefully.

"Do all your furnishings have hidden compartments like this?" I asked.

"A good number," she replied with a knowing smile. "Enough that I hear that question often."

Inside the case was a collection of Militech personnel files from Night City. Nothing too classified, just a general overview.

"Perhaps some of this is already familiar to you, but better safe than sorry."

"Alright," I nodded. "And what exactly do you need from me?"

"You see, V, I don't want to constrain you with strict orders. That would only hinder you."

"But a general direction at least, Michiko-san?"

"Fine," she straightened her back, her usual amused tone turning more serious. "Your task is to improve our strategic position in the ongoing competition with Militech. You may use any means at your disposal—recruiting informants, stealing data, spreading disinformation, and so on. I don't consider sabotage the best method here, as we're aiming for a long-term, systematic impact—one that insurance won't cover."

Goddamn corpo speak, scraping against my teeth like sandpaper. And this was still the gentler version of it. But the core message was clear. Michiko wanted me to fuck Militech over—not in broad daylight where they could just clean it up, but in a way that would stew and rot before anyone could pinpoint where the stench was coming from.

"Pay close attention to that missing convoy," she added. "There's a good chance its equipment will soon surface in Dogtown—where you are always welcome. The convoy is an excellent pressure point. Far more effective than families or personal weaknesses. Speaking of which, I recently found out that someone from our side got involved in the kidnapping of a certain executive's mistress. Tell me, V, what do you think came out of it?"

"One corpse. One slightly pissed-off corpo who now holds a grudge against us?"

"Correct. The phrase 'Violence isn't always the answer' is as overused as the oldest workers on Jig-Jig Street, but sometimes, it rings true."

Right. Violence isn't always the answer. That's why corps resort to blackmail and bribery when the blunt approach won't cut it.

Does Michiko suspect I had a hand in that convoy disappearing? Doesn't really matter. I was careful before heading out into the badlands, double-checking for tails, scanning the hardware she gifted me. Nothing. So, I hope my little roadside heist stayed off her radar. But either way, the convoy is just another piece on the board—potential leverage on Anthony Gilchrist or Meredith Stout.

That said, I'd have to be careful flashing that Bolt drone around in Konpeki. Sometimes, waving your 'bolt' around too much can have long-term and systemic consequences—ones not covered by insurance. But that's a technical discussion for later, one I'd have with Panam. We could either strip the drone down beyond recognition or move it out of the hotel before shit went down.

"Deadline?" I asked.

"The sooner, the better," she said sweetly.

Crystal clear. Standard corpo vague bullshit. Do good things. Don't do bad things.

Though, honestly? With me, that kind of approach might actually work.

"What about operational expenses?" I asked.

"As you know, accounting and secrecy don't mix well. So I've decided to grant you an advance—along with a little something extra. Take a look at the suitcase by the wardrobe. Eighty thousand, cash. Completely untraceable. No serial numbers to track. No receipts required. That's for expenses. Your actual payment will depend on results. I do hope you impress me."

"I'll do my best."

"But don't overwork yourself," she added, half-joking, half-serious. "Take care of your health."

I left the safehouse in high spirits. I'd worried Michiko might try to drag me into some internal corpo power struggle—faction wars, all that shit. But no, just classic corporate warfare against a competitor. And the timing was perfect. I already had some solid cards in my hand. Just had to play them right.

Funny how things worked out with Michiko-san.

She saw my potential but didn't know the extent of what I already knew. She came close to figuring it out, but I managed to keep her at arm's length with a mix of partial truths and carefully omitted details.

I spent about forty minutes handling various loose ends—looping through the city, swapping Michiko's cash for credchips, ditching the suitcase, and so on. "Advance of trust" sounded nice, but I wasn't about to let my guard down.

Then, after one last tail-dump through an unfinished building, I made my way to Arroyo.

Arroyo and Northside were like decomposing corpses. Except Northside had at least partially mummified, while Arroyo was full-on rotting, crawling with parasites. Homeless people of all stripes huddled among abandoned construction sites and still-operating factories. That was Arroyo—hot, suffocating, filthy, and pathetic in its own way.

And yet, according to Michiko, this was where you could hear Night City's heart beating with a mesmerizing rhythm.

Yeah. That heartbeat was going off the fucking charts.

Full-blown tachycardia, like a hobo overdosing on Glitter.

Falko was waiting for me by a beat-up van. He was dressed in a work jumpsuit and a reflective orange vest, standing near a transformer, surrounded by three die-hard patriots from the 6th Street gang.

"You gotta understand," one of them, a guy in camo and a cowboy hat, was saying. "Texas and the rest of America need to stay together. You think Washington's full of corrupt bastards? Damn right it is! Always has been. But over there—" he pointed toward the nearest Arasaka facility "—they got scumbags even worse. To them, we're gaijin. Second-class citizens. And that ain't ever gonna change."

"Boss," Falko cut in, nodding toward me.

"Ah…" The Sixth Street guy glanced at me and waved dismissively. "Man, these days, there's a boss for every worker. Or two. Take care. Save my number."

The 6th Street crew strolled off, passing by a wall covered in their graffiti and tags.

"Everything good?" I asked.

"Yeah. Just talk."

Satisfied that we weren't being watched, Falko popped open the van's rear doors. At first glance, the cargo area was crammed with equipment and tools. But then he yanked a grease-stained tarp off a large electrical panel, revealing a hidden crawl space behind the cab. Inside, nestled among wires and cooling units, was a netrunner setup. Lucy waved at me from her makeshift workstation, motioning for me to squeeze in.

I had to fold myself in three to fit, but the space was surprisingly comfortable—padded with soft rubber along the floor and parts of the walls.

"Take a look."

Lucy sent over a batch of photos. A nondescript two-story building with a fenced-in courtyard.

"We didn't plant cameras there. They monitor the area constantly. See here? Across the street, there's an auto parts store. They've got a security cam over the storefront. It's disabled."

Ah. So they're detecting and shutting down any external surveillance around the building. Small business owners wouldn't even notice, or they'd just think their system was busted.

"You diving in?" Lucy asked, offering me a cable.

"Yeah," I said, plugging it into the port near my nape.

"Keep it quiet," she pressed a finger to her lips. "We don't have the best setup here. No chair, no ice bath. I can only give you a coolant shot."

"Don't worry. Quiet as a mouse."

I didn't fully immerse myself in the Net—just enough to feel my body still sitting in the van while my digital self spread out across the district, blending into the background noise.

And there it was. The wall.

I used a slightly unconventional protocol to take a "snapshot" of the enemy network's cyberspace. What materialized before me was a massive rectangular fortress. A true virtual stronghold. Sharp angles, solid walls. Not a tower-citadel like the one Abernathy hid behind, but still damn secure, and more importantly—built smart. One gate, sensors everywhere. I could break it, sure, but sneaking in unnoticed? Even I had a decent chance of tripping an alarm.

I disconnected.

"They've dug in deep."

"Local security guards the outer perimeter and upper floors—Bastion Group," Lucy shared. "There are about twenty, twenty-five of them. The actual Brazilians stay on the first floor and the basement. They don't let the mercs downstairs."

Two layers of security with different access levels. Living the high life.

"That's a lot," I muttered.

Too much, actually. Maybe this Brazilian intel outfit wasn't just taking private contracts. Maybe they were running a full-scale op in the city. Which made their data even more valuable. But getting to it? That was gonna be a bitch.

Alright. Time for a plan.

I flipped through the snapshots again. Fuck. I really didn't like this setup. It was too good. Their cameras covered every approach and were tied to alarm nodes. Disable even one, and the system would instantly flag it. Sure, any defense can be cracked. You just need a bigger hammer. But doing it quietly, with a small team? That was the real challenge.

What other options were there? They moved around a lot—maybe we could hit them during transit? Force them to relocate and ambush them mid-move? Tempting. But these guys were pros. I was sure they'd call in extra security the moment they were vulnerable. It could be even harder than hitting them at their base.

"The runners don't leave the building," Lucy added. "They're holed up inside. But I'm sure Kiwi is there."

Shit. Just say 'fuck it' and call Angie? Let her level the place? But I did promise Lucy we'd extract her problematic "friend."

Alright. So—go loud with a hired crew? Or try for stealth?

I pinged Falko.

"Has Panam tested the bot yet?"

"Yeah. Controls check out. That thing scrambles up walls like a cockroach."

"Perfect."

Alright then.

I turned to Lucy.

"If the bot can take out their netrunner and plant a virus, we can crack their defenses quietly. Then I go in with… say, Becca, we do what we need inside, and then we get out. You cover us from cyberspace."

"Let me go," Lucy countered. "Kiwi is my problem. I should be the one taking the risk."

Problem? More like a pain in the ass.

"Nah," I smirked. "That's not how this works, Lucy. I have a Sandevistan and wall-penetrating optics. You can boost your reflexes, yeah, but you need to be in the chair. I'm the one who's gonna be cutting throats."

"We're hiring backup, right?" she asked—no, pleaded. "I'll pay for it."

She was worried about me. Kinda sweet.

"Backup? Of course. Just need to figure out who."

Didn't want to use the same crew from the convoy raid—too risky. Better to wait before reaching out to them again. Maybe someone from Afterlife? Or even a gang? Speaking of which…

"Alright. I've got a handle on things. That's it for today. We'll run the op tomorrow or the day after. I just need to make a few calls."

"Okay. And if you need money—"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," I chuckled.

Tempting to burn through way too much of Lucy's cash on overpriced mercs. If she blew her budget, maybe she'd have to put that Moon trip on hold. But… nah. Not trying to bankrupt her.

Compromise, then.

Once we got home, I dialed Jackie.

"Got a job."

"I also got a job right now," he replied, a little too proud of himself.

"Congrats. Let me put it another way—tomorrow or the day after, can you put together a crew of five or six for overwatch? Standard deal. No combat, 2.5k each. If it turns into a shootout, 7k. Plus, you get an extra 3k for organizing."

"You planning something big, mano?"

"Medium," I corrected. "But the opposition's nasty. So, you in?"

"En las malas se conocen los amigos." He laughed. "Of course. I'll grab Cesar and a few others. Just send me the when and where."

"Will do. I don't skimp on details."

Alright. Backup secured. On to the next.

I called Angie.

"V! Hey," she greeted me, a little too cheerful—but there was a note of genuine curiosity in her voice. "How's the spy business?"

"I found them. Already got photos of their base and scoped out their defenses. Gotta say, their security ain't half bad."

"Awesome! You're a doll! Send me the address, and we'll—"

"Hold up, hold up."

"What's wrong?" she asked, a little wary.

Probably thought I was about to negotiate for a bigger payday.

"Remember you said you wanted a sample of that neurovirus?"

"Yeah. That shit cost us a fortune, but it could bring in just as much."

"And you even promised me a 'special' reward," I reminded her.

"I did. And I don't go back on my word."

"Right, so listen… Your two-meter, hundred-kilo boys and girls are gonna roll up with miniguns, rockets, and sledgehammers, smashing everything in sight. What do you think happens to netrunner equipment in all that chaos?"

"The neurovirus doesn't weigh much. Might still be on a shard somewhere?"

"I've seen how competent these fuckers are. Bet they've got full wipe protocols ready to go the second your meatheads show up with guns blazing. Any useful data? Gone."

"Yeah… So what do we do about it?"

"You listen to me. Here's the play—I'll send your crew to a location a few klicks from their base. You wait for my signal. I go in first, snatch whatever's valuable, and then I get the hell out."

"Good plan, V, but there's just one problem. You know how things go once the shit starts flying…"

"Your muscleheads shoot at anything that moves?" I smirked.

"They might clip you. I'll send them your picture, sure, but when we're turning a building into Swiss cheese… well, you get it."

"I get it. I'll have my own people for backup. If shit really hits the fan, all your crew has to do is make a very loud entrance. Enough to pull their attention off me."

"That we can do. But are you sure you wanna go in there?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't be offering otherwise. So start prepping those special rewards."

Angie let out a sultry chuckle.

"Well, well. Sounds like a quickie in the car ain't gonna cut it this time. Oh, by the way, you wanted to know more about biotech? I'll send you something over email. And if you manage to score that neurovirus, I'll throw in a few exclusive offers."

"What makes them different from the standard stuff?"

"You'll find out after we deal with these fucks," she teased, then added, her voice dark with satisfaction, "They made me walk a real fine line. I cannot wait to introduce them to the hottest girl in Night City."

"You mean yourself or Matilda?"

"Catrina," Angie corrected. "She burns the brightest."

She was talking about La Catrina, the crematorium in Heywood.

"Alright. Stand by for my signal."

So, what do we have?

A bot to sabotage their security and sneak us inside.

A skilled netrunner—Lucy—covering me from the Net.

A rescue team in case I get pinned down.

And a full-blown distraction crew—the Animals—ready to raise hell and clean up.

The plan was locked in. Just a few final touches, and then it was time to dive headfirst into the fire.