Japantown in Westbrook was like a cross between Las Vegas and Kabukicho.
It was the city’s entertainment district, a neon-drenched gold sink.
Massive billboards draped the outer walls of tall skyscrapers, blasting eye-catching, explosive advertisements twenty-four hours a day.
Gorgeous holographic projections adorned every corner up and down the streets, displaying fantastical imagery that enticed passersby to dive into decadent pleasures.
Here, supreme luxury and intoxication would dazzle your eyes, making you forget time, and more importantly, forget how much money you were spending.
Deep night.
On a small plaza in front of the Turbo convenience store in Japantown.
Under deep-blue neon lights.
Cyber-mercenaries who had finished their gigs sat together in a circle as usual, sipping additive-free custom brews from the convenience store and eating synthetic barbecue produced by All Foods from a hot food stall.
They swapped recent rumors from around Night City—one bragging about his high-grade cyberware, another boasting about how much cash tonight’s gig had brought in.
In a small open space in the middle of the crowd, cheers and boisterous laughter erupted from time to time.
Amidst the lively atmosphere, a bearded man wearing a chest-exposing punk vest and dark sunglasses was using his elongated cybernetic arms to perform flashy tricks and high-difficulty acrobatics.
His comedic routines and sleazy body language brought a bit of physical relief and relaxation to the high-strung cyberpunks winding down after their jobs.
Behind the crowd, a tall, powerfully built Black man with a blonde pompadour was injecting a vial of immunosuppressants for cyberware neural strain into his arm.
Feeling the burning, fiery neural pain quickly recede, the burly man let out a long sigh of relief.
Beside him sat a petite young woman with a sleek, delicate face.
On either side of her cute cheeks were black stripe tattoos resembling cat whiskers.
She wore a sleeveless pink jacket over a black bodysuit.
Under the blue lights, her fluffy short black hair took on a faint pinkish tint.
Right now, she was watching the bustling crowd ahead, her pretty pink eyes reflecting the texture of the neon glow.
Sasha took a sip of spicy liquor, cast a glance at Pilar acting foolishly in the crowd, then turned to her captain, Mann, saying in a helpless voice:
“Mann, those Gorilla Arms are putting way too much strain on your body.
You can’t get any more cyberware installed anytime soon.”
“I know, I know, Sasha.
Just one more Projectile Launch System, then I’ll hold off for a bit.”
Mann’s tone was completely perfunctory.
After all, his principle was simple: if an implant could make him stronger, he would get it Chrome-plated onto his body.
Besides, their edgerunner crew was just starting to make a name for themselves in Night City.
Not only were they getting more gigs, but the payouts were getting bigger too.
However, lucrative gigs also meant greater danger.
Mann knew he had to chrome up and gain strength as fast as possible; he was responsible for the lives of the crew following him.
For cyber-mercenaries, once you started Borging out, you practically couldn’t stop.
They took job after job, spent the cash on high-grade implants to arm themselves, took deadlier gigs, earned more money, and kept upgrading to even deadlier combat cyberware—a relentless cycle.
Until one day they died at the end of someone else’s barrel, or turned cyberpsycho and got put down by MaxTac.
Death was the destined end of all life, and cyberpunks were the ones walking closest to it.
A bunch of edgerunners dancing on the knife’s edge of death every single day.
Sasha shook her head, her fluffy hair bouncing resiliently.
Having worked with him for so long, she knew Mann’s temperament well enough to know she couldn’t stop him.
For now, she was just a netrunner who had recently joined Mann’s crew.
Still…
*I should probably bring up Mann’s physical condition with Dorio and have her keep an eye on him.*
Just as she thought of Mann’s girlfriend, Dorio, Sasha blinked her pretty eyes and glanced around.
She didn’t see the well-built woman whose physique matched Mann’s anywhere in the crowd.
Rebecca, usually the loudest of them all, was nowhere to be seen either.
That was strange—she had been clinging to Sasha in the car just a moment ago.
“Hey, Mann.
Where are Dorio and Rebecca?
I don’t see them,” Sasha nudged her captain with her elbow.
“Rebecca read in some prehistoric magazine that getting more sleep helps you grow taller.
After we got off, Falco drove her home, and Dorio went along because she was worried about her.”
Mann had a subtle look on his face.
He really didn’t know what to say about the little solo in his crew.
She was wild and reckless when pulling the trigger, yet sometimes acted just like a kid—though, to be fair, she looked like one too.
[Beep!
Incoming transmission from Gloria Martinez]
“Huh?” Mann blinked, surprised someone was messaging him at this hour.
His consciousness—or rather, brainwaves—opened the comms link through his neural socket and neural network.
A stream of virtual subtitles projected directly into his optical cyberware HUD.
[Gloria: Mann, got a minute?
I have a gig for you.]
[Mann: Girl, since when did you swap jobs and become a fixer?!]
[Gloria: The client is right beside me.
Some young guy out of nowhere, but he knows I’ve been selling you cyberware and guns.]
[Mann: !
I haven’t told anyone about you.
Need me to take him out for you?]
[Gloria: No need.
He feels a bit mysterious and dangerous.]
[Gloria: Are you taking the gig?
He wants to meet you right now.]
[Gloria: He said if you’re worried about danger, you can pick the meet location, but it has to be within Santo Domingo.]
[Gloria: He also asked if you have a netrunner named Sasha in your crew.
If you accept the gig, bring her along.]
[Mann: ?!
Alright, now I’m actually curious about this client.
I’ll take the job—mercs are in it for the cash anyway.
As for the meet, let’s do Rancho Coronado in Santo Domingo.
I’ll send you the exact location.
We’ll be there in an hour.]
Mann cut the connection, stayed silent for a brief second, then stood up and walked toward their car parked nearby.
“Let’s go, Sasha.
Grab Pilar too.
We got a gig.”
“Got it, Mann.”
In the car, Mann drove, Sasha sat in the passenger seat, and Pilar was in the back.
But Pilar, much like his sister Rebecca, was a handful.
Pulling rank as a veteran team member, he kept verbally harassing Sasha in the front seat.
“Sasha, hey Sasha, what do you think of me?
Want to grab a bite together when you’re free?”
“Or come over to my place for some BDs!
I’ve got a killer braindance in my collection—watching it together will be insane.”
“So annoying.”
Sitting in the passenger seat, Sasha kept her eyes closed and crossed her arms over her chest, emphasizing her full bust.
She was considering whether to hit the crude bearded guy behind her with something nasty.
Cyberpsychosis?
No, too brutal.
He was a teammate, after all.
Cyberware malfunction then—give him a nice full-body shock treatment.
Before Sasha could act, however, Mann’s voice interrupted her.
“Alright, Pilar, quiet down.
This gig is a little different.
Everybody listen up,” Mann said, steering the wheel with one hand.
The captain held absolute authority; Pilar zipped his mouth, and Sasha opened her eyes.
Once the cab quieted down, Mann continued, “This client reached out through one of my suppliers.
Something’s fishy about his intel—he actually knew our team’s netrunner is Sasha.”
“Huh?”
Sasha looked at Mann in confusion.
Although she and Mann knew each other and had collaborated several times before, she had only officially decided to join his crew after today’s job.
Who the hell was this client?
His intel was impossibly accurate!
“I set the meet location at the base.
Sasha, when we get there, scan the client through the entrance cameras.
Whether it’s biosignals or cyberware models, we’ll find some kind of clue.”