Faraday’s eyes narrowed behind his sleek chrome lenses.
“What the fuck do you want?” he muttered, voice flat but sharp enough to cut glass.
“It’s simple,” Ivan replied, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his mechanical thumb. “There’s a pebble in my goddamn shoe I can’t shake off. Name’s Nova Stray. He’s been picking up runners, causing trouble. You take him and his crew out, and I’ll give you whatever info you want. Hell, if I’m in a good mood, I might even throw in a bonus.”
The line went quiet. Faraday didn’t blink. “You’ve got data on the cyber skeleton, don’t you? Why not use it yourself?”
Ivan scoffed, exhaling smoke. “And piss off Militech and Arasaka? Not a fucking chance. You aim too high in Night City, and you end up a corpse in the gutter. I’ve got other plays in motion. So—deal?”
Faraday stayed silent for a beat, processing. Then he nodded once. “Fine. On one condition—you stay the hell out of my business.”
“Done.”
The holo-call blinked out, leaving Faraday’s room drenched in red light. For a moment, he stood there, thinking. Then the idea hit him.
“Kiwi…” he whispered, smirking.
If Lucy had the data, and the gig was Maine’s, then something must’ve gone south. Maine had been slipping—everyone knew it. With a few quick commands, Faraday’s netlinks lit up as he pulled feeds from across the city, searching for any trace of Kiwi or Tanaka. That’s when he found it—Ivan under NCPD surveillance for attempted murder on Tanaka. Perfect. It would keep Ivan busy long enough for him to make a move.
Meanwhile, in the gang’s safehouse—
“Cheer the fuck up already!” Rebecca shouted, smacking a wrench against her chromed thigh. “Sulking won’t bring her back! We’ll find Lucy, smoke those assholes, and call it a day. I got your back, choom.”
David didn’t even look up. His eyes were cold, focused on something far away.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got this,” he said quietly before walking off.
Nova barely heard him. His mind was scattered, running diagnostics, tracking signals, planning next moves. Ivan’s trail, Faraday’s interference, Lucy’s location—all tangled like corrupted code.
He called Rina. No answer. Again. Nothing. Time was running out, and the city was getting louder by the minute.
Pilar crossed his arms. “So, what’s the plan now, Night City legend?”
“Not much we can do without Kiwi,” Dorio said. “And Maine’s still fried. No way he’s ready for another gig.”
Maine sat on the edge of a metal table, silent, lost. The light from the monitors reflected off the sweat on his brow and the chrome in his neck. His breathing was uneven—too fast, too shallow. Nova’s suppressor chips were helping, but not enough. The edge of cyberpsychosis was still there, whispering in his ear.
“Hey,” Rebecca said, kicking a chair toward Nova. “We’ll handle finding Lucy. You go deal with that piece of shit. You’ve got your own demons, right?”
Nova exhaled through his nose, managing a small grin. “Yeah. Thanks, Becca.”
That grin faded as an idea sparked in his head. Removing Maine’s implants was impossible, but maybe—just maybe—he could lighten the load. Replace the heavy cyberware, give him something more stable. An exoskeleton. External, responsive, independent. It could work.
Hours later, in a backroom filled with smoke and solder sparks, Nova and Pilar worked side by side. Scavenged parts from the underbelly of Watson, reinforced plating from the Badlands, some good old Viktor tech. By sunrise, they had something solid—a set of exo-arms designed for brute power and balance.
When Nova showed Maine, the old man frowned.
“Not a fucking chance,” he growled.
Before he could stand, Dorio punched him square in the jaw. Maine collapsed like a felled tower.
“We’re doing this,” she said.
Nova blinked, smirking. “I know the guy for the job.”
At Viktor’s clinic, the doc stared at Maine’s unconscious body.
“You’re replacing gorilla arms with these? The hell are you thinking, Nova?”
“Make them as close to his natural build as possible,” Nova said.
“That’s easy,” Viktor grunted. “But why?”
“The weight from his cyberware is frying his nervous system. We lighten the load, we pull him back from the edge.”
Viktor raised a brow. “You keep surprising me, kid… but does he agree to this?”
“He will,” Dorio said flatly.
Maine stirred—and Dorio immediately punched him again.
Viktor just stared. “I… have sedatives, you know.”
He sighed. “Fine, fine. Let’s get it done.”
A few hours later, the operation was over. Maine slowly opened his eyes. Nova and the crew stood around him.
He looked down. Smaller arms. Lighter frame. For a moment, silence. Then, softly—
“…Thanks, kid.”
Nova handed him the exoskeleton. “Here. Trust me. You won’t lose control again.”
Maine took it and flexed. The machine whirred to life. Nova spoke while adjusting a few dials.
“Max pressure output—two-forty PSI. Impact force? Brutal. Handles a full ton of load without breaking. No built-in weapons, but you can swing or crush just about anything with those.”
Maine clenched his new fists. No rage this time. Just quiet relief. He’d been chasing strength his whole life. Maybe now, he didn’t need to.
“Chico… really. Thank you.”
Nova grinned, bumping his fist.
“That’s what friends are for.”
The next thing he knew, Nova was flying backward—slammed into the wall by the force of Maine’s punch.
“...You just need to learn to control it,” he coughed, half-laughing.
The crew burst into laughter. Even in the chaos, in the neon flicker of Night City, they were still a family—broken, wired, and barely holding together.
But ready for whatever came next.
With a little weight lifted, Nova and the crew started prepping to move: find Lucy, take Ivan down, and disappear off Faraday’s map. It was a lot—too much for one head—but together it felt possible. A full day had already burned away.
“Kiwi should be up by now. Let’s get her,” Dorio said, urgency in her voice.
They hit the ripperdoc’s clinic and found chaos. The place was trashed: tools scattered, monitors fried, instruments torn from walls. The doc was dead on the floor, and Kiwi was gone. No sign, no trace. Everyone froze — who’d taken her, and why?
Nova’s eyes snapped sharp. The pattern clicked into place.
“The data,” he said. “Only two people had it — Lucy and Kiwi. Suspects? Arasaka, Faraday, Millitech.”
“Shit!” Maine barked, panic tasting like bile.
Without Kiwi or Lucy, finding answers turned into a war of blind guesses. They’d need another netrunner — fast.
“We need another netrunner!” Pilar said. “Nova — pay up!”
“What? Are you insane? I blew a fortune already! I’m almost dry. Keep burning cash and my shop dies.” Nova snapped.
“And where the fuck do we find another runner?” Rebecca hissed, spitting sparks.
They didn’t have better options. They plastered a call on the cyber-punk boards: need runner, pay negotiable. A reply came quick — a newbie. Not ideal, but options were thin.
“All right kid, tell us about yourself,” Maine said, expectations low.
“They’ll regret it,” the kid said too confidently. “Name’s Jeremy Ordoñez. I’ve hacked thousands of terminals, never traced.”
“Okay. Your job’s simple: find Lucy Kushinada or Kiwi. We’ll pay if you locate either. Start with Ivan — the corpo tied to Regina Jones — or Faraday the fixer.”
“Piece of cake. I’m on Kushinada.”
The newbie dove into the net like he’d been born there, swam through firewalls and data like a seasoned diver. Then, mid-sentence—
“I got— Ivan’s got—”
His head literally fried. The kid’s neural stack melted the moment he brushed Ivan’s dark net like a live wire. He slumped, twitching, brain short-circuited. The room watched in stunned silence.
“So… we pay him or not?” Pilar said, idly rubbing his chin.
“He’s fucked. You think I’m cutting him in on the bill?” Rebecca said flat.
“End of it. At least we now know Ivan’s holding someone. Call David — suit up,” Nova said, moving.
“No need — I’m already here.” David stepped into the room like a slab of chrome and muscle, wearing his usual yellow vest and nothing underneath, cyber-pecs flexing. He looked like he’d been carved out of concrete.
“You fucking idiot,” Nova said pissed.