The El Coyote Cojo was a wall of sound in the evening.
It was a rare, precarious sanctuary where everyday laborers drank to drown their shifts and gangsters from a dozen rival factions managed a tentative truce.
In Night City, such peace was expensive, bought with the reputation of the woman behind the bar.
The booming bass of Latin jazz competed with the raucous laughter of people living on borrowed time.
Jackie and Teo sat in their usual spots at the scarred wooden bar, hunched in a low huddle. Mama Welles stood before them, her expression unreadable as she polished a glass with a ferocity that suggested she was scrubbing away a headache.
"They want to do what?" Jackie asked, his voice low as he set down his special Moscow Mule.
"Padre and Verdant Core. They're demanding a district summit," Teo replied, scratching the edge of his bandaged stump.
This fucking phantom itch was driving him crazy. "Padre called last night. It wasn't an ask, it was more of a directive. He knows the Coyote is the only patch of dirt in Heywood where nobody is stupid enough to pull a trigger."
Teo leaned back, taking a slow, long drag from a cigarette. The smoke swirled around his vivid green eyes.
"While I understand the need for everyone to be on the same page, Padre cannot simply annex my floor space," Mama Welles said, her grip tightening until the glass groaned.
A vein throbbed visibly in her forehead. "The courtesy of a request is the bare minimum for the Welles family."
"Calmate, Mama," Jackie said with a dry chuckle, though his eyes remained sharp. "I get why he chose this place. It's the only neutral ground left. But yeah, we'll have a word about his 'manners' when he arrives."
Mama Welles turned her gaze to Teo. "And when does this 'Summit' begin, mijo?"
"An hour. Maybe ninety minutes," Teo said, leaning his weight onto his left fist.
Jackie leaned in. "How many are we talking?"
Teo scratched his forehead with his only hand, his optics running a quick scan of the room's density. "Fifty to a hundred of the heavy hitters. Every shit gang, every slimy major broker, and the suit and tie sharks. Honestly? Look around. Half of them are already fucking here."
They glanced at the bar floor. The room was a sea of clashing colors. Purple clad Serps rubbed elbows with Green Knuckle mercs, civilians tried to look small in booths occupied by men with chrome plated jaws and visible holsters.
"Well, hell," Jackie muttered, standing up to intervene as a guy in royal purple began squaring up against a man in Kings yellow. "If we're hosting a circus, I better start taming these fucking animals."
'Teo, the Padre is on the line!' Fucker's voice chirped inside his neural link.
Teo sighed, sliding off his stool.
"Be right back."
He headed for the exit, needing a breath of air that didn't taste like sweat and soy ale. Stepping out into the parking lot, the asphalt was a mosaic of high end Quadras and battered street vans, each bearing a different gang's heraldry.
He leaned against the cool brick of the alleyway and opened the channel. His slitted emerald eyes widened, glowing with a soft, predatory white and gold light as he interfaced. "You know, a day's warning would've been preem, Padre. You've got Mama Welles ready to go to war."
"My sincerest apologies, Mateo," Padre's voice crackled, smooth as aged bourbon. "The Architect himself requested the gathering, and his schedule is... inflexible."
Teo's eyes flared.
The Architect. Julian fucking Vane. At twenty five, the man was a legend, a prodigy who had inherited his family's firm and turned it into a regional powerhouse.
Verdant Core was a specialized giant, their skyscraper sat in the center of Heywood like a blue and black monolith. They made everything from smart rifles to high end cyberware, and while they didn't have the global reach of Arasaka, within Heywood, they were gods.
"Shit, Padre," Teo hissed, lighting a fresh cigarette with a flick of his thumb. "I want nothing to do with these corporate putas. You're dragging the biggest shark in the tank right to my front door."
"I understand, my boy. But look at the streets," Padre's voice held a rare note of pity.
"Militech is probing our borders. Rival gangs are launching drive-bys in broad daylight. We are being squeezed. The Coyote is the only ground where the rules still matter. No shootouts. No wetwork. It is the law of the barrio, and tonight, we need that law."
"Aye..." Teo exhaled a cloud of smoke. "When do I expect you?"
"I'm around the corner. Everyone should arrive within the hour."
Teo cut the line and headed back inside.
The place was a madhouse. Amidst the crowd, he noticed a man in a dark royal purple jacket with a black snake logo. Vince Park, leader of the Serpents. A smaller gang that peddled heavy psychedelics and street tier tech weapons. He had slicked back gray hair and glowing purple eyes.
He gave Teo a slow nod of recognition.
'What a fucking creepy looking guy,' Fucker's voice sounded in Teo's mind.
Teo laughed under his breath, heading to his basement door. He punched in his code and descended into his cave goblin sanctuary. He slipped on his jacket with the rips, holes, and the missing right sleeve.
He booted up his setup, monitoring the exterior cameras.
"Fucker, if anything pops off, go crazy and fuck everything up."
"You got it, pendejo!" Fucker yelled, tapping into Teo's localized speakers.
"FUCK, MAN! EASY WITH THE SPEAKERS!"
Teo spent the hour prepping. He knew the Coyote's cameras were easy quickhack access points, allowing Fucker to use Teo's servers as a memory fortress to act as a digital turret. When he was done, he tucked Bon Bon Mark 2 into the front of his pants, grabbed an extra pack of smokes, and walked back upstairs.
The bar was half empty now, the tension had pulled everyone outside. Jackie and Mama were waiting at the door.
"You good?" Jackie asked.
Teo nodded. "Prepped the Coyote. I have a line of code ready to trigger some heavy shit if this goes south."
The door slid open, and the trio stepped out into the lot. It was a circle of power. Dozens of vehicles were idling, their headlights illuminating the different factions. Each gang in a circle of power in the middle of the lot.
The Serpents stood at the front of a purple Quadra Type-66 Avenger and and leading this pack was Vince Park. Backed by two of his deadliest capos, Park stood facing the center of the circle.
His slicked back gray hair and purple glowing optics gave him a cold, predatory look as he leaned against the muscle car's hood.
Directly across stood the Valentino's. Padre and his capos, framed by their signature black street sedans. They were the old guard, watching the new blood with a quiet, lethal patience.
The Barrio Kings were positioned opposite Padre, these were the power brokers of the district's real estate. Their leader was a striking figure in a sharp yellow suit.
He had pitch black hair and piercing blue cyber optics, but the most jarring feature was the golden faceplate covering half his face, a cold, metallic mask that made it look as though half his skull had been ripped away and replaced with wealth.
The Los Chispas were Next to the Kings were the kings of the asphalt. A group of kids who lived for the roar of an engine, they controlled every street race and car-related racket in Heywood.
Their leader was Redline, a kid roughly Teo's age. Dressed in a red and white racing jacket and black jeans, he was the undisputed champion of the streets.
His black spiky hair and glowing red optics seemed to pulse with the rhythm of a high octane engine.
The Burners stood beside the racers stood the owners of the night. They held a monopoly on the district's clubs, centered around their crown jewel, Heaven.
Their head was a woman in her very early twentys, wearing a deep blue dress that accentuated her features and draped in an obscene amount of gold jewelry. Her black hair was streaked with neon accents, and her blue optics hummed with light as she surveyed the crowd.
Moving along the circle were the "Corporate Solos." or The Green Knuckles. A heavily corporate influenced gang, that specialized in high end security contracts.
If you wanted to survive a hit, you hired them. Their leader was a muscular powerhouse of a woman, towering over most of the men, with dark green hair and eyes that matched the tactical gear her crew favored.
Then there was the cult. The Static Saints. Clad in all white clothing, they were a group weirdly obsessed with the onset of cyberpsychosis. Their leader was a weird giant of a man, completely bald and unnervingly sane looking, despite the unsettling reputation of his followers.
The Welles family walked to the head of the circle, coming to a stop by Jackie and Teo's souped up bikes. Teo puffed his cigarette, and Jackie stepped forward to speak.
But then, the air began to scream.
A high end hover vehicle, embossed with a stylized hammer logo, descended into the lot, kicking up a hurricane of dust and trash. The sliding door hissed open. A man in a suit that cost more than a housing block stepped onto the asphalt. He had stark white hair and glowing red and black optics.
A massive, eight hundred pound Robot stepped out behind him, its mechanical foot hitting the concrete with a heavy thud. It had a massive fucking LMG strapped to its back, acting as a silent, terrifying guardian. Several other suited guards also fanned out around the two.
Verdant Core had arrived and the Summit was officially in session.
A/N: All of these gangs and this corp is made up to make politics more fun to write with, as well as add some new characters into the mix.