Night City's neon lights pulsed like the city's never-sleeping heartbeat, weaving through humid air into brilliant, complex light webs.
As "Edgerunners" crew's reputation soared, discussions about them began quietly circulating in certain circles, spreading through network nodes and underground channels.
Afterlife's corners were perpetually claimed by textured chaos.
Heavy metal music formed invisible barriers, segregating booth areas into relatively independent domains.
Air perpetually mixed with carefully crafted synthetic alcohol, heat radiating from active bodies, plus faint coolant scents escaping high-performance cyberware—creating an atmosphere unique to this place.
"Fuck, did Maine's crew hit the lottery or something? Jobs they're pulling are on a whole different level now." A hoarse-voiced merc downed synthetic whiskey, muttering to his companion.
"More than lucky—straight-up weird!" His companion, a burly guy with fresh scars, leaned closer, eyes mixing jealousy and wariness. "That Biotechnica job last week? Tough nut. Heard security wasn't slouching.
Guess what? Maine's crew used some freaky shit that melted a hole straight through that armored transport! Blue-ass beam of light—composite armor folded like tissue paper!"
"Not standard market hardware... that kind of punch, sounds like those old legends about corporate lab plasma toys..." The first merc mused, fingers unconsciously drumming the table.
"And that Dorio—already scary before, now she's straight-up... fuck me, inhuman! Feels like she could tear an armored car door off barehanded and use it as a shield! That ain't the kind of juice you get from popping stims or slotting a couple implants."
"Gotta be someone backing them. Probably hooked up with some no-rules black market ripper or weaponsmith willing to play dirty." Scarface declared confidently. "Need to figure out their angle—either get in on it or... watch our backs when we cross paths."
These murmurs spread quietly through Night City's streets, merc hangouts, and black market networks.
Several heavy-hitting fixers, small gang bosses, even some independent top-tier "lone wolves" started casting evaluating glances.
Maine crew's recent mission completion spike and obvious equipment upgrades were impossible to ignore.
Some wanted partnerships. Some wanted to trace the source. Most were coldly assessing what impact this rising force might have.
By contrast, corporate-level responses were sluggish and bureaucratic.
In a pristine Arasaka Tower office, a section chief rapidly skimmed a briefing attachment submitted by subordinate analysis departments about anomalous energy weapon signatures recorded during some street conflict.
The report's conclusion briefly noted: "Related signatures don't match any known standard weapons in database. Presumed small workshop or unknown-source non-standard modifications. Current threat assessment: low."
The section chief casually marked the report "low priority" with annotation: "Non-standardized technology, suspected high risk. Maintain routine monitoring. No additional resource allocation for now."
In his cognitive framework, Night City spawned novel weapons daily. A few mercs using unconventional gear was just routine urban ecology—unless it touched corporate core interests or sparked regional issues, it didn't warrant precious departmental budget.
Militech's internal situation was remarkably similar.
A report about slight anomalous energy fluctuations detected around Flint County area reached a supervisor's terminal in the ruin clearance department.
He vaguely recalled that region—connected to some long-terminated company "Little Dipper Project," already archived and sealed.
"Signal source weak. Multiple possibilities: scavenger activity, geological phenomena, even periodic sensor errors can't be ruled out." He muttered, casually filing the report in "Pending Follow-up (Low Priority)" digital archives.
"Seventh Outpost? That's legacy stuff. Maybe next fiscal year if there's extra budget." In Militech's sprawling priority lists, these faint anomalous signals ranked nowhere near the top.
Though corporate responses stayed lukewarm, Maine's crew genuinely felt increasing street-level attention.
Peer surveillance grew more direct, occasionally probing.
Jobs they took sometimes carried hidden investigative intent. Moving through the city required constant vigilance against unprofessional or seasoned tails.
Even some aggressive street crews attempted ambushes on their equipment transport routes, trying to snag those rumored devastating weapons.
Once, after completing a materials collection job, the crew headed back through a narrow passage at an abandoned industrial zone's edge.
Night pressed deep. Only distant neon glow illuminated rusted pipes and cracked pavement.
"Fuck, something's off." Maine said quietly in the vehicle, finger already resting on weapon activation.
Before finishing his sentence, several sharp whistling sounds tore through silence!
Multiple armor-piercing rounds precisely struck the vehicle's temporarily deployed energy shield, creating rippling wavelets.
"Shit! Ambush! Three o'clock, rooftop!" Maine's growl rang through internal comms.
Almost simultaneously, Dorio exploded from the side door like a hunting cat.
She cursed under her breath—didn't seek cover but charged straight toward gunfire.
Enhanced muscles burst with terrifying power, letting her scale several meters up the wall platform in a few bounds.
Rooftop immediately erupted with shouts, confused gunfire, and ear-piercing sounds of metal being forcibly twisted.
Moments later, Dorio's silhouette reappeared at the roof's edge, carrying the wrecked remains of an auto-turret, casually tossing it down with heavy impact.
"Cleared." Her voice transmitted through comms, steady with a trace of chill.
Meanwhile, from shadows on another side emerged several attackers in mismatched gear carrying heavy firepower.
Rebecca directly raised that rumored blue-glowing plasma pistol. A solid high-energy plasma bolt instantly shot out—didn't explode but efficiently melted straight through thick steel plating the attackers used for cover, instantly destroying their weapon emplacement.
Combat concluded within minutes.
Team coordination and new equipment's overwhelming performance turned this ambush into efficient field testing.
They quickly sanitized evidence potentially pointing to identities, then drove deeper into night.
These continuous harassments, though not lethally threatening, undeniably increased operational costs and complexity.
The crew became more vigilant, action strategies trending toward lower profiles.
----------
Advanced chapters for $7 @patreon:michaelv1.
Every 200 powerstones = Bonus chapter!