While Cairo concentrated fully on planning subsequent matters in the desert workshop, in Night City's Watson district inside that team hideout converted from an old warehouse, the air was so oppressive you could wring water from it.
Sasha's absence wasn't simply a crew member being off-duty.
She was the team's netrunner—their eyes and ears during operations, responsible for intel theft, system cracking, electronic interference, plus critically important extraction cover.
Now she lay in the "boss's" workshop receiving treatment, obviously unable to join team missions short-term. The entire crew's functionality immediately showed massive gaps.
Many contracts requiring technical infiltration and delicate operations couldn't even be touched now.
The crew had just connected with Cairo's network, officially working for him.
This should've meant better equipment, stronger technical support—a new turning point in their Night City survival struggle.
However, this new relationship's concrete benefits hadn't materialized yet. The reality of core member critical injury caused operational problems. Everyone felt tangible pressure.
Inside the warehouse, lighting was dim. Only a few temporarily rigged fluorescent tubes dangling from wires emitted pale light, barely illuminating piled junk and modified equipment.
Maine crew members sat around a scratched-up metal table. Atmosphere stagnant.
Maine sank deep into an old chair looking overburdened. His massive frame made the chair occasionally emit faint groans.
One mechanical arm rested on his knee, metal fingers unconsciously tapping—dull thudding sounds.
"Everyone's here." Maine finally spoke, voice low.
Falco silently pulled beers from a cooler at his feet, first tossing one to Maine. The aluminum can arced through air, Maine's large hand catching it steadily with a soft "click."
He threw the rest to others in turn.
"Sasha's situation—everyone knows." Maine used fingers prying the pull-tab. Foam slightly overflowed. He tilted back, gulping. "She's laid up at the boss's place now. Can't count on her short-term."
Cold liquid slid down his throat. He paused, gaze sweeping every face present. "Problem's real simple: Without a netrunner, half our jobs are dead in the water. Can't always rely on bullets working for the boss.
Who gets intel? Who cracks electronic locks? Those damn surveillance systems and network defenses—who handles that?
Can't expect the boss personally getting involved or hoping those metal heads handle network intrusions. Even taking our own side gigs, without Sasha we're screwed."
Falco also popped his can open, took a sip. The ice-cold beer perked him up slightly.
"Maine's hitting the mark." He wiped his mouth with sleeve. "Without a netrunner, we're half-blind. Intelligence, infiltration, responding to sudden electronic warfare—all weak points.
Especially now working for 'the boss,' future opponents and scenes probably won't be street punk level anymore. Gotta figure out plugging this hole fast."
Pilar nervously rubbed the cold beer can, fingertip metal prosthetics scraping aluminum with faint sounds.
"I know we need finding someone!" Pilar gulped beer, aluminum can crunching in his hand. "But how long's Sasha been with us? That's real blood-forged trust! Where do we find someone reliable last-minute?
What if we recruit a corp-planted informant or some money-hungry backstabber at critical moments? We're all totally screwed!"
He irritably raked through hair, mechanical fingers scraping scalp with faint sounds.
"Then what do YOU suggest?!" Rebecca slammed the beer can on a crate—"BANG"—liquid splashing from the opening. "Just 'cause we're scared, we squat here waiting to die? Next job needing cracking door locks comes up, we just surrender?
Sasha's one-of-a-kind, but Night City's got tons of netrunners! Sitting here bitching gets us what? Gotta search!"
Her green optics glowed in the dimness, that impatience stemming more from anxiety over crew predicaments than specifically targeting Pilar.
Dorio raised a hand making downward pressing gestures, voice steady and strong: "Pilar's concerns are valid. Rebecca speaks reality too. What we need now isn't finding someone completely replacing Sasha—that's unrealistic.
But finding someone temporarily helping out, controllable risks, getting us past this immediate crisis.
Most urgent right now is plugging the crew's weak point without stirring trouble."
Rebecca took a breath like making decisions: "When I used to hang at Lizzie's Bar, heard about this solo netrunner.
Word was her work's decent enough, just an independent personality, doesn't like crowds.
I can try making connections, reaching out. Getting her joining up probably won't fly, but temporarily hiring her for a few jobs—might be negotiable."
Her information wasn't very specific, carrying uncertainty, but this was practically the only solid lead right now.
Maine's gaze fell on Rebecca, pondering deeply, seemingly contemplating, assessing the feasibility of Rebecca's provided intel.
Only faint electrical humming from fluorescent tubes remained in the warehouse.
After several seconds' silence, he spoke.
"...Alright." His voice stayed low but carried undeniable decisiveness. "Rebecca, follow this lead first. Remember, keep it clean. Don't make citywide noise.
First feel out that person's background, check reputation, see if they've recently stirred up trouble they shouldn't.
We're currently..." He paused, gaze sweeping every crew member, each word enunciated clearly. "...just started working for the boss. Sasha's still laid up at death's door. We're carrying Biotechnica bounties. Can't afford any more complications.
Any rumors, even if just speculation, must report to me first. Without my approval, nobody makes private contact. Everyone understand?"
Maine's words pointed direction for upcoming actions.
The warehouse's heavy atmosphere didn't dissipate, but that previous helpless restlessness had faded. Everyone knew what to do next.
Rebecca nodded heavily, draining remaining beer.
Pilar's shoulders sagged, emitting light sighs, raising no further objections.
Falco's fingertips rapidly slid across terminal screens again, beginning filtering potential information leads.
Dorio crossed arms, steady gaze sweeping everyone, silently expressing approval.
They'd already staked futures on Cairo to save Sasha.
At this moment, before truly beginning work for that unfathomable "boss," they must find ways filling this critical functional gap.
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