Kiwi sat in the warehouse corner's shadows, her deep red coat nearly blending into the background.
Though she'd accepted Rebecca's invitation to discuss cooperation with Maine's crew, trust in Night City was harder to get than top-tier cyberware—it needed time and live ops to build.
"Alright, quit standing around." Maine cleared his throat, voice echoing through the empty warehouse.
He looked at Rebecca first: "You brought her in. Wanna introduce?"
Rebecca tucked her pistol behind her waist, jerking her chin toward Kiwi: "Kiwi. Solo netrunner with solid street rep. Met her at Lizzie's Bar. Skills should be legit."
She spoke crisp and direct, with typical bluntness.
Only then did Maine properly turn his attention to Kiwi, nodding: "I'm Maine, crew leader. Rebecca vouches for you—that's good enough for us. Welcome to give it a shot."
Hearing this, Kiwi slightly raised her head, carefully sizing up Maine's crew members.
Her voice came through the mask, steady and restrained: "Kiwi. Rebecca filled me in on basics. Let's start with contract work, see if it fits."
Her attitude was clear—willing to work together, but deeper relationships needed time proving.
"Works for us." Maine was satisfied with her answer. "We need a netrunner filling the gap anyway. Since everyone's here, sitting around won't cut it." He looked at everyone. "Gotta move. Take a gig, get some real action going, see how this new setup meshes."
Pilar chimed in from the side: "About damn time! Got my arm optimized and haven't even field-tested it yet."
Falco still leaned against the car door, just lightly adjusting his shades in agreement. Dorio nodded too.
"Settled then." Maine made the final call. "I'll contact Faraday, see if there's suitable work. Kiwi, get your interface ready—might need you providing remote support."
Kiwi nodded silently, fingers already rapidly tapping in midair, beginning network interface calibrations.
Though lacking netrunner equipment support, linking up with Maine's crew was basic netrunner protocol.
Maine wasn't surprised by Kiwi's attitude. He didn't expect one mission turning Kiwi into another Sasha, but willingness to work together was a good start.
He stopped wasting words, directly dialing a familiar number.
"Maine? Well, well. Long time no see." Faraday's smooth-as-oil tone immediately transmitted from the other end. "Heard you've been riding high lately, connected with some serious players. Figured you'd outgrown my small-time business."
Maine frowned, no mood for runaround: "Cut the crap, Faraday. Didn't call to hear your flattery. Got any suitable work? Something simple—delivery, escort, whatever. We need breaking in a new crew member."
"Oh? New blood?" Faraday's voice immediately carried interested undertones, like a shark smelling blood in dark waters. "Anyone Maine personally brings in must be special. Lucky you—I've actually got something perfect."
He paused, seemingly pulling up files: "Run outside the city to the abandoned 'Route 66 Gas Station' up north. Hand off to someone called 'Old Cat.' Cargo's small—just an encrypted data case. Not heavy, doesn't take space.
Payment's standard market rate. How's that sound? Simple route, clear target, straightforward enough? Perfect for practice runs."
Maine quickly ran through it mentally: outside city limits, abandoned gas station, cargo handoff.
Sounded genuinely uncomplicated, low risk, fitting for a shakedown mission.
He glanced at crew members. Nobody showed objections.
"Alright." Maine agreed readily. "Send over exact coordinates, handoff codes, and 'Old Cat's' identifying features."
"You got it! Knew you'd be quick on the uptake, Maine!" Faraday's voice sounded especially enthusiastic. "Info's coming to your terminal now. Good luck, Maine. Looking forward to hearing from you."
Communications ended. Maine's terminal soon received mission details.
He briefly browsed—content indeed matched Faraday's description. Nothing particularly special.
"Alright, got a gig." Maine turned to the crew. "Falco, check the ride, top off the tank, make sure nothing goes wrong on the road. Rebecca, Pilar, inventory equipment. Bring standard weapons just in case. Dorio, prep up."
Finally he looked at Kiwi: "Kiwi, remote jack into our tactical network. We've got gear from our previous netrunner you can use for now. Handle environmental scans and data support on the road. Any issues?"
Kiwi silently shook her head, fingers already rapidly tapping in midair—clearly already working.
Her focused demeanor made Rebecca dial back her scrutinizing gaze slightly.
The crew immediately sprang into action.
Falco crawled under that heavily modified Goodwood off-roader, tapping and banging, checking chassis and drivetrain.
Rebecca and Pilar opened weapon crates, inventorying rifles, pistols, and ammunition. Rebecca especially checked her plasma pistol multiple times, ensuring the energy capacitor was full.
Dorio walked aside, starting simple stretches, loosening muscles. Bronze skin rippled with power beneath.
Everything looked normal, just like countless times before executing contracts.
The warehouse echoed with tool clanging, weapon part assembly sounds, and engine low test-runs—filled with pre-op restlessness.
However, they didn't know that on the communications' other end, after finishing the call with Maine, fixer Faraday's face showed an undisguised, greedy smile.
He almost couldn't wait to dial another heavily encrypted number, voice dropping extremely low, carrying sycophantic eagerness like offering up treasure: "Militech? Yeah, it's me, Faraday. Got intel you'll definitely find very interesting… about Maine's crew.
They just took a contract from me, about to leave the city heading to Route 66 Gas Station up north... yeah, that abandoned place. This is solid-gold intel..."
In his view, Maine's crew was just a bunch of tools about to become obsolete, possibly even stirring up big trouble.
Now a good price presented itself—only idiots wouldn't sell.
As for what fate awaited these tools after selling them to Militech, he didn't care one bit.
Night City had people disappearing every day. A few more made no difference.
He just didn't know—or rather didn't fully care—how deep the waters behind this "intel" ran.
After suffering that global "Blackwall Announcement" devastating blow, Biotechnica reacted like a mad dog with its tail stepped on, mobilizing full force for internal investigations and bloody retaliation.
Any targets recently having friction with the company got placed under microscopes for repeated scrutiny.
Maine's crew—this team that had just recently raided Biotechnica convoys, making them lose face—was locked on almost immediately.
Not to mention their netrunner Sasha had direct personal grudges with that lethal painkiller scandal.
The company's internal threat assessment department connected several leads, combining last time's security systems being easily paralyzed by some unknown force, reaching a bold yet not entirely baseless speculation: Behind Maine's crew likely existed top-tier, possibly even taboo-realm-touching netrunner resources. That "Blackwall incident" giving Biotechnica endless headaches was extremely likely directly related to them.
A high internal bounty quickly got approved. Whether for revenge or seizing possibly existing Blackwall-manipulation technology, Biotechnica was determined.
And Militech—always interested in Maine crew's "non-standard" yet surprisingly powerful weapons and tech—after receiving shared intel and cooperation intentions from Biotechnica, naturally wouldn't pass up this heaven-sent opportunity to both field-test new equipment and obtain rare tech samples.
Faraday's proactive betrayal perfectly provided both corporations a chance to set a precise trap.
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