The military-grade Sandevistan wasn't just another piece of chrome — it was a weapon that could bend reality. Few in Night City had ever seen one up close. Fewer still had managed to get one through legal channels.
The power that came with it could turn an ordinary merc into a god on the battlefield.
So, if even a single unit leaked onto the streets, it would ignite a war. Corpos, fixers, mercs, Scavs, even NCPD commandos, they'd all tear each other apart for it.
Because in Night City, one rule reigned supreme: might makes right. If your fists were hard enough, or your chrome sharp enough, you could have it all. Money, women, crew, power, respect.
And the foundation of it all was strength.
That was what the Sandevistan promised: strength beyond human limits.
But Neo knew better than anyone that everything in this city had a price tag.
Even power.
On the black market, a military-grade Sandevistan would fetch a high price, but not that high. Not ten times what it was worth. Ten thousand? Maybe. Twenty? For the right buyer.
But a hundred thousand? That wasn't a market value. That was a test.
Evelyn Parker didn't know that. Or maybe she did, and just didn't care.
She was the kind of woman who always reached higher than she should, who mistook her ambition for destiny. Beautiful, dangerous, and utterly consumed by her own hunger.
In another life, she could've lived comfortably — she'd earned enough from her work at Lizzie's to retire young. But Evelyn wanted more. More luxury. More freedom. More power.
That was the problem with Night City's dreamers. They always believed the next deal, the next risk, would finally buy their way out of hell.
Neo didn't hate her for it. He didn't pity her either. To him, she was just another moving part in the machine; a client, a transaction, a means to an end.
"Here's twenty thousand upfront," Evelyn said, sliding a slim credchip across the table. "A down payment."
Neo caught it without looking, tucked it into his jacket.
"V," she said, lifting her glass, "to a profitable partnership. And to your survival."
Neo raised his own glass just enough to catch the reflection of her smirk. "I don't need luck. But I'll take the money."
…
Later that night.
City Center. Orbital Plaza.
Floodlights cut through the smog, painting the circular square in cold white. Dozens of NCPD patrol cars had cordoned off the area, sirens pulsing in unison.
In the middle of it all stood a monster.
A man stripped to the waist, his massive frame riddled with metal plating and scar tissue. The vertebrae of his spine gleamed like a serpent of steel — a Sandevistan backbone.
Every cop within fifty meters had their weapon drawn. None dared move.
"Hold positions!" barked the squad captain. His voice trembled despite the authority he tried to fake. "The Psycho Squad's on the way! We just need to keep him here until backup arrives!"
It was a nice speech — full of hope.
But hope didn't mean much in Night City.
Because every single officer there had already seen what the man — James Norris — had done.
He'd already wiped out an entire NCPD response team hours ago. Not a single body was left in one piece.
Now, even standing still, the man radiated death.
…
Norris wasn't calm. He wasn't merciful. He simply waited.
The cooldown on his Sandevistan was ticking down — every use tore his body apart from the inside, but he didn't feel it anymore.
Pain, fear, hesitation — those things had been erased long ago. All that was left was the instinct to kill.
And when that countdown reached zero…
He'd start again.
…
"Sir, his vitals are stabilizing," a terrified rookie whispered. "He's—he's about to move!"
"Damn it, no—"
The captain's radio crackled.
[Incoming call: Melissa Rory.]
He snatched it up instantly. "Captain 9527 reporting in!"
"Status," came a cold, clipped female voice.
"Ma'am, target James Norris is temporarily immobilized — side effects from overusing his Sandevistan!"
"Good," Melissa replied. "The MaxTac unit will be there in three minutes. Hold him. If he moves—"
"Shoot to kill!" the captain finished for her, pounding his chest. "Understood, ma'am!"
The line went dead.
He turned to rally his men, and froze.
Because the monster in the plaza had just tilted his head.
The vertebrae along Norris's spine flared to life, neon veins pulsing red.
"Ah, hell," the captain whispered.
Then Norris moved.
The sound that followed wasn't human.
The world around him slowed to a crawl. Bullets hung mid-air. The muzzle flashes of the officers' weapons became frozen flowers of light.
The cops hadn't stopped moving — he'd just become too fast to see.
The Sandevistan hummed, and Norris became a blur of rage and motion.
He flashed behind the first officer, one hand snapping the man's neck before the brain could even register fear.
Then another. And another.
Each headshot, each strike, executed in perfect and merciless rhythm.
In his warped perception of time, it was serene… almost beautiful.
By the time the Sandevistan burned out again, he stood in silence, surrounded by bodies.
He smiled.
That was when he heard it — a sound cutting through the heavy night air.
A single, crystalline note.
Shiiing—
A flash of green light tore across the plaza.
The smile froze on Norris's face.
He looked down — and saw his right arm hit the ground.
Sparks and blood splattered across the pavement.
A figure stepped out from the shadows beyond the barricade, long coat rippling in the wind, twin swords glinting faintly under the neon haze.
Neo's voice carried through the smoke, quiet but cold.
"Sorry to cut in. That chrome," he nodded toward Norris's twitching stump, "belongs to my client."