Chapter 15: Return to Night City
The neon lights of Night City spread like a virus, bleeding into the thick, polluted clouds, dyeing the entire sky a pathological, bruised purple. Acid rain spattered the windshield, leaving filthy streaks.
Rebecca's hands were clamped to the steering wheel. The patched-up Goodwood wasn't spewing black smoke anymore, but it still felt like it was about to rattle apart at any second. The tires hit a puddle, and the grimy water reflected the chaotic light-pollution of the holographic ads, like an overturned paint palette.
Pilar sat anxiously in the passenger seat, his metal fingers repeatedly rubbing the "optimized" interface on his left shoulder. The friction of synth-skin against metal made a faint, unnerving sound.
The car sped over an overpass, the structure itself so covered in corporate holos it looked like a visual plague. The barren wastes were rapidly swallowed by the disorganized sprawl of mega-buildings. A holographic idol blew a kiss at the traffic, while the alley below reeked of burning trash and chemicals. The air was a mix of spicy exhaust, greasy street food, and the ever-present, acrid smell of burnt-out electronics.
This was the stench of Night City.
"Feels like we were gone for a century," Rebecca muttered. Her new cyber-eye automatically adjusted its aperture, the neon flowing over her green irises. The optic whirred, focusing on a gang firefight several blocks away, pulling the details into sharp relief—bullet tracers, concrete shrapnel, a figure staggering and falling.
She quickly looked away. Now was not the time to borrow trouble.
"More like a tour of hell," Pilar sighed, adjusting his flashy, fluorescent goggles. "And we still have to spin a story for Maine... I've got a bad feeling, Becca. That... robed freak... and the thing he installed..."
He unconsciously touched the back of his neck, where there was only a nearly-invisible micro-incision.
"Shut it, Pilar!" Rebecca hissed, sounding like a cornered cat. "We stick to the story! We ran into a tech-nomad in the desert. A total weirdo, but his skills? Preem-as-fuck. He fixed the ride, fixed your junk shoulder, and upgraded my eye. The price was helping him score some 'special parts.' That's it!"
"The robes, the skull, and those... tentacle-things... you bury it. Deep."
She paused, her voice softening a fraction. "It's not like we're lying to him forever... we just can't say it now. That shit was too weird. Maine would think we're cyber-psycho. Once we get him what he wants, finish the first trade, and let him see the benefits for himself... then we can talk."
"Fine, fine..." Pilar held up his hands in surrender. "But Maine's not that easy to fool."
"All the more reason to stick to the script!" Rebecca slammed the wheel in frustration, and the horn gave a wheezing cry. "Think about the tech! Think about the high-grade gear he promised! Think about the fact that we weren't chopped into kibble by the Slashers! This is nothing!"
She flashed a sly grin, revealing sharp teeth. "We're not really lying, we're just... editing. Y'know? Once the deal is done and Maine sees the payout, it'll be easier to explain. If we tell him now, he'll say it's too risky and cut the line."
Pilar shook his head, but his expression firmed. In Night City, power and opportunity were oxygen. And that mysterious, red-robed thing had offered them both. Keeping a secret was just the price of breathing.
The car rolled over the cracked asphalt, entering the industrial park in northern Watson. Rusted pipes coiled overhead like the veins of a titan. They turned into a warehouse bearing the faded logo of a defunct logistics company, their tires rolling over old oil stains.
This was Maine's current safehouse.
As the engine died, the silence of the warehouse was broken by familiar footsteps. Dorio's tall figure emerged from the shadows first, her sharp eyes scanning the car and the two of them, her face a mix of worry and suppressed fury.
"You two little shits!" She strode toward them, her voice a low thunder. "Four days! Not a word! We thought the Slashers had parted you out for scrap!"
Rebecca and Pilar scrambled out of the car.
"Hey, Dorio! Easy!" Pilar tried to hide his nerves with his usual bravado. "We're back, aren't we? All in one piece!"
"One piece?" Maine's deep voice rumbled from deeper in the shadows. He stepped out, his massive frame carrying its usual weight, his cyber-optics glowing as they scanned them. "Your ride doesn't look like it's in 'one piece'."
His gaze locked onto Rebecca's unnaturally clear new eye, and then to Pilar's smoothly-moving left shoulder. "And... you two look 'upgraded'."
Rebecca's heart skipped a beat, but she quickly put on a mask of cocky bravado. "Fuck, don't even ask! We almost didn't make it back! Those Slasher psychos chased us 'til we were dry, the car's practically a sieve!"
"So how'd you get out?" Falco's voice drifted down from the iron staircase of a second-floor platform. He leaned on the rusty rail, a datapad in his hand, his eyes as sharp as a sniper's scope.
Pilar took the cue, launching into their carefully rehearsed story: a desperate chase into the desert, stumbling into a half-buried service depot, and running into a reclusive, cranky-as-hell, but nova-hot tech-head. They carefully filtered out every supernatural or truly bizarre detail, painting Joric as a typical, if eccentric, desert-rat techie.
"He was a goddamn wizard!" Rebecca cut in at the right moment, showing off her new eye. "Look! He swapped my chrome! It's so clear I could count the balls on a fly at 500 meters! And he fixed Pilar's glitchy-ass shoulder on the side!"
"The price, though..." She shrugged, pointing to the data-chip in the car, which held Joric's parts list. "We gotta source some hard-to-find parts for him. Mil-spec battery cores, neural interface prototypes on a specific frequency, some restricted alloys. He also wants us to record 'market intel' and 'gang gossip.' Says he needs 'research material,' and that he only wants 'quality' data."
Maine listened in silence, his face unreadable. Dorio stood with her arms crossed, her brow furrowed. Falco was silently tapping on his datapad.
"A solo techie? Out there? And he wants that?" Maine finally spoke, his voice quiet but full of pressure. "He give you a name? Who'd he run with?"
"Didn't say," Rebecca shook her head, trying to look natural. "Seemed like one of those old-school hardliners who hates the corps and just wants to tinker. His shack was a dump, but his tools? Top-tier. His skills are legit."
"He said the parts are hard to get but 'critical' for his 'project,' and he's willing to trade more tech for 'em," she added. And once you see what he can do, explaining the rest will be easier, she thought.
Maine's gaze swept over them, his augmented senses picking up every micro-expression. Rebecca felt the new, tiny implant at the base of her neck itch, as if it was about to give her away. Pilar instinctively avoided direct eye contact.
The warehouse fell quiet, the only sounds the distant wail of sirens and the buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights.
Finally, Maine seemed to accept the story, for now. He gave a short nod. "Alive is what matters. Next time, do your homework before you take a job."
"Falco, check that list."
"Dorio, get 'em some food."
The crisis, it seemed, was over. Rebecca and Pilar quietly let out their breath, but they knew this was just the beginning.
Maine's suspicion wasn't gone. And the secret they were hiding felt like a bomb, embedded in their own flesh, its timer silently ticking.
The siblings exchanged a look, seeing the same mix of fear and resolve in each other's eyes. This secret had to stay buried.