Chapter 60: The Blackwall Broadcast
Rebecca quickly scanned the contents of the forced pop-up.
It clearly listed a detailed component-analysis of a best-selling Biotechnica painkiller from years ago, its undisclosed failed clinical trial data, and internal corporate comms. The evidence was irrefutable: the company's executive board knew the drug had severe side effects, including neuro-degeneration and death, but for the sake of massive profits, they had willfully concealed the data and pushed it to market.
At the bottom of the window, a list of known victims was included, anonymized, but the cold statistics represented countless broken families.
"Scrap—" Rebecca swore, her heart hammering. She instantly knew what this was—the "Blackwall Broadcast" the Boss had promised. He'd actually, impossibly, done it.
As she reeled from the shock, she noticed Kiwi was in a bad way. The normally ice-cold netrunner was pale, her forehead beaded with sweat. Her fingers were flying in the air, executing frantic commands on her own neural interface, clearly trying to fight back or trace the signal.
But her movements stopped abruptly after less than three seconds, as if she'd been choked by an invisible hand.
She let out a muffled grunt, slumping back against the seat, her eyes wide with a profound, almost primal, terror.
"You—it wasn't you—" Kiwi whipped her head toward Rebecca, her voice trembling. "That—that came through the Blackwall—"
As a netrunner who lived on the edge of the Net, she understood what had just happened far better than anyone else in the bar. That wasn't a normal hack. It was a global broadcast that had used the Blackwall protocol itself as a delivery mechanism. It was a digital miracle.
The instant she'd tried to run a counter-trace, the resistance she met wasn't a normal firewall; it was like trying to punch the ocean. An infinite, dark sea of pure code and absolute authority. Her own skills, against that, were useless. The sheer, overwhelming power of the authority-signal that washed back at her had almost fried her cyberdeck and her implants, nearly flatlining her on the spot.
Hacking using the Blackwall? It was a concept so far beyond her understanding it bordered on the divine.
As Kiwi sat frozen, her mind racing, trying to figure out which legendary netrunner or nation-state-level entity was responsible, Rebecca muttered to herself, her voice full of second-hand pride, "Damn... that's our Boss... He really did it."
The words hit Kiwi like a bolt of lightning.
She snapped her gaze back to Rebecca, her terror instantly replaced by an intense, burning curiosity.
"Boss?" Kiwi's voice was a low, urgent hiss. "Rebecca! You know who did this? That—that Blackwall breach—that was your 'boss'?"
Rebecca flinched, realizing her slip. She immediately tried to play dumb, "Huh? Boss? What boss? I dunno what you're talkin' about. Probably just some corpo-hating solo with a god-complex, right?"
But Kiwi wasn't buying the act. She leaned in, her gaze pinning Rebecca. "Don't play dumb. Your reaction, what you just said—you know. Tell me, Rebecca. Who was that?"
Rebecca fidgeted, annoyed at being cornered. But as she looked at Kiwi's face, she saw the 'runner's raw, technical awe. An idea sparked in her mind. Maybe this is the hook?
"Alright, fine!" Rebecca huffed, a sly look in her eye. "Yeah. That was our Boss's handiwork. Preem as fuck, right?"
Kiwi ignored the taunt. "Who is he? What is he? How—how is that even possible?"
"The Boss is the Boss," Rebecca shrugged, spinning a half-truth. "He's... a tech-head. Super-skilled, kinda weird, but pays real well. We're running for him now. You wanna know more? Simple. Accept the offer. Join the crew. Maybe you'll get to meet him, ask him yourself."
She paused, thinking of Joric's cold, transactional nature. "But, a warning. The Boss isn't... nice. And he doesn't do anything for free. You want something from him—knowledge, tech, gear—you pay the price. No free lunches. That's his iron-clad rule."
Kiwi fell silent, her face hidden in the shadow of her hood, her lips pressed into a thin line, clearly waging an internal war.
The allure of the 'Boss' was undeniable. It was the instinctive, burning desire of a true technician to understand a power that transcended her own. To be able to use the Blackwall... the knowledge behind that... it was unthinkable. To gain even a fraction of that insight, or just to observe it, would be a quantum leap in her own abilities.
But her deep-rooted, solo-runner instincts recoiled at the idea of "joining a crew" or "pledging fealty" to anyone. It meant a loss of freedom, of control. It meant trusting others with her life.
Risk versus opportunity.
The music in Lizzie's had returned. The stunned patrons were now buzzing, loudly speculating on the source of the "data-storm." Biotechnica's scandal, exposed in such an explosive, undeniable way, was about to send a shockwave through the entire city.
In the rising chaos, Kiwi finally looked up. Her eyes were calm again, but a new, decisive light burned within them.
"Okay," she said, her voice clear and steady. "I'm in."
This time, it was Rebecca's turn to be surprised. "You sure? You thought this through? Our Boss has a lot of rules. And the gigs we're pulling... they're not gonna be any easier than what just happened."
"I'm sure," Kiwi nodded. "But I have one condition. A request. I want a meet with this 'Boss' as soon as possible. I need to confirm... if he is truly worth my loyalty."
She used the word "loyalty," not "collaboration." Rebecca understood how much that cost her.
"That... I gotta ask Maine. And the Boss himself," Rebecca said. "But you're in, you're in. You're one of us now, I guess. I'll get you an answer."
She raised her half-full glass. "Welcome to the crew, Kiwi. Hope you're ready, 'cause shit's about to get a whole lot crazier."
Kiwi didn't raise her glass, but she gave a slight nod. She pulled out her agent, silently changing Rebecca's contact file from "Potential Client" to "Teammate (Probationary)."
She was still wary, still uncertain, but her thirst for that higher knowledge had, for now, overridden everything else. She had to know who, or what, the "Boss" who could bend the Blackwall truly was.
Outside, the neon of Night City pulsed on, as if the data-storm had never happened. But for some, the tracks of their lives had just been irrevocably, silently, and violently switched.