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Rebecca cradled her chin in her hands, eyes vacant.
Hungry. Miserable. She missed the Little Cola from vending machines in Japantown—that ice-cold sensation, the fizz stinging her tongue.
What a dump this place was. Even the Maelstrom Plantain snacks here were expired.
"Maine! Maine!"
Through the rusted iron door of the ruined building came Rebecca's brother Pilar. He seemed to be enjoying Dogtown just fine—the mechanical junk scattered everywhere kept this tinkering obsessive entertained all day.
Maine and Dorio sat by the campfire they'd lit for warmth. A radio played songs from Body Heat Radio.
"So, get away..."
The mellow music only made Rebecca feel worse. Love songs couldn't reach someone with an empty stomach. She just wanted Little Cola. Or any carbonated drink, really.
"Stop going outside. Can't guarantee Barghest won't track you."
Maine gave Pilar an order.
Pilar shrank back. He respected Maine well enough.
No matter what, Maine was this crew's leader.
"Ugh... Maine, have you decided yet?" Rebecca was running out of patience. Ethan had said the whole crew needed to agree—otherwise, backing out later would only make leaving Dogtown harder.
Sasha, back in Night City, had tried contacting other fixers. But at a time like this, who was crazy enough to work that job? Routes in and out of Dogtown had only gotten harder.
One option: go to NCPD and rack up a few dozen criminal charges. Maybe then Barghest would take them in.
Maine scratched his head. "Where'd this kid even come from? The more I think about it, the more his boss smells like corporate."
Rebecca muttered, "How would I know? Half of Night City knows our names. Can't exactly ask every single one if they're Barghest or corporate, can we?"
"I think Rebecca's right." Dorio stood up. "Maine, whoever's behind this Ethan—we can't just rot in Dogtown."
"Sasha's alone out there. She's worried sick about us."
Maine sat quietly for a moment. "Let's talk to this Ethan first."
Dorio nodded. "Truth be told, we're the ones who screwed him over—"
"Barghest seemed pretty eager to hunt that guy down."
Rebecca nodded. "Shit, yeah. And he cursed me out! Dude's definitely holding a grudge..."
She remembered Ethan telling her to scram. Her expression darkened slightly.
If he wanted revenge, it'd be understandable.
Pilar was already loading his gun. "If this punk sells us out, that'd be bad—gotta have my gear ready!"
Rebecca glanced at the shotgun beside her. She didn't want to use it as some paranoid last warning.
Blow everything to hell!
What a shithole. She didn't care anymore.
"Pilar, stay on watch. We still need to be polite when talking business." Maine dealt with fixers and gangs regularly. He knew pissing off Ethan at this point would do more harm than good.
But they couldn't let their guard down either.
Small concern: they couldn't verify if the contact Sasha gave them was really Ethan. Big concern: after what happened last time, the guy had every reason to sell out their whole crew.
[INCOMING CALL: Unknown]
Rebecca's eyes lit up. She shared the call with everyone.
"So? I'm outside Longshore Stacks. Ready to accept my boss's offer?"
Dorio shook her head slightly.
"Um... we can pay you."
Ethan made a sound. "Alright then, hanging up. Good luck out there."
Rebecca instantly lost it. She jumped onto the windowsill and shouted:
"HEY! We can pay! How much do you want?! Name a price!"
"Bastard bastard BASTARD!"
On Ethan's end, he frowned. This girl was something else.
"Boss said: you work. You get out. That simple."
Dorio and Maine fell silent. Why did this mysterious boss specifically want their edgerunner crew? The Afterlife bar was full of legends—battle-hardened veterans who'd crawled through hell and back.
Besides, they weren't some elite squad with high-end chrome.
Poor working-class crew. They had no idea Ethan picked them because he knew them.
Ethan had already thought it through. This crew was straightforward. The only one to watch out for was the netrunner Kiwi.
What he didn't know yet was that Kiwi wasn't even on the crew.
Maine's crew were people trying to make names for themselves in this city. People who didn't want to be pushed around. People trying to escape the bottom rung.
Later, their obsessive chrome upgrades came partly from losing themselves in money and lifestyle, partly from chasing fame and an addiction to power.
Cyberpsychosis preyed on the emotionally unstable, the hate-blinded, the ones who'd lost themselves.
David Martinez, in some ways, would become their spiritual successor—someone desperate to prove himself, to stand at the top and show everyone what he could do.
A crew with pure intentions was exactly what Ethan needed.
He didn't have time to recruit Afterlife legends.
"Call me 'bastard' one more time, and I'm hanging up."
Ethan knew Rebecca was blunt, but he had his own ways of bringing this unruly crew to heel.
A boss had to train his employees, after all.
"Maine! Yes or no?! Stop nodding and shaking your head like a mute!"
Ethan almost laughed out loud. This Rebecca was really... something.
"I'm Maine."
The deep voice came through.
The leader's words were direct. "Honestly, we don't trust you. That's why we had Rebecca contact you. Hope you understand."
Ethan shook his head. "I get it. Not angry. What I can guarantee is: you get out, boss has jobs for you, market-rate pay..."
"Plus one more thing. When boss assigns a mission, I go with you. How's that sound?"
Maine couldn't figure out what Ethan—or his boss—was really after.
This boss was giving Ethan way too much freedom.
Since when did Pacifica have a fixer this capable?
Not that Maine could blame himself for being tempted. The terms were practically custom-made for them, eliminating every concern.
Ethan goes on missions with them? That was basically offering himself as collateral.
If a job went sideways, Ethan would be screwed too.
Given his confidence, the boss behind him seemed reliable. But who...?
Maine couldn't overthink this. The crew was in bad shape. He had to be responsible for everyone's safety.
That was the deal from the start. He was the big brother. Responsibility and obligation came with it.
"Ethan, you're actually pretty good at negotiating. I agree. I'll send you the location. We'll set up verification before you arrive—in case something goes wrong. You understand?"
Ethan agreed. "I understand."
Rebecca jumped onto the call, her voice suddenly weak and pitiful: "You have to come, okay, Ethan~"
"I'm dying... just need one sip of cola..."
"Alright Rebecca, enough. Let's wait for Mr. Ethan." Dorio facepalmed, unable to watch this spectacle anymore.
Call ended.
Ethan was speechless. Full of fire when cursing, but now this?
Since receiving Rebecca's call, Ethan had been walking toward Longshore Stacks.
Passing a run-down building that Dogtown residents had converted into a makeshift mall, he doubled back after a moment.
A blood-and-dust-covered vending machine still seemed to work. The ad was garbled:
"Little Co...la%$#... Love on... your tongue!"
Ethan's eyes lit up. A slightly cool bottle rolled out.
He picked it up, wiped off the dust. Production date wasn't too old. Satisfied, he pocketed it—
Rebecca helped out today, after all.
She earned it.
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