Cyberpunk - The Fall of Icarus

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Alex, I'm glad you took my humble suggestion to heart and reached out to me for work. I won't bog you down with too many details for your first mission, so I'll keep it brief. The task won't be easy, but I trust challenges like these won't scare you off. Your objective is to infiltrate Maelstrom's stronghold in the Watson district and pull any data you can find about Tiger Claws' movements from their systems. Maelstrom's network is tightly integrated, so I'm sure you know how to leverage that to your advantage.

P.S. Once you've got the data, drop it off at one of the stations with my business address.

At first glance, it seemed straightforward enough, but there's always the chance that Wakako's suspicions were off. Too many people in the city had reasons to mess with the Tigers, and Maelstrom wasn't the only gang with a motive. But Wakako knew that when she handed me the job. Assignments like this don't go to fresh-faced rookies hoping to push their limits.

"Well, it's a pain, but I'm still happy to get the work…"

It was eight in the evening, meaning I had about half an hour until sunset. Plenty of time to hop on the metro and head to the port district. Sure, riding my bike would've been more convenient, but it's smarter not to draw too much attention to it. My "workshop owner" and "mercenary" identities need to stay separate for as long as possible. The longer I keep those personas apart, the safer things will be for me and my loved ones. I'm not about to put them in harm's way, but locking them up in a golden cage isn't an option either.

As I took one of the four elevators down, I was surprised to see so few people around. Usually, at this time, the tower's packed — residents rushing home, gang members roaming the streets. Tonight was quieter.

"Hey, Alex! Not often I see you out this late. Got somewhere to be?" A familiar voice called out from behind, making me turn.

"Ah, Sam," I said, spotting the guy approaching with an inhaler in hand. "I see you're sticking to your treatment plan. Good to see." I quickly steered the conversation to safer territory to avoid answering anything awkward. I prefer not to lie to people I know.

"Yeah, after those meds you gave me, I've been feeling a lot better, but honestly, I'm starting to worry I'll get hooked on this stuff at this rate," Sam said with a chuckle, taking another puff from the inhaler.

"No need to worry — the medication's non-addictive. But if you start feeling like you're getting too attached, just talk to Kiwi. She can switch you to something else that's just as effective and won't mess with your body."

"Appreciate the free medical advice, doc," Sam laughed briefly. "Alright, choom, I can see you're busy, so I won't hold you up. Catch you later." With a quick wave, Sam headed off toward one of the bars nearby, leaving me to continue on my way.

Sam was just an ordinary guy, making a living by selling custom-edited braindances — a pretty popular way to earn in the city, and for good reason. Entertainment costs money, and those who didn't have a lot of eddies often preferred to escape into the world of illusions, surrendering their senses to someone else's emotions. It was just another way to run from reality, something I didn't judge. Everyone's free to enjoy themselves however they want, as long as they don't cross certain lines — like coercion or killing for fun.

On my way out of the tower, I crossed paths with a few vaguely familiar faces, including some members of the Sixth Street gang. Their dress code was distinctive, a mix between cowboys and minutemen somehow carried into modern times. It was an unusual look, but there was something oddly appealing about it.

"Finally, some fresh air," I muttered, slipping my hands into my pockets. Whistling a nondescript tune, I headed toward the metro. In Night City, trains ran every ten minutes, making them the fastest and most popular mode of transportation. Motorcycles ranked a close second for me, mostly because parking spots were hard to come by.

The evening crowd was decent, and with Sixth Street patrolling the area, things felt relatively secure. Over the past year, Arroyo had become the least criminal district, and it wasn't hard to see why. With unofficial approval from the Mayor, Sixth Street had ramped up their presence, taking over duties the NCPD had neglected. Sure, there were some trade-offs, but overall, I couldn't complain about the current state of things.

The walk to the station was uneventful. People kept to themselves, avoiding unnecessary noise and trouble.

"Good old America," I muttered, glancing with a bit of nostalgia at the trash strewn around and the occasional homeless person digging through dumpsters.

My old homeland was definitely cleaner compared to most cities in the NUSA. NightCorp had been trying to clean things up for years, but the best they could manage was keeping the city center and nearby districts somewhat tidy. The further out you went, the more the city descended into filth. Still, the waste did get cleared about once a quarter, with massive piles gathered and hauled away to the dump via airlift.

After a few more minutes of walking, I reached the metro station. Climbing the stairs, I waited patiently for the next train. You could either buy a ticket at the gate or use an online payment system.

"Pretty clean here," I noted, glancing around and observing the relative lack of trash compared to the streets outside.

Apart from the people waiting on the platform, there were various vending machines scattered around. Near one of them, I spotted a warning sign reminding everyone that violence wasn't tolerated in places like this. Security turrets were mounted in the ceiling, ready to shred anyone foolish enough to cause trouble.

The train is approaching the station. The train is approaching the station…

The synthesized voice of the dispatcher echoed through the station, pulling my attention away from the wall I had been leaning against while idly browsing the net to pass the time. As I stepped through the gate, my ticket was automatically scanned, allowing me through. A few others walked past, heading straight to the platform.

Within seconds, the train appeared in the distance, headlights piercing through the dim station and casting long shadows across the platform.

The train has arrived at the station. The train has arrived at the station…

The linked cars rolled to a smooth stop, aligning perfectly with the platform edge. A handful of tired-looking passengers exited, walking past us toward the station's exit. Without paying them much attention, I stepped inside the nearest car, taking in the familiar metro setup.

At a glance, it looked like any other metro car — long benches lined the sides, with sturdy poles placed intermittently for standing passengers. Near the entrance was another terminal for buying tickets to other destinations, which would be handy if you had to travel across multiple districts. Unfortunately, trips like this often required transfers. Fortunately for me, I only had to switch lines once.

The car was less crowded than I expected, so I took a seat at the far end, activating my newly upgraded retractable glasses. My previous setup wasn't cutting it anymore, so I'd spent some time improving the design. Inspired by Militech's protective eyewear, my version wasn't grafted to the skin but instead used tiny suction cups to stay in place. The lenses were tinted, and all my data displayed directly on the inside, allowing me to work without anyone seeing what I was doing.

After a few minutes, the train began to move again, the automated voice announcing its departure. Including me, there were only seven passengers in the car, but one of them immediately set off alarms in my head. A tall brute — easily two meters, with a ridiculous haircut — was gripping the handrail tightly, constantly looking around like he was expecting trouble. Just in case, I shifted into a more ready position, casually resting my hands near my concealed pistol. If things went south, I'd be quick enough to draw and shoot accurately. I wasn't putting much faith in the train's security system. I knew all too well how easily you could fool electronic defenses with the right kind of demon. You didn't even need to be a skilled netrunner — just load a virus, and the system was as good as blind.

Next station: City Center...

The dispatcher's voice echoed through the train as we approached the next stop. Fortunately, no incidents had broken out in the car. The colorful, suspicious guy had exited at the previous station, leaving a final mark of clumsiness by smacking his head on the doorframe. I felt a small, fleeting sense of pity for him… just a little.

After transferring to another train, I found myself in a car filled with corporate types. Office workers of all stripes, their faces blank with indifference, were glued to their gadgets, completely oblivious to the world around them. It was always interesting to observe this part of society in what I considered their "natural habitat." There wasn't much to see in terms of action, but their flashy appearances made up for it. Hair dyed in every imaginable color, outlandish styles, and the occasional body mod — ranging from subtle facial tweaks to full-on metal face replacements — were common.

In the middle of all this, my attention zeroed in on a girl standing in the far corner of the car. Something about her gaze set off alarms. It wasn't just idle curiosity. No, she was observing, analyzing… something, or someone.

She couldn't have been more than sixteen, maybe a little older. Short black hair, pink cybernetic eyes that indicated a full vision replacement, and a loose black jacket with pink accents and a high collar. On her ears, I noticed a visor, probably for augmented reality use. Her overall appearance, movements, and gear made one thing clear: this was a young netrunner.

Not wanting to attract any unwanted attention, I did my best to blend in, pretending to be just another guy mindlessly scrolling through the net. While she kept her distance, I took the opportunity to discreetly access the train's already-compromised camera system, masking my presence as just another function of the local AI control network.