I had to head back to the ripperdoc I visited yesterday. No other choice. I didn't know how long the trip would take, so I needed to prepare. On foot, of course credits didn't grow on trees. Turns out, living in the future is expensive as hell. Even public transport feels like a luxury. You'd think cops would ride for free.
It took a good while to reach the outskirts of the city. I pressed the call button again and waited.
"You again? What now?" came the voice.
"I need a favor," I replied.
"Alright, hold on, client," Santiago grunted and cut the connection.
There was nothing to do but wait. I tried pulling up any info I could, but strangely enough, the police database had surprisingly little on gang activity. Almost like someone had scrubbed it clean… or never added anything in the first place. Still, after some digging, I managed to find a few scraps.
Possible gathering location for multiple gang tiers. Illegal fights.That was all the official records had to offer.
Frustrated, I messaged my superior to find out why the hell there was so little available. Back in my day, before the city was wrapped in a million surveillance nets, we had more data. The response came a minute later:
Limited access.
Of course. I'm still a trainee no need to know too much, right? Just another lovely handicap in a city already trying to eat me alive. But it wouldn't stop me. I'd find the truth myself.
The ripperdoc's door slid open, and a tall, broad man stepped out. Strong posture. Shifty eyes. A few scars on his arms. His trigger finger was slightly bent likely from gripping a weapon too often. Probably ex-military. The way he moved sitting still for hours, ready for combat in a second screamed of it. Silent footsteps, despite his size. Recon, maybe? No too noticeable. Sabotage unit?
[image]
Name: Main Caberan
Age: 31
Employment: None (Retired Militech Armed Forces)
Status: Unemployed
Criminal Record: Armed Conflict
Marital Status: Single
Recommendation: Do not engage.
His body was covered in chrome barely any flesh untouched. Top-grade implants, sure, but still… more machine than man. Like me. He glanced at me briefly, then walked off.
Once the coast was clear, I stepped inside.
"Do a lot of military types come through here?" I asked.
"What's it to you?" Santiago replied flatly. "I provide services. They pay. That's all I care about."
"I'm looking for optical camouflage," I said.
"I got one. Ten thousand eddies. No discounts," he said, dead serious.
"Don't you want to help the Night City Police? We're out here keeping you safe," I tried playing nice first.
He snorted. "That's cute. But no. You people would rather abandon this city than actually take on the gangs."
"It's a critical case. I'll pay you back as soon as I have the funds," I said.
"No credits. No IOUs. That's not how I work. You're not a friend, you're barely a client. I don't know you," he replied firmly.
I considered putting pressure on him but stopped myself. He was just a guy doing his job. The criminals in this city might deserve what's coming to them, but he didn't.
"Fine. I get it. Then just make me look… not like a cop," I said.
"That'll be around a thousand eddies," he replied.
My visor flashed red. I'd seen the price. He was trying to jack it up. He noticed my glare immediately.
"...Including reverse pigment restoration," he added quickly, smoothing it over.
"Perfect. Do it," I said, laying back on the cold metal slab.
Some of my external parts were removed and replaced. Robotic arms hovered over me, repainting my body. The black finish gave me a much more aggressive look.
[image]
Seeing my new body, I could safely say I didn't look like a cop anymore. Hopefully, that would be enough to pass unnoticed.
"I'll be back tomorrow to repaint it," I said, nodded in thanks, and stepped out.
My plan was simple. Judging by how those three Valentinos clammed up at the mention of the fixer, he had to be tied to them closely. Which meant the best place to find answers was where they hung out. The easiest way in? Make myself useful. With any luck, they'd let me into their little underground brawl club.
My insurance? Firepower. If anything went sideways, I needed an exit. First thing on the list smoke grenades. Explosives were useless. I'd take out a couple fighters, but the rest would dogpile me. Running would be the smarter play.
I found the nearest gun shop and headed over. The place was small, but every inch of wall space was packed with hardware. I got to work picking out what I needed.
"Good afternoon. I need smoke grenades and 9mm rounds," I said.
"Give me a sec," the clerk replied. He rummaged under the counter and came back with a box of ammo and a case of grenades. "Here you go."
I gave everything a quick once-over the rounds matched my weapon. I paid 700 eddies for the lot: fifty bullets and two grenades. As ready as I'd ever be. Evening was creeping in. Time to shake things up a bit.
I checked my balance only 550 eddies left. That hundred-thousand? Still a pipe dream. I'd have to find other ways to make cash.
Pulling up the map, I found the basketball court. Sure enough, it was swarming with Valentinos. A ridiculous number of them. As much as I hated criminals, I had to admit I liked their fashion sense. Stylish bastards.
No one stopped me as I walked right up to the edge of the fighting ring. The entrance itself was guarded, but as long as I stayed outside, nobody seemed to care. My visor zoomed in good enough for recon.
More and more people showed up. The shouting started. I spotted the bookie taking bets on fighters. A list of names lit up on a screen behind him, showing their win/loss records. New names kept popping up it looked like a mix of veterans and rookies. There was some kind of tournament bracket. Newbies fought each other; the best of them got a shot at the legends.
As night fell, the first fights began. And they were brutal.
One guy went down hard and his opponent didn't stop. He kept pounding the body, merciless, until someone pulled him off. The guy on the ground barely clung to life. His face was pulp.
I scanned the crowd, looking for the person I needed. No luck. But I was narrowing it down. Most of the small-time punks were easy to identify basic rap sheets, minor stuff. None of them were important. Which meant I needed to find people either too obscure or too powerful to show up in police records. A fixer, by definition, had to be a ghost someone who operated in the shadows. No way he'd leave a digital footprint in any database.
"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight you'll witness our reigning champion! A monster in human skin, a beast of the streets! Give it up for… SANDVORD!" the announcer bellowed.
The crowd roared. A massive brute stepped into the ring at least two meters tall, built like a gorilla. His muscles were synthetic, his fists looked like they could crush a ribcage through body armor.
"And facing him a challenger who may not look like much, but don't let appearances fool you. He's packed with rage, and he's ready to unleash it!" the announcer continued, gesturing toward a man stepping into the light.
Immediately, I caught something strange in his profile. Ex-military. But there was an implant on him one my scanner couldn't even identify. Just a blinking error. That was new. Never seen anything like it. Then his eyes locked on mine. Just for a second. Hm. Felt that?
"Now prepare yourselves for a fight to the death! Fighters, ready?" the announcer shouted.
Both men nodded. The announcer raised his hand.
"Then let the bloodbath begin!"
The crowd lost its mind. The fighters dropped into their stances.