The location where the stolen equipment had been stored was well protected. However, the perpetrators clearly used a plasma cutter, as evidenced by the melted edges of the metal. A hole in the gate matched the dimensions of the stolen goods perfectly, which meant the thieves knew exactly what they were after and where it was kept.
While reviewing the security logs, I noticed a brief systems failure: the sensors didn't trigger at all. Upon closer inspection, I found them scorched burned out completely. A sudden voltage spike must've fried them. But then, why didn't the RCD (Residual Current Device) trip?
I headed to the electrical room. At first glance, everything looked normal no visible damage. I needed to check the surveillance footage to see who had accessed the panel before the incident.
"Any leads yet?" asked Mr. Griven, the company's representative, approaching from behind.
"Nothing conclusive so far," I replied. When you don't know who breached the system or who the accomplices are, everyone's a suspect. But before jumping to conclusions, I needed to review the surveillance logs. "I'll need access to your security camera footage."
"This way," said Griven, leading me to the security room. It was empty just an automated monitoring system running on its own. But that raised another question: why hadn't it triggered an alert either?
"Was there a system breach?" I asked.
"No, impossible," Griven said firmly. "This is a top-of-the-line system. Hackers wouldn't be able to get through."
Statements like that always raise red flags. There's no such thing as an unbreachable system. You just need to know how to get in.
I started combing through the footage, analyzing each interaction with key infrastructure. Once I'd gathered what I needed, I disconnected and left the room.
I tapped into the police surveillance network, tracing traffic cams and street feeds to follow the truck's route where it had stopped, how it moved.
"Thanks for your cooperation. I'll be in touch once I have more details," I told Mr. Griven.
"You might want to work fast," he replied. "We've got a major deal in the pipeline. If we don't recover the equipment within two days, we lose the contract. I trust you understand the seriousness of this."
"I'll do my best," I assured him but a thought lingered in my mind. "Is the cargo insured?"
"Yes," he nodded. "But the insurance only covers part of the value."
So there was insurance. The picture wasn't complete yet, but I had some threads to pull on.
One of the key persons of interest was Richard Thompson an electrician who had been repeatedly logged in the breaker room. According to the records, he'd called in sick today. I traced his address, fortunately not far from the warehouse.
Standing outside his apartment door, I rang the bell.
"Richard Thompson, open up," I called loudly.
A minute passed. No answer. Then, a sudden noise inside put me on edge. I kicked the door open just as I saw a shadow flick past the window.
Rushing to it, I spotted Thompson sprinting down the street. I drew my pistol, took aim, and fired a single shot. The stun round hit dead-on, dropping him like a rag doll his muscles instantly locked up.
I calmly made my way outside and approached the small gathering crowd.
"Why'd you run?" I asked the downed man. He couldn't respond his jaw was locked tight from the shock. A quick scan confirmed he'd sustained no serious injuries just temporary paralysis. "Guess being an electrician didn't save you from electricity."
I called for a patrol car, which showed up minutes later to take him in. Things would've been easier if I had my own vehicle. Unfortunately, I could only use a department car with a senior detective. Hopefully, that would change soon.
I had a few minutes to spare, so I decided to visit the location where the truck had been left. Scanning the area, I noticed several surveillance cameras. After reviewing the footage, something didn't sit right the vehicle that drove off from the scene clearly wasn't built to handle six tons of cargo. Suspicious.
The truck itself yielded no clues.
Incoming call: Rebecca MoniqueAccept / Decline?
So the electrician had been interrogated. Rebecca occasionally helped me with that sort of thing.
"Matthew, your guy slipped up," she said. "He was paid two thousand eddies to sabotage the power system. Claims he doesn't know who paid him, though."
"Thanks for the help," I replied.
"No problem," she said curtly, and ended the call.
So, it all checked out. The electrician had indeed been involved though maybe he didn't fully understand what his actions would lead to. Once he realized the mess he was in, he probably decided to lay low, which only made him look more suspicious.
The mercs were likely hired through fixers. But fixers don't give up their clients. Trying to reach the culprits through them would be a waste of time.
Current situation:
Cargo worth 400,000 eddies was delivered to the warehouse.
One week later, the robbery occurred.
The warehouse electrician accepted a bribe to damage the security system.
The criminals exploited the breach to break in.
They cut through the wall, grabbed the goods, and vanished.
Now, I had to figure out who took the job and where the cargo ended up.
"Insured cargo, huh?" I muttered. The insurance only covered 100K barely a quarter of the value. Sure, it wouldn't fully compensate the loss, but it was still strange that such a valuable shipment had such lax protection.
I headed to the scrapyard. That place could bury anything. Finding something specific there was next to impossible. Towers of waste loomed outside the city, the stench strong enough to take down even the toughest stomach. Good thing I didn't have a sense of smell.
I was looking for locals. Some call them the bottom of the barrel I call them sources. One such "informant" was passed out on a pile of scrap, clutching the cheapest bottle of alcohol credits could buy. I walked over, created a small arc of static between my fingers, and jabbed him in the ribs. He jerked upright like he'd been kicked.
"Gah! What the hell, man what the actual"
"Green jeep. Been through here?" I asked, showing him a photo.
"Go to hell, you" he didn't finish. Another zap reminded him who was in charge.
"Answer the question. No theatrics. Hundred eddies," I said calmly. He was just trying to haggle.
"Alright, alright, maybe I did see it," he said, smirking. "But for a hundred and fifty, my memory gets clearer."
I raised my hand again, letting a bit of current crackle between my fingers. His attitude evaporated.
"Okay! Jeez, fine. I saw that jeep. They stripped it for parts. Not much to strip though it was barely holding together."
"It was damaged?" I asked.
"Hell yeah. Thing was falling apart. Looked like it'd been through a warzone," he muttered.
The cargo… If it was in that jeep, where the hell did it go? Or was it never there?
"Show me what's left," I ordered.
"There's nothing left, man. It's scrap," he shrugged.
He led me to where the jeep's frame had been. Corrosion stains and the wreck's condition confirmed what I'd suspected there was no way this vehicle could've carried the weight it supposedly had.
I handed him a chipped credstick with the promised hundred. He grinned, checked the balance, and shuffled off.
Things were getting interesting.
*******************************
Night City's black market was unlike any other. You could buy and sell literally anything here if there's a buyer, the product always appears. The only rule? Everything has a price.
I put on my disguise I needed to remain unseen. The market didn't have a fixed location. Most deals happened on the Net, but there were also designated zones with physical "stalls," if you could call them that.
The Pit this place was a city within a city, with its own rules and laws. Getting through the checkpoint wasn't an issue. My forged pass held up just fine. As I walked through the chaos, I couldn't help but think of my hometown. They'd walled off their slums too, thinking it would keep the rot from spreading.
I was looking for a particular stall: "Bits & Bobs", run by Eric Stone, a trader known for moving industrial hardware. If anyone had seen new equipment come through he would know.
Reaching his booth, I flipped through the digital catalog. Nothing I needed showed up.
Guess I'd have to do it the old-fashioned way time to talk.