David Martinez

  Misty jogged past me and stepped out of the Esoterica, gesturing for me to follow. I did, and it wasn’t long before I realized we weren’t going far. Just outside the shop was a small food stand, the scent of fried noodles wafting through the air. I glanced around, finally noticing the overwhelming theme of the area. Yeah, this was Little China, no doubt. Every sign, every aroma, even the music playing faintly in the background screamed Asia, and that's Watson for you. I've never been here in person, but I can see the appeal.

  The stand in front of us was no exception.

  Noodles. A staple I was all too familiar with.

  At least they didn’t have burritos mixed in.

  There was a bulky guy sitting at the stand—a tall, broad-shouldered dude with tattoos that screamed Valentino. He was hunched over a steaming bowl of noodles, devouring it with gusto. The stand’s owner worked behind the counter, tossing noodles into another sizzling pan, prepping for the next customer. I couldn’t help but notice the Valentino’s ponytail. It didn’t really suit him, but hey, I’ve seen worse looks in Night City.

  Misty walked right up to the guy, her pace quick, her tone sharp. The way he started slurping faster to finish his meal told me all I needed to know about their dynamic.

  “Jackie! I told you to stop eating this stuff,” Misty said, her greeting quickly morphing into a lecture.

  “But, chica, they’re good. And you know it,” Jackie countered, pointing his chopsticks at her for emphasis.

  Misty crossed her arms, but a small grin tugged at her lips. “I’m in a good mood today, so I’ll let it slide. For now.”

  “Oh, so what happened? Got yourself a customer?” Jackie asked, his tone teasing but genuinely curious.

  “Actually, yes. I did.” Misty nodded, gesturing toward me. “This boy right here. Gave him a soul reading, and he said it was the best thing that ever happened to him.”

  “That’s not exactly—”

  “The best thing that ever happened to him,” Misty repeated, glaring at me just enough to shut me up.

  Yeah, I wasn’t going to argue with her.

  Jackie turned his attention to me, smiling wide and easy, his demeanor preem and charismatic. “And who’s this? One of Vik’s patients?”

  “David Martinez,” I said, mirroring his nod. “Never met a Valentino this… chill before.”

  “Former Valentino,” Misty corrected with a pointed finger. “Though he still has plenty of friends in Heywood.”

  “Can’t argue with her,” Jackie chuckled, slurping more noodles. “So, what brings you to me? Checking on my wellbeing, or did you miss this handsome hombre?”

  “I always worry about you, Jackie.” Misty shook her head, her smile softening. “But this time, I need a favor. Well, he does.”

  Jackie raised a brow, glancing between us. “If it’s something I can help with, consider it done.”

  I took a step forward, trying to sound confident even though I felt anything but. “I’m, uh, in need of eddies. You know anyone with gigs? Something quick and… not too crazy?”

  Jackie tilted his head, sizing me up. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Seventeen?” He gave me a skeptical look. “You ever done a gig before? Ever held an iron?”

  “Oh, come on, Jackie,” Misty cut in before I could reply. “Give him some credit. You’re in your thirties now, but didn’t you start around his age? Everyone’s gotta start somewhere.”

  “Misty, I love you, but I can’t take on a ni?o with no experience just because you asked me to.” Jackie’s tone was careful but firm. “What if he gets hurt? Or worse, flatlined? He’s got family, right? What would I tell his mama if her kid didn’t come back from a merc job?”

  "Actually," I start, scratching the back of my head awkwardly, "that’s part of why I’m asking. My mom’s with Vik—she won’t wake up for a couple days. I’ve got to cover rent, food, bills, and fix some Academy stuff I trashed right before… we needed a Ripperdoc."

  The words come out before I can stop them, and I instantly regret it. It sounds desperate, maybe even forced—like I’m using my mom’s situation as leverage. But what choice do I have? I’m asking to be thrown into danger for her sake. Vomi said she wouldn’t charge me for her work, but I can’t depend on charity. I need to step up, take responsibility, and face the consequences of my own actions. If I don’t, how can I ever make sure the people I care about—my family—are safe?

  Jackie lets out a heavy sigh, studying me for a long moment before finally speaking.

  “All right,” he says, voice firm, “I’ve got something lined up today. You can help, but you follow my lead. Do what I say, when I say it. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I reply without hesitation.

  “You’re lucky it’s Misty who asked. If it wasn’t her, I wouldn’t even be considering this.” He shoots Misty a knowing glance, and she simply nods in return. “And besides,” Jackie continues with a smirk, “you’re a customer. Gotta give good customer service, right?”

  “That doesn’t even make sense, Jackie,” Misty deadpans, crossing her arms. “Well, I’m heading back to the Esoterica. You two try not to get yourselves killed.”

  “Catch you later,” Jackie says with a casual wave as he slurps up the last of his noodles. He wipes his mouth and stands. “All right, let’s go. We’ve got to hit Kabuki. Regina—the fixer around here—finally tossed me a gig. Took a lot of work to get her attention, so don’t screw this up for me.”

  “Wait,” I ask, caught off guard. “Regina? You mean the Regina Jones?”

  Jackie grins, a hint of pride in his expression. “That’s right, cabrón. So don’t mess this up.”

  I swallow hard, trying not to let my nerves show. Regina Jones doesn’t just work with anyone. Either Jackie is damn good at what he does, or he got ridiculously lucky. Fixers like her don’t hand out gigs on a whim—especially not to rookies. In Santo Domingo, I’d heard about Muamar Reyes, the fixer there, and how he only took on jobs that aligned with his goals. Regina’s reputation wasn’t much different.

  “Don’t worry,” I say, more to myself than to Jackie. “I won’t mess this up.”

  I can’t afford to.

  Watson’s no joke. The streets are crawling with danger, and one wrong move could get us both flatlined. Between Maelstrom and Tyger Claws tearing each other apart, there’s no margin for error.

  Yeah, the Afterlife’s here, a place where legends are made. But let’s face it—only the real Edgerunners get that far. For now, I’m just trying to survive.

  Jackie takes the lead, his pace steady, while I trail behind, glancing over my shoulder every so often. I can’t shake the feeling we’re being watched. If Netrunners are right—and they usually are—if they don’t know something, it might as well not exist. So I stay alert, scanning for anything out of place.

  What surprises me, though, is how sharp my awareness has become. It’s not just paranoia—I can feel the flow of the crowd, see which spots would make the best cover, or figure out the quickest escape route if things went south. I notice people who seem out of place, vantage points above us that could spell trouble, and even how many steps I’ve taken since the noodle stand.

  It’s… strange. I’ve never had this kind of clarity before. It feels alien, but at the same time, I know it’ll be invaluable. The edge it gives me is undeniable, and I can’t help but grin.

  So preem.

  Jackie veers off the main street, weaving through side alleys, until we arrive at Megabuilding 11, right by the Trauma Team Tower—better known as TTT. We step into the building’s elevator, and I catch a broadcast from the mounted screen. The anchor claims “crime rates are dropping in the streets,” before taking a jab at the NCPD for failing to secure highways, alleys, and other hotspots. The camera cuts to an embarrassed officer fumbling through excuses, and Jackie finally breaks the silence.

  “Good job watching my back,” he says, pressing the button for the tenth floor. His tone is casual, but there’s a trace of approval. “Shows you’ve got some self-preservation instincts.”

  “Uh… thanks?” I say with a shrug, unsure if it’s a compliment or a dig.

  Jackie smirks but doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he launches into the details of the gig. “Here’s the deal. Client says his weapons stash got stolen. He tracked it down to this megabuilding, but between his job and schedule, he can’t deal with it himself. And it seems like he doesn’t have a crew to back him up, either.”

  “Who took it? Tyger Claws?” I ask.

  “Most likely.” Jackie nods. “They’ve been licking their wounds since their war with Maelstrom a few months back. Things are quiet between them now, but it’s more of a ceasefire so they can rebuild than any real peace.”

  “So… a stash of weapons? Gotta be for something big,” I reason. Gangs rarely hoard guns for anything other than chaos.

  “Could be. Could also be nothing,” Jackie says with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant but not quite selling it. “Point is, both gangs are in recovery mode. And you know what that means.”

  “They’re preparing for the worst-case scenario,” I finish for him.

  “Exactly.” Jackie’s tone turns grim. “NCPD’s been reeling ever since their little war with Barghest, and now that they’re trying to get back on their feet, the gangs are doing the same. Everyone’s bracing for a storm.”

  “And you think this ‘little honest job’ is gonna change that?” I ask, raising a skeptical brow.

  Jackie grins, clearly amused. “Eh, honest is relative, hermano. But we can make a difference, even if it’s just getting paid while doing it.”

  “Right. Honest,” I mutter, shaking my head.

  Jackie wasn’t wrong. Without the iron to back up their bark, a gang’s as good as dead, which means one less problem on the streets—or maybe just a new one taking its place. As the elevator doors slid open, we stepped onto the floor and began our search for a likely spot to stash the stolen goods.

  Jackie, however, made it look effortless. He slipped into the crowd seamlessly, chatting with strangers, commenting on their clothes or shops, and even pausing to banter with people hanging around stairwells. Meanwhile, I followed awkwardly behind, not knowing what else to do. I didn’t know this Megabuilding at all, so I stuck close and tried not to look too lost.

  When he stopped to talk to yet another person, I groaned in mock frustration, but I knew what he was doing. We weren’t trying to disappear—we were hiding in plain sight. By acting casual and drawing just enough attention to ourselves, we became another forgettable part of the background. Jackie was a pro at this kind of thing, and I figured I’d better play along.

  So I asked a few halfhearted questions, shuffled my feet like I was bored, and leaned into the role of “choom following a local.” Which wasn’t far from the truth. Hey, at least it felt authentic.

  Eventually, we wandered into a quieter section of the building. The crowd thinned out, replaced by storage warehouses, industrial equipment, and machinery I didn’t recognize. Jackie stopped by a corner and turned to me, striking up some small talk.

  “So, where do you live?”

  “Arroyo. Megabuilding H,” I answered. “The folks there love public BDs. XBDs too, more often than not.” I paused, recalling my daily walks to Arasaka Academy. One of the few things I liked about Arroyo was the chance to clear my head. “What about you?”

  Jackie snorted. “Heywood. My girl says I’ve got too many friends there—old connections and all that. People still respect me, even if I ain’t a Valentino anymore. My Mamacita lives there, so I try to help her out when I can. Compreende?”

  “Yeah, I get it.” I nodded, catching the meaning beneath his words.

  It was clever—part conversation, part security measure. We kept things vague, not giving away exact locations in case anyone was tailing us.

  Then he caught me off guard. “You said your mom’s sick or something?”

  I hesitated before answering, the memory still raw. “Car crash. Some Animals were gunning for a corpo, and we got caught in the crossfire. She’s alive, but barely.” I clenched my fists, bitterness creeping into my voice. “I woke up with nothing but a few bruises. She wasn’t in the car when I came to.”

  Jackie’s face softened, though I couldn’t tell if it was genuine or part of the act. “Shit. That’s why you asked for help, huh? Glad Vik and Vomi could patch her up.”

  “A lot of reasons for me to raise some eddies,” I muttered, glancing over my shoulder toward the path we’d taken. I kicked a stray can, watching it clatter across the floor. “Still don’t know if I’ll make it. Can’t say I’ll pull it off.”

  We fell into a heavy silence, the kind that felt both thoughtful and tense. A group passed by the corner, murmuring among themselves, their voices low. Something about them prickled at the edge of my awareness.

  Then it hit me. The patches, the augments, the way they carried themselves—they weren’t Tyger Claws.

  They were Maelstrom.

  “Oh, that’s definitely a clue,” I muttered under my breath.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  We let the group walk out of sight, waiting until the coast was clear before Jackie pulled me aside. “Alright, didn’t expect Maelstrom to be here.”

  “Me neither,” I replied, though my surprise wasn’t the same as his.

  I could feel their presence even when they were out of sight, like I had some invisible radar. I knew exactly where they were, whether they were disguised, and without a doubt, I’d pegged them as Strom with just a glance.

  When did my senses get this sharp? Was it the pathogen Vomi gave me? If so… this ability was powerful—but dangerous. I’d have to keep my head on straight if I wanted to control it. I shook the thought away and refocused on the task.

  The weapon stash could’ve belonged to either Maelstrom or Tyger Claws, but with Strom showing up first, the odds pointed to them.

  Jackie motioned for me to follow him, and we made our way past a maze of makeshift fences, broken furniture, and crumbling warehouses. He stopped near an open elevator shaft, gesturing toward it. At first glance, it looked deactivated, rusted, and falling apart. But then I noticed what was going on—and had to stop myself from facepalming.

  What do people normally do when an elevator shaft is out of commission?

  A normal person would block it off, right? Maybe forget it exists?

  Not the Tyger Claws.

  They’d turned it into some kind of climbing test for recruits. The shaft had ropes, footholds, and other gear rigged up, with gang members scaling it like they were training for some post-apocalyptic ninja warrior competition. Above the shaft was another store filled with warehouses, guarded and busier than any area we’d seen so far. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the stash was probably up there.

  I sighed. “This is unnecessarily complicated, even for them.”

  Jackie smirked. “They’re either complete gonks or geniuses. No in-between.” He scanned the area, then pointed. “But we don’t need to get into a shootout with them. Look over there.”

  I followed his finger and spotted a terminal outside the shaft. It looked like it controlled the elevator, but it was smack in the middle of the Tygers’ territory, with members milling around it.

  “I see it,” I said, “but how does that help?”

  “I’ve been in this Megabuilding before. That elevator? It’s just stuck in the shaft, higher up. If you can sneak over there and override the controls, you could drop it down here. That’ll scare the hell out of those putos, and I’ll take care of anyone thrown off by the noise.”

  “Wait, let me get this straight,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to sneak all the way over there just to make noise?”

  “Exactly.”

  I gestured at my bright yellow jacket. “And how am I supposed to sneak in this? I look like a walking hazard light!”

  Jackie chuckled, clearly amused by my frustration. “Use your head, cabrón. This isn’t to draw their attention to us—it’s to draw attention to them.”

  “...W-wha?”

  He rolled his eyes. “The Maelstrom from earlier?”

  It clicked immediately. “They wouldn’t just send two guys to track down this stash.”

  “Exactly,” Jackie said, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “The noise will bring Maelstrom right to the Tygers.”

  “Huh,” I muttered, genuinely impressed. “So we make them fight each other.”

  “There you go,” he said, giving me a firm slap on the shoulder. “Now all you gotta do is get over there and drop the elevator.”

  “In this jacket?” I gestured to my obnoxiously bright yellow attire.

  Jackie smirked. “You realize you can just take it off, right?”

  “And why don’t you do it?”

  He motioned to his large frame.

  I didn’t even need further clarification. Big guy, big noises. Of course…

  I sigh, shrugging off my mom’s jacket and carefully setting it aside before jumping down. The moment my feet hit the ground, I noticed how light I felt, how smooth and precise my landing was. It was uncanny—like my body had been fine-tuned without me realizing it.

  The moment I darted toward cover, it became even clearer. Every step felt controlled, purposeful. My balance was perfect, as if there were no possibility of tripping or stumbling. It wasn’t just movement; it was instinct, like I was made for this.

  Resting my back against a wall, I took a quick peek around the corner, scanning the area for a path to the terminal. The Tygers were milling about, some lounging near the shaft, others moving crates or chatting. They didn’t seem to be on high alert, but there was still enough movement to make sneaking past them a challenge.

  I mapped out a route in my head, noting every piece of cover I could use. A stack of crates to the left. A low railing to vault over. A shadowy corner just out of their direct line of sight. Piece by piece, I planned it out.

  “Alright,” I muttered to myself. “Let’s see if this body can back up the hype.”

  I waited for an opening—one Tyger turned to grab something from a nearby shelf, and another wandered off to light a cigarette. With a deep breath, I launched myself forward, staying low and quick.

  Ooooohhhhhh, choom, let me tell you—my body feels preem.

  Even without looking, I could feel everyone’s presence, their movements, their positions. Using this newfound awareness, I darted to my first hiding spot: a stack of crates with just enough of an opening to slip inside if I needed to. My footsteps were eerily silent—like I’d swapped my legs for Lynx Paws. Was I always this stealthy? This focused? I felt calm, locked in, like I’d been doing this my whole life.

  Peeking through the gaps in the crates, I noticed a Tyger standing off to the side, isolated. Easy target. If I wanted a piece for myself, this was my chance. I waited, timing my move until the others were distracted and the path was clear.

  Showtime.

  I darted forward, fast and quiet, vaulting over a table and tackling the guy from behind. My arms locked around his neck, squeezing with just enough pressure to knock him out before he could react. His hands flailed, scrabbling at my arms and his iron, but I kept my grip, dragging us both down to avoid being seen. The struggle didn’t last long. Once I was sure he was out cold, I let go and grabbed his piece—a Lexington. Not exactly nova, but better than nothing.

  Scanning the area again, I saw my window. The other Tygers hadn’t noticed a thing. An almost-clear shot to the terminal. Almost. I spotted a soda can nearby, picked it up, and chucked it across the room.

  CRASH.

  The can exploded on impact, spraying soda everywhere. Perfect. The Tygers immediately turned, cursing in Japanese, and headed over to check the noise. With them distracted, I slipped to the terminal and jacked in. Luckily, no hacking was needed—I’m no Netrunner—but a quick tap was all it took to send the stuck elevator plummeting down the shaft.

  SCREEEEEECH.

  The noise was deafening, the metal-on-metal screech echoing like nails on a chalkboard. I didn’t stick around to admire my handiwork.

  Time to delta.

  Retracing my steps, I vaulted over crates and climbed back up to where Jackie was waiting. My heart pounded, but my movements felt smooth and controlled. I pulled my mom’s jacket back on, checked the cyberware tucked inside, and nodded to Jackie. Everything was still intact. No problems here.

  And, well, it didn’t take long for Maelstrom to crash the party.

  The entire “parkour course” setup crumbled under the elevator’s impact, debris scattered everywhere, and chaos quickly ensued. As expected, Strom didn’t waste a second. The moment they showed up, they opened fire, shredding through the Tygers without so much as a warning. Honestly? Kind of perfect for us.

  “Now, we wait until one side’s weaker than the other,” Jackie muttered, keeping his eyes on the shootout. His tone was cool, calculated. “If we try sneaking in now, we’ll just end up in someone’s crossfire.”

  “Speaking from personal experience?” I shot back, raising a brow.

  Jackie smirked, shrugging. “Eeeehhh… more times than I can count.”

  That pulled a laugh out of me despite the situation. I couldn’t even blame him—I didn’t want to catch a stray bullet either.

  We stayed low, watching the chaos unfold as the Strom and Tygers duked it out. Bullets flew, concrete chipped, and screams of pain echoed through the space. It was a mess, but it was a mess working in our favor. All we had to do was wait for the right moment to move in.

  Jackie had to admit it—the kid was good.

  He watched how David moved through the Tyger Claws with precision. The kid waited when he needed to, kept things simple, and created distractions at just the right moments. Hell, he even took down a guy without making a sound. If Misty had told Jackie that David was trying to make a name for himself in the streets again, he’d believe it. But this? This wasn’t some punk kid winging it—this was either raw talent, insane luck, or serious skill.

  Not that it really mattered to Jackie, as long as it worked in his favor.

  The kid was doing what he could for his mother, and Jackie respected that. Made him think David might even be worth trusting. And, honestly? Having someone like him around could be useful. Jackie wasn’t exactly known for being stealthy—he was more of a hustler, all brute force and swagger. But having someone who could get in and out unseen? Yeah, that could make things easier.

  Still, this was just their first gig together. Jackie wasn’t ready to call it yet. Maybe David had lucked out this time. Maybe it was beginner’s luck. Either way, he’d keep an eye on the kid before making any decisions.

  Meanwhile, the shootout between Maelstrom and the Tyger Claws raged on. Both sides were thinning out fast, each losing more numbers by the second. Jackie saw his chance and motioned for David to follow him. They took a side route to the shaft, now clear thanks to all the chaos drawing attention elsewhere.

  They climbed down cautiously, sticking to the shadows and staying low in case someone spotted them. Eventually, they reached a maintenance entrance near the base of the shaft. It was one of those utility doors left open for engineers to inspect the lift’s mechanics. Conveniently, the Tygers had left it wide open when the firefight started.

  The two slipped inside and began ascending the staircase, the dimly lit path winding its way up to the store above. They moved quietly, careful not to draw any unwanted attention. Jackie could feel the tension in the air, but if David was nervous, he wasn’t showing it.

  Finally, they reached the top, stepping into the storage level above. Now came the tricky part.

  “Where the hell is the stash?”, Jackie murmured, since there is no clear indicator of it.

  “Well, if we were storing it, where would we put it?”, David asked, looking around as if it would answer the question.

  Jackie rubbed his chin, scanning the room. It was a maze of crates, shelves, and industrial equipment, all haphazardly arranged like some corpo’s fever dream of efficiency.

  “If it were me?” Jackie muttered, taking a step forward. “I’d put it somewhere outta sight. Locked up tight. Maybe booby-trapped if I really wanted to keep gonks out.”

  David nodded, but his eyes were already darting around, scanning every corner. “Alright, but where’s the most inconvenient spot? Like, the place no one would bother checking unless they knew exactly where to look?”

  Jackie smirked. “Now you’re thinking like a real hustler.”

  They split up, moving cautiously through the room. Jackie checked the obvious spots—large containers, locked storage units, anything that looked remotely suspicious. Meanwhile, David moved with surprising fluidity, weaving between cluttered shelves and peeking into crevices.

  Then David froze.

  “Hey, Jackie,” he whispered, motioning for him to come over.

  Jackie jogged up behind him, crouching down as David pointed to a set of crates stacked against the far wall. At first glance, they looked like ordinary storage, but something about their arrangement seemed…off. The crates weren’t aligned with the rest of the room’s clutter. In fact, they seemed deliberately placed to block something.

  “Think it’s behind there?” Jackie asked.

  David shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

  They both got to work, quietly shifting the crates aside. It didn’t take long before they revealed a heavy, reinforced door embedded in the wall.

  “Bingo,” Jackie muttered, a wide grin spreading across his face.

  David inspected the door. It was locked, of course, with a keypad glowing faintly on the side. He glanced back at Jackie.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know the code, would you?” David asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Jackie snorted. “Do I look like a netrunner? Nah, but I got my own way of handling these things.”

  He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, cylindrical device. “Tech scrambler,” he said, holding it up like a trophy. “Should short out the lock—if we’re lucky.”

  David stepped back, giving Jackie room to work. “And if we’re not lucky?”

  Jackie shrugged.

  Which didn't really give David confidence.

  However, with a confident grin, Jackie slapped the scrambler onto the keypad and activated it. The device buzzed and hissed, sparks flying as it worked its magic. The lock clicked, and the door creaked open a few inches.

  “Looks like our luck’s holding out,” Jackie said, pushing the door open wider.

  Beyond the door was a dimly lit room, its walls lined with shelves overflowing with weapons. Rifles, pistols, explosives—you name it, it was here.

  David let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s one way to arm a gang.”

  Jackie grinned, stepping inside. “Yeah, and now we make sure they don’t get to use any of it.” He motioned to a set of duffel bags near the door. “Grab those, and we’ll start—oh, you’re already on it.”

  David was already loading up the bags without missing a beat, moving with the kind of efficiency Jackie couldn’t help but admire. Rifles and shotguns went to Jackie, while David handled the SMGs, pistols, and explosives. They worked fast, the minutes ticking away as the sound of the firefight outside dwindled to unsettling silence.

  When the last weapon was packed, Jackie hoisted the heavier bags onto his shoulders with a grunt. “Alright, let’s delta—before whatever’s left out there finds us.”

  As they stepped out of the stash, the eerie quiet of the warehouse set David on edge. Not a soul in sight, but that didn’t mean they were alone.

  “It’s too quiet,” David muttered, scanning the area.

  “What do you—gah!” Jackie stumbled, his optics suddenly going dark. He cursed under his breath. “Reboot Optics? Again? Carajo, I thought I patched this exploit!”

  David grabbed Jackie by the arm and yanked him behind a stack of crates just as a burst of gunfire tore through the air, narrowly missing them. His mind raced as he crouched low, clutching his Lexington.

  “Nova over there, Jackie?” David asked, glancing at him. Strangely, he wasn’t panicking—something about this whole situation felt oddly manageable.

  “Someone’s hacking my optics,” Jackie growled, fumbling with his interface. “Trying to reverse it—gimme a sec.”

  David kept his focus on their surroundings, his awareness dialed up to eleven. “I don’t see anyone. Where’s the hacker?”

  “Cameras,” Jackie managed, his voice tense. “They can quickhack through the cameras.”

  David’s head snapped up. He traced the room with his eyes until he spotted it: a small camera mounted in the corner, barely visible.

  “Fuck, there’s a camera inside the stash,” David hissed.

  “Of course there is,” Jackie spat, his fingers working furiously to counter the quickhack. “Gonk move not to check for one. Puta madre.”

  Jackie finally nullified the hack, his vision returning just in time to see a muzzle flash in the distance. He ducked instinctively as a bullet grazed the crate beside him.

  “Chingada madre!” Jackie cursed, pulling out his Nue pistol. David, gripping his Lexington, crouched lower.

  “Guess we’re not walking out of here,” David muttered.

  Jackie grinned, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Nah, kid. We’re gonna send whoever’s out there to meet their maker.”

  Jackie stepped up, firing a few shots into the open air, aiming to flush out their hidden attacker. The ploy worked, but only partially—bullets whizzed back almost immediately, forcing Jackie to duck behind cover before one could clip his face. He couldn’t pinpoint where the shots came from, and when he turned to strategize with David, the kid wasn’t beside him anymore.

  Jackie’s heart skipped. “Where the hell—”

  David, however, was already on the move, darting to another position. Unlike Jackie, he had caught sight of their attacker, though how he managed that was beyond him.

  “Gotta keep moving,” Jackie muttered to himself. Staying in one spot too long meant painting a target on your back, and grenades were no joke.

  David popped up from his new cover, firing his Lexington in short bursts. “Jackie! Move!”

  Jackie didn’t hesitate, bolting to a better position. The shots gave him a rough idea of where the Netrunner was—a safe alley at the far end of the warehouse, positioned for long-range firing. As Jackie hunkered down, he took a moment to observe David. For a rookie, the kid was… surprisingly decent. His aim wasn’t stellar, but it wasn’t scattershot either. There was precision in his movements, a focus that Jackie couldn’t ignore.

  Luck, talent, or skill? Jackie wondered again. Whatever it was, it worked.

  The two settled into a rhythm. Jackie laid down suppressing fire while David sprinted to the next piece of cover, then swapped roles. Slowly but surely, they closed the gap between themselves and their target.

  But the Netrunner wasn’t stupid. He could see the pair advancing, and with his limited space to maneuver, retreat wasn’t an option. Instead, he fired back, halting their progress. Jackie and David ducked as bullets cracked against metal crates, scattering sparks and shrapnel.

  Now, the fight had reached a stalemate. The Netrunner had the advantage of his tech—he didn’t need to rely on bullets alone to win. Jackie and David were pinned, and every second they spent under fire was another second the Netrunner could use to hack them, disable their gear, or worse.

  “Kid,” Jackie said, keeping his head low, “we need a plan fast, or this gonk’s gonna fry us both.”

  David glanced at him, then at their surroundings, calculating their next move. “I might have something… but it’s risky.”

  Jackie chuckled grimly. “Risky’s our middle name, choom. Lay it on me.”

  “Fine, then stay here.”

  “Wait, what are you—”

  Before Jackie could finish, David sprang into action, leaping onto a wall and bounding from one surface to another like a pro. In a matter of seconds, he grabbed the edge of the warehouse rooftop and pulled himself up. Jackie watched, half-impressed and half-incredulous, as David darted across the rooftops, jumping between gaps and even throwing in a somersault for good measure.

  “Kid’s a damn gymnast,” Jackie muttered with a chuckle, shaking his head.

  To give David some breathing room, Jackie drew his Nue and fired blindly from cover, sending random shots toward the Netrunner to keep him distracted. The plan worked. The Maelstrom gonk focused all his attention on Jackie, unloading another burst of suppressive fire in his direction.

  Meanwhile, David closed the distance, moving silently along the rooftops. The Netrunner, oblivious to the danger above him, stayed laser-focused on Jackie.

  Then came the moment.

  BANG.

  The single gunshot echoed through the warehouse. Silence followed.

  Jackie peeked out from his cover, spotting David standing over the now-lifeless Netrunner. The kid held the Lexington in a steady grip, but his face was… off. It wasn’t fear or pride, but a strange mix of confusion and emptiness, like he was processing something he didn’t fully understand. Jackie stepped closer, glancing down at the dead Maelstrom.

  “Don’t worry, kid,” Jackie said, nudging David’s arm lightly. “Bastard had it coming. And trust me, you shouldn’t feel sorry for him. I guarantee he wouldn’t have felt sorry for you.”

  David’s gaze shifted from the body to Jackie, his expression neutral now. “Yeah. Right.”

  He sounded normal—calm, even—but Jackie knew better. The kid was probably reeling, even if he didn’t show it.

  “Well,” Jackie said, slinging one of the duffel bags over his shoulder. “Another gig down. Let’s get these guns back to the client.”

  David nodded silently, following Jackie out.

  “Another job done,” Jackie thought with a grin. He loved this line of work.