David Martinez

  I braced myself for what was coming.

  “AHHHHH! STOP! STOP, YOU ASSHOLE!”

  Jessy's screams filled Doc's clinic. She’d made the brilliant decision to get chromed up here instead of going to her usual Ripperdoc. No idea what was going through her head, but I found it mildly hilarious. See, Doc doesn’t use painkillers, sedatives, or anesthesia during procedures. So when Jessy decided to swap out her hand for a new hacking rig? Well… Doc was in the middle of sawing it off.

  Not literally with a saw, but you get the idea.

  “Keep still,” Doc muttered, trying to cut through, but Jessy wasn’t making it easy.

  “Use a fucking anesthetic, you heartless prick addicted to cheap porn!”

  “That’s a rule of mine! I don’t use that stuff!”

  “WHY?!”

  “THAT'S NOT YOUR BUSINESS!”

  “IT IS WHEN MY BLOOD IS SPILLING ALL OVER YOUR GODDAMN ROOM, YOU CUNT!”

  Me? I was off in the corner with Seven and Anderson, going over the next gig for Task Force Neuron. Vomi still hadn’t shown up, but that didn’t mean I was just gonna sit around. Vik had been more than happy to let me leave—or maybe he just wanted me gone. His place was getting kinda crowded with me, Mom, Ciri, Lev, Panther (who, by the way, was sitting beside me), and now Sasha dropping by every so often.

  Yeah, he probably wanted some space.

  Seven, finally fed up with the yelling, pushed back from the table and stood. “Doc, would you please use the fucking anesthetic before I have my organization confiscate your equipment and send this lovely lady—who will not have a hand—to another Ripperdoc, so we can finally have some peace?”

  “But I—”

  “Would you kindly?” Seven cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument.

  Doc hesitated, glancing at Jessy as she clenched her jaw, doing her best not to scream. After a moment, he let out a sigh and rummaged behind the counter, pulling out an old case of anesthetics. With a pull of the trigger, the tension in Jessy’s face slowly eased as the pain faded.

  I could have told her Doc never used painkillers, but where’s the fun in that?

  “I expect this won’t happen again,” Doc grumbled.

  “Oh, it won’t,” Jessy groaned from the recliner. “Because I’m never buying chrome from you again. What kind of ripper doesn’t use anesthesia?!”

  “Shut up already! I gave you the damn painkillers, didn’t I?”

  “Oh, fuck off.”

  Anderson took off his hat, shaking his head. “This has to be the weirdest bunch I’ve ever had the… opportunity to meet.”

  “Anyway…” Seven sighed, powering on the TV he’d used for the last gig. “Are you ready for the debriefing? I’m on the clock here.”

  I absentmindedly ran my fingers through Panther’s fur. “I’m ready.”

  “Same here,” Anderson nodded.

  “I can pay attention from here,” Jessy called from across the room.

  “Good.” Seven brought up the briefing. “This is a delicate job. To put it simply, we’re running counter-intel. Task Force Neuron has been assigned to infiltrate the NCPD and extract key data.”

  “The police?” Jessy scoffed. “Why?”

  I had to agree. Counter-intel gigs usually involved feeding bad info to enemies, tweaking data, or slipping outdated reports into circulation—spy movie shit. And jobs like this were never handed to just anyone. They required trained professionals, not… well, us.

  “Why not give this to government agents?” I asked as Panther lazily jumped into my lap. I was used to his antics by now. “This isn’t the kind of gig you hand to a bunch of street punks.”

  Anderson added his two ennies. “Even with our backgrounds, I don’t see why we’d be the better option.”

  Seven folded his arms, unfazed. “Because government agents need warrants, paperwork, and oversight. That takes time. Counter-intel is about working fast and leaving no traces. And giving the job to a crew who don’t mind bending the law—who just so happen to ‘find’ the data we need—is much more convenient.”

  Well, unwanted explanation, but alright.

  “And lucrative,” I muttered. “Alright, what are we dealing with?”

  “That’s the thing—we don’t know for sure.” Seven tossed a shard my way, and I caught it mid-air. “We’ve been combing through these files for a while now. Transactions, transportation logs, routes, names—it all looks legit. But there’s a catch.”

  I slotted the shard, letting my optics process the data. At first glance, everything seemed above board. Even with my Arasaka Academy training, I couldn’t spot anything obviously out of place. I copied the files and passed the shard to Anderson, who immediately started scanning through it.

  “What is this? Who are these guys?” Anderson asked after a moment.

  Seven brought up a few slides on the TV. “Judging by their patterns, they’re not from any of the known gangs in Night City. Maybe the Tyger Claws, but it’s not their usual style. None of the gangs—hell, not even some corpos—could run an operation this tight, this organized, and this public without knowing exactly how to make illegal activity look squeaky clean.” He switched slides. “Destinations, vehicle registrations, branding, schedules—it all looks like it belongs to a legitimate business. Maybe even a corporation.”

  “And what exactly makes that suspicious?” Jessy asked. “Unless we’re talking about money laundering, I don’t see why this is worth looking into. Cyberspace data’s been faulty ever since the DataCrash—private servers, scattered archives, corrupted logs—so I can’t put my finger on what’s off about this.”

  “I know what.” I kept my eyes on the data.

  The issue wasn’t the company itself, or even its structure. It was something simpler.

  Profit.

  “And?” Anderson pressed. “What is it?”

  “Let’s say you’ve got a shipment to make,” I said, leaning back. “And that shipment is worth, I don’t know… five, maybe ten thousand eddies.”

  “Okay?”

  “How much would you sell it for?”

  “For twenty, obviously.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. That’s what any trader, merchant, or corpo would do. But this group? They’re selling everything at exactly its market value.”

  Jessy frowned. “Wait—so there’s no profit? Then how the fuck do they make eddies?”

  “That’s what the government wants you to find out,” Seven said, turning to her. “You’re the priority here. The NCPD’s got layers of Black ICE guarding their systems, not to mention an evolving arsenal of Daemons. It’s going to be tricky. But with that new hand you’re chipping in…” He smirked. “Let’s just say, things should get a lot easier.”

  “Oh, thanks for reminding me,” Jessy muttered, shooting a glare at Doc. He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t look up.

  “There. Finished,” Doc announced, immediately putting on a wreath and slotting a BD for himself.

  “Asshole.”

  Anderson leaned forward. “What else do we know? A group running an operation this big has to be sizable. Any known faces? You did mention names earlier.”

  Seven shook his head. “Names could just be pseudonyms, as far as we know. Even if they are real, we still need solid evidence to back up our claims—suspicion alone won’t cut it.” He paused, scratching his chin. “That said, one name did show up a lot in these files.”

  I shut off the data feed in my optics. “Nina Kraviz?”

  Seven raised a brow.

  “The world-renowned Ripperdoc?” I continued. “She’s here in Night City?”

  “That, we don’t know. But it is strange—a Ripperdoc being tied to something like this, especially in Charter Hill.” Seven folded his arms, lost in thought.

  “Shit, Charter Hill?” Anderson scoffed. “Why the hell would anyone from that fancy-ass place get mixed up in something like this?”

  It was a fair question. Sometimes, the obvious needed to be said. Nina Kraviz was by all means self-sufficient. She didn’t need some big clinic or corpo backing to rake in clients—especially in Night City, where a trip to the Ripperdoc was practically part of daily life. So why was her name tied to this?

  “Her name’s in the files, yeah. But does that prove she’s part of this operation? No.” Jessy leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “I’ve seen plenty of names pop up in places they shouldn’t be. Half the time, the people on those lists don’t even know they’re there. Besides, why would a renowned doc throw away her rep for a few extra eddies?”

  “You never know,” Anderson said with a shrug. “I’ve seen my fair share of bullshit.”

  “All baseless conjecture,” Jessy shot back. “Especially since we’re technically working for the law here. We need evidence, not assumptions.”

  “In that case, take a look.” I pinged her the deetes.

  She skimmed through the data, then let out a thoughtful hum. “You guys overlooked something.”

  Seven gestured for her to continue. “Feel free to share.”

  Jessy leaned forward, scrolling through the data. “See this?” She highlighted a section of the files. “All these transactions, routes, and shipments? They aren’t just running through Charter Hill—they’re starting there. Every major shipment originates from within the district.”

  “That’s not unusual,” Anderson said. “Rich folks get all kinds of shipments, luxury goods, cyberware, black-market meds—hell, even high-grade weapons sometimes.”

  “Right, but this—” Jessy tapped the screen. “—is too clean. No fake IDs, no bounced signals, no laundering patterns. Whoever’s running this is either really good at covering their tracks… or they don’t need to.”

  Seven nodded. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning,” she continued, “this might not just be some underground operation. It could be something legit on paper, with the shady shit hidden in plain sight.”

  I frowned. “A front?”

  “More than that,” Jessy said. “If Nina Kraviz’s name is here, it’s not because she’s some underground fixer moving chrome. It’s because whatever this is? It’s operating legally—or at least, it looks like it is.”

  Seven exhaled through his nose. “So we’re not just dealing with some gang or black-market ring. We might be up against a full-fledged corporate-backed operation.”

  Anderson sighed. “Great. Just what we needed.”

  I glanced at Seven. “So what’s the move?”

  Seven exhaled sharply. “We proceed as planned. This is going to take longer than expected.” He switched off the TV. “Your job is to get into the NCPD, pull any data related to these transactions, and find a lead—be it a name, a brand, whatever. Once we have something solid, then we’ll figure out how Kraviz fits into this.”

  Jessy was already peeling off her outerwear to get into her cooling suit. “Alright, what’s the game plan?”

  “This isn’t just a cyberdive,” Seven warned, not bothering to turn away as she stripped. “You’ll need to be jacked into a physical terminal inside the station. The PD still relies on analog storage for anything sensitive.”

  Jessy nodded as she pulled on her suit. “Sounds like my kind of job.”

  “There’s a rooftop entrance near the main power conduits—used mostly by engineers and electricians. No recent maintenance requests, so it’s likely been overlooked by the officers.” Seven grabbed three bags and tossed them over. “These should get you inside. Blend in, improvise if needed, but don’t linger. The second they suspect anything, they’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

  We nodded, grabbing our gear.

  “Alright,” Seven said, rolling his shoulders. “We never met, this conversation never happened. We talked about mundane shit—weather, sports, tits.” He chuckled. “See you all on the other side.”

  With that, he left.

  Jessy was the first to get into her disguise, but as soon as she zipped up, we all noticed the problem—her smaller frame made the outfit look hilariously oversized. The baggy fit was impossible to ignore. Anderson and I wore ours just fine, but on her, it was like a kid playing dress-up.

  Jessy sighed, pulling at the sleeves. “Yeah. This is gonna be a problem.”

  “They seriously don’t have anything smaller?” Anderson asked, crossing his arms.

  “Nope. Of course not.” Jessy groaned. “They don’t expect people my size to be running infiltration gigs.”

  I scratched the back of my head. “You can still pull it off… right?”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Anderson shook his head. “Unless she’s planning to pass as a midget or a lost kid, they won’t let her through the front door.”

  Jessy shot him a glare. “No shit, Sherlock. But we can’t do this job without me. I hack things. You two just shoot stuff.”

  That’s when an idea hit me. A stupid idea. A really stupid idea. So bad that I couldn’t help but laugh.

  Jessy narrowed her eyes. “What’s so funny?”

  I grinned. “Okay, hear me out…”

  “Yeah?”

  “What if you…”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Pretended to be my little sister?”

  A long silence stretched between us.

  “...”

  “...”

  “...”

  “The fuck?”

  A few minutes later, Anderson was behind the wheel of the van, now sporting hastily applied decals to pass as a legitimate electrician company. Meanwhile, David was doing his best to make sure Jessy didn’t murder him on the spot.

  The plan was simple in theory but tricky in execution. It hinged on one key factor: the police being too gullible—or just too indifferent—to question the presence of a child. Or at least, the closest thing to one.

  Upon arrival, they wasted no time scaling the ladders and slipping in through the rooftop entrance. Now came the part Jessy had been dreading.

  “Whoa!” she gasped, eyes wide with exaggerated wonder as she clung to David’s shoulders. “So this is what the Police Department looks like?”

  “That’s right, sis,” David replied, hoisting her up like any doting older brother would.

  Anderson, playing along, rubbed the back of his head with an exasperated sigh. “I still can’t believe they let you bring her. The company’s way too lax with you—it’s almost like you’ve got special privileges.”

  “Hey, she wanted to dress up and tag along,” David said with a shrug. “What kind of brother would I be if I said no?”

  “A responsible one?” Anderson shot back, completely deadpan.

  The act was flawless—Anderson playing the annoyed coworker stuck with his partner’s nonsense, David embracing the role of the overindulgent brother, and Jessy hamming it up as the curious little sister who just had to follow along.

  And judging by the indifferent glances from the officers inside, they were pulling it off perfectly.

  “I’m gonna kill you, David,” Jessy hissed in his ear. “This is so embarrassing.”

  David flashed her a casual grin. “Didn’t hear you come up with a better idea.”

  “Grrrrrr.”

  Anderson cut in, pointing down the hall. “This is the room. I think it’s best you leave her outside, yeah? We can’t afford to break anything in the NCPD.”

  David nodded and set Jessy down, locking eyes with her. “Look, I’ve got work to do in here, alright? You stay out here, try not to break anything, and I’ll be back soon.”

  Jessy’s face was a picture of barely-contained rage, but she masked it with an overly sweet smile. “Okie!” she chirped, throwing up a thumbs-up to sell the act.

  Anderson and David entered the server room, the supposed place they were there to “fix.” In reality, they were just waiting. Meanwhile, Jessy had to play the part of the clueless, bored kid who’d somehow wandered into the PD and—by pure accident—found the terminal where the crucial data was stored.

  It was a dumb plan. It was ridiculous. It was absurd.

  And it just might work.

  “Radio check,” Anderson said over comms.

  “Loud and clear,” David responded, despite being in the same room.

  “I’m listening,” Jessy whispered.

  “Alright, we need to look like we’re working, so we’ll mess around with the server data while you make your way to the main data room,” Anderson instructed, cracking open the toolbox they’d brought.

  “And if anyone gets in the way, Panther will handle them,” David added, casually picking up a wrench. “And yes, I know—no flatlining the cops.”

  Across the city, Seven sighed in relief from his safe spot. “Glad I don’t have to remind you. Still not sure how that animal listens to you, but it’s an asset for now.”

  “When should I move?” Jessy asked, idly swinging her feet from her chair. “Playing a clueless kid is a pain. Especially when I’ve never roleplayed before.”

  “Just act like any annoying kid, and you’ll be fine,” Seven said, scanning the PD blueprints. “I don’t have camera access, but the building layout hasn’t changed in years. I’ll guide you.”

  “Nova,” she replied before hopping off the chair and skipping down the hall. “I could go for something sweet right now.”

  And so, she looked for a vending machine. The plan was simple—jack in, try to access some cameras, or at least ping the officers connected to the PD’s network. A Ping wouldn’t trigger alarms or alert their Netrunner, which would be suicide. It was the safest way to get a sense of security before diving deeper.

  A few seconds later, she found the machine. Mostly junk—chips, candy, protein ants. But there were jelly beans. Perfect. She leaned in, drooling over the display like a kid debating their choice, and discreetly jacked in. A quick hack, just enough to slip through, send the Ping, and get out. Then, with an innocent grin, she grabbed the jelly beans and unplugged.

  Now that was a convincing act.

  Even better, she could see the patrol routes of every officer inside the PD.

  “Preem. Even I can see them from here,” David commented as he pretended to do a routine check.

  “Good. You’re not far—just a few floors up,” Seven said, mapping the fastest route. “There should be a staircase near you.”

  “I see it,” Jessy muttered between bites. “Oh, the red ones taste better.”

  “Don’t oversell the kid act,” Anderson snickered. “We still need our Netrunner.”

  She groaned, making him chuckle even more.

  The stairs were completely unguarded, and the cameras wouldn’t flag a “child” as suspicious. So, Jessy walked up without a care, not even bothering to hide her face. Every so often, she stopped to read notices pinned to the walls—HR reminders about securing personal belongings or complaints about employees taking communal cups home and never bringing them back. Classic human stupidity—one person screws up, and everyone else suffers for it.

  She kept climbing until she reached the top—the fourth floor. Pushing the door open, she stepped into a busy office where analysts hurried back and forth, juggling paperwork. Jessy pretended to scan the room, as if looking for someone, before plopping down on a worn-out couch in what seemed to be the employees' break room. She popped another jelly bean into her mouth, legs swinging idly.

  After a moment, one of the analysts sat beside her, distracted by his laptop. A few seconds later, he finally noticed her.

  “Are you supposed to be here?” he asked, glancing up.

  “I’m waiting for my brother. He’s fixing stuff that’s broken,” Jessy replied with a bright, innocent smile. “Want some beans?”

  Caught off guard by the offer, the analyst hesitated before shrugging and grabbing a few. “Thanks. We don’t get much of this stuff around here. Always too much work.”

  “Doesn’t that get tiring?”

  “A bit,” he admitted before tossing a few in his mouth. His face scrunched immediately. “Oof—too sweet for me.”

  With that, he went back to his work, barely paying her any more attention. Apparently, the disguise was still holding up.

  “Jesus,” Seven groaned over comms. “These cops are idiots. Even a kid shouldn’t be in an analysis room—there’s sensitive evidence in there. If you were just a proxy for a Netrunner looking to wipe their files, they’d be fucked.”

  A pause.

  “I’ll have to report this later. Just gotta figure out how.”

  “We could trigger a malfunction here,” Anderson suggested. “Depending on what systems are linked, we might be able to cause a glitch that gives Jessy an opening.”

  David scrolled through the available prompts on the terminal and smirked. “Yeah, looks like there are a few pre-made options. Even one for the toilets. Wait—why the hell is there a prompt for toilets?”

  “Japanese toilets, maybe?”

  “Yeah, those are weird.”

  Seven cleared his throat over comms. “Jessy, the data room should be at the far end of the second corridor next to you.”

  Jessy glanced down the hallway in question. Officers and analysts were constantly coming and going, checking information. That was a problem—she needed time to find the right files and even longer to download them. Since she couldn’t just ask outright, she leaned into her cover.

  “A lot of people go in and out of there.” She spoke just loud enough for someone to hear. “What’s so important in that room?”

  The analyst from before followed her gaze, then—just as she hoped—felt compelled to explain.

  “That’s one of our database rooms,” he said. “We store everything there—tickets, crimes, profiles, transactions, impounded cars, analysis reports, anything the PD might need.” He tapped his laptop as he spoke. “For example, I’m working on this case involving Maelstrom.”

  Jessy leaned over his shoulder and took a quick glance at the screen—files full of drug busts, smuggling, and other gang activity.

  “This looks boring.” She pouted.

  “It is,” he admitted with a sigh. “But it has to be done. Otherwise, this city will never be safe.”

  “When will it be?” she asked, her voice laced with just a hint of sarcasm.

  Luckily, he didn’t catch it.

  “I don’t know,” he muttered. “But I get paid to try.”

  Jessy gave a small nod, then turned toward the staircase. But halfway there, she casually changed direction, slipping into the second corridor instead. She could feel the presence of the lethal feline nearby, even without seeing him. Panther was close, ready to act if needed.

  “…Did that analyst really just tell you all that?” Seven muttered in disbelief. “Yeah, this is definitely going in a report.”

  “Go easy on them,” Anderson joked. “It’s just a kid.”

  David snorted.

  Jessy’s voice cut through the comms in a whisper.

  “I swear, I’m going to kill every single one of you. Slowly.”

  She wished they could see her face for just a second.

  The Ping was still active, lighting up her optics with the locations of multiple officers. Jessy tried to stay in character, but the glances were becoming more frequent. If she lingered too long, someone was bound to tell her to leave before she could even pretend to be a lost kid.

  So, she stopped in the middle of the corridor, casually munching on jelly beans until the bag was somewhat empty.

  “I can’t go any further without drawing too much attention,” she mumbled, still chewing.

  “Where exactly are you?” David asked.

  Jessy glanced at the signs near the doors. Some read Evidence, others had names of officers she didn’t care about, and one simply said Backup Arsenal. From what she could tell, she was in the backrooms of the Analyst Sector. If they could trigger a malfunction in the right area, they might be able to force the officers to relocate, giving her a window to slip through unnoticed.

  “I’m in the Analyst Sector,” she answered.

  “Hmm… not as many system prompts as we’d like,” Anderson muttered, scrolling through their options. “But let’s see what this one does.”

  He pressed a command.

  Nothing happened at first.

  Then a shrill alarm blared from one of the evidence rooms. A flashing red light pulsed above the door, and a mechanical voice calmly announced:

  "Warning: Contamination detected in Evidence Storage B. Initiating lockdown procedures. Please evacuate the area."

  Jessy froze, watching as officers and analysts immediately turned their attention toward the commotion. Some rushed to investigate, while others grumbled about yet another false alarm. A few even bolted for the exits, clearly not eager to stick around and find out if the contamination was real.

  "Preem," David murmured over comms. "What kind of contamination is it supposed to be?"

  Anderson snickered. "According to the system? Uh… biohazardous vermin detected."

  "Vermin?" Jessy hissed under her breath.

  "Yeah, guess they store some nasty stuff in there. Probably flagged it as a risk of plague or something. BioTechnica’s shit, most likely."

  "That is disgusting."

  "Hey, at least it's working," Seven cut in. "You've got a five-minute window before they override the system and realize it’s a false alarm. Get moving."

  Jessy didn’t need to be told twice. As the officers rushed past her, she slipped through the corridor toward the data room. The hallway was nearly empty now, save for a single distracted analyst fumbling with his keycard at a locked terminal.

  She walked up next to him, tilting her head.

  "What's wrong?" she asked, wide-eyed.

  The analyst sighed. "Damn thing’s glitching again. Probably the lockdown is messing with access permissions."

  Jessy peeked at the keypad as he tried another code. Her optics quickly picked up on the smudges left behind from repeated use. Two numbers stood out more than the rest.

  She filed them away for later.

  "Hope you get it fixed!" she chirped before skipping past him.

  "Yeah, thanks, kid," he muttered, too distracted to think twice about her presence.

  As soon as she was clear, she whispered into comms, "I got a partial code."

  "Good," Seven said. "Now get to the terminal. We’ll figure out the rest."

  The door was right in front of her—locked, of course—but that was barely an obstacle. The real problem was lurking behind the keypad’s security.

  Jessy jacked in and immediately spotted the Black ICE lying in wait. If she screwed this up, it wouldn’t just lock her out—it’d fry her brain on the spot.

  "Alright… don’t mess this up," she muttered under her breath, fingers moving carefully.

  She bypassed the firewall, fed the system a quick spoof, and—

  Blip.

  The door unlocked with a soft click.

  She exhaled, pushing it open to reveal a vast room filled with rows of humming servers and terminals, their dim glow casting eerie shadows across the space.

  "Phew… Alright, now where do they keep the good stuff?"

  "The data we need will be in the Private Service sector," Seven’s voice came through her earpiece. "If our suspects are masking their activities as a legit business, that’s where we’ll find the proof."

  Jessy nodded, scanning the room. "They’ve gotta have a directory or something. No way they remember where everything is in this mess."

  "There should be a terminal that maps the server structure," Seven confirmed.

  "Got one," Jessy said, pulling out her cable. Without hesitation, she jacked into the system, eyes scanning the interface.

  "Oh, so this is where the password goes?"

  "What do you mean?" Seven asked.

  "The partial code," she reminded him. "I can’t just brute-force it, though—too many wrong attempts and I’m locked out."

  David frowned. "Wait—how is a keypad code similar to a terminal password?"

  "You’d be surprised how often people reuse passwords across a building," Seven muttered. "This definitely needs to go in the report… yeah, this thing’s turning into a novel."

  "Glad we’re your guinea pigs for testing PD security," Anderson muttered.

  "Details, details…"

  Jessy ignored them, fingers flying over the keys. "Alright, first try." She entered the two digits she had from before and guessed the last two.

  Lucky seven?

  Blip.

  "Alright, not seven." She frowned.

  She tried a few more combinations, but nothing worked. Worse, she hadn’t even accessed the directory yet, meaning any unusual login attempts were already drawing attention. If someone was monitoring the system, they’d see her soon.

  Just as she debated moving to another terminal—or using the chrome in her hand—she heard the door behind her creak open.

  "Hey, kid, you’re not supposed to be in here," a cop said, his voice firm but not yet hostile.

  Jessy’s mind blanked. She was still jacked in, caught red-handed.

  "Uh, I…"

  Before she could come up with an excuse, Panther pounced.

  The massive feline slammed into the officer, forcing the door shut behind them. There was a sharp thud as the cop’s head met the wall, and he crumpled unconscious.

  Jessy just stared at Panther, who lazily licked his nose, utterly unimpressed with himself.

  "...Thanks?"

  "Meow."

  No time to waste. She yanked the cable from the terminal and pressed her cybernetic hand to the ports instead, forcing a direct breach.

  The Police Department’s firewall was no joke—just shy of corporate-grade. ICE slammed against her intrusion, launching counterattacks while she scrambled to defend and push deeper. Every layer she passed became more dangerous, laced with hidden kill programs designed to fry her implants.

  If not for her new chrome, she’d be dead by now.

  "Access granted," the AI finally announced.

  Jessy exhaled. "Alright, where’s the jackpot?"

  She pulled up the directory and quickly granted herself temporary admin permissions—just enough to move freely without triggering more security locks.

  "The alarm’s off," Anderson warned. "They’ll be back at their posts soon."

  Panther crouched low, eyes flicking toward the door, ready for another ambush.

  Jessy dove into the search. She filtered by most recent, most frequent, and most accessed files. The Private Service sector’s list shrank rapidly until only one company remained.

  Tons of access logs. Countless entries. Many recent.

  But the weirdest part? The accesses weren’t coming from the PD itself.

  Someone outside had direct access to these files. Either the system was being hacked constantly… or someone inside had given them a free pass.

  “Hashburry Pharmaceuticals…” Jessy muttered. “Never heard of them.”

  Seven’s voice came through her earpiece, sharp with urgency. “Does the data match what we have?”

  She compared the files side by side—names, transactions, the faulty profits, even Nina Kraviz.

  “Yeah. It’s a perfect match.”

  “Then we’re done here. Jack out and erase your tracks.”

  Jessy wasted no time. She wiped her breach logs, restored the firewalls, and cleaned up her access history on both terminals. The only loose end? The unconscious cop sprawled on the floor.

  She couldn’t move him—he was too big, and she was too small. Worse, if the cameras caught him lying there, the whole PD would be on high alert.

  …Wait.

  She still had admin privileges.

  Jessy flipped through the security feeds until she found the camera in this corridor. Her Ping had worn off, so she sent another pulse. Silhouettes of officers lit up across the map, and she scanned for anything she could hack to cover her escape.

  There—a motion sensor near the east exit.

  If she could loop its feed or trip it elsewhere, it might cause just enough of a distraction.

  “Alright, I’m setting up a misdirect,” Jessy whispered, fingers flying across the terminal.

  “Make it quick,” Anderson urged. “You’ve already been in there too long.”

  She hacked the motion sensor, forcing it to trigger near the opposite end of the building. Instantly, a security alert popped up on the feed. Officers turned their heads, then moved out to investigate.

  “Good. That should buy me some time.”

  She disconnected from the terminal, rolled her shoulders, and stepped over the unconscious cop. Panther, still watching from the shadows, flicked its tail and padded silently beside her as she slipped out of the room.

  The hallway was clear—for now.

  “Heading out,” she murmured into comms.

  “Exit’s still clean. Keep moving,” Seven confirmed.

  Jessy moved fast but casual, popping a remaining jelly beans into her mouth as if she belonged there. She reached the stairwell, gripping the railing just as she heard voices behind her—guards returning to their posts.

  With one last glance back, she descended the stairs, keeping her head low.

  Panther was gone—vanished like a shadow—but the job was done.

  Jessy flopped back onto the same chair David had set her in earlier. No alarms, no rush—exfiltration was way easier than getting in.

  “Alright, head back to the clinic. We’ll analyze the data there. Good work, everyone,” Seven said before logging off, his usual no-nonsense approach.

  David twisted around from the front seat of the van. “So, how’d it go?”

  BONK.

  Jessy’s fist met his arm. “I’m never pretending to be a kid again.”

  “Ow.” David clutched his arm, mock hurt. “That really wounds me.”

  BONK.

  Another punch.

  “Alright, that’s enough, you two,” Anderson chuckled from the driver’s seat. “Anyone want a snack before we head back?”

  “Yes,” Jessy grumbled.

  “I wouldn’t say no,” David added, still smirking.

  And with that, the first step in unraveling this money-laundering mess was complete.