A white-panelled van pulled up, and the window on the passenger side rolled down. Kiwi, from the driver's seat, glanced out at me, "Damn! Nice digs! Is that a coolant suit?" she asked, using the other term for netrunner suits.
"Yep," I said, emphasising the 'p' sound, "I'm not really a runner like you, but it is useful for the stealth system I just got installed yesterday." Eventually, I wanted to create a port in the suit to plug in my thermal radiators into so that the suit and thermoptic system could work together and move heat back and forth based on what worked best. Then both the heat dissipation and sink systems would work together intelligently, but that was a project for another day.
She raises an eyebrow, "You have pretty strong ICE for not being a runner. Plus, I'm pretty sure you can't get a suit like that made without knowing someone in the scene."
I tossed my bags in the back and hopped into the passenger seat, carefully clicking my seatbelt into place, "I'm a very private person. And I might be on a few BBS', but it isn't because I am leet, I assure you."
She put the van into gear, "Leet? Dear god. 2020 called, and they want their words back." I just rolled my eyes at her, I hadn't meant to say that word, but for some reason, I had thought of the duo Uber and Leet back in the Bay. I had never really watched their videos online. Still, I had heard about most of them — I didn't have a phone, and our internet at the house was dreadfully slow, plus I thought that they were really terrible people if the "Grand Theft Auto" stream I heard about didn't involve actors playing the prostitutes.
I didn't know why those two clowns had popped into my head, and I had been having a number of weird dreams about the Bay lately, too. I shook my head and asked, "Where are we having the 'pre-game' feast?" Privately she thought the eating and celebrating should happen after a job, though.
"It's a merc bar. The merc bar. It's called Afterlife," Kiwi said, slightly enthusiastic, excited even, which was a little uncharacteristic of her, "Legends of Night City and the world even have drank and eaten there."
I nodded, "And I bet most of them are dead now."
"Well, yes. That is true," she said, calming down quite a bit before continuing, "I'm all for staying alive, myself. I've been a merc for almost a decade, and you don't last as long as I do without looking out for number one. That's better than immortal fame or a drink named after you, in my opinion," she finished, chuckling, and I definitely agreed with her.
"A drink named after you?" I asked, curious.
She nodded, "Yeah, it's kind of Afterlife's thing. If you get flatlined spectacularly on an op, you might get a drink named after you. A cocktail, you know?" Then she grinned at me, "Are you even eighteen, though? They won't sell you alcohol unless you're eighteen, at least!"
"I am over nineteen," I tell her, sniffing delicately at the affront of being teased. I was not exactly lying nor exactly telling the truth. Objectively speaking, I was barely over seventeen. But I had been living a life three times the speed as the average person for some time now, so subjectively, I considered myself a couple of years older.
The Afterlife bar was in the Upper Marina area, right up against the edge that had been, even ten years ago, the "Hot Zone." The zone was the area of downtown that was wrecked and radioactive from the Arasaka Headquarters bombing in 2023. Even after twenty years, the city had not started remediating the area, although that process was now underway in a limited fashion. It was still one of the no-go areas of the city. Absolutely no ground ambulance would drive there, and neither would any police, for that matter. Year after year, though, the "Hot Zone" shrunk, and today it was only half the size that it was previously.
Having to leave my guns in the van was a bit of a letdown. I should have brought a smaller pistol I could hide... uhh... well, never mind. I did verify that the monowire port on my left wrist was exposed. Since my suit was custom-made, it wasn't difficult for her to create a small opening for it.
Maybe I should start carrying a purse? I could fit a small pistol in there, but it would look really out of place. Only small clutch-style bags were really in fashion at all, and even then, only for those who, every day, dressed better than even I did at my best. It was a high-class woman's accessory. Maybe a larger bag on my belt, like a fanny pack. People still wore those, although it was the opposite problem. It was very low-class.
As we walked to the bar together, I asked churlishly, "If this is a merc bar, then why do we have to leave our guns at the door?"
Kiwi laughed and rubbed the back of her neck embarrassedly, "Some mercs don't, but you know none of us is in the big league, right? Honestly, we're lucky to be admitted. Now, shush as we get past this gorilla."
The "gorilla" was a man who looked like he was a hundred and seventy kilos if he was a gram, and none of it looked much like fat. I almost started probing him to see what implants he had but stopped myself. It wouldn't do to get kicked out of the bar before I was ever admitted.
The man stared at Kiwi briefly, grunted, and then stared at me much more intensely for several long moments, and then he gave a slightly different grunt and stepped aside. He was a lovely fellow; I imagine he could have a complete conversation with someone just through various grunts.
The "boys" were waiting for us when we got in. The Afterlife was pretty interesting. There was a bar area like I was expecting, but also what looked like a restaurant area as well. That's where we met them, in an overly large half-circle booth set into a wall. Kiwi told me these were semi-private booths. If you had big bucks, you could rent one of Afterlife's privacy-guaranteed faraday-cage lined secure facilities in the back. They would bring you food and drink there, also.
As I slid into the booth, I noticed the din of the rest of the bar vanish instantly, replaced by a soft white noise that was familiar to me. One of those privacy devices, like Kiwi, had the last time. Was this one built into the table? Glancing down at the floor, I noticed a yellow line painted about a half metre from the table. Perhaps that was to indicate to you if someone was inside the line, they could hear what you were saying. What an interesting and in-character addition.
Ruslan greeted us warmly, yelling, "Hey, Madison!" I never really expected to work more than one job with these people, so I didn't really put much thought into my secret identity, and I knew that it was already blown with Kiwi, but I may as well keep it up for pretences sake.
Jean nodded at us both and gave us a perfunctory "Wah gwaan?" I blinked at him, trying to parse his accent a little. Finally, I thought I understood what he was asking.
Kiwi and I each slid into one end of the semi-circle booth, "Hey, Ruslan, Jean... It's going pretty well. How about you? How's it hanging?"
"Oh, a bit to the left, mon. Digs real nice, Madison," replied Jean with a grin.
I nodded at him, ignoring his reference to his plum bob's present orientation, "Thanks. Both impact and cut resistant." Then I grabbed a menu and perused it for a moment.
The menu was mostly liquor, but they did have a small selection of bar food, mostly things you could eat with your hands. "Japanese-Russo fusion?" I asked aloud, amused at the combination of one of the items.
When the waitress glided over to us, stepping inside the yellow line so she could speak to us, I couldn't help but stare a bit. She was eerily beautiful, like a fairy or elf, with obvious serious cosmetic biosculpt.
We all gave our orders. When it was my turn, I couldn't help but try the strange Japanese-Russian combination, "I'll have the Pirozhki and a Cirrus Cola." Everyone but me got a drink along with something to eat as well, usually along my lines of something small.
Ruslan gave me an approving nod and, after the waitress left, said, "So, our job is to assist the Los Diablos of Santa Domingo, who are sure they are about to be attacked by the Los Demonios, who want to wipe them out and take their territory."
I blinked. I didn't really study much Spanish in my twenty months in this world, and that was perhaps kind of stupid considering how many people in Night City spoke it, but I asked, "Don't those two names mean the same thing?"
He shrugged, "Da, probably. In fact, that might be one of the main reasons for the beef."
I rubbed my face, "This is so stupid, already." I then glanced up, "Why are they so sure they're going to be attacked that they're going to hire Edgerunners this particular night?"
"Partly spies and partly, I guess, maybe the Diablos; that's our guys, by the way, shot one of the Demonia..Demonao... fucking Demons this morning, intentionally, to provoke them," Ruslan said simply. He shrugged, "We still get paid even if no combat happens, though."
Kiwi said reasonably, "Yeah, right. These are third-tier gangers we're talking about. They'll welsh for sure if nothing happens."
"Nye, we may not be dealing with a big-time fixer on this job, but it isn't like we're dealing directly with the gang. I wasn't that stupid when I got this job. They've already paid the fixer, and it is him that pays us. Even if they hadn't paid in advance, no fixer that wants to work in this town again would so obviously screw a merc team," Ruslan said, shaking his head.
I still wasn't sure about the exact composition of the team between the three, but it seemed like Ruslan was, if not in charge per se, then at least the one that handled the administrative aspects of three mercs working together. He was the one that had paid me the last time, too.
For the next ten minutes, he discussed plans, with each of us chiming in here and there. It was only lunchtime, so after we left here, we would immediately head to see the Diablos. It was a defensive action, so they would spend some time getting set up. That was especially important for Kiwi, who used a lot of traps, cameras and cyber-attacks. She intended to set up a number of cameras, sensors and cheap drones to provide both eyes on as well as proxies for her to use to launch wireless-based quickhacks tactically.
I would be in a large room in the Diablos' building, providing medical services for anyone injured. Kiwi nodded, "At first, I was waffling between trying to keep up with Jean and Rus or holding back where you're going to be. I don't really trust these Diablos gonks, though, so the idea of being alone with them while I'm hacking seems retrograde. But if you're there too, it will probably be fine."
I nodded. That made sense. Both Ruslan and Jean were fairly heavily augmented, and although Kiwi was too, they were augmented for strength and endurance, and she was not. She might slow them down if they intended to perform some kind of hit-and-run style of ambushes.
We all quieted as the waitress returned, casually carrying all of our drinks and food and making it look easy, too. Jean and Ruslan each got giant sandwiches, while Kiwi just got a selection of appetisers.
I'd never eaten Pirozhki before, but it seemed interesting. It was a little on the pricier side because it included real, fresh-made bread. They were kind of like a meat pie crossed with a calzone, using soft bread. It was quite good. The Japanese portion was the meat and sauce selected, which was kind of like curry. Altogether, it was quite good.
We went over the plan again, including a number of contingencies they thought of in advance, from things as normal as them being wounded to the mission becoming a lost cause and us having to flee for our lives.
After we finished, we left together after I made sure to leave the waitress a healthy tip. Not only was she stunningly pretty, but it was impressive how many things she could carry at one time; it was almost like watching a circus performance. Was she augmented for unnatural grace, and if so, through what implant? Or perhaps it was a "super waitress" skill chip?
The lair of the Los Diablos was a three-story apartment building in Santo Domingo. I wasn't sure if they were squatting by force of arms or if they owned the place, and I didn't ask.
"Yo, comrade. We set up the game room like you asked, is this bitch the techie?" the ganger who greeted us asked, giving me the elevator-eye treatment that made me feel like I could use a shower, and made me kind of want to shoot him.
Ruslan casually struck the tall, lanky gang banger in the stomach. Not hard; otherwise, he might have had serious internal injuries, but just enough to double the youth over, and Ruslan said, "You are to be respectful da?"
"Fucking, da, you fuck," wheezed the man as he glanced around. I wondered if the only reason Ruslan did what he did was that we were alone. My psychological information suggested that we might have been fighting our own clients if a bunch of his minions were around. Violent anti-social behaviour in criminals tended to be very hierarchal, with no shows of disrespect tolerated in so much as such people did cooperate.
Otherwise, leaders were quickly deposed. Heavy was the head that wore the crown and all that.
I doubted very much that Ruslan knew as much about psychology as I did, but he knew a lot more about the street, so he probably knew the same thing, possibly without being able to articulate it into educated-sounding words though.
"Oh, nice," I said, glancing around at what was around. There were some medical supplies for me already here. I wouldn't have to use entirely my own.
The gang leader nodded, "Yeah, we robbed a doctor's office last night and klepped all this shit, knowing our showdown was gonna go down today. Feel free to use any of this shit you want. We're not entirely sure what some of this is for, but uhh.. the boys, they already cleaned out any of the pain meds, but I'm already calling in one of my dealers to bring in some shit before the shit hits the fan."
It was kind of surprising that a gang was bothering with all of this. I would expect a military force to think about casualties and prepare in advance, but not really a street gang. Perhaps that was one of my blind spots. The room was large, and I saw marks on the floor that indicated a bunch of furniture had been moved out.
The equipment and supplies were both useful and not. There was a pretty nice combination of a cardiac monitor/defibrillator, about ten IV pumps and a ventilator, as well as a lot of consumables. If bought retail, it would be easily thirty thousand eurodollars worth of equipment or more. It wasn't worth that much to the gangers, though. I doubt they could sell it for five hundred since it was such a niche and special set of tools. Also, I expected that most of the high-dollar items were likely locked down, with me doubting they'd turn on at all now that they were stolen. But I think either I or especially Kiwi could likely hack them and reactivate them, disabling any LoJak systems if they existed.
