Cyberpunk 2077: Demons of Night City

TN: Bonus chapter

An EMP grenade. Non-lethal but a complete pain in the ass—especially for someone loaded with chrome like me or Lucy. The moment I saw its casing slide into view through the door, I hit Sandevistan. In the slowed-down time, I had a million things to do. No choice but to nail it all.

I darted away from the door, firing at the grenade mid-motion. Twisting, I grabbed Lucy, pulling her down and covering her as we both dove toward the far side of the room. My shot hit the grenade dead on. The enemy didn't manage to toss it fully inside, but the electromagnetic pulse still hit me, and hopefully, them too.

A wave of painful spasms racked my body. The smell of burning plastic filled the room as the EMP fried some of the surrounding equipment. My Sandevistan glitched—time sped up, then slowed erratically. A harsh ringing filled my ears, but I shoved it aside and focused.

I twisted back around, firing toward the doorway, unloading shot after shot into the corridor. My Apparition rounds shredded through the peeling plastic walls like butter.

Then came the return fire—a suppressed pistol with that distinctive metallic click-click. I felt two rounds slam into the body armor under my jacket. The shooter had a precise read on my position. I needed to move out of their line of fire, but before I could, Lucy grabbed me from behind.

While I'd been busy shooting, she'd climbed atop one of the equipment racks and punched a hole through the damaged ceiling panels. Now she was pulling me up after her. I didn't resist, even helped as much as I could. We were way too boxed in down there.

Just as I hoisted myself up, a bio-grenade went off below. Green smoke churned and billowed beneath us. Lucy and I quickly moved across the second floor. Every step had to be precise—the rotting floor was riddled with holes, but that also gave us an advantage: we might be able to ambush them from above.

Lucy whispered her assessment: three of them.

The old building groaned under our weight—broken glass and plastic—but the bastards moved quiet, too quiet. Their professionalism had me on edge.

I reloaded my Apparition and shifted it to my cyberlimb while my right hand drew the Yukimura—a sleek pistol that wasn't powerful but could be swapped for a grenade if needed. I had two EMPs and two frag grenades left.

"Falco's not responding," Lucy whispered, barely moving her lips. "They're jamming us."

Damn. They weren't screwing around. Moving carefully, I kept peering through the gaps in the floor, hoping to spot a shadow or a movement I could target with a script.

We reached a narrow window overlooking the street. Our car was parked about twenty meters from the building behind a crooked fence. Nearby, a black SUV stood ominously. Falco was either neutralized—or worse.

Damn it.

Should we make a break for the car? No, too risky. They'd gun us down before we got there. The only option was to take these guys out, even though we hadn't seen a single one of them yet.

I tried connecting to the camera on Falco's car. No response.

Lucy tossed a spy-cam through one of the floor gaps, aiming for the ground level. If it landed right and didn't get stuck in the junk, we'd have eyes on the ground floor.

The metallic click of a silenced pistol shattered that hope—the cam was destroyed instantly. These guys weren't amateurs.

Now Lucy was holding a pistol in one hand and an EMP grenade in the other, a rare sight. She hated relying on weapons, preferring scripts or melee combat, but right now, she didn't have the luxury of choice.

Time crawled as I listened intently, every sense on high alert. Lucy tapped my shoulder, making me jump. She pointed one finger further down the corridor. Someone was there, waiting. Near another hole in the floor.

I started shifting my position, hoping to catch a glimpse of them through the gap. And then—Kerenzikov.

A gleaming dart zipped toward me, its shiny metallic tip carrying a familiar payload—a tranquilizer like the one they'd hit me with before New Year's. Time slowed further, the dart hovering mere centimeters from my face. I jerked my head to the side just in time, narrowly dodging it.

I squeezed the trigger on the Apparition, aiming through the floor. There—an outstretched arm, a flash of tanned skin, and the faint reflection of black-tinted goggles.

Soul Rip, Reboot Optics, I unleashed scripts, hoping they'd spread to any nearby enemies.

Before I could follow up, the target shifted, vanishing from sight. Frustrated, I unloaded bursts of enhanced rounds from the Apparition, punching through the floorboards and sending up clouds of dust.

No memories surfaced. My first script had been countered by some implant. They'd prepared for this.

A metallic clang.

My vision flared with static, pain lancing through the right side of my head. My optical implant flickered, then went completely dark. My right arm refused to respond.

Another shot tore into the crook of my elbow, sending up a spray of dust. An electromagnetic revolver, shooting through the floor. I hadn't even heard the first shot, too stunned by the hit to my head.

My reinforced bones and subdermal armor saved my life, but the damage was bad.

A third shot missed, shattering a mercury lamp above me. Why? The enemy had been spot-on before. Then it clicked—Reboot Optics had worked. The virus spread through their systems, disrupting their enhanced aim.

We had one chance before their vision recalibrated.

No time to explain. My right arm dead, I dropped the Apparition, using my cyberlimb to pull a grenade from my rig. Double-clicked the primer to shorten the timer. Tossed it around the corridor's bend.

Boom!

The explosion punched through the rotted floor. Good—enough space to drop through.

I jumped down, priming another grenade mid-air. Tossed it into the corner where the enemy was clustered. Another explosion.

But all three were still standing.

One had been thrown against a wall, but the others were just scuffed—torn coats, white bloodstains on their chrome. They weren't down. Their augmentations were tough as hell.

I activated Sandevistan again, drawing my monoblade. I wasn't the only one. Two of them triggered Sandevistans, while the third moved with Kereznikov. Great—a goddamn Matrix fight.

I darted forward, weaving out of their firing lines. Smoke and static obscured most of my view, but I threw scripts at the farthest one while slashing at the nearest.

Short Circuit. Soul Rip. Contagion. Short Circuit.

The closest enemy lunged at me, but my blade slashed across their throat. A shot hit my left leg—another suppressed round. Even with the scrambled optics, they managed to clip me.

My strike to the enemy's throat was caught mid-swing. White blood spurted as a few of his fingers hit the floor, severed cleanly by the blade. But he managed to grip the tanto, holding it fast. I let go and struck like a viper, jabbing a tranquilizer needle into his neck before extending my nail-blades and slashing across his eyes.

Two more shots slammed into my right shoulder. The vest caught most of it, but I was feeling it now. At least my position behind the enemy I was grappling with shielded me from the others. It was a deliberate tactic, using his bulk as cover.

Sandevistan burned out—on both sides. The world snapped back to full speed for a moment before plunging me into the icy clutch of Kerenzikov. My nerves were fried, my body teetering on the edge of collapse. I dove sideways, crouching low to keep both remaining enemies in my sightline.

Short Circuit, Contagion, Soul Rip, Reboot Optics.

I hammered one of them with scripts, focusing on the one I hadn't targeted yet. Memory fragments trickled in, replenishing me. I hurled an EMP grenade down the corridor with my cyberlimb, hoping to snag both of them.

Time resumed its normal flow. Only adrenaline kept me upright. My body felt like ice, but my nervous system burned, threatening to melt its way free and abandon the cold husk. I couldn't move—every muscle locked in a painful spasm.

The injuries, the EMP, two Sandevistans in quick succession... my systems were maxed out. My right optic was completely offline, my left flickering with blue interference.

"Caralho! Filho da puta!" a guttural voice cursed close to my ear.

Spanish? My translator was fried, but the tone was clear—this guy wasn't happy. He fumbled blindly with his left hand, while his right gripped an RT-46 Burya electromagnetic revolver. As soon as his vision cleared, I was toast.

Then his body convulsed and collapsed. Another Short Circuit. Lucy had come through, right on time. She pressed an inhaler to my face, and within seconds, I could breathe again. My chest loosened, and the stabbing pain in my heart began to ebb.

"Haven't taken a beating like that in a while," I muttered. "My head's wrecked, huh?"

"You could say that," Lucy replied dryly. "Your right optic's dangling by wires and nerves."

"Great," I sighed. "Vik's gonna love this. He never shuts up about me not taking care of myself."

She handed me a reloaded Kenshin. "Think you can hold on? I'm gonna check on Falco and maybe call Panam or a cab."

"Yeah. Biomonitor says I'm not dying—at least not fast." I managed a weak laugh, slumping against the wall and gripping the pistol tightly.

Lucy disappeared from my limited field of vision. I fumbled under my jacket for the neural shock injector and jabbed it into my side. Warmth spread through me as the drug kicked in. For the first time in minutes, my head started to clear.

One of the downed enemies stirred. Tough bastards.

"Move, and I'll blow your head off," I warned, leveling the pistol with a trembling cyberlimb.

Just to be sure, I hit him with another optics reset.

"I'm not moving," the guy rasped.

"Who the hell sent you?"

It was obvious these three weren't random attackers.

"Left chest pocket of my coat. Cigarette case. There's a hidden compartment with my ID," he said.

Lucy returned.

"How's Falco?"

"Out cold behind the wheel," she quipped. "Though I'm guessing someone helped him along with a little prick.

I gestured toward the downed man. "He says to check his cigarette case. Hidden ID. Left chest pocket. Be careful—if there's any surprises in there, I'll fry his brain."

The guy stayed silent as Lucy nudged his gun away with her foot before reaching into his coat. She found the cigarette case, flipped it over, and removed a small plastic card from the hidden compartment.

"Any traps?" I asked.

"None," she replied, examining the card. "But we've got a surprise. Look who we've been shooting at."

She held it up for me to see. My vision blurred, but I managed to make out the name and details.

"Is this for real?" I asked.

"It's real," the guy groaned.

"And what the fuck do you want with us? This all over some sports betting?"

"Yeah. Orders were to take you down and bring you in for a chat."

"A chat? Right. A Burya round to the head makes for a great conversation starter."

"You were too dangerous," he admitted. "Had to shoot to kill."

Can't argue with that. They had started with non-lethal methods, trying to grab me alive, but once things turned south, all bets were off. At least they didn't kill Falco. Small mercies.

"Let's get out of here, Lucy," I said.

"What about him?"

"I'll knock him out with a script. Don't want him calling for backup."

I wasn't going to kill the agent. With all three alive, there was no reason for this to escalate further—at least for now. If we crossed paths again, though, all bets were off. Before passing out, the guy sent me a contact number. Desperation, maybe. But it was too late for friendly chats.

A few minutes later, I hobbled out into the street.

"Ready to go?" Falco asked, yawning.

"Yeah, but you're driving on autopilot," Lucy insisted. "No dozing off again."

"I'd be offended, but I'm too tired to care. Hey, V, you think you can hold out until we get to the ripper?"

"Yeah, I'll make it. Might even chill in the waiting room for a bit," I chuckled, leaning back in the seat. "It's just the eye…"

"I know," Falco muttered. "It's dangling."

Sitting in the back of the car, I called Angie. I made sure to put my face on display so she could fully appreciate the masterpiece of my beatdown. Not that she'd lose any sleep over it, but maybe I could squeeze some extra eddies out of her later for this hell of a job.

"Holy shit, V, are you even alive?" Angie's voice cracked as she got a good look at me. Clearly, she was impressed.

"Still breathing," I muttered.

"You've got…"

"I know. My eye's hanging out. On my way to the ripper. Got two updates for you."

"Good news and bad news?"

"More like bad and worse. The bad news—either I'm walking away from this job, or we need to seriously renegotiate the terms given the risk level. And the worse news—I figured out who's fucking with your operation."

"That's solid intel?"

"It is. I literally saw the guy's ID."

The pieces were falling into place. The curses I'd heard earlier? Not Spanish. Portuguese.

"It's the Brazilian Intelligence Agency," I said. "They sent three highly chromed goons after me."

"And you handled them?"

"For now. But there'll be more. It's a government agency, Angie. Once they're on your tail, they don't let go. I'll need to go underground again. I can do it, but I hate it. And there's politics to consider…" I added, with a hint of something more. "I can't just go around gunning down intelligence agents left and right."

Angie believed I was working for Arasaka. Let her keep thinking that—it worked in my favor.

"Got it. Give me a couple of hours," she said, suddenly sounding more upbeat. "You're a real pro, you know that? Now that we know who's behind this… we can fix it."

Sure, I thought. Can't wait to see how Animals declare war on Brazil. Hell, maybe Angie knows something I don't.

"Why would they mess with your operation, anyway? Trying to push their own athletes?"

"No, I've got a hunch. We have a few Brazilian clients laundering their finances through our events. This might be a move against them."

"Let me guess—cartel or terrorist ties?"

"Sorry, V," she replied with a sweet smile. "That's not something I can share, even with you. Just give me a little time. I'm confident we'll sort this out. Send me your ripper bill, and stay in touch. Ciao."

"So, not Arasaka?" Falco asked, yawning.

"Surprisingly, no. Go figure. Here I am planning to rob Saburo's golden boy, and meanwhile, I'm nearly killed over some sports betting bullshit. Life's a weird joke, Falco. One minute you're scaling a wall, next thing you trip on a curb and crack your skull."

"Message Panam and Becca," I told Lucy. "Once Vik patches me up, we need to discuss an important plan."