Making It in Night City

Rogue's POV

It was late at night, and I was on the roof of a building smoking while overlooking the Northside docks. The sound of the waves lapping against the harbors mixed with the sound of cars driving by. The safety lights on the heavy machinery and boars blinked in and out, not unlike the flickering street lamps that are well past their service date.

I was not too fond of the docks and Northside in general. Cranes lifted shipping containers while workers and forklifts ran on and off the ships carrying smaller pieces of cargo. It reminded me too much of the backbreaking grind I did when I was younger. It also reminded me that I was one of the lucky ones. Most people in Night City will work themselves to the bone for the city, only to be chewed up and spit back out when they're not useful anymore.

Time is money, so all the workers worked at full pace, trying to get the ships in and out of port as fast as possible. Since Night City's location is between the Californias, it serves as one of the major trading centers between the free and NUSA states. Between six to eight thousand trucks worth of cargo enter the city via sea daily, and ships constantly move in and out like a plus-sized drive-through. All but one that is.

In the corner of the port was a dock that was sectioned off and could be rented for private use. A mysterious party booked the terminal for the month, and they had the security team changed. Instead of the usual port authority personnel, the dock was now filled with Maelstrom members. One would think hiring a gang to protect something would increase the risk, but the Maelstrom are good mercs when the scratch is right. Their reputation keeps even the boldest burglars clear from the area, and nobody has tried forcing their way in yet.

Basil's intel was good, and the Ebunike was indeed owned by Smasher and docking in this private port. What he forgot to mention, however, was that the ship was still out at sea and wouldn't enter the pier for a few weeks. I'm usually pretty patient, but I have a lot of personal ties with this job, so I didn't appreciate having to wait so long before doing anything.

The ship typically traveled with Smasher wherever he stayed. The ship was in Tokyo before, but Smasher moved the boat here for repair and maintenance. The Ebunike didn't sail here at first because the stay in the states was supposed to be temporary. That changed after the Saburo fiasco, so Smasher had Grayson bring the vessel over. The cargo boat docked a few days ago, and I've had people keep an eye on the place, noting the details on body count, patrol routes, infil/exfil points, and blind zones. 

They also found that sonuvabitch Grayson sauntering around on that boat. Just seeing his face pisses me off. A living reminder of when Arasaka tracked me down after the tower job, and I had to sell out to keep myself amongst the land of the living. I'm still vexed Basil roped me into doing this, but at least I do get to stomp on that fuckers face.

I was in a really dark place after Johnny died, and Grayson didn't make it any easier. The cost of working in post-holocaust NC was that I had to join the Arasaka wetworks department. From simple corporate espionage to kidnapping and assassination, I did it all. Since Grayson's boss was Smasher, and Smasher's boss was my boss, me and Grayson paths often crossed.

He was constantly giving me shit whenever we happened to work together on the same job. Acting all high and mighty, as if selling his soul to Smasher was any better than being forced into indentured servitude. At least my handlers had the decency not to put Smasher and me on the same team. But now things are different. Now I don't owe Arasaka, which means I get to beat Jeremiah's smug face to a pulp.

While I was fantasizing about brutalizing Grayson, Em came over the comms.

"You done Brooding?"

"Watch it, Bronson. I like you, but I am still you're boss."

"*Hmph* We're all ready. Just waiting on the go-ahead from you."

I pushed myself off the railing I was leaning on and raised my smoke to my mouth. I took one last long drag and watched as the butt turned a blazing orange before tossing the cigarette on the ground and stomping it out.

"Set 'em loose. Just don't let Jeremiah slip away."

"You got it, boss."

I turned away from the edge of the building and made my way down the stairs. I walked past the apartments, hearing the varying activities of the tenants of this establishment. Most were silent or had a TV on, while some had thumping music playing for some party. There was even one floor where I could hear some suggestive repeating knocking, only to stop when a neighbor loudly banged their shared wall and told them to be quiet.

Once out of the building, I walked through the alleys and towards the docks. The people working for me on this job were all professionals known for doing jobs in a discreet manner. Usually, getting such a group together would have cost an arm and a leg, but one of the benefits of being a fixer is that people owe you favors. All it took was a few phone calls, and I had a team of six boogeymen ready to go.

Of course, normally, I would have stormed into the place and made my presence known. Really put the squeeze on Grayson before I bash his skull in. But Basil wanted what was in the vault on board, and it's hard to steal something from someone who knows it's being stolen. So doing it the quiet way it is.

The glass at the security post outside the gates to the dock was shattered, and the corpse of a Maelstrom gang member hung halfway outside the window frame, blood and chrome coolant dripping down the side of the walls and pooling together. The gates were wide open, inviting me further in. The same image of dead Maelstrom could be seen everywhere. Some had lopped off heads, a stab through the heart, or a bullet wound.

The silence juxtaposed with the carnage that had gone down and a stark reminder of how brutally efficient some had become at killing in the City of Dreams. In ten minutes between walking down to the building to getting here, a small team of seven, including Bronson, had infiltrated the dock and killed at least a dozen Maelstrom gang members.

I walked past the cargo yard and through the warehouse, finding myself at the bottom of the ramp leading onto the Ebunike. On both sides of the ramps were two people standing over dead lookouts. Bronson was on one side, while an Afterlife merc was on the other. Bronson was my right hand man, and normally worked as the bouncer for the Afterlife. Despite his size, he was pretty good at sneaking around. The best proof was the corpse with a surprised face on a head twisted at an awkward angle.

Three more mercs showed up a few minutes later and rushed up the ramp with the one already there. Em stayed with me as I took my time getting onto the boat.

"The other two will do some cleanup and ensure no one notices what we're doing. After we get Jeremiah and total control of the ship and docks, we'll start working on the vault."

"They know not to kill Grayson?"

"They're professionals. Let them work."

We made our way across the deck, weaving through the shipping containers until we got to the ship's bow, seeing a similar scene of bodies as on the docks. Em and I got to the end of the boat just in time to see a solo in a netrunner suit attack one of the few remaining guards. He forced the unsuspecting man to kneel by kicking the back of his knees, then he pulled a monowire from his wrists and draped it over the man's neck. Before the guard could get anything more than an *oof* out, the merc in a netrunner suit kicked the back of the guard's head, sending the monowire clean through the neck.

The man's body flopped onto the ground while the head rolled for a bit before facing skyward. The eyes on the decapitated head were wide in shock, and the mouth opened and closed rapidly like a goldfish. Maybe the man was trying to say something or scream, but no sound came out because the mouth couldn't access the diaphragm or lungs. The head struggled to stay conscious, but the eyes soon rolled back, and the face lost all motion.

I stepped over the body and walked up the stairs onto the forward deck. Grayson was looking at a laptop while three Maelstrom members played cards at a table. One player was huddling over his cards, another was taking a drink, and the last one had his feets kicked up on the table and leaning back on his chair. Hearing the footsteps as my boots hit the metal floor, Grayson asked what I wanted as if I was one of his lackeys without looking up.

"What is it now? It better be about those contractors coming to fix the hole because I'm not in the mood to deal with anything else."

"You know, talking without making eye contact is rude."

Grayson looked up from his laptop after hearing somebody that clearly wasn't one of his. He got one good look at me and then tried to pull a gun on me. It was only for a split second, but I saw the iconic silver frame and red grips of Johnny's Malorian. Before he could do any harm, Em showed his incredible agility and rushed past me, bodying Grayson.

While my bouncer tackled Grayson to the ground, I pulled out my Constitutional Arms Liberty I named Pride. I pointed my pistol at the still-in-shock card players, firing three shots. Two card players flopped onto the table while the one leaning on the chair fell backward and thumped onto the ground. Three shots, three kills. Still got it.

If you are reading this, it means that you are reading a novel stolen from the original author. If you want to support me, the original author, and read ahead for free, you can find me on scribblehub under SPS4.

I watched as Em dragged over a Grayson who was kicking up a storm. Tired of manhandling someone struggling to escape, Em gut-punched Grayson, knocking the wind out of him. Grayson calmed down, and Em threw him against some metal boxes.

I holstered my pistol and walked over to pick up the Malorian Arms 3516 Grayson dropped on the ground while EM was roughing him up. The gun was hefty but not detrimentally so. It was the kind of weight that denoted something of excellent craftsmanship and quality. Once I had Johnny's iron, I crouched next to Grayson.

I put the barrel of the Malorian under his chin and raised his head so he could look at me.

"Give me Silverhands's Porsche."

Grayson looked at me and gave me a shit-eating smug grin.

"No love for an old friend?"

He was always good at getting under my skin. I raised Johnny's pistol and slammed the pistol grip into his nose. I could feel the crunch as I broke his nasal bone. That knocked the grin off his face.

"Give. Me. Silverhand's. Porsche"

This time he didn't try to be smart. He reached into his pant pocket and lifted a key out.

"It's in the gray container on the crane lift."

I snatched the key from him and stood up. Em then came behind and tapped me on the shoulder. I leaned slightly towards him, and he whispered in my ear.

"We found the vault on board, and one of the mercs on the ground is grabbing the equipment to cut inside it."

I gave the key to Em and told him to set the shipping container down. He took the key and left me with Grayson. Blood was now pouring out of his broken nose. As he wiped at his face, the crimson fluid smeared all over Grayson's face, hands, and clothes. 

I shoved one of the dead card players out of their chair and brought it over to him. I sat down in the chair and threw one leg over the other, just enjoying the sight of his defeat. When I sufficiently burned the image into my mind, I stood up again and pointed the pistol at his head.

"We all knew this was how it was going to end. Any last words?"

There was a pause. Then Grayson managed a smirk.

"Fuck you, Bitch."

I sneered back at him. At least he's not going out like a pussy. A loud bang followed as I pulled the trigger on Johnny's pistol. The pistol that fires a rifle caliber round recoiled violently and spat out a small ball of flame. Jeremiah's head jerked back, banging into the crate he was resting his body on. The spent casing ejected from the chamber and bounced on the ground a few times, giving a tiny *clink* every time it hit the floor.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax. I thought killing Grayson would bring me some peace, but the catharsis I expected never came. Maybe this wasn't enough. Perhaps it was useless to seek revenge for something that happened so long ago. But I can't stop now.

I lit another cigarette and smoked while watching a few mercs bring heavy equipment onto the Ebunike. I took a long drag on my cig and exhaled a large smoke plume—time to see if Basil was right about that vault.