Traffic was oddly light for 7PM. Perhaps it’s because of this massively inconvenient lockdown; I swear, people just cannot leave and it makes no sense. Metro, traffic, even pedestrian crossings are all under tight restrictions. It almost feels like the city quarantined all of Watson with no explanation. I shudder to think of how much this place will suffer from this; people will lose their jobs, no doubt. Plus, depending on how long it all lasts, getting necessary supplies in and out could prove a real problem. What would happen if, for instance, the local fire department becomes overworked? What about Trauma Team; they work out of the hospital in Watson. Are they just grounded from operating outside and need to defer clients to outer-city locations? It just doesn’t make sense.

  Well, at least the essentials remained open for now. Bars, seedy motels, and street corners with the usual gaggle of gangers, drug dealers, and street-walkers. It sounds like a terrible place on the surface, but I actually found it to be a breath of fresh air to have the world’s detritus in the open like this. People aren’t going out of their way to hide their problems. There’s no cloak-and-dagger business here. It’s not clean wallpaper hiding the mold. Sure, it’s not perfect, but that’s the point. It knows it’s not perfect, and isn’t pretending to be anything more than that. After spending so long under Arasaka’s thumb, I truly appreciate that honesty.

  It’s funny, this place would’ve been so much better had it not been for Arasaka. Watson was around well before Arasaka was allowed back into Night City; it was the industrial and commercial center, in-fact. The Med Center is almost all that’s left from those times – everything else flowed south into the City Center once Arasaka moved back in. The corporation effectively muscled out most of the small businesses and industrial manufacturers operating here, leaving people destitute and jobless. Then Arasaka bought up all the land northwest of here and converted it all into the Arasaka Waterfront, filled with beaming apartments, hotels, and corporate workplaces. I never worked out of there, myself, but I’ve certainly flown there many times.

  Looking at it now, though, it’s strange. Almost all of inner Tokyo looks like that, with the sterile, corporate streets and architecturally-puzzling infrastructure. Everything’s automated and computerized, everything looks minimalist and clean. It almost looks like a veneer one would place over the real thing, like throwing a cloth over a filth-covered dinner table.

  Likely tens of thousands of Watsonites paid the ultimate price for the Waterfront, a price I think is far too high. When I signed up, I never expected to be part of the machine used to conquer the world. All I wanted to do was advance Japan’s interests abroad, try to right the wrongs committed in the Time of the Red. They told us that we were fighting for the souls lost to the Night City Holocaust, for representation and an end to Japanese racism in America, for security against a Militech hostile takeover of independent nations. We were supposed to be the liberators here. The people Watsonites greeted with open arms. I fought so hard for that very future, but that didn’t exactly pan out as expected.

  Still, I wonder what this place would look like without us being here. Without anyone to stop Operation: Midnight Storm, the hostile takeover of Night City by Militech. This was effectively our last stand; NUSA forces had conquered every independent state save Texas by the time they reached Night City’s borders. I was posted in the south, right at the front lines. I remember it well; the NUSA sent a whole division posted just a day’s journey away from the SoCal border wall, flying AVs overhead from my post above the power plant. They eventually landed in Pacifica, a battalion detachment led by some renegade hotshot colonel. We had standing orders to shoot anyone who came out for weeks on-end – it felt like a Mexican standoff, but at a city-wide level. If that supercarrier never came, if we had never participated, well… Night City would’ve been owned by Militech for many years by this point.

  All the memories I have from that time felt somehow broken - like a picture missing half the shot… I wish I could see their faces. Hear what they sounded like. But I can't… and I think that kills me most of all. What a terrible burden, to be remembered, yet so isolated and forgotten. We fought hard. And people remember us for the consequences. But they forgot about the actions it took to see it through.

  I wonder what that’ve looked like. A re-unified USA, an interesting concept, for sure. I suppose it wouldn’t have been all bad, just different. Still, a corp is a corp, it doesn’t matter what color suits we wear. It’s all the same to the small business owner who’s forced to shutter up because the corp does it more efficiently for cheaper. Then, of course, once everyone’s gone and you have a monopoly, all bets are off. Avarice doesn’t know borders.

  I spoke with a man today, had stolen some medication from a local ripperdoc clinic. I was tasked with retrieving it – easy enough, I thought. Walked into the run-down apartment to find another veteran, all chromed-up and desperately looking for help. I sat down and talked to him, grunt to grunt. Told me he was in Brazil for over a decade. In the jungles, just trying to survive while everyone was dying all around him. It’s like the jungle itself was the enemy, just snuffing people out at random. Locals called it the “Reaper,” apparently, when someone just… disappeared, they were “Reaped.” That must’ve been horrifying… I sat down with him and tried my best to comfort him, and he seemed receptive to it. Made him promise to get help, and he said to me, “Whaddyou think I was tryin’ to do with that betahaloperidol?” I even offered him my own money so he could buy it legitimately, but he just sat there… Left a cred stick on the counter and walked off. And I heard a single shot ring through the apartment.

  I’ve had dreams where it’s like a braindance that I can’t shut off. Where I’m scared, horrified, shaking, cold… I wake up in a puddle of sweat, sometimes screaming, sometimes impulsively gripping my sword through muscle memory. I can’t even imagine what that man must’ve gone through, for so long, to feel like he could never get out. I wept in my car, knowing full-well that could’ve been me… I should feel lucky… Yet all I felt was a profound sense of sorrow, guilt, and fear of going to sleep tonight. I didn’t want to keep reliving the agony. The fire. The screams…

  I didn’t want to die. But I understood exactly why he did, and felt nothing but the deepest sympathy for him and others like him. It’s funny, I spoke to him about things I’d never even told Jackie. Things I was scared to talk about, to even think about, for years. I told him about the time when our convoy was struck with pre-sighted mortar fire and IEDs in Bakersfield. The truck overturned and I crawled out and laid face-up, unable to catch my breath… My squadmate, a guy I’d known for like a week, he complimented my hair once, after a gas mask drill. Made me smile for the first time in a long time. And I just remember him on the ground, panicking, screaming… trying to get up, but he couldn’t, just kept… falling down… The flames were so hot that they melted his boots. I remember just watching this kid when the AV came, they tried to take his pants off and… and all his skin, it just… the medic pulled it off, thinking it was part of his uniform, and everything just… fell. Like a pair of baggy sweatpants…

  The man in the apartment offered me a drink, which I happily accepted. It doesn’t solve the problem, I know, but it at least hits the “mute” button for a little while. After hearing that gunshot as I left the apartment, though, it just made me want to vomit. I sat down on the stairs and just cried… That could’ve been me… Perhaps it should’ve been. What did I do to deserve survival, when that poor kid, screaming… Those screams will forever haunt me. And that’s not even the worst experience I’ve had around fire.

  People wonder why I’m scared of fire, I guess I’m not. I think I’m more scared of the screams. There’s nothing quite like the inhuman screaming of someone in agony, unable to do anything about it, desperately flailing around as their body is consumed before their very eyes. I wonder, at what point, does the mind shut off? Would it be like drowning, where death occurs from asphyxiation from the flames cauterizing the lungs and windpipe? Or perhaps it’d be akin to a warm bath after a time, unable to feel or move at all, and you just silently accept your fate as you slip further into darkness? At what point does the pain stop? Are you still screaming even when your throat is sealed closed and no one can hear you anymore?

  Part of me wonders just how much this place has changed, or better yet, if anyone even remembers what happened. Sure, it was over a year ago, but some people have long memories. Jackie told me I had to start anew, so I guess I should take him up on that offer. Though not before I stopped at the bar and had a tall glass of sake to bury the screams again.

  “Hey there, dollface,” the bouncer said to me, “Dig the look. Well, everything ‘cept the sword.” Her body looked to be made of glossy plastic with seemingly custom-made cyberarms, one of which held a prominent pink baseball bat.

  “Oh, right,” I nodded, “No weapons, huh?”

  “Yup, sorry,” she said bluntly, “House rules. Gotta hand it over.”

  “Fair enough,” I conceded, “Can I check it in at the counter?”

  “What, too good for someone else to handle?”

  “I’m, uh… Well, yeah. It’s a family heirloom, so I don’t like when other people touch it, that’s all.”

  “Hah, get a load of this one,” she chuckled, “You don’t come here often, do you?”

  “Not really, sorry.”

  “Alright, well I’m Rita. Rita Wheeler.”

  “V,” I slightly bowed courteously.

  “Hm,” Rita returned the bow, “Not many people around here do that. You a Tyger Claw or somethin’?”

  “Hey, I didn’t come here to get insulted, I’m just here to meet someone,” I said bluntly.

  “Hey now, relax, was a joke,” Rita smiled, “Sorry.”

  “It’s alright,” I nodded.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “So if you’re not a Claw, what’s the deal with the whole getup?”

  “Why does it matter?” I asked her.

  “Just wanna make sure I’m not lettin’ someone in who’s gonna start shit, that’s all,” she replied honestly, “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s kinda my job.”

  “I understand. But no, just want a drink and a chat, that’s all.”

  “Hmph, alright,” she shrugged, “Just check the sword in with the desk. And if you’re extra well-behaved, I’ll letcha keep it next time, how’s that?”

  “I think that’s fair,” I smiled slightly, unhooking Shinden and tying the kurigata ribbon up.

  “Hell of a name, V,” Rita laughed, “Well, pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” I said earnestly as I passed through. Hadn’t been here since… well…

  I placed the sword on the counter and checked myself in, telling the concierge to be respectful. To my surprise, she seemed to remember it well. “A good sword like that sticks with ya,” she laughed, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep ‘er nice and safe.”

  “Thanks,” I replied before heading in, immediately eyeing the bench I sat in with Jackie all that time ago. It was less than two years, but fucking hell, does it feel like a lifetime had passed…

  “Hey,” I said as I sat down at the bar next to a couple of women – honestly, everyone in this place looks gorgeous, it makes me quite envious. “Get me a sake, please. Doesn’t have to be anything specific”

  “Sure thing,” the bartender nodded before retrieving a bottle from underneath the counter and pouring me a glass.

  “Out of curiosity,” I asked, trying to make conversation, “Lizzie’s Bar. Who’s Lizzie, anyway? She still work here?”

  “Ah, that’s not a particularly happy story,” he said to me in a sombre tone, “Lizzie ran a strip joint back in the day here. Also had the name of Lizzie’s Bar. Girls were paid right, insured, even had decent security. Pretty good deal overall.”

  “But?”

  “But Tyger Claws took care of that,” he frowned, “Beat one of the girls real bad once. No hesitation, Lizzie grabbed her iron and blew the guy’s balls off. Rest of his gang showed up the next day. Liz was done.”

  “Hm, so why’s this place still under Mox control?”

  “Moxes had to make a deal with ‘em. Luckily they kept their heads – organized quick. Boss now is Susie Q, but the sign stays up, outta respect,” he pointed outside, “And as you can see, biz booms to this day.”

  I sloshed my drink down and turned over the shot glass. “Looking for Evelyn Parker, she here today?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “V. Here on business.”

  “Well V, it’s a pleasure, I’m Mateo,” he replied frankly, shaking my hand.

  “So, uh, Evelyn?”

  “Club’s big, gonna have to look around,” he shrugged. Not that big.

  “S’alright, Mateo, I was waitin’ for this one,” someone to my left said. I glanced over to see a woman dressed in furs and thigh-high heels, with a bright sequin dress to boot. Not to mention a rather subtle yet aromatic perfume – ambergris. Certainly a more alluring sight than Dex ever was.

  She nodded over to Mateo who refilled my drink and gave her some tequila. “Evelyn Parker.”

  “V,” I bowed my head.

  “Hmm, interesting custom,” she noted, “And that accent isn’t what you’d normally hear from a Tyger Claw. Native Japanese, hm?”

  “Perhaps,” I sipped the sake, noting a hint of black cherry, “Oh? Kawazo? Excellent choice.”

  “Hm, I like to know everything about the people I work with,” she smiled, “Or, perhaps it was a lucky guess – your choice.”

  “So, onto business, then?” I hurried it along.

  “Very well,” she nodded, “C’mon. I know a place where we won’t be bothered.” She walked casually yet confidently, though I detected a reservoir of unease about her. Like she was trying too hard. Her purse dangled from her left hand, a cute designer handbag on prominent display. Flashy yet subtle – how very interesting… Wonder what she’s got in store.

  Evelyn led me into a back room, looked like a private BD viewing area dominated by a holographic striptease of some nameless topless doll. The lighting dimmed just enough to coat Evelyn in shadows without being too ominous, and I must say, this is the loveliest-smelling place like this I’ve been to in ages. Normally the backrooms of clubs are absolute shitholes, but this one looked… nice. Classy, even.

  “Dex had a lot to say about you,” Evelyn reached in her handbag and produced a cigarette, “Called you quiet. Reserved. Observant. Trustworthy, even.” The flame flickered and danced in the darkness of the room as she lit it up and took a drag.

  “Funny, you didn’t strike me as the type to care what someone like Dex thinks,” I leveled at her, “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Oh? Quite presumptuous,” she stuck her head up, “You have trouble accepting compliments?”

  “No, I just think you’re above flattery. Am I wrong?”

  “Hmm… I’ll accept that compliment,” she took another puff and sat down next to me, “By implication, then, you think you’re above Dex.”

  “How would you figure that?”

  “Because you don’t strike me as someone who would do business with him without a damn good reason.” She’s not wrong. “Have you known each other long?”

  “No. To be blunt, I just started working with him.”

  “Yet he pegged you for this job. Curious…”

  “Curious? How do you mean?”

  “I doubt Dex knows anything about you I don’t. Knows anything I care to know at all, for that matter,” she rolled her eyes, likely meaning in a broader sense from what I’m gathering, “There’s only one other bunch that’s worse than fixers in terms of making assumptions about people – used car salesmen. My gut says you’re okay, though, so I’m going with my gut for now.”

  “You mean Dex’s gut. How do I know you wouldn’t say this to just anyone?”

  “Mm, you’re good,” she smiled, “There are two kinds of fixers, I believe. Those with stable crews, long contracts, and short leashes. They value loyalty and trust above all else.”

  “And the other type?”

  “Headhunters. They lay their trust elsewhere. Not in a person, but in a thing – intuition. They bet on potential. And if they lose that bet… Well, it’s the last mistake they ever make,” she tilted her head towards me, wearing a sly smile, “I’m hoping Dex’s intuition has served him well in this case.”

  “Fair… so, now that we understand each other well enough, what would you like to discuss with me?”

  “Your target – I trust you know what it is?”

  “Relic. ‘Secure Your Soul.’ Dex dropped that it was a biochip owned by Arasaka and I… put the rest together for myself.”

  “Hm, observant indeed,” she nodded, “Mhm, Arasaka’s poured billions into personality transfer technology. Me – I just want the data on this one.”

  “May I ask why this one, specifically? The technology’s been around since the Fourth Corporate War, surely there are easier sources than a prototype biochip.”

  “It’s proprietary data. The word ‘prototype’ extends to more than just the chip itself, you see.” Hmm. So that whistleblower was right… They’re still developing this even beyond the Relic. “The chip is in Konpeki Plaza. The hotel. You ever been?”

  “I’ve been to the hotel chain, yes, though only ones in Tokyo and… Well, not Night City’s in particular,” I shook my head.

  “Ah, so then you know that they’re all identical to each other.”

  “Mm. Though Japan’s staff easily outclasses the rest. Singapore, Paris, Washington, all the rest act like charity-case cousins. I assume this would be no different.”

  “Well,” she puffed her smoke, “It’s hard to argue with that, true.”

  “So where’s the chip hiding, anyway? Specifically.”

  “In a suite, top floor. Room’s occupied by Yorinobu Arasaka.”

  “...Excuse me?” I furrowed my brow and reeled back a little. I knew he was likely to be in town – the screamsheets all spread the rumors surrounding Kujira’s arrival. Yet this is the first I’ve heard anything more concrete than the lips of passersby. “And you know this for a fact? Saburo Arasaka’s heir-apparent is in Night City right now. In Konpeki Plaza, no less.”

  “I do,” she smiled, “Rumors aside, I have my ways.”

  “What the Hell is he doing here, then? Some sort of meeting? I doubt that the Old Man’s about to give up a 150-year reign, so it’s not that.”

  “Only a handful of people in Night City know what the family’s real plans are,” she grumbled.

  “What, and you’re one of them?” I said bluntly. All she did, however, was grin. I don’t buy it. Not without hard evidence. “So let me get this straight. We’re not stealing from the corporation. We’re stealing a prototype chip from a room occupied by Yorinobu Arasaka himself.”

  “Pff,” she scoffed, “Yorinobu is a puppet. He lost all his cards years ago when he failed to do his daddy’s bidding. Saburo’s had Yori’s balls in a vice for years. He might just turn the screw and crush ‘em if he knew his son was up to no good again.”

  “Nevertheless, what cards he does possess, well. I assume you know exactly who it is you’re dealing with. The rebellious problem-child of the Arasaka family. The man who joined the Steel Dragons biker gang. That Yorinobu. He’s liable to have his own private army. And the place must be an absolute fortress.”

  “Yorinobu keeps exactly no hustle around. Not one guard. Got rid of them a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, I don’t believe that for a second.”

  “Surely you know what they say about Arasaka intel?”

  “More than you, I imagine.”

  “Hm, then you should know the saying, ‘Sneeze in Night City and a blossom drops from a cherry tree in Tokyo.’ Yorinobu is convinced his security detail reports directly to his father.”

  “Still, that just means he’s hand-picked his detail, not ditched them entirely.”

  “Perhaps,” she shrugged, “Still far less than what one would expect.”

  “Again, I’ll repeat. You’re requesting me to steal a prototype biochip from the heir of the largest megacorporation on the planet. Or any planet, for that matter,” I repeated, “No offense, but you better have some excellent cards hidden up those sleeves of yours if you think I’m okay with this.”

  “Well then this… should make your tits perk up,” she leaned forward, “Yorinobu’s klepped the chip from an Arasaka laboratory. He’s made a deal with NetWatch, aims to sell it to them.”

  “Hm… something still doesn’t add up,” I retorted, “NetWatch generally retains a neutral stance, at least on the surface-level. What would they have to profit off a stolen biochip?”

  “NetWatch provides net security for all corporations.”

  “And collects millions in revenue for it, I’m aware.”

  “But, in this day and age, everyone’s got skin in the game. Like you said, it’s all just surface-level.”

  “I wonder what he gets in return,” I pondered, “Guy has all the money in the world. Intel on his enemies, perhaps?”

  “Unimportant,” she shook her head, “Not like the deal’s gonna happen anyway if we have anything to say about it.”

  “Fine, so if security’s not a significant issue, then he must be hiding it somewhere,” I thought out-loud, “So where’s he storing it?”

  “Likely in a specialized container,” she scratched her head, “Something built specifically to mimic an organic neural environment. On the outside, should look like an ordinary briefcase.”

  “Theoretically.”

  “More on the way, I assure you,” she nodded, getting up and walking to the door, “Provided we’re done gossiping about the Arasakas.”

  “You know, I still can’t shake this,” I shook my head, “This is a man who studied finance and biotechnology in Tokyo. Someone who’s well-educated, well-informed, and driven.”

  “Mm. Saburo was grooming him to be his successor,” she added.

  “But then he went off and joined a motorcycle gang. Heard they were planning an Arasaka coup, said to be its downfall. In fact the man can’t be more anti-corpo if he tried, and he’s certainly tried hard.”

  “Mmh, that flash of youthful rebellion ended like it usually does,” she paced around a bit, “Yorinobu returned to the fold, bitter taste notwithstanding. You clearly know your stuff, V, I respect that. But that’s only one side of him. There’s another, one you alluded to earlier. The intelligent man who’s well-informed and knows what he wants.”

  “So then why is he risking everything? He must have some sort of end-game.”

  “Nah, he’s just fallen for the biggest lie this town puts forward,” she sighed, “That he can gain and retain control… Of anything.”

  “One more thing – do you know what’s on the chip itself? You mentioned it was proprietary, but how do you know that?”

  “Irrelevant. Entirely,” she said bluntly.

  “We’re talking about something Yorinobu smuggled out of an Arasaka black-site and is planning to sell to NetWatch, I’d be remiss not to know the value of what I’m carrying here. I mean, is it a doomsday device, is it proximity-linked to the Yorinobu, will it blow up if we try and drive away without him in the trunk-”

  “Listen, V. The Relic, that’s my concern. Yours is earning a paycheck.” I don’t like this one bit. Fucking hell, Jackie, what’ve you gotten us into…

  “Alright, so what now?” I asked, rising up off the booth.

  “Now comes the best part. Follow me,” she ushered me out the door. “Braindance from Konpeki Plaza. Should help you plan.”

  “Oh? A BD from inside the Plaza? Guessing you scrolled it?”

  “Perhaps…” she shrugged as she walked, “Guess BDs are better than for gettin’ your rocks off after all, huh?”

  “So it seems.”