Chapter 10: Testing
"These are all the gains."
In a hidden safehouse in Heywood Valley, Sandayu Oda and Nova Li opened large crates filled with black-market gear.
Epic-grade cyberware. Epic-grade weapons. Rare combat stimulants.
High-tier gear was scarce—barely a dozen pieces among everything they hauled. Is that a small amount? Absolutely. But good gear has always been rare.
If budget weren't an issue, Sandayu and Nova would've cleared out the whole auction.
Common, Rare, Advanced, Epic, Legendary, Immortal—each tier was exponentially more expensive than the last.
"Most of the high-end stuff released recently is in this batch," Nova said, watching her squad leader turn over a black-and-red rhomboid-shaped organ. She smirked. "We've officially drained the team funds."
The crash of global banks had left behind a fractured savings system. With most networks compromised, the only reliable way to store cash was either offline or through private banks.
As Arasaka operatives, Ash and his team received salaries and bonuses via Arasaka Bank, one of the few corporate-backed institutions still tightly regulated.
By contrast, banks in Night City were like free-for-alls. No matter if it was clean money or eddies soaked in blood—if you deposited it, it counted.
That was why Night City's economy bounced back quickly after the "Nuclear Peace."
Didn't trust banks? No problem. Uploading funds to a personal area network via e-wallet was an option.
Convenient? Yes.
Secure? Not even close. Any halfway-decent netrunner could jack your brain and drain your creds. That's why most people had their neural ports embedded directly in their skulls.
Want my cash? Try taking it from my dead body.
Of course, the kind of people who used that method were usually gangsters—untrusting, paranoid, and greedy to the bone.
"No money? Don't stress. We'll be flush again soon," Ash said with a grin, gently placing the Biotech™ Second Heart cyber-organ into the crate.
That contact… he should be making a move any moment now.
---
Militech, Counter-Intelligence Division – 1st Team, Intelligence Section
Biersen twirled his pen lazily, watching footage on-screen.
A group of Cleaners had been spotted by Militech's roaming Griffin drones. At first, Biersen paid attention, but they hadn't done much for days.
Bored, he marked their hideout on the Militech tactical map and casually flagged the threat level as "low."
Honestly, they weren't even worth Militech's time. The NCPD could send a couple of cruisers and wipe them out.
His job was to explore Night City through low-quality, untraceable drones. Sometimes he caught gang deals, corpo movement, or even the occasional explicit show.
Other times, he'd get blown out of the sky or hacked by a rival corp's netrunner.
No big loss—these weren't premium drones.
In the world of Night City, 80% of the power sits with 20% of the corps. The rest? Expendable.
And after decades of warfare, Earth's population hadn't recovered. AI and automation filled the gap.
What used to serve billions was now enough for barely a billion survivors—most resources were hoarded by the megacorps.
And despite all the chrome, the rich still preferred organic bodies. Especially the old-timers. The more ancient they got, the more obsessed they became with staying "human."
Hence, the organ black market never dried up—not even during the war.
Prosthetics are easy to mass-produce. But flesh? That's a whole different game.
Unless 3D bioprinting or cloning sees a massive breakthrough, natural organs remain a premium resource.
Biersen's finger paused over the mouse. He remembered something.
Wait… why not let him handle this?
It's a good field test. Yeah. Let's see what the rookie's made of.
Looking around—everyone was either sleeping, snacking, or ogling girls. No one working hard. Same old Militech.
When the boss is here, I'm a lapdog.
When the boss is gone, I'm the alpha.
He quietly pulled out his burner and dialed the number from his memo. It connected after three rings.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice.
Biersen blinked. That wasn't who he expected.
But protocol was protocol. Don't ask. Don't dig. Intelligence agents survived by knowing less, not more.
So, keeping his voice low, he said:
"Watson District, Northern Industrial Park. Northwest corner. Cleaners. Six to ten bodies."
Click. He hung up, scrubbed metadata from the surveillance images, and hit send.
First time doing it? Sure. But he'd watched enough ops to know the drill.
Location. Enemy type. Team size. Then the pictures.
---
Elsewhere…
Sandayu Oda stared at her phone, watching encrypted files stream in.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Ash said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I gave our Militech contact line to a 'friend' in Intel. Seems like he's throwing us a bone."
Sandayu smirked as she scrolled through the photos. "Doesn't seem like he has much faith in us."
"Well, we're new around here. Caution's natural. Plus, we're broke. Time to earn," Ash replied like he was ordering takeout.
He turned to Nova. "Sort the gear into storage and update the team. Let's see who needs what."
High-tier loot always goes to your own people first.
Nova sealed the crate. "You don't need me on this job?"
"A Cleaners' den? C'mon." Ash stretched his arms. "Sandayu and I got it."
This was their specialty.
Murder and looting. Professional-grade.
They hailed a Delamain ride, dressed in dark hoodies and adaptive camo, heading for the address Biersen had dropped.
The moment they crossed into Watson's North District, the skies darkened.
"Looks like rain," Sandayu said, eyes flicking up briefly before she resumed typing on her portable deck.
No matter how reliable a source, data always needed verification.
In Night City, it's info first, movement second.
---
The Northern Industrial Park was more of a micro-city—refurbished three times, filled with old factories, artificial lakes, and dense woods. A perfect playground for guerilla warfare.
They parked behind a crumbling wall 500 meters from the objective.
Sandayu pulled a handful of egg-sized 'Hummingbird' micro-drones from her pouch and launched them.
They weren't armed, but stealthy and agile—perfect recon tools.
As the green 3D terrain map loaded on her screen, Ash couldn't help muttering, "Tech's moving fast."
Sandayu shot him a look and focused on piloting.
The power of a drone isn't in the drone—it's in the operator. Some used them for war. Others used them to spy on neighbors.
Sandayu was clearly the former.
Her screen split into four feeds, each showing live recon from a different 'Hummingbird'.
They zipped through industrial piping and overgrown brush like swallows in a canyon.
Ash watched closely, serious for once. He never slacked on the job.
Underestimate strategically. Overprepare tactically.
He wasn't reckless—just calculated.
"Basement level?" Sandayu murmured.
One drone dipped into a ventilation shaft and began exploring.
The pipe network below was chaos. Rusted infrastructure tangled with newer upgrades. Sewage tunnels led to back alleys, river outlets, even underground malls.
It was a labyrinth where many wannabe urban explorers went missing.
Eventually, her thermal scans locked onto something.
A cluster of targets, deeper underground. Bulkier than the ones above—likely Cleaners' elites.
Just as the drone approached the final bend, a shadow flickered across the screen, and Ash's eyes narrowed.
Something—or someone—unexpected had entered the frame.