Friday Night Firefight: A Cyberpunk Isekai

I was slouched on a beat-up leather couch we’d dragged into our little headquarters. The place was a chaotic blend of industrial grime and our own personal touches, and it was buzzing with activity tonight. The bass-heavy beat of some old radio was pulsing like a heartbeat, syncing with the sound of glasses clinking, laughter, and conversations buzzing. The war was finally over, and it felt like the entire gang was finally able to exhale after everything we’d been through.

Diego was holding court by the makeshift bar, cracking jokes as he poured drinks, his laugh carrying over the crowd. Deng was kicked back in a busted chair we’d salvaged from who-knows-where, grinning wide at whatever joke Diego had just thrown out. Cyndi was tucked into a corner, looking half-asleep, though I knew better – her eyes never stopped scanning, always watching, always ready.

Anna was settled in one of the deep, worn-out armchairs we’d found. She looked more at ease than I’d ever seen her, a world away from the stiff, sharp cop I’d met back when she was still with the NCPD. Here, surrounded by The Pack, she seemed to have finally found her place. I felt a strange sense of pride in that. These were my people. We’d clawed through a war none of us had asked for and now, finally, we could breathe again. At least for the night.

But as much as I wanted to enjoy the moment, my mind kept wandering. My Kusanagi had been gathering dust since the war broke out, and I could almost feel the rush of tearing through the city again – the wind whipping past, the freedom of it all. But no one in The Pack wanted to let me off my leash just yet. We were still technically at war, even though all the gunfire had stopped. Gunner was still out there, holding what was left of 6th Street together. Even if they were limping, they weren’t out of the fight, and my crew wasn’t about to let me ride solo just because all the fighting had stopped.

Albert was out there right now, trying to put the final nail in the coffin of the war. I’d sent him to meet with Gunner, to make everything all official and to finally get some peace. Frankly, I couldn’t be bothered to drag myself across town to tell a guy I’d threatened to necklace that the war was done. Albert could handle that. He could deal with all the talking. He had a knack for it, even if I didn’t quite trust him the way I trusted the others. His time with Arasaka had given him an edge in negotiation. He knew how to push just hard enough without toppling the whole table over.

I still wasn’t sure what to make of him, though. He’d kept his head down during the war, kept his little group of hired muscle busy guarding our assets, never throwing himself into the thick of it like the rest of us. While we were all out there, bleeding for The Pack, he was safe behind the lines. Useful? Sure. Trustworthy? That was still up in the air.

I sent Zion out with Albert, plus some extra muscle – not so much to protect Albert, but more as a reminder to Gunner. I wanted him to feel the weight of The Pack. Even with everything we’d been through, even after we’d taken our fair share of hits during the war, we were still standing. Still strong. We had muscle to spare, and I wanted Gunner to know it.

I sank deeper into the couch, rubbing my temples. Albert had his uses. Maybe after he finished with Gunner, I’d send him out to smooth things over with all the other gangs in the city. He might be able to patch up whatever scars the war was going to leave behind. Nobody was in a rush to take another shot at us after the way we’d dealt with 6th Street. We could probably enjoy some time at peace, rebuilding what we’d lost.

Deng caught my eye from across the room and wandered over, dragging a chair next to where Anna was sitting. He handed me a glass of whiskey and raised his own in a mock toast. “You did good, kid,” he said, his voice cutting through the hum of the party around us. “Real good.”

I gave him a half-smile and knocked back the whiskey. The burn was a welcome distraction to all the thoughts swirling in my head. Deng turned to Anna, chatting with her and making her laugh with some war story. He wasn’t wrong. We’d done good. The Pack had survived the war and come out stronger for it.

6th Street was on its knees, and the whole city knew we weren’t just some small-time operation anymore. The war had shot The Pack straight into the upper echelons of the Night City gangs. Every spot 6th Street had hit during the war was back up and running, and all our clientele had come flooding back to the casinos. We’d earned our place, and nobody was dumb enough to pick a fight with us right now.

My mind wandered back to something I’d told Padre. Not the stuff about wanting to talk to him about the Trekkie poser gang – though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to hear more stories about them. No, I was serious when I told him I wanted The Pack to work more closely with the Valentinos.

They had Heywood on lockdown, especially now that we’d smacked 6th Street out of the picture. It was clear that, with the war behind us, the Valentinos were in the ascendency along with us. They were expanding their turf, flexing their muscles, growing their influence while 6th Street limped away to nurse its wounds. No one else had the muscle to challenge them – not in Heywood at least. With their main competition out of the way, the Valentinos had breathing room.

I wasn’t planning on breaking the ‘tino monopoloy on Heywood. That would’ve been stupid. But the idea of aligning The Pack with them? That had potential. I could see it – a partnership where we covered downtown, and they held Heywood. It was a partnership that could carve out a serious chunk of territory.

But even that wasn’t good enough for me. The Pack needed something…more. Right now, we were scattered – mostly operating out of the downtown area, with a few smaller spots dotted around the city. We had our underground casinos, a few night markets, some garages where we churned out counterfeit goods. But we didn’t have anything real solid. We didn’t have any large territory we could call our own. If we were serious about expanding, about lasting, we needed more than simple name recognition. We needed territory, and a stronghold we could defend and expand from.

The war with 6th Street had made our name known, no doubt about that. We’d dismantled one of Night City’s larger gangs, and now everyone was keeping their distance. Even the Tyger Claws hadn’t made a move on us. At least, not yet anyways.

The TC weren’t like 6th Street. They were bigger, more organized, and way more ruthless. Going up against them wouldn’t be the same as taking on 6th Street. We’d bleed for every inch of what we tried to take. But they also knew they couldn’t just swipe us aside like some nothing gang. If they wanted to come at us, it would cost them a shit ton of soldiers and eddies.

There was a balance in that. It was a sort of uneasy détente. As long as we didn’t try to push them out of Watson or take a chunk out of Westbrooke, and as long as they left our casinos and night markets alone, everything would be okay. But that wasn’t going to last forever. Eventually, someone was going to test the waters.

Maelstrom was staying up in North Watson, doing whatever it is those chrome junkies do. Probably jacking it to cyberware catalogues or kicking puppies for sport. Honestly, I didn’t care much. As long as they stayed in their decaying part of the city and didn’t mess with my crew, I couldn’t be bothered.

Then there were the Mox. No real issues there. They had Lizzies, their joytoys, and the porn biz. We had our casinos, night markets, and counterfeiting ring. Our worlds didn’t overlap, and as long as we didn’t step on each other’s toes, everything would stay neutral. Anna and I might’ve still had some brownie points with their leadership for the whole Jotaro thing, but in Night City? Goodwill doesn’t last long.

Barghest probably didn’t even know we existed. We didn’t have any business in Dogtown, and Kurt Hansen had his hands full trying to play warlord over that chaotic mess. Honestly, I sort of respected his hustle. Building a black-market empire while trying to run what passed for a government there? That took balls. But I wasn’t interested in dragging The Pack into that shitshow. At least…not yet.

The real issue that kept gnawing at me was the Animals.

This was Night City. I wasn’t naïve enough to think any gang would back us fully. But I still figured that they’d have seen where their interests lay and not try and screw us over that hard. We had deals in place, arrangements that worked, and for a while, things had been running smoothly. It was a good setup: we provided the brains, they brought the muscle. Then, right when 6th Street started poking at us, the Animals just ghosted. No warning, no negotiation, nothing. Just gone. Left us holding the bag on a bunch of territory we didn’t have the bodies to protect. That stung.

Neither Angelica nor Sasquatch had said a word to me since the war ended. Not a call, not a message. I was letting them sweat for a bit. I wanted them to wonder what the fallout of their little stunt would be. You don’t just pull out of agreements like that and expect everything to blow over.

I hadn’t decided how I wanted to handle it yet. Sure, the Animals had muscle, but the Pack was growing. We were recruiting more people every day. And if we kept it up, we wouldn’t need their brawn for much longer. So, how much did we really need the Animals? Maybe I’d push them for a new deal, something more favorable to us. Or maybe I’d cut them loose entirely and let them see what happens when you screw us over. Either way, I was going to make them sweat a little longer before I made my move.

I’d been zoning out, lost in thought, when Deng’s voice pulled me back to the present. “Noah. Hey, kid, you still with us?”

I blinked, shaking off the haze, and focused on him. He was lounging across from me, one arm casually slung over the back of his chair, studying me with a curious look on his face. “You had that faraway look again,” he said, watching me closely. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Before I could answer, Anna leaned in, glancing between us. “Yea, you’ve been real quiet lately,” she chimed in.

“Just thinking about our next steps. What we gotta do. Who we’re going to be dealing with. Why, what’s up?”

Anna exchanged a look with Deng, then turned back to me. “Well, I was telling Deng that some old friends from the NCPD have been reaching out,” she said. “They’re looking for a meet.”

That caught my attention. “Any issues?” I asked, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. The last thing we needed was cops breathing down our necks right after coming out of a war.

Anna waved off my concern. “Nah, nothing major. Just some people from the organized crime unit. I get the feeling they want to come to some sort of…understanding.” She let out a huff, rolling her eyes. “I think they’re just looking to make their jobs easier. As long as we don’t make them look too bad – or start shit with the badges – they’ll turn a blind eye to what we’re doing.”

I nodded, the tension easing a bit. “Makes sense. They seem to have a ‘live and let live’ policy with most of the big gangs. As long as we don’[t make waves, they’re not gonna come crashing through our door.”

Anna snorted. “Yea, no kidding. I always wondered how the higher-ups could be so bad at their jobs – solving crimes, handling cases, all that crap. Now that I’m on this side of the law, it’s starting to make sense. Turns out, they just don’t give a damn about most of what goes down. As long as they keep up appearances, that’s all that matters.”

Deng leaned forward from his spot across from me, his eyes narrowing like he was trying to read my mind. “So,” he said, “what exactly were you thinking about in terms of next steps?”

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I glanced at both of them. “Just…everything. The Pack’s growing the war’s finally over, but now what? We’ve got a breather, sure, but we need to use that time to expand. The Valentinos, Tyger Claws, Animals – they’re all watching. So, how do we keep growing? How do we lock down what we’ve already built? It’s all just spinning around in my head.”

Deng chuckled, leaning back with a grin. “That’s a lot deeper than I expected. I thought you were gonna whine about not being able to go riding right now, and just complain about being forced to sit over here like a king in your little corner, getting all the little people to bring you drinks so you don’t have to peel yourself off that couch of yours.”

I smirked, knowing Deng loved giving me shit every chance he got. A hand placed a glass of whiskey down on the table in front of me. I glanced up, thinking it was one of our new recruits making the rounds, trying to keep the party vibe alive. But before I could say anything, I felt the couch cushions shift under the weight of someone settling in beside me.

Before I could turn to see who it was, I felt the unmistakable press of a gun barrel against my side, right in my kidney.

“Don’t turn around,” a voice said, deep and controlled. It was a voice with a calm, steady tone. A voice that didn’t rattle or crack under pressure. A voice I recognized instantly.

I’d heard that voice before, asking some poor kid in Baltimore if he was really ‘taking notes on a criminal fuckin’ conspiracy?’ And again, in that cool, almost weary way, saying ‘I’m aware of the effect I have on women.’ But more importantly, I’d heard that voice give a rundown of his life story to V in the Phantom Liberty DLC.

Idris Elba.

Well, in this world, I guess he went by, “Solomon Reed.” I could feel the gun barrel dig into my kidney a little harder at that. Reed shifted slightly beside me, like he hadn’t expected me to clock him just by his voice. I was almost tempted to turn and see his expression.

“Noah Batty,” Reed said, his voice dry with a hint of mockery. “Fake name, obviously. Cute. Did you come up with it yourself?”

I grinned, thinking back to my first meeting with Fred. “Had some help actually,” I said, shrugging as much as I could with a gun pressed into me. “Gotta say, I didn’t think the FIA kept tabs on a small-time gangster like myself.”

I kept my tone light and casual. I didn’t want to give Reed a reason to get twitchy. He was a pro, but even a half-second of tension could go bad when there’s a gun pressed into your side.

“You’re still a little too street for them to take notice,” Reed said. “But I called in a few favors.”

Deng had already clocked that something serious was going down. Sure, a guy with a gun had just waltzed up and held me at gunpoint, which meant we were in a dangerous situation. But he understood that it was a bit bigger than that. He didn’t move from his chair, probably sensing that spooking Reed wasn’t a great idea. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Diego and Cyndi’s reactions. Diego’s eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation and realized I was in trouble. Cyndi, though, was already in motion, her instincts kicking in fast. I saw her set her whiskey down and start creeping our way.

I raised a hand, motioning for them to stand down. “Everyone, relax. It’s fine. Mr. Reed here isn’t planning on killing me. At least, not right now.”

Reed’s voice was calm, but curious. “What makes you so sure of that?”

“If you wanted me dead, you wouldn’t have walked into a gang hideout full of armed people. You could’ve gunned me down outside, or run my Kusanagi off the road with that big SUV of yours, or used any of the dozen other methods you’ve been trained in. But you didn’t. So you need something from me first. Sure, maybe afterward you’ll decide it’s better that I’m dead, but that’d just trigger my dead man’s switch.”

There was a pause. I could feel Reed weighing my words. “Oh yea?” he said, after a beat. “And what’s this dead man’s switch going to do?”

Someday, someone would call me on all my bullshit and lies and bluffs. But it wasn’t today.

“Just send Arasaka a nice little email. Something like, ‘Hey, remember that guy you tried to kill at the end of the last war? Well, guess what? Y’all fucked up. He’s still alive, bouncing at some bar called the…uh, eclectic orgasm or whatever.’” I knew I was poking the bear a bit, but I needed to keep Reed talking and try to get him off balance.

There was a brief silence from Reed, probably trying to figure out whether I was bluffing or if I really had that kind of contingency in place. I could feel him shift a bit, and instead of addressing my veiled threat, he cut straight to what he was really after.

“How did you hear about the implant?” he asked, his voice steady. “And how’d you know who had it?”

“I know a lot of things,” I said, letting the words linger. “I know you’re still with the FIA, even though they dicked you over and betrayed you at the end of the last war.”

Anna muttered something under her breath, probably thinking I’d just been joking about the FIA and the implant and their interest in it.

I pressed on, not giving Reed time to recover. “I know your old partner opened a bar right above your former safehouse. I know you’re waiting on a call you fear might never come. I know Myers is breaking international laws left and right, and using your former protégé to do it. And I know it’s killing her. Slowly but surely.”

The silence from Reed was heavy, the weight of what I’d just said hanging in the air. His gun hadn’t moved, but the power dynamic had shifted. This was a gam of leverage – and I’d just tiled the scales in my favor. Thank God for all those Phantom Liberty DLC playthroughs.

I felt the gun press harder into my back, its cold steel biting through the fabric of my jacket. Reed’s voice came low and steady, a command more than a request.

“Talk.”

I took a slow breath. “Not with a a gun shoved into my back. How about we all calm down, you put the gun away, I guarantee your safety here, and we all talk this out like normal people?”

There was a long pause as Reed weighed his options. Then I felt the pressure on my back ease as Reed shifted, moving the gun away. The threat wasn’t gone, but at least I didn’t have something jammed into my kidney anymore. It was a small win.

He settled back onto the couch next to me, gun still in hand but no longer actively threatening. It wasn’t like he trusted me, but it was progress.

“So,” I said, forcing a bit of levity into my voice, “everyone, this is Solomon Reed. Modern-day Morgan Blackhand, real legend in the covert-ops world. If you ever need someone to quietly topple a regime or break into a top-secret facility, this is your guy.”

Reed’s eyes flicked to the others, his expression impassive as he looked around. Diego raised an eyebrow but kept quiet, watching the situation unfold. Cyndi leaned back, arms crossed, but her attention never wavered from Reed. Anna didn’t even blink.

I figured I’d try to ease the tension a bit and offer a slight olive branch. “You want a drink? Might as well make this civil.”

Reed didn’t bite. He just locked his eyes onto mine. “Talk about Myers. International laws.” His tone was clipped and sharp. “And tell me her name.”

I could feel the weight of the question before he finished asking. It was clear who he meant.

“Song So Mi,” I said slowly. “Also known as Songbird. She grew up in New York, a top-tier netrunner. Pissed off Militech when she was still young. They sent a kill team after her, but you…you saved her by recruiting her into the FIA. Told her she had nowhere else to go.”

Reed’s face stayed impassive, but I could sense a slight shift in him. A crack, maybe.

“She pulled a big Biotechnica job a few years back, which means she’s got talent. There’s no doubt about that. But what Myers is making her do now? It’s killing her.”

Anna finally chimed in, eyes wide. “Wait…Myers? As in Rosalind Myers? President Myers?”

Reed ignored her, leaning in slightly, his patience thinning. “How is it killing her?”

I raised a hand, stopping him. “Information goes both ways, Reed. How’d you know I had the implant? How’d you find me?”

His eyes narrowed, his voice colder. “You weren’t as careful as you thought. Someone got suspicious.”

It clicked instantly. “Fucking…Gunner,” I muttered, almost to myself. That rat bastard. He must have recognized something had been off with ‘Pablo’ when I used the implant. It made sense that Gunner would have gone to Reed. 6th Street was the useful idiots of the NUSA, and Reed had connections to them. I’d have to deal with Gunner later.

“Song,” said Reed, trying to get me back on track. “What’s killing her?”

I sighed, sinking back into the worn couch cushions. “Myers has her breaching the Blackwall.”

Reed’s eyes flashed with understanding. He knew exactly what that meant.

“That alone is enough to dick over the NUSA,” I continued. “And when people find out, and they will, either Myers gives up power or you’ve got global war.”

The weight of the revelation hung in the air for a moment. I noticed Cyndi had crept closer to the conversation and her brow was furrowed in confusion. “What does that mean?”

I glanced her way, realizing this might be news to most people. “You’ve heard of Rache Bartmoss, right?”

Cyndi gave me a look, like I’d just asked the most obvious question in the world.

“Right, so you know Bartmoss was paranoid as hell. Thought everyone was out to kill him, and – well, they kinda were. So, he set up this dead man’s switch, saying if anyone killed him, he’d trash the NET. A bunch of corps didn’t believe him. Someone killed him, and that led to the DataKrash. It unleashed these things called RABIDS – Roving Autonomous Bartmoss…something or other. Point is, they wrecked the NET, made it almost unusable.”

Cyndi’s arms stayed crossed, but she was listening closely. “Yea, I know about all that.”

“Good. So, after the DataKrash, everyone tried to contain the damage. But the RABIDs kept evolving, getting more dangerous. That’s when Netwatch stepped in. They built a firewall to keep the rogue AIs created by Bartmoss’ RABIDs from breaking out and infecting everything. But it wasn’t just a firewall, and it wasn’t just Netwatch building it. They got help from another AI – an engram of a netrunner named Alt Cunningham.”

Deng let out a low whistle at the name. He’d probably heard about her from back in the day, before Johnny Silverhand nuked Arasaka tower and the world slipped into the time of the RED.

“Alt helped Netwatch create what’s known as the Blackwall,” I continued. “It’s not just a firewall. It’s an AI. A fully autonomous intelligence designed to keep all those rogue AIs trapped on the other side, preventing them from escaping and wreaking havoc.”

Cyndi leaned forward now, her curiosity piqued. “Okay, I’m still not seeing the problem here. Why’s it illegal to breach the Blackwall? What’s the big deal?”

“Imagine you’ve got a job to do,” I said to her. “You’re babysitting a bunch of violent sociopaths, all locked away, just itching for a chance to break free and butcher everything. And every so often, someone keeps poking you, prodding you, slapping you, messing with the one person that’s keeping all the sociopaths locked up. How long before you get tired of doing your job? How long before you walk away, and all those psychos escape? Those rogue AIs on the other side of the Blackwall? They’re not just sitting around. They’re waiting. And once they get out, no one’s putting them back.”

That sucked all the air out of the room. Cyndi leaned back, her eyes wide, the reality of the situation sinking in. “And this…Songbird is crossing that? Breaching the Blackwall? Why the hell would she do that?”

I glanced at Reed. He was as desperate for answers as Cyndi was. “Because Myers is batshit insane. She’s obsessed with holding onto power, and she doesn’t care who or what she sacrifices along the way. As for Songbird? Every time she breaches the Blackwall, she’s slipping deeper into a hole she can’t crawl out of. Those rogue AIs…they’re latching onto her. She has a bunch of netrunner cyberware. Which means she’s the perfect host for one of those AIs to ride her back into the real world.”

Reed’s face stayed unreadable, but I could feel the pressure building inside him. Songbird was…like a daughter to him. And I knew he felt responsible for bringing her into the FIA. Myers controlling her was the last thing he wanted.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mor stumbling into the hideout, looking like a ghost who’d lost his way. His eyes were wide, and he had an almost panicked, hollow look on his face. Diego caught sight of him too and moved to intercept, probably to figure out what was going on. I turned my attention back to Reed.

He leaned back, eyes narrowing, his expression a mask of skepticism. “That’s a cute story, Noah,” he said flatly. His voice had a dry, sarcastic edge to it. “So, what’s next? You going to tell me you’ve got a magic solution to stop So Mi from being infected by the Blackwall?”

I chuckled at that. “Well, Reed, as it so happens, I do know a solution. And it’s buried right under Dogtown.” I paused, letting that sink in. “How much do you know about what Militech was doing before the war? Have you heard about Project Cynosure?”

Reed gave a half-hearted shrug. “Weapons development?”

I shook my head. “Not exactly. Militech was breaching the Blackwall, too. They were fishing for rogue AIs, trying to capture and study them.”

Deng, who’d been quietly taking everything in, frowned at that. “Why the hell would anyone do something so stupid?”

“How useful are smart weapons?” I asked. “They shoot bullets that can home in on a target all by themselves.”

Deng nodded. “Pretty damn useful.”

“Now, imagine taking a rogue AI – faster and smarter than any human mind – and putting it into a gun, and letting it do all your targeting and firing for you. No lag time. No hesitation. Perfect, efficient killing machine.”

Deng’s eyes widened slightly in understanding as he leaned back in his chair. Across the room, Diego caught up with Mor and the two of them were talking in hushed tones. Mor looked worse by the second, like whatever news he had was tearing him apart inside.

Reed’s skeptical façade cracked a bit. I could see a flicker of interest in his eyes. The fact that I knew about a top-secret Militech project, the kind that only the highest levels of government would know about, was starting to make him reconsider. Plus, I knew all about him and Songbird and his experiences in the war. It meant I had credibility whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“Militech’s plan was to slap rogue AIs into all the guns they built,” I continued. “But there was a problem. Rogue AIs don’t play well with others. Every netrunner who tried to interface with them got fried. Literally. So, Militech started developing a neural matrix, something that could handle the mental strain of processing an AI without cooking someone’s brain in the process.”

Reed stayed quiet, his eyes fixed on me, processing everything I’d laid out. His fingers drummed lightly on the grip of his pistol, and he had a calculating look in his eyes. He was considering every angle, measuring how much what I’d just told him he could afford to believe.

“What’s the catch?” he finally asked, his voice flat but curious.

I shrugged. “No clue. I mean, there’s always a catch, right? Off the top of my head? Kurt Hansen, the guy running Dogtown, is probably gonna stumble onto the bunker where Militech ran the project. Also, I have no clue how the neural matrix itself works.” I snapped my fingers as another thought struck me. “Also, you’ll probably need a top tier ripperdoc, and get them in the same room as Songbird and the matrix. Oh, and there’s also the small issue of hiding her from Myers while you do all that. She’s not gonna let her favorite weapon go without a fight.”

I could see the frustration on Reed’s face, but before he could say anything, Deng walked over. His movements were slow and deliberate, like he was carrying something heavier than usual. His face was tense, his eyes locked onto mine.

“Hey, kid,” Deng said, his voice low, almost hesitant. There was something off. A…subtle shift in his tone put me on edge.

A flood of thoughts rushed through my mind. Was it the war? Was 6th Street pulling out of the peace deal? Maybe Zion got hit, or another one of our night markets went up in flames. My thoughts spiraled through every worst-case scenario in seconds, but I forced myself to stay calm.

Deng rubbed the back of his neck, clearly struggling to find the right words. “Fred…he…he found a girl the other day.”

I blinked, thrown off. “Fred? A girl?” I couldn’t connect the dots. Why would that matter right now?

Deng hesitated before continuing, his voice a little rougher now. “She was…messed up. Looked like she was a netrunner who had a bad dive. A really bad one.”

A chill crept up my spine. Something about this wasn’t sitting right. My chest tightened, a knot of dread forming as if I already knew where this was headed.

“Fred took her back to his spot in Arroyo,” Deng explained, his voice strained. “He thought he could fix her up, get her some meds, help her out.”

Fred.

Memories of him rushed into my mind. Fred. The guy who’d helped me when I first arrived in the city, a kid with nothing but bad luck and a whole lot of desperation. He had no reason to trust me, no reason to help, but he did. He fed me, gave me a safe place to crash, showed me there were good people in a city like this. He was too good for this city – always had been.

Deng stopped, his eyes dropping, unable to say anything more.

I stood up slowly, all my movements feeling heavy, like I was moving through thick water.

I didn’t say anything; didn’t ask for any more details. I didn’t need them. Reed, Songbird, the war, 6th Street – everything faded into the background. My mind was locked on one thing now. Fred needed me. I had to get to him.

Stash. Medicine. Fred.

Gotta get the medicine to Fred. Gotta help him.

Without a word, I moved away from the couch. The sounds of the party, the conversations, the noise, Reed, my crew, everything blurred together and faded away. I walked out to the front of our headquarters, eyes scanning for my Kusanagi. It was fast. I could use it to take me to Fred. I could help him.

In the back of my mind, a mantra was repeating.

Stash. Medicine. Fred.

Stash. Medicine. Fred.