Friday Night Firefight: A Cyberpunk Isekai

The messages came fast after the botched hit. The first were from 6th Street, practically falling over themselves to deny any involvement. They wanted to make it clear they had nothing to do with the assassination attempt. It made sense. They’d just clawed their way out of a war with us that had gutted their leadership. The last thing they’d want to do was stumble back into another bloodbath. The Pack had torn them to shreds, and nobody survives in Night City for long by making the same mistake twice.

What surprised me was the Tyger Claws chiming in next. I didn’t expect them to reach out at all, let along so soon after word got out about the hit. They must’ve been pissed – maybe even embarrassed. The Columbarium was nominally their territory, and while they didn’t control it directly, and attack happening on their turf wasn’t a good look. It either meant they were slipping, or someone felt bold enough to pull something right under their noses. Neither was a good look for them.

Either way, they’d have to respond, especially with their whole “honor” code bullshit. I didn’t know all the ins and outs of it, something about saving face and avoiding shame, but it was clear they didn’t want The Pack using the attack as an excuse to start something. Or maybe they just weren’t excited about anyone linking them to what had happened at one of the few true neutral zones in Night City. The Columbarium was supposed to be sacred ground – off-limits to petty gang shit. Whoever violated that line had stirred up more than just bad blood.

But it was the Valentinos who really caught my attention. They didn’t just send a message – they sent reps, face-to-face. They showed up at our headquarters, offering condolences for Fred and the Columbarium attack. It wasn’t just lip service either. They came with an offer: they had intel and were willing to share it.

Which is how I found myself parked outside Megabuilding H2 in Wellsprings, crammed into a car so small I could barely breathe without brushing up against Cyndi.

Cyndi had been holding out on me. I figured she was blowing all her eddies on cyberware – mantis blades, lynx paws, subdermal armor, and that berserk OS of hers. She was always talking about getting synth-lungs or an adrenaline booster to pair with her berserk. But what I didn’t know was that she’d also tossed a pile of eddies down on a car.

We were sitting in her Archer Quartz, a tiny, two-door sports car that seemed almost laughable next to her oversized personality. She kept glancing over at me like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite figure out how to get it out. Every few seconds, I could feel her eyes on me, but whenever I turned to look at her, she quickly shifted her focus to something meaningless like the scratched-up interior of her car or the flickering neon signs lighting up the street outside.

We were both lost in our own thoughts. I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on in her head, but I could guess. John had been hit, and though Deng and I got him to a ripper in time, the wound had been bad. He’d lost a lot of blood and would be out of action for a while. Cyndi wasn’t taking it well. After they’d been rescued from Jotaro’s, she had basically appointed herself his big sister. I could tell she was hiding her concern for him behind a mask of determination.

Me? I couldn’t stop thinking about Fred and Mor. Fred, gone in a blink of an eye. Mor, dying in my arms. I couldn’t shake it. Their faces kept flashing in my mind, replaying over and over.

I knew it was the Animals who’d ordered the hit. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. The three Animal corpses Deng and I left behind at the Columbarium told a pretty clear story. But what I couldn’t wrap my head around was why they’d come after me in the first place, and why they’d try to hit me at one of the few off-limits areas in the entire city.

Sure, they bailed on us during the war with 6th Street, but we hadn’t hit them for that. Were they scared? Maybe they thought we’d come for them after all, to punish them for walking out. Or maybe they thought we were getting too powerful, that The Pack would grow too strong and swallow them whole before they had a chance to make a move.

None of it made sense. But what really gnawed at me wasn’t just that they’d tried to hit me, but where they’d done it. Of all the places in Night City, the Columbarium was the absolute worst spot to pull something like that. It was one of the few places that was supposed to be off limits. They hadn’t just crossed a line, they’d erased it. And they were paying for it.

The Tyger Claws were the first to make their anger known. A few small Animal businesses in Kabuki got torched. The Claws didn’t claim responsibility – at least, not officially – but no one needed them to. Everyone knew it was the start of something bigger. You don’t let a gang disrespect your territory, even if its neutral ground, without showing them there are consequences. After that, it was like blood in the water.

The Animals were never a true territorial gang. They weren’t like the Valentinos or Maelstrom, carving out chunks of the city for themselves. They’d always been more like hired muscles. Their businesses were smaller operations – cheap gyms, a few sketchy pharmacies, low-rent bodyguard word. But now, the whole city knew they were vulnerable, and everyone wanted a piece. It snowballed. Fast.

I started getting word that it wasn’t just the big players like the Claws and Valentinos who were targeting them. Even the small fry were taking shots. Some little gang in Watson that barely controlled a block torched an Animal-owned gym. A merc crew in Santo Domingo hit one of their chop shops. No one cared about who was pulling the trigger because everyone had the same mindset: the Animals are down, everyone is getting their piece of the pie, and no one feared them anymore. Not after what they pulled.

Their businesses in Watson, Heywood, Santo Domingo, and Westbrook were getting raided left and right. Low-level Animals were getting curb-stomped, their shops burned to the ground, steroids and drugs looted before the flames could swallow them. It was open season, and no one was passing up the opportunity to take a free swing. Half of the gangs would’ve never had the guts to come at the Animals. But after the hit at the Columbarium? It gave everyone an excuse. And in Night City, when you’re looking for a reason to hit someone, you don’t need much.

The Pack hadn’t even gotten involved yet. We were still trying to keep our eyes on the bigger picture. But watching the Animals get torn apart by the city was…satisfying. They’d screwed up, and now were dealing with the fallout. The questions wasn’t if they’d survive this – it was how long they could hold out before they collapsed. And I was hoping to speed up that collapse if I could.

Sasquatch was the key. She was calling the shots for the Animals, and I knew that if I took her out, the whole thing would be finished. The Animals would fold.

Diego: on our way to you with the package.

Noah: good. Heading in now. Anna, when you get here, deal with the badges.

I glanced over at Cyndi, who was staring up at the looming megabuilding. “It’s almost go time,” I said, flipping down the passenger seat visor. A quick activation, and my implant flickered to life, my reflection morphing as my face began to change.

I’d found a rando at a diner about an hour ago. He was just a normal dude, enjoying his synth-burger and kibble. We’d shot the breeze for a bit, talked about the city and the recent blackout. He was friendly enough and our conversation flowed, and I walked away with a perfect scan of his face. His stupid grin, slicked-back hair, the way his left eye twitched when he talked about corpo-owned apartments. I had it all locked in.

As my face settled into its new form, Cyndi looked over at me, her eyes darting to check the transformation. “You always pick the weirdest people,” she said, a smirk pulling at her lips. “This guy looks like he could be either a stockbroker or one of those conspiracy nuts you avoid on the streets.”

“Doesn’t matter what he looks like,” I muttered, adjusting my jaw in the mirror to make sure everything lined up. “As long as no one knows it’s me.”

She idly cracked her knuckles and leaned back, grinning wider. “You know, I’m really excited to see you go up against Sasquatch. I’ve never seen you take on someone that size.”

I shook my head. “You don’t fight someone like Sasquatch. You survive her. Or you kill her before she has a chance to crush your skull.”

I couldn’t help but think back to the first time I met Sasquatch, over at the Tripple Extreme Gym in Rancho Coronado. One of her own had pissed her off, some poor sap who’d made the mistake of thinking he could defy her. So she used him as an example when I came to visit with her. I had to watch as she dismantled him like he was a child’s toy. She didn’t just beat him – she broke him. His bones snapped like twigs under her fists, and it wasn’t because she had to. It was because she wanted to send me a message. A warning, loud and clear: she could do the same to anyone, anytime she felt like it.

And then I’d handed her Brandon Frost. She took him to the ring and turned him into a smear on the wall. By the time she was done, there was nothing that resembled a person anymore. He was just a smear on the wall. He was paste. Sasquatch wasn’t just big, she was brutal. She was a walking weapon.

No, this wasn’t going to be a fight. It was going to be an execution. As long as I played it right.

Slipping into the megabuilding wasn’t hard. The front entrance was overseen by a few bored-looking Animals and a couple cops who barely glanced my way as I walked past. I’m sure the Animals were told to be on the lookout for me, but my disguise held. In Night City, as long as you kept your head down, you could blend in anywhere.

The megabuilding was the same as every other one I’d ever set foot in – stale, recycled air heavy with the smell of too many bodies crammed into too little space. The hallways buzzed with flickering neon, casting harsh, dim light over walls coated in grime and graffiti. Peeling ads plastered every surface, hawking the latest drink or cyberware implant, all of it forgotten in the daily grind of the people packed into this sardine can.

I headed down and the lower I went, the quieter it got. The constant noise of the building – the voices, the thrum of elevators, the echo of shitty music being blared from apartments – faded until all I could hear was the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. By the time I hit the basement levels, it was like the place had been forgotten. The air was cooler down here, the lights dimmer. It felt abandoned.

Cyndi stayed close, scanning every corner as we walked through the maze of dimly lit corridors. We barely passed anyone, just a couple maintenance workers who didn’t even glance in our direction. Most of the people who lived in the megabuilding probably didn’t even know the basement existed. Why would they? Their whole lives happened up top.

Finally, we found the server room, tucked away behind a heavy metal door. It looked like it should’ve been locked down tight, reinforced and secure. But it wasn’t. The lock was a joke, as was the system running it. I sliced through the NET architecture code like it was made of paper. A few seconds later and the door slid open with a low hiss.

The room beyond was exactly what I expected. Dark, cool, humming with the steady drone of servers. Blinking lights flickered on every console, a steady stream of data flowing through the building’s veins. In the center of it all was a man – older, balding, wearing a stained jumpsuit. He was hunched over one of the monitors, completely oblivious to us. A janitor, maybe. Or perhaps the building’s super.

Cyndi was on him in a flash, her mantis blades snapping out with a metallic hiss. She had him on the ground in an instant, her blade hovering dangerously close to his throat. The guy’s eyes went wide, and I could hear his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“Stay calm,” she ordered. “Don’t do anything stupid, and we’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”

He nodded, wide-eyed, clearly terrified. Not a threat. Just a guy in the wrong place at the wrong time. But Cyndi wasn’t taking any chances.

I moved past them, my eyes sweeping over the room. It was a hub of cables, monitors, and flickering data streams. This was the heart of the building. Everything was connected here – the elevators, the lights, air filtration, the storefronts, even the locks on the apartment doors. Anything with wires or a plug was controlled from this room.

I walked over to the main console and snorted when I saw the post-it note stuck to the side of the monitor. It had a password scribbled in messy handwriting on it, as if the maintenance workers couldn’t be bothered to memorize it. The NET architecture protecting the megabuilding was so ancient that I almost felt bad for it. If I’d gone in the long way – used my deck to hack through the system – it would’ve taken me maybe half a minute. Instead, I typed in the password, shaking my head at how easy this was.

I pulled up the building’s occupancy list – just a simple text file, a long scroll of names. It took a while, but eventually I found the name I was searching for: Matilda Rose. Sasquatch. She had an apartment on the eighth floor.

I switched over to the CCTV feeds for that floor and started looking around, easily spotting the group of Animals huddled together in a cramped alcove between three apartments. The hallway was narrow, dingy, with grimy walls covered in graffiti and lights that flickered like they were on their last legs. But the Animals had tried to make it their own, dragging a beat-up couch into the common space, along with a table. It looked more like a squat than a proper apartment complex. Two of the Animals stood guard in front of a door – Sasquatch’s, no doubt. Her personal den.

I zoomed in further to get a better look. They were big, bulky, the kind of muscleheads you’d expect in the Animals. Skin stretched too tight over way too much muscle, probably loaded up on their personal version of steroids. One of them leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while the other had a gun lazily slung over his shoulder. Even in their casual posture, there was a certain tension about them. Bored, sure, but they were alert. They weren’t going anywhere.

Diego: here. When do you want us?

Noah: let me finish up here, and then bring him in.

I refocused on the task that brought me to the basement and pulled up the building’s command-line interface. Finding the elevator controls was easy enough. It was all standard stuff – up, down, open, close. There were safety measures built in, of course. No one wanted elevators plummeting with people inside. But the system was old and outdated, and the code was sloppy and practically begging to be manipulated.

I tapped into the closest elevator to Sasquatch’s apartment and ran a quick diagnostic. The usual list of safety features popped up: speed sensors, brakes, automated stops, everything designed to prevent accidents. I tapped into the live feed from the elevator’s cameras, the footage flickering to life on my screen. The image was grainy, like the system hadn’t been updated in two decades, but it was good enough for my purposes. I forwarded the data to my Kiroshi optics, letting the feed hover in the corner of my vision for easy monitoring.

The elevator was currently idling on the 12th Floor, so I sent it down to the eighth and then locked it. No one would be able to use that elevator without my say so now. And then I got to the fun part.

I started poking around in the code, targeting the speed limiter for the elevator first. It was designed to prevent the thing from moving too fast – basic safety, but nothing I couldn’t bypass. With a few keystrokes, I tricked the system into thinking everything was fine. No limits, no restrictions.

Next, I overrode the brakes. If the system ever detected a malfunction, like the elevator moving too fast or the cable snapping, the brakes would kick in automatically. But I found the subroutine responsible and wiped it clean. No more brakes.

Then, I overloaded the motor. Normally, it pushed the elevator up at a controlled pace, but I forced it into overdrive, cranking up the speed to dangerous levels. The strain on the system would be enormous, but that didn’t matter. Once it was engaged, the elevator would shoot up like a bullet with no failsafes to stop it.

Finally, I disabled the hydraulic buffers – the last line of defense for the elevator at the bottom of the shaft. If the elevator was plummeting to the ground, the hydraulic buffers were supposed to engage to cushion the impact so the elevator didn’t slam into the ground at full force. I erased that safety net too. When the time came, that thing was going to hit the ground like a bomb.

With everything in place, I glanced over at Cyndi. “Ready to head out?”

She gave a quick nod, her mantis blades still unleashed and at the maintenance worker’s neck. “Let’s go.”

In the game, V could take an elevator from his floor in the megabuilding and be out on the streets in seconds, but in real life, megabuildings were a bit more complicated. To get to the street level entrance, you first had to travel down to the sprawling lobby of the megabuilding. The place was massive, like a cavernous mall packed with stores, kiosks, and administrative offices. The air was thick with the buzz of activity – people coming and going, oblivious to what I was about to do.

Cyndi kept the maintenance guy close, her hand gripping the back of his neck like a vice and her other fist was dug into the small of his back; a reminder that she could quickly unleash her mantis blades and split him in half if he gave us trouble.

I broke off from them and headed to a small, dingy public bathroom tucked in a corner of the lobby. Inside, I ducked into a stall and locked the door behind me. I took a breath, deactivated my face implant, and felt the random guy’s features melt away. There was something deeply satisfying about the way the implant felt when it deactivated, like peeling off an itchy mask. I wandered over to the sink and glanced briefly at my reflection in the cracked mirror before scrubbing my hands in cold water. After drying off with a paper towel that felt like it was made of sandpaper, I made my way back into the lobby.

There was a 2nd Amendment shop nearby, one of the many gun store franchises that dotted Night City. You couldn’t go five blocks without running into one. I moved straight toward it, not bothering to mask my urgency. The guy behind the bulletproof glass was busy with some street rat who had more attitude than sense. When the clerk spotted me, his whole demeanor shifted. He froze, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. Something about me – maybe the look in my eyes – told him that he didn’t want to keep me waiting.

The kid noticed me too, turning with a sneer like he was about to tell me off for cutting in line. One look at my face and he shut his mouth before the words even made it out, his eyes darting nervously between me and the clerk.

“I need two Char grenades,” I said flatly.

The clerk hesitated for a fraction of a second before moving quickly. He grabbed them from the shelf behind him, sliding them through the narrow slot in the glass with a practiced hand. I flicked him the eddies without another word, tucked the grenades into my jacket, and left the store. No small talk, no bullshit. I wasn’t in the mood for it.

Noah: bring in the package. There are some Animals by the street entrance – six of them, maybe more. Grab them too.

I found Cyndi waiting near a concrete partition in the center of the lobby. She was leaning against it, cool and collected, watching the crowds with that sharp, alert look she always had. The maintenance guy was still with her, pale and trembling, completely out of his depth. The poor bastard didn’t know what to do except follow along and pray he’d survive whatever we were planning.

I leaned against the partition next to her, settling in for the wait. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. After a few minutes, Anna strolled up, casual as you like, as if we were all meeting for drinks instead of committing a crime. She gave me a nod before joining us at the partition.

“Any trouble with the badges?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

Anna smirked, shaking her head. “Nah. Some of my people knew the ones on duty. Got them to spread the word – told the cops to take an early lunch break. It didn’t take much convincing.”

I nodded, figuring as much. Word had probably already reached them about the Animals botching an assassination attempt on me. The cops weren’t stupid. They could sense when something heavy was about to go down, and they knew better than to get caught in the middle of it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Deng and Zion slipping into the lobby, trying to blend in with the crowd. They moved smoothly, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. I flicked my gaze toward them and shot off a quick message, along with a ping to the elevator I’d rigged earlier.

Noah: 8th Floor. Apartment 817. Don’t use that elevator.

A few more minutes ticked by, the muffled buzz of the lobby filling the air, punctuated by the occasional ding of elevators arriving. My attention locked onto the far side of the room where a few elevator doors slid open, revealing a handful of The Pack stepping out. And they weren’t alone. Two of ours for every Animal they had in tow, pushing the busted-up bruisers along like limp puppets. The Animals were all cuffed, their faces swollen and battered from a good beating – classic NCPD style. I couldn’t help but smirk. Anna’s recruits were holding up that tradition just fine.

Diego followed behind, dragging a lone Animal in cuffs. Not as gentle as the others. The guy’s face looked like it had gone through a meat grinder – half-swollen, eyes barely open, stumbling with every step like he’d been thrown around one too many times. Despite his hulking frame, he followed Diego meekly, the fight completely drained out of him. My Kiroshi optics gave me his name in a flash: Denzel Cryer.

The Animals’ attempted hit on me hadn’t gone unanswered. The moment we pieced together that it was them behind the attack, we sent out kill teams. Diego’s crew had hit one of their gyms – a shithole tucked into the underground levels between a couple skyscrapers. It was barely more than some cheap workout equipment, a boxing ring, and enough of their signature Animal ‘Juice’ to down an elephant. Diego had wiped out everyone inside, leaving only Cryer alive. Judging by the state of him, though, Diego had made sure to send a message with every punch.

As the cuffed Animals were marched through the lobby, people started to take notice. No one was brave enough to ask questions. Most were smart enough to sense the danger in the air, and the ones that weren’t had that deer-in-the-headlights look, too terrified to interfere.

Word spread fast. You could see it in the subtle shifts – the way a few people peeked out from behind their apartment doors, watching the scene unfold like they’d stumbled onto some dark street theater. Some of them were itching to bolt, while others, curious to the point of stupidity, stayed to watch. It wasn’t every day you saw something like this, and in a city starved for distractions, even a looming bloodbath counted as free entertainment.

There was a prefab restaurant off to the side of the lobby; one of those cookie-cutter joints that looked the same in every megabuilding across the city. I wandered over, grabbed a chair, and dragged it to the center of the lobby. The legs scraped against the concrete as I pulled it into place. I planted it down and pointed at it. Diego hauled Denzel over and dropped him into the chair like a bag of garbage.

One of Diego’s guys stepped forward with a roll of duct tape, tearing off strips and wrapping them around Denzel’s wrists, chest, and legs. One final stretch of tape was jammed over his mouth to muffle any noise he might want to make.

The other six Animals, cuffed and bruised, were lined up behind Denzel. One by one, they were forced to their knees, heads hanging low, hands secured behind their backs. A couple of them had that dazed, glassy look, trying to piece together what was happening. You could see the uncertainty flicker across their faces. Some probably thought this was the end, that they were about to die right here. Others probably still clung to the hope they’d somehow make it out of this alive. Either way, it wasn’t my concern.

With my access to the building’s servers still untouched, I tapped into the megabuilding’s loudspeakers. The hum of the system coming to life buzzed faintly in the air and I could hear the speakers firing up across every floor.

“Sasquatch!” My voice boomed through the megabuilding, ricocheting off the concrete walls. “You cowardly piece of shit. I know you’re hup there, hiding like a rat. Scared to face me? Probably can’t drag your overly juiced ass down here without tearing a muscle.”

I paced around the lobby, the tension rising. I could feel the eyes of the gathered crowd shifting upwards, expecting something.

“What the hell do you and your Animals even do all day? Pump iron and jerk each other off? That your hobby? Because it sure looks like that’s all you’re good for. Can’t fight worth shit. Nah, you wait until people are grieving to take your cheap shots. Yea, real tough. Real fucking brave of you.”

The building seemed to hold its breath, a tense silence settling in. Mor apartment doors hissed open as curious residents stepped out, drawn by the noise, eager to see what was unfolding. Even Denzel, strapped to his chair, started shifting nervously, his eyes darting around.

Then I saw her.

Sasquatch emerged, leaning over the railing on the 8th floor, her massive frame unmistakable even from down here. She was shouting something, her voice deep and carrying, but the loudspeakers drowned her out. I cut them off for a moment, letting her voice boom down.

“Noah!” Sasquatch growled. “Too bad my people couldn’t get to you sooner. Pity your crew had to die first. But don’t worry, I’m more than enough to gut you and everyone you’ve got with you. But why was a good opportunity?” She grinned, her eyes gleaming with that animalistic confidence that came from her size and all the steroids pumping through her veins. “You once told me we’re in the entertainment business. So, let’s make this entertaining. You and me. In the ring. We’ll set it up, invite all of Night City to watch. Last woman standing takes the prize. Last woman standing walks away free.”

I flipped the speakers back on. “No.” My voice cut through her taunt like a blade. “You don’t get that. Your death won’t be a show. It’ll be a cautionary tale. No one’s gonna remember some ring fight. All they’ll remember is me turning you into a pile of smoldering ash. You’ll die easy, and there won’t even be teeth left to ID you.”

Without breaking stride, I turned to Denzel, still taped to his chair, his eyes now wide with terror. Slowly, I reached into my jacket and pulled out one of the Char grenades. I ripped the duct tape off his mouth, and he immediately started coughing and sputtering, trying to force out some bravado.

“You homeless fuck, I’m—”

Before he could finish, I jammed the grenade into his mouth, breaking a few teeth as I forced it in. His eyes went wide with pure panic, trying to choke out some kind of protest, but all he managed were pitiful gagging noises. I slapped the duct tape back over his mouth as best I could, sealing the grenade in place. Denzel writhed, desperately trying to spit it out, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

I turned back to Sasquatch, locking eyes with her, my expression cold. “You paying attention?” I asked, holding up the grenade’s pin for her to see. Then, I pulled it.

The metallic click echoed through the lobby, sharp and final. I took a few leisurely steps away from Denzel and kept my eyes locked on Sasquatch.

A muffled whoompf echoed through the lobby, and Denzel’s head was instantly consumed by fire. The flames erupted so fast he didn’t have a chance to scream, his mouth still sealed by duct tape as the inferno raged inside him. Flesh bubbled and melted, his hair burning away in a flash. His eyes, frozen wide with terror, were the first to go – bursting in the heat like overripe fruit. The smell hit hard, acrid and sickening – burning skin, cooked blood. I didn’t flinch. This was necessary.

Denzel’s body convulsed violently in the chair, the once human form now a grotesque, charred stump. The rest of The Pack, without hesitation, moved in on the six Animals still kneeling behind him. One shot each, clean and precise, to the back of the head. Six bodies hit the ground, the sharp crack of gunfire screeching through the megabuilding, drowning in the sudden silence that followed.

The people watching from around the megabuilding finally figured it out. They finally realized this wasn’t some street brawl for their amusement; it was an execution, raw and unfiltered. The darkest side of Night City, laid bare in front of them. A few of them bolted, scurrying back to their apartments, their voyeuristic curiosity snuffed out by the reality of blood and death. Others, too terrified or shocked to move, stayed frozen, watching the brutal scene unfold in front of them.

Up above, Sasquatch’s reaction was immediate and furious. Her face twisted in rage, her body trembling as she screamed down at me. But I didn’t hear a word. I just watched as she turned and bolted for the elevator.

I shifted my attention to the elevator feed in the corner of my vision, watching the grainy footage as she pounded the button for the lobby. Her massive fist hit it so hard the panel nearly caved in. The elevator lurched into motion, but instead of going down to meet her demand, I sent it flying upward.

10th Floor. 14th. 19th. 25th.

Sasquatch’s bulky frame filled the small space, her bodyguards crowding in beside her. At first, she didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong. But as the floors flew by too fast, her eyes darted around, a growing panic spreading across her face. She slammed her fist into the emergency stop button, but I’d already locked her out.

I could see the desperation in her face. Her bodyguards started panicking, clawing at the walls, trying to figure out what was happening. Sasquatch moved to pry open the doors, hoping for any way out.

I reversed the elevator’s direction, sending it plummeting downward at a speed the defied the building’s safety protocols. Gravity ripped them from the floor, their bodies flung into the air as the elevator shot downward like a missile. Their weightlessness, their panic, was palpable. Her bodyguards scrambled, desperately searching for something to hold onto, something to stop the inevitable fall.

The elevator plunged faster, ripping through the floors at terminal velocity.

And then the impact.

The explosion rattled the entire lobby as the elevator slammed into the ground. The force was devastating, turning everything inside the small metal box into pulp. Metal crumpled under the sheer force of the destruction, bone and muscle splattered across the interior. The elevator became nothing more than a twisted, mangled wreck, and whatever had been inside was now just a mess of blood and gore.

I strolled over to the wreckage, the burning flesh from Denzel’s charred remains mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood. Without a word, I pulled the second Char grenade from my jacket, flicked the pin, and casually tossed it into the remains of the elevator. Flames erupted, roaring to life as they consumed whatever was left of Sasquatch and her people.

I didn’t watch it burn. I simply turned and walked away, leaving the wreckage behind me, the fire roaring in the background as the final chapter in Sasquatch’s story came to a close.

I made my way across the lobby toward a quieter bank of elevators, away from the wreckage and chaos. As I stepped inside, the door slid shut with a metallic clang, sealing me off from the bloody scene in the lobby. I hit the button for the 8th floor, and the ride up was eerily smooth – almost unsettling after everything that had just gone down.

When the doors slid open, the dim, flickering lights of the 8th-floor corridor greeted me and I slowly made my way towards Sasquatch’s apartment. The scent of blood hit me before I saw the bodies. Two of Sasquatch’s Animals lay sprawled in the hallway, riddled with bullet holes, their bodies twisted at odd angles. The life had drained from their eyes, now staring blankly at the ceiling as their blood slowly pooled beneath them. Deng and Zion stood over them, weapons at the ready, the cleanup already in motion.

“All clear?” I asked, stepping over the corpses.

Zion gave a curt nod in response, his eyes sharp and focused.

Inside, Sasquatch’s apartment was a reflection of the brute herself – messy, chaotic, and focused on physical improvement. Weights were scattered haphazardly around the place, dumbbells strewn across the floor, and the walls were plastered with fight posters detailing Animal-hosted matches in the underground fighting rings. It was less a home and more a shrine to violence and strength, the kind of place where weakness wasn’t allowed to linger.

In the corner, a cluttered desk sat wedged between the mess of workout gear. A sleek computer blinked to life as I approached. Sasquatch may have been a monster in the ring, but when it came to tech, she was an amateur. The security on her system was laughable – barely a notch above a basic lock screen. In seconds, I was in, combing through her files, looking for answers, for something that would explain why the Animals had come after me.

Most of it was junk – gang communications, supply orders, payment logs. I fired off a quick message to Sandra, letting her know I had access to Sasquatch’s computer and she might want to take a closer look. While I waited for her response, I kept digging.

I finally found what I was looking for, and it came in the form of an email chain. The sender: Albert Park.

From: Albert_Park

To: S@squatch

Subject: URGENT: Time to Make a Move

The war with 6th Street’s heating up, and I’m hearing a lot of chatter – stuff you need to know. No sugarcoating here: the Animals screwed up big by sitting on the sideline while Noah made moves. You had a chance to ally with him, back his play, and you didn’t. Now? He’s gearing up to wipe 6th Street off the map, and once that’s done, guess who’s next on his list?

You.

Noah hasn’t forgotten how you left him out to dry. You didn’t stand with him during the war, and now you’re a target. You know how he operates – methodical, ruthless. Once he’s got his sights on you, it’s only a matter of time.

You can’t wait for him to come to you. If you don’t act soon, you’ll lose whatever edge you’ve got left. Take him out now, and you have a chance. I’ve got intel on his moves. Hit him before he can retaliate. Noah’s crew is loyal to him, but only as long as he’s alive. Once he’s out of the picture, they’ll be leaderless, looking for someone to follow. I’ll make sure everything continues as usual and that you’ll come out of this ahead.

As I scrolled through more emails, the pieces started falling into place. Albert believed I was trying to sideline him and give him all the shit jobs. He thought he should be in charge of The Pack, and that Sasquatch was his best chance to achieve that. He hadn’t just nudged Sasquatch toward war with me – he’d practically shoved her into it, feeding her intel at every turn. Every message was another push, another update on where I was, where I’d be, painting me as a threat she needed to neutralize.

Then I found the one that hit the hardest, dated the day I’d gone to the Columbarium to bury Fred.

From: Albert_Park

To: S@squatch

Subject: Now’s Your Chance

Noah’s going to be vulnerable today. He’ll be at the Columbarium, laying Fred to rest. Hit him when he’s leaving. Run his car off the road, swarm him with Animals, and it’s done. You’ve got the team in place – this is your shot.

Albert had laid it all out, orchestrating an ambush when I was most distracted. The Animals were supposed to hit me on my way back from the Columbarium. But it didn’t go down like that.

I kept scrolling, finding messages from the Animals themselves, frantically updating Sasquatch. One mentioned a team tailing me to the Columbarium. Another said I was standing outside, out in the open with one of my men, a sitting duck. They were twitchy, on edge, waiting for Sasquatch to give them the green light.

But she didn’t. She never responded.

The next email said the team was going to slip inside the Columbarium and asking for her to give them the go ahead. They must’ve thought that this was their moment, but again, they were waiting on Sasquatch to call the shots. That call never came.

Then, the last message: “We’re taking care of it.”

They’d panicked. Instead of waiting for orders, they jumped the gun, thinking they could finish me off while I was vulnerable, grieving for Fred. And because of that, Mor had died.

The hit wasn’t supposed to happen that way. They botched it. Albert had set the stage, and the Animals had stumbled right into it. Their nerves got the better of them, and it cost Mor his life.

All because of Albert’s whispered promises.