A few minutes later, like a band of raiders storming in, Roqi took out several Scavs and found the entrance to the basement level.
Judy had finished deciphering the blueprints and confirmed it: this place was part of a massive underground complex.
It was damp and dark. Boilers, pipes, and huge steel doors stamped with "NO ENTRY" loomed in the shadows.
It looked like something straight out of a movie—strangely familiar the moment you laid eyes on it.
"I'm here." Judy came running up from behind. "We need to get to sublevel two. I bet she's being held there."
Next to an unusable elevator at the corner was a man wearing nothing but boxer shorts, lying in a pool of blood. He'd been dead for a while. The wall was covered in bloodstains and shaky handwriting:
I AM NOT ME NOT ME
[Creepy as hell,] Johnny muttered. [Another life snuffed out in some forgotten corner.]
"We'll find her." Judy said it as much to the others as to herself.
The truth was within reach. That nervous, jittery anticipation took up every inch of space in her heart.
It was like the moment before results were announced—your heartbeat no longer your own.
"Those clothes—I recognize them."
Near a pile of trash soaked in blood lay a mound of clothing—Evelyn's.
The one outcome they both hoped for and dreaded had arrived.
She really might be here.
Along the way, they found dimly lit workrooms and disorganized storage. Stacks of braindance packaging littered the shelves, plastic-wrapped just like the one used in Fried Skull Moth.
All signs pointed to the truth.
"We're out of methionine for tonight," a female Scav said, startling Roqi.
"No problem. We'll just add some RTL. Same weight anyway," another man replied, his voice muffled behind a thin plastic curtain.
"RTL?"
"Erythritol. Basically adult candy."
That perked Roqi right up.
Erythritol—zero-calorie sweetener. Not as sweet as HFCS but more natural. Downside? It's hell on the gut. Doesn't metabolize, leads to bloating and diarrhea. Not ideal for developing bodies.
"This RTL won't cause people to foam at the mouth, right? Otherwise we'll lose business."
"Do you even know what we're making?" the man shot back. "This is propyl methionine. Even those nutjobs in the Animals gang would piss themselves from the high. Who cares if we spike it with synthetic sugar?"
"I don't even get why people take this stuff…"
"No one buys it for fun—except psychos."
"Then who buys it?"
"Corpos, dumbass!"
Corpos relying on underground crime rings to produce illicit drugs? Wipe the evidence clean?
Honestly, not a bad "business model."
They silently took the Scavs out and kept moving.
"Ugh… this stash is just the tip of the iceberg." Judy pulled back the curtain and saw a filthy makeshift lab. Cracks split the ground, water pooled in pits, not much better than a slum.
Steel drums behind the walls stank of propyl methionine.
"They're definitely cooking RPM," V confirmed.
[RPM? I used to sprinkle that stuff on my breakfast.] Johnny sounded unimpressed.
"Human trafficking, illegal imprisonment, organ theft, kidnapping and murder, drug production, black braindance... Dios mío, this place is a fucking hellhole," Jack said, gun ready, listing the Scavs' crimes.
"These freaks don't even deserve a trial. Just send them to hell. Five-minute firing squads for each—no misjudgments, guaranteed."
Roqi exhaled—the air here was getting hard to breathe.
Two Scavs ahead were badmouthing their boss and talking about stealing supplies. But if it were that easy, Scavs wouldn't be what they are today. Under the boss's iron fist, they didn't dare act—only dream.
Someone was lounging on the couch watching a braindance, completely unaware of the intruders.
Soon, Roqi's group were the only living ones left.
Magazines with all sorts of braindance performers were scattered on the table. Job listings from CyberDream Night City littered the pages.
Basically looked like desperate Z-list actors scrambling for short-term gigs.
[Back in the Samurai days, I used to place ads in that rag for backup dancers,] Johnny piped up.
"How'd it go?" Roqi was genuinely curious about this pre-war anecdote.
[Chick magnet, bro.] Johnny said, smug.
"Show-off…"
Roqi chuckled. He didn't disagree. During Samurai's peak, Johnny was a legend—groupies practically lined up at the door.
As they ventured deeper, things got more disgusting.
A bathroom overflowing with bloody organs. Corpses piled like trash. Cyberware stripped from bodies, dumped in buckets. Braindance tapes—god knows what horrors they recorded—tossed carelessly about.
"This is a goddamn slaughterhouse… cough cough" Roqi gagged at the stench of rotting meat.
Mower was perfectly composed. Her CQB skills were impeccable—by the time Roqi arrived, the floor was littered with dead Scavs. Their vile lives, ended.
Roqi had imagined many things about a Scav's secret hideout—but nothing like this. Steel bedframes welded to walls, blood-stained shackles, foul mattresses. The whole place screamed concentration camp.
Pigsties are cleaner than this. At least pigs don't bleed all over the floor.
[Cuffs. Classic prop. So many ways to use them.] Johnny said, appearing again.
"These aren't your kink store handcuffs. These are real." V weighed one in his hand. "Even if you came here voluntarily to 'make it big,' you wouldn't be leaving."
The beds were surrounded by the cheapest food imaginable. Toilets sat right beside them. The stench was unbearable.
And… a wall covered in NOT ME written over and over again.
Like the final cries of a mind fractured by blurred reality and delusion.
"That's the control room. Let me see if I can trigger something."
Deep inside sublevel two, soaked in red light, was the one room that actually looked advanced.
Screens glowed. If you ignored the smell, it looked like a proper cyber control center.
This had to be the factory's command room. Judy moved in and started typing.
They pushed through a door—beyond it, a full-blown slaughterhouse under artificial light.
"No puedes imaginarte…" Jack crossed himself.
"This scene... looks familiar." Roqi entered, slicing down the Scav who turned to face him.
He spread his arms, motioning to the room.
"Same setup as that Japan Town Scav hideout—but worse," V added.
Cement floors—stained deep crimson. Operating chairs—soaked in blood. Slippery guts—heaped like red sludge. Maggots and flies feasting.
"I should've brought a gas mask. Or at least a fucking mask… ugh" Roqi winced.
Fighting off nausea, he accessed the computer.
[New Girl] From: Nadia Papayanova To: Kolya Sukhanov Did that chick Doc Fingers gave us work out?
Reply: I'll say this—she's bad news. We gotta deal with her fast. Forget about using her in a BD. If word gets out, we're screwed.
Reply: Bad news? What are you even talking about? You get possessed by your grandma or something? What, she's gonna scare us to death in her sleep? The hell are you smoking?
Reply: Can't you tell? She's not from Jig-Jig Street. Looks more like Cloud Club or Mox material. And FYI—I didn't touch our merch. But some corpo simp came sniffing around. I sold him a little something. Next thing I know, he beats the crap out of a working girl. Said he saw Lizzie's ghost in the wall—yeah, that Lizzie, founder of the Mox. Guess what? A week later, that suit gets found dead. Tied to a drainpipe. Strangled with fishnets. No joke.
Reply: Dead is dead. Who cares if you get popped with a .45 or choked out with lingerie? Makes zero difference. Either you're on RPM or your BD fried your brain.
Reply: You ever wonder how people'll remember you? What if you die on a toilet, huh?
Reply: Nobody cares, dumbass. No one's gonna remember you. You and your dumbass prophecies don't even take up space in my neural dock.
Totally useless chatter—but Roqi's eyes lit up.
"Evelyn's here. Let's move."
The way they described her matched perfectly. Judy had been right all along—Evelyn didn't die in Fried Skull Moth. They had other plans for her.
"This isn't her either…" Judy's heart dropped. Every time she saw a woman's corpse, her heart skipped, then dropped again when it wasn't Evelyn. It was exhausting—like emotional whiplash.
"All her cyberware's been stripped," V said, examining a carved-up corpse. "Why stop halfway? They even took some organs."
[Real pros at maximizing profit, huh.] Johnny said as he observed the mangled body through the camfeed.
It looked like a cyber-Barbie, ripped apart by a deranged kid.
"Scavs… no matter how many you kill, more always crawl out from some gutter," V growled.
[Sounds like you've had history with 'em, huh?] Johnny asked.
"Pretty much everyone here has," Roqi said, looking around.
[We didn't have Scavs back in my day, but organ harvesters? Those were everywhere. Don't you dare call me a relic—I was always on the cutting edge.] Johnny added.
"Whatever makes you happy," Roqi chuckled. "At least we're on the same page when it comes to these sick fucks."
On the wall, the Scavs had carved out diagrams—dissection steps, incision angles, surgical notes. And on the biggest, most obvious door, big capital letters:
KEEP DONORS SEDATED
Whether for stealth or sanity, the people murdered here were just "resources."
Life was worthless. Profit reigned supreme.
In the center of a massive chamber ahead, a crematorium roared, belching foul-smelling heat into the air.
Corpses littered the floor—treated like scraps, worse than meat on a butcher's slab. At least butchered meat gets stacked neatly. These bodies were just trash.
A few Scavs still alive and grumbling were swiftly put down—headshots all around.
That's the beauty of a team. Efficient, coordinated, ruthless.
[Maybe she's among them,] Johnny said grimly.
They checked the bodies. Male corpses were skipped. With the women, they checked skin tone, height, features.
But no match.
That was, oddly, a good sign.
"Thank fuck," V muttered, still shaken.
Everyone looked pretty grim—except Mower.
Even Jack, big and burly as he was, looked spooked. But Mower was calm as ever.
Roqi rubbed her head, checking that she was okay before relaxing a bit.
She seemed distracted. Probably still dealing with cyberware aftereffects. They'd need to see Viktor again soon.
.
.
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🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
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