Chapter 8: Evelyn Parker
Ash's hand, cigarette between his fingers, paused mid-air.
As an intel analyst, his actual workload was far lighter than people assumed. He didn't spend his days hammering away at a keyboard like the holos depicted. Thanks to AI automation, most of his duties involved flagging potential info overload, watching nearby surveillance feeds for any unauthorized movement, or scanning for system breaches.
If there was nothing urgent, he'd light up a smoke, shoot the breeze with colleagues, or kill time with games.
Not a bad life, really. But the laid-back nature of the job also meant the pay wasn't stellar. Four thousand euros a month was decent by Night City standards, especially compared to those grinding in the slums, but it barely covered expenses for someone like Ash, who had a family to support. One misstep, and he'd drag his entire household down with him.
His wife used to bring in extra cash, but now, heavily pregnant, that wasn't an option anymore. Ash needed a side hustle.
And Ash—always one to sniff out opportunity—had just pitched one to a colleague named Biersen.
He'd heard whispers around the breakroom. A few guys had done this kind of thing before: leaking non-critical internal info to certain security groups in exchange for a modest service fee. Nothing major, just movement data, shift rotations, traffic control logs—data that wouldn't compromise corp secrets, but still useful to the right buyer.
Low risk. Decent payout. And if you didn't get greedy, it went unnoticed.
"You hate those gangs choking the city, don't you?" Ash said, putting a hand on Biersen's shoulder and gesturing toward the sprawling skyline. "They don't work. Don't produce. Just bleed everyone dry. You've felt it too, haven't you? The extortion. The fear. Why not let us wipe them out?"
Biersen followed Ash's gaze. The city center shimmered in the distance, its monolithic towers reflecting harsh sunlight. Beneath them, street vendors hustled while exhausted workers rushed to shifts—many in cyberware plants, bio-labs, or auto factories, all scraping by with physical labor for minimum compensation.
This part of the city resembled public housing zones—tenements stacked like forgotten promises. But for most, it was a dream: a step above the gutter. It symbolized hope, or at least the illusion of it.
Ash's voice lowered, persuasive. "We clean out the filth, you give your family a safer neighborhood, and—hey—you earn a little on the side. Win-win."
Biersen hesitated. He'd lived in Night City his entire life and hated what it had become. But hating something didn't mean you could change it. You adapted. You endured.
Still… what if this guy really had power?
Ash wasn't wrong. If others could make cash under the table, why not him?
Resolved, Biersen flicked the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with his worn leather shoe.
"What do you want me to do?"
Ash pulled out a small notepad, scribbled down a series of codes and contact info, then handed it to him.
"It's not about what I need. You're the one feeding the intel, Boss."
Night City had a funny way of making people feel important with just the right word. Call someone "boss," and they'd puff up like they owned the block.
Biersen was no exception.
He straightened his collar, pocketed the note, and gave Ash a sharp nod.
"Wait for my call."
He walked off, chin up, like he'd just been handed a key to the city.
Ash didn't ask his name—didn't need to. If he wanted to find out, he'd find out. Lower-level employees were practically invisible to corpos. They were data points—easy to track, easy to discard.
"All it takes is a few euros," Ash muttered, leaning against the railing of the bridge as the sun rose over Night City. "What a free city."
---
Meanwhile…
"You said someone contacted you to come save us?" V asked, groggy and pale as she slowly stirred, holding a food tray with her good hand.
Viktor glanced up from the cyberware scanner he was using. "Yeah. I still don't know who. Whoever it was, they had some serious netrunning chops—hijacked a Delamain ride mid-mission."
V's eyes widened.
Delamain wasn't just a glorified AI driver. That construct had rigid protocols—routes hardcoded by Arasaka compliance. She remembered how, even as she bled out in the back seat, Delamain had refused to break routine and head to Viktor's clinic. It was maddening.
And yet, someone had hijacked it.
T-Bug? No—T-Bug had flatlined the moment she tried to breach the Konpeki Plaza ICE.
Who else could've done it?
She briefly wondered if it was Dexter Deshawn—the fixer who'd hired her in the first place. Big guy, black, always with a cigar in his mouth. Respected across Watson.
But the job had gone to hell, and Dex was probably just as screwed as she was. Maybe more.
V dug the shard from her jacket, flipping it over in her palm.
It looked like Arasaka tech—specifically their new "Relic" line—but slightly off. Something didn't sit right.
"Is this even worth anything anymore?" she muttered. "These older relics can't be compared to what's out now…"
She pocketed it again and sat back, eyes drifting to the ceiling as she remembered how this all started.
---
Before the Job…
"Name's Evelyn Parker." A blue-haired woman slid into the booth beside her at Afterlife, the city's most legendary bar for mercs. Smoke curled from her lips as she exhaled slowly.
"Something you want?" V grumbled, gulping down her beer.
Evelyn smiled faintly. "You're the one Dex hired, right? The gig at Konpeki Plaza?"
V's pulse jumped. "How do you know that?"
"That job was my idea."
V's hand instinctively moved to her pistol.
Missions like that were strictly need-to-know. Fixers issued contracts, clients stayed hidden. The chain was clean—for a reason.
Evelyn waved a hand.
"Relax. I'm not here to out you. I'm here to cut you a deal."
She leaned in.
"When you get the chip—don't give it to Dex. Bring it to me. I'll bump your cut up by 30%."
V narrowed her eyes. "That's not how things work. You ghost the fixer, your name's dead in this city."
"I know. But let's be real—Dex doesn't deserve that kind of payout. With me, you walk away with more euros and less trouble."
"Tempting," V muttered.
Evelyn smirked. "And if you need… other perks… I'm open to negotiation."
Her finger traced V's thigh.
Typical Night City. Everything was on the table—if you had the creds.
V leaned back. "Let's see how the job goes first."
Evelyn slid her a number. "Call me."
Then she disappeared into the haze of music and neon.
---
Back to Present
"We'll lay low. Talk later," V said, pushing the chip away and turning back to Viktor.
"How's Jack?"
"Still alive. For now. I got in touch with Mama Welles. He's on ice, literally—frozen in a biopod."
V's jaw clenched.
Jackie Welles—her first true choom. Brave, loyal, always chasing that Afterlife legend.
Now, comatose.
"But… there's a chance," Viktor added. "If you can score some advanced neural repair fluid from Biotechnica, he might recover."
V shot up. "For real?"
"Yeah. Rare stuff. But if you find it—Jack's got a shot."
V nodded, determination in her eyes. "I'll get it. Whatever it takes."
---
Elsewhere…
Ash lounged on a leather couch, cigarette in one hand, chatting casually with Dexter Deshawn.
"Dex… heard any jobs lately involving Konpeki Plaza?"
Dex's eyes narrowed. "What's it to you, Ash?"
"Relax. Just doing my rounds. Arasaka's panicking. Someone's gotta track those intruders. They're all over the news."
Dex exhaled, visibly easing.
"Shit. That job blew up bad. I need to find those punks before anyone else does. Tie up the mess."
Ash just smiled and blew out a stream of smoke.