"The client for this gig," Neo began, his voice steady, "is Militech. The fixer handling it is Dexter DeShawn."
"A few days ago, Militech's convoy was hit. Someone hijacked their shipment. Among the stolen cargo was a prototype unit—Flathead. Highly advanced, one-of-a-kind, and worth more than most of Night City combined. That shipment—and the Flathead—are now in Maelstrom's hands."
He looked around the table, meeting each gaze in turn. "The client wants the Flathead recovered... and Maelstrom erased while we're at it."
Maine sat there, motionless for a moment. Then he exhaled a long, low breath. He didn't answer—because there was nothing to say.
Going into Maelstrom's base was suicide. Dancing on the edge of a monowire.
Even for mercs like them, that was a line most wouldn't cross.
Maelstrom wasn't just a gang—they were a group of chrome-fueled lunatics. They saw flesh as a weakness and sanity as a limitation. They cut, replaced, rebuilt, and burned their humanity until only metal and madness remained.
They loved the pain, the noise, the chaos. They lived for it.
Nobody in Night City willingly picked a fight with Maelstrom. Not even the corps, unless absolutely necessary.
And yet here was Neo, saying they'd storm Maelstrom's base, grab Militech's prototype, and wipe the gang from the map like it was nothing.
It was insane.
Maine knew Neo was strong, but strength had limits. And Maelstrom's kind of crazy didn't play by limits.
He stayed quiet, weighing the risk, the odds, the blood.
Then Rebecca broke the silence.
"Maine, what—are you scared?" she asked bluntly. "Come on. What's there to be scared of?"
Her tone was pure Rebecca—brash, loud, too honest for her own good.
"Just say the word and we'll tear those chrome freaks apart! You've seen what V can do. If he's confident enough to take this job, that means he's got a plan."
Pilar snorted. "Sis, that's not confidence, that's suicide. You really think we can take on Maelstrom head-on? Those psychos don't even die like normal people. You shoot one, the others thank you for the spare parts."
Rebecca shot him a glare sharp enough to cut metal. "Shut it, dipshit. You sound like an egg."
"Excuse me?"
"Yeah. Fragile and hollow."
Pilar threw his hands up. "She's lost her damn mind."
Neo stayed silent, just watching Maine patiently. If Maine refused, fine. Neo could do it alone. It'd take longer, and he'd bleed for it—but it was doable.
He wasn't here to beg for help. He was offering a ticket.
He was the ship. The crew that boarded would sail with him—out of Night City's filth and straight toward the stars. Those who didn't… well, the city would eat them eventually, same as everyone else.
This was the Night City law: the strong protect their own and hunt the rest. No saints, no heroes—just tribes of killers surviving in the neon jungle.
Finally, Maine lifted his gaze. His expression was steady now, the doubt fading from his eyes. "How much's the payout?"
Neo smiled faintly. "One-point-five million eddies. Half a mil already transferred."
That number hit harder than any speech.
Maine's jaw tightened. The hesitation in his eyes vanished like smoke. "One and a half mil? Then screw it. Maelstrom's dead."
Pilar whistled. "Holy shit. I've never even seen that much money in one place."
Dorio grinned, leaning back. "Night City's about to burn. Good thing we're the ones lighting the match."
Kiwi muttered softly, "One-point-five million…"
Lucy's voice was barely a whisper. "That's… a lot."
Rebecca, of course, was already celebrating like she'd won the lottery. "Hell yeah! V, you legend! You absolute legend! You're insane—in the best way!"
She was glowing, practically bouncing in her seat. Her energy was infectious.
Neo chuckled, unable to help himself. Then, without thinking, he reached out and gently patted her head.
The room went still.
Rebecca froze. Her petite frame stiffened, her crimson eyes going wide. Her face flushed an instant, furious red.
Her head—her sacred no-touch zone. No one survived touching it. The last fool who tried—her own brother—got chased through three city blocks while she fired an iron slug gun at his ass.
But now? She didn't shoot. She just bit her lip, face burning, and bolted for her room. The door slammed shut behind her.
The silence that followed was… thick.
Pilar sighed dramatically. "Great. My baby sister's gone soft."
Dorio smirked. "If I were you, I'd shut up. Rebecca's not going to shoot him, but you? You're on the menu."
Pilar blinked. "Oh. Right. Uh… noted."
…
The next day.
The plan was already in motion.
They'd split into two teams.
Maine led Team Two—himself, Dorio, Pilar, and Kiwi. Their job was to stake out the All Foods plant, Maelstrom's main fortress, and prep the ambush zones.
Team One was under Neo's direct lead—Rebecca, Jackie Welles, Lucy the netrunner, and David Martinez, who had rushed over right after class ended.
They met near an abandoned overpass overlooking Maelstrom territory, the glow of the factory painting the smog red in the distance.
Neo glanced over his team, his voice low and calm. "Rebecca, Jackie, David, Lucy—wait here on the bridge. Keep eyes open, engines warm."
"I need to meet someone first. Won't take long."
Jackie frowned. "You sure you wanna go solo, hermano?"
Neo smirked. "Wouldn't be the first time."
He turned and disappeared into the shadows before anyone could argue.
His contact—Militech's field agent—had to be brought into the loop before they hit the fortress. That was standard protocol.
Dexter had given him her name yesterday: Meredith Stout.
She was Militech through and through—ice-cold, lethal, and corporate to the bone.
Neo scrolled through his contact list and hit call.
The line connected on the second ring.
A clipped, professional voice came through immediately.
"This is Stout. Before you say anything, tell me—how the hell did you get this number?"
Her tone was like a gun cocking in his ear.
Neo smiled faintly, the neon glare from the streetlight glinting off his eyes.
"Let's just say," he replied, "we've got a fixer in common."