Edgerunners2077

V: 2

Night City 2077 District: Pacifica

The high stream metropolitan resort that never was, is now predominantly vacant. The streets half built with promise were empty saved for the scavengers and the homeless. Once a potential corporate playground, now a lawless zone of combat and anarchy. 

Pacifica was supposed to be the promise land of Night City. The fucking cash cow! That is, until the economy downfall known as the Unification War in 2069 and the race between big-name corporations pulling their eddies out under our feet; in turn defunding and abandoning the playground by the sea and leaving all unfinished projects high and dry.  

The abandon amusement park once protected by Miltech has now become free range to gangs, illegal activity and violence. The Voodoo Boys play the part of the anti-heroes, a crew chop full of Haitian Netrunners who somehow found community in the forgotten pacific slums of Night City.

...and my dumbass has business in their territory. GREAT!

Worst part is: there are no eddies involved. I wasn't on some gig dealt by a Fixer, I was here on my own accord. Needed to do some snooping around. You know, personal stuff. Usually, I get paid for this type of shit! Out here squatting corners in rundown Pacifica because I need to be detective for my own selfish reasons. 

Fuck... Needless to say, I'm regretting every second not turning around and hauling ass straight out of here!

An informant that goes by the name S. Sanders, resides in an apartment just west of here. Problem was I was dead center in Voodoo territory. I was a sitting duck as far as Netrunners goes, and the Voodoo Boys had some of the best Netrunners in town. The last thing I need stranded out in Pacifica was to have my systems hacked, fired, or embedded with a virus. 

Another virus, that is. I'll get to that bit in a sec. Any moment he'll chime in, I'm sure of it. 

Then there are The Animals to worry about... big, hunky gonks with strength-based body modifications who also hold base in Pacifica. At least with those bozos I could see them coming from a mile away! The Voodoo Boys however will hit you lethally from a distance. 

Johnny Silverhand, the damaged construct chipped inside my head, (yeah, that Silverhand. The rocker boy from the old band Samurai, long-- LONG story), the virus I talked about earlier, appears in my line of vision. He wore the same thing he always wore, a bulletproof vest and a pair of sleek brown slacks. Probably the same outfit he wore when he died. Also, long story. He stands lending against an adjacent weathered building, arms crossed, shades down. 

Johnny: I don't like the look of this, V. Voodoo Boys got the whole district under lock and key. One wrong move and boom, we flatline.

You don't think I know that?!  I sassily remark. Making sure I this time I think it, and not say out loud. Because ding-ding, you guessed it. No one can see Johnny but me! I might be out here in the streets with a bunch of crazies but that didn't make me one of them.

"Play it cool, V. Play it cool." I whisper to myself. I can do this. Stealth and smooth talking my way out of dangerous situations are my best attributes. There's not a problem I can't talk or shoot my way out of.

Quickly, I cross the deserted complex encased in under-construction buildings permanently consisting of nothing but a few rows of cinderblocks and rusty frames. A makeshift tent was posted in the furthest lot with a few empty cans of Nicola littered by ground. I keep my head down, hands in pockets, one firmly on my fully loaded Kenshin.