Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Location: Pacifica - GIM.
Everyone's got a job lined up for you.
Why? It's cause they know you're the only one to get the job done right.
Clients who require a pro's touch drop your name to fixers.
Those fixers are happy to oblige, and use you to bump up the client's fee.
A "fame tax", they call it.
Cha-ching - everyone's a winner. That's the biz of becoming a brand baby.
It was nearly midnight, and the night sky was picturesque.
Puddles splashed beneath my feet as I walked, hands tucked into my coat pockets - providing some warmth in the rainy weather. "You N/N?"
Side eyeing the VDBs, I nodded. "Know the way in?"
"Yeah. Garage. In de back. But shhh..quietly, ghost like, invisible yeah?"
I hummed in response, our conversation coming to a close as I moved through the parking lot.
My optics flickered as I ran a scan, three gang goons - the animals.
Unlike other Night City gangs, the Animals don't have a defined territory.
You can find them almost anywhere, but... you know, it's not like gonks are gonna go out looking for em.
The Animals aren't a centralized gang – they're divided into smaller groups led by independent "alphas" males or females.
The concrete jungle – for the Animals, it's not just a pretentious metaphor. From their hormone-pumping, beast-inducing implants to their love of street combat, the Animals are obsessed with the wild side of human nature.
Their physical strength and proficiency in various martial arts (and their sheer size alone) make Animals the ideal security guards and bouncers for clubs and bars.
Besides that, the Animals are known for their illegal brawls, hijacking transports and their addiction to Juice, their very own homemade hormone cocktail.
Creeping up on one gonk Sitting off to the side on a street barricade, the moonlight reflecting off the black serrated knife, my footsteps as quiet as nibbles lurking around my apartment, only being complimented by my lynx paws.
The first victim went down with ease - sliding the serrated knife through his neck - it was akin to a hot knife through butter, covering his mouth as his eyes widened - blood slipped through my fingers as the blade exits through the other end of his kneck.
