Edgerunners2077

V: 23

[Aldecaldos: One of the largest Nomad groups that reside just outside of city limits in the Badlands. They operate as a family unit, although the Nomads don't strictly hold blood ties. Panam, V's friend is a member of the Aldecaldos]

[Archer Hella: A type of economy car, manufactured in China with a Entropism style, representing a look of poverty and lack of innovative design]

[Drop Point: a place where locals can sell used items of value exchanged for eddies]

District: Rancho Conoado, Santo Domingo

I get a call from Local Fixer, Muamar Reyes, most know him as, El Capitán. It comes in as an SOS on Mallagra Street as David and I enter into Night City. I take the gig, snatching at any opportunity I can to get my mind off of things. After our night in the truck, fucking each other's souls until were exhausted and spent, guilt began to rise with the sun. Not from me, but from him. David wore his heart on his sleeve, and he was unable to hide anything. The very moment we slipped inside the back of that truck, he ended the relationship with Lucy mentally. But his heart... That part has yet to catch up. 

I take my keys from him, and we part ways at the Metro Station in Rancho, and I make a beeline for Mallagra Street. The universe being on my side, for once, the NCart Station was only a spitting distance away from Mallagra and Mazanita; home of the gaudy Patriots. 

My mission was a guy named Flavio dos Santos, a man who made it on 6th Street's hit list. There was an order from the top to take him out, and I was being put in place to make sure that didn't happen.

This gonk had a one-way ticket to a fresh start. Previously arranged to have the Aldecaldos smuggle him out of Night City without a trace. The escape plan nearly perfect except instead of laying low (like he should have), he throws a big ass party packed with drugs and Joy Toys. By the time I get to the address, 6th Street is already outside all the entrances patrolling the area making sure no one gets in or out the premises.

Who the fuck throws a going-away party when hiding from an entire band of fanatic veterans and self-proclaimed heroes? Especially when these star-spangled ass-wipes are packing some serious heat!  I have half a mind to slap the shit out of this Flavio guy when I see him.

Apparently, our guy used to be a proud member of 6th Street. Unfortunately for him, the gang 'prematurely' undergoes new management. Meaning the previous leader was backstabbed and murdered by his own people. Flavio dos Santos highly supported the previous leader, Rick Morton, which put a huge target on his head after Morton's empire came crashing down. Will Gunner replaced Rick as head honcho, and now he's tying up all loose ends. 

Meaning Flavio. 

 I could care less about patriotic gonk drama, or whether Rick Morton or Will Gunner is a better leader suited for the street gang. They're both self-righteous posers, no better than the guys prior or even the gonks before them. A crew born out from self-proclaimed heroes turned into a gang full of extorters. 

No, the only thing I care about is the amount of eddies I'm going to get after I put a couple of bullets through their jingoistic assess. And as much as my body needs a Fixer, my mind craves a distraction and some fresh air after recycling oxygen with David for an entire night. We practically shared a set of lungs with how in sync our breaths were, so much that I almost feel his warmth on my skin. I shiver, the cool air hitting my hastily wrapped wound causing my teeth to clench fiercely. 

I should go see Vik, that would be the smart thing to do. These bullet wounds were not going to stitch themselves, yet if I was going to spend time in a Fixers' chair, might as well get my money's worth. Knowing me, I'll find some way to nearly die during this gig too. If 6th Street doesn't take me out today, the Relic sure might.