Cyberpunk - The Fall of Icarus

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Sasha Yakovleva POV

A few minutes after Alex had left

"Who is he, really?" Sasha wondered aloud, gripping the can of soda the stranger had bought her. She was trying hard to piece together some answers. Most of all, she was curious about the man who'd called himself Sasha. More accurately, Alex — it was likely a byproduct of the language barrier. People who grew up speaking English often struggled with Russian names and tended to butcher them for convenience. It seemed Alexander had reached the same conclusion, simplifying his name on his business card.

"Alex Mitchell, owner of 'Iron Man Workshop'... Is he a fan of old comics or something?" She smirked inwardly.

She scanned the card's details: Services provided: repairs, upgrades, crafting, and medical assistance. Official skill level: six. Twenty-one years old… She recited the info while studying the photo on the card. Flipping the digital business card over, she noted the address on the back. Arroyo, Fourth Mega Tower, twenty-third floor, first sector… That's quite a ways from Watson, she sighed, shaking her head.

Incoming voice message - Night City Central Clinic

We'd like to remind you that the last possible payment date is August twenty-ninth. After this date, further procedures will not be possible.

Yours respectfully, your attending physician - Robert Freeman. 

"Bastard!" Yakovleva exclaimed, not bothering to listen to the rest of the message.

Sasha was seething with pent-up rage, built over countless days spent scraping together the necessary funds. Looking back on all that had happened, she could finally see the situation for what it was — manipulation, plain and simple. All those medical half-truths and constant reminders that her mom could be treated were nothing but a show. The corporate doctors knew full well that even if she somehow managed to scrounge up the money, they'd just turn her away, claiming the funds had arrived too late. The realization made her let out a bitter laugh.

"They never intended to help…" she whispered. But why him? She glanced back in the direction the dark-haired guy had gone. Why does he want to help? Her confusion grew, right alongside a fragile hope.

Night City was already ingrained in people's minds as the city of broken dreams. Some even called it the "neon cage," where the blinding lights masked all the ugly truths lurking beneath the surface. The violence, betrayals — even from the closest people — slavery, and more. Sasha had only heard whispers about the many horrors one could face in this place.

"It's getting late. I should head back," she muttered, glancing at the time flickering in the corner of her vision.

Rising from the well-worn bench, she started walking toward one of Kabuki's bustling streets that led straight to her apartment. As she navigated the crowded path, Sasha's mind lingered on the events of the past few months: her father's disappearance, her mother's illness, and the mountain of daily struggles she'd been facing alone. In just a few short months, life had thrown enough at her to make solving everything on her own feel like an impossible task.

"Everything's just falling into place, huh? Like I actually have a shot at luck," she mumbled under her breath, glancing at the wall of a nearby alley in Watson. Funny, I don't remember seeing this graffiti before, she thought, stopping to take a closer look.

The artwork depicted a nude woman surrounded by shadowy figures standing behind her. The artist clearly has a thing for avant-garde styles, Sasha mused, her eyes tracing the bold lines and surreal shapes. I wonder when they managed to paint it.

***

Alex Mitchell (Volkov) POV

August 21, 2066, 9:38 PM

"Not a damn thing has changed in the years I've been gone," I muttered, shaking my head as I took in the so-called "attractions" of the area.

The port district of Watson, Night City, was probably the dirtiest place I'd ever set foot in. Trash littered the ground, sidewalks were stained with dried blood and vomit, and to complete the scene, Maelstrom gang members prowled the streets. I'd done my homework before taking this job, gathering all the intel I could. Well, more accurately, I called up Marco and grilled him for a good hour. To my surprise, Ramirez knew a lot about these psychos, and most of what he shared lined up with what I'd found online.

"Hey, buddy, got a smoke?" a voice called from behind me.

"Here, take one," I replied, turning to face a rough-looking guy and handing him a half-empty pack I'd prepared for occasions like this. I'd pulled most of the smokes out beforehand, just to avoid attracting too much attention.

As for his appearance — it filled me with instant disgust. His body was riddled with the crude scars of poorly implanted augmentations. His eyes, like all Maelstrom members, had been replaced by hideous optical implants bolted right into his skull. The skull itself bore the marks of numerous surgeries, signaling a fairly high rank in the gang. To be honest, calling him human was a stretch. Even Vega — an actual AI — would make him look like a primitive in comparison.

"Choom, you really saved us there," he said, deftly pulling out a cigarette and sharing the rest with his crew. "Where you headed?" he asked, clearly trying to bait me.

"Totentanz. Friends recommended it, said it has the best electro in town." I shrugged, keeping it casual.

"Ooh, sounds like your chooms know their music," he said, relaxing a bit as a grin spread across his face. "Listen, here's the thing…" He took a drag on the cigarette, pausing. "You gave me a good smoke, and I'm heading there myself. Your pals probably didn't tell you, but not everyone gets in. Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous tonight, so I'll put in a good word."

"Bastards," I muttered, keeping up with the story I'd just made up, covering my face with my hand.

"Heh, heh, they were definitely trying to mess with you, chum. But don't worry, you can brag later about how you partied with Cain." He introduced himself as Cain, casually throwing an arm around my shoulder. "So, what's your name, pal?"

"Lex."

"Well, as you probably heard, I'm Cain. Good to meet ya. So, you ready to let loose tonight?"

"That's what I'm here for." I flashed a polite smile, keeping my responses short and not giving away too much.

"There he goes again, found someone new to talk their ear off." The Maelstrom guy in front of me covered his optics with his hands, trying to avoid looking at his buddy.

"Screw you, asshole." Cain shot a middle finger at the guy, dragging me along with him.

"There they go again, at each other's throats. Why don't you two just go bang behind a corner somewhere?" Another gang member, walking on my left, took a long drag from his half-smoked cigarette, completely unfazed.

"Why don't you hug and walk together?" Cain joked, swinging the arm he had over my shoulder in a crude imitation of the gesture he'd just made.

What kind of mess have I gotten myself into? I rolled my eyes at the bickering thugs around me. Vega, can you pull up any intel on a guy named Cain? He's in Maelstrom, and judging by how they treat him, he's got to be pretty high up.

"Got it, Alex. Give me a moment," the android replied immediately.

"Take your time..."

The walk to the club was surprisingly uneventful. Passersby gave us a wide berth, and other gang members occasionally exchanged a few words with us before continuing their patrols. Honestly, walking with a crew this colorful, I'd expected something a bit more… extravagant. I guess that's what it feels like to shatter stereotypes. Still, they don't come from nowhere, so the real fun was likely still ahead.

"C'mon, Cain, who's this guy with you?" The guard at the entrance looked up at me from his card game, breaking his gaze just long enough to size me up.

"Looks like his new buddy," shrugged the Maelstrom guy across from him, tossing another card on the table.

"Open up, you leather-skinned moron," Cain snapped, kicking the chair the first guy was sitting on.

"Alright, alright, no need to get all handsy," the guard grumbled. "Can't even ask a question around here." He paused for a second, then the door behind him slid open automatically, letting us through.

"Welcome to Totentanz. Head up the stairs on the right to the second floor, then follow the hall to the elevator. I'll catch up with you after a quick chat with my chums. Let's go, boys." The red-eyed guy gave me a hearty slap on the shoulder before heading off with his crew in the opposite direction.

The inside of the building was a mess — trash littered everywhere, and Maelstrom tags plastered nearly every surface. As I took in my surroundings, my gaze landed on some grim graffiti painted directly across from the entrance. A massive, three-eyed skull stared back at me, not exactly a welcoming sight, so I didn't linger on it.

"Alex, I've finished the search. Sending you the info I found," Vega's voice chimed in, followed by a file containing a detailed dossier on Cain.

"Thanks for the help."

"Always happy to assist ^_^," she replied cheerfully.

She really is a fast learner. Shaking my head slightly, I made my way to the staircase he'd mentioned. As I climbed, I opened the file and started reading up on my recent companion.

Carl Gallagher, aka Cain. One of Maelstrom's leaders, notorious for his explosive temper and a near-obsessive preference for close-combat weapons. He's been involved in numerous street raids across Watson and has a confirmed kill count in the double digits. Despite this, his high rank in the gang has kept him out of the cops' reach.

Nothing Vega shared was all that surprising, given what I'd picked up on the way here. Still, it was a reminder not to provoke Cain or cross him. Finding common ground with a Maelstrom member hadn't been too hard, and if I stuck to my approach, there wouldn't be any misunderstandings between us.