The cold voice changer cut through the late-night air. The 6th Street leader spread on the ground was shaking in full-body tremors. Warm urine soaked through his pants and spread a wet stain across the cold asphalt.
Ten seconds of countdown. Every second a sentence from death.
"Nine. Eight."
Vito raised Punishnt slowly, muzzle locked on the gang mber's forehead. The Night City skyline flowed across the square mask in the darkness, looking bizarre and mocking — death looking down at sothing small.
"I'll talk! I'll talk! Don't kill !"
The gang mber broke completely. His hoarse scream tore through the dead silence of the street.
"Armored Car lost the fight and had a bellyful of anger! He took a bunch of brothers back to our underground hangout to drink and gamble! It's in an abandoned auto repair shop in the eastern district! I'll call him right now! If I'm lying, I'll die a terrible death!"
Vito gave a slight nod. No extra emotion.
"Call."
The gang mber fumbled with his neural interface in a panic. His nerves were shot. His hands were shaking too badly to select the screen cleanly. He managed to dial Armored Car's comm link, and the mont it connected, Armored Car's furious shouting ca through mixed with the sounds of bottles, profanity, and noise.
"Who the hell is calling in the middle of the night? Looking to die?"
In the background: 6th Street gang mbers laughing and talking over each other, rehashing the boxing match, calling Vito underhanded and treacherous. Nobody had any idea that death had already parked itself at their front door.
The gang mber stole a glance at the expressionless Cube Man. His heart nearly stopped. He answered quickly, keeping his voice submissive.
"Boss. It's . Tommy. Nothing much. Just checking if the hangout is safe over there. I'm bringing so money and coming to et up with the brothers."
"Safe? Who in Santo Domingo would dare ss with 6th Street? Get your ass back here for the card ga! You're dragging your feet. I'll sort you out myself!"
Boop.
Call cut.
Location, state of things — all confird.
Vito raised his hand and silently removed the gang mber's weapon. The voice changer delivered the next line in cold, flat chanical tones.
"Thank you for the directions."
Before the words finished, Punishnt's large-caliber round took Tommy's head off.
No ti to scream. The last man dropped. Whatever evil this street had to offer was finished. Night City's wind swept across the ss on the ground. Blood mixed with the lingering cooking smoke from the nearby night market. The most familiar sll in this city.
Vito holstered his weapon with clean, efficient movents and vaulted back into the old Thorton Galena.
The engine growled. The battered car cut through the night and headed straight for the abandoned auto repair shop in the eastern district.
The repair shop was lit up from inside. The dilapidated building was full of empty bottles and cheap stimulant syringes. Over ten 6th Street mbers sat in a cluster, gambling and shouting and drinking and cursing.
Armored Car was at the center of them, running his hands over the combat cyberware with the hidden steel spurs, complaining about Vito to his crew.
"That little bastard just ran. If he'd actually stood and fought , my spurs would've opened his throat wide. Just wait. Sooner or later I'm going to put him down myself and take back every eddies I lost tonight."
Laughter went around the room. Nobody noticed. Death had already settled silently over the whole building.
The next second, the corrugated iron gate of the repair shop exploded inward.
The Nine Tails rifle's roar ripped through every sound in the room. Savage bursts of fire consud everything in their path. The modified large-capacity drum magazine kept the fire sustained. Rounds fell like heavy rain.
Iron sheeting, concrete, bodies, cyberware — all of it shattered under the fire. The 6th Street mbers who had been sitting there laughing didn't even get their hands on their weapons before they were swallowed.
Screams, wails, begging — all of it drowned in the gunfire in seconds.
Vito walked into the building through the wreckage. Through blood and fragnts. Toward Armored Car, already hit by stray rounds and collapsed on the ground.
Armored Car was covered in blood. His chanical prosthetic limb was destroyed. His eyes held nothing but extre terror. The nace from the ring was completely gone.
"Holy hell, it's Cube Head. I, I—"
Vito stood over him and looked down. The square mask flickered with its strange light. Not a trace of rcy.
No extra words. He raised the gun and fired once, ending it.
After cleaning up the scene, hacking every surveillance cara in the facility, and erasing every trace of the operation, Vito turned and disappeared into the darkness of the alley.
Tonight in the eastern district, another batch of garbage was completely gone. Nobody knew. Nobody asked.
...
anwhile, on a street on the other side of Santo Domingo, the picture couldn't have been more different.
Tonight's boxing matches had wrapped up. Dorio had claid the victory in her fight through masterful technique. Maine's whole crew was in high spirits, walking ho together.
The evening breeze was soft. Neon lights flickered. Free of the tension of the venue, everyone had let themselves relax. The whole group chatted and laughed along the way.
David walked at the back of the group. Every so often he stole a glance at Lucy beside him, sothing shy and stirring in his eyes that he couldn't quite hide.
Rebecca carried her weapon case and chattered about the ridiculous referee and those despicable 6th Street mbers. Kiwi walked beside them in silence, smoking, expression lazy and easy.
Pilar was out front, wearing an easy grin. He'd just watched a great fight, and watched a teammate win. His mood was as good as it got.
The street was quiet. The occasional Night City passerby hurried along. Everything was peaceful, almost suspiciously so. Nobody could have predicted that disaster was about to fall in an instant.
From a dim alley at the corner, a hunched figure with exposed cyberware erged slowly.
He stood on a cargo container and urinated from it. He went for a long ti. The sound was loud.
His body was modified in chaotic, haphazard layers. Exposed chanical tubing sparked and flickered. His eyeballs were military cybereyes glowing red. Everything about him radiated madness, disorder, and bloodlust. Advanced cyberpsychosis, by the book.
He swayed on unsteady feet, eyes unfocused, rocking as he went, mumbling words that nobody could make out.
Too much chro. Too many banned substances. His mind had been completely eroded. A pitiful wreck, and the kind of ticking device that Night City scattered across its own streets without looking back.
"Hey! You're making quite a lot of noise!"
Pilar had always had a deep interest in combat cyberware and body modifications. Seeing the other person's rare and violent chro work, instead of being wary, he actually stopped and jumped up on the container to say hello. His tone was full of genuine admiration.
"Bro! Your cyberware modifications are incredible! The pipe routing, the external power components — this is top-tier work! Seriously impressive!"
He ant it. Pure appreciation for the craft. No ill intent at all.
The man kept mumbling words nobody could understand.
"Hm? What are you saying?"
Pilar leaned in closer to try to catch the words.
The man's eye implants flickered. The mumbling got faster and faster.
"Hm? What are you actually saying?"
Suddenly, a compact grenade launcher snapped out from the man's arm. The barrel pressed against the underside of Pilar's chin.
Bang.
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